Groaning loudly and for far longer than was strictly necessary, the Crow slowly woke up in the same way as he always did on an unpleasant day - several hours earlier than he intended to. The Rotsman's detestable crew had already begun raising a cacophony of unintelligible shouts, clanging weapons, and other assorted sounds of labor which quickly killed any hope he might have had to drift comfortably back into unconsciousness. Stretching his legs, and noting that there was still a sleeping woman occupying the better half of his already claustrophobic living space, he checked the contents of the box lying at his side. Surprisingly, it was untouched, containing the same quantities of valuable jewelry that he had meticulously counted the day before. That was good, at least - he was in no mood to be chasing down thieves or explaining to the captain why he wasn't manning his post in order to do so. Usually that wasn't a concern so early in the morning when nearly the entire crew was so often drained of energy and coming to terms with a returning feeling of sobriety, but something was different, and he dreaded just what it might be.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Crow!</span>" the captain's voice shouted out from somewhere in the crowd below. "I've just had a wonderful idea!"<br/><br/>In an instant, Ganelon's blood turned to ice. He dared not look Rotter in the face as he nervously shouted back his reply.<br/><br/>"An idea about what, captain?"<br/><br/>"You're going to deliver my gifts to the Pirate Queen! Come down and look - I've just the thing to take you to her with at least a minimal chance of survival."<br/><br/>"Ye'd send yer only lookout to deliver a meager<span style="font-style: italic">box</span>? Better t' have me burn the whole ship down and spare us all the embarrassment of gettin' caught off guard while I'm away! I've an important job here, captain!" he lied through his teeth. Regrettably, it didn't seem to be working.<br/><br/>"Get your blasted feet down here, Crow! We have spotted her ship, so we don't need you to spot it anymore! You'll deliver the message, or you'll deliver, ehm, your dead corpse, is what you will!"<br/><br/>That was enough to lure the Crow's head over the side of his post, affording him an excellent view of a deck which was presently divided by one of the Flying Rotsman's partially unfolded spare sails - a somewhat common sight during special occasions, as the captain often demanded that his crew swap them out with black colored equivalents to appear more menacing. In all the years of the Rotsman's long history, not once had anyone managed to successfully explain to him that every sail aboard the ship was identical to the others, and most had long since given up trying. This time, however, he seemed particularly excited about the billowing sheet of cloth being prepared by his crew.<br/><br/>"It's a brand new invention! It's a sail, which I obviously did not invent, even if I am old, but I have reinvented its function. By holding unto the corners it will trap the air beneath it as you plummet 900 feet to your death, lifting you up and allowing you to fly to her ship, land relatively safely and deliver my peace offerings. It's the same principle that allows The Rotsman to fly, only without the djinn magic I grafted into the bow."<br/><br/>...Of course. The task couldn't have been something tedious, inappropriate, or simply demeaning. No, it had to be deadly. The reality of just why he was the only sane one aboard the Rotsman was very quickly making itself known to him, although as he swung over the ledge and began climbing down the rat lines, he began to wonder if he even deserved that title himself. Foolishly, he still believed he could talk the captain down.<br/><br/>"There must be others that can do it, surely!"<br/><br/>"Plenty, but I am sure this will never work, and the only man with hopes of flying is surely a crow. Yes, your name is suddenly working against you, isn't it? Now you will fly, Crow, or you will fall. You're going over the railings today, it's only a matter how fast you'll fa- Is the bird on!?"<br/><br/>Without provocation, Captain Rotter spun about and began yelling at a pirate carrying his precious Andalusian starling. Ganelon opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to reclaim his attention, but two pairs of burly arms grabbed him by the shoulders - promptly cutting themselves on the knives affixed to his coat - and dragged him to the deck amidst no small amount of agitated cursing. They then took hold of his ankles and wrists, and began to tie one of the four corners of the spare sail to each. As the crew practically carried him over to the edge of the ship, someone in the crowd shoved two small boxes against his chest with excessive force, which he clutched instinctively while stumbling forwards.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Captain!</span>Ye'd kill me over this? Damn yer best man to a watery grave over a bloody<span style="font-style: italic">message</span>?!"<br/><br/>"Stop complaining, Crow, and get on with it!", the captain shouted over his shoulder.<br/><br/>"Fine, then!" he screamed back, tossing both boxes over the side of the ship with as much concern as could be expected from a dead man. "See what I think of your blasted<span style="font-style: italic">gifts!</span>I'll have my revenge for this, bastard, even if I have t' crawl out've Davy Jones' locker itself t-oof!"<br/><br/>The sensation of a man's boot striking Ganelon's chest was quickly replaced with that of the wind rushing past his face. As he gradually came to his senses, it became quite apparent that he was falling head-first towards the sea, with only a small speck of brown to differentiate the otherwise featureless blue expanse beneath him. The sail that was tied to his limbs caught wind and painfully snapped them backwards, dramatically slowing his descent just as he started to pick up speed, but not to a level which felt even remotely comfortable or safe. The sheer weight of the Crow's clothing was acting in direct competition with the breadth of his sail, bringing him ever closer to what he could only assume was the Pervy Freedom in spite of the wind's attempts to divert his course. In a sense, that was both good and bad - he was still falling at a dangerous speed, but if he landed in the ocean, he would likely sink and drown, and he had no control over either outcome.<br/><br/>...In retrospect, it was mostly bad. Once again he cursed Captain Rotter under his breath, and immediately regretted opening his mouth to do so as the frigid air rushed in to choke him. With no small amount of effort, he pulled his wrists towards each other and unsheathed two knives in preparation to cut his bindings before they became the death of him. He was still too high up to even consider freeing himself, but that was merely a matter of time.<br/><br/>Slowly but surely, the Pirate Queen's ship came into focus through his blurred, watery eyes. There was some commotion amongst the crew which did not seem directly related to the fact that there was a man falling out of the sky over their heads, but he had far more pressing matters occupying his thoughts than concerns about what event could possibly be more significant. When he was only a few seconds from passing the Pervy Freedom's mast, he spun his daggers around and cut through the sail tied to his wrists, immediately bringing them forwards to dig into the wood as he fell past it. The plan half-worked, as his weapons did little more than scratch the mast before he lost his grip upon them and plummeted, fortunately, onto one of the rat lines below. The rope lattice was not designed to hold his prone body, however, and he slowly rolled off against his will into a hard landing upon his knees.<br/><br/>For a moment he sat there shivering and exchanging incredulous stares with the crew, before collapsing face-first onto the deck, still conscious but too fatigued and shaken to move.