RP:Flotsam and Jetsam

Characters

• Eleanor
• Emilia
• Hudson
• Tylania

A Private Beach Just Outside Rynvale

Emilia had quite the horrific previous day having not only been drug out to sea on a giant ship, but actually taken down to the ocean floor in order to raise a sunken ghost ship by coating it in layers of ice until it floated to the surface. For some that might be a wonderful time, but the Genasi was on extreme fear of the ocean making it the worst adventure ever. Rescued by the same friend that drug her out to sea the farmer was now here sitting on the beach in a simple black bikini with long white curls braided into a long braid that fell to the ground. Hair aside the scars that covered the back of the woman from lash marks to burns to blade markings were visible, no un-scarred flesh was present there. The female was white as snow with hair that matched making her stand out rather well where she was seated with her knees to her chest and chin on her knees, arms hugging those legs in place. The Genasi was a good distance from the water sitting in a rather awkward place that was far from the campfire too.

Tylania had flown all the way from Kelay, her wings were exhausted. Surveying her surroundings to see if she had finally lost her pursuers, she had. So slowly and painfully she landed on a near deserted lot of beach. her wings ached horribly and all she wanted to do was dive in to the ocean and let it take her body away forever, she didn't know how much longer she could take this. Soon she noticed a few people about, hope to strike a conversation she began to intertwine with the few people here.

Eleanor wandered along the beach, idly tossing her runed, steel chakram in front of her, and listening with a quiet satisfaction as it hissed through the air before returning to her gloved hands. Although the weather seemed to be clear this side of the sea between Cenril and Rynvale, the woman occasionally looked south and west with her stoic celadon gaze; in the distance, she could see the thunderheads that marked the storm that lurked over the fabled Selene’s Fortune, of which she had heard many tales lately. As she rounded a dune, she came upon the small campsite where Emilia had taken up a seat and watched as Tylania alit nearby, both of them earning a nod from the spellblade as she secured her weapon to the belt at her hip. “Awrite thaur,” the woman drawled with a thick foreign accent as she sized up the two females. Resting her hands on her hips, she remained standing, and added, “Ah dornt suppose ye ken whit is gonnae oan wi' 'at ship? Ah heard thaur was quite a shaw yesterday nicht.”

Emilia compared to the other two females that had arrived at the beach was frail looking without normal attire on, skin and bones. To that her lips were as bright blue as her eyes were. The small female glanced from Tylania as she landed on the beach. The newcomer was watched in silence for a time before another came about. Eleanor was regarded with the same curious look for a time. The Genasi listened as the other spoke first, questioning about the ghost ship out at sea. “Yea, that ship was rather an eventful eve’ last night.” Seems the little woman white as snow and just as cold if anyone touched her knew about what Eleanor probed for answers about.

Tylania simply looked at them both with a curious glance. she knew nothing about the boat at sea, she almost couldn't even understand the woman. "I-i uhh....I wouldn't k-know...." Her nervous nature getting the best of her as she slowly walked towards the two women. her legs felt odd and stiff, and she had to rustle her wings and shift her weight a few times to keep from falling over. She was never flying that long at once again...no matter who was after her. she glanced wearily over her shoulder. "Have you all seen any other avian flying around this area?" she asked cautiously.

Eleanor found Emilia's appearance strange, as if she belonged in some wintry wonderland; but then again, she had never encountered an avian before either, and thus she kept herself still a few meters away, just within a comfortable speaking distance without being too cozy. To Tylania she spoke first; "Ye ur th' first a body Ah hae seen." Afterward, her celadon gaze found Emilia once more, and addressed her. "Dae ye ken whit th' ootcome ay th' claeem was? Ah woods hae gain, but Ah was ... thrang."

Emilia had some trouble in understanding the one woman who spoke with such a thick accent, but she’d picked up what she thought was the just of it. Turning her eyes to the avian she shook her head slowly, “No, just you, Miss.” The Genasi said in all honesty to her words. Then her gaze turned toward the spell-blade woman, “The outcome? The ship was raised from the ocean only frozen over like an ice-cube in a giant glass of water. Last I saw it was still thawing out.” At this time the Genasi rose from the ground, but she wasn’t very fall standing and almost seemed thinner too.

Tylania sent the thickly accented woman another strange look, she honestly couldn't understand her.... "okay..." the sand had suddenly become very interesting as she lowered her head to study it. She couldn't really meet either woman in the eye, her presence alone threatened them. But she was curious she didn't get to meet many people and she wanted to make new friends. She adjusted her achy wings on her back trying to find a comfortable position for them. Giving up, she looked back up at the women, a smile plastered on her face. "Anyone like swimming?" Her mind traveled again to the thought of just drifting away on the ocean current.

Eleanor arced her blonde brows in surprise at Emilia's response, and chortled as she lifted a telescope from her belt. "Frizzen, ye say? Sae thaur is a giant ice cube it thaur in th' brine? Och, if Ah only hud a boat, Ah woods loove tae see whit she has." She lifted to telescope to her left eye, but to her disappointment, the storm offshore was far too wild to see through. With a wry smirk, she lowered the 'scope once more, returning it to its holster before scratching at one of the braids on the left side of her head. "Probably naethin' worth plunderin' oan it noo. Whit happens if it melts again?"

Tylania panicky rises in her eyes as she sees avians flying towards the Beach, "I-i must take my leave" almost screeching at the women in front of her, she unfurls her wide wings and with a powerful gust she jumps into the air, leaving the two women to themselves.

Emilia turned to look at the avian first, “I can’t swim. Frankly, I’m scared of water.” There was however a smile flashed her way. Looking then to Eleanor, “It is held up by buoys in the water so if it thaws it will remain afloat in the water.” The female glanced at the woman then the other woman before her arms fell over her chest, she was holding herself lightly. “Miss, Winged woman you look like you could use a seat, perhaps some water and food? How far did you fly? Guess not. Be safe..." toward the avian that flew off.

Eleanor eyed Emilia with some cynicism as she spoke to the avian, but as she latter made such an abrupt leave, she took the opportunity to ask, "Hoo oan earth can ye be afraid ay th' water, an' yit be sittin' sae close oan thes beach?" The spellblade shook her head in disbelief, before going on to add wryly, "Ah suppose it is better tae be closer tae yer fear, than tae lit it sneak up behin' ye in th' nicht."

