Birdcalls sounded from across the vast estuary, which currently smelled particularly rank thanks to the low tide. Finch found herself loving the ocean more than she had anticipated, but she hadn't yet quite learned that the ocean came with its own set of special smells. It didn't help that she'd found herself beset by some strange illness - her appetite had left, she was itchier than she'd ever been in her life, and the sun had started to drive her absolutely mad. The itching had gotten bad enough that her sides had a few rough abrasions from over-scratching. She'd tried to convince herself it was some allergy manifesting, but the other symptoms that had arisen and stayed persistent were concerning. Nothing quite added up, but she knew at the minimum she had to get some food in herself.

Which led her here, staring stubbornly down at the least appetizing fish she'd ever seen, her nose almost burning at the acrid, oceanic stink of low tide. The smell certainly didn't help her appetite. The fish stared back at her, its beady little eye seeming to sparkle with mirth at her suffering. No, no, there was no mirth-sparkling - the fish was dead. Fresh out of mirth. Had to be. Was she usually this paranoid? Finch shuddered, her stomach tightening at the sight of it again. Just one bite. Just one. Try as she might, she couldn't force herself to do it. She huffed an annoyed sigh and continued her staring contest with the fish.

"speech"

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Things are shifting, more than just the ground beneath his feet. Wake relaxes into it, allows things around him to be... well, to be what they will be. Spending most of his time herding some of the youngest brood around (they're really the ones herding him, but don't remind him), tending to his poppies, and getting high out of his gourd. Really, it's not a bad existence.

With most of his daily bullshit handled, Wake wanders down the banks of the estuary. Taking some space so he can smoke-- but then, had he stopped smoking yet today? Always a lit spliff or pipe hanging from his lips, a slightly glazed look in his eye.

Dialing in on the girl from a distance, Wake closes in at a casual pace. "Looking a little green around the gills, sailor." A smirk playing over his lips, though he's not unkind about it. Everything about him is relaxed, settling on the bank beside the pale girl.

"Wake"

She startled when Wake approached, finally losing her staring contest with the fish. Finch shifted from paw to paw, wincing as the movement jostled her strained stomach. It was so painfully empty and yet still hurt to be touched. Hunger gnawed at her, but try as she might, she couldn't settle her nausea long enough to take a bite. "I am feeling a little green, yes," she said, words awkward and stilted. Calliope hadn't necessarily told her not to interact with anyone, but she'd been feeling so peaky and forlorn that she'd spent most of her time alone in the Raid Queen's den interspersed with short walks across the territories. For the most part, the Raiders left her alone: they knew she was a kept animal. She should be embarrassed by it, but for now she was just grateful for the protection it extended.

"I'm starving, but I just can't... seem to eat. Too nauseous," she gestured with a vaguely disappointed air at the fish, which looked as disgusting as ever. It fixed its beady little eye right back on her. She shuddered and looked away to get a better look at him. He was languid, cool and relaxed - something she'd never managed to achieve in her short life. Finch raised an eyebrow at the smoking paraphernalia Wake had toted along as it didn't quite look like any tools of any trade she recognized. She knew of the healing properties of certain burned herbs, at least for indirectly inhaling: lavender, chamomile, other pleasant smelling flowers, but his implements looked as if you took whatever it was directly into your lungs. That she'd never seen before. "I'm Finch, Calliope's, ah, guest," she blundered along. Guest, pet, unwilling captive, et cetera. She was too exhausted to make it sound nice and guest was the best she could come up with that didn't make her sound terribly pathetic. "What have you got there?" she asked after a moment, gesturing towards what he was set up to continue smoking.

If nothing else, Finch loved to learn new things.

"speech"

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She looked uncomfortable, poor thing. Wake was perhaps the least useful healer on the Raider's roster, but this might actually be something he could help with. Nausea, coloring the way she sits and shifts, mixed with hunger. Ah, if he was going to treat her, he'd probably have to share his snacks. Weighing his options, the boy rests back on a cocked hip. Careful as he assesses her, gaze steady.

"Guest," the smirk is broad, and Wake is unable to help himself. A little chuckle in his throat, tilting his chin. "I'm Wake, her brother." Comfortable where he rests, half sprawled, with his long legs splayed. Another long drag from his pipe, letting go a full, smoky breath before answering Finch's question.

"A pipe, packed with cannabis and tobacco. It helps with the nerves, and it may very well help with your appetite and nausea." Casually, he offers the rough-hewn wooden pipe. While not much to look at, it had been a worthy trade the last time he'd visited the Armada's markets. Watching carefully as he makes his offer, Wake is curious just how she'll react to being offered drugs by a stranger.

"Wake"

Her brother. He looked to be of a different palette entirely, but now that he said it, Finch could see the similarities in build. Calliope was a bit sturdier, but he was made of the same stuff. "Oh," she said, after a moment of consider, "Her brother - yes, I see it. Very nice to meet you." That's what good little birds said, right? Finch was still playing it careful with Calliope. It was a narrow tightrope act to stay on her good side, but she was finding that she did like when she had the pastel Raid Queen's attention. As long as that attention remained positive.

Being polite to her brother, then, seemed like a necessity. Who knew what kind of relationship they had? Finch was so close to her sister that she still found herself idly looking over her shoulder, expecting Jay to be there. She had no idea how all of Raider kin interacted with each other - this, she realized, was a problem. If she was going to weasel her way out of here using her wits, she needed to gather as much information as possible.

Oh. Cannabis. Finch eyed the pipe with a vague amount of suspicion. She'd heard of it. Once when she was a pup, she'd stumbled on some growing wild in the Range and Corvus had shooed her away from it. She knew it altered the mind, but not how or why. "Is it... just those things?" She asked, taking a cautious sniff of the extended pipe. The smell was heady and funky, like nothing she'd ever scented before, and it made her wrinkle her nose. Even as she was tempted to recoil from the smell, a stabbing hunger pang lanced through her side. If it helped her symptoms... "Could you tell me how it will do those things? Help my appetite, cure my nausea?" Finch stared at the smoking pipe reproachfully. She'd try anything at this point to choke down some food. As she was debating with herself, another fierce pain tightened her stomach enough that she visibly winced.

"W-well, shoot," she said, "if it'll work, I'll try anything." Then she leaned forward, delicately took the pipe in her lips, and deeply, deeply inhaled.

"speech"

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