Piper was wearing a birdshell blue dress with lace trim, a Spanish comb in her long dark hair to keep the loose strands of her bangs from obstructing her view. A worn apron covered her clothing. Though the last five days away from the bustle and chaos of the marketplace and the Inn had been anything but a quiet repose, it was nevertheless, refreshing. Be that as it may, her restlessness returned once she had arrived home and settled back in to her work. Thoughts kept drifting to the Nimble Thimble and the tracks. Staring at the piece beneath her hands, her nose suddenly twitched and wrinkled with displeasure.
A whaler has a stench that precedes and follows it for miles. It is as foul as a full latrine, or a four-day-dead cow, and almost impossible to erase. The combination of sea water, cooked whale blubber, rancid whale oil in the hold, whale blood and guts, rotting meat, slime, mashed barnacles, bile, seagull and pelican droppings and unwashed sick men permeates the air, wood, clothing, sails, ropes, even brass and iron on a whaler. It would not wash off and you never get used to it. When you leave a whaling ship you have to burn your clothes, shave your hair and scrape off a layer of skin to escape the smell.
Cooper was the cleanest, best-groomed sailor on the The Foul Wind, including the captain. At sea, he bathed at least twice a day, no matter how cold, by dragging a bucket over the side and dousing himself over and over until he was satisfied. A man must bathe every day, he informed his rank shipmates. At Rhydin, he scoured himself with soap and sand until his skin was bright red. But even he couldn't keep the stink off his clothes. As clean as he could get, he still wore the stench of dead whale when he barreled into Piper?s studio.
Looking up from the glazing she was applying to that newly fired piece when her cousin barreled inside, Piper eyed Cooper's clean layers of white ruffled shirt, ivory-buttoned navy woolen jacket and blue sailor's ducks. ?You are going to pass out in five seconds flat from a heat stroke if you don?t remove that coat.?
Shrugging out to the jacket with his lopsided trademark grin, it was tossed to the only other chair in the small studio before he was advancing on Piper with arms open wide. ?Piper! No warm, welcoming hug? No kiss for your returned ken??
It's only midafternoon and already the whole day was a bust. She may only be a girl, but she was an experienced gambler and so believed in probability, not luck. But on days like this, she really had to wonder. Rising from the small three-legged chair to cross the room, she dunked her hands into the barrel of water repeatedly, removing the lingering traces of clay and stain. At least, what could be washed clean without succumbing to her own thorough scrubbing. ?Don?t you come a step closer!? Pointing an accusing wet finger towards him and blowing a kiss on the tail of her admonishing. ? You reek and I have enough scrubbing of my own to do without you adding to the mix.? Cajoling playfully, she was nevertheless sidestepping his outstretched arms with a chuckle even as she was sniffing the air with a wink.
?I want to go check on Nimble. I?ve been thinking she needs a mate, someone to keep her company. Do you think a male Pegasus is available??
?A mate? You thinking of breeding The Nimble?? Grasping her elbow, he spun her around and deftly untied the apron strings at the small of her back. Pulling it over her head, he dropped it to the floor then steered her toward the door. ?Hey, I have acquired a beautiful French wedding gown, complete with veil and honeymoon nightdress, from a family -- after their daughter was refused marriage at the last minute by her husband-to-be's parents, who learned that she was five months pregnant, and possibly not by their son. The poor girl had poisoned herself.?
?No, I don?t know anything about that mating mess. I just think it would be nice for her to have a companion.? She eyed him wearily as they started toward the Tropicana Sands. ?And what in the blue blazes has a wedding gown got to do with a Pegasus??
He was whistling merrily as he guided her down the road. A sly look down to his proper little cousin with a wicked wink was all she got for her distressed protest.
A whaler has a stench that precedes and follows it for miles. It is as foul as a full latrine, or a four-day-dead cow, and almost impossible to erase. The combination of sea water, cooked whale blubber, rancid whale oil in the hold, whale blood and guts, rotting meat, slime, mashed barnacles, bile, seagull and pelican droppings and unwashed sick men permeates the air, wood, clothing, sails, ropes, even brass and iron on a whaler. It would not wash off and you never get used to it. When you leave a whaling ship you have to burn your clothes, shave your hair and scrape off a layer of skin to escape the smell.
Cooper was the cleanest, best-groomed sailor on the The Foul Wind, including the captain. At sea, he bathed at least twice a day, no matter how cold, by dragging a bucket over the side and dousing himself over and over until he was satisfied. A man must bathe every day, he informed his rank shipmates. At Rhydin, he scoured himself with soap and sand until his skin was bright red. But even he couldn't keep the stink off his clothes. As clean as he could get, he still wore the stench of dead whale when he barreled into Piper?s studio.
Looking up from the glazing she was applying to that newly fired piece when her cousin barreled inside, Piper eyed Cooper's clean layers of white ruffled shirt, ivory-buttoned navy woolen jacket and blue sailor's ducks. ?You are going to pass out in five seconds flat from a heat stroke if you don?t remove that coat.?
Shrugging out to the jacket with his lopsided trademark grin, it was tossed to the only other chair in the small studio before he was advancing on Piper with arms open wide. ?Piper! No warm, welcoming hug? No kiss for your returned ken??
It's only midafternoon and already the whole day was a bust. She may only be a girl, but she was an experienced gambler and so believed in probability, not luck. But on days like this, she really had to wonder. Rising from the small three-legged chair to cross the room, she dunked her hands into the barrel of water repeatedly, removing the lingering traces of clay and stain. At least, what could be washed clean without succumbing to her own thorough scrubbing. ?Don?t you come a step closer!? Pointing an accusing wet finger towards him and blowing a kiss on the tail of her admonishing. ? You reek and I have enough scrubbing of my own to do without you adding to the mix.? Cajoling playfully, she was nevertheless sidestepping his outstretched arms with a chuckle even as she was sniffing the air with a wink.
?I want to go check on Nimble. I?ve been thinking she needs a mate, someone to keep her company. Do you think a male Pegasus is available??
?A mate? You thinking of breeding The Nimble?? Grasping her elbow, he spun her around and deftly untied the apron strings at the small of her back. Pulling it over her head, he dropped it to the floor then steered her toward the door. ?Hey, I have acquired a beautiful French wedding gown, complete with veil and honeymoon nightdress, from a family -- after their daughter was refused marriage at the last minute by her husband-to-be's parents, who learned that she was five months pregnant, and possibly not by their son. The poor girl had poisoned herself.?
?No, I don?t know anything about that mating mess. I just think it would be nice for her to have a companion.? She eyed him wearily as they started toward the Tropicana Sands. ?And what in the blue blazes has a wedding gown got to do with a Pegasus??
He was whistling merrily as he guided her down the road. A sly look down to his proper little cousin with a wicked wink was all she got for her distressed protest.