Pirates of the Hard Nox [Open]

There was a moment, as Caleb leaned forward in silence, of mounting revelation within the Baron's gaze. The natural response, of course, was who did? -- a question with an answer he was already keenly, morbidly aware of, though it was an answer even he was too ashamed to speak aloud. His eyes widened; his brow creased.


Emryk stared.

"... what."

His mouth hung open in a half-grimace. One step closed the distance to the quartermaster-turned-Captain, then another; Caleb's words fell upon death ears, and a hand locked upon his collar to rip him from the sofa and carry him, the pair pushed up against the nearest wall as Emryk leered over him. "You-- what." Both hands gripped his shirt, now, threatening to tear it; his teeth were bared, amber eyes set alight. Horror-- pain-- confusion. One hand cocked away from the man's cheek, the knurled back shown in a flash...

... but the strike never came, hovering in the air a good few moments before lowering, slowly, to his side. The Baron looked away with a huff, gaze clenching shut as his head fell low and shook.

"Have we all gone mad." He growled. If they had, he would not join them. The hand that gripped Caleb's collar released, dusting his shoulder with a firm pat before he stepped away, snorting a burst of air from his nostrils as fingers moved to pinch the bridge of his snout. "You-- you killed-- I don't understand. She was practically infatuated with you, with the way she sang your damned praises. Or was that a mere cover?" Emryk muttered, the questions more rhetorical musings than they were any sort of interrogation. "All this damned travel, the deaths, the injuries, and for what. A fool's errand."

His steps began to thud along the parlor as he approached a nearby wall, cocked his fist back, and promptly cracked a fist against it. The wall shuddered, and he pulled his arm away from the spiderweb cracks and visible dent upon its face. Still, he refused to face Caleb.

"Consider your next actions carefully, Captain." Emryk muttered, rubbing at the knuckles of his hand with a practiced gesture. "I will not be your messenger to be shot. I will not harm you, nor will I speak against you-- but I will pray that you find the sense to tell the rest. Lies are wounds, Captain. Left alone and untreated, they fester and kill. The worse the injury, the worse the fate-- and the quicker the rot." Another shake of his head. Earth below, he hardly liked the woman. But death? Was that what awaited him, should he step out of line or make enemies aboard the ship? Was his mercy misplaced, his compassion a weakness? No-- no, he needed to be true. True to himself, and true to her. "Speak candidly, and pray that they spare you."

This was beyond him, now. Emryk turned to face Caleb, finally, and began to walk once more-- his stride taking him past the man, beyond the parlor arch. "You wished to be Captain of the Hard Nox, then. Congratulations." He spared a glance over the shoulder, gaze hardened-- but not without remorse. Pity, almost. "You're at her mercy, now. No greater honor."

And then he was gone, disappearing to the doorway to step outside. He needed to think-- and wait for the others to arrive. If he could help it, the Captain would remain alive-- at the very least, to explain himself and receive judgement.

The Baron would have left, had it not been for Caleb's reply; instead, he stopped in the doorway out of the parlor, hand clenched in a white-knuckled grip that dug his talons into the soft scaleflesh of his palm. No honor.

After a moment, he turned, gaze pained-- but resolute.

"Then CHANGE THAT!" He yelled, taking a step back into the room. "Or do you think you're a mere slave to fate and nature?" His footsteps returned towards the boy, and once more, he stood before the Captain; a hand gestured beyond the walls of the manor, out to the promise of safety aboard the ship. "This is your damned home, Caleb-- and these are your people. For better or for worse. The Hard Nox never had honor-- but you are the Captain, now. YOU decide its fate. Nobody else."

A finger touched Caleb's chest, above the heart. Accusatory. "If it was truly to save the crew, Captain..." His voice dropped low, now, as his eyes seemed to flicker with a moment's remorse. "... then make the crew worth saving. Or will you continue to let Sinead cast a shadow over you for as long as you live, even in death?"

Emryk's gaze flashed a heated amber before his smacked finger withdrew, folding back to his chest as his arms crossed over one another. He looked as if he were on the verge of tears; at this, the Baron's gaze seemed to soften, eyes creasing with some faraway memory of what it had been like to feel anger, betrayal, fear.

Ten years.

"I don't know." Emryk replied. A moment later, he offered his words once more. "Does it matter?"

His hand rose again, and settled gently atop the Captain's shoulder.

"You cannot bring them back, Caleb, but you can honor their sacrifice by becoming a better man. By standing vigilant; by looking out for those that remain." The Baron did not smile, nor did he frown-- if Caleb were to look at him, he would find only stalwart determination. "Chin up, now. The last thing this crew needs is their Captain out of sorts." His hand gave a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder, then withdrew; his arms crossed once more along his chest, and he stepped away, towards the window. The uncertain glance he spared through crystalline glass betrayed his own anxieties. Would his words even matter? Was sympathy a foregone conclusion? Would they even spare him a moment to explain himself, or merely kill him on the spot?

"You do not gratify your enemies with pain, Captain." He muttered, his distant stare piercing through the window and out to the frigid expanse of the estate that lay beyond. "You defy them with strength."