When Pamido Wolmido heard the knock from within, he turned and reached up to insert the heavy iron key into its lock. He had to stand on his toes as the lock sat just above eye level for the Lalafell. "Blasted thing," he muttered under his breath, finally able to open the room. He swung the door open inwards and gave a Storm salute to the group within.
"Mornin' Cargo, Master Gunner and 1st Cannoneer, Pamido Wolmido, at yer service. And might I say lad," he addressed Forty-three, "Yer lookin' fine sharp as a sawfish in them rags."
He looked over the other three for a moment while Forty-three rambled on about veils and metal bits and bobs. The Lalafellin marauder said nothing to compliment the others, but cleared his throat after Eighty-five had cut in. "Mm, yes, orders are to see to it yer fed well afore taking on yer duties aboard. Iffin yew lot follow me."
The Lalafell marched importantly along in front of the group towards the armory and then down into the Mess. His haubergeon clinked loudly as he moved along. Though dressed similarly to Berasaem, Pamido Wolmido's haubergeon differed greatly from the Roegadyn's simple Storm Private Haubergeon. His was polished black and adorned with a brilliant crimson sash befitting royalty, clasped with a golden broach and gilded shoulder plates. The bottom ringlets of the haubergeon's sleeves, collar, and skirt were also golden. The Lalafell's high leather boots were adorned with golden fish scales, similar to the leather uniform worn by Marjanie. Though Forty-three only received Pamido Wolmido's plainclothes, even they were expertly woven from the finest of silks and hides, and fitted true to form. This particular Plainfolk made it readily apparent that fashion and function were not always mutually exclusive.
But he was also a gruff looking Lalafell, possessing the scruff of what might grow into a full beard if allowed, brown in color with flecks of salty grey. For those who were not Lalafellin it may be more difficult to differentiate, but he was a man in his middle years. It was quickly becoming apparent that most of this crew were older veterans, faithful remnants of the old Thalassocracy. Each with their own glory days, stories, and deep sea of woes. In fact, the youngest member of the 8th Levy's crew appeared to be Marjanie, being a rather more elegant woman in her mid-twenties.
Though Pamido Wolmido had adjusted well to Lominsan life, it was apparent he had not yet forgotten the days when he was a pirate king of the Southern Isles. So he marched with that air of authority and never once feared of being stabbed in the back. At the bottom of the stairs, the middle-aged Lalafell skipped the last two stairs, hopping down to the floor, landing without so much as a waver. He pivoted and went into a deep bow, sweeping his arm out into the cavernous Mess Hall.
"This here's the Mess," he trumpeted, "Sit where yeh like but eat what yer given!"
The Lalafell seemed jovial enough, though his exclamation could just as easily be taken as a threat as it could his good humor. Perhaps too early to tell at this juncture. Those within the room turned to look at the guests arrival. Marjanie returned to her meal after catching sight of Ryanti's wave. Cwaenlona gave a short wave back to the young Miqo'te. Sounsyy just stared with a closed mouthful of egg puffing out one cheek. She finished chewing and swallowed before she chose to answer Ryanti.
"Yeh look... like a lot o' lost land-lubbers. At least none of yeh turned green yet," she said with a shrug. A few of the crew snickered. Sounsyy hopped off her stool and strolled over to Ryanti, giving him a critical look. She bit her lower lip for a moment before reaching out and pulling on the neckline of Ryanti's tunic, loosening the collar to show more of his chest and collarbones.
"Too proper," she chided, "Folk will think yer kin to Pamido Wolmido, but we can work wit this."
There was another collective laugh and the Lalafellin marauder gave another low bow. He piped up afterwards, "Ain't nothin' wrong with lookin' nobler than a noble grape upon the high seas, Cap'n!"
"Come eat," Sounsyy said after, ignoring Pamido Wolmido's retort. There were enough stools at the bar to sit, and additional tables if they decided to sit elsewhere in the room. Sounsyy took a few paces backwards and lowered herself gracefully into her stool. She grabbed her plate and held it above her lap with her left hand and ate as she watched the four of them. She continued after a mouthful, "I've been told our cook used all our stores fer the occasion. So do eat afore we starve the rest of our voyage."
"Susuroon thinks Captain is telling teasing teases," a hoarse, squeaking voice spoke from behind the counter. A Qiqirn clamored his way on top of the counter and held his arms out wide in welcome to the newcomers, "Susuroon gives most welcoming welcome to visiting visitors!"
The Qiqirn was dressed in a leather outfit, also similar to Marjanie's, though he had cut the sleeves so the black leather armor fit more like a vest. The shoulders were decorated with a waterfall of golden fish scales which cascaded down Susuroon's upper arms. He wore puffy black slops, but no boots, sleeves, or hood. His long ears were adorned with sparkly coins-turned-earrings, ranging from gil pieces to foreign mints unseen to these parts of the world. Clearly he had taken a leaf from Pamido Wolmido's book of fashion, but had not entirely grasped the concept of functionality that accompanied it. Susuroon's snout was shorter than the average Qiqirn and possessed a scar running vertically across the whiskers on his right side.
