When in Begma... Blend.

[rassafraggin]

After an interval of surfaced travel across the shadow seas, the slide into Begma feels like a brass key turning in a well-oiled clock. But once the brassy waters are glimmering quietly through the mist around the low deck rails and their destination is confirmed by the distant bellow of a fog horn... the Solar Flare takes the navigators back down her hatch and makes hasty preparations to dive. A triumphant cruise of Das Snoot into the port this will not be!

"The Ministry of Jurisdictional Crimes Investigation cannot know of the Solar Flare being here. As far as I know, her status is still 'hijacked by a heinous act of Minosan piracy on the open waters'," explains Merrisol very matter-of-factly, while said submersible slinks guiltily through deep water traffic. Other vessels, from diving bells, to painted behemoths of slowly-corroding iron, lurk the undersea. Except for one near miss, they are never seen; the sonar captures their presence, and Merri re-plots their course toward the city's shoreline. "We will be slipping ashore by moonlight." He might have forgotten to mention this final aspect of the journey...

Ruby takes in these latest points of interest, and they feed her growing concern. She hugs her arms under her chest tightly and shifts her weight from foot to foot. "Good call. Aye, sneakin be better for everyone. I think tha's a great idea." She scratches nails against readily available skin, raising small welts. "I wish I 'ad a disguise for when we doo set feet on dry land. Do tha folks tha live 'ere wear masks or 'ave 'unchbacks? Maybe there be a barrel big enough tah stick me feet oot tha bottom?" She wrinkles her nose and tries to resist pacing.

Clive is half-listening during the quick briefing from Merrisol, with much of his attention focused on a book he has cracked open. Though, mention of the history of the vessel they have been traveling on has him looking up from the pages with a whisper of a grin present. "Sneaking into port under the cover of darkness, eh? I like it." The book in his hands snaps shut with some finality, revealing it to be an operations manual for a submarine. His attention swivels to Ruby and a bit of that grin returns as he nods, considering her request. "Maybe a beard, top hat, monocle, and a cape? Is it good cape weather out there this time of year?"

Merri takes his gaze off the viewport and cranes a look over his shoulder at Ruby's current attire, then Clive's. He frowns doubtfully, "Little chance of you passing for visiting Begman, much less native, so I wouldn't say a disguise would do you any good, Ruby. But you /do/ need to be wearing proper clothes. Cover that," a tip of his chin to her midrift, "and those, right up." What, her ankles? Her feets?? "Appropriate dress can be acquired from the local boutiques, I suppose."

Ruby arches an eyebrow and then gives herself a cursory peering down, abs-slapping and wrenching her mouth into an expression of displeasure. "Dress an boot-eeks?" She winces. "Whut...loike Mar-lene you mean? Oh my Bog..." Ruby tilts and lurches like she was a landlubber on the deck of a storm-tossed ship, or had been sucker punched by a Triton. "Whut if I just used me tatt tah blend in with tha clockwork an kettles?" She adds, "What aboot a...long beard, loike what Clive said?" She pantomimies an epic hermit beard that would go from nose to toes.

Maggie slowly breaks out of her Shadow manipulating, seemingly inward focused. Her hands flex, fingers shaking out a bit before she tucks them into her pockets. Turning, she surveys those near her. Taking in the unusual suspects, she offers a smile, first to Merrisol and then to the rest. "We have arrived," she announces redundantly. Ruby's situation is taken in and she pauses before offering, "I am not sure that men's attire would be any better, Ruby. I do not see you as happy wearing an ascot. Though I could be wrong." Turning again to Merrisol, she adds, "It is called an ascot, isnt it?"

"Boutique?" Clive lets out a soft snort at these comments about his attire. His book gets left on a nearby console and then he stands up a bit straighter. "So, what? I gotta button my jacket up all the way to the top? Put on a pair of spats? Put a quick spitshine on the boots?" The Selkie looks back to Ruby and lets a larger grin slip at the miming of a beard. He schools his expression back to something serious while swiveling back to look at Merrisol, nodding repeatedly in agreement with this beard idea. "I think we're onto something here."

Merrisol stares for a moment, having trouble unseeing Ruby in a yellow ruffled satin gown and heeled lace-up boots, the outfit complete with corset and bustle. Adding a floor-length old man beard? He blinks and kind of forgets he's the one driving and that the SF is probably about to collide with the Begma boondocks at any moment. "Ascot... no, no, you can't just wear that with any jacket... oh. Yes, ascot is correct, Hotstuff." He shakes his head, holding up a hand. "Around the docks and such, no one'll bat an eyelash. All I'm saying is, you'll want to blend in more once you move past those areas."

"Good gods man, just blend. Begma's like any other place, and it has the benefits of teeming masses of soot covered dockmongers." Mercier pipes up to Clive from a nearby shadow. How long was he there? Did he just arrive? Why was he here? Most of those answers were mostly his business. "The more elaborate a disguise the harder people will look at it. Its a great port, and those are known for their diversity." He paces a bit, "The benefits Begmen's have in Amber, most other people will likley have here. Any Rebman could come off the docks claiming to be Queen Moire's sister, and with a solid looking punch card, few people would think twice." He nods to Merrisol, tapping his nose, "Though I'm absolutely surprised you haven't cleared that little matter up."

Maggie moves closer to the others after giving Mercier a speculative nod. Angling a glance over to Clive and a far more sympathetic one to Ruby, Maggie slips an arm about Merrisol's waist while lifting a chin toward the port. "We can find suitable clothing near th docks, I expect." Her gaze measures Ruby nonetheless. Maybe not yellow...

There is something between a groan and a growl that comes from Clive as he tries to come to terms with all of this. Ascots! "Bou-tique." The word is said slowly, broken up into individual syllables, and is dripping with disdain. "Suppose we'll see how this goes." One big, calming breath is taken and then the Selkie gives a nod and remains quiet. He scoops his book back up and opens it to bury his nose down inside, possibly burning holes through the pages in the process.