Open Mettle

[Griblo Jankweed]

Griblo had barely finished tying off the line when a sharp little elbow jabbed him in the ribs.

Korya was grinning up at him like she'd pilfered an entire bushel of ripe strawberries.

"Lover!? Don’t make me gag!" Griblo bent at the waist and made a dramatic retching noise over the rail. "Me ’n’ Ruff!? Naw! Oi found dat fox in a gutter, half drowned in ’is own sorrows, an’ ’elped drag ’im ’ome!"

He snorted, flicking his whiskers.
"Den I saw ’is home… an’ decided ’twas safer if I moved in an’ became ’is own persunul loife coach! Beast needed m’ help somethin’ fierce." His grin softened a hair. "But… aye. Homin’ together has a way o’ makin’ ye care for de guy. Oi just ’ope ’e don’t do somethin’ stupid while I’m out earnin’ ’is next ’ouse payment."

Korya punched him in the shoulder, hard enough that his bones rattled.
"Oi! Watch it, you lil’ cannonball! Yer lucky I like ye enough not ta throw you overboard."

She cackled brightly, her wild energy on full display as she promised chowder and worse jokes. But as she turned toward the galley, Griblo saw it: the dimming around her edges. The way the shadows swallowed her confidence. The stiffness in the set of her ears.

He didn’t say anything sentimental; that’d only make it worse.
But he lifted a paw in farewell and pitched his voice just loud and clear enough to where she could follow it.

"Oi, Korya! Mind the lip o’ the companionway. Two steps down, d'en hard left. An’ save me a biscuit, eh!?"

A small, grateful flick of her tail told him she heard.

Griblo sighed into the salt-sweet wind.

The BlackShip heaved beneath him, timbers groaning like a beast waking from a long sleep. Bully Harbor was shrinking behind them, rooftops glittering like spilled coins.

"Don’t get yerself killed, ya daft fox…" he murmured toward the city. "I’ll be back afore collec-shins comes ’round."

Suddenly, a shout snapped his attention sideways.

Boatswain Frogear was nose-to-breastplate with Friedrich, who loomed over him like a siege tower.

"…Yeah, that’s my cue t’ be somewhere else," Griblo muttered under his breath.

He sidled three paces away, trying to make himself look very busy with a coil of rope, reverse looping so it could unspool without twisting.

Once the tension eased (or at least redirected itself somewhere that wasn’t his spine), Griblo exhaled, and untucked the partial manifest from under his vest, and made for the hatch leading below.

Assistant Purser Jankweed had work to do.

He strutted past a pair of deckswabs who were gawking at the open sea.
"Oi, clear out. Assistant Purser comin’ t'rough!"

They stared at him like he’d grown a second tail.

Good.

He grinned and patted the rail as he descended toward the forward storerooms.

"Right then, BlackShip," he muttered with a scrungly little chuckle. "Show me where ye hide the treasures worth countin’."

 

[Friedrich Nähenerv]

Friedrich turned quickly towards the bosun. Frogear was his name, he knew it from the crew list he thoroughly studied as part of organising his own records and figuring out who would be least cared about should he need a test subject. Quickly, Friedrich assessed him. He was large (for a rat) and loud. Perfect sergeant, horrible commander. Friedrich never understood why so many beasts thought being loud was a way to show authority. When he was a captain, serving on the frontlines, he never yelled. He simply stated what would happen to those who would fail him. It always worked and many beasts actually needed but his grin, growl or gaze to act orderly.

Adding all that, he was unimpressed, unbothered with the rat. Sure he knew chain of command, but he was NOT going outside of it by overseeing other beasts. Especially not as a beast that was both meant to do trauma surgery and first aid as well as fighting. Baring his manually filed-till-sharp teeth, he hit the deck with the butt of a handle of his warhammer and leaned on it, looking down at the bosun.

