A Sploosh in the Dark

[rassafraggin]

Diana is seated near port side, dressed once more in her monochrome under shawl. Her gaze is out to a lovely pre-morning, the sun yet to crawl and crest over the curve of the entire world - or what passes for it out at sea where the world seems to go out forever and even past that.

Resting with its glassy black deck a handful of feet above sea level, the Solar Flare vessel shadows the Beast to starboard. At night this would barely pass for stealth, as the rising light would make even more of a spectacle of the honking great figurehead that rises just about to rail-level of the matronly battle galleon. Seadragonesque, the ceramic-metallic construct glints crystalline lamp eyes at the deck crew assigned to predawn Beastly duties.

Diana's eyes go to the strange vessel, because how could she not wonder at the sight of it. To many, a ship that dwells not above but below is a strange concept; one that becomes less so should one be well-seasoned with shadow travel. Her shadows always chased away from the sea rather than below it. She gingerly places a hand on a railing, leaning forward with great caution as to not put herself at risk of falling over.

"A Fair Morningtide to you, Lady Diana." There Merrisol is a dozen feet below the rail, standing on a platform he has rigged to extend from the low rail of his vessel for the outward end to be supported by a pulley system from the snoot of the unusual periscope. With a collection of crafty buildy tools beside him, he seems to be making cosmetic alterations to the lower hull of the Beast. Adding chunks of barnacle instead of removing them, though?

"Good morning, Captain." Diana calls back, the dark shawl catching the wind. She leans just an inch more, the exact amount of space she would seem to be the absolute edge of safety, to ascertain what it is the man could possibly be doing. When her knowledge fails her, she seeks it in the expertise of another. "Some, mm, manner of seamanship that I am not aware of? It would appear that you are not scraping the hull but decorating." She might be loathe to say she does not find him an ARTIST at first glance, but she will certainly imply it.

A longboat from elsewhere in the fleet begins to come into view from the Beast and the Solar Flare as she maneuvers around another nearby vessel. A lamp hangs at the front of the little craft, swaying gentle back and forth as it moves forward, bathing the area around it in a warm light. Inside, a set of medium sized kegs take up all of the space available and there appears to be no sailors at all inside. A line from the front of the ship, held taught, leads forward and down below the water, pulling the thing along at a modest speed. The head of a seal pops up from below the water, with the end of the line between its teeth, and begins looking about before locking onto the Dread Pirate Merrisol and heading that way.

The hatch leading down into the mysterious depths of the sub opens and Maggie begins to climb up and out onto the glassy deck. When the hatch has been secured again, she stands and stretches in a long, almost luxuriant stretch. Blinking up at the chomped moon, she finger-waves to its strangeness before turning to wander toward Merrisol. The wave is offered to Diana up there, "H'llo." Clearly, the red-headed Captain is up too early. Or stayed up too late.

The submersible deck teeters and sways away as currents push a swell of contaminated ocean between the two ships, slopping a few waves over the obsidian decking. Someone must be at the helm, since the SF corrects her course afterward and returns to position. Anticipating the pitch, Merrisol maintains his balance on the platform and just waits until he is back in reach of the trail of bony organics so deliberately seeded upon the weathered wood. This bit of decor appears to be curving up to one of those larger planters sculpted higher up on the Beast. Inside the well is a mucky soup and the beginnings of plant life.

RPG: Merrisol declares that he has the Carnivore Hedging (GAR-CH) gift.

"Root system for her vine rails needs repair," Merri relays to Diana, considering the pale face of the leaning Lethem. "Fleet's been through a few hostile environments that completely did them in." He turns then to glance over the rippling waters toward the boatlamp, catching sight of the bobbing sleek head in front of it. "What're you doing, Clive, fixing for another visit to Doc's sickbed?" He tries to straightface that, but there's a smirk wanting to bust out over some idea or other. Maggie's arrival distracts him from it, however. "Hey Hotstuff."

Clive doesn't reply to the questions right away, but instead just keeps on pulling the boat there next to the Solar Flare. Finally alongside, he ducks under and hops on up where he then proceeds to shake back and forth to get the water off of himself. After a flash of rainbow light, he stands there in human form, spitting out the rope to catch in a hand. "Hey there, Cap'n's. Opted to hold my breath this time and nod breath in the water. Quick dip should be alright?" Looking up toward the Beast, he spies Diana there and gives a nod of greeting.

