Ashley listened carefully to Troe's words, since he seemed to know what he was talking about. Ashley had battled demonic beasts before—even bagged a few, with the help of the knights—but the open ocean was something she had no experience with. Seeing the absolute state of the sailors Xara was talking to only confirmed her suspicions. Taking this watery battlefield lightly could only result in a watery grave.
Truthfully, the smell of the ship barely registered in Ashley's mind. She had spent most of her life surrounded by strong smells. If it wasn't the wretched, overpowering smell of strong perfume and cologne at the noble parties, the body odor of sweaty knights in full armor, or the smells of the horses and the stables—or all three at once—it was the dung-caked faces of some criminal scum from the streets, or the piercing smell of cleaning chemicals from the clinic, or the rotting stench of death and decay that came standard with a back room full of brewing potions, the hunting and slaying of demonic beasts, or generally investigating the macabre. If she was "lucky" enough to be called in to a high-ticket crime scene, she might have the privilege of experiencing all six of those smells in one thick, rich cocktail. If she had to rate the smell of a ship full of seafood of varying kinds and degrees of freshness, she'd probably give it a six out of ten.
Samara's choice words of "better prospects" remain in the front of Ashley's mind as she watches the sailors opt out of repaying Xara's alleged favor, and as she begins reading the "room," so to speak, she honestly wonders if she should just toss her coin purse to Mikhail and have him sort the whole thing out. But, the smelly fishing ship had its advantages. Whatever crew decided to stick around would be full of seasoned veterans of dangerous ocean travel. A ship full of fishermen could keep a low profile, at least for the first leg of their journey, in an environment that was sure to be rife with competition—both fair and unfair. Ashley wouldn't be surprised if the ships full of mercenaries—who were sure to have varying ethical standards and levels of self-discipline—started trying to sink each other on the way, and as soon as she got on board any ship, the first thing on her agenda would be to size up her alleged "comrades," trying to sus out which ones were likely to kill her and Mikhail in their sleep and toss their corpses overboard, to increase their slice of the pie. She did not lie to her Lord Clive; as someone with a "wider" moral compass, she truly had weighed the risks.
Ashley sighed her trademark lifeless sigh. "It is the duty of a leader to make unpopular decisions when necessary," she says ruefully.
"That's the spirit, Ashley," her Commander responds, encouraging her.
It was then that Ashley was bumped from behind by the tall woman from before, and placed squarely in front of the young mage.
"Whoever the fuck's knights" sent Ashley's cold, dead heart into a frenzy as beads of frigid sweat began forming on her face. In full fight or flight mode, Ashley clears her throat before her Commander could speak, thus announcing her intent to address the insult. Staking her claim on the situation, she begins wracking her brain for something to say as she turns to face Nitonka. The woman towered over her, and could probably match or beat Mikhail at arm-wrestling. Ashley would be lying if she'd said she wasn't the tiniest bit intimidating.
"Your vote of confidence is appreciated. However, I must ask that you restrain that unruly tongue of yours. Had you insulted Milord directly, in the presence of esteemed company... there are some among the nobility that are quick to cry for blood, is what I'm saying. Don't invite the circus—but more than that—don't ask me to bully a child. Are we clear?" Ashley, for her size, could give a mean glare. Her narrowed, emotionless eyes were like the eyes of a woman who was already a corpse, but simply refused to fall over and die. She dreaded being forced to kill an innocent more than she feared death, and it was evident on her face. If anyone hadn't noticed that her damsel-in-distress act at the tavern was just a means to an end, it was painfully obvious now.
"Kids these days... accepting candy from strangers, just like that," remarked the woman in the coolie hat, standing just next to Margot.
The woman's voice seemed to take the razor's edge off of Ashley's brow. Perhaps she recognized it?
"Auntie. You're late," Ashley says to the woman, confirming that she did in fact know her.
"You're the one who's running late today, missy," she pleasantly sasses back.
