The sooner they got off the outpost, the sooner Z could relax. This morning's scrap had not been the worst he'd been in before, not by a long shot, but it had dragged on. When his new shipmate finally appeared on the dock, he couldn't help hurrying her along.

"Get everythin' you need?" Blue gave him a noise of acknowledgement as she stepped onto the sloop's deck and then disappeared downstairs. That was good enough for him. "Good, let's get the hell outta here." Z was quick up the last set of stairs and on the quarter-deck so he could take the ship out to sea.

When Blue reappeared a short while later, she stayed stood upon the main deck, glancing about the ship and their surroundings. She said nothing as she retrieved a broom and began scrubbing at the slight charring left from the earlier fire. There had been no meaningful damage, but it seemed that she found the burnt wood unsightly.

The wind hadn't changed much from earlier, though it was more favourable for the direction they headed in so they made decent time, the sloop flying across the water. Z could never remember the name of the little island they were coming up on, so small it was barely even worth a name. It was probably the spot Blue had mentioned earlier. Much, much closer to them, however, were some planks and barrels floating in the water.

Stepping away from the wheel, Z leaned against the railing, gauging the distance to the wreckage. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his new shipmate staring at him and he froze. She had paused in her sweeping, expression incredulous. Her expression kept him still long enough that the barrels passed them by and he was left standing awkwardly.

"What?"

Blue's hands went to her hips. "Were you about to jump off? Just like that?"

"Yeah?" It was somewhere between a statement and a question. Z made a motion to shrug his arms and stopped halfway, hissing as pain shot up and down the one. Once more he was gripping at the injury to soothe it. "How else am I s'pose t' grab supplies on the go?"

He had given the task and statement little thought, and that was just the problem. Realisation slowly, faintly, spread across Blue's face as the both of them came to a new understanding of what had transpired. To get more supplies, a crew member had to leave the ship to gather the items and then return with them. If the ship did not stop, then how were they to return? He could see that Blue was dying to ask.

"Would it not be better to stop and collect everything?" And yet, she refused to ask outright.

He grinned and shook his head. "Nah, that takes too much time. Best t' jus' grab what's best and come back." It was difficult to not burst out laughing at the unease on his new shipmate's face. He must have seemed like a madman to her. "You do know 'bout supply runnin', right?"

Finally, Blue yielded and sighed. He couldn't help a cackle as she said, "Fine. Enlighten me. What exactly do you mean?"

"I'm glad you asked." He stepped down to the main deck with her. It wasn't often that Z had the opportunity to chat with someone with so little knowledge of how things worked here. Truly, this was extraordinary and he was eager to take on his mentor role in earnest.

"As I'm sure y're aware, there's many ways'a gettin' 'round out here. There's a few ships y'll see, the lovely little ones like this or the sturdy galleon. Sometimes there's the odd brigantine or even an outsider's ship. Always get a kick out of those, we do; they don't last long… Ah, and then there's the rowboat, so tiny but oh so sneaky. Y' can always swim, too — that'll get you somewhere. Eventually." Blue was giving him an unimpressed stare. He shrugged one shoulder and turned away from her. "Of course, if you ever change yer mind about swimmin', y' can jus' go back to your ship."

"Do you know how utterly batty you sound? You do, yes?" she shot. He did and he couldn't help the grin. "Because you look like a child who thinks he has just thought of the greatest joke ever told, except I am not your mother and so I have no obligation to laugh."

Z laughed. He had lived here so long that it was very easy to forget how strange it was to a newcomer. He paced about the ship as he spoke. "I'm serious! Y' start swimmin' somewhere and change yer mind? Come on back. Rowboat get dinged up in a storm or that ship y' fancy left the island it was stopped at? Jus' come on back. Ferryman tired of lookin' at you? Jus' come on back!"

Blue looked exhausted before she buried her face in a hand. She was quiet and shook her head, hand moving to pinch at the bridge of her nose. How she had never had any accidents to discover these things on her own was beyond him. Maybe he would've spoken more seriously and explained the concept if she hadn't asked a question.

"The Ferryman?"

"Yes."

