terrible fools. [crimson]

[KIRIAN URIEL]

kirian uriel, dressed in her casual attire, was waiting impatiently outside of one of the sparse taverns in tequila wolf. her mood was sour, and it showed on her face. she looked entirely foreboding; sitting on a barrel with her arms folded under her chest, her katana leaning on the wall next to her within easy reach. her superior was inside somewhere, having a meeting with a few of the men in charge of the camps. kirian used the term 'meeting' lightly, because she knew better than most that he was inside drinking and having a jolly good time. they'd been issued with the task of seeing a shipload of new slaves to help with building the bridge. the rest of their squad got to stay behind on the ship after delivery, but kirian was issued the tiresome duty of watching over their superior. he was a notoriously troublesome man, and it pissed her off to no end. he was in a leadership position for crying out lead, yet here he was, shirking is responsibilities and having fun. he'd asked her to join him, but kirian had coldly turned him down in favour of staying outside.

it was a hot, sticky day. she'd already removed her jack. she was wearing a pair of pinstriped black pants, a white shirt with a red vest over the top, and a pair of healed boots. their superior liked a casual crew, as he'd told them. a casual crew with casual clothing to keep things discreet. why they needed to be discreet? well there wasn't any reason for it. he was simply ridiculous. biting her lip, kirian glowered a little fiercer. it was the middle of the day and the country was full of hustle and bustle, of slaves working on the bridge and tourists watching them. she wasn't fond of much, and neither was she easily astounded. most people were amazed by 700 year project, but the bridge didn't prove to be anything more to kirian than a waste of time and resources. and yet still, people came to admire the architecture and fill up the streets. she scoffed, brushing off some dirt from her sleeve. she just wanted to get going. she had a fleet to officially join, after all.

but no, she was stuck here until that god awful man decided to stumble out of the tavern. she cursed sharply, sitting up a little straighter. surely a little entertainment could come her way? she'd settled for talking right now. anything to keep her from marching her way inside and dragging the terrible fool back to the ship. as she was thinking about her options, kirian didn't notice the breeze that came through the street. it blew a sheet of paper containing names of particularly dangerous pirates that had been resting in her jacket packet off into the busy street.

[LOGAN GRIMMSCAR]

Each step carried the man onward down the large bridge, his eyes sharp and curious as he walked through the odd but rather organized chaos on the bridge itself. Down the sides and everywhere that could be spared lay a structure of some type for some use, the bridge was busy where he was, giving him a slight indication he might be near one of the more focused points of construction. People walked about the place doing their own thing, some looking lost and out of place while others hurried throughout like they could do it blindfolded and drunk. Something told him they probably had.

His eyes scanned everything he passed, taking notes of any and everything that he could, something he'd learned to do at a young age. Knowing where you are, and what's around you, or has been, can save you a big deal of trouble. He'd heard stories of the bridge he stood upon, and the great almighty architectural genius behind it all, the news was common in a variety of bars. He was passing through, planned to continue his journey on after he'd gotten past the area, but while he was there, why not take a look?

Looking quite sub-ordinary, Logan stood amidst one of the main paths, his hands in his pocket with a cigarette between his lips. Resting on his shoulders sat the all too familiar red hoodie, while below he wore the usual black longs, and finally just some boots. Not the fanciest outfit, or most practical, but he liked it and felt comfortable in it. He'd never found a shirt to be all that interesting, it covered his tattoo and never matched both pants and hoodie, so for now he didn't bother. On the back of his belt at his waist were two clipped holsters, in them sat his two flintlocks, crossed over with their butts pointing away from the hips. The weapons were loaded, but he had no plan on using them anytime soon.

He started to pick up his pace again when a slip of paper blew through the air and crashed against the ground, coming to a halt just before his feet. Not realizing what he'd just come across, or who it belong to, he instinctively crouched down and picked it up, flipping over the page to find the ink and have a quick read. His eyes widened significantly as he took in a few names, and the bounties that were listed on the paper. Gold. Unbelievably he'd managed to stumble upon a list like none he'd seen before, the targets were of high worth and there were more than enough of them. Still crouched, he took his eyes from the sheet and gave the area a quick scan, looking for the source of the paper. Sitting not far from himself he noticed a marine, the uniform looked off but it was still apparent. He concluded the paper belonged to her, so he crossed over before extending his hand with the page in it.

"I assume this belongs to you?"

He quizzed, the hood atop his head framing his face with red fabric separated by his long blonde hair which escaped the edges of his hood and blew in the wind. A big cloud of smoke was blown from his lips after he asked before he put the cigarette back.

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