Emilia said to Eleanor, "How can one not be afraid of the water?"

Eleanor said to Emilia, "Th' water itself isnae radge, lassie. It is th' monsters in it ye hae tae be afraid ay, but e'en 'en, it is mair likely they ur afraid ay ye than th' other way aroond."

Emilia said to Eleanor, "I'm not afraid of the monsters that live within the sea....just the water that makes it what it is."

Eleanor shook her head, chuckling as she eyed Emilia. "Whit is thaur tae be afraid ay water? It is th' world's life, it runs ben uir bodies whether we want it tae ur nae, it sustains uir sool." Dropping her celadon-hued eyes away from Emilia's face, she gave the paler woman a thorough once-over, venturing another couple of steps closer to her. Although not much taller she figured, El's stance was definitely heartier than Emilia's, as strong sinewy muscles hid beneath the layers of her padded leather armor. As she moved closer to her, she touched two fingers of her right hand to her left arm, pressing them into a dark blue symbol that seemed to be tattooed there -- and as she did so, she pulled a flask of water from her arm, as though it had been hiding beneath her skin. "Water gi'es us life, it heals us, cleanses awa' th' dirt ay uir li'es. Thaur is sae much mair tae be afraid ay than water." With that, the runed spellblade handed the flask toward the paler woman. "It is uir most precioos resoorce."

Emilia was digging her pale blue nails into her white flesh causing little specks of red to start forming beneath the nails where the flesh was breaking. The little woman didn’t seem to move anywhere as the other woman moved closer to her. “The water is a very dangerous thing when it is so deep. A glass of water is nothing to be feared, but it is the ocean is depthless. One can drown ever so easily in the ocean.” The woman nodded slowly. As the flask was handed to her after it had easily pulled free of her arm the Genasi slowly reached out to accept it. The moment the farmer touched it the flask would frost over with a thin layer of ice, accidental. “Sorry.” The farmer said, nearly dropping the item that was not her own when she turned it to a frosted flask.

Eleanor arced her brows again, this time at the woman's penchant for icing things; it occurred to her that perhaps the frost that surrounded the Fortune had been supplied by the woman who now stood before her. " 'at is a braw gift ye hae thaur," El replied, leaning forward to quickly prevent the woman from dropping the flask in her shock. "Dinnae fash yerse abit it, braw water is still guid water."

Hudson miraculously has not died, though he is not so sure how he has spent the last 24 hours. All he knows is the name of the water, and then just the water, and the wetness and resistance of it, the way it hammers around in his lungs and pulls down his clothes as he struggles against it. In a rather dramatic entrance (apologies), he washes up on the shore, or close to it, shallow enough to get a foothold, and from there it's a quick stumble onto the beach. He faceplants rather abruptly onto the sand, getting it in his hair, breathing it in his mouth. His fist pounds the ground, as if verifying that it were real, and he turns his face, and coughs. And coughs and coughs.

Emilia lost her focus on the woman the moment a person came crashing to sea. "Mr. Buzzed Foamstache?! Is that you?" The little woman clad in just a bikini exclaimed watching the man faceplant into the sand. It was not long before she was next to him reaching out to poke him with a deadly cold touch.

Eleanor spun around on her right heel, facing the shore once more and quickly plodding through the sand to approach the suddenly-beached man, a hand hovering over her runed chakram lest he prove to be a threat. As Emilia – whose name she still had not acquired – called out what El could only assume was a nom de guerre, she lowered her hand away from the chakram and moved to help. Muttering something under her breath about dangerous waters indeed, she sent a sidelong glance toward the paler woman and held back a pace, close enough to assist, but far enough that both Hudson and Emilia would have to move to reach her. “Ye ken thes cheil?” she asked the latter, her left brow arced in question as her right hand gestured loosely toward him. The spellblade could tell without much effort that the man had escaped the bowels of the ocean through no small feat judging by all the briny waters he coughed up, and a frown settled deep into her full lips. “Ur ye alrecht, sairrr?” El directed to Hudson as she squatted down a few feet away, boots sinking heavily into the wet sand.

Hudson in keeping with the near-constant refrain that is his life, would like a beer. It's not really the moment, though. He is hardly threatening, also. His body curls into itself as he's beset with more coughing. Emilia's touch causes him to twitch, like a cattle prod urging him onto his side. He pushes himself up somewhat with his arms and blearily stares at Emilia and the woman who's squatted behind her. "Emilia?" pants Huds, his jaw hanging loose as he gapes at her and Eleanor. The words come out in a fumbled rush, "There are three of you, and another woman behind... am I dead? Is this what happens?"

Emilia reached out with a hand to place it on the forehead of the man. Of course, her hand was cold as ice and left frost on his face from the touch, but he was warm to her. "You are not dead. there is one of me and one of...her." The Genasi said, "We should get you to a room for the night." A glance then back to the other woman, "See? And you wonder why I fear the water."

Eleanor staggered forward toward Hudson, and snatched her half-frozen flask from Emilia, proffering it to Hudson who clearly needed it more. “Th' water clearly did nae kill heem, thocht.” she pointed out with a smirk. “He needs a room, och aye, but probably somewhaur someain can keep an yak oan heem an' make sure he wasnae turned intae a brine monster.” Straightening somewhat, the woman leaned over Hudson and reached out her left hand for him to take. “Can ye donner?” she asked him, looking pointedly at his legs to make sure they were not broken, or secretly fins beneath his no-doubt sea-tattered pants (her writer is of course assuming he is wearing pants). Lifting her celadon-hued gaze from Hudson to Emilia, she went on to inquire in that thick burr of hers, “Is thaur a medic somewhaur close by? Ur a healer?” Although she, herself, knew many spells and runes to heal and mend, she certainly did not know this Mr. Buzzed Foamstache fellow or how he would be affected by any of them, and would only use them as a last resort.

