'Tis moonset when his shift ends.
“Brawling,” he says. She smiles, and in the lonely quiet after hours, amid bottles, forks and dishes, pays his “fee” while the spiders monkey up their silks to watch.
She doesn't like him – less than his captain, even. He's a hole in his heart: greencoated, he's cruel on the wharf, in the Row.
So she'll play him like a violin. He'll not trouble her house of “Longnecks” if he's pleased.
“Thought Northmen could drink,” he teases, buttoning up as Ranilo rinses her mouth. “Til tonight.”
She's others to pay 'til tonight... “Good day, Haldarion.”
Prompt: bottle, wharf, violin, moon, monkey, fork, hole