Eastern District, mid-morning of the 19th of Chad, 2005
A tall thin man walked out of Alice’s House and looked around the streets of the Merchant District… the man oozed distinction … his clothes were crafted of the finest materials…. A black silk shirt with black brushed leather pants… a black velvet vest with silver buttons … a black cape with silver clasp and chain draped over his shoulders… he wore a fine black hat to finish off his very dark looking visage… it was apparent the man liked black…

The brightest part of his ensemble was his very fine looking swept hilted Rapier that hung from a finely crafted and engraved leather belt harness about his waist… a long thin dagger with a wire wrapped pommel completed his arsenal…

“Count?… Count Rugen.” A man coming out of the establishment behind him called out … the thin man’s brows narrowed as he turned back to face the man… as the man drew up to his the thin man hissed at him bringing him up short…

“I told you…” he said in a voice filled with menace .. “NOT to mention my name…”

“Ah… sorry,” the man said… “but …”

“What part of my instructions do you not understand?” the Count asked…

“Nothing sir… it is just .. I need some … coin to .. Ah… hire the men you require.”

The Count reached inside his cloak and drew out a leather pouch and tosses it to the man, it clinked when he caught it…

“Now… be gone… and remember… the price for failure,” the Count said as he turned and walked on up the street…

He walked a bit before he paused and turned to looked around… he recalled seeing a beautiful young woman had walked into Alice’s just prior to him finishing his business… he was struck by her beauty and the strange alien features of her face… he had only gotten a glimpse of her before she had bought something and left….

Rugen was a man of exquisite taste and he was accustomed to getting what he wanted… he had hoped the woman wouldn’t have gone far… perhaps he could have hired her to ‘play’ for him later… he an interest in music and had noted the case she carried… but it was not only the musical performance that he was interested in… seeing her no where in sight he shrugged slightly and went about his business….

He had further stops to make… he had to put the word out once again to be on the look out for the Blonde woman of extraordinary beauty would had a very distinguishing tattoo of the serpent … if she was still alive as Vernon thought then there was a possibility that someone in Freeport might see her… and if she was not here then the ships leaving port would carry word of her and the large reward offered for her …

He personally would not stoop to going down to the lower docks and spreading the word… he would not be seen in such places… but that is what he paid others for… to deal with the retched lowlifes of the docks…

The reward offered was enough for a person to live the rest of his life as a free man without the need to ever work again… he was sure that if the woman was still out there hiding someplace … the reward would soon draw out word of her as it always had in the past…

Count Rugen didn’t see what Vernon saw in her… yes she was strikingly beautiful… the desire of any man… but she was reluctant to love a man that was not of her own choosing… the Count would have cast her off along time ago… but Vernon was as stubborn as she… though he would never say that to this employer… she wasn’t worth all the effort or the reward that was being offered… already they had spent a small fortune on her … Rugen though that one could have bought at last a dozen women of nearly equal beauty if one was so inclined… he thought that perhaps it was the chase that Vernon relished… he wondered what would have happened if one day the woman had accepted his advances… he doubted it would have lasted… but that was yet to be seen… if it would be…

He strode down the streets of the Merchant Quarter… here and there several people recognized him and knew whom he worked for… they bowed and smiled… he knew that many of them despised him and his position… but they would smile and wave and pretend … he didn’t mind… he knew his place in the world… he would survive…

The Count walked on … he had others to visit… more men to hire… he had a plan which he had discussed with Vernon who had agreed to the idea… nothing was beyond finding this woman… so Rugen had people to see… he had some ‘Special’ operatives yet to hire… he would handle this business personally… it required a more delicate touch … these men were specialist and would require higher payment… but they always delivered results…

~fade to black~

The Rusty Hook, mid-morning of the 19th of Chad, 2005

Part of the trouble with Lyri was that she didn't understand the meaning of disappointment. Oh, surely she knew the actual definition of the word, but when it came to practical application of the concept, it just didn't apply to her. Perhaps it was her youth, or her upbringing, or just luck. Whatever it was, Lyriandel Evermoon was rarely, if ever, disappointed, and so it did not seem out of the ordinary to her when the bard, Willow by name, had made a point to mention the possibility of things needing to be done. Lyri had told herself this very morning, as she did each previous one, that adventure would find her. And so, it seemed, it might still.

Her lips curving into a mischievous smile, Lyri swept the skulls into her palm and pocketed them,thinking that, if her boss could add to them, she'd be able to snag some decent meat for lunch. And maybe, if she could impress Willow, the bard would put in a good word with the captain and she could finally, blessedly, get the nine hells out of this infernal tavern and far, far away from Taro... Lost in her thoughts as she was, she made quick time clearing the rest of last night's mess from the floors and tables, and was glad to hear Wine's heavy footfalls as he trudged into sight. A brief entreaty for coin for the butcher, and she was off through the streets of Freeport, the smell of the ocean seeming to hook her by the nose and drag her along.

Taking the longest route possible to the butchers afforded her the opportunity to stare with longing at the ships in port, their lines, sails, rigging... she imagined herself standing on their decks, or in the crow's nest, eyes searching the distance for trouble or treasures. With a wistful sigh she set herself back to her task and arrived at the shop, where she haggled over the price of some gamy looking chickens, and waved to the several regulars who threw a greeting her way. Yet all in all, she was largely non-nondescript in the crowds, which she liked, even with her gaily colored ribbons lacing her boots and threaded into her hair. Here, she was just another wharfrat scurrying around a port. Here, she wasn't the odd little half-elf burdening some poor family.

She thought to make a stew, with Wine's help, to make the meat stretch, and used what few coins she had left to pick up some vegetables as well, and since Lyri could intelligently talk agriculture with him, he cut her a fairly generous deal. And again, she paused at the ships on her way back. But once at the Hook, her heart sank. Taro was there, and she forced herself to smile while she hurried back into the kitchens. Sadly, Taro followed, and remained at the door, no doubt glowering at anyone he could see.

With Wine's help, she was able to get a passable stew going, and finally turned herself to the task of finding some contacts for Willow, since she'd paid for it. She just wasn't going to ask Taro.

Night: First Mate's Cabin of Smuggler’s Moon, 18 Chad 2005
The gentle rocking of the Moon did nothing to ease Khash's restless mind as he laid upon his cot. Many aboard the ship had retired so as to rise early, aiming to quickly perform their duties and rush for shore leave; Khash had retired far more reluctantly.

The city of Freeport had always held a double-edged meaning to him; it had been where he and Jarek had spent much of their youth from their early years at the Star of the Sea - there would be a 'homecoming' of sorts, the brothers always sought to check on their former home- to the countless ships they'd sought passage and employment upon. Freeport seemed a reoccurring presence in their lives, one which, regardless of the freedom they possessed, always seemed to suck them back in. Khash often tried to ignore the endless memories that linked to this port. The bigotry and suspicion that because of his heritage often made visits unpleasant, especially with the constantly changing population; none were as accepting of him as Jarek. Few in the city did more than 'tolerate' his kind, but even then a bit of the drink in a man would make him show his true colours.

Casting his gaze across the simple cabin Khash looked again at the equipment he had set out. He wasn't going anywhere without his mace; if he needed to crack the skulls of scoundrels, or ensure the business he and Jarek had to do went smoothly, he'd need his trusted friend. But even his prized weapon had be found because of the treatment he had received from ignorant company. The other items upon the desk were simple things; his utility blade, his belt- just necessities for shore leave. He sighed heavily as he rolled over, knocking an empty bottle upon the floor.

If only he could rest...

Smuggler’s Moon, morning of the 19th of Chad, 2005
Dawn had arisen over the Moon, and the shouts of land began resounded through her hull. Khash tried to resist the call, his head a daze and his stomach in knots; worrying always did this to him. Squeezing his eyes shut in an weak attempt to return to his slumber, Khash rolled himself over, only to be offset by a sudden bucking of the ship. Grumbling as he lay in a heap, Khash spied the empty rum bottle and scowled; it wasn't the best idea he had lately. As he began to slowly push himself back up onto the cot - his head still disoriented from the tumble - Khash began to pick up the noise of the busywork aboard the ship. He quickly deducted the winds had taken a turn for the worse as the Moon began pulling a few more sharp turns; as first-mate he should have been out there already, but no one had thought to rouse him.

Sighing heavily he leaned back, his brow sagging as he began to think. Perhaps it had occurred to some that he should be awoken, but considering the irritable behavior he had slipped up in displaying since the events with the Rapier it was likely no individual wanted to risk disturbing him. Khash lost himself for a moment in his self-inflicted isolation, debating whether or not it was all in his head.

Footpads echoed in the hall outside his door, disrupting his thoughts. He focused his ears, noting the steps were too heavy to be Willow's, and there were no sounds of rummaging in the pantry that bordered his own room. He realized that the Moon had settled by this time; Jarek must have been getting ready to set out now. Looking to his modest desk, all of his equipment had remained more or less in place, but his preparations didn't stop a pang of guilt at his lack of action in bringing the ship to dock.

“Khash-mate," Jarek called his name as he pounded the door, a sound that stung Khash's head “Up an’ at ‘em, brother… we be expected by more’n one this mornin’!”
With a sheepish grin his brother couldn't see Khash rumbled back: "Aye Cap'n, jus' huggin' me bed g'bye. Be topside righ' behin yae"

He hopped up then, ensuring Jarek could hear him land upright; he regretted the speed though. Quickly he dressed himself in fresh clothing, though he noticed his pants were torn after looking down while tying his dreads out of his eyes. Shrugging the slight stylistic flaw off he tucked his dagger snug behind his belt and slipped his mace into its place at his hip. A small amount of coins were thrust into his pockets ...he owed the pantry a bottle of rum.

Ascending the hatch to the main deck he found many of the crew eagerly finishing their chores to be granted shore leave. A few crew members were happily planning to stay behind, and rightly so to keep the riff-raff off the Moon; although considering the Hawkes' past Khash thought it ironic. Looking about the deck he spotted Jarek talking to Willow about mid-ship. As he approached the lass left his brother's company gliding away as she always did. Khash couldn't help but chuckle at the grin on Jarek's face as his eyes kept following her.

