Contesting The Maw - Part 1
Dec. 8th, 2015 03:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rubyrubyrubyIt's taken a few days to get to this location within the realm of Minos.
The trip from Amber was done aboard a vessel that appeared seaworthy. It had a wide hull. If it were a femme, it would have 'all that'. Grand in width, matronly in age, but still knows how to move through the seas. Ruby had stocked the ship with basic provisions that looked better suited for fasting than opulence. Hard tack. Water. Rum. And a motley collection of sailors that look like they'd appreciate a full meal rather than the minimum. The most vocal complaint has been a lack of creature comforts. They've all got a 'look' and aren't chatty about where the ship is headed. This isn't their first voyage. But a judgemental soul would peg them as being not exactly first-draft choices. The type of sailors, both women and men, that have been kicked off of previous ships. And all as hard as the sea can make a person.
Ruby has stayed on deck as much as possible. Through sheer intimidation and size, she's captaining the crew while at the helm. No one has addressed her with a Minosian 'title'. There's the required 'Captain' but nothing so fabulous as a legitimate Captaincy. The seas have become steadily worse. A storm is on the horizon as they head deeper into Minosian waters. The deck heaves. Squawls and spray keeps everything constantly damp and horrid cold.
The name of the deep-keeled fluyt has been scraped and repainted so many times that it resembles a pock-marked dart board more than a moniker. Most of the crew refer to it as the 'Beast'. Which suited Ruby just fine. The swells of the ocean that the vessel rides and batters itself along have not been much of a challenge thus far, but with the storm, conditions are rapidly changing. All three masts of the ship and their seemingly innumerable lines creak when the environment becomes more forceful.
During the voyage, Ruby has shared a particular viewpoint with her companions. Specifically regarding the Toss-Me-Nots. After it's been wrung free of her colourful vernacular, this much can be grokked by the patient or those fluent in Rubehspeak:
"Aye! No bloody 'ocus-pocus, roight?" - Use of magic in ridding yourself of a Toss-Me-Not is taboo. The juju in the individual bags, like Ruby, isn't very agreeable to 'assistance'.
"Sometoimes, it be loike...mebbe it quickah oot tha windoo, roight? Quickest way down, roight? Buildin be burning around yer ears. Or mebbe it bettah loike this...I 'and you this Cap'n hhhat. You Cap'n now. Hhhhhhooray for Cap'n. Best Cap'n evah. But wouldn't it be bettah...symbolic, but with meanin...if you 'earned' this hhhhat because you skewered nine blokes with this 'ere fishhook an did in front 'o yer fav-o-rite burd, or bloke. Roight?!" - Sometimes effort and symbolism /need/ to go hand in hand. Empty effort is just that. Purely symbolic is just that. Combined it means something, and that has gravitas and impact. It resonates.
Liya and Mayhem have joined for this trip. No matter how hard the crew, they all have a healthy respect for the 18 stone cat. 252lbs makes for a very big cat, and the jaguar is surprisingly at home on a boat. Liya might be small, but she's armed and that cat is somewhat intimidating, through size alone. Right now, Liya is on the deck, watching the storm on the horizon. The Sukhoti woman has been quiet, staying out of the way of the crew as they do their thing, but there. And occasionally drumming or singing when things are peaceful.
Matthias's traditional smoking habits are being infringed upon by the weather. If Mother Nature is making a face at him, he is scowling right back, though at nothing in particular. His mood and a distinct body language of threat and zero-inhibition-violence have kept the crew away from him except when one really, really needs to get close for a job. His demeanor improves when with the other folks not members of the actual crew, but is otherwise hard and unforgiving.
