Author Topic: No Grave But The Sea [PRP Solomon]  (Read 189 times)

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Offline Triteia (Trout)

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No Grave But The Sea [PRP Solomon]
« on: June 03, 2017, 12:10:49 AM »
Triteia could not scramble out of the cave quickly enough. With fumbling paws, she snatched the flask at her side and scooped as much water as it could carry, almost spilling its contents. She wasn't anywhere close to sufficiently hydrated, but in her desperation to escape Baal's probing stare (that single word, GO, haunting her, ringing in her ears, the shade of the cave might as well have been smothering her), she was all too willing to brave the scorching heat. She nudged Solomon hard in an attempt to rouse him, muttering in his ear, "'ey old man. I'm goin' out." The invitation hung in the air, and though she hoped he would accept it, it was his choice to decide whether or not to follow.

Panic was a horribly torturous feeling to endure, especially in solitude. Her hammering heart instilled a contradictory need for simultaneous distance and closeness; the want to have someone to cling to, but the need to reject everyone around her.

Triteia hastily departed the cave, resisting the urge to glance behind her. She heard movement -- the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and against better judgment, she looked behind her. She was glad to see that instead of Baal, Aysu, or to a lesser extent, Raikov prowling in her shadow, there stood Solomon, looking haggard but nevertheless prepared. Triteia grinned as she was flooded with relief, the look edging too closely into her eyes, and led him away from their headquarters. Her plan was not to venture too deeply into the desert. Too great a likelihood to get lost and bumble about this neverending, unconquerable land for eternity. Protection was in numbers.

As the pair wandered, Triteia jabbered endlessly, voice hitching too quickly in places, sounding nigh incoherent as she tripped between tangents. She tried to play off her stumbling as just a minor quirk, but perhaps Solomon was perceptive enough to notice the fault in her charisma. After ten minutes of this endless barrage, Triteia obtained some semblance of self-awareness. "Uh, listen ta me ramble on and on and on," Triteia laughed sheepishly. "I sound like a effin' cra--bleh! Maniac, huh?"

More time passed. As Triteia trudged down this weathered desert road, flanked by looming stone walls, she noticed something lurking behind the heat haze. Irrationally, her nerves bristled. She proceeded down the leviathan's great throat and into its gullet, feeling those walls constrict around her like she was a nugget of raw meat, and as she advanced, she realized that instead of whatever oddity she had suspected, it was-- a collapsed human relic, half-submerged in the sands. Triteia blinked, and with renewed fascination, she sprinted for the wagon. One of its wheels was reduced to tinder, and mounds of sand accumulated in the wagon's crevices, trapping it like a rhino half-eaten by quicksand.

If Triteia knew much of humans, she would have correctly assumed that this was a lost piece of a larger procession, which was abandoned after being broken. Wandering nomads occasionally traversed the desert as they drifted from place to place, selling their wares, and this wagon was used to transport those goods. The wagon's former drivers had been sure to strip the wagon of most of its valuables, but as Triteia began to unearth the wagon, she discovered that not all of its treasures had been snapped up.

The fabrics had been dirtied by continuous exposure to the buffeting desert storms, but they were still intact, so she bundled them up. Beads and fragments of crystals were clustered in hidden shelves. She did not recognize most of the stones, but the great variety of colors intrigued her. Some of them had been carved into little shapes: turtles, birds and fish. Animal teeth and leather strips -- Triteia took those too. Maybe Albatross or Eremiel could fashion those into something suitable. Right now, Triteia was very much like a vulture, picking a carcass clean. She circled the wagon, eager to delve deeper into its innards.

"Wow," Triteia giggled, "Look at this thing. We've really hit the jackpot."

Too bad there wasn't any booze hiding in the remains.



triteia's inventory:
gold nuggets
water flask

gained:
- beads aplenty
- fabric
- obsidian owl statuette
- jade seahorse carving
- yellow agate turtle carving
- turquoise bear carving
- moonstone moon carving
- 5 sardonyx chunks
- 4 rose quartz chunks
- 5 river agate
- 3 pearls
- 2 moonstones
- 4 turquoise chunks
- 4 malachite chunks
- leather cords
- unknown bones

gee, that bag is starting to feel awfully heavy. good thing they're not far from camp.
« Last Edit: June 07, 2017, 01:55:55 PM by Sunblink [Summer!] »
     Is it easier to take a hit
than it is to throw the stone?
Better blood on your face
better blood on the ground
Well, I guess I'll never know...

Cause it's best not to give a crap,
and to speak in a timid tone.
Keep my tongue to my teeth;
keep my ear to the ground
and a blind eye to everyone.

[ #29AB87 ] | played by Sunblink.
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Quote
[10:40:00 PM] kujo the daddy's daddy: thank god trout is finally dead

Offline ⓢᴏʟᴏᴍᴏɴ


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Re: No Grave But The Sea [PRP Solomon]
« Reply #1 on: July 08, 2017, 05:39:39 PM »
On the journey from Tortuga deep into the neutral territories, Solomon stayed close to Triteia, never wandering far from her side. Perhaps she was almost a crutch, but if there was anyone in the pirate pack that he appreciated it was her. Their friendship was not necessarily easy, but it felt natural and genuine, some semblance of understanding. Triteia knew what it meant to be subjugated, to be enslaved, to struggle with her health bot mental and physical. Solomon hadn’t connected with someone from outside the Dominion in… his entire life. It was new and strange, but he enjoyed it. He was naturally suspicious and guarded, but Trout provided at least somewhat of a respite while they traveled.

