Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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SHODDYPRODUCT

They took the body gently from Ciarán's arms, setting what was left of her gently into their own. The weight was oddly comforting in the moment, amidst the chaos aboard the Truth Teller. They walked over towards the edge of the ship, between it and the Hard Nox, just a ways away, connected by chains. They had seen this before, and knew it would be (relatively) easy to make their way over.

That is, if they had any intent to.

There, next to the rails, they set Poppy down, and removed the Master Gunner's cloak, baring the body once more to the air, likely the last time it would be underneath the stars ever again. Juniper returned it to Ciarán, a solemn, somber look on their face as they did so, before turning back to her. They let the heat rise in the palms of their hands as they approached, silently praying an apology to the satyr as they gently removed their cloak, setting it gently by their side.

'I'm sorry, Poppy. For everything. For this. I just... I think you'd like this, in a weird sort of way. Hopefully, this way, you can help support life going forward. Maybe... Maybe it'll make up for some of what I did, somehow. I'm sorry.'

The fire jumped from their hands, dousing what was left of the satyr. Juniper held it for a minute or two, keeping the intensity high, until there was naught left but bits of bone and ash. The winds of the night began to carry them away, as the sorceress retrieved her cloak once more, draping it over their shoulders in a sweeping motion, scattering the rest of the ashes on the wind, freeing them from the hellscape of the Truth Teller, to be carried to distant shores, to provide nutrients to the trees and flowers and grasslands of the world, perpetuating the life the druid had held so dear.

Tears did not flow this time, bittersweet as it was. Instead, a very slight, pained smile came to their face, with the hope that they had done good. With that, they crossed the chains, planting their feet firmly upon the deck of the Hard Nox, back home at last.
 
GOLDEN

As more stragglers made it back to the ship, the more difficult it became for Alys to find some damn peace and quiet. Not only was she exhausted and in pain, but she quite literally couldn't stomach being in the only room that provided that sense of comfort. Turn after turn, Alys wandered the dimly lit corridors, keeping her head down and grumbling out greetings only when needed.

Eventually, she found herself in the mess hall. It was relatively empty, and the kitchen had a supply of fresh water, so it served her purposes well. She made a beeline for the swinging double doors, where she had watched Soren emerge countless times over the last couple of months. It was a damn shame he was gone.

The doors creaked open and closed a couple times once Alys had everything she needed; a two basins - one full of water and the other empty, a clean rag, and one of Soren's stale bread rolls stuffed in her mouth. May he rest in peace.

Alys took a seat at the end of a bench and placed the two basins on the floor in front of her. Despite this attempt at being a little more sanitary, and not cleaning her wound on the table, she could still hear Emer's voice in her head.

No dear, better not do this where we eat our meals.

Well fuck, she was doing her best, wasn't she?

Still chewing on that piece of bread, Alys submerged the cloth into the water. Ever so gently, she began to dab at the injured wrist, washing away the blood and gunk, just as she'd seen done millions of times before. The dirty water began to drip down into the empty basin, instantly staining it with the pink residue. Eventually, the red disappeared and she could see everything more clearly; her intact skin, and the jagged lines where the whip had dug past the layers of epidermis and dermis. Then she switched, scrubbing her unaffected hand and forearm until they were both clean.

Now came the hard part. Alys grabbed the neck of the bottle she'd brought and took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. This was gonna hurt like a bitch, but it had to be done. The rum trickled down onto the wound and Alys groaned, bowing her head and closing her eyes to keep the tears from escaping.
 
QUIRBLES

"Please-- call me Emryk. Baron is... far too formal, given the situation we find ourselves in." His offer was delivered alongside a quaint grin, amicable and professional. It was, however, offset by the fact he was currently clothed in naught but a loincloth. "Unless you would prefer I call you Doctor? Whatever you prefer, miss." Despite the musings of the fellow who had dropped off the injured, the Baron's temperament had cooled somewhat. Putting himself to use had taken his mind off of the fatigue (and nakedness) of his form, and he gave a bemused glance over his shoulder to Emer as they were left alone once more. The grin was still present, a bit wider this time.

