Eira flashed a quick if uneasy smile at W'ineton and Esserae as the aviari woman bid her fetch Hogar. She sketched a hint of a bow toward Darion, with a courtliness rather bizarre for a dust-strewn sellsword, then retreated back below. Once indoors, she let go of a short breath -- even after all these weeks she was<i>still</i>not entirely comfortable standing up on the quarterdeck for any length of time -- and strode more confidently toward the makeshift tinker's shop.<span style="color: magenta">"Hey, old man,"</span>she called out, almost sing-song, amid a tromping footfall that<i>might</i>have announced her approach were anyone paying attention.<span style="color: magenta">"Feeling hun... gry?"</span><br/><br/>Her question died on her lips as she rounded a stack of crates and her eyes fell on her half-dressed friend standing above the aviari girl feverishly masturbating on the floor of the hold. Her own pale cheeks filled with color, and she let out a cough and quickly averted her eyes -- fast enough that she failed to catch even a glimpse of the crimson powder still hanging in the air.<span style="color: magenta">"Um. W'ineton asked me to invite you to dine, Hogar, but if you're, uh, busy? I can deliver your apologies..."</span>She found herself fidgety, restless, and suddenly wishing she could turn invisible.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>