<span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="font-family:Open Sans">The scuffle above quickly turned to what could not be mistaken for anything else other than the screams of dying men. Altair was growing increasingly more anxious, but the other slaves did not seem so worried. They were a different lot, apparently more accustomed to sea travel than he was.<br/>
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“No need to worry that pretty little blond head of yours,” the eldest slave started, uncaring that his words sounded patronizing. “We're goods. Pirates don't murder what they can make a coin on.” Still, Altair was thankful for that information. He liked to know what drove the men whose hands he'd just fallen into. Greed was something he understood, and he imagined he could leverage that against them so he could keep himself intact. He was without a doubt the most attractive thing in the hold. A rare treat from Dusan, and he certainly had the most extensive training out of the whole lot.<br/>
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Altair was standing when the man entered, gaining his full attention, though the sight of blood on him turned his stomach. He did not care for his slavers. They took piss-poor care of him as far as he was concerned, but they left him alone. Altair understood his words, and he thanked his tutors for all the language lessons. None of the other slaves gave any complaints, instead bowed their heads and nodded an affirmative. Altair latched onto the word 'captain'.<br/>
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“Good Captain, why would we cause issue when it is mutually beneficial for us to stay on a ship?” Came his lilting voice, light with Dusanian accent. Altair didn't particularly care which ship, just so long as he didn't end up swimming. He was not stupid, perhaps bold for speaking, but his eloquent words would speak for themselves, and hopefully towards his worth. Altair didn't bow, instead remaining standing. This captain was no King, and certainly not Dusanian. He wasn't being deliberately disrespectful, but rather showing a lack of fear of reprimand.</span></span>