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Ozzrick had been exhausted, so it was natural for him to sleep soundly. Still, he was customarily a reasonably early riser—but accustomed to several things to trigger waking, namely: light and sound. Gypsy troupes began making noises audible through thin tent or wagon walls at the earliest hours of morning, and a ship was little different, particularly when morning sunlight came in to give a gentle reminder that a new day had begun and was ready to be undertaken.

A closed office at a quiet hospital provided neither expected cue to his senses. So, obviously, it was still night.

So, obviously, he continued to sleep, enjoying perhaps the latest sleep in he had had in-

I did not realize the floor was that comfortable…

“Mm…” Ozzrick stirred, lashes fluttering with the thought of opening—and then, for a moment at least, opting not to as he shifted instead atop his ‘bedding’ and hummed into the cloth contentedly. “Mmhm…they’re-” He yawned without opening his eyes, one arm stretching out blindly as he did to stir life into his system.

Who was he speaking to again?

He blinked blearily upwards. It was a familiar voice. Someone… He blinked again. His lips stretched into a lazy grin of greeting. “Tacrith.” Friend? “Hm?” Oh. “Oh. Yes. It’s…” He was still at the hospital. He shook his head, gaining his bearings. “That, yes, I’m up-” He glanced to his boots across the way. “I’ll be up. In a moment—your office has no sunshine…is it morning already?”

‘Straighten yourself up a bit.’

Ozzrick scuffed fingers through his hair, experimentally finger combing—was it especially bad? Ah, well. He did need to be up, evidently, if the doctor was already here. He was behind schedule, and this was his crewmember, after all. Fortunately, Rohar was doing far better, though still enough in a state of risk that Tacrith agreed to accompany them back to the harbor to oversee any potential complication that might arise in the trip and see to it that he was healthy to travel out on arrival.

The crew was no less eager to depart, to make an understatement of it all, and as he arrived with Rohar, the spare crewman, and Tacrith in tow, Bhrasha — an Oban woman currently serving loosely as his first mate — approached him, informing him as Rohar was brought on deck that the men with whom they had had their complications were suspected back, and in larger force.

“The ship has been prepared to set sail immediately, captain. We’re only waiting on the order.”

Ozzrick spared a glance towards where Tacrith was just heading below deck with Rohar. “Almost,” he said. “As soon as the physician finishes up with our man down, we’ll be ready to cast off.”

“If they arrive now-”

“Be at the ready.”

“Captain—”

“I’m aware-”

Fire Ozzrick had not been aware of, though he became immediately and unpleasantly aware of it the moment it carreened past him—and his attention whipped towards the source. There was a mage among them, and evidently, despite the instant stir this brought about with all the guards in the area, they were making it straight for them.

“There’s no telling if we’ll be able to get the ship out at all if don’t depart now-” Bhrasha darted past him, running for one of only two remaining lines keeping the ship docked and rapidly unwinding it from the pylon. “Dahkran, get the mainsail! We’re casting off!”

Ozzrick, blades already drawn, though he was moving up the ramp fast, shook his head. “No, not—” ‘-not, yet.’ It was too late, however, as Dahkran was already moving, and the only hope remaining would be to get the doctor out before-

He glanced down the dock, the only way to shore, which was now filled with a collection of perhaps fifteen individuals all in no state to bargain with anyone wanting to come through and certainly of no mind to let them safely depart if they ******** watched Bhrasha finish with the second line, dash on board with a clatter up the ramp just in time to avoid the frost that licked up the base of it and at her heels. The ship groaned as air filled her sails, the mast and wood beneath adjusting to the change in pressure, and as he felt the first shift of her hull forward underfoot, the gang plank being dragged on simultaneously with the first visible evidence of their movement out, he felt a sort of guilty relief.

They were out, at least. A few minor defensive spells courtesy of one of their crew were enough to deflect any last ditch attempts at boarding, and they were safe.

But he could only anticipate that in a few moments at least one of his ‘crew’ would be less than pleased to learn he had just been promoted to first medical officer.

As it became evident that it was, in fact, a fully successful departure, safe to put away arms, Ozzrick sheathed his blades, breathing out as he eyed the shore. He was elated to be back on familiar turf, headed towards the closest thing to ‘home’ he had. At the sound of someone progressing up from below, however, he turned to look, and-

The doctor was indeed something shy of pleased.

Ozzrick cleared his throat, heel of his palm tapping to the hilt of his blade awkwardly as he took a step nearer to the man. “So, doctor, it would seem that urgent circumstances arose and…I do apologize for the inconvenience. You are welcome to swim of course, but otherwise I do swear to return you myself personally, free of cost…”

He spared a glance towards shore.

