"EVEN THE MEAN ONE, SIR!"Mtumbwi turns to Bazsil. "Is the dwarf always that grumpy? Other one seems nice enough. No matter, you get hurt and I can heal you. You don't have to go to that one for a heal. No one seems to have manners these days."
"He means me," says Ciaran. "Although I can see why you'd think he was talking about Bazsil."
"Yeah, I mean him!" Elon yells in agreement, but then looks puzzled. "Wait... you agree to be the mean one?" Elon asks skeptically.
Not even waiting for an answer, Elon turns to Baszil. "Don't go to this joke to get heals. Mine are better and this guy doesn't even know what a yak is! Uncultured swine, he is!"
"Thought it was an antelope. Who can blame me? They all look the same to me."
"Your heals are better then mine. That's a laugh.
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"Well, what can you offer?" The captain looks expectantly at each specialist in turn.
The halfling fidgets uncomfortably in his chair while the others speak and offer up the ways in which they might help. As each speak of truly impressive and useful talents they possess, Wrigley begins to feels inadequate beside them. When Elon, beside the halfling, finishes jabbing fun at Ciarán, and just after hearing the mysterious Mtumbwi chime in, the youth decides it is at last his turn to speak up.
"Well, Captain," he says, feeling ill at ease with his lackluster abilities, weak strength, and general lack of knowledge about surviving at sea. There is twinge of fear for the youth, fearing the Captain may reconsider his offer to let Wrigley be part of the crew, and at last inevitably realizing that the halfling, in fact, doesn't have much to offer. He questions if Captain Barbarosa will end up looking upon Wrigley as his father had done.
"I relatively skilled at reading the weather, though I don't claim to be a expert by any stretch. Also, my eyes are quite sharp... keener than some, worse than others," he explains, his usual peppy voice sounding dull and unsure at this moment. "Sadly I am not very strong, or even that good at climbing. Or even that nimble."
"You will probably laugh at me for saying this," he adds. "But another way I might be able to help... well... is that I could play..." he nudges the lute resting against his chair. "I could play for the crew. I could keep them entertained, for starters. But also, sometimes, when I play well enough, people hearing my music can find inner strength and skill they didn't even know was within them."
He laughs a little, "If I can play well enough, that is."
He sits for a moment, and then voices a final thought with a deadpan countenance, "And if the ship sinks, I promise to keep playing until she goes under."
Bazsil turns his blackened eye to Elon, then to Ciaran. He shrugs at Ciaran.
"Dwarf, sometimes I wonder which bulb is dimmer: you or your plant," Bazsil says laughing. "You both can heal me as much as you want if I am foolish enough to get hurt again."
Gado shrinks into his chair, allowing everyone else to take center stage, in the hopes that the important jobs are all claimed before everyone gets around to him.
I'm an academic! I study books! Maybe I can study a book about why sailing into a 100 year old, stationary hurricane is a terrible idea!. Oh who am I kidding...
He clears his throat after everyone else has gone before him. "I, uh... I never did ask how this boat was propelled while underwater. I mentioned to Bazsil I would try to find out. We were both curious. If there is some magic about what keeps the ship together and sailing, as it were, I am rather keen at identifying weaknesses, strengths, and failure modes in the ley lines."
"I've really spent most my time with my nose buried in a book. I can give you, Captain, the ability to levitate, so you are not tossed about with the rolling deck in the storm. I can create an invisible servant that will obey your commands for several hours, though its physical uses are not much different than my own."
"I may not be able to climb ropes and pull on sails or hoist beams to stop leaks, but I am rather agile, and I could serve as a messenger, both with arcane whispers and by being a runner when the chop gets heavy."
With that, Gado sits down. It feels like he should mention more, but there simply isn't much more he can do. At least, more that he can do well. Knowing about the denziens of the planes and the intricacies of competing schools of magic won't do any good here.
"Yer a bulb!" Elon remarks as Bazsil tries to make him feel bad. "And now you can't have any tasty treats once I am done growing them. So there." Elon says before sticking out his tongue and looking for some stew that doesn't involve fish before they rejoin the Audacious.
Bazsil turns his blackened eye to Elon, then to Ciaran. He shrugs at Ciaran.
Ciaran shrugs back.
