SALTWATER SCOURGE.

bartholomew roberts of the fate series ind. priv. & sel.

[darksails]

                            ❛     A merry life, and a short one shall be my motto.    ❜

#𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒  —— an independent, highly selective, mutual only bartholomew roberts ( rider ) from the fate series.  oc & crossover friendly.  pls read rules before following.  written by helios  (  any pronouns / 25+ )  ©

[darksails]

OOC. just really want to express appreciation and gratitude towards my rp partners here who are willing to pick up on a thread, even if it's been weeks, months, etc. the fact that we can continue to develop a plot regardless of the span of time in-between is something you don't realize how much you value and respect until everyone is dropping a thread after the initial reply because it's "been too long." ( coughs specific salt when that same person can obvly reply more than that to others - its just cherry picking who gets to last )

[seawrought]

That means the answer is yes, if the circumstances supply a reason. It only offers greater cause for worry, not less. A frown, and Highmore’s gaze retreats towards the ever darkening sky. Fake as it is, it holds no answers nor solutions.

‘ How I feel… ’ she echoes Bart’s request, frown deepening, and Highmore’s grip on her weapon tightens. After a moment’s contemplation, she shakes her head. ‘ I don’t have the words, and you lack the experiences to fully take my meaning. But I’ll summarise my thoughts the best I can. ’

Shifting her weight, her scythe now serves as a pole to lean against, the barest minimum of support, lacking anything else.

‘ From my perspective, we are opposites, and also the same. I won’t claim to enjoy your methods, but I understand. You take things you want by any means. The root of your actions lies in selfishness. ’ She takes a deep breath before continuing.

‘ When I was younger, I thought I had nothing left to lose—yet I lost…much more. I don’t want to lose anything else. I know my motivation is no less selfish than yours, and my methods… ’ She lifts the scythe a few inches, eyeing its blade with practised indifference. ‘ …no less fatal. So if you believed telling me these things would change my mind—it does not. ’

Highmore finally raises her eyes to meet his once more, but her gaze is sharp, narrowed by the weight of feelings left unexpressed.

‘ But I am tired of losing. ’ A hint of the unspoken spills into her voice, and she quickly quenches it with a sigh that sounds a little more like a huff that abruptly ends in silence.

[darksails]

She is right — with a wish to live every moment as he pleases, Bartholomew is selfish down to the marrow of his bones. It all comes with being a pirate and more. Yet, with the pitch of bitterness and finality of her decision, it's clear that Highmore shares the heart of one, too.

A glimpse of delight pulls the hard lines from Bartholomew's expression, and he allows himself the briefest sigh of relief.

"Ah, I almost thought you would've denounced me for being this way. But we're like two clams at high tide," he says, edged with a chuckle. Those worries slowly dissipate like fog curling away from the warmth of a morning sun. Bart bridges what distance is left between them, until they are face to face once more. Finally, he gives her a familiar smirk. "Then, sea star, please allow this pirate to continue being selfish —"

Chaldea isn't going to like this, cutting off the current contract without prior agreement or administration. Yet another betrayal under his belt.  Still, Bartholomew grasps the binds within his spirit; one twist, one nod of agreement from his question, and he'll snap it clean.

Well, the least he'll do is let the kid know; they probably expected it by now.  

"Make a contract with me, Highmore! Let me be yours as you mine. And, as for fighting against losses — well, two is always better than one. "

[drops-of-universe]

im sorry i was so weird the other night. thats how i am every night

[seawrought]

So, that’s the self Bart doesn’t want her to see. It makes sense, she supposes, though it absolutely is something one should know early on. But Highmore’s immediate response is silence. A frown and a slow nod at least confirm that she listened, understood, and that the matter requires further contemplation. Absently, she lets her scythe swing above the grass, a trail of bubbles following every move.

Yes, it’s not matters. Does Bart think his admissions would appal her? If so, he still thinks too highly of Highmore. Certainly, there are many things that require further clarification, to uncover the precise nature of his morals—or lack thereof—and motivations. Truly, though, there’s little need. Humans are selfish beings after all. Some more, some less, but their nature remains all the same.