"You are ze officer ja. But zat doesn't mean you are ze only one who can overzee das werk. You cannot be everywhere at once und beasts are more efficient vhen someone gives zem a rythm. All-zo, beasts should zee zat their medik ist among them. Unseen doktor doesn't improve morale. I am doing all zhat my function expects me to." The giant rabbit had stated, showing nothing but cold professionalism. Did he care about getting punished? To an extend yes, mostly for reputation reasons. But he otherwise wouldn't allow for any beast, safe for the captain, to get to order him around. After all, where boatswains were responsible for organising sailing's crew work, Friedrich was meant to make them all be able to work as efficiently as possible.

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

Returning her husband’s smile, she nodded in understanding. Each ship, as far as she was concerned, harboured a soul of its own: its feel, handling and behaviour felt as unique as any living beast’s individual personality. The mechanics of sailing ever remained the same, but getting used to the BlackShip’s way of being would take a little time and she was keen to see how not only herself but the Captain would relate. She watched Cryle scurry to the cabin with raised brows, nudging Jeshal. “Can’t put me paw on exactly why, but I like that liddle snip,” she murmured to her husband with a nod to the doe’s retreating form. “Think she’ll pick it up quick. Be good to have solid navigation aboard.”

Her gaze returned to sweep the deck, and though the sight of a particular ferret caught her attention he could not hold it: there was something brewing between that immense rabbit and the Boatswain. Much as her suspicions were calling about unusual behaviour the potential of an argument seemed, for now, to outweigh her curiosity. Ugh, responsibility. Her brush flicked. “Want me to go ‘ave a word on deck, Jesh?”

 

[Vilde Isdatter]

Now that the ship was properly underway and tasks beginning to be divvied out, Vilde took the opportunity between orders to approach the well-dressed fox who looked to be having a playfight with the deck. She kept half an ear on the argument brewing on deck, trusting that it would sort out one way or another.

"Hei, friend," the wildcat said to Cordan. "I like the way you do battle!"

@Dusk Rainblade (Cordan LeConte)

---

Within the bustle of the galley, someone new stomped into Korya's vicinity. Her voice was a barked alto.

"Pay attention to those pots, Brindlecoat, I want to see the bottom of 'em, not yesterday's gruel! Sudsy, pick up them trays before you trip over them. Again."

There was the sound of a cardboard box being thumped onto the other end of the table Korya was using and then the owner of the weasel footsteps approached.

"Preykova, is it? S'pose your noodles aren't bad, but on this ship you answer to me. I'm Cook Caramella and not nearly as sweet. That said, the more you keep your paws busy, the more I'll let your tongue wag."

@Korya

---

"... to be captain one of these days, ho yes," Brasseye the quartermaster waffled to himself from inside the storeroom he'd locked himself in. "They'll all see how diljunt I am. I'll get extra booty and three times the tots, I will. Thank you, Captain Ironclaw, sir, I won't let you down. Brasseye's a ferret who knows his way round the stores and keeps 'em in order. Wait, did I count that one already? Ugh, furballs, I'll start again."

He crossed out his most recent tally on the clipboard and began recounting bottles. "One... two..."

@Griblo Jankweed

---
​

The smack of the hammer butt on the deck made Frogear flinch. He was forced to draw himself up and puff out his chest even though the sight of the rabbit's teeth made him want to go to the little rat's room.

"I know my job, sawbones! It ain't yours! Youse got a problem with what I'm telling you, you takes it up with the captains. My voice is the one what's yelling your duties. We ain't in combat yet, ye great flopear! Pipe it down or go help the newbies with their rope burns if yore so set on coddling yore shipmates!"

@Friedrich Nähenerv

 

[Corda LaConte / Cordan LeConte]

Cordan started at the interruption to his duel, straightening up and looking momentarily taken aback by the wildcat's compliment. A moment later he swept his hat off his head into a deep bow, mop out to his side in a misplaced performance of courtly etiquette. "Why thank you, my lady," he addressed his crewmate, his high voice mimicking an Amaronian accent already a century out of date. "This stubborn stain shall not defeat me, I swear it! Though I need do battle night and day, the time shall come in which this blight is eradicated by my paw! Here," he decided, pulling off his own cloak, the fine fabric shimmering slightly. "If you must walk over it, my lady, let me first lay down my cloak. Let not its baseness befoul your paws."

