loose tongues.
[ set two days after this, JFC IT'S LATE ]
Carlos sipped his brandy, sitting in a corner away from the crowd. He generally drank by himself unless he was with Jack, preferring to isolate himself should he start dwelling on the past. It was a cold night and he had no desire to crawl into bed, the cold making him restless. It probably had to do with childhood and helping the family prepare should winter take food, amongst other things.
His snifter was low, apparent in the way he idly swirled his glass, the glass barely changing from clear to caramel. He only offered a look to the barmaids, wondering who would come by.
One or two would pass him, scurrying to reach other tables. They had no tags to identify them, but patrons knew them by name, hollering them from the other side of the tavern. The place was abuzz with life, but it had yet to touch everyone.
"Orlha!"
The blonde in question flew across the floor, mugs nearly sliding right off the tray she carried. She gave him what she gave everyone: a few choice, yet funny words, a smile -- on occasion, a laugh. But it was in the way she smiled this night that spoke volumes of the mask she wore.
An invisible one, threatening to crack.
Her smile wavered, but within moments, she was at Carlos' table, wrapped in the falseties of her cheeriness. Though she smiled, her eyes told a different tale. She was tired, dreadfully so, and someone, anyone had yet to notice. But truly, what tragedy was an exhausted barmaid? Such a travesty, it was.
This was the home stretch. She could do this.
"Is everything alright over here?" Exhaustion be damned-- the girl could at least attempt cheer. "Anything else I can get you?"
"Just more brandy. I don't want to keep you busy," Carlos said, drawn to her face.
Lord, she looks like Magda. Sounds like her too.
He shook his head, brushing off the sentiment. Whenever Ghost landed in Conne, he'd take a trip further south to see Magdalena. She sent letters, not always expecting her brother to answer, and she sounded lonely. Carlos despised the idea of her husband treating her poorly, but again, not proper thoughts to have in front of a stranger.
When Orlha laughed, it still managed to be sincere. "I don't mind if you do. After all, busy is what a barmaid is meant to be, isn't it?"
There was a particular hollow quality to her words, and she instantly regretted it. Truly, she loved what she did. But sometimes, she wondered. She dreamed. Of a better life, of a life spent traveling, of a life with-- no. He was gone.
He was gone, and nothing could bring him back.
This time, her smile was weak. "Would you mind if I sat? Only for a few moments."
"Not at all, you need a break," Carlos said, the alcohol making him somewhat friendlier than he normally was.
He hadn't thought about his family, and he wanted to keep it that way.
As the girl took her seat, she shook her tired head. "I can usually go all day on my feet, but, ah... you know, it must be one of those days." Her smile stretched thin. The mask was steadily cracking.
Carlos looked at her, sipping his brandy. "Times are hard."
As he observed her, she reminded him of Magdalena in a way, when she was put out and tired, but still trying to smile. "Is your shift almost over?"
A hand drifted up to brush blonde from her eyes. The intricate braid tying her hair back had long lost its tidiness. "Not quite. I have a few hours to go, but right now... I need this." Again that smile showed itself. "For a few moments, at least."
Her mind circled back to the task at hand, the task that came before serving rowdy customers and tending to their drunken needs: her promise to Dalit. It was now two days since they'd first and last met, and so far, little had been discovered. The prospect of failing him, after giving him her word she'd find out that captain's name, was devastating. Never again would she let anyone down.
Never.
"Do you--" The words spilled out before she could stop them, and with them, a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. It's not important, nevermind me. When I'm tired, I speak nonsense."
"Do I what?"
The medic sipped his brandy again, observing her. Lord, she's like Magdalena. More sheepish admittedly.
Her lower lip was drawn into her mouth to be nibbled on thoughtfully, before she found the words to speak.
"Stop me, please, if this is too personal a question from someone whose name you don't even know, but do you ever-- have you--" Pause. "Do you ever worry about disappointing people? Or am I the only one who does this?"
It hit a little too close to home for the medic's liking, but he was in a rather amicable mood with his drink.
"Yes. Everyone does it at some point, I imagine," Carlos replied, swirling the caramel colored liquid in his snifter. "It just depends on whether or not you let it consume you, like I had."
An exhausted Orlha knew where to draw the line, and so there would be no prying. Had she been in any other mood, perhaps it might have been different. She shook her head, smiling in his direction, though not quite at him.
"As long as I'm not the only one." Somehow, some comfort was found in that, but not enough. Eventually, her eyes found his. "I've promised someone something that I want to give, but I don't know if I can. I refuse to give up, though." That smile waned, despite her words.
Carlos listened to her, chewing it over. She reminded him of Magdalena now, especially married. It broke his heart a little.
