[Secyclion] Not All Boat Threads Suck (Roscarnis)

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

It was one of those increasingly rare occasions when Rosie didn’t have to actually be anywhere. All of her ships (minus the The Impolite Dragon which she was currently standing on) were on their delivery routes with implicit instructions to pick up as many extra goodies as they could along the way. For The Dragon and her crew though, it was adventure time and the admiral hadn’t been to the eastern isle of Secyclion in a while. They were due for a visit. They approached the island from the south, after having dropped off the last of their mail load in Ieffreon.

”Storage holds have been cleared and there’s rum a’plenty, captain,” William Durand, Rosie’s first mate and closest friend, told her. Rosie had taken the helm from the coxswain and was maneuvering the ship around a pod of whales.

”Very well, Mr. Durand. Anything from the crow’s nest?” She could have easily looked up and seen if the watch up there had anything to say, but then that would have put the ship at risk of running into a whale. That wasn’t the sort of adventure they were after.

William looked up at the crow’s nest. ”Nothing to report, captain.”

”Aye.”

It was all very official, a practiced exchange between old hands. Tradition was important, after all. As soon as they were clear of the whales, that all changed. The coxswain took the helm with a good old-fashioned ”I had it, you got it,” and Rosie strode to the very back of the ship with her first mate at her side.

”Still saying no to actually relaxing once we get there?” William asked, lighting up a stick of Sparkle.

Rosie scoffed and shook her head. ”Laying on a beach with sand in my ass is not my idea of relaxing, mon ami.” Not to mention the fact that she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. If she slowed down for even a second, all the pain of the past would force itself to the forefront. This way, this constant urge to push the boundaries and set her adrenaline onfire, was enough to tamp down those emotions. For a little while at least. Then she’d be off to chase the next high, forever running from the ghosts who haunted her.

”I’m just saying, Rose,” he handed her the cigarette so that she could take a drag. ”Find yourself a beefy cabana boy, a barrel of rum, and a nice spot in the sun? Could help take the edge off more than you know.”

”Keep trying to whore me out to beefy cabana boys and I’ll shove you off the ship right here,” she said, only half joking.

The call came from the crow’s nest, Land ho! Rosie and William both turned to watch in awe as Secyclion’s coastline came into view. It didn’t matter how many times she watched land cross the horizon, it was always a spectacle to be enjoyed. She clapped her first mate on the back and squeezed his shoulder, bouncing on her toes with excitement.

”First one to get chased off the island by locals wins,” she said, her grin as wide as ever.

”You’re on,” William replied and began barking orders to drop anchor and ready the rowboats.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

Already the sights and sounds were promising.

Islanders crowded the docks, touting their wares. Unlike the main land that was still in stupor from the horrible violence left by the Xet, Eunesia had been relatively untouched. Life it seemed, was simply more colorful, even after rumours of a short-lived civil war that had just came to a stalemate between Ieffreon and Olympia. But then Secyclion was neither of those places, and the greatest flotsam of the empire still managed to draw denizens from all corners of Aelyria to his shores.

Different beats of music were faraway and near, mixed with different instruments and the aroma of cooked meat. It was small wonder that those who could afford this journey through the treacherous seas often found themselves never wanting to, or in some cases, couldn't leave.

The Red Island and the massive caldera loomed before her. There was the unmissable statue of their patron, the Lord Markalin himself peering outwards towards the north sea which served as the only channel in which ships could sail into the docks, and glittering light bouncing off the walls of their granite buildings. It seemed as though the entire islander population had congregated here this brightening if only to swindle some unsuspecting mainlander from their purses.

Almost instantly as she stepped off the boarding plank was she suddenly swarmed by a group of olive skinned Secyclions trying to hawk their wares to her, jostling to get her attention. Around her, the crew of Dragon had squirmed their way through the crowd, their fingers wisely holding their purses. Pickpockets were notorious

Someone waved a pair of tickets in her face. "Kyria, a tour to the our zoo? Apparently locals caught a siren for display! Her songs will make you weep!" Secyclion had not changed very much indeed. It was the kind of liveliness that bothered on chaos, a kind of unruly and boisterous zeal for life that could be considered overwhelming for outsiders, but completely normal for Eunesians.

"Kyria, a wrestling match between between an Olympian and Secyclionian, limited seating only!"

Another had managed to squeeze his way before her, looking disheveled as though he had been doing this for more than a few candlemarks. Light glinted in his eyes as he found his mark in the form of Rosie Kyrillos, someone to rob, swindle or maybe even someone to spend the darkening with. In Secyclion, one could only expect the unexpected. "Kyria, the finest Chelseannean marsala for you," The tall, lanky islander thrusted a bottle of wine towards her, barely missing her nose, because, thankfully, he was unceremoniously shoved aside by another.

"No one drinks that piss Aleco, have an ouzo instead, my fair Kyria." He had charming looks, with dark hair and amber colored eyes. Bare chested with lean muscles and arms that looked like they needed to sweep someone in their embrace without their permission. Both hands brandished dark colored bottles with gold writing. Ah the famed Secyclion ouzo.

"I am Alexandros, son of Mitra, owner of the White Ox brewery, the best in Secyclion."

He bowed dramatically, tucking one bottle deftly between his arm and body as he reached out with his right hand for permission to kiss her hand.

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

There really was no other place on the planet quite like the Eunesian Islands, each with their own unique customs and local flair. They were almost as good as Jaedaxia, almost. The beaches were definitely warmer at least. Rosie offered a silent thanks to Markalin as they passed his statue. It was only because he didn’t give a shit about her and her ship that they’d managed not to sink all these years, after all. She felt it was best to give credit where it was due; and, if a quiet prayer could keep her crew safe, Rosie didn’t see anything wrong with it. She noticed several of her men remove their hats for the statue as well.

