S.O.S. or S.O.L.

[rassafraggin]

The storm is a constant smear on the northnortheastern sea horizon, spreading upwards like the inky darkness of the sea is leaking onto the wet paper pallette of the sky. In charting the boundaries from east to west, the Wave Dancer has had some close brushes with the wind and rain, poking around for openings into the northern half of Minos, but no joy. Actually, a fair amount of joy, only frenetic, and a lot of wanton desire. While it could not be boasted they were getting a handle on this Goddess compulsion business, there has still been a weary sense of control on deck, a lessening of random outbursts as the crew is coached to anticipate or recognize an attack and feed it with positive pursuits. Or at least, surrender to confinement below.

As the ship backtracks towards Cameron for a stoppover, an unusual amount of ships are sighted on and off the traffic lanes, many of the latter assumed to be of the piratical persuasion. Standing near the helm, Merrisol has a spyglass out and states the names of the vessels he can identify, and their estimated positions, while Ora writes them down on in a log book.

For her part Maggie has spent less and less time below decks as time and exposure have given her a few clues not only about her capacity to deal with it, but duration of the fit. Either that or she and her husband have developed a system for working through the insistant expression of desire.

Climbing down from the crow's nest, Maggie leaps from rope to yard arm to rope again before landing on the deck with a faint thud. She strips off a pair of leather gloves by folding one within the other like a set of thicker surgical gloves. The idea is to keep the water on the gloves from touching her skin. Once rolled into a tight little ball, she tucks them into her pocket. Striding across the deck toward the helm, she nods a greeting to Ora, then smiles fully at Merrisol, "Hello, you two. What is happening over there? Any ideas?"

Merrisol glances down at Ora. "Full sails on the Stalwart, minimal damage." He shortens the scope and massages his eye socket gingerly.

She distractedly looks up, then quickly back down at her work, after having watched Maggie's agile descent while biting her lip anxiously. She has already apologized a few times to her Captain for her terrible lapse in restraint that first day, and might try again at some point. To apologize, that is, not.. um.. yes well, back to scribbling. "No damage.." she finishes, and stands up as Maggie steps up on the deck. "Captain," she offers smartly, "We've counted thirty-one ships so far, twenty identified. Most are off on their own, not on an approach heading."

Upon hearing Maggie's voice, Merri turns at the rail and leans back on it, almost sitting. He smiles at her in return and takes in a breath before nodding confirmation of Ora's report. "It is to be expected, with so much of Minos blocked off by the Storm. They're like a flock of gulls, jockeying for territory. Those that aren't equipped with Storm gear cannot make a break for the Shadowpath and open waters." Leaning down, he checks the open ledger for a name and position. "The Spindrift is one of those that approached us after the Manzanil situation, last year. She may have information on the state of Manzanil," he speculates, looking up significantly as he adds, "and where we might find the Hydra and Mad Rhyme."

Maggie has tried to assure Ora that she understands what happened and does not blame Ora for either her attraction to Merrisol or succumbing to the moment. Merrisol is deserving of appreciation, yes, but respect as well. She will say the same things again if it is necessary.

Listening to the two, Maggie nods slowly. Merrisol's smile in reply sparks a reaction within that shows in her gaze though she does not give it voice. Instead, she clears her throat once, then focuses. "They could be jockying for position or territory, but they may also be trying to stear clear of others to avoid inter-crew issues if one is more affected by the rain than another." Because disaster does not have to come in single crew-counts. Bending her gaze to the list, she scans for a moment or two, then looks up, "Okay. Let's run up the 'let's talk' flag and see if they let us approach. I could send a bird and ask, but I don't have any that would return. And... there is value in doing the expected thing."

Merrisol's gaze lingers on the warmth she keeps in hers, for him. Simmering. He nods, relaxing against the rail as she agrees to seek parlay with another pirate vessel. "Some ships have had a harder time than others escaping the storm and its influence. And while the effects do wear off with time, I can understand the survivors' wariness in letting others approach, from any direction," he murmurs. "The Spindrift had sails down for repair, so they should still be west by southwest of our position." He asks Ora to continue accounting for ships with Ackles, handing her the spyglass, then moves aside with Maggie. "The ship's captain is Southpaw. He'll have heard the Dancer is back under your rule and there's no telling what he thinks of the truce. I'm going to don the red coat for this, so he will see from afar, and understand we are united but retain the ties to our respective communities."

Maggie takes a moment to bask in his gaze, her smile returning easily. But, at least for now, the knowledge of his love does not kick her libido into an unmanagable high gear. Nodding to Ora and Ackles, she scoots a bit down the railing to speak to Merrisol. "I can understand it as well, certainly." Her gaze flickers up to her flag flying proudly from the highest mast then down again. "Southpaw. Very well. I think..." The frown returns, but it is a minimal thing. "Alright. Though I think that I will reject any attempts at trump contact I feel. I don't want to have to deal with the Eclypse as well today. I am not sure that we are prepared to tackle that today. Though he has not tried contact at all since that last time." Pushing from the railing, she nods again, "In any case. Go ahead and get ready. I'll get us underway and run up the flag."

Merrisol straightens from the rail and walks with her until he'll have to go his way, and she hers. He follows her down the steps to the main deck. "Captain Jaunt is a clever man.. he would have to be, to manage that ship and elude sighting, let alone a chase. He knows how to work light to his advantage," he mutters, tension around his eyes as he tries to piece together some fragments of clues about the Eclipse into a factual statement. "Something.. about her sails. How she disappeared against the sunset sky that day.." He shakes his head, pausing at the foot of the stairs instead of turning for the hatch to the cabins. "I think he was feeling you out, Maggie. I imagine you surprised him," he smiles at her, his own affection and admiration of her glowing in seagreen eyes while he pictures the hardened pirate's perception of a cold heartless enemy, shaken. Taking that thought with him, he departs for below to retrieve the One True Coat from wherever he stowed it.

Maggie walks with him once the main deck is reached. She listens as her arms lift to cross beneath her chest. Tilting her head, she lifts a brow a little, "Maybe she has mirrors woven into her sails so she can... Uh... bend the light around her? Or... Some Begman technology that lets her do something similar... Impossible to tell but fun to speculate about." Though her tone remains sort of grim. Then she blinks and blushes at the look in his eyes and her smile warms once more, "I... don't know. Maybe? I sort of hope so, if it gives him pause. I don't like being mean if it can be avoided." Her own affection and delight in him lingers in her gaze as she watches him head below. A deep sigh escapes and, with a lighter heart for the love she holds for him, she turns to seek out Mr Anderson. Orders are given as to direction and she leaves it in his capable hands. Returning to the helm, she pauses at the base of the stairs upward. A frown tugs at her brow once more and she gets that look about her that signals a trump call. Then it is gone though she appears somewhat shaken.

Merrisol runs into other business while below, asking the Quartermaster to prepare a good faith package from stores in case they do get close enough to the Spindrift, counseling a crewman in crisis after a particularly regrettable indiscretion while under the influence, et cetera. The ship is turned and her new course well underway by the time he returns to abovedecks, the eyecatching crimson and cardinal of his waistcoat flashing in that way that the stunt coat could not. Must be the gold thread present in the embroidery... quite subtle until the light hits at just the right angle. He locates Maggie to stand by her side, head tilted when he observes something in her expression. "Your thoughts, my Only?" he whispers.

Maggie looks up as though just becoming aware of her beloved beside her. She parts her lips to reply, her breathing sort of strained, "Kincaid just tried to trump me, Kerf. I... I hesitated to answer because I thought it might be Jaunt. The attempt stopped. I got an impression of danger, but it was Kincaid. Alive. I don't... know whether to call him back or wait until after we speak to Southpaw." One hand rests on the ironwood railing, knuckles growing white with the pressure of her emotions. On the one hand, he is her big brother. On the other, he has been presumed dead.

The news, unexpected to say the least, leaves Merrisol startled speechless for several seconds. In that time, Ackles calls from the crow's nest to announce the sighting of a two-master sloop ahead to starboard, surely the Spindrift. Her great triangular foresails are down. "Are you certain it was really him?" Merri asks while searching the horizon to catch sight of the stationary vessel. "I spoke to Raphaela while in the city for the kids, she might have been in contact, but wouldn't say. There's something wrong, though. She's on edge, about him, and his trumps. They're still in the wind, looking for buyers.. which is not to say Kincaid couldn't draw another of you if he is able. But why you, is the question." He looks up to check that the flags are clearly on display then moves to the fore.

Maggie looks shaken to her core, though she moves more slowly up to the railing. Her gaze lifts up and back after his though whether she saw the flags flying or not is anyone's guess. It might have been reflexive. Her reply, when it comes, is less certain, "It... I think it was him, Kerf. But... Really, he has only trumped me once or twice. I'm not at all sure that I would be able to tell. If it was, then he is alive. Which means he... may have access to all of his tools. If it wasn't then I am not in any position to deal with his kidnappers. I... don't know." Clasping her hands together, her gaze floats out to the ship nearby and her expression clears. "Let's do this first, love. I'll worry about my brother later. Maybe I'll call dad and drop the problem in his lap."

As the Dancer clears the next ocean swell, there is increased activity aboard the Spindrift. Like angry bees the ragtag band crawling over the masts and rigging scramble to reattach the foresail, the deck crew try to get the vessel turned broadside on the Captain's order. He has his glass out and is studying the sail formation and flown flags, fixedly. As the sloop turns laboriously, its starboard side shows crush damage to the hull, surely from a ship-to-ship collision.

Merrisol turns on his way to the rail and walks backwards, comfortable on the tilting deck. "I believe that would be wise, to inform your father. It may very well increase your chances of helping Kincaid if you have a Prince's support the next time you contact him." A Prince who is also a trump expert? All the better.

Maggie's gaze flickers between Merrisol and the Spindrift as Merrisol speaks. After a moment, she nods and her attention settles on him. "Alright then. I'll see if I can get dad to check on him or to be there with me when I call. Thanks, Kerf." Her smile returns, warmth edged with adulation lighting her eyes. It is such a 'my hero' sort of look that, were it new, one might be forgiven for attributing it to the goddess' rain. It is not, however, new.

Letting her attention slip past him once more, she moves to catch up at about the time he reaches the railing. Scrutinizing the ship ahead, she slips her own spyglass from a pocket and opens it. "She's been hurt. The Spindrift, I mean. I wonder if they need timber. We have some in the hold, I think. Maybe some tar. I can restock from Shadow anytime. They may be stuck until the storms subside otherwise."

