“ I bet you could. “ Delilah agreed with Mariel, a glint in her eye as she watched the woman maneuver glasses to a tray. Somewhat— hypnotized by the sight of those nimble movements.

“ Served up? “ Jens repeated the man’s words, feigning puzzlement past the rim of his glass. Any particular favourite flavour, Syr Iramene? A mystery for the scholars to suss out. As the knights exchanged, he concentrated on finally taking a draught of his new drink, hurrying none.

It was a little sweeter than he was prepared for, but his expression didn’t flicker any which direction. He drew back from it thoughtfully, sucking on his teeth and running his tongue over them behind closed lips. The citrus lingered with the warmth of alcohol, not unpleasantly. Completely fine, he decided, letting the glass down.

“ I’ll not fault a man for a smart choice. Was I a more measured man perhaps I’d managed to escape years at sea in a more pristine condition. Or evaded hard labour altogether. “ He shrugged at that. “ But alas— I’ll admit to taking pleasure in it, as much bad as it’s done me. Some sort of insanity, probably. Or all that rope— thrilling like. “

Realizing Delilah had gone terribly quiet, he gave her direction a cursory glance only to find her staring into the dark haired barkeep’s wake past her shoulder. One clawed hand yet held on to her glass, despite it having been drained empty minutes ago. He snorted and bumped her on the shoulder, rousing her.

“ You look like an idiot, dear. “ He said, meeting eyes as she span on her stool to face him. A sort of fire flashed in her eyes as she leaned closer to whispering distance, arm against arm. She did not, however, bother to lower her voice.
“ She is pretty. “
“ Is she? “ He responded, mimicking that tone she’d had not long since. Playing oblivious.
“ Mm-hm. Hold me, lest I run after her and commit a faux pas. “ She made a face forlorn enough to put a century’s worth of smitten poets to shame and leaned against him as if in abject agony. He looped his one good arm around her.
“ I got you. You want another drink? “
“ Maybe. What’s that? Smells like citrus— “ She rose her horned head a touch, pointing out what he yet regarded as his free drink.
“ I don’t know. “ He admitted, a faint smile about him as he regarded Syr Iramene in turn.

“ What did the good Syr Iramene serve up? “
 
Matvi smiled at the question. "A regular glutton for punishment, if you offer me a good mystery to solve," he said self assured.

Suppose that was why he liked to tend bar. Each patron an enigma unto themselves. Until the right smile, right look, or word teased some story out of them. Course, the drinks helped with that too.

Mariel went on, as Mariel did. If she was aware of Delilah's attentions, she made no play upon them, nor showed she was the slightest bit bothered. Her smile, a thing practiced, warm with a good natured amusement. It helped of course, that rowdy as she was, Delilah had a charm to her. Honest as a fish, hungry for a bite. Mariel hefted the drinks, just as Matvi loaded the last two for the flight, and she was on her way, out to the floor to serve that cheery sort that crowded into the Cat that day.

Matvi quirked a brow. "A Velvet Sour," he said with a little bow of his head. "Figured a bit of sweetness goes well with something so full of character." he looked to Delilah. "It's velvet because of the egg whites," he whispered conspiratorial like.
 
“ Full of pleasant character one should hope. “ Jens butted in, flashing sharkteeth. Delilah stared yet at his halfway drained glass, pulling it closer to herself like a proper adventurer.
“ I’m pretty sure he meant the citrus. “ She pointed out, taking a sip.
“ Ouch. Careful with those claws. “

With her actual claws, she patted at his arm as if for comfort. He watched the twisting of her face as she ruminated on the flavour of the drink.

