...And Into the Fire

[rassafraggin]

Just after standing up and heading to the bridge, Maggie strips her helmet off and draws her trumps. Flipping through her deck, she draws one and concentrates on it.

Amy is in Kitezh, curled up by a warm fire. She is at least at the moment alone. "Hello?" she asks drowsily. Perhaps it was nap time?

Maggie's voice is tight and she is clearly walking while speaking, "Hey, Amy. It's Maggie." Ordinarily, she might have taken the time to ease into things. Now, she does not, "I am sorry to bother you, but we need a Mandrake on the Solar Flare. Someone we trust. Do you have the time?"

In Operations, Mr. Moore gets the strobing rave lights under control, reverting back to a calm low blue light. He reports increasing sonar received from the north, the denizens on the move, but no further firing from the conflagration on the high crag. He goes quiet when he sees that Maggie is busy on a trump. "Uh..Beg pardon, Captain."

Ms. Cristholm is on the intercom, asking for Raphaela to get out of the pneumatic mechanism housing already so they can test oar pulsation. On the causeway, the figure of Merrisol diverts course to the substairwell below the main stair, from which a lot of wrench banging is emanating.

Amy blinks, waking rather rapidly. "Oh. Of course I do. Let me grab my bag and I'll be right there. She doesn't take long, getting to her feet, telling a servant to let Viktor know she's called to an emergency and where. The servant nods, and helps as Amy gets her medkit, and then turns - all in a rush - to Maggie. "Okay, ready when you are."

Maggie nods to Mr. Moore, "Carry on, Mr. Moore." She pauses and stands near an open space in the bridge, "Thank you, Amy." She extends her hand, "Please come on through. The patient is in the med bay."

Amy comes through, pausing a moment to orient herself, and then she smiles to Maggie. "No worries. I think I remember the way. But you and I have to catch up before I leave." Amy then starts towards the medbay.

Miriam is a little behind Maggie, having paused to remove her helmet. She joins them just as Amy is appearing, and smiles to the blonde woman. "Amy!" she says, then turns as she's clearly already heading towards the medbay.

"Hi Miriam. Come with me. Do you know what is going on? Who is the patient? How are you?" Amy peppers the questions, her curiosity obvious. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just woke up and I have no idea what is going on here. Only that Maggie said a Mandrake is needed."

Coming aboard to a multi-layered crisis in the Deep is probably not cause for surprise anymore. The stealth lighting in the halls lends an ominous beat to the occasional rocking of the ship from failed attempts to get the rear engine going. The intercom seems to be fritzing as well, so the chatter between locales is more ghostly and canned than usual, each message preceded by a sad fuzzy chime.

On the bridge, the large disc-shaped forward viewport shows the harrowing sight of a large undersea spiral current churning overhead like a super-tempest, shot through with bioluminescent scrap and trailing sparks of kinetic energy. It funnels narrower but its tail is swallowed by a huge chasm of abiding blackness which spans past the edges of the viewport. In the distance, a spot on the craggy landscape glows like a scattering of fireside embers.

Miriam falls in alongside Amy, and nods to her. "An Inquisitor, of the Order of Eilrahc. Sir Grayeme. He was held captive, and th'conditions were awful." She spares a brief glance for the conditions outside, but then they are on their way elsewhere. "I'm fine, though. How're you?" she asks in return.

Amy frowns a bit, and then nods. "Sounds like a Mandrake might be a good person to have then." She offers a quirky smile. "I'm good, thanks. Are you finding married life is what you expected it to be?" She looks out the viewports she sees, absorbing the view without comment for the moment. Surprised? No. But it still takes a bit to adjust.

Miriam nods her agreement. "We're not sure exactly what was done t'him. I only got there at th'very end, and then we had t'leave quickly." she says, then chuckles quietly. There isn't a whole lot of mirth there, though. "We haven't exactly had time t'be newlyweds. This and other things were all too important t'ignore."

Amy winces a bit, but nods, taking the information as something that she needs to know. "OH dear," she murmurs. Okay, it might have been something a lot less child friendly truthfully. "That's too bad. Being a newlywed is fun," is her reply.