Merrisol's assured pace across the deck slows when he glimpses that special sparkly-eyed look that lets him know he done so good. Supporting a sound idea, which in this case is his wife's instincts, is a good feeling on its own, without the added benefit of that look, the power in it that warms his skin with a heady awareness of possibility and potential. He inhales a draught of bracing wave-tossed air to cool his head, turning with a self-conscious grin to lean the rail and gauge the Pirate Captain's dilemma and deliberation while the swift brigantine draws ever nearer.

Southpaw lowers his lens and barks an order. The ballista teams stand down, relieved, as the damage had compromised a station, putting them at an even greater disadvantage instigating battle. Two sailors at the main mast hoist a large square of black cloth up the line to signal their agreement to closing the distance. Captain Southpaw, a tough man with a head like a dented turnip, has untold blemishes covered up by a large maroon hat, black-plumed. He has two of his most burly crew standing to either side as the Wave Dancer turns and arcs to pass closer to the somewhat smaller, lower vessel. "Salutations, the Wave Dancer!" he cries out, chin bristling with root-like beard braids. "Captains Flame..." he peers fiercely between Maggie and Merrisol. "...and Merrisol.. well, well. So it's true. All's well that ends in a wedding bed, eh? Now. What ye want with yer old /friends/?" He focuses on Merrisol hard. Remember lad, I /tried/ to help ye out!

Merri inclines his head, skating his gaze over the blind-sided gouge in the hull. "Ahoy, Captain Southpaw," is all he says for now. Maggie is ship's Captain, the offer of aid and information exchange is hers to make.

Sunlight glints from wave and rigging, shimmering in the fabric of the flags that fly above. Maggie watches the other ship's Captain, weighing the man against his reputation, noting when he gives the order to stand down and the way his crew obey. One can learn a lot about a person by the way their people behave. By the time the two ships are in close enough proximity to speak, Maggie has straightened her spine, parted her legs slightly and has her hands resting on her hips. She inclines her head when acknowledged, then darts a glance over to Merrisol when he is addressed. A smile grows, but then is lost when she looks back again, "Hail the Spindrift. Captain Southpaw."

Then, suddenly, she pauses though not from want of voice or distraction from a trump call. Instead, it is the realization that she really does not know how to proceed. She is not about to cry 'you are under arrest', nor is she going to call for her weapons to sink the other ship. This is something new and unexpedly, she finds herself decidedly out of water. Her hands lower until her arms are straighter at her sides and she smiles. It is warm, though faintly self-depricating and lingers as she takes two steps closer to the railing to try again.

"Captain." This time, her tone is softer, though it still carries to the other readily enough, "Yes, it is true. Personally, I could not be happier with the outcome. Thank you for all you did for Captain Merrisol. Your support and loyalty were appreciated even by those who stood by me. But, you are right. As you have guessed, that is not why we wished to talk. We are looking for information on how Manzanil fairs. It is our fear that the island is drowning under this ... rain... that Minos has been deluged with. But... Uh..." She sidles Merrisol a glance, then looks back again, "But, we do not presume to ask for the information without offering something in exchange."

Merrisol keeps his eyes ahead, or rather, moving quietly amongst the bodies gathering on the other ship, using the superior height of the Dancer and himself to seek out clandestine moves against the once-hunter of piratekind. Friends they may claim, but he apparently finds the relationship premature. Maggie's drawn-out silence pulls his gaze to one side briefly, and a small smile gladdens his lips. She is lovely to watch in this hesitant, humanizing moment that sends the smuggler crew on their guard - off, just a pace. He runs his gaze over the two dozen on the sloop's deck, satisfying himself that they are now hanging on her next words... although the Captain is another matter. Always is.

Southpaw develops a bit of a pop-eye from staring up at each of them in turn, suspicion warring with suspense. He settles on Maggie with a skeptical smirk over the praise, naturally. He'll never trust the Lawbringers as a group, even if he is giving Maggie the time of day now. Not much choice in the matter, really. "Ye really want to know the state o' Manz'nil, Captain? How she now shares the fate of Hacha and Antika, but with less storm defenses and no warning at all?" he sneers, wrinkles creasing up the right side of his face. He waves an arm demonstrably, the left one. It looks bigger and bulkier than the right, or perhaps the right is just punier. "The Spindrift were already to sea when the winds picked up and the rains came. The channel be treacherous on calm waters, what ye think the chances be of a ship trying to escape in a monsoon, eh? With her crew gone half-mad scratching the itch?" He works his mouth like he wants to spit over the side, but thinks better of it and just holds it in his cheek-pouches. "That much I grant ye for free. What have ye to offer me for something more? Something.." He sizes up Merrisol then, and something less volatile, more sober, glimmers behind that fierceness. "..of personal import." For just a moment, he draws his fellow Pirate's eyes lower, to that conspicuous dent in the wooden hull.

Listening to the captain's rendition of Manzanil's current state, Maggie winces and looks down toward the sea. Her gaze might appear to whisper over the crunched side on its way to the flickering-flash of light on water. With a sigh that is almost weary, she brings her gaze back up again to seek out Southpaw's as he draws to a close. Her, "Thank you. That is about what we thought", is offered in that softer tone, her voice edged in a sharper expectation at his final words. She does add, "Those poor people", almost as an aside. Something should be done! Dang it.

Straightening a bit, she moves forward again, stopping as she comes almost against the railing. This time when her gaze lowers, she intentionally lets it linger on the crunched side of the ship. "I have timber in my stores, Captain Southpaw. Timber and tar enough to share." When her gaze lifts, she indicates Merrisol, "If you wish, you can negotiate price with Captain Merrisol. If the information is important to him, I am prepared to stand by any deal he arranges."

The man's eyes glint at the notion of good lumber to patch his hull, whatever spoils within being kept safe from the sea. And yet.. he strokes his beard braids in a shrewd manner and gives Maggie a lingering look of interest, for the short exchange has made some small impression, at least. He hooks his right hand in his belt and turns to Merrisol, with a palpable change in attitude that follows through with a snort: "Tell me ye've not turned informant for the Hunters, Merrisol? Do ye seek to regale yer lady with tales of our ruination?" The fierce bluster swells up again in him, prodding away for weak spots.

Merri is caught looking at the chunk of scrapped hull again, but he blinks away and gives Southpaw an impatient glare. "Flame and I are united in our concern for all Minosians. As should you be, Captain. Look around you as your world shrinks," he growls.

Southpaw bristles, "Do ye imagine a stack o' planks will mend the gulf o' bad blood, lad? I'd ruther grant ye me words for yer own, that ye will act on them. Damn yer timber and tar!"

Maggie listens to the back-and-forthing, a grim sort of quiet settling over her features. The look is more introspective than outwardly facing. When the two have fired off their preliminary salvos, Maggie lifts a hand as though to stave off a verbal blow or to quell the swelling hostilities she perceives between the two. Lifting her voice, she calls to the man on the lower deck, "Captain Southpaw." Giving the man a moment or two to finish glaring, should glaring be in the offing, she continues, "I realize that you have every reason to think ill of me." Her gaze does not waver now though her hand falls to the railing, fingers tightening until her knuckles grow white from the tension, "And few, if any, to give me the time of day, let alone any trust. I even acknowledge that I deserve it." Fully. "I could go into the whys of it all, but that would take time and a level of credence I have not earned." Her free hand lifts to brush an errant lock of hair from her forehead, fingers twining it back behind her ear. She sidles a glance over to Merrisol, well aware that this moment may very well start to shatter the illusion they so carefully upheld before. Then again. Looking back, she deliberately releases some of the tension in her shoulders and allows her smile to return, "Put it down to wedded bliss, if you wish, but know that I am not hunting you or yours. It would take a lot to set me on that path again. So I will give you privacy to speak with Captain Merrisol while I arrange to have lumber, tar, food and rum sent over."

Momentarily silenced by the other Pirate's proud vehemence, Merrisol subsides on his part while Maggie intercedes. Both men affix their attention to her at first, one most certainly glaring, the other patient but gradually distracted again in considering that hull. Something.. not adding up in the tale. He meets Maggie's gaze obliquely, nodding silent encouragement as she tries to talk down the irate smuggler captain. The firm good-faith offering of repair materials appears to lessen the man's huffing. With a careful look between them when the parlay defers to him once more, Merri addresses Southpaw, "You said your ship was already clear of the channel. Then you took that blow while at Sea," he gestures to the crumpled spot of damage. "You came under attack. Who by?"

Southpaw hesitates a token moment, but the acid has gone out of his anger. He does spit now, over the rail. "Wildfire. And The Xanthippe. Sicker, more blood-crazy crew ye may not encounter in the Storms.. though ye have my pity if ye do find worse. We scraped away with shot sails and this rotting hole, would have gone under in the chase were it not for Scallion and the Mad Rhyme. What became of her I do not know.. for it be three days since we limped away and finally broke through to clear skies."

Merri looks gut-punched by the news, listening, then standing away from the rail to look over at Maggie, determination for their next course of action already writ sternly into his expression... although he cannot order it. Kind of need to have a /ship/ to do that, Captain Merri. And even then. It's mad impulse in itself, for a ship's Captain.

"Will ye do it," persists Captain Southpaw in a querelous, jowl-shivering yelp. Seeing one-half of the wedded pair willing, he looks to the other. "Will ye go into the cursed tempest to the aid of a lowly pirate crew, Flame? The black-sailed knave be quick, her captain wiley. They may yet elude those storm-addled butchers!" Without the lumber for boom and hull repairs, of course, the Spindrift is pretty much dead in the water, unable to go back in or seek other help. And yet, lumber he now has. Beneath the deep distrust, the man is almost apoplectic with bleak hope.

Maggie turns her own gaze down to take in the crumpled place. Timber, tar and... her eyes lift to the sails then and she adds sailcloth to the list of things the Spindrift will be receiving. Still, she is listening to the exchange, her gaze lowering suddenly to spear Southpaw as realization and alarm twist into her gut. She catches Merrisol's determined gaze and nods almost imperceptably, for really there is no other option. She turns to face the pirate Captain once more. "Of course we will. We'll be off as soon as you have the supplies on your deck, Captain. Just give us a heading to begin with if you please." Turning, she lifts her voice to call, "Mr. Anderson. Send over a load of sailcloth with the rest." A distant 'aye, aye, Captain' sounds though Maggie holds up a hand to forstall her First Mate. "Also, prep to be away as soon as the transfer is completed. We have a ship to catch and aide to render." Looking back to Merrisol and Southpaw, she adds, "Shall I call in a Mandrake?" Though the idea of Amy in the storms is daunting.

