flawedmemes | TEST DRIVE MEME

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test drive

TEST DRIVE MEME

01. ARRIVING IN PELEA
A cold wind singing down from the white-capped mountains which hang blue-black in the distance stirs your cheek, the tall grass all around you. A bough creaks as the wind makes it tremble, and the dappled shadows drift over you, leaves rustling. As you blink awake, you hear the quiet hiss of water over stones. You are not where you once were!

You and a large group of strangers are blinking awake, pulling yourselves up off the dirt, grass, and rubble near a small wooded stream. There is no evidence of civilization in sight, and as you exchange stories you realize that you must decide what to do.

Will you head past the trees and towards the mountains? Deeper into the forest? Stay put and wait for help to arrive? You might even try to meet everyone else, and either convince them to band together... or head their separate ways.

02. CITY SLICKER
There are many cities throughout the world of Pelea, and in most player characters, the Flaws, are welcomed as curiosities. From the pastoral villages or bustling, grand cities of Shousal to the massive, sprawling bureaucratic centers of the Empire, your characters will find a wide variety of cultures and races to interact with and investigate. They could be seeking empoyment, answers to the mystery of their arrival, or a quiet place to drink away their worries.

03. WILDCARD!

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[In all his time in Nassau, if there was one thing that Charles had learned to command just as well as he would a ship, it was respect. He wasn't questioned - Jack aside, of course, but Jack always deferred to Charles in the end, however hard he argued with him.

So the fact that the first thing this girl says to him is in question of his choice for a medicinal herb - it surprises him. Charles sometimes forgets that he's not at home here, that nobody knows him here - yet.

He raises his eyes to her, travelling for a moment over all the things in her arms, and then raises an eyebrow.]

And how would you know I don't need something stronger than Valerian root?

[Truth be told, he is in much too much pain to really think about what he's doing. He only wants relief from the infecting wound at his side, given to him by a trigger-happy captain who deemed it the only solution to get Charles off his ship. The cut - deep and ugly, between his ribs - made it hard to breathe, let alone think. He knows he's bleeding sluggishly under his clothes, but at least, his jacket hides it well.]

Because anything much stronger than that will be toxic.

[ And perhaps he's looking to drown out the pain with something stronger, or perhaps he's looking to make someone as sick as a dog under the guise of bringing them relief. She does not know. But it piques her interest readily and she steps past him to one of the books on the shelf to peruse for something better, something stronger. Many of the flowers and herbs here are not ones she knows. The shopkeep begins to protest - the book is not for sale - and she ignores him. ]

The Eaphine might be better suited to you. But that all depends if you are looking to kill the pain or something more.

[ Her gaze flicks to his, curiosity beneath dark lashes, and lifts a single brow. ]

[Honestly, he'd planned to cauterize the wound and kill the pain with strong alcohol until he passed out from it, but. Here, he's got no one to make sure he wakes up. No Jack, no Anne, not even Flint. Here, he was on his own, without a crew, without a family, and he couldn't afford to try and numb the pain with alcohol.]

Killing the pain is important, but preventing infection is higher on my list.

[His voice sounds even rougher than usual to his own ears, and he realizes that he's speaking through clenched teeth. There's a part of him that almost wants to show her the wound; if she knows about medicinal herbs, she might be able to help him.

But weakness is not something he works with. He can do this himself. If he can't kill the pain when he cauterizes, he'll just - bite down on something.]

[ Ah, so he's speaking of an injury. For himself or someone else, she cannot say, but the clench in his teeth and the rough tone gives her something of an answer. There is no change in her expression, no hint that she realizes. Instead, she goes to the shelves to collect some of the herbs in question, book still in hand, which she snaps shut with great care. Other herbs are plucked from where they hang, parceled out, and tied together. The herbs are wrapped in delicate cloth and she returns to Vane. She snatches up his hand firmly and places the wrap in them. Her smile is polite - her eyes are sharp. The contrast can seem nearly unnerving, but perhaps she's trying to communicate that she knows his secret. ]

Boil hot water and crush a few strands of these. Make it into a paste. The paste goes into a hot, damp, clean cloth. Put it over the cut. A little bit of the paste can go into the skin - it won't harm it - but take care not to use too much.

