Sunrise, Cagensday 17th Amiel, 223

Roughly a week from Shoel

Captain Fletcher Payne stirred slowly from his slumber. Well, the little he had finally managed to steal away from those who would seek to take it from him, at least. These days, it seemed that there were plenty of men who were lined up to deprive the Captain of the Ocean Horizon of his, much needed, rest. Barely three days ago had he captained his ship, as well as the band of pirates he called a crew, through a particularly dangerous stretch of the skies that consisted of three different bounty hunters all vying for his head. It was only due to the fact that his ship was so valuable that he had not been blasted from the skies. That's not to say that the Horizon came out unscathed, she had suffered multiple wounds. Some of them were barely a scrape or two, others were bad enough to leave a Geist dead in the air. But fortunately for the wily Captain, his ship happened to be hardier than most and his crew were some of the finest pirates this side of the Navy Border. Were it not for them, Fletcher was sure that he'd have been dead a long time ago.

With some considerable effort and a grimace, Fletcher forced himself to sit up. A whispering grunt of air escaping his lips as he did so. Telltale signs that the recent fighting had well and truly taken its toll on him. 'If they keep this up, I'll be dead from exhaustion.' He thought to himself. His mind flashed back to the last fight. The bounty hunters had attached grappling lines and were preparing to board when he had given the command to use their own lines against them. Fletcher lead the charge, despite not usually doing so and much to the chagrin of his Ship Master, Aubrin Pykes, who had recommended that he stay onboard the Horizon whilst they were being attacked by hunters. Even so, Fletchers actions had won them the day and his idea to overload the crystal batteries, which caused the hunter's ship to explode, meant that any other bounty hunters in the area had cleared off. Which left the Horizon free to limp back toward Shoel.

While the obvious reasons were to repair and resupply, Fletcher had other ideas in mind. With just over a week to go until the Festival of Light began, Fletcher wanted to treat his crew by allowing them to partake in the event. For all the years they had been sailing the skies together, the Ocean Horizon had never once spent the festival docked at Shoel which, to Fletch, seemed uncanny considering that nearly every other pirate crew made sure to dock at either of the three available tower cities or the Wandering Isles to celebrate. The Shardseekers, however, had continued sailing. Forever searching for the mysterious Shardstones, also known as the Shards of Atlaias. Some members may have complained once or twice over the years but they had all followed his lead without question. Now, even though they were clearly tired from a long expedition, the crew seemed excited. It would be good for them to let their hair down, so to speak. Besides, the rum stores were running dry and the testosterone levels of the male members was beginning to creep up higher than Fletch had deemed safe. He'd even found himself beginning to waver when glancing at the female members of his crew. In short, the Horizon and her crew were in bad shape. Both needed some well earned R&R.

Slowly, the Captain swung his legs over the side of his king-size bed and placed his feet on the wooden-boarded floor. It was cold but so was everything onboard the Horizon. He braved the icy touch of the boards and walked over to where he had removed his shozoku garments from the night before. Attempting to don them quickly only resulted in his aching muscles screaming at him to cease moving. Maybe he would pay another visit to the good Doctor for a tonic. The task took longer than he expected but he finally laced up his tabi boots less than 5 minutes later. As he began walking toward the door to his chambers, he made sure to grab his katana which remained exactly where he had placed it, in its own glass cabinet. He strapped it to his left hip in routine fashion before reaching the door which he opened quickly and exited his room. He had stepped out onto the Main Deck, which was quiet at this time, barring those few whose turn it was to keep watch, but they kept their gambling talk to a low volume so as not to wake the rest of the crew.

Fletcher passed the three men silently, each of them sat upon overturned buckets and tossed dice into a wooden dish. They looked up as he did so but didn't stop playing, only nodding to acknowledge that he was there. On another ship, under another Captain, the crewmen might have been expected to stand or may have been reprimanded for failing to stop playing but Fletcher was lenient. He had spent years trying to command the correct amount of respect from his sailors whilst still being fair. And one of the most favourable ways of doing it was not considering himself too high above his station. A pirate ship was supposed to be free, where you could do and say whatever you wanted, including gambling. If Fletcher had needlessly stopped these men, who had offered their lives for him on many occasion, then he'd have robbed them of their freedom. Something which he'd never even dream of doing. Sure, gambling wasn't the greatest vice and maybe they should be making their rounds of the ship, but Fletcher knew that they were far away from bounty hunter skies. The closer they got to Shoel, the more Light Guard ships appeared on the horizon. If there was anyone he could count on for protection, they were it. Being the foster son of the Immortal Archivist sure had its perks.

He kept walking to the bow of the ship, taking in the surrounding skies as he walked. The rising sun began glaring from the East, Fletcher had to squint to look where he was going. It didn't take him long to reach the front and he soon took one of the two seat that were stationed there. Looking out towards the horizon, the Captain was excited to see Shoel again. It had been far too long.

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She woke up in a cold sweat. Her eyes were wide open, milky-colored depths seeming small within the confines of her sclera, thick black lashes plastered against the swarthy tan of her flesh. Almost-imperceptible beads of perspiration, like pinpoints of glittering diamond decorated the same tapestry in the slowly-increasing light of the room. She felt herself gulping breaths as though she had been deprived of oxygen for most of the past minute and one hand came to her chest, as though to physically keep it from heaving. In the back of her mind, she hoped she hadn't screamed or anything before she came to consciousness. She had in the past and it lead to questions from her fellow crewmates that were... well, awkward, to say the least. Questions that were placed behind sly grins and mischevious winks, knowing stares and lecherous chuckles. She usually decided against anything beside a resigned sigh and a removal of her body from the premesis. Althea was certain her night-terror shouts were unlike anything one would moan in the throes of passion, but unsurprisingly a great many of the men here could not tell the difference. These distracting thoughts actually seemed to help her calm down.

Her breath finally steadied. Good. She had felt... dizzy, for lack of a better word. It seemed hard for people to believe, when a blind woman experienced "dizziness", but she felt vertigo as well as anyone who possessed their natural sight. In fact, it happened more frequently to her than they; how many of these strong, tough men would tumble to their knees if their sight suddenly failed them and the solidity beneath their feet became hidden from their gaze? It always gave her a little pulse of strength, thinking of some of these thugs dealing with a like burden. It was usually very... demeaning for them. At least, it was in her imagination. With a final deep inhalation she swung her feet to the side of her small twin-sized bed, the thin coverlets remaining rumpled on its surface as she slowly pulled herself to her feet. With confidence she stretched both hands, cupped, to the small basin on her nightstand that held a bit of water; instantly she brought the liquid to her face and felt the refreshing wave solidify her tie to consciousness. The bits of panicked sweat disappeared from her pores and the last bit of nightmare disintegrated into the freezing reality of the room.

