remybailey
second star to the right
Remy Bailey: ex-smuggler, present navigator aboard The Spectre. On the run from half the damn system, but that's just a hazard of the job, isn't it?
This blog is affiliated with The Spectre and as such does not accept threads outside of this closed roleplay group. Please go check it out and apply for a character!
Mun/muse 21+, mature themes may be present. Please send me an ask if you ever need anything tagged.
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(From Edison) Do you ever think that more people find you annoying that charming?
“Why dwell on negativity? Life’s so short, my friend, and likely even shorter for the likes of us. We may as well find the joy in it where we can, and make it where we can’t.”
He’s fully aware that plenty of the crew find him tolerable at best, and often that only because of his ability to navigate and save their asses when the ship enters rough skies. It doesn’t bother him, because while he enjoys being well-liked, he doesn’t have an emotional investment in any of them; it helps him have an easier life, a smoother time on The Spectre if the rest of the crew enjoys his company, but it doesn’t make or break his mood.
Besides, Edison likes him a lot more than they’re willing to admit. He’d put money down on it, if he were a betting man.
“And oftentimes calling someone annoying is just a way to mask your affection for them,” he adds, wagging his brows at Edison.
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What keeps you tied to The Spectre?
“The charming company, three hot meals a day, and the promise of more treasure than I’d likely see in a lifetime otherwise.”
His smile verges on boyish, enthusiasm in his face and his tone as he spreads his hands wide. All of those are true, though they don’t tell the entire picture -- and he likely never will tell the entire picture.
Desperation factors in, as well as impatience, and a little bit of stubborn arrogance. Where else would he have gone after losing all his contacts and busting out of prison? Who would have taken him on long enough for him to make a new name for himself but a crew of pirates?
The Spectre was the best of the best. Of course he’d wanted to join the crew.
If his ambition ran a little more cutthroat, he’d want to take the crew for his own, but he’s far too smart to ever attempt such a thing. No, he just wants to get his treasure and leave, and Marcus and his crew seemed like they were on the fastest route to the life he wanted.
“What ties any of us to The Spectre? Our shared ambition, surely, and the family we’ve built here.”
#( ask wednesday )#remy you talk flippantly about found family but just you wait#you're gonna realize how much you love all these suckers#Storm's A-Coming Child#Anonymous
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Is it just me or did you vanish for a little bit?
“Careful, doc,” Remy says, folding his arms across his chest and leaning into Reid’s space just a little more than necessary. “You keep tabs on me like that, people are going to start thinking you’re playing favorites.”
His tone is amused and bordering on fond, as is the look on his face when he adds a wink to punctuate the end of his sentence.
“Not that anyone could blame you. I’d be my favorite, too, and I’d want to keep track of me.”
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Which do you think is more important or influential: good looks, good brains, or good personality?
“Asking me that is like asking me to pick my favorite child,” he teases, casting her a wink as he rolls up a scroll and ties it off. “When you’ve got it all, why choose between them?”
But the answer is very simple, honestly: intelligence is the most important thing a person can have. Even the ugliest bastard can get by if he knows how to work his audience and where to put pressure when push comes to shove; even the simplest, dullest person in the room can work it to his advantage if he’s smart enough to take the measure of the people he’s with and learn how to play them. Everything is built on being clever, from playing up what genetics gave you to learning how to read a room.
If Remy was actually a stupid man, he would have died a long time ago – if he’d ever even managed to make it off the crumbling rock he calls his childhood home.
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What advice would you give to someone who wants to improve their self-confidence?
“Don’t ask someone else for advice on how to be confident,” he returns easily, with a smile to soften the words into a tease. “Biggest part of confidence is just not giving a flying fuck what other people think of you, so why would you want their advice to begin with?”
He shuffles the deck of cards in his hands, soothed by the familiar sound they make as they slot together, and nods toward the seat opposite him. He likes Jamie, for better or worse; she seems like a decent enough kid, and whether he wants to admit it or not, he has a soft spot for the scrappy young ones on the crew. If they aren’t careful, the world’s going to chew them up and spit them back out – and while it isn’t his job, per se, to stop that from happening, while he’s got the spare time, why not?
He passes the cards through a couple more shuffles and then begins to deal, smiling at her over his hand. “Who’re you trying to impress, anyway? We’re playing Pyramid,” he adds, scrutinizing his hand carefully. “And I have to say, I’m flattered that you came to me. Shows you’ve got good taste, kid.”
#( ask wednesday )#ch: jamie#remy: i am not a good person#also remy: come under my wing i'm your cool uncle now
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Any bright ideas on how you can "navigate" out of this hell hole?
“Darling, all my ideas are bright.”