Merrisol does not rest easy as a guest aboard the Beast, and watches the deck stations critically, moving in to fill any perceived deficiency that affects the vessel's speed and heading. There's no expectation of being addressed with title, especially if it never came up to begin with, and he might be just another experienced hand. But then, he doesn't look like any ol' mongrel sailor, and the other salty dawgs know it. One thing he doesn't tackle.. is climbing up and down rigging, and leaves that to the light and spidery of the crew. Between tasks, he sits the rail beside Liyandra and Mayhem, and probably pelts a question occasionally Ruby-wards, regarding their purpose here in Minos. Bringing Bog-ness into a well-known Shadow would seem to opposite of 'hiding the stash'.
And somewhere within the deck of the ship, sits one Kite mostly keeping to his own self with his back leant against the short, solid railing seperating the deckside from the fall to the waters on the other side. The weather, the temperature, none of it seems to bother the large man clad in old leather armor that is torn and tattered and otherwise aged by use in battle in enough places that one would easily assume that it doesn't really carry any real practical benefit to be worn, anymore. And propped against his shoulder, of all things, is a sheathed, curved sword of some origin outside of the golden circle that seems *completely* out of place for a Kite warrior. But either way? The Kite merely sits there, silent and calm. Wether it's all because of some inexpicable trust in the ship and it's commander, or something completely different? Who knows.
Ruby misses getting lightly slapped along her shoulders by long locks. While not an accurate weather-vane, it provided a particular stimuli with another familiar task. Ruby shouts back through wind and occasional rain with what answers she 'can'. And by that she doles out piece-meal. "You see...You see...We been there b'fore. This be /easy/. But important. Should start busy-ness with easiest. Truth." The creak of the deck pops and groans as tar, nails, rigging, glue and the efforts of shipmakers resist the forces put upon it. The sails are full, though the weather systems coming into contact with one another are beginning to tussle for dominance. The overcast sky darkens considerably and the ship tries to lean as gusts gouge in with a cross-breeze. The colour of the sky reflects the torment of the sky. Far off, a stray bolt of lightning makes a split-second bridge. And up ahead, there's something very, very wrong. When the ship rises a large wave...which are building to multiple stories high...the downward sloosh of the vessel allows one to see forward, between sails that snap. Sails that are definitely not storm-crafted. Ruby's suddenly bares her teeth, a short moment's delay after a suicidal sailor in the crow's nest shouts, "Dead center!" A lungful of breath sucked in and bleated out to follow up with, "Mind your helm! Shift rudder 15 degrees to port or we'll be swallowed!" To which the Captain, gripping the wheel shouts back, "We're almost there then. Drop biscuits an pull in some sail! We goo 'ansome. ~Maw~ favours them. Haw! Prepare tah shift cargooooo!"
Up ahead, through darkening and roiling curls of ship-capsizing waves waits The Maw. Sitting at the center of Minos, it is an absolutely immense vortex of watery fury. It is a supernatural anomaly. A gigantic swirling whirlpool that forces the sea to practically rise up into a slight caldera, like a volcano, before becoming a convex downward spiral to inescapable doom. At the edges of its circumference, a clever Captain and stalwart crew can make course corrections and skirt disaster. But beyond a certain threshold, no amount of good fortune can save what is drawn in. Dead center of the vortex is a sucking abyss that can swallow a ship whole. So disruptive is this phenomena that it seems to pull at the very sky, currently creating a cyclonic tempest that sounds like a chorus of banshees dancing among occasional bolts of lightning and short-lived twisters.
Liya and Mayhem are there, though at this point, Liya takes the opportunity to harness the big cat and tie a rope to keep him aboard. Cat overboard is just not going to happen. She listens to the conversation, but might not understand huge parts of the Ruby speak. "A big storm indeed. This could be trouble if the ship does not stay together," she notes. She stays with the cat, out of the way, for now. Her gaze flicks about, looking for any areas that could use her help.
The bulky Feldane grunts at this news, and looking straight into the Maw has a way of focusing the mind. He runs to the starboard side of the ship, seeing as that will be the one closest to the abyss, and moves to where he can hold onto a bit of rigging, wrapping his left arm all the way through and clasping on. Matthias's right hand fiddles at his pouch. Start with the easiest, okay: "I'll toss this'un," he calls, reaching inside his pouch. "'ow close is close enough?"
