Time: 10 AM
Location: Sorian Temple
Interactions: The Perfumer
Mentions:

---

Time:10am
Location: Edwards Estate - Drake's Party
Attire: Dress, Amulet
Interaction: @PapaOso Cassius @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Helo Callum @Potter Olivia

---

Charlotte turned her attention to Callum, her smile lighting up her face as she leaned in slightly, and teasingly said, “Well, maybe I am your sister. We do share strikingly similar features, don’t we? Dark hair, blue eyes... Perhaps there's a royal family secret worth investigating.”

With a quick glance at Cassius, her voice shifted to a breezier tone, “A legend, huh? Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that.” When he leaned closer and claimed he’d be carrying her, she raised her brows with an exaggerated tilt of her head. “Oh, you really think so? I’ll have you know, Cassius, I can hold my own.” Her hand casually brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she lifted her glass, smirking confidently, “In fact, I think I already have the trophy.”

Cassius downed his second cocktail and her brows shot up in surprise. But as he issued his challenge, her eyes widened, and she repeated, ‘A drinking contest?" She glanced around the table as if appalled by the very suggestion. “At the son of the Duke of Soralia’s birthday party, no less! And need I remind you, it is only 10 AM!” It was clear from the giggles that followed the statement, that she wasn’t sober enough to deliver the logic convincingly. The warmth from the cocktail had settled in quickly, loosening her usually measured demeanor, though she had always been a lightweight.

“Let’s! The Duke of Vermillion could use a warm-up… Like a rival of mine famously says, ‘I’m here to play… and win.’” Charlotte whirled to face Lorenzo, half-raising her hand to object, but before she could even get a word out, he downed his cocktail just as swiftly as she had earlier. She blinked in surprise, only to hear Callum’s voice pipe up again. Callum, too, emptied his glass. She knew she should have been exasperated with them, yet she couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity of it all.

"Well." she began, raising her finger as if she had just thought of something profound, "if you boys insist on carrying on like this, I suppose someone will have to teach you a lesson in how to properly handle your liquor like a lady." She grinned, then plucked one of the shots and gulped it down with a quick flick of her wrist. The alcohol burned briefly as it slid down her throat, a sharp reminder of what a terrible idea this was. But Lottie, for once, didn’t care. After all that had transpired—the constant swirl of drama, the weird aura around her, Calbert Damien, and those intrusive memories of her father that seemed to force themselves into her reality when least expected—she needed to let go, even just for a moment.

Besides, if she was going to be dragged into another one of those surreal flashbacks, better to be a little too tipsy to care.

"...We could play strip poker." Her gaze slid to the table next to them as they remained perfectly in earshot. As Anastasia had been speaking, she had dimly registered her words as background noise, but it hadn’t been until that last bit that she felt the need to look over and spot the scandalous amount of PDA between Farim and Anastasia. Compared to that spectacle, she figured a few shots would be the least scandalous thing happening at this party.

Her eyes met Olivia’s for a fleeting moment to check up on her, then her attention shifted entirely as Drake made an announcement then sat at a piano, the serene notes wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.

Clasping her hands together in delight, she squealed with a rare burst of excitement. “Oh! This song is one of my favorites!” She idly sipped from yet another cocktail as the music filled the air, swaying slightly to the rhythm, a contented smile on her face.

Then, Drake’s words made her freeze mid-sip.

”...And this next piece is a surprise one - gifted to me by a special someone. A spectacular person by the name of Charlotte Vikena. Thank you for blessing me with such a fine gift on such a fine day, milady.”

Charlotte’s eyes darted around as heads turned toward her. Instead of shying away, as she might’ve done before, she eventually gave the crowd a cheeky little wave.

“What a lovely piece, you composed it? ...It’s magical.”

She slurped the remaining liquid from the bottom of the glass as she replied casually,"Certainly did," she said, "I suppose that makes me magical, doesn’t it?" It wasn’t long after that Drake tumbled off the stage, and Callum had rushed to his aid, along with several attendants. Charlotte assumed his parents would also be soon to follow as gasps filled the air.

She craned her neck to check on Drake as he tumbled off the stage. Gasps filled the air, and Callum, along with several attendants, rushed to his aid. She watched for a moment, her lips forming a faint pout before deciding he seemed alright. With a dramatic sigh, she turned her attention back to Lorenzo and Cassius, her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleaming with a giddy energy.

"Well, that was quite the performance," she giggled, playfully swinging her now empty shot glass in the air before setting it down a little too forcefully. "But you know..." she began, her words starting to slur ever so slightly, "I think I could do better—without falling off a stage, mind you."

She hiccuped and blinked, her train of thought momentarily lost before a mischievous grin crossed her face. "Cassius, Lorenzo," Lottie continued, swaying slightly as she leaned closer to them, "I've been thinking... If we were all animals, you'd definitely be a... hmm..." She paused, her gaze locking onto Lorenzo as she squinted in mock concentration, leaning in as if unveiling a grand revelation." A ferret like Kier! All squiggly and sneaky. You clever little thing!"

She paused, giggling uncontrollably at her own words. Then, turning to Cassius, she poked him lightly in the chest, "And you, you'd be... oh! A peacock! Always strutting around, thinking you're oh so pretty." With that declaration, she snatched up another shot and poured it down her throat, perhaps enjoying the pleasant feeling a little too much.

