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Chapter Text

"Captain Tusktooth", now Quartermaster Fjord Tusktooth, was certainly a brave man. She had thought so the first time they’d met and he’d attempted to lie flat out to her face. He was a powerful man, too, based on what she’d seen down in the humid hellhole of the Yuan-ti temple. The blessing had sunk deep in his veins and poured out energy when he'd commanded it.
It had been a good look on an already handsome half-orc.

And for all that, Fjord was bashful sometimes. Foolish as well; stubborn and hardheaded in his self-appointed morals, staying "good" even during pirating. It was stupid, yes, but also… reminiscent, she could say. Admirable in a naive way.

It was not necessarily a poor thing for a sailor to be. Bashfulness and foolishness had its uses, especially when it ensured they knew who they answered too on the vessel. And despite his previous lies, he was certainly a true sailor. Avantika had given him the role of quartermaster to keep an eye on him (so to speak) but he’d performed admirably. She'd been pleasantly impressed.
It'd made her curious what he was up to.

When he stepped around her table in her office, that night, placing his own callused fingers in her callused hand and then leaning in, she was even more pleasantly surprised.
He performed admirably then, as well. The whole situation was quite gratifying. 

Getting back into bed, it made her curious as to what his little troupe of ne'erdowells would be like, in similar circumstances.

All were interesting in their own way. The two clerics who, Avantika had known from a glance when they'd been in her cabin, hadn't yet known a bedmate's touch; the tiefling woman already didn't trust Avantika, and the firlbolg who she couldn't quite read but seemed too placid to be entirely truthful. Fjord of course, a fellow Chosen; the human who wielded more power than his appearance suggested; the contrarian monk with her intriguingly sharp mouth; the goblin woman who had a story Avantika would certainly want to know-- a lady of fortune never let go of an opportunity for blackmail, and there was always something relevant; the barbaric woman with a sword almost as tall as herself, quiet and pale despite her size.
Fascinating.

A challenge, all of them; Avantika was very fond of challenges. They got the blood pumping.

She wondered a moment if he'd mind.  But Fjord’s heart wasn’t a real concern. Not yet, in any case. Perhaps, some day, in the future-- when he’d proven himself loyal and worthy of his own crew and vessel-- perhaps... He was a fine man. Not the sort that she thought she could have wrapped around her little finger so soon. The sort that presented a challenge, and maybe, with enough tug and pull between them, a partner worthy of her own loyalty.

They were not bound together so close as that, though. And what was a little high-seas romance without friendly competition, no?

Upon making her decision, she did what any businesswoman would. She drew up a list.

Chapter Text

The blue-robed monk was the obvious choice for first. Avantika enjoyed a challenge, but all people of fortune were natural opportunists as well. Mademoiselle Tracy Contrarian’s interest in Avantika had been obvious since they’d all first met, and only gotten clearer when they’d all made their way to the island temple.

Or, rather, not Tracy. Beauregard, which was the name her only semi-hapless troupe of friends called her whenever they thought Avantika and her own crew were out of earshot.

A fitting name, Avantika thought. She was a good-looking woman. Her dark brown skin and sprucewood hair; the clean, smooth lines of her cheeks and jaw framing her strong nose and mouth, and those brilliantly critical deep brown eyes of hers; her lithe arms and hands that had clearly seen work, her breasts firm and well-rounded, even hidden as they were under her shirt and non-compressing breast band.

Avantika was curious about that last, actually. She knew some women wore that sort of support, instead of stays or corsets, or simply nothing under their shirts and jackets; but she hadn’t seen many in person before.
A good number of things about Beauregard made her curious. She wondered if Beauregard wore anything under those flowing pants of hers on the weeks that she wasn’t bleeding, and if her legs be the same dark brown as her strong arms, or slightly paler. Did Beauregard know the significance of her name in Avantika’s own language? Did she speak any herself? Where in the Empire did she hail from originally?
And most importantly, what in the name of the Great Serpent was she was doing out here on Avantika’s sea?

Mysterious, good-looking, strong, and full of blunt wit; it was fitting that the monk aroused so much questions in her along with lust. Maybe all of that would make good post-coital conversation.


The largest obstacle she expected was the rest of the troupe. They had seemed to accept her and Fjord’s dalliances-- though she suspected this was because there hadn’t been much time-- which was not significant to how they’d feel as she moved down her list. They were suspicious of her at best, and barely keeping their murderous wishes out of their eyes when they looked at her at worst (especially the blue tiefling woman). C'est ne pas daumage. Avantika was not easily set off a course once she had chosen one. The Squall Eater wouldn’t reach the shores of Darktow for another two and a half weeks with good weather, which allowed plenty of time for an accomplished seduction.

As the fates and the Great Serpent would allow it, it turned out not to take even that long.
When the new additions to her crew were all choosing their new roles on her ship, to get their sealegs underneath them, Avantika watched for her moment. It came (so to speak) early one clear morning when Beauregard was standing alone on the bow of the ship.
She was certainly picturesque: arms resting on the rail, looking out into the sea. Gulls circled above her. The wind stirred the frayed ends of ribbon which held back her hair, and a few strands escaped.

Avantika strode and stood by her side, balancing her own arms on the rail too. She didn’t grasp the rail as she might have in years past, reassuring herself with the smoothness and solidity of the wood under her palm. She needed no reassurances, now. And her hand still mildly ached where the blessing had been removed.
... no, ‘removed’ was too mundane a word. It had been consumed , accepted as a sacrifice. In that way the pain was a joy, the same as pain brought from childbirth might be a joy afterwards. She had succeeded, had won deliciously. Soon the Serpent would be free to reign in the oceans once more, with herself and her own alongside His glory; the waters would fill with the corpses of all their enemies and the tides would dash their vessels on the rocks. Total victory was closer now than it had ever been in ten long years. Avantika could practically taste it on her tongue, like salt, like blood. She looked down at the bandage, at the red patch beginning to leak through, and smiled slightly at it. A portent of many things to come.

"Hey, mornin’. What are you smiling about?” Beauregard’s gruff but honestly curious voice asked, to her left.
Avantika felt her smile widen into a grin. She had suspected that the monk would talk first if she waited long enough. Prospective bedmates were like marks in that way; it was better to let them come to you. She responded truthfully: “The Great Serpent, and how close his release is to hand."
“... sounds relaxing,” Beauregard said, clearly meaning the exact opposite.

“But of course.” She stretched, showing off her silhouette, as well as pragmatically stretching her arms and fingers. Her jaunt with Fjord a couple nights before had been pleasantly rigorous, but she’d woken with stiff muscles, and to an empty bed as well. Eh, c’est la vie a la mer. She leaned back onto the railing. “Maybe it's better to say it causes me some excitement," Avantika continued thoughtfully, conscious of the word. "But, I can afford some excitement lately. And nothing distressing would drive me to focus my thoughts today. The sea is good to us. Fine winds, beautiful weather. Beautiful company,” she added, not even bothering to be sly about it.

She turned her head to look at Beau, grin still sitting pretty as she knew it did on her features, and reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair out of Beauregard’s eyes. She did so with clear, smooth confidence. No need to fear, the easiness of her action said. It was a practiced move, and one that only resulted in half of her marks stiffening or turning tail.

Beauregard did indeed freeze, as Avantika’s hand came towards her, then relaxed as she realized her intent.

“There are rig jumpers who we can get to teach you more knots,” she said conversationally, “If only so your hair stops going so loose all the time. It can be a dangerous distraction in a raid. And it's a shame to hide your face, no?” She let her fingers bend inwards so that the flat of her nails rested against Beauregard’s jaw for a moment, lingering just a sliver longer than would have been natural, then put her hand back on the railing slightly closer to the other woman’s. There, that was clear enough for a start.

The other woman’s cheeks got just a little bit darker as a blush rose into them. She smiled back, a little flirty herself. “I can really manage my own in a fight."
"As I have seen," Avantika demurred, nodding.
Beauregard's blush got darker. "And, uh. I hide my face most of the time I can, really; it’s kind of a hazard of the job, you know?”
“Certainly,” Avantika agreed, curiosity piqued again. Though she kept that hidden; there would be time for other questions later.
The other woman nodded,then tipped her head back, squinting up into the sky. “There’s not really a point out here though, I guess?" She said. "Everybody on the ship already knows my face, and until we hit land again, anyone on the ship are the only people who can see it. Unless we think the birds are suspicious.” Her tone suggested that she knew what Avantika knew: birds could be spies as much as any other creature on land or in the ocean.
“That is true,” Avantika agreed again. Beauregard's depth of thought to a simple, teasing question pleasantly surprised her. This was going even better than she’d expected.

She had planned to wait for a day or so more before making her proper move, to give the other woman more time to think about her. Beauregard seemed more interested than Avantika had originally guessed, however.
Avntika turned her head for a moment, judging the situation around them. Propositioning Beauregard wouldn't work if they were interrupted.
The top deck was largely empty this morning. Most of her crew were taking a meal break, except for those on watch, or up in the rigging minding the sails. Her new quartermaster was a large spot of green and brown among them; admittedly slightly less skilled than most of those up in the ropes, but he would learn. He certainly made a fine picture; balanced on the jibboom with the wind rustling through his clothes and his hair. More importantly, though, he was watching the water and not the pair of women standing on the bow.
The other troupe members were nowhere to be seen. Likely, they'd gathered in the kitchen with the colourful cow friend of theirs, or were off doing some small illicit mischief they imagined wouldn't be noticed.
Looking back towards the ocean, with the corner of her eye, she saw Beauregard watching her as if she was the only interesting thing on the whole sea.

