[ Wow, that was a bit messed up. As you pull far enough away from the island, one of the remaining harpies screech, and the rest of them quickly follow suit. They'd screeched and screamed enough during the fighting, but it always seemed angry. Not this time: something's got'em spooked. A look at your chart might answer that question: judging from how big the island is to scale on that chart, you're rapidly approaching something marked with just a skull. ]
[ Take a small breather and get ready. The real challenge is just ahead. ]
[Neal did not like that last end of the trip. Of course he winds up on the ship with the terror and the danger. but he's got a sword, and he plans on using it the next time something bad comes around.
he's just going to ... sit down by the mast and catch his breath now]
[Yes, random stranger. Just sit there while a young woman, covered in and stinking of that God-awful blood, puts her back to the mast and starts desperately rubbing against it. A close look will show red bumps plainly visible on her skin, but Amelia doesn't seem to care what anyone thinks.
[Amelia's distracted, and thus sarcasm is lost on her. There's a frustrated whine as she sinks down; the smooth, rounded mast isn't really helping much.]
No! [Amelia scratches a bit more, then lets out a sigh. She sounds a little less like a brat when she talks again.] It's an allergy. One of those nasty things touched me.
[Once the coat's off, she's still wearing--well, plenty. Aside from the corset and the shirt which leaves her upper chest and stomach exposed, Amelia's otherwise covered.
[Guess who's got a squawking chicken by the neck. She's debating exactly how to put an end to its life. Considering the many eons she's lived, the list is long and quite savage.]
[ Take a small breather and get ready. The real challenge is just ahead. ]
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he's just going to ... sit down by the mast and catch his breath now]
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She's itching too much right now.]
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Well. That was fun.
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[Amelia's distracted, and thus sarcasm is lost on her. There's a frustrated whine as she sinks down; the smooth, rounded mast isn't really helping much.]
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Are you alright?
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May I?
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Don't. Don't touch me.
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Sorry. Just trying to help.
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[But Amelia is also realizing she can't just sit there trying to fight off the itch, and she starts to shrug off her coat.]
I get this rash when someone touches me.
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So it's a ... immune reaction?
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[Once the coat's off, she's still wearing--well, plenty. Aside from the corset and the shirt which leaves her upper chest and stomach exposed, Amelia's otherwise covered.
And scratching at her neck.]
Are there even showers on a boat?
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Not likely. At least -- not ones we're accustomed to.
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