ryleigh-swain-blog

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

The injury had yet to fully heal, bringing a minor annoyance to Swain’s day by day life. Fatima had done her best to cover and heal it, but time had to play its part too. As the fleeting ally it existed as, it did little to truly help Swain. She hid it well, but a few beads of sweat rolled down her face from her discomfort.

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

tabibalmuqaddas:

her heart was pounding, racing like the wings of the humming birds she’d seen once in a rich patients home in spain. she had seen the ifrit, sharp smile and bloodied hands and teeth, and she had seen it in the eyes of her captain. her beloved ryleigh.

she’d known who her friend was; heard the hushed whispers as the two walked the markets. but to see it first hand… it was terrifying. but she was a professional, and blood and gore was not something fatima was unfamiliar with, and when ryleigh stood victorious before crumpling in a way that served as a brutal reminder that ryleigh was, above all else, a mortal woman.

“you’re injured.” she pushed her hesitations to the side, falling into the old and comfortable role of doctor. “come.” she set her knife to the side and grabbed a cloth to cleanse the wound.

It wasn’t a stab wound or a gunshot, Swain had realized. Instead, her opponent decided it best to use a club for a weapon on this voyage. He had slammed it into her side, yet the reinforced armor she wore underneath her clothing helped weather the blow. However, it did its part in crashing the ribs against her skin, contorting Swain’s body into a bad position. The breakage of the skin was severe enough for blood to seep out, yet the internal damage is what brought Swain to hysterics. Her vengeance only came as part of the suffering she had accumulated. 

Yet, like the guardian angel that Swain saw her as, Fatima came to her aid. Swain hadn’t realized that she came into the infirmary in her scuffle. Fatima was the only person alive that could give her orders, most of which were goodnatured under the veil of a stern tone. Sadly, Swain couldn’t follow the request as quickly as she hoped. When she tried to move, the momentary dip in adrenaline sent Swain to the wooden floor with a heavy noise. 

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

rcdtears:

“S’pose we’ll find out but I’ll probably be keepin’ my head low fer it all. Unless of course I’m needed but not much use I am since I’m just a rigger.” He offered a courteous nod to the elder.

“Mhm, poor swabbies.”

There was a graveness in Swain’s next words to Dominic.

“There are no useless men on my ship,” she stated, coldly, “if you can pick up a wrench, you can use it to defend yourself.”

“When the time for battle comes, you’re a demon, a monster, like the rest of us.”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

tabibalmuqaddas:

EVENT STARTER

her infirmary is quiet and dark, a few wisps of smoke drifting through the room after fatima had extinguished the candles that normally gave the room a warm and welcoming glow. her hair was swept back into a scarf, more of a practicality than a need for modesty as she moved about the room, preparing for when someone came and told her the coast was clear and her skills were needed. practiced hands folded cloths into a pack and crushed herbs into medicine. the faint sounds of fighting reached her ears, steel upon steel and gunshots in the air. reflexively, she flinched with every cry of pain, praying that she would not recognize the next cry.

she had long since finished her preparations, and had settled herself into an easily dependable position by the door, when said door opened. fatima shifted her grip on the knife she carried, not relaxing until she recognized the voice.

The Captain fell into the room, overwhelmed by the larger man that pressed down on her. She had her knee rested underneath his solar plexus, keeping him at bay. However, his knife came ever closer to her throat. Swain’s eyes were narrowed, still radiating the eerie calm that accompanied her throughout life. The enemy snarled, hoping that his cry of fury would push him down, but Swain’s knee persisted. It gave her enough room to reach into her pocket, and draw out her own knife. It was a throwing knife, but its sharp end still served its ultimate purpose: to stab and injure. She shoved it into his face, wrenching it into his eye socket. The man howled in pain as one does, but Swain ignored them. She got up, stomping on his chest for good measure. 

“You thought you had me, didn’t you?” Swain murmured, pulling out two of her seemingly endless flintlocks. She shot one into the man’s shoulder, splitting his focus onto the two new wounds. 

“You and your crew thought we were weak?”

