Cue montage music

Some time has passed with recoveries, repairs and recon. The table bearing the canvas filled out into a collaborative work of art with squiggles, notes and smudges (some fiend may have added sea monstahs). The sword, notable wrecks, geo-vents and even the Corsair resists all attempts at ignorance and exorcism, and has a place reserved on the chart for future comeuppance.
The recuperation period has done wonders for the population of the fleet and Sidonie's pills have warded off complications for some people that took a dip. The idea to jerk around the islands' guts to jack them in the upwards position was deployed successfully after daybreak the following days. Sprung traps levered stubbornly in the ~sprung~ position make excellent safer looking places to anchor and use as a screen from mainland eyes. And that's the next stop: Landfall with a savvy group of souls to acquire a foothold and a sitrep on whether the fleet's Arks can just be driven in hard like a trio of immense juggernauts of food, industry and fauna.
Ruby thinks the Beast can get in close with her sneaky Smuggler's hull, and the group and get ashore via a longboat, carpet, flipper or another dip. "Aye...Pack for landlubberland. All we gots tah doo is meet, greet an not get used for meat." She eyes the two blokes. "You gots your potions, aye? Best tuck them next tah your dufflebog. "
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