Miriam smiles. "We'll have our time, when a few things're sorted out." she says, sounding sure. "Rebma and th'Sea must come first." she says as they walk. "All's well in Kitezh?"

Amy thinks about the answer, and then she says, "It's cold there and the shadowpath is still not fixed. But otherwise, things are going well." She leaves the topic of her brother's and Miriam's honeymoon where it stands, really not having much more to say there.

Miriam asks then "How is th'baby? I'd suggest you bring her for a visit, but I'm not sure how a baby used t'land would react t'breathing water. I wonder what age is usual, for someone bringing a child t'Rebma for th'first time."

Operations exits into the main causeway which holds a hatchway to port, where the crew commons, also known as the Saloon, is located. The away mission has only just returned, judging by the wet diving suits of dark green kelp weave, and the body dumped across the large oval dining table. It's as good and flat a place as any while they figure out how to get the solid square wall of knighthood down into the medical bay without further injury.

And this Rebman fellow is quite a bit injured. By his long faded blue hair, tied up in unraveling braids around bronze discs, and the sheen of milky cataracts over his green eyes, he might be considered to be just about tipped all the way over the hill into elderly. His current-weathered skin would be considered more tough and leathery than wrinkled and saggy, however, if it weren't for the fact that it all looks to have been scraped and peeled away from muscle and sinew in small flaps, and through those thousands of small flays, the colour of his vitality all but bled away.

His layers of armor and cloths have been similarly tattered and frayed, to be cut entirely away at some point by doctor's orders. A copious amount of holy paraphenalia that had been strewn from his collar, belt, and epaulets look to have been blasted brittle in some volcanic furnace. Another knight, younger and stronger and much less dead, stands by the tableside, stripping away these fetishes and runes with sorrowful care. He looks up as Miriam and Amethyst enter the saloon.

Amy takes in the view with a professional air. She pauses, spying the younger, stronger and handsomer knight. "I'm Dr. Mandrake," she says simply. Yeah yeah, Queen of this, princess of that, whatever. "You can call me Doc Amy if you wish." Her gaze goes to the patient and she winces. "Oh, ow, that - " A deep breath and a half growl. "Remind me if I get the chance to help beat the snot out of whatever did this," she says, a martial gleam in her eyes. She steps forward now, unslinging her bag, and before she does anything, reaching out to touch as gently as she can so she can start easing the pain from the poor patient.

Miriam nods to Nywlle, then her attention focuses on Grayeme. "There was dark magic and the feel of sacrifice about th'place. I'm not an expert, but it's possible something was feeding off his life." she says with a frown. "Whatever you can do, we'll be grateful."

"Sir Nywlle, Knight of the Holy Order of Eirlahc," says the intact knight wearily but properly, bowing his head respectfully to the blonde topsider. "Doctor Amy, on behalf of Sir Grayeme, Knight-Inquisitor of Eilrahc, I thank you for your presence and the medical aid you bring." Saying absolutely nothing of potential blasphemies. He nods as well to Miriam, "Your Highness." He listens to Miriam's account, frowning but nodding at the end. "They were put in cages and cast out over the Immortal Wound in The Heart of The Sea, into His ragged Shadow," he declares gravely. "Sir Grayeme and six of our brethren. The work of heretics serving a Sea Hag."

Sir Grayeme is barely conscious, his blind eyes slipping open and closed a few times while Amy examines his wounds.

Potential blasphemies are probably Amy's specialty. Alas. She uses her life sight, eyes gleaming a bit more purple as she does so, a gentle glow showing briefly. She's not exploring the wounds by touch, only touching the man in one spot gently and briefly so she can ease his pain. But once the link is there, she doesn't have to touch him further and doesn't. "I will do what I can," she says. "You might as well keep removing the clothing and other items. If you don't mind." She pauses, glancing over at Miriam. "I do have to ask - how fast do we need to get Sir Grayeme healthy?"

