An Ordinary Day, ...of sorts.

[Alejandro De La Vega]

There was a soft humming sound amongst the whistle of the wind as paws strummed a tune on a guitar. There were no words, just a vocalization of sweet music as the sun rose higher towards the noon and the sea lapped against the ship. Gulls called out in unison, and the wildcat looked up slowly, wondering if they would try and snatch his midday meal, which he had near his feet in a sack.

He stood half-leaning against a doorframe, still strumming the tune, trying to get it 'just right.' Alejandro rather took pride in his compositions even if they were simple ditties one thought up one random morning. Anything he created he lovingly look care of, for it was an extention of himself, he liked to think.

In any case, it was rather quiet upon the Wavewraith that day, he wondered where everyone was off to. Ah well, quiet time for m'self, he supposed in his head, as he placed his guitar down carefully on the deck and croutched down to open the sack full of food.

[Creejak]

Oreby, fur coloured as though greasy with oil and muck, a combination of golden hues and cadmium reds, was quite the sight when he truly was dirty. Filthy, as he currently was, from ear-tip to claw, and like all young lads he still had the amazing ability to believe he looked good.

Papa had told him not to go outside by himself, not without a watchful eye. Grandma had pruned. Grandpa has told him to just do it and go outside, “The boy needs to learn to be on his own eventually!” Arana had just stared, silent as ever. Sometimes, the little sister could be such a pain; she never spoke, and yet Oreby knew what she meant, whenever she meant it, and so everybody asked him to translate…Well, everybody that didn’t know Arana.

Sniffing snot back into his nose from where it had dribbled, and wondering why a cold was called a cold when the ill beast in question wasn’t cold at all, Oreby trotted, skipped, dashed, crawled, towards the docks, quite content to not realize a watchful eye was, in fact, watching him. Blissfully ignorant, the young mutt pup wanted to see his daddy’s ship again, before the dingo went off on it.

Crawling up the gangplank and dropping on deck, he had become much braver since the previous week when he had refused to leave his father’s side, and began to sniff around. Literally, figuratively. The child was left to his own devices, and the only beast there to stop him was busy playing something his daddy called a ‘gee-tar’.

“Wotcha got there?” Oreby, childish in nature and still a child to compensate, stuck his tail tip in his mouth and gnawed on it as he gazed up at the cat, large eyes simply staring.

[Swashkin Sixbrush]

Swashkin had been sober to long. Ever since he left his home he had been doing oddjobs for anyone that required services, or cheating in the card games at the local tavern to keep enough coins in his pocket to keep him intoxicated. It had been a few days now and he couldn't find an opportunity to make money anywhere. The gamblers at the Sea Barrel and Murdered Abbot where tired of losing, and the last thing he could do was join a ship.

The stoat had been at the docks for only a short time, mind stuck in oblivion as he sat on the sea weathered planks near the ships. His mind was blank, like he was daydreaming with no dream. Like everything seemed to seize to exist. Suddenly something seemed to jerk him back into real life, instantly snapping him back into conscienceness. He stood up hastily and swatted at the back of his white tunic to clear whatever dirt was left from the old planks he had rested on. He then seen a young dingo run wildly down the neighboring dock.

"OY!" he shouted after the young dingo, but his voice didn't seem to reach him.

His eyes followed the dingo until it turned into a silhouette behind the sun, the lad seemed to be conversating with another annonymous figure on board the ship they called, 'WaveWraith'. The stoat squinted hard, the sun was more powerful then normal today. The stoat pulled down his tricorn hat to block the suns strong rays from offending his eyes.

After a moment Swashkin rushed to the ship. He approached the gangplank and was now at a different angle with the sun, once again allowing the rays to collide with his sensitive pupils. He turned his hat once more to create another eclipse, shielding his face from it's harmful energy. The stoat then made an imaginary sound barrier with his paws and shouted to the young beast on the ship.

"Ey, yew! Lil' offspringer' dingo! Who do I have ta' talk to fer' a position on this 'ere ship?"

