RP:When Along came Mahri... (and co.)

This is a Rogue's Guild RP.

Part of the A Few Fox Tales Arc

Location: The Siren’s Seven, Pirate’s Cove, Rynvale

Summary: Another typical evening with the Captain on his ship, until he’s joined by some unexpected but welcome company (for the most part). A cunning bird, three ‘thropes (one of which is well into his cups), and eventually a half-orc on a ship. Just another day of island life.

Secret Cove

Leoxander was aboard the ship that hadn’t yet traveled past the cove, much of the reconstruction of the underbelly and the repairs on the upper deck where the fight had taken place long ago, already accomplished. But the sails were not rigged, rolled and wrapped in lines near the middle mast with several crates and barrels of supplies, slats of lumber and toolboxes, a can of wood stain that had already been applied several times to the railing and upper section of the decks, weatherproofing that teak and oak. The low tide barely rocked the vessel, which to board one would have to use the chained dinghy latched from shore to the hull where the rope ladder hung in reach. Sign of life came in the light that poured through the muntin and port windows surrounding the Captain’s chambers at the stern of the ship, while inside the Captain was at his bolted down desk in a space adorned with dark red finishings; curtains draped unevenly in places over the panes, a decent sized lounge with a few blankets draped carelessly over the back and a square pillow or two on the end with an arm rest. Shelves built with that front lower lip to keep the books stacked there in place on rougher seas, a few boxes, a covered bench seat that hid storage space within, and a clutter of maps, ledgers, and seafarer’s tools on the surface where Leo sat in a chair heavy enough not to slide without a strong push. Lora, for once, was not present in his line of sight. He gave her the freedom to roam safely on the island (or anywhere, really), though one might guess he had people at the stables or in the city keeping a subtle eye on her from time to time. Nor were the pups there to distract the rogue with their roughhousing and chaos. So it was just the quiet wash of waves as he poured over papers and maps regarding that same plot of land he had, in his own mind, already claimed.

Mahri remembered the path to the secret coves from so many years ago and followed them. Call it nostalgia that brought her this way – the Eternity held good and bad memories but she didn’t expect the ship to be anchored in her usual berth, and without expectations once could not be disappointed – and she wasn’t. Mahri was pleasantly surprised to see another ship in anchor in a state of repair that was further along than she somehow expected it to be. “Ahoy!” she called, knowing her voice would echo and be heard by anyone aboard. Judging by lingering scents, the Captain was certainly there as his was strongest. Lora and the strange pups they’d adopted weren’t nearly as fresh and Mahri judged they’d been gone for a bit. Did she worry about the Mouse? Not so much anymore, but the concern for the woman was still there. Eying the chained dingy, the lycan waits until her call is answered and permission to board given – even though she’s unofficially the first mate to the captain it felt strange just to board simply because.

Arlyeon is far less familiar with the island then her roguish peers, with her primary habitat located on the other side of the pond. A fact that she's been trying to correct since her arrival the prior evening. At least, that's the official reasoning for her errant flight from the tavern- and definitely isn't colored by the rather abrupt bout of bad luck that had seized upon Nortengaal after her little display the evening prior. And the fact that she'd chosen to shed scale and fur alike in favor of feather- to take to the skies as her namesake bird? Definitely just coincidence, and not some concerted attempt at inconspicuousness. It -does- help though, especially after she's spent a bit of time rolling around in an eavestrough to shed what lingering bits of fox scent might accompany her. A necessary precaution given that at the end of the day, while random explorations are enlightening- Mahri's passage was informative. Specifically, because Ina had recognized the manner she'd nearly been let into the loop, before rather abruptly being nudged back out- and tailing after the woman as a floundering, puffed up wreck of a crow might at least leave to some juicy tidbit of information at the end of the day. <c> Arlyeon definitely chalks secret caves as a win. They're fancy digs, in a sort of naturalist chic kind of way. That, or the colds getting to her brain. She flutters and flaps, looking for some piece of wood that was proximal enough to serve as a resting point to eavesdrop. And also wide enough that she could engage in the time honoured tradition of awkward wet bird dances, and feather puffing. She's definitely gonna play up this bird thing until she either gets called out, or gets an adequate moment to dramatically reveal and earn a fresh barrage of 'This is why I don't trust you.'

Leoxander hadn’t heard that call in some time. Like Mahri, he was suddenly swept back into a memory of the past where daily, he’d hear that word for permission to board by those in and out of the cove, populating the island. And while it was starting to breathe with some life again, his head lifted to just stare for a moment before he scooted back that heavy chair and stood, the slightly ajar door to his quarters pressed open to step out onto the deck. Hands placed on the railing to spot the silver eyed she-wolf in the short distance to shore and he almost betrayed a smirk as that memory was renewed. “C’mon then.” He called back at a reasonable volume, the wide enclosure of the cove and the fairly mellow waters carrying his deep tone across the way. If the crow was in sight, in range, Leo would definitely notice it. While a few lost gulls might wind their way through from the cove opening from time to time, it typically wasn’t a place for the dark plumed scavengers to be. They were better suited to pick at the decay and scraps north at the fog forest or Gamorg. “Looks like you got’a friend…” He spoke this even lower while he let Mahri manage her way across with the chain, easily enough accomplished with her strength, though he did meet her at the break in the handrails to offer a hand to hoist her up.

