You attempt to swing up onto the rail, but with the rain pouring over you and the slippery surfaces everywhere, you lose your grip.
You are plunging toward the stormy seas.
I don't actually have a swimming skill listed for you; what should it be? I realize the odds are against you, but there's always a chance.
Also, although it's only a few seconds, are you doing anything while you are falling?
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
(Swimming... If I'm being nice to myself I'll give me 1@8 - I'm good, but I was never on a team or anything. I can hold my breath for two minutes.)
While I'm falling... It occurs to me in a perverse sort of way that if I were to TK Pulse the ocean itself up a couple of inches right now, it wouldn't affect me at all, but it might make the planet explode. But I like this planet. Even if it is about to kill me. *plunk*
You hit the water and start struggling to stay afloat. The seas are incredibly rough, and the rain coming down hard enough that it's not always clear whether you are above the water or not. The ship is moving past you.
Suddenly there's a splash near you; a black man tied to a stout rope has hit the water, and is swimming your direction. He reaches out a hand for you to grasp, and yells something that is lost in the noise.
--M. J. Young
He grabs your one wrist, and reaches for the other. "Grab. My. Wrists," he shouts.
Suddenly he is jerked from you, and you feel yourself being pulled out of the water, soon dangling above the ocean, swinging near and sometimes banging into the hull.
Half a dozen hands grab you and pull you back aboard. Someone takes hold of the rope still around your waist.
"Looks like you did a good job on that end, but the storm was too much for this end," he says. The men are all lashed together.
"You all right?" the black man says. "We can get you to medical, if you need it."
You're winded, and have taken on some water, but you are breathing.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
I shake my head and cough, trying to focus past how much that hurts.
"I'm fine," cough cough, "Save medical for men who are hurt." I shake the hand of the crewman who rescued me with both of mine, and - if it holds similar weight for them that it would for a sailor in our world - promise him my ration of rum for the night.
Of course, I think I'll just sit here on the deck for a couple of minutes. Get my breath. Think things out a little...
I will mention that you're still trailing the rope that did not hold to the beam to which it was tied. One of the deckhands wraps the end around a nearby post.
"Just doing my job," the man says. "You'll need some of that rum after that, I'd say. Walters, Security. I didn't get your name?"
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
"John Sevenwind, Navigation. Seems our security is in good hands." I really probably could use some rum after that, now he mentions it. Alas, I am tied to a post. Speaking of which, I should probably double-check that knot, and make sure it's more solid than my first one was.
"Maybe when we get a break from this storm, I'll join you for a drink," he says, and returns to help with the sails.
The knot is quite professionally tied, in a way that would make it simple to untie from the right direction but would only make it tighter if you pull on the end that leads to you.
You've lost your telescope, of course, so you can't see far; you're also on the main deck, which is lower than the forecastle or aftcastle, so you can't see past them, either. What's your next move?
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
After a week of working with it and it being with me when I was near to death, I want to see if I have an equipment vector pointing me at my telescope - I would've brought it with me had I drowned, after all. If I do, I want to use that to sight-in and try to TK Pulse it back into my hand - a sort of psionic 'Accio' if you'll pardon the reference (at this rate the first time I hit a high-magic work I might as well buy glasses and a cat).
If that works, I dry off my telescope and have a look around.
If it doesn't, I want to try another psionic ability - I want to try to use my Heightened Awareness to simulate the effect of a telescope by casting a very small area of my normal vision into very high resolution, entirely within my own mind. (yeah I'm weird enough to actually try this - if I'm telekinetic, why not?)
If neither one works, I sit there and try not to be in the way. If I didn't drop my compass in the sea, too, then I'll keep an eye on it and try to keep track of the ship's current heading relative to where we were going before.
You do not have a vector toward the telescope, at least that you can identify; you have vectors to your possessions aboard the ship, but only those that came here with you.
Quick verification: I still have this note on my spreadsheet that reads
1@7 Psychometry (This is listed on my sheet as Mag 7@5 but I wonder if it's more Psionic)
Am I correct that that is what we eventually listed as
1@10 Heightened Awareness of Surroundings P3@1 enables user to know general layout of buildings or other structures, locations of entrances and exits, and other information, without searching.
or is this something else, and if so, what? Thanks.
The next part of this post assumes that that assumption is correct; if it is not correct, I might have to rewrite something.
