(( 7 Justinia, 9:29 - Seleny, Antiva - Late afternoon, at a dock near the river - Sofia di Castelbuono ))
According to Matteo, most people celebrated their nineteenth birthday by getting absolutely shit-faced in a tavern somewhere with a few of their closest asshole friends.
Eva knew it to be biased advice, because Matteo was almost always a little drunk, and almost always surrounded by the crew of the Catalina Bella, who definitely counted as his asshole friends. He’d invited her out, even offering to pay for the night’s drinks, and Eva didn’t plan to refuse. She just had something she needed to take care of first.
When they’d followed the river up from Antiva City a week ago, she’d overheard a couple of men talking about a deal they were working on with a merchant in Seleny. It hadn’t taken much effort to blend in and get the details, especially when she’d done her best impression of a little lost Fereldan lamb and had let them buy her drinks and talk at her for hours on end.
Apparently they were owners of a vineyard of some renown. And by renown, they’d meant “the worst reputation in all of Antiva,” as Eva had later learned. They passed off swill to foreigners who wanted the status associated with buying expensive Antivan wine by the case, but had no actual taste for fine things. Apparently they’d just made a massive deal with a lord from the Free Marches who’d eaten up their sales pitch with no further thought.
It was underhanded, but Eva wasn’t above being underhanded. Especially if it meant she got the chance to scam someone who had more money than sense. As that seemed the case both for the chuckleheads who’d talked her up at the tavern and the Orlesian merchant who was going to meet them upriver, she had no moral hangups whatsoever about her plan.
She still didn’t, even as she stood at one of the docks that dotted the river, dressed in what could probably pass as fine Antivan silks to the casual observer. They were certainly colorful, the red and gold dress cut with a high slit along the leg that could distract if someone chose to look too closely at her clothing, and thankfully stopped just below the strip of leather that held her dagger in place.
She’d expected to do this alone, but Andrea had chosen to follow her around much of the day, not being remotely subtle about how much his gaze lingered on her ass, the only part of her that really sold the outfit. Andrea hadn’t been subtle about most things, but he was useful in a scrape. Sometimes. And he was harmless in the way a puppy was harmless. Liable to get over-excited and piss on your floor, but cute enough that he was hard to stay mad at.
“You should probably let me do most of the talking,” Andrea said, the native Antivan rolling off his tongue with ease.
“Are you saying my accent needs work?” Eva gave him her best doe-eyed look and her most awful Antivan accent before switching back to something serviceable. “It’s not like they’re going to know the difference. These idiots are here for a lie, they might as well get the whole thing.”
Speaking of said idiots, she could see a small boat in the distance, carrying two people wearing ridiculous hats. Her brows arched at Andrea and she let a smirk overtake her features before schooling them into something more pleasant.
The boat was rowed up to the dock and tied off, the two occupants who certainly weren’t doing any of the rowing only getting off once the vessel stopped moving so much. Eva stood with her hands folded demurely before her, a smile on her painted lips.
“Ah, buon pomeriggio!” one of the Orlesians, an older man in the most garish hat she had ever seen--and one that looked unsurprisingly phallic--spoke in the absolute worst approximation of an Antivan accent.
It was the kind of accent someone used when they thought they were being very clever. The kind that impressed their Orlesian friends in their fancy parlors, but no one else. Beside her, she thought she felt Andrea suppress a shudder.
“You must be… ah, I am actually unsure who you must be,” the man continued in common speech. “The people I have corresponded with were using names that sounded more… masculine. Obviously you are not--”
“What my dear husband is trying to say,” Eva’s lips twitched. She already liked this woman better than her husband. Shame she was about to be parted from her unearned gold, “is that it is a pleasure to meet you, Madame…?”
“Castel,” she said, extending her hand like the delicate flower she was pretending to be. “My father wanted a son, so your husband is not wrong.”
It was probably true. Who knew what her father wanted. He had five children he’d barely ever seen, and her least of all.
“This is my associate, Gabriele.” Andrea bowed at her introduction. “Normally I would conduct business over a glass of wine, but you have traveled far, and we are discussing this over wine in our own way, are we not?”
The smile she gave them had a sly edge to it that was designed to make them think they were in on the joke. Both of them laughed, and Eva snapped her fingers as a means of instructing Andrea to lift the cloth from the crates they’d hauled all the way out here. Crates that were filled with all the terrible wine even Matteo felt guilty about unloading. “Not fit to piss into,” she believed he’d said.
