Rum Run (Daske, Gabrielle, Pash'nar)

[Gabrielle Seawind]

Drenched to the bone, Gabrielle wheezed and panted. Her brain was fuzzy as she fought to catch her breath. Outside the cavern's mouth, the rain continued to rage. There was an eerie kind of whisper that howled through the cavern as the wind made echoes throughout its walls. Daske's casinor was still being hit by the waves, but most of the strength of the waters was being broken by the cavern's narrow mouth. "What are you cursing about, Daske? We're alive and well, be happy about it," she said this in straight Fratava. Up until this point, Gabrielle had spoken in common because she knew that Daske wasn't fluent in her native language. However, Fratava was her first language, and the language she used by default when she was too stressed to think straight. Gabrielle untied the rope from around her and took a peek at whatever they had collided with. She had seen the boat and she had seen the person. However, she had shut her eyes out of instinct when she saw they were going to collide, and she had instinctively prepared for the worse. "Oh, did we knock him back? Damn..." she had switched back to common, now that her mind was more at ease. It was a man with tanned, tattooed skin. His hair seemed to be accented with various accessories, which Gabrielle knew well enough was a common characteristic with the Svefra. However, Gabrielle had no real way to know if he was of their race. The man seemed to be in pain, something which Gabrielle dismissed almost instantly. She didn't care about his injuries at this point. "Can't you see the storm? We're here for shelter," replied the Svefra woman in a matter-of-factly tone. "Surely you can share this cavern with two more people, yeah? If it will make you feel better, we have rum." Gabrielle shrugged and looked at Daske. The rum was supposed to be for a delivery, but really, would they notice if a couple went missing?

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske untied himself and stood up on wobbly legs. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and he felt like he was going to vomit, but he managed to find the aft docking line and used it to tie the sterns of the two boats together. He made his way gingerly to the bow and did the same thing with the forward docking line. He made his way back to the cockpit just in time to hear Gabrielle offering up some of their cargo of rum. “Ya know,” he said without a trace of a smile. “I could use a drink too. Don't nobody go anywhere.” He disappeared into the cabin and, after producing some thudding and banging sounds, reappeared with three bottles of rum. He offered one to Gabrielle and another to their new companion. Then he collapse in the cockpit with his back against the cabin and his legs sprawled out in front of him in six inches of water. Not that it mattered. Both he and Gabrielle were soaked to the bone, although she undoubtedly looked much better soaking wet than he. He popped the cork out of his bottle and downed a good-sized gulp. “Whoa!” he said as his whole body shuddered. He took another swallow with similar effect, re-corked it, and placed it on the deck between his legs. It made a “shplunk” sound but didn't seem to be in any danger of floating away. “You're lookin' a little worse fer wear,” he said, pointing at the stranger's bloody leg. “If ya want, I'll take a look at it a little later and see what I can do. But first, I don' know about Gaby but I'm thinkin' I wanna get into some dry clothes.” OOC : Feel free, either one of you, to fast forward us Pash's boat below deck. Or Daske's boat, although it's probably a total mess below deck. BTW, Daske has a sewing kit that he can use to stitch wounds."

[Pash'nar]