[Creejak]

* "Ey, yew! Lil' offspringer' dingo! Who do I have ta' talk to fer' a position on this 'ere ship?"*

Oreby looked up, rather affronted, and trotted towards the top of the gangplank he had scurried up barely minutes ago. The pup’s upper lip curled back on one side as the weasel-nay, it was a stoat, not that there was much difference between the two animals to him, waited below, and Oreby stuck his tongue out at the beast.

”I’m not a dingo, dummy!” Oreby hollered down, wiggling his ears to further insult the mustelid and clicking his teeth in amusement, much like his father once did; a gesture peculiar to the region of the world. Corsairs and pirates had tilted their heads at it, but any beast with an accent like his fathers, usually the lone lizard that would wander by, would understand completely.

“’N you gots to talk to talk to the Sabre rat, stupid-face!” he added an as after-thought, his fingers fiddling with the strings of his tucked-in tunic. Squealing with childish glee at his own wit, the pup giggled and began to climb the rail of the ship, arms spread wide and narely avoiding a tangle with the ropes and rigging as he balance and tred.


((I'm going to assume Alejandro is gone again, so it's a short post. Perhaps he just...dozed off in the sun. Dropped his guitar, maybe.))

[Swashkin Sixbrush]

”I’m not a dingo, dummy!”

The stoat was not amused. He furrowed his brow, then scowled at the young beast. He gritted his teeth at the thought that he was being insulted and couldn't harm such a young 'un. He had to hold himself back from hollering at the beast for he didn't know who, or where his parents were. An he could get in trouble for messing with the wrong persons child.

“’N you gots to talk to the Sabre rat, stupid-face!”

Swashkin had a short temper, an being teased by a child wasn't something that would exactly help it. He exhaled deeply with frustration, clenching his paws tight into fists until his claws nearly drew blood. He ussually wouldn't take anything a child said to heart, or even pay attention to them, but he was sober...and for him he'd rather be sent straight to Hell's teeth.

"Why yew li'l snot-nosed, rag 'eaded-!"...the stoat stopped in mid sentence, realizing he wasn't going to win an arguement to such a stubborn child. He tried to relax a little, and released some tension. He glanced down at his paws and eased his grip.

"Where's yer' parents?...An what in bloody 'ell is a Sabre Rat?!!"

The stoat tampered with his hat again, searching for a comfortable angle. Then with his other paw he traced the hilt of his scimitar, his claws creating soft sounds on the cold, metallic texture of the sword.

((Lol I guess so...in his own thread. Couldn't think of much to post.))

[Creejak]

Oreby smirked, his small albeit pointed little teeth sticking out from his gums and just barely showing through his lips as he looked down upon the stoat from his vantage point. Now dangling happily from a rope, feet dancing in midair, the pup called back down breathily, his tail swishing back and fro with his words.

”Why yeh askin’ me? I don’ know, ‘m just a snot-nosed, rag ‘eaded not-a-dingo, yeh git!”

The wildcat, spread out on the crate and head resting in his paws, seemed to have dozed off when the two strangers had began their banter, and showed no signs of waking. Giggling even louder than before because of his double-victory, Oreby was still pleasantly ignorant to realize his exchange was being witnessed by a beast other than the stoat. The pup dropped down back to the deck and went happily to invade the cat’s bag of food-related goodies.

Crouched behind a large stack of crates from one of the ships importing goods that morning, a large canine animal was quietly observing the conversation betwixt stoat and mutt. Eyes partially closed and barely breathing, the beast would have appeared to be asleep to any passer-by that just happened to catch site of him. The only signs of alertness were the constriction in his chest as the stoat showed signs of anger, the blood dripping from his claws earning a narrow glare from the golden-furred spy.

*"Where's yer' parents?...An what in bloody 'ell is a Sabre Rat?!!"*

Carrack’s ears perked and he restrained himself from responding to his son’s insulting comeback, instead merely grunting and rocking to the front of his toes in case he needed to bolt from his position to protect his boy. The boatswain was more interested in how his son would react to the whole ordeal, however, than the stoat. A child still, yes, but if he spoke as he did now, how would the pup speak when he was a fully grown adult? Carrack mused upon whether or not he should teach the actual meanings of those swear words Oreby had heard him utter.


