[Zozeko]

OOC:// I hope this is enough of an opening. I've been stuck for ideas lately.

The Artega was docked, and had been for a week while Sebastian and Zozeko ran down their list of contacts in search of cargo. The renown they had earned from the Anorian expedition, and the subsequent boost in business, had faded as the novelty wore off, and they were back to scraping for scraps. The captain was a hair's breadth from turning them back to piracy just to make ends meet.

In the meantime, Keegan and Gibb made minor repairs with what supplies they could afford from the last run, and the rest of the crew addlepated. They were currently on deck circling a makeshift card table (a capped barrel of apples), two empty bottles at their feet and the third on its last legs. Zozeko did not wish to think what they were drinking — Elysian alcohol was so unsophisticated, it tasted like paint thinner — but even Adrian was warm in the face.

Plucking the strings of his qitar, Zozeko watched the busy dockworkers as they passed by the gangplank. “Play "Johnny sent a xanthai"!” Gaze twitching to Cale, who only ever deigned to speak freely to Zozeko when it involved requests for rowdy Elysian songs which sounded cheap on his qitar, Zozeko scowled. He would have refused and chosen a Zanaryan tune instead — just to annoy the rigger — but the request was backed up by a group cheer. The captain, scouring paperwork from a hammock temporarily stringed up between the masts, just shrugged and grinned.

“Fine — but only if Raven comes up to dance.” The half-Sidhe immediately protested and speared Zozeko with a death glare, but the crew cheered again and the boatswain's mate clambered up onto the same railing as Zeko, on the other side of the gangplank. When the first notes started, he just stood there, glaring, with his back to the bustling dock. Then, with a sudden chord, Zozeko changed the beat and the temperamental Sidhe's arms shot up over his head — bringing with them the full force of a wave that crashed up from between the Artega's hull and the dock, scaring the daylights out of the workers and raising a cheer from the crew as it splashed over the deck and their heads.

Raven continued to move now Zozeko was giving him a rhythm he could dance to, and soon even some of the dockers were singing along while others gave the ship a wide berth to avoid the water that followed the half-Sidhe's every move: Swirling, swishing, looping in on itself, curling around and through the rigging to crash down on a crewmate's head. Before he knew it, Zozeko's feet were bouncing merrily on the railing and his fingers had danced into a third song, just as energetic as the last two.

[Aella]

The winds of circumstance had summoned Aella to the Ao Coast, and the responsibility and sensibility required of her station as blacksmith assistant urged her to finish her required duties and be on her merry way, though she possessed no fondness for being responsible and sensible. Rather, she was prone to making a habit of doing the exact opposite of what her rationalities and sensibilities told her, forever submitting to the coercion of foreign foods and the rumblings of her tyrannical stomach instead.

Her stomach rumbled.

She finished her chores in a whirlwind of action: she frantically dashed between shops, wove through hordes of passersby with her arms piled high with teetering towers of trade goods, and shoveled said trade goods atop bewildered proprietors only to bolt out the door before they had a chance to utter a single syllable. There are those who are accustomed to lengthy conversations and friendly banter and bickering on prices and amounts and quality, but Aella would have none of it. She tore through her duties like she tore through her meat: with reckless abandon.

Mere moments later, Aella wandered through the wharf with a steak-filled pastry perilously hanging from her mouth, hands clasping a hot bag of them close to her chest. The scolding juices of the pastry dribbled down her chin as she bit into it, burning and painful and yet a compilation of everything savory in Elysia. Waiting for them to cool would be sacrilege. The aroma of them beckoned her, and while the aroma was tantalizing, the taste was divine. So, she endured such hardships as burnt lips and learned nothing at all of patience, but found herself some sense of respite from the overbearing times around her.

She gave the pastry a nudge, biting down again, and thought. She thought of how she might improve herself, her abilities in smithing and cooking and the manipulation of the elements. She thought of how soon she would be considered an adult and, in effect, must make the decision whether she would be bound or not to a demesne. Elysia was a big world, and she had scarce experienced a smidgen of it. She felt minuscule and humbled by it all. She thought of good things and bad things and kept on chewing, resolved to do something without thinking for she had grown tired of it.

Amidst her second pastry, Aella found herself in the proximity of some sort of revelry emanating from the deck of a docked ship. She was surprised she had heard anything at all, caught up in her own mental revelries, and paused to listen. Someone was playing an instrument, that much was sure, and it was a sound she had not heard in the Fae Woods. A stringed instrument, it seemed. She absent-mindedly fingered the small compartment on the side of her bag that held the ornate lalaith Xanth had left for her and wished she could join in, though she had no talent for it and little time to practice. Dancing she was adept at, but she rarely danced with others. At least not that sort of dance, thought Aella.