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

The studious rattess's response to his orders proved some amusement. Jeshal kept his crooked smile throughout her queries about whether they would stop off at Merith Cove. She didn't give him a chance to answer them yet, however, so he simply listened and prepared the answers for later. Perhaps it could prove useful indeed to get discounted items, depending on what said items were, if they weren't staple supplies from the harbour. For now, they were stocked for this voyage, and he hadn't got them roped into rigid supply contracts. Doubtless MinoComm or MinoWar would send him paperwork to that effect eventually and iron out further details as to how much freedom his commission gave him.

Jeshal arched a brow when Cryle blurted that she hadn't copied from 'his' map. He decided not to let her know that it was just a bog standard copy from the ministries. She'd work it out when she got a closer look. Unless she was worried about copying even that and getting into trouble. In any case, off she went down the stairs toward the maindeck and his cabin. He grinned at Tanya's remarks on the training navigator and gave a nod to her assessment. Once Cryle had settled, he agreed she would make a fine asset if kept to task.

As he readied to follow, he gave a small snort at the continuing discussion on the deck, unheard from where they were.

"Aye, admiral," he replied to Tox on the matter with a sympathetic yet teasing smirk, "the input would be most appreciated."

The captain made his way down the stairs and called across to Calara, then the crew at large.

"Driftsong! Take the helm! All hands trim sail to a light venture through these open waters 'til we have our heading."

With that, he made after Cryle.​

 

[Calara Driftsong]

Take the helm. Calara's heart soared. Her palms tingled with the anticipation of feeling the sturdy, worn wood of the ship's wheel in her paws. And best of all, her rising vexation with the giant rabbit surgeon faded into inconsequence.

"Helm! Aye, Cap'n!"

The big otter bounded across the deck to the helm and closed her paws on the handles, her teeth bared once again-- this time in a feral grin that splayed her whiskers out in a fan around her muzzle. She had sailed on many vessels. Big ones. Small ones. Roughly average ones. Some had been nimble and lightly responsive. Others had been, for lack of a better word, rather barge-like. (In point of fact, several of them had actually been barges.)

Not a single one had been an Imperial warship. She could feel the difference from the very first moment. As the rest of the crew went to the lines and the sails, the otter lowered her voice to a murmur and addressed the ship herself.

"Alright, my beauty. Shall we be friends?"

Her bright blue eyes lifted to the horizon, and she nudged the wheel just enough to set them on a shallow, easy arc through the waves.

 

[Cryle]

Cryle stood and saluted the Captain's door. There was somebeast standing beside it, perhaps a guard, perhaps someone who just wanted to lean against the bulkhead for a moment. She didn't know, and didn't question it. She just pawed at the door to open it with a quick, "Captain's orders, I'm to chart a course, need maps," and bobbed inside.

It wasn't the size of it that amazed her, but the emptiness. To just be free of somebeast standing behind her, breathing down her neck, gazing over her shoulder, snoring in her ear...

She unbuckled the little tube strapped to her baldric, and placed it on the desk. A late addition to her Adventure Supplies, the Map Tube was stuffed just about as full as she could safely get it, with charts, maps, and a proper Official Imperial Star Chart, which had been missing quite a few that she'd had to add in from her notes.

She did a little dance then, as some part of her brain registered the unclicking of the map tube as the unclicking of a belt, and suddenly things were trying to move through her body at a faster pace than normal. As much as she wanted to snoop and sniff around some, there were more urgent matters to attend to. As well as footsteps behind her, as if somebeast were breathing down her neck and gazing over her shoulder.

Her ears flattened and she turned around slowly, still squirming, tail agitated enough to make loops upon itself.

