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Rose's brow wrinkled, along with the bridge of her nose, at his assertion that anyone would try to kill anyone else, let alone her, just because it would improve their lot. It simply wasn't so! But he continued before she could argue, asking for an alternative to murder as a means to further their plan.

She'd been about to suggest just buying some cheap men's clothes. That had been The Plan, such as it was, in her mind since he'd suggested finding men's clothes for her (a thought that still made her shudder, but there really wasn't another choice that she could see). But as she opened her mouth to actually say the words, she saw it play out in her mind and realized that waltzing into a shop where the shopkeeps and customers could all see them and plunking down the coin for an outfit for her would have the constabulary on them in a trice. Her stomach dropped to her toes and her expression faded from mildly annoyed and knowing to one of momentary panic as she realized that her solitary plan was woefully inadequate. But then, a thought occurred to her.

Oh, dear.

As if defying her father hadn't been enough of a scandal, now she stood accused of murdering a man, and was about to actually suggest theft as their next logical course of action. She, Miss Rhoswyn Bankes. A thief. But try as she might (and try she did) she could think of no other course.

"I cannot possibly believe I'm about to say this, but couldn't we steal some without killing anyone for them? Maybe..." She quickly ran through in her mind the process the servants went through to clean clothing (something she'd learned only recently in preparation for someday running a household of her own. One had to know the work to know if it was being performed properly, after all), and hit upon an idea, her expression brightening again. "Off of a clothesline, perhaps? Nobody sits and watches clothes dry, they're far too busy with other work. And it was raining yesterday, but clear today. I'm sure there's lots of washing out to dry!"

Rather pleased with herself for her cleverness, she fairly beamed up at him before she remembered that she, of all people, had just planned a heist, and covered her face with her palm. "Father would be so disappointed," she groaned.

She mustered the energy to glare at him despite the weight of her shame and followed him out onto the street. The state of her dress had bothered her before, but now that she was actually trying to go unseen for the first time in her life, it was truly making her nervous.

Between the fine make, much nicer than most of the clothing on the passersby she could see, and it's rumpled and stained state, she was sure people couldn't help but stare. The imagined and thoroughly unwanted attention was making hers shoulders ache with tension. It was enough to make her look forward to a change of clothes, even if it meant trying to pass herself off as a man which was scandalous enough to give her goosebumps.

She tried not to think about her father's expression should word ever get back to him, nor did she dare contemplate what her sainted and long-departed mother would think.

She had to smile, though, as Dante trotted along beside her. The fawn had gotten more exercise in the past few days than he had at any time in is short life, and she could feel the happiness radiating off the little darling as he bounced for a couple of steps, all four hooves leaving the ground, rather than trotting sensibly.

"Well, at least someone's having fun," she consoled herself softly. "How far did you say it was to this... place you know, Finn?" she asked, thinking at the last second not to mention clothes lest someone overhear and make the a connection she didn't want them to make. Spirits, but this mess was making her paranoid.

Rose had been just about to ask what on earth Finn thought was fun about the day they'd had when suddenly he grabbed her hand and she found herself spun into the new alleyway with rather more skill than she'd expected. It ocurred to her once the world stopped spinning that Finn would probably be a fairly good dancer...

But now was not the time to be thinking about that, or fun. She stood there with her "new" clothes in her hands, staring at him incredulously as he stood with his arms crossed, unabashedly looking as she meant to change.

Almost... almost she asked him whether he minded (in that ascerbic tone that any sane man would take as a warning) in hopes that he'd turn around like a gentleman. But then her wits recovered and she realized that was never going to happen. It was Finn, and while she wouldn't say she knew him well, she knew him well enough to realize he'd continue to look just to spite her.

With a huff, she blew a wayward curl of strawberry blond out of her eyes and shot him a deadly glare, then proceeded to attempt to change whilst revealing as little of herself to him as possible. Mrs. Gaynesford would explode outright if she only knew.

That thought actually made her smirk a bit as she drew the trousers on under her skirts, using their fullness to hide her legs as she did so. The top was harder, but she turned her back to him before she took it off, her entire back prickling (and blushing as red as a beet) to be bare on a street of all places. But she didn't have a choice. She tore a strip off of her poor petticoats and bound her chest; while she was not as... endowed... as some women she'd seen, she felt it prudent not to take chances.

She buttoned the shirt with another vexed huff, then pulled the lacing out of her corset and stamped on it in the mud so it looked like it had been exposed for awhile, then used that to bind back her hair, sort of, in a low ponytail as she'd seen some of the men on the street wearing.

Ye capricious spirits but the trousers felt... foreign. She pondered whether she'd have felt less exposed traipsing down the street naked, but didn't like the answer her mind was starting to provide so dropped it. With another exasperated sigh she turned to him, barefoot and in men's clothes, and held her hands out in a silent request for judgement with one displeased eyebrow arched skyward.

Rose had just been thinking about slapping Finn, and was thinking even harder about crawling back into her skirt (everything about this just felt wrong, and she was trying to remember whether it was even legal) when the man whose clothing they'd commandeered angrily announced his presence behind her.

She gamely responded to this unforeseen interruption with all the courage she could muster, which is to say she launched skyward a good six inches with a most unmanly squeak. Fortunately Dante was a bit more prepared and launched himself forward with a tiny, enraged bawl. If his aim was true, the man and his possible future children would be rueing his life choices in mere moments.

