Played by Sin
Bounty 115,000,000
Cash
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Post by FREYA on Jan 6, 2018 18:31:50 GMT -5
"What a shit hole." Despite the resort exterior, Mock Town hid a more sinister face behind its veil. It was, simply put, a playground for pirates. The town subsisted on the money gathered from plundering, pillaging, and other illicit activities. But none of that seemingly mattered to the inhabitants, nor did it to Freya. What she did mind, however, was the duplicity of a pirate haven pretending it was something else; as if it stuck its nose high in the air to look down on the lifestyle that these sea-faring vagrants had chosen. Normally Freya would avoid Mock Town, as she had so often in the past, but this time she had arrived with a purpose in mind. From the docks, Freya traversed down the main street with an authoritative march, noticing the cracks in the facade of Mock Town. The scene was peppered with rowdy men fighting one another in broad daylight, while others drunkenly chorused in shanties, all in the midst of street vendors trying to coerce these pirates to part with their berri in exchange for mercantile goods. Swiftly, Freya made her way past the social chaos until she planted herself in front of a building ordained with a basic wooden sign that simply said 'Pub'. The combination of the door creaking, and Freya's heels clacking loudly on the wooden planks, signaled her entrance in grand fashion. From the bar top to the tables, the men sitting, imbibing in their libations, turned around to see who had entered their den. To their surprise, it was a woman. Paying no attention to the gawking, Freya made her way to the bar—each of her steps cutting through the hum of chatter in the room. She leaned her chest over the counter, looking for the bartender who was nowhere to be found. Then she felt it. A large open palm on the surface of her behind, copping a not so subtle feel. Immediately, Freya jerked her head right and shot visual daggers at the perpetrator. A middle-aged man looked back at her with a gold-toothed grin as he slammed his flagon on the bar top. "Hey hun, how about you and I get to know each other?" His breath was laden with alcohol—and cheap alcohol, at that. "I'm worth over 14,000,000 berri, you know." "14,000,000?" Freya cooed, impressed. Her icy stare melted quickly as she turned to face her groper. Not surprising, the man refused to lose contact with Freya's butt. She raised her hand to caress the man's cheek. His stubble made his face like sandpaper, giving more grip than glide. Good.Freya's disarmed glance once again turned aggressive as she took her hand and used it to slam the man's head against the bar. A loud thud boomed from the counter, as the man became immediately unconscious, dropping to the ground, leaving Freya's ass alone and his drink on the bar. Some patrons fell silent, turning their attention to the bar, while other continued with their conversation totally unfazed. The bartender, at last, ran back into the room and behind the bar at the sound of the commotion. Nonchalantly, Freya grabbed the abandoned flagon and proceeded to drink its entire contents in a matter of seconds. It was absolute swill. "He'll take another," she gestured to the man laying on the ground at her feet, "and this time make it something better." ______________________________________________ JOAN SHARK |
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Post by JOAN SHARK on Jan 9, 2018 23:12:26 GMT -5
From down the oak bar counter came a loud, hearty laughter. Formerly a quiet, solitary figure on a stool just washing down the sins of another day in a tankard of ale, the scene unfolding between the newcomer and the washed out pirate played her fancy like a fiddle.
"Fortunate are we whose strong enuff to do dat," said the fishwoman, raising her head such that the light caught her flaming flyaways. In the dim light of the Pub her bloody pupil shot through the dark, ill-disguising the eye of a predator. Far from a cute, dainty thing deserving of a squeeze or a buxom broad in need of men's graces, the fishwoman held a wide berth the size of a chasm between her and the nearest interested male. "Barkeep, get 'er somethin' fer me, too. Jonesy Bark, with th' pineapple, like ah showed ya."
Yes, in this world of men you either needed to be strong enough to carve your own way or undesirable enough to stay out of harm's way. Mock Town was a morass that would devour anything in between. But unfortunately, there was no one beast in the jungle. No one creature to slay. And so as Joan travelled the world, searching for something she half believed she'd never find again, she turned to drink to keep her afloat. But some things just couldn't be found in the bottom of a bottle, or even the bottom of a barrel.
"Cheers, pretty," said the fishwoman as she raised her own tankard.
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Played by Sin
Bounty 115,000,000
Cash
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Post by FREYA on Jan 10, 2018 3:48:51 GMT -5
The bartender had already began pouring a nondescript bottle into Freya's stein when Joan placed her order. With a heavy sigh, he tilted his hand and corked the bottle, placing it back on the dust-laden shelf that he pulled it from in the first place. Gathering his tools and ingredients, the grizzled man behind the bar commenced in making a 'Jonsey Bark' for Freya's pleasure—much to his own chagrin. The patter of liquid sounded as Freya poured out the contents of her glass on the ground, hitting the forehead of the man who rested at her feet. No sense in letting it go to waste. The woman sitting at the other end of the bar seemed to be a fish out of water— literally. Her blue skin and red hair made her stand out like a rose among weeds. Freya found some comfort in not being the only female in this establishment. Freya inched closer to the fishwoman out of comradery, whipping her head to throw her bangs out of her face. The bartender, in his curmudgeon demeanor, placed the finished cocktail in a new tankard and slid it across the bar, almost magically, in front of Freya. "Right back at you," Freya lifted her glass in kind. As she made eye contact with the exotic specimen that bought her the libation, she felt a heavy two fingers tap her on the shoulder. Not wanting to be interrupted by another perverse pirate, she maintained with her conversation, unabated. "You're a long way from Fishman Island," another tap on her shoulder attempted once more to grab her attention, although she remained undeterred, "what brings you he..." Before Freya could finish her sentence, a jab landed across her cheek, forcing her to spill her Jonsey Bark on the bar and heaving her torso partially over the counter. This son of a bitch. "That's for Harlow," erupted a voice. Freya did not see who her assailant was. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the fishwoman, her hair partially dipped in the pool of her own drink. It smelled delightfully of coconut. ______________________________________________ JOAN SHARK |
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