Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Dymm Crowley]

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It was a warm day considering the time of year. The fishing boats docked, just returning from their daily excursions. The orange sun was setting on Vesper and lit up all its narrow waterways with a magnificent glow. Dymm, though, stood in his house, completely oblivious.

He was a very patient man about some things. He could watch a mark for hours before finding the perfect time to strike. He could draw up maps of getaways for weeks. He was very patient with some things, but not with this.

*thud!*

He had set up his old dartboard on his wall and was throwing cheap daggers at it. Not throwing so much, though, as hurling. He held the dagger by the blade-end, aimed at the target carefully and threw it so hard (*thud!* 20 points.) that the board threatened to attach itself permanently to the wall with each new blade. Small lines of perspiration ran down the side of Dymm’s face and his eyes were orbs of concentration, focused on nothing but the board. Another dagger flew from his hand (*thud!* 10 points.)

He needed some way to release a few frustrations. He wasn’t worried about business and that, at least, was a step up. At least with business, though, there was a clear line: done or not done. Now, he was frustrated with himself. He cared about Phyrra – maybe more then was safe, but that didn’t matter. Caring is not something a good assassin often gets into the habit of doing and Dymm felt utterly lost in it. He desperately wanted to be open, to be able to tell everything and to kiss her already!… but couldn’t, like a flower unable to bloom. (*thud!* 10 points)

God only knew how many women Dymm and Murdoc and the old crew had (*thud!* 5 points) stared at lustfully when they were young, but that experience did absolutely nothing here. It didn’t help him at all because it was totally different. Technically, Dymm had no experience at all. What to do to be open, though? Sing or write poetry or something? He knew he couldn’t do that. For a moment, he was bitterly amused at the prospect of Locke reading poetry by Dymm. The next moment, he was simply frustrated again. He relocked his eyes and his mind onto the dartboard.

*thud!* 5 points. Bad shot.

*thud!* 15 points. Getting there.

*thud!* 25 points. Just missed the bull’s eye. Next one was it, for sure…

*CRASH!*

The shot missed. By a lot. The dagger Dymm had hurled went sailing through the air, into his window glass, right through and continued merrily on its way. The miss-shot could be attributed to the knocking on the door at the moment he was about to throw (according to Dymm, at least.)

“Damn it! God damn it! Coming!”

Ignoring the window for now and rushing downstairs, Dymm saw the man on his stoop: a large-framed, muscular, middle-aged man… looked like a sailor. He was staring at the side of Dymm’s house, where a dagger and a pain of glass had flown from only moments before. Upon opening the door, though, he redirected his attention and greeted Dymm warmly.

“Dymm, ol’ buddy! ‘ow the hell are yah’! Yeh’ a’right in there, eh?” He laughed heartily after this. The laugh suited him perfectly.

Dymm smiled a smile that could’ve only been one on the outside. “How are you, Don? Would you please come in?”

“Yea’, well, iss’ been long ‘nough since yah’ invited me, ain’ it! What yah’ been up to, Dymmer?,” Don barked.

“Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, Don? Come; take a seat at my desk, will you? Good, good. I have some business I’d like to get done and I think you could help me.”

Don was immediately and completely tame. He looked not only calm, but also nervous. Even his accent died down a bit. “Well, Dymm, I know that we is frien’s, an’ all, but… I mean, I don’ really know what you do so much and I don’ know if I’d really do that kinda’-…“

“Don, listen to me. All I want is to commission your men to make a boat for me, alright?”

The accent regained life. “Oh! Well, in tha’ case… Har! Will do, buddy! Whatcha’ need?”

“Nothing big, but use the good materials, alright? I don’t know exact sizes so you’ll have to do that. All I need is a nice little boat to go sailing with. Can you do that?”

“Yah’ bet on it, Dymmer. I’ll even give yeh’ a hometown discoun’, righ’?” He laughed again.

“Thank you, Don. I’ll come see you at the docks.”

Escorting Don out of the door, they shared a few parting words and Don made his way back to his own home. For a moment, Dymm wondered what Don’s wife might look like. Chasing that thought (mercifully) out of his mind though, was the memory of the broken window. He walked back upstairs to see how much damage was done.

Upon getting to his bedroom, he noticed it was filled with a light – a light from where the window had been. He walked over to it and with a quick damage assessment concluded that he’d need a totally new one. That was the least of his cares, though. He was enjoying the new light and the now-destroyed window that probably hadn’t been open in weeks. He had forgotten the beautiful view over Vesper he had from his house and the cool sea breeze that always swept over it. In the distance, he could hear seagulls singing their songs, merchants selling their goods to any wandering tourist and the soft rhythm of the waves. Maybe fixing the window wasn’t such a priority, after all.

As he opened the rest of the windows in the house, he thought he’d go see Phyrra for a while.