<span style="text-decoration: underline"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">S</span>he woke up in a cold sweat.</span>Her eyes were wide open, milky-colored depths seeming small within the confines of her sclera, thick black lashes plastered against the swarthy tan of her flesh. Almost-imperceptible beads of perspiration, like pinpoints of glittering diamond decorated the same tapestry in the slowly-increasing light of the room. She felt herself gulping breaths as though she had been deprived of oxygen for most of the past minute and one hand came to her chest, as though to physically keep it from heaving. In the back of her mind, she hoped she hadn't screamed or anything before she came to consciousness. She had in the past and it lead to questions from her fellow crewmates that were... well, awkward, to say the least. Questions that were placed behind sly grins and mischevious winks, knowing stares and lecherous chuckles. She usually decided against anything beside a resigned sigh and a removal of her body from the premesis. Althea was certain her night-terror shouts were unlike anything one would moan in the throes of passion, but unsurprisingly a great many of the men here could not tell the difference. These distracting thoughts actually seemed to help her calm down.<br/><br/>Her breath finally steadied. Good. She had felt... dizzy, for lack of a better word. It seemed hard for people to believe, when a blind woman experienced "dizziness", but she felt vertigo as well as anyone who possessed their natural sight. In fact, it happened more frequently to her than they; how many of these strong, tough men would tumble to their knees if their sight suddenly failed them and the solidity beneath their feet became hidden from their gaze? It always gave her a little pulse of strength, thinking of some of these thugs dealing with a like burden. It was usually very... demeaning for them. At least, it was in her imagination. With a final deep inhalation she swung her feet to the side of her small twin-sized bed, the thin coverlets remaining rumpled on its surface as she slowly pulled herself to her feet. With confidence she stretched both hands, cupped, to the small basin on her nightstand that held a bit of water; instantly she brought the liquid to her face and felt the refreshing wave solidify her tie to consciousness. The bits of panicked sweat disappeared from her pores and the last bit of nightmare disintegrated into the freezing reality of the room.<br/><br/>Althea stretched several times, reveling in the silence of her room at this early hour, then reached for her nightstand and the velvet-lined box that housed her lifeline to the world. Her fingertips instantly found the smooth metal and flexible leather of her glasses, gingerly lifting them from their container and bringing them to her face with a tenderness usually reserved for a lover. She had to be gentle. The Archivist had told her how delicate they were, had warned her how long a single lens had taken to create. Gentle. With a well-practiced motion she set them against the cold skin of her face, her long fingers deftly securing them to her head. Two straps above her head, pressing down on the thick mass of dark wavy hair, and two against her cheeks, fitting perfectly into the tan-lines that had formed on her face. They snapped securely into place and suddenly, Althea was introduced again into the world that everyone else knew. The barest beams of sun had already broken through her window so she didn't bother with any of the lights. She could see the dark fabric of her bedspread and the gleaming metal of her furniture, the deep gray of her velvet box and bright bronze color of her shallow basin. The familiar boundaries of her small room met her gaze and she turned without much thought to her "dresser" (it was a box), her sensitive fingers pawing through the minimal amount of clothing for something suitable; it didn't take her long. She yanked on her faintly-laced garb and various leather accoutrements, easily snapping the silver and bronze-colored buckles into place with the ease of long practice, her hair tie being the last bit of the outfit; the previously untameable black mass became a domestic horsetail, draped nonchalantly over her left shoulder. She had no mirror in the little living quarters she had been assigned, but that was just as well for her. With a barely-interested glance she gave her body a once-over, checking the various bumps and bruises and occasional scratch she had secured in the tussle a few days back.<br/><br/>It wasn't like she had been a participant of the<span style="font-style: italic">real</span>party, but the entire crew had felt the ship shudder when some of those opposing strikes made contact with the<span style="font-style: italic">Horizon</span>'s hull. She could even vaguely recall being tossed from her feet as she ran, and remembered the instinctual twist to her body that always came when she could no longer feel the floor; her spine curled inward, arms coming up to fold around the delicate machinery that decorated her face. She could have taken a spire through the middle, but if her goggles were untouched she would still have considered the day a win. Althea had landed hard on her shoulder that time, but nothing had been damaged that wouldn't be completely gone in a few more days, even if it had been strangely weak after the blow. She had been lucky; not all of the crew had been in an empty hallway when the worst blast had rocked the ship. The blind woman could even remember the look on the Ship Master's face when the Captain had bolted out to lead the charge, and she could still hear his voice commanding his men with authority and surety. Well, he wasn't the Captain for his good looks, after all. Althea had learned to more or less stay out of the way as best she could in such situations, especially when the vast majority of combat occured on a ship other than this one.<br/><br/>The raven-haired apprentice gave her shoulder a few clicks in each direction, then opened the door of her tiny room and stepped into the hallway. A quick turn to the left, three more smooth steps and she was able to step out into the relatively open air, her face turning up to see the gradually-lightening blues and golds of the sky. In her memory, she could see a time when the sunrise also harbored shades of brilliant orange and tender, luminous pink aside glowing reds, a tapestry of the color spectrum against the receding darkness of night. Such a thing was for her memory only now-a-days, but she never gave it any thought; being able to see what colors she could was nothing short of a miracle. Absently she brushed a stray lock behind her ears, her movements deft and graceful as though retaining muscle-memory of her days when dancing earned her bread, and leaned against the strong railing of the deck. She was not on the Main Deck (her living quarters would hardly be so close to such a common area, she being only an apprentice), but if she looked to her left she would be able to see it and the shadow it cast lay lightly across her shoulders.<br/><br/>She heard talk of staying in Shoel for the duration of the Festival of Light. When casually asked for her opinion, no doubt with the expectation that she would sigh delightedly and offer excited, comradely banter, she had given nothing more than a shrug of nonchalance. She had little intention of joining any of the festitivies, even if she were booted from the<span style="font-style: italic">Horizon</span>while it underwent the repairs. Althea never took very much pleasure in the questioning stares and the too-loud whispers, the loud children who pestered their parents with queries as she walked by or the handsome men and beautiful women that skipped over her as though she were invisible to speak to the charming young things with the open faces and pretty eyes. She didn't miss the lecherous grabs or propositions from the more oafish men, of course, but it would have been good for her self-esteem for a good-looking person -or any stranger, really- to at least<span style="font-style: italic">see</span>her, as a person, rather than coast their eyes past as though she were a lamp-post, or fix her with a gaze usually reserved for strange-looking animals. It was something that she did not often find off of the<span style="font-style: italic">Ocean Horizon</span>.  But again, it was not something she usually dwelt on, being grateful as she was for her sight; a choice between seeing a sunrise or attention from strangers was not a choice at all.<br/><br/>Pushing the thoughts of "fun" to the back of her mind, she gave a confident spin on her heel and headed to the kitchens. Her heavy boots were surprisingly soft on the ice-cold boards beneath, and her boyish hips swayed slightly with her measured step, the occasional strand of onyx hair catching in the draft of her movement. As per her usual morning routine, she intended to fetch some breakfast for the Ship Master and then slip off to the bridge. Althea had been requested to<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>enter Master Pyke's quarters during the morning, and later been requested that she also not wait right outside the door, both delivered with a day a few years back. A barely-perceptible half-smile quirked her dark lips as she walked, but disappeared after a second. The kitchens were not close to her quarters, since she had declined to sleep in the bunk with a fairly large assortment of male crew members and opted for a glorified closet, and she had a bit of a walk ahead. Her steps still echoed in the stillness of the morning, but she could hear the growing sounds of a crew coming to life as she moved.