Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
A couple of weeks had possibly passed since the ex-high commander had been freed and she had lost her friend in the escape from EIRAL. The brunette haired woman paced back and forth in the lower extremities of the ship she currently stayed in as she had no desire to face the city other than the moment she had to meet with her hired double agent. There was no where she could go and no one she could associate with. Doing so would put her family at risk. At the slightest sound Lorraine made her way further downwards where the engineers usually occupied the ship in the moments it was operational since she had no desire to associate yet and assumed it was empty since they were stationary within the dock.
Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Sept 16, 2015 11:53:55 GMT
There was something therapeutic about the sounds of the sea, especially as it lapped steadily and continually against the hull of a wooden ship in dock. The rhythmic slap, the salt in the air, the sound of the gulls calling one another, and on this particular day, the sunshine as it gently warmed the ship's deck.
Granted, below decks, in the engine room that was seated at water level in the hold, the sunshine wasn't so warm. But given that the ship was in dock for maintenance, at least the hatches to the main deck were open, allowing the sounds and smells to permeate the normally enclosed space. And the fresh air was welcome too, given that when the hold was closed up and the engine was running, the claustrophobic area could get downright hot and sticky.
Nope - as far as Thrakazog was concerned, today was a good day.
He had recently been picked up by none other than the Queen of Rogues (he still couldn't believe that, given that she'd merely been a myth up until that point!) and tasked with working on her ships as an engineer. He was still pretty low on the 'totem-pole' of the engineering hierarchy, but it was a far cry from his last position, and he did love the work. For whatever reason, no matter how tough or depressing life could be, when he was working on machines, Thrakazog felt wonderful. It was his knack... his talent... and despite his rather ham-fisted limbs, he was good at his job. A lot of people went through life never working at the job they loved, but here he was, living the dream. For the first time in a long while, he was happy.
He was part of the crew of the Dauntless, but that vessel wasn't due to sail again for a few weeks. In the meantime, the Queen - "Miss Caitlin," Thrakazog reminded himself - had him going around to other ships in her expansive fleet, maintaining the engines, greasing the joints and chains, oiling the cams and pistons, and otherwise performing base-level tasks. Yesterday, he'd helped load a cargo ship in the morning, but today, he was alone in the hold of this particular ship, turning wenches on bolts, making sure they were secure and free of rust that salt air could cause. He was singing a tune he'd heard a blue-haired woman playing a short time ago. His deep bass voice reverberated through the hold of the ship, "Capn Cait, Queen of da Pirates! She set sail on da ragin sea. Capn Cait, da gleam ob da Lodan, spun her tail on da ocean free!"
Interestingly, he could carry a tune, even though he was no musician. He was no Ikuze Storm, but he almost giggled when he tried to think of the blue-haired woman in the crow's nest singing in a bass voice.
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Sept 16, 2015 20:50:38 GMT
Further down the levels proved to be a mistake. Where she sought to be alone was where she could hear a voice coming from. Pausing a moment she listened and although she couldn't make out the words the voice was interesting still. Curiously she continued forth and the closer she drew the more capable she became at making out words. Odd. When she had been nobility she never once heard someone speak in such a manner, and even when she became military with an abundant of opportunity to meet people she had not come across such speech patterns.
As the owner of the voice came into view a shadow of the structure above kept her cast in shadows though the clock of her heeled boots gave her away. She wore her hair loose and clothing far too big for her but they were all she currently had in place of her military uniform. "That is quite a lovely song you are singing," she spoke up with a light chortle and stepped out from beneath the structure's shadow. Her hands went to fold at the small of her back. "Apologies for my intrusion. I thought no one would be present here. Are you one of the engineers?"
Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Sept 16, 2015 22:25:40 GMT
Thraka zog was having trouble remembering the verses, but that didn't stop his enthusiasm as he kept rumbling, "Nebber to be caught, tangled on da ropes! Hummanah hummin hum, in order to hum-ope! She would lose nub fight, she would take no shite, stole da sumting sumting..."
A feminine voice spoke, "That is quite a lovely song you are singing!"
