Tagged : Wesley! | Words : 900 | Notes : Odd ending, but I didn't really know where else to go.

They asked for her. Disturbingly, she’d learned to read her name on their lips.

”Could ye move, lass?” Zojja almost jumped when the voice assaulted her ears from the side, though she guessed a second after snapping her head in its direction and catching herself against the barrels of ale she hid behind that she should have assumed someone would notice her wandering amidst the local stock of alcohol. Nords couldn’t seem to go more than one meal without a mug of something frothy – on her first trip to Skyrim, she had seen their unending ability to drink first hand. The Nord she reluctantly her eyes on – a large-set man with pale skin and absolutely no hair to be found on his head, with it apparently all having crept down to sit on his chin instead – probably could have inhaled the whole keg her hand rested on all by himself. He probably meant to, she decided, as he gazed at it jealousy and looked quite interested in getting her to move. Immediately, though, his attention seemed to turn to Zojja herself and her suspicious appearance as she hid most of her features underneath a hood. Nords tended to not be as…secretive as Redguard. Their entire culture consisted of a full frontal barrage in every way, whereas the Redguard people preferred more…shadow and dagger.

She swallowed, hoping he would not make a fret about her shady presence. Oh, but if he didn’t here before her, he would later – he’d drop a comment to someone about the strange Redguard making her home near the fresh shipment of ale, and the slavers would catch wind. Hesitation, though, would make him more likely to keep her in mind to be mentioned later. Zojja stopped scratching the top of the barrel with her fingernail long enough to quickly reach up and drag the hood off of her head to reveal her whole face and black hair, just before she moved away from the barrel and gave him a wide, genuine, toothy smile. For too long, she thought he took even more interest in her than he had before she’d taken off the hood, and she immediately let her mind race through a dozen different excuses to pass to him if he questioned her. In fact, she almost opened her mouth to start on one, but he…lost interest, taking his giant paws to take the single barrel that served as her shield against someone elsewhere on the docks catching a glimpse of her. With soft steps, she turned and cut down behind more of the barrels, looking back to make sure he didn’t see her leaving before nervously dragging her feet at a more brisk clip and fumbling to put her hood over her head. By the time the man turned around to look at her again, she had already disappeared, and only her mouth, again, revealed itself to the world under her hood.

Zojja nibbled her bottom lip, too uncomfortable about the small, likely insignificant encounter and the presence of the slavers to comfort herself any further. She would need to leave…immediately, if she could find anyone willing to provide her with transportation or if she could find another cart to stow away in. Her name flowed from too many tongues in this wretched place. Though she realized her caution likely caused her to worsen her perceptions of the people around her, it did seem like everywhere she fled, she could find someone associated with the slavers who had turned her into a cave rat for far too long. Immediately, the thought of being trapped in such darkness again caused Zojja’s hands to ball up and forced her to check over both of her shoulders, before she launched into a short jog that saw her duck down behind a small row of bushes. Letting out a long, jittery breath – she now noticed she felt extremely tired too, like the last week had finally caught up with her – she simply sat there, glad no eyes were on her long enough for her to stare wearily at the sky and…not do anything, until she decided she would find a place to slip away to for the evening…hopefully not another literal pig sty. She could still smell that miserable night on the sleeves of her clothing, unfortunately. She rolled her head over to the opposite shoulder, trying to forget about it and avoid the stench.

Ahh, well, she’d manage to leave this place soon enough and get back on her “merry” way, maybe with one more night spent somewhere nearby. Falling to worry would accomplish little to nothing for her. ”Nothiiiing,” she said again to herself aloud, wishing for her pillow back home selfishly – her shoulder failed to match it, as did stacks of hay and her rolled-up cloak and…the other creative head rests she’d made in the past several weeks. She rolled back and forth in place as if she wanted to lay down before forcing herself to stand to her feet and start thinking…clearly again. It would do her no good to fall asleep in the slow and be dragged off by those knaves again. Zojja straightened and targeted the opposite side of the docks from her. If she could walk that far, she would count her day a victory…and would find herself some place to rest, regardless of those insects falling right onto her trail.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #171818; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #171818 solid; border-bottom: 10px #171818 solid;] Someday I'll die but not tonight excuse me while I light up the sky {WORDS } 823 {TAGGED } Zojja {WEARING} Pirate-y garb Well this might turn out to be a profitable evening regardless. Once more turning his eyes back to the boy trotting at his heels, Wesley raised his eyebrow. "You're sure that's what you heard, Pup?" The solemn nod was returned to him. "Aye, cap'n Morrel. A woman lurkin' around." The Redguard princess, or at least one of high importance, had to be. Why else would a woman be lurking around a place like this so late at night in what his cabin boy had told him she was wearing? No doubt a woman of a high station would be very sought after by the slavers he had gotten information from, and that they kept her alive so far was definitely an achievement for her sake. Slavers weren't always so...kind. And that she escaped from them just made him smile. There was no love shared between slavers and the Night Rambler, and while he would admit that he had his hands dipped into some unsavory things, slave trade was not one of them. Ransom, however, was not beneath him. He would admit there was more than one reason why he would find this girl. Not only would he be improving the number of gold he had, but he would also make a point to rub it into the faces of slavers that he had snatched up their lost 'princess' and sailed away with her. "Did you see her?" Cutting his eyes over toward the boy again, he noticed the second nod. "She was tryin' to sleep under some bushes." They'd even managed to get a drink before they dragged some no doubt fancy, overly indulged princess off to the ship and locked her in the brig until they could get some ransom for her. Or perhaps his quarters would work... Of course, that was her decision to make, though he thought that his quarters were much more inviting than the brig - and easy decision to make no doubt. Still, he hadn't seen her so far, so he wasn't sure where she could be right now, and the bushes that the pup showed him was lacking a princess. "But she was 'ere..." With his first mate crouched down, Wesley sighed without pleasure, only to be drawn back in. "It's pressed down, Wesley. She can't be far." With a firm nod, he turned and started to walk toward the docks. "Perhaps she wished to secure passage." And sure enough, she was there in front of him. "That her?" "Aye." Pressing the back of his hand against the chest of his second companion, Wesley turned his eyes toward his first mate and friend to bring him to a halt. "If she runs, get her any way you need to." This was going to make them all a lot richer. He wasn't going to let any princess slip through his grasp, though he doubted she had the ability to do so. With his hand on his sword hilt, Wesley pressed forward until he was making a direct line toward where the girl was walking away from him. She sure didn't look a princess from the back in what she was wearing, not that he figured she would have a fancy gown on after dealing with slavers. Perhaps he would tell whoever the hell claimed her that he would give her right back to them if he didn't get the money he demanded. That would be a nice touch. "Evenin' Puppet.", he drawled out slowly once he had gotten close enough that she was within easy sprinting distance. {NOTES} Wooonky...

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0, lyrics by Chevelle