.:The Demon Serenade:.

Baka.

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 07:02:32 GMT

Who: Bandelo, Pashi
When: 9.27.07 - 9.28.07
Where: Jettekstan tavern, guest room.
What: Pash returns to the rented room after the wedding ceremony. Things go downhill from there. Oh, and Bandy drugs her.

It is obscenely late, when the Admiral finally makes her way back. She will find that Bandelo is as good as she asked of him. Damien has been properly put to bed, and all things on that end have been secured. The child seems to have survived the journey intact and happy, too. This would seem to indicate that the trip back was not a bad one. No trees came to harm either. Of note is that the door to 'their' room has been left unlocked, and light is streaming from beneath the door. Upon opening it,
Bandelo is visible sleeping in the chair; head tilted forward; feet propped up on the edge of the bed -- which has been freshly made. An empty bowl is nearby, suggesting that he has eaten. The room smells vaugely of spices too, indicating he has also done something with that. A single lit candle on a side table is providing illumination.

With Sebastian occupying the other room and still somewhat awake, the decision is made for her. When the black door opens, the figure standing in it is far delivered from the Admiral that he had sat with several long hours ago. Moving into the room, the door is closed very quietly and locked from within. Crimson gloves are rolled down and peeled off of her hands and set atop the dresser nearby. Next comes the heavy robes, up and over the top of her head. With her back to both the bed and the occupied chair, it's evident that she was not wearing anything on top beneath the robes. A pair of light colored trousers, yes. The door of the closet thankfully, though creakily, opens to the left. Once open, she steps behind it and rummages for a clean tunic. Finding one, she pulls it over, fiddling with the tunic with one hand and the closet door with the other, still with her back turned. A dresser drawer is opened and she withdraws a good sized paddle brush. The empty chair is where she perches and, with a sigh, simply sits there, arms hanging to the sides as her head rolls back.

It is difficult to say when Bandelo awakens. It is certainly not with her initial entry. Nor at the turning of the lock. The sounds of her feet upon aged floorboards are not responsible either. Perhaps it is the creaking goan of long-neglected hinges, or the faint whisp of material upon material. But one copper eye opens and then the other, in just ample time to catch bare back. Fortunatly or unfortunatly, their owner was quite heavily sleeping and it is some seconds before full realization dawns. Pashi is already seated before the Captain stirrs, lowering his feet from the edge of the bed and his head orientating to face her. "Rough night?" He asks. "Clothes, and social, and everyone pretending to be happy while pushing their own agendas. Politics and posturing.. it's enough to sap the strength of a hundred men and make a score more puke."

She maintains stillness for a moment, brush dangling in one hand, other empty simply laying useless beside the chair. Her hair is.. sort of a mess, tangles in the long strands, loose locks dangling in front of her forehead. "It is done." She says, her own voice hoarse, but not from sleep. "The witch is married. We may set sail whenever we please." This whispered quietly. Thrilling news to everyone involved with the crew. Everyone, apparently, but her in this moment. With a heavy sigh, she straightens, tired arms a bit stiff as she tries to brush tangles out of the lower parts of her hair, pulling the length over her shoulder and inclining her head to the side to try and make it easier.

Bandelo is growing more awake as the seconds tick on. But is a slow process. Cats are notorious for being poorly roused and Bandelo is no exception. Eyes at least, are seeing properly in the shifty light that is thrown by the candle. Both of these eyes study her, standing out by dint of moving in a black-furred mass of body that does not. Her mannerisims are perused, her general fatigue as well as her whispering. And it prompts him to ask a single question in his nominal economy of speech: "But?"

The single syllable uttered has Pashi glancing up, too tired to mask the somewhat blank stare. So blank that when his question finally registers, the lightbulb nearly fizzles right in front of her eyes. "Oh, no, no. Don't get me wrong. I am wholly glad to be going home, once all our goods are properly stored and the few folks I've decided to bring along have packed. We're going home." A smile spreads on her lips, too big to be genuine. "It's a good thing."

Bandelo listens to Pashi's explanation of all of this. He listens quite thoroughly too, those ebon-colored ears picking up every tired enuciation of her voice. He knows her quite well, and has known her for some time. It may not come to much of a surprise to her when his facial expression alters. It is a quarter concern, something that she is simply not going to be ever accustomed to seeing in his face. It is twenty five percent expectant, and fifty percent 'You really don't expect me to fall for that?'

In this instance, he doesn't even need to speak for her to get the point. Another tired, blank stare. This one comprised of apology, guiltiness, and even a touch of shame. It's the last that has her chin bowing, the brushing forgotten again, hands hanging between her legs as she slumps forward, elbows pressing to the tops of her knees. "I am not looking forward to the duties I must fulfill when I return." She admits, finally.

Bandelo rises, then and dissapears behind Pashi. The creak of a cupboard is heard, along with the clinking of the metallic garbage that passes for glassware in this place. A grunt of dissaproval is heard, and then more clinking. Then pouring, and he reappears holding a rather fragrant cup of... something dark. Specifically, holding it out in her direction. "Special favorite of mine. Strong, and herbal, but not overpowering." He has not poured for himself, presumably because of his stomach. He then spins his chair around backwards and plunks down in it, leaning forward with his arms crossed over the backs of the chair. "And, which duties were those?" He asks, quietly.

As the glass hovers in front of her, Pash's fingers instinctively uncurl, and the hand not holding the brush finally curls around the stem. She smells the brew carefully before taking an experimental sip. Her face blanches briefly. "You were not kidding about its strongness." She comments, licking her lips and taking another sip before she loses her nerve. "Where did this drink come from?" She kind of squeaks slightly, asking. The last question has her hesitant. And when shoulders hang on the coattails of a deep sigh, she answers, "It is time the Prince Regent of Ruingate went home and assumed his duties as the city's leader."

Despite the seriousness of the moment, the corner of the Captain's mouth twitches in his subtle quarter-smile. "Mix grain alchohol with whatever local herbal painkiller or relaxant tonic you can find. Add a random slop of whatever the same people brew to induce drowsiness. Place in a bottle. Shake liberally. Drink. Marvel that it tastes not so bad. Sleep. I'd not have told you, but you asked. Can't turn your back on it now. I have great faith in Captain Bandelo's Guaranteed Night's Sleep." He pauses. "Or your money back." The levity is an attempt to make her smile at least a tiny bit in his own way, despite the moment itself. The taste of the stuff really isn't unlike black licorice either. "And you still believe that the only way you will go to Ruingate is in a box?"

As he lists the ingredients her features become somewhat.. abashed. "Then again, I suppose one does not tell their test subject they are being drugged until after they take a drink.. If I pass out, you had best put me somewhere indoors, is all I ask." She says in an admonishing tone before sighing. Oh, hell. She tips the drink and downs it nearly all the way to the bottom. One good sip left in it, and she holds it out for the shadowcat before nodding. "I will never return there. Not even in a box.. He'll be returning on his own."

Bandelo takes the cup, and without hesitation tips it back to his lips. If it is poison, he must have developed an immunity to it. "Let's drop Admiral, and Captain for a bit. Bandy and Pash." Has he ever really used that nickname for himself, before? Likely, not. And certainly, not to anyone else. "And.. don't worry. You'll sleep more comfortable than I will, tonight." He folds his hands then, and adopts a little bit more of a serious expression. "How does that make you feel? He returning on his own?" It is asked in a very gentle tone, and is an inquiry that seems to be asked for a reason, judging by his expression, as though he had more coming depending on how it is said.

"I should tell you. I.. don't take things like that." She replies, brows still furrowing. This. This is why she quit drinking for a while. Strange things in your drink once, shame on them. Strange things in your drink twice, now it's your own damn fault. Taking a deep breath, the seacat looks away, at the corner where the wall meets the floor. "No." She says. "When I left for a full day, it was to Castle Darkspire. I met his father there and formally resigned from Ruingate's military. We both knew I had resigned a long time ago, but.. Well, sometimes it's just best to get formalities out of the way, even if it is several years late. I was a friend to his family, and I figured I owed him that much. We.. talked." She closes her eyes, lower lip being pulled between her pointy teeth in a vaguely nervous-girl type way. Not.. usual. "The long and short of it is.. He never intended to stay. Else he would have told his father to choose another heir. Merdez claimed without any hesitation that Jirael would assume tassume the throne, and leadership." She chews the inside of her lip. "Jirael never told him the real reason he was sailing with me. Gave his father some story about him merely broadening his horizons to be a better leader."

Bandelo interjects, softly. "And I should remind you that you are in the one bit of company that you know you can trust." This is in response to the drink bit. He leaves it at that quiet comment though, and settles forward to listen; facial expression intent. Words are heard and processed, and a few two and twos are put togeather. Here and there he adds six and carries five, as a few holes are filled in. "Have you known all along, that he didn't intend to stay?" He asks, very quietly. "With you, that is?" His tone has changed markedly, almost pure concern.

Here her face falls and she refuses to look right at him. "I should have." She says, brows lifting and voice dying to a whisper again. "I should have. I was.. foolish. To think that he would." Her lips close as she loses the words. "He has everything he could ever need or want there. Why on earth would he.. give that up. I am not worth that." Her eyes close while her chin sinks lower. "The arrangement was that.. on the sea, and in Angaza, we would.. he would be mine alone. As soon as we come to this continent, though, he is his wife's, and he belongs to his town. I showed him my home, I gave him my /ocean/." Her teeth are slowly gritting together. "For nothing. An empty promise." A closed fist strikes the top of her knee. "I am an idiot."

Bandelo has great control over his facial expression. It comes from being stotic. And so, any shock at what is being said is carefully shunted to the backburner and kept hidden from her as he simply listens. When she is finished, he offers his response in the same quiet voice he has used for the entire conversation so far. "Not an idiot, Pash. Not foolish. Just in love. Love blinds, it's fog. Can't see what direction you are heading, can't see how close the shore is.... can't tell if you're in safe water, or about to run aground. You imagine that open, clear water and the new land is just beyond that rolling bank ahead and that if you wait a little longer and go just a little farther, everything will be all right." He pauses, quietly, and then adds. "I can just imagine how today made you feel."