A crow was definitely out of place among the seagulls that came along with a life at sea and Mahri might have initially wondered if the crow was Maladroit only to remember that creature had been a raven and not a crow. Still, suspicious. “No friend of mine,” she calls back while gripping that chain to climb hand-over-hand at the steep angle from dinghy to ship. By the time Mahri’s climbing over the recently stained railing she’s breathing just a little harder. “Been a while,” the Silver excused her shortness of breath. Taking a deep breath and looking about the deck, the wolf pauses a moment to narrow her eyes at the crow perched uncomfortably close. “You know, those birds are extremely smart. I don’t trust ‘em.” There you go Ina. Settling her silver-grey eyes on Leo, Mahri quirks a brow in question, “Give me the grand tour?

Arlyeon felt smarter -before- she'd dunked herself in the taverns eavestrough. Yes, wiping away your residual rainwater was -hypothetically- a good idea. On the other hand, now that she wasn't flying into a breeze- she was becoming duly aware that she had acquired a companion, Notably autumnal smell of 'Eau De Mouldering Leaves'. It's enough to have her awkwardly spread a wing out, and feverishly peck and pluck a few feathers out in the hope it might help. She's -trying- to stick to the bit, even if she's got the faint hint that she's rather conspicuous in her otherwise inconspicuous guise. Still, once they do start moving, she does tag along, hopping down onto the duck to begin waddling after Mahri, a faint caw offered as though chiming in with her request for a tour. It's fine. She could recover from this.

Leo chuffed a short ‘hm’ of laughter as he made certain Mahri was on steady feet in the slight sway of the galleon, landing a hand in a firm pat on her shoulder. His attention drifted back toward the crow that she had mentioned not knowing, nose flaring against the salt scent in that air to try to catch a scent from the creature, but that wouldn’t be easily done unless the bird came into decent range, and Mahri didn’t seem too keen on hauling the creature up generously. “Not much to see. The bunkers are built below but they’re not but empty cubbies an’ slat beds till we get our shipment of down an’ padding.” He took his eyes off the bird, wherever it managed to get to, motioning toward the bow of the ship where two doors gave entry to the galley outside a wide set of stairs that led toward the bowsprit, a few mess hall tables and benches constructed with a spread of sawdust on the floor, some of the kitchen constructed, but still a mess of boxes filled with tools rather than food since that would be the last thing stocked before the first voyage. “I’ll make ya a drink.” Which meant leading her to his quarters and digging into a drawer of his desk for a pint to hand her way, a black labeled and gold print fifth of whiskey, as he took a seat back at his desk and let her find a spot on the lounge or bench or wherever. “You took off pretty quick las’ night…”

Mahri is as steady as can be with much thanks to that hand on her shoulder. Steady enough to follow on the mini tour that ends at his quarters and she perched on the edge of the bolted down desk to accept that offer of a drink. Since no glass is offered, Mahri pulls the cork and takes a pull straight from the bottle, mostly to procrastinate answering the unasked question. Passing that bottle over, the silver shrugged, “It’d been a long day and I needed sleep.” Had the door been closed? She didn’t think so, so eyes roamed through the quarters to see if the crow had followed behind them. “Lita, Rug and I were just making plans on where to search for the papers you requested,” a pause then, “anything specific you’re looking for?”

Arlyeon is having a bit of trouble keeping pace with the wolves, if only because her legs are a -lot- shorter, obliging her to occasionally hunch down and scuttle forward in small bursts, an action she engages in again when they actually move to enter a room. After all, while there was the possibility that listening at the door would suffice- that only counts if there isn't secret passages, or magical trinkets. And so, Mahri practically has a disgruntled ball of fluff glued to the back of her boot as she enters the room- to the point, that Ina almost walks right into it. Only, she doesn't quite. Just a fortunate little shiver pauses the bird, and cues her into the fact that she's actually made her way in. And is also missing out on booze. Probably top shelf stuff, given how fancy the thing looked like from down where she was. Still, as much as envy is playing a part, it sounded like Leo was finally getting into the goods, whcih meant it was time for Crow-Ina to make herself scarce- doing her best to discreetly patter behind the leg of a desk, as though it could hide her puffed out feathers. ~Papers~? There's a start.

Leoxander might have left that door open on purpose. Crows were a curious lot, but he guessed that he knew something even more curious since her arrival on Rynvale shores. Still, he acted nonchalant and normal, taking that bottle for a swig before he set it back in her reach. “I ain’t used to my own keepin’ secrets from me, Mah’. Lita insisted whatever’s goin’ on that you lot got it handled. The bearman, too. If it’s jus’ plans we already made I’m curious why they didn’t jus’ tell me that.” Rather than fix Mahri with any sort of suspicious stare, he pretended to be interested in something on the edge of the island map on his desk, which wasn’t entirely untrue. He seemed to be lifting the corner close to Elimdor. “I know I can trust you…” He truly believed that. “I need records from after the war, who’s been in charge between now and then. Obviously slacked in their duties well enough that I doubt it’ll take much to knock ‘em off their pedestal. Those royal long-ears too worried about their own damn reflection to give a damn what happens t’the rest of us.” But Leo knew the worth of that land, that location, all the profit and potential that was available now that parasites and foreigners weren’t looking to wreck the place with their foul magic and self importance. By then, the scent of wet plumage was almost offensive compared to the stained wood and burning kerosine in the lamps, and he looked down at the not quite so inconspicuous black bird to speak in it’s direction rather than to Mahri. “If that’s you, might as well come out. You smell bloody rotted.”

