Featuring: Amahl, Cleo, Marco, Nan, and Zea
Date: September 18, 2004
IC Date: July 13, 3930
Summary: The Makara gets away from Parnassus, their hold filled with loot but their most precious cargo does not so easily relent to being taken away from their homes.
Makara -- Open Seas
From her black sails to the crimson coloring of her narrow body, the Makara glides through the water sleek and silently to pounce on her prey. Three thick masts jut from her deck, iron bolstered against attack. The center and largest mast holds the largest of the fan-shaped rigs and above it flies a black flag decorated with a serpent piercing a red heart - the marker of the Makara. She is not the fastest junk, but her bat-winged, sheetlet sails makes her highly maneuverable, quick to reef, her slighter hull allows her to berth in coral reefs and often outsmart her pursuers.
They made it to the ship, their numbers greatly decimated, but as long as Amahl has a crew to sail the ship, then he doesn't really care what happens with the other pirates. His vengeance has been fulfilled and his ship is full of valuables. But the Captain isn't as jolly as he probably should be. Perhaps it is the cut in his side and the gills full of that algae that put him in such a foul temper. It could also be the loss of his Water-Mage that causes the halfbreed to scowl as he steps up from the Crew's Bunks. The hostages are in his, so he must share with the crew...enough to put anyone in a bad temper. Hissing with pain, he strides over to the pilot's wheel, catching an idle crewmember out of the corner of one eye. Whirling about, he shouts, "Back to work, or sic Marco on you with the cat!"
She needed time alone, time away, time to think. Unable to go anywhere with wings bound, or very far as the ship allows for only so much aloneness, Cleo has chosen a spot at the front of the ship to crouch uncomfortably, to shiver and get sprayed wet at irregular intervals. When Amahl raises his voice, she looks faintly back over her shoulder but never far enough to actually see the captain.
"Oy, you tell em' Cap'n!" Nan chirps giddily from where sits upon the deck, scrubbing roughly at a few bloodstains. It is perhaps somewhat odd to see her there cleaning the decks, especially since she herself is still streaked from head to toe with the red stuff. An order is an order though. "Ye gods this shite's impossible to clean." She mutters matter-of-factly, before launching into a merry hum.
Zea moves with an odd agility, an Empyrean noblewoman should not walk so easily along the deck of a moving ship, but she somehow has able sea legs beneath her. She glares over her shoulder at her bound wings and turns that same glare to the pirates that are carrying them further and further from Parnassus. She ventures towards the rear of the ship, watching and waiting as if expecting something to appear on the horizon. Another ship perhaps? Her hands - one of them marked with a spider web of burns - grip the side of the boat almost possessively and she closes her eyes. Perhaps in that way she might forget where she is.
Marco has been limping badly since the last scrap on the docks... a dagger to the thigh will do that to a man's gait. A fresh gash along one shoulder, but otherwise intact... and hearing Amahl's threat from below decks, the second mate smiles and limps up from below... the threatened cat in hand. "Aye, tell me about it... ruined me damn gloves, it did!" shouting a few more curses and threats, just to liven up the crew, the mongrel hauls himself onto the weatherdeck, and leans on one railing for a while.. just until his leg stops throbbing.
Hazel eyes look to two of the three hostages, but before Amahl can make good on any threats or promises he is seized with a wracking cough. Gills flare at his neck and some reddish gunk is wiped away before he changes direction to stand behind Zea, "They won't come, you know. We're too far out...and they have no way of finding us. But keep up that hope, girl. It's better than seeing you mope, like -her-." He jabs a webbed finger towards Cleo. Then, at Nan's comment, he wrinkles his nose and moves to touch a toe to her side, "Go clean that mess up, Nan. You're beginning to stink." It's not like they don't have enough clothes taken from other ships. To Marco, he just scowls, "I lost a brand new hat myself, Marco...so you have no reason to complain."
Amahl's words are mostly lost to Cleo, who shifts her attention back to the stern of the ships and the waves they are splitting. Quiet and unobtrusive, it's just her and the salty wind messing with her appearance. Though the slight hint of green is probably on her cheeks because being on a ship was uncharted territory before yesterday.