"I offered. After all, anyone else would've done a crappy ceremony. I do not know what customs Jettekstan has.. Then again, I do not care. This was more for my aunt than that idiot Tsar, anyway." She assures him, waving a hand. "I am, though. An idiot. I should have known better in the first place not to meddle in things like that. Part of me knew when it started that it would not end well, and here we are. He, with all these new adventures, new skills, new knowledge, and a shining castle and preening wife to return to. What do I have from all this? Nothing. Just.. bitterness. I would kill him. I would. Throw him right out of the top of that tower, if I didn't think Merdez would declare war on Auri'Angaza. No matter what the circumstances, it would be my fault because Merdez believes that Jirael is under my care. It would be.." She leans back in her chair a moment, the brush dangling out of her fingertips. Soft patters on the windowpane outside. It's begun to rain, and Pash tilts her head back to look out the window, her white throat illuminated by the dim light given by the lantern posts outside. "I should have seen this coming. I should have. Shouldn't have /started/ it. I'm supposed to be intelligent. They don't get ships to complete idiots."

For a moment, Bandelo thinks. The piter-patter of raindrops steadily increase in rhythm as they beat themselves against the panes. He's not arguing her calling herself an idiot at this point, because there is very little he can do to convince her otherwise in his belief. At least for the forseeable moment. "Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes people believe they happen for a reason. I shouldn't have left the relative luxury of my foster home, to join an unwashed god-hating band of thieves. But then, a change of fortune came along because of that." He nods towards Pashi, to indicate she is what he means. He then leans back, and grunts in his own way. "Have to confess, I never could stand the sight of him. Never would have told you that though, unless you said exactly what you just did. Never felt he was treating you right."

She lifts her head slowly from the back of the chair, eyes already going a little bigger than normal. Her pupils have grown a bit, too, in the low light. "Makes you feel better, you smelled better than all the rest." She smirks a bit, fangs showing very slightly. As he does, in fact, confess, her face kind of.. droops. "Wha.. Why? But.. Of all people, you're.. I would've listened." She half-whines, gaze strafing to the side again. "Would've. Really." She whispers, then leans forward, elbows on knees and head in her hands. "Was lonely." Quietly again. Her motions are becoming very.. not controlled. Very sudden stops, like when her head falls into her hands. Her hair hangs down and coils on the wooden floor. "B-Bandy.. I don' like yer drink."

Bandelo glances out the window for a moment, as he listens. A flash of lightning is seen in the distance, followed by the resounding, bass clap of thunder. "Wasn't my business. You don't do that to someone. Besides, what if I was wrong?" He falls silent then, to consider the slowly sinking Admiral and a broad hand is offered to her by way of steadying her if she wishes. "You'll be out like a blown candle in a minute." He apparently is quite serious on this, for he reaches out to the flame -- dousing it between his thumb and forefinger. "I just.." He begins. "It just wasn't my business. You seemed happy about, and with him, so..."

"I want him dead." She whispers quietly. This is a far cry from the remorseful killer during the past afternoon. Elbows sink further and the seacat nearly folds herself in half, forehead resting in the depression between her knees. "You're right.." She says softly. "I.. you did what you thought was right. Thank you. I cannot blame you for my foolish mistakes, anyway. They are my own. I am.. sorry. I should not be doing.. this. Not very proper. Floor's moving." She picks up her head, the few short strands of hair in her face dangling right over her nose. "Y'won't tell.. will you?" She asks, dropping a few years as she turns bleary, tired eyes toward the shadowcat. Blinking.

Bandelo is quietly waiting now, for her to finally close her eyes and head for the floor so that he can make a quick intercept. He is sitting in the chair prepared for it too. She will see him as merely leaning forward; an arm outstretched to offer a little support if she wants it. "He deserves little more." He murmurs, in agreement. "Close your eyes and listen to the rain and thunder." Both are quite obvious now. "Why would I tell anyone? We're Bandy and Pash, remember? Can't be the invincible Captain, and Admiral always. Have to be sick, sometimes. Or have troubles. Sometimes, one is lucky enough to have someone to trust to let down their guard with."

She's moments away. That's very true. Her eyelids even look like they've had weights attached, now, as she continues to look at him. The bleariness finally turns into a very brief leak as, from each eye, small droplets fall down her cheek. It's probably tiredness, truth be told. "Bandy.." She mumbles, then looks at the floor again. "Pierce my ears t'morrow, arright?" And there it is. The final slump forward as weariness of mind, body, and soul remove her from the conversation.

Bandelo has been sick for some time, but is still quite catlike. One knee down, and his shoulder meets the middle of her body. "Huh?" He asks into her ear, from a couple inches range. "Wh.....all right." Perplexed, but agreeable. If she remembers him saying that at all. The next few moments are spent cursing his general weakness, because it should not tax him as much as it does to lug her. Stupid being sick. But without much jostling and gritted teeth, he manages to lie her prone on the re-made bed -- tucking a pillow beneath her head. A spare sheet is taken from the closet and draped over her. He's tired himself, weak from being sick, and had already been sleeping when she first came in.. and lugging admirals doesn't help. And so, he drags a chair close to where she sleeps and places both of his feet on the bed's edge; adopting a guarding posture. Then both eyes are closed. Only to open a few seconds later, as something wrong dawns on him. He reaches out with his left hand to push a few locks of hair lightly away from her face and mouth -- grunting in a 'much better' sort of way. Eyes fall closed again. And stay that way.

Fever breaking.

Thu, 27 Sep 2007 20:11:05 GMT

Who: Bandelo, Pashi
When: 9.27.07
Where: Jettekstan tavern: Guetst room.
What: Bandelo wakes and seems to be feeling better. He and Pash decide that he smells like crap, needs a bath, and is stubborn. Pash fibs, and Bandelo makes her brain go explodey.

The gritty windowsill the the tavern room has been slowly illuminated more and more as the sun creeps higher on the horizon. Small insects flit about the sill outside, and dustmotes stirred in the room are set to shimmering in a single beam that falls short of the bed. The lamp at the bedside desk has long burnt low, its wick completely spent, the glass near the bottom caked with charred oil residue. The chair with the wobbly leg rears against the wall, not completely empty. Bent forward, head and arms crossed upon the bed, is the Admiral. Deep in sleep long after morning's break. She barely moves, breathes slow and full, eyelids closed and lacking any flutter. One hand is still curled around that of the stricken shadowcat, fingers by now loosening so that her palm is merely draped.

Bandelo has had a very fitful night. Hardly quiet for a moment, and yet not awake he has spent from evening until dawn tossing and turning. Here and there, a vocalization of displeasure as whatever bug that has laid the creature low runs its course. At some point, long after the midnight hour the sweat began. The results now are obvious in soaked sheets and fur; a few droplets dripping away from the sleeping feline's nose. The sickly sweet smell of fever is plentiful in it too -- but this is a good thing, as this is all due to said fever finally breaking. Some time later yet, a coppery-colored eye opens -- just one. Followed by a frown. Has she been waiting here this entire time? Subtly, his hand is uncoiled from her own and he pushes himself to a sitting position as carefully as he can; arms crossed, eyes glancing out the window.

"You missed breakfast." Hoarse, groggy. The sound of a throat forced to work dry and tired. Elbows unbend stiffly and push on the bed. Light sleeper, this one. It's the chorus of pops as she straightens her back that make her wince, not the tangles in her hair as she shoves the locks back behind her ears. Thumb and forefinger pinch the bridge of her muzzle, rubbing at the inner corners of her eyes before they open. Glossy blues that tear up slightly as she unleashes a rather substantial yawn. Her nose twitches at the strange smell in the room, and she peers at the shadowcat curiously. "Do you want soup?"

Bandelo has only a simple response to her alerting of him that he missed his breakfast. A guttural grunt of "Rrrff." and a further glance through the grimy window to study the gathering light in a vague attempt to ascertain exactly what time it is. Failing at that, his hand lifts to shakily drag through the soaked fur on his head and scratch at the very backs of his ears. "Want out of this bed, is what I want." He then utters, his dismay at his confinement broadcasted in a bit more irritation than he intends to sound. But he lowers himself back down to a prone position, staring up at the ceiling. "Been there all night again, haven't you?" It's a rhetorical question, though the one that comes after is not quite so. "How long do you intend to mother hen me?" He quirks his head then, eyebrow raising as an afterthought. "Were you talking to me, last night? I have the strangest reccolections of hearing things. Can't remember a word of it, just that it was your voice."

"You can have out of it when you can stand without going wobbly." Speaking of standing, Pash does just that. More popping from her lower back and she moves to the window at the other side of the room, leaning against its wooden frame and watching the slow progression of the afternoom market. To his question, the Admiral merely smirks, quirking a brow in his direction. "Long as it takes. Not paying you to laze about, after all. This isn't vacation. We've nearly got all the supplies we need, and once this.. ordeal with my relatives has settled, we'll be on ship again and I need you in top condition." One pointed ear flicks and she returns to looking out the window when he asks his last question. "I was reading a book on philosophy. My younger brother wasn't using it at the time, and that sort of thing usually bores me to sleep. Call it a textual lullaby. Do you want hot water brought up so you can clean yourself up a bit?"

Bandelo has a comment for the family ordeal that is rather similar to his thoughts on breakfast: "Rrrff." Carefully, he lifts himself back to sitting position and begins the process of swinging his long legs out of the sheets so that he can sit upon the bed's edge; hands near his hips. "Didn't sound like no book on philosophy. You sounded upset. But what do I know? I have been leages away." Almost painfully, he pushes himself to his feet where he makes a point of standing, only slightly wobbly. Probably by dint of sheer stubborness. "Water will work. I will get it myself." Stubborn? Absolutely. "What day is it, today?"

