Julie Lizer may as well have been Juliet of Verona, for how pathetically she was clinging to her lover in the doorway outside her apartment.

"Day is breaking, love, and I don't think it's going to rain until tomorrow. I need to go," his lips murmured against hers, the tips of his fangs sinking in gently enough to fill her mouth with a metallic taste. Instinctively her body coiled into his, the thrill of his dangerous kiss eliciting a moan deep in her throat.

"It's not broken yet. Just stay a little while longer."

He began to pull away. When Julie whimpered and clutched onto the silk of his button-down"well, unbuttoned button-down"he sighed and patiently uncurled her fingers.

"Jules, unless you'd prefer a charcoal brick to have sex with from now on, I really, really need to go."

"Maybe at least clouds'll be out. You can stick around for a few minutes."

"I'd kind of prefer not to take that chance."

Julie exhaled yearningly but finally drew back, reaching out to toy with his luscious, straw-colored mane. Natural blonde she was, she could still never get her locks to look that vibrant. Maybe she should make the change, too. "You'll come back tonight?"

"Of course. Don't forget to lock the door behind you." He left her with one lasting, passionate kiss before he withdrew, then descended her steps in a single leap and took off running.

Damn the man. Damn him more for not simply walking away and giving her a good look at what she would no doubt be dreaming about for the next six or seven hours. Sighing heavily, Julie twisted, reached for her doorknob and turned. The door did not budge.

"Ah, crap." It must have locked behind her when she closed it. Frowning, she searched the pocket in her robe and found nothing. Double crap. She had been so preoccupied with her lover's mouth to think about grabbing a set of keys on her way to escort him out' over an hour ago.

The sun was barely coming up, but maybe she'd get lucky and her landlord was awake already. Tying her robe together as tightly as she could, Julie padded down the cement steps barefooted and turned the street-corner to make her way to the last unit. Please let him be awake. She was not terribly thrilled with the idea of camping outside someone's door in Dockside half naked. She knew how passing drunken sailors could be.

"What's taking her so long?"

Stifling a gasp, Julie ducked behind a trashcan. The man's voice had come from across the street. For a long time she remained completely still, trying to make out whether they had noticed her presence, but their conversation seemed to continue on uninterrupted.

"She has a method. It is best not to rush her."

"Unless he actually knows something this has been one giant waste of time."

"If he knows something, she will get it out of him."

Haltingly, Julie peeked around the side of the trashcan. Across the street were a half dozen men that sure as hell didn't look like drunken sailors. They were all dressed in some kind of black or leather, and most were seriously packing. The only one who appeared to be unarmed lit a cigarette and bobbed his head toward the opposite side of the building they were loitering around, where a petite, Asian woman in platform boots and black latex was approaching them. She seemed to be wiping something off, but it was hard to make out.

"Well?" the unarmed man asked expectantly.

"Bishop," the woman replied, her voice like ice.

A man holding an automatic weapon made an annoyed sound. "That's it' That is what took an hour and a ha—"

Julie had to stifle her scream as the rest of that man's sentence was lost in a repulsive, bloody gurgle. His body twitched and made sickening sounds as the woman pinned him against the side of the building with her arm and drove a knife further into the side of his neck, ripping outward to expose mutilated bloody pulp, bone and sinew. His pulse painted her upper torso red with weakening beats until he finally stilled, and she let the body crumple to the ground. Several of the other men balked, but the unarmed one only shook his head slowly.

"Aka, how are we ever going to get any work done if you continue to kill our employees?"

The woman said nothing, turning her back to Julie as she wiped the blade of her knife on her sleeve. The one who addressed her showered the body with embers before he took one last drag of his cigarette and discarded it.

"So "Bishop," huh' Does he have a last name?"

"Bishop is his last name."

"No first name?"

"No."

"Ah." The man lifted his shoulders. "Well it is a start, I suppose. Hiden, Ban, take care of this and meet us back at the warehouse." He began to turn and walk away when the woman stopped him.

