Open Mettle

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

(Thread open to all BlackShip crew. I am instigating a turn order, so once someone is in the thread please allow each other person to post before you post again unless you have their permission. Exceptions to the rule are where characters are talking in groups/elsewhere on the ship and aren't liable to be affected by other roleplayers. In those cases, please bear in mind how fast your events are taking place compared to other situations for a smooth plot Don't be shy to get in touch either on the Discord or via DMs to discuss the plot/ask for turn skips etc. There is no rush with this thread. That said, we can 'soft deadline' a week (barring requests to wait) before the next person is permitted to jump the line. Let's make sail!)


With the crew settled in and the ship beginning to run smoothly in her current state, the time had finally come for her first proper voyage since her recommissioning. Jeshal had received the required reports from the Missertross gulls for his intentions. Now to see what this girl and her vast and hotchpotch crew were made of.

Smartly dressed in his peacock feather hat and new coat, he stood at the front of the quarterdeck, overseeing the bustling activity. The metal claw of his namesake curled playfully upon the railing as he took in a breath of Bully's salty, stinking air. Home returned from home.

"All hands," he said to Frogear.

The burly rat bosun had been anticipating this for hours. He sprang to ring the bell, yanking its rope near to breaking.

"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!"

Trademark smirk upon his muzzle, Jeshal listened to the shouts being passed from deck to deck, and watched his crew scramble.​

 

[Friedrich Nähenerv]

Friedrich hated discipline. Ever since he was sent to the army as a child, he never got any liking for following orders. That however did not mean he was bad or unable to do it. Quite the opposite. Even before he got to the rank of a captain, he was following orders well. Too well some would even argue. He did only not follow the orders that were objectively idiotic.

When he became a captain, he ruled through mixture of awe and fear, giving his troop phenomenal discipline. His medical expertise also did wonders for morale, allowing him to never be bothered with dumb questions about what he did to prisoners of war. In fact, many of his troop were often joining him in practising Schadenfreude.

Overall, he hated discipline, but was great at it. That is why, as soon as the command reached him, he dropped his current work, donned his armour and within moments could be found among first few beasts on the deck, standing at attention, warhammer in one paw, other resting on his surgeon's supplies. His ears peeking from his helmet and his gaze as focused as ever. If there was a fight coming, Friedrich was ready.

After all, Hurting and Healing were just as rewarding to him.

 

[Cryle]

"So you can't see red?"

"I can see red. It just looks grey."

"But grey is rocks."

"Rocks can be many colors. Some rocks can be red, too. Clay."

"I love the way clay sounds when it shatters. I think I get it now. Clay shatters spicy. Like red. Why is red spicy again? I thought green was spicy."

"Green is spicy because most spicy plants start out green. Almost all plants are green. Red is spicy because red is hot."

"Because of blood."

"Right."

"And cold blood is black, because of nighttime."

"Not because of. Similar to. It's because the sun - "

The call came out along the deck, and Cryle grumbled. She stared at her sketch a moment longer, trying to finish the thought, but it had slipped away. Something about springs or screws. It should have been simple, a telescopic stick, but the chattering was too distracting and her sketch was off. The middle pole looked far too fat.

She could not have been luckier with her bunk mate. A blind leopard cat! Finally, someone who didn't keep trying to make creepy eye-contact. And they were practically the same age, and shared similar passions - mainly, questioning the world. Their conversations had never been dull, though they did often require leaps of logic and reasoning that were refreshingly unusual. And it hadn't taken much difficulty at all to convince the cat she needed a walking stick. It was the perfect excuse to carry something she could freely whap other beasts with and feign innocence.

Korya was already standing, waiting close to her hammocks for the rat to come down from the top bunk. Cryle gingerly made her way down, grabbed her hat, and tapped Korya on the shoulder.

"Ready. Lead the way."

Korya led on, one paw gently brushing the air ahead of her, but meeting nothing; the little feline had already mentally mapped out the ship's decks to an astounding precision, every stair and ladder and stair-ladder combination giving her no issues after the first few days.

"Cryle, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"No."

"Aw."

