auspex_caelo | Incognito, Incorrigible (for smartass

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Incognito, Incorrigible (for smartass_captain)

Organizing a proper wedding is no small affair even on Earth. In Tamriel, without the benefit of instant communications, instant transport and year-round amenities, it requires a good deal more planning. Particularly when it comes to guests who live any distance away. Roads and seaways alike are dangerous. Bandits prowl the land routes. Inclement weather closes mountain passes and keeps ships in their berths. Everything, above all, takes time.

With spring in full flight, snows melting and roads well and truly open, the excuses for delays in invitation replies and guest arrivals are both running out. Mostly this hasn’t been an issue. The arcane side of their guest list have their own ways of sending word, and the military side have first call on the Imperial courier network. Everyone who matters is accounted for. Except, that is, for one…

In the library of the Bruma house, Stratos leans on a desk covered in papers and rubs his eyes. Another day, another absence of word. Marcella did warn him that her mother would be nigh-impossible to contact. She was almost too resigned to the fact to be grumpy about it. But Stratos had thought his connections would get him where his cousin had been unable to reach. The trouble, he sees now, is that he really can’t be sure where that is.

One guest. Perhaps it’s not a disaster if she can’t be there. But this is his mother’s sister, and they have so few near relatives left, since the War….

And he’s getting worried.

Stratos rises then, and tidies away his writing implements. He heads downstairs to his room and changes into better gear for travelling- not too warm, he doubts he’s going to end up in Skyrim – and then he goes to knock on Felix’s – well, his and Jim’s – door. Nereus is out visiting with Terentius, so there’s nothing else to distract the youngest two, nothing else that ought to be occupying them. And if they’re still resting on the Enterprise - well, he’ll just have to go there and fetch one of them.

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"It's surely worth trying," Stratos murmurs back. Sounds like Jim's mind is focused on much the same thing as his. The Imperial steps forward as the merchants draw near, and the better-dressed of the two calls out to the rest of the caravan to halt while they stop and speak.

He return's Stratos's greeting with a polite enough, "Well met, serah," though the Dunmer's expression is all the harder to read behind his mask; admittedly, as they speak there's a tinge of impatience to his voice. It softens on the realization that Stratos is willing to give him some coin for the trouble, and in short enough order the Argonian is being ordered to get a couple of spare goggles out of a guar's burden. Stratos is damned sure that he's paying an excessive amount, but no amount of Imperial charm can hide how red the humans' eyes are. He wasn't thinking ahead, or he might have cast an illusion. Still, it matters little, and it's gratifying to find that Imperial septims are still good here.

He asks about the nearest settlement along this road before wishing the merchants a swift and safe journey. As they move off, he passes Jim a pair of the goggles: two circles of glass set in a leather band. The glass won't be as clear as the Terran man is used to, and the leather won't be comfortable, but they're clean and new and seal fairly well around the eyes. Getting them on is going to be one hell of a relief for both men.

"It's another four hours on foot to the town of Selfora," he says. "I think that places it close to my estimate of our destination, but if Lartia isn't there, we'll at least be able to find an inn for the night." Travelling east has cost them a significant portion of daylight: the sun's not low yet, but it's definitely descending.

While Stratos is internally summing up just how overpriced their purchase is, Jim's obliviously murmuring a polite thanks to both the Argonian and the Dunmer merchant. They're both incredibly lucky that they've run into a merchant at all out here on these sparsely populated roads. One that's willing to trade at that and who has the gear they sorely would like. His farewell is probably more earnest than it should be before they're going their separate ways once more.

The sting won't leave their eyes for a while but it will gradually lessen the longer they're on the road properly equipped. They're both going to be nursing headaches by the time they stop to make camp but those at least can be more easily treated.