“ How’s that Velvet Sour treating your full-bodied character? “
“ Well enough, for one so washed out. “ Despite her matter-of-fact tone and deadpan face, she took another draught. That was enough to tell him she was rather enjoying it.
“ I think you mean washed up. “
“ You would say that. Waterlogged, proper. “
“ My ancestors did live in the bottom of the ocean. “ He shrugged, smiling pleasantly as much to the barkeep as he did to Delilah.
“ Now that’s a fishtale. “ She said, not one bit amused for how many times she’d probably heard it iterated over their acquaintance. “ Almost as tall as you. And that’s big. “
“ We’ve all eyes yet. “ He gave a pronounced wink with the one he had remaining. “ Don’t have to tell me, nor him— “ A nod indicated out Syr Iramene. “ That. It’s all the space under the sea. “

“ I thought you were merely so ‘full of character’ you had to expand with it. Filled to the brim. “
“ I don’t know, is that how physics work? “ He smiled, leaning further on the counter to whisper loudly at Syr Iramene. “ She doesn’t know this, but I’m not an actual scientist. “

Being halfway into an indulgent swig of her drink, Delilah held her sidelong retort to herself. So he continued.

“ Sorry to disappoint yourself too, naturally. I lie when I'm flustered. “
 
"A pleasant pour, to be sure," the knight turned bartender confessed with a nod, and made himself busy as the two companions went tit for tat. Keeping the bar clean and clear was one of the keys to success, yet he caught the smile before the banter started proper, and Matvi couldn't help but quirk a brow in curiosity at the mention of his ancestors. "Indeed we do," he played along, hands quick with their tidying, and he could not help but laugh at the loud secret.

"My, flustered are we?" he said, and put the last of the bottles away, turned around and leaned the small of his back against the rear of the bar. Crossed his arms and craned his head with a turn toward the curious. "And why is it such a proud and pleasant man, would find themselves flustered? Mayhaps you've not the proper training, but any soul worth their lick can make for a scientist in their own fashion," he smiled, and squint shut his right eye as he tapped the side of his temple. "Just requires a bit of imagination I figure," his eye came open, and he looked at the man in full. Scarred as he was. He lacked none for playfulness, and there was a calm to that bright eye of his. Steady as the ships he manned, no doubt. Matvi smirked. "And you seem in no short supply of that," Matvi jut his chin toward the man. "Now, tell me about these ancestors of yours, if you will,"
 
“ You’d make a fine charlatan, Syr Iramene. “ He hummed, watching a touch deviously as the man settled to lounge against the bar. A bit further away than he would’ve preferred. “ Should I be so lucky as to remember something of this eve, I’ll be sure to come to you whenever my vast imagination sprouts a brilliant business venture of some sort. “
“ Don’t get shitfaced. “ Delilah warned him, sliding the Velvet Sour back to his direction. What the bartender said next had her scrunch up her face, mouth falling open to protest. Jens beat her to words, all pleasant surprise.

“ A tale, then! “
“ Prepare yourself for some vintage yarn, Syr. “ Delilah groaned, more theater than actual meaning, unable to inflict any offense upon whom just held her tighter.
“ Not all lies from my account, but since it has been passed from sailor to sailor and now to such charming people— “ He looked from her to the bartender. “ Can you fault a man for a bit of colouring crayon about the details? “

Certainly not. As he didn’t pause long enough to even draw from his drink, Delilah chose to callously reclaim it, turning on her place to eye the side of his face with petulant expectation. Sinking further upon one elbow, nursing what had now become, for all intents and purposes, her drink.

“ Now, I haven’t kin to speak of that I should’ve ever seen or known, but some thirty years ago, upon a shipwreck far away — “
“ Ass-end of the Boiling Sea. In a dark and stormy night. “ His fellow sailor added, mustering some spirit to it.
“ I happened to get into the company of our then third engineer, who told me, over a deck of cards in those desperate hours waiting for rescue, that he knew my father. And, laughing, said I to him— “ He leaned closer, doing so over an imaginary card game and serious for it.
“ ‘ Old man, I haven’t a father. ‘“ It was choral as Delilah joined in, perfectly mimicking his tone reserved for ghost stories and amused for it.
“ So he calls me a fool, that such a thing is only further proof. Says there is a story this big perch told about from where he’d come from. Nigh a millennium ago, when there was nary a shroudengine on a ship and the very wind itself was different. “
“ Now that’s one old man. “
“ Proper old man. Imagine how much you get around in that time. “ He agreed, nodding and smiling a little wider.