Hudson | It takes him a second to react to Emilia's cold touch, but Hudson does, shrinking back from her with a near-feral level of confusion reflected in his gaze. "You're cold," he tells her, as if this were a surprise. He finds himself reaching for the flask as it's tendered to him, and he drinks from it, feeling its contents warm him. "Has somebody told my mum where I am?" Because he is a grown man who lives with his mother. A beat while he drinks further from the flask and processes Eleanor's concerns. "I'm not a brine monster," he insists at her, stubbornly trying to rise. He can get up. It is miraculous; Huds himself is surprised. The blood rushes to his head, and a memory assails him with the force of a tidal wave. He nearly faints from it, but instead he grips on Eleanor's hand, his knuckles turning white. "I sang the name of the water," he whispers, to himself more than anyone else. He grins boyishly at both women, as if they should understand the significance of this event for somebody who's never aspired to or reached a level of more than mediocrity. His excitement inspires a fit of coughing, and he holds out his free hand to ward them away. "I'm fine," he manages to choke out. "It's a beautiful day. Let's see about that inn."

Emilia glanced down to her hands after Huds had pointed out she was cold. The look that crosses her face was one mixed with pain, hurt, and sorrow. "I'm very sorry." The Genasi was upset by his words, that was clear as the expression of her face. Thin and frail as she looked her emotions this night followed suit. Turning her back to them it offered Huds a sight of her scared back--lash marks, burns, and blade markings all long healed--where no smooth flesh remained. "I must go. I'm very sorry. I won't touch you again..." Still staring at her hands like they were deadly she started to walk off toward the west with hurried steps.

Eleanor gripped Hudson’s hand firmly as she watched him rise unsteadily to his feet, and it was only once she was certain he could stand on his own that she released him. Straightening completely to her full five-foot-five stature, the spellblade rested her hands on her hips and gave the bedraggled man a once-over. “Dae ye aye swatch as thocht a whale has spit ye it, ur is thes a new appearance fur ye?” she drawled with amusement as she took a step back to give him some space. It was then that Emilia seemed to recoil, earning her a celadon-hued scrutiny as the petite stranger suddenly scurried off, clearly upset by Hudson’s reaction. El did not know the woman well enough to defend her either way, but a certain steeliness entered her otherwise warm gaze as it leveled on Hudson once more. “If ye ken whaur thes inn is, sairrr, 'en Ah will gang wi' ye thaur. Ah coods use a pint ay ale efter th' strange jobby Ah hae seen the-day.”

Hudson is a bit wobbly on his own two feet, but he manages to best his coughing. "I am only less unkempt than usual," he manages to Eleanor, though Huds' joke falls flat, as he realizes that Emilia has started to retreat. He stares bleary-eyed after her as she grows blurrier and blurrier, on one hand buoyed by the knowledge that he's alive and apparently sang the name of water to make it so, on the other burdened with the realization that he's offended her. "Emilia!" he calls out belatedly, though it's more a croak than an actual shout. He looks at Eleanor with sort of exhausted defeat. "Crud," he breathes. He is literally too tired to chase after her. "Let's head there. Maybe I'll catch her and apologize." With a wince, the seafaring alchemist begins to animate himself. Moving one leg - which he does now - is a Herculean task, but he does so, in the direction that town seems to be.

Eleanor kept her celadon-hued gaze evenly on the stranger, a ghost of a smirk lurking in the left corner of her mouth following his initial reply; despite what the man had apparently been to, at least he had some semblance of a sense of humor to rely on. When he called after the retreating Genasi, El arced a brow, taking note of the woman’s name before turning to look up at Hudson with a nod dipping her chin downward. “Ah reckon efter a turn in th' brine, ye coods use a scran. Leid th' way,” she remarked, taking a step away from the shore but remaining near enough to Huds that he could reach out to her for support if he needed to. Although barely reaching 5’5”, the spellblade could easily endure his weight on the trip if need be, being mostly muscle and curves beneath her durable armor. “An' while we ur makin' uir way tae th' inn, ye can teel me whit possesses a cheil tae want tae tak' a sweem in sic' radge waters. Yer mukker thaur seemed quite against gonnae onie closer tae th' ocean; thaur ur tay mony stories abit th' brine lately, an' by th' looks ay it, those stories main an aw be truth.”

Hudson has humor if nothing else. He finds it pretty rich that after his literal years of toiling and trying to say the name of the water, he falls into the ocean - in his mind left for dead at the hands of those oceanic man-eating horses that were roaming about - and somehow manages to sing it with success. For the first time ever. Convenient, really. That's how it always works, though. After all this self-deprecating line of thought, the bard-alchemist offers Eleanor an enigmatic grin and begins to limp toward town. He drinks intermittently from her flask (which he's not forgotten that he's still in possession of). At first he doesn't speak; so much of his energies are focused on walking, and also drinking, -and- also having a private celebratory jig in his mind's eye. But then Eleanor breaks the silence. He grunts, grateful for it, and slows his stride as he attempts a reply. "Honestly I just ran into Emilia and she was going on a ship, so I went along without knowing what the game plan was. Rather spur of the moment." His gaze slices toward Eleanor, a touch of cavalier roguishness gleaming there. "Turns out we were unearthing a buried treasure, but... our ship didn't quite make it. I'm lucky to be alive. That's the executive summary. I can vouch for all the dangerous creatures in the sea, though." He cants his head out of respect. "You're right to be cautious."

Eleanor was neither in a rush to get that pint of ale, nor was she of a mind to pressure Hudson to divulge the details of his swim with death in any timely fashion. So, she strolled beside him in comfortable silence, interrupted only when at last he decided to tell her his tale, for which she was grateful, even if she did not say as such in so many words. El admired Hudson for his bravery in jumping into the fray, and while she understood it was also damned foolish, she could respect a man who was unafraid to take risks -- even if those risks ended with him nearly drowning. Of course, the spellblade had no intention of vocalizing her admiration lest the bard gain some sort of an ego, parting only with a smirk on her full lips. “It soonds tae me loch th' whole lot ay ye waur radge; ye coods hae died,” she chastised, but her words lacked the sort of admonishing tone a mother might impart upon her children. If anything, her celadon-hued gaze gave away her amusement over the whole situation, and her smirk grew a subtle few degrees. “Did ye at leest manage tae gie some ay thes famed treasure afair Davy Jones tried tae claeem ye fur his ain?” Beat. “Ah dornt suppose yoo're hidin' a ship's worth ay treasure in those waterlogged keks ay yoors.” At his lattermost remarks, she scoffed, shaking her head and causing her many blonde braids to shift around her shoulders. “Aam nae afraid ay th' brine creatures. Ah respect theirs sae lang as they respect mine.” As if to let Hudson in on a secret though, her grin turned conspiratorial as she tapped two fingers on a bit of exposed right shoulder between parts of her armor, where an inky black ward was tattooed. “Althoogh it diz help tae hae a bit ay magic oan yer side.”