You attempt to give yourself telescopic vision but adjusting the image within your mind in a sort of digital zoom/enhancement pattern, but fail to do so. However, you do have the sense that this is the sort of thing you might be able to do, it's just very difficult to do right now. It might be the storm--difficult to concentrate on anything right at the moment.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
(I only saw it listed as "Heightened Awareness P3@1" with no other qualifiers, and the auto-layout function the only thing I've used it for so far - not necessarily the only thing it /can/ be used for.)
My telescope is gone, my hat and cloak are soggy (and my feather is drooping), and my compass is probably full of water, too. This sucks. As soon as it's stable enough to untie myself without falling in again, I'm going below. I'm useless up here without my equipment, and I need some rum. And some time to practice that telescopic vision thing.
You are actually close enough to a hatch that you could walk to the hatch and then untie the bowline from around your waist (a bit tight, given the combination of salt water and pulling on it, but it can be loosened) and leave the rope topside.
In any case, the storm doesn't look like it's letting up any time soon.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
Then I will indeed go below, just the way you described. I'm kinda useless on deck without functioning equipment, and I don't want anyone tripping over me.
Once I am below, I will sit cross-legged on one end of my hammock and lay out one of my journals open on the other end, far enough away that I can't read it clearly. Then I will proceed to spend the rest of the night, until I am able to sleep, trying that telescopic vision trick again every five to ten minutes, over and over again, until it works and I can read the journal clearly from that distance, or until I botch catastrophically enough to force me to stop, whichever comes first.
You spend about half an hour trying to accomplish this.
Suddenly as you make yet another attempt, your view changes; you no longer see the page, or the print, but the fiber structure of the paper.
Anything more than about ten feet away is completely out of focus, but anything closer than that you see blown up beyond recognition.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
Interesting. It seems like it worked, but it worked a bit too well. I spend some time looking at things, examining things with this microscopic vision. Right now this is just a bit weird, but I'm sure this will come in extremely handy later. I peer at my own hands, examining them to see if I can see my own cellular structure as if I were using a microscope, then I peer at the blankets to see if I can pick out individual dust-mites. I'll pass the time like this, examining things, until I can figure out how to turn it off, but it would be very nice if I could remember how to do this again. It's not anything like what I was going for, but my mind is reeling with the possible uses of this - possibly the coolest mistake ever.
Yes, you can see a significant degree of cellular detail, and dust mites quite clearly. It certainly would be a useful ability under the right circumstances.
It is still persisting.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
After about a half hour this is becoming annoying, but it's still not as bad as it could be. After all, it's not like I have anything else to do. I'll wait it out till it ends, or till the storm blows over. If the storm ends before the weirdness, I'll just go to bed and hope to sleep it off. Of course, I also hope I'll be able to turn it back on again later. Ah, well. More random experimentations tomorrow. (Yes, I'm going back to brute forcing the original Telescopic Vision technique in the morning, provided this has cleared up. I don't imagine Donald will be calling a navigator without his equipment in to work.)
After about an hour your vision problem still has not corrected itself; someone enters the room and asks whether you're all right, but it's not a terribly familiar voice and the blurred image tells you nothing.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
"Something's the matter with my eyes. Must've been the salt water. It doesn't hurt, but I can't see worth a damn either." I shrug helplessly and remain in my hammock. "Mostly I'm hoping it clears up by morning. Otherwise I'll have to admit to the infirmary that I'm just a mere mortal."
I offer a hand into the blur, trying to at least point myself at the man. "Name's John, anyway."
"O.K., John. Could be the shock, or the cold; and you're right--best hope is that it clears up by morning. Get some rest. I'm Pieter, by the way--newest member of medical, so I get to do the running around. Stop by in the morning anyway, if you can find your way, and Doc Evan will have a look to make sure there's nothing seriously wrong, or if there is whether he can fix it."
He shakes your hand.
"I'll let Donald and the captain know, so they don't wonder where you are. Do you want some food brought up, whenever we get a chance to make some?"
If there's nothing else, he'll leave you to the sounds of the storm raging outside, and the swaying of the hammock in the gloom.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
"I'll be sure to come by. Good to meet a fellow new guy..." I flop back down in my hammock.
