Zachariah strode after her, following her. "You know..." he mentioned. "You may as well help me get some revenge on the rest of the crew, I'm sure after all this trouble you might need to kill something." A new crew would be problematic, but enough money and bumming around taverns, and he was sure he'd get a new one eventually. "As for your sisters, I made sure that nobody saw me. I value my life... to a point."
He sighed, steeling himself for the journey ahead. He though it might look visually impressive to draw his blade before they began, but it would only be cumbersome and lose its aesthetics swiftly.
She squalked, unhappy with his comment. "I never have the simple need to kill something. Do you think me completely bloodthirsty? I have no quotas -- no set number of things to kill every day. I do what suits me. Right now, I am thinking that perhaps I should not help you. You are proving to be most bothersome." She scoffed, fluttering ahead of him. "And how do you know that I am leading you to the port? Why do you trust me?"
The questions were nearly automatic. She liked to toy with the minds of others -- perhaps it was her fought-off Elven heritage.
"I don't see any reason for you to fool me, and if you do I suppose that's my own fault, isn't it?" Zachariah said, shrugging slightly. "And I thought everyone took their anger out on others by killing them. That's how the world works back home in the East." He smirked. "And, might I add, that I find a way out of almost everything, and if there is something I cannot escape.... well, it was clearly a worthy adversary to die to, isn't it?"
Zachariah, in the simplest of terms, enjoyed his twisted rogue's ideals and beliefs, and enjoyed even more telling them to others, especially when they were attempting to question how the world works or playing mind games with him. It was these ideals that staved off fear; fear of death, of torture, of his reputation of thievery one day catching up to him. As far as he was concerned, life was one big game for him to play. Perhaps he would win, perhaps he would lose. In the end, it was all just a game to him.
"You are lying. You could notfind your way out of a room lined with working doors," Irinys replied, scowling vehemently at him. "Now about this crew -- what sort of sailors were they to leave you on your own like that? Were they trying to rob you?"
The question was relaly beating around the bush -- she did not know the word to define pirates. She had not sailed in a ship for as long as she could remember -- and that was a long time. Besides, the Creator had never mentioned pirates to her, or to any of her sisters. It was no wonder that she did not know of them.
"I'm a thief, dear girl. I have escaped from more people than living things you have killed in your life. And I couldn't find my way out of a room lined with working doors if, indeed, all these doors lead only to a solid wall." Zachariah said with a slight chuckle. He thought how best to describe this to her, and then spoke. "Well, as it would turn out I had stolen from a large amount of the crew, including the captain, so they wanted me dead and also wanted all my nice things. He was very direct with the way he put it, in calling me over and attempting to drive a shortsword through my chest when I turned around."
"I think the world might have been a better place if he had just followed through with that. Then you would not be here, and I would not have to leave my home to oust you from it," Irinys said, bitterly. "And I also think that I should like to lock you in a room from which you cannot escape. Then, perhaps, you would not be such a bother to me or to anyone."
She hissed at him.
"We are approaching the port swiftly -- are we ourselves to sail on ship and catch these folk who nearly killed you? Or will their ship be docked there?"
"The ship should be docked there, and they should be there with it." Zachariah said, ignoring the rest of her words. "So, let's get moving. I've got a son- I... I have business to attend to, things to sell, people to steal from, all that." He said, catching himself before he said too much. He remembered, somewhat fondly, speaking with an old friend of his soon before they parted ways. "Love is a chaotic crack in the armor." His friend had said. "True, but it is through these cracks we are able to breathe." He had replied. He had never forgotten that exchange of words, and found himself often mentally referencing it.
She squalked, indignant once more. "And you will swear to me at this moment that you'll never return, for as long as you live?" She looked at him, golden eyes not amused by his bluffing or his pathetic attempts at sarcasm and humour. She couldn't understand humour -- it had been years since she'd laughed or genuinely smiled. A smirk once in a while, but certainly no beaming or giggling.
"Yes." Zachariah said, now remaining as quiet as possible. He hadn't attempted to be funny when he had caught himself, nor sarcastic or amusing. He was only attempting to hide his secret, his chaotic crack in the armor, and what would basically be a universal show of incredible weakness on many parts, including that of temptation.
Zachariah had never heard a harpy giggle, but assumed it would be scratchy, painful to the ears, and terrible squawk-filled.
At last, he was quiet. Irinys thought of nothing beyond the fact that there was silence again. And she liked silence. Living alone, she never had anyone to talk to, aside from herself, and so the atmosphere was almost completely silent. She hated listening to long stories -- unless they were from the Creator -- because they required her attention, when there were so many other things she could be focusing on. Like the creator, or where her next meal was going to come from. Now she needed more time to herself than usual; the dreams were cruel and unrelenting in their invasion of her mind.
How she hated them... And yet she wondered at their truth.
"Look what we got 'ere, boys." Said a voice beside Zachariah. He turned, and was staring down at least ten men, all armed with cutlasses and severely bad dispositions. "Hello, sirs..." He said, backing away slightly. "Still mad about the whole gold haul thing?" Zachariah was just able to dodge a slash across the chest from the man in front, who then followed it up with a hastily-ducked stab. "I suppose that's a yes." He said, starting off in Irinys' direction. "If you don't mind I need a bit of help over here." He managed to say, his last words drowned out by the shouts of the men behind him as they charged. "Like, right now!"
For a moment she wished that they would just kill him, and she was contemplating not providing any assistance. However -- that would not give her the pleasure of scratching his face off, and she was a loyal being. She'd promised him help, so she did owe it to him to try and fight off the attackers.
With a deafening squalk, she advanced on one of the men and lifted up into the air a bit. Before he knew it, her talons were embedded in his face. She wasn't kidding about the whole face-ruining thing.
The group of men looked up in shock, giving Zachariah a chance to swing his blade in a fashion that would've otherwise been stupid and risky. A broad swing, beheading quite a few men in the front row, that would've otherwise left him open and rewarded him only with multiple cutlass wounds. The men came to their senses, though were slightly more taken mentally off-balance by seeing at least four of their compatriots with their heads off, and charged at Zachariah. He did a good bit of parrying, waiting patiently for Irinys as he took at least one or two opportunistic stab. He wouldn't last much longer without a bit more assistance from his harpy companion, as it was clear by the five gradually further enraged men taking wild and furious swings which became progressively harder for Zachariah to avoid and block.
Irinys' attacks with her claws and talons were equally ferocious, and she quickly distracted three of Zachariah's attackers. Not so much distracted as engaged in combat, actually -- but it didn't matter. At least she got them away from him and was able to begin disposing of them. They fought hard, to be sure, and she was sure that she would later be feeling some of their attacks; but for now she focused only on ending their lives. The pain hardly mattered. There was only the huntress and her prey. Half the time she felt as if she were toying with them.
Eventually, the first fell dead with a brutal few slahes across his chest and midsection. Another was about to follow.
Zachariah managed to decapitate yet another one of the men, elbowing another who attempted to strike him from behind and following it up with a ill-performed diagonal slicing in half of that man's torso. The third man that Irinys had taken was fairly distracted by the harpy, so he drove his blade through the back of the man's head, protruding out of the forehead.
By this time, Zachariah's robe, face, hands, and blade were all essentially soaked in blood, giving him a more dangerous and threatening look than he had appeared before. The satisfied leer on his face did nothing to subtract from that appearance.