Open Mettle

[Griblo Jankweed]

Griblo took Brasseye’s reluctant concession with an easy nod, his posture loosening just enough to suggest agreement rather than victory. He didn’t crowd the quartermaster, but he did step a little closer, peering at the clipboard with casual interest, tail giving a slow, thoughtful flick.

"Aye, that sounds fair ‘n’ square," he said lightly. "Didn’t mean t’ step on yer toes. Jes’ doin’ what I’m meant ta', same as you."

He glanced down the rows of crates, then back to Brasseye, voice dropping into something more companionable.

"Next time ye do a full count like that, give me a whistle, aye?" he added. "I’m purser, after all. Numbers work best when we’re lookin’ at the same page."

A crooked grin tugged at his muzzle.

"Else I’ll just come aroun' openin' doors again," he chuckled. "An’ we both know that ain’t ideal."

With that, he leaned back against a crate, clearly settling in rather than preparing to leave, eyes already drifting back to the stores as if this shared space were now simply… a given.

 

[Freya McFjorl]

Surprise overtook the Lynx's features as she noticed Calara stretch then gaze skyward, focusing on her position in the crows nest with sudden intensity. As her wave and salute followed, Freya felt a blaze of pride warm her chest. It could only bode well for the voyage ahead.

Then came the call out and suddenly she was higher than the mast could ever hope to place her. On the little boats, there was no need for such acknowledgements; It slowed things down, if anything, and everybeast already knew the other. But on these sorts of Ships of the Line, with hundreds of crew, it was like she'd personally gone and shook her paw among the throng of beasts working around her.

Soaring higher than a missertross gull, a rare, true smile slid onto her lips and she turned back to her duties with a renewed vigor.

 

[Herman Lasichin]

Herman made sure his calculations were correct, counted the crates again, and then moved along into a different part of storage where he saw that his job was far from done. If he wanted to keep track of the ship's supplies properly he would need a dozen more pages at the very least, using the shortest strokes he could write with his paw and read with his eyes. This was a far cry from his work at university. There was no knowledge he could deduce, theory he could apply, or a clever procedure he could make use of to get to the answer. He could only count, occasionally taking a shortcut by multiplying when the items seem to be arranged in a grid or equally distributed among shelves, which wasn't often the case.

He couldn't help but think about the past few days of his life as he tried to mentally rearrange the different barrels of powder in front of him. Now the decision to leave for the Vulpine Imperium seemed silly. He knew nobody there, he had no place to stay or work at. He might have as well gone to some other country he never heard of, and from what he heard he might have been safer there. But the imperium was his home, even if he never stepped paw in it until a day ago. His parents were from there, they told him stories of it, he learned so much about its history and language and culture, and he got into so much trouble for saying it out loud. His fancy had weakened now after so much writing and thinking, but he still believed he found the place he was meant to be.

He saw that the barrels came in 3 different sizes, and while he'd wish he could know their exact weights he guessed that the biggest held twice as much as the average ones and 3 times as much as the smaller ones. He began writing again, forcing himself to finish the report. He will need to step outside afterwards, if only to breathe in fresh air.

----

Once the weasel finished his work, he stepped out onto the deck, looking at the many different cruebeasts on board. He felt a little guilty to be so idle amidst so much work, but the pain in his writing paw convinced him that it wasn't so bad after all. He looked at the fading shore in the distance, at this point it was a faint line that only became fainter as time past, if it hadn't vanished completely and he was just staring at the horizon.

 

[Orion Bloodtooth IV]

Orion, who had been sitting silently at the bow, suddenly jumped up, whooping excitedly. "HEY! I CAUGHT SOMETHIN'!" He exclaimed to whoever was nearby, pulling back on his fishing rod. "Feels like a big one, too!"

Orion struggled with the rod, the line straining, until finally he yanked his catch up, falling backwards. Sitting up, he excitedly looked at the end of the line... only to see a glass bottle, the hook having gotten caught on the cork on the opening. There appeared to be a parchment rolled up in the bottle. Orion felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"N-Nevermind... It's just some junk!" He laughed nervously.

 

[Klemens of Clouds]

"Hmh... yes, this feels right. Certainly, certainly..."

Klemens was still getting used to the view. The shoreline had vanished almost entirely, but maybe it was just the fox's eyesight being a bit too blurry. Still, he observed the horizon for no particular reason despite that. Klemens had always thought that those who had been born on land had never belonged to the sea completely. He once dreamed of encountering a real, genuine aquatic beast, but those certainly exaggerated tales of the so-called Beast of the Lake from a distant land that had never even been were the only bits of information he could find, and the tales in question weren't detailed enough to feel exciting. How quaint. "But he is fair and unclad... and he's seen kingdoms rise and fall...". Sure, sure.

Klemens began to wander around the deck, but very carefully, because immense damage to the cranium caused by slipping was something he, a sane beast for sure, was afraid of and avoided at all costs. He stopped for a bit just to lick his slightly aching fang and check on the marvel... the marvel that was, quite obviously, his instrument. Klemens was oddly attached to this old piece of wood that had been a part of him for decades. The only thing he forgot about entirely was how he had acquired the hurdy-gurdy. Memory, memory, it fooled him a lot... or the lack of it did, really.

Be a dear and move slowly, slowly...