Of Gry and Fin 1: How Do You Drown a Fish Anyway?

Gry peered through the doorway of The Drowned Fish, keeping an eye out for anyone who looked “official”, but the place seemed deserted except for the barkeep, most likely on account of it still being light out, as their usual clientele didn’t come until evening. He sidled in and took the seat at the bar farthest from the door.

The barkeep shook his head with a smirk when Gry ordered berry wine, amused no doubt at such a large man choosing a beverage usually preferred by women and dandies. He waited patiently as Gry systematically went through his pockets collecting the nine bits needed to pay for it. Gry squinted back at him still half blind from the stark light of day.

Once Gry’s pail eyes finally adjusted to the shade of the tavern, a few pulls of his bottle later, he was startled to see someone he’d missed, someone who looked startlingly official, in a black and white uniform, someone who was sitting two seats away, around the bend in the bar.

She was, however, far cuter then anyone at a place called The Drowned Fish had a right to be. Her long blonde hair hung in loose curls framing the delicate features of her face, which was done up in intricate yet understated makeup, marking her as part of a noble’s court. Additionally her “uniform” was a court dress the black and white color of which denoted a high ranking servant.

Gry, of course, was oblivious to these facts, as well as any other facts on matters of etiquette, and city life in general. His leather jerkin still smelled of trail dust and dried sweat. This is not to say that he was without charm, he capitalized on his boyish features and good natured naiveté as his first line of defense against unfortunate situations, preferring to leave the long, curved blade he kept at his side safely sheathed unless matters escalated beyond his control.

Still he knew she didn’t belong, he needed to know what she was doing there, and more importantly he needed to know whether or not he needed to avoid her, so he decided to play it like a half-drunken man, making a half-hearted attempt to pick her up. Gry, casually, nonchalantly, half-tripped over his own feet, ruining the otherwise smoothly sleazy motion he used to take the stool next to her.

“I haven’t seen you in here before, it’s a bit of a sea tavern. You ever smell a bunch of sailors?” he asked.

She looked past him, rolling her eyes and said casually “Once, in the war. You?”

“I try to avoid it. I once heard a sea captain tell his first mate that the crew wouldn’t smell so bad if they’d change their underwear occasionally. So the first mate says, Aye aye Captain! consider it done! He goes straight to the crew’s quarters and tells them, Captain says you all smell awful and need to change your underwear… Fletcher you change with Faber, Mullroy you change with Cotton, and Twigg you change with Miller, Now hop to it!”

She tried to ignore him for a second before cracking a smile and saying, “The smell doesn’t bother me. I was at Baron Lecten’s court the week after he read a book on ancient vomitoriums.”

Gry mouthed the word “vomit” before asking, “Is that what it sounds like?”

“Not really, not the real ones anyway, but it didn’t stop some idiot from writing a ridiculous fabricated account of it being exactly what it sounds like, and it didn’t stop some bigger fatter idiot from reading said ridiculous fabricated account and trying it out.”

“And here I was afraid I was going to scare you off.”

“Well, feel free to stop being rude at any time.”

“What? What’d I  do?” Gry asked.

“Introduce yourself to a lady…”

“Oh, I’m Gry.”

”Rhymes with rye,” she sighed in utter disappointment.

“What’d I do now?” he asked.

“Sorry, It’s just I am waiting for someone, I thought you might be him. I’m Finora.”

“So you’re not with the draft?”

“The what?”

“The draft, you know they lure you into dark corners, hit you over the head, and before you know it you’re in the army, on your way to the battle of such and such, ready to give up your life for His royal majesty so and so.” Then Gry considered whom he was talking to. “Okay maybe you don’t know.”

“No, I’m not with the draft, and I’m not a big fan of wars.”

“On account of smelling a bunch of sailors once?”

Her mood lightened a bit. She even smiled as she said, “Exactly.”

“Sorry I’m not who you were meeting.”

“Sorry I’m not with the draft,” she said in friendly mocking. “If that’s all you really wanted to know, I’m not, so…” she said nodding back to his original seat.

“And here I thought I was doing so well.”

“Trust me Gry, it’s not you, I’m not your type.”

“So buy me a drink, it’ll improve your chances.”

“I don’t think that would help. If you want, I can give you references, names of men who will tell you not to court me, but I think if you called on any of them you might run into that draft thing.”

“Jeez, sorry Miss.”

“Honestly you seem like a good guy, but I am here on business, so I need to seem… professional. Tell you what, if you go back to your other seat, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Gry looked back at her offended, “No worries, m’lady, I get it.” “Sorry I couldn’t help,” He said gently forgiving her with his eyes, lifted his drink, took it and sat down at a small table off to the side of the front door.

He tried not to look at her, but found himself sneaking glances from time to time. She was waiting diligently at the bar, lifting her eyes to check everyone as they came in. After about an hour, the daylight started to fade, and the first group of sailors entered the tavern.

They started slowly but predictably, with long stares designed to make her uncomfortable, to get a rise out of her. A laugh and a whistle, followed by enough booze to work up their courage, a few of them tried their best lines on her, then an errant hand…

She stood up, smiled her best fake smile, and pointed out Gry to the sailors. Dumbly he smiled back and waved. She stood up, walked to the other side of the bar, talked briefly to the barkeep who handed her two bottles, then came over and plopped down on the seat next to Gry.

“Berry wine, hunh? You know that was my grandmother’s favorite too.” She said, handing him a bottle while trying not to snicker.

“What can I say, the lady has good taste.”

“I’m still not your type.”

“I know, I know. You say that, but…”

“Just trying to save us some awkwardness later.” She told him, matter-of-factly.

