Taste the Coast

[Ammy]

Location: Bodden Town, Cayman Isle
Characters: Dusty Darkhorn & Barnabus Duffy(currently)
Rating: PG (a little bit of language)

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"Get out of here, you bleeding idiot!"

"Back at you, you-"

The insult was cut off when Dusty Darkhorn hit the dirt- and- cobblestoned alley, skidding to the other side to hit the wall with a resounding ‘thump’. It took a big man to actually throw someone as tall as Dusty, and that same big man stood imposingly in the back doorway to the latest pub on the list to toss him out on his backside. Really, he’d stared at the pretty waitress’ posterior once, what was the big deal? Okay, maybe twice, he admitted to himself. And maybe there was a rude comment thrown in her general direction. But who could blame him? The woman was a tease and a flirt.

He stood up and brushed himself off as regally as he could muster despite his already rumpled clothing and stained hands. Picking his crumpled hat off the ground, he replaced it on his head and tilted it to the bouncer with a grin.

"See you around, Delaney. It was a pleasure making your giant, hulking acquaintance."

"If I catch you in here again, you’ll be tossed to the authorities with the rest of the pirates, you hear me?" Delaney sneered down at him. "Only reason you’re not there now is ‘cause you can hardly even be considered a pirate."

Assuming a shocked and appalled expression, Dusty put a hand over his heart as though he’d been stabbed through it, stumbling back dramatically. "You slay me, Delaney."

When the big man growled and took a step towards him, Dusty sprinted off down the alley. He wasn’t usually one to run away from a fight but in this case he figured the safer bet was turning tail and potentially keeping his head on his shoulders.

Unfortunately, for him, he ran smack into the side of a burly horse the approximate size of a house and wearing police colors.

"Oh, bollocks."

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Hours later Dusty sat on the slightly damp floor of his jail cell, tossing a leather ball against the opposite wall and whistling to himself. Really, he more often spent his nights locked behind bars than in a comfortable bed. The jail had long ceased bothering him.

"Get up, Darkhorn, you’re going home."

Still whistling, he stood up and grinned smugly at the guard while the obviously aggravated other man unlocked the cell to let him out. He was led back through the brick and stone building until they reached the bailing-out area. There stood Barnabus Duffy dressed like he was coming back from an important meeting in all his royal blue glory, a wig covering his short hair tied with a matching ribbon at the nape of his neck. He looked the picture of English elegance, and exactly like the type of man that Dusty would have robbed had he been employed still with the pirates.

And he was the best friend in the whole damn world.

"Oi, wanker."

Barny looked up from his pocket watch, his perturbed expression turning to a half-amused grin at the sight of Dusty, covered in grime and sporting a black eye. It was a mystery the man wasn’t dead yet, or at the very least wanted for his many and various crimes. Though in the pirating community, Dusty was more often than not a joke shared among anyone who’d heard of him. He had a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, for saying just exactly what would get him into trouble, and for running in circles with the wrong types of people.

"You look awful. And you’re lucky I was in town, your sister said the last time was most definitely the last time she was going to come get you out of jail."

"The last time’s always the last time. I give it a week."

Dusty saluted the guard sarcastically and readjusted his hat on his head while he walked out of the jailhouse beside Barny, the pair more conflicted in looks than they were alike in temperament.

"It’s going to be trouble for you, explaining to your mother why you got kicked off the Wharf Breeze this time. I can take care of them, you know I have the money, but-"

Dusty waved a hand at him, knowing the argument back, forth, and sideways by now. "But I’ll be damned if I let you pay my dues for me, Duffy. And you’re too good of a friend to argue me about it while I’ve got this pounding headache. Let’s get us a drink and some women."

Chuckling, his friend steered him away from the red light district and towards the Hanged Pig, owned by the Darkhorn women. "I think not. You need a bath and a shave, and then you’ll deal with your mum before she deals with us both. I have to get drinks with a potential client, from Bermuda. Promise me you won’t do something stupid in the mean time and get yourself tossed back behind bars?"

"I don’t make promises, boyo."

Dusty clapped Barnabus on the shoulder and walked the rest of the way to the Inn while the other man stepped into a coach that had been following them at a distance. If he didn’t know the man so well, he’d have thought it scary, but as it was he figured it was a courtesy extended to him for his dislike of richness and excess. The man really was too good to him.

Instead of going in the front of the Inn and offending the sensibilities of the paying guests, he went through a side door leading past the kitchen to the back stairs. Ascending as quietly as he could, he got up to the third floor without his sister’s accusing stares or his mother’s whip of a tongue. He found a room with a ready bath, probably for one of the guests, and washed quickly before someone could find him there, not bothering with the shave but finding and tossing on a clean set of trousers and a loose cream-colored shirt. He didn’t stick around long for someone to announce his presence or ask about his black eye and most recent unemployment, sneaking back down the stairs and out the same door he’d come in, grabbing a few coins on his way out.

