[center][i]* A collaboration between myself and Peik*[/i][/center]

Despite a general knowledge of ship layouts, Gaspar found himself at a loss once he descended below the main deck. This new environment was dark, smelly, and incredibly cramped; and although the inner space could not have been more than three-hundred square yards, it felt like a labyrinth. Burly men of foul tongue and even fouler odor scampered to and fro on unmarked highways, carrying and pushing and pulling and bantering. The controlled chaos of departure, easily navigated and utilized by the crew, was a complete enigma to the young boy.

Anxious to make himself as congruent as possible, Gaspar made haste to find a bed of some sort that was out of the way. He felt the familiar sensation of panic beginning; a numbness of the fingers, lightness of the head, and tunneling of the vision. His jaw was tight and his eyes wide as he plunged ahead through the tangle, dodging obstacles and crew. Eventually, Gaspar found himself a hammock in an out-of-the-way nook near where he guessed to be the bow of the ship. 

"You're fine." he muttered to himself as he sat down, clasping his hands together and staring at the floor. He had not anticipated how nerve-wracking this experience would be. Not two minutes aboard the ship and already he was shaking. It was not so much the prospect of the voyage that had upset him so, but the knowledge that he could still go back; that the safe life he had known was mere steps behind him.

[i]Amelia did always act up more when mother was nearby.[/i] Gaspar thought, with a slight smile. He knew that he would feel better once the ship had departed and there was no way back. It was the same as when his mother had left him in Sintra with Adalberto the first time; he had felt a knot in his stomach only until she was out of site. Once she was gone, his mind had turned to the excitement of his new opportunities. 

Turning to the chest by his side, Gaspar hurriedly undid the latch and lifted the old wooden lid. After a few seconds of rummaging he pulled out a small journal, its red cover still vibrant and unworn. He leafed through the blank pages with a smile, feeling the crispness of the paper against his fingertips. His shaking calmed a bit as he imagined this diminutive tome filled with accounts of grand adventure. It would be the perfect book to document his journey.

[center]~[/center]

''Ugh, dear God. It hurts.'' Perhaps due to the fact that his adrenaline had recently worn off, Hata'i was struggling with the fresh pain of his bladder. He had left his bag and equipment where he had decided to spend the journey, and now, was busy traversing through sailors preparing to get to the head of the ship, where he could relieve himself safely. ''Shit.'' He found himself on the ground after tripping on the foot of an extremely large sailor, who seemed to be quite angry since now he had dropped the barrel of gunpowder he was carrying. Not that anything had happened to the barrel. The barrel had fallen directly on the man's toes. Attempting to calm down the man, Hata'i tried to reason with the man's friends, who were now watching the man, hiding behind their cannons, waiting for a show. The ground creaked as the large sailor threw himself towards Hata'i, and then almost burst as the man fell on the ground after missing his target. ''Can we please get this over with later?'' Hata'i asked to the man, barely able to contain himself. He was answered with the sound of a dagger whizzing through the air. 

Deeming death-by-sailor to be an end too degenerate for him, Hata'i threw himself quickly down the stairs to avoid the man. He quickly started moving through the labyrinth of crates in an attempt to lose the burly Spainard who was right behind him. He could hear the stairs croak and the man's feet thump. Moving with deftness that would be unexpected from a man of his stature, he quickly moved to the head of the ship, and after a few seconds' time of bothering with his pants, started to relieve himself of the liquids pent up inside his bladder. The painful feeling of pissing, alongside the immense relief, gave him a pleasurable feel that made him shiver. 

The euphoric shivering didn't last long, however, as Hata'i heard a roar that made him jump out of the way. The Spainard had lunged at him again. And once more, he had failed to hit his target. Now, the man was lying face-down in a puddle of piss, and immensely angry. Hata'i looked around his surroundings to defend himself but could not find anything as the Spainard, face tinted yellow, started running at him again. Instead, he simply kicked the man in the gut. The man fell on his knees, and Hata'i started slowly walking backwards. Undeterred, the Spainard attempted one last attack, and ended up getting blasted in the face with piss. Hata'i quickly left the area as the man fell crying into the ground, his eyes hurt from the acidic qualities of Hata'i's urine. 

''God forgive me,'' Hata'i kept saying to himself as he walked back to his hammock after avoiding the Spainard's friends, who were thankfully too distracted with the man, and tucking his important parts back in his pants. However, where he had thought would be his resting place was now a young, nervous, wiry man. ''Hello?'' Hata'i asked, ''What are you doing here?''

The young man looked up from his book abruptly. "I...I am coming on this voyage." he stammered after a few seconds. His manner seemed almost defensive. "My name is Gaspar, I'm from Sintra." 

Hata'i realized that he was caught in a somewhat odd situation. The young man seemed to be somewhat afraid of him, and understandably so - nobody would like to be near a large man holding his privates in a ship. His answer was, to say the least, unsatisfactory. ''I'm not saying that.'' Hata'i said. ''That's the hammock I was planning to use.'' Hata'i pointed at the hammock Gaspar was sitting on. ''You couldn't find a vacant spot?'' He asked, hoping this conversation wouldn't turn into a piss-tinted fight like the last one.

"Oh, I..." Gaspar looked at the hammock in question as if it held the answer to Hata'i's question. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I can find somewhere else." He hastily stood up to leave. "Sorry."

Hata'i sighed and shook his head. ''Nah, don't bother.'' He said to the young man as he walked towards one of the barrels and reached behind it, pulling his bag out of where it had been stashed. Afterwards, he reached one more time and pulled out his carbine, checked the lock (lacking triggerguards, Turkish muskets were much more likely to discharge when not needed), and then moved out of the place, looking for another spot to sleep in. 

"Um, thank you!" Gaspar called after him as he left. The young man shook his head and sat down again, a look of regret passing over his face as he turned his attention back to the journal in his hands.