Totoka River water will do when there's no rum

He sniffed at an old bone, washed ashore after having been adrift at sea for how long. It was rough and tarnished, the fine bone color stained green in many places. But his coffer in this land would be empty. By habit he swung his head around to bark an order at his swab to carry the thing for him, but oh right, he had sent his chattering servant elsewhere. Ferahgo snorted, and gathered up the bone himself, where behind a recognizable rock he buried it for later.

Hmm. His pale eyes squinted into the mid-afternoon sun at an island off shore, but the chomp of hungry waves on the shore invited only fools to swim. It was a curiosity, but a fleeting one. He moved toward the river, and slaked his thirst where the water was still fresh.

Wednesday had kept to the coast after stalking Gristle and encountering that inky male. She thought nothing of that now as the day had passed, and she had better things to think of. Wednesday had stolen from a band of coyotes an average meal, and successfully foraged for mice. She carried the last one toward the river, moving from forest to sand again to see if there was anything the ocean had dragged in.

First there was a wolf there. The other prompted her to chomp the small meal and swallow it near whole, the thin tail flopping unattractively past her lips and getting caught between her canines. What was left of that fell to the earth, but as there was no nutritional or beneficial value to it, she continued on her way toward the river with nothing for the other to take. She gave herself plenty of room from him so that she could assess him past slanted eyes while she wet her throat and slaked her thirst.

He looked up, his last mouthful of water freely draining between his fangs and onto the sands below. He was not alone; it seemed another male had come to the river for a drink, keeping a buffer between them. Ferahgo sniffed. Nope. Not a male at all. His muzzle wrinkled. How unfortunate for this one to look so thick and... well. He had no personal use such masculine angles, but! He was a Captain adrift, his crew few, and what few he had would need something to squabble over.

"Ahoy," he called out with an upward tip of his muzzle. "Who are ye and what can ye be tellin' me 'bout these shores?"

Yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me

Wednesday was surprised to hear the other speak to her. The way that he spoke to her, however, caused plenty of confusion. The accent was nothing like she had ever heard, and that he knew nothing of these parts put her at the obvious advantage. He did not know, after all, her lack of knowledge. Great White, came her response, and if it were a quip none would know, so deadpan was her tone; she then revealed a single tooth to him in a terribly hideous grin. She had actually been called such a thing, and at a location such as this, too, so she felt the title fitting. Wednesday had many names, and wore whatever name served her as the moments came.

What could she tell him about these shores? Have you anything to spare for the information I hold, The wolf blinked at him, her tone monotonous as ever. Her knowledge—or lack thereof—was not at all betrayed by any one thing. From her time spent here, she surely reeked of the ocean by now. Salt-crystals were embedded in places she had not thought to ever scout before, and now she knew the worth of that. Wednesday herself was a pirate in all but name. She was a thieving, murderous wretch... simply not a very pretty one.

Great White. Was that her name? Ferahgo's mouth shifted side ways, before she shifted his paws closer. He sniffed again, audibly, for to have manners was not his manner at all. Still female. But, while he normally trusted his nose without question, his neck craned over and he peered unabashed at the junction of flank and belly... and did not spy the profile of a man. Satisfied (not really), he returned his head to its upright position and smacked his lips, pondering.

"Ye can have a spot on me crew," he answered after a beat. "Yerself and yer barterin' would fit right in. Hmm?"

His probing eyes were met with a stony look. She felt what he sought after with a woman's intuition, and so long as he could appreciate what little (to nothing) she offered in the capacity of her appearance, well, he could look away. She was not used to such looks out of season, but during? And there had been nothing to show for it, bar the castrated line of dead men. Only Gristle survived that year with her, but then he had not tried to mount her and wisely stayed far away from her. 

I bite as well as I barter. I'll have no women barking orders at me, was her rejoinder. As for men? Well, if they had the jewels, she would take them. And that would be that. This one had offered her a spot, and was evidently questionable in morality, but when choosing between two evils Wednesday often went with the one she had never tried before. But that was that. The women could try their hand, too, but it'd be fatal.

His eyes were narrowed by mischief as he fixed her with a crooked, dark and toothy smile. "Ye have no worries 'bout that." He said. Ever a pleasant conversationalist and good company, the drifting Captain followed up with, "well? What say ye, Whitey? Ye want a spot on me crew or not? A share of the booty and rations and a ship to call home? If ye do, then speak up, an' if ye don't, then shove off." He lifted his brown-smacked snout, peering imperiously at her.

