As the adrenaline slowly is filtered from your system, you find yourself sailing rapidly southeast from Faial into the starlit night. Though its been a good twenty minutes since the battle around the pier, the Albacore is still riding the same large crest. Now that the breeze is blowing firmly again (though thankfully less violently than before), the boat is racing across the sea.

Sensing that the danger is over, Slosh ties off the wheel with an old rag and clambers around the side of the boat to the mast, where Iron is affecting repairs.

“Aw. Now what have they done to my boat?” Slosh surveys the torn sails, which flap like ghostly fingers in the breeze. “Ah. Bugger them all,” he mutters. “Why do Lacey and his boys have to use those goddaful scatter guns? Don’t do them again good, and don’t do us any good. Posers.”

Seeing Iron fidgeting less than successfully with the sails, Slosh offers a pointer or two. “Now don’t be mussing the sails, me hearty. The advantage we get from these is that they’re transparent. When you fold and crease the fiber like that, you set up distortions that catch the sun right smart. Though normally you’d mend cross the grain of the sailcloth, here ye have to mend with. It don’t hold as tight, but it’s the only way.”

Leaving to survey the damage to other parts of the ship, he turns once more to Iron. “By the way, when you get a chance, could you reload the belts on Aesir and mark on the log how many rounds ye sent off? The ammo bins are in a drawer in the main cabin marked ‘Survey forms.’”

Finding Carol lurking about the deck, Slosh moseys over to her, trying to debrief the crew after their first serious combat together. “Well, that was something else, weren’t it? If that whizzer’d hit us, would have made for a mighty short trip, eh?”

I brushed my hair back, my heart still beating quickly, but as it became clearer we were safe, it slowed back down. So it's over, then?

"Is it always like this on the seas for you, Captain?" I smiled.

Clump was busy picking up the rest of the gear he'd left on the deck taking them down to his cabin. Once there he proceeded to put things after that was done he dug out this pistol ammo pouch and started to empty the remaining bullets from his partilaly spent clip into it before slamming home a new full clip of regular ammo.

Coming back onto deck he walked over to Slosh and Carol and interrupted whatever it was they were speaking about.

"Are ye planning on sailing through the night cause if so ah need to get me some sleep for the night wacth?"

“Well, there’s never a dull moment, lass, let’s put it that way,” Slosh muses. “Lacey’s gang is just one of the occupational hazards of working out of Faial. They think they own the place, and they would, if they weren’t such dumb fraggers. Why one time me’an me boys were—“ Bursting on deck, Iron interrupts the story. “Aye, we’ll sail on through night. The last weather maps on the island predicted smooth sailing for at least the first leg, down to the deep trades. The Sea King’ll keep us out of danger, at least until morning comes. All the same, we should set watches. I like keepin’ the watches regular—6 hours each, if we can.” Slosh checks his chronograph. “If someone can carry us through to six in the am, I can pick up from them in the morning. That’s just five hours from now, but I don’t need much sleep tonight. Any takers?”

"Aye Cap'n Ah'll take the remainder o this wacth, now git of ta bed all of ye and I'll see ye in five hours."

Clump said as he hobbled across the deck to the wheel and starts to whistle something that may be ment as a tune.

Rodger gives a short salute, and pulls the box from under the big gun and heads to the bridge to reload the belt. He marks down 27 rounds fired, and why.
"Ayd have never thought Id be keepin paper work for this." He brings the belt back to the deck, reloads the Aesir, and sets the safty.
"I got some unpacking to finish, be hitting the sack shortly after"

Yeah, all that excitement was kinda draining. I need some sleep. Maybe I'll ask Slosh if I can have a tank or fill the bed with water or something in the morning. ..nah, that's just your weariness speaking, girl. Get to sleep, get to sleep.

"I'll turn in too, then. 'Night."

