To find a hot meal

A rumble in her gut reminded the elf that she hadn't eaten all day, so she set off to find the ship's galley. Slinging her cloak around her shoulders, she stepped out into the brisk sea air. She took a moment to enjoy it, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply before returning her gaze to the world.

The brig was rolling less, as the storm mostly moved past them, and many of the sailors took the time to break away and eat while there was the chance. Flavorful smoke came from a chimney in the center of the deck, and Tsan followed the smell of cooking meat down the stairwell to the brig's main deck, joined by bare-chested sailors and a few other passengers, considerably better dressed.

The week long route between Spree and Lashen had enough stops and passengers to never be short of fresh food, and the sizzle of meat and the hearty sounds of a crew that had weathered a storm together filled Tsan's ears. Falling in behind a bookish young man, the elf approached a wild-haired sailor with dusky skin filling bowls with rice, slices of chevon and a variety of local peppers and onions, all doused in the thick brown gravy popular in western Van.

When the elf approached, he paused, eyeing her over appreciatively. "Pri'thy elfy c'n fin' herself, oh c'n suck meh fer her meal." His wide grin told her more of his meaning than the words garbled by his thick accent and missing teeth.

It took her a moment to decide how to respond, and by the time she'd decided what to say, the bookish man who'd been in front of her had turned. "You'll do well to give her no trouble. I know not why her owners have brought her along, but you'd best note they'll likely take any disrespect as a personal insult." His accent was crisp and educated, a frown touching his lips. The sailor paled, more at being addressed by the man than at his words, and handed over a bowl to Tsan. She took it, glancing at the young man, who gestured her to follow.

This deck of the ship seemed to serve all purposes, with hammocks tucked away, but leaving behind the iron rings where they'd be secured, a few cannons hiding behind closed gunports, ready to surprise an unprepared pirate if the need should arise, and a fair bit of cargo secured from the ceiling in heavy nets or tied down to thick rings embedded in the floor. At the moment it served as the mess, and sailors sat with their backs against support beams or the hull, scooping the heavy food up with their fingers or raising the bowls to their lips to practically drink it down.

The young man settled in a corner formed by a large crate and the hull, and Tsan braced her back against a support beam opposite him. "Thank you." She whispered, not meeting his gaze which locked to her.

"It was nothing. I have an idea who your owner is, and while I try to avoid that sort of world, I imagine his displeasure would be disastrous for all involved. Avoiding such a mess with a few words makes life easier for everyone." He eyed the bowl with a touch of caution, before looking up to see Tsan eagerly scooping up the rice with her fingers. He laughed, "Somehow, I thought an elf would be more ladylike."

Tsan paused, looking up at him, and narrowing her eyes. "Ts'a dehlana zhan lezzet?" She questioned, her tone suddenly sharp.

The young man went quiet, shifting uneasily. "No. I don't imagine it is." He looked down at the bowl and cautiously scooped some of it on his finger. After the first bite, he dug in just as ravenously as she had. "This is actually quite good." He admitted, bringing a chuckle from Tsan.

"You speak elvish?" She questioned, finishing the bowl, and licking each of her fingers clean.

He paused and looked up at her, guiltily. "Of course. I'm something of a historian by trade. The fate of your people has been a shaping **** in the world."

"Funny. They said that Van conquering the Wyldwood was a shaping event when I was a child. Many elves learned Vanesse after that, because it was clear the humans of the south would be a power." She admitted.

"You're young then, I mean, for your kind." He blushed slightly, and she examined him with a more critical eye. He was slight of build and pale-skinned, not quite so much as an elf, but with the freckles that humans developed rather than the flawless alabaster of her kind. A set of round glasses perched on his nose, and his dark, curly hair was cut short. Brown scholar's robes gave him an innocuous appearance, and a heavy tome was on a strap beneath one arm.

"Indeed I am. Sixty summers." She admitted. "You said you are a historian? Let me see your hands." She set her empty bowl down and slid across the floor, taking his hands when he offered them up. "Ink, yes, but also sulphur, and saltpeter." She paused, looking up at him. "An alchemist?"

He watched her, enraptured at the way she moved. Even something as simple as sliding across the deck was done with an effortless, feline grace. "Just a chemist. I harness science, not magic." He corrected gently. "You've keen senses, and a keen mind to match."

He might as well have bothered an oyster, watching her retreat back to the beam, shaking her head quickly. "N-no. Not at all. Everyone says I'm silly." She asserted.

The young man scowled. "I don't pretend to know what **** you've taken, but I promise, I won't hurt you."

The damage was done, however, and she excused herself, slipping away from him, and disappearing back towards the ship's cabins.