Logs:The Briarwolf and the Crimson Rose
The Briarwolf and the Crimson Rose
|Characters:||Darcy (with Stasya as ST)|
|Summary:||The Lodge of the Briarwolves is looking for a possible new member and asks Darcy to find some proof of a Pirate Ship that was lost in the Hedge many years ago|
While New Orleans certainly exaggerates their local history of piracy for the tourism it can bring in, there are some hidden kernels of truth to some of the tales. One such kernel might just be why an unfamiliar wolf that ran into Darcy briefly in a crowded street requested he meet at this particular spot and this particular time. Wetlands bordering on the Barataria Preserve, not too far outside New Orleans and even closer to the little town named for Jean Lafitte. There's a little plaque and everything at this little highway scenic overlook, deserted for the evening aside from one little subaru with Georgia plates on it and the older woman with close cropped hair leaning against it. Waiting.
Darcy isn't in the habit of following directions from random werewolves, but he's also not in the habit of ignoring his curiosity, and all this has made him way too curious. In a pair of comfortable pair of dark blue denim jeans paired with red low-top running shoes and a short-sleeve burgundy Henley, Darcy saunters towards the other Uratha at a comfortable stride. He parked a few blocks away, wanting to check out the site of the reunion first -- make sure he wasn't going to get into any trouble. Now, he pulls his sunglasses off as he stops a few feet from her and tucks them into his collar. "Hi. You either know me real well or there's somethin' hinky goin' on, 'cuz you got me here. I'm all for a good mystery but it's time to elucidate." He claps his hands and smiles amicably.
Vague instructions might be part tradition and also part necessity since there is so much that one cannot talk about openly when who knows how many nosy humans might be walking by on the street? The older Uratha smiles slightly as Darcy arrives, straightening up and uncrossing her arms and giving a very thorough once-over of the young Elodoth. "Well, Mr. Comtois, I wouldn't say I know you real well, but I know enough. And what I do know makes me want to know more. I didn't drive out from Atlanta just for the fun of it." Although the car behind her looks like it's seen plenty of miles even before this latest road trip. "The Lost brought me out here. And I hear they have also brought you There? At least once?"
Darcy smirks a little, but then she goes and mentions the Lost and he furrows his brow and claps his hands. "Now we're getting somewhere. Fucking fairies, am I right?" He looks around and then back at her. "Apparently they haven't been in this area in _centuries_ and now just... _everywhere_." He grins. "But yeah. I ran into some of them -- friends -- when they were trying to open one of their, uh, Gateways. Key was a poem. Eventually I found it and go us all in. It's bizarre in there. Shadow-level bizarre."
"Indeed," Raquel drawls out, a sly smile of her own. "That's what makes this particularly curious. Everywhere else has been dealing with the Fae coming and taking what they want for centuries... and sometimes those Lost would find their way home, or as close as they could get." She gives a little shrug. "For years, New Orleans has been basically a dead zone. Might as well not have existed as far as all things faerie were concerned, until last fall. Now they got enough folks for a fairly sizeable freehold AND a goblin market?" She lets out a sharp whistle of amazement. "Shit's weird. And not just the normal level of weird that always exists when you deal with changelings, but seen plenty of that myself. You ever hear of anything called Briarwolves?"
"Weird's right," Darcy murmurs, but then she goes and mentions the Briarwolves, and he lifts a brow and looks at her again, squinting a little. "No... no fucking _way_. Are you serious?" He looks around, trying to find his siblings or something. "Are you punking me?" And then he takes a quicker step towards her and mutters, much lower: "... are you tapping me? Oh, shit." Safe to say, the answer's yes.
