Emeth

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley locked the door to the bath and sighed. Finally, something resembling privacy. Although... her newfound solitude left her feeling somehow... unsatisfied. Why, though? Propping up her swords in a handy location near the bath, the emotionally stunted dark mage tried to reason with the restless feeling in her heart as she slowly removed her garments one by one.

Did she... want company? No—even if she were suddenly struck with the odd desire to share a bath with someone—something she'd never done before, nor did she want to try—she'd obviously have invited Aleria first. Actually, why did she drag Mikhail along, anyway? Even if it was spur of the moment, it would have been easier to attach herself to Tonka, and going to a hotel with her would have been less awkward. Still, out of everyone in the group, Mikhail was most worthy of her rarely-given trust. It wasn't as though she expected a man like him to make a move on her. Did she... actually want him to make a move? No, surely she didn't. It wasn't as though she intended to bed a man she had no intention of marrying. Not that she wouldn't marry him, if she could—like, if he asked her—but there was no way she was going to ask him. She was beneath him, and that would be inappropriate—well, it was a bit too late to worry about propriety—but there was certainly, absolutely no way he would ever ask her, even if he didn't care about the difference in their social status—for a multitude of reasons Ashley promised herself she wouldn't dwell on anymore.

Yet, no matter how much she didn't want to dwell on it, one of those reasons was now staring right at her from the mirror next to the bath. It stared at Ashley with the narrowed, tired eyes of a caffeine addict. Stripped of her rank as a knight captain, her sorcerer's garb, and the semi-formal men's clothing she wore underneath, she was now both undeniably a woman, and one who looked almost ten years younger—and she hated it. She was shorter even than most women—not helped by the fact that she refused to wear heels. Bandages covered her forearms, calves, and "inadequate" bust, concealing scars which, had she been born a man, she figured she could wear proudly—but on a woman, she thought they were unsightly. Those muscles, though modest enough for a lady knight, would be more fitting on a man, too, she concluded. No feminine charm whatsoever, she thought bitterly, reminiscing on the few noblemen who had attempted to court her over the nearly three years she'd been a knight. This immature body... but once they learn that I'm 28 and self-sufficient, they lose interest! Scum like them should just jump off a cliff, right into a trash fire! Ashley splashed a handful of water onto the mirror, distorting the image. She sighed again, and began unwrapping her bandages. She needed to focus on the task at hand, not wallow in her regrets and bitterness. Ashley inhaled sharply as she stuck her bare legs into the bath. The pain from her scars wasn't unbearable, but it was enough discomfort to serve as a reminder of her past mistakes. She takes a moment to allow the pain to subside before sitting down. As she did, she suddenly realized why she felt so unsatisfied by Mikhail's underwhelming reactions to her antics—unlike the other men in her life, she couldn't place him.

Noble, commoner. Man, woman. Teacher, student. Knight, civilian. Leader, subordinate. Ashley's mother had ingrained in her the need to follow particular social conducts around different types of people. Ashley only thrived in social situations with people she could categorize, and with roles she could play—but Mikhail defied any kind of expectations she could use to find out what "script" she should use when interacting with him. He was not a typical noble, nor a typical man—and though he was still a squire, he didn't act like a typical knight, either. At a loss for how to handle him, she'd just defaulted to saying whatever came to her mind, and doing whatever she felt like doing. No matter what she said or did, though, Mikhail seemed to just blithely accept it. What was he really thinking, underneath all that indifference? Was Mikhail the kind of man who could accept her faults? Or did he really not care at all? No, rather, why should he care? It's true that she felt pretty close to him lately, but they'd hardly said a word to each other before the last three days. Sure, a detail-oriented dark mage like her could learn a lot about a person from very few interactions—such skill was a tool of the trade—but Mikhail was a pretty ordinary guy. He barely knew her at all, and had no real motive to get to know her more. He also vowed to protect everyone, not just her. She really did just kind of casually ignore that part, didn't she?

How... depressing.

Ashley rubs her temples furiously with her palms. You're just being selfish. You haven't taken his feelings into account even once. You're flirting with him, even though you know it'd never work, and you're getting disappointed when you don't get something you never asked for, and wouldn't accept even if he was unreasonable enough to offer it. You ridiculous mess of a woman. Go find a hole to crawl into and die of embarrassment already.

Dunking her head into the bath, she lets out a silent scream of self-directed frustration before begrudgingly bringing herself back to a sitting position so she could breathe again. Why do I need coffee and a bath to get rid of the cobwebs in my brain, so I can think through such simple problems? I must have the emotional awareness of a spider.

