The barricade was like a swarm of insects over the river, humming noisily in the sky, more than anyone had imagined were available in Old Rose; thirty or more aeroships of varying size, type and design, crow-black and patched, occupied the airspace over the river's inlet. The denizens of Old Rose shaded their eyes against the early morning sun to better see them, and whispers filled the air. What was happening?

By first light the Seventen ships had given up pursuit of the Crane, and Ceres breathed a heavy sigh - not of relief, but exhaustion. His muscles ached and his mind was frayed, and he longed for the days of his youth, when he could have flown at incredible speeds over long distances without breaking a sweat.

The barricade had turned to greet him, and the two beetle-green ships behind him had stopped well short of it. Hovering crazily, buzzing angrily, they bucked and bobbed and eventually decided that it was not worth it to challenge the barricade. They knew well of Hawke's power in the harbor. It was an act of war, Ceres surmised, that they were not willing to make. Hawke, in his infinite wisdom, had anticipated this.

They were radioing in now, a series of beeps and clicks across some long frequency. Galdori use of this technology disgusted Ceres. They had developed it for long-range communication, and not all of the pilots knew how to scry while steering, the lazy fools. He knew it would doubtless prove invaluable to the resistance one day, but it was too easily toyed with, too weak and fallible. He easily distressed the signal, and it became nothing but a garbled mess of static through his receiver.

They had warned that more would follow.

Hawke's ships waved them past with blinker lights. The Crane was drifting to one side, he noticed; he would have to survey the damage when they landed. Old Rose from the air was a familiar sight, almost comforting now, even as his very soul felt raw with tiredness. They swooped in over the east part of town and circled around to that secret spot in the jungle near the mansion of the King of the Underworld.

All eyes followed the strange ship. The pirate vessels that hovered above the town were all human things, clearly dangerous, spitting steam and smoke and bobbing wildly as the cobbled machinery kept them aloft, stripped of any unnecessary weight. The Crane was solid, and flew steadily, without any of the belching pollution.

They landed delicately in the designated clearing.

Ceres glanced out the window to see heavily armed guards surrounding the ship. He waved sarcastically at them. One of them was Rinata, the girl who disliked him so, but he also recognized Toothy Ted, the scoundrel who had repaired his vessel last time.

He lifted the lever for the hold, and the hatch swung open, coming to rest with a clang on the cleared earth. The Bad Brothers gathered around them, curious about who was inside.

"Ahoy, Ceres," said Toothy Ted. "Ye banged 'er up real good this time. Fightin' drakes, mayhaps?"

Ceres blinked; he had assumed the King would have told his underlings all about the plan, but on second thought, it made sense that he had not. They were not to be trusted on any account. Rinata glared up at him, her eyes full of malice for his kind, or perhaps for him in particular.

"Something like that," he said, stepping through the cockpit door onto the ramp. "Help me get the wounded to the Palace. And I must speak to Hawke."

Khymarah looked out of the aeroship, fascinated and a little frightened by all the airships. She hadn't know the harbor folk were so well equipped, embarrassed to say she assumed them all to be sea faring pirates. Standing beside Fion, so close she brushed the seamstresses shoulder, she held herself as though she was cold, hood down on her cloak and red hair a loose scarlet waterfall down her back.

"Fion, how are you feeling?" She asked quietly as Ceres spoke with the toothless ruffians, field pulled close as she could, unwilling to announce her presence, but not skilled enough to hide her humming aura. Of course, Ceres trusted these people...somewhat...but it didn't shake the feeling of anxiety in the galdori stomach. She was cast-weary and tired, but there was still something left to give. If she brailed doing it, at least they weren't in the air anymore.

"We're real scoundrels now ..." Tanner crowed excitedly, staring wide-eyed at the myriad of ruffians gathered outside the aeroship. She'd watched it all from inside, face pressed against the glass window, nose smashed, eyes taking in everything, studying every ship in the barricade. She'd never been out of Vienda, let alone anywhere as clocking dangerous as Old Rose. Sure, she'd had to wipe steam from her own excited breath from the window more than once, but the girl's heart was practically leaping from her chest once the Crane had landed and she tumbled out, weapons making her look like an awkward squire of danger.

Her whole body ached by now and she knew she was tired, but she was hardly afraid. Too much adventure and too little sleep left her giddy and full of bravado. Still, she didn't venture far from her own, willing to lend Casey a hand, hovering near Barrel so if anything happened the bigger man could smash something first.

