Illegal Off-Shore Dumping
(Maggie's POV) The scratch of quill tip on thin parchment is a satisfying sound, and so too is its progress across the page gratifying, upon looking back over the half-realized loops and nuanced ink strokes of words made permanent record. The light is higher out in the corridor, from where the scritch-scritch of writing can be heard, through the open gap of doorway. Darkening the oaken door's scored and dented surface is the flickering hazy shadow of a seated man, head bowed over his work... a journal perhaps, a dog-eared battered journal filled with doubt, then resentment, then vitriol, and then finally, deceitful conspiracy.
(General Set) The perpetual motion of the ship is steady and true, having passed the remainder of the night peacefully after the dramatic end to both storm and fog. Today it is up to the seven explorers to clear off the deck debris of various nature, be it broken wood or broken foebankers. Then, it's re-rig enough intact in order to lay a course for home, so the Captain can network a trump summons to get Lord Quinlan to oversee the Shadowpath if necessary.
Scritch scratch scratch... siiigh. The man pauses in writing to lean back against the corridor wall, relieving his spine in a series of slow twists. That exhale carries just enough of a distinctive baritone thrum, to deny any claim to the identity of the plotting seasnake Mr. Weiss. It's Mr. Merrisol, of course, and he mutters a bit to himself now, counting off duties assigned to various parties, which he has just writ into the new ship's log.
A stir and a footfall, from the crew's bunk. Someone is about to appear: it is Shao. The stubborn Penglaite would not suffer keeping his arms braced for more than half a day, forget about keeping him in bed. "Mister Merrisol, hello," Shao greets on his way to the deck.
Seated at the desk in her cabin, Maggie spent quite a bit of time re-reading and puzzling over a particular dog-eared journal. Then, she spent time pouring over her ledger and journal. As she worked her expression went from reflecting curiosity through stages to a low, simmering rage. Finally, sometime ago, she rose from the desk and walked to the porthole to look out to the crystalline blue sea and azure arch of sky. The sight of all that blue unhindered by lancing rain, clouds and lightening is a balm to the spirit. She is not certain how long she stood there, lost in Shadows of thought. A sound invades her reverie. A low scritching sound. Her first thought is of mice but that is set aside, for they have seen no evidence of mice in all their time aboard. Desiccated rats, yes. Mice. No. The sound comes again and she realizes that she has been hearing it for some time now. Blinking, she lends an ear to it, her mind seeking to identify things that make that particularly familiar sound. And then it comes to her. Pen on parchment. And that brings to mind a certain dog-eared journal written by a certain disgruntled ex-employee. And his antics. The frown returns and she turns to stride across the cabin to the hallway. When she is about half way to the open doorway, Merrisol's sigh is heard followed by Shao's voice. Leaving the confines of her cabin for the dimmer hallway, she sheds preoccupation in favor of a curiosity that is not as bright as once it was. On exiting she takes stock of the two, then moves toward then, "Hey."
"Master Shao. How is it mending?" Merrisol turns his head, looking away from the Captain's door to examine his friend. "If you're interested in resuming light duties, we've improvised some mop-shoes for you." Mop Shoes, he said, Mop Shoes. Who thinks of things like that? The logbook in his lap is on its fifth page of entries; though well-spaced and the script is fluid, it appears he is keeping detailed records of these first few days in particular. Maggie's short hail has him folding the book closed and securing the inkwell before rising quickly to his feet, not to military attention as before, however. He's indulged in several hours of sleep, and some of the old Kerfy geniality has been restored. "Captain," he greets her with a non-regulation half-smile. His gaze quickly draws a line to her bandaged shoulder and hand, then back to her face.
Shao looks cooly to Merrisol at the question of mending and mop shoes. "I can dress myself, Mister Merrisol. I have to see what mop shoes is, yes?" he says, forcing a polite yet sour smile on his lips. Not a good day for Shao, it looks like. At least, keeping his arms still at his sides is a long life habit. He sidestep by the same wall Merrisol is crowding, clearing the corridor for the arrival of Maggie. "Captain Flame, hello. It is good to see you," he greets.
Mop... shoes? A brow is lifted and a smile begins in answer to a non-regulation expression from Merrisol and Shao's greeting. "Mr. Merrisol, Shao-san. I am glad to see you both as well." Alive, well and somewhat unmangled. A flicker of a glance is given Merrisol's logbook and the light fades in her eyes a bit. Perhaps she has developed a suspicion of such forms of record keeping. Lifting her gaze, she reminds herself that this record keeper is Kerf, not Weis. The light returns. "Well. I don't know about you two, but I will be glad to leave these waters. How are you, Shao-san? Really?" Her shoulder is still bandaged, arm secured against her side and bent to the front. The hand is utterly immobilized, the extent of splinting, if any, hidden beneath bandages.