RPG: Clive declares that he has the Selkie (SEA-SE) gift.

Diana's eyes, shot through with shadows, narrow at the answer. Roots. Vines. Words she applies to herbalist more than sailors. She's taking a minute to process what it could mean given the context of where they are now. Which is to say, well away from the nearest hint of dirt or earth. She looks past him to the captain, and then the sight of a longboat drawn by a seal means she hesitates when she should be returning to a more secure footing rather than the precarious tips of her toes.

The rocking of the sea does not upend her, but it does catch a sailor overly ambitious with his loaded arms off balance, who slams into her back. Untrustworthy sea legs, and the heavy weight of the man with his barrel, sends her not only against the railing but over it before she can spout a greeting to the selkie as well. She does not even draw in the air for a scream before...

Sploosh.

Maggie finishes her wander, eyeing the rooting rails with some irritation before smiling up at Merrisol, "Hi, Beloved." Turning a bit, she watches Clive shed the seal-skin and return to his human-form. She waves to him too though her greeting is cut off by the sound of a splash. Turning again, she darts a glance to the ocean, then up to where Diana should be. "Oh... no!" Sure, there are those here who are far better suited to a rescue but Maggie does not really give any of that a thought. Instead, she calls, "Femme overboard," and darts across the deck, shoes squeeky-creaking across the wet surface to dive into the drink in an attempt to find the lost Lethem.

Sidonie emerges from belowdecks, lured by the chatter and the distinct feel of nearby boats to the Beast's hull. She's in a huge robe, tied at the waist over what looks like an overlarge chemise, and slippers, and her hair is piled on her head messily. There's a silk sleep mask pulled up from her eyes, now sitting on her forehead. With a yawn, she rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands. "Oy. Bit early for all tha', aye?" she mumbles. She hears a knocking of something, and a sploosh, which pulls her out of her groggy state. "Blimey, what?" she calls out, with a start, and runs over to the railing, slippers flying.

The sailor who by accident or design murdered the noble suddenly appears, leaning forward, eyes bugged. The expression reads predominatly an accident but with reasonable concern that he MIGHT be murdered for the tragic infraction.

Merrisol also looks around when the accident happens in a blink and Diana's silent fall flashes by in his periphery. The sploosh, though, and Maggie's quick response and callout, tells the whole story! "Carp," he growls, then shouts, "Full stop, all oars!" This results in the large finned propulsive elements churning below the surface clunking to a halt and tucking against the body of the submersible. Ain't nobody getting clawed or oared on his watch!

Then the wild barrel, till then just trundling and teetering on the rail of the Beast, decides it might as well fall overboard as well. Full of something stupidly tacky, it hits the edge of the work platform hard on its way down, missing the Rebman Begman Pirate Gardener but catapulting him into the Beast's hull along with various implements and innocent young barnacles. After that thwacking, Merri peels off and dives headlong into the drink himself.

Sploosh.

Clive is looking on over toward Maggie and just mid-way through a usual rough salute when an unexpected Sploosh has his head whipping back thataway with eyes wide. He hears Maggie and his eyes flick up to confirm it before he turns around and springs into action. Cupping a hand around his mouth, he calls out loudly, "Man overboard!! Search lights and lamps!" He looks about for something to tie his line off on and settles for snagging it a bit on a scale. The Selkie turns back to the water just in time to see the barrel plummeting and the damage it causes. "Ah, hell. It's one of *those* days..." Cupping his hand around his mouth again, he calls out, "*Another* man overboard!" Eyes locked onto that spot where Merrisol had just Splooshed, he takes two bounding steps, leaps up into the air, and turns back into a seal with another flash of rainbow light at the top of his arc. Alas, there is no sploosh as he cuts cleanly through the water and kicks off to the, hopefully, easier of the two to locate.

The falling barrels and the sudden chaos serves as difficulty to, first spotting, then retrieving the 'femme overboard'. It does not help that she does not struggle toward the surface to be more clear in the dark water as most life-long sailors would. The call comes from the Beast then, wrenched forth from the terrified sailor who 'started' the chain reaction and echoing the others. The crew falls into chaotic order under the orders given forth.

