Gears was on her third round of polishing the same damn glass. Not because it needed it...it didn’t. But because her hands needed something to do. The movement kept her hands busy and her thoughts from drifting too far down memory lanes she didn’t care to revisit. She didn’t like giving ‘em the chance.
So she scrubbed at a nonexistent smudge, eyes drifting absently toward the front of the bar...until the distinct clink of coin on wood snapped her right back to the present.
She looked up just in time to see Wendel...who, bless him, looked like someone had just handed him a golden ticket and a nap...sliding two gold coins her way like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She blinked. Once. Then twice.
“Well now,” she murmured, lifting the coins between two fingers like they might flutter away. “Either this is the best mead you’ve ever had, sweetheart… or I’m gettin’ tipped for my radiant personality.”
She gave him a soft smile. Not her usual teasing one...no, this was warmer. Real.
“You ever figure out which it is, you let me know. I’ll keep the good stuff pourin’ just the same.”
She tucked the coins away without another word. If the man needed to feel generous today, she wasn’t about to get in the way of that little bit of peace. She then turned her attention back to her lovely, if not a bit odd, coworkers.
Vallena was already launching into food requests, talking about the honey and fruit in the cargo hold like she hadn’t been expressly banned from it.
Gears arched a metal browplate.
“Honey and fruit, huh? I betchya’ I can cook something up for you darlin.”
She looked at Scratch with a wink as he placed his own order...egg sandwich, simple and to the point. Then came the follow-up, casual but not really:
“Don’t suppose I could convince you to put everyone’s bill on the Captain’s tab?”
“Now see, this is why we can’t have nice things.” She handed him the drink. “I could technically do that, sure. But I like my job. I like my pantry. I like my life.”
She leaned in just a bit, lowering her voice.
“And explainin’ to Jovik why I charged half the liquor shelf to his name on account of ‘a little joke’ just doesn’t feel like the hill I want to die on today.”
Then came that grin from Scratch. That little crooked thing he did when he was about to be a problem on purpose.
And sure enough...right on cue...he threw out a line about her “curvature.”
Her head turned slow, almost theatrically, and her optics narrowed at him.
She rested both hands on the counter, leaned in slightly, and with a smirk just shy of dangerous, she spoke.
“You tryin’ to sweet talk me into gettin’ your sandwich for free, darlin’? ’Cause if so, you better come with a little more heat than that. I’ve had steam valves flirt better.”
Then she glanced at Bobi, the stranger than the average gnome, and added:
“And you, sugar, don’t let him scare you off. He’s just grumpy ‘cause I won’t let him peek at the goods beneath all this armor plating.”
Val was still hanging halfway over the counter when she changed the subject, in the smallest, most sincere little voice.
“You said something about… emotional discomfort? Is something wrong?”
And for a beat...just a beat...Gears’ hands went still again.
Scratch echoed the sentiment, and for a moment, something passed over her face. Not sadness, exactly. Just... tiredness, worn gentle by time.
She leaned forward, elbows resting gently on the wood, and looked at Val...not over her, not through her, but right at her.
“Ain’t nothin’ for you to fret over, sweetheart,” she said, voice soft like worn cotton. “Just one of those mornings where the past feels a little closer than it oughta. Y’know?”
She tapped her chestplate once, lightly.
“But I’m alright. Takes more than a few old ghosts to gum up my gears.”
She smiled at both of them then, wide and bright.
“If you keep fussin’ over me like that, I’ll start mistin’ up my optics and y’all ain’t gonna have nobody to make your food. And I know how cranky Scratch can get when he’s hungry.”
⋆ Lots of Clothes ⋆ Arming sword ⋆ Battle-axe ⋆ Mace ⋆ Daggers ⋆ Bow & Arrows ⋆ Shortsword ⋆ Leather Armor ⋆ Half-plate Armor ⋆ Hide Armor ⋆ Toolkit ⋆ Camping Equipment ⋆ Locked chest filled with old trinkets that ARE NOT FOR SALE ⋆ Magnifying glass ⋆ Diary ⋆ Sketchbook ⋆ Pencils ⋆ Dried and Cured Meats ⋆ Nuts ⋆ Second Locked Chest with self-care products ⋆ Bag of holding
Attire: beige trousers, brown tunic, and worn brown boots Gold Balance: 3 (on hand) Injuries: None currently Current Persona: Wendel
“Either this is the best mead you’ve ever had, sweetheart… or I’m gettin’ tipped for my radiant personality.”