Pash'nar wavered on his feet, incapable of mustering any particular objections as to why he shouldn't share the natural shelter of the caves. They'd all obviously had the same thoughts, only the tattooed sailor had missed the storm. The pair didn't look suspicious, though in his inebriated state, it wasn't really like he gave a petch either way. Svefra, thank Laviku. Not slavers or some other unsavory lot. Folks who could relate to him as long as Syna hung in the sky, though he couldn't think too far ahead to contemplate their reactions after sunset. At least one of them was nice enough to look at, bleary-eyed as he may have been after spending way too much time by himself with alcohol. He didn't refuse more, however, offering some mumbled form of thanks, thanks which might have been in Fratava or Common if it hadn't been so distractedly slurred. The dark-haired navigator forced himself to focus on the bottle for a moment with a satisfied smirk, putting together enough coherent thought to speak clearly after a long pause, "Oh, aye, ain't like thems mine, these caves, eh?" He laughed coarsely, rolling his shoulders in a shrug as he followed Daske's gaze to his thigh and the stains of his own blood the gashes on either side were leaving on his linen pants, "Ah, well, shyke. We all make a petchin' fine picture'n this mess, I'd say. It ain't's bad 's't looks, tho' I prolly ain't kept the best care'o'my'self, neither. Y'can take a look if'n y'want, but it's all a bit close t'important places, jus' to warn y'a bit." Pash chuckled almost coyly and then ran a calloused hand over his face, the other still contentedly clutching the unopened bottle of rum with inked fingers. He didn't feel steady enough to open the thing just yet, so he rooted around in his distracted thoughts to remember he could have some manners when suddenly surrounded by unexpected guests, "Well, don't stand 'round lookin' like drowned rats'r'nothin'." A thumb hooked over his tattooed shoulder before he turned to lead the way with a limp, "Come'n belowdecks an' get dry. I ain't got any spare clothes for your likes, but I got some blankets'r'somethin' to get dry with an' whatnot." He struggled his way into his cabin first, cradling his gifted alcohol while trying not to spew too many curses under his breath as his thigh protested with a deep, burning fire all his steps. A few escaped his lips anyway in Fratava, choked through clenched teeth. He didn't make any effort to clear the charts and maps and drawing materials from his table, but simply set his bottle among the rolls of parchment while he lit the small lantern and stumbled around the guts of his ship to find warm, dry blankets for the pair tossed about by Zulrav and Laviku during the storm, all while attempting to not leave a trail of his own blood on the old, worn wood of his cabin. He managed a few threadbare things from his spare berth, enough for the two of them. He didn't particularly care if they worried too much about clothes or not—he never did, and less so when far from sober. The lantern served to offer more than just a bit of feeble light in the cabin, illuminating the obviously hand-drawn night sky that covered the entire ceiling as well as the rest of the tattoos that decorated Pash'nar's arms and back, most prominent being the manta ray that spanned his shoulders. The whole interior of his casinor looked old, older than the false Svefra appeared to be, but everything was also well-cared for. His charts were only in disarray because he'd corrected a few of them once he'd found the caves and distracted himself with other things instead of putting his mess away. "Make y'selves at home, then." He groaned, leaning against the curtained archway that separated his berth from the main cabin, "Name's Pash," the dark-haired navigator offered simply, unconcerned as to whether or not they noticed the absence of a pod name or association, "Y'all gots names, too, 'm sure."

[Gabrielle Seawind]

None of Gabrielle's clothing was spared from being soaked. Disgruntled, she stripped down to her undergarments. As a Svefra, she had no qualms about the lack of things to cover herself with. However, because of the weather, she took the dry blanket with an appreciative look and wrapped it around herself. After squeezing the water out of her hair, she rung her clothes as much as she could. After that, she climbed back up to the upper deck to place them on the side of Daske's casinor, choosing the driest spot she could find. The Svefra knew there was no chance they'd dry in such weather, but it was the least she could do. Afterwards, she finally found herself below deck with the two men. "Gabrielle," said the woman in response to Pash's inquiry. Gabrielle held an uncorked bottle of beer in her hand. She took a big gulp from it, feeling the alcohol warm up her insides. It was a nice thing to feel in such chilly temperatures. She had neatly pushed aside some charts on the table to give herself room to sit. Making herself comfortable, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. With careful eyes, she stared at the stranger named Pash. He spoke in slurred sentences, hinting that he had started drinking way before her and Daske. She didn't miss his injury. She held up a hand and pointed at his wound. "Might want to get that fixed," she said as she turned her gaze to Daske, urging her companion to 'take a look at it', like he had said. Gabrielle took another swig of the rum before speaking again. "Daske and I are headed to Syliras to deliver rum. Petching storm caught us, obviously," she explained. "And what are you doing here, Pash?"

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it through the companion way hatch into the cockpit, followed by the rest of his clothes. He sat down heavily opposite Gabrielle, not bothering with a blanket, and addressed Pash. “Seein' how we're all gettin' comfortably naked, maybe you should take off your clothes so I can get a look at yer injuries. I ain't no doctor or anythin' like that, but at least we can make sure they're cleaned out properly and I can maybe stitch stuff back together that needs stitchin'.” Pash required some assistance – partly because he was drunk, partly because he was weak from loss of blood, and partly because he wasn't entirely convinced he wanted strangers undressing him – but they eventually got his clothes off. Some swearing was involved. Daske took one look at the two deep gashes on his left thigh and said, “Be right back.” He made his butt-naked way up the steps into the cockpit and returned shortly with his shirt and a sewing kit. He handed the shirt to Gaby and said, “See if you can rip this into strips or somethin'.” He got Pash to lie down on his stomach on his bed so he could get a look at the jagged rip across his left butt cheek. “This is probably gonna hurt like hell,” he said matter-of-factly. Using a strip of cloth from what used to be his shirt, he carefully washed out the wound. Since he was using sea water, it hurt like hell. He could tell because of the colorful language Pash produced throughout. Then he poured rum over it, which produced more colorful phrases. He took out needle and thread and said, “Maybe you should have some of that rum. In fact, maybe you should have a lot of it.” He grabbed a flap of skin between his finger and thumb and pulled it up far enough to push the needle through it. Then he did the same thing with the skin on the opposite side of the tear. He pulled the two ends of the thread together and cinched them tight, closing part of the wound. He tied it off and sat back to admire his handy work. “That's a pretty good lookin' stitch if I do say so myself,” he said. “Two more should do it.” It took three more but the end result was that the ugly rip in Pash's butt was closed. He poured some more rum on it. “I can't think of any way to bandage it up,” he said to Gaby. “So let's put a wad of cloth on it and get his under pants on to kinda hold it in place.” They got Pash on to his back and Daske repeated the same process with the two gashes on his left thigh. One of them required five stitches. The other required six. They wrapped strips of cloth around his thigh and tied it up. Then they propped Pash up on his bed so he could sit up, thinking he probably wouldn't want to be walking around right away. “Ya know,” said Daske. “I got this sewing kit to sew clothes and sails and stuff like that. But all I ever seem to use it for is sewin' up people.” He finally wrapped himself up in a blanket, collapsed on a padded seat, and turned his attention to his half-empty bottle of rum. “I'm hungry. I wonder what time it is?” OOC : Modded Pash with permission.