"Privy," she squeaked, gazing at the Captain's chin with an expression somewhere between blank terror and cosmic horror. "Please?"

 

[Korya]

Korya's ears were starting to get tired out. Flattening with embarrassment, perking with pride, swivelling like a confused party-goer who had just arrived to find no-one to take their coat and no idea where or who the host was... She just hunkered down - which is to say stood on tip-paws - and kneaded dough into balls, which she piled up to her side.

"Aye, cook," was all she said, at first, and listened to the pattering of her peers as potatoes were peeled and various pots and pans were passed about around and above her.

Brindlecoat, another wildcat, was the Mean One, she decided. The one who had yelled at her for the spice mishap the other day, while the cook had been out. Brindlecoat was sassy and outspoken, always bringing up the mistakes of others while flustering over her own. A perfectionist, a prissy-paws, and Korya rather wished she could see just so she could see Brindlecoat trip on Sudsy's trays and go sprawling and bawling.

Sudsy, on the other paw, was the Nice One. A gangly stoat jill who didn't seem all that confident of what her limbs were doing in any given moment. Quiet-voiced, soft-tempered, a real feet-in-the-clouds, head-in-the-sand type - oblivious to a little too much, and prone to pratfalls. Apparently she'd been given a wooden helmet made from a cracked bowl to strap on so she wouldn't damage the kitchen with her thick skull. Korya liked her; she smelled clean. The origin of the nickname was still off-limits to discuss, however.

There were other helpers - currently trying to get some sleep, as the galley never would, so Korya had not formed an opinion of them at the moment, though she'd bumped into them in passing in the days leading up to the journey.

"On your left, Biscuits," said Sudsy, brushing her arm with a paw. "New tray... these are looking good. You're good at biscuits, Biscuits. Nice and round!"

"Um... are you calling me Biscuits?" said Korya, frowning a little.

"It's a good name, isn't it? You're making biscuits, and purring and kneading, that's a cat thing, that's a thing cats do, innit?" Brindlecoat snorted from across the galley. She was purring, wasn't she? It happened when she was sad or nervous, it was soothing. Korya stopped. "Why, what name would you pick?"

"Frost Fang," said Korya, immediately. Brindlecoat snorted and guffawed from across the galley.

Sudsy stared at her in awe until her wooden bowl-helm tipped over her eyes. "That's such a cool name," she said. Korya preened.

And then kept making biscuits, making sure not to purr. Only a few hundred more to go...

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

Griblo paused at the storeroom door, ears twitching. He’d expected the knob to turn, but it resisted as though the room was locked. The nerve of it all! However, on his second attempt to ensure that he was indeed being kept from where he was needing to go, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the door frame had warped just enough that with a small shove, the door latch gave way with a metallic clack.

Griblo gave a satisfied smirk, dusted off his paws, and made his way in with purpose.

Inside, lantern light flickered. A ferret stood among the crates, clipboard in paw, lips moving silently as he counted bottles. His right eye caught the light with a spark, briefly unnerving Griblo until he saw the brass eye, polished dull with wear.

The ferret startled hard, nearly dropping the board.

“How’d you get in ‘ere!?” Brasseye snapped, tail lashing. “I just got me count back straight, an’ now... Gates above, ye made me lose it!”

Griblo’s grin came easy as he stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click that did not remotely sound secure.

"Oi, don’t look so wounded, mate!" He laughed and clapped Brasseye on the back, friendly and solid. "Ye’d better be countin’ an’ not pinchin’ supplies now, haw haw!"

Brasseye stiffened at the contact, twisting away with a scowl. “Door was locked.”

Griblo glanced at the latch, then down at the warped frame, one brow lifting.

"Didn’t seem locked up tight t’ me, none." He shrugged. "If’n ye want t’ keep beasts out, best have a word with the carpenter, mate!"

Brasseye opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut, jaw working. “This is quartermaster business.”

Griblo was already moving.

