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Sione walked back into the bar, her pumpkin orange hair released from its tight hold and a blanket in her hand. She simply looked around at the lingering souls that were in the tavern. At the barking of a female for the crowd who signed up for the Falach Lasair, she did nothing but walked over with the ball rolling besides her to the spot where the new crew was supposedly to be at the moment.

Nothing about her appearance screams courtly or even a debutante, the exact way she wanted it. Despite the rags of a dress she is currently wearing, something about her just makes her stand out of place.

"Mm?" Sione said as she looked, turned around to face Mikkal only to have something tossed at her. She grabbed the small cloth bag out of the air and blinks. "What's this?" she murmured and opens it, seeing two different kinds of charms, one for carrying around or can be attached to a bracelet or a necklace and the other is a good luck kind of thing. She didn't remember buying these; perhaps.. Mikkal did for her. Her cheeks became slightly pink as she merely drops them into the bag and looked up at Mikkal once again. "I ..umm," she said, then choked at the words, sighing softly at her own stupidity, she turned and looked around for anyone else who had might of signed up for the crew.

Mikkal offered over one of his brief ghosts of a smile as he joined her, leaning against a wall as he turned his look to the officers of the Fallach Lasair. He was still without his coat, which was still draped over the much smaller Sione, which probably gave it a somewhat comicly dress like look given the difference in mass alone between the two.
He could have just as easily told the truth and said it was from him, but given what had happened earlier, it seemed just as important to bolster the idea of her as an independant woman. It would look better for her amoung the crew if she gave the impression of being well capable of standing her own ground against oncomers, though he had no intention of not helping should she need it.
"Thank you..." He added quietly, to be heard by her mostly, or by those with sharp ears for his low pitched tone.

He tilted his head slightly as he thought about her question, shaking his head faintly as he answered. "I'm not sure...possibly not. Officers normaly get a bit better place in the ship than sailors, but by the sound of it, the Falach is quite a different animal. Cabins instead of hammocks. I wonder if she's a large ship or simply a small, fast crew. Either way, I should congratulate you again. I doubt it will be long before you're ship doctor in title as well as action."

"A flop house would be better than a slave hold..." Mikkal flinched at the mental image, having some idea how slaves were often treated. Some people might treat them better, if for no other reason than the simple fact that a well treated slave would do better than an ill treated one, as was the case with any man or woman, but the fact remained that to be a slave was to be considered...almost less than human. No. Less than human period. Even in the worst sailing ships, you could at least count on an ration of food, however slim, and an hamock. In a slave hold, you might count on the first, but not nessisarily the second, or even room to lie down. As a an object of trade, they were considered goods, and merchants tended to pack goods tightly. The more you could transport, the more money you could make, provided you didn't kill them all with plague or starvation. At his lowest moment, he'd never have traded places with a slave. A normal servant with wages....maybe. But never a slave.
He was thumbing the scar on his lip again, an unconsious gesture on his part.

"Hm?" He blinked, confused for a moment by her question, not even having noticed what he was doing until he realizes his thumb is poised over his scar. "Ach...." he made a muted, gutteral sound of embarassment and dropped his hand as he realized. "It was not in my thoughts." He admitted. "I don't know...habbit perhaps..." He noted, trying to sort out his own odd habbits. It was like pickng at a scab in some light, toying with it as though the gesture was meditative.
He couldn't imagine that it didn't bother her, perhaps even revolt her, and wondered if his scars made him resemble the men from her past. "I appolgize...." He noted, sheepishly. "It was....deep. I suppose, thats why." He could actually feel it on the inside of his lip as well, an thin raised ridge compared to the slight dip it made in the outer lip. "I didn't intend to offend."
He lowered his hand at once folding his arms loosely over his stomach to keep them occupied.
She was lovely, and the way she treated him without regard for his scars, which seemed so obvious and stark to him was a warm and welcome thing, though he couldn't see her envisioning him as anything other than a fellow crewmate. She'd laugh, or worse. Perhaps even scream after everything she'd seen in the past.

His face actually reddened at her examination, and he struggled with the urge to pull his shirt closed, to hide the horrors that, for most, he let stay sharply in view, as though detemined not to care. Her innocent gaze however made him feel exposed in ways that a thousand others hadn't been able to and he cleared his throat again.
"...Yes, they were." He answered, averting his eyes slightly. "But since I still live, one supposes I was in...good enough hands...even if he did not find what he wanted."
Or he didn't think that he had. It was hard to tell...he remembered little enough about it, flickers and tiny sherds of sensation through drugged sleep, until he'd woken up someplace -else-, partly down the road to recovery, and without the man who'd done this to ask.
Not so much to ask why he'd done it...he had a better idea of that than he liked, but to ask why he'd been left alive.
How was it she made him feel so laid bare? Like she could cut him open with the scalpel of those green eyes and watch what made him move.