“When it comes time for me to make another trip.”

Ozzrick winced, less at the force of the strike—though it wasn’t comfortable—and more at the fact that the man before him was probably mostly justified in his anger. Worse than any anger, though, was the building panic evident in the stammer of words that followed, and their desperosity. It was right there, and this was his fault.

Partly.

But mostly, since he was the captain, and even if he hadn’t maintained control of his ship—which was an issue he would fully mentally deal with at a later date—it was still his responsibility for failing to if nothing else. And the previous guilt already lurking in his gut solidified and coalesced into an unpleasantly cool knot as he took an instinctive step forward, wanting to-

Consol him? Apologize more?

“I am sorry, this wasn’t—I am very sorry- I would…” ‘If I could.’ Unfortunately, to begin with he wasn’t certain it would be safe, certainly not to return to port here where they would only be attacked. They would have to circle around the island somewhere far enough out of sight, find a place to land—and they had already been pushing their dates for the storm season. Something that would hold them up for days or weeks more could begin to brew at any time, and none of his crew would want to hear that they had to turn back for one of the islanders who had been accidentally stowed away on board.

He considered it—but if he did, it would need to be a command. His authority had already been jeopardized — and overruled — as of a few moments ago, already under tension with new crew and the strain of a far longer wait than any of them intended. And every one of them was Oban aside from himself for the time being, which put him in a precarious position as their ‘leader’ no matter what was said. Of course it didn’t hurt that he was also younger than most of them.

And he did not want to endanger either his or Tacrith’s safety by making an order that would be denied outright and risk maintaining any control over matters from there on out. He did not know how to explain that to Tacrith or if the doctor would appreciate such knowledge—likely not. It didn’t solve his problem. Ozzrick couldn’t blame him.

He sighed. “I can’t. I will try to get you safely back to Yael as soon as I may after we dock in Oba…you have my word.”

You knew there was risk.

Ozzrick blinked. It occurred to him to point out that there was always ‘risk’ of some variety, but in this case, he opted to be more specific. “I knew that we had issues which might have lead to retaliation and that it was in our best interests to depart port as soon as possible. Despite that, I had already stayed a handful of extra days for Rohar, I knew trouble might come, but not when, or in what fashion…”

He frowned at the dock.

“You do have my word I had no way of knowing it would come to this, particularly with so much…immediacy. When I knew they were upon us, I was heading to warn you and usher you out…”

But somehow it had already felt too late by then, and—well, Ozzrick opted not to mention that his crew had acted without his command. It didn’t reflect well on him for one, but perhaps more importantly, he did not want to give the doctor any more cause for concern than he already had.

“There wasn't time.”

At the latter question, however… He glanced to the other man. “Whatever you wish, for the time being I suppose. No harm will come to you here…and you are welcome to wait the hours however you see fit. I will say, the view at least is always lovely.” But, since, ‘Why don’t you just look at the horizon for a few days…’ wasn’t perhaps the most inspiring of advice, he added, “You’re also welcome to any books in my cabin, and if you would like a full tour of the ship…” He managed at least to look suitably repentant despite the edge of hopefulness to his grin, “I would be happy to show you around. You are also of course our only healer…”

Not that that would be needed immediately, hopefully.

Ozzrick watched as Tacrith sank to a seat on the deck, and felt a renewed sense—if slightly less sharp—of guilt. The man wasn’t even screaming at him, or waving his cane around. Just defeated and not where he wanted to be. Thanks to Ozzrick.

Oz pursed his own lips at the thought, however, because perhaps that was giving himself too much credit. Certainly, he had brought Rohar to Pajore for treatment, and he had welcomed the doctor’s accompaniment back to the ship. But it was not due to his orchestration that their troubles had come to n** them at precisely the wrong time and he hadn’t certainly by even any stretch of imagination brought the man here intentionally to keep him.

So, while perhaps he still owed Tacrith a scattered lifetime of apologies, it wasn’t actually his doing, and he could only make the most of it. The plus side from his own perspective was that there was actually nothing bad about it—solely from his own standpoint, aside from whatever twinge of regret he had for Tacrith’s feelings of upset. It helped the crew, and since he hadn’t conspired to bring it about, it felt almost more like a happenstantial gift.

He decided not to mention that to the doctor.

Instead, he crouched before the other man, bringing himself to eye level and attempting to catch his gaze regardless of whomever among his crew was watching and speculating what he was up to with this strange new addition to the ship cargo. “It will not be so bad,” he said, “if you let it. I do regret the interruptions of your work…but I think, if the fates favor us, you’ll find I’ll have you home in less time than you thought, and all the more world experience to show for it.”