A/N: guess what - I decided to continue with my characters from Feria Luna Week ... yes, I have issues with letting go, lol. Enjoy.

Thanks Harmony Isarine for the review. Yes I admit this isn't as well edited as Feria Luna Week, so keep an eye on me. I'll probably make more mistakes.

Ruvin clapped his hands together and blew on them. A drip of water made its way down the back of his neck and he impatiently jerked at his collar. Where was his damn scarf? He groaned slightly as he remembered it hanging at the back of his door. He considered making his way back down the treacherously slippery streets to the place where The Mensajero was docked, but quickly decided he'd do better to find a warm tavern to spend the evening. After all, for the past two weeks he'd seen naught but the same salty ropes and woke every morning to the sight of the same bulkhead mere hand spans before his face.

No, tonight a change of scenery was more important than a warm scarf.

He ducked under a red and white striped awning to get his bearings. The street was deserted and dark; the only light came from the moon glistening off the wet cobbles. The shop window beside him boasted some modest fashions, the next a display of sturdy furniture. He recognised neither these nor the shops across the way. No surprise there. He hadn't been to Santuario Harbour since he was second mate aboard The Bastante.

He jangled the coins in his breast pocket, grinning appreciatively at the noise. The pay of a common sailor didn't compare to that of officers of The Fleet. Since his promotion he'd grown to value a more luxurious life, when on shore leave, if not exactly while at sea. The life of a sailor was never meant to be luxurious, no matter his station.

Ah! There, that drapery on the corner. Surely that was the place he'd fetched some cloth for Captain Joffre's new coat one time. If it were so, then the conjoining street must be ... so it was. Here, too, there was no sign of another soul, but light spilled out of a few doors and muffled laughter could be heard from a door nearby. The Red Eaves. That sounded familiar.

Ruvin pushed through the door, to find himself in a tavern he'd visited those years before. As he seated himself at a vacant table he noticed the patrons attracted this year were a more pleasant lot - a family of five over there by the fire, a couple eating quietly, a group of friends having a night out, talking more than drinking. Seamen were in scarce supply, and Ruvin reflected ruefully that the atmosphere did not lack any for it.

A smiling tavern maid approached him and swept a piece of straw off the table before him. 'Good eve, sir.' He returned her smile easily. 'Can I tempt you with our freshly done soup? It's hot, the best thing in this weather and I must say you look near half-froze ... Or bread, straight out from the oven. Or perhaps a tankard of ale?'

Ruvin laughed. 'Certainly, all of that sounds wonderful, lady.'

The girl laughed and rolled her eyes. 'Lady ...' she muttered as she moved off through the throng.

When she returned minutes later, carrying a tray laden with fragrant bread and steaming soup, and a mug of golden ale topped with creamy froth, Ruvin thanked her and set to eating. He was aware of her eyes watching him as she served the group of young men at the next table, and realised he'd caught her notice by addressing her as a lady. He slowed his hungry attack enough to take in her appearance. Pretty, vivacious, neat, efficient ... but not a lady. Not in the conventional sense of the word.

As first mate to Captain Symans Ruvin had attended a modest number of dinners with high society in Ciodad and even a ball, once in far away Elethia. His position under one of the most respected captains on the Asentado Coast afforded him enviable opportunities - he'd even captained his own ship for a few weeks at a time.

He'd accompanied Symans to audiences with nobility of Elethia, Ciodad, Vimienda and the richer merchants of smaller ports such as Master Hansjambe here in Santuario. At each of these audiences, the negotiations were smoothed along by personal agreements on the side; a dance with my daughter here, an outing on the promenade there. As the young, handsome, and decidedly eligible leading officer, Ruvin had certainly come into contact with enough 'ladies' to be aware that this tavern maid was none such.

He shrugged and reflected ruefully that on shore leave, and in this tavern in particular, he seemed prone to useless rumination. He let the matter slip from his mind as he recognised his second mate, Yerow, ducking through the doorway. The two men set about relieving each other of their pay in a round of drinking.