He drifted past a stack of barrels, fingers tapping lids, eyes scanning chalk marks and stamped seals. He crouched to peer into an open crate, nose twitching as he checked the level inside, then straightened, humming faintly to himself.

"Griblo Jankweed," he said casually, not looking back. "Assistant Purser. Y'do yer job now, an' let me do mine."

That earned him a sharp look.

“Assistant,” Brasseye repeated flatly.

"Only fer now," Griblo replied, cheerful as ever. "'Till ol' Ironclaw see's me value 'n' 'ard work! Means I keep me paws in the ledgers, same as you. Can't be too trustin' of any one beast now!"

He turned then, eyes finally settling on Brasseye’s face, lingering a fraction too long on the brass eye.

"Oh ho! Ye wear yer fortune on yer face too?" His grin widened, genuine this time. "That’s a look, mate. Beast o’ style. One after m’ own heart."

Brasseye bristled. “Don’t touch the stores if you ain’t been told.”

Griblo, of course, was already doing exactly that.

He lifted a clipboard from a hook, compared it briefly to Brasseye’s tally, then set it back without comment. He nudged a crate into line with his boot, adjusted a lid, and gave one barrel a thoughtful knock.

"Relax, mate," he said lightly. "Ain’t here t’ steal yer thunder. Jes’ makin’ m'self familiar with de booty is all! Don't want any disappearin' now without us knowin'."

Brasseye’s ears flattened. “I work better alone.”

Griblo’s tail flicked, slow and amused.

"Aye, well," he said, settling himself comfortably against a crate of potatoes as if he belonged there. "Looks like ye don’t get that luxury no more."

The lantern crackled gently. The ship creaked. Two ferrets stood among the stores, neither inclined to move. Griblo Jankweed's face a picture of meddlesome glee at the frustration he was causing.

"What ye gonna do, boot me out fer doin' me job? Tha’tain’t in the spirit of bein' one crew, now is it?"

@Vilde Isdatter

 

[Freya McFjorl]

Soaring high, high above, dancing forward and back in the gentle bucking of the ocean's surf, perched the lookout point of The BlackShip—the crow's nest on her mighty main mast. On a Beast-of-War such as herself the nest was far more than a simple barrel hammered to the side of the mast. No, this one was pawcrafted with love and attention. The black rim of the structure, worn soft and smooth by the oils of the paw, held lifetimes of memories.

Sharp, cool wind whistled around the shrouds and crosstrees, ruffling the feathers of the few missertross gulls that saw fit to roost so high and the thick, insulated fur of the beast contained within that crow's nest. What Freya wouldn't do to be able to squeeze the edge of that black rim and be transported back to view the ship's storied past from this very spot... so many years spent in dry dock, and now this beautiful ship gets to ride the waters again...

"ALL HANDS ON DECK, YEW LUBBERS! GIT YOUR PAWS AND CLAWS TOPSIDE! CAPTAIN'S ORDERS! ON THE DOUBLE! LINE UP! LINE UP! ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Frogear's commandments pierced the distance and wind with ease, landing on Freya's ear hard enough that it twitched with the dreadful pitch. Smoothing back the fur that it momentarily ruffled, she took her eyes off the sea and ventured a gaze downward to watch beasts of all shapes and sizes swarm out onto the maindeck. From this high they looked almost like ants descending on the last crumbs of a meal, swarming up out of the hive and coming to attention—and they swarmed around their Captain: Jeshal the Ironclaw.

Her attention snapped back out to the harbour and its dangers, lingering only momentarily on her place in the structure of beasts bringing life to the ship. She wouldn't be able to hear much, if anything, from this high up... and the job needed to be done. With a grunt that could only be disapproval, she brought her attention back to her duty... but leaned her ear against the calling trumpet, hoping to catch anything that might drift up.

"—Crew o' the BlackShip, prepare ter make sail for a run ter Pricklee Pointe! ... We move for glory, for plunder, and bellies full of Pricklee's fish'n'tater stew!"

