Though tinged with the odor of fish, a salty sea, and saltier men, the breeze surrounding the port town gave Lucya a fresh of breath air. For all her humble origins and years spent working the land with her folks, she held little fondness for the great outdoors. Sure, the wilderness had its privacy and freedom, and the occasional tidbit of beauty, but more often it offered her sore feet, an empty stomach, cold nights, boredom, lonesomeness, and max effort just to get by. She hated going hungry most of all. Unfortunately for Lucya weapons alone did not a hunter make, and a few choice encounters with bad plants taught her to stick with only what she knew wouldn't poison her. Almost as bad as the harrowing hollowness was the accompanying feeling—that she was failing the most basic duty of a living thing. She sighed, crossing her arms as she looked out across the port from her rocky hill. [i]Well, some day I'll have forgotten what it's like to be hungry. Rich and happy, far away from the filthy hamlets, and the Troupe...[/i] She didn't know how to get there, but if she played her cards right the path could very well start here. All she needed to do was find a sucker, which she doubted would be hard. [i]How can I tell who's a sucker?[/i] she remembered asking, years ago. Neither the smirk nor the response of the Ringmaster had ever left her. [i]There's one born every minute.[/i] Lucya turned back to look at her traveling companion. A lucky find for the road, that guy. Their short-lived partnership, established on the mutual understanding that bandits and monsters were probably worse than each other, was at an end. She needed his survivalist skills no longer, and he...well, she suspected he'd be glad to be rid of her. In terms of personalities they couldn't be more different. While she commanded great humor, cunning, and hidden depths -obviously- he was appallingly dry, amazingly straightforward, and utterly boring. Surly warrior types with dead families and no purpose but fighting were dime a dozen—how else could countries have armies, after all? He didn't appreciate her telling him as such, of course, nor for that matter did he betray an ounce of susceptibility to any of her jokes and barbs. Oh well, Lucya figured. Their few commonalities, those being distrust and a respect for competence, served them well enough to get them here. And now they were finished. “Welp,” she said to get his attention, putting her hands on her hips. “As fun as tagging along with you has been, and [i]boy[/i] has it just been buckets of fun, it is about time I got out of your fur. You have a good arm, a lot of guts, and no anger issues at all, no sir. Still, take a break from cracking spines sometime and crack a smile instead, huh?” With a theatrical half-bow she doffed an imaginary hat at him. “Farewell!” She got four steps before she span around to face him, her long ponytail flapping in the briny breeze. “Ah, yes! And if you happen to come across some strange, vaguely threatening circus-folk, kindly deny having met me and do not pique their interest. That should not be too hard for you, yeah? Eheh.” With that Lucya marched into town, keeping an eye for anywhere an enterprising gal might make a buck or two.