Uban felt a chill that seemed to cut through the midday sun, then noticed he had goosebumps and his hair was sticking straight up as Pieter spoke. In the five years Uban had been with Berlin, it wasn't the first time he'd heard Pieter speak this way. But he'd never paid attention, and never been so...up close. He could not suppress the feeling of awe that blossomed in his chest at the withered man. Something in him, some childish impulse made him reach out his and towards the water, but some other, more weathered instinct of his kept it from reaching the water's surface. 

Uban blinked. "Gin? Ah, yeah, hand that over!" He was never one to say no to a drink, but he did especially like gin. He wasn't aware of it, but some quiet part of his brain made a mental note to himself that Hana liked it. The young man took the proffered flask and put it to his lips, but no sooner had he taken an appreciative swig of the clear, almost piney liquid did he notice the little rowboat rocking a little more than usual. His pleasant expression melted into alertness (he trusted in Pieter's skill as a priest enough to not be worried) and as one hand steadied himself on the gunnel of the little boat, he used the other to hand back the flask. 

"Uh...Pieter...?"

----


Berlin laughed. "No, belay that, I was joking! Don't try. Really. Don't. You need him to like you, after all. And a never-empty hip flask would be flying too close to the sun." He grinned, and that expression grew evermore as she told him she could protect his sails. His expression was nearly hungry, eager, like a man who'd just found innumerable treasures. "You can do that?" he asked incredulously. "Aye! Do! Fireproof everything you can! Fire is more of a risk on this ship than on others, I would say, and any protection against it would be invaluable. Yes, do that." 

She explained that her magic was not so much developed for offensive might, and he nodded his understanding. "Yes, I wondered if that was the case. That's alright." And there was no hint of disappointment in his tone, no note of judgement. Berlin understood.  "A fog would be very good, if you can manage it. Keep our approach secret until we spring our trap, and then to make us seem like ghosts in the gloom. But no rain....I'd like to see their ship burn to ashes." There was a darkness in his tone that she had not yet heard before, and that the rest of the more experienced crew rarely ever heard either. Berlin was an even-keel man most of the time and not one to be prone to wild fits of anger like his young charge. Even Uban, who was as good natured as they came was more vulnerable to losing his temper. But Berlin still had one. And when it showed in full, it came down like a clap of thunder. 

But as quickly as his hard edge showed itself, it vanished. Cool gray eyes searched her with all the easy curiosity of a gentle friend. "Cannonballs, hmm? Mmm..." he nodded to himself, approving of this. "You'll have to inform Pieter of whatever it is you plan to do--he's the one who mans the guns. But I think that's a good line of thinking. On another note, do you have everything you need? I don't just mean for the upcoming battle--just, anything you need? I expect we'll head into port again after we find our quarry--either The Borealis will need repairs or we'll have--hopefully--some freed prisoners to send on their way. If it's practical things you need, let me know. If you're longing for some more extravagant items or other luxuries, Rheoaan is the one to talk to, actually. He's good at erm...obtaining things." He smiled.

--

Rohaan had been foiled, but he remembered the trick for later anyway. Chances are, not all of his opponents would be so quick or as observant as Wheel, who knew him and knew his ways. The boy keenly felt the welts and bruises left by his teacher the day before, and even more so now that they were being doubled. But he fought on. The pain seemed to fuel him, to trigger some instinct of pride or self-preservation that made him push harder, made him more aggressive. He was not perfect, not by any stretch and some of the techniques which he'd been passable at the day before, he seemed to have forgotten until he was reminded mercilessly and painfully by Wheel. But other techniques seemed to have stuck. The shifter expounded on them, pouring into his new knowledge all the street-rat instinct that had kept him alive so far, and he quickly began to improvise. Beyond the knife, he would use nearby objects as plots to trip Wheel up, or to distract him, and once he aimed a deck brush squarely at Wheel's face. If the man had not knocked it aside with a speed only he could manage, it would have gone squarely and firmly for his nose. 

Once, however, he gave an awkward parry, his feet just slightly uncertain beneath him, and Wheel's blade slipped a little and bit his knuckles. Silver blood welled up in a little bead and he yelped angrily. The boy's instinct kicked in and he quickly became a Cyradan before his teacher's eyes and attempted to snap at him with his smooth black teeth, his powerful jaws clamping together with a hard, audible snap. But the sudden weight rocked the ship violently like it had been struck by a malicious wave. 

Berlin staggered, one hand shooting out to the gunnel to steady himself, and his other gripping Hana's arm briefly. Rohaan, realizing he'd broken the rules of their game, shifted back quickly and the ship lurched again, rocking back and forth in diminishing sweeps until it finally returned to its usual bobbing in the calm waters. Rohaan heard his captain shout, "DAMNIT RHEOAAN!" but he ignored him, snarling challengingly at Wheel instead. Rohaan looked at the little silvery blotch on his hand and wiped it across his face, just under his eye. It was not an errant swipe but something purposeful, and the vokurian battle ritual left a glittering streak like macabre paint under his right eye. He gave a little war cry and lunged back at Wheel again, stabbing and swiping and parrying as best he could against the much larger man.