Erik
**Galt-Drake Geare
Tonate Proper, Southern Isles**

Like usual, the sun in Tonate Proper was plentiful and borderline obnoxious. Galt-Drake hated the tropical sunlight, except when he was out at sea. At least when one was on the waves, they could feel a stiff ocean breeze which would cool them from the agony of the midday sun. Today, though, the temperature was far cooler, and so the effects of the beaming sun were drastically reduced. Thus, Galt-Drake found himself walking out in the open in Tonate Proper, as opposed to slinking through alleyways. Unlike most Islanders, Galt-Drake could only tan to a degree, and was more vulnerable to sunburn due to his lighter skin. With the temperatures being so cool now, he could actually enjoy the city itself.

As Galt-Drake walked about Tonate Proper, inspecting the people and guards, he found himself straying near the gates. At this point, he was wandering without much of a goal in mind, so he figured he would just go where the winds took him. It was an off day for himself and his crews anyway, so why not enjoy it at his own pace? Galt-Drake walked out of the gates and a bit away from it, but his eyes caught wind of something: A sickly boy with a pet snake. Was this that Puckgordon lad Silas seemed to care so much about? Galt-Drake approached with his usual youthful, privateering swagger, for it was ingrained in his psyche to do so.

"What's a lad like yerself doin' all alone out in the sun here?" Galt-Drake inquired of the boy, before commenting, "Ye look like ye'll drop any damn second now!"
John
Puckgordon Snæch 
Tonate Proper

Puck had his eyes closed, and opened one when he was unabashedly spoken to. He lifted his head up slowly, looking at the man who addressed him.

"Aye? Here's to hoping..." He cracked half a smile as he stayed slouched in the chair that was brought out for him. 

"Sun's supposed to heal me or some witch-fuckery now... Er... Sorcery..." He weakly put it, tilting his head to the side like a weakened baby bird. "What are *You* Doing?" He asked back, the snake coiling around its master like a loose, shiny scarf.
Erik
**Galt-Drake Geare
Tonate Proper, Southern Isles**

Galt-Drake quirked a brow characteristically at the boy's rather morbid, but somewhat silly and humorous, way of going about his obvious sickness. The lad even mentioned sorcery, through the use of the sun. To Galt-Drake, though, the sun providing greater mood boosts and health was no magic, but just the way nature worked. It was pretty known in the inner circles of Tonate Proper that Silas was quite the magic-man, but Galt-Drake doubted heavily that sunbathing was part of that. The privateer took particular notice of the snake, but was not unnerved by it in the slightest.

Galt-Drake answered Puck, "Oh, me? Just walking. It's an offday for me and me crew. Figured I'd enjoy it me own way. As fer yer... Witch-fuckery... Sunbathing ain't no sorcery I've heard of, lad. It's only healthy, and Silas is wise to have ye do it as part of yer healing. Yer just as wise for following it. Ye'd think more of the stinkin' bastards inhabiting this rotten heap of a city would do it, and take a bath in the lakes and rivers to boot."

After a moment of inspection, Galt-Drake remembered the boy further, and in greater detail. He'd seen the lad skulking around the halls during the Skagerlly trial. The boy was sneaky, that could not be doubted. In Puck, Galt-Drake saw... Potential, perhaps?

Galt-Drake inquired of Puck, "Tell me, lad, what does Silas have ye do when yer actually healthy? Does he train ye? Teach ye anything? Or are ye simply left to sneak about unseen?"
John
Puckgordon Snæch 
Tonate Proper

Puck looked the man up and down. How did this guy know *Silas*? The boy knew better than to expect Silas to leave him unstalked by a poppy or two in his weakened state, and so he expected that this fellow that had struck up conversation wasn't a part of any plan.

He sat up in his chair a little and rubbed the back of his neck, damp with sweat from the tropical humidity. "I'm a ward of King Bradai." He stated plainly. "From Melsoh..." It would explain his pale blue eyes and alabaster complexion, and perhaps even his rather natural sneakiness. Although it seemed that Puckgordon was set apart from the natural Melsi or Taemish appearance by a mop of raven black hair, ...As dark as Silas's.

 "I just do what they tell me to. Some reason or the other I..." He sulked a little, "I am of value. Couldn't tell you why, but I'm just around for... Whatever they need." He tilted his head to the other side now, staring up at Galt-Drake with curiosity, now.

"I obviously wasn't unseen if you've seen me, yeah? How do you know Silas? S'There something you want? Hate to break it to you, milord, you've better luck giving the request to that drunken bastard in the ditch over there."