"Sae Jarek, we gonna tak care o' bisnis or yae gonna keep starin?" He stood there with a toothy grin as the Captain turned to look at him. "Rheobryn may nae be as fun ta talk ta as Wil, but'n I recall 'im bein' but one 'o many we be plannin ta see."

He had no problem teasing his brother on this, as he hadn't made it far after waking Khash up before getting distracted.

((Now to direct attentions to the collab post ))

Dawn, 19th of Chad, 2005
“Land ho!”

Jericho grumbled and rubbed at his eyes before he allowed them to open…

“Serpent’s Teeth! Point an’ a half ta starboard!”

… and when they did, the captain of Smuggler’s Moon had to squint against the early morning light in order to pick out the lads in the rigging and the one up in the nest on the mainmast who had called out was completely obscured sail and sunbeams. He shielded his eyes from the daylight with one hand while the other reached back and gripped the crate as, stretching against the stiffness that sleeping on the thing had put in his back, he craned around to set his own eyes on the jagged profile of A’val and its sister islands. The wind blew hard in his face as he did and set the sails to fluttering and his eyes to squinting all the more… he felt the Moon hesitate in that split second shift of wind and that caused him to grumble once more.

He slid off the crate, then, and staggered a bit closer to the prow, leaning on the bowsprit as he loosened the scarf tied about his brow, shoved the greater mop of his hair back, and retied the whole mass in a sloppy ponytail at the base of his skull as he eyed the islands ahead and, more importantly, the seas that surrounded them. “She’s tae be a choppy one, lads,” Jericho hollered as he tore his eyes away from the looming shape of Mount A’val and turned to stride astern, “reef us in, ye lubbers, th’ winds’ll be wantin’ tae toy us about!”

He leapt down the ladder from the foredeck to the main and kept going, shouting orders as to tack and sail as he went and hearing those orders echoed across the decks and through the tops in his wake. He had reached the steps to the quarter deck when the wind shifted against them once more and Smuggler’s Moon bucked in protest as the once rolling surface of the sea shot a suddenly spiky wave up under her keel. “So much fer th’ fair winds an’ foll’win’ seas,” he growled, bounding up onto the quarterdeck and turning to peer out over the Moon’s bow, again.

“Trim us down tae fightin’ sail, boys,” Jericho called out after having studied the waters and winds for an instant. He backed towards the wheel, then, never taking his eyes off the choppy seas ahead, and wordlessly took hold of the thing when Epidii similarly let go and backed away; “Let’s rouse us some hands and get us a firm hand on them ropes, aye? We’ll skip ‘er like a stone all th’ way tae T‘wik if she makes us!”

“The seas were calm until just a moment ago, Captain,” Epidii commented as Jericho spun the wheel, angling the ship for a smoother cut across the rough water, “there was no indication of…”

“Aye, Epidii,” Jericho answered when the shifting wind caught in the Moon’s sails once more and pulled them along on a more southerly bearing, “She be a fickle lass, this mornin’ ‘twould seem…”

That reply brought a somewhat thoughtful smile to the Captain’s lips as he couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about the sea or, instead, if it was perhaps Davian to whom he was referring. If she’s th’ navigator I b’lieve her tae be, an’ wit’ her r’luctance tae put in a’ Freeport, it wouldnae be surprisin’ ef this sudden blow be her doin’ as opposed tae th’ weather’s.
“…No worries, though, aye? She’s nae fickle enough tae keep us off… jus’ wants tae give us a bit of a fight tae be sure we’re all awake.”

Morning: 19th of Chad, 2005; Freeport Harbor
Whether it was wind and wave or witchery that fought against Smuggler’s Moon’s arrival at Freeport, it hadn’t fought too hard. It had been a somewhat less than smooth sail along the reef that surrounded the Serpent’s Teeth and it had set more than one stomach to churning before Milton’s Folly loomed before them, marking the passage through the reef and into the bay, but not a single soul had been tossed over the sides or out of the rigging and, it seemed, that once the Moon had rounded T’wik and set her bowsprit over the bay, the waters had smoothed themselves back to glass and the elf-crafted clipper slid silently into the harbor. It wasn’t long thereafter that she was moored near the western end of The Docks and her decks were bustling with activity… cargo was made ready to offload, departing hands gathered their belongings and brought themselves on deck to await their final pay before disembarking, and, even those crew that were staying seemed anxious to have Halfpenny divvy some coin into their hands and find their way to shore.

Jericho lingered on the quarterdeck for a long while, his gaze sweeping the sprawl of Freeport when he wasn’t watching the hurly-burly on his own decks… I reckon if we have a home aside from the sea, this’d be it, he mused as his eyes skimmed the rambling spread of the Star of the Sea, Better’n some, I s’pose… A sight worse’n others… He took a deep breath, then, and winced a little at the pungent mixture of rotting fish guts, sewage, smoke, and the sweat of thousands that near overpowered the briny tang of the waters and the peaty scent of the jungle that clung to the wind as it blew through the city. “Gimme th’ open ocean, any day, aye? We’ll nae be here, long, me lovely,” he smirked, patting the wheel as he finally stepped away and made for the ladder, “Enough tae manage business, gather ye some fresh hands an’ sundry, an’ off we set…”

As his feet hit the main deck and he turned for the hatchway that led to the “officer’s” cabins, he came face to face with Davian… She seemed to almost huddle in the shadow of the sterncastle, her limpid eyes skimming over Freeport with what the corsair could only interpret as great uncertainty. “G’mornin’, Missus Passat,” he said, sketching a bit of a bow, “Fer th’ life o’ me I dinnae expect tae be seein’ ye on deck, giv’n th’ reluctance ye had in comin’ an’ all…” He looked over his shoulder at the sprawl, again, and chuckled; “She do draw th’ eye, though, don’ she?”

If nae th’ heart…
“Ne’er fear, lovely,” he said from behind a roguish grin as he turned his gaze back to her, “we’ll nae tarry here, long, I don’ reckon. Jus’ long enough tae close a contract, repack our stores, an’ find us a new swab or seven, aye?…”

His eyes danced over her, taking note of the borrowed tunic, belt, and dagger she still wore. If the girl was staying on as she had indicated, she’d need better fare than that (lovely as it was on her)… he’d have to see to it that she got something appropriate, he supposed, though he had no clue as to even how to start to buy a dress or other such.

“…An’, if ye’ll nae be needin’ me cabin fer a moment er two, I’ll be goin’ tae make meself more presentable so’s we c’n make this stop’s quick’s we can,” Jericho flicked a wink at the girl, then, and, stepping around her, disappeared through the hatchway.

((OOC: Anything or nothing from Davi, here, of course… backposts as necessary. ))

Once in his now unlocked cabin, he pulled on a pair of boots, donned a fresh tunic, and fastened his sword-belt around his waist before sorting out his hair. Afterward, he gathered the greater sum of deHertsberghe’s journals (Jericho had seen fit to remove or accidentally obliterate several pages from the last of them), and the dead man’s ring that Rheobryn had said he’d accept as further proof of the Rapier captain’s demise. All of this he stuffed into a sturdy if salt worn leather satchel and slung over one shoulder as he tromped back out into the corridor.

“Khash-mate,” he pounded on the door to his brother’s cabin with the flat of his hand as he passed, “Up an’ at ‘em, brother… we be expected by more’n one this mornin’!”

He smiled at the rumbling reply that came back and continued on his way back to the main deck…

((OOC: Okay… the remainder is pending a collab between T_O and myself… I figure it’s at this point that the interaction with Willow (all dolled up to go to town, herself, occurs…))

The Rusty Hook, early afternoon of the 19th of Chad, 2005
morning gave way to later morning, and the aromas of fresh baked breads and fresh stew spread out into the alleys and avenues, mingling with the salt air and making those passing by, as well as those within the Rusty Hook, suffer salivating mouths and rumbling stomachs. Lyri herself was not immune, and made more than a few excuses to wander near the kitchen to bask in the wonderful aroma. Karl Wine's usual offering, seafood chowder, was pretty damn good she had to admit, especially when he was sober, but after a while, she wondered how much fish one had to eat before turning into one.

Another night, Lyri sighed inwardly, and reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. If only... No, not "if." I'll get out of Freeport soon. Maybe sooner than I know. Fortuna favor me, send me a good strong ship to crew for tonight. And so she prayed again, as every day and every night, and after asking for the Goddess of Luck to favor her once more, Lyri opened her eyes and scanned the room, which had begun to fill up nicely.

AS she wove her way around the tables, her step light, patrons here and there called out for ale, or wine, or stew and break. These she brought them on large trays, her feet secure in their destinations enough that, thankfully, she managed not to trip for quite some time. Once she did, however, she was lucky enough to be carrying a dray of empty tankards and bowls, and the familiar grunting laughter of Taro Goldkeep met her ears. It grated her nerves like the screeches of a tantruming child.

It wasn't that he as half-orc that kept him from finding a place of respect in her eyes, it was that he was honestly, a compete and total horses arse. No, that was unkind - she'd met far too many horses to slander them so, in any fashion. No, Taro was just... She didn't mind a little aggression in a male. She didn't even mind a little possessiveness in them. She just didn't like feeling that he wanted to own her, like she was some useless article or frilly accessory, or some toy for him to amuse himself with. If he was nicer to her, if he actually showed interest in her houghts, or feelings, or desires, Taro might have been enough to keep her in Freeport. As it was now, he was one of the biggest reasons she wanted out.

After righting herself, she picked up the fallen items and balanced them a little better on the tray. She had no words for Taro right now, and hoped to avoid him altogether for the remained of the evening, so full was the room becomming. Yet he stalked her, predatory, and followed her around the room. Frustrations burned scarlet patches of emotion high on her cheeks, eyes flashing with anger. With any luck, she figured, her natural talent for falling on sharp objects would rub off on him. However, she knew this to be folly and sighed, trying to maintain a cheery dispocition for the rest of the patrons, most of whom she actually liked.

Like Colin. When he shuffled into the tavern, Lyri caught sight of him immediately, with his short hair is the color of polished amber. With exaggerated friendliness, she hugged the plump man, and widened her smile.

"It is so good to see you again!" she exclaimed, her voice slightly elevated in pitch and volume. Taro would no doubt be foaming at the mouth - Lyri found she actually enjoyed that idea. She took a perverse glee in tormenting him as he had tormented her for so long.

