Fawkes' laughter roared throughout the docks as he scraped in the hefty pot. "And ya thought I was bluffin'!" he taunts just before finishing off his pint of stout, with his four fives laying dominant over the improvised card table. "But, but... It was a full house! Made up of all face cards!" squeaked a now destitute dockworker, his hands shaking and eyes blank, unable to register this drastic turn of fortune. "Oh aye!" says the hefty helmsman, wiping his hand across his beard.  "And you too, Missy! Honour yer deal!"  Fawkes laughed, holding out his palm expectantly.<br/><br/>"You're a bastard, you know that, Arthur?" grumbled the Harbour Mistress as she undid the clasps to her dress and slid it up over her head, leaving her only in her frilly white petticoats. She pouted as she quickly folded it and laid it on Fawkes' waiting arm. "There!" She said, doing a pose that was a half-hearted attempt at being sultry. "Ya got your show. Happy?"<br/>"Must say as I am, Alessa. Yer gamblin' debt's payed up. Deal's a deal-oops!" He tossed the garment over his shoulder, right into the bay.  The harbour mistress fumed, and turned as red as a ripe strawberry. "You-- YOU SHITPRICK!" Another round of raucous laughter sprung up from the dock as Alessa slapped Fawkes' face as hard as she could, leaving a bright pink mark, but only giving a split-second pause to his gut-busting laughter while he recoiled. Seeing as none of the men or women present were more interested in helping a lady than watching her humiliation, Alessa jumped in after her clothes. "Doesn't she keep the manifests in those pockets?" a voice in the audience asked.  A burst of inspiration came to the helmsman. "Oh aye! Right shame, that!" Fawkes said while he pocketed his winnings.  "Arright! Back ta work!  Oh, and grab two or three of the crates over there, woulja?"<br/>"Don't you dare, Fawkes! Those silks are bound for Portugal!" shouted Alessa as she clambered out from the bay, a lot moister and a little more see-through. "Is tha' so? Don't think there's any way ya can prove it... At least not without lettin' it be known ya were down here playin' strip poker with the workers."<br/><br/>He strode along the dock, a crate of limes perched on his shoulder, leading the small platoon of barrel-haulers up the gangplank to the<i>Lion's Bastard</i>. He gives a respectful nod to the first mate. "Still a few loads short, Ma'am, but we're gettin' there."  He gets two more steps and snaps his fingers, remembering his acquisition. "Oh, and I picked up a couple o' somethin's. Feel free ta rifle through it fer first picks."  He says, gesturing to the two stamped crates of fine silk ensembles, directing the men towards the hold, while he made his way towards the mess with his delivery.<br/>"Presen' for ya! More limes!" He said to Narkissos as he passed by the cook. " I hope ya got a damn tome full o' recipes for these little bastards, 'cause I know this ain' the first or the last crate of 'em."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>