RP:A Pirate, A Passage, And A Puddle

Summary: After a long day of rejection from sailor's, a harbormaster, and pirate's, Lanara has all but given up hope on finding someone to grant her and her shark-horse a ride from Cenril to Rynvale Island. As fate would have it, she crosses paths with Barnabas Bones, who agrees to sail the elf and her unique steed to their desired location. The two share a bit about themselves over tea and pie, and agree to leave later that night, to get ahead of the group of thugs that is closing in on their backs.

Lanara walks up and down the length of the rickety docks, eyeing each ship with distaste, and planting her hands firmly on her slender hips. Rarely, a captain or crew members of the currently docked boats, will catch her eye, though none of the men approach the witch. They knew what she was looking for, and none of them were willing to risk their lives, or their ships, all for some stranger on a deadly mission. Despite her breathtaking beauty and the hefty amount of coin she was offering, for passage to Rynvale, she still couldn’t sway a single man to help her complete the journey. She had tried flirting, bribery, threats, and at one point she was caught attempting to steal a ship. All to no avail! Donning white short-shorts, a lime green bikini top, and soft leather boots, she looks as though she’s dressed for sunbathing and not a two day long journey at sea. A soft breeze causes her long chestnut locks to gently sway in the breeze, as she lowers herself onto the boards, sitting campfire-style. The sun would be setting soon, and she still hadn’t made any progress in securing transportation to her destination. Sure, any sailor would give her a ride to Rynvale and return her to safely to Cenril’s shore, that wasn’t the issue. It was the other half that had the men rolling their eyes, kissing their crosses, and looking at her as though she bore three heads. Lana sighs, and listens to the waves gently lapping against the docks, as a burly businessman approaches her, his pointer finger wagging at her as his voice is raised to a near shout. “Listen here, Missy! No man wants you or your blasted pony on their ship! You should try the market! Maybe there will be some nutcase over there that can bring you over to Rynvale, but NOT here, and NOT on my watch! I refuse to rent you a ship! You are inexperienced with sailing, and women bring back luck on the open water! You even look like a bloody mermaid, minus the fish tail! Get your arse up and get out of my sight! You are NOT spending the night on my dock!” The witch narrows her chocolate hues on the ill-mannered male, as her left hand slides down the length of her long leg and she gently thumbs the dagger hidden within her boot. For now, she doesn’t withdraw the weapon, though her words issue a threat all their own. “You may want to reconsider. I have coin and I’m willing to pay you double your asking rate. I also am more than capable of defending myself, on the water, and on this very dock, should you wish to personally have me removed. I am –not- the type of woman you wish to provoke, Sir.”

Barnabas Bones had been innocuously people-watching upon the docks of one of his most favored ports. He sat upon an unremarkable heap of spars and folded sail canvas, in much less remarkable fashion than he was usually seen. In lieu of the ostentatious, excessively frilled silk man-blouse and matching gold-trimmed trousers, the captain had opted to meld in with the goings-on of the quay in entirely common fabrics. A roughspun brown wool tunic, a pair of calf-length cotton pants of similar make, and a set of rope sandals upon his feet, Barnabas sat with his knees folded up casually before him. He wore the same, sun splotched, folded wool hat overtop his mess of tangled hair, and puffed on a pipe. The Cenril sun would glint off of what was perhaps the only distinguished accessory to be seen upon Barnabas' person besides his small haversack: a silver banded ring with a wide rectangular black gemstone inset encircled his right hand index finger, which had taken up a deathly black color that made it stand apart from the other digits which were coiled around the briarwood pipe. He had spent most of the morning in such a lazy way, quite sufficiently amused by the lap of the waves below as much as he was by the antics of hungover teamsters and dockworkers as they struggled to keep pace with the ships that came to port and were eager to see their cargos loaded and unloaded, sent to market and exchanged. One particular trio were suffering from a discordant spat of infighting, as the pot-bellied fellow manning a winch rope craned his neck to catch a chasing sight of the sightly Lanara, who appeared to be fussing with the harbormaster on the docks between Barnabas and said laborers. His inattention to matters of priority caused the heavy crate to jeer and shift overhead, and the other two men swiftly cussed him out for what could have potentially been a very costly mistake. The entertainment their short kerfuffle provided caused Barnabas to miss the subtleties of Lanara and the harbormaster's interaction -most namely the woman's delving at a concealed weapon in her boot. His ears caught her words that followed, and he had already bounced from the heap of materials to his feet before she had finished. The title 'Sir' elicited an audible snort from Barnabas after a few long strides brought him to stand across from Lanara and behind the harbormaster. The much broader man gave a start after whipping his thick neck around to find the source of the laughter puffing away on a pipe and towering a full head over him. "Sir! Ho! Sir Marty: ain't that a hoot! As if ye worked an honest day in yer life almost!" commented Barnabas with only a slight tone of jest. Marty seemed subdued and unwilling to provide a snide repost. He almost raised that wagglesome finger towards the pirate, though he was cut short and brushed past. "Ne'er ye mind, Marty ol' boy, m'ship ain't moorin' in yer rat-infested harbor," Barnabas said, patting the man's shoulder reassuringly as he stepped around him to look at Lanara, the object of frustration, rubbernecking, and murmurings about the docks. With his brow creased with confusion he swept his mottled eyes over her form and back to Marty with the distinct expression that he knew he'd missed something, something critical in understanding the situation. "Let me help the lady, would ye Marty, an' get back t'doin' yer countin', or whatever it is ye do?" To this, the burly man threw up his hands and muttered to himself, walking away and towards his office, apparently uninterested in debating with Barnabas. It wasn't just for fear or lack of authority, but for markedly more economic reasons. Barnabas' last time at port had unnerved the harbor so much by the mere nature of his ship that he could hardly keep his door on its hinges under the constant complaints of superstitious mariners. After just a few days there happened a mob incident where one man suffered a deadly accident, and Barnabas set out upon the channel waters in astonishing haste. Cohesion on the quay meant fluidity in the market, which meant all the more counting for Marty. And Barnabas was, surprisingly, quite kind to the harbormaster when he obtained his papers of salvage then. Not only did he leave a bit extra for Marty to count, but when the port officer went home to his family that night, he found them saying blessings over a roast suckling pig and thanking the kind company of sailors that stopped by to show their appreciation for Marty's excellent governance of the harbor. Barnabas watched him make his way up the docks, shaking his head slightly. "Ye require a ferryin', is it?" He asked as he turned back to Lanara, waving his pipe about as if it were a meaningful gesture. Really it was, sweeping over the marina and the many seaworthy vessals that sat idle at their slips, some of which were occupied by similarly seaworthy and idle captains. A deliberately slow assessment of Lanara's clothing, or more specifically the lacktherof, followed."I'd be happy t'oblige, but I'm afraid ye'll have to endure a bit of a jaunt up the shore to assess yer lodgings -big Marty an' the locals ain't much fonder o'm'ship at port as he seemed t'be of you."

