Open The Docks Elara Mosswhisker's Introduction, Lost!

[Izakis]

Izakis listened carefully to the explanation of the hedgehog. She wasn't good at medicine, basic first aid was the most she could offer, but she was great at aftercare. All mentioned things were very much something she dealt with a lot.

"Izakis." She said taking Aramaeus paw into hers delicately, rubbing her pawfinger and massaging his palm in the process. Her scaly head turning to have both beasts in front of her. "I am pleased to hear there is no emergency." She giggled softly "But you ssssee Aramaeus, while I may have a way to actually get ssssomeone to take over, I agree with the woodlander mistress by your side that this... thing," Izakis pointed at the wooden costume. "Is doing far more harm than good... You need ssssomething more sssstylish and catchy if you want to turn attention to whatever your duty is." She politely explained while trying to mask her disdain for the very shoody work in front of her eyes.

 

[LightSeeker]

Aramaeus listened, one paw massaging at the bridge of his snout to try to relieve the mounting headache. The hedgehog was making an excellent point, which he didn't appreciate. He wanted to do something foolish, something that would backfire and would give him someone or something to blame if things went wrong. You couldn't blame fate for giving you a bad hand; it was far too impersonal for the accusations to stick.

He was distracted by the approach of a lizard in a highly revealing outfit. He blushed, even though he himself didn't experience attraction to such; the outfit itself was enough to shock and jolt his sense of modesty. "Thank you for your concern," he addressed the lizard quietly. "I'm afraid you won't find many willing to take over, though. I volunteered for this duty, unwisely it would seem. I am still happy to help with matters of law and public knowledge, though I think I prefer doing so with a touch more professionalism than the costume allows." He offered a paw, first to the hedgehog, then to the slink. "Aramaeus Lemon," he introduced himself, pronouncing his last name in the Alkamarian fashion.

Elara took the offered paw, helping him to his feet. “Elara,” she said. No title. No surname offered. Just the name.
When Aramaeus mentioned volunteering, she gave a small, measured nod. “Volunteering doesn’t mean you forfeit your health,” she said. “It just means you care. That doesn’t require suffering.” She didn’t press further. The confession—however indirect—was enough for now.

 

[LightSeeker]

Izakis listened carefully to the explanation of the hedgehog. She wasn't good at medicine, basic first aid was the most she could offer, but she was great at aftercare. All mentioned things were very much something she dealt with a lot.

"Izakis." She said taking Aramaeus paw into hers delicately, rubbing her pawfinger and massaging his palm in the process. Her scaly head turning to have both beasts in front of her. "I am pleased to hear there is no emergency." She giggled softly "But you ssssee Aramaeus, while I may have a way to actually get ssssomeone to take over, I agree with the woodlander mistress by your side that this... thing," Izakis pointed at the wooden costume. "Is doing far more harm than good... You need ssssomething more sssstylish and catchy if you want to turn attention to whatever your duty is." She politely explained while trying to mask her disdain for the very shoody work in front of her eyes.

Elara remained still as the skink—Izakis—spoke, her tone light but layered, her gestures fluid and deliberate. She noted the way Izakis handled Aramaeus’s paw: not just a greeting, but a subtle act of grounding, of reassurance. The palm massage wasn’t medical, but it was care. And Elara recognized that as valid. When Izakis referred to her as “woodlander mistress,” Elara didn’t flinch, though the title carried the faintest edge of social distance—polite, but marked. She didn’t correct it. She didn’t embrace it. She simply registered it, like a shift in air pressure. She listened as Izakis spoke of aftercare, relief, and the costume’s flaws—not just functionally, but aesthetically. There was truth in that. The costume wasn’t just impractical; it was degrading. And dignity mattered, especially when a beast was already struggling. Elara didn’t smile, but something in her posture softened—just slightly.

“You’re right,” she said, directing her words to both of them, but looking at Aramaeus. “He doesn’t need more attention. He needs relief. And if the costume is part of the duty, then the costume needs to change.”

 

[Credence Moody]

Stumbling out of the evening dimness, there came the sound of creatures moving down the street. A sailor, perhaps, judging from the ribald and rude lyrics of the song that was being belted out involving the delights to be found ashore after a long trip at sea. Though she hadn't a bottle in hand when she made her appearance, it was obvious from the stumbling gait and off-key voice that the rat in question was deep in her cups--even more obvious when she stumbled into the costume that had been put side and half-sprawled out into the street with an aggravated yelp.

