It was the morning of the 9th of December of 1717, near the coast of Nassau could be seen several vessels traveling from one place to another while others stayed still thanks to their anchors; one of these anchored vessels was no other than the Gunpowder Storm, which had returned to the island after an unsuccessful attack to a spanish convoy, luckily the pirate ship was fast enough to escape with minor damages.
It was hot as any other day on the Caribbean sea and the only way to refresh on the ship was to wait for one of those sudden rains that come out of nowhere and go just as easily, unluckily for the crew there was not a single cloud on sight so everyone had to continue with their chores while enduring the head.

Isabella was bussy minding her own business at the poop deck, making sure her cartography tools were in perfect conditions before placing them on a small table where she made all her calculations and stuff. At some point the blonde rised her to see once more the vessel that had anchored just in front of their's.


It was the recently renamed "Queen Anne's Revenge" under the command of the already infamous man known as Blackbeard. The ship was intimidating as no other, it looked like this ship could sink the Gunpowder Storm with a single broadside, so it was better to keep Blackbeard on his good side, which was bit difficult since the man was quite irascible.

Maybe he was in a good mood due to his recent acquisition or maybe the reason was other, in any case Blackbeard had arrenged a meeting with Captain Tylor on the Gunpowder Storm, to Isabella's eyes the man looked like the grim reaper itself, he said no words to those who saw him pass by and simply locked himself with Captain inside his cabin.

Everyone continued with their routine as they tried not to think of what those two may be talking about, at some point the cabin's door was opened again and Blackbeard walked out, followed by Tylor.

"I'm telling ya! There is a lot of coin to be made if we get our hands on THAT!" The guest shouted and everyone on the ship went silent, Blackbeard paid no mind and got to the jolly boat that would return him to the Queen Anne's. Francis Tylor on the other hand felt everyone's eyes on his shoulders and just shrugged before returning to his cabin.

Now everyone was eager to know wwhat they were talking about.

Ishaan stood on the top deck watching the crew hustle and bustle about like rats as he took a long drag off his churchwarden pipe. Every great once in a while he'd bark out an order but for the most part, he stood silent. Not wanting to draw attention to himself namely because he stood near the captain's quarters making sure none of the crew bothered the meeting that was taking place. Ishaan removed the pipe from his dry lips as he exhaled. He missed shisha but it was so hard to get in the Caribbean, so just plain tobacco would have to do.

As the door to the captains' quarters swung open the old man stood a bit straighter, examining the figure that had come aboard. He looked as imposing as ever. His gait demanding respect and his mere presence enough to chill lesser men. Blackbeard certainly lived up to his reputation. As Blackbeard finished yelling, he made eye contact with Ishaan and the old man averted his eyes pretending to examine his long pipe.

With Blackbeard finally off the ship he could feel several eyes upon him from some of the crewmates closest to him. He ruffled his white messy white beard knowing full well what they were wanting.

"Ya...Ya... Get back ta work!"

He grumbled loud enough for them to hear resulting in a few of the crewmates looking at each other and grinning as Ishaan slowly began to meander towards the captains' quarters. Seems Taylor wasn't too keen to speak right away, and he'd need his old friend Ishaan to....

Ishann stopped briefly lost in thought. He wasn't sure what he'd do but by George it would certainly be something! He adjusted his sweat-soaked turban ever so slightly as he stood in front of the door reaching his hand up to knock upon it.

.

Genevieve didn’t exactly know what to expect when she joined a pirate crew as a doctor. Given some past external facts, her experience was lesser, but her knowledge of the seas was vast. Even in the area she kept for her medicine and bandages, there were books on the seas.
The young woman kept with her books on healing as well, having just recently finished her schooling, she wanted to be prepared in case something was lost in her mind.

In complete honesty, Genevieve cannot entirely remember when she was allowed a job on the ship. She supposed that it was because she didn’t mind the thieving or murders, and was a good shot when it came down to it.

Currently she was in her area of healing that she liked to call her ‘Medical Bay’ she enjoyed that it sounded professional. No one had come in for a few days, she figured ot was because of how calm the sea had been, the only real danger was what the humidity was doing to her hair. And of course the fact that captain could snap one day and they would all be doomed.
Genevieve didn’t dwell on such things though, not having been on the crew long enough to say that would ever happen, stories and tales were her only proof.