Mahri sorta knew where the crow was but she’s too worried about protecting the Captain and answering his questions without giving away too much to think the crow might not be a crow. Thank goodness Leo is just that much more observant. But, until then – “You gave us a task and we were planning it out. I didn’t realize we needed to keep you in the loop until we found something.” Even if those somethings were going to be heavily redacted. Now that she had a time frame, it would be easier because – “No one was in charge after the War.” She’s not sure exactly how much to tell Leoxander, so … “After the war, the governor and her lover disappeared along with a few key players. No one heard from them since and no one has ruled the island, at least not for long.” And that’s the information she was able to glean so far. Redacted, of course. Mahri adds that she leans down, bent at the waist with her customary braid falling over her shoulder, to spy the spy under the desk and behind a leg. "How'd you get in here anyway?" Not so observant, sorry. Sitting back up, Mahri takes another pull of the rather expensive whiskey and passing it back.

Arlyeon ruffles her feathers to the side, one wing briefly sweeping over the front of her in what might have been an attempt to wipe away at something. Or perhaps to hide whatever passes as shame on a corvids face.With a small hop, the crow scuttles forward, a few stumbling steps taking before she manages a limp flight upwards, fully intent on finding a spot to perch upon the pirates shoulder. "Nevermore?" Okay, while it might be tricky to tell if a crow looks sheepish, the fact that it makes a noise -very- akin to chortling is definitely a tell, "Oh. Oooooh."Between Leo's generalized layout of the situation, along with Mahri's carefully controlled delivery of the details- it was beginning to make sense to the faux-crow. "I mean, there's gotta be -some- sorta bureaucrat ta' keep the streets fixed n' deal with port taxes, right? So- what fills da' gap?" She shuffles in place, looking perhaps poised to dig in, in the instance Leo tries to dislodge her. As for Mahri's question- well, Ina's more than willing to oblige her, "Debonair talent. Professionalism~ Also, being very small." Mahri snorts, not at all surprised that this particular crow speaks. It figures.

Leoxander only paused for a second as he took in her words, but right at that moment where something might surface in his damaged mind, his expression went back to neutral. He glanced at Mahri as she dipped to address the bird that soon found his shoulder like Rowen had once commonly done, and for now, he seemed to just tolerate it, though he leaned away a little at the voice so near his ear. Leo murmured in response to words that didn’t seem to throw him off guard, even coming from a black beak. “-Somebody- has been keepin’ the ports open, an’ not too long ago there were patrols roamin’ the streets. Soldiers wouldn’t be keepin’ check without some coin for their effort.” He was more musing to himself rather than arguing. Inked arms folded parallel to each other, side by side, across the surface to support a slight slouch. “If you lot are gonna handle that, it’ll give me time to head up north, again. Mouse an’ I went up there scopin’ out the land. Somethin’ smelled… foul, the closer we got to the forsaken city. Didn’t see much movement, but I feel like somethin’s up.” He half turned his head toward the crow on his shoulder with a thoughtful mumble. "Mebbe tha's where you might be of some use."

Arlyeon said to you, "If ja like the cookies that much, Ja can jus' ask." Mahri considered the crow, whom she now understood to be Ina who was apparently hardly ever herself, for a moment. “That’s true. Someone had to be in charge so we’ll find out who it was or is.” Mahri’s pretty good at that. But mention of traveling further up north has dark brows drawing together. “You can’t go alone, with Mouse or the Crow here. Who might make pretty good cookies but…” What else is the shape-shifter good at other than mischief and mayhem? Mahri had yet to see where Ina was useful other than the changing of shapes – even then it usually didn’t take long to figure out who was behind the guise. “Lita and Rug can handle searching for papers related to who lead after the war..” she hemmed. Mahri always had the alpha-male’s back and she felt wrong not having it now – especially if there was something hinky going on.

