Static scrolls over the picture.

The hour is night. Stars wink overhead when the heavy cloud cover passes them; the weather impending was a bad omen, some of the sailors had asserted, but they held faith the shore would be made in due time.

The sphere is dated from three months ago.

"Hey." Spray-moisted wood creaks as Gippal wedges his foot in the railing, half-perching on the edge despite any danger. Distortion through the sphere makes the Al Bhed's voice tinny. "I've got a question."

A stutter of the lens when the ship rolls, and a dark-skinned hand slaps down to steady the machina. Fingers obscure the view. Then they remove themselves, and after a series of jerks and refocusings, the picture returns to stable once more.

"Hm?" The sound comes from a speaker off-screen. By the sound of it, they are the ones cradling the machina.

"So... uh, the Crimson Squad. We're supposed to be top of the Crusaders after all this is done, yeah?" Gippal scrubs his hair as one might sand down a rough-edged plank. When he twists around to sit fully on the railing, it is revealed that the Al Bhed is grinning.

Nooj's distinctive scrape-thump-scrape is the first announcement of his arrival, and then he crawls onscreen. The Team is congregating, but there is not the tension in the air of before. The ocean can be blamed for this change; the relief it must bring after so many weeks in the desert is a palpable one.

In playback, the sea is a dark blot that quivers around the ships. It is a cold bounty that harbors Sin deep within endless fluid depths. Still, even black water is a sight welcome after the hell of Bikanel's desert. At least you might not die hot.

The shadow of the monster plagued the trainees then during their ocean crossing. Sin must have haunted the person holding the machina, because the majority of the view is focused incessantly upon the roiling waters and the possible doom lurking beneath.

Centered on the screen, Gippal takes an unseen sign to continue. "But, y'know... with this Operation Mi'ihen, it's supposed to take out Sin. What're we going to do if we pass and then the Crusaders aren't needed anymore?"

"Shouldn't we think about it when it comes?" Paine interrupts as she manifests, striding forward with crisp bootheel clicks on the straining planks of the deck. Despite the salt-spray, the temperatures are still warm enough that she has not changed out of her usual leathers. "Not much use trying to turn back now."

The angle of the recording machina changes. Now it is focused upon Paine.

"Gippal has a point." Elaborated into words, the identity of the invisible speaker becomes clear. His voice sounds sincere while under the influence of playback. It is almost painful to hear with all its open-souled exposure. "The maesters are playing both sides of this. I'm not sure why they want something like the Crimson Squad anymore, or what kind of people they want succeeding in it. All we can do is see what this test is like... and judge from there."

Paine frowns at the screen. She makes a twist of her hand in beckoning, but the machina is not returned to her yet.

The lens moves away from the woman in black hide and white skin; it assembles its view back upon the Al Bhed. Gippal notices this, stretches elaborately in a theatrical effort that almost causes him to tumble right off the ship, were it not for his feet wedged into the railing bars. As it is, he flails an arm wildly enough that he nearly clocks Nooj in the head.

At first, the Deathseeker grumbles and leans away. Then he succumbs to the impulse to smack Gippal's shins with his cane.

The machina jiggles with the suppressed laughter of its wielder.

"Hey!" Gippal attempts to sound betrayed. Shoving a hand down, he rubs at his bruised leg. Injury is forgotten almost instantly once another thought strikes him, and the Al Bhed pipes into further questioning. "There's another thing bugging me. What are we going to do if they want... I dunno, weird things from us?"

"Stranger than this?" Nooj snorts. "I'm with Baralai on this one. We keep going in."

His gaze meets the lens when he turns away from the rail, and for an instant, it appears as if the Deathseeker is staring directly into the machina with eyes highlighted cold under the night stars.

Something about Nooj's intensity causes the person holding the camera to twitch. It is a miniscule motion. The recovery comes quick, but that slight jarring is stamped forever on the records.

Nooj moves on.

"Did you manage to keep any of your data spheres from collection?" he asks. This is to Paine, who is just now lowering her hand from where she had covered up her amusement over Gippal.

Paine shakes her head. It is a raptor's apology, grace and displeasure wrapped into something that would rather resort to a more forceful solution. "They're still keeping tight watch over all of them. But I'm keeping my eyes open. If it looks like I can get away with one, I'll bring it back."

"Good," the Deathseeker says, and then paces onwards down the length of the ship.

The camera tracks him. Steady.

Fingers insert themselves between the machina and the rest of the view. Paine has jabbed her hand over the lens in an attempt to catch its attention. She succeeds. The machina swings back towards the woman in an irregular sweep that catches Gippal trying to balance on the railing, and failing.

"You look like something's on your mind."

Now the machina is balanced once more. So is the person holding it, from the way they laugh first before speaking. "I just think we shouldn't do anything right now to make the instructors wary."

"Still taking the safe route," and this is Paine's smirk to the recording lens.

"Better be careful, Paine." Now the view jumbles itself again, aimed at a pair of tanned pants as the person holding the machina dismounts from his perch. "I just might prove you wrong."

The sphere clicks off.