Oreby resurfaced by the gangplank a moment later, a chunk of bread in his paw and mouth. "Sabre rat; s'the captain beasty. I think."

[Swashkin Sixbrush]

”Why yeh askin’ me? I don’ know, ‘m just a snot-nosed, rag ‘eaded not-a-dingo, yeh git!”


The stoat remained silent, but he was unable to extinguish the anger that showed in his green eyes. He gazed out at the vastness of the calm sea, a few lost white rolling waves, but for the most part, it was still. The reflection of gull's swarmed the surface, circling above. Lost in thought, he hadn't realized the sun's radiant golden rays had been flooding his eyes once again. When he looked back at the mutt he was blind, random colors flooding his vision like an abstract painting.

"Sabre rat; s'the captain beasty. I think." he heard the mutt say.

A quizical look appeared on the stoat's face, but soon dissapeared as he waited for his vision to recover before speaking further. He then angled his hat once more, intending to keep the sun's bright golden hue from ever reaching the surface of his face again and replied much more calm then last time, "A Sa're an' a Rat beast combined? 'ighly impro'able.

Swashkin looked up for a second, an even more intense perplexed look spread across his face. After a brief moment he shook it off, looking back at the young beast.

"Well where kin I fin' this strange beasty yew speak of?" he inquired.

The stoat wrinkled his muzzle, curious as to how a Rat could be a sword. A slightly confused look showing on his features again. He wasn't the smartest stoat, nor' the most sophisticated. He was a simple beast with a simple mentality; get money, use it to gamble and make more, buy alcohol, fight if someone gets out of line, repeat. He'd done the process since he left home, he'd always thought of joining a ship, but just recently was forced to. He always had second thoughts however, it was a last resort because he didn't like discipline, an hated being told what to do. He was just like the young rogue on the ship at heart, mischivous and stubborn, he just didn't think about it.


((If u can't tell, Swashkin hates the sun. This is because he's always in the tavern.))

[Creejak]

*"A Sa're an' a Rat beast combined? 'ighly impro'able.”*

Oreby’s mouth hung slightly ajar, crumbs and spittle daring to dribble out in droplets and seeds. The young pup didn’t understand why the stoat was having trouble understanding; was he pretending to be so oblivious? It wasn’t funny, but rather made him look less intelligent.

When the stoat inquired as to the location of the ‘strange beasty’, Oreby chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, considering, and shouted down. “He’s not made o’ swords!” With the uncanny ability all children have in avoiding the question, Oreby shrugged both to himself and in answer, and walked back to the abandoned rucksack.

His young thoughts left the subject of the stoat, and instead centred themselves on more important things; food, explaining the disappearance of said food to the cat when he awoke, and what he was going to tell his father when the old dog found out he had gone off without his permission, and further had an encounter.

[Swashkin Sixbrush]

“He’s not made o’ swords!”

The stoats temper was at it's end. He watched as the young beast escaped his view again. He spread his paws, completely confused.

"But yew jes' sed 'e wuz!" he shouted, a mixture of confusion and anger showing in his voice. The mutt ignored him, Swashkin guessing he didn't hear him. He must of been occupied with something else. Swashkins nose glinted purple with rage at the thought of being ignored. A low growl in his chest quickly escaped as he roared with frustration.

"Dammit man! Firs' yew tell me he'za bloody sword rat, now yew tell me he's not!" the stoat waited for a response, breathing heavily. After a moment he realized he hadn't been speaking as loud as he thought at the time, and became even more angered. He quickly drew his scimitar, figuring intimidation was his last chance to aquire the information he was seeking from the young beast.

"Oh 'ell's Teeth an Dark Gate's!" Swashkin yelled as he stormed up the gangplank, boarding the ship. He quickly scanned the ship for threats, then looked around again for a moment before sighting the young mutt. He witnessed him raiding a sack near a sleeping wildcat and gave him a savage glare as he closed in on him.

