On the gently swaying deck of the ship, the twin engorged stomachs of Aron and Delia command attention and deference if not respect, judging from the stances of the sailors around them. They're badly outnumbered, and presumably with one meal inside them they could be swarmed and if nothing else tossed overboard, but... nobody seems to want to be the first to make the call and rush either escaped prisoner. It still seems like they're only not fighting out of fear of an imminent- or not so imminent- death instead of any real desire of peace, but it was at least a good start to getting them properly tamed. As Xarius leaves, the male harpy watches him with a manifestly unhappy mien, shifting from feathered leg to feathered leg uncertainly. When he (and more importantly that creepy redhead human he was with) are belowdecks, he gives a piercing sharp whistle. The other harpy flutters down soon after, beating her small white wings to manage her descent more than properly fly; like the other ones, she's skimpily dressed and tan to the point where it contrasts with snow-white feathers, but she at least is wearing something around her chest as well as short shorts. Not too much up there to hold in, though- more flight muscle than pectoral fat on the harpy's body. Still, after that little warning, the two harpies ostentatiously try to keep msot of the ship between them and the escaped prisoners, muttering quietly to each other and casting worried glances back at the over-loaded succubus and drow.<br/><br/>The other sailors trade looks, weighing the succubus's promise. A few wince at the mention of digestion, a few at the threat against their souls, and a few at the possibility of a ship of imperials coming around as though by magic. There's a long, ugly silence, especially in the aftermath of Delia's introduction of her theory of collective guilt, and Aron casually brushes one hand against the dagger in his belt while stifling a burp. The dwarf just shakes his head. "We'll sail the ship, lass," he grinds out. "Once we get there, y'get off the ship and never see us again and we'll be just as happy t'see the back of you go in peace," and for once it doesn't sound like he really means 'stare at Delia's rear'. The little twitch in Aron's smile suggests he was about to suggest the latter, though he restrains himself. Instead, he says, "Freeport it is. Do you know the heading, or am I going to have to start... oh, dear Delia, do you think not helping us navigate would count in the spirit of that deal as an attack on us? Perhaps the sailor with the best knowledge of charts should be given a trip into one of our stomachs when the prior occupant is... nice and loose, and if he can explain the art of ship navigation before he passes out in the murk he gets to come out the front instead of, much delayed, the rear? I think that might be an elegant way to overcome any attempts to slow us down."<br/><br/>Letting that unpleasant possibility hang in the air, he adds, "But I'm sure that won't be needed, given our- aha- agreement." Edging a few more inches into the shade of the blowing mainsail, "It's a pirate haven, mostly. Little island, maybe- oh- 20 by 10 miles? Wonderful natural harbor, and the Empire's never quite been able to hold it down. A few thousand people, half of them transients on or off some sort of ship. Mostly pirates." Aron says with studied judgment. "I was only there once on a job, a rude merchant who decided to go into business for himself and use his last cargo as personal seed money instead of paying it off with the proceeds of a legal sale. Well, can't fix stupid," the assassin says with the air of someone who would have been out of business long ago if you could. "Anyway, you can get almost anything at Freeport if you've got the gold, and we should have a fair amount. And I do mean almost anything, up to and including slaves, any illegal drug you can think of, weaponry, a fully outfitted ship-" He smiles in a thin, bloodless way. "They don't bother with guards there. If you offend someone with enough money to have a number of bodyguards, you simply disappear either onto a ship or into the ocean through the latrine. Charming place, really. I may still know a few people there."