RP:Claiming a ship the old-fashioned way

Background

Cornelius has had enough time now to familiarise himself with the way of the world as it currently stands.

He decides it is time to start working towards rebuilding what he used to have back when the Penzance family held business interests along several trade routes.

But first of all, he would need a ship, and a good one at that - and nobody does good ships like pirates and smugglers.

A week of reconnaissance in Cenril later, he has picked his ship: a sleek clipper with new riggings dubbed 'The Wave Cleaver', captained by a pirate named Glaive who used it primarily for black market cargo runs between Cenril and Rynvale.

Cornelius determines to make that boat his, and works to set Glaive up for a fall.

Scene 1 - Cenril Harbour

Dramatis Personae: Cornelius (and his parrot, Percy); Mahri; Jolie; Leoxander; and Glaive (NPC)

Cornelius is strolling, no, -swaggering- along Cenril's harbour, his insanely ostentatious Pirate Hat sailing above the sea of heads like some ship of state, Percy along for the ride like a disgruntled, feathered Kraken. "Yarr, a fine bevy of ships we have here, wot! Which one d'ye reckon, Percy old salt?" Percy hacks up some half-digested seeds, which, just like the other hundred and sixty four times, failed to find purchase on Cornelius' garb. Worth its weight in gold, that enchantment, Cornelius noted to himself as Percy's beady little eyes radiated frustration "Raark! Whichever one'll sink ya! Go kiss Davy Jones! Raark!"

Mahri shouldn't have been surprised. But she was. The second that outrageous hat came into view she, like many others, gawked at it and the man wearing it. Choking back the laughter that bubbles up in her throat, the lycan pushes her way through the crowd to sidle up along side Cornelius. "You know. Drawing attention to yourself probably isn't a good idea if you're trying to look like a pirate."

Cornelius deftly switches the eyepatch across to the other eye so he can see Mahri properly. He proclaims in as salty a fashion he can 'Avast, and all that, Mahri dear squid. Captain Cornelius - Gentleman Reaver - at your service. This here be Percy, me First Mate, wot" He gestures at the Parrot with his thumb, Percy for his part silenced by the sudden promotion.

Mahri has to bite her lip. Hard. Before she feels able to reply in a manner that won't leave Cornelius insulted. "Ah. Right, Captain. I assume you've a ship?" Tapping under her own eye, she says, "It looked better the other way." Percy, the Parrot, is given quite a speculative look. A long study of bird and plumage in Cornelius' hat. She'll not comment on the remarkable resemblance to the bird's other colourful feathers.

Cornelius waves a hand, cuffing Percy as the parrot starts to say something. Percy is cut off with a strangled "Hrk" as Cornelius responds "That, old salt, is precisely what I am here to obtain. Yarr, and all that. Percy here is going to advise me on a neat little cutter to appropriate for nefarious usage and whatnot. Keelhauling and the like." He blithely points at a half-rotten fishing trawler with a grin "What about that one, eh, First Mate Percy?" Percy glares. "Raark. Perfect for Cap'n Corny. Pieces of bloody eight!"

Mahri stares in disbelief at the trawler that has seen much better days. "And here I got the impression you've sailed before," she grumbles. Slanting a look upwards towards the rather garishly attired fop, Mahri presses her lips firmly together a moment. "Did you plan on buying something or.." she lets it trail off, giving Cornelius an opening to whatever it is he plans on doing.

Cornelius huffs pompously "Good lords no, dear albatross, that would be unheard of!" He glances at Percy "You hear that, Percy? Buy a ship, wot. Well, I'll be scuppered, and all that guff" He waves a hand at the docks "No, Captain Cornelius - Gentleman Reaver - shall obtain ownership the piratical way! By finding some milksop captain with a nice ship, and give him a jolly good hiding until he realises he should be offering me its services. Like that scurvy landlubber over there!" Cornelius points this time to a smallish clipper with new rigging, where a large burly man carrying an over-sized cutlass strapped across his back was bellowing abuse at men much smaller than himself as they loaded up barrels of some kind of liquid. "Oh yes, Percy, there's the ticket! Yarr!" Percy turns a baleful eye at Cornelius 'Raark. Have at 'im. Polly want a floozy!"