"Ryder-san," she said. Her head tilted slightly. The man looked at her for a split second before the lid of the trashcan beside Julie suddenly blasted off its hinges and vaulted into the air.

"Come out so we can see you," he warned loudly.

Trembling violently, Julie crawled to her feet and showed them her hands as she stepped into the street.

"I didn't see anything. Please, I promise I won't say anything," she stammered.

"Oh, she's a pretty little thing," the man crooned, lowering a long, narrow pistol she didn't even realize he had. "Come closer, pretty little thing."

All six pairs of eyes turned on Julie as she staggered forward. "Please, I promise I won't say anything," she repeated, swallowing the vomit that crept up her throat as she got a better look at the mess that woman had made of her associate.

"She promises she won't say anything," the man parroted, slipping the pistol beneath his coat. "What do you say, Aka?"

The woman he spoke to studied Julie with glassy, dead eyes and let her head cant slowly sideways. She stepped forward.

"I want her hair."

The man looked between the two of them before bobbing his head once in resignation. Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the body, which was hurriedly picked up by two others and carried away. A few seconds later, he crossed over to the two ladies in the street and smiled at Julie.

"Such a pretty little thing." He glanced at the other woman. "Try not to take as long with this one. We have work to do." Then he turned and followed the men in black around the corner.

Julie's mouth dried as she finally turned her gaze up to meet the woman's eyes.

"P" Please?" This couldn't be happening. Why did it have to be daybreak" Why didn't she just grab the damn keys" Why did he have to leave her all alone"

Unblinking, the woman drew a long knife and lurched forward.

Bloodcurdling screams filled the alley, and as clouds formed above, it began to rain.

Well, why does it hurt when I see you again?

Ten o"clock on a goddamned Saturday night, and he was at work. This was the definition of not having a life. Bishop rubbed his burning eyes, looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk at the swimsuit calendar on the wall to confirm it, then down at his desk again. His tiny cramped desk in his tiny cramped office in his tiny cramped workshop. But it was his desk, his office, his workshop. He wasn't working for anyone else. Not anymore. Never again, if he could help it.

Is it the memories, or the Jack Daniels on your skin"

There was a little circle of light spilling over the desk from the cheap lamp he'd picked up off a junk heap and persuaded to live again. It illuminated an old Bakelite radio he'd gotten equally cheap. III was humming quiet through the dull olive case, providing background noise while he worked. He and Hank had an understanding about these late nights. He had no f**king clue which distorted corner of the Nexus the music came from. Hank sang and he listened.

And I don't know if I'm out of control

This was what responsibility looked like. It meant not being another faerie lord's fixer and never having to deal with the fallout from his actions. It meant not pissing anybody off, trying to stay alive, refusing to forget everything that he'd done and learning how to forgive everything that had been done to him. It meant apologizing and trying to make amends. It meant finishing the barn he'd renovated and turned into his house. It meant figuring out what his heart wanted, instead of ignoring it and going on. It meant working his a** off on running his business.

"cuz lately I've been spinning and drinking alone.

Like he was doing now. He'd finally gotten an in to the docks, after all his time doing grunt work there as Judah. People remembered him, and they were wary. He didn't blame them, when all was said and done. But they'd seen his work, and he'd kept his s**t together long enough to persuade somebody his better prices and closeness to the shipyards was worth the gamble. Earlier in the week, he'd finally gotten a contract with one of the big traders: furnishings for the trader's new line of ships, trunks, chests, beds for the officers. Mirror frames, tables and chairs. All of it was sized to the company's specs. They'd given him information on their ships so that he could plan and confirm the sizing, told him about their planned cargoes so he could use the right woods. It was six months" worth of work. Enough to get ahead on the payments to the bank for the shop and the land he was living on. All he needed was the chance to get the job done and prove that he could do it.

