RP:Booze and Babes -- A Plan Is Hatched

From HollowWiki

Part of the Two If By Sea Arc

Hudson and Sargaso's Shack on Cenril Beach

Summary: Hudson and Sargaso invite Ansel over to drink beers and develop a plan to avenge their friend Lorca, who was brutally murdered by mermaids at their terrible party. The men engage in a spirited discussion of various women before agreeing to steal a boat and go hunt for treasure, the proceeds of which they will use to install mermaid sirens in the area (thereby hopefully preventing future bacchanalian beach parties from suffering tragic deaths).

Characters: Sargaso, Hudson, Ansel

Sargaso paces in the tiny common area of the shack as he waits for Ansel to arrive. Six paces covers the whole of the area, long ways too. He made sure Hudson would be around for this — this “meeting” though Sargaso is loathe to call it that. He even bought a six-case of beer. You can’t have beer at a meeting. Ansel and Hudson were given a date and time well before sunset. As he paces, he makes small talk with Hudson about his kickball league. Yea yea, he’ll sign up, sure. And he means it, but ever since Lorca’s death at the party, his follow-up game has been weak. Initially he felt a crushing guilt. He’s Selen’s man, you know? He should have known better. But that quickly gave way to resolve. He needs to make it right. That’s that this not-a-meeting is about. His plan to make it right, but he can’t do it alone.

Hudson is not pacing as he awaits Ansel's arrival. He is lounging on the couch and drinking one of the beers, purchased to ensure his participation, and as noted is explaining the ins and outs of the kickball league. It's unfair that Gualon gets to have its own team. The orcs benefit from performance enhancing racial attributes. They crush everyone. But seriously, Sargaso should join the team, sometimes girls come to the games, or play on the team. Although generally speaking the girls that come to the games are the more pleasing of the two groups to gaze upon. No, he is not ready to discuss their female visitor of the other evening. Yea, she has a metal arm. Yes, he has picked up on that. Abrupt subject change deployed. Has Sargaso noticed that if one starts maybe-seeing one woman in a casual sense, a billion other women climb out of the woodworks? Why is that the case? Is it part of a vast female conspiracy? Before this issue can be probed deeper, Hudson rises to check out a potential sound at the door.

Ansel had been trekking a long time for this, so called, “meeting”. The man did now move temporarily to Frostmaw in the tavern with his two kids and the young caretaker girl that he had hired. She was nice, for the most part – nice on the eyes too. Anyway, the man was loyal enough to make a journey, and also he was finally well shaven, what a relief! He was looking grunge-like, and his hair was a little shorter than the last time the two men had seen him, still messy enough, though. He would then knock on the door of the shack, waiting for one of the two to open the door. Soon enough, he would step in, if they would let him, and speak. “What’s the news, boys?” He was casual as he made his way past them, walking a little about the shack.

Sargaso totally knows what Hudson means about being buried in droves of thirsty women. An experience that Sargaso recalls as having happened to him a while ago, before they met, with women that Hudson has probably never met, and in another town that Hudson has probably never visited, but, bro, the women there? He bites his fist. Hottest women on the planet. So yea, yea, Sargaso knows. Fist bump. Then Ansel arrives. Sargaso hands him a beer. He sits on the crate-table they used for beer pong that fateful night when Lorca… No, he can’t just jump into business. Instead, he regales both men with more stories from Babeland (™), and this time has a name to go with the yarn. “The other day I met this silver piece* named Rinn. Gorgeous. Red hair, blues eyes. Body like you won’t believe. Took her out to the tavern over in Kelay. ...Had a few drinks… Anyway. I probably should say no more.” Suggestive grin. He’s glad he’s never going to run into that Rinn-chick again. This story is best left not fact-checked. [*Hollow slang for dime piece.] His mind is still on Lorca though, and he resolves to let Ansel tell a Babeland (™) story, then they’ll get down to brass tracks. Sargaso has never seen a brass tack. Neither here nor there. He looks at Ansel as the unspoken baton of male bonding passes to the Frostmawian.

Hudson greets Ansel with a "yoooooo," and a hand out for a high-five before waving the other man in. He shuts the door afterwards, because their mermaid infestation (Mitch Hedberg voice: "it's the hottest infestation ever...") requires constant vigilance, etc. Cue Sargaso's somewhat elaborated-upon tale of ye olde macking. "Natural redhead?" is Hudson's contribution, flinching away preemptively from some sort of friendly jab. He extends an index finger at his roommate, lest the other guy think to make comments about redheads that Hudson happens to be acquainted with. "NO. Shut your face," he says firmly to some unspoken question, his tone as if addressing an animal. Huds is happy to let the conversation shift to Ansel, and the alchemist drinks his beer, nodding appreciatively at appropriate intervals to whatever Babeland (™) tale is told. This male ritual of icebreaking is a tale as told as time.