Looking around the room for something to distract herself from how pathetic she felt, her uninterested gaze glanced from perfume to perfume before turning full circle back to the corner where she had propped up her sword, which she had dueled Kavius with—and another sword, which she had kept concealed and shown to no one. My secret weapon. I wonder what kind of face that worrywart would make if he knew I'd spent most of my last bonus on a cursed sword, Ashley thought, smirking as she imagined Lord Clive trying to lecture her about something she understood better than he did. Rather than the Devil Sword, she had opted to show Clive the other thing she'd bought: a Prayer Ring. She'd bought it early, expecting that she'd have to offset the lack of support from her team of combat medics somehow, but with Aleria coming along, it would hopefully be a redundant measure.

Suddenly, she remembered something about Prayer Rings. They were commonly bought by love-struck maidens, and gifted to gallant knights on their way to the battlefield, as a promise to be reunited. Now, she found herself wondering what kind of message Clive must have thought she'd been trying to convey, buying her own ring and showing it to him. Suddenly, Ashley's head found itself submerged in the bath again.

Eventually, Ashley would realize that she'd been clean some time ago, and begin the slow and tedious process of drying herself with a towel, re-wrapping nearly her entire body in clean bandages, and putting her clothes back on over those bandages without disturbing them too much. The arduous process was a small price to pay for an extra layer of defense against the elements, the cut-purse's knife, and most importantly of all, the prying eyes of the curious. She would show her body to no one—but her shameful scars, above all, must remain a secret—even from the healers, if such a thing were conceivable.

Ashley emerged from the door to the bath, looking as sharp as she did on the day of departure—sans her cape and arm band, which she had left on the boat when she'd stumbled out of bed. "All right, your turn," she says to Mikhail, tying her hair up. Now with her mild bedhead sorted, she looked... a bit like a butler. It was kind of amusing how removing one piece of clothing could have such an effect. "Is there something on my face?" Ashley said sternly, having seemingly fully returned to "lady knight" mode. "Get a move on. If you hadn't noticed, you stink too."

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Her unsuccessful attempts at grappling hand-to-hand with Kavius still fresh in her mind, Ashley silently cursed at herself for being so weak. Where had all of her strength gone? Wait a minute, had she eaten anything at all aside from that swamp water she'd tried to turn into coffee? Oh, of course she hadn't! When she got into a working mode, Aunt Alma would often have to force her to eat. As if her body were suddenly reacting to this "new" information, Ashley noticed that her hands were shaking—not out of fear of what these girls might to do her in the hotel room bath, but out of hunger.

Change of plans. The bath could wait; what she needed more than anything right now was some food.

As Ashley began thinking of what she might say to the girls to get them to change course, Nitonka saved her the trouble—in a truly dramatic fashion that even left Ashley a little stunned. She was certainly awake now. This woman... was kind of a badass, huh. I wonder if she realizes that they were only after my money... or does she actually think I'm worth a second glance? Ashley wondered, a little bemused. Before Ashley could offer to buy her a drink, though, she walks away and another familiar face approaches.

"Would you like an escort?" came the slightly sarcastic, faux-gentleman voice. Forgetting her manners, Ashley snickered.

Rather than taking his hand, Ashley took the whole arm. Now he'd done it. He'd given her an inch, and she was going to take a mile... or so it seemed. Rather than feigning bashfulness and cracking some joke about how she'd scored her Santorini dream date with Mikhail exactly as planned, she simply leaned into him like someone who genuinely needed the help. "I need food, coffee, and a bath, and I don't care where, as long as it's me and you, no locals, and no ocean," she says as she slightly struggles to re-adjust to walking on solid ground.

Her veneer of "noble lady knight" charisma had been chipped away little by little over the past few days, at least around Mikhail. Was it because she was finally away from her mountain of duties back on Faroth-En, and felt no need to wear a mask in front of him? Had the camaraderie of the crew, cheering on their "little champ" lowered her guard a little? Or perhaps it was the cynical option: just a lack of coffee. Whatever the reason, she was acting unusually vulnerable today.

"Thanks... for catching me back there. Though I'm supposed to be protecting you, it ended up like this."

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley rose to the task of sailing like a champ—and that's what Ted's crew took to calling her when she was out of earshot: "little champ." Immediately making herself available as an additional hand on deck, she listened to everything Kavius had to say about seafaring with rapt attention, and it quickly became clear that she wasn't afraid to work up a sweat. When she wasn't working, it seemed like she was always thinking about something; mostly, she seemed to be thinking about ways to contribute.

"Would a hammock alleviate her motion sickness at all?" she'd eventually ask Kavius, considering Sam. "Might I bother you to spar with me? The way you move around on deck seems so natural—if I can't match your dexterity, I'll be a liability if we're boarded."