Still, with curiosity piqued and hunger sated (at least temporarily, for it never seemed to stray for long), Aella strode right up to the ship, crossed the gangplank with an air of authority as if she were the ship's sole owner, and having found the procession, gathered her dress about her and sat atop a crate to watch.

Piper's Boutique || Jessica Clark

[Zozeko]

Zozeko had not expected their merriment to attract quite so much attention, but he probably ought. Water-dancing was not as spectacular as fire-dancing, but manipulation of the elements to any degree always seemed to appeal to Elysians in a way that Zanaryans like himself could not fathom. Perhaps the lack of novelty was because he and his kind lived in a realm where the elements powered everything from technology to politics, or perhaps it was something simpler; he never had figured out why Elysians would stop in the middle of the street to gawp at a Nymph in the middle of her work.

It was not unusual to see women on the docks, especially if they were attached to a crew, but it was unusual to see one dressed as the newcomer who suddenly pounced aboard the Artega with nary a care in the world. Zozeko's fingers snapped out the next chord with a twang and Raven mis-stepped — the water he had been twining into a complex shape crashed to the deck malformed — as all eyes turned to her for a brief moment. She plonked herself atop a crate and settled in to watch as if this were her own ship, leading Zozeko to assume she was a lost half-wit, but she seemed harmless enough and the crew soon turned back to watch as Raven resumed his dancing. All the while, Zozeko's fingers continued to pluck out a merry tune even as his gaze fixated on her with suspicion.

Was she a potential customer? Finding them amidst an impromptu party probably was not the best of first impressions, but she did not seem bothered by it. Sebastian watched her surreptitiously from beneath bushy eyebrows, his papers still clutched in his hands, but did nothing to either approach her as a businessman or turf her off their ship.

Perhaps she had been attracted by Raven's water. She looked like she could be a Nymph, although looks could be deceptive, but she did nothing to join in. An onlooker, then, bolder than the rest who remained on the dock and simply sung along — and soon to be more, because Raven danced over to her and held out his hand, the smile on his broad lips a complete shock to those who knew him, and all the more diabolical for its newness.

Ransie ∴ Piper's Boutique ∴ Wallpaper Abyss ∴ Celestial Star ↵

[Aella]

Oblivious to the scene she caused when she boarded the ship and the barrage of incredulous glares that followed, Aella reveled in the sound of music, in the rhythm and cadence and communal thrum of dozens of hearts beating in unison, the thud of boots in lieu of percussion resonating through the deck of the ship and through her, too. Her heart quickened, not from social anxiety — for she felt rather comfortable here amidst those whom she had never seen before — but rather from the intensity of feeling washing over her, the foehn wind of memories from years past casting her where they willed with no intents or perogatives or purpose other than to exist in a state of cataclysmic disarray. She closed her eyes and let the ceremony and song whisk her away, setting her bags at her side. Her foot tapped in rhythm and she joined in with her voice, her singing whimsical and with the whole of her existence and of nothing at all.

Aella opened her eyes and gazed at the instrumentalist. His deft fingertips dancing across the strings entranced her, and she savored the display as she would a fine cup of liquor. Her eyes wandered over his form, and she noticed his leather bat-like wings adorned with dozens of baubles of gold and other decorations and his two portruding horns. A Zanaryan. She had only blurry memories of one she had known when she was young, a friend of her father's, though all she remembered was his taciturn nature. The presence of another was a rare treat, so she took his details in more carefully, analyzing him.

He was slender like her, though her hips and chest were more pronounced. As her skin was tanned, his was pale. He seemed to stand a good deal taller than her, and though she had no familiarity with the way Zanaryans aged and could not fancy a guess of the age of this particular one, she sensed in his stance authority that could only come from a wealth of experience. The man's eyes were the color of blood, and she noticed them fixed upon her. She simply smiled, gazing right back, her nonchalance emanating confidence. Then the dancer crossed her line of sight, and she leisurely examined him too. The water that danced with him gleamed in Hel's light, rainbows scattering here and there like sparks she'd will out of molten steel with hammer and muscle, the metal singing a music of its own. He curved the water about him and it seemed personified, as if he had awoken a great hungry serpent, for it lunged and arced with feral alacrity though the dancer was the faster.

And then he sauntered over to her and extended his hand — the water rippled around them, suspended in mid-air — and invited her to join him.

A blush appeared upon her cheeks and she immediately had her hands up, stammering, trying to shoo him away. For all her sensuality and self-assuredness she felt innately vulnerable while dancing. She meant to slink away but the man had covered the distance between them quickly and had gently grabbed her flailing hand to tug her up out of her seat.

She blinked and looked up at him, then frantically glanced about her at all the strange faces in rapt attention at her decision. For a moment she considered fighting the man for having approached her so, but realized that she was outnumbered and possibly outmatched and in a strange place with no friends. She resigned herself with a huff and flattened the folds of her dress, then turned her molten eyes back to his.

