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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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EXPECTATIONS
Origami Around
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@pearlkiiss
pearlkiss - an rp blog for avastrp penned by blue
minerva 'minsy' do carmo 𓈒𓏸 card dealer at dead man's bluff 𓏸 intro ✦ pinterest ✦ interactions
winston 'deadeye' 𓈒 𓏸 gunmaster aboard the oathbreaker intro ✦ pinterest ✦ interactions
He let out a little scuff as she spoke his full name. A name he made all on his own when he decided to shed his old life. One that he sometimes felt thst he could hardly remember.
"We are in front of a gambling den are we not? Life is full of choices. Once we chose a path, we are then are left to deal with the consequences and wondering of what ifs." Kai wondered if he sounded like a mad as he spoke but this was certainly turning into a fun conversation.
He reached forward fo grab the pipe. He prefer a bottle of rum or a warm embrace of a lover but he still partook from time to time. "And what kind of gift would satisfy someone like you?"
"how astute of you, kaito the philosopher." she mocked, a laugh escaping from her. she willingly handed over her pipe as he reached to take it, lacing her fingers together as he took it. she smiled devilishly then. "what kind of gift would satisfy me? hmm, well let me see" her gaze wandered toward the sky in mock thought before settling back upon him, gleaming with wicked delight.
"the head of your captain? or your first born child perhaps? i think either of those would work quite nicely" minsy paused for a good minute, letting the weight of her words settle. her eyes became unreadable, dark and still orbs that reflected nothing. she studied his face until slowly the corners of her mouth curled "i jest..mostly. i have no want for children"
"but maybe don't take the pipe before we’ve settled on a deal hm?" minsy whispered. poor, poor kaito. how this had all been his doing. maybe next time he would learn not to indulge and put fantastical ideas in minsy do carmo's head
now, who would try and attempt to pickpocket DAIRO? before THE DEVIL'S CASK too? if only the stranger knew better. // accepting replies
he waits. it's between one breath and the next that he senses the hand reach. it's less premonition, more experience of twenty-seven years fighting his way. dairo's fingers snap around the wrist of the pickpocket, tugging at their arm so they stumble forward. a smile spread, unamused and sharp across his face.
"your next words will determine if you're fortunate or foolish. your choice."
minsy let out a high pitched squeal as dairo grabbed her wrist. fuck. minsy knew she shouldn’t have dived into his pockets. she didn't even know what he carried, nor particularly cared. it wasn’t like she had wanted whatever was in there. she did it purely to see if she still could, and evidently her pickpocketing days might be behind her. no matter. there wasn't a situation she couldn't crawl her way out of. even if the situation was an esteemed captain with a fearsome reputation.
"i’m always fortunate" she replied smoothly, giving him a smile and the fluttering of her eyelashes, "but i’m not sure what you’re exactly accusing me of?" she tilted her head, the picture of polite confusion."...surely you aren't suggesting i'd steal from you." minsy gasped and her free hand drifted toward her chest, as though genuinely wounded by the implication. "i bump into one handsome pirate captain and suddenly i'm the criminal."
"afternoon, yourself," fiadh greeted with a cheeky grin, mindful to speak a bit louder than she would have otherwise. winston was one of the first people she had met in tortuga as a terrified young woman starting a new life for herself half a world away from everything she had ever known. though the man hardly exuded warmth and companionship, she had found his blunt and straightforward manner strangely appealing, and she considered him a friend; she liked to think he felt the same, but would never dream of pressing the matter. "aye, just as well, 'cause i retract that apology now that i've seen it's you," she intoned, though they both knew that she was in jest. "the winds pushed you back to tortuga at long last, eh? i'm sure you've not caused a mite of trouble since you returned, not a one." she didn't bat an eye at the language winston used - maeve had heard that and worse, and her innocence was still none the worse for wear. "mmm, and have we learnt a lesson here, winston? you've broken my heart by going to another cobbler, i hope you know. and here, i thought you pirates were honest, trustworthy types," she added, aware that she was laying it on quite thick by this point.