"Do your other crewmates have a habit of offering such humorous commentary?" Emryk inquired, running himself to the basin and taking a large portion of water to bring back to the man's neck. Slowly, he poured it along the wound, washing free any debris and coagulated blood. It seemed as if Emer had done well to recruit the Baron, given the size of his scaled mitts-- large enough to fill a tankard's worth and more. He was worried he'd drown the poor fellow they were working on.

"Good work from you today, doctor." He murmured as the last of the water washed over, wiping his hands along his thighs and breathing a great, hefted sigh of respite. "I do apologize for the intrusion. It was... the fastest way to deliver Soren." As he talked, the smile faded, until solemnity took his ridged visage once more. For a moment, he said nothing. "I feel as if I should have saved him. I feel as if... I had not done enough. I truly am sorry."
 
ANNASIEL

"Please don't call me a doctor, Baron Emryk," she replied, with a bit of a smirk herself. "Doctors go to schools. I am a wisewoman, and everything I learned I learned from my mother."

Setting the cauter aside, she began to pad the wound with gauze, tying cloth bandaging around it to hold it into place.

"As for the crew, they have no shortage of coy remarks. You don't fault a lark for its cry! But, they mean well. They're goodfolk - most, at least, just not always the best at manners."


She slid a pillow roll under Sliocht's head and patted the man gently on the forehead. As Emryk spoke about fault and help, she turned to him, reaching out to take one of his large hands in both of hers and giving it a squeeze.

"Stop that. You did what we can. We do what we can. If you let your mind deal in might-have-beens, you'll miss the present for the past. All that matters is doing good in the moment - that's what carries forward. That's what we show the world."

She shook his hand once, then let it fall, drawing a fresh bowl from her basin to rinse herself.

"You can put your pants back on, if you'd like, or we can see if we have any fresh clothes in your size. I can send your old ones out for the wash, and try my hand at stitching the holes when I get the time. They're soiled and torn, but salvageable, I think."
 
REYN

"Ooh, first undead, and now doll- you people really are getting creative with these dehumanising insults." They muttered, "What's next, hm? Patch? Mannequin? Quilt?"

Mal rolled their eyes. It didn't matter- not when they had a job to do. They examined the wounds with the same scrutinising glare they showed the ship, before reaching for a needle and thread.

"Your stitches look absolutely dire." They noted, "You're not meant to pull on them, you know."

They sounded... careful, almost. Not quite worried, but a tad less flippant than their words would imply.

"Are you sure you want to continue like this? I mean, there's only so many times I can stomach stitching up the same wound before I start feeling responsible."

They paused.

"I could make sure this doesn't happen again, you know. If you could find a specimen with some sort of natural armor--scales, for example--I could give you a transplant. Then, at least you won't have to visit me quite as often for repair."
 
QUIRBLES

It had been quite some time since the Baron had felt such a gentle touch. He welcomed it, nervous as he was, a single thumb tracing over the back of the doctor's hand as he stared down at her with a vague, reminiscent gleam in the eye. It was hard to tell what was trapped in his gaze, thickened amber as it was, and he gave a small nod to Emer in response to her encouragement. "Well, rest assured I find you a wise woman indeed." The barest hint of a chuckle dotted his reply, and he gave a squeeze of his own, both hands encapsulating hers like an armored shell-- to protect, and to keep warm. While the back of his hands were roughened carapace, his palms were soft, smooth.

"I'm sure your mother would hold nothing but pride, if she were to see your work."

Out of turn, perhaps, and an assumption on the Baron's part-- but folk rarely became pirates if they had family and a home of their own. Releasing her hands, Emryk gave a glance to his sullied trousers, frowning a bit and crossing his arms in thought.

"... do you have anything large enough to fit me, dear?" He replied in earnest, chuckling a bit. "I'd be certainly surprised if you did."
 