As the ship keeps adjusting on a heading to the center of the Minosian Sea, suspicion rises in Merrisol's glance Ruby-ward, and he stops asking questions. In fact, he quite trades places with Matthias and becomes the deeply frowning pillar of solitude, which might be his way of restraining himself from lunging at the ambitious forge-mistress. Trust in a strange old ship and a second-rate crew to not send them all tripping headlong into the gigantic vortex... is not going to happen. When the shouts ring out, with less terror and anxiety than he would have expected, of their arrival at the tossing outer arms of the spiraling supernatural entity The Maw, he starts determinedly for the helm. "It'd have to be a mighty lob," he yells over his shoulder at the Feldane lord. "Else it'd be like spitting into the wind.."
The calls and the roughening of the storm does bring the Kite to finally set into motion. Up to his feet, first, with a pause only to move the bizarre sword strapped to his back, before he goes stomping his way through the decks. All the way up to where Ruby is found, leaving himself standing by her with one arm looped around some form of structure connected to the ship proper-- asking of the large woman merely, "You sure about all this?" while he stares to the way of The Maw.
Ruby stares and jerks her head around to where Matthias is preparing to lighten his burden. "Bloody 'ell! Not yet!" There's a hard nod to Merrisol, confirming his thoughts. She then spares a moment to get a bearing on where the titanic whirlpool disturbs currents and saps their influence. A number of the crew hustle down through gangways and steps to belowdecks. Their feet making a cloppy-clonky tattoo as they get to the cargo areas.
Her eyes slide back to Matthias. "Not yeeeeet. It needs proper sendoof...propah casket. Take't down deep. If I don't see't swallow oop with me own bloody eyes, it don't count for nuthin! It'll get torn tah shreds before it reaches mouth!" "Get tha bloody skiff ready!" "You fookers know tha drill. You mooooove. Anchors, chains, shift an make't so I can draw wind but not tear me canvas! You loike gettin paid?!"
The deck is rapidly becoming the chaos of people who know what they're doing, but having to cross one another's paths. Four strong looking fellows are moving to unsecure a eight-oared boarding craft. Ruby hunches over and heaves the wheel smartly. No longer a dart heading towards the center dot, but cutting to run the rim and follow the circumference like a finger along the top of a wine flute. She grits her teeth and then gnashes. "Sure as sure! I gots it all worked oot..." Ruby starts stripping herself of extraneous things. Vest. Belt. Scabbard. Though she keeps a knife at her back. "We just gots tah get closer. Ready for some exercise?"
There's a tilted head from Liya, and she closes her eyes for a moment. "Oh - wait, we're going to row in?" she asks, startled by the very thought. "Well now, that's - a challenge." She takes a breath, looking at the cat, and then over to Ruby. "You know, if I bring Mayhem, he'll add a bit of weight and maybe keep us even keeled?"
Matthias doesn't finish revealing the precious package of unknowns, as Ruby shouts at him. He growls, "Okay, you thought this through. Just- lemme know, then." And he rolls his eyes upon seeing the skiff being prepared, moving to join the 'skiff crew' when it's ready to hit the ocean. "This- this is a worse idea than the toss." An admission of how bad an idea that was, even though it worked out. "Oookay."
Realization of the true extent of the madness only begins to sink in when Merrisol spots the dinghy being swung out over the slopping waves. He stops trying to bound up to the poop deck just hangs onto the gunwale for a tense, incredulous moment. He flicks a glance around to the rest of the Pouch Fellowship, scoffs a breath harsh with exasperation. And he pulls out of his coat, tossing his sword belt and saber to one side of the cabin-level hatch, and racing to catch up with Ruby's actions in a derisive rendition of Simon Sez. He hurries with his shirt, and the tempest wind just plucks it away and flashes the blue cloth away into the whirling skies. "Gods.. bless it.. Ruby," he yells, careening and hopping himself out of each boot while he moves to join her, somehow keeping balance enough to avoid pitching over the rail. "This is gonna need Blessing, isn't it!" Something he does not look eager to spring on two new-ish acquaintances of the stalwart persuasion.