“You ever figure out which it is, you let me know. I’ll keep the good stuff pourin’ just the same.” Her words induced a soft chuckle from Wendel while his cheeks reddened ever-so-slightly. The mead and his propensity of getting flustered by a woman's honeyed words were now working in tandem.
“I’m an old dwarf, Gears. One that's tasted mead from all around. I hate to disappoint you but it is definitely the latter of the two.” he replied honestly before turning to witness Meiyu down the mead with unexpected ease. The dwarf briefly raised his eyebrows, impressed by her performance. When she set the tankard down, he couldn't help but momentarily stare at it. Barely lasted a second…
“Wendel,” she said, making his eyes snap back to her but he refrained from making direct eye contact. Why did she say my name like that? He could feel the warmth building in his cheeks, and her compliments were far from a remedy to this dilemma.
“I-I-I’d offer it to anyone decent enough… I only wanted a… taste of it. That's all.” He struggled to say, truly on the brink of inducing a change. Then, just like that, her attention returned to the skittish woman with Bastion. His body relaxed again, and he was thankful there was another focus. I'm cutting it too close. I need a distraction… His eyes scanned around. The tankard was empty, his gold was light, and leaving abruptly would be quite the rude thing to do. There must be something… Oh! Wendel's eyes landed on the journal lying comfortably on the counter.
He normally refrained from adding an entry so early in the day but this morning had been rather eventful. That, and he desperately needed to divide his attention if the mystery woman returned her focus to him. He pulled the journal closer and opened to a fresh new page.
“Wendel, want to place a wager? I say it’s cursed. Or alive. Or cursed and alive.”
“Her satchel?” Wendel commented with a glance toward the item in question. At first, he thought little of the travel bag but the way Talis reacted only drew more curiosity to it.
If that woman could fly, she definitely would have by the way she fled to the restroom with haste. The dwarf found Talis to be quite the mess, frowning slightly as she demonstrated how strange it would have been for him to leave the bar in the same fashion. The sight of it only proved he made another great decision.
With a sigh of relief, Wendel dug unusually deep into his very own satchel strapped over his shoulder, retrieving a shiny chrome-colored pen. His eyes locked onto the black page but he kept his ears perked for conversation. He wouldn't dare be so rude and ignore those in his company.
“She forgot her water.”
“Don’t hang up on it too much, Bastion. The lass might have spilled it with how fast she was moving.” Wendel commented as he started writing.
“Also… um…” He attempted to address the woman but realized he hadn't gotten her name. “Miss, I couldn't wager what that satchel might contain if I wanted to… I only have three gold coins to my name,” He admitted, using his free hand to jingle his coin pouch shamelessly.
Wendel has taken the helm again, and I must admit, Eleanor definitely left us with little to work with. I have already spent two coins on mead for my troubles.
Wendel paused as the guilt sank in.
Wendel has taken the helm again, and I must admit, Eleanor definitely left us with little to work with. I have already spent two coins on mead for my troubles.
Location: Top Deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@PapaOso Gears; @Tae Meiyu Mentions:@FunnyGuy Miris (as Wendel) Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 65 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
The subtle hesitation, the flicker of emotion; that intense, yet tired gaze in her optics – none of those slight changes in Gears’ demeanour escaped Scaerthrynne’s notice. Neither were any of them unfamiliar to him; he’d seen them all before. Not just in warforged like her, but in humans; in elves; in tieflings; in halflings; in dwarves; in orcs; in dragonborn, in just about every race he’d ever met. Everyone had the same looks, the same reactions when the past decided to rear its ugly head.
He’d experienced them himself, even. There were times when he’d pause in the middle of maintaining his weapons, and recall a time when hardly a day would pass without his firelocks’ muzzles blackened, or the blades of his axes bloodied, by sundown. There were times when he’d be refilling syringes, and he’d think of the times when he’d used his knowledge to kill, more than to save.
“Old ghosts?” Vallena’s question distracted him before he delved too far into the matter.
