Boring yet Precious (2/2)

After a few moments of pretending wonder The Sailor proclaimed with a clap of hands: "Alright, off to Wheatheart bakery for us then!" making Sion and Chacha glower identical excitement. "But wait for a while, I'll have to trade our catch to the Harbor-masters." he excused before jogging away to the nearest counter.

But of course that was a lie.

As soon as he left their view he threw the fish-filled net behind some stacks of rotting supplies, sprinting to the breakwaters of the docks afterwards. Even if their catch would be stolen he doesn't care, since every morning routine with Sion is solely for company's sake and not for monetary sustenance- which the alchemist was kept unaware of.

He searched for the boat he had seen floating alone at the coast of the black beach, letting out a sigh when he saw that it hasn't docked yet.

So with no hesitation the Sailor dove in the icy waters, swimming back to the black beaches as his smile cut through the sea like a swift arrow ready to pierce through bone.

Land dwellers may never believe but the famous Hyden moves quicker under water than a running man on land, something about his shrouded origins.

"Small Brock, Small Brock, Small Brock, Small Brock, Small Brock..." he repeated to himself, smile never leaving as his eyes search through the darkness.

"Small Brock, Small Brock, Small Brock... There you are..."

At last, he spotted the underside of the boat earlier. At this point, he remains grateful for two things; how he can outlast everyone's lungs underwater, and how the sea washes blood oh so easily...

Breathe in, breathe out.

Strong pull of hands followed by a drowned yelp.

Breathe in... no more. Nostrils barraged delicately, air replaced by cold-surging waters as screams turned into bubbles, cries muffled, grown-man's tears camouflaged.

Water in, and in, and in- upon a throat narrowed by a grip, made boneless by a lover's strength.

Air and blood mixing, tasted by a tongue bitten and chewed in more numbers than the rotting teeth that caged it.

Out, out, and out... From seconds into minutes, until the last bubble escaped from the sea floor. Much joy to the starfishes and arctic crabs tonight for the generous Sailor always gives back to the sea.

There's a reason why his Snowberry stays hidden forever.

Not a moment longer and he swims back to the docks where the shoremen were, still busy fixing their sails in tight lips so not to attract the Dirgefolk Dread that drowns misbehaving citizens.

That's when he saw two pairs of feet dangling from one of the vacant piers, eyeing them like some underwater predator.

"I want to write." Chacha said above.

"Truly? Alright then. Do you have materials with you?" Sion asked, seated beside her while washing the girl's hair with Glasbel Extracts.

The girl just scratched her head, her dirtied fingers had never touched any academe's material. But the slime of stolen coins, they know too well.

"Hmmm." Sion rummaged through his satchel for improvisations. There he found a pouch of dried leaves as paper and his small knife. When he saw a white feather drifting beside them he took it as their quill, good thing those Whiteravens always flock above Dirge. Then, with the knife, sliced thin on his finger to bleed it for ink.

"Now, keep in mind that even if you're a Mezenian native, you must essentially learn the Akan alphabet first." He spelled the name 'Chacha' in Akan symbols.

"Why so you ask? Because Akan is the language all countries use to understand one another." Chacha studied the two identical set of symbols that was written before her.

"How's that read?" She asked with her head tilted.

"It's your own name, see here..." he retraced the lines.

"Woah! Can I keep it?" She asked with eyes glinting like the snowflakes around them.

"Here, why not?"

She swiftly snatched the pouch from Sion to stare at it like a pirate afront a treasure map. And Ian'drah just watched them from underneath the ice caps, unbothered yet amazed on how Sion could teach blasphemous profanities to an animal and healthy knowledge on a slum-child on the same morning.

"Who's hungry!?" the Sailor resurfaced in between his friend's thighs to surprise them, successfully earning him a kick from the lad and a giggle from the girl.

"Are you out of your mind? I felt my heart jump off my tongue!" Sion gave another kick but Ian pulled himself against it.