It didn’t take long for her crew to drop anchor and lower the rowboats, leaving just enough men aboard the ship to keep it ready to set sail at a moment’s notice. Everyone else: liberty time!

They heard the locals before they could make out their faces and Rosie felt an ease settle into her shoulders, a confident swagger that she’d been missing for what felt like years. This was the way she should be greeted at every port-- with vendors and shouts about how beautiful she is. Playing to her ego was always the right way to go.

The wrestling sounded fun. She turned her head to find the person who’d touted that as an attraction only to have her vision filled with a tall man shoving a bottle of something in her face. Another man-- this one looked like he’d just walked off the cover of a Rex Wagner novel-- shoved the first to the side and offered her another something that was apparently better than the first something.

She tried not to look too impressed when he introduced himself as the owner of a brewery. Rosie owned a distillery in Port Alyxandrya, it just wasn’t any good, nor did she ever try to make it turn a profit. It just sort of sat there collecting dust, which made it a great place to store rum barrels. But still, as an owner of a place that made “quality” spirits, she couldn’t let this guy know that she was envious of his obvious success. Not that she planned on telling him about her venture anyway. This was all just a distraction to keep from her real thoughts, which were: she wanted that bottle of ouzo.

When he bowed and stretched out his hand, she slipped her fingers into his for a hearty handshake. As much as she appreciated being treated like an actual woman for once, her bad habits were difficult to break. Rosie also couldn’t resist the urge to turn his hand around and kiss his knuckles the way she assumed he’d been meaning to do hers. ”Rosie, daughter of Rosandra, captain of The Impolite Dragon, best ship in the water. Pleasure to meet you, monsieur costaud cabana garçon.”

Plucking one of the bottles from his hands, she linked arms with Alexandros and began meandering through the crowd that had gathered on the docks. She caught a glimpse of her first mate, who gave her a big thumbs up before disappearing off to chase some skirts. ”Tell me, Alexandros,” she said, holding the bottle up in front of her face so that she could inspect it. ”Is it true what I’ve heard about this stuff? That the gods once drank it and that’s how they became immortal?”

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

The kiss that may have made more prim and proper men blush only made the Secyclion beam, his smile glittering like the island sun, and then almost instantly turned playful, wolfish, like he dared her to do more, oh so much more. Someone behind him cat called, and then a thunderous applause followed from the crowd around them. Equally the attention seeker, Alexandros simply bowed deeply and hand reached out to grab Rosie to join them sideways at the hips, arms locked around each other as he motioned for her to take a bow as well.

When he was eventually led away by the Jaedaxian, the hot blooded Secyclion used the moment to plant his lips on her cheeks, before pulling away slowly, taking his time so that she would be sure she did not imagine any of it. And the expression on his face? Just one that said: well you started it.

The bottle of ouzo was dark, with gold lettering in Eunesia skilfully carved onto the surface of the bottle itself, and filled with gold leaf to really make those words pop. A small sigil of the the head of an ox colored in white sat near the base of the bottle.

"Try it, Kyria Rosie, and see for yourself." Alexandros jested, reaching for the bottle and twisting off the cap, taking a swig and smacking his lips loudly before handing it over to Rosie. No one should be drinking with strangers after all, and at least she could be sure that at least this was something he himself would be happy to partake.

"So what does a fair kyria from Jaedaxia wish to find on Secyclion?" His face turned serious for a moment, those hot amber like eyes that looked like same golden liquid that could snare many an unsuspecting prey to be immobilised within if he so wished. After all, Rosie would have heard of many a young maiden crying by the ports after the end of a Secyclion summertime fling.

Their men were famed to be huge players, and Alexandros was not about to be the exception.

"You don't just seem like the sort that is looking to be made love to by the moonlight. Though I certainty hope that is one of your many agendas." Ah, these islanders, quite different from the specimens from the mainland indeed. Boisterous, arrogant and cocky enough to be appealing. And why shouldn't they? Alexandros looked like he had charmed more than one Aelyrian maiden out of their skirts, and his smile was as easy as the afternoon sun.

Rosie was certainly not the first, and if Markalin was kind, not the last.

"You're not here to look for the ghost ships are you?" A slight suspicious look on his face now, though mainly laced with concern. He took another large mouthful of the ouzo before handing it over to her once again.

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

The people of Jaedaxia and Secyclion had more in common than some of them would probably like to think. Boisterous? Check. Arrogant? In spades. Cocky? Well, one didn’t get to be a fake admiral of a bunch of pirate ships if one was timid. Flair for the dramatics? Abso-fucking-lutely. Rosie took her bow with Alexandros with gusto, twirling her hand in the air as she bathed in the adoration. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone would notice her kissing the man’s hand, but she was happy to learn that, not only did they notice it, but they’d appreciated it as well. If only she could say the same for some people in her life. Not everyone thought Rosie was a peach to be around.

They meandered through the crowd, linked together with their arms around one another’s waist. Alexandros leaned over and planted a lingering kiss on her cheek. Her hand reached up towards her face as if savoring the gesture while being shocked at the same time. ”Mon dieu!” she said, her voice an octave higher than before. ”You scandalize me, monsieur!” She laughed and plucked one of his bottles from his hands, asking her question about the myth that surrounded the spirit.

He offered to let her try it and there was no way Rosie was going to turn that down. The fact that he tried it first himself only solidified her resolve. She took the bottle by the neck and poured some down her throat. It burned for a second but then the warmth spread across her chest and into her belly with a satisfied sigh. He made a few assumptions about why she happened to be on the island and Rosie couldn’t really fault him for thinking he had her pegged.