Mikhail knew that this woman was not the wife of the uncle Ashley had been living with prior to being knighted. It had to be a pet name.
...Ashley used pet names?
Truthfully, the smell of the ship barely registered in Ashley's mind. She had spent most of her life surrounded by strong smells. If it wasn't the wretched, overpowering smell of strong perfume and cologne at the noble parties, the body odor of sweaty knights in full armor, or the smells of the horses and the stables—or all three at once—it was the dung-caked faces of some criminal scum from the streets, or the piercing smell of cleaning chemicals from the clinic, or the rotting stench of death and decay that came standard with a back room full of brewing potions, the hunting and slaying of demonic beasts, or generally investigating the macabre. If she was "lucky" enough to be called in to a high-ticket crime scene, she might have the privilege of experiencing all six of those smells in one thick, rich cocktail. If she had to rate the smell of a ship full of seafood of varying kinds and degrees of freshness, she'd probably give it a six out of ten.
Samara's choice words of "better prospects" remain in the front of Ashley's mind as she watches the sailors opt out of repaying Xara's alleged favor, and as she begins reading the "room," so to speak, she honestly wonders if she should just toss her coin purse to Mikhail and have him sort the whole thing out. But, the smelly fishing ship had its advantages. Whatever crew decided to stick around would be full of seasoned veterans of dangerous ocean travel. A ship full of fishermen could keep a low profile, at least for the first leg of their journey, in an environment that was sure to be rife with competition—both fair and unfair. Ashley wouldn't be surprised if the ships full of mercenaries—who were sure to have varying ethical standards and levels of self-discipline—started trying to sink each other on the way, and as soon as she got on board any ship, the first thing on her agenda would be to size up her alleged "comrades," trying to sus out which ones were likely to kill her and Mikhail in their sleep and toss their corpses overboard, to increase their slice of the pie. She did not lie to her Lord Clive; as someone with a "wider" moral compass, she truly had weighed the risks.
Ashley sighed her trademark lifeless sigh. "It is the duty of a leader to make unpopular decisions when necessary," she says ruefully.
"That's the spirit, Ashley," her Commander responds, encouraging her.
It was then that Ashley was bumped from behind by the tall woman from before, and placed squarely in front of the young mage.
"Whoever the fuck's knights" sent Ashley's cold, dead heart into a frenzy as beads of frigid sweat began forming on her face. In full fight or flight mode, Ashley clears her throat before her Commander could speak, thus announcing her intent to address the insult. Staking her claim on the situation, she begins wracking her brain for something to say as she turns to face Nitonka. The woman towered over her, and could probably match or beat Mikhail at arm-wrestling. Ashley would be lying if she'd said she wasn't the tiniest bit intimidating.
"Your vote of confidence is appreciated. However, I must ask that you restrain that unruly tongue of yours. Had you insulted Milord directly, in the presence of esteemed company... there are some among the nobility that are quick to cry for blood, is what I'm saying. Don't invite the circus—but more than that—don't ask me to bully a child. Are we clear?" Ashley, for her size, could give a mean glare. Her narrowed, emotionless eyes were like the eyes of a woman who was already a corpse, but simply refused to fall over and die. She dreaded being forced to kill an innocent more than she feared death, and it was evident on her face. If anyone hadn't noticed that her damsel-in-distress act at the tavern was just a means to an end, it was painfully obvious now.
"Kids these days... accepting candy from strangers, just like that," remarked the woman in the coolie hat, standing just next to Margot.
The woman's voice seemed to take the razor's edge off of Ashley's brow. Perhaps she recognized it?
"Auntie. You're late," Ashley says to the woman, confirming that she did in fact know her.
"You're the one who's running late today, missy," she pleasantly sasses back.
Mikhail knew that this woman was not the wife of the uncle Ashley had been living with prior to being knighted. It had to be a pet name.
...Ashley used pet names?