That’s Not a Fish (Astrolabe)

[Warden Thrice]

Fall 24th, 511 AV He was here. Here, in Zeltiva. Well, almost in it, anyway. A month hovering just in sighting distance of the ports and it was his first time being this close. He knew that he’d have to do something sometime, and now was opportune. He knew that if he stalled any longer, he would never muster the courage again. He was here. Here, in Zeltiva. One of the things that had struck him first about the city was the smell. Scent carried rather well in water, and frankly, the water in the ports smelled like ten different things had died in it, which was a likely possibility that Eorar didn’t want to think about. As he swam ever closer he found himself surrounded by things that had fallen off ships and boardwalks. There were boots, shawls, pieces of metal, and some things too aged or warped to identify. The water was murky and dirty, and difficult to breathe in. The sea floor was completely hidden by acres of junk, and here and there prawns and scavengers picked through it for any morsels that happened to be festering. A ship made a dull groaning sound as Eorar passed under it, but the two posts that came into sight nearly overwhelmed him with relief. He quickly ascended, going faster and faster until he finally broke the surface. He was under a boardwalk, conveniently out of sight, which he was thankful for. He quickly uttered a prayer to whatever being had helped him here, and asked for their continued assistance. It didn’t seem like there was anyone near, and after a few tense moments Eorar ventured out from his hiding place. He was in what seemed the outermost area of the docks. There was no one on the immediate three boardwalks, at least that he could see. The ship he had swum under was vacant, nothing but a few crates and barrels on deck. Emboldened by his solitude, Eorar slipped into the open, nothing but the top half of his head in the air.

[Astrolabe]