“ Anyway — He said there is a second sea in the bottom of the ocean. And it’s hot as a furnace down there, with lush black beaches and silvery water that has no waves. Instead, it sits still like a mirror. “ He planted his hand flat in the air, moving it slowly in the horizontal.

“ By that reflection, people there could spy all calamity — past, present and ones yet to come. But of course, one day, in where no day or night exist as we understand them, the silver foretold the most dreaded. The very demise of them who’d dared peer at it. “
“ By what? “ Delilah obliged, only half curious as usually that part of the story had remained blank. That was to persist, as he hadn’t invented anything properly vague yet riveting to fill it in. We ought really workshop these things.
“ I asked that too, as had the third engineer himself, but my alleged father hadn’t an answer to give, just this— “ He waved a hand about his face, staring at passing air. “ Far-away, vacant look about him. Concluded simply that it didn’t matter, but it was the reason he had left. “
“ To forge and fornicate on. “ Delilah chimed in, lofting the remainders of her drink at him. He picked it out from her claws.
“ Surfaceward. Bastard. “

With that he drained it. Having broken to a knowing smirk, the Deva looked from him to Syr Iramene, openly inspecting the man’s expression. Jens worked his mouth for a second’s pause, tongue bristling from the taste, and put down the empty glass.

“ The third engineer then went on to rob me at cards and said it was all probably just a load of codswallop. That for one coming from such a place, that fish sure as the chicken shits lacked both foresight and tolerance for heat. Didn’t last a year on that damn ship. “
 
Matvi couldn't help as the two bantered on, the way the deva finished the big man's sentences, stole drinks and played along. It was clear the two were close. To know each others' stories so well, and be such source of comfort.

It was nice. Like being let in to see a show, so few were invited to see.

Come the shared punch-line, Matvi laughed. A bit louder than he had intended. Had to smooth over the top of his lips and about his mouth to try and regain some measure of composure. If only for his own pride's sake.

But the tale turned quick, and as he straightened, up, he listened the more. Quiet as he hung on each word with eyes so used to watching from their placid perch.

"A second sea?" he repeated, quiet as he went on playing the part of the audience, captured by the spell of the Silver.

When the tale came to an end, his eyes were wide. A hand about his chin, as if his mind needed the support to hold up the thoughts that stirred there in.

"While I was expecting colorful," he said with a smile. "I hardly thought I'd hear something of such a ghostly hue," he nod, and let his arm fall to fold atop the other once more, still reclined against the bar as he was. "And you've presented quite the mystery," he said with a bit of teeth. "But none so much as one that's just dawned on me," he laughed a bit at that. "I know your bastardly origins, good man, but not your own name," he cant his head, and spied the other. "Nor yours, fair lady," he dipped his head in a gesture that, while casual, seemed all the more formal for its ease and grace.
 
By his roughest estimate, they’d been successful in telling the story. Who didn’t love a little ballyhoo, hmh? Awfully satisfied with himself and not even bothering to pretend otherwise, Jens listened to Syr Iramene’s assessment therein with interest. And he would do so in a smile for the knowledge he’d made the man laugh, the chime and look of it deposited to memory. Something he’d have for himself.

As names were brought up, he gave Delilah a sidelong glance, which she met for knowing it was there by the way he’d shifted. She cleared her throat loudly, making a show of how she turned on her seat to peer at the rest of the room, like scanning it for threats. Appearing to spot nothing, save for Mariel the very sight of whom threatened to make her linger, she returned.

“ Delilah. “She jerked her thumb at herself, then at her companion. “ That’s Jens. He bites. “ She withdrew her finger quickly as he made to prove her right, teeth clicking to catch empty air.
“ Is that another fish joke? “ He asked, straightening.
“ Not really. Though you do take the bait more often than not. “
“ Only if it’s good. I may be a fool and a fraud— “
“ Not as much a fraud as I feel, being called ‘fair lady’. “ Delilah cut in, staring a lamenting dagger at the bartender. Jens snorted, grinning despite his tone that took on an exaggerated aspect of saddened outrage.
“ How could you, Syr Iramene? I thought we were friends— “
“ Can’t he see I’m neither of those things? “ Delilah clasped her face, bowing her head to the support of her hands.
“ It’s alright, dear, you’re still a weatherbeaten sailor and rogue extraordinaire. “
“ To you, maybe. “

Shaking his head, Jens gently pat her on the shoulder.