Lanara seems slightly surprised as Barnabas steps into view, and for a brief moment her fingertips close around the hilt of the dagger, mistaking his hasty entrance as a threat. Though, his jovial tone, the puffing of the pipe, and the way that Marty seems to back off, are a clear sign that the man is harmless. At least, harmless enough for the moment. She sighs, uncertainty evident in her visage, as she unclenches her fist, and slips her hand out of the boot, leaving the dagger in its hidden location. Marty puffs out his chest as they both brand him ‘Sir’ as a mockery, of course, though he doesn’t form a rebuttal to either of them, as he makes his departure. To those with keen hearing, they’d hear him mumble something along the lines of ‘I’ll be happy when those two are off my docks! Troublemaking…’ and then the door to his office would slam shut, followed by a locking of the deadbolt. The witch is amused by the newcomer’s effect on the harbormaster, and she lifts her doe eyes to give Barnabas a lingering once over. He was attractive, as far as pirates go, and incredibly tall. He smelled of tobacco, hence the pipe, though the scent wasn’t as offensive as she thought it would be. And he was presumably a human, as he didn’t share the tapered ears, like herself. Nor was he baring any fangs, so that ruled out vampire, as well. His dress code was that of a man that lived the life of leisure, and she assumed that he truly enjoyed being near the sea, as he was here and his ship was elsewhere. The rectangular onyx stone that is worn on his index finger is noted, as is the discoloration from the knuckle to the fingertip. Being a witch, she suspected some sort of curse had been placed upon the piece of jewelry, or perhaps the bearer was more than he seemed. Her gaze trails from the hair atop his head, to the rope sandals upon his feet, only to rise to gaze upon his face once more. You could tell a lot about someone based upon eye contact, and she half expects the male to divert his gaze, as she knew from stories her sister had shared, that most pirates weren’t trustworthy. Barnabas’ eyes are a unique shade of blue, green, and brown, and her own dark chocolate hues widen for a flicker of a moment, before she purses her full lips, her inspection of the man complete. For half a second she wonders if he even has a ship, if he was merely a wannabe sailor trying to score a date. Literally, every eligible bachelor in Cenril knew of Lanara, or at least they knew of her alias, ‘Cinnamon’ who, in the past, was an exotic dancer for hire. As the gangs ran amuck, and the city turned to favoring the drug trade over beautiful women, she took her earnings and fled. She had a respectable job at the university in Schezerade, as a dance instructor, for a long time. Yet, here she was, wearing a bikini top, daisy dukes, and inadvertently making mischief. The poor winch operator was still being scolded by the crew! And the man that had grabbed her ass an hour before, was still cradling his family jewels and nursing an ale at the Whaler’s Bar. But –this- particular male seemed different than the rest, and that’s why she rises to her feet, and dusts off the rear of her shorts. “So… You have a ship? That’s great! I happen to be in need of a ride to Rynvale, and back… But I also will need you to accompany me on land, for about an hour, before we head back. No danger will come to you. I’ll be taking all the risks. I just need some, uh, assistance with a little task that I have to do, before heading back here. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner? My treat, of course! Is there someplace around here where we can grab something to eat, other than fish? I love seafood, but I’ve smelled it for the past eight hours and I’d prefer something else. You can tell me about your ship, your experience, and all that. I’ll tell you about my predicament and why none of the other captain’s are willing to take me aboard.” He would notice that she’s more than a foot shorter than his six and a half foot tall, and that her neck tilts back, as she has to angle awkwardly to hold his gaze. There’s a pause, as Barnabas considers her offer, and she uses that moment to extend a dainty hand, making a more formal introduction. “I’m Lanara, though everyone calls me Lana, for short. Nice to meet you, and thanks for coming to my rescue with Sir Marty. I thought things would get bloody for a second.” Rather, things would get bloody for Marty, though she doesn’t reveal her previous intentions. Sometimes, playing the part of the damsel in distress earned her more favor, though those closest to the witch knew she was more than capable of self-defense. She also was rather talkative, to the dismay of most, and she nips her lower lip to keep from babbling. Best to pace oneself when asking another to risk their life and head out on a hellacious journey.

