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(( 20 Firstfall, Late morning - Celeste Monroe ))
Were Edwin still a noble, meeting Adelaide’s friends might have involved inviting them to a dinner party, or perhaps a salon in the Orlesian style. Fortunately he was no such thing, and he’d already met a good number of her new friends. Only one eluded him now, though he supposed “eluded” was a very strong word for what was actually occurring.
Celeste Monroe, Captain of the Wicked Grace, was still in port. It gave him a rather straightforward means of tracking her down, though how easy it would be to speak with her, he didn’t know. Rather than approaching her right away, he asked around first. Varric, then Aveline had given him enough information that he felt… decently-equipped.
Just in case, he’d come actually equipped, too, with his leather jerkin fastened over a dark woolen shirt and his dual swords strapped to his back. There was a dagger hidden beneath his sleeve, as well, and while he didn’t intend to use any of his weapons, one could never be too careful.
Especially since the paranoid side of Edwin still wasn’t sure if Celeste’s motives were altruistic. He wanted to believe they were, but it was possible the captain was getting something out of this friendship beyond the joy of knowing his sister.
He approached the docks with caution, though outwardly he looked as carefree as ever. Well, perhaps not carefree, given the blades, but there was certainty to his steps and a tug at his lips.
The description he’d been given of the Wicked Grace was sufficient. He found her docked exactly where he expected, and took a moment to survey the vessel from afar. As much as he’d enjoyed the tales of sailors and pirates he’d read as a boy, Edwin wasn’t sure what he’d think of being surrounded by water for miles on end, with no land in sight.
Probably not highly. Also he was likely going to be one of those poor fools who spent most of his time with his head between his knees, trying to get the roiling of his stomach to not be quite as rough as the seas.
Ah, well. The Wicked Grace wasn’t setting sail, so far as he knew. He could handle the gentle rocking of the waves as they meandered toward the docks. That was if he was even allowed to board in the first place.
Heading out to the edge of the pier, the first crewperson he came upon was not a person at all, but an exceptionally large, exceptionally ugly orange beast that he thought was supposed to be a cat. It walked past him, tail in the air, and leapt to the deck without so much as a moment’s hesitation.
“Well now I’m going to be insulted if I’m not let aboard,” Edwin said, squinting a bit into the sun as he surveyed the actual people up top.
Two men came into view, one rather young-looking one walking the main deck. He wasn’t fooling himself in thinking there weren’t plenty more below decks or within earshot, at least. Good thing he wasn’t looking to pick a fight.
Instead he called to the young man, his tone light. “I have no idea how to greet a sailor. Should I fashion some long-winded metaphor about the sea? Speak only in song? Offer to buy you a drink using as few syllables as possible? What’s appropriate, here?”
That was going to go over well. He probably should have let someone know he was going to do this, so they could fish him out of the sea if they were feeling generous.
“I’m looking for your Captain,” he tried, unsure of what explanation he would even give for his presence. “Is she here?”
Were Edwin still a noble, meeting Adelaide’s friends might have involved inviting them to a dinner party, or perhaps a salon in the Orlesian style. Fortunately he was no such thing, and he’d already met a good number of her new friends. Only one eluded him now, though he supposed “eluded” was a very strong word for what was actually occurring.
Celeste Monroe, Captain of the Wicked Grace, was still in port. It gave him a rather straightforward means of tracking her down, though how easy it would be to speak with her, he didn’t know. Rather than approaching her right away, he asked around first. Varric, then Aveline had given him enough information that he felt… decently-equipped.
Just in case, he’d come actually equipped, too, with his leather jerkin fastened over a dark woolen shirt and his dual swords strapped to his back. There was a dagger hidden beneath his sleeve, as well, and while he didn’t intend to use any of his weapons, one could never be too careful.
Especially since the paranoid side of Edwin still wasn’t sure if Celeste’s motives were altruistic. He wanted to believe they were, but it was possible the captain was getting something out of this friendship beyond the joy of knowing his sister.
He approached the docks with caution, though outwardly he looked as carefree as ever. Well, perhaps not carefree, given the blades, but there was certainty to his steps and a tug at his lips.
The description he’d been given of the Wicked Grace was sufficient. He found her docked exactly where he expected, and took a moment to survey the vessel from afar. As much as he’d enjoyed the tales of sailors and pirates he’d read as a boy, Edwin wasn’t sure what he’d think of being surrounded by water for miles on end, with no land in sight.
Probably not highly. Also he was likely going to be one of those poor fools who spent most of his time with his head between his knees, trying to get the roiling of his stomach to not be quite as rough as the seas.
Ah, well. The Wicked Grace wasn’t setting sail, so far as he knew. He could handle the gentle rocking of the waves as they meandered toward the docks. That was if he was even allowed to board in the first place.
Heading out to the edge of the pier, the first crewperson he came upon was not a person at all, but an exceptionally large, exceptionally ugly orange beast that he thought was supposed to be a cat. It walked past him, tail in the air, and leapt to the deck without so much as a moment’s hesitation.
“Well now I’m going to be insulted if I’m not let aboard,” Edwin said, squinting a bit into the sun as he surveyed the actual people up top.
Two men came into view, one rather young-looking one walking the main deck. He wasn’t fooling himself in thinking there weren’t plenty more below decks or within earshot, at least. Good thing he wasn’t looking to pick a fight.
Instead he called to the young man, his tone light. “I have no idea how to greet a sailor. Should I fashion some long-winded metaphor about the sea? Speak only in song? Offer to buy you a drink using as few syllables as possible? What’s appropriate, here?”
That was going to go over well. He probably should have let someone know he was going to do this, so they could fish him out of the sea if they were feeling generous.
“I’m looking for your Captain,” he tried, unsure of what explanation he would even give for his presence. “Is she here?”
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