Nortengaal is, in a word, lost. Well and truly lost. Which isnt terribly unusual for the bearman if we’re being honest, but tonight is a special kind of lost - the drunken kind. The kind where you dont even realize how lost you are because you werent really sure where you were to begin with after a point. But it’s ok; its beautiful out, the sea air is crisp and refreshing, and he’s still got a solid bottle of fire whiskey he’s managed to hold on to - and not finish - all the way from the bar he’s spent all day in. So a wandering he is, whistling a nameless tune, no real aim in sight, when he should just so happen upon a large ship. While not the first he’s come across so far this night, or so he thinks at any rate, this one catches his attention for two reasons. 1, there’s a light on and signs of life, and 2, the wind blowing in his face carries some familiar scents. A wide, wild grin breaks out over his features and the whistling comes to a halt, and he walk-stumbles his way over to the much smaller boat on the shore. After a few moments of finagling, he manages to figure out how to get the boat moving and directs it towards the ship, rowing carefully with the bottle held between his knees until he’s at the base of the ladder leading up the side of the ship. Some more finagling gets the small boat steady enough for him to start the climb up into the ship, and he slowly makes his way up, still carrying that whiskey of course, unceremoniously dumping himself over the railing once he gets to the top. And without even spilling the bottle! How fortuitous. Clambering to his feet, he takes a victory swig from the bottle before heading towards where he saw the light coming from, his scent, loud steps, and boisterous voice announcing his presence to the folks inside. “Ello there folks! I found this big boat! And youre on it! How delightful is that?” The bearman then trips over…something, he’s not sure what, and graciously faceplants on the deck, the bottle in his hand smashing against the wood and pelting him with glass and booze. He lays there dazed, and that’s exactly how he’ll be found if anybody comes to check out just what all the racket is.

Arlyeon s' head cranes up a bit, looking first to one side, then the other, as Leo volunteers to bring her along as some sort of...guide, or...body guard. Or something. Definitely not as bait, or a distraction. And yet, despite this possibile opportunity, she's already being doubted. "Rude. I can breath fire, too." She coughs, a little crackle of sparks wisping in front of her face, in a manner that might be a little familiar to Leo, though it's proportions are still quite relative to her. So, okay, probably not that threatening, "N' 'm -clever-. Fer instance, Jus' like, follow tha' money. Taxes n bank records have ta' go to someone. Ya'd easily be able to trace whose been pulling the strings the last while. Which is also a -great- way ta get leverage, if there's anything unseemly there." A pause, "Or ja insert somethin' unseemly." She's possibly about to go into a spiel, but she's promptly cut off by the sound of... thudding. "Oh." Oh dear. It couldn't be. "I wonder what that could be." She says stiffly at the noise. "Huh. What a mystery."

Leo might have made a face at Mahri’s concern and demands in the past, but he had to abide by his own rule that people not wander into trouble or danger on their own, not with rogues on hand and willing for the thrill and adventure. Not with enemies popping up unexpectedly here or there, as it had for Lanara and Tiber. As for the crow’s input, he pinched her beak, clicked it shut with thumb and forefinger as she mentioned the fire breathing technique and stated flatly, “Not here.” His attention drifted back to Mahri. “I know. I ain’t sure that I wanna drag Lora’ back up there not knowin’ what we might find, but I can’t stop her, either. I’d feel better havin’ you there.” He said this to Mahri before the sound of the first pull of chain brought his attention to the door, then sharply back to the silver eyed wolf before he stood, whether Ina maintained balance on her little bird legs or not. The minute he got to the door, however, he caught the mixed scent of therianthrope and liquor - had the bearman even taken a break since his binge the night prior? Witnessing that tragic fall, mostly for the wasted alcohol now streaming a wet trail from puddle across the deck, the rogue exhaled a sigh from his nose. Well, time to do what the Captain would do to any drunk on his ship. He moved to a small keg of fresh water and took his hunting blade from the holster at his hip in a fluid motion, wedging and prying open the top before it was twisted and sheathed again. Picking up the few gallons worth, some of the glass would get washed away but mostly Nortengaal would have a brief sobering waterfall right over his torso and head, whichever way he’d collapsed down.

Nortengaal had in fact taken a break in drinking for most of the past 24hrs since they’d last seen the man, but he’d also made up for lost time when he did start again, so it was a moot point really. The delightful waterfall Leo delivered elicits a gasp of shock from the facedown bearman, followed by a groan as he slowly gets up, dripping water from his hair and some blood from his nose. “Ah hells, ‘think i broke m’nose again.” he mutters, reaching up to gingerly feel around the area. Yep, broken from full on face to deck action. He takes a deep breath through his mouth, placing his hands on either side of his nose before exhaling sharply as he sets it with a wet sounding crunch. Some choice curse words are let out, then he looks up at Leo. “Ey there Leo. Nice ship, yours i’m guessin?” he says, as if he wasn't sitting there on the deck having just set his own broken nose after being doused with water. He looks past him to Mahri in the doorway and waves, a bit embarrassed to be seen like this by the woman for…some reason he doesn't have the wherewithal to consider right now. “Ey Mahri.”

Arlyeon s can smell burnt toast. Or maybe it's just the crisp interior of a peak which had done it's best oven impression, before the flames had been swallowed back down, leaving her belly an awkwardly bright red reminiscent of an ember. It's plausible that it might make the part where Leo gets up and she digs in to stay in place a -little- more uncomfortable, if only because she's definitely acting like a small localized furnace. While the Pirate is doing his due diligence as captain, and going through the motions of showing what one does with a drunken sailor, the foxkin's trying to figure out her own dilemma, specifically craning her neck around in search of the straightest path towards somewhere -safe-. Which, at this juncture- she has to acknowledge probably isn't here. And not just because yes, as it stands- they are in fact surrounded by a lot of -wood-. and plausibly flammable spirits on the floor. There's also the whole matter of Leo- which she will likely owe an apology for at some point. Maybe. In the interim, though, she's going to just solve the most immediate problem in hand. By diving head first into the mass of water that Leo pries open, producing an effect like water being poured over stones in a sauna. A Journey that leaves her washed up on the floor near Nort a few moments later, spinning along her back where the water takes her. "'Ey buuuuuddy. I thought ha were a bear, notta fish."