(It probably goes without saying, but I'll make a point of saying, I've changed into dry clothes and am wrapped in whatever blankets I had by now, not still wearing my cloak and sodden clothing.)
"If you get a chance to make anything, something hot would be nice. Get the chill out of my bones. You, eh, keep safe, meantime..." I'll lay there. And sway. In the dark. And try not to look too hard at whatever is crawling around on my pillow. I swear I'm never sleeping on anything I haven't washed first again...
As is my usual bedtime ritual (this really ought to count as practice) I will spend ten minutes each using my Influence Luck ability to put a positive spin on the Captain's and Donald's luck.
As I have often said to John 2, if results matter it is not practice. I can certainly say that Harry practices his influence luck ability each night, and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but if you want to know whether it works tonight or not, I have to roll for it, and it's not practice.
Let me know which way you want to go on that.
Exhausted from the cold and the strain, you fall asleep.
It is light again, and the seas are calm, when you awaken. Your eyesight is not quite normal--everything looks big, and things as far away as twenty feet are blurry--but it is much better than it was. Someone is by your hammock.
"How are the eyes?" It's an older man, whom you've seen in the mess before now, probably Doc Evan. "We've got some hot cereal, and I think you should eat some. Are you well enough to make it to the galley, or should I have it brought to you?"
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
(OOC: Whichever one earns me points towards improving it. The idea is that I want to use my Influence Luck and my TK Pulse as often as humanly feasible, with an eye toward improving both abilities as quickly as the rules of the game allow. I've basically wanted to be doing this all along, I just don't feel like I've said it enough - it is my nightly ritual to spin their luck, and a habit - again as often as humanly feasible - to try TK Pulsing things into my hands, out of my hands, onto tables, and so on, preferably but not strictly when no one is looking.)
I try to focus on him. Weird. I hope I don't need glasses. I squint a little and hope that resolves it.
"Better. It still doesn't hurt, but I still can't see very clearly. At least I can tell which color smear you are. That's an improvement." I get out of bed - I did sleep dressed, but my boots are probably still full of saltwater, so heck with it, I'll go barefoot.
"I can walk, but I can't see, so I can get there, but I'll be slow." I'll make a sort of after-you motion, as having a familiar color-smear to focus on will make walking easier. At least the ship isn't pitching hither and yon while I'm schlepping about. This microscopic vision would be much handier if I could turn it off...
You make it easily enough to the galley; medical is adjacent, but the doctor has suggested you eat some of the hot cereal before he examines you.
By the time you've finished eating, your vision is nearly normal, with only some slight distortions.
The elderly man, who is indeed Evan, the doctor, head of medical, says you'd better report to Donald--he needs all the help he can get about now.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
I tell Evan about how my vision has improved and thank him for the cereal and all of his help.
Once I'm done eating, I will indeed go up on deck - still barefoot, but I did sleep dressed - and see what Donald needs. Of course, I'm making a point of walking carefully and not going any nearer the edge of the deck than is absolutely necessary while my vision is still a bit swimmy. As I approach Donald's position I'll take out my compass and see if it's in working order, having been left out to dry the previous night.
The compass works.
"It's good to see you up and about, John. How are your eyes? That storm has knocked us quite a bit off course, and we're going to have to work at establishing our position. I've got Brian and Dooley working on sun sightings, to get us a latitude, but there have been no landmarks. Of course, charts of the Syndic Ocean are notoriously limited, so even if we saw something it might not be on the charts, or it might be charted in the wrong place, but at least it would be something.
"In short, we'll need to spend the better part of the day looking for anything that might hint of our location. I've got us headed west, and we're a long way east of Durnmist no matter where we are, but we'll need to get on course quickly if we can."
Engineers are bustling about with deck hands, making repairs to masts and sails and yardarms and just about everything else on the ship.
"Glad we didn't lose you," Donalds adds. "Grab another telescope from the chart room."
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
I nod, listening to his description of the situation. It's no surprise that a world without satellites also lacks reliable maps - anything done by hand can only ever be so good, after all.
"I'm much better today. I feel like I'm still looking through bad glass, but it's better than last night. I'm just sorry I lost a perfectly good telescope..." Especially because I didn't know we had spares. Maybe I wouldn't have given myself a brain freeze if I'd known there were more to go around. But then, the lack of that knowledge has inspired a few more cool ideas, so it's just as well.