his face was stone, contrasting with fidah’s dramatic playfulness. he knew this was coming and a part of him was grateful for it. he may never tell her as such but she was refreshing. fiadh would fuss, tease, and exaggerate. winston would grumble, deny everything, and pretend to be inconvenienced by it all. it was all part of their routine.
he rolled his eyes with all the enthusiasm of a man who'd rolled them many times before, "i don’t know what your mates at the devil cask have been saying, but i haven’t caused an ounce of trouble. if you've heard anything its slander." perhaps not entirely true. he'd woken up with a banging headache from the night before so... who could say.
as she started to go deeper into the dramatics, he huffed. his hip leaning into her stall as he crossed his arms over his chest," ah don't start with your lessons and so called broken heart, fidah” he waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand “what was i supposed to do? go bootless? i've got enough scars on me already." his tone remained gruff, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a twitch. she'd won that much.
winston shook his head as he reached into his coat and produced a small leather pouch, dropping it between them. "i’m the damn most trustworthy pirate you know" he muttered to himself. before he cleared his throat " it should cover the cost." he placed his chewing stick back in mouth and looked back over the bustle of the shambles. the pouch held more coin than fiadh would ask for. he knew it. but the boots he paid three ports ago went for more than she would normally charge him, and he wasn’t going to let that bastard earn more from him than fiadh would. besides, he liked fiadh. the thought was obvious to him it hardly seemed worth saying aloud. good people deserved fair pay. it was as simple as that.
what a fool they feel, praying to a god who does not listen. is it worth the hike they take to this church each time they return to tortuga? each step a prayer for forgiveness, but maya has never been freed of this guilt. it rots inside of them, curling about their intestines like ivy which threatens to choke them. all of it piles and it piles — the man bleeding out atop them and their later adventures. should maya apologise for what they have become, too? in this rotten career of piracy, they cannot deny that they have never felt so damned alive. so passionate. rubbing at their forehead, they lift their chin to meet the eyes of an absurdly solid, brick wall of a man. it’s a surprise to maya that they did not chip a tooth on his sternum. “i wouldn’t bother. i don’t think he’s in a listening mood today.” their voice is soft, though it grumbles forth from the prison of their chest. they should not speak in such blasphemy, but praying to the lord often feels as though they are screaming into the nether, foolish and alone. “perhaps we should take the hint.” there’s laughter on maya’s tongue which leaps to its death when their gaze adjusts to the figure they have slammed haphazardly into. it is instinct which makes maya take an imperceptible step backward. mist like, they are known to slip from the tightest of clutches, though usually it is under the cover of darkness rather than here, in the stark burn of the morning sun. dark eyes dart around themself, seeking an escape beyond him, of the oathbreaker. where there is passion in piracy, there is equal hatred in these feuds which run deep. maya cannot deny they share the views of their own crew in this endless enmity. “well, there is only one man to whom i answer.” comes their retort, followed by a jab of their thumb in the direction of the church behind them. “whether they pray or not is of their own business. i came here alone. can you say the same?”
he made a quick glance around, the street empty. he knew none of his crew were with him but he still made to check, "obviously it’s just me. do you see anyone else?" winston rose his hand lazily as if it proved his point. perhaps he should have lied but he knew he was a shit liar. and in truth, he felt quite comfortable standing before the doors of a church. he doubted they would be eager to spill blood on the doorstep of the only man they'd admitted answering to. a possibly dodgy assumption.
"still, you’ve dodged the apology i've asked for and which is overdue" the apology he was asking for was clearly not about crashing into him. no, he needed to hear them say it for storm's eye. not because it would change anything but because it deserved to be acknowledged. though there would be no forgiveness. not until his captain decided if there was to be peace between crews. even then, winston wasn't certain his own heart would follow orders quite so easily. "oathbreaker lost good crew because of storm's eye. we spent weeks patching a ship that should've never needed to be patched in the first place." winston's jaw tightened and he stood there unmoving.