Barnabas gave a slight lift to his left brow behind an errant rope of knotted hair that swung in front of his face as if to protest the weathered hat that pinned down the majority of its brethren. He had the sense that this stranger had a keenness for seeing things beneath their surface, and part of him wondered if this stranger could even sense his sea-fae ancestry (of which he was only recently beginning to unravel himself) but he did not shrink or betray any signs of discomfort. Rather, he seemed amused by Lanara, as evidenced by the carefree smirk that pulled the corners of his lips. Though the gangly man appeared quite an unlikely candidate for a captain with his crude wardrobe, Lanara would have no doubt taken note of the outward lack of weaponry on the man as much as his seemingly genuine ability to maintain eye contact with a woman. Besides maybe in his dreadlocks or in the coconut-sized satchel over his shoulder, there appeared no convenient place to conceal any weapon. His arms, long and thin and quite pointed at the elbow, were bare from the upper arm down with the loosely woven brown shirt's sleeves having been cropped short in much the same manner as the bottoms of his trousers. The ring, indeed, was something of an anomaly to a person of magical sensation; the nature of its enchantment would very much resemble a spell like a 'wizard's eye' or other similar surveillance, detection' or cipher spells, and would seem quite trivial or unassuming. Really, the ring scalded its wearer in response to falsehoods spoken, and spoken knowingly, nearby. Though his index finger and its respective fingernail now appeared completely black from the ring up, Barnabas rarely flinched anymore when it burned him. He wouldn't have shown more than a twitching forward curl of an upper lip beneath that haggard beard of his if Lanara happened to have fibbed some about the likelihood of danger that her proposed enterprise could entail. Barnabas wasn't shy of testing his fortune anyway, and though today he looked less his usual peacock-in-a-swine-pen that he would amongst the Cenrilli sailors and commonfolk, he shared very little of the motivations of most men around him. It might be safe to say that the notion of danger, or at least adventure and the subversion of normalcy, was more the pirate's carrot than any ephemeral trappings of the material sense that overwhelmingly fueled society. Barnabas let Lanara talk while his peculiar cerulean-speckled eyes locked upon her own chestnut ones, taking another puff from the curved stem of his pipe. It was a little more pungent than your common tobacco, and it was a good portion of reason that made Cenril one of Barnabas' favorite port towns. The other, obvious enough from the interaction with the harbormaster, was the hospitality that charity bought from its impoverished Rows. "Aye, the local cuisine ain't a lot to speak about after ye'd had yer fill o' local catch. There's a quaint teahouse down Merchant Street a-ways, though, kind mum 'at runs it too." Barnabas would indicate the general direction with his pipe, showing complete seriousness in his penchancy for biscuits and tea. "It's pleasure, Lana," said he while removing his hat briefly with the pipe hand and extending the other for to offer a surprisingly gentle clasp from such heavily calloused hands. "Barnabas Bones at yer service. Marty jus' likes his days t'go's close to the same, one after the other, as much as he can. Monotony like that jus' drives me mad. But he's mostly harmless, y'know..." The lanky man replaced his hat on his head, shifted the small pouch upon his back, and started walking towards the market square, his hawkish gaze drifting from faces and working bodies as he drew upon and passed them on the docks and in the quay where they funneled together before the market district. His rope sandals flopped rhythmically against the soles of his feet. "M'ship is plenty good at floatin', but she ain't really an inspirin' thing to look at, y'see. Gives folks goosebumps and bad dreams, I guess. So out o'consideration fer Marty an' the good honest seamen o' Cenril -I'm a considerin' sort o' fella- I left her at anchor 'round the cliffside an' rowed m'self ashore. Don't ye worry 'bout fuss from m'crew none, either. Ye'll find they aren't much for conversation, though, and just be thankful fer that!" Something about this made the captain chuckle, grateful to be, for the first time in weeks, reprieved of that otherworldly conduit sword that deposited about a dozen disembodied voices from the vessal's undying crew in his mind.

Lanara smiles as her offer is expected, and as he gives her hand a dutiful shake, her smiles widens. He didn’t kiss her hand with exaggerated formality and for that reason alone, she relaxes. She was an elf, from a faraway forest, and a witch. Sure, she was more skilled than others in a few areas, such as magic, baking, dancing, and of course, she had the gift of animal empathy, but all in all, she was a true tomboy at heart, and she wasn’t overly fond of the ‘royal’ characters in Lithrydel. A title was nothing more than an invisible shield to hide behind, while others were forced to protect your uppity arse. She’s nearly scoffing, at the mere mental reference, though she maintains her composure, and drops her hand to her side once the introductions have been met. His grip was gentle, and although she only knew of one other pirate in her entire existence, she didn’t know their kind to be exactly tender. Barnabas Bones was definitely unlike any other that she’d come across, thus far, and she finds herself intrigued, and looking forward to that dinner she had promised. Tucking an unruly lock behind her ear, she shivers as the night air begins to move in, causing her to retrieve her backpack from the docks. Removing a thin, white, cotton jacket from within, she slips her arms through the sleeves and zips it up three quarters of the way, though her cleavage is still somewhat visible, and the vivid green of her bikini top peeks through the fabric. She had little to work with in regards to a change of clothes, as the few belongings she brought for the trip were in a rented room at the Inn, and based upon his motion, they were headed in the opposite direction. At least her toned stomach and belly-button piercing were now covered, making her feel somewhat more presentable for dining, as well as providing a deterrence from the chill. She finds it easy to fall into step beside the male, as well on carry on with conversation, as he was a rather amiable enough fellow. Though as he mentions his distaste for monotony she looks off to the side, and pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “I suffer from wanderlust, as well… I really should be in Venturil. With my fiancé. But… I’m not exactly the type of woman that wants to be trapped inside four walls, day in and day out, twiddling my thumbs. I crave adventure. I love being outdoors, amongst the elements. And I’m, uh, a bit ‘wanted’ by the wrong crowd, so I had to get away. I’m grateful that you’ve come along tonight… My pursuers are only about two days behind me, and time is running out for me to make things right. And if I can’t make it to Rynvale… I’m not sure what to do. Thank you for at least hearing me out about all of this and agreeing to chat over dinner.” Did she really just reveal that much to a mere stranger? What happened to the independent, aloof, mistrusting elf? She doubted that Barnabas would care that she lived in the western plains, a million miles from the sandy beaches of Cenril. He probably cared even less that she was engaged to the infamous, lycan, ex-witch killer, Eirik Vergessen. The male would likely focus on the fact that she was a bit of a runaway, though whether it was from her marriage, the town she had grown to despise, or the thugs that were out to kill her for a crime she didn’t commit, would remain uncertain, until she knew him a bit better. Lana falls silent for a few moments, as they make their along the wooden planks, the dock fading from view, as they step onto the sandy path and make their way to the teahouse. Several passersby greet them with blank stares, easy smiles, and even an occasional glare. They were a rather unlikely match, as Barnabas was a seemingly unarmed pirate, dressed in the leisure of a beach-goer, and Lanara looked like a bikini model, ready for her shining moment in a beauty pageant. One male catcalls as she passes by, though she seems unfazed, for though she was used to the attention, she didn’t entirely believe herself to be as ‘stunning’ as others claimed. Instead of rolling her eyes at the charmer, she gently elbows Barnabas, and meets his cerulean flecked gaze. “I will stay out of your hair, I promise, unless there is some use you can make of me during the trip. And your crew won’t even know that I’m aboard! I like my solitude, sometimes, so I completely understand. Um… So how do you and your crew feel about sharks? Like… if one were to say… uh… come aboard?” Her voice trails off as they arrive at their intended destination, and she opens the door, and motions for Barnabas to enter the establishment, before her, so that she could see the look upon his face. This was the part that had the others in fear of granting her and her great-white shark horse passage to Rynvale. Would he think she was jesting? Would he flee in terror? Think her an imbecile? Or would he hear out the rest of her story, and perhaps agree to even meet this majestic beast that she desired to protect?