"You think reading philosophy outloud is a favoured passtime?" She asks with a slight smirk. "And if you're going to get it from the kitchens
yourself, you'll have to put some trousers on. They are barmaids, Bandelo, but even barmaids can blush when they see a fellow in his unmentionables. Stay put. I'm getting it." And that's that. Her boots thump against the floorboards as she exits the door, securing it shut behind her. It's a few moments before she returns, a large basin with steaming water and a cloth draped over it held between hand and hip as she opens the door again. It's with careful maneuvering that she moves into the room, closes the door, and negotiates the obstacles between the bed, wall, and side table where the basin is finally set. "AS for what day it is, we're nearing the end of another seven. You've been sick for a seven and a half already. I was beginning to think I'd need to call on an actual physician. Do you want anything to eat?" She asks again, moving away from the basin and wall al and facing out the window. He'll need privacy, after all.

Bandelo grunts a simple response at Pashi's retreating back: "Bugger on them. Fire on their faces for as much as I care." And then she is gone. When she returns, she will find him sitting in the chair that she had previously been occupying. The soaked sheets have been stripped off of the bed and thrown in a pile in the corner; replaced with spares from a nearby closet. This small act seems to have tired him somewhat, but it has also quenched his desire to do something self-sufficient. The cloth is taken up and dipped into the water, whereupon he begins the act of roughly scrubbing down. "Seven and a half?" He asks, gruffly. "Wonderful. They'll be having it easy. Bet I have to flog at least three." The cloth is wrung out. "Almost eight days..." He repeats, again. "Is it married yet? If not, can you make it hurry up, so we can go home?" It seems to be a rhetorical question again. "Deck is too steady here. At least being sick I get to hallucinate the bed moving."

The wood creaks as the seacat leans against the window, forehead even touching one of the gritty panes. At least there's no reflective quality to the glass. "Probably. I know for sure that at least one of them is probably going to get a visit from a very angry barwench in some matter of
months, amount of time he's spent further inspecting her wares.. Cad." Turned at three-quarters, the giant smirk that grows over Pashi's maw at his question is possibly the biggest its been since they came to the city. "Not yet, but I wish I /could/ hurry it up. Seems the Tsar keeps getting wrapped up in military issues. It's already been postponed once because of something stuck up his royal arse." A moment of lingering silence hangs in the room before, in a somewhat sullen, somber tone she agrees, "Aye. Miss the sea. Once you leave land for the first time, the sea becomes all there is. Think you're going to be in a good enough shape to sail when we get to the port again?" She asks, chancing a look back briefly.. turning right back to the window.

When she looks back towards him, she will find him scrubbing at the back of his neck. "I'll have to be." He says in response to the end bit, first. "And if I'm not, you'll be the only one that knows it." There is something in his voice that suggests that he rather means this. The cloth reaches down as far as he is able to upon his back, and then is rung out once again. "I smell like a brothel." He grunts. "Worse than. I smell like a brothel's lavatory." For a pirate to complain that they stink, it must be rather irritating to him. "Enough on me. You've already doted on me too much. Have you heard much from the fleet? Supplies you mentioned?"

"I don't tell secrets." Pash says in response to his.. sort of request. Still peering out the window, she laughs. "I have spices if you'd rather rub those in your fur. You'll smell more like a bakery, but I think that a considerably better option than O'de brah-thell, don't you?" The more serious question has the joking, casual feline gone and the Admiral to the fore. "Fleet is doing well. Restless, just like you, but they're well. I sent half of them back with our resupply, so they're stocking the ships as we speak. Jerrig is with them, so while we're over here, we can rest assured that here's at least something akin to order happening in Soris'Lir." Jerrig. The active captain of the Falconeye is a strong-willed stoat.. Even if he does like women a bit too much. "Our trade went well this round. The season before winter in Jettekstan is a good time to barter. These people become obsessed with nesting." Her arms cross a bit tighter around her. "Can't imagine electing to live in this constant cold all winter. Angaza gets snow, sure, but not like this place. This place is completely halted by it." A moment passes before, "Oh. I washed your trappings, by the way. Made you a vest. It's going to get cold very fast and we're going to be sailing through a lot of it, so I won't take no for an answer. Running around shirtless like you do, it's no wonder you took ill. Its in the drawer with your trousers." She points backward toward the beside table once more. "Cleaned your boots, too. They were filthy. I think there was the skeleton of some small, unpleasant thing stuck on the bottom of one."

Bandelo quirks his expression at Pashi, his brow beginning to furrow as she talks about making him a vest. His right eyebrow climbs ever higher the farther that she goes. "Lizard." He grunts. "Pissed me off. Looked at me funny on a bad day." He takes a few seconds of silence, apparently deciding how to bring about this complaint he has in mind. "Don't you feel that was a little much? I am grateful, company is good and so is help.....but Admirals don't clean boots and scrape skeletons, or make vests for people." He rises again, shakily, but defenatly on his feet as he crosses to the drawer to look within -- hauling out his pants, and the vest. The latter is held up with both hands and inspected. For once, business is forgotten as he waits for an answer on this.

"I may have been given the title Admiral, but that does not mean that I cannot also be a normal person. I don't mind it. Besides, it was either that, or I stayed out in the company of my relatives all this time and probably choked one, run another through, or worse. I could've actually gotten along swimmingly with all of them." Is the explanation she gives, finally turning around and peering at him. "Still smell like hell, but at least you look better. You haven't answered me. Do you want something to eat?"

Bandelo grunts once again. "My good looks, you never need worry about going anywhere. Take those to my grave." He admires the vest for a moment, before it is tucked back once again. "Appreciated." He finally says. "And, if you got along swimmingly with all of them, as you put it, I would have feared that you had been drugged, poisoned, or worse, replaced with a twin I hadn't met before." One corner of his mouth flits upwards into a partial smile, and then it is stotically replaced. "I'm going to dress, and head down and get food for myself soon. Need to see something other than this room."

A stoic look crosses the Admiral's features, lips curving in a skeptical line. "Funny, with all the sweating you were doing, I would've thought your haughtiness went with it. Ah, well. Perhaps next time." She almost smiles, but a knock at the door has her usual, neutral, somewhat annoyed mask back in an instance. The door creaks open and a rat with a lopsided hat and one ear peers in. "Mornin' Admurull. Mornin' Bandy, sirrah. Beggin' your pardon, Admurull, but seems we've got a feller wot says he'd like his oils back out 'ere. Thinks the stuff we traded 'em ain' good enough." Blue eyes narrow ever so slightly, ears pin foreward, and the seacat's jaw tightens. "I'll be right down. Take the conversation outside before I come down. If I need to do any convincing, I'd rather it be done where whatever blood the little creten sheds won't get in anyone's lunch." The rat nods and disappears, leaving the door faintly ajar. To Bandelo, Pash rolls her eyes. "Duty calls." She murmurs, making for the door

Bandelo turns his head to regard the newcomer as well, giving him a non-commital grunt by way of saying hello. "Pity." He says, lightly towards her back. "I'd rather have enjoyed coming along. I'll wash up in the meantime." There is a pause once again, and just before she reaches the door he pipes up again. His voice is quiet, but there is no sign of any emotion that suggests he doesn't completely mean what he is about to say. "Pashi?" He asks. "About last night?" He waits for her to turn. "I'll miss you." And he leaves it at that, picking up the cloth once again.

Turn she does, and the mask of stone falters for a moment, blue eyes going faintly wide, lips dropping into a silent, surprised vowel. Then in an instant, her jaw snaps shut again, chin lifts and the door is swung further open and she's moved through it. Whatever slam might be appropriate in this moment is no more than a quiet ta-thump, accompanied by the sound of boots retreating down a flight of stairs.

Nothing.

Wed, 26 Sep 2007 16:12:14 GMT

Who: Jessy, Pashi
Where: Jettekstan Tavern
When: 9.24.07
What: After a rather heated argument, Jessy and Pashi retire for drinks to the tavern to further discuss Pashi's unhealthy relationship. Sebastian, Jirael, and Merdez get discussed.

At this hour, the tavern is rather quiet. It's late enough that the rowdy drunks have already slunked off to their beds wherever, nursing dizzy heads that, in the morning, will feel about thirty pounds heavier than they ought. The last few creatures left in the tavern are mostly members of the Ironwing, talking to themselves quietly. When Pash enters a few moments behind her aunt, a few of them quiet and almost look a bit nervous at Pashi's presence. Seems her ill temper is not spared for family alone. The back table is soon occupied as both Jess and Pash seat themselves. It's Pash who speaks first after flagging over a barmaid and receiving the 'just a moment' gesture. "It's a raw nerve, you know." She begins. "After I met with and spoke to Merdez, I think it made something click in my mind. I have to give him a choice."

Sweeping her hair out of her face with one hand, Jessy seats herself across and leans both elbows on the table. Her ears cant, face relaxing back to more of the norm -- calmer, eyes slanted, her mouth in a straight line across. "You.. spoke with Merdez. Hn. I remember," she says, shutting her eyes against the mention of him. "Tell me of that -- I don't give a damn how crippled he is by now, but... He doesn't know, does he? Neither you, nor Jirael.. has told him?" A sigh out her teeth. "The father and first wife.. both ignorant as bliss. That doesn't bode well."

"I asked to be released of my duties to him and Ruingate. He asked about his son. I told him he was becoming a fine sailor." Pash explains, fingers clasping and unclasping. Still cold, even with a fire roaring inside the tavern. Bah. "I asked him if he had any other heirs. Of course, Jirael's the only one. And then I asked what Merdez would do if Jirael chose a different path." Her jaw tightens. "He told me that there was only one.. /prodigal/ son. Married an unfit match and was banished from the family. He then said that Jirael will become Lord Regent with his wife and rule for many years in Ruingate. He believes it so." She glances from her fingers to Jessy. "No. Jirael never told his father. I would never ask it of him, but.. I do not like the idea of sharing my ship and bed with a coward. He has a choice to make, I think."

