A muffled voice seeped through the narrow opening, diffusing the tension that hung in the air. "It's Finn," said the voice, familiar and tinged with an earnestness that was hard to fake.
Finn—the name prompted a quick reassessment of the situation. Marcellus knew him; a deckhand on the Viper crew, a ship notorious for its less-than-legal endeavours.
Marcellus tried to remember details about Finn.
The lad was a curious blend of naivety and bravado, his forearms a canvas of inked mementoes depicting his high sea escapades. And then there was his golden tooth, which gleamed like a beacon of his daring nature.
For the young sailor to be here, at this hour—it meant something.
Marcellus' stance softened ever so slightly, the edge in his voice smoothing.
"What do you want, Finn?" he asked, still wary, because caution was a currency he couldn't afford to squander, not in these times.
Finn's response was a peaceful rush of words, "Just relax, Blackeye. I want to talk."
There was something about Finn's voice, a fervency perhaps, that prompted Marcellus to ease the door open further.
Finn stood there in the dim hallway, a diminutive figure compared to Marcellus' stature, the drawings (tattoos to be technic) on his arms seeming to writhe in the shadows.
The golden tooth caught a glint of light as he offered a lopsided grin, a silent show of solidarity.
The hallway seemed suddenly less imposing, the presence of the young sailor injecting a semblance of normalcy into the early hours.
Marcellus stepped aside, granting entry to his unexpected visitor. "Talk then," he said, "but keep it down. No need to wake the dead—or worse, the innkeeper."
As Finn stepped into the relative warmth of the room, Marcellus wondered what pressing matters could have driven the deckhand to seek him out at such an unseemly hour.
Finn shuffled into the room, his eyes darting around as if the sparse furnishings might spring to life and join the conversation.
Marcellus, fully awake now, observed Finn's movements with a mixture of amusement and impatience.
"You can take a seat," Marcellus suggested, nodding towards the bed.
Finn, with a hopeful glance at the neatly made bed, perched himself halfway down before Marcellus' raised eyebrow and a curt,
"Not there," had him retracting like a snail touched by salt.
"Right, of course," Finn mumbled, his cheeks flushing a shade that would have been visible even in the faint light.
He turned to the window ledge and hoisted himself onto it with a clumsy grace, the golden tooth flashing a silent apology.
Marcellus crossed his arms and leaned back against the wooden post of the bed, his gaze fixed on Finn. "Well, out with it," he urged.
Finn's mouth opened and closed a few times, a clear struggle to formulate his thoughts. "It's like this, Blackeye," he began, "the sea's been good to me, but I've got this... errand on land, see?"
Marcellus frowned. "If you're looking to recruit me to babysit on your 'errand', you can forget it."
"No, no, it's not babysitting, it's, uh..." Finn scratched at the back of his head, the tattoos flexing with the motion.
"I need someone who can... ensure a certain level of... personal safety. For a friend. A partner in, um, trade negotiations."
Marcellus let out a short laugh. "You're asking for a bodyguard, Finn. Spit it out, man."
Finn winced at the word 'bodyguard' as if it were a curse. "Yeah, but don't call it that. It's more like a... protective escort."
Marcellus raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "A protective escort? That's a bodyguard, Finn. You've come here at the crack of dawn to ask me to be a bodyguard."
Finn's eyes widened, and he nodded fervently, his earlier attempts at subtlety abandoned. "Yes! Exactly!"
Marcellus considered the young sailor, the earnestness in Finn's eyes, the clumsy attempt at flattery, and the ridiculousness of the hour. Despite the seriousness of the request, he couldn't help but find the situation bordering on the comedic.
"And what's in it for me?" Marcellus inquired, his tone indicating that he was at least considering the proposal.
Finn slid off the window ledge, his feet hitting the floor with a thud.
"Well, there's coin if you fancy, of course. And, uh, you get to keep any... well, you know, 'finders fees' we might encounter along the way."
Marcellus shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Finn, you're asking me to be a bodyguard and a looter."
"No! No looting. Just... protective scavenging?" Finn offered, hopeful.
"Alright, Finn. We'll talk terms. But first, let's find you a seat that's not my bed or a window. My room's not a ship, and you're not a parrot."
Alas, Finn did not move.
The urgency in Finn's stance couldn't be missed, his jittery movements betraying a nearly palpable nervousness.
Marcellus's gaze sharpened as Finn flinched, his posture conveying an urgency that piqued Marcellus's interest.
There was a silent acknowledgement that the cover of night was a mantle often donned for dealings that preferred the absence of prying eyes.
This was no simple trade; Marcellus hoped this might give him more insight into Mythralis.
Marcellus, acknowledging the gravity of Finn's unspoken predicament, ran a hand through his hair, resigning himself to the loss of a few more hours of sleep.
"Alright, Finn. let's hash this out now," Marcellus conceded, the annoyance clear in his voice but overshadowed by his curiosity and the potential for gain.
Finn looked around the room, lowering his voice to a whisper that barely disturbed the stillness. "It's got to be now, Blackeye. The window for this... negotiation is as narrow as a needle's eye, and dawn's the time."
Finn nodded, his body visibly tensing as he prepared his pitch. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't a matter of some... delicacy," he admitted, lowering his voice. "And time, Blackeye. Time is of the essence."