Astrolabe came out of the foundry with a smile of contentment on his face. He could hardly believe that his scant philtering skills had been of use as Remiken and he had pondered over this newest alloy. The result, of course, wouldn’t exactly be known until many, many months from now – years even - when the metal fittings on the tiller system had stood the test of time and wear – or not. But at least the latest casting had gone well and when he had arrived earlier in the day, the master had greeted him with a big smile, a congratulatory hug and the display of the finished casts. The had shared a tot of rum – something rare and expensive as far as the student was concerned, and spoken for hours about rosy visions for their future. As Astro left the warmth of the foundry, bundling his cloak about him, covering his worn and stained work clothes, he glowed with a satisfaction that was rare for him. With the exception of wrestling, there was little which he could take rightful pride in. The only slim darkening of his cloudless sky was the fact that he could not write home and share his delight with his family. They had no idea what he got up to in Zeltiva, and purposefully so. Ah, well – at least when he got back to his room in the student ghetto . . . As he turned out of the door and began to walk, heading in the direction of the streets above the harbor, another figure darted past him. It was Remiken’s youngest, Charlie, a boy of about four. Long blonde curls flopped against his face as he ran, hoop in one hand and stick in the other. “Hello, Master Astrolabe!” the little boy called, as he set the hoop rolling with an expert push of his small, grimy hand. “Look – father mended my hoop. Good as new!” The boy’s voice was excited as he ran along beside the simple toy, tapping it to keep it spinning forward. “Glad to hear it!” The young man called after him, but the boy was already a good thirty meters away. Astrolabe had turned once more to begin his journey home, when a frazzled looking, middle aged woman also exited from the doors, calling, “Charlie! Charlie! Come back here, you young whip! I don’t have time to run after you – your father will be wanting his dinner soon. Charles Remiken – come back here this minute!” The boy, selective hearing in action as with most playing children, paid her no heed and kept heading in the general direction of the docks. A look of extreme vexation creased his mother’s brow – one that boded no good for young Charlie as she gathered her skirts in her hands. Astrolabe smiled. “I can go fetch him back, if you like Mistress.” The woman, who knew Astrolabe’s face as well as one of her own brood’s, looked both hopeful and hesitant, as she replied. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that, Master Astro. I know you’ll be wanting your own supper and he’s no charge of yours. Usually Dotty is here but she . . .” Not needing to hear all the domestic details of his friend’s household, Astrolabe shrugged, already walking in the direction of the receding child. “It’s no problem, Mistress – really. I’ll let him play a bit,” he added over his shoulder. “And have him back in half an hour – time enough to wash for dinner, alright?” Remiken’s wife, moving towards the doors even as she spoke, said, “Bless you Master Astro – always so kind and thoughtful you are. Why don’t you stay to supper with us?” Astrolabe called back, “A gracious offer, though sadly I’ve made a commitment. Another time, gladly.” It wasn't exactly true that he had a firm arrangement for dinner, only a possibility. But he really didn’t wish to be at table with all six of Remiken’s daughters all chattering away at once. The three boys with their loud boisterous voices he could handle – but the piping voices of the girls put him in mind of a flock of starlings, and he usually left with something of a headache. So, happy to be of some use to his great friend and mentor, and always happy to enjoy a stroll on the docks, he quickened his pace to catch up with Charlie. There was very good reason to not let him out by himself, unattended. Of all nine children, this next to youngest offspring had a well developed penchant for finding trouble. He seemed to have been born with no sense of fear – or perhaps just no sense whatsoever. In any event, he bore close watching, and Astro did not want the boy chasing an errant hoop right off the end of a dock. Within a few minutes, he was jogging along slowly at Charlie’s elbow, letting the boy go where he would but trying to avoid the piers that stuck out into the water, providing mooring for the merchant vessels berthed along their stone pilings. Soon enough, they had passed those greater piers and reached a more quiet end of this particular part of the quays. Only a few ships in need of repairs, or bad enough off that they were being parted out and their bits and pieces used to repair and refit newer vessels, were tied up to these docks. Charlie was chattering away, as they reached the last in a series of many. Not paying enough attention to the slightly pock marked flags of the pier, he suddenly stepped in one deep enough to make him stumble. He had built up a good deal of speed, so the fall was quite a tumble and at the same time, his hoop had plenty of momentum to keep it moving forward. Astrolabe of course came to an abrupt halt to bend down and see if Charlie was OK. The hoop went on its merry way, rolling, rolling, rolling . . . until – with a clatter and a resultant plop – it went over the edge of the dock and into the water below. Charlie, a tough little guy, wasn’t crying at all from the stumble – but when he heard that splash he gave a great shout. “My hoop!” He called out, the anguish of a child who has just lost a favorite toy in his voice. Almost before Astrolabe could react, the boy had hopped up and ran to the edge of the pier, where stone gave way to wood, and the boardwalk that ran out into the water. Having to sprint to catch him up, Astro just managed to grab the boy’s arm as he reached the edge. Together, Astro keeping a secure grip on the little guy’s arm, they peered over into the murky water. “Look! It fell in that old row boat!” Charlie exclaimed happily, pointing. Indeed, about five meters off, a half submerged derelict of a row boat was moored, a slimy rope going down into the dark water. A set of steps, carved of the same stone as the pier, and also covered with greenish-black seaweed and slippery algae like the rope, went down to the water. The hoop lay in the water that half filled the boat, apparently having struck one of the steps as it had gone over the edge and bounced perfectly into the make shift target. Charlie jumped up and down excitedly, still pointing. “Look, look, Master Astrolabe! We can get it! It’s just there. I can climb down the steps . . . “ Astro had to forcibly restrain the boy from charging down the lethal looking steps. “Wait a moment, Charlie.” He said, trying to calm the excited child. “You can’t go down those. You’ll fall right in the water, or crack your head open. I don’t think your mother would appreciate that. She’d have my skin for a coat if I let you do that.” The boy brushed yellow curls out of his face impatiently. Grown ups!, his expression said clearly. But he had been taught his manners. “Well – how are we going to fetch it back then, Master? I can swim . . . “ Keeping a firm hold still on the rambunctious little boy, Astrolabe held up his other hand in a quieting gesture. “Now Charlie, you can’t do that.” His gaze went from the anxious face to the boat, considering. He had no particular fancy to go swimming himself on this chilly Fall afternoon. But the boat was too far out to reach any other way – unless they had something like a gaff hook. “I tell you what. Let’s go back to the foundry and we’ll fetch a hook and some rope and . . . “ Charlie’s face fell, assuming that stubborn look only a thwarted four year old can muster. “I can’t leave my hoop!” His voice was indignant and contained all the derision of one having to state the perfectly obvious to the village simpleton. “Someone might steal it!” OK – well no-one ever said four years olds were reasonable. Five minutes of the most perfect logic – that given the fact that they could not retrieve the hoop made it fairly certain (but not one hundred percent, Charlie pointed out) that no-one else could fetch it out either – and that the dock was deserted (that didn’t mean someone couldn’t show up!) – failed to move him one bit. Astro could have tossed the little guy over his shoulder easily and carried him back to his parents. But somehow, as children are so adept at doing, Charlie wrangled a compromise out of his grown up friend. Astro, with some trepidation, would let Charlie run back to the foundry and explain the situation to his father and bring back help, and the needed items. Astro would stay and mount guard over the hoop. Despite Charlie’s history of getting into mischief, Astrolabe felt that the boy was so focused on the hoop that he would do as he promised, and go straight home. With many childish reassurances that he would do just that, and imprecations that Astrolabe would not take his eyes off the cherished hoop for a moment, Charlie darted off, feet pounding, legs churning, arms pumping. Astrolabe stood, looking after the boy, wondering if he was making a big mistake, and then his gaze turned once more to the rowboat. As he looked, his gaze took in the slimy rope, and he realized that there was an equally nasty looking rope tied to a rusted ring secured into the stone of the pier, down near the bottom of the steps. His eyes followed it down into the water, but he could not tell for certain if it was the one the boat was moored to. Looking long and hard at the steps, he decided it was worth a try. If he was successful, and quick enough, he could forestall Remikin having to make a needless trip down the docks. Cautiously, he began the descent. It was slippery as hell, but he managed to get down far enough to lean over and grab the rope. It was slick with sea gunk, but he gave it a tug. Out on the water, the boat shivered the tiniest bit. Descending one more step, he was able to get a better grasp and he gave a sharp tug. The boat trembled. There was obviously a lot of slack, and Astrolabe began taking it up, a wet sodden pile of half-rotted hemp fibers collecting at his feet. Things were going well enough, though the boat hadn’t actually moved yet, when he felt some resistance. He tugged. The rope didn’t budge. Great. Thinking it must have hung on something below, Astrolabe got a good grip, and yanked, hard. Oooops. The rope gave way, the half rotted cord coming apart. Not expecting this, Astrolabe fell backwards. Trying to get his balance back, his feet scrambled on the slick steps, but to no avail. Feet flying out from under him, arms windmilling, he twisted at the last moment, preferring to fall into the cold water rather than risk smacking his head on the stone steps. With a splash, he fell sideways into the murky, dirty harbor.