"Whew. That's a hell of a hike. I'm up for it though." Especially now that they're well and away from any giant beasts that would try to chomp either man in half. The last time Stratos had his brother-in-law to be along with him for a trek it wasn't for nearly so lighthearted a journey. This time Jim fills the air while they walk with stories about his ship, things he's seen across his version of Oblivion. Does his best to describe his seemingly impossible cosmos to the well educated Nirnish battlemage.

It helps to pass the time as they crest one hill that turns into a dozen, picking their way across an uneven path. Jim asks Stratos things too. About his time spent in High Rock (another place he's only vaguely heard of). Other people they pass by on the roads spread rumor about ghouls stacking chairs out in the ash wastes and other nonsensical stories that leave Jim wondering if he's missing some kind of explanation for a Nirnish idiom or another.

As the sun's setting, however, even the outdoorsy Kirk is breathing heavily. He's stifling with his mouth and nose covered. Head aching for the hindered vision and stiff leather of the goggles they wear. Body yearning for a meal, drink, and most importantly: rest. Conversation's dried up in favor of deep long breaths. Slower steps. They're nearly to the top of the most recent hill their winding road has lead them down.

Stratos has plenty of stories to tell, about the customs of Breton chivalry, the festivals of the small kingdoms, of the people he's met from Hammerfell delegations to privateers to rarely-seen monks. For every question Jim asks, Stratos has one of his own about the worlds and people the space captain has met; tales the Imperial tribune has slowly gained context for over the years, until he's able to follow along with words like transporter and warp anomaly and planetary ionosphere. Well, mostly follow along.

The fall has eased off slowly over the last hour, so when they crest the hill and see lights below them through the ash-specked glass, Stratos pushes his goggles up from his eyes. There's a downhill walk through some low woodland, by the look of it, but beyond the mushroom stands are the walls of a small township, street lanterns glowing through the evening mist.

Stratos takes a moment to appreciate the sigh, sighing in relief. "Not far, now. We should purchase a meal and shelter before we explore further."

With a downhill road and newfound motivation, it won't take them long to reach the open gates (there is a guard, though he merely nods at them and Stratos doesn't find the defenses very impressive). The buildings of Selfora are mostly small, single-storey houses with roofs curved like the upturned hull of a boat. Dunmer architecture, at least here, seems to favor sharp peaks that sweep down and outward into curving points. It looks almost like a cross between Gothic and classical Japanese architecture, quite unlike either the smooth outlines of Cyrodiil or the twining patterns of Skyrim. A few people are out sweeping the ash from their doorsteps: nearly all are Dunmer, aside from one Argonian and a couple of people who look human.

Edited 2019-09-14 20:41 (UTC)

Next to the Imperial, Jim is bent over with his hands on his own thighs, breathing heavily. The cloth around his face sticks to him at every in hale before puffing back out with his exhales. "Yeah--yeah. I mean if you're needing to stop then we should..." Give him a second to catch his breath again, "We should definitely stop for the night."

What Jim means is that he needs the rest too. Admitting such things isn't very easy for him even on his own ship. Out here where Jim's all too aware of how little of a help he is the man's determined not to be a burden to anyone.

Thankfully it's a downhill walk from here. Not even the alien beauty of this place can slow Jim's steps for long when he's got to keep up with Stratos. (The promise of a warm meal and a place to sleep drives him forward too). Security seems a bit more lax than Jim's seen around other towns but perhaps with the volcano disrupting much of the land people are needed for more important work.

Not even Jim's aching feet nor grumbling stomach will keep him from admiring the architecture at least a little bit. With the sky stained with color these strange designs feel just familiar enough form Earth history books to draw his eye even if he knows this place is nothing at all like his home world. His fatigue works somewhat in the captain's favor as it keeps him from turning on the spot to gape at every new sight as they round a corner.

"Is Cyrodillic known here? If not I'm...not going to be much use seeing to supplies or our needs."

With the goggles pushed up, it might just be possible to spot the way Stratos's eyes crinkle when he looks back at Jim. But the light is low, and they both want to hurry on down into the low-lying town.