Best to set sail when the tide is in.

Smoothly, Avantika moved her (non-injured) hand along the railing to clasp Beauregard's. “So,” she stated.
The monk looked back at her quickly in a clear fight reflex, then blinked at her hand, and looked at Avantika without the instinct in her eyes. “Uh. So?”
It was a bit of a gamble. But it always was, and the rush was always enticing. Feeling the adrenaline in her mouth, Avantika leaned in towards the other woman. Not close enough to be mistaken for a kiss, but enough that she could lower her voice amid the noise of the gulls and the waves and wind, and still be heard, if Beauregard leant in as well.
Which she did, brow furrowed slightly, with the darker brown still high on her cheeks.
Such things required some amount of decorum, or Avantika would kiss her right then. “I have a proposal," she said instead. "I can tell we're both intelligent women. Let's be clear and honest with each other for a moment, eh? A fair trade.”
That was a lie. Nothing was ever a fair trade. Being a captain, however, necessitated being a businesswoman, and she'd learned to speak smoothly like one a long time ago.
Beauregard blinked for a moment. “Alright… if you go first,” she said slowly. Her eyes had narrowed, as they did when she was particularly suspicious, but she didn’t pull back or tense up her arm like she was ready to take a swing.
Avantika allowed her smile to smooth out into something warm and— on peux appeler un chat un chat—seductive. A pool of sunlight on the water farther ahead which slid over the ship like a sheet, flickering across their faces. “You are an interesting woman, Tracy," she said, letting the lie appear to stand. "I enjoy interesting people. I would like very much to bring you to my quarters so we can learn more about each other.” To say ‘to my bed’ would be slightly too direct, Avantika thought, but she knew her intent was entirely understood. She continued, “If you'd rather we don't, then all is well. I will simply go back on my way, and you will continue to be a responsible member of my crew.” Or she would learn to be, anyway. Even the troupe of fools weren't stupid enough to try staging a mutiny in the middle of the ocean, but they needed to survive, so they would have to make themselves good sailors or be gutted like the morning catch on the red deck.
She let her smile seep warmer. “What do you say?”

Beauregard stared for a moment, her jaw hanging open in shock, then quickly pulled herself together. “I, yeah, that sounds good to me,” she replied, with a nod just slightly too slow to be well-practiced. “I’m up for that.”
Yes. “Perfect,” Avantika replied, pleased. She squeezed Beauregard’s hand, tracing her fingertips over the bandages on her knuckles as she pulled back. To her credit, the other woman didn't shiver noticeably. “Moonrise tonight, then. I’ll be waiting in my quarters. Wear anything you think is comfortable.” She winked, then turned on her heel towards the stern of the ship and walked briskly away.
Behind her, she heard Beauregard's heady inhale and wheezed "Holyshit". She smirked to herself.

That night, Avantika was again gratified to several things about one of her newest sailors. Beauregard's legs, breasts and shoulders did pale slightly in comparison to her face and arms. Her breasts were as firm to touch as they had seemed to look at, and beautiful. Her skin tasted like salt.
She did have a pair of sturdy cullotes under her uniform's flowing pants, and socks made of the same material. The latter were darned in several places and entirely appropriate for long days of walking or working at sea. Practicality was a virtue Avantika appreciated in people.
Though, of course, some frivolity was also fun from time to time: the collection of soft ribbons that Beauregard had kept woven in her hair had been a surprise delight.

After they had finished, curiousities satisfied, Beauregard sat up with the blanket covering her hips. “So, hey, uh. If I leave in the morning, will it not be weird?”
Avantika wiped her own hair out of her eyes, then laughed. “Certainly,” she replied. “The pleasure, I hope, was both of ours.”
For a moment she suspected the monk was going to get up and begin to dress herself to leave anyway. Instead, the other woman snort-laughed in an almost endearing way and laid back down. "Yeah, that's fair."  She settled onto the pillows, her hair free and her face soft.

Avantika stayed awake. When she was certain Beauregard's snores were genuine, she rose in the warm air of the cabin, washed her face and hands, then attended to her nightly ritual to Uk'otoa.
When she returned to her bed, she watched the monk for a few moments longer. For someone so fearsome in battle, sharp and fierce with physical prowess, Beauregard looked more… tender in her sleep than Avantika would've expected.

Interesting.

Chapter Text

The second person surprised her.

Days had passed since she'd first taken Beauregard into her bed. The sun hung high and solitary in the heavens for the past two, and so the Squall-Eater still sailed away from the snake-city's island. Heavy storm clouds sat at the horizon, but had travelled no nearer. They weren't quite dead in the water but it was a close thing.

Avantika wasn't worried about cabin fever yet; her crew was of a tougher sort than that, until they'd had no movement for at least a week and a half. Still, they grew antsy and listless, as often happened the seas weren’t generous.
People all had their own ways of working off the energy. Letters or rigged card games. Songs. Everyone loved to cram together and set up a puppet court out of the sun, to accuse each other of most dire piracy. Avantika's distractions happened to be in her chambers.

Avantika and Beauregard had enjoyed another afternoon together. After they'd had a short rest and she'd sent her out, Avantika took a cool, leisurely bath off of her balcony. The ocean water grated slightly on her skin, but no more than always, and it made all the difference in the world to move her hands and feel it move with her. This was a small token of U’katoa’s gratitude. Soon, she would beckon and tidal waves would rise. She relished.

A motion to her left caught the eye. She turned on her heel instinctively, summoning her rapier to hand with a flash and a scatter of froth.

But it was nothing. Just the shadow of the troupe’s barbarian, Yasha; a strange soft-spoken bruiser with tattoos and snowy skin. She was leaning off the port side railing and staring into the horizon.
What little wind there was blew her long hair, and the flowers braided into it, in all directions. She paid no attention. Avantika didn’t think the other woman even knew she was there, naked on the balcony not thirty feet away. She only looked out to the hazy sky.

It was a pleasant, if unexpected, sight. Avantika relaxed, vanishing the rapier again, and after a moment resumed her shower with her body angled towards Yasha and her far-away gaze. Best to appreciate a good view when you had it, after all.

Her honest inclination had been to flirt after the quiet know-it-all wizard next; he was handsome, for a human, and intrigued her with his obvious vicious streak and contrarian heart. But her eye had now been caught.

Avatnika knew about as much about Yasha as she did any of her Tusktooth's troupe, which was very little. Her name, and her power in battle. So for two long days, she observed.
Like much of the crew, Yasha was restless. Unlike the others, it was because she was at sea. It was clear through a number of obvious tics: she never unsheathed her sword from her back, she was constantly turning slowly on the spot if her back was to anything but the side of the ship or one of the masts. Always keeping her head up towards the horizon. She had lived through much. This was clear from the many, many scars that covered her arms and bare shoulders and hands. Most were standard battle wounds, but not all; Avantika recognized signs of torture when she saw them (having inflicted many). Fjord's chest and back had borne some of his own, but Yasha's were deeper and multiplied. Whoever had kidnapped the little troupe before they'd sailed onto Avantika's ocean, they had tried very hard to break the barbarian woman first.
And yet, she stood. Avantika genuinely respected that.
Yasha wasn’t comfortable amidst the crew any more than Avantika's people were comfortable around her, or as the goblin woman was on the sea; but there was something layered beneath that, clearly. She was in mourning. Avantika knew that look well, too, having often put it on people's faces; but this was a different kind. A deeper, older hurt. Curious. Avantika wondered who it was who she had lost so horribly.
She would be getting no answers from anyone in the troupe, though. Of that she was fairly certain.

On the sunburnt, listless afternoon when Yasha stepped up to her in the galley, she wasn’t there to answer any of Avantika’s questions. Instead, the tall woman sat down in the seat across from Avantika (her back to the wall, her sword planted between her feet). “I have something to ask you,” she said.
Avantika watched her for a moment, then let her hidden hand slide Shadeslip back into its holster at her hip. The ends of her fingers stung from the dagger’s necrotic magic. Absolutely none of it showing on her face, Avantika raised her eyebrow.
“And what might it be?” She asked, picking up her spoon again and taking another scoop of the stew that the two clerics kept making for the crew’s rations. The potatoes and butter that were the base of the soup were bland and almost mealy, but mixed in with the richness of the meats and vegetables it really wasn’t so bad. I should pay my compliments to the chefs, she thought idly, and almost missed Yasha’s next words.
“I know you’ve been sleeping with a couple of the others, and if you and I could too.”

Avantika paused with her spoon in her stew. “Pardon?” Her first language slipped out in her surprise.
Yasha turned to her more fully. She didn’t loom exactly, but it was noticeable how tall and well-muscled she was in as tight a space as the galley. “I’d like to sleep with you, and I wanted to know if you would reciprocate that,” she said again.
Her voice was soft and not overly noticeable in the general din. Avantika wasn’t sure if that was an intentional move on the other woman’s part or if she just always spoke that way, like a warm rush of rain. She put her lunch down. Slowly, she felt a smile curl again across her face. “Well. Interesting, aren't we?” Avantika said, and she leaned forwards a bit, propping her face up with her finger.
Yasha didn’t let her eyes drift lower than Avantika’s collarbone. Or maybe she wasn’t looking at all because she just wasn’t the kind of person who was so easily distracted. Avantika had certainly heard of people like that.
“I have to ask, though," she said. "I am flattered, but what brought this on from you? Did your captain put you up to this, hm?”
The barbarian looked confused for a moment. She shook her head, her thick hair with its one bright flash like a lightning strike shaking over her shoulders. “No, Fjord didn’t put me up to it. I’m…” She considered her words for a moment. “I’m not very settled on the ocean,” she said finally, “Not when it’s like this. We’re not moving anywhere, there’s no work to do. I need to be doing something, it doesn’t feel right if I don’t.”

