they had sailed right into the storm, hail and thunder all around them like out of a horror story, one of those told by old sailors of the wrath of the sea — and yet it is that their crew braves, on flint's command, rather than accept pardons that would see them all free men. there is only one path, the path of resistance, the path of revenge, the path that doesn't bow down to an empire... and they will walk through fire and storm if need be, for it.
well, silver thinks, made it through the second one of those, it seems.
shifting his focus on his surroundings, he's... on a bed? the blanket that he lies on is threadbare, old, and as he blinks his eyes open, the cottage around him seems just as old. there's a faint scent of herbs in the air.
with a groan, he sits up, noting with dismay his prosthetic is missing. lost in the wreckage of their ship, probably — not the time to worry about that now, though. ]
Where am I?
[ his voice is groggy with disuse, his throat dry like the sands of nassau, and he hopes whoever brought him here from where he had washed up didn't mean to save his life on a temporary basis. ]
It is not in her nature to take care of strangers found on the edge of the ocean, too close to the little spot she had called her own. With Myrana gone, she had been able to take the humble cottage into her own, accepting that she had nowhere else to go. She had her garden, she had her herbs, she had her books, and it was enough. If strangers somehow found their way, she was quick to send them off.
When she had found the drowning man, something in her had made her drag him, poorly, to the cottage, to make sure he lived, and to do something to ensure he stayed that way.
Hearing him move, she turns, expression tight and the line of her mouth a slash of irritation, arms crossing over her chest as though to protect herself from his groggy wakefulness. ]
Right, [ he mutters, because of course it's a cottage, and he'd figure it belongs to the person currently in said cottage — but considering the alternative to being here would be being at the bottom of the ocean, maybe he doesn't have much to complain about.
which is why, after shaking his head a little to clear his vision and maybe also his brain, he zeroes in on her and gives her an honest, grateful smile. water sounds good, but thanking the person responsible for his current state of life is better. ]
You're the one I have to thank for not drowning, then? Can't have been easy, dragging me here. You have my thanks, miss...?
[ It's clear she is being cautious as she steps around the cottage, trying to keep an eye on him as she moves, gathering things here and there. He might be injured, so she'll need some herbs, and if she has to defend herself she ought to find her dagger, too. Whoever this stranger is, almost drowning has made him weaker, so she is confident enough in her self-defence.
Leaning against a table, she watches him, expression dark. ]
Lauralae.
[ She nods to the water, not looking away from him. ]
You were heavy. [ A brief pause, until; ] I am sorry I could not find your leg.
Lauralae, [ he repeats with a nod, as if to tell her that her name matters, and that he's committing it to memory. ]
I'm John Silver. [ he doesn't expect her to recognise the name; that of flint, yes, because the name of pirate captain flint is known far and wide outside of the waters around nassau, is likely whispered not only in the cities of the colonies but also in england — but the name of his quartermaster is not (yet) quite so well known.
there's a surprised laugh he lets out as she tells him he was heavy; but the laugh twists into a half-smile at the mention of his leg. ]
Seems to me I'm the one who should be sorry, for causing you all this trouble. And don't worry about my leg. I'll fashion a crutch out of something, and that'll do.
[ Lauralae says it with an edge of something sharp, like she doesn't want this but respects the need for it, that he is in her house, and therefore she is required to know who he is, what kind of creature he makes himself into. The name is foreign to her, but she expects that; it is rare that she knows anyone, no matter how famous they are elsewhere.
Stepping around, she pushes the water towards him before she begins to pick some herbs off her wall, gloved hand pinching them as she speaks. ]
You did not choose to drown, no more than you chose to arrive on the beach.
[ Her eyes flick back over to him. ]
Unless it was intentional, in which case you have been an inconvenience to us both.
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no subject
they had sailed right into the storm, hail and thunder all around them like out of a horror story, one of those told by old sailors of the wrath of the sea — and yet it is that their crew braves, on flint's command, rather than accept pardons that would see them all free men. there is only one path, the path of resistance, the path of revenge, the path that doesn't bow down to an empire... and they will walk through fire and storm if need be, for it.
well, silver thinks, made it through the second one of those, it seems.
shifting his focus on his surroundings, he's... on a bed? the blanket that he lies on is threadbare, old, and as he blinks his eyes open, the cottage around him seems just as old. there's a faint scent of herbs in the air.
with a groan, he sits up, noting with dismay his prosthetic is missing. lost in the wreckage of their ship, probably — not the time to worry about that now, though. ]
Where am I?
[ his voice is groggy with disuse, his throat dry like the sands of nassau, and he hopes whoever brought him here from where he had washed up didn't mean to save his life on a temporary basis. ]
no subject
It is not in her nature to take care of strangers found on the edge of the ocean, too close to the little spot she had called her own. With Myrana gone, she had been able to take the humble cottage into her own, accepting that she had nowhere else to go. She had her garden, she had her herbs, she had her books, and it was enough. If strangers somehow found their way, she was quick to send them off.
When she had found the drowning man, something in her had made her drag him, poorly, to the cottage, to make sure he lived, and to do something to ensure he stayed that way.
Hearing him move, she turns, expression tight and the line of her mouth a slash of irritation, arms crossing over her chest as though to protect herself from his groggy wakefulness. ]
My cottage.
[ Which. Doesn't help, but she doesn't care. ]
There's water, there.
no subject
which is why, after shaking his head a little to clear his vision and maybe also his brain, he zeroes in on her and gives her an honest, grateful smile. water sounds good, but thanking the person responsible for his current state of life is better. ]
You're the one I have to thank for not drowning, then? Can't have been easy, dragging me here. You have my thanks, miss...?
no subject
Leaning against a table, she watches him, expression dark. ]
Lauralae.
[ She nods to the water, not looking away from him. ]
You were heavy. [ A brief pause, until; ] I am sorry I could not find your leg.
no subject
I'm John Silver. [ he doesn't expect her to recognise the name; that of flint, yes, because the name of pirate captain flint is known far and wide outside of the waters around nassau, is likely whispered not only in the cities of the colonies but also in england — but the name of his quartermaster is not (yet) quite so well known.
there's a surprised laugh he lets out as she tells him he was heavy; but the laugh twists into a half-smile at the mention of his leg. ]
Seems to me I'm the one who should be sorry, for causing you all this trouble. And don't worry about my leg. I'll fashion a crutch out of something, and that'll do.
no subject
[ Lauralae says it with an edge of something sharp, like she doesn't want this but respects the need for it, that he is in her house, and therefore she is required to know who he is, what kind of creature he makes himself into. The name is foreign to her, but she expects that; it is rare that she knows anyone, no matter how famous they are elsewhere.
Stepping around, she pushes the water towards him before she begins to pick some herbs off her wall, gloved hand pinching them as she speaks. ]
You did not choose to drown, no more than you chose to arrive on the beach.
[ Her eyes flick back over to him. ]
Unless it was intentional, in which case you have been an inconvenience to us both.