Another bump, another cringe, another shaky readjustment of his spectacles. Prof. Tweed was torn in the balance between admonishing the deckhands carelessly bringing his laboratorial equipment, and restraining himself, lest he push his luck amongst what basically amounted to a group of organised bandits, killers and thieves. One of the volumetric balloons fell off one of the crates, and swiftly crashed to pieces on the deck floor. The professor flinches as he holds his head on his right hand; his left holding the elbow of the former.<br/><br/>After Prof. Tweed was "persuaded" into joining Redmane's crew, he hadn't had much willingness to acquaint himself with the other more veteran members of the crew, or explore the bowels of the ship, or even meet his "employer" in person. He had been shown the place he would sleep in, his footlocker, and a storage area near the less wobbly part of the depths of the ship where he could set up shop. He was reassured that if he needed anything, he could just up and go get it himself, and after the usual laugh that would accompany the supposed jest didn't happen, the professor grew more concerned regarding his fate in the Lion's Bastard.<br/><br/>He took another swig of whatever remained in his hipflask, while he scribbled the events of the last hour in a book. His latest entry contrasted heavily with the proficient penmanship of the previous days, due to the sway of the ship. He wrote that he'd get used to it. He stuck the fountain pen in its ink rest and blew on the page to dry the ink, before closing the book and sliding it amongst other tomes. Closing his eyes, he let the thoughts that were scratching at the door of his mind simply wander in, taking over his head. The creaking of wood took over the deck of the ship, punctuated only by the heavy footsteps of crew on the deck, accompanied by grunts and short, barked commands and replies.<br/>He thought about their chances in the vast unknown; and the creaking became cracking. The footsteps became hurried paces and sprints across the deck, as storms, sea monsters and rival pirates assailed the Lion's Bastard. The voices became screams of pain, and gurgles of people choking on their own blood.<br/><br/>"Roight, 'tis th' last one, doc." the professor quickly snapped out of his daymare and turned around with the nervousness of dealing with another of Redmane's finest.<br/>"You can leave it there, thank you, I'll... I'll find its place soon." the professor gave the burly man a few shaky nods of his head, and went back to look at his desk.<br/>"Aye, ye ain' ever sailed 'fore 'ave ye?" Tweed didn't answer. "Well, give thanks, aye? Yer gettin' yer cherry popped wit' Redmane. Ain' many who coul' claim tha'." the sailor gave Tweed a hard slap on the shoulderblade, visibly decomposing the scholar. "An' if ye dinnae have any chance o' survivin' yer first voyage, well... Ye do now. Dun' worry 'bout it."<br/>With a short laugh that bellowed a stink of alcohol and gum infection, he turned around and went back updeck, leaving the professor to think that there must be a reason why they held Redmane in such high regard.<br/><br/>Maybe... Maybe things would work out after all.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>