"And you decided on me, eh?" Avantika outright laughed at that, delighted.
A few of the crew’s heads turned towards their captains voice, noticed she was having a personal, if not private, conversation, and hurriedly looked back down at their food or went back to their own talking, a bit louder than before. They knew what was good for them.
Avantika bathed in the satisfaction of having a good crew, training and choosing them well. “Oh, how I am flattered,” she said again.
Yasha shrugged, her snowy skin rosing around her cheeks. Avantika could say she had never imagined the woman blushing before. “It’s alright if you don’t, you know,” she said, making to stand up. "I can find something else to--"

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense.” Avantika put her hand out, brushing her fingers lightly over the woman's bicep (carved like marble, marveilleuse), and Yasha paused. Avantika stood, then, grinning full force, and offered her hand to the lady. “I would enjoy that, yes. Let’s go to my quarters immediately. No time like the now.”

"Just to be clear," Yasha said, when she was inside Avantika's room but before they'd touched or tugged at each other's shirt strings. Her eyes were dark and warm, but carried warning. "This-- I'm not asking for anything permanent, or frequent, here."
Ah. Maybe that was her haunting, then. "I wouldn't dream of it," Avantika promised. She was only half-lying; she'd never dream of partnering with anyone who clearly had so much ballast floating around them, and such unpredictable crackling rage. Such people weren't good for the fine art of business, long-term. Whether she'd re-run through the events of the next few hours in her private thoughts and private moments was another matter entirely.
"Alright," Yasha said, nodding. "Okay, okay. Good." And she kissed Avantika softly but firmly on her mouth, her lips smooth and surprisingly cold.

Up close, under Avantika’s luxurious sheets, she could see more clearly the tension lines spiderwebbing out from the woman’s eyes. Some of it was the torture aftermath that she’d seen written out on Yasha’s skin. The tattoos, it seemed, were real. The rings around her eyes which Avantika had assumed were nothing but carnival makeup turned out to be only half grease-paint. The rest of the angry purpleish skin was just that: skin, marked deep with grief.

If only Avantika knew for certain what had sway over such a strong group, to produce such a reaction in her. Something that affected a person like Yasha that much would certainly affect the others. She could break all of them, to later build up with greater pieces all at once, fit to her mold, the correct one.
She would find that cause one day. Or else they would be on her crew under her rule for years and she would not have to find out what drove them because she would replace it. Either way she wouldn’t have to act so riskily. Although, everything was risky with emotions that ran as hot as lust, but loyalty earned meant smooth passage garnered.
Avantika could get anything from anywhere, as could any other gentleman or woman of fortune of note. The better pirate’s trick was learning when to time the heist. Even something as simple as opening the door.

 She did not, of course, voice any of that out loud. She just marveled.

About an hour after her and Yasha had finished the second round of their jaunt, something in the sky finally eased.
From her cabin Avantika heard the wind begin to whisper, then moan, not unlike the soft-voiced woman had. Avantika had left the wooden doors of her balcony open as she'd slept in the relative safety of empty water, hoping to entice a breeze through but sweating under her blankets nevertheless. Now, vindicated, she sat upright amidst the rumpled linen covers. “Oh, praise the Serpent,” she mumbled.

Elsewhere on the ship, she could hear the clattering of boots and a few ragged cheers. It wasn’t the longest run of dead air that Avantika had lived through—far from it—but the wind was always welcomed most when it turned.

Yasha startled at the noise, her gaze snapping to the door of the captain’s cabin; then they travelled quickly across the room to the open doors of the balcony. She stood and walked, naked as a worm, to the empty balcony. A small square of the air and water beyond was framed in the doorway, and Yasha’s marble-white body scattered over with scars stood out starkly against it. The sky was darkening. It wasn’t a storm, exactly, but Avantika didn’t miss the way that Yasha’s head craned up towards it with something like relief as she stood in the wind.
She certainly was striking.
Avantika cleared her throat as she pulled herself out of the bed and back into her clothes. “Well! Some weather, at last," she said with a laugh, and finished lacing her boots with a satisfying snap. "A fine time despite the circumstances, no?"

Yasha had turned to look at her, and smiled; it was like seeing clouds roll across the sky. Smooth sailing ahead for days.
Perhaps she was good luck, then; an albatross of Avantika’s own, to call the wind back. "Yes," she said. It was unclear if she meant the sex or the storm.

Both were good, Avantika decided. She grinned as the other woman turned back to her fully. "Come, let’s get moving again, eh? There's work to be done, and drinks to be had. When we get to shore, I'll buy us the first round."

Chapter Text

Avantika freely admitted to being competitive, even when only in competition with herself. An occupational hazard, no? Once a gentlewoman of fortune has set her sights on a collection, the tendency is to push it as far as she can. She’d been doing well with the women in the troupe so far, in this game of hers. Why not try for three in a row.

Jester was her first consideration, which she quickly dismissed. The cleric-turned-apprentice carpenter was a beautiful prospect, and intriguingly new; Avantika had had tieflings in her crew before, but not her bed. Jester was also however jealous as a knife, immature, and sweet on her 'Captain Tusktooth'. People under infatuation's heady sway were hard to convince into anything that'd put their intended relationship in jeopardy. Certainly including their romantic rival's chambers.
Interestingly, for all her obvious crush, Jester seemed to enjoy toying with Avantika's quartermaster. Flirting but not seducing, dancing around telling him anything substantial or sharing even a kiss (the incident underwater being an exception). In another woman, Avantika could have respected that as a tactic; in Jester, it was clear she had no idea what she was doing. The cleric seemed to want the butter and the money for selling the butter; Fjord’s affections, but not his honesty.
He of course remained baffled (as would've been the point if it was intentional). The rest of the troupe saw this, but seemed happy to let the cleric stew in her own emotions, despite how close they must be to a boiling point.
A complicated little mess. Avantika was content to let it continue tangling for now.

And so her ciphered list came to Nott The Brave.

The rogue was an... interesting one. Not because of her personality, or proficiency for unexpected violence, or her species, however poorly the woman thought of herself. Avantika had slept with human and elven men far more disgusting than she’d proved herself to be. Certainly Avantika had never been with a goblin before, but much like Nott The Brave’s tiefling friend, her form caused curiosity rather than repulsion.
It was a logistical question: how does one lay with a goblin? All of those teeth and sharp claws. Obviously it was possible, though, and she’d be interested to find out.

But, no; Nott The Brave’s mental state was the problem. The woman was drunk for days on end, heavily so, which made her erratic, fearless to the point of foolishness, and dangerously impulsive. As a captain who had seen the undoing of many sailors to the bottle, especially after too long at sea or alone, Avantika recognized the signs of drinking to drown something horrible; it was something of a shame. That sort of drinking led to nothing but an early grave. But, Nott was an adult; it was her business, and perfectly fine for a thief.
Avantika was curious to know what the woman wanted to forget. It might prove useful. But for her current project, the main concern was that she couldn’t approach someone who wasn’t in full possession of their minds at the time.

Nott's sobriety was the biggest obstacle, but not the only one. The thief was a flighty little thing, suspicious (though rightly so, in a den of pirates and ne’erdowells), quick both in mind and on her feet. She was rarely alone.
All of which meant Avantika would have to time her approach carefully, with a mix of flattery and honesty (such as fit the situation). She’d have to be much less direct than with her first three dalliances, or Nott would second-guess herself and vanish.

Perhaps more trouble than a notch on Avantika’s headboard was worth. But what fun was life without challenge, eh? Avantika had long been praised for her daring. She was willing to try.

Unlike the first two, Avantika understood there was no way to approach her third quarry out on the water. Any plan would need to wait until they got to shore.
And, finally, they do. The Squall Eater and all her crew arrived in Darktow close to sundown after a month on the open sea, navigating through the breakwaters and broken hull graveyard. The Mist, turned Mistake, clumsily limped in behind them.

Duties first. With her feet on solid ground, she introduced the newcomers to the guard, then the unpleasantness of the Spite Spire and the walk up to it, and then the Plank King himself. Avantika bit out a convincing smile and put forward her tithe to the King’s sneering visage.

As she “reported” she looked into his eyes, and the lank hair hanging from the scalp he’d torn off a corpse.
All of the emotions that she’d taken great care to hide came creeping back up under her thoughts: disgust, righteous indignation, and seething swelling rage. Oh, how she hated him. His brute force rule, his tithes, his “laws”, his messy form of governance. Her now-empty palm ached fiercely with the desire to maim, the magic stinging through her blood. Avantika curled her fingers so they bit into the scar, grounding herself. With the pressure, she concentrated inwardly on U’ka’toa’s presence in the back of her mind: slow, deep, endlessly dark. Certain.

None of it showed on her face.

The Plank King could demand a share of her gold all he wanted. She knew the streets, alleys and buildings of Darktow like her own ship; and soon she would bend a knee to no one.

Outside of the throne room, she took a deep breath of the sooty, salt-thick air. Her and the rest made their way back down the stone steps to the city. As the troupe saw fit to pepper her with questions, she pushed the mire of boiling hate out of her mind with the ease of kicking clawing hands off her pant legs. First nights ashore were no time to focus on such things. There were bigger fish to fry. The Squall-Eater was setting sail in two days; she had favours to gather and a goblin to fuck before then.

Revelry was in order.