"All lights starboard!" Sidonie echoes to the scrambling crew of the Beast in her formidable holler, though it's clear the experienced crew knows what to do under these circumstances. Sid's second thought is Merrisol's helpful Flarey Flash. Useless at the moment in the pocket of yesterday's breeches, which are discarded on the floor of the doctor's quarters. But... there's an alternative. She grips the railing and leans over as far as she can, squinting into the water through her spectacles. The tiny moth tattoo right at her diaphragm, hidden under the modest collar of her pajamas and otherwise unobtrusive, expands, wings spreading up toward her shoulders and brightening into incandescence. Ruby's latest ink on Sidonie projects a bright light to add onto the others aiding the search.

It is a little difficult to see down here, what with the churning of the water. The follow up splooshs resonate dully through the water but she tries to stay focused on the problem at hand. Swimming with strong strokes and an undulating kick that involves her entire body, Maggie mimics a mermaid's movements, sinuous and strong. But, where is Diana? Blinking, she searches, then spots a tell-tale trail of bubbles and ripples heading down a bit farther. Jack-knifing, she propells herself farther down. Spotting the Lethem at last, she puts on a burst of speed to reach the waterlogged woman.

Stunned against the Beast's hardy hull, Merrisol doesn't react upon hitting the waves, soaked clothes flurrying with escaped air bubbles before dragging him under. A blackness overtakes him that rescuers will realize is tar freely gooping from the barrel also occupying the vicinity with wrecked rigging. So while the Rebman auto-ability of water respiration might have ensured he was not in any immediate danger, the sticky ick conspires to inject a bit of tragic irony to that assumption.

Clive gives a quick scan about the area underwater, then returns to the surface to eyeball the spot where Merri and his barnacles had gone under. He is kicking away with everything he's got, headed to that spot, when a familiar voice rings out, followed shortly after by the light of her tattoo. In his seal-voice, he can't help but mumble, "Ah, I could kiss ya right now, Doc. Clutch, as always." With the light shining, he takes a breath of air, dives under again, and zooms on into that murky patch of water to try and locate the fallen Warden.

The lanterns hang, like little safe stars, as sailors scan the water desperately above.

Diana, on the other hand, writhes. Like a snake in a falcon's claw, or shadows thrown against the wall. Her movements lack any form of grace or mechanical skill, and so, any momentum is solely frantic and ultimately useless.

Beneath the water, her eyes glow golden, like a witch's black cat. Somewhere between the bump and the collusion with water, she lost her shawl. By the time Maggie is coming up to her, she's lost all but the last gasp of her air. She whips toward the faint light of Sidonie's chestlights, panic chewing at the edges of her composure. She has not yet spotted Maggie who swims to her aide.

The Solar Flare drifts further away in the currents with no anchorage, turning her head dolefully while a couple of crewmates rush to the large forward viewscreen to peer at the dark shapes splooshing and struggling out there in beneath the waves.

Noticing the tar gooping things up, Sidonie scowls in dismay. Her voice rings out a request to Beast crewmembers that are not aiming lights into the murky water. "My medicine bag! Towels! Blankets, rum, hot water, soap!" She turns her head at someone in the crew and, making sure the movement does not aim the light away from where Maggie and Clive are doing their rescuing, she points toward the kitchen. Her eyes are wide and bright in the amplified light. "Get the kind Cook uses to wash dishes. And get ready to haul them up!"

Pausing for a moment, Maggie recognizes panic when she sees it. Before she is entirely close enough to touch the floundering Lethem, she resigns herself to time spent in Sidonie's medbay and draws in some of the ick. "Diana." Her voice is a bit etherial beneath the waters, but she is Storm Born, so it carries, "Calm down, please. I am going to get you out of this. Just relax, please." Then she touches the other woman on the arm, "Come on. I'm going to put an arm around you and pull you up. Just be still, please."

Ahead of Clive, Merrisol is suspended supine but inclined head downwards while tarry tendrils from the growing splotch at the surface clutch at his pantlegs. He still appears to be knocked senseless, letting the slick mire him like a hapless otter.