Leoxander walked along the planks toward them, not likely off board his own ship, but coincidentally Leo never handed the dock master coins for the toll and they didn't bother to stop him as he walked through the line and toward Cenril. Hands slid into his pockets casually, eyes narrowing toward the sound of the parrot in the distance, on the shoulder of what smelled like Cornelius. Mahri, he knew her scent in a heartbeat, but booted steps would slow down as he neared the hatted fellow - how he hated those damn squawking birds... "What the hell are you doing?" He bothered to ask, so bluntly, before he was even near enough to properly inspect the time-walker's attire.

Mahri has acquired, it seems, a few new nicknames. But, she's so bloody amused by the man she doesn't mind all too much. The suggestion of stealing a ship, in Cenril of all places, has that grin that's been tugging at her lips fully forming. Following the pointed finger, she considers the vessel indicated with a narrowed eye. She may have been on the verge of replying but Leo's voice cut her off and she looks over her shoulder at the Captain. "Looking at ships," she answers before Cornelius or Percy can.

Cornelius also turns at the sound of Leo's voice, sporting a jaunty black leather eyepatch over one eye "Ahoy there old bean! Long time no see, wot. I'm here obtaining myself a boat, dontcha know. Think I've picked myself a doozy." He starts to stroll towards the clipper and the large cutlass-wielding man, Percy cackling on his shoulder "Pieces of Corny! Pieces of Corny!" before being silenced by a finger upside the beak delivered by Cornelius

Leoxander stole a glance a Mahri before it returned to continue studying the 'pirate'. He finally resorted to a few words of response on a sigh. "Don't make me bloody punch you in the face again, mate... hurt my hand the first time." Probably not true but he really didn't want to bother with the effort and bruises for reason other than show. Lastly, the squawking parrot would earn a glare from the wolf, jaw tightening as though he was resisting the urge to grab the bird and bite it.

Leoxander looked at Cornelius. Leoxander said to Cornelius, "And quit winkin' at me."

Jolie tried to be unobtrusive, really she did. As much as a woman wearing scarlet, with tufted ears and steel high heels, being followed by faceless, winged entity possibly stitched together from bits of harpy, goblin and other, less discernible species could be at any rate. And though she did try, still the parting throng and low-voiced gawping, the superstitious mutters of sailors and the disapproval fishwives would almost certainly herald her arrival on the dock some moments before she became visible, Maladroit in tow. "Three dozen. Three. Not nearly enough.. and don't look at me like.. well," she was glowering at the eyeless abomination. "Don't.. sulk. I'm not criticising -you- per se, and even if I..." She'd stop, amid the breech of the crowd she caused, squinting. "Maladroit. Is that.. and..? I thought so..."

Leoxander turned a look over his shoulder at his wife to be, expression remaining stern but insides melting together, just a bit. How he had missed that scarlet dress. The mutters and murmurs were a compliment in the rogue's ears, and a smirk crossed onto his rugged expression to replace the scowl Cornelius' appearance had created. Another warning look offered to the faceless - and for that matter eyeless - gaunt at the new lycan's heels, and one of his hands escaped his jacket pocket to offer his arm to her waist on her approach. "Get a look at your boy." He said to her, motioning his jaw toward the 'pirate' and his parrot.

Mahri is not comfortable that so much attention is being drawn to the gathering. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she addresses first Cornelius, "You realize you need to plan a bit more, yeah?" Then Leo, "Why'd you punch him? Never mind, don't answer that." She really didn't want to know. The way the crowd was murmuring finally gets her attention and the lycan's nostrils flare. Among the smells of fish, sea and sweat is another. Jolie. "Good gods,' she mutters, the grin turning to a scowl. "Ain't nothin' going to be done today. Too many bloody eyes." Again to Cornelius..Gentleman Reaver indeed! "An' what you wanna do is better done at sea, not in harbor, and at night."

Leoxander answered anyhow. "Somethin' about a parrot..."

