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Captain Flint Deep. Dim. Hot. These are three words one could use to describe this particular portion of the region known as the Deep Jungle. Fog hangs low on the ground here, meaning that the region's immense waterfall can't be far. There is a certain tension in the air, a tingling of the hairs at the back of the neck as one makes their way through the dense foliage. Anyone unfortunate enough to be this far from civilization will have That Feeling. That Feeling that however far away from civilization one may be, one is not wholly alone in this place.

     Leaves and twigs snap beneath booted feet. A squad of six men tromps through the jungle, each one wearing an identical uniform. Blue fatigues, with a triangular emblem on the sleeve of the shirt. Owing to the humidity the sleeves are rolled up. Each soldier carries an assault rifle, the six of them sharing the occasional tense look between one another before looking onwards to the horizon. These men are searching for something, and given their weapons, their intentions don't seem friendly.
Inga Freyjasdottir ....and Inga is just out for a stroll, having stumbled upon this place entirely by accident while quite possibly walking in a daze. Something has directed her to this place, and wether it is entirely coicidence or fate, Inga figures she may as well enjoy it if possible. Its incredible hot, so she has already taken off her warm winter clothes and is now trudging through the jungle in her shift, wishing she'd had the forthought to at least grab her horse. But she heard a waterfall nearby and she now very stubbornly wants to see it.

Inga leans heavily on her staff to help herself over the uneven ground, grumbling. She does not move easily. "...never be able to do this before the bees," she grumbles to herself, flopping down onto a nearby rock to rest.

Only to suddenly straighten as she senses people nearby--then immediately spots figures moving through the tree. Oh, and they have large guns.

Great.

Inga holds her staff in one hand and reaches to the knife at her belt with the other, poised and waiting...
Finna One person here doesn't have that feeling at all. One blackhaired individual dressed up in... well, very little. Minimalist leathers and cloth with plenty of breathing room. She's a young woman with just enough babyface to dazzle the eye, for all her skin's roughened by a tough life. She's dashing through the jungle with hardly a sound, somehow not even crunching fallen leaves and twigs enough to notice. Even the saber sheathed at her side doesn't noticeably rattle at these speeds. She moves like a jungle native, a part of these wilds. A hunter stalking prey...

    And for now, she's stalking behind the blue-wearing men, keeping a respectable distance...
Captain Flint The six men advance further, passing in one tense moment the tree behind which Inga hides in wait. The squad stops after said tree, after the leader raises his hand a moment. All six of them kneel, readying their weapons and sweeping the horizon for signs of movement. "Are you sure you saw her head this way?"

     "Yes si--" Movement from up ahead has all six of them snap their weapons towards the source. As it happens... the source of that sound is a bird of flight taking off. The tension remains for a few seconds, the silence of the jungle almost oppressive. Only the distant rush of the waterfall is heard.

     Just when the squad rises, there is a chorus of clicks heard from above Finna, Inga, and the squad of soldiers. The click of flintlock weaponry being readied. The squad looks up--all too late. No one ever looks up. The girl they were after isn't above them, but the crew of the Walrus certainly is. Behind the soldiers, a few more figures emerge from the foliage.

     One of them is Captain Flint. "Well done, Miss Clara," he announces to Finna.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga is wondering what she's stepped into, and if she should flee now. She leans her staff against a nearby tree and starts to reach for her agartha conduit, but pauses as she hears the clicking. What is that? While Inga is, ironically enough, now at least somewhat familiar with guns, the sounds of flintlock weaponry is alien to her. "What?" she mouths, then peers around the tree to see more men step out of the jungle to face the ones with the guns.

Inga blinks, and for the moment, observes, wondering if she should put on a concealing spell and get a closer look.
Finna With the men cornered, Clara drops out of hiding, just smoothly emerging from the foliage like a jaguar in its domain. Her own weapon now drawn although she's leaning against a tree...

    "Thaaaaank you! Our net nabbed quite a catch this time..." She's eying the uniformed men with a bit of a grin, but...