"I'll join you then, as payment for your performance."

She wrapped the air about her like a cloak and let it soften her steps and billow out from her with each and every movement. There was a rustle like the breeze of the first days of summer and she winked at her dancing partner, attempting to mess up his hair with a light gust of air.

It did not take long for Aella to give herself in to the music and within moments she was dancing passionately. Her body moved with eloquent boldness, calm but deliberate and forceful, like an impending storm. Her hands slid down her body, pressing the thin fabric of her dress against her lithe form. Her fingertips traced her curves slowly, and with her eyes closed she spun, letting the air carry her momentum and form. Stray moisture from the water dance whirled about her and hung heavy in the air and she gathered rivulets and strands of it from further and further away until it seemed she had been encompassed in a vortex of water and wind. The rush of air grew louder and seemed to sing and pulse in tune with the music.

Then she stopped on key with the musician, kicking high with the accumulated force of her spin and sending a shockwave skyward, the water and moisture along with it. She held her leg high, panting, her chest rising and falling as she kept her position, and then on cue she fell gracefully onto the deck of the ship, the cascade of water returning down upon her and the procession like soft rain, each droplet shimmering like a gemstone in the rays of the sun.

Piper's Boutique || Jessica Clark

[Zozeko]

Inspired by the young woman's brass, and braver now that Raven's water seemed focused aboard the ship, a few of the dockworkers followed her up the gangplank and loitered across the deck — to Zozeko's indignation. They made the Artega look untidy, sprawled as they were across the railing with their limbs tangled in the netting that hung over the side. Still, he was forced to acknowledge that the rise of male voices in chorus to the definitely-a-Nymph's was almost breathtaking in its simplicity. It and his qitar were music in its raw form, and he had the sudden flight of fancy that Xanth might look down upon their small crew with pride.

Watching the Nymph and the Sidhe together, Zozeko could now fathom why their culture offered song and dance as homage in lieu of coin. He could also see why Nymphs were so readily equated with Nature and the Mother of Creation, and found himself nudging his own spear of air into their dance as he played. Not usually given to bouts of shame or self-doubt, and confident that his manipulation of air was the strongest, he nevertheless bowed to her grace and passion. It was one of the rare occasions when Zozeko's curiosity and reluctant admiration of Elysians got the better of his misogyny and vanity.

The dance over, Raven stood beside the Nymph, panting and glossy with sweat. His face tipped up to the impromptu shower and he smoothed back long dark hair with both hands, grinning broadly. Zozeko had never seen him so thrilled in the entirety of their billet together, and in fact almost missed the Sidhe's rapt expression in favour of the miniature rainbows sluicing across the deck.

For a moment, the only sound was of the two breathing, and the bleng of Zozeko's hand hitting the edge of his qitar. Then, almost as one, the crew and dockers began to applaud, shouting and whistling between fingers.

"Encore, encore!"
"Do "Shelter"!
"Do "Capsize"!
"What, are you nuts, singing that in port? Inviting disaster, you are, you shrimp-brained lunkhead."
"Who are you calling a—?"

Before a scuffle could break out, Sebastian stood in one fluid motion (difficult from a hammock, as Zozeko had learned first-hand) and, leaving his papers safely behind in the net, approached the Nymph with his hand out and a warm smile on his lips. "Welcome aboard, Miss...?" Bushy eyebrows arching quizzically, he continued, "Would you be pleasing us with another?"

Ransie ∴ Piper's Boutique ∴ Wallpaper Abyss ∴ Celestial Star ↵

[Aella]

From the silence that followed the dance the sound of the universe rushed forth; it was an orchestra tuning its instruments before the concert, myriad strands of different melodies clashing together discordant and lilting but slowly aligning themselves to one common rhythm, one common symmetry. She watched the baubles of multi-colored light fall like snow flakes around her and lay on the deck of the ship, mesmerized. Her heartbeat and the cheers of those around her existed solely as ambience, dull noise that hummed at the edge of her senses—the backdrop for her experience. Eventually the sounds did reach her, and she awoke from her reverie sated.

The deck greeted her with a swarm of activity: men hooted and hollared and took particular interest that Aella happened to wear only white and that she was quite damp; beyond, the waves lapped at the ship eagerly, as if begging to whisk the thing away to some far-off land; and the ship seemed eager too, for it rocked against its mooring like a pet tied up and longing freedom.

The dancers made quite a pair, both panting and covered with perspiration, basking in praise, trembling at the advent of something incredible. It felt akin to forging a particularly difficult weapon or piece of armor, rising above her master's expectations and her own. She found catharsis while humbled, and though she had thrown herself into her dance, she was not blind to the remarkable talent of the musician and her dancing partner.