And he’ll know, he’ll finally see exactly what kind of person Highmore is if she asks the one question that matters to her. Though the thought of a murder spree on the high seas doesn’t exactly elate her, she can’t claim to feel all that dismayed either. After all, those people have nothing to do with her. And besides…at least Bart didn’t mention slaying his own kin.

Sighing, Highmore rests her weapon’s blade on the ground, and the last remaining bubbles burst with the tiniest pop.

‘ Everyone…includes me, too…right? ’

[darksails]

Highmore is allowed to contemplate; she undoubtedly deserves the space and time to do so. He gladly gives both. But the wait is painful, a helplessness made present at the expense of his fleeting patience. Even the silence feels like the deadly rush of the ocean, cresting a wave that threatens to drown him with every passing second.

Bartholomew settles for watching the arch of her scythe, eyes the bubbles that form and pop, ironically ephemeral, and releases a stiff sigh. Were it anyone else, this gravitas would have rushed along as quickly as a bubble pops with charm and near truths. Out of his element, he feels more forlorn than he would like.

Yet his glaring expression softens considerably upon hearing Highmore's voice, Bart instantly attentive and lifting his head to meet her eyes — only to frown for a different reason. Ah, yes — betrayal.

Bart spends a few seconds of furious wondering if denial will serve any purpose here.

"Well, you haven't given me a reason to. Nor do you need to worry, because . . . " He catches himself falling into habit, and Bartholomew drops the rest of the sentence like a stone. "Sea star — Highmore. Now that you know . . . I need to hear your thoughts," he tries again, stepping carefully in her direction.

"Tell me how you feel. I'll rest easy knowing what's on your mind."

[touchyoudown]

❛ Banter ? Yeah, sure, whatever... ❜ Travis highly doubted it. Flirting was flirting, no matter what. He would know this better than anyone !

At the comment of simply visiting the docks to see the aforementioned ship, Travis slapped his forehead - hard. ❛ Duh... should've known better. ❜ He could be quite dense sometimes. Nevertheless, Travis nodded. ❛ Sure, why not ? ❜ It could be interesting.

❛ Tell me about this ship of yours on the way. When did you get it, where did you get it, things like that. Any cool facts about it ? ❜ He hopped to his feet, moving past Bart, and closing the door behind them as they made their way down to the docks.

[darksails]

As the door shuts behind them, Bart smirks. Little would Travis know that no ship owned by Bartholomew Roberts resides at the docks in this very moment. Being a spirit tied to history, the craft had to be summoned at will. He is looking forward to seeing the man's face then.

"Hm, are you secretly a ship enthusiast?" Still, Bartholomew puffs with glaring pride as he springs into rapid chatter, describing the pirate ship as one would with a modern sports car.

"My beautiful Royal Fortune — captured off the Caribbean coast in the 18th century! You won't hear my name without hers. She's a fine warship, fitted with twenty-six naval cannons and one of the fastest under my hands." Never mind the rudder being a poor fit for its size after reaching high speeds, but Travis did not ask for its faults.

"The gilded deck can comfortably house plenty of sea dogs, too. A crowning achievement of mine, if I do say so, myself."

[dcviated]

"What's this now? You trying to find a nice way to say that's not what you're in the mood for? Haha! Ain't that some courtesy, but I can take it. Don't worry about being straight with me because I'm not the best at pulling my punches either." Perhaps, calling the Aegir conscientious in that sense would be a stretch wider than his shoulders. The sailor had the good of it at least, far be it from the relative native to rub any choices on the foreigner.

As far as buoyancy, at least, if there was anything about the way the man carried himself as he walked it was without burdens. Carefree, to a fault, at least while he was in what he considered good company. A low bar.

Like his budget.

"Walk and talk then. A little warm up for tomorrow. Won't be able to take the vehicle everywhere we'll need to go after all." After the boardwalk is vacated the cobbles become more plentiful. Ornate patterns of weathered stone that dance like a fine mist. "This here's the main street. Shame we couldn't be around for when the parades would be held back in the day. To think... a town this glum used to be so festive. It hurts to see."

The Golden Age. A past lost to time and to the sea.

"They'd take the floats a~ll the way down to the coast before settin' off fireworks. Now the only fireworks come from Sankta missionaries. And even they have trouble putting out a spark here."

