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((28 Haring, 9:35; Late morning; Following this thread and this note; Nicolette O'Hara , Joscelyn Hawke , Edwin Thatcher ))
Maker, but she was beautiful. Celeste couldn’t get enough of looking at her, eyes drinking in every graceful line, fingertips reaching out to caress her in the morning sun. Every sailor’s dream, and she was all hers.
After three months, the Wicked Grace’s masts were once again secure in her deck, her rigging back in place, sails gleaming white and ready to be hoisted. Her decks had been scrubbed, all her fittings polished until they shone. Celeste could almost feel the decks thrumming beneath her feet, her ship straining at the ropes that bound her to the docks, eager to be slicing through the waves once again. Just a shakedown cruise outside the harbor to make sure everything was in working order, and then -
“Cap’n?” Dax strode up the gangplank, looking puzzled. “Woman just delivered this.”
Celeste took the muddy scrap of paper that he handed her, frowning. “Addie.” The scrawl was barely recognizable as her writing, the cipher a quick and dirty version that was the only one that Celeste had taught her. First letter transposed one letter over, the second two, the third three, all the way through the alphabet and start over, no spaces between the words. It could be enciphered and deciphered without a key, and it was a bitch for anyone who didn’t know what they were looking for to figure out. “Who delivered it?” she strode to the rail, looking around.
“Didn’t recognize her. She said she found it in an alley.”
“Shit.” That couldn’t be good. Turning, Celeste ran to her cabin, passing Nicolette on the way. She could decipher the first word as her name, but she’d need a quill and parchment to finish it. She laid the paper on her desk and set to work.
“Son of a motherfucking bitch!” She started swearing before she had finished the first line, and by the time she was done, she had worked her way through all the languages she knew and was on the verge of inventing her own curses on the spot. “All hands on deck!” she bellowed, whirling away from the desk and charging back out, her pulse throbbing in her temples. “Addie’s in trouble,” she told them, holding out the deciphered message. Most of them had met the girl at the Hanged Man and had been thoroughly charmed by her innocent enthusiasm (Bailey had been highly disappointed to discover that her affections were firmly turned toward Josc).
“He’s selling her?” Sorcha exclaimed furiously. “What a piece of shit!”
“We gonna kill him, Cap’n?” Piotr asked, his eyes blazing with hate.
Tempting, oh so tempting, but - “First thing we need to do is get her out of there,” Celeste told him, reading the note again. “Kali, get to the Gallows, tell the Knight-Commander that you heard a rumor on the docks that a Tevinter ship smuggling lyrium is going to be docking in the next few days.” Having templars swarming through his ship just might be enough to make him turn around and head home, and it would damn sure slow him down.
"Dax, start pulling together a payload." Their resident alchemist specialized in grenades of all kinds.
"What kind?" he wanted to know.
"Some of everything." Killing wasn't off the table just yet. “Bailey, get to Hightown and tell Josc what’s happened, tell her to get her ass to the Hanged Man. Sorcha, Piotr, get over to the Orland estate and watch it. Just watch it,” she repeated, looking straight at Piotr. “Don’t let them see you and don’t do anything else until I get there. If they move her, you follow and send word to the Hanged Man. Go!”
“What do you want us to do?” Brannigan asked after they had scattered, gesturing to himself, Young Torgun, Stubby and Nordstrom.
“Make sure she’s ready to sail,” Celeste replied grimly. “We may have to leave fast and with some passengers.”
She turned to Nicolette. “This could get ugly,” she warned her lover, taking her hand. “I’m going to the Hanged Man; Varric will know how to find Addie’s brother, and we’ll figure out what to do from there. If you want to stay and help them get the ship ready, that’s fine, but if you want to come … I could use your mind.” The minstrel’s quick wit and creative ideas were something that she had grown steadily more appreciative of, but beyond that, just having her there mattered.
Maker, but she was beautiful. Celeste couldn’t get enough of looking at her, eyes drinking in every graceful line, fingertips reaching out to caress her in the morning sun. Every sailor’s dream, and she was all hers.
After three months, the Wicked Grace’s masts were once again secure in her deck, her rigging back in place, sails gleaming white and ready to be hoisted. Her decks had been scrubbed, all her fittings polished until they shone. Celeste could almost feel the decks thrumming beneath her feet, her ship straining at the ropes that bound her to the docks, eager to be slicing through the waves once again. Just a shakedown cruise outside the harbor to make sure everything was in working order, and then -
“Cap’n?” Dax strode up the gangplank, looking puzzled. “Woman just delivered this.”
Celeste took the muddy scrap of paper that he handed her, frowning. “Addie.” The scrawl was barely recognizable as her writing, the cipher a quick and dirty version that was the only one that Celeste had taught her. First letter transposed one letter over, the second two, the third three, all the way through the alphabet and start over, no spaces between the words. It could be enciphered and deciphered without a key, and it was a bitch for anyone who didn’t know what they were looking for to figure out. “Who delivered it?” she strode to the rail, looking around.
“Didn’t recognize her. She said she found it in an alley.”
“Shit.” That couldn’t be good. Turning, Celeste ran to her cabin, passing Nicolette on the way. She could decipher the first word as her name, but she’d need a quill and parchment to finish it. She laid the paper on her desk and set to work.
“Son of a motherfucking bitch!” She started swearing before she had finished the first line, and by the time she was done, she had worked her way through all the languages she knew and was on the verge of inventing her own curses on the spot. “All hands on deck!” she bellowed, whirling away from the desk and charging back out, her pulse throbbing in her temples. “Addie’s in trouble,” she told them, holding out the deciphered message. Most of them had met the girl at the Hanged Man and had been thoroughly charmed by her innocent enthusiasm (Bailey had been highly disappointed to discover that her affections were firmly turned toward Josc).
“He’s selling her?” Sorcha exclaimed furiously. “What a piece of shit!”
“We gonna kill him, Cap’n?” Piotr asked, his eyes blazing with hate.
Tempting, oh so tempting, but - “First thing we need to do is get her out of there,” Celeste told him, reading the note again. “Kali, get to the Gallows, tell the Knight-Commander that you heard a rumor on the docks that a Tevinter ship smuggling lyrium is going to be docking in the next few days.” Having templars swarming through his ship just might be enough to make him turn around and head home, and it would damn sure slow him down.
"Dax, start pulling together a payload." Their resident alchemist specialized in grenades of all kinds.
"What kind?" he wanted to know.
"Some of everything." Killing wasn't off the table just yet. “Bailey, get to Hightown and tell Josc what’s happened, tell her to get her ass to the Hanged Man. Sorcha, Piotr, get over to the Orland estate and watch it. Just watch it,” she repeated, looking straight at Piotr. “Don’t let them see you and don’t do anything else until I get there. If they move her, you follow and send word to the Hanged Man. Go!”
“What do you want us to do?” Brannigan asked after they had scattered, gesturing to himself, Young Torgun, Stubby and Nordstrom.
“Make sure she’s ready to sail,” Celeste replied grimly. “We may have to leave fast and with some passengers.”
She turned to Nicolette. “This could get ugly,” she warned her lover, taking her hand. “I’m going to the Hanged Man; Varric will know how to find Addie’s brother, and we’ll figure out what to do from there. If you want to stay and help them get the ship ready, that’s fine, but if you want to come … I could use your mind.” The minstrel’s quick wit and creative ideas were something that she had grown steadily more appreciative of, but beyond that, just having her there mattered.