Hudson cants his head in a bashful acknowledgment of Eleanor's better judgment. "I didn't know what I was getting into, but even if I had, I might have gone for it," he admits, latent amusement now roiling in his gaze, mirroring hers. Her question finally stirs a smile in the alchemist, and he casts his gaze down at his shoes, which are spoiled almost certainly. "The experience was invaluable," he tells her, and his words sound in earnestness, though he doesn't expand on why. He remembers the haunting melody that had filled the air, the way the ship had lurched aggressively, as if tossed by the gods themselves, and finds himself replaying the treasure hunt as best he can in his mind's eye. The memory is fogged, deeply flawed, plainly addled by his miraculous escape. Eleanor breaks up this moment of quiet contemplation by noting her own personal pride: a magical tattoo of sorts on her body. His gaze darts there before withdrawing out of propriety, lifting to her face a beat later. "Ain't that the truth," he jests, his expression splitting in a boyish grin. "I'm not always so lucky. In fact 99 times out of 100, I'm not lucky. What's your story...?" the statement peters out for the natural insertion of her name.

Eleanor continued trudging slowly up through the dunes of the shore, the duo closing in on Rynvale at a remarkable pace given Hudson’s recent run-in with death. Letting her shirt cover up the tattoo once more, her arms returned to her sides, one hand idly playing with the small runed attachment that held her chakrams to her hip as she kept a level celadon-hued gaze on her conversational companion. “Och, sure, every experience ye gang ben in life is meant tae teach ye somethin', jist hae tae make sure ye ur learnin' th' correct somethin',” she remarked with a knowing gleam in her eye. “Ah kin all-too-weel th' allure ay adventure, sairrr, but Ah also ken jist hoo vicioos she can be.” She jerked her head toward him pointedly, a wry smirk tugging at her lips and settling there comfortably. “But luck has naethin' fur tae div wi' it; ye can teel yerself yoo're unlucky, ur lucky, but Ah believe th' gods aw hae a plan fur us, each an' every a body. Mah tattoo, fur example, isnae meant tae protect me completely frae th' wrath ay th' brine, but insteid it is thaur tae remin' me 'at Ah am, in fact, only human. Th' gods-mark is loch a lifeboat, but e'en sic' divine help comes wi' a price.” El paused, and for a brief moment, her gaze went dark with the hint of resentment. “An' ... e'en if Ah am willin' tae risk payin' sic' a toll, thaur is nae guarantee 'at mah life will be saved accordin' tae their will.” It was then that she realized Hudson was trying to pry a name from her, and the darkness that had just moments before entered her gaze seemed to fade, allowing the warmth to return to her celadon twins. “Eleanur, if it pleases ye sairrr. Eleanur Graem.” Again, the woman paused, this time stopping her steps too in order to face the man and jutted out a hand for him to take. “An' ye main be Mr. Buzzed Foamstache,” she concluded with a chuckle and a twinkle in her eye.

Hudson is indeed recovering a second wind of sorts. The soreness of his body is buoyed by something greater - personal pride. The feeling quickly spreads to his entire body, not exactly making him more mobile, but making him less concerned with the dull ache of movement. He responds to Eleanor's jest with a chuckle, meeting her gaze at the punchline of the joke. How quickly the conversation edges into serious territory. He doesn't exactly grow somber, but he grows pensive as he hears her out. His gaze flickers her way now and then, marking the shift in her facial expressions as she talks and they darken under the cloud of something... held back. He's speechless, and he doesn't renew his request for her name, feeling that politeness has drawn them away from there, but luckily for him she seems to remember it on her own. "Eleanor," repeats Huds, bobbing his head as his steps likewise still. He extends a hand to take hers, giving it a warm shake. "Nice to meet you." Emilia's personal moniker earns her a cheeky smirk of sorts. "I might have gotten that name at the pub. Hudson Landon, or Huds, if you prefer something a little closer to the reality. It's a pleasure," he pauses as his smirk widens into a grin, "both to be alive and to meet you, really."

Eleanor returned the handshake just as warmly, before releasing Hudson in favor of resting her hands on her hips. “It did soond huir uv a much loch a nicknam,” the spellblade replied, her celadon gaze even on the man. “Th' pleasure is aw mine, Mr. Landon -- Huds, if it pleases ye.” Pivoting on her heel, she dropped her hands back to her sides, signaling that she would like to continue on their journey as she began to move forward again. Keeping her attention on Hudson, she went on to ask, “Correct me if Ah am wrang, but Ah assume ye dinnae spend aw ay yer time in th' pub.” Beat. “Sae whit is it ye dae fur a livin' when ye arenae partakin' in spontaneoos adventures?”

Hudson cants his head in response to Eleanor, as if tipping an imaginary hat, and he withdraws his hand and slides both into his pockets. "Huds please," he is quick to steer her away from formalities. His leg extends, following her lead, and he forces himself back into motion. Easy does it. Her question sparks a self-deprecating smile that lingers as he struggles to contain it. "I may as well spend all my time at the pub," he says, tempering a chuckle from rising, "I ah, am an alchemist, or an aspiring alchemist, or I don't really know how you describe yourself if you try very hard at something but just aren't very good." His hand comes up to rub at the scruff along his cheek as he tries to explain his somewhat useless profession in a world where there are just...wizards, who are actually useful. "It's a profession where the end goal is you sing or speak the name of elements to make them do your bidding. I'm excellent at singing. Love to sing. Over beers, generally. So, partly there. And you? What do you do?"