Stratya Durmand

Time: 25th, 10 am
Location: Edwards Estate
Attire: Officer’s Formal
Family Dirk + Crest
Interactions: Duke Gideon @PapaOso, Anastacia @princess, Duchess Victoria
Mentions: Drake @Lava Alckon, Ariella @Tpartywithzombi, Cassius @Helo

She felt a little out of place. Perhaps she should have stepped apart, when Gideon had come to speak to his daugh’er? Too late now. She paused her speaking to take a sip from her cocktail when she heard it. Like there had been a lull in most conversations except hers, perhaps.

”...we could play strip poker.”

She stopped halfway through her cocktail, controlling herself from spitting it out from surprise. The knight managed to swallow it properly. What a wild idea! That was the princess’s voice, alright. That young lady kept surprising Stratya with her free spirit. However, the Princess also seemed to be a bit, ah, danger-prone, perhaps? She could recall hearing of two separate instances. She didn’t want to ruin the Princess’s fun, and besides, Anastacia was an adult. She was old enough to make these decisions for herself.

Yet the knight felt torn. It really didn’t seem like a good idea to let the princess do something like this with people who were ultimately only just new acquaintances, known for days at most. Her safety had to take priority.

Duchess Victoria shouted across the party at her daughter. What a fantastic parent. As Ariella excused herself, Stratya spoke to her before she could leave, "Lady Ariella, le's talk when there's nowt alc'hol involved." She gave the young lady a warm smile and nodded, before downing the rest of her cocktail and turning to Gideon, ”I believe I ‘eard a mat’er I ‘ad bes’ tend to, Duke Gideon. Please, excuse me, as well.” As she turned to put the cocktail on the table, she leaned against the surface to steady herself as things spun a bit. ”Ooh, ‘at’s strong. Heehee.” And tasty. Clearly, she had to take a closer look at the alcohols available to her. On the other hand, getting drunk too quickly took some of the fun out of it. You couldn’t play beer ball with this stuff, you’d be on your ass after one round.

Lord Drake began his performance as Stratya crossed to the Pricness’s table. He’s quite good.

The knight came to stand besides the Princess and her Royal Cushion, and spoke softly to the Princess. It wouldn’t do to disrupt Drake’s performance, ”I am sure you arre awarre I simply cannae le’ you play such a game, Prrincess Anastacia,” she looked as a cocktail was placed into her hand, causing her to pause. She brought the cocktail in front of herself, watching it, before continuing, ”wit’ou’ a.. sui’able perrsonal escorr’. I cannae leave you unprrotected forr such an even', aye? I’ seems nae tasteful to ‘ave a man for t’ job.. S’ppose I’d be t’ woman for i’, then, eh?”

She sat herself at the table and listened as Lord Drake continued to play, ”ooh, he’s qui’e good.” She let the performance dance in her ears, and looked over to Lady Charlotte as she heard Drake’s proclamation. She could make a joke about her being popular, but it was more impressive that she’d written a piece of music to be played, and that it was such a pleasant thing to listen to! ”Lady Charrlotte surre is somethin’. A sweet’earrt and talented, too? Hoo.”

She’d just turned back to the table when she heard everyone gasp, and a body go ‘thump’ to the ground. She turned quickly, but found that so many other bodies were already responding, including Prince Callum and Ariella. What she saw happen next was very interesting, though.

Victoria. What a vile woman. So vicious to her own children. She watched her body language as she berated her son for being drunk off the drinks at the party she arranged. She remembered Victoria's berating of her daughter, just moments ago, for enjoying being a free spirit. Perhaps it was the drink, but Stratya turned in her seat and leaned back on the table, crossing her legs as she held her cocktail up in her hand away from the table. She cupped her other hand to her mouth and shouted up, at Victoria,

“Take off yerr shoes!”

She watched Victoria, waiting to make eye contact and stare her down, as she sipped her cocktail slowly.

---

Keeping a warship up and running, as Sjan-dehk was quickly finding out, wasn’t exactly cheap.

That said, however, he did have some inkling of his Sada Kurau’s running costs. As her dutiful Captain, he made it a point to keep track of everything she used – in battle or otherwise – lost, or needed replacement, repairs, or restocking. He knew, for example, that since leaving Viserjanta for Caesonia, Sada Kurau had expended fifty-eight shells of various types. Two-and-a-half rolls of sailcloth had been used to maintain her sails. Roughly a mile of rope, to replace rigging that frayed from wear-and-tear.

And that was just what the ship herself had used. Her crew had consumed almost three tons of provisions of various sorts, and those would have to be replaced sooner rather than later. Similarly, the rifle and pistol cartridges that had been fired – five hundred-and-sixty-eight in total – would also need to be replaced in as short order as possible.

So, yes, Sjan-dehk had known about what it took to keep Sada Kurau operational. What he hadn’t known, and what he was now discovering, was the amount of money needed to purchase all those things.

An annoyed huff blew from Sjan-dehk’s nose. The fingers of one hand drummed an erratic beat against a gnarled, wooden tabletop. In the other, he held a brush with such force that it started to bend. Beneath the cooling shade of his hat, his eyes scanned the numbers and notes scrawled across the crumpled sheet of paper before him. With each row he looked over, his brow pushed closer and closer to each other, and his expression grew darker and darker, as if the paper that was somehow at fault for showing him calculations that were less than satisfactory.