The Qiqirn beckoned them over excitedly, causing the fish scales and coin earrings to jingle madly. Cwaenlona ducked into the galley to the fore and returned with a cart laden with plates of food. Mostly egg dishes, quiche, omelettes, poached eggs, and eggs scrambled into a large pile. Each dish was accompanied by a variety of meat, either strips of dodo breast, turtle meat, or Lominsan anchovies and a hunk of bread or biscuit. Cwaenlona took waterskins from the cart and handed one to each of the four.
"Fresh water will soon go afoul," the Roegadyn explained, "We must drink it while we still can."
"And tasty eggs become less tasty eggs! This like Susuroon's outlook on living life. Spend days eatings eats before there is days of less eating."
"Aye!" A few of the crew cheered, the Lalafellin marauder included. Most of those in the room had returned to their meals by this point, eager to finish and begin their day or return to their bunks to sleep. Pamido Wolmido made his way over next to the group of three seated at the bar and pulled himself up on to one of the stools. Susuroon, once satisfied his guests were to be well fed scampered down to where the Lalafell sat and the two began chittering amicably to one another. Though every so often the Qiqirn would pass a quick glance across the room to see that his guests were enjoying their fare.
Sounsyy continued eating from her lap and surveying Ryanti and Jonathan strangely, as if the dream she had suffered was somehow their fault. Some color had returned to her cheeks since she began eating, but circles could just be made out from under her eyes. She finished off the last of her eggs and rested the plate down in her lap.
"I hope yeh all slept well this morn. I think I've settled on tasks where yeh could be made useful," she said to Sixteen. She examined each of the four briefly, an amused smirk playing across her face as she finalized their roles in her head.
"Forty-three, I could use a swab whats lower to the deck. Hard work, but needs doing. M'sizh Lohp will take care of yeh. Best pray yer friends don't catch sea sickness when we reach rougher waters in a few hours time. Eighty-five, ye'll be Powder Opo-opo fer Pamido Wolmido. He'll show you what needs doing when ye've eaten. Yeh can help Forty-three when he says yer shipshape. Seventy-seven, 'ope yer not afraid of heights. Ye'll be one of my riggers. P'welro and a length of good rope will be yer best friends by day's end. Which leaves Sixteen as meh Carpenter. Hull always needs maintenance and Cwaenlona could use the help. Any questions?"
"Mornin' Cargo, Master Gunner and 1st Cannoneer, Pamido Wolmido, at yer service. And might I say lad," he addressed Forty-three, "Yer lookin' fine sharp as a sawfish in them rags."
He looked over the other three for a moment while Forty-three rambled on about veils and metal bits and bobs. The Lalafellin marauder said nothing to compliment the others, but cleared his throat after Eighty-five had cut in. "Mm, yes, orders are to see to it yer fed well afore taking on yer duties aboard. Iffin yew lot follow me."
The Lalafell marched importantly along in front of the group towards the armory and then down into the Mess. His haubergeon clinked loudly as he moved along. Though dressed similarly to Berasaem, Pamido Wolmido's haubergeon differed greatly from the Roegadyn's simple Storm Private Haubergeon. His was polished black and adorned with a brilliant crimson sash befitting royalty, clasped with a golden broach and gilded shoulder plates. The bottom ringlets of the haubergeon's sleeves, collar, and skirt were also golden. The Lalafell's high leather boots were adorned with golden fish scales, similar to the leather uniform worn by Marjanie. Though Forty-three only received Pamido Wolmido's plainclothes, even they were expertly woven from the finest of silks and hides, and fitted true to form. This particular Plainfolk made it readily apparent that fashion and function were not always mutually exclusive.
But he was also a gruff looking Lalafell, possessing the scruff of what might grow into a full beard if allowed, brown in color with flecks of salty grey. For those who were not Lalafellin it may be more difficult to differentiate, but he was a man in his middle years. It was quickly becoming apparent that most of this crew were older veterans, faithful remnants of the old Thalassocracy. Each with their own glory days, stories, and deep sea of woes. In fact, the youngest member of the 8th Levy's crew appeared to be Marjanie, being a rather more elegant woman in her mid-twenties.
Though Pamido Wolmido had adjusted well to Lominsan life, it was apparent he had not yet forgotten the days when he was a pirate king of the Southern Isles. So he marched with that air of authority and never once feared of being stabbed in the back. At the bottom of the stairs, the middle-aged Lalafell skipped the last two stairs, hopping down to the floor, landing without so much as a waver. He pivoted and went into a deep bow, sweeping his arm out into the cavernous Mess Hall.
