Dolce sat before the raging god. Not so prideful to offer further words or attempts at sympathy. He simply sat, listened, and wept in his heart. It was a terrible thing to mourn alone, too.

Meanwhile, Vasilia flicked open the communication pipes. “Attention, unasked-for guests: My [i]deepest[/i] apologies our ship carried no song to greet you. The pride of the Privateers is truly diminished.” She paused, pointedly, letting Poseidon’s vengeful oaths fill every corner of the ship. “As you will soon be aware, we are experiencing a little turbulence due to the raging storms of the void. If you wish to capture your prize intact, then I would recommend retreating to your ship, and continuing your visit once we’ve led you on a delightful little chase. Otherwise, I’m afraid I will have to sabotage our doors and engines, leaving all of us to perish at Poseidon’s hand, and your prize forever lost. Not the [i]most[/i] shameful end, but I daresay you’ll have your work cut out for you finding a decent eulogy.”

“Crew? Do hurry our guests along, and give me a status report at your earliest convenience.”