Cohost writing prompt: @Making-Up-Adventurers — Adventurer who knows just enough to get themself into trouble
"It shouldn't be taking this long," Bran says wearily, arms crossed and pack at his feet. He stares down the dockside to where their self-appointed leader is standing in front of several sailors, talking as fast as his mouth will move and waving his arms a lot.
"He's been arguing with them for nearly an hour," Giraud agrees glumly. "Last time he spent this long arguing with elves, we ended up running away in the middle of the night because he didn't even know what-all he'd promised them by the end of it." He chews on the end of a haystalk. "Trust meeee," he mimics. "I speak elf!"
Merope, perched on the edge of a crate, lets out an abrupt crack of laughter. "Well," she says. "He does speak a little, though from his dialect he learned it from an aelf-Reuleli and he's trying to compensate with volume for the fact these fellows are aelf-Zee."
They look at her.
"You speak elven?" Bran says, with an edge of wild desperation. "Then why are we even—"
"Because it's funny," Merope says. "They're fucking with him so bad. They've got him to promise to pay them the moon, seven tons of diamonds, and Giraud's virginity, and he hasn't even managed to explain what he wants."
"My what."
"He hasn't what."
"Heyo, Captain," Merope says, raising her voice a little, and the elf just brushing past them stops, turns, and brightens.
"Heyo, troublemaker," she says. "That guy...he isn't yours, is he?"
Merope shudders. "We're travelling in each other's company a little," she says fastidiously. "You couldn't manage passage for four aboard, as far as Pnelotia, by chance?"
"Chance, no. Payment," and the elf waggles her eyebrows, "we can discuss."
"Over wine?" Merope points with her chin. "We've been watching that long enough to weary."
"Your hard bargaining is coming back to me," the captain grins. "Come on, then. Shall we take your—"
"Oh, he's having fun, let him go on," Merope says dryly.