A quartet of fingers drummed on the smoothed wood table, accompanied by the dull whirr of mechanisms upon each digit and the boisterous crowd of sky pirates fresh and old making the best of their new dining. Greyson sat slumped forward, picking away halfheartedly at some potatoes and a small slab of meat. Each new bite of food was met with slow, deliberate, and yet strained chewing, as he tried to keep himself from vomiting at the thought of having to actually stay aboard this tub. 

One could see it in his eyes- those beady amber globes, darting to keep a careful watch out for any crew facing his way. He was cautious, suspicious even, clearly not wanting anything to do with the rest of these free-spirited rogues. Then why, of course, would he put himself on a ship filled with a whole lot of the dogs if he held such spite for them?

As one half-sensible brigand within his prison said, "At this point, you can either be free, or be dead. No in-between." Of course, to Greyson, there was no truth behind the saying.

The apparent captain of the Crimson Dusicyon was made apparent, and much of the subordinates present stood to salute him hotly. From his corner against the window, meanwhile, Greyson slowly threw down his fork and stood up, not even bothering with a salute. Perhaps Mr. Renault was a perfectly reasonable and capable man (for being a sky pirate, at least), but to Greyson he could be no different than himself: guilty, until proven innocent never. If authorities gave themselves no reason to care, why should Grey himself, an otherwise unwilling civilian, make any further effort on his own part?

[i]"One: Take care of each other, you're all you've got!"[/i]

Call him a cynic - no, go ahead, it's not like he has anything left in his crushed little heart to lose, besides his life blood - but Greyson found himself more of a nihilist now. People just weren't ever used to seeing the good in a man until it aligned directly with their own gains. If you saved a life, it wasn't out of the goodness of your heart, it was because they still had some personal use to you.

[i]"Two: My orders are law! I will not tell you to change who you are or how you operate, but cross me and I'll toss you off the side of the ship!"[/i]

Case in point. Now Grey stood with his arms crossed, and barely repressed a sarcastic sigh at the captain's minced words.

[i]"And Three: Enjoy what time you have alive! You might lose it when you least expect it!"[/i]

So, overall, [i]I won't tell you how to live or act, but you'd better enjoy yourself and take care of others or else you're defying my will[/i]. So much for being a figure one could relate to. As the captain finished his speech with tomorrow's plans and dismissed the crew, Greyson plopped back into his seat with an audible skid on the floor. There was several bites of food left on his plate, but the shattered man couldn't care enough to stomach them. He was still reeling at what the next day was going to bring.

A raid on Tirbetha... an island packed with the most sinful, scum-filled vagabonds this side of the horizon. Certainly, Renault was in a fat hurry to die, and just wanted a few good men to bring with him to the grave. Still, that had to be better than being at all left to the will of the disgusting outlaws of that place. Perhaps Greyson would consider it, when the time came. 

There was still that childish, idealistic spark that was yet keeping him alive now, though...