Get in my Net II

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

2 Fall, 511 AV With perplexed determination, Sable eyed the harpoon mounted to the bow of her ship, the Sea Sparkle. It was a vestige of their previous ship, where all four of them had lived a happy, close existence. Banishing memories; of Tungsten egging Sir on to fire just one more shot so that he could capture the scene perfectly on his parchment, of Syb dancing after bringing in her first three hundred pound fish with it; Sable turned away and padded to the cabinent in which Sir had carefully stored the harpoon spear things upon the purchase of the Sparkle. The sleek shaft, clean and carefully wound with its cord, surprised Sable with the heft. For a few minutes she amused herself by finding the balance point and pretending to throw it. Then it actually escaped her fingers on one thrust and clattered end over end across the dck. As though there were someone around to witness the clumsy and silly loss of control, she scurried forth and retrieved it in a hurry. Knowing the basic idea from witnessing the contraptions use, Sable set the shaft aside and pulled out the cord with careful attention to keeping it untangled. The surprising length, after a moments consideration, required her to double it up from port to starboard, close but never lying over a previous length. Beaming at the neat rows, the lanky Svefra skittered over them without mussing a single strand and set about examining the launcher. A long depression would clearly house the bolt, but she wasn't sure if she should wind the string back before or after installation. Taking the bolt in hand, she butted it up against the string and tried to get it to balance on the short run way. It toppled off two or three times before the theory became conclusive. Wind it back first. Grabbing the handle, the salt crusted system resisted the first few rotations before smoothing out and letting the neophyte pull the string into position. Then on went the bolt. Tension hummed throughout the contraption and Sable eyed it warily. If it exloded she didn't want to be anywhere nearby. With the jaunt of satisfaction of having solved a problem coloring her step, she disappeared back into the cabin and returned with a length of thin, abused fishing wire. With the same delicacy someone would handle a live, but slumbering, alligator, Sable wound the wire around the trigger so that the only tension on it would be when she tugged and carefully backed away. Standing a good fifteen feet back, she jerked the string. Out it flew, fast and far! Finally, the tip broke tumbling water and it cut through like a razor. With the direct object gone...blue eyes turned to the line quickly unraveling and disappearing off her deck. 'Petch!" Fishing wire trigger rigger forgotten to drop to the deck, Sable leapt upon the end of the harpoon line and panicked for a moment. Holding it would be disastrous. What to tie it to!? The harpoon! Duh! It had a ring! Sliding to her knees in front of it, her rush-clumsied fingers fought to feed the line through the ring and tie it off with a good solid knot. Every pass through, around, and over itself unwound with no strength, yeilding no knot capable of holding the stress of a flying harpoon. Frazzled, she whipped around and eyed the waters, like she could see the bolt stop through the depths of blue, and had not the mind to let go of the rop.e

