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The taxi pulled to a stop, and both Silastrix and Farrow awoke with a start. How long had they been driving? Farrow moved his mid-back length hair out of his face and sighed. He looked older than ever as he unbuckled his seat belt and left the taxi, stretching. Extra joints that he didn't know could crack did. The two ex-thieves also left the cab and looked at him in sympathy. "Poor guy," Smythe said to Silastrix softly. "How old is he really?"
"Twenty-four," she replied.
"No, I was being serious."
"So am I. He's twenty-four."
He blinked. "How does a guy who is twenty-four manage to look like he's in his mid-thirties?"
The draconic hybrid shrugged. "Years of sadness can do that to a person, I suppose. If I knew more about his past, I'd be able to answer your question more accurately. Farrow's just... something of a mystery."
Farrow looked around at the docks of Long Island, his black hair looking almost as if it had blue highlights in the decreasing sunlight. Smythe gathered their bags and tossed their respective belongings to each of them. "Now that we're out, just follow my lead. Do as I do, and only speak to the smugglers when spoken to."
"Why? Is it just a general thing with smugglers on Oerth?" Silastrix inquired.
"No. Yes. Well, yes and no. You just have to know the right things to say. That, and the person on the inside operation I know is a tad off."
"What do you mean by that, Smythe?" asked Farrow, perking an eyebrow.
"You'll see for yourself soon enough," was all he said.
They walked along the docks, passing by cruise ships, personal boats, and other sea ships. Gulls trotted and skipped along the ground, especially underfoot. The sailors grunted upon seeing the companions as a greeting and returned to their work or goofing off, whichever it was most of them were doing. "Nice place," whispered Silastrix. "Real kid-friendly." she kicked a piece of recently-spat tobacco away from her. Nasty.
Smythe smirked. "Well, what did you expect? Wake up; you're not in Wonderland anymore, Alice." Ever since he decided to live on Oerth, he'd picked up quite a few phrases and such from the popular books. It only annoyed Silastrix a little, but she got used to it quickly.
They did not have to walk around much further, for they came across a boat much unlike the ones they were seeing around the docks. It looked like some kind of replica of the Queen Anne's Revenge. Real inconspicuous. It came as a surprise to her that the smugglers weren't already found and arrested.
"Yo! Salvador! ¿Donde esta usted?" Smythe shouted over to the boat, and Captain Jack Sparrow revealed himself on the Crow's Nest of the ship.
Captain Jack Sparrow? Silastrix shook her head. No, silly! Captain Jack Sparrow, for one thing, did not wear a wide-brimmed hat with beads of skulls on a string around it. Neither did he have this man's height. Or did he? It was kind of hard to tell when he was that high up.
He climbed down steadily and jumped the last few rungs on the ladder, landing with a thump on the deck. He wore heavy steel-toe boots up to the thighs, pants meant for dirty work on the high seas, and a grey, sleeveless shirt that showed his muscles on his upper torso and his arms well. His hair was black and down to his waist, and his skin was the tan coloring of the Hispanic peoples of South America, but his eyes were a green-grey that matched the waves on the sea.
The man, Salvador, replied to Smythe, "ay, hombre, it's Turvy. Topsy Turvy. You don't call me Salvador." Seeing Silastrix, he grinned and tipped his hat. "Who's the chica?"
"Right. Turvy. The 'chica' is Silastrix, that's Farrow," he pointed over to Farrow, who gave a mellow nod, "and you remember me, I hope?" He put his hands inside of his pockets and tilted his head at Turvy/Salvador.
"Yeah, yeah! Of course I do! I never forget a face!" He jumped from his ship and onto the docks, then whispered to Smythe, "Listen, hombre, I hope you aren't here about our deal? As a bounty hunter, this kinda thing'll get me kicked from my job..."
"No, it's not about that. I still haven't told anyone, like I said. I'll keep it quiet, just as long as you won't be collecting me or Silas's head, you know, seeing as we were both notorious criminals in the past." He looked around, and whispered back to him, "but I actually came here for a bit of help. See, we need to get to Africa, and our best way's to travel with you guys... can you help us out here?"
Turvy rubbed his neck, considering it. "I can't give you guys free passage, you know. You gotta work for it. You're all lucky that I got a recent load of goods headed to Nigeria."
"Don't worry," Smythe answered. "We're all prepared for work. Aren't we guys?" He turned to face them. Silastrix nodded. Whatever would get her off of Oerth and back to Malindor. Farrow also nodded, though slightly more stiffly. She could tell he still didn't agree with the idea of working for smugglers.
"Good! You can be our security. Look out for the cops and look out for other smugglers. ¿Comprende?" Turvy asked.
"Aye aye, Cap'n," Smythe answered with a salute to go with it.
"And don't say that, hombre. You make my sound like Cap'n Crunch!" With that, he jumped up and gripped the edge of the boat, hoisting himself back onto the deck.
"I see what you mean about him being a tad bit off," Farrow muttered to Smythe.

---

While they waited for Turvy and his crew to load all of the cargo onto the ship, they stood guard and watched for police officers and suspicious people hanging around from other boats. Mainly, it was just people passing by and gulls scavenging for food items left behind.