Fion hadn't realised how much she'd missed the ground until she was back upon it. It was hard to appreciate being in the air, when you were being chased through it. Even though she couldn't tell the intricacies of a field as well as a galdor, she realised that Khymarah's felt tighter than it had before.

"I'm well, how are you holding up?" She asked, looking out at the brothers present with interest. "Dear, this almost reminds me of home. Only with more tattoos and jewelery."

There was something about being among potential scoundrels that felt like her childhood. It had an almost homey feel to it. There would be no pretensions here about birth rights and noblesse, only the balance of power. Simpler for Fion to deal with and easier for someone like her to try to manipulate, if she had to. It wasn't as though she had any plans, she just liked the potential opportunities that the harbour seemed to possess.

"I don't think you can claim that title quite yet, Tanner. We're still noble souls, comparatively." Fion ran a hand through her hair, enjoying the breeze that drifted up from the ocean. "I really need to take these bindings off soon..."

She stretched, looking out at Rinata and those around her before turning back into the ship.

"I'm going to check on Stu again." For the hundredth time.

((Sorry. He's so bossy. He couldn't stay out any longer. He's looked forward to this thread forever. Flog me later.))

"You know, Rin ... dear, someone should really spend more time compiling a guest list when we have so many people show up on our doorstep at once." A familiar voice spoke up from behind the Henchwitch. Corwynn's tone was almost teasing as he scanned the rather ragged collection of people pouring from the battered hull of the Crane. Blue eyes lingered with no small amount of amusement over Ceres, finally falling curiously on another galdor of a younger and more feminine persuasion. Clearing his throat, he continued nonchalantly,

"Especially when some of them appear to be members of actual society." Right hand settling comfortably on the pistol at his hip, the blond gunman chuckled, "The Harbor's hardly a place for," he glanced at the wounded before offering Ceres a wolfish grin, content with defiant harassment, "such delicate city folk."

Sniffing, he added haughtily, "Do any of our new friends need carrying?" Not that he was volunteering, of course, but it was more intended as general information for the small crowd of other undergroundlings gathered for the show.

Ceres gave Corwynn his most finely honed unimpressed glance.

"Well, I didn't know he was bringing an entourage," sneered Rinata. "Hawke just said Ceres. I figured that meant the usual - all by his lonesome." She aimed an exaggerated pout towards the older galdor, but it went unnoticed. Ceres had approached Corwynn and bowed his head, showing courtesy that was lost upon the rest of the Bad Brothers.

"We have two seriously wounded men, and two men who have been badly shaken. One of ours is a healer," he nodded at Khymarah, "but we may require Hawke's doctors. He has promised us lodging for the night." He glanced over at Rinata, remembering well their last discussion, then turned back to the blonde galdor. "I have the information and will meet with him as soon as my men and women are safely looked after."

"Right," said Rinata, and stepped past the two of them contemptuously onto the hatch. "Who needs lifting? Get some clockin' stretchers ready, boys." The other Bad Brothers scurried to put together some makeshift stretchers with their coats and the nearby bamboo sticks.


----



Stu was awake now, but he had decided he would rather not be. The weight of what he had just witnessed and participated in was pressing down on his chest like an anvil, and the residual pain from his magical surgery still smarted all the way down to the bones of his hand. He was staring blankly at the wall of the Crane's hold.

Fion was kneeling by Stu when Rinata entered. She probably would have paid more attention to Rinata's attire, had he not been there. She wanted to look like the natives as much as possible, when they met with Hawke. It seemed like the done thing.

"Hey Ward, how are you feeling?" She said, touching his hand, curving her fingers around his gently.

She didn't like how numb he seemed, though she had been expecting it. It worried her.



"Ward does." Fion replied, ducking her head slightly at the woman, keeping her voice smooth. "And Casey."

She looked over at the boy. He didn't look in any way healthy but he did look alive enough. She regarded Rinata once again, she seemed to be considering the other woman, though not competitively.

"Can I help?" She asked.

Stu looked up at her. He had been conscious for a while, but too thoughtful to speak; it seemed like his period of rest was over. He was aware of her hand in his, small and soft. They had landed. He felt the earth beneath his body, and the dreadful rocking of the ship had ceased.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, still unsure of where they were. It was bright outside, wherever it was; Fion's dark hair was haloed in sunlight.