Cornelius grins at Leo, lifting his extravagant Pirate Hat in salute, throwing in a wink for good measure. Percy glares right back at Leo, his next utterance stillborn by the surprise appearance of Cornelius' hand around his beak. He murmurs to Percy "He eats parrots, mate. Belay it, or I'll need to replace you, wot!" and turns to Mahri "Waiting and night-time antics are for people who are not Captain Cornelius, Gentleman Reaver." He continues his walk up to the Clipper's captain, who turns out to be a good 7 feet in height, and about double the size of Cornelius in width. The man is still hurling a stream of abuse at his crew when he feels a tap underneath his collarbone. He turns to the dandy, taking in the hat, the parrot, and the ridiculous finery of the garb. He blinks for a moment before bellowing in Cornelius' face "'oo in the f**king hell d'ya think you is lookin' at! Sod off or I'll cut ya from groin ta grin!" Cornelius wipes the spittle off his face, something of his jovial air vanishing "I say, old salt. I'm the new captain of this ship. Got any questions?"

Leoxander would just watch as Cornelius approached a brute of a Captain that the lycan rogue, himself, had run into a time or two in the past. He sure as hell wasn't the jerk to mess with, and free hand raised from his pocket to offer a motionless wave when Glaive, as he was called, gave the trio left behind a confused and frustrated sort of glance. A motion was made from Leo, gesturing the man with the parrot out to sea despite that he stood there on the dock, meaning... he'd lost it. Sun sickness, or something. A sidelong glance was offered back to Mahri and at long last... he spoke a word to her. "The hell did you feed him?"

Jolie 's green eyes took a brief turn skyward, as she settled her hip against Leo's. "Yeah, quite the spectacle. And that bloody... bird... How are you love?" She'd look a little weary, up close, tilting up off her toes for a kiss to his probably whiskery face, a smirk evident at mention of the parrot incident. "Wasn't that a clever plan, love? Went off with hardly a hitch, though I made one turn inside out at the other end, and of course the drug wore off too soon.." She did not look at Cornelius as she spoke those words, but waved toward Mahri. "But all's well in the end. And we've another lot just arrived, via Venturil, very kind of Rheven to let us empty...." The bellowing mate had her glance that way, a wince scrunching her features. "I think he's going to be drowned," she said, quietly. Looking to Leo, then Mahri, she added, "I'll put a fiver on it."

Leoxander glanced to Jolie when she spoke that news, offered that kiss, a nod given in response at the end. "I'm alright, but is your damn friend mental, or what?" Jolie nodded, "I've always thought so."

Mahri is dumbfounded. Speechless as Cornelius strolls, casual as you please, right up the ship's captain. Not for long. "The bastard's gonna get himself killed." One would think she'd care. Maybe. But she isn't about to go pull the man out of whatever fire he's getting himself into. Na. It's much more fun to watch. Unless, of course someone decided to jump in. No one did. Giving Leo the same sort of look, she answers, "I didn't." Find him that is. Leaning back to peer at Jolie past Leo, she offers, "Raise you five that says it takes less than ten minutes."

Jolie grinned. "A pint of rum says the parrot goes first." Jolie could only hope.

(NPC'd by Leoxander) Glaive returned a chiselled glare to the much shorter man, annoyed by his hat far more than his parrot. "Ye've spent too many on th'waters, 'the hell out of my face." A stone deep demand before Leo, with a sigh, would detach from Jolie's side to step forward, scarred and inked hands raised. "Easy, mate, 'e's already dyin'. Let the dose finish him off." Cornelius would likely lose his hat to an irritable throw of the back of the seven foot tall man's hand before the shorter, leaner, tattooed captain intervened. Why he was so inclined to save the 'pirate's life, he wasn't sure, but like Svilfon Leo saw him put to better use. Their use. "You clearly need a g'damn hobby for the rest of your minutes, Reaver. Get your ass back to the wolves or I'll leave you to these ones." A motion made to the crew that was starting to gather with broken plank pieces and rapiers in hand, ready to take care of their captain's problem.

Mahri closes the gap left by Leo's departure to stand nearer to Jolie, "A pint? That's all? Hell, a fecking barrel. Bloody bird's the damndest annoying thing I've ever heard."