"Now, now... when were you cut?" The Sailor grabbed Sion's wrist to have a look at the bleeding finger, tounge ready to 'sanitize' the wound but Sion pulled away.

"Yeah, go on act a fool. You know I have medicines here with me." He threw the hooded robes he had stripped earlier to the Sailor's face to dry himself.

"Gratitude..." Ian'drah's smile widened in deep inhalation; this is a moon's worth of reward in itself. His happiness for the day filled.

"You guys go ahead to Wheatheart, I need to give some few tonics to Captain Sunker, poor man was coughing blood." Sion kissed Chacha's forehead before turning away, after which, the girl floated up to the sailor's shoulders to ride at his nape.

"See you then." Ian bid his farewell, forehead wrinkling as Chacha grips on his hair to steady her steed.

"Tell him goodbye for me." The Sailor instructed.

"Goodbye Tuna!" The girl squealed out.

"See you later kid!" Her teacher responded.

"Tell him to be careful for me!" The Sailor urged.

"Be careful on yer way!" The kid copied.

"Okay I will!"

"I love you!" The girl parrots once more.

"Aw, I love you too!" Sion replied louder before vanishing in the morning fog.

"Good lass! For that, I'll buy you a honey-nut treat!"

"Yipee!"

They beelined the snowy pier roads past the bustling marketplace to arrive at the bakery. The elderly and maidens along the way gushing at how the Sailor would make a great father in the future.

First step in Wheatheart bakery and the welcoming whiff of breads in oven kindled warmth down the pair's empty stomachs, lifting them as if every cold burden were heaved.

Chandeliers made out of hallow beast-horns illuminated the wooden walls, with fragrant smokes occasionally escaping from the pantry to reach the candles above. Sion arrived shortly to join the pair at the round table fortunately nearest to the oven.

"Took your time arriving here, you took a detour?" Ian asked in suspicion, but only within his mind.

"You stay here, I'll go purchase the goodies." he said instead.

Over the wooden counter, there leaned a tall maiden beauty with wheat-colored hair most Sovenians have, eyes absent in disinterest. But upon seeing the Sailor's approach she shoved away her suitor blocking the counter, hurriedly fixing her apron and wetting her lips.

"Fair morning, Matilda."

"Morning Hyden." blood crept up her freckled cheeks, lips unattentively bitten from the luscious display of Ian's chest.

"Well, aren't you glowing brighter each time we meet lass?"

"Oh, stop it Sailor, your honeyed tongue won't add more to your discounts! haha! Anyway, what'cha ordering?"

"I'd have a plate of cheese bread topped with red magna jelly, three honey-nut treat, and a flagon of goat's milk for the kid..." Ian looked back to their table to see Sion estatically smiling at him through the eyes.

"Add another flagon of milk for the other kid and... Some herb-stuffed bread that you got." he remembered Sion's odd favorite.

"Anything else?"

"Nothin', that's all." Ian felt generous and gave her a smile enough to melt the maiden like butter. But of course, it never oozed through her surface, or so she believes.

"Alright then, the best breads for the best Sailor coming right up!" Matilda cheered. A held breath escaping her as soon as the sailor walked back to his table.

"Best bread for the best sailor?" Matilda repeated to herself which made her face sour and crumple.

"Matilda! You foolish little girl! Foolish! Foolish! Foolish!" she scolded herself in whispers under the counter, lightly slapping her cheeks in each repetition.

When Ian'drah arrived by the roundtable, crystal clear eyes met his glacial ones. It was Lady Drina Bluesaile, only daughter of the rutheless Kazer of Dirge now occupying his chair. Her silver hair flowing down her jeweled neck like a curtain of snow which compliments her pale skin and long embroidered gown of black stones.

"Fair morning, Sailor." Her voice sedates.

"Fair morning mi'lady." Ian grabbed her gloved hand to let it settle on his lips for common curtsy.

