<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/lB240Kg.jpg?)   </div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>Penn Teegan</strong></span><br/><strong>HP:</strong>26<strong>AC:</strong>19<strong>Passive Senses:</strong>18<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Well-sunned.<br/>Character Sheet (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=222317)<br/><hr/><br/>Penn takes the journey's time to stretch out, cat-like, in the aft of the boat, her eyes closed against the sunshine and one arm draped lazily over her forehead.  She took the opportunity to watch the horizon as often as possible in the hopes that, with luck, she could stave off seasickness... an old enemy of hers, being land-born and land-bred.  Grant would need to be punished... but that wasn't for Penn to decide.  That was up to the club... something that actually made sense, not some lordy-shitty-pants' cruelty to keep his pockets full from the labor of others.  She understood that breaking the rule of side-trade would bring guards, enemies, competitors from unexpected angles, like Grant was mining for gold and had accidentally cracked their dam.<br/><br/>A half-hour into the journey, when the horizon was clear, she shrugged at their bundle of "spoiled fish", silently asking for aid in tossing it overboard.  With its thick armor, the Kraken's corpse would surely sink well enough. There was no use delaying the carnivorous fish, or sharks, or whatever from dining on his corpse, so she untied the ragged canvas before spilling him over the stern, then letting the blood-soaked tarp trail after on the water's surface until it coiled, wraith-like, in the current and writhed its way gracefully into the deep.<br/><br/>Once that chore is done, she delicately drapes her hands down into the boat's wake, washing them in turn with a little lump of soap from her pack.  One thing about Penn... she seemed to insist on being clean, bathing morning and nights, except when<i>the life</i>would allow no time for it.  Still, this never stopped her from getting into the wetworks in the first place.<br/><br/>Expecting Charna to 'embrace her natural side' and shed her clothes at some point, she ensures that she has a suitable vantage for the occasion... should it arise.  Then, after a while longer, she dips below decks, pretending to use a privy-bowl out of the sight of her patch-brother, and instead makes a long, mouse-quiet, and thorough search of the cabin below-deck, seeking evidence of any other business Grant may be into.  Just in case.  If he was still loyal-- and guessing at it, he probably was-- Grant would be offered the chance to be kicked-out of the club or to demonstrate his loyalty, likely via some self-inflicted punishment that would be far more painful than getting one's tattoos inked-over and being kicked out of the club.  She hoped he chose the latter, because she hoped that the pain of that penance would be far less than the pain of betrayal.<br/><br/>...<br/><br/>When they find the burned remnants of the Linker, Penn listened to Grant. She casts a glance toward Charna, expecting the lovelier, and wiser, elf to have some insight or question into what this might mean.  Danger?  Could it be pirates, beasts, an exploded powder-keg?<br/><br/>Catching Grant's eye, she points to her eyes and then at the wreckage, in case there's some clue as to the cause.  She sniffs at the air and, scans for signs of any other presence, or any remains aside from the scorched hull.<br/><br/><strong>OOC:</strong>I think Charna knows her well enough to know that Penn cannot swim... like, at all.