If Merrisol takes particular note of her taking particular note of the logbook, he doesn't do anything about it in particular. The book remains within the crooked arm of the same hand holding the inkwell and quill. "Aye, Captain, although there's been no sign of the gateway's return, nor that unnatural fog," he agrees, letting his gaze slip back over towards Shao now. "Basically mop heads affixed to adjustable straps," he says during a likely gap in the conversation. "I tested it out myself.. quite a workout for the legs." Meanwhile, he moves aside to give Maggie a clearer view of Shao.
Shao presses his lips together at the direct question and nods. Fair game, Captain. "It hurts when I move my arms or when I laugh too hard. I need help to drink and eat, or the stitches pop. I can walk and talk, Captain," he explains. Since the ready man came aboard with a change of clothes, the new second-handed peacoat he is wearing gives no clue of the damage and hides Mordecai's handiwork and dressing. Shao beams at the idea of Merrisol shuffling about in leg straps and sodden hairy boots. He coughs a repressed chuckle and clears his throat to cover a short moan.
Taking advantage of Merrisol's shifting, Maggie focuses on Shao, gaze lowering to his left hand, darting to the right, then back up again, "Hmmm." Maggie's gaze flickers over Shao, then to Merrisol and back, "That sounds like you might not do well on mop-shoe duty even if Mr. Merrisol has tested their effectiveness and... safety." If her gaze darts downward at something Merrisol said, she keeps the glance brief. "It is hard to hold balance without the use of hands and while I am pretty certain that my shoulder is just about mended, we're not going to do that flying tackle, leap into darkness thing again anytime soon. So. I can use mop-shoes and Shao-san can direct my efforts. Mr. Merrisol? Is there any hope of having the winch ready before we leave?"
Merrisol, watching Shao's new reaction to the invention, suppresses a grin behind compressed lips. Soon.. soon.. Swabbin' The Goop Deck: The Musical will become a reality. Naw, though. There is true satisfaction there in seeing a measure of Shao's positivity return.. a solid rock he had come to depend upon as this journey had progressed. "Hm, well," he muses then, unfazed by Maggie's declaration that she will be the star of this production. "But you should have seen Master Shao's aerial footwork last night, Captain, truly. This would be more like waltzing, and we both know he can do that. Ahhh, yes, the winch," he adds, as though that was of lesser priority. What a difference a few hours of unbroken sleep can make. "After we moved that massive melon off, it turned out repairs were superficial in nature. Replace the belt and some pegs, clean and re-oil the wheel. Should do for lifting the half-weight skids and such."
Shao reads his friends's faces, finding heartwarming reassurance in the enumeration of projects to come, shows his returning smile. "It was duty, Mister Merrisol. You fight against two, alone? I was with Lady Liyandra and Li-Fang-san. All that matters is the ship, yes, Captain Flame?" he rambles on, a normal exercise in self-humility and praise for others.
"I wish I had been there." Regret chases the smile from Maggie's lips and she lowers her gaze, "I owe you all so much..." An image inspired by Merrisol's words and Shao's skill dances forth to crowd out concerns. "Waltzing?" Flickering a speculative look over Shao, a sparkle grows within her gaze, "You know? I think I would like to see that. Skating away on the thick slime of a new day. Maybe we can ask Liyandra to write a song about it." Turning, she leans a bit against the wall opposite the others, "Yes... The winch." A sigh escapes softly and her shoulders ease as the news on that issue is not dire, "Good... I know that we need to get the deck cleaned, but the winch... Well, there is something that I want to see to and using the winch will be a lot easier than trying to pull it off myself." Turning to listen to Shao, Maggie's smile returns, "You know? You two, Fang and Liyandra are real heros. But..." Then her eyes lift and she takes in the corridor from where it begins at the cabins all the way to where it spills out into the cargo area. Speaking more softly, she does not look at either of the men with her, "I love this ship. I do. But, she is not all that matters, Shao-san. Though I think there was a time that I believed that. No... What really matters, beyond any other consideration, are the people who sail her."
The First Mate is quiet throughout, angling his head a little at Shao but letting Maggie respond first. His eyes move to see what she sees, gaze flicking across the scrapes and gouges of the unexplained violence and chaos which reigned aboard the Wave Dancer in her Captain's absence. Once again, his gaze drops to entertain private theories, then lifts as she resumes speaking, obliquely observant. He watches her work her way through voicing sentiments and ideals that might have made the former crew and ex-Mate fall on their cutlasses in shock, if Weiss's diary was entirely truthful. Blinking, he acknowledges the heartfelt statement with a lift of his chin and a quick smile, one that grows as he glances to the other man presently. "The Captain's attachments aside, Master Shao, I didn't make friends with a ship," counters Merrisol lightly to the Penglai, brows raising off-kilter in expressing some manner of inside joke. "And it was just the one, alone. The second took all our combined efforts. Lordy but that was a foul laugh that being had.. glad we put an end to that." He turns then to put away the log book in the Mate's cabin, so he can go ahead of them to announce the Captain's arrival on deck if required.
