Private Tales Minus the Heel of My Boot

[Lazarus of Minaris]

Lazarus had, much to his own surprise, become quite fond of Ragash. By his estimation, it was not the boldest of the Seven Great Cities of Amol-Kalit. If he were a betting man, which he was, he’d settle on it being somewhere in the middle. The Alabyad towers were eclipsed by Annuakat, the city's presence was a shadow of Kherkana, and it was hardly as mysterious as some of the other riverine cities. But for someone who often called Alliria or Elbion home, the Amol-Kalit city felt oddly like a second hearth.​

​

The location was particularly convenient for his trade. Given an operating base along the northern coastal toe of the Seret Mountains, laid to claim by the Erca’Ryt Trading company many years ago, there was something alluring about the voyage. An easterly trip down the Cairou river, banked northwesterly along favorable winds to port in the Gulf of Liad, followed by a small home stay at port, followed by a turn around the Trident and a cut back into the Gulf of Annuak. Admittedly, the ship often struggled moving upstream along the Baal-Duru but the confluence was always met with a loud vessel-wide sigh. From then on, it was Ragash and the open seas. ​

​

It had become routine for him. He’d pick up heavy ores, acquired through the Seret range, and trade the lot for shiny bits of this and that in Ragash. Once the vessel was replete with exchangeable goods, he’d oftentimes make way for Cerak and after some lingering at various houses that appreciated his company, he’d make way back to Elbion or Allira via portal stone. And this voyage was no different.​

​

“You mean to pick up more strays, Captain?” The mutton chopped barber surgeon looked towards the Captain as he was half away across the gangway that spanned hull to pier.​

“Mmm.” Lazarus adjusted the black top hat and patted down his long black coat, nicked with bits of dried salt spray. “Odds and ends are among my expectations, Terzine...why? You expect lonely tidings along the Baal-Asha?”​

“No, not quite. My herbs and mandrake keep me company just as well.”​

“Not much for warmth, hmm?”​

“Herbs burn just as well as timber.”​

“Right.” He paused, unsure of where the conversation was going. After the pause moved far beyond his expectation, he lifted his arms. “Do you prefer serval or caracal?”​

“I prefer to not linger.”​

“A barber surgeon hits like a bilge rat when he hangs the jib...preference noted by chalk and hung in the rain to dry.” His azure gaze drifted towards the night sky and found not a single cloud to reinforce his threat. “Now…” He looked back towards Terzine before moving down the pier. “...mind the boat. I need to acquire a bit of parchment to pad the coffer.”​

​

He always had difficulty securing payment in these parts, particularly when he was willing to offload prior to receipt. But such issues were half the reason for his particular appreciation for Ragash. It meant he had to go exploring, following the smell of incense and the sight of billowing harem cloth.​

​

Kailyn ​

 

[Kailyn]

The market before the docks was rich with pungent smells, like curry and cinnamon, intermingled with salt from the air. Mahogany-haired head bobbed among the small crowds. She wore a burnt orange dress, like the smoldering sunset about to dip down below the horizon of the desert dunes. Many folk knew who she was, even though her position with the Empire was new.

Mistress of Trade.

Kailyn was still getting used to the title. To the recognition. A very large part of her missed the one good thing that being a slave provided her with - anonymity. Against Gerra's strong suggestion, she'd decided to explore setting up a better trade route through the rivers and sea without the attendance of one of his body guards. It's how she used to do business for the households that owned her. And she felt the extra attention from a hulking, hybrid guard would be a little too much.

Amber eyes shifted up to the fat-bellied orc sitting lazily at the charter office. "What do you mean Captain Barsoa left? We had an appointment to discuss the Emperor's trade." Weight on the Emperor. A reminder of who the half-fire giant was.

That orc, who's name was Larry, absently picked a wedgie.

"Dunno what to tell-yah. Left 'bout a day ago. Ye missed him. Somethin got him spooked. Maybe a debt he owed. Not really sure." And it was clear he didn't really care.

