Martha
Roach
Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper

Exciting things were happening in Roach's life. He was stood in the largest harbour he'd *Ever* Put a foot in, watching as people bustled by and prepared for the upcoming events. He was absolutely mystified, lost like a childlike state of wonder and majesty, wide eyes eating up visuals of ships he'd heard tales of, but had never expected to see before him. His heart has remained with the ships ever since he'd escaped his past, fond memories of sailing were flooding back into his mind and brought a warm smile to his face, he wrung his hands to thumb over scars from his journeys. The ship he was stood at in particular is one he'd certainly only heard as legend— the *Singing Siren*, where the crew was known for their song and rumoured to not stop. The ship itself was gorgeous, his eyes skimmed over proud sails and a sturdy bow, and his fingers itched for old days of running ropes on rocky ground. While Roach was near completely lost in his own thoughts, a stray coat passing caught his eye. 

"Sir—!" The words left his mouth before his brain could comprehend them, he spun on his heel to take a hop towards the man of legend himself, seen by Roach only in paintings. "Admiral Elbaroda, sir, it's an honour. If I may have a moment of your time, it would mean the world for an introduction." A rugged hand placed against Roach's chest for him to give a curt but proper bow. Manners and etiquette, while not something Roach had quite perfected, were still very important to him. *Especially* When meeting an idol of his. His heart was beating fast, his white eyes focused on Retto while returning to a stand. A hand offered out, Roach's expression eager. "My name is Roach. I work for the BMTC. It's a true pleasure to meet you, I was just admiring your ship—" Roach cleared his throat and took a pause. He was speaking too fast, he had a terrible habit for speaking too fast. "An honour, sorry. It's an honour."
Mark
**Admiral Retto Elbaroda**
**Hangman's Harbor, Tonate Proper**

Elbaroda nodded to his crew. Everything seemed to be in top shape as usual. "Alrigh' lads, I'm going ashore. Everythin' looks t' be in order. Remember thi'. We're home." His heart swelled with joy to be back in Tonate. Bearer knew it beat that shithole Taemar any day of the week. To a mainlander, Hangman's Harbor was a filthy pirate's den. Then again, most mainlanders hadn't actually seen Tonate Proper. The Harbor was a grand thing, even making his man-of-war the *Siren* Seem small by comparison. 

Elbaroda swept his coat around him, and strapped his hurdy gurdy to his back. If he were still just a ship captain, he would have simply found the nearest source of rum and revelry to play some fine shanties on his instrument. Alas, admiralty had its perks, and its drawbacks. No doubt paperwork would be involved. 

He stepped along the dock, surrounded by familiar faces, and those of strangers. The sounds of ships creaking, shanties singing, and trade-craft being done rang out across the Harbor. A 'Sir!' which called out stopped him, though. The one who said so sounded eager to speak with him.

"Wha' can I d' for ye-" He turned with a smile to the one who stopped him, and was met with shock. The one who spoke with him wasn't human. Nor was he elf. He was unlike anything Retto had seen before, and he had seen a lot in his travels. He didn't know what to say to him, he had heard stories of nonhumans, and if he hadn't seen that shifter back at the Council of Marin, likely wouldn't have believed many them either. He was attempting to think of how to respond to the one who called himself 'Roach' -that is- until he introduced himself as part of the BMTC. What race Roach was didn't matter to him anymore. He was part of the BMTC, which made him family. Retto hesitated for just a moment, but then nodded and took the man's hand and shook it. "Th' pleasure's all mine, Roach. I appreciate th' complimen's"

He turned to the *Siren* "I'm gla' ye admire th' *Siren* Too. She an' her crew are m' pride an' joy" He turned back to Roach. "Now wha' can I d' for ye?"
Martha
Roach
Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper

He was, undoubtedly, used to that exact look. Wide eyes, a cocked brow, sometimes a slack jaw or a hand coming to slap over a person's mouth. It didn't hurt so much anymore, the sting of being looked at so differently disappeared long, long before. And, thankfully, his excitement made it so that he couldn't even tell that his appearance would possibly affect how he interacted with someone he held highly. His glee was bursting at the seams, he bounced up onto his toes a few times as a hearty handshake occurs between them. "I've heard many tales of her," He began, following Retto's gaze, "But I've never had a chance to see her for myself before. She's even more spectacular in person than any story's come close to." He could hear the shanties, still, floating with the crashing waves and the hum of the bustling hub. For a brief moment, Roach relished in the merry sound before snapping back to the present. 

"Right, yes. If you have the time, I had a few questions. You see, I want nothing more than to advance my career with the company. How did you do it? How did you advance, how hard was it for you? What was it like?" His eyes glimmered with intrigue and awe, as if this moment would be pivotal to his continuation. But, noting that they were stood in the centre of the docks, Roach brought a hand to gesture to the shore. "Can I buy you a drink?" Roach didn't have very much to his name, but sparing a few coins in exchange for a conversation with an admiral, someone close to Bradai Maith, would be more than worth it to him in the end. "You must be wanting a sit, anyway. The transition to land is rough after a long while at sea, isn't it? Makes you proper dizzy." Again, he gestured over to shore, that time with a nod of his head. 

"I promise, I won't keep you long. But if you've even a few minutes to chat..." Talking too much, he was. Roach quiets himself, clasped his hands together and did his best not to frighten the poor man off.