“I've seen his skills. He could be sold at a decent price to warrant the trouble...” Qyona muttered to Gorroc, seated on the stairs that separated part of the deck from the rest while cutting a wedge off an apple with a thin, delicate knife. Gorroc leaned against the railing beside her, arms crossed and watching the ramp that connected the ship to the dock, waiting to see the familiar golden red eyes of a small, meek captain.
“You sarded him. Nothing impresses a woman more than a man who can sard them to oblivion. That is no skill.”
The raven haired woman paused as her blade sank into the skin of the apple. Her frame did not tense, nor did her jaw clench. However, blazing green eyes turned up while the knife was removed from the apple and pointed none too carefully at the giant's crotch, “It would be more skill than what a dickless man could accomplish, wouldn't you agree?”
His eyes snapped down to hers as Qyona smiled lightly, returning to eating the apple. “Pleasure is pleasure. Everyone enjoys it and he has shown skill in it. If we cannot sell him for a decent price, we can sell what he offers.”
“And what of the wench?” Gorroc deep voice spat out.
“Freya? She need not know till we're far from land... Besides, I'm sure she'll be interested in the profits.”
“She was born to a slaveless world. She cares not for what they offer, only that they're free.”
Qyona shrugged, biting into an apple wedge, “Then we make her see, or we kill her and take the slaves and the drugs. Less mouths to feed and more profit between the four of us.”
Gorroc said nothing as he continued to stare at the ramp, though his fists did clench ever so slightly.
By the stairs of the cabin leading down to the sleeping quarters, Haraji leaned a shoulder against the wooden wall, pushed a hand through his greasy locks, and sighed.
It'd been some time since night fell and while she waited, Qyona watched as the brown haired bartender flirted out his desires before taking coin and leading glassy eyed women to another room in the establishment. The woman felt sick while she waited and was even approached by an attractive Raven who she sent away with a scowl upon her lips. Qyona counted the bits it would take before Wendell would return to the bar looking haphazard and flushed, as if his body had been pushed through a marathon.
'I'm sure it has been...' She thought, taking a pull from the mead she'd ordered.
By the time the 4th break of the 80th trial came around, hardly anyone was left in the tavern. Qyona watched with steady eyes as Wendell moved slowly from the bar, pulled a jacket on, and head toward the back. She suspected him of leaving and so, left the Tavern to wander through a side alley, toward the back. On her way, there were plenty of empty bottles littering the ground, two of which she snagged before taking long stride to finally end up at the back of the building.
Gorroc was there, leaning against a building cloaked in shadows as his eyes met hers. She quirked a brow then turned her head when he nodded down the other side of the alley.
Wendell's form was walking slowly around the corner, his hands sliding into the pocket of his jacket to try to keep them warm from the chill. Qyona followed.
It didn't take any time to stalk her way up behind him. Unfortunately, the gravel from the stone underneath her boots was none too quiet and so he turned, expecting her there now.
“Hello Love.” She greeted just as a bottle came up and smashed against the side of his face, shattering upon contact. Qyona watched him fall, but he was still lucid. Gripping the second bottle, his blue eyes peered up.
“Sleep tight.” And then the second bottle was brought down over his head, promptly knocking him into unconsciousness. Blood was oozing from his cheek, smearing onto the ground as Gorroc lifted the unconscious man up.
The two quietly took him away...
Freya leaned against the railing of the ship, her arms crossed as she studied Caed. She'd confided in him about her dealings in Rharne and the particular situation they now faced. Advice was given, but none that really suited her interests or needs. She was stuck in a situation that offered no immediate solution and for that, her frustration was near boiling.
“I don't know what you want me to say. If the drugs are in Rhakros, we go to Rhakros.”
“Such shit an idea thad be.” Caed replied with a shake of his head.
“It's where the money is at. We've been contracted already so we'll have to do this.”
Caed cursed under his breath just as a yell sounded from below deck. The woman dismissed it, thinking some buffoon had stubbed his toe when the yell echoed up from the hull again. “By the fates, what are they doing now?” Freya cursed under her breath, heading for the stairs that would take her below deck, however, she was blocked by a familiar man.
“Freya,” Haraji greeted. “Care to fish with me today?”
“What's going on below deck? Are you okay? I thought you yelled...”
Haraji shook his head a bit too hard. “I'm fine. Shall we fish?”
She was about to answer when another yell came again and this time, several curse words. Freya's brow furrowed as she glared. “Step aside.”
“Freya, don't go down there.”
“Don't go..?” If Haraji said that, it meant something was terribly wrong. Freya shoved passed him and moved below, wandering through the tight space till she came to the end of the ship where they stored their food. When she entered, Freya could have stabbed the two.
There was Gorroc sitting on top of a man, his pelvis forcing the air from his chest while one burly hand fixed to his hair and held his head painfully back, the other gripped his jaw, trying to silence him. Qyona was sitting before Gorroc with a make shift tattoo gun.
“Shit.” Qyona muttered, sitting up.
“What... the fekking fates is he doing on my ship..?” Freya heaved. “And what the fekking fates are you doing to him on my sarding ship you rookid bastards...”
They'd been caught and slowly, Gorroc stood, letting the man breathe better while Qyona sat back further. It was then Freya saw that his hands were tied behind his back, his face was bruised and littered with cuts, and he looked as dirty as could be was a half assed Bayward sigil tattooed on his neck. A slave's tattoo... Oh, Freya was livid.
“Did you kidnap this man..?” She asked them quietly, hearing Haraji come in behind her.
“Yes, Freya,” Qyona spat, standing, “He's worth a pretty nel, if not for him, for his services and the fates know you will not earn us the nel you promised. So we found our own solution.”
“Services?” Freya looked again and bit her lip when she realized who it was they'd kidnapped. Wendell...
“You kidnapped this man to be a pleasure slave for your pockets?! You used my ship to get away with this foolish idea?! Are you both fekking nuts!” Her fists balled and she stepped forward. “I should throw you both over the rail for this.”
“Oh really, Freya? And what's stopping us from doing that to you? Hm?” Qyona approached the Biqaj slowly and it was then the air grew tense. Freya remained quiet, her red eyes staring angrily at the raven haired woman. “I could slit your throat in your sleep and none would be the wiser.”
“You foul born bitch—!”
Haraji stepped between the two, his own blade in hand. “Stop it, now. Freya, take the guy and leave.”
She scoffed, but Haraji was having none of it as he pushed her toward Wendell. By the fates, she wanted to argue, but she feared anything more would lead to a body or two on the floor and for once, Freya didn't want that. Moving quickly, she grasped Wendell's shirt and yanked him onto his feet before guiding him from the storage area to her own personal quarters. Once there, she shut the door, locked it, and barred it with a small chair, finally turning to acknowledge the bartender.
Freya studied his beaten face, then his neck, and finally his arms that were still tied. “Sorry, please... Hand.” Her voice whispered broken common, eyes shifting from deep red to a shimmering, brilliant blue and silver as she unfastened the rope from his wrists.