((i'm not sure what Viator likes, so "help yourself" ))

Caught up in the story, Merry didn't realize Viator had actually addressed her until her own eyes met with his. "Oh! Epaemo, wasn't even payin' attention 'cept to the story..." She gestured at the bed. "There's a few jugs under there - I got whiskey, beer, a spot o' rum, an' some stuff fer tea...whatever ye like, help yerself. I know I'd like some tea, so I'll put on some water once the soup's done."

She smiled over at Shi, who was still diligently working on the meal. "An' I'll bet Shi could make us some benny drinks, too, right, Shi?" She smirked in a childish, playful way and batted her eyelashes.

Settling back into her comforter, Merry nodded encouragingly at Viator and smiled again. "Go on with yer story, kov...once ye've had yer drink, that is."

Wendy had listened to the story with an amused smile-- until the end.

"You tipped your hat to a galdor?!" She asked incredulously, and then shook her head, "And I thought I knew you!"

It occurred to her very suddenly that she didn't know him at all. He'd been to Mugroba. His life daunted her...everything he did spoke of experience.

And what have I done? Clean hallways in Brunnhold for more than ten years.

Handing everyone present their bowls, the older witch was enjoying the meeting, too. The underlying sadness and anger were still tucked somewhere inside, but this was the right mix of strangers and friendly faces to bury them for a while. And the warm refuge of the kint against the rain only enhanced the atmosphere.

"You know, Mugroba is one of the only places where human and galdori can actually work together. I mean, really together, not one bossed around and heavily taxed by the other."
Shi shot a sharp glance at 'Venadi'. "And passives got equal rights there, too."

She paused to hand Viator the last bowl of soup. "This is wet and delicious! And it's better when it's hot. But don't worry, your beer is coming. I'll get one for myself too. Who else?" Merry had given her blessing for Via and Shi to use her reserve from how the older witch understood it.
"I'll whip you something with the whisky for dessert, providing I find some cream or milk or coffee around here." She added at the intention of the younger witch.

"Doesn't mean Mugrobi can't be prejudiced, mind you," she added as an afterthought. After all, if this was the case, she'd probably still be there. "But at least, they've got no law to uphold it."

((catchup before disappearing for two weeks again, sorry))

Viator grinned, muscles shifting through his water plastered shirt as he stood and accepted the soup. "Thenkee, marm." However, he still went straight for the whisky; the sailor needed something with some kick. Pouring a tumbler for himself, he pushed back a sodden fringe of hair and grinned at the ladies assembled. Well, if he had more inclination and desire, he'd be the most eligible bachelor for miles he figured. It always amused Viator to contemplate libido, trying on for size the bravado external equipment gave men. Yet, as dark eyes found Wendy, he wondered if he was really all the separate from it anymore.

Smile losing it's fullness, he sloshed down the alcohol with blasphemous alacrity and after topping off, seated himself again on the floor. "Now, where was oi? Ah yea, th'interior o' Mugland. Cap'n Efven, Hessean as 'e was brilliant, hitched us seadogs t'carts an' we were off int'th'desert. He always had a mind fer practicality, an' we carried mant manna water fer ourselves an' the dem Kensers. Now, those Kensers..." He grinned, motioning with an elbow to the two outside. "Those uns er a diff'rent breed, ye see. Th'ones we were signed with in Mugroba had t'be half Mug themselves, theys was so honorable. Too honorable t'be ridden, e'en. So, we was either walkin' in th'bright blasted sun or sittin' under canvas thin as th'skin on yer teeth an' sweatin it out. Not pleasant days, lemme tell ye.

"An th'nights! Near froze everytime th'sun sank. Then th'Kensers weren't so honorable, lemme tell ye. Darnless brings th'desert t'life, lassies, lemme tell ye. Things scream an' die an others hiss an' chomp an some... well.... sometimes there were sandstorms loike th'very earth'd opened up and tried t'swallow ye. Those were the nights th'Uliam sang." He looked the girls over, gauging reactions. Would it be more fun to tell it like a ghost story or a drama? To focus the light on himself or the Captain? It mattered little, but Viator liked to consider himself a good yarn stringer.

The memory of those cold, gritty nights brought back more than just fear though, it brought back long, whispered conversations with his sea da, sleeping in a mess of sailors like a bundle of puppies, and then the sandstorm, him and Olarne caught in one collapsing tent, coiled close to protect their skin and conserve heat and maybe survive--

He'd never been really separate. Just better at hiding it back then. The smile remained, but ti was tight and the passive's eyes held a distant, melancholy shade.

After a glance at Merry to check she was not upset about so much use of her reserves, Shi watched the sailor down his whisky and tasted her beer, listening closely to the story.