Blue drew a deep breath. "Who is the Ferryman?"

Z wasn't sure how to answer that one. Just about everyone knew of the Ferryman, but no one knew the Ferryman. The damned captain was a friendly sight to those that had been around the Sea of Thieves for any lengthy period of time, offering them another chance at life unlike any other.

"Well, he's a sort of friend to all pirates here, I s'pose." He paused; apparently all pirates except Blue. "He's captain of the Ferry of the Damned, y'see. I don't think he ever leaves the ship, not that I know, but everyone else that sets foot on deck does…"

He was still pacing about the sloop's deck. Blue hadn't moved at all yet, allowing him to get behind her, but now she crossed her arms, finally about to turn. Before she did, he reached for his belt, hands firmly lifting his blunderbuss to her chest. There was a moment where both of them were able to consider what was happening, alarm streaking across her face, amusement across his.

They had agreed on practical examples, right?

Consciousness came harshly, like waking early in the morning with a fever. The malaise was strong, but not enough to distract from how off everything was. Perhaps it wasn't that everything looked and smelled and simply was wrong so much as it was green. This required further inspection.

Though this place was rather odd, the ship she found herself aboard seemed even more so for existing within it. The planks of the deck were full of gaps that allowed green light to seep through, the sails were terribly torn, and a cannon was missing from its carriage. This was a galleon that had seen much better days. Better places, too, it seemed; there was no visible wind, no scents carried by it, yet the ship cut its way through the still waters below.

A little calmer, a little more curious, Blue took a better look around. Over by the ship's starboard cannons, she spotted a pair of pirates huddled together, speaking quietly, shimmering in green. If they had noticed her, they hadn't cared to acknowledged her, engrossed in their conversation. They seemed unperturbed by their environment and once she recognised just how dead they appeared, Blue brought her hands up to inspect. She, too, seemed to be quite dead, plagued by the greenness. She didn't feel dead, then quickly decided that it was ridiculous that being dead should have a feeling associated with it. There was the urge to panic, too, but that seemed silly; she gained nothing by doing so and preferred to not draw any undue attention to herself. If those two were not bothered, why should she be?

Decisively, she stepped forward, standing not too tall. Being dead was nothing to be proud of, now was it? She couldn't relinquish her pride entirely, though, not yet at least.

Besides the pirates, there was a man… floating at the helm. Somehow it seemed that he belonged here. No words were uttered and she didn't feel compelled to start a conversation; rather, she found herself overwhelmed and took some steps back towards the bow of the ship.

In the middle of the ship was a brazier. Though everything was strange here, it was an alarming sight and she couldn't pinpoint if that was because it was floating, or because of the grate underneath it. Through this grate, the hands of many reached out, some with much gusto and others with faded spirit, and plenty more in between. Maybe it was the combination that made the brazier so disturbing. Blue didn't get close enough to allow the floundering hands an opportunity to touch her.

Below the helm was the door to the captain's cabin. On either side were statues of figures that held lanterns out; they didn't seem malicious, but neither had she ever seen such figures before in her life. Whatever their meaning, it was lost to her. The aquatic equine figures mounted into the door above them, however, were a more comforting sight. She meandered about some and found herself upon the fore-deck. The railings at the beginning of bowsprit had a chain that kept her from going up it, though she was allowed enough freedom to peer over and see that the ship's figurehead resembled the ones above the door. This allayed any lingering fears regarding her safety aboard this vessel.

A creaking noise pierced the quiet rumbling of the ship. Just in time, she turned to see the door of the captain's cabin swing itself open with a thud. She stared at the swirling green mist before peering about the deck. No one else had reacted to this, not the pair of pirates nor the man at the helm. The latter did spare a glance in return before he ducked his head back down into a book. It seemed that he expected nothing out of her.

Once more, Blue turned her gaze to the door, hesitant. She passed the brazier and cannons, stopping just before the portal. She looked to it, to the ship's captain, and then back to the portal.

May as well.