Will you pick up the gun, dear, and put me asleep"

The ping of overstressed metal giving way somewhere out on the main floor brought his head up. He'd sent his two employees home for the weekend, so they weren't responsible for the noise. One of the vice handles dropping, maybe?"

"Cuz I'm sleeping on misery and she's cutting me real deep.

Maybe it was rats chewing through the vents. If he had f**king dock rats moving in"with the exotic woods he had in the shop, he had a serious problem. Muttering curses, he snatched a heavy-duty flashlight off the desk, stood, and stepped out through the narrow doorway onto the shadows of the shop floor. It was lit only by emergency lighting, equipment and frames hulking under the spaghetti tangle of ventilation and vacuum ducts for the sawdust.

And I'm all alone.

He had no warning. They hit him from both sides, focused and silent. His first confused instinct pointed to burglars when he caught a glimpse of all-black clothes. But they were f**king fast. And they worked in tandem, the first pair switching out when he broke the nose of the first one and cracked the skull of the second with the flashlight. Not thieves. Professionals. Someone was trying to kill him.

Drifting and stoned"

He pivoted after the second one went down, bringing his fist back on the rebound. Slid right into a solid body blow that doubled him over and sent the flashlight skittering off across the polished concrete to paint a useless oval of white against the wall. Everything dissolved after that into flashes of scattered instants. Grunts and harsh breathing. The stink of sweat and blood. The feeling of someone else's flesh under his fists. The crack of knuckles across his jaw.

Being too far gone.

All he needed was two seconds. One second, even, to focus his will. He could call up fire with his will and his magic. He'd torch the f**king place if he had to in order to find out who was responsible. He just needed one motherf**king second to gather up the power in his hands. Trying to buy that time, he staggered backward down an aisle between frames, spitting blood from a busted lip. "The f**k did I do to you?" he shouted into the near-darkness. Just that one second"

Well, I'm stoned and alone.

"Enough," said a voice he didn't recognize, and someone buried a knife in his back. He gasped, and his knees hit the concrete with a jarring shock as the world dissolved into wet red agony.

Hank's voice faded from the tinny speakers of the radio as they dragged him out by the arms, face-down.

(Lyrics to "Stoned and Alone? by Hank Williams III.)

Toluene. Sulfuric acid. Nitric acid.

Nitrate. Renitrate. Nitrate again.

Concentrate. Reconcentrate.

It looks like Goldfish, Keiji said. Go ahead and eat it then.

Concentrate. Reconcentrate. When nitroglycerin touches your fingers, you feel like your brains are trying to crawl out through your eye sockets. Keiji spilled an entire gallon of it, so Ryder scared his brains out with a bullet so hard they bolted in different directions. They obviously weren't doing any good inside his skull.

Concentrate. Reconcentrate. Nitrate. Nitrate again.

A river of shrink-wrap washed over concrete and ribboned out in Girl Scout pleats with Sai shredding them on the scissors. Aka watched, destroying the chair she sat on to shave off wooden curls for some grisly Goldilocks that could only exist in nightmares. It smelled like sawdust. Sawdust meant grass. Grass meant blood. The sawdust smelled like grass and blood, and she wanted it.

They concentrated. They reconcentrated. They nitrated. They nitrated again.

"I think that's enough. Wrap it up with the rest of the fuses and secure it," Ryder told them.

Controlled explosion. Aka would smile at the man who said he could control an explosion. Then she would show him why he was wrong.

"What do I do with the rest of the sulfuric acid?" someone asked.

She wanted it.

"What?" Hiden asked, surprised by Aka's voice. She repeated herself. She wanted the sulfuric acid" No. Then, what"

"His hair."

Hiden's lips twisted. "He had practically no hair."

She repeated herself.

"We're moving out in fifteen. Aka, get the others and collect the rest of the explosives. If someone spills so much as a f*cking drop of nitroglycerin?" Ryder muttered.

