Location: Twelve Seas Port, Haven

It was early enough in the evening that the sun still hovered over the horizon, but late enough that the streets and alleyways were glutted with pedestrians - and presumably those who preyed on them. Hawkers on either side of the wide, cobbled road called out their prices and wares, while children with wide eyes and grubby hands begged for coins from all and sundry. Monkeys skittered over awnings and under market tables, nimble fingers thieving capably, when they could get away with it. All in all, it was shaping up to be an unremarkable eve in an unremarkable port on Haven, a planet most remarkable for maintaining it's status as a Free World within the Imperial boundaries. Granted, the Empire didn't go out of its way to enforce their stance that all planets within their purview were ruled under Imperial law, which was just as well for them, since landing their airships on Haven to kick up a fuss about unpaid taxes or harbored fugitives would likely see them all tossed off the edge of the world and into the Lower Depths.

This particular evening, while unremarkable to most, is quite significant to one particular person winding her way through the street. With a crimson cloak drawn up tight about her shoulders and the hood draped low enough to obscure her eyes, she picks her way through the crowd with a careful determination, pressing coins into the hands thrust toward her for alms as she goes. Sidestepping a puddle of something odious enough to obviously not be simple water, she nearly misses a steam carriage bearing down on her, and it's only by a stroke of good fortune that her story doesn't come to an end right then and there. A stranger's hand reaches out and pulls her out of harm's way, though her boot splashes directly into the puddle of ill-source, and her hood comes away from her head long enough to reveal a wealth of glossy red tresses and eyes the color of faceted emeralds. She quickly tugs the hood back into place, murmuring her thanks to her unnamed rescuer, who disappears back into the crowd with nary a word or second glance.

Continuing on her way, she shakes her wet boot with a dismayed sigh, but doesn't stop - and with a glance down at a piece of much-folded paper in her hand, she begins scanning the addresses of the buildings lining the street, apparently nearing her destination. A brothel is passed over with a distasteful sort of grimace, and a ramshackle chapel in need of a new roof and replacement for the crumbling chimney is given a similar look. The sound of off-key singing and the sort of carousing one might expect at this time of evening draws her attention, and she crosses the street toward it, being careful this time to look both ways for anything with wheels that might see her flattened. Standing in front of the Keelhauled Pony Pub, she shows her first hesitation. The heavy wooden door, fitted with a brass approximation of the establishment's name, swings open, and a bearded giant lumbers unsteadily out of the pub, unmindful of the petite, cloaked redhead standing between him and the street. He stops, swaying in place, and in the moment before he falls forward like a toppled oak tree, the young woman makes her decision, and darts around him to enter the building before the door swings shut.

Standing inside, there is a heavy thud from the other side of the door, and she winces a bit, perhaps imagining the monstrous headache the unconscious giant will have come morning. No one at the bar seems to notice or care about the plight of their former drinking buddy. Still clutching the paper in her hand, she lowers her hood just enough to get a good look around the place. Crowded with patrons, the servers wend their way expertly among the tables, while a pair of twin barmaids serve those seated at the long wooden bar that stretches along the western edge of the room. Tables fill the rest of the area, nearly all of them occupied, some more than others, and conversations with topics that could make a mother faint dead away rise and lower in volume like thunder in a storm. The door opens to admit more customers, and she moves deeper inside to avoid being trampled, looking quite out of place.

"Pierce!"

The voice calls that name out and the tone screams one thing. For him to stop. But there is no stopping, as Solomon Pierce runs down the streets, barreling through pedestrians. He looks back, his pursuers, the armed and dangerous kind, and trying very hard to keep up with the nimbler and slightly faster man. Not wanting to get caught, Solomon puts as much distance between him and his pursuers as he's able to, reaching for a crate next to a street stall, and knocking it over, giving them something to avoid.

