#intrepidim

[ofpowdered]

location: the great cabin.  time: post-mutiny.  with: @intrepidim​.

“my dear captain.” all the proper titles, all the proper greetings --- a slight curtsy and demure smile, a straightening of her spine and a fidgeting with her necklace. she wanted to be the only thing soft out here, even while the ice around them turned back to water. as silence began to creep its way back to the room, she let out a delicate sigh, as if she was the one with the weight of the ship on her shoulders, as if she was the only one here who sought to understand him. “we are simply having a dreadful time of it, aren’t we?” 

she spoke to him like she might her husband: oh, you grand and brilliant thing, look at this idea you have, let me support all you are. “if only there was some sort of news i might return to the other guests. sparkling words from our captain --- something to raise our spirits. after all, even our dinners seem to have taken on a tragic quality to them, and tragedy can only hold our interest for so long... i trust you, i’m sure you know, but the others hardly recognize you yet.”

[aveaugvstus]

EVENING OF 12TH JULY.  THE OFFICER’S DINNER.  /  ORIGIN.  for @intrepidim.

old man, augustus dares to scoff within the private insolence of his mind. what do you know of what mistakes i’ve made culminating here in this moment of my most exquisite misery? i could be amongst the crew having a proper old time of revelry and wicked liveliness and not this suffocating display of politics and military ritual masquerading as a banquet. alas, my inclination for reckless self-immolation and the declaration of civil war with the half of my own soul that walks about this ship, has ensnared me. 

“my mouth is what got me into this mess in the first place,”  augustus mutters darkly, storm-weathered eyes boring into the champagne glass in his hand as if it is the root cause of all his suffering. my name, too, he thinks bitterly, ears still ringing with affront and beyond that, incapacitating regret. a foreign feeling, one that sunk within him like an anchor to the bowels of the sea.  “forgive me, sir, but when you were young scotland likely still had sovereignty.”  demure, and skirting the very extremity of impertinence, he chances a wry smirk from behind the rim of his glass.  “isn’t the point of being a good man not to make mistakes?”

[riversoaked]

location: the town of godhavn time: in the days following the carnivale with: @intrepidim​ cont. from here !! 

her grin, rare as it was, came easy at his comment. “if i say i’m here to confess all my hidden desires, will you sneak me a drink back too?” she lowered her voice, gaze moving over the town around them, as if there was a secret between herself and the buildings. “i’ve been told i’m not much welcome in the market, but i’m so parched, see? doesn’t seem right.” 

[mauraudmore]

where: starts outside the armory to somewhere private idk  when: after the mutiny whom: @intrepidim 

“Play nice and you’ll both get to stretch your legs.”

Marcus addresses that, not to her, but to their prisoners––Jules and Roi––but she cannot pretend that she does not hear it; cannot be deaf to such an absurd concept. It shouldn’t be her place to comment. Violet is not a seaman nor veteran, at least not to any war Her Majesty would ever record; but what is war? Is it not the grappling of power between two groups ready to spill blood for an ounce of control? If that is the case then she is a veteran many times over. The scars on her hands, the bullet wound in her shoulder––long since scarred over––aches in memory to every power struggle she has survived and won. She was a captain once too, of her own concrete bound crew. The alley battles, the guerilla tactics, the victories; all of it, comes back to the forefront of her mind. A flexing of an old muscle. It is the tactician in her that urges to voice protest, but she is careful. Estrada is the captain and she does not forget to give him the respect he is due. “May I have word, sir? In private?” Tense politeness coats every syllable. And when they are alone, away from anyone who can witness a subordinate advising a superior, she continues. 

“Sir, please don’t tell me you actually think that letting Jules out is a good idea.”

[adinfinita]

THE EVENING OF MAKING LANDFALL. THE GREAT CABIN. FOR @intrepidim​​.

the feeling of uncanny weaves a labyrinth through him of spider-silk and minotaur thread. this port of crossroads, this isle without a name or scratch on a map, borderless and unchartered as bermuda, atlantis, aeaea — is nothing more than a harbinger, surely, of death and treachery yet to transpire. stripped bare of the solace of divine mandate, untethered by imperative and duty, the starboard chill coming from the docks is unexpectedly cold. and perhaps this is all par for the course. perhaps this is how the morningstar felt on that first night of freedom, the twin scars on his back freshly guttered, gazing out upon a starlit land he had only ever glimpsed from gilded spires.

— but this is no dawning creation myth, and if there is anything to be unravelled from this island’s obscurity, it is how her inhabitants have managed to survive the jaws of a beast that would make bloodsport out of their hospitality.

what port have you ever sailed to and found the seas safer than going to shore?

as night begins to seep across the dusk horizon, he cuts across the upper deck and descends down into the hallway lined with officers’ cabins. his own lies largely unoccupied these days, an empty mausoleum without funeral blooms or body to bury. there’s no need for propriety or pretence anymore; he enters the great cabin without knocking, the only soul on this ship who would dare seek out an audience with the captain unannounced.