Here, Shao relegates himself into a role of witness and friend. It is not his place to assume the Captain's priorities, he confirms that with a nod. He smiles warmly to Merrisol and does a formal bow, to punctuate the honor he experiences from being trusted. Maybe he blushes a little, yet the light from lamps and torches does not give the right light spectrum to be sure. He asks the captain the silent question of 'what now?', quirking an eyebrow at her while Merrisol readies himself for duty.
If Maggie-of-old had been like the Maggie-of-now, the ship and her crew might not have imploded. Or... whatever. Her smile answers Merrisol's when she spots it and it broadens on turning to Shao but fades away again at mention of the creatures who invaded her ship. With her down below and unable to help. Then, for a wonder, it grows once more and she draws in a cleaner breath than she has in a long while, "Let's go above and we'll take it from there. Maybe..." A flutter sounds from above. A sea gull wings its way down through the broken cargo loading hatch. Wheeling over the cages and cargo, it sails over to the trio. Landing on Maggie's head it opens it's beak and speaks with Martin's voice. "Trump me," it says before vanishing in a shimmer of illusory water dropplets and refracted light. "Huh." Lifting her good hand, Maggie draws her few cards from an inner pocket, a slow grin lighting her face, "Well. We might have some help with clean up, gentlemen. My cousin Martin wants a call. Shall we go above?"
Maggie says, "Martin." Maggie stands on the deck of a familiar ship. Or is it? Behind her, the forecastle rises from a deck partially covered in what looks like blue-white glop. A giant hand can be seen to her left toward the winch and the wood of the structure is scored by wind, rain and sleet. Maggie's right shoulder is bandaged, the arm immobilized and the hand on that side completely lost to yet more bandages, "Well. No. This isn't Martin. It is Maggie." She blinks, taking in the man's attire and location, "Well. You look stunning." More dryly, "You rang?"
Maggie blinks at the card in her hand, "You ask a lot, Martin. But, sure. Come on through." She lowers the card to her bandaged hand, wedging it between two wrapped fingers. Once her undamaged hand is free, she extends it a little awkwardly.
Martin appears suddenly, grasping Maggie's hand.
The sail-mending and rig disentangling had taken all morning and noon, but now everything is in neat sections and ready to hoist, the rest of the intrepid team now taking a well-earned refreshment break and/or catnap over on the sun-drenched forecastle. Merrisol, defying duty and regulation just this once more, declines to call them to attention for the Captain's arrival. Besides, they're not technically deck hands.
The small unsalvageable debris is collected in a few heaps for inspection before being swept overboard. The rest is either broken down for fire fuel, or stacked in the hold for more in-depth ship patching and repairs once the Wave Dancer has limped into Amber's harbour. The deck itself still requires a good swabbing to clear off grime and weird blue jelly. Of the other two corpses, well, the normal-sized one with the pot-squashed head has been stored in brine for study by monster experts in Amber. The other, the Goliath, has been partially sewn up in extra sail, though its arm does stick out as a nice visual touch for Maggie's trump conference.
Martin looks tired and distracted and wet, since he immediately came from Rebma. Also, shirtless. He's in traditional Rebman attire at present. "Hey." He looks around in greetings, frowns at his cousin's wound. If other things catch his eye he doesn't linger long on them. "Sorry if I caught you at a bad time, I wanted to check in and make sure everyone was still in one piece."
If the talking messenger gull was not enough to brighten Shao's day, he gets to witness a live trump call and pull-through, from behind Captain flame, looking over her left shoulder. Beaming for Martin, he bows deeply, Penglai style with both arms straight to his sides.
Merrisol is also on deck in white shirt and breeches, red coat still not in attendance. Seems to be a constant theme that he'll never be wearing it in Martin's presence, like it's against the rules of nature to out-fabulous His Fabulousness. "Lord Marshal," he greets the Rebman with a straight back and a nod. After a few moments of monitoring the conversation, he steps away to locate those mop shoes. There's mopping to be done!
All things considered, Maggie is just as glad that the others are not called to attention. They really do deserve a break. Once Martin is through, Maggie plucks the card from between her bandaged fingers and tucks it into a pocket with a few other cards, "Oh, this isn't a bad time, really. Though while you are here, you can put on a pair of mop shoes and help with clean up. It's right up your alley, Martin. Fun, gross, and productive all at once." Nodding toward the blue-white mess on the deck, Maggie smiles after Merrisol. Angling to one side, she motions to Shao, "Have you two met? Shao-san, this is my cousin Martin, Lord Marshal of Rebma. Martin, this is one of my best friends and crew, Shao..." She pauses, then and turns to the Penglai man, "I'll let him fill you in on the rest of it. I'm always afraid I'll muck it up."