"Hey, stop!" That would be the poor owner of the street stall, but Pierce just keeps running. He runs, he ducks, he runs some more, and he finally puts that distance between himself and the men after him. But that's not enough. It's never enough, it seems. Making a hard corner, he ends up right in front of the Keelhauled Pony Pub, just in time to see that door closing and a tower of a bearded man falling forward like a toppled oak tree. THUD.

His chest heaves, he looks up, he looks behind him. Are they gone? In the distance, he can see the glint of weapon, his pursuers dragging themselves through the sea of people he so expertly navigated. Biting his lip, Solomon follows what's always served him well to follow, his gut, and he steps right in. Inside, he immediately looks like he belongs. Gone is the chest heaving and any sign that he was just running for his life. He spots a young woman, a certain cloaked redhead that just came in. Smiling like he owns the place, he swiftly approaches. "There you are, sweetheart!" He calls to her, reaching for her arm, and just going right for a kiss...

Just as two of his pursuers come in. Solomon spins around, hopefully getting that nice petite cloaked redhead to play along with him, trying to hide in their embrace. The two newcomers spread around and look for him. He offers a wry smile to the girl as he "kisses" her, and raises a finger to his lips in a shhing motion, side-glancing at the two armed men.

Location: The Keelhauled Pony, Twelve Seas Port, Haven

She almost cries out, in fact she opens her mouth to do just that, but then she's spun around into that embrace and the smiling stranger is making a shushing motion rather than mistakenly kissing her, as it seemed so likely was about to happen. Wary but still curious, and apparently determined to remain inconspicuous as well, judging by the adamant way she holds her hood in place, she lefts one hand to the side of the stranger's neck, playing her part in the embrace.

The two armed men move through the pub, looking behind barrels and under tables, but when they try to search behind the bar, there's an audible click that stops everyone in their tracks. One of the barmaids holds a pistol in one hand, trained on the first pursuer. "Leave," she says firmly. And while it seems like the men might argue, a second click from a second pistol - this one in the hands of the second barmaid, ends the potential stand-off, and the two men head for the doors, cursing under their breath the entire way. Though they continue to look around a bit before leaving, their eyes skim right over the pair of lovers locked into an embrace, and then they're gone. (KEY of the Imposter, 1XP)

It takes but a moment for the volume in the pub to ratchet back up to previous levels, perhaps these sorts of interruptions are a regular enough occurrence that they don't hold the collective attention for very long. Whatever the reason, once things are more or less back to normal, the redhead pulls away from her pseudo-assailant. "Well, now you owe me a drink, I think," she decides. "And an explanation of all that would be rather grand as well." She gestures expansively, indicating the previous incident.

"Or two or three," Solomon offers, regarding a drink and waving one of the barmaids over as he walks to the bar, expecting the petite cloaked redhead to follow him. He takes a moment to size her up and flashes a grin. "Now if you want the tale, that usually would cost you a drink or two, or more." He rubs his chin, considering, and shrugs. "But I guess I owe you that much." He offers her his hand, "Captain Solomon Pierce, of the Crimson Claw, are your service." There's his introduction and he waits, to see if she'll return the favor.

Whether she does or not, he continues, taking a deep breath and smiling widely. "It was just a sad misunderstanding, really," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "A business transaction that didn't quite go as expected, but can they blame me, when they don't give me all the details about the cargo they're expecting me to ferry around?" He shrugs and shakes his head. "And can they blame me if I then have to dump that cargo, because it happened to attract the wrong kind of attention?" A pause. "I don't think they can, do you think they can? I don't think they can." The barmaid is finally available, and ready to take their orders. "I'll have the usual," he says for himself then glancing at the petite woman asks, "What's your poison?"

He flashes her a grin. "And what's your story? You aren't from around here, are you?" He asks this in a very casual tone, eye studying her again, even through that smile of his. There is experience in those eyes. And those same eyes now take a moment to scan their surroundings, and the other patrons in the pub.

