[ AW ] claim your weapons

washed ashore

She can't remember how long she's been ashore here. It's been a wad of days and nights and weeks that she can't get back, nor does she really want to. It's odd, she knows, but ever since she left her homeland, after her and her crew fell apart, she's needed this. To be away from it all. She doesn't even want to think of what started it all. To avoid the thought, she downs another drink, fermented booze making up the majority of her scent. There's a saltiness to it, as if she's been in the ocean recently. Her day job work was shell-searching, finding shells that could be used for a multitude of things; something for the royals to eat their food off of, cups for booze or fresh water, they were handy things. But the bigger shells laid out far and for those who were not familiar with the ocean, it was a hard job. For her, it was like home. She hadn't earned the two marks on her arm for nothing; she was a survivor, and that had meant crossing the ocean to a dangerous isle at once point. Maui was only one of the females out on the shell-searching team, along with two men who had been doing it for ashes, salt water washing away at their color, like it'd been seeping the life out of them since day one. Lucky for her, she was almost there as well, washed away in a monochromed blue. But at night, she is one of them. One of the hundreds of thieves that rustled like rats underneath the guise of moonlight. Who was she among those crowds? A pirate. Not like it was hard to guess, she'd been in something among the sorts when she was with her crew. Exploring new lands; at peace with the ocean no matter where they went. Stealing was new for her, but the means of someone who wasn't from there, it was harder for them. The natives were never very fond of outsiders, she'd learned. It'd been so hard for her to get her first job, and mainly, it was because no one else wanted to do it. But, she'd always been hardworking, dedicated no matter what. It was the stubborn Marx blood running through her salt water veins.

When she leaned down to take another sip out of the shell, (probably one that she had picked herself; not that she has enough time to sit and look at them each time she picks one up, but some were defined unlike others, unique in their own way) but it was empty. She swung her head upwards, already stinking of liquor. It was her night off of doing anything that might get her imprisoned with the other schmucks that got caught by the Imperial Army soldiers. "Can I get another?" She calls towards the barkeep, leaning down on her paws, she noses her glass towards them before looking to the group of laughing wolves in the corner. It's not too crowded tonight, but there is some commotion that lights up the back of the room. She has no point in taking part of it, she turned back towards the emptied shell, and tried not to think about the reason she drank.

"Speak and be heard."