Macario stared blankly as events unfolded. He sat there in the sand, soaked to the bone, waiting for Chester to wake up, for [i]this[/i].

Answering Chester, he muttered, "Well, I can see why. You're like a stray dog, except with booze." Briefly, he mimed punching Chadwick in the face, but his shirt was actually making it harder for him to move his upper torso: it was absolutely going to burst at some point. It was a wonder they got it on in the first place.

Letting out a sigh, he muttered, "Let's just go." Looking down towards his still soaked shoes, he leaned to pick them up...and stopped. His shirt pulled against him as he reached, but every strained movement threatened the shirt. Standing back up straight, he crossed his arms over his chest, as though nothing was wrong.

---

The storm long since died down, the squall blown away, Lina had a spyglass affixed to her eye, watching closely for any signs of waving arms or land. She new they couldn't be far from Stagio, but who knew where they were.