"We'll see."

"Yay."

Cryle tugged her hat down hard on her head as crewbeasts behind her sniggered. She resisted the urge to whack them with her tail. This would have been a perfect moment for Korya to use her stick, if it was ready...

Together, they assembled on the upper deck, Cryle sidling into the shade cast by the large rabbit surgeon, Korya staring straight up into the sun with her ears quirked and nostrils flaring.

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

Already perched upon the quarterdeck railings where they had been taking a break to enjoy the last of autumn’s sunshine, the vixen heaved a sigh and drained her tankard. “Right, suppose we’d better do as ‘is nibs says,” Tanya snorted with mirth as she looked to the marten beside her. “Can’t wait to see ‘is face when he takes stock of the full crew. Hard to imagine there’s so many aboard.”

“Mmmh, it’s a floating fortress,” Kiptooth agreed as he considered tossing the remnants of his own drink overboard. Tanya graciously saved him the bother and relieved him of the vessel to finish it as he stretched aged limbs. “Very different to the Hide. Still, more work though it is I’m enjoying the space. The BlackShip feels a lot more stable, much better for working.”

“I bet. We’ll have to see how she handles in rough weather but for now let’s enjoy the ol’ sendoff. Always did like the energy of it.” With a grin at her oldest companion, Tanya led the way towards the assembly point with ragged ears perked for the shouts and calls of various beasts summoning those below. As they streamed out on deck to gather she began to marvel once again how the vessel even stayed afloat. ‘Gates alive I don’t much fancy being the cooks here feeding this lot.

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

The lower decks of the BlackShip smelled of oil, salt, and the long memory of wood that had seen a hundred storms. The timbers were clean but scarred, the air thick with tar and old rope. It was the scent of a ship that had lived a hard life and refused to die. Lanternlight swayed against the bulkheads, glinting off freshly hammered bands that held battered barrels in fresh iron hoops.

Griblo Jankweed moved among them in silence, claws tapping softly on the lids as his eyes flicked from mark to mark. He hadn’t been given the full ledgers yet but that didn’t leave him blind. A small route sheet, folded and stamped by the quartermaster, sat tucked under his arm: the official spot-check manifest for the forward hold. It wasn’t the whole account book, merely the bones. Key items and expected quantities, but it was enough for Griblo to do some inventory and memorizing of the stores aboard.

Salted fish was in ample quantity. More than the manifest called for, actually. Pickled vegetables were short by a few jars. Hardtack and oats were stacked high and properly banded. Tea and coffee was embarrassingly limited. Rum? Properly sealed under Jeshal’s personal seal and properly restricted. Lantern oil — a slight shortfall to note for the next port.

"Numbers’re off somewhere... not by much, but enough," he murmured as he jotted a tick with charcoal in the margin of the stub. Tail flicking, he closed the fold and eased a crate an inch into line. "Best I flag it early before someone decides it’s m' fault..."

He gave the neat rows one last approving glance and started the climb toward the deck. Frogear’s bell answered him before he’d reached the ladder.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK! CAPTAIN’S ORDERS!"

Griblo muttered under his breath as he tucked the route sheet under his shirt. "Gates... keep shoutin’ like that an’ you’ll wake the ballast."

Sunlight hit him as he rose; the deck thrummed with motion. He stepped into the bustle, ears catching the little love exchange between a small rat, and an even smaller wildcat.

Griblo gave a snickering laugh, purposely loud enough to be audible to the two creatures.
"Heh. Give it a tide or two 'n' we’ll be patchin’ their hearts instead o’ the sails I reckon. Haw haw!"

Reaching the gathering of other crewbeasts, he took his place in the line, posture schooled, and grin tucked away. The bell stilled. Jeshal’s silhouette cut the light across the quarterdeck. Griblo’s stance tightened, tail low, paws clasped behind him, eyes forward.

