Girshu looked around, careful not to be snuck up on or otherwise surprised in this damnable pirate den of a city. Vilpamolan sucked, it sucked and everyone in this damnable city sucked too. And now that there was a bounty on his head, Girshu liked the place even less. With as much thugs and pirates roaming this place, the 'authorities' were surely just overreacting when they put a hundred silverlings on his head after he killed that pit master. The damnable brute had attacked him first, after all, with the intention of capturing him and using him in the ring as some wild exotic beast. Killing the man, his dozen lackeys and those few incidental cases of collateral was clearly just self-defence. And in a city like this, surely it wasn't uncommon either.
But, Girshu was attacked by opportunistic bounty hunters three times in the last few hours, so the effectiveness of the damn bounty was undeniable. He wasn't exactly one to blend in with the crowds, after all.
Girshu looked around again, this time at the ships rather than for people. He needed some place safe to stay the night, get some proper rest so he would be ready to face Okami knows how many more bounty hunters tomorrow, and an inn wasn't an option. There were no innkeepers in this city that wouldn't sell him out to the first bounty hunter that would come along. And the houses were not ideal either, none isolated and most filled with squatters already. No, a ship would be optimal.
Girshu frowned and silently cursed as a damned drip of water hit him in the face once again. The waves occassionally caressed him with this region's damnable warm water was already enough of a nuisance, so the flanking from two sides was far from welcome. Despite that, he remained quiet and waited for the approaching sailor to pass. The boards of the dock creaked as the sailor walked closer and eventually over the spot that Girshu was hanging from, causing several drops to fall on him once again. As the sailor passed, Girshu began crawl-climbing further along the bottom of the docks. His claws carefully gripped the boards and his talons either wedged themselves through the creaks or pierced through the wood, ensuring his slow but steady and unseen progress.
'No, that one smells of blood.' Girshu thought as he climbed on and watched the ships. 'Not that one either, I can spot at least three sentries on the deck already. I don't want to know how well the security detail would be inside.'
'Ah, now here's what I've been looking for.' Girshu smiles as he looks at a docked ship. The ship smelled of brine and the middle-high barbacles were still alive and well, both signs that it had only recently docked. Mere hours ago, in fact. It didn't look fancy or military either, barring the ship belonging to merchants or the local garrisons. No, this ship called… 'The Misery's End' was just back from the open seas.
Girshu wasn't an expert sailor, or even an adept one. Nor did he know his fair share of running a ship or anything else related to seafaring. But what he did learn these last few days was this: Sailors loved booze and cheap women, not necessarily in that order. And if this ship docked just recently, those sailors would all be in a whorehouse or bar. Probably a combination of the two. No captain of any renown could tear them away from that, and no sane man would sail out when the entire crew was hung over. Yes, this ship would be halfway deserted for the night and wouldn't sail out until noon tomorrow at the very earliest. A perfect place to make camp for the night.
***
Girshu looked through the small slit in the hull, and saw the same thing as always: Water. Sometimes it was the sea, sometimes it was heavy rain, but it was always water. Gods damned water and nothing but water for the last three days. Nothing but damnable water since he woke up, only to find that he was out on the open seas.
Girshu sighed and returned to the little lair he built from cloth sacks and flour, situated in a large crate whose lid he could close quickly if someone of the crew would come into the room. It didn't seem like they would, there was a storm raging outside that would keep them all busy for a while. But it wasn't like he took any more pleasure from wandering about the salty place anyway. Girshu lied down and almost pulled the lid back on.
He was rather thirsty again. Might as well take a sip before he locked himself into the crate again.
Girshu slithered to the barrel filled with some filthy concoction called 'rum', grabbed the mug he hid nearby and took half a glass of the swill. He then made his way to the barrel of water, repeated the ritual and poured one of the mugs into the other. After stirring the diluted drink, Girshu took a swig and cringed. It was still beyond him how the humans could voluntarily drink this stuff, let alone desire it enough to buy entire barrels of it. Truly, if the water wouldn't freeze in his throat without mixing it with alcohol, Girshu wouldn't touch the stuff. But his flask of antifreeze was unfortunately empty, so he couldn't line his drinks with that much healthier additive any more.
After reluctantly drinking the whole mug, Girshu returned the mugs to their hiding spots and crawled back into his crate. He closed the lid and then closed his eyes to sleep. Perhaps there would be land to escape to tomorrow…