"Now yew lissen 'ere yew li'l mutt!" the stoat shouted stomping hard as he approached the child.

((Didn't mean it as an Auto....Meant it more as he didn't say it loud enough for Oreby to hear, but expected him to hear it anyway. Hope it's okay. ))

[Wing Pikepaw]

OOC:// Zrey's coming! Hold on, everybeast...

[Creejak]

((Creejak waits for no man! Woman, maybe, but no man! Ha!))

The stoat was highly angered; confused thing, Carrack concluded quite easily. Not the brightest candle in the cave. Sniffing in, the dingo recoiled suddenly when the beast drew a large blade, a scimitar specifically, though his sudden withdrawal was more to keep his hiss distant from prying ears. Eyes narrowed into slits, Carrack braced himself and stood up, slouching so he’d still be out of sight, praying that the stoat would leave his son alone and he wouldn’t have to slay a beast in front of the child.

No such luck, alas.

The stoat, swearing as he barged up the gangway, boarded the ship and began hollering out something Carrack’s ears did not fully pick up, but the dingo was not far behind with grapnel hook in paw. When Carrack saw the stoat corsair make eye-contact with Oreby, Carack lurched forward stealthily, the mustelid’s anger having blocked any detection of Carrack’s presence so far.

Oreby looked up from his spot kneeling by the bag, paws tucked into it happily, more focused on not waking the wildcat than paying any attention to the stoat, whom he never dreamed would have followed him, sword drawn. Upon seeing the older beast, however, poke his head onto the ship, Oreby shuffled back and made as if to flinch from an attack, teeth bared.

*"Now yew lissen 'ere yew li'l mutt!"*

”No, you listen,” Carrack snarled, twisting his torso to swing around the grapple but instead lashing out with a swift jab of his southpaw to the stoat’s face before completing his previous feint.

((Now, nothing has to hit, of course.))

[Swashkin Sixbrush]

((I would wait but It's kinda impossible considering theres a fist an inch from my face ))


A villanous smile crossed Swashkin's face as he neared the helpless beast, his smile becoming larger when the beast bared his fangs. As he got closer to the child his scimitar glinted the reflection of another beast rushing behind him.

”No, you listen”

The stoat snarled viciously as he whirled around to face the oncoming attacker, but was too late and recieved a crushing blow to his mouth. A yelp of pain escaped his mouth as the stoats entire body tensed up as the beasts fist made contact with his face. There was quite an audible cracking sound as a knuckle of the dingo made a perfect connection with a tooth that wasn't protected by his flesh. Pain struck through Swashkins jaw, the quickness of the attack caused him to bite his tounge hard.

The stoat stumbled back, stunned from the suprise of the attack. His tongue throbbed, already beginning to swell up. His eyes widened at the sight of the beast that struck him, a dingo, and he was much bigger than himself. The size of the beast alone caused fear to rise in the unsuspecting stoat. His left paw clutched his mouth tightly while his right held his scimitar, pressing the tip it into the floorboards hard to keep balanced. Blood leaked between his lips and sprayed out on the ship as he spat out a tooth. It matted the fur under his chin and down his neck, turning his once brown and white fur into a mixture of dark crimson shades.

He glanced down at the tooth he had spit out before looking back up at the opposing beast. The dingo had a grappel hook, very short range weapon. Realizing weapon wise he had the upper hand he lifted his scimitar and growled, "Stupid Mutt!" He swung his scimitar sideways, swiftly bringing it left before carrying through with a hefty slice through the air to the right. Stepping forward as he did so with intentions of slicing the beasts chest.

[Creejak]

((MORTAL KOMBAT!!!11one
So, are we going to give each other liberty or just do an attack-by-attack thing here? It’s had to do certain scenes, such as fights, without some amount of autoing. After the asterisk and in italics is where I’ve done some work with your character; if you don’t approve, just ignore it and give me a note at the beginning of your post.))