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

She wanted to go swimming anyway. In an inelegant tumble, legs splayed and arms wheeling, over the edge she flew. With the death grasp of panic and fear, like this line attached her to the ship instead of the bottom, she held on and enjoyed a short ride down before sense kicked in and she cut her losses. Follow the bubbles. Disoriented, the mantra passed down to every young Svefra came to mind and Sable exposed her eyes to the sting of salt long enough to look around. Darkness encompassed her, there was no difference in hue no matter what directioned she looked in. The dire situation left her body screaming for air, where if she had been calm she could have gone thirty or more seconds without the distraction of burning lungs. Convinced that she was under the boat and would be trapped, the weak swimmer still headed straight up, following every escaped bit of life-giving air. Inefficient kicks and swipes left her bereft of energy and oxygen, wanting so bad to part her lips and suck in air even knowing that there was none around to be had. Clawed fingers scratched the water above her, searching for the hull that would kill her. If she caught it, she could claw her way to the side and up around it, if she caught it she was dead anyway. Sib had never seen anything so ridiculous in her life. On the starboard side of the vessel, close enough to be caught in the shadow, Sable thrashed just under the surface, turned on her side. Her grimacing face, twisted lips, and scrunched eyes snatching away any beauty those delicate features might have had. She looked like a wad of bleached seaweed caught on mangled coral. Still, the danger of the situation registered to the young pup and she lurched across the deck, knocking aside some refuse, and hopped in. As soon as Sable felt something solid in hand, she latched on to it, trying to climb on. Sib did not appreciate this in the least, and started thrashing herself. Fur, warmth, teeth or claws, nothing registered to the doomed woman. They tussled under a three feet deep layer of water, the half-grown pup bewildered and starting to panic herself. Pure luck had a flopping foot break the surface and reorient the Svefra. Pushing against whatever object had tangled with her, she leverage herself up into the air and sucked in great mouthfuls, hyperventilation making the task difficult and leaving her only slightly less woozy. Sib booked it out of there as soon as she squirmed out of the tangle. The basic lesson, just keep kicking, kept her nose barely breaching the surface, and every submersion stirred a great sweep of her arms to pull herself back up again. A lot of energy went in to pushing her in little baby steps toward the ship. Flopping in a heap on the deck, the lucky woman didn't move again until the midday sun had completely dried her hair, thin cotton garments, and the surrounding wood. Absently, her fingers played with thin fibers stuck under untrimmed fingernails. Finally curious as to what they could possibly be, or where she coud have picked them up, a closer examination revealed them to be hairs of some sort. Brushing them away, cleaning them from both hands, she struggled weakly to her feet.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Sable needed to eat. Bitterly, she recalled the meal that she'd slept to ashes the night before and the hours and hours of useless fishing that had preceded it. Ripping off the stiff clothing, she left the garments in a pile on the deck and went to fetch a spear and the net. Dumping them unceremoniously in a pile near the tiller, she trudged around, readying the vessel for voyage. Anchor heaved, sails unfurled, checked, and she returned back to the tiller. The wind caught in the sails to turn the small vessel about, but left it drifting uselessly toward short after just a few moments. Succumbing to the gnawing hunger in her stomach, Sable hastily wrenched res free and concentrated the thin gas in her mouth, inhaling it deep into her lungs. Whipping the sail into proper place she released her breath with steady strength toward the white canvas. Pushing the gas forward, maintaining a thing line of res in the center of the expellation, she attracted natural air to the subtle breeze to increase its momentum. The limp sail fluttered and expanded gently, the laborious effort providing just enough to get the ship pushed toward shore at a snail's pace. Two or three sucessful repetitions of this left her only half way there, and she knew she should stop. But to the hungry, exhausted woman, things just couldn't get any worse. Continuing on, drawing further on the diminishing supply of safe res, she huffed, she puffed, and she blew the vessel forth. Impatience snapped through the thin barrier or prudence. Sucking in plain, natural air to those worked lungs, Sable tried another tactic. Watery res dripped from fingertips, delving beneath the ship and pooling along the center beam of the hull. More and more she expelled, to no result. Finally, she thrust as much forth as possible. Water gathered, creating a current under the Sparkle. Unfotunately, it didn't seem to be in any helpful direction. Jaw clenching, empty eyes staring at the smooth wood of the dek, she tugged that thin line of res controlling it all and tried to get the water running the correct direction. Eventually, the thin res gathered in a long trough before the boat, pushing forward and the chasing waves carried the ship in slow chase. It took a moment to realize that the motion of the deck wasn't proper. The bow of the ship had been caught in the trough and bucked the end on which Sable worked. Jarred out of focus by stumbling into the tiller and then the deck, the lanky, fatigued woman lost control of her tendrils and the res dispelled, resulting in water rushing into the ensuing void and kicking the ship backwards.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Blood shot eyes strained to focus properly, but the distinct lines of her surroundings failed to come to. Slapping a hand on the tiller, she drug herself up to shuffled forth and take care of the sails. Stowing them properly took what little energy she had left and a quick break leaning against a barrel turned into a lengthy involuntary nap. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, rousing the imprudent young woman to the chill of night. "Petch," she cursed the headache pounding round the crown of her head and stood. Skin itchy, hair matted, muscles stiff, Sable shuffled to retreive the fishing implements. The spear left disarded, the net bit into the taut flesh of a shoulder as it was carted fore. Tired of playing around, she spread the net out flat on the deck and attached a rope to the pull line. Folding the material up like an accordian, with the bottom edge down and the top most edge up, Sable walked it to the back of the ship and slowly unfurled it to fall in a neat sheet into the water. An erratic and neglient dropping of the anchor set her ship ready for the night and she disappeared into the cabin. The small captain's chamber waited in impenetrable shadow, and only the simple set up and sparse furnishings allowed the safety of toes. Sheer scraping sounds preceded a sudden flaring of orange. Flame soon licked up the wick of a stubby candle. Unlocking a cabinent and pulling forth an unblemished leather casing, Sable unlatched her simple stool and settled in at the desk. Opening the case revealed a full supply of sewing tools. Plucking up a measuring string, she drew it around at various angles of her head. From shoulder to shoulder, over her head, turned out to be long enough to cicumvent her aching crown. Marking the length, she groped under the rough blanket on the bunk until a folded length of silk. Hunched over to make use of the small light, Sable soon had a square of material. But, in the dim light, her blood shot eyes couldn't even manage to pick out a properly sized needle from the selection. Holding her aching head in hand, she lazily closed up the sewing kit and stuffed it back into the cabinent. How long she'd been there, with her head rested on her folded arms, drool pooling beneath them, was anyone's guess. Rising stiffly, the groggy woman shuffled out, wincing and grumbling as the bright light of day pierced her eyeballs. Kicking salt stiffened clothes, in an absent gesture she stooped and shoved them beneath the lid of the water barrel to soak and clean. Next, the unused fishing spear found itself carted along. Then, and only after the ship had been picked up and checked, did she venture forth to the net. Grog weakened muscles slowly pulled up the net. And she almost cried when little fish flopped within its depths. Six, six edible fish. Four others she released back over the edge. Grabbing a drying board, her knife, and the salt, she set down to take care of breakfast. Five heads chopped off, tossed over. Five gullets opened, guts tossed over. Five lengths of meat, trimmed with a novice hand, stretched out on the board and doused heavily with salt. Later, she would realize that she used way too much salt. The last fish she tossed back to the sea, an offering of thanks. Though this didn't actually put any food in her tummy, the discomfort eased with the knowledge that there would be. The previous day's magic show had brought her well within reach of shore; if it hadn't been high tide, the ship would have sat darn near on the bottom. As it was, she dropped a plumb line over and sounded it at about eight feet.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Unwilling to eat gooey gobs of salty white meat, she hefted her little fishing spear, tossed anchor, and hopped overboard. Water greedily gobbled her up, and for a second those terrifying moments of being under the boat reared up. Coiling her legs up, she shoved off the bottom with panicked haste, bursting forth in a shower of glittering sparkles, mouth gaping for oxygen. Arms groping for purchase, the spear tip severed the flesh of a leg. It stung. Mimicking the motions she'd seen Sir do, arm over arm, facing the shore, legs kicking, she plugged along. Movements had no finesse, but they worked. Slowly but surely, with as much progress up and down as forward, she struggled to get her toes on the sand. Wading in, swelling with the tossing of waves, the spear eventually skidded across the sand and she stooped to check her leg. The cut was shallow, but long. And had some claw marks right next to it. Puzzled, wondering at which point she'd scuffled with a creature...and where was Sib? Taking up the fishing implement, and discovering still more scratches surrounded by angry red, she wandered down the beach toward rocky tidal pools. The rocks bit into her tough feet as she precariously balanced over a vibrant pool. Through no manuevering of her own, neither shadow nor reflection alerted the little guys to her presence. Sheer luck of the situation and nature provided the correct conditions to yield a meal. The first few stabs sent the fish scurrying for safety, and she waited, watched, and when they emerged she readied for the reattempt. Shocking her, when the hit finally occured, she had been sure that she had thrust right over the fishes back. Feeling horrible for the bright thing wiggling on the end of her stick, she bashed its head against the rock until it stopped. The thing was tiny, she almost wished that she had missed it as previously thought. Drift wood abounded in the sandy beach, and after a few moments of vigoriously rubbing wood together as she'd seen others do in order to start a fire, she decreed this method to be stupid. With the knowledge that animals would come eat her fish if she didn't hurry, the lanky, abused woman jogged out to the waves, fighting the weight of them and eventually dove in. And sank.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Quite used to the feeling, Sable paddled on, unknowingly doing the classis doggie paddle. Kick, kick, paddle, paddle, sink, kick, paddle, sink sink kick. Finally reaching the ship, her head resounded off the hull with a hollow thud. The vision of water sloughing into the depression left in the wake of her head, sparked an idea. Expelling res in a cool gas from her mouth, she sank beneath the water, keeping herself suspended as she sank. Air followed her down, creating a spindly tunnel six inches into the water. But, unwilling to take an experimental breath, the Sevfra surfaced and clamored onto the ship. A few seconds later she gingerly lowered herself into the water, trying to keep the flint and steel and knife dry. Again, using the boat to stay afloat, she tentatively released some res from her hand. Air hurried to surround it and she tentatively lowered the hand with the knife into the water. The bubble followed her down, but she quickkly learned that any sharp movements in the flailing of trying to swim dispelled it. The sharp increasing pang of the headache reminded her of the extensive overuse of magic from the previous day. Struggling toward shore, Sib finally made an appearance. Sable gurgled out a greeting and beckoned the little lass to follow her to shore. But the otter indicated she was busy with her own meal, and Sable sloshed up to light a fire. The tender had to be repeatedly changed as her dripping form ruined the best bunch. Frown twisting grumbling lips, the hungry woman diligently kept at it to eventual success. Carefully nursing a faint spark and then flame, the Svefra slowly fed the popping thing until it seemed large enough to burn into a good bed of coals. While waiting for the sticks to burn down, the fish was prepared. The little eating knife severed, with difficulty, the head and then the gut. The stinky innards splatted when she threw them further up the shore, toward the trees. Praising her own ingenuity, she speared the little meat slabs with the spear and held them in the heat of the fire. And then they fell off. And got ashy. And sandy.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