Turvy's crew actually looked pretty normal, not like the captain in the least bit. They seemed like people you'd encounter every day, like in a grocery store or walking on a sidewalk. Turvy, himself, seemed to aspire to be every bit like Captain Jack Sparrow, and did not seem to be bothered when his crew gave him strange looks. He even got the swagger down right.
Silastrix's sharp eyes swept around the docks, scoping out any suspicious activity. Well--besides their own. Farrow's navy-blue eyes were as relentless as hers as he also searched. Smythe, trying to look casual, patrolled the area. So far, so good. Things were under control.
However, the status was short-lived. A bald man was straying close to the ship. Far too close for Silastrix's liking. Farrow and Silastrix's eyes met, reaching the same conclusion. He had to go. With the way he was eyeing the crates Turvy's crew was carrying, his intentions couldn't have been good. Silastrix cleared her throat and stepped towards him.
"Excuse me," she tried politely, "but I'd like it if you left this area alone."
He took one look at her and probably came to the conclusion that she was harmless. After all, she was only a woman. "I ain't goin' nowhere, lady," he growled rudely, then spat on her boot. Ugh. It was all brown and juicy. Tobacco wasn't a pretty thing.
"Leave," she said, more slowly and threateningly this time. If she had to fight him, she would.
"Git back to yer knitting," he snapped back at her. She raised an eyebrow and smirked. If you say so.
(Tine Bealtaine by Omnia. -This is not playing in the reality of the story, just inside of Silastrix's mind.-)
Before he could grab her, she ducked and rolled to the side, giving him an uppercut punch into his gut while she was still kneeling. It was a fighting trick she learned while she was still in the Guild of the Black Rose. He groaned and doubled over, cursing quite loudly. Several stopped to witness the fight. She then flipped behind him and spun around in a circle, giving him a swift kick to his back, after which he fell over onto his stomach. Now, he was on the ground and in quite a lot of pain. She sat on his legs and pinned his arms to his back with one hand and lifted his front up by the back of his collar with the other. "Had enough yet?" she hissed into his ear.
"She-devil!" he moaned in reply. She felt blood trickle down her fingertips as her claws yearned to come out and slash his throat. She could almost never control her claws extending at moments like these. Her claws only recently returned to her, back when she was in Malindor, and in order for them to come back, the scars on her fingertips had to reopen. So whenever they were on the verge of extending, she bled.
"I don't care what you call me. You should've listened to me in the first place, cur," she growled at him.
"Enough," a voice spoke up. Farrow's voice. "Let him go. He won't be coming around this way any more."
Silastrix sighed, the claws on her fingertips nearly begging to come out. She let him go and unpinned him, and he crawled away, whimpering. While cutting the man to shreds would've satisfied her, Farrow had the wiser choice. If she killed him, they'd be arrested for sure. And then that'd mean no Africa, not finding the mask, Farrow dying and others falling victim to the nightmare, and the end of Turvy's job. Not to mention her chances of returning to Malindor then would be fruitless. What would be the chances of opening a portal inside of a jail?
Smythe returned, looking alarmed. "Are you all right? I saw the man scampering away. Shame, though, he didn't piss himself like the purse-snatcher did."
"Nothing I can't handle," the half-dragon woman said, still panting slightly from her brief brawl with the bald man.
Turvy whooped and clapped. "The chica's got skills! Did you see her take that man down?" He laughed. "I blinked and nearly missed it!"
"Just as long as we don't have any more encounters like the one we just had, we'll be fine," Farrow sighed. "Smugglers. At least we're not boarding a ship full of murderers. Isod'us at least blessed us with that."
Within half an hour, three cop cars passed by, not one of them slowing down to check out the criminals' cargo. They breathed a sigh of relief as the last crate was loaded on. No more brawling or guard duty.
When Smythe, Silastrix, and Farrow boarded the boat, Farrow took his first-aid kit from his bag and took Silastrix aside to help her fix her hands. The way he wound the bandages around her fingers reminded her sharply of a time in Malindor, when she was wearing her old Pitch Dragon helmet to disguise herself from Severo after he abruptly ended their relationship. It was after she'd fought Masamune the Soulless Samurai in the sewers and claimed his head that she made her way to the Dragon's Breath tavern and encountered Severo, half-asleep and smelling slightly of ale. So he'd been drinking a little. When he saw her bleeding, he came to her, not knowing who she was, and helped her with her claws, staunching the bleeding and gingerly wrapping her hands properly in bandages. The whole time, she yearned to tell him who she was, to ask why all of this happened. To tell him how much of a monster she'd became. Most of all, she longed to fall back into his embrace, to have him hold her as he used to. But inside, she knew that it wasn't meant to be. When Severo had finished, she merely walked to the exit and reached for the handle of the door. But before she left, she paused to thank him for his help. And then she was gone.
She glanced up at Farrow, and she could tell he noticed that a memory was passing through her thoughts. A sad memory, containing longing and hope at the same time. Farrow finished up and patted her shoulder in a reassuring manner, gazing at her with sympathetic blue eyes. "It'll be all right, Silastrix."
And as she heard the words leave his mouth, she knew it would be true. The mask would be found. The nightmare would leave Farrow. They would return to Malindor, and everything would be all right.