The girl’s visage was the very picture of curiosity, even if it was genuine concern that filled those two, short words. She tilted her head slightly as she met Gears’ optics.
“She means memories, Val,” Scaerthrynne explained, giving the warforged a nod of understanding. “Don’t worry about it.”
Vallena looked between Gears and the dark elf several times. She didn’t look wholly convinced, but after a while, she turned to the warforged and gave her a bright, toothy smile. “Okay, I’ll try not to worry too much, Miss Gears. But come find us if anything’s wrong, okay? Scratch and I will fix you right up!”
“Speaking of fixing, and optics…” Scaerthrynne leaned over the bar, his face serious and his gaze intense as he looked right into Gears’ glowing, bluish orbs. Nothing about him suggested mischief, or that this was just part of some elaborate banter. “How long has it been since your last check up, Gears?” He asked with the clinical professionalism of a doctor with their patient. “Because I can’t remember the last time we had a look at your optical subsystems. Or any of your subsystems, for that matter. I’m not telling you what to do, but…” His eyes narrowed, squinting as he examined Gears’ face. “Hm, left ocular receptor looks like it’s a little slower than the right to react.”
“Is that bad?” Vallena asked worriedly. “That sounds bad. Is Miss Gears going to be okay, Scratch?”
“I don’t know, Val.” Scaerthrynne didn’t take his eyes off of Gears. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Vallena tapped her fingers on the counter, humming as she stared up at the ceiling. She leaned back, with brows furrowed and tongue sticking out from between her lips. “If…If an ocular receptor reacts slowly, then it’s either a…Problem with the socket linkages, or with the visual interpreter.” She bolted upright, turning to look at Scaerthrynne, then at Gears. “But since it’s only one side that’s slow…It’s the socket linkages?”
Scaerthrynne nodded, pulling back and standing straight. “Good enough answer, for now,” he said. “Those two issues you mentioned are the most common causes of ocular receptor malfunctions, but there’re more ways for an ocular receptor to fail.” Rubbing his chin, he looked at Gears with a surgeon’s eyes. “But since you seem perfectly fine in every other way, and you don’t seem to be going crazy from hallucinations, and you’re not feeding people sheet metal thinking it's bread, I’d say that your socket linkages just need a bit of readjustment or lubrication. Nothing serious.”
And nothing interesting. But he supposed that, with Gears, that was a good thing.
“Sorry,” he said with a grin that was as apologetic as it was mischievous. “But fussing over people, things, this whole ship in general, is what I’m underpaid to do. You’re just going to have to live with it.” He let out a quiet chuckle before turning around, leaning his back against, and his elbows on the counter as he kept an eye on the bar’s patrons. “But I’ll stop holding you and let you get back to work. Wouldn’t want the Captain to find more reasons to pay me even less.”
“Sorry again,” Vallena mouthed to Gears.
It didn’t take long for the warforged bartender to return with their food. Scratch got his sandwich – a simple thing that didn’t look tasty at all – while Vallena received a plate of sliced bread fried in butter, topped with a wide selection of colourful, sliced fruits, and all of it drizzled with honey. “Wow! This looks amazing, Miss Gears!” The girl looked up at the warforged with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much!”
“Just put these on my tab,” Scaerthrynne said over his shoulder. “I’d hate to get you into trouble, and I’ll be back up here after sundown to hunt for faulty lights, anyway. I’ll pay it all then, as usual.”
Vallena picked up her fork, and was just about to dig in, when realisation struck her. She looked to her left, watching the dark elf watch the crowd as he took small bites from his sandwich. She looked to her right, at Riddles as the formerly scary lady chatted with the really grey dwarf. How foolish of her! In her rush to get to Miss Gears, Vallena had placed herself squarely between Scratch and Riddles, and now neither of them looked like they were going to talk to the other! How could they get to know each other, like in those books she’d read, and how could they possibly, maybe, perhaps grow to like each other, like in those books too, if they didn’t talk?
No, she had to fix this. And she had to do it fast, before anything else could distract them.
“Scratch,” she called out. “Can you switch places with me?”
“Nah, I’d rather not.” came the near-instant reply.
“Why not?” Vallena whined.
Scratch shrugged. “I don’t see how shifting a few inches left is going to make a difference, and my senses that tell me that you’re planning something are tingling.”
