"Name's Zack Hewley. I may not be good at many things, but give me a sword and shield and I'll keep Behemoths off your back."
And then there was a name to the face. Zack Hewley. Not a memorable name by any means, but Serena would remember it. She caught him watching her again.
He seemed all too perceptive, that one.
As the Bangaa was about to reply, frustrated shouting from the prisoners in the cell across the row startled Serena from her bow. From their garb, they seemed to be soldiers of the Empire. She was tempted to reply with a promise of death, before the sound of a door being kicked open echoed from down the hall. The large Seeq that followed held a...Serena narrowed her eyes. She couldn't quite make it out, but it appeared to be an unlit torch. Except nobody simply carried unlit torches around.
After taking the few biscuits left on the ground, the Seeq opened his mouth and began talking about something or another in the most atrocious accent she'd heard to date. Serena ignored the unintelligible garble-let the others decipher it, if it was important she'd know-and instead slumped back against the wall and watched as the ancient Bangaa walked to the bars slowly, before conversing with the Seeq in an accent just barely better than the Seeq's own.
"M'name is Gojo Eremel, o'th'Eremel clan out o'Detbrogo."
Serena's ears picked up that little tidbit. Gojo Eremel. Good to know. Bangaa names were completely beyond her grasp, having run into very few in her life, making the acquaintance of even fewer. The last time she had seen one, he was leaking his last meal onto the ground out the hole her knife had ripped through his gut. Oh, those were fun times...
Her reminiscing of the few weeks prior was interrupted by the sound of complaining from the Burmecian. He appeared to be lodging a very vocal complaint about the way they were treated aboard this ship. While a touching gesture, to be sure, Serena could only shake her head (and perhaps bite back a laugh or two) at the idealistic Burmecian. Like hell. Well, if he managed to anger the Seeq enough, perhaps he would be stupid enough to step inside the cell to lay a beating on him. It would simplify the process of escaping, at the very least.
Sadly, he seemed to drop off his diatribe soon afterward to aid a terribly old white mage. Serena's eyes focused on his clothing, especially the blood-red stains on the back of his robe...a robe that looked rather like the ones from Ersyr. Serena bit her lip and looked away, another introduction, this time from the Miqo'te with the iron stomach, providing an excellent distraction.
"D'khen Tia, it's a pleasure."
Then he stuffed his face with even more biscuits. Serena, grimacing, decided to turn her attention elsewhere before her stomach thought better of digesting the food. The Seeq was spewing more words and spittle at the Imperials across the row, then at her fellow prisoners gathered up at the front. She resumed ignoring the drivel and instead took the chance to examine her new 'allies' more closely.
The last two had woken up, likely due to the clamor. A Black Mage, if his clothes were anything to go by, and another Red, judging by the extremely traditional outfit. Black called out deliriously for a few moments, before seizing up in terror and screaming "Roderic!" at the Elezen...who was presumably named Roderic. The Mithra Red simply kept quiet in her corner. Out of sight, out of mind. She wondered briefly where the Red had learned the art. It would be problematic if she had been taught in Durakia (being home to most of the Red Magick academies in Halvor) and recognized Serena's name. The exile had been rather secretive, but certainly her friends would've noticed her disappearance. Rumor with her thousand tongues and thousand feet would undoubtedly have spread.
Even so, there was no point in dwelling on the past now. Serena caught herself frowning as she did so; it still pained her, against her will. And that is why you shall not kill. Watch yourself, Perempi. Serena mentally added the Red Mage to her catalogue of people to take caution around.
"Anyway, Ah'm ramblin' now. Point is, mosta deir goods ar still fresh if mah nose is rite, n' mah nose is always rite. Yah get better food den da rations, won lucky krewman gets to stay lean wether 'e likes it 'r not, an' Ah get a good relees' from da hard voyage we's all been on. So what's it gonna be?"
The Seeq was rambling again. His voice was starting to become grating. Serena found herself wishing that someone would just get rid of him. Preferably herself. He seemed to be trying and failing to bargain for something (tobacco, or so she thought the Seeq had said) from the-Serena followed the trail of gazes-preacher near the wall. Who, upon inspection, seemed ready to 'swear to drunk I'm not God', if the open flask was any indication.
'What makes you worthy of my finest roll?'
Then to top it all off, the hume Zack began layering on the flattery.
"Your captain doesn't sound like your typical run-of-the-mill sky pirate. Indeed, from the description you give, it's definitely someone who commands a good deal of respect."
Serena slipped up to the bars, beside Hewley. "Indeed. You said before that he wished to ask questions of us? We are all awake, as you can see. It would be for the best if you reported back to him now, as such a man should not be kept waiting, after all. Unless," here Serena put on her 'best' smile, "you seek to deprive your captain of fine tobacco?"
