My laptop is back from the shop- Charlie is in the forest!
Anyone free to play? She's by the ruin, with an elk mask and nekkid, if anyone could spare her pelts that'd be great.

After the rage, the indignance, the fear died out, Charlie was left with barefaced melancholy. The crew had never seen her thus. Her heart had not only been broken apart- it had smashed asunder. Some of the more bitter men agreed that this too would pass, and the wench that had been stolen aboard would be gone within a day. Stevens knew better though, and he was almost as pale as she was.
There were a few normal tells, that were missing, you see, that would mark this as a large, but petty spat. For one, Charlie usually paced and muttered, or did something physical to burn off the fire in her heart like tow the sails or jump to the capstan. Instead she manned the helm with a death grip from the moment they left port, only taking a short break to deal with the girl below deck and to sleep, quite alone, in her cabin. Second, she had for the first time in perhaps eight years of captaincy, Charlie had barked an actual order. Crew members were told to mind their own business, to cease chatting whilst working, to put their backs into the ropes. There was no singing to help aid the work. Her usual protocol when upset was to turn to her crew for advice, for solace, for an ear to belly ache to. She was the whiniest, most amusingly exuberant sailor they had ever encountered. Yet there was only a cold, dark tone to her very words. Surname basis, formal language as far as she could manage, and absolute silence besides. Even the wench came up upon the deck to try and comfort her- even she looked surprised to find she was shrugged off and turned away. For Charlie, there was only the helm, and the sheets of rain that she manned it through.
Rumours were wild.
General blame rested upon Bones’ shoulders- for surely, she must have done or said something to break Charlie so. Surely only the Scarlet Coat could have done this- perhaps she had turned upon them. Perhaps Charlie had killed her.

Anyone Bored?
If so, I've added a new board for the time being- The Endless Doodling.

I'll invite if you ask here.

Curse you, netbooooook!!! *shakes fist at her little acer.*

Okay so I'm lagging like crazy, yo, I don't really expect to be all that quick. But if anyone fancies putting Charlie's set back on her while I try to get this thing a little less la-...a-....a-...ag-....gh-....gy-...y, then be my guest =3

((Lyrics (c) The Greatful Dead. Look 'em up kiddies))

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

((Mostly for the attention of Celticmystress- it's just a bit of a play around with her time-defying Lady Bones thing. Warning for swearing, mentions of sex and sexuality, nothing graphic- only posting it here because I'm having issues emailing it to her privately.

You really don't have to read it, if you don't want. Really...

...


You're still reading. You sure you wanna do this?

...

Alright. Your funeral...))

Charlie yelped as sound flooded her ears unbidden once more. Passers by glanced at her strangely as she stood, fumbling with the small device in her hands. The wind coming off the Hudson and coiling through the long boulevards of the city was crisp and chilly, and while others winced at the whip across their faces, Charlie remained unfussed as she dragged her index finger clumsily across the touch screen to furiously turn the volume down as she had been taught this morning. At least the noise assaulting her eardrums was pleasant, and comforting- The Irish Rovers, Bones had called it. It was all she could do to not burst into song along with the illusion of music, but at least she could step in time as she strolled around.
The culture shock was starting to wear off- replaced by unabashed, naked awe. She was just another tourist stumbling through the Giant Apple or whatever they called it. New York.
“Definately betteh than th’ owld one.” Charlie mumbled to herself.
As she turned to look up at the tall buildings surrounding her, she bumped sideways into a haughty woman coated in what the lost sailor would one day come to know as Gucci. There was no excuse- the cougar was dressed in every manifestation the brand came in. Despite her stylish attire, her voice raked at her above the loud chorus of Sloop John B.
“Ey-ey! I’m walkin’ ‘ere!

First day wi' the new hooves, an' who do I happen to find?

Her.

Lady Bones. Also known as Cap'n Scarlette Coat, back in the day. Not that you lot would know that.

