Stomachs seldom worked on schedules, especially when one's schedule was more suggestion than fact. It was with a pecking, rumbling stomach that Emer wandered to the mess hall somewhere in the evening, wondering - moreso hoping - that a few more of those rolls still remained.
She wondered if Sorren had a recipe book somewhere. It would be a wonderful find, for sure, and a good chance to remember the man for the joy he brought.
The mess hall was unlit, at this time, and empty. It was at that strange time between dusk and night, when it always felt darker than it should be, leaving the body tired and sluggish. Stifling a yawn, Emer pattered into the kitchen without bothering to touch the lamps, memory guiding her feet through the door and to the cabinet where the basket usually was.
Then, a sound caught her ear, and she froze.
A rattle.
Or maybe a tap?
Something touching on something, like fingers shifting metal, or metal on wood, or -
"Hello?" she called out, not nervous, moreso just to announce her presence - in case some skulking crewmate was having a secret rendezvous with the stew.
"Hello!" Emer's greeting was quickly returned, from somewhere below her. Specifically, the response came from a cabinet which had been divested of two rather large sacks of potatoes, a number of which were scattered somewhat haphazardly across the floor. There was a leg sticking out of the cabinet, which was not entirely surprising on a ship like the Hard Nox, but in this particular case it still seemed to be attached to someone.
A girl's head poked out of the cabinet above the leg, also seemingly attached. "I'm a stowaway," she announced, quite pleasantly. "Did you need the potatoes? I can move."
Emer drew a sharp breath, her widened eyes hidden by the dark. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the floor - knees popping as she folded her legs - and leaned forward to get a closer look at the girl underneath.
"A stowaway, hm?" Emer replied. "Well, that's quite the adventure, isn't it?"
It wasn't anyone she recognized - not that she'd recognize any child on this ship. There hadn't been a child here since -
Well. No matter. There was that comment Hester had made earlier, about looking for a girl - could this be her?
"I'm Emer, dear. What's your name?" Her shawl rustled as she leaned in more, bowing her head beneath the counter. "...would you like something a bit warmer to eat? We have some sweet rolls I could heat up, or perhaps a bowl of stew?"
"I had some stew earlier." Honesty compelled her to admit this much. There was a pause, and then an intrigued sort of echo: "Sweet rolls?"
Sweets were not something Pris had gotten very many of, in her relatively short life. They certainly weren't the sort of things that were given to the people Below, and after Pris had come out of there and started working for Mr. King... well, sometimes he offered her nice things. But sometimes he didn't. Pris had always thought that most of his interests did not revolve around food. She wasn't even sure if he actually ate anything or not, but it had felt rude to ask. Maybe she would ask Hetty at some point. Hetty knew a lot of things.
She withdrew herself from the cabinet with the awkward flexibility of youth, though did end up rubbing her head a bit when she bumped it upon exit. Extricating herself having been managed, she attempted a curtsy, which she had seen a picture of in a book once. She wasn't sure whether or not she pulled it off. It seemed like she really needed to have a skirt for that, and not pants that were too small and short at the ankles.
She pulled herself to her feet as the girl left the cabinet - pausing with a moment's concern when she bumbed her head - then nodded as the girl introduced herself. Folding one leg behind the other, she swooped her skirts in a somewhat rough curtsy of her own.
"Why, likewise, Miss Pris," she replied.
Her clothes seemed small, ragged and misfitted - as if she'd been wearing the same outfit for years. Nothing some loosened seams and a bit of extra cloth couldn't fix, until they had a chance to find her something better.
Reaching into a different cabinet, Emer pulled out the basket, grateful to find there were still a few sweet rolls left. Without hesitation, she handed the entire thing to Pris.
"Try one, dear, and see if you like it. Does anyone know you're here, Miss Pris?" Emer asked casually, leaning against the counter. She looked both ways, then leaned a bit in, voice falling to a whisper. "Or are you being secretive, hm?"
The curtsy definitely looked better with skirts. Pris would have to remember that. Miss Emer retrieved a basket from one of the cabinets, which had some rolls in it that looked absolutely wonderful. She was pretty sure that she could have eaten them all, and also pretty sure that would be very impolite. She took one, and set the basket carefully on the counter, then bit into the roll.
It was, indeed, wonderful. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again at the question, making herself finish chewing and swallowing before answering. "Oh, the vampire man who carried me over knows." Of course she knew what a vampire was - she knew all about Naveen, after all. "And the lady who was with him, she's the one who told him to bring me over here. And the other vampire lady who lent me her cloak and I should give that back next time I see her. And Mal does, but they're probably busy. And I met five more people yesterday. I'm not sure if Hetty knows, though. I was looking for her but I was being careful because I am a stowaway. But it's okay, because I fit in the cabinet! So that's good. Except we do have to pick up the potatoes and Lady Fingers is not helping. I don't know if she's broken again or if it's just because I need to do it because I made the mess. Sometimes it's hard to tell."
This seemed to be the extent of the information she was willing to divulge in one breath, especially with the rest of the sweet roll waiting. She took another bite, a smaller one this time, savoring it.
She only took one, sky bless her. Emer did everything she could not to let out an audible noise, instead simply taking a deep breath through her nose.
"Here - let me heat the rest. You can have them all, and I think you'd love them warm even more."
Moving the rolls to a pan and setting them over the heat, she glanced down at the girl.
Lucien, then, and most likely Sinead. The female vampire had to be Nessa, and Mal was self-evident. Five more beyond that - the girl wasn't much of a stowaway if so many already knew, the captain of the ship included. That was a relief. If Sinead knew, that meant Sinead was most likely fine with this, which meant, for now, the girl was safe.
