Bracing herself to the rail to steady her aim with a method she'd endlessly practiced, she began to bring her view closer, and closer to the cabin of the blimp. She could see the men hurriedly dashing around, legs and arms dashing past portholes as fires were futilely fought and a dying ship's crew desperately tried to keep it afloat. The heading that the great dirigible bore made for a rather difficult firing angle. Windows of opportunity for shots were far slimmer than had it been a full broadside encounter. Still, she was sure she could pick off an officer or two. Judas recommended they save their ammunition, which perhaps made sense for Carrie's warpiece, since even the anti-personnel shots that thing fired were bound to be wholly rare and expensive. For a simple rifle shell, though? She could take potshots at the hull of their vessel all day and still hardly dent the ship's ammo stores.<br/><br/>That said, she still felt a little conflicted, which led her to glance back over her shoulder at the senior Caster again as she hesitated. If she took the shots, what was she saying about herself? Was she saying she thought little of the man's advice? Was she saying that she was bloodthirsty, and killed just for the pleasure of killing? Sure, the ship was going to crash, but there could be survivors. What if her shots meant the Redlochs could not organize themselves quickly enough to take any shots at their flotilla? Grunting quietly in spite of her own mental arguments, she looked down her sights again and, in another moment, found the first officer of the enemy ship.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">There,</span>" she whispered to herself. The man disappeared behind a panel of hull, a moment later. "<span style="font-style: italic">Shhh, shhh, shhh. It's okay. Come out, little boy. It's bedtime.</span>"<br/><br/>As she tried to keep her aim leveled on the airship as it began to rise above them, there would be half a dozen times where the first mate would show, but not the right parts of him, or he'd come into full view when she wasn't zeroed on him, only to disappear through a plume of smoke when she finally drew a bead on him. She was patient, even as the ship beneath her rumbled and swerved, and even as her moments of chance were whittling by. Even as her arm and shoulders began to ache from holding the gun at a precise angle for a prolonged period. "♫<span style="font-style: italic">Beouy bha anginme... Te b'bei...</span>♫" she quietly sung, and as though by magic, her target showed himself, and seemed to stand there, as though he was beginning to give in to the despair of his situation. Her sights fell upon his head as he looked around. Mary began to ease back on the trigger.<br/><br/>"...what are Fleshpeckers, again?" she suddenly heard, and was stolen from her self-induced trance. She brought her sight from the gun just as her last opportunity to fire had passed. She shot a partially annoyed look back at the burning ship, but at least the enemy had not managed to get any shots off at them. It seemed there was a more pressing concern at hand.<br/><br/>"Fleshpeckers?" Stalwart repeated, pulling away from the gunwale and jogging forward. She brought her gun back up to get a look at the flying creatures that were soaring towards them. She saw them in all their detail, and hissed her breath. These things would not be nearly as satisfying to kill as Redlochs, but at the moment, the need was far higher. They'd be in firing range very soon, but it would take more than a couple of smart shots to put this threat at bay.