Althea stretched several times, reveling in the silence of her room at this early hour, then reached for her nightstand and the velvet-lined box that housed her lifeline to the world. Her fingertips instantly found the smooth metal and flexible leather of her glasses, gingerly lifting them from their container and bringing them to her face with a tenderness usually reserved for a lover. She had to be gentle. The Archivist had told her how delicate they were, had warned her how long a single lens had taken to create. Gentle. With a well-practiced motion she set them against the cold skin of her face, her long fingers deftly securing them to her head. Two straps above her head, pressing down on the thick mass of dark wavy hair, and two against her cheeks, fitting perfectly into the tan-lines that had formed on her face. They snapped securely into place and suddenly, Althea was introduced again into the world that everyone else knew. The barest beams of sun had already broken through her window so she didn't bother with any of the lights. She could see the dark fabric of her bedspread and the gleaming metal of her furniture, the deep gray of her velvet box and bright bronze color of her shallow basin. The familiar boundaries of her small room met her gaze and she turned without much thought to her "dresser" (it was a box), her sensitive fingers pawing through the minimal amount of clothing for something suitable; it didn't take her long. She yanked on her faintly-laced garb and various leather accoutrements, easily snapping the silver and bronze-colored buckles into place with the ease of long practice, her hair tie being the last bit of the outfit; the previously untameable black mass became a domestic horsetail, draped nonchalantly over her left shoulder. She had no mirror in the little living quarters she had been assigned, but that was just as well for her. With a barely-interested glance she gave her body a once-over, checking the various bumps and bruises and occasional scratch she had secured in the tussle a few days back.

It wasn't like she had been a participant of the real party, but the entire crew had felt the ship shudder when some of those opposing strikes made contact with the Horizon's hull. She could even vaguely recall being tossed from her feet as she ran, and remembered the instinctual twist to her body that always came when she could no longer feel the floor; her spine curled inward, arms coming up to fold around the delicate machinery that decorated her face. She could have taken a spire through the middle, but if her goggles were untouched she would still have considered the day a win. Althea had landed hard on her shoulder that time, but nothing had been damaged that wouldn't be completely gone in a few more days, even if it had been strangely weak after the blow. She had been lucky; not all of the crew had been in an empty hallway when the worst blast had rocked the ship. The blind woman could even remember the look on the Ship Master's face when the Captain had bolted out to lead the charge, and she could still hear his voice commanding his men with authority and surety. Well, he wasn't the Captain for his good looks, after all. Althea had learned to more or less stay out of the way as best she could in such situations, especially when the vast majority of combat occured on a ship other than this one.

The raven-haired apprentice gave her shoulder a few clicks in each direction, then opened the door of her tiny room and stepped into the hallway. A quick turn to the left, three more smooth steps and she was able to step out into the relatively open air, her face turning up to see the gradually-lightening blues and golds of the sky. In her memory, she could see a time when the sunrise also harbored shades of brilliant orange and tender, luminous pink aside glowing reds, a tapestry of the color spectrum against the receding darkness of night. Such a thing was for her memory only now-a-days, but she never gave it any thought; being able to see what colors she could was nothing short of a miracle. Absently she brushed a stray lock behind her ears, her movements deft and graceful as though retaining muscle-memory of her days when dancing earned her bread, and leaned against the strong railing of the deck. She was not on the Main Deck (her living quarters would hardly be so close to such a common area, she being only an apprentice), but if she looked to her left she would be able to see it and the shadow it cast lay lightly across her shoulders.

She heard talk of staying in Shoel for the duration of the Festival of Light. When casually asked for her opinion, no doubt with the expectation that she would sigh delightedly and offer excited, comradely banter, she had given nothing more than a shrug of nonchalance. She had little intention of joining any of the festitivies, even if she were booted from the Horizon while it underwent the repairs. Althea never took very much pleasure in the questioning stares and the too-loud whispers, the loud children who pestered their parents with queries as she walked by or the handsome men and beautiful women that skipped over her as though she were invisible to speak to the charming young things with the open faces and pretty eyes. She didn't miss the lecherous grabs or propositions from the more oafish men, of course, but it would have been good for her self-esteem for a good-looking person -or any stranger, really- to at least see her, as a person, rather than coast their eyes past as though she were a lamp-post, or fix her with a gaze usually reserved for strange-looking animals. It was something that she did not often find off of the Ocean Horizon. But again, it was not something she usually dwelt on, being grateful as she was for her sight; a choice between seeing a sunrise or attention from strangers was not a choice at all.

Pushing the thoughts of "fun" to the back of her mind, she gave a confident spin on her heel and headed to the kitchens. Her heavy boots were surprisingly soft on the ice-cold boards beneath, and her boyish hips swayed slightly with her measured step, the occasional strand of onyx hair catching in the draft of her movement. As per her usual morning routine, she intended to fetch some breakfast for the Ship Master and then slip off to the bridge. Althea had been requested to not enter Master Pyke's quarters during the morning, and later been requested that she also not wait right outside the door, both delivered with a day a few years back. A barely-perceptible half-smile quirked her dark lips as she walked, but disappeared after a second. The kitchens were not close to her quarters, since she had declined to sleep in the bunk with a fairly large assortment of male crew members and opted for a glorified closet, and she had a bit of a walk ahead. Her steps still echoed in the stillness of the morning, but she could hear the growing sounds of a crew coming to life as she moved.

Aubrin Pykes thrashed in her twin bed, hands raking at a bare neck as if there was something around it. There had been something there once, as was visible by the thin red scar that wound around her neck. The linen covers had been thrown on to the floor in a crumpled pile, pillow stuffed up to the headboard. She was dreaming, as was evident by her closed eyes and manic behaviour. Her childlike body shuddered and quaked, covered with a light blue nightdress. It was one of the only articles of clothing Aubrin owned that was particularly feminine, her clothes being relatively multi-gendered. It wasn't that she didn't consider herself a girl, or strived to be a man, it was simply the way she projected herself. Her rounded face, much in the appearance of a young boy's, was contorted with pain, sweat developing at her brow. She struggled as if to escape something that wasn't really there, but fought with an unmatched ferocity to escape that nothingness

