Mabel tried to ignore the dull sting in her ankles. She made a somewhat awkward landing from the veranda roof, but fortunately she wasn't in too much pain to keep her from moving quickly towards the hill. Night had completely taken over, casting an ominous velveteen sheet over the world. She could see slivers of the sea between the silhouettes of buildings, and she was reminded of how black and abyssal the open waters seemed when the moon was scarce. She remembered her first dip in the crow's nest, just a few weeks into her coming aboard the [i]Trident[/i]. Looking out around herself and seeing nothing but this monstrous expanse of hungry dark liquid with only a sliver of ship beneath her feet, she had never felt so terrified. And so exhilarated.

Fortunate smiled upon Mabel, it seemed, when she made it to the outskirts of town without any commotion. The last dozen or so yards she checked over her shoulder frequently to make sure no one was tailing her, and it seemed she was in the clear. When she saw the figure of a man on the hill, she let out a sigh of relief. So MacNichols had at least a short-term memory. Even this could be reassuring, though Mabel put very little stock in it. As she approached, her eyes adjusted to notice how he stood with his legs apart, shoulders hunched, hands close to his body, and she realized he was taking a piss. She didn't care, so she marched right up the hill and called out to him. "MacNichols." He had a floundering sort of stance now, an unsteadiness that everyone could recognize as drunkenness. "Oh, piss, mate!" she snarled, fingers twisting into claws that jabbed once at the air. "You gotten yourself drunk?!" There was a bottle by his feet. Though it stood upright, it was balanced precariously on the curve of the hill. Mable stamped over and delivered a swift and angry kick to the base of the bottle, catapulting it several feet away from them. It landed on its neck, tumbled over, and all the brown drink inside burbled out into the grass. "Dammit, MacNichols, I need you sharp. You're in danger, y'know." She shifted her weight onto her back foot and crossed her arms, peering sharply at the Scotsman under the brim of her hat. Her jaw was set to the side, but there was no metallic glint visible in her eyes; she could only get so mad at a pirate for overdrinking.