 

[Vilde Isdatter]

Without a word, Vilde hurried up from the crew quarters to stand in the throng on deck. There were more beasts here than there had been in her entire village. It was as thrilling as it was unnerving, feeling as out of place currently as she had done on the Golden Hide. Her consolation was that almost everyone here was new to the ship. That, and she was tall enough as a wildcat to see over the heads of many of the mustelids and rodents. She spied a particularly tall and smart-looking rabbit. Until she made some friends, finding anyone she had seen before was going to be difficult until everyone was back about their various businesses. The captain had signed her up on day one without any fuss, so he was a familiar face to get started with, as was the grumpy bosun.

Many of the crew were standing properly to attention in the way that these navy beasts were taught. She simply stood in a polite sort of straight stance until she was told otherwise, eager to get this vessel and adventure going.​

 

[Corda LaConte / Cordan LeConte]

It was Cordan who answered the call to assemble on deck. After an awkward first day on the vessel, Cordan and Corda had come to an implicit agreement. Where Corda's medical expertise was required, or she was personally requested, she would take over; otherwise, Cordan had full reign to experience all that came with naval service. So far that was a lot of mopping the deck. It was amazing how many beasts it took to wash the deck; even as massive as the deck was, they seemed to have a lot of deckswabs for it.

He stood at attention in his feathered cap and fancy doublet on the deck, looking somewhat out of place for his menial role. Cordan had never heard the phrase "dress for the job you want, not the job you have", but even if he had, he wouldn't necessarily agree. He was an adventurer; swabbing the deck was simply part of his heroic origins.

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

Someone who knew him as well as Tox might have detected the hint of nerves Jeshal felt as the sheer size of his crew made itself known. Leadership had always been something that happened to him rather than it being something he sought, although he had not shied away from seizing it this time. A higher station made it easier to gather strings to pull and a better place to put an ear for secrets. Even so, how had his wife handled speaking to such crowds as an admiral? He needed to measure up. This was no time to falter.

"Now that ye be getting accustomed to our fine ship, it be high time she showed us what she's made of, says I. Tis not for me ter mince words about making the Imperium and Her Grace proud. What be mattering on this vessel, is makin' yerselves proud, yer mateys proud, and most importantly the ship. She is yer soul and yer freedom, yer life and yer bloodied, beatin' heart. Treat her well and she'll be takin' care of you.

Crew o' the BlackShip, prepare ter make sail for a run ter Pricklee Pointe! Haul in the gangplank; loose the mooring lines; kiss the shore goodbye and get those paws on the bunt gaskets, ready ter trim sail. We move for glory, for plunder, and bellies full of Pricklee's fish'n'tater stew!"

Captain Ironclaw grinned in the face of many of the ranks' cheers.

"WEIGH ANCHOR!"
​

 

[Calara Driftsong]

Calara's was one of the many voices giving body to the full-throated cheer that echoed across the deck of the BlackShip. There were so many beasts here. Such a massive crew. Such a dark and beautiful vessel rocking gently on the waves. She had sailed before. She knew that. She knew, too, that moments like these were designed to fill a beast with a sense of camaraderie and kinship. With pride.

That didn't mean it wasn't real. So when the Captain shouted the order to weigh anchor, Calara set to with a will, moving to the capstan with several others to do just that.

 

[Friedrich Nähenerv]

Friedrich naturally was glad the Captain didn't do lengthy speech, instead being brief and stating his commands quickly. He joined the cheer as a proper soldier would, hitting his armoured glove against his chestplate, causing a lot of rhythmic, dull metallic noise. He was no sailor, he had no need to be one however to do his duty. Ensuring that no beast here would end up permanently wounded, either by force or skill.

But that didn't leave him with no work at all either. His presence affected morale after all. Be it by assuring others that medic is at paw or because his posture was usually making those around willing to work more efficiently. He was fine with either. Intimidation was just as good for efficiency as the mental effect his presence gave.

And while he was no officer, he could bark out most simple "commands". He was a captain after all in the army and knew how to order beasts around. Even if he had no naval experience, he could yell at beasts readying to heave and pull an anchor to give their work a rhythm.