There's so much Stratos doesn't understand about this place. The strange architecture, yes, he can guess it keeps the ash off. But why is the town built down so low and not on a good defensive hill? For that matter, the defenses aren't much to look at. Even if the Dunmer do have ancestral ghosts to fight at their side, the simple walls are half stone. How stable is this region, then? The capital is all the way over on the other side of the provi- of Morrowind.

"Most people should speak it," he answers Jim. "It's still the main language of trade among kingdoms. I do know some Dunmeris, but if we encounter difficulty I won't rely on it." Of all the places he's planned for visiting, Morrowind never really featured on the list.

This town seems... comfortably appointed, at least. And people don't stop to stare at them, so it's clear that foreign traders are an ordinary sight. Stratos looks around until he spots a larger-than-average building; one with two storeys and a wooden sign painted with a cup. A couple of Dunmeri women are sitting out with bottles of something, chatting in their native tongue, and they glance over the strangers with interest. Stratos gives them a slight bow before they head inside toward the buzz of chatter

Within the inn there is, of course, the smell of smoke. Jim's learned by now that even in the heat of summer, a lit hearth in the kitchens is not optional for anyone who wants a hot meal. The fireplace in the main room is cold though, and the window shutters are all flung open, encouraging the smell from the kitchens to waft out among the guests. There's a musky herbal scent in the air too, perhaps coming from the lamps around the room and on the tables. Stratos sweeps a glance around the room, but there's no sign nor sound of a middle-aged Imperial woman with a raucous laugh. Catching Jim's eye, he nods and heads over to greet the innkeeper.

"Greetings, outlander, and welcome to Selfora Inn. If you're looking for a good meal and a soft bed for the night, you've come to the right place." The man's giving them a shrewd once-over as he speaks, clearly appraising the importance (i.e., wealth) of these customers.

"That's just what my companion and I were hoping to hear..."

With their ash streaked hair and covered faces they both look like any other pair of human travelers making their way across the Morrowind countryside. Perhaps their only interesting feature is the fact that they are in fact human, although their well made and patch-free clothing certainly probably draws eyes a little bit as well.

Jim's bow is more of an afterthought than Stratos' purposeful one is. He clearly doesn't know his way around. Or maybe he's just that enthralled in the atmosphere and smell of the inn they're walking into. A huge sigh of relief escapes the man as he reaches up to pull his goggles off his head completely. It pulls his hair slightly to the side but it hardly matters when they remove their cloth masks. Underneath Stratos is every inch a fine Bruma man and very obviously Imperial. Jim's not nearly so strong jawed as his companion and though he carries the bow on his back there's not a fairer face for a hundred leagues in any direction.

They've clearly not been raised doing hard labor, even if neither man looks to be dressed like a nobleman. Neither carries any sort of accessory save for the goggles they walked in with and their packs are nowhere near full but they're of good quality like everything else about them.

"Like music to my ears." Stratos' companion agrees, his accent just a touch strange. "Any chance to wash up and I'll be beside myself."

Some coin has to change hands, and then the innkeeper nods and gestures up the nearby stairs as he reaches for a lantern. He seems satisfied that they have coin to spare and they're not likely to cause him any trouble, outlanders or not. "Right this way."

The room he has for them is toward the front of the upper floor, with a couple of small beds either side of the room. The innkeeper uses a taper to light the lamps in the room from his lantern, then pushes open the window shutters for them to let the air in.

"I'll send the girl up with a wash basin for you. Light the candles by the window if you've any trouble with marsh flies coming in. Supper tonight is your choice of cabbage soup, kwama scrib risotto or roast guar. Just head on down when you need anything."

Stratos thanks him as he leaves, already laying down his pack and pulling off his goggles and hood with a sigh. He may be a legionnaire, but even they get tired at the end of a day's march, and truth be told the tribune hasn't spent a lot of time marching on foot for a while.

