Water lapped, a constant, reliable sound. The boats docked along the pier contributed to the symphony, wood creaking, ropes tugging, as the vessels bobbed. A seemingly endless supply of water birds roosted, circled, called out to each other in comical squawks. The wind whispered through the trees lined like soldiers, standing shoulder to shoulder, guarding the coast. Fat, fluffy clouds drifted lazily, soundlessly, across the glass-blue sky. Anyone else might have found the scene serene, or at the very least, pleasant. Rayleigh, however, was only annoyed by the squawking birds, creaking wood, and lapping water. In truth, she was annoyed by the sun, the grass, and the entire world, too. It had been a really terrible day, and the woman was content to hold onto her mad for as long as possible. That was her way, after all; she found that much of her life was spent with a hot fire in her gut, and bits of red around the edges of her vision. And now her quest contact was late. The mere thought warmed her cheeks, and the long woman began pacing without giving it conscious thought. What was she even doing there? The “help wanted” sign had been pinned to the community board, and it had seemed straightforward enough - NPC needs help on his private island, blah blah, typical RPG filler. Private island had given her visions of cold beers enjoyed on a sandy beach, so she had made the cross-city trek to the docks. And she had waited. For an hour. It was not as if Rayleigh had hours and hours of freetime. In fact, she had only carved out three for the entire afternoon, before she had to go back to work. Instead of enjoying herself, fighting mobs, and getting an experience leg-up on Vincent, she was sitting with her metaphorical thumb up her digital ass. In her anger-induced stupor, she did not even notice the sharp-dressed man slip up behind her. His deep voice still managed to rumble in her chest though he spoke in hushed tones. “Are you here for Mr. Plaxton?” Surprise snapped to a cold sneer as quickly as Ray could command it. “Do I look like a goddamned fisherman?” she snarled back. The man either did not hear her, or was entirely unfazed. Perhaps he was not programed to respond to her. Ray never knew when it came to NPCs. “If you will follow me, please.” A white, gloved hand motioned to one of the waiting ships. It was a small, sleek schooner, the cherry wood polished so thoroughly that it glistened beneath the sun. “Is Mr. Plaxton loaded?” Ray questioned, mostly to herself, as Mr. Secret Service still paid her words no heed. Despite the negative emotions that still weighed her down, the anger and annoyance was ebbing, allowing room for a healthy, persuasive curiosity. The situation was far more intriguing than she had expected, and though she had less than two hours left until work, she figured this was a good enough way to spend it. @Aylwerd