He grins over at Anna as he works a knot between his hands, posture casual and comfortable despite any unease he feels about still being stranded on the planet. Until they get up and going, it’s going to take every crewman aboard to get their ship ready, and he’s not above pitching in where it’s needed.
He jerks his chin toward the mast, gesturing for her to start checking knots with him. “But until Maxine clears us for the skies, I can’t pull any brilliance out of my hat. Don’t worry, though: once we’re ship-shape, I’ll get us where we need to go.”
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(From Edison) How's it feel to lose at cards as much as you do?
“Not so sure it counts as losing when the competitor doesn’t have to work to count cards,” Remy shoots back, but it’s good-natured. When he’s playing against Edison, he never bets anything of value – never really bets anything of value with the rest of them, but especially not Edison – and it doesn’t pinch his ego too badly to lose.
Keeps morale up, and keeps the crew thinking of him exactly how he wants them to: laid back, easy-going, a little bit stupid now and again. Life’s much easier when people don’t have expectations for you in all areas of it, and he’d rather they think him a genius with a star chart and an idiot away from it than start to depend on him for things.
Leaning forward, he taps the table between them. “Deal again, my friend. I’m determined to find a way to cheat that you won’t catch.”
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How long do you think it will be until we're off this planet?
“That depends on getting our girl back in shape enough to carry us once we’re off planet,” Remy says, glancing up from where he has papers strewn about a table-top, his brow pinched into an uncharacteristically serious furrow. “Once we’re in the black, I can get us to another planet, but who’s to say we won’t have a worse reception?”
They could just try for another island, but given the wide expanses of sea around them and the likelihood that the deeper waters are filled with even more heinous creatures than the ones who almost destroyed The Spectre to begin with, he’s not willing to hedge his bets there. Getting back out into space is an idea, but they need to be sure they have the supplies for the journey to the next stop, and a little bit more besides that for once they dock somewhere.
The last thing he wants is to be caught with his pants down in unfamiliar territory. He’s not interested in starving to death, whether out in space or stranded on some Maker-forsaken planet, so they’re going to have to make sure they’re good and ready before they make their next daring move.
Extending a hand to Reid, he gestures him over. “Come have a look at this with me. You know how much better I think when I have an audience,” he adds, softening the seriousness of his expression with a grin, and taps at the map. “Charted land for what I’ve decided to dub Hellwitch Planet, and this is the surrounding skies, or at least, what I was able to plot before we descended.”
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When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Not hungry.
Rich, because money could get you everything you needed, and the only people who ever tried to tell him and his siblings and his mother that money couldn’t buy happiness were they ones who never wanted for a hot meal, clothes on their backs, medicine when they were sick. He’d wanted to be an only child, wanted to secretly be a foundling baby; wanted any other family than the one he had, because there was nothing worse than being caught in the middle of too little to go around.
He’d wanted a lot of things. He’d wanted to be gone, to be a captain of his own ship and sail across the black until he got somewhere far enough away that no one could peg him as a poor street whelp by his accent and the dirt caked under his fingernails, and by the Maker, he’d gotten it, hadn’t he?
He’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted as a boy, and then he’d fucking lost it.
He lights a cigarette, cupping his palm around the tip to make sure it catches, and smiles slightly.
“Rich. The rest of it – piracy, smuggling, navigating, all the odd jobs I’ve done here and there – that’s just window dressing. I was born for a life of luxury,” he adds, taking a drag of his cigarette and then popping it out of his mouth and offering it to his conversational partner. “And after this run, I’ll be there.”
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alonsodesoto:
A breath of relief left Alonso’s lips as he watched the bullet pierce the strange creature’s watery form. He had taken out a lot of people and a lot of creatures in his time, but this was the first time he fired into something that seemed to be completely made out of water.
Before he squeezed the trigger, there was a fleeting thought that entertained the possibility of failure. That the bullet would simply pass through the thing, or like most bullets that passed through liquid it would slow to the point where it wouldn’t do enough damage. So when the bullet passed through the creature’s head and watched as it’s head splattered and scattered first before the rest of it’s body followed suit, he felt nothing but relief.
“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Alonso called as he cocked the rifle in his grip. A few seconds later, another one of those creatures attempted to climb up onto the deck. Unfortunately for it, Alonso who now standing fully upright was ready for it and the second it’s head came into view squeezed the trigger.
Unfortunately, at that exactly moment, the ship lurched underneath him and caused him to topple and shift the barrel of his rifle slightly. Instead of hitting it’s head the bullet passed through its shoulder. Alonso watched as the creature reeled back in pain once the bullet impacted and tore through it, but quickly recovered. The creature’s body shook before it turned it’s sights on Alonso and opened it’s mouth to let out an angry ear-piercing shriek.