Barnabas chewed on the stem of his pipe idly as he waited for Lanara to gather her belongings and don what little buffer from the brewing seabreeze she had. The sailor himself, though only marginally heavier clothed, seemed little concerned with the brisk air that stirred up once the sun started to fall away, owing that endurance to a hard weathered life and certainly not the modest brown pelt that sleeved his arms and legs where they were exposed. Actually, he found it kind of tepid when remembering the times he met rough water crossing the channel to Rynvale, to say nothing of much harsher climates he suffered across his travels. The cold sprays across the deck and sharp pellets of rain that the channel semifrequently battered ships with -luckily, he thought, the conditions on the channel seemed to be favorable but for the westward headwind, and that was only a small hindrance to a sailor of any merit. Barnabas might have seemed distant, or perhaps distracted by the passersby, while he let Lanara keep herself talking. The pirate had realised early in his life to use his ears and mouth in the proportion with which they had been given him. He often learned more that way. Much of what she said piqued his curiousity, and only that casual prop that was his miraculously long-smoldering pipe abated his commentary. As the elven woman reiterated her gratitude, though, Barnabas' silence cracked. "It's no thing, Miss Lanara," he said dismissively. "An' though I don't mean to pry into yer business -an' I fully expect t'see the Rynvale dock well within yer timeframe, I 'ave t'ask ye, whomever yer pursuers might be, not t'mention m'self or m'ship in yer disputes. I'm familiar with what it's like t'be hounded some. That said, I can assure ye that yer enemies are me own as long as yer in m'escort, should yer pursuers be closer than ye believe." The jostle of his arm and a lewdly whooping man make Barnabas glance about. Shadows were beginning to fall, lamplighters were busy illuminating the intersections of roads, and small clusters of people drifted about either en route to the quiet of home or towards the din of one of the local dives. Barnabas' shrewd eye roved the alleys and building corners for lingering forms for a moment in front of the teahouse. A stray cat scurrying, a woman in the dark side of her home dumping a bucket of washwater -these things didn't disturb him. "Oh, the crew wouldn't be apt t'give a care about yer bein' on the ship in any way. I caution ye not t'wander much belowdeck without m'company, though..." Then the opening of the teahouse door and the quite unique inquiry about a shark. This caused Barnabas to crane his neck, following Lanara with a puzzled expression as he slipped past and into the quaint establishment. "I seen a plenty o'shark, but not a one e'er 'ad need o' a berth onna ship!" The man's diction faltered considerably under his surprise at the notion, bringing out a rough drawl and a much faster stream of words. He had only just turned back to face the dining area of the tearoom when the night's staff noticed the arrival of patrons and began weaving amidst tables and chairs to reach the setting that the pirate had selected for he and his company. The waitress' menu proved unnecessary for Barnabas, who voiced his request while pulling a chair, hanging his small satchel over its corners, removing his hat, and sitting himself down. "A piece o'mincemeat pie an' a cup o' Earl Grey, if ye will," he said, placing his hat down upon the table to his left. He would fold his bony hands in front of him, smiling pleasantly while Lanara made her order. Once the server bustled off, Barnabas leaned in, unable to conceal his curiousity, eyes a-gleam. He didn't take the elf for a madwoman, as most would have. "Wot's this 'bout a shark now?"

Lanara gives a final glance over her shoulder, to make certain they weren’t being followed, before she follows Barnabas into the teahouse, and closes the door firmly behind them. “Why can’t I go below deck? I’m not a thief, if that’s your concern. I have no desire for trinkets or treasures that belong to another…” The scent of fresh baked goods fills her nostrils and for a brief moment, she closes her eyes and inhales, taking in the sweet aromas that encompass the entirety of the teahouse. The salty scent of the sea was equally as welcoming, but for now, the woman lives in the moment, and it’s only when she bumps into a table that her eyes flicker open and she murmurs a faint apology to the diners. Barnabas, meanwhile, has picked a table, lowered himself into a chair, and placed his order, by the time she arrives at the table. A faint blush is evident on her high cheekbones, as she slips into a chair opposite him and peruses the menu, before her lips curve into a silken smile. “Ooh! So many choices! Good job suggesting this place, Barnabas! I can’t decide between pecan pie or the chocolate cream pie…” Lana deliberates her hues shifting from the left of the menu, to the right, and back again, while the waitress impatiently waits for the order, tapping her foot against the floorboards. “Hm… I’ll take both. I’m sure I’ll burn off the extra calories, eventually! And a cup of your house blend tea that would be wonderful.” The waitress walks off to gather their order, and Lana gives the male her undivided attention, listening to his explanation of encountering sharks, before the inquiry is pushed back into her lap. There’s a long pause, one that would be long enough to cause concern, to most, as the only time the elf was silent was when something upset her, or if she was about to pull one of her infamous pranks. In this case, the former, and for a fleeting moment her dark hues sparkle, growing moist from a memory, before she diverts her gaze. Thankfully, the waitress is the perfect distraction as she returns with their order, along with a small plate with a dollop of honey and a few lemon slices, should they wish to decorate their tea. Lana waits for the woman to depart, before she leans in, and sighs, ever so softly. It was now or never. The moment of truth. She was a woman that favored honesty, and that’s what she’d give this new acquaintance, as he deserved to know the whole truth, should he take her aboard his ship. Rejection was a possibility, but at least he didn’t run at the mere mention of a shark, so she would take that as a positive sign. “I assure you that no harm will come to you, your crew, or your ship. As a matter of fact, I don’t think my pursuers consider me their main target. They’re after one of my many pets …” A beat, as she takes a sip of her tea, and secretly wishes it was something stronger, for she is having a difficult time finding the courage to tell the –entire- story. The others were given the gist, but Mister Bones had been kind to her, thus far, he maintained eye contact, and he seemed genuinely interested when she spoke. “I have empathic abilities with animals, both domesticated and feral. I’m also saving up to open an animal sanctuary. I-I visited my homeland, about two years ago, and in my travels I came across this coven of dark magic users. They were running experiments on animals, and using their craft for all the wrong reasons. I disposed of the coven, and I salvaged two of their creations. One was a young boy, who was later adopted by my sister. The other… I kept for myself, as no one else could safely go within a twenty foot radius of him, without being attacked. I named him Puddles, and I raised him from a pony, into the full-grown stallion that he is, today. However, he’s not your ordinary horse. He can’t be trusted in a barn with other horses, nor can he be used as a destrier in battle. He’s far too unpredictable. He’s a hybrid… Half great-white shark and half horse… He has the neck and head of a shark, and the rest looks like a typical