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[color=DEB887][b]Guild Airship, Workshop ---> Top Deck[/b][/color]

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As most of the crew continue to lay waste to their problems by chugging booze down their swollen gullets, one boy in particular was huddled in a separate little workshop tinkering with a SA "Liberty" Rifle on a messy desk of metallic gadgets and blueprints. Ezekiel never really was much of a social person, nor does he often start up conversations that much. But while he lacks in vocalizing himself, what he loves doing is simply being alone and working on his newest device to help himself or his guild out. It's the least he can do. And being cozied alone inside his warm workspace while a storm rages outside is, to him, a rather relaxing feeling. He can be completely immersed in his projects and work in peace.

Yet while enjoying the feeling of curled up underneath a raging storm, there's also the sense of cabin fever that occasionally sets in. There are times where Ezekiel happens to get bored working on a certain gadget of his or has a kind of creative-block that prevents him from purposely becoming engaged with his work. While these hindrances are rare for the tinkerer, even he is susceptible to this boredom. His foot taps rapidly on the wooden floor, creaking quietly, while he rubs his face with a seemingly defeated sigh. To him, he needs to keep his mind constantly working on something, no matter what it can be, or he often gets restless. Really it can be anything in particular, as long as its mechanical.

And with this storm getting worse by the minute, it wouldn't hurt to check for something to improve or repair. 

Even the noise coming down from the barracks was already seeping into his area, causing his wince to continue contorting into an annoyed expression. He needs to get out of this place and do something. With that, he exits the workshop and bypasses the barracks where the festivities are being held. He never really liked parties to begin with. Only as soon as he got to the roofed portions of the top deck did the sound drown out in the chaotic pattering of the storm outside. Even though the storm was loud enough as is, the wind pushing against him violently as he grips onto the nearby railing, it's at least naturally bearable to a certain extent. He begins to huddle towards the wall of the ship, gripping against the handles as he tries to not get blown away by the intense wind and shattering hail. 

Maybe there's someone out here who could use some quick help with something...