"Owww, me paw!" Was the pained howl as Credence scrambled back to her paws, she put up her fists vaguely in the direction of the mascot costume.

"Come on then, 'pologize or I'll beat put your lights out," slurred the sailor rat, making as if she might swing at the immobile and blameless bit of wood. "These beasts all saw it, 'twas your fault, matey!"

 

[LightSeeker]

Stumbling out of the evening dimness, there came the sound of creatures moving down the street. A sailor, perhaps, judging from the ribald and rude lyrics of the song that was being belted out involving the delights to be found ashore after a long trip at sea. Though she hadn't a bottle in hand when she made her appearance, it was obvious from the stumbling gait and off-key voice that the rat in question was deep in her cups--even more obvious when she stumbled into the costume that had been put side and half-sprawled out into the street with an aggravated yelp.

"Owww, me paw!" Was the pained howl as Credence scrambled back to her paws, she put up her fists vaguely in the direction of the mascot costume.

"Come on then, 'pologize or I'll beat put your lights out," slurred the sailor rat, making as if she might swing at the immobile and blameless bit of wood. "These beasts all saw it, 'twas your fault, matey!"

Elara turned her head at the sound of the disturbance. A rat—sailor by bearing, drunk by gait, had stumbled into the wooden badge costume leaning against the lamppost. The impact had clearly jarred her, and now she was on her feet, fists raised, shouting at the inanimate object as though it had willfully tripped her. Elara did not react with alarm. She assessed. The rat was unsteady, voice slurred, eyes unfocused. No weapon in paw, but aggression present—diffuse, misdirected, likely to escalate if challenged. Her paw was likely bruised, not broken. No visible bleeding. She remained where she was, one hand resting lightly on her satchel, ready to intervene if needed, but not moving to engage yet. When the rat demanded an apology from the costume, Elara spoke—calm, level, voice low enough to avoid provocation but clear enough to be heard.

“That’s not a beast,” she said. “It’s a prop. You hit it. No one’s going to fight you over it.” She didn’t mock. She didn’t scold. She stated the fact plainly, the way one might correct a disoriented patient. She shifted slightly, placing herself between the rat and Aramaeus, not as a barrier, but as a presence—neutral, observant, prepared.

 

[Aramaeus Lemon]

Astoundingly, between the care and concern demonstrated by the two unfamiliar femmes, Aramaeus found his headache lessening, his nausea subsiding. It was a new thing for him, to have anyone expressing this much concern for his well-being, and for once, Aramaeus smiled.

Then a drunkard came along and tried to engage in fisticuffs with his costume.

Aramaeus couldn't keep himself from chuckling at the antics, though the hedgehog did her best to talk down the rat from her ill-advised brawl. "It's also Ministry of Justice property," he noted, "and, while I may personally wish to see the thing smashed into bits, I'm afraid doing such to government property would carry certain onerous fines and penalties. Really it's better just leaving the thing alone." He looked a bit thoughtful as he looked between the group, then inquired, "If I were an official wearing the Imperial maroon instead, a neat, official suit underneath, would that be more fitting, do you think?"

 

[Izakis]

Izakis herself giggled at the drunkard's act. She was far too familiar with those and their act, but she still felt compassion, further reinforced by the other two beasts reaction. One stiff but on the snout. The other kind and warm. She herself slowly stepped to the newcomer swaying her hips, offering her paws and kindest smile one would find in this city.

"As it was ssssaid, don't bother with them. They won't harm you... Fuhuhuhu~! Come and ssssit with us, you need a moment of respite yourself." She offered, delicately pulling them onto the bench.

After that, since there was not much space to spare on the bench, she sat on the railing, almost posing and very close to Aramaeus. She was barely not touching them with he body as she spoke, leisurely gesturing at the outfit.

"You would look most ssssplendid it that dear... but it would also not make you look approachable by most. Common people who most need help with law usually are not one to trust polished officials." She explained before adding with a warm smile. "A mascot sssshould be ssssomething that sssspeaks to everybeast, while sssselling the purpose. Law is not usually thought of fondly, so looking more casual, while sssshowing of what is most associated with law could help. You have an idea what it could be?" She asked to the others, having an idea of her own but wishing to hear the input of the others.