"Sounds almost like he's.. already made it," Jessy says gently. She reaches across the table, to disentangle Pashi's hands and hold one in each of hers. "Some may think, looking at me.. that we of our blood are content to be mistresses and courtesans. That we will take what is offered without question -- demean ourselves for a worthless end. Pash.. I have done enough of this to be always embroiled in what's said of us, and maybe it's a little true about me, but /you/.. /you/ are nothing near that. Jirael is bringing you low because you love him, and you trust that he loves you as well. Perhaps he does -- but he must learn that a Khun woman will not skulk in shadows and keep the truth tucked away. We all must do what is necessary. It is now necessary for Jirael to choose, and make that choice well known... or necessary for you to turn your back and walk away." She exhales, rubbing her fingers against the twotone's. "I know you know this, love."

Icicles. Hands that are never warm seem exceptionally cold tonight. "I am angry. At his father, at his station. At him, most of all. I know it, and feel it. What you say, I know is true. I contented myself at first, simply because the thought of dying alone and without love is.. I will admit, tragic. But dying as the shadow of a wife? I will not. His station is meaningless in Aun'Haara, and it is on /my/ name that he is respected, while in Ruingate, I made a name for myself - worked for it, as you did - and he has been hand-fed his royalty." A deep breath and Pash's thumbs gently press the tops of her aunt's knuckles. "I do not like admitting weakness. I do not like admitting that all in my life is not entirely under my control. Forgive me for my anger, before. You struck a nerve, as I imagine you now know well." The barmaid comes and asks their drink of choice. Mead for Pash, and both turn to look at Jess for her choice.

"I had to," Jessy says softly, and squeezes the digits that join with hers. "I know you, Pashi Cortak. I raised you, remember? There's no better way to make you face something you hold important that to upend something /else/ you hold important." She smirks. "The dismissal did as I hoped. And honestly.. if you'd walked out, and not heeded me, I would've wanted you gone. You're a wreck -- you know that, right? It's like he's nicked you under the skin, and you're bleeding out into the water. You've changed from this great affair of yours, and I... I can't support it any longer. Encouragement would only be cruel."

Nodding her head several times, Pash sends the barmaid away with 'her usual' in regards to Jessy's drink. For several long moments, the seacat's eyes remain closed as she breathes. "It's.. almost sad, how quickly the feeling changes. Warmth and affection into jealousy and rage. I almost.. despise him. And part of me still thinks that it's wrong to feel that way. That I /owe/ him something.. When, really.. he owes me, doesn't he.." Eyes open and the Admiral, not Pash herelf, but the militant Baroness of Haara, fixes the awakening stare on her aunt. "I have given him my home, my ocean.. What do I have in return?"

"Nothing," Jessy answers frankly. "You have nothing, Pashi. And Merdez was the same way -- years of servitude, and nothing gained for it. I had Khain, though, and when I died, I was able to cut the fox away completely. It pains me.. that you have no one to steady you, only an illusion of love in his far-away kingdom. You need more. Your life will be short... you can't spend it like this. You're lonelier now than you were before."

Steadying. At the mention of 'one to steady you', Pash goes.. a little quiet, her fingers slip together, both index points gently lain against her lips. Her gaze drifts away from her aunt and.. she becomes miraculously calm, for all her upset moments ago. "I have my crew. They have always supported me. After I slew their old captains and taught them self-respect.." The few listening crew members, an old ferret, and a scraggly, one-earred hare gently raise their glasses. "I am not alone. I've simply been seeking companionship from the wrong side of the ship." The drinks arrive, one piping hot honey mead for Pash, and a glass of something deep reddish purple for Jess. "Jirael has never seen me angry." The curl in her tone is.. well, Jessy-esque.

An ear rises high on Jessy's head, flag-like. "The.. wrong side of the ship." Her lips press. "I may know what you speak of.. but I'll wait to see. Only tell me that you'll be rid of the tod, and /soon/. There're great things for you still, Pashi. I've always done all that I could, to grant you the chances. Do not waste anything else on that pampered, spoiled prince. His world and ours could never come close."

"If he crosses me.." She says slowly, quietly. "He will be sent back to his kingdom. His wife may or may not be in the capacity to greet him." Hand over the other, Pash cracks her knuckles. It's a sickening chorus, but from the swift flicking of her hands, the action seems to have relieved their discomfort. The mug of mead is brought to her lips and she tips her head back to drink. "I do not think he will have the option of a choice. I do not want him."

Jessy cringes a little, her ears dropping back. "Now. As the ambitious whore of this troupe, I must venture to remind you... You will lose claim to the next Regent of Ruingate. All the titles and power and wealth in that dynasty... You will be turning away from that, too." Her tongue flicks out to moisten her lips. "If it were me, and he was Merdez... I would never leave. But you don't want the things I do, and you have what I don't. Kingship is fickle; it shouldn't mar your decision."

"What power I need is given to me by Durash and the Aun'Shuran. As a ranking member of Auri'Angaza's military, I am equivalent to a baroness.. or.. Regent. I do not need Merdez's wealth, and if I wanted it, I could have his city leveled." There is a distinct mark of grudge in her tone, but it fades with another drink of mead. "If Ruingate and Jettekstan /ever/ go to war, you will have the aide of my fleet and a contingent of Aerial archers. I am building a new ship." The last is kind of.. tossed in there. Pashi is possibly nearing the 'stomp stomp I'm going to break your toys' stage of being angry.

Finally she lifts the glass, and brings the wine to her muzzle. Jessy takes a few swallows, before licking away the line of dark red on her upper lip and canting her brows up. "I may go to war with the bastard just for some entertainment. Sometimes I'm just struck with the idea, and.. it's like getting burned. I want to see Merdez goddamn Soulslash down off his high horse."

"Jirael must live, if we ever do declare war on his family. I want him to know what 'nothing' feels like." Pash states, taking a long drink of her mead. Somewhere upstairs, a great, hacking cough sounds and the mug thuds against the table. "Oh, damn me, I forgot his soup." Pash is on her feet and dashing into the kitchens to a chorus of 'HEY' and 'You can't be in here!' and all the same she's out with a bowl of soup, nimbly up the stairs. A few long moments pass before she's back down, cheeks flushed from the quick jog and features much more calm than before. "Terrible of me. Here he's been waiting for hours. I'm an idiot." She plunks back down.

".. who?" Jessy asks, after following that little bit of waitress action. "Not that I especially care.. Hm. Oh." She knocks back another long swallow, and sets down the goblet. "I've got more words with you, niece. About Sebastian, this time."

"Bandy. Took ill." Pash explains, then lifts her mead again, leaning back in her chair and clasping the mug between her hands for added warmth. "What about him?" This subject, at least, she can talk about without explosions.

Jessy draws a breath, her lashes falling mostly shut -- completely over the dead eye. "I.. want to adopt him," she says, levelly, and immediately pins back her ears. Anxious for the twotone's reaction.

One ear twitches, and that's about the most of her outward reaction. "What for?" She asks, taking another drink of her mead. "I had hoped to take him with me when I return to Haara. He'd make a good companion for Damien, possibly a good teacher. What other plans do you see for him?" Honest questions.

"Oh, take him along if you want," Jessy says, shrugging. "I don't need him nearby.. but every time I look at the boy, I have this horrible ache. Like there's something I need to give to him... And what better than the support not of any Khun-spawn, but of my own child? My /name/, Pash. It's all I have, the name Venin, and if he can have just a little more in the world for a new claim to it... I'd be satisfied. I'd not ache so hard with wanting to care for him."

The two-tone nods her head. "So be it. Broach it with him, and satisfy your need, and his. I support you fully. He has lived on the outskirts of the family. I think it'd be very good for him to be completely engulfed in it. Not that you need it, but you have my blessing. We may not be of you, but those of us raised by you are all the better for it, and you may consider that a high compliment." The mead is drained and the mug thumped against the tabletop. "He's a good boy."

Jessy rubs her forehead with a low sigh, and pushes the goblet from her. There's only another sip or two left. "What if he won't?" she asks, lower, voice coming out a little fragile. "What if not, Pash? I'll look like a fool, let's be frank. And I don't know how to speak of motherhood. My experience with it is.. a little askance."

"You won't look foolish. Extending yourself to another being with full intent of support and love is never foolish. It is noble, and honestly, I think he'd be flattered and very touched. He's fond of you, I'll have you know. I doubt even his own mother has lavished him with such praise and attention as you have. I say try it. And if he agrees, you both gain. If he refuses, I hope you will know in your heart and mind that you did all you could and offered all you could." Again, a coughing sounds upstairs and Pash turns worried eyes up toward the stairs. "When will you ask him?"

The pale pink tongue slips out, dragging the rough tip over her lips. Jessy casts a look around, directed at none in person, just glancing over the shadows that trail across the floor and up the walls. She swallows. "Soon. As soon as I can. When I see him next..."

"Good. Sitting on that might make you... more anxious." Pash says, still eyeing the stairs and keeping both ears perked to the coughing. "Got a set up, or are you just going to sit him down and ask?"

Jessy squints. She's starting to look more and more uncomfortable with this issue. "I don't know," this said lazily, "how does one go about asking to adopt someone? Usually adoptions are with.. kittens. Infants, with no choice or opinion. I.. need him to /decide/, not just get saddled with me."