”Ah but you’re wrong, mon guide de l'île. I’m exactly the sort who wishes to make love by starlight.” What was more Jaedaxian than a romance that burned bright for only a flickering moment? Alexandros wasn’t the only player on the prowl.

He handed her the bottle and she took another swig. Stepping in front of him, she twirled around with her arms outstretched. ”Well? Do I look immortal yet?” She certainly didn’t feel any different, apart from a little tipsy but that was her usual state so it wasn’t a completely foreign sensation.

And then it came, the hook, her call to adventure: ghost ships. Immediately her interest piqued and she stood up straighter. ”Humor me, non? Say that I was the sort who wanted to get mixed up in some ghostly trouble. Where would I do that?” The concern etched onto his face didn’t phase her much. She’d seen that same look on hundreds of people’s faces right before she did something stupid and it’d never stopped her before. Yet here she still was, and with both her eyes to boot!

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed the frontline of her body against his and gazed up into his eyes with a lopsided smile. ”And then say you promise to take me there tonight and tell me all of the legends surrounding these ghost ships of yours.” Rosie was nothing if not a sucker for a good story, especially if it had ships in it.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"Like Cupiros herself, kyria." He smirked. Cupiros was of course, the Secyclion version of Olsyréa, the Planetar of Love. That wolfish, easy smile of his faded away, however, as Rosie pressed on the topic of those phantom ships. His face darkened slightly as he turned away. It was known that the islanders were a superstitious bunch, and now Rosie was witnessing it first hand.

His expressive face turned more concerned than disapproving and he spoke quietly in low whispers, as though speaking these things out loud alone would invite the very misfortunate that had befallen the stories of those he was about to share. "Not legends, kyria," He spoke with a conviction as though he knew, but knowing how these islanders steered clear of these omens, it was likely these were all just hearsay.

"Foolish mainlanders had tried to flee during the Xetan invasion, hiring amateurs to captain their vessels in desperation, you see," He shook his head slowly, muttering something in Eunesian with a light sigh. The seas and currents around Secyclion, were indeed notoriously difficult to voyage upon, but the again, if the weather was clear and conditions weren't adverse, most could escape with mild sea sickness, not pay with their lives.

"Some of them survived, some didn't, and those that Markalin could not save now haunt the seas in the darkening on ships that would not abide to touch of the living." It all sounded very foolish of course, but the Secyclionian sounded dead serious. He almost leaned in for a kiss as she pressed her body against his, but then as she spoke her last sentence, he pulled away with obvious disapproval drawing down on his brows.

One hand grabbed Rosie's arm firmly as he passed the bottle back to her while shaking his head, indicating that that she suggested was not only preposterous, but also absurd.

"Drink and forget about those ships, kyria, I would have preferred you were here for kyrio Pierrefonds instead." Jean-Michel Pierrefonds, the self-exiled Jaedaxian who famously made the Eunesian isles his home. Stories claimed he had been one of the negotiators who had negotiated for the liberation of Northumbria from the yoke of the Empire. Northumbria was finally a Republic, but the eccentric general had refused to return to Jaedaxia, for reasons unknown.

"I would have preferred to lay by the beach naked with you than go chase dead angry mainlanders."

He finally leaned in for that kiss now, maybe just to distract her from her mental course, or perhaps he simply wanted to. His lips were sour from the alcohol, but his tongue was hot, and he squeezed her body into his. When he finally pulled away, she could almost feel the tiny lines of his lips ghosting across her own, leaving only sparks of electricity in the wake of the kiss.

Was she sufficiently distracted? Maybe yes, maybe not.

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

She listened with eager ears as Alexandros weaved his story. From his tone, she could tell he was serious. Rosie’d been on her fair share of adventures and she knew there were unexplainable things out there; she believed every word and grew more excited with each passing moment. But when she asked him to take her there, he pulled away, his features darkening even more. If she was going to find those ghost ships, it looked like she was going to have to do it alone.

Taking the offered bottle and drinking some more, she nodded along with him until he said the name of a famous Jaedaxian hero. ”He’s here?” she said, almost sputtering. Her eyes widened and she glanced around the crowd as if she’d know him by sight (and assuming he’d actually be hanging out at the docks, which was a bit of a stretch, but she was excited, so maybe give her a break). ”What I wouldn’t give to meet a revolutionary like him; merde.”

She shook her head free from starstruck ideas just in time for Alexandros’ lament. ”Perhaps they’re only angry because they can’t find their way home, cher. Has anyone ever bothered to ask them?” It seemed a reasonable thing to do.

He leaned in for a kiss and in that moment, Rosie forgot all about ghosts and revolutionaries. That kiss made her feel like she was on the cover of a Rex Wagner novel: framed by the setting suns, the island native wraps his arms around his mainlander captive for the first kiss of many. Or something like that, she wasn’t a writer. Still, she poured herself into the embrace, the sour ouzo flavoring the dance of their tongues. When it ended and their lips finally parted, it took her a few seconds to gather her bearings. Either that was one hell of a kiss or the liquor was going straight to her head.

Rosie smiled at him and tilted her head to the side. ”Why would you bring up ghost ships if you were going to fight this hard not to talk about them?” It was going to take a lot more than a single kiss to distract her from a promising adventure.

She held up a hand before he could answer. ”Wait, no.” This was an opportunity for her to not be so self-centered. One of those rare moments when she can see that pushing too far. Not everything was her business and she had to learn how to deal with that. ”Tell me more about you. Your brewery, did you start it or was it passed down to you from your father?” As altruistic as it might have sounded, there was still a selfish reason for the question. Rosie figured that if she let him talk about himself long enough, eventually he’d want to impress her with something and then: ghost ships.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

He shrugged with a mixture of diffused surprise and sheepishness.