Ansel grasped the beer from Sargaso, opening the bottle before taking a swig. The man would nod his head to Sargaso as he shared his male bonding story. “Damn,” his eyebrows rose before taking another swig. As much as Ansel wanted to get back in the game of women, he was still, foreign to it. “I ran into a redhead the other day – Cenril,” he tipped his bottle a little in thought. “I was in a bit of trouble, needed a getaway, and well, she seemed to adore the role I gave her as I ran into her... Made it very visible that we were ‘together’,” he would use his free hand to make quotations with his fingers, “Also, she was completely fine with it. Think her name was Al… Alvina?” He shrugged, “Nice gal, didn’t slap me for putting her in such a risky situation.” He would then fling his hand out, talking a lot was never really his thing. For some reason, Ansel always just had a really hard time conversing – maybe that is why he never really got any action, nor does he try, “I mostly just work now.”

Sargaso pantomimes zipping his lips when Hudson catches him mouth open, a breath away from spilling the beans that handi-capable redhead that Hudson has brought back to the shack. Sargaso is grinning and egging on Ansel as he tells the tale until he hears the name Alvina. Oh s***. His face goes slack. He looks to Hudson, mouth agape, eyes unblinking.

Hudson makes a toast to redheads as Ansel begins his tale, though his good cheer likewise evaporates into slackjawed confusion. He exchanges a wild-eyed look with Sargaso and then looks at Ansel. "Holy," he murmurs. "Metal arm Alvina?" His tone is incredulous. "What a secret minx," he says, lightly awed. He shifts on the couch, and drinks from his beer to collect himself as it becomes apparent that a tale will follow. "Wait a minute. Waitaminute. Wait. A. Minute. So, how long ago was this?" he queries from Ansel, holding up an index finger, as if a penalty flag. "I should disclose before it gets weird that she spent the night here. No, nothing happened. We passed out. Also, as if I would do that on a shared couch." (He would, though.) "Dude... Alvina."

Ansel shifted dull hazel eyes back and forth to the two men who were wide-eyed and confused at his tale. Realizing Hudson reaction, he cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, that Alvina,” he then closed his eyes. Buzzkill. “It really wasn’t like that. She helped me get out of risky business, nothing really happened.” He shrugged. “What, she put her arms around me out of acting? Did you know she’s a really good actress?” He was trying to lighten up the situation. “This had to be a bit back,” here comes the word vomit – this is why Ansel did not converse with others unless it was… business. “Let’s be honest, I don’t talk to a lot of women, so I’m sure she cares about you, though. I barely know the chick. She helped me back to Frostmaw was all.” He would then approach Hudson and try to give a slap of reassurance on his back. “Just thought she was pretty though, looks like you scored?” He cringed a little. Boyish Ansel was coming out, whoopsie. Bro time equals never again.

Sargaso , too, needs to know how long ago Alvina STEPPED OUT on his buddy Hudson. Poor Hudson must be suffering. It’s Metal Arm Alvina they’re talking about here! It’s not just any broad, not to Hudson, Sargaso knows that. Then Ansel starts in with the hugging and Alvina’s acting skills, and suddenly Sargaso is up on his feet, taking the long way to the beer so that he circles around Hudson’s back. From there and without breaking stride he forces eye contact with Ansel, air-slits his own neck, and mouths ‘Shut up.’ He shouts jovially, “Another beer?!” Abort Babeland (™)! Women are dangerous! “So! I’m sure you’re wondering what I asked you here for. It’s about Lorca.” He hands out the remaining beer. Everyone should just bottle it up and move on. “I think the town needs mermaid sirens, like the hurricane sirens, but for mermaids.” He pauses, and as soon as either of them opens their mouth he thinks better of letting them talk (about Alvina probably) and blurts out, “But they’re expensive. And I was thinking, how do I get money? Like a lot of money. And I bet Ansel knows the answer I came up with, right pal?” Haha! He answers the question before Ansel can say anything. “Treasure hunting. We got the tools.” He pulls a small silver compass out of his pocket. “But we ain’t got a boat. But, tonight, we could get our hands on a boat. Borrowed.”