Jolie shuddered a little, eyeing the gaily-coloured loud-mouth. And his parrot. "I hate 'em. Those feathered louse-traps. Give me the willies."

Mahri might bump shoulders with Jolie as she purposely turns to look over her shoulder at Maladroit, who appears to be watching the fiasco as intently as Mahri and Jolie are watching in amusement. "Right. Willies," she mutters.

Jolie would stand on tiptoe to peer at the terse gathering, sighing as sundry at-hand weapons bristled. She'd say to Mahri, "Every time I get a new dress. Every -single- bloody time."

Jolie had a poisoned sliver of a dagger in hand, by that point, just in case.

Cornelius smiles. Coldly. He doesn't move a muscle as the hat goes flying off his head to land on the ground "Challenge accepted." His voice, when he replies to Leo, lacks the airy pompousness the Lycan may be used to. "If you don't mind, Captain Leo, I'll take my chances. The ship is now mine unless Glaive is man enough to defend his claim. If he isn't, or if he loses to me, then he shall have to make do with being Mate." He looks Glaive square in the face, speaking softly so his crew cannot hear. "I'd rather like to see that blade of yours in use. It's been a while since I fought one of those oversized falchions, and I've missed the excitement. Draw it. Kill me, and walk with pride; lose, and serve under me - or die." Raising his voice "Of course, if you are not man enough to hold onto the captain's hat yourself, I'll happily take it from you." He murmurs to Percy "After the hat, you useless excuse for spare plumage" Percy flutters off to chase the hat as it is buffeted about by the winds

Cornelius has done his research, and he knows exactly which boat he wants, and who he has to go through to get it.

Mahri eyes Jolie and sighs herself. It's tempting to remove those gloves. She'll wait. Wouldn't want to have any accidents and brush fingers against the wrong person. To Jolie,"It's why I don't wear them." Often.

Jolie 's familiar lifted its empty face toward the parrot, scrunching its rubber-like and clawed fingers as though squashing something in them.

Leoxander wasn't certain how Cornelius knew the man's name, and even Glaive appeared to narrow his eyes in suspicion. Perhaps someone among the crowd had spat it carelessly. Either way, as Cornelius addresses him to make his death with known, Leo takes the time to step back with hands raised as though in farewell. "Nice knowin' ya." He'd backtrack to return to Mahri and Jolie with a shake of his head. And now, as expected, the player has to run, so Leo would probably get distracted with a glance down market street.

(NPC'd by Cornelius) Glaive stops for a double-take. It seemed this caricature of a person was serious. "Feh. You wan' a bloody fight? Meet me in Rynvale. A week's time. I've got me a cargo to haul, ya worthless clown, and I ain't wasting me precious time on fools." Before Cornelius can respond, a line of jeering crew are in his face. It seems Cornelius would have to visit Rynvale to complete this transaction. With an icy dignity, he waits for Percy to return his hat to him, and stares down the crew until Glaive bellows for them to finish their job.

Scene 2 - an abandoned wharf in Rynvale

Dramatis Personae: Cornelius (and his parrot, Percy); Lucien; Leoxander; and Glaive (NPC)

Leoxander was at the centre of what appeared to be a very large and vivacious crowd. The noise echoed across the wharf but none of those miscreants gave a damn. A few lanterns in the mix put a damp light on the scene in the middle of that circle of cheering men since the sun was not yet up to chase the ruffians into their alleys and holes, and one other dog beside Jack contributed a few excited barks at the brawl, now and then. There were two combatants being thrown back at each other each time they stumbled into rough hands - one of which was Leo. Hard to miss him with the collage of dark tattoos that covered almost his entire upper torso; both he and Glaive lost their shirts to verify there were no weapons concealed in an assassin's reach. On a first glance, the duel seemed greatly outmatched, judging on size alone. Although tall and fairly intimidating with that wolfish scruff thickened on jaw and arms and his teeth a little longer than they should be, Leo was a head and shoulder smaller and a quite a bit more lean than this dark skinned brute fighting the rogue bare foot and bare handed. A massive fist with linen wrapped knuckles hooked for the lycanthrope's skull only to be ducked - his reflexes were honed unlike the strength that came with his curse, but he made the mistake of staying too close to undercut a hard punch into Glaive's ribs. When he felt thick fingers close on his throat and the throng jeer and cheer louder, he knew it was a bad idea. Booted feet dragged back as the monster of a man went to handle the fellow pirate into the warehouse wall, but he was tripped up in the first few steps and both hit the ground on the wharf to continue beating the hell out of one another. On the dock of a not so Abandon Wharf, two ships rocked on the water, one to each Captain in the bloody ring.