"I suppose my aunt can't go that much farther while we take a rest..."

A day's march on top of climbing, spellcasting, and a good old panicked sprint at one point. It's been a busy day for both men. Jim's quick to divest himself of his gear until he's dressed down to his simple tunic and trousers taking a seat at the foot of the bed nearest to him.

"Okay what's kwahrmay scrib? I think...is risotto rice? Like a mixed vegetable and grain kind of dish?" Names are always tricky for Jim to remember, especially meals uncommon at either the Caelus table or a Legion's camp. "Gwarr has to be some kind of meat if it's being roasted, right? The only thing I understood was cabbage soup, to be honest."

Finding Stratos' aunt is still very important, of course, but dinner is an Immediate task.

Edited 2019-09-19 15:34 (UTC)

"Risotto is a rice dish, yes. It's normally rice cooked slowly in a rich sauce. Kwama are a sort of giant insect creature native to this region. The Dunmer farm their eggs and meat. I think scribs are the young ones, but I've only ever tried the eggs. They're very popular in Cheydinhal and Bravil." And though Stratos pulls a dubious face at the thought of eating larval insects, he's not at all bothered about the eggs. He's used to those. "Guar are the beasts we saw on the road. There are quite a few varieties bred for different purposes: I expect this would be a smaller one. That's the safer option as far as dinner goes..."

He looks up as footsteps outside and a polite knock on the door herald a Dunmer girl with a hefty amphora tucked under her arm. She nods to them and sets the amphora inside, then brings in a basin to the dresser and fills it for them before bustling about her tasks, leaving the amphora in case they need a refill. Stratos catches Jim's eye and gestures to it with a half smile. "After you."

Insect larvae. Yum. Jim's eaten some weird things in his time out in the Black but there's always some things that are easier to wrap his head (or stomach in this case) around than others. Of course, he's eaten giant tarantula meat before thanks to Harrowheart and that honestly tasted pretty similar to shellfish. So while it's not the most appetizing option it might honestly taste just fine. Who even knows? Besides, Jim's got a small allergy kit wrapped carefully up in plenty of native cloth sitting at the bottom of his pack if he needs it.

"Whatever you end up trying I'll take as well." Simpler than trying to remember and pronounce all of those names again. The captain pauses where he's knelt over his pack tucking away his goggles and mask when the door opens. Dunmer aren't a race he's had a chance to meet many of, though in features they're not so different from some of the other peoples he has had a chance to meet during his time knowing the Caeluses.

"Thank God." It's a good thing the Dunmer girl has left already because Jim doesn't catch his own relieved exclamation until she's gone. "Damn, I mean--whatever. I need to be more careful about that." A chance to clean up sounds divine in any language. "I'll be quick." Jim murmurs before he sets about stripping down so he can shake out his clothes and clean up.

Stratos chuckles behind him. "'Thank Mara' is a good substitute, if you can remember. As long as you're speaking Cyrodillic I think people won't take much notice."

He's not going to begrudge his brother-in-law-to-be a chance to wash down. He's the one who'll want to make a good first impression on Aunt Lartia. Stratos allows him some privacy though, and turns away, leaning out the window to beat some of the ash off their outer clothes. Clean is a bit much to ask around here, where the earth falls from the sky. But the Dunmer must manage, somehow. He does pull out a cake of soap to set near Jim. One needs to be prepared on the road. Once Jim's done, it'll be his turn to strip off and scrub down. Strange local menu or not, he's already remembering the kitchen smells downstairs.

"This is a port town," he mentions absently. "If Lartia's nearby, I think my spell was pointing us toward the docks."

"Right. I'll have to work on that."

He mutters the phrase under his breath a few times while seeing about washing up as swiftly as possible. Thank Mara, thank Mara. The water's far less cold than what Jim's used to using around Stratos' camp. A nice change of pace, really. His hurrying is more for Stratos' sense of decency than it is because he's freezing, for once.