[ She gestures back to the herbs. ]

The Eaphine is best made into tea. It will stave off much of the pain.

[Charles' eyes follow her every move sharply, his entire focus on her as he leans against the nearest wall, trying to make it look nonchalant. He can deal with pain, but with none of the drugs he's used to taking, he finds it difficult to keep his thoughts on anything else; watching the girl assemble a number of herbs in a wrap helps.

She grabs his hand and drops the wrap in his palm, looking up at him with a look that tells him there's a lot more to this girl than she lets on. He tilts his head as he studies her. Their hands are still touching, her pale, unbroken skin against his much rougher, sun-darkened fingers.]

Do you know how to stitch up a wound? [His tone is gruff, midway between a question and an order. He's not planning on roughening her up - he can still cauterize being applying the herbs - but he'd prefer stitches. The scars feel less like a brand. He's had enough branding to last him a lifetime.]

[ Small things give enough away to suggest he is the one injured - and potentially others? Unless he was in a recent fight on his own. There are possibilities she plays out in her mind, thoughts she pushes away. She must have focus to read the tale playing out as best she can. He is injured, he is asking for help. He is not a native, and if he is, he knows very little of herbs. Potentially dangerous or prone to trouble. She weighs the merits of going with him to offer help...and finds it's as good an option as any.

And if he harms her, she will kill him. ]

My embroidery could use work, I shall admit, but I have stitched wounds before.

[ Foolish injuries in practice, wounds to house servants. She does not imagine his wound will be as easy. But she is playing the part of an educated handmaid, is she not? The facade comes easy, as do promises. She will help him and he will give her information. He simply doesn't know it yet. ]

Allow me to purchase these. Will your lodgings be acceptable?

[ The second question is unspoken: Do you have any lodgings to speak of? ]

[Her easy agreement comes as a relief - Charles honestly did not wish to have to deal with the ugly gash in his side by himself. Many other men weaker than him wouldn't be walking with such a wound, but necessity and desperation are mother to many of his actions. At least, he can tell himself the man who slashed him is not going to try and finish the job, as he is currently living at the bottom of the sea bed.

Charles grits his teeth some more, the words coming with difficulty to him.] Thank you.

[Pushing himself off of the wall, he hands her back the wrap of medicinal herbs, along with some coin to cover it. He's not going to indebt himself to her any further than he already has to.]

They will be.

[His lodgings are not much more than a shack in the shantytown by the harbor, but it has the merit of being relatively clean, and well-furnished, for what it is. And with his growing reputation, Charles is not worried about burglaries or unwanted visitors. It's more than adequate.

As she pays, Charles turns on his heel, leaning against the door of the shop before he starts leading her down the street to the slightly seedier part of town, near the harbor. He walks slow, but deliberately keeps a hand at his sabre, making extremely clear that anyone willing to try and talk to the lady at his side is also willing to taste steel.]

[ They will be, is not a reassuring answer in her ears. What he has to offer will very possibly be slim to none and not entirely adequate - but he will do his best to make them so. The mask stays perfectly in place, her smile cordial and polite but little else. There's no deeper emotion behind it, no light in her eyes. She takes the wrap with the herbs and purchases her own tinctures, using great care to exchange the book for another, wrapped in similar binding, into her own belongings while the apothecary wraps her items so they might be safe in the bag at her hip. She pays for what she can with items - an intricate bracelet fashioned with tiny stones - more than enough to satisfy the apothecary.

Alysia follows Charles as she might, walking with care. She is not entirely surprised that he walks with a hand on his sword - an intricate sabre, she might add with some surprise - per the nature of his injury. His gait gives no indication of an injury, and she does not know what to make of that. This is no ruse...but does that make him a powerful man or one who is far more composed than he lets on?

She wishes she could say she was surprised that they approach the seedier bits of town on their way to the harbor, but she walks with her head held high and no fear in her eyes. The facade slips just enough to give her an expression of disinterest when some approach her or whistle for her attention, all trace of potentially maiden-like fear absent. She does not even speak to them, and a look from Charles ensures they keep their distance. ]

This way. [With a - gentle - hand to her elbow, Charles leads Alysia towards his home, moving through smaller alleyways, where people have put out their laundry to dry in the sunshine, where kids are playing, noisy and alive like Nassau is in Charles' best memories of his town.

