<div class="floatleft">(http://pre00.deviantart.net/c13a/th/pre/i/2014/320/d/0/hazardous_docks_by_haryarti-d86m32q.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name:</strong> Finn Búistéir<br/><strong>Position:</strong> <del>Distinguished psychopath.</del> Surgeon<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Awaking &gt; Tea &gt; Shopping &gt; Esperanza, Top Deck.<br/><strong>Time &amp; Date</strong>: Day 1 | Morning | Running late, but not too late.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong> Whomever, but no-one specifically. Open.<br/><strong>Content Warnings:</strong> drug use, language, deathy-things</span><br/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><br/>It'd not been but a few minutes past the sun's top peak crested the sky before Finn awoke, letting out the softest of murmurs and stretching as her lithe body uncurled beneath the covers. Toes curled, fingers wiggled, and slowly she sat up. Immediately, the tint of a hangover crept into the forefront of her mind - the warning sign of an impending migraine - as her vision pulsed gently with the throbbing ache behind her eyes. The room was dim, and disheveled - not just the bed, but the entire living space. A table tipped, papers strewn, drawers and cabinets left wide open, everything beneath the bed had been thrown unceremoniously about the area. Truly, it looked <em>ransacked</em> - and that's because it had been. By her.<br/><br/>"Morn', ole' chum," she said flatly with only the lightest tinge of cheer to her voice, as she peered over her shoulder at the hulking man-corpse beside her, still naked from their fatal encounter. The sex had been.. mediocre, but the poppy tea the man had drank had been <em>strong</em>. At first, she'd mostly planned to just rob the idiot, but... at some point, as she had wrapped up packing up anything of value, that... <em>impulse</em> had struck her again. In reality, it often did when she knew she'd be leaving port - or town. Every place she visited deserved a keepsake of her visit, right? And, well, as peculiar as a grisly murder may be of a keepsake.. well. It was one people tended to remember, and Finn <em>needed</em> to be remembered. Feared. Just like she - occasionally - needed to see the light die off in someone's eyes to stay partially functional. Sometimes that need found itself sated through work alone, but that was more like itching a never-ending scratch. There was always something special to her, something she felt deep down inside, when the deed was done purposefully. <br/><br/>"Notta' word to say, eh?" she asked simply, giving the body a shove, enough to cause it to edge closer to falling on the floor. " 'Tis sailin' day, mate. Been a lifetime, it feels. N' yer a rude shat in sheets." In truth, it had not been a lifetime. Six months, maybe, at most. Again she shoved - this time even harder, as she grew tired of looking at the oaf's face - and with a thud him, along with most of the bed's fixings, rolled off the side in a bloody heap. With little to no emotion whatsoever crossing her features, she simply got dressed in both corset and blouse, followed by the rest of her entirely black and dark attire (much like pictured.) The final touches were the most important to her, though, and firstly came her boots. Magnificent, nearly knee-high and sturdy enough to stop a blade, as several signs of a cutlasses bite would prove. But - even more importantly - was her belt. On each side hung a holster for her beloved pistols, and even better were the slots for her <em>tools</em>. Four scalpels, neatly tucked into a small lid-less leather pouch, and holstered right next to it hung a butcher's cleaver - sharp enough to catch the sparse light filtering into the room on its' razor-sharp edge (sharpened so to allow the small woman a clean cut with less force, of course.)<br/><br/>Slinging the courier's bag over her shoulder, and then the modified, worn, leather saddle-bag turned backpack over that, she set off out of the man's abode, or, well, she'd call it a <em>shat-hole</em>. Every step brought with it the jingling of coin and jewelry, a sound punctuated by the soft fall of her delicate feet in heavy boots. There was no cautiousness in her exit, despite the fact that the street outside was absolutely packed, and alive with activity. You see, Finn had found that when it came to this.. particular hobby of hers, mostly all that mattered was having the confidence to exude that she'd done nothing wrong, and that was something that came naturally. Mostly because she didn't feel like she'd done anything wrong, and with that mindset meant there was no weight. No guilt. No emotional hang-ups or otherwise.<br/><br/>A short walk brought her to the market, where she promptly strode down an alley and into a tucked-away tea shop. Behind the counter stood a short man with greasy hair and a grin, his head raising in recognition of a regular customer. "Ya'kno what I want," she said plainly, flat words soaked in her Irish accent, all the while plopping currency on the counter and letting it fall where it may, tip included. That was pretty rare for Finn - tipping - or paying a damn dime over what she thought something was worth. Here though? It meant extra strong poppy tea, and - she was wagering - she'd need to be atleast partially sedated to deal with an entire frigate full of loud-mouthed seafarers who've no idea who they will be allowing upon their ship.<br/><br/>It didn't take long for her tea to arrive, and it didn't take her long to throw it back like a normal sailor may rum. <em>This</em> put alcohol to shame, even if she was a common user of both. Empty cup in hand and a scorched tongue rubbing gently against the back of her teeth, she returned to the counter and proceeded to buy what she considered <em>ample</em> dried poppy seeds and pods, enough to both relax after a long day's worth of headaches and idiots, plus plenty to sedate anyone being too [i[unruly[/i] that she wasn't allowed to kill off. There were a few other stops on her way as well - specifically to buy a few extra tools and medical necessities that she'd prefer to have handy, and not be second-hand or partially used. This brought her bags to be outright stuffed - and heavy - but manageable when one was entirely dead inside and enjoyed pain. Which, of course, left only one stop: The Esperanza, her new places of residence and occupation.<br/><br/>Finn heard the cheering and otherwise on her approach along the dock, her nerves entirely unruffled by the staring of the sweaty men on her way there - let alone the fact she was running late. Confident strides brought her aboard the ship, where most everyone was gathered, and to say she paid them any attention whatsoever was.. well, an outright lie. A cursory, cold, and empty glance of nearly-black brown eyes was all she afforded any of them as her eyes raked across them all as a group, with little attention paid to much else. Immediately she spotted the Captain, and those she'd stumbled into in town to end up aboard the ship at all, but beyond taking them all in for a brief moment in passing, she continued right past - and through, if necessary - all of them. <br/><br/>Experience told her that the Infirmary - and thus her room - would be on the middle deck, and she was no stranger to the layout of any frigate or ship. In fact, she knew them intimately, and anything she didn't know, she knew she was equipped to figure out on her own without any issue. It felt like, to her, she had all the time in the world to decide if she cared enough to get acquainted with anyone here, and for now, she was far more interested in re-arranging and settling into the infirmary. Nothing pissed her off more than essential supplies or tools being someplace she wasn't familiar with, and that meant she'd be inventorying and re-organizing every bit of supplies.<br/><br/>So, with no more pomp and circumstance beyond the jingling of her bracelets, the loot in her bags, and the heavy cleaver upon her belt accented by the fall of her feet, she disappeared into the ship proper to explore her new space, which meant: The doctor was <em>officially</em> in. For better, or for worse. Time would tell.</span>