30 SUMMER 518
Nicolo's Ravosalas, 9 Bells
Nicolo's Ravosalas, 9 Bells
"
Ever driven a ravosala?"
Nicolo, of Nicolo's Ravosalas, asked, his voice matter-of-factly, yet not unkind, as he frowned at the tattooed drykas immigrant standing on the docks in front of him.
"No."
The drykas woman, with skin like scorching red desert sands and hair and eyes as dark as the night sky answered bluntly, forign tongue making thick her deep feminine voice.
"Ever sailed a boat, of any sort?" The portly ravosalaman probed, scrubbing his greying stubble with a rough, hard-worked hand as his eyes traveled over the drykas' lean arms and slender shoulders, looking for tell-tale signs of strength and stamina that might tell him she could endure the rigors of being a ravosalaman.
"No," The foreigner repeated simply and there was not a hint of emotion in her as she stared right back at him with only an air of expectation for his response hanging in the air about her.
Nicolo soaked in the dark gaze within her impassable expression. Along with the stark black tattoos and unflappable way she stood there under his scrutiny, he admitted to himself quietly that she was a little unnerving.
The wooden steps Nicolo was sitting on creaked as he shifted in his seat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees he clasped his hands as he wondered what to make of this foreigner's idea of becoming a ravosalaman without ever having driven a boat.
"Do you know Ravok well?" He probed, generously. He reasoned it didn't matter too much if she was a sailor or not, if she knew how to navigate the city, the rest he could teach her, quickly if she was the learning type. He could see she was tough and wiry, used to a life of manual labour, so he could trust in her endurance.
The drykas crossed her arms, rocking back onto her heel as she looked down the canal one way and then the other. When she returned her dark gaze to her interviewer, not a flicker danced in those eyes. The ravosalaman's heart sank a little, knowing her answer before she even parted her lips to speak. "No." She said, and Nicolo felt, rather than saw, her mirror his shrug in the tone of her voice and the faint lift of a tattooed brow. Odd aesthetic choice, he thought, for she had shaven off her eyebrows completely and instead possessed black ink dashes where her brows would have been.
Her answer and general lack of explanation on just why she was applying to his establishment for a job with such little relevent skill both perplexed and irked him. He tossed his hands up and asked with a incredulous high to his voice. "Have you ever even been on a boat before?" But he knew the answer to that one too, and this time, he didn't want to hear it. "Let me guess," he folded his arms across his chest and tucked his chin in caricature of her, "No."
There, something human-like stole into her expression. Was it anger? He couldn't tell for sure, as soon as it was alight it was soon shrouded under that stony mask, like the shadow of a raven gliding over a field.
"I have strong arm, I work hard, I am fast to learn. I not, er, make you unhappy. I will work hard and make people happy, and take them to place they need, and make mizas." The drykas' shoulders lifted as she spoke, clear pride ringing in her speech.
Nicolo sighed, baffled by her. He looked at the ravosalaman standing behind her, leaning on a wooden post and enjoying the interview with amusement dazzling his brilliant blue eyes, "Well, she got balls, eh?" He offered up with a chuckle.
Nicolo's gaze trailed from the younger fellow's dark, shiney, slicked black hair to his well-groomed attire to his pearly teeth.
Suave git. Nicolo affectionately dubbed him.
The greyer-haired man shot The Suave Git a sardonic look and the charming fellow knew to take the hint and went back to cleaning his ravosala with a chuckle. When Nicolo turned back to the drykas, he had to admit he did find her tenacity endearing. Even her strange look gave her an exotic quality his punters might enjoy.
"Well," He hesitated. Was he really doing this? He sighed, and hummed, and harred, and sighed again. "Alright. We'll try you out for a few bells an' see 'ow you get on. If you impress me, you can stay."
Nicolo liked to see the woman's mask crack then, as a smile broke across the drykas' face. She was positively grinning from ear to ear as her hands wove a lively dance in that sign-language he heard the horse-clans spoke amidst her words, "Thank you, I will not be a regret. You will not be sorry." Nicolo waved her off with a chuckle, and led her down to an old ravosala that had been sitting idly for a while, his boots clunking against the wooden planks which served as walkways in the lake city. This old ravosala would do for a novice, any bumps or scrapes she would put into it would only add character to the collection it already had.