"If you say so," Jokul responds to Ruby's assurances, and though it's the subtlest of movements on his part, something about his demeanour begins to speak more of trust for the fact that he isn't about to be blown away -- but that he's still just as ready to move from his stone-stance and steel-grip whenever the word is given to move. Though he does soon ask, "What do you need me to do?"
Liya is still looking out, not yet moving to the skiff. She glances out, rubs at her ears and stares some more. "There are other ships out there - and at least one of them seems to be breaking up or something." Totally not a safe place to be, not for any ship short of a star destroyer. She shivers a bit, closing her eyes and muttering something under her breath in Sukhoti.
As if things weren't chaotic and uncertain enough, they become...moreso. There is a certain preparation here, granted, but those whom are quite organized could see how things would have been 'soooo' much better had they been consulted. The skiff being prepared has more lines attached to it than is necessary. Thick ropes knotted securely around moorings.
Ruby hands off the duty of keeping a grip on the wheel to someone with arms bearing more ink than herself. With strict instructions and a firm oath of a disembowelment if they don't follow her wishes. The skiff bangs against the side of the hull as the ship tilts more alarmingly. "Don't need tha cat unless it can row!" she froths, eye set hard, muscle under her bad eye fluttering madly. "Need you though, Liya. Sharp an nimble...an keen." Lips twitch in something like a snarl...for some un-Bogly reason. She turns to set a manic glare on those both swole and thin alike. "This gonna work. Cause I say so! I seen 'ow everythin works. Circles...in circles. Cogs...in wheels. Comets...rimmin suns. Triad 'o truths. An no turnin back! We-" there is another cry from the lookout. "Doomed ship!" Confirming Liya's shared information. "And...Wait.Cap-taiiiin? Captain there's another. Our side of the maw...we've got an echo. Sister ship! Souls aboard! Oh Goddess...they're curling deeper than us!"
The trip from Amber was done aboard a vessel that appeared seaworthy. It had a wide hull. If it were a femme, it would have 'all that'. Grand in width, matronly in age, but still knows how to move through the seas. Ruby had stocked the ship with basic provisions that looked better suited for fasting than opulence. Hard tack. Water. Rum. And a motley collection of sailors that look like they'd appreciate a full meal rather than the minimum. The most vocal complaint has been a lack of creature comforts. They've all got a 'look' and aren't chatty about where the ship is headed. This isn't their first voyage. But a judgemental soul would peg them as being not exactly first-draft choices. The type of sailors, both women and men, that have been kicked off of previous ships. And all as hard as the sea can make a person.
Ruby has stayed on deck as much as possible. Through sheer intimidation and size, she's captaining the crew while at the helm. No one has addressed her with a Minosian 'title'. There's the required 'Captain' but nothing so fabulous as a legitimate Captaincy. The seas have become steadily worse. A storm is on the horizon as they head deeper into Minosian waters. The deck heaves. Squawls and spray keeps everything constantly damp and horrid cold.
The name of the deep-keeled fluyt has been scraped and repainted so many times that it resembles a pock-marked dart board more than a moniker. Most of the crew refer to it as the 'Beast'. Which suited Ruby just fine. The swells of the ocean that the vessel rides and batters itself along have not been much of a challenge thus far, but with the storm, conditions are rapidly changing. All three masts of the ship and their seemingly innumerable lines creak when the environment becomes more forceful.
During the voyage, Ruby has shared a particular viewpoint with her companions. Specifically regarding the Toss-Me-Nots. After it's been wrung free of her colourful vernacular, this much can be grokked by the patient or those fluent in Rubehspeak:
"Aye! No bloody 'ocus-pocus, roight?" - Use of magic in ridding yourself of a Toss-Me-Not is taboo. The juju in the individual bags, like Ruby, isn't very agreeable to 'assistance'.