[Pash'nar]

[center]OOCUnderpants? Pash says, "Petch you, I gave up on those a few decades ago. Such a hassle."

Petch, he was dizzy, and he hadn't even opened that rum yet. This was disappointing, considering attractive enough strangers were taking their clothes off in his cabin uninvited. Cerulean gaze shifted to the wounds he'd been so lazy about caring to, red stain angrily glaring at him as it spread down the leg of his pants. Well, he should have really done a better job of tending to those stab wounds after all. They sure did come back and bite him in the arse. It took effort to focus upward again, blearily glancing at Gabrielle as she suggested her companion lend a hand. He sniffed, making a concerted effort to play at unconcerned, choosing instead to answer the younger Svefra's question, "Mmm headin' t'Alvadas jus' for somethin' to do, s'pose. Prolly look for some work 'gain. Spent some time fishin' for trouble inna Gut, y'could say, but wasn't quite in shape to handle that storm neither, obviously." He chuckled, disinterested in telling the entire story or the entire truth, but he was honest enough. He didn't quite know why he was headed back to Alvadas when he had the whole Suvan to travel. Was there anything still there for him? No, probably not. Maybe a few mizas, but that was about it. Surely. Petch. He didn't need to get distracted about all that shyke again … hadn't he done enough wallowing already? The tattooed navigator slumped a bit, inhaling through clenched teeth, "Jus' so y'know, Syliras' port's still inna works after that petchin' mess'n spring. It's almost pretty, but not quite, even near th'end o'spring." Maybe he should have started on that rum by now, but it sure did look too far away all of the sudden. Then, Daske was suggesting further nudity and Pash struggled to come up with an appropriately inappropriate response to the word combination of comfortable and naked, but he couldn't seem to put together anything as excitingly lewd as he would have liked. He managed to mumble that he was fine, just a bit drunk, and that things would work themselves out. Or, he attempted to. It was more slurred and full of protest and definitely more Fratava than common. Most of the time, getting the dark-haired navigator out of his clothes while drunk was hardly a difficult task, and most of his objections this time involved him trying to suggest he was capable of removing them himself or that he just wasn't drunk enough yet. Then, just as his spinning, disoriented thoughts caught up with the whole situation, there was restraint under the guise of simple friendliness followed by the use of sharp, stabby objects. He managed to voice his opinions of the unsolicited doctoring in whatever foul words he could exhale through clenched teeth. He understood Daske's warning and was well aware of what was— Oh. The rum. A lot of it seemed like a perfect idea compared to all the current alternatives. Pash'nar welcomed the offer, completely ignoring the terrible burning sensation as the alcohol clawed its way down his throat. He sputtered a bit and groaned angrily, unable to really voice any further arguments in a comprehensible manner. To say that he allowed the rest of the stitches would have been generous at best, but he decided it was against his best interest to struggle or argue when anything else sharp was too petching close to his more enjoyable bits. Finally, as if to add insult to fixed injuries, the pair of Svefra fluffed him all comfortable-like in bed and obviously hoped he wasn't incredibly nauseous. He was, but that was surely a non-issue at this point. What else could possibly be shared between friends, right? Besides, if he bothered to point out that the beauty of Daske's handiwork made no petching difference to an immortal body that didn't scar, no matter how mortal it appeared in false Svefra skin, he surely would have hurt the poor man's feelings. They'd all just met, and while he was grateful he was no longer bleeding all over his ship and generally risking unconsciousness and annoying infection, he really didn't want to piss all over potential companions so soon into their meeting. Especially ones with wet clothes. Thank Leth himself, there was still more rum! One inked, calloused hand waved in the