He gestured to the shallow, narrow boat with its high, winding bow printed with elaborate geometrical flowers, not unlike those that generously graced the drykas' skin. "Alright, this old gal is yours, you keep her clean, and you keep her safe. You break her by reckless driving and it will come out of your pay. You scrape and bump her, you strip and paint her. Your ravosala, your responsibility. Understand?"
For the first time since the inked foreigner had graced his dock the ravosalaman saw real joy spill into the drykas' young, angular features as she inspected the ravosala. She knelt at the edge of the dock and ran an inked hand across the faded black side of the boat, clearly admiring its craftmanship, when she beamed up at him, "It is mine?" Nicolo's heart leapt with sudden fear, "No!"
Kuhamahama was startled by the force of his voice, until he laughed and explained hurriedly. Still mine, just yours to work. You borrow it, you take punters places, you give me the mizas, and I pay you a reasonable wage. Okay?"
The drykas' brow furrowed, she stroked her hands across the boat a little longer as she seemed to consider this. Nicolo was erring on the brink of changing his mind about taking on a foriegner with no know-how on steering boats or even, by all accounts, people skills for that matter, when the woman stood and agreed happily, "Okay! This is good." Nicolo was caught by surprise as she outstretched a hand for him to take.
He hesitated as doubts about handing over one of his precious ravosalas to this unskilled foreigner fluttered in his gut. Nonetheless, he cleared his throat and took her awaiting hand. He was impressed to find her grip was surprisingly strong and steady as they shook hands.
"Welcome, Ku- Kuh- uh."
"Kuhamahama."
Nicolo blew a raspberry as the thick pavi syllables flurried past his ears.
"Hama," He echoed, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, which was cut short when the drykas squeezed his hand and that stony expression swept back into her inked features again as she looked intently into his face. An anxious tick past between them, as the charactaristically confident ravosalaman found himself surprisingly unnerved, before the drykas chuckled and let his hand go.
She shrugged, a grin edging into her eyes.
"Hama is okay."
Nicolo cleared his throat, realising she had been teasing him, he hurried to change the conversation. "Right, let's give her a spin,
and see what you can do."
Nicolo, of Nicolo's Ravosalas, asked, his voice matter-of-factly, yet not unkind, as he frowned at the tattooed drykas immigrant standing on the docks in front of him.
"No."
The drykas woman, with skin like scorching red desert sands and hair and eyes as dark as the night sky answered bluntly, forign tongue making thick her deep feminine voice.
"Ever sailed a boat, of any sort?" The portly ravosalaman probed, scrubbing his greying stubble with a rough, hard-worked hand as his eyes traveled over the drykas' lean arms and slender shoulders, looking for tell-tale signs of strength and stamina that might tell him she could endure the rigors of being a ravosalaman.
"No," The foreigner repeated simply and there was not a hint of emotion in her as she stared right back at him with only an air of expectation for his response hanging in the air about her.
Nicolo soaked in the dark gaze within her impassable expression. Along with the stark black tattoos and unflappable way she stood there under his scrutiny, he admitted to himself quietly that she was a little unnerving.
The wooden steps Nicolo was sitting on creaked as he shifted in his seat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees he clasped his hands as he wondered what to make of this foreigner's idea of becoming a ravosalaman without ever having driven a boat.
"Do you know Ravok well?" He probed, generously. He reasoned it didn't matter too much if she was a sailor or not, if she knew how to navigate the city, the rest he could teach her, quickly if she was the learning type. He could see she was tough and wiry, used to a life of manual labour, so he could trust in her endurance.
The drykas crossed her arms, rocking back onto her heel as she looked down the canal one way and then the other. When she returned her dark gaze to her interviewer, not a flicker danced in those eyes. The ravosalaman's heart sank a little, knowing her answer before she even parted her lips to speak. "No." She said, and Nicolo felt, rather than saw, her mirror his shrug in the tone of her voice and the faint lift of a tattooed brow. Odd aesthetic choice, he thought, for she had shaven off her eyebrows completely and instead possessed black ink dashes where her brows would have been.