Hiden hesitated, his eyes on Aka. "Uh, boss" She says she wants?"

"It's not his hair she wants,? Ryder interrupted him before he left the warehouse with a half dozen men.

He smelled like sweat, and his blood was still rusting on her fingers. I'll eat your f*cking soul. She could still feel his anger raking her skin and teething at her bones like chew toys.

She picked up the explosives and she picked up her knives. But it wasn't what she wanted. Ryder knew that when he tried to take away her scissors.

She wanted him.

CRASH!

"In the name of Christ!" Bart threw his mug of ale from the galley at the group of sailors arm-wrestling each other so zealously they overturned a table. "That's coming out of your f*cking paycheck!"

The others either didn't hear him or pretended not to, some laughing while a pair of men"Reese and Davis, it looked like"threw punches and tackled each other to the ground. As the din rose from the thirty or so men in the messdeck, Bart reached for a clean mug and helped himself to the tap. He had long since given up trying to control those rowdy sons of b*tches once they'd had a few. Hell, they were great hands on deck during the day"who was he to deny them a little fun" They weren't officially docked at port until their papers cleared, and until then the guys needed some way to unwind. Once they were unleashed into Rhy"Din each could go his separate way for a while and get his jollies off doing whatever the hell he pleased. Bart planned to get laid the instant his feet hit land. Rhy"Din women were easy, he'd heard, and it had been six months for him already.

Christ, he needed to get laid. He would get laid if it was the last thing he did.

Once his mug was full, Bart turned and watched the brawl progress from the serving window. Once or twice he got a look at Davis landing a few decent blows, but for the most part the rest of the men had crowded around them blocking his view. Sooner or later they'd let up"hopefully before one or the other was dead'so until they did he was content to measure the entertainment the rest of the men took in it. By the way they shouted and threw their hands up, it certainly seemed like a lot. What was this, Fight Club 2: On Stranger Tides"

There was another crash as another table overturned and a spectator dropped to the ground, likely nailed by an errant elbow or flying dinnerware. F*ck. He was going to have to intervene before those morons gave the rest of the crew concussions.

"HEY!" he yelled over the clamor, setting his mug down so he could get a better look at who'd been grounded and who wasn't getting back up. Fat chance they'd actually listen to him until he squeezed off a few rounds from his gun, and that was all the way on the other side of the mess. Since the cook had already locked up the door out of the galley Bart was reduced to hopping onto the ledge in the serving window and swinging his legs around. He ducked his head underneath an overhang of wood, and once it was free he could finally get a better look at who was on the ground. It was Bran, and he had a hole in his head. Elbows didn't make holes.

"HEY!" he yelled again, landing on his feet just as another body hit the ground. At last someone seemed to realize that something was wrong, and the cries of acclamation suddenly became cries of alarm. Bart urgently searched the crowd for the shooter as he rushed toward the downed men, only to be shoved aside by a fellow sailor who was scrambling for his gun. His shoulder hit the deck hard, and instinctively he covered his head as someone hurtled over him and seized his pistol from a table. Almost immediately the sailor's body gave an unnatural jerk, and soon it hit the deck beside Bart like a ton of bricks, his wide eyes staring vacantly at Bart as blood leaked from his nose.

Gunfire erupted and sawdust and shouts filled the air as Bart reached for the pistol that had slid out of the dead sailor's reach. A red-hot bullet whizzed by his ear so close he felt it singe his skin, and he rolled onto his back to check the magazine.

"Bart!" Reese called, reaching him in a hunched run as he ducked through gunfire coming from all directions. Heaving his body Reese knocked over another table to create cover and held out his arm to his boss. "We've gotta get above deck! We're fish in a f*cking barrel!"

With his free hand Bart grasped the arm, yanking himself up against Reese's weight. Halfway up, however, that weight suddenly went lax and Bart found himself hitting deck again as he was sprayed with blood. For a moment he saw white, but once his vision cleared again he saw Reese's body being held in some macabre embrace by an Asian woman in black, his throat ripped out with what looked like a serrated combat knife.