If asked, Blue would describe the shock of being alive again like being shot all over again. She gasped for breath, feeling and seeing — doing anything and everything again was a surprise. Had she not just been quite dead? This was all overwhelming to her and she was glad to have a bed nearby to sit on while she came to her senses. She was sat there for quite a while, bent with her head down against her knees while she considered the sensations of living when she remembered: he shot her.

As she moved out of the lower deck, she was able to determine that hours had passed. It didn't feel like it had been very long. Somehow, that didn't seem the strangest part of what had just occurred.

The person responsible for her trip had taken to leaning against the sole mast of the ship, the sail reefed quite a lot so the ship sailed slow and smooth. He stood as though she had kept him waiting. She supposed she had, in a way. As soon as they sighted each other, Z was unable to help his obnoxious laugh, and he was definitely laughing at her.

"Enjoy yer trip?"

"Would you like to explain?" Speaking was difficult, though it got better with each word.

Z shrugged as best as he could at her. "The Ferry of the Damned? It's where we all go when we take a fight we shouldn't've 'til we overstay our welcome and get kicked out." He paused. Blue looked furious.

"It's the way things are here," Z added. "Y' notice that yer injuries ain't as bad as they seem and heal faster than they would've on the other side of the Shroud, haven't you? A good meal helps, too. And a drink is somehow better and worse all at once."

His explanation was shit. Things shouldn't have been different 'just because,' but that was precisely how it was. Blue didn't like this and didn't try to hide it, stepping over to the captain's table. One hand went to her hip, the other around her middle as she was unsure of what to do with it. She stood close to the table, uncomfortable.

"And what is the real explanation of all of these things? For this Ferry of the Damned, the vigour we feel here, the dancing papers, the skeletons, and the massive sharks? That magic is alive and well in these lands?" Blue hadn't been serious, yet the moment she spoke those final words and saw his face, she regretted it.

"Yeah."

"You're fucking with me."

"You got a better explanation, sweetheart?"

She scowled and started pacing, both arms around herself.

"This place is… diff'rent. Better, but diff'rent." He wasn't wrong about the different part, but she wanted to argue the other part. Anyone could argue for either side, she supposed.

"Fine, fine, it is different," Blue admitted. "Does magic explain everything?"

"Works for me." That wasn't a proper answer. Blue looked like she wanted to kick him. That didn't sour his mood as he went back to the helm. Then, "Hey, off the right side — think I saw a whale fin."

Pausing in her pacing, Blue sighed, tilting her head back. She contemplated ignoring him, feeling new to this world all over again. Somehow it was worse this time. He had shown her something useful, she supposed, being able to die and come back again, and so it was faint trust that encouraged her to set foot on the main deck and glance about.

There was a lot of open water around them. With no islands nearby it was deep, too. She didn't see a hint of what he might have seen so she stepped closer to the edge of the deck, peering over. Perhaps the animal had dove down; even megalodons frequently dove and resurfaced.

Perhaps, she realised as her shipmate had somehow managed to sneak down the stairs and behind her, there was never a whale or megalodon in the first place. Caught off guard and still groggy from her trip to the Ferry, it was incredibly easy for him to toss her overboard.

While she bobbed along the surface of the water, Blue considered the day's events and how she had ended up here. Was anything she had learned worth it? Perhaps she would run fewer jobs for the Merchant Alliance; that job was the sole reason she ended up at Plunder Outpost. The day had been full of shenanigans and Blue wondered if the man on the Ferry — he must have been the Ferryman she realised now — would disapprove of one committing suicide to get away from annoying people.

A splash broke the calm sound of the water nearby. When a song came after, she doubted that it was a shark or overly energetic fish. Somehow, the song sounded as though it belonged to this world, and that is was sung just for her. She was compelled to move towards it and did so cautiously. She crested a wave and was finally offered a view of the song's origin.

When she realised what she was looking at, Blue was surprised, though she would never admit it. If one could die and come back anew, if skeletons still walked as though they were living, was this really that strange? It was all starting to seem less and less silly.

With a defeated sigh, Blue swam over to the merfolk.

A trip to the Ferry could be quite some time. A mer's swim, however, took none at all. When Z looked down from checking the wind, his shipmate was back on the deck of the ship, keeled over and coughing quite hard. He was laughing yet again.