Raquel would have to be a pretty phenomenal actress to be able to punk anybody with how serious her own eyebrow raise is at the question. "Do I look like I'm joking?" She looks more like a statue come to life with how even she can keep her stare going. "Tapping you remains to be seen. Seems like you've already made some connections with the local powers that be, which is good. And we DO need someone local to keep an eye on things. Too much going on to let it just go unattended... but whether that someone will be you..." She gives a halfhearted shrug as if it doesn't really matter one way or another to her. "You'll at least get a chance to prove yourself. Although if you think you can skate in just on the power of your family's name, think again."
"If I wanted to skate around anywhere on the power of my family's name, they'd disown me entirely." Besides, he never told her his name; she already knew it. If anything, he's avoided mentioning it. "Every wolf makes their own name," Darcy says, glancing around and then back at her. "So what do I have to do to prove myself?"
There's many things Raquel knows, which might be why the woman's mouth curves up in a bit of a grin when he seems to accept the challenge. "Stick around New Orleans long enough, you're bound to hear some tales of missing treasure and ghostly ships, right? Well, this story is true," the Cahalith easily goes from near statue into the mode of a born storyteller.
"Jean Lafitte might be the most famous pirate to have sailed these waters, but he was far from the only one. Once there was a ship called the Crimson Rose, captained by a Phillipe Rousseau. The Rose was a fast ship, opportunistic as most pirates would be, relying more on their speed and the skill of their young navigator, Julien, to see them safe than their guns. As fast as the ship was, and a skilled as Julien might be, one day there came a storm they couldn't outrun. The Crimson Rose was never seen again. At least... not this side of the Hedge."
"Are you kidding me? Ghost pirate fairy ship?" Darcy looks like he's ten years old and someone told him he's going to Neverland (and he hasn't matured enough to realize the implications of Peter Pan and ... never mind). He grins a little bit. "Crimson Rose. Go on."
"Rumor has it," Raquel drawls out, not giving in too much to the infectious excitement Ghost Pirates seem to have, "That Julien may have lost his sextant when they were in their last port... bit of bad luck, really. Especially since they're a might pricy bit of equipment at the time and can't safely navigate the open sea without one. But he did manage to find a better one before they set sail again somehow.... but where a sextant of gold might have come from in a tiny Louisiana port town..." There's that shrug again. "Maybe he met a hob and made a deal, either in the market or in his dreams, but somehow the Crimson Rose sailed right on through an oceanic Hedgeway. There's gotta be more to the story, but you should find the ship and find out for yourself. And bring back some small token of proof. A ship as old as that... pretty much everything on it'll will have become hedgespun by now."
Some terminology isn't particularly familiar -- Hedgespun, in particular -- but that don't mean that he's not up for it. He has one arm crossed over his torso with he other arm's elbow on it and his chin between a few fingers, thinking. "Do you have any particular area that I can start looking around in, or are we just wingin' it, here?"
The low chuckle from the woman is more amused than condescending. "If I gave you everything, it wouldn't really be much of a challenge now, would it?" Racquel gives a wink to the younger wolf. "But you seem like a resourceful fellow. At least, I hope you are. When you have something for me, here's my number." She slips over a little business card, plain enough. Raquel Green. A phone number, an email address and a PO Box in Decatur, Georgia. "I'll be in town for at least another week. Staying out at a Red Roof Inn over in Metaire."
"All righty then," Darcy says, taking her card. He looks at it and then pockets it. "I'll see you soon, then." At least he's confident.
Raquel gives one last glance over to the younger Uratha, before giving a nod. "Good luck." And with a yawn, she stretches out and gives a nod of farwell, packing herself back into her car and driving off.
For Darcy, a quick google search (once he gets to an area with cell service again) will reveal that there's a nautical museum not too far away. Smaller, but definitely specialized on all things Baratarian Bay Pirates... and small enough why would it bother with a thing like a security guard?
Darcy isn't the stealthiest wolf, but he does manage to sneak inside. He's not yet particularly adept at this specific aspect of his spirit magic, but even if the spirits don't given him _the_ answer, he'll be content with something. He finds a good spot where he can start, and then takes a deep breath, letting the Essence seep through him as he reaches out to the knowledge spirits running around the place. One of them has to find _something_.
