Ruy Asturias is an alarming man by reputation, though not so much to look at. To see him, you might think he is a well-experienced merchant sailor. Smartly, dressed, though very practical. His hair, dark brown and run through with silver, curls loosely and is normally kept shorter than its current state. His beard and moustache are dense and kept short as well. Both are less matters of being businesslike and tidy, and more to do with not wanting to provide an enemy with something to grasp in a fight. He has seen impressive bears and braids used to latch onto someone attempting to move out of their foes reach, before. Average height, a build that seems perhaps slighter than average, and does not betray the sheer strength and speed that comes with his life, his ways. His skin is weather beaten and sun darkened, and make the silver grey of his eyes all the sharper. He is a businessman, and he is one of the terrors of the Raiders of the Waking Sea.
Right now he is sitting on deck, peeling an apple. After a morning of work, Rutledge is cleaning up the blood, and Harva is tipping something from a bucket into the sea. Probably nothing to be alarmed by; just necessities that come of people thinking they could infiltrate his crew unnoticed, take from them. No. Such things had consequences.
At least they were at sea, the winds were strong, and he inhales the scent of the ocean contently as he looks over. "Derrica. How goes, little one?"
There had been a time when Derrica had never thought she would love anything the way she had loved the deep forests she'd grown up within. But she's learned to love the sea the way Ruy has; she's learned to tip her head, draw the salt into her lungs and be content with the light tilt of the deck beneath her feet. She'd stumbled up the gangplank and onto this ship half-blind with terror, but the cold bite of that fear had been left behind on Rivain's shores.
The violence comes easier to her now too. It is not so hard to sidestep Rutledge, working blood up out of the deck. She has remembered again the pleasure of bringing her staff spinning around and down on an offending limb to elicit a satisfying shriek. She had thought the screams that had chased her through the dark out of the wreckage and destruction of her life would have kept that enjoyment along with everything else, but it has come back to her among these men.
But even so, there is always that moment when that long-familiar sensation lances through her chest: uncertainty. Two years later, and Derrica still carries her doubts tucked close in her chest. How long will this last? Ruy's presence is a balm; his easy acknowledgement holds off the shiver of worry.
"I have nothing to complaint about," she reports. "It's a good day."
Whatever day sees this crew safe and prosperous is a good day by Derrica's standards. The Annulment had changed that about her too. She sits, one heel bracing on the edge of the barrel so she can wrap her arms around her knee, draw it back against her chest.
His smile is warm and easy, especially for this little one. She reminded him, in some ways, of an eagle hatchling; fragility and softness that could grow into such strength, if properly cared for. Some made the mistake of considering affection and caring a weakness, and there had been those in the past who had tried to overthrow Ruy (and other members of his family in other places) when they mistook the capacity to love and nurture as a vulnerability. They had paid dearly for the mistake.
Cutting a slice from the apple and spearing it with the point of the knife, he holds it out to Derrica in offering.
"We go where the sea takes us," he replies, tone so serious, and in the same moment betrayed by the subtle sparkle of mischief in his gaze. "It's been a while since we visited Brandel's Reach. There are people there who owe me favours."
Favours. That's a new currency, one she's learned how to barter in at Ruy's elbow. She doesn't question the idea of collecting on what's owed. Ruy has never steered them wrong. They have come through every skirmish and clash mostly unscathed. Derrica believes in his judgement.
But even so, the idea of taking the ship into port still sends a chill down her spine. Who knew what would wait for them? (Who knew what would wait for her, and if it would be dressed in templar armor, wielding a blade?) Still, she answers the spark of amusement in his eyes with a fond smile of her own, letting herself be reassured by his presence.
Carefully, she plucks the slide of apple from the tip of his knife. She turns it between her fingers before she bites half of it off, chews and swallows before she speaks.
"And people who could tell us what's been happening."
News on the sea is a dicey business. And while Derrica has very specific (and perhaps misplaced, at this late date) fears about the state of the world, she knows that what happens across Thedas will eventually affect their crew. Even if it's only impact is a shift in trade and targets, it's worth knowing about.
"It's been a while since we caught up on all the gossip."
Her gaze slides sideways as she finishes the last bite of apple, eyebrow raising at him.
"Exactly." She has learned much, since first they found each other, and Ruy fondly cups the back of her neck. It will do, in favour of ruffling her hair - a habit he knows young ladies will lament, for many different reasons.
