|
|
Post by Captain Wesley Morel . on Dec 22, 2012 21:45:58 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #171818; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #171818 solid; border-bottom: 10px #171818 solid;] This is twenty percent skill, eighty percent mead {WORDS } 597 {TAGGED } Adriene {WEARING} Something pirate-y?
Well…this was damned annoying.
Though the table probably wasn’t meant to be such, Wesley had long since parked himself on top of the wooden structure that was pushed up against the back of the cell he found himself in. At least he wasn’t alone. Oh no, they’d happily locked up his first mate along with him. He’d long since obtained a bottle of mead and was simply resting on the table, one ankle resting on the other and drinking it gone. In all appearances, he looked completely relaxed and in control. To be perfectly honest, Wesley sometimes thought that alcohol helped him to think clearer than not having any. And in this situation, one needed to have all their cognitive and mental faculties on board.
After all, he had to be able to come up with some way on how to get them the hell out of this damned cell. Wesley knew his ship was docked out there, ready and waiting to be sailed away from this horrible place that they called Solitude. Damned if anyone could get any solitude around here, so why the hell had they named it that? “Preposterous.”, he muttered under his breath, before tipping his head back and taking a swig of the mead that he had been cradling in his hands.
Alright, so how were they going to get out of this situation? Everything would have been fine had the series of events that had been triggered not ended up with him and Hawk thrown into the prison here. Not that being in prison was ever really on Wesley’s list of wants or desires. Now if there was a nice wench in here with him instead of his first mate…well…Wesley wouldn’t mind being here in that certain situation. Or perhaps the mead was conjuring up ideas in his head. “Bah.”, he exclaimed, before resting his shoulders squarely against the stone wall behind him. “Any ideas of how to get out of this lovely bit of architecture Hawk?”
Cocking his head to the side, Wesley stroked the stubble on his chin for a moment before lifting his bottle of mead higher into the air. “Or should we drink on it?” Wesley’d already been drinking on it, but another drink couldn’t hurt, could it? Hell no! And besides that, Hawk needed to relax a little bit too. Being tense in these situations would do him no good anyway, so why bother wasting the precious energy they had on it?
Because as always, Wesley had a trick up his sleeve.
{NOTES} Icky post |
|
|
|
|
Post by ADRIENE HAWKHART . on Dec 23, 2012 19:13:09 GMT -8
 #### WORDS FOR TAIYA / CAP'N WES revenge | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;]this was occurring much too often for adriene's taste. prison never suited him - not the stone walls or rusted hinges that often squealed when you pulled on the door, nor the lowlifes the cells themselves often held. they were loud, childish - holding on to the belief that a man who broke into a prison was sure to break them out. they'd whisper, promise him money, but he'd always turn them away - and then they'd shout, call for the guards. help, please!
and then everything was a mess. you only make that mistake once, though, and adriene had long since found the best way to keep them quiet (a nice little bout of lightning) or knock them unconscious (because the idiots always stood so close to the bars he could just reach in and pull). after that it was simple - grab the target, and get out. today, however, he wasn't jailbreaking from the outside - he was inside, caged like an animal, curled up like a beaten mongrel on the thin bedroll, face turned stubbornly towards the wall. he could practically hear the divines laughing at him, taunting him. should have stayed home today, little hawkhart. locked yourself in your cabin and ignored your dearest captain. he raised his head with a snort, staring at his cell mate. dearest indeed.
it wasn't as if he could've ignored him anyway - everything wesley did demanded attention. he was loud in both manner and movement, bold and entirely too troublesome, and often times left adriene feeling more like a mother than a first mate. wes, don't tease agathon. wes, she's too young. wes - BY THE GODS, MAN, ARE YOU INSANE? a small child, he figured, would be better behaved than the grown man before him, sitting on a flimsy table and inhaling mead, muttering to himself and looking for all the world as if he was just a patron at an inn, completely relaxed and carefree. adriene was almost envious.
almost. he huffed and rolled to his feet at the sound of his name, wincing as his bones groaned. although skyrim was too cold for his liking he could usually handle it - but to be trapped in a damp dungeon (a drafty one at that) in one of the northern-most cities was cruel and unusual punishment for the breton. "you'd lose your balance if you didn't have a bottle in your hand," he groused, slinking up to stand beside the older man, scowling at the bottle of mead as if it'd offended him. "i've never enjoyed drinking. as for this absolutely sublime abode... i could always just pick the lock. but i assume you have some grand scheme cooking up in your head, hm? something that's sure to drive fear into the hearts of men from here to winterhold, that just screams out, 'no prison can hold captain wesley morel', i assume." |
|
|
|
|
Post by Captain Wesley Morel . on Jan 10, 2013 21:02:09 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #171818; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #171818 solid; border-bottom: 10px #171818 solid;] This is twenty percent skill, eighty percent mead {WORDS } 634 {TAGGED } Adriene {WEARING} Something pirate-y? Wesley found himself chuckling at Hawk’s comment about how unbalanced he would become if he didn’t have a bottle of rum in hand. While it might be considered an insult by both Hawk and the rest of society, Wesley felt no qualms about admitting his love of the substance so widely known as alcohol. “So true!”, he agreed whole heartedly and with somewhat of a roguish smile on his face. Hawk was also one of the few people in the entirety of Tamriel that could get away with insulting him. Wesley had long since become closer to his first mate than anyone aside from his son of a bitch adopted father of sorts, and viewed him as somewhat of a family member. Out of everyone, Hawk called it like he saw it, and yet seemed more understanding of Wesley and his oddities than any of the rest. Of course, they’d been on the same ship for quite a while now.
The look that his first mate was giving the bottle also caused him to chuckle. Raising a brow at his first mate – obviously a better first mate than he was a pirate – Wesley retracted the mead that he had offered the younger man and lifted it once more to his own lips. With a long pull at the bottle, Wesley finally pulled it back and swallowed the harsh liquid. Damn, the nords sure didn’t know how to make any sort of refined alcohol, that was for sure. At the same time, it was oddly addicting – and hell, it would put hair on your chest if you didn’t have any. He should give some to the Pup… Perhaps that would take him from being a boy to being a man. Wesley could only hope so, because despite pulling his weight around the ship, there was no denying he had yet to reach real manhood.
He laughed and took another swig of the mead that he had in his hands before bouncing off the table and grinning over at his companion. “Don’t sound so distressed about it, eh? We’ve gotten out of plenty of situations worse than this one!”, he said cheerfully all the while eying up the bars that were separating him from the outside world. “Oh of course. But Hawk…you already know that no prison can hold Captain Wesley Morel, so you shouldn’t have questioned that in the first place.”
While looking up, Wesley noticed their window directly above them – also barred, and grinned. “Well look at that Hawk, we’ve got some company. Heya boys, what took ya so long?” There above him was two of his own crew members. “Got us a hollowed out portion on the wall over here, I’ve got the Pup on the catapult ready to go.” “Perfect.” Drinking the last of his mead, Wesley tossed it out the window – hearing an exclaimed annoyance a few moments later – and stepped back and toward the door. “Go for it.”, he said, before glancing over at his first mate. “I’d step away from that section in the wall if I were you.” {NOTES} None |
|
|