He was supposed to give her a tour of the shipping lanes and some different options.

"Is this how you conduct your business here?" Kailyn's arms crossed beneath her chest.

Larry shrugged and picked at his teeth.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

Creaky wharf boards and the clapping stomp of rhythmic chop played to the background of his movement along the dock. Just as he had seen in the past explorations of Ragash, mercantile trade was hardly confined to the Bazaar square despite what he expected were permit based restrictions. Commerce was a hard thing to stop when income, despite lack of taxes with vendor setup, would invariably be funneled into other tax-levied sources of income. One way or another, the empire got their due.​

​

Sailors, merchants, and pirates all had a mighty penchant for consumption. Whether that be of brew or strong stew, the fact remained that precious space separated the consumption from the manufacturing process. Vagabonds stood along the wharf, eyeing incoming vessels by the dying light of the sun or by the wobbling iron-hoisted fire lamps - all while heartedly eating pieces of meat that were cooked in a fire pit meters away. The smell of cabbage, like the heralding of a war time encampment, drifted down the wooden planks and clung to the ground like a thick fog. Spices of cinnamon, saffron, cumin, turmeric, mustard, fenugreek, and clove drifted about like vagrants looking for a vessel to stow upon.​

​

For the easily distracted, it could all be so overwhelming.​

​

The door to the charter house swung open as the bell, sprung from a metal spring at frame level, rattled to introduce the boatswain. Removing his hat, he looked from the Orc to the Mistress and back.​

​

Lifting a gloved hand to his mouth, he cleared his throat and was all to aware of the smells that followed him in.​

​

"Bit 'o ore from the tip-top, as requested by..." He cleared his throat again, unraveling a pocketed bit of parchment. "Vizier..." He narrowed his eyes. "...Take a mouth of honey to pronounce that." He rolled it back up. "As bothered as I might be to take part in a bit of pantry-politics, I'd like to sort out gilt without concern for dutchery...if you don't mind the interruption." He looked back towards the Mistress. "As they tell it, you might be the sort to help me line my pockets for fairly traded goods."​

 

[Kailyn]

Brown brows scrunched, quirked, and lofted on skin she wished she didn't have for desert life. Skin that easily blistered and reddened by the sun. Skin that had done fine in the dredges of Cerak At'Thul but not anywhere else.

That hat, though.

Head canted slightly to the side, as if tipping an ear would help her better understand the man's accent. She'd been following someone else's orders nearly her entire life and therefor, she knew how to listen and listen well. Still. This was quite the challenge.

"Perhaps," Kailyn looked back to Larry who shrugged and looked rather bored. Eyes like honeyed-mead tracked back to tall stranger in that tall hat. She felt something stir. Similar to when she'd been around Gerra. And she wondered if it had to do with magic. Fingers tightened on her wrist, hidden from view., pressed against the fabric of her dress.

Calm. Not now. Not here.

"I'm looking for someone to show me a certifiable trade route. A reliable route for the Empire. One the Emperor will pay well for, if it is proven. Down the river and along the coast and the islands beyond. Then, then maybe we can talk about lining your pockets. Are you interested Mister...?"

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

That wasn't the sort of answer he was looking for. It wasn't entirely uncommon for people to misunderstand him, given his thick seafaring accent and preference for a mosaic dialect. Lazarus surmised that either she had, indeed, misunderstood him, or she was taking him for something he wasn't.

"Listen, luv..." He cleared his throat, looking towards the Orc sheepishly. "Miss. The Erca'Ryt Trading company is not in the beg and borrow sort of business. Quite the opposite, as it goes..." He approached, rapping fingers against the top of his hat. And then ran a hand over the short cropped hair.

"We're a quite successful enterprise that offers a number of services. One of them not being chartering and discovery. Particularly with the nobbler over here..." He looked towards the Orc. "No offense mate, you're a proper bull is all and I don't mean the copper sort. Need a half sac of mountain just to keep my ship in kilter." He looked back towards the young female and looked thoughtful. "Sides, what could the Empire need with routes along the trib? As I understood it, Cortos serves as bulkhead for the Vel Anir hegemony." Not that he was particularly well versed on the matter.

