Donta finally woke, the current no longer rocking him back and forth as it rushed past his gills. For the past, um, while.... (He had no idea what time it was) he had helplessly been hooked to an errant nail sticking from the keel of a passing ship...<br/><br/>He normally lived deep underwater, near the bottom of the ocean, hunting large fish and sometimes sharks. The surface was some place he was told never to go, or it could have been an instinctual fear of the place. He had only been up there once, his curiosity getting the best of him. He surfaced, felt the air against his blue skin, the wind blowing his ear fins, and the warm sun starting to dry his scales. It was a shock at first, but the welcome embrace of the depths soon came afterward, calming his soul.<br/><br/>Then he started finding odd containers falling from the surface. Clear glass bottles he often found rolls of paper in and filled with air. These began littering the ocean floor, sometimes trailing their former contents as they sank, a sort of brown or golden liquid, that made him dizzy when he breathed the water it mixed with.<br/><br/>Again curiosity enveloped him and he decided to investigate. Making sure he had his cloth coverings he had found on a deceased creature from the surface, he put his belt around his waist and sheathed a long staff to his back with a sharp blade on either end, a tooth from an over sized shark perhaps...<br/><br/>It was this weapon of choice that caused his current predicament. The leather strap he had to bid it to his back had caught in this nail as the ship he approached began to move and the current prevented him from trying to free himself. Now that it had stopped, he struggled to free himself and swam up the belly to the side of the ship, near the bow.<br/><br/>"Free....dom." he muttered, barely able to read the markings on the hull. He knew well of ships and of pirates, mostly from books found in sunken ships. It's where he learned how to dress like them and hopefully talk like them if what he read was true.<br/><br/>Dipping his head under again he swam under the boat to see what was going on over the other side. On the way, he stopped at the keel to stare.<br/><br/>Are are those sharks? On fire? Under water? That's not right. Perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming all of this. That makes more sense. Quietly he poked his head out of the water, the long fin on the top of his head stood upright. Looking up, his eyes took a moment to adjust, then he spotted the ship in the sky.<br/><br/>Yep. He was dreaming still. He was sure ships didn't do that, right? Still fairly sure he was dreaming all of this, he felt the current change slightly like something big was in the water. His instincts told him that he wasn't safe, and he started clamoring up the side of the ship, his sharp claws on his webbed hands digging into the wood, the rough scales on the bottom of his webbed feet allowing good traction to raise himself up.<br/><br/>His fin lowered across the back of his head to avoid being seen. He slowly raised his head above the deck, keeping behind a post for the railing to take a look. There they were. Real Pirates! Pirates that looked busy and moved with purpose. He noticed a long rope from their ship tied to the ship floating in the sky. No other ship was above the water so he was more convinced now that he was indeed dreaming.<br/><br/>He jumped slightly as a loud bang echoed in his ears, almost making him loose his grip on the post he was holding. A woman stormed in his direction and he ducked a bit lower, but she began yelling at someone on the deck before her.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">â€œYou bumbling fool!â€ The Witch Doctor snarled as she walked over to him, giving him a swift kick in the ribs. â€œWatch where youâ€™re going. The last thing we need is you destroying the ship.â€ She kicked him again. </span><br/><br/>It was funny to see them so lively and social. So much so he accidentally let loose a giggle, sounding more like a short burst of hisses. Realizing his mistake he clamped a hand on his mouth and ducked down again, not realizing his blue hand was still visible, holding onto the post for the railing. His hand smelled of gunpowder now. The smell of that golden liquid seemed to be coming from a porthole below.