Southpaw looks pleased by the new turn of events, and whams his powerful left fist over the rail in a brief, exultant show. The iron bar shudders but holds. He demures over the offer of Amber-based assistance, looking nervous, then turns away to yell for his crew to clear a space on deck for a derrick delivery, and also sends his bigger fighters away to resume their duties. Left alone, he looks back and up, his colourful face abruptly gone solemn and still. "The Xanthippe does pleasure trade on the waterways of Jade and Sukho. She must be trapped here by happenstance.. but she be desirous to extend her stay, and 'convince' others to do so," he informs Maggie, Merrisol, and whatever other crew of the Dancer stands by the rail. "Wildfire be a company of armed opportunists, I hear-tell they partner up with the drug-runners of The Xan on occasion, take their payment in trade. I weren't liking their ships' looks when Xan's Captain Sow," he pronounces it 'sew', "proposed we join their revels. When we turned away they changed their act bleeding quick and attacked. Undercrewed with able and alert bodies we was, and so at their mercy, when The Mad Rhyme made herself known with her Captain's booming shanties and made of herself a more tempting prize. I know not if Rap knew his folly or were as balmy as the rest, but he led a chase away from we poor souls, all the same." The stout man's face puckers up with a mixture of jaded calculation and real concern. "It not be ten hours on a north-northeast heading from where we be now, for your fine sails, Captain. For us it were days of hard struggle and liberal floggin' to keep our minds to task."

Merrisol has been listening intently, and critically too. Thoughts of dashing to The Mad Rhyme's rescue are dampened, now that they have Maggie's verve and compassion to take up the cause. Merri's job now, as he sees it, is to poke holes in the endeavor, as though to find good reasons why they shouldn't risk ship and crew in the wilds of Stormy's claimed territory. "What about the looks of The Xanthippe and Wildfire dissuaded you, Southpaw?" he asks, frowning. "What did you see?"

Maggie startles slightly at the noise of Southpaw's south paw connecting with the railing of his ship. She smiles just a little, perhaps to hide a bit of nervousness at that display of both emotion and raw physical power. Something she should be used to in a way. Lifting her gaze, she watches for a moment, then motions for Mr. Anderson to come closer. Gesturing to the space being cleared, she speaks quietly to the man before he nods, salutes and heads off. Soon, the creak and groan of wood shifting can be heard, though the derrick itself works with smooth silence. The joys of having a talented Begman aboard to see to the care and feeding of mechanical widgets cannot be over stated. While the lumber, tar, food and rum are lashed together to make a pallet that can be swung over, Maggie returns her attention to the conversation. Listening, a frown begins though she remains quiet to hear the reply. The fingers of one hand begin to move, the rhythmic tapping against her thigh coinciding with the flutter of a breeze here and there. Gradually, the breezes begin to come more closely together, teasing her hair and fluttering the sails. Speaking with a gentle quiet, she adds, "Would you be more comfortable speaking of it if I was not here to hear?" Though she anticipates hearing from Merrisol anyway. Perhaps Southpaw will gather that much about the couple.

The Spindrift deck is prepared to take on new cargo, which puts pressure on her Captain to end this chat and be away to inspect the goods with his quartermaster. He scrutinizes Merrisol warily at the additional question, and then Maggie's. Some swagger returns as he puffs air from his round scraggle-chinned face. "It not be pleasant details in the presence of a lady, aye," he hedges. "Mayhaps it suffices to say what we saw in the waves around the Xan's hull." He pauses, then says darkly, "Sharks.. by the dozen, attending the ship, following her like faithful hounds, they was."

Merrisol looks momentarily puzzled by the notion. He glances over at Maggie while he thinks it over. "We could do with help.. Amy's, certainly. Ruby as well, she went back to Amber but is due back." Sharks. His gaze turns aside, the light green tint beginning to fog with uneasy ideas.

Maggie listens as the cargo is lifted and angled over the interveining distance. Sharks. She darts Merrisol a smiled glance and a nod to acknowledge the suggestion then adds, "Well. We can call on them. Though Amy will need to be warned." Then, her attention snaps back to Southpaw and she studies the man. A smile touches her lips and she inclines her head to receive a compliment from the man. It is unlikely, in her mind, that he would have referred to her as a 'lady' before this. And if he would have in her presence, she chooses to take the compliment anyway. However, the smile dies away as she considers implications. Then it is gone as she leans a bit against the railing, "Captain... Thank you for your concern, but... I am stronger of constitution than I look, I promise you. Were they throwing people overboard to feed the sharks that traveled with them?" Because... that is something they need to know, surely.

Merrisol's ideas had been trending in that direction as well, yes. "If Amy keeps to the medical cabin, she need not be exposed to the storm," he points out, lifting his brows slightly as Maggie pursues the topic with Southpaw. He remains by the rail himself to hear what must be a gruesome unladylike reply.

Captain Southpaw shakes his head. "Nay, we did not see. But just because we did not see..." he scowls, tugging his beard braids impatiently. "Does not erase the stains, the.. marks. The taint of death." He spits in the waves between the ships and draws back from the rail, more loudly declaring, "If ye not be quailin' from such business, then ye truly burn as cold as song would claim, Captain Flame. That not be a bad thing, though, where ye be going." He seems certain she /is/ going, even with the extra facts he had not meant to impart. The skid is settled on their deck and the line detached by the crew just as soon as it presented any slack, and Southpaw is quick to demand boldly and loud, "Tell 'em Southpaw sends his regards.. when ye have Wildfire in yer deadsights! Now, be off!"

Maggie could remark on cold or hot, ice or flame. But she does not. Rather, she nods, "Thank you, Captain Southpaw. Fair weather and kind winds to you and yours." Turning from the railing, she steps away. Knowing that Anderson will see to the derrick's security, she lifts both hands and the winds that had been gathering at the call of her fingers' tap-tapping against her thigh swing around to catch the sails of the Wave Dancer and the hair of her Captain. Might as well leave Southpaw with a bit of drama to talk about with his fellows, right? Calling the heading to the crew, she guides the wind's pressure such that the ship springs away from the Spindrift without endangering ship or crew. When they are far enough away that her voice cannot be heard by those on the ship they are leaving behind, she speaks to Merrisol, "Thank you, love." Though she does not detail what that is for, she does move on to, "If you do not mind trumping Ruby, I will call Amy. Should we see about asking for Quinlan's aide as well? Or is that just... asking for trouble?"

Merrisol watches Southpaw hurrying off, knowing full well there is more intel they could press him for, but also that the more they force their will against his, the less helpful the irascible captain will be inclined to be. "Quinlan? It depends on how we approach this. I know his talents for controlling air and water, and Pattern as well, can only help boost what you yourself shall be doing." Shall, and are, by the feel of that gust overhead that catches the sails while the Dancer comes about. "I'll need to borrow your trump of Ruby," he notes apologetically.

Maggie glances over her shoulder, expression faintly pensive. Perhaps she forgot that all important 'is there anything else you think we should know' question until just this second. Ah well. Looking forward again, she fishes into her pouch to withdraw her slim, but growing, deck of trumps, "Well... His magic is useful, but the risk to his sanity and the sanctity of his being might be great enough to forego his help this time." By that point, she has found the trump in question and offers it to him, "Maybe Templeton might be a better bet in a way. Though I have no way to reach him. Or... Oh, I wish Shao-san was back. His skillset would be about perfect for this venture." Regret that their friend's continued absense rings in her tone and in her eyes for she misses more than merely his abilities. "Ah well."

"So do I," says Merrisol in a fervent sigh. Shao-san always had valuable insight, and failing that, the best 'Buh-wha?' expressions. "We don't have to drag anyone in right this moment, whoever we find, but if would be good to find out who is willing and can be ready to move, when we are closer to finding the trail."

The contact with Ruby comes like an icy wind.

The image of Ruby is leaning up against a wall, a gash upside her head and one eye closed with the blood running off it. Her other eye stares out, becoming a tad unfocused. "Aye..." It's like some sort of horrible wanted poster from the collarbone up.

To the image of Ruby, Merrisol is on the deck of the Wave Dancer, the drama of Minos' sea horizon seen through lines of rope and wavering, belling white sails. His hair flickers up and out, indicating a changing wind direction as the ship is brought swiftly about to face the stormfront fully dominating the view north. "Ruby, hullo. How close are you to finishing up your city business?" he asks without meaning to waste time arriving at the point - except he is handily waylaid by her appearance as images crisp. "..Or is it close to finishing you?" he wonders in some passing shock. Seems he's seen her in similar states often enough to not be utterly surprised anymore.

Maggie has sorted out her card of Amy, but does not bring it to bear just yet. Rather, concern rises in her gaze as she overhears some of Merrisol's conversation with Ruby. Another blink or two and she looks back again to her own attempt at communication.

The image of Ruby looks off out of frame and offers a bubbling sigh. The hard cold stone behind her head snags a few dreads as she tilts her head. Light is casting numerous shadows about her features. "I ain't 'urt. Fine ass'ah fish." she concentrates more, trying not to slur. "Busy-ness not done. Just need...a minnow.. Minute. An you kin call me Romeo if it isn't so. Just need...a bit...can't come. Yet."

To the image of Ruby, Merrisol studies Ruby a moment in silence. Not 'urt? He finds that 'ard to believe! "Can you not speak freely?" he asks warily. "If you're looking down the sharp end of a sword... just... call me a fancy man, and I'll pull you out of there at first opportunity." And for the record, he /is/ glad they are past that particular nickname. "If you're really fine, then just cut me off. And take your time. We have a situation building up here, but it won't get dangerously bad for some hours yet."

Maggie's frown grows, though only in part because of Merrisol's conversation with Ruby. After a few more minutes of no luck, she sighs and tucks the card away. Instead, she lifts an arm as a brilliant crimson and emerald parrot with a blue patch over her heart swoops down to settle on her wrist. Bobbing a whistled greeting, the parrot sidles up Maggie's arm to settle on her shoulder, all piratical and fluttery. "I'm going to write Amy a note, Kerf. She isn't answering."

The image of Ruby manages a nod, her jaw clenching. "Tha sounds...gud." she stammers. "Just let me wash me face, mebbe paint me lips..." she grins lopsidedly. "If I gots toime. Make meself propah b'fore I see you both. Send me'ah tickle'n an 'our or two? I think I be'n good 'ands."

To the image of Ruby, Merrisol repeats, "An hour or two.. all right, Ruby." He does not know what to make of the rest of the commentary, but is content to be mystified forever over certain notions. "If you have your pistol and blades around, keep them handy. You'll need them."

