Post by Tennessee Whiskey on Mar 4, 2016 13:17:58 GMT -8
The smell in the hold makes something in her flip over and growl, with some disgust that burns brighter than the physical, so Whiskey ends up on deck almost immediately, squinting against the wind out of habit more than necessity. The thing handles like a Mack truck, but it seems as though they're well and truly away, by now. She can hear movement down below, if she focuses, quiet and cringing like a dog that's been beat. Few of them have come up on deck with her, which doesn't surprise her, but does disappoint her. She imagines her face isn't very kind-looking right now, at any rate; it usually isn't, and they probably need a kind face.
The bodies had gone overboard almost immediately. By the same token that they had been disappeared in the first place, Whiskey assumes that their fingerprints wouldn't raise any alarms even if they did survive the Sound, but she still took care of it herself, dragging the men by their collars like she could teach the dead a lesson. She's not sure what happened to their guns, but she hopes they've gone to people who know them.
The woman at the helm starts when Whiskey opens the door behind, and Whiskey doesn't really blame her. She doesn't seem much more relaxed by recognition, though, and Whiskey doesn't blame her for that, nor the way her eyes keep darting between the hilts at her shoulder and hip.
"I imagine you have some questions," she opens at last, and the woman nods once. "To begin with, I need your help. I'm gonna make you a couple of offers, and depending on what you choose, I'm either gonna answer all your questions or not."
The woman's eyes linger on the second hilt, wire-wrapped, jewel-studded and resplendent.
"You can say 'no' to both, and I ain't just saying that, though I understand your hesitations. I wouldn't go through all this shit--'scuse me--just to kill you. You say 'yes,' though, you got my protection, and more than that you'll have your own."
The woman is silent for a moment, her eyes focusing instead on the black water before them.
"What do you need me for?" She asks finally, quiet under the the boat's motor. Whiskey's grin spreads sharp and ugly.
"War."
The bodies had gone overboard almost immediately. By the same token that they had been disappeared in the first place, Whiskey assumes that their fingerprints wouldn't raise any alarms even if they did survive the Sound, but she still took care of it herself, dragging the men by their collars like she could teach the dead a lesson. She's not sure what happened to their guns, but she hopes they've gone to people who know them.
The woman at the helm starts when Whiskey opens the door behind, and Whiskey doesn't really blame her. She doesn't seem much more relaxed by recognition, though, and Whiskey doesn't blame her for that, nor the way her eyes keep darting between the hilts at her shoulder and hip.
"I imagine you have some questions," she opens at last, and the woman nods once. "To begin with, I need your help. I'm gonna make you a couple of offers, and depending on what you choose, I'm either gonna answer all your questions or not."
The woman's eyes linger on the second hilt, wire-wrapped, jewel-studded and resplendent.
"You can say 'no' to both, and I ain't just saying that, though I understand your hesitations. I wouldn't go through all this shit--'scuse me--just to kill you. You say 'yes,' though, you got my protection, and more than that you'll have your own."
The woman is silent for a moment, her eyes focusing instead on the black water before them.
"What do you need me for?" She asks finally, quiet under the the boat's motor. Whiskey's grin spreads sharp and ugly.
"War."