He sighed and dipped the brush into an inkwell. “You’re a demanding lady, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath as he scribbled another line, adding another item to the list; five barrels of gunpowder to replace the roughly six tons that had been used up.

Sjan-dehk clicked his tongue. None of this would be such a headache had he been in the Commonwealth; replenishment there was a simple matter of listing down everything Sada Kurau needed, bringing that list to the local Naval supply depot, and then waiting until the requested items were loaded into her holds. The monetary cost would be a problem for the Commonwealth Navy to handle, not Sjan-dehk.

But here in Caesonia, there was no such luxury. Sjan-dehk chewed on his lip. The final amount he arrived at for Sada Kurau’s approximate expenses didn’t look wrong, but neither did it look appealing. It was much larger than he would have liked, and he couldn’t see a way to make it any smaller without giving up things which he felt were utterly essential to keeping Sada Kurau fighting fit. Sjan-dehk wondered if this was why the Navy had entire offices dedicated to managing its finances.

“I don’t like this.” Kai-dahn’s dour voice came suddenly, and as a distraction Sjan-dehk welcomed.

He looked up at Sada Kurau’s Commander-of-Seaborne. “Neither do I, Commander,” Sjan-dehk said and tapped a finger on the paper. “But shit work’s still work, and someone has to do it.”

Grass crunched beneath sturdy, lightweight boots as Kai-dahn approached the table. Tall and well-built, he stood with his back ramrod-straight and hands folded neatly behind his back in front of Sjan-dehk. Despite the heat of the ascending sun, Kai-dahn looked immaculate in his uniform, with barely a crease of either of his tunics out-of-place, and his leather equipment sitting flush enough against his body to look tidy, but not so much that it wrinkled his clothes. His helmet – a conical hat made of hardened leather and steel – hung from his waist belt.

“My apologies, Captain,” Kai-dahn said with a bow of his head. “I should have made myself clear. I wasn’t talking about Sada Kurau’s expenses.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. When he turned back to Sjan-dehk, his lips were turned downwards in a severe frown. “I’m talking about what’s going on there.”

Sjan-dehk leaned to one side to look around Kai-dahn, the rickety folding chair beneath him creaking with his shifting weight. At a glance, Sjan-dehk saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sada Kurau’s crew were where Sjan-dehk had left them, gathered at the firing line. Granted, most of them were in some state of undress, with a handful having undone their sashes and opened their tunics to their waists, and most had taken off their webbing and helmets, leaving them stacked in neat piles on the grass.

But that wasn’t anything Sjan-dehk thought to be alarming. If anything, he was pleased to see that, despite having been given leave to rest, none of the crew had left their rifles unattended. They had their weapons either cradled in their arms, or slung behind their shoulders.

“You’re against them resting?” Sjan-dehk asked, looking at Kai-dahn with a raised brow.

The Commander frowned. “Captain, they’re fraternising,” he said pointedly. “That’s strictly prohibited under section twenty-eight of the Commonwealth Naval Book of Laws.” His face darkened, his usually impassive features cracking ever-so-slightly to reveal some modicum of displeasure. “I also caught some of the men exchanging arms with local troops.” By the tone he used with that last sentence, one could be forgiven for thinking that to be one of the gravest transgressions possible.

Sjan-dehk furrowed his brow. For a moment, he was confused; just who was Kai-dahn talking about? But, he soon remembered the dozen-or-so Caesonian soldiers who had arrived at the range not too long after Sjan-dehk had finished addressing his crew. He hadn’t paid them much attention – the Caesonians mostly kept to themselves and went about their business on their side of the range – but now as he examined the crowd once more, he did notice the neatly uniformed Caesonians mingling with the less-than-presentable crew of Sada Kurau. They communicated mostly with exaggerated gestures and stilted conversations, but that didn’t seem to get in the way of them getting along amicably, as far as Sjan-dehk could see.

Coincidentally, he also saw them swapping firearms, as Kai-dahn had mentioned.

Right away, Stratya’s words from the previous night surfaced in Sjan-dehk’s mind. From what little he had seen of the Caesonian’s shooting this morning, it was clear she had been telling the truth. Muzzle-loading and smoothbore, the muskets used by the Caesonians were wholly inferior to the rifles arming Sjan-dehk’s crew. In the time it took the former to load and fire a single shot, the latter would have already fired off five, or even six, if the shooter was skilled enough. And at a range of a hundred paces, each of those five or six bullets could be guaranteed to strike a target the size of an average person. A Caesonian musket couldn’t match even a third of that accuracy at half the distance.

With all that in mind, Sjan-dehk could see why Kai-dahn was concerned. Allowing the Caesonians to study and possibly replicate Viserjantan rifles would be, at the very least, irresponsible. At worst, it could be akin to surrendering a powerful battlefield advantage for no reason whatsoever. However, as much as he could understand Kai-dahn’s perspective, Sjan-dehk couldn’t say that he agreed with him.

“Fraternising only applies if they’re with the enemy, if I’m not mistaken,” Sjan-dehk started, bringing up his elbows to rest on the table, and supporting his chin with the backs of his hands. “Unless something terrible happened in the time it took me to put this abyss-forsaken list together, we’re not going to make enemies of the Caesonians. And as for the rifles…” He trailed off and nodded towards the crowd. “I don’t think they can understand each other enough to tell each other anything important. And besides, Mursi is there with them. He made the damn things, he’ll know what should or shouldn’t be shared and act accordingly.”