When he was back on the street, heading in whatever direction his feet would take him, he began whistling again. It was, after all, a beautiful night for a song.

[Guinevere]

(Just wondering, is this an open RP? =) If it isn't closed I'd love to throw in a charrie or two =D)

[Ammy]

[Yeah it's open now, since Maeth and Ara have been busy and they'd be who I'd usually throw Dusty at. =P Go for it!]

[Guinevere]

(Hope this is alright! =D)

It wasn’t often that Guinevere got angry. She had always thought it best to keep a calm, peaceful demeanor; it benefited her own well-being enormously, for whenever her temper was unleashed, it was like the onset of a storm – woe betide anyone who bore the brunt of it. This evening, she’d been in a perfectly good mood as she walked through town, tying up a few bits of business, for instance collecting a bag of herbs for medicinal use a local woman in a tavern had promised to give her yesterday. But her pleasant temper had been rudely cut short when, on her way back to the inn where she and Cairbre were staying, a stranger had confronted her in a dark alleyway – obviously a man. He’d demanded she hand all her money over to him, insisting that he was carrying a knife. He could have had no way of knowing that she was in fact a pirate, and more used to demanding riches from others rather than handing them over. It had transpired that the mugger wasn’t armed at all, although it hadn’t stopped him from trying to maul her about. A well-aimed half-trip, half-kick, and a slap in the face had sorted him out.

She’d been the victor in the scuffle, but Guin still felt furious. She accepted that walking in the dark unaccompanied had made her vulnerable, but she hated the fact that anyone who looked at her, who didn’t know her, simply assumed she was a harmless gentlewoman. Guin had never adopted pirate attire in all her years in the profession, because her ladylike guise protected her from any hint of suspicion. Tonight, she was clad in a simple green gown trimmed with lace at the neck and sleeves, and an embroidered shawl was thrown about her shoulders for warmth. Her long red hair was tied back into a chignon, a few stray strands framing her pale features. She looked every inch a lady. It made her safe, but it also meant people sometimes underestimated her. However, the confident way she carried herself hinted that she was beyond the ordinary.

She couldn’t wait to get back to the Hanged Pig. She and Cairbre were only visitors here, and Bodden Town was still unfamiliar, but for now their room above the inn served as home. Only when she’d told Cairbre what had happened would she begin to feel better. He was the one who understood her, everything about her. Also, Eve Summers would be at the inn – the girl had traveled with them here, and was hoping to settle down on the isle. In Guin’s opinion, Eve was deceiving herself; she’d never be happy to stay permanently on land, whatever she said, no matter how close to the sea the location.

As she walked, her thoughts distracted her from passersby, and so she did not notice the dark-haired man who ambled along the street, nor did she note the sound of whistling. Her blue gaze was directed straight ahead of her, her head held high. So just as she was about to sail past her shoulder connected with his, and a frown puckered her brow, the thoughts scattering from her mind. “A thousand apologies, sir,” she said, her tone slightly sardonic despite it’s habitual softness. Her irritation had not entirely evaporated. She rubbed her sore shoulder, and gathered her shawl about her, before raising her head to take a proper look at Dusty. She inclined her head politely with a small apologetic smile, before setting off again in her usual quick pace.

Just at that moment, a slender blonde figure darted round the street corner. A smile formed on Guin’s lips, faltering a little as Eve charged towards her with uncharacteristic speed. “Eve?” she called out. The girl quickly closed the gap between them, before pausing for a snatch of breath. She somewhat resembled a broken puppet, her fair head lolling slightly. Guin put her arm around her shoulders. “Eve, what’s wrong, what’s happened? Have you come from the inn?”

Eve nodded. “Thought I should find you,” she said, breathlessly, “a fight’s broken out."

Taking a closer look at her, Guin saw that one of the sleeves of Eve’s shirt was slightly ripped, and her lip was bruised. Instantly, she was seized by a wave of concern. “You got involved?” she pressed her. “That’s not like you.” In the middle of all this, Guin had forgotten the man she’d bumped into, and that he might still be in earshot. “You always try to avoid violence.”

Eve smiled grimly. “I thought I would try and make them see sense,” she admitted quietly. “Foolish me.”

“Not at all. Come now, we’re going to go and find Cairbre. He’ll be able to break it up,” Guin said, quite certain of the truth of her words. She cradled the younger woman against her shoulder as they walked down the street together, towards the Hanged Pig. Eve peered backwards anxiously, as if someone might come up behind them, still feeling very uneasy.