"I remember you said you were a healer, but are you comfortable defending yourself?" she'd later ask Aleria privately. "I'm not much of a healer, but I have supervised medical in mass casualty events before. We may be walking into one, so please, don't hesitate to ask me anything."

Ashley watched Nitonka try to learn magic with mild interest. If she's hoping that learning magic will give her an edge against me, she's wasting her time, she thought smugly at first. As Nitonka made progress, though, Ashley's opinion of the boisterous woman improved a lot, and she eventually began giving pointers herself. As a lady knight, she felt something of an obligation to halfheartedly protest Nitonka's crass way of speaking whenever Aleria was present, but she otherwise didn't seem to care much.

With introductions out of the way, it seemed as if Ashley was no longer interested in talking about herself; it was as if she'd already covered just about every piece of information she was willing to share, and had abruptly become utterly withdrawn and unsociable outside of anything that involved the task at hand. In fact, she even removed the arm band that she had been wholeheartedly showing off before. "It's poor manners to wear one's rank while off-duty," she claimed. The most anyone was able to pry out of her after that was that she was 28 and had no children, siblings or extended family "worth talking about." When asked about "Auntie," she would say only that she was "just a live-in attendant."

When it came to curses, however, she could talk an ear off, as Xara would find out. "It's a misnomer to say that a curse has been 'broken.' Truly destroying a well-designed curse like that would take mythical amounts of magic power that almost no human could handle. It's truly easier to reverse-engineer it, make the necessary changes to reverse its original effects, then re-activate it. It often takes multiple days and is ninety percent boring work—studying the runes, writing them down, double checking, triple checking—you can't afford to make mistakes when it comes to curses. Any cursemaker who's good at the craft will design a curse to be passed on to anyone who tries to mess with it. From the moment you first touch anything, you have about sixty seconds before that happens. That's the exciting part of the job. Sixty seconds of pure adrenaline, and hopefully hours of basking in dopamine for a job well done. There's no feeling like it on this earth."

She stuck to Mikhail like glue throughout the whole journey. Much to his relief, she relented on the teasing, but whether she did so out of consideration for his dignity or because she was simply too busy thinking about more important matters to find the time for it, one could only guess. Strangely, though, she didn't even look at him most of the time. She just followed him around as though she were his own shadow, hovering around him like a buzzard around a carcass, while keeping her eyes on everyone else but him. Though her behavior was unsettling, her reasons for doing so were not nearly so nefarious. Out of everyone on the ship, Mikhail was the only one she completely trusted as of now—he was her anchor—though she suspected the feeling was not mutual, and thus, never said so openly.

When Mikhail was not available, she buddied up with Aleria. "It feels safer with two of us here, doesn't it?" she'd remarked once, when it was just the two of them. She seemed a bit more open around her than everyone else, and a bit more considerate of her, too. Of course, it wasn't as though she was completely inconsiderate of everyone but Aleria and Mikhail—she'd spent a good half an hour on the hammock idea for Sam after all—falling over more than twice as she did, while the ship tossed and turned. But with Aleria, who she immediately took to calling by the nickname "Sister," Ashley was just noticeably friendlier, in a "I've just decided that we're going to be best friends" kind of way.

For the first day, first night, and second day of the trip, Ashley seemed invincible. She worked nearly constantly, taking only short breaks, and didn't even sleep the first night, as she was used to working for about 36 hours—sustained on coffee—then sleeping for about 12. By the second night, though, the withdrawal was becoming truly wretched. Her head ached like no part of her body had ever ached before, and not from lack of coffee, but rather, lack of good coffee. Trying to delicately boil a pot of coffee just right while the ship tossed and turned, using cheap equipment and cheap coffee grounds, was like trying to wash women's delicates using a waterfall of runoff from a cattle farm. She attempted to help during the second stormy night, but despite the chaos she somehow managed to pass out while standing up and would have fallen overboard if Mikhail and one of Ted's crew hadn't caught her. At least, she thought the other guy was one of Ted's crew, but for some reason, someone called him Xaru. Wait, wasn't his name Xara, not Xaru? Ashley couldn't be bothered to think anymore. She only caught a few choice words out of the choice words Mikhail had for her after that as she stumbled her way below decks and collapsed into her bunk, exhausted.

Now, after almost an entire day of lying in bed with a killer headache, micro-sleeping betwixt the ocean's waves and idle thoughts about dulling the pain with mushrooms—and a night full of sleep so deep it might have been mistaken for death—Ashley rose from her "coffin locker" with only two things on her mind. First, she needed coffee. Not just any coffee would do—she wanted the strongest, blackest coffee Santorini had to offer. Second, she wasn't about to drink it in some tourist trap, surrounded by chatty locals with thick accents, thick heads, and thick... well, anyway, she didn't want to be harassed by these women. She wanted room service. Coffee, and a damned bath.