"S'all mud and grime in that route. Roads along land are thickly carved, as I understood it."

It wasn't a no, per say. But a receipt in the coffer was better than the promise of riches and spoils at sea. And admittedly, establishing routes would make for busy seafaring in what was, presently, a fairly blue ocean market.

 

[Kailyn]

Half his terminology was lost on her. She blamed her lack of upbringing for it. It was rare enough for a slave girl to know how to read and write. This was something else entirely.

Ex-slave girl.

Was he suggesting she stick to land?

Fingers smoothed down the burnt-orange fabric of her clothing. Amber eyes narrowed slightly. A small tick in one of her brows. "Well," she said quietly. "What sort of business is the Erca'Ryt Trading company into? Because it seems like they'd prefer old business instead of new business."

Larry the Orc snorted.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

Lazarus eyed the orc as he snorted and quickly understood the direction of the conversation. "Well Miss Toffee...had I'd known I'd be taken to the ringer by tamarind jam, I might have worn something to protect the chompers." He wasn't particularly fond of her tone but he also wagered he wasn't in a position to leverage. Normally this sort of chase was rousing, leaving him wondering the streets for the person who would pay his debit. Now, Lazarus felt that he might not receive payment at all.​

"You don't look the sort for shaking elbows, luv, so I must assume that any threats, spoken or implied, are given with an ounce of clout. And while I've never had a stomach for chicanery and tripe, I suspect we all must genuflect in the face of unusual customs, eh?" Though he had been in Amol-Khalit for some time, he still was finding his way.​

Placing his hat back on this crown, he tapped the top and gazed between the Orc and the Trade Mistress. "So. I will be departing in the morning at first light. I am a man of many foibles, which seem to be...presently at large. However, punctuality is not one of them. If you are looking for a route, certification notwithstanding, then I should expect you traipsing a ball of chalk across the gangway. Hmm?" He placed his hands behind his back. "Will that suffice for now?"​

 

[Kailyn]

Shoulders squared.

Half of what he said was lost on her again. And it was quite embarrassing for herself. Now she understood the fake it 'till you make it saying. Brown brows leveled. Arms unfolded away from her body and fingers found a wrist to clasp behind her back.

"It will," she spoke with confidence even though she was squirming inside that she'd yet to mess this up and let an opportunity slip away through her fingers like the briny water just outside.

Another delicate clear of her throat.

"And I'm Kailyn."

Not luv.

"And what name should I use for you, sir?"

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

"Well now ya got me a bit poked up, luv...err...Miss Kailyn. I've gone on and on without introducing myself." He looked towards the Orc before looking back at young woman. Given the Orcs lack of lucidity, he was either a vagrant asking for a bit of coin or someone here for presentation. And if the latter, Lazarus assumed that he was hired muscle.​

​

And smelly muscle at that.​

​

"I imagine we can exchange pleasantries without any bear fiddling, eh? I am Lazarus, notorious and apparent bungler of everything innocently proper." He held his hand over his chest and dipped shallowly. "And while formal foozler, I must admit that red faced and ruddy, I'm content for this exchange to retire for the evening." He started to mutter. "As much as I am loathe to cut short on chancery."​

Perking back up, he looked around. "You wouldn't, by prospect of chance, know of any nearby lushery? For a bit of flips and uncouth company? Hmm?" ​

​

He was looking for a den or low lying place. For drinks and sour moods. And while he was aware of a few spots, he was on the prowl for a bit of a change of scenery.​

 

[Kailyn]

"Oh, only a former foozler, hmm?" Voice hummed pleasantly in her throat. She tipped her chin to the orc who rolled his shoulders. She squeezed by the larger man with the top hat that she could now ascribe a name to.