CLANK!
Thrakazog, was so startled, he sat up abruptly, slamming his sizable head into the machinery he was working on. Giving a startled yelp, he dropped the wrench he'd been wielding, which clattered to the floor by way of his foot, causing him to jump and yelp again as he fumbled to reach his boot. But leaning over caused his head to come into contact with yet another metallic lever, eliciting a third shout of alarm as his meaty hands went back and forth from head to foot to head again, and finally settled for trying to grab the wall to hold himself steady. Missing that, he twisted, stumbled, and crashed onto his back - the impact causing the dropped wrench to launch into the air again, spinning before it started its descent towards his head. He threw his arms in front of his face, and the tool bounced harmlessly off him, but only when everything was quiet for a second did he finally say, "Owww?"
Looking up from his prone position, he saw a woman, upside-down standing over him. The sun behind her gave her a silhouette such that he couldn't quite make out her face, but he heard her talking to him. "Apologies for my intrusion. I thought no one would be present here. Are you one of the engineers?"
It took him a moment to process what she was saying, what with all of the activity, but he managed to get the gist of it and saluted sharply as he replied enthusiastically, "Yub yub! Dat me. Wurkin on da engine, yub!" He wasn't sure if she was this ship's captain, first mate, or someone else important, but he certainly didn't assume she was a wandering visitor. But the sharp, albeit respectful, salute had his hand hitting his head where it had impacted the machinery - twice - causing him to say in a much quieter voice, "Owww..."
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Sept 17, 2015 2:41:54 GMT
The poor man, what had she done! The display he'd done before her when she startled him was not something she had anticipated but she had never exactly been one of tact. As she leaned over him her hands left the small of her back to settle at her knees and she grimaced lightly. "Are you alright?" Lorraine could not help but feel responsible for the whole ordeal as she walked around him and out of the sun's path to offer him a dainty hand which may have looked comical considering the difference in their size.
"Apologies, truly, I had not meant to startle you. Here, let me help you up. Allow me to take a look at your head? You seemed to have, uhm, hit it several times." As she spoke, her brows rose slightly. "Oh!" Then she winced lightly, "I am Lorraine. Might I trouble you for your name, mister...?"
Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Sept 17, 2015 11:41:07 GMT
Thrakazog, stunned, reached up to take the woman's offered hand. But at the last second, he yanked his own back - it was dirty, greasy, and oily, and even though he had cleaning rags, he hadn't really 'cleaned up' yet. Engineers might shake hands in such a state, fully understanding one another and where that grime came from, but regular folks would be surprised, even outraged, by such an action. No, that wouldn't do at all, especially if this was somebody important!
He did manage to mutter a, "Tank youz,"though, as he worked to get himself upright once more. He even picked up his dropped wrench and then realized he'd been asked a series of questions that probably warranted answers. He started off with his best answer first, "Ummmmmmmm..."
They got progressively... well, 'better', may not have been the right word, but perhaps, 'more informative' was more accurate.
"Dat okie dokie. Thrak just hit me head, so it nub hurt so much. Oh yub, dat me... dey is call me Thrakazog, but youz kin just say Thrak if dat's too long."
It was kind of like the rolling sea, the way he answered, like water lapping at the hull. At the end of it, he saluted smartly, unsure if he was supposed to or not, but figuring it was better to play it safe.
He finally got a good look at the woman he was talking to, and realized she wasn't exactly dressed like a captain... or a first mate for that matter... or anyone he recognized from low-born to high. He cocked his head slightly, which was no mean feat given the thickness of his neck. "Ummmmm..." he began. Thrakazog liked how 'ummmm' worked both as an answer and a comma. It was a multi-tasker. "Who is you?"
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Sept 17, 2015 22:07:50 GMT
Lorraine's smile faltered slightly when he withdrew his hand though only a quick glance at the grime allowed her to understand why. How polite, she thought as her smile remained soft now. After his first ummm, she silently berated herself for being so rude and simply bombarding the poor man with an onslaught of questions.
