<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Imageedit_16_6798356439.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8e/C25bahk.jpg)</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br/><div style="text-align: left;"><strong>Name:</strong> Nefsonne the Mute (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=300519.msg14712643#msg14712643)</div><div style="text-align: right;"><strong>Name:</strong> Lifa Canary (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=300519.msg14696106#msg14696106)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><strong>Position:</strong> Blacksmith</div><div style="text-align: right;"><strong>Position:</strong> Seaman</div><div align="center"><strong>Location:</strong> Tavern &gt; Esperanza, Top Deck</div><div align="center"><strong>Time &amp; Date</strong>: Day 1| Morning</div><div align="center"><strong>Tagging:</strong> Liam Scott, Open</div><div align="center"><strong>Content:</strong> Lifa and Nef finally gain employment</div><br/><hr/><div style="text-align: left;">Lifa and Nefsonne sat together in a relatively quiet corner of a less than reputable tavern in Port Royal. Each had the hoods of their tattered, worn-looking cloaks pulled low over their heads in an effort to obscure their faces. But since necessity had dictated that both of the garments be obtained hurriedly and dishonestly, there was little room to fuss over such details as appropriate sizing. The result then, was that Lifa’s slight body was swimming in hers while, contrarily, Nefsonne looked like he had long since outgrown his. Beneath the ill-fitting and ill-begotten cloaks, their sparse clothing was bedraggled, dirty and torn. This was especially the case for Lifa, whose white coat and trousers were no longer white at all, but varying shades of grimy, filth-streaked gray. Nefsonne, whose usual attire was minimal anyway, was by far better off than his companion. His simple, red-dyed linen shorts were ragged at the hems and his white, linen shirt, which was intentionally torn at the shoulders to better accommodate his bulging biceps, was merely yellowed from sweat. The shirt had also been stolen.  His enormous leather boots seemed to remain in decent enough repair, the right one still concealing the knife for which he was named. Aside from Nefsonne’s knife, Lifa’s beloved thin-bladed sword, a treasured gift from her late husband, and a stolen coin purse, the two had no possessions to speak of. Their stomachs were taut with hunger and their only thoughts for the past week had been consumed by the single, instinctual drive to survive until the next sunrise. Well, in Lifa’s case, she had been equally consumed by, and hungry for, one other thing. Revenge. As if she had formed an additional function for life, her need to breathe and eat had now been joined by her need for vengeance, and she felt it in her very bones. This hunger that she bore hung about her like a dark cloud. So, needless to say, Lifa’s usual cheery disposition was rather stormy at present. <br/><br/>Hunched in the simple wooden chair across from Nefsonne, Lifa’s delicate features were drawn in a scowl. Her brooding demeanor, of course, failed to impress Nefsonne, who found her even more charming than usual. He thought her bad humor made her look like a petulant child more than anything and found himself amused by it. He turned his attention away from her to carefully and subtly survey the room. Their continued survival was a credit to his persistent diligence, since Lifa, though very bright, was not well educated in the ways of life here at the very dregs of society. If not for him, she would have died days ago. Or else would have found herself working in a brothel. The thought to sell her off to a Madame had occurred to him, and he felt no remorse in such thoughts, despite his mild affection for the woman, but alas he had not yet decided to walk that path. It was true that, with the death of Frederick, Nefsonne was no longer beholden to his Captain's orders. In his mind, his duty as Lifa's bodyguard had therefore been forfeited, along with Fred’s life. Yet, he continued to protect her. To what end? He wasn't sure. Introspection and self-reflection were not particular vices that he often, if ever, indulged in. As a matter of fact, he scarcely indulged in any vice, though he had taken notice of some of the women in the tavern. Paying for a good time with one of them was a luxury he could not afford at the moment, not when his primary concern was keeping them both alive.