Hudson drinks from his beer and reaches for a second one to hold in abeyance while his mind goes about processing The Secret Life Of Alvina. "Mate, it's fine, it's fine," he reassures Ansel as he receives a slap on the back. Sargaso's protective circling is making him self-conscious. Huds' hand cuts through the air to wave off any suggestion that this had somehow upset him. OF COURSE IT HAS NOT UPSET HIMOVERCOMPENSATINGCAPSMAYBEHEISALITTLEJEALOUS. He goes about opening his second beer and clarifies for the record/other men: "I haven't slept with slept with Alvina, we work together, we made out and everything was going ahem," perhaps an exaggeration here or there, "and then she suddenly wanted to TALK," pointed emphasis, "and that was just not. Happening. So nothing happened. And that's the story of Alvina. It's fine." Supposedly reassuring hand gesture. "I'm fine." Repeat. "Thank you. Moving on. Please, Sargaso." He drinks from his second beer and makes an effort to nod along and look VERY MUCH NOT GRUMPY as Sargaso explains. The change in subject is much appreciated, and at the conclusion of Sargaso's pitch, Hudson's color has come down and he can look Ansel in the eye in again, which he does, before returning his gaze to his roommate. "Whose boat? Crisien's?"

Ansel sighed with relief. “Apologize for the mix up, Hudson,” he would nod. Though, the winter wolf was telling the truth. Nothing did happen, and he did think she was just nice and her attractiveness came from playing Ansel’s little game. He only met her once, besides she had a metal arm, which to him meant a touchy subject or something, which Ansel was not really into because that meant sharing feelings and Ansel was bad at that – obviously, look what had just happened. Anyway, as Sargaso began to move on, and Hudson did too, the wolf would adjust his attention to the real topic at hand. “Because mermaids… you know… with Lorca?” he felt kind of sick and his face twisted before scratching the back of his neck. He would then brush that off before an amused look was shared, and that faded rather quickly in confusion. “Do you mean… treasure hunting tonight then?”

Sargaso mean mugs through Hudson’s speech entitled ‘F—- That B---, She Don’t Mean Nothing To Me Anyway.” That’s right; bros before hoes. As the men focus on the plan, he nods at Ansel’s question — Yep, treasure hunting — then slowly cocks his head to the side and winces. “Noooo, not Crisien’s. That boat needs more manpower than we got here, aaand. Sooo.” His hands start to lift as he tries to shape words in the air into the best phrasing possible. He hesitates, takes a deep breath, hesitates again, then says “You know how there’s like ‘renting’.” He air quotes. “But then there is also like… borrowing. You know what I mean? So what I want to do. tonight. after dark. Is rent. We’ll have it back before sunrise.”

Hudson drums his fingers along his beer and drinks from it as he considers Sargaso's suggestion that they STEAL a boat. But it would be just for an evening! His eyes briefly meet Ansel's, and, eager to reassert his masculinity after AlvinaGate, Hudson drains the last of his beer in an ill-advised chug or two. Stifling a belch, he then leans forward and sets the emptied bottle on the coffee table crate. "I'm in," he exhales, "Let's do this. For Lorca."

Ansel blinks once or twice, slowly letting the words of Sargaso sink into his head. They were going to steal a boat for the night? Well, that was what he did around Cenril, so why not just one more swing at it? The man paused for a while, staring blankly at Sargaso. Mostly dramatic silence, and then a casual, "Sure," slipped out of his mouth, the beer bottle tipping towards the man. He then paused for a moment again before shaking his head in a reverse. "Wait, wait, wait..." His nose began to crinkle, and his eyebrows narrowed in curiosity. "So I'm guessing you have a lead where to find these valuables then?"

Sargaso drains his second beer and sets it down on the last lip of space on the crowded crate-table. Taking out the trash follows a smell test here, literally. "Sort of. There's a legend about a sunken ship between here and Rynvale. I was hoping you," he looks up from the forest of beer bottles to Ansel, "could teach me how to direct the compass to that myth." Then for Hudson's benefit, he taps his silver compass and says, "Magic."

Hudson's gaze flicks between Ansel and Sargaso before eventually settling on the compass and its pretty ordinary gleam. Not really all that special looking. "Clearly," he replies, dryly. "I think I'm familiar with the area you're describing actually. I went out there with Crisien and Emilia once." He lifts his eyebrows at that, sitting back against the couch. One hand idly pats the forelock of his hair back in place as he recalls the incident. "It was fun until we got attacked by sea critters, and I fell overboard. Woke up on the beach basically in Emilia's arms. Noooooo complaints." He grins, then, off kilter. "Not to make you guys feel like you aren't my choice of dreamy seafaring companions."