Swain’s eyes widened, a rare sight for Fatima. A truly savage smile dawned on Swain’s face, replacing the stoic features that all came to know. 

“You came onto this ship, taking the bait,” Swain aimed her other flintlock down at the man’s face, “and now you’re going to be bait for the sharks.”

A final shot rang out, and the man’s life was cut brutally short. Swain sighed, stepping off the fresh corpse. She tried to walk over to the door, but she fell into it. The doorknob became her crutch, and she tried to lift herself. She turned around, seeing Fatima for a moment before she favored her side. She slid down the door with a heavy groan, ripping into her shirt’s fabric. There was bruising and blood, which didn’t make the captain happy at all. 

“Blast,” she whispered.

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

First Command [self-para/closed para]

Word Count: 919

OOC Note: “More information will be offered in the Holy Wench Discord Chat.”

Swain had noticed them before they left the port. Bet on her acute vision of her surroundings, where even the wind served as a threat to her well-being. The pricks on her skin from the chill trained her perception, sharpened it to the point that she could detect when someone was amiss. The slightest obstruction from normalcy could upset Swain’s calm. She would never show it, not even to her crew. Hiding the fact that she knew became the paramount strategy, mainly as she traversed with a few members of her crew back to the Wench. They had waited under the wind current played to their favor, and the other ships had left the docks.

Though, one remained far enough away not to be an immediate curiosity. However, this was only applicable to the unprovoked. For Swain, she had always noticed the vessel, kept her eyes on it, and saw the tantalizing looks of the hungry buzzards that lingered on the ship. Younger boys would take the role of spy, darting in and out of sight. They played unconscious roles in society, hoping that no one would care, let alone, notice them. Swain saw each eye that crept over her form. She didn’t have to look to feel their piercing gazes and hear the licking of their lips.

As the Holy Wench left the harbor, estimations began to stir in Swain’s mind. A day ahead--no, half of one. The buzzards allowed them no longer than half a day to make it out to sea. Swain made passive commands to continue to check the weather. Noticing their movements, she got an immediate understanding of what they were dealing with. They were mobilized for quicker sea traversing, sacrificing some firepower for the ability to catch up with more massive ships. They were gaining speed, Swain acknowledged only to herself. So, she opted to fight against the wind current, letting them close the gap. To her dismay, they were catching up, and they sought to take what was hers. Knowing that battle was literally upon the horizon, Swain stayed in her quarters. Florian brought her tea, but he never got to see what she had planned.

Fooling the enemy came after fooling her allies.

Next time that the Holy Wench was near a prevalent town, she would invest in some optimized cannons. She saw how chase cannons were created, a powerful weapon against scavengers like the fools behind them. A few critical blasts could sink the ship without a second thought. Yet, that feeling was for later. At the moment, Swain started to ponder on what strategy that they will utilize them. A true battle at sea was out of the question. The Holy Wench bore a plethora of 24-pounders and 36-pounders, able to annihilate weaker ships and rally for another fight. Thinking of the structural weaknesses was a waste of time, and Swain didn’t take too long to figure that out.  

These bastards were indeed fools.

Swain stood up, heading outside into the darkness. She looked behind her, seeing the dull radiance of a lamp. The ship had gotten closer, to which Swain took as an insult. The night didn’t shroud them that well. As she made her way onto to the center of the deck, she whistled out a particular tune. The tune carried through the whole ship; she had tested it before. Alert heads made themselves known and nodded as they confirmed the order. Swain quietly walked back to her quarters and struck a candle. She placed it nicely over in the corner of the room, only illuminating it enough to give the room an auburn tint.

The Holy Wench grew a reputation among crews that didn’t know any better than it was a ghost ship. Its longevity through the several decades of its existence had taken its wear. A superior shipwright kept to its internal mechanisms, but not to its appearance. Thus, in the nighttime sky, the ship looked ghastly. Her former captain, several eons ago, made the command to switch all lamps to have colorized glass. When someone lit the wicks, they would shine not their typical red, but an off-putting blue hue. In the purifying light of day, the ship didn’t bear any of its great fashionings. They kept it clean, and Swain pushed her crew to their limitations to make it more so. It all led to this moment, to which Swain could incorporate a strategy that tested the fantasy of the ghost vessel.

