"It's not about that!" Rohaan's sharp tone warped into an uncharacteristic, high whimper by the end of the sentence and he clamped his mouth shut, opting to throw the lime he'd sucked dry blindly across the little galley, too. It bounced off the vent of the stove with a soft plunk. "Wheel could eat a storm and [I]I[/I] could burn every last one of them myself!" This, too, seemed just a little out of character for the boy. He never enjoyed strangers, and when they had shore leave, Rohaan often stuck close to Berlin in taverns and spoke to no one besides the crew. Even when Hana came aboard, he'd been surly and distant from her, but he'd never been violent. Now, every inch of him looked like he was capable and willing of backing up that threat. The boy was trembling slightly, his limbs pulled closer to his body like a hermit crab pulling protectively into his shell. In one moment, he was explosive and harsh. In another instant, he was withdrawn, and shifted back and forth between the two juxtaposed emotions as quickly as he could change the shape of his body. Evidently, he did not fully know how to feel at the moment. 

Rohaan tried, but he couldn't hold back all of the tears that welled up in his lapis lazuli eyes. A few escaped, and he wiped them away with force. "Berlin's a traitor..." he sniffed, not meeting Pieter's eyes. "He knew who they were. He [I]knew![/I] And he says to 'em to stay and have [I]lunch![/I]" He continued shouting, though in his native tongue, and at a speed that might have vexed even Berlin. Whatever he was saying, it was evident by the intermittent snarls and extra emphasis on a few words that he was giving their guests topside some serious and vile names. 

Rohaan quieted, out of breath. In his heart of hearts, some part of him understood what Berlin had told him about individuals, despite belonging to a group, being separate and different from said group. Rohaan's friendship with each member of the crew was testament to that. And he never would have bothered with the blood oath if he hadn't on some level recognized that Kaga Met and his crew were not responsible for the damage done to him, and sought him no harm. But right now there was just anger and a fear that had little to do with Kaga Met, or Yawar, or Millie specifically. He didn't want to be in his natural shape at the moment, and his soul yearned for his favorite dragon form. That form would keep him safe. With that form, he could protect himself and his home. But the galley was too small for such a creature as a cyradan, and shifting in there would either do damage to himself, the ship, or both. Instead he just vibrated with an anger he didn't know how to direct as he sat curled on top of a barrel, trying to sort out whether or not he wanted comfort, solitude, or destruction. 

__

Uban blinked in momentary surprise as Hana's slender arms coiled around him, but after only a brief stagger at the sudden shift of balance, he chuckled and returned the hug heartily. The man smiled devilishly as she looked up at him with a wily expression. "I was hoping you'd say something like that," he said with a wicked, roguish glint in his green eyes. 

Uban had the look of a naughty child about to do great and very entertaining mischief. Hana's knowledge of runes and magic opened up a whole new world of possibilities for Uban and the exploration of his magical ability, and he felt giddy at the thought of really letting loose with everything he had. It was...freeing, in a way. There were few rules of decorum to fret over on the open ocean, and he had quickly warmed up to the idea of boisterously being himself instead of adhering to small-hamlet expectations and traditions. But it had taken him a longer time to be comfortable with showing his magical power so openly and casually. When he'd first joined the crew, he'd been a little self-conscious about it, and Berlin had to actively encourage him to practice with it. To be able to explore it even further than he thought possible, and to let loose with it without reservation or hesitation was immensely liberating in a way that would be difficult to express to a younger version of himself. 

Uban held a small, delicate arc between his pointer and middle finger, admiring for a moment the soft blue line. 

This was [I]way[/I] more fun than farming.