Eleanor allowed an easy smile to remain on her lips, and nodded in acceptance of the man’s request to go by the shortened version of his name rather than anything stuffy and long-winded. Amused by his profession, and charmed by his description of his efforts, she let out a soft chuckle before saying, “An alchemist? Elements? Wa nae jist try tae turn some water intae ale, 'en ye woods nae hae tae spend aw yer bunsens at th' pub.” To her, it seemed the logical route to go, especially if he was intent on succeeding. As they wandered ever nearer the city of Rynvale, the spellblade idly ran her fingers along the hook that held up her chakrams, while the other hand’s thumb was looped into the belt the settled low around her hips. After a moment, El added, “If ye loch tae sin' sae much, wa nae become a bard? Whit gart ye want tae become an alchemist?” She purposefully did not respond to his inquiry about her own career, or as it currently stood, lack thereof, but that did not mean she never intended to tell him, there was just nothing to tell. The spellblade had run away from the profession she had been born into, and she scarcely knew Hudson well enough to travel along the path of that dark and twisted story -- at least, not without a few pints of ale in her first. In the further attempt to distract Hudson from her own life, the woman suggested with a grin, “When we gie tae th' inn, first roon is oan me if ye tryst tae shaw me whit thes alchemy business is aw abit.”

Hudson extends an index finger in Eleanor's direction, indicating that she's right on. "That one I can do, er, well the beer isn't very good - for some reason I can't make it alcoholic - but I can make passable wine, and so yeah, do a lot of catering jobs, oddly enough," he answers, swinging his gaze back to study her as she's fallen silent to presumably briefly contemplate her response. It turns out she's not ready to answer just yet, but would rather press him on why he doesn't stick with what he's good at. "To me singing is just something I do when I'm drunk with my mates." He grunts as he barely avoids stubbing his toe on something, and the sudden shift causes a little discomfort. After the pain fades out of his expression, he flicks his gaze her way, "You ever feel like you want to do something more than just what's easy? Anyway, that's really kind of you. I uh, I hope you're not about to be sorely unimpressed."

Eleanor kept her gaze trained on Hudson between looking ahead of them and surreptitiously behind, ever aware of their surroundings as the dunes gave way to rocks and scattered grasses. His question caught her a bit off-guard, and it showed in the briefest flicker of both uncertainty and longing; El had never been given the chance to figure out what she wanted to do, and had been thrust into a vocation she scarcely enjoyed from the moment she could walk, but when she was younger, she had often found herself dreaming of what a different life would be like. It was this memory which earned Hudson a wistful smile before she diverted her celadon eyes away to focus on the approaching road ahead of them. Unbeknownst to her, the turquoise gem in the iron diadem that graced her brow seemed to glimmer for a split second, but it could have just been a reflection of light from nearby. “Weel, sure Ah have; fa hasnae?” she murmured. After a moment, the woman had managed to wipe away any remainder of her personal desires evident on her features, and sent the man a wry smirk. “Weel, if ye fail tae impress me, 'en th' next roon is oan ye - withit yer alchemy, ay coorse. Ah willnae be skitin' watered doon bucky tonecht.”

Hudson has split his attention between Eleanor and the road they're traveling on. It wouldn't do to survive a shipwreck only to be run over by an ox-drawn cart, or something. He catches the brief expression of wistfulness that skates over Eleanor's expression, and the strange glow that seems to pulsate in her jeweled headband. He says nothing, but lets her fill the silence that creeps up around them, like a room slowly filling with water. There's something unhappy lurking in her corner of the room, that's for sure, and they aren't well acquainted enough for Huds to pull on the thread and unravel the mystery. She is quick to brush whatever it is aside, and Huds, easygoing himself, tosses her a grin. "No pressure or anything," he comments, putting on a wince to punctuate the joke. "I'm glad at least we've moved past you thinking I'm a secret sea monster. Those were dark times."

Eleanor parted with a chuckle, amusement dancing in her celadon-hued gaze as she edged it toward the alchemist. “Och, Ah huvnae given up thinkin' ye ur a brine monster. But Ah ne'er said it woods hae bin th' warst ootcome in th' warld.” With a shrug, she turned her eyes away, lips curled into a sly smirk. “But, judgin' by th' swatch ay ye, th' brine woods nae hae wanted ye anyway.” El’s left hand remained near her chakram as the right lifted to scratch at her neck, a wariness settling familiarly into her bones as the traffic of the road slowly grew the closer to Rynvale they became. Sending Huds another sidelong glance, she said to him, “Sae, whaur is thes inn we ur gonnae?”

Hudson tempers a chuckle and glances Eleanor's way as she turns the joke right back on him. "Brine monster makes it sound almost erudite. The Brine Monster. Learned creature of waves and ancient ... scrolls that somehow exist in water without being destroyed." He rubs at his incipient stubble and dislodges some sand that's apparently dried there; he wonders how long it's been that way. "Broken Barrel, I think the name is?" he answers her query, his gaze dancing along their trajectory to peer ahead. "Near the town center. I think we're right by it. You don't mind? You don't have to baby me, really," a pause, while he grins in a manner that he hopes is winsomely, "although I won't complain."

Eleanor laughed aloud at Huds’ humor, scratching more at her neck and rearranging the fishtail braids that ran along the right side of her temple and hairline before hooking her thumb through her belt once more. “Ah, learned creature, och aye, 'at is whit ye ur,” she teased in her thick burr. When he went on to discuss the inn and the plans she had therein, she playfully narrowed her gaze on him, before rolling said eyes. “Och, Ah wulnae be babyin' ye, yoo're a grown-ass cheil. Ah will however hae a bevvy wi' ye an' watch ye try tae impress me wi' yer wild alchemy ways.” She chuckled to herself, before her expression turned a subtle shade of red. “Ah hae tae confess, Ah am new tae these lands, an' Ah huvnae yit foond a fittin' place tae rest mah heed. Ah am glad tae hae come athwart ye an' yer mukker, an' took it upon myself tae 'guide' ye tae th' inn when in fact Ah needed tae fin' it myself.” Feeling guilty about her admission, she earnestly added, “Althoogh ... yer company is sae far mair than welcome.”

Hudson looks a touch sheepish as Eleanor gently responds to his teasing by clarifying that she won't be waiting on him hand and foot - however pleasant a stranger-slash-brine-creature he may be. It was worth a shot. Her admission makes it his turn to laugh aloud, however, and he only now remembers that he's basically purloined her flask. He drinks from it, topping off the moment, and passes it back to her. "Lucky for you, you've found a savvy brine monster to lead you about town, even if he is a bit hobbled," jokes Huds, indicating the outline of the inn just beyond the square they've entered. "Come on then, let me make you my brine monster specialty. Mediocre wine." He holds his amusement in his gaze as he limps forward to their destination. "What's a brine monster need with mediocre wine? Only a brine monster knows for sure..."