Letting out a cry, Bart aimed at the woman with his pistol and rapidly depressed the trigger. With one arm she held up Reese's ragdoll body as a shield, spinning the knife around in her hand to thrust it into the gut of a sailor coming at her from behind. She let her elbow fly forcefully into another sailor's nose before she yanked another knife out of her belt, impaling that sailor in the chest as he threw himself at her.

After some time Bart realized that he had long exhausted his ammunition and was still futilely squeezing the trigger. He scrambled back away from the woman on his elbows as she discarded Reese's body and turned to intercept another two men that were coming at her. While she was occupied Bart finally looked around. It couldn't have been more that two or three minutes since the first gun went off, but there were dozens of unmoving bodies on the ground"all of people he knew. The messdeck had been overrun by what looked like only a handful of gunmen in black, and their aim was precise and lethal as their combat technique.

Another body hit the ground beside Bart, taking down a pair of chairs with it and barricading his escape route. The woman finally appeared to notice him and turned, her gaze cold as she neatly drew another knife. Just then another two men engaged her, one wrapping his arm around her neck from behind. She struggled with striking calm, threw her leg out to connect with the other's chest. He stumbled backward and against some other Asian guy's gun barrel, which discharged immediately. With damn near choreographed precision that man fixed his weapon on the sailor strangling the woman, and she moved her head just millimeters out of the way of his bullet before the sailor's head exploded.

It suddenly occurred to Bart just how quiet things were below deck. There was no more gunfire. Was he the last one left' Was this seriously it' He was going to die in a mess hall before he could even see Rhy"Din"

With all the cool composure of a pair of party guests both the man and woman approached him, regarding him like some stray dog that needed to be put out of its misery. The man's expression was almost polite as he trained his weapon on Bart's chest.

"Any last requests?" he asked.

Well, this is it. Bart looked up at the man, then at the woman, her face all spray painted red and pink with sh*t he didn't want to think about. He didn't even think about saying a prayer or begging for his life. What he did think about was his last wish, and despite everything, he smirked at her.

"Don't suppose you want to have sex with me??

Bishop flipped the chisel, its fat handle slapping into his palm as his unfocused stare reduced the pinup calendar hanging above his desk into a blur of color. He twirled the shank between his fingers until the handle slapped into his palm again. Twirl, slap. Twirl, slap. Twirl, slap.

Dahlia had taken the chisel the night she and Aoife had found him bleeding out on the floor. She'd just returned it. She'd left when he told her to go away, and he was alone in the workshop for the night. Despite his solitude—despite the fact that a squad of Asian a**holes had stormed the place and nearly killed him just a few weeks ago—he wasn't afraid for his safety. He had other things to think about. And he'd warded the building, set a slip in the interstices of the building and the air of Rhydin surrounding it. Trespassers would find themselves in the place half his DNA called its natural home: the Dreaming. In bright sunlight it could be seen, sometimes...a shimmer like a mirage coating the dull metal walls. He'd probably sent a few of the nosier Dockside stray cats over since he'd built it. He didn't feel any guilt over the thought; they were a damn sight better off there than they were eking out a living on the docks fighting for fish heads and rats. He needed to ward his house when he found the time for it. Eventually.

But Bishop had other things to think about, right now. He needed to think about how f**king stupid it had been to hope. He'd tried. He'd fumbled through months of clean and sober living. He'd worked like a maniac. He'd done his best to apologize to everyone, whether or not they were the wronged party. He'd made the barn into something worth living in. He'd started talking to Fury about happiness: what it was, what it took to get it, what it meant to others. He'd expanded that discussion to include everyone else he could think of. He'd met Dahlia. Then, when Aoife came back, he'd tried. He'd tried so hard. Not just with her, but with everybody. He'd staked that f**king leech just to try to get her to listen to him. It hadn't worked. Aoife was leaving. Dahlia was proving to be just like her in all the ways that hurt him the most. Goddamned pirates broke into the shop and came within a few days and a few gold of sinking his business, and the money from Paige Granger's house was barely keeping him afloat. Arts thought she could live without limits.