"He's been here for eras, makes me surprised that he has not gone back to Northumbria, perhaps Secyclion is home to him now. You should be careful you don't end up the same way, kyria." Fair warning, it seemed the population of these 'undesirables', revolutionists and anarchists have found a permanent haven on the Red Island. The moniker of Secyclion as the Flotsam of the Empire did not come from nothing, after all.

He paid her explanations no mind, giving her a small smile as one would to an overly curious child that were oblivious to real risks and dangers. Her hand did give him pause, but it seemed an important question to answer. A small pout touched his lips as though he seemed fake hurt that there was even the tiniest insinuation that he may have had ill-intentions bringing up that phantom topic.

Wasn't he? It was always hard to tell with these islanders. Stealing hearts were not the only crimes they were known for.

"Some mainlanders set sailed three candlemarks before you and went south searching for them. Markalin take them if they're lucky." His voice grow low again, a little tsk-tsk under his breath. His mood did seem to pick up when she asked about the brewery, however, the sunshine returning to those dark golden-brown eyes once more, a tinge of pride in his voice.

"Unlike most that sell watered down piss to mainlanders, the White Ox has always been proud of what we serve. My father made sure of that. And we still make the best ouzo on Secyclion." A big boast of course, but that it did taste good, and good Gods, it was strong. Already it was hitting her from those few swigs she took, or was it the sun? Or the kiss itself? Hard to tell of course.

He gently took the bottle from her, waving one finger at her now, in a mock rebuke.

"Have a care, kyria, we don't want you claiming Alexandros here took advantage of you when I take your clothes off."

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

Words of warning were more invitations than deterrents for Rosie. Though this particular one, where Alexandros mentioned she should be careful, lest the charm of the island keep her landlocked for the rest of her life, barely registered. Her heart belonged to the wild ocean and it would be many years before she decided to hang up her admiral’s hat for good. Even then, she already knew she wanted to buy an island all her own so that she wouldn’t have to deal with other people. A pipe dream perhaps, but it was what kept her going; and, no matter how much she liked Secyclion, it would only ever be a place to visit on occasion.

He went on to explain that several other ships had already set sail in search for the ghostly variety. It was enough to cool her sentiments towards the adventure. For now at least. The last thing she wanted to do was show up in the middle of someone else’s adventure.

So she turned the conversation back to the brewery, hoping that it would ease the man’s sullen temper and bring that shine back to his amber eyes. It seemed to work and she hung on each word that escaped his lips. So it was a family business after all. There was more than a little pang of jealousy that stabbed into her heart: her own family’s business had been passed on to her brother rather than herself (who had been infinitely more suited for the job, but alas, the past cannot be changed).

A grim sort of smile settled on her lips. She was happy for him, truly, but she couldn’t help but feel the resentment towards her own family flip around in her stomach. Thankfully, Alexandros knew just how to snap her out of it. Taking the ouzo back, he then scolded her and Rosie laughed while pushing a hand back through her hair and shrugging. ”I’ve never been one to know my own limits, cher.” It was true. She forever pushed boundaries and tested the edges in a never-ending quest for the horizon. Which led to many a morning when the previous evening’s shenanigans remained blackened and missing from her memory.

Her smile curved into something more sensual, her shoulders easing, when he again mentioned removing her clothes. Alexandros’ surety that he would get that far only increased his chances. Rosie appreciated a man who knew what he wanted and didn’t pussyfoot around the issue.

”In that case,” she said with a tilt of her head, adjusting her weight. ”I suggest you show me this brewery of yours. I give my full consent to be strip naked and ravaged amongst the nectar of the gods.” Not all of Rosie’s choices were well thought out-- that’s how she got into trouble more often than not. Still, she was confident that this man wouldn’t be anything she couldn’t handle. Again, she threaded her arm through his and sought to leave the docks. ”Just promise you won’t make any grandiose declarations of love or other such nonsense, oui?”

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"Who do you think I am, a Jaedaxian?" He laughed.

Romance on the Secyclion when a mainlander was involved, was remarkably short-lived. Perhaps it was the transient nature of how shops came to port and left, but there was also a known saying that mainlanders are only good for fucking, not marrying. And every inch of Alexandros dripped with F-boy attitude. At least these islanders made no pretence in their intentions.

And off they went. Through the red slopes of the caldera, winding up and down the old volcanic slopes, Rosie would find herself finally in front of a white gypsum establishment. The signboard was simple, wooden with the same white face of an ox carved onto it. There was no name, Eunesia or common to demarcate that this was a drinking establishment, which meant that it was one of those places that if you know, you know.

"Kyrio and kyrias, may I present our latest guest Rosie, daughter of Rosandra, haiiling from Jaedaxia." That mention of the jewel of Northumbria made someone present shift uncomfortably, one none other than Jean-Michel Pierrefonds himself.

It was a face that this generation would not forget, but the same cannot be said for future generations to come. He was a revolutionist before the moniker was cool -- and had waged a bloody, guerrilla war against the legions occupying his home when it was still a protectorate. Eras of back and forth fighting had only steeled his love for his home, and his dream for an independent Jaedaxia never wavered.

And so when the city council pledged to rally behind Arctic de Ioannes, he knew that that dream would never be fulfilled in his life time. Stories spoke of him he and a small troupe of die-hard loyalists had packed up one day and just upped and left for Eunesia, never to return.