"Charming." Lady Drina smiled, retrieving her hand back to her lap. Sion retreated deeper into his hooded robe like a shellfish for he does know that he's in the presence of royalty, and upon seeing this, The Sailor grabbed a chair to improvise a space between the matriarch and the alchemist.

"So... What brings you here fair lady?" now seated with elbow on table, and palm on jaw, he smiled to the Silver Lady. His broad shoulders hiding the other lad.

"Mornings as a princess are rather tiring. townsfolks greeting your every step and expecting you to return their smiles is such a saddening bore." She sighed while draping her fur cloak on the table.

"By all honors, what made us different of a company?"

"Well, it's of obvious reasons."

"Like what mi'lady? I mean your majesty- I mean your highness? What can we from the slums offer to alleviate the harsh life of a princess?"

And there there was silence, but shortly broken by a freakish laughter from the Silver Lady. For a second they thought it was a pirate.

"Ian'drah you jest! I can't stand the disgusting niceties anymore, let's just converse casually, aye? " Her poise changed like the wind, surprising Sion that a woman of high class could stray from propriety and behave like a loud tavern drunkard.

"By the eternals Drina, your life is an inferno for having to act like a damn duchess each day."

"Preach that sailor, these damn dresses suffocates me! I'm required to wear these every day, everywhere!" she complained like some hysterical swan. "One can't imagine the strain! Oh! and I have to wear this annoying long gown in the castle, in the markets, and even in the loo! I'm no different from a floor mop by now really..."

"Wow, must be hectic being royalty..." a mutter escaped through a balaclava.

The Sailor stared wide eyed to the boy beside him. Even Sion himself was surprised that his thoughts escaped through his mouth unfiltered.

"Oh, this is embarrassing, pardon my shameless demeanor but I believe I haven't gotten your name yet?" The matriarch asked, but seeing the alchemist's satchel and his netted hood made her put two and two together. "You're the Blackmercy's Son, aren't you?" She asked, but Sion didn't answer.

"And you're drunk, aren't you?" the Sailor intervened, he doesn't like where this is going.

"Oh, piss off Ian, you know what I look like when I'm drunk..."

"You're pretty." A small voice muttered. All three of them looked down at Chacha who's holding the matriarch's beauty with her own precious eyes.

"Truly?" Drina's lips curved up.

"Yes, you look like a princess." The little girl added.

"Oh? What a good observer you are little lady, I'm impressed how both of what you said about me are true."

"What's your name?" Drina asked.

To answer, Chacha fished through her torn pocket to show the matriarch a blood imprinted pouch.

"So, Chacha it is? Well, are you not a Mezenian beauty yourself!" Drina reached out to hold Chacha's small hands.

"I know that once you grow up, you'll be a pretty princess like me. Takes one to know one after all." She smiled warmly, squeezing the girl's hand for a moment before letting go.

"Chacha, gentlemen." Drina stood up, collecting her cloak after retrieving the handkerchief she covered down her seat. She always knows when she's not wanted.

"I'm afraid I have to depart before that baker starts to batter me with her pin and shove me in the oven." She gestured over Matilda from the far counter not bothering to hide the distaste in her face.

"Oh well, see you later at dusk sailor." Drina leaned close to place a kiss on the sailor's cheek.

"I'm afraid this gown of mine is steadfastly becoming annoying and I need some help removing the annoyances of life." She winked before sashaying her way towards the marketplace, a smile already plastered back on her face as soon as she steps out of the bakery.

As soon as she was gone Chacha poked Sion's shoulder.

"What's on your mind?" Asked Sion. The girl only held out towards the Alchemist, a golden ring banded with fine emerald.

"You have to keep them, pretty like your eyes." She spoke.

"Sea Gods Co... Comb! who gave that to you?" Sion inquired in shock.

"Princess..." her tiny finger pointed at the swinging bakery door.