Meanwhile, all those lanterns bobbing and waving over the rail of the Beast, whilst sailors try to help shed more light... and it being one of *those* nights. The future's looking grim.

With a solid contact of snoot boop, Clive runs right into the side of a Merrisol. He can't help but let out a groan from the unexpected hit before biting onto a bit of his clothing and swimming with all he's got to pull him on out of the tar patch. Finally hitting "real" water, there is a flash of rainbow as he turns back to human form. Releasing the clothing, he instead hooks an arm around Merrisol from behind and spins to begin swimming on his back to keep the sub captain's head up out of the water. "Ah, come on ya big lug... Doc! Might be needin' a line to get 'im up to ya!" Treading water there, he spits a bit of black off to the side, and then sets to wrapping his arms around Merri to check if he's breathing at all.

It's not always easy to control human instincts, which for most will always resort to primal needs: hunger; thirst; the drumming desire to live.

Lethem are different though and despite her flailing, she calms a breath. Or would if she had any left to give. Surely the way she holds out her arms is desperation, but she does not claw at her would-be rescuer. Instead, she will embrace to make it easier as the last gurgling bubble of air escapes her.

Bloop.

Maggie swooping in, Maggie gathers Diana into her arms and starts to kick for the surface. She breaths deeply of the icky water and kicks hard for the surface. "Hang on. I wish that I could breath for you, but I'm not sure that the magic works that way. And this water is awful. Hold on. Don't inhale." Soon, the two break the surface of the water, the splash coupled with a despirate inhallation from Maggie. Air! And coughing? No! Not yet. Instead, she scoots around to her back, settling Diana across her torso and upper chest, "Hang on. Almost there." Glancing back, she spots Clive with Merrisol. Merrisol! No, she does not drop Diana into the drink to race for her husband's side, though there is a long shudder that runs through her. Okay, Maggie. Settle. Get Diana to safety. Then check on him. Trying to keep her pace smooth, trying to avoid coughing up a lung and trying not to tear straight for the Beast and Merri is hard. Keep it smooth for Diana, Maggie.

Merrisol iiis a big lug to be lugging, but Clive's lifeguarding prowess sees them clear of the worse waddas and back into plain ordinary bad waddas. Surfaced, Merri groans out a "Hhnnnh" when Clive loops his ribs. A bubble filmed with black grows from his nostrils, fweeeee~pop! At least that seems to indicate he was still carrying his lungfuls of air prior to the head-thwack, rather than gulping down the tarwater during his unconscious dip.

"Jotch!" Sidonie calls to the crewman just as he's running up onto the deck, arms laden with the doctor's bag and whatever blankets he could find in the crew's quarters. He drops these things at her feet, and helps Sid grab onto a line and send it down to where Clive's bringing Merri. There's an air of grudging, irritated relief from the crew when Captain Merrisol, and then the Lethem Lady, emerge from the water. Hot water, soap (dish soap???) and towels are also brought up to receive the ailing group. "Send 'im up, Smiles, then come up," she urges, though her eyes also keep turning to look at Maggie and Diana. "Just a few more feet to go, Captain Flame! Over here!" she calls out. The sound of Merrisol's groan is, to her ears, as beautiful as birdsong! He's alive! Now, just a peep from Diana and they''re set!

A groan! A bubble! "Hang in there, Cap'n. Will have ya up on the deck in no time. Get some good breaths now cuz Cap'n Flame'll smother ya somethin' fierce with kisses once we arrive. Ya planned this, didn'tcha?" Turning to the side, he coughs and spits out another bit of tar from his mouth. A few kicks bring them into position and he snags a line to loop around them both, under their arms. He gives the line a tug to signal the all-clear, then calls out, "Pull those lanterns back! We got a tar patch down here! Should probably move the Beast away from it once we can, to be safe!"

The lanterns withdraw, very quickly, at the news of the danger below.

Diana is assisted up onto the platform that had been Merrisol's perch, pale hair perfectly framing her face and eyes wide, great big glowing pools of gold in the darkness. She holds onto the edge of the platform with a desperate strength until a sailor can come and help her further up and somewhere dry to change.

Maggie? She is certainly to turn and help her husband but she will receive a bubbly thanks, voice raspy. She must have been screaming in the deep.