As old as he was, he should have f**king known better than to hope.

Work soothed him. He did his best work with his bare hands, carving patterns in wood with nothing more than his fingertips and his ferocious will. Henry and Rune did the big pieces, putting together furniture and assembling cabinetry. He did the detail work, stroking curls of wood away from smooth surfaces, peeling back the weight of years of the lives of trees to reveal the visions beneath. He'd used to read more. Judah had read a lot between prostitutes and mayhem wrought in Eiderdown's name, so much so that the words blended together, and he couldn't remember who had said that he'd 'seen the angel in the marble and carved until it was set free.' Da Vinci, maybe. Michelangelo. He understood that feeling.

He did his best work with his hands. It was harder to channel his magic down the shaft of a rasp, to twist a Japanese hand saw to the precise angle he needed. But he had a set that Aoife had given him, once upon a Christmastime, and he had a few other tools knocking around the shop. His chisel was back. Now he just needed to find his drawknife, and he'd have the full set again.

Knowing his f**king luck, it was under the multi-ton drill press.

"Are you sure?" She asked, her eyes staring at the man in front of her.

"Yes. Completely." He croaked in return, uncomfortable under the stare. She had a way of completely unnerving him and he hated it. He called her a banshee behind her back, or worse when he dared. She scared the hell out of him when she was angry.

"If your information is wrong.." Silver threatened.

"It's not. The Watch has been strangely active around these parts, and so have they. Unfortunately for them, they didn't watch their mouths and thought the walls had no ears. They were wrong." The words tumbled out in a rush. He just wanted a drink and to get out of this damnable heat.

Gods, it was hot, Silver silently grumbled as she ran through the information she was just given. Blackwater Shipping was after someone with information about their dealings. Why would they care, if it wasn't damning evidence, Silver wondered. There had always been rumors about Blackwater, and how their income had always seemed to be more than the business they were bringing in. Silver knew some of those in Blackwater's employ; shady figures, but apparently it was darker than she had thought.

"When?"

"I don't know. I don't know who it is. I just know they want him before the trial."

Trial" That sparked Silver's interest. If there was a trial, and the Watch was involved, that meant the Governor and a few of the Council might be as well. "I swear, you barnacle sucking waste of life, if this so much as?"

Silver didn't finish as the man held up his hands. "I swear. I swear!"

She grimaced, feeling the sweat dripping down the back of her neck and into her shirt, sliding its was down between her shoulder blades. It was too hot to be dealing with this. "Go." She muttered, waving a hand. If this was true, she mulled, then she knew who she had to go find. ~*~ Days bled into weeks, trade routes of every sort continued whether it be of the legal or not so legal. Aullere spent as much time as possible away from the inner part of the city, though not so far she couldn't be found on the inlet at a specific tavern, whose call was more to the call of propriety. The Grog and Tankard served just that purpose. An easy demeanor had by all, it was where their kind habitated and were not under the scrutiny of the Watch. A constant as soon as the sun began to set daily, today was of no exception to the trickle of swaggering asses and boisterous personalities. Today had been a coin handsome one and much celebration would surely have the local harlot tongues wagging by midnight.

Silver pushed open the door of the Grog and Tankard, a single coin flipping betwixt and between her tanned fingers, the play of the dimming sunlight sparkling on the metal. She tucked the coin in her palm as she entered, immediately spotting the other Captain. A slow smile crept over her face as she crossed the room to Aullere, a hand falling to an empty chair at the table she occupied. "I have some news." Silver teased quietly as she sat down uninvited.