"So.. ask him. Sit him down and say, 'Bastian, I'm going to make you an offer. Your answer is entirely up to you. Would you like to be adopted into the immediate family and take the name Venin as your own.'" She says, twitching one ear. The coughing reaches a particularly bad range and Pash's ears flatten miserably. "Excuse me, Jess.. I.. I need to go tend to him." She rises, crosses over to her aunt's side of the table and.. gives Jess a brief hug. The touchy-feely thing isn't either of their bags, to be honest, but in this case, it might just be proper. "Don't worry so much. Just ask, all right?"

"Hn," Jessy returns, reaching around one arm to return the.. rather lopsided embrace. She rubs her palm along Pashi's arm, and nods. "I'll let you know what happens. I assume you'll find out from him, also.."

"Yes, do. I'll.. not be in my room. Two doors to the left, if you need me. It'll be locked. Bandy's a complete crab when he's ill." A kiss to Jess's forehead and Pash dashes up the stairs.

I totally nicked this from Jess's journal. XD *lazy*

Will you..?

Wed, 26 Sep 2007 03:25:58 GMT

The lamp light flickers very slowly in the cloying room. It's stale air sits as shadows, being pushed this way and that by the small flame that tries to illuminate as much of the space as possible. In truth, it does what it needs to. It lights a corner from where it sits on a modest bed-side table. The bed sits right next to it, and against the wall, a chair with one leg shorter than the other three wobbles, pushed into rocking by a single booted foot.

The sleek black of the bed-ridden man's pelt glitters with an almost ember-like quality. Compelte dark, save for the breaks of lighter, wild tribal tattoos, his body looks to be no more than a colorless mass of muscle and rhythm. Only his eyes break the illusion, but for now, they are shut as he sleeps.

Two long-fingered hands are wrapped about one of his own. Both of them are nearly dwarfed by his one, his fingers at least twice as thick and his palm large enough to engulf her fists entirely. Elbows create wrinkled depressions in the thick quilt draped over the shadowed crewman, and the Admiral leans most of her weight onto the very edge of the bed.

"She's right." Pash says softly, voice delicate and weak compared to the air, heavy with the smell of sickness, half-finished soup, and ale. "It should not have gone on half so long.." Her thumbs, still frigid as the day of her icy death, press about the greatcat's knuckles, popping them gently. "When we reach Angaza again.. I'll be rid of him. This is not what love is meant to be like. I know you would probably tell me the same, were you awake. Or maybe you wouldn't. Always my support, even if you think me foolish." She laughs a small, breathy sort of laugh. More like an ironic chuff at her own expense.

One hand reaches up, pressing to the rise of his forehead. "Fever's going, at least. You'll be up and about in no time, sure will holler at the lot, won't you.. They've gone a little haywire without you and.. well, I've not been much help." She returns her fingers to their previous task, though instead of popping knuckles, she simply presses gently at the space between his thumb and forefinger.

"Load of good I am. Here you've been taking care of the important things and I've been running willy nilly, keeping in touch with family. Sometimes I think I ought to retire and give the fleet over to you.. I know you'd do well with it. Then again, you'll get it eventually, anyway. I figure you can wait a while longer. Least until I have no choice but to retire."

The large hand is curled up, the knuckles of his index and middle fingers pressed to her lips and held there. "You'll miss me.. won't you? Out of everyone, I'd like to think that you will miss me.. As I've said, I know I ask a lot of you, but.. do that for me, and I will be grateful long past the moment Durash claims me." Head bowed, the Admiral's eyes close and she breathes against the back of Bandelo's hand. The smell of sea, of sweat, of blood. Wood washed by the ocean, the smell of rain against dirty rocks. Smells of home.

The chair scoots forward a bit more and Pash folds her arms forward, resting her head against the quilt, one hand still swallowed under the shadowcat's large mitt. Heavy lids finally seal shut while long strands of her hair spill forward, blocking the small smile that solidifies on her sleeping lips.

A vignette in which Pash goes slightly mental and talks to a sleeping person.

As if there were any doubt whatsoever.

Fri, 14 Sep 2007 00:47:28 GMT

Which Khun Are You?

You are Pashi Cortak
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Terms of Resignation.

Mon, 10 Sep 2007 04:20:48 GMT

Who: Lord Merdez Soulslash, Pashi Cortak
When: 9.9.07
Where: Darkspire
What: Pashi visits Merdez to discuss her resignation from Ruingate. Among other things.

The method of her transportation is hungry. Ulesh'ka's great belly is empty, and without a feast, the warhawk refuses to continue. So it is a modest arrival that the Admiral makes at the gate of Castle Darkspire. Polished buttons, cleaned clothes, hair back in a somewhat servere, braided bun, the seacat negotiates her reasons for coming with one of the outside servants. Moments later, the Admiral stands in the lobby of the place, hat drawn from the top of her head, and a few stray strands of hair flying in the stillness. "Wait here." She was told. And so she does, watching the back of the doorman as he goes wherever it is he needs to go in order to fetch the Lord of the house.

The vault of Darkspire rises up, cathedral like, above the Admiral. The place is less a fortress and more a temple. Built into the dark stone of the grimly named Mount Nightooth, it is a perfect representation of the grandeur, vision and insanity of its masters. And the present master takes his time in arriving. Age has bend the foxlord over a walking stick, reducing his impressive height somewhat, a symptom of a back he injured in a collapsed tavern so long ago. His auburn fur is shimmering with silver and white, and his tail brushes the dark stone floor under the fur cloak he still wears, to ward out the constant cold that afflicts the windswept keep. He speaks only once he is before Pashi,
venom-green eyes appraising Pashi unreservedly. "Lady Cortak," he says, voice still sonorous, kept strong with years of practice, "To what do I owe this honor?"

The sounds of bones creaking in protest to being used. That was something she had not rightly anticipated. So when the fiery tod that ruled Ruingate suddenly becomes an elderly shadow as she turns toward him, Pashi is, for a second, rendered speechless. Mechanical, her manners push her into a slow, deep bow. Never one to curtsy, is she. "Angaza's light and grace upon you and your house, Lord." She greets him, rising slowly from the bow and offering her arm to the tod. Role reversal. Where once he may have offered his arm to her in escort, she now offers her own in aide, should he take it. "You look well." Given the circumstances. The second part is unspoken, but hangs in the silent space, nonetheless. "I do not like to leave business unfinished, my Lord." She begins. "Is there somewhere you would like to sit, that we may negotiate the terms of my resignation from your military?" Not one for foreplay, either.

Merdez gives a low chuckle, shaking his head, "You will not make me dependent on you for support, Lady Cortak, not quite yet. I've a wife to burden, and she's still young enough to bear me. Still, I thank you." He tilts his head, "Let us to the throne room. I can sit there. As can you. I don't think Lady Raven will mind. She is impeccably deferrential." He turns and begins to walk along the spine of the nave. "Stars above... all this way? I'm sure Lord Vasilis could have aided in your discharge. Still, this affords me a chance to speak with you, so I'll not begrudge you in the least."

"Like some scholars of religious intent, I do not like to go through channels. I prefer to aim for the source directly. Forgive me, In years past, you and I were able to converse freely. I may be overstepping my boundaries, but I thought it would be possible to call on that old constant at least one more time." She walks beside him, then. Her pace slowed from the militant march of a ship's commander, to the quiet shuffling steps of one who wishes to maintain relative quietness in such a spacious room. "I tried the city, first. I had not known you'd moved to this reach. How long ago did you?"

They pass through the seperating curtain, and into a second, round chamber with two thrones set at the back that Merdez moves towards without hesitation, "I've been here for many seasons, actually. My sons have gone out into the world, rather than remain here to gather dust on their young shoulders, while the twins take lessons and Kyralla... well, she has such peculiar ways. But me, I shall die here, as have all my ancestors who did not perish on the field of battle. My ambition has long since been met. I founded a city and forged a legacy. Now I want to remain in my Family abode with my beloved wife for some peace. It's taken me long enough to want it, let alone gain it."

"And what of the city?" The Admiral asks curiously. "If all your children are elsewhere, what shall become of Ruingate and it's people?" Gently, it's asked. One brow raised as the seacat borrows one of the minor chairs at the side of the throne room, pulling it closer and to the side of the monarch, sitting and folding her ankles over one another. Both arms cross gently beneath her chest as she continues to watch the Lord. "You have earned a peaceful retirement. Who now guards the city in your stead?"

Merdez settles into one of the two indentical thrones and leans his walking stick against the arm, bringing his hands into a steeple, watching Pashi over them, "Jirael will assume stewardship just as soon as he tells me he is ready. Until then I make my orders clear from here, and Lord Vasilis manages the minutia. The Thane is the perfect steward... I know just how much I can distrust him."

Nodding, Pashi's shoulders ease against the chairback, the fingers of one hand drumming against the material of her coat sleeve. "If Jirael proves unable to rule, do you have another heir to name as Ruingate's regent?" Interesting question. The seacat's head cants to the side, the end of her long braid poking out to the side. "Lord Vasilis is a good stand in. I saw the city under his care. It has done well. You gave it wings, and now it flies as you have taught it to."

This is a /very/ peculiar question to Merdez, and his brow arches dramatically, "/Unable/ to rule? I've pruned the boy since his first day of breath. He's not even a boy any longer, but a married man, sure to have his own heirs. Certainly, I've had more children than any of my ancestors but why would it even be a question? Has he conducted himself poorly during his travels?" this last question has a small hint of
bite.

"Not at all. In his travels, your son has proven himself both quick to learn and diligent to perform to the best of his abilities. To say he has been a pleasant and helpful addition to my little sea-bound family would be an understatement. You raised him well, Lord; were he here with me today, I'm sure you would be most proud." Her head bows at this point, a wordless apology for insinuating otherwise. "I only wonder if, after his travels, the Regent Prince would be willing to settle again. I fear I've done him disservice in exposing distant adventures to him."