Zea doesn't turn at the foreign voice behind her, but her hands grip the boat tighter, her knuckles begin to turn white. She breathes deeply, finding a calm center in herself before responding to the scoundrel speaking to her. "You are wrong," she hisses through tight teeth set in a clenched jaw. "You have made a grave mistake, 'captain,'" There is a sarcastic stress put on the title, an indication she does not believe he is worthy of it. "The Amarada will be on you so fast you won't have time to blink. She has a wind mage who will steal your wind and use it to her advantage." She laughs with a dry and mirthless voice as slowly she opens her eyes, hoping to find the Amarada in the distance. "They will find you, I *promise* you that," Zea hisses at Amahl, her voice as deadly as a viper, her spirit refusing to be broken.
Nan laughs heartily at her Captain's words, a high-pitched, cackle of a noise. Tossing her scrub-brush back into the bucket, she shuffles her long, aching limbs about to stand. "One man's stink is another man's pleasure." She asserts with a wide grin given in the general direction of the Second Mate. "Shall I put on a dress, me Captain? Like the little sausages wear?" Her icy gaze shoots to glance at Cleo, grin twisting into a smirk.
"Hell yes I can complain! thems were *velvet* gloves.." Though the complaint is half hearted. At Zea's defiance, "Oh ho... listen 'ere, little Fish... I think this birdie might be upset with ye." Marco crows, as he hobbles to the aft where Amahl is, pausing along his way to lash at the back of a shipmate's legs... serves him right for standing still reckons the mongrel. With a leer at Crazy Nan, "Only one thing fer it, Capt'n. If'n ye want to wash Nan, we needs be tying a rope under 'er tits and tossin her off the back o' the boat."
Amahl whirls about at Nan, his expression dark, "Get that stuff off of you before I throw you overboard myself!" Picking up a bucket, he strides across the deck to place it in front of Cleo, "If you're going to retch, do it in there. If you soil my deck, I'll have you clean it." But now back to Zea, "You go on believing that, girl. But I wouldn't count on it. Their Captain is dead." At Marco's comment about Nan, he actually grins just a little, "If that's what it takes, do it. And you'll get new gloves. I promise that one of these pretties will be worth twenty pair."
The restrained wings shudder with an all-consuming pain and Zea's stone-like posture is interrupted as she stumbles as she stands still. There is a heartbeat's moment where she doesn't breathe, can't breathe and she must grip the side of the boat harder to keep upright. Suddenly she spins to face the pirates, her expression nearly wild as she glares at them. "Lies!" she spits out at them as she finds her footing again. "Lies to try and will us into despair! I tell you I will not fall for your tricks, you scoundrel! The Amarada will find you and her crew will see every last one of you killed. I swear by Zeus it will be true!" A few feathers are lost from her wings as this new rage consumes her, puddling at her feet.
Startled, Cleo shivers visibly, shying away from the man beside her, before she even has a chance to start thinking about composing herself. Composure comes slowly, but at last she rises, stiff of limb and walks away from bucket and man. Or perhaps walks is too big a word, the Empyrean unused to ships or seas, holding on to everything in her way if it will keep her upright on her way to Zea. She crouches down beside the woman with some difficulty as her wings are in the way without opportunity to flair wide. "Save it. There is better use for rage later." The green has intensified -just- that much.
Marco smiles broadly at the flicker of amusement from Amahl. "Don' be letting no reekin' bird talk to ye like tha' little Fish!" He goads, before turning aside to Nan and chuckling, "Heard that did ye? Gonna enjoy this, I am!" Cleo's movement draws his stare again, the second mate licks his lips before wondering aloud, "Oi, Amahl... *Really* need to sell all three of 'em back, do we?"