Kai-dahn didn’t look entirely convinced, but nevertheless, he nodded. “As you say, Captain.”

“We’ll have them back in action soon enough, anyway,” Sjan-dehk said, picking up the brush and twirling it around his fingers as he reluctantly returned his attention to Sada Kurau’s expenses. Kai-dahn remained standing, still as a statue, and eyes gazing dispassionately at his Captain. Sjan-dehk glanced at him from under the brim of his hat. An exasperated sigh left his lips, and he gave the empty chair beside him a hard nudge with the tip of his boot. “Might as well come help me with these fucking numbers, if you’re just going to stand around.”

Kai-dahn immediately marched himself around the table, coming to a stop directly behind Sjan-dehk’s right shoulder. The Captain shook his head. He didn’t doubt that had he said nothing, Kai-dahn would have just stood in front of the table until it was time for him to return to the firing line. “Sit down,” Sjan-dehk ordered and jerked a thumb towards the empty chair. “I need you to tell me how many cartridges we’re expected to use by the end of practice.”

“As you say, Captain.” Kai-dahn nodded, pulled the chair out, and sat down. Even with an action so simple and mundane, the Commander managed to make it seem like a military drill with the deliberateness and sharpness of his movements. He took a moment to straighten out invisible creases on his uniform before turning his body to look at Sjan-dehk’s list. “The men don’t seem to have much trouble with the new rifles, other than reloading the reloading drill, but that will come with use and practice.”

“They can’t reload properly?” Sjan-dehk’s brow creased. “Sounds like trouble to me.”

Kai-dahn shook his head. “Apologies, Captain. It’s nothing as major as that. They simply fall back on their old drills under stress. There’s no need for concern, Captain. I can assure you that all of them would be as capable on these new rifles as they were on the old ones by noon.” A pensive look came over his face and he looked at the firing line. “With your permission, Captain, I will have the men carry out a second round of familiarisation shooting before we move onto snap shooting and battle drills and commands. That should iron out most of the problems the men have with reloading.” He paused. Sjan-dehk turned his head to look at him, prompting him to continue. Kai-dahn cleared his throat. “That will be another twenty-four cartridges on top of the two hundred-and-fifty I’ve set aside for today, Captain.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Sjan-dehk muttered and made the necessary amendments to his list. He sat back, holding it in his hands as he scanned through the rows of items and numbers. Then, with a grumble, he dropped it onto the table and made another change. “Better get another eighth-ton of powder to be on the safe side.” As he scribbled, he waved a hand towards Kai-dahn. “Do whatever you think is best for the crew, Commander.”

“As you say, Captain,” Kai-dahn replied. He glanced over the list, and frowned. “Captain, that’s not a list of our expenses for the day, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No, you are not,” Sjan-dehk muttered. “It’s for everything since we left the Commonwealth.”

Kai-dahn didn’t say anything immediately. For a few moments, the only sounds that reached either man’s ears were the vague chatter of soldiers, the quiet rustling of grass in the breeze, and soft birdsong coming from the trees just behind the range. “If I may ask,” the Commander began, clearing his throat. “Is there a reason you are doing this?”

“Better to get it over and done with, than to leave it and let it become a nasty surprise.”

“I understand that, Captain,” Kai-dahn said with a nod. “But we don’t have to calculate the exact costs, do we? I was under the impression that Sudah has people for this sort of work.”

“No, we don’t,” Sjan-dehk admitted, but continued scribbling nonetheless. He tapped the end of the brush on the table as he formulated an explanation. Even so, when he eventually spoke, his words didn’t sound as convincing as he had hoped. “But it’s better for us to know how much we’re spending. Especially when we’ll be stuck in this city for however long it’ll take for Lady Adiyan to become well enough for us to move.”

Kai-dahn grimaced. “That shouldn’t take more than a week. Master Sahm-tehn returned to duty in half that time after he lost his arm.”

“Master Sahm-tehn is a sailor like you and me,” Sjan-dehk replied drily. “And he’s likely made of the same wood as Sada Kurau. You can’t compare Lady Adiyan to him.” He drew in a deep breath, releasing it as a long, resigned sigh. “We should be prepared to stay here for at least a month. Maybe two. Either way, we’ll be here for much longer than planned, so we’ve to be ready for when Sudah can no longer sustain both us and herself with her supplies. Best we start finding ways to be at least somewhat independent.”

“But as you said, Captain, we still have a few weeks before supplies will become an issue.” Confusion was clearly written across Kai-dahn’s visage. “While I understand the need to be prepared, surely it would be a lot easier to come to a decision when we’re closer to that stage, and after we have exhausted all austerity measures as outlined in section thirty-one of the Commonwealth Naval Book of Laws? It would be wise to first consult with Sudah as well, to know their supply situation before coming up with our own plans.”

Sjan-dehk waved off Kai-dahn’s last sentence, but his own response died on his tongue. The Commander did have a point. Naval regulations provided Sjan-dehk with a list of possible actions to take when the risk of a supply shortage became a distinct possibility. He could, for example, enforce rationing to stretch what provisions they had left for as long a time as was physically safe. He could also keep Sada Kurau moored at harbour to reduce damages from sailing. Those were just two of the suggestions Sjan-dehk recalled out of a list that spanned pages. He felt almost certain that, if he cared to look through the Book of Laws, there would be at least a handful of suitable actions he could take.