"If you think you and your crew can walk away from this, you would be mistaken"
Kate Carver & Abby Walker ▸ Walker: Independence
dawg there is something seriously wrong with me but i really dont have time for that
kaito was known to enjoy a good game or two at dead man’s bluff, so as he came to spend some coinage with the everlasting hope of earning something, he stopped when they offered him a smoke. he listened to their story, whether he believed their words or not but it did amuse him. "quite an adventurous tale for a smoke almost more well traveled than one." he quipped. he eyed the pipe before looking at the other.
"i fear if i say yes, you might ask of something of mine in exchange. or am i wrong? are you just be a courteous friend? " he said as he stood staring with amusement in his eyes.
"aw aren’t you sweet? you needn’t fear, kaito the maniac." his name rolling of her tongue ever so sweetly, as though it belonged to an old lover rather than a reputation whispered across town "i am a friend to all,"
"now if you refuse me," she continued lightly, twirling the pipe between fingers. her shoulders lifted in an innocent little shrug. "there's a chance we'll start having problems.... or perhaps i'll be offended that you accepted my offer." a thoughtful hum escaped her. minsy placed a hand on her forehead before she sighed dramatically, "oh what a dreadful predicament for you. you've stumbled into a game where the rules change depending on what amuses the dealer." her grin returned as she extended the pipe toward him once more, thin wisps of smoke curling between them. that might have been the first sliver of truth she had said all night.
"it as you brilliantly suggested, you should simply offer me a gift in exchange" she tapped a finger thoughtfully against her spider beauty mark next to her lips "yes... i believe a gift would cover all scenarios." a spider minsy was. ensnaring him in her web was part of the fun. better to let him wander willingly into the centre, convinced each step had been entirely his own idea.
There were countless stories told beneath the weathered beams of the Dead Man's Bluff. Most grew taller with every tankard emptied, each retelling drifting further from the truth until fact and fiction became impossible to separate by most. The very woman that had now sidled close to her claimed to have so many voyages to her name that she alone accounted for at least another impossible tale or two per night. Each one she delivered with such unwavering conviction that even Rue sometimes found herself wondering if there wasn't a sliver of truth buried somewhere beneath the embellishment and theatrics. It was one of the many reasons, perhaps, patrons so often insisted the pair of co-workers must share blood.
A soft, melodic chuckle escaped her as she regarded the offered clay pipe. Jewels winked beneath the light of the setting sun on the horizon when she lifted a languid hand in refusal. "Thank you, dearest," she hummed, a crooked smile tugging at painted lips, "but the possibility of some Jack's fishy hands having touched the stuff already leaves a rather dreadful taste in my mouth." Her head tipped ever so slightly, the light in her dark eyes dancing with quiet mischief. "There has never been a man with that name who proved a particularly good lay, so I pray to the spirits your first version of the tale is the honest one."
Her gaze wandered back toward the Bluff, on the opposite side of the road, where another roar erupted from somewhere beyond the doors. "Though, if your tales continue to grow any taller," she mused, "I fear one day some of those fools in there might start mistaking you for one of the island's old spirits." Her eyes found Minsy's again through the puff of smoke, glimmering with quiet amusement. "And I imagine you'd be even more terribly insufferable if people started leaving offerings at your feet."
minsy pouted a little as her friend refused her offer. not that she minded of course, "ha! well, you'd be surprised, dear. jack had phenomenal hands. fishy or otherwise. you ought to give him a whirl." she waggled her eyebrows with shameless implication before lifting the pipe back to her lips, taking a leisurely puff. she enjoyed rue's company. when minsy had first drifted into tortuga, she'd noticed the lady of luck almost immediately. a card dealer with rue's reputation was impossible to ignore. it hadn't taken long before she'd found herself lingering at her tables before she started working at the bluff. she was good.