As he ends the call, Merrisol dips into his waistcoat pocket with his other hand and removes a folded wax paper packet, which he shakes briefly for the parrot to hear the crackery goodness within. Wait.. does she only get one after delivering the message? Don't spoil Maggie's messenger parrots, Merri. He settles nearby where Maggie is composing the letter, watching the stormfront loom nearer and nearer.

---___----_____-----_____-----____----___---

Most of those who are not absolutely required on deck are sheltered below, out of the howling storm the intrepid Wave Dancer has voluntarily, deliberately, re-entered. There are a few occasions in every hour that passes in which one of the heavily wrapped and galoshed officers deems a deckhand unable to effectively perform his or her duties, and escorts the sailor below to find a replacement from the staunch reserves. All in all, they aren't holding up horrendously for such a risky undertaking, thanks largely to their disparate nationalities, and somewhat in part to efforts coaching, counseling, organizing morale in a well-trained privateer crew, disciplined to almost Navy standards. Being their hardass first officer for a year is really seeing pay-off now, Merri, in that they aren't wildly groping you or one another. Aren't you proud?

It is into this thundery lightning crash that Merrisol brings Ruby, choosing his office as the safe staging ground to brief her wounded self. Pirates in Peril? Check. Pleasure traders and mercenaries running lethally amuck in the divine influence of the storm? Double check. "According to Southpaw's observations, they have succumbed past the point of individual wantonness, and are apparently attacking other ships for thrills. We believe they have murdered those who resist, feeding the sharks." Merrisol considers his own words and shakes his head in lingering disbelief. Perhaps there's some other explanation for all those sharks.. "We are searching for an ally of mine, he was present at the duel and wedding.. Captain Scallion. His ship is a black-sailed Knave, called The Mad Rhyme. When Captain Southpaw of the Spindrift last saw her, she was being pursued by the Wildfire and Xanthippe through the storm. We're taking the Dancer to that location now."

Ruby listens from her position by the bulkhead. From beneath her bandana is a swelling lump, a scar peeking out from it above her milky cataract. Bruising blossoms around the recent stiches. She turns her head stiffly, trying to minimize her movements, especially the fresh wraps around her abdomen which are a fair bit newer than those that encircle her upper torso. The poncho to cover this is hung nearby. She has waved off any offers of food or beverages, continually working her tongue compulsively and slowly around the inside of her mouth, as if dredging it clean. "Sounds loike catchin oop tah bad busy-ness." She redistributes her weight, giving her nearby gear a small kick with her toes. "Chasin aftah two ships. Mebbe more. Alroight. We match'm? Whut be tha numbahs?"

The other occupant of Merri's office remains leaning one hip up on the end of the desk, arms crossed in front of her. She took a long look at Ruby on arrival and another now that the extend or their friend's injuries are clearer to see. The urge to ask what the heck happened is burning a hole in her brain like extra coin in a pocket but she strives to ignore it. Impulse control... she is trying to learn it. Poor Merrisol. Maybe this is part of why the Captain is down here lurking beneath a stout wooden ceiling. The sounds of the rain beating down on the deck above ripples this way and then back again. Water rushes down the porthole but does not make it in. The flash of lightening and the crash of thunder echoes tension across Maggie's shoulders.

"I am really hoping that Southpaw was mistaken or that our interpretation of his hints was off." Flashing Merrisol a quick, if grim look, she finally looses the battle with restraint as her eyes turn back to Ruby, "So. Uh. What happened to you? Are you okay?"

Merri is lurking too, come to think of it. No good can come of prolonguing exposure before they are called into action. With so much hanging on the line. "Priority is getting to the Mad Rhyme and seeing her safely out of the storm. We don't want to engage the Xan and Wildfire if it can be avoided. If they are truly under the Goddess's spell, there would be no justice in their destruction - we would be doing Her work," he frowns, stubbornly. He glances over at Maggie and nods. "He did not speak of bodies, only the presence of sharks, and stains." And markings. Markings sound like deliberate things, don't they, Merri. He shakes his head again, listening for Ruby's answer to Maggie's solicitous inquiry while he takes a knee by the metal footlocker, rummaging some personal weapon cases from inside.

Ruby comments on Merrisol's concerns first. "If there be sharks, there be food. An sharks be buggahs, as you both know. But they never come unless they invited by /somethin/...At least tha's 'ow I always seen't. So if we lucky, we foind this ship an 'elp 'er oot. If we not lucky, we foind ships 'o murderin bastards. Risky...cause I imaginin this thing where it goos tah Bog an there be boardin actions an sharks circlin for missteps. I ain't afraid!" she blurts.

Ruby folds her arms under her chest, though self-consciously holds them lower so they aren't hoisting her attributes, but rather obscuring her wraps. She ducks her chin towards her chest. Maggie's concern is somewhat welcomed. But there's this Morfilod in the room. Grrrr. She sighs and relents. The corners of her mouth dimple and she adopts a forced smile that is lopsided. "I don't know Ambah as'well as I thought. Martin...gave me some stoof from some wreck. Box 'o stoof. Trade deal went loike bad grapes." she slides her eyes over to Merrisol and dares him make some smarty-pants comment. "I ain't 'urt bad. I kin 'elp. Feel bettah than b'fore. You should see tha othah ones, course if Or...Or...Ordinary thugs. They. Were. Truth." Mmm. Hmm.

Maggie's gaze turns to Merrisol and she nods in slow agreement. The look in her eyes is warm though edged in a kind of sorrow, "Well, no. We are not aiming to skuttle anyone without cause and if it can be avoided. But..." Her gaze abstracts and she sort of turne to look between the two, a blush tinging her cheeks to flame and showing off the gold of nearly hidden freckles, "But. The Goddess' rain calls to what drives a person. It is the desires of the soul that are highlighted and beg for expression." A glance slips almost unconsciously to Merrisol, then falls. Clearing her throat, she remembers Marking and... looks up again. This time, the Captain focuses on Ruby and her look grows thoughtful but not wary. Nodding, she shifts her hip on the desk's edge and her focus shifts again, "Ah. Some idiot tried to mug you for your goods and you pummelled them? Good for you. Amy may trump back and if she comes over, she would probably be willing to heal you up, if you want." Probably. Almost certainly, though Maggie tries not to speak for her cousins and their magical abilities.

Listening to both Ruby's and Maggie's insights about the alleged incidents upon the perpetual storm-ridden seas, Merrisol's frown deepens. As a marine critter-ologist, he can't deny Ruby's shark logic, nor can he refute his wife's esoteric analysis of the storm's effects on the human psyche. With a single nod in acknowledgement of both, he mutters, "I am prepared for the worst." He thinks. Merri does perk his ears up at some point during the tale of a fence gone bad, although it might have been the sea lion impression. Or or or! His gaze disappears back below his tilted brow, as he removes a uniquely-wrought storm pistol in a holster and belt from one of the cases, and surveys it thoughtfully. He stands with it and loops the belt around his hips, drawing it snug to be able to draw on the right. His saber is sheathed on the left, from a sword belt. Close combat takes the form of a combat knife sheathed and straped to his right boot, and a sickle shaped gaff secured by shoulder harness. Aw, no harpoon action today. No comment about the Marty goods, either. "Idiots," he says in light correction. "Sounded like there was more than one. You mentioned being in good hands. Anyone we know?"

Maggie looks to Merrisol as he arms up for battle without any hint of surrender about him. She leans forward to comment on one or the other or something else when her eyes widen and she gets that 'trumped' look about her. "Uh. Kerf? I'm not sure who this is. Since I did send Amy a bird, I'm going to take it. But, if it is Kincaid, I'm going to end it quickly. I'm not ready to deal with that can of worms yet. Just... Stick around for a moment? I..." He probably gets it. She offers both of them a slightly sheepish glance, then settles in to take the potentially perilous call.

Maggie is half sitting on the end of a wooden desk within a wooden room. A storm-tossed sea can sort of be seen out a water-deluged porthole off over her shoulder, "Go ahead?" Though her arms are crossed in front of her, she looks sort of grimly expectant.

Ruby makes a big show of being invulnerable to such paltry concerns of having her butt handed to her by an unwise situation. When Maggie prepares to make contact, Ruby spews out the bravado and excuses. "They got lucky, roight? Played on me /koindness/ and gener-osities. I not trouble Amy, nor you two. An...Aquaintance 'elped me tah walk't oof before I got yanked 'ere. Bears gave me worse love. Dun't think you'd ever met'm. Think 'e moight'ah been part 'o some theatre group. Spry. Fond 'o black. Talkie big'n colourful though. Didn't undahstand 'alf what 'e was sayin." Ruby's attention lingers on Merrisol readying weapons. "There was onlah three. But then one thing leads to yer mothah...an then I was seein six." Ruby shifts over to her own stuff. There is certainly no stash of fenceable goods with her. Which could mean a very bad deal indeed. Her own pistol, a bent Kukri-type blade and the overly humungous sword crafted by Mei. She eyes the later dubiously. "Prepared fer tha worst..." she echos and tries to judge whether it'll be a hinderance, danger or benefit.

Merrisol finishes securing the shoulder harness and hooks a bundle of cord to a clasp on his left side, while stepping over closer to Maggie, by her request. Hushing for the call, he gestures a mystified shrug in Ruby's direction, her description of the fellow far too typical of one's basic Amber sekretly-noble weirdo, to be able to discern identity. He gazes expectantly at Maggie for a sign she's got Amy on the line.

Maggie relaxes a bit as the caller is identified, "Amy. Good. Thank you for calling so quickly. Yeah, we've run into a spot of potential trouble and could use your special gifts if you have the time? To warn you, though, you should bring your weapons and try to stay below decks. We're inside the Minosian Goddess' rain, which inspires people to act on their deepest desires. Dangerous from any number of sides. But, if you are willing to brave the mess, we would certainly be grateful." She nods once to someone to one side, then flashes a smile of gratitude to the other. Standing, she moves to a clearer spot in the room and extends her hand, "When you are ready...?"

Ruby gets the hint and puts a lid on further colour commentary. There's mighty stitch in her side as she half-crouches, half-bends to heft up her things and strap them on, moving gingerly after being still for too long. Ruby moves out of the way, shuffling edge-wise around the sides of the room to provide plenty of Trump room for Amy. She's not quite sure of why the tension was there to begin with, but trusts in being wary of what's present.

Merrisol has moved off again upon being assured that Maggie isn't about to be sucked away through someone's magic card. He crouches halfway down to stow cases back in his footlocker and shuts the metal lid, and is up again in time to be standing like a gentleman for Amy's rainbow sparkle entrance. They are all inside the now slightly cramped environs of his former officer quarters on board the Wave Dancer, the square quarters since converted into a work office. It is a dark and stormy evening out the porthole, thunder and lightning, wind and rain. If it seems like they are hiding out in here.. that is probably about right. Above decks and the corridors thud with sailors hurrying and shouting urgently.. and also singing at the tops of their lungs. It's barely controlled chaos out there.