horse. His flesh is moist to the touch. Though he can remain underwater for quite some time, he prefers the land. The issue with Puddles is that he’s extremely volatile, and he attacked the bastard of a Duke who was visiting the lands. His son’s arm was bitten clean off, and he died from blood loss, and the Duke hired his lackeys to destroy Puddles. They’ve been tailing me since Samhain. I refused to give up my pet, so the Duke said that I would receive a death sentence, unless I surrender Puddles.” A pause, as she takes a bite of the pecan pie, and she hungrily eyes her plate, though she dares not have another bite, as she is still explaining. “So, here’s the reason that I need to get to Rynvale… I’m told that there’s a specific race there, some call it a kelpie, and others refer to it as a water horse. I need to pluck three hairs from the horse’s mane, to use in a spell, so that only I can conjure Puddles and send him away, at will. As of now, I can only call him off with a spell, and he literally dissolves into a puddle of shimmering water. However, he can spawn wherever and whenever he chooses, at –his- will, though if I call him, he will appear. Had I known he was going to magically appear at the party in Vailkrin, I would have prevented the incident and avoided this whole mess. So, hopefully, I can get to Rynvale, find a kelpie, perform the ritual, and save Puddles’ life. And when he doesn’t appear for a long time, in the eyes of those that wish him harm, they will stop pursuing me.” Lana lowers her fork, the woman appearing exhausted after telling the long-winded story, though the next line is where her hesitation lies. In order for this to be effective, she’d have to have Puddles with her, en route, and at the site of the ritual, in his shark-horse form. “Um. Barney… You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?” Those chocolate hues lock onto his eyes, her gaze pleading for him to agree to this fantastical quest. “Puddles will have to be on your ship. We could use shackles to tie each of his legs down, so he’s unable to move, if that makes your crew feel better. But… I’ll be there! I’ll make sure he behaves, I promise… I know this is a lot to take in, and you probably think I’m a little crazy, but I’ve spoken the truth. And I’m really in a bind. You’re my last hope… I can even let you meet him, before you agree or disagree.” At the end of her pleading speech, those heartbreak eyes appear downright heartbroken, and as she lifts the mug to her lips, he’d notice the slight shaking of her hand. Clearly, her beloved pet meant the world to her, and she was willing to risk her life to ensure his safety.

Barnabas appeared quite satisfied as Lanara voiced her approval of Mrs. Mallard's tearoom. It was a business he receded to when he grew weary of the bustle and brawling of the Whaler's Bar and the distinctly different crowd and aroma that frequented the place. In all seriousness, Barnabas mourned the death of Mrs Mallard and grieved not just for the nearing vaccuum in Cenril's crumpet and tea economy but for the loss of one very large heart in a city that rather needed it. He would nod and grin as his company predicted a fair bit of physical exertion ahead. "Aye, we've a bit o' sea to row," he agreed while watching the waitress head towards the kitchen to call for their orders. When Lanara seemed to stumble on the words to describe her situation, Barnabas easily discerned that she appeared to find some difficulty, emotionally, in explaining the curious matter. He did not appear to scoff or judge. If anything, his sharp features softened. He would listen, attentive but without comment, eyes stretching like a wondrous child listening to a campfire ghost story while Lanara elaborated on the magical and dangerous nature of this peculiar foster child. Barnabas had his own love for animals -and a way with horses especially- and he held them in a higher regard than he did most people. He simply could not hide his fascination about this Puddles, and he leaned in as if on bated breath. As if he were more a man of gullible fancies than one possessed of the means to distinguish very clearly truth from falsehood. Of course, thanks to the Inquisitor's Ring that graced his finger, he knew it all to be true. The freakish amalgamation of horse and shark caused his eyes to flicker aside while his mind's eye conjured images from Lanara's description. The pirate's wedge of pie and steaming cup of aromatic tea remained for some time untouched on the plate before him. Only when Lanara paused to sample her own plate did Barnabas actually remember he had ordered, and almost mechanically he touched the hot ceramic cup to his lips and carefully supped from it, though he did so without ever once looking at it. He didn't seem too concerned about Lanara's social ease. He just stared at her while she made a brief go at her pecan pie. Then, abruptly, something she said made him stiffen straighter in his chair and gaze into his cup. He heard barely every other word after 'Kelpie', and only snapped back when Lanara called him Barney. "Wotsit? Oh yes, yes -Barney's plenty good." He met her imploring look with his own, and for a time Lanara might have felt as if she had offended the pirate, although in reality she had done quite the contrary. Finally, after considering the case she had made to him and pursing his lips to one side in thought while enabling the anxiety across the table, Barnabas broke the tension the worried woman no doubt felt. "Well, Miss Lanara," he started, folding his hands and twisting that peculiar ring around his blackened digit. "Ye needn't worry more than ye already have, I reckon. Ye can bring Puddles aboard, I've no qualms with that. There was a once, I took it upon meself to rest several large jungle cats from a weak and ignorant man who had been born to this world with more wealth than his small mind could ever sensibly conceive of putting to proper use...Two weeks those hungry cats stalked about m'ship while I ferried 'em to the coast they been stole from -I'd been piloting a much smaller ship then, too- but I tell ye: I believe they knew I was their ally in that. Wild as they were, they never so much as scratched a manjack o' m'crew." Barnabas peered over his teacup as he took a more proper drink from it. "Anyway, I'm sure of yer sincerity. I have...a special sense fer liars...and I will follow yer recommendations as far as Puddles' restrictions go. It's a big ship, and the hands I have working her aren't very apt to, err, fear things." Barnabas' right hand takes up his silverware and strikes it into the dark rich filling of his mincemeat wedge, popping the forkful into his mouth and chewing around his words as he continued. "Moreover, I think I can help ye beyon' piloting a ferry." The fork stood still, poised vertically and stayed as such while Barnabas continued, more absent-mindedly than purposefully dramatic. "Me mum was Kelpie, ye know. Well, o'course ye didn't. Did ye? I didn't know it m'self 'til a few moons ago...ain't never met her. M'ship is manned by supplanted Kelpie souls, who knew her and me grandfather some time ago. It is...a lengthy tale. One that's been twisting away at m'mind of late. I had always figured the Kelpie legends were just that, told to keep children in line...But, more to m'point...I ain't a horse, as ye can see, an' I don't think I got any magical hairs. Neither do any o' me crew...but if ye tell me there's a Kelpie in Rynvale, I very much desire t'meet with'm. I will take ye to him, an' I reckon I can do ye well as a liaison. What I've learned bout the Kelpiorimasti -er, Kelpies, is...limited yet. But I -know- about them, seenit and dreamt it, an' I see some distinct congruencies 'tween Puddles' story and what I've come to understand had happened to my -err, the Kelpie ancestors."