Colin, if taken aback by the sudden increase in friendliness, took it in stride, the good man. He smiled back at her and followed as Lyri led him to a table. "Wine? Ale? The Boss got in some good cider t'other night, care to try? And the stew I made myself. Well, with some help. But it's good. And fresh bread," she offered, barely stopping for a breath.

Colin felt as though he's been taken up by a slender, striking cyclone. A beautiful force of nature that brought a wider smile to his face. Ah, if only she were human. Or a bit older, he regretted.

"Calm down, calm down," he laughed, settling into a seat. His eyes, droopy and reminiscent of wood, danced, her attitude infectious. "yes, my dear, I'd love t' have th' cider. And some o'that stew. But sit, surely there be a reason you're so happy to see a fat ol' bastard as me?"

Colin Ritts was charming, educated, and kind. That was the key - he was kind. In all the time she'd worked for Karl Wine at the Rusty Hook, Colin had come in just about every odd day, would sit and share news or gossip, but he'd never had an unkind thing to say. Never a cross word, and Lyri appreciated that.

Lyri patted his hand and canted her head to the side. "One day, when I find a ship willing to take me, I'm going to miss you, Mister Ritts," she replied, and winked.

Rather than return the gesture, or display any outward shows of humor, Colin's demeanor shifted quite suddenly. A shadow passed over his features for but a moment, leaving behind a somber face and earnest tone of voice. "When you find that ship, Lyriandel, you let me know. I'd have work for them, if they'd have it."


Lyri arched a delicate brow and sat across from him, taking his hand in hers. "Be smiles again, Mister Ritts, and tell me just what your troubles are. Because maybe I know a thing or two about making them better, and maybe I know a person looking to help..." The words trailed off as she tried to read his expression, and he could see in her eyes, those damnable bright green eyes that showed him more of her emotions than she realized, he saw in there excitement, intensity, and most importantly, honesty. She wasn't shying him on, she really did know someone... But how much to divulge?

Colin forced a smile that appeared to reassure the young and impetuous half-elf. "Lyri, Lyri. Bless you. But don' be lookin so serious. It's but some small chore, I'm just a bit off humor today. Must be my back, eh? Or," and he patted his plump midsection, "too long without a good meal?" Colin chuckled. Now be a love and fetch me some o that stew and cider, and some bread. And send for me when e'er that interested party comes in to port, will ye, love?"

Her response was only to nod and smile, though as she stood and made for the kitchens, her curiosity nearly choked her. Why had he gone so strange at the mention of a ship if it was only a silly errand he needed them for, she wondered, and nearly tripped again, this time over a damned... Good god, it was monkey. A monkey dressed as a ships captain, down to his little hat. While adorable, the man to who it obviously belonged was not so. Rather, he was greatly intimidating, and she excused herself, mumbling her appologies, and made her way a bit more carefully now to the kitchens.

Unfortunately, the large black man with the monkey was still there, standing in her path, and showed no interest in moving. In fact, he seemed only to show interest in Lyri, and she assumed it was because she's caused him some offense by tripping over his monkey. No doubt he'd want her flogged, or drawn and quartered... She shook away the ridiculousness of her thoughts and put on a smile. Lyri slowed as she neared him, uncertain and alarmed by the almost ritualisitc scarring along his body.

She didn't mean to do it. Really, she was trying to be careful. It just... he was so tall, and imposing, and his little monkey was so damned irritatingly distracting. It began to hop around, then scurried up the man's simple trousers, along his vest, to perch on his shoulder, where it began to dance. It was, undeniably, the most bizarre thing she had ever seen. Sure, there had been men with birds upon their shoulders before, some that talked, though no more than a few phrases meant to make young honest girls blush, but this... In her defense, she couldn't help it. She felt drawn closer, as if by an invisible thread, caught up in wondering exactly where the man had found this creature those tiny clothes. And she tripped, sending poor Colin's bowl, tankard of cider, and generous chunk of bread flying, into the lap and face of another patron.

The man eyed her without emotion, and the voice that issued forth was like thunder, velvet, and the ends of the earth all at once. "Barmaid," he spoke, "try not to spill mine when you bring it to me," he pointed towards the back, or so it felt, such was his presence. In truth, it was the slightest of nods of his head in the direction of the back booth in the corner. Enthralled, anxious, Lyri could only nod and retrieve the unfortunate crockery. It happened that she had to pass by him on her way back to the kichens, and he whispered as she passed, his voice a calm breath against her skin that sent a shiver along every inch of her.

"Send me the captain of a worthy vessel," he breathed, and she swallowed hard, quickened her step.

Leaning into the counter in the kitchen, she watched her hands, watched them tremble with emotions she was unfamiliar with. Fear? Is that what this is, she wondered. A terrible ache filled her chest, a tight sour mass filled her gut and sand seemed to fill her mouth, as it was suddenly dry and parched. Lyri released a breath unaware it had been held so long, and closed her eyes. Moments passed in this way, with her seeking calm within herself, and remaining still, till another look assured her the shaking had subsided significantly.

With a deep breath, she fit a tray with Colin's meal and one for the scaryman with the monkey, and took extra care to deliver Colin's first.

"Tough spill," he sympathized, and pat her hand before she could draw it away. "Don't let him get you down. Even the tall and formidable looking need to eat."

Lyri could only smile, Taro completely forgetten, thankfully. But at the corner table in the back, she set before him his meal and paused, uncertain. His eyes swallowed her whole. His presence set her blood ringing. He took her hand, and his touch was almost cool. "This," he murmured," should make us about even, yes?" And he closed her fingers around two sold objects, and she was dismissed. She retreated to the bar, clutching two lords tighly in her grasp.

And Lyri, sweet girl, was consumed with curiosity again. But where do they make clothes that small, was all she could think.

Morning - Freeport: The Docks District When Jericho’s feet hit the docks he couldn’t help but grimace and cast a sorrowful look back at his ship where it bobbed peacefully in the harbor. It always happened this way… no matter how many times he’d done it… no matter how much he’d tried to convince himself that it was all just in his imagination… whenever he set foot on dry land the stillness of it came close to turning his stomach and made his legs feel almost as if they belonged to someone else for those first few seconds. He took a deep breath and watched Smuggler’s Moon rocking gently at her moorings for an instant; let the breath out as he drew his focus wider and let his gaze take in the other ship’s around her; then, forced the uneasy smirk into a roguish grin as his attentions began to wade the living tide of people that ebbed and flowed across the quays in The Docks district…

“Lubber Legs, agin’, Jarek?”

…Jericho glanced up at Khash who was, as ever, standing there beside him, waiting patiently and grinning that tusky grin. “Yarr, an’ don’cha jus’ bloody hate it, mate,” he laughed, clapping a hand on his brother’s massive shoulder and shoving the big half-orc a step ahead of him, as he began to swagger along the pier. “I c’n scarcely walk, aye? An’ there’s nae rickshaw in sight…” He leapt onto Khash’s back then, wrapped one arm around his brother’s mainmast of a neck and noogied the top of his dred-locked skull. “Guess ye get tae ferry me, then, aye,” he laughed, forgoing the noogies, now, and reaching back to slap his brother on the arse, “Yah! Khashy, ye strappin’ stallion, ye! Tae th’ Star o’ th’ Sea!”

Khash snorted out a bit of a chuckle and began lumbering along the pier.

“Gangway, ye bunch o’ layabouts,” Jericho hollered, waving now with his free arm in a gesture meant to wave aside the folk crowding the docks, “We be on important business, aye? Me horse’ll trample ye tae a greasy smear if’n ye dinnae clear a path! Avast! Gangway! Make a hole, there, aye?!”

When Khash’s chortling became more of a steady thing, Jericho ruffled his brother’s locks, slid down off his back, and fell in step beside him. “Et’s good tae see ye smilin’, mate,” he said, looking up at the half-orc after a quick skim of the crowd they now navigated, “Lubber legs come an’ go in a wink, Khash, but ye’ve been in th’ doldrums fer seems like days, now. Be there somethin’ on yer mind?”

The toothy grin faded from Khash's face as he looked down to Jericho, replaced by contemplation. It was clear he was trying to formulate the words right. He opened his mouth as if to say something but must have thought better of it, instead blowing air up past his tusks in a huff. Looking back over his shoulder towards the Smuggler's Moon he tried again. "I bin worried Jarek. Thas all." The look Jericho gave him told Khash the response was no good. His brow sagged as he continued, but at a volume only his brother would hear. "Nae ta dou' ye sense, but the magick lass troubles me. We migh be gettn in o're our heads." His voice fell further then. "An' I mean I cause us enou' probbums as it be." He trailed off then.

Jericho frowned at that and turned his head toward Khash so that his brother wouldn’t miss the expression. “Khashnagob Hawkes,” he said, keeping his voice low, “Ye ne’er cause me any problems tha’ I care tae call such, aye? Yer me brother, mate, an’ there ain’t sech a theng as ‘causin’ me problems where tha’s concerned. D’ye hear me, lad?

An’ far as th’ magick lass causin’ us problems,” Jericho shrugged, grinned, and nudged his brother playfully, “O’ course she’ll be causin’ us no end o’ trouble, mate!” He raised his voice, then, making sure that those close by would be sure to hear; “But when’s it e’er been otherwise fer th’ likes o’ you an’ me, eh? We’s still suckin’ air, me brother, an’ we faced more’n what’s our due share o’ troubles, ain’t we? We be Jericho an’ Khash Hawkes, mate! Trouble be our middle names, aye?