Broken Barrel Inn

Eleanor put the stopper back onto the flask after taking it back from Hudson and secured it to her low-slung belt with a mumbled, “Thenk ye.” The gaiety between them helped to frighten off the dark shadows that lingered in her past, and her celadon eyes retained their attentive warmth. El did not want to get too knackered though in the company of this almost-stranger, even if losing herself to a good drink was a very appealing idea, and soon enough she said, “Ah am huir uv a grateful fur th' toor guide. Ah wulnae tak' up tay much ay yer time, thocht, sae 'at ye can gang an' swatch fur yer mukker. Ah hiner she is alrecht.” Emilia was long-gone, but the spellblade assumed her new acquaintance would be able to find her easily enough, if he knew where to look. Even still, she was not ready to part with his company just yet, and concluded with a good-natured, “Ah said th' first roon is oan me, an' Ah meant it. It is th' leest Ah coods dae fur yer help in findin' thes place tae begin wi'.” Keeping their pace slow and steady, she turned toward the Broken Barrel, smoothly dodging a patron as he stumbled out. Grasping the door, she held it open with her right hand, partly leaning into the knob as she exaggeratedly waved Hudson over the threshold, leveling her celadon-hued gaze on the alchemist with a cheeky grin. “Efter ye.”

Hudson's mood may be all levity but he exhales a sigh of relief as he enters the inn. It's surreal, entering an inn as casually as they are, when they'd waged war on unidentifiable sea creatures and lost not all that long ago. "One drink, you're very generous so I owe you that much," he tells Eleanor, waiting for her to fall into a comfortable step beside him as they move to occupy the nearest table. His gaze travels over the Nautical theme that decorates the interior of this establishment, the mermaid pinned to the wall stirring a smirk as he settles in opposite Eleanor. They must make quite the pair. She in a beautiful diadem; he, salt-encrusted, vomited by the ocean. His hand comes up in a wave to summon a passing waitress. "Two waters, and a beer for me," he orders, his palm tilting toward Eleanor to indicate that she should add her own requests as well. When the serving girl pulls away, he leans forward on his elbows. "We should do this again, properly, sometime."

Eleanor let the door close behind them, soon enough joining the alchemist at his chosen table and sinking into a chair with a sigh that mirrored his own. She was in mad need of some food to go along with a drink, and following Hudson’s order, she made her own: “A pint ay ale, if it pleases ye,” the spellblade began, her celadon-hued gaze leaving the waitress long enough to look around at what the other patrons were eating, “an' whatever th' soop ay th' day is, too.” Leaving the server to tend to their orders, she leaned back in her chair and the long tunic that pooled in her lap before sending her gaze toward Hudson, a mixture of intrigue and pleasure in her eyes. “Is thes nae proper enaw fur ye, Hudson?” she asked with a sly grin. Carefully avoiding his gaze, she adjusted the weapons hanging from her hips, and tucked her right boot under her left thigh before folding her hands in her lap. Finally returning her celadon eyes to the alchemist’s, she asked, “Whit exactly dae ye hae in min'?”

Hudson holds up two fingers to double Eleanor's order for soup. A little sustenance would go a long way, he reasons, toward returning his battered body to the status quo. As they relax in their seats, the alchemist's gaze pulls away from their retreating server and returns to Eleanor. His own expression becomes suffused with light-hearted amusement, mirroring hers. "I'd prefer not to look like a drowned rat, but if you don't mind," he replies without missing a beat. A little self-deprecating grin follows to punctuate the comment, naturally. Two tall glass of waters arrive before anything else, and Hudson pulls them both in front of him, as if they were precious treasure and he were hoarding them. His hand hovers over the rims of the glasses, as he studies their clear contents. "You said you're new to the land?" he asks, his mouth forming the word 'water,' which he sings in a clear tone. There's something indistinct and pure about the sung word, as if it were clearly the word water, and yet sounded nothing like it. On command, the water in the glass darkens, turning the telltale color of merlot. It's mediocre merlot. Nothing to write home about, but not vinegar, either. Huds' breath comes out in a slow exhale as he gently nudges Eleanor's glass toward her. "Still got it."

Eleanor couldn’t help the soft chuckle that tumbled past her full lips in the wake of Hudson’s criticizing commentary. “Reit, weel, if ye awreddy hae a room haur, Ah hae nowhaur tae gang ... ye ur welcome tae change intae some dry clase while we bide fur th' soop tae be brooght it.” The woman jerked her chin in the direction of the stairs that led to the second story, and the guest rooms. “Ah woods hate tae make ye wear those ocean-tossed clase a moment longer than necessary. if ye gie boak, it wulnae be oan mah conscience.” Shortly thereafter, the server returned with two pints, one for El and the other was placed nearer to Hudson. The server caught sight of the alchemy Hudson was performing, and rolled her eyes at his attempt at impressing the spellblade before she sashayed off to tend to other guests. Eleanor, however, -was- somewhat impressed, as evidenced by the low, appreciative whistle she let out. Much like before, the gemstone in her diadem seemed to reflect nearby light before going dull once more.“Weel, swatch at 'at! Ye ur a proper alchemist,” she said, only a small amount of teasing in her tone. Ignoring her newly acquired ale in favor of the wine, she plucked up the glass and swirled it around in her hand, examining its contents. Before the woman raised the glass to her lips, she hesitated and sent Hudson a look that was both playful and serious at the same time. “Thes better nae be poison,” she drawled. “Ah woods hate tae hae tae kill ye.”

