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Tracker
Rounding the south-eastern tip of Unicorn's Bay, a day's sail from the Altalusian harbor, the Boilbilge skirted the shallows of a small island chain that boasted little in the way of foliage. Open sea cased the eye in every direction but one; aftside of the scavenger bilge sat a large, pointed rock. Basalt, maybe. Something gray, jagged, and soaked in brine from the day's wild tide. It dominated the view, demanded notice.

For it had penetrated the vessel's hull and left the 'bilge thoroughly fucked.

Kaina Wendreef was one of the sorry lot stuck aboard. Decked out in diving gear, a pair of swim trunks that clung tight to his thighs, and a set of goggles that chafed at his hair (they were ill-fitting to the size of his head, and it showed terribly), he wore a scowl that threatened to scrape the youth from his face.

"Fucking shoreborn," he said, to no one in particular. Not that any of the deckhands in the vicinity paid the lad any notice; they were busy bustling about to a quartermaster's shout, hammers in hand and a bevy of planks and sheets of cheap, malleable metal. Any spare thought within them was exerted on the task. A task that demanded more attention than Kaina cared to give.

He lounged, perhaps too casually, hands furled up in fists while he did his best to look anything other than busy.

"So much for that fucking Navigator." He was mumbling now. "Too much to hope for some semblance of competence outside the flotilla."
 
"So much for that fucking Navigator.."

The pitch of his entitled, snotty voice just grated on his pointed ears, one eye twitching, blue eyes sparked- twitching. It was like nails grating on chalk, the high strung, screeching whine that a spoiled cat would make, mewling for it's wet food. Absolutely obnoxious and annoying, especially to the grungy little mutt that Loch was. It was not what he wanted to merge his head to. Shame the seas didn't take this dumb bastard when the ship was hit.

Ruined the bit of freedom he was feeling in that moment. Usually he had a little more surveillance. Being able to breath without feeling someone's burning gaze on his neck was warranted. As he sat, wiping the water from his face, slinging his hair back and re-orient himself, he heard the brat whine again. Another wince- and snap! The twinge of a broken harp string that represented the deva's nerve. Worth noting how often that string broke.

"Would you shut up and stop bitchin'!?" he whipped his head around, and snarled. "What's wrong? Can't find yer mom's teat and now you've gotta take it out on everyone? Just fuckin' finish the damn job so we don't have to hear you whining anymore."
 
"I'm sorry," Kaina said, "are you talking to me or having a fucking fit?"

Kaina's head whipped around, directing that scowl the waterlogged man's way. His mood, well past ripe to the point of souring, dampened much alike to the man's shaggy mane. Were it not for the violent jittering that shook the 'bilge in its moments of failing ballast (so Kaina convinced himself, while maintaining his malevolent sneer), he'd have thrown more than words.

Instead, his scowl simmered to what more closely resembled a pout, lips turning sulkily down, and he took a step to catch his balance; it was thrown off by a sudden jerk, one likely caused by the thrumming feet that pounded along the deck. A hand hastily fished for perch, finding it on some of the loose rigging strewn about.

With his breath thoroughly escaped, he breathed out: "What, they strap you to the beam?"
 
Loch twisted the body towards Kaina, a heave of his chest as he tried to lift his short form. Face contorted with the heat of a dragon, a snarl leaving his mouth. "No, but they should strap your useless ass to the beam. At least then we can have a lil' bit of quiet"

"Today already smells like whale shit- and your squawkin' ain't making it better. Just shut the fuck up."

Simple. But with a lot of energy. Loch's fists curled, blue gaze as sharp as daggers. He didn't really care what came out of Kaina's mouth next- he was ready to knock his lights out.
 
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