❝Dead men tell no tales, lass. That's why very few pirates have cemented their names in history. The road to piracy leads to a short drop and a quick stop.❞
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The life of a commoner never sat easily with her, especially when she was su...
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The next couple of days were slow, if not tortuous. The snail's pace it took to garner Oboro's trust was grueling, but it wasn't without its merits. As you did your own thing, he did his, and from it, you learned of his many habits, including those he kept private. Like his insatiable appetite for buttermilk beer; a delicacy from outside the Caribbean, and his habit of using the local kids as messengers. Now what would a man claiming to be a nobody want to know? And from the ears of children, no less. Wouldn't it be easier to contact the local police? Or was it because he was doing something unsavory he wouldn't want the military being involved in? It piqued your interest, especially since children tended to slip under the polices' radar, so it's easier to use them without ever having to worry about getting caught. That's the beauty about them; you wouldn't ever suspect a child of being capable of operative skills. Yet here you were.
That sly old man was using them as informants. He utilized stories as currency and apples as hush money, then he'd have the children listen in on the local rumors and report back to him. No ordinary person would go through the effort of checking over their shoulder unless they had a plausible reason for doing so, and you had the feeling that Oboro was keeping something important from the public.
So, with that in mind, you kept tabs on him, constantly appearing in front of the courtyard, quietly observing him in the distance as he continued to share his wondrous tales to the children while keeping a close eye on the crowd. The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months, and after breaking down Oboro's walls, you were at the point where he felt safe enough to lower his guard around you.
Your new clothes made it easy to blend into the urban scene. It was a dark blouse; hardly noticeable in a crowd, and the rest of your outfit complimented that covert theme you were going for.
Hiding in a crowd? Easy. Moving with disguised intents? Like stealing candy from a baby.
Your little game of push and pull must have succeeded, because one day, you found the older man waiting for you by the mouth of the alley you'd often disappear in. And like the keen old man you'd come to know him as, he didn't miss the way you were hanging onto an upper balcony, peering down at him with a Cheshire smile in an attempt to keep yourself concealed until the very last moment. But that plan was blown out of the water when his eyes lifted up to meet yours; a foreboding chill in those aquamarine irises.
With your legs secured around the rungs of the railing, you lowered your torso down and leveled your eyes onto the blue-haired grump.
"You following me, gramps?" His lips thinned at your question. There was not a hint of amusement there. "I can see it in your face," You created air quotes with your fingers, "'Why is she doing this to me?' 'Could she be a thief? Or worse, a spy?' The answer to your question is, no." You finished off with a sly smile, to which Oboro replied with a heavy sigh.
