Fall 27th, 517 AV, One Bell Past Midnight, Docks South of the Silver Sliver:
Trevor this 'easy errand' of yours better set me up for the month or my boot is gonna be having words with your arse, so help me. Einar had been skulking about the narrow walkways for o'er a bell now, with a long bundle of linen strapped across his back, obscuring two short paddles from the glances of anyone who cared to look. His self-proclaimed friend from the Nyka caravan came out to be a smuggler, and the petcher apparently needed a spare boat, and wanted to get one for 'half the price'. Being no stranger to shady business, Ein was happy to go and 'help' the bastard, forgetting for the longest time that he'll have to row the bloody boat for at least four bells to get to the southern shore. Man was at least smart enough not to come and attempt theft with his armor buckled on, petch stealthiness, knowing his luck, he'd have ended up falling in the lake and drowning with all that steel dragging him down, no, he merely wore a coat o'er his shirt and trousers, and had a crude dagger stuck in his belt, hidden well enough by the overcoat. In his hand he dragged around a dull green flask, half filled with water, though the drunken act that he was putting up would have it pose as liquor. He'd assumed the city would give less odd glances to a drunken skulking outsider than to one who was obviously skulking about with a purpose. Meanwhile he was looking for a chance. For just one of their stupid boats to be left in a canal with less care than the others, somewhere where a bastard clad in black armor didn't pass through every other chime. And finally he found it.
A ravosala was just sitting there, tied to a dock in a shade, just out of the light cast from the windows of nearby taverns and houses... now only if this couple of lovebirds around the corner had any consideration for a man trying to earn for his bread, stopped making out literally three paces away, and sodded off, shyke'd be splendid. So Einar stuck about, walked up to a distance of perhaps ten feet away from the two, and leaned against the back of the building they stood next to, imitating the gestures of all those Sunberthian good-for-naught drunkards whose body language he had the chance to observe and study for twenty and some years now, positioned perfectly to be in view of the both of them. After about a chime he realized, however, that the couple wasn't really paying him much mind... either that or they weren't that uncomfortable with a filthy drunkard gawking at them while they looked as if they're trying to feed their own tongues to one another. So Einar decided to nonchalantly bring two fingers up to his mouth, and shove them into his throat, and with the sound of a choking vulture, present the walkway in front of him with a sizable portion of his late lunch. Finally they noticed him. Namely the man, who gave him a deathly glare of disgust. To which Ein shrugged, and replied with a careless smirk and a relaxed roll of his eyes, rising his bottle up toward the two. It wasn't a moment before they angrily strode off behind the corner. He could hear their steps as they hurried to get away from the belching outsider filth. Still got me wee charm, I do., the young mercenary choked back an urge to laugh as he wiped his hand off on his coat.
After a couple moments and a couple glances about the surrounding alleys, he decided that this is as good a chance as he'll get, seeing as there wasn't a soul in sight. So he proceeded to step into the boat, unmaking the bindings of the paddles he carried, he placed them down into the hull and turned to start undoing the knots that kept the ravosala in place as best as he could.