The Captain just bursts out laughing, "Oh, you swear by whomever you want, girlie. But frankly, I don't worship this 'Zeus'...and something tells me that Khalid-Atar isn't going to come swooping down to rescue you." The laughter does cause him to wince and grip his side, "Why couldn't we get a healer, old man?" He glances at the two Empyreans, "Don't suppose either of you can heal...no, I suppose not." But Amahl does reach forward to cup Zea's cheek in his webbed hand, "You keep that hope of yours. It's rather cute." For now. To Cleo he arches an eyebrow before looking to Marco, "You sure you want her? She looks rather green about the gills..."
There is disgust heavy in the Vilica's eyes as she tears her chin forcibly from Amahl's grip, which drops her eyes to the crouching woman. Her eyes study Cleo for a moment, for a takes that long to place the woman and suddenly there is recognition. "Domina," she says as gently as she can with a voice filled with anger, "there is plenty of rage still in me, I shall not spend it quickly." She lifts her burned hand from here it grips the side of the boat and for a moment she is still before dropping it in a similar disgust she holds for the Captain. "You have not only the Amarada to fear, but you have the Republic as well. That domina down in your cabin is a Jovian and I am an Acesian. This woman," she gestures to Cleo, "has a family with a wealth of resources at its fingertips. We *will* be missed."
Did she really roll her eyes at a time like this? Cleo may not know ships, or kidnapping, or Varati-Atlantean halfbreed, but she does know men. With a nod towards Nan, she scowls greenly, "More your stench, cat-boy." For the first time she shifts her attention willingly to Amahl -with plenty of effort ignoring Zea's comments-, to whom she states rather matter-of-factly, "How much did you claim as ransom?"
"Better green than red, like ye an' Nan..." Marco snorts... miming a kiss at the disgusted Cleo, before snorting again, and hobbling towards Nan, "Righ' then... Lets get ye cleaned up. Bring a rope lads!"
Amahl just shakes his head at Marco...sometimes it's best just to let things go. Looking to the very green Cleo, he blinks a moment, "Ransom? I suppose I should send that, shouldn't I? It might be best before you cover my deck with vomit..." perhaps the next ship they come upon will be forced to send a message. "Whatever it is, girl, you're not being brought back so quickly. But maybe you can believe in the Amarada coming after you with your friend."
"Don't listen to him, Domina," Zea is quick to retort, speaking to Cleo but looking at Amahl with that same dead, dark stare. "We'll be back home as soon as the Amarada can hoist anchor and Sebastian can set wind in her sails." A cruel smile curls into her lips as she speaks, but the emotion is a dead as her gaze. "He is just keeping up this false bravado to keep his crew believing they'll escape with precious cargo and the promise of wealth beyond their dreams in the near future." She slowly shakes her head. "Won't happen."
"You haven't sent a demand yet..." The contempt in Cleo's eyes is naked as she regards the capturing captain. "Did you think this thing through - at all?" With difficulty, she rises, clinging to the side of the ship for support. She glances sideways at Zea, guarding her expression, but perhaps due to the sea-sickness, it's obvious she doesn't share the Acesian's hope, regret tainting her alto as well, when she still tries to assure, "Of course they will."
"I didn't expect hostages, honestly. But now that you're here, I'm not complaining." Until they start to be a bit much. Then he may unbind their wings and just let them try and fly home. "And Sebastian? Wait, is that Demetrius' son?" Hazel eyes glint a bit as he looks to some nearby crew before they return to the Empyreans, "When last I saw him, he was pretty near death. Quite a few too many knife-slashes to do a man good."
Zea's face pales considerably and her whole body shakes with the sudden absence of firm composure that had held her together. She may be able to convince herself that Demetrius' death is a lie, but that cuts a bit too close to home. "You lying bastard," she hisses in a wavering whisper, but she doesn't stay quiet for too long. "You lying, thieving halfbreed son of a whore!" My my, where did a noblewoman learn language like that? She lunges at the halfbreed, consumed with a rage colored by pain and grief, a dangerous combination indeed. "You take that back, all of it! He's not dead, you're lying! You're LYING!"