He supposed that made it easier for him to feel the tension that radiated from her as they walked. Solomon made no comment, largely walking beside her in relative silence, his discolored eyes glancing over the companions in their party. By the time they reached their Captain’s destination, Triteia was nearly vibrating with her agitation and made quick work of separating herself from the group. She leaned in to speak into his ear and he could feel her tension, even beyond the shove she gave him to get his attention. The watchman let her walk off, pausing to glance over their packmates, before turning and trotting after her. Anxiously she glanced back at him, exuding a fear that he was intimately familiar with.

Solomon knew what it was like to be so deeply afraid, to be wary of yet another betrayal, yet more hurt. He did not question her feelings, though he did not know what exactly was plaguing her, he knew that now was not the moment to investigate. They had work to do and he was more interested in helping to take her mind off of whatever crap followed them from Tortuga.

He listened as she spoke, though she didn’t say much of anything. She was nervous, it made her yammer. Triteia laughed it off eventually, though Solomon said nothing, at least for now.

They continued to walk, Triteia leading them on through the dust of the desert until something caught her eye. It was a strange construction, something he’d never seen before, and they both rushed over to inspect it properly. Triteia had an eye for valuables and she had managed to sniff out quite the find. They both dug through tarp and the sand, picking out what they could. One of the first things that caught his attention was a pair of small fish carved into ivory, which he quickly tucked away into the little sack at his side.

”Yuh, wow,” he agreed, grinning at her, glad that there was a success they could bring back to the rest of the raid. ”It’s a real good find, Tri.“

Sully kept glancing over to his companion as they gathered the valuables from the cart, his discolored eyes a little sharp with contemplation. ”Did I ever tell ya ‘bout that time when Baal watched me take a crap?,“ he asked suddenly, cocking his head. ”I look up an’ this girl is standin’ there, starin’ straight at me while I’m poppin’ a squat. She had straight eye contact w’my asshole, I swear t’god.“

""



sully's inventory:
- 2 ivory fish carvings
- 6 turquoise chunks
- 4 malachite chunks
- bunch o' beads
- pair of wild goat horns
- a few desert animal skins (african wild dog, fennec fox, rattle snake)
- 2 gold rings
- leather straps
- fabric
- a knife

█████████████████████████

S L A V E  S C R E A M S ,
he's going to cause the system to fall.
S L A V E  S C R E A M S ,
but he's glad to be chained to that wall.

#3c0302

{ the Old Revolutionary }
— played by Kujo

Offline Triteia (Trout)

  • In another life, everything is great.
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Re: No Grave But The Sea [PRP Solomon]
« Reply #2 on: July 12, 2017, 10:39:31 PM »
Triteia bustled around the edge of the capsized caravan, her saddlebags bursting with her plundered goods. In a matter of moments, she and her companion had picked the wreckage clean, and though she had little space left, she wanted to spend as much time away from that forsaken cavern as possible. Aysu and Raikov and Baal -- they were just a bickering school of piranhas restlessly circling the tank, awaiting the first drop of hot blood.

Go, the bitch had said. As if Triteia was unworthy of taking refuge in some desolate cavern with the rest of them.

Solomon gathered some animal furs, which he slung over his back, as well as some beads, gemstones, and human tools. As he checked the wagon for anything else of value, complimenting her on her find, Triteia hopped to the back, where a few bundled tapestries had been stashed. Sand and sun had eaten away at the patterns, but as she picked through the pile and peeled away the damaged fabric, she discovered a few that were still intact, though their condition had suffered greatly from exposure to the elements. Triteia knew that she would have to thoroughly wash them once she had access to clean water.

An image flashed through her head of her mother; faded and weathered like a beaten photograph scavenged from a fire-gutted home, but radiant in her memory. Much like Triteia, Rita had a fondness for trinkets, and most striking of all was the bandana that she wore around her forehead. Triteia inspected the rolls of fabric; finding one blue tapestry with silver stars interwoven, a dark purple (its iridescence would eventually be expressed once she washed it) one, and the last bearing the scene of a single hilltop surrounded by churning waves, sprawled under a sun and wispy clouds. Triteia made a note to return for those. Maybe there were other fabrics tucked away.

Triteia picked up the purple fabric and displayed it beside her head. "Y' think this'd look good? Y'know, if I wore it in me hair or somethin'?" she asked Solomon, neglecting the fact that her hair was disheveled and sticky with grains of sand. Once she received his opinion, she gave the fabrics a lingering, curious glance, hummed, and stuffed the hastily-packaged fabric back into some easy to remember crevice.

Her and Solomon's adventure did wonders for her nerves, but she still zigzagged between standoffishness, inattention, hypervigilance, desperate attempts at normalcy, and uncontrollable jabbering. By now, it was at least more manageable. Sully didn't complain, fortunately, though she couldn't shake the paranoid impression that he had somehow caught onto her anxiety. If Triteia was expecting some sanitized motivational speech from the old man, his next few words caught her completely off guard: "Did I ever tell ya ‘bout that time when Baal watched me take a crap?" Deadpan, cool, conversational, like he wasn't completely shaking Triteia's perception of the monster that destroyed her life down to its foundations.

"What?" Triteia blurted. Her voice bubbled up in an incredulous, but nevertheless amused laugh. Even if Solomon was lying just to lighten the mood, the mental image of Baal lurking in the bushes behind Sully's gaping asshole was entirely too priceless. "Bullcrap!" she exclaimed.

Of course, that was Sully's cue to continue.
« Last Edit: July 12, 2017, 10:40:07 PM by Triteia (Trout) »
     Is it easier to take a hit
than it is to throw the stone?
Better blood on your face
better blood on the ground
Well, I guess I'll never know...

Cause it's best not to give a crap,
and to speak in a timid tone.
Keep my tongue to my teeth;
keep my ear to the ground
and a blind eye to everyone.

[ #29AB87 ] | played by Sunblink.
   » tracker
Quote
[10:40:00 PM] kujo the daddy's daddy: thank god trout is finally dead