Scarier Than Death
IC date: Summer 46, 1008
OOC date: August 5th, 2013
Location: Town Hall
PCs: Captain-Mwai Salty

The heavy, remarkably fire-resillient doors of the town hall creak open and Captain Mwai trots in at a gait he hasn't used since the time he tricked Death into guessing the bean was in the cup on the left. "Good evening!" he says jauntily. "Salty! I've been checking the ledgers from Canterlot and the Gala is gonna draw extra security this year!" He pauses, waiting for Salty to ask him what's so great about the Gala drawing extra security.

The sea-green unicorn mare, with her silver thin scars and a pair of reading glasses Mwai doesn't remember Salty ever even remotely possessing, looks up. Her eyes in fact look to him over the rim of said glasses, almost as if to emphasize their existence, though completely unintentionally. "Mmhmm?" she asks, with all the excitement and enthusiasm of a tranquilized llama.

(OOC) Salty dies XD

Mwai interprets this vague murmur as "my heavens! that can't possibly be important unless you have a brilliant, brilliant plan!" and continues. "Indeed. With Discord Incarnate on the guest list they will have called up pretty much every guard for a hundred miles. Including. The shipyard." By the time Mwai finishes this sentence he is practically perching at the edge of the table by Salty, grinning in a way that he learned from her.

That smile is met with a dead stare. Not an /un/dead stare, mind you, but the stare of a pony who has been in a boring, tedious, endless office job for thirty years with no hope of advancement. The stare of a pony whose dreams have been ground out of them by corporate demand. Or worse…


Salty then leans down and opens up the drawer in the desk traditionally meant to hold the 'this client is an unholy headache' booze, and withdraws something that is decidedly not a bottle. No, it's a stack of paperwork. She sets it on the desk and leans her cheek on one hoof as she begins to slowly inch her hoof down the page, as she scans line by line. "Mmhmm?" she continues, not even a little enthused.

For a moment, this does give Mwai pause. It is a deep pause, as though he'd caught sight of a cockatrice out of the corner of his eye. But it passes. Maybe she's just fooling with him. Or maybe she really has got tired and bored and normal. But if she has, Mwai has The Cure. "Now it so happens that six of the Royal Navy's most prized galleons will in fact be moored, right in plain sight, with maybe three of the saddest, most easily manipulated low-rank guardsponies in all of Equestria, patrolling in shifts." He's really not sure how much further he can dangle this particular bit of feathers knotted on a string in front of Salty but he remains certain, or at the very least desperately hopeful, that she'll HAVE to bite now…

Salty's hoof slowly works its way down the page as Mwai talks, following line by line, and when his voice stops, her hoof stops. She's still. Silent. And then: "Shoot. We overpaid for bricks this month."

(OOC) Salty dies!

Mwai stares, slackjawed at the page. "Ooer, you're not kidding, that's twelve bits per lot higher than—" he shakes his head. "Listen, Saltlick, I know you just been through the wringer six ways to no good end coming of it and the first death's always the hardes and all that but you are still the most twisted pirate genius east of the diamond bluffs of Angmore and are you honestly telling me that the prospect of snatching a boat, mind you one with a galley recently polished by the Royal Guard no less, doesn't grip the underside of your imagination like that thing that nearly ate Brown Apple Betty that one time?" as Mwai says all this he leans in closer, perched somewhere between disbelief and that special manic lust for crime only pirates get.

Salty nods a little when he points out the higher price. Gosh, yes, wow. Very high. Hm. Yes. But as he goes on, she finally looks up at him as though coming out of a haze…but not far enough for his likes. "Mwai," she says over those traitorous reading glasses, "you have to understand I have a job now. I have responsibility. I can't just go gallivanting off like an idiot. I have a brick problem to solve. A brick problem that will not go away if I don't complete these forms in triplicate, and /these/ forms in quadruplicate, in the next hour before the office closes."

Mwai stares a little. Something important snaps in the middle and he sags. He stares a little more. Gears turn in his head. The numbers painted on them all end up upside down somehow and on one cog they've gone backwards. "You'll be… needing to keep on this then."

Salty's gaze, her soul-sucked office-deadened gaze, sends a terrified shiver down Mwai's spine like no manic cackle ever did. "Mwai," she says seriously, gesturing to the papers in front of her with her hooves, "you must go. My people need me." She leans in slightly, her gaze turning pointed and serious as though she were sharing life's most important lesson. "The /bricklayers/ need me."

And with that, she turns away to hunch over the desk, and write.


Mwai fumbles around for words that don't amount to slurs against bricklayers, which he doesn't really have anything against given how often the Harbor needs them, and manages, "All right. Good night." And he drifts out of the hall, a little changed in a way dying hadn't yet managed.