“Where did I put them?” She mumbles to herself, sighing in exasperation as she looks through the desk in her bay, reorganizing as she goes along, wishing there was a way at hand to label everything.

She had lost her matches. It was day time, night wasn’t for hours and of course, there were always lanterns and candles if she wanted to use one of those, but the fact to her, was that she needed them. Now.
Genevieve didn’t know where she left them last, already having turned her sleeping area upside down, then right back up again, the only other place she could think of was this damned bay.

Genevieve exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose as she once again begins to mentally retrace her steps, the water outside the boat coming in gentle ripples and waves, calming her mind ever so much. “It’s not like they disappeared…”

The sky over Nassau was the kind of sharp, scorching blue that hurt to look at. Not a cloud to be seen, not even a promise of one. The sun pressed down like a hand on the back of your neck, and the Gunpowder Storm creaked faintly at anchor, a restless sleeper too proud to groan.

Up in the rigging, barefoot men moved like spiders, adjusting canvas that barely caught wind enough to stir. One of them, too eager by half, fumbled with a knot that wouldn’t hold.

“Twist it again,” came a voice from above. Calm. Solid.

Edric Blake didn’t shout unless he had to, especially when someone was earnestly trying hard to learn. The boatswain was perched a few lines higher, braced against the mainmast with one boot hooked and one hand gripping rope. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt and clung to his brow, but there was no sign of discomfort. He pointed once, a silent correction, and the young sailor adjusted, earning a short nod and a small smile in return.

With that, Edric descended, hand-over-hand down the rigging. His calloused palms slid down lines he’d coiled himself a dozen times over. As his boots hit the deck, the scent of pitch, salt, and hot wood washed over him like home.

Down on deck, the shade offered brief relief, not cool, but cooler, the way a palm frond doesn’t fight the sun but makes peace with it. Tar steamed between the seams, thick in the air, as two greenhands dragged their mops across the boards with all the enthusiasm of chained ghosts.

Edric watched them for a moment. “Swab it proper!” he barked, “or were you waitin’ on the captain himself to show you how?”

The pair startled, glancing up. One dropped his mop with a clatter, the other nearly tripped trying to fix his grip. They flushed red in the ears, then set to work with twice the effort. He gave a grunt, not quite approval, but enough to leave them be, for now.

He stooped beside a coil, giving a line a sharp pull. It bit back with just enough give to earn a nod. Spotting one of the riggers passing by, a lad who knew a reef knot from a granny hitch, Edric jerked his chin toward the fore.

“Tell Davie the staysail’ll need a new reef knot before midday. She’s runnin’ loose.”

“Aye, bosun,” came the reply, feet already turning.

He didn’t care for the murmurs about the Queen Anne’s Revenge moored just ahead, nor the hush that fell when Blackbeard had crossed the deck. Let the officers worry about plots and partnerships. Edric had rigging to inspect and a crew to keep alive. A ship wasn’t kept afloat by gossip, and sails didn’t mend themselves.

Still, the motion near the captain’s quarters caught his eye. Ishaan stood tall, or as tall as a man like that did, bearing the weight of age and wisdom both. Edric respected him more than most. The Quartermaster had a way of making decisions stick, even when tempers ran hot and rum ran low.

Then came Anne. Red hair catching fire in the sun, she stepped into the light like she belonged in it. There was precision in her every movement, like a knife honed for one purpose. She and Ishaan exchanged words just outside the door, nothing loud, but enough to see her posture shift, just slightly, firm as oak. Edric watched longer than he meant to, eyes narrowing with a hint of something unreadable. Then he turned away. Ropes to tighten. Boards to check. A ship to keep breathing.

K E N J I T A K E D A

_{Below deck: (In a quiet corner or doctors room)}

---

A silence permeated the ship from above, it wasn't complete but more a subtle shift in the mood, a slowing of actions, a murmuring of words. Kenji sensed the change, the tension, as it dripped down through tired wooden planks above and slowly seeped throughout the ship.

Something big was going on...

Trying to ignore what was happening above, the young man of mixed lineage, sitting seiza before a table made low by sawing off its legs, drew his senses into a tight bubble around himself and focused within.
-Just like he was taught-
He concentrate on his breath, on his thoughts, on his ki.
-Just like he was taught-
Seeking that state of Zen and subsequently, enlightenment.