The frown on Dogi's face dashes, not from any particular sight but from a click in his mind. Attention turning to Bart after his ramblings have seemingly faltered for the moment.

"Not exactly a bright and sunny tour, is it? If we'd met up back when I had a job near Siesta hooo boy now that'd've been a different story. Don't doubt we'll make good of our time here, but it's yin and yang. Night and day."

[darksails]

Now THAT is a note of longing in Dogi's tone, and one Bartholomew can deeply recognize.

"Floats and fireworks, huh? Sounds beautiful." Yet it's almost difficult to imagine such vibrancy gracing these timeworn roads; the town is a dark shadow of its purported former self. Its people, too, given their haunted looks that desperately avoid lingering over the sea.

What could have scoured this place clean of its cheer? A hand alights over Bart's chin in thought. Was it the rumored danger in the Iberian sea? Though Siesta piques his attention — in name and description — he'll keep the questions for a better time. Right now, his curiosity swirls around the sullen mystery of Portarreja.

Bartholomew raps his knuckles on a stone jutting, calling forth a stout man, where he barters for two pieces of warm, spiced bread with a handful of LMDs. After what appears to be a brief round of denial from the baker and insistence on his part, the pirate returns with boons.

"— Don't worry, compadre! I've made the best out of far worse situations. We'll be dandy." He then assures with a wink and offers the second serving of bread for Dogi to take. "In exchange, you'll have to excuse my ignorance: what exactly took place here to leave Portarreja so gloomy?"

It's almost as if the town was raided by pirates, left standing in the aftermath solely by a merciful afterthought.

[darksails]

// fg.o might be a shitshow that also continuously plays into one joke for him, but i will always love bart and all the insecurities he has beyond that.

[darksails]

Oops, he was imagining being fabric too hard and almost missed the intense stare coming from nearby.

"Oh, Lady Malkuth! What's with the look? It seems as if you're disgusted with my presence! But there's no way that's possible, right?"

[darksails]

when ur gf is too cute and you wish you can transmute into lungmen fabric to be superimposed onto her

[dcviated]

Bart may be a last lingering spark, as far as Dogi could tell. The water-faring folk of this land had long given up the notion of taking to the seas again. Looks cast towards those dead waters was one of sorrow, a persistent wake for a friend long lost likely never to be seen again. The sun cut the clouds, but Bart was like a lighthouse in a sense.

"Wow! Aren't you a guy with some manners and etiquette to ya, bowing to a guy like me. Bartholomew Roberts? Guess I should introduce myself a little more proper... Douglas Warren... nah! Still don't ring right. Dogi the Wallcrusher! Pleased to meetcha!"

After the bows are done, the Aegir snags Bart's shoulder in a clasp, yanking the smaller man up and turning their attention away from the dread seas and towards town. Still not bright, but offering more palatable opportunities.

"Finding future spots for your lady huh? Didn't think they'd send a killer in that sense. Well. Portarreja has some modest options, but if you're hoping for ocean finbeast..." Dogi's expression winces as the two begin walking. "Not around Iberia. Good news is the rivers have their fill. And some braver folks still scour the beaches. But... the place I found? Known more for their fry. Good eatin' from what I gathered, but probably not where you'd wanna take a pretty girl for a date."

[darksails]

Bartholomew allows himself to be steered away for the sake of appearances and manners. But it will only be a temporary measure to curb a well of desire so deep without the experience of lapping waves or embracing the scent of sea salt that stubbornly lingers on his person—Dogi will, no doubt, come to learn.

For now, Bart considers the suggestion and point in question. Come to think of it, would Highmore even settle for fried foods? The connoisseur in him dares not think of it. Yet, every moment he laments the inability to reach her, miles away, for an answer.

"So you've got nothing. Hm—" Bartholomew lets out a hum as his gaze wanders over the town's bustle with a navigator's eye, overlooking the clinging grey atmosphere to sketch out key details into a mental map of Portarreja. The weathering of old signage, the jagged crop of a stone wall on the left, a small hovel with an indistinct smell wafting from its windows—

"You know, it doesn't only have to be fish—ah, er . . . finbeast. I quite like variety and spice, too," he offers, turning to Dogi with an anticipating glance. Best to take chances while the topic remains buoyant between them. "In fact, I think a little tour is in order. Why don't we scout around for a decent spot to eat while we fulfill your duty? Kill two birds with one marvelous stone and all that."