Hudson waves off the suggestion with a chuckle. "No dry clothes on me, I just came out of the sea, remember?" he teases with a wag of his eyebrows. "I'll see about it later, for now I'm craving..." as if on cue, their beers arrival, and Huds finishes his sentence with a roguish smirk, "... alcohol." The gleam of Eleanor's diadem attracts Huds' attention, but how fleeting is that gleam. He isn't sure what he's seen, or if he's seen anything, and so it only inserts a momentary pause of confusion before he speaks again. "This is my greatest achievement, don't get too excited," he tells her. He brings his water-wine glass closer, inhaling the scent of this latest creation. It smells as mediocre as it always does. Drinkable, of course, but not the kind of wine that's about to win any accolades. As if to dispel her reservations/concerns, he raises his glass to his lips and drinks in front of her. "It's not poison, just mediocre," he confirms, sucking in his cheek as he makes to savor the taste. He tries his beer next. "Significantly superior, and infinitely satisfying," he informs her. "Now you."

Eleanor curled both gloved hands around the glass of water-wine, narrowing a playful gaze across the table toward Hudson as she watched him sample his own creation. It was barely a moment longer before she followed suit, swishing the conjured liquid around her mouth before swallowing with an exaggeratedly disgusted face. Her smile broke through across her lips, thereafter, and she chuckled. “Och aye, it isnae tay bad; goes doon easy enaw,” she commented with a satisfied nod. El set the water-wine aside in favor of her own ale, quickly bringing it to her lips for a hearty swig. “But naethin' beats a braw pint ay ale tae chill th' tongue an' warm th' sool.” The spellblade chuckled again, and set her frothy pint down on the table and sat up a bit, looking across at the alchemist and taking in the sad appearance of his clothes. She was half-surprised they hadn’t been kicked out due to his bedraggled state. With a smirk, she went on to say, “Ye shoods be able tae dry yer clase wi' 'at fancy whisperin' ay yoors.” Beat. “Noo 'at woods be a useful trick.”

Hudson's face freezes in his beer as Eleanor feigns disgust, and the alchemist comes up for air with a foam mustache that leaves little mystery as to Emilia's nickname for him. His mouth forms the words, "What," and he begins to voice his genuine surprise, when - surprise again - she reveals that she was just pulling his leg. He has to have a laugh after that, and he drowns his surprise in another swig of his beer, mirroring her. "I agree, unfortunately beer is beyond my level of expertise," he replies, his thumb drawing away the foam from his mouth as he speaks. "As is drying my clothing. Saying the name of water is... well, it is a temperamental business. I'm not so sure I'm doing it right, to be honest." He privately nurses his most recent success, but keeps that one in his pocket. He feels precious about it, as if merely mentioning it might stand in the way from it ever happening again. The serving girl returns to interrupt their conversation, and with a glance askance at their water-turned-wine glasses, Huds nurses a sheepish expression and scoots back into his booth to allow her to serve them their soup. "I'm famished," he breathes as she draws away. His gaze flicks back to meet Eleanor's. "You were on the road long before you got here?"

Eleanor let a warm, amused grin tug her lips up toward her right cheek at the sight of his namesake spread across Hudson’s mouth. She made no comment on it, however; she felt as though the alchemist was worse enough for wear without her pointing out just how much of a mess he presented. Soon enough his ‘foamstache’ was wiped away, and the spellblade’s grin widened a few subtle degrees, her hands curling around her right ankle as she leaned over the table. El opened her mouth to spew what she hoped was more witty burrs at Hudson, but she was interrupted by the arrival of their soups, parting only with a grin to him across the table before she spoke. “Och aye, Ah believe Ah am too; it feels as thocht Ah huvnae eaten in days,” she replied, cleverly answering his question while also evading it once more. To avoid making a larger mess of their table than necessary, Eleanor carefully removed her gloves, revealing more of the tattoos Hudson had previously seen; swirls of indigo started between either thumb and forefinger, wrapping around the wrist a couple times before traveling partway up the back of her forearms, and on her inner forearms, matching dagger-shaped tattoos. Several smaller runes decorated her fingers with the same sort of ink. Dropping her gloves into her lap, she said, “Och aye, 'at is much better.” Smiling for Hudson’s benefit, she lifted her celadon-hued gaze across the table to him and gestured at his soup with her spoon. “Weel, Ah hiner ye arenae tryin' tae be a chiel an' waitin' fur me tae start eatin' first.”

Hudson gratefully receives a spoon for his patience and looks about ready to dig in, though he tilts his head to regard Eleanor as she evades him one more. He doesn't press her, sensing that perhaps this was tactical and not mere absentminded conversational blundering on her part. His gaze instead passes over her hands, and though he tries not to stare at her tattoos, he does get quite an eyeful before he remembers to keep his attention on his food. He keeps his curiosity to himself, nursing it as he follows her lead and begins to sample his soup. It warms him immediately in a way that only food can. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was, how absolutely shattered he was from being lost at sea. It's like a riptide, in a way, sating one's hunger, and he finds himself gulping down mouthful after mouthful of soup and staring directly at Eleanor's markings, just beyond his bowl. "Sorry," he excuses himself, when the fog lifts and self-awareness creeps all around him, "They're very striking. I don't mean to stare."

Eleanor could feel her companion watching her, and this earned Hudson a curious, arced brow a couple times as she, too, began to shovel the hearty soup into her mouth. It was no wonder he was caught staring -- the tattoos were in plain view to him, and anyone else in the common room of the Broken Barrel, and this made the spellblade more than a little self-conscious. It hadn’t occurred to her that the people of this land, or at the very least, this town were unaccustomed to seeing so much skin-ink. Curling her arms around her bowl, she pulled it closer to her, using the soup to shield her arms from view, however ineffectively. With a crooked grin spared for Hudson, she chuckled in spite of herself. “Ye arenae th' only a body oglin', it woods appear,” she remarked after swallowing a bit of bread that had come with the soup. Her celadon-hued gaze pointedly edged around the room; the other patrons purposefully avoided her gaze under penalty of her shrewd glare before her expression softened upon returning to the alchemist. After a moment, she set the bread and spoon down beside the bowl, and laid her arms out on the table, palms up; faintly mixed along her heart lines and head lines were even more tattooes, albeit these were pale and more closely resembled old scars. “Some fowk wear heavy armor; Ah wear ... these.” To better explain without drawing too much attention to herself, she crossed her right arm over the bowl, index and middle fingers held together as she traced over her left dagger-tattoo: the closer her fingers grew, the more the ink seemed to shimmer, as if straining to reach out and touch her. The woman thought it best not to withdraw the blade from its inky sheathe, and quickly turned her arm over lest anyone guess to its purpose. Although El struggled to remain lighthearted and companionable, speaking of her markings lended a certain hardness to her countenance, hidden behind that quick smile she put on for Hudson’s benefit. “Better eat 'at soop afair ye freeze under aw those dreich clase.” Taking her own advice, she curled her fingers around the bread and spoon again, alternately dunking and shoveling food into her mouth, her eyes drifting nervously between the food and the man across the table from her; she hoped he would take a hint, and not press her for more information, at least not whilst they were in such mixed company.

