On Your Own Supply (Maxine)

[Dorik]

Cylus 18, 719

Dorik peered down at the plant that Claudia was showing him. "And only you grow it?"

Claudia beamed over the plant, "Well, the Order of Adunih in Scalvoris grows it too, but I'm the only one here."

He knelt down, getting a look at the Bluebird Bush from another angle. "Strange looking thing. I haven't seen it before."

"It grows deep in the jungles. It's very fragile."

Dorik made a note to not mess with it without her permission. This was her pride and joy, that could cause a rift too deep, for this early on. Maybe after he pumped a baby into her, so that she couldn't leave him. "What all do you use it for?"

She slipped in next to him, squeezing his arm, overjoyed that he was interested in her passion, "Well, it has a lot of different things. You can slow down bleeding by touching that orange bit to the wound. Better than a bandage." She then pointed to the other side of the same leaf, "This white powder can be breathed in and snorted to speed up bleeding."

"It can repel insects, boost the senses, even cause synesthesia."

He cocked his head at this unfamiliar word. She smiled, "Sorry, this bit here." She pointed at the core, "That's the bluebird. Inside are the seeds of the plant. If you eat them, your senses become... confused. You can smell colors, taste music, stuff like that."

Interesting.

He looked over at her face, "Think you could get me some? That sounds interesting to try."

She looked up at him, surprised. She knew he liked to drink, fuck, and gamble, but drugs were new. And she smiled. "It is kind of fun." She blushed just a bit, and Dorik saw every bit of it. His lovely new wife enjoyed drugs, though he suspected of the more tame, plant based variety. That was so... perfect. He watched as she plucked the bluebird out of the plant and took it over to the counter. She processed it and put the seeds in a small bag for Dorik. "I have to keep working today, but go have fun. I'll join you after I close up shop."

She pecked a kiss on his cheek as the door out front rang with a customer.

Dorik held up the small sack and smiled. It was going to be a fun day. He reached into it and plucked out a seed and popped into his mouth. He chewed it up, finding it bitter, and swallowed. He stepped out of the backroom, running his hand over Claudia's bottom, giving it a squeeze, obscured by the counter from the customer she was talking to.

He looked the woman who'd come asking for a specific herb for a rash. He'd ask Claudia about that later. He slipped out of the shop and made his way into town, trying to figure out what to do with his day. He wondered how long the Bluebird seeds would take to kick in. The moons were high, the air was chilly, and the man needed a drink.

Dorik stopped by the bar on his way to the docks, grabbing a bottle of rum and another of grog. He made his way down to the shorefront, and climbed up on a crate, yanking out the cork from the grog, and hurling it at a seagull. He missed, but it amused him nonetheless. He took a deep swig of the grog, sitting there watching the docks work, reminiscing on his days at sea.

[Max]

Fucking Immortals, did everything hurt.

Trials had passed by the memory of her most recent ordeal had not. She supposed that was to be expected, considering someone had tried very hard to execute her. They'd done a good job of it. By every calculation, it should've worked. They'd thrown her overboard into the ocean, bound by the arms and legs and secured to an anchor. She should've drowned. That icy deep should've been her watery grave.

It was more than likely that the Red Ravens believed that had been exactly the result of their handling of her. What The Raven didn't know, didn't prepare for, was the deep bond Maxine shared with Chrien. It was bad luck on his part rather than foolishness to be fair. No one would plan for an Immortal-gifted catsuit that granted the wearer the ability to breathe under water. News of her demise was probably spreading through the underground. Nothing made for better gossip than brutal evidence the island gang was not to be trifled with. Every tavern in Scalvoris Town probably heard the news she was murdered.

Fuck it. Let them believe it.

Ambrosia swirled from her swollen lips and up toward the dark sky above. Her legs swung gently over the pier edge. Between the gulls and the occasional, working dock hand, the shorefront of Egilrun was oddly peaceful. The gentle crush of the ocean upon the shore laid softly upon her ears. In the distance she could hear drunken singing and jovial bards playing every time a tavern door opened. No part of her yearned in that moment to join that familiar scene. Odd as it may be, Maxine was just enjoying the serenity that came from being dead to the world at large. Quiet as a corpse, she sat there and just let herself...be.

Until the seagull yelped at a cork thrown its way.

The ex-convict turned her head to spy the silhouette of the man sitting upon a nearby crate. Given the outline of a bottle lifted to his lips, it was safe to say he was likely the cork-throwing culprit. Apparently the allure of the tavern wasn't present for him either. She cast her caramel gaze toward the ocean again, letting out a sigh as the wind billowed the ends of her dark hair. She took another long pull on the joint, turning the end a bright orange. Ambrosia always made her sharp these trials since prison. That's what she'd told herself at least, and as her head cleared despite the persistent agony in her beaten frame, her head cleared.