Ashley shuffles out of bed, forgets to bring along either of her "escorts," and in no time at all is surrounded by giggling local girls looking for a dull-eyed mark—and though Ashley was just about the furthest thing from it, Ashley fit the physical description perfectly. She was short, which theoretically made her easier to isolate from the crowd and pressure into something, her fancy clothes set her apart as someone with money to spend, and most of all, Ashley just looked like a guy who was desperately in need of a good time. I'm a woman, though... she thought irritably.

"Come on! You'll love the hot springs! All your stress will just melt away~" the tallest girl coos suggestively, leaning in toward Ashley.

"I'm not interested," Ashley says flatly. Unable to find a girl her own height to look at instead, she just closes her eyes stubbornly.

"Aw, are you shy? Don't be! You're so handsome~" another girl says sweetly, stroking Ashley's hair. "Broody boys like you are popular, y'know?"

"Communal bathing is out of the question for me. Just tell me where I can find a hotel," Ashley barks, frustrated.

"Ooh! I do love a man who knows what he wants!" she says as she covers her non-existent blush, while the other girls giggle even more.

"Oi, you! That's not what I—unhand me!" Ashley twists her arm, trying to slip free of the girl's grasp—but her vice-like grip doesn't give. Ashley was astonished. She'd been forcefully grabbed by the hand many times, but never like this. Yeah, no crime my ass! These prices are criminal, and so are these girls! Isn't this a kidnapping?!

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley stifled the urge to fake a giggle as she watched Mikhail squirm. "I look forward to seeing more," she says as innocently and sincerely as she can, trying to keep the gag between them. Then, she approaches him, and turns deadly serious. "I mean it, though. If I'm taken down, you're in charge here. If anyone has a problem with that, tell them they can fight me." Leaning in to him, she covers her mouth and whispers one last thing. "I trust Aleria and Troe. Xara's a wildcard. Margot's harmless. Tonka is dangerous. Give me time on the other two, but if the chips fall, we can take them." She slaps his arm lightly, snickering, as though she'd merely been flirting with him again.

Yes, if the chips fell. If they did, the group would probably be divided by class. No noble would want to be done in by a commoner. In this, they could at least temporarily be united. Commoners, on the other hand, would eat each other, she thought. But despite their low birth, some of them were like that ugly bastard at the tavern, with their stupid barbarian's pride. Despite looking down on him, Ashley thought that Tonka had some of that same energy. She's probably waiting for an opportunity to get back at me for 'mouthing off,' or some nonsense. Still, given her attitude with that guy, at least she would probably just kill me and leave it at that.

Then there was Sam. For some inexplicable—even frustrating—reason, Ashley felt inclined to trust Sam, and she had no rational explanation for it. Indeed, she had no reason at all to trust her, and every reason not to. Was it because she was so plainspoken about her motives? Was it because her interest in money would make her easier to control? No, that was decidedly not it. But, it had to be that, because otherwise, what was it? Was it because she said Ashley looked like "better prospects?" Could she be so vain? No. Compliments from strangers meant nothing to Ashley. They were empty words used to garner favors—nothing more. But then, what? Ugh, I'm getting nowhere. How vexing.

Kavius was friendly. Way, way too friendly. Ashley could only remind herself so many times that this level of friendliness was to be expected from someone who didn't know her family history. His friendliness wasn't necessarily fake like that of the nobility. She'd almost have to fight the urge to distrust him, while trying to decide if he could be trusted. How awkward. Whether she could trust him or not would largely depend on Sam, since they seemed to be together. For now, all she really knew was that he had a tendency to find trouble, which could make him a liability. On the other hand, one must never underestimate the craftiness of street kids.

Then, there was Margot. By the Goddess would she be easy to control. The girl was an open book lying atop an unlocked toolbox. Ashley pitied her a bit. Such a waste. She has such great potential. Perhaps, if this mission doesn't break her resolve, I can convince her to be my student.

Xara was an unknown, and that bothered Ashley. The power he held right now as the friend of this gruff and tough captain—the situation couldn't possibly end fast enough. She certainly had better odds against him and the captain than against a group of thirty mercenaries, but that wasn't setting the bar very high. If Mikhail hadn't been here, Ashley wouldn't have even considered getting on this ship. If over half the crew hadn't left at the captain's mention of a "change of plans," she still would have looked for another ship.

