Location: Twelve Seas Port, Haven
It was early enough in the evening that the sun still hovered over the horizon, but late enough that the streets and alleyways were glutted with pedestrians - and presumably those who preyed on them. Hawkers on either side of the wide, cobbled road called out their prices and wares, while children with wide eyes and grubby hands begged for coins from all and sundry. Monkeys skittered over awnings and under market tables, nimble fingers thieving capably, when they could get away with it. All in all, it was shaping up to be an unremarkable eve in an unremarkable port on Haven, a planet most remarkable for maintaining it's status as a Free World within the Imperial boundaries. Granted, the Empire didn't go out of its way to enforce their stance that all planets within their purview were ruled under Imperial law, which was just as well for them, since landing their airships on Haven to kick up a fuss about unpaid taxes or harbored fugitives would likely see them all tossed off the edge of the world and into the Lower Depths.
This particular evening, while unremarkable to most, is quite significant to one particular person winding her way through the street. With a crimson cloak drawn up tight about her shoulders and the hood draped low enough to obscure her eyes, she picks her way through the crowd with a careful determination, pressing coins into the hands thrust toward her for alms as she goes. Sidestepping a puddle of something odious enough to obviously not be simple water, she nearly misses a steam carriage bearing down on her, and it's only by a stroke of good fortune that her story doesn't come to an end right then and there. A stranger's hand reaches out and pulls her out of harm's way, though her boot splashes directly into the puddle of ill-source, and her hood comes away from her head long enough to reveal a wealth of glossy red tresses and eyes the color of faceted emeralds. She quickly tugs the hood back into place, murmuring her thanks to her unnamed rescuer, who disappears back into the crowd with nary a word or second glance.
Continuing on her way, she shakes her wet boot with a dismayed sigh, but doesn't stop - and with a glance down at a piece of much-folded paper in her hand, she begins scanning the addresses of the buildings lining the street, apparently nearing her destination. A brothel is passed over with a distasteful sort of grimace, and a ramshackle chapel in need of a new roof and replacement for the crumbling chimney is given a similar look. The sound of off-key singing and the sort of carousing one might expect at this time of evening draws her attention, and she crosses the street toward it, being careful this time to look both ways for anything with wheels that might see her flattened. Standing in front of the Keelhauled Pony Pub, she shows her first hesitation. The heavy wooden door, fitted with a brass approximation of the establishment's name, swings open, and a bearded giant lumbers unsteadily out of the pub, unmindful of the petite, cloaked redhead standing between him and the street. He stops, swaying in place, and in the moment before he falls forward like a toppled oak tree, the young woman makes her decision, and darts around him to enter the building before the door swings shut.
Standing inside, there is a heavy thud from the other side of the door, and she winces a bit, perhaps imagining the monstrous headache the unconscious giant will have come morning. No one at the bar seems to notice or care about the plight of their former drinking buddy. Still clutching the paper in her hand, she lowers her hood just enough to get a good look around the place. Crowded with patrons, the servers wend their way expertly among the tables, while a pair of twin barmaids serve those seated at the long wooden bar that stretches along the western edge of the room. Tables fill the rest of the area, nearly all of them occupied, some more than others, and conversations with topics that could make a mother faint dead away rise and lower in volume like thunder in a storm. The door opens to admit more customers, and she moves deeper inside to avoid being trampled, looking quite out of place.
It was early enough in the evening that the sun still hovered over the horizon, but late enough that the streets and alleyways were glutted with pedestrians - and presumably those who preyed on them. Hawkers on either side of the wide, cobbled road called out their prices and wares, while children with wide eyes and grubby hands begged for coins from all and sundry. Monkeys skittered over awnings and under market tables, nimble fingers thieving capably, when they could get away with it. All in all, it was shaping up to be an unremarkable eve in an unremarkable port on Haven, a planet most remarkable for maintaining it's status as a Free World within the Imperial boundaries. Granted, the Empire didn't go out of its way to enforce their stance that all planets within their purview were ruled under Imperial law, which was just as well for them, since landing their airships on Haven to kick up a fuss about unpaid taxes or harbored fugitives would likely see them all tossed off the edge of the world and into the Lower Depths.
This particular evening, while unremarkable to most, is quite significant to one particular person winding her way through the street. With a crimson cloak drawn up tight about her shoulders and the hood draped low enough to obscure her eyes, she picks her way through the crowd with a careful determination, pressing coins into the hands thrust toward her for alms as she goes. Sidestepping a puddle of something odious enough to obviously not be simple water, she nearly misses a steam carriage bearing down on her, and it's only by a stroke of good fortune that her story doesn't come to an end right then and there. A stranger's hand reaches out and pulls her out of harm's way, though her boot splashes directly into the puddle of ill-source, and her hood comes away from her head long enough to reveal a wealth of glossy red tresses and eyes the color of faceted emeralds. She quickly tugs the hood back into place, murmuring her thanks to her unnamed rescuer, who disappears back into the crowd with nary a word or second glance.
Continuing on her way, she shakes her wet boot with a dismayed sigh, but doesn't stop - and with a glance down at a piece of much-folded paper in her hand, she begins scanning the addresses of the buildings lining the street, apparently nearing her destination. A brothel is passed over with a distasteful sort of grimace, and a ramshackle chapel in need of a new roof and replacement for the crumbling chimney is given a similar look. The sound of off-key singing and the sort of carousing one might expect at this time of evening draws her attention, and she crosses the street toward it, being careful this time to look both ways for anything with wheels that might see her flattened. Standing in front of the Keelhauled Pony Pub, she shows her first hesitation. The heavy wooden door, fitted with a brass approximation of the establishment's name, swings open, and a bearded giant lumbers unsteadily out of the pub, unmindful of the petite, cloaked redhead standing between him and the street. He stops, swaying in place, and in the moment before he falls forward like a toppled oak tree, the young woman makes her decision, and darts around him to enter the building before the door swings shut.
Standing inside, there is a heavy thud from the other side of the door, and she winces a bit, perhaps imagining the monstrous headache the unconscious giant will have come morning. No one at the bar seems to notice or care about the plight of their former drinking buddy. Still clutching the paper in her hand, she lowers her hood just enough to get a good look around the place. Crowded with patrons, the servers wend their way expertly among the tables, while a pair of twin barmaids serve those seated at the long wooden bar that stretches along the western edge of the room. Tables fill the rest of the area, nearly all of them occupied, some more than others, and conversations with topics that could make a mother faint dead away rise and lower in volume like thunder in a storm. The door opens to admit more customers, and she moves deeper inside to avoid being trampled, looking quite out of place.