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Where there is a sea there are pirates
Life's pretty good, and why wouldn't it be? I'm a pirate, after all
September 3rd, 2006 
01:03 am(no subject)
::Ryem finally manages to pull himself way from the crowd of busy chatting people laid about the bonfire::
::He has left his thick heavy chocolate brown boots back at the fire and walks down the beach feeling the softness of the wet white sand underneath his feet::
::Also feeling the slight brief rushing coldness of the sea as it is scattered upon the sand::
::Ryem doesn’t stagger – quite a miracle compared to how much liquor of all sorts he has partaken with within a few hours since berthing – but does carry a green bottle full of rum in his swinging right hand::
::It is very apparent and obvious – if people were around him – that the good Captain is lost within his thoughts::

04:15 am - Bloody work
He sits alone in this extravagant well-decorated room that has a bit of bore to it as well – the room is painted soiled white. He considers this room to be a secret mental ward made just for him, and him alone.

There of course are random pictures, and silly trophies and diplomas spread out upon the bleached depressing walls. Some of these trophies are placed gallantly upon thick heavy wooden bookcases and file cabinets, and such tables aimlessly about the room.

Giant windows shed some light into the room which really makes it pop out like snow does – God he hates it…

There is table, like an office table pushed against the northern wall, which is his personal prison – he calls it that too. Its bulky and thick with crazy detailed carvings etched into its front side – which only makes him bitch about it…”sissy.” The chair is even worse. Just as bulky but with more etched out details but upholstered in black leather.

Across the room, located on the southern wall, is a fireplace, which he honestly doesn’t understand WHY there is fireplace because it is always hot here.

But the best part of today is the rain! The glorious rain! Not only did the room not shine like snow but also there were no screaming “devil” children out side too annoy him.

Now, he is located upon his “sissy” chair behind his “sissy” desk reading a healthy amount of paperwork – one of the perks of his new job. And he has been reading ever since he got into work this morning about 4 o’clock, and the pages are starting to become a blurring mess of jumbled words and sentences.

Taking his pale hands away from the report – and letting it thump heavily onto the desk top – he messages his temples while closing his light Cerulean blue eyes. A few seconds pass and his eye flicker open with a sense of boredom.

Picking himself up from this prison chair he begins to walk over to the giant widows on the west wall. He passes a full-length mirror and stops – making sure his uniform is still crisp and his black hair still slicked back into a perfect ponytail. After this quick check up, he makes himself comfortable near the window.

Placing his right hand firmly against the glass – he tucks the other hand into his not wrinkled navy jacket - while watching the passing actives outside. The room, which is inside a huge building, is located right outside the harbor. Where pirate ships, and navy ships mingle – because Port Royal is still a forsaken pirate haven with navy ships trying to mange this now.

He gives a quick sneer of arrogance towards the harbor and continues to watch the bustling of people in the heavy beating of rain.
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