"He is of the Family," Merdez says, firmly, as one with True Faith will, "There has been only one prodigal in all our history, taken from us by an unfit lady-love, and his descendents have troubled us since throughout our history, free from reprisal since they share our blood. Jirael is no wavering prodigal. He is his grandfather's very image, as gentle and firm a spirit, and, I hope, a better man than I have been. He will take up his crown and his duty."

Once more, the sea-farer's head bows, slowly. "So it will be, then." She responds cordially. "On to my actual reason for being here, then." She says, sitting up a little straighter. "As I mentioned, it is my intent to resign from service in Ruingate. While I've been absent from the city for many years, I felt it would be best to get this out of the way officially. And since I was not working for Vasilis, but you directly, that is why I came to you."

Merdez waves his hand almost absently, "Of course, of course," he says, dismissively, "My dear Lady Cortak, you've always been a free spirit. Do you want a special ceremony? A formal discharge? Go with my blessing. You've served me well and faithfully and the least I can reward you with is a quick and untormented release from that service, so you may get back to your voyages. I just hope," he smirks, "That you don't take this as freedom to drive my son even harder. He's a scholar before anything else."

"No, Lord. I do not need any Ceremony. Just your consent to enjoy my sea-exploration without feeling like I've somehow shirked my duties to Ruingate. And now I have your blessing. And you have my gratitude. For honoring me with the opportunity to serve you, and for allowing your son to travel with me. I began life as a scholar and to be able to share that interest with another living beast, even when on the open sea, has greatly improved my mood. When you next see your son, I imagine you will find him far more enlightened about the many ways of the world than when he left." His following comment is given a broad smile, one side of her maw lifting a little higher than the other. A typical Khun smirk, that smile. "I do not drive him any harder than he asks to be driven. He wanted to learn how to be a sailor on the open seas."

"Whatever his youthful failings, he was always a diligent worker," Merdez says, with a slight hint of fatherly fondness, "Go, put that diligence to the task. Prove that he needn't be like his father, shy of breakers and salt water. Make him fearless. If there is one thing your Family
can grant mind, let it be that."

"More and more, I think his fears are falling away like leaves dead from autumn's chill. His eyes are open." She stands, then, straight-backed and preparing to depart. "I will be returning to the Ironwing's port. Is there any message you wish for me to carry back to your son?" Pashi asks, hat tucked beneath her arm.

"That his father bids him be good, be honest, and be noble," Merdez says, sternly, "And that Lady Raven bids him be gentle, be merciful, and be kind. And that his wife bids him come back with stories to make up for his absense."

The first two pass the Admiral's ears and are each given nods. The third has her head paused, throat tightening beneath the blue-white glow of her fur. "I will tell him." She promises, then steps forward, kneeling. The hand that reaches for the Lord's is gentle, and though her fingers are frigid, the lips that kiss his knuckles are warm, if only in gesture. "Be well, Lord. Live many years in peace and tranquility." These words said without looking at his face, and when she stands and turns from him, the hat with its waving feathers is slid easily onto her head.

Merdez's chuckle is dry, "Many years may be more than I can hope for," he says, "But trust me, I plan to stave off the torment assigned to me as long as I can. Farewell, Pashi. Stars guide you on your path, as they guide your ship, your crew, and my heir."

One final glance over her shoulder, and the Admiral favors the aging Lord with yet another smirk, this far deeper than the last. No words of farewell are needed. She nods once again as the sounds of echoing bootfalls take her from the lonely throne room.

Offers.

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 20:27:15 GMT

Who: Jessy Venin, Pashi Cortak
When: 9.4.07
Where: Jettekstan Library.
What: Pashi spends the afternoon reading, but her reading for the day is interrupted by the presence of her aunt. Their interaction in this scene is probably the best I've seen it since the olden days. XD They don't try to kill eachother!

Nikolai, Merdez, and Jirael are mentioned.

In the stillness of the library, the shuffling of feet can be heard easily. The diligent librarians keep this room dust free, fanning the shelves with plumes from various birds. They mill about in monk-like robes, some shelving books, others rolling over texts and quilling down notes on separate paper. There is another robed figure, stationary, perched on a windowsill with a single large book open in her lap. She almost blends with the librarians save for the fact that all of /them/ appear to be male and balding with little spectacles for sight. She is none of those. But she does wear the monkesque robe today, belted with a length of ship's rope. Her fingers tap at the top of her crown as she reads, a heavy sigh unfurling from within.

The blackcat is recognized. She's becoming a symbol, a high figure in this city, and the monkish librarians give her respectful nods as she passes by them. A slight flick of her wrist sends the nearest ones away to the other side of the library, so as she approaches her niece there's no one nearby to intrude on their privacy. Taking a close step, Jessy bends to kiss the top of Pashi's head, just alongside her tapping fingers. Then she plucks up the younger's thick tail, moves it aside to sit on the windowsill, and lowers the thing into her lap to gently pick any tangles out of. "How long 'til you leave again?"

When Pashi reads, she becomes submerged in the text. So when she's suddenly kissed and addressed, she jolts very slightly. "Oh! I didn't even hear you approach, I'm sorry." She says, scooting over to give her aunt a fairly comfortable space on the sill. "Not too long, I'm afraid. Word has it that Ji's already on his way back toward this city. Once he comes here, we'll be setting off soon after." The book is closed in her hand and slid away from the both of them, the cover down, it's title obscured. "I am sorry, you know. I wanted to tell you, but he gave me strict instructions."

With more space, Jessy scoots back to slouch against the edge of wall at her back. Pashi's tail is, as always, free of knots, so she lays it across her lap and splays her hands into the fur. Unmoving, now. Eyes shut, she loses a short laugh out of her muzzle. "You think that
/matters/? I have Khain back... I have him /back/, Pash. Nothing else in the world matters to me." This is said low, with sincerity.

"One can never be too sure." Pash says, grabbing a nearby chair with a booted foot and pulling it closer so they both can use it as a foot rest. The sill's pretty high up, after all. "Neither he or I were sure how you'd react. Silly us, though." Pash gently lays one of her hands over her aunt's. "You ought to know. No matter how you try to push us away, your family does care about you. Ever since your announced engagement, Andar's been secretly posting guards out of your sight, in case something happens."

Jessy snorts, and this carries a laugh in it, too. "Did Andar know about this before me, also? And Ebo, and her little brats?" Her head tips, fingers squeezing around Pashi's as she falls into a few peals of actual laughter. Too loud.. the nearest librarian clears his throat
pointedly. She ignores him. "Or does Khain have to manage with those reunions, too? Can't possibly be as ridiculous as /ours/ was."

"The only people that know of his return thusfar are yourself and me." Pashi says. "And I only know because he needed my help to get here. Otherwise, you would have been the first. The rest he will get to in good time. He wanted to see you first, though." The seacat confirms. "By now, Andar will probably have spoken to the guard he posted for you. They left you alone when you went into the theatre. That much I know. So your.. reunion.. was private. Andar only sends the ones most loyal to him, so word of your coupling will not reach the Tsar."

"How the hell did you get me /in/ there?" Jessy watches her younger version with eyelids lowered, a perfectly sated expression settling onto her muzzle. "It's like yesterday was.. all wrapped up in that one event. I don't remember a thing before I stepped into the theatre," she murmurs, rubbing at the underside of her jaw. Hmm. "Not that I mind. I'd /happily/ spend the rest of my life in that pillowed corner with him.."

"I thought you might like the music." Pash says with a slight grin. "What we do with swords, he does with a bow and strings. Rather fantastic, you ask me." She purses her lips, elbows landing on her knees, chin caught by her palms. "Well, here we are, then, I suppose. You found your love once more, and mine comes back in a few days." She leans, resting her head on the elder's shoulder. "Maybe things'll be all right after all. Whaddaya say?" She lifts her head and offers a paw. "Friends again?"

With a little mew, Jessy curls her arms around Pashi's shoulders form behind, drawing the twotone into a snugger hug. She squeezes, then untangles one hand to grasp her niece's, gripping firmly and then twining her fingers into Pashi's icy ones. "Pash.. 'friends' doesn't quite settle for me. I need to build some sort of pedestal for you, I think."

A little pinch of worry, and then a broad smile. "Think nothing of it. Were our positions reversed, you would have done the same for me." The seacat rests her shoulders against the windowpane, eyes closing for a moment. "What will you do now?" She asks, looking toward the blackcat with curiosity.

The notched ear flicks up, sending little dust motes around that side of her head dancing a waltz. "We talked about that... We'll be staying here, together, until any of our deceptions catch up with us." A little sigh, now. Not upset, more relaxed. Deeply satisfied, for now, is the blackcat.

"Probably for the best. Word gets to the wrong ear now, that may end up with you and Haberus on the chopping block. Play it smooth now, but prepare for the day that something does go awry. You have an escape plan?" Pash asks, already smirking. "Because you already have something that your would be enemy does not."

"Mmm. Well, that pretty hawk-thing can manage two at one go, I assume?" She grins and nuzzles into Pashi's ear, exhaling to tickle to outer edge. "Somehow.. I think I can keep Nikolai fooled. He /does/ love me, Pash, and he won't tar and feather me because he has some little suspecicion. I just need to not get /caught/."

"The warhawks can carry three times their weight. And judging by the state we found Haberus in, the two of you won't come close to half that." The seacat confirms. And smirks. "I wouldn't recommend trying any stunts on them with two passengers, though. That.. can get a little frightening." Is that color creeping into Pashi's cheeks? My my. "They can still fly top speed with more than one passenger, but their rest-stops will need to be more frequent. For me alone, it's three stops between Soris'Lir and Auri'Angaza. For you and Haberus, it'd be more like six or seven. They eat on their own, so as long as you hop off and take the harness off, yours will be able to hunt and replenish itself on its own."

"We'll come visit," Jessy purrs. Good thing she's behind her niece, or the blush would require an explanation. But the darkling's eyes are shut, also, and she's more attentive to the bird-talk. "We /should/ come up with a plan of escape. I should've done that for myself, months ago, when he proposed and I didn't stop sneaking away with Adrik..." Hah.