"Are you quite done?"

Z couldn't help laughing more despite pulling the sail up so the ship could drift the rest of the way to the large island they were at. Throwing her off the ship had been such a good idea!

"Alright, alright," he began, bringing his hands up and leaning back against the canopy support of the sloop. He had spoken like he had a lot to say, then paused and looked as though he'd forgotten or changed his mind. "Alright, how could I not?" If looks could kill, Blue's would have ended him multiple times over. "Y're the one that wanted examples!"

"Teaching by example and being a knobhead are two very different things."

She wasn't annoyed, she was angry. What had transpired was well within the range of what could be expected of crewmates and what they had previously discussed. Still, anyone could tell that it had been too much for Blue.

"Alright," she started, tone mocking. "I have had enough of your shit. You stay here 'til I've had a bath." He moved slightly, just so that he could stand more comfortably or go find something to do on the ship, and Blue jerked, glaring at him. He held his hands up defensively. "Just stay here. You can have yours after and then we'll sup. Just stay here so I can have a few minutes to myself."

There was so much exasperation in her voice, Z had no idea if he should laugh again or be terrified. Ultimately, he did as told and remained in the corner he was closest to on the quarter-deck. Blue had ducked below deck and when she returned she had a towel and change of clothes in her arms. She said nothing, didn't spare him a glance as she hopped off the ship and waded through the shallow water and disappeared around the rocks to the other side of the island.

The skirmish at Plunder Outpost had left the sloop with some cosmetic damage. With nothing substantial to do, Z found himself scrubbing the remaining charring off the deck. It took no time for that task to become too painful to continue with, the injury on his upper arm burning terribly. With work out of the question, Z found himself dipping below deck. He had seen it before, but now he was allotted time to truly take in the sloop's hold.

The water and grog barrels were exactly where he expected them to be. Nearby, there would normally be a brig pressed up against the wall that held up the stairs; instead, there was a cosy bed with a shelf above it. There was an arrangement of barrels and chests throughout the hold that he mostly expected to see; the most curious, however, was an open barrel that held eight swords in it. What anyone could need with more weapons than they could carry on their person, he didn't want to know. Beyond that, another interesting thing was a chest overflowing with fabrics; they seemed nice enough that it might have had her clothing it in. Perhaps, or rather, it held raw fabrics that she used to make clothes out of as he did not recognise the things she wore as anything the shopkeepers tended to stock. He would have to ask at some point. For someone who travelled alone, there was an awful lot of stuff down here and not much room for another person's belongings. Thankfully, Z didn't carry much and was able to tuck what he had under the grog barrel.

Now he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He couldn't work; he needed a good, long rest first, and his shipmate had been very specific about him staying on the ship. Hell, she may have even meant for him to stay in that corner or that specific deck; he wasn't sure. He'd had his fun showing her how one could get back to their ship, but she hadn't enjoyed it nearly as much. There was a lingering concern in his mind, curious of how miserable she was on a normal basis. If he was going to be stuck with this woman for a while, he wasn't sure he wanted to push it so he stayed on the ship. At least, he planned to.

Down where the beach began to curve, a rowboat was almost hidden behind a rock, taunting him. It didn't look like it had been moved in a long time. Z decided it would be a swell idea to collect it. He made sure he wasn't being watched before he left the ship to do this. Rather than dock the rowboat to the ship's stern, he left it between the ship and beach, right where the ladder was, forming something of a bridge. If Blue was as stuck up as he thought she might be, he'd prefer to keep her in good spirits for both of their sanity.

Idle hands made for a restless pirate, but what was he to do? All that Z could think to busy himself with was gathering a fresh change of clothes. Besides that, he had been told to stay where he was and so he placed himself back upon the quarter-deck, going so far as to lean against the canopy's wall, close to the corner she had corralled him into. It was a comfortable enough spot; he could take the pressure off his legs and watch the sunset, its striking colours cast upon sea and sky alike. All in all, it had not been a bad day and he couldn't complain about where he was now.