"Sounds a'good to me. I'll be seein' ye at four-bells." Slosh says to Clump. Before he disappears belowdecks, Slosh leans over the gunwale on the starboard pontoon and scoops up a handfull of the rushing water. He smells it, and then pours it overboard again. The swell that the vessel had been riding on since the battle at the pier subsides, and the Albacore rolls down onto the open sea. The winds falter for a moment, before gathering up again. "Should be smooth-sailing 'til morning. Just keep your eyes peeled. Ye never know...." And with that, Slosh heads off to his bunk.

For those whose home is the sea, the gentle roll and heave of the Albacore as it journeys over the waves provides the perfect ambience for a good night's sleep, after an alarming exit from paradise. Crew members who are sleeping on the smuggling compartment beds find that what appears to be a full mattress and bunk unit is infact little more than a thin futon over a discrete sealed locker. Still, it's flat, and soft, and you've probably slept on worse.

The sun rises clear and golden in the East, blanketing out the ghostly Zodiacal Light which began shining shortly after folks headed belowdecks. Crew members exploring the galley (in the main cabin) find that in addition to large caliber bullets, the cupboards and cabinets of the cabin are well stocked with a variety of preserved goods, as well as a large basket of fresh produce from Faial (you never really did get your fill of the local produce while you were there, didya?). The galley itself has a small stove, a microwave, a small oven, ample counter space, a coffee maker with a tremendous pot, and a dancing "hula girl" figure which bobs back and forth with the rolling of the ship.

Emerging onto the deck, you find Slosh at the wheel, bright eyed and cheery. Several large fishing poles lean off the back of the cockpit, firmly locked into their holders. The lines trail off into the briney blue deep, promising fresh lunch or supper. From all indications, Slosh runs a fairly well fed ship.

"Yawwnnn... G'morning Slosh, cap'n!"

I wobbled a bit as I walked over the deck. So not used to getting up at this time...must have been real tired last night with all that excitement. I pulled my coat over me and walked over to the fishing poles.

"Hey Slosh, you catch much? I could go down and get 'em faster for you!"

I guess I really wanted to swim again. I threw the coat off - heck if I know anyone was watching - and jumped off the deck before he hardly had the time to reply. I closed my eyes and smiled, transforming in mid-air and hit the water with all the grace of a seal.

Now, where's the fishies?

Rodger finishes unpacking and finding enough space to store his gear, which takes up a great deal of the space, including in cases, things lashed to the ceiling.
Dawn comes early, and Rodger is happy to awake to the steady sound of not churning engines, but just the hollow thudding of water against the fiberglass hull. Happiness extends to utter joy at the sight coffee pot, and the simple note that the coffee is in the gally next to a belt of machine gun rounds. Yet joy turns to both utter confusion and mild laughter at the sight of legs turning to flippers over the gunwale. He climbs to deck with a mug of hot morning juice.
"It gonna be a wonderfull day from the looks of it." He rolls to the bowspirt and enjoys the light sea spray, and the wind in the wires. This reminds him why he likes the ocean so much. Its so peacefull, but yet so dangerous.

“Ahoy! Hey! Man over bo—what in the?!?!” is about all Slosh can get out before Carol vaults over the bench which separates the cockpit from the high, cathedral roof of David Jones’. Turning to Iron, Slosh eyes the great coat where it lies, and then sheepishly suggests, “Well, I suppose man isn’t the right word on a lot of counts.” Of course, Carol is a shifter, but this is still going to take some getting used to. That’s what you get for running an enlightened boat.

Turning to face the sun, now rising majestically over the ocean—no land in sight for leagues, Slosh answers, “Aye. Looks like it should be a fair day indeed. Did ye stow everything square?” Slosh asks Iron Roger. “We’ll have at least another five days at sea before we reach the Carrib, so you might as well be comfortable. After that, the sea’s the limit, as it were. I see ye’ve found the coffee pot. I don’t suppose you made a whole pot, didye?”