At least time had been modestly kind to him, it seemed, he was a man nearing sixties, but looked the part in his mid fifties. Jet-black hair was tied back to a ponytail, obviously dyed, and not recently too. Streaks of silver can be found swimming among the black, and seemed to make his blue-green eyes more green than blue. His nose was decidedly Jaedaxia, more hook-like and marks on his face told the stories of a tired revolutionist more than a kindly old grandfather. Lips were thin, pale. He would have been a handsome fella in his younger brightenings, his stature lean rather than rotund, and from what Rosie could gather, tall.

"To Jaedaxia." The ex-revolutionist lifted his cup towards her, a small, sad smile on his face.

Alexandros took two shot glasses from the bar, poured in more ouzo and handed one to Rosie.

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

Rosie mimed taking a dagger to the gut when Alexandros took a playful jab at her Jaedaxienne heritage. She stumbled backward a few steps, grasping her belly with one hand while the other begged for mercy. ”No more, sir! Your words cut deep,” she said with a laugh and then allowed him to lead her to his brewery.

The walk was too gorgeous to speak, the island’s natural beauty instead overtook her with its vivid perfection and she was content to travel in silence. Before she knew it, she was being ushered inside and introduced to a group of pleasant day drinkers. ”Throw in a song and a brawl and I’ll feel right at home.” Rosie grinned and followed Alexandros to the bar where a familiar looking man sat, obviously deep in his cups.

She couldn’t place him at first, she’d been very young when her father had taken her to see him speak, and a child’s memory was hardly the place to search for accuracy. It wasn’t until he raised his glass and saluted that her heart began to beat loudly against her chest. She gripped Alexandros’ arm tighter and tried to suppress a squeal. This was almost as good as meeting Rex Wagner… almost.

Taking the offered shot, Rosie tipped it in the older man’s direction and said, ”May she one day be free from tyranny.” An independent Jaedaxia had long been a dream of many citizens, Rosie and her family were no exception. Constant defeat and backstepping into Imperial rule only spurred her conviction that one day there would have to be a reckoning. The nobles couldn’t stay in power forever. Not once the people realized their power and stood united. They just needed a leader charismatic enough to inspire them. Until then, it was all bluster.

Turning back to Alexandros, she gazed up into his eyes and said, ”Will you hate me forever if I leave you for a while? I’ll promise to come back in time for our starlit rendezvous.” She placed her empty shot glass onto the bar and made her way over to introduce herself to Jean-Michel.

”Monsieur Pierrefonds?” She waited for a glimmer of recognition to his name. With her luck, she was completely wrong and was bothering some innocent old man. ”I hope you don’t mind the intrusion but I wanted to tell you that my father was a loyal supporter of yours.” As a shipwright, Rosie could only imagine what her father had helped smuggle in or out of the city; he never told her and he wasn’t around to tell stories anymore.

”If you don’t mind me asking, though,” the muscles in her face grew taught, her smile disappearing, ”Why did you abandon us?” She’d been kept in the dark about most things while growing up and had never really found the time (nor the inclination) to catch up once she was old enough to learn on her own.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"Perhaps." Jean-Michel's response to the toast was perhaps more of a colder and less hopeful response than she had expected, but the vicissitudes of he had endured was a very tangible and real thing. To others, he had been a symbol, a flame, a hope. But he was still only a man, and a man cannot bear the hopes and dreams of an entire city without too, bearing the scars and marks that came with it.

For him, it appeared to be a disfigurement of his spirit rather than his appearance.

"Go," Alexandros motioned for her to go on, but not before copping a feel of the priate queen's behind with a playful smack before turning around to join the others in merriment. The soft beat of Eunesian music filled the air, mixed in with the rising sound of chatters as she approached the man, who nodded his head in acknowledgement, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, but it was not him who responded to the next choice statement.

The man next to Jean-Michel turned an ear towards her, none other then the exiled anarchist of Nexus Prime, Bowery Manhattan himself. Unlike the Jaedaxian, he was barrel-chested with a thick beard and hawk-like eyes. The glint in his eyes suggested that he was a little touched in the head. A lopsided smile as he regarded Rosie from head to toe, as if trying to figure if she was even worth his time or attention.

He decided she did.

"Is that what they say now? That he abandoned Jaedaxia? Ha!" Carefully, he turned towards his Jaedaxian compatriot and seemed surprised by what he saw on his face, which appeared to be a mixture of ambivalence and... emptiness. His accent was thick when he spoke, enunciated in a manner that was not common in modern times.

"We were forgotten and so the only course that is left is to go where the forgotten go to die." The former revolutionist shrugged, as though these were the same old quarrels he had reconciled within himself, leaving only a quiet acceptance.

Around her, however, she could see other men tensing, fingers going towards blades, those closest to Rosie, Bowery and Jean-Michel had their eyes on the red-haired pirate queen. The man, even though having retired from the political scene for eras now, was still an easy mark for overly zealous Imperialists, and they were spending the next few moments determining if this one was one of them. There had been a few close calls over the eras, and while things have certainly quieten down now in the last few months, it didn't mean they were complacent.

The tension obviously did not avert the Secyclion propertier, with his easy smile and relaxed stance, moving over carefully, the concern obvious in his eyes as he put one hand against her back, a silent indication that he got her back.

"What's the matter, kyrios? Calm down everyone, this one's fine... right, Rosie?"

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

”Forgotten?” Rosie shook her head, her tangled curls obscuring her face before she could push a hand through her hair and swear, ”Merde, is that what you think?” She didn’t know who this other man was-- the political affairs of any place beyond Jaedaxia’s walls interested her less than needlepoint and fancy balls-- but he spoke with the confidence of a man who trusted himself implicitly. Just the sort of man who she would have expected to be Jean-Michel’s company.