Ansel scratches his scruff momentarily, listening to what Sargaso had to say, he would look at the compass in his hand, then back to his face. “I s’pose,” he would pause before looking towards Hudson. “So the magic would find the direct location… or?” He would then listen to Hudson’s tale. “You know, Huds has a point. Sea critters that are mostly worse than mermaids, right? Like… a kraken perhaps? Please tell me you’re more prepared than just that,” he would insist towards the compass. “Otherwise, I’m in,” he shrugged, finishing off the bottle in his hand and setting it with the other empty bottles.

Sargaso's eyes widen in surprise as Hudson recounts a tale of yet more sea beasts and babes. Not that Emilia has any idea who Emilia is. He joined a clan and didn't bother with introductions. Crisien and Ansel were good enough company for him. But Hudson. It's like this guy is a chick AND mer-predator magnet. Wonder if Hudson is a bad luck charm, which would be a real bummer cause he's such a cool bro, you know. But like, Sargaso knows sailors literally born on the sea to cabin wenches and who died in Selene's violent waves who have never seen a single mermaid, and this guy over here, two for two. Though, the alamanac did say there was increased mermaid activity these days. Ansel's unsure appraisal of the compass's abilities pulls down Sargaso's surprised brows into a critical knit. His eyes squint beadily at the mention of krakens. "Wait. What. What do you mean you suppose?" He shakes the compass in the air for emphasis. "You told me this doesn't find north. It finds treasure. That's what you told me. Or were you trying to be a damned poet." He spits the final word distastefully. Poets are lame, man. Don't be a poet.

Hudson is having a pleasant walk down memory lane about the time he spoke the name of water and somehow saved himself from drowning, and then woke up and famous MILF Emilia there, along with his friend Eleanor. He'd really felt top of the world, then, if also a little waterlogged and slightly drunk from the experience. He comes out of this self-absorbed pat on the back when Sargaso and Hudson exchange looks about the compass. Hudson had assumed that the compass was a bit more than it seemed, too, because... seriously? He squints at it, and notices a distinctly normal gleam coming off of it. "If we get desperate, erm, need a little help besides the compass," possibly because it doesn't do anything, "I have a mermaid lady friend, maybe I could ask her for directions," he offers helpfully, realizing only belatedly the possibly party-foul nature of his suggestion. He speaks quickly after that, "Uh. She was at The Party though - but I don't think she was involved in what happened to Lorca! - so... up to you guys... Generally if you bribe her with people stuff she can be pretty forthcoming... She's really nice, for a mermaid... And might know other sea critters..."

Ansel squinted at Sargaso. “Do I look like a poet?” He would then look down at himself. He was offended – very. Then again, Sargaso had a point that he was being a bit of a lame-o. “No, we’re hunting for treasure. I get that. You’re not the one with the damned children,” he then shook his head. “No, no… You’re right. I’m aboard, no matter what. For Cenril’s protection and for the venture,” he nodded. He then looked towards Hudson as he spoke about the mermaid. “Alright, Hudson, if you think you can handle persuading the little mermaid, I trust you.” He would then place hands on his hips, in a manly sort of way, as he looked between the two, yet mostly at Sargaso since he seemed to be the leading man. “When are we setting sail?”

Sargaso blinks at Hudson's mermaid idea. Surely Hudson isn't serious. Then Ansel gets worked up at Sargaso's throwing his hands up like mea culpa, but that act doesn't last long when Ansel's backing the year's dumbest plan, authored by Hudson. "No. No f------- mermaids. Come on, guys." He rubs his face to work the stess out of his cheeks and jaws. This is the problem with enlisting non-sailors. These cats probably don't even know how to tie a bowline. "No mermaids. Alright? Ansel," he look at his clan mate, "How do we make the compass target what we want? The ship I'm talking about is called the Selene's Fortune. How do we make this takes us there?" He taps his compass for emphasis.

