He regains consciousness with a start, eyes flying open, heart racing as he gasps in breath after breath. It takes a moment to orient and calm himself, taking in his surroundings piece by piece as he battles with a headache that has just started to sink it's claws into him. He can feel bile rising in the back of his throat and makes a heroic attempt to force it down. And fails. Throwing himself to the side of the bed he finds himself in he empties his stomach across the floor and onto the back of whoever was unlucky enough to be on the floor beside him. Ed groans, closing his eyes and massaging them through the lids as he tries to recall the events of the previous night. The whole thing is a blank. All he knows for sure is that he is not on his airship.

There is a shifting on the bed next to him, along with a gentle moan which threatened to bring a shriek to the brave captain's lips. Obviously his normally sharp reflexes had abandoned him, temporarily to be sure. He glances over at the lump hidden beneath the sheets and steels himself for what he might discover there. There had been incidents in the past, painfully similar, where inexplicably, the strangest of creatures had managed to worm their way into his quarters. Or lure him into theirs. Or into a nearby town square… Temple… Book Store…

Wincing against the growing pain in his head and holding his breath, he very carefully plucks the corner of the sheet up and begins the slow process of drawing it back without disturbing the figure beneath. Black hair with small horns poking through, dark skin, delicate features… He lifts the sheet just a little more to take a peek further down, to ensure there were no unpleasant surprises hiding under there. Not bad. Not bad at all. Now, though, he needed a drink. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he dislodges the bottles he had not noticed in a cascade which makes him flinch with every overly loud impact, each sending a spike of pain through his head. There was a chance, just a small chance, that he might have overdone it. A little. There is another gentle moan from behind him, but no telltale signs that he had awoken his companion. Perhaps it was best to keep it that way. Perhaps if she was of the occupation where payment might be required for services rendered, he could get out of this place before she regained the wits to seek it.

Ed's feet come down as he shifts his weight to get out of the bed, but are met with a mass of something warm, soft and slippery. He had forgotten about the body next to the bed, and the mess he had made. It takes a moment of eyes closed tight, muttering curses to himself under his breath, before he feels ready to stand up and clean himself off. A quick inspection of the figure on the floor reveals a human male, well sculpted and incredibly handsome. A gentle nudge with his toe to assure himself his second companion is still with them in the land of the living, and Ed is on his way across the room. Using all his skills and dexterity, he makes his way across the room as quietly as he is able. Considering the sheer mass of empty bottles, papers, plats, silverware and random items carpeting the floor, could he truly be blamed for making such a racket? Definitely not. Thankfully, however, the two of them seemed to be completely out of it. At least he hoped there were only two.

Finding a jug of lukewarm water and a bowl on a table, he manages a halfway respectable cleansing of himself before he turns towards readying himself for an escape. All he would need was his clothes and he would be ready to go. Speaking of which. He looks around the room, seeing it properly for the first time. A mediocre inn, by the docks if he was any judge of these things. Haven't frequented many a tavern and inn, he was somewhat of a connoisseur. A bed, a couple of tables and chairs. Not much else, aside from the trash littered everywhere, and not an article of his clothing to be found. He does find a dress, though it is a little on the small side, and a pair of pants of far too low a quality to be his own. For now, they would do.

"Now for boots…" He mumbles to himself. "Boots… Boots…" He pushes things aside and curses his luck. Not a pair of boots to be found! There is a nice coin purse on the table, not his but good enough, along with a rapier and dagger. Those were also not his. Or, to be technical, they were now. Strapping them on, he absently searches for a shirt or some kind of jacket, though at this point he is starting to accept that this is not going to happen. So when it does not happen, he accepts his fate and moves on. It was time to get back to his ship and get out of this city… Whichever city he was in. He hoped he was still in… Where had they been last? He was not in the right frame of mind right now. He would head downstairs, grab something to eat and drink and then head to the docking area for airships. Put this behind him. As he scans the room a final time, a note on the table catches his eye. He picks it up, scanning it.