I'll make my way down to the chart room, snag that extra telescope, and go back on deck. I check the fore- and aftcasltes, and whichever one doesn't already have a man with a telescope on it is the one I take, and begin looking around.
If this lasts a while - long enough for my vision to clear up all the way and I'm still standing on one or the other -castle - then I will attempt my Enhanced Awareness: Telescopic Vision again, once every twenty minutes or so, until it works or until I botch again or until Donald gives me something entirely else to do.
I also wonder absently what would happen if I used both psionic Telescopic Vision and an actual telescope at the same time. I imagine it would depend upon which I used first. In the meanwhile, I'm looking for... well... anything worth looking for that isn't the water.
You are busily scanning the open water for a couple of hours; since your vision seems to clear, you also try periodically to get that telescopic view with your eyes--and on the sixth try, after about two hours, you succeed. You can see fairly clearly to a great distance.
You attempt to use it with the telescope, but cannot get a focused image. It doesn't seem as if it would be impossible to do, only that it's going to take some practice and control over your new telescopic view.
The telescopic view lasts five minutes and then returns to normal.
The day wears on; it is your fifteenth day aboard.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
In fifteen days I would have been keeping journal entries - I did bring along a handful of notebooks for that purpose - and you can bet this is going in it! Combined with last night's bizarreness and my budding telekinetic ability, I'm beginning to like this business of "Versing." Plus, life at sea! It's like all my RenFair and sci-fi geek dreams come true. And if I keep at it, maybe I won't need a telescope at all by the time of my second cruise. Look at me, fifteen days at sea and already planning a career of it...
Of course, after two weeks I'm beginning to miss home. I wonder what will become of Melinda, who must be worried sick about me, and Pete, who will probably be pissed at me for going and getting myself killed just in time to miss his wedding. I wonder if my cats are okay - but of course, they have my mother and Melinda to take care of them. *sniff!*
I keep scanning the horizon, using the telescope most of the time, switiching to my Telescopic Vision whenever I can get it to work, mostly trying to remember what it feels like each time it actually does work, and practicing by trying to call that feeling back up. As long as the weather is clear, I'll continue to just look around, not worrying terribly about tying myself down. I wonder absently - and look around - if there is a cabin boy I might convince to bring up my hat, cloak, and boots. An afternoon in the sun would do wonders towards drying them out, sea spray not withstanding.
There are no cabin boys aboard; there are deck hands, but they're usually busy with the lines and sails. However, there's no particular reason you can't bring your gear up. Donald has put everyone back on regular shifts, so you're working eight hours a day, currently noon to night so that you overlap his shift and that of Brian, who works until midnight (and is relieved by Dooley).
A week passes during which all anyone sees is water and stars, and the occasional bird flying the wrong direction. Donald is pretty certain of the latitude but concerned about the longitude; you're farther south than you usually travel but working your way back north at an angle so as to lose as little time as possible.
You continue practicing your vision as well as your navigator skills.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
Ahh... regular work, regular practice, and the company of good workmates and friends. After nearly losing this Verse, it's all a man needs. And look, my clothes aren't waterlogged any more! Yay.
I spend my shifts working, practicing my Telescopic Vision as aggressively as I dare. Every time it works, I use it until it runs out, then go back to using my actual telescope. Maybe twice or thrice a day I'll try using it in combination with the telescope, but only if I see something interesting enough to be worth looking at double-closely, otherwise, heck with it.
The next week continues much the same, with little certainty of your precise position but a reasonable confidence of your direction.
On your twenty-seventh day in this world, you come topside around noon after getting some lunch, and see Donald in the crow's nest with a spyglass. He abruptly sets it down and comes down the lines almost as fast as if he had leapt from the top of the mast. Hitting his feet hard, he looks at you and says, "I need you up--oh, right, no. Run. Find Brian and Dooley, and get one of them in the crow's nest while I alert piloting and deck. I think it's a whirlpool."
He runs toward the aftcastle where the pilot wheel is.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
If I've seen either of them awake lately - Brian should be decently rested, so I'll look for him first - I'll find them and get them topside. Dooley just got off duty - I am his relief - so I won't keep him from his bed if I can find Brian in less than ten minutes.