“Shall we take a look, then?”
She signaled for Andrea to pry open one of the crates, but before he could manage it, she caught sight of two men and a woman walking toward them with purpose. They were dressed in polished leathers, all three of them wearing the same style of half-cloak. Not Crows. At least, she didn’t think they were. But they were some kind of hired muscle, and she didn’t like the look of them.
“I’d advise you to be on your way monsieur, madame,” the woman said, flicking her cloak back to reveal the gleam of a dagger. “We’ve no business with you.”
Predictably, the Orlesians were quick to scramble back into their boat, telling the man who was doing the rowing to make haste. Eva could feel Andrea getting twitchy beside her, and she slowly reached to put a hand on his arm.
“I don’t appreciate seeing a perfectly good deal so rudely interrupted,” she said, casting a glance at the woman’s dagger.
“And we don’t appreciate having our deals spoiled by a charlatan who thinks she can one-up us.”
“Dammit, Eva,” Andrea’s voice broke, “I told you. You don’t try to sell wine in Antiva!”
“Shut. Up,” she hissed, elbowing him in the side.
“The boy is right. And I’d add to that: Take special care not to try and pass off someone else’s wine to pull the exact same scam.”
The woman reached for the dagger. Slowly. Slow enough to reveal a tattoo of a blooming vine wrapped around an anchor. It colored her wrist in black ink. Andrea must have seen it at the same moment she did.
“They’re pirates! You tried to steal from pirates? I’m not fucking dying for this.”
Before she could grab him, Andrea ran for it. The three “pirates” made no move to follow, but even still, she heard him bump into someone in his haste to leave her high and dry. Comparing him to a dog was apparently too generous. Dogs were at least loyal.
Eva sighed, dropping the lofty accent that had accompanied her Antivan before. “I’m sure we can sort this out. No sale was made, so no harm was done, right?”
“Wrong,” the woman said, a smile curving her lips as she brandished her dagger, the men who flanked her doing the same.
Well, shit. Apparently nineteen was going to be a birthday to remember. Either that, or it was going to be her last.
According to Matteo, most people celebrated their nineteenth birthday by getting absolutely shit-faced in a tavern somewhere with a few of their closest asshole friends.
Eva knew it to be biased advice, because Matteo was almost always a little drunk, and almost always surrounded by the crew of the Catalina Bella, who definitely counted as his asshole friends. He’d invited her out, even offering to pay for the night’s drinks, and Eva didn’t plan to refuse. She just had something she needed to take care of first.
When they’d followed the river up from Antiva City a week ago, she’d overheard a couple of men talking about a deal they were working on with a merchant in Seleny. It hadn’t taken much effort to blend in and get the details, especially when she’d done her best impression of a little lost Fereldan lamb and had let them buy her drinks and talk at her for hours on end.
Apparently they were owners of a vineyard of some renown. And by renown, they’d meant “the worst reputation in all of Antiva,” as Eva had later learned. They passed off swill to foreigners who wanted the status associated with buying expensive Antivan wine by the case, but had no actual taste for fine things. Apparently they’d just made a massive deal with a lord from the Free Marches who’d eaten up their sales pitch with no further thought.
It was underhanded, but Eva wasn’t above being underhanded. Especially if it meant she got the chance to scam someone who had more money than sense. As that seemed the case both for the chuckleheads who’d talked her up at the tavern and the Orlesian merchant who was going to meet them upriver, she had no moral hangups whatsoever about her plan.
She still didn’t, even as she stood at one of the docks that dotted the river, dressed in what could probably pass as fine Antivan silks to the casual observer. They were certainly colorful, the red and gold dress cut with a high slit along the leg that could distract if someone chose to look too closely at her clothing, and thankfully stopped just below the strip of leather that held her dagger in place.
She’d expected to do this alone, but Andrea had chosen to follow her around much of the day, not being remotely subtle about how much his gaze lingered on her ass, the only part of her that really sold the outfit. Andrea hadn’t been subtle about most things, but he was useful in a scrape. Sometimes. And he was harmless in the way a puppy was harmless. Liable to get over-excited and piss on your floor, but cute enough that he was hard to stay mad at.