 

[LightSeeker]

Astoundingly, between the care and concern demonstrated by the two unfamiliar femmes, Aramaeus found his headache lessening, his nausea subsiding. It was a new thing for him, to have anyone expressing this much concern for his well-being, and for once, Aramaeus smiled.

Then a drunkard came along and tried to engage in fisticuffs with his costume.

Aramaeus couldn't keep himself from chuckling at the antics, though the hedgehog did her best to talk down the rat from her ill-advised brawl. "It's also Ministry of Justice property," he noted, "and, while I may personally wish to see the thing smashed into bits, I'm afraid doing such to government property would carry certain onerous fines and penalties. Really it's better just leaving the thing alone." He looked a bit thoughtful as he looked between the group, then inquired, "If I were an official wearing the Imperial maroon instead, a neat, official suit underneath, would that be more fitting, do you think?"

Elara turned slightly at the sound of Aramaeus’s voice—lighter now, almost amused. She noted the change in his demeanor: the tension in his shoulders had eased, his breathing was steadier, his eyes more focused. The headache hadn’t vanished, but it had receded. Not from medicine. From care. She didn’t comment on it. But she saw it. When he spoke of the costume as Ministry property—joking, yet still acknowledging duty—she gave a small, measured nod.

“Destruction would be a fineable offense,” she said, tone neutral. “But neglect might be worse. Leaving it out in the weather, unattended—it could be seen as failure to safeguard public property.” She wasn’t enforcing the law. She was reflecting it—precisely, clinically. Then, when he asked about the maroon uniform, the neat suit, she considered the question not as banter, but as something deeper: a man trying to reconcile dignity with service. She met his gaze.

“Clothing doesn’t determine legitimacy,” she said. “But it does signal intent. A uniform tells people you’re here in an official capacity. This”—she gestured to the wooden badge—“tells them you’re a joke.”

 

[LightSeeker]

Izakis herself giggled at the drunkard's act. She was far too familiar with those and their act, but she still felt compassion, further reinforced by the other two beasts reaction. One stiff but on the snout. The other kind and warm. She herself slowly stepped to the newcomer swaying her hips, offering her paws and kindest smile one would find in this city.

"As it was ssssaid, don't bother with them. They won't harm you... Fuhuhuhu~! Come and ssssit with us, you need a moment of respite yourself." She offered, delicately pulling them onto the bench.

After that, since there was not much space to spare on the bench, she sat on the railing, almost posing and very close to Aramaeus. She was barely not touching them with he body as she spoke, leisurely gesturing at the outfit.

"You would look most ssssplendid it that dear... but it would also not make you look approachable by most. Common people who most need help with law usually are not one to trust polished officials." She explained before adding with a warm smile. "A mascot sssshould be ssssomething that sssspeaks to everybeast, while sssselling the purpose. Law is not usually thought of fondly, so looking more casual, while sssshowing of what is most associated with law could help. You have an idea what it could be?" She asked to the others, having an idea of her own but wishing to hear the input of the others.

Elara did not move immediately. She remained crouched beside Aramaeus for a moment longer, ensuring his condition remained stable—his breathing even, his color improved, his awareness intact. Only when she was satisfied did she rise, moving with deliberate care, her satchel held close. “Thank you,” she said simply. She did not relax fully. Her back remained upright, her paws folded over her satchel. But she allowed herself to be still. When Izakis returned to the conversation—speaking of approachability, of trust, of how law must be made accessible to those who fear it most—Elara listened with focused attention. After a brief pause, she spoke.

“If the Ministry wants beasts to seek help, then the symbol can’t be intimidating. But it also can’t be degrading. Not to the public. Not to the one wearing it.” She paused. “So no wooden badge. No maroon suit. Something in between. Something that says, I’m here. I’m real. I won’t hurt you. I might even listen.” She didn’t prescribe. She framed.

 

[Credence Moody]

Elara turned her head at the sound of the disturbance. A rat—sailor by bearing, drunk by gait, had stumbled into the wooden badge costume leaning against the lamppost. The impact had clearly jarred her, and now she was on her feet, fists raised, shouting at the inanimate object as though it had willfully tripped her. Elara did not react with alarm. She assessed. The rat was unsteady, voice slurred, eyes unfocused. No weapon in paw, but aggression present—diffuse, misdirected, likely to escalate if challenged. Her paw was likely bruised, not broken. No visible bleeding. She remained where she was, one hand resting lightly on her satchel, ready to intervene if needed, but not moving to engage yet. When the rat demanded an apology from the costume, Elara spoke—calm, level, voice low enough to avoid provocation but clear enough to be heard.