"Ah, thanks." He hadn't thought to grab any soap for his pack. Stratos is well prepared. It won't be the kind of bath Felix always talks so fondly of (and yet Jim's never seen any real proof of them) but it's a damn sight cleaner than they walked in as.

"Your turn. I'm decent." Dragging a hand through his hair in an attempt to make sense of it as he moves to swap places with Stratos. His tunic's hanging open with the ties loose but at least he is dressed from head to toe. "Should we make our way down after eating then?"

Felix has been happily wallowing in Jim's bathing facilities all this time. If Jim reminds him that he's never seen an Imperial bath-house, he might find his fiance remedying that in a hurry.

"Yes. I know it's been a long day, but if we are close... I don't want to risk her slipping away again. Certain crews will sail at night, and if she boards a boat we'll have a far harder time reaching her." He's brisk about scrubbing down, dragging a comb through his hair once he's pulled his tunic back on.

"If you're willing to try it, I'll order the risotto for us both. And... something light with it, I think." They need their wits about them. But it would be a shame to take his explorer brother-in-law to Morrowind and not sample the local fare.

"I hadn't even thought about her taking a boat. Do we even have time to eat then?"

Jim's stopped fussing with his hair and clothes with that realization. A ripple of tension has overcome him once more, ready to head out at so much as a hint of a word from Stratos. Hard day's march, hunger or no, Jim's used to pushing himself harder than he probably should to see a job done. Even one as pleasant as this could end in fruitless chasing if Stratos' aunt sails far out of reach underneath their noses.

"I've got my allergy kit with me, so worst case scenario, I'm a little bit uncomfortable while we get the job done. I'm more worried about any drink to be honest, than I am the food." He's more than amenable to insectoid meat in his risotto seems like.

"If we've got the time to spare." Just to stress again, Jim is willing to put aside hunger in favor of seeing the job done. For all the areas he comes up short in adapting to Nirn in other areas, stamina is not one of them.

Stratos looks up from his fussing at that, spying the tension in the younger man's posture. It makes him reconsider his words before he reaches out to clasp the captain's shoulder. "We've been on the march all day. A rest and a quick meal will make us more fit for the search. And if I don't take proper care of you, Felix will be furious with me when we return."

Take proper care of...? What is Jim, a companion or a pet? Still he can't help but to pull a grin of his own. Felix when he's fussy and sulking is more adorable than Jim thinks the mage Wants to be seen as. He's never admitted it aloud but the smile on his face probably says as much to Stratos at least.

"We wouldn't want that. He tends to hold grudges better with you than he does me." Bug and rice for supper then and hopefully a glass of--well, probably ale. He knows better than to drink water in a strange place and wine's right out.

At least they're fit to be seen downstairs among the others after washing up properly. Which is all for the best ebcause Jim is going to be giving everything a curious and friendly eye. It may be the only time he gets to see this corner of Tamriel and he'd like to make the most of it.

You're his other younger brother now, Jim. Of course it's his responsibility to watch out for you, especially given how much trouble your fiance can cause if he's put out. Stratos's exasperated eyeroll and the rueful nod he gives in answer to Jim's remark testifies to it.

Several of the Dunmer downstairs are doing some people-watching themselves, and the tavern is starting to fill as people come in from the fields. Jim's going to find a few people looking back at him either idly or with obvious appraisal. Their clothes are clearly of a different fashion to anything in the Empire, and around them the conversation is a mix of Dunmeric with some Cyrodillic sprinkled in. Stratos wastes no time in calling for two bowls of the risotto and mazte for them both - the latter arrives first and proves to be a mild local brew, smooth to the taste if a little heavy.