The blue womb of the deep sea is a different world from the teeming shores of Faial. The fact that you’re in no typical deep sea is immediately apparent as Carol slips beneath the waves with hardly a splash. Having sailed south and west, a slightly odd way to sail from the Azores to reach the Carrib, Slosh has taken the Albacore into the broad expanse of upwelling that bubbles up along the western coast of Africa, and is tugged out to sea by the trades. The water is cold, but not oppressively so, as the upper few meters are warmed by the tropical sun on a daily basis. Diving deeper, as the light begins to be attenuated, large silver shapes weave through the water. Fishies. Big ones. Lunch.

Ah hah! No seaborne fishies can escape the maws of the mighty Carol. Time to meet your maker! En guarde! What the...bloody fishies sure can scattered quick...I'll get ye all!

Ah, I forgot how fun and free hunting in the ocean can be. Got a few silver ones in my mouth and and a few more for the boys up deck. I'm better than any simple fishin' pole can be, oh yeah.

My head broke the water and I shifted back to my human form, waved to the captain and tossed a few of the fishes over.

"Best I could do." I yelled with a wide grin on my face.

Clump had turned in straight after his wacth but he didn't sleep long, after rousing himself and finding the galley welll stocked he made his way to the deck only to be hit by a low flying fish.

"What the...Carol wacth where ye throw those things"

He yelled as he spotted Carol bobbing in the sea.

"Hey Slosh, ya got somewhere to put these? Live well maybe?" Iron dodges an incomming fish of un-identified species but manages to spill half his cup of coffee. He turns to grab one thats flopping itself back into the water.
"I gotta hand it to ya, this is a much better way to do this"

"Why thank you!" I shouted back as I bobbed in the water by the edge of the boat. "Umm, could someone throw down some rope and pass me my coat...and preferably a towel?"

Amused by all that has transpired, Slosh turns aboout from the wheel and says, "There's a live-well to port, there," indicating a bucket built into the edge of the cockpit near the fishing poles. All notice that as soon as Carol pitched overboard, the Albacore slowed, even though the sails were still fairly well puffed out with wind. "If someone'll take the wheel for a moment, I can get a spare towel from my cabin. Gotta say, this is the most water-lovin' crew I've ever seen. Most sailor's'll be in the deep blue once, and that's when they're bobbin', or worse. And Carol, mind those lines as you're gettin' out. No sense in catchin' yerself."

Iron collects a few fish and drops them in the well. "Seems that way, but it beats drowning. In retrospect, 2 divers and a wopping shifter make a good group of people to have on a boat. Wouldent know of any sunken treasure would ya?"

"Sunken treasure, that'll be fun!" I said, trying to untangle myself from the lines. Flopping around I don't mind, but only in my seal form. "I wonder if they still have those around here. I found one a few years ago off the Australian coast. Nearly choked on net lining..." Blasted lines aren't untangling! Ergghhh, there! . Now where's that towel? Ah, whew. "Thanks, cap'n. Glad you guys don't mind me diving. It's really fun down there." I said, drying off. I wrapped the towel around me and went back to pick up my greatcoat.

"Anything interesting on the way to port then, cap'n?"

"Aye'm kiddin, I don't think there is anything a trio of water dogs and a old school sailing freight ship are gonna haul up that airnt allready up."
Iron takes a lean aginst a rail. "Never had the company of a shifter before though, and Ill freely admit, its both fascnating and mildly disturbing at the same time. No offence meant of course."

“Treasure, eh?” Slosh muses, watching the sunlight dance on the water. “We’ll see what we can do about that. All in time. I know a few fraggers who are in that game. Always did want to take a hand at it me-self. For now, though, we’ve bigger fish to fry. No, not lunch. We’ve got a choice to make. We’re about to run into the trades, which will take us clear into the Carrib. We can keep to the north of the winds, which will be faster, but will take us through the heart of the CAS-Carrib boarder. Or, we can cut south, and come in to New Orleans by skirting around the southern edge of the Carrib. I’ve run both, null sweat. Just figured I’d ask, in case anyone’s got strong feelings.”