[touchyoudown]

@darksails : continued from here.

          At least Bart was finally showing Travis' collection some respect by calling it treasure though he doubted he was being genuine about it. Well, whatever. This strangers' opinion shouldn't have bothered him so much or even matter to him. Guess Travis could be a bit soft when it came to the things he loved.

          ❛ You can physically show me ? ❜ Travis didn't have much time for follow up questions or comments as Bart's words turned rather suggestive, causing him to take a few steps back, inwardly shuddering. ❛ H-Hey, I already told you I don't swing that way . ❜ Bart finished with saying he wasn't his type which had Travis roll his eyes and scoff. ❛ Stop acting like I want you or something, geez. ❜ It was getting a little old now.

          ❛ Anyway, back to showing me. What did you mean by that ? You're a pirate, so, you live on a ship, I'm guessing. Do you mean to say your boat is parked somewhere on the docks ? I haven't seen any massive ships lately. Where the hell is it ? Up your ass and around the corner or something ? ❜ Full sarcasm mode activated, but hey, who knows, could be true.

[darksails]

The sparkle in his eyes winks out like a dying ember, and Bartholomew proceeds to shrug, splaying out his hands in a demonstration of disregard.

"Only a little banter, my friend. Don't get your dear trousers into a bunch," he replies, not missing the sarcasm from Travis. Ha-ha, what a class act.

"As for the ship, well . . . I meant what I said: I'll show you—if we head to the docks, that is. That is where ships are usually found, no?" He sniffs, his indifference palpable. Still, Bart rises from his seat and candidly makes way toward the exit, gesturing for Travis to follow.

"Or, we don't. I could still show you either way, but—as much as you need the renovations in here, I'd really hate to ruin your floors." Or ceiling for that matter. "What say you?"

[ashstfu]

didnt mean to act like my real self in front of you my bad... let me just get back into the personality i made just for u

[seawrought]

Seems like Highmore was mistaken—Bart’s obsession with her hairstyle is enough to make up for the truth, or at least part of it. Whether this is a good thing or bad, she can’t say. In fact, Highmore’s immediate response is silence. If it were up to her, she’d stay quiet, too, but that’s hardly how any relationship works. Maybe it would be easier if Bart could hear her thoughts, but…That’s not even worth considering.

‘ I see. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or worried now, ’ Highmore finally says, opting for the truth, as always. Though she attempts to speak clearly, there’s a subtle tremble in her voice she can’t banish in entirety. ‘ I’ve…betrayed humankind and you don’t even ask me why… ’

If only not believing his words were the problem, but it’s far from so. And to be honest, Highmore can’t fault him for his claims. They are, after all, only variations of the things Bart has always said. No more, no less. Most likely, he still doesn’t fully understand what it truly means to become Seaborn either. He’s not from Terra, let alone Iberia. Of course, he wouldn’t understand.

No, Highmore is the one who continues clinging to all too fragile things. She’s the one who chases phantasms. Though this entire conversation started as an attempt to correct this, so far, she’s done a poor job of it, with no improvement in sight.

‘ I’ve merely told you all this, because I don’t want you to be mistaken about who I am. It may not matter to you, but it does to me. ’ She shifts out of Bart’s reach and retrieves her weapon from the ground. ‘ Anyway, it’s your turn. ’

[darksails]

"Sea star . . . " His hand hovers in the space where Highmore once stood, halting to follow in her absence. It would take one step, two, to resume his caress and words of honeyed praise. But even Bartholomew knows that continuing to dodge the inevitable will deepen their rift.

So, instead, that hand raises to rake through the dark curls of his hair, pulling them back in its wake—and along with it: mirth. The pirate lets out a heavy sigh, rueful and weary, letting its weight fill the air before flashing Highmore a look that lacks all the warmth prior.

He wears a sharply proud expression, lips curving into a mocking twist fit for dastardly villains of many tales told. Except, this time, it is no fanciful story.

"I am a pirate—a scoundrel who pillages and kills as he pleases on the high seas," Bart says, the words cool and to the point. "Not for fame or money, although either is welcomed. I am a pirate because I want to be, Highmore. We've made our choices—the difference lies in our regrets afterward, and I have none." Except for death.

