As they dove back into the belly of the boat, Fenn was still slightly jumpy, and more than a little grumpy, about the conversation he had just had to sit through. “Tortured” was a word that made an itchy feeling burn around his wrists. It set his ankles on fire, wanting to flee from the mention, the memory. No way by Titainia’s tits did he want to discuss that, even if it was what Philomel the Purple had brought him in for in the first place. That was between him and Amari and poor Daugi. The Faun could find something else to chat about, or Fenn would find it for her! Yet, while on the subject, a small part of him wondered if he could find a way to return Amari the… “favor”... someday. Somehow. The greater mass of him, staunchly in the that-was-past-and-she-is-a-frightening-evil camp, was hoping to just avoid her altogether if possible.

Yeah. That was it. He had fulfilled his daily quota of internal drama.

But Fenn hid his anxiety well with by springing himself into running about the ship’s halls while Storm distracted Phi with some very flattering words. He noticed — oh, certainly, he had noticed — the look of lust in the man’s eyes when they settled on the faun. He noticed the gentle, caressing way Storm spoke to her. It made the little fae snort a little. Had they had enough of having at it at the inn, or did they need some privacy again?

Now that the boy had a rough layout of the ship in mind from his earlier touring, it was easy enough to dash about the halls like the restless little scoundrel that he was. Veridian nipped close at his heels. Fenn had little in the way of an exact destination, but very definitely it was “away”.

He wondered abstractly if the map room included a sketch of the inside of the boat.

A sudden tug on the end of his pantlegs caused Fenn to stumble to a stop. He glanced behind him at the ever-pervasive Veridian, whose teeth were sunk into the fabric, tail swishing in irritation. Spitting out the threads, the fox huffed hot air onto the polished wood underfoot. OUR CONVERSATION ISN’T OVER YET, he spelled.

Fenn kneeled only long enough to read the words and etch out a cold reply. Cheeks puffed out in a useless display of anger, he slapped out his thoughts in biting frost. MY BUSINESS. STOP WRITING LIKE ME. With flattened ears, he very deliberately stood up and turned away from the fox.

Then hesitated.

His knifish ears twitched.

Was that… was that yelling on the docks outside? From the deck, Daugi bayed threateningly back.