So that was the role he took for the time. Menacingly standing and overseeing work, providing both a feeling of security and dread, commanding the work of others while giving their actions rhythm from his warhammer butt hitting the deck below his paws with cracks that reminded the giant rabbit of the wonderful joy of breaking bones. He in fact hoped in a way for such accident as he observed the beasts working on the anchor. It was always a pleasure to him fixing those and looking at the squirming from pain patients while he did his work.

 

[Korya]

Korya and Cryle both clamped paws over their ears to protect their sensitive hearing from the cheers, but Korya threw her voice into the crowd with a fierce roar - as fierce as she could make it, anyway. Waiting for the beasts around them to thin out some so they could get to their stations, Korya sidled over to Griblo, tugging on the ferret's arm.

"Hey, Griblo. Hey. Hey, hey, Griblo, hey. Hey. What do you call a potato thrown through the window on the left side of a ship? Eh? Eh? A portato. Snrkrblblbble! Okay, what do you call it when you can't think of anything to do on the right side of a ship? Star-bored, get it? Get it? Eh?!"

"At night," Cryle interjected.

"Huh?"

"Can't think of anything to do on the right side of a ship at night. When the stars are out. Then its got a double-meaning as well. Star-bored, although," Cryle paused to push her glasses up her snout with a sniff, a sound Korya already knew quite well, "I don't see how anyone could find it boring being under the stars. Well... I suppose I could see you being bored."

"Someone's gotta and it ain't gonna be me!"

Korya's cackling rang out over the deck.

"What if the potato came from an impoverished potato basket, too? It could be a poor-tato, then you've got a three-deep pun, portside, porthole, and poor as in..."

"Larboard," Cryle announced, and Korya's ears flicked as the rat's booted footsteps thudded away towards the stern.

"Well, that's not larboard either, where's she going? Ooh, right, Griblo, do you remember what I was supposed to be doing?"

 

[Cryle]

The deck had cleared enough for Cryle to make her way to the binnacle, leaving her bunking companion with the ferret that Cryle rather disliked. Not for his mannerisms, he was just... scrungy. Korya seemed to have a soft spot for scrungy.

Being bunked together had been quite beneficial for them both. Cryle had marveled at having her very own hammock to sleep in, so much more space above and below than she was used to at home, and Korya had gushed about being able to hear everybeast snoring and shifting about, so much that it seemed the little feline might have had problems falling asleep at times, without the echoey, stone-dead silence she had grown up with. But after that barrage of puns, Cryle needed time away, and she had her duties to attend to, anyway.

Navigation! All the way to Pricklee Point, nearly a straight shot south, but hopefully there would be a reason the ship would need sto stop at Merith's Cove along the way. She missed her family, strangely enough.

And maybe the height of the BlackShip would let her spot that supposed secret harbor that she hadn't found while chartering ships around the island. Customers not allowed in the rigging, pfeh!

Cryle advanced on the binnacle and ship's wheel, keeping a somewhat respectful distance from the other important beasts up there. For all their little training and such, she was still uncertain what, exactly, her role was, and tucked her paws behind her back, awaiting further orders or instructions. Her tail fidgeted as she wondered if she wasn't even supposed to be here yet - surely they'd have made up routes and maps for the journey already? Maybe they were going to use one of the ones she'd practiced on...

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

Tanya had wondered how her husband would fare with the reality of the crew’s size, it being so much larger than the Hide had been back in the day. It was nigh imperceptible, his nerves, and the vixen was hard-pressed to keep her grin of pride looking professional as she watched him give the address. Small wonder she’d fallen for him: like this, before a cheering crowd dressed in that coat of his with the wind picking up it was like he was something stepped out of one of those novels. She had to shake herself for such thoughts, chiding herself for acting like a teenager.

Kiptooth, who had elected to applaud rather than cheer according his more reserved nature, had begun preparing to head back belowdecks and continue with preparations in the infirmary. His companion couldn’t resist a few parting words. “What, you’re leavin’ so soon?” Tanya teased, “it’s almost like you’re sick of me, runnin’ off like that.”
“I got well sick of you, oh, forty odd years ago?” the marten replied smoothly as he relived Tanya of both now-empty drinking vessels so he could take them below. Grey eyes, though aged, still shone with old cheek. “Suppose I’m just a glutton for punishment. Besides, you shouting down my ear doesn’t much help.”
“Aaaah you know I keep you young. G’wan, then, I’m sure I’ll see you later.”
“Mmmh. Keep an eye on that husband of yours.”

