The soused drawl slurred from a balding man dragging Amias by the arm. Eli, unfettered and unbothered, followed suit behind a procession of drunkard crewmates.
"This is meritless, Genos." Ban's long gait carried him cross the quarterdeck to intercept the rowdy band. "Injuring these boys will just diminish their price."
Genos lead Amias to a makeshift table at upper deck. It was a shoddy setup, four wooden barrels pressed into a square and a flat plank atop them. Their ruddy contents sloshed with the tide. Amias settled into the table chair. Crude tallies and knife marks marred the wooden slab. Genos settled into the chair opposite of him; the ship's deck groaned in discomfort. His belly spilled over one knee as Genos leaned forward; his rutilant face revealed a checkered smile.
Amias's nose crinkled. The sharps scents of burning cheroots and spiced wine choked the night air. "You should use your good hand to bathe better, Old Man."
The crew roared and glass bottles clinked; one cheered. "The boy's got gall!"
"Tou all shuy your mouths." Genos's words sloshed like the ocean tide beneath the anchored ship. He plopped his three-fingered paw onto the table; his silly grin illumined his dark eyes. "Do ye kner what thurse is boy?"
Amias chortled and mockingly drawled. "Yer bast gal?"
The crew bellowed out again and Amias's gaze flashed to Eli. His friend was sitting, cross-legged and mute. He'd an ineffectual expression; his dark eyes vacant and thin lips pursed into a flat line. Amias hated that about Elijah. He was always thinking about one thing only or seemingly nothing at all. Ban shifted closer to Eli and the Quartermaster folded his dark arms cross his chest; a single, silver ringed finger tapped against his bicep and Amias's eyes fled to his opponent.
Amias felt a shiver down his spine. It'd be easier beating a drunk at a game of knives than it would be to look at Ban. The Quartermaster's amber eyes keened in the moonlight and Amias couldn't help but feel frightened, like prey unnerved before its natural predator. Amias slammed his right hand onto the table; his eyebrow twitched and Amias could feel his palm stinging red from the theatrics. "You've got less brain than brawn and more belly than both. How'd you even make the crew?"
Genos's dreary eyes swam over the boy. Cocking his head back, he indulged a long swill from his mug. His lazy gaze never left Amias whilst his throat gulped the firewater. He belched then wiped droplets of red dew onto his sleeve.
"Serm as errbody else. Killed, hoodwinked or cheated der wrong folk. Now--" Genos removed a knife from his boot with alarming alacrity. "Lert's see bout dem purty fingers, lover boy." Genos glanced toward Ban and the crewmen stifled their chuckles.
"What's that Old Codger up to now?" A voice like a sly trumpet crooned from the darkness above.
Amias and Eli's eyes flashed to the foremast . The moon was high in the sky; its silvery hue bathed the crew in a gentle luster. Their silhouettes stretched like the horizon and Amias could not discern the speaker's features from so high up. The youth clung to the mast then descended the halyard with a seaman's veterancy. Amias winced thinking of his own palms burning against the thick rope. He'd landed with hardly a thud and as he approached the huddled group. His boyish expression illumined in the silvery glimmer. He'd grimly dark skin and lupine, golden eyes. Amias glanced towards Ban.