Cornelius was slightly displeased. One, that the oversized bastard had made him wait a week before allowing 'Captain Cornelius - Gentleman Reaver' a chance to take his damn boat, the 'Wave Cleaver', and Two - the sod thought so little of him that he was having a wrestling match ahead of the duel. Admittedly, being underestimated was part of the plan, but even so. The wretched blighter had better've brought his oversized meat cleaver of a falchion, or the night was going to be bloody dull - and Cornelius had had too much of dull. Three centuries too much. The damn boat was going to be his. He calls out, fixing his ridiculous pirate hat atop his head, while Percy glares at anything that moves "I say, Glaive old bean, but the official contender is here. Games can wait 'til later, wot. We've a business transaction involving you, me, and your boat, unless you've forgotten. Yarr."

Lucien was the probably unnoticed sound of thudding boots at the other end of the wharf, having only now come up from the beach to check in on the shop and spotting the brawl - and his father, and some other guy throwing punches. All he had on him for a weapon was his fishing net and a cray pot filled with live cargo - why the hell didn't he carry his damn sword around with him, like half the damn country did? Fssst. Such were his thoughts as the lanky youth bolted along the boards, willing to throw himself into the fray, crawfish and all, if it turned out an uneven fight, or his dad needed him or... "Mister Penzance!" He'd skidded to a halt by the dandy, totally interrupting whatever the man had been saying, dark eyes fixed on the brawl. "What's goin' on?" The furled net was unfurled, ropes plopping to the boards. The lobsters, considerably shaken now, were not happy.

Cornelius finishes what he is saying before responding to the youth "Getting myself a boat, or killed, old salt. Either way, I'm going to have some dashed fun!"

Leoxander scrambled, pushed, moved out of the way to avoid the drop of a fist, but Glaive never even flinched as the rock and sand stuck between the worn cobblestone stuck into his knuckles, giving them an added texture like broken glass. Their brawl abruptly ended and the noise from the crowd faded and died away the moment Cornelius stepped into view to speak in that particular way of his. The circle broke into a 'U' as Glaive pushed up onto his bare feet to fix a disbelieving look on the 'Captain' while Leo, giving Cornelius a rather dark look, crawled slowly up to his feet wiping away a smear of blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He really wasn't buying this 'pirate' act of his with patience or amusement. Suddenly, the seven foot human browned nearly to onyx burst out with a roar of laughter, one that encouraged his crew and several other drunks to join in at that mockery of the hatted one. "Business? I haff no business with you, fool. I'll feed your eyes and tongue to the dog, eh?" The pit looking canine bred and born to fight, still bound on it's chain emphasized the words with his vicious bark in 'Percy's direction. Leo and Jack truly were outcasts of this crowd, the lovable mutt heading over toward the rogue on the outskirts, now, while his mismatched wolfish eyes trailed toward the sound of a familiar voice. "Luc, you get the hell away from him!" That growl came from where he was grabbing his shirt and blade belt off the boards, to stand. A bit bloody but overall unhurt.