The man jerked the thick knotted rope, sending Aubrin's head snapping back. She smashed into a load of empty barrels against a wall, her fingers attempting to make even a sliver of space between the rope and her neck. Tears streamed from her eyes and she gulped back air desperately, too weak to shout or protest. Pricks of white began floating in her vision, like little bugs, zapping in and out of view. She scrabbled away from the wall on all fours like an animal, leashed cruelly as she was, and tried to reach for the rope to loosen it. It slipped from her fingers every time, as if her hands and it were on a different plane.
"Get up!" the man roared, tugging the rope up and forcing her to stand. She choked, a small line of drool steadily making its way down her chin. She glanced around, desperate for anything that would help her escape her tormentor. Her sword was at her side, but he couldn't grab it, some force stopping her from doing the simple, oft practised actions. This wasn't how it happened, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. She clung to it, ignoring the pain, this isn't real and I need to wake UP! She forced her eyes wide open and slammed her head back in an attempt to escaped the nightmare. The man just leaned closer, laughing cruelly and stepping on her head. She sank into the cobblestones, fighting fo-

A pain erupted at the back of Aurin's head, causing her to wake up in a wide-eyed daze. The memories of the dream slipped away easily, emotions ebbing like a wave that had reached its crest and now retreated back into the sea. A small hand reached back to touch the spot of her head that had hit the headboard, her mouth forming to whisper several choice swear words. She realized she was cold; sitting up on her bed she grabbed the fallen sheets and wrapped them around herself, huffing at the memory of three nights before that flooded into her mind.
Idiot, you led that charge and almost died! Fletcher didn't realize how close he had been to death; if Aubrin hadn't stopped that stray blade from skewering through him like a shish-kebob, his life would have ultimately ended. Instead he was simply wounded. As he should be,she thought, her toes touching the floor experimentally, it serves him right to not listen to me! The captain wasn't the only one to have sustained wounds, she herself having been shot in the shoulder. If it wasn't for the quick action and skill of Asrai, the medic, it was likely she could have bled to death. She placed her feet fully on the ground and winced at its coldness. She didn't like the cold, Neliel being her least favourite season because of this. It made her feel slow and brittle, seeping into her bones and giving her an unshakable tired feeling.

Walking swiftly over to the window Aubrin glanced out, giving a little nod of approval as she saw they were on course. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing the endless ocean in deep hues of orange and gold and causing the distant city of Shoel to glitter in the coming light. She could picture the street where she had lived perfectly in her mind, its colour palette much less spectacular than this sunrise. The sun had shone on it only for a couple of hours a day, it being a crammed and dirty side street, where the garbage and unwanted children were swept out of sight. She held no attachment to her former home, but vague memories of her mother always filtered through her mind when she thought of the place. Her image of the woman was perhaps distorted, through time and having been a young, impressionable child at the time, but her visual image of her mother was a woman of grace and power, full of beauty that Aubrin had not inherited. She, perhaps, had inherited the will of a pirate from her, but it was never proven that her mother truly had been one, and her father was un-nameable.

Normally she didn't wake up this early in the morning, sleeping well past many other crew members, waking only when her assistant came to her door with breakfast in hand. She grinned slightly, excited at the prospect of docking. They had never put the ship to port to participate in the Festival of Light, and honestly she wasn't that interested in the festivities. All she wanted was more whiskey. Only one precious bottle remained in her liquor cabinet, and she intended to save it for as long as possible until she could get more.
She turned to her wardrobe, selecting a green poet shirt to go underneath her vest and navy blue coat. The coat was large, the bottom just brushing the ground as Aubrin walked, making her seem even shorter than she already was. This wasn't a problem, as she had already established that she would kill anyone who dared to call her short or small. It was common courtesy to kill the rude people of the world, was it not? She slipped off her nightgown and donned her selected outfit, along with baggy black pants and a thick leather belt that held her prized possession, a Damascus steel rapier. It also held several fighting knives and a pistol, along with a pouch for carrying a flask of whiskey. Last she slipped on a pair of black lace-up shoes with a slight heel, adding less than a half-inch to her stunted height. She glanced over at herself in the full-length mirror that leaned against the wall and gave her reflection a winning smile, grabbing a ribbon off her cherry dresser and tying what little hair could be pulled back into a wispy ponytail. She let out a self-preparing sigh out her nose, exaggerating the movement of her rising and falling chest before walking out the door.

The hall was quiet, as to be expected at the relatively early hour. She predicted that she had woken before Althea, a feat not easily achieved. She walked down a corridor of rooms, turning left once, then twice. The stillness in the air calmed Aubrin's normally wily spirit. When alone, she didn't have quite the same vigour as she did around others, save when she was with Asrai. Thoughts of Asrai turned to thoughts of the graceful lady's brother, Azar. A lazy, idiot of a grown man that still acted like a child, giving love to whoever would take it. Perhaps a bit like herself in some aspects, though Aubrin would deny the suggestion immediately. One thing Aubrin couldn't deny about the Quartermaster was that he was quite fair of face... she turned a corner to the right, Walking straight down the hall to the last door, which was locked. She reached in to her pocket and grabbed out a brass key, which fit neatly in the keyhole. She gave it a twist and strode purposefully into her workspace. She had to do at least a small amount of work before even considering breakfast.

The room was well lit, with the appearance of a study, with one bay-style window facing the wall opposite the door. Most of the space was taken up by a massive dark oak table, the top engraved with what appeared to be a star map. The wall to the left was covered in black tubes, laid out much like a wine rack. Each tube was capped, a white label placed on it with various types, regions, and dates written on them. Aubrin glanced over the wall before finally selecting three tubes, popping off the caps of each one neatly and grabbing the contents within, which were, as to be expected of her position, coiled maps. She rolled them out on the table for a moment before being satisfied and wrapping them back up tightly. She placed them in one of her coat's many pockets and strode out of the study.
Aubrin navigated the rooms and halls expertly, being one of the original members of the crew when it began. The ship was more a home than any other place had been to her, and her map-centric mind laid things out easily for her in her head so that she rarely got lost.

A flight of stairs later and Aubrin was in the mess hall. One of the biggest rooms of the ship, it was laid out like a military dining hall, with long tables that stretched from one wall of the room to the other. It could easily fit a hundred, though there was only fifty members of the crew. Only a few people were up, the group of early risers that Aubrin was normally not a part of. She walked over to the counter where food was served and gave a little cough before asking in an overly loud, husky voice, "hey Gibari, you back there?"

--

Klouví woke to a bucket of water to the face, a standard morning greeting for everyone's favourite prisoner on the Horizon. For the first few months he had fought and shouted when this happened, but after a while the pirates had broken him, in more ways than one. It hadn't been this crew that had injured his legs, but pirates in his mind were all the same. They would have easily slit his throat if they hadn't found a use for him, as their dog. He could easily change his name to mop and his life would be no different. No, better, as he accepted what he was. Dull eyes opened to gaze up at the dull ceiling, hands raising to press sopping black hair out of his face. He was disgusted by the length of it; a shaggy mess hat went an inch below his chin. It wasn't easy to get a hair cut, or buy clothes, or generally enjoy simple luxuries like that when you were a captive, the only escape being death by drowning.
These dark thoughts consumed him as he turned lazily to the thrower of his watery alarm clock.