Alternatively, he could – as Kai-dahn suggested – check with Sudah to see if he even needed to take such measures.

But, despite the doubt growing in him as he looked at the paper, Sjan-dehk said, “The Book of Laws was written with the assumption that we’d be in Commonwealth waters and not elsewhere. Its suggestions only account for things like food or water, and not money.” He paused, his eyes still glued to the list, seeing the words and numbers, but not reading them. “It assumes that we would only have to hold out as long as we need to either reach a harbour, or be resupplied by another ship. Money’s not an issue, there. But here, it is. We’ve to pay for everything we use, and while rationing and keeping Sada Kurau docked can avoid that issue for a while, it’s still an eventuality. I don’t want us to have a lack of local currency if and when we’ve to start relying on ourselves to keep Sada Kurau supplied.”

The more Sjan-dehk spoke, the less he felt like he was convincing Kai-dahn. If anything, his words felt like they were meant for himself. He shook his head slightly and continued. “I’ll send word to Sudah about our intentions, though. Let them know what we’re going to do.”

“And what are our intentions, Captain?” Kai-dahn asked.

Sjan-dehk’s answer came quickly. A little too quickly, surprising even himself. “Could try privateering.”

More surprising, however, was how easily Kai-dahn agreed to the idea. “A bit of action every now and then would keep the crew in practice, yes,” he said with a nod, his usually flat voice carrying the barest hints of excitement and approval.

A strange mix of uncertainty and hesitation stormed in Sjan-dehk’s heart, and he knew that it was certainly showing on his face. Had he hoped that Kai-dahn would be opposed to the idea? That someone would tell him that he was being rash with his plans? But that wasn’t the case, was it? This wasn’t something that he thought up on a whim; many considerations had gone into his decision to give privateering a go. It wasn’t as if there was much else a warship could do to earn her keep, and Sada Kurau wasn’t the sort of vessel which could be anything other than a warship.

And yet, Sjan-dehk couldn’t say anything until Kai-dahn called for him. “Captain?” The Commander asked with some concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied even as he admonished himself. What was he, Sada Kurau’s Captain, doing? He couldn’t afford to be so indecisive. His crew would follow him no matter what choice he made, there wasn’t any question about that. And so he had to choose, and he had to be resolute about it. “Think they’ve had enough rest,” he said and nodded towards the firing line. “Let’s not waste any time. Get the crew back on the line and get them shooting. And get me the runner. Need him to send a message to Sudah.”

Kai-dahn got to his feet and saluted. “As you say, Captain,” he said with a nod. With that, he marched over to the disorganised crowd, barking orders along the way.

Sjan-dehk looked around the table and grabbed the first blank sheet of paper he could see. It didn’t seem as if anything important was written on the other side, and so he started writing his message for Sudah’s Captain and Lady Adiyan. With each painted stroke and each completed logograph, the doubts that had been in his mind faded. It was as if by writing this message, he was setting his decision into stone. It was no longer something to be questioned, but something to be acted upon.

And if there was one thing Sjan-dehk was good at doing, it was taking action.

Time:10am
Location: Edwards Estate - Drake's Party
Attire: Dress, Amulet
Interaction: @PapaOso Cassius @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

---

“Lottie that’s your song!”l

Lottie’s eyes sparkled, her tipsy grin widening as Lorenzo’s words washed over her. Was he proud of her? Perhaps even impressed? She held a big, stupid smile on her face, soaking in the warmth of his praise without even registering the tray of drinks he had requested. For a moment, everything felt light and easy, and she reveled in it.

When Cassius spoke, closing the distance between them, his teasing tone returned. His gaze was locked on hers, and she could sense the arrogance creeping back into his demeanor. Without missing a beat, she fired back, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Well, you certainly make sure no one could miss you with all that ‘subtle’ strutting around.”

As Cassius went on, labeling her a swan, the dynamic shifted. For a moment, Lottie’s gaze softened. The warmth of his breath brushing against her neck ignited a subtle flush in her cheeks, though the alcohol buzzing through her system helped her maintain her composure. Her heart quickened, but her boldness only grew.

“A swan?” she mused, her voice smooth and unhurried, savoring the compliment as if it was her due. “Well, I can’t say I mind the comparison.” Her eyes held his, a playful glint returning.

“And it seems in your world, we are both birds. They do say birds of a feather flock together, don’t they?” Her smile deepened as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a low whisper.

“I suppose you’re alluding to that night you were... less than charming, and I had to get cross with you. Oh yes, I have not forgotten mister…” she continued, her words pointed but still playful. Her gaze sharpened slightly, though her smile never faltered. “Now, tell me, Cassius, you’re clearly not a man unaware of how to speak to a lady. So, was there a reason for it? Were you mocking me because of the rumors?”

With a smirk, she reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from his face, ensuring he saw the look in her eyes before she leaned back into her seat, folding her hands elegantly in her lap.

Just then, Stratya’s outburst caught her attention. A giggle slipped from her lips, “Oh dear, that was quite funny, wasn’t it?”

Before she could think further, Lorenzo chimed in, adding fuel to the fire, as he so often did. Normally, a rush of anxiety would bubble up inside her, worrying over him. Instead, she found herself doubling over with laughter, covering her lips as she giggled uncontrollably.