Getting Diana onto the platform was surprisingly easy. It is different when the person you are helping is conscious enough to cooperate. Maggie does make sure that the Lady Lethem is safe and is not going to go slipping off. She is an important person here, too, after all, "You are welcome, of course. Be sure that Doc Sidonie sees you. The water is not healthy." And not just due to that whole 'breathing' thing. Turning, she spends a brief moment hacking and coughing to try and clear her lungs. Then, once she is sure that Diana is okay and has help, Maggie clambors up onto the ship to be there when Merrisol is aboard. Perhaps to Clive's dismay, she does not smother her mate with kisses instantly. First, she makes sure that he is okay, lungs clear and nothing broken. Later? Later, those kisses will indeed happen.

Merri is about halfway to tarred and ready for a coating of feathers and mule to ride out of town. He headlolls and mutters while being dragged up the side of the ship with Clive by fits and starts and sychronized heave-ho cries. By the time they are disentangled on deck, the sub commander is able to sit up and peer woozily around, a nice goose-egg formed on his scalp beneath slick-matted hair. Seeing Maggie kneeling all sodden closeby, he manages to recall her last actions and nods with the presumption that all came out well for Diana as well. He smacks his lips over the awful taste of metallics mixed with oily organics, and croaks, "Erryone safe?"

Sidonie's tattoo light is still burning, thankfully, though the lanterns are quickly pulled away from falling range of the spilled tar. She lets Jotch and another much burlier crewfemme heave Clive and Merri's combined weight onto the deck, while another crewman sets to picking up Diana and carrying her up, too. As soon as their feet hit the deck, she's at Merrisol's side to check him over. "Yes, everyone's fine," she assures. She holds out a towel to him, and restrains the urge from wiping with it at his face herself. She leans closer to look at his face, as if looking for some indication of permanent damage. "Have a bath, Captain, and then ice that bump, in that order. Would you mind staying on the Beast for the rest of the day just in case?" She strains to hear for a reply as she moves over to check on Diana, though there's a look towards Maggie, who's next. There WILL be pills in her figure, sorry to say.

Maggie remains kneeling beside Merrisol while Sidonie does her thing. Sidonie is a doctor. Maggie is just the wife. She would take the towel and tenderly clean that face she loves so much, but Merrisol is not a child. One hand lifts, though, gentle and sure, brushing a lock of sodden, tar-touched hair from his forehead, "Come on, my heart. I will help you." Not that he needs it, but she does. Is there a faint tremble to her touch? Why, yes there is and it has nothing to do with the water she breathed. Looking up, she seeks the Steel Seal and speaks in that 'quiet' way she has that carries, "Thank you, Clive." Though she does not say it, there is pronounced, heart-felt gratitude in her tone.

Clive keeps one hand on Merrisol to be sure he doesn't go anywhere and uses the other to keep some distance between themselves and the side of the hull on the way up. And those young vines. Definitely those vines! Detangling himself from the swol sub captain, he crawls away and has a good coughing fit there to get out any other bits of tar that may have snuck inside. His hair gets a good shaking and then there are towels! First he wipes at his face then about his hair to keep anything from dripping down into his eyes. With that essential bit of work out of the way, he is back up on his feet, looking over toward the pair with a deep breath of relief being taken in and released. "Should probably avoid sleepin' for a while with that bump, Cap'n." Clive keeps shifting the towel for fresh parts as he wipes and wipes to try and get his face clean. Is it off? It feels like it is still there! Get it off! Looking to Maggie, Clive presses his lips together and offers a nod, "That's how we do, Cap'n. Everyone did a great job. Coulda been a lot worse, but we all worked well together, huh?" His eyes wander on over toward the doctor, busily working away, and his scrunched lips shift in what could almost be a grin. "I owe ya one, Doc." Again...

Nearby, Maggie tries to hide it, but her concern is clear enough to him. He knows her well enough to know that she is not generally as pale as she is right now.