She were the lass what sent me to my grave- to this hell. Don't much care what she calls it-
Any place where she hates my guts like she does- that's hell.

Life were hell between the day I left her an' the day I died. For she hated me then.

She continues to scorn my very bleedin' existance. Says I make her sleepin' hours nightmarish.

Oh jolly wonderful.

An' these so called Gods've denied me my right to kill myself an' get it done wi'v. So she has to deal wi' me.

Maybe I'll go eat meself stupid wi' blueberries, I dunno. All I know is...

All I know is that death weren't this painful.

Day 29:
I'll... sing you a-a song... a good song o' the sea...
I must be by the water. I can't leave it. The sound. The sound.
The sound. Water. But I don't thirst it. I thirst sticky, sweet flavours. And pungent flowers and musks.
The images. I think I know them. I hear and see and smell them like my own. They are my own. Surely-
I can't be wrong.
I know that life. I've lived it.
Felt it. Breathed it.
Breathed her.
Him. Them. All of them.
Mother Father Brothers Sisters Uncles Aunties Grandfathers Grandmothers Friends Crew LOVER.
SON.
I know you! I know you all! I remember- I remember!!
Oh.

Hrm. I... Don't sound myself. Maybe...

Maybe I ought to take a drink.

...

Day 30:

My name is Charlotte Jane Skinner.
Please, call me Charlie.
I died, aged 28.
I was slain by the law.
I was sentenced to hang from the neck until dead.
I died in the gallows in London.
I was a Captain. I sailed from East to West.
My ship was called The Merry Rose.
I was born on that ship.
My Father was her Captain, before me.
My Father's name was Charles Edward Skinner.
My Mother's name was Mary Rose Cooper.
I had three brothers, and three sisters.
I loved to sing.
I played the fiddle.
I enjoyed smoking and drinking.
And I was a womanizer.
I fell in love with a whore when I was young.
She left me to marry a lord.
And she left me the son she didn't intend to bear.
And I raised him as my own.
I named him Jeremy.
I was given the map to a treasure trove by the son of a historian.
I followed the map with the help of another.
A woman.
Her name was- I shouldn't say.
All I should say, is that I loved her.
Loved her. Until the last.
And then I betrayed her.
I left her behind when we became close.
Because I was afraid of loosing her.
So I lost her.
And I found a whore and stole her away.
The whore told me she had fallen for me.

Day 22:
The gods... I like how they walk amongst us, sometimes. You can always see what they're up to.
But I wonder... where do they go when they're not here? Are there other forests to tend? Other places to manage?
Infact... what is beyond the forest? Is this all there is?

Day 23:
I was looking in the pond, today. I know some deer have died there.
But, where do we go when we die? What happens to our bodies- to our minds? Do we become ghosts, or go to another place?
...Do we even have to die at all? If I can mature so quickly, when will I grow old? Some deer grow old... but some don't seem to change at all.

Day 24:
The things I dream at night, they don't belong to me, do they? The images I see in my head- I've never known these objects, these places, these feelings before. The creatures...
Should I be worried? Am I mad? Who is this person- this voice I speak with, the voice that I know...

Day 25:
I dreamt of her again. A female.. something. I feel her strange claws reach out to touch me- but the touch is soft. Like a warm embrace from another deer.
So... very warm...

Day 26:
My pelt is sticking. I love the orange colour it's coming out in. I have new tines on my short antler growths. I'm glad that I've made it this far. But now, I look back at the smaller fawns and wish I could play so freely again. Too much play and some stags look down on me.
I still don't seem to understand what gender I am. I have antlers but nothing in the way of a ... staghood.

Day 27:
A tree fell in the forest, today. No one else was around to hear it. It made the most sickening-
crack.
My belly contracted and turned into knots. And I smelt blood somewhere in the depths of my mind. Tasted it. Stronger and stronger until I had to run for the pond to wash it out.
This has happened before... I have heard this noise- this pain in my head. The pressure in my neck. I have felt this before!