Stefano walked, his precious possessions piled up on his plump hands. He did not know where he was going, only that he could not choose between the priorities of finding a safe place to store his wealth or satisfying his own growing hunger. It had slowly dawned on him throughout the morning that he had not eaten a substantial meal since a few days before - he had enjoyed a succulent platter of roasted duck, garnished with herbs and accompanied by a smattering of the native fruit named arbutus unedo. He recalled it's taste being somewhere in between peaches and lentils, sweet yet with a long-lasting watery after-taste. It had not been one of Stefano's favourite new cuisines since arriving in the wildlife-rich town of Sintra, yet his artistic associate and guide had blatantly insisted on his trying of the rare fruit.
Unfortunately, all the thought about food brought Stefano around to his second priority of sating his peckish mood. He found himself traipsing around the main deck as the remnants of the captain's latest speech, which Stefano had unfortunately missed while ridding himself of the carrot-haired woman's ceaseless griping, departed towards the stairs and the ends of the galleon. The Cretan targeted an unoccupied sailor sitting close to him, accosting him with ravenous intent.

"Sir! You will heed my request and direct me seamlessly toward this ship's galley, I hope? It has been too long since the silk-laden touch of a smooth, tasteful chicken or a segment of warm, baked bread have graced my throat and stomach. To disparate a privilege-entitled man from his most appreciated bounties is to separate a strumpet from her nudity! And I do say -"

"Down t'steps, right t'bottom, through second door. Follow the scent o' your 'warm, baked bread' an' you'll find it. Eventually." The sailor said laconically with an apparent look of bemusement and amusement on his chiselled face. 

"Ah, excellent. I shall follow your directions with unrivalled meticulousness." Stefano left with a patronising nod and trudged down the steps close by to him. [i]Down t'steps, right t'bottom[/i]. He repeated the sailor's words in his mind and visualised a scent of his favourite delicacies to spur him forward. Surprisingly, Stefano ended up heading directly for the galley. Perhaps the power of hunger was a force higher than the whims of man after all.

                                                                     [center]---[/center]

Artemisia had found the galley rather unoccupied, save for the ship's cook. She popped into the room with a smile, as the cook turned about and greeted her with a simple nod of his head. 
[i]"Buenos días señor, que tienes tu para hoy?"[/i] Good morning, sir, what do you have for me today? Her spanish was a little rusty, but she had learned enough to communicate with the skeletal structure of the language.  The robust tanned man with a black receding hairline chuckled and waved her over.

[i]"Que quieres comer? El pan? Quizás sopa? O quieres la torta?"[/i] What do you want to eat? Bread? Maybe soup? Or do you want a pastry? His voice was husky, like that of a bear. He had an easy going attitude that Artemisia found exceptionally pleasant. He reminded her of La Vida de Agua, the owner Roberto. 

She placed her hand upon her chin and thought about what she wanted, [i]"Quiero el pan, por favor. Como te llamas?"[/i] I want bread, please. What is your name? The cook reached over and handed her a bread roll, still warm.

[i]"Me llamo Alfredo Sánchez, y tu también señorita, como te llamas?"[/i] My name is Alfredo Sanchez, and you too miss, what is your name?

[I]"Me llamo Artemisia de Valleños. Soy de Italia."[/i] My name is Artemisia de Valleños. I am from Italy. Alfredo the cook nodded his head approvingly and began to start on another dish, pouring flour into a large mixing bowl. She offered to help, but Alfredo gave a raucously pleasant laugh and shook his head in decline of her offer. 

[i]"Soy la cocinero por un raizon, que no?"[/I] I am the cook for a reason, no? He patted her shoulder affectionately as he gave her another bread roll. Now she had one for Omero and herself.

It wasn't a second after that that an overweight man garbed in expensive - if not a little tattered - clothes blundered in, a sack of something heavy perched on top of some obscured piece of canvas, and a look of pure excitement and anticipation on his face.

"How delightful! The curt sailor's instructions proved ample for my quest, and thus I am here for said quest's alluring reward!" He sung in Portugeuse, laying his items down with great care in the corner of the galley by some stocked crates. He then slid over to where Artemisia and Alfredo stood conversing and gracefully inserted himself between the young woman and the food that the cook was working over.

"Now, it appears my stomach shall not wait a minute more. I humbly request your finest meal, sir...?"

"[i]Tonto[/i]." The cook muttered under his breath.

"Is that an obscenity, and of Spanish origin no less!" The well-spoken man seemed unperturbed by the insult blatantly thrown his way, and with a clearing of his throat he instead converted to a Spanish dialect, "Me llamo Stefano Morisini, soy un hijo modesto de un señor, de una isla de Creta. Y tu eres?"

"Alfredo." The cook grunted, with much less loquaciousness than what he had provided Artemisa with.

Artemisia looked swiftly to the paunchy man who entered the room in a flamboyant fashion. She cocked an eyebrow as she tried to decipher exactly what he was saying Portuguese, something about the sailor's directions that proved most useful.

