The soft hiss of steam still lingered as Halsey stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped snugly around her, hair damp and clinging to her neck. Droplets of water still trickled down her throat, sliding off her chest which rose up and down as she took deep breaths after a relaxing shower. The ship rocked gently beneath her feet, a slow rhythm she'd already begun to adapt to. She padded lightly across the suite, eyes flicking to the door just as it opened with a click.
Lars strolled in, smelling faintly of salt, roast meat, and strong drink. His collar was slightly crooked, his coat unbuttoned. He gave her a casual glance and kicked off his boots with practiced ease, slumping down into one of the room's armchairs.
"How's the situation?" Halsey asked, brushing damp strands from her face.
He waved a hand, the picture of laziness. "Quiet. Just a crew setting up for a banquet down in the ballroom. Smells like they're going all out."
She nodded, satisfied. "Maybe I'll take a stroll later. If we were given a moment to breathe, we might as well enjoy it."
Lars smirked faintly. "Watch out. That sounds dangerously like optimism."
She didn't dignify that with a reply as she stepped into her room, emerging minutes later dressed in a sharp, no-nonsense outfit, a simple blouse tucked into a cinched, high-waisted skirt, a fitted jacket, and sturdy low heels. Practical, but neat enough to pass among the better-dressed passengers. A brooch sat pinned at her collar, fashionably made.
She moved toward the door.
"Oi," Lars called from behind, tipping his head back, arm draped over the chair's arm. "If you're headed toward the banquet, grab a bottle of something decent, will you? The last round barely scratched the itch."
Halsey paused, hand on the knob, and turned just enough to raise an eyebrow.
"Really? Are you planning to stay drunk the whole trip?"
His half-lidded eyes sharpened for a brief instant, and something old and cold flickered behind them.
"I work better that way," he said plainly.
She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. "Famous last words."
With that, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her as the murmur of music and the clink of silverware drifted up from the ballroom below.
The ballroom shimmered like a painting touched by moonlight. Golden chandeliers swayed gently overhead, their light rippling across the polished wooden floors. Velvet curtains framed towering windows, and the ceiling, painted with an oceanic mural of constellations and waves, added an elegant grandeur to the space. A full quartet played softly in one corner, strings weaving through the hum of conversation and the clink of fine silverware.
Halsey paused by the entrance, scanning the room. Well-dressed passengers mingled across tables draped in cream linen, their manners rehearsed and smiles polished. There were officers in military coats, socialites in feathered hats, and a few cloaked figures whose outfits were too neat to be honest.
She drifted toward the main buffet table, where an ornate spread of maritime delicacies gleamed under gentle lighting. Silver trays presented seared Lavos Squid rings nestled in seafoam greens, filet cuts of Fürth Firefish drizzled with sunflower sauce, and smoked Murloc slices that steamed slightly from preservation enchantments. A large platter in the center bore a strange armored fish carved open, its meat a pale blue beneath its plated gray scales. Several chilled bottles stood on display: Fennel Absinthe, Aurmir Grape Wine, Sonia Blood Wine, each unmistakably expensive.
Just as Halsey reached for a small plate, a child's voice piped up beside her.
"Miss, what kind of fish is that?" the boy asked, pointing at the central armored carcass with eager eyes.
Halsey blinked, then glanced down at the boy, a tousled-haired child no older than nine, all curiosity and sticky fingers.
"That," she said, crouching slightly to meet his height, "is Armored Monster Fish. They wear their suits of armor, and some say they can even float through the air, hunting people who move too much."
The boy's eyes went wide. "Whoa…"
"They also blow up bubbles that explode like traps," she added, lowering her voice with a theatrical hush. "So if you ever see one looking at you with its meatball eyes, run."
The boy giggled, bouncing on his heels. "What about that one?" He pointed next to a grilled fillet with shimmering blue veins.
"Lavos Squid," she replied. "Their blood breaks down in the sun, and if you eat too much, you might start seeing ghosts… or so the sailors say."