Shao bows again for Martin. "Shao Satoshi. Honored to meet the Lord Marshall Martin formally," he greets. "One hopes the new soliders are full of duty," he adds. He keeps his smile as a poker face, because mop shoes? Now is not a good time for laughs.
Martin returns the greetings of each in turn with equal importance. "Pleased to see you all again." He takes note of the people resting and looks quite relieved that everyone is in tact. He does look apologetic at her words. "I'm afraid I can't, Maggie. I needed to deliver you some news that I wanted you to hear from me first before you got back to Amber." He sighs ruefully, "Looks like you had a bit of fun here and got your ship back intact for the most part." He straightens slightly. "It's not secret news or anything, I just didn't want you to get it from someone who heard something from someone etc, etc. I can't go back a mess, or I certainly would help." He grimaces at the restraints of politics, but that's the way it is. He has to stay fabulous, at least for tonight. "You'll understand when I explain. Thank you Shao Satoshi, the honor is mine." He pronounces it correctly, apparently he's been to Jade.
Merrisol is just over there by a supply locker fitted into the wall, pulling out buckets and what looks like big fluffy mop heads outfitted with a number of adjustable straps. Oh Triton's Toenails, there's going to be a Swab-scapade. Whether Merrisol overhears any tone of sobriety in the current conversation between cousins, he stays mostly away, working and/or playing. Swab-scapade, baby.
Blast. Martin in mop shoes will have to wait for another day. Surely this won't be their last appearance aboard the Wave Dancer. Surely. But, Martin declines to play the part of the Pransome Hince in the Swab-scapage. Drat. Maggie does note the sobriety in her cousin's tone and she nods, matching it, "Okay... But, I want time with you later. I have a couple of questions that only you can answer. Later. What's on your mind? Do you need help?"
Shao catches the sight of Merriol's antics, from the corner of his eye. Shao's beaming smile grows even larger and his shoulders heave once, as he clears his throat to suppress a chuckle. He cannot help but glance at Merrisol again and that has his eyes grow rounder.
Martin nods, "there will be time." He seems to be a little unsure of it. "If not, I'll make time." He rests against the railing. "The Queen and Princess Faiella, who is almost 5, returned today. But, there's a slight...problem." He runs a hand through his wet bangs. "The Queen is very sick, she in a coma, and she shows no signs of coming out of it. No one seems to know what happened and Princess Fiaella is so young, she does not understand what is going on. She cannot assume the throne if Moire dies now. All she knows is that her mother is not waking up. Word is spreading, there's a leak a tthe palace and it already got out." He clenches his fist slightly. "So anyway." He sighs. "Llewella's also missing. I think you can guess what is going to happen. I want you to tell anyone that asks that Rebma is handling the problem. Moire did make plans for this sort of thing. All will be well. I will deal with it."
The key, you see, to Swab-scapades, Baby, is the concentration of soap flakes to water in the mop heads themselves. With the plank decks being what they are, even with a bucket of water sloshed across them, it will be impossible to achieve adequate speeds to perform swabbing maneuvers gracefully without a good barrier of deck soap. Well, perhaps it would make a lot of difference if the wearer of the mop-shoes wasn't a solid brick wall like Merrisol. It's all ready to go, when the man returns to listen with nary a smile, drawn by this word and that name.
As Martin speaks, Maggie's brows lift, first in delight at the return of the Royals, then in slowly growing alarm. She would cross her arms in front of her, but the motion is hampered by the bandages. Instead, she tucks her free hand into a pocket, "Shit, Martin..." Elloquent, ain't she? Even Merri's preperations do not distract her at the moment. "I won't ask the usual questions about doctors or whatever are you going to do. That's not helpful. Is there anything that you need other than that? I mean, that's easy. No one is going to ask me squat about it. But, if they do, of course I will say that there is nothing to worry about... Crap, Martin. I am so sorry." It takes a while for Maggie to shunt her own issues and questions fully to one side, but when she does a sneaking suspicion worms it's way into her consciousness and she quirks a wry expression her cousin's way. "I think I can guess, yes. But, you should say it. She did it, didn't she."
Martin sighs again, "We'll see. There's a document that proclaims her wishes according to her scribes, but it's missing. We'll find it soon and it will be read at the next court." He smiles faintly at his cousin. Clearly that's why the man looks like he hasn't had any sleep in a long long time. He shifts from one foot to the other. "If it comes to it, yes, I will do that and I will not say no." Amberite cousins, just what the hell are they talking about? "But should it come to it, I'm going to have to get either betrothed or married as soon as possible. As much as that is going to suck." He grimaces again, clearly not liking that idea. "But there isn't anything else that I can do. Rebma won't be secure if I don't."
