Skye Marshall, special agent Marshall that was, peered suspiciously over the side of the ship. She couldn't believe they'd actually talked her into a vacation, especially on the damned water. She'd spent last night locked in her room with a death grip on her mattress.<br/><br/>The record holder as the government agent who had killed the most people, and she was hydrophobic, lovely. The sphinx-like white winged lioness wore faded blue jeans and a red blouse tied off to expose her tawny midriff. They got her on a boat, they weren't putting her in a dress for anything. There was a bowie knife sheathed at her waist of course.<br/><br/>Even if she didn't have a license to carry anything smaller than a rocket launcher she would have still kept her 25. concealed at her ankle. The leather against her leg was a comforting feeling as she paced back and forth across the deck.<br/><br/>"Something's wrong here, this ship isn't safe... The crew is afraid," she murmured to herself, whining. She could smell it, nevermind the body language.