<hr/><strong>Marsilia</strong>, Vodacce Roof-runner (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=291073.msg14291084#msg14291084)<br/><div class="floatright">(http://i65.tinypic.com/10oikyb.jpg)</div><strong>Time &amp; Location</strong>: Day 1, Not In The Atabean Anymore<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Everyone<br/><hr/><br/><em><strong>"Thrice buggered mother of all prophets, I need a drink,"</strong></em>is a certain petite pest's first wry vocalization as she regains her bearings, her bare feet unsteady as she makes her way to the rail and tries to lose whatever she hasn't already lost over the side.  A few moments of dry heaving follow, along with some increasingly vitriolic commentary on various Vaticine worthies and their relations...unusual by even the small scamp's rather profane standards, but whatever it was that caused this curious predicament seems to have left her with a loose rudder and unsecured ballast to boot.  Thus she lifts her head just in time to see the plume of earth and rock erupt in an explosion.<br/><br/>Needless to say, this earns a response in proper street-kid form of a rather rude gesture and a shrill comment in gutter Vodacce.<br/><br/><em><strong>"Go kiss an Inquisitor, you defiler of virgin goats!"</strong></em><br/><br/>Only then does her head seem to clear enough for her to look around and take stock of the situation, eyes flashing with the fury of a untamed creature that expects the worst of any such exchange.<br/><br/><strong>"Who'sa pilot this-a tub?  Anna the cannons, si?  Fuckin'a corsair offa portside!"</strong>