Me sense be damned, Khash,” he winked, lowering his voice again as he patted his giant of a baby brother on the back, “When somethin’ tosses ye about, mate… e’en if’n it be me… don’cha e’er be ‘fraid tae tell me, aye? I’d sooner toss ever’ salt aboard the Moon intae th’ drink afore I had ye wound up bout drek like tha’…”

Khash snorted before letting out a rumbling laugh as Jericho boasted their identities, drawing additional stares to those who heard his brother's call. "Aye Jarek, ye've neva steered me wrong... well mos' times." He shot his brother a toothy grin before lowering his own voice again. "Jus kno brudder; that lass hurt any'o our famly, -Wil, the 'alflin, any o dem- and ye best na stop me from tossin er in jus da same. Magicks be unsetlin"

“Aye, lad,” Jericho nodded, “I’m saavy…”

Though I dinnae think it’ll be Davi as’ll be th’ ill-wind yer expectin’… I’m more wonderin’ ‘bout this Wiles bloke… We’ll see wha’ we c’n haul outta Rheobryn on tha’…
Khash paused for a moment, as something seemed to nag at him. Snagging Jericho by the arm he quickly cast a look around. "Ye mae ave jus brot us sumore trouble Jarek." He said all of this in a flat, serious tone. However his facade faded quick and he grinned with a wink. "Fer one we missed the turn fer da Star, wut wid yer boastin. Fer two, now da surprise tha we be here is ruin'd fer da kids." Laughing again he suddenly tossed Jerchio back up onto his back as he turned around. "Now din Cap'n, spot da way an keep me from runnin inta folks we dun like; dae kno we're 'ere now"

Barreling down the streets with Jericho hollering warnings at passersby, the Hawkes drew nearer to their former home; The Star of the Sea orphanage lay just ahead of them.

((OOC: And there's the bit of a collab between T_O and myself to keep us afloat... got a big monster effort involving even more of you forthcoming and it should set us up for our adventure quite nicely...))

Midday; Freeport – The Rusty Hook As had long been their custom whenever they put in at Freeport, the brothers Hawkes had spent a few moments visiting the Star of the Sea… just long enough to reminisce a moment, ask about any current wards of the place that might fancy a spot on the Moon’s crew (there’d been none, this time), and then, as they bade farewell to Missus Clozet along with the other “black sisters” and their charges, they did so with the donation of a small pouch of Lords and Skulls that they hoped would be put to good use for the ocean’s orphans. Leaving there, the brothers wound their way through Freeport’s tangle of streets and alleys until they found themselves at Rheobryn’s place in the Eastern District. They had turned over everything that the portly merchant had specified for fulfillment of the contract he’d signed them to but, oddly enough, seemed a bit put off that there seemed to be pages missing from deHersberghe’s latest log-book and that, other than a handful of intended slaves whom they had let free off on Leeward, there were no “treasures” to be spoken of… actually, Rheobryn seemed more upset that the “intended slaves” hadn’t been brought to Freeport to be set free than he did any lack of treasure, and it was that point he used to try and haggle out of a piece of the payment he’d stipulated in the articles of his contract. The Hawkes boys were fairly shrewd negotiators, themselves, though, and, in the end, they’d gotten the full bounty out of the scheming little merchant… a bit begrudgingly, perhaps, but the full bounty nonetheless. With that done and the sun climbing higher into the skies over the Serpent’s Teeth, the privateers set The Eastern District behind them…

Jericho and Khash were still sharing a laugh about how indignant Rheobryn had gotten when they had told him that Smuggler’s Moon had let the “slaves” from the Rapier off in Libertyville when the ramshackle former warehouse that Karl Wine had converted into an inn and tavern called The Rusty Hook came into view…

“…An’ when ye telled ‘im tha’ d’Hertsberghe musta wiped ‘is arse wit’ dem pages from ‘is journal, I thunked ‘is head were set ta pop,” Khash guffawed as he and Jericho jandered out of the shadow of the walls of The Old City and towards the leaning tavern, “I were beginnin’ ta wonder if ‘e’d bother ta pay us after tha’!”

“Aye,” Jericho snickered as he shoved the Rusty Hook’s door open, “th’ man did seem a bit p’rturbed, din’ ‘e? An’ ‘e had nae choice but tae pay, lad. We done th’ job ‘e called on us fer, aft’r all… Tasin be chummin’ th’ waters wit’ ‘is Rapier keepin’ ‘im from floatin’ tae th’ top…” He offered his brother a nonplussed shrug along with a wink as they stepped inside; “Ye get wha’ ye pay fer, Khash-mate… Rehobryn knew tha’… an’ ‘e din’t pay us fer haulin’ ‘im back nae slave-flesh, did ‘e?”

“Not tha’ we wud.”

“Aye. Not tha’ we would,” Jericho replied, his cinnamon eyes skimming the Hook’s over-large common room in search of a likely table and taking note of the smattering of patrons that already lounged about the place. “Looks’s if Will’s yet tae arrive.”

As he weaved through the room towards a table along the wall that would allow him a good view of the comings and going of The Hook’s clientele, the Captain of Smuggler’s Moon offered a smile to the red-headed lass who was scurrying about the place, balancing a tray of crockery and clink between a hand and a shoulder. “Wine’s got ‘im a new one, looks like,” he said, watching the girl for a moment as he and Khash settled in at the table, “I dinnae recall tha’ face from when last we was here, d’you?”

The larger Hawkes brother glanced at the auburn-haired barmaid and shook his head; “Nope… an’ I reckon I wud… she be a pretty one… youngish lookin’ ta boot…”

“Aye,” Jericho nodded, his gaze ticking from face to face around the room, again, before finding the girl once more, “she be tha’, mate.”

O’ course, they’s usually all pretty an’ youngish lookin’ ‘til they been workin’ here a while, he mused to himself, poor lass… If’n Wine makes this’n a doxy, ‘e’d be wise tae charge enough tae keep ‘er outta reach o’ most o’ the salts tha’ come in ‘ere…
~*~*~*~

Lyriandel moved with unusual grace today, winding her way through the filling taverns. With sure steps, she set down bowls and tankards before the hungry, and cleared away empty ones from vacant places held moments ago by those now gone on their ways. Aye, she promised herself, and someday I, too, will be like them, and leave my coins on the table. The long thin braids at her temples, laced through, like the rest of her hair, with bright ribbons, swung easily with every step, every turn and move as she worked he way around the room, tray ever at hand.

Cider gave way, for Colin, to ale, though he sipped it slow and made pretty conversation each time she passed by. He seemed slightly more anxious now than he had when she'd set his first bowl of stew down, and kept glancing back at the door as if expecting someone, tough with each person that entered, he merely glanced at them before returning his attentions elsewhere. But the scarred man in the corner, she made no conversation with as she refilled his glass and took his empty bowl. and he made none to her, merely looked upon her with intensity and quiet.

As she made her way back to the bar, a process made slower by stopping to share a friendly word with the patrons scattered about, she heard the door again and looked up returning the greeting smile of two men with the unmistakable look of the sea about them. And the larger one, he bore enough similarities to Taro that she knew him for what he was and offered him a smile as well, for he had pleasant eyes. Noting their places as they took seats at a table, she refilled the tankards that needed it and headed towards them.

They smelled of the sea, they did, with sun baked skin seasoned by salt sprays, and the usual longing twisted a chord in her. To be at sea! Oh, the stories they must have. "Welcome, boys, to the Rusty Hook. First rounds on the house," she offered brightly, "And I'll be happy to fetch ye both some grub. Day's fare's a savory chicken stew, made fresh as daisies just today. We've ale, mead, and a fine assortment o' spirits to wet your tongues. So, what say you boys?"

~*~*~*~

“We say there be li’l er less tha’s finer’n free drinks, lass,” Jericho grinned disarmingly at the girl as he swept a cluster of braids from where they’d fallen into his eyes and looked her over, “but I reckon yer like tae be one o’ ‘em…”

Lyri flashed a gracious smile, but deflected the compliment with practiced ease by stage-whispering to the silent one, "Some say'd depend on the drink."

Half-elven by th’ look o’ her. It was easier to see now that she was closer and went some distance toward explaining (at least to him) why she seemed so much prettier than the other girls Wine typically had about… and made him wonder as to where Will might be.

…He stroked his beard for a moment, glanced sideways at Khash, and, when the half-orc nodded, turned his gaze back to the be-ribboned bar-girl; “We’ll ‘ave a coupla bowls o’ yer stew, lovely… an’ since they be free an’ all, wha’ say ye bring us a splash o’ Karl’s finest rum, aye?”

She nodded once and winked at the silent one before turning away but paused, rounded to face the pair. "Some point today we'll be having some live music. Should stay a spell after ye sup and have a listen." And where was she, Lyri wondered, moving off to the kitchen for the stews. There was still quite a bit of the bread left, and she tore off sizeable chunks.

The world, she knew, was vast, and was more just Hexworth and Freeport. She refused to allow this place to be her living tomb, refused to let herself become a permanent fixture, like the doors, or the cutlery, or worse, become one of the ladies who worked the room in trade of flesh for coin. That would never be her, she vowed, and set her tray to her shoulder as she advanced on the bar. Two generous tankards joined the bowls and spoons, and she once again found herself before the intriguing newcomers.

"Right," she chirped sweetly, setting down their fare. "You boys all set, or is there something else you need?" A quick survey of the house ladies present revealed one not currently disposed. "Maevyelin's free, if ye be needing to work up your appetites..." A wrinkle of her nose was enough to voice her opinion of that idea.

Jericho’s gaze tracked the serving girl’s toward Maevyelin and he laughed. “Yarr! I dinnae think so, lass,” he grinned, “Plenty o’ crabs in th’ sea… no need in tryin’ tae catch any o’ them sort wha’ be landbound, aye? Th’ stew an’ rum’ll be th’ lot o’ it fer me, I reckon, thank’ee.”

The girl flashed her brilliant smile, accented it with a bit of a giggle, and nodded before she swept away from their table and disappeared back into the kitchens.

“Tha’ one’ll nae be long fer this hole, I wager,” Jericho commented as he dipped a spoon into the stew and stirred up a mouthful, “Much too firey tae be held down tae a servin’ wench, she is…”

((All due credit to Lady D and T_O for their collab efforts on these posts, too, by the way. You folks are fantastic. Additional note: Any other crew or potential crew are more than welcome to wander in at any time... ))

The Rusty Hook, Early Afternoon
The fiery halo that had been present in the Hook this morning gave way to softer afternoon light. Willow let the doors swing shut, and stood next to the entrance to allow her eyes to refocus. The bar had been straightened up considerably from this morning. Lyri either had help or she was extremely efficient; the latter indicating that bar brawls were almost a nightly occurrence at the Hook. A few men now occupied the tavern, bowls and cutlery clanked in time with small talk as they ate their lunch. A quick scan revealed Jericho and Khash sitting at one of the tables next to the wall engaged in quiet conversation.