<br/><br/>Gratefully, at Delia's suggestion, the two squeeze in through the narrow door into the captain's cabin. It's not too large (though larger than their cells)- enough room for a large, soft-looking bed close to the deck with ropes on all sides, a writing desk, and a few shelves of books and little more. It's a bit out of sorts right now, with the evidence of a struggle visible in the watery sunlight coming through the small portholes. A few bottles of rum have been knocked over, one broken on the deck and lending an alcoholic bite to the air. "Cozy," he murmurs. "All his charts are in here. A good amount of written material, too. If it weren't for the fact that many of us are... distinguishable... and the tepid support of the crew, I'd almost suggest we continue our run to the prison and simply drop off a few bound and gagged soldiers with the appropriate doctored paperwork. That's a bit too flamboyant a scheme, though. I would suggest we simply... keep the ship, hire new sailors- we wouldn't need that many- and become pirates ourselves. We likely can't stay forever on Freeport and will need a ship to leave, so why not this one? ...Anyway, did you have any problems below?" The attentive drow brushes his hands over Delia's stomach bulge, a little awkwardly in the cramped spaces. "The mage I saw coming down, I presume? She was in some way in charge of the soldiers, but in some ways not. I would have lurked more to learn more, but I didn't know how long your spell would last and couldn't risk being caught. Ah well. I fear the poor captain's lifestyle didn't suit him to a long struggle. He's not even moving anymore, though I expect the man's alive. For a bit longer," he says coolly. Swinging his own dark, taut stomach from side to side, he smiles. "I so rarely get to do that. Most contracts required a proof of who it was I'd killed, and, well... I can't stand eating mutilated bodies. It's just so messy." Aron's ears flick as he grins, looking down at Delia's stomach before letting the smile slip a little. "Someone's going to have to keep watch tonight, unfortunately," he says. "Otherwise I'd ask if you'd like to try to overstress this bed with the weight of four bodies on it...?"<br/><br/>Inside the succubus, Delia's own 'prisoner' curls ever more weakly and tightly in her stomach. The luckless mage is too worn out to push anymore, being helplessly kneaded and soaked with acids by the succubus's happily working digestive tract. She's already gotten 'used' to the darkness, and the alien environment of a living stomach with all of its heat, slime, and strange omnidirectional sounds has given her too much to be afraid of to be afraid of anything at all- at least until the burning starts. With Delia's juices sour on her tongue, she's limply worked from side to side and slathered with fresh coats of slippery acids every few seconds with accompanying cheerful wet noises. Her fate was sealed- well, mostly sealed. She can still feel the tugging on her essence, and now she knows that it's the demoness trying to do to her soul what she was doing to her all-too-vulnerable flesh. That, though, the succubus won't get. Instead, she feels the stomach give her an extra squeeze, and dump an extra load of acids into her- bringing the growing thick puddle up to mostly submerge her rear. Curled up with her butt and feet down, the fluid level was slowly rising... but she manages a wet chuckle. Audible only to Delia, the mage taunts, "And you'll... never know what we did to you... or how to fix it." Before another sharp squeeze makes her yelp in exhausted pain and curl a little tighter- as she'd keep curling tighter and tighter, willingly or not, until she was gone deeper into Delia's body.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Although Chira remains stoic as the healing positive energy flows through her and starts closing her startling variety of wounds, she can't help but shudder when his hands stray a bit lower towards the bulge in her stomach. As they pass through the rather... tatty remnants of the cargo hold, Chira nickers a little and seems embarrassed as she replies to Xarius's question. "It has always been an active stomach," she avers. "But it has been a long time since I ate anything but salads, and my body needed fuel." She taps at the deck lightly with her injured rear hoof, placid groaning noises filling the cargo hold from underneath her slowly swaying ponderous belly. "Sometimes when you need to eat and run, having your meals stay conscious for long can slow down the entire herd, too," she explains. "At those times, a quick stomach is a- tactical necessity. Some, like the... succubus, seem to glory in keeping their meals alive for days-" Chira shakes her head in wonder. "What if she needs to fight again? What if she needs that energy from a meal? It is madness. To seek pleasure at the cost of safety..." the centaur just makes a breathy, huffing sound of confusion as she paces Xarius down to the lower deck.