“ I’m afraid she is crestfallen and requires a remedy. Gin? “He suggested, eyeing Syr Iramene like a doctor might his colleague for second opinion. Delilah perked her head up, nudging him.
“ Get yourself one too — I’m not drinking alone. “
 
The pair's antics were hard not to give a smile to. One that made his cheeks hurt and bared his straight teeth. It was a good thing he didn't mind bites so much himself. His face, warm with a red blush that only a bit of practiced angling would keep from red eye's view. His own scars hidden behind parted hair.

"Delilah," Syr Iramene said with a nod. Fixed his eye onto the other. Pulled two fresh tall cups and put them unto the counter. "And Jens," he grabbed up a bottle of gin, and placed it on the table. "Well met," he put down the shaker next, the bit of ceramic wear uncapped with a pinch of fingers and smooth turn of the wrist. In went the pour. Steady and sure as the sound of running liquid rose in the mixer like a little song of its own. "You can drop the Syr, and call me Matvi," he said with a twist and a finish of the long crystal stream. He corked the bottle, picked up another bottle from under the counter. Wisps of cold white swirled about him, and a frost laden vessel. "Bit of orange juice," he said with a confidence. "To add on to the scientifically deduced recommendation," pulled the crystal stop, and poured in a measure. Stopped. Stashed it beneath the counter, grabbed a bag, scooped ice into it in a swirl of wisps, and laid the bag onto the counter. "And a bit of ice, to dull the woe of being so fully misdiagnosed," out came a mallet.

A smash, smash, smash turned the chunks of winter to crunchy bits, which he lift and gingerly pour-pour-poured into the mixing cup. Awayed the bag, capped the mixer, and lift it up. "Now, a good shake, so all three ingredients get to know each other," a rhythmic shake came quick. All fluid flick of the wrists and pump of the arms. Condensation quick to catch along the edge of the mixing glass.

Come the pour, and out fell a crush of bright orange into the tall cylinders.

"Screwdrivers, for the sailors," he said, and moved the cups forward, and scooped up the old ones.
 
Well met indeed. Matvi.

“ First name terms. “ Jens announced victoriously, cocking his head at Delilah to speak betwixt just the two of them whilst the bartender mixed drink. Delilah scoffed.
“ You aren’t that old fashioned. “
“ Plenty charmed, though. “
“ Mm-hm. “

She humoured him with a hum, one that could’ve passed for agreement had he not known her at all. There was knowing in it, from having been burned one too many times. Careful now.

“ Misdiagnosed? “ He rose a brow amidst beats of a mallet, proceeding to indicate the man to his companion in the dignified manner of a scholar scorned “ Did he just call me a quack?”
“ Darling, to be considered a quack you’d have to give convincing enough medical advice. “
“ Gin doesn’t convince you? “ He sounded about ready to walk into the sea.
“ Not half as much as the noble screwdriver. “ She shrugged one shoulder and reached for one of the freshly poured drinks. He delayed doing the same, until relenting in a huff.

“ You’re tearing this family apart, Matvi. “ The dramatic protest was doused with a draught from the glass, which Delilah mirrored in tune. For a couple seconds it was deathly quiet betwixt as they inspected the intimate friendship of the three ingredients. Nay, love affair — The verdict fell unanimous.

“ Well — hello there, happiness. “ Delilah spoke out first, smiling wider like some great weight should’ve rolled off her shoulders.
“ Fuck that’s good — “ Jens added, head bobbing with approval as he stared into the crushed ice, a lax wrist movement making them swirl. “ Can’t beat a classic. “
“ It’s the sweet sweet, sunny orange. A convenient preference to have, for a sailor. “
“ And the ice — after all that pocket temperature drink on the ship. I can feel my woes done away already. “ He flashed a lopsided grin and winked at Matvi.

“ Gotten around to sailing much, Matvi? The novelty quickly wears off after the first year, but— “ He rested his drink on the counter, lest he inhale it all under a minute.