DELFI

Caleb chuckled lightly as the shipmaster took offense at what was meant to be a compliment. It was always a relief to be back home. With his shoulders now relaxed, the quartermaster rested his hands on his hips while Mal examined his bare chest.

"Just stop the bleeding, please." It was Caleb's turn to roll his eyes. "If you want scales, there's a new guy who fits the description. If you can get Emer to get her hands off him you should ask him for parts. Do you have your sewing kit with you?" He asked ready to follow them into their cabin.
 
ANNASIEL

Her smile faded, slightly, not at the mention of her mother - that was an old wound, scarred and numb - but at the mention of clothes.

"I'm certain we could find some, though they might not be as fine as your old," she replied. Soren seemed about his size, and waste-not was the mantra of any skyship. They could go shopping once they reached a port, but until then, secondhands would have to do. "If you'd like, you can finish rinsing yourself with water from my basin. I'm afraid we've no baths onboard. There's likely to be found a bit of food in the mess hall as well."

Another thought of Soren. Probably still a few rolls left over, and a heated pot of stew. They'd have to find a new cook as well.

Rubbing her eyes, she smiled a little brighter.

"I'm sure you'll find welcome here, whether if you'd just like to pass through, or stay a while. You've done good by us, and the captain will no doubt respect that."
 
GHOSTLY

As Juniper took Poppy back into their arms, Ciarán took a step back and the sorceress do what she needed to, what was right. This was their moment, he knew they needed this. He took back his coat and took a few paces back to give them their space, he'd be the last aboard this ghost ship if he could - he didn't want anyone else waiting behind, and would've hated to see them tumble while moving across. But then, they set her the satyr back down, and Ciarán's eyes fixed slightly confused.

Juniper had been aboard the ship for a year and a half, but he'd never seen their flames personally. Fire in the sky was typically a bad idea, and while raiding he found himself a ways away from Juniper typically. He watched the heat gather in their hands before it leaped out at Poppy, bathing her in flame - a beautiful light amongst the shadows of the Truth Teller. He watched silently until it was over, till she was but ash in the wind. She was being carried away to distant lands, free of her shell. A stray tear drew from his eye and found its way to the deck.

There was something familiar in that, although Ciarán couldn't place it. Something in his heart told him this was the way. Once Juniper was across, Ciarán followed, pausing only to look upon the mark on the railing where Poppy had once been - now as far as the wind would carry her. For a moment he thought when his time came, that would be where he'd like to go. Spread amongst the clouds as the winds willed it. He smiled, then turned homebound.

Once back aboard, he approached Juniper and cleared his throat. "That was... that was damn decent of you."

~ ~ ~

The Hard Nox was a rush of newcomers and wounded, most found themselves of use or in consultation. Ciarán wasn't in as bad shape as Sliocht or some of the others who'd come aboard, but he was aching. He found himself back in his cabin, he let his prosthetic fall from his arm, the metal was left blackened and gritty - it would need cleaning and tuning before it would be the articulate limb he'd come to rely on. He rolled his shoulder back and winced as a hard pop remembered the blast back on the Truth Teller. A necessary move he'd tell himself, now he had to suffer the consequences. All action garnered reaction.

Intoxication was one such reaction. Glass be damned, Ciarán pulled a bottle of whiskey from the mainland out of his cabinet, opened it with his single hand and took a long swig. The shaking and pain would subside soon, better yet on a full stomach. He left the arm on his bed, the bottle would follow him to the galley.

Sword still at his side, the master gunner made his way through the halls below deck to the mess hall, offering good evenings and a nonchalant salute to anyone who regarded him. When he arrived, the mess was quiet save one - Alys.

She'd taken the sickening whip to the wrist, leaving it ragged and bloody. Sliocht's neck was a similar casualty, and his next visit once the barber was in spirits for company. Ciarán stepped forward to her bench, and looked over her wound. "Might I be of help?" He offered, taking a knee with a slight groan. "It appears I'm down a hand, unfortunately. But I'd hate to see you lose yours."
 