    The sound of other nearby footsteps, however faint, does have her looking around suddenly...
Captain Flint The other figures are Billy Bones, the bo'sun, and Gates, the quartermaster. It's at least a relief to see two friendly faces--but Flint didn't tell Clara that they'd be accompanying her. Does he not trust her? Perhaps--she's only been on the crew a short time. Perhaps it was a test? Flint certainly seems pleased.

     Billy and Gates pass the Lunar, and take the weapons from the soldiers, tossing them harmlessly on the ground and out of immediate reach. Meanwhile, the captain addresses the soldiers directly, taking their measure like a jeweler with a multifaceted gem. "Who among you do you call your leader?"

     At first, there is silence from the men, the six of them exchanging glances between each other. There seems to be a unity of purpose there, a refusal to offer up any information.

     Flint's convivial expression vanishes, replaced by a stony wall. He reaches for his pistol, and levels it at the head of one of the soldiers, pulling the hammer back. There is a spark of uncertainty in the eyes of the soldier, and that's all Flint needs.

     "I ask you again. Who do you name as your leader?"

     One of the soldiers steps forward, and this catches the captain's eye. "Very well. James Flint, captain of the Walrus. What are you called?"

     "Hughes."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga is being quiet. She is considering a spell that will let her move out of here without being noticed and thus not getting involved in something she knows nothing about.

But then a bird flies out of the tree she is behind, startling her, and she lets out a quick yelp.

So much for hiding. "Odin's bones," she sighs to herself, leaning on her staff to get back to her feet, ready to be shot or at least questioned. Perhaps she can find out what is happening. Might be usefull.
Finna Finna-Clara tilts her head at the yelp. That yelp, that yelp is familiar. But damn, why is that voice HERE of all places it could be? "Okay whoever's out there skinnydipping!" She calls out to the jungle, a voice Inga wouldn't recognize. "Come on out. With your pants on!"

    Finna will just have to see how this plays out. Worst case she can go chasing after this... voyeur... while Flint handles this.

    Because she takes good note of the men's reticence to cooperate. Pretty disciplined folk. Is she going to need to break out some charm?
Captain Flint Flint jerks his attention away for just a moment. In so doing, one of the soldiers tries to make a break for the pile of discarded rifles. Flint simply nods to the Lunar--his eyes convey 'handle that woman.' Pistol still drawn, he turns around and simply shoots the fleeing soldier, the shot nailing him in the lower back and sending him in a heap to the ground. With that done, he turns to face the rest of the squad.

     He levels a glare at Hughes, a simple thing which communicates that escape will not happen that easily. "Mr. Hughes, was it?" he asks calmly, as if he hadn't just shot a man in the back. He begins loading the pistol again, eyes on the leader of the squad. The black powder is inserted, packed, and a new shot put in with practiced ease. "Miss Clara informed me that you and your men were in posession of a sizable quantity of cargo."

     Hughes neither confirms nor denies that, but Flint continues. "That cargo is now mine."

     "You're making a mistake, Flint. Making some very powerful enemies. You sure you want to do this, with your flintlocks and your cutlasses?"

     Flint chuckles. "Powerful enemies. A compelling argument. Mr. Hughes, I consider the whole of civilized society to be my enemy. If your masters wish to frustrate my plans, they will have to wait their turn. Now, you and your men are going to help me and my men move my cargo to the shore, and if you do not inconvenience me, I give you my word you will leave unharmed. Have we an accord?"

     Hughes chuckles. "You don't give a guy a lot of choices."

     "I take that to mean your agreement to my terms." Flint nods, then calls out to Clara. "Miss Clara, what news of our friend?"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga steps out from behind the tree and begins to slowly approach. She doesn't imagine she cuts a very intimidating figure. A five foot tall woman with a limp and a small knife in her hand dressed in a muslin shift.

But Finna knows better.

"I just happened to be in the area. I have nothing to do with all--" she makes a sweeping gesture, "--this," she explains to 'Clara'. Inga then tilts her head slightly in Clara's direction, a thoughtful look on her face, followed by a slight widening of her eyes...then, finally, a look of understanding accompanied by a small nod at Finna.
Finna Something in the return look Clara gives Inga screams 'dont piss the pirates off, I got this.' Might be the wry smirk lass shows. "You picked a hell of a place to take a stroll, cripple. The jungle'll eat girls like you if you aren't careful..."

