When you close your eyes, do you picture me?
After the lovely chaos of the party and some much-needed downtime in Stormbreak, Thal gathers her crew and heads home to the Grounds. Longheat is quickly coming to an end, and the window for taking advantage of the tourist season is closing. Trips between the cities are spent on membranous wings soaring above The Marauder, eyes peeled for prospective sources of income. On this particular sail, she'd noted a frigate setting low in the tide, a spattering of soft-handed, bright-eyed innocents on board that they were more than happy to hand over their goods to avoid incurring the wrath of the blood-thirsty captain with dark scales and glowing eyes. For their cooperation, she'd left them with beating hearts and an intact ship while she floated on her merry way to Jack Tar.
When they arrive laden with coin and jewels, Thal sets her men to work offloading the supplies and restocking for their next run. They planned to be in port for only a night - grunts and sweat-slick brows telling of the efforts to meet the short timeline - so the young Ancient doesn't make an effort to cozy up in her Levinsward abode for the night, instead choosing to spend her time side-by-side with the others, lifting and pushing crates and boxes and barrels across the salt coated docks and decks. Spook does his best to avoid her, knowing that she's not happy with how he'd performed during the last raid, but what kind of special idiot tells the crew to unfurl the main mast in the middle of looting? They'd nearly blown past the other ship before the men were able to get the sails contained again.
Snapping an order at a lagging young deckhand, Thal flicks her tail and turns pointedly to grasp at her nearby flask, taking a deep sip of rum to refuel her dwindling energy after hours of work. She props a hand on her hip, glancing around at the bustling port in a moment of reprieve. In her sweeping gaze, she catches a familiar face that sends any signs of exhaustion fleeing for the hills, her fanged grin splitting across the flush of her skin. "Asta." There's no need for her to shout in the space, her voice carrying with the lingering authority, even as it softens with affection for the Butcher.
Thal adjusts the blacks rolls of her sleeves and tilts her head to scan him for signs of new injury or struggle. "What brings you out this way?"
When they arrive laden with coin and jewels, Thal sets her men to work offloading the supplies and restocking for their next run. They planned to be in port for only a night - grunts and sweat-slick brows telling of the efforts to meet the short timeline - so the young Ancient doesn't make an effort to cozy up in her Levinsward abode for the night, instead choosing to spend her time side-by-side with the others, lifting and pushing crates and boxes and barrels across the salt coated docks and decks. Spook does his best to avoid her, knowing that she's not happy with how he'd performed during the last raid, but what kind of special idiot tells the crew to unfurl the main mast in the middle of looting? They'd nearly blown past the other ship before the men were able to get the sails contained again.
Snapping an order at a lagging young deckhand, Thal flicks her tail and turns pointedly to grasp at her nearby flask, taking a deep sip of rum to refuel her dwindling energy after hours of work. She props a hand on her hip, glancing around at the bustling port in a moment of reprieve. In her sweeping gaze, she catches a familiar face that sends any signs of exhaustion fleeing for the hills, her fanged grin splitting across the flush of her skin. "Asta." There's no need for her to shout in the space, her voice carrying with the lingering authority, even as it softens with affection for the Butcher.
Thal adjusts the blacks rolls of her sleeves and tilts her head to scan him for signs of new injury or struggle. "What brings you out this way?"
Thalassa
When you fantasize, am I your fantasy?
