- Influence
- 12,077.00
( A character exposition thread, taking place the night of the events in Waterlogged, and before the shore party leaves. )
"Tell ya what, let's get settled in, and I can tell you a story or two."
"Ugh, I'm not a kit, Morgan!"
With a sharp breath, Finn sat up in his bunk. A glance at Morgan's hammock told him what he already knew -- it was painfully empty. Hoping against hope, the foxkit rubbed his eyes in denial, and checked again. Still empty. Just that morning, he'd been sheltering by her side against the cold wind. Now she was in the infirmary, fighting to breathe.
Morgan gave everyone quite a fright when she came in: half drowned, half frozen, and coughing up blood. Finn didn't even recognize her at first. It was touch and go for a while, until Barrett managed to drain her lung. Then, she seemed to recover in the afternoon -- making gallows humor of the situation in typical fashion. As the evening wore on, however, Morgan's condition worsened.
Arthur said her chest was filling with fluid, and not draining properly. Finn had a hard time visualizing the mechanics of what was happening internally. On the other hand, watching the ferrett struggle to suck down air as if she'd just run a marathon was an image he couldn't easily put out of his mind.
But Talinn had commanded a shore party to leave this morning, and had sent everyone off to make preparations -- Finn included. Finn knew better than to argue with the captain, but prying him away from the infirmary was difficult. Arthur eventually kicked him out, and ordered him to go to bed.
"We've done all we can for her, Finn. No use staying here. You need to get some rest."
Finn was powerless to argue, and being sent off to bed like a little kit sent him into an impotent fury.
Fat lot of good that does for me. How'm I supposed to take a nap like this? I'll come back from the shore party, and she'll be... -- Finn silenced the thought before it completed.
Unable to bear looking at the empty hammock any longer, Finn rolled out of his bunk and pulled on his uniform. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching into Morgan's hammock to fetch her jacket. Pulling it over his shoulders, the kit crept quietly towards the ship's deck, and climbed upwards into the night.
A frigid gust of wind bit at his ears, and drove him to huddle beneath the collar of Morgan's jacket. Past midnight, the ship was eerily quiet, with only a sliver of moon to provide light. Though Finn was technically disobeying orders, it wasn't like there was a general curfiew. The third watch wouldn't think anything seeing him up this late, much less send him back to bed.
Sitting along the gunnel, Finn leaned on the railing to watch the small dots of firelight ashore dance against the starlit sky. He cursed the shrews quietly, but his futile words were swept away by uncaring winds. The shoreline blurred, and Finn tucked his head under his elbow in grief.
"Tell ya what, let's get settled in, and I can tell you a story or two."
"Ugh, I'm not a kit, Morgan!"
With a sharp breath, Finn sat up in his bunk. A glance at Morgan's hammock told him what he already knew -- it was painfully empty. Hoping against hope, the foxkit rubbed his eyes in denial, and checked again. Still empty. Just that morning, he'd been sheltering by her side against the cold wind. Now she was in the infirmary, fighting to breathe.
Morgan gave everyone quite a fright when she came in: half drowned, half frozen, and coughing up blood. Finn didn't even recognize her at first. It was touch and go for a while, until Barrett managed to drain her lung. Then, she seemed to recover in the afternoon -- making gallows humor of the situation in typical fashion. As the evening wore on, however, Morgan's condition worsened.
Arthur said her chest was filling with fluid, and not draining properly. Finn had a hard time visualizing the mechanics of what was happening internally. On the other hand, watching the ferrett struggle to suck down air as if she'd just run a marathon was an image he couldn't easily put out of his mind.
But Talinn had commanded a shore party to leave this morning, and had sent everyone off to make preparations -- Finn included. Finn knew better than to argue with the captain, but prying him away from the infirmary was difficult. Arthur eventually kicked him out, and ordered him to go to bed.
"We've done all we can for her, Finn. No use staying here. You need to get some rest."
Finn was powerless to argue, and being sent off to bed like a little kit sent him into an impotent fury.
Fat lot of good that does for me. How'm I supposed to take a nap like this? I'll come back from the shore party, and she'll be... -- Finn silenced the thought before it completed.
Unable to bear looking at the empty hammock any longer, Finn rolled out of his bunk and pulled on his uniform. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching into Morgan's hammock to fetch her jacket. Pulling it over his shoulders, the kit crept quietly towards the ship's deck, and climbed upwards into the night.
A frigid gust of wind bit at his ears, and drove him to huddle beneath the collar of Morgan's jacket. Past midnight, the ship was eerily quiet, with only a sliver of moon to provide light. Though Finn was technically disobeying orders, it wasn't like there was a general curfiew. The third watch wouldn't think anything seeing him up this late, much less send him back to bed.
Sitting along the gunnel, Finn leaned on the railing to watch the small dots of firelight ashore dance against the starlit sky. He cursed the shrews quietly, but his futile words were swept away by uncaring winds. The shoreline blurred, and Finn tucked his head under his elbow in grief.
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