A serving girl sets their bowls in front of them a few moments later. The risotto certainly doesn't look intimidating, the rice a pale orange-red in a creamy sauce with unfamiliar spices. The kwama meat is springled through it in small chunks, a simple grey-brown meat with the texture of a crayfish but a meatier taste. Stratos has to pause and school his expression when he tastes it- he's not repulsed, exactly, he just doesn't know how he feels about it.

"I've... certainly eaten worse," he murmurs tactfully, while he tries to get over the novelty.

The human doesn't seem to be dissuaded by being watched in return. His smile stays friendly and though he doesn't seem to speak a word of Dunmeri (nothing that would be allowed in polite conversation at least) he's willing to speak up here and there in Cyrodillic whenever necessary. And if some of the locals laugh when Jim's eyebrows raise in shock for how heavy the mazte is, well. He's not a heavy drinker. Especially after a long day's march, he has to really go easy on the drink.

The food then is going to take the bulk of his attention. And while Stratos might hesitate Jim's hungry enough to dig right in.

"Mmh. It's really not bad. Good choice." With night coming the temperature is dropping to a dry cool that is only felt inside the tavern in wisps and bursts every time the door is opened. Even with the new meal to think over, Jim's gaze is lingering on the door before long.

"From the little bit's I've heard about her over the years...how much should I be steadying myself for meeting your aunt? She sounds like quite the trip from what I've heard."

"She's certainly... a strong personality." Stratos is getting used to the texture of the meal, spurred on by hunger and the desire to finish swiftly. "It has been some years since I last met her, and perhaps she's become exaggerated in my memory. But... you can't be a quaestor in the Legion without a certain force of will. And volume. I think you'll find Lartia rather different to the rest of us. Not in a bad way," he adds hastily. "Maybe I should say that she has Marcella's backbone, Felix's sense of fun and Ushug's sort of attitude."

"That's a hell of a combination right there."

Jim chuckles softly to himself around bites of the risotto. What's more the captain honestly likes all three of the people Stratos is comparing Lartia to. Add in the fact that neither Felix or Stratos have seen her in a long time just makes this trip all the more important to Jim's mind. They've scoured far and wide to find her, and with a little luck it'll be a good reunion.

He wouldn't be nearly so optimistic if they were talking about those kinds of odds in meeting with Jim's own family, but Felix's have been nothing but a delight to get to know over the years. Then again, soon they Will be his family. That's still so strange to think about. He's really going to have to get used to it.

While there's no chance of Jim finishing such a heavy drink he will clean his bowl of the risotto quite happily. A long day's worth of climbing, trekking, and a bit of running for his life have worked up quite the appetite.

"I"m ready to go when you are."

Stratos nods and washes down the last of his rice with a swig of mazte. As the room fills up for the evening, the buzz of sociable conversation is rising, and he doesn't want them to be drawn into conversation with curious locals. He rises and heads for the door, tugging his cloak around his shoulders as they step out into the night air.

The ash has stopped falling with a change in the wind, replaced by a tinge of fetid air from the saltwater marshes to the east. The two humans are walking into it as they head downhill through the streets. Down this way the houses seem to be getting a bit smaller and shabbier, but there are more signs of life here, too. People talking in doorways, playing dice beneath the street lamps. Many of them are Argonian, in this part of town. Stratos pauses once or twice - though Jim never sees him do anything before they're moving again.

In any case, it quickly seems apparent that they're heading toward the ship masts that rise over the low roofs. Not quite to the ships themselves, however. As they make their way down Stratos abruptly turns them left, away from the docks. He cuts past a pair of swaggering sailors and leads them to a building much larger than the rest - and twice as rickety. From the open door light and noise pour forth onto the street, and above the entrance creaks a sign too faded to be made out in the gloom.

"This is it," Stratos says quietly, beckoning Jim close. An Argonian glances at the humans as he goes inside. "I don't know what we'll find. Be on your guard."