Miriam nods as Nywlle makes those introductions for himself and Grayeme. She purses her lips, and says "I want t'learn more about Sea Hags. This one'n particular. It's hard t'know how t'help, when I know so little about'm." She stands back from the table, not wanting to get in Amy's way. She just watches, then answers her with "I'm not sure that matters. We just want t'help him as much as possible, as safely as possible. I don't want you t'hurt yourself, of course."

Ruby has spent a quick moment trying to purge part of the previous mission outside the sub. She was eager to get back to the sub for once, and has done some impressions of a barking seal in the semi-privacy of chamber in the sub. Hopefully that auditory symphony hasn't been inflicted upon the crew while behind closed doors. Coming upon the saloon, she lurks on the threshold of room watching the tending of Sir Grayeme, noting how they've called in Amy for the save. Trying to get rid of acidic tang, she watches owlishly.

Sir Nywlle takes a good hard look at Amy when her eyes glow, but his gaze falters lower after wrestling with some inner thoughts. He nods to the instructions and continues to strip away the knightly costume and decor, cutting through sinew ties and snapping chain. "The Hags are denizens of the Deeps who have sought greater power and dominion by courting the ancient powers of the Sea long gone corrupt within the Shadow of the Pit," he lays out the basics for Miriam.

Amy looks over at Miriam, and she finally says, "The baby - Astrid - is doing well. She's eight months old and crawling. And she says Mama." There is a kind of bemused affection in her tone as she says that, but it doesn't stop her from assessing the patient visually and through life sight. Since she is concentrating on the patient, easing his pain while she triages, she doesn't notice Ruby's arrival. And it is unlikely that she noted the sounds of Ruby's difficulties given the shape the sub is in and the odd sounds that are standard here. "I can help him," she says softly, but confidently. She now turns to her medpack, which she has, setting it down and fishing out a couple vials. They contain a simple antiseptic salve, but she pauses, then fishes out a painkiller. "Sir Grayeme," she says, standing by his face, though she knows he can't hear her. "I have a potion for you that will ease your pain. If you can drink it? It may make you sleep, but I will stay here and guard you myself, we will keep you safe and bring you to health." For the moment, she's not paying close attention to the healthy one.

Others in the team shadow the hatchway to the corridor now, the figures of Merrisol and Raphaela look in while talking quietly to one another. Raph is a horrid mess of a greasemonkey and probably cherishing every minute of sub-slumming. Merrisol is still dressed in his diving suit and watches with a collected but intent air. Why Maggie is on the bridge issuing commands and not him is a curiosity, but not when there are lots of other things to concern oneself with.

Miriam is also focused on the two knights and the healer. She nods slowly to Nywlle, then asks as she tries to understand "Do they work together? Is't a coven? Do they fight over th'power they find there?" She looks again to Grayeme as Amy works on him.

Martin watches his sister briefly as she works, always impressed. As she worked he took off his own diving suit and opts to head over to Merrisol when free of it. "Need help?" He inexplicably asks. He gives Raph a smile but seems a bit concerned about Merrisol.

Sir Grayeme's cloudy eyes blink open and might fix on Amy, but he has a better chance of identifying her sincerity by the tone of her voice. "No.. sleep," he husks, his voice, once towering in the water now feeble in the air, as every word bristles with the throbbing pain of his wounds. "Lord Regent.. beware.. the cult of.. Gorgonne." His peeling lips do look like they could use a wetness, potion or otherwise, smacking sluggishly for the next words to come through. "Tried. Tried to fix. To stop her. The Queen. She can kill.. the Queen."

The ship rocks on its struts again as the six fin-like oars on the lower hull come to life, extending from their bays and going through a series of pulses. There's a short-lived cheer from Operations, congratulating Raphaela's skill.

"At least some water," Amy says, and she looks to see if anyone has brought any in. "Can we get some drinking water and also some warm water - not too hot, please." That request in, she turns to the knight who is not wanting sleep. "This is going to hurt - though I suspect not as much as it hurt when these wounds were inflicted. But - you have suffered enough when there is no need. I can ease the pain some more, if you will let me, without making you sleep." yeah, she might use more of her own resources, but she is young, healthy and related to Oberon. She'll survive. She is also completely earnest, trying to help here, with no other thought in mind. For now, she keeps her thoughts on this cult of Gorgonne to herself.