With a soft thump, the rowboat bumped against the sloop's hull as Blue returned. He looked to her as she came up the ladder, clean and clad in a fresh nightgown and long-sleeved button-up shirt. The towels and previous change of clothes were held as though they had offended her and she looked much like he recalled when he had first run into her: far too proud of nothing. It was tempting, but he didn't comment on any of this, nor did he bother trying to find an excuse to call her a pirate out loud to see what her response would be. Some other time. She disappeared below deck once more, returning briefly to leave a dry towel and a chunk of soap on the railing for him. Best not make her tell him to go bathe, he figured.

Collecting everything, he then vaulted over the railing and landed on the rowboat, allowing him to step on the sand without getting his boot wet. Z knew this island well, knew where the freshwater pond was; he also knew that there was a high peak that one could use to observe most of the region from. Scouting the area out first seemed a good idea to him and so he started uphill.

The climb shouldn't have been difficult, but his leg ached. The sooner he got up there, the sooner he could bathe and get back to the ship and sleep the day's pains off. Making his way to the mountaintop wasn't as hard with that reasoning in mind. From the peak, Z could still see the galleon near Plunder Outpost. They had stopped at the next closest landmass. Whoever was left on the ship must have been desperate to tend to it at a skeleton fortress. They were far away, far more wounded than he and his new ship and shipmate, and so he was not concerned with them. No other ships were visible and so Z was satisfied with that horizon scan. As he made his way back down the mountain, he scolded himself for carrying everything up with it; had he left it by the pond, he could have simply jumped down.

The cool evening air meant that Z spent as much time on the rocks surrounding the water as he could rather than directly in the pool. The fight had left him quite dirty and with wounds to tend to, and though he was not one to faff about, he found himself taking his time. After coming out on top of such a hectic day, he deserved to relax, he reasoned. He also did not want to return to the ship too soon; he and his new shipmate could do with some meaningful time apart. Chilly as it was, the water was very soothing to run on aching joints and injuries.

He could not shake how strange she was from his mind. Blue's lack of knowledge of this place was concerning. He did not think her dishonest though neither did he trust her — he had no reason to do either — and yet his gut told him to believe her when she said she had been there for some time. She had handled herself well enough in the skirmish and seemed so wary that he thought it reasonable that she simply avoided other crews. Any lone pirate should have done that and she seemed to have a mostly decent head on her shoulders. He'd had his fun, but now Z couldn't help feeling that crewing up with a greenhorn like her was a bad idea. He would have to poke and prod and find out exactly how she had been surviving.

There were other things he would have to ask her, too, primarily whether or not she had materials aboard to suture wounds. Had he suffered the wound to his arm outside of the Shroud, he would have been in trouble. The damn thing was still oozing blood and hurt fiercely. How silly, considering he had practically done it to himself, and with his own cutlass! He would ask if she had anything better than grog, and he needed her to say yes; the additional wounds on his neck and head and his constantly complaining half-leg all begged to be soothed with a lively drink.

Done bathing, he dried and dressed. Or, at least he partially dressed; he decided against putting a new-to-him shirt on when it would just get bloodied. The old one was pressed against the cut to keep it from spilling blood everywhere as he made his way back to the ship, hoping Blue would have good answers to his questions.

Back on the sloop, Z quickly found his shipmate at the captain's table with a book. She was writing and he decided this explained a few things. She didn't speak like someone that belonged here — her word choices and patterns made her sound like an outsider. She was an outsider. He realised that, if she was honest, she truly did not belong here.

He had been stood at the entryway for a little while now, long enough that he wasn't sure if Blue had noticed him or not. Loudly, he cleared his throat. She paused for a moment, ignored him for a few more seconds, and then she finally looked at him, unimpressed.

"What is it?"

"Do you have a needle? And…" He waved his gloved hand, making an 'I don't know' gesture, followed by an 'iunno' noise. He wasn't actually sure what one used to close a wound. "And somethin' to drink?"