Kiptooth departed and Tanya, rubbing her paws together, found herself paralysed by the possibilities. Without the technical rank of office she didn’t strictly need to issue orders or take station, quite the freeing thought, but on the other paw she knew a ship ran best when beasts pulled their weight. Still, things were running smoothly enough for five minutes.

Heading back to the quarterdeck, the diminutive vixen sidled over to the Captain. “Nice speech, Cap’n. How’s it feel bein’ back?”

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

The deck of the BlackShip thundered with life as Captain Jeshal’s final cry rang out. Cheers broke like surf against the rails, paws and claws clapping, ropes flying loose from the cleats. Griblo was right there among them, a grin splitting his muzzle as he threw back his head and whooped with the rest.

He couldn’t help it. It’d been years since he’d set sail with anything that felt like freedom. Merchant runs had been sixteen-hour shifts in what almost felt like slavery under a master. Each day was an endless slog of bone weariness and blistered paws with no promise of landfall any time soon. But this? This felt different. This was the kind of ship where a beast might actually breathe between orders. Where a beast could feel like they were out on an adventure and actually enjoy it! For a moment, the ferret’s chest swelled with something dangerously close to joy.

A small tug on his sleeve broke through the roar. Korya stood beside him, tiny and bright-eyed behind that drifting curtain of mane, spewing jokes like it was open-stage night! Griblo blinked, then barked out a booming laugh that startled a nearby gull off the rigging.

"Haw haw haw! Oh, yer a joker, are ye? Finally, a beast wiv’ some taste! Hah!"

The little cat grinned wide at the reaction and launched straight into her next one. Their laughter rolled together until a sharp, scholarly voice cut through the noise.

“At night,” Cryle added flatly, already turning away toward the binnacle.

Griblo blinked once, his grin freezing mid-tooth before slipping into a lazy smirk.
"Aye, miss scholar! Don’t worry, we’ll keep the lessons slow fer the rest o’ us."

As she marched off, he muttered just loud enough for Korya to hear, "What's wiv her eyein' me loike spoiled milk!?"
He gave an exaggerated shrug, then jerked his head toward a section of deck rigging where a section of lines still needed beasts on them. "Come on, portato, let’s earn our keep afore the Cap’n spots us laughin’ an’ puts us on bilge duty."

Korya followed, paws quick and sure as they crossed the deck. Griblo’s eyes flicked briefly toward the towering hare overseeing the anchor crew, and he instinctively steered them in the opposite direction. No sense lingering near the kind of beast who enjoyed violating beasts, and threatening to take them apart to see if he could but them back together...

"Haw haw! All right, all right...my turn!" Griblo leaned close with a conspiratorial wag of his brow. "What d’ye call a fish who don’t pay 'is debts? A loan shark!" He smacked the deck with his paw, laughing harder. "An’ the wildcat what fell overboard? She became a purr-maid! Haw haw haw!"

Korya’s laugh trilled over the wind as she took her own hold. Together they hauled, the canvas billowing overhead until it caught the wind with a crack and a deep, living hum that thrummed through the deck.

They reached the leeward lines, where a smaller sail waited to be drawn out. Griblo grabbed a rope and started untying the knots with practiced ease.
"Mind yer claws, small fry. These lines bite worse’n I do."

Griblo braced himself as the ship gave a slow, glorious lurch. The quay began to slide away. He looked up just in time to see Ruffano standing forlornly near the end of the dock, that old familiar silhouette framed by gulls and salt-spray as he struck the pose of a beast in mourning as he waved the ship off.

For a moment, everything else fell quiet.

"Aw, Gates..." He sniffed and wiped the back of a paw across his eye. "I promised m’self I wouldn’t be all blubbery an’ soft... G’bye, Ruff. Don’t get yerself in too much ’ot water afore I return."