In a sudden burst of spontaneity, Lottie kicked off her shoes and stood up to approach Lorenzo, wobbling slightly. She then told him as she took hold of his shoulders, “She’s got… cheesy toes!”

She spun around after the declaration, giggling to herself, only to stumble moments later. She hit the grass with a thud but erupted into laughter, the ridiculousness of it all making her laugh even harder.

---

The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the stonewalls of the underground chamber. Crates and barrels were stacked haphazardly throughout the space as a group of commoners, young and old, worked to organise the supplies. The scrape of wood against stone and murmured conversations echoed off the walls, punctuated by the occasional giggle or shout from the children who darted between the adults, more interested in their games than the work at hand.

Sexton “Quack” Cryer stood hunched over a sturdy wooden crate, his brow furrowed in concentration as he examined its contents, comparing them to the list he held. He scratched his quill against parchment as he tallied each item.

Suddenly, a commotion near the entrance disrupted the steady rhythm of work. Excited voices steadily grew to a crescendo and the children abandoned their mischief and scampered towards the newcomer. The young women beside Quack began to titter and grin, smoothing their hair and adjusting their skirts as they shot coy glances towards the approaching figure.

But Quack ignored it all. Even when Cynwaer’s rich voice called out a greeting, he continued inventory-taking.

Quack hadn’t been an easy man to find. He never was, which – all things considered – Cynwaer took to be a good thing. It was hardly appropriate for a man of Quack’s line of work to be easily found. But then again, Cynwaer hadn’t tried particularly hard to find the man. It had just slipped his mind, that’s all. Getting reacquainted with a city as sprawling as Sorian took time for anyone, what more for Cynwaer, who hadn’t stepped onto its streets in ages?

Surely, it had nothing to do with Cynwaer dragging his feet. Or with him having a few drinks with that foreign captain the previous night.

He shrugged to no one in particular as he walked between stacks of crates and barrels. It didn’t matter, he supposed. If Quack was as good as he was supposed to be at what he did, he would already know that Cynwaer was in the city as soon as Remembrance slipped into harbour. And if Quack had really wanted to see him, then surely he would have sent for him.

With smiles and waves, Cynwaer greeted the children that ran up to him before advising them to return to their work, lest they draw the ire of their crotchety overseer. Similarly, he flashed winks and grins to the ladies who looked his way. “Mornin’ lassies,” he said politely with nods to each of them before pointing to whatever it was that required their attention. “Best youse get back tae yet work, aye. Would’nae wan’tae make yer boss lose ‘is ‘ead, would we nae?” The ladies giggled and nodded in response.

That Quack didn’t even acknowledge his presence bothered Cynwaer little. He had expected as much from the man. Instead, the Remembrance’s Captain merely sidled up to the man, taking his time to lean against a stack of crates before pulling out a sack of coins and jiggling in front of Quack’s face, almost teasingly. “Regards frae Renny, Songbird, and mesel’,” he said and placed the sack on top of whatever it was Quack had been examining. “Cheers fae sendin’ us ta’ word. ‘At’s one less taxman and a dozen or sae less o’ the king’s lads.”

One... two... three beats of silence passed, broken only by the rhythmic scritch-scratch of Quack’s quill. The ladies fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot and casting uneasy glances between Cynwaer and Quack. Cynwaer cast reassuring glances at them over his shoulder. This was just part of their banter; there was nothing to be worried about.

Finally, a petite blonde cleared her throat. “Erm... Sexton?”

Quack’s head jerked up, his eyes widening as they landed on the sack of coins. “Cor love a duck! Where in the bleedin’ ’ells did this come from?” The man’s brogue thickened noticeably, as it always did when he was irritated.

He thumbed through his papers, “Ain’t no mention of this ’ere.” Scooping up the bag, he tossed it at a buxom brunette. “Oi, Moll! Take this to Bess, will ya? ’Ave ’er count the brass.”

“Right away,” Moll replied, hesitating. She glanced at her friend, then at Cynwaer, clearly at a loss.

The blonde stepped in. “Sexton, love, it’s Cynwaer. He’s here.”

Quack spun around, his face a mask of exaggerated shock. “Wot? Cynwaer, ye say? The same galoot wot couldn’t be arsed to send word ’e’d be two days late? Left us wonderin’ if ’e’d gone and got ’imself scragged? The same cheeky bugger wot thinks a man’s time ain’t worth a fleck of dust and can just waddle in whenever ’e bloody well pleases? And don’t even ’ave the decency to beg pardon? That Cynwaer?” He made a show of scanning the room, gaze sliding right past Cynwaer. “I don’t see ’ide nor ’air of ’im.”

Cynwaer rolled his eyes, but allowed Quack to carry on.

“Nah,” Quack added, returning to work, “our Cyn might be a rude git, but ’e ain’t soft in the ’ead. ’E wouldn’t dare show ’is fizog ’round ’ere without a peace offerin’ fer ’is tardiness. Like a few bottles of the good stuff ’e’s plundered, maybe.”

“Sorry pal, but if I ‘ad any o’ the good shite, I’d ‘ave drunk it aw’ mesel’,” Cynwaer said, shaking his head and chuckling. He hovered around Quack like a fly buzzing around honey. “Come now, there’s nae need tae be sae upset, aye? I ‘ad me reasons tae be late this time.” The lilting tone in his words and lightness of his voice betrayed his amusement with the whole situation. “An’ it’s aw’ good ones tae, aye.”