Leoxander had been there with the broken nose fix. Obviously that’s how he got so pretty. So while Nortengaal handled his cartilage, he bothered to notice the once again wet bird on his back and glanced into the barrel to see what could have caused the sizzle of heat and that smell. He finally answered Nort’ as he placed the empty barrel down on a sealed crate. “Seems to be that way.” Regarding the large vessel they all occupied, anchored in the cove where the shallows finally dipped deeper. A glance was spared toward his hand before his eyes trailed after Mahri as she escaped back to the warm and cozy space of his quarters… one he didn’t want flooded or set on fire. Leo looked from the source of light, to the crow, to the bear. “What’da I owe the pleasure?”

Nortengaal looks down at the sodden bird, taking a second to place the scent to the shifter he met the night before. “Ey Trish. Maybe not, but i sure can drink like one.” he says with a grin before reaching over to set the bird upright. Nort chuckles at Leo’s response, vague yet affirming as it was, his eyes trailing Mahri into the ships interior. Looking back to Leo he grins and shrugs. “ S’was just out and about when i caught wind of you folks, thought i’d come and say ‘ello.” His grin fades a bit and his brow furrows slightly. “‘M not interuptin am i? I woulda knocked with my hand and not my face if i had the choice, made a better entrance.”

Mahri 's sitting in the big chair behind that desk, drinking, with booted feet propped up on the desk edge.

Arlyeon takes the ability to be discerned as a sign that she's been able to shuck the scent of a rain gutter's backwash- which means, she's more than happy to fluff up in recognition, hopping from foot to foot, with one wing tipping forward in a theatrical gesture, as the other extends to the side. It -probably- looks weird. "You were interruptin' my rivetin' tales of high seas adventure. All lies, of course." That said, she flaps her wings, taking her newly cooled state as a sign to resume her place on Leo, albeit with a bit more care taken towards any impromtu contact. Frankly, that spot she was near was pretty good. Still warm, might even do as a spot to doze, in a pinch.

Leoxander had just considered earlier that he hadn’t seen a bird in the cove save a few gulls, some time back. Well it just so happened that out of the blue, or somewhere adrift near the rock ‘ceiling’ a good thirty five meters up, a albatros decided at that very moment to grace the Captain with a gift. A white splatter hit his shoulder joint on the black fabric of his shirt and his eyes narrowed as he looked over to regard it, right hand reaching up to try to wipe it off, that hand then wiped across the hip of denim pants, more or less making it worse and spread. “Gdamn sonuva…” Nortengaal’s greeting to ‘Trix’ drowned out the last of his muttered curse. “Not really. Nothin’ you don’t already know.” Since Mahri had made those plans with the Crane and the recruit. His patience wasn’t the best but he only slightly rolled his eyes at the animated crow before she found a perch on him, probably the opposite shoulder since he’d been given some ‘good luck’ on the other. Inspecting the gunk on his right hand again, Leo made his way into the quarters of the cabin where Mahri sat like the fellow Captain and First mate she was - only she might get away with that brazen behavior and not trigger the pirate. Headed to where some torn apart towels and rags were stacked in a container with other buckets of paint, varnish and some old bristled brushes, the usually stealthy and cautious rogue managed to shin kick a box barely peeking out from the leg of his desk and barked a foul word worse than the first. Grinding his teeth, he grabbed that rag to wipe off his unbandaged hand and threw it down frustratedly again.

Mahri watched Leo, took another drink, and chuckled a bit. "Got a bit'o somethin' on ye."

Leo said to Mahri, "Maybe I should’a made you the watchkeep, instead..." He grumbled back, reaching to attempt to steal the bottle Mahri was nursing at or near her. "Bloody observant, you."

Mahri tilted her head back for an actual laugh then, relinquishing that bottle to Leoxander's grasp. "Not a chance, darlin'."

Nortengaal breathes a small sigh of relief. While not a stoic man by any measure of the word, he’s been feeling more emotional than usual as of late - which might explain the also recent increase of his booze intake - and he was genuinely concerned about somehow upsetting his friends. That being the case, he has to stifle a laugh as a passing bird deposits a “present” upon the rogue's shoulder. What even were the odds, really? As Leo heads into the captains quarters, Nort gets to his feet, shaking the remainder of the water off as best he could. Before following him in, Nort very carefully and with a much greater degree of concentration than it should have taken uses a bit of magic to dry off completely, a red aura enveloping him briefly to evaporate the last of the water on his person. That done he joins the others in the ships interior, just catching Leo’s expletive and wondering what sponsored it. He looks around appreciatively at the decor. “Nicely decorated. Very cozy in here.”