The ferret gave a small, unashamed wave until the figure blurred into distance, then turned back to his work with a crooked grin.
"Right then. Less cryin’, more sailin’." He tossed Korya a look that sparkled with mischief. "If we’re lucky, galley’s servin’ chowder. Let’s hope the cook ain’t feelin’ shellfish today!"

The pair laughed as they hauled, the wind rising, the ropes humming, the BlackShip surging into open water. Griblo leaned into the pull, muscles steady, heart light.

"Aye..." he muttered under his breath, a rare smile tugging at his muzzle. "Maybe this voyage won’t be half bad after all."

 

[Vilde Isdatter]

Beaming at the vim of the captain’s orders, Vilde rushed to aid in unwinding the mooring lines that kept the BlackShip in place. The immense size of this ship still never ceased to amaze her. It didn’t have a machine like the other ship she had been on, but it was still nothing like her people had yet built, seafarers though they had long been. Perhaps some of her ancestors had helped to guide the progress in these more advanced places when they had left for distant shores.

--

Someone who was less happy about proceedings was Frogear. The large rat bosun had heaved in lungfuls of air to get bellowing out orders to the crew when he heard Nähenerv doing the job for him. Scowl on his face, he marched toward the rabbit, fighting the voice at the back of his small brain that told him as big as he was, Friedrich was bigger.

“’Ere, pack that in, rabbit! Wot you yellin’ for without my say-so? Save yore breath for the infirm’ry ‘less you want to get shiftin’ the capstan and feelin’ me boot up yore bob! I’m the officer here!”​

 

[Corda LaConte / Cordan LeConte]

Cordan practically leaped into action at the Captain's orders, running excitedly to hoist the anchor, haul the sails, cut the jibbons, weight the...

He slowed to a stop as he realized that he actually didn't know how to do any of that. He wasn't even sure that jibbons were a real thing; part of him suspected that he might have just made it up. He thought back over everything he'd been told about his job, his role on the ship.

Oh.

A minute later, he was back on deck, yelling, "Hya! Have at thee, knave!" and striking at his foe.

The spot of mud tracked onto the ship stubbornly refused to yield to his mop, nor did it offer any witty reparté.

"Ah, like that is it? A silent, masked foe? Well, when I cut the mask from you, we'll see your villainy laid bare!"

Cordan continued his duel against the blight upon the ship, easily providing enough banter for the both of them.

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

So vast was this ship that it was a feat to pick out individual beasts from the masses. Jeshal had already begun his own personal mission of committing to memory everyone under his command, a fresh notebook hidden in his quarters written in his own code to detail what he pleased. There were too many beasts, of course, and so he would have to limit himself to those who shone bright, who played in shadow, or otherwise made a lasting impression.

Quickly enough he noted the rabbit surgeon doling out orders and Boatswain Frogear was on him like a wasp to jam. Only this wasp was much smaller than the very tart, towering jar of jam liable to drown him. This was going to be interesting.

A glance sideways registered the approach of the young and inquisitive rat he had learnt was Cryle and soon after came Tanya.

“Be lyin’ if I failed ter say ‘good’,” he replied with a smile, “but it be a sight different from the Hide. Least how we knew ‘er.”

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

“Well, they managed not ter scrape her backside on the way out, so there be hope yet,” he snickered quietly. Then, he turned to face Cryle.

“Rascallo! I hear ye be our prospective navigator.” Jeshal plucked out a rolled up map from inside his coat and moved to set it upon the top of the binnacle, holding it in place so the wind wouldn’t carry it away. “Care ter chart us toward Pricklee? Ye be permitted the use of me cabin and equipment fer the task.”

@Tanya Keltoi @Cryle​

 

[Calara Driftsong]

Calara grimaced as she worked, teeth bared in a combination of physical effort and rankling irritation. That rabbit was moving under full sail towards being a Problem. He just wasn't the sort of problem that could be bettered in any way by anything she could do at that particular moment, and she'd be damned to land for the rest of her days before she provoked a scene while the ship was getting underway.

That was not to say, however, that she was above casting him a dirty look as she put her back into the actual work.