“i wouldn’t trust even the dirt lining that port.”  hugo spares the captain a fleeting, laden glance as he esconces himself in the singular chair opposite his desk, a parallel of latitude he’s come to think of as his own.  “and dowling and his loyalists go traipsing off into its tavern and shops and inns as if a warm bed to sleep in and any face that won’t point a rifle at their back isn’t merely a trap. the whole island reeks of something rotten. something damned. but i suppose we didn’t leave them much choice. better the land of the lotus-eaters than london. better freedom than treason.”

[ferroustype]

when: during the rescue. where: main deck with: @intrepidim​

There’s nothing to it, really, saith the serpent. Just take a bite.

With the rescue party god knows how far into the island by now, the ship smothered by a downy, dreadful quiet, Sohrab and Marcus are taking their promised turn about the main deck. It’s not so much the waltz as a bastardization, really— box steps in all the wrong places. But that’s beside the point. It isn’t about the steps so much as where they take you. With luck, their next steps will take them to the passage, to the board, and far beyond. 

With any luck, they’ll waltz themselves straight back to dry land, as promised. As Malachy as had chance enough to deliver them. He’s tried hard, tried valiantly, of course— but she’s simply been left fucking wanting.

“When the status quo fails, when the sails go limp and the ocean lays flat, men grow desperate. Doldrums. Eviler than any deva. Boredom makes men caustic as quicklime. So imagine what fear does?” 

The cartographer switches the script on him, now. Shifting his hand from their hip to their shoulder and taking him by the small of the back; once the follow, now the lead. In control before the first snag in their stride is even registered. “The only medicine is purpose. Keeps sailors happy, keeps 'em agreeable... keeps 'em calm...” Voice lilting lower and lower in its conspiratorial hush. 

“They’ll fall in line for almost anything, now— long as it’s a change of pace. So give them something to do.” The crew, they mean. “You’d make a fine enough Captain, my boy. Fine enough to see it through. And it wont take much; the groundwork is practically laid for you,” teeth gritted now, jaw indented with ire as their molars scrape the inside of their own cheek until they taste copper. “—and it’s already been stained bloody enough.”

Her eyes, iodine dark, bore into the vice-admiral in that same way they have only a few dozen times before — when he’s been the one at the table, her advising the precise sweep of his pen. “There’s nothing to it, really.”

[fatherfoxhound]

when: while the rescue party’s away where: the ship’s chapel with: @intrepidim

The proof is in the pudding, as it were. It was one thing to recommend the vice-admiral seek out his wise council and an entirely different one to see him make good on it. Is it poor form for a chaplain to express ( quite visible ) surprise toward the person that waits for him inside? Though, it’s poor form for a chaplain to bust his knuckles on bounty hunters jaws, too; so he twines his recently wrapped hands behind his back and prays it all comes out in the wash. Bids goodbye to the crew members he’d been chatting with since their convergence in the hall, waving them off to their watch shift on deck. Stay warm, lads.

Now, to the sight awaits him in the chapel. Estrada’s silhouette as commanding as ever; more so in the small, lamplit space. Laurents ducks through the doorway. “Vice-admiral,” He dips his head by way of greeting, “—please,” he gestures toward the small spread of seating. “Make yourself comfortable.”

[edwardboyne]

continued. / @intrepidim​

the way Edward rolls his eyes is unheard of, his pupils practically disappearing under his eyelids, his sigh getting heavier and heavier with every other word that leaves the vice-admiral’s mouth. Perhaps his own fault, for letting himself say anything in the man’s presence. Though, would a cold shoulder make any difference? The other has always been so persistent, proving Edward wrong. “Manchester?” Edward cuts in, his expression scrunched up, almost offended. “Is that what I sound like to you?” he continues—not very sure what to make of it. Still, a peculiar fact is that he’s sooner to take offense to Manchester over scraggy. Then again, Edward never considered himself to be very ordinary—even if he might seem so. “Ah, so you are telling me that you actually have a job to do here? Other than being—” annoying, bothersome, all that among other things. “A nuisance?” he finally settles, with a curve to his lip that escapes notice. 