She wanted to grab Pierrefonds’ hand and urge him to return home, explain to him how ridiculous it was that there were still starving children in the streets while Le Quatre de Sud just finished refurbishment and the city council grew fatter and lazier by the day. Tell him that there were people-- good people-- who would rise up again if only they had a leader willing to put in the work, herself and her crew among them.

But, once again, forgot that the sound of her voice carried and that none of what she was saying was exactly legal. This was a symptom of her chosen lifestyle, unfortunately. She was used to skulking around in seedy taverns where everyone was doing something to skirt the law, so no one paid attention to anyone else. It always took her a while to remember that not everyone saw the world in shades of gray; and that, to those who would willingly bend the knee, any talk about failed revolution warranted swift violence. She just never suspected that she’d mistaken for some kind of idiotic Imperialist. One of these days her inability to look beyond her own nose was going to get her into trouble.

Today just might be that day.

She felt a prickling of electricity at the nape of her neck, gooseflesh rising as the mood in the brewery threatened to turn sour. They were standing on the edge of violence and the pirate in her wanted nothing more than for one of them to make a move. Her hands clenched into fists. For Rosie, her cutlass was always an afterthought; she much preferred to feel the crackle of muscle and bone beneath her knuckles.

Ready to turn and hurl her entire body into an uneven fray, she only stopped because of Alexandros’ hand at the small of her back. Tension easing, a wry smile curved her lips and she nodded up at him. ”Oui, there’s no trouble to be found here, monsieur.” Lies came to her almost as easy as breathing.

”I simply wished to remind my fellow citizen that our home has a longer memory than he might think and that her people still believe in him.” She slipped her arm around the Secyclion’s waist and brushed the tip of her nose across his sunkissed shoulder with a sigh. He smelled like all of her favorite things: fresh air, salty water, and a masculine sweat.

Her attention turned back to Jean-Michel. ”I have a ship with a few open bunks, ready to assist you in your voyage home, should you change your mind.” If he didn’t? Well, Rosie had several other plans forming in regards to how she would finish his work. With or without Monsieur Jean-Michel Pierrefonds, Jaedaxia would be free.

With that, she eased Alexandros further down the bar, nipping at his earlobe. ”Merci beaucoup, mon ami. How will I ever repay you for saving me?”

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"Like how they unshackle themselves from one chain, only to shackle themselves to another? Liberty is extinct in Jaedaxia, few have made it their responsiblity to pass it to the blood of their children like ton père. We have fought for it, protected it, but not handed it down for future generations. You know this, don't you? How many would bother with lifting up their blades when called to fight for something they don't understand?"

Bowery Manhattan turned his back from Rosie now, the big man filled to the brim with Hesperian blood finally deciding that this one was not a threat. Well-intended perhaps, but there were so few now left to fight for what was right and just.

Tensions averted by her avowal, the other patrons went back to resuming with their own conversations, it was only then when Jean-Michel Pierrefonds bade her closer, as his voice dropped to a whisper. "I cannot quell the rot, mademoiselle, Jaedaxia's heart has never thawed from the Everwinter."

"What they need and want is not a forgotten symbol, but madmoiselle liberté." With that, a bit of fire seemed to return to his voice, but that spark quickly diminished. That very moment was enough to let Rosie know though, that the cinders have not truly gone cold, all he needed was a reason. A sign. Perhaps it was he who needed reminding. But so far away from Jaedaxia, dulled by the sun and the wine, it was hard to return to old battles, and the scars, they remembered.

And they knew better.

"Feth the Empress, and feth her promises, where is she now?" Bowery Manhattan snorted, slamming his cup loudly on the counter and making several others jump from their seats around them. This was after all, a far flung settlement of the Empire that even when Imperium was not fractured, Imperium could not touch, dissension was common place, and accepted as a norm. It was after all, how all these washed up drifters abandoned by the mainland found themselves their sanctuary.

Jean-Michel Pierrefonds shrugged sheepishly, "Probably at home tied up on Alexandros' bed."

Alexandros blushed, the cutest thing ever, at the same instance the pirate queen nibbled on his ears. He threw his hands up in protest to that statement, turning with mock horror towards Rosie, as though protesting his innocence at that ridiculous statement. It certainly made his next few choice words harder to articulate, but he did so anyways, his tongue licking one corner of his lips.

"A kiss, for starters?"

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

Despite her profession and the many times she’d been proven wrong, Rosie still believed that things would only ever turn out for the best. One could say she always looked on the bright side of life. It was more a coping mechanism than anything, a way to cordon off trauma and not have to deal with it. So when faced with a hero who couldn’t get it up for a rallying cry, she got a little annoyed and decided she didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

She would have settled for spending the rest of her time with Alexandros had it not been for the barrel chested man’s question. Rosie didn’t hesitate to answer. ”I would for one,” she said and continued, ”And I’ve got several hundred men who would follow with me.” Her gaze darted from Bowery over to Jean-Michel, hoping he was listening.

He crooked his finger for her to step closer and she obliged. She pouted. ”It only takes one spark to light a fire that will cure our people’s frozen hearts, mon ami. All we have to do is remind them that they’re the ones with the power. Not the nobles.” She almost spat on the floor, but then remembered she wasn’t hanging out at the docks, and thought better of it. Instead, she just made a rude gesture with her hands.

Bowery made his toast and Rosie loudly agreed with everyone. Then, taking the moment to thank Alexandros, she asked what he might want in return. His request was simple and adorable, considering the joke he’d just been the butt of. There were several different kinds of kisses that Rosie thought to give him and none of them seemed right. There was the slow, sensual one that promised more to come, the quick peck on the mouth that one reserved for parents.