Miriam's eyes go to Grayeme, when he speaks. Her frown deepens at his words, then her eyes flicker briefly to Martin and Merrisol. When Amy makes her request, she nods and sees to it. The cold water's not hard, but warming it will take a moment in the absence of their fire mage.

Ruby turns to regard the source of optimisim after the odd sensations move through the vessel. It's hard to eavesdrop on both conversations going on, and was unwilling to commit solely on one. She does lean over towards where Martin is offering helpfulness. "Are we leavin? Are we able tah leave this acursed place?"

Merrisol takes a step into the saloon, moving to meet Martin halfway, instead of blocking up the hatchway. "I prefer this wet Warden suit to the dry costume of the Captain," he says to Martin coolly. "Sir Grayeme too shall fare better back in the embrace of the Sea. Bear him to the Palace, to the care of the Royal Physican." He seems to be forgetting there's a great new option in medical care called the Rebman Mandrake Hospital.

Sir Nywlle gazes with concern upon his brother as the words of warning leave Grayeme's mangled lips. "Be still, Brother. You do not know what you say. You did not come to deal with a Witch. You came here with Sir Chynon and our brethern to put a settlement to trial. You were lured into a trap and captured." He looks at Amy, "Do what you must, Doctor of Mandrake."

"We are leaving," Martin nods to Ruby. To Merrisol the next bit is simply spoken as a gentle note. "Very well. There's a new hospital next to the palace. We can take him there." It is not the usual way in which he's previously dealt with his best friend. "Ms Moore and Christholm? Maggie, is the ship ready to head out? We could therwise transport via trump and get out of their hair. I'm glad to hear Astrid is doing well, Amy."

Amy grins at Martin. "You should come visit, when you have time," she suggests. She does glance to Merrisol briefly, a slightly puzzled look on her face. "Merrisol, good to see you again," she says, leaving it there. Ruby is noted now as well. "Don't mind me, I'm just going to help this poor fellow." And that said, she turns back to the knight on the table. She first gives him a tiny sip of water, keeping an eye on him to see how the water does. Making sure it's not too much for his system. And she concentrates some more, letting her ability to ease pain slide into the man. After the water, she puts the potion to Grayeme's lips, the painkiller required. Besides, it might not make him sleep. "This will hurt," she warns," her voice sounding distant. No matter how gentle the antiseptic is applied, the knight will feel it. Of course, as Amy does so, those who can sense the life magic can no doubt sense the power working, as Amy uses it somewhat liberally. She's not going so far as to take his wounds herself, but - stopping just short.

Miriam's eyes move between Grayeme and Nywlle, though she's quiet as she considers the apparently conflicting stories. Her lips purse, but she lets it go for now and nods as Martin mentions taking him to the Mandrake hospital. "Some've us should stay here though, just'n case there's a problem getting out." she suggests. Because... well, it's pretty weird out there.

Sir Grayeme's eyes are rolling back in his sockets with fatigue and delerium, eyelids thin from scraping. If water is offered, his lips accept because water, but then dribbles most of it back out. Bleh, freshwater! Tryin' to give him indigestion, girl? The potion slips down his gullet without a complaint, however. His thick, knotted muscles, some of them exposed by deeper gouges through the subcutaneous layer, constrict tightly in a shivering spasm of reaction. His newly wetted throat rattles with gutteral sighs as he relaxes once more and more deeply.

Mr. Moore's youthful excited voice comes over the general channel after a warped minor-key chime. "We are preparing to launch from the platform. This may be a bit rocky at first as we are operating only on pulse."

A tremor runs through the vessel's frame as a roaring impact upon the craggy land somewhere hits the sub broadside with a wave of concussive force. The SF teeters by some degrees, but her oars are operating smoothly at least, and equilibrium tips back upright.

