Elani felt the world fade away, starting with the wooden floor she was lying against. In that brief moment of dreamy clarity, she felt her entire body begin to float. Her mousy brown hair rose up and around her head, her heart moved slightly against the foamy membranes of her lungs. That little zen moment was smashed, quite literally, when she landed on the floor again with a sharp smack, rousing her attention. She scrabbled at the planks for a second, and pulled herself to her feet. Around her, several people stood, sat, or lay on the ground in various states of conscious. The girl she'd met on the dock (Aniseed? Anita? Something vaguely flemish like that.) was rocking back and forth, being comforted by the Caxeri swordswoman. Little miss sniper was pointing her weapon upward, where a cursory glance demonstrated that even with her miraculous blunderbuss, she'd be out of range of her aggressors. The dwarf seemed to have slunk off, possibly to the plane of existence servants and slaves came from. Firehead seemed to be gone, too. Some youth seemed to be locked in an argument with the captain and his well-aged assistant, but apart from that, nobody was dying, or shrieking in pain, or even complaining They'd survived, somehow. A grin spread across Elani's face, and she slumped against a cabin wall. She looked around for something, but the scalpel had landed blade-first into the deck and embedded itself, and for some reason that simple image was the funnyest thing she'd ever seen in her life. A small part of her, the part that watched and criticised and hated the rest of her, told her that she was going mad in that one little second, but it was overrun with waves of pink sticky post-adrenaline haze, and right now they were calling all the shots right now.

If anyone cared to look her way, they'd see a young, adult elf, shoulders shaking, face in a grinning rictus, making small notches in the floor with some kind of tiny knife, and completely lost to the world.