"WEIGH ANCHOR!"

For the last, she didn't even need the trumpet. The raucous cheer of beasts cut over the wind, cold—everything—to send a shiver of pride up her spine that forced out a companionable 'whoop!'. A nearby gull let out an affronted 'caw!' in response, its nap disturbed further by her vocalizations.

This was it—it was time to go! Squeezing her eyes shut for a last moment of blissful darkness before the true work of lookout began, she sat forward, gripped the rim of the nest a little tighter, and focused on the edge of the Beast-of-War where she dipped into the water. Transitional times like this were the most dangerous; it would be important for her to pay attention.

Griblo blinked, then barked out a booming laugh that startled a nearby gull off the rigging.

With the departure of one soon followed many more, launching off of The BlackShip like a veritable cloud. Feathers and the occasional dropping littered down from it like a sparse rain, their raspy cries heralding the ship through the waters of Bully Harbour. Below, beasts on smaller vessels hurried their paddling in the wake of the Beast-of-War. With attention unwavering, she was careful to watch and ensure nobody went overboard on either, her voice billowing down amplified by the calling trumpet when it needed to. The sails rumbled and crashed as they began to unfurl. Then—

The BlackShip’s sails caught the wind, steady for now, at quarter mast once she could make way and drifted toward open sea.

The worst was over, but there was still more to keep an eye out for on the open ocean: flickers of light on the horizon or the distant blots of other ships, be they friendly or foe. With a satisfying series of clicks as her spyglass deployed, she went to draw it to her eye and her attention to the sea—until it was caught once again by the echo of Captain Jeshal's voice.

"Driftsong! Take the helm! All hands trim sail to a light venture through these open waters 'til we have our heading."

This would be something to see—and a good place to offer comfort. Though it wasn't likely that anyone would actually see her all the way up here.

Leaning over the edge of the nest, spyglass clutched tight at her waist, Freya threw her off hand up in a brief wave down at the helm, before following it with a much longer salute. 'Ready to go,' she hoped it would say!

@Calara Driftsong

 

[Orion Bloodtooth IV]

During all of the hubbub that came with the launching of a ship, Orion had lined up along with the others. When the order to set sail was called out, he went to work. Not to man the rigging or the sails or anything like that, oh no. Orion had his own plans in mind. He slunk down to the galley, and he nimbly nabbed a potato while the cooks were busy.

Walking back up to the main deck, Orion grabbed a fishing pole. It was no ordinary pole, not like the five or six lined up in storage. This one was another heirloom his father had gifted him, though not quite as crucial as his namesake ruby canine. No, this otherwise normal-looking pole had intricate designs carved all across it, which Orion fondly ran his fingers over. Arriving at the bow, Orion climbed up onto the railing, his legs dangling over them as he tied a hook to the end of his fishing line.

Taking the pilfered potato and a knife, Orion cut the potato into chunks, before putting a small piece on the hook and casting his line into the open sea.

 

[Friedrich Nähenerv]

Friedrich wasn't an idiot. Sixteen years in the army do change a beast to understand who is in charge of who and well, Frogear definitely was doing his absolute best to assert it. Was it not for how pathetic he looked in Rabbit's eyes, Friedrich would maybe even bother taking him seriously. But as Friedrich knew, screaming and puffing oneself up were cheap tactics used by those who tried too hard to show their position. He never had to do this as a captain. He could bark out orders without yelling and send beasts to death without opposition. After all, they knew following him was the best chance of survival, in part because of what he could do otherwise to the ones who didn't listen.

In this case? Friedrich just had an idea. Perfect one indeed to show this scrangly beast their place. It did put the widest and creepiest of grins upon his face. "Vell... You are not wrong. I should focus on kompleting ze katalogue after all. And I do not have your medical yet for it..." He leaned over the rat. "So, it seems zat your time for it has come. And in zis regard I very much kann order you around. After all, medical work ist my duty ja?"

