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Mariko hears something.

The rum makes her woozy, she doesn't notice that stillness of the Sturgeon.

Her broken wrist suddenly felt warm, as if there were a source of heat in the cracks and punctured vessels. Rather than pain, she felt like there was something persistantly rubbing against the site of the fracture, like a cat or one of the stray dogs among the streets of le Pari...

"I'd like a dog," she found herself mumbling aloud. Her eyes could not focus on Penelope, but she spoke anyways to her. "I'd like a dog... They dun run away like daddy did.... And they don't die...." That last part wasn't true. She remembered her childhood running amok, skinning the dead strays and patching their fur into an oversize blanket. But none of those had faces. "Dog," in the matter of perception, was friendly, furry, and wagging and never still. She could not associate them with the rotting corpses that lined the streets of Underworld Pari.

"Dya think Cap'n would let meh have a dog? Just a big dog... I could train 'im..."

Annabelle listened intently to the Captain as he spoke, following his words carefully. She felt her cheeks color lightly as he said she was just as important as everyone else, and smiled at that knowledge. It made her feel special- something she really hadn't felt since Jonathan Graves. No- She musn't think of him. Not now. As Jonathan Graves graced her mind, Annabelle's face became very grave itself. Her eyes began to well up with tears. Quickly, she forced them back, and planted a smile on her face. Hastily returning her gaze back to McCallahan, Annabelle nodded. "Okay. I will be waiting here."

With another light smile, the fiery haired woman glanced at the pen and parchment, then back to McCallahan. "Thank you, Sir." With a light sigh, she leaned back against the wall. "Goodbye."

Penelope sighed softly, and glanced up from her sterile knife to Mariko, who was lying on the table completely smash-drunk. Letting a soft chuckle escape her pink lips, Penelope looked down upon Mariko and rested a hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to begin the procedure now. Please... Do not be frightened by what I am going to do. Promise me that?" Without pausing for an answer, Penelope circled around the table to the side where she needed to cut the wounded wrist.

She lifted the knife, and made an vertical insicion about two inches long along the bruise. For a brief moment, Penelope averted her eyes to Caden, her young helper. "Make sure she doesn't move, please?" She asked him gently, then returning her gaze to the insicion she made. With the knife in hand, she gently seperated the skin, enough to reveal the muscle. She took her knife to the muscle, and cut a little bit deeper. Deep enough to see the broken bone. Delicately, Penelope put her finger to the bone. "Hmm... You're lucky, Mariko. The fracture will be easily fixed." With a light smile, Penelope quickly applied pressure to the fracture, and snapped the bone back into place. Once she was finished, she took out the knife and grabbed a cloth. She wiped her hands off, and put the cloth to the side.

"Alright! The worst is over, Mariko. Now I just have to stitch your wound shut. This won't hurt very much. Just close your eyes and think of rum."

Tracey looked over the railing of the ship at the hail. He saw Victoria with a lot of rations. Yelling out, his voice loud and clear, "HOLD ON, I'LL GET HELP." By help he meant rope, a solution to all problems, well most of them.

Taking what was on deck, he made a quick net, something that was difficult without the proper tools but do able nonetheless. When he was happy with its sturdiness, he threw over bored, a strong rope connecting him to it. "PUT THE RATIONS ON THE NET, I'LL PULL THEM UP." Given how much he was already hurting form his underused muscles, he wasn't willing to try and get down there himself unless he had to.

Having relaxed slightly since the awkward situation above deck, Nicolas kept his arms folded and continued to stare towards his fellow crew mates. For only a moment did the elf doubt that this ship would be any better than the Dementia. Though the crew is foolish, he thought to himself, they are certainly more respected and that respect is what shall keep me here.. The elf smirked and glanced towards Jamie Gallows longingly. It would certainly be a pleasure to choose a cabin or two for them both and become situated. The man's grin widened.

Before his mind wandered farther than it already had, the voice of another man approached the two. Turning his gaze, Nicolas stared into the eyes of a tall, burly human. Upon mentioning of his woman, the elf stared confused towards both Jamie and the stranger. How would the ferocious tempered gypsy respond to such a comment as that? Though Nicolas was rude with many and snide with most, he kept only his best natured comments for his partner. In the presense of the other man, however, the elf had a difficult time speaking. Would it be foolish to stand up for someone who had become so much to him within the past years? Nicolas certainly found himself in a dillemna. The second comment of kind seemed to snap any doubt from the elf's mind. Narrowing his eyes and unfolding his arms, the man spoke bitterly, "I do not believe it is your place to determine whom is fit for whom." The elf could not bring himself to answer the other question Luther directed towards them.

Tracey finished helping to put away the items. On his way back on deck he looked in on Tia. He couldn't stay long, at least until he had a chance to speak to Victoria.


It was severely irritated with Luther, the man could not follow suggestions. Instead of saying anything to him, he remembered the offence and would take steps to ensure he learns to follow what is told to him. In battle, they could all be dead because of any one crew member. That type of risk was not something that should be allowed.

Luther could see that he had struck a nerve with the elf man, the woman he was having trouble reading though. She seemed like the kind of woman that would speak out to a man, the kind he was not that fond of as women had thier place. "I meant no disrespect if that is what you mean." said Luther to the elfs bitter remark. "I only figured that you would prefer a woman of your own kind. But whatever you want is fine. I am not one to judge." Luther bowed to the man in appology. "There is no quarrel here. But if you see it in your nature to defend you woman's honor," Luther nodded towards the girl, "then please, I would be more than happy to meat you in a duel. For the sport, or honor I suppose." Luther looked the elf man over again. He seemed liber enough, this could be an interesting little duel, if he were up to the challenge. If not him, the woman seemed able, though he would not fight a woman. Nothing to be gained.