"Thrakazog," she repeated the name slowly and smiled brighter. "I think I like your name short or long. May I interchange the names? I would hope it will keep things," she paused to wave about her hands near herself. "Lively? Engaging in conversation?"
As she stood there receiving his answers and nodding along, she had to wonder why he had been saluting her and then came the inquiry of who she was. Who was she now? She was no longer a noble woman and she was no longer a military dog. "I am uncertain yet," she answered honestly. "I suppose I have yet to prove my place here but you may call me Lorri instead. I think that is best suited. So, Thrakazog, might I ask of where you came from? Your accent is most unique."
Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Sept 17, 2015 23:22:06 GMT
"Yub! Youz kin call me Thrak or Thrakazog, yub!" The big man enthusiastically agreed. If he was truthful with himself, she probably could have called him, 'hey, you!', or something more derogatory, and he probably still would have answered.
She, in turn, answered that she was uncertain who she was, or at least that's what Thrakazog thought she meant. He blinked his eyes in surprise. Did she have amnesia? But then she explained better - that she had to prove herself. But who she was proving herself to, Thrakazog had no idea. She did offer a name that he could call her though. "Lorri," he repeated in his own head. He liked it already - it was a nice, easy name to remember and to say. He found himself mouthing the syllables, "Lor-ri", but then caught himself and stopped. Somewhere along the line, someone had told him that made him look dumb.
Besides, Lorri was already asking more questions. Maybe this was how she intended to prove herself? He figured he'd better pay attention in case he was being tested too.
He nodded at her request of his whereabouts, and after looking about the engine room, he decided that was too simple an answer. He was going to have to come up with something far more clever than, 'right here'. So he said, in his most clever of voices, "Yub... me gotcha. Ummmmm..."
He moved over to the side where there was a porthole window, and looked out of it. For him, it looked more like he was peering through a spyglass, but after weaving his head to and fro for a few seconds, he nodded in satisfaction, "Yub - ober dere. Past da tall building a ways, dere's a market, and past dat is a bunch ob skinny streets. Dey is kinda small, but dey is nice. Youz go past dat, and..."
If one was familiar with Lodan, then they might understand that Thrakazog was describing an area of Lodan deep in lowtown - one of the poorest districts, and one that bordered the poorhouses.
When he was satisfied he'd described it well enough, he turned back to face Lorri and asked, "And youz? Youz nub from dere metinks. Thrak would hab seen youz before."
He was still wondering what or who she was proving herself to, but guessed that it would come out in due time, if he was entitled to know.
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Sept 17, 2015 23:41:55 GMT
With a slow nod of her head, Lorraine stepped up to a second port hole and peered into it or rather, out of it so that she could see where he was gesturing and then try to imagine the city herself as he described it. Odd, she thought to herself. Perhaps that would explain the way he spoke so differently but still she had never heard anyone else speak like that. Regardless, she pulled away and offered another smile in the direction of the large man.
"No, you are right. I am not from here." She paused to eye her surroundings with lifted brows. "I am from the city though. Mister Thrakazog, do you perhaps teach others how to work with," her words trailed off as she waved about her to indicate their surroundings. "Machinery, I suppose?" Her blue eyes fell once more back to the man before her. The twin swords she was so well versed in wielding were hidden away back in her room as she could not show them now, not until it was safer. However, in her stay she could at least try to learn other things and adapt to her situation.
"I admit, I know little but I would like to try to understand some of what it is you do."
Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Sept 18, 2015 14:20:34 GMT
Thrakazog's eyes went wide, which was no mean feat given the size of his head. "Youz want Thrak... to teach youz?"
He started to fidget, blushing a little bit and shaking his head as he rubbed the back of it with one meaty hand. Never in his life had he heard such a request. Nobody ever asked the (supposedly) big, dumb guy to teach them anything. Teaching was for the smart people, or at least those who had plied their trades a long time. His father, for example, had never been what people would term 'smart'. But he'd been an experienced smith, and had taken on an apprentice here and there throughout his career. HE could teach people how to smith, but Thrakazog? Thadeus?? He was no teacher! He was a buffoon - or so he'd been repeatedly told. Granted, he could probably show her a few things - he was slightly experienced
But as he looked at the woman, he found he couldn't be insulted. Surely, someone must have put her up to a joke at his expense. Yes, that must have been it - he was getting hazed by one of the new crewmates. They'd found an attractive young lady to go ask Thrakazog to teach her how to clean machinery. Who knew what she'd been paid? Or maybe she was one of the crew of another ship - someone he hadn't met yet - and so the crew figured it'd be funny to watch his reaction to her.