they were similar, more similar than rue might ever know. there were parts of her that she saw herself in, parts that she would have otherwise liked to keep hidden. even so, she had heard the rumours that the two were related. depending on who was asking, minsy had been rue's cousin, her half sister, her long lost niece despite rue looking younger than her. all glorious lies.
minsy let out a snort when she started talking about their foolish patrons, "oh, those same fools would pay you good coin to ward off my spiritual intentions." she bumped her shoulder lightly against rue's with a grin. "we'd make a fortune, you and i. you as my interpreter of the otherworld." she lowered her voice into an ominous whisper. minsy’s eyes lit with the familiar spark that always appeared whenever a terrible idea wandered into her head."tell them i only speak through you because my divine powers are too overwhelming."she spread her arms dramatically, nearly dropping her pipe in the process.
"i'd mutter nonsense and you'd nod and announce that our ancestors demanded continued offerings. oh, how i'd adore it. you're right, insufferably so" her grin widened into something deliciously wicked. "i'd bless every single one of them, but they'd still lose of course. the spirits are mysterious like that, as you know well enough." minsy gave her a pointed look then, a knowing smile on her face. but her laughter faded, leaving only the crash of waves and the murmurs of the bluff behind them. after a comfortable silence, she spoke again.
"speaking of spirits, have you heard from my husband in your fancy cards as of late?" she asked with such a nonchalant attitude, as she always did. she knew full well that it wasn’t how they worked, nor did she even necessarily believe in her tarot cards. still, she found it enjoyable to ask rue all the same.
Are you alive
Don’t ask me no personal shit like this
open starter (2/4) location: the shambles
fiadh hummed lightly under her breath as she worked, practically mesmerized by the movement of the needle pushing its way through the fabric and then out the other side. it was a fine day, somewhat cooler - well, less stifling - than usual, and the current bustling population of the markets seemed to reflect the temperate weather. maeve was playing close by, and fiadh could not help but smile at the way her daughter's dolls spoke to one another through her own tiny voice. the toys were simple and practically threadbare by this point, but the little girl's imagination would be more grand than even the most expensive playthings - or so fiadh had always tried to justify to herself. a shadow cast itself upon her stall, and when it remained for longer than a few seconds fiadh set her work down. she rose from her stool and helped herself to a stretch and a comedically exaggerated groan. "ah, you'll hafta forgive me," she intoned, flashing a smile at the newcomer. "been sittin' still too long, haven't i? how can i be of assistance?"
winston had been waiting a long while to get back into port. not because he missed the taverns or the crowds but because his damned boots had been trying to cripple him since three ports ago. every day aboard ship had been tolerable enough. solid ground, however had become its own punishment. by the time he reached fidah's stall, every step reminded him of the mistake he'd made buying them.
"afternoon, fiadh." he nodded, taking his chewing stick from his mouth and tipping his hat to her. hardworking, honest, and somehow always wearing a smile, even when surrounded by impatient customers who seemed to believe boots stitched themselves. he respected her. not only that but she had seen him shitfaced more times than he could count while she served at the devils cask. a punishment in itself, well so people said. how shitfaced he truly got..he couldn’t say. winston glanced down next to her and saw little maeve. sweet girl. bright eyes and curious enough to stare at him without shame. he briefly wondered if he had nieces or nephews around that age now. the thought didn’t linger. "no need to apologise or get up on my account," he said with a weary sigh. "this might take a while, unfortunately."
"bought shoes from another cobbler a few ports back but they've fucked my walking." he gruffly said, "been waiting to get back to you, i know your work wont leave me bleeding and groaning." that coming from winston, was about as close to a compliment as most people ever received.