He laughed louder at that.
Before he could ask more, a woman swept in and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Apologies," she said quickly, glancing at Halsey with a sheepish smile. "He's curious about everything with teeth."
Halsey stood and offered a polite smile. "It's no trouble. Curiosity's worth encouraging."
The woman nodded, then asked, "And you are…?"
"Helen Durness," Halsey replied smoothly, giving her alias with practiced ease.
"Well, Miss Durness, thank you for indulging him." With a grateful nod, the woman steered the boy away, still muttering excited questions about meatball eyes and exploding bubbles.
As Halsey reached for a serving of Fürth Firefish, a low chuckle sounded beside her.
"You've a way with children," said a smooth voice.
She turned to find a tall man in a polished red suit, his blond hair neatly parted, eyes sharp but warm. "And quite the knowledge of sea monsters. That was charming."
Halsey gave a courteous smile. "Comes from growing up around books and noisy cousins."
The man inclined his head. "Delightful combination. Miss Durness, was it?" he asked, voice light but precise.
"That's right," she said.
"An honor. I'm Alain Rouge. Care to join me for dinner?" He gestured toward a table near the windows, where his steward was just finishing with the wine, a deep red liquid that bubbled faintly.
Halsey hesitated a second, then nodded. "Why not? It's a long voyage."
Together, they made their way to the table, a silver-glinted scene set for what promised to be a very interesting meal.
Both sat across from one another at the finely set table, a soft lull of conversation weaving around them from the rest of the ballroom. Alain Rouge leaned forward slightly, resting one elbow on the tablecloth.
"Do you enjoy studying?" he asked, his tone casual, eyes glinting with polite interest.
Halsey gave a brief smile, nodding. "Very much so. I find there's a kind of calm in understanding things, knowing the world's rules, even if they shift around you. Books were always easier company than most people."
Alain chuckled softly, his voice low and measured, as if reminiscing about a memory. "You remind me of a story I once heard, a long time ago… about a man who wanted knowledge more than anything."
He paused, swirling the wine in his glass, with distant eyes.
"They say he wandered across many lands, asking questions no one could answer. Eventually, he came upon a great tree, ancient and silent, with roots that reached into the underworld. Beneath it was a well that beheld secrets. Truths buried so deep they changed whoever heard them."
Halsey glanced up at him, her expression neutral, though something in her posture tensed, just slightly. Her hand adjusted the fork on her plate without need.
"But," Alain went on, watching her more closely now, "this wasn't something you could sip freely; the well demanded sacrifice. And so, when the man asked to drink from it, he was told the price. His eye. He plucked it out himself, dropped it into the dark, and only then did the whispers rise."
Halsey's fingers froze for a breath too long on the stem of her glass. Her eyes didn't meet his right away.
"He learned much," Alain said, still studying her reactions. "And saw much. But it changed him. The wisdom he gained... it was no blessing. At least, not entirely."
Halsey finally looked at him, blinking once. "I've heard that tale before."
A spark of amusement flashed in Alain's eyes. "Have you now?" He leaned forward slightly. "Didn't think it traveled far."
"From a teacher," she said after a beat, her tone carefully casual. "A long time ago. It stayed with me for some reason."
"Stories like that tend to." He eased back, a smile lingering. "Funny thing. I don't meet many who know it."
She gave a faint shrug. "Maybe I was just paying attention on the right day."
Alain chuckled again, raising his glass. "A rare day indeed."
With a light gesture, he turned to his steward. "Charlie, arrange a glass of wine to mark the moment."
Halsey lifted a hand, a polite refusal. "No, thank you. I don't handle alcohol particularly well, and I'd like to sleep soundly tonight."
"Fair enough," he said with a nod. "A cruise like this is best enjoyed fully rested. I take it you're enjoying the voyage?"
"It's been lovely," she replied, glancing briefly toward one of the panoramic windows. "I don't often travel this way, but it's... refreshing. Peaceful."