Her answer and general lack of explanation on just why she was applying to his establishment for a job with such little relevent skill both perplexed and irked him. He tossed his hands up and asked with a incredulous high to his voice. "Have you ever even been on a boat before?" But he knew the answer to that one too, and this time, he didn't want to hear it. "Let me guess," he folded his arms across his chest and tucked his chin in caricature of her, "No."
There, something human-like stole into her expression. Was it anger? He couldn't tell for sure, as soon as it was alight it was soon shrouded under that stony mask, like the shadow of a raven gliding over a field.
"I have strong arm, I work hard, I am fast to learn. I not, er, make you unhappy. I will work hard and make people happy, and take them to place they need, and make mizas." The drykas' shoulders lifted as she spoke, clear pride ringing in her speech.
Nicolo sighed, baffled by her. He looked at the ravosalaman standing behind her, leaning on a wooden post and enjoying the interview with amusement dazzling his brilliant blue eyes, "Well, she got balls, eh?" He offered up with a chuckle.
Nicolo's gaze trailed from the younger fellow's dark, shiney, slicked black hair to his well-groomed attire to his pearly teeth.
Suave git. Nicolo affectionately dubbed him.
The greyer-haired man shot The Suave Git a sardonic look and the charming fellow knew to take the hint and went back to cleaning his ravosala with a chuckle. When Nicolo turned back to the drykas, he had to admit he did find her tenacity endearing. Even her strange look gave her an exotic quality his punters might enjoy.
"Well," He hesitated. Was he really doing this? He sighed, and hummed, and harred, and sighed again. "Alright. We'll try you out for a few bells an' see 'ow you get on. If you impress me, you can stay."
Nicolo liked to see the woman's mask crack then, as a smile broke across the drykas' face. She was positively grinning from ear to ear as her hands wove a lively dance in that sign-language he heard the horse-clans spoke amidst her words, "Thank you, I will not be a regret. You will not be sorry." Nicolo waved her off with a chuckle, and led her down to an old ravosala that had been sitting idly for a while, his boots clunking against the wooden planks which served as walkways in the lake city. This old ravosala would do for a novice, any bumps or scrapes she would put into it would only add character to the collection it already had.
He gestured to the shallow, narrow boat with its high, winding bow printed with elaborate geometrical flowers, not unlike those that generously graced the drykas' skin. "Alright, this old gal is yours, you keep her clean, and you keep her safe. You break her by reckless driving and it will come out of your pay. You scrape and bump her, you strip and paint her. Your ravosala, your responsibility. Understand?"
For the first time since the inked foreigner had graced his dock the ravosalaman saw real joy spill into the drykas' young, angular features as she inspected the ravosala. She knelt at the edge of the dock and ran an inked hand across the faded black side of the boat, clearly admiring its craftmanship, when she beamed up at him, "It is mine?" Nicolo's heart leapt with sudden fear, "No!"
Kuhamahama was startled by the force of his voice, until he laughed and explained hurriedly. Still mine, just yours to work. You borrow it, you take punters places, you give me the mizas, and I pay you a reasonable wage. Okay?"
The drykas' brow furrowed, she stroked her hands across the boat a little longer as she seemed to consider this. Nicolo was erring on the brink of changing his mind about taking on a foriegner with no know-how on steering boats or even, by all accounts, people skills for that matter, when the woman stood and agreed happily, "Okay! This is good." Nicolo was caught by surprise as she outstretched a hand for him to take.
He hesitated as doubts about handing over one of his precious ravosalas to this unskilled foreigner fluttered in his gut. Nonetheless, he cleared his throat and took her awaiting hand. He was impressed to find her grip was surprisingly strong and steady as they shook hands.
"Welcome, Ku- Kuh- uh."
"Kuhamahama."
Nicolo blew a raspberry as the thick pavi syllables flurried past his ears.
"Hama," He echoed, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, which was cut short when the drykas squeezed his hand and that stony expression swept back into her inked features again as she looked intently into his face. An anxious tick past between them, as the charactaristically confident ravosalaman found himself surprisingly unnerved, before the drykas chuckled and let his hand go.
She shrugged, a grin edging into her eyes.
"Hama is okay."
Nicolo cleared his throat, realising she had been teasing him, he hurried to change the conversation. "Right, let's give her a spin,
and see what you can do."
WC: 1,290