"La- ...that is, Miss Catherine Stone," the redhead introduces herself, covering up the faulty beginning with a charming smile. Setting her hand in his, she withdraws it after their introductions in favor of finding herself a seat at the bar. "Wine, perhaps?" she chooses as her poison of choice, looking over the pub's other offerings with a somewhat dubious expression. "What sort of cargo was it?" she wonders. "On second thought," she adds quickly, "Perhaps that is more than I need to know."

When Solomon asks her for her story, she reaches up to idly twirl a lock of coppery hair about her finger. "Not from around here, no," she murmurs. Her accent lends credence to her claim; there is an aristocratic inflection to her words that is particularly uncommon on Haven, and even more so in a dock-side pub. "Tell me about your ship, Captain? The... you called it the 'Crimson Claw' if I recall correctly?" she asks, aiming curious, emerald green eyes up at him.

Solomon smiles at her redirection, but nods at the name offered. "Well met, Ms. Stone," he says, ready to pretend that the faulty beginning didn't happen. Everyone has their secrets after all. He turns to the barmaid, and there goes her order of a glass of wine, just as his order for 'the usual' comes in. A brown liquid over ice in a glass. "It wasn't alive, if that's what you were wondering," he smirks but just raises his glass when she indicates she doesn't need the details. "I like you," he finds himself saying in response to her words.

"Ah, my baby. The Claw is not just a ship, Ms. Stone. It's my home, my crew's home. That baby has seen a lot, and truth be told is a bit more of an old lady than a baby," he smirks, "but, it can hold its own against any of the new stuff they're coming up with." He pauses as the barmaid now returns with Catherine's drink. "She's like a fine wine," he gestures at the glass. "A little aged, but made all the better for it." He leans back, reaching for his glass and taking a long swig from it. "And, for a small price, I'd be willing to take you to any port you want, if you're looking for passage that is."

A glance to the left, then to the right. "You're going somewhere after all, are you not? You don't look like the... type to be staying around a place like this for too long? Haven's not a bad place to get lost at, but someone like you, with that accent," he makes a bit of a face. "It wouldn't quite work out for you, I'm afraid."

Using the edge of her cloak, she surreptitiously wipes at a smudge on the wine glass before taking a sip of the cheap, watered down drink. "I understand," she says of the ship when Solomon begins to wax eloquent about it, and she is apparently so interested in his words or at least, very good at feigning said interest, that she almost misses his offer. She startles when she catches it, and hides the sudden tensing of her shoulders behind taking another sip of her drink. "Why would you assume I am looking for passage?" she asks a bit primly. "I could always book passage at the port authority if that were the case," she insinuates a bit too smoothly. A bit of the wind goes out of her sails when he clarifies, and she doesn't look particularly appreciative of his pointing out her accent, either.

"If I were looking for passage, then." She purses her lips, glancing about the pub for a moment before continuing. "What would your fee be for a voyage of about... five weeks?" she asks. "I'm going to visit my mother," she explains. "And may even be interested in a swift return for the both of us, if you were amenable." She sets the unpalatable wine aside, now that they've gotten to the heart of the matter. "I would need to leave quickly, nigh immediately," she adds. "And discreetly, of course."

The drink touches his lips casually, and he finishes it off. Solomon continues to smile as he looks at Catherine and her little outburst regarding his assumption that she's looking for passage to somewhere. "If you were looking for passage at the port authority, you would be at the port authority... and not here," he decides to interject, along with a little shrug. But then, it seems she catches on and as she does, he leans forward, becoming more attentive.

When she glances around the pub, he mirrors the gesture, his eyes following hers, or trying to at least. "Five weeks?" He asks, considering, or at least looking like he is. He leans back, doing some mental math and using his fingers to help himself along. "A round trip, with an extra passenger for the return trip," he mumbles to himself, doing a bit more mental math it looks like. He looks at her up and down, giving her a glance over and stopping at her hair. "And leaving in a hurry," he continues to mumble. "Discreetly, of course," he smiles at that part, and finally nods.