"If I - or anyone else - is to be up in the crow's nest while we try to steer through the Eye, Captain, it would be of great help to have an arcane means of communication with the deck. Gado's abilities would be very useful there.
"Someone will need to keep the animals calm too, if it'll be as rough as everyone says."
"Excellent!" Barbarosa cheers when the specialists have described their abilities .
"Helpin' the injured get back on their feet will be most useful, Elon. Thank ye." The captain pats the dwarf on his shoulder.
"Not much cause for fishing in a storm as you say, Bazsil, but climbing and scampering and looking out will be most valuable," he gives the man a stern but somehow sympathetic look, "Let us hope we don't need ye to swim!
"Ye're a brave man to offer to climb the crow's nest in a storm, Ciarán," the captain nods appreciatively, "The mast will slip down when we submerge, but I could still use some eyes above decks. Looking at the compass and ahead. It'll be a rough ride... but I believe if anyone is stubborn enough t'hold on, it's you! Ha!
"And Mtumbwi! I'm sorry to have hurt you, my friend," the captain seems sincere, "Your skills are well known to me and will be valued as ever. We owe The Audacious herself to your fine craftsmanship."
Barbarosa smiles as the ever modest Wrigley finishes his 'meager' offerings, "An understanding of the natural world is ever helpful at sea, Wrigley. It will be good to have yer brain on my side. More importantly, though, I would never underestimate the importance of a good sea shanty! Keeps everyone working in time. You'll do fine.
"Gado, I wouldn't worry about running around - we've got plenty of deckhands for that. Your encyclopedic knowledge of... 'most everything... is plenty to offer," Barbarosa grins, "But I'm glad you've got some spells that will help out, too! Great t'hear."
Barbarosa stands on the table, holding two enormous bottles of rum, "Now, "
* * *
The following morning, three burly and well-armed men smartly salute the captain on the deck as he rises from his quarters with a severe hangover. "Who the bloody hell are you three?!"
Beaming at the praise Barbarosa gives him, he grabs a drink off the tray and downs it in two large gulps.
"EEERRRUUUBBBTTT" be belches loudly before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and placing the glass down on a relatively flat surface, then Mtumbwi claps his hands together.
"After so long on board, I am in the mood to fight and to fock. In either order. I know of a cock-fighting pit not too far from here. Wouldn't mind seeing some action, throw a few coppers, maybe a silver or two down. Who is with me? And Mr. Harlan focking Sparrow the IV." Mtumbwi eyes goes wide for a moment. "The 4th! Is that why you focking love numbers so damn much? Because you have a number in your thrice dammed name? Well no matter, your with me. Gonna make you into a proper shipwright."
Mtumbwi stands up on wobbly legs already and heads for the door tugging Harlan with him.
Of course it is a cock fight. Is *everything* phallic with this guy? Surprised he didn't carve a penis in the prow. And how in the hell am I going to become a better shipwright watching animals peck themselves to death?
"So when I was building The Audacious, wanted to carve a huge penis in the prow, you know to show we are manly men. Captain said 'No'. 'What if we have a lady a aboard?'. I don't know about you Aeslin, but I thought it was a nice touch of class. But whatever."
Gratum stands, places a hand over his chest in the form of a fist, and streches out the other hand as he extends that arm forward. "I was the King's engineer, my skills are with metals, stone and earth. While a boat is made of wood, it functions on the same principles, if more wobbly, that a mine does. I can assist Mtumbwi with my skills, and although I may not have the greatest of sea going stomachs, I can step true in a hurry, and hear as well as elves claim to see."
"Gratum! Good of you to speak up, man... err, dwarf," the captain winks, "Your building and engineering nouse is exactly why you were hired. Just make sure Mtumbwi doesn't see you if you decide to tinker while he's not there! I'd hate to see you suffer a foot insertion like Harlan did - that'd make you sicker'n the worst sea sickness.... or cure it! Ha!"
I wonder if Mtumbwi is going to the cock fight so he can 'see some action' or so he can 'fock'? Probably both. I am so glad I dictated the aesthetics of my ship to that man rather than going with his suggestions. Your instincts served you well, there, Rory. Very well.
Aeslin hadn't been seen for a good long time. Perhaps it was she disappeared Port Godless. Perhaps it was because she hadn't left her room in days. It was probably the latter, as Pascal had finally come out of her spell, and was avoiding her like the plague. Meals were brought, things were cleaned, but no words were exchanged.
