Removing the rag from her shoulder, Baz saw that the wound had almost completely closed off. That potion worked fast, which meant it probably tasted especially bad. Feyre's reaction to it only confirmed his suspicions. He pulled her sleeve back up and set the bottle down on the bar so that he could remove his shirt. Now exposed to the cool air of the room, the stinging pain returned to his back, causing him to bite back a groan. Baz sat himself on a stool and quickly downed what was left of the bitter potion, waiting for it to take effect.

He waved a hand dismissively at her comment. "I didn't do that much damage. Just hurt a few to make it easier on you," he replied, picking up his not-yet-empty mug of ale. His thumb stuck out, pointing to the last man he killed. "He's the only one I really handled, and that was just because you were hurt." 

Bonifaz thought for a moment on her question, considering telling her how he was taught some skills from the Rosenites. But that was unnecessary, given he was trying to stay far away from that part of his history. So, he settled for a partial truth. "My dad taught me some, but I had to learn a lot out in the wild," he explained, shooting her a smile. "Turns out it's incredibly hard to outsmart bloodthirsty beasts."

Feyre's hands set to work, nimbly moving to clean the wound. She ignored the hisses and groans of protests from the ginger, instead focusing on digging through her satchel for the needle and thread she kept on hand. Pulling it out triumphantly, she turned her attention back to the wounds.

"How long did it take you to figure that out?" She asked in a teasing tone. "And you did a good job disposing of the leader." 

The Fae began to stitch the wound on his back, resisting the urge to crinkle her nose at the smell of blood. Finishing up, she stepped back to admire her handiwork before wiping the blood from his back. "The stitches should hold until the potion takes full effect" She explained, moving out from behind him and walking to the bar. Placing a hand on the counter, she vaulted herself over and grabbed a bottle of rum. Feyre crawled back up onto the counter, letting her legs dangle over the side as she took a swig from the bottle. Holding the bottle out to Baz, she raised an eyebrow, silently asking if he wanted any. 

"Longer than I care to admit, I'm afraid." Baz laughed at her question, straightening his back while the wound healed over the stitches. Even though the healing potion was a powerful tool, it was clear that he'd still end up left with a mark. "What good is a fight if you don't have scars to show off, right?" he asked with a smirk.

He accepted the bottle. Rum wasn't his favorite type of drink, but he wasn't picky, and it was what most of the taverns in Vilpamolan tended to serve. After taking a swig, he set it back down on the counter. "You know, if they were as good as they looked, they would've just drugged our drinks." Studying the mugs, he confirmed that they were potion-free. What morons.

Satisfied with how the pain in his back was dulling, he stood and pulled his shirt back on, then began to loot the bodies of the fallen men. Most of them only had a few pieces of silver onto gold, and none of their weapons were worth anything on their own. The ginger did end up pilfering a jacket from one of the men who was about his size so that he could cover up where the sword had ripped through the back of the shirt. "You take what you want, then we need to go before we get caught."

Feyre scoffed at the comment, peering at where the mugs still stood. He did have a point though. Mercenaries foolish enough to pass up the opportunity to kill someone quietly deserved the death they were served. And what a spectacular death it was…Her eyes roved over the floor, landing on the blades she lost. "Aye aye cap'n" She called out in a gruff voice, glancing back to where the ginger stood. 

She smirked at him, tilting the bottle to her lips once more before tossing it aside. Feyre moved quickly, small hands plucking back her blades from the throats she sunk them in. Digging through one of the satchels, she smiled in triumph as she pulled out a full flask and some sewing supplies. Quickly moving them into her own satchel, the Fae scampered over to where Baz stood. "Let's agree to avoid taverns for a while…" She mused.

Feyre lifted her hood over her head, careful to tuck her hair away. Motioning to Baz with a hand, she slipped through the door and out onto the bustling street. Keeping closer to the shops and alleyways, she turned back to make sure he was still behind her. The Fae slipped into the darkest alley she could find, ears twitching as she scanned for any other being. It was safe, the only noise coming from a stray cat. "What's our next move?" 

"Agreed," he stated, following her into the street. Baz kept close to Feyre, eyes roaming the crowd for any potential threat or noticeable people. No one stood out in particular, though he did notice a group of people approaching the tavern they had just left, causing him to keep his gaze straight ahead no Fey's back. As they ducked into the darkened alley, He leaned against the wall, his back only slightly sore from his previous wound. Crossing his arms, he silently stood for a moment in thought. "Well, the docks are usually fairly busy this time of night."

A smirk spread across his face, an idea already forming in his brain. "Plenty of drunken sailors leave their ships unattended, though those usually don't have too much gold on board," he mused, habitually running a hand through his bright hair as he contemplated the plan. "You might actually be able to persuade a few captains to get us onboard, where we'll just take what we want with little issue. Though, we'd have to pick out the ones who aren't violent drunks."

He straightened up, looking down at her with eyes full of excitement. "What do you say, Fey? Ever been on an airship?"

Feyre cleaned out her nails with the tip of a small blade as she listened to his ideas. Looking up, she gracefully slipped the knife back into the holster before allowing herself to mull over the question. "Captains Cabins tend to stay locked. How will we get in?" She asked, looking for any holes in the plan. Better safe than sorry, and she wasn't sure she could handle another bloody fight so soon. 

She crinkled her nose as her stomach growled, interrupting her train of thought. Having been so caught up in the action, she forgot that she hadn't eaten a normal meal since the day before. Feyre looked at Baz before shrugging and glancing at the city beyond the alleyway. "Maybe we should stop and grab a bite to ear?" She suggested, glancing into her satchel. "We can definitely afford it" The Fae shook her satchel lightly, the coins inside making a beautiful jingling noise.