Inside his lodgings, though, it's much quieter. He opens the lock he had on the door and lets Alysia step in first before closing the door behind them, breathing out through his nose as he allows himself to drop the act for an instant, the pain showing on his face for just a moment before he steels himself again.]

You can boil water here. [He motions to the small stove in a corner of the room - the whole place is one room, only the commodes partitioned off. The bed is in one corner, furthest away from the kitchen area, while an abundance of throw pillows and blankets make up what Charles considers his sitting-room.] I'll get some clean linens.

[He goes straight to rummage through his dresser for clean strips of linen - he might not be his ship's physician but he knows better not to have bandages at hand, and pulls out an amount of them before sitting on his bed, groaning to himself.

Carefully, he removes his weapons from his sides, before shrugging off his jacket, then his shirt, closing his eyes as the pain rushes through him when he pulls at the wound. The hastily wrapped bandage around his side is soaked with blood and has gone through to his shirt, a dark patch by his elbow.]

[ She steps into the small room and takes a careful glance around, eyeing every single potential escape route she might have. A window, a single door. The furnishings are sparse but not inadequate, reminding her of her hovel after she had fled the house, and the thought makes her shiver a little bit. But Charles shows her where the stove is and she goes to get water into the pot, set it to boiling. She has very little in the way of a mortar and pistil, but what she has will have to do.

Alysia turns and sees him sitting, and she gives a critical eye to the injury he exposes. It's a nasty cut from a blade, slicing upwards, possibly as he tried to move. It's ghastly and will certainly become infected without some kind of help. She is of a mind to ask questions first and treat when he gives her answers, but the old adage holds true: 'you attract more flies to honey'.

So she approaches with care and crouches down to look closely at the bandage, frowning. ]

Can you remove it carefully, without tearing at the skin? We can wait until the water boils to dampen the bandage and pull it free easier.

[Breathing out slowly to avoid wincing too much, Charles clenches his jaw at the groan that escapes him involuntarily. He's lightheaded, and his skin is starting to feel clammy, but he works through it, focusing on his breathing.]

No, it's fine, I can.

[Carefully, he goes for the bandage and starts pulling at it, dried and coagulated blood sticking between the fabric and his skin, making it a painful, slow task. Her eyes are focused on his ribs as he exposes the gash further, his jaw muscles twitching as he grinds his teeth, attempting to offset the pain, to not much success.

Eventually, though, the bandage is off and the wound is plainly exposed, looking raw as it moves with Charles' ragged breaths.

Cauterizing it would have taken several applications of his blade to it. While the situation he's in now - with a stranger now knowing where he lives, and with a lot more control over him than Charles is comfortable with - sucks, it still feels preferable to his other option.]

You should see the other guy. [He attempts to smirk, but winces instead.]

[ She holds her breath as he strips the bandage off, eyes on the wound itself. No signs of infection just yet. This happened not so long ago. Alysia moves to soak one of the clothes in the warming water, wringing it out of all excess water before she returns to his side. Grateful her dress has no sleeves, lest she get blood on them, she goes to sit beside him on the bed. There's no hesitation or shyness; she nods with her chin for him to move his arm so she can begin cleaning the wound and staunching what blood she can. ]

I have a hope that the other person is rotting in an alleyway or in a barrel.

[ Alysia takes her time, careful with the tenderness of the skin. She is no doctor, not even a field medic, but she knows how to care for her own wounds. Once satisfied, she stands to go to her bag, the materials within it, before returning to the water. Hot enough by now, she pours some into...a rum tankard (because tea cups are clearly too good for his standing) and prepares it with the Eaphine. Only then does she return, pressing the cup into his hands as she begins to wheel out some of the thread she has. ]

Drink. It won't do much for the moment but it will dull the pain.