"You've been sleeping in the cabinet? Without any bedding? I could get you a pillow and some sheets. And - who isn't helping...?"
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!
"I have the nice girl's cloak," Pris explained, "It's a very nice one. I should give it back. And I like the cabinet, actually. It's... small. I like small places, especially if there's a door I can close. It's okay! It's not the worst place I've slept." It was apparently that she meant for this to be reassuring.
"Lady Fingers is my construct. I made her all by myself, except she doesn't always listen. The shaft of the third phalange isn't right, but I couldn't find the right one so I had to use a substitute. She's mostly right, though, except when she doesn't listen. And she's probably right about the potatoes." This last was said with a dismal sigh, plumbing the depths of despair that one could only reach at the age of eleven.
Pris leaned over and peered back into the cabinet. "Maybe I can get her to come out? Do you want to see?"
"I'm certain the nice girl would be happy for you to keep the cloak," Emer replied, holding up a staying hand, "and no matter how comfortable the cabinet and cloak are, I think bedding would make it all the better."
At least until we find you some place better to sleep. The idea of a child sleeping in the kitchen did not sit well with the wisewoman at all.
And Ladyfingers - a construct. The girl mentioned a bone. Hand, presumably, considering the name of the creation. That quelled all doubts that the child was from the necromancer ship. Steeling herself for something gruesome, Emer smiled.
"Of course, dear. I would love to meet her."
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!
Pris brightened considerably. People on this ship hadn't seemed very enthusiastic about Lady Fingers up until now, which was silly, because she was the best construct Pris had ever made.
She was also the only construct Pris had ever made, but that didn't stop her from being the best. Pris popped the last lonely bit of sweet roll into her mouth and crouched down, ducking back into the cupboard amongst the potatoes and rustling around for a bit. She emerged a moment later, legs first, hand last - with her hand holding on to Lady Fingers' skeletal digits. Pris stood up, bringing the construct with her, still holding on. Lady Fingers held her from a slightly higher point, as always, as if she would have been taller if there were more of her.
There wasn't, of course. "Hetty and Mr. King showed me how to do the magic, but I picked out all the parts myself."
It was far less grotesque than Emer had feared. Simply bleached bones, formed in the shape of an - appropriately guessed and named - hand.
Placing her hands on her knees and leaning down, Emer gave a nod of acknowledgement to the hand, as one might a child's toy they fancied alive.
"Hello, Miss Lady Fingers. It is a pleasure to meet you," she said, giving another - awkward - curtsy. "Your friend Miss Pris and I have just been talking, I do hope you don't mind."
That nagging thought was still there - were these things alive? Sentient? Did they hurt, for what they were? But it was far easier to see a hand as a 'thing' than as a 'being,' so her thoughts didn't hang much on the details.
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!
"She doesn't mind," Pris answered, on her construct's behalf. "I think she likes you. Especially if she stayed in the cupboard. Usually she doesn't leave me. Sometimes with Hetty." Though Pris supposed that the cupboard wasn't really that far, and she also supposed it didn't matter, since she was the one in charge anyway. Lady Fingers moved up and squeezed Pris' shoulder, then gave her back a little instructive nudge.
Pris sighed, then leaned over and picked up a couple of potatoes and started putting them back in the sack. "Okay, I'm doing it. I said I would!"
The construct remained on her shoulder for a moment while Pris located a couple more potatoes, and then dropped down onto the floor itself to go after one that had rolled under something. "See, that's what you were supposed to do in the first place! Hetty's construct always listens!"
Pris retrieved another potato, looking back to Miss Emer. "Oh! So, why did you come down here? Because it wasn't for me and it wasn't for potatoes, so did you need something? Can I help?"
"I'm happy to hear that," Emer said, sounding genuinely pleased. She supposed, in a way, it was genuinely endearing. No different than a pet mouse or squirrel. At least, it was easier to think in those terms.
"Here." As the girl began to pick up fallen potatoes, Emer stooped to help, lifting the edges of the bag and hoisting with a grunt - then instead opting to slide it out of the cupboard and across the floor. Her words came out panting, but still cheerful. "It must be cramped there with three little sacks of potatoes, hm?"
Heaving the other, she slid it out as well, leaving the cabinet mostly free and empty for the girl. She wiped at her forehead, leaning again on the counter - this time a little too quickly.
"Why I - oh! Yes. I was coming here for a bit of supper. I was peckish." She reached out to flip the rolls on the skillet as she spoke.
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!
"You haven't eaten yet? You should eat," Pris admonished. No one was at their best when they were hungry. It was hard to focus and then the necromancy went wrong. Emer didn't seem like she was a necromancer, but she probably had her own things that went wrong. Everyone seemed to.
"Have one of those rolls," Pris suggested. After all, that seemed like the nicest thing down here, and since Miss Emer might be the nicest person down here, that seemed to make sense. "Or I can cook... potatoes. I do actually know how to cook potatoes. And eggs. And that's about it, but those two things I can do pretty well."
"There are two rolls left, which is just enough for you to have one now and save one for later," Emer retorted playfully. "I - will have some soup, I think. But when I'm next in the mood for potatoes or eggs, I'll know who to ask for help."
Taking a bowl from the shelves, she spooned herself a small helping of stew.
"If you'd like, dear, I could try my hand at fixing up your clothes sometime tomorrow. Oh - and have you had a bath, yet? I've some soap and a basin in my clinic. Oh! And Hester is there. She's asleep at the moment, but when she wakes I'm certain she'd love to see you safe and sound."
She stirred the soup, letting the steam off.
"I can bring the bedding tonight. And maybe some other things. A comb - and some thick socks, at least, so you don't catch a cold - I wonder if we have any candy." The words shifted from talking with Pris to talking with herself, gaze shifting to the side as she thought.
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!