Once I have Brian (or Dooley, who's probably cursing my name for keeping him from his sleep) in tow and have explained the situation to him, I'll lead him topside. While he climbs, I'll head to the forecastle (since Donald is aft) and try to trigger my Telescopic Vision, which I have been practicing these past 12 days since I learned it, this time with an eye for seeing how long I can keep it up.
Actually, Dooley works midnight to eight; you're on an overlap shift, noon to eight. Thus Brian is the one who is probably getting some food somewhere, and Dooley has managed to get three or four hours of sleep. It doesn't much matter, as Donald wants all hands--it's only a matter of who can get to the crow's nest first (and you can't, because you're afraid of heights). Brian is easily found and sent that direction (and the word "whirlpool" has him running).
When you get back to Donald, the deck is bustling.
Your telescopic vision comes in for an instant, and then you lose it; you close your eyes, refocus your mind, and try again, and you've got the vision.
You can see the spot where the water seems to fall away, and the current beyond that moving swiftly in the opposite direction; you can't actually see well enough to identify it as a whirlpool from here, because you're not high enough to see down into it. However, it is close enough that the ship is already in the pull of the current.
Donald is looking through the spyglass, and then looking up at Brian (whom you can see remarkably well when you glance that direction), and waving his arms for the pilot to see.
"The objective," he says, "is to plot a course that will get us past the whirlpool. We're already in its current, and if we turn too sharply away from it it will suck us in; but if we get too close, we'll wind up going down it. Thus we need to get full sail and take advantage of the current to drive us past it, and hope we have enough velocity on the other side to continue beyond it. The best choice is to go around it to the point that we have the wind directly behind us and let it drive us forward.
"Watch the angles; notice the force of the current and the direction of the wind. You can watch and learn for the moment--but if they yell for help on the lines, you'll have to get down there and pull."
The sails are all full open, the lateen sails catching the wind at a bit of an angle.
Your telescopc vision lasts five minutes and then returns to normal; you realize that you are a lot closer to the hole in the water than you were five minutes ago.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
It's like slingshotting around the sun to get a boost into deep space. I've done this sort of simulation in Physics class - I always got A's in Physics, and a 5 on the AP test... but that was an old life - but never had to account for water resistance. Indeed, I'll watch and learn. Getting A's in Physics is one thing, doing it in your head in less than five minutes is quite another.
I'll hang around with Donald for now, watch how he figures the angles, and listen out for cries for help.
You watch as Donald attempts to estimate the best course and signal it to the pilot commander at the wheel. Other pilots are taking orders and relaying them to the deck hands on the masts.
The ship suddenly lurches, and Donald shakes his head. "He's a good pilot," he says. "He could feel that that vector was wrong. Well, that's why we work together--no one is always right. I'd have taken us too close.
You feel the wind take the sails, and the whirlpool is left behind as you move away from it.
"Let the team know they can stand down. I'll get us back on course."
He heads back to the map room, looking at the compass as he goes.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
I go around to tell the others they can, in fact, stand down. Well, except the poor bugger in the crow's nest. Not a lot I can do for him unless he happens to be looking so I can signal him. I could try to flick something at him with TK to get him to look, but #1 pebbles aren't too common on ships and #2 I'm not very good at that - with my luck I'd blow him up instead and then where would we be? Ah, well. He'll figure it out.
Meanwhile... what was I doing? Oh, yes, it's my turn to be on duty. Alright then. I'll head for the forecastle and resume my usual way of spending my duty time, alternating between using the telescope and practicing my Telescopic Vision, all the while hoping I spot something interesting that won't result in us all getting killed in some unseemly way.
Things are returning to normal. There are some minor injuries among those who worked the deck, but medical is attending to these. Donald sends you to get some dinner near dinner time, and says that he'll brief his relief, who will be there when you return.
It grows dark, and you do the obligatory sightings, recording your numbers in the log. No one is sure even yet of your longitude, but the latitude is confirmed.
Shift ends.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
Once I'm relieved, I'll stay up a while before I sleep. Practice on my flute, trying to get better at that. Work on my telekinesis, my telescopic vision, all of the things I can't really focus on while I'm on duty - I'll spend one of my off-duty shifts sleeping and the other practicing my non-working skills, as though being a psychic bard were a second job. Why not? Half the people I know are asleep and the other half are working, so I might as well be useful to myself, at least. Let this be a new routine until something happens that changes it, like land. And getting paid.