Willow cursed herself. She had really been trying to get out of Megs early enough to have this place a bit rowdier before her captain and first mate showed up. All in all, she couldn’t begrudge her visit; it had been something they both needed. That and it really was necessary to get Davi into something that wasn’t Jericho-sized.

The half-elf swept over to the counter and started looking around for Lyri. She was nowhere to be found. Willow knew better then to go poking around this establishment, so she waited at the end of the bar until she caught sight of the red head. Lyri soon came out of the kitchen, smacking her lips and licking the ends of her fingers.

"Hey pretty lady, you gotta minute for a girl itchin' to play?" A wide grin will spread across the bard’s face.

Hearing the familiar voice, Lyri's face brightened considerably and she practically skipped to the bar.

"Willow! You're back! I'm so glad, I was startin to think maybe some other 'stablishment had snagged you for themselves. You fancy a meal? Or a brew?"

"Neither, actually," She set down a wrapped bottle onto the bar counter, along with another couple of skulls, "What I would fancy is if you would be so kind as to take that bottle over to my captain and his first mate. That tall, handsome human over there with the long dark hair pulled back in the bandana, sitting with the equally handsome half orc." Her grin widened as she slide the bottle and coins towards Lyri.

At her words, the maid’s eyes brightened; a rosey blush rose to the top of her cheeks, and she snatched up the skulls and the bottle, "This pretty thing come with a message? Like a shops needed by the pudgy man there," indicating Colin with a nod in his direction, "and the monkey man in the corner?"

Will's eyes lit up, Good girl. Thank you. "Message? Sure thing, lovely. If it's messages you've got, he's the man to deliver 'em to."

With a wink and a smile , Lyri turned her back on bard. Will watched her go, and turned as soon as she had set the bottle down in front of the captain. That’s one introduction made. She’ll take care of the other two, I’d imagine.
There was no stage here. The Rusty Hook had been constructed rather haphazardly and without much forethought apart from needing a room to get drunk and rooms to get laid. Willow cleared a somewhat sturdy looking table and moved it so it was positioned a bit farther back from the center of the room. She stuffed her case under the table and, after jumping on top of it, blessed the elven heritage that ran through her veins. The table was wobbly enough that she wasn’t sure if a regular human could stand on it and play without getting bucked off.

A chord was pulled from her strings, and the low mutterings in the tavern hushed momentarily. Without a word, Saercyn Willow plunged headlong in a jig called Top of Cork Road. The livey tune had an immediate effect on the patrons; some pulling their slouched heads out of their bowls of soup, others downing their tankards of ale and directly ordering a fresh one. By the time she had finished, the tavern had started subtly shifting into a lighter mood. A few more curious heads had peeked in through the door, before deciding to come in.

We can do much better then that.
Willow let loose a wide grin, “A poem,” she said over the rising din of the room. Her tune changed as she sang out in a loud voice,
~Take up the sheets me hearties,
Water the decks with brine,
Bend to the oars, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine.

Three old whores in Iv’ry Ports
Were drinking a sherry wine,
Says one of them to the other two,
"Yours is smaller than mine."

Take up the sheets me hearties,
Water the decks with brine,
Bend to the oars, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine.

"You're a liar," says the other old whore
"Mine's as big as the moon,
The battleships sail In and out,
And never a bother to me"

Take up the sheets me hearties,
Water the decks with brine,
Bend to the oars, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine. ~
By this time, the tavern was starting to have a small uproar of laughter. Many of the patrons had joined in on the chorus, and several of the maids that were wandering about had been grabbed by some of the drunken men. Their faces were red, and Willow knew that they hadn’t been expecting to work this early in the day.

~"You're a liar," says the other old whore,
"Mine's as big as the moon,
The ships sail in on the first of the year,
And never come out until June."

Take up the sheets me hearties,
Water the decks with brine,
Bend to the oars, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine.

"You're a liar," says the other old whore,
"Mine's as big as the air,
the ships sail out and the ships sail in,
And never tickle a hair"

Take up the sheets me hearties,
Water the decks with brine,
Bend to the oars, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine.

"You're a liar," says the first again,
I'd blush to be so small,
Many's the fleet they sailed right in,
And never come out at all."

Take up the sheets me hearties,
Water the decks with brine,
Bend to the oars, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine.~
Loud wooden pounds echoed around the room as the men slapped the tables and roared approval. Bleary eyed maids and their escorts that had slept in had started making their way down the stairs to see what all the noise was about. Willow dove headlong into another upbeat jig. She alternated those with bawdy songs like Blow the Man Down and Watkin’s Ale. By the time the bard jumped down from the table, the tavern had four times the customers then when she had started playing, and all were drinking, laughing, and throwing calls at her to go on.

Perfect.

Early Afternoon, 19th of Chad, 2005 – The Rusty Hook Jericho had just shoved his bowl away when the Rusty Hook’s doors swung open and Willow sauntered in. He smiled at her, of course, but didn’t expect her to join them right away… she’d have arranged business for herself, here, he was sure… and, sure enough, rather than making her way to their table, the Moon’s shanty-singer made her way, instead, to the bar where she was greeted happily by the red-haired serving girl. He sipped at his rum, watching the two half-elves for an instant, before he turned his attentions back to the conversation he’d been having with Khash… When he looked back to the bar again a moment later, he saw Willow taking her beloved fiddle from it’s case as she prepared to provide some entertainment for the Hook’s patrons, and noticed, too, that the ribbon bedecked lass was making her way back to their table with a bottle in her hands.

The sprightly little red-head plopped the bottle down between him and Khash and offered a humorous curtsey along with it. "This gift comes to you from the lovely creature by the bar,” she smiled, “along with a message.”

“Aye an’ she do be a lovely creature at tha’ doesn’ she,” Jericho grinned in reply, glancing first at the bottle, then, just as appreciatively at Willow, and, finally back to Lyri, “A message comes wit’ this ye say?”

“There be a man to your left, and back about seven paces, by the name Colin,” the girl nodded, “He's lookin for a ship to make a run for him...”

Jericho turned in his seat as he pulled the cork from the bottle, situating himself to get a discreet look at this Colin fellow. He took a sip of the rum, smiling faintly at the notes of strawberry that mingled with the other spices in the spirit, and passed the bottle to Khash as the girl went on.

“…And there's a scary man with a monkey in tiny clothes askin for worthy ships to be sent to him.”

“Aye,” Jericho grinned, his gaze sweeping unassumingly passed the man and his monkey as it tracked back to the serving girl, “I spied tha’ one when we come in…”

He glanced at Khash; “Definite outta place look about ‘im, eh, mate? I reckon ‘e’s an interestin’ sail in th’ works.”

Khash had been happily finishing off his stew as the exchange between his brother and the fine little red-head occurred. He had chosen to savor each spoonful of the meal; it helped complete the good mood created this morning with Jericho. That wasn't to say he hadn't been listening. Turning in his seat he slid his bowl to the center of the table, sighing happily and rubbing his stomach. This of course was only a cover, for his eyes quickly darted towards the corner to reappraise the man in question. The figure certainly stood out, but they would need a closer look - and talk, before they determined their stance on the matter; after all, appearances weren't everything. Turning back he nodded "Aye Cap'n. Reckon it be as ye sae."

“Thank’ee fer the d’livery an’ the message, lass,” he purred, his cinnamon-hued eyes turning to regard Lyri, once more, “I fer certain ‘preciate th’ business…”

"An' the stew" Khash slid the comment in without a thought a sheepish grin upon his face.

This caused Jericho to shake his head and a grin as two fingers dipped into his belt and came back out with a Lord pinched between them. He slid the coin across the table toward the girl but kept it pinned beneath his fingers for an instant; “Wha’d ye say yer name was, poppet?”

((OOC: Assuming, of course, that she offers her name…))

“Lyri,” the corsair repeated with a smile. His fingers slid back across the table, then, leaving the gold piece in front of Lyri. “I be Jericho Hawkes; cap’n o’ th’ Smuggler’s Moon,” he offered, then, with a tilt of the head to Khash, “an’ this here be me brother an’ firs’ mate, Khash.

If’n ye’d see tae it tha’ Colin finds ‘is way tae our table once Willow starts her playin’, Lyri,” he grinned, “I’m sure we’d be glad tae see wha’ we c’n do fer ‘im… I’ll nae trouble ye tae fetch us th’ monkey-man, though… Khash an’ me’ll see tae ‘im ourselves.

Ef there’s aught else we c’n be doin’ tae repay ye fer th’ leads, Lyri,” he added, pausing momentarily for another sampling of the fine rum that Willow had sent over, “ye be sure tae let us know, aye?”

((OOC2: Anything before Jericho sets off to see about the man and his monkey? Khash, anything from you? Room for interactions and whatnot throughout, of course… Backposts and edits as necessary…))

Early Afternoon 19th of Chad, 2005.

Jean swaggered about Freeport, looking down on the urchins and grotty ship workers he hated the town and the scum that lived here. Yet this was the hub of exploration, where questions weren't asked of the past, only of the future. Thinking about the boat that was about to moor up on the pontoon a strange feeling developed with in him, a surge of... knowing, he couldn't explain it. Reaching to the top pocket of his black pinstripe jacket he pulled out a periscope, he peered through the eye-hole, quickly he located the ship it was a practical ship he saw that, it was built for efficiency and speed, probably not for comfort. Searching for the name he looked at the back end of the hull, Smugglers Moon. That's the one. Dismissing it for the moment, he had reached his destination, Bishops Tailoring. It was time for a new suit.

The first thing Jean noticed, apart from the high pitched ring above his head as he walked through the door, was the difference in smell. It was far different from the stale sweat and stench of alcohol, it was the smell of sweet flowers and of perfume. Jean breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. A small man with a smock of brown hair and small spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be so involved in the parchment he was reading not to notice his latest customer. Jean cleared his throat loudly trying to attract his attention. The small man looked round sharply, his face registering a look of recognition.

“Jean, 'ow arr you? it 'as been to long.” The tall pale-skinned man exclaimed excitedly.

“Giles.” Jean acknowledged.

“What is it I can do for you?” Asked Giles.