"Follow me." There was a flip of sun-warmed hair over her shoulder as she gave him a quick glance to make sure he was, indeed, following. Or keeping up. The inn she was staying at had plenty of those lushery places nearby and there was certainly a demand from the sea-faring men to keep 'em running without any cause for loss of profit.

"There's one just before the Inn I'm staying at. It's called The Broken Glass." She didn't say she minded the company back. She'd forgotten the time and didn't think it would've been particularly wise to walk these streets alone. Sometimes the cost of being a woman in these parts was rather inconvenient.

And though she just met this Lazarus, she imagined him slightly better than a thug on the streets. Once clasped hands fell to her sides as she walked. "Since you are one for so much punctuality, I do hope you will be traipsing a ball of chalk across the gangway in the next few hours, especially after indulging in all the fineries the Broken Glass has to offer."

He was a warm-blooded man. She imaged he'd partake in plenty of spirits, women, and perhaps some drugs. She was just thankful she'd never been sold to a brothel as a slave. She wondered what her mother felt working as a whore. She'd only been told stories. The woman had died giving birth to Kailyn. And if she hadn't died, it's not like she would've been able to keep Kailyn and be a mother in any sense of the word.

Finger came to tuck an errant strand of mahogany beneath one night-cooled ear.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

Formal. He almost corrected her but she was busy walking on. In earnest, he wasn't looking for any company - particularly the sort of more cultured and refined company she offered. He had a mind for the dregs at the bottom of the barrel where grunts, spitting in a brass jar, or throwing fists were the closest things that passed for conversation.​

​

Laughing at her comment in regards to traipsing a ball of chalk across a gangway, he nodded and smiled. Though he might have appeared as something more closely resembling a smirk.​

​

"I find that fineries, as it were, are best reserved for consumption absent judgment. Hmm?" He didn't feel like he was being inspected but he got the distinct impression that the trade mistress was making some judgments regarding his intent. As they moved through the city, he quietly took in the details that were alit with iron bound sconces or wooden torches. A woman passing, wearing not much but frill; a man passing, wearing an outfit that was very similar; a few guards strolling by and tossing dice back and forth between the two; a couple of scamps kicking a dog, who was retaliatory with teeth bared and a lowered tail; a woman flinging some sop water from an elevated window; a vendor offering samples of steaming meat on a golden platter.​

​

Ragash was properly active at night. Perhaps even more so than during the day.​

​

"Staying at an Inn? I would have taken you for a proper local with an abode of your own." He winced, looking from the Inn and then down the street, to the Broken Glass. "Hmm, Broken Glass is a bit...on the nose, innit? Sure to beguile even the most upstanding patricians for good and family-oriented beano." Lazarus side stepped a patrol man and nudged against Kailyn. "You needn't worry about my punctuality, Miss Toffee. I'll be prim and proper upon daylight. As it stands, these sort of establishments are useful for picking up help." Tucking his arms behind his back, he pressed on and looked over his shoulder.​

​

"I suspect escort should no longer be needed, luv. 'Less you fancy a bit of reprieve from restfulness and the undue negligence regarding a particular dragon's whereabouts." Chasing the dragon and consumption of opium came with so many colorful and derivative phrases.​

 

[Kailyn]

Hip and side brushed against his salt-streaked jacket as he made room for the enforcement. The officer tipped his hat at Kailyn and couldn't help but give Lazarus a quick up-and-down scrutiny. Even one last glance over his shoulder at the pair before he continued on his route.

Kailyn suppressed a smile at these silent observations.

Perhaps that was only because she was wearing the Emperor's colors.

"Are you judging me for judging, hm? And I do have an apartment but closer to the palace." She split her time between here and Annuakat. Salitra she'd still consider a home, having been there the past seven years before Gerra seized the city.

She'd wanted to get a different taste of the city by staying near the docks and at the Inn. One her apartment would never provide. Not to mention, she felt more at home and closer to who her own kind used to be. Before freedom and titles were granted to her.

And sometimes traffic between the palace and the docks was a nightmare.