Cornelius grins as he approaches. "Percy old bean, take my hat somewhere safe. Spewing a stream of un-parrotlike obscenities, Percy does as requested, the plumage on the hat ever the reminder that obedience is the wisest course. He lands on a nearby roof, and starts heckling "Raark! Cut the dandy! Cut the dandy!" Cornelius unsheathes his sabre, a family heirloom partially crafted with the teeth of a dragon which an ancient Penzance warrior had helped to slay. The weapon was still suffused with the magics designed to preserve it against all damage: its leading edge, and several handspans along the back edge, still as sharp as the day it was enchanted. Not quite so eldritch is the cruelly serrated dagger he draws to accompany the sabre. He adopts a very casual and upright demeanour, sabre resting upon his right shoulder as he gestures with the dagger. "No business, Glaive? Really, old salt? After you went to -such- trouble avoiding conflict with me in Cenril and telling me to meet you here? I feel sorry for your crew, having to serve such an overgrown coward. But I am here to remedy that: the Wave Cleaver shall be mine, and those crew who choose to serve me after witnessing my successful claim shall be welcomed. Even you, Glaive, if you aren't dead at the end of this, will be given offer of employment." Cornelius eyes' take on a manic gleam "Now, where's that falchion of yours. I want to invite it to the dance"

Lucien did as he was told, for once, and got the hell out of the way - moving closer to his Dad, and away from that vicious dog jerking at its chain until its snarls cut off in a brutal choke. He'd stand by quietly, cray pot in hand, net dragged behind him dropped now upon the wharf's splintery boards. Luc's eyes could meet Leo's own these days, without him having to look up. The youth said, in a low voice, to his father, "Mister Penzance's gonna be hurt real bad, isn't he?" There was no anticipation in the question, as there may have been from either of his parents. Lucien liked the foppish man, for all his peculiar ways. "Think those others'll jump in, Dad?"

Leoxander watched paired cutlasses tossed from crowd, no quarter sash tied to hilt, and Glaive caught it without effort to prepare and arm himself for his fourth duel of the night. There seemed to be no substantial enchantment or magic to the blade, but a brief display of twisted, spinning blade creating a slice of figure eight around his shoulders, a blur of silver-white would indicate it wasn't likely needed in this giant man's existence. The shorter falchion joined in the grip of his other, weaker hand off balance, but purposefully so. In the background, a shirt was pulled down over a splatter of blood on Leo's inked chest while the conversation taking the attention of Wharf onlookers continued, and for a moment he would study that sudden sharpness in the false pirate's eyes as he challenged Glaive's strike. He answered Lucien without looking over his son's way, just yet. "If he is it's his own damn fault. I just hope that g'damn bird gets sniped." Weapons belt was laced through and clipped at the buckle before he witnessed the violent but cautious rush of the larger, known pirate toward the one who spoke so boldly as to earn cold, murderous stares from said, uncooperative crew.

Cornelius, in the moment he recognises two cutlasses and not the huge falchion, bends forwards, shrugs off shirt and cuirass and hurls them to Luc with a shouted "Look after this for me, old bean!". His flesh, though pale, is riddled with countless old scars, and one recently healed one along his belly. His muscles are lean and wiry, and are explained as he somersaults backwards, springs off his weapon-bearing fists in a neat turnpike flip to land facing Glaive with a bit more room for his approach. Cornelius' mind is already ablaze with numbers and circles, lines and vectors, as years of training, and even more years of brawls and judicial duels, send his mind to that icy place of complete calm. The diameter of the outer circle of conflict is determined, the circle of death where blade can reach flesh likewise coalescing in his awareness of the space around him. The old Vailkrin mystery of the Circle and the Sword, one that he has danced to all his life. Contemplations of these mysteries helped keep him sane in the centuries spent trapped in stone. These, and other considerations. As Glaive barrels towards him he carefully examines his movement, subconsciously rating his strength and momentum based on subtle cues given by the sound of his feet and the sight of his well-defined musculature. It seems obvious Glaive wants to end this quickly. Cornelius, however, does not. So it is that, as Glaive comes forward in a rush, sabre, dagger, and dandy are dancing into the pirate's flow of movement as blades clash and sparks ring. For the first moment of conflict Cornelius dances at the very edge of the circle of death, keeping at a range where he targets arms and wrist, neat little flicks of the blade at the end of parries and deflections in an effort to draw blood for blood's sake

Lucien was smacked in the face by an extremely well-tailored shirt. Luckily, the heavier breastplate merely clanked at his boots, and was retrieved a moment later. "Sure thing, Mister P.," said the boy, his gaze shifting toward Leoxander just to keep him sight before setting back onto the brawl that was rapidly turning into something else altogether. The dandy's lithe dance-like motions had him enthralled, the fancy footwork studied with interest. "Mum was looking for you," he remembered to tell his father, "Something about the ship..." But his attention was mainly on the fight and his words drifted off there, replaced by the sound of clashing metal.