Why did he have to be so sharp? “Please, Scratch?” Vallena pulled out her best pleading voice, the same which had convinced the guard at the cargo hold to let her pass. “I won’t ask for anything else for the rest of the day, I promise!”
That got his attention. He looked at her with a raised brow. “The rest of the day?”
“Okay, the rest of the morning.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Vallena squirmed in her seat. “Maybe just the next hour?”
Scratch held her gaze for a moment before sighing. He turned around and pulled her plate over to him. “I’ll probably regret this,” he grumbled, gesturing for Vallena to stand up. The girl giggled, hopped off her stool, and squeezed past Scratch to get to her new perch. “But I guess you're not going to stop until I either give in or my head explodes. There, happy now?"
“Almost,” she chirped. This was only the first part of her master plan. Now to put the second into play. She pointed across Scratch’s front, to Riddles. “Can you get her name, please? I don’t think we got it.”
“Whatever happened to not asking for anything for the next hour?”
“Please, Scratch? It’s just asking for her name!”
“Ask her yourself, then.”
Thinking quickly, Vallena cut off a large chunk of bread with her fork and stabbed it, along with a large slice of a peach. She pushed everything into her mouth, her cheeks bulging like a squirrel’s. “Busy,” she tried to say, but her words came out as a garbled mess. “I’m eating.”
Scaerthrynne shook his head. Really, the girl could do the silliest things, sometimes. But she was still just a child. Silliness was to be expected. Vallena kept her gaze on him as she chewed slowly. Deliberately so, almost. He sighed. He knew that she was planning something, but he also knew that arguing with her was a pointless task. Not when she was so set on seeing things through. One couldn’t win an argument when one’s opponent didn’t operate on logic, after all.
So for now, he’d play along, and see where that would get him.
He turned to the woman. “Sorry,” he said. “But my idiot girl over there insists that I’ve to get your name, and I've to get it now before...I don't know, she's just really insistent for some reason. So here I am, asking. What’s your name?”
Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Top Deck - Sick Bay Interactions: Liana @PapaOso Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute. Attire: Clothing and gloves Gold Balance: 63 Injuries: Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.
“Of course,”
Ezekiel waited. He assumed her response was her agreement to his terms: the full story. What exactly was going on with her parents and their curse. He watched with the expectation that more words would follow.
They did not. Just as she had when he’d asked for her name, the woman did not even acknowledge that a question had even been asked.
Instead, from her lips came what might’ve been a soft chant or a whispered prayer. Arcane words were sung so softly they did not echo down the empty corridor but were carried by a voice enchanting enough that they commanded his full attention.
A soft glow illuminated from her fingertip, and she traced a shape against the wall. Instead of an answer, he got a door—a door where previously there had been only a wall. It glowed as her finger had, and he wondered if the inconvenience of the golden doorway was intentional. It was too short; he’d have to duck his head. A touch too narrow for his shoulders for him to walk straight through it without pivoting to the side.
“Ma’am, before I walk through that door, I need a few answers.” His tone remained soft and calm, less of a demand and more an appeal to reason. Knowledge fosters success, and taking her distress into account, he asked the most important questions.
“Where in the cargo hold are your parents?” There was no reason to waste time looking around the cargo hold, even if she was purposefully avoiding answering his question; this was the least intrusive. He held up a gloved finger, indicating there were a couple more questions to follow.
“What sort of state are they in that keeps them oblivious to their status as stowaways?” He held up a second finger. He needed to know if her parents were perhaps unconscious and hidden in a crate. Maybe placed in some sort of state of stasis to avoid further progression of the curse. It was the most logical answer he could come up with, and something like that, any mystical interference, would need to be taken into account.
“How did they end up cursed? Do you know who placed the curse or what curse it is?” He held up a third finger and then lowered and relaxed his hand. Any details involving the curse were imperative if he were to be successful in breaking it.
“Please, any information you can share will help. If you are honest with me, I will keep anything you share between us.” Ezekiel’s words stayed gentle, an attempt to soothe and prevent the fall of tears that lingered around her eyes. “I will do all I can, but I need your help to ensure we do this right.” He added. He wished he could’ve said that he wouldn’t let them die, but it wasn’t something he could guarantee. It was cruel to hand out false hope.