In the end, she chose the one that best represented their relationship so far: the dramatic one. Placing a palm on each of his cheeks, she rose onto her tiptoes and planted her mouth on top of his. Her tongue flicked between his lips, the sour ouzo tickling her taste buds. And then she quickly rubbed their noses together with a suggestive little squeal and turned her attention back to Jean-Michel.

If she is there, I’ll be sure to let you boys know in the morning,” she said with a laugh before turning serious once again. ”What would you do differently if you could do it all over again? I’ve been trying to figure it out and the best I’ve come up is to give the Imperials a few days to get out and then guillotine them.” She shrugged. Rosie had never been much for plans and preferred to wing it and deal with the consequences. So when she said that was the best she could come up with, she wasn’t lying. She’d been working on that for years.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"You'll have to admit, she sounds exactly like you when you're younger." Jean-Michel gave a pained look at the Hesparian, but the expression indicated that he agreed. He fiddled a little, as though considering the next few words very carefully. It had been a long time, after all, since someone had the gall of Rosie had rocked up and demanded answers.

Most started to see Jean-Michel Pierrefonds as a relic and he received the occasion homage from Jaedaxians wandering around the Red Island, but few saw the potential in the washed up, slightly alcoholic ex-revolutionist. Perhaps it was true what he said, that the concept of freedom was a thing of the past. There were so few like Rosie now, those that had not experienced the brutality of the Imperial Legions, but still yearned for that sweet taste of true liberty.

"You're a fething pain in the ass, you know that?" The Jaedaxian rolled his eyes at his companion and finally turned coolly towards Rosie. Bowery chuckled, and went back to his drink.

Both men chuckled softly at the dramatic kiss, as did the other patrons. Alexandros, for his part used two hands to lift her up from her bottom, and it seemed they would have done it there and then if she had not pulled away at the last minute to once again ask her question. This time, the former rebel leader did not brush the question off with empty platitudes. Instead he spoke with that faraway look in his eyes as though he was truly imagining it.

"I would have supported the others, the Eunesia, Arkdun, Coldmoon, stoked every separatist flame that wanted to turn against the tyrants so that we would have friends when the Legions came for us."

Indeed, there were so many more. And once more, with Imperium fractured, noises have once again rose up, whispers of a inevitable split of the provinces across old boundaries, of petty warlords with greater ambitions to subjugate nearby neighbours. And who was there to stop them? The Empire was gone, left to strange powers in even stranger times.

"We weren't just made martyrs for Jaedaxia, we were made martyrs for every other movement that wanted to be free of the Empire."

Bowery Manhattan turned towards his ale and poured every last drop of it down his throat. They weren't fully convinced yet, that's for sure, but Rosie was getting warmer. Either that or her words, mixed with liquor, had a more profound effect that she had intended. "Damn right."

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

Jean-Michel called her a pain in the ass and Rosie grinned. ”Oui, it’s one of my most charming qualities. Wouldn’t you agree?” She could tell she was getting to him and it was becoming difficult for her to contain the excitement. If her father could be here now, he would have been beside himself. Usually her dreams of a free Jaedaxia were just that: dreams. But now, it almost seemed possible. Like obscure puzzle pieces finally clicking together at just the right moment.

She listened intently to all he had to say, realizing that he had much more insight and experience that he was willing to divulge than she could have hoped for. What he was saying made sense in that a revolutionary in Jaedaxia should support one in any other city. She’d just never considered it before. Naively, she only ever thought of Jae. Much like with her own selfishness, Rosie needed to learn how to look beyond the world she knew (and constructed within her mind).

”What if I told you I know of a plot to overthrow the current Empress? That a princess of old now makes her play for the throne and that she’s already promised a certain dashing sailor,” she pointed at herself, ”the keys to Jaedaxian Independence once we win?” It wasn’t all true, of course. Val had only promised a barony, but Rosie fully intended on twisting that into Jae leaving the Empire once and for all.

She knew how it sounded: like history was repeating itself and Rosie was its unwitting follower. But this time would be different! This time Jaedaxia had Rosie and her pirate fleet in the fight. ”Even if she loses, or if she turns out to be a liar, the reinvigorated hope of our people can bring us to victory at last.” All roads led to freedom eventually.

Okay, so maybe she’d had a better plan than guillotine the fuckers all along, but she really did like that one. It was quick and efficient and didn’t involve selling her soul to the Empire on the off-chance that the newly crowned Empress Val would hold true to her word. ”It’s a gamble I know, but I’ve already staked my reputation and my ships on it.” Rosie was a dreamer and often lived with her head in the clouds, confident enough in herself to survive. This was different and required a more sophisticated approach. ”I need companions who can talk sense into me, strategize, and help rally the people so that when the time comes we can finally raise the circle of silver stars surrounding the two theatre masks against the field of deep blue above our city walls again.”

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

A flash of anger glided over his jade green eyes, and only then did Rosie see why this man had been able to inspire so many in his time to turn against those that would subjugate them. He was erudite, but there was a mania about him, a dark passion that could be felt by anyone close by, and in doing so, will be consumed by the same zeal. "Another princess? The half-elemental half Ancient princess? They were fools for believing any spawn of that power hungry Constantine could deliver them the freedom they crave. Aeternia take them all." Jean-Michel's voice was bitter now, after all these time, after he had personally been vested in the negotiations with one Arctic de Ioannes, all they had wrought for themselves is a ceremonious title of the capitol of a false Republic, still under the heel of whoever sits on the Throne.

How his countrymen had accepted this outcome was something that continued to mystified him. That disbelief, however, soon turned into disappointment, sadness and eventually just... nothing.

He had reconciled that at the heart of Jaedaxia was a husk, and while pockets of flames burned, none of which, in his opinion, was enough to turn the waves. After so many struggles, so many wars, so many deaths; even the brightest light at the end of a dark tunnel could seem like a trick of the eye.