"You know," Max raised her voice just enough so that nearby company might hear her over the wind and waves. "Someone once told me they knew where the Pirate Lords disappeared to. Said they'd all pooled their onyx and left in secret to live out their trials on some...paradise island. Living the fuckin' dream while the rest of us freeze like assholes on this ice chunk." Another pull, and she rolled her head toward the stranger. "He was old though. And a fuckin' drunk. But he had deep pockets and he was a shit card player." Smoke billowed out in a thick plume that swirled about her face. "Once in a while it's the crazies that aren't full of shit, but he was. Know why?" She lowered the joint. A brief, fleeting glance looked to the direction of Slags Deep before it settled on the rolling ocean beyond them.

"You just don't give that all up. Ruling is ruling and a throne is a throne, even if your kingdom is an icy shithole."

Dialogue|Thoughts

[Dorik]

Timestamp

Dorik heard Maxine's call carried over by the winds. He was immediately interested by the first line of the story she began to tell. People talking about the Pirate Lords so flippantly. That would take some getting used to. Back when they ran the island, no one would dare spread potential rumors like that. They'd find themselves woken in the night and tossed into the harbor with just enough stones shoved up their ass to make them sink. Dorik still hadn't been able to gather the whole story of why they'd disappeared, and all at the same time, but there was definitely something very suspicious about it. He suspected that they were still out there.

But why had none of them returned?

That was the strangest bit. As Dorik listened to her tale, he smirked. He was learning more than he'd hoped just from what she was saying. She hated the cold. Not a fan of those with more money and resources than herself. And seemingly more perceptive than the average bunch. But more importantly, he'd watched her eyes, they made their way to the mountain. Glances were always more telling than a stare.

The winds carried the scent of her joint and Dorik found himself involuntarily inhaling the second hand smoke in deeply. Ambrosia. That was a throwback to his youthful days. He'd not had one ounce of it while in Slags, and hadn't managed to procure any since his release. It had been... twenty arcs at least, and he could still feel the hold it had on him. He knew then and there that no one could ever truly escape ambrosia.

He'd need to get his hands on that and fast.

Her story finished, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, rolled himself of course, and splayed it open. He popped a couple of those bluebird seeds into the tobacco, rolled it back up nice and tight, sealing it with just the hint of a lick. Bottle on the crate, he struck a match off his calloused fingers and lit the cigarette that now dangled in his lips.

Taking a deep drag, he wondered how long it would take for these seeds to kick in. Meanwhile, he looked directly at his new companion, a smirk on his face. She was just like him, an uncaged bird. He cut through the bullshit of her story, an introduction she gave out of curiosity, but her earlier glance told her entire story. "Lemme guess. You pissed off someone real important on this island, and they tossed you in that shithole?" He nodded in the direction of Slags, "A story as old as this damn island."

He took a long drag off his cigarette, followed by a long swig of the grog. He then held up the bottle, offering it to her, assuming she came over to get it. "This island didn't mean a damn thing to the Pirate Lords. If it did, they'd've come back, ran out this joke that calls itself the government." He actually found himself annoyed, not at this woman nor her story, but at this realization she'd helped him to reach.

It made no sense for them to still be gone unless they truly didn't wish to return.

"They was just men, no different from any other. They have new thrones I'm sure."

He shook his head chuckling, "I never expected them to be the only thing that changed when I was below." He took a long drag from his cig, flicking it off into the water in annoyance. He pulled out another, looking over at Maxine, and he could hear the smoke coming from her lips. He cocked his head to the side in amusement. It sounded golden and tasted delicious. Pure honey. It seemed the seeds were doing their thing now. He brought out another cigarette, adding to it just as he had before, then offered that to her as well, "Ain't as good as what ya got, but will make it more fun."

He took another swig from his grog, finding that he could feel the alcohol upon his skin. The warm cloak of a lover embraced him with that. His eyes narrowed and his smile crept up on the left. These seeds were a gold mine. "Hope you didn't fleece him too much. Gotta leave some hope so you can do it again."

[Max]

The smell wafting from whatever the stranger rolled was new. She stole a curious glance toward his joint before tending to her own again. Her lip twitched toward a mirthful smirk. The dock-idler was perhaps more of a kindred spirit than she ever could've guessed. At the very least it was readily apparent neither of them feared retribution from the laws of this land. Her smirk widened at his voiced deduction. A lifeless laugh of amusement breathed out her lips with a plume of ambrosia smoke.

"Man, I pissed this whole damned island off," she verified with a slow shake of her head. A mere "someone" was an epic understatement. Between the murders, assaults, narcotics, gang conflicts, and the infamous riot, Max managed to offend every official and unofficial governing facet of Scalvoris. At the time, strung out as she was, the woman had her reasons for doing what she'd done. Nothing was without purpose.

When it came down to that fateful wire on the trial of her capture, she was alone. Fear drove the rioters she'd stirred into fleeing or racing into the arms of death. Familiar faces who thundered into her arena came with swords bared against her. "Friends" and enemies alike had chained her up and dropped her off to die in Slags Deep. She would never forget that. She would never forgive that. Not until the trial she died.

