#t.stützle|18

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dawson nods at this, wincing as he's hit with a sudden headache, the Voices eagerly chatting amongst themselves on this new development. As far as he's concerned, they can do whatever they want right now. Might as well use him like a vessel. Not much else he's good for, anyways.

He lifts himself onto the stool two spots to the left of Giroux, Dougie taking the seat between them. On Giroux's right, Jimmy keeps complaining at Brady, who continues teasing him. Arber plays the other bookend, one eye trained on the duo to his left.

"New captain, huh?" Dougie leans on the counter, looking at Brady, who grins.

"You know it!" he yells back, pumping a fist. There are a few faint scars wrapping around his hand - they look oddly as if someone sunk their teeth into him, multiple times. Huh. That's new. "Sensibility's gonna be the terror of the seas now!"

Quinn excuses himself to head over to the other side of the tavern, serving another round of drinks. Jimmy looks up at Brady with a fond sigh. "Alright," he agrees, clearly a little out of it.

Claude's brow furrows. "You good there, Tim?" Tim? Jimmy? Which one is it?

Tim nods again before dropping his head. "Just tired." Giroux smiles down at him, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

Dougie rocks back on his stool, now, to try to catch Arber's eye. "How's Santé doing?"

The gunner sucks a breath through his teeth, drumming his fingers on the rim of his glass. "She's going," he admits. "Hoping our luck turns soon. It's not Suzu's fault, just the seas have run dry." Arber shrugs, shaking his head to let his hair flow, the feather in his tricorne bouncing as he does.

"If you want to join a crew that'll get you a real profit - " Brady begins.

"Fuck off," Arber replies, flipping the captain his middle finger. Brady wheezes at that.

"How's the brother?" Dougie asks, now.

Brady purses his lips, then shrugs. "Haven't heard from him in a while. Last I heard, he was sailing on Longtail. You know Phoenix went down, right?"

"Got caught, right?" Dawson now chips in.

"Yep," the captain nods. "Hunter got her. Matty apparently spent three months as a stowaway to not get caught before escaping when they docked at Charleston."

"God damn," Arber whistles. "And the rest?"

Brady smirks. "When we got word of it, we were in New York City. So we decided we'd pay them a visit. Sensibility, Miss Maple, Santé - this might have been before you - we headed on south to crash their party." He rolls his shoulders, exposing his bare chest once more. "Charleston was pleased to meet us, I think. We couldn't save everyone - a couple pirates swang before we got there - but most of the crew was still alive. And we made Charleston pay for it. Hunter had fucked off by then, which was probably for the better, or we'd really have given them hell." Brady hums. "Matty took three pistols and a cutlass and stuck up the government building by himself. We cannoned down the jail and a good amount of the city, too, before moving in to rescue the Phoenix's crew. Had to get out that night, though, or we'd have been dead the next morning when army reinforcements came in."

Dougie raises his eyebrows at that. "God damn!" he echoes Arber. "What I wouldn't have given to be a part of that..."

"We'll let you know next time we go on a rescue mission," the captain laughs. "If you're in the area, you're totally invited to the party."

"Will there be good food and drink?" the pilot asks.

"The best money can't buy," Brady promises.

[devils-pirate-crew]

Before any of them can continue their conversation, they're interrupted by the three men sitting to their left. The one furthest left, a somewhat familiar ginger man with a frankly impressive beard, sighs at the one in the middle, who's just slumped down on the counter, clearly a little wasted already - and it's barely lunch time. Looks like these guys are starting early.

The third one, sitting next to Arber, laughs raucously. He looks simultaneously five years older and five years younger than he probably is, with a tuft of curly hair right on top of his head. Overall, he's just a strange specimen of a man. He apparently lost his dress shirt before coming here, his fancy black coat billowing open to reveal the plains of his tanned chest and stomach.

Not that Dawson's looking, mind you. But it's difficult not to when it's being put on display like that.

Curly Boy reaches over to ruffle Middle Boy's hair while Ginger Man returns to taking a long sip of his beer, pointedly pretending to ignore what's going on between the other two, even if his eyes keep flickering back over again. "Jimmy," Curly Boy whines out the second syllable. "There's no way you can be this far gone already!"

Ginger Man takes another deep breath. This seems oddly like a daycare he's been entrusted to run. "I thought Germans were good at holding their alcohol," he comments idly, tempering his demeanor carefully to convey a sense of nonchalance.

Middle Boy - Jimmy props his chin up on his forearms, a furious blush of intoxication painting his cheeks. "I am," he protests. "Brady's just being mean."

"Brady's always mean," Quinn now chimes in, strolling over to give Curly Boy - Brady a playful glare. "You get used to it."

Dougie leans back on his stool, whistling at Ginger Man. "Giroux!" he calls. "How's it?" Oh. That makes sense.

Claude raises his eyebrows, similarly leaning back to see Dougie clearly. "Hamilton!" He breaks out into a smile - whether it's at the recognition of a fellow reddish-haired pirate or the recognition of a fellow mostly-sane pirate is still up in the air. "It's going."

"New ship," Dougie replies. "She treating you well?"

Giroux nods. "They elected me quartermaster," he shoots back, raising his voice to be heard over the indiscriminate bickering of Jimmy, Brady, and Quinn. "Reeled in two big catches since Brady became captain, too. How's Jersey Devil?"

Arber smiles into his drink at all the chattering going on around them. Hamilton, eh? he shoots to Dawson. Interesting.

Dawson looks down to the bandages on his left hand, fiddling with them. He knows what Arber's getting at here. He took the name when he learned to read, is what he told me. His dial has that name too. I think that's where he got it from.

Dougie stands, long legs stretching out, and paces to behind Claude, hooking his chin on Claude's shoulder - it's a move he's done many times to assorted crewmembers, especially Dawson, so the pilot's mate is used to it by now. Giroux doesn't flinch either, merely grinning back. "Same old," the pilot shrugs. "Have you met my kid yet?"

Claude takes a moment to think, then shakes his head no. "Still can't believe Nico trusted you with one."

"Dawson!" At Dougie's voice, the pilot's mate scurries off his stool, crossing to offer a hand to Giroux as a greeting. The elder pirate takes it, shaking. "This is Dawson Mercer," Dougie introduces. "He's been with us for a couple years now. A little shy, though," he chuckles. Dawson can feel Claude's gaze on the bandages, the silent question and concern in the air, but he can't find a good way to dismiss it. Instead, his eyes go back to Quinn, who's left the other two alone and is now working on wiping down the counter. The better a tip you give me, the more I can remember.