“That’s not a beast,” she said. “It’s a prop. You hit it. No one’s going to fight you over it.” She didn’t mock. She didn’t scold. She stated the fact plainly, the way one might correct a disoriented patient. She shifted slightly, placing herself between the rat and Aramaeus, not as a barrier, but as a presence—neutral, observant, prepared.

"It ain't?" The poor searat sounded confused by this revelation, certain as she'd been that somebeast had deliberately tripped her up to make her look foolish in front of these people. Why someone would do this had not yet managed to penetrate the alcohol-fog settled over Credence's brain and she half-turned, squinting at the three more properly. Thankfully for everyone involved, the notion that this was the property of something important--a ministry? Did penetrate and that settled it. Fighting the costume could do no good for Credence and perhaps might do her some harm!

With a raw, toothy grin and a swaying step, Credence stumbled over to slouch onto the bench as Izakis makes her offer. The right groaned, imposing herself on the space without much care.

"Don't mind if I do, beauty," she replies to Izakis and her head lolls back on the bencha nd she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.

"What's this 'bout the ministry of whatsit?"

 

[LightSeeker]

"It ain't?" The poor searat sounded confused by this revelation, certain as she'd been that somebeast had deliberately tripped her up to make her look foolish in front of these people. Why someone would do this had not yet managed to penetrate the alcohol-fog settled over Credence's brain and she half-turned, squinting at the three more properly. Thankfully for everyone involved, the notion that this was the property of something important--a ministry? Did penetrate and that settled it. Fighting the costume could do no good for Credence and perhaps might do her some harm!

With a raw, toothy grin and a swaying step, Credence stumbled over to slouch onto the bench as Izakis makes her offer. The right groaned, imposing herself on the space without much care.

"Don't mind if I do, beauty," she replies to Izakis and her head lolls back on the bencha nd she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.

"What's this 'bout the ministry of whatsit?"

Elara kept her posture steady, her paws resting lightly on her satchel, her gaze fixed on the sailor as she lowered herself onto the bench. The rat—Credence—was unsteady, her movements loose, her awareness dulled by drink, but not by malice. Her aggression had dissolved once she understood the stakes. That told Elara something: she wasn’t reckless. Just impaired. When Credence asked about the Ministry, Elara responded without condescension, her voice clear and level—measured for someone who might not retain every word. “The Ministry of Justice,” she said. “The costume belongs to them. It’s used for public outreach. That fox,”—she gestured slightly toward Aramaeus—“was wearing it. He’s a field agent. Or was, until the heat and his injury made it unsafe.”

She paused, then added, “And you should drink water. Not rum. Not right now. Your balance will stay off, your head will ache tomorrow, and you’ll be slower to recover if you don’t rehydrate.” She said it not as a command, but as a fact—like stating the tide will rise. Her own flask, the one with the kelp-infused water, remained at her side. She didn’t offer it yet. Not until she saw whether Credence was willing to accept help—not as charity, but as care.

 

[Aramaeus Lemon]

Aramaeus should feel uncomfortable surrounded by the femmes, one of whom was a woodlander (not, he would insist, that he had any problems with woodlanders; some of his closest friends were woodlanders), one of whom was a lizard and possibly a courtesan of some kind, and one of whom was quite possibly the song "What Do You Do with a Drunken Searat" given physical form and agency. By all accounts, being somebeast working his way up the ranks with ambitions for a high ministry position, he shouldn't be fraternizing with such beasts, especially while on duty. Somebeast important might see and make certain aspersions about his character. So, it was almost disquieting how at ease he felt among them. He should feel superior to them; he was better than them, wasn't he? So why did it feel like coming home, to sit here sharing their company?

Aramaeus winced, not at the aggravation to his injury, but at the well-meaning term applied to him. "Technically speaking," he allowed, "I'm not a field agent yet. I'm, ah... a clerk." It was embarrassing to admit; nearly forty seasons of age and he'd barely worked his way beyond the entry-level positions. Most of his colleagues were nearly half his age. "With any luck, I'll be a field agent soon, though," he added in a rush, trying to mitigate any looks of pity or disdain. He took a breath before adding, "If you're going to drink water, find a well in the Trenches to draw from; don't drink the well water in the Slups, or you'll come away from it with worse than bit of dehydration. Certainly avoid drinking from the canal near Duskhambles." He shuddered at the thought of what made up the majority of the 'water' in that stretch.