Leoxander watched the bull of the man clash with the dandy, metal shrieking out in contact to it's countering blade, a wave of cheering erupting from the mob of drunks and hooligans who only wanted to witness a good fight and maybe watch a man die for a winning bet. The surprise does not show in those flint chip eyes of Glaive the Relentless, but he is inwardly caught off guard by the fluid movements and ability shown from this declared 'fool'. Still, he has not lived all his years letting others do the dirty work for him - not all of it, anyhow. A pirate's life is nothing as Cornelius has thus far portrayed and mocked it to be and the darker man has his own collection of scars to account for mutiny and betrayal in the past. Sheer brute strength is what is used to attempt to knock the other out of a perfect technique, swords deflected and arms thrust forward to try to shove the other closer to the edge of the wharf, onto a narrow strip of dock stilted above the dark waters. "Where'd you last see her?" He asked calmly, knowing he could likely catch a scent from the location to track her down soon enough. But he wasn't leaving just yet, especially not without Lucien pulled along with. Leo hesitated, watching without a hint of worry or regret to see how the situation played itself out. This harsh lifestyle was one he'd always known.

Cornelius continues moving, his footwork seeming to be the steps of a dance as they send him gliding in unexpected directions, sometimes to blind-side Glaive, sometimes to confront him directly, but always with a mathematical precision while blades clash in a whirlwind of sparks, splattered sweat, and ringing steel. Until Glaive got tired of the dance, and tried to use force, as Cornelius had hoped. A deft sidestep, pirouette-and-parry with the dagger is immediately followed by an old-fashioned boot up the arse in the hopes of knocking Glaive into the water. Even if he doesn't, Cornelius hopes the entertainment value of the kick will get the crowd a bit more on side with 'the outsider'. Cornelius knows what kind of world he is buying back into, and he needs to make the payment in a worthy coin before he can get down to business and have a serious fight.

Lucien thought it was funny, anyway, and snorted loudly before several pairs of rum-blooded eyes snapped his way and he shut up, right quick. "Uh... by the beach. Told me to stay at the Villa tonight. Dunno why, but I said I would." Lucien made a show of not laughing at all, no sir, but conversing with the other mean mofo standing right there beside him.

Leoxander | The crowd had their little laugh, but rather than dropping easily into the water, a step and swing would arch that long, curved blade back around dangerously close to the other pirate's throat, in what might have been a clean decapitation had Glaive obtained another near foot of reach. For all the Dandy's showboating this pirate was no simple push over, and sudden whirlwind swings following each other went back and forth for his opponent's body as he turned to close the distance between them again as quick as a seven foot tall man dual wielding could muster. "Best to listen to your Mum, kid, you know that. There's a few bottles of home brew I've been nipping at stocked up on the top shelf where she can't reach, if the night gets dull. Where's your ghost girl been?" Idle conversation on the dock during a loud brawl with his son, and he didn't seem to care that this was a terrible example for his boy. Just another late night in his nocturnal schedule.

Cornelius knew the dance would change its tempo with the pirate's embarrassment, and the frustration of an as-yet bloodless conflict. But the pirate's frustration is shared: Cornelius is already growing bored of simply putting on a good show, and the desire to cut down the man in front of him becomes almost overwhelming. Almost. He has a plan, and he will damn well follow it. A lot of credibility is riding on this fight, and he needs to make it work in his favour. The slash which just misses his throat was all the encouragement he needed to get serious about the fight. Glaive may be an oversized bull of a man, but there was no need for Cornelius to make the mistake of further underestimating him. Ever happy to sacrifice a pawn to gain a knight in chess, he shows just why a man of his skill has so many scars. He lets the pirate dominate the pace for a few steps and a dozen swings of his paired cutlasses, guiding him into what appears to be an effective and overwhelming pattern of spiralling cutlasses when he makes his move: using his dagger to guide the left cutlass' cross-body strike along his side, he ignores the familiar slicing sting of blade parting flesh as he steps into and around the cut. He lets the dagger push that cutlass, with the assistance of his own body-weight, into the path of Glaive's other blade to bind them up as his own sabre whips around in a tight moulinet to target up the pirate's back and into the shoulder. If Glaive pushes back, well, Cornelius will tilt his dagger right into his chest, and if he moves any other way, he hopes to see a new scar-in-the-making on the pirate's side somewhere. With the right timing, he may just incapacitate the arm.