Torn between the fate Martin has to shoulder for a dying Queen and her youg daughter, and Merrisol's ridiculous foot swabbing, Shao struggles to change his hidden hillarity in a visible, reassuring smile. And he succeeds. "I know people, Lord Marshall. I will say as you say, to help. If you need a rest, come ask me for tea, I would be honoured," he says. "You look strong. You have my humble support."
The Swab-scapades will be joined by another soon. It looks fun. Swooping around the deck, cutting swaths of clean through yards, or at least feet, of muck. Later. For now, Maggie nods, "Yeah, I know. You'll do it. But, geeze, Martin, being married can't be all bad. Just pick someone you like. And take your time to find her. Do the bedside tale thing and hold balls for a while to see if you can meet someone. That will show all the people that you are looking while buying you time to find someone. Or... I don't know. I'm terrible at relationships." Nodding to Shao, she looks thoughtful, then adds, "They are lucky, you know. You'll be great at the job. Just try to remember to have some fun with it too or it'll strangle the life out of you."
Don't be silly, Kerf's not swab-skating up to the Rebman Royal at this trying point in the discussion. He doesn't jump to make any immediate promises to the Lord Marshal, either, merely absorbing and observing details for the moment. Besides, what can he do... I mean besides getting into that cape and trunks outfit again and scandalizing the Golden Goose into another flurry of gossip? He glances sidelong at Maggie for a moment during her suggestions to Martin, then seems to find something of interest in the sea waves to port.
Martin smiles gratefully at Shao and Maggie and glances at Merissol's antics. "Thank you both." Soap... he wishes he could clean up Rebma with it. "Urf." He grunts with a nod. "Lets hope it doesn't come to it. Maybe I can stall for a while." He looks a little bit like this whole thing was just dumped on him and he snaps his fingers. "Oh yeah, one other thing. What do Five Year Old girl's like?" He wonders. "Need to distract her with something." He's referring, of course, to the Princess. "Fun..." He rummages around his brain with that word. "Yeah, I need to have that again, but I also need to get back. You okay here? Or need any reinforcements?"
Shao takes a moment to decipher the quickly spoken Thari of Martin, another moment to put himself into a five years old shoes. Enlightment relieves his frowned brow. "Lord Marshall, I have a snow castle at Sorgo Garden, with an army of snowmen and an ice champion? I go there every day I can," he says.
Of all the Royals Maggie knows, Martin is the one someone could swab-skate up to. In another age, he might have joined in for the sheer silliness of it. Maggie nods, "Yeah. Yeah..." Shaking her head, she sidles a glance to Kerf, then to Shao, then back to Martin, "Five year old girls? Depends on the girl. A lot of us liked dolls and playing house and that crap, but don't rely on it. A lot of us liked swords and ships and climbing trees. And don't leave out science and magic. My best advice? Take her to a place where she can pick her own distractions and pay attention to what she looks at whistfully. Then do that." Slowly she takes a look around at the ship. Battered, bruised and still floating. Then, she turns her attention to those here, either resting or not. "Do what you have to do, Martin and don't worry about me." And she laughs then. It begins low and warm, then rises to dance and float out over the crystalline waters, "All told, I am great."
"Bubbles.. Tots are crazy about them." Merrisol shrugs matter-of-factly. He might be suggesting that the Princess might be interested in swabbing a deck or two, given the current circumstances. "I know a charming young lady of child-like demeanor who dresses as a faerie princess and plays a very annoying bubble flute. She'd be a hit, certainly."
Martin peruses all advise taken, even if the advice from Shao may not make any sense to someone else, he apparently understands it. "I'll do what I can for her." He's a little calmer now as he leans over and gives Maggie a kiss on the cheek. "You're wounded tell me what happened later.." Then his train of thought abruptly skips ".. bubbleflute..." he looks at Merrisol as though the man might just have offered him the greatest idea ever. "Excellent! Why didn't I think of that?" He wonders. True, yes, even six months ago he might have joined in. But now he's responsible and all that. "Okay, I feel better now. I didn't want you to get sideblinded." He steps back from Maggie. "I know I've always said I didn't want this, but things happen." He looks again at Merrisol. "Don't let her get hurt again!" He tells the man, half-jokingly.
Merri nods dutifully, declining to mention exactly how she got hurt.