She held out her hand to the man one last time. "I suppose you will be safe to travel the rest of the way alone, Lazarus," a crinkle along her lips. A spark of mischievousness in her honeyed eyes. "And thank you for the offer but I have enough problems without adding dragons to the list."

Yeah, she'd passed out at a women's sleepover after only four glasses of wine. She could only imagine what she'd do on drugs.

And if his nicknames bothered her, she didn't show it.

"Goodnight dragon-tamer," that twitch of her lips rippled further as she turned to leave. Perhaps it was he who was being tamed by the dragon. At the mercy of, for sure.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

Dragon-tamer felt like a silly name and he would have rejoined, but he had suddenly found himself distracted by the swagger of hips moving towards the Broken Glass.​

​

~~~​

​

Terzine found himself stirring just prior to the abeyance of night. The sun was destined for a rise somewhere easterly, over waterways and into the frying pan of the Savannah. He did as he normally would, getting dressed and starting the day with a few days old boiled eggs. Once his fast was properly broken, he took to methodically cleaning his cabinet, his surgical and barber tools, and the rest of the remaining tools that could be found in the room that served as his sleeping arrangement. Once content with the rhythmic display of discipline, he made his way down to the wardroom. It was a room within the belly of the ship, serving as both the mess hall and the physicians alcove.​

​

"Up early, aren't we, Captain?" Terzine offered to Lazarus.​

"Mmm, benefits of my prestige, innit? If I don't sleep, I can mock the owls and kick the rooster."​

"Sir?"​

"Press your ear ta my palm, mate. We've got a bit of an alteration?"​

"I am a barber surgeon, not a tailor. Not in this life."​

"No no, in our route."​

"Ah." Terzine did his best to hide his disappointment. "We are not for the sea then?"​

"Uhh..." Lazarus stood up, puffing on the corn cob pipe of tobacco. "No. Not properly, anyway. Seems when we should turn right, we are going to turn...left."​

"To Cortos?"​

"Right...err...Correct. Matter of empirical import."​

"Huh." Terzine waved. "Never the mind. I don't really care."​

​

Lazarus shrugged and tipped his hat. "Might be we got ourselves a bit o' beer and skittles. We meander a bit, call it 8 bells, and jut out into Hegemony territory before the tar's had time to dry. But..." He looked towards Terzine. "Got us a bit of a church-bell coming along, introduce a bit of femininity into these hulls."​

​

"A stray robin, hmm?" Terzine smiled in his elderly way, eyeing the new cook who was moving into the wardroom with food.​

​

"Unfortunately no. Not convinced on her acumen, but she's a bit more than a bauble. Going to meet her down on the gangway, presently. If it's not too much trouble, mind the babbling brook and see if we can fetch up some actual eggs."​

 

[Kailyn]

Kailyn even arrived a few minutes early. She had a small satchel, strap strung around one curved shoulder. Ordinary, sun-streaked hair was tied to the side, in a fishtail braid. Unlike her rank might suggest, it was clear she was a no muss no fuss kind of girl. She’d never owned anything more than some broken pieces of pottery in her pocket. As a slave, even the clothes on ones back were considered property of the owner.

And now that she had anything she desired, she still found herself packing light. Not needing much. Though, she never went anywhere without her art supplies. Some of the supplies anyway. Stuffed within the depths of her bag were a few brightly colored pieces of chalk and some thick paper.

Amber eyes almost shifted like a flame as they found Lazarus.

“Good morning. And not a hint of weariness on you,” amused voice was quiet as she took in his rather bright-eyed appearance. Fuzzy like a peach. And he’d stayed. She half expected not to find him as he’d promised.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

"Oh as giddy as a prospector 'for a kibble...Not much for want regarding my liberty, but no point in playing the wickies night time habit when the sun comes up all the same." He affirmed, leaning lazily against the hull entrance that sat at the base of the vessel. As promised, there was a gangway bridge. On each side, it was protected by a ropes of sinew that could be braced but also served the purpose of fluidity. It could give with the ebb and tide, preventing stress against the hull that conventional bridges may have caused - forcing eventual undue damage against the entry point.​