Stealth isn't really required when there's nobody in the building but Darcy... and possibly the rustling of a few curious, but tiny, knowledge spirits that have come to call the museum's archive home. The two flat parchment cut out figures peek out from a drawer filled with maps while another sits on top of a globe on the same cabinet, each standing barely a hand tall and having adopted some symbol of the pirates that surround them: one has an eyepatch, another a fantastic tri-corner hat, and the last has somehow fashioned some tiny pages into a parrot that occasionally flaps his papery wings.
As the Elodoth sends out his request, they're all too eager to take the Essence and return the information he seeks, springing into motion and rolling out a map. On it, they trace out a golden path marking where the Crimson rose last sailed from... and also where it seems to have gone missing. Not much actual words from the spirits in the process although there are a lot of excited "Arrrr, Arrrr, Arrrrrs!" given.
Darcy watches the cute little spirits do their thing and then crosses his arms, staring at the map. "I wonder if the Hedge has a map I can superimpose." He furrows his brow. "I guess I get to go to the Goblin Market," he murmurs, rolling up the map and flashing his teeth at the spirits. "Play nice or I come back," he says, in First Tongue, before stealing out into the night.
At the flash of teeth, the spirits straighten up, but there's a rustle of pages that might be laughter at the order. The three spirits in unison snap out a salute before they then return to their play... which seems to be re-enacting some fierce boarding maneuvers to the best of their abilities, an opened book serving as their makeshift ships' deck.
It takes Darcy a while. New Orleans isn't exactly _small_. But eventually, he makes his way back to where the Gateway to the Hedge is; the one leading into Tumbledown. The one he has the actual _key_ to. He recites the nursery rhyme after making sure the coast is clear. Sure, he heard something about the Queen saying it should be only for recon missions and with other people and what not. But, well, to be entirely honest -- she's not _his_ queen. Werewolves don't have those. Not anymore, anyway.
Darcy Comtois slips into the Hedge, heading for the market in search of someone that might point him in the right direction.
Going through the known door is certainly easier than finding a brand new one all on his own. And given the late hour, it's easy enough to discretely slip through the Barracks door, at least on the New Orleans side. In the Hedge, a single person can slip past with a lot less notice than a large group... unless that person also happens to be a werewolf. Gossip has flown around the market as gossip has a way of doing, of the recent visitors and their wolfish-friend. Eyes keep a wary track on Darcy as he makes his way deeper into the brightly light street of Tumbledown, and it won't take long for his honed senses to catch the smell of salt water on the breeze which leads to a rather more harbor like section of the market, a tiny but bustling wharf, but there is a reddish hobgoblin, with pincer like hands, long spindly legs (and plenty of them, and a curving segmented tail, that's busy coiling up some rope next to a tiny sail boat, whistling a shanty to himself.
If there's one thing that werewolves learn to rely on early on in their lives after their first change (and many wolf-blooded before then) it's their _instincts_. Darcy keeps as low a profile as he can. It would probably be easier to 'pass' for a Changeling in Dalu, but it doesn't occur to him until it's too late and he's standing next to the pincer-handed, many-legged hob. "Hey. Maybe you can help me out."
The whistling turns to singing (more like belting) when the hob gets to the chorus part, "Cheer up my lovely lads and let's get drunk TOOOO-GEEEETH-ERRRRR!!!" The address from the werewolf catches him completely offguard and he drops the rope that he had been so carefully and amazingly coiling considering the fact that the vaguely lobster-esque man doesn't have opposable thumbs, just claws. "Help you out? Help you out with what?" There's definitely some suspicion being cast wolfwards.