Lanara shakily lowers the mug to the table, her eyes widening as Barnabas responds to her, favorably, no less. She had been expecting him to eat his pie, and politely decline her offer. Or maybe laugh at her, until he had met Puddles up close and personal. Never, would she have thought him to so easily agree to grant her and her shark horse passage, aboard his ship! The urge to hug the man and squeal in glee is great, though she forces herself to settle for a grateful smile and lightly bounces in her chair, instead. After all, she had only known him about an hour, and then he would definitely think her an imbecile if she were to randomly give him a big hug! “You will? You really will?! I promise you won’t regret this! I-I… Thank you. You have –no- idea how much this means to me, Barney.” Lana has a newfound respect for the male, and it shows in her expression. He was willing to put his life and ship on the line, all so that she could get to Rynvale, track down a Kelpie, and perform a ritual, on a majestic beast, that she, for some strange reason, kept close to her heart. One day, if they were to get closer, she’d tell him just why she held Puddles in such high regard, and was able to look past his transgressions. Opening up about her past didn’t come easy to the witch, though the look in her gaze when he mentions never having met his mother, would show that she could relate. Daddy issues were just the peak of the iceberg of the woman’s emotional baggage! But she pushes that to the side, for now, as they were here to work out a business deal, not for a therapy session. Still… The pair had two things in common. Both were animal lovers, and both had grown up in a single parent household. The thought of sailing off with this stranger to a foreign place wasn’t looking as grim as she believed this journey would surely be, before she had come across Barnabas Bones. The tale about the jungle cats warms her heart, and she leans forward, her mouth slightly agape, as she hangs on his every word. The pie is long forgotten, and her tea grows cold, as she visualizes a feline stalking the planks of the ship, while another gazes overboard, hoping to catch a fish jumping in the water. The story is fantastical, but the way he tells it, like it’s ‘no big deal’ that he accomplished something so heroic, makes her know that he speaks the truth, and that he has a bigger heart than most men would admit to having. “Wow! What did the cats look like? Were they muscular and black? Or orange and white, with black stripes? Or did they have spots? I love all animals, and I love to learn of them… They were lucky that you took them back home, and that you rescued them. I hope to rescue every animal that is in need.” The words roll off her tongue, as if she hadn’t already rescued a couple dozen in the past four years she’d been living in Lithrydel. Ever since Lana was a little girl, she found it simple to befriend the beasts that roamed the forest, much easier than making a connection with a man or woman. Empathic abilities aside, animals were drawn to the woodland witch, and she in turn, gave them everything she had to offer. There’s a pause as he mentions that his mother happened to be a Kelpie, the very species that she seeks, and her eyes grow as wide as saucers, the chocolate pools sparkling with wonder. That would explain the pirate’s love for the sea to an extent, she supposed. Her head cants to the side, as her sangria stained lips close, only to purse, slightly, as she gathers her thoughts. “I’m sorry that you never were able to meet your mother, Barney… I can’t even imagine how difficult it was to grow up without knowing where and who you have come from. And… You only recently found out that you’re half kelpie? That’s… Amazing! Have you tried using magic? You may possess it in your blood and not yet know how to harness the ability. When I was still in diapers I turned my grandfather into a squirrel, and I didn’t even know what I was doing! So… Maybe… I could help you to see if you have any magical abilities, someday. And… Like you, I don’t know much about Kelpie’s. Only that they can be in human form or take on the form of a water horse. They obviously are magical sea creatures and are drawn to the element of water… I was looking through my late mother’s grimoire and it mentioned that I’d need three locks of hair from the mane of a Kelpie in its horse form, to properly complete a binding spell. After that I ventured to libraries all over the region… And in Xalious, I came across a thin book, which spoke of forgotten races, or myths. I learned a little bit about Kelpie’s, though I wasn’t able to take the book with me. The librarian said it was to be kept in their secret archives and she had no idea how I managed to get my hands upon it… However, I did manage to sneak a page in the book with me. In the back I found this folded up…” Lana’s eyes dart to the left and right, making certain they weren’t being watched, before she slips her hand into the pocket of her shorts, and procures a wrinkled map, stained from aging. Opening the parchment, she gently smoothes it on the table, and twirls it so that Barnabas can take a gander, at the well drawn map of Rynvale Island. Standing up and to the side of the table, she taps her fingertip on the location of where it’s believed that the Kelpie’s have been spotted; the area is circled, thrice, in a vivid red marker. “So… If I’m reading it correctly, and based on my findings from that book, it looks like once we make port… We’d have a bit of a trek on foot. We have to pass through Fog Forest, which actually looks quite large… And just north of the apothecary’s hut, there should be a mist covered pool. That’s where the Kelpie lives. I’ll lift the mist with my magic, and then we can take it from there! The book mentioned something about a ‘mist dragon’ being nearby, so we will have to be extra careful.” Lana realizes that she’s been talking for quite some time now, and this brings a faint blush to her face, as she smiles apologetically at Barnabas, her long hair brushing against the map as she meets his gaze. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to get carried away. I’m just really excited about all of this, and I just really hope it all works out in the end. And… I’m glad that fate brought us together, Barney. You will get to meet a Kelpie, and I will save Puddles’ life!” There’s a long pause as she studies the man, realizing that they had yet to discuss payment. “What are your terms? And, please! Just call me Lana. We’re past formalities.”

