Disobedience was originally the main reason Celaeno and her crew did what she did. Little could compare to steering her airship through the skies, disappearing into clouds, dodging lightning bolts and the deluge of rain against her. Nothing was more thrilling than putting together heists starting from scribbles on paper carried out to their climax ending in chests full of gold, jewels, and coin.
It wasn't until the hurricane they'd been attempting to fly through in order to get past the badlands to make some sales that things had gotten from "bad" to "worse". The wind was bad, though they'd posed no threat of losing cargo, already safely stashed below deck by Boyle. The winds buffeted the multi-colored sails, despite the reinforcements she'd added from the last storm. Mullet stood at the wheel, his wiry frame swaying with the strength of the wind.
"Cap'in!"
His started yelling was enough to stir her out of studying her compass, the rapidly spinning arrow wasn't normal...
"Celaeno!"
The splintering of wood caught her and she ran as swiftly as her feet would take her, claws digging into the wood as she landed at the helm to find her first mate struggling against the pull of the winds. Wix's voice was heard in the din of the winds, struggling with the life ropes, securing them down and tightening knots.
"Mullet! Where the heck is your rope!?" She fought to be heard over the wind and the now rapidly growing thunder booms. She seized the wheel and turned with him, fighting the winds to try and steer them out of it. The wood of the airship groaned and she bit down on her tongue. "Hold her steady now! She's survived worse than this!"
In the midst of turning from the storm, Squabble let out a loud shriek, banging the alarm bells. They were being followed.
Boyle was hauling out the cannons, sweat running down his temples and into his eyes as the second airship came into view. Celaeno barely had a moment to turn to bark an order before the winds died down and the hooks landed on the end of her ship. Massive...goliath brawlers landed on her sopping wet ship deck, laying down a gangplank. Across it came two sets of footsteps. One a fairly distinct four step gait of an equine, and the other someone much...larger.
Out of the still spitting rain mist stepped a maroon pony clad in some of the most expensive armor she'd ever seen, and a large cloven-hoofed...thing.
He stared down at her and she took a step forward, squaring off her shoulders and staring up at him, her crew stood behind her. Her senses were heightened and the smell of ozone hung heavy in the air. There was that noticeable crack of Boyles' neck should things get heavy, the click of Squabble in the crows nest securing his slingshot. Mullets claws slowly slid from their sheaths and Wix's heavy weighted steps thudded on the deck.
His face hung in a stern expression before splitting into a wide, almost welcoming smile. "Captain Celaeno! We finally get to meet you! Ah! I feel like I'm meeting someone famous!" His tone was jovial, but something just didn't feel -right-.
"And this is your crew! Ah, look how pirate-y they look Tempest! Oh, this is great!"
The pony to his side only rolled her eyes but remained silent.
Alright...time to actually be a captain. "Right. So...what warrants a boarding my ship?" Celaeno was surprised how her voice still held stern, despite some of the largest brawlers on her ship staring her down.
The goat beast snapped his fingers and smiled. "So glad you asked Caelly..." with a great flourish, he whipped out a flag and thrust it at her. "I, the STORM KING-need goods shipped and you're exactly the ones to do it." He gestured back to his ship where his beasts were already gearing up to load the cargo onto her deck. "See? Already ready to go."
"No thanks." She shook her head, waving a clawed hand. "We're not delivery birds. Treasure hunters actually."
The smile vanished from his face faster than she could blink. "What?" He asked, his tone suddenly going from jovial to deadpan.
Celaeno shook her head, waving a hand. "I said no. We don't ship goods. Take it up with ground services if you want a delivery. Wrap it up, boys!" She whistled, prompting Boyle and Mullet to step up, going nose to sternum with the guards trying to haul crates onto the ship.
Turning around to examine her still wonky compass, a sudden warmth was behind her, and a hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around. "What part of -King- is hard for you to get. You're going to ship this, and you're going to -keep- shipping it until I say so."
She seized her sword from where it was on her belt and unsheathed it, stepping back to give her a solid two feet of space. "I don't think you're understanding the word no, what was it-Storm King? We don't do deliveries."
"Then maybe you just need some...motivation..."
The pony at the gangplank whistled and before anyone could move, there was a singing of steel in the air, and twin cries of pain. Mullet stumbled backward, clutching his face as he howled in pain. Boyle stared in horror at the stump that had once been his left hand. Blood spurted from the injury, soaking down his sleeve.
Storm King chuckled to himself as he danced his way to the gangplank. "I'll give you a week to make up your mind. Don't worry, we'll find you.". They crossed back to their ship, and pulled their hooks back, as a dull, spitting rain came down from overhead.