"I have a map for you. Aerial view of a straight shot to Auri'Angaza. I figured I would leave it for you anyway, but now there's even more reason to. Aush'Duval knows the way by heart, but you don't. So, you get the map." Pash says, moving the book she had been reading onto a nearby stack, still face down. "Adrik, mm? Bit young, he is." Then again Jirael's a step or two behind her.. Oh well. "No, I don't suppose Nikolai would take to kindly to finding that out."

"Oh, he's only about Ebo's age.. a little younger, maybe. Still fresh enough to have all sorts of rebellion in him," she says of Adrik, with clear fondness. As Pashi moves she scoots a little, repositioning herself.. then eyes the book and snatches it up. Not that reading a title can do much for her, anyway.. "What've you had your nose in this morning, anyway?"

"Trying to map out my future, mostly." If Jess opens the book, there will be many words, but there are pictures as well. Pictures of various wounds, small sketches of beasts doubled over in pain here and there. A healer's textbook, by all accounts. "Seems there's a chance that, eventually, I could.. well. I may gain a few more years than I would have otherwise not had."

"Mmmmm," Jessy remarks, as she flips through the pages, seeking the pictures. A few plants, mostly, which she peers at curiously. No recognition to be had. "Didn't figure you'd be trying to escape it.. but, love messes with you something nasty, doesn't it?" She stops about a third of the way through and, leaving the book open on her thighs, braces her palms on her knees. She leans in to give black-and-white a serious look. "Tell me about your.. wedding, Pash."

That's a stange request. For the briefest of moments, the seacat's face loses several years, an almost teenage expression flitting over her features, and then disappears as she turns her head. "There was nothing spectacular about it, in comparison to most. A highly informal event. Bandelo headed the actual ceremony. I am Admiral, and when I am not performing those duties, Bandelo is acting captain of the Ironwing. So, he and his little black book stood before the two of us." Her head lowers a bit. "It is only a marriage on the sea. When we come to this continent, I am no more married than these books. When we come to this continent, he is bound to that.. vixen." The last word should be spat, but mostly Pash just /pushes/ it out of her mouth. "I do believe, though, that he is growing very fond of sailing."

And, similarly, air is pushed out of Jessy's nostrils. "Just.. kill the little bitch," she mutters, gaze dropping. It falls to her hand, which now sports the new version of Khain's ring. Last night.. last night was /good/. "You've made me happy, Pash. Honestly. I'll treck to Ruingate or Darkspire or wherever that pansy is, and kill her, if you want him to yourself."

"That solution is simple, yet deep within, I could never do that to him. The choice to leave her must be his and his alone. I cannot step in. I am, after all, the intruder. They were betrothed long before I.. before we ever had feelings for one another." She looks toward the ceiling with its painted glass dome. "I put myself in her place. She doesn't know a thing about he and I. I feel sorry for her more than I dislike the fact that she has binding obligations to their family. And he does /care/ for her. I don't want to risk his everlasting hate by offing her entirely. The choice must be his. I simply do not think that I am everything he wants or needs. I've come to terms with that, at least. So, I'll enjoy his company when he is with me, and wait patiently when he has to be with her." She glances at her hands a moment. "You must think me terribly silly."

"Oh, absolutely," she affirms, and resumes the page-flipping. No point in it, just as some sort of motion. "See, /you/ wouldn't have to kill her. You could be fully innocent. Ignorant, even!" Tch. "Your auntie-dear is about to be a queen. Wife to a Tsar. Equal in status to those two nonsensical Regents. I can off her with /no/ trouble."

"Oh, absolutely," she affirms, and resumes the page-flipping. No point in it, just as some sort of motion. "See, /you/ wouldn't have to kill her. You could be fully innocent. Ignorant, even!" Tch. "Your auntie-dear is about to be a queen. Wife to a Tsar. Equal in status to those two nonsensical Regents. I can off her with /no/ trouble."

"I hope you're joking. In situations like this, if one of my relatives offends him by offing his wife, our entire family is at fault." Pashi heaves a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping very slightly. "Please, Jess. Don't do it. I.. think I've almost completely turned his head away from that place, anyway." Knees come up, Pashi's heels on the windowsill, arms about her legs. "Just a little while longer."

A black brow inches up over Jessy's blind eye. "He wouldn't /know/. All sorts of ruffians want revenge on the Soulslashes for some reason for another. And even /if/ they knew it was me.. they'd never blame anyone else for what /I/ do. I've been the wild card in Ruingate ever since I arrived." She pushes the book off her lap, and as it falls to the floor she wraps her arms around Pashi again, hugging the younger to her chest. "I'll do this for you. Really."

"Your help is appreciated, but.. not like this. He would never know, but I would, and that's almost worse. I love him. More than the sea, even. I have told him every secret I have ever had, and he has not betrayed a one of them. I cannot /keep/ secrets from him. Unlike the other lucky members of our family, guilt has left a mark on me more deeply than even the frozen Northern water." Pashi quiets for a long moment. "I want to win him fair and square. Where he was betrothed and made to wed /her/, he has /chosen/ to sail with me. He must /choose/ to leave her - without any outside help in dispatching her. The choice is his to make, and unless it's he alone that makes it, the outcome will mean nothing for me." She pulls the hood of her robe about her neck for warmth as a chill sinks through her frame. "He has to decide. Not you or I. Once me chooses, I will finally be able to see a clearer path."

She almost tries to nudge the idea further.. but now Jess is gentler, calmer. Seems the change came on, literally, overnight. She drapes her hand over Pashi's hair and draws her fingers down, petting her like the little kitten she raised. "It's hard to not love those men.. even if you hate them. Even if you want to /rip/ their /throats/ out.. It's just how that line is fashioned, I think."

"Before I found the Ironwing, I worked for his father as an assassin. I'm not sure even he knows that. Left that city. I didn't expect to see either of them ever again." The seacat leans one shoulder against the wall of the sill, chewing her lower lip. "What ever happened with you and Merdez, anyway? You got on, and then you had a falling out, if I remember correctly."

The blind eye twitches, but this time Jess doesn't scoot from the subject /quite/ as fast. The tip of her tongue is fastened between her top and bottom teeth, and she nibbles that thoughtfully. "After Khain.. died.." she starts, and pauses. The memory of that brings a troupe of emotions to her face, none of them very interrelated. "The Swallow had just been finished. I went to Merdez, persuaded him to accompany me on the maiden voyage. I'd found the smallest able crew, paid them off with a combination of gold and threats.." A sigh.

There is a small smile stretching over Pashi's maw. Not unkind, just.. there. "You and I are very alike, and I'm only just discovering it. There is no shame in it. You said it yourself. Hard not to love them. I do, however, dislike Merdez. Poor fool was too stubborn to see what luck he had, you taking a shine to him, and all. Should have been smarter about it." She pats the blackcat's paw gently. "How is the Swallow, anyway? Is she in need of repairs?" That's right, change the subject. No need to make Jess any /more/ uncomfortable.

Jessy "I never had any sort of /shine/ to that buffoon," she quickly denies, and hunches down. The subject-change doesn't immediately take, though. "You know, I /went/ there. To Darkspire. Flaunted at him that I was going to be a Tsar, and all he could respond was.. some pitying sort of congratulations. The cad."

"All right, all right. My mistake." A soft chuckle, Pashi's hands up in the air. "The only way to impress Merdez, it seems, is to best him, somehow. Or destroy his city." Pashi reasons outloud. "I doubt he'd take too kindly to learning about his son's.. sailing career." She shrugs lightly. "Oh, well. Don't take offense. Merdez is naught now but a bug waiting to be squashed."

"And who d'you reckon is going to do the.. squashing?" Jess quips, with her brows up. This particular topic hasn't ended her pleasant mood, just dulled it a little. She looks.. tired. Long night, we'll assume. "You know something I /do/ regret? .. not killing Raven. Not ripping her limb from damn limb and letting her swoon into a pool of her own /blood/.."

"I never really met her. Heard of her plenty, but never met. Though I am seeing a common trend in our family of disliking the wives of these Soulslashes." Pashi comments with a flick of her brows. "They choose such.. dainty women. Can't imagine they're very interesting past a certain point. I doubt Raven or the vixen that Jirael's married to even know the first thing about bar fights. Good thing to know when you live in a vermin city, don't you think?"

"Bar fights? Bar fights are /vital/.. you've dragged your foxboy into a few by now, haven't you?" The blackcat's grayish nose crinkles up. "That's really someone I've always wished dead. If I'd known he'd go for /her/ after Sheva... /Ech/

"Who knows. Sheva I actually liked. Respected, even. Then again, perhaps I was too young to really get a good hate going for her. I don't recall." Pashi shrugs and lifts her head as the approach of footsteps catches her attention. "Dalen, what's wrong?" She questions. The rat in question clutches his cap in both hands. "Marm, y'may want t'see to Bandy. He looks a might green t'day. Eldrich things mayhaps th'wheat got moldy, an.. well, Bandy made bread out of it." Pashi nods her head and waves him away. "I'll be there in a moment, thank you, Dalen." When the rat has disappeared, Pashi rubs her temples and smiles ironically. "Forgive me. Looks like I have to go play healer. Are you going to be about later this evening?"

"You'll find me," Jessy warbles, and leans to kiss the younger's cheek. "Though if you hear little happy-noises in the theatre... come back later."

A trill of laughter, and Pashi nods. "'Til then." She says, slipping from the sill and walking door-wards while tying her hair into a messy bun

Snippet.

Mon, 03 Sep 2007 23:26:58 GMT

Who: Nikolai Jette, Pashi Cortak
When: 1.10.07
Where: Jettekstan.
What: A snippet from a conversation that Jette and Pashi were having. I don't think I have the rest of the log, sadly.