Simply put, Vasya does not trust this loquacious woman. The first time they sat at Minsy's table, they lost before the cards had even been laid out. There had been something wrong with the rhythm of the shuffle, too smooth to belong to mortal hands, each card whispering against the next like scales over wet stone. They remembered the candle flame leaning toward her instead of away, remembered a gull shrieking outside the tavern though it was well past midnight, remembered the old scar beneath their ribs aching the way it only ever did when the sea wished to be heard. They had walked away lighter by a purse of silver, heavier by a certainty. Since then, they refused to gamble when Minsy dealt -- coin could be won back, but favor could not. The sea had spoken plainly enough; do not put your fate into her hands. Vasya had never once mistaken that voice.
"I am not your friend." And there's a certain way Vasya speaks, isn't there, a certain level of straightforwardness that doesn't intend to be cruel, though they hardly notice or care if it is. They have been in Tortuga long enough to know where the luck swells full and where it shrivels and dies, and anywhere near Minsy is asking for trouble. Proven by her lies, her terrible contradictory lies, is there any truth to the words she speaks? She might not be a woman at all, rather an omen of ill-fate awaiting anyone that gets too close. The gall, Vasya thinks, to offer them a pipe to smoke from her fingers. They look down, only a three-inch height difference, but somehow Vasya still looks down their nose at her with something like offense, a slight crinkle to their brow. "Your mouth molts. Every time it opens, it grows another skin." And now they are being cruel, intentionality threaded in the lowness of their tone. Their gaze drifts to the tiny spider beside her lip. "Keeps the flies out. What are you doing out of your cave, girl? No dolts at your tables tonight?"
“oh no no no, not my friend. quite right.” she nodded, “but, vasya my dearest love. i still remember you at my table. what a night we shared” the sentiment might have sounded almost sincere had she not chosen that exact moment to exhale a slow stream of smoke directly toward vasya's face before the breeze carried it away. minsy fluttered her eyelashes and dramatically placed a hand over her bosom, “i am offended i have not seen you since. ”
oh, she knew why. the moment vasya had taken a seat across from her, she'd sensed it. suspicion clung to them, their spine had been too straight and shoulders too rigid. their eyes flicking between her hands and the deck. she could almost hear the frantic rhythm of their heartbeat each time she shuffled. vasya had arrived convinced the devil herself was dealing and it was delicious. although maybe they were right, who could say for sure she wasn’t the devil? vasya had lost miserably that night.
if minsy felt even the slightest sting from vasya's words now, she gave no sign of it. offence was a luxury reserved for people who cared what others thought of them. she preferred amusement, or at least, that was what she told herself. instead she tapped the beauty mark near her mouth, and grinned at their attempt at a cruel jab. how funny you are, vasya. she thought, "perhaps you ought to stop paying attention to my lips, a girl can get the wrong idea." she snorted, giving her a wink.
“am i not allowed to take a small break?” taking another unhurried puff of her pipe, “i've spent the evening entertaining every dolt with enough coin to mistake confidence for skill..but perhaps you could make things interesting.”
she stepped a little closer, close enough for the scent of tobacco and expensive perfume to mingle in the air between them.“oh my dearest love, let me tempt you to come inside with me. i promise it will be worth your while this time.” the purr in her voice and her words sounded as if she belonged with the sirens rather than a dead man's bluff card dealer. then again, she'd always believed gambling and seduction were the same profession except dealers kept their clothes on. most of the time.
their knees ache from the pew, but it is as familiar as the way it feels to claps their hands together in prayer. maya is no stranger to these walls, but it has been some time since their previous visit, and they wonder if god thinks that they’ve abandoned him. each confession is heavier than the last, but they feel lighter as they bless themself and maker their way along the aisles to push out into the sunshine, squinting as their eyes adjust to the sudden change, causing them to stumble into the form of another. eyes depthless in their darkness shift upward, apologetic and, frankly, embarrassed. “if i apologise, will you promise not to tell the tale of the pirate confessing their sins to the church they’re supposed to hate?”
why was he going?