[Pulling his arm over his head, Charles keeps grinding his teeth as Alysia cleans the wound as best she can. He looks down, the ragged edges of the gash looking a ghastly white now the blood is washed off them, a stark contrast to his deeply tanned skin. It crosses through another scar - one of the myriad Charles has collected from childhood. He wouldn't be able to say where it comes from.

Her response makes him let out an amused grunt.] Bottom of the harbor, actually.

[He watches her intently as she moves through his space - he's hardly let any woman do that in the past, besides Anne, and Eleanor. But Alysia sniffs at cups and prepares tea in what passes at his kitchen, and Charles lets her, takes the tankard when she hands it to him, sips at the scalding liquid without a word.

He knows he owes her for this, so the least he can do is be as good a patient as he can.]

I can deal with some pain, just do it.

[ That garners a brief and derisive snort. ]

Fitting.

[ And discreet. He knows what he's doing. Alysia takes great care to thread the needle she has and she briefly returns to the stove to put it in the boiling water, clean it and sterilize it as best she can before she returns. When it has cooled, she begins. The process is a delicate one but she works as quickly as she might. She has no surgeon's precision but that of a woman who has learned to embroider - and who has applied the technique to other cuts and wounds the past. He looks poor in the face, a sign of blood loss, and he will need to rest for at least the next day to feel somewhat better.

At length, she finishes, and ties off the wound as best she can. She rises to get the next set of herbs. ]

If it opens, you'd be best suited to wash it in alcohol - as clean as possible - and cauterize. But this should serve.

[ A little bit of water goes into the second set of herbs she's bought, which she brings back with her. ]

This will keep it from getting infected and spur healing. You'll want to put it on every time you change your bandage. If the thread breaks, falls out, or if the wound opens, you can wrap some of the mixture into a cloth soaked in hot water and wrung out. It will help.

[ It will scar, undoubtedly, but the main issue will always be infection. A man can die from blood loss as easily as he can die from infection. ]

It would be best to rest for at least a day.

I take it you approve?

[Charles raises an eyebrow at Alysia, almost surprised by the snort - she seems very intent on keeping an unreadable facade. He's glad to have managed to get a reaction from her.

The stitching is hell - Charles closes his eyes and wishes he had something to bite on, but as it is, takes to fisting his hand into the blanket under him as she works. Despite the tea, he can feel every prick of the needle, the thread going through his flesh, pulling the wound closed. At this point, Charles is sweating profusely, breathing harder than he'd like, but he's still awake, at least.

She's no physician, but Alysia works quickly, and she obviously knows what she's doing. In his world, this is more than most can ask for, and some of his scars are proof enough.

When she's done and explains what to do with the herbs she got for his injury earlier, Charles nods and takes the bowl, settling it over his lap to start lathering the now stitched wound with it. Resting might prove - difficult, but he's not meant to set sail for a while yet, at least.

When she turns away, Charles reaches out rapidly, snatching her arm in his hand. He relaxes his hold immediately, a loose circle of thumb and forefinger around her delicate looking wrist.]

Thank you. [He puts all he can in the words; the implicit I owe you, and you didn't have to. Hopefully she'll get it.]

Does it matter if I do?

[ The deed is done and she has no say in it now. If he is looking for a reaction then, he does not garner one from her. She has no allegiance to this man nor any other. But she will admit to herself that he shows surprising control and strength, gruffness aside, something she can admire. Alysia turns to wipe her hands on one of the spare cloths when he takes her by the wrist. The act of it nearly has her reaching for the hidden blade at her thigh, beneath the skirts, and her expression tightens as she looks on him.

If Vane wants a reaction, he has it now. ]

Your thanks is not necessary...but appreciated.

[ Not many do so, far less since her fall in status. Instead, she allows him to continue to hold her wrist as she stands before him, tall, positions reversed from what they were in the shop. ]

I would like payment for my services. I have no use for coin nor would I assume you have much.

[ And she can gain far more besides in her line of work. ]

I require information, instead.

Edited 2016-07-06 19:13 (UTC)

Not really. [He shakes his head - it's too late for that anyway. He almost adds that he appreciates pleasing a beautiful lady, but he's in no condition of repelling an attack if the thought offends her and decides to descend on him.

Her expression already tightens when he holds her in place, her eyes hard on him.]

