Over a gray button-down shirt and a green paisley tie, golden paws pulled on a neat maroon jacket. A crimson cap with the gleaming brass badge of the Ministry of Justice Customs Enforcement Division (the imperial skull flanked by paws on each side, one clutching a set of scales, the other extended for either payment or a bribe) centered prominently upon its front was placed upon a golden-furred head, carefully straightened to exact alignment relative to his snout. From a cluttered desk, a weather-beaten, dog-eared volume with flaky gold letters declaring Ye Imperial Navee Handbooke was lovingly retrieved, dust carefully brushed from its spine before it was tucked under one arm. Aramaeus paused, striking a pose for himself in the cracked women's powder mirror affixed in the corner of the room using Albert's No-Grain Cereal Substitute and Binding Agent, before he turned and stepped out of the tiny shack he'd been afforded on the Imperial Docks and immediately tripped over the threshold.
The golden-furred fox sprawled for a moment before he carefully picked himself up, dusted off his book and then himself (in that order), and then, glaring at the offending piece of wood, fished in his pocket for the ratty, tangled measuring tape he'd purchased for a ha' gilder from the old blind seamstress who mended his socks. This he checked against the height of the threshold, made a dissatisfied "Hmm" sound, and then straightened up to make a note in a tiny notebook. Satisfied, he turned and walked down the dock to his true destination.
The BlackShip was large. Aramaeus had to stop by its prow to consider it in full. He'd heard that ships were big things; he'd seen plenty of models, and watched them at a distance from the safety of dry land. They seemed much smaller when they were far away, he was coming to realize. Up close, well... He tucked the ball of tangled measuring tape back in his pocket, deciding that he would have to take it for granted that the vessel was the standard seventy meters in length as specified by the volume he had recently, at great personal expense, acquired. As for the rest, though... He opened the book and flipped through the pages to a large two-page illustration. He frowned, looked up, and then turned the book over. He frowned once more and turned it again. "Ah," he stated aloud to himself, "I see." He removed the creased page of three-decade-old contraband pin-up art of Vaelora Ryalor that its original owner had concealed in the volume and tried again.
Aramaeus got lost somewhere in counting the number of sails appropriate to this vessel and, glancing up, spotted a crewbeast on the deck. "Ho there," he called up, fairly certain that this was the proper nautical greeting. The other one he frequently heard from sailors was 'Move 'fore I dunk ya in th' Harbor, ya dandy git', and he suspected this had some specific subcultural connotations that as-yet eluded him. "Good sir-and/or-madam-and/or-neuter," he addressed his temporary guide, keeping in mind the memo that had recently appeared in the Ministry breakroom about making assumptions, "might you be able to tell me how many active sails are, um..." He glanced down at the book, using the pin-up to bookmark the ship's diagram while he searched the rest for the desired reference. His paw ran down an appendix before he looked up again. "...rigged on this sailing vessel at present?"
The golden-furred fox sprawled for a moment before he carefully picked himself up, dusted off his book and then himself (in that order), and then, glaring at the offending piece of wood, fished in his pocket for the ratty, tangled measuring tape he'd purchased for a ha' gilder from the old blind seamstress who mended his socks. This he checked against the height of the threshold, made a dissatisfied "Hmm" sound, and then straightened up to make a note in a tiny notebook. Satisfied, he turned and walked down the dock to his true destination.
The BlackShip was large. Aramaeus had to stop by its prow to consider it in full. He'd heard that ships were big things; he'd seen plenty of models, and watched them at a distance from the safety of dry land. They seemed much smaller when they were far away, he was coming to realize. Up close, well... He tucked the ball of tangled measuring tape back in his pocket, deciding that he would have to take it for granted that the vessel was the standard seventy meters in length as specified by the volume he had recently, at great personal expense, acquired. As for the rest, though... He opened the book and flipped through the pages to a large two-page illustration. He frowned, looked up, and then turned the book over. He frowned once more and turned it again. "Ah," he stated aloud to himself, "I see." He removed the creased page of three-decade-old contraband pin-up art of Vaelora Ryalor that its original owner had concealed in the volume and tried again.
Aramaeus got lost somewhere in counting the number of sails appropriate to this vessel and, glancing up, spotted a crewbeast on the deck. "Ho there," he called up, fairly certain that this was the proper nautical greeting. The other one he frequently heard from sailors was 'Move 'fore I dunk ya in th' Harbor, ya dandy git', and he suspected this had some specific subcultural connotations that as-yet eluded him. "Good sir-and/or-madam-and/or-neuter," he addressed his temporary guide, keeping in mind the memo that had recently appeared in the Ministry breakroom about making assumptions, "might you be able to tell me how many active sails are, um..." He glanced down at the book, using the pin-up to bookmark the ship's diagram while he searched the rest for the desired reference. His paw ran down an appendix before he looked up again. "...rigged on this sailing vessel at present?"
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