Leading her band of laughing ladies and merry men to the Bloated Cup, she watched the crew of her other ship, with the troupe at the front, follow uncertainly. They all still obeyed when she ushered them inside. Her own crew filed in as well, throwing jeers into the familiar noise and chaos as soon as they crossed the threshold.
The evening proceeded as they often did: music and drinking and fighting, which was almost as fun as dancing, and story-sharing. The beer was surprisingly decent this time, and Avantika drank deep of her share of it.
When the time for discussions came, she brought her people closer in, and told them of how close they were to releasing the Leviathan. She could feel it, like one could feel storms coming, and she could feel the electric excitement spreading to her crew. Satisfaction bloomed in her chest as she looked at them. Plans were made. Old Sorris showed up, spooking the new hands by telling them a ghostly diving story. Fucking Allison skulked by, as well, but hung far enough back that she wasn’t making a scene, at the very least.

A good way into the evening, her new quartermaster cleared his throat. (The deeper green shadows of hickies she’d left on it a few nights before were still visible, moving with his breath. Avantika felt a spark of pride.) “Being that this is our first time in Darktow, I’d like to see the rest of the area... would anyone care to join me for a stroll?”
The rest of the troupe took notice, and a scatter of agreement went through them. “Ooh, nightwalk!” Beauregarde cooed.
“Sure,” Jester all but spat.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Caduceus said peaceably. His ears flicked back and forth, waving away flies.
They were very obviously using a flimsy smokescreen to hide a tete-a-tete. She had to wonder if they thought they were being clever. Still, not wanting to see them dead on their first night ashore, she set down her tankard. “It is good, if you’re going to do a nightwalk alone,” she said, projecting her voice. “Or, together as a group is much better than alone.” She flashed a smile.
Around her, the crew who’d heard through the general din laughed under their breaths as well.
Fjord looked at her with surprise. “Oh, isn’t there a kind of-- if you will, uh-- martial law that prevents that kind of pirate to pirate crime?”
“Well, certainly. The laws say that you’re not to steal from another pirate in here. But only if you’re caught.” She kept eye contact with him, arching an eyebrow.
His face flushed, clear even in the shitty tavern’s lighting. He was an easy one to fluster, her quartermaster. “We will... keep that in mind,” Fjord said, a bit awkwardly. “Thank you, Captain.”

Farther down the table, heeding their captain’s gesture, most of the troupe were making their way to the door, the barbarian and the cook first. Jester and Beauregarde followed, talking loudly about finding the bathroom.
Bonne chance, Avantika thought, amused. She saluted Fjord with her tankard. “Go, go. Enjoy the sights. And watch each other’s backs, eh?”
“We will.” He smiled at her, the same charming crookedness as Vandren’s that still settled so well on his face, and then made his way out onto the dark island streets.

Only two troupe members stayed behind; Caleb, the human wizard, and Nott The Brave. The bar itself was still raucous, not emptier at all for five people leaving, however colourful they were.
For a while Avantika had enough entertainment from her drink and watching her crew cavorting, in the usual manner of sailors celebrating their first night off the waters. She kept one askance eye on the newcomers. The two were sitting in the farthest corner of the wide table that she had commandeered for them all, holding their tankards very close to their faces and leaning over the table. Hiding their faces from sight so they couldn’t be lip-read. Terribly subtle you are not, my friends, Avantika thought.
Then, one of the brewing disagreements in the pub exploded into another fight with a torrent of swears and swinging. Avantika instinctively turned towards it with everyone else, laughing and cheering along.

The excitement died down, and she looked back along the scarred table to realize, too late, that both the wizard and thief had vanished. Merde.
Where the fuck had they gone off to? She swept her gaze around the room.
There, out of the corner of her eye: a flash of green in the mud-brown of the tavern. Turning on her seat, she managed to spot the woman slipping through people around the bar. Rib-high to most, she kept her head down to make herself seem smaller; and skirted close the drunkest ones, Avantika noticed incredulously. So she’d taken Avantika’s advice about the law to heart, then.
Still no sign of the wizard. She had to admit, she was surprised that Caleb had disappeared and left his goblin friend by herself; usually they were attached at the hip. ... well, that was a thought.
Almost impressed, Avantika settled back on her chair and drank, musing at the possibility of such an odd-pair romance, while the small green one made her sticky-fingered way around the room.

Nearly at the bottom of her tankard, two things occurred to her at once: first, that this was a good opportunity for the next tic on her card, since with most of the group gone her quarry would be more open to an invitation. Second, that Nott was quickly making her way to the door. Most likely to go out and make trouble on an island of pirates, which she had no knowledge of, on her own, in the dark. She was fit to be gutted by daybreak.

Before Avantika could even stand up, the door to the pub was apparently blown open by the wind-- to a chorus of drunken protests-- and slammed shut.

“It’s always the fucking newest ones,” Avantika muttered to herself. For a moment, she studied her beer, debating just letting nature take its bloodied course. She’d warned them after all.
But the thief was a member of her crew. It would be an insult and an embarrassment if she died by someone else’s hands on the island. People might start to question the Squall Eater’s reputation intolerably. Plus, Avantika couldn’t seduce her if she was dead.

Nothing else for it. Thinking quickly, she stood, drained her tankard, and set it down with a heavy authoritative clunk.
Several of her crew looked up at the noise. Bouldergut, loyal ogre that she was, made to get to her feet. “Are we going?” She asked, voice slow and thick.
“No, no, my friends,” Avantika waved them all off. “You rest a bit longer.” She’d prefer to not draw a scene-- they’d only just gotten to shore-- so she certainly couldn’t bring an ogre or a crowd with her. But she couldn’t go out the front entrance without drawing curious eyes, since she didn’t often go anywhere alone on the island. Luckily she knew a second way out.
Looking a bit confused, but with a nod, her bodyguard sat back down. The floor creaked.

Avantika strode purposefully up to the bar, pulling out the money purse she kept showily at her side. (It was a mark of reputation, that no one tried to steal it from her, and she wore it proudly.) As she hammered on the wooden counter, a shout sounded from the alley on the other side of the wall: the tell-tale cry of an angry drunkard realizing he’d been relieved of his own purse.
Nott was an industrious woman, apparently; that’d been fast. Avantika would just have to be faster. “Allez, Stinger!” She called, projecting her voice as she’d learned how to do over years of squalls and screams.
From the other end of the bar, they looked up from cleaning a slightly dirtier bottle than average.
Stinger had tended the bar and ran the Cup for years; they were a decent sort, such as a person was among pirates. Avantika almost felt sorry for the chaos she was about to throw their business into. Almost.
“One for everyone here!” She hollered, and scattered silver along the bartop like feed to chickens.
The general ruckus suddenly coalesced into a specific uproar. Shock at the amount of money being thrown around and greed for certain drinks sent shouts through the air, as many bodies pushed towards the counter at once.

Using the noise and chaos as cover, Avantika looped her pursestrings over her wrist, pulled it tightly shut, dashed past the now angrily overwhelmed Stinger with a sympathetic clap to their shoulder, and stole into the back room.
It was cramped, full of crates, and smelled of the wood plank floor and the old wine that’d seeped into it. The near-complete dark would be enough to disorient a human, which was the point. She thankfully had no such limitations. Her vision gone black and grey, Avantika swiftly shoved aside the crate which hid the emergency hatch in the brickwork.

She dropped down into the alleyway behind the tavern not seconds later. The ground squelched under her boots. Not seconds too soon, either, from the sounds of it: the scuffle was still going on, punctuated with curses and yelps. She stood and pulled Shadeslip free in one smooth movement, advancing.

As Avantika rounded the corner, she saw two figures outlined from the Bloated Cup’s windows. Closest was a middle-aged human vagabond who wheeled to face her, stinking and unsteady. He was, very clearly, very drunk. The flat of the knife he carried glinted in the low, grimy light; the sharp of it was coated in dark blood. Farther into the alley crouched Nott The Brave, hidden but not quite cowering, her teeth bared and holding her side with one clawed hand.
In the split seconds Avantika took the situation in, the drunkard turned again and stumbled forwards, swinging with his blade down at the goblin woman.
The attack went wide. Nott skittered out of the way, hit a pile of loose trash, cursed, and then ricocheted back towards him, still holding onto her side. With her other hand she reached for her crossbow.
It could pack a hell of a punch for such a small thing, like its wielder; and this drunkard didn’t have much in the way of armour, that much Avantika could see. What he might have, though, was a reputation, enough that his death would be unfavourable in the eyes of the King. Or allies in the city who would bypass the king’s judgement and simply take out revenge directly. This was a fight that needed stopping. “Wait!” She called out sharply.
Nott froze; the vagrant swayed to a stop.
Avantika flipped Shadeslip around in her hand to a slashing position, then strode forwards into the middle of the fray.

“Hello!” She said to the vagrant, keeping her voice light but firm, like a noose until you fell with it. “I see you’ve run into my crew member here. That is helpful; we would’ve been at a loss without her and we’re leaving as soon as the tides allow for it. But there seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding, eh?” Smiling, she glanced behind her.
Nott was no longer baring her teeth, only watching with wide lamplight eyes. She breathed shallowly, still conscious, and not bleeding too badly. Good.
Avantika held her hands out in a placating gesture, not quite touching the bricks on either side of the alley. She kept Shadeslip in full view.
The vagrant watched its path in the air without moving, something in his mind struggling through the layers of alcohol-induced stupidity. Ah, there it was. Fear.
With the hand that wasn’t her dagger, Avantika shook her showy moneypurse. If the glint off Shadeslip’s blade hadn’t caught the man’s attention,  the gentle rustle of coin certainly did. “Mistakes happen, friend, of course. Everyone understands that. Since you haven’t injured my gunner too badly, I’m going to offer you a deal,” she told him pleasantly, lowering her hands while keeping both of her grips steady. “Two choices. I give you a silver, and you leave this alley after us, forget our faces, and go buy yourself some strong drink. Or,” she gestured with Shadeslip, “I introduce you to the silver of my blade, here, and we’ll all see together if you first rot to death or choke on your blood. One of those sounds better than the other, no?”
Nott gave a thin, disbelieving laugh behind her.
The vagrant’s gaze was darting all over the place. From the purse, to her dagger, to the closed windows and loud ruckus of the tavern, to Nott behind her, to Avantika’s face. To the eye tattoo on her throat, cresting above the line of her scarf, which she’d pulled down to drink more easily.
Avantika let her smile twist into a grin. “Yes, you might have heard of me.”