​

He shifted and waved, inviting her in. "Come on now, Ms. Toffee. We got flats to cross, foreshores to 'void, and the ever-boding risk of Hegemonic conversations. Not much discovery for barnacles and the like who ain't for carrying weight, hmm? Come on..." He turned to head back into the bowels of the ship. "Get some vittles, yeah? Then we'll talk about your responsibilities as bo'sun..." His voice faded as he carried onward and upward.​

 

[Kailyn]

Footsteps took her across the gangway. For a moment, fear and a memory she’d rather forget flashed before her eyes. Ankles of an eleven year-old girl shackled. Shuffling aboard a similar bridge. Stuffed with a dank, crowded, and dark hold with no one caring about smells or tears.

Grip tightened along the ropes. Jaw clenched and she stumbled forward. “Ms. Toffee? That’s s funny name for Kailyn. And bo’son? Why I thought that was your job Mister Lazarus.” Following the tails of the coat of that man she managed a small smile, trying to distract herself.

Trying not to think of nightmares.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

"On account of your lamps, luv." He said, not making an attempt to look over his shoulder and gauge her response. "'Sides, I'm the boatswain when they ain't anyone else off commission, yeah?" He braced against the stairs and started his way up through the hull of the ship.​

​

Once he hit the floor where the wardroom was, he stopped just after cresting the last step and smiled. "Now, you didn't imagine that you'd find yourself here, on my boat, and cling to the hull like a mudcat desperate for 'venture, hmm? Can't have that, Ms. Toffee. Boredom leads to creativity and I am in no need of introspective murals in the tarring of my planks." He ticked his tongue and pointed towards the wardroom. A set of dual doors that slid open on bottom rails, marked by nautical ornaments and straps of rope. "Are you hungry? Eggs and bread are fresh for the day. After that..."​

​

He shrugged. "I'm not for empty promises. Brackish water encourages flower bugs."​

 

[Kailyn]

"Well, I've heard flower bugs can be a delicacy," she quipped with a small smile. If only he knew what kind of food she'd survived on, on Cerak At'Thul. She was sure he saw her as most did now - with the clothes, the Emperor's colors and seal. Some uppity, upper-class advisor.

If only he knew how out of place she felt in this strange position of authority. Then again, better for the man not to know. He seemed to enjoy poking and teasing far too much.

And this was him entirely sober!

Or so she thought.

"Are you not a man for art?" She tried to keep the disappointment from her tone. "And I am hungry, thank you." She'd follow him into the small kitchen area, nearly bumping into the cook.

"Oh, hello. You've been putting up with him for awhile?" There was no bite behind her words; just a friendly smile as she hooked her thumb back at Lazarus.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

The cook was a large figure of a man, roiled into a white tanktop and lacquered in various tattoo markings where the skin was visible. A few were clearly nautical themed while the majority of the remaining marks either displayed scantily clad women, women with no clothing at all, or references to drug abuse that might be easily missed for the uninitiated. He had the build of someone who pulled rope for a living but the pallor of fresh sea foam, as if stepping out on the deck would have been the first shot of sunshine in many months.​

The cook grunted in response to her question, preparing a few meals to the clank of tin plates. His face was long, adorned with an aquiline nose that spoke to a heritage at odds with his current profession and run of bad luck, and several facial scars around the cheeks and above the eyes.​

"I magine he ain't much for small talk on the account of missing bits..." Lazarus held up his hand to disarm the chef. "Not those bits, my crusty friend. A tongue..." He looked back towards Ms. Toffee. "An unfair settling of debt is what I heard, on account of shaking elbows where elbows shouldn't be shook. But he can sling slush like the best of 'em and 'as got the mass to facilitate negotiations in the most alacritous manner, hmm?"​

