Willis had woken up groggily, with his wits scattered and his head hammering. Sitting up with a groan, he rubbed his eyes and tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered the captain saying something about departing, but everything else was fuzzy.<br/><br/>"Well don't you look piss poor." One of his fellow crew members laughed.<br/><br/>"And you don't look any better." Willis replied, trudging to the upper decks, hoping the air would clear his head.<br/><br/>The opposite was true. The sunlight streaming through the clouds nearly caused the man to retreat to the darkness below, but he went on, leaning against the railing as his stomach rolled. Quite a sight, a sailor looking every bit like a seasick dog.<br/><br/>That had been a few days previous. Since then, the crew had gotten more or less in shape, a few continuing  to drink themselves sick even with warnings from the captain and other shipmates. It had finally come the day when they were set to leave on their grand transatlantic voyage. Willis was among the few men milling about the top deck, getting as much time in the fresh air, if one could call it that, as they could, knowing they wouldn't be getting much once they hit open sea.<br/><br/>Hearing his name bellowed by the captain, Willis made his way to the man who was already asking about the state of the lower decks. Stopping in front of him, Willis saluted before making his report.<br/><br/>"She's good to go capt'n. Freshly stocked just this morning, we should be good until we reach the opposite shore with an extra two weeks provisions."<br/><br/>He had overseen the stocking of the coal himself, being one of the few 'lucky' enough to deal with it on a nearly daily basis. Usually it would have been one of the first mates or such making such reports to the captain, but with the number of healthy, and willing crew, the numbers and positions filled were dwindling.