After a moment of hesitation, the vagabond nodded at her purse. He lowered his knife.
Nott’s relieved sigh was loud in the suddenly still air.

“Wise choice,” Avantika said bracingly. “Here is your prize.” Still holding Shadeslip, she pulled one silver out of her purse and let it clatter onto the silt and muck of the alley. A pirate only had her word, after all. “A pleasure, I’m sure. May we never see you again.”
She holstered her dagger and passed the vagrant in long strides, moving towards the open street and the front of the inn. “Coming along, powder monkey?” She called without looking backwards.

A second later she heard scurrying on stone, and a second after that, the clatter of someone diving for dropped coin. 

Nott The Brave appeared at her side, although a good distance away. Out of striking range, Avantika judged. So the thief did have some sense, just not when it came to stealing. “Looking to make yourself a reputation on your first night onshore, eh?” She observed, turning towards the other woman. “A bold move.” Stupid and foolhardy, but bold nonetheless.

She looked up at Avantika suspiciously, her long ears folded back against her head through her cloak’s hood. She took off her porcelain mask and let it hang from her neck to speak more clearly. (Why she bothered with the cracked, shabby thing, Avantika didn’t know.)  ”... thank you,” she said stiffly. “Sometimes, you know, it’s good to make a splash in a new town.” Her voice was scratchy and warbly as a seabird, as always, not shaken or too badly frightened. She was still holding her side, but the pain seemed to have dulled, or at the very least the shock of receiving a wound had passed. She’d stood up straighter.
And there was something else-- Avantika studied her curiously. She didn’t seem drunk. She was steady on her feet and clear-voiced as Avantika had ever seen her. Her eyes remained only a third dark, compared to the “full plates” that they had been when she was off her head, as her wizard friend had described it.

“Mm. Of course. And I’m sure you could’ve handled it, but I’ve got your back,” Avantika said; then, idly, tried a wink.
The other woman blinked and her ears shot straight up in surprise. Was it the light, or did her face darken as well?
Interesting. Well, it looked her luck had won out again. Avantika smiled. “You look like a woman that could use a bit of a patch-up, eh?” She said, crossing to the door of the inn and pulling the handle. “Unfortunately your magic friends seem to have gone into the night, but that’s no trouble. I have my own supplies.” She gestured with a nod. “Come, it’s on me. I think it’s only fair.”

After only a few moments hesitating, Nott followed.

The Bloated Cup was still in a chaotic state. Several new fights had broken out, and silver pieces that’d fallen were being ground under shoes and stool legs, or lost in the general muck of silt, mud, hay and sawdust that covered the tavern’s floor. As they stepped inside, a particularly loud insult catapulted from the center of the crowd, and a human man went flying bodily through the air. Drinks scattered and smashed when he landed. A few cheers.

“Well, looks like everyone’s a bit too deep in their cups,” Avantika remarked to her companion, looking down at her.
“That’s an understatement.” Nott was barely audible. She was by turns wincing at the noise and violence, and watching the valuables on the ground like a cat might a bird.
It was certainly fun to watch, but not particularly conducive to, ah, companionship. Avantika reached down and put a hand on Nott’s shoulder, both to initiate casual contact and to get her attention, at the same moment as she made a looping gesture with her finger and pointed upstairs.
Nott jumped at the touch and then watched her incredulously, pointing upstairs as well. When Avantika nodded, she seemed to consider for a moment, pressed her hand more firmly to her side, and then nodded back.
As she did, Avantika pulled away, put her fingers to her own mouth and whistled sharply.

The general fighting, drinking and shouting continued, but every head that belonged to her sailors looked up and towards her at the signal. Bouldergut clambered to her feet again.
The rest of her crew in the room did as well, beginning a slow procession out of the chaos. Some nodded respectfully to her as they passed her out the door. Others made their way upstairs, taking the same staircase crammed against the far wall.

With the chaotic energy flow interrupted and slightly less than half the patrons gone, a quiet mulled through the crowd for a moment. Avantika squeezed Nott’s shoulder. “Apologies. I was saying, we can continue this somewhere slightly more civilized,” she explained. She debated winking again, for a moment, but decided against it; the other woman was clearly on edge already. Avantika wasn’t excellent at being delicate, but she had good situational sense. Best to wait.
“Oh. Um. Right,” Nott replied, somewhat nervously, which only cemented her judgement.
Together they crossed the room to the stairs. Bouldergut went ahead of them, to discourage anyone who may have tried to come down at the same instant. 

The second-floor hallway was narrow, dingy and dark, and the wood creaked, but it was as safe ground as anywhere else in town. Avantika went directly to her door and unlocked it, shoving it open casually and gesturing ahead of herself once again. “Age before beauty,” she said to Bouldergut, who couldn’t have understood the saying but laughed her booming, gravelly laugh anyway.

Nott looked sharply at her and then followed as well, her hands and ears all twitching as she stepped inside.

Avantika waited in the hallway for a moment longer, watching until the last woman on her crew, a deckhand near the end of her third year onboard, had swayed into a room and locked the door. It had been a while since anyone had tangled with her people-- as her new quartermaster had put it so delicately-- but it didn’t hurt to be sure.

Her crew as safe as she could witness, she crossed the threshold to her own room. After shutting the door against the outside, she looked with a certain satisfaction at the familiar setup; the large bed, the decoy chest on a thin, scarred vanity, the rug which was warm to the feet if not finely made, the endtable in the corner, and the spot under the bedframe where she’d long-ago hidden a dagger. Hers. Stinger aired it out every so often, but no one else dared near it anymore. Not since she’d made a name for herself and her crew in the city.

Bouldergut and Nott stood at opposite corners of the room. The thief wasn’t making herself comfortable-- which Avantika could respect, it’d be a fool’s move-- but she wasn’t tenser than usual, either. As Avantika watched, she pulled her hood down, her long ears sliding out easily like cat’s ears bent under a hand. (Avantika had been curious about that.) She seemed to be investigating the room as much as she could without actually moving much, luminous eyes scanning every surface.
They snapped to Avantika when she stepped back inside, and she returned Avantika’s generous smile with a nervous grin of her own.

So far, so good.

Avantika went to the decoy chest, taking out a small vial of red liquid, and a handful of sweets she'd looted from a ship leaving the Coast. The potion was of lesser healing, and would do fine for the shallow knife wound. The sweets were much more interesting: wrapped chunks of fine chocolate with peppers, rich enough to remind her warmly of her homeland and with enough bite to punish unsuspecting thieves.
She tossed the vial to Nott the Brave, who caught it one handed, and then offered a chocolate piece each to her and Bouldergut.
Her large friend took the treat enthusiastically. Good spirit, that one. She’d wait to eat it until Avantika had opened her own, of course.
At the same time, Nott The Brave uncorked the potion and downed it in one gulp. When she’d drained the vial she relaxed slightly, her shoulders easing as the healing magic took effect. Strengthened, she looked at Avantika’s still-offered hand, and then accepted the chocolate as well, though with clear suspicion. She sniffed it carefully.
Avantika nodded in acknowledgement, then sat down on the edge of the double bed with her own portion, the picture of lounging. “Bonne appétite,” she toasted them. The chocolate was delicious, as always. Like victory.
In her peripheral, she watched as Nott hesitated a bit longer before gobbling her own piece down. Then she looked up at her, wiping her clawed fingers off on her cape.
She squinted suspiciously. “What? You're smirking.”
Avantika grinned wider, shrugging. “Just glad to see you enjoy the hospitality,” she said mildly.
Nott’s expression relaxed slightly, even while her arms tensed. “Yeah. Um. Thank you,” she repeated, still in the same stiff tone as before.

Unable to help it, Avantika laughed. “You and your whole troupe, eh? The politest amateur pirates this side of Tal’Dorei,” she said. She let her grin slide into something warmer and more welcoming as her tone dipped. “I like it.”

Nott The Brave's ears twitched again. She didn't reply, which could have been for any number of reasons. Instead she said, “There anything to drink in here?”
Avantika nodded, pointing at the warped vanity.
The other woman scurried over to look for booze. The drawer she tried was actually locked, and trapped, but right in front of Avantika’s eyes she made quick work of it. If Avantika hadn't been paying attention she might have missed the swift glint of thieves’ tools completely.
Very clever, this one. She made a mental note to check her secret moneypurse when the evening was over, whichever way it turned out.
The drawer slid open. “Ooh, fancy,” Nott said, and brought out the bottle of mid-tier vodka.
She shrugged. “Eh, it finishes the job.” Avantika shifted conspicuously on her bed, leaning back on her palms and tilting her head, curious if she would notice. Usually Avantika's bed-partners were clued in by now; how much more forward did she have to be? 