Iron flinches at the mention of the CAS border. "Im all for keeping south, unless this is a rush rush job. I had bad run ints with those folks, and the shorter we are in their waters, the better if ya ask me. Id rather dodge Carrib indepts then CAS navy."

"None taken." I couldn't help but smile. "I guess that's just the way I am and they way I like to live. You know, carefree."

"Well, I don't think I've come by this route before. I once wanted to swim across the world, but I'm not sure about this area, cap'n. Cept that it has good fish." Another grin. Now what would be the best way to cook those? Haven't had decent fresh fish in a long time...didn't I jut eat down there? Oh well, always room for another.

"I'll be fine either way, cap'n." I walked over and picked up another fish. "I'll try and cook these, though you fellas are missing out - they taste real sweet raw."

“Though I am a fan of the sushi, lassie, I’ll take my lunch cooked, thank you,” Slosh jokes. “Speaking of lunch, who’s taking the next watch? Now that we’ve decided to run south, I’ll plot a course to hold for the next couple of days and have it ready by two bells. Should be smooth sailing, provided the weather holds.”

Clump through all that brief exchange had gone to the rail and was leaning on it and gazing out over the ocean marvelling as he always did at the sheer beauty he beheld all around him.

"Bah!! Ah might as well tak the wacth Ca'in gives ah fellah somthing ta do."

"What'eva' floats yar boat" Iron gives a toothy grin. "Fish for breckfast, could be worse I suppose" He walks back to the bow and takes a seat on the deck, again savoring the sun and the spray.

Over the next few days, folks settle into routines aboard the Albacore. It’s a tight ship, but with a crew as she has, there is never a dull moment. Some captains treat their crew worse than bilge rats, but Slosh seems to respect each of the crew as equals.

On the morning of the fourth day at sea, you are all awakened at dawn by an eerie light pouring in through the small portholes in your cabins. For those who have lived on the sea, the sign is unmistakable—red in the morning, sailors take warning.

"This can't be good." I muttered over a plate of fish I had managed to stow away for the night. "I won't be able to catch any lunchables if this keeps up." So I set the plate back down and walked back up on deck to get a good view of the sky.

"Well, I haven't seen this is a very long while, guys. What do you make of it?"

"I dunna know lassie, but I think the famous saying is Batten Down the Hatches. Might wanna get some food in ya while ya can, dosent look like this is gonna provide us with time for lunch" Iron looks over the ocean with a mix of aprenhention, fear, and a little bit of gusto. This is what people live for... he thinks. "Im gonna tie my gear down, and suit up for foul weather." Rodger goes below to make sure his personal gear is secured, and put on a wet suit and life vest.

Clouds scud angrily across the sky, and the air feels wet and heavy.

"I'm going to have a quick peek," Slosh says, sitting himself down on a bench in the cockpit. "One of you mind tending the wheel?" With that, his eyes close and his body relaxes. It ain't Doppler 8000, but you've got to trust that Slosh knows a thing or two about magical weather forecasting.

Returning to his body with a stifled “BURP!” Slosh makes the following report: “Well, I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news. The good news is, we can expect unusually light patrols while we shoot the Carrib. The bad news is we’ve got a roarer comin’ our way, and she looks like a big one. We’ll hoist sail and try to stay ahead of the worst of the storm, but it looks like she’s comin’ in fast.” Waiting for the frightening words to sink in, he continues, “Look sharp, folks! Batten down loose ends, see to covering Aesir and Ran with the waterproofs!” As the crew hops to his instructions, those with sharp ears see him grip the wheel apprehensively, muttering, “I just love this time of year…”

Clump headed over to his waterscooter and double checked that it was secure, before he proceded to check each line in his area. Shortley there after he was making his way back accross the deck to the pilot house.

"Lines be secure Slosh"

He mutterd as he braced himself for the quickly approching storm.

Iron returns from his bunk looking like a polyurathane coated Irish setter, and about as afraid of the water as one.
"Ill start from the bow, make sure lines are good and tight"

"Umm, I'm not very good at sailing." I said, clinging onto a nearby line. "But I'll give it a try."