[Warden Thrice]

Everything was going well, which meant that Eorar was not required to interact with anything sentient. He had remained in the same general area for roughly an hour, the last half of which was spent in the more crowded part of the docks counting things that fell into the sea. The water was particularly stagnant there, however, and he was eventually forced to leave. He swam about aimlessly for a bit, slowly making his meandering way to the eastern side of the docks. It was considerably cleaner there, and there were patches of sand on the floor that smiled up at him. He sighed as much as a Charoda was capable of, and settled himself on a rock outcropping that formed an almost perfect chair. He rubbed his chin, sighing and thinking While he had explored a great deal, he had done absolutely nothing else, and was starting to lose hope in assimilating. Eorar turned his head upwards, watching. The broken silhouette of something very thin suddenly popped into his vision, startling him considerably. It was probably arcing gracefully through the air, but from his vantage point it looked like it was dancing. And dancing very badly, at that. It landed in a nearby boat that Eorar had not noticed, and the thunk resounded in the water. He vaguely took note of half a hoop sliding underwater, but was much more occupied with something much more interesting. The boat was hollow. Eorar had only ever seen the bottom of ships, and they had always looked like they were filled with something. More water. Iron. Stone. Feathers. He had often wondered why someone would want to put a big block of something into water, but it had never occurred to him that they were hollow. Wooden shells. Eorar slid over the stone to the cause of his revelation, not realizing how shallow the area was until his back became inexplicably freezing. He quickly rose and looked around nervously, nearly suffering from a heartattack when he saw two figures. He calmed considerably when he saw that they weren’t looking at him. Indeed, they seemed far too interested in each other to notice a fanfare if it was blowing directly in their ears. One of them was rather small and plump, most likely still a tadpole, while the other was nearly twice the size. Eorar capitalized upon their distractedness and returned to the water, suddenly less interested in the boat. However, while his self-preservation instinct told him to vacate the area immediately and without delay, his curiosity quickly took a stance against the action, arguing that they should instead place themselves directly in harm’s way and listen to the savage prattle of humans. His self-preservation instinct was naturally opposed, and a long and tedious debate ensued. Eventually, Eorar’s logic was crushed, and he returned to the surface. He was directly under the boardwalk, directly under the humans. Or rather, the human. The tadpole did not seem to be there any longer, though the large one was facing the boat once more. With a better view, Eorar could see that it was indeed a hoop that had fallen into the boat that was indeed hollow. Despite himself, he wondered what the human was thinking. He had grown up under the assumption that humans and their ilk were naturally inclined to violence, but what was so important about the hoop? The boards rang loudly as the human started moving. Back, then sideways, towards the steps. The steps. Eorar looked again. There were steps. Into the water. His curious side was silent and he dove back into the water, but he did not get far before it demanded that he turn around this instant and go back. He wasn’t nearly brave enough for such a thing, but the thought did stop his flight. He hesitated, turning to look back. A rope, once part of the black and slimed scenery, was now visible due to the fact that it was moving. It was wrapped twice around an outcropping, and he shook his head. There was no way anyone could move the boat without first unwrapping the rope. Eorar slowly swam back towards the thing in question. The rope jerked, pulling slightly on the attached vessel. The tug seemed to have tightened up any slack on the outcropping, and the second time eliminated all doubt that it would not move for anyone or anything. The stairs abovewater dropped quite a ways, leaving ample room for Eorar to cling to the wall and make the Charoda equivalent of a tsk, tsk. The rope jerked one last time and snapped. He sighed, turning to swim away in earnest, and— —was joined. It was pink. And brown. And human. Eorar was stunned. Not the type of stunned when someone plays a very good hand in a card game, but really stunned. The type of stunned a couple is when they’re walked in on. The type of stunned a farmer is when he wakes from a hangover to find he’s gambled away all his land. The type of stunned a Charoda is when he is staring at and being stared at by a human. Eorar and the human looked at each other for a long time before he shot upwards, clawing at the water like he was climbing. Eorar watched him go, not really knowing what to think. Then, suddenly, he thought of the one and only thing he really could do. It wasn’t a particularly long swim, and he wasn’t as interested in stalling as he would have been three minutes ago. He slithered onto the steps, gasping in the sudden cold, and held out the hoop, shivering already. Why was air so cold?

