Welcome to Gaia! ::

"So they chucked you overboard," Owle finished for him. "Well, I'm glad you made it here..." She deposited the coins she had taken for the ale back beside him. "Drink's on the house, seems like you need it."

For a moment it seemed like she wasn't going to answer his question. Then she took a deep breath, and let it back out again. "I'm fine. Just...brought back memories, is all. Man named Morgan Flare..." She shook her head. "But, you wouldn't know him. He's probably dead by now, and if he's not I hope to God he will be soon."

This was a highly unusual thing for Owle to say, not that anyone aside from Rage and Watts would know. She was a peaceful girl, one who thought even the worst of demons deserved life...for her to say that about someone...

"I don't intend to get revenge..." Owle answered, a little chastised that he'd think that of her. "It's not worth risking my life or happiness to make sure he doesn't have either. But if I see him, I will kill him before he kills me. That's the way it is."

This decision didn't rest easy on her, but she had to. It was her fault Morgan was still alive, her fault he was still a threat to every nonhuman out there...

...and if she didn't stop him, he would kill her on sight. She was sure of it. "You did the right thing. Being alive's better than being dead, after all, and if you don't have to kill something you ought not to kill it." She smiled slightly, trying to get away from the heavy conversation they'd somehow fallen into. "And you're welcome."

((I'm just going to give it a little while to let other people react to Owle saying she's going to kill someone. Don't want to let something like that slide by without giving the others a chance to respond.))

Paul sips his drink reflectively. This Owle didn't seem the violent type...and Rage was, well, raging most of the time, but that look...Paul had seen it before, and had given it himself on a few occasions.

Paul: Note to self: look up Morgan Flare in our database...if he's a pirate, there's gonna be consequences.

Paul clears his throat and taps his chest with his free hand, trying to keep from choking on what ale was left in his throat.

Paul: "I'll hold off a bit on lunch if anyone wants to hear my story...or at least, what I saw of the story I got involved in. If not, then I'll be joining you."

((It's Paul's train of thought. He's...well, you'll see...))

Paul: "The food can wait, it's been a while since I've told a story."

He sets down his ale on the bartop, then removes the ornate guitar case from his back and sets it on his lap. He flips all the latches and lifts the lid to reveal his beat-up and dingy guitar. He picks it up almost lovingly with his left hand while his right fishes a polished and finished wooden pick from a pocket within the case. Once he has these, he pushes the pick between the strings of his guitar and moves the case to the floor. Prying the pick from between the strings with a grin, he strums an open chord without bothering to tune. The sound that ripples forth is awe-inspiring in its perfection of pitch and tone.

Paul: "It all began when I joined the crew..."

He plays a simple set of notes, repeating them as his story unfolds.

Paul: "When I was younger, I didn't have much to do with my life. Spent it as most youngsters do...at least I think."

He grins and slides his finger down the string on one of his notes, making the guitar sound as though it was asking a question. He then resumes the note set.

Paul: "Not long after my birthday, pirates came to town...not on raiding business, mind you, but on post-raiding business. Spending loot and all that. It was then and there that I decided that I wanted to be a pirate."

He smiles, and the music seems to drift off with him on his reminiscence of his naivete...then he returns to his story.

Paul: "So I went to the most important looking pirate in the pub and asked him if I could be a pirate. He looked me up and down, and stared me right in the eyes. He said to me, 'Are you willing to leave everything you know behind?' I was a bit nervous, because all the other pirates were paying attention now...they were professionals at looking like they were doing something else, but I knew they were paying attention."

He plays a pair of notes that sound almost mocking before he continues.

Paul: "I said 'Yes.' He grinned at me and said, 'Go tell your parents goodbye before you go. They'll miss you.' I ran off and told my parents I was going to be a pirate and I wanted to say goodbye. You can imagine their reaction..."

He pauses a moment, then moves on.

Paul: "...until they asked me where I got such a notion. I described the man who told me I could be a pirate, and suddenly their faces became all white. I got scared then. My mother told me that that man was Atomsk the Pirate Lord, commander of all pirates and buccaneers in space."

He switches into a minor key as he continues.

Paul: "They said that they didn't want me to go, but they didn't know how he'd react if I said no after saying yes. So it was with a tearful goodbye that I left my parents..."

The notes become almost mournful...and then he shifts back into a major key and begins the notes again, but this time with more vigor and speed.

Paul: "...and started my true life. I was signed on to the Pirate Lord's personal ship because, as he put it, 'I want to keep this young'un under my eye so if he puts a toe out of line, I can realign it myself.' I began as the cabin boy, learning all I could from the crew..."

The notes become less simple; now more are added with more complex interweavings, and the rhythm becomes more flowing.

Paul: "...until eventually I became a captain in the fleet...'til one day I had my command removed from me by His Lordship...er, Atomsk. I thought I was in trouble...until he appointed me his first mate on his personal ship, since the original first mate had decided to retire."

He stops the guitar there.

Paul: "Not long after my appointment to first mate, Atomsk disappeared. I assumed it was some sort of test, and I assumed command of operations. Weeks went by with no communication, no sign of the Pirate Lord...and I got worried."

He begins playing a new tune on his guitar as the words of the story continue to come. This tune is based more on chords than individual notes and has a shifting rhythm which seems to have some pattern despite its apparent randomness.

Paul: "Eventually we received a trace signal from His Lordship, and I dashed head-long after it...and it emanated from here. Well, actually from somewhere over there..."

Paul gestures to the west with a vague sweep of his arm which also serves to play an extended chord.

Paul: "...but on Earth nonetheless. I started searching for Captain Atomsk, and found that he had possessed a robot and a boy...and that others were seeking his power. As his first mate, I was obligated to help him in whatever way I could. Eventually he managed to escape Earth, and I've been stranded here...well, almost voluntarily stranded here. This place seems to have grown on me."

He grins as he stops playing with one final chord. He puts the guitar and pick back into their case, which he closes, latches, and slings onto his back.

Paul: "I'm hungry. Who's up for eating?"

((Why does that story remind me of FLCL?))
Damian upon hearing they end of the song starts clapping, "Bravo boy! So you come from space too. I guess me and you all in similar buckets, although I escaped from conscription during a failed invasion of this planet by the Mattonians. I guess I am damn lucky that building fell on me about two hundred years ago."

((Because it is. *grin* Paul was part of a FLCL RP I was in that died, and he was such an interesting character that I decided to give him a new home instead of letting him fade into obscurity.))

Paul reunites with his mug and takes a pull from it to wet his throat before responding.

Paul: "I'd say you were lucky you didn't die by crushing...but that's me. I'd also say we dig in before the food gets cold!"

With that, Paul moves over to the table with the food and, after removing his guitar case and leaning it against the wall, plops down into the chair nearest to the wall. Then he gestures to indicate the plate of food at the table's center.

Paul: "Not eating this would be an insult to our host's culinary skills."