"You see how this all this is simply a self-fulfilling anathema. Pledging yourself to one who wishes to consolidate Imperialist ambitions, but accepting they are willing to carve out a part of their Empire at the end of the brightening." He shook his head slowly, but it was without judgement; instead it seemed to come from a place of a lot of anguish, when he had once walked the same paths, and the decades of disappointment and loss had finally crushed this man from within. "If it's sense you wish, I offer it freely,"

"Cut the princess' throat and be done with it, liberty shall not be wrought through any whose course of power leads them towards the powermongers of Prime." He collected himself and then sighed slowly, perhaps realising that he had been too harsh. The pain he felt, after all, was not brought on by the this fiery-haired pirate before him, yet in truth, she was offender bringing up ghosts of unpleasant memories.

Memories best forgotten.

He removed his ring from one of his fingers and handed it over to Rosie, Bowery Manhattan seemed taken aback, one hand almost reached out as though trying to stop his old friend. It was a simple trinket, made out of silver, not even gold. A pale blue stone, smaller than a finger nail, was set onto the ring itself. Behind the band though, carved in Jaedaxian, were the words:

Spoiler

To my beloved J.M.
Yours always, Esméralda

"I don't know how much this will help you in your future endeavors, but I am an old man, and the war needs fresh blood and fresh faces. It is time to create new causes and new reasons for Jaedaxia's freedom."

 

[Rosie Kyrillos-Thorne]

Rosie felt the same bitterness as Jean-Michel towards the Empire and its unkept promises. She knew how ridiculous she sounded, but in her mind, it was a solid plan. She knew that if she played her cards right and was smart about all this, that it would work out. ”Not half ancient, but half dark elf,” she said with a hint of irony. ”Valanthia L’Evienne.” While her brother Milo hadn’t been the best ruler, at least his reputation now as an olive farmer on the neighboring island of Chelseanna should count for something.

”I know it sounds like history repeats itself, that I’m naive and inexperienced. But I won’t rest until Jaedaxia is freed once and for all. Someone has to fight for her or else we really are lost.” At least she wasn’t running away to some island paradise and drinking her failures away. Not yet anyway.

She shook her head at his suggestion of assassinating the princess. ”I have other plans for her,” she said with a smirk. Nothing too nefarious, really. Certainly not anything that involved murdering her in cold blood. As much as Rosie enjoyed senseless violence, she much preferred her adversaries able to defend themselves; it made it more fun that way. For all her talk of guillotines, Rosie preferred trying the diplomatic route first. If Val proved unhelpful in that regard, she’d have to adjust her plan accordingly. Not something she looked forward to.

When Jean-Michel removed his ring, her first thought was to refuse the gift. Sentimental items represented a person’s heart and Rosie wasn’t sure she deserved to be in possession of his. He placed it in her hand, with his words of encouragement, and she closed her fingers around it as if she could feel the passion and history woven into the silver band. Before he could protest, she threw her arms around his neck and held him for a tight embrace. ”Merci beaucoup mon héros,” she whispered in his ear before planting a kiss on his cheek. ”I hope to one day see you strolling through Le Quatre de Sud with a smile on your face.”

She spun away from him, glancing around the brewery for anything that looked like it could produce, ”Music!” If anything, Rosie was willing to start singing a bawdy sea shanty or perhaps an old revolutionary song to bring up everyone’s spirits. They’d been serious for far too long and it was time to bring back the merriment. Placing Pierrefonds’ ring on her thumb, she then held out her hand to him. ”Will you dance with me?”

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"L’Evienne? As in former Regent and Prince Milo, the L’Evienne?" Jean-Michel's voice was incredulous, surprised, even.

"I'm surprised the L'Evienne still care for an Empire that obviously did not care for them." Narratives varied from region to region, but here in Eunesia, the official account was that the Regent had been the best thing that happened to the Empire since as long as they could remember, and the way he had been treated? Well, it was a travesty, if you asked any Eunesian. Did it help matters that the man himself was a Eunesian? Probably, but one would be hard pressed to find anyone badmouthing the former Regent, at least in these parts of the world.

The way they saw it, he was just like so many of them, washed up from the mainland to find peace from the time they had left, forgotten.

He shrugged, as though it didn't matter what he said or thought. It was clear that Rosie would do what she wished regardless. It was their blessing... and their curse, all at the same time.

As to her heart-felt avowal, Bowery Manhattan only laughed, smacking Jean-Michel hard on his back. "Are you sure you two are not related? What's your last name Rosie?" To his credit Jean-Michel only gave a look of long suffering at his loud and boisterous companion, waving a gesture of complete exasperation at Bowery.

The Ariumnite pointed at the ring, his voice gruff as though he still could not believe that he would give up that trinket to a stranger. "You best take care of that."

The Jaedaxian ex-revolutionist nodded, extending one hand out towards the pirate queen as he bowed. He was a Jaedaxian through and through after all, and he knew the proper graces, and Rosie would soon realize, was a terrific dancer. He still moved with the limber of a young man escorting his lady at a debutante ball, but that was tempered by the confidence and without nerves of the youth.

And so the two Jaedaxians danced, the musicians played a song called 'The Golden Dragon', the story of the guardian of the Jaedaxia, the legendary Borthanas as how he saw the jewel of Northumbria for the first time and how taken he was by the beauty, grace and people of the fair city - a city unlike any other. It was haunting, beautiful, and for a moment in time, a forbidden song to be played as accorded by Imperalists trying to outlaw the Cult of Borthanas, one of the strongest separatist groups in Jaedaxia.

It wouldn't be surprising, that the man holding her in his arms was a Borthanist himself.