Snorting, Cleo folds her arms, looking squarely at Amahl. "Please... Zea here can lie better than that. Of course you can't complain, -you- screwed up. How much will you be ask..." That's about as far as she gets before Zea looses herself in her raging fit. Cleo would be quite unable to stop the woman, not in possession of much strength even when not sick. So she does the next best thing to save the Acesian's life and trips her.
The lunging he wasn't quite expecting. Stepping back to brace himself, he reaches to try and grab Zea's wrists before he can do any damage, "You try that again, little bird, and I'll have your arms bound as well." Amahl's eyes narrow and he goes to shove Zea aside, "You can think I'm lying all you want. But I know who I killed and I know who was nearly dead on those docks. You can believe me or not, but that doesn't change the truth." Oh, she's tripped? "You know the game, don't you?" is offered with a grin to Cleo. "And how much do you think will be paid for you?"
Zea falls roughly to the deck and her head drops down to the cool wooden boards for a long moment. Her body shudders, her shoulders heave, but when her head raises, there are no tears on her face. She shoots Cleo a glare, a look of 'How dare you!' as she scoots away from the other woman and leans up against the side of the ship. Her hands are shaking, no matter what her expression might read she is obviously distressed by this turn of events. She doesn't get back to her feet, even with her sea legs she might not have the strength to stand.
Checking for a split second to see if Zea's alright, Cleo tries to focus Amahl's attention on her, placing herself between the Acesian and the halfbreed, though his height still gives him plenty of view over Cleo's shorter shoulders at the Empyrean noble. "You know the rules. You're mad if you think I'm helping you out. How much did you plan on asking?" Her face is a brave blank, but she is careful enough to keep her distance.
Broad shoulders lift and fall in a shrug, "I haven't decided. I suppose it depends on how much trouble the three of you are worth. But you mentioned the other being a Jove and this one..." he jabs a thumb at Zea, "...is some other noble. So I'm supposing that you're worth something. So I will be asking enough." Amahl merely smiles and starts to continue to the pilot's wheel once more.
"Ask as much as you want," Zea shoot at him, unable to hold her tongue even as the pain builds within her. "Ask for a million denarii and it will be promised to you, but you'll never see a single coin of it. You'll be dead before you can collect it." She then slumps back against the boat and bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay.
Biting hard on the inside of her cheek, Cleo turns to Zea and closes the distance, dropping to the Acesian's height. Muttered words are spoken soft and hurried, while the commoner's daughter places a hand to the nobler face.
Cleo whispers "Are you a fool girl? Are you deliberately trying to piss him off? If you want to do something, take the wind out of his sails, or anything!"
"I'm getting tired of hearing that from you, girl. You say it again, and you shall be gagged." A million denarii, hmmm? It's possible Amahl may ask for that. Then he could retire somewhere...it's a thought, most certainly. "If you behave, you won't be mistreated. But if you continue like this, I may just have you sleep with the crew."
Zea doesn't respond to Cleo right away, but she does cast the commoner a hopeless gaze. Resting a hand on the other woman's arm, she opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Amahl's declaration. *That* quickly deflates any remaining anger that burns within her. She drops her head in a defeated nod of reluctant acceptance and leans in to speak with Cleo.
Zea whispers "I can't, I've ... I've lost contact with my magic, I can't bat a fly away, much less slow his ship." to Cleo.
Turning her head towards Amahl, Cleo doesn't care what view they offer, but while Zea starts to talk to her, she tells the captain, "She'll behave. You and your men better do the same, or a million is not what you'll receive." And that's a promise, her narrowing eyes tell him as much, before she turns back to the Acesian in alarm. "What? Get it back!"
Pausing on the steps up to the wheel, Amahl offers, "The men have been warned...as have the women. If any of them harass you, tell me and they will be punished."
Defeat comes from a variety of sources, assaulting the Vilica as she drifts further into depression. Images of Sebastian lying dead on the docks are enough to destroy her spirits, but the revelation made to the other Empyrean only further mires her. "I ... I can't," she responds helplessly to Cleo as she lifts her left hand, her burned and damaged hand. Revealing the marked fingers and lower arm to the other woman she comments in a low voice. "I was struck ... by lightning, trying to ..." She stalls, it doesn't matter much now. "It left this, and since then I haven't been able to ... I don't know when I will get it back."