She was spending all of her time learning... which is what she loved to do best. While she was doing that, Sebastian would roam The Audacity looking for trouble, but also making sure someone looked in on his person.
Scrolls and tomes of ancient Azlant were spread throughout her room, as sh tried to learn everything there was about this strange place they were going. Still, she could not find mention of an island within the Eye of Abendego... it would have had to have been there before storm started, wouldn't it? This dilemma ate at her, so she had to find the answer. She knew it was there, somewhere, in the books. She would find it.
But, perhaps the answer was on the island. Wait, was that Captain Barbarosa's voice? Wasn't she supposed to be somewhere? She gathered her things, quickly, and dashed to the captain's table.
"Well, what can you offer?"
She raised her hand, quietly squirming in her seat, as if saying 'pick me! pick me!'. An annoyed look crosses her face, as others just speak up, without being picked. How rude were they? Then, it appeared that her turn had arrived. "Thank you, Captain, I am sure there are many things that I could do to help. I know that this ship, The Audacious is not a ship made purely of wood... but also of very powerful magics. If we are being pummeled by the storm, I would imaging that the sheer magnitude of the elemental forces would put a strain on the magicks that hold the hull together. Or perhaps the arcane engine that you use to drive this ship through the water, instead of the winds. I am quite skilled at the analysis and operation of magical devices, determining the nature of dweomers, and perhaps even correcting the same.
"Additionally, perhaps if things get really rough, I will be able to lend a little luck to the pilot, to make sure the ship is steered perfectly!"
Elon proceeds to get proper drunk and starts to feed his alcohol to pirate yak, choosing to keep Barley adorned in his proper First Mate attire. "We-sshh need more ale!" he yells, slurring his words as he upends his mug, showing only dregs hitting the floor.
Elon yells as he slaps Baszil on the back. He chuckles to himself before explaining the joke to the man. "Get it? ... Cause yer a bulb an' bulbs need water. It'ssshhh a plant joke."
Aeslin and Gratum finally speak up well after Elon has drown himself in grog and Barley laps at his bowl of mead. He's a yak of discerning taste...
Elon hops on the table and starts handing out mugs of ale to everyone. First to Aeslin! "You get a beer!" Second to Gratum! "You get a beer!" He then falls down with a thud on the table, knocking over drinks and such. "EVERYONE GETS A BEER!"
'If only she had learned Slumber Hex like I told her to.'
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Gado stumbles outside, his head spinning, and his legs crossed.
"Ohhhh... wheressssss a pissssser when ye need one?"
he says to a passerby giving him a strange look. *Hic* "Thaaaat means I've got to piss. I'm gonna do that. Now. Over here. *Hic*"
Gado continues to stumble over towards the alley, nearly falling as he uses the building to hold himself up. Finally around the corner, he hoists his robes and lets loose.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh"
"...The shipment comes in before dawn. On a skiff with a red X painted on the back. Get it right you dolts...
A dark figure, cloaked and hooded turns his attention to the drunk, skinny man pissing on the corner of the building, who suddenly appeared out of no where. Three burly and well-armed men turn their attention from this robed figure to Gado, the unfortunate drunk who is apparently in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Aahhhhhh *Hic* I'm havin a sssssslash?" Gado responds, wobbling back and forth before smashing his face against the wall for support, forgetting to use his hands.
"WhaadderYou doin 'ere, Mate?" He says with a giggle, thinking himself clever.
"Ohhh... Something illegal huh." He slurrs, his manhood still in one hand while the other lazily points at the thug.
"Don't worry, mate *Hic!* Yeeer secret's safe with me. I'm done now, I just gotta go back inside..." And Gado turns around to head back the way he came.
"Oh of all the stupid focking things to happen now, on a night like tonight. Really? Hey blockheads! What the fock am I paying you for?! Get him! We can't take any chances. I've been waiting to long for this."
At the command of the mysterious figure, three burly and well-armed men shrug their shoulders and move to put their hands on the drunk wizard. The reach out, thinking him to be an easy target....
In the blink of an eye, Gado is 2 paces backwards, and out of the reach of the three burly and well-armed men.
"Hey hey hey hey boys. You gotta buy me a few drinkssss before you can get frisky. And you have to not have penisessese. Thats a pretty important one there. And you can't be a eunuch. Guess I should cover my bases. I've just gotta get back to my friends here, no harm no foul right?"
