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...