Lazarus grabbed two plates and led the woman away from the food preparation area. "Now, as to the subject of art. Course I enjoy art, as much as any man. But where we differ is undoubtedly in the medium. Ya see..." He set her plate of eggs down on the table, close to Terzine, who was quietly consuming eggs and sopping up juices with bread. "A dollymop in the throws of a good prigging can do all matters of acrobatics and twists, the sort that could make even a tarbird blush. Now, I consider that art. A bit of tinsel and color, can take or leave it, eh?" ​

He prodded a bit of eggs with his two pronged fork.​

 

[Kailyn]

Kailyn nearly choked on her eggs. Did he just talk about...a prostitute? Enclosed fist went to her lips as she coughed and managed to swallow the eggs, eyes watering on the edges. Another clear of her throat.

"Excuse me."

She put her fork down.

"Well, you haven't seen any of my work, so perhaps your opinion would change." She of course, was referring to her drawings and paintings. Not anything...lewd.

A more careful nibble of eggs.

"So Mister Lazarus. What role do you expect me to fulfill on this journey of ours?" She was wondering about what chores he'd want her to do. "And I'd like to go ahead and put in a request to sleep above deck. And if your skills running this route prove efficient, the Empire will reward you greatly."

A slow sip of coffee and a glance of honeyed-amber to the man over the rim.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

He lifted his gaze to her comment regarding how his opinion might change. A litany of answers scribbled their way across his perspective, each of which would have been more inappropriate than the last. He felt the corner of his mouth lift in a mild, if not almost vacant, smile. One that allowed him a moment of thought as he looked toward Terzine. The old barber surgeon had lifted his eyes to meet the captains stare and while it was almost imperceptible, Lazarus could have sworn he had heard the surgeons brain rattle about in his cranium as he shook his head microscopically.​

​

So Lazarus also took a careful bite of his eggs and ruminated in the silence that passed before commentary progressed from the more feminine side of the table.​

​

"Well, Ms. Toffee..." He cleared his throat and conjured a crimson napkin from the interior of his jacket, wiping his mouth. Taking a bit of his own beverage, steaming but weak all around, he thought. "Seems we intend towards unaccustomed routes. Despite my upright status in every regard, the meat of is is that the Erca'ryt Trading Company is a bit...eh, short handed..." He coughed and looked at Terzine. "Temporarily inconvenienced by a lack of wind, hmm? Seems our sailingmaster, a prickly lush by all accounts, ain't too particularly keen on deviating from our well worn ruts, hmm?"​

​

He looked back towards Kailyn with a bit of a pause, going after another bit of eggs and picking out some shell. He turned and spit the shell on the floor. "How are you with parchment, luv? Bit of dots and lines, contours and all that? You can sleep where ever you might fancy, shit deck for all I care. Might be convenient for ya as the navigation room is just beneath on vessel stern side?" He chewed his eggs softly, confident she wasn't particularly used to naval terms. "Stern is the rump, yeah? Got windows, the navigation room. Good for the gentle breeze. And below that, that's the captains quarters."​

 

[Kailyn]

She picked out a hair that was decidedly not hers from the egg and calmly let it float to the floor. Food was food to Kailyn. She hadn't always been lucky to have it. She'd salvaged worse things from the trash. She was certainly not some uppity noble even though she was now in the position of one within the Empire.

Another bite of eggs as she cleaned her plate.

"Glad my sleeping arrangements are settled then. And if it's poor weather, I will take to the navigation room. Though I hope it won't distract you for me to be sleeping on top of you."

A flash of a coy smile.

It was clear she knew exactly what it sounded like. If Lazarus could play this game, so could she. Chair was pushed back as she stood. "And yes, I can read, write, and navigate." Honeyed pools of amber shifted to Terzine.

"How long have you had to put up with our dear Captain?" She went to gather the empty plates between the three of them to return to the cook.

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