"What did you promise this person, if you don't mind me asking," he said, a teasing tone in his voice very much like the older brother he was.
It was a shame that the barmaid was so open a person. Practically anyone was privy to the details of her life, her feelings, her thoughts. This man was no different. She heaved a quiet sigh.
"A name. The name of a captain."
Carlos looked at Orlha and snorted, mostly amused with the whole thing. The way it sounded to him was almost laughably melodramatic.
It could've just been the alcohol as well. "Mm, perhaps I might know him. I happen to work on a ship."
No glimmer of hope lit the way. Most of the men she'd spoken to had been part of a crew, but few of them felt like divulging any information, no matter how smoothly she'd eased into it. Nevertheless--
"He's the captain of Ghost," she admitted easily, eyeing him warily in case he decided to shut her down, as most others had. "Do you know it?"
Carlos offered a smile and a teasing tone. "She's the one."
Crestfallen-- that was how she felt. Had he been a crew member on any other ship, perhaps she might've had more luck, but a crew member on Ghost herself? She couldn't have found anyone less likely to share their captain's name.
Even so, Orlha leaned in. "Truly?"
"On my ancestors' names," he replied.
"Tell me, why do you want the captain's name? I may or may not be feeling, how should we say, generous."
The wrong answer could ruin her chances at a name, so she gave pause. Words had never been her strong point. Speech, yes, running her mouth, certainly, but the right words rarely came clear to her. She was no poet. No, just a girl who spoke her mind, someone who acted without thinking first.
In her seat, she shifted. "The person I gave my word to? He was told he wouldn't be allowed to board her -- Ghost, that is -- unless he spoke the captain's name. A name seems like such a simple thing, really, but people are not always willing to talk. Like a captain's name is... sacred.
"And so I offered my help, because--" Why had she? Dalit could barely be considered a friend. So why? The answer, to her, was clear. "Because I want him to find his happiness. The way he looked--" She shook her head. "I know that look. That look when someone wants something so terribly, they'll do anything to get it. Desperation or longing, whatever it ought to be called..."
Her gaze fell to his drink. "Everyone should have a chance for happiness."
Carlos looked at her and saw a little girl instead of a woman.
"It depends on how close one is to their captain. I respect him, of course, but I place his actions and motives, whatever they may be, far higher than his name."
Carlos had been a man of status and achievement. He could not care less if someone knew his name and not what he had made for himself. He applied that logic to everyone.
He hated how honest he could be when drunk. He was only tipsy for now; hopefully, Orlha wouldn't take advantage of that. But if she were anything like his beloved younger sister, oh, she could play him like a fiddle.
"I'll use another question on you: why do you feel like it is your responsibility for another person's happiness?"
Nothing about his inquiry came as a surprise. Orlha had asked herself the same question for months, rolled it around in her mind to make some sense of it. Her lover's death seemed the easiest answer, but it ran deeper than that. The mother who had loved her with every fiber of her being, but suffered from a depression that had swallowed her whole. The little sister who struggled with her self-worth.
No tears lined her lashes, but oh, how they wished to.
"I'm not very good at thinking about myself," she smiled, giving another shake of her head. "Perhaps I'm not responsible for their happiness, but I do all that I can do help them achieve it. No matter the weight put on my shoulders."
No matter the cost.
Carlos smiled. That was answer enough. He wanted to chide her, to be a father figure and tell her she didn't need to do that, that people had to find their own means of happiness because he could hear his little sister so clearly in his head.
We can't help people find happiness. We just have to support them.
"That's a noble, but futile, reason. But that's alright. Everyone has at least one cause like that."
He sipped his brandy again.
"Alright, your turn to ask a question. Remember, just asking me what's his name is not going to get it."
His fatherly attitude dissolved into a playful older brother, wanting to see a younger sister smile.
Wanting so very desperately to have a reason to give him a genuine smile, Orlha dipped her head, fiddling with the material of her dress. She knew it wasn't futile. She knew, without a doubt, that she would keep trying, until her last breath.
As she met his eyes again, she brushed away a strand of blonde. "What's his name?" This smile was less forced.
The only movement Carlos made was one raised brow, blinking slowly at her to emphasise he was completely serious.
"Are you trying to be cute?"
"And failing, it seems." Where her smile had once been honest, now it was nervous. Her gaze and hand fell back into her lap, and for a short time, she was content to play with her dress, rolling the folds between her fingers, memorizing the feel of the fabric.
She didn't glance back up again. "Do you think it's stupid to wish for the happiness of someone you've only met once?"
Carlos looked at her and chewed it over. Oh, how he saw his sister.
"I do. But Magda, my sister - she says it's out of compassion. To care about other people. She might be on to something. So while it's sweet, if you yourself aren't happy, it seems insincere."