"I think considering everything you've brought up, my crew and I could provide such a service for the reasonable sum of one hundred fifty sovereigns," Solomon says clapping his hands together once. "And, we would be able to leave, right away even, that is, assuming you're ready," his eyes squint a little. "But, I assume you are ready, or will be soon, yes?"

"One hundred sovereigns," she counters immediately. "And yes, I'm ready to leave - I'll just need to pick up my luggage from the room I rented and settle my account there, and can be at the dock by eight o'clock tonight," she estimates. "I'll assume," she continues, giving a meaningful once-over of the somewhat shady establishment, "That your ship's passenger list won't be showing up on any Imperial manifest?" The wine long-forgotten, she folds her hands in her lap for lack of anything better to do with them.

"Also, you'll receive half payment now, and the other half once we arrive - an incentive, perhaps, against scuttling me or my things in the event that you attract any of the wrong sort of attention again," she adds a bit dryly. "If we have a deal, I'll head to the boarding house now, and meet you back at the docks. Where are you anchored?" she asks, already drawing her hood more securely over her hair in preparation for leaving.

"One hundred twenty," Solomon replies, without missing a beat. "And eight o'clock works, the Claw will be prepped and ready to go by then," he assures her. His lips form a thin line and his eyes narrow as he continues to try and read her. "You won't have to worry about that," he says of the passenger list. "Having dealt with Imperials before, I'm not exactly looking forward to getting too close to them, or letting them look at my cargo," he says with a simple shrug.

He nods to her words on the payment. "Half now, half on arrival," he agrees to that part, hints of amusement showing as he mentions scuttling her. He shakes his head. "I wouldn't do that, not after you played along with my little stunt earlier and saved my ass." When she mentions having a deal, he just looks at her, to see if she wants to make a counter offer or if she's accepting his. "Dock fifty five," a pause, "if you need help with your luggage, I can have someone from my crew meet you where you're staying," he says.

Location: Twelve Seas Port, Haven

"One hundred twenty," she confirms, sounding exactly like someone that's gotten a thirty sovereign discount without any real effort on their part at all. Slipping out of her seat, she inclines her head imperiously. "Eight o'clock," she further confirms, before turning to go. "I've hired a steamer to ferry my things to the dock, you just have your crew worry about being able to take off as swiftly as possible." And without further comment she's blended back into the crowd, the only sign of her passage the opening and closing of the front door, and the gust of cold evening air it brings with it.

Traveling back down the street proves to be a chore, as the cobbled thruway is even more densely crowded than the hour previous. She makes it back to the boarding house without much in the way of event, and in nearly no time at all, her trunk and accompanying luggage are piled onto the steam car belching out clouds of exhaust as it waits outside. Approaching the front desk, relief etched onto her features, she almost misses the notice posted on the cork board nearby, but with a start, she recognizes a face on a new poster. A face in particular recognizable because it is in fact her own face. 'Missing' it claimed, and a reward of 2,000 sovereigns offered for her return.

Blanching, she glances around the sparsely populated lobby, then reaches up to snatch the poster down, stuffing it into her cloak. The young woman, identified on the poster as none other than Lady Katarina Steele, sole heir to the Steele Mining fortune and 'missing, presumed under duress', hurries up to the desk and pays for her stay, adding a few coins with a subtle word of encouragement toward discretion to the desk keeper, mindful now of hiding her accent, thanks to the comment from Solomon earlier. Pocketing the coins wordlessly, the middle aged woman barely gives Katarina a second look, more likely to assume she's privy to a bored housewife's indiscretion than a runaway noblewoman. (KEY of the Imposter, 1XP)

Getting into the steam car, she settles back against the seat as the short journey toward the Twelve Seas Port begins. Her eyes are fixed out of the window, but her attention is seemingly elsewhere - at least until she notices another of those posters with her face on it being plastered onto a pole. She draws away from the window as if forced away by an electric shock. She'd only been away from home for three weeks, surely that wasn't enough time for her father to have arranged all this... but apparently it was. Her eyes close as the car trundles along, scattering children and monkeys out of its path, but the ride isn't nearly long enough for her growing headache to subside, and much too soon, they're pulling up to a stop at dock fifty-five.

