Isabela didn’t often own her mistakes. Not least because she was talented at turning a potential disaster into something positive (for her, anyway), but because she had long since learned that people who showed humility were easy targets for those who were happy to pawn off any responsibility for a problem onto them. People who apologised a lot were just asking for some asshole to come along and blame them for their own mistakes.
In this case, though, she felt like an apology might be justified. Between Celeste’s wail as Nicolette hit the water and the bedraggled, wide-eyed reappearance of the minstrel, who was shivering even as she clung to the side of the skiff, Isabela acknowledged that she might have slightly miscalculated this one.
“Maker’s tits. Uh…sorry.”
From the look Nicolette shot her, it might take a bit more than that. Isabela was about to lean over and help Celeste haul the sodden woman aboard when the mutt decided he had done enough howling, and decided to join them. Both Celeste and Nicolette yelled a fraction of a second too late, and Isabela had a chance to notice that Thibault had obviously heard his mistress’ order and attempted to obey halfway through the jump. His hind legs curled under him, but instead of helping, it just allowed all of his weight to concentrate on one part of the boat as he landed, and then in the next second all of them were in the drink.
Here was another reason she hated Kirkwall. The water in the docks wasn’t just cold, it was downright slimy. She made a concentrated effort not to think about why that might be and instead swam her way to the dock, glancing back to ensure Celeste and Nicolette were following. When Kali held out a hand, there was a faint twinge of temptation to repeat them same stunt – but there was a fine line between getting a joke wrong accidentally and doing it on purpose to be an asshole, and she wasn’t stepping over it. Slowly, all three of them were hauled back onto land, gasping and sodden.
“Well. That’s not my preferred way to get wet, I can tell you that.”
Nicolette wasn’t even looking at her. The minstrel was standing with her arms clutched around herself, and Kali took point. “None of you back on the ship until we get the worst of the muck off you. You’ll make the whole crew sick otherwise.”
She was a good secondary first mate, Kali, with Gid not being around. Even if there was two-and-a-half to three of her at the moment. She enlisted Piotr to find a water trough nearby, then told them all to stand still. The young lad was trembling so badly he could barely aim, but between the two of them they did the job – throwing what felt like gallons of icy, but clean, water at them until the worst of the sludge was gone. Nicolette had divested herself of her filth-covered dress after getting out and was standing there in just a shift which was clinging to just about everything. Isabela spread her arms and welcomed the cleaning spray, although it was so cold it was almost painful.
Once they were all spruced up, she looped an arm around each of her friends’ necks. “I think more booze. On me, this time? It’ll warm ya up!”
Nicolette gave her the look Isabela usually associated with people who wanted her to die in a fire, but the minstrel was full of surprises. “I think brandy, if I am not to die of cold in the next few minutes.”
“There we go! Celeste? You?”
In this case, though, she felt like an apology might be justified. Between Celeste’s wail as Nicolette hit the water and the bedraggled, wide-eyed reappearance of the minstrel, who was shivering even as she clung to the side of the skiff, Isabela acknowledged that she might have slightly miscalculated this one.
“Maker’s tits. Uh…sorry.”
From the look Nicolette shot her, it might take a bit more than that. Isabela was about to lean over and help Celeste haul the sodden woman aboard when the mutt decided he had done enough howling, and decided to join them. Both Celeste and Nicolette yelled a fraction of a second too late, and Isabela had a chance to notice that Thibault had obviously heard his mistress’ order and attempted to obey halfway through the jump. His hind legs curled under him, but instead of helping, it just allowed all of his weight to concentrate on one part of the boat as he landed, and then in the next second all of them were in the drink.
Here was another reason she hated Kirkwall. The water in the docks wasn’t just cold, it was downright slimy. She made a concentrated effort not to think about why that might be and instead swam her way to the dock, glancing back to ensure Celeste and Nicolette were following. When Kali held out a hand, there was a faint twinge of temptation to repeat them same stunt – but there was a fine line between getting a joke wrong accidentally and doing it on purpose to be an asshole, and she wasn’t stepping over it. Slowly, all three of them were hauled back onto land, gasping and sodden.
“Well. That’s not my preferred way to get wet, I can tell you that.”
Nicolette wasn’t even looking at her. The minstrel was standing with her arms clutched around herself, and Kali took point. “None of you back on the ship until we get the worst of the muck off you. You’ll make the whole crew sick otherwise.”
She was a good secondary first mate, Kali, with Gid not being around. Even if there was two-and-a-half to three of her at the moment. She enlisted Piotr to find a water trough nearby, then told them all to stand still. The young lad was trembling so badly he could barely aim, but between the two of them they did the job – throwing what felt like gallons of icy, but clean, water at them until the worst of the sludge was gone. Nicolette had divested herself of her filth-covered dress after getting out and was standing there in just a shift which was clinging to just about everything. Isabela spread her arms and welcomed the cleaning spray, although it was so cold it was almost painful.
Once they were all spruced up, she looped an arm around each of her friends’ necks. “I think more booze. On me, this time? It’ll warm ya up!”
Nicolette gave her the look Isabela usually associated with people who wanted her to die in a fire, but the minstrel was full of surprises. “I think brandy, if I am not to die of cold in the next few minutes.”
“There we go! Celeste? You?”