Discovery: Hacha! (1/2)

[rassafraggin]

Leading the way down the gangplank from the Wave Dancer, Maggie breaths in a deep draught of air. It is filled with the tang of the sea and the deeply mundane scents of damp earth, vegetation and dust. Evidence of industry extends even to the docks as old, worn timbers are replaced with new, freshly painted wood. Careful not to step on any wet paint, Maggie pauses to speak with the dock master, motioning the rest to go on without her. She will catch up after paying the docking fees and introducing the man to Mr. Anderson.

Ruby switches from sea-legs to land-lubber version after some adjustment upon setting feets on the dock. "If I didn't think it'd get blown away, I should invest in a small forge somewhere 'ere. If I ever need tah consider builders for a 'arbour or seaside depot, I think folks from 'ere would be me first pick for resilience an stubbornness." She sniffs at the ambient scents and starts off towards civilization. "Where's this place then?"

Ruby says, "Tha chowdaaaah."

Merrisol moves with the group, his attention moving between the familiar standbys of the harbour and the repair projects which necessarily change the look and function of the boardwalk and beyond. "Are intense storms always necessary for putting your cannons together?" he wonders aside to Ruby, his mouth already bowing in a fleeting unpleasant recollection of one such occasion. "In any case, there are always a few dives along the harbour road where the sailors congregate on shore leave, with a lot of random bluster to be heard. The one Maggie and I like is out of the way. On the outskirts of the port... but you'll find the old salts there, and likely the best tales, too."

Luckily, it does not take too long to arrange things and Mr. Anderson takes over whatever else is required. Swinging out onto the boardwalk once more, Maggie lengthens her stride so that she can easily catch up with the others. As she closes the distance, a soft breeze rises, ruffling hair and clothing in a gently teasing sort of way. It is a cool breeze, but not chill. There is the faintest hint of moisture to it, but not a lot. This close to the sea, that is not unheard of. Reaching the company, Maggie tucks her hands into her pockets, gaze turning this way and that as renovations have changed the general shape of the settlement. Her comment, however, holds nothing of her observations, "I am suddenly really hungry."

Ruby grunts in answer as she strides along. "Finalizing them they need it. Can't 'ave a Pathian jam their thumb against chargin rod. Gotta capture some 'o tha true wrath juice from up there. Was partly my...mistake...when what 'appened in Kitezh...'appened." She curls her lip at the memory. "Aye, maybe we'll 'ear some good tall tales with a 'ot bowl. Grub for brain an body."

"Then.." Merri nods to Ruby, "suppose you'll know it can be more safely accomplished here, especially if there are already forges on Hacha." Once they hit the road overlooking the harbour and Maggie joins them from the dock master's office, Merrisol surveys the forest of masts and hoisted sails, leaning and creaking gently above the berths. "We can forego the trek out to The Conch and Piper, and grab a meal here," he suggests to Maggie. "There are quite few ships in, not certain I recognize any as belonging to captains in the shadow trade. Did you catch any likely names at the harbourmaster's, Only?"

Maggie looks curiously toward Ruby as she outlines the necessary bits for constructing storm stuff. "I did not know that. I thought it was any lightning anywhere. Though... Come to think of it, I've only recharged the canon and storm orb while in Minos." A brief frown is there, then gone, "I will have to check my logs." Looking up toward Merrisol, then out to the harbor, she shrugs, "We could go to the pub tomorrow, if we are still here. It might be better to stick closer. To catch tales, anyway." There is the barest regret over missing the Conch and Piper, but hungry people should not complain. "He did, actually, All." A blink follows that, coupled with a faint twinge of a smile that is only there long enough to spot if one is looking. "He said that captain Philippe Margoth is in from Cameron and captain Amiria Zamar is up from Manzanil. He said that while the captains were known for their stories and both looked a little sea-shocked on arrival. We might seek them out."

Mercier follows along from a number of feet behind the traveling group, hands slipped in his pockets, neck craning at the new construction. He hares off for more then a few moments, slipping into the crowd, returning several minutes later, and rejoining the group with a short, silent nod; Well, nearly rejoining. He does stand to the side, as to not interrupt the sailor's talking.