When that still failed to get Quack to respond, he sighed. “The last ship I ‘eld up ‘ad nothin’ but a few tuns o’ blastin’ powder, nothin’ yer cannae get on yer ane wi’ less trouble, I reckon. Besides, I used most o’ it tae turn our taxman an’ some o’ ta’ king’s lads intae butcher’s work.”

He looked over his shoulder at the blonde, giving her a smile, a nod, and a small gesture for her to leave them for now. “Cheers, lass,” he mouthed to her before returning his attention to Quack, a serious expression hardening his features. “I’m nae here fae a social visit, pal. I’m just ‘ere tae dae a favour fae Renny an’ Songbird. Ta’ twa o’ ‘em tell me that folks ‘ave been gae’n missin’, an’ obviously in enough numbers tae make ‘em worried, aye. Yer probably ta’ best man tae ask fae somethin’ like this, but yer know ‘ow it’s like. ‘Tis always best tae get yersel’ stuck in before dae’n anythin’ else. So now I’m ‘ere, aw’ stuck in an’ lost, an’ offerin’ yer a trade. If yer’ve any bit o’ information on these missin’ folk, I’ll take ‘em in exchange fae a favour done yer way.”

This was a risky play, Cynwaer knew. For all he knew, Quack’s price could prove to be far more trouble than it was worth, or Quack might not even have what he wanted in the first place. But it was a risk Cynwaer considered worth taking. Investigative work had never been his strength, or even something he liked; he simply hadn’t the patience or aptitude for it.

Quack let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head. “’Pon me life, Cyn, yer tighter than a duck’s arse in water. Can’t even shell oot fer a wee dram, can ye? Bloody cheapskate, ye are.”

With a sharp whistle, Quack summoned a lanky young lad who rushed over to his side. After removing a sheet of paper, he handed the rest to the lad along with the quill. “Finish this ’ere fer me, will ye? There’s a good lad.”

Turning to Cynwaer, Quack jerked his head towards the entrance. “Right then, ye great lummox. Let’s ’ave us a proper chin-wag. Come on, shift yer arse.”

As he led Cynwaer through the twisting passages, dodging barrels and crates, he continued, “Now then, gie us the particulars, Cyn. Ye might nae believe it, but there’s mair folk gone missin’ than ye might reckon. Only reason it ain’t common knowledge is ’cos it’s rarely the toffs what vanish, ye ken?”

Cynwaer grimaced. He understood perfectly. A noble goes missing, and the entire city would be up in arms. Perhaps even the entire kingdom. But a commoner? Whole streets of them could up and disappear, and few would care. Fewer still would even notice.

They stopped in a quiet alcove where the torchlight barely reached. Quack fixed Cynwaer with a shrewd look. “So, oot wi’ it. Who exactly are ye lookin’ fer?”

“Nae’dy in particular,” Cynwaer replied. Neither Songbird nor Renegade had told him anything in that regard, and Cynwaer hadn’t expected them to. People were going missing, and that was all the pair – and Cynwaer himself – needed to know. And besides, if someone they knew had truly gone missing, Renegade and Songbird wouldn’t have bothered with sending Cynwaer ahead to investigate. The two of them would have likely torn Sorian apart brick-by-brick themselves.

Cynwaer scratched the back of his head. “Knowin’ Renegade and Songbird, they’re nae after just rescuin’ one or twa. They’re gae’n tae wan’ tae take the ‘ole damn operation down an’ tear it up by ta’ roots, an’ to tell yer ta’ trut’, that’s what I’m thinkin’ o’ dae’n mesel’.” He paused, hoping that the weight of what he was saying was sinking in. He didn’t know about Quack, but he had no illusions that this would lead to anything other than major – and very violent – actions.

“Sae if there’s anythin’ yer know about what’s gae’n on, it’d be real ‘elpful if yer could dae us a favour an’ share,” Cynwaer continued. “Especially if yer ‘ave any idea who’s behind it. I dae’n wan’ tae walk intae a fight when I dae’n e’en know who ta’ feck I’m fightin’, yer ken?”

Quack kneaded his forehead, exhaling forcefully through his nostrils. “Blimey, that’s about as useful as a lead balloon, innit? Ye can pass that on to yer Renegade an’ Songbird mates too. Might as well be tryin’ to nail jelly to the wall.” He fell silent for a moment, his eyes taking on a distant look as he seemed to rummage through the cluttered attic of his mind. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, a glimmer of recollection sparking to life.

Cynwaer chuckled. Quack wasn’t wrong; Renegade and Songbird had pretty much tasked him with seeking for a needle in a haystack. Only in this case, he wasn’t even sure if it was a needle which he sought, or even if he should be looking in haystacks. “Well, yer can tell ‘em yersel’ in a week or twa when they get ‘ere.”

“There’s been mutterin’s makin’ ’round in the rookeries ’bout some crew wha’s been climbin’ the greasy pole right quick in Caesonia. Bunch of wrong ’uns, they are.” He leaned against the stone wall. “Word is, they’ve got their fingers in more pies than a baker’s dozen. Every dodgy deal, like human traffickin’,” Quack emphasized, “and honest trade from ’ere to the bleedin’ horizon, they’re in on it. Buildin’ a right proper empire, they are, right under our very noses. But ’ere’s the rub…” The man hunched forward, “They got the backin’ of toffs.” Slowly, he lifted his finger to point upward, “Maybe even the Crown.”

