Berlin was eternally grateful for the way the conversation was progressing. In a way, he'd forgotten what it was like to meet a vokurian for the first time, forgotten just how frightening it actually was to see one up close and see what they could do. He'd been determined when he brought Rohaan on, and that helped him push through, but seeing Hana's small admission of worry about being eaten made him remember what it was like. Part of him wished he had prepared her a little more for the whole experience. Still, that hesitation served to bring the two understanding, as Rohaan was very sympathetic to fear and it rarely occurred to him that people could be afraid of him as he was of them. That realization humanized her in the lad's mind, Berlin thought. 

It would be nice not to have to worry about those two. Berlin had enough on his mind. Not to mention, his mind was reeling with the kinds of things they could accomplish together like she and Uban had. But all that satisfaction and relief bled away like warmth in a winter storm when Hana mentioned a bath. Pieter actively spat out his drink--Berlin might have too, if he was drinking something--and a silence fell upon them like night. Berlin broke it with a whispered, "Damn..." 

Rohaan's smile was wiped immediately clean and he looked at her with a distrustful eye as though they had not just shaken hands. He rolled his shoulders a little, weighing how worthwhile it would be to agree. It wasn't that he hated being clean, nor did he necessarily hate water or being [I]in[/I] a bath. In fact, he enjoyed them when they were either warm, or in the summer if they were cool. But he did NOT like soap. Growing up, his village bathed in the ocean and scrubbed themselves with fine sand, then rinsed the saltwater off from rain barrels. He never minded doing that and would do it semi-regularly if they were in warm enough waters. But he did not like being cold and he hated the way that soap got in his eyes, the way that the slimy substance clung to his skin. And sometimes it smelled funny. 

And then there was his hair. It hadn't been cut since he'd left home two years ago and that was fine with him--he could tie it back like Berlin and Uban did with theirs if he wanted to. But his curls were irregular and wild, ranging from loose waves to tight spirals, and trying to keep it untangled was a hopeless endeavor. So it just got more tangled. And if she thought he was going to let her pull out his hair with a stupid comb, she had another thing coming. 

But he looked at her, calculating, and with his eyes slightly narrowed he said slowly, "okay. Fine." 
Berlin shook his head; that was FAR too easy. "Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen, you look me in the eye. That's an order, lad." The boy complied. "Don't you [I]dare[/I] test her, do you hear me? Draw blood like you did with Uban and I WILL hang you by your ankle and send you up the mast like a damn flag, got it?" Rohaan just sort of grumbled, but Berlin reached out and grabbed the boy's wrist with a very firm grip. He didn't use his ability, as he'd made promises to the lad about use of force, but he simply held it, and Berlin the Bear towered over him. "The answer I'm looking for is [I]aye Captain...[/I]"
Rohaan glowered at him. "It's coooold..."
"Deal with it. I quite agree--it's high time you had one and I'll stand by her on this. So you'll do it. [I]Without trouble.[/I]"

Rohaan grumbled and tried to pull his arm away, but Berlin's grip was iron. "Still waiting, sailor..."
Another grumble, then a very reluctant, "Aye Ca-mm..." Berlin let him go and the lad stalked off to find the accursed soap and a scrub brush, muttering in vokurian all the way. 

Berlin looked to Hana. "You've got a hefty set on you, I tell you what. He'll do most of it on his own if you shout at him enough and make him do it proper. But ain't nobody on this ship gonna save you if you come at him with a comb. You're authorized to use force, if necessary." 

Rohaan, still glowering, brought the stupid nasty soap and the brush to the aft deck where most of the rain barrels were kept. Unlike everyone else, he was small enough to actually fit into a barrel, so he selected one that was a little more than half full. The lad tossed off his clothes without much of a care (he had zero qualms with nudity and failed to see why anyone else did) though he was very unhappy about the cool autumn breeze and shivered.  The round pink scar from his recent encounter with a rifle stood out from his suntanned skin, as did a white line across his side where someone had swung at him with a knife. One of his ribs, too, looked like it had once been broken and never properly set back into place so it sat awkwardly under the skin. The lad slithered into the barrel and shivered, scowling powerfully.

--

"Oh, rude," Uban said with mock indignation, though the light in his eyes showed he really wasn't bothered by Wheel's remark about his past. Like he'd told Hana, he had a lot of time to think on that mistake, time to curse fate and hate himself and feel guilt and anger and eventually acceptance. He'd come to terms with that a long time ago and no one would use it against him again. "You just wait, I have some more ideas I want to try. Speaking of, you wanna spar a little with some knives?" Uban had a mischievous look in his eye. There was indeed something he wanted to try, but he wasn't about to do it on anyone but Wheel.

 He shoved some dried meat in his mouth and chewed. Something about his expression darkened at the remark about the turtle. He gave a decidedly nervous smile and shook his head. "Uh, no...I don't think so. Not one of those. They're like...the size of a galleon, Wheel. That thing could have eaten the Borealis if it wanted to." He shivered visibly. "A grenado would just piss it off horribly." He thought of the way it came up to him, whispering in his ear...

What exactly had it said, anyway? He never really did think much on it, though he remembered it with perfect clarity. Maybe he'd write it down...or ask Hana to help him. He was more literate than Rohaan, but not by much. He'd have to think about it some more, he thought as he rejoined the rest of the crew topside while balancing the mug on his plate with a shaking hand. It wasn't the ship's lurching that made his hold unsteady, just his own body. The mug rattled lightly as he perched on a barrel, noting a tension in the air. He looked to Pieter. "Geez. Who died?" He asked through a mouthful.