The whistle told the crew to hide in ambush spots. The opposing crew would board the ship, hoping to catch everyone in a rush. Swain’s plan would deter them and lead to their downfall in one swoop. If tonight went according to the method, then the Holy Wench crew would have a new ship. As such, Swain would begin to engineer her plans. Several people would do anything to join their crew. Florian put his life on it over a meal, so she knew that she had a use for another ship. Even if it’s only a decoy in many respects. A fleet, Swain imagined, with a wry smile. Once more, it was a thought for another time. Graveness overtook the dreaming woman on top of the deck. She resigned to walking into her quarters.

If people believed that the Holy Wench was a ghost ship, there shouldn’t be anyone on board.

That is the second part of her order came.

“Kill them all, and feed the sharks.”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

rcdtears:

A brow rose at the comment as he studied his captain’s features for a long moment. “Then that captain must not be very savvy,” he remarked with a slight grin.

“Should I be excited or worried?”

“It depends on where your moralities lie. If you’re one for the carnage that follows our ship, then excitement. If you’re one of the wayward angels that walk with Death, then this shall be dreadful.”

Swain spared a moment to smile impishly.

“My, the swabbbies will have quite the mess to clean.”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

maria-maceo:

“Pardon me, indeed. Assuming you mean miracles and not dubious strains, I will have you know I am unwilling, rather than unable, thank you very much. If a man chooses to shirk his responsibilities for a quick tumble, may he suffer the consequences.”

“My, what a sharp tongue you have there. Quite the contradiction to their position as well,” Swain explained, her voice growing darker as she spoke. 

“A man must suffer the consequences with nary a doctor to aid them?” 

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

Business As Usual [Past Self-Para]

Word Count: 1258

ooc notes: this was made in the original iteration of the RP. I wanted to post it still since I enjoyed it so much then.

The creaking of the old wood floors irritated Swain somewhat. As they threaded closer into the shop, Swain took notice of the peering eyes. Many analyzed their feminine build, probably wondering if they could try to fraternize with them. Others merely gawked for weaponry. The fewest amount of the prying eyes belonged to those who started to get out of dodge. To them, the fun-loving air of the Powder Keg Tavern had changed dramatically. The imposing figures of Holy Wench pirates barricaded the doors, but all eyes were more focused on the exact steps of Ryleigh Swain. Several people began to get up, but the gloved hand of the Quartermaster rose up to stop them.

“Please,” Swain said, with a gentle air impelling their voice, “you may remain seated. My affairs have nothing to do with you,” they followed with a smirk. As they continued deeper into the tavern, namely towards the central countertop, their smirk brimmed with an irreverent nature. “Yet,” Swain exemplified, letting free a guttural giggle as they turned their focus on the nervous barmaid. 

The barmaid, a buxom lass of late adolescence, protected her chest with a wooden tray. Swain rested on the counter, assuming a comfortable position. She rested her chin on her hands, watching the barmaid with a particular interest. They didn’t share words for quite some time. The barmaid didn’t move from her spot, but her hands tried to silently maneuver towards a flintlock. Swain stood up and padded behind the counter. They held out a gentle hand, placing it over the barmaid’s hand. “No, darling, there’s no need for such horrible manners.”

“Now where is your,” Swain examined the barmaid’s features for a second, before continuing, “Father?”

The barmaid backed away, which allowed Swain to take the pistol for herself. They held it up for a moment, inspecting it. “I’m glad you didn’t try to fire this at me. It’s in such poor condition. It may have fallen to pieces in your trembling hands,” Swain spoke to the barmaid, slowly turning to the mass array of the alcohol bottles. Swain reached for one, perusing it. With a nod, they threw it back into the hands of a nearby crewmate. “It’s yours; it’s your reward for tonight,” Swain said, before turning her eyes back to the barmaid. More distance was created between over the small amount of time.