Darcy is, if nothing else in this world, perceptive. Not in the 'catch things out of the corner of his eye' way -- he's good at that -- but more in the 'notice when someone needs a thing and find a way to provide it' way. He goes, "Oops," when the hob drops the rope, and crouches down, picking it up and starting to coil it. His ability to use his elbows and opposable thumbs makes it much easier and quicker. "Didn't mean to startle ya." He smiles at the hob. "I'm looking for something, think you might know where I can find it, if you got a minute." Coil coil coil.
And while the hob might have been caught in his own little world before, he certain notices Darcy picking up the rope and begin coiling it. While he doesn't exactly look at ease, he does look less like he's about to jump out of his skin (or exoskeleton?) at any moment. The request is considered with a furrowing of what passes for the mudbug-man's brow, his antennae moving closer together as he focuses in on the werewolf. "Depends on what it is... and what might be in it for me?"
"Well," says Darcy, still coiling, "I think I could help you get a few things done faster around here if you wanted some help back. Beyond that, we can negotiate." He smiles at the mudbugman, looping part of the rope around itself into a loose knot. He drops the neatly coiled rope at the hob's feet. "I'm looking for the Crimson Rose; a pirate ship that sailed through the Thorns from the human world and disappeared."
Alien though his features might be, it's clear that the hobgoblin recognizes the name of the boat as his left antenna quivers a little bit and his eyes widen. "The Crimson Rose? That's a pretty tall task... You and who else?" His head swivels this way and that as if expecting there to be a crowd for this expedition. "Normally you want to make sure the pirates you steal treasure from are dead-dead, you know?"
"Just me. And maybe you, if you accept some pirate treasure we may find as payment." The werewolf takes a step closer and smiles. "Imagine what you can get from Brigadaceous for the story of how you _and_ the werewolf from New Orleans found the Crimson Rose and brought back some of its treasure." He tilts his head.
The crawfish man gives a little clicking of his claws as he considers the offer. "Pirate treasure that YOU find. And give to me in payment for a boat ride. I don't need no hedge ghosts haunting me. I don't know what it's like where you come from, but I got to live here.... and the Rose has a whole crew of ghosts." He gives a little shudder, apparently not wanting to be haunted by 40+ ghosts, which is probably a reasonable enough of a concern. "But like... if they start firing or bring out their swords, I'm gonna be running away." You could call him a little shellfish, there.
Ghosts. Darcy purses his lips. Ghosts in a place where he's not really top dog at all. Hrm hrm hrm. "I only need something to prove I was there. Whatever else I can grab is yours. Deal?" He doesn't offer to shake the hob's pincer. He likes his hands attached. "I'm Darcy."
Wimp... what's a little lethal damage between new partners in crime? Luckily, the craw-hob doesn't insist on a a handshake, merely sticking his claw out sideways for a fist-claw bump to seal the deal. "I'm Shelldon. And this is the Mudbug." He gives an affectionate little tap to his vessel. "And you got yourself a deal. I was just now getting her set up for the night, but can set sail again easy enough... when the moon is out is when the Rose shows up."
Darcy is visibly trying not to laugh. Of _course_ the hob's name is Shelldon. He sticks his hands in his pockets. "That's all right," and Darcy smiles at Shelldon. "That's when I come out, too." Whatever that means.
Shelldon gives a nod as the offer is accepted and hops back down into the boat, busying himself with getting the boat ready to go. "Okay, well, step on down..." The mention of coming out gets a pause in the preparations. "You're not going to like... eat me, are you? That wasn't part of the deal. And if you think navigating the land is difficult, the sea is like ten times worse!"
Darcy hops into the mudbug and finds a seat, sitting down and looking over at Shelldon with a smile. "Not planning on it, no. You don't give me a reason to, it won't happen. You think navigating the sea is difficult, try doing it after betraying a werewolf." He smiles amiably. "
"Now come on. You tell me how I can help, and we'll sail outta here."