“ There’d be a boundless reverence aboard for a chemist of your caliber. “

Let alone personality. Bite and then some.
 
A flourish of the wrist, and bastard's proud bow at the proclamation of his misdeeds. "We've all our part to play," he said, and rose up, smile still there across his lips. "Now, if you'll excuse me," A deft turn about the bar saw his hands deposit the cups there into the wash basin, where the dreaded stack of glassware began to pile higher than Matvi ever liked. Eyes narrowed, Brows raised while lips quirked pensive.

So he got to washing, smiled the softer as he heard Jens and Delilah take pleasure in their sips. The bright clink of the ice there behind the low rumble of a voice he found himself liking too well the sound of.

Delilah's little song made him laugh, while Jen's had Matvi bowing little thank yous with his wrists deep in suds. That there was a wink had his cheeks warm. Half quick, a turn of the head, and back to scrubbing Matvi went. A smile his own as he worked.

"Can't say I have, all too much, Jens, no," he replied, shifting one cup over to the rinse. Then to the rack. Repeat with a practiced fluidity.

"You flatter me," he said, pretending to be coy as he looked over his shoulder, eyes bright beneath his dark brow.

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"Are you trying to steal my bartender, Sailor?" Mariel said as she rounded the bar with a tray full of empty cups. She laid them down quick and easy, plucked and placed them on the shelf beside the tender in question. "I'll have you know, he's an awfully cheap date," she teased the man with a bump of the hip.

"Am not,"

"And while he can mix like swirl of the tide against the rocks!" she said building up in swell of voice as she mimed his rhythm and shake. Slapped her hands onto the bar and grinned, devilishly. "he can't carry a tune to save his life,"

A nod. "I can't help but love to sing, regardless,"

Mariel looked to Delilah, sly. "A real alley cat,"
 
Stealing? Maybe.

“ If it should please him, sure. “ He shot back, both sailors roused to attention by Mariel’s return. Delilah hid her wider smile behind the rim of her glass, hovering it at the end of a propped up arm.

Cheap date and an awful, if habitual singer — the good news just kept piling up like all them glasses they hurried to stack and wash.

“ How charming. Better all passion and no talent than all talent and no passion. “ Jens snickered and toasted at Matvi, pleased to boot.
“ You really have to stop attacking me on the sly. “ Delilah scoffed, drawing his eye and blasé expression.
“ Why— which one are you? “
“ Stop— “ She laughed through a snarl, her eyes holding on to Mariel’s. Like she meant to convince her specifically. “ I’m a great singer. “
“ Yes you are. Plenty that’s worth when you don’t join in, ever. “ He added, bumping his shoulder against hers. “ Nothing like one of them ballads over grog, after dinner in the mess or other. “

“ Or a little jig. “ Delilah added and they clicked their glasses together, all agreement. After the briefest little swig, in tune, the deva leaned her chin against the knuckles of one upturned hand, smiling none so innocently at Mariel.

“How’s your singing and dancing? “
 
"Most excellent, I'll have you know," Mariel replied, a flourish of the wrist that turned in to bow that was all hips, straight backed and long legged over the bar. She hinged back up, head high as a dancers, her left hand shot up straight into the air, and her fingers fanned dramatically. "Trained in dances from across the land!" a steady shift of her feet saw her waist shimmer like a flame. Skirts a rustle and gentle hiss. "With a singing so sweet," her voice thinned to a delicate pitch, that she almost seemed to set the glassware to ring. "My grandfather forbade I ever partake in such frivolities whilst working in for the Scholar's," she laughed.

Matvi looked over his shoulder. Hands still hard at work. "She's that second sort," he said with a wink to the pair of sailors.

"Am not!" she laughed and smacked him on the back with a towel she'd snapped up.

"A tyrant to boot, as you can see,"

Mariel twisted the rag the more. "Watch it, Mister," she threatened with good humor there in the grin split across her face.

"It's a real curse, I hear,"

"Oh here we go," she said in defeat, and shouldered her weapon. Grabbed up some bottles and mixed up some drinks.

He put the last coup up to dry, and wiped down his hands before he turned back toward the pair. "With only one way to break it," he said, mischief clear in the curl of his lip and the twinkle of his eyes.