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As it turns out, Maggie was only marginally okay at swab-skating. But, she stuck to it a bit dogedly and the deck was gradually cleaned. After that it was winch time. Hooray! Tools were plied and; miracle of miracles, sea-creature goo made a decent oil substitute as long as it was not allowed to congeal. Who knew? Now the majority of the work seems to be completed and the trip back to Amber looms. When some went below to prepare, Maggie remained topside. Standing near the winch, she looks out to sea and the pleasently cheerful expression she wore like a mask slips away. Grim determination hovers around her eyes and settles over her mouth. Turning, she starts for the stairs down, "Mr. Merrisol. Would you please thread the winch? There is rope long enough to reach the hold floor just there. Then send the free end below, if you would." She is up to something. By the continued determination, it is something that weighs heavily on her.
Shao abandoned boots for the more Jade traditional two-toed tabi socks and sandals. While he has to watch for his toes around others, he also can take off a sandal and use his feet to open doors or move small things aroud. Did he manage a cup to his lips with his lower fingers, during break? Totally. Did he do this around the others? No. He stays nearby Maggie, ready to lend a helping foot.
Merrisol is coming back from the aft mast, having seen to the final sail preparations while others swished and swashed around the soapy deck. Despite the varied theories put forth as to his true identity, it is very clear that whatever the truth, he is an experienced sailor. Each mast is now ready to hoist a good complement of sails from yardarm to boom. Doc Mordecai did sew like the wind, but there were also several bolts of spare canvas located in the hold, to replace the sails deemed too far gone. Responding to Maggie's summons, he looks across the worn but clear and clean deck, eyeing the coiled heap of rope. Just a beat later, he agrees: "Aye, Captain." He picks up one rope end and circles to the winch and the hanging block. His eyes slip back over to watch her go below decks, then back to attend their task, as he spools one end of the heavy rope onto the winch to secure it, then reaches to grab the pulley mechanism and thread the other end into the block and tackle. It goes down and down into the hold, the remains of the tween deck slid out of the way for now. "Almost ready, Captain," he calls downwards, assuming she and the Shao are now in the hold.
But this time, Maggie went below alone, signaling Shao to remain above if he wishes to follow. For a time there is nothing but silence from below and time passes in peace. Then sounds begin to float up from below. Scrapping can be heard, though it does not seem to be wood on wood. The rope is caught and goes taught for a moment or two, a thrumming sound faint on the air. When it goes slack again, it remains that way while those scraping sounds come once more. Soon, the rope begins to jiggle and dance a bit. Soft clangs and clatters can be heard and then, "Heave ho, Mr. Merrisol."
Shao knows Merrisol is wondering what is going on, and frankly, so does Shao. He arcs both his eyebrows. "Mister Merrisol, I do not know? Look at my face, I am shrugging," he says, dead serious. He does the eyebrow thing again.
Merrisol doesn't look overly curious, not -overly-. But he is -interested-. His gaze catches Shao's eyebrows, and the pensive line of his mouth splits into a grin that deepens the dents in his jaw. "Don't you, Shao-san?" he smirks, then calls below, "Aye Aye!", gets out of his white shirt for fastidious reasons, and applies himself to the two-handed crank. The spool picks up the slack rope on the deck first, doing a neat back and forth wind across the large cylinder until it is two layers thick. Then the rope straightens towards the apex at the hanging block, which is hooked to a thick arm that juts in a high diagonal trajectory over the hatch. That's when the cranking becomes an effort. Kind of. The pulley system is designed to alleviate a lot of the weight, of course, but one has to be ready to sweat the rest of it to get a full skid of cargo up from the hold... if it is a skid at all. On larger ships it would be a large wheel crank manned by several crew. The winch on the Dancer is outfitted with a ratchet and pawl that prevents the rope from spooling back out, unless manually released. Okay, lesson over. Let's take a break and just look at Merri's shoulders and biceps for a while.
The weight of that being lifted is significant or why bother with the winch? After the rope collects on the spool another pass or two, Maggie's boots can be heard hurrying up from below. That grim look is back, though with activity it has lightened some. Rising out of the hold, she turns a nod to Shao then catches sight of shirtless Merrisol working the winch. She stills her headlong progress, steps forward once, then again to gain different perspectives on those shoulders and biceps. It is a sight to see. By then Maggie's aim in putting the wince to use rises like a menacing web of steel. Large enough to hold a man, the cage glitters in the sunlight, flickering falshes across the deck.
The Captain gets her nod back and then the Jadean returns to his study of mechanical physics. The winch, not Merrisol. Shao blinks one eye when a diverted sun ray nearly blinds him. The rock and the roll of the Dancer has the winche's catch spinning slowly and oscillating some, so there is a lot more flickers to be warry about. A wincing Shao turns about, facing Captain Flame with a question on his lips.
