[center][b][u]Lower Deck 1[/u][/b][/center]

Constance could not say what tossed her around more: the violent sea or their boorish Captain, who seemed to be under the impression that her limbs were the strings of a marionette. Regardless, she was entirely sick of it all, from her safety being held almost entirely in the (more capable, although she’d never admit it), hands of the Captain, to the frivolous concerns that seemingly always found a way to worm themselves into her mind. As the sea bucked her against the wall she found herself thinking of yet another sleeveless dress that she’d be unable to wear due to a new foray of unsightly bruises, although despite her trivial thoughts (or perhaps entirely because of them) she still managed a soft shriek—and, as if on cue, the Captain was already picking her back up, standing her like a pin ready for the next strike.

Perhaps Rick Garrloch had heard that she’d be aboard this ship and had informed the Captain that it was absolutely necessary that she be treated like a complete dog. She scowled, as Conway barked more words right into her ears. [i]And after I had spoken so kindly of Mr. Garrloch at my last soiree despite him refusing to attend.[/i] She had spoken kind words, honestly, but anybody in attendance could tell that she hadn’t meant a single one of them, something that she had privately told half a dozen of partygoers. But her private conversations were for her and the other party alone, so it hardly held any relevance. [i]Honestly, the nerve of that man. See if I ever invite him to one of my parties ever again.[/i] 

Rick Garrloch had also never intended anyone of her parties, despite numerous invitations. But, again, hardly relevant.

Despite yelping (mixed with copious amounts of coughing) out of shock every time that she felt Conway’s rough hands push or pull her, she couldn’t help but grip his shoulder and lean her forehead against the back of her hand in relief as the fire was extinguished. She tittered softly as she tried to catch her breath and still her thumping heart. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of lingering smoke, salt, and sweat, and still her eyes were watered, but none of that mattered. Whatever curses she had for Conway were gone the second crisis had seemingly been averted, replaced with just the happiness to be alive. She blinked away the temporary blindness and surveyed the hall as she took a step away from the Captain, her hand already acting on its own to fix her hair that she had certainly messed up.

“Good job, boys,” she said, finding her voice. “That was a real treat; let’s do it again sometime. Really, though, perhaps we should leave the fire in the kit—”

She was cut off by the announcement for the upcoming wave. If she had the time to think about it, and perhaps if she was recounting the story at a later date with a mai tai in hand and her feet firmly on land, she would be able to find a way to have a laugh at the idea that after needing so much water to put out a fire some divine body had decided to answer their prays, if a minute too late and in the most inappropriate way ever. However, she didn’t have that sort of time. Already her body was tensed for the inevitable act that was to come next; it was as if she was some kind of super magnet and their Captain was a lump of iron. Still, despite being prepared for it, she still let out a shout as he grabbed her and dove to the floor.

“Why must the [i]somethin’[/i] you grab ahold of always be me?” she demanded even as she hung onto his jacket for dear life as the floor became the walls and seawater rushed past her, soaking her to the bone. She hardly registered the struggles happening beyond her as she dug herself into the man, fully aware that the only thing that kept her from falling freely to some final fate being the arm wrapped around her back and whatever cloth she could cling onto. Earlier that day she had been so excited to experience the Drop; now, she wanted nothing more than this second drop to be done and gone as the Garrloch crested over the top of the wave and began its ride back down. 

And, much like the wave, the words she had for Conway seemed to swell up and out of her mouth, her better judgment unable to hold them back, “Obelisk take you, what sort of hurry are we in that we must rush off in the middle of the damn storm of the century? Was there some second ship built in secret that we are trying to beat? Are we that concerned that the other obelisk is going to fly away? Because, assuming it’s still there after all of this and not smashed against the hangar wall, we do have a means of reaching it even if it does. I’m not saying that you made an error, Captain, I’d never even think that. I know this is your ship and I’m positive that you know best, but I am saying is that we do need their to be a ship for you to captain. Otherw—”

Although Constance continued talking, her words were replaced with bubbling as the saltwater rushed into her mouth as it surged past her and Conway as the ship righted itself. She felt herself pulled upwards by Conway’s arms, the bubbling replaced with sputtering and choking as she coughed salt out of her lungs. She continued coughing as she rested her soaked head against Conway’s jacket like a tuckered out child, squeezing onto him tighter still. Meekily, she looked around and realized that, from her initial impressions, the boat was still one and that she was still alive in it. She was too thankful to feel embarrassed for her behavior or her previous words as she continued to claw at Conway’s coat, even as he no longer held onto her. 

“Lass, I need ya to leggo. You aren’t as light as ya think.”

"Aye, Captain," she said as she withdrew her hands quickly and slide out of the way so that Conway could actually stand up. 

“And it’d be best if ya keep yer comments about how I handle my ship ta yerself, lest you want ta swim back.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said, quieter this time, her eyes falling away as they sparked with guilt.

“We might make a sailor outta ya yet, lass,” said Conway, as he headed off to organize the others.

It was a horrific thought.