"What the hell is it?" He asked. A little fire still kindled within him, piercing the darkness of his otherwise blurred existence. He could barb his tongue at them, flare their tempers and watch in amusement as they yelled empty threats and puffed up their breasts to assert their supposed dominance over him. Only dangerous creatures or those who wish to escape were kept in cages, and Klouví was the two in one. He finished his jab with a new line he had thought up during the night, "do you need help tying your shoes? you poor thing!" He received a blow to the head for this remark. He faced the wall, skull throbbing from the pain. He took a deep, bored sigh before sitting up, using his arms to lift what his legs could no longer, and focusing his attention to the pirate who had so abruptly woken him.

It was one of the usual folks that used him as a tool, dragging him around the ship and forcing Klouví to do pointless tasks. Once, in the first month he had been brought aboard the ship, he had been told to fill a keg that had a hole in it with water. He was forced to do this for several hours, going from the top deck to the kitchen with a pail that he refilled and emptied uselessly into the ever-thirsty keg. Just as exhaustion began to cloud the corners of his vision, his arms on fire from dragging his limp lower half down corridors and up stairs, the captain of the ship, the Rat Bastard, had come to his aid, stopping the laughing men and punishing them. Believing that the captain was either just mad at his men for wasting water, or a ruse to make Klouví worship the man and follow in his thieving footsteps, he had spat on his boots and refused to show any sign of gratitude.

The man looked much like a beluga whale, with a large, domed forehead and blubbery body. Comparing him to a beluga, whoever, is probably an insult to the beluga's intelligence, Klouví mused as he slowly strapped on his walking canes. For the most part he didn't bother learning their names, instead comparing them to objects or animals and calling them as such. His canes attached, he stood up, arms no longer shaking with effort as they once did. His arms were strong and muscular from having to pick up slack from his legs, and from the physical exertion he endured doing all the jobs he was assigned. Musicians didn't exactly He enjoyed some tasks over others, much preferring to work in the engine room than to do the worst of all tasks he was ever asked to do- clean the toilets. He grimaced at the thought, hoping it was not a job required of him today. He only half listened as Beluga-man barked at him to mop the mess hall, shoving the attachment piece for Klouví's crutch into his hand, and a bucket of soapy water. He had a variety of attachment pieces, all for different purposes, usually cleaning related. He didn't know who had built them, but they made his jobs much easier, as he didn't have to awkwardly hold on to his crutch while leaning forward to mop or grab something. I might get a chance to eat breakfast, he mused as he walked out of the bunk room and into the belly of the ship. He relied mostly on his crutches to walk, his legs often refusing to bend at the knee and only supporting a slight portion of his weight. The doctor of the ship, Asrai, had saved his legs, but couldn't heal them. She suggested to him that the cause behind his legs not working might be mental, not physical. This frustrated Klouví immensely. Did he not have control over his own body?

He walked into the mess hall, noting Aubrin Pykes standing near the place where food was served. He skirted around her, not in the mood to be swayed by her quick tongue. He limped over to the farthest corner of the hall and began mopping, pressing the rolls of fabric harshly into the soapy water. He put as much energy as possible in to these tasks to keep his mind and body sharp, if ever there was a chance he could leave this living hell. His thoughts turned to home as he began robotically repeating the same action over and over again, soaking the mop, wiping it across the floor, wringing it out, and repeat. His father wouldn't be searching for him, his shining star brothers already blinding his eyes to the black sheep that his youngest son was. His brothers had never liked him. His mother was dead. The only thing he had in his old life truly, was music and Alex. The thought of his close friend made his lips twitch upwards. Alex had probably gotten his degree already, and was working hard to get a job as an engineer. The only person who could handle Klouví's rampant personality and inspire him to love music again. His heart dropped when he realized he couldn't perfectly visualize his face, only a vague smudge of big lips, blonde hair, and bright, keen brown eyes. He flipped his focus to music. The harp piece for the recital he had been going to, he could remember every note. He began humming it idly, cradled by each rise and fall in tune. He faltered as he realized it was the first time he had sung since being a prisoner on the ship. Had he gotten so used to life here, that he could enjoy life normally again? That couldn't be true...
He focused again on his work, jaw tight, eyes cold as flint.

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Alcides had woken early, as he did most mornings. He rarely needed a wake up call. Sleeping was for the weak or tired. Yea, that's it, the tired. Sleep is for the tired. Even the strong get tired. Or so he'd heard.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon, sending its rays running across the surface of the water.

His first stop was the galley. The galley was the seafarer's version of what landlubbers called mess halls. Aboard ship, it was referred to as the galley; the place you eat your meals. Mr. Javian was busy in the kitchen preparing foodstuff for a meal. Alcides gave up greeting the head cook long ago. The old man just preferred to be angry all the time. Alcides was fine with that as long as he knew his place. The Baron helped himself to a cup of coffee, added a few drops of cream and a teaspoon of sugar; stirred it up and took the first sip. He smacked his lips, smiled and hummed a few bars as he headed out of the galley.

Alcides sipped at the coffee as he headed to sick bay. He wanted to check on the status of the injured crewmembers. Five men were injured during the last engagement. Chief Pompano had lost his left hand to a saber slash. The doc had bandaged him up, but he had spent the night in sick bay.

Mr. Demophon entered the treatment area to see a medic going over some records. She had her nose buried in the documents until the Bosun entered. Kalli smiled at Alcides, pushed her glasses up on her nose. "You checkin up on da boys, Mr. Demophon?" The young medic spoke with an odd accent. Alcides was unfamiliar with the twang. It may have come from the City of Ra. He wasn't all that familiar with the dialects.

"Aye," Alcides responded promptly. "Doc around?"

Kalli nodded her head with her lips puckered. "She fell to sleep in dere wid Couture, da old guy." Kalli pointed to a room off the way where operations were performed. "You can wake her if you want?" She suggested. He hesitated, "Or not. You can go in and see dem, but dey all sleepin now." She pointed to the bay where those patients too weak to return to their quarters slept.

"OK, thanks, Kalli," Alcides walked through the bay door after peering in at Dr. Uskose. Sure enough the young woman had her head on old man Couture's thigh, out cold. She must be exhausted,' Al thought to himself, watching the doctor sleeping in an awkward position.

