A great many ships had collected themselves around the Ursian Man-a-War. They were all painted navel blue and gold, hoisting the gold and blue flags of their motherland upon the main-masts. Gouden's ship was the largest of them all, an obvious flag-ship, but unlike most flagships, his was built for opulance as well combat. The Lucid Dreamer was much like one of the Crystal Serpents of Igue; beautiful but deadly. It was an odd pride of his.
The fleet was sailing towards Zeeptin after regrouping and resupplying at the less dangerous of the Fairland islands. Pirates frequented Zeeptin, but never really approached the island due to dangerous formations about the bay. The island itself was incredibly lush within the formations, keeping the habitats within nearly untouched by any outside influence. Many had tried to settle there, but found themselves stranded and assumed dead.
Gouden sat at the desk in his cabin, right paw gripping tight to a quill and scratching at a book of bound parchment. Fitzgerald was sat in a padded chair off of the front of the desk to Gouden's right. He hardly left the bear's side while on excertions such as the current and often saw him writing in the same book when days were slow. He had asked about it before, only to have the response 'It's personal business,' and dropped it. He hadn't asked again and made a point not to push his luck. He knew all too well how such things could lead to very undesireable consiquences.
Learning of Wandelen Verlopen's existance was a good example. He discovered the gypsie by accident during his early days aboard The Lucid Dreamer and found himself asking far too many questions. Plenty of webbed scars tore across his back to remind him of the incident and that silence was his greatest defence. From them on, he and Gouden walked thin-ice together, but there wasn't any stress, more often than not.
After a little over an hour, the honey-hued bear sighed, made a slight attempt to dry the ink, then closed the book and set his quill inside the inkwell before looking up at the fennic. "What have you on your mind, Fitzgerald? I can see that look in your eyes, again." The comment made the fox straiten.
"Nothing important, Sir. Just curiocity, as toxic as it is."
"Towards what?"
"My own matters, sir. I won't let it interfere with my work, sir."
"Your own matters usually do not worry you to a visible point. I have concerns, Fitzgerald."
"I swear, sir, it is of no great issue. My sleep has been recently compromised, but there is no need for concern." His prattling was shrill, in any attempt to deter the Admiral's anger, if any arose. The Ursian remained emotionless, pitless eyes growing no lighter or darker. Fitzgerald felt as though he was being suffocated simply by the gaze. He needed to say something before the silence finished what Gouden's eyes had started. "It's getting near to noon. Should I prepare some food for the creature?" He'd been taught to call the gypsie that very aggressively.
"Yes..." he breathed, turning to look out the cabin window. "Only scraps and one half a cup of water. Ask Sargent Laster to take it to him, however. I wish to speak with you more." Fitzgerald's heart sank. If Gouden wished to speak with him personally, then there would, most likely, be pain.
"Yes, Admiral. Right away."
Shortly after speaking with the crew member in question, Fitzgerald returned to Gouden's cabin and sat fraily in the seat he had taken prior. Admiral Duivel remained at his desk, but with nothing occupying him. He simply watched him. A few moments passed in silence... Grueling, horrifying silence... His heart was beating so fast...
"Mister Fitzgerald, you are well aware that I must keep order on my ship. To do that, I must go to great lengths, one of which is keeping certain thoughts and distractions at bay. Something is bothering you and it is something I must put to rest. Tell me what is on your mind. Make this easy on both of us." The fennic knew better than to lie, but he'd done so already, which the Admiral must've already been aware of, or he hadn't and was trying to confirm suspicion.
"Well, sir..." He needed to lie. His actual thoughts would be called mutany. "I've been feeling ill. I have certain symptoms that relate to a serious condition, but then others that seem unrelated but started at the same time. I'm not sure if to wait it out or seek treatment. If I do, it could be nothing and a waste of time, or, if I don't, I could be seriously ill and could die. I lose sleep over the paranoia." Such a thing HAD happened to him before, somewhere in his teen years. The Admiral tilted his head, emotionless still, his eyes blank as they studied him.
"Better to be safe than sorry, Fitzgerald. Pressuring youself with paranoia is more a hinderence on yourwork than it is worth. Go see the doctor then get back to work." The fennic stood with a nod, trying to hold back his shaking.
"Yes, Admiral. Right away." He turned to exit the cabin.
"And Fitzgerald..." He stopped, paw rested on the door. "It's better to offer no excuse than a bad one." A shaking paw rattled the door as it pulled it open and the fennic scurried out onto the deck, lungs leaping from his chest and body near close to collapse.