SECOND ANNUAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! (Open RP)

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley awoke, not in his comfortable bed inside Club 33, but disoriented and hung over on a bench in front of the castle, an empty bottle of rum still clutched in one hand, mouth fuzzy, and head pounding.

"Ngk."

He brought up the other hand to guard his bleary, uncovered eyes from the glaring sun. It took him a moment to realize that there was a great deal more frilly sleeve around his wrist than there should be. After a perfectly still moment, Crowley ever so cautiously moved his hand down slightly to discover a mustache and double braided beard.

"Bugger."

It wasn't what he meant to say.

Comments

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Treacherous hornswogglers, internal narratives. Her hand found the snaps and undid them.

"Well then, love. Blow me down with yer specificity."

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

Kissing... was like riding a bike?

Well, a speeder would be more accurate in his case.

Analogies aside, he didn't seem to have any trouble remembering how to do it when faced with an order like that. He was vaguely aware that the light in the room was hurting his eyes and that being this exposed was definitely a problem and that he had actually muttered 'yo ho' before moving in, but all semi-logical thought was being held back by some invisible override circuit in his brain.

Cat. Mouse. Dead.

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

It had definitely been a while - a year? About that, yeah - for her too, but it did all come back to you, didn't it? She might have made a joke about whether that was a belaying pin in his trousers but fortunately all she managed was "Mmmp!" before her mouth was busy doing other things.

Her hands, too.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

Belaying pin. Poison dart. Vibroblade. Comlink. The possibilities were endless with him.

So was the armor. There was a lot of it, and she probably needed help with - why would he be thinking that? This had to stop, stop right now, and so he mustered up every fiber of will he had, and managed to wrench himself from her lips just enough to utter the words: "Impatient, ain't ye?" Right, that had not worked at all like he had planned.

His hands were beginning to itch something terrible.

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Speaking of his hands, what exactly had happened to that cookie he'd been holding? Sunshine had a feeling it was currently being smeared all over her lower back of her t-shirt, and while it certainly wasn't the first time she'd engaged in this kind of activity with frosting all over her, it...that really wasn't a thought conducive to stopping this now was it?

The armor was definitely a bit of a challenge, though. And, if she'd been in her right mind, fairly uncomfortable to be smooshed up against.

She bit his lower lip and then whispered, "Be that a complaint?"

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

The cookie was currently all over her shirt and all over his righthand glove, in fact. So clearly both items had to go.

But not while she had his lip fastened between her teeth. A unfamiliar sort of shudder ran a marathon up and down his spine, and maybe he did remember the sensation after all, but it was distant and vague and terrifying. Yeah, bit more than a year for him. Try over a decade. "Ye should know better than t'accuse me of such treachery."

He tugged up the hem of her t-shirt, cueing her to lift up her arms. That had to go, then he could help her with the armor and lost it, finally lost my mind here, only a matter of time-

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Yep, there went her shirt and okay, the armor was definitely uncomfortable against bare skin and that really should've been some kind of cue to slow down and think but to be honest Sunshine didn't always show the best judgment in these situations and how the hell did these buckle things work? Were there zippers involved? If she didn't get to touch something that wasn't metal plating or heavy fabricky stuff she was going to go insane. More insane.

"If it troubles ye, ye might try persuadin' me." And licked a stripe along the underside of his jaw.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

Buckles first, zippers later (for the jumpsuit, naturally), but right now, the utility belt and the jetpack really had to be the most important, since nothing would slip off properly with them still in place. Once he'd worked those off he guided her hands and taught her how to handle the buckles by touch. Get the armor off and she wouldn't be cold from it; metal chilled but he always ranged a few degrees warmer than normal (part of being cloned, everything ran a bit hotter, always at maximum, odd side-effect). Wrist gauntlets had to be unfastened before he could work his gloves off, which proved to be a chore in itself, but once he had managed it -

Hands on skin and now he knew he was cracked because that was it, the one thing he never ever allowed himself, it was too telling for him, too- "Persuadin'? An' what places would be needin' persuasion, I wonder?" He started with an ear to test.

((I must away to bed. But I will be back early...ish tomorrow. XD))

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Hands on skin was a fine, fine thing - after all that unfastening it was like the touch of your feet against a soft carpet, getting out of bed after sleeping too long. Pure sensation, and almost overwhelming - and that not-quite-normal heat under her sliding palms sent a weird shiver through her timbers, one part anxiety but five parts excitement.

She smiled wickedly (though he might not have noticed, being busy with her ear) and wriggled in appreciation. "A question worth further parley, love. Be thar a bunk in these quarters?"

Because if they were doing this - and yes, they definitely seemed to be doing this, holy gods and angels - she'd rather it not be on top of a pile of plate armor. And the last time she'd been thrown up against a wall, body memory was telling her, it had not led to a sexy fun time.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

He didn't feel touch in quite the same way other people did; he'd asked microsurgeons to remove a lot of pain and even a few pleasure receptors from his body long ago, telling himself that it was a safe and wise move to allow himself endurance. He hadn't accounted for certain things in that equation, he now realized - just because the touch itself wasn't sending the same signals didn't mean that when you saw it your brain didn't kick into chemical overdrive, causing the same damn problems it always caused. Like that slight feeling of lightheadedness or that urgency and instinctual possessiveness, and he had always said that humans were designed poorly, too much animal getting in the way of sound thought.

