01st Landing / Video

[landfall]

[ Here, island, have Racetrack, aka Margaret Edmondson, navigator on the Redeemer, poring over her maps. Her maps, the ones she's embellished on from the Navy standard ones.

(She's known as more-or-less reliable. She's better in a crisis than in a long, boring voyage. Good drinking buddy. Plays a mean hand of cards.) ]

So, I've been looking over my maps, and... [ She glances up to the device and realizes, to her horror, that it is broadcasting in the clear. ]

Frak.

[ Private to the Redeemer crew, sob ]

I've been looking over my maps. And as far as I can tell... this island doesn't exist. Either that or I'm so far off in my calculations that we're hundreds of miles from where we should be.

[ And she glares at the camera, daring someone to suggest this is the more plausible option. ]

...I'll keep working on it.

[ open spam ]

[ She probably grabbed you from your duties. Or ran into you in the forest, and decided to drag you along because she sure doesn't want to climb trees and pick fruit. Or maybe it's a scouting party to check out the state of that pirate ship across the way. Or she just wandered a little ways off from the ship and got totally lost, as excellent navigators tend to do.

Either way, she's not very stealthy. Especially when cursing a blue streak at a plant that's entangled itself with her limbs, clothes and/or holsters. ]

Comments

spammich?

[landfall]

[ Her hands shake a little as she reloads the pistols, painstakingly, making sure to breathe and take her time and not spill gunpowder all over everything. She has them both when she's starting to move, and she slithers down the tree, trying not to disturb any leaves too much.

When she's on the ground, she pauses, trying to catch her breath. ]

Who's desperate now, pirate?

[ C'mon, give away where you are. ]

spam panini >.>

[deshabille]

[Nope, nothing doing. Not a chance, not anymore. She breathes through her nose, circles around, dagger held loosely in her hand. She's quiet as a cat.]

spamtown

[landfall]

[ Aren't pirates supposed to respond to taunting? Frak. Yeah, Racetrack needs to skedaddle. Time to get out of here as quickly and efficiently as possible. ]

all the spams down in spamville

[deshabille]

[By the time she sees Racetrack, she's probably too far away to catch up with. Mal sighs quietly, leaning against a tree, then straightens up and narrows her eyes, hefts the knife again.]

[And throws it, quick and accurate - not to kill, not even to graze, but close enough to her that it'll lodge in a trunk feet from her and (hopefully) make her jump.]

[Then she ducks behind her tree and sinks to the ground, finishing tying her bandage. Her laughter rings through the trees.]