Solomon narrows his eyes at her expression, staring at the girl after they agree on the price. "Don't worry, the crew will be ready, I guarantee it. You just make sure to be on time," he adds, staying right where he is, as he watches her rise. He glances casually as she Catherine makes her exit. One, two, three beats later he stands up. There's a deep breath and he starts on his way to the door. Just as the door swings open.

"Hey Pierce."

The voice is so annoyingly familiar. The owner a certain Mr Gibson. Large man, nicely dressed, with one steel monocle covering an eye and a steam powered right arm. "Gibson," Solomon says. "Just the man I wanted to see." Gibson looks at Pierce, amused. "Really? Because word is you were seen running away from some of my guys, like the little girl you are." The words slam against Solomon cool-as-cucumber armor, and the man frowns darkly. "Oh?" His eyes narrow, and Solomon's hand goes to his belt, where his pistol is at.

Five more guys enter the pub, and they stand around to make sure to cover the door. "Like a little girl," Gibson repeats. Anger silently simmers in Solomon's expression. He smiles a thin lipped smile.

Outside the pub...

BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. One of those five guys that entered the pub staggers out and... THUD, lands right next to that bearded giant that fell down on the street later. The doors violently swing open again, as Solomon busts out, jumping over the two bodies and flipping in midair as he unleashes a few more shots toward the door. He lands into a roll, and without missing a beat, breaks into a run. (DAREDEVIL KEY)

It's Gibson's turn to storm out, using his steam powered arm to barrel through the door. However, Solomon is just too fast. Way too fast. Some of Gibson's goons also step out, and Gibson turns to them. "Get me Pierce and find where he's keeping his ship. Move!" The goons scramble to do as told...

The Crimson Claw dominates the view once one enters dock fifty five. All manners of tubes connected to large steam machinery lie around the area, some are still connected to the ship. As promised, or so it seems, the ship appears close to ready to depart, with most of those tubes connecting to the steam machinery already removed. The boarding ramp is down, but the hatch leading into the ship is currently closed. Dock workers can be seen here and there working on some of the machinery or taking notes from readings on the many meters that can be found all over the place.

Katarina vacates the steam car after a few moments of observing the sky ship from her seat in the back. As the workers move about, ants in comparison to the expanse of hull docked at the port, she waits for her luggage to be unloaded, tipping the clockwork driver not quite as handsomely as someone of her means could, but generously enough that it will be appreciated without drawing suspicion. That done, she looks about for the captain, checking her pocket watch. Seven minutes to eight, and he's nowhere in sight. Her expression is less than pleased, to say the least, but she hides it and the rest of her features in the heavy folds of her cloak.

"Does Captain Pierce always cut his lift-offs this close?" she asks a random passerby, and the young man blinks at her from behind his massive goggles, his eyes comically taking on the fishbowl effect.

"Everything is right on schedule," Goggle-face claims, pointing to a chart on his clipboard as if it were supposed to mean something to the redhead, then heading off to go about his work once more.

"Everything except Pierce," Katarina mutters under her breath. Standing about on the dock near her pile of luggage, she paints a less than discreet figure, all told, and more than one person moving about the dock casts a curious glance her way. Already impatient, Katarina moves back toward the curved road that connects the piers - only to catch wind of a whispered conversation nearby.

"That's her, the one from the poster. I 'eard she fetches a right princely sum, and look - there's nary a bandit t'be seen. Let's grab her, quick-like!" This from a skinny man with a hunched posture, spoken to his partner, a taller man of a more muscular build. He's obviously the muscle of the outfit, as it's quite clear he's not exactly blessed in the brains department. After a moment for the instructions to actually manifest into action, the larger of the two lumbers in Katarina's direction, arms outstretched toward her.