Troe was a respectable scholar, at least in her eyes; perhaps Ashley could even consider him a colleague. As soon as possible, she needed to pull him aside for a strategy meeting regarding their mysterious enemy, but it could wait until after the first leg of their journey, when any members who had second thoughts—or were spies—could be dropped off at their first destination. If Troe had such second thoughts, she might have to get a little desperate while trying to convince him to stay. His cooperation would be crucial.

Aleria's arrival was a huge boon. Ashley was a specialist, and by no means a replacement for a dedicated healer. Having one easily doubled their odds of success, and if the group split, a girl from the church would never side with commoners against the nobility, Ashley thought. She was also the only other noblewoman in this ragtag group. If they had to share sleeping quarters, it was a given that they'd be together. A holy woman of the church sharing a room with a former holy woman turned to the dark arts—there was certainly potential for friction—but with friction came opportunities for such things as "healing" and "bonding." I'll be 'relying' on you, 'sister.' Heh.

Finally, there was Mikhail. If Ashley had to truly rely on someone, she'd prefer it to be him. To put it plainly, he didn't play the noble "game." He was honest, forthright, and bold. Even if he did seem to be a bit of a meathead—picking fights at the bar just because he can—at least he wasn't sleazy like all the other noble "gentlemen." Mikhail was sharp-witted enough to catch an innuendo, fun enough to let her have the joke, and—if she could use the word properly for once—noble enough to not take it as an invitation, even if he appeared to have a bit of a weakness for aggressive women. Ashley didn't hate this... much to her chagrin. I'll have to keep an eye on him, but I was planning on doing that anyway.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley side-eyes the drug-peddling mage in absolute disbelief. Is this girl for real? Did she already forget that I'm Captain of those knights standing just out of earshot? As she ponders what she should do about it, though, she realizes how powerless she is in this exact moment, as she can't afford to have this ship delayed, too. She already fooled me once at the tavern, and now... I can't tell if she's an idiot or a genius. Doesn't matter—as long as she waits until we reach international waters, it's... technically legal. If there's any left over, I'll just confiscate it later, she reasoned.

"My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience, good captain," she says to Ted with a short, gentlemanly bow and handsome smile. "It seems I have a talent for herding cats," she adds with a fake chuckle as she follows the captain's gaze toward the blonde noble lady. Before she can spare a thought for her, though, Samara makes herself known. Ashley does her best to maintain a friendly face. "No, I'm the one who should have properly introduced myself before being nominated as the 'boss' of this... group," she manages to finish before Kavius took center stage. These kids sure are lively, huh? Not that my presence here sets the bar very high...

Ashley gives Sam a look that almost seemed like pity after Kavius' "introduction." "Well, you have a bow, and the eyes of a girl who can handle herself out there. And a good judge of character, if I say so myself," she japes, giving her a "thanks for the compliment" gesture.

Listening to Aleria boldly introduce herself early, Ashley stares with what could have been admiration. She was surprised that the refined-looking beauty even managed to get on board the ship without losing so much as an ounce of her charisma. She gives Aleria her best "handsome lady" smile, and bows. "The pleasure is all mine, my lady. We would be privileged to have your aid," Ashley said sincerely, offering a hand to the lady—as a "gentleman" does. Yes! I won't be the only noblewoman on board—I'm safe! she thought. But, wouldn't a woman of her standing rather take the Santa Lyrica? And then it hit her. The Goddess really is looking out for you, young lady. Ashley looks out toward the sea and wipes the sweat from her brow with a kerchief, trying to chase the thought from her mind. Alright. Let's get this over with.

Not to be outdone, Ashley turns back to the others and puts her foot down with flair, standing at just the right angle for her cape to billow in the wind before beginning her own introduction. "I am Dame Ashley Wycliffe, Knight Captain in the service of the esteemed Carradine family—and the so-called 'most fearsome lady' of all of Mokata's knights," she boasts, changing her nickname as she pleased.

For those privileged few who had regular access to the gossip of the noble courts, the name "Wycliffe" occasionally still came up. Rumors abounded about the late Marquess Robert Wycliffe's only surviving daughter. For the vast majority of the uninitiated—and mostly uninterested—common folk, though, the disappearance of the Wycliffe family's children eighteen years ago—and the Marquess' murder five years later—was swept under the rug as much as possible. The name might ring a bell, as most noble family names do, but the story behind the name was almost surely vanished from memory, especially for those too young to remember.