"Gossip says as much from what it highlights as what it doesn't share. It can give us people who will be willing to do desperate things to regain their position, or people who may betray if that is what will further them. Even those most dear to us might hurt us if they are bent far enough. Don't forest, Derrica. You need to know what people love and how they prioritise that love. That will help you understand them."
Love of the self, of a land, of an ideal. Whatever other thing they might love will be compromise to protect that they love most. For him, at the end of the day, family always had to come first. Family could mean different things, but that love meant his crew, his blood, all were loyal. That is what made the Vivas so well suited for his sister, after all.
That brings another thought back to mind, and he looks back to Derrica. "Are you happy, little one?"
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To see him, you might think he is a well-experienced merchant sailor. Smartly, dressed, though very practical. His hair, dark brown and run through with silver, curls loosely and is normally kept shorter than its current state. His beard and moustache are dense and kept short as well. Both are less matters of being businesslike and tidy, and more to do with not wanting to provide an enemy with something to grasp in a fight. He has seen impressive bears and braids used to latch onto someone attempting to move out of their foes reach, before. Average height, a build that seems perhaps slighter than average, and does not betray the sheer strength and speed that comes with his life, his ways. His skin is weather beaten and sun darkened, and make the silver grey of his eyes all the sharper. He is a businessman, and he is one of the terrors of the Raiders of the Waking Sea.
Right now he is sitting on deck, peeling an apple. After a morning of work, Rutledge is cleaning up the blood, and Harva is tipping something from a bucket into the sea. Probably nothing to be alarmed by; just necessities that come of people thinking they could infiltrate his crew unnoticed, take from them. No. Such things had consequences.
At least they were at sea, the winds were strong, and he inhales the scent of the ocean contently as he looks over. "Derrica. How goes, little one?"
no subject
The violence comes easier to her now too. It is not so hard to sidestep Rutledge, working blood up out of the deck. She has remembered again the pleasure of bringing her staff spinning around and down on an offending limb to elicit a satisfying shriek. She had thought the screams that had chased her through the dark out of the wreckage and destruction of her life would have kept that enjoyment along with everything else, but it has come back to her among these men.
But even so, there is always that moment when that long-familiar sensation lances through her chest: uncertainty. Two years later, and Derrica still carries her doubts tucked close in her chest. How long will this last? Ruy's presence is a balm; his easy acknowledgement holds off the shiver of worry.
"I have nothing to complaint about," she reports. "It's a good day."
Whatever day sees this crew safe and prosperous is a good day by Derrica's standards. The Annulment had changed that about her too. She sits, one heel bracing on the edge of the barrel so she can wrap her arms around her knee, draw it back against her chest.
"Have you decided where we're going next?"
i'd like to open with a three part apology
Cutting a slice from the apple and spearing it with the point of the knife, he holds it out to Derrica in offering.
"We go where the sea takes us," he replies, tone so serious, and in the same moment betrayed by the subtle sparkle of mischief in his gaze. "It's been a while since we visited Brandel's Reach. There are people there who owe me favours."
gathers you into my arms immediately.
But even so, the idea of taking the ship into port still sends a chill down her spine. Who knew what would wait for them? (Who knew what would wait for her, and if it would be dressed in templar armor, wielding a blade?) Still, she answers the spark of amusement in his eyes with a fond smile of her own, letting herself be reassured by his presence.
Carefully, she plucks the slide of apple from the tip of his knife. She turns it between her fingers before she bites half of it off, chews and swallows before she speaks.
"And people who could tell us what's been happening."
News on the sea is a dicey business. And while Derrica has very specific (and perhaps misplaced, at this late date) fears about the state of the world, she knows that what happens across Thedas will eventually affect their crew. Even if it's only impact is a shift in trade and targets, it's worth knowing about.
"It's been a while since we caught up on all the gossip."
Her gaze slides sideways as she finishes the last bite of apple, eyebrow raising at him.
chomps ur arms
"Gossip says as much from what it highlights as what it doesn't share. It can give us people who will be willing to do desperate things to regain their position, or people who may betray if that is what will further them. Even those most dear to us might hurt us if they are bent far enough. Don't forest, Derrica. You need to know what people love and how they prioritise that love. That will help you understand them."
Love of the self, of a land, of an ideal. Whatever other thing they might love will be compromise to protect that they love most. For him, at the end of the day, family always had to come first. Family could mean different things, but that love meant his crew, his blood, all were loyal. That is what made the Vivas so well suited for his sister, after all.
That brings another thought back to mind, and he looks back to Derrica. "Are you happy, little one?"