Then, before he found it, the atmosphere above deck shifted once again, pulling at his attention. The creaking wood above whispered of someone leaving, moving overhead, a silence surrounding them, the ship itself groaning to the weight of their indomitable presence. Soon after a few muffled orders barked sent the ship back into a cacophony of busied work but underneath it all sat a new hum of curious whispers reverberating through the wood.

'It was not of his concern.' He told himself. 'Only Jisei was.(自制) Character and Self-Control. The eighth virtue.'
Without even opening his eyes, through graceful familiar movements his hand slid into the draw of the low table and removed a stick of incense to hopefully help him on his path. Then he paused, and finally his green eyes did open.

The external distraction caused an oversight in what he already knew. He was all out of matches.

Reaching into the ties of his patched up old hakama, he pulled forth a small rectangle box. With it in hand he hesitated before deftly, single handedly opening the package and peering at the matches within. Compared to what they had been using on the ship for the last few months these were relatively new and of quality.

These were not his. Obtained from two young deckhands squabbling over and trading them in a rush. They were not theirs either. He didn't know how they had obtained them, but he was sure it wasn't honourably. So, he had commandeered them. Kenji had been granted no authority by the captain to to do such things, but through reputation and role he had found some. As long as he didn't push it. Most did not want to upset the one who cuts their hair, or possibly their limbs.

So as he slowly examine the neat tidy little tightly packed box of fire sticks, he let the weight of the conundrum play out in his mind as he balance his choices.

The distinct scent of sandlewood rose into the air on wisps of ghostly white smoke soon after, Kenji let out a sigh and closed his eyes once more, returning to his meditation, neatly placing onto the modified table the small box of matches, now containing one less.

He would find the new crewmate who these belonged to and return them, later.

@Dark Light

Genevieve paused her searching, just for a moment. She had been searching for a few hours now, and she knew that in the larger scheme of things, it was wasting time, but really…she didn’t give a damn, and she wanted her matches back.
She didn’t know the crew well enough to go around asking or accusing anyone of anything, and she certainly knew that if she brought this up to someone of higher standing, the chances of her being ridiculed for wasting time was…high. Too high for her liking.

The young woman sighs, resting her head on the wall of the bay. She curses softly under her breath, closing her eyes. Maybe she should check below where some of the crew, along with herself, sleeps.

“Okay…” she sighs softly, straightening everything up once more before she walks out to the main deck. She waves at a few members, smiling to some. Gen wasn’t exactly cutthroat most of the time, she enjoyed the more gentle side of things. That’s why she was a healer.
Although gruesome at times, she still was in the calmer area of piracy.

Once she crosses the deck, the sun shining in the eyes, the rays beating down with an occasional break from a cloud, she hums to herself. It was a small tune, one stuck in her head that she couldn’t quite place, but it was no matter. She doesn’t notice anyone down here yet, but upon smelling the all to familiar sent of freshly burnt wood, she freezes. Her matches.

“Hello?” She calls quietly, hoping someone would answer and not make her seem crazy, but not only answer, she was hoping they had her matches.

It was, as things went, not a terrible day. There was much to do, as they were in port, so Danneil had been off before first light with a small away team to Nassau, sourcing timbers and finished plank. They had returned with a fine assortment: fir, mahogany, sapele, and alder. Oakum, pitch. Some planking, but mostly unfinished timbers. All for a handful of coin. Danneil had tasks in mind for immediate work as soon as they returned. There was always work to do. Seawater wrecked havoc on a wooden ship. Water was insidious, and found its way in, in places all over, sometimes between, or occasionally directly through the wood that kept them safe and afloat. Even when there might appear to have been nothing to do, appearances were misleading. He had work from now until christendom, as long as the Quartermaster or the Head Mate had coin to allow the work to continue. They used the cock's block and falls to hoist the timbers to the main deck, and while two hands were making ready, Danneil set the Cradle for six paces aft from the bow, port side. He spoke severely to the two hands with him.

"I'm to be a nether hair away from the waterline for two hours. See to it she's steady, and keep the pitch and wedges comin', y'hear?" And without further fuss, and mere nods from the two crewmen that they understood, Danneil was over the side in the cradle and lowering himself to within spitting distance of the waterline. They'd really torn his boat up. Working away with pitch and wedge, he filled what he could, and patched what he couldn't, occasionally calling for plank and sizes, dowels and caulk.