Alonso could see the space around the creature’s mouth vibrate as the sound traveled through the air and Alonso’s shoulder hunched over in pain and he was nearly brought to his knees. However, he fought through it as best as he could. With trembling hands he raised his gun, squared his shoulders, put the butt of the gun against his left shoulder, and took a deep breath.
He took a second to train his sight on the center of creature’s head and aimed right between the eyes. The ship rocked around him and the water sloshed onto the deck, but Alonso was determined and did not move. “Shut the hell up you son of a bitch…” he muttered under his breath before he squeezed the trigger and shot off the creatures head just before the ship rocked enough to knock him off his feet.
He was putting a lot of faith in Alonso, but he didn't have much of a choice. He knew the other man was one of the best shots he'd ever met -- and that was saying something, because Remy had met a lot of people -- but he was also one of the more reliable shots he'd met.
For a pirate crew, most of the people were surprisingly loyal. Maybe their willingness to fold newcomers in had more to do with their Captain than their natural inclinations, but either way, Remy was glad for it at times like these. He didn't have to do nearly as much leg work to endear himself to this crew as he had The Seawolf's, and it's nice to know that he's going to be covered while he steers them to safety.
If safety is what's waiting at the end of the tunnel, anyway. He can see more of the water creatures in the distance, rising up from the waters like the swell of a wave, and he knows that going back out into the deep waters is not an option. Not unless he wants the beasts to tear apart their ship and wreck it against the shallows like they have every other ship, anyway.
He grits his teeth, yanking hard on the wheel to avoid a patch of bar in the water, and shouts, "Watch your step, DeSoto! Our girl can't bank worth a damn!"
He can feel the hull scraping against sand and ground beneath them and clenches his jaw, hard, when he thinks of the damage that's being done. The muscles in his arms strain against where the wheel is fighting him, and he sends up a quick hope and a prayer that Maxine is still down in the engine room, keeping an eye on things and keeping them gunning forward as he drags The Spectre further and further into the harbor.
It's not quite the safe landing he wanted, but he knows the moment he well and truly runs them aground. The force of the impact knocks him off his feet, boots skidding out behind him as he clings to the wheel for dear life and struggles to hold it straight, and he smashes his jaw hard against water-slick wood.
"Going to leave a mark," he gasps, finally losing his fight and dropping back, watching the wheel cut wildly as the ship propels forward and buries itself in the thick, wet sand of the coast.
It's eerily silent once the ship groans and settles, and he forces himself to his feet on unsteady legs. His first priority is getting his pistol out and ready, and it's drawn as he turns, scanning behind him for more signs of the creatures. He can see them, bobbing and retreating into the water as the waves ripple out into the ocean, but he doesn't hear them anymore.
Still, he doesn't lower his pistol. "DeSoto?" He calls, brow furrowed, and amends, "Alonso? You still with me?"
What the Water Gave Us | Remy & Alonso
#ch: alonso#event: siren attack#once just once i wanted to use the dramatic poe dameron camera gaze#and i am thrilled to be able to
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What traits do your species find attractive, exactly? I hear human aesthetics discussed so much, but I admit I have trouble picturing it. It is like trying to imagine a 'handsome' leaf or mollusk.
Remy blinks slowly, his hip flask halfway to his mouth, and raises his eyebrows.
Keda is by far his favorite, and it’s exactly because of questions like this.
He takes a long pull of his water, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles, and drags the back of his hand across his mouth. “Asking what the entire species finds attractive is a bit narrow minded of you, don’t you think?”
There’s laughter in his face and his tone, though, to show he’s entirely unbothered. Remy saves his offense for the things that really, truly matter to him -- and those are so few and far between, that people have to honestly try to get under his skin.
“We’re all different enough that we’re attracted to different things. Suppose there are a few staples, though. Good hair and teeth, that’s a good sign. Fit bodies, full head of hair, confidence,” he begins ticking things off on his fingers, looking thoughtful. “Some people weigh the physical more heavily, some the emotional, some the spiritual. Me, for instance...”
He sweeps a hand up and down in front of him with an over-the-top wink. “I am considered almost universally attractive. Even to those I annoy the absolute shit out of, if you’ll believe it. If my looks don’t do it for someone, I can usually present myself in a way that appeals. It’s all about knowing your audience and playing to it.”
He tucks his hands in his back pockets, twisting a little until his back pops. “And as to what I find attractive -- just about everything, honestly. You find beauty where you’re looking for it; why limit yourself?”
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Would you ever consider mutiny?