[lijinmarked]

date : 1839, summer

location : the adie home in the peak district, uk

interaction : @intrepidim​

the sun has long since crested over the horizon and the mountains both, burnt the dew off the gardens and hills, peach light turned blue across the rolling landscape. she had risen early, the sun causing her to wake, had spent the morning so far wrapped in a robe and curled up on the couch in the conservatory, reading.

perhaps they don’t spend as much time in the uk, in this home as they should, preoccupied with research elsewhere, or trapped inside the study and library, where wood and dust are more familiar companians than the birdsong and greenery. but for now, it’s worth enjoying - as well as the british company it brings.

the stairs creak and she turns in her seat to look at who’s approaching - ah, marcus. she smiles, motions her head to the spare chairs. ‘ not going to run right out on us? nancy is going to have lunch ready in an hour or so, but i’m sure jane can get you a drink if you want? ‘

[sirensignal]

@intrepidim​

“Marcus, dear.” A sigh freighting the air with cavernous regret. “The captain — and I say his name in the most arbitrary of fraught tones, in the deepest of funeral mourning — is exceedingly unwilling to open his heart to me. I assume it’s dread of excessive bleeding from a chest wound.”

Between Nour’s long fingers a pen spins, idle. Wanting for paper. “An expert’s insight, darling, would be terribly appreciated. Perhaps you might begin by telling what the captain broke his fast on this morning, it has soured his mouth the entire day since. Or perhaps that is his habitual expression and I’d ask — where, if you have the slightest inkling, does his decision lean on the ship’s course.”

[cyrusharper]

when / july 5th, 1845 where / the local market at godhavn  with / @intrepidim​ prompt / “ the fact that you steal , that’s really funny to me ”

“the fact that you steal,” the vice admiral says, from his position of standing somewhere just over cyrus’s shoulder--he doesn’t need to turn, to tear his attention away from the wares of the local vender that are spread out before him, to know that the man is grinning like a fox. “is really funny to me.”

spoken like someone who’s never had to struggle for anything, who’s never been kicked out of anywhere or had his life’s calling laughed right out of someone’s palatial office, cyrus thinks to himself as he rolls his eyes. he doesn’t even know why the man still harps on about it--it wasn’t as if cyrus had stolen from him, specifically--he’d just tried to steal a museum pass, so he could take a look at the results of a hittite dig in turkey, and the vice admiral had caught him in the act. he smiles sheepishly at the vendor who gives him a wary look, before he gently sets the man’s trinket back on his table and stalks in the opposite direction.

“i only steal when it’s necessary, i wouldn’t have to if your lot didn’t keep everything under bloody lock and key, as though knowledge were some kind of-- secret only to be known by the wealthy.” he huffs, jabbing a finger into the man’s chest. it takes a long moment, before he thinks better of who it is he’s talking to and wraps his hand around the spine of his journal. he exhales slowly, and shrugs his shoulders. “besides, i’m not very good at it, remember?”

[riversoaked]

all the texts for marc

☺ for a loving/affectionate text.

[ text to: ask for money ]: just caught the latest scandal lol  [ text to: ask for money ]: youre really not as bad as they say  [ text to: ask for money ]: honest to god at least youre more interesting  [ text to: ask for money ]: guess you could say im rooting for you 

♣ for a drunk text. 

[ text to: ask for money ]: C AN I AHVE SOME MONEY ?? 

♥ for a sexual/naughty text. / ► for a text not meant for you.

[ text to: ask for money ]: baby i cannot wait for this weekend i am going to [ REDACTED: VERY EXPLICIT. REDACTED ] and [ REDACTED: VERY EXPLICIT. THIS GOES ON FOR A WHILE LMAO ]. seeing you [ REDACTED REDACTED ] does something to me. jesus girl  [ text to: ask for money ]: oh  [ text to: ask for money ]: lol  [ text to: ask for money ]: mention this and i kill you that is not a joke 

!! for a threatening text. 

[ text to: ask for money ]: you cant tell me youve never been blackmailed before 

☼ for a morning text. 

[ text to: ask for money ]: ring ring bitch its me  [ text to: ask for money ]: tried to surprise you this morning but accidentally knocked out a security guard. bust me out ? it was self defense..

?? for a strange/vague text. 

[ text to: ask for money ]: that was NOT a political favor [ text to: ask for money ]: i 

↕ for a scared/worried text

[ text to: ask for money ]: i thought the only thing keeping you shot was how damn brainless you are but here we fucking are! did you decide to grow a pair or something!  [ text to: ask for money ]: i’ll shoot you myself if you don’t get it together jesus fucking christ what hospital are you at 

[edwardboyne]

name a few of their favourite pieces of popular culture. show us what their last ‘sent’ text message is from five different text convos. favourite and least favourite thing about living on this era.

name a few of their favourite pieces of popular culture. 

answered here

show us what their last ‘sent’ text message is from five different text convos.