"Seriously?! What are you doing?! Stop it!" Sable demanded, crouched at the rim of the fire and hesitatnly grabbing at the quickly deteriorating dinner. Unable to retrieve them due to their crumbly nature, she reluctantly left them to cook as they would. Chimes passed as bells, the scent of cooking meat more than preparing her for the feast. Fetching the halves with the spear, and awkward movement given the length, the heat of them bit fingertips when she tried to stuff them immediately in her face. The side that cooked meat down turned out, when finally cool enough to bear, charred and kind of rare in the middle. The side that cooked skin down, however, turned out juicy and tender. The skin took most of the charring, protecting the meat. Though it took only half a chime to scarf down the meal, and satisfied as never any other food could, Sable reclined feeling bloated. Sib ventured up at this point, uncharacteristically shy. The lanky, langoriously stretched woman smiled lazily and patted her side to beckon the young pup up for a cuddle. Sib slowly approached, but didn't settle down as accostumed. After a few moments of tickling whiskers and cold wet nose printes, the Svefra curiously glanced down. Sib sniffed at the scratch marks. Sable reached out and ruffled the fur of her head playfully. "Apparently I landed on someth-Oh! Sib! That was you!" she yelped, recognizing the hairs on Sib's head as the ones she'd pulled out from under her fingernails. Lurching up and hopping to her knees, bony fingers prodded and poked the young otter, turning her this way and that in search of injury. "Are you okay?! I'm sorry!" Sib squirmed out of the strong grasp, landing in a mess on her head before tumbling forth and narrowly avoiding the firepit. The apology and apparent forgiveness for several bites warmed her up again and she threw herself on Sable with a ferocious play growl, not just anyone could man-handle her in such a way! How undignified!

[Growl]

Appreciation Time! Name: Sable Experience: +1 Fishing, +3 Swimming, +2 Reimancy, +2 Sailing, +1 Sewing, +2 Cooking Lore: Swimming Strokes (Very Basic), Nearly Drowning, How to Shoot a Harpoon, Trying to Move a Ship with Magic Additional Notes: The fishing was for the use of the harpoon. PM with questions or concerns.