Hudson has an idea. "Maybe my mum can babysit them," he says of Ansel's kids. Great idea. Put them in the care of E.L. Landon of 50 Shades of Neigh fame. Well, Hudson had turned out OK. He seems to be having this thought, for he very quickly adds: "She's really nice and good with kids." This is his major contribution to their treasure hunting summit, seeing as how not all are in agreement with him consulting his mermaid buddy. "Maybe we can just keep her in reserve as an in case of emergency break glass and talk to mermaid," he says, pulling in a lungful of air to fall silent. He looks for a third beer. Why not, really, all the best ideas floated to the surface in a sea of alcohol. He offers the other gents the case before serving himself. As presumably the other men explain the compass' magic functions, Huds recalls one of the snags the last expedition he had been on had run up against. "Gents, should we have a game plan for getting the boat out of the water, or are we going to be diving down there?"

Ansel would sense Sargaso’s frustration and a sheepish look would appear on his face. A laugh would escape his lips, he realized how pathetic he was being. He would then snap his direction towards Hudson. “No, err…” He was a little over protective. “I’ve hired someone to watch over them. Besides, they’re safe. I currently reside in the tavern in Frostmaw in a room because of the war. They’ll be fine,” he nodded. He then walks over to Sargaso to look at the compass. “Well, if it has degrees on it. You can set it to the direction you want to go, and it should keep you steady, right?” He was squinting, reaching out a few digits to touch the compass, if Sargaso would let him.

Sargaso's eyes level evenly. He is not impressed with this magical compass. He was sold penny-slicing knives, and can barely work his way through a tomato. "Right." Well. Sargaso doesn't know exactly where the Selene's Fortune is, but he can try to triangulate a position from legends, maps, the fighermen's almanac, etc. He disappears into his "room" (he walks behind a curtain) then reappears with a map which he spreads on the beer pong table. "My best estimation, here." His dirty nail taps a point between Cenril in Rynvale, where the ocean is deepest. As for Hudson's practical question about diving, he says matter-of-factly, "We need to borrow a submersible too, and some selkie lard from the witch doctor. He goes to bed at 9. Getting old. Hard of hearing. Stuff it in your nose and mouth real good, and you can breathe under water for a bit. Until the water rinses the lard out. However long that is." He shrugs. Sargaso nervous? Why would he be. HAHAHAHE'SNOTAWOMANORANYTHING.

Hudson is apparently drinking All The Beers, and goes about doing that, nodding in response to Ansel's rejection of E.L. Landon's caretaking skills. It's better that he doesn't have to explain that he's going on some sort of treasure hunt with his bros. No big. He feels not a little tipsy and overconfident in their plan here, which is now being unfolded in the form of a crinkled map not a few years old on the crate that composes their coffee-beer-pong table. Selkie lard. Hudson makes a strangled sound as he swallows his beer, and he feels a faint burning sensation in his nostrils. Fffffffffffff. Not appetizing. And yet his alchemy skills probably aren't good enough to bail them out, so... "Right," exhales Hudson, exchanging looks with the other men. "Selkie lard. I'll take that assignment, I happen to be in the business of procuring reagents from time to time." He wonders if they make flavored selkie lard... surely bubble gum or even grape would be an improvement on the natural flavor.

Ansel waits patiently as Sargaso grabs the map to estimate a place where the treasure might be. So, Ansel might have been too poetic. He did not know how the magical compass worked. Pfft, he could barely figure out his own magic. That was something that was in practice currently. He stares at the location and he looks towards the compass. "So that would mean we need to set an estimate with the compass this way," he would lazily gaze at the man. If only he could bend metal, that would be easier. "Unfortunately, I do this the old fashion way, which hopefully won't take too much longer," he scratched the back of his neck. The talking about lard made his face twist, how long would the man be able to stay under water? How deep? The treasure was in the deepest part of the sea. However, Ansel would not say anything, he supposed that this was at Sargaso's own risk and would not want to be called a WOOSE for being too cautious. Ansel was not a sea guy, he was a snow guy and a tag along.

Sargaso points at Hudson excitedly as he reminds them that he is an alchemist. That's right! The fact had completely escaped his mind, in part cause he's never seen it in action. Like a good strategist, he incorporates this new skill into his plan, but like a bad planner he doesn't take stock of the skill's actual proficiency. "That's right. You could probably find a way to make the lard last longer. Sorted." Indeed. Sargaso blinks at Ansel as he fails to set the compass to coordinates mechnically. So it's not a magical compass, or a magnetic compass, or even a mechanic compass. It's... a toy? It was free. Still man. What a bummer. But he takes a deep breath and regroups. "Alright, so Hudson will make the lard work longer, and get enough for the voyage. Ansel and I will go borrow the submersible from the scavengers on the docks." Sargaso has no education in physics or hydraulics. The actual specs they need, and pounds per pressure, and pressurization method, all of that, they can just wing it, right? Right. He grabs one more beer for the road. Sorry in advance if this is their last voyage ever.