Merrisol is dressed darkly in close fitting sweater and dark trousers and jackboots. He is weaponized, with saber, storm pistol, combat knife, and a handled grapple hook with a bundle of cord. In the opposite corner, Ruby is gearing up as well. Something must be going down in these here parts... hopefully not the Wave Dancer. "Amy, good evening," Merri smiles briefly. "Thank you for coming over. I'm not certain how much was explained in the letter.." he admits, glancing at Maggie.

Ruby stands over by one of the corners as noted by Merri, packing a big 'ol pistol, a kinked knife and trying to figure out how to strap on a ridiculously large sword without taking out low-hanging beams with the pommel. She also looks like she's tried to catch cannonballs with her forehead and her meaty abdominals. Her stomach was wrapped by sure hands, though most likely not her own if previous talks between Amy and herself on matters of self-repair are any clue. She offers Amy a tight smile and a stiff nod.

Maggie hands Amy on through the rainbow sparkles into the room. She is armed with two different swords, both sheeths moved to one hip. The other hip is left bare, though once Amy is through, she releases her cousin's hand and moves back to the desk. Once there, she lifts a belt with a holster and fastens it about her hips. The holster sports the grip for a fancy storm pistol. Ruby is given a beamed smile as she fixes it around her and settles the leather so it does not interfere with drawing the weapon or either of the blades. Catching Merrisol's question, she inhales, "I gave her a short rundown of what we are facing. She should be pretty aware." Looking back to her Mandrake cousin she takes up something from before Amy's entry into the cabin-office, "I... do not think anyone has tried the rain shifted. Not sure that's a good idea, honestly. If it affects you, and it might not, it would be bringing your deepest lusts to the fore and encouraging you to act on them."

Amy is not dressed for this, at least not right away. She's in a party dress. But she has her carryall over her shoulder, and her usual adventuring gear slung overtop of it, as well as her sword in hand. So she's got her stuff, but might need a moment or two to put it all together. She pauses and smiles as she's greeted. "Merrisol, nice to see you," she says. "Ruby, hello." Maggie gets a hug, if the other woman will let her. "Yes, but - I guess it depends on what it affects. It might be - dragons aren't affected at all." Blink. "Or even if we are, it might be nobody would notice." That's said deadpan. She grins a moment later. "However, I understand there's some folks who are hurt and might need some Healing. That I can help with, though I'll have to get to them, which sounds a risky proposition somewhat."

Ruby shuffles a bit, accepting the greeting from Amy and the generous look from Maggie. Clearing her throat, she flicks yet another glance to Maggie, and even gives Merrisol one for equal measure. Progress! "Ay-mah...Lemme give you another set 'o 'ands if you need 'elp treatin tha stoopid buggahs tha need 'elp." This is all delivered quite honestly and without wince or batting an eyelash. "I kin 'elp. Aye, Whatsit...prac-tickle ex-perience?"

Merrisol eyes Ruby's improbably-sized sword, mouth opened while he comes up with a careful suggestion that she swap it out for something more, uhh, subtle. If they see boarding action, however, at least her back is protected? "Ruby.. do you have anything halfway between?" he wonders presently, gesturing to the bent knife and the monster glass sword. He looks at Amethyst thoughtfully over her odd remark. "Like puppies and children, dragons need no excuse?" he offers the modified adage with a smirk. Then looks at Maggie. "We.. have the usual crop of minor complaints amongst the crew, but if you are referring to the ship's crew we are currently seeking, we've yet to find them." So, that leaves Ruby, and she wants to be on the other end of the stethoscope. Tough luck, Amy.

The Dancer has only been forging northward through the storm a few hours, much too short a time to expect to come across the object of her search, and yet a cry of discovery starts up, beginning with the brave soul secured in the crow's nest, and making its way down and across the deck, and less than a minute later, reported to the Captain herself: A ship sighted on the horizon! So far away, and in the dying of the day's light? Yes indeed.. because she's on fire! A bright but somewhat guttering glow serves as a beacon to steer towards, and reach in about twenty minutes at current speed.

Maggie lets Merrisol take care of Ruby and her giant sword. She is giving Amy a bit of a once over then turning toward the door, "Come on. You can use..." Her offer of the main cabin is cut off when the report is made, "Oh, cripes." Glancing over her shoulder, she looks at each of her friends and kin in turn, then nods toward the door. There is a look of concentration in her eyes that results in a slight but perceptable increase in speed. A ship aflame in the ocean? Amid the deluge? Not good. "I'm going above. I might be able to steal the air from the fire or move the flames off of the ship and into the water to douse them." Without waiting for a reply, she strides out the door toward the stairs leading up to the closed hatch that keeps the below-decks semi-free of water.

"Luck! And be careful, Maggie." Amy hunches her shoulders, and then she nods. "I need to change," she says softly. "But I can run for another cabin, so you don't have to. I'm okay with that. Not so good at healing as a dragon anyway. And Ruby, you're very welcome to help me out with any patients, yes. Definitely." A pause. "D'you want me to go somewhere else to change to something better suited?" Her gaze goes to Merrisol, as she's rather figuring he's going to be heading above deck anyway, but well - it's his choice innit?

Ruby doesn't feel anything but dread in regards to the sighting. With what she's got on, she hustles to finish strapping on the knife and the pistol. The sword is regretfully left propped against the corner. "I don't doo things 'alfway." she stresses to Merrisol, nabbing the short poncho and manuevering towards the exit. She gives Amy a wink and lopes on out to find stairs up and get an eye on things for herself.

As soon as he can make out the words as they trickle down into the crew corridor, Merrisol goes for the porthole window first, to see if he can glimpse the ship at this angle. By the time the doorway out is clear, he's turned to follow, although he spares another look at Amy, and... oh! That fancy dress won't do at all. "You are welcome to use the office, Amy," he tells her in passing. "You can use the wardrobe to store the.." Gesturing helplessly at the finery, probably silk stockings, and dance slippers with bows on 'em? Yeah, so not the way to come out on deck amongst a bunch of sailors struggling with their libidos. "You're very lovely, by the way!" He shuts the door behind him, on that parting remark. Captain Smooth, that's him.

Above deck, the stormy eve crashes into night, pelting the crew with bullet-hard drops from unseen clouds. The spot on the horizon might already be a dying fire, but it's the brightest thing around. The Dancer's full sails gleam in its wavering light, so too do the faces of her crew as they peer over the railing as the first large chunks of ship detritus float by. Split barrels, planks, a mass of rigging trailing after the tip of a broken mizzen mast. Ahead, the vessel is listed on her side and rather low in the water. The torn sails that remain hanging from the blazing timbers either started out black, or became that way from smoke damage and charring.

Maggie is already several strides out of the hatch from below and bellowing orders, "Ora. Get a detail together to search for survivers. Anderson, bring us about two degrees to starboard." She reaches the foredeck and heads for the railing. The look of concentration on her face is clear to see. Gradually, she works what magic she can muster to draw air from the fires that flicker on the listing ship ahead. One more command, "Xun Yu get the lamps lit." Then she stands still and watchful, still trying to starve the fires of oxygen without doing the same to survivors.

Left behind and alone in the office, Amy does quickly get to changing, so she can go see what she can do to help. and whether the stormy weather has any impact on her or not. Ahem. Still, she gets out of the party dress, and starts getting the armour on, boots, leggings, tunic, and knives. Here, there and everywhere, though she also includes that sword Micah made her. But all this might take more than a moment or two. it's quite a transformation from party girl to doctor do-good.

Ruby forces herself above deck and her sea legs carry her over towards the side, stopping short of pitching over. With her hands free, she braces herself there and peers towards the troubled vessel. Squinting, and chewing on the inside of her cheek to try and stay focused, the big woman peers up towards the sails to check on how the wind is favoring the Wave Dancer. "Anybody see any wee boats in tha water? Any jump ship?"

Merrisol bounds up the stairs through the hatchway and onto the deck, one hand securing his saber scabbard against his leg so as not to trip himself or others on the steps. Coming over to the rail to stare at length along the trail of floating wreckage to the ship itself, he slumps just slightly against the rail, leaning out. "It's the Mad Rhyme," he says heavily, even while Maggie calls out orders for lamps, rowboat survivor parties, and gets the blaze down to a hissing steam over the flagging knave. He is most familiar with that pirate ship, his closest ally while he captained the Wave Dancer. He refrains from joining the shoreboat lowered into the water, and just starts stripping out of his sword and gun belt where he stands. Now is not the time to let the divine rain dictate your actions, Merri..

The ship fires have snuffed, but the Dancer's lamps now hanging out over the water while she gradually turns a circle around the mess, illuminate the loose cargo litter that bobs on the choppy waves, or slowly sinks, or fetches up against the other ship's hull with weak thunks. Now and then, the stiff upright dorsal fin of a largish grey shark rises up for a few moments, before sinking beneath the tossing waterline.

Ruby squints and tries to make out any details she can while lamps and illumination are brought forth. She has a mental hiccup, after being distracted by merrisol's disappointment. She lowers her jaw to maybe offer out something constructive, but the sincere belief she hears in his voice doesn't seem to leave any room for doubt. The movement in the water snaps her back to the dark waters and she extends her right palm, facing outwards. With narrowing eyes and some concentration, a beam of bright light flares and extends in a beam, illuminating a wherever she shifts her hand. It plays over the fins and pauses on debris of large-ish sizes.

Maggie ignores the rain pelting them with sharp, hard force as well as she can. She has a job to do. As the fires fizzle and die, she turns to see Merrisol's dejection, "I'm sorry." Anguish fills her gaze, though she does not take time to deal with it nor acknowledge the almost overwhelming urge to comfort her husband. And then maybe more. Dang the rain and the Goddess' potency. Her hands tighten on the railing and she resolutely does not watch in abject fascenation as Merrisol begins to strip. Her impulse control may not be all that great, but her resolve is ironclad. "Bring them home safely, Kerf." Though she thinks it, she does not add, if you can find them. Instead, she focuses on the sparks left on the Rhyme. These she calls, lifting them up off of the sinking ship. The wind she called to power their sails slows as her concentration shifts. The embers are held above the water and drawn into a large arrow shape that points to the Weve Dancer. "I can go in with you with a kiss, Kerf. To help find those below." Since... the kiss couldn't devolve or elevate to something far more, right?