"Congratulations Captain Ward" he reads, "On the purchase of the Pride of Carnelux. Docked in sip 47." 

This was not good. Not good at all. Where had he got the silver for a second airship? He would need to deal with that when he got the chance. Priorities. Food, drink, Zephyr, answers. A reasonable list of priorities for a reasonable man. Reaching for the door handle, he hears the woman in the bed stirring again. She groans and Ed turns to face her. As their eyes meet, he can see her confusion at the sight of him, a complete lack of recognition in her eyes. Followed by an ear splitting scream. He winces at the agony this causes him, tears the door open and takes off. He had not had the best experiences in the past trying to explain similar situations, and considering the weapons and purse he had recently acquired, there was no reason to believe he would fare much better now. The captain does his best impression of a sprint down the hall, stumbling into walls and crashing against doors on his way towards a flight of stairs that seems to stretch down into the depths of hell. This was definitely not what he needed right now. Doors already began to open behind him, so Ed takes this as his cue to continue on his way.

The mighty hero conquers the stairs and finds himself in a modest tavern. A surly looking barkeep glances over at him, but the elderly dwarf doesn't bother saying anything. Ed shrugs and out the door he goes, into the busy street and blinding daylight. He crashes into someone, not seeing who or what they were, only feeling a booted foot come down on his own unprotected toes and an elbow catching his ribs. Choking in a breath, he continues on his way, into the foot traffic. It takes him some time, and a few more painful bruises before he gets his bearing again and his eyes begin to adjust to the light.

Rows of ships line the docks to his left, but he barely pays them any mind. His sights have always been set on the skies, and these just hold no appeal to him. Something tugs at his mind though, a thought he just cannot shake no matter how much he tries. He is still close to the tavern when he looks at the numbers upon the slips the ships and boats are attached to. Number fifty two. Fishing the note out of his pocket he looks it over again. Could it really be? He continues along, then backtracks to find the correct number.

"Forty seven…" he mutters as he comes across what had to be the saddest little boat he had ever laid eyes upon, and he wasn't even a proper judge of these things. Painted in peeling letters upon the side, in a script that was clearly legible no matter how much he wished he could be misreading it was the name, "Pride of Carnelux". Balls. Ed walks over to it, wondering what he was going to do with this thing when he got back to his real ship. Perhaps have Carter come down and burn the thing. Shaking his head, he climbs in anyway. Perhaps the previous owner had been kind enough to leave him a pair of boots, or sandals. Anything to put on feet that were becoming painful to walk on. Pinned to the side of the boat, he notices a note. He snatches it down, hoping for some kind of explanation. Instead, what he reads drains the blood from him completely. Numb, he loses track of time. This could not be. Ed falls down into the ship, mind fighting through dozens of emotions at once, oblivious to his surroundings.

After going through an internal conflict for what seemed like years, Lyra had finally decided to leave her house, to leave her family. She had grown tired of their neanderthalic ways, their arrogant and warlike disposition, and how they seemed intent on forcing that almost primitive nature on her. She had never been one to revel in bloodshed, had never seen the value in killing someone just to earn some coin – she had always been far more interested in knowledge, in knowing how things worked, in the strange and unusual things that couldn’t quite be explained. Alas, her family were not that accepting of their daughter’s differences and had tried to interest her in some part of what was often referred to as ‘the family business’.

Her father had attempted to teach her the art of swordsmanship from an early age, but she had never managed to grasp the intricacies of handling a blade, even though her fingers were adept enough at picking locks, something she had taught herself. The bow and arrow had gone equally abysmally, with her certain her forearm was still slightly red from the string almost flaying her skin several years ago. After it seemed that their daughter would prove inept at any sort of weaponry, her mother decided that she should learn the far more ladylike profession of diplomacy, of waging war with words. At first it seemed like her fiery temper and defiant attitude would make her a success in this area, but her temper proved a bit too fiery, her attitude too defiant. She had little patience and would often snap at people, not enjoying either the activity or the ridiculous clothes the aristocracy had to wear.

