Open Carry Yer Tunes in a Rusty Bucket

[Calara Driftsong]

It was a rainy evening, and the BlackShip rolled gently on the waves as she sailed quiet through open waters. At least, Calara would have said the rolling was gentle. But then again, she had been through worse weather in smaller vessels, and the argument could be made that her judgement on the matter was biased. Regardless, the otter was happy enough to be finished with her work for the day. It was all well and good to be soaked through the fur, but sometimes a beast just wanted to get her dinner and her ration of grog and enjoy the company of her shipmates.

Which was why she was making her way straight to the mess, her rudder leaving a soggy trail behind her as she went.

She could hear the hum of conversation before she stepped inside, and the sound started her heart glowing. This was half the reason she was a seabeast. Companionship and camaraderie. Nonsensical arguments and dice and card games. Tasty food.

The otter was all grins and friendly greetings as she passed between the messhall tables to get her rations from the galley.

"Soggy evening out there, isn't it? Nice to see you in here, mate. Did you see that sky at sunset? Bet we're in for better weather tomorrow, at least."

It didn't take her long to get a bowl of soup and a mug of grog. It didn't take much longer for her to finish both. And it didn't take long after that for the grog to, as the saying goes, make her heart merry. And Calara, like many, many otters and many, many seabeasts before her, was, under the circumstances, prone to singing. Unfortunately, despite Calara's skill in various other areas, she had never been a singer. Yet what she lacked in ability she made up for with enthusiasm, and a giddily off-key rendition of one of the Imperium's favorite shanties could be heard well beyond the galley.

"What do we do with a drunken seabeast?
What do we do with a drunken seabeast?
What do we do with drunken seabeast?
Early in the mornin'?"

 

[Cryle]

"Toss her in the sea and be rid of her," Cryle grumbled to herself, hunkered over a table with her hat pulled low over her head. Her bowl, empty of soup, was filled with tiny screws and bits of engineering, with her toolkit spread open beside her spoon, and half a pocket watch open in front of her, it's innards glimmering in the swaying lamplight whenever the ratmaid's hat shadow moved away.

She'd almost got the flint striker settled in, but the lack of fussy metal bits and machining tools on the ship meant she had to carve each cog wheel by paw out of wood, and such elemental conditions as rain and sea were not helping in keeping these the size they were required to be.

And she wasn't allowed to nip any gunpowder from stores to fill the detonation chamber, so even if she did get it working, her exploding pocket watch was just... a pocket watch that went click. When it worked.

Which it wasn't.

Because of the weather.

And now there was singing, on top of all the slurping and belching and why did she think this was a good place to work? Right, because the tables were temporary and swinging about in a hammock during times like this were not optimal, not at all... Where was that terrifying badger with his beautiful, soothing music, tonight?

Cryle sighed and bumped her head into the table with a soft thunk. Her teeth ached. She needed to gnaw something, or punch a sibling, or...

Korya plopped down next to her with a bowl of soup, and proceeded to slurp as loudly as possible, ending each one with a hearty, satisfied, Ahhhhh! and a smack of lips.

Cryle crumpled her hat brim at the sides and stuffed her ears with her paws, sobbing with a high-pitched, keening wail.

"Cryle? What's wrong?" Korya tapped her friend's shoulder, then shook her gently. "I'm just off shift, don't cry...le! We can spend some time together! Tell me about your stamp machine!"

"I'm going to go swimming," the rat muttered, stuffing her tools away and cramming the pocket watch and bowl-screws into their bag, where everything fell apart all over again. "Don't let the ship wait for me."

"Oh, wonderful idea!" Korya beamed. "I love swimming." She raised her voice, calling over the din of song and snacking, "Hey, Calara! You're an otter, want to go swimming with us!?"

Cryle tipped herself over on the bench and curled up into a little crimson-swaddled ball.