"Just you sit right there, Mr. Darcy. I'll have us out in a jiff," Shelldon doesn't exactly wink because that would require eyelids, but there's a flicker of his eye segments that could pass as one. And true to his word, the hobgoblin does seem to have them under sail quick enough that it's probably some sort of magic, the sky slowly darkening as they set out towards what feels like it'd probably be the east, hugging tight to the coast the entire way. "Now... I haven't really seen the Rose more than a handful of times myself. Normally prefer the daylight than night sailing myself. All sorts of spooks come out at night. I hear however that there's a Cove not too far from here that they use as a sort of base of operations. Most likely gonna find them there if they aren't out, you know. Pirating."
"Sounds like a good start," Darcy admits. "I really only need something to prove I found it. Maybe the Captain's Log or something. And whatever I can grab for you," he adds. "Do you think they leave things behind in the cove when they sail out?"
Shelldon has taken up a position at the wheel, tilts his head a bit as he considers. "Maybe? Not anything important though. It's a big ship, but if you are camping out on the beach often enough, gotta leave something behind sometimes, right?" As the sky continues to darken, a mist begins to rise around them and a glow appears in the water that Shelldon seems utterly unphased by. In the distance, there's the sound of a drum and a pipe playing and maybe a little bit of clapping with a very occassional rough of laughter.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Darcy admits. He stays sitting even when he hears the noises; it's not until they get close enough that he rises to a crouch and peers. "What's this glowing stuff in the water, Shelldon?" He peers over the side, careful not to put his head too close to the water. He watches horror flicks, he knows what's up!
"In the water?" Shelldon tilts his head to look over the side, before giving a shrug. "That is the water. Probably why they call it Moonglow Cove." In a world where a werewolf is talking with a giant crawfish rules, glowing water might be the least ominious thing present... and it's a real pretty iradescent blue. As they come around a curve in the coast, the cove becomes visible, along with the not-so-crimson Crimson Rose, the small sloop seems to have absorped a good deal of the water's glow and magnified it. It looks like the pirates are home and most of the crew is on shore, sitting, dancing, drifting around some etheral camp fires. Just cause they're dead doesn't mean they can't relax. Shelldon clears his thorax a bit, side-eyeing Darcy. "So uhhh... just how close do you wanna get?"
Darcy pulls his phone out and -- very carefully and without hovering it over the water -- takes a few pictures of the water itself. He also manages to take a few pictures of the encampment and of course, the Crimson Rose itself. "Not very crimson, is she," he mutters. The question gets a glance and he considers. "How about we sail up the beach that ways a bit, and you wait for me there. So you're nice and safe at a distance."
There may be a hint of crimson paint somewhere under all the glow, but if it exists it's pretty dang hard to see now, but some names are legacies. Shelldon gives a very firm nod at this plan. "Aye, that seems good. Although if you were hoping to be stealthy, there ain't a way for me to sail past them... one of them is bound to see. I can wait a few hours there though. Set some of my nets out. See if I catch anything." If he's gonna wait, he might as well be productive about it! It doesn't take too long for the small boat to sail right on past the pirate cove and nestle out of sight of the campfire, far enough away that the sound of the songs are just a faint whisper. "Few hours."
"Don't worry. If I'm _not_ being stealthy, you'll know." Darcy waits for the mudbug to dock, taking his sneakers and socks off and rolling his jeans up to his calves. He tosses his shoes onto the sand when he's close enough and then tucks the sunglasses inside. "I'll be back. If you leave without me, I'll find you," he tells Shelldon. He's smiling but he's also dead serious. And then he starts making his way down the beach towards the encampment.
Look, if Shelldon is anything (aside from a giant crawfish man), he's honest. He's laid out the terms of the deal, already having found the Crimson Rose for the werewolf. And now, if he's not back in a couple hours then Shelldon's gonna sail his own self to somewhere safely far away from any ghostly pirate ship. Even still, he gulps and gives a nod to Darcy, waiting until the wolf departs before he casts out his nets. The beach is the pebbly kind, but still easy enough to make one's way down, if not particularly kind on barefeet. As soon as he gets to the treeline near the cove, the music comes to an abrupt halt and the closest ghost yells out "Who goes there?"
