Acutely keyed into the subtleties of expression after decades of reading subtext in the Blackthorne family’s behaviour, Ayla could feel the put-on patience worn by the Quartermaster in the face of questions that should already have been answered. He handled the situation well, she thought. It was clear that many of the inquiries he received consisted of information readily available elsewhere, though no sign of perturbance or frustration radiated from the speaker. Ayla considered this a pleasant indicator of the nature of the ship’s crew and felt relief as the soaked in the words swirling around her.

Having her turn to speak directly with the Quartermaster, Ayla presented her calmest, most polite demeanor and awaited response with all the placidity of an evening glass lake. Still reading the most subtle tells in this gentleman’s expression and tone, she knew she was not fooling [i]him[/i] with her play at human. She let this pass without a second consideration and simply carried on unfazed by his ability to identify her heritage. 

“Oh, yes, just one,” she confirmed. “I do not require private accommodations, thank you.” 

She glanced from the ship itself, bobbing at anchor some distance from the dock, to the direction the captain has strode off on business. Ayla put on a face of consideration and played the part of owning her independent thoughts as if decisions were often in her hands. 

“Well, I think if this can be settled on board, I would prefer to do so there.” This reply was punctuated with a small nod, giving the illusion she had actually considered going to the Guild office. She was going to avoid stepping into a building of that professional and political nature with everything she had. 

One long and slender hand drew from her oversized robe’s confines and indicated the paperwork held in the Quartermaster’s grip. 

“Do I register with you here or shall we do so aboard your fine vessel?” 

In an effort to keep the current in her favor, Ayla took a few small steps towards the little boats filling with other passengers and their belongings. Ayla hefted her lone bundle of belongings which amounted to little more than a miniature lumpy duffle. In a graceful sidestep, she kept her shoulders squared with the Quartermaster and never let her gaze fall from his face, hoping she could hold his attention and encourage the idea that their conversation find completion aboard The Silver Wing.