Rinata returned the scrutiny. She was a woman with hard edges, her skin rough and scraped and marred with wide silvery scars. Her face looked permanently mutinous; her undyed hair was more harbor wick than nomadic wick, with the back part shaved off and the rest tied into lazy dreadlocks. She wore practical clothes and jackboots.

"Watch him for a minute. I'll get the kid," she said abruptly, striding to the back to look at Tanner. "Here, you, help me carry him." The witch grabbed Casey under his arms and waited for Tanner to heft up his legs. Casey seemed slightly amused by this for some reason, but didn't dare crack a joke.

Fion was perfectly content to watch Stu. Her fingers had already drifted down to feel the pulse at his wrist. She felt easier when she could see him.



"Me? I'm fine, how are you?" She asked, a near silent laugh moving her shoulders. "I'm not the one who had to be heroic."

Her free hand reached out to smooth Stu's brow, biting her lip as she tried to wish his worry lines away. She lingered.

"We're in Old Rose now, we're safe." She said, trying to fill in the moment. "Do you need anything?"

Her hand stayed away from the cut on his head but still made their way into his hair, brushing it away from his eyes. She never would have touched him like that, in Vienda, before they had almost lost him. It comforted her, so she let herself stay close.

Tanner's eyes went wide at the witch, jaw dropping a little. Sure, she'd hung around wicks before, but Rinata was different. She blinked, awed by the woman she could only consider a professional ruffian, before snatching up a weapon or two and then bending to pick up Casey's legs as expected. The girl grinned at him, still full of a blossoming, probably foolish bravado, thrilled,

"We're gonna spend the night with a bunch of Baddies, Case. It's gonna be clockin' crazy. You hang in there an' someone's gonna fix you up." She chanced a very cautious glance at Rinata, "I mean, I think ... right?"

----

Had Corwynn been anywhere but in the Harbor among what he now called his own people, he might have returned some semblance of courtesy to a galdor older than himself. However, he wasn't, so he didn't. He had his own appearance to maintain, after all, though he might have allowed a momentary distracted glance in Khymarah's direction. For effect, of course. Or something.

Instead, the blond snickered and rolled his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, "I'm sure the exchange is fair enough. If taking care of all of you is part of the deal, then, you've got nothing to worry about, old man."

He watched Rinata and some others scramble into helpful action, shifting his gaze to study the condition of the Crane with idle curiosity, "Though, by the looks of things—especially considering your quaint escort earlier—I doubt your stay in our lovely Harbor will only last a night."

The gunman's grin was almost saccharine, "You may have to consider a bit of renegotiating."

Barrel had an anecdotal knowledge of golly high society at best, and so when he should have seen the subtle power play of two no-nonsense men, what he actually interpreted was a highly homosexual exchange.

"Didn't know Harbour Gollies were so...accomodating."

It looked an awful lot like flirting to him, and Barrel curled his lip in disgusted ignorance. He'd never understood the concept of homosexuality - were they just too meek to find themselves a good lass?

"Long as ye keep yer negotiating behind closed doors..."

Barrel was, needless to say, quite homophobic. He hoped his lodgings weren't anywhere near this new character. He shook his head and busied himself with helping the wounded off the ship.

As Fion walked back inside, Khymarah moved forward a little, unsure as to whether she should follow Ceres or not. There were fields amongst that lot, unfriendly fields. One in particular pushed against her and instinctively, she drew hers back further, dual colored eyes searching for the galdor among them. Was he a spy or a friend? Panic nibbled at her a little.



The blonde man caught her attention as he spoke, dual colored eyes meeting with his own blue ones. It seemed he was part of this mess as well, but not like her. This man wasn't from her town, this was a Harbor golly. His field practically stank of fish and salt, it also reeked with misuse. Khymarah didn't miss the galdori's hand on his gun, a pointless weapon with magic it seemed. Was he a weak caster?



The redhead blushed slightly, looking away from the blonde man, nodding to Ceres as he looked at her. A healer, thats what he called her. Still, it wasn't like she couldn't cast something fiery if she needed to. Stepping aside as the henchmen and the rather intimidating looking witch came aboard, she floated around, not really in any position of usefulness, but unwilling to let her guard down.



Feeling the man's eyes on her, Khymarah glanced at him, lifting her chin slightly. He was just a thug, like all the others here. Granted, he was a galdor, but the shoe still fit. Turning slightly from the scene, she looked over as the two girls carried out Casey. Falling in alongside them for a bit, she glanced over the boy. He looked pale, and sore, but mostly okay. Slowing before her feet touched the bare ground outside, she looked down, black well cleaned boots a stark contrast to the dirt just in front of her toes. It was her first time outside of the civilized walls of Vienda or Brunnhold, and a lot of her was frightened.