For that, Aella felt exalted. The sensation crept forth from the distant reaches of her youth, the memories hazy but still as poignant as when she had lived them. Maybe I had done this before, dancing for others Aella thought. She could not recall. Still, she was happy, and glad to be so.

The bushy-eyed fellow approached her, so she gathered the air about her and pushed herself off the deck and onto her feet. She met his firm handshake and matched his warm smile with a dazzling one of her own.

"Karakinos." She exhaled, still out of breath.

"Aella Karakinos. I, uh." She looked around and caught the dancer's eyes, puffing a stray lock of her wet, tousled hair away from her face. He was attractive, though perhaps it was his wild personality that beckoned to her. It made her temporarily abandon her shyness — though maybe that was her epinephrine dutifuly at work.

"I'll dance for an adventure." She turned back to the larger man, answering. "It's a nice ship. I've never been on one before, you know. Do you plan on travelling? I can work my wage, and maybe pick up a skill or two. Or do I need to prove myself first?"

She mused, then spoke. "If your dancer and musician can keep up with me, I'm game."

Aella hoped she wouldn't make a fool of herself, but that possibility always seemed to loom daunting on the horizon.

Piper's Boutique || Jessica Clark

[Zozeko]

Sebastian's eyes crinkled at the corners, his sea-weathered cheeks flushed by wind or enjoyment and his eyes bright. He took a leaf from the Zanaryan book and bowed over the Nymph's hand to peck the back of it, introducing himself as Zozeko hopped down from his perch and set his qitar to rest against the railing. “Captain Sebastian Jackson.” When the Therian straightened, his eyelashes had lowered to half-mast and he was scrutinising the woman as an ostler might study a taroch before hiring it out.

“Raven Kam.” The Sidhe rarely made any concession to his Sylvan heritage, except to wield the water like a Rutilus carried a sword, but now he gave a salute that only an elementalist could: water whipped up from a puddle that had collected on the deck, yet to seep through the wooden slats to the crew quarters beneath (Zozeko's hammock had better not be soaked or the Sidhe would find himself sleeping on the deck tonight), and whirled about his hips before sweeping up to peck her on the cheek and then sweeping out to sea.

Zozeko, not one to be rude, mirrored Sebastian's greeting and bowed at the hips, though he left the kissing to them. The pair had, perhaps deliberately, walled off the Nymph so the rest of the crew could only peer at her over their heads and shoulders. “I am Azat Zozeko Zubaidin ibn Nihim al-Khayridji aal-Marport.”

Sebastian chuckled. “And that's the short version.”

Finding no humour in having his name mocked, Zozeko arched an eyebrow at his captain but said nothing. He was accustomed to their view on "Zanaryan pomp" but this woman was a stranger and, he felt, deserved more than just "Zozeko ibn Nihim".

“But an adventure, is it? Well, I'm awfully tempted, I must admit, but you'd be the only lass aboard and sailors can be a superstitious lot.”

Raven added, his voice low so other potential customers would not hear his travesty, that, “And if you had been aboard a polemiko before, you'd realise, the Artega, she's not so nice.”

A chorus of protests rose from the rest of the crew, followed by competing stories - all of which overrode each other so none could properly be heard - about how the Artega had seen them through trials and tribulations that other crews would faint at, and other ships would have been sunk for. Zozeko had to confess he was on their side: Their ship may not be the prettiest, nor in the best repair despite Keegan and Gibbs' efforts, but she was a survivor. She'd made it back from that Helhole called Anoria, had she not? That was more proof than any of them needed that they were aboard a winner.

Shushing the crew, whose voices faded into grumbles rather than silencing altogether, Sebastian winked at this Aella Karakinos. “Still, I daresay a woman's touch would not go amiss, and I've got a bead on a short hop that might test your mettle without putting too great a strain on either of us.” The finally there was unspoken, but Zozeko and the rest of the crew heard it just fine. There was a collective inhalation, as if the entire crew was about to whoop out, "It's about time!" but it was silenced by a sharp glance from Zeko himself. Yes, he had feared, just as they had, that a return to piracy was on the cards (though he was not nearly as averse to that line of work as they), but they had no idea who was listening and did not wish to make known just how dire their situation was becoming.

Apparently oblivious to the signifant glances passing between his crew members, though Zozeko knew better, Sebastian smiled. “How about it, Miss Karakinos? Fancy a trip to Ophelia?” The fishing town was small and only four hundred miles down the coastline to the east, but if a cargo was heavy, then travelling by sea was faster, safer and easier. “A'course, that's if'n you can handle buckets of dashiri vomit.”

Silence fell across the deck, swiftly followed by a collective, “"WHAT?"” Nobody but nobody wanted to transport dashiri by sea; the massive beasts were particularly vulnerable to motion sickness, a surprising fact considering their work on the rivers, and no crew wanted to have to clean up that mess.

Zozeko groaned. He could not help himself. “No wonder nobody else wants the job.”

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