==== Tinkerbinker ====

Tinkerbinker is, out of character, a Moderator on the Island. Feel free to distract him for anything! He's happy to help.


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  * Name:  Tinker Moretti 
  * Age: 28
  * Height: 5'4" tall.
  * Religion: Buddhist.
  * Marriage: Methuselah Moretti.
  * Clan Association: [[the_queen_s_pirates| PRAT]] ((Pirates Raiding and Terrorizing)) Leader/Boatswain.
  * Favorite Drink: Tea, herbal tinctures and more sorts of tea.((Or anything that smells like, tastes like or vaguely reminds him of tea.))
  * Piercings: Hips, collarbone, back of his neck,ears and tongue.
  * Tattoos: The Heart Sutra Mantra is tattooed across his back - It was done by Dai in Port Foley. A jackalope skull with feathers and ribbons, that matches Carlynne's.


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Splashing, driving and fading raindrops creates a chorus. Soft and low, then high as discordant jangling plays itself over seafoam and loam.
The taste of rice rises, falls. Followed by the scent of incense and whisper of mantras. Darkness overtakes the sky, driving away cold starlight and wavering moon. A //flash// and //rumble// fills the air. Here-then-gone they abscond to the new and old notes of rainfall.

Slim fingers press over polished wood, trace silver and carved rose. Already-soaked-hair falls over shoulders and plasters itself to skin. Rough fabric soaks against arms and chest.

//Music//. 

It chases the scent of mid-morning tea, and the soft purr of just-born kittens through the rain. Cuts down the rumble of thunder, and allows lightening to flash. Discordant. Jangling. Out-of-tune and lacking order.

Memories and sand in juxtaposition.

Scars trace features, chase the collarbone and hips. Allows for a crooked smile and touch against sensitive skin. Bare feet dig against the sand, spin and lead across strew seashells. Pink crumbles, ivory yellows and creatures claim homes.
The touch of ocean water is tinged with the scent of salt and caress of strengthening waves. An old shirt is thrown to the waves. Lost to the turbulent sea with the jangle of notes. Removed with the jerk of arms over head.

Eventual silence is preceded by the tap of wood on wood. By the tenor laughter of a bird-not-bird. By the last rumble of distant thunder over calming waves. By the splash of limbs through water.

Footprints are left across the sand, leading away from a mahogany music box. Mugs, now filled with water, are strewn from the scarred fabric of an old pack. The violence of a storm fades from the night sky and stars creep out from dispersing clouds. 
An old shirt washes ashore. Sleeves torn by brambles from the jungle, with fabric permeated by the lingering scent of cigarette smoke.