Khymarah had to stifle a smile, even if she knew the human shouldn't taunt like that. Her eyes strayed to the blonde again, wondering how he would react.

Do I ever, thought a tiny, unbeaten part of Stu's brain, still managing to produce the less-than-heroic thoughts he would never articulate. She was being motherly, of course, that was all. The hand in his hair was a caring and gentle one, but ultimately served some sort of medicinal purpose. It was a monumental struggle not to interpret it in any other way.

"I think I can get myself up," he said, looking warily at Rinata and sitting up with some difficulty and closing his eyes as his head buzzed. His shoulder did not hurt particularly much, but there was an overall feeling of crunching, aching pain in his body, one that was neither lessened or worsened by movement. He felt exceedingly tired. The part where he had ended up with a serious wound was still relatively fuzzy, edged out of the picture by the looming guilt he was experiencing.

The Brothers had finished cobbling together a rickety stretcher out of shirts, coats and sticks, and when Tanner and Rinata carried Casey out of the aeroship they lined up quickly to help him onto it. The boy winced but tried not to complain. He was fully conscious now, passing around furtive looks at the Bad Brothers and Tanner, taking in the scene with his own slightly tweaked point of view.

Rinata nodded curtly at Tanner and lifted one end of the stretcher.

"They start you early in Vienda, eh?" she commented, noticing how young she and Casey were. "Good. No point in wasting time. Look sharp now, help me get him to the Loft."

Ceres did not seem overly concerned with Corwynn's predictions. Inside, he had wondered the same thing; namely, that the previously agreed upon price would have somehow mutated into something much larger and shinier in the interim between their meetings. The King was not known for his consistency; it was part of what made him such a formidable businessman.

"To make a deal with a devil, you prepare for all eventualities," said Ceres. "The King knows I would never have put all my cards on the table in one turn."

Suss and Marks, both looking haggard and sleep-deprived, were helping each other out of the aeroship. Both had sustained minor injuries; Suss had a nasty-looking head wound that had chipped some of his hair away, and Marks was walking with a pronounced hobble as though his ankle had been sprained.

"Budge up, limpy," snarled the former, with his arm around his friend.
"Stop pushing," said the latter. "I'm going, I'm going. Don't fret, the barber's open all day."
"Morgue closes early on the sevens," Suss replied. "I was hoping to get you in before noon."
"Maybe we could get a group deal," groaned Marks as he stepped on his leg wrong.

"I think you can let me help you. I'm not sure you should be walking." She also wasn't sure a makeshift stretcher would hold him, he was a big guy.

She shifted her shoulder under his, careful not to jostle him too much. She kept her side against his, so he could lean on her and her spare arm around his back. He seemed wobbly to her. She wasn't immune to the thought that their decision had cost more than it had gained. Fion was as much a master of denial as Stu was. She was going to hold it off until she went to bed, she had a schedule for such matters. Fion waited until the right moment to blame herself.

It was going to have to wait until Stu was taken care of and she'd made sure Khymarah was settled and... She had to tell the other woman about Ivan. It was looking to be a busy day.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait for a stretcher?" She asked, drinking in the relief of having him close and knowing that he wasn't dead.

Stu very carefully put just enough weight on Fion to avoid toppling her. It was a delicate balancing act, but he had had years of experience carrying laden trays. He stood up awkwardly, not understanding why his legs were shaking so badly.

"I ent that young." Huffed Tanner from under her bangs, bravado in her veins actually drawing a smile from her in Rinata's direction, "... 'Sides, it looks like things're the same here. I'm sure y'all start trouble young, too."

It was almost a romantic, fantastical thought to the young human. The Harbor seemed dangerously different from Vienda: less rules, less gollies, more guns. She might've found that attractive, had she not already decided that their cause was more important.

---

"Of course you wouldn't." The blond galdor scowled sardonically at Ceres with a roll of his blue eyes, "Alioe forbid anyone make a mess of their bets too early in the game."

Corwynn had no doubt his employer had plenty of other aces up his sleeves, anyway. As far as he was concerned, the glimpses of the Resistance he'd seen so far still made it appear disorganized and young, still fueled by too much passion and not enough focus. While he was up for being wrong, he hadn't seen anything to impress him yet and he wasn't about to hold his breath.