It turned out, not much. Nott had been peering at the label on the bottle-- if she knew Elvish, she’d read a lovely litany about clear water streams that was entirely false-- but looked up at the mattress' creak. When she did, her gaze flickered to Avantika’s crossed thighs, and her chest; and then, just as fast, around the chamber to notice the three of them were alone.

Avantika could actually pinpoint the second gears clicked together in the other woman’s head. She paused her searching gaze of the room, blinking rapidly. Her ears flipped upwards and then pinned back. She looked down at Avantika’s fourth-best bottle of fine vodka as if it had betrayed her on a personal level. “Are you going to kill me?” Nott The Brave blurted, voice higher than normal.
“No,” Avantika said smoothly, blanketing that fire of doubt before it could catch anywhere. Not before you've proven untrustworthy, anyway. “No. I just thought we could, ah, get to know each other better.” If the other woman caught her meaning.
Thankfully she did. Nott was quicker on the draw than Avantika had expected. She boggled. “There’s no way this is happening,” Nott said unbelievingly as she blinked at her. She sounded like someone who was talking to herself out loud. “You wouldn’t want to-- not me.”
“We do not have to. If you’d rather simply discuss our plans, or leave with your wound healed, it’s not a problem,” she said. And it was true: it’d be annoying to lose Nott so late in her game, but she had no intention of making the other woman feel trapped. She’d left options open to avoid it. Her room had two exits; the door which remained unlocked, and through the window, which remained unguarded. While the Bloated Cup’s rooms didn’t have anything so grand as balconies, its outside walls did have many solid handholds, which Avantika had used herself on several occasions. She was certain the thief would’ve noticed them. Nott could leave whenever she decided.
Instead, she looked shocked, but made no motion to move.
After a pause, Avantika raised her eyebrows. “I admit, I am curious-- do you have someone already?” She hazarded a guess. ”Your human, the wizard?”
“I-- Caleb?” The woman’s expression did something complex that even Avantika couldn’t fully untangle. “Not, that's-- that’d be. Weird. He deserves better than me.”

Interesting. She noted that Nott didn't deny she had a partner. But she wasn’t acting like someone cheating on a love. Was there anyone in this troupe without tragic secrets, sweet gods.
Shuffling her legs again, she pressed, “So I am simply not your type, eh? Don't lean my way?” She'd thought she'd seen the other woman looking; maybe she'd been mistaken. It had been known to happen on occasion.
But Nott replied immediately. “No, I lean both ways,” she said, then coughed into her bandaged hand. “I mean, that wasn’t what I,” she stuttered, not quite looking at Avantika. “You… um. You’re a beautiful woman.” Her green face had gotten yet greener, high on her cheeks.
The compliment was an easy one, but honest, Avantika could tell. More than that, the other woman was blushing. Fjord’s face warmed a similar shade. 

Avantika smiled again, slower this time. She leaned forward, propping her elbow on her knee and chin on palm. It was a practiced move which showed her cleavage, not insignificant, to its best advantage. Her scarf was still on her neck, but her shirt and bodice were cut just low enough to leave gaps when she wanted them to. ““Flattery. By all means, keep going.”

Her amber-yellow eyes were drawn right where Avantika had expected them to be, and her pupils got slightly rounder before she looked away quickly. Sounding nearly scandalized, Nott said, “But, I mean-- you’re the captain. And you’re fucking our--” She made a hand gesture that metaphorically indicated the rest of her troupe. “-- captain.”
“He’s a handsome man,” Avantika said, agreeing. Nott’s face did another complex expression shift which Avantika noted with delight. With luck, there’d be time to see what came of that later. “If you’re worried about his heart, you don’t need to be,” she continued after consideration. “I can assure you, neither of us expect exclusiveness.” Not yet, she thought.
(Distracted for a half-second by a memory of Fjord’s face as they’d left the Yuan-Tea island: sun-drenched, beaming with the fierce joy of fresh victory and narrowly avoided death. Out on the open water, as he was meant to be, as they both were. Oh, she loved a challenge. He was a liar but she’d know him yet.)

Nott swallowed; Avantika refocused in an instant. She had decided to change tacks, apparently. “Well-- well, that’s good to know. I, um, I was referring to what I said before-- everybody knows you’ve been with Fjord and Beau, but... look at me. I’m hideous.” Her mouth twisted up in recrimination and she seemed to fold into herself.
“To most people, yes.” Avantika knew it was a harsh thing, but there was no point in lying to the goblin woman about obvious facts. “But, eh, let’s say I’ve been on the seas for a long time. Any pirate worth her salt knows that...” She let the pause hold, tilting her head in a suggestion of curiosity which also drew attention to her neck and her breasts. “Jagged and strange places hide wonderful spoils. And even if no treasure is to be found, it’s a hell of an adventure either way, no?” She added with a grin. “Here. I'll show you mine if you show me yours.” She offered Nott her scarred hand, palm-out so the other woman could step closer, or not.

Nott blinked and passed her the bottle of vodka she'd been clutching.
That wasn’t what Avantika had meant, but it would also do. Avantika had been tipsy before the fight out in the alleyway, but the buzz and warmth had since faded. One for the road, as it were. She uncorked the glass skull from its bottle, took the squat tumbler that sat on the end table by her bed and poured a shot. She lifted it as a toast in Nott’s direction before she tipped her head back showily, the smooth heat rolling down her throat.

When she lowered the glass, Avantika knew she had her.
Nott The Brave’s mouth had fallen slightly open and she was looking with obvious, unguarded interest. As their gazes met again she looked away, presumably embarrassed at being caught staring. She muttered something to herself about every trail, then looked back with cautious decision. “... alright,” she said. “That-- if you're sure--”
“I'm always sure,” Avantika said firmly as she replaced the bottle and cup on the end table. This time she did wink.
Gratifyingly, Nott blushed again. “Alright,” she repeated.
“’Alright’, no, or ‘alright’--?”
“Yes,” Nott cut her off. She scratched at her wrapped arms nervously, but was steadfast in her gaze, to which Avantika nodded.
She’d seen the woman live up to her name before, but Nott had been far out of her head at the time. This took a different kind of courage. And bravery could be useful.

The moment had arrived, then. She let a full smile bloom across her face, and turned towards her bodyguard, who the whole time had been studying the ceiling thinking whatever pleasant thoughts ogres did. She clapped twice. “Eh, Bouldergut!”
Her attention went to Avantika, who gestured to the hallway. “Guard the door please.”
With a nod, Bouldergut got to her feet and lumbered out into the hallway. She shut it behind her as quietly as someone of her size and intelligence could.
It was an illusion of privacy, but an important token gesture, in Avantika’s experience. 

Avantika turned back around to see Nott standing on the same spot, looking longingly towards the vodka. “I'll probably need some of that,” Nott muttered.
She repressed a frown. “Hm?” This whole time, she’d been glad to have caught the other woman before she was too deep in her cups. Maybe she should’ve lied about the booze after all.
“Oh, it's, I mean, not because of you,” Nott said quickly, misinterpreting Avantika’s expression. “Just, I mean. I’m not super comfortable in, uh.” She grimaced and gestured to all of herself. “In this.”
“... well, that fits our intents, no?” Avantika asked slyly. “Both of us should slip into something more comfortable.” She pulled the laces loose on her own bodice, watching for a reaction.
A deep blush now. But she looked away again, stuttering, “That's not what I mean. This-- this skin. This body. I don't really feel comfortable in it. Ever.” She winced, clapping a clawed hand over her face for a second. “Why am I telling you this?” She muttered as if to herself. Then, her shoulders unwinding slightly, she dropped her hand and looked over at Avantika again. “Well, I guess you know now, anyway,” she said.

Ah. “... yes,” Avantika allowed. That would explain why the flattery earlier had made the other woman nervous. She folded her hands and chose her next words carefully. “You know, it’s a common enough feeling, to be uncomfortable as you are, eh? I don’t speak to many goblins, but, I would assume it’s with you as with any other species. There are things that can be done if you know the right people.” Maybe she herself could arrange something in the future, as a gesture of appreciation for loyalty. Her magic friend certainly had her own strings she could pull at Avantika’s word. Of course, Nott and her entire troupe would have to prove themselves first, but Avantika could be negotiable.
For a third time since she entered the room, an expression flitted across Nott The Brave’s face that even Avantika couldn’t read. “That’s what I’m hoping for,” she said quietly. Her ears lowered.
She watched Nott for a moment. “... I should ask, then, why say yes?”
Nott shrugged, more a twitch of the shoulders than anything. Incongruously, she smiled a little. “Distraction helps me, sometimes,” she said.
“It can be useful that way,” Avantika replied, with a small smirk.
“Yep. Enough to not-- not think about all of it so much. And, I mean. It’s not very often someone offers.” She looked the same way she had when she’d called Avantika beautiful. “But I, uh. I really do usually need that--” she gestured to the vodka once again, “-- before I even try to deal with all of... this.” Another gesture to herself. “Or anyone seeing more of it, of me, than. This, really.” Nott held up the cracked porcelain mask demonstratively.