What kind of information are we talking about?

[Releasing her - somewhat reluctantly - Charles leans back slightly on his bed, getting himself more comfortable, his back against the wall. He's intrigued, now, as to what she wishes to know, and why she thinks he would have her answers.]

[ For now, she makes no move to attack or ensure that he will not move to harm her. Alysia trusts that he will feel indebted enough not to act rashly until she has what she wants from him. ]

You have a ship.

[ Or he is a part of a crew. He smells of saltwater and sea air. He has lingered about the docks for a reason, and she's willing to wager a guess that he is a part of some crew and must stay close to where his captain has cast anchor. And if she's to guess further, he has a high reputation or rank in that crew with the way he holds himself. He is experienced. ]

And so you have been to parts of Pelea I have not. [ That is the most she will give him in terms of weakness. ] I want to know what you have seen.

[Well now, this is interesting. He owes her, and talking of what he's seen during his travels is not spelling trouble for him as long as he chooses what he says carefully, but Charles has to be intrigued at the line of questioning.

He nods at her mentioning he has a ship. He has one now, and a growing crew now that he's taken care of another shitty captain. It's not his crew back in Nassau, but experienced seamen are nothing to spit at.

Leaning on his good side, Charles motions for Alysia to sit - should she so wish.]

What do you wish to know exactly? I've travelled from Ilasao to Cape Corren. Yet to get to the Glass Sea. Haven't seen much of the interior - it doesn't really hold my interest. I can tell you that someone like you - who seems to rely on alchemy of some kind - wouldn't do so well in Shousal, since magic is outlawed there. If you're looking to disappear, Eveka's good as any.

[He smiles.]

Of you could join a pirate crew.

[ She does not deign to sit, not yet, not until she feels more comfortable or more at ease. Charles is still a dangerous man who gets into sword fights, a man who can suffer a notable injury and still walk and assert himself. Better to have herself closer to the door if need be...at least for the moment. ]

I am unfamiliar with Pelea and its cities. Any information would be useful...but then, you say you do not often roam its cities and towns.

[ A true sailor. And a pirate, it seems, unless he's trying to have her on. Alysia laughs a little, quietly, the sound almost genuine. ]

And what role would I serve? Would you have me as your ship's doctor when I can only embroider? I cannot save a man who has lost a limb or too much blood. Would you have me as your crew's wench? You'd lose your crew in a day if you tried.

[ She'd kill them, one by one, or see them thrown overboard. The thought is almost satisfying. The smile she gives him is small but sharp. ]

I'm not running from anything or anyone.

[ At least, not in Pelea...yet. ]

As I said, Eveka is a good place to hide. There's much trade happening over there, not all of it legal in Vairaya, and a good place to find some rare goods. I've heard the same of Jiaport, but I have not visited it.

[He pauses, wishing he had his cigarette paper and tobacco on hand.]

Shousal doesn't do magic, Czilia is magic-friendly. I've found myself appreciating Vairaya cities more than any others; people have been more welcoming there - maybe it's because I'm a man.

[Another pause, and Charles scratches at his growing stubble.]

Nobody can save a man who has lost too much blood, and we don't take wenches aboard. The men all have their favourite whores in different harbors. You'd be surprised how little they like to share with each other.

[Leaning back, he looked straight into her eyes, squinting at a beam of sunlight coming through the window.]

I used to sail with a woman - she scared the rest of the crew shitless. She was incomparable with a sword, and not afraid to use it, which is all you need to sail most of the time.

[With a smile, he sits back up, the wound on his side feeling cold and numbed now under the drying paste Alysia made for him.]

You have added skills; you can patch up people, and help ferret out better returns from cargo - we know nothing about the value of these herbs you seem to cherish, but you do, and these are being transported between Vairaya and Czilia all the time.

[He raises an eyebrow.] You'd see a lot more of the world.

[ A pirate with standards? In truth, the only pirates she's ever met call themselves sailors and never seemed the type to divulge. Charles is a curious one indeed. Alysia gives him a considering look, leaning back slightly to put more weight on one of her legs. What he's offering - as far-fetched as it is - resonates with her. Freedom, the seas, an opportunity to start anew. She doubts she should take it...but it isn't a poor offer, either.

