Sky Pirates: Slaves of the Mind

Kiarya

Kiarya was pretending to be asleep when the hand shook her shoulder. Opening one eye lazily, she grinned to see the fallen angel of the Nightshade's crew standing over her wearing a full sized teenage pout.

"Oi, come on Wolfy. Captain wants you in her Cabin," The cabin girl's black wings, folded at her back, twitched slightly. Although it had been years since they were burnt from white to black and she was cast down from the angel's sky fortress, the baby faced pyromaniac still stank of singed feathers and cloud vapour. At least she didn't smell like vampire.

"Alright Hanniya, I'll be there in three." Kiarya sat up, shaking sleep off as she leaped from the hammock.

The angel nodded and left the werewolf with a jaunty grin.

The cabin of Captain Amira 'Tom' Snapdragon was just a hall away from her own, so it wasn't like she needed to rush, but she wasted no time in getting there either way; Amira was not a person you wanted to keep waiting, even for a few seconds.

Kiarya hesitated before hefting open the heavy oak and steel door, preparing herself all the same; she knew that it wouldn't just be the human captain in there, but also the vampire.

Ophelia, the 200-and-something-ridiculous year old vampire was the quartermaster of the Nightshade, and not exactly Kiarya's favourite person and smelled something awful- it was necessary for the young werewolf to brace herself before walking into any room in which she was lest she vomit.

The multiple locks and bolts caking the side of heavy oaken door jangled quietly upon her entry to the cabin, and sure enough the vampire, the stink of vampire and the pirate Queen looked up to greet her.

All vampires stank; like overripe peaches coated in arsenic in a vat of bleach, it was disgusting- then again, werewolves also stunk to vampires, and Kiarya took pleasure in the discomfort on Ophelia's  face as her china-doll nose wrinkled.

"Ah, Kiarya, you're awake." Amira acknowledged. "Good. "We're just reviewing what we've got in the hold. How are we doing in Armaments, Gunney?"

"Not amazingly." She replied, taking a seat at the solidly carved wooden table strewn with maps, inventories, account books and a Burgundy leather spyglass, slinging her heavy boot-clad leg across her lap. The boots were ones she had made when she ran away from her home, and the stiff leather was stiff sea salt. Over the years, they had molded to her feet. "We've got enough gunpowder for one more battle, but not a big one. Any ships bigger than our own Nightshade though and we'll have to scarper."

"Right." Amira was now frowning, like a cat swishing her tail after watching cat run off with her mouse- that was not what she'd wanted to hear- but Kiarya was Gunney, and lying to your Captain and best friend was an evil she would refuse to commit, even to save her stress. "How about hand held weaponry?" Amira asked.

"We'd be alright if it comes to it I think, but most of the crew would soon have to resort to swords; we're low on bullets too."

"Okay." The young human Captain sighed, and with a sweeping movement cleared everything from the map imprinted on the table. The spyglass dropped into her lap like a thing trained, and the papers fluttered to the floor and formed small mountains on the side of the table. Amira pointed to a small dot on the map. "He is where we'll resupply next. We will make port there in about two days- it's small but I know a trader there who owes me a favour or two, so we should be able to get what we need there."

"Aye" Kiarya leaned back in the chair, frown loosing itself a bit from her brow as she adjusted her steel-stud peppered brown leather gloves, a mannerism that had become a reflex reaction.

She watched as Amira turned to the vampire, who thanks to the she-werewolf was now sitting delicately away from the table.

Amira blatantly ignored this, instead asking "How are we on the other supplies, Quartermaster?"