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

Whilst her husband departed to attend to his new navigator-in-training, Tanya lingered long enough to give Calara an approving nod as the otter took the helm. It was still strange for the vixen to find herself now so aligned with woodlanders within the Imperium’s employ, baffled more by their willingness to join than the reverse, but thus far had found their presence refreshingly welcome.

Time would tell if the crew integration was to remain smooth, though from the looks of things the first example had little to do with species. Pausing only to squint in bafflement at the white todd near the prow – ‘Gates is he even up to? – she trotted towards the rat and rabbit she had witnessed earlier from the quarterdeck. Body language was speaking volumes and, short as she was, Tanya was none too pleased to see physical intimidation being used against an officer. Brush flicking, expression neutral, she sidled up beside the duo. “Do we have a problem so early, gentlebeasts?”

 

[Vilde Isdatter]

The white fox had such a flowery way of speaking, so strange to the heathen wildcat. Vilde stared as Cordan prepared to lay down his cloak upon the most trivial of things. Here she became concerned she might make some cultural faux pas and accidentally offer insult. She decided to tackle it head-on.

"My friend, you show me great honour! I hope you will not be offended I plead you not dirty your beautiful cloak. My feet have trod far vorse, for I am skjaldmær, a warrior as you. Say the word and, duty permitting, I will fetch you more water for to carry on your noble fight!"

@Dusk Rainblade (Cordan)

------

Caramella rolled her eyes at the banter going on between her current assistants, herself using a crate to stand on so that she could better see her workspace and get hacking away at vegetables.

"Well, Frost Biscuits, I don't much mind what you call yourself in here, long as the meals get done. Listen out for the next ship's bell and you can swap over to lopping fish'eads. Don't want those paws cramping up doing the same things or you'll be no use to anybeast! Sudsy, pay attention and get peelin' those potatoes." It was lucky none of them noticed the potato thief. Any who might have would have assumed it was a legitimate task with the nonchalance Orion gave off.

@Korya

------

Stuffing the desire to smack Griblo about the chops with his clipboard, Brasseye gave a quiet growl. He wasn't sure if the assistant Purser was in on what little of the captain's plans were taking place and he didn't dare mess things up by giving anything away on purpose.

"A'right, fine. We've both got our jobs to do. I'm doing the inventory stuff, you do the numbers stuff. Seems we should probably work together to make sure everything's all in order. I did it before we set sail, got it all ordered in and loaded up, I did, but it was all what Cap'n Ironclaw asked for. If we got too much grog, that's not on me, right?"

@Griblo Jankweed

-----

Fear and indignation near made steam come out of Frogear's, well, ears. He was about to yell at the very idea that anyone other than Dr Rowanheart could order him to have a dreaded examination when the admiral appeared beside them. He straightened so fast he looked like someone had shoved a linstock up his bottom and nearly concussed himself with his own salute.

"Admiral, yer honour! I was tellin' this crewbeast 'e shouldn't be beltin' out orders. There's a wossit, a chain of cummerbund, er, command. An' e's, e's s'posed to be doing medicky stuffs innee?"

@Tanya Keltoi @Friedrich Nähenerv​

 

[Corda LaConte / Cordan LeConte]

The offer from the wildcat was so unexpected that it had Cordan beaming in delight. "My lady," he cried, offering a bow, "forgive me for underestimating you on the basis of your sex! Truly it would be an honor to stand together with you at the Hellgates themselves, beating back the demons of filth with bucket and mop alike. I most graciously accept your offer of camaraderie on this cleansing quest! May we emerge from it victorious, and not a speck of dirt left in our wake!"

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

There was a slow, faintly surprised blink from the captain as his training navigator expressed a desire to relieve herself the moment he arrived back inside his cabin. He could have offered his own head* for the job but that honour was reserved for a privileged few**.

“As I be hoping Mr Frogear instructed ye, the heads be out on the bow." Jeshal gestured back to the doors. "Off ye go and return when ye be unburdened. I'll be settin' up the charts in the meanwhile."