“A drink Giles, and make it strong.” Demanded Jean.

“Of course. Feel free to browse my wares.” Giles said casually.

Giles rushed through a curtain and into a back room. Jean heard the pouring of liquids and murmured approvingly. He started to sift through the various clothing, there were pinstriped black suits, grey trousers with a perfect leg seam, Jean lost himself for a few minutes sifting through all his favourite comforts. This was not Kizmir, this was Freeport he had been here only a handful of times, and it was already beginning to grate on him. Bishops was a safe-haven however, a traditional Kizmirian tailor. He loved the smell, the touch and the service it was a little piece of home. Jean missed home.

Giles returned, drinks in hand. He pulled out a chair and beckoned to Jean to sit down. He returned just seconds later with a tray bearing cheese and bread.

“'ere ya are, ol' friend.” Giles said.

“Good as ever. Bit much with the mango though.”

“I assume you be 'ere to be clothed. Non?” Giles asked.

“You are correct, I want your lowliest clothes. I want them too look used, but under no circumstances are they to have been used.” Said Jean, stabbing his jewelled, curved knife into a slab of cheese set on the table. “If you understand my meaning.”

“Err, of course, of course.” His eyes fixated on the dagger. “Right away.”


* * *


Late Afternoon 19th of Chad, 2005

Jean walked out of the shop, back out to the smelly, grotty and unsightly streets of Freeport. The stench burnt his nostrils once more. Dressed in an assortment of garish colours, he had a loose fitting orange top tucked into a pair of bage trousers, there was a hint of pale skin between his trousers and the yellow shoes which hugged his feet. Resuming his arrogant swagger he strolled through the streets his curved sword swinging at his side with each step and his dagger fitted snugly in a right-hand side scabbard.

His destination was the docks, he was looking for Smugglers Moon. He strode through the docks judging each boats on practicality and speed, disapproving of most. He stopped at Smugglers Moon, his hand grasping his chin in thought. Although it wasn't a boat which stood out from any other, there was an awe about it, a certain something.

“I wish to speak to your captain, or whatever scum-bag runs this maggot infested vessel.” He called up to the sailors manning the deck.

“You be a brave man talking about cap'n Jerichos ship like that. A brave man indeed.” The sailors looked to each other chuckling.

“I didn't come here to swap niceties gentlemen. Now is he on board?” Demanded Jean.

“No, he be away at the minute.”

“What time is he back? I have something to discuss with him”

“He'll be aboard this evening. Who be asking?”

“Jean Gusto.”

With that Jean stormed away, he really did hate sailors. They were uncouth, ill-mannered and smelt like rot. Jean headed for a tavern, he needed a few stiff drinks, he knew what captains were like and this one was likely to be little different, arrogant and self assured. Jean hawked up and spat at a nearby urchin, causing him to scurry off. Jeans face was like a storm and his red eyes blazed, it didn't take much to irritate the tall man, and his itchy, ill fitting clothes did little to help.

Jean saw a tavern, The Rusty Hook, it looked a dim, rowdy place but there was sure to be drink and that's what he needed. Pushing past a burly half-orc who glared wickedly at him, he entered the taproom. The smell was far away from the tailors, it was filled of sweat, stale beer and pipe smoke and Jean started to find it hard to breathe. Pushing his way past the locals he searched for a table, he saw a free one and headed towards it nearly knocking over a service girl in his haste. They locked eyes, and noticing her apron he ordered his drink.

“Rum, half a bottle. At that table.” Jean said, pointing to the table. “and don't dawdle.”

If she had to sing praises, the stew was actually a bit tastier than she'd expected. It was still nothing compared to back home, with Caleb and Micarica, but she'd also had much, much worse. Sucking the last bits of broth and gravy from her fingers, a familiar voice broke her private moment of culinary appreciation.

"Hey pretty lady, you gotta minute for a girl itchin' to play?"
Her step was joy, and her face reflected her pleasure. Bards held a place of their own in her respect, had ever since the day she'd left her little home with one's party looking to make her mark in the world. And Willow herself reminded her of that very bard. How wonderful, Lyri mused as she made her way towards the other half-elf, if they could sail together? How simply astounding would it be, to hear all her stories and songs, and learn from her?

Ignoring the glowing eyes of a dismal half-orc at the end of the bar, not even Taro's frown could kill her mood.

"Willow! You're back! I'm so glad, I was startin to think maybe some other 'stablishment had snagged you for themselves. You fancy a meal? Or a brew?" And a quick rescue of a little girl eager to put this place behind her, she chose not to add. Not at this time, she reasoned. Let her play and drink a bit, and enjoy herself...

"Neither, actually," She set down a wrapped bottle onto the bar counter, along with another couple of skulls, "What I would fancy is if you would be so kind as to take that bottle over to my captain and his first mate. That tall, handsome human over there with the long dark hair pulled back in the bandana, sitting with the equally handsome half orc." Her grin widened as she slide the bottle and coins towards Lyri.
Ahhh... Undertanding bloomed as did a blush to her cheeks. coloring her face only a brief moment, but enough to notice. No doubt Taro'll split heads later, she knew, but nothing to be done for that now. She pulled her eyes off the first mate somewhat reluctantly. Glacing back to Willow, Lyri swept the coins into her hand and grabbed the bottle.

"This pretty thing come with a message? Like a *ship's* needed by the pudgy man there," indicating Colin with a nod in his direction, "and the monkey man in the corner?"

THe contacts she'd made obviously pleased the beautiful bard, which in turn pleased Lyri. Willow's eyes gleamed brightly. "Message? Sure thing, lovely. If it's messages you've got, he's the man to deliver 'em to."

With a wink and a smile , Lyri turned away and headed back to the table she'd just served.Once there, she set the bottle between them and curtseyed, having a bit of a lark, really. Today was turning out so curiously, there was extra good-humor within her to spare freely.

"This gift," she explained, "comes to you from the lovely creature by the bar,” she smiled, “along with a message.”

“Aye an’ she do be a lovely creature at tha’ doesn’ she,” Jericho grinned in reply, glancing first at the bottle, then, Willow, back to Lyri, “A message comes wit’ this ye say?”
Ah, so that's lovely, she thought, for it was difficult for even a bland man to mistake that look, and it tickled her to see, honest to say. But there were bigger matters than what warmed other's beds, and she droped her voice slightly.

“There be a man to your left, and back about seven paces, by the name Colin,” the girl nodded, “He's lookin for a ship to make a run for him...” And for a moment, fear gripped her, because she couldn't for the life of her recall what Colin had said he needed done. Or had he? Either way, she could not elaborate. “…And there's a scary man with a monkey in tiny clothes askin for worthy ships to be sent to him.”

Jericho turned in his seat as he pulled the cork from the bottle, situating himself to get a discreet look at this Colin fellow. He took a sip of the rum, smiling faintly at the notes of strawberry that mingled with the other spices in the spirit, and passed the bottle to Khash as the girl went on.

“…And there's a scary man with a monkey in tiny clothes askin for worthy ships to be sent to him.”

“Aye,” the man, whose name she hadn't yet caught, grinned and swept eyes about the room before landing on hers again. “I spied tha’ one when we come in…”

He glanced at first mate also sadly still unnamed; “Definite outta place look about ‘im, eh, mate? I reckon ‘e’s an interestin’ sail in th’ works.”

The silent one slid his bowl to the center of the table, sighing happily and rubbing his stomach. But there was fiery intelligence in his eyes, she noted. Turning back he nodded "Aye Cap'n. Reckon it be as ye sae."

He speaks! And a fine rumbley voice he has, too.
“Thank’ee fer the d’livery an’ the message, lass,” the captain offered, “I fer certain ‘preciate th’ business…”

"An' the stew" added the first mate.

"I had a hand in makin' it, to be speak truly," she murmured. Though cooking wasn't her life's calling, Micarica had given her a wonderful education in the art, and what she'd left out, the adventurers and Karl Wine had grudgingly filled in.

Th captain shook his head and grinned as two fingers dipped into his belt and came back out with a Lord pinched between them. He slid the coin across the table toward the girl but kept it pinned beneath his fingers for an instant; “Wha’d ye say yer name was, poppet?”

"Lyriandel Evermoon, once of Hexworth," she introduced, her bright eyes sparkling and merry. "but you can call me Lyri, as the full of my name usually means I've got myself in trouble again."

“Lyri,” the corsair repeated with a smile. His fingers slid back across the table, then, leaving the gold piece in front of Lyri. Withoutt taking her eyes from him, her light fingers swept it away and poccketed the pretty with practiced ease. “I be Jericho Hawkes; cap’n o’ th’ Smuggler’s Moon,” he offered, then, with a tilt of the head to Khash, “an’ this here be me brother an’ firs’ mate, Khash.

If’n ye’d see tae it tha’ Colin finds ‘is way tae our table once Willow starts her playin’, Lyri,” he grinned, “I’m sure we’d be glad tae see wha’ we c’n do fer ‘im… I’ll nae trouble ye tae fetch us th’ monkey-man, though… Khash an’ me’ll see tae ‘im ourselves.

Ef there’s aught else we c’n be doin’ tae repay ye fer th’ leads, Lyri,” he added, pausing momentarily for another sampling of the fine rum that Willow had sent over, “ye be sure tae let us know, aye?”


And thus opened Lyri's window of opportunity, and as she was a smart girl, Lyri seized. She turned her gaze from brother to brother (whose familiar strangeness was not unknown to her, having been a half-elf raised by humans) as a small silence filled the space between them all. With Taro's eyes boring into her, and the stale smells of a year of being KArl Wine's barmaid, and the longing she'd fostered all her life to be at sea swelling within her, Lyriandel Evermoon made her move.

"Well, for one thing, you boys can take me out of this godsforsaken snakepit when you pull out to sea, and not look back as we sail."

Afternoon; The Rusty Hook "Well, for one thing,” Lyri was quick to say following Jericho’s offer, “you boys can take me out of this godsforsaken snakepit when you pull out to sea, and not look back as we sail."

