A little wander

[wisp]

Derya sat in the small, cramped room she was renting for her time in Calenhelm. It smelled musty and she was pretty sure the straw in her mattress hadn't been changed for a few months before her own arrival. But she was in a city again and glory abounded.
Seated at the tiny round table on the lone stool, Derya wrote a letter by the light of a smoky lantern.

Captain Conchita and her First Mate Itzal;

Mother, Father, I hope this letter finds you. And then I hope that it finds you well, that the Silver Fin sails with smooth waters and that prosperity and joy abounds. I know how formal and terribly dull that line sounds, but I do, sincerely, mean it. I miss you and the crew and that life terribly. I've considered coming home, and eventually I will, but there are still things I want to accomplish here, relationships I haven't quite put to bed. (Father, I can hear you snickering and I'll have you know I've not slept with a single Breacher since arriving in that outpost. I also know you likely don't believe me.)
...
​

Derya wrote for nearly an hour, pouring over the words, the details, the Dark Elves. She bared her spirit on the page. She missed her parents, she even missed the disapproving look she'd get from her mother when she'd come running back to the docks, buck naked and needing desperately on board before some jilted lover, husband, wife, parent, or gambler could find where she darted off to. Always the stern look, and always allowed on board, safe and hidden. She'd even caught the amused look her parents exchanged when they thought she couldn't see them. These looks, the nuances of communication when you were a part of a family..these she missed dearly.

Finishing the letter, the Elf tucked it into her shirt and rose. It was time to begin her wander. She was wearing a far quieter outfit now, with linen shirt and baggy pants, scarves still wrapped haphazardly about her waist and head and wrists, excellent places to tuck this and that. She wore an itchy, felted wool cloak and nothing on her jingled or jangled. She wasn't going out to impress, to dazzle the senses or to catch attention. She was going out to do business. That, of course, didn't stop her from wearing her octopus pendant or a large variety of cheap, glass-jeweled rings on her fingers. A girl had to have some zazz after all.

Slipping from her room and out through the main hall of the inn, Derya hit the street, deciding to try to find a seedy little drinking establishment, maybe lose some money gambling and more buying a few people drinks. Perhaps she'd pick a fight with a nasty tempered fellow or lass, and eventually take someone to bed, but before then she'd get a few names and start handing out one of her own. Everyone needed a nickname, and she was no different. Tonight, she'd try being Flint.

 

[wisp]

Derya ducked down alleys, walking with a purposeful swagger, a walk that would have set coins to jingling at her hip had she been wearing them. She cast sidelong grins at those she passed. Finally, she came to a suitably seedy-looking bar. Rolling her shoulders, the elven sailor took a deep breath and dove back in to the life she used to live every evening in port.

 

[Dramm a'dan]

Stepping through the door, your nose is assaulted with the smell of unwashed bodies, moldy straw, stale grog and what could be some kind of smoked weed, (maybe). Not that this bar was noisy to begin with, but only a few heads turn to see who has entered.

Looking around the room, there’s not much to notice, most everyone is hunched over their clay mug, a few folks are conversing in low whispers. The bar keep is leaning back against a stack of kegs, and the server is leaning against the end of the bar, with a bored look on her face. The look of contempt she gives you is one of “Oh great, I might actually have to serve someone, yippy”.

 

[wisp]

Derya flashed the barkeep her most winning smile, a cocky little thing peppered with mirthful apology. She approached the bar, dark eyes scanning the patrons briefly before leaning on the counter top. "Hello, Friend. The house special, whatever that happens to be." She paused a moment, that lopsided grin of hers firmly on her lips. In this pause Derya turned, casting a look over those gathered once more, a casual look, as if picking out a seat in the fragrant room. Her lips pursed a moment before she turned back to the bored barkeep. "If it's easier with you, darling, you -could- just pass me a keg." She offered a wink. She knew better than to dive right into her purpose, she knew she needed to ease her way in but this city was new to her, the atmosphere unfamiliar and the politics and gossip a bit out of her reach. She'd need to tread even more carefully than usual so as not to ruin her chances before they even began. "As any sailor worth their salt is wont to do, I'm trying to make a go of all the truly classy establishments in this city, beginning here, of course." Her grin broadened. "A girl is in need of some drinking company, as well." This last she spoke a bit more loudly, tossing a sidelong grin at any who might catch it.

 

[Dramm a'dan]

"Oh lass, you don't want to drink the house special," you hear from the door. "We'll take two of my usual please. And I'll buy a round for them to." You turn to look at who's talking, you see a hobling in a tall hat gesturing to the table in the corner. The group sitting at the table get up and relocate to another table away from the now vacant spot.

Smiling at you, "care to join me for a drink?" Artie asks Derya as he moves to the corner.

 

[wisp]

Derya flashed the hobling a bright smile before following him to the table and taking a seat. She sits close, not so close as to intrude on personal space, but close enough to speak easily in low, casual tones. The drink she accepted readily.