InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Psych? as in gotcha?"

ᴋᴇʟʟʏ ᴍᴀxᴡᴇʟʟ 💥 ᴀsʜ ᴠs ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ (dieami) wrote in theconsolelog,
@ 2018-05-21 21:55:00

Entry tags:

kelly maxwell, killian jones

WHO: Killian and Kelly
WHERE: N’Sanity Beach; Killian’s Beach Shanty
WHEN: After hours ~~and hours and hours~~ of walking
WHAT: Drinking and Swapping Stories
WARNINGS: TBD; Kelly’s first language is cursing and drinks have been promised.
STATUS: Ongoing / Incomplete

When it came to practical fashion, Kelly had never given much thought to what she wore. Her style naturally lent itself to getting into fights, especially her boots, which made for excellent weapons in a pinch. Currently, in this particular moment, Kelly was cursing them with every step she took. She had no idea how far she’d walked, but the throbbing in her feet suggested it had been more miles than she’d ever dreamt of. Kelly had attempted Killian’s ( she was still trying to wrap her brain around the “Captain Hook” thing ) suggestion. There had been a few abandoned cars along the street, but either they had no keys or wouldn’t start when they did. Hot-wiring would have been an option if it hadn’t been for the shadows moving through the fog. Deadites, she knew how to handle, but she couldn’t take the risk of getting cornered by something she’d never seen before.

The casino area had been a welcome sight once she crossed over the boundary. Mostly, she was glad to have the lights and clear view. No longer feeling the oppressive hand of paranoia was also a nice change of pace. Kelly had been tempted to stay in the city, but the promise of booze and company was greater than her desire to gamble. As much as she hated to admit it, the lone route didn’t really work when she had no idea what was going on. Being around someone in the same situation, especially one with previous experience, was in her best interest. It was that simple.

When Kelly finally set foot in white sand, she could barely contain the hysterical laugh of exhaustion. Every new area so far called on a distant memory from her childhood. Even after everything she’d been through with Ash, she still wasn’t fully ready to accept that they’d been thrown into a world of games. At least the pirate had been straight with the directions. That had earned him an ounce of trust. Apparently newcomers were rare enough that the villagers knew what she wanted before the words were out. They all pointed her toward a shanty nearby.

By the time Kelly was knocking on the shack’s door, her boots were off and she was using them to pound out her arrival. “You’d better be rolling deep in rum,” she called out, hoping he was around to hear her. “Or you’re officially a failure as a pirate.”

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piracy
2018-05-22 01:22 pm UTC (link)

He'd gained a reputation on this beach already, hadn't he? Well, that was no surprise - being the dashing rapscallion that he was. The days thus far, since arriving, were filled with exploration - he had a desk now, one he'd put together himself, and sketched his maps by candlelight. The plank holding those candles was driftwood, and he'd gathered a collection of that too - he liked the ridges and the grooves that swirled and curved with the shape of the pieces, the wood flowing almost like water itself. Years adrift in the salty brine had changed the color - he loved the sea so much he longed for the gifts he found along the beach, wood and shells and stones, to tell him their own tales of storms and waves.

A large hammock was Killian's bed, it hung from the ceiling - planks beneath for the base, and pillows and blankets for comfort, though it wasn't like he spent much time sleeping. The chess pieces that were reminders of Alice - the white knight and the black rook - remained perched on the windowsill. He was at his desk when he heard the, erm, polite knocking - and he could only chuckle as he went to answer.

"Look who it is," his accent curled around the words, as he opened the door and showed his guest inside. "Kelly, I presume? I'll just go ahead and pour you a keg, then." He had rum, aye - there was a bar in the sitting room, stocked with plenty of drinks he'd traded for fruit he found along the beach or killed those giant crabs for, or whatever else. The local wildlife wasn't particularly friendly, but tasty. And extermination curried favor with the residents so it was a nice system for now.

He motioned with his good hand toward the seating, "Make yourself at home." Where his left hand ought to be there was a gleaming hook - his gloved prosthetic had arrived with him too, but he didn't wear it much now. It wasn't as useful as a weapon.

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