Hudson, apart from a sharp inhalation through his teeth, otherwise keeps poker faced as he is drafted for the purpose of somehow making the selkie lard more effective. That's going to be all the lols to test. All the same, the disappointing truth about his alchemy proficiency need not be mentioned now. Better to punt on that revelation. "I'm on it," he agrees, drinking from his beer before he gets second thoughts. Seems they're all engaged in the Ponzi scheme theory of truth-telling. Fib now, hope it works out later! "Right, so we probably need an hour or so to get all the stuff ready," he muses, his gaze sliding to mark the position of the sun. "Where are we meeting?"

Ansel did not even know what the compass was. He was a wolf, he preferred sniffing than thinking. Was that strange. The only downfall was that Sargaso made him seem amazing, and the truth was he was just plain Ansel. Plain Ansel who was more of a healer and a tag along than a treasure hunter. When Crisien recruited him, well, he was a noob, and all he wanted was coin - selfish drunk a-hole. Though, he was sober now, thinking clearly, showing all of his weaknesses. No more cockiness. "Alright," he would nod towards Sargaso. He did better under order. A helping hand. He would then avoid answering Hudson's final question, knowing that he was not the leader of this journey, moving to grab another last beer as well idly.

Sargaso nods to Hudson. "Yeah. Hour sounds about right, after sun down." Which is soon. In the meantime, another round of beers. The have about 20 minutes to kill, and seeing as how Hudson isn't completely turned off to mermaids yet, Sargaso fills some of that time telling anecdote after anecdote of men he knew who died at sea. In each anecdote, no one actually saw a mermaid, but the signs were all there. Sure as rain, mermaid every time. Although he is telling the stories to both men, most of his focus is on Hudson, hoping to see The Fear strike a chord. He doesn't monopolize all the time however. As the men talk, he grabs three potato sacks he took from the pub today, and starts to cut holes in them. He doesn't explain himself, and if asked, shrugs slowly. "Just a precaution." When the time comes, he waits a cool and calculated 10 minutes, not wanting to seem too eager, you know, then announces, "Alright, lads. Time." He hands out the sacks and pull his over his head. The holes are cut over his eyes and nose. Perfect for burglarizing/borrowing. He takes it off, stuffs it in his pant's waistband, and leads the trip to the docks. There he points out the boat they will 'borrow' (with borrow masks!) in an hour. They'll meet right here. Then he and Ansel head south on the boardwalk towards the scavenging crew's turf, ready to borrow themselves a submersible. He wishes Hudson luck.

Hudson has the certain sense that Sargaso's trying to put the fear of god into him. He listens patiently, swilling beer and commenting appropriately with grunts and other indications of understanding. At the conclusion of the last of these tales, he draws a protracted exhale through his teeth, his gaze flicking between his roommate and Ansel, building suspense. "Dude, I know you're trying to convince me mermaids are evil, and maybe most of them are," he says, pausing here with the rehearsedness of a public speaker...or somebody who's been formulating a rebuttal for a few minutes now. He then explains in rather oblique terms that his mermaid friend, Fairfax, and he may have kissed - don't even go there, he's not even sure how one would - one time when he was a little drunk, and that under no circumstances is this information to ever leave the so-called vault of secrecy between the three of them. Yea, he felt like a bamf, though at the time he worried he might have a heart attack. Yea, this was pre-Alvina days. Not that Alvina didn't have her own secret life, he adds, looking at Ansel. In any event, whether this revelation convinces the men to trust at least ONE mermaid or not, presumably they get over it and go about packing it off to the docks. Yeah, totally going to make Hudson's towering and athletic physique unrecognizable.

Ansel chugs down another beer as Sargaso starts to tell stories of mermaids to both of the men, but mostly Hudson. The man was eager to grab another one for the road, but he denies knowing that that would be the worst idea if he was not thinking straight. He then watched as Sargaso slit into the potato sacks. Masks for 'borrowing' a boat, Ansel would stare at the lead man blankly as he passed around these sacks to each of them. He would stare at the opening to the sack for a moment or two before testing the sack out over his head. Adjusting his nose and his eyes to the right holes. He then slips this off over his messy hair and just holds this in one hand for now. Precaution, he understood now and he would now nod to Hudson before moving off with Sargaso, lagging a little behind him. He was quiet, as usual, keeping the look out, making sure no patrons were out and about and curious of the two men. Even though they had... potato sacks. Like what?