Martin trumped in at some point and was dealing with something in the Captain's cabin as well as getting properly dressed for non-Rebman adventures. Such outfits typically consist of jeans, t-shirts and other assorted articles that can pass for medieval fashion when applied correctly. He is true to usual attire today and is luckily just on time to witness Merrisol stripping and Ruby's not-subtle sun beam and takes a moment to revel in the fine contours of said butt before clearing his throat. "I just get dressed and now we're stripping? Ok!"

Silly people, Merrisol only sheds the belts and the boots. Okay so, maybe in doing so his pants tugged down too far, momentarily!... damn Martin and his lucky timing. Or was it lucky causality. And now, the temptation of kissing with benefits? "I would, Maggie. But this is at least a couple of hours old," he points out, oblivious to consequences of the wardrobe malfunction until Martin quips from the hatchway. He shakes his head at the Regent and starts to chide him, then gives up mid-breath and notes, "Fire was already on its way out..?" He looks to Maggie for confirmation on that, then back to the water, where Ruby's light has gone back to trawling the debris. There's another grey fin, flashing a deceptively smooth wet skin. "I'm going down to talk to the sharks," he states, grimly. "Best for you to stay on deck."

Amy senses... Nothing alive on the water line for a wide radius except for the sharks, those in the search boats, and some smaller blips that are probably rats.

The search teams manage to haul a few intact corpses out from cluttered detritus inaccessible to the sea predators. By the light of a hanging lamp, Ora examines the one sprawled in her boat and calls out to the Dancer, "Died fighting, Captain!"

The dangers of these waters and these times... Maggie will be frustrated to learn that her dedication to not looking while her husband sheds his gear meant that she missed catching a glimpse of his derrier. Darn it! But such is her devotion to staving off the compulsion instilled in her by the pounding, pelting rain that she ... didn't look until it was too late. The look is inspired by Martin's call and ... she jerks her eyes upward to focus on Merrisol's face rather than below the waist. His caution and plan or plan and caution are heard, though dimly through the buzz of heightened blood flow to her... Er... Well, not to her brain at any rate. It is Ora's chilling call that snaps her out of it and she nods to Merrisol, "Luck, love." And... she steps back to the railing to lean over and call, "All right, Ora. Thank you. Bring whomever you can aboard, please." Another call, "Mr. Anderson. Prepare to receive bodies. They will be given a burial at sea once we are through with this. Also? Ask Amy to contact Robert, please. Or Sullivan. We need a Feldane."

Merrisol shoves his accessories close to the gunwale and takes the knife from the right boot's ankle strap. Gaining Maggie's acceptance for going off alone, he moves in behind her, then stops to look across the waves where Ora's rescue boat crests the rolling waves, catching the shipmate's impromptu autopsy report with an angry inhale. His hand coming up on Maggie's arm starts out tense, but gentles the squeeze as she speaks of respectful handling of the dead. "If I'm not back in ten, trump me out?" he leans down to murmur, following it up with a moment's resting his nose and mouth in the curls rippling the side of her head. Just a moment's respite from the bleak and grisly outcome to their quest.

Instead of following impulse and diving into the drink, whereby to get clonked by submerged timber or netted like a dolphin in rigging, Merri takes up a towline and goes over the rail to climb/rappel his way in down the hull. He clings a moment as a wave breaks over him and against the ship, rolling to one side to dodge a shattered barrel. He slips without further fuss below the surface of water cold and dark, with a cloying tang of ash. Sinking lower, he can see by the lamp and tattoo lights breaking through gaps in debris in the same manner as sunlight through cloud cover in the sky. Long streamlined bodies, more than could be counted from above, wind in and out of the murk, stalking the various clumps floating on the surface waves.

Maggie leans back a bit against Merrisol when he comes up behind her. She nods once to his murmered request and watches while he takes a line and rapels down the side of the ship into the water. The urge to follow is strong, but she refrains from going any farther than to the side to watch him decend into the blackness below. When she can no longer see the shimmering glimmer of his sun-blond hair, she draws in a long, slow breath and turns back to try and Captain the ship while her beloved is undah da sea. One hand reaches to her trump-pouch and she fishes out his card. Not to call him yet, but to be ready in case. Moving to stand nearer to Ruby, she peers over the side there and calls, "Ora. Captain Merrisol has gone into the water. Please watch your oars as you bring the bodies aboard." Taking in the debris, she adds, "Shanon. Start fishing up the crates and barrels. If we can find Captain Scallion, we'll give him back what we can." She, at least, is going to hold that Merri's friend is alive somewhere. At least until that hope is utterly crushed.

Amy comes up to the deck, having set up below decks for patients. Her gaze goes along the water line, eyes gleaming slightly, but there's a bleak expression on her face. It takes her a few moments of standing there to realize that she is getting wet.

Ruby keeps panning her palm back and forth across the water, trying to not jerk it about too much at every flick of a predatory fin. The light tends to flicker or strobe if she gets too distracted. Gripping the rail hard, she eyes a haphazard trail of bits of debris. "Aye...Maggah." she huffs and serpentines along the bits of evidence that bob and float. "Maggah. Tha bits down there. She's been blasted roight good. It cracked an exploded an sent tah Bog all violent an...ele-mental loike. Tha's tha sort 'o nasty tha gun yours can doo. Bolt 'o death from Storm Cannon. At least one 'o tha buggahs. I mean...jigsaw now. Struck. Boom. Bits."

Maggie's gaze follows the light that cuts across the water. Rain pelts them all with bullet sharp, hard, soaking sheets, sending ripples upon ripples over the water below. A crew sets about catching what salvage they can and hauling it up onto the deck. It will be lashed into place, then lowered into the cargo hold once they have enough to warrent it. Her attention flashes back to Amy, the woman given a nod and a hopeful look. When Amy's face crumples, Maggie sighs, "Right. A Feldane then." About then, Ora's small boat starts to head back. She has collected several dead bodies from the debris where the sharks below could not get to them. Noting their approach, Maggie moves to lower robes, then signals for some of the sailors to take over. Wet, she is, yes. Wet with the Goddess' water pouring over her and her beloved below with the sharks. While his absence makes the compulsions easy as pie to ignore... Well. Most of them. The compulsion to be by his side just gets harder to withstand. More and more insistant. She clenches one hand into a fist, then tucks it into her pocket so the nails that bite into her skin are not obvious.

Lifting her gaze then, she strides back to the railing by Ruby, her eyes staring out over the water toward the other ship. "/That/ is what my storm cannon does? That... mess?" Her eyes flash back to the cannon, sitting so innocently in it's mooring. Then back again, "I... Good grief, Ruby. I promise not to use it unless there is no other option. That's... horrific. I... If I knew, I do not remember."

While he might not be expected that seemed to generally be the case whenever Michio came to show up in Maggie and framilys lives. The man appearing walking backwards up the stairs as he says, "Well get better with your medicine and I won't have to visit" His head giving a small shake as he stumbles over one step only to quickly reach out for the railing catching it. The man noticing his new surroundings as he just blinks and turns looking around quickly, "Ship? When.... Not agai.." The Jadean man's shoulders rising and falling as he lets a sigh slip free. Then he begins to pick up on small things, The familiarity of the ship albeit distantly given his last visit and his state. But also the sight of the familiar face of Maggie and her crew. Though it isn't that which has his interest, His nostrils flaring slightly as he gives a small shiver whispering out. "I know this smell.. sweet..so sweet.." His head tilts as he moves up onto the deck fully looking around as he begins to make his way over closer to Maggie latching on to that familiarity as he takes in those scents of death and the sea around him. As approaches Maggie his distinct Jadean voice sounds out as he waggles a finger towards some of the dead bodies, "It.. isn't my birthday is it?" The man noticing the familiar stranger from one of his journeys under the city, His head simply dips to Ruby briefly in greeting.

Mr. Anderson's request to Amy has her stare at the man for a long moment, with a slightly befuddled look on her face. "Sullivan. Or - I can't contact either one, unless Captain Flame has a trump I can borrow. I've neither of their trumps. Might have a different Feldane though." That thought has Amy pause, one hand reaching up to brush her hair back out of her face. She then rubs some water out of her eyes, and takes a deep breath. "Okay, I don't feel any different than normal. Should I?" That asked, she just ignores it, and turns to looking again, her gaze tracking Merrisol perhaps, as he swims beneath the waves. The new voice catches her attention and she promptly look to Michio, but only for a moment. "I can't see much from here. But I can fly up higher and see if I can see anything?" She will totally risk her wings and limbs in the rain storm, if needed.

The largest intact chunk of the ship, charred and cooling in the sluicing rains, moans as though in the throes of a nightmare and turns inexorably over, broken masts stabbing into the sea.

Ruby nods quickly to Maggie's question but is thrown a loop by the way the information is taken. "Aye...Don't need tah promise. Tha's what they for, roight? An show 'o course. Cause it be loike blo..." she turns her head over towards the Dancer's Cannon, hoping it didn't overhear anything that would disgruntle its fine sturdy and formidable state. She opens her mouth to resume her fondess for having one aboard when there's an unexpected face moving closer. A face recently added to her memory banks. "Ow tha bloody 'ell..."

As Anderson directs traffic, two other sailors work with Ora's team to lift three bodies up from the small boat onto the deck. They are set out one by one by one with respect and care. Maggie nods to Ruby, "Well. Yeah, true. And they are good at what they do, but... I don't want to see them used against a fleeing ship or..." Oh, her and her ideals. She is stopped by Amy, first and the Mandrake is given a nod, "If you would? It might help. Just be careful." Blinking, she shrugs, "I'm not sure that you would be feeling anything. Maybe?" She is. Oh, she is. It is clear in her antsy flashing glance and step-step-sidestep sort of movements. Ora catches her attention, but the moment shifts when she, too, hears the familiar voice. Turning, she blinks rain out of her eyes, "Michio? Michio! Hello and welcome. You'll have to tell me how you got here... Later, okay? We have a problem and you are just the man to sort it out, if you are willing."

Ora's voice sounds again, "Captain? With permission, I'd like to go out again. I think we spotted at least one more body but it'll be touchy to get." Maggie holds up a hand to Michio, just in case he was going to comment. Returning to the railing, she nods, "Please, Ora. Thank you. Let us know if you need help?" As though Maggie could send the cavalry... She sidles a glance toward Amy. Maybe she can...

The unnatural storm reaches far beneath the turgid waves, conducting a constant din and clamour, punctuated by the muffled clunks of contrary movements and collisions of objects. Even without all that going on, the undersea is never silent, not to one who has the patience and interest to learn now to listen, and sort out all the unique, sometimes lyrical, languages blending together into the soup as a living hum.

