Post by Board Keeper on Sept 25, 2013 20:46:13 GMT -5
Rosemarie Cordova aka Cookie
The Bloody Blade. Aye a good ship, and her home for 18 months in various corridors of the Pacific Ocean.It was now countless splinters floating around and coming ashore from time to time on various beaches in the south seas. It really didn't matter where she was, Cookie was deep in the hold, cooking and concocting. It also didn't really matter what she was doing, because no one ever checked on her. She was able to affect the entire crew when necessary. Affect, infect, solve issues, make people fall in love so they would not go overboard. Weird ship it is, worse than the Blade was. This prison ship she figures is full of spirits of all those that did not make the crossing. She stirs the pot and looks over at the lump on the other side of the galley on the floor, covered in ice. Waste of her good ice it is, and nearly the last of it. Annabelle and her 'surgeries'. Seems more like torture, but she cant' really be sure. Rosemarie had got sick once and doubled over and just stayed down below, walked it off on deck and hid from the doctor. That was old Birkenstock and before him, another nameless one was dumped overboard and Rosemarie never saw it happen. Just gone one day. She wants to give that doctor a talking to and let her know it is unacceptable to be housin' dead bodies where they eat but every day just gets danker down there and harder to breathe so she finds her way up top more than she used to.
Cookie opens a packet of herbs and sprinkles it in. She says a few words and puts a handful in, wraps it up again. Times like these when she is alone she thinks of Boy, wondering what has become of him. Something weird about that mute man that was so close to home, what she called home before she left for sea and never returned. They did things in the galley that would make that dead man in the corner come back to life. They jumped in the water and did things that would frighten the fish. It was the only joy she ever found here. Most of all she misses her captain, a brave lady and the best captain she'd ever been under. Still makes her angry, what a waste of a grand and gallant ship and she would have sailed on for years to come. But always the hate creeps in, the meanness, the wasteful lack of forgiveness. The small things that no one thinks will end up going anywhere, just feeling what they feel.
But the hate leads to darkness, to murder and mayhem, much of which she is accustomed to now in this life she's picked. But taking apart yer friends and forgetting who you ought not to be killin', that is the part that about breaks her heart, and watching the others move on to cruise ships and sailing to great places and serving the posh food to lovely passengers that smell so good...
Her eyes flash. No one ever cares for Cookie enough to give her that break that gets her away from all the blood and the death. Blood and death and gallons of stew. Her life now, day in, day out.
"You and me Birkenstock, here's to you and me, ya dead bugger, and a bottle of rum."
She upends the bottle and takes a long drink then slams it down hard on the galley table. She opens up her secret place and takes out the jar that will make this next voyage interesting, maybe even finally profitable for Rosemarie. She unscrews the jar like it is made of taffeta, sprinkles it out on her palm like it is pure gold, and with a big toothy grin, drops it into the huge kettle. Smoke rises from the center and it immediately boils faster. She just laughs.
The Bloody Blade. Aye a good ship, and her home for 18 months in various corridors of the Pacific Ocean.It was now countless splinters floating around and coming ashore from time to time on various beaches in the south seas. It really didn't matter where she was, Cookie was deep in the hold, cooking and concocting. It also didn't really matter what she was doing, because no one ever checked on her. She was able to affect the entire crew when necessary. Affect, infect, solve issues, make people fall in love so they would not go overboard. Weird ship it is, worse than the Blade was. This prison ship she figures is full of spirits of all those that did not make the crossing. She stirs the pot and looks over at the lump on the other side of the galley on the floor, covered in ice. Waste of her good ice it is, and nearly the last of it. Annabelle and her 'surgeries'. Seems more like torture, but she cant' really be sure. Rosemarie had got sick once and doubled over and just stayed down below, walked it off on deck and hid from the doctor. That was old Birkenstock and before him, another nameless one was dumped overboard and Rosemarie never saw it happen. Just gone one day. She wants to give that doctor a talking to and let her know it is unacceptable to be housin' dead bodies where they eat but every day just gets danker down there and harder to breathe so she finds her way up top more than she used to.
Cookie opens a packet of herbs and sprinkles it in. She says a few words and puts a handful in, wraps it up again. Times like these when she is alone she thinks of Boy, wondering what has become of him. Something weird about that mute man that was so close to home, what she called home before she left for sea and never returned. They did things in the galley that would make that dead man in the corner come back to life. They jumped in the water and did things that would frighten the fish. It was the only joy she ever found here. Most of all she misses her captain, a brave lady and the best captain she'd ever been under. Still makes her angry, what a waste of a grand and gallant ship and she would have sailed on for years to come. But always the hate creeps in, the meanness, the wasteful lack of forgiveness. The small things that no one thinks will end up going anywhere, just feeling what they feel.
But the hate leads to darkness, to murder and mayhem, much of which she is accustomed to now in this life she's picked. But taking apart yer friends and forgetting who you ought not to be killin', that is the part that about breaks her heart, and watching the others move on to cruise ships and sailing to great places and serving the posh food to lovely passengers that smell so good...
Her eyes flash. No one ever cares for Cookie enough to give her that break that gets her away from all the blood and the death. Blood and death and gallons of stew. Her life now, day in, day out.
"You and me Birkenstock, here's to you and me, ya dead bugger, and a bottle of rum."
She upends the bottle and takes a long drink then slams it down hard on the galley table. She opens up her secret place and takes out the jar that will make this next voyage interesting, maybe even finally profitable for Rosemarie. She unscrews the jar like it is made of taffeta, sprinkles it out on her palm like it is pure gold, and with a big toothy grin, drops it into the huge kettle. Smoke rises from the center and it immediately boils faster. She just laughs.