    It's already eaten one of these poor troopers, that's for sure. She casts a glance back at Flint full of confidence. Yeah, she's got it.
Captain Flint Flint nods, and there is a glint of approval in his eye, for only a moment. He then turns to address his crew. "Mr. Gates, escort these gentlemen back to their craft."

     "Aye, sir." Gates then gives a command to the rest of the crew. "Down from the trees, you lot, and handsomely! Let's have this prize before sundown!" That gets a cheer from the crew--all but Singleton, who looks decidedly bitter about the affair. For Clara, it's not hard to see why. Singleton's been talking about passing a vote to overthrow Flint. Now that the captain's just secured a haul from better-equipped enemies in unfamiliar territory, that might be harder to do.

     While Flint's men send the soldiers further inland, he approaches Finna and Inga. "What are you called by?" he asks Inga.
Inga Freyjasdottir Oh yes, she'll trust Finna on this. She'll behave, to a point. There's only so much she's willing to act, however, and she can't disguise the black look she gives when called a cripple. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Watch your tone, I am a wisewoman and I will not be disrespected," she informs her.

Inga blinks when a shot fires, wincing slightly. So loud. Then again, so is lightning. Lightning is probably worse, actually...but it won't come to that, she hopes.

From what she's overheard she has gathered at least in brief what is going on here. When Captain Flint approaches she nods her head to him. "Inga Freyjasdottir," she informs him. She holds herself with her chin up, her gaze steady.
Finna Finna can only spare a brief flash of apology in her gaze with the amount of time she has. On Clara's face it looks a bit odd though. "The healer? Haven't encountered you out and about before..." Apparently Clara's willing to reveal to the crew that yes, she is in fact from the Multiverse by now.

    Her brazen attitude dwindles a bit, more respect showing in her posture. "Thought I recognized your face..."
Captain Flint A few of the men take note of that--and there is less suspicion than Finna might expect. Pirates tend to respect people who are willing to fight with them.

     "A Norse wise woman? It seems I'm not the most antiquated one here, after all." He meets Inga's gaze, appraising her with eyes the color of the sea. "As you may have heard from our earlier parley, I am called Flint."

     He then looks to Clara. "May I presume you two are acquainted?"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga nods to Flint, raising an eyebrow. "Antiquated?" she asks, raising a brow. He is dressed about as strangely as anyone modern she's met--there's maybe more familiarity in the type of fabrics and construction techniques, which is noted. "Captain Flint. A pleasure to meet you, even under such circumstances. I was passing through--thought I would see the waterfall when I stumbled upon your ah..altercation. May I congratulate you on what I assume was a very profitable exchange?"

Inga then looks to Finna, then back to Flint. "Not that I am aware of--I am known in the multiverse, apparently."
Finna "Can't judge anything by appearances in these parts. Could run into a caveman who can juggle tigers. Pretty rare but..." Finna-Clara's voice drifts off, she's not going to be too sharp on that warning. Though it's for the whole crew.

    "News travels!" The lass answers casually, explaining that matter.
Captain Flint "We shall see," says Flint with a certain measured confidence. It's certainly a very smooth exchange, but it remains to be seen how easy the haul will be to move. After all, stolen goods are of no use if there are no buyers. He strokes his goatee. "But, thank you."

     He muses for a moment on Inga's usage of the word 'multiverse.' Is that what they call it, this world beyond the edges of the map? A world of multiple universes, where one is just as likely to encounter a sorcerer as a group of men with highly advanced technology. "For a healer to rise to fame in a place such as this multiverse must be no small thing. If you have designs on the waterfall, please go with my blessing. My men and I have no quarrel with you, gentle woman."

     "Besides," says Flint, as Singleton sulks past in the line of crew members. "Our interests would better be served insuring no harm comes to our guests during--or after--the exchange. Miss Clara, if you'd be so kind as to... assist Mr. Singleton." Of course, by that, he means 'make sure he doesn't break my word by killing the soldiers.'

     "Good day to you, and may Thor protect you." He then excuses himself, to join his men in securing the cargo.