"And, my dear Alfredo, what is on the proverbial menu this fine morning?" Stefano's tone grew more saturated with desire by the minute, it seemed that in not too long a time the man would be slobbering and begging on the floor like a mistreated dog.

The cook simply rolled his eyes and ignored him, continuing vehemently with his craft. Stefano rapidly became hysteric and he swung his gaze to Artemisia, whom he had rudely interrupted before.

"I beg of you, [i]senhorita[/i]," He spoke in Portuguese again, his face split between a look of disdain for the slightly unkempt girl and a need for the sustenance that he was being refused. "Talk some sense into this crass man."

The disarray the man seemed to be in, only made Artemisia chuckle quietly to herself as she watched Alfredo deny the rotund man his food. She responded to his pleas with a loud laugh, causing her to grin wildly, "Sehnor, I would perhaps use the word, please, when talking to the cook. After all he is the one in charge of filling that belly of yours." She gave him a wink, teasing him, but not insultingly. Her eyes kept wandering to the strange canvased object that he had set down near the crates. Over all, she could tell this man was quite wealthy. 

"You said your name was Stefano Morisini, and that you hail from an island of Crete, no?" Morisini, the name alone sounded familiar, giving her chills that inched up her spine. The pronunciation of her Portuguese indicated that she was not a native speaker, nor very fluent. Alfredo the cook, continued on, making a large pot of stew. As he diced potatoes and carrots up, he still listened to them converse. Surely this rather intrusive man had better sense than to come storming into his kitchen demanding his finest meal with nothing less than a please or thank you? Only a nobleman would address him in such a way. On a ship, everyone became of equal standing, even the common passenger. And manners were certainly apart of Alfredo's galley. 

Stefano observed the woman fling witty remarks at him, prompted by his most gracious plea. Frankly, he was shocked - having never recieved anything close to this calibre of conversation from what appeared to be a common working girl. She used the same tone and mannerisms that a travelling troubadour and poet often used that Stefano had travelled with over much of France. Stefano had recieved his clever banter with open appreciation, yet he did not know whether he should do the same in this case.

He ignored her first statement in a fit of unease, yet she thankfully provided a follow-up question that was simple enough to answer.

"Stefano Morisini, yes - middle name Pietro. My father is closely related to the current Duke of Candia. One of the main reasons I departed was because of the political drab that accompanied my important position - not to mention the position of the Ottomans in accosting my dear homeland. Enough of that, though, I forget common courtesy!" He grinned at the girl, seemingly forgetting all about the pending food behind him, and the social class of the girl before him. It seemed she had broken through many of Stefano's social barriers with little more than a sentence - a feat achieved by few, though the situation of hunger, required aid and impending pirates may have encouraged the acceptance somewhat.

"My dear, I would like to know all about you! Perhaps we can sit and talk whilst being served our fresh bread and scrumptious native commerce? Excellent, let us do so!"

"Ah, so it would seem. I have heard of your surname." She mumbled more to herself than to him, yet she listened all the while as he spoke of himself, and why he had come aboard. To her, his reason seemed to be as nonsensical as her own. When he informed her of his desire to know more about her, Artemisia seemed apprehensive in any case. Yet, she figured that it would not hurt her to tell him a bit of who she was. Artemisia turned to Alfredo and asked, "Senor, may we have but a bowl of soup? I promise we will be out of your hair for the rest of the evening."

Here Alfredo looked past her shoulder to Stefano standing behind her and gave a solemn grunt before dishing out a bowl of stew and gave her another bread roll. With that Artemisia turned about and handed Stefano the food. "I would say that this is the best you will get till we reach port. Let us head above deck, I came down here to fetch some food for a friend." She moved to the door and held it open, and then nodded at the object he had sat down near the crates, "And bring that too, lest he spills soup on it." Artemisia gave a chuckle before continuing, "I am Artemisia, I hail from Florentia, Italy. I came to Sintra many years ago, I have had made my living as a songstress, a bard, and as an entertainer. I travelled with a band of troubadours called, Le Troupe de Vie. Other than that, there is not much else to know." With that, Artemisia moved down the hallway, a bread roll in each hand.

She moved off away from the galley as soon as she finished speaking - leaving Stefano to strain a hurried, 'Pleasure to meet you!' between his frantic sipping of the stew. 
His hunger was not entirely satisfied, though the stew had some texture to fill his belly, and he did not think it best to stay in the galley for much longer. Stefano slurped through the meal quickly and stood as soon as he had finished.
Moving over to his sack of coin and canvas, Stefano threw a glance in Alfredo's direction.

"Thank you. The stew was..." He started, and with a childish chuckle as Alfredo glared at him, "Mediocre." He rushed out before the angry cook could accost him.

[hider=Credits][@MacabreFox] [@Eru Iluvatar] [/hider]