Barnabas took a hearty guzzle of his tea, now that it had cooled considerably during the conversation. "Black as night," he answered to Lanara's question regarding the species of large cat from behind the ceramic vessel. He had watched Lanara with a quiet smile to her out-pouring gratitude and preened his fingers through the chin of his dark and curly beard. He didn't expound upon the subject of his absent parents beyond declaring between Lanara's pauses that he "Was born the son ovva gun," as if the term were familiar to the elf, who probably spent more time in the forest and plains than the waves and ports and may have well been confused by the colloquialism for a child conceived and/or born at sea. Fathers were usually illegitimate, and the conditions and distinct lack of proper care more often than not proved fatal for laboring mothers. Surviving children were often hailed as bearer's of great fortune. His case was especially remarkable, and something he had only just begun to comprehend himself. This he confirms with a nod to Lanara's respective question. Then, said around a large bite of pie: "Never tried t'understand magic, really. Worth a try, maybe." Barnabas continued finishing up the rest of his food while listening to his companion's description of Kelpies. What the halfbreed had come to know about their nature he appeared to keep to himself for the time being. He didn't want to tell Lanara that the Kelpie she sought was, more than likely -especially if what she required was plucked from that specific form, held in a wretched form of bondage through an old ritual treacherously traded from its own kind, and may have been bound in such servitude for many years. Neither did he choose to caution Lanara that the race of sea-fae had, overwhelmingly and understandably, come to harbor great animosity for the landborn races for the subjugation and the almost entire downfall of their species and complex ritualistic society. He just ate his pie, lifting up the remaining crust and tossing it into his mouth gingerly. The mention of a book and a stolen page beckoned him to lean forward again after pushing his plate aside and plucking up his pipe from where it sat beside his hat. He propped his arm by its elbow and chewed on the unlit pipe's stem thoughtfully without twisting its cap off. Barnabas was quite familiar with the many nooks and crannies of Rynvale island, but the idea of old maps and charts never failed to ensorcell him. His brackish eyes scoured over the marked paper. Though the idea of trespassing or disturbing a dragon drew trepidation from the pirate, he didn't show it. He looked up to meet the elf's eyes, for the first time showing his teeth in a broad and genuine smile. Meet a Kelpie, free a Kelpie -it was just semantics for now. He hadn't really learned how to break the powerful curse yet -that detail, he hoped, was contained in the strange tome he had being deciphered while he sat there drinking tea. Or, again, so he hoped, at least. "M'terms," Barnabas parroted while setting the now empty cup down upon its tiny and fancifully floral-painted base with his free left hand. "Plainly that the nature o' m'self, m'ship, an' it's crew is not gaffed about in a way that'll bring me unwanted attention. I'm 'elpin' ye an' I tell ye 'bout these thing because, curious enough, I 'ave confidence in ye an' what ye say, yer intentions. An' also, I s'pose, because I been comin' around t'thinkin' that there does indeed exist a thing called fate. I ain't a man much motivated by comforts er finances, Lana. Aye, I have debts I owe: namely reparations to next o'kin...from a recent tragedy wot befell m'last crew an' ship in the very same channel we're fixin' t'sail, actually." Odd choice of reference material for a captain applying for a charter position. "But these're things I am sortin', an' well that I should. No, I won't be needin' monies from ye -m'crew's all volunteer anyway. Jus' want yer word that ye mention the good things about Barnabas Bones, his enterprises an' his company. Mostly, I want t'know the strange nature o' me crew stays out of public ear. Ye affirm me that, an' we can strike out soon as ye like. To m'johnny boat by the cliffs, if Puddles will fit innit I s'pose, er I can make the trip m'self if ye've things t'gather, an' meet ye at Sir Marty's inconvenience in the harbor. Doubt the locals will fuss as much in the night -reckon least half the lubbers that mobbed the docks last time're likely tossed by now."

