Fishy Business (Closed RP)
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“Blond hair, purple silk, hanging over his shoulder…”
As he made his way down the docks, Adrian mentally repeated the description that Fionn had given him; he certainly hoped he wouldn’t end up hailing the wrong man for help… But what if this Emeric had chosen to wear his hair differently? What if he wasn’t at the docks at all? How would he find Fionn if things fell through?
“I’ll end up right back where I began…” The merman lowered his ears.
But there was the inn that Fionn had mentioned– the Lady’s Port. It was a large building clearly made for housing a good number of people, but the sea’s salty grasp had grabbed hold over time, rendering what was once undoubtedly a welcoming place quite dreary indeed. Still, warm light filtered through the fogged up windows, and as Adrian pushed open the door a flurry of greetings rushed to meet him.
The interior was much more well kept– even if the majority of tables were empty; hardened sailors sat here and there, sipping on ale and making jovial conversation. In the corner there appeared to be a group playing some sort of game; they were the loudest bunch, hollering whenever a new round began or ended. Drawing closer, Adrian realized they were rolling dice, and one man in particular seemed to be doing quite well…
“…Blond hair, purple silk, hanging over his shoulder…”
“E-excuse me, Sir Emeric!” The words slipped out before he could really consider a more tactful approach, and Adrian found himself struggling to ignore the number of eyes that locked onto him as he made his way across the room. “I apologize for the interruption, but Miss Fionn sent me to inquire about your assistance due to her… erm… displeasure with nautical related things…”
“Uh… My name is Adrian, and perhaps I could explain things more thoroughly in a more private setting?”
{ ♙ } ➵ What was it the general needed again? She was always so obnoxious with her words, yapping away and always saying unnecessary things. Even her lists were full of out of place words, and random hearts? Whatever that was about, he didn’t necessarily care.
He had a mission, and he was going to do it. Even if that mission was just what a wife did. He was on a grocery run, but named more. . . Eloquently. Fionn never specified that was what he was doing, but he knew. Pick up herbs, and pick up milks, and spices. Shouldn’t she be doing this? She could lift the heavy things, not him. He was always a bow wielder and not a hammer wielder.
At first he never even heard someone calling his name, the sir part flying right over his head. But he bristled when the title was before his name, getting visibly annoyed once he turned around to see who would call him such a title.
❝ If you’re someone who’s here to kill me, then too bad. I do not die easily when I am under a direct order by my lady general, ❞ The words flew out of his mouth, full of venom and hate. ❝ And have you seen you? You couldn’t take me even if you tried. So the next time you think of coming up to me, calling me sir, do it in private when you can actually kill me without witnesses. ❞