Gado's heart rate skyrockets as he realizes the apparent danger he might have gotten himself into.
Wait, I mean
The skinny lorekeeper goes to take another frightened step back, but falls down instead.
"Did he say he was paying you? I don't like getting punched and kicked and killed... How much is he paying you?" The little man squeaks out as the three burly and well-armed men close in, hands extended.
Gado shouts again, hoping someone will answer.
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"I can't believe you'd call for him and not for me. My whole purpose on this damn cruise is to protect you all. Aroden's death, you people annoy me."
Ciaran looms out of the alley mouth. His voiced is a little thick with alcohol and the broken nose, but he still manages a reasonable line in menace.
"I warn you three. I've had a good day, and I'm out drinking with my friends. Well, colleagues. You don't want to turn this into a bad day."
Ciaran cracks his knuckles.
"You won't like me when I'm angry."
As Ciaran puts up a valiant stand, a yak nearly knocks him over as it charges into the closest man.
"MOOOOOOOOOOO!" bellows Barley as he charges into the man trying to harm the small, brunette fellow.
"Caw!" yells Elon as he leaps from Barley's back when the charging happens. "He is our man! Bow and grovel for his pleasure!" Elon yells, quite drunk.
"YES! Grovel for him. Worship the small man as your god!" he continues as he holds his scythe to one of the thug's necks.
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"YES! Grovel for him. Worship the small man as your god!" he continues as he holds his scythe to one of the thug's necks.
Bazsil grovels before the Beardgod, dark visions of Arboreal Antlered doom swimming before his eyes.
On his knees, he obeys, vomiting streams of regurgitated, over-alcoholed bile leaving his system.
Oh BeardGod, *retch* deliver me from this pain *retch* in my stomach and I shall worship your mighty *retch**retch**retch*...
Bazsil groans.
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"What have have you gotten us into, Gado?" Wrigley steps behind the lorekeeper and places a hand on his shoulder. In his opposite hand, the halfling holds a cup of tea with a wisp of steam rising from the liquid. With his magical ring, it was true that he no longer felt the need or desire to eat to sustain himself, but even so, he couldn't pass up on the chance to enjoy the sweet aroma of vudrani tea. "These look a rough and tumble sort of crew, not quite the type of people I'd expect you to be associating with."
"Bazsil doesn't look like he doing so well. In fact, you don't look so hot yourself," he adds, looking at the looming and menacing figures squaring off against Elon, Barley, Ciaran, and Bazsil. "I don't suppose there is a way we could all calm down and talk this out like gentleman?"
"In fact," Wrigley says, turning toward the barman. "A round of drinks for the newcomers. They look like fancy chaps, how about a couple glasses of chelish red?"
"Yea! See! I've got friends too!" The disheveled and rapidly sobering Gado frantically says.
"You've got a dilemma on your hands." He says, standing up and brushing off his robes.
"You've been given orders by your employer. But what is an employer, right? Just the person who pays you. Look, I know a guy. We can make this really easy on you. If you have to listen to what your current employer says, you aren't going to be happy when you wake up tomorrow morning, if you wake up at all, if you catch my drift.
You look pretty smart, and burly, and well armed. Whaddya say you switch employers, join my side? I don't really give a hot pile of Bazsil's puke what that skiff is your creepy boss is talking about. We are shipping out tomorrow. Decent chance of death, high chance of the most gold you have ever seen in your life. And you don't have to get the snot kicked out of you by Ciarin and Barley the Yak... er, first mate.
Just back down, walk the other way, and meet us at the docks bright and early. Captain will have your orders for you first thing. We good? yea?"
Gado continues to back away nervously. When he finishes he ducks back into the bar, not really waiting for an answer. All he wanted to do was get out of that fist fight unscathed.
Mission Accomplished he thinks, his dizziness coming back suddenly after the adrenaline wears off.
"Oi! Crikey you stupid lugs! What the fock am I paying you for? Get back here! Get..." The creepy, hooded figure chases after the three burly and well armed men as they walk away.
"I gave each of you a 2 silver down payment, and double that payed when ye finish the job! Whats this place coming to when ye can't get good help these days! Hey, I'm talking to...."
