Pinchbeck’s pipe was halfway to his mouth when the sailor accosted him. With an inward sigh, he quickly pocketed the pipe and rose to his hooves, assuming a twinkling smile and hoping that he appeared the essence of ‘bright eyed and bushy-tailed’.
He took the man’s hand, shaking it vigorously...
The carriage came to a sudden halt. A horse had thrown a shoe.
Did the driver know who Fitzpatrick was? Did he have an idea of the trouble Fitz could get him in? Apparently not.
And much to Pinchbeck’s displeasure, the driver claimed they must wait for the horse to be reshod.
It would be dark...
(I’m not proofreading this it might be a hot mess)
Vhanya took a deep breath of cool sea air. The sun was well on its way to being fully set, and the breezes carried the unmistakable scent of evening. If she were in Neustadt, the fireflies would be out.
Softly, she stepped along the deck to...
(Woot woot more Fitzpatrick)
The brig was an unassuming but serviceable ship; her masts were sturdy and sails new. Not one would suspect that she would soon carry cargo of great importance, such as the wyvern boy— and Pinchbeck.
Sunset had fully claimed the skies by the time Fitz reached the...
Cyrus Bailey raised a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the blood-red sunset. After their talk, Vhanya had marched off to the aft, leaving him at the mainmast.
The ‘Silver would set sail by morning. His crew was efficient and would soon have the bulkheads assembled and supplies...
(The bulkheads I was referring to with Vhanya are temporary walls out of canvas or thin wood to use to separate rooms in the decks. Emphasis on temporary, they’re light so they’re easy to move around. So yes, you’re right.)
Vhanya regarded her quartermistress with a pleased grin, “splendid! Just splendid.” She pressed a hand to her chin, “have the men start assembling bulkheads belowdecks. We’ll need them up by ‘morn if everyone is to be comfortable— and situate the werewolf girl belowdecks as well, I can’t devote...
Fitz blinked, his mouth forming a small ‘o’.
He subconsciously ran a hand down the smooth surface of one of his horns, “by Jove, are you daft, boy? I’m a satyr,” he sputtered. “And may I ask why you have those wings, sprouting from your shoulders?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You will ask...
(Fitzpatrick time let’s gooo)
The cells and their surrounding hallways were
well and truly horrid.
Fitz loosed his pocketwatch from his waistcoat, watching the small gold hands impatiently.
The dank air clung to the skin, and Fitz tried in vain to scrape his hooves along the stone ground to...