A little after dark, satisfied with his work, Danneil pulled himself to the deck, and sought out the Bosun on-deck. He was soeaked to the skin with seawater and sweat, dreads tied back and hands bloody and raw. Just another day. "Edric, sir -- Port side fo'c'sle at the waterline is ship-shape. I'll remove the bracing from the hold shortly. Got us enough fir to replace those gun deck floorboards, what got the rot in 'em."

The heat clung like a jealous lover.

By midmorning, the deck of the Gunpowder Storm shimmered with it, boards creaking under boot and bare foot alike as the crew bustled in the unrelenting Caribbean sun. Sweat ran in rivulets down brows, soaked through linen, stung eyes. Below deck, the air was worse. Stale. Breathless. And laced with the acrid bite of black powder. But Babel preferred it here, where she could still taste the fire of cannon smoke on her tongue, where the echo of thunder hadn't quite settled into silence.

She sat cross-legged atop a powder keg like it was a throne, one boot heel tapping idly against the wood. Her crimson scarf was tied tight around her wrist today, fingers stained with soot and oil as she cleaned Darlin' and Devil—her twin flintlocks, always treated with more tenderness than most men ever earned. On the small table beside her, her daggers Dainty and Dirty gleamed beneath the glow of lantern light, edges freshly honed despite the lack of blood spilled.

The failed convoy attack gnawed at her. They should’ve had them. Spanish sails, ripe with gold and arrogance, slipping through their fingers like sand. She didn’t blame the Captain. Storms, tides, and powder misfires were all part of the game, but it still soured her mood.

A bead of sweat trailed down the hollow of her throat. She let it fall. No rain today, no cloud, just heat and silence and the ship groaning under the weight of its own frustration. “You’d think with all that noise we made, we’d have come back with more than bruised pride and empty barrels,” she muttered, voice low and musical as she snapped Darlin' back together with a practiced flick.

Outside, someone cursed loudly over tangled rigging. Another shouted about sails. Babel stood slowly, eyes narrowing toward the stairwell. "Well,” she murmured, holstering one pistol and grabbing her scarf with the other hand, “if we’re stuck sweating our skins off, might as well make it interesting.”

She slung her belt over one shoulder, twin daggers glinting like a promise as she made her way up toward the deck—graceful, deliberate, and every bit the storm the ship was named for.

After finishing for the day with the waterline, the Carp went down to the Orlop and organized the new timbers, before heading to the gun deck and replacing several boards that had been scorched from both the powder monkeys, and the pitch catching alight during the last fight. It was a constant process. New, wet, swell, shrink, leak, rot, replace. Not too much all at once, but over time, it would all get replaced. And Danneil would see to it. It was well past dark when he finally made it to the galley, ripped off a chunk of bread, and poured a dram of rum. It would be reported as allotted to him, but he was owed it, and then some. Every seaman was allotted a certain amount of rum a day, and Danneil rarely met his quota. He was too damn busy.

He went up on deck for awhile, getting the night air, feeling the ship creak and move underneath him, listening for the sounds of his world, any telltales that the ship was telling him she needed care and attention. But tonight, all was the sea, and the sounds of the crew. They weren't overjoyed -- the last raid had been a bust -- but they were afloat, they were fed, life went on. Spotting the Master Gunner at a distance, he approached with reports. "Ms. Huron, Ma'am -- I replaced two dozen planks damaged in the last action on the Gun Deck. Ship-shape and sound for now, but on the morrow I'm going to shore up a joist from below that took damage. Nothing aboard to replace it, currently." He paused, looking out over the rail. "You reckon Cap'n will accept the Black Beard's offer?"

@HyliaIncarnate

@zoie hart

A brief frown crossed his lips as he saw her exit the captains' quarters. He had thought it had been too quiet on the deck. This would explain that at least. As she spoke to him his demeanor shifted to one of pleasant surprise despite her questioning jab. A slight mock bow with his arms gesturing outward slightly.

“Why my royal highness. You know old Ishaan is always tending to his duties.”

A toothy grin crossed his lips as he ran a hand through his unkept beard. He turned his head slightly to look out at the busy working crew. Noticing Edric working hard as usual tending to the sails, a slight smile crossed Ishaan's face as he pointed towards him and stopped himself as his eyes drifted downward to a young crew member that was sound asleep sitting on a barrel.