As the ship rocks, then lifts off of the outcroping, Maggie's voice can be heard speaking distantly just before she speaks into the mic, "Attention. We have been struck by the concussion from the impact of a giant ball of lava near the Wound. As it knocked us from our perch, I am using that as a bit of cover to get us out of here. From outside, I am hoping that we look like a sea beast wakened from its nap. As such, we will be traveling away from both the Wound and the settlement. We will begin climbing as soon as we are clear of the area or must to conform to the lay of the land. As we will not be using the external lights just yet and will be traveling by sonar it is imperative that we move slowly. If anyone notices anything unusual please report it to a crew member immediatley. Captain Flame out."



Raphaela is sleeping the sleep of the honest dead, who just fainted at somepoint of overwork, all greasy and smelly and sprawled face first into a presumed sofa in salon. She might be whispering sweet nothings into sofa's ear. The sofa supports her prostrate form. It listens to her whisperings and will keep her secrets to the recycle bin and beyond. Raphaela choses her lovers for their discretion.

After a bit of a wriggling sqwack, Maggie's foice comes over the intercom, "Raphaela? Would you please come to the bridge?"

Raphaela looks like crap and still doesn't have her eyes fully open, navigating space like a zombie with guiding system. She scratches back of her head, stiffling a yawn as a greeting.

With its goosey-necked figurehead and six swishing fins, the vessel's silhouette could potentially pass for a freakish sea monster. Disgruntled by the racket, the light and heat, and the deep peoples swarming over the terrain, it cruises out from shelter and makes a slow, wide turn to the south to avoid the activity boiling out of the cave-like habitations to the north. If any of the spear-wielding fishmen were to goggle more closely at the large creature, they might notice the reflective gleams off the obsidian, bronze, and opalwood that comprise the majority of her hull.

Ruby gives the sleep-deprived Sorgo a cautious glance when she shuffles within proximity. She's recently seen a side of Raphaela that's at odds with past formal galas and balls. This one seems to like getting dirty with heretical Bugme tech. Still, Ruby's attitude is improved with movement. There's still the ever-present possibility of being crushed in this underboat, but they're alive and not being used to troll for fiends. "Aye...Raph...whut you operatin on? Loike, 2 minnows sleep. Minoots I mean...Bog take this bloody boat."

The environment is dramatically altered by the slow-cooling embers now guttering across the chunky, craterous terrain, stirring the sludgy brine pools into tall blooms of hanging fog. The Solar Flare skirts the edge of one of these geysers, and the view becomes obscured by a curtain of salty particulate for a few moments.

Maggie watches ahead as she can't use the periscope to watch behind. There are two reasons for this. The first being that she does not want to alert any watching undersea denizens to the sub's peculiarities and the other is that only Begmen can use it. Standing squarely between and behind the communications and navigation stations, she currently has her arms crossed in front of her, "Hello, Raphaela. Thank you for coming up." She frowns as their vision is limited by the curtain. A quiet word is issued, but kept too soft to hear.

Raphaela focuses her glimmery eyes vaguely on Ruby, through lashes "Ah, I've been in Arden before this." and you bet she doesn't fail to do her regular work on the side. Not really answering, then "I powernap." lies. LIES! Source of Begman's super power is always....COFFEE! "What can I help you with?"

Mr. Moore is clamped upon his console, keeping his eyes on a punched readout endlessly tickering, and his ears tuned to the abundance of passive sonar readings. A ghostly 'ding!' sounds out at irregular intervals, as depth and terrain change continuously with every sub-length traveled. "I'm getting a lot of interference in denser water, receiving activity from every direction," he reports anxiously.

Ms. Cristholm says curtly, "Captain. We've come about to an eastward heading. Since we descended directly from the SSC, we have no data for what's ahead." The briny curtain flutters away as the ship clears its swirling mass.

"Don't goo tah Arden. It be lousy with somethin strange. Some sort 'o disease..." Ruby murmers. She gestures vaguely towards the nearest viewport, seeming a little flustered at how little she can tell with her own senses. "This be nerve rendin. Danger be plunkin at me tendons, Truth. Shame we can't 'ave a pilot feesh or guide, loike them suspicious sorts that 'ave secret ways intah protected 'arbours. Wouldn't trust ~no femme~ from 'ere though."

Moirresol had stayed in the saloon watching while Martin conducted his sister and bride back to the capital, supporting a mumbling knightly patient through the trump contact.