*Ker-Splash*
Three burly and well-armed men chuckle to each other as they continue to walk into the darkness while a dark, hooded figure bobs and sputters in the cold water of the harbor.
Elon pats Baszil on the back as the thugs leave and leans down to help the man up. "Boom! That'sh how we do it!" Elon garbles. "Oi! Blokes! Yer not gonna drink with us-sh?!" he yells as the stout men walk away. Shrugging, he turns to his bunkmate.
"The fight has-sh purged Baszil of his-sh fear and shobered me up!" he proclaims as he carries the vomitorium back into the tavern. "We need a Mwangi Rally Potion, barkeep! One ground chicken gizzhard, two dassh... dassh... bitsh of fire pepper puree, two shots-sh of yer worst rum and an egg yolk!"
Once the bartender crafts his drink and requests ten gold for the pleasure, Elon mixes it well and cracks open Baszil's gullet and lets it all pour in.
Bazsil groans, trying to wipe the spittle from his face. With his other hand, he signals submission, trying to end the fight he's already lost.
"No...no more drink. No more..." Bazsil's head rolls around as if Bazsil can barely control it.
"This-sh'll help you rally!" Elon says as he basically drowns the man in the drink. "Drink it down for glory! FOR GLORY!" he yells as the crowd in the bar yells it back, cheering and clanging their beverages together.
Captain Barbarosa listens to the explanations regarding these three fellows, and shakes his head, "Well, I haven't approved it. We might need muscle, but they can stay here in... Mtumbwi... why are we moving?"
Barbarosa seems to notice for the first time that The Audacious had already left port... on his orders... about five hours ago.
"Well, I guess we're keeping 'em then! Next stop, the Eye of Abendego and certain fūcking death! Ha!" the captain cries, suddenly in good spirits. He leaps up the stairs to take the wheel, grins... has a funny expression come over his face, backs off a few steps, leans over the stern, pukes and then returns to the wheel.
Bazsil groans, barely lifting his head up from the table. He doesn't recall leaving the bar, the mercenaries, or the dwarf sticking anything in his mouth, let alone down his throat. He doesn't recall how he got back to the ship, nor how he has a second black eye. The only thing he recalls is how badly he wants to die still.
Bazsil joins the Captain is a dry heaving vomit over the edge before returning to his bunk. He vows to never drink again to several different gods, both real and imagined.
Some hours later, Mtumbwi,a cock under each arm, and Harlan Sparrow IV emerge from an alley door in a billow of feathers and loud cursing. Closing the door, the sounds fade into the silence of night except for the occasional 'Cluck' emanating from one of the cocks.
Turning right, they see the 'specialists' in all their glory. They both quickly turn to the left and circle back towards the ship.
"I can't believe you. I cannot understand how you kept winning and didn't ask for more gold. What are you gong to do with those cocks?"
S&@!, why did I ask him that? Now he is going to tell me.
"Well you see, once Three Cocks sees these beautiful birds, we are golden with eggs, and chickens for the rest of the voyage. Going to ask that dwarf that is always elbow deep in s@#+ to help me breed these birds. Come back here and rule the circuit. Make myself a boat bigger and better than The Audacious if I can."
Mtumbwi approaches Elon. The Mwgani man holds a sack that is squirming and emitting 'clucking' noises. "Hey dwarf with the stag for a friend. Care to help me with a little project. Take a look at my cocks." He spills the bags contents onto the floor. "What me some championship peckers."
"Yeah, captain, took off a while ago. Where the new guys going to bunk? They can't have my space. Already tight that all those creams and salves from the man with the curls, and book from the kid, and well, the plants are a bit much."
Gado knows he will be called to the deck soon enough. He volunteered to be a runner. He was sure his book smarts wouldn't be useful, but the Captain said they would, and they had enough runners. That was a relief of sorts, perhaps he could just tie himself down near the captain and answer questions as they came up. Who knows. All he knew was that he only had a little bit more time to hide belowdecks and work on his scrolls. He didn't actually even have much left to work on, so mostly he just practiced penstrokes. Something about it was calming to him, despite the crazy storm he knew they were sailing into, on purpose.
Oooohhh.... You will survive Gado... You will Survive.
The bookish archaeologist ducked out of the party early, to spend more time investigating how the ship worked. If she was going to be called to fix the magic, she would need to know how it worked!