Cursing, Cleo rises unsteadily, worried eyes locked on the Acesian before she glares at the departing Amahl. "We really do need Tyche's own luck..." She extends a hand to Zea in an offer for her to rise, but halfway through the motion, grabs for the railing instead, nearly throwing herself overboard in her attempt to empty her stomach in the sea instead of on deck.
Zea resists taking the hand and is thankful a moment later that she didn't as Cleo is suddenly violently ill over the side of the ship. Unsteady more from raw emotion than from the movement of the ship, Zea gets to her feet once more, but ignores her state of dress or her hair, which has long since come unbound and is scattered across her shoulders. She flexes the fingers of burned hand hesitantly; they get stiff so easily these days. "Domina," she says, turning to Cleo and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her voice is still wavering to keep the pain at bay, but at least she can try and help one person. "It helped me to stand at the bow of the ship and watch the water, learn the movements of the ship and to anticipate changes in its motion. It might help you settle your stomach."
Words of kindness the stomach refuses to listen to, as it is rather freed from its contents the violently ill-way. The accompanying sounds are even less friendly, and all Cleo can do is hold on to the railing, while her skin is slowly being covered by a sick sheen of sweat.
Zea continues to stroke Cleo's shoulder, forgetting for a moment that they are on a pirate's vessel that carries them further and further from home. There is a pain in her heart that she cannot quite shake, but if she directs her focus to the other woman, it helps a bit. "Do not eat too much," she offers, full of suggestions, this one. "But drink water if they give it to you and only eat bland things, like bread." Zea has no idea just what kind of meals then can expect, but it is better to offer this before the other domina eats something that disagrees with her. "This will all be over soon," she adds in a soft murmur meant only for Cleo's ears. "I promise."
"BWAA-Hahahaaaa!" Echoes a raucous bout of laughter from below. The dubious honor is once again had of the second mate's presence, as Marco hobbles up the stairs from below the cat o' nine looking as though it's had some recent use. "Amahl! Where are ye, little Fish?" He wonders aloud, once more hauling himself onto the weatherdeck, no thanks to his injured leg... And finding two captives instead. "Ah heh... What's a'matter, birdie? Sea ain't agreein' with ye?"
When her stomach feels empty, Cleo dares to straighten herself a little, slowly, shivering visibly. Unceremoniously wiping an expensive sleeve over her lips in an attempt to loose the biting taste, she looks up at Zea with watery eyes, trying an unsuccessful grin. And since she can only agree with Marco, she turns a pale face to him, without further comment. Though maybe another wave of nausea can be interpreted as such?
Zea turns as well at the grating laughter and her face regains a bit of the fiery temper she had expelled at Amahl earlier. "Your Captain said we weren't to be touched," she snips at Marco, taking fearful note of the dangerous weapon he swings in his hand. With a final pat to Cleo's shoulder she drops the touch, the connection suddenly strange with a woman she's never gotten along with well in the past.
"So 'e did... an ye've my word of honor," the words are spoken with a mocking lilt, "That I'll not so much as lay a finger on ye.. Then again, this here ain't a finger, is it?" He grins, brandishing the cat. Despite his words though, the mongrel doesn't advance quickly, or threaten with the weapon. "He was tellin' ye true, though... was the Cap'n. Demetrius is dead. Throat cut. Saw Amahl pluck a few of his bloody feathers m'self." the words have an oddly hollow edge, as the pirate voices them.
Retching and recovering. It's a continuing process Cleo finds herself in, Thus excusing her for the moment from conversation. Though she might have appreciated the latter over these bodily inefficiencies.