The constant sound of the establishment was almost deafening, but easily ignored. The quill hesitated over her ledger as she heard Silver coming to a halt. Aullere shifted it slightly and it dripped onto the table instead. Leaning back slightly, bright green on her and a brow rose. "Well spit it out, lass..." It would seem that patience didn't increase with age, at least for her.

Silver grinned at Aullere. Nothing changed, despite the passage of time. It was always so easy to fall back into that old pattern, no matter the weeks, months or years. Silver dropped the coin on the table and leaned forward, keeping her voice deliberately low despite the noise of the tavern. "Word is there's a witness, an ex-employee of Blackwater Shipping Company has evidence against their illegal dealings. From the rumblings I hear, it's big" weapons, drugs" millions that are at stake." Silver's words fell silent as she caught the eye of a barmaid, flashing her coin. The woman turned off to fetch her a drink, allowing some time for Aullere to digest the information before Silver continued. "I want that witness and his information."

Silver was one that Aullere considered to be a constant; without fail. Of course the years passed and the girl was no longer one, she was now a grown woman and respected with due right in all she did. Proud of her, but Aullie didn't say it too often, it just should have been one of those things that was known. Taking this in, Aullere leaned the chair back onto two legs and never once did sight leave Silver. But a tip of her bottle was given to the wench for another. "Comin' into our ports?" A hand waved in reference to the general city populace as a whole. "Or elsewhere?" Interesting....hugely in fact.

"He's already here. Apparently under Watch protection and in hiding. I hear rumors on the docks as well as whispers in the government offices. I'm going to try to set up a meeting with the Governor to see what?s going on"." She smiled as the barmaid set down a mug of ale. Silver handed her the coin before looking back to Aullere. "You know?" she started, her grin spreading. "To see if I should keep an ear out for anything illegal on the docks or anything unusual in the ports. Have to uphold the law and all?" Silver tipped her mug to Aullere, that wicked gleam twinkling in her eyes as she took a long sip. The glass was set back down on the old, beaten table before she spoke again. "You know if this gets out, we won't be the only ones trying to find him or his evidence."

Aullere's left eye began to twitch and she leaned forward as the front door kept opening and closing. "Nae, we won't....." Tapping a finger to the surface, the quill was rested down there. "Don't b' gettin' overly greedy lass....ther' be plenty of time for all o' that..." Thinking, she knew Silver could maintain an easy facade, as she had done so in the past. "I'll put feelers out....y' speak t' her an' see if she offers anything easily and without a brow rising. We both ken there is someone with loose lips in his regard. Just b' easy...or we both may b' tuckin' tail and runnin'."

Silver arched a single eyebrow at Aullere, puckering her lips before slyly smiling again. She knew the wheels in Aullie's head were going at full speed. "Since when do you run" or me for that matter?" She snorted into her mug, taking another sip. "I'll find what I can on the legal end while you do your own dirty work." Silver placed the empty mug down. "We can meet up again in a day or two, before word spreads more."

Closing the ledger, the ink was capped off as well and Aullere nodded. Oh indeed, the wheels were turning. "If I ain't here, head down to th' drydocks, gettin' the refittin's done, season is still early, but this may just set us for winter..." Several glancing in their direction, there was nothing ever good to come out of a conversation between the two women....history proved that long ago. "Just dun compromise y'elf, lass....y' worked too hard." Her meaning was heavy, laden in fact.

Silver reached a tanned, calloused hand across the table to briefly squeeze Aullere's. At times, Silver teased her with "yes mother" and "No mother", despite the fact it had taken them well over a decade to get to that point. The younger Captain could remember when she was a crewmate on Aullie's ship and terrified of the older woman. My, how times had changed, though they were still sticking their necks into trouble. "Don't get soft on me you ol" coot." Silver smirked, pushing back her chair and removing her hand. "If I don't hear from you first, I'll send word. Keep yer nose clean.?