“I do not like to repeat myself,” Swain said, the once calm tone dissolving into a sterner one. Their eyes began to hone in on the barmaid, radiating antagonism. They stepped slowly, but with authority over to the barmaid. “Where is your father? Is he here? Did he abandon this tavern? If so, we need to have a conversation about the debt that he owes us.”

“He-he’s in the back,” the barmaid’s face paled as Swain’s domineering nature overpowered her. She even pointed, nervously, to a single door on the side. Swain looked, then motioned for it. Two of the four crewmates that came with Swain rushed the door. They kicked it in with a gleeful noise. The scream of an older man echoed throughout. Swain walked into the room, noticing that it wasn’t an official place of work. It was the tavern owner’s bedroom.

A scraggly looking man sat on his bed, covering his bareness with his blanket. He resembled a pig, with his alcohol-influenced physique. He looked aimlessly around, but when he saw Swain, he immediately reached for a pistol. Swain briskly moved and interrupted his endeavor with a knife to the hand. A wail of pain ripped from the tavern owner’s vocal chords. Swain looked on with expressionless, but evident irritation. They reached over and grabbed a stool and took a seat in forth of the bleeding man.

Swain grabbed their pocket watch, opening it slowly. They rested their elbow on the top of the knife. The man grimaced and moaned with pain. “Tsk, tsk, no groaning now; you’re the one who tried to shoot me,” Swain said, chuckling darkly as they did. They presented the pocket watch to the man. When he didn’t look up at it, Swain reached over and forced him too. 

“It is past the time that I expected the parcel. We are set to leave within the next hour, before sundown,” Swain returned the pocket watch back into their coat pocket. “Did you expect me to forget about our deal?”

“You never told us what I’d get!” the man managed to speak up beyond his pain. He reached for the knife handle, but Swain swatted their hand away. 

Swain sighed out, rolling their eyes. They reached over to the man’s hand, took a grip of his wrist, and took the knife out. A slight exhale of relief came from the tavern keep. “I thought it was evident,” Swain mumbled, taking a glance at the bloodstained knife. They positioned the blade over the man’s hand again.

“What are you doing?” the man asked. 

“It’s a game that I found,” Swain said, before tapping the knife on the makeshift nightstand. In between each of his fingers, Swain tapped the knife. They increased the pace before they slipped up. A bit of flesh came off the man’s index finger. “I apologize; I am not very good at this game,” Swain said, “it requires precision that I sometimes don’t have. Especially when I’m infuriated by someone’s incompetence.”

“I’ll try again,” Swain said, raising the knife up, “unless you have something to say.”

“You can’t just take it! I need the gold to keep the tavern up,” the man exclaimed, his fear developing into general franticness. Swain paused briefly, then started again. This time when they failed, the knife was embedded into the fingernail of the man’s middle finger. He reached a new octave when he yelped. Swain left it there. “Please! I got to…” he whimpered.

Swain surveyed the damage and then lifted the knife back up. “I hate repeating myself. The deal was that”, Swain laid the knife down over the man’s little finger. “you give us what we want. Your gold, supplies, and a bit of alcohol to hold my crewmates over,” Swain said, their voice falling upon a lower register. 

Without blinking, Swain lobed off the finger. It flew upward from the sudden force. The man managed to pry his hand away from Swain’s grip, hurling about from the raw pain. Swain stood up, wiping the knife off with their handkerchief. As they put it away, Swain took out one of their pistols. They looked at it and smiled. Taking aim, Swain closed one eye, to perfect the shot. 

“And you keep your life; the deal was in your favor. But now you’re refusing our deal, so I have to settle your debt for you.”

“What a nuisance,” Swain’s disdain showed itself in their final words. The screams of the man were interrupted by the loudness of gunfire. Blood splattered upon the owner’s chamber walls. A shriek came from outside the room. Swain looked over to see the barmaid, covering her head. Swain looked over at the crewmates. 