Merri's eyes cross briefly, but that's only because Sidonie's pajamas are glowing. "Doc, your.. err your..." Nevermind. Someone else can tell her she left her highbeams on. The real burning question is... What goes on in there? Otherwise, his pupils react to light a bit slowly, so he's still a bit blurry at the edges. He pulls a clear patch from the grime over one eye, then the other, and tries to refocus on Maggie while he nods again, murmuring "Right... thank you, Doc. Bath.. ice.. bump?" He gingerly feels around the tender area of noggin, grimacing. The thank you offered to Clive draws his attention sideward to note the equally be-slicked Selkie. "Hmn, much obliged, sir." Conveniently, he is interrupted by some coughing, his or someone else's, and leans back towards Maggie, reaching up to steady one arm across her shoulders to help her help him up and ready for some soap water scrubbing. He hears Clive's parting comments and nods agreement again, before muttering to his mate, "Also a good thing you stocked up on that Blessing last night, Only." Heyooooo!

Sidonie gives Diana, now wrapped in a warm blanket, a good rub at her back and what looks like a draft of a tonic or, most likely, a snifter of rum. She takes a moment to squint back up to check on Clive. He looks alright... mostly? Is that tar he's coughing up? She regards him steadily, up and down, noting that favorite expression on his face, and she smiles despite herself. One more for the ledger, eh? Not breaking her gaze from his, she says loudly enough for everyone, "Dish soap and soapy water's on the crate there. It'll get the worst of the tar. If you inhaled the water..." A narrowing of her eyes at Clive, and then at the others. "Then there's the pills. You know how it goes." A pause, as she regards Merrisol once more. "I'll be by after you get cleaned up." And make sure that they're following the treatment as instructed.

Maggie slides her arm about Merrisol's waist as his goes over her shoulders. Up we go, steady now. Steady. She fades against him in a tightish hug that lingers a bit. Clive's reply is given a sober nod of agreement. Her lips twitch into a softer sort of smile at Merrisol's last and she nods, "It is a good thing, Beloved. We will have to keep that up. Just in case." Safty first! Following Sidonie's instructions, she snags a towel for herself, or a cleaner one for Merrisol, and angles toward the dish soap and hot water. "We'll go below after getting the worst off, love." Diana? Maggie is glad she was able to help, but now? Diana is okay. Merrisol takes precidence. Sorry, Diana.

Merri muddles over by the crate, helping Maggie with peeling off most of the ruined clothes with sticky sound effects and pausing now and then as his memory of events recover themselves. Oh carp, those barnacles.... oh hell, the scaffold.... Lir's Gears, his ship! He whips a one-eighty and gazes into the greyness before dawn, and is relieved to see the Solar Flare some distance out from the rail, its stabilizing oars reengaged at a safe distance. Thank goodness for a functional crew complement. He submits to concentrated detergent solution and a brisk sudsy rub down, watching with a frown as the clots of tar slough away across the sheen of bucket water and slip away over the side of the deck. His hair still feels like a wreck afterwards, though. Might need some cooking oil, yeugh. At least the vision's clearing up. "Thanks, darling. Think I'm ready to head below."

Clive shakes his head toward Merrisol and then finally nods once, "Think nothin' of it, Cap'n. Kegs down in the boat are for yer project, by the way. Just, uh... hold yer nose when you open 'em." Looking back to Lhasa, he snorts and then nods. "Righto, Doc." A shoddy salute is fired off in her direction and then he is taking up a bar of soap to get to work on all this pesky tar he has all over himself. Those pills! Again!

Maggie helps cleaning the sticky tar from Merrisol's body and hair. She is not going to try to salvage those cloths, though she might tie the to wooden sticks to use as torches. Luckily, he does have more than one shirt. Poor guy, the rubdown is mostly business with gentleness and tenderness rather than sensuality. What a wasted opportunity! Rising when Merri is ready, she offers her shoulders for leaning and an arm about his waist for steadying and comfort. With a quiet nod to the others again, she helps her mate make it below. Pills? Yes, but later.

Lhasa accompanies Diana belowdecks, insisting that the walk be on the easy side. She carries a bucked and soap with her, along with the towels, so that the Lethem Lady can clean up in privacy. Before they disappear downstairs, the surgen turns her head to look back at Clive. There's a question in her gaze, then concern. Her lips move, just barely, as if whispering something, then curl into a smile. With that, she turns back and steps through the door.