First Lesson (C 1.5)

Dinero stays close to the pilothouse and looks for things to clean or little things to do to seem useful. You power The Refuge through the choppy waters as they slap against her hull. After fifteen minutes, you spot the home of the people who live in the Undertow:



The doors are open, which means they're open to trading and not in a particularly hostile mood. You spot Bakker's tug inside as you trawl closer.

Good.

I guide the Refuge as quarter-speed through the entry, nod to the guards ever-present at the towers as we pass. I make note of Bakker's tug, and scan the docks for signs of him or other familiar faces. It's good to be back here, actually... despite my problems here in earlier years, It's a place where, today, I feel confident and capable. I've earned my way here, at least it feels that way.

"Hey," I get Dinero's attention, "stay with the boat, all right? I don't want anything walkin' off while I find our contacts."

The hold is locked tight, so our cargo should be safe. But I once lost my coffee maker to a kid who climbed aboard from the water while I was doin' biz on the dock.

I find a good spot to dock and make prep to debark.

Canary, you disembark as Dinero moves onto the deck of the Refuge to make sure folks know he's standing guard. You spot Bakker and a member of his tug crew near the Assay Office - they're probably settling up after doing some work tugging someone's ship or whatnot. The stuff you're set to pick up for the Vaulters will be settled at the same place, most likely. Or maybe in the Tavern.

The layout of the village, as you know, is like this:

I lower my hood and straighten my hair with my fingers, then answer Bakker, "heyy to you too Bakker. Yeah. Enormous balls." I laugh and shake my head, then answer Rice, "he's mine all right? Hands off!" I end with a grin, it's a joke, but also not. He is mine... just not in the way someone might assume.

I take a deep breath of the air here, smells of the sea, of course, but also the food cooking. The grease.

My stomach rumbles, "what's the good word in the undertow these days?"

I take the food with a nod of thanks and bite off a chunk with my side teeth.

"Shark eaters..." I feign spitting on the deck, "had a run-in on the way... almost got got."

I appreciate the info, "good to know about the storm. If that's a thing..." I don't usually navigate by old crone, but I don't discount superstition completely. Sometimes people know things.

"As for me, yeah... just doin' bizness. Getting this and that from here and there... lookin' for some Vaulters to take delivery."

The jerky is spicy and you feel your lips tingle from it. Bakker grins when he sees your reaction and offers you a bottle of water from the desalination plant here.

I refuse the water, politely, matter of pride. Not going to beat me on spice, yeah?

Hmm... normally I work on my own, but with the coffers feeiln' a little flush and memories of Dinero's... recent condition. Yeah I can take Rice up on that offer.

"You know though... sure, Rice. I can cut you in, if ya can keep an eye on my boat, and the nub I got aboard. Don't let 'im know you're watching and I'll slip you a cut when things're done. He goes wandering... don't let him come to harm, yeah?"

I force myself to take another bite and swallow without assistance, "vaulters about? Point me in the right direction?"

"Appreciate it!" I nod and give them a little sailor's salute. Little more confident in leaving Dinero behind this time. I pocket the rest of the jerky and pick the bits from my teeth as I make my way to the Meeting Hall to find this Rouge.

From the Assay Office, you take grated metal walkways that bypass the manufacturing plant and the tavern. The tavern is brightly lit by the sun with only a few sails fluttering overhead like a loose ceiling. The meeting hall, however, is a shadowy depth. You recognize the interior - it's a wooden ship, a Chinese junk. Inside are a dozen or so folks talking and drinking. Most of them are older folks dressed like the people of the Undertow. But Rouge stands out.


He's chatting with one of the elders and they seem chummy. Rouge is loud and has a way of taking up more space than he probably should.

What do you do?

Wow, ok. Stands out.

Well, appearances aside, business is business.

I take a breath before walking boldly up to announce myself, "you must be Rouge! I'm Canary," he doesn't seem like the handshake type somehow, "got a delivery for you at the harbor."

Mustard girl?

Drinks at both ends, huh? Business ain't just business with these fellas.

"Sure!" I might as well enjoy, "ol' Jay Pee for certain did not forget ya, my friend! What's the drink 'o the day?" I glance about the place, take a peek at his bottle. For sure I'm dropping from more to less sophisticated over the course of the day. I'll probably end up sleepin' on a deserted island by tonight.

Guy seems to know his beer... but Mustard Girl ain't good.

"I prefer Canary if it's all the same to you," I clarify calmly, not wanting to cause a thing but also not wanting that to stick. And it is business, you don't want a different name in each port.

I take the now-filled cup and look at the color of the drink as he described it.

"I did, yeah... crewed 'er as a little thing. Grew up on that boat... think we belong together more'n anything, really. Belonged to my ma... now she's mine." I look at him straight for a second, then taste the beer. Let's see if it lives up to his praise.