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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

shopping;

[ Blending into surroundings is something Alysia does not need instruction in. She walks the streets of Sunvault with no impediment, looking like a servant girl in the market or perhaps the daughter of a worker. Whatever their assumptions, it matters little. She has work to do. Alysia has been taken from her home and from her mission, her revenge, and Gods be damned if she will let that stand.

But first, she needs supplies.

Alysia can be found at various shops that sell herbs, tinctures, and tonics, perhaps an alchemist's tent or two. The herbs she looks for range from the innocuous to the deadliest in her search for anything that can be turned into sleeping draughts or deadly poisons.

Don't be surprised if she's critical of anyone else looking for herbs, giving them a skeptical eye. ]

If you're looking for something to ease pain, I would try the Valerian root. What you have there is too strong.

the streets - evening;

[ Killing and potion brewing aren't the only talents she has. Born to a bard's life of secrets and decorum, she has also been trained in song and instrument both. It has not brought her joy in what feels like forever - since she lost her position, since the bounty has been placed on her head - and playing it now feels...wrong. It's as if someone else is playing. But the tavern allows her to play for a little bit of coin (provided she give the owners a cut of her share, and play she does. Some songs are joyful and others are not, some accompanied with her voice or merely with humming.

By the end of the night, she has enough coin in donations to obtain some travel clothes, perhaps a dress nice enough to pass for a lady of standing, and for supplies.

That is, until the owners try to stiff her. ]

We agreed upon twenty percent, not fifty. Your harp is yours and I mean not to take it.

[ But there are murmurs that she is one of Them, one of these newcomers that seem to have some on edge. Her rising fury only seems to make people ill at ease. The owner insists that she's bound to bring trouble and fifty percent, at least, will keep them protected.

A wise woman might not argue, not with so many watching. She reigns in her temper long enough to haggle for forty (and sweetly, through a facade of gentility), take her earnings, and leave out the door.

That doesn't stop a guard or two from following her.

Warn her? Help her? Or follow at a safe distance? ]

wildcard;

[ Anything and EVERYTHING else! Info HERE if you need - sorry for the bare bones. ]

Edited 2016-07-04 16:02 (UTC)

[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.]

Alysia | OC

shopping;

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Streets - Evening;

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shopping.

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