“Take what we were promised, take what you want, and burn this place to the ground,” Swain commanded, before leaving the room. As they exited, they caught the eye of rising patrons. With a heavy sigh, they brandished two of their four pistols, firing shots into any approaching individuals. Swain casually walked out of the tavern, taking out another handkerchief to wipe some blood off their face. 

“What a shame. This was such a cute, little tavern.”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

silver-spoons-and-salt:

Florian rapped his knuckles against the doorframe of the captain’s quarters- or study? He wasn’t quite sure- as he stepped inside, tentative. He was carrying a tray.

“I brought tea, Captain,” he explained as he approached her, “Is everything alright?”

Tea? 

The new assistant was already one of her favorites with the little gestures alone. She didn’t want to show it through any facial expressions, merely nodding at Florian as he placed the tray down near her. 

“It seems some sort of sickness is carrying out through the ship,” she murmured, “I hope that it isn’t anything fatal. Especially with the long voyage ahead of us.”

“I would hate to have to--” 

ACHOO.

Swain paused, and wiped her nose with a nearby cloth. A silence lingered in the room before she decided to speak again.

“Pardon me.”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

rcdtears:

“Aye, right.” The younger agreed without context, accent as thick as ever in his confusion. “What’s troubling ye, cap’n?”

“Before we left, I managed to catch a glimpse of another captain,” Swain explained, jostling around the beverage in her hand; she followed the action by taking a sip. 

“We might be getting followed at some point.”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

maria-maceo:

“I’m fairly certain most of the injuries obtained in Nassau did not result from battle. I do not wish to know the uncivilized details, but may I remind, I am a surgeon and not a miracle worker. Must you insist on straining things that should never be strained?”

“Then you ought to get better at making them happen then, yes?”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

“That’s a troubling affair, if I ever heard of one,” Swain murmured, mostly to herself. In the middle of her rambling to herself, she looked up, fully aware of her surroundings again.

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

silver-spoons-and-salt:

Florian’s heart rose as the Chef praised the taste, only for it to plummet back down a second later. The Captain hated the soup- the disgust was clear on her face, and of course mushrooms weren’t to her taste, what had Florian been thinking.

“I can do better,” he told her, flour-dusted hands wringing together nervously. She wasn’t looking at him, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

“I could make something that doesn’t have an ingredient you hate in it, I’m quite versatile,” he was practically stammering, now; he felt that his opportunity was slipping from his fingers, “In fact, that’s why you should want me in your kitchen- I can- I- I’m…” he opened and closed his mouth uselessly, searching for the words. He had no more praises to sing about his skills- he’d shown her his best, and now it was out of his hands.

He glanced towards the Chef helplessly.

“Should I leave, or…?”

The Chef looked back at Florian worriedly. Silence fell upon the both of them, where the Chef tried his hardest to communicate to the lad with only his eyes. He wasn’t exactly sure himself what Swain’s reaction beyond her disgust would be. A healthy step wouldn’t be amiss, but he didn’t want to abandon the frightened boy. Over the course of his explanation, any register of confidence died down, and his skin started to turn color, or so he believed. Swain could scare a boy sheet white with only a reaction, and the truth showed here. More frightening than her reaction was the fact that she hadn’t returned her head from her stare towards the sea.

She was going to execute, and she was looking for sharks in the water.

“No,” Swain commanded, with her tone harsher than her normal one. The Chef prepared for the gunshot and the following request to dump the carcass overboard. 

It never came, though.

“I want you to learn,” she said, picking out a mushroom from the bowl, “and avoid being too extravagant.” 

The Chef noticed that Swain kept picking out the mushrooms until there were none left. His eyes widened upon realization that it wasn’t the soup itself. The Captain never spoke of what she liked or didn’t like. He never got a chance to see her emote in favor or against whatever he made. Sometimes, he had pondered if she ever ate or drank. To his shock, Swain displayed a trait that he didn’t think possible in her.

She liked the soup, as she almost drank it down.

“The soup was great. My stomach doesn’t agree with mushrooms, I’m afraid.”

The Chef nearly fainted--Swain almost told a joke.