Avantika nodded, then nodded again. She tapped her fingers on her own jaw as she thought. “Well,” she said slowly, “How about I make you another offer, eh?”
“That I can’t refuse?” Nott piped back, seemingly unable to stop herself.
“Oh, you’ve seen that play as well? It’s enjoyable.” She cracked a smile. “No, my friend, what I was thinking was for our situation now.”
“... okay?”
“What if we make use of my charms?” She said, curling a piece of her long hair around her finger. At Nott’s confused look, she added, “It could help you relax long enough for our-- ah-- distractions. I think you are familiar with this kind of magic, eh? You can refuse any time, and I will end the effect.” When the other woman didn’t respond, she continued, coaxing. “It would be quicker and simpler than drinking until you’re off of your feet, and easier on your liver. As I said, I could dispel it whenever we needed to, simple as that.” When she said ‘that’, she snapped her fingers.
Nott The Brave spooked at the noise, jumping backwards with her hair inflating like a cat. She scowled as Avantika burst into laughter. “Hey! Maybe don’t make the lady you’re trying to woo think you’re going to murder her,” Nott pointed out in a huff.
Avantika was still laughing. If I wanted to murder you you’d be long dead, she didn’t say. “Apologies, apologies. My mistake.” She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, settling down. “So, Nott The Brave. What do you say?”
The woman stood in thought for another long moment, her hair slowly deflating. Then-- finally-- she gave a firm nod.

She stepped closer and climbed onto the mattress with a degree of grace that Avantika hadn’t expected, the bed being almost as tall as Nott. With her kneeling on the edge, they were approximately eye to eye.
Avantika studied her. The other woman seemed somewhat nervous, but not fearful; honest in her agreement, and excited (in both senses), if unlikely to make the first move. Satisfying enough. Or, Avantika thought with a quirk to her lips at her own joke, not quite satisfying yet.
Presumably thinking the smirk was directed at her, Nott’s dark green mouth tipped up into a smile as well-- a full smile. Rare enough, in the time that they had known each other. Even with her fangs taking up the corners it was a surprisingly pretty thing. “So, what now-- do you talk first, do I talk first, or what,” Nott said a little dryly.

Well, now we do a blood-test. Avantika thought, and leaned in for a kiss. She telegraphed her movement slowly enough that the other woman could lean away if she had a last minute change of heart.
Instead, Nott leaned up to meet her.

Her lips were dry and warm, and aside from the press of her strange teeth, they weren’t unlike any other pair of lips Avantika had kissed over her years. More of interest was the way that Nott angled herself backwards and up to her, assuring the easiest possible angle of access and leverage; eager and hungry for it.
Avantika allowed a few centimetres of leeway, so Nott wouldn’t tumble off the bed, and put her one hand up to frame Nott’s face. When the other woman didn’t move away, only shifted her mouth, Avantika reached to hold the back of her head, weaving her fingers in long dark hair. It was surprisingly thin, light and glossy, similar to seaweed. It felt good to have some of it wrapped around Avantika’s fingers. Curious, Avantika stroked the back of Nott’s skull, and the woman-- groaned? Purred? Some kind of affirming noise, not at all human, but pleasing nonetheless.
That was apparently as much air as Nott had, because she broke the kiss with a gasp. Her eyes had bloomed dark from the center, like when they were back in the serpent temple and she’d eaten the bloodfruit, but a touch less wide. Nott simply looked-- blown away, perhaps.
Smugness filled Avantika’s chest. “Been a while?” She asked, still tangling her fingers through the other woman’s hair.
Confirming her suspicion, Nott breathed in sharply, an expression of pain crossing her face as her ears dropped. Then she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, then wet her lips quietly. “It’s… it’s been a while.”
Fascinating. Who had this goblin woman loved, who had loved her back enough to give her such an appetite? So many questions, their entire troupe. But there would be time for that later. “Well,” Avantika said. She pulled her already-loosened bodice off one-handed, laying it on the bed beside them without looking away. “Let’s not make it too much longer, then.”
Nott watched her breasts under her shirt with an open mouth. Then, at Avantika’s arched eyebrow, she fumbled for the fastenings on her own copper belt.

The thief wore layers on layers, all of it baggy and colourless. The hooded cloak and mask, shirts and plain shifts and purposeless bandages and pants and ragged undergarments. Without them she was all angles, the only hint of roundness at her hips and shallow breasts. The size difference between her and Avantika was more noticeable as well, with her so exposed; slightly smaller than a halfling, her feet rested below Avantika’s lower thighs. (She’d turned them carefully so her claws wouldn’t scrape either of their legs.) Avantika had had bedpartners from smaller species before, but not in the last few years or so. She was certain enough she’d remember any important details while they entertained each other.
Keeping to their agreement, under the covers and braced on their sides, Avantika cupped her face in her hand. After Nott nodded, she traced the simple rune on the woman’s cheek and let arcane words flow off her tongue. (Her veins buzzed with the familiar cold, and the mark from the Blessing’s passing stung slightly, like spray from the murky ocean. Invigorating.) She could feel it when the charm sank into Nott’s mind, like syrup poured onto snow.
She could feel it literally, as well. Nott’s rake-thin form practically melted into the bed next to her as the magic took, her eyes going warmer and rounder like a pleased, relaxed cat.
“Now we're getting somewhere, eh,” Avantika said, running a hand over cloudy emerald skin.
Nott laughed and rolled into the touch. Like her smile, it was surprisingly pleasant. “I'd say so, yes,” she said. Wiping a lank piece of hair out of her face, almost coyly, Nott leaned forwards for another kiss.
Avantika pulled her in.

The rest of the evening proceeded much quicker, and was certainly educational. Once relaxed, she learned, Nott was an enthusiastic and experimental partner.

When Avantika went over the events in her journal, she noted there’d been more talking than she’d generally preferred, but nonetheless it had turned out well. She also rewrote her initial question. It seemed Nott The Brave wasn’t indicative of her species; but how one laid with this goblin was “carefully, with a surprising amount of reward”.

/

Chapter Text

Fourty-odd hours later, the Squall Eater was back on the water, and two faintly-glittering scrolls of water breathing rested in Avantika's purse. As the waves pushed them forwards, she could feel the excitement of the Serpent in her mind; like electricity before a storm. Her own heart beat fiercer in echo.

It was so close. Fjord's reward, the Serpent's release, both so close. Power hovering at her fingertips, in her lungs; she could nearly taste it.

On the subject of taste. After a day assuring all work was running as it should, she moved forwards with the next stage of her personal plan, as well. However--

“No,” Caduceus Clay said pleasantly, the moment Avantika stepped through the doorway into the ship’s kitchen.
“Non?” Avantika raised her eyebrows. She paused in the threshold.
The firlbolg hummed in acknowledgement, as he shifted whatever foodstuffs was in the pan on the stove into the boiling stewpot next to it. He sounded calm, reassuring, as his rumbling baritone ever did. But his shoulders were tense and his large, cow-like ears had swung low and backwards.
He looked over-- and, necessarily, down-- at her, smiling benignly. “With respect, and if, uh, you'll excuse the presumption, I’ve noticed your, uh, pattern with my compatriots lately. I think I have a, um... pretty reasonable idea of what you're down here to ask. Especially this early in the day.”
A fair observation. Being the Captain, and so close to her goal, Avantika was up before first light. As she'd known he would be. Caduceus had set coffee and tea in the galley for any souls who'd worked through the night, but breakfast hour wouldn't be for a while yet; very few others were about.
“And I have to decline,” he finished.

Interesting. Avantika digested that, cocking a smile at him in the meantime. “And what if I came down here to offer a bravo for your cooking, eh?”
“Well, then I’d say thank you.” The expression on his great furred face shifted to become slightly more genuine.

She stuck out her hip, leaning on the side of the doorway. They watched each other for a minute more.

Then she nodded and grinned up at him. “Very well. My compliments nonetheless, chef,” she said, tapping the front of her hat in this direction.
Caduceus visibly relaxed. “Have a good morning, Captain,” he nodded back.

Despite the result, Avantika chuckled as she climbed the narrow stairs up to the deck.
She’d misjudged the cleric. But, certainty over your actions was respectable. Her effort had not entirely been wasted, either: Caduceus had been an effective lookout for the group during the skirmishes, and now she knew that his perceptive talents fit social situations as well. Good information. Worth its weight in salt, as he’d been so delighted to hear her say back on Darktow.

Two to go then.

Chapter Text

“Okay, show of hands-- who’s fucked the evil pirate captain elf lady?” Beau didn’t bother to keep her voice down. 

Sailing had been normal enough since they left Darktow, not bad except that they were on their way to who fucking knew where-- other than Fjord, apparently-- to release who fucking knew what. Captain Avantika had held a company meeting on the Squall-Eater that morning, the Mystake locked together with it by long ropes. The captain was nearly manic in her singularly-focused gaze; which, if Beau knew anything at all about power-hungry renegade types, meant that they were getting close to her goal.

After the meeting, the Mighty Nein had decided to have another group huddle of their own. They'd all piled into one bunk on the Mystake, under the cover of the bubble, Caleb’s silver string, and Jester’s thaumaturgy whispers; Cad and Nott had flailed their hands around the room to make sure they didn't have any invisible eavesdroppers, and Yasha sat closest to the door in case someone tried to open it unannounced. It was pretty cramped, everybody was sitting knee to knee in a circle. The boat rocked them slowly side to side.

If there’d ever been a time to do some team recon, it was now.

Beau saw Fjord wince as she said it, but no one actually raised their hands. She narrowed her eyes.

“That’s a lot of descriptions at once,” Caduceus said after a moment, scratching the side of his undercut. Beau conceded that.

“Is that really anyone's business, Beau?” Fjord said pointedly on the heels of Cad’s statement.

To him, she shot back. “It was kinda obvious, man. And it’s everybody’s business if she's planting some kind of weird, sexy enchantment on all of us, or using pillow talk to suss out secrets or some shit.” Beau leaned back and crossed her arms, adding more seriously, “Look, I’m not judging anyone. She’s hot and all, and we’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I’m just questioning her motives. We talked before about how she definitely needs you,”  Beau pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at Fjord, “For some sort of occult shit.” 