The corsair captain’s eyes flashed and his smile spread a little wider as he chuckled and looked in Khash’s direction. “Hear tha’, mate,” he chuckled, “Lyri’s all set tae give up this life o’ luxury an’ trade it in fer a swab an’ a hammock aboard th’ Moon…”

He drained the contents of the tankard that Lyri had set before him earlier as his eyes ticked back to the girl and, as he poured a bit of the rum Willow had sent into the thing, he asked; “Ye e’er crewed a ship afore, Lyri?”

((OOC: Assuming an answer along the lines of “Well… sort of… once… I was on a ship that brought me from the Continent to here, anyway…”… Regardless of her actual answer, though…))

“Tha’s a’right, lass,” Jericho smiled, rising from his seat and snatching up his freshly replenished tankard, “luck seems tae be favorin’ ye, aye? Jus’ so happ’ns tha’ we do be a few hands short an’d be glad tae have ye aboard…”

“In fact,” he grinned as he meandered from behind he table, offering a wink to the girl before he set his eyes back to the one she had pointed out as Colin, “why don’ I leave ye here tae have a drink wit’ Khash an’ he c’n give ye th’ partic’lars, aye? I’ll be goin’ tae see wha’ c’n be done ‘bout fetchin’ us a fare outta port whilst ye chatter…”

((OOC: Unless there’s anything else, Jerico wanders away, at this point, leaving Lyri and Khash at the table… He’ll pause at Colin’s table, have a short conversation with the man and…))

As Willow’s bawdy songs whipped the patronage of The Rusty Hook into a raucous tumult of table-banging, hoots, and hollers, Jericho took advantage of the diversion to weave his way farther back into the tavern and find the enormous black-skinned fellow and his monkey. The man did have a bit of an intimidating air about him, that was for sure – near as tall as Khash and muscled as heavily, he was, with darkly alert eyes and a stern expression that added to the foreboding aura that hung about him… and the ritualistic scars that rose in ropes from his ebon skin, tracing lines across and around his skull, circling his eyes, and defining cryptic symbols on chest and arms…. I reckon I c’n see where’s Lyri’d be namin’ tha’ a might scary… but the capuchin, dressed in a deep blue frock coat, ruffled tunic, and velvet tricorn complete with a tiny ostrich plume, that perched on one of the man’s massive sloped shoulders took a good bit away from that ominous quality and, as Jericho approached, he had to hide a smirk behind a swig from his tankard or risk laughing out loud at the site.

Jericho, glancing back to the table where Willow was playing, made himself swallow an overlarge mouthful of rum and then wiped the smirk from his lips along with the droplets of spirits that had escaped in the beginnings of a snicker before he drew up just short of the monkey-man’s table and turned his glittering eyes back to the giant black man and his pet. “Ahoy, mate,” he made himself say without the trace of a chuckle, “I un’erstand ye be lookin’ fer a ship an’ crew worthy o’ carryin’ out a job ye got… I be havin’ jus’ the ship yer lookin’ fer an’…”

The big man said not a word but was able to cut Jericho off all the same by simply giving a slow shake of the head and pointing at the monkey on his shoulder.

One brow undoubtedly spiked beneath the scarf tied about Jericho’s head and his eyes ticked from the black man’s face to the monkey’s and back more than once… Wha’ th’ bloody blazes?… “Ye want me tae,” he blinked, glanced back at Will, then at Khash who was lumbering up behind him, and, finally, half-hiding behind the rum bottle he’d tipped to his lips again, blinked into the scar-ringed eyes of the burly black fellow, “Ye wan’ me tae talk tae th’ monkey?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice, now, and he was seriously considering walking away…

The black man didn’t laugh or so much as smile, though. He simply nodded and, once again, pointed at the monkey.

“Aye,” he chuckled, patting the back of the empty chair that he stood behind before he made himself walk away, “I s’pose ye do… Sorry tae’ve troubled ye, mate, but I dinnae think I c’n rightly…”

What happened next caused Jericho to draw that chair out and sit down in it as quickly as he could, though…

“Aye, I’m a monkey! I’m the one in charge here, though… and ye’d best not be fergettin’!”

…the monkey spoke!

Oh, Khash innae gonna be likin’ this, Jericho managed an almost bemused but still somehow confused smile and, in attempts to straighten it, took another hearty pull from his tankard as his eyes flicked between the monkey and the man it rode… Will’s like tae find it amusin’ though…
He hazarded a glance behind him, then, his slightly disconcerted gaze flicking from Khash to Willow and back before fixing, again, on the monkey and his man. “A’right,” Jericho grinned, swallowing the rum and plunking his tankard down on the table in front of him, “Yer a monkey… I’m reckonin’ there be a yarn in tha’ som’wher’s… it’s yet tae be d’termined jus’ how in charge ye be, though, aye… monkey?”

The capuchin screeched, bared its teeth, and skittered from the somber black man’s left shoulder to his right. “M’name’s not monkey! An’ I’ll be thankin’ ye ta wipe that fargin’ smirk off o’ yer gob,” it growled. “Th’ name’s Bobo…” he pronounced it bah-BOH… “Cap’n Bobo,” he added, jabbing a tiny finger in Jericho’s direction for emphasis, “See tha’ ye don’ mispronounce it er I be like ta shoot ye in yer fargin’ face, saavy? Ye fargin’ call me ‘bo-bo’ jus’ once an’…”

“Aye,” Jericho said, doing his best to not grin and holding up his hands in hopes of assuaging the irate creature, “Aye, saavy. Becalm yerself, mate…”

“…I’m not some blasted carnival monkey…”

“As ye say, Cap’n Bobo,” Jericho conceded, “I dinnae mean nae offence… ye’ve me apologies, aye?”

It seemed to have worked. The irritated expression began to melt away from Bobo’s features and the monkey captain assumed a notably less aggressive posture. “An’ well I should have,” the monkey snorted, reaching into his tiny frock coat and producing a small, hand-rolled cigar from some inner pocket… “I reckon ye should have mine, as well,” he continued, clamping his little monkey teeth around the cheroot, “but ye mus’ understand Cap’n…???”

“Hawkes.”

“Ye mus’ understand Cap’n Hawkes, it’s been me fate too long takin’ guff from folk. Despite me appearance, I be a serious man an’ I mean ta do a serious business… an’ jus’ so’s ta make that abundantly fargin’ clear…” Bobo jabbed his man in the neck with his little primate elbow; “Horse. Th’ purse.”

As Bobo lit his cigar, the big black man – Horse by name, it seemed – nodded wordlessly and tossed a small leather pouch onto the table between them. The little purse was so full that, instead of the muffled jingling one might expect of coin, it made a solid thunk when it landed on the stained and splinted planks.

Jericho reached out, loosened the purse strings with a finger, and let out a long, low whistle when he peered inside. The purse was small but there wasn’t room inside it for another coin and all of the ones that packed its interior now were gold.

“Should be more’n enough ta pay whate’er tab ye an’ yer mates rack up here,” Bobo murmured around the cigar, “mebbe e’en buy ye lads a night wit’ a pox-free wench an’ put some decent tucker in yer bellies, aye?”

“Aye,” Jericho nodded faintly, his gaze lifting from the purse to regard Bobo’s now smugly smiling visage, “Ye do be a serious man, Cap’n… Ye’ve got me attention fer sure…”

((OOC: Okay… I think I can stop there, for now… good spot for Willow’s next to come in, I think… Khash and/or Lyri and/or any of the rest of the crew are welcome to join Jericho at any point, of course… Just wanted to “open up a spot” for interaction between Khash and Lyri, I guess… ))

The Rusty Hook, Afternoon
Her current set of bawdy songs over, Willow took a bow after jumping down off the table. Cat calls and yells for her to carry on came from several of the customers.

“Aye, give me a mo’ tae eat summit,” she called at the men egging her to continue while attempting her best salty accent, “I dinnae sound naer as well wit me guts rumblin!” Rose was put carefully back into her case, and Willow carried her back to the bar. A steaming bowl of chicken soup along with a hunk of crusty bread was waiting for her. A loud growl issued from her stomach as she settled herself on a stool. Will began wolfing down the hot soup with small regard for the temperature. After half a dozen bites, she slowed her gait and began alternating the soup with the tough bread. In no time at all the empty bowl was pushed back and the bard issued a contented sigh. There really was nothing quite like chicken to eat after months of rations at sea.

Deciding that this was the best time to touch bases with Jericho and Khash, Saercyn grabbed her violin case and stood up. She was halfway across the room before a strong pair of hands grabbed her and sat her down on an unfamiliar leg. Will half expected Karl Wine to have grabbed her, but they had an understanding after the first time he propositioned her here at the Hook. The owner of the bar had since learned to keep his hands off her if he wanted her continued talents in bringing in more customers; she had since learned to not threaten said customers with live steel.

The man that had grabbed her was a gristly looking salt, with hair and skin nearly the same color due to the exposure of sun. His face was spread in a lecherous smile, and a cloud of stale, cheap rum rolled out of his mouth as he spoke to her, “Hey thar pretty. How’s ‘bout you an’ me go upstairs and make moosic of our own?”

Tingling started at the top of her cheekbones. Will hoped the poor lighting would keep ‘ol Mr. Salt here in the dark of her change in color. She stuck out her bottom lip slightly in a small pout, and patted her case, “Sorry, I’ve ‘er other responsibilities.”

He held her fast around the stomach with one hand, and caressed down the side of her torso onto her hip with the other, “Wot about after? ‘Ol Willie here’s been away fer along time, and I ain’t seen pretty like you in e’vn longer then that.”

“My night is booked, hon.”

He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, the soggy liquor smell filled her nose, “I’d pay three times any man ‘er could just fer a few mo’s with you, pretty.”

“My night is booked,” she repeated, “an I ‘ardly go back on me contracts.” She stood, and he held onto her with his rough hands momentarily before finally letting her go.

“Mores t’ pity,” he said to her, though his eyes were trained on her chest. The lusty glint still shone bright in his face. She walked purposefully towards Jericho’s table, silently hoping she wasn’t moving too quickly to arouse suspicion. The burn of the man’s eyes settled on her rear followed her the entire way.

Will set Rose out of the way under the table, and stepped around to where Jericho was sitting. She deftly moved his hands away from his tankard, plopped down in his lap, and threw her arms around his neck.