“Fine, tell you what, let’s just enjoy the drinks, maybe chat a bit, until your… business shows up, and if you find me looking at you a bit more than… average, before you get all offended, take a quick look around the room, to all the sailors with faces like dried scabs, and you tell me you wouldn’t look at you if you were me.”

“Well,” she said scanning the room, “you do have a point.”

“Thank you, Finora” He said cracking a wry smile.

“Call me Fin,” she shrugged at him, “all my friends do.”

They sat drinking quietly for a while, until Gry showed her some “magic” tricks. He pulled a coin out from behind her ear, made a coin disappear, made another, different coin appear, and then he was done. Gry only knew three tricks, and they were all with coins. Fin remarked that she’d show him a few things, but quickly withdrew the offer, saying that on second thought that probably wasn’t a good idea. Gry was protesting the withdrawal of her offer, when her attention suddenly shifted.

She waved at someone across the room, excused herself, and walked back over to the bar. Gry hadn’t seen who she had waved to, and was startled at the sudden loss of his drinking companion. He found himself jumping to his feet, but sat back down solemnly disappointed.

Curious who she was talking to, he was having a hard time seeing, as she was now standing on the other side of a group of sailors. He could see her head through a gap, but not whomever she was speaking to. He leaned way over on his chair, until that person came into view, but lost sight of her. When he recognized the face, he leaned back and forth a few times just to verify that the two were indeed speaking.

It was Croguemor, A.K.A “Crogue” to his friends and  A.K.A.“That bastard Crogue” to everyone else.  Crogue was one of the few men larger than Gry, and one of the few men Gry didn’t like very much on account of Crogue trying to mug him on his way into the city, though he’d quickly backed down once he’d spotted Gry’s blade.

Still, every time Gry had shifted so he could see Crogue, he looked like he was on his best behavior, and after maybe five minutes the two of them retreated to a dark corner, where Gry could no longer see them. He did however take note of the constant supply of drinks being carried back to their table by a bar wench.

Once Gry’s bladder had gotten the better of him, he let his curiosity get the better of him as well, using a trip to the privy as an excuse to pass by the table where Fin and Crogue were doing whatever it was that they were doing. As he passed, he glanced in for just a moment, just long enough to see Fin pretend not to have seen him while quickly covering a pile of papers on the table. Gry noted a row of empty bottles lined up next to Crogue, and a single solitary glass of what looked like water sitting next to Fin.

Then he stepped into the privy and relieved himself. He sighed when he saw a group of sailors occupying his former table, and resigned himself to leaning up against a rafter to sip the remains of his third bottle, to ponder his lack of drinking buddies, and indeed his lack of close friends of any kind. The tavern had filled up, and the noise of the room was beginning to press on him.  A drunken sailor stumbled into him on his way to the bar.

Gry found himself glancing back to the dark corner periodically, which still had a steady stream of bottles going to it.  

Finally, his own bottle was empty. He worked his way over to the bar, set it down, then worked his way slowly past the crowd on his way to the exit. He reached it, sighed, and turned back one final time before departing.

It was then that he caught a glimpse of Crogue carrying Fin over his shoulder. The man was stumbling drunk trying to carry her to the stairs, Fin kicking and screaming the whole way. Her cries were drowned out by the crowd, and the one sailor who had noticed the big man carrying her off, seemed to be amused by it, pointing and laughing as if to say “Oh that Crogue, there he goes again.”

She almost got away from him at the base of the stairs, until he casually slammed an open palm against the side of her head, stunning her, then collected her and started climbing the stairs.

Gry, who had been too dumbfounded to do anything up until this point, quickly found himself pushing into the crowd, trying to make his way to the back of the room.

This was no easy feat as a crowd of drunken sailors tend to push back when pushed. Gry rose to his full height, raised his elbows and began plowing through them. One man put a hand to Gry’s chest to confront him, and Gry responded by lifting the man gently under his shoulders, rotating him out of position and placing him back down, out of the way.

Gry gave himself one simple rule: keep moving forward. He shoved his arms into a group of men who were blocking the path past the bar, spread them and occupied the space he had just made. Another group stood in his way at the base of the stairs, so Gry jumped and pulled himself up the bannister using one of their heads as a stepping stool.  

Once he made it to the second level, which was a lot less crowded, on account of it being mostly private rooms for rent, Gry was greeted by a hallway of closed doors. He ran up and down it, considering whether he should start knocking on them or knocking them down, when he came across a door with a broken lock.

The door ripped free from one of its hinges as he kicked it in, just in time to see Crogue fiddling with his belt, trying to get his pants off. Fin was lying unconscious on the bed, with her dress hiked up over her torso, naked from the waist down.

Only she wasn’t Fin, or Fin wasn’t her, or maybe a bit of both. Gry stopped cold in his tracks, taking in what he was seeing. Fin was a boy.

Gry felt dizzy as he stumbled out of the room, not knowing what to think, he staggered back to the top of the stairs, and then it hit him. “What the hell is wrong with you Gry?!” he growled slapping his own face so hard he saw red, and rushed back, knocking the door off of its remaining hinge as he entered the room.

Even if Fin was a boy, it didn’t seem to be slowing Crogue down. His pants were now down around his ankles, and he was turning Fin over, trying to make the “best” of the situation at hand.

Gry took a deep breath, removed his hand from his hilt, grabbed the belt around Crogue’s ankles, and pulled it tight into a crude knot. Crogue tried to turn back to fend off his attacker, but stumbled and fell forward onto the bed next to Fin. He was only there for a second, before Gry picked the big man up using the belt and a tuft of hair as handholds, hefted him over his head, and threw him out the open window.

Gry looked down at Fin’s limp body. Relieved to see it still drawing breath, he did his best to pull the dress down over the boy without touching “anything”, then lifted Fin in his arms, and carried the boy out the back staircase, on the side opposite Crogue’s defenestration.