Ishaan forced a cough as he looked guilitily towards Anne like this sleeping crew member was somehow his fault. Reaching into the neck of his shirt he pulled out a half eaten apple and with somewhat decent percision nailed the sleeper in the forehead rousing them from their slumber as they yelped and rubbed their forehead.

Ishaan took a few steps towards him with his hand outstreched a smile on his face though it did not reach his eyes.

“Ahhhhh Mr. Summers. Forgive an old man. Me grip isn't what it used to be. Bring me my apple please.”

Summers looked towards the half eaten apple and cleared his throat as he leaned down and quickly brought the apple to Ishaan. Thinking if all he got was hit in the head by an apple he was getting off pretty good. As he almost placed the apple in the old man's hand, he was shocked as Ishaan hand moved deftly with a speed that did not fit the old man and moved around his hand clamping on his wrist like a vice and yanking the young man until he could feel the roughness of the white beard raking against his cheek.

Ishaan whispered into the crewmates ear.

“Mr. Summers. This is the third time I have caught you sleeping.”

He could feel the young man starting to babble out a defense but Ishaan kept speaking cutting him off.

“Worse yet. You make me look foolish in front of the firstmate. I think it wise if we go through a round of caning.”

Tears could be seen welling up in the eyes of crewmate when all of a sudden Ishaan let him go quickly grabbing his apple in the process. As he laughed and shoved the man onto his backside.

“Away with you! If I catch you sleeping again. It will be the nine-tails! Not the cane! 10 lashes!”

Turning away from the lad he donned a less serious look as he looked at Anne.

“So anyways. If you won't move tell me what Blackbeard and the captain talked about.”

K E N J I T A K E D A

_{Below deck: (In a quiet corner)}
Interacting with: @Adeline Genevieve

---

Privacy was a rare and fleeting (if not impossible) thing to find onboard a pirate ship, and Kenji's little corner was by no means private, but he had managed to carve out a small modicum of solitude in it. Two wooden walls, a barrel, a crate, a column of hammocks. While far from concealment, it at least offered a slight perimeter.

His moments of meditation had become accepted amongst the crew, even if not understood. It had taken grit and determination, enduring every mocking question and witty remark, (and the not so witty) to get here.

He had just about found a deeper level of focus, pushing aside the outside world, quietening the commotion above and the creaking footsteps that pass him by. Ignoring the beads of sweat that ran down his brow and back, when.
'Hello' The soft unsure feminine call pierced his attention, but not nearly as much as the silence that followed it. There was no one left to respond, no one but him. It would be an impolite selfishness to ignore it.

With a controlled exhale he open his eyes, resigned to defeat. Before gracefully standing he reach out and pinch the smouldering embers of the incense stick between finger and thumb, extinguishing it as it let off its final huff of scented smoke.
Like the match sticks, they were are rare commodity aboard the ship.

"Greetings." He reply warmly, breaking the silence as he emerge from the shadows, hands clasped behind his back as he offer a polite nod. He spoke softly but surely, only a slight inflection of his father's tongue on his words. His pace was thoughtful. Green eyes quickly examined her, she had that lost searching look about her. Educated. Out of place. He had seen the doctor in passing but a formal introduction had yet to take place. Busy as they all were.

"I am Kenji Takeda. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, can I help you?"
'You don't show manners for the worlds sake, but to remember you are not the world.'
His father's lessons always echoing in the deep recesses of his mind.

-On the Gunpowder Storm, midday-

Captain Tylor used a small brown cloth to wipe the sweat off his forehead, dealing with Blackbeard always made him nervous, he knew that man woud be the end of him someday. He poured himself a drink, action that was questioned by the First Mate who had proved herselef worthy of her position many times, they had a brief conversation about the "secret" meeting and finally he gave the second in charge the green light for returning to Nassau, then made a gesture with his hand so Anne knew the man wanted to be alone as he had noticed Iashaan was approaching.

The bright sun of the Caribbean iluminated the Captain's cabin through it's windows with thick yellowish glasses, the man could not take his eyes off the map and what the other Captain talked about. The man, who's exact origin was unknown to everyone, knew it was a potential suicide...but if Blackbeard was right then the entire Gunpowders Storm's crew could forget about piracy and money problems for the rest of their lives

The First Mate intercepted Ishaan from entering the Captain's cabin, or maybe Ishaan intercepted the First Mate from going out, in any case the man talked about always tending to his duties, which was fun as it was Ishaan himself who had to threaten a sailor with giving him lashes the next time he was caught sleeping. After the little how was over the First Mate gave the Quarter Master a glare.