He finally narrowed his eyes a little in scrutiny, but he maintained a good sense of humor about it all. "Okies, okies," he said, chuckling a little as he put up a hand in mock-protest. "Da crew put youz up to dis, didn't dey? Dem tell youz what - go ask Thrakazog to teach you sumpin. Him is a big goofball, and dis will be berry funny? Ha ha - me getz it. It's okie dokie... is kinda funny. But youz nub have to tease me nub more. Thrak has been made fun ob like dat before. Is okie dokie. Who put youz up to it tho? Thrak wants to make a funny on them too."
But something in her face - or maybe her blue eyes - was telling Thrakazog that the woman was not kidding around. It made him unsure of himself, and then embarrassed with his own reaction. Sure, she might have been making fun of him, but if she wasn't, then he wasn't taking HER seriously! If that was the case, he felt awful about responding the way he had.
"Youz is serious> Youz want me, ta teach... youz?"
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Sept 18, 2015 22:11:00 GMT
At being accused of pranking the man Lorraine inclined her head to the side and lifted a brow while wondering what could possibly make the man come to such a conclusion. Were pranks a typical thing crew mates played on one another? Would she soon be on the same end? The military had been tame and although she had expected such never had the misfortune of dealing with such a situation first hand. These were not military men or women, she reminded herself. The disbelief in his voice when he asked his question drew forth a light chuckle from the woman's throat and she nodded.
"Yes, I would very much like that--unless you are too busy, then I would not wish to intrude upon you. Oh, your head. Does it still ache? I am sure we can go find a cool rag for your forehead if a bump starts to form." Quite rude of her to startle the man, bombard him with questions, inquire for his help in teaching him and not even offer to help him with his injuries first. "Or perhaps we should get you cleaned up, and I can make up to you for when I gave you that start by some lunch?" It was the least she could do.
Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Sept 19, 2015 16:03:04 GMT
"Boy, she shure is nice," Thrakazog thought, almost in disbelief. A part of him wanted so very much to meet somebody nice for a change. It wasn't that the Captain wasn't nice - or at elast, she'd always been nice enough - but that was a more boss-man kind of dynamic. Caitlin was a nice 'boss', yes. John was nice too. He was a little more surly, but that first battle at sea together had the older seaman at least respecting his larger, younger counterpart. "Okay, okay," Thrakazog mentally reprimanded himself, "Dey hab been nice too."
Still - the past couple of weeks had Thrakazog meeting so many NICE people. Compared to the years -and years - of being teased for his size, people assuming he was stupid because of his good-natured gullibility, or being looked down upon for the way he talked, the fact that he was lowborn, or any of a number of other reasons... he felt like he'd found a home among the pirates. In retrospect, he wondered why he hadn't found them sooner.
But there was still that nagging doubt at the back of his mind. Any minute, he expected to hear giggling from behind a stack of shipping crates as pranksters amused themselves at his expense. "Look at the big doofus - thinkin' a gal like THAT would even give him the time o day!" They'd say and laugh, and Thrakazog would blush in embarrassment, giving them more reasons to laugh, until he tried to withdraw, tripped and fell, or something worse. Then he wouldn't be known as the mechanic - he'd be known as the oaf, and the part of his life he really disliked would be back. That would be normal - that was expected. But this...
This stranger, this 'Lorri', was offering a cool rag for his head. Even more, she was offering lunch! LUNCH?! Nobody offered a guy his size lunch - except his mother!
In a very quiet rumble of a voice, he commented, "Youz gotta scuze Thrak... dis is bery, bery nice ob youz. Youz nub eben know me. Thrak was tinkin if he rubbed a lamp or trew a coin in a fountain iz all."
