Morgan Liu
Crewmember: Seabeast
"C'mon, Mum, this is embarrassing."
"We say'd I go wit' you for your enlist. We hold to dat."
Morgan rolled her eyes, her paws shoved in the pockets of her leather jacket. She'd reluctantly accepted a knit woolen scarf to wrap around her neck, the ends dangling down over her button-up shirt and nearly reaching her trousers. No one tough, at least in her imagination, would be caught wearing a scarf; the only reason she'd accepted it was because it was red, which was at least a somewhat daring color. She hoped it would come across as dashing rather than domestic. Plus, she had to admit, the weather in the Harbor was rather bracing, to say the least.
Eirene, one of her adoptive mothers, was dressed more fashionably in a dark double-breasted wool coat that extended down past her knees. She'd taken to life in the Imperium quite readily, settling into the small apartment in the Trenches as if she'd been born to it. Bezine had always resented domesticity; perhaps it was her heritage with the nomadic Erlani people that made her antsy and anxious, or perhaps it was just her nature. Eirene, on the other hand, would readily reminisce about life in the small rural village in which she'd grown up, comprised of numerous houses on terrace farms ascending up a hillside in a secluded river valley in the midst of the Hanshiman mountains. If Morgan hadn't personally seen her mother take a beast's head off with her glaive, she would easily have believed the ferret had always been a housekeeper and just moonlighted as a guard for coin.
The glaive was nowhere to be seen today, which was just as well; it was embarrassing enough to be escorted to your first day of work by your mom, it was doubly so to do so with her as an armed escort. Plus, Morgan wanted to show off her independence to her new crewmates. Vihma might be there, as well as Silvertongue and Greeneye. It had been a few weeks since they'd eaten lunch together after their brawl; the plan for Morgan's imminent enlistment had taken a backseat to the physical demands of lifting furniture up rickety stairs and into their apartment. Only now, when the apartment was fully livable, did her mothers remember that they wanted Morgan out of the house. Just typical.
"Dere it is," Eirene declared, nodding to the galleon that sat along the imperial dock. As if there was any other ship it could be; it was the largest by far, and certainly the most impressive. That massive smokestack was a bit of an eyesore, Morgan thought; she liked the intricate grace of the sails and rigging, against which the massive steel tube was akin to a badger in a ballroom. She could see some signs of movement on the deck, so there was at least someone to welcome her onboard... or, at least, to acknowledge her presence.
Morgan glanced to her mother, feeling self-conscious again. "Mum, please," she begged, "can I at least go on board alone? No one's gonna respect me if I show up with my mum."
Eirene at least gave this consideration, which was more than Morgan had expected. "Okay," she allowed, "but I stay to see you come down and are enlisted."
"Mum-!"
"I stay at de bottom of de ramp," Eirene promised. "You come down and say goodbye." Morgan blinked as she noticed that her mother's eyes were misting over a bit. "After all, no is everyday my daughter leaves home."
Morgan felt some actual guilt hit her as she realized for the first time what this meant for her mother. "Mum, please," she tried to distract her mother, "I'll hug you before going aboard, okay? You don't need to stick around." She realized as they reached the bottom of the gangplank, though, that she'd lost the argument. As Eirene settled herself against a stack of nearby crates, Morgan sighed and, pulling her jacket a little tighter against her to shield against the wind, she ascended the gangplank.
"We say'd I go wit' you for your enlist. We hold to dat."
Morgan rolled her eyes, her paws shoved in the pockets of her leather jacket. She'd reluctantly accepted a knit woolen scarf to wrap around her neck, the ends dangling down over her button-up shirt and nearly reaching her trousers. No one tough, at least in her imagination, would be caught wearing a scarf; the only reason she'd accepted it was because it was red, which was at least a somewhat daring color. She hoped it would come across as dashing rather than domestic. Plus, she had to admit, the weather in the Harbor was rather bracing, to say the least.
Eirene, one of her adoptive mothers, was dressed more fashionably in a dark double-breasted wool coat that extended down past her knees. She'd taken to life in the Imperium quite readily, settling into the small apartment in the Trenches as if she'd been born to it. Bezine had always resented domesticity; perhaps it was her heritage with the nomadic Erlani people that made her antsy and anxious, or perhaps it was just her nature. Eirene, on the other hand, would readily reminisce about life in the small rural village in which she'd grown up, comprised of numerous houses on terrace farms ascending up a hillside in a secluded river valley in the midst of the Hanshiman mountains. If Morgan hadn't personally seen her mother take a beast's head off with her glaive, she would easily have believed the ferret had always been a housekeeper and just moonlighted as a guard for coin.
The glaive was nowhere to be seen today, which was just as well; it was embarrassing enough to be escorted to your first day of work by your mom, it was doubly so to do so with her as an armed escort. Plus, Morgan wanted to show off her independence to her new crewmates. Vihma might be there, as well as Silvertongue and Greeneye. It had been a few weeks since they'd eaten lunch together after their brawl; the plan for Morgan's imminent enlistment had taken a backseat to the physical demands of lifting furniture up rickety stairs and into their apartment. Only now, when the apartment was fully livable, did her mothers remember that they wanted Morgan out of the house. Just typical.
"Dere it is," Eirene declared, nodding to the galleon that sat along the imperial dock. As if there was any other ship it could be; it was the largest by far, and certainly the most impressive. That massive smokestack was a bit of an eyesore, Morgan thought; she liked the intricate grace of the sails and rigging, against which the massive steel tube was akin to a badger in a ballroom. She could see some signs of movement on the deck, so there was at least someone to welcome her onboard... or, at least, to acknowledge her presence.
Morgan glanced to her mother, feeling self-conscious again. "Mum, please," she begged, "can I at least go on board alone? No one's gonna respect me if I show up with my mum."
Eirene at least gave this consideration, which was more than Morgan had expected. "Okay," she allowed, "but I stay to see you come down and are enlisted."
"Mum-!"
"I stay at de bottom of de ramp," Eirene promised. "You come down and say goodbye." Morgan blinked as she noticed that her mother's eyes were misting over a bit. "After all, no is everyday my daughter leaves home."
Morgan felt some actual guilt hit her as she realized for the first time what this meant for her mother. "Mum, please," she tried to distract her mother, "I'll hug you before going aboard, okay? You don't need to stick around." She realized as they reached the bottom of the gangplank, though, that she'd lost the argument. As Eirene settled herself against a stack of nearby crates, Morgan sighed and, pulling her jacket a little tighter against her to shield against the wind, she ascended the gangplank.