But this wasn't them, his logical brain said sagely. This was the damn park, and he had a mind to burn it down and use the remains as wood chips for a Coruscant playground, violent as he was feeling toward it. And he would if only she could stop touching and squirming like that and....

The question prompted something that might have actually been a laugh as he backed her up slowly toward the far end of them room where he normally slept. Not that any of the makeshift beds here were exactly fit for palaces, but she would probably appreciate some sort of padding if she were what? If she were what? Are you insane? "Yer luck seems ter be holdin', me beauty." Boots, had to get rid of the boots.

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Now, see, if he'd taken this moment to actually explain that whole surgery thing, that might have weirded her out enough to slow her down or stop this. (Though gods only knew how he could've explained it in pirate-speak, even if he'd wanted to share.)

As it was she was mostly musing about how the battle of man vs. clothes at these times seemed to be a constant throughout the multiverse. And maybe enjoying just a little bit being steered backwards like that. Her arms slid up over and around his shoulders.

Some remotely sane part of her consciousness cut in here and vetoed the motion of jumping and wrapping her legs around his waist, a move which in her experience stood about an 80% chance of inspiring a lot of swearing after you knocked the guy on his ass. She was nonetheless unable to help rising to her tiptoes and redoubling her efforts with the kissing.

"Is that what's holdin' me..."

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

Yes, 'microsurgery' definitely did not translate so well into Pirate. And considering the fact that he had plenty of other matters to be self-conscious about (acid scars and blaster burns, it was like a map of his life done with chisels and watered-down paints) he was content not to attempt it.

Jumping up would have, in fact, been an unwise move: Fett had actually had bad knees since his late teens. It was one of those things that he was very good at keeping to himself, so much that he rarely even thought of it. All the same, sudden weight probably would have set the mood (what mood?) off.

Boots down, shinguards off, and now it was the simple things, which would have been relieving were it not for that track repeating at the back of his mind do something, do anything, you must be able to beat it, nothing can make you-

It seemed automatic; she rose up on tiptoes, so he should help. He lifted her an inch or two off the floor, not as though that was difficult (how can she possibly cook that much and be so small?), and let her kiss him even though he knew that every moment that continued was one where all the protests seemed to get softer and softer. "Not all that's holdin' ye," he growled. Actually growled, what the hell was wrong with his vocal chords?

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Considering that the last person she'd had a massively ill-advised makeout session with had had skin the color of withered mushrooms and a laugh that nearly unhinged her spine with fear...scars, even a lot of scars, were something she could deal with. Maybe even find interesting in texture as she touched them. They were probably piratical, or something, anyway.

Sunshine was skinny because, in addition to the sheer nervous energy she ran on, lifting muffin tins and full pots of soup and kneading dough hour after hour burned a lot of calories. It also made her surprisingly strong for her size, which helped with the limpet-like clinging. She made a little yelp as he picked her up, but it wasn't a yelp of protest, and it was definitely nice to find the stuff she was helping him divest himself of getting simpler.

"Aye, I did be noticin' that." Honestly, she could have lived with the tone of her own voice, but where was this dialogue coming from? She liked trashy novels, but it was more the 'nameless eldrich horror stalks spunky heroine' kind of trashy, not...this. Finding out you had unplumbed pirate wench depths was seriously disconcerting.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

She had to be as crazy as he was, he thought when he noticed her fingers running over patches of scarring. That was the only thing to explain it in his mind. Had he thought over what he knew of her history that might have had him thinking harder on it, but concentration was not his forte at the moment.

When he finally took the time to realize how much clothing had been done away with, his brain stalled out long enough for him gasp once, but it wasn't as though that sounded like any great protest. Setting her down again, he felt his fingers move to the waist of her pants even as he was telling them not to. "Tryin' ter make a man thristy, ye are," he murmured, bypassing her lips for her neck. Fett had no experience with trashy novels, not many works of fiction in general. It made the dialogue even harder for him to comprehend.

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Honestly, at this point what remained of Sunshine's rationality had pretty much given up and said right, let's see if we can get through this without major bodily injury. As a teenager she'd gone out with a punk rocker named 'Raoul': that pretty much said it all as far as her latent non-prudishness.

She helped him undo the fly of her jeans and wriggled till they fell around her ankles. "I do be likin' to satisfy a man's hungers and thirsts, aye."

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

...That would probably tinge his view of her cooking forever. "Good ter know ye be in such a charitable mood," was the response he gave though, and so the thought was pushed away for the moment. "'eart of a saint ye got."

For a man who did not flinch in the face of brutal violence, prudishness was actually something he had in spades. Perhaps it was the fact that there had been only two women present in his life until he was twelve, and they had both been aliens. Or the fact that his father hadn't really had the time to go over the how 'How To Talk To Girls' speech. Perhaps it was his distaste toward using people's bodies after spending too much time around crime lords like the Hutts.

