(no subject)

[bringmethatnpc]

It is the middle of first watch, several hours after sundown, and the Edinburgh Trader is charting a steady course through the star-speckled dark waters. The men not on watch are sleeping as soundly as they can, and more than one man on duty stifles a yawn and thinks longingly of his hammock.

But sleep is not the only thing on the men's minds. A thorough search of the ship had produced neither hide nor hair of a young lady without her clothes on, and as a result the whispers of witchcraft and ghosts have started again. Very quietly, of course -- no man wants to face the Captain's temper -- but even the most seasoned sailors are doubly alert to every creak and groan of the ship.

Comments

[try_corsets]

Oh for-

How did they miss the lantern? Knocking it over with the dress had taken no small amount of effort, and Elizabeth is rather proud of her plan. The men, however, show no signs of moving away from the rail. Abruptly losing her patience, Elizabeth sets aside her fishing wire puppet strings, sighs with frustration and begins to swing down to the deck below.

[bringmethatnpc]

You'd think the sailors might notice a decidedly non-ghostly body swinging through the rigging above them.

You'd be wrong, however, because every last man of them is clustered around the starboard rail, squinting down at the dark sea.

"Look there!" cries one. "There’s the sign!"

"I see it!" shouts the man next to him.

"That’s seaweed," protests another.

"Seaweed could be a sign."

"Like entrails," one bright lad puts in.

"That’d be a bad sign," someone says wisely.

In the gabble, the soft thud of Elizabeth's landing is entirely lost.

[try_corsets]

Elizabeth plops down on a barrel and kicks her feet out to keep her balance, turning to check on the burning lamp oil.

Lowering her voice, she calls out, "What’s that over there?"

A small, barely noticeable smile plays about her lips as she leans over to get a better look.

[bringmethatnpc]

To a man, they all turn round, and hurry over to where the lad is sitting.

The sight that awaits them reminds more than a few of them, Bellamy included, of the Bible story of Daniel and the doomed king of Babylon -- specifically, of the fiery letters written upon a wall that spelled the proud ruler's terrible fate. The sign blazing upon the Edinburgh Trader's deck is nowhere near as terrifying as that wrought by the hand of the Lord, but it burns its way into the minds of every man present to see it.

TORTUGA.