Ruby nods along quite agreeably for faster food nearby but with the option of checking out the hype at the C'n'P in the near future. She squints over the names mentioned, and wrinkles her nose over storm-craft stuff that came to a bad end. She shelves that focuses on the two Captains. "Sounds like a plan."

"Not of the Big-C Peerage then?" Merrisol puzzles over the unfamiliar names for a moment, then shakes his head upon drawing a blank. "Not that one needs to be elevated thusly in order to partake in intrepidity," he adds with a crooked grin. Then he catches sight of Mercier, "Ah, there you are. Looks like we're doing a barcrawl along the harbour road." Eating and chatting sailors up as they go.

A whisper of a breeze wafts the scent of fried foods out over the pathway. Faintly, the earth carries a rhythmic thrum to the cobblestones lining the climb from the harbour to tickle toes and invite the feet to a dance. Streamers festoon the eaves of almost every building 'round the next bend, their colorful beckoning adding impetus. Laughter rings out suddenly as a young woman, all decked out in piratical glory tears around the corner and looks up and down the street. She pauses on seeing the group approaching. Lifting her hat from her head, she sweeps a deep bow. While she leads her arm with her hat, she manages to just miss brushing the felt against the walkway. When she rises, she grins and motions for everyone to come along with her. A pin on her left breast shows theatrical masks, one smiling and the other frowning. A belt favor flutters from one hip, its field deep blue with a slender woman dressed in tight black slacks held up with black suspenders, soft soled shoes, a fitted white long sleeved shirt. Her shimmering blond hair is topped with a Montevalno painter's cap. The woman is either terrified or in white-face. Either way, both palms are shown facing forward in what might be a warding gesture.

Ruby makes an approving sound in her throat as she catches the smells of delish. The sounds of merriment do affect her as well. The positive vibes a welcome thing. Ruby responds with an amicable bob of her head, arching an eyebrow as she looks the stranger over. She comments to her companions, "A friendly mob nearby sounds like? Could use more 'o those."

Hard to say whether Kerf feels the beat of the music through his soles and on his skin before catching a melody on the breeze, tinted as it is with that unmistakable oily scent of fried fats. He halts in the path abruptly upon sighting the disturbance ahead, but relaxes as the appearance of the woman only confirms a theory. "We seem to have arrived in the middle of a reno-festival. Makes sense though, with the skies being clear. No better time to party while throwing the shingles back on the roofs..." The lass beckons to them, but upon reaching that intersection, Merri gazes down thattaway to consider the other options. Other than running off with a theatre troupe, anyway.

A slow smile warms Maggie's lips as she, too, catches the scent of frying foods and hears the riotous music. Drums weave intricatly throbbing rhythms through the melody and her body takes up one line, a beeboping kind of freshness entering her step. The woman's entrance, bow and beckon catches her eye and she almost declines in order to swing into the action with her friends when she pauses, "Wait. Kerf. Isn't she from Captain Marceau's ship? Isn't her sigel a mime?" Her eyes brighten and she begins to walk a little faster, pausing only when she catches up with her companions. "I've heard that no one tells a story like that Captain. Ruby, have you heard of her?"

The young woman, apparently sensing their hesitation, turns at a crossroads. Watching the group, she places her hands on her hips to wait.

Ruby keeps pace with Maggie and Merri, and starts searching her memory. One eye has to squint shut to concentrate. Maybe the music helps jog hearsay and gossip from a niche. Ruby's fingers snap to accompany neurons firing. "Is tha tha one Cap'n tha causes everyone tah pause from sippin or quaffin with tha pure char-isma 'o 'er tale spinnin? Folks go slack jawed an be en-raptured. I've never evah been in tha same tavern tah tell truthful or not. Bet they never ever ever 'ave tah buy their own drinks if so."

Merrisol turns again to consider the other blondie and the standard. "I think I'd remember a name with such a similar sound to my own," he offers an easy shrug, willing to be lured away from the pubs down that way. "Does she tell them by silent charades? Perhaps she and Captain Scallion are bitter rivals." That's the spirit, Merri. Leave the Srs at the door! Follow that mime!

