71st of Summer, 519 AV
The world outside Calla's apartment was growing dark. Lanterns and candles were appearing in windows all around, illuminating apartments that had been cold and lonely all day. Calla leaned out the window, letting an arm hang over the people passing by below. A cool breeze came off the sea and caught in her white peasant shirt. The woman took the breeze into her lungs and then slowly exhaled. It was time.
Her short, leather boots were already on. They had been on for a while. Tonight was the night that Calla was going out for a drink--her first drink ever--with her mother. She wasn't exactly nervous, but she wasn't excited either. It felt like a date that she had been set up on: she vaguely knew the person she would be drinking with, and she had no idea how she was supposed to act.
Calla scooped up her leather bag and slung it over her left shoulder. It had her flask, eating knife, and some mizas in it. It wasn't much. In fact, Calla wasn't even sure she needed a bag. But the woman hated having things in her hands and she never knew where the night would lead, so she figured she might as well bring it along. She ducked out of her apartment, locked the door, and scurried out onto the street.
Plenty of people were already out, which simultaneously annoyed Calla and gave her hope. The sound of people buzzing about always made her feel important, like she was apart of something larger. Something compelled all these people to leave their homes tonight, and Calla was no different.
Her and her mother agreed to meet at the Kelp Bar. Not because her mother liked it there or because it had a nice atmosphere, but because it was, as Renia put it, "part of Calla's world." The theme of the night was, apparently, reintroducing themselves to each other. Calla was all for that, but it made her suspicious. A small part of her wondered if her mother was dying.
Pushing those thoughts out of her head as she made it to the bar, Calla stepped inside and looked around for Renia. There was table after table of sailors, but no Renia. Calla frowned, almost certain that she'd be the late one. Briefly, the courier contemplated finding a pair of seats and reserving them. But the bar was hot and crowded, and she knew her mother would be nervous coming into a place like this. After all, drinking wasn't her mother's preferred form of debauchery.
Calla slunk back outside, hovering by the door as she waited for her mother. Nearby, a group of men roared in triumph. It caught Calla's attention. She looked over, noting that a few of the men were standing and arguing. Sailors, by the look of them. Maybe twenty were congregated around this crate, discussing or arguing about whatever was on it. After a few chimes, they settled down back into their seats or leaning positions. This newfound calm opened up the space, allowing Calla to notice something.
"Mom?"