He put his hand up to his head to remove his hat - except he didn't wear one. A little awkwardly, he looked upwards, as if hsi eyes might somehow leave his skull and see the top of his head. But when he did, he noted the sun, and so he said, "It nub quite lunchtime. Me kin show youz a couple ob tings first. Dem is nub youz good clothes, yub?"
Whether they were or weren't, Thrakazog then bent and more carefully picked up his wrench - a heavy device approximately the length of his elbow to his fingertips. It looked heavy, like it could be wielded like a club instead of a tool. But he hefted it as if it weighed very little at all, and in a moment, it became apparent why it was the size it was.
"Okies... wut Thrak wuz doin wuz dis. Dese here bolts hab gotta be tight. So Thrak was checkin dem to make sure dey were. On da sea, da weather sumtimez makes dem work demselves loose. So me putz dis wrench on each one, and check to see if dem is tight." He did just that, working around the engine's boiler and checking the bolts. "See, dis here iz da boiler. It holds da water dat da furnace heats up and makes da steam. Da steam dem gets routed into dat dere pipe, and da pressure makes two big pistons in dere move. Dem movin pistons work togedder to turn da big gear, da big gear turns da shaft, and da shaft moves... okay, dat probably a little further den you wanted to go. Anywayz, da boiler has da water... it's metal, so da heat and den da coolin makes da metal get bigger and smaller, and sumtimez, dat makes da bolts work loose. So we'z check dem. We also paints dem so dey nub rust. Rusty bolts is bad."
He went on chattering in his deep bass voice, and while the words coming from his mouth weren't overly impressive in and of themselves, it quickly became apparent to anyone who listened that he knew what he was talking about regarding steam engines. Meanwhile, he moved from bolt to bolt with ease, manipulating the massive wrench but managing not to over-torque the bolts. In a sense, he had an almost gentle touch when it came to the equipment.
He went on and on, talking about the process of maintaining the engine, looking up and back occasionally to see if he was still being listened to. If uninterrupted, he continued until the sun was at its peak, and then he put a dirty hand up to his brow and commented. "Me tinks it could be lunchtime, yub. Youz still want lunch?"
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Sept 20, 2015 18:28:54 GMT
"You do not have to know a person to treat them kindly, mister Thrakazog. Are people truly so ill towards you?" First he'd thought she was pranking him and now he was in disbelief that she was offering him food? What the poor man must have endured throughout his life, she reflected. However, he was right. It was not quite lunchtime yet and she would not be opposed to whatever knowledge he could show her before they ate.
"No, they are not my good clothes," she answered with a light laugh and watched as he picked up the monstrous sized wrench. She did not even know they came in such a size though in watching she understood why as soon as he held it in his hands. Throughout his explanations, she listened and followed when needed then looked at everything he brought up. She kept her rapt attention on the wealth of knowledge she was given and nodded along as what he said seemed to make perfectly valid sense. So that is how these things worked? And that is why these engines needed such constant supervision?
"How often do you have to check and tighten the bolts? Once a day? Once a couple of days? And how often do you paint the bolts so they don't rust?" She waited for the answers to be supplied before asking more, "would you like me to tighten any or paint the bolts?" As time drew closer and her knowledge of engines went from nothing to something, she committed everything he did and said to memory until the question of lunch was brought up once more. "Yes, lunch sounds splendid right now. How about we go get cleaned up and then see what restaurants along the port had to offer, hm?" She had a fair amount of money left to her since leaving the military. What else she had was locked away in her savings with her parents she would have to sneak in and acquire later, but for now, what she had would settle just fine for lunch. "Have you a particular place of interest? I do not know this side of the city well."
Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Sept 21, 2015 16:53:34 GMT
Lorri asked him how often the machines should be checked, to which Thrakazog answered her, "Ummm... it nub really an ebbry day ting. See, da engines nub used ebbry day, so dem nub move much. Maybe check dem after or before a trip - dat a good plan. Nub want a boiler going bloo-ie while out at sea... tho nub want it to go bloo-ie in dock, eidder, far as me iz concerned." He looked thoughtful for a moment, which basically amounted to him squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow, and then added, "Dat a good point tho. Why check dem after a trip, and den again before? Nub gonna come loose in between. Just nub know if dey been checked after... so it a good idea to check dem before. Maybe nub a bad idea to hab a logbook... mark down when it was last done. Youz is purty smart for someone nub ebber do dis."
This woman was certainly interesting to Thrakazog. She was almost a complete stranger, but a kind one. She wanted to learn about engines - which tended to be fairly dirty work - but she spoke as if she had quite a bit of education in her background, using what (to Thrakazog) were some big words, like 'restaurants' and 'particular'. At the mention of a restaurant though, Thrakazog merely chuckled from somewhere deep in his belly. Thrakazog didn't go to restaurants. He might hit up a tavern after a significant payday, but restaurants were for refined people, which he was not. Restaurants were places that existed, in his mind, but he'd never been inside one as a diner. If Lorri wasn't so nice, he would think she was making fun of him. Instead, he assumed she was just making a joke, so he laughed.
"Youz is funny sumtimes, yub. Good sense ob humor. But... you nub brought lunch? Dat okie dokie. Thrak got some extra - me can share."
Without waiting for a reply, he went over to a corner near the doorway and picked up a rucksack, then called to her, "Come on - follow me."
He didn't look back again to see if she was there until he got to the main deck of the ship. From there, he led them both to the side of the ship that faced away from the dock, and opened a gate-like rail there, exposing the main deck to where a loading ramp might go had they docked in the other direction. Then, he sat his bulk down on the edge, dangling his boots over the side into empty space, and patted the decking next to him. "Come on," he repeated.
He proceeded to open his rucksack, revealing the contents: a simple knife, a couple of rags - one of which he took and wiped his hands off with - a waterskin, or wineskin (the contents were unknown just yet), and a few wrapped bundles that turned out to be a loaf of bread, a hunk of hard cheese, and a few pieces of fruit.
He offered his guest a portion first, "How hungry are youz?" He waved the knife over the bread and cheese, likely indicating where he could slice the stuff.
The sun was high overhead, and warm, but not hot - not here on the waterfront. Gulls dipped and flew through the air, some called to one another, and the constant lapping sound of water against the hulls of the many ships nearby drowned out the noises from the city of Lodan.
Post by Lorraine Blackmoore on Sept 22, 2015 4:35:49 GMT
"I can start up a log book if you would like," she had said as the large man went on to answer her questions about when the bolts should be checked and tightened. Time went by quite fast between the two of them though Lorraine had to suppose it was due to the fact that she was thoroughly enjoying herself--something that she had not been able to do so in the past year and especially within the last couple of weeks. When he made the comment of her being funny, she had to pause and blink as she did not follow at first. Was it not customary for the crew to go out and eat on occasion? She supposed it made sense given what they were, but still.
"N-no, I don't suppose I did. Are you positive? I do not wish to intrude upon your lunch." Her words came as the man was already walking away and she hurried to follow after him. Despite her long legs keeping up with Thrakazog was difficult. Once they reached the main deck, she slowed to peer about at the ocean view that surrounded them and wondered why she had holed herself up when it was so nice out. His voice caught her attention once more and she followed before taking a seat right beside him on the deck with her legs also dangling over the edge.
With slightly raised brows she watched as the food was removed from his rucksack and then blinked as he inquired on her hunger. If truth be told she was famished and when she usually ate she ate just as well as her brothers tended to. "Not terribly so," she replied with a soft smile. The thought of intruding on the man's meal was already more than she wished to do but declining his offer would be worse so instead she would eat sparingly she decided. "Would this much be alright," she asked gestured to small width at the heel of the bread.
The woman would wait politely for the meal to be offered to her afterwards and then would look out to the sea to watch the gulls overhead before finding interest in the waters themselves. "How long have you been doing this for, mister Thrakazog? You seem to know a lot about engines. Are you at sea often?"
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