Tap-tap goes the pipe as he muses over her statement with a slight quirk of a brow. "That is a powerful word." He puffs at the pipe again, eyeing her around the smoke as he chuckles. "I have relatives who I am not quite proud of either. Like that illegitimate gypsy of a nephew I have. But I have never described him to others as a thief, or a love-child, or such." Puff. "She lost her husband, hmm? And I am a consolation prize?" His accent rolls over the word 'consolation' awkwardly. He sighs. "Ach, now I fear I acted rashly in saying what I did." He pauses here, as if allowing Pashi to ask herself what he said to Jessy, but he goes ahead and tells her. "I told her that I would not give myself over to anyone with their deserving it. I tempted her to chase me." He pauses again, but this time to laugh around the smoke. "She did not take it well."

"Then perhaps those words do not fit your nephew, majesty, but I can assure you the Lady Jessy Venin of Demonica is a certifiable gilly girl." She sucks through the stem once more and mulls over the next bit. Despite popular belief that all cats are deadly curious, Pashi maintains a hold on whatever curiosities she may harbor. "Jessy does not like things that come at a heavy price. She does not like things that are denied her. She will move on to the next sorry fool who shows a weaker will, and she will ruin him. Your majesty did well to put her off. I would not wish her attentions on anyone."

Jette laughs again, thinking that now he'd made a wise choice. But he sobers quickly, shutting his eyes for a moment, then glancing at the fire. "Ah, I should not laugh. I know the pain of losing a spouse." He shifts his bulk in the chair, then brings his eyes from the fire. "But perhaps someone should tell her that the higher the price, the more precious the thing is. Simple economics, niet? Ahem. No?" Puffing on the pipe, he stares at her, but distantly. "I feel sorry for her, oddly. I believe she is looking for self-worth in others wanting her. I could be wrong, of course." His gaze focuses on her. "Forgive the impertinent question, but do you know the truth of love?" He winces. "Ah, forgive me. That was not the correct wording. Perhaps it would be easier if I asked if you are or have been wed."

"Her husband was a good man. Died a fighter's death. Lived a good life. She has since spun out. The Lady Jessy was once a well thought of woman. She exhibited decorum, grace, and restraint in all things except love. In love of family, Jessy was never second to any. She loved her husband, her children - and there were many - and even her estranged niece." She puffs at the pipe again. His next question brings the pirate woman from her brief drift into past pictures in her head and she blinks at him momentarily. "I never married, no. I had meant to. I thought I had found a love worth locking myself to, but then war broke out on the sea and I was called to it. I found this place and in discovering Jettekstan, it seems I'd lost my first love to the now Grand Duchess."

Jette taps his pipe-stalk against his chin, then sighs, clasping his hands around his stomach. "We're all casualties, then." He smiles humorlessly at his rumination. "The Grand Duchess? By that, I will believe you mean Lady Eboriel. Jessy's daughter." Puffing softly, he squints his eyes slowly. "Hmmm, that -is- unfair, is it not?" The Tsar finally brings the glass of wine to his lips, sets it down, and leans back. "I will ask you another impertinent question, which I seem fond of doing as of late." Raising his brows, he stares at Pashi. "Would you fight for that love? Rather, -will- you fight for that love? Or do you think it improper to fight for a beast that your, cousin was it, loves? You do not have to answer -me-, of course." Puffing on the pipe, he regards her distantly again, wondering if she would answer aloud or not. It would be no great revelation to him, anyway.

"While Eboriel is a duchess, grace, she is not the duchess which I refer to. I speak of the one that governs in your city. The Lady Kalista is married to Edan. Eboriel is wed to a fellow she was betrothed to for many seasons. They are a good match." She pulls another long breath, and then considers the second question. "I fight for many things, grace. Love is always one of them. If not mine, then that of someone else. Were Edan unhappy with the life he now leads, I may consider laying the Lady Kalista to rest. But he has all he sought in his younger days and more. So I wish him and his foxen bride well and wish them many years of joy." Quietness once again controls her, and she stares into the fireplace. "My love now is for the sea. It is constant. I can depend on it to tell me how it feels whenever it chooses to. This is the one relationship I know I cannot control, and that suits me." She turns her head to the fellow again and cants her head to the side. "May I ask.. Why do you wish to know?

Jette purses his lips. Whoops, got that one wrong. "Hmm, Kalista." He almost gives a soft eyeroll. That blasted Edan, causing trouble all over the borders. "Ah, forgive me. I was not thinking correctly, it seems." He smiles, setting the pipe between his teeth, content with her answer. He wouldn't necessarily stop her from getting at Kalista were it not if Edan would have a thing or two to say about it. So, family duty and all that. "Love is a noble thing to fight for. Not necessarily the noblest, but one of them. And I could argue with you about the sea being constant, but...I'll leave that to your knowledge. I have only seen the sea twice and have never been on it." Her last question catches him a bit off balance. Yes, why -does- he want to know? He thinks for a moment, then chuckles. "Well, the very first reason is that I am a curious cat. The second I believe....is that I wish to compare."

For the first time in the hour or so that has transpired - from leaving the stage of the auditorium, to hearing such a man admit to curiosity, a rare thing occurs. A small smile creeps up onto Pashi's lips. It is a small and genuine thing, worn almost in secret as she bows her head briefly. "And what of my love would your grace desire to compare? Surely, yours is a better story. You have children; that much I know. And a kingdom that is both great and generous to its strange visitors. What lopsided comparison can my personal tragedies and short-comings possibly offer?" She looks away, staring at the pipe which she now turns over, slowly, between her fingers.

Jette suddenly waggles a finger, as if berating a child. But it's not condescending at all. "No. My story is rather bland, really. Well," he smiles suddenly, staring off, "It started bland." Sipping at the wine, he clears his throat, noticing the smile anyway. "Your love is no greater than my love. Or anyone's love. There are degrees, of course, and ways of loving. But in the end, it is all the same, is it not?" Puff. "I began as a farmer's son, along with my siblings, some of which, as you can tell, are still alive. When I was younger, I am told I was charismatic. So, with whatever charm I could muster, and a desire to change my state of things, I rushed into war with a neighboring country, several hundred beasts under my command. Of course, inexperienced, I lost. But I learned over the seasons." Puff. "I lost a son to the wars, a fine general. And later, I lost my wife, whom I was betrothed to since birth. Love grows over time, and it was nearly unbearable to lose her to a -disease-." He nearly spits the word, before sighing back into the chair. "I have short-comings and tragedies as well. The only difference between you and I, Admiral Pashi, is that I conquered a weak mining city and made it my own."

Admiral's Journal.

Mon, 03 Sep 2007 17:42:37 GMT

A bit of writing through Pashi's perspective.

A recent entry from the Admiral's personal journal.

I will not bother dating this, because I have lost all sense of time. That's what happens when you pass beneath the Stag's Way and enter Auri'Angaza, I'm afraid. I could spend a year here and would be completely surprised to learn that that much time had, indeed, passed before my eyes. Life is easy here. Down below the Ley of Towers, the market bustles each day. Folks living from day to day have no need to think of the long term.

They do not know that their military is diligent. Not because they choose to be, but because they must. The would-be attacks come from above. The Rush'fian bat riders are as fierce as ever. Their goal is unclear. One Archer commented to me the other day that he thought they were merely interested in destruction. What could they possibly want from Angaza's shore? Sadly, I had no answer that would satisfy him.

These lads and gals are fed at the teat of their purpose. Protect the city, destroy those who would otherwise raze it to the ground. They are robbed, these.. children. They will never share the blissful ignorance of the people below. These three dozen are expected to protect the countless scores below, and they do. When one of their number falls, another is chosen and reared by the fighters themselves.

And down below, they do not know to what extent they are protected. Granted, the attacks have been few in the past decade or so. Why, then, are they becomming more aggressive now? I should have a word with the Commander later. Perhaps he may shed some light on it.

I should probably mention, while I've got the mind for it, that my aunt is finally remarrying. She has spent countless years on her own, and I fear that her mental health is already declined to a rather dangerous low. When we stopped last at Soris'Lir, we made for Jettekstan to trade before returning to this city. She was there, as I had suspected. I found her sleeping in the garden surrounded by statues with all to familiar faces.

The Lord of Jettekstan actually plans to make a wife of her. Absurd. I did warn him, when last we spoke. I told him that she would surely bring ruin to his house and city. All evidence even points to it., and yet the fool has proposed. Absolute insanity.

Do not mistake me. I love my aunt. When my mother died and my father refused to care for me, she took me under her wing. At that age, I could barely speak coherently, and yet she decided to raise me. I am eternally grateful to her, yet it does pain me to see her so.. reduced. She was once great, and now her thoughts are scattered. Sometimes I believe part of her died the day we learned that Haberus had died. Perhaps he was the glue that held her binding together. A sad idea, though I do not dismiss its trueness altogether. I miss her. Back when her head was not muddled with revenge. Before she became 'entitled'.

.------.

Stolen from my writing, there, for a moment. I've just been told by one of my crew that the snippy young ferret I took aboard at the port of Soris'Lir has taken my flagship out for a sail. That alone is reason enough for me to run him through. However, he took it through the Stag's Way. There are a grand total of four that know how to sail that, and he is not one of them. In the event of my death or this journal falling into the wrong hands, I'll not say more than this: The underbelly of my ship has just been destroyed. The Ironwing is no longer sailable, thanks to that upstart. Thankfully, Bandelo has him being held in the cargo hold of the Falconeye. I'll deal with him later.

Right now, I need to see a fellow about the construction of a new ship. Truth be told, I should thank the little wretch that destroyed the Ironwing. It's high time that the fleet was reduced to one larger long ship, anyway.

I even have the name picked out already. Finally, reading all those books on architecture and building will pay off.

@ Admiral Pashi Imelza Cortak