rassafraggin | Risky Business

The crew has failed to return, which is fine. Mr. Anderson has seen to it that any of the crew who show back up again get another pass. This will go on until Giselle says that it is 'safe' for them to return. Or Moire. Interestingly, he is not taking Maggie's word for it right now. Alas. Luckily, she does not seem to be aware of this.

At the moment, Maggie is leaning against the rear railing. The evening is dark as clouds have shrouded the moon and stars above. A hint of bioluminescence shimmers just below the water's sufrace, promising a show to come.

Murdoch goes to join Captain Flame near the rear railing. When moving along her ship, Murdoch is keen to keep to the sides of the boat. Being close to the water a more comforting prospect. He looks towards the surface of the cold water and muses, carefully, "A fine night. The moon won't be such a strange lure to everything that lives beneath the waves. How fares the Captain of the Wave Dancer?"

Moire is likewise rail-bound, alternating between quiet meditation and gazing further out to sea, through the mouth of the bay. Murdoch's voice brings her back to the ship, looking over to where he and Maggie are stood.

Maggie smiles at Murdoch when he speaks. A faint smile touches her lips and sparkles in her eyes, "I would try for a joke, but am not at all sure that it would be appropriate. Therefore... I am doing well, all things considered. How about yourself?" Her attention turns to Moire for a moment or two before she looks back at the ship's guest Selkie.

Moire sits her looming self down. "Your strength seems well enough renewed to soon return to the waters," she observes, and after a small pause continues, "You shall be granted what materials you need to locate and prepare the next shelter for the Kelpies. I trust that unfortunate incident has not put you off this next great service you shall do Rebma and the Throne." A Queen doesn't hope for such things, after all, rather she relies upon the steadfastness of her subjects. "The timing of the attack was such that you who were not contracted to my defense were nevertheless called to action."

Murdoch turns, having been moving to rest his forearms upon the rails and gaze. But the Queen's presence has him straightening and aborting all that relaxed cultured slouching. "I am not a warrior, and it was not a showing that would inspire future contracts for such." He revolves a wrist and gestures his fingers at nothing at all. "I am absolutely still interested in getting the Kelpies into appropriate shelters. If anything, it's been a more polarizing experience." Murdoch pushes his shoulders back. "The amount of times I have had to defend myself or another from attack I could count on the fingers of a single hand. In the future I should ensure some manner of security is, if not on hand, summonable in a timely manner. And something copacetic to guard the shelter that won't spook the nurtured Kelpies."

The Queen receives his qualifications with a smooth incline of head, noncommittal over what the future holds, regarding perils. She can more graciously nod her appreciation for his dedication to the Kelpie juvenile's next stage of development, holding him to it with an approving look. Somehow the coiling mound of thick mast rope manages a throne-ish manner for the royalized keister which rests upon it. "There is of course a great capacity for defense at my call. For yet greater security, I need not leave the thresholds of my palace." She inclines the Warden's head just slightly, then continues coolly, "There are assassins and abominations stalking through my realm, Lord Murdoch. It is a better thing to have them flushed from the shadows whenever opportunity should present itself, than to evade and let them continue their predation."