"You shall know once the Captain thinks the moment for revealing his plans comes. Before that...make sure no one falls asleep while on duty...Specially those of old age" She replied sarcasticaly before walking up to the ebony wheel with brass handles. She filled her lungs air before shouting the Captain's orders to the crew.

"WE ARE HEADING TO NASSAU!"

And immediately the heavy atmosphere caused by Blackbeard's presence shifted to one of joy.

Isabella was still on the Poop Deck but approached to she short staircase that led to the Quarter Deck -and from there to the Captain's cabin- with curiosity and hopes of hearing something interesting, with her protable telescope on her hands so in case she got caught by Edric she would have an excuse by saying she was checking the area or something. She never had a problem with the big man, but he sure was intimidating, whenever the man rised his voice the girl felt goose bumps even though she knew he was not talking to her. I instead she caught a little chat between the First Mate and the Quartermaster, luckily for the blonde they could see her since the two were a bit lower on the Quarter Deck. The conversation was short and as soon as Isabella heard the First Mate's steps she rushed to her maps and tools, then out of no where a feline figure jumped onto the little table and taking the spaniard by surprise, it was no other than Dewey, the one in charge of controlling pests on the ship. The animal looked at Isabella as if telling her to mind her own business.

With the First Mate giving the order the vessel finally resumed it's march towards the coast of Nassau and everyone could have some proper rest, or fun, even though there was much work to do. As they got closer to their little "land of freedom" Isabella played with the gold ring on her left middle finger -a gift from her mother- while her blue eyes were locked on the huge fortress that defended the pirate haven. She was called back at reality when the anchor hit the water once more and the crew started gathering around the jolly boats making a line to get off the ship in "order", as ordered as pirates could be. She left her rapier hanging from her chair and joined them, some looked so desperate for female attention Isabella could only feel pity.

"Go ahead, I have no hurry" she told with her spanish accent to one of the sailors who got on the line just after her and he as quite happy to take the place.


@Tally Dor @Ducksworth

Interacting with: @Dark Light - Kenji
༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༆

Genevieve pauses slightly, taking a moment to study the man before her. Kenji…she had heard of him in passing, seen him on occasion.
Gen had honestly thought that she would have already known everyone on this ship well. She couldn’t place why, maybe it was the close quarters, or what she used to read about pirates in books.

Of course, nothing in this world ever fully matched up to what people believe. She supposed pirates shouldn’t be any different.

Kenji didn’t look quite like a traditional pirate. Then again, she supposed that she didn’t either. He spoke so…formally. It nearly threw her off track.

“Um…yes,” she nods after a moment of looking at the area he surrounded himself with. Does that actually work? Does he not have others knocking over his barrier? It wasn’t her place to ask.
“I’m Genevieve, it’s a pleasure to formally introduce myself.” She smiles, holding out her hand as she continues with her question.

“I was looking for a matchbox, it’s wooden? A bit burnt in a few places?” She asks, keeping her voice down a bit out of habit. “I was just curious if you had seen it?”

The blazing sun and the heat was getting tiring, even as early as it still was. Bridget had been working in the galley far before the sun decided to make an appearence, knowing fully well that using the ovens and preparing the bread for the day when the heat was fully working would not be wise. The silence and solitude, the relaxing waving of the deck under her feet, that was an added bonus of waking up before anyone else.

She enjoyed working as a cook in ships, the perfect measure of freedom, the sea, even some adventure, and the peaceful calm of cooking and feeding others. She still had to lend a hand to others from time to time, but it mostly felt like a small diversion, a new thing to try in need, than real tasks, even if she took them as serious as if her life was on the line. And when she helped during the last quick escape of the Gunpowder Storm, it was.

As the smell of fresh bread reached her, she new everything she could prepare in advance was done for the day. After that, it was only taking off some sweat from her face, and leaving some flour in exchange. Taking off and hanging the cloth she used to cover her own clothes not to make a mess of herself, she turned to the door, quickly getting outside, wanting to enjoy the sun and the peace of being still at the port before having to get back inside and prepare lunch.