“You should probably let me do most of the talking,” Andrea said, the native Antivan rolling off his tongue with ease.
“Are you saying my accent needs work?” Eva gave him her best doe-eyed look and her most awful Antivan accent before switching back to something serviceable. “It’s not like they’re going to know the difference. These idiots are here for a lie, they might as well get the whole thing.”
Speaking of said idiots, she could see a small boat in the distance, carrying two people wearing ridiculous hats. Her brows arched at Andrea and she let a smirk overtake her features before schooling them into something more pleasant.
The boat was rowed up to the dock and tied off, the two occupants who certainly weren’t doing any of the rowing only getting off once the vessel stopped moving so much. Eva stood with her hands folded demurely before her, a smile on her painted lips.
“Ah, buon pomeriggio!” one of the Orlesians, an older man in the most garish hat she had ever seen--and one that looked unsurprisingly phallic--spoke in the absolute worst approximation of an Antivan accent.
It was the kind of accent someone used when they thought they were being very clever. The kind that impressed their Orlesian friends in their fancy parlors, but no one else. Beside her, she thought she felt Andrea suppress a shudder.
“You must be… ah, I am actually unsure who you must be,” the man continued in common speech. “The people I have corresponded with were using names that sounded more… masculine. Obviously you are not--”
“What my dear husband is trying to say,” Eva’s lips twitched. She already liked this woman better than her husband. Shame she was about to be parted from her unearned gold, “is that it is a pleasure to meet you, Madame…?”
“Castel,” she said, extending her hand like the delicate flower she was pretending to be. “My father wanted a son, so your husband is not wrong.”
It was probably true. Who knew what her father wanted. He had five children he’d barely ever seen, and her least of all.
“This is my associate, Gabriele.” Andrea bowed at her introduction. “Normally I would conduct business over a glass of wine, but you have traveled far, and we are discussing this over wine in our own way, are we not?”
The smile she gave them had a sly edge to it that was designed to make them think they were in on the joke. Both of them laughed, and Eva snapped her fingers as a means of instructing Andrea to lift the cloth from the crates they’d hauled all the way out here. Crates that were filled with all the terrible wine even Matteo felt guilty about unloading. “Not fit to piss into,” she believed he’d said.
“Shall we take a look, then?”
She signaled for Andrea to pry open one of the crates, but before he could manage it, she caught sight of two men and a woman walking toward them with purpose. They were dressed in polished leathers, all three of them wearing the same style of half-cloak. Not Crows. At least, she didn’t think they were. But they were some kind of hired muscle, and she didn’t like the look of them.
“I’d advise you to be on your way monsieur, madame,” the woman said, flicking her cloak back to reveal the gleam of a dagger. “We’ve no business with you.”
Predictably, the Orlesians were quick to scramble back into their boat, telling the man who was doing the rowing to make haste. Eva could feel Andrea getting twitchy beside her, and she slowly reached to put a hand on his arm.
“I don’t appreciate seeing a perfectly good deal so rudely interrupted,” she said, casting a glance at the woman’s dagger.
“And we don’t appreciate having our deals spoiled by a charlatan who thinks she can one-up us.”
“Dammit, Eva,” Andrea’s voice broke, “I told you. You don’t try to sell wine in Antiva!”
“Shut. Up,” she hissed, elbowing him in the side.
“The boy is right. And I’d add to that: Take special care not to try and pass off someone else’s wine to pull the exact same scam.”
The woman reached for the dagger. Slowly. Slow enough to reveal a tattoo of a blooming vine wrapped around an anchor. It colored her wrist in black ink. Andrea must have seen it at the same moment she did.
“They’re pirates! You tried to steal from pirates? I’m not fucking dying for this.”
Before she could grab him, Andrea ran for it. The three “pirates” made no move to follow, but even still, she heard him bump into someone in his haste to leave her high and dry. Comparing him to a dog was apparently too generous. Dogs were at least loyal.
Eva sighed, dropping the lofty accent that had accompanied her Antivan before. “I’m sure we can sort this out. No sale was made, so no harm was done, right?”
“Wrong,” the woman said, a smile curving her lips as she brandished her dagger, the men who flanked her doing the same.
Well, shit. Apparently nineteen was going to be a birthday to remember. Either that, or it was going to be her last.