In fact, she quite likes it. ]

I do not wish to see the world for its splendor...though it would be a particular bonus. What I want--

[ To learn. To know weaknesses. To deal in secrets. To never allow someone else to disgrace her again. To go home. She cannot allow Lorelei to be alone, not when an assassin is following her every movement.

Her tone is firm when she speaks: ]

You cannot offer me what I want.

[ No one can. It isn't Charles' fault, in that sense. Alysia has lofty ambitions and would see the demolition of all she calls her enemies. But what he offers, in turn, is something she's never had before. In truth, she doesn't know what to do with herself now that she is a mostly-free woman. There is a glimmer of uncertainty upon her features, there and gone in a second, of a woman who is mulling over a life's worth of choices and looking for the next step. It is a single moment but it is a vulnerable one.

And again, the facade returns. ]

But what you are offering me is...tempting, I will admit.

[He can tell that his words hit somewhere close to home as he looks at Alysia, and the minute shifts in her expression. A slow smile spreads over his face as he keeps his eyes on her, letting her consider what he's talking about.

He's got nothing to lose, talking about his life in Nassau. He's got nothing to lose, telling her about what little he knows of this world. He's only got to gain here - a crew member is a crew member, whether it grew up in skirts of not.

He wonders about her life; where she's from, what she does, or used to do if she's not a native like him. Back home or here, Charles is keeping to his main rule; he is his own man, follows no one but himself. His freedom is his most prized possession, that he's fought for, time and again. It doesn't matter where he is, he's never giving it up.

But then, she tells him straight that he can't offer her what she wants. Charles grins then, giving a shake of his head.]

Probably not. But I can offer you a lot more than most men.

[It's as much another push at a job offer, and a proposition at the same time. He's been behaving himself until now, but he's relaxed since his wound is now stitched up and lathered in ointment - feeling less close to death reminds him that there's never a bad time to get laid.]

You don't look like someone who's given in to temptation very often. You should try it.

[He resists winking. Barely.]

[ A great deal more than most men. Most men try to ply her with trinkets and gifts, promises to marry her out of her household so she can no longer play handmaid any longer. Foolish; if they looked a little closer, they'd understand she never had any intention of leaving her house or her duty. It's a romantic's way out, and utterly disgusting. No man has ever really known Alysia. No man except for Deron...and he's given her everything and more.

And now she'll never be able to return to his house. ]

You don't know very much of me to make a statement like that.

[ There's no malice in her voice, only skepticism, even if he's right. Alysia holds Charles' gaze while she turns the ring on her finger slowly, the motion thoughtful. Oh, she hears his proposition, she simply chooses to ignore it. He's not the first and certainly won't be the last. Some part of her wishes to remain in the city and build influence...but the trouble, of course, is that she will never travel - and if she does, she will be alone and mostly unprotected. She can build influence and learn secrets, sell them at her leisure, and make a profit as she roams the seas. Charles may not like to venture into ports and towns, but she does. ]

And what are your terms, if I were to accept such an offer?

[ Only a fool would simply say yes without knowing the fine print. ]

Edited 2016-07-08 13:58 (UTC)

I wouldn't pretend to know you after only such a short time. But I know myself.

[Many people - Eleanor included - underestimated Charles throughout his life. Thought him weak, thought him dim, thought him easy to manipulate. But none of it was true. He was excellent at what he applied himself to, and it rendered him dangerous. Eleanor, Flint, even Jack! Made the mistake of not believing so, of trying to twist him, play him, use him. They'd all regretted it, one way or another.]

Terms are simple - you follow my command, and you get a share of every prize we get, equal as the rest of the crew. On board, my word is everything, and my men know it. I'll make sure none of them try anything with you, but you also need to know that you might have to fend for yourself. Make yourself indispensable to them, and you'll have their loyalty.

[Holding himself up to be able to lean closer, Charles put a hand close to his wound, keeping his face straight.]

Cross me, and you end up like the man who did this to me. Help me, and you can become a rich woman, feared across the land.

TEST DRIVE MEME

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