"Sometoimes, it be loike...mebbe it quickah oot tha windoo, roight? Quickest way down, roight? Buildin be burning around yer ears. Or mebbe it bettah loike this...I 'and you this Cap'n hhhat. You Cap'n now. Hhhhhhooray for Cap'n. Best Cap'n evah. But wouldn't it be bettah...symbolic, but with meanin...if you 'earned' this hhhhat because you skewered nine blokes with this 'ere fishhook an did in front 'o yer fav-o-rite burd, or bloke. Roight?!" - Sometimes effort and symbolism /need/ to go hand in hand. Empty effort is just that. Purely symbolic is just that. Combined it means something, and that has gravitas and impact. It resonates.
Liya and Mayhem have joined for this trip. No matter how hard the crew, they all have a healthy respect for the 18 stone cat. 252lbs makes for a very big cat, and the jaguar is surprisingly at home on a boat. Liya might be small, but she's armed and that cat is somewhat intimidating, through size alone. Right now, Liya is on the deck, watching the storm on the horizon. The Sukhoti woman has been quiet, staying out of the way of the crew as they do their thing, but there. And occasionally drumming or singing when things are peaceful.
Matthias's traditional smoking habits are being infringed upon by the weather. If Mother Nature is making a face at him, he is scowling right back, though at nothing in particular. His mood and a distinct body language of threat and zero-inhibition-violence have kept the crew away from him except when one really, really needs to get close for a job. His demeanor improves when with the other folks not members of the actual crew, but is otherwise hard and unforgiving.
Merrisol does not rest easy as a guest aboard the Beast, and watches the deck stations critically, moving in to fill any perceived deficiency that affects the vessel's speed and heading. There's no expectation of being addressed with title, especially if it never came up to begin with, and he might be just another experienced hand. But then, he doesn't look like any ol' mongrel sailor, and the other salty dawgs know it. One thing he doesn't tackle.. is climbing up and down rigging, and leaves that to the light and spidery of the crew. Between tasks, he sits the rail beside Liyandra and Mayhem, and probably pelts a question occasionally Ruby-wards, regarding their purpose here in Minos. Bringing Bog-ness into a well-known Shadow would seem to opposite of 'hiding the stash'.
And somewhere within the deck of the ship, sits one Kite mostly keeping to his own self with his back leant against the short, solid railing seperating the deckside from the fall to the waters on the other side. The weather, the temperature, none of it seems to bother the large man clad in old leather armor that is torn and tattered and otherwise aged by use in battle in enough places that one would easily assume that it doesn't really carry any real practical benefit to be worn, anymore. And propped against his shoulder, of all things, is a sheathed, curved sword of some origin outside of the golden circle that seems *completely* out of place for a Kite warrior. But either way? The Kite merely sits there, silent and calm. Wether it's all because of some inexpicable trust in the ship and it's commander, or something completely different? Who knows.
Ruby misses getting lightly slapped along her shoulders by long locks. While not an accurate weather-vane, it provided a particular stimuli with another familiar task. Ruby shouts back through wind and occasional rain with what answers she 'can'. And by that she doles out piece-meal. "You see...You see...We been there b'fore. This be /easy/. But important. Should start busy-ness with easiest. Truth." The creak of the deck pops and groans as tar, nails, rigging, glue and the efforts of shipmakers resist the forces put upon it. The sails are full, though the weather systems coming into contact with one another are beginning to tussle for dominance. The overcast sky darkens considerably and the ship tries to lean as gusts gouge in with a cross-breeze. The colour of the sky reflects the torment of the sky. Far off, a stray bolt of lightning makes a split-second bridge. And up ahead, there's something very, very wrong. When the ship rises a large wave...which are building to multiple stories high...the downward sloosh of the vessel allows one to see forward, between sails that snap. Sails that are definitely not storm-crafted. Ruby's suddenly bares her teeth, a short moment's delay after a suicidal sailor in the crow's nest shouts, "Dead center!" A lungful of breath sucked in and bleated out to follow up with, "Mind your helm! Shift rudder 15 degrees to port or we'll be swallowed!" To which the Captain, gripping the wheel shouts back, "We're almost there then. Drop biscuits an pull in some sail! We goo 'ansome. ~Maw~ favours them. Haw! Prepare tah shift cargooooo!"