He glanced up between the hedgehog and the slink, considering their words. "So," he mused, "not a suit then, but a nice shirt at least? Vest and tie? Professional, but not intimidating?" It was a compromise between his usual image and casualness, but one he could work with.

 

[LightSeeker]

Aramaeus should feel uncomfortable surrounded by the femmes, one of whom was a woodlander (not, he would insist, that he had any problems with woodlanders; some of his closest friends were woodlanders), one of whom was a lizard and possibly a courtesan of some kind, and one of whom was quite possibly the song "What Do You Do with a Drunken Searat" given physical form and agency. By all accounts, being somebeast working his way up the ranks with ambitions for a high ministry position, he shouldn't be fraternizing with such beasts, especially while on duty. Somebeast important might see and make certain aspersions about his character. So, it was almost disquieting how at ease he felt among them. He should feel superior to them; he was better than them, wasn't he? So why did it feel like coming home, to sit here sharing their company?

Aramaeus winced, not at the aggravation to his injury, but at the well-meaning term applied to him. "Technically speaking," he allowed, "I'm not a field agent yet. I'm, ah... a clerk." It was embarrassing to admit; nearly forty seasons of age and he'd barely worked his way beyond the entry-level positions. Most of his colleagues were nearly half his age. "With any luck, I'll be a field agent soon, though," he added in a rush, trying to mitigate any looks of pity or disdain. He took a breath before adding, "If you're going to drink water, find a well in the Trenches to draw from; don't drink the well water in the Slups, or you'll come away from it with worse than bit of dehydration. Certainly avoid drinking from the canal near Duskhambles." He shuddered at the thought of what made up the majority of the 'water' in that stretch.

He glanced up between the hedgehog and the slink, considering their words. "So," he mused, "not a suit then, but a nice shirt at least? Vest and tie? Professional, but not intimidating?" It was a compromise between his usual image and casualness, but one he could work with.

Elara listened as Aramaeus spoke—his voice quieter now, less performative, more honest. He wasn’t just giving advice about water sources; he was offering something rarer: care, wrapped in practical warning. She filed the information without comment. The Trenches wells were safer. The Slups were not. The canal near Duskhambles was to be avoided entirely. She would remember. When he admitted he was a clerk—not a field agent, not yet—she didn’t react with pity. Didn’t offer empty reassurance. Instead, she gave him something more valuable: recognition. “You’re still doing the work,” she said, her voice calm, even. “You showed up. You wore that,”—she nodded toward the wooden badge—“knowing it was absurd. You tried to help.”

Then, when he asked about the clothes—shirt, vest, tie—she considered it from a healer’s perspective. “Clothing affects how a beast moves,” she said. “A tight collar, a stiff coat—it can make a patient tense before they even speak. If you’re meant to put others at ease, then your uniform should let you breathe. Literally and otherwise.” She glanced at his side, where the costume had dug into his shoulder, then back to his face. “If you’re going to be on your paws all day, in the heat, with beasts who are already wary,” she continued, “then comfort matters. Not just for you. For them. A relaxed messenger carries more trust than a rigid one.”

 

[Izakis]

Izakis appraised the searat, blowing her a kiss with a sly smile at the word beauty leaving her muzzle. She wasn’t after work now, but she liked the attention. An idea of maybe trying to seduce them for fun crossed her mind but it always felt a bit wrong with drunk people to her. Not only abusive considering their state but also below her. She had no need to make others intoxicated to be successful. Still she moved her tail behind the bench to give the rat some comforting pats.

Elara words were on point, even if Izakis would rather have them spoken less matter of factly, she could not deny that she was of sound mind, if a bit talkative. Aramaeus words that he was just a clerk made Izakis feel for the older Todd. She moved and gave them a half-hug. Warm (surprisingly so considering her cold-blooded nature) and kind one. „Aww, don’t beat yourself down. There is no position that is unimportant… though it is good to know you are sssstill ambitious! With that, if that is your honest goal, ssssure you will get to it.”