It is Sir Nywlle who shows his face next on the bridge, having pulled his armor back on and ready for action once more. "I shall call my mount from the surface and take my leave once the ship is safely away from the Pit," he informs his hosts, while watching the territory through the viewport with ill-concealed animosity.

Maggie says, "Well, then. We will be charting new territory. Please record whatever we can for analysis later." Leaving her position, she smiles at Ruby and Raphaela though the topic is apparently a sensitive one based on a faint wince that settles around her eyes. Reaching the wall, she pushes the button for the intercom, "Captain Flame to Engineering. We will be sailing through new territory for a while and will need to record as much of our experiences as possible. I have Raphaela on the bridge. Please let us know up here how she can assist." Releasing the intercom, she returns to her 'post'. Once there, she adds, "We will need to begin lifting soon." She turns a glance over to Sir Nywlle, "Sir. Nywlle. Thank you. Having a salwart and steady Knight to lead us through to the surface will be of tremendous help. I will be sure to submit a report of your courage and willingness to assist to the Lord Regent and his Lady."

Raphaela watches the knight idly, then to Ruby "Alas, someone has to move some salt there."

The Solar Flare encounters some odd turbulence that sends a series of subtle wobbles through her frame.

"We won't be able to ascend fully, Captain Flame, or we'll become re-entangled in the wider arc of the current," says Ms. Cristholm. "Unless you wish to locate some dead spots to slip through."

Laurenna's voice replies via intercom, sounding harried, "We are working on rear propulsion still, Captain. Would you prefer that we switched to science duties for the next area?"

Sir Nywlle nods courteously to Maggie. "It would be my honour to accompany the Solar Flare to the surface, Captain Flame. Once I have my steed, I will be able to send a regroup signal to my brethren who may yet ride in companies to this location."

Raphaela looks at Sir Nywlle "WOuld it be possible to find the dead spots to slip through?"

Maggie frowns and hurries back to the intercom, "No, Miss. Kirkman. Carry on with the repairs. My apologies for interrupting." Turning back, she speaks to the Knight first, "Thank you again, Sir Nywlle. We will follow your lead to the surface once your steed is with us." Turning to the helm, she speaks to the crew again, "I am hoping that Sir Nywlle and his brethern will be able to lead us to a safe spot to ascend. Either through a dead space in the Current or by going around it. Oh. Ms. Cristholm, is there a Begman injunction against having Lady Raphaela take the science station and record? IF she feels competant to do so?" She does cant a listen for the answer to Raphaela's query, though.

As the SF comes about to sail east over new darkened territory, the high crag with its caves and the dancing hot spot of bonfire creeps back into view at the leftmost portion of the viewport.

Nywlle turns from the hatchway where he had been about to go through on his way to the airlock. "The great difference in size between a narwhal and this ship," he considers, "means you will be taking some risk in following my steed, should we attempt a precipitous climb. My suggestion was more for a gradual ascent past the range of the spirals."

Raphaela offers "I will be careful to adapt to existing systems and not mess things up, promise." she nods at Nywlle.

Ruby starts to pace. "No starfeesh medals if we don't get oot. Everythin would be easier if we was sailin loike normal ships!" The turbulence has her grit her teeth. "If you 'ad stormsails, you could boost an begone. Tha's what you could doo if this was all propah." Complaints, complaints. "'Ow far until we clear 'o this cursed place an it safe? Safer tah limp or dart?"

Raphaela's elbow quite accidentally finds Ruby's side. She even manages to look like it didn't hurt much.

Another bit of turbulence wobbles the submarine, like clots of kelp or debris bumping along her hull.

Mr. Moore looks up curiously, then bends with his headgear, listening carefully.

