I  paint you in the corner of my mind – flor

Westerly had barely a handful of coins left to his name, but like any respectable sailor he was more than happy to spend them all on booze and women - or men, depending on how the night went. That was half of the reason he was in this line of work, anyway. Jobs that didn't revolve around illegal activities tended to be a little more picky about how wasted you were when you showed up. Given that his previous vessel was now currently residing somewhere on the ocean floor, the pirate in question had decided that it would only make sense to give himself a fresh start by relieving himself of all the money he'd earned on said vessel in order to really give himself a new start on whatever new employment he was sure he would manage to stumble into tomorrow. There was nothing like an empty money pouch to really motivate him to find work - but for now, he planned to wring every last scrap of revelry out of the meager coin remaining. And lucky for him, stories were free and could sometimes get you just as far with a woman as buying her a drink could.

He stumbled down the street in the center of a ragtag group of day-drinkers he had amassed in the last bar, his arm flung around the shoulders of a pretty girl whose name he had already lost in the haze of alcohol clouding the edges of his senses. "So we're sailin' back to Musa after, ah, pickin' up some cargo," he said, giving a conspiratorial wink to the shadiest-looking character among his new friends. "And everything's goin' fine and all, nice weather, good winds, courtesy of yours truly." If he had been a little less drunk he might have summoned up a small breeze to illustrate his point, but he had gotten into a few too many street brawls by knocking over the wrong person's drink when his winds got out of control under the influence. "Until we start comin' up on the coast, and I'm up in the crow's-nest keepin' watch. And the water had been calm all day, but I look down this time and there's just this big shadow under the water. Bigger than any beast I've ever seen." He received a satisfying gasp from the ladies of the group as he paused to let it sink in, casting his gaze slowly across the members of his circle to gauge the responses. "And at first I thought nah, this is just one of those damn mind fairies playing a trick on me 'cuz I beat them at cards. So I'm callin' out to those sneaky mind-bastards, an-" His companions parted for a second, and his eyes fell on another face, one whose name he remembered this time.

"Well, fuck me!" he said, cutting himself off mid-sentence as a devilish grin broke across his face. "If that ain't Marseilles Basquiat!"

"I could say the same about you, Mars," laughed Westerly, breaking from his group to clasp his old friend in his arms. "Remember when that old lady at the candy store told us to go rot in hell? I think I've been stayin' alive out of pure spite ever since," he said, grinning. "These are my friends, ah..." he realized he hadn't a clue what his 'friend's' names were around the same time that he turned around to find that they were already gone, the lure of the closest bar far more entertaining than a reunion between childhood friends. "Well, whatever. I could use a drink," he said, no matter than the smell of rum was already coloring his breath.

"If by that blasted monster you mean my ex-girlfriend, what was her name? Mara?" he said, looping an arm affectionately over Mars' shoulders as they approached the pub. "You remember, the one that tried to burn down that barn I was livin' in. Wait, no, I think that was Callista," he said with a slight frown. "Mara is the one that tried to stab me. They were both pretty fuckin' terrible."

In the years since he and Mars had last seen each other, Westerly's frame hadn't changed much, but his hair had grown and his skin had deepened a few shades from spending most of his days beneath the sun on the open sea, and black tattoos snaked up his forearms where they were exposed by his rolled up sleeves, the edges of a design peeking up over the loose collar of his shirt. And sometimes, when the light hit him right, he seemed almost translucent around the edges.

"No idea, I only ever called her Mrs. Demon," joked Wes. He didn't much miss his newfound companions either, although he did slightly regret losing the girl that he had had his arm around. The suggestion that he might have settled down gave him a good laugh, though. "Me? With a nice girl? You were always the funny one, Mars," he said. "You know my taste in women. The day I get married is gonna be the day I turn up dead under suspicious circumstances. I actually heard that Mara ended up married last time I was in port, though, spirits help that poor man's soul."

Ready to employ a different kind of spirits to help his own soul, Wes felt the comforting stink of booze and the sweat of dozens of off-duty sailors wash over him as they entered the darkness of the bar. "I've bounced around a few crews since you last saw me, doin' totally respectable work of course," he said with a wink and grin, "Spent some time in Nyre, but didn't last too long on dry land. I was with my last crew for a good few years, but I've recently found myself unemployed on account of that ship bein' at the bottom of the sea."

For the first time since meeting Mars, the ever-cheerful expression on Wes's face had faded somewhat. For all that he had been drowning himself in alcohol and disguising his pain under dramatic stories about great sea-beasts that he told to strangers, he hadn't truly taken the time to mourn the loss of the closest thing he had to a home and a family.

"Yeah, you know," said Wes in between long drags of ale, his glass already dangerously close to being empty. "Liberatin' cargo from unsavory merchants and the like. Respectable," he said with a grin. It wouldn't be a surprise to Mars to find out what line of work Wes had been in, and he suspected that his old friend had been doing much the same since they last met.

"Storm," he said. "Hit some rocks off the coast of Heizeok. Most of us got out, but the ship was toast." He took a final drag of his ale and found the end of the glass, ready to change the subject.

"So, what have you been up to? Don't tell me you're on the straight and narrow these days."

"Damn merchants are always hoggin' the good whisky, aren't they?" said Wes with a shake of his head and a grin. "Any man who doesn't have the good manners to share his booze when a thirsty sailor comes askin' has it coming, that's what I always say," he said.

"Well, what kind of sailor would I be if I said no to a bottle of rum?" he said, a smile breaking across his face, this one an expression of sincere happiness rather than the playful grins and mischievous smirks that typically played around his lips. Mars' offer couldn't have come at a better time, his pockets conspicuously light from the money he had poured into the bars of their hometown in the last few days.

"When do we sail?"

Wes shuddered at the thought of an old flame turning up with a miniature Wes in her arms. The kid would be screwed. "Spirits, I hope not," he said. "All the more reason to get out of this town as quickly as possible." There was also a minor issue involving some gambling debts that he would be glad to be rid of, but he didn't feel the need to bring that one up. He and Mars might have gotten into plenty of trouble together as kids, but Wes wasn't keen to volunteer too much information about the shortcomings that had haunted him into adulthood, at least not until they were safely on the ocean where Mars couldn't change his mind about inviting him onboard.

"Ah, been a while since I've been up north," said Wes. "Pretty sure I have no long lost kids up there," he said with a grin, although there were a couple of good-looking Guivrian men he wouldn't mind seeing again.