As such, Lyra was often left to her own devices, leading her to teach herself skills that she thought might be useful, even dabbling a bit in poisons, by far the most thoughtful and intricate method of killing someone. Eventually she took excursions away from the house to see more of the city, to see more of land surrounding it. She had never ventured too far, recognising that she couldn’t defend herself with only an acerbic tongue, but had often yearned to leave the life of luxury for something else. Well, not leave the life of luxury, she quite liked that, but her family.

And so,it was that while the captain of dubious credentials was waking up and attempting to figure out what had happened the night before, Lyra was bright eyed and bushy tailed, dressed in the leather armor she knew was more for show than anything else, a mottled green cloak hopefully obscuring the fact that she was a bit too feminine for a traveller. With a satchel slung around her shoulder and knife at her hip, she had quietly descended the stairs in the house, avoiding the ones she knew made a noise, and left through the back door, the front having a bell to alert of any potential intruders – or runaways.

She had cut across the garden that no one in her family seemed too bothered about, stole out of the side entrance, and after walking down a few streets, was in an area she supposed might be defined as ‘bustling’, although that wasn’t what overwhelmed her; it was the fact that she had nothing to do. Before she had always had some destination, she had somewhere to go, but now she was ‘free’, and wasn’t quite sure what to do. She supposed that if she was going to leave her family, leaving the city would be the obvious choice, leaving the docks as the only real area of interest; she didn’t want to walk everywhere.

She moved through the city like someone who had memorised a map of the place: she knew where everything was, she knew where she was going, but she had never really taken in any of the sights – bars and free houses were not really places she frequented, although she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little bit curious as to what was inside.
As she drew closer to the docks a lot more of the surrounding buildings seemed to be freehouses than anything else, and a lot more of these freehouses seemed to be closer to the description of brothel, the masts of the ships in the near distance suggesting at the type of people who frequented such places. As she looked at them, she noticed a few of the… workers… giving her a look, but it seemed that they grew disinterested, probably because as women, they were fully aware that who they were looking at wasn’t exactly their type of clientele.

As the two parties shared looks, she saw a man stumble out one of the bars clearly drunk or attempting to shake off a hangover, something Lyra strongly disapproved of. She saw him crash into someone, catching an elbow for his troubles: it looked like the start of a fight, but the first man seemed disinterested, and stumbled off towards the docks – probably off to find some ship to work on. From what she had been told, Lyra knew a lot of ship work to be quite transient, for the workers to not know where their next paycheck was coming from. Still, it didn’t seem to stop them from spending it on drink and women.

She set off in the direction of the man, wondering if it was at all possible to bargain safe passage on a ship without going through any unwelcome hassle – gods knew she had plenty of money on her person, that wouldn’t be the problem, but she was aware that a man might just see a young woman and see how far he could go.
She walked between the mooring lines, noticing many large ships, ships which towered above the rest without the added height of the mast, and many smaller ships, clearly for fishing or leisure. On of these boats, a small vessel which seemed like it had seen more than its fair share of rough seas, the man from the street was stood. Lyra vaguely wondered about calling out something about theft but figured that it wasn’t really any of her business, an no one expected her to adhere to the law as strictly anymore – at least, she didn’t.

She tilted her head slightly when the man collapsed, not being the person to jump or gasp as such an affair, and after looking around and seeing now help, walked up the gangplank onto the ship to see the man lying on the deck, a bit pale. Poison was the first thing that crossed Lyra’s mind, and she started going through them all in her head, but then she realised he was probably just drunk. Still, wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

“Are you alright?” she said, before realising it would probably be better to speak a bit differently next time, cover the ladylike speech.