[Astrolabe]

The cold water was a shock to his body, as he had only a second to prepare to meet it, despite having chosen to fall in that direction. He had enough time to be thankful that he had taken his billowing cloak off before descending the stairs, feeling it would only hamper the scramble down the treacherous looking steps. So, instead of tangling about him and creating a risk of getting caught up in it, the cloak lay innocuously where he had carelessly discarded it. Shirt and trousers did nothing to block the chill of the autumn sea, and he was sorry that his boots would be further ruined by getting soaked. They weren’t in exceptionally good condition anyway. At least he had on his most worn set of clothes, having been working in the dirty, sooty foundry. With every intent of pulling himself out just as soon as he hit the water, Astro still went down further than he would have liked, as he had not been at the very bottom of the stairs, but some two meters or so up from the surface. He certainly went down far enough to become completely submerged, and then some. A fair enough swimmer, he wasn’t too concerned. He just needed to get out quickly, and then get back to Remiken’s before he turned blue. Twisting about under the water, he was ready to push upwards, when he came face to face with . . . something. His eyes bulged, stinging in the salt water. He almost gulped in a mouthful of water, so surprised was he – both by the fact that . . . something . . . was down here with him and by its appearance. For a wild moment of fancy, he thought he was staring at a mermaid – though she didn’t appear to be anywhere near as beautiful as the stories would have you believe. Then he thought it must be a strange fish – though fish don’t have arms . . . or legs. All this he took in even as the thing stared back, seemingly as amazed to see him as he was to see it. Despite his fascination, Astrolabe’s lungs, unprepared for this sudden dip in the sea, were burning – screaming for air. Reluctantly, Astrolabe grabbed for the surface, reaching it in just a second or so. Unbelievably, he had no problem pulling himself out and onto the first slick step that stuck out above the water line. Blowing and gasping, and looking over his shoulder to see if the strange creature was visible from the surface, he flipped over onto his back and scrabbled up two more steps. There he sat, chest heaving, as he thought furiously. What in the hell . . . One heartbeat. Two. Five. Ten. In vain, he strained his eyes, peering down, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. All the while, he was thinking. Before he could be completely disappointed that it seemed to have disappeared, his eyes widened once more. There at his feet, emerging from the water, it came gracefully, sliding onto the bottom step. Completely non-plussed, Astro could only stare as it held the hoop out to him. Like a man in a dream, he stuck his hand out to receive the toy. “Th- thank you.” He said a bit woodenly, immediately wondering if the thing spoke common – or spoke at all. Tentatively, speaking slowly as one would to a dolt, he asked, “Are you – are you a Charoda?”