Her eyes sink closed at that. For some reason it is easier for Zea to believe the rather calm statement of the mongrel, than the loud boasting of the halfbreed captain. There is hesitation before she speaks, but some questions have to be asked, no matter how difficult. "And ... and his son?" Her eyes reluctantly open to study the mongrel with the vile weapon, awaiting an answer, but fearing it at the same time. "He ..." she thrusts her chin in Amahl's direction. "He said he was left dying on the docks."
Marco says "Aye, Demetrius' son." A moment of spite and bitterness as he spits the next, "His trueborn and darling son," A shake of the head as a sneer lingers on the mongrel's face, "Left bleedin' out of 'alf a dozen cuts. Vik did him one but good. More than one, t' be true. Bloody birds," he curses without much venom."
"Y'need to focus on here and now." The voice beside Zea is wavering and soft, but the alto still has a determined undercurrent. Shivering, Cleo straightens again, wiping the sleeve again over her face, then turns to Marco. "Oh go wash your stinking woman, mongrel, leave the Domina be."
Zea sets her hand against Cleo's arm to quiet her as she murmurs a response, "This deals with the here and now Domina, as well as our future. This is important." She steps away from Cleo and takes a tentative one towards the mongrel, less fearful of him than she was before. "Why? Why do you hate him so much? What has he ever done to you?" She bites back the rising bile and stiffening anger. "Why did you have to kill them?" Zea is still assuming the worst, lest her hopes be raised falsely. "They were traders, explorers and Captain Demetrius never even wanted a part of your whole Triumvirate! Why couldn't you just leave them be?!"
Marco takes a limping step towards Zea, cutting down the distance very quickly. "Ye think is this about the bloody Tri'mvrate?" the mongrel shouts possessed of a sudden fury. "Ye think they were all pretty heroes from yer bloody stories? Ye daft stupid bitch, I SAILED on the bloody Amarada! I know better than any of ye what we did. Why could'nt I leave 'em be? Cause that fate ain't fer the likes o' us." Decades of fury and venom boil over in a few moments, and shouted words. "There is no 'leavin us be', ye hear? What he got, he had deserved fer years... YEARS! Before ye were ever born, he'd deserved this day... Ye know NOTHING of us... An' don' ye DARE ever think otherwise!"
Opening her mouth to caution Zea, Cleo clings to the railing, not daring to take one step for fear her stomach might do the talking again for her. Still, no word leaves her lips as Marco starts his tirade. She does shoot a glance up the steps to where Amahl must be standing, somewhere.
He has been observing this from the wheel for some time. But as the yelling starts, a warning call of "Marco..." is offered. There is a moment of silence before the Captain continues, "She has them glorified in her mind. She won't hear the truth...believe me."
If her wings were not bound they would bristle in anger and unfurl behind her in a curtain of white. Instead, Zea shrinks back in open fear at the advancing mongrel, though more for the weapon he still carries. She flinches as his voice is raised at her, but she isn't ready to back down just yet. Her gaze flicks up to where Amahl has arrived. "I glorify nothing," she seethes at him. "I speak of what I know of the man and his son, my personal experience with them." A quick look to Marco before her attention is turned back to the Captain. "Try me."
Marco snaps a quickly cooling look back at Amahl. He lowers the weapon he had raised without thought. "Aye," he mutters, before glowering back into Zea's eyes as he growls, "Not all 'is sons have wings." Before turning on a wounded leg and limping back towards the binnacle where Amahl stands.
Listening quietly, but no less intently, Cleo learns and stores information, looking from Amahl to Marco and back. There is a hint of a smile on her lips, before she realizes how inappropriate that must seem to Zea and she carefully wipes her expression clean. "Zea, let it rest," she urges again. "For now."
"Oh, I think that you do, girl..." is said to Zea even as Amahl steps down only one step."Otherwise, you'd not deny it when I tell you that Demetrius was just as much of a pirate as any of us. He murdered, he plundered...but he did it under the auspices of 'explorer'. Just because he doesn't fly a black flag doesn't mean he isn't guilty." Hazel eyes turn to Marco as he approaches, "I'm tempted to gag them both."