"Pas-! Get Gado in here! I need to talk to him about this dweomer, and see if he agrees with my assessment! Don't take 'No' for an answer!"
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Deep in the belly of The Audacious Gratum works to calm his nerves.
By Torag's forge, we hammer
bits of gold, we pound
all to prise, the glory
all to Torag, our Pa.
By working bits of metal into a small statue, and chanting hymns to Torag; the Dwarf is able to forego the extensive amounts of drinking (though not altogether) to prepare for the oncoming storm.
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The halfling stands poised near the front of the vessel, and looks off, almost absentmindedly. His thought is consumed by the prospect of plunging headlong into the greatest storm this world has ever seen, and, hopefully, being one of a select few that has actually survived such a voyage. As Wrigley looks about the vessel he reaches back and slowly pulls free his lute. With a shake of his head, as if trying to fight away the doubts and fears of what may lay ahead, he begins to strum upon the instrument.
As a melody soon begins to develop, he knows others aboard must harbor the same doubts as he, and so begins to sing loud enough for them to hear. Usually, he would only play and let the instrument speak for itself, but now he wanted the others to join in. And so he sang, steady and deliberate, setting a pace and tempo by which the crew might work to.
"Now we are ready to head for the Horn," Wrigley's voice calls out hauntingly.
"Way, ay, roll an' go!" the surrounding crew joins in.
"Our boots an' our clothes boys are all in the pawn," the halfling's voice rises up again.
"Timme rollickin' randy dandy O!" the crew echoes back.
"Heave a pawl, oh, heave away,"
"Way, ay, roll an' go!"
"The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored,"
"Timme rollickin' randy dandy O!"
The song continued as the ship rolled ever closer to the storm created at the time of Aroden's passing, the veritable death knell of a god made physical and perpetual on the natural world. It seemed an unspoken law that mortals were not meant to breach the eye and a blasphemy should they even attempt its crossing...
And yet they dared.
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The past week has been fairly pleasant. After successfully navigating past the pirate-infested Shackles, the sea calmed and The Audacious experienced nothing but smooth sailing ever since.
Then, upon the morning of the 28th day of Sarenith, the horizon darkened. A whirl of electricity and rain could be seen even from this great distance. Within minutes of spotting the storm, all those above decks feel an unseasonably cold, strong cross-wind whip at their clothing.
"There she is!" cries Barbarosa from his position at the wheel, "The Eye of Abendego! This unnatural bastard child of Gozreh is going to try to sink us, but we have a bastard of Gozreh ourself on board! Stations, everyone! This is going to be the most tumultuous ride of your fūcking lives! If you haven't already made peace with your gods, too bad - there's no time to do it now! Ha! Stop lollygagging. "
Hearing the call to stations far above, Gratum douses the small fire with the drops of ale left in his mug. Then puts away his tools, and places a small unfinished statuette into a drawer.
"Torag, this isn't done, and it isn't grand like your priests can forge, but please, if it comes to it, have a word with Gozreh to keep us safe... so I may finish."
Aeslin makes her way to the library in front, and spends the time studying, unless she is called to help. She plans to stay out of the way, unless told to do otherwise.
Elon and Barley rush into the dining hall and the dwarf pushes off all of the eating utensils and bowls of fish stew. Ugghhh... he thinks as it splatters on the ground.
"The dining ha... The makeshift clinic is ready for the Eye, Captain!" he bellows out of the doorway. "Got the table cleared for impromptu surgery, if need be Captain!"
Barley sees everyone running around and moos. "Mooooooo!"
Platonius decides it best to stay in the bunks, making sure the rats and Elon's pet cobra don't escape. Plus, probably safest here... he muses.
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Elon begins to bark out orders to the three new recruits. "Oi! Fisheye! Aid the tall one with the hair!" he barks as the half-orc with bulging eyes seems to be lost on the ship.
Elon's eye catches the gillman trying to anchor himself to the mast. "Chicken Gizzard! This ain't an odyssey! Get to the Captain and see if he needs help!"
Barley looks around and sees a set of cowering legs under the freshly "cleaned" table. He proceeds to move around and yakbutt the offending rumpus in front of him.
"Mooo!"
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"Oi! Sea Legs! Why're ye hiding under the table! All hands on deck means all hands! You have hands, don't you!?" he berates the man who looks like he is going to be sick.