He was thankful when he saw her put the pen down and stand; he was less glad when she stepped towards him. Steeling himself, Z pulled the shirt away so she could inspect his arm. Instead, she grabbed his chin and it took all of his being to not knock her off her feet. Uneasy as it made him, he knew that she was inspecting his neck, even the back of his head. He forced himself to relax as she disappeared into the deeper part of the sloop, reasoning that it would be silly for her to turn on him at this point. Or maybe it wouldn't be. He'd know soon enough.

Blue reappeared a moment later, two bottles of rum in one hand, a small box in the other. She pushed the book aside before placing the new items down on the table and motioned for him to be seated. He did so, dropping everything he'd brought back with him and kicking it aside except for the shirt he held close to his arm.

"Hold that," she said, hand momentarily pressing against his so that he couldn't expose the wound to her.

"… why?" He couldn't fathom her mind.

"Your head is still bleeding." That was a good reason, he decided.

Her fingers combed through his hair and he presumed it was to better find out where that gash started and ended. It tickled a little.

"This will sting," he heard her say. Z blinked and made himself focus, watched her pop open a rum bottle before disappearing behind him with it. Yes, yes it would. In fact, it burned like hell.

"It helps." It had better, wasting perfectly good rum like that. She stepped back in front of him, placing the bottle back on the table as she did. "Drink some if you like," she added as she dug about the box.

"Don't mind if I do," he replied, eagerly helping himself.

Just as Blue stepped back behind him, he saw her lick at her lips out of the corner of his eye. He suspected that she must have drunk as well. He didn't press the matter. Before he could sip again, her hand was in his view, presenting a sheathed dagger. It was not the usual sort that littered the Sea of Thieves that pirates generally used for, well, anything and everything; it was much nicer.

"What—"

"Bite down." Silence hung between them for a moment. "Until you are certain, bite down."

Slowly, he reached and took the weapon from her, and then another big swig of rum. He had so many questions. Then Z turned enough so that he could look at her; he wanted to ask where she had kept the knife, but the slight sway of her dress gave him a good idea. He couldn't quite help the smirk that crossed his face, or the words that followed.

"If I do, will you show me where y' had that?"

It was slight, but he saw her eyes widen. Blue stared at him a moment before she put her hands on his shoulders, pressed enough to make him sit properly. It was then that he finally noticed the curved needle in her hand and realised that he probably shouldn't have said that.

"Sit still, keep pressure on your arm, and bite down." She didn't give him time to consider all of those words and perform the actions associated with them before the needle found purchase in the skin at the back of his head. He couldn't help a small cry and he swore he heard her chuckle. Finally, he did as told, glad for the rum to be flowing through his limbs.

The first stick had been rough and mean. He probably deserved it. The second stick was probably deserved, too, but after that, the wound was gradually worked more kindly. It was not an overly gentle touch that she had, but still a womanly one, delicate and precise once she was done reprimanding him. Z appreciated that dearly. Or maybe it was the rum, which surely was appreciated by both of them.

Having gone from top to bottom, it felt like Blue had been working at the lower end of the wound for a while now. He wanted to ask, but before he could, a towel was pressed against the back of his head. Then it was dabbed at.

"You should prob'ly wash your hair again before you sleep tonight. Blood and rum… tch." He grunted at her words, removing the dagger from his teeth. There was a long pause between dabs, then: "Do you not dye your hair?"

"No." The question was so strange to him that Z was pulled to a more alert state. Then he mentally chided himself for having become so relaxed in the first place. The thing she was doing with the towel was soothing, as was the rum, the bottle empty. Curse himself. "Why?"

"No dye on the towel… Most of the pirates that wear outfits like you do." She stepped around to his side, eyeing him up and down, stopping at his face. Then she shrugged as though to herself. "Ah, your eyebrows are black, too."

He just stared at her. Even as his neck was examined and then passed over for his arm, the shirt pulled away from the wound, he stared. Blue turned to the table, murmuring as she picked about.

"What?" He had to know.

"Wh— silk. It is wh—"

"No. No-no-no-no— my eyebrows. They're black too?"