Tck, tck, tck... the dull metallic sound of the pawl clicking onto each claw of the ratchet gear is a steady staccato in the air, as the First Mate works it round and round. His brows are slanted low in concentration, his eyes on that taut vertical length of rope that comes back up and up, and there it is. The tck, tck, tck does come slower now, as though the ominous cage demanded an air of gravitas to the proceedings. Merrisol has it clear the hatch entirely before he steps back from the crank, flexing some lost feeling back into his hands. His chest heaves slowly, skin glinting from the bars' refractions, as he regards the cage with grim significance... Hello again. This is the one that snapped up his waistcoat, isn't it, damn it. His gaze flicks to the side, waiting on Maggie as well, but with less of a question in mind, and more of a prompt.
Obviously the coat is not in there currently, having been emancipated shortly after the accident.
That slow tcking, steady as a clock, steady as a heartbeat, heralds the first of the cages. Maggie does not answer Shao's silent query nor Merrisol's prompt. Not immediately. Stepping around the Penglai man, she lifts a hand toward his shoulder. The intended touch does not land for fear of causing harm to his arm by extension. Since the arm is an extension of the shoulder. Approaching from that side, she looks at the cage with narrowed eyes. The fall of her boots on the deck carries the weight of finality. "Alright. Let's swing it about, Mr. Merrisol." A gesture is lifted toward the starboard side of the ship and her eyes seek his first, then Shao's. To answer both the silent question and that equally silent prompt, she adds, "Into the ocean with it and its fellows." Is there a gleeful light in her eyes, "I won't use them. But, neither will anyone else. Except... perhaps... fishes looking for a way to escape some larger creature. If they do not break down, let them suffer a sea change."
Shao lets out a sigh of relief. For a moment, he was worried sick. He looks to Merrisol to give him a big fat wink. "It is a sham I am not able to help," he says, all too serious, "because it is a job you give to a free man."
Merrisol nods shortly. "Aye Captain," he murmurs sub-regulation volume, and turns to the mechanism to release the guards that keep the arm's rotation wheel in place. He's just checking to make sure the path is clear, when he catches Shao's super-serious statement, and nods firmly, although it takes a few moments to smile appreciation for the joke. It's not as though it's ever left his mind since the formal surrender aboard the Ninetail Red in Amber Harbour, but still... ouch, to be reminded. "Coming 'round," he warns unnecessarily, hauling back on the arm as it swings out over the starboard rail and points out to sea, taking the hanging cage with it. It over-reaches about five degrees, but Merri adjusts with a push, and the cargo jangles from side to side before the sway slows to a halt above the open water.
A job for a free man. Maggie slips Shao a glance, then lowers her gaze. She can guess what the comment might mean to Merrisol and knows that Merrisol has no idea what it means to Shao. It is one of those pretzel problems as nuance and subtelty feed back and forth and round and round. Thank goodness for Merrisol's warning that the winch is about to come about. She looks up once more, relieved of the pressure of trying to balance both realities, "Very well, Mr. Merrisol." She steps forward quickly. As the cage swings out over the deck, a second, far thinner rope is dragges along after it. As it comes close, Maggie bends to catch it in her good hand. Playing it out, she watches as the cage swings out over the ocean. It makes an interesting picture, really. The cage spinning slowly on the end of the rope, suspended over the azure ocean. The tauny rope holding it there and a cleaner, whiter one lancing across to Maggie's hand. Nodding, she pulls on the smaller rope. A clamp holding the cage at the end of the rope opens and the cage falls in a spinning tumble to land on the waters. Ir semi-floats, founders and sinks.
Shao cheers the cage's plunge with well felt Penglai words of victory. He beams for both his friends, missing the words in Thari to communicate his feelings. He spins around and does a little jump instead, woohoo!
The highest of the splashes can be seen beyond the railing from where Merri stands by the base of the cargo arm, and he doesn't go to the rail to look. The sound is enough, and the looks of satisfaction and/or glee on the faces of his companions. Shao's particular exuberance does give him pause to consider, though in short order, he drags the arm back into place above the hatch, secures it, and releases the pawl to let the rope and clamp back down into the hold.
With a short sigh of relief, Maggie takes a moment to savor the relief beginning. It is a small thing, yet but promises to grow if properly fed and watered. She does not linger to watch the winch turned back into place for there are still two more cages down there. Instead, she turns to head for the stairs down into the hold. One down, two to go. As she passes, Shao is given a grin for his leap though it is brief. Once the rope is lowered, it goes through its dance and Maggie calls up, "Heave ho, Mr. Merrisol."
"In my mind, Mister Merrisol, I am pulling with you," Shao promises. An idea comes to him. He turns, looking for something, but it is not there. Shao begins tapping his feet to the bridge, keeping a steady, slow rythm. Tap, tom. Tap, tom.
The next one's up, steadily, with Merri obligingly keeping time with Shao's metronome feet, his own rhythm involving a ripple of effort from legs to waist to back to shoulders, in a rowing motion, over and over, tap-tom and tap-tom. He doesn't need any repeated instructions otherwise, setting about casting it over the waters and aimed to join its own mate at the bottom of the Minoan sea. If the conditions are favourable, the jumble will germinate and grow into a small reef of pretty corals.