On being spotted again, the blonde does a half-leap into the air, piroetting in place to face the other direction. She ducks around the corner of a gayly festooned in orance, blue and pale green bunting. Just to be sure that the group is heading her way, she peeks back around the corner. A wildly raucous quartet of musicians, one playing a bass bassoon, the others thrumping along around him, swooshes in behind the pirate. They warble around her like large, musical bees drawn to a flower until she sends them flittering off with a double 'shoo' of her hands.

Maggie shrugs slowly to Ruby's query, "Maybe? Probably? I'm for going to see, though." Turning, she links arms with Merrisol, nodding, "It does sound like your name, beloved. As for the tale spinning, I don't know. Maybe." And thus is her commentary bookended in uncertainty.

Ruby follows along, eyes zipping to the arresting multitude of colours. "Couldn't 'urt." The corner of her mouth crooks into a wry lopsided grin. "I guess we follow tha femme for now. She seems eager tah lead on." She checks her belt for her valuable as she trails the festive pirate.

Merri forms the arm link with Maggie on automatic, but looks around then and notices they've gone and lost both Mercier and Sidonie in the side street hubbub. Welp! They both have his and probably Maggie's /and/ Ruby's trump as well. They're only an icy blast away. "Is anyone even out there rebuilding?" he smirks, watching Marceau's matey running off more pesky troubadours. "Hope to hell the destination is serving hard liquor." He sets off to match Maggie's stride, while making a flourishing 'Lead On MacDorf' gesture to the enigmatic sailor.

The pirate lass beams Merrisol a grin, apparently not too overly concerned about the missing crewmates. She leads the group on a semi-circuitous way that dips and weaves here and there. It almost seems calculated to show the newcomers all of the attractions available. There is the skrilling of bagpipes here, a dance off there, a caber toss yonder, several costume contests. At one point, the pirate points out a couple of sets of three who might all be dressed up as Captains Incarnate, Merrisol and Flame. There is even one as Captain Flay, though he is sitting semi-sullenly in a corner with a pint of something strong in front of him. Others flicker dizzyingly through the crowd, some dressed as Captain Midnight... The list weaves on and on. Finally, the lass sweeps open the door to a tavern called the Candle and Whale. Ushering the three in, she will either follow or dance off to return to her laughter and mania.

Looking up at Merrisol, Maggie smiles a winning smile at the arm link, then turns to look around at all of the people partying, "I... don't see how anyone could be rebuilding when all of this is going on up here. They don't get many clear days." Turning her attention to their path, she walks along with her friends. Her valuables? Other than the treasure on her arm, she keeps the others in a pouch somewhere. Probably between her and Merrisol where the pouch is safe. Or, so one hopes.

Ruby's eyes ache at so much activity going on and to sample. Eerily familiar cosplay has her double-take and gawp. "Maybe they make up in trade what they lose in time tah rebuild. Bloody 'ell, when they wanna celebrate, they don't do anythin by 'alf measures." Scuffing her feet at the threshold she ventures further inside and looks for a spare empty space to cluster. "Fair amount 'o walkin 'as me parched an 'ungry. This festival gotta be good for word 'o mouth. Must 'ave drawn in plenty 'o sailors an loose lips."

Merrisol can and does get distracted from their mission by the flurry of sights once they are deeper into the faire; only by dint of Maggie's Sklob and the Pirate lass's persistent Pied Pipering, does he continue to keep pace. Heyyy, are they... tossing /logs/ over there? That is not how you shore up the foundations, people! "Fine... fine," he self-counsels, shrugging off the disapproval. They pass by enough random food hawkers that he manages to toss coins at one in exchange for bacon-wrapped roasted eels, handing off the stiff clubs to his companions.

Accepting the bacon wrapped goodness on a stick, Maggie lifts it, "Thank you, Kerf." Falling silent to take a bite, she clearly enjoys the snack. Eel is a slightly rich meat, full of flavors that pair well with bacon. Hers has a slightly sweet, slightly sharp sauce between the two meats that sets both off. Chewing slowly, she nods to Ruby as she, too ducks into the tavern.