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     There's nothing more offensive than being cutoff mid-thought, and Llaier was quite literally contemplating what she should do with the disfigured and infuriated pirate staring her down as if [b]she[/b] was the one who molded his hand to his face. Words were being articulated in the exact moment that suddenly, inferno, smoke, and cinder ruptured in a cacophonous orchestra and the ship began making its unceremonious journey into the abyss for an early grave. She rushed to the side of the ship, abandoning the fun of the game stumbled upon and looked down into the roiling current caused by the downswirling weight of iron and oak. Getting stuck beneath something would inevitably drown her but choosing when to jump was a gamble, the ship was going down fast...

     Faster than she could predict.

[center][i]Krrrrrrsh![/i][/center]

     Was this due to the pirates, or was something else at play? It wasn't like Llaier to be introspective, and truly she was not trying to be. But the rapid escalation of circumstances was strange, even for her, though it would be difficult to deny how entertaining these circumstances continued to be. Even as her feeble body was thrown upward with the concussive force of fire catching ethanol or perhaps gunpowder down below, she smiled whilst soaring through swirling smoke and breathed in that sulfuric smell with joy. Her body throbbed in pain with each rapid beat of her heart, the air in her lungs forcefully expunged outward, and all this still paled to the shock of her body landing atop a large piece of welded iron and wood barely floating along. The jester was still alive, and that meant that the play goes on until twisted dunmer's heart could beat no longer.


[sup][color=2e2c2c]“Someone must've really wanted whatever that ship was delivering to sink.”[/color][/sup]

[color=#D2C2FF]“Bad luck ..[i]ngh[/i], just some extra unexpected fun?”[/color]

[sup][color=2e2c2c]“Your clothes have caught fire.”[/color][/sup]

[color=#D2C2FF]“[i]Keh..[/i] Wai- , my clothes are on fire?”[/color]




     The battered and bruised clown twisted ever so slightly upon their claimed chunk of boat debris in an effort to locate where the kiss of increasing heat was felt along her skin. It was around some frills at her right hip, where colorful cloth and small bells had once jingled to the sound of her movements; they were gone and even as the embers crawled further down onto the cloth of her leggings, she sulked. Beneath her faceless mask she frowned and moaned in dismay, after all, it wasn't often you'd come across a seamstress or tailor that could weave such artful decor for the body.

      
     Painfully she would slide her lower body into the water. The sting of saltwater on freshly earned burns felt like acid. They were a reminder that she was alive and healthy, so she smiled at the excruciating pain as it wracked against her nerves and kept her conscious. The sclera of her red eyes beneath the mask waned as her eyes squinted shut, she was still disoriented from the shock of it all. Her muscles tremored but she'd still grip the sides of the wood as it was carried who knows where? At that thought she would turn her head to look off in the distance to take a distant gander to where the pull of the sea was dragging her. Far-far off in the distance there was the glimmer of lights cast by civilization; maybe she'd wash ashore in some time, maybe she'd drown and her body would be recovered there?

     As the pain subsided Llaier would begin to feel her consciousness fading. It was as if the ebb and flow of waves were rocking her to sleep like a baby and she'd feel the grip of her hands onto splintered wood slip every time a large one lifted her before dropping her back down. She'd gasp and grunt whenever this happened, and on one final rise and fall her face would plop down hard onto the wooden surface she clung to which dealt a mighty enough blow to render her unconscious.

[center]Her fate would be to the Sea itself, she surrendered herself to that thought.[/center]


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