Regardless of that fact, his hands seemed to have an entirely different opinion on the matter, and once her jeans were down his hand was trailing from the inside of her knee, up and up....

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

His view, nothing: that would be scarring her for life. Definitely the most horrifying thing she'd found herself saying so far, since all the rest, absurd and humiliating as it was, hadn't really had much to do with her. "Ye've got a rare notion of sainthood, t' be sure, me lad."

Wherever his hands were getting their opinions from her nerve endings were in thorough agreement, and the attention her neck was receiving was also doing interesting things to the mass of short circuits that was currently her brain. (Actually, having a bit of an oversensitive neck was worrisome for more than one reason, here, but she was trying not to think about that.) She tried to step her way out of her jeans but, because somehow she'd failed in all this excitement to remember to shuck off her shoes, only managed to throw herself off-balance and fall backwards.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

As long as he didn't make any comments about locking her up in holding cages, he would be fine. Or binding her hands. Or handling weaponry. All right, the amount of innuendo that could be garnered from his occupation was beginning to worry him now. "All's the better fer ye then, I think."

Fortunately for her neck and her mind, he wasn't one for biting; ravaging teeth put him uncomfortably in mind of both Sarlaacs and Trandoshans, a decidedly unattractive combination to conjure at a time like this. His hand had been thoroughly enjoying its explorations of so much skin he could hardly recall what to do with it when she shifted and tripped, and he got tangled, and the world slanted-

Well, that was one way to lie back.

One hand was trapped under Sunshine's back (rather painfully so), so he could only hoist up on his opposite elbow to get a look at the damage. "Are ye hurt, love?"

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Oh, the amount of innuendo that could be found about anything was always frightening. That was probably the First Law of Innuendo. Just the number of dough-rising metaphors was disturbing.

She'd fallen at a somewhat awkward angle for her legs, which were bent a bit painfully and still hobbled together at the ankle, and his weight on top of her all at once had knocked her wind out a bit, but - "I think I'll live ter sail th' seas again," she said, kissed him, and arched her back a bit to let him move his trapped hand.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

And there was that laugh again from somewhere in the pit of his stomach when she kissed him, so apparently some part of his brain found this whole farce amusing. But the arch of her back brought that up short when his body seemed to become overaware of the differences in female anatomy currently pressed against him. He removed his hand, rotating his wrist until it cracked loudly.

And then he did what he would normally do in a situation like this: he checked her over for damage from the fall. Which was a completely sound thing to do, or it would have been, had he not been using his lips to do half the inspection.

He was also fairly sure that he could not assess hip joint injuries with his tongue. But if there was even a possibility, he should be certain, of course.

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

She had no particular desire to fault his first-aid techniques just now, being a bit distracted with trying to take off her shoes and hopefully, eventually, solving this whole jeans-around-ankles dilemma.

Not wanting to dislodge him with too much wiggling - well, it seemed rude - she sat up a bit on her elbows and tried to toe off her sneakers. She seemed to be grinning a lot. She didn't seem to be able to help it.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

Well, he could multi-task. It was a sort of requirement in his line of work. Nearly amused at the fact that he seemed to be slightly more organized in the order of clothing removal (wasn't that supposed to be the other way around?), he used fingertips to urge her to bend her knees so he could help with the footwear.

Distraction was not normally a problem for him, but he caught that grin out of the corner of his eye, and it prompted him to raise his head. "An' what could be runnin' through yer head to make ye smile so like Fortune spinnin' her wheel?" And yet another something that made no sense in his frame of reference.

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

Oh, you always did the tricky or time consuming prep work first: sifting the flour before starting with the mixing. Her clothes weren't complicated: just sneakers, jeans and panties, counting from the feet up. She bent her knees obligingly to allow for the unshoeing.

"Arr, I be on that wheel as surely as ye be," (the reference did in fact make sense to her, if of a somewhat abstruse kind) "and if I be smilin' 'tis only the spinnin' makin' me dizzy." She sat up a little bit more so she could kiss him again.

[lasting-justice.livejournal.com]

Having both lips and hands occupied almost put him at ease; there was efficiency to it, and each step at the moment was an obvious one. One shoe tossed aside, then the next, then untangle her ankles and get jeans out of the way. He glanced down and narrowed his eyes on bare feet; not much left to the imagination at this point, and that was truly jarring for him.

"Me lass is freed t'would seem," he murmured against the corner of her mouth. He had a suspicion that she had been eating her fair share of those cookies today, tasting a trace of something sweet at the edge of her mouth.

[grumpy-sunshine.livejournal.com]

"Freedom be a fine thing indeed," she agreed, that corner of her mouth turning up. (She always ate her own sweets. That was part of the job, and a big part of why she liked the job.)

Now that her legs were free, she thought she should make an demonstration of exactly why that was a desirable state of affairs. She decided the best way to do this was to move them up around his back.

((How would you feel about going to a fade-to-black, here? My pr0n bizarre-o-meter is encouraging my tendency to procrastinate, I think...))