Carrack’s own teeth were bared, though more slightly, his ears pinned flat back against his skull, eyes squinted in a hard glare at the stoat that had threatened his son; damn beast couldn’t keep his temper again a mere child, and he happened to loose it with the offspring of the wrong parent.

Grateful Arana wasn’t around to witness or experience what was about to happen, Carrack reacted when the stoat raised his sword for an attack, crying out against the other pirate; a quick raise of his arm and flick of his wrist twirled the hook down and the griffe caught the straight-across swing of the well-aimed scimitar. With a grunt, Carrack swung the captured blade down in his hook and barged forward, fully pushing his weight ahead to tackle and take down the lighter, smaller of the two combatant.*

The stoat, trying to back up, ending up flailing his arm out to the side, still clutching the blade with his fingers twisted in a way that forced his scimitar to swerve inward and cut across the canine’s flesh, none too deeply due to the cross-crossed chains across his chest that were attached to his grappling hook.

Oreby, looking to the wildcat to see if it would wake up, concluded that felines were too deep sleepers, and he’d hence have to put a stop to the fight. That meant, of course, cheering his dad on.

”Get ‘im, pops! ‘E tried to get me with ‘is sword! Muckin’ with the wrong dad, stoat! Box ‘im in the face, da!” were all accompanied with numerous other calls of encouragement, jeers, and yips of enthusiasm.

[Swashkin Sixbrush]

((Fine with me...I saw your Mortal Kombat animation on your deviant art...I was dyin laughin Lol...Nice job))

As the dingo charged the stoat he fell back and cut the dingo's chest, but not as deep as he intended. When the scimitar briefly connected with his midsection it bounced back, 'CHING!' The dingo must have had some type of armor, but there was still a minor cut in his chest. The stoat was confused, how could he have armor like that but he still got cut?

The stoat then noticed the chains across the canines body, and decided that's what made the reaction. He didn't however have much time to think further about the occurrence, because when the dingo charged him Swashkins knees buckled and he lost his balance. He fell back and quickly pointed his scimitar up, so both he wouldn't cut himself, and the dingo couldn't try to tackle him further. He pulled his left paw behind him and caught himself, but as soon as he touched the floorboards of the ship he pressed off hard and sprung back up quickly. When he did this it gave him a boost of momentum, and made him feel as if he had too much energy for his body to handle.

Swashkin heard the young beast shouting insults and encouraging the dingo he was fighting.

”Get ‘im, pops! ‘E tried to get me with ‘is sword! Muckin’ with the wrong dad, stoat! Box ‘im in the face, da!” Swashkin caught how the younger beast called the older beast 'dad'. The dingo must've thought Swashkin was going to hurt his son.

"I wuzn't gonna 'urt 'im!" he said before slicing two more times with all his strength. The first a diagonal swing from right to left, and the second another diagonal cut going from left to right, forming an invisible sideways 'V'. (Like This <)

[Creejak]

((Suppose Zrey is just...taking his time? Tell him to bring a pizza when he comes, and demand it be free.))

Carrack saw the scimitar lift and slammed his heels down in order to avoid falling on the exposed blade, claws digging backwards into the wood and forcing his paws to twist on his ankles so as to not snap his nails back into his toes. Brows furrowed and yet eyes open in attention, Carrack’s ears swivelled forward and back to catch his son’s words, his lips rising and teeth becoming bared at the stoat that had dared bother his boy.

*"I wuzn't gonna 'urt 'im!"*” The stoat, after finishing his pleadings, slashed powerfully with his scimitar, catching Carrack on his forearms as the dingo crossed his arms over his ducked head, grapnel hanging from his paws by a fistful of chains. During the last moment of the foe’s second swing, Carrack swung his arm out so that the sword caught his flesh but was also knocked to the side.

”Roight,” Carrack snarled, aiming a flurry of quick jabs around the stoat’s head, evening going so far as to punch out with the blunted end of his grapnel’s handle before growling, “You expect me ter believe that when I saw you advancing on him, sword drawn and a threat on yore lips?”

The dingo barked lowly and swung down with his grapple, hoping to catch the stoat through the top of his skull with a prong.