"What do you think you're doing! Unhand me at once, you brute!" Katarina slaps at the approaching hands most ineffectively. "Let me go, I say - put me down!" This last is hissed most indignantly, as the man scoops her up off her feet and over his shoulder like a shapely sack of potatoes. "Unhand me at once!" she demands, to no avail, and her fists pound at the man's shoulder and back, seemingly with no effect.

"We're only 'ere to 'elp, my Lady," comes the oily voice of the skinny companion. "Your da will be so relieved to see you again, maybe he'll double the reward. Nay, triple it," he muses more to himself than anyone else, greed a glint in his eye. "Come on, Gallus," he prods his friend in the side, pointing toward a nearby alleyway. "We'll go this way, so's to avoid her kidnappers when they come lookin'." He trots off toward the alley, and Gallus follows suit, Katarina still caught up over his shoulder.

"Unhand me at once!" Katarina demands once again, desperation in her tone as she is carried away from the ship, the dock, and her belongings. In the course of her struggles, the poster in her cloak, crumpled as it is, falls free, drifting to the ground just before the unlikely trio disappears into the murky darkness of the alley. (Endangered by Key of the Paragon, 2XP)

Katarina is not the only one vacating a steam car today. Solomon spills out of one that comes to a sudden stop. He hurriedly presses some money into the extended hand of the car's driver and then fast walks his way to the ship, casually waving at dock workers nearby. As casual as those waves are, there is an urgency to his step that is, until he comes to a full stop. Because... there is the ship, pretty much ready to depart at this point and there is some luggage, but a very key and important component is missing. The passenger.

He turns to the dock workers, the few that have wandered in and out of the area. However, nobody seems to be interested in helping out. So, he begins walking the way he came and that is when something catches his eye. He walks to a crumpled piece of paper? It looks more like a crumpled poster of some sort. Solomon approaches and picks it up, straightening it out. His eyes go a little wide. "Well, well." He crumples the poster again, putting it away. He looks into the alley that appears to be connected to his only lead and pats the pistols holstered at his belt, before he breaks into a run and dives into said alley, hoping to run into his missing passenger.

Location: A back alley, Haven

"Unhand me at once!" As ineffective as this demand has been thus far, Katarina repeats it again, heart pounding in indignation and irritation as she is carried along like so many potatoes. Physically overpowered, there is no way for her to free herself, and desperation kicks in - the further she gets from dock fifty-five, the further she gets from completing her quest, from finding her mother. A gust of wind breezes down the alley, stirring debris on the ground - and apparently stirring Katarina's creativity as well.

"Let me go!" she demands again, this time taking a deep breath and repeating the words again. "Let me go!" And again. "Let me go, let me go, let me go, let..." And again and again. The breeze takes on a bit more strength with every repetition, whipping the debris around the trio. But Katarina's worries and anger are a distraction from the attempted channeling, and the wind quickly leaves her control, building and building into a maelstrom that halts the men in their tracks, buffeted back and forth against the brick walls that form the alleyway.

"What's 'at? Stop that!" the skinny man howls, a crisps bag flying into his face and plastering itself over his eyes. "Gallus, clap your hand over 'er mouth before she sends us over into the juvven Deeps!" He lunges at Katarina, but a gust of wind slams into him like a wall, knocking him back and setting him to reeling. Gallus manages to remain upright, but his panic has him unsteady on his feet, though his grip on Katarina is still too strong for her to escape on her own. He stumbles, and her head hits the nearest wall with a resounding thud - rendering her unconscious. The wind continues however, having taken on a life of its own. (Failed a Sorcery Roll, +1 dice pool)

*CLICK*

That's the sound of Solomon's two pistols, cocking.

"You two are by far... by far, the worst kidnappers ever. Just, the worst," Solomon says as he catches up with the group. The wind, even though it buffets all around him, he pretends to ignore. Instead he just stares at the two men. The kind of stare that tells, he isn't exactly a nice man. "Now, do yourselves a favor. Put the girl down. Leave, and you," he nods to one of the guys, "get to keep your head, and you," he nods at the other, "get to keep your balls." He looks around. "That is, if the wind doesn't finish you off first." One pistol points at Gallus' head, the other at the skinny man's balls.