The endpoint of Rose's trajectory turned out to be somewhere in the region of Finn's chest, where she at least had the sense to land on her own feet and whip around to look at the threat that had rendered her formerly flushed cheeks ice-pale. What an awful day; she couldn't remember the last time she'd had so many just upsetting things happen in such a short stretch... it wasn't even lunchtime!

Rose was standing, staring over her slender hands that covered her mouth with wide blue eyes. "Is... Is he..." It wasn't hard to note the exact moment she realized the man was still breathing as she sighed and closed her eyes even as she rolled them heavenward in silent thanks.

Dante bleated and trotted up to his mistress with his head raised, little tail switching across his haunches in a blur. The tiny fawn could not have been more pleased with himself. He leaned up and nibbled on the hem of Rose's shirt, tugging to get her attention and the ear-scritchings he was surely due for his bravery.

Obliging the fawn as she gathered the frayed tatters of her dignity and temper, Rose sighed again and looked up to Finn with a wry smile. "Boots, eh? I suppose his feet are rather small, but I'll need that second pair of wool socks there, I suspect." She gave Dante's ears a last stroke and cleared her throat as she reached for the aforementioned socks. "And... Finn? Thank you for not shooting him." The smile she gave him then was small, but sincere and far more meltingly grateful than she'd ever have admitted to. "I appreciate your restraint."

"Of course you didn't," she grumbled, then blinked down at his hand as though she didn't recognize the object, so surprised was she to see it. But she took it and did her level best to keep up as he led the way through the streets. His palm was callused and a bit scratchy against hers, but she found it wasn't entirely unpleasant and felt a new blush crawling up her cheeks.

"I don't much care why you didn't," she explained, carefully avoiding using words that would draw unwanted attention (such as the phrase 'shoot him,' which went unspoken), "I'm just glad you didn't." Dante loped along beside the pair, even his boundless energy seeming a bit dimmed by the day's exertions, but only a bit. And by the cant of his ears and the switch of his tail, the fawn was happier than she'd ever seen him.

It was good that she had something to focus on: Finn's hand in hers, and not using the wrong words to draw the attention of the crowd through which they fled. Otherwise, the fact that she was wearing trousers of all things probably would have sent her into that faint she'd been studiously avoiding all day.

She looked up as she again heard the ringing of ship's bells at harbor and smelled the tang of salt in the air. Well yes, she chastised herself archly, the ship would be in the harbor. Where did she think she was going to find it, the Queen's garden? But still, something in her associated those sounds and smells with the horrible sight of watching a man die, a memory that made her feel she'd been plunged into ice-water even to contemplate. But Finn's hand in hers was inexorable as he approached a particular ship.

"Is... is that her? Your ship?" she asked as she searched the bowsprit. Sometimes ships' names were painted there, and it might help to know what ship she was meant to serve on. Despite the myriad horrors of the day, the mere sight of a sailing vessel sparked a smile. There was just something about it- the sense of adventure waiting, like an indolent cat, for exactly the right moment to unleash itself. Woe be unto the unwary.

Rose was staring up at the ship with her jaw a bit slack, with Dante at her side bearing a strikingly similar expression. Being unfamiliar with sailing vessels, the history and make of the ship were utterly lost on Rose.

She didn't understand the intricate web of ropes that kept the sails aloft and allowed the sailors to control them in the heaviest seas. She couldn't fathom the purpose of the scuppers on the deck. Nor did she comprehend the actions of the dozen or more men who were scampering across the deck and up the rigging like mad squirrels, preparing to get her underway. Her eyes overwhelmed with incomprehensible details, she didn't catch the insignia on the flag. But her arms were covered in goosebumps as she was gripped by an overwhelming impression of something beautiful and powerful beyond her ken.

Then Finn told her the name, and she frowned slightly in confusion. "Hades'... I can't have heard that properly," she said with a chuckle, amused at herself for the word her mind had surely supplied in place of what Finn had actually said. "It sounded like you said she was named the Hades' eep!"

Rose was interrupted by a shout from the railing; one of Finn's messmates had recognized him and was waving them up somewhat urgently. "Yer gonna get left, mate! 'Urry it oop!" he called down, gesturing at the gangplank and the last of the goods that were being borne up it. "That is very narrow," Rose observed with some trepidation, envisioning herself losing her balance in her unfamiliar footwear and plunging into the greasy water below with a piteous wail.

Rose hesitated for a moment as that realization sank in, even as she glared at Finn for his jibe. She was stepping into a world not her own, one that belonged to the man before her- a hard fellow, to be sure, and dangerous. How could she be sure she could trust him?

This was not a choice to be made lightly, but a shout from behind her (Nothing more than a dockmaster bellowing a command, but it still put her in mind of the constabulary who were no doubt searching for them) made the decision for her.

She scrambled forward with a wince and started gingerly up the gangplank, her impatient guardian pushing a bit from behind in his haste to get aboard and sniff all the new and strange things he could smell just ahead. His eagerness was more than a little contagious, and she picked up her pace. She found that, as narrow as the plank was, it was easily wide enough for a man to walk up if he weren't dead-drunk. And she was a good deal smaller than some of the men she saw bustling about who had no doubt made it up the narrow boards before her.

She very nearly put a foot aboard the Hades' Strumpet, but stopped as something occurred to her like a bolt from the clear blue sky, stopping her in her tracks and causing Dante to blunder into her from behind with a bleat of displeasure. "Don't..." she coughed and cleared her throat as she finally thought to lower the pitch of her voice a bit to sound more masculine. "Don't I need permission to board?" she asked again in her revised tone.