<br/><br/>While Lifa was distracted by her own moody thoughts, Nefsonne took note of a new arrival in the tavern, a blond haired Officer dressed in the uniform of the Royal Navy. Wordlessly, Nefsonne gained Lifa’s attention, as if the two shared a psychic connection and when she rose a surly eyebrow at him, he gestured vaguely at the man who was already rearing up to make himself heard over the steady murmur of mingled conversations. Lifa did not immediately recognize the face of this particular officer, but if she found out his name, she might know him by reputation. Due to her standing in society as a Duchess, she was familiar with many high-ranking officials. Some, she knew in person and had met. Others, she knew of through gossip, rumor or report. She endeavored to make out the man, but failed to recall anyone neither of that countenance nor bearing. <br/><br/>Suddenly she turned to Nefsonne and brightened, “Perhaps he can help us in our efforts,” she said eagerly, “If I don’t know him, chances are good that he did not know Fred. And if he didn’t know Fred, he’s not likely to be the one responsible. But perhaps if I explain myself, and tell him who I am, he will be sympathetic to our cause and may even escort us back to the Valverde. Naturally, I could always persuade him with payment… once we get back home I’ll have access to Frederick’s financial assets. I must speak with him.”<br/><br/>Lifa and Nefsonne listened closely as the man introduced himself and explained his intentions. And afterwards, they patiently waited until the last person, who had been tempted by his offer to enlist and crew his ship, had swaggered away, none the wiser about their likely fate as canon fodder. As the Officer readied himself to depart the tavern, doubtless eager to remove himself from such unbecoming surroundings, Lifa purposefully got to her feet. She had scarcely taken a step when she was suddenly jerked back. Looking sharply over her shoulder, she saw that Nefsonne had placed a large hand around her wrist, the thick fingers circling and overlapping around her forearm. He had not purposefully meant to be so rough, but the sheer momentum of her movement was so completely halted by his strength that it jarred her, setting her teeth on edge. She swiveled fully around and said in a low, irritated whisper, “What, Nef? What?”<br/><br/>The giant man slowly shook his head. <br/><br/>“No, what, Nef?” she spat impatiently.<br/><br/>He released his grip and brought a finger to his temple, tapping it slowly.<br/><br/>“You’re right,” she conceded, rubbing her wrist absently, “I have to play my hand carefully.” <br/><br/>She came in close, sat girlishly in his lap and whispered in his ear, “I’ll go and speak with him, you stay here and keep a sharp eye out for me, just in case. If I can secure us a spot on this ship,” she brought a hand to her mouth contemplatively, “We may be able to turn the tide of our misfortune and bring us a step closer to discovering who was responsible for orchestrating Fred’s death.”<br/><br/>Speaking her husband’s name caused Lifa’s voice to waver momentarily, but she quickly shook the mist from her eyes, replacing the hurt with hate. She turned to look upon Nefsonne’s stoic face, beseeching his approval. He looked down for a moment, considering her words, then nodded gently. She stood up from him and walked, this time a little more measuredly, towards the quartermaster.<br/><br/>“Sir?” she addressed him politely, “Might I have a moment of your time?”<br/><br/>The Officer looked up distractedly from the papers he was gathering into a leather ledger and his face contorted with disgust the moment he took in the miserable sight of Lifa standing there before him. <br/><br/>“My time is too valuable to waste on a wretch like you. I’m not here in search of whores, and if I were, I’d prefer one who understood what a bar of soap was. Off with you now! The <em>Ares</em> has no use for the likes of you!”<br/><br/>His words were as venomous as they were dismissive, and he did not bother to stay long enough to hear Lifa’s reply. With his ledger in hand, he turned sharply and made a swift exit. <br/><br/>Lifa felt her cheeks flush at having been spurned so flagrantly. She was absolutely dumb-founded, but could feel her temper rising. She could also feel Nefsonne's gaze on her back. And this was the only thing stopping her from doing anything particularly rash. In that moment of hesitation, however, she felt the smoldering flames of her anger suddenly turn cold in her chest, as she was overcome with a strange feeling that she could not yet name. After a moment, she realized that was just standing there, quietly looming over the empty table the Officer had vacated. When she finally moved, it was like watching a statue come to life. She turned and retreated to her table, resuming her seat quietly. She could not bring herself to look at Nefsonne's face, even though she knew already that his placid, grim expression barely ever altered. Her eyes bore into the chipped and water stained wooden table as she whispered the words ‘The Ares’, without offering Nefsonne any further explanation. <br/><br/>If she had in that moment been looking at his face, however, she would have seen the rare occurrence of emotion crossing the man’s features. His eyebrows raised and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. For the first time, he saw a genuine darkness in Lifa and he was at the same time impressed, dismayed and even the tiniest bit afraid. He knew that Lifa had moved from a general anger to a more calculating hatred towards the people who crossed her. And he knew that that particular Officer had just been added to her mental kill list, in addition to the mutineers aboard the Crescent Lark and the mysterious person who had arranged it. He knew that, in her eyes, they were all marked for