[Warden Thrice]

oocSorry about the short post. I’m not very good at making long posts in conversation. One of the things Eorar could say bout the air was that it was a stunning view. It seemed he could see to eternity and beyond. It was nearly twice as far as he could see in clear water, let alone the darkness he had been swimming around in for half the day. For a moment all Eorar could do was stare at the expanse. “Th-thank you.” The words drew his attention back to the subject of his predicament as it spoke. Thank. An indication of gratitude. You. Directed at Eorar. “Youarewelcome,” he replied. Only in hindsight did he notice his speed. Char was a very fast language, nearly impossible to say slowly, and he was naturally inclined to such a pace in both it and Common. His sound itself was rather odd as well, as if he was speaking underwater. He was rather sure that he had said the right thing, but anxiety almost instantly began to claw at his stomach. “Are you – are you a Charoda?” Charoda. The word rang a bell. Eorar considered the question and then the answer, and made an effort to slow down, though his faint fluxation was still apparent. “Yes,” he said after a pause, “I am.” Then a question of his own presented itself. He had seen Konti before, and had always been told that humans looked like them, only darker. Eorar was fairly sure that was what this man was, but it never hurt to be sure. “Areyoua human?” he asked, catching his speed and slowing down again.

[Astrolabe]

Astrolabe was the one looking slightly doltish, staring at this thing with his mouth hanging open. From what he could see, its basically humanoid form was of what might be considered an average height, but exceedingly slim. The hand that had held the hoop was webbed, and the whole look definitely bespoke the thing’s aquatic nature. Amazing blue skin faded to a creamy-whiteness on the chest and throat and it had stripes. Stripes! But by far the most captivating feature of the exotic creature were the eyes – they were huge and opaque but rippled like the depths of the ocean – black and deep blue. The entire effect was so alien that when a sound emanated from its mouth, for a moment Astro thought it spoke in its own language. It was high pitched and rather continuous, and it took a second or two for him to register that it was, in fact, common. Youarewelcome Astro grinned. This encounter was so out of the blue – so fantastical. Here he was, sitting on a set of slimy steps, communicating with a creature that lived in the depths! When the charoda, in a slightly less rushed sounding response, confirmed its race, Astrolabe nodded vigorously, excited and well pleased with himself to have been correct. Charodae were not unknown – obviously. But they were a rarity, still. He had met people who had met them, in their travels. However, their city was underwater, which made visiting them something of a trick – for humans anyway. Not for the first time, Astrolabe thought it a shame – that humans were limited in their abilities to explore both the sea and the sky. Someone should really do something about that, one day, he thought, looking at the sea dweller. Then it was the Charoda’s turn to be inquisitive. Once again, the words ran together, though Astro could understand them without much difficulty. Again he nodded. “Yes, yes – I’m human.” There were so many questions that he wanted to ask flooding his mind that he hesitated. The metal hoop in his hand though, cold and hard, prompted him to say once again. “Thank you, for recovering this. You will have made one little boy very happy.” He gave the Charoda a friendly smile. Then a thought struck him. He tilted his head a bit, looking thoughtfully at the creature. “How did you know I was looking for this?” OOCNo problem! As they are sure to be having an interesting conversation here, I'm sure the posts will be far shorter.

[Warden Thrice]

Eorar took the opportunity to more thoroughly examine the man in front of him. He was quite burly, at least by Charoda standards, though Eorar hadn’t the fainted idea how old he might be. He wore trousers, a tunic, boots and a leather bag, and behind him was a small pile of cloth that Eorar assumed to be a cloak. He had seen cloaks well enough, but everything looked different underwater. The man’s eyes were interesting, however. They were very light compared to what Eorar was accustomed to, with three distinctive parts. The inside part was black, some kind of hole, the second part a clear blue, and the third startling white. His face also seemed slightly… fuzzy? Was that it? “Yes, yes - I’m human.” The man looked at the hoop. It was large, metal, and hoop-shaped. “Thank you, for recovering this. You have made one little boy very happy.” The man looked up and bared his teeth, startling Eorar considerably before he remembered that it was a smile. The man tilted his head to the left, and Eorar couldn’t stop himself from mirroring him and tilting his head to the right. “How did you know I was looking for this?” Eorar tilted his head to the left, to the right, then looked behind him at the boat, and back to the man with a slightly confused expression. “Theboatuseless if you want it,” he said, using his hands to make a falling motion. “Would sink. Nothingin boat but…” he hesitated, then pointed at the hoop, not knowing the right word. “Besides, tadpole pointedatitwhen you argued. Nothardto figure out.” Eorar slowly got to his feet, noticing that he was slowly getting warmer, peeking over the side and onto the street. There was an open space that stretched on in either direction, while the other side was bordered by warehouses both used and disused. By the gods’ good graces they were alone, and after a few moments of gawking Eorar turned back to the man. “Eorar,” he said, pointing to himself and making an effort to draw out the words. “Eorar Nevenon. You?”

