Re: True North (Shrub and Quark)
Incoherent sounds filled the pirate's ears, dragging him from a deep and inebriated slumber. Immediately he felt like he had to vomit, but somehow he didn't feel as wasted as he expected to be upon waking. He groaned a sickly groan as his left hand found his beanie cap, prying it from his hairy skull. He ran his right hand through his hair, taking a moment to scratch his unshowered scalp. He wanted to just lay there with his eyes shut, even going back to sleep if he could. He just felt dizzy and spent, instantly regretting drinking himself to sleep.
But these thoughts quickly faded. Suddenly, he remembered. He didn't drink himself unconscious, at least not completely. Someone had attacked him. He distinctly recalled being slapped on both sides of his head, a rush of buried memories, and then darkness.
His eyes snapped open at this revelation. His vision was blurry, everything hard to focus on. Above him was a wooden ceiling, that much he could make out. From above it he could hear the noises of others, running and talking. His eyes drifted around the room, but he seemed to have a hard time keeping them from going crosseyed. He shook his head and sat up shakily, nearly falling out of the hammock he was in.
His eyes spotted a foreign something on the front of his clothes. There was a scrap of paper stuck to his chest. He plucked it free and read the note to himself. The letters were hard to focus on for only a moment.
Welcome aboard, traveler! Hope ye slept well. When ye feel quite rested, ye may join us on deck fer a bite o' food and a spot o' rum.
Cap'n Jade o' The Mornin' Star
The first thought that crossed his mind was how oddly the note was spelled. The writer went out of their way to replace 'of' with 'o' and 'you' with 'ye', either trying to sound unique or merely trying to convey their personality on paper. Either way, he just found it odd, and couldn't quite place the intended accent.
Ed stumbled from his hammock, for the most part forgetting what the note was actually about. The moment he was upright, he puked. There was a bucket by his feet, but he didn't see it until after he was already hunched down with recycled alcohol pouring from his gullet. He heaved a few more times, though landing most of it in the bucket this time. Once he felt he was done, he shook his head, still trying to focus his eyes.
He felt his side, pleased to feel the familiar cold of his Padlock revolver. The familiar weight of his machete was also ever present on his back. Odd. It was like he was captured by a complete amateur... which was actually kind of embarrassing. What kind of kidnapper leaves his victims their weapons?
Ed pulled his beanie cap back over his head as he hobbled over to what looked like a door. He grabbed a bit of what felt like canvas from the wall and wiped his mouth off on it. He opened the door and staggered down the hall, regaining more and more of his balance each second. He still wasn't sure where he was. Most of the architecture was wooden with very little stone, much like one would see in a cabin or a... ship.
The contents of the note suddenly struck him: Deck... Cap'n... Rum....
Oh s***.
His pace quickened as he suddenly felt his himself begin to sober up. A flight of stairs met his feet. He nearly tripped on himself as he moved up them, the incoherent sounds from before getting clearer as he ascended. A set of doors were no obstacle, he swung them open in one movement and broke onto the deck.
Sunlight hit him like a hammer to the brain. He felt like vomiting again, but he staved off the urge. His eyes were squinting and he couldn't make anything out, but he could still smell the familiar salty air of the city he was in the last time he was conscious.
He blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes. He could hear people all around him, but none of them were approaching him. They either didn't see him or they were preoccupied with what they were doing. Ed's eyes finally adjusted to the light and the picture became clear. The first thing he saw was a floor built from wood. He stopped walking as he felt himself bump into the side of a small wall. He rubbed his forehead with one hand, trying to relieve his pounding headache, though he was probably just delaying what he hoped he wasn't going to see when he looked up.
His hand slowly slid off his his face and his eyes gazed outward, his vision filling with the exact thing he hoped not to see: The ocean.
His pulse quickened and his face became flushed. His adrenalin was pumping, eyes darting. His breath got shallower and shallower as the water got deeper and deeper. The salty air, the cawing seagulls, and the rushing wind was drowned out by the persistent bumping of his heartbeat.
He was on a ship, surrounded by water, steadily moving further and further away from land. The land was so close. But... there was water everywhere.
His expression was unreadable to the naked eye, but he was frozen in sheer panic. He slowly took a step away from the edge of the boat. He didn't know what to think. He'd stared out at this ocean from a safe distance before. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen back home. But now... he was on a ship moving deep into the wet wilderness. He had to get back to land. He simply had to... before the land itself was out of view.
He felt sick. Very very sick.