Amal might not have found the cook, but as thieving was one of his prime talents he still had collected enough to sate he and Emmaline. In a small sack he had two apples, three warm loafs of bread, two waterskins and a bottle of Tilean spirits that they would doubtfully need if the thunder continued to roar alarmingly close. Making his way up the stairs, he arrived at the forecastle to catch the tail end of Emmaline's story. He bit his tongue as not to laugh, and positioned himself smugly on the railing near them before he announced his presence. 

"Ready for another round?" He said in an exaggerated, throaty voice. 

The crewmembers jeered and whistled, except for a few of the jealous blokes who eyed Amal like he'd insulted their mothers. One of the sailors had nearly toppled over the side with surprise when he had shown up but another caught him as if it was a normal occurrence. There was a small sprinkling of rain that suddenly appeared from the clouds above, so Amal guided Emmaline away as the men realized it was time to get back to their duties. 

"Come lover, let us go below decks to enjoy ourselves." He whispered, and opened the bag to show he had found some food. If he were in Al-Hiekk it would have been a veritable feast, but it would still suit he and Emmaline for now. Truthfully he did wish to talk to her about what their plan was in Marienburg, but the mental image of him riding her as she bit on a silk scarf couldn't quite leave his head, try as he might. Likely the sailors had a similar problem judging by their trousers.

"Perhaps you can tell me more of this silk scarf I might have misplaced, eh?" He joked. 
[@Penny]