Up ahead, through darkening and roiling curls of ship-capsizing waves waits The Maw. Sitting at the center of Minos, it is an absolutely immense vortex of watery fury. It is a supernatural anomaly. A gigantic swirling whirlpool that forces the sea to practically rise up into a slight caldera, like a volcano, before becoming a convex downward spiral to inescapable doom. At the edges of its circumference, a clever Captain and stalwart crew can make course corrections and skirt disaster. But beyond a certain threshold, no amount of good fortune can save what is drawn in. Dead center of the vortex is a sucking abyss that can swallow a ship whole. So disruptive is this phenomena that it seems to pull at the very sky, currently creating a cyclonic tempest that sounds like a chorus of banshees dancing among occasional bolts of lightning and short-lived twisters.
Liya and Mayhem are there, though at this point, Liya takes the opportunity to harness the big cat and tie a rope to keep him aboard. Cat overboard is just not going to happen. She listens to the conversation, but might not understand huge parts of the Ruby speak. "A big storm indeed. This could be trouble if the ship does not stay together," she notes. She stays with the cat, out of the way, for now. Her gaze flicks about, looking for any areas that could use her help.
The bulky Feldane grunts at this news, and looking straight into the Maw has a way of focusing the mind. He runs to the starboard side of the ship, seeing as that will be the one closest to the abyss, and moves to where he can hold onto a bit of rigging, wrapping his left arm all the way through and clasping on. Matthias's right hand fiddles at his pouch. Start with the easiest, okay: "I'll toss this'un," he calls, reaching inside his pouch. "'ow close is close enough?"
As the ship keeps adjusting on a heading to the center of the Minosian Sea, suspicion rises in Merrisol's glance Ruby-ward, and he stops asking questions. In fact, he quite trades places with Matthias and becomes the deeply frowning pillar of solitude, which might be his way of restraining himself from lunging at the ambitious forge-mistress. Trust in a strange old ship and a second-rate crew to not send them all tripping headlong into the gigantic vortex... is not going to happen. When the shouts ring out, with less terror and anxiety than he would have expected, of their arrival at the tossing outer arms of the spiraling supernatural entity The Maw, he starts determinedly for the helm. "It'd have to be a mighty lob," he yells over his shoulder at the Feldane lord. "Else it'd be like spitting into the wind.."
The calls and the roughening of the storm does bring the Kite to finally set into motion. Up to his feet, first, with a pause only to move the bizarre sword strapped to his back, before he goes stomping his way through the decks. All the way up to where Ruby is found, leaving himself standing by her with one arm looped around some form of structure connected to the ship proper-- asking of the large woman merely, "You sure about all this?" while he stares to the way of The Maw.
Ruby stares and jerks her head around to where Matthias is preparing to lighten his burden. "Bloody 'ell! Not yet!" There's a hard nod to Merrisol, confirming his thoughts. She then spares a moment to get a bearing on where the titanic whirlpool disturbs currents and saps their influence. A number of the crew hustle down through gangways and steps to belowdecks. Their feet making a cloppy-clonky tattoo as they get to the cargo areas.
Her eyes slide back to Matthias. "Not yeeeeet. It needs proper sendoof...propah casket. Take't down deep. If I don't see't swallow oop with me own bloody eyes, it don't count for nuthin! It'll get torn tah shreds before it reaches mouth!" "Get tha bloody skiff ready!" "You fookers know tha drill. You mooooove. Anchors, chains, shift an make't so I can draw wind but not tear me canvas! You loike gettin paid?!"
