Lucien had reset his quarters after the mess the pup had made. The desk was reset, although the mead was unrecoverable. He swallowed the last few dregs that remained in the bottle, mopping up the spilled liquid. Some of it had bled into the wood, adding atmosphere to the macabre reputation the vampire had already garnered.
He stooped low, scooping up the fallen journal. Luckily it had escaped the crimson tide, for its pages would have drank greedily and deep, obscuring the scrawling print that covered them. He eyed the pages briefly, noting the description of a ring that seemed to hold magical properties. Perhaps it had been left behind, or perhaps it had joined the treasure horde, and some hapless member of the crew held it, oblivious to its power.
Lucien needed to leave. The boards surrounding him felt oppressive, each creak as the ship rocked with the waves carrying her cadence, her footsteps, her knock. He had never been bothered by the ghosts of the Nox before. But then again, none of the ghosts had belonged to her. None of the ghosts were the Nox.
Lucien fled the ship, determined strides pulling him deeper into the society, thoughts long hidden swirling through his head. Ever since the encounter within those damned frozen caverns, his head had been a mess, thoughts and emotions rising unbidden to the surface. So lost was Lucien in his visions of manors and lilacs that it was only by chance that he spotted the sign on the billboard, advertising a masquerade. It was a chance to avoid the ship and its ghosts, a chance to firmly reaffix the mask he had spent decades crafting. It was easy enough to collect the attire he wanted, custom-fitted and to his exact specifications. Any qualms were soothed by the familiar motion of gold crossing palms. Lucien rarely had need of the treasure he received after various raids, but it certainly helped silence any arguments about deadlines.
He regrettably returned to the Nox, stowing his attire for later use in the evening. As he passed by one of the cabins, he heard something. A heartbeat of sorts. Not the strong beat of a living person, nor the rattle of one on death's door. It was something in between, a rough facsimile of what a heartbeat was supposed to sound like. There was no breathing to accompany it, which could only mean it belonged to one person. Thoughts swirled up again, but Lucien forced them down, rapping a couple times on the door of the girls' cabin before opening it a small amount, but not yet stepping inside.
"Are you presentable, fledgeling?" Lucien almost believed that the concern laced through his question was just another ghost.