There were twenty beds in the room, ten on each side. Five of the beds had occupants. The first bed on the right held Chief Pompano, one of the Gun battery NCOs on the port division. Alcides would ask the Doctor later if the veteran pirate would get a prosthetic to replace the missing hand.

Next to the Gun Chief, Alcides found Crewman Klendaro sleeping with a large bandage wrapped around her head. The right leg from the knee down was currently missing. The Bosun could see the outline of her limbs through the white blanket and sheet. She lost the limb in one of the first volleys that impacted upon the Ocean Horizon.

The third pirate in sick bay was Oliver Gordon Whitehead, someone whom the Bosun had taken a partiality to early on during his tenure aboard ship. Whitehead was one of those fellows who seems to know everyone and knows how to get whatever you need. He firmly gripped the gift of gab and could talk to a wall. Whitehead worked in the starboard storeroom for the Quartermaster. Today, Mr. O. G. Whitehead indeed had a white head as it too was wrapped in hospital gauze. Prognosis was grim for the gregarious quartermaster's mate. Shrapnel from an explosion had lodged itself in his forehead. The doctor had a great difficulty removing the piece of twisted metal.

The fourth member of the sick bay contingent was a mousy woman named Helena Falmouth. Helena was serving as bosun's mate, assisting Mr. Alcides Demophon with looking after the ship. When Alcides approached her bed, she stirred and looked up at him. In a whispered voice she spoke, "Hello Mister Demophon."

"Get some sleep, Miss Falmouth," Demophon responded to her in hushed tones. He patted her hand, admiring her strength. She had been tossed into a bulkhead, broke three vertebrae and five ribs. The doctor was unsure, but there was a chance she would never walk again. As soon as he patted her hand, she fell back into a deep slee.

Finally, Alcides came across Trenchen Cutler, a gunner in the port division. He was standing near Chief Pompano when that first volley struck the Ocean Horizon. A piece of shrapnel plunged into his left eye, breaking the bone high on the cheek and below his temple. It missed his brain by three millimeters, but he would be blind in that one eye for the rest of his life. There was no saving it. He felt bad for Mr. Cutler, but he felt bad for everyone in Sick bay this morning. None of them had the common cold or even the flu.

When he finished his visit to the sick bay, he made his way back to the engine room. Along hte way, he passed Klouví sulking his way into the galley. Alcides looked around to see if Shipmaster Pykes was around, but he did not see her. 'She must not be up yet,' Al thought to himself as he sipped his coffee continuing down the corridor to the rear of the ship.

Eventually, Alcides made his way to the engine room. Chief Grobbin, the Senior Maintenance technician was not on duty yet Crewman Lunderhorn was the senior man in the engine room. He chatted with the Bosun briefly about the drive system. It was purring like a kitten, taking no damage during the last encounter. Alcides was very pleased with what he found. Overall, the engine crew who worked for Chief Grobbin were all very efficient lads who worked well together. They were professional about their jobs and performed it very well. One thing the Ocean Horizon did not have to worry about was its propulsion system.
After completing his inspection of the ship's operating system, he made his way to the bridge. He would pass on an update to the officer of the watch and then to Fletch, when he saw him at breakfast back in the galley. Yes, he would need to return the coffee cup.

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My Characters
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Galileo Corporation
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Bakushima; Fantasy Feudal Japan

Best Days for RPing
Fri - Sun

"Hey Gibari, you back there?" Gibari was in deep meditation when the call came. Although his idea of meditating consisted of cooking, the mountain of a man often partook in real meditation methods to help control his anger. Food, however, worked better. To him there was nothing more poetic, or relaxing, then the culinary practice of crafting delicious meals. It was one the only things that truly calmed his outrageous temper. A temper that he was widely known for. So to call him out like that was to be courting death, or at least that's what Gibari would tell them. A wafting aroma quickly caught his senses, however, and he inhaled deeply. It was the Lamb, carefully roasting on a spit, which would then be added to the Ramen Noodle Soup he had been making for breakfast. The Lamb and Noodles were to be complemented with crisp Bok Choy Leaves and sliced Mushrooms then plunged into a meaty Broth that was mixed with Rice Vinegar, Ginger and a hint of Chilli Flakes. It was relatively easy meal to make but with enough care and careful dedication to detail, Gibari had perfected the dish.

Some might have thought it strange to be having ramen soup for breakfast. But for Gibari, the menu was decided by whatever he felt like cooking at the time. There had been many a morning where he had served the crew of the Ocean Horizon a full sunday roast. Although it certainly was peculiar, no one would dare complain. Lest they desired to be on the receiving end of Gibari's wrath, which usually involved his great-axe; Kojin. Slowly coming to from his meditation, Gibari recognised the voice. It belonged to Aubrin, Ship Master onboard the Horizon. He hefted his massive frame from the chair he had been sitting on and walked out into the servery. it was filled with stacks of plates and copious amounts of cutlery to match. Usually he would have a kitchen hand to help him prepare and serve breakfast, however, he had recently banished his latest helper for daring to suggest more Soy Sauce with his Crab Rangoon "Hey there, little lady." He began, his mood softened by her childish looks.

However, Gibari quickly noticed the cabin boy, Klouvi was his name, mopping the floors of the galley. The usual scowl fixed upon his face. Gibari glared at him, the Cook had taken a major disliking to the boy ever since the time when the scrawny kid had discarded a dish of his famous Rabbit Stew to the floor during one of his tantrums. 'Ungrateful little ****.' He thought. He was fortunate to still be alive. If it wasn't for the Captain, the boy would have been left to die or worse, picked up by another pirate crew and sold on as a slave. At least here he was safe, somewhat. Fletcher had never allowed anyone to harm the boy physically, he'd also given him food and offered him his own quarters but the kid only threw it back in his face by attempting to attack him. It grated at Gibari for him to disrespect the Captain like he did, which is why the rest of the crew acted similarly to how the Cook felt. Captain Fletcher had saved many of their lives, his own included, so to see this little whelp practically spit in the Captain's face, it was enough to make Gibari's blood boil. Turning back to regard the Ship Master, he forcefully changed his expression to a less angrier one, trying to take his thoughts off of the cabin boy. "What can I do you for?"



