Malakaus’ response was terse, disillusioned. Sarel’s pipe emptied upon the end of Malakaus speaking. He tapped it on the edge of the boat and let the ash fall into the water, tucked the pipe in his boot. He wore his chitin armor presently with only one sword on him, he was well armored but lightly armed. He would need to find a nice bit of armor fit for the ocean and swimming. He brought with him a small ruck sack, filled with various items, scrolls, books, roughly 2,500 septims, a couple of welkyd stones, and a few gems. He hoped that would be enough currency to get what he needed. The things which were to be delivered to the ship could be paid upon delivery, using the ships bank, and only Sharee knew how much gold was in there. 

“This sounds reasonable. But, gentlemen,” Sarel began, lifting himself from the bannister and setting off down the ramp, “let’s not stoop to barbarism. We’re pirates, not bloody savages.”

Serge unconsciously glanced over at Malakaus, not realizing how obnoxious that might be, not early enough at least. He quickly looked away, hoping he didn’t offend too much. 
“Agreed. We’re all… quite civilized.” Serge added. 

They walked back down the ramp and Sarel approached the Khajiit Authority, who was making to finish off the flask Sarel had offered as a token of friendship. Sarel quickly snatched the flask from the furry fingers and tucked it into his armor pocket, just behind his cuirass. Then, with an impetuous seriousness and the flexibility of a trained wizard, Sarel drew a circle in the air next to his waist, very subtly, and then stuck his hand into it. This was a trick he’d been taught by his master, it was something common amongst travelers really. Essentially the spell was a portal into a void, a magical space where one can maintain and easily locate their personal effects. Very useful when in a foreign place when you didn’t want to reveal your purse. Sarel pulled a twenty coin bag, filled completely, from the void and set it into the authorities hands. 
“My friends and I have business to attend to. Consider this a tip, for being so welcoming.” Sarel said evenly. 

“Where did that come from?” Serge asked with a childish curiosity. 

“Impressive magics, fine coin” the Khajiit weighed the bag in his hands happily. “This one sees no problem with letting such sophisticated travelers into our markets. Try not to cause too much trouble eh?” 

Sarel nodded and the Khajiit walked up the ramp to wait for the captain, happy with his little tip. 

“You must teach me how to do that.” Serge commented as the group walked from the dock cobblestone to the loose brick of the tiny city ahead. 

“I’d have to consult some old notes, but I might be able to manage that.” Sarel said with a dignified wisdom. Sarel realized that the city seemed to split into two different areas. The industrial area was to their right, where one could purchase all kinds of materials and scrap parts for boats. The market and taverns were ahead, further into the city. Sarel looked over to Malakaus, who looked more interested in business rather than pleasure. He removed a note he’d scribbled earlier from his armor pockets and held it as he looked over to Malakaus, stopping the group at the injunction. 

“Malakaus, if you wouldn’t mind, I had some personal business to take care of in town. You are just a good a craftsman as me, if not better. I suppose I can trust your discretion. Every bit of material on this list must be high quality. Some Oak, and pine planks, metal castings, tapestry, things like that. Have it charged to the ship and delivered there.” Sarel held the note out to the Orc, hoping his new friend, and lower ranking officer, wouldn’t give him too much trouble. Malakaus seemed to be a spirited individual, prone to flights of fickleness, but he was also a killer at heart; killers were more likely, than perhaps any other kind of person, to respect those who deserved it, and Sarel felt like he’d shown that he deserved it. Besides, they were in a brotherhood now. 

Serge looked over to the edge of the city as Sarel spoke with Malakaus. His blue eyes squinted at the horizon, his furry brown brows furrowed below the tattoo which carefully lined his crown. Outlined by the brilliant horizon, and cerulean sky was a beautiful feminine form, draping a cloth over the bluff on which she stood. Serge’s eyes perked up instantly, his soft pink lips forming into a boyish grin. 

A true male Breton, it is said, can always find the most beautiful girl in any town. And, now, as Serge watch this Dunmer woman make her camping spot above the harbor, he knew that, not only was the saying true, but he was, indeed, a true male Breton. Serge awaited his friend to join him so that he could relish over his serendipitous findings.