@riversoaked (answer to this) [text to: Jules Rowland @ 3:24AM]: you know there’s a doorbell right [text to: Jules Rowland @ 3:24AM]: come up, have some water and we can arm wrestle

@intrepidim (answer to this) [text to: Marcus Estrada @ 2:19AM]: all of you need to stop with making fun of my last name [text to: Marcus Estrada @ 2:19AM]: you should stop period. delete my number, preferably

@oflovers [text to: Pantea Mazandarani @ 2:21AM]: are you with Marc right now? Take his phone away, please, let me sleep

@wilccard (answer to this) [text to: Vladimir Yamatov]: if you don’t put  “BEST ACTIVIST DADDY VIGILANTE TURNED CONSULTANT” on a tshirt and gift it to me as a thank you, I might just get offended

@captdowling [text to: Malachy Dowling]: one of these days we need to sit down and teach you how to use speech to text properly. Phones aren’t that complicated.

 favourite and least favourite thing about living on this era.

How easy and convenient everything has become; how Ed can easily get himself involved in helping people on the other side of the world without having to physically be there; how accessible learning new things is. At the same time, the internet is his enemy because it’s harder to scam and steal from the rich when you can accidentally leave a cyber trail :/ also capitalism.

[lijinmarked]

every text message symbol for marc. do with this what you will : )

-  text not meant for you

[[ official bitch / @intrepidim ]]  im gonna go for it tonight. hopefully he won’t take too long to convince that ur cool with it

[[ official bitch ]] love u 2! hope ur flight from qatar comes in safe <3 

[[ official bitch ]] maybe that _was_ about u what u gonna do about it

☼ -  morning text

[[ official bitch ]] rise and

[[ official bitch ]] SHINE

[[ official bitch ]] kick whatever person u have in bed out i need to talk to u about governmental secrets

?? -  strange/vague text

[[ official bitch ]] what are the actual laws for taking a nap ontop of a coffin thing in a cathedral?

[[ official bitch ]] also i wasn’t actually napping i was trying to get a sense of dimensions but the point is

[[ official bitch ]] can u bail me out

♥  - sexual/naughty text

[[ official bitch ]] free tonight?

[[ official bitch ]] i bought a new strap on u gonna need to start prepping now

!! - threatening text

[[ official bitch ]] YOU DO THAT TO JAMES AGAIN AND

[[ official bitch ]] how could you fucking 

[[ official bitch ]] i will rip off ur genitals and feed them to u unless u have an appropriate response by the time i come over

☺ - loving/affectionate text

[[ official bitch ]] u do realise ur more than just a fling right?

[[ official bitch ]] like, this doesn’t have to be more than u want but ur officially part of a polycule and u can just be friends with benefits

[[ official bitch ]] but we are here for u

♣ - drunk text

[[ official bitch ]] GOd i cant stand these formal dinners

[[ official bitch ]] resue me

[[ official bitch ]] isee u across the froom i_will_ do something embareesing if u don’t rescue me from these _LOONS_ who think they know more about the dagger of aqu abi then me

[[ official bitch ]] pls i will stab some1 and itll be ur fault

↕ - scared/worried text

[[ official bitch ]] who the fuck knew that ur position in government would actually have risks associated with it

[[ official bitch ]] ... im sorry im trying to use humour to cope with the situation and _emotions_

[[ official bitch ]] im the only one allowed to shoot u

[[ official bitch ]] pls dont die on me

[[ official bitch ]] if u do i will find a relic to ressurect u and just murder u again

[edwardboyne]

❝ you lie, you keep secrets. you succumb to emotion and weakness. ❞ ( for marc ! )

@intrepidim

“takes one to know one,” he replies; he doesn’t have the patience, he never does but tonight especially—he tried to rest during the day but the sleep never came, he’s a wreck of a man, more than anything, almost like the shadow-like bodies from the carnivale, ready to dissolve. No patience, no energy, but the bite’s still there. 

“everyone has a weakness, Marcus, i know you do, too.”

[edwardboyne]

“ i just wanna know if you think they have belly buttons ” ( from marc, feel free to take this as a starter )

nobody said anything about any rules so fUCK IT terror modern au bc i said so

@intrepidim

“Do you ever shut up?” Edward sighs, at the same time looking for something he can throw—he settles on a pillow, since an empty mug could potentially end in a complete disaster. A pillow doesn’t do nearly as much damage as Ed wishes it did, though. “Just—watch the damn documentary,” he points at the TV, where a particularly nasty close-up of the animal in question has appeared. Truth be told, Edward hasn’t been paying attention for the last twenty or so minutes, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone while trying to ignore the fact that he’s half-asleep at this point. It’s way too late for him. “I’ll google it for you, if you’re so pressed about it. If Wikipedia says they have bellybuttons then I think they have bellybuttons,” Edward goes on and has to pause—that’s a really ridiculous sentence to say. “Jesus, why are we even talking about this?”