"I am called a cursemaker, but do not let that title concern you—for even as a man who fixes clocks is called a clockmaker, though he has never made a clock in his life, so too am I called a cursemaker, though I have only ever reversed curses, and have cast not one." Ashley delivers this declaration with a divine air, as though she were reading scripture. Perhaps she did this because of Aleria's presence on board, or perhaps she was just like that. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Her introduction over, she takes on a more casual tone. "And as an insider of the industry, so to speak, let me give you all some sound advice. Most curse-reversal services are offered by the same witches and warlocks who cast them in the first place. To put it simply, they're scam artists, and I consider it my mission to run them out of business. If you find yourself cursed, come to me. I charge far less than what my services are worth—and yes, in gold and silver—nothing so gauche as eyeballs, or whatever a witch would ask for," she says with a smile and a dismissive hand gesture Troe was quite familiar with. It was the body language of a specialist whose field was commonly misunderstood.

Having said her piece, she turned her attention to Mikhail. "That brooding blonde over there is Mikhail Feldunn," she says, leaving out the "Lord" as she figured he'd want. It made Ashley feel a bit scandalous, referring to him as though he were an equal, but for the moment, she was relishing in the feeling. She got a bit of a scandalous look in her eye, too, as she thought through the list of ways she might tease him. "He's my second in command," she decides, opting to go a little easy on him. "Don't underestimate him. I may be biased, but as the most fearsome lady knight in Duke Carradine's service, I must say that his lance is quite frightening."

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

She backed down anyway, huh, Ashley thought, relief washing over her as Tonka took her leave.

"Care to say goodbye to this old lady? Or do you have to look cool in front of your friends?" the lady teases.

"I've told you before, you're not old until I say so. And I wouldn't exactly call them friends." She winks at Mikhail, as if to say except you, babe.

"In that case, come over here. I have something for you." The not-old lady offers Ashley a hug with her one free arm.

Ashley makes a face like a spoiled child being offered an extra helping of vegetables.

"Come on," the woman beckons, undeterred. "You said they weren't your friends, so you're not embarrassed, isn't that so?"

Ashley got played. Sighing, she does a walk of shame over to Auntie's embrace.

"Through whatever manner of trials and storms we may weather—"

"—this oath I do swear before all powers, both great and small—"

"—to death or glory everlasting, we go together—"

"—or we go not at all," Ashley finishes. "Are you satisfied?"

"Oh yes, quite," Auntie responds with a chuckle.

With a little sleight of hand, Ashley produces a long, black hair that was clearly from her own head. "See? I found one that's not gray."

"Hell! If you find one, don't pull it out!" She lightly swings her staff toward Ashley, clearly playing along.

Ashley swiftly dips backwards, dodging the "attack." "You're quite lively, too."

"Your smooth lines are wasted on a woman twice your age," Auntie teases. "Here, take this," she says, throwing Ashley a bag.

"What is it?" Ashley inquires, a bit bewildered.

"It's pemmican!" Auntie says with a toothy grin. "It'll keep the rest of the meat from falling off your bones. There's plenty, so share some with your acquaintances. And your boyfriend," she adds with an excited-old-lady whisper, tipping her hat in Mikhail's direction—pinpointing Ashley's "type" with surgical precision.

"You— Shush! I'm leaving now! Take it easy on the stairs while I'm gone," Ashley fires back, forgetting entirely that she was supposed to board the ship last as she scurries up the ramp toward Xara and his seafaring friend.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

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?

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Ashley peers over her shoulder at Mikhail, more than a little surprised. She wasn't above using dirty tricks to see her own brand of justice done, but she did expect others to scorn her for it on occasion. When that didn't happen, she couldn't help but crack a mild smile—a genuine one, with no artificially sinister color to it. "You're being awfully obedient today, you know that? Is it the new armband?" she teases as she poses to show off her rank, like it was some new accessory.

"Ashley," her Commander interjects. "I'm glad to see your spirits lifted, but try not to be a menace to men, yourself," he scolds, bowing to Mikhail.

Ashley made a face like she'd forgotten he was standing behind her. It was at this moment that Troe mentioned her leading these "mercenaries."

Guh. She'd picked a really, really bad time to show off her rank in front of him.

"I suppose that duty would naturally fall to me... but! I am a proud Captain of Lord Carradine's Knights, not a babysitter. I won't suffer anyone to slow me down," she says sternly, tying her ponytail back up. "My Lord Mikhail won't, either, if I may be so bold as to speak on his behalf." With that, she turns to leave.

---

As Ashley exits the tavern, the knights fall in behind her and her newfound companions. "You there," she says to one of them.

"Sir!" he answers immediately.

"Did you see that man who threw himself out the window? Take the man beside you and tail him. He's our backup plan."

"Really? Er, rather—yes sir," he stammers, taking his partner and running off.

Between the clanking of armor and the cries of "make way" from Ashley's Commander, there wasn't much opportunity for conversation, though it did feel as though they were embarking on something important. When the band of would-be explorers laid eyes on the Santa Lyrica, it made them wonder if they'd really get to ride it. It was obviously a fancy ship for fancy nobles, probably fully reserved and almost certainly too expensive even for someone of Ashley's social class to casually pay for a party of five.