UMBRASIGHT

No eyes turned to her as she retreated back to the doorway, her steps only slowing once she had a stack of treasure to put between herself and those around King. Her job done, and the map safely tucked away, Nessa decided it was time to make her pockets a little heavier with what time she had. The vampire slid her bag around her shoulder, pulling it open. She didn’t have time to pick the choicest items, so she picked the things that looked like they might be worth something. Some foreign blade inlaid with glittering stones, a few heavy sacks that she was fairly certain held their weight in gold, a handful of polished gems she could snag as she passed, a rather thin book that just happened to catch her eye as she passed.

She caught sight of Lucien as he rushed forward to support Sinéad, and the sounds of chaos were soon followed. Taking that as her cue to leave Nessa hurried back to the first table, the one with the broken chest. She held her bag to the lip of the table and swept the gold and jewelry into its ravenous maw. Some fell to the floor, a regrettable loss, but Nessa flipped her bag closed. She grabbed another bag as she hurried back to the door, stopping with an annoyed click of her tongue. The bone woman was there, looking like she were making quite the effort to remain conscious.

Idiot should have gone back to the ship, but no matter there, what was, was. “Hold this” She said as she dropped her recently acquired sack of something down onto the girl’s lap. She knelt down, one arm snaking under Hester’s knees as the other slid under her armpits before she lifted her up with scarcely a grunt.

Vampirism had its perks at times, though the wound at Hester’s shoulder smelled several weeks soured. ”Can you return that cart to the ship at a distance, or do you need to be close?” Nessa asked, though she was already in motion.

Sinéad would be close at heel, and she had no doubt Lucien would soon follow. Hopefully that bone contraption could keep pace.

“And tell me which way to go, faster we are to Emer faster your shoulder gets back in one piece.”
 
DELFI

The abomination was as strong as it was smart. It took a moment for the monstrosity to make up its mind of which target to follow, deciding to make haste towards the vampire who’d shot it in the head. Meanwhile the second one picked up the table Sineád had slammed more than once, lifting it up above its head before tossing it into the female captain’s direction.

King and the girl in white saw a smaller one, disguised as one of them, rushing through the piles of gold and grabbing everything she could get her hands on. The girl by King’s side leaned forward, but was stopped by her captain, who whispered:

“Let them go.”
 
QUIRBLES

Emryk nodded, glancing out to the hallway for a moment before stepping to the basin and splashing himself with water. Brawny fists fell deep into the liquid there, erupting like cannonfire upon the coast to drench himself and wash the month and a half of horror that had befallen him; his chest was first, then his underarms, and finally his neck and back. The water was peaceful; it had been the only thing approaching a bath in quite some time, and he was dearly grateful for it. Small luxuries, now, were like godsends-- even the simple act of being able to walk around was a boon he wasn't likely to forget for some time. Freedom was an awful thing to lose, and worse still to forget... and the Baron had nearly forgotten what it was like to have been free.

"At my age, I thought I would never have to deal with such... inhumanity ever again." He eventually murmured, not quite addressing Emer in his idle musings. "I'd experienced it before, mind you, but... I just thought I'd been free of it." A shake of his head, determined. "Apparently not. The past has... quite an awfully inconvenient ability to do that, does it not? To repeat itself." Another splash of water, this time directly upon the face. He blinked, sighing with a modicum of contentment-- or perhaps it was dolor, lost under the waves of fatigue. Too tired to mourn, and too tired to remember. The best he could do was rest, so he would not join the fallen.

"I am... rambling. Apologies. I really must insist about repaying you-- is there any possible way I could do so? I'm unsure what use a Baron would have on a ship; most of my skills are less technically inclined, beyond physical labor."
 
ANNASIEL

"Some people are cruel."

Emer looked thoughtful, eyes staring, not at Emryk, but past him, at the open sky through the hole in her wall. Her hands worked at the cloth over her bowl, draining it of water, then moving almost mechanically to dab it on Sliocht's forehead and face.