Fletcher had been sat facing the vast open skies for a while now. He could hear the other members of his crew beginning to stir. Life was returning to the Horizon. Soon the Main Deck would be filled with men and women going about their daily chores and his moments of peace would be lost to him. 'Time to move, then.' He decided. He stood suddenly, taking one last look out toward the horizon, the great Tower of Shoel was gradually coming more and more into view with every passing moment. And, with each one, Fletcher's heart grew more excited. He smiled, relishing the feeling, which was unduly interrupted by the low growling of his stomach.
He was hungry. Fletch wondered what Gibari had in store for them today. He often enjoyed The Angry Chef's cooking, his stews in particular. Merely thinking of the man's next delectable dish made him salivate. His turned on his heel and strode purposefully back towards the stairs leading down to the lower decks. As he did so, he was greeted by many of his crewmen and women. It was clear they respected him and Fletcher made sure to take the time to acknowledge everyone of them. Although it would take him longer to reach the galley, he didn't mind it at all.

"Heya Captain!" Came a shrill voice from behind. Fletcher stopped and turned to look who it was. He was greeted with the sight of a teenaged boy, barely older than he was when he left Shoel for the first time. The boy's name was Kai. He was the newest member of the crew, taken onboard only a week ago. Fletch had tasked Azar, his Quartermaster, with taking care of the boy and finding him a place on the ship. So far, he had been drifting around every part of the ship. Azar had done well to avoid his duty but Fletcher didn't mind too much. Kai seemed happy to float around and the crew didn't mind an extra hand. He was almost the polar opposite to Klouvi, another stray that he had found six months ago. That kid was trouble but Kai managed to fit in fine. It baffled him how to two could be so different.

"Well hey there, Kai." He replied. "You coming to breakfast?" He smiled at the kid. Kai's energy and happiness was certainly infectious but he possessed more than just high spirits. The boy was also a Shardstone User, something that everyone of the crew members living on the Horizon was. Some of them didn't know it yet, others did. But whether they did or not, Fletcher could tell. Thanks to his foster father's training and including the Archivist's final gift, Fletcher was one of the only human beings who could sense another Shard User. That was the reason why he kept Klouvi on board, whether he wanted to be here or not. Because if Cagen was right, then the boy wouldn't last in the world on his own.

"Of course!" Came the boy's reply, who bounded to his side. The pair of them then carried on down the hallway, headed for the galley. It didn't take them long to reach it, however, and soon they were greeted by the enchanting aroma of Gibari's latest culinary delight. Both Fletcher and Kai took in deep breaths then exhaled an audible sigh of joy. The large hall was starting to fill up now and Fletcher began greeting more of the crewmen around him.

"I wonder what the Chef has in store for us today." Fletcher said aloud and walked towards his seat at the table positioned at the head of the room. Once everyone else was seated, he'd say his morning speech, followed by a prayer, and then it'd be time to eat.

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Althea's footfalls gently ricocheted from the narrowing walls, until she cleared a series of four steps in one deer-like leap and landed at the entraceway to a single, nondescript doorway. It lead to the deepest part of the kitchens as a sort of "back door" hallway, and since it was not the main entrance (and not really closer than it) to many people, the door was typically only used by Gibari, whomever he had assisting him, and herself... barring the occasional poor soul that was sent to scrub potatoes under the Chef until his fingers bled as a well-deserved punishment. She rapped smartly on the door, leaning her head to the entranceway as though to pick up any minute sounds from within.

"Oi, Chef Gibari," she called, her low voice carrying well and resounding with more clarity that one would expect of such alto tones. She didn't have an accent that could be placed, mostly because it was a rather strange mixture of at least two; ironically enough, neither of them were the proper dialect of her birthland. It only seemed to make an appearance during specific vowels or when she was particularly irritated, but it definitely came through in the "ahr" of the Cook's first name. It was slight; a bit of an extension on the soft and a little roll of her tongue for the hard. Without waiting for a response, she gripped the doorknob and gave it a half-twist, lifted up, jiggled it a little, then gave it a solid kick to make it swing open with no resistance. This particular door might be a little stubborn, but on the other hand... it was better than a lock for anyone who didn't know it's trick. Just in case he hadn't heard the blow of her foot to the surface, she tossed in a casual "Comin' in, Chef," before stepping into the recesses of the cooking area. Unlike a great many of the inhabitants of the Ocean Horizon, Althea had never possessed the healthy dose of fear for the rage of the resident Cook; mostly because he had never given her any reason to do so. She had been warned, of course, by the few men who were trying to win her favor by giving her random advice, but from personal experience she had trouble following the advice of strangers. They had even given her colorful anecdotes from their own experiences, but she had been unmoved. These were the same men that said the Zika boy was "useless" and "a problem" when he had demonstrated nothing but courtesy and actual friendliness toward her (not that she hadn't seen how he behaved with the rest many of the others). She had seen the Chef in all of his angry glory as well, of course, but as long as it was not directed toward her (or her Master) she couldn't care less.

Gibari with his terrifying wrath, and Klouví with his dangerous attitude. Althea may have seen them both in action, but until they were directed toward her (or Aubrin) she did not view them as her problem. And she would not treat them as such.

Without waiting for any form of a response to her rather forward entrance or even looking around for the main occupant of the quarters, she simply continued. "Listen, d'you still have - Hm?" Althea cut off, jerking her head toward the main area of the galley and freezing like a hound who just caught a scent, her sensitive ears echoing with a very familiar voice. A half-beat passed where she seemed totally unaware of her immediate surroundings, but then her lips tilted in a small but very bright, genuine smile. She jogged from the depths of the kitchen to the front, rounding a corner so that she could see over the counter and into the galley where the crew normally took their meals, the Cook completely gone from her mind though he clearly stood right there.

"Master," she chirruped, her alto vocals seeming to lighten simply with the introduction of light that Aubrin's presence instilled. She broke into a slow jog again, but it picked up a small amount of speed as she entered the servery and without a single flicker of hesitation, Althea set her palm on an empty square of counter and vaulted her body over the wide surface. Her long legs flew over the expanse of plates and cups and cutlery, one leg trailing the other quickly without nicking even the uppermost tableware, her slim waist bending as though it were made of pliable leather or half-melted steel. Her body arced slightly as she lifted her hand and came down for the easy landing. At least... it would have been easy, had the water from Klouví's dedicated mopping not seeped over to the main traffic area, causing the tough tread of her footwear to be more akin to ice skates on a frozen pond. A person with quick eyes would have seen the surprised part of her lips as the floor slid beneath her boots, but the expression disappeared as intinct took over; her center of gravity dipped instantly and her inside leg bent, arms moving naturally to either side of her body for more balance. Her outside leg extended gradually the further she slid, but she came to a stop without gaining too much distance, using the remaining momentum to swing her body back up into an upright position. In the end, it almost seemed like one, smooth movement from jogging start to standing finish; best of all, she had landed precisely in front of the woman who had inspired the speedy approach.

