<div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i57.tinypic.com/28m1uld.png">[ img ]</a></div><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #000000">____________________________________________________</span><br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div><span style="font-size: 80%; line-height: 116%;"><br/>The purpose of this private one-on-one is to enrich the history of these two characters as they set themselves on a trip from Italy to Africa. <br/><span style="color: #DF0101">Yvonne, Commanding Officer of the Polish Women's Battalion, under office to the Fuhrer.</span><br/>Profile: <!-- l --><a class="postlink-local" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=6&amp;t=43313#p239062">viewtopic.php?f=6&amp;t=43313#p239062</a><!-- l --><br/><span style="color: #DF0101">Luciano, Captain of the ocean liner SS Conte di Savoia, La Regia Marina.</span><br/>Profile: <!-- l --><a class="postlink-local" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=6&amp;t=43313#p244714">viewtopic.php?f=6&amp;t=43313#p244714</a><!-- l --> <br/><br/>This one-on-one is a sub-solo project for the main group role play <a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=19&amp;t=43316"><span style="font-style: italic">Beyond an Unholy Resistance</span></a>, September 2014 - Present.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Remaining a story of its own, this one-one one is</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #DF0101"><span style="font-weight: bold">rated M</span></span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Language<br/>Mature Humor<br/>Sexual Themes<br/>Use of Alcohol<br/>Violent References<br/>Suggestive Themes</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div></blockquote><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>February 13th, 1940<br/>15:00, Italy<br/>Port of Naples</div><br/><br/><img alt="" src="http://i57.tinypic.com/s6ummo.png" style="float:left; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">The Port of Naples was one of the largest Italian seaports, the largest passenger ports in Europe and one of the largest in the Mediterranean Sea basin. The port itself housed work opportunities for thousands of employees which provided an income for the middle or the low class of Southern Europe. At the dock stood many waiting for that moment when they have to wave goodbye to loved ones as they helped them embark. Most of these loved ones, fresh or regular passengers, were tourists. Honeymooners seeking the ultimate getaway on an African safari adventure in the wild, luxury hotels and beach resorts, and some were wealthy tourists who sought a destination away from the war in the search of something mystique and dramatic, something that would quench the thirst their hearts desired. But amongst the rich there was another group of people waving goodbye to relatives they may never see again. These people were refugees, looking to isolate themselves from the war and death that has begun to taint every land in Europe. Designed to carry 1,195 passengers (465 first class, 260 tourist class and 470 third class), the white ship - RMS Empress of Britain - away from home, stood free in the deep, ethereal sea that pounded on the shores restlessly.<br/><br/>“Is the crew in order, Chief officer?” The eyes of the Captain lit up as he took a slow walk along the promenade of the deck; chin up, chest out, arms slightly swinging back and forth. He raised his eyes towards the sky, receiving the promising message sent from heaven that the journey of the 13th will be safe. Clear sky and still ocean.<br/><br/>“They are a fine bunch, Sir. Some of these sailors were recently bought, to serve under you for this vessel. The English officers in the other hand have had years of experience serving this ship.” The second-in-command smiled, nodding his head to some of the wealthy regulars he recognized and then returning his attention back to the Captain, clothed in a black attire with golden embroidery.<br/><br/>“I trust you, thank you. I have a great faith in all of my officers and sailors, new or old, including you Mister Mancini.” With a glow of serenity on his face, Luciano's gaze fell to the list of passengers that was handed to him by the rushed arrival of the Deck cadet. He searched for one particular name and when he found it, he turned his attention to his Chief officer, handing him the list and pointing his finger at the name as he positioned his form in front of the man. “Not a regular and she may or may not embark, but if she does come, make sure she's given a suite in my quarters. It is very important.” He added without giving his officer too much information on the identity of his guest. He looked away, smiling or nodding his head to each passenger he made eye contact with.<br/><br/>“Roger that, Sir!” The officer glanced at the name and shifted his eyes to the Captain. “A Polish name. Is she a friend or a relative of yours, if I may ask?”<br/><br/>“A business partner of a high caliber.” Removing briefly and re-placing the golden embroidered black and white hat on his head, Luciano's answer came short and clear, but a smile touched one corner of his lips as he relaxed his shoulders and resumed their walk, aiming for the empress deck one floor above with slow and steady steps. “Make sure the reporters are taken care of. We shall depart soon and I have no desire in speaking to them, but if they insist...” Luciano cut himself short and was naturally drawn to turn around slowly in response to the overwhelming deep, ecstatic sensations resulting from the receptive energy that discharged from a presence nearby. His inner depth of knowing was rarely mistaken. That presence must be <span style="font-style: italic">Hers</span>.</span><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><img alt="" src="http://i60.tinypic.com/2eb7ep3.png" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">The signature was curlier than her standard, but Yvonne Wojcik insisted on the transport of her personnel, all but slaves, as she was <span style="font-style: italic">hopeless</span> without them.  She dotted the “i” with equivalent theatrics, adjusting her shaded spectacles so her cat-lined eye could wink over the rims of the same shape, the sun winking off the disciplined and quartered golden curls atop her head.  Turning on a satin, navy heel, she strutted into the crowd.  The matching, striped skirt sashayed about her legs, almost as pale as the white alternated in the pattern of the fabric, keeping her from fully disappearing among the rushing bodies.<br/><br/>All the same, she relaxed, her back regally straight rather than arching compensatingly.  Her brows fell from their caffeine height, though they maintained a semblance of the previous scowl, somehow achieved still without a single wrinkle. She cursed the stupid thing on her face blocking her view of her passersby faces.  Unfortunately, she could also admit how much easier it made seeing them when she faced the sun.  All the same, she held her hand above the brow, making sure she wrinkled her nose disdainfully and with effort, like being forced to look about took more energy than she neither had or expected. The immediate count of bodies bustling over the surface of the large ship came to her searching eyes, but she was spying something - or someone - in particular.<br/>	The white suit gave him away, but she couldn’t help being surprised at seeing it.  The form beneath the heavy layers was both rigid with the sophistication of experience and at-ease with the authority of his position as he spoke to another.  Knowing she spent it foolishly, Yvonne sent out her energies to verify the man.  Slowly enough to accentuate the comfort of a captain but not drawing attention to his motions, his attention fell immediately on her, not even having scanned over the crowd like she had.  The pull of her cherry red lips was natural and she had to shake her head at herself. Muttering something about the ship having to do nicely, she replaced white gloves about her fingers and bent gently for the small briefcase to have it handed her by a handsome gentleman on the dock. She laughed openly, her face jumping back into place before heading toward the ramp.<br/><br/>	Finding her way on board she directed her path towards the captain, whatever he was doing, but angled away just as their paths crossed so she might look down upon those below and the view such a vessel would make.  She couldn’t say she’d been out to sea, let alone upon the ocean, and nervousness gave way to excitement.  Allowing this to show, she leaned over the rail and balanced on locked elbows so her toes barely skirted the wooden deck, one coming round to hook her calf and pull her down so she didn't tip right over here.  The elation was overwhelming, and she sighed audibly, relieving some of that tension.  She would remain in place until the man was able to speak to her, or another distraction afforded her attention as she understood well that might be some hours until he was available.<br/><br/>For now, she would play it childish and aloof - no two people would meet exactly the same person on this voyage when it came to Dama Wojcik, and only the captain would know her real intentions, let alone who she really was, however one might make that measurement.</span>