Lucien 's grin at the 'can't reach' comment faded somewhat on mention of Caedan. "Haven't seen her..." was said casually, though maybe Leo saw the pang on his son's face or heard it behind that off-hand tone. The fight seemed to have reached some crucial point, and it was a convenient change of topic, "Mr. P. sure has some moves...."

Leoxander only responded to his son's longing and unspoken sorrow by resting a large hand atop his mess of white hair, letting the subject die in favour for the comment on Cornelius' ability. "No man who talks as brash as that blaggard does would live any older'n you if they didn't, kid." But he'd seen enough. Glaive was finished the moment that wound opened up on his side and rendered his stronger arm weaker. The fight might last a good while more, perhaps into the first colours of a morning sky, but Cornelius steadily gained opportunity and the upper hand in that swordsmanship duel. Spouting an array of foul, angry names, the larger man's swings became more desperate, and when a blade should clatter and fall he would make one last attempt to grasp his opponent's throat, but with a more wild and infuriated look in his stone coloured eyes than when he'd been after Leo's. "Go on, head home. Take Jack with you, he's wiped out."

Cornelius is thankful of the adrenaline coursing through his system, knowing from past experience that the cut will start to feel like hell within 10 minutes of stillness. But for now he exults in the stinging sensation as he witnesses the line of red lead up and into the muscles below the pirate's arm. He is happy then, to draw out the fight, inflicting a small nick here, a small cut there, to gradually wear the pirate down. And when, at last, he reads the desperate rage in Glaive's eyes correctly he flicks his own sabre a short distance away, takes the extended wrist in a right hand made strong from climbing and swordplay then steps, twists, locks it up tightly and painfully until the Pirate is close to losing a second arm while Cornelius places the serrated edge of his dagger by the Pirate's throat. He speaks roughly, through a throat made sore from exertion "Glaive, old salt. You fought well. Bloody well. I am honestly impressed. I'd have you as first mate, if you're willing, or your head on my mantelpiece as trophy of a worthy victory won. It is your choice, but I'd much rather your help than your head. What say you?"

Lucien hesitated, only because he was holding Cornelius' sword and shirt for safekeeping. "C'mon, Jack," he said, to the ageing mutt, whose tired legs would carry him over to the youth, though that plumey tail knew no years in its wagging. The fight seemed mainly over anyhow, so Luc laid 'Mr. P's' belongings on the boards close by, shirt folded neatly. "Oh Dad..." he'd almost forgotten, ".. we've been invited to Frostmaw, hunt Miss Satoshi up some animals for her ... zoo, or somethin'." But he'd leave his dad to ponder the offer, since Jack was already trotting away, in hope of a free feed of whatever Luc would raids from the pantry later.

Cornelius breathes hoarsely, waiting, until Glaive's look of rage and confusion is slowly replaced with one of calculation. Being first mate ain't all that bad, and mutinies do happen after all. The new 'captain' would be tested again, in other ways, but for now he would hold his peace "...fine. First mate it is. But we'll need to talk terms if you want me crew as well." Cornelius nods his assent "Alright then. Let's get patched up, and the next five rounds are on me at the Broken Barrel." The crew, stunned by Glaive's loss, decide that perhaps five rounds will be enough time for them to figure out what was going on.

Cornelius collects his equipment, including a small pile of gear concealed under a shimmering cloak which had been happily mirroring the shadows around it, and starts a procession to the Broken Barrel. Percy flaps along afterwards, pirate hat in parrot claws, seeming rather disappointed with the outcome.