death by her hands. And he knew that Lifa, the innocent, jovial, light-hearted Lifa that had wormed her way into his good graces, was no more. In her place was this new Lifa, who was filled with wrath and brimming with bloodlust. He was certain now, more than ever, that neglecting to sell her off to the first brothel he came across, taking his payment and walking away, would likely prove to have been a wise decision. He was not a man who scared easily, and truthfully his feelings about the prospect of his own death were lukewarm at best since he considered it foolish to fear the inevitable, but this vengeful viper that had coiled up inside of Lifa sent a mild chill down his spine. He did not envy those men and women whom Lifa had marked and, looking upon her now, he knew that they were all as good as ghosts already. <br/><br/>While Lifa had been engaging with the Officer, Nefsonne had diligently kept one eye on her and the other on the rest of the patrons within the tavern. He had noticed a man off to one side, near the fireplace, casually smoking a pipe. Remembering this, he looked again to make certain the man was still there then tapped a knuckle on the table to gain Lifa’s attention. She looked up and he directed her gaze towards the man with the pipe. <br/><br/>“Again?” she asked flatly, turning to look at Nefsonne finally. The dismay on her face proved she already knew the answer to her question. <br/><br/>He dipped his chin and raised his index finger, his attempt to placate the crest-fallen, brooding woman. <br/><br/>“Very well, but I'm ready to go after this. Let's use the last bit of coin for a room in the tavern. I'm tired of sleeping outside. And tomorrow, if it comes to it, I’ll sell the Jewel,” she patted the hilt of the sword at her hip remorsefully.<br/><br/>He silently conceded. She got up and headed towards the man. He watched her avidly, and was a little surprised to find himself hoping that she had better luck this time.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Luck, it seemed, was on their side. Lifa had managed to convince the quartermaster, Scott Liam, that both she and Nefsonne would make fine additions to the <em>Esperanza’s</em> crew. She had secured them each a position onboard with Nefsonne as the ship’s blacksmith and herself as an ordinary seaman. She did not wish to let on that she could prove much more useful as an attaché of the navigational team because she feared doing so might lead to questions that she did not care to answer. She preferred to keep her parentage and powers they afforded her, a secret. Her reasons for doing this were many, least of which being that she was acutely aware of the unreliability of her powers. It would be better to keep that ace card up her sleeve for the time being, at any rate, along with the power of her title as a Duchess. This information could perhaps be shared down the line. For now, she only promised that she would make a good, hard working seaman who would not shy away from swordplay. That seemed enough to satisfy this quartermaster, though Lifa was fairly certain he was primarily accepting her as a necessary tag along to Nefsonne, who was the more tangibly and visibly valuable one of the pair. Just as well.<br/><br/>As Lifa shuffled along the <em>Esperanza’s</em> gangway, blending in with the throng of new crewmembers, she could feel her heart fluttering with excitement in her chest. The moment that she set foot on the deck, and her body felt the familiar swaying sensation of a ship being rocked rhythmically by the tide, she realized how even a few days on land had been like a thousand year drought to her soul. Back on a ship, back a sea, she could feel her parched soul drinking it all in. While Lifa was able to easily slip unnoticed through the crowds of bustling sailors, some of which already engaging in their respective tasks, others waiting around in anticipation for the Captain to address them, Nefsonne was less fortunate. Lifa had chosen to remain cloaked, but Nefsonne, who had discarded his comically small cloak and could no more blend into a crowd than an ox could blend in at a dog show, drew many sideways glances. Lifa watched, silently amused as one man bumped into Nef. The man had bristled and seemed ready to blame the accident on Nefsonne, but as he turned to see only a chest where he expected a face, he hesitated. Then Lifa did a poor job choking back a snicker as the man stupidly craned his neck up, and up so that he could look at Nef in the face before sputtering an apology and hurrying off in entirely the opposite direction. Both remained unmolested after that, though it was for entirely different reasons, and found places to stand in the rear of the crowd while the Captain proceeded to give a rousing speech. <br/><br/>When the sauntering, red haired Captain called out her question, and was met with the roaring surge of voices, cheering and whistling shrilly, there were two who did not shout along with them. One was mute. The other, well, the other was too busy weeping silent, mournful tears as her mind listened to Captain Rose’s words but heard them spoken in Frederick’s cheerful, vivacious, lilting voice. </div></div>