"It's - hard to say why. Sometimes it's their lives that make them that way, sometimes it's simply nature. Whatever the case, to look at your kinfolk and see property, or tools, or, sky bless, animals to slaughter, it is something I could never comprehend." She rest the damp towel on Sliocht's head, drawing her shawl around herself tightly, before moving to clean the dried blood on his shoulders and chest. "As long as folk like that exist, the cycle will continue. We cannot stop them from existing. But what we can do, Baron Emryk, is defy them."

Her eyes met his.

"Defy them by words, by actions, by nature. Be good to the ones you love, for idle hands are clean of dirt, but caked in unwashed blood. I think goodness is a cycle too, Baron Emryk. It's simply easier to remember the foul every time it comes."

Undoing Sliocht's shirt and folding it neatly beside him, she focused on her work, only glancing up with a slight smirk when he mentioned repayment.

"Ask our captain. She could find something for you to do, I'm sure. I've no say in any of that."
 
QUIRBLES

As Emryk dried himself with the torn fragments of his undershirt-- the cleaner portions, of course, seeing as they were naught but rags-- he couldn't help but give a soft smile at the doctor's words, discarding the damp scraps into a pile by the doorway and moving to Emer's side. An odd sight, perhaps, to see such a large fellow take his place beside the wisewoman; his intentions, however, were merely to watch, eyes taking in the care in every movement of her hands. For a moment, he observed in silence, hands politely folded over his lap.

"My mother used to say that pain was what the weak used to feel power. Not gain or use it, rather, but to experience a... fascimile of the concept. What they sought was a reaction. A means of lying to themselves that they were truly in control by seeing the fear and hurt in those they wished ill. Revenge, she said, was their true intention. To gain power was merely to accomplish vengeful acts." He paused, for a moment, gazing over the hurt and pained body of the man Emer fought tirelessly to save. For what reason had he been wounded, truly? A casualty lost in the tide? A pawn, sacrificed between the two captains who warred their ships? And to what ends did they wage war?

"What is power to the weak, after all, if not a means to enact vengeance upon the strong?" A sigh. "She taught me never to gratify them with pain. Never to show it to those who wished me harm, who wished to see it for power. You do not gratify them with pain. You defy them with strength."

A glance to Emer, at that.

"All we are to do now, I suppose, is to remain strong."
 
ANNASIEL

Emer nodded in silence, dabbing at Sliocht's chest. Once Emryk had finished speaking, she let the quiet stand for a while, the only sounds the damp pats of the cloth, the howl of the wind, and the gentle creaking of the ship around them. After a while, however, she rose, moving wordlessly through the bead curtain to their left - when she returned, she held a blanket in her arms.

"Seek out the captain. Her name is Sinead, though she may prefer you to simply call her by her title. Tell her I vouch for you, that I suggest she lend you Soren's wardrobe, and that you're willing to work for your stay. If there's any issue, come speak with me."

She draped the blanket over him, pulling it around his torso and pinning the bulk to his shoulder in a makeshift robe. It was a thick linen sheet that smelled faintly of sandalwood and spices.

"You can borrow this in the meantime, for your modesty. I'll take your clothes to be cleaned, along with Sliocht's here, and I will let you know if they can be mended after."

She smiled and poked his chest.

"After that, eat. I can feel your ribs."
 
PAPERWORK

One moment she'd been busy coming to terms with her rapidly approaching death; the next, an acolyte she didn't recognize was dropping a bag of treasure in her lap, scooping her up in her arms, and sprinting off with her. Her first instinct was to sic the centipede construct on her, but aside from a twitch from somewhere down the corridor, nothing came of that. Her second instinct was to try to get loose or bite her or something equally silly, but fortunately, before she could try anything the memory of where she’d seen that particular robe last broke into her fog-addled brain. She knew exactly who this was.

Well. Not who exactly. She’d never learned the second corpse-walker’s name. Still.