Not only was she interested in the story, but it pleasantly reminded her of a long past time. A time when she was free and ready to conquer the world. She remembered the scorching sun, the heat, the freezing nights. Her first month in her da's tribe had indeed been hard, even for someone already coming from the edge of the desert.

Her memories diverged from Viator's on the human element: being saddled with a father who'd rather forget he once had a relationship with a galdor, and with two half sister who spent her time mocking her "golly princess" education hadn't been exactly pleasing.
But maybe in some strange devious way, it had helped her appreciate more the beauty of the desert?

The older witch stayed silent and stared at the sailor. This was one of the first sailor tales she heard, and she was interested by the way it was told, and even more curious about how it would end.

Pictures of rolling deserts and white-winged ships sailed through Merry's imagination as she sat, staring up at the ceiling. Viator's story was so enthralling - it might've simply been the way he was telling it, but it didn't matter to Merry. She could easily sit there forever, warm beneath her blanket, surrounded by her people, listening to long stories while the rain beat in droves against the roof outside. For her, it was true bliss.

Somewhere in the back of Merry's mind, reality reared its head, reminding her of what was coming within the next few days, and for a moment she lost her concentration on Viator's words. No, she thought just as quickly. No. Tonight would not come again, and she wouldn't let anything ruin the moment.

She focused on the young man's words again, and felt her imagination rise once more with the story. And this time, she closed her eyes; that always helped.

Keiyra leaned into the red haired wick beside her, eyes blinking heavily as the passive spoke. She'd caught the uncomfortable way Venadi had reacted when she asked about her tattoos, and after months of living with hatred and denial, she knew the signs, and it paid to leave well alone. The girl had issues she needed to sort out, and Keiyra wasn't the one to help her with it.

Yawning softly, the pink haired witch found herself closing her eyes more often than she opened them, lulled by the warmth of the kint and the soothing sound of the man's quiet breathing, accompanied by the story and the thrumming rain. Somewhere, there was food cooking, but the woman wasn't sure she even wanted to try and find it. Content, sleepy and warm, Keiyra drifted into a quiet doze.

Very slowly, very silently, lest she disturbed the story and the atmosphere, Shi reached for Keiyra bowl. With gestures as slow and careful as if she was rehearsing a martial art move, she brought it back to the kitchen before it risked tipping on the blanket.

Then she slowly slipped down to the floor, still silent, and sat cross-legged on the free spot she had chosen between the stove and the door. She looked at Viator, from down under, expecting the rest of the tale, then at Jerzy, her glass of beer in her hands.

The boy had never really talked to her, but from what she knew by hearsay inside the Laughing Sky, he was quite the womaniser. The view of the pretty Keiyra dowsing on his lap was touching, but Shi couldn't help but wonder if Jerzy was fully honest with her. If he really intended to keep her with him. The question erased the smile that was forming on her lips, and hardened her green eyes.

He felt the magic of the story teller fill the room, and Viator smiled warmly, nursing his whisky. There was nothing like this, he decided. Never again would he and Wendy and Shi and Merry ever sit together, nor would Jerzy and Kieyra cozy together. This was one storm, one night alone, and he was going to make them remember the warmth and light of it like nothing else.

pushing up his sodden sleeves, he looked the kint over, bittersweet smile, eyes narrowed to crescents of memory. "Aye, ent nuffin loike th'main o'Mugland m'hearties. Ye've all gotta see it afore yer laid t'rest, I swear. Ah, alas, lemme git back t'my tale.

"Th'Uliam're a odd kinda critter. They're silent, all times 'cept sandstorms. An' when ye hear 'em callin, means mant manna things. If ye heara high, keenin note like this--" He pursed his lips, and from the cracked skin rose a high, clear note unlike what most people could manage. It was higher, shriller than most human whistles. "Thas a small storm. Means yer gonna get out alright, nah manna death, ye chen? An one like this--" Another whistle, this one longer, less sharp and more mournful, "--That'n means a long un. Evil comes wiv those whistles. Stuck in tents fer days'll makes blokes mad, an' those calls kill 'em as sure as pistols."

Efven had taught him to shrill, and Via's eyes got caught in memory. Oh that night had been hell, clinging, their tent ripped and rent by a crazed sailor, and as he plunged out intot he sand filled night the canvas had collapsed. The golly had seen the tattoo that night, though they never spoke of it.

There was lots Efven and Viator hadn't talked about.

Catching himself before his thoughts dragged him deep into the past, he forced a charming grin at Merry. "Oi, ysorry there. Lost in m'own mazes fer a moment. Ah yeah, th'Ulies. Now one night, me an m'sea da, an old girzzled Hessean wiv arms loike tree trunks, now he told me how the Uliam gots his voice. It'sa longish tale, an old. Dunno if it's Mug myth, or Hessean, or if th'bloke came up wiv it t'soothe m'nerves right then an there. But yarr, loike all tales, it starts wiv our hero wandering alone..."