“I must look at least as stupid as I do handsome, for you to ask a question like that.”
“Nobody ever admits that they’d consider mutiny. Has a much smaller chance of being successful, doesn’t it?”
His tone is lightly admonishing, and he doesn’t seem all that concerned. Truth be told, mutiny isn’t in the cards for him; he’ll organize a riot to suit his purposes in prison, but convincing an entire crew to turn on their captain and follow him? That requires a lot more finesse and a lot more effort than he’s willing to devote to a project -- especially considering that mutiny is a bit like cheating, if you think about.
If they’ll fuck around with you, they’ll fuck around on you. He’s not interested in constantly having to watch for a knife in his back (or a bullet between his eyes), and the idea of being a pirate captain just --
Doesn’t appeal. He’ll do his time here, pocket enough treasure to secure himself a comfortable new beginning, and leave. No need for bad blood.
(He has enough of that already.)
“I’m content where I am. I’m a damn good navigator, and there’re worse men to follow. If I wanted a different life, I’d go get one.”
#( ask wednesday )#(remy voice) damn tell me how you really feel & what you really think of me#Anonymous
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Is there anyone on this ship you would die for?
The question catches him by surprise, and it reminds him of a lesson hard learned in his youth: it’s always the quiet ones that will drag the rug out from under your feet. She’s such a serious-faced girl, big eyes and a faintly disapproving notch between her eyebrows when he says or does something that she, no doubt, finds inappropriate.
Reminds him of someone. He’d rather not admit who, though.
He rolls his shoulders, smiling slightly, and reaches for a cigarette.
No.
(He has to look out for himself. Always has, always will.)
“If we’re put in a position where we’ve got to die for each other, we’re doing it wrong, ‘Vieve.” He flashes her a smile, cupping his hand around the end of his cigarette and lighting it up. “We all look out for each other, and that’s a question we never need to ask ourselves, yeah? I know that kind of thing sounds romantic, but it’s a shitty thing to do to someone, at the end of the day.”
Trust me, I’d know.
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(From Edison) Have you ever gotten lost?
“Sure, plenty of times,” he says easily, gesturing with his chin at the draw pile. “Your turn. Anybody who spends time at the helm of a ship and tells you they never get lost is either a liar or hasn’t put in enough hours to well and truly fuck himself.”
That’s the thing about discovering new routes, or taking the road less traveled, so to speak – you often end up out in BFE without any idea how you got there or how you’re going to find your way back out, but that’s the fun of it, sometimes. He’s never gotten himself so lost that he couldn’t get where he was going in the end, and he’s always learned something from it when he has.
He grins, reaching for his ale, and tips it toward Edison. “Important thing is, you never get lost the same way twice. That’s what makes you a professional, my friend.”
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Do you think that your current adventure is running smoothly?
It’s probably meant as a serious question, but Remy can’t help his laugh, genuine and amused.
“No such thing as a smooth adventure,” he returns, rubbing a hand over his mouth as his chuckling dies down. “If you think things are going well, that’s when something’s about to rear up and bite you on the ass. You just have to learn to embrace the chaos, and it’ll usually do all right by you.”
He’s gotten in more than his fair share of scrapes over the years, many of which he brought down upon his own head, but he’s also always bounced back from them, too. It’s always been the moments he allowed himself to get comfortable that he got complacent, lazy, and everything went to hell.
“But I can’t say that I’ve got any complaints at the moment. Deck under my back, food in my belly, beautiful scenery–” and here he winks at Reid, just for the pleasure of being obnoxious. “What more can a man ask for?”
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Would you ever date a co worker?
“No,” he says, on the edge of a laugh. He’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long for the question to come up, given how much he flirts during regular conversation. Tone tipping toward teasing, he asks, “Are you asking for a friend, then?”
What he likes about Wren is the understanding they have, the easy back-and-forth that will ultimately never amount to anything more than a bit of amusement. She’s someone he doesn’t have to think twice about tossing innuendo at, because she’ll catch it and send it right back to him, and it won’t mean a damn thing.
She reminds him of himself in that way.
The others – Keda’s hilarious to hit on, Reid’s amusing if only because of how exasperated he gets, Dax he honestly just wants food out of – it endears him to people, the flirting. You have to know who to push and how hard, but he’s good at reading people.
An actual relationship, though? He’s never had one of those in his life, thank the Maker. Well – nothing he would count as a relationship, though there were a few incidents over the years that inspired him to be a bit more up front about that.
“Last time a co-worker thought we were dating, I woke up looking down the barrel of a shot gun. Not an experience I’m keen on repeating.”
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remy bailey aesthetic, 001/?
“i’m the best kind of bad company.”
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