Carlos found the goodness of other people to come with clauses and unspoken attachments. He never did believe that people truly had another person's interest at heart unless it benefitted themselves in some capacity.
The word rang hollow inside of her. Those fingers stilled, resting against her lap. "Insincere," she quietly parroted, rolling the shape of the word across her tongue. Maybe. Was she happy? Would a happy person have to ask themselves that if they truly were?
When her eyes closed, finally she could feel the wetness on her lashes.
"And what is your position on board?" It seemed as if her voice was coming from elsewhere but her own mouth.
Carlos breathed slowly. God, he hated making people cry, especially women that made him think of Magdalena. But his rationale kept him from reaching over and holding the woman, knowing full well she wasn't his beloved baby sister.
"Medic and surgeon. Did I upset you?"
That smile returned before Orlha managed the strength to open her eyes. "Oh, no, it's alright. You have me thinking, is all." His answer gave her pause, but she didn't remain silent for long. "Your work as a medic -- that was your choice?"
Carlos didn't buy it, but he pretended otherwise.
"Yes." and no.
"Do you need the captain's full name or just his birth name." Granted, Carlos had both - hard not to when your captain was one of the sons of House Carovere, but he could lie and give a false one. But he already pushed this girl enough to get her to tear up, and Carlos wanted to avoid that.
To be frank, Orlha wasn't sure which she needed. Dalit had only said 'the captain's name', which should have been answer enough, but evidently it wasn't. His question surprised her, but rather than allowing it to show, she tilted her head thoughtfully.
"I've been searching for his name for two days," she admitted, deciding not to risk a smile then. "I'll take whatever you choose to give me."
He wasn't sure if it was the brandy or something else, but Carlos had a pretty good laugh at her expense.
Rushing head first into things was always something he found both extremely annoying and absolutely hilarious.
"Sorry about that," he said, trying to brush off the laughter. "Reminded me of someone for a moment."
Carlos exhaled and thought to himself how to answer this question without giving too much. "Most of Ghost is from Conne, a great majority being from Emberlay, the captain included."
If she was smart, she could piece it together with the information he gave. It was simple enough. "If you are from Conne, that is - you don't look as pale as a Northerner."
The mention of Conne prompted a slight smile from her. Memories of her old house plagued her-- the rickety floors, the shutters that never closed, the smell of the sea. How long it'd been since she'd seen her family.
"I grew up in Bounty. But I haven't been home in years, not since coming to the capital." She nibbled at her bottom lip. "He's from Emberlay?" Somewhere in the back of her mind, a lightbulb flashed. He couldn't be-- could he? Gods above, she needed to pay more attention.
And he could see that little flicker in her eyes. He only offered a small smile and a sip of his brandy.
It was just like Magdalena all over again.
She took advantage of that silence and leaned back into her seat, gaze moving past his shoulder. Emberlay, Emberlay. She had wondered if she'd heard of the name Ghost before. Once, her father had taught her of all the prestigious Houses in all of Conne, and never had she forgotten them or their banners. House Wardron in Silverhollow, a sword and shark. House Anahar in Bounty, the trident and the swordfish. House Carovere, the eel and the axe.
That lightbulb flashed again, but still the pieces didn't fit just right.
"The heir to House Carovere is in the capital to be married..." Orlha scratched idly at her nose. "Or am I jumping to conclusions?"
Carlos gave a slight nod, acknowledging she was on the right track.
It wasn't coincidence that the crown ship of Emberlay and the heir of House Carovere were in the capital, after all.
Thoughtfully, the barmaid hummed to herself. "His name is Vincente. He's to be wed to Faina of House Isalka soon." She spoke softly, recalling what she'd picked up from patrons over the last few weeks. "Ghost and Emberlay... doesn't--"
And then it hit her. She abruptly straightened. "Doesn't he have a ship? Isn't Ghost his?"
Carlos let his facial expression, the slightest twinge of a smile or the raise of a brow, speak for itself. He casually sipped his brandy.
"Trust your instincts. You hear a lot here, but some stories stay consistent, correct?"
"Most of them do, but it's hard to trust the word of a drunkard," Orlha confessed, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt. "I may hear a lot, though filtering out what's true and what isn't is the hard part. And trusting my instincts has landed me in trouble before," she laughed, mostly at herself.
"Then exercise caution," Carlos said, paying her for his brandy and her sportsmanship.
"However, good news all around: you got your name, your friend got the help he needed. Now hopefully my hide will be in tact by the time she sets sail."
Despite the violent implication of his words -- she didn't want him to be booted out of his job for this -- the girl smiled. Not for herself, but for knowing that Dalit could finally have his name. She'd done a good deed. And with luck, this medic wouldn't have to worry about his hide.