The gunman shifted his gaze to the large human as everyone began to walk, limp, or otherwise travel away from the Crane. Never one to miss an innuendo when it suited him, the shorter man grinned and arched a sun-touched eyebrow, "That depends on what you mean by accommodating." He practically purred, but his right hand was still comfortably at rest on his pistol, "Keep thinking that way, and I'll have to make sure you're invited, however—"

He laughed and shrugged dismissively, hardly serious. He had his preferences as it was, perhaps making them clear with a flash of a mischievous grin in Khymarah's direction, "—I'd much prefer bargaining for prettier, younger attentions ... that's for clocking sure."

Khymarah blushed again, looking back into the crane to check on the last of the party. Were they all going to be this...absurd? As the others passed her, the galdor glanced at the dirt ground again, her face a small mask of concern. Finally, she took a breath and stepped off the ramp.

Wandering a little, she stayed mostly with their group, glancing up at the yellow haired galdor every so often, checking on his distance from her. Without a better place to go, the redhead moved to Ceres, standing just behind him, looking up at the toothy man before him with a small smile.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but are we able to take the wounded somewhere a little drier and cleaner? If they stay out here in the mud and the rain, infection could take hold quite quickly, and that means less hands to help."

Fion only heard the tail end of Corwynn's jibe, as she helped Stu towards the exit to the Crane. She heard Khymarah in full. The sight of so many galdori in one place left her with a strange sense of distress, like nights where the Tiger was too full or too empty. She reminded herself that Khymarah was an exception to the rule and Ceres had rescued Stu, Casey and Suss and Marks. That left one person to feel unnerved about.

She wanted to add something to the conversation but she didn't feel like talking around the blond man, when she didn't have much to say. She didn't like him implying he had intentions. She wanted to protect her friend, even though recent events implied she hardly needed it. It simply made Fion feel better about it.

Barrel smirked.
"Heh, you'd have more luck wi' me. Far as I can tell, she's cryin' for someone else."

He didn't like the type of scoundrel they were dealing with, but it wasn't like he hadn't dealt with them before. This one didn't seem much different from the rest, besides being a golly - all you needed was a bigger gun and their stones fell right out their pocket.

The Harbour...life was free here, but life was cheap, too. Neither city nor port were the place for his kind to thrive. Until they had left, he would not let down his guard.

Ceres nodded.

"We're going up to the palace now," he announced, still keeping his voice low but loud enough to let everyone know. Rinata scowled, seemingly unhappy that they had been invited to Silas Hawke's mansion, but she kept quiet. "They have a doctor there. I am not a healer, but we have Angora, and I will call on the Medicine Hut after I have spoken with Hawke."

He frowned; it would have been better to visit right away, but he knew Hawke would not want to delay their meeting, not when he had his greedy sights on a piece of information.

The mansion was not far; they could see the top of it poking through the trees. How very like Hawke to have a private airstrip in his backyard, thought Ceres, rolling his eyes as they entered his garden, a wild, overgrown jungle of exotic flowers and broken statues, many of which had been covered in graffiti or had mustaches drawn on their marble faces. They limped and carried and shuffled and marched on the path up to the back entrance, passing at least three gates that were clearly ornamental rather than functional.

Though no one stepped out of the woods to bother them, there was a definite feeling of being watched as they approached. Marks was one-legged for all practical purposes, and Casey's stretcher was unweildy, but they finally made it to the Back Door.

The capitals were entirely necessary. It was a back door fitting of a grand palace, albeit one in an advanced state of disrepair, its derelict decadence punctuated like gunfire with randomly placed gilt cherubs and gargoyles, endless frippery and filigree, bright paint chipped away to reveal crumbling plaster and expensive marble. It was alarmingly ostentatious and aggressively stylish, and the entire effect was that of a tastelessness that only a very, very rich man could afford.

"Uhg," said Suss before he could stop himself. This remark was easily concealed as an exclamation of pain, however, as he had been groaning anyway with one hand clutched to his head.

Stu looked around, feeling dizzy. Nothing that had taken place in the last week had made any kind of sense, and this was the most senseless place of all. He held onto Fion as a sort of anchor to keep himself grounded in reality.

At the door, they were greeted by another bunch of louts and criminals. This batch, however, had red uniforms. They saluted to the welcome crew.

"Loft, straightaway," barked Rinata, pointing. "And call up the doc. Got any of that more-feen left? Send it up with a bottle of scotch. And a bottle of rum too."