[Astrolabe]

His question seemed to puzzle the Charoda, but the answer finally given clarified what Astrolabe had already concluded. The Charoda had seen them! He had somehow noted that this whole affair centered around the lost hoop – the boy, his own fiasco as he attempted to pull the derelict boat closer. The Charoda had witnessed their discussion about how they would proceed and that meant the creature must have been watching them, for a few minutes at least. Astrolabe found this amusing, as well as interesting. Though the sea dweller was a complete novelty to him, he realized the same must be true for the Charoda. As it got to its webbed feet and peered over the edge of the pier, looking about at the deserted scene, Astro wondered what it must be like – what it would be like – to find oneself in not just a new city, but in a totally foreign environment. How exciting that would be! During his travels from Lhavit to Zeltiva, how many times had he wished that he could stop and spend time exploring all the new places that he was passing by or passing through? He looked at the Charoda, wondering what had inspired this creature – what had brought it here to this harbor, this dock, on this day. The Charoda soon enough turned back to the human and made what was clearly an introduction. The name had a watery, warbling quality to it, but Astrolabe did his best to replicate it. “Eorar.” He tested it out on his tongue. He nodded. “E-o-rar Nev-e-non. Like that?” He looked to the Char – to Eorar – for confirmation. He stood, abruptly, risking another dunking. This time, though, he managed to let one arm shoot out and grasp the wall, steadying himself. Astro was two steps higher than Eorar and somewhat towered over him at this point. Eagerly, he pinned the hoop between his knees, holding it captive, and then stuck his hand out in greeting. “I’m Astrolabe. Astrolabe Abelard Dusk. It’s – it’s amazing . . . incredible to meet you E-o-rar.” He tried to pronounce the name carefully but still mangled it badly. His face was lit up, smiling, completely astounded and pleased to be meeting this exotic creature. For some reason, the thought popped into his head that he didn’t know if he was addressing a he or a she. Judging on the simple pair of trousers being sported, he’d hazard that Eorar was male. But he couldn’t say for sure, based just on that. Thinking it would be rude to ask, though, he settled for saying, “I’ve never seen anyone like you! Are you – are you from Charbosi?”

[Warden Thrice]

“Eorar,” the man said, rolling the word around in his mouth. “E-o-rar Nev-e-non. Like that?” It was close. Not perfect, but better than Eorar had expected. Eorar nodded in affirmation, and the man stood so suddenly that Earar nearly fell back into the water. It seemed his companion had a similar reaction, but they both managed to avoid such fates. Eorar was not used to vibrant expressions, but the man’s face could be read easily, and Eorar was reminded of an excited child. He seemed to glow and his smile was innocent, and Eorar tilted his head in curiosity. The man grinned, almost sheepishly, as he secured the hop between his knees and stuck out his hand firmly. Eorar looked at it with an expression akin to what he would use to look at a pink cat. “I’m Astrolabe,” the man said, grinning ear to ear. “Astrolabe Abelard Dusk. It’s – it’s amazing... incredible to meet you E-o-rar.” Eorar had to think twice over what the man—Astrolabe?—had said. He had spoken comfortably fast, but some things had slurred together and made them difficult to understand. He looked at the outstretched hand, having no idea what it meant. Hesitantly, he put his hand out as well and held it there so the backs of their hands were touching. He rose his eyes to meet Astrolabe’s, his face getting a slight touch of purple as he looked away in embarrassment.

[Astrolabe]

Astrolabe watched Eorar make the strange gesture, touching the back of his webbed hand to the human’s. The Charoda’s flesh was surprisingly much warmer than Astro would have thought, and as Eorar’s eyes lifted to his, he wondered about how much he didn’t know of this race. Unsure of whether there was more to this odd Charoda greeting – if that’s what it was – Astro hesitated. Eorar looked away and Astro was sure that, as usual, he had made some sort of gaff. He was famous for it. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice much more subdued. “I-I don’t know your customs. Here, humans shake hands - like this.” His hand slid over Eorar’s and he grasped the finny extremity gently, wrapping his fingers over Eorar’s and shaking his hand up and down. "It's a way to say hello."