may the waves take you home

Lily sing me a song of a lass that is gone Isn’t that nice of him to say? Lily preens a bit under his compliment, still sad but nevertheless warming up to the idea of talking and flirting rather than sitting and staring at her cup in sorrow. On that point, at least, they can agree. The redhead would brighten the population of any land she stumbles into. “Lily,” she says with a small smile. No need for last names, it seems. Suits her just fine. “The Hollowed Ground’s resident entertainer.” Or at least she was, until Fiat Lux swallowed her lyre and swept it away. Leaning forward a bit (which conveniently thrusts her breasts up between her arms), she is obviously intrigued at the mention of a ship. “Where will you be sailing to?” Portsmouth had a ton of sailors. They were usually the most crude clients - but also the most appreciative of her time and services, showing her just how much they missed both land and women. merry of soul, she sailed on a day over the sea to Skye