Without even thinking, she turned to face the Ship Master, clasping her wrist behind her back and letting her smile falter into something a tad more respectful. "Good morning," she murmured calmly, unable to hid the genuine gladness in her voice. She inclined her head slightly as well, her unseen eyes intent on Aubrin's murky, storm-cloud optics as she raised it again. The few times that the navigator had woken ahead of her, the blind lass was usually afforded some response to her bright greeting that was not a sleepy grumble... but she wouldn't be surprised if she were to be denied it today. Althea fancied she could see a faint shadow beneath the Ship Master's beautiful eyes, and knowing that the older woman may not have slept well- or even be feeling poorly- felt like a physical hurt to her own self. The apprentice knew she shouldn't mention it, however... a handmaiden wouldn't profess to know a queen in such a way, and if she wanted to stay on in her current position she needed to maintain decorum. Speak if spoken to, and all that... The blind woman knew she already took liberties with her greetings and occasional quips.

With only a shadow of hesitation, as though she were considering saying something and decided against it, Althea took a smooth step to the far left side of the Ship Master, assuming her typical position in Aubrin's shadow. The raven-haired woman's dropped shoulders and languid posture denied her recent gymnastic display, as did her eargerly-subservient demeanor. Her hidden eyes took in the shorter woman's hair for a brief second, and she was forced to think of how the sunrise itself must envy such a gold.

Althea jerked her attention away with a hint of resistence, offering a smile to Gibari on the kitchen-side of the counter, one that looked like she was holding in laughter at some secret joke that they alone shared- with maybe a hint of apology for her totally thoughtless and hasty exit. In her defense, had she known Master Pykes to already be awake, she would never have been there in the first place. Another totally seperate smile found its way to the young man with inadequate step and the soaked rags, this one only tilting half of her mouth and just a little more hesitant. For all that it was, however, it held a note of indecipherable emotion that had been lacking thus far; something like concern, perhaps, though it was impossible to truly place without seeing her eyes. Althea seemed to prefer communicating with smiles or body language rather than words, though she had considered it might be a little difficult to understand when her eyes were so heavily concealed.

Aubrin stood at the counter, fingers tapping idly on the smooth black counter surface as she waited for Gibari to emerge from within the bowels of his beloved kitchen. The man had an obsessive passion for food, whether it be eating or cooking, and everyone knew. Aubrin had helped in the kitchen on one occasion, just to see if it truly was the hell people made it out to be. She had almost died from the impact of a soup ladle thrown at her head with frightening accuracy, having added too much spice to the chili. Aubrin's sense of taste and the Angry Chef's had obviously differed on that point.

However, Aubrin found that she was always treated kindly by Gibari, though she was banned from the kitchen for her so-called 'act of sabotage' and still endured his fits of rage that happened daily. She was careful not to joke about his anger management issues, afraid that the next projectile thrown at her would be much more menacing than a glorified spoon.
She watched as Gibari emerged in all his thick-girthed glory,greeting her and asking what she required. She glanced around furtively, lowering her voice to a reedy whisper.
"Hey, think you cou-" she began, before being cut off by another person emerging from the bowels of the kitchen.

It was immediately obvious who it was, the facial contraption giving Althea Thune a silhouette easily recognized from miles away. Almost like a light-bulb finding its on switch, Althea's face filled with happiness as she gazed into Aubrin's eyes. Inside herself, a motherly instinct fluttered, wanted to take her assistant and hug her tightly, but it was suppressed by her sense of duty to keep their relationship professional, if pirates could fit under any definition of the word. Aubrin watched in amusement as Althea's eyes lit up, her pace increasing in the race towards her master. It was an unhealthy obsessed that the blind girl had with her, for sure, but the feeling of being needed always trumped other concious thought. Aubrin remembered the day they first met vividly, in an alley similar in state to Aubrin's former home. She was a confirmed Shard user, that much about the girl she knew. Aubrin knew about the Shards, though her knowledge was limited at best. She herself was quite aware of her ability to communicate with avian creatures, something you couldn't quite ignore as random when a seagull began swearing loudly in your ear for food.

Althea launched herself over the counter that Aubrin herself was leaning against in eagerness to greet her with the grace of a bird, landing smack dab in front of the Ship Master. Althea bobbed her head respectfully, mouth tilted into a sort of besotted grin. Aubrin gave her the standard pat on the head before Althea sidled behind her, a three dimensional shadow. Before resuming her conversation with the Cook, Aubrin felt her pocket, as if just remembering the maps they contained. She turned to Althea, practically bursting with excitement at her recent discovery. "Kardia Themus is changing course." Aubrin enjoyed this little game, where she provided the knowledge-hungry Althea with a scrap of information before returning to her daily activities, making the poor apprentice wait as long as possible before filling in the details.

Kardia Themus was a giant storm that had been encircling the Earth ever since it had flooded. It cycled in a strange, five point star shape, never deviating from the set path. Unlike many storms that were unpredictable, Themus could easily be tracked according to the season. The fact that it was deviating in it's path was very strange news indeed. Aubrin turned back to the cook, her voice low but not hidden from Althea. She wasn't worried if the girl heard; her apprentice would tell no one, unless it was requested of her to. Aubrin tried not to extend her almost goddess-like powers over the blind girl too harshly, and did not want to test the limits of how far Althea would go before putting her foot down at her master's commands.

"Listen, d'you have-" Aubrin's voice lowered to a reedy whisper as she leaned across the counter, "any whiskey?" She drew herself up, head tilted high to gaze up at Gibari's face, "I'm dying for a sip, and I'm down to my last bottle. Don't know if you using it for cookin' or whatever, but I can definitely make it worth your while." Her eyes held a hopeful glow, murky green peering into dark brown. She found herself losing focus, distracted by his ludicrous head-dress. The thing was almost always on his head, adorned with a mass of ribbons and two large horns. She stifled a chuckle, hiding it behind a cough as she lifted a fist over her mouth.

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Klouví continued to mop the floor, his spirits hampered by the thought that he might be getting used to life aboard the Horizon. The song that had escaped his lips was evidence of that, a little piece of him, the one thing that truly made him happy, slipping through the cracks of his despair. But to sing, he had to have the will, feel at ease. Was he at ease here, on a ship of thieves? He scowled, throwing the mop into the soapy water with a little more force than necessary. No, he thought, no matter how long I'm here, how hard these people try to buddy up to me, I refuse to break.