"Yes." Hester's voice sounded like the wheel of a broken-down cart; she stopped, cleared her throat, and tried again. "Yes. The spell's tied off. It'll follow Sh--si--." Okay, that was way too complicated right now. "It'll follow the captain til it can't anymore. Or until one of the other acolytes decided to stop it, or until Sinead was dead. "Fastest way back is the way we came."

The girl carrying her looked young--younger than Hester, though not as young as Pris. First her erstwhile apprentice had been forced to protect her, and now this different child was carrying her? She had to tell herself that, since the girl was a walking corpse, she might really be ten thousand years old for all Hester knew. Very comforting. Carried off by a geriatric, not a teenager.

Still, best not to forget her manners. Not when you were bleeding out in the arms of a blood-hungry monster.

"Thank you," she croaked.

---

For the last few minutes, the centipede construct had been left to thaw on the slowly-warming floorboards of the deck. As Nessa passed it, what was left of the frost cracked, and the construct sprang back to life. With an awkward hop it flung itself back onto Hester's arm, and affixed itself in its customary place. She'd barely had to whisper at it to trigger that reaction. Its core was still raw from how she'd treated it, though, and its limbs were still numb and awkward from the cold. They dug into her arm hard enough to cut through the cloth of her shirt and break the skin. Inconvenient. She forced it to relax, grimacing, and directed it to instead crawl over to the sack of loot and climb inside. That effort was enough to send her back to sleep for a short while. Which meant she got to skip the passage over the chain. That was probably for the best. There were very few ways that being conscious for that could have improved the experience of it for either of them.

When she came to again, she was in a place that smelled like herbs and felt like death, on a mat in front a woman she'd never met, with pale blue skin and even paler hair. So presumably that was the healer, then, and this was the infirmary. The corpse-walker was already gone. So it looked like she probably wasn't going to die tonight. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, now, if she was being completely honest.

"Um. Hello." Gates, her voice was so quiet she could barely make it out. This was getting stupid.
 
GOLDEN

It felt like a thousand needles were being thrust into her wrist at once, causing an overwhelming sensation that both stung and burned. The liquid dripped down her limp wrist to the ends of her fingers, finally settling at the bottom of the basin. The sound reminded her of rain; how the droplets softly pitter-pattered against a tin roof, cleansing the surface from unwanted debris. However, the audible memory could not distract her enough to forget about the pain. Sadly, it wasn't a foreign feeling; she'd been injured before, many times even. But she'd always had someone to do it for her, someone who poured the liquid and inadvertently, caused the pain. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes - it didn't matter that they were shut, or how hard she was keeping them shut. They too fell, rolling down her cheeks and joining the liquid below. Alys exhaled deeply and opened her eyes, instantly noticing that the hand holding the bottle was shaking.

Fuck. One more time, for good measure.

She tilted the bottle again, and this time, after the burning intensified, she roughly slammed it down on the table beside of her. Somehow, the wide base and thick walls of glass withstood the action, though the sound echoed through the room angrily. Alys leaned forward and gently began to blow cool air onto the inflamed wrist, hoping for some sort of relief. Anything. Of course, it didn't fucking work - the pain didn't subside. Once upon a time though, that strategy had worked or at least she thought it did. But being a kid and withstanding a couple minor scrapes and bruises didn't compare to this.

Suddenly, Alys heard the door open. She whirled her head around and noticed a figure approaching. Fuck. Not now. She raised her right arm and roughly began to wipe her eyes, smearing away the tears and wetness that clung to her face. Being around pirates most of her life (who were mostly men) had ingrained a certain belief that tears were weak. Weakness and vulnerability wasn't something she was comfortable showing, not for many years now. Only Emer had seen that side to her. And this certainly wasn't Emer.

Through her damp lashes, she peered at the unwanted guest who had crouched down beside her. Ciaran. She quickly averted her gaze, instead focusing on her wrist. No weakness. The faerie swallowed and began to nod her head, accepting his offer to help. What else could she do? Tell him to fuck off?