Zea doesn't look impressed, but still angry as she crosses her arms across her chest. "Then fine, I glorify them, for I do not believe a word of it, 'Captain.'" Again, there is the sarcastic tone to her voice at the title. "The men I know have been honorable, brave, intelligent, and kind and nothing you say will ever make me believe that Dominus Demetrius is anything other than that!" She waves a dismissive hand and turns back towards Cleo. "I don't know why I even listen to you; everyone knows pirates are nothing more that foul and vile liars!" She takes a deep breath and looks nervously to Cleo. "I am done... For now."
"I 'ave yer permission then?" Marco wonders irritably, of Amahl. "Nan's rags ought to make fer a fine 'nough pair o' gags, says I." Scowling again at Zea's protest, he shouts back, "Dom'nus Demetrius WAS more than that, birdie. As in 'used to be'. He used to be livin' too.."
"Hey!" Swallowing back the bile in her mouth, Cleo continues in a hoarser voice, pointing and glaring at Zea, "Just because she doesn't listen to advice and still manages to royally piss you off, doesn't mean you have to hand out gags to all?!" Fierce azure eyes stare up at Amahl while the Zethinius' eldest tries her hardest to look less sick and more righteous.
Amahl cracks his knuckles and steps down the last few steps. He remains near Marco for a moment, but a webbed hand gestures to the two women, "Be my guest, old man." The halfbreed then steps over to Cleo, "This is -my- ship, and it is by -my- good graces that you and the other two are not thrown to the crew to be devoured. You'd best stay on my good side, girl."
Zea pales at that and she takes a half-step in front of Cleo. "Bind and gag me if you wish, but the Domina Zethinius has done nothing wrong." She casts a quick apologetic gaze to Cleo. "She even tried to silence me, she doesn't deserve this."
Marco mutters to himself as he limps down the main hatch, shouting for Nan. "Where are them reekin' rags run off to?" is among the more repeatable of the questions asked.
What? Outrage is painted all over Cleo's face and part of it is aimed at the intervening Zea. Pushing the woman out of the way, Cleo needs to swallow hard again before she scowls, "I fight my own battles Acesian." She wipes a sleeve over her lips again, just to make sure. What distance there was left to Amahl, she closes, hands on hips, eyes narrowed, looking up at a rather uncomfortable angle of neck. "In case you didn't notice, I was -trying-, alright?" Swallowing. "But it is rather difficult when you haven't had a single moment of sleep since -someone- decided to kidnap you and bind your wings, then take you on a bloody -boat- that should never have been invented in the first place, because it only makes people -ill-!"
All right, the girl has a point. "Just gag the 'Acesian'" is called to Marco even as Amahl turns to Cleo. "You'll get your sea legs. And if you want, I'll see if someone can knock you out so you'll get some sleep. That isn't my fault."
Cleo might be able to fight her own battles, but Zea'll be damned if someone else is punished for her mouth. She is suddenly sedate as she steps forward, allowing the mongrel to follow his captain's orders, as much as she might hate it. She did say that they could and an Acesian does not go back on her word.
Marco hobbles back up from below, with Nan's fouled leather bodice, presently in the process of cutting a long strip from the stuff. "Righ' which one's th' 'Acesian'? They're both wearin' gold.." Dagger replaced between his teeth as he tugs at a stubborn seam, and at last pitches the rest of the spoiled leather over a waistrailing.
Good. Although not even close to good enough. Cleo is about to contradict Amahl on his last comment when a wave of nausea washes over her. The woman sways on her feet, raising a hand to her lips while the other automatically reaches out for anything to hold on to.
"That one..." Amahl indicates Zea before moving to Cleo. Hmmm, that's not going to be fun with her so ill, "Water. Drink water and close your eyes." He even reaches out to take her wrist and press at some pressure points there. "Amazing how you can fly in the air, but get on the sea and you're helpless."
Zea glances towards the Captain advancing on the other woman and her expression worries a bit as he touches her. It seems he's not hurting her, that's something at least. Her silent gaze swings back to Marco, awaiting her fate.