it was the same question winston had been asking himself since he'd turned down the street that led to the church. every step had felt increasingly foolish, church was no longer part of his life. it belonged to another man.back then it hadn't been a choice but been expected. he had never fit into its teachings so why bother now?. not to mention, the stacks of blown apart bodies he had been collecting over the years made it difficult. the lord, if he still listened, would need an awfully long afternoon listening to his crimes.
yet...here he was. his hands rested hesitantly upon the iron handle that he never got the chance to push. as a considerably smaller figure collided squarely into his chest. he didn’t stumble, he was more often a brick wall against most things that tumbled into him. winston almost felt bad.
one brow rose, "only if you also don't mention that i was about to confess a few sins myself." his voice carried its usual gravelly rumble, though amusement crept unexpectedly into it."maybe this is the lord's way of telling us both to reconsider." the corner of his mouth tugged upward and a quiet chuckle escaped him, genuine enough to surprise even himself.
he gave the stranger a brief once over. it had been a solid collision but they seemed upright. nothing obviously broken and no blood. good enough .he wasn't entirely sure why he'd bothered checking, habit, perhaps. it was then during his inspection, he noticed something he didn’t at first. the colours....and then the face. he had seen that face before. storm's eye. the warmth disappeared and the pleasant humour that had briefly softened him settled back beneath layers of caution and contempt. he hadn't forgotten storm's eye forcing his crew into rough waters. they'd lost good sailors that day, and their ship had limped into port broken and leaking. winston was not a man who forgave easily, nor one who forgot.
"...but," he said after a pause, his deep voice returning to its usual roughness, "i'll still want that apology in full." the faint smile was gone now,"tell me, should i expect the rest of your crew to come crashing into me as well, or are you simply making introductions on their behalf?"
open starter 3/4
minsy stood outside the dead man’s bluff, a clay pipe hanging outside her mouth. it had been an utterly dull work day. for someone who made her living dealing cards to pirates, and smugglers, it was almost insulting how boring it had been. with a slow breath, she exhaled a ribbon of fragrant smoke into the evening air. the tobacco carried a rich earthy sweetness. It was so dull in fact that she considered, not for the first time that week, simply boarding the next ship and leaving for good. didn't matter whose colours it flew nor where it was going.
it was then, her gaze drifted across until it fell on a lone figure lingering nearby. she pushed herself off the post she'd been leaning against and sidled closer with the individual. holding the pipe between two fingers, she offered it across with a theatrical flourish.
"smoke, my dear friend?" she asked, her voice carried that effortless warmth that made people forget they should probably be guarding their pockets. "the tobacco's from the emperor of china himself. harvested only during the full moon by monks who sort every leaf by candlelight while reciting ancient texts" she said without hesitation, her face completely serious. a moment passed and then she smiled a little wider. "or maybe it came from a bloke named jack who sold it to me behind the fish market for a quick shag" she shrugged, taking another leisurely puff from the pipe before offering it again. "i can never quite remember how it goes."
the statement was delivered with such casualness that it was impossible to tell whether the first story had been the lie, the second, or if she'd somehow invented both simply to see which one her new friend preferred.
Porthos du Vallon | The Musketeers 2x02
[ howard charles, cisman, thirty five, he/him ] for the crimes of piracy WINSTON “DEADEYE” is hereby wanted. those who surrender them dead or alive to the crown will receive ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY pounds. they’re famously known to be part of the OATHBREAKER as their GUNMASTER. before engaging be warned as they can be RUTHLESS & CYNICAL, but if you’re lucky they’ll be DEPENDABLE & PROTECTIVE legends say that when you speak their name you’re reminded of BLACK POWDER STAINING CALLOUSED FINGERTIPS, HIS HEAD NODDING ALONG TO THE RHYTHM OF THE WAR DRUMS, A PAST THAT DESPERATELY CLINGS ON TO HEAVY SHOULDERS.
Kate Carver ▸ Walker: Independence