Then her gaze temporarily lifted and landed on the roll of fabric on the table. She cleared her throat before saying, "I think I cleaned it the best I could. What do you think? Think I could be Emer's apprentice?" She joked; an attempt to distract Ciaran by using humour.
 
ANNASIEL

"Hello, dear," Emer replied gently. She was dabbing a warm cloth to the woman's face, but as Hester came to, she placed the cloth in a nearby bowl and leaned in.

"You know, when the captain told me you'd be joining me in the clinic, I assumed it was at my side, not under my care." A light, playful smile, eyes creasing. "I am called Emer, and as Nessa told me, you are the one they call Hester, yes? I've been looking forward to meeting you."

She set a tin of steaming tea beside, sliding it towards her.

"Drink. You're dreadfully cold, and this should help with the chills."

Shifting back, she settled her hands in her lap, head tilting slightly - stray hairs from her bun falling askew.

"You seem concerned, dear. I assure you, waking up is a good thing in this case."
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Finally back on the Hard Nox, and away from the Truth Teller, Juniper felt, at least somewhat, a completely different person than they had been just a mere few days ago. Granted, it was a feeling they were familiar with, having gone through the process of becoming someone else quite regularly throughout their life, only really stopping once they had found themself aboard the ship they had called home for the last year and a half. They felt new, determined, focused on bringing themself under control... But above all else, tired. Very tired. They abandoned the battle behind them, figuring that if the great Ciarán was pulling back, the fight must be close to over. Trudging towards the stairs below decks, feeling the aches and burns of pain across their back, they took stock of the rest of the crew. Many were hurt, some worse than others, but most all worse than their self. 'I... I'll go see her later. Better for her to focus on saving lives, instead of looking after a few scratches.'

Instead of heading to the clinic, as most would be after a raid, or any sort of conflict for that matter, the changeling instead went to their shared cabin, split between themself, Alys, Nessa, and a few other people. On approach, they caught a whiff of... Something. It wasn't quite like the Truth Teller, but if they hadn't known they had just left that very ship, they would have sworn they were walking belowdecks aboard it once more. Things only got worse as they drew nearer, the stench becoming akin to a graveyard, which would have been absolutely revolting if it hadn't been for the fact that they had just spent the last day and a half in a flying one. While desensitized to the smell, it wasn't something that could be ignored, so instead of taking what they believed to be a well deserved rest in their hammock, they took to the mess, deciding that a grand meal by Truth Teller standards was in order. Hopefully Soren had-

'Right. Soren.'

Regardless, there was food to be had. They gathered up a stale roll and a helping of their everlasting stew, something that had been going from before their time aboard the Nox. They settled in, stomach rumbling in anticipation, only briefly distracted by a loud sound from the other end of the hall. Alys, and Ciarán. Alys seemed upset, made clear by the bottle that had just gambled with death and won, and the pink-red water in the basin in front of her. Right, her wrist. She should have gone to Emer for that, right? Though, she did have Ciarán with her to help, now, gentle giant as he was, despite his position and demeanor towards the new bloods. With that, quietly, lost to thought, they dug in.
 
REYN

"I always do."

They flashed the needle in the lamplight, before turning and re-entering their cabin. It was far less cosy than the clinic; all hard tables and organised tools, with jars of preserved pieces stacked along the bookshelves. Mal cleared one of the tables and gestured for Caleb to sit down.

"A new guy, hm? Can he steer?"

The question was asked in jest, but of course it was genuine.

"I'm not the one who needs scales, Caleb. You don't see me running out and getting myself carved up, do you? Not unless I'm on my own surgeon's table- ha!"

They sighed.

"Emer wouldn't dare, anyway. She's got a head full of cotton; soft, empty, and easily caught aflame. Bloody health-workers- right, hold still."

They threaded the needle and brought it to the wound, ready to stitch it a little more tightly this time.
 
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