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OPEN REAVER POST
Apr. 14th, 2018 03:13 am[[OOC: The following prompts are set in the land of Albion! Reaver is an old fuck, and thus the time period can be anywhere between the destruction of Oakvale (redux) and the final game, The Journey. Feel free to tag in with a starter of your own if the following don't suit you, or PM me for a personalized one!]]
(1.)
'Bored' was something Reaver should never be. It would be easy, very easy in fact, to just lay around Bloodstone Manor and send anyone else, literally anyone else no matter how stupid or incompetent, out to the fringes of the marsh to deal with the growing hollow man issue. An actual growing issue too, and people were really starting to get on his tits about it.
'Oh what tragic lives we live upon the threshold of these poisoned lands filled with the shambling corpses of the reanimated dead, and for every one of our number that fall, their numbers grow, boo hoo' or whatever, the complaints all blended together after all while. He was content for a time to ignore them, and to put some fresh ventilation holes in the particularly insistent ones, but today caught him in a capricious mood. Sure he could claim he was doing it because he was sick of all the whining, or that he wanted to prove it wasn't actually an issue, or that the plight of the little folk had moved him to action.
He could, but he was brutally, whimsically honest with his staff as he excused himself from the manor that morning.
"Because I'm bored, love. Be a dear and go back to bed, keep the sheets warm for me."
And fuck anyone who wanted to do actual political business with him that morning too. Had a problem that needed the Bloodstone mayor? Tough shit, you can go looking for him out in the marsh. Not like he'd be hard to find, just listen to the sound of gunfire and the casually tossed, careless mockery being hurled at the legions of the shambling undead.
You'll find him.
--
(2.)
"I need you to realize that this is entirely your fault." And it might be. It could be! Who knew! Clearly Reaver was convinced of his partner's guilt. Locked down here in a dirty little cell, the sound of heavy, armored footsteps above them an indication that their captors had still, still not yet gone to sleep. He was starting to wonder if the bastards actually needed to at all.
Thankfully, their nameless wardens, numerous and well armed as they were, were also hilariously stupid. At least according to Reaver, considering his arms were unbound. If they really wanted to detain him that badly, they would have bought better irons. Tough shit for his partner though, he hadn't even considered picking the lock on those yet, as he rattled his now undone ones in front of them meaningfully.
"If you weren't so loud and clumsy, they'd never have seen us. I've a mind to leave you down here, maybe you can ponder upon your ineptitude and come out a better person.
Maybe you'll even do it with your head still attached, wouldn't that be a trick?"
Bitter? Him? No never.
--
(3.)
"I'm not asking you to do anything." How long had this argument been going? He was over three hundred years old, and at this point, this disagreement felt like it'd been going on for the past goddamn fifty of them-
"I'm telling you to do it. There's a distinct difference." He obviously didn't think the other person should have much of a choice in the matter. Top hat set aside, cane leaning against the desk, his face clean and the man himself half dressed, he almost looked like the pirate king of old once again. Perhaps still a touch paler, perhaps still a bit sharper, but squint and one could still see the immortal brigand who happily and with his own two hands burnt a terrifying pirate captain alive.
It was probably best communicated in that scowl.
"If I had wanted your opinion on the matter, I'd have given one to you."
(1.)
'Bored' was something Reaver should never be. It would be easy, very easy in fact, to just lay around Bloodstone Manor and send anyone else, literally anyone else no matter how stupid or incompetent, out to the fringes of the marsh to deal with the growing hollow man issue. An actual growing issue too, and people were really starting to get on his tits about it.
'Oh what tragic lives we live upon the threshold of these poisoned lands filled with the shambling corpses of the reanimated dead, and for every one of our number that fall, their numbers grow, boo hoo' or whatever, the complaints all blended together after all while. He was content for a time to ignore them, and to put some fresh ventilation holes in the particularly insistent ones, but today caught him in a capricious mood. Sure he could claim he was doing it because he was sick of all the whining, or that he wanted to prove it wasn't actually an issue, or that the plight of the little folk had moved him to action.
He could, but he was brutally, whimsically honest with his staff as he excused himself from the manor that morning.
"Because I'm bored, love. Be a dear and go back to bed, keep the sheets warm for me."
And fuck anyone who wanted to do actual political business with him that morning too. Had a problem that needed the Bloodstone mayor? Tough shit, you can go looking for him out in the marsh. Not like he'd be hard to find, just listen to the sound of gunfire and the casually tossed, careless mockery being hurled at the legions of the shambling undead.
You'll find him.
--
(2.)
"I need you to realize that this is entirely your fault." And it might be. It could be! Who knew! Clearly Reaver was convinced of his partner's guilt. Locked down here in a dirty little cell, the sound of heavy, armored footsteps above them an indication that their captors had still, still not yet gone to sleep. He was starting to wonder if the bastards actually needed to at all.
Thankfully, their nameless wardens, numerous and well armed as they were, were also hilariously stupid. At least according to Reaver, considering his arms were unbound. If they really wanted to detain him that badly, they would have bought better irons. Tough shit for his partner though, he hadn't even considered picking the lock on those yet, as he rattled his now undone ones in front of them meaningfully.
"If you weren't so loud and clumsy, they'd never have seen us. I've a mind to leave you down here, maybe you can ponder upon your ineptitude and come out a better person.
Maybe you'll even do it with your head still attached, wouldn't that be a trick?"
Bitter? Him? No never.
--
(3.)
"I'm not asking you to do anything." How long had this argument been going? He was over three hundred years old, and at this point, this disagreement felt like it'd been going on for the past goddamn fifty of them-
"I'm telling you to do it. There's a distinct difference." He obviously didn't think the other person should have much of a choice in the matter. Top hat set aside, cane leaning against the desk, his face clean and the man himself half dressed, he almost looked like the pirate king of old once again. Perhaps still a touch paler, perhaps still a bit sharper, but squint and one could still see the immortal brigand who happily and with his own two hands burnt a terrifying pirate captain alive.
It was probably best communicated in that scowl.
"If I had wanted your opinion on the matter, I'd have given one to you."