The red-suited men hurried forward to help Suss and Marks and to take Casey's stretcher. One of them approached Stu and Fion. As Stu was considerably taller and bulkier than he, he looked a little unsure of his suitability for the job; another man hurriedly flanked him as backup. "All right, miss," the first one greeted Fion, with a harbor scallywag's calloused politeness.

Fion was beginning to wonder if power corrupted all aspects of character or just good taste. She was no expert but she wasn't sure it was pleasing to her aesthetic to see so many cherubs in one place. She felt as though their eyes were judging her. Silently, harshly...

The sight of unpolished politeness was comparatively very grounding. She tilted her head up some more. She was the least tired of all them and still the walk up to the mansion with Stu leaning on her had left her wanting to sit down for a short while.

"I'm fine, Ward could use a look over." She'd bandaged what hadn't been healed but it was patch work only. A real doctor would need to look at it.

She smiled at Stu, they were somewhere down the rabbit hole now but at least they had good company while they were there.

Khymarah blushed, keeping her eyes on Ceres, acting as though she'd missed the comment. Since when was her personal life part of general conversation?

Following the older galdor as they approached Hawkes palace, she held her arms around herself, falling back slowly, until she was closer to Fion and Stu, almost as though her legs didn't want to go into the gaudy, rundown place. Who was this Hawke anyway? Obviously a bigshot in these parts, and Ceres sort of seemed to respect him, but who was he? Suss's small groan had her looking around at him, worry on her features. At least they were at the derilict palace, inside she could help them more. Taking in the gunshots around the doorway, the redhead moved to be slightly closer to Fion.



Khymarah moved back again, getting out of the way. Her nervousness was a hinderance, and an embarassment. Standing off to one side, she waited as the wounded were helped inside, blue-green eyes wandering up to look at the castle again.

Corwynn flashed Barrel a wolfish grin, "We'll see what luck has to do with it, but I'll keep your offer in mind should I find myself spurned out of more appealing options." Though, as usual, he doubted that would ever be the case.

He shook his blond curls in blatant, cheeky smugness before following along toward the familiar, gaudy Palace of his employer. The gunman seemed perfectly comfortable under the watchful, hidden gaze of his coworkers, almost enjoying the air of roguish protection the garden walk provided. A subtle shift in his pace put him in stride with Khymarah, though he was far from subtle with his purposefulness,

"I'm sure you're used to tamer scenery back in our lovely capitol ... though, given your apparent choice of activities, it seems as though Old Rose may not be so unpleasant." The older galdor chuckled, taunting, intentionally belittling the supposed cause he was well aware some of the people in their charge were currently bleeding their way through the garden for, "A little side adventure from the normal life is it?"

---

The walk through the garden was enough to return some healthy fear into Tanner, despite her play at bravery in the face of real criminals and thieves. She hovered close to Casey and the others, studying the faces of the strangers who were helping them, trying to figure out what they stood to gain from the assistance. The adrenaline was wearing off, slowly leaving her sore, tired, and nervous.

She listened to the conversation and pouted a little, unsure if being alone with any of these folks was quite as safe, regardless of how exciting it seemed. At least she was armed.

The redhead jumped at the voice, turning her wide eyed gaze to Corwynn with a jerk. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was sure of it. Offering up a small smile, she nodded.

"Y-yes, I mean no. I mean...yes the scenary is a little different to Vienda. I've not actually been outside of Vienda before, save of course for my schooling at Brunnhold." Dropping her gaze to the ground between them, Khymarah shook her head.

"I'm not in this for fun, sir. I'm here to help my friends." She glanced up at the blonde, tucking back a length of scarlet hair.

"What about you? Is this an outing for you or more of an everyday occurance? Honestly, I didn't expect to run into another galdor so soon."

"Vienda's not my kind of town. Never has been—not even when I was stuck in the green uniform of a student myself, so many years ago. Social expectations and I have never particularly gotten along." Corwynn answered frankly, not one to be ashamed of his choices, "I've got my business face, sure, but the Harbor's home."

Casting an obvious glance around the motley collection of people the red-head had referred to as her 'friends,' the gunman decided it was in his best interest to keep his thoughts on the activities of the Resistance to himself at the moment. Surely, someone as cultured as any of the two other galdori should be could see some of the futility of their actions, regardless of the potential enjoyment causing a bit of chaos could bring.

At least, he had his reasons for being in Old Rose.

"So you enjoy risking your hard-earned propriety for folks like this, do you?" The blond's grin was full of indignant mischief.