@Cryle


--
*The captain’s head. Steady on, reader.

** What did I just say?​

 

[Calara Driftsong]

As Calara settled the wheel into her desired heading-- south, in the general direction of Pricklee Point-- the otter tilted her head back and let the salt breeze play through her whiskers and fill her lungs. She couldn't have described it if anybeast had asked her about it, she didn't consciously realize she did it. But this was her favorite ritual. The first deep breath taken and savored on a new voyage, just as soon as they were truly underway.

It also happened to allow her to catch sight of the big lynx up in the crow's nest in time to see her wave and salute. With one paw still steady on the wheel, Calara lifted the other to return both gestures with equal amicability. Then, with both paws once again on the wheel as befitted any good helmsbeast, the otter called up into the rigging, her broad chest more than capable of carrying her voice up to the lookout and to anybeast else who needed to hear it.

"Setting a southerly course pending an exact heading. Glad to have you as our eyes, McFjorl!"

@Freya McFjorl

 

[Cryle]

Cryle danced impatiently. She knew he knew she knew. And yet, here he was, ordering her across the whole length of the ship in her current condition, when a nice, quiet, private place was just past those walls...

She gazed up at Jeshal. Though it was only for the briefest of moments, a glance so quick it wouldn't have registered to even the most astute of Misanthropy's more socially-aware agents, it was burdened so heavily with the ratmaid's complete and utter betrayal of trust, loyalty, and faith in her Captain, that their relationship from this point onward would never be repaired to what it once had been.

Considering it didn't exist yet, this was completely insignificant, and she turned and bolted, leaping into the shrouds and swinging above heads like a primate, to avoid the crowds working on deck.

Thankfully, the beak deck was clear of anybeast save for a fox fishing. Should he be doing that? Everybeast else is working... oh well, not my problem. Cryle decided to pay him no heed whatsoever, further thankful that her coat and skirt were both long enough to make her business with the sea as clandestine as any business ought to be.

When she returned, there were maps, and she picked out the three of them that seemed most useful: a map of the immediate waters around Vulpinsula, a map of the general oceans south of Vulpinsula, and a map of the immediate waters around Pricklee Point. The closeup maps were already marked with reefs and shallows, various small and large rocks and other annoyances. The larger map was marked with currents. She picked out the three from her map tube as well, and compared the notes on them at a glance. The Captain's were only a little more filled in; either newer, more recently updated, or from previous use.

"Depending where we are to make landfall," she said, "we would want to be sailing as east from Magh as possible to avoid the south-north current, but on the way back, that will be, of course, as I am sure you already know, the best course... At the ship's top speed, we could cut a day out of travel if we avoid the warmer waters, but a stop at Merith Cove for any extra supplies would be an extra day to fight the warmth pushing north on top of the anchoring, bartering, and loading... For now, I think hugging the coast until Kenny's Bunk Pointe might be the swiftest course, although there will be some turning to do to get around this group of reefs here..." She tapped point just two thirds between Bully Harbor and the Pointe. "Which I think would give some enrichment to the helmsbeasts considering the otherwise simple route. But much safer to take the warmer path further out before turning easterly and taking the cold water in an arc..."

 

[Korya]

Korya scrunched up her shoulders and rested her head against the counter as she continued to knead the biscuit dough. There was a little chittering from the others over "Frost Biscuits", but she tried to ignore it. She did have fish heads to look forward to, at least. Well... feel forward to. She'd show them... she could chop with the best! She'd only cut herself three dozen times as a kit, and now she knew where her fingers were and how important they were to her.

Just keep kneadin' til that bell rings...
Don't need nothin', but want all the things...
Gonna be kneadin' til the whole ship sinks...
Maybe someday I'll cuddle some cute minks...

Breathe, distract, focus, but not too hard, close your eyes before they start to hurt, keep your mouth closed so the sobs don't come out... It'll be over eventually...