“Like a skeleton key,” Caleb echoed himself from weeks ago.

“Yeah. And we don’t know much more about this, Leviathan, motherfucker than we did back then. But the captain might know more about us. We need to make sure we’re all on the same page about what information she might have. This isn’t just gossip I’m trying to instigate here, alright? It’s damage control.” 

When she met nothing but further silence, she raised one of her hands. “I'll go first. I totally did.”
Jester hissed, seemingly unconsciously. Cad muttered, “Okay,” like he’d expected it but was still questioning her choices. Beau dismissed his complaint with a wave and waited.
“... since everyone knows already,” Fjord grumbled after a moment, and raised his hand too. 
Yasha did as well, on Fjord’s other side. Beau was less than surprised.
Jester not so much. “Yasha?” She nearly squeaked.
She nodded. “It’s as good a way to work off energy on a ship as anything, you know.”
“Agreed. Agreed,” Beau said, speaking through the momentary distraction of imagining Yasha and the captain working off energy. She cleared her throat. “So we-- Nott?”

Nott had raised her hand in more of a “no thanks” gesture than an “I did” one. Beau was gratified that she wasn't the only one surprised. Caleb was staring at her, Jester’s mouth was hanging open, and Fjord coughed like he'd been struck by lightning.
Their goblin friend's ears pinned back in embarrassment, but she didn’t back down. She took a drink from her flask, then scowled at Fjord. “Yes, me too,” she answered. Something fast and complicated flickered across her face; Beau couldn't quite catch all of it, but it gave her a bad feeling in her stomach. Nott’s next words were pained and kind of bitter. “I know it's hard to believe… I mean, I'm hideous. But we did.”
“Hey, wait a minute, I didn't say that, ” Beau started, dismayed.
Across the circle, Jester said over Beau’s protests: “You're wonderful, Nott.” She leaned around Caleb and put a supportive hand on Nott's shoulder.
Beau pointed. “What Jester said. I was just… surprised,” she said, picking her words delicately as fast as she could, “I never thought you were, uh. Into other women like that.”
“You never asked,” Nott shot in reply.
Beau blinked, then thought back.  ... she really hadn't. Never thought of Nott seriously being into anyone, even. Sure, Nott nearly swooned when she'd met Shakaste, but Beau had swooned a bit meeting Shakaste and she wasn’t into men at all. The cleric was objectively hot. It only occurred to her now that she should’ve taken Nott’s attraction more seriously. “Y’know what, that's fair,” she said, dipping her head in acknowledgment.
After fixing her eyes on Beau for a second, Nott shrugged, forgiveness softening her expression. She took another long pull at her flask. “Well, anyway.  You’re right, Beau,” she added, with a grin. “She is super hot. Especially--”
“Man I hate to interrupt,” Fjord said loudly. “Just have a question for y’ there, Nott. Uh, wheeeeen…?” he asked, carrying out the vowels with a voice that trailed higher.
“Oh. On the island, after you all went scouting.” Nott winced and shifted to look at Caleb. “I'm still sorry I left you, Caleb; I didn't mean to. Just got the itch.”

Beau kept her remark about itches to herself, which was fortunate, because Caleb spoke up in the strained, soft voice he only used with Nott. “No, it’s... Nott, it’s-- fine. I understand.”

… wait, wait. Wait. He understood, how? Beau’s head snapped to face him. There was no way he'd gotten laid and she hadn't noticed. No fucking way.
“That is—” he added quickly, catching Beau gaze, “I understand, ah, the impulse. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He was looking at their goblin friend with a pinched, kind of embarrassed face, but appeared to be telling the truth.
“Thanks,” Nott replied after a moment, with a small smile.
“Understand the impulse, huh?” Beau said dryly, as much the verbal equivalent of nudging him with her elbow as she could get.
Caleb scowled at her. “Not in that way.”
“Sure.” Beau gave an exaggerated nod, then grinned as he kept glaring at her. It was so easy to poke fun at Caleb.

“She asked me, as well,” Cad spoke up. 
Everyone’s head, including Beau’s, swivelled to look at him with wide eyes.
Caduceus shrugged. “Well, to be fair, she didn’t ask me out loud, she just came down to the kitchen pretty early. But I figured, with, uh, how all of you were making decisions,” he gestured around the group, “That was what she was after. I declined,” he said, then to Jester, “Don't worry.”
“Not your type?” Beau asked curiously. Even as she did, she was kinda glad; she remembered when Caduceus had said he'd never been with someone before, and a super sexy zealot pirate captain was, uh, not necessarily the best first-time partner.

“I don't really have a type." Cad shrugged and resettled his long arms. "Not just her, I mean, I'm not into anybody. Just never really my thing."

Beau nodded. "Huh. Alright, that makes this simpler."

"Plus, she's super crazy,” he added, half his face curling in a bemused smile.
“Hey now, I feel like that’s unnecessarily judgemental,” Fjord protested, holding up a hand.
“I think it’s a fair say,” Beau said right after, looking at her captain pointedly.
He just rolled his eyes.

Into the quiet that followed, Nott said, “So. Is that everybody?” 
The Nein nodded. 
“Alright.” Her claws tapped on her flask in a nervous tic. “Okay, now that we all know, we need to figure out what we... know. What does this tell us?”
Caleb answered first. “Well, by this point we can infer that this is no idle schmoozing. That woman is proving herself too methodical for that. So she has some kind of end goal in mind, here.”
“But we don’t know what that end goal is,” Jester pointed out.
“And we don’t have a way of figuring it out.” Beau crossed her arms and leaned backwards, looking up at the dome’s ceiling and the room’s ceiling through it. ”But we’re sure now that it’s a pattern.”
“So what do we do?” Yasha asked, her voice soft as ever, and a bit worried, which Beau didn't like.
Beau bit the inside of her cheek so she didn't say 'Avantika, obviously'. 

“That’s a very good question,” Caduceus said, nodding at Yasha. He shifted to lean his elbows on his criss-crossed knees, hunching a bit so he was more at-level with everyone. “I don't think that either of you-- Ms. Beau, Mr. Caleb-- are wrong to have your suspicions. But I don't think this is some multilayered plot on the Captain’s part. I think she's just, uh… indulging a curiosity,” he said gently.
The gentleness seemed to be mostly directed at Fjord, who blushed darker green; which, uh… oh no. Beau decided not to think about it too much.
“That doesn't make her less dangerous. Curiosity can be incredibly dangerous,” Caduceus continued. “But I don’t think we'll face the kind of inside threat, so to speak, that we have concerns about in this situation. At least not now. I said before that I think vanity is her weak point, and one angle of approach, here, and still stand by that. If anything, we might be in a better place than before--”
“What, like, to try and use her back?” Beau wrinkled her nose in distaste. That was fucked up.
Cad shook his head. “To be confident in whatever steps we take now,” he replied. “She’s clearly planning a couple different moves, and one of them involves all of us. She takes so much pride in her own work and projects, and it seems like we're one of them currently. Whatever that may be. So we’re safe, in the broadest sense, as long as she has more of us to… indulge with. Which is good, because it gIves us more time to figure out what we're going to do with what you want,” and he nodded again at Fjord.

"Right," Jester agreed. "With the whole Uk'atoa thing." Nott and Caduceus both repeated the word in a dramatic whisper under their breaths.

Beau nodded, pressing her finger to her temple and her jaw, an old focus-point reflex that helped her think. “Cad, Jessie, you're both right. If whatever she's planning gives us leeway to get Fjord's whole, spiritual quest done, then, that’s something."

"It could also be a good reason not to let on that we know," Yasha said, shifting on her spot to look around the circle. "Anything that could give us an advantage, even if it's on her terms, is going to be useful."

"I agree," Caleb spoke up, with a nod at Yasha. 
Caduceus made an agreeing noise as well.  “Of course, I think she’s absolutely going to try to murder us as soon as she feels like she's done whatever her goal is,” he said as an afterthought. “But, uh, we’ll have to get to that when we get to it.”
“... thanks, Cad,” Beau said dryly. On the other side of the circle, Jester snickered into her hand.
“You’re welcome,” their firbolg friend said, his whole face brightening with a warm smile.

Beau felt both bad and suspicious for a second, not sure if he was fucking with her or not, before Fjord cleared his throat.

He was tapping the side of his boot as he thought of something absentmindedly. “Cool. Cool. So how about,” Fjord started. “If anything untowards seems afoot, we tell each other.”

(“A foot?” Beau heard Cad mumble to Jester, who made the universal covert hand motion for ‘I’ll tell you later’.)

“But other than that, we play it like un situation normale, at least until we get to the next ‘apricot tree'," he made air quotes with his fingers, using the code for the freaky snake temple that they’d made up a week and a half ago. "Because once we're there we'll have to figure out something else."

Everyone looked at each other for a minute. Nods went around the circle in a ripple; Jester agreed last, her pretty face set into a frown.
Beau thought that if Jessie had been holding a pencil, it probably would've broken in two by now, like the last ones. She felt bad for the girl sometimes. Having crushes on guys must be a trip.
“First mate?” Fjord asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

Woops. “Uh-- yeah.” Pulling her concentration back to the huddle, she sat up taller. Beau had been the one to call this team recon, she should end it officially. “Okay. So we’ll all keep being normal for now, not let on we’ve noticed the Captain is doing anything weird. Fill in everybody on anything that seems out of place in the meantime. Rendezvous when we put down anchor next, and not give any reason for suspicion. We good?" She smiled a bit as everyone nodded again, firmly this time. 

Piece of cake.

-