The deck is rapidly becoming the chaos of people who know what they're doing, but having to cross one another's paths. Four strong looking fellows are moving to unsecure a eight-oared boarding craft. Ruby hunches over and heaves the wheel smartly. No longer a dart heading towards the center dot, but cutting to run the rim and follow the circumference like a finger along the top of a wine flute. She grits her teeth and then gnashes. "Sure as sure! I gots it all worked oot..." Ruby starts stripping herself of extraneous things. Vest. Belt. Scabbard. Though she keeps a knife at her back. "We just gots tah get closer. Ready for some exercise?"
There's a tilted head from Liya, and she closes her eyes for a moment. "Oh - wait, we're going to row in?" she asks, startled by the very thought. "Well now, that's - a challenge." She takes a breath, looking at the cat, and then over to Ruby. "You know, if I bring Mayhem, he'll add a bit of weight and maybe keep us even keeled?"
Matthias doesn't finish revealing the precious package of unknowns, as Ruby shouts at him. He growls, "Okay, you thought this through. Just- lemme know, then." And he rolls his eyes upon seeing the skiff being prepared, moving to join the 'skiff crew' when it's ready to hit the ocean. "This- this is a worse idea than the toss." An admission of how bad an idea that was, even though it worked out. "Oookay."
Realization of the true extent of the madness only begins to sink in when Merrisol spots the dinghy being swung out over the slopping waves. He stops trying to bound up to the poop deck just hangs onto the gunwale for a tense, incredulous moment. He flicks a glance around to the rest of the Pouch Fellowship, scoffs a breath harsh with exasperation. And he pulls out of his coat, tossing his sword belt and saber to one side of the cabin-level hatch, and racing to catch up with Ruby's actions in a derisive rendition of Simon Sez. He hurries with his shirt, and the tempest wind just plucks it away and flashes the blue cloth away into the whirling skies. "Gods.. bless it.. Ruby," he yells, careening and hopping himself out of each boot while he moves to join her, somehow keeping balance enough to avoid pitching over the rail. "This is gonna need Blessing, isn't it!" Something he does not look eager to spring on two new-ish acquaintances of the stalwart persuasion.
"If you say so," Jokul responds to Ruby's assurances, and though it's the subtlest of movements on his part, something about his demeanour begins to speak more of trust for the fact that he isn't about to be blown away -- but that he's still just as ready to move from his stone-stance and steel-grip whenever the word is given to move. Though he does soon ask, "What do you need me to do?"
Liya is still looking out, not yet moving to the skiff. She glances out, rubs at her ears and stares some more. "There are other ships out there - and at least one of them seems to be breaking up or something." Totally not a safe place to be, not for any ship short of a star destroyer. She shivers a bit, closing her eyes and muttering something under her breath in Sukhoti.
As if things weren't chaotic and uncertain enough, they become...moreso. There is a certain preparation here, granted, but those whom are quite organized could see how things would have been 'soooo' much better had they been consulted. The skiff being prepared has more lines attached to it than is necessary. Thick ropes knotted securely around moorings.
Ruby hands off the duty of keeping a grip on the wheel to someone with arms bearing more ink than herself. With strict instructions and a firm oath of a disembowelment if they don't follow her wishes. The skiff bangs against the side of the hull as the ship tilts more alarmingly. "Don't need tha cat unless it can row!" she froths, eye set hard, muscle under her bad eye fluttering madly. "Need you though, Liya. Sharp an nimble...an keen." Lips twitch in something like a snarl...for some un-Bogly reason. She turns to set a manic glare on those both swole and thin alike. "This gonna work. Cause I say so! I seen 'ow everythin works. Circles...in circles. Cogs...in wheels. Comets...rimmin suns. Triad 'o truths. An no turnin back! We-" there is another cry from the lookout. "Doomed ship!" Confirming Liya's shared information. "And...Wait.Cap-taiiiin? Captain there's another. Our side of the maw...we've got an echo. Sister ship! Souls aboard! Oh Goddess...they're curling deeper than us!"