Apparently, Gallus has had enough of this, because, he does exactly as Solomon instructs and puts her down. Skinny Man, on the other hand, seems a little unhappy with the situation. "The 'ell are ya doin'!" He cries out at his companion. The moment that Katarina is down, Solomon steps forward. "Leave. Now." He continues approaching. Gallus, seems very keen on doing that, and breaks into a run. Skinny, sort of decides to stick it out. Solomon lowers the pistol he had aimed at Gallus, but keeps his other one trained on Skinny Man. He continues approaching. "I won't say it again. Leave."

Skinny curses, "Fuck--" BLAM. The shot misses, grazing Skinny's hair. Skinny pisses his pants.

But now, he's furious. "I'm gonna cut ya, fucker!" He brandishes a knife and comes at Solomon. Lightning fast, one of Solomon's pistols is holstered, he spins around to avoid the first stab, and in the movement reaches for the sword at his belt. Skinny twists, and tries to slash at Solomon, who now ducks, barely avoiding losing his neck in the process. But just as quickly as he ducks, Solomon comes up, sword first and impales Skinny through a rib.

Skinny gives Solomon a look of disbelief. With an expression as hard as stone, Solomon simply says, "No," he dives the sword further in, Skinny gurgles and Solomons adds, "you're not." With a swift movement, he pulls the sword out, sheathes it and Skinny just slumps to the floor.

Silently, he makes his way to Katarina. Gently, he picks her up. And without a word, he carries her unconscious form the same way he came and back to dock fifty five.

Dock 55, Twelve Seas Port, Haven

"My head..." This groan, more of a whimper really, comes from Katarina when she awakens from her storm-tossed slumber. The regular jolts of movement seem to have her disoriented until she realizes she's being carried once more. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out as she suddenly notices who is carrying her. No longer a captive, her mouth falls shut and she continues to let Solomon bear her until they come upon the dock where the airship is tethered, her luggage moved aboard and the machines monitoring the ship itself unhooked in preparation for the Crimson Claw's departure.

"How did you find them? Me; how did you find me?" she asks, motioning to be set back on her feet. There is a patch of dried blood at her temple, but other than that she looks no particular worse for wear, though the hood of her cloak has come down in the kerfuffle, exposing that mane of sun-touched red hair once more. "Thank you, either way. I..." She hesitates, averting her eyes, but her words are firm when they do come. "I understand if you would rather terminate the contract. I was not exactly forthcoming when we struck the deal, and I would harbor no ill-will against you if you decided not to risk bearing me aloft as a passenger."

"You hit your head pretty hard, so I wouldn't try to move to too much," Solomon says as he carries her into the dock. He nods approvingly when he sees the Claw, ready to depart. Without fanfare, he makes his way to the ship's boarding ramp and he stops by the hatch, which is still closed. He looks at Katarina at her questions, more like stares at her, really. It's not an unfriendly stare, perhaps it is a little creepy in that too serious kind of way. He does gently put her down, though and then gently touches the dried blood spot on her temple. "We'll have to get that looked at."

At the rest of her words, he lightly shrugs. "I considered charging you extra, for the additional service, but I'll waive the fee this time," he says. Then there's a consideration of that last bit she says and he shrugs again. He finds that crumpled poster, and offers it to Katarina as he now knocks on the hatch, in a very specific pattern. "I see no reason to terminate the contract," he says. "But you do have a lot of explaining to do, Lady Katarina," that last bit is said quietly. "And don't worry, I have no desire to turn you in, but I do enjoy a good story or two. I'm sure you have some of those," he finally grins at her and nods to the ship when the hatch opens with a loud steamy hiss. "Now, let's go. I think we both would prefer to leave this place as soon as possible."