Do they not--can they not get proper jobs among the Dunmeri people? Jim's gaze is troubled but his mouth is silent the further they walk. Even now, with galactic integration commonplace, Jim knows there is still a poisonous tendency to favor one's own kind regardless of merit. It shows in the disproportionate amount of humans holding commanding roles within Starfleet. Less so now that they're forced to abandon their ways due to gross under-staffing. while Jim and his crew take on the first successful deep space mission back home Starfleet is still trying to recover from the crippling blows the last few years have had.

Nirn is a universe removed from his own. One which operates on its own set of rules, classes, and taboos. Here Jim has no place to argue. His thoughts nonetheless are sober ones while they walk. Stratos leads them to the worst kept building in the entire town and Jim finds himself wondering, briefly, if they haven't made some kind of mistake.

"I've got your back." Jim murmurs quietly. His knife is close to hand if he needs it but his fists have usually been enough in places like this in the past. Jim knows a dive when he sees one.

Stratos gives him a knowing glance. Jim may be from a very different world to his own- a gentler world, in most respects - but Stratos knows the captain is more ready than most to snap into action if things go awry. They'll look out for each other. If all that awaits them in here is some dubiously-legal rabble, they're more than ready.

That said, when the Imperial steps toward the door, something about him has subtly changed. He looks less like an unassuming citizen, more like a man to obey. Maybe it's the shift in posture and body language, but he seems a little taller, his presence more intimidating, the set of his face more intense. When he leads them into the crowded inn, the mostly Argonian patrons pull out of his way without him needing to push through much. They still have to be careful not to trip over any tails, and the cramped quarters are difficult to navigate as they look around for their target.

Jim really wasn't wrong in his assessment: it's much smokier in here than the other inn, and the air smells of marshwater and stale drink. Some of the patrons cast them sidelong glances, though it's too crowded for most to notice just who's slipping by. But the captain might catch something on the edge of his hearing: a woman's voice raised briefly above the hubbub. What she says he can't make out, but it doesn't sound like the rasp of an Argonian voice. It sounds like it's coming from off to the side of the room...

Edited 2019-10-26 15:17 (UTC)

It's a posture Jim can match, though he's a smaller man than Stratos is. It's easy enough to be On, to be Captain Kirk even in a place where that name and title are meaningless to anyone here other than Stratos. His jaw is set, expression hardened as he follows Stratos through the crowds. It takes a concentrated effort not to cough from the smoke but Jim's a firm believer in not showing weakness publicly (or at all if he can help it). If he lends anything at all to Stratos' sense of authority that will be more than enough for the time being.

There's mostly foreign words filling his ears in rasping voices, interspersed with Dunmeri here and there. Jim can't speak it any better but he can pick it up more readily. So his brain latches on when it hears something familiar. Something human amid this sea of strangeness.

He taps Stratos on the arm closest to where it's coming from and starts slowly making his way over. Taking the lead while they edge around a full table and one of the few supporting beams in this ramshackle establishment. Closer now, though he still can't catch sight of the woman speaking. He has to wait when one of the staff passes by with a loaded tray. Despite their demeanor he is polite when he murmurs 'excuse me' albeit in Cyrodillic. Once they've passed he can slip into the gap they left.

Tucked away in a corner is a small round table, lit by the flickering light of a lantern hung above. Behind it sits a human woman in travel leathers, her boots propped up on a chair. At Jim's appearance, he raises her eyebrows over the drink she's draining, only to spit it back into her mug when she sees Stratos behind him.

"Ma'am," Stratos says as she splutters. Jim can feel the man relax beside him. After all their traipsing across Tamriel... "I'm glad we've finally found you."

"Great Stendarr's balls, nephew, how did you get here?" She's coughing, but through it she snorts with laughter as she slings her feet to the floor. Despite the poor light, the Avitus family resemblance is plain to see, from the dark hair curling around her ears to her petite features. "Come on, come on, sit down before the chairs are gone."

Edited 2019-10-26 17:29 (UTC)

Incognito, Incorrigible (for smartass_captain)

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