Welcome to Gaia! ::

Seven had long since released Will from the hug of death, and was now following behind her like a puppy, attempting to mirror her movements in order to replicate ‘the walk of the Irish’ and ‘the hand gestures of the Irish’. However, it seemed that if the moment they had left Death’s Office, she had been a lot quieter. Not mellow, really, more swimming in a silent sea of anger. Did she say something?

“D-Did I upset the Irish person…?” Seven asked, her eyes getting wide and watery.
“W-What did I do…?”

Suddenly convinced that she no longer had a reason to live after somehow wronging the Irish, she grabbed onto Rydel’s arm and prepared to sob into his sleeve if she wasn’t consoled soon. As well as being a bit off her rocker, Luck was just a teeny bit bipolar. It didn't take much to send her spiraling down into depression.

Seven had a sudden and miraculous recovery. Her tears immediately cleared up, and she bounced back to full energy upon hearing that she wasn’t the offensive one. But she was still rather annoyed to find that the said offensive one was still part of her team.

“Oh…! So it’s his fault?” She asked, pointing at her now-astonished partner. She frowned, turning to him.
“See? I told you to change your nationality! Now you’re just digging yourself deeper and deeper into a pit of unlucky!”

Rydel blinked.
“But I—“ He began.

Seven cut him off by pulling him closer to her—which wasn’t hard, seeing as she was still clinging to his arm—and covering his mouth with her hand.

“No speaking! Your accent offends people!” She snapped.

Seven released her partner after a moment, once the boat came into view. She had a very short attention span, you see, and upon seeing the boat something else occurred to her. That was a boat, right? Because it had to be a boat. If it was a ship, she couldn’t get on. Women couldn’t be on ships. It was terribly unlucky. Horrible things happened to ships with women aboard. They crashed, or caused storms, or everyone aboard got seasick. So it had to be a boat. She pulled yet another chart out of her shirt—this one with only pictures of boats and ships rather than various physical features—and began to check the boat for telltale signs of shipish-ness. It looked like a boat to her. Good. She smiled contentedly and replaced her chart.

Rydel frowned, but didn’t say anything. He was used to Seven’s antics. However, he couldn’t pretend not to be a little put off by Will’s comments. Still, he wasn’t going to show it. Not worth it. Instead, he’d focus on the mission and attempt to ignore it.

“Wait a moment.” He said, following Will and Seven to the boat while he addressed them both.
“Before we take the time to enjoy the scenery, we need to plan this out. First off, we need to figure out how long the trip to Brazil will be. We can use that time to prepare a strategy. We can’t risk wasting a single second. Then there’s also the matter of speaking with the locals…does anyone know any Portuguese?”

Better to plan now than to lose sight of their goals and fall flat once they arrived. This wasn't meant to be fun, after all. It was a mission. Serious business.

Rydel was careful to stand away from her. Close enough to be heard, but not close enough to be within biting distance should the perpetually-drunken girl decide to do on a murderous rampage. And he certainly didn’t miss that scowl. He really hated it when people looked at him like that. Rydel prided himself these days with being fairly mellow, and not easily excited—well, as long as there weren’t any historical figures or authors around—but he hadn’t always been that way. And when anyone besides Seven—whom he knew never really meant it—mocked him, or glared at him, or anything in that vein, he was reminded of a time when he’d get those looked a lot more often.

Yes, Rydel loved school, but school hadn’t always loved him. And as much as he loved to pretend he was long over any bullying nonsense that had happened when he was a kid, he really wasn’t. It felt silly though. Other people had real problems. Maybe they were abused, or came from a broken home, or had some other horrible memories flitting around their consciousness, and those memories were their Achilles heel. His own was simply ‘being made fun of’ after having been called four-eyes one too many times. So he was determined to deal with it in the most formal, impersonal way possible.

“That’s a brilliant plan if you’d like us all to be killed.” He snapped, his tone very dry and bitter at this point.
“There’s more to destroying a Kishin egg than just storming in with guns blazing like some kind of psychopath.”

He paused, looking at the ground for a moment and then back at Will before finishing with;
“And to answer your question, I’m the weapon. Seven is my meister.”

Seven chose that moment to enter. She’d missed that conversation. In fact, she’d missed everything. Her single-mindedness had prevented her from noticing anything but the boat during those last few minutes. One had to give her some credit. She was obsessed, but she was certainly dedicated.
“Okay guys, we’re safe! This is definitely a boat. For a moment, I was worried, but it seems as if we’re in the clear. For now, at least. But if at any time during our journey I decide that this is in fact a ship, be prepared to jump out and swim the rest of the way. Otherwise we’ll all burn in hell for upsetting the great mistress of Luck, and let me tell you, that is not how I’m going to die.” She said.