Lanara quizzically tilts her head as he mentions being born the ‘son of a gun’ as she’s unfamiliar with most nautical terminology, and although she deciphers most of what he’s saying, some of the slang leaves her head spinning. She’d get to know more, in time, as they’d be spending, likely a few days together. She wasn’t sure how long it would take to sail from Cenril to Rynvale, and if they were to hit a storm or if Puddles didn’t behave, that would set them back. And then, they had to trek through the city of Rynvale, traverse through Fog Forest, possibly encounter a dragon, and seek out the Kelpie. Lana had assumed it would only take a few hours to locate the Kelpie, pluck some hairs, and head back to the docks. Though, after taking a closer look at the map, she wasn’t so sure. She prayed that the trip wouldn’t be for naught, and that her research would prove correct, and that everything would go according to plan, but she wasn’t naïve. Things didn’t always happen in the way that you wanted them to, though, so far, she was elated, as meeting this pipe-smoking stranger had raised her spirits, whereas meeting the others at Marty’s docks, had done more than provide discouragement. As Barnabas takes over the conversation and discusses his terms, she lowers herself into her chair, and tries a bite of the untouched chocolate cream pie. The waitress returns, to warm their tea or provide any refills on pie, and the witch dabs at her lips, before looking expectantly across the table. If he wished to order more, the offer was there, though she declines another slice of pie for herself, as she was currently working on the two on her plate. The tea, she graciously accepts, and after adding some sugar to the mug, she blows the smoke from the top, nodding as he finishes explaining what he wants, in turn, from giving her passage to the Island. He didn’t want any monetary payment? This doesn’t sit well with the woman, mainly because she believed all pirate’s to be fueled by gold or treasure. He didn’t seem to have an interest in his gaze beyond friendship, so she didn’t think he held any sort of ulterior motive. Maybe she had assumed all sailors were one and the same, and the fact that Barnabas is the exact opposite of the stereotype, brings a genuine smile to her lush lips. Lana often found herself attracted to those that weren’t considered the norm, and she loved to be proved wrong, as learning was the way of life. “Barney. You’ve got yourself a deal. I will speak nothing of your crew or any strange happenings about your ship. It’s between us, and just as well, as I don’t want those that are hunting Puddles to connect the dots to you or me. The less others know about our plans, the better.” Taking a sip of her tea, something he says does manage to give her pause, and as she arches a brow, she lowers her mug to the table. “What happened to your last crew and ship, in the very same waters that we are sailing? Was it a storm…? Or something else?” A longer pause is given here, should he wish to respond to her inquiry, and when he was finished, she would speak again. Cordial to a fault, she was, and it showed that she had impeccable upbringing, as she is well learned with conversing amongst others. Similar to a chameleon, she could be a social butterfly or a wallflower, sweet as pie or a menace. It was both a blessing and a curse to fit in everywhere, so long as she put her mind to it. Should they form a close friendship, he’d find that Lana most enjoyed her solitude, the outdoors, and that she only trusted a select few that she’d come to know over the years. “Thank you. I believe that I’m getting the better deal of our arrangement here, but since you won’t accept any coin or items of value, I’ll come up with something a little more personal.” She’s referring to a home-cooked meal, of course, or something along those lines. Mrs. Mallard would put her baking to shame, but the little witch had skills in the kitchen, and she loved to randomly spoil others with treats. As they finish their pie and tea and he broaches the topic of when they should depart, she purses her lips, and glances out the small window. It was pitch black outside, aside from some dimly lit torches, and she knew that the docks would most likely be vacant. This would eliminate any drama from encountering Marty, and it was highly unlikely that Puddles would be spotted boarding a ship. Though, sailing at night didn’t seem entirely safe to her, either, and that would mean they’d only have a few hours to gather their belongings. Lana weighs her options, and then responds with an enthusiastic nod. “Alright. We’ll leave tonight! I just want to stop by the Inn and gather a few things for the ritual, and of course, some spare clothes. I’ll pack some food, too. Is there anything else I should bring? And I’ll meet you at the harbor, in about an hour or two? I have to take my time when bringing Puddles so close to the town. I can’t risk being seen or having him lash out at any passersby. Would that be alright?” Finishing her tea, she listens intently to Barnabas’ advice for their journey, before motioning for the waitress to bring their bill. Lana counts out the silver to pay their tab, and leaves a generous tip for the waitress. As the woman comes to clear their table, her eyes widen at the coins, and she looks at the pair of them, gratitude on her face. “We were never here.” Those four words are enough to earn a nod, as she hurriedly collects the coins and departs from their line of sight.

Barnabas declined the refill of tea with a smile and a wave of his long and bony hand to the waitress. He appeared rather content with Lanara's promise as his smile lingered on. The matter of his late ship and crew, though, was quick to wipe that away. "Not rightly sure," he said in an almost despondent tone. "A storm came through alright, left no sign. I'd been ashore fer several weeks an' came back to find the news. Good men, proper, capable sailors. Thirty-two of 'em, families each." He took a long breath. "Fate's a fickle thing." Lanara reiterates her gratitude, though confounded by the captain's disinterest in money, and Barnabas shakes his head dismissively. "It's my'pleasure simply t'help, Lana. Truth be told, it's somethin' of a rarity fer me t'find someone worth helpin' lately. More'n how ye fit yer shorts er what could clink in yer purse makes ye seem worth knowin' to me. Besides -how many chances does a fella get innis life t'see a shark-horse, yeah? Though mayhap some day ye can try an' learn me some magic, er dance. I can strum flamenco fairly well -always wanted t'learn how t'step it though." Barnabas took up his folded brim hat and placed it atop his wool-tentacled head, seemingly happy to be departing at night in lieu of the morning. The sunrise, which was likely to strike them as they drew into sight of Rynvale's harbor, would be a satisfying sight. He chewed on his pipe while he made his one suggestion: "A towel, maybe." Lanara flagged the server for the bill, and Barnabas pushed up from the table to his feet. "Aye, the edge o' the marina in two hour's er so's time, an' be careful as ye go. Ye'll make no mistake when ye see the ship. She's a sight larger'n anything else at port out there." He spoke as he was haunched over, pipe clenched in the corner of his mouth and thereby distorting his words. He unfastened the toggle closure of his small oilskin satchel that was draped over the chair back. From within it he removed what appeared to be a rather fine and cutely proportioned jewelry box, gilded with silver and made to resemble a chest but with a clasp instead of a key. It was about the size of one of Barnabas' hands on each side, though he held it with both as if it were weighty or fragile. The serving girl had since collected the tab and tip from Lanara and gone behind the counter, probably to get a washrag and a tray to collect the dishes from the table, and Barnabas looked back that way to confirm such. Unceremoniously, and as if worried the waitress might emerge and see him while he did so, he placed the ornate box on the floor under the table and slid it with his toe nearer the wall. Without a word to Lanara to explain, the pirate dropped the fork from his empty plate to the floor beside the container, but in much plainer view. He slung the empty haversack over his shoulder, then, and flashed the elf a cheeky grin. "I'll see ye dockside shortly, then," Barnabas said, giving a half-tip of his hat and pivoting towards the door. His sandals smacked between the aged floorboards and the bottoms of his feet with every long step out the exit and into the Cenril night, where he would cross town and make his way to a small boat on the shore and out to the helm of his ship where it sat at anchor. If Lanara found herself overcome with curiosity for the contents of that box, or should she linger to observe the staff's inevitable discovery of it, she would see it packed tight with smooth, brilliant white pearls and a paper that read, simply but artistically penned: 'Condolences'.