Leoxander reached to toss one of those large towels at Nortengaal when he stepped into the cabin still dripping a bit, but that was just a second before he evoked his handy magic.. “Stay off the couch.” It was a lounge, really, a relatively fancy piece of furniture that served somewhat as a bed, armed on one side and upholstered in soft, dark red fabric, some knitted (colorful) blankets of gray, pink and green draped over the back. All in all, even with that and the desk and the unpacked boxes, shelves and hollowed bench seat, there was still enough space that the four wouldn’t be clustered uncomfortably and have the headroom, even if Ina was in a larger form. By the time he opted to drop onto a crate rather than kick Mahri out of his chair, he was handing the bottle back her way after a long drink, but started to rub at his wrapped left hand on the withdraw, a slight knot etched in his brow. Strewn across the surface of that desk were two compasses, one ivory and marked foreignly, sextant, scope and dividers for cartography and knot measurements on the maps piled in no organized manner. “Home for now, though I know Lora’ wants a place to put some roots…” He spoke quietly, thoughtfully. Leo absently scratched the beard growing in, due for a shave. He then looked back toward Nort’. “Been seein’ you around these parts more an’ more. You thinkin’ about doin’ the same?”

Mahri eyed Nortengaal when he walked in, cutting that laughter short only to chortle when the towel is tossed on the bear. Leo's question quiets even that and she has a drink while waiting for the answer to Leo's question.

[ Summary for new PC join ]

The three were in the captain’s quarters, toward the back of the large ship, with Nortengaal and Mahri. Ina (Arlyeon) was somewhere around there, but most would never recognize her in the shape of a crow, no longer on Leo’s shoulder but maybe in an aptly named nest at the top of the main mast. The dinghy that served as access could be pulled in and pulled across for the wound chains on wheels secured at either end. There were no sails in place, yet, but significant repair was evident with the sawdust in places and the fresh smell of varnish. The light and noise of conversation would be coming from the space where lantern light poured through surrounding windows, only partly curtained off. All of this was found in a cove beyond pirate territory.

Nortengaal nods and finds a spot along the wall to lean comfortably enough, though there are other seats he could take. “I’d imagine a ship is no place for a horse to live.” he said by way of response. Reaching up he scratches at the back of his head a second, considering the question. A few breaths time pass and then he shrugs. “I honestly dont know. I’m a wanderer, always have been. I like to stick around where good folks are, but thats about as far as i usually consider it. I…don't have any plans to go anywhere else, at the least.”

Gorehilt runs over the directions again in his head. Is this really the right place? Is he about to get shanghaied? There are voices, but the goofy acoustics of the cave play tricks on Gorehilt's ears. Are they voices he knows? Stealth isn't Gorehilt's natural forte, but maybe he can keep his approach beneath the general clamor of the crew, beneath the murmuring rush of lazy waves. Gradually, as the armored orc draws closer, he begins to recognize some of the faces aboard. It's reassuring. Completely reassuring? "Hmm." No longer bothering to guard his approach, the death knight steps up to the dinghy and tugs the tow chain a little. He wants to test the chain, but maybe more than that, he wants to rattle it a little, just to announce his presence. His orc blood serves him well in the dim light, and he watches the others move about deck with obvious curiosity. "Ahoy?"

Mahri sat up abruptly, her boots slapping the floor when they hit. If she had wolfed ears they'd perk up hearing the far-ish off greeting traditional to someone asking to board. "Who the hells is that?"

Leoxander responded to Nortengaal before Gorehilt’s presence was registered by either wolf. “We use the stables for that.” Perhaps accidentally revealing the fact there were now horses there: a blue roan and a bay gelding. “They got plenty of stalls if you need one. Tell ‘em I sent you.” He hadn’t seen Nort’ ever ride a horse but it might make their expeditions on the island or elsewhere easier, when necessary. The only one he knew to have a steed (which he did not trust) was the one that carried Lita and Lor-... well, speak of the half-orc. A grind of chain was soon followed by the sound of his voice, and he shot a look between either other were. “You two need to work on yer not-bein’-trailed technique.” He stood up again, nearly kicked the box again but had learned from the first incident. Not that Gorehilt wasn’t welcome. In fact, there happened to be a reason he needed to speak with the one-tusked-wonder. Must be just good luck that he arrived, then. “C’maboard, mate.” Leo called back as he leaned against the open door of his cabin, rubbing over the wrapping on his left palm as though it ached.

Mahri said to you, "Hand bothering you?"

Leo glanced at Mahri, answering honestly, "A bit..."

Gorehilt doesn't waste time and ferries himself across. "You don't have to ask me twice." The dinghy bumps against the hull of the ship, and he begins climbing his way aboard. It's a noisy business, and more than once, Gorehilt can be heard struggling his way up the netting. A hand pops over the rail, then a head, and the rest of him as he slides onto the deck with a metallic crash, landing flat on his front. A split second later, the half orc hops to his feet as though nothing embarrassing had happened. He grumbles something briefly about "sea legs" and rubs his chin. It's Gorehilt alright, but there's something a little different about him. His right tusk is missing. "Now I wouldn't know anything about secret ships and black flags," he glances up to the Jolly Roger atop the mast, "otherwise I might guess you were up to no good."

Nortengaal scoffed and rolled his eyes with a grin. “Mate, I'm drunk and don't even know how i got here. Bein’ trailed’s the last thing on my mind.” Mahri hmms softly about the hand and let's Leo handle the new Comer, meanwhile she glances at Nortengaal, reaching for the almost empty bottle of whiskey. "Setting roots down, huh?"