It was her turn to stare at him. "Yes. The hair atop your 'ead and above your eyes is all black. I, I've…" She took a breath. "I 'ave met many pirates wearing outfits like yours, all black. Some a little fancier than others, but they are all black. Black hair, too. They do not dye their brows, though. They all look very silly with hair and beards of black, brows of gold or red or what 'ave you."

Z stared at her. What she said made sense, he even realised he had somehow noticed this himself, though he'd never thought about it. If she had 'met' pirates dressed like him, she had met those who either sought to cause trouble or many, many who had far softer hearts than they ought to for the outfits they wore. The timing of the conversation was so strange, though, and he realised his thoughts were getting away from him.

"Huh."

Satisfied that he was satisfied, Blue motioned at his arm. "Now, this." She was pretty fuddled, too, he realised. She was talking much more, faster, and not so proper. It seemed like she was dropping every other letter and that was annoying, a new annoying to the way she spoke. Her voice was nicer on the ears when she didn't over-pronounce every word, though.

"I don't think I can just sew this up," she said, inspecting the wound. With her hands on his arm, he couldn't help moving it, unsure what to do with the limb. He made a face as Blue continued. "Your sword is sharp and this is a deep cut." She pointed into the parted muscle. "First, I need to pull this together. Then I can close it."

Twisting about, Z sat so that he could rest his arm along the backrest of the chair. Neither of them needed to say it: this would hurt horribly. He wondered if it would have been better to let the Ferry handle the wound, but that was always a gamble; who knew what eyesore of a scar he would come out with. There was always the risk that it wouldn't be a cosmetic scar he came out with: sometimes the Ferry would simply take an injured limb away. No, this was the best option, he concluded, but he was still upset about what was to come.

Perhaps this was something to mention to Blue. Then again, she had actively noticed that pirates dyed their hair, even their facial hair, but not their eyebrows. He had thought so, but now he was certain: she was smart. If she wanted to know, she would ask. He hoped. A popping noise pulled him from his thoughts. He also hoped that she wasn't going to use that entire bottle of rum on his arm. Turning his head away, he bit down on the sheathed knife, took a deep breath, and then nodded. There was no delicate way to go about cleaning a wound of this degree, only speed, but he was glad Blue worked as quickly as she could.

When she was done, she began bringing the parted flesh together. That didn't feel good. In fact, it was one of the more awful things that Z had ever experienced, very painful, horribly uncomfortable, and it felt slow. Blue seemed to be working as quickly as she could. Midway through, she lifted his arm and slowly lowered it down to a resting position. It was uncomfortable, her making him move his arm to make sure he could move it, and he would thank her for it later, but it was awful right now.

Tying the silk off in the middle of his arm was a chore. She was definitely drunk, he realised. It hadn't been a problem for her with the other wound, but she struggled with this one, reaching past him to grab another needle. He wasn't sure how that helped her, but it helped her accomplish her goal with little added discomfort.

"Do y' need a break?" she asked.

He gave it some thought, reaching for the rum. He was now aware of just how much he had started sweating from the ordeal; he'd blame it on the rum.

"No," he said, struggling to swallow. "Jus' get it done." He moved to place the bottle back and Blue intercepted it. Eyeing him up and down, she seemed unconvinced but didn't press him. Instead, she drank as well, placed the bottle back on the desk, and kept working.

With the deeper muscle taken care of, Blue began pulling everything along the skin together, the needle painfully driving through his skin. She had taken it upon herself to fix him up, and she was doing a good job, so he supposed he shouldn't complain even as new pain coursed through his arm. He couldn't help that he felt like throwing up. Her motions slowed at some point, too, and that was upsetting. Blue seemed aware of both of those facts.

"Almost done."

Necessary as it was, Z was annoyed, annoyed that he had relaxed so much as he had earlier, annoyed that he now outwardly showed how uncomfortable he was — the situation was awful. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could eat. Rum or not, this was a shitty end to a day that had started so wonderfully.

Sensing that her words were true, he lifted his head to examine Blue's work. The skin had come together cleanly and she was at the end of the wound, about to begin tying the silk off once more. As terrible an experience this had been, her work was good and it was far better than to have risked it with the Ferry. A clean scar would form where this wound sat. Now he could come up with a funner story for it.

