Awaiting a message from Briar, Drakmor decides to shop. I got bored.
Dethnus walked down the docks, awaiting a messenger from Briar.
The man was likeable enough, despite his associations. Drakmor felt as if he could trust the man, for some reason. Pesky thing, trust.
Walking blindly around the docks, Drakmor decided to find a temporary job. He could use the money for new clothes, perhaps a new jacket. He had lost his, along with his shirt and boots, during his fight with Dethnus. Drakmor hated that he had ruined those boots the most. Under his large cloak, Drakmor wore nothing but the ragged remains of his trousers. His only other covering was his cloak, which was tore and ripped, so finding new clothes sounded ideal.
Nearby another crew of a nearby airship was loading crates of supplies. The airship was small but bulky. It looked like a cargo ship. Another man, who appeared to be the captain of the vessel, was yelling at them. They seemed to be docked for time. It was a perfect opportunity.
Drakmor walked to the captain and waved him down.
“What is it?” The Captain said, somewhat agitated.
“I can help,” Drakmor said, “for a price.” The captain looked him over. Drakmor was not a small man, by any means.
“Fine, just get busy son.”
Drakmor walked over to the pile of crates. He decided to show off. Who knows, he might like the reactions. Drakmor stacked up four crates, each almost four feet in height, and lifted the entire stack. They were heavy but not too heavy for Drakmor while he surged his blood. Drakmor repeated this several times, laughing when the other men stopped to stare. They had been lifting one crate per two men. To see someone do eight men’s work must have been either amazing or embarrassing.
Drakmor finally finished after about thirty minutes of intense working. The job had actually left him tired. Toward the end he had to stop surging his mercury blood and only carry one crate at a time. The other men said he had worn himself out by trying to show off. They said it unsteadily of course.
Drakmor walked back up to the Captain.
“You’re something else, lad. How about you come work on my ship?” The man said, sounding serious.
Drakmor just laughed. “No thanks. My money?” The Captain sighed and handed over the odd paper currency Drakmor had seen throughout the market area of the city. On the front was all a picture of some man. It was one more thing that made Drakmor wonder just where Dethnus had sent him.
Ignoring his thoughts, along with his gloom that had crept up once again after he was paid, Drakmor walked back to the market. It was busy, but luckily not as busy as it had been. Drakmor quickly located a clothing store that contained an odd assortment of dresses and suits. Drakmor had never seen such odd designs of clothing before. Although he honestly didn’t care, as Drakmor had found his ideal target: A pair of simple black boots. From the look of them, they were well made and possibly high-quality leather. If he was going to die soon, as he hoped, Drakmor wanted to die wearing a good pair of boots. Plus, he wanted his killer to remember him. A well-dressed man is more memorable than a homeless man in rags.
Drakmor headed to the shop entrance, eager to buy his boots.
“How can I help you?” the man behind the desk asked as Drakmor walked up. He was a skinny fellow with an odd assortment of bracelets.
“I would like those boots over there,” Drakmor said, pointing at the black boots on display. The small man just stared at him, as if a child had asked for something he wasn’t going to get.
“OK… That will be 500,” he said, still eyeing Drakmor strangely. Drakmor pulled out his wad of money he had received for work. The shop keeper would most likely not cheat him with other customers in the store.
“That,” the man said after counting Drakmor’s money, “is only 400. I need 500 for the boots.”
“That’s all I have, though,” Drakmor said, holding back his irritation. The damnable Captain didn’t even pay him enough for a pair of boots!
“Too bad. Come back when you get more, sir.”
Drakmor walked out, still holding his money. If he couldn’t afford a pair of boots, how could he buy anything useful?
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Drakmor whipped around, preparing a round in his railgun. Instead of an enemy, it was a young girl. She jumped back a little in surprise.
“Woah! You act like I’m an enemy!” She said aloud, her voice sound vaguely familiar. The young woman straitened, holding a hand to her chest. Obviously she had been startled a bit more than Drakmor had thought.
“No reason to think of you as a friend,” Drakmor replied, trying not to observe her body. He wasn’t a kid anymore and he wouldn’t drop to being a pervert again. But this girl was testing that perserverence…
“True enough,” she said modestly, as if what Drakmor said was nothing out of the ordinary. Most people had thought Drakmor’s manner of speaking and distrustful nature suspicious, but this girl seemed to either understand. Or she was playing a game.
She was an oddity to Drakmor. On her back was an enormous crossbow, which looked like it’s recoil would kill her. She wore average clothing, though they were extremely clean, contrary to the other people’s clothing. However, the strangest thing about her was her composition. She had regained her composure not even a second after being startled. Only high-born people did that on a daily basis.
The young woman stared at him, apparently waiting on something.
“What do you want?” He asked as politely as he could manage. Drakmor made sure to keep his eyes on her face. Her clothing might be average for these parts, but others surely didn’t wear theirs that tight.
“Well,” the woman said innocently, “I just noticed you don’t have enough money for those boots. I came over to help.” Drakmor waited for someone to kill her. That’s what had always happened in the past. But nothing happened. The young woman just kept on smiling, waiting for Drakmor to reply.
“And how could you help me?”
“Easy. I saw you earlier helping around the docks,” she said as matter-of-factly as possible, “and I think we can both make some money off doing stuff like that.”
Drakmor barked a laugh. “Sorry girl,” he said between chuckles, “I doubt you could lift one side of one of those crates.” She smiled deviously. Drakmor then knew what she was proposing.
“I know my way around here,” she replied, “so I can point out the captains who need help and are willing to pay for it.”
“And,” Drakmor continued for her, “you will get a commission fee for hiring me out?”
The young girl just smiled and nodded hopefully. Drakmor found it extremely attractive. It was the sort of thing Valeria had done to him before.
Drakmor sighed. “Why not? I could use the exercise.”
Almost two and a half hours later, Drakmor walked out of the store with the black boots, a new jacket, made of some black fabric, and some trousers that fit snug. His hair had been cut to his shoulders and his beard was shaved off.
The woman, whom had called herself Alishia, had taken off just before Drakmor went into the shop. She said she was going to buy groceries for her own captain. From what he gathered from the last few hours, she liked to shop. Drakmor doubted she even bought groceries. She had had the gall to even tell Drakmor she lost the money her captain gave her to a pick pocket, which was why she got Drakmor’s help.
Some captain out there was going to have to deal with that problem eventually and most likely he would take it out on the crew, too. It was a good thing Drakmor wasn’t on that girl’s crew.
Drakmor’s gloom returned as a small boy ran up to him with a slip of paper in his hand. He grabbed the paper and opened it. All that was written was: ‘We leave soon. – Captain Briar’