Squinting through the sting of burnt particulate, Merrisol aims for a shark lingering fairly stationary under a dam-like pile of deck tinder and worrying at an unfortunate soul caught between planks. Early on, Merri might have started off with a 'Heyyy, fish..!' but the knack for understanding and conveying the nuances of marine communication has developed into uncanny finesse over time. And so, no audible sound is offered at all. Still, the shark dislodges its jaws from the limp legs of the trapped body and noses an arc to slip away from the large Rebman who so casually infiltrated its electro-receptors and dull hungry mind. It circles him slowly and he turns along with it, instilling the carrion-eater's senses with quiet, deadly fascination. At any time, a flash of its limber silver body, one little brush of its razor-stiff hide against the man where one little drop of blood could seep into the water, and the others will be here, too many for him to hold. Then it's business as usual for the frenzy.

Just for now though, it stares out its lifeless black doll eye, and shivers its responses to his questions.

The mandrake and Mr Anderson are watched a few moments by Michio with faint interest before he sees Amy moving off. His attention stolen away by the familiar sound of Ruby's voice, The words from Ruby have Michio smiling softly as he dips his head to the woman briefly, "Like I told you the other day.. My path takes me many places.." A hint of mischief showing across his thin tiered lips as he looks to the tall woman before he is returning his attention to Maggie, "Later, Yes.. and well.. I am going to guess that it has something to do with these yes?" His hand motioning to some of the dead bodies on the deck, "Unless your trying to take my job now?" His fine brow raising before he looks to her hands and her neck briefly for one reason or another. A pause is given at her mention of if he is willing before he chuckles, "Not going to smack me if I end up having to walk these across are you? or needing help with something else.." His brow lifts as question shows within his gaze. "The one you consumate with is not among the dead or injured is he?" Concern showing briefly as he looks back to Maggie before looking over the bodies for Merrisol.

Right then. Amy moves a bit away from the rest, letting them converse. There is a flash of heat, and then a purple dragon (sorry, Ruby!), who then launches from the deck of the ship with powerful hindquarters and a massive wing pump. Whoosh, freedom! Amy bugles reasonably softly as she hits the air, wobbles due to the storm, weebles, and then finds an updraft to send her rocketing up higher.

Ruby eyes Michio dubiously. The cryptic nature of the strange fellow has her hackles raising. Or it could be the blasted rain pelting down and trying to erode her down. A nearby splash has her teeth on edge and she grimaces, almost baring her pearly whites. Ruby tries to get a grip on her composure. Whoomp. "Sweet B..Bog!" The mountain of a woman moves, flinching in response to Amy transforming and displacing air and sheets of rainwater as she claws skywards.

Amongst the items potentially dredged from the drink is a.. harpsicord! Its black laquered surface gleams, remarkably untouched by fire, and just one leg missing. It jangles discordantly as the salvage team pushes debris aside to recover it.

And the cavalry launches! Maggie watches Amy rising into the sky, shrugging off the pelting rain like so many snowdrops. Shaking her head, she smiles at her cousin, then turns to watch Ora's smallboat head back into the debris field. The sailors with Ora are strong of back and shoulders, pulling with a will to get back to where they may have seen another body. Leaving them to their devices, Maggie searches the water for Merrisol, but... has it been ten minutes yet? Maybe...? Not. Sighing, she turns to rest a hand on Ruby's forearm, just as though about to direct the woman's light generating tattoo and not at all as though to offer support. Her gaze flashes to Michio, "What? Oh. No. Kerf is down in the water, but he is fine." Or he better be if those sharks know what is good for them. "Uh. No. The ship out there is the Mad Rhyme, Michio. Her Captain is a friend of Kerf's. We need to see if these people..." Corpses... "Uh. If they can tell us what happened and whether Scallion is alive. Captain Scallion." The famous Rap Scallion. "Would you be willing to ask them?"

As Amy begins to take shape as a dragon and takes flight Michio's attention is stolen away watching her push herself further into the air, The man just blinking and watching her before he looks to Maggie hearing her words. A small nod is given to the captain hearing her question, "This is good, Would not do well if he were lost to you. Not sure would like the pain on you.." His words are spoken simply before he moves closer to one of the bodies crouching down and leaning in with his head tilting closer to the corpses lips. His eyes falling closed briefly before opening once more as he stands back up to look to Maggie, "I will speak with them, but then I have to help those that have lost the way across.." The Jadean man giving Maggie a knowing look. "If that and a hug later is acceptable. Then yes, I can help." A small smile offered to the woman with a touch of warmth. After a moment he glances towards Ruby, "You okay?" His fine brow raising in question as he studies the rather tall woman.

The three bodies laid out are all men, and beneath the crispy burns all show evidence of defensive wounds and mortal, up-close damage to the gut, for maximum agony before certain death.

Amy gets buffeted somewhat while up there, the winds pushing at her, testing her perhaps. She circles, in ever widening loops, looking down at the life signs, especially at the top of the water. The little boat with Ora, she keeps an eye on, in case they need help. And Merrisol - she knows where he is already, though plummeting into the water would be tricky. She bugles again, muttering as she just lets herself fly lopsidedly. It might be "cute" but it works, and leaves her slightly better able to deal with the winds.

Ruby has since tried to death-beam Amy at least once with her light, merely illuminating the drake, as if this would help dilute the initial stab of dracophobia. Light shining a flashlight into the spooky stuffed animal-filled closet. Maggie's hand puts pressure and reassurance in differing measures onto her emotions. Like a salve. She directs her light away, ceasing the light show through the descending hail of rain and back to the water where it can be more useful. She defensively snarls, "Foine! Foine ass'ah fillet." She tears her gaze away from what Michio is attempting with the sodden dead. That's certainly worth another chilly tune upon her spine like a xylophone.

Maggie smiles a bit madly up at Ruby, though it is meant to be encouraging. Looking back to Michio, she lifts her hand from Ruby's arm and walks toward him. "If Merrisol was lying out there on the deck, Michio... I would be as well." Grim. Certain. She lifts her hand from her pocket and brings Merrisol's card forward, "Has it been 10 minutes? I'm calling." She does nod to Michio then, "Thanks. For helping. Us and them." Remembering something, she sighs, "If you are going to do what I think you are going to do... It is a good thing Amy's here." Then her eyes fall to the trump and she sends a tentative sort of 'now?' nudge through the card.

Michio doesn't seem to notice the dragon overhead as the dead are now about to be tended to, The man's eyes lifting though to look back to Ruby hearing her comment before he nods and offers up. "Okay.. good.." When he hears the words from Maggie Michio just blinks, "Not sure, when did he go down? Was it before I .. well yes." A pause is given as he nods his head hearing her thanks before offering up, "It's the only way to accompany them Maggie, Don't worry.. I got this." A smile offered before he moves to sit beside the corpses. The Japanese man bringing his katana and the sheath out setting the sheathed weapon beside him carefully as his eyes go distant. The depths of grey growing lighter as he looks over the first of the bodies taking his time looking over the burned man from head to toe.

Amy swoops down to land on the deck. It's a bit of claws needed to come to a stop thanks to the rain and the storm. "Ow," she mumbles. "Looks like whatever hit them came from the north. The bulk of the debris is trailing eastward. Which is where that big swirly cyclone thing is. And there are faint life readings along the trail - I don't think they're people. Feel more like rats." In this form, there is a deeper tone to her voice, and she's obviously put in work to be understandable when speaking Thari.

Off in the water, Ora and her crew are working to free a body trapped within a tangle of rigging. The blade of a knife glints in the flash of Ruby's light while above the embers Maggie gathered into a giant red arrow pointing to the ship fade and wink out. She does not bother to rekindle them. The struggle with the ropes trying to keep the body in place begins to get heated judging by the curses that sound occasionally from the small boat.

Ruby raises her shoulders when a tympani of vibrations travels from Amy's landing to where she's stationed near the railing. She sucks in her lower lip viciously and traps it while trying to gauge an easterly reckoning. Amy's voice licks up the back of her neck and practically sandpapers those imaginary hackles. Don't turn around. Ruby focuses her light back upon the flash of metal, if it can be effective at this range. "I know tha sea be dangeroos...But it be'ah bloody expensive waste there not be one yap around tah taddle. Bloody bad luck. Or tha ship tha killed yer Mad Rhyme...be too /thorough/ fer me tastes. Waste."

A tangle of ropes and boards begins to bulge and separate amid the shifting wreckage swamp, and another body turns up, sandwiched awkwardly by wood. His trousers are torn and the flesh of his legs is churned by shark teeth, although the blood has already congealed. Once the revealed corpse is 'safely' afloat, Merrisol picks up the nudge of contact. He's under, where the tumult of the storm is arguably reduced. A murky silhouette cruises past behind him, close and so deceptively lazy. "Maggie - is the crew still pulling up bodies? My 'friend' here says his 'friends' will stick around as long as there's free eats in the water. Then they'll go back to following the main buffet." He must be paraphrasing.. do sharks really describe people as one-to-three star dining experiences? "That must be The Xanthi-.. agh, damn.. bloody.. back-stabbing.." The contact fades as he jerks back from the sharky sideswipe that saws through his sweater into his flank, in a diffuse mist of bloody water.

The contact comes and Maggie relaxes a bit. She nods, listening. Her reply is lost, however, for the contact ends as a shark turns traitor-fish and... Maggie looks up, the card automatically tucked back into the pouch where her fingers synch it closed. She does not speak to Michio or Amy or Ruby or any of the crew but runs and leaps not onto the railing, but over it. Hair streaming out behind her like a banner of flame, she brings her hands up to cut the water below. There is no thought to whether the water is free of debris. There is only the need to get to Merrisol. Right now.

While many may move when Amy come back to land Michio is lost in his own little world as he examines the three bodies. The man's brow furrowing as he leans forwards to move the shirt of the middle man looking more closely before he nods to himself leaning back to sit back once more upon the deck as he offers up to himself or any who will listen. "This.. is wrong." His head tilts as he looks over the three charred bodies, "Can not disguise the death from those that walk in her embrace..." His words whispered out before he continues, "Two went by blade and blood.. Much pain.. but this one.." His hand moving back to touch on the center man's chest, "He.. knew the burn, he felt it in that last moment.. the other two.. spared." With those words given Michio moves to lay down beside the bodies, His eyes staring up into the sky beside the bodies before he turns his head to the man next to him. The Jadean's right hand reaching up to turn the charred bodies head towards him with a sickening crunch and crackle sounding out of bones and dried out tendons cracking into their new position. Michio's eyes look towards the dead man's as he begins to whisper out softly to the man. "It is okay, your journey is almost at an end... Free from the pain of living and free from the pain of your.. recent voyage...I can help give you peace.. show you the way, but first.. I must know what happened.. And where Scallion is.." The Jadean not even seeming to notice the way Maggie tears ass across the deck and over the railing.