Today, she took more time than she expected, getting used to moving again in a completely full room, the possibilities making her stop to think more than usual. It was nearing midday, and she was sure that soon she'd have to get back to the galley to prepare lunch, but she still wanted to get outside as much as she could. And it was the perfeect moment to do so, as soon as she was out of the galley, getting some fresh air, she saw the movement and anxiousness of the crew, the careful moving and the listening to something going on inside, even if they could hear nothing. Oh, right, the important meeting, she remembered hearing something about it.

As she got closer to that place, looking for a spot to take a breath and also try to get close to the meeting, as if she could know what was happening inside just by being close, the door opened and a figure got out, the first mate, ready to make the announcement. As soon as the news got out, a few screams of joy started, the excitement of moving again, of going to Nassau, getting to all the crew. Bridget tried to contain herself, happy that they were going back to the sea soon, bot not really minding the destination, but a small smile still got out.

K E N J I T A K E D A

_{Below deck: (In a quiet corner)}
Interacting with: @Adeline Genevieve

---

With slight hesitation Kenji took the doctors hand in greeting and as he did so, he gave her an appraising glance over. A moment of thoughtful silence spread between them as the ship continue to casually rock and groan on the gentle waves.
"Ah yes." He finally said, turning away to quickly retrieve the mentioned box. His dark green eyes found her again.
"I believe this is what you are looking for. with one hand he held it up in the lamp light for her to see, but deliberately did not hand it over, standing just beyond her reach.
The faintest beginning of a smirk forming in the corner of his lips.

.

Interacting with: @Dark Light- Kenji
༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༆

Genevieve lets her hand fall back to her side for a moment, starting to fiddle with a piece of fabric from her clothing. She watches him turn around, her eyes looking him over, studying him carefully. This was the surgeon, wasn’t it? Gen supposed that they would be working together.
Although, she hasn’t seen him in the med bay yet, so…maybe she was wrong?

When her eyes catch sight of her match box, relief flood her, “Yes-“ she breathes, but pauses when he doesn’t give it to her. “Um…thank you…for finding it…” she says, her voice now softer and more hesitant as she steps closer, the dark, water stained wood creaking below them as she reaches for her match box.

And finally the time to board the jolly boat arrived, Isabella got on board with a few other sailor, incuding the cook who was a girl preety much her age. She knew the girl's face and name but they never had a proper conversation, both were always busy with their own things and time to chat was scarse.
She waited in silence as they approeached, getting closer and closer with every movement row of the sailors. With the distance getting shorrt and shorter it was easy to hear the noises coming from the shore, some of the pirates on firm land were singing and drinking rum on broad daylight, others playing their instruments like concertinas, fiddles, mandolins, and fifes; this instruments were appreciated for their portability. Soon not only the music but also the smell of tobacco reached those on the boat.

The boat reached the shore and eveyrone jumped off. "The crystalline water of these seas sure is beautiful, but I was eager to feel the sand to be honest" she commented to the cook with a polite smile once those who were on the boat with them left in search of rum and women, women that would not stab them if they tried something funny.

As they walked a bit off the shore the spaniard took a small leather coin sack from her pocket, after a quick look at her finances she loked at Bridget once more "I take it you have never been to Nassau. There is not much to see but how about I show you the tavern and get a drink? Or perhaps you have something to do?" she asked, scanning the cook from toes to head and wondering what a girl like wanted to achieve by joining a pirate ship, sure it was not cooking for pirates the rest of her life.

@MooiEen

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K E N J I T A K E D A

_{Below deck: (In a quiet corner)}
Interacting with: @Adeline Genevieve

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With deft fluid movements, the matchbox transported from one hand to the other in the blink of an eye, remaining out of Genevieve's reach. Kenji remain nonchalant as he study the wooden box in his fingers, seemingly unaware the doctor had even reached out for it. However, it was the subtle prideful and playful smirk hidden poorly on his lips that gave it away.

"These trade for quite a bit on this ship." He announce matter of factly.
"Also, a popular item to wager."

The box was now open as he eyed it, thumbing over the individual matches as he counted them. Genevieve remain in the corner of his eye and held a constant portion of his attention.

"These are not easy to come by. No. How much do you think they are worth?"

He closed the box and held up a single match as he examine it with scientific interest while moving around various obstacles towards better lighting.

What he really asked was, 'How much are they worth to you?