Leoxander was brought away from any concern to his hand by Gorehilt’s words - the half-breed managed to rise a smirk onto the rogue’s expression. “No better cause to be up to. Guess you weren’t ‘round in the days back. This is my new project. Still gotta christen ‘er.” A trip to the seas would do that, not a broken bottle. Nort’ had already accomplished that bit. “Guess I better pull out the fine china.” He motioned Gorehilt into the space of his quarters and retrieved said ‘china’, which was a couple mismatched jars without lids, a tin mug, and a lid like a thermos top, suitable for holding a few shots. Rather than go for the black label he and Mahri had nearly finished, he retrieved some of Cenril’s aged bourbon whiskey from a recently open shop he conveniently got a discount in, and poured them each a decent amount on the parchment covered desk. “Try not to break anythin’...” He said to the orc, given the bearman’s grand entrance. A hanging lantern and an oil on the desk continued to provide light as the sun started to fade beyond the opening of that large but secretive cove.

Nortengaal looks to Mahri and shrugs a bit. “As much as i ever have i suppose. I’ve found some good reasons to stick around.” He meets her gaze for a few silent heartbeats worth of time before shifting his eyes to the two walking in. Ah, Gorehilt, another friendly face. Though something seems different about him…Nort cant place it at first before it registers that the half-orc is missing a tusk. There must be a good story behind that, those things cant go easy. He takes up the poured drink, swirling it idly in the tin before he raises it in a sort of toast before he takes a small drink. He’s still drunk after all, no need to go crazy at this point. “‘Ello Gorehilt. Long time no see. You look a little different, you do somethin with your hair?”

Gorehilt prudently refrains from asking the obvious questions so as not to interrupt the serving of drinks. Got to keep one's priorities straight, especially when there's bourbon involved. Once inside the cabin, he offers salutary nods and gestures to Mahri and Nortengaal. "The usual suspects. Hello hello." Try not to break anything? Gorehilt is about to offer some mouthy retort for that bit of unsolicited advice, but as he turns to do so, his head bumps the lantern and knocks it swinging. A spat of curses follows while Gorehilt works with awkwardly mingled haste and care to secure the light and arrest its motion. "Ah. Oof! There." Having singed one of his fingers on a hot lantern pane, Gorehilt dips it into his cup of brandy. "We, uh, were saying what now?"

Gorehilt wrinkles his brow at Nort's question. *Has* he done something different with his hair? Oh. Remembering, Gorehilt grimaces and probes the broken stump of his missing tusk with his tongue. "Myeah. My face got," he considers his phrasing, "percussively adjusted."

Leoxander hadn’t pointed out the missing tusk but that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed it. In fact, he was observant enough to make note of it after the fight. So when Leo abruptly and annoyingly sat himself in Mahri’s lap to reach over for a far drawer for a box, he’d be pushing it into Gorehilt’s ribs for him when he stood back up from smothering his would-be sister. But he doubled back to tug it out of his reach with a warning. “This is somethin’ of a contract, Spike. A welcome home, present, savvy?” Maybe he was as vague as ever explaining that he’d be part of a company that was expected to work when they were needed, but the pirate’s demeanor never really changed from that, whether that person was a rogue or not. Sometimes Leo just seemed like he ruled the world, but did not display that too obviously. Gorehilt was given a second opportunity to gingerly take the small, loosely sealed box or refuse.

Mahri 's taking a jar minus the lid and avoids Nortengaal's direct gaze. Gorehilt, the poor half-orc there, draws her attention and, while the she-wolf doesn't know him as well, his mishap with the lantern draws a slight curve to her mouth. Some would call it an almost smile. "We weren't saying much of anything, really.” She's also got a lap full of Leo with a slight 'oomph'.

Gorehilt is amused and suspicious when Leoxander starts talking about contracts and presents. His eyes flicker between Nortengaal and Mahri, fishing for cues and clues. "Ah no, you shouldn't have." Gorehilt apprehensively reaches out, plucks up the little box with his thumb and forefinger, and turns it over a couple times. He gently shakes it beside his ear. "If this is a shrunken head, I swear." Gorehilt sniffs the box and, finally, pries it open.

Nortengaal can't help but smirk at Gorehilt’s choice of words, no stranger to such ‘percussive adjustments’ himself. Lucky for him he still has all his teeth, though his nose is a little worse for the wear these days. Leo produces a box, which he first gives then takes away from the greenskin. Nort is intrigued, who doesnt wanna know whats in a box? But of course he keeps his hands to himself, it isnt being offered to him after all; he just watches as Gore takes it so he can see what’s inside too.

Nortengaal picked up 1 Beloy Street Bourbon Whisky.

Mahri knows what's in the box, she suspects and since she has claimed Leo's seat behind the desk, she'll stay there with her jar of bourbon in hand and wait for Gorehilt to open or reject what's been given to him. Mahri 's still trying to ignore Nortengaal but a bear in the room is not something easily dismissed.