Hudson feels heat creep into his jawline as Eleanor seems to position herself defensively, blocking his view, as if he'd been gawping. It of course hasn't occurred to him that he might not be alone in his curiosity, and he joins her in looking over his shoulder to see who else is having a peek. His attention pivots back to Eleanor a beat later, his gaze drawn magnetically to the tattoos she's showing him. His gaze runs along them diagonally, as if reading them, as she talks. A rapt interest blooms in his gaze as she makes use of the markings to summon up a dagger - or stop just sort of it. Her suggestion, crowded out like the awkward segue that it is, immediately has its intended effect. "Very cool," he pronounces, mirroring her quick smile and digging into his soup opposite her. Huds knows a hint where he sees one; he doesn't bring up the tattoos again, but rather lets a companionable silence punctuated by slurping unspool between them, and soon it's as if she hadn't ushered the topic away at all, but it had naturally faded. The alchemist washes his soup down with his beer, slumping back in his seat to exhale the sigh of satisfaction. His gaze meanders to Eleanor. "Hit the spot, yeah?"

Eleanor hoped never really given much thought to the tattoos covering her skin; they were a necessity where she was from, and were just as natural to her as armor was to other warriors. Only, rather than being laden down by the weight of armor, she was only weighed down by the light leather padding she wore, and relied more on the ink staining her from head to toe to keep herself defended. “Och, weel ... uh, cheers,” she mumbled around her food, a blush burning her cheeks. A self-conscious half-smirk tugged at her lips, and she hugged the plate closer to her, hovering over it. After shoving more of the soup into her mouth in order to distract herself, she released a satisfied sigh, at last pushing the plate away and leaning back in her chair. El pulled on her gloves once more, covering up her tattoos with a wary glance around the Inn. “Ah, uh, och aye, it was definitely a satisfyin' scran,” she said with a chuckle, pointedly patting her flat stomach. “It is th' best Ah hae hud in mony days.” Parting with another chuckle, she scooped up the ale she’d all but forgotten, and took a full swig, swirling its contents around in her mouth thereafter before swallowing and harboring the pint in her lap. “Say, ye dornt ken hoo much they charge fur rooms haur, dae ye?” A concealed energy rune was beginning to fade, and the weariness of travel was beginning to catch up to her. Eleanor was enjoying the alchemist’s company, but she did not care to be in such public places for very long; what she needed was a hot bath to wash away weeks of dirt, and a long, restful sleep in an actual bed as opposed to curled up beneath the roots of a tree.

Hudson shakes his head in response to Eleanor's query, his shoulder coming up in an insouciant shrug. He drains the last of his beer, opting to leave his wine untouched. It's not like he couldn't just whip up another batch if he missed it. If his disheveled appearance and the darkened shadows beneath his eyes are any indication, he would benefit from some rest as well. "I don't, but let's ask," he suggests, lifting his arm to summon the nearest serving girl. The alchemist turns a wide grin in her direction as she squares off to face them. "I think we will take the check," says Huds, ducking his head as she reaches to collect empty soup bowls. "And ah," he flashes a quick smile Eleanor's way, "two rooms if you don't mind."

Eleanor sent an appreciative smirk in Hudson’s direction, dipping her chin too before taking another swill of her ale. Holding the pint near her lap with her right hand, her left rummaged through her belt to produce a handful of coins -- enough for both of their meals and the alcohol they had purchased along with a decent tip. Scattering the coins which she had had the foresight to exchange into local currency on the table’s top, she drew herself into a stand, setting the pint beside the money. El lifted both arms high above her head and stretched, moaning slightly as she did so before both of her hands settled on her thighs, and she looked down at the alchemist. “Ah dah ken abit ye, but Ah coods sleep fur a week efter sic' a fillin' scran,” the spellblade said with a cheeky grin. The serving girl returned to their table with two room keys, and greedily snatched up the coins before Hudson was given much chance to contribute. In El’s opinion, she was paying for his congenial company as much as their food, and she sent him a celadon-hued gaze before winking. “It has bin a pleasure makin' yer acquaintance, Hudson, but Ah better be takin' mah lae. Dinnae be a stranger.” The woman left the vague invitation at that, her lingering attention implying that she would not mind his companionship at some later date as well. For now, though, she tipped him off with a simple two-fingered salute before plucking one of the keys from the girl’s hands. Before she made her official departure across the room to the stairs, she said to the serving girl, “Ah woods loch some hot water fur a bath brooght up tae …” She paused in order to examine the little slip of paper attached to the key, “Room tois if it isnae tay much trooble.” Thereafter, she turned toward Hudson once more, and said, “Ah hiner ye hae a guid nicht.”

Hudson's mouth drops open in the pretense of a protest as Eleanor moves to pay. Of course she's too generous. But of course his own coin purse had been swallowed by the ocean. (Hence a pretense of a protest.). "Thanks a bundle, I really owe you," he tells her, likewise sliding out of his chair. His clothes are now mildly damp, a great improvement from the sopping mess they had been when he had washed ashore. Eleanor's proclamation stirs a mild smile from the alchemist. "That'll be my next trick," he jests, retrieving his room key from their serving girl once she's chosen hers. His eyes play on her features as it becomes time to awkwardly say their goodbyes. His smile makes a brief reappearance. "It's been fun, yeah. We'll do it again properly, although without such a dramatic entrance on my part I think," his eyebrows lift to punctuate the statement. He nods to the serving girl himself once El has given her instructions. "Six'll have the same," he tacks on the request, his eyes briefly meeting Eleanor's, as if sharing some private joke, before ducking out of the way. He picks up his wine glass, evidently set on lingering downstairs a few minutes more to make this parting ways dance a little smoother. "Have a good night," he says, as he lifts his free hand to wave goodbye at her retreating figure.