That was close to what Cynwaer had guessed. He hadn’t believed for a moment that something as brazen as the abduction of dozens – even if they were of commoners – could go unnoticed in Sorian without the involvement of influential, powerful, and rich people. “Well, aw’ empires ‘ave a lifespan,” he said with a grin that wasn’t as cocksure as he had hoped it would be. And could anyone blame him? To call the task ahead daunting would be an understatement. Especially if Quack was right, and the Crown was indeed involved.

Cynwaer shook his head slightly. There was no point in fretting over that now. He had to focus on what he could do, and worry about the rest later. Otherwise, the anxiety would surely render him paralysed. “I reckon they’d ‘ave tae smuggle folk by ship an’ nae sae much by land. It’d be a lit’le hard tae drag sae many unwillin’ folk out ta’ gates, aye?” He mused aloud. It was a gamble, and one that seemed more and more like a longshot the more he thought about it. But it was at least something with which he could work.

“I’ll take ol’ Remembrance out tae sea taenight an’ see if I can catch ‘nybody tryin’ tae slip awa’ frae Sorian ‘arbour. Reckon they’d try tae use cover o’ dark.” He looked at Quack. “Might ‘ave ta’ trouble yer, pal, tae ‘elp disappear ‘nyone I might end up rescuin’. Think it’s bet’er if they leave Sorian entirely, or go tae ground, aye?”

“Aye, ye can count on us, Cyn,” Quack replied without hesitation as he clapped a hand on Cynwaer’s shoulder, a resolute fire burning brightly behind his eyes. “Wot’s a bunch o’ rabble-rousers like us good fer if not fer the common folk, eh?”

“As fer wot to do wiv ’em after... well, that’s a pickle, ain’t it? Reckon we’ll ’ave to suss it out as we go along. Some might need to scarper right quick, others might do better layin’ low ’ere fer a spell.” His expression grew grave, his brow furrowing. “Thin’ is, mate, there’s summat else ye ought to know. When I said this lot is involved in every dodgy deal, I weren’t just flappin’ me gums. I mean every bleedin’ deal, includin’ magic.”

“If these bastards are nabbin’ folk left, right, and centre. who’s to say they ain’t usin’ some hocus-pocus ta make it easier? Could be turnin’ their victims into mindless puppets, or wipin’ the guard’s memories clean as a whistle. What if we do take ’em in and the bastards ’ave got ’em under a hex and sniff out our hideaways? Or worse yet, the poor sods just go off like a powder keg, blowin’ us all to smithereens?”

Cynwaer grimaced. That was something he hadn’t considered. “Ah feck, ‘tis times like these I’d rather ‘ave Songbird around. They’ve a good nose fae aw’ this magic shite. But I s’pose I’ll ‘ave tae think o’ somethin’ when it comes tae it. Fae aw’ I know, I might end ta’ night with not’in’ tae show fae it.”

He planted both his hands on Cynwaer’s shoulders, his tone deadly serious. “Ye best be ready fer anythin’, Cyn.”

“Aye, dae’n worry yer head about me,” Cynwaer replied and pulled away from Quack. “Yer might ‘ave tae worry mer about ta’ taxman we blew up, though,” he said as he made to go back the way he had come. “Reckon ta’ king’s gae’n not’ice saen that ‘e’s nae get’in’ aw’ ‘is coin, an’ e’s gae’n start lookin’ fae answers.”

Quack shrugged, “Aye, an’ we know nowt ’bout it, do we? Nothin’ but reg’lar folk doin’ reg’lar commoner stuff.”

He ambled after the other man and jabbed a finger accusingly at Cynwaer’s face. “Wot you need ta worry ’bout is ’ow ta make up fer bein’ a tardy stingy bastard.” When they reached a junction, Quack made to turn off, waving. “It better be good too, ya ‘ear? Summat I can share wi’ the uvvers.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Quack as he disappeared around the corner, wondering how long it would take the poor sod to discover the crudely scrawled note he’d left stuck to his back.

The lord’s birthday celebration took an unexpected turn. The once refined atmosphere quickly gave way to something rowdier, more reminiscent of a tavern at night than a noble gathering. Inhibitions loosened, voices grew louder, and hands wandered with newfound boldness.

A frisson of worry threaded through Ryn’s thoughts. The last party involving nobility and alcohol had ended with collective amnesia and a surfeit of unanswered questions.

He plucked a glass from the nearby table, held it up to the light. Through his spectacles, he examined the liquid, shimmering innocently within, then brought it to his nose. The pungent aroma made him wrinkle his nose, but small relief softened his features. “Hmm. And here I thought this would be a family-friendly party,” he remarked as he placed the glass back down.

Smiling, Ryn addressed the group, “I suppose this means the scheduled debauchery has been bumped up to brunch time, then?”

From an inner pocket, Ryn produced a well-worn deck of cards. “Shall we play out here where everyone can admire the gradual unveiling of nature’s finest sculptures, or shall we move somewhere more private?” He chuckled, “I’m equally open to playing games that don’t involve disrobing.”