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<blockquote data-quote="Kobold Stew" data-source="post: 6632227" data-attributes="member: 23484"><p>As Barrington departs from Polly after a brief rest (did he sleep? he doesn't fully recall), he is apprehensive. The cotton wrapped around his pistol hand covers a small burn from a spark that landed while he was firing, and it has already begun to blister. It's a fitting metaphor, he supposes. His face is known now, and though he is not certain if Katerina and her crew were aware of the extra firearm in the dark last night, he knows that others saw him, and he let them live. </p><p></p><p><span style="color: #800000">"You'll see me soon,"</span> he says to her as he leaves. But he adds a precautionary note: "Now lock the door once I'm gone." </p><p></p><p>He doesn't stop to fetch his duffel, and as he walks through the early dawn, he realizes that he didn't clean his pistol last night when he returned. Normally that's a habit with him; what was it that made this past night different? Polly? Possibly; her warm form inviting under the sheets. But Barrington isn't normally this sloppy. Not when he's looking for a job, which he still is.</p><p></p><p>Dawn in Nassau is always beautiful, he thinks to himself, as the sea begins to sparkle with the low-angled light and the rocks appear to glow with a warmth that will soon be belied when the flies emerge with the morning traffic, as the carts and merchants begin to pass each other and the city comes to life.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #800000">"Permission to come aboard?"</span> he asks perfunctorily when he arrives at the <em>Winchelsea</em>. Kells nods as he puts his flask to the side, and Barrington embarks. The man at the fo'c's'le has a proud bearing to heim, and Barrington clicks his heels together to indicate his presence. </p><p></p><p><span style="color: #800000">"Captain Wallace,"</span> he states. <span style="color: #800000">"I am James Barrington, sir. I am told you are seeking an officer for your crew."</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Kobold Stew, post: 6632227, member: 23484"] As Barrington departs from Polly after a brief rest (did he sleep? he doesn't fully recall), he is apprehensive. The cotton wrapped around his pistol hand covers a small burn from a spark that landed while he was firing, and it has already begun to blister. It's a fitting metaphor, he supposes. His face is known now, and though he is not certain if Katerina and her crew were aware of the extra firearm in the dark last night, he knows that others saw him, and he let them live. [COLOR="#800000"]"You'll see me soon,"[/COLOR] he says to her as he leaves. But he adds a precautionary note: "Now lock the door once I'm gone." He doesn't stop to fetch his duffel, and as he walks through the early dawn, he realizes that he didn't clean his pistol last night when he returned. Normally that's a habit with him; what was it that made this past night different? Polly? Possibly; her warm form inviting under the sheets. But Barrington isn't normally this sloppy. Not when he's looking for a job, which he still is. Dawn in Nassau is always beautiful, he thinks to himself, as the sea begins to sparkle with the low-angled light and the rocks appear to glow with a warmth that will soon be belied when the flies emerge with the morning traffic, as the carts and merchants begin to pass each other and the city comes to life. [COLOR="#800000"]"Permission to come aboard?"[/COLOR] he asks perfunctorily when he arrives at the [i]Winchelsea[/i]. Kells nods as he puts his flask to the side, and Barrington embarks. The man at the fo'c's'le has a proud bearing to heim, and Barrington clicks his heels together to indicate his presence. [COLOR="#800000"]"Captain Wallace,"[/COLOR] he states. [COLOR="#800000"]"I am James Barrington, sir. I am told you are seeking an officer for your crew."[/COLOR] [/QUOTE]
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