"A fine ship," Alain agreed. "Good for easing the mind. And a good reminder to let the day-to-day worries go when you can afford to. You strike me as someone who rarely gets that chance."
She gave a slight nod in agreement, offering a thoughtful smile. "Sometimes too rarely."
Their conversation wandered with the tide of the evening, drifting into gentler waters. Alain asked where she was from, and Halsey offered a pleasant but vague answer, "A smaller town up north, too small to be worth mentioning", delivered with a faint smile that invited no further prodding. When he inquired about her occupation, she gave the polished line she had prepared for this identity: a senior clerk for a trade merchant, temporarily on leave to recover from a taxing stretch of inspections and paperwork.
Alain didn't press, merely nodding with surface interest, but Halsey noted how he listened. Carefully. She adjusted her tone, letting a more casual air seep in as she spoke about her supposed frustrations with bureaucracy and the odd comforts of quiet nights buried in books. It was true enough to sound natural. She even laughed at herself when she described how she once spent a whole week organizing ledger notes by color and handwriting style.
"A bit obsessive," she admitted with a soft chuckle, fingers tapping the rim of her water glass. "But at least no one ever lost anything I filed."
Alain smiled. "I can't decide if that's impressive or concerning."
"Both," she said. "Definitely both."
They lingered a while on literature, his tastes leaning more toward epics and myths, hers toward studies of language, law, and a touch of the obscure. Halsey offered a passing thought about how language shapes perception, then quickly redirected when she caught his curiosity sharpening.
She continued with commentary on the cruise's décor, the odd mix of passengers, "Did you see the man in the green velvet coat? That was a choice", and even a shared distaste for overly flamboyant performances during dinners. Halsey let herself be seen as witty but restrained, curious but not nosy, observant but not prying.
It was a mask worn with elegance.
As the waitstaff cleared the last of the plates and the energy of the ballroom settled into a hum, Halsey smoothed the edge of her blouse and rose from her seat. She allowed just a moment of eye contact, enough to be polite and appreciative without inviting more.
"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Rouge," she said warmly. "It was a pleasant way to pass the evening."
He stood as well, tilting his head respectfully. "The pleasure was mine, Miss Durness. You make for excellent company."
And with that, she excused herself, her movements graceful, measured, every step part of the role.
On the way out, she paused at the main table and quietly took a bottle of Aurmir Wine, nothing too flashy, before disappearing down the hall.
Back at the suite, Lars was precisely where she expected: half-slouched in the chair by the window, boots on the floor this time, drink in hand. He didn't bother turning his head as the door opened.
"You're back," he muttered, eye flicking toward her. "Didn't run into any storms out there, I take it."
Halsey stepped inside, tossed the bottle of Aurmir Wine onto the cushion beside him. "Only one. You'll manage."
He picked it up with a slight nod of approval, turning it in his hand. "Thought you'd get something sweeter."
"Didn't strike me as the sweet wine type." She remarked.
"You'd be right." He uncorked the bottle with a soft pop. "Appreciate it, though. Hard to argue with a good bottle this early into the trip."
She moved towards her room casually. "How's the situation?"
"Quiet. Too quiet," he said, taking a sip. "But that's a good thing, in some cases."
Halsey turned back to him, pausing at the doorway to her room. "Anything catch your attention?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. Ballroom's got the usual: couples, families, a few loners trying not to look like loners."
She gave a short nod. "As you said, normal. For now."
Lars leaned back slightly in the chair, letting the wine rest on his knee. "And you? Spot anything worth worrying over?"
"Just a crowd trying to look wealthier than they are," she said, already heading to change. "And a man in a red suit who talks like he's auditioning for a memoir."
Lars smirked faintly. "You strike me as the type who's used to that."
"Not my first trip."
"That much I figured."
She didn't respond, only slipped into her room with a glance over her shoulder. The door clicked behind her a moment later.
Lars tilted his head, watching it for a second. Then he looked back at the bottle in his hand.
"One," he muttered. "Guess I'll make it count."