Logs:The Pirate Bay

The Pirate Bay
cn: references to human trafficking
Dramatis Personae Nevaeh, Quentin, Sriyani
In Absentia Avi	2024-08-10 "We have to help!" (followed by a rescue.)
Location <MAD> Floating Market - Buccaneer Bay
The vibrant neon glow of Madripoor City itself is offering a very cyberpunk backdrop to the current festivities. Other times, perhaps, this is not the most safe of place to just wander -- okay, even now maybe it's not the most safe, but the pontoons and rafts, paddle boats and speed boats, long low-slung pleasure barges and large yachts, have all been festooned gaudy and bright for today's holiday. Sails and masts are wreathed in bold flower roping, there's clashing music loud and cheerful competing between vessels, and the rich smells of food are mouthwatering. "They say that this place is full of like, real actual pirates," Sriyani is volunteering with hushed excitement. They're dressed up, somewhat, a kurta in a masculine cut, of fine green silk intricately embroidered with gold, several different flower garlands around their neck, paired with white and gold sarong pants and colourful sandals. "But then again they say this place floats on the back of a giant dragon sooooo." They've been hanging out sitting on the siderail of a wide barge, nibbling some roti prata liberally dunked into a small bowl of spicy fish curry. They slip off the rail, though, as the dancers they've been watching finish performing some elegant and very jingle-y serpentine dance, and squint indecisive in one direction -- the nearest neighboring raft to one side is selling a wealth of fresh fruits, quite a few fairly unseen even in New York; to the other they're tethered to a larger pontoon with a number of artists hawking their wares. Behind them a sailboat that had given them their roti and curry is untethering to weave its way onward through the watery tangle, and Sriyani is squinting curiously towards the next boat that is pulling up in its wake. "I'm pretty sure if we were going to get pirated away or eaten by a dragon Nevaeh would've seen it, though." Quentin has a small paper bag with several mini curry puffs. He's in jeans and sneakers, together with a purple tee shirt featuring Magneto's iconic helmet silhouette, though where it usually says 'MAGNETO WAS RIGHT', instead underneath it says 'Magneto - How's he work?'. He does, at least, have one flower garland around his neck, in concession to the celebration. He's hopping down alongside Sriyani, ambling casually towards the back of the boat. "Pirates like a good party." He's peering down into the water with a deep and contemplative frown. "I don't feel a dragon under there. That one," he's adding with a nod towards the boat Sriyani is peeking at, "some kind of carnival games. Could probably win a stuffed dragon." Nevaeh is wearing a bright yellow sundress with a bright pink belt tied at the small of her back in a neat bow, red sandals, and a red hobo bag. Her hair is done up in braids and tied back with a ribbon that matches her belt as well as the garland around her neck, and she's busy stuffing the rest of her fried dough into her mouth as she trails after her companions. "If we were going to get pirated away or eaten by a dragon in a really boring way somehow, I might not see it." She does not, admittedly, seem very concerned about this unlikely eventuality. "What if the dragon is so big its head is like, too far away for you to feel? I guess then it would also be too far away to eat us. Can you feel fish under there? I bet there's so many because of all the food that falls in the -- ooh I want the rainbow one!" This is probably in reference to to a number of plush dragons with comically undersized wings arrayed above a kiosk challenging them to "Walk Ye Plank!", though the ball-tossing game doesn't seem to involve any such thing and is only loosely pirate themed. "C'mon," Sriyani is scoffing, "like you know what a dragon even sounds like. Maybe it's so big it just feels like the surf. -- can you feel the fish?" As they cross over the plank that the carnival-raft has just dropped they're peering down into the water as if they too might hear them. "Oooh yeah! Hey can you tell already if I'm gonna win?" Probably Nevaeh doesn't need to peek at the future to know that Sriyani is not going to win, she's known them long enough to have seen their poor aim Plenty. "Of course I --" Quentin is immediately protesting, but has to stop and hedge. "...I mean, it's a dragon. That'd be pretty noticeable, right?" He is at least on more confident ground with assuring them cockily: "I can feel anything that thinks. Even the fish." He's following along toward the game, though as he munches his next curry puff he seems less focused on potential dragon stuffies and more on craning the reaches of his mind toward whatever life may be lurking below the boats. "Maybe the dragon is sleeping a deep, dreamless sleep." Nevaeh is also wondering what counts as "thinking" and whether there are edge cases, but after a brief consideration of Quentin's tone decides against asking. "I'm...trying," she tells Sriyani, and she is, though the flitting slippery fragments of near-futures are probably difficult for Quentin to track if he's attending. "Okay, okay, so there's going to be kind of bigger waves in a minute so the boat will tilt a lot more and if you time it just right, I think you can. I'll cue you!" She sounds more optimistic than her hazy precognition suggests, though it does seem fairly sure the waters are getting rougher. "I've never heard a dragon," Sriyani replies, torn between some mild eye-rolling << he definitely doesn't know what a dragon sounds like >> and a distant hope that maybe he does and they will get to meet one soon. The fact Sriyani is fairly sure that dragons don't exist on this planet doesn't really figure heavily into this balance of judgment. They're plucking some bills from some pocket hidden within the folds of their pants, and trading them to the cheerful youth at the game in exchange for the privilege of throwing three faded plastic balls towards the bobbing ships. "I think you are way overestimating my, um, timing and also grasp of geometry." Nevertheless Sriyani hefts a ball, squinting for the targets and