Wix was in motion before she was, sqwaking orders to Squabble, the walleyed cannoneer dashing this way and that. Caelano bolted for the forges, kept hot to power the steam needed to stay aloft, and seized a poker. Boyle was flat on his back when she came above deck, his eye rolling up in his head as Wix elevated his arm.
"Boyle..." her voice shook briefly, before the massive pirate shook his head.
"Just do it."
The sizzle of raw meat, burning iron and the scream of pain echoed to her, cauterizing the devastating wound shut. "Go check on Mullet-shoo!" Normally Wix wasn't this bossy, probably what made her a fantastic cook and ship doctor. She could whip up a poultice from whatever she had on hand to soothe a fever, fix a bruise and close a cut in a blink of an eye.
The front of her shirt and chest feathers were soaked in blood already by the time she got her hands on Mullet, swearing curses and vomiting in pain over the side of the ship. She grabbed him, possibly a little too roughly and he swore again, yanking away.
"Let me see, Mullet." Her tone was all business, she needed to detach herself from the fact this was her crew, her family. Slowly, taking short and painful gasps, he peeled his hand away to reveal the mangled side of his face. There was no saving the eye, it dangled by a thread. Blood wasn't clotting, still flowing freely dark purple down his cheeks and into his beak. There was only one option.
"Squabble! The poker!" She straddled him, her knees pinning his hands down. For being so wiry, her first mate was -strong-. Stronger than she anticipated as Squabble held his head still and she pressed the red hot metal to his face, foul-smelling smoke rising up the bile in her throat. He luckily went limp under her, and she pulled back. Boyle was already gone, taken below deck to their quarters.
Hauling Mullet under his arms, she and Squabble carried him down and the acidic smell of herbs assaulted her. Wix was rushing too and fro, blood staining the front of her apron as a pot steamed over the hearth. "Put him there!" Her voice was screeching, cracking from muttering to herself as she measured the fresh herbs she kept and wrapped them up in cheesecloth, tossing them into a green liquid in the pot.
Upon doing what she was told, Wix flagged Squabble down, passing him a list of items she needed and the cannoneer stumbled off. "Cap'n. I need your hands." The cook called, and Celaeno moved quickly, the tail ends of steaming wet poultices pressed into her clawed hands.
"Take the bandages, put these on the wounds and be quick about it. Those we don't have a lot of time before an infection is going to set in."
She did as requested, the responsibility shifting from Captain to Cook-come-doctor. Boyle grunted in pain, his eyes cracking open as she pushed down the little bag of herbs, wrapping them up tightly.
"Did we get 'em?" He croaked. Celaeno snorted and tied off the bandage. "Next time big guy. Next time. Close your eyes." Wix passed a cup of something bitter smelling into her hands. Poppy milk.
She pressed the cup to his beak and he screwed up his face. "You have to drink it. Captains orders." She pleaded. Finally, her shipmate complied, swallowing a few mouthfuls before exhaustion and shock took over.
There was no getting anything into Mullet. He'd regained consciousness and was groaning in pain, fighting against Wix's considerable weight as she tied off the bandage to his face. He squawked and screamed in pain, feathers flying from his struggles. There was one last thing she'd yet to try.
"First mate Mullet!" Her voice barked, carrying every bit of authority she did while manning cannons and steering her ship. "Settle. Down." There was a growl to her tone that left little room for argument. "Drink the poppy milk. That's an order."
Blinded and in pain from the bandages covering his eyes, the thin pirate slumped back on the bed, panting heavily. "C-Cap'n..." he rasped. "Can't see. I can't see." He was struggling to swallow the panic, his chest rapidly rising and falling.
She sat next to him, pressing a hand to his sweaty feathered head. "I know. Just drink." She lifted the cup to his beak and he swallowed, gagging briefly from the bitter taste, and swallowed a second time. After a few moments, his hyperventilating slowed, and he sank down into the bed, going limp.
For the first time since the storm began, silence sank over the ship. The only sounds to be heard were Wix's muttering, Boyles raspy breathing, the bubbling of the pot and the groaning of the ship.
"Here." A warm, wet cloth was pressed against her chest, Wix looking up at her. "Wash up. You look like you've gone ten rounds with an Ursa Major." She was scrubbing her own face off, the brown cloth taking a pinkish tinge.
Celaeno looked down at herself, realizing just how bloody she'd gotten. A sponge bath wasn't ideal, but it was good enough for now.
For now, her crew needed her.