<br/><br/>It's a crowded, humid space, full of the smell of unwashed bodies bunking too close together for too long after the barricade comes down. Most berths are just hammocks strung wherever there's two anchors and small sea chests under each; no comfortable bedding down here. Xarius gets a sullen, albeit peaceful hearing; a few people glance at the giant wall of semi-equine flesh tearing their barricade apart plank by plank and then at their weapons, drawing a pointed conclusion about how little their pointed weapons will avail them if they continue to fight. Soon enough, there's a rough clattering of metal on wood as daggers, gaffing hooks, and crossbows are tossed on the ground and kicked over towards the feline. Only one person forgets to unload their crossbow first, and happily the bolt simply thuds uselessly into a support spar without wounding anyone. It does ratchet up the tension a little, however.<br/><br/>Mona does eyeball the crowd, licking her lips and then gnawing lightly on it as she brushes hair back. "I probably shouldn't... they did surrender," the mage says with clear reluctance. Turning, she gives Xarius a quick hug- careful to keep his weapon arm free of the embrace- and a peck on the cheek. "But thanks for thinking about it. Really, I'll be fine with the guard we took prisoner earlier, even if-"<br/><br/>She's interrupted by a bellow. "I THOUGHT I RECOGNIZED HER!" near the back of the crowd, someone yells, pointing a shaking finger at Chira. It's a soldier, half in his armor and half out. "She's the Butcher! She'll never let us live- She- She wiped out-" choking, face gone red, the soldier dives for a short sword and starts to lunge for the injured centaur. Xarius's crossbow bolt catches his midsection at about the same time a reflexive small fireblast from Mona hits the soldier on the face.<br/><br/>As he falls back to the deck, whimpering, Mona smoothly finishes, "On the other hand, if one of these idiots is nice enough to let me have some lightly seared soldier, who am I to say no? Chira, would you be a dear and help me get him up to his feet? I don't think he's in much shape to stand right now."<br/><br/>Chira had watched the soldier's shouting and charge with no apparent emotion, arms crossed and apparently ready to defend herself at need. Blinking, the centaur shakes her head from side to side to dispel the mental cobwebs and says tightly, "I... yes, Mona, I will do that." Kneeling, she hauls the slightly toasty and moaning soldier up to his feet without an abundance of compassion- an emotional tone mirrored by Mona. Without any prelude, the human gives one of the fresh burns a long lick, face dimpling as she grins at the taste. Wasting no more time, she gives the soldier a bearhug and starts gulping him down, tongue lingering where her flames had landed but not ignoring the rest of what little flesh she can get to either. Between her, Chira's steadying hands, and the soldier's own weakness he doesn't last long before he curls up in the hot, slimy sac of the human's belly to await a more thorough burning than the brief taste the pyromaniacal sorceress had given him. The sailors down below just watched in horror, but don't move to attack. Someone in the small crowd mutters, "What a freaksho-" before being elbowed into silence. Licking her lips, Mona gives Xarius another hug- this one still keeping his weapon arm free, but also impeded by the large and barely-squirming bulge in her stomach. "Couldn't have scripted that better if I tried," she notes happily. "You want to help massage him down tonight? Be a fun way to enjoy our first night free," she whispers into his ear- Chira's ears flicker and a brief scowl crosses her face, though.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>The rest of the crew is disarmed without incident. A quick survey of the cargo is made; most of what's been boxed up is actually food and drink for the remote prison. Looks like enough to sustain a thousand people for a few months; probably the prisoners would be going on extra strained rations for some time without this ship. Also some assorted bureaucratic materials, weapons, and armor, though nothing of very high quality. Aron and Garth work together, compare notes, and do some talking, they figure the entire lot of cargo could probably be sold for around 40,000 gold given a few days' hunting- three or four times the value of the ship itself, that far from the mainland's farms on a pirate island. Enough to split between the prisoners and... well, they still wouldn't be able to get as much or as good gear as they had before they were imprisoned, but they'd none of them go starving unless they lived as though they were millionaires. As the prow of the ship swings towards an unseen and distant island and the sun begins to set, Chira grimly volutneers to take the first 'shift' prowling the ship and standing guard over the now disarmed sailors.<br/><br/>((You both have INVITATIONS for the night; you can either accept or do something else, I don't mind either way. Or heck, have fun with each other! That is also cool. After celebrating the first night of freedom, you'll... probably... *looks at table* be timewarping to Freeport. ^_^ Sorry for the delay!))