"Fuck," Darcy murmurs, realizing that the fucking Hedge works just like the Shadow: there's no ephemerality here. Ghosts are just as physical as he is. Then again, that means most of them operate within the bounds of human physics here, right? Darcy makes a face like 'eh, maybe', to himself, and then holds his hands up, coming out of the shadows. "Wow. Wow. Hey. I'm just wandering around. I got lost. Hi!" If stealth fails, try being friendly.
Just as might be pushing it... there's still some unique peculiarities to the whole ghost business, but they're definitely manifested. The whole lot of them. From the far side of the ghostly campfire, the figure in the biggest hat (and the only one with an actual chair instead of make-shift crates or casks), lets out a snort of laughter. "You don't look very Lost to me. And we've met plenty of Lost in our time." He lets out a laugh at his own joke before peering closer at Darcy. "What are ye, boy?"
Darcy squints across the fire at the ghost speaking to him and then puts his hand over his brow, smiling. "No, not Lost like Lost, lost like, you know, like I was going somewhere and then found myself somewhere else. The normal kind of lost." He flashes the ghosts a smile. "I'm Darcy; an explorer from, you know, outside the Hedge."
The Captain gives a nod. "Aye, I know... but when a chance for a new joke comes up, sometimes you gotta take it. Instead of repeating the same conversation for centuries...." He shoots a glance to one of the closer of the crewmen, a rotund fellow who flinches away at the glare. "From outside, huh? There's a time I would of asked you if you knew how to get us back, but figure it's long past time for that."
"Far as I can tell, yer all deader'n'dead," Darcy says with a slow nod. "I don't mean it in a bad way, just, you know. An inevitable way. You'd probably be ghosts on the other side. Not really the kind of thing anyone wants to go looking to be." He licks his teeth and glances around. "So uh, what are y'all doing out here? You look like you're having yourselves a time."
"Thats probably the truth," The Captain gives a slow nod as there's a murmuring from the assorted crew around him. "And while there'd be an occassional mention of a ghost here and there back before we got Here, I don't think there'd ever be enough over There to support us now." There's a flash of a predator in his eyes as the man grins. Even ghosts have got to eat and apparently its a ghost eat ghost world. As for what they're doing, he gives a shrug. "Ain't got no grog any more, but doesn't mean we can't have a bit of shoreleave, right? Even if it's the retelling of the same story over and over and over again. Dead men tell no tales, ha! More like, won't stop telling their one."
"No kidding, no kidding." Darcy is assessing the situation. He crosses his arms and then says, "You, uh. You fellas wouldn't happen to be the crew of the Crimson Rose, would you?" He looks over at the ship and then back at the Captain. "I mean, if you are, the old girl's lost her crimson skin, but still."
The ghost straightens up in his chair, eyeing Darcy from across the fire. There's a crimson rose affixed to the lapel of his jacket. "Aye, I'm Captain Phillipe Rousseau. And while time has seen some changes..." He gives a glance back to his ship, before shaking his head and returning to conversation. "The crimson was never really just the color, you hear?"
"Fair enough, I suppose," Darcy says, looking back at the Captain. "Say," he says, balancing back and forth on his feet, rocking a little. "You guys are real starved for news and stories from the outside, huh? You know how long it's been, right? Since you disappeared?"
It wasn't as if all eyes weren't already on the newcomer, but with those questions, there might as well not be an eye blinking. A bit disconcerting having fourty odd eyes staring. Captain Phillipe glances up at the stars, and while there may be constellations they're in no pattern recognizeable on Earth. "At a certain point, we gave up counting. Couldn't even begin to tell you how long ago... are you preposing to bring us new stories?"