Max looked toward the offered bottle and rose from where she sat on the docks. A few leisurely steps and she found herself sitting beside the stranger on his crate. She accepted his gesture and took a good swig of his grog. It was more bitter than old, faithful rum she was so accustomed to. Alcohol was alcohol though, and any mention of the trial of the riot and Slags Deep was enough to make her demand it.

And speaking of Slags Deep...

"Below?" she inquired with the raising of a single brow in his direction. Her soft eyes glanced about him with more purpose than before. His blonde hair was flecked with grey threads that betrayed his years like the subtle weathering in his face. His skin was pale. Far too pale for someone who seemed to have an affinity for the sea. Most telling was his eyes. There was something scathing about his frigid blue irises. Something intelligent and predatory. Something she recognized almost immediately now that she developed her suspicions. Her eyes narrowed.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who went around pissing people off," she pointed out before taking another swig and passing the grog back. "Which level did they throw you in?" Maxine had the unique luxury of briefly visiting each and every level of Slags Deep. The journey down to its Seventh Level had been a long one full of grotesque stops along the way. In every sense, it had been a descent deeper and deeper into a bestial, hellish madness that got worse the lower one ventured. There was a reason her part of the prison had been nicknamed The Beneath. It earned the title threefold.

Max accepted his gift with a curious gleam. She brought the cigarette to her nostrils and inhaled deeply, eyes drooping shut as she assessed the value of this new vice he'd presented her. Her eyes flashed open, watching him carefully while she took a test drag. The smoke filled her lungs as it did any other drug she abused. She held it there for a few trills before slowly exhaling it into the Cylus air.

"Shit's not bad," she commended him with a grin. Selfishness was something she was trying to cultivate within herself again, but she wasn't an unjust hedonist. For a couple trills her eyes were locked longingly upon the Ambrosia in her other hand. Then, slowly, she offered it toward the stranger. "You're right though. Not as good as mine, but I'll bet adding mine to the high will double your fun, too." Cross-fading was always a dangerous game, but a dead girl had no business caring about such consequences. She took another puff of the Bluebird cigarette. Already she could feel its effects compounding slowly in her system. It would hit her soon. Pure bliss crept across her battered face.

"I'm Max. You got a name, convict?"

Dialogue|Thoughts

[Dorik]

Timestamp

Dorik winked over at Maxine, "All the way to the bottom. You got the same look I see in the water, so I assume you were down there too?" He smirked, "Ever wonder how many of us are actually running around out here?" He stepped in close, taking a deep, unashamed sniff of her scent. She'd know why, not that he cared. And she smelled, divine. She smelled like fury, like the touch of a blade across a throat, like the taste of blood in your mouth from a good, long, drag out fight.

He stepped back out of her personal space, though not out of respect. It's just easier to roll a joint without someone on top of you. As she offered the cigarette, he took it, no thanks or nod given. He knew it wasn't needed nor desired. To an ex level seven, anything not taken came with an unspoken appreciation. He licked at his finger tips, an old habit from his youth, before moving the cigarette to those fingers. He held it out before him, "This is a feeling you will not know. Twenty arcs or so, maybe, since my last taste of ambrosia. And she still calls so strongly and sweetly. This will be the best hit of my life."

He hoped she was jealous. He would be, if he were her age, and roles reversed. He brought it to his lips and took a slow, so slow drag off of it. His eyes were closed as he savored every sweet moment of it. It tasted beautiful. It tasted of the face of the first girl he'd fucked when he was not yet a boy. It tasted of a sunrise over a bloodied ship. It tasted of the groans of a married woman who'd given into him. Tasted of the freedom of the open ocean. And it willed him, dragged him toward the waters again. That single drag threatened to make a young pirate out of him again. He could feel himself starting to grow hard, and he shifted his hips so it would tuck up into his waistband.

He passed off the cigarette back to Max, shaking his head smiling, "Fuck."

Looking back out over the ocean, "I stole a name from down below. Dorik. Pussy didn't even deserve to be in seven. Still, a new name, a new life. You ain't earned my real name. Though you're probably too young to know of it anyways."

Then he stripped off his shirt, revealing the multitude of tattoos that covered every inch of skin that was previously covered by clothing. Leviathans, symbols of the sea and sailing, unrecognizable symbols, and a plethora of scars. His body wasn't particularly toned, but that was his age in Slags Deep showing. One didn't survive down there on the physical alone. He then stripped out of his breeches and boots, plucking his drugs from his pocket, setting the seeds on the side of the dock, in all his nude glory, again, every inch of now exposed skin tattooed. He slipped down into the water, for the first time since he escaped prison.

"By the Leviathans, that's the shit. Get in here, youngin, bring that good shit wit ya."

His eyes closed as he felt the tide of the water push and pull against him. He didn't know why he'd avoided the water so long. Maybe he wanted to turn a new chapter. Be more than the pirate or sailor. That was the old life. Time to do something new. Not that it mattered ultimately. He would find his new calling, and be good at it. Because he was great at the last one.

"I'll give you a gold to fill me in on the state of things. I don't give a shit about Egilrun, it's a fucking wet spot if I ever saw one. Tell me something I don't know about the island."