"Oh," Mariel played along, in a sweetly anguished voice. "Won't some brave soul save me!" she laughed and poured a measure of wine into a cup.
 
“ Frivolities!? What a horizonless way to put it. “Delilah slammed a hand on the counter with exaggerated outrage, claws clicking. Jens recoiled from his slouch as if she’d caught fire, one arm aloft like he meant to shield himself and his drink from sidelong sparks whilst drawing a another measured swig. His eye sought Matvi as the man joined into the theater, considering him. He held on shamelessly, bit of narrowed amusement in the look that lingered. The rest may as well have faded away.

“ A tyrant and a curse— Now that’s a premise for a whole drama. “ The Deva at his side remarked, all sharp teeth. “ As is the lingering spirit of the dead — If a young man’s rather convincing eyewitness account be believed. “ And a little wink at Syr Iramene.

Realizing himself having fallen to wordlessness, Jens feigned recovery in a sharp breath and glanced about, taking the measure of the room they’d all assumed as their stage.

“ Plenty frivolity here, as far as I’m concerned. “ He started and rotated on the seat, physical discomfort in the adjustement of posture and wanton roll of a shoulder. Hauntings of old men. But I can respect not wanting to dance where you work. On a ship we haven’t many options, but here— “

A shrug, attention bouncing back to the two behind the bar.

“ Where do you prefer to go, after hours? I know at least two in our midst enjoy things cheap. " Marking, he watched for recognition. Though himself liked free things the best. “ Asking for myself, naturally— “
“ And me— “ Delilah cut in, voice elevated to draw his attention.
“ As the city yet remains quite the strange beast. I almost prefer the sea over this. “ If not for— He continued on, marking her failure in how himself failed to as much as glance at her. In a shake of a head, she buried a huff in her drink.
“ Unbelievable. “
 
"Naturally," Matvi said, no hint of hiding his intrigue in the big man's curiosity. "Nice little joint down by the Wendway docks, most like you passed it right by on the way up here," he led.

"Matvi, surely you don't mean," Mariel said with a half smile and a half a huff.

The bartender keeled his head in her direction. Slip of a smile there upon his pink lips. "Now, you know how much I fancy the Fiddler's"

She rolled her eyes with a shake of the head, her dark waves of hair a stir. "And you know how I can't stand Jakob. The man thinks himself the king of all crown's hold, just because he can work that bow of his how he does,"

Matvi looked to shrugged. "The man plays well,"

Mariel huffed, and moved out alongside the bar to serve up the drinks upon her tray. "The man plays as if the Dreamer themself, sculpted his fingers,"

Matvi grinned shamelessly. Laughed as he watched Mariel go. "Yeah..."

"Doesn't help that they have the tastiest honey ale, none either,"

Matvi winked at Delilah. A bit of encouragement. "And," he leaned unto the bar with both elbows. Closer still between his two new sailor friends. "There's dancin,"

Just beyond earshot. "And singing!"

Matvi turned his eyes on Jens and smiled warmly. "How's that sound?"
 
Fiddler’s. Proper humoured and intrigued too, now, he watched the two bartenders pitch back and forth. Something of a fabled character, this— Jakob. And the honey ale.

Delilah shifted to glance at him and he, catching the movement by the edge of his narrow vision, met eyes in a keel of the head. There was a question in there, unspoken, her smile wide as she rested the side of her index across her lips. The tips of his fingers picked a little tune against the side of his glass, a contemplative chime.

“ Sounds good. “ He started, feigning impassivity by the lax shrug of a shoulder. The ruse wouldn’t live long as the man smiled, himself too easily infected by it.

“ Dancing, singing, fiddling. Sculpted, nimble fingers— “ A little more measured, he eyed those of the young man before him, what should’ve mixed probably one too many drinks for his courage thus far.

“ Suppose you would be the judge. When are we going? “

That is — you and me. His smile spread a little wider, baring teeth, one eye trained for some sort of flicker. Of chickening out, anything. Plenty men liked to toy with their fellows, himself included.

“ You get off soon, or—? “
 
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