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

silver-spoons-and-salt:

Florian got into a very particular headspace, when he cooked. Everything faded into the background but his hands and the ingredients; it wasn’t that he was focused, it was more the exact opposite. It was a calm that settled over him while he tossed ingredients into bowls and chopped up vegetables, a content and relaxed feeling one only achieves when they’re exactly where they’re meant to be, doing exactly what they should be doing.

Florian hummed a nonsense tune as he sliced mushrooms into a bubbling pot, and- for lack of a better term- daydreamed. He wondered if he’d finally found a life that would suit him, that wouldn’t get rid of him after a day’s work. He hoped he’d get to go places, see things, learn things, meet people. Maybe- finally- he’d be able to find everything he’d ever wanted.

The soup was ready- it hadn’t taken long. It seemed just a tad too lumpy and thick- perhaps he’d added too much flour. But, he was sure the consistency wouldn’t affect the taste.

He ladled the soup into a bowl, grabbed half a loaf of bread from the pantry, and returned to Swain to present her with his handiwork.

“I think you’ll find,” he said as he approached her, unable to keep the pride out of his voice, “that this is the best soup I’ve ever made.”

Swain sat there, eyeing Florian with the same piercing gaze she always bore. They drifted down to the bowl of soup, giving it a careful look before she motioned to the chef next to her. 

“Since he’s pining to be your assistant, taste the food for me,” partially, she did this to prevent herself from being poisoned. It’d be a shame if some young, spirited man ended up being her downfall. Her legend would die out right then and there. The chef, knowing what measures Swain placed, nodded and stuck up. He took the bowl and sat back down, testing the consistency. An agitated expression came onto his face, and Swain caught it.

“It’s like wafting through a swamp,” he described, to Swain’s displeasure. However, he did taste it--he owed the young man that much. When he did, a complete shift in expression came.

“Aye,” he began, “this is good. Mushrooms aren’t our captain’s thing, but I must say. She might change if she tasted this.”

Swain’s face showed the clear disdain she had for mushrooms, but the chef’s prodding made her give in. She took a spoonful and tried it. Her face contorted with disgust immediately. She handed the chef back the spoon and looked out to the sea.

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

tabibalmuqaddas:

“please don’t make me say it out loud.”

her voice is quiet, almost quieter than the waves lapping at the ship. most days it was easy to swallow her worry, the sight of the empty sea around them culling any fear of an ambush or attack. but here, sea on one side, town on the other… danger could come from any angle, and there was no guarantee that she would even be in the area when the danger struck.

“i will always worry for you, ryleigh. it’s my duty to, no matter what you ask of me.”

Swain remained silent, only letting the sound of waves occupy the conversation. She turned her back fully to Fatima, staring at the gentle motion of the sea. It was possible for the sea, Poseidon’s strongest weapon, to engulf them all. No one would have to worry, for there would be no one left. She lolled her tongue in her mouth before responding.

“What if I order you not to?”

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

tabibalmuqaddas:

“no it wasn’t. dead children mean i cannot do my job.”

“The twins would love to hear this conversation,” she teased.

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

tabibalmuqaddas:

“trust me. i know exactly how easily you can die, ryleigh.”

the response is snapped out quicker than fatima can control her own emotions. she’d seen this dream so many times before, all it took was one lucky hit and fatima would have lost her dearest friend. the doctor looked out over the sea, composing herself.

“please, just allow me the freedom to worry for you.”

“How easily I can die?”

It almost sounded like a challenge. Each scar that Fatima stitched up ached as the words resonated. Swain liked to play out the idea that she was immortal; she had gone from a runaway to a captain in a little under a decade. Fatima just reminded her of her mortality in a momentary burst of emotion. Swain’s cold resolve shattered, to which she hid by turning her face away. She tucked a few strands of loose hair behind her ear to sloppily hide her reaction.

“Please, Fatima, don’t believe in curses. Don’t worry about me either.”

She paused, biting her lip.

“It’s the captain’s job to worry about her crew, not the other way around.”