But for the exhaustion of being so blastedly handsome, it would have been a restless night for Nico Markl.
Once the meeting had adjourned, Markl had more or less disappeared for the rest of the day, only seen in passing by the others as he made his way about the vessel. He had no ambition to captain the ship, and had spent the remainder of the day doing his best to take stock of the ship’s provisioning, particularly its arms. He had fought tooth and club to prove himself the quartermaster on the Saint, and he had little ambition to give up that position.
Nico had slept through the night and into the early morning. He had dreamed of… the usual things … and woken around the same time as the others. He had done his paces of the ship - though more casually than he would have if he had been vested with an official role.
Now, for any seeking or encountering him, he could be found in the berthing deck just then, with a bucket of fresh seawater and a sponge - polishing his cane. He was seated on the plank floor, and swayed gently with the ship. A fabric sheet was spread on the ground, just next to his thigh. On it: two knives, one a medium length dueling knife, beautiful in its simplicity - the other was a short, wickedly curved blade.