"I'm not one of the storytellers of my kind, but I've been known to spin a yarn or two." Darcy considers them all for a long moment and then says, "I can't do it for free. But I think for the right price I could tell you some stuff about what's happened. And if it all goes well," and here's the catch that will make sure he can get out of this alive, "maybe I can come back some other time and bring you _books_ and _newspapers_ and other things that you can take your time with. Stories told much better than I could, anyway. I would think that'd be pretty good deal for a group of men who've been dead for two centuries."
Captain Phillipe reaches up to run a hand across his stubbled jaw as he considers. "Depends on the price. I'd say a tale for a tale sounds fair, unless you had something different in mind?" There's a hushed whisper that travels through the crowd of crew, picking up steam. Whispers of Two Hundred Years.
"I'm looking for something more material," Darcy admits. "I could tell you some of what transpired over time for something that tells me what transpired to you. A diary. Captain's Log, maybe? And there was a war -- oh." He considers. "I could tell you how pirates were instrumental in the liberation of America from British rule." He shrugs a little. "For a trinket of some sort. I've got to pay passage back home, too. But I've got a couple of hours. We can sit and chin wag. How 'bout it?"
"My log is much like me," the Captain gives a wave of his hand... while he's solid enough, there's still a bit of the ephemeral about him and definitely the glow. "And somehow only writing the same page over and over again." There's a bit of a shrug, but the mention of liberation gets a fresh glare. "Lad, do you think I'm a fool? My father fought for the liberation of America... it was only a score of years since the Revolution after all." At least, it was when they went missing in 1805.
Darcy snaps his fingers. "Shit, that's right. I'm not a history buff. Sorry. You'd think having seen Hamilton half a dozen times I'd remember the fucking dates." He thinks. "Well. There's been wars. Lots of new technology. Ships so big they could fit the Crimson Rose inside several times over."
Captain Phillipe stares at Darcy for a long moment before blinking... "Seen Hamilton? Just how many ghosts do you know, lad? Mr. Hamilton's was dead for at least a year last I had heard..." He gives a bewildered shake of his head before waving one of the crewmen closer. A quick whisper and the cabin boy darts off to come back with a small chest that the captain draws out a single golden dubloon. "Think this will work for you?" He holds the coin up so it's readily visible, imprint of a face on one side and a coat of arms on the back.
"I've seen him... in a way." Darcy considers it, and then says, "If you give me two -- one for me and one for my passage here -- I'll come back soon and bring you books written after you disappeared that you can all share. New tales. Some of them involving pirates, even. Good ones revered the world over."
The captain flicks the coin through his fingers idly as he watches the werewolf. "How do we know that once given the coin, you'll come back? For the Lost... we know how they can be bound with Oaths but for you..." He tilts his head slightly as he considers. "We'd need at least a story now, a promise of more later." If he knew the concept of downpayment, he'd surely be asking for that.
"When I make a promise, I keep it, bound by my Honor. I can bind it, much like the Lost do. But I don't know that you'll be able to tell. I'm willing to try, though, if you want." Darcy smiles. "But you're definitely getting a story tonight. How about the American _Civil_ War?" He looks around and then sits in between two other pirate ghosts, making himself at home. "Turns out, Black people didn't like being slaves," Darcy starts, "and some white people didn't want them to be slaves either..." And thus begins Darcy's ... summarized, but _extremely graphic_ version of the American Civil War. A version he didn't get taught in school -- less racist, more factual!While certain aspects of the Civil War story might be met with disbelief, Darcy is a good enough story teller and the more gory details about the wonders of rifling and even more exciting to the pirates... Ironsides! have their interest. At the end, with a begrudging nod, Captain Phillipe produces not one, but two of the golden coins and tosses them over to the werewolf. "You still owe us a few more stories, but that'll do for now." From the sounds of it, the ghost crew's gonna be talking about the logistics of an underwater ship for at least another decade.