"Why is a man of your...<span style="font-style: italic">personage</span>trying to help a stowaway like me? What would you gain from keeping me alive for any longer?"<br/><br/>Ganelon sighed as the woman toyed with one of her weapons. It was a reasonable question and far from unexpected, but he had hoped that it could have gone unanswered at least for a day or two. Of course, he was under no obligation to tell her<span style="font-style: italic">anything</span>if he didn't feel like it, but to leave her guessing wouldn't motivate her to come back another day. In many ways, that was far worse than providing the response she wanted.<br/><br/>"...Yes, I do want to live, but being under your crazy captain's rule isn't something I would like any better than being used as ammunition."<br/><br/>"Says the lass who snuck aboard a flying ship after its crew burned her home to the ground. Ye'd fit right in with the crazies on this ship fer expectin' anything but a slow death up here, lass. Bein' one of us wouldn't help yer odds much, either - when the captain's in a bad mood, it's the useful ones who get his mercy, pirates or no."<br/><br/>Pausing for a moment to take another long sip of his soup while it was still warm, the Crow allowed himself a small, wry smile. It really was the best thing he had tasted in months, even accounting for the rare cases where he managed to sneak off with something warm and fresh. Without knowing it, the girl had probably convinced a good chunk of the crew that she would make a better cook than she would a projectile. That was a start, at least.<br/><br/>"You asked me why I care 'bout yer life, but that ain't the right question t' ask. What ye should be askin' is 'How do I make meself useful without sleepin' with half the crew in a single night?'. Since yer so damn curious, though, I'll tell ye anyways - I hate these people, an' they hate me 'least as much, 'cept without the<span style="font-style: italic">courtesy</span>to keep it to just words. I sleep up in this basket 'cause nobody would say a thing to the captain if I woke up one day with both me legs broken, an' I stay on this ship 'cause these rats're going t' make me rich whether they like it or not. Only problem is, spending all day up here leaves me with more 'n enough time to think, but nobody to share me thoughts with. That's where you come in, lass."<br/><br/>The Crow leaned back, took a long and thorough look at Aris, and wished that he had his own bottle of rum with which to drown himself in. The less rational part of his mind was busy lamenting the fact that she seemed no more sane than captain Rotter himself, but even he could admit that his expectations had been unreasonable at best. There wasn't a person alive who was daring enough to infiltrate the Rotsman and trusting enough to speak to him on peaceful terms, who wasn't also addled in at least one way. Still, she was at least pretending to listen to him, which was more than he could say for any of his shipmates.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">What a fine choice</span>, he thought to himself.<span style="font-style: italic">Madness through isolation or madness through association.</span><br/><br/>"You come up here 'an talk about anythin' that pleases ye, give me somethin' to think about, listen to a story or two, and I'll share whatever ye need to know concernin' this ship and the best ways t' keep from being tossed off its sides. I ain't askin' much an' I ain't offerin' much more, but right now I'd wager ye ain't got much else I want, lass. Now, I'll ask again. Do we have a deal, or are ye too proud to accept the help of a pirate like me?"