Having said that piece, his demeanor begins to fray when a profound sense of worry hurriedly catches on, forcibly drawing his brow together. There's more left to say, but he would rather go back to coveting—silently praying this satiates Highmore's questions, no matter the consequence.

"Ah, but . . . what a hypocrite I'd be to question you, when I would betray everyone if it meant getting my way?"

[darksails]

: )

[tsunesama]

a bart for the soul. oh yeah hes lv100 now

[dcviated]

@darksails the t-t-troublemaker(s).

Though Iberia is oft draped in a grey lining of thick clouds, the melancholy has a hard time touching this Aegir. Dogi, known as The Wallcrusher both by friends and by Rhodes Island, doesn't often visit his homeland. Chalk it up to being busy, or having his eyes set on distant lands thanks to his work as a Catastrophe Messenger, but... sometimes the itch does come around.

And turns out there's some work to be done here. Weather devices on a collapsed crag needed to be reset for the safety of the nearby settlements.

Maybe it's a sign, that those oppressive clouds find themselves cleaved as though by a large blade, golden beams of light pouring through the horizon and lancing across the town of Portarreja.

Modest is the wrong word, ghostly would be too dramatic (for now). But here, as it was in many settlements of Iberia, was an inescapable sense of clinging on. Bracing like a ship on the sea as the waves and time threaten to consume. Stuccoed walls are crept with cracks and ivy. Pops of color from the occasional flower are met with the grey of aged stone walkways.

As with all Iberian settlements, there's a sense of foreboding as one faces the silent tides to the south- danger? Hope? Future? Past? Everything and nothing seems to emanate from those dark waters, devoid of ships for some time.

The evening hours have started to fall, and the Aegir has had ample time to settle himself with a room upon arriving midday.

Supposedly, he was meeting up with a foreign friend of Rhodes Island. What 'foreign' meant in that sense he wasn't quite sure. The pharma company was the most multicultural entity he'd ever seen! Well, whatever reason, he's always happy to meet a new face and have a fella to banter with. It'd be nice to have for the trip.

There's a figure matching the description given when Dogi makes his way down to the edge where the old markets look out to the sea, heavy footfalls on aging wood planks doing well to announce arrival of the giant of a man. Yeah, he's more than a few minutes late.

"Hoy there! I'm lookin for a man named Bart, here on Messenger business. Huh. Y'know. I was told you'd be different from any other Operators, but you almost look like you fit in around here better'n I do!" The laugh comes from deep, tinged with a certain self-aware sadness. As an Aegir, a race that hailed from the deep waves, he was subject to plenty of persecution by The Inquisition which held the ropes keeping this country together.

"Oh! Sorry I'm late! I got uh... caught up." The chuckle is more amused than apologetic, a sheepish smile pulling beneath blue goatee as eyes turn back. "It's my first time actually visiting Portarreja, I may've been perusing some options for eating tonight."

[darksails]

Portarreja feels like home—or rather, a watery reflection of it, where the past stubbornly clings onto every possible nook and leaves its mark no matter how much time passes. Yet even with its stone ridges and old ports, nothing beckons for his attention more than the ocean.

The sight of it expanding into the horizon line, far beyond this port, makes his heart ache with longing. Bartholomew knows about the warnings, spoken time and time again, not to tread on Iberian seas. But he's a pirate, landlocked and taunted by the sweet ebb and flow of the blue—can he be blamed for wishing to forego caution?

Had it not been for the untimely arrival of his charge, Bartholomew might have already heeded the impulse and borrowed a skiff for a turn. Instead, he abandons such lofty longings ( for now ) and pulls away from the railings to face the approaching man.

"Oh? You must be Dogi, then," he says, tossing a wink in for the compliment. Looking like a local, huh? Wait until Highmore hears that. "Don't let appearances fool you, my friend. Though, I can assure you any differences are nothing to fret over. I am indeed Bartholomew Roberts!"

True to his swashbuckling nature, Bart dips into a bow.

"I can also forgive the delay ... If you share your thoughts about Portarreja's cuisine that is. I've half a mind to go around and find a nice spot for my lady."