Before he had a chance to respond, she brushed a lock of his hair away from his ear and whispered into it, “Don’t mind me, love. Hands are starting to be a little too friendly,” she glanced over at the salt that had grabbed her. He was still staring at her a bit hungrily, and she flashed a wide, and hopefully sensual smile at Jericho. His own cinnamon eyes flicked over to where she had been looking, and his face twitched a little. A wink?

He pulled her closer to him, and his rough whiskers began to nestle into the crook of her neck. Goosebumps erupted across her skin at his touch.

Easy girl, this is what you wanted. You’ve asked your captain for a way out of that salt’s hands, and he’s certainly giving you one. Isn’t he?
“I’ll nae mind ye, luv, if ye dinnae mind me,” Jericho murmured softly into her own ear, kissing the slight point at the top of it. What had started as a small flush of indignation from the grabby salt quickly escalated into a full blown blush, “I cannae say in truth, though, tha’ I blame them hands fer their friendliness, though, aye?” His hands moved her so he could look her in the face, and he wore a dazzling smile. His eyes ticked back towards the grabby salt, and his hand began mimicking what the salt’s had been. Jericho’s strong fingers fluttered over the outside of her torso, and down her scar lines towards her hip.

See? Keep this act up, girlie.
Willow settled into Jericho’s shoulder. Her fingers twirled in Jericho’s hair, and she looked at his drinking companion. Knowing full well this could be a contact, she decided to keep up the appearance she had just established, “Dinnit count on being more then one of ye. I hope yer dinnae want t’ change our arrangement.”

Afternoon; Chad 19, 2005 - The Rusty Hook
Even as distracted as he had become by Captain Bobo and Horse, Jericho was aware that Willow’s playing had stopped… In fact, when the last note had evaporated from the air, he had glanced over to see her hop down off the table she had been using as a makeshift stage and make her way toward the bar to grab a bite to eat. He had smiled at her when their eyes met and tipped his tankard in a subtle salute, then, but left her to her own designs for the time. She’d more than earned that stew and bread, after all, and, most likely, it would have been received poorly by Bobo had Jericho decided to abandon discussion with him at that very moment, so his eyes had let go of her and returned to the more immediate company…

“My night is booked… an’ I ‘ardly go back on my contracts.”

… Jericho had let his focus be narrowed back to Bobo and his gaze hadn’t drifted away from the folks he shared the table with in those minutes even once until he heard Will’s voice filtered through the ambient tavern noise. It was almost an unconscious action that narrowed his eyes and set them searching the crowd beyond his own table for the bard. Narrowed eyes hardened a bit when he found her wresting herself from the lecherous grip of some sodden salt. His fingers flexed as they tightened around the tankard before him, more to keep his hand from drifting towards the hilt of a blade than to lift the mug and drink from it, but drink from it he did… a lingering sip that hid the clenching of his teeth behind the heavy and allowed him to glare over the rim at the bloke that sought to accost his… his crew.

“Th’ purse is just a start,” Bobo was saying from behind a roiling blue haze of cigar smoke, “Let’s be callin’ it a retainer, eh? There’ll be much more ta be had if’n ye can get me safe ta where I’m wantin’ ta go, Cap’n Hawkes.”

Reluctantly, Jericho blinked and flicked a glance at the monkey Captain. “Aye?” He asked, setting his tankard down again and offering a cunning smile; “How much more’d be wha’ I’d ask next then, Cap’n Bobo…”

“O’ course it would,” Bobo answered following a chuckle that sounded less a laugh than monkey chittering, “A shrewd cap’n’d be a fool an’ more not ta…”

Jericho’s eyes had wandered back to Will and the handsy salt to find that the half-elf had managed to escape the man’s grasp… Lucky fer th’ man, he thought, his grin spreading a bit.

“…suppose I were ta offer ye ten percent o’ th’ loot I be havin’ stowed away at me destination?”

“S’pose ye tell me wha’ th’ hunnerd percent be lookin’ like afore I go agreein’,” Jericho smirked, eyes tracking back to Bobo, “More fool I was I tae accept and turns out yer loot be a snuff box full o’ pennies.”

The next thing Jericho knew, there was a flash of bright color in the periphery of his vision and the soft touch of slender fingers on his wrists as the bard deftly moved his hands away from his tankard, plopped down in his lap, and threw her arms around his neck.

His arms started to wrap around her even before he managed to turn his head and the rougish smile on his lips morphed into something else when he did. He felt blood rush to his cheeks and… well… other places… when he found himself looking into Willow’s honeyed eyes and had opened his mouth to say something, but the warmth that rushed through him when she brushed a lock of his hair away and let her lips brush his ear stalled whatever words he had been prepared to utter.

“Don’t mind me, love,” she whispered, her breath hot on his neck, setting his pulse to pounding there and… well... other places, “Hands are starting to be a little too friendly.” Willow’s eyes slid in the direction of the salt who had grabbed her and Jericho’s followed.The man was still eyeing Willow hungrily, but did manage to force his gaze to meet Jericho’s for an instant and offer a disdainful sneer when Hawkes flicked him a wink that said; “Mine.”

Jericho’s arms snaked a bit more snuggly around Willow, then, and he pulled her to him, nuzzling her neck just beneath her ear. “I’ll nae mind ye, luv, if ye dinnae mind me,” he purred softly as his lips crept upward and kissed the point of her ear. “I cannae say in truth, though, tha’ I blame them hands fer their friendliness, though, aye?” He pulled back a little then, smiled brilliantly at Willow and then flicked another gloating glance in Mr. Grabby’s direction… Jericho’s own fingers had begun to feather over the bared skin of Will’s stomach and along the curve of her hip and he had to remind himself that this was supposed to be a farce designed to dissuade any further gropings by the salt… It wasn’t easy…

He was making a concerted effort to play the mummer and only act the part of Will’s lover, making sure that his own wandering hands didn’t wander too far but the smile she offered him then… a sparkling and utterly sensual smile… didn’t help at all… Et’s jus’ actin’, Jericho… Et’s jus’ actin’… Ain’t it?
“Dinnit count on being more then one of ye,” Willow said from behind that smile, louder than a whisper now, “I hope yer dinnae want t’ change our arrangement.”

“Nae, Willow-luv,” Jericho answered, only half acting, “I still wan’ ye jus’ fer meself, aye?” He couldn’t keep himself from leaning in to brush his lips quickly but ever so softly over her own before he tilted his head to indicate the big black man and the monkey on the other side of the table. “Jus’ conductin’ a bit o’ bus’ness wit’ Cap’n Bobo an’ Horse, here…”

Afternoon; Chad 19, 2005 - The Rusty Hook
Lyri's entire being nearly sang with her good fortune. A ship! An escape! A chance to find adventure on the high seas! Thrilled, she slid onto Jericho's vacated seat with a wide, brilliant smile. Not even the threat of Taro's displeasure could dampen her spirits now. She rested her elbows against the edge of the table and canted her head to the side.

"Khash, is it? You and your brother have my many thanks. I know just a little about only everything, but I be quick to learn, and willing to boot."

The barmaid looked to Khash, green eyes like new spring mornings, bright and clear. He could see the liveliness in them; the shine of an adventurous soul mixed with sheer excitement. Unable to resist her dazzling eyes Khash remained seated as Jericho moved to investigate the man with the monkey; he had encouraged them to talk further, and Khash certainly didn't mind.

A spirit'd lass He thought, smiling as much to himself as to the pretty little thing sitting across from him. and d'termind too by looks o' 'er. Taday jus' keeps gettin betta.
Chuckling in a low rumble he spoke at last "We'd be happy ta teach, Lyri, though I reckon yull do jus' fine." A glimmer of motion behind his company caught Khash's attention, but he repressed any hint of his knowing; another half-orc seemed to be glaring into Lyri's back. "Tell me sumthin; wut draws ye t'ward a life asea?"

"Adventure," she replied quickly, then calmed. He had a ship, he would understand, she reasoned. "When I's a girlie, back home in Hexworth, there was this bard, see? He stayed long enough to tell a tale or three and I was hooked. Oh, I know it ain't like that f'r reals, but...I had to see for meself. And the ship that took me from there to here were full up on crew, but I thought not to give up." Lyri paused to smile at him warmly, then pressed on. "And now that I be here I've plenty more reason to run for the sea, number one bein that brutish sot Taro."

She turned slightly in her seat and caught the animated little monkey, which made her smile all the more. "And that be something you don't see every day, she murmured, before turning her attention back to Khash. She drew up her knee, resting heel on chair, and wrapped her long arms about her leg, and rested her chin on her knee. "So that be my little tale..."

Khash grinned as he heard Lyri speak, her voice practically singing her excitement. With her inspiration for travel being a bard, Khash had a feeling Lyri would adore Willow, if she didn't already. At the mention of a 'brutish sot' however his eyes immediately flickered back towards the half-orc guard. Having been called those words himself, Khash easily assumed the man to be Taro; he had a look about him that said he fit the stereotype of their kind without fail. Caught up in his analysis of Taro, Khash missed Lyri's words as she shifted upon her seat, looking back to see her smiling at him.

Taday could be gettin'... intrestn he mused, beginning to think the Moon'd be shipping out quick. It was then he realized the music had stopped and his eyes caught a drunkard pestering Willow. real intrestn...
"Poor salt don no wut he's gettin inta" Khash chuckled, nodding toward the bard so Lyri could see. "Wil won't stand fer dat." He watched for a moment as Willow gracefully handled the situation, slipping off towards the table that Jericho was conducting business at. He turned back to his company and smiled warmly. "Ye bes be gettin back ta work Lyri; the salts be gettin rowdy an' da last thing we want be ol' Wine causin more o' a rucus den dem afore we get ye outta here."

((Assuming Lyri responds))

"Ne'r fear Lyri" He said with a wink "We Hawkes c'n 'andle an'thin."

He turned then, noticing Willow had seated herself at the table. Well, on Jericho, but that was likely just to hint to the drunkards to back off; Khash was sure his brother did not mind at all. Moving across the room to join them he spared a quick glance back towards Lyri, the barmaid was already busying herself with work but with an obvious spring in her step. He couldn't help but grin. Reaching the table he pulled over a chair, looking to the others.

"Well Cap'n, how's da job sound?"

((Leaving it open there))

((And a big thank you to LD for wonderful collab ))