05-19-2018, 11:07 AM
Wratt was not going to pretend that he understood a word of what Apollonia said. She seemed to be a resident of the underside of the docks, judging from her messy hair and disheveled outfit. Then again, he dated uglier, so who was the mercenary to judge. Her choice of drink gave away her actual origins. Ilian brandy: the choice of drink for Ilian workers who wanted to forget they were in Ilia. She smelled like home to Wratt. He grabbed the bottle from Apollonia's hand, took a swig, and shoved the bottle back to her.
"OK, Tipsy," Wratt said to Apollonia, "sounds like you're already working for me. Share some of that liquor with the crew and maybe they'll grow balls, quit their whining, and actually do their damn job. Hell, might even bring you on Dread Isle if you sober up. Are you good at anything other than being snarky?"
Wratt kept his eye on the other blue head. It was at the mention of the Dread Isle where most inquiries either walked away or began making elaborate demands.
"OK, Tipsy," Wratt said to Apollonia, "sounds like you're already working for me. Share some of that liquor with the crew and maybe they'll grow balls, quit their whining, and actually do their damn job. Hell, might even bring you on Dread Isle if you sober up. Are you good at anything other than being snarky?"
Wratt kept his eye on the other blue head. It was at the mention of the Dread Isle where most inquiries either walked away or began making elaborate demands.