Lord Clive at first looked confused at the addition of three extra people to Ashley's party, but then remembered that this was his cue.

"Sir Captain! In the name of the law, stop admitting passengers at once!" he shouted.

"My Lord. Whatever is going on?" a fancy-dressed man inquired, more than a little bit shocked.

"My apologies, but I must ask that no one be permitted to board or disembark for the time being. The knights have been informed that there are criminals aboard, and I expect your full cooperation in the search."

"Huh? But this is preposterous. To stow away upon the esteemed Santa Lyrica would be impossible," he protests.

While their argument is going on in the background, Ashley claps her hands to her cheeks in feigned surprise.

"Wow. This is really terrible." she says, deadpan.

Turning back to her new comrades, she can't help but smirk, even though she knows that they almost certainly won't understand what's going on. Actually, upon further reflection, someone like Lady Madeline would probably accuse her of using cheap tricks to knock out the competition early. This thought wipes the smirk from her face. "Any sign of Table Hopper?" she asks Troe.

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

Elsewhere, the resplendent Lord Clive, one of his fully-armored Knight Commanders, and a humble older woman—wearing a burgundy cloak, wooden sandals, a coolie hat, and carrying a rod of bamboo—all waited at the port, beside the doomed Santa Lyrica: an extravagant ship for extravagant patrons. Lady Madeline's mercenaries were almost certainly all boarded by now, as it would be improbable for her to amass thirty men who both outranked Ashley and were willing to do the deed—or, as indeed would be easier, to forge so many false identities—but Clive would wait until the last possible moment, just to be safe.

The older woman, who appeared to be somewhere around her mid to late fifties, or early sixties at most, clacks her staff on the ground. She was a spry woman, standing upright, clearly not needing the staff to walk. "Good heavens! Where is that flighty girl? I thought this was her idea! Has she changed course again already?"

"My Lord," the knight who had corrected Clive's misunderstanding from before interjects apologetically. "As her Commander, the fault is mine for letting her break formation. I shall assume full responsibility for her actions, and my own inaction against her," he rattles off professionally.

"At ease," Clive replies with his trademark smile. "You may feel obliged to say so, but we both know that she works better off the leash."

"Mm. I will vouch for her boldness, if nothing else. She is quite unflappable—much like yourself in that respect."

"Hmph. Is that what you think?" the old woman interrupts, grinning like she understands something they don't.

"You did say something about flightiness," Clive grants her. "We all have our roles to play. Find her, will you?" he says to the knight.

"Right away!"

---

For all her charm and social graces, this was one thing Ashley did not handle well: chaos.

While she was trying to talk to Margot, a man she recognized—Troe Revinah—suddenly made his presence known. Just as she was recalling how much she respected the man for inquiring earnestly about her work for his research, which he published—thus reducing the amount of ignorance in the world, regarding both her particular line of work and dark magic in general—a bar fight was breaking out. Worse yet, Mikhail was joining the fight, before she could object to the idea. Before she could figure out how she feels about this, Mikhail's comment reminds her that she has a duty to stop such... tomfoolery. Then, however, Margot's reply manages to shove its way to the forefront of her mind. Now that she had fully processed what was said, she realizes her blunder.

No! You were serious?! But you're so young, and your quintessence gives you so much potential! Even if life is short, stay in school! Don't do witchcraft! Fall in love! Get married, have ten kids, teach them proper manners! Idiot! Stupid! Ngah! I've made a grave mistake!!

"Ah... haha. I... guess I'll just have to protect you, won't I?" was the only coherent thought that escaped her mouth. S-Smooth! I can be smooth if I try! That works.

The maid from before narrows her eyes at Ashley, envious. "Dear sir... are you, perchance, the type who can't say no to cute girls?"

"W-Well. Strictly speaking, I guess that's true, but it's not like that..." Ashley tries to explain, making a face like she'd been found out. "Anyway, I have to deal with this!" she blurts out, using the increasing intensity of the bar fight as her excuse.

She cuts off the original instigator of the fight—the man with the broken nose—stopping him from fleeing the scene.

"Going somewhere, piggy?" she spits with all the poison she could muster for a man of his... persuasion.

"I'll go where the hell I want, lordling! What are you gonna do about it?!"

Ashley hadn't exactly thought that far. She was skilled with the sword, but against this many men... and she was a just a little on the petite side.

"Halt! In the name of the law, cease this madness at once!" a voice Ashley recognized boomed. It was her Commander.