Blink. Blink. There goes Maggie, supercharged, with a splash into the water, or maybe just a sizzle. Amy figures there's only one thing that might cause that reaction - something is trying to harm Merrisol. As she's too young a dragon to have a real sort of breath weapon, she simply launches again, but this time the bugle sound isn't there. Instead it's a roar that might deafen earless fishies. And if that shark is too near the surface, it might find claws raking it, in retaliation, as Amy is perfectly willing to dive bomb for her friends. And if nothing else, that roar should let Ora know something is up. "Watch out, the water might get busier," she calls, her voice carrying even with the storm. Like she's got a megaphone.

Ruby's beam flicks, falters and then goes out. "Maggah!" Her palm slams down on the railing and she almost topples over the side as she watches her slice through the air and then cleave into the water. For no...good...reason. That she can tell. The first misinterpreted reason that comes to mind is when a bloody dragon chases her /off/ the deck. "Ay-mah?!" Or maybe they're /both/ running from Michio raising the dead and unleashing zombies on the crew. She should never have kept her back to him and tried to play Eye-spy with wreckage and bodies. She crawls up on the rail with a bit of a sway and stares towards Michio for confirmation of her fears. The storm takes the opportunity to stab through her defenses. Over the side she goes. Down down.

Ora startles at the call, her eyes going staringly wide as the dragon calls a warning. Then she curses like the sailor she is as Ruby falls from the railing. Urging her companions to hurry with the body, she slices through the ropes holding the corpse and they haul the body into their boat. "Back. We have to get back. The crew's gone mad." It must be the rain. But, wait. Is that blood rising from the water there? "There." She gestures with the knife, nearly slicing into the sailer with her. He ducks and she blushes. It would be pretty if it wasn't... Okay, it's pretty. But, blood in the water takes precidence.

Aboard the ship, Mr. Anderson tries to stop Flame, then Amy, then Ruby from going off into the drink. Maybe he should retire.

Cutting the water in a fairly smooth slice, Maggie dives deeper than she might have. There is debris nudging up against the ship right near her so she can't make the dive shallow. Angling away, she tries to see in the murky depths. A baleful ball of fire encased in a bubble of air begins to grow slowly in her palm. And? She can't breath underwater. Such a pain in the... As that realization hits home, she lances upward toward the surface. Really, Maggie. You should learn to curb those impulses. Still, angry, her gaze seeks the telltale signs of where her Kerf is. And that traitorous shark.

As bodies topple over the deck in search of Merrisol in his moment of trouble Michio remains focused on the task at hand, Amongst the dead the rest of the world seeming to vanish from around the man. The Jadean man's features calm as he lays among the dead conversing with them aloud as no responses are heard back at least vocally. The man's head though does nod and a small smile takes shape. When the other two speak up Michio does nod again before saying aloud, "It is good to have met you friends.. Wait here.. Will show you the way home soon.. Must see to your other friends." Michio finally begins to sit up looking down at the man beside him reaching out for some splintered wood tucking it into his pocket, "I know they aren't drumsticks Tony.. But they will do until we get you home." A warmth showing in Michio's tone as he has those moments of lucidity while appearing as he normally did, perfectly unstable given the one sided conversation. When he finally looks over the deck to notice Maggie wasn't there anymore or for that matter a Ruby. The Jadean man blinks slowly as he looks around reaching down to take up his blade holding it by the sheath in his right hand as he looks around the deck of the ship in a fair bit of confusion. Spotting Mr. Anderson Michio's voice calls out over the deck, "Scuse me.. there were just others here yes? Living ones I mean.."

Merrisol, shaking off the shock and pique of his rough-skinned informant's betrayal, knocks the shark reeling off course with the knife's hilt, his fist curled tight around the handle for extra rigidity. Turning in the pink-tinted water, he scans hurriedly to take stock of his surroundings, and waits for that tell-tale nudge in his awareness to reestablish the lost trump contact. When it doesn't come right away, he frowns into the first lurking edges of self-concern, and upends himself to assume defensive posture, spinning steadily and watching for the second strike as opposed to letting it come out of nowhere. Then.. BLOOSH, as the water closer to the Dancer's hull describes the pluming column of a million flurrying bubbles that is Maggie's entry to the undersea. Merri stares, at once at an utter loss to understand this new development, and then /completely/ understanding it. Damn it, Stormy! "Maggie!" Yelling out her name through the muted distortion of the sea, he twists and jacknifes to swim her way with two blood-sniffing sharks already cruising in hot pursuit.

A fin passing close to Ora's smallboat dips below the surface, this shark responding to the disruption of Maggie's dive. It plys the shallow currents towards the woman, only to balk as Ruby suddenly breaks through from above in a more substantial mass, almost taking a ride on its snout. The creature's gaping mouth and round eyes give it a woefully stunned expression as it flashes away.

Ruby hits the water with a nice big splash. As graceful as the others are, her inevitable splash tags a bit of driftwood with her shoulder, but results in sending her below the surface are the same. One has to wonder if the being under the waves like this is any help against the storm's effects. Diluted or augmented with the rain? Once her vision shows her which way the bubbles are going, she shouts out a long-pent up ball of anxiety, adding to the clues that wind their way to the surface. The shark-like gills at her neck animate, flaring into life as her vertigo dissipates. Her near miss with the shark has her flailing about herself with arms and legs before trying to spy something more humanoid shaped.

Mr. Anderson turns from the railing where he stands peering down into the newly splash-frothed sea. He looks over at Michio, then stands as though ready to tackle the Feldane to the deck should he show signs of making a leap of faith or folly into the drink. When Michio shows no such impulse, the sailor stands straighter, adjusting the fall of his uniform with a nervous jerk that may be the inspiration for a certain StarShip Captain on a certain television program on a planet in a destroyed Shadow, "Yes, sir," is the answer. "Captain Flame and Miss Ruby jumped or fell into the water. Doc Amy took to the air." As though seeing the petite young princess turn into a purple dragon was an everyday affair... "I want to say fell, though I think the Captain dove in. It's the rain, sir. It is affecting her judgement. Captain Flame knows not to jump off a ship into shark infested waters. Especially into waters where the sharks are used to eating whatever's come from the ships, sir. It has to be the rain." Turning back to the railing, he calls, "Ora! Watch for the Captain, Captain Merrisol and Miss Ruby." Then, "Winslow! Get another rescue..." But, he pauses, "Belay that." One hand reaches for his own slim deck of trumps. It contains but two. Selecting Merrisol's as it is on the top of the pile, he focuses on it.

Deep beneath the waves, Maggie is swimming strongly toward where she knows Merrisol will be. It isn't that the trump contact is all that direction-specific, but the ring she wears on her left hand gives her an idea of where she should go by the stabbing panic it conveys clearly to her. Then there is her husband's call, her name ringing out through the waters. Far, far too late it occurs to her that she could have just trumped him again. Duh, Maggie. Where did your head go? Anger at the shark that dared to nip at Merrisol's back rises again when she spots one of the brutes. Oh, right. That's where caution, common sense and rational thought went. Out the window and overboard. The large splash from behind and to one side brings her up sharply and she turns to see Ruby drive a shark snout-first down beneath the waves. She would cheer, but... that takes air and she is running low. Up, Maggie. Go up and get air. Can't breath here without help. Fighting the compulsion to dive farther and seek Merrisol even now, she angles for the surface.

The second splash into the water that is Ruby catches Amy's attention but briefly. There's a divebombing dragon who can in fact reach two sharks who are hungrily trailing a Merrisol as he rockets after Maggie. Bleeding all the way. Shadow over head, wonder if sharks even notice that? Or Merrisol does? Dragon claws - big, nasty, and irate - rake across first one shark's back and then the next, as Amy's divebomb makes itself felt. Another ROAR, claws digging into tough sharkskin, and trying to take it all off. More blood in the water, but perhaps also some unhappy sharks. Her tail is used to swat down, that spikey ball somewhat painful when it hits anything remotely resembling flesh. She then pulls up, working hard against what winds buffet her, in order to turn and prepare for another run, anger blazing in her eyes.

Ruby has since righted herself and has shifted to using her gills rather than those pesky lung-things after her bubbly yarp was emitted. The distorted waterscape before her, awash with flotsam at the surface, toothyfishies prowling amongst them and inky unknowables beneath sets the stage. There aren't any large winged things down /here/ so she's after Maggie, taking a lower route while Maggie refills her lungs. The cold water seeps into her most recent misadventures and feels like it's trying to slough off the stitches and salves. An ice pick tapping against her skull. Ruby keeps Maggie in sight, using her as a reference point amongst the odd sounds and thrashing coming from the surface.

Merrisol does not need to see the fine red thread which manifests around his wedding band and trails one end forward to indicate Maggie's position. He can see the beacons of flame, in her billowing hair as well as the literal fireball building within the sphere of air at her hand. Aware of the sharp tang of blood in the water, and the mad hunger it has inspired, he spares no glance for the approach of grey hunters, but hightails it for his wife... and Ruby too?? Does nobody feel like just trumping, anymore? "Pull up on the wreckage!" he calls to them both. So close to the surface, there's a topsy-turvy realm of ropes, chunks of lumber, and random attached bits and bobs that go into making a sailing ship. Merrisol loses sight of Maggie as she goes back up for a quick breath, and veers around an iceberg-like clump of burnt deck. Sea heritage coming keenly into play, he does sort of rocket propel along with a strong kick, body pulsing like a dolphin... and still, the sharks close the distance like torpedos. Tucking his knees, Merri spins in a somersault to face...

...a bubbling froth of flapping tail fins and torn, twisting bodies! Jaws still hanging open to snap at him, but jerked unceremoniously from their attack runs, the sharks roll over with the force of the swipes from above, deep gouges in their dorsal skins. As Merrisol backs away from the bloody turmoil, he's treated to the sight of a distinctive spiked tail crashing down on one unlucky predator's head. The distant-sounding roar from above the waves confirms it is Amethyst swinging that organic morning star. So the good doctor has gone off-ship, too. Who's left minding the boat.. Martin? Merrisol can't worry about that, though, turning again to look for Maggie. As it turns out, she and Ruby have found him. He closes the distance to help Maggie out with her water-breathing, and checks to see Ruby's gill tattoos at work. "Let's get out of here," he proposes. By the time Anderson manages to make contact, they are ready to hit the deck.