Leo leaned back into a seat on the edge of his desk and picked up the container of alcohol that was left, waiting while Gorehilt opened the box to reveal… well, it was gold. Whatever it was, it was a solid gold. At least to those thin metal brackets that would fit onto whatever remained of his old tusk. Shaped to match the one remaining, the Captain figured he could find some glue (if such things should exist) or cement to mount it properly, but it was definitely a touch of ‘bling’ to the half-orc’s grin. “Jus’ do me a favor, Spike. Don’t ever let Lora’ on that horse’a yers again.” You gave 1 gold-tooth tusk to Gorehilt.

Nortengaal lets out a low whistle as the box is open and its contents revealed. “Ooo very nice. Quite the accessory.” His eye flick over to Mahri again, who seems to be deliberately avoiding looking at the bearman, a rather impressive bit of ocular gymnastics considering the size of the space they're all sharing. He wonders what’s up with that, his whiskey drenched brain struggling to come up with an answer. Ultimately he gives a little shrug; if it’s something he’d done she surely would've said something by now.

Gorehilt blinks at the sight of the gold and goes wide-eyed. Plucking up the gold tusk, now, the half orc holds it up in the lantern light to examine its luster. He bites it. He curses again, this time in astonishment. "Name the favor," Gorehilt easily agrees, only to bark a laugh when Leo names it in the next breath. "Bha! Cinderback?" Gorehilt shakes his head, grinning. "I'll do my best, but I can't say that last time was the horse's fault." For the sake of Mahri and Nort, he adds. "My horse spooked when someone decided to, uh, forcibly borrow it recently. What happened next was unfortunate but," Gorehilt shrugs and glances noncommittally over his shoulder, "preventable. I'll do my best."

Leoxander shook his head against Gorehilt’s protest. “It wasn’t. An’ I’ll keep hold of that favor for now. I trus’ you’re with us, then?” Mahri and Nort had seen the state Lora was in and the tentativeness that lingered between Lita and Leo the following day at the duel, so he gave them a pointed look to connect the dots. His gaze shifted to Nortengaal. “I’ll have work and rewards for you, too, bearman, but you gotta climb out’a this wagon you’ve got yerself in lately, dig?” But for Gorehilt’s unsigned contract, he raised his drink to the three and drank it down.

Mahri listened to the explain about the horse and, perhaps she'd had too much to drink at this point, but despite the seriousness of what happened that she assumed lead up to Lora getting sick - Mahri chuckled. "I'm sure it won't" she raised her glass, smile still in place, "Because I'll kill you if Leo doesn't." She meant it. Mahri drank 1 Beloy Street Bourbon Whisky. Mahri drank to that.

Leo took the moment to glance between Mahri and Nortengaal. It really wasn’t difficult to tense the tension, but being a ‘thrope along with them and susceptible to other senses made it worse. “You two need a moment? There’s a whole bloody galley across the way.” He pinpointed a look at Mahri. It was probably about time to get out of his chair. He still had some work to go over, but despite his suggestion, he was starting to become a little concerned. “I should probably check on Lora’. She should be back by now. Can I trust you three not to burn the place down?” Gorehilt can't argue with any of that. Raising his glass likewise, he taps it on the table, clinks it with the others, and downs his shot. His face scrunches in anticipation of a burn that... never comes. "Oh. Smooth." He looks down into the glass and regrets taking it at a gulp. That was a sipping bourbon. "Well, that's a contract twice sealed, on gold," he holds up one finger, "and on a damn fine drink." He holds up a second finger and gravely shakes his head. "I'm sure Vak Man himself would kill me if I backed out now. With a bolt of lightning. No! Aha! With a pox." He nods, satisfied with the image, and lightly taps the corner of his glass on the table. "So that's that."

Leoxander offered just a nod toward Gorehilt. No signature necessary.

Nortengaal raises his tin towards Gorehilt in the toast and drinks it down. Damn, that *is* smooth. Definitely more so that what he’s been drinking lately. Speaking of…”Aye aye Cap’n, that’s more n fair.” he says, acknowledging one of the man’s many proverbial hats for the first time. Nort honestly isnt sure whats gotten into him lately - aside from the copious amounts of whiskey that is - and if he we were more sober he’d probably be more embarrassed that he’s been seen in such a state so often recently. He’ll work his way out of it soon enough, that much he silently promises the rogue, meeting his gaze with a slight nod. As for Leo’s suggestion, Nort just chuckles and shrugs, shaking his head a bit. The ball was in Mahri’s court as far as he was concerned, she was the one ignoring him. “Yea, i think we can manage to keep the place afloat between the three of us. You go see to your Mouse.”

Gorehilt urges Leo on likewise. "You're good, boss, c'mon, heey." He indicates himself, the others. "Don't we look like responsible types?" Don't think about that too hard. Don't answer that.

Leoxander fixes his gaze at Nort’. He’s tempted to leave the werebear in the company of his fellow Alpha, one time Beta, but decides against it, knowing her moods. “Why don’t you walk with me, mate? Gore’ an’ Mah’ need a chance to get to know each other.” He wasn’t so good at this talking stuff but he was going to give it a try. Best the half-orc get accustomed to one of their squad’s division leaders, anyhow.

Mahri agrees, "Take care of Mouse, Cap'n."