His lidded expression, a response born from sudden thoughtfulness, may have indicated that he was picturing certain circumstances better left unsaid. But if the Mistress of Coin were intent to continue to tango deep into the well of salacious banter, Lazarus wasn't likely to leave her disappointed.​

​

"'Magine many a sultry night spent on the windless foreshores of the downwind Baal-Asha..." He responded as she lifted herself from the table. "Not likely I'm in need of that sort of imagery, mucking about in my melon, if I'm to make for the boards without..." He paused, contemplated on where that line was going.​

​

"Scavenging for mettle?" Terzine lifted his grey eyes from the empty bowl, having taken to playing with some strewn shells in the tin.​

​

"Well, I wouldn't quite call it scavenging...but..." Lazarus smiled and chuckled softly, taking a sip from the black coffee. "Not far off. That or a tonic to ease my worldly aches, hmm?"​

​

Terzine smiled as coyly as Kailyn, before turning his attention back to the woman. "Would you be appeased with a vague answer? I'd wager too long about cuts it."​

​

Lazarus laughed into his cup again.​

 

[Kailyn]

The cook grunted at the young woman and squinted at her. As if he wasn’t sure what she was. Turning, she caught that look from Terzine.

“Oh-ho. Such worldly aches indeed. I’m surprised you feel anything at all above the dragon spice, alcohol, and other numbing and temporary pleasures bought by coin and perhaps a charming smile and swagger of your brows.”

Kailyn’s hand dipped to one of her cocked out hips, a soft smirk playing on her lips.

“And Terzine. I would hope you've at least asked the man for a raise by now.” There was a tick of sun-streaked hair beneath one ear. A sip of her tea as her feet swayed with the boat pushing further down the river. Away from a place that had been home for her for the past ten or so years.

“Lazarus. Care to give me a tour of the rest of the ship?”

 

[Lazarus of Minaris]

He instinctively gave a tell with the lift of a brow. It may have been a swagger here and there, but he wasn't sure the particular mentioned anatomy was all that involved.​

​

"I am well kept for, Miss." Terzine bowed his head gratifyingly. "Roof over my head, tools when requested, and salt-spray in my mutton chops." He fanned fingers outward as if a peacock, feathering his facial hair for a full plume. Lazarus smiled and finished off the remains of his coffee before narrowing his eyes at the merchant mistress.​

​

"Well now, Miss Toffee. I'd wager we're in need of a calibration. Ain't much on this vessel that's worthy of expedience beyond a delayed schedule, inclement weather, and the rather unfortunate and unforeseen revelation of a sandbar." Lazarus cleared his throat softly and stood up, pushing his chain in and nodding to Terzine. "Sooner you get right with that, sooner we'll be for joyous occasions and a rather absent disposition towards melon-choly." ​

​

"Meloncholia is often derived from a dearth of sunshine." Terzine responded with a white smile.​

"Well that'd make you right for a proper gloom, hmm?" Lazarus produced his corn cob pipe and bit down on the tip.​

"Quite the contrary, Captain. Not with such radiance in our presence."​

​

Lazarus laughed, stifling a guffaw, as he side-eyed Kailyn. "Leash that silver tongue of yours, Terzine. Come on Ms. Toffee, hate to waste the day on flattery, hmm?"​

​

He pointed towards the open door, beyond where the cook was scraping the bottom of a bowl with a sharp ladle. As they made their way out, their path would lead out towards the main deck. Below them was the hull where the entered along the belly of the ship. There was not much for levels above them, save a half deck on the stern and bow. Lazarus crossed his arms, extending his hand out from the folds to point with the shaft of the pipe.​

​

"Two proper masts on the vessel, mizzen and fore. Gives her proper agility for navigating the narrow muck and ways of the Baal-Asha. Not the most attractive vessel, I'll admit. More akin to a chicken-breasted dwarf struggling a backstroke, diddeys flapping about and strewn with lice. But she gets the job done on occasion." The lice was clearly a reference the white shirted workers, tending to ropes and slapping fresh tar on the planks. The air was thick with the smell of resin and salt and the occasional gust of wind reminded the captain of their currently favorable winds towards southern movement.​