Returning to the deck in time to catch the lead rope before it trails off the starboard side of the ship, Maggie moves unconsciously to the tap tom of Shao's feet. As the cage swings on the end of the rope, the Captain does not draw the line and send it a jumble and a tumble down to join its mate. Rather, she motions to Shao and sets the rope on the seck. Shifting a booted foot she holds it in place, "You were able to drink tea with those clever feet of yours, Shao-san. See if you can pull this rope and send that into the drink."
He was..? Merrisol cannot unsee this now. In his brain.
"Hai, Captain," Shao says, his face serious but his tone child-like. Jade types are such suckers for any sort of challenge. Shao moves closer to the rail. One sandal wedges the white rope against the deck, the other pushes the rope down, the rope tenses against the railing until... clink, SKAPLOOSH.
"SHAO." Just a manly shout-out to his li'l buddy, that's what that was. Unf. Merrisol brings the empty clamp back around for more fishin' in that there fishin' hold.
Maggie stifles a grin at the manly shout-out and bows instead, "Well done." Turning, she goes down the steps more quickly. One last cage and the ship will be ride of them. Again the rope does its dance of preperation and after a while she calls, "LAst one, Mr. Merrisol."
Shao blushes under the praises. Hopefully, there is the Jadean bow. "Our Captain is very wise," he comments to Merrisol, "Very, very wise. Not just clever." Something in his tone, is it respect or envy?
"Aye, Captain," says Merrisol in a tone that is suspiciously similar to the one used by long-suffering men when they say 'Yes, Dear'. He looks at Shao again, while preparing to haul up the final cage. "Aye, Shao. I suppose that's what comes of learning from very, very bad mistakes." As he turns the crank, he somehow still has enough fortitude to whistle tunelessly. And not the appealing tunelessness, either. He's seriously bad at making music; it's all over the place. -5 fabulous points.
Walking up from below, Maggie does pause to watch Merrisol work the winch. It is still a sight to see. However, the whistling? Well, perhaps it is a good thing that the sounds are not visible. Puce notes clash so dreadfully with the base notes in the decking, though they look better there than over the azure sea. Shaking the strangely intrusive notion from her mind, she walks over in time to watch the cage lift free of the hold.
Shao doesn't seem to mind, or notice. He hums along, off-pitch, off-tone, sometimes off-beat, nodding his head.
That does it, we are totally starting a band.
Merri pauses a moment to stretch his back, sweating enough now that the sun's heat doesn't immediately evaporate or dry the sheen. He checks the pathway, warns, and spins that cage solemnly out to sea. When the winch arm is secured in that position, he scoops up his discarded shirt, shrugging back into it.
OOC Merrisol says, "Wicked twist ending: Last cage comes up, and before it goes out there, Captain Flame says, "Get in.""
OOC Shao says, "Yep, and she's talking to me. And you agree, "He knows too much."
OOC Merrisol LOL! A twist on the twist.
The humming, tapping, whistling semi, demi, non-musicality on the deck is still bright, glittering... effective. Once more walking forward, Maggie claims the line that releases the clamp. Turning, she watches as the winch is secured. Her lips part to speak when the stretch begins. A blush touches her cheeks but she does not immediately look away. Then when she does it is in order to look deck-ward. The flutter and hush of fabric alerts her and she lifts her gaze. stepping toward the First Mate, she offers the rope to him in turn. This time there are no words to say other than one, "Please?"
Shao nods to encourage Merrisol. "You worked hard for it," he says, smiling.
Looking down at his Captain and captor, Merrisol searches Flame's eyes with his, and says nothing. What Shao has said about her wisdom may have been true enough, but Merri sees there's still a lot of room and life left for foolishness. He himself should know. With a nod to acknowledge all, he takes the release rope from her, knuckles brushing fingers, and without turning he pulls. Unseen by him, the worthless cage plummets and is gone.
Looking up at her First Mate and captive, Maggie's eyes meet that gaze, her eyes searching in silence. She is not aware of Shao's assessment or Merrisol's reply but knows that life is worth living only if mistakes lead to learning and that foolishness can be a catalyst for a great many things both positive and negative. She releases the rope to him, her fingers answering the brush of knuckles as her hand lowers. She does not turn to watch the cage tumble into the sea for the splash is sufficient. On hearing it, or coincidentally, one corner of her lips twitches up into the ghost of a smile.
Shao silences the cheer he was to cry out loud into a hiccup. He pretends to watch the horizon, watching from the corner of his eye, smiling peacefully. In his mind, he is in a dark and damp cargo hold with a lamp, searching for tea, and he yells those three words up the cargo door.