waiting for the signal to throw -- which they do, far too high and far too wide. Is there a dragon churning the waters beneath? There's certainly plenty of noise down below the ships, and not all of it is coming from the copious marine life. Somewhere not too far away, as the waters get briefly turbulent, the cheerful cacophony of the festival is punctuated shrill and staccato by a terrified panicked pleading for help. The person sounds young and, while they are definitely directing their prayers towards a god, maybe any passing psionic will do. Quentin's frown has deepened. He's kind of mentally batting at Sriyani's wayward ball to yoink it back into the target. Somehow even though he hasn't moved the telekinetic touch seems impatient -- he was not even attempting to make it look like a successful shot, the ball arcing wide past its mark and then veering backwards to thwack against the target. << Someone's in trouble, >> pings curious and urgent in the others' minds. He's relaying the voice to them both, though with a slight mental lean on Nevaeh, a wordless: << (can you) (find them)? >> "Direct hit!" Nevaeh bounces up onto her toes and jostles Sriyani, not actually any less excited for their success despite the obvious telekinetic assistance. "You did it!" Her excitement flees when Quentin shows them what he's heard, and she wrestles her mind around to focus on the cry for help. Sriyani has seen this process plenty, but admittedly there is little to see now that she has better control and does not involuntarily project her visions. She just puts a hand on Sriynai's shoulder to steady herself against the swaying of the deck and closes her eyes. To a telepath, her search is a kind of disorganized rifling through a dizzying tangle of compressed moments that she touches on in quick succession until she finds one that resonates with the voice piping in through Quentin's mind. The cry for help is coming out through her mind as well, now, only more frantic. The child in her vision is in a tiny, dingy room, pounding at the door and screaming for help. When the men outside do open the door, they try and fail to dash for freedom, only to be dragged away between them up onto the deck where other men are busy haggling over them. Nevaeh gasps and pulls herself out of the vision into the present. "Pirates," she tells the others, eyes wide. "There's a kid locked up in a boat, and the pirates are going to sell them. I don't know when but soon." She points without looking, then squints along the line she's pointing. "I can't see it from here, but the boat is just over there. For now. We have to --" The words she tries to speak are weighed down with terror and heartbreak and splintered memories of the disastrous assault on Lassiter last year, but she swallows them down. "We have to help!" Sriyani has turned to try and claim their prize from the carny who, somewhat huffily, is refusing to give them a dragon on the basis of Extremely Obvious Mutant Shenanigans. Their attempt at persuading the teen to pull down one of the big rainbow dragons for them is derailed entirely by this incoming information. They turn back to their friends with a stark horror in their mind, Quentin's telepathic echo and Nevaeh's words mingling with some amount of incredulity (<< the pirates >> << aren't these all pirates >>) that is trying to size up, now, the crews of the boats around them on some scale of Piratosity. They've just about come to some unfounded conclusion that a) probably many people are pirates and b) probably most of them are not pirating in Actual People and this is figuring somewhat in their dash into action :: get reinforcements calculus. "... soon like how soon," is their first question, and then, "we should get the others." One of the large rainbow plushies is pulling itself down off its hook, pressing itself into Nevaeh's arms. "Look, if you're gonna be bigots you should say that up front," Quentin is telling the kid at the games, as the other two balls shoot out of Sriyani's hands and knock down two more targets. "C'mon." He's hastening in a beeline for the boat in question -- via the most direct path which, at the moment, doesn't include walkways between the ships. This doesn't seem to slow him, clambering effortlessly up the side of the pontoon and taking a somewhat gravity-defying leap to land much higher up on a rollicking party of a yacht nearby. His gesture to the others to follow him comes with both a telepathic press of reassurance (though his << (jump) >> is hedged by << ... one at a time >> and a very faint telekinetic nudge that lightens their steps. Only then is he stopping to wonder, << how soon? >>; in the background of the thought is the feel of his awareness expanding in search of their friends. Nevaeh hugs the plush dragon tight, but does not otherwise exhibit her jangling nerves as they make their way across the Floating Market. She only hesitates fractionally at Quentin's prompt, only to glance at Sriyani to make sure they're not going at the same time. << The vision is going to happen in maybe an hour. >> She does not feel at all sure about this estimate. << But I think they'll move the boat before that, to meet the (buyers)(slavers). >> "There!" she whispers, ducking behind a crate and pointing again. The pirate ship is berthed at the edge of the market, alongside a couple of other run-down vessels, and not exhibiting any signs of festive celebration. << I only saw three pirates in the vision, but there might be more. >> Sriyani meets Nevaeh's glance, and waits for the younger girl to jump before they do. "An hour?" They scrunch up their face in an intense concentration Nevaeh has seen plenty before, while ironing out Superhero Strategy with Brendan. "We could probably take three, but -- we'll have more time to plan if that boat can't move." In some other circumstance maybe their jumps would be exhilarating -- it's not quite flying but for a moment it comes kind of close, the TK-assisted leaps whooshing far higher and faster than legs could go to deposit the other two on the deck beside Quentin. "We can take three," he's protesting, immediately, but a moment later he's actually listening to the rest of what Sriyani says. He just nods, once, decisive. "I'll find Avi."