My savior cometh! she thought. Then, thinking fast, she shows the men a devilish smile, unties her ponytail, and makes a mess of her hair. "Commander!" she cries out in her most feminine voice, covering her face with her hands and running over to him to bury it in his breastplate.

"Ashley?! Report!" he begins, professionally. Then, noticing Ashley's sniffling and ruined hair, he changes his tone. "What... what's wrong?! Speak, Dame!"

Pretending to take a moment to compose herself, she breathes deeply. "That wicked man, over there! That most uncouth barbarian! He is a menace to women everywhere!" she accuses, one hand covering her mouth, pointing the finger in his direction with the other. "I saw him, gro—... looming menacingly, over that poor woman—a helpless, one-armed girl—with intent to... to vio—... to do unspeakable things to her body! I tried to stop him, Commander, but I was alone, and his men joined him, and I... Oh, I was so very scared!"

The maid from before watches the scene unfold, mouth agape, but covered by her hands. "Oh my... She's so brave..!" she says with misty eyes.

All eyes were upon the man who'd started the bar fight. He and his men could tell that Ashley was snickering—but she was putting a commendable amount of effort into making it look and sound like sniffles and sobs. The Commander was fully armored, but no one needed to see his face to know that he was fuming. His Ashley—the woman he'd just praised for being bold and unflappable—was burying her face in his breast, sobbing. Still, incredibly, he kept his composure, as he'd taught his subordinate to do.

"Will any man speak in his defense?!" he roared. He needn't have bothered asking. As a noblewoman and as a Knight Captain, hardly anyone in the entire tavern could give a testimony that out-weighed Ashley's. Even if they could, well... they knew how to read a room.

Realizing how screwed they were, he and his accomplices booked it toward the back door.

"Arrest them!" the Commander shouted.

"You better run, you bastards! You dare make our Ashley cry?!" one knight called out.

"We'll make you squeal for this! You pigs!" cried another.

Once the ruffians and most of the knights were gone, the owner of the tavern made himself known. "A thousand apologies, Dame Ashley."

With one last sniff, she begins straightening her hair, combing it with her fingers. "Pay it no mind, my good man. Any day that justice is served is worth celebrating."

"Hear, hear!" shouted a nearby patron, raising his cracked glass.

"A round on the house, for you and your friends—please, I insist," the owner says as he bows to Ashley.

"Your generosity is appreciated, but we must be going," her Commander cuts him off.

"Yes, we surely must. Mikhail, stop flirting and come over here!" she calls out to him sourly. "You too, Troe, and your friend. Don't fall behind."

Though she doesn't acknowledge the commoners who announced their intent to come along, she silently hopes that they recognize that this is their cue. "My apologies, Commander, for holding you up," she says wistfully.

"No. I will be forever grateful that I made it in time," he responds gravely.

A small pang of guilt seizes Ashley's dead heart. Ugh. I feel bad, making you worry about my chastity, but that's five less bastards in the world!!

Fire Emblem: Sunken Flames

"Hm?" Ashley turned to the girl, recognizing her immediately as the energetic youth from before. Ashley also recognized that face—the face of someone looking for a favor. Putting the pieces together in a way she figured made sense, she feigned a smile.

"There are several ships departing soon. I suppose you'll need to pay your fare?"

Ashley only figured that the girl's desire to go adventuring was a clever excuse to ask for money. An unscrupulous noble wouldn't bat an eye at giving her a small pittance of coins if it meant seeing one less pair of cupped hands on the streets tomorrow, she thought darkly.

"I suppose it can't be helped, can it? Safe travels," she said as she handed over the coins, fully expecting the young mage to take them and run off to the market to buy some cheap stale bread, or whatever it was these 'charming' mice did with the money they 'swindled' from her.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just in a good mood today, she thought, as if praying to an evil god.

As she was, a man with abysmal manners suddenly stood upon a nearby table, announcing his intent to recruit as though it were a perfectly natural time and place to do so. In spite of his tactlessness, though, she found herself intrigued. The runes on his belt were not chosen carelessly, as though wearing something one's peers could not read were somehow "trendy." Despite his appearance, he seemed knowledgeable.

A fellow scholar? Never hurts to have like minds to work with... or, failing that, someone to upstage, she thought dryly.

"Such a bold entrance!" she remarks, loudly and hypocritically, eliciting a few chuckles from some nearby patrons who had witnessed her own entrance. "Care to grace us mere mortals with your assistance, O wise young scholar?" she petitions, clapping her hands at a modest pace that was neither sarcastic, nor over-enthused. "Indeed, I have need of an intellect as sharp as my valiant companion's steel," she flatters, putting a hand around Mikhail's bicep, to indicate which "companion" she was referring to—and what "steel" she was relying on.