I'm assuming that you would not practice the flute in your sleeping quarters, since it would be rare that neither of your bunkmates would be asleep (one works four to midnight and the other midnight to eight, and you're on from noon to eight, so there might be a bit of time here or there--but then, there are people sleeping in adjacent rooms, too). That suggests that you play either in the galley or on deck. Either way, you'll get the compliments of the other seamen, who have no particular musical ability and enjoy the intrusion of a bit of song in their day.
You continue this practice for the next several weeks. At the end of that time you're back on the old latitude and pretty sure of your position longitudinally. However, on the fifty-first day the order comes down to plot a new course, to find an island on which materials can be collected. There is a crack in the forward mast, probably from the maneuverings at the whirlpool, but it's worsening and needs to be braced. Engineering is working on it, but doesn't think they can hold it together all the way to Durnmist (particularly since navigation can't say better than maybe within two months to landfall there).
This of course means pouring over the incomplete charts of the Greater Syndic, looking for known islands which are reported to have good timber, guessing where the Mary Piper is relative to them, and making the best course for that position based on that information.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
I will indeed take all the time I can get practicing my fluting in the galley, as that is the place least likely to get something pointy flung at me. Most of the songs I know are from the Renaissance Faire, so they're either Irish songs ("Star of the County Down") or sailing songs ("Day of the Clipper") or both ("Mingulay"), so these should go down well. If anyone else on the crew knows any songs - working songs, sailing songs, drinking songs - I make an effort to learn them. I would be genuinely shocked if nobody on the crew knows any songs at all, simply because of the significance of sea chanties and their working use. If this world simply doesn't have that, I'll try and spread the idea around. It's especially a good idea for men who row, work the capstan, or pump.
I wonder if I'm getting any better with my Telescopic Vision after constant shifts of practice and working on it. Trying to maintain it longer, trying to use it with the actual telescope, trying to improve the resolution and clarity, and so on. I'll even try and filter out the glare off the sea when using it.
When the time comes, I will join Donald and the others in poring over maps, trying to figure out a likely island - the one nearest to where we ought to be, the one nearest to where we likely are, and the one we have to change course the least to get to, if in fact none of those overlap.
I do have my navigator skills, even if those haven't raised since I learned them either, so at the very least I can do some of the pens-and-paper for them, even if I'm probably useless for figuring out where we are and where we're going.
Yes, some of the men know songs, and you pick up a few new ones.
It turns out to be Dooley who finds a decent island. Brian and Donald both came up with possibles, but Dooley's has the virtue that it's probably still ahead, and the other two would require doing some backtracking to be sure not to miss them.
In two days you pull near the island and drop anchor. The captain wants a skeleton crew to remain aboard--at least one on duty in each department--but will let people go ashore in shifts; the chief engineer wants his men and the deck hands to cut lumber for the repairs. He intends to brace the mast securely, and have it changed in the shipyards of Durnmist. He could try to replace the mast himself, but it would take at least a week and be a grueling job under these conditions.
--M. J. Young
johnosevens
Member
I'll volunteer to stay aboard for the Navigation department for a while. Getting lost in the woods on some bizarre new world isn't my idea of a day at the beach. Besides, it gives me some uninterrupted time to practice my Telescopic Vision and TK Pulse without people giving me any "wtf is he doing?" sort of looks. I can sit there staring out to sea with that slightly stoned look on my face without people assuming I'm shirking my duties.
If I'm /really/ ambitious, I might even try to climb up to the crow's... ... ...oh hell no. Six feet is still high enough for me. Let's not talk crazy...
So I'll sit comfortably in the aftcastle, staring at the sea and clouds in high resolution, and playing on my Irish Flute, somewhat disappointed that after two months of trying I still suck at it. Alas, it seems the muses are not so very strong with me.
You get interrupted often enough. At some point the Captain happens by. "Not going ashore, John? I promise we won't leave without you, you know."
The deck hand who remained on deck is evidentally bored and wishing he were ashore; he keeps engaging you in conversation. His name is Andrev, he comes from a place called Haven, and he was hoping that if he started as a deck hand he might be a captain someday, but it's not so easy as it sounds. He asks where you got the flute and where you learned to play it, where you're from and what family you've got, and a host of similarly prying questions trying to get you to talk about yourself.
--M. J. Young
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