He had now worked his way from the corner of the room to between the main tables, perspiration building up at his forehead. The urge to sing burned within him, but he resisted firmly. He couldn't prevent his restless fingers from twitching, plucking at invisible harp strings. His fingers were rarely still, always at work whether they had to be or not. Sometimes he would will them to cease moving, and they would, but then his foot would begin to tap, or his arms would cross and uncross repeatedly.
Klouví's thoughts were abruptly interrupted, however, by the entrance of a certain man. It was as if by instinct that he always knew where the Rat was, his heart burning inside him whenever he was in the same room as the Captain.

The man is evil, Klouví thought, somehow making his way near the source of his hate. Normally a deep dislike for someone caused you to avoid them, but the opposite was true for Klouví. His obsessive hate for Fletcher caused him to somehow inexplicably end up wherever the captain was. The cripple never took action on the dangerous thoughts that went through his head when he was around Fletcher, though the thought of strangling the man always brought him pleasure. He glowered like a gargoyle, ten feet away from the main table, ocean coloured eyes boring holes into Payne's back. He continued to mop, though he was less focused, his gaze casting downwards only when he went to rinse the mop.

The water in the bucket was now a murky brown, and likely in need for a change, though Klouví disregarded its state, too focused on mentally ridding the world of Fletcher G. Payne repeatedly. The galley was always in constant need of cleaning, booted feet trailing mud and all sorts of disgusting things across the floor three times a day. One particularly gruesome day the floor had been the colour of a man's insides from one end to the other. Klouví would never forget the smell of a dead man, which he had been lucky enough never to experience, until he was brought aboard the Horizon. His eyes had stung, the cloth covering his mouth not keeping away the wish to puke. Aubrin had admired him for not losing his lunch during the cleaning, being the 'rich pretty-boy' that he was. The Ship Master had then suggested that it was perhaps the life Klouví was fit for, a statement to which the cabin boy had resolutely turned away and struggled on his crutches to leave the hall.

His eyes changed focus for a moment, dragged away from Fletcher at the thought of the short Ship Master. She was speaking with the cook, Gibari. The back of Klouví's neck stood on end at the thought of the massive, mountain of a man. Having made the mistake of unceremoniously discarding one of the chef's meals on to the floor, he knew that any encounter longer than twenty seconds with the man would get him killed.

Klouví watched as the door behind Gibari swung open, revealing Althea Thune. He watched as she made a brief exchange with Gibari before launching herself over the counter top. His keen eyes widened as she slipped slightly on the floor before the girl, in a split second, corrected herself, and landed perfectly in front of Aubrin. She has the grace of a dancer, Klouví mused, swirling the mop around on the floor idly. He was used to be surrounded by people with fine arts skills such as dancing or playing an instrument, and he marked her grace to be that of a dancer from the minute they met. He often wondered about her past, how someone like her would end up on the Ocean Horizon, and how that awkward contraption became a part of her face. He longed to break the obsessive affection that Althea showed towards Aubrin, though progress on that front had been slow, if non-existent. He blinked as she seemed to look towards him for a moment, a smile gracing the only part of her face visible, the rest hidden beneath glass and bronze. He longed to see her eyes, even if they were just white, blank orbs. It was a fascination that Klouví had, much like many of the crew, though he voiced it less harshly than some, if he ever did. He offered her a weak smile before deciding that he had spent too much time daydreaming, and returned to focusing on his work.

His stomach began to protest at so much work before breakfast, but Klouví ignored the pain, as he did on a daily basis. He wasn't poorly fed, so to speak, but the tasks given to him were often put before any thought of appeasing himself with food. Some days he simply wouldn't eat at all, feverishly overwhelmed with the desire to complete one particular job without stopping. Physical work was one way that the prisoner ignored the horrifying reality of being captured, forgetting himself in often repetitive tasks. He was like a cantankerous spirit that haunted the Ocean Horizon, longing to be freed from its chains. He had heard that they would be docking for the Festival of Light, and he held on to the weak embers of hope that gleamed inside him that maybe, this time, he could escape.

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Kiana alversone felt a shiver like ice slide down her spine. It was like someone took their fingers that were dipped into ice like water, and then slowly slid those fingers carefully down the incline of the back. A similar shiver touched the heels of the feet and tips of the fingers causing her to jolt awake into an upright position holding her fingers in fists. The room was dark .

She heaved a sigh as the cold slowly seeped away.Her bare toes slid onto the cold floor of the ship.Naturally, The floor was colder than usual because of the shard ability. She reached for the lamp that rested atop a small brown oak table. Flickers of light lit up the room casting a shadow on a rose bureau straight across from the bed- made of the finest wood. Next to it is a bookcase filled with dusty books with instructions on how to build particularly defunct weapons, or stories about past sky adventurers. On the opposite side of the bed was a paper with instructions on how to make another unique weapon. The rest of the room was rather bare aside from a bathroom that attached to it.

Her door to the room was locked shut with a kitchen chair pushed against it. Men on board have begun to take drastic measures to try and get to places that they should never touch unless permission is granted. It looked as if the long expedition took it’s toll on the men gravely here. Not that she wouldn't slide for a handsome boy to be in bed with her;but only a few would even be placed into such a category.

The robe she was wearing adorned hugged her curves , and the tasseled locks of hair expressed the fright that had woken her up. Before addressing the issue of clothes-the furniture blocking the door was a more pressing matter.She walked over to the chair, lifting it up with one hand, and tossing it like a champ against the wall shattering the chair. Another chair lost for the Chef. I owe you one never felt so good in this situation. One day that chef will just stop her from stealing his chairs.

After clearing the chair from the door she walked over to the bathroom. The bathroom was rather large. A blue ocean wallpaper , and tan tiles greeted her. A silver counter that had an arrangement of skin care, hair care, teeth care, and women care products lined the edge of it around a white sink. Next to the counter was a nice toilet, and across from the toilet was a large tub. If there was one thing she liked it was a clean bathroom and a large tub.

Thirty minutes passed before leaving the bathroom. Her hair was wet, but she smelt nice. At last she got dressed into a long white shirt that started just above the chest made of lace with gold buttons that had a slit on her left leg ,then slipped on black leather and gold trimmed booths that went up to her knees. A purple pirate hat adorns her head.She left her room heading down the hall and headed for the mess hall. A few rather chirpy cremates tried to give a sly cat call to her, but each one ended up walking away with almost frostbitten fingers.The rest of the trip was rather quiet.


The mess hall was just starting to get crowded. Of course , getting here late was not apart of the plans. There was a major breakthrough with he creation of a certain weapon prototype that needed just a tad bit fixing before Captain Fletcher could place a single eye on it. So being here early would have been the better plan. Fletcher was greeting the crewman one by one as if they were his best friends. However, her brain was still contemplating about the next the next prototype weapon, and how she needs to rework the catalyst for it.

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