His imperious look was well-matched with one of her own, and Wednesday then nodded. Let's see this ship of yours, she prompted then. After a beat, she said, I've someone who will join along with me, too. Not a friend, but a fellow vagabond and murderer. He was a good man for her to have at her back, and he was one of the few she would ever trust and truly tolerate. She had the emotional capacity of an unresponsive corpse—feelings had nothing to do with it. But she was smart, and knew that keeping Gristle close was, in fact, smart. He'd find her, he always did. She looked at the body of water that kept them apart, and found a narrow strip of it to cross over. Wednesday moved that way. Her interest in booty was none, but rations sounded something like food, and she would take of that what she could.

Her creed was as savage as any pirates: take what you can, and give nothing back.

"Ye can see me ship when I've finished riggin' up me crew," he stated. The fact of he matter was he had not picked out his ship - a ship being, of course, the jealously guarded territory of a pirate pack. "Who be this mate you speak of?" One brow arched above a bone-colored eye. He was both picky and not when it came to his crew, but one thing he did not do was accept without question someone else's matey.

Wednesday looked at him after his first set of words, impassive. I don't know what that means, she responded to him. And she wasn't in the habit of making assumptions. Not when they could cause her number one—herself, of course—harm. As for the first mate? Not a mate, she corrected. Of all the words to select for Gristle, 'mate' would be one she never would have settled upon. As for 'who', well, that could be answered. A male. Strong. What else was there to know? What else was important? And who are you?

If he had the dexterity to facepalm, he would have done so, but all he could do was brush a paw across his snout in the same sentiment. "Not a lover," he stressed, his deadly lack of patience evident. "Yer mate. Yer bucko. Yer crewwolf. Yer friend, Whitey. Ye be runnin' with pirates now, ye be needin' to learn the tongue of the sea." As for her strong, male friend. "Send him to me when next he be found. I will speak to him." His ear twitched. "I am Ferahgo, but to the likes of ye, I am Captain Blackbeard. Head down shore toward the seaside plateau, me swabbie be there. Can't miss him - he's a chatterin' nuisance of a thing, scraggy and such. I will come for ye when the ship is ready."

He dismissed her with a flick of his tail and he stepped forward to resume his scouting. But he paused, and glanced back over his shoulder with a savage look. "Touch a hair on the hide of me swabbie, and it'll be yer hide I sleeps on."

Wednesday listened to him. Amused though she was, there was no hint of it on her features. Emotion was utterly beneath her visage, and she never wore it. It'd make an ugly thing even more dreadful. It wasn't something she thought of, but at the very least none had to worry about seeing the horror of the transformation. As he explained, 'Whitey' shrugged. He's none of those things to me. He followed me. I simply let him. A grim row of teeth was offered, at that, the words very much so pointed. She'd known him, Gristle, for a while. There was enough respect between them to consider him now, but that was the extent of it.

He introduced himself in full, and she bit back the snicker at his speech full of pomp. She was surprised there was nary a flourishing gesture to be with the words... and hardly anything surprised her. Wednesday supposed if not for the food that sounded like it was being offered, she might stick around for the entertainment. The reputable Blackbeard was not one she had ever heard of. As for running with Pirates, and needing to learn the tongue of them? Hmph. She supposed it would serve her to do so, wouldn't it?

As for the threat, Wednesday looked at him for a long moment in silence. Then, deadpan as ever, she replied. Oh, I won't touch him. Though we might have ourselves a contest if he talks as much as you say. See which of us can hold our breath the longest. Her brand of humor was cruel and malicious. If this was a joke, she did not betray it with a smile. And as for the consequence? Well, it was clear she wasn't much worried about it. Be that because she wasn't going to do a thing at all, actually, or because she did not fear him, who could tell? 

None had ever put the fear of life in Wednesday before. She did not consider Ferahgo to be a joke, nor his threat to be an idle one. It was just this: any and all that threatened Wednesday and did try to make good on it... the key word was try, you see, and not even they knew the end result of it, so abrupt was the finish. 

Life was short, for some. And the life she had lived had given her the terrible humor she had earned, and the feeling that all she said was just and right.

Last post for me. Welcome aboard, me hearty! ;)

He narrowed his eyes at her, in the fashion of a cat that is unsheathing its claws tensing the muscles behind them. He did not share in her joke. "Ye be warned," he said, and then he left. Ferahgo did not care for the lives of many, and indeed it was not even care that he had for his swabbie but usefulness. Low-caliber wolves like himself were a scarce commodity and hard to replace. He was faithful as they come, unquestionably obedient, and thus he had found himself under Ferahgo's protection.