Rory returned for his mistress when the group had decided on a path. She rose gracefully from her seat and walked slowly, but without hesitation, after the party. There were so many unfamiliar smells for Eve. Foremost was the odors of the others around her. The horse, most notably. While Eve had been in carriages before, the beasts that led had often been well groomed and at least smelled decent. This one was offensive to her nostrils. The beast and the man who brought him.
The same could be said for another of the party. The one with the heavy, uneven steps. He reeked of alcohol, and while Eve could appreciate a good whiskey, it burned when she breathed him in. 

Not all of them were bad. The one she'd heard called Amos smelled of plants. And the soft spoken one hardly smelled of much at all. Body odor, if anything, but it wasn't invasive. This one, Eve was confused about. By smell and sound, Eve would have assumed the young adult was a woman. But no one addressed her as such. Deciding it was a disguise to remain unmolested, Eve made no comment on the matter, but it bothered her in part. It was no business of a lady to dress like a man and parade around donned in lies.

When they neared the docks, Eve's feet were sore, but she offered no complaint. She had volunteered for this, afterall. But even as she reminded herself of that fact, she regretted her daring as she boarded the ship. As if being unable to see weren't hard enough, now the ground rocked and swayed beneath her! How cruel. And instead of being offered the captain's chamber for being not only a woman of stature but a woman, Eve found herself in a small closet that reeked of salt, fish, and mold.

“Can I get you anything, Mistress?” Rory asked as he pushed her small pack beneath the bed at out of her path.
“Off this ship and back home.” Eve snapped. There was a moment of pause as Rory looked up in anxiety. “Not literally, boy.” She heard him exhale and continue about his tasks. “Find my bag and retrieve the satchel of petals from within. At the very least we'll make this hole smell a bit better.”

The journey wore on. Eve couldn't see the days roll by, but she could sense them. The smell of dinners, the sound of snoring, the calls of the birds that followed the ship. As she found it incredibly difficult to maneuver the boat on her unsteady feet, she remained alone in her room the majority of the days. Often, when she did depart her closet, it was evening, when she'd find fewer crew members creating obstacles for her. And always with Rory. The ship rocked too often, and she was overly, though rationally, worried about falling into the sea.

Upon receiving the invitation to dine with the captain, Eve did her best to wash. Beside the comfort of a bed and still ground beneath her feet, Eve found herself aching to be clean the most. It was disgusting, being so soiled. She could taste salt each time she licked her lips, and she could smell her own sweat drowning her nostrils each morning. Rory, too, was in need of a wash, but he seemed to care much less than she did. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself. There was a tone of excitement in his voice and Eve partially wanted to squash. Why should he enjoy this? 

Regardless of the difficulty, Eve used a cloth to wipe herself clean. She removed a dried and long aged rose petal from her potpourri sachet and tried to get its faint scent to linger on her skin. Rory brushed her hair, and once she had retied her blindfold (and Rory assured her her scars couldn't be seen) she went to eat.

Eve sat stiffly in the chair, facing the captain. The food before her smelled much better. Rory stood behind her to wait on her. He explained where each of her items were on her plate for her using an imaginary clock face, then he retreated and waited. Eve chewed delicately on the meat presented for her, glad at least to have a taste of a decent meal. Their talk is small; the captain is a quiet man, and Eve is too polite to say anything rude after being extended such a courtesy. When he pointedly asked about her reason for being on this journey, Eve was quiet. She finished chewing her bite, swallowed, and gently lay her fork down on the table. She'd been wondering this herself often the last two days. She had been struggling to keep herself motivated, but at least it left her prepared for this. 

“The Rutherfords have always been a prominent family.” Eve started easily. Afterall, how many times had she reminded herself of that lately? “Our linage can be easily traced back to the founders of the First America. We've survived everything. We adapted and we thrived.” Eve exhaled. “Look at me.” She added less easily. “I am something people avert their eyes from. I keep myself hidden away. I hardly use the brain my father ensured I would have. And to what end?” Eve shook her head softly, thin wisps of her air swaying before her face. “I won't be a disgraceful end to a Rutherford line. I agreed to this journey to honour my father's memory.”

She halted her little speech there, growing worried that she would insult the captain with some comment on the terrible environment or discomforts. There was no need to be rude to the man.

“I would rather fall to the earth attempting to do good than hide away until I am withered like a weed. Rory,” She added softly, and Rory stepped forward silently to refile her wine glass. He stepped back, and Eve took a small sip. It wasn't as full as the wine she used to have at home, but it wasn't awful. “And you, my Lord Arlington. What fulfillment do you receive as a captain of a cargo ship who carries around a blind woman and her misfit companions?”