Raphaela notices and shushes. Seriously. She wasn't just hitting ruby cause she was being annoying enough to push through the hatch into the deep. *shiftyeyes*

Maggie nods, "Thank you, Sir. Nywlle. That is what we shall do, then." She shifts with the turbulance the first time, easing her hips to take the wavering in stride, so to speak. The second bump, though has her frowning. The frown deepens as Mr. Moore bends to listen. Her murmer is low to keep from bothering the man, "That felt like something hit us." Striding back to her 'post' once more, she makes it look smoother than pacing would look. *ahem*

Ms. Cristholm glances at Maggie questioningly, then directs an apologetic look towards Raphaela. "You could probably mark down where the readings hit pattern anomalies, but I am really not sure this is the time or place to be experimenting with the controls."

Raphaela wonders, "Just...wondering. Is there perhaps something living here which causes this place to be uncharted?"

Maggie nods, "Thank you, Ms. Cristholm." Turning to Raphaela, she nods, "It is possible. But, it is equally possible that it is just beyond where anyone has gone. In either case, we will need accurate measurements and a record of observations. Would you be willing to take care of that? I want to be able to add to the knowledge of the deep when we return." She does turn a query to Sir. Nywlle, "That is not your steed, I take it?"

Ruby winces at the elbowing. "There's a bloody great wound in tha sea filled with 'orrible fiends. Tha moight discourage visits an eat explorahs." Mmm, that sounds horrible. Ruby moves towards a viewport, peering wide-eyed outside as best she can.

Sir Nywlle says to Maggie, "I haven't yet been able to call to her. I was going out to do so, if anyone can be spared to operate that air-to-sea chamber." He turns with a hesitating air, as though expecting another question to delay him. As he starts through the double hatchway to the main corridor, the figure of Merrisol comes out of the saloon and walks with a determined stride for Ops.

Martin has just got back from taking people back to Rebma. He tracks Moirresol's progress but says nothing to 'him'. He Looks at Nywlle and then Ruby and lastly Maggie. "Do we know for sure that it's seaweed that keeps bumping us?" He asks. "And not something else?"

Mr. Moore presently mumbles, "This is weird. We're out of the brine, but still getting interference. Could be the receiver's been clogged up. Or could be.." He tilts a worried glance towards the unmanned periscope column, neglected due to lack of Begman-capables. Moore disentangles himself from his monitoring equipment so he can desert his station, and stands to reach out for the handgrip controls on either side of the viewfinder. He swivels the whole section around with a grunt, and presses his face closer to peer through the periscope mounted in the figurehead's horsey mouth, now turned to look down the length of its own deck.

Ruby creeps up on Mr. Moore. She can't do what he does, but looming up on him for a clue on what he might be able to see, has her walking on eggshells. Not close enough to be breathing down his neck or come close enough to that Begman tech, but encroaching. She rasps almost conspiratorially, "We don't 'ave tah goo outside doo we? You can tell from 'ere...roight? I ain't scared, just tha...just got dry." She needs to do something with her hands, and so rubs palms together, making dull scraping noises of callous on callous.

Maggie does not see Moirresol head their way until she catches Martin's nod. Looking that way, she nods to Martin in reply, then offers Moirresol a smile of welcome. Her attention turns to Sir Nywlle, "Ah, then it can't be your steed." Noting Mr. Moore's taking of the periscope controls, she steps out of his way. "Do we need to go out there, Mr. Moore?" She looks around to see who is willing, "We might need to detangle something from the ship." The thought of having possibly caught and dragged some fell thing from the Pit sobers an already grim countenance all the way to mirthless.

Moirresol comes to a stop in the middle of the corridor, head tilting back as her gaze swings up to the skylight viewport running a raised central portion of the decking. Sir Nywlle, also now in the lobby, halts and grips the stair rail as he too directs a look upwards. There should be minimal exterior lights in stealth mode, so only what low lighting there is in the lobby can emanate through the ports. Whatever has been so feebly illuminated, it gives both Nywlle and Moire pause.

Martin is right with Ruby. "I hate it when I'm right." He mutters. "But maybe we should go see if we can be cut loose before whatever is out there gets too strong a hold on the ship. I've got a sword and you're you." He waves his hand up and down Ruby. "How bad can it be?"

Mr. Moore sees it too, from his own higher angle. "We've got boarders," he confirms, the word catching in his throat. Swaying aside, he gestures for Ruby to take a peek for herself, now that he has worked the controls for them.