She chuckled at the mention of water and water quality. „Oh some wells in the sssSlups are fine, you just have to know how to get to them! If you want me to, I can get you to one, it just takes a few words. Or we can go together to refresh these two. Fuhuhuhu~”


Still holding her lean arm around the todd while giving the searat the soothing touch of her tail, she moved back to the primary matter at paw. „sssShirt, vest and a tie make for a professional look yet one associated with a sssservant. Great choice for ssssomeone who wishes to be sssseen as a public servant! You may however also include some nice pants with those… omitting them may give one very different impression, though would gather a lot of attention for ssssure!” She laughed softly at the idea. „I would also recommend a duelist cape, gives that idea of ssssomeone willing to fight honourably. sssSomething law sssshould be doing and it also makes you sssstand out more!”

 

[Credence Moody]

Credence gave a happy chuckle at the friendly tap of the lizard's tail and sank back into her bench seat, apparently much mollified after her brief violent encounter with the wooden outfit. Glancing between hedgepig and the slim fox who was... Ministry of Justice? Now there was a dab assignment, getting to order other beasts about in the name of the law. Not that Credence much cared for the law, especially the sorts who'd hook you for a night in the cells if they thought you were causing trouble, when really you were just in after a long sail and wanted a bit of fun... Anyway, that wasn't important! The hedgehog's friendly advice gets a warm smile.

"Oh, aye! I know all about grog an' rum an' how to drink it. Don't worry your pretty head over it!" Credence replied to Elara with a toothy grin, her affection apparently not meant just for the pretty lizard. "An' what if I wants more rum, though?"

The advice from Aramaeus, though also well meant, gets an amused chortle and a snappish reply.

"Oh, I been drinkin' water out of the bottom of the scuttle on long voyages, don't worry none! I've had fouler water than comes outta that ditch an' it done me no harm, no harm at all!" Her loud, grating sailor's guffaw sounded again and she leaned forward, chin resting in one paw as she peered blearily at the other three, apparently amused by all the fuss over her needing a drink of water--and the fashion advice flowing fast and thick. She herself was dressed flash as a sailor should be for a run ashore. A bright blue jacket with bright golden-brass buttons shone to fierce intensity, a brilliant neckerchief of silken red, a wide-brimmed hat with a ribbon about it, striped trousers with a broad sash-like belt that matched her neckerchief and little black shoes with bright silver buckles.

"Careful with them duelist capes. Someone might actually wanna fight yer, mate."

 

[LightSeeker]

Credence gave a happy chuckle at the friendly tap of the lizard's tail and sank back into her bench seat, apparently much mollified after her brief violent encounter with the wooden outfit. Glancing between hedgepig and the slim fox who was... Ministry of Justice? Now there was a dab assignment, getting to order other beasts about in the name of the law. Not that Credence much cared for the law, especially the sorts who'd hook you for a night in the cells if they thought you were causing trouble, when really you were just in after a long sail and wanted a bit of fun... Anyway, that wasn't important! The hedgehog's friendly advice gets a warm smile.

"Oh, aye! I know all about grog an' rum an' how to drink it. Don't worry your pretty head over it!" Credence replied to Elara with a toothy grin, her affection apparently not meant just for the pretty lizard. "An' what if I wants more rum, though?"

The advice from Aramaeus, though also well meant, gets an amused chortle and a snappish reply.

"Oh, I been drinkin' water out of the bottom of the scuttle on long voyages, don't worry none! I've had fouler water than comes outta that ditch an' it done me no harm, no harm at all!" Her loud, grating sailor's guffaw sounded again and she leaned forward, chin resting in one paw as she peered blearily at the other three, apparently amused by all the fuss over her needing a drink of water--and the fashion advice flowing fast and thick. She herself was dressed flash as a sailor should be for a run ashore. A bright blue jacket with bright golden-brass buttons shone to fierce intensity, a brilliant neckerchief of silken red, a wide-brimmed hat with a ribbon about it, striped trousers with a broad sash-like belt that matched her neckerchief and little black shoes with bright silver buckles.

"Careful with them duelist capes. Someone might actually wanna fight yer, mate."

Elara listened as Credence spoke—her voice loud, slurred, brimming with the false confidence of drink and fatigue. She didn’t correct her. Didn’t argue. But she didn’t withdraw her concern. When the sailor laughed off the advice about water, Elara simply nodded once—acknowledging the words, not accepting them as truth. She had heard this before: I’ve had worse, I’m fine, it never hurt me. She knew the cost of that pride. Dehydration. Infection. Liver strain. Delirium tremens, years down the line. But this wasn’t a lecture. Not yet. She kept her voice low, steady, free of judgment. “If you want rum,” she said, “that’s your choice. I won’t stop you.”