"This here's the Mess," he trumpeted, "Sit where yeh like but eat what yer given!"
The Lalafell seemed jovial enough, though his exclamation could just as easily be taken as a threat as it could his good humor. Perhaps too early to tell at this juncture. Those within the room turned to look at the guests arrival. Marjanie returned to her meal after catching sight of Ryanti's wave. Cwaenlona gave a short wave back to the young Miqo'te. Sounsyy just stared with a closed mouthful of egg puffing out one cheek. She finished chewing and swallowed before she chose to answer Ryanti.
"Yeh look... like a lot o' lost land-lubbers. At least none of yeh turned green yet," she said with a shrug. A few of the crew snickered. Sounsyy hopped off her stool and strolled over to Ryanti, giving him a critical look. She bit her lower lip for a moment before reaching out and pulling on the neckline of Ryanti's tunic, loosening the collar to show more of his chest and collarbones.
"Too proper," she chided, "Folk will think yer kin to Pamido Wolmido, but we can work wit this."
There was another collective laugh and the Lalafellin marauder gave another low bow. He piped up afterwards, "Ain't nothin' wrong with lookin' nobler than a noble grape upon the high seas, Cap'n!"
"Come eat," Sounsyy said after, ignoring Pamido Wolmido's retort. There were enough stools at the bar to sit, and additional tables if they decided to sit elsewhere in the room. Sounsyy took a few paces backwards and lowered herself gracefully into her stool. She grabbed her plate and held it above her lap with her left hand and ate as she watched the four of them. She continued after a mouthful, "I've been told our cook used all our stores fer the occasion. So do eat afore we starve the rest of our voyage."
"Susuroon thinks Captain is telling teasing teases," a hoarse, squeaking voice spoke from behind the counter. A Qiqirn clamored his way on top of the counter and held his arms out wide in welcome to the newcomers, "Susuroon gives most welcoming welcome to visiting visitors!"
The Qiqirn was dressed in a leather outfit, also similar to Marjanie's, though he had cut the sleeves so the black leather armor fit more like a vest. The shoulders were decorated with a waterfall of golden fish scales which cascaded down Susuroon's upper arms. He wore puffy black slops, but no boots, sleeves, or hood. His long ears were adorned with sparkly coins-turned-earrings, ranging from gil pieces to foreign mints unseen to these parts of the world. Clearly he had taken a leaf from Pamido Wolmido's book of fashion, but had not entirely grasped the concept of functionality that accompanied it. Susuroon's snout was shorter than the average Qiqirn and possessed a scar running vertically across the whiskers on his right side.
The Qiqirn beckoned them over excitedly, causing the fish scales and coin earrings to jingle madly. Cwaenlona ducked into the galley to the fore and returned with a cart laden with plates of food. Mostly egg dishes, quiche, omelettes, poached eggs, and eggs scrambled into a large pile. Each dish was accompanied by a variety of meat, either strips of dodo breast, turtle meat, or Lominsan anchovies and a hunk of bread or biscuit. Cwaenlona took waterskins from the cart and handed one to each of the four.
"Fresh water will soon go afoul," the Roegadyn explained, "We must drink it while we still can."
"And tasty eggs become less tasty eggs! This like Susuroon's outlook on living life. Spend days eatings eats before there is days of less eating."
"Aye!" A few of the crew cheered, the Lalafellin marauder included. Most of those in the room had returned to their meals by this point, eager to finish and begin their day or return to their bunks to sleep. Pamido Wolmido made his way over next to the group of three seated at the bar and pulled himself up on to one of the stools. Susuroon, once satisfied his guests were to be well fed scampered down to where the Lalafell sat and the two began chittering amicably to one another. Though every so often the Qiqirn would pass a quick glance across the room to see that his guests were enjoying their fare.
Sounsyy continued eating from her lap and surveying Ryanti and Jonathan strangely, as if the dream she had suffered was somehow their fault. Some color had returned to her cheeks since she began eating, but circles could just be made out from under her eyes. She finished off the last of her eggs and rested the plate down in her lap.
"I hope yeh all slept well this morn. I think I've settled on tasks where yeh could be made useful," she said to Sixteen. She examined each of the four briefly, an amused smirk playing across her face as she finalized their roles in her head.
"Forty-three, I could use a swab whats lower to the deck. Hard work, but needs doing. M'sizh Lohp will take care of yeh. Best pray yer friends don't catch sea sickness when we reach rougher waters in a few hours time. Eighty-five, ye'll be Powder Opo-opo fer Pamido Wolmido. He'll show you what needs doing when ye've eaten. Yeh can help Forty-three when he says yer shipshape. Seventy-seven, 'ope yer not afraid of heights. Ye'll be one of my riggers. P'welro and a length of good rope will be yer best friends by day's end. Which leaves Sixteen as meh Carpenter. Hull always needs maintenance and Cwaenlona could use the help. Any questions?"