"Those ungrateful…." He mutters to himself under his breath, followed by a number of choice descriptions and insinuations about their collective mothers. The former captain lies there, stewing in his own dark thoughts, oblivious to the world around him. The righteous anger he feels is almost enough to help him power through the hangover, almost. However, his own excesses are enough to defeat him and make him trail off until he is simply wallowing in his own self pity once more.

Then a voice cuts through his introspection. Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, he looks up at the figure standing at the edge of his new boat. The thought of it being his now, his only vessel, stirs mixed feelings for Ed. On the one hand, it could be worse. At least he still had something, even if that something was small and a form of transportation he had absolutely no idea how to use. Two masts, one near the front and one at the back, both with sails tied up in a complicated mess of knots. He was sure he would be able to figure the knots out by himself, not too different from those used on airships, surely. Where to go from there though. How would he go about raising those sails, and even before that how were you meant to get the thing out onto open water? Too many thoughts at once for his poor, addled mind, distracting him from the matter at hand.

The stranger looked like she was in the process of boarding, and she was addressing him directly it seemed. He had not caught what it was that she had said to him, but no matter. Was this that kind of boat? He had heard of pleasure yachts, to be sure, but had always pictured them to be a little more, well, decadent. He supposed it was possible that there were low end pleasure yachts, and the human girl he was now looking at sure didn't seem the type to be on the higher end of the market. She was wearing leather, so perhaps there was some fetish involved. He truly had no idea why he would have purchased such a vessel, but deep in his cups there was no telling what he might do. It would definitely not be the first time he had made rash decisions. 

It takes him a moment as his mind wanders, thinking of all the different delights that might be available on such travelling dens of debauchery. He would quite like to try one for himself, one that is a little better than his own. However, he considers, there could be a far less desirable possibility. What if this girl, dressed as she was as if anticipating violence, was actually a member of the crew of his latest acquisition? It was common on airships for the crew to stay with the ship, even if the captain or owner changed. With how complicated the inner workings were, they needed a familiar crew to tend for them. He eyed the little boat dubiously, wondering why someone would need to remain with it. Did not seem likely, but regardless, she was here and looking at him expectantly.

Ed clears his throat as he goes about the process of straightening his shirt and getting himself back into order. Except his hands brush his bare chest, as he has no idea where his own fine clothes are. If those mutineers took his clothes, he would bring down such a reckoning upon their heads that their names would be whispered in hushed voices for centuries to come! The fortune he had spent on his wardrobe! He groans and lifts himself to his feet, sways, but manages to stay upright. He looks from his newest subordinate to the boat around him and realises what a mess it is in. 

"I don't know how your previous captain kept his ship," He begins, "but under my command this will no longer stand!"

Best to start a new command the right way. Let them know who is in charge, and lay down the law. Normally there would need to be an example made, but unless she had someone smaller hidden behind her, he was stuck with this girl and best not to burn bridges when the crew is so small. Perhaps he would hire on another hand. Certainly would need to if she was unable to keep such a small boat in order. Unless she was a working girl. Were they expected to keep their area clean, or was he as the employer expected to handle such things? It was so difficult to know, but to question it would be to admit ignorance, which could lead to all kinds of misdirection. 

Proclamation made, he sets to work righting the ship, hoping and half expecting her to join in. As he begins tossing empty bottles and papers over the side of the boat and into the bay, he cries out in pleasant surprise as he begins finding items that could come in handy. These items he tosses towards the back of the boat, left for later inspection and storage. His greatest discovery of the morning by far is a pair of boots. Good quality, too. Quickly he pulls them on, discovering they are a close enough fit to work. That with an over sized shirt, a belt and an overcoat and he finds himself looking almost close to respectable once more. The clothes are not fine, not by a long shot, but at least he is no longer running around half naked. As he adjusts his new clothing, heedless of their cleanliness, he finds an eye patch. With a shrug he dons it, and turns to his shipmate.

"You may refer to me as Captain Ward." He says, grin plastered to his face as he awaits her reply expectantly.