it's not your fault that you're always wrong
Jack is punctual in that he just happens to be strolling along the canals at the precise moment that the sickly light fills the air and the sight of his favourite mer appears in the water. It’s dark and the streets are near empty - a result of the sickness plaguing Torchline. The smuggler feels fine, though, and he’s not going to miss out on an opportunity to meet Nerissa, for once, in the middle of the city.
Pausing at the canal bank, Jack spots her languishing in the still waters, and he lifts a dark bottle in greeting. A rich, sweet summer wine - for her, obviously - and in the paper bag he carries, some candied citrus fruits. Gotta treat his contacts well, after all. ”How are you finding them?” he asks of the canals.
Pausing at the canal bank, Jack spots her languishing in the still waters, and he lifts a dark bottle in greeting. A rich, sweet summer wine - for her, obviously - and in the paper bag he carries, some candied citrus fruits. Gotta treat his contacts well, after all. ”How are you finding them?” he asks of the canals.