Groping for the rum, he was dismayed to find it nearly gone. He looked at his shipmate. "Do y' want any of this?" She paused in her work so that she could take the bottle, sipped at it, and returned it to him. It also occurred to him that he could ask if she had any more.

"Stay 'ere." She cleared her throat as she stood, work complete. "Finish that and stay here." Blue didn't allow him to argue and he didn't care to, happy to savour what remained. He did wonder where she was going, having taken the dagger off the table before disappearing off the ship.

Z did not have to wonder long. When she returned, she held the leaf of a plant, one he had seen many times before but could not put a name to. Even as she squeezed a thick, clear substance from it he wasn't sure what it was. Somehow he was surprised when she slathered it on his arm, flinching. It didn't hurt, though; rather, it was soothing, if a little cold. Aloe, he realised.

"Thank you," he murmured, calm as she applied some to his neck and the back of his head as well. The leaf was left on the table as she ducked down to where the stove was. She lingered there a little while and a pleasant smell came forth. When she reappeared, she held some cloth strips and offered him a steaming hot tankard.

"Sip at this and chew the grass so you are not ill in the morn."

Somehow, he felt like he was being scolded. Whatever the case was, Z accepted the mug and gave it a sniff; it smelled nice. The pleasant buzzing from the rum was wearing off and he did feel awful; he figured there wasn't any more. Or maybe she was just scolding him. He decided to drink what was given to him instead of asking for more rum.

From the texture and colouring, it must have been a bit of old sail that Blue put around his head, covering that wound. She had startled him by doing that, as much as he could be in his state.

"… I do not think you are in any state to make that walk to wash your hair again." He made a face at her, then some half-serious mocking noises. He had no problem with giving her his arm to wrap up, though. The tea was tasty and improving his condition already; he silently refused to chew the grass, however. It went faster than the rum had and he was almost as sad to see it disappear.

"I think I'm quite fine, thank y' very much." Z felt quite cavalier after going through that ordeal, and he only slurred his words a little!

"Uh huh, alright."

Blue was unconvinced. Standing next to him, she bent her knees so that could bring his arm over her shoulder. To his surprise, he did need her help to stand. He'd need that help if he was going to find somewhere on the deck to sleep tonight. More surprising, though, was that she guided him downstairs. Where was he going?

The more steps they took, the more he looked around and understood that yes, Blue intended to drop him into bed like a drunkard. If she insisted, he wouldn't argue.

"Make yourself comfortable."

"Are you fine'lly goin' t' show me where you keep that little knife of yers?" Z's mind always wandered, but now there was hardly any barrier to what he spoke aloud. It was nearly impossible for him to not laugh when Blue's neutral expression shifted to one of grand annoyance. He couldn't though, not yet; that would hurt and ruin the game too soon.

"Just… just go to sleep, would you?"

"Are y' sure? I wouldn't want t' take yer bed from you." It wasn't an entirely untrue statement. This was her sloop, after all.

"It is fine. I can sleep up top on the canopy—"

"Now why would y' go and do that?" Z was able to prop himself up on one side, press his back against the wall, gesturing to invite her beside him. "I'm sure I can make enough room for you."

"Go to sleep," she hissed. Blue turned and he couldn't see if his laugh had annoyed her further. Before he could say more, she grabbed a spare blanket and was back up the stairs. He might have crossed a line there, but how could he not?

Feeling quite tired now, Z let himself fall against the bed properly, chuckling as he calmed himself. Laughing had indeed hurt, hurt his head, his arm, even his stomach, but it had been worth it. He would probably have to apologise to her in the morning for drinking so much, for the stitches, probably for what he said, too. He did wish he'd had the foresight to bring his shirt down with him; it was just cool enough to need a layer to sleep under. The bed was made, though, and the light blanket would suffice. As he settled, he was vaguely aware that the mattress was quite firm and shapely, like it hadn't been used much. On any other night, he would have found this very curious and spent time considering it, considered other things, too, but lingering effects of the rum and fatigue quickly overpowered him and he was taken by the warmth of sleep.