Much to the otter's relief, Frogear seemed to feel roughly the same way about the lagomorph's behavior, and he was someone who could do something about it. And the rat didn't seem intimated by Friedrich's massive size. Well. Not much. If it came to it, hopefully he knew at least one member of the crew was there to help back him up.

 

[Cryle]

Cryle's spine stiffened, her back a straight 90° angle to the deck - save for the bend where her tail connected, but then the rest of that, too, stood straight and stiff behind her, the bow on the tip ruffling in the wind as the ship made way. She had thrown a salute so hard that she had nearly knocked her hat off.

"Aye, sir," she squeaked. "I can do that!"

The rat didn't un-stiffen, though a sense of relief tingled through her. Private, spacious workplace? Yes, please!

She stood on tip-claws, peering scholarly-like at the map the captain had set out. The familiar islands and shapes of the Imperial seas were all there, yep. A good map. Cryle reached out, hesitated, and finally let out her breath, tucking her paws behind her back again.

"Will it be necessary to restock anything in Merith Cove? I have a brother works in the, um, the... I could get a slight discount if anything is needed." Did the Navy even pay for things? Corky never talked about that part of his job... "This is a very nice map, sir. Shall I use my own? I'll use my own, to make sure I don't make mistakes on yours. They're similar maps! Almost identical. I didn't steal yours and copy it."

She rocked back and forth in her boots for a moment. And then turned on her heel and scampered off to his cabin, barely able to hear anything around her such was the volume of curses exploding in her mind.

Well, she hadn't. And now she shouldn't. Which was not to say that she couldn't. Or that she wouldn't. He had given permission to use the tools. Maps were tools. So was the privy. A nice, quiet, private privy, the very thing. Couldn't navigate with a full bladder, after all.

Why was the Captain so terrifying?

 

[Korya]

Korya burbled happily alongside Griblo as she worked, guided by the ferret as to which ropes to pull, which knots to undo. It was all meaningless busywork to her - she couldn't picture the sails above their heads as anything more than some loud sheets being hung up to dry. Squeals of pulleys and thumping of footpaws stamping by barely gave her an understanding of the sheer scale of things around her. Only her own steps as she had explored the ship earlier let her understand how massive a vessel they were operating.

It didn't help that half her mind was stuck imagining herself as a purr-maid. The dream fell apart as she began to bake her own tail end with lemon slices and herbs. Her little tummy growled as fiercely as she did while hauling sail line!

"Mhm, not a bad voyage, with beasts like me at your side! You gotta tell me more about Ruff," she said, when it seemed all the initial work was done. "Got you blubbering like a babe, he your lover?" She leaned against Griblo and elbowed him in the ribs playfully. "We need to mend some hearts already, eh? Just teasing! Or am I!" She reached up and punched his shoulder, hard - the little cat had no concept of soft when it came to a punch. "Smell ya later, Gribbly, I'll see if I can't convince the head chef to make you some chowder!"

She heaved a weary sigh. "Probably has me on potato peeling duty or something boring... Ugh! If we're gonna eat at all I better get down there and help out... promise to think up some more jokes now! Jokes to make beasts abandon ship so we get more grub! You know... Schooner rather than larder!"

Her cackling rang out as she made her way to the companionway and belowdecks, winding through the crowd of busy critters to the galley.

Her smile faded and her ears and tail drooped as she felt the coolness of the dark swallow her. Her step slowed, shoulders sagged. All brightness left the little feline as she trudged into the gloom of her own making. Ship cooking was nothing like the neatly organized setup she'd made on the streets, where she knew where everything was, took her time on each ingredient, made sure that every bowl was up to quality...

A rough paw grabbed her shoulder as she neared the galley.

"There you are. Cook says you're on biscuits. Already got the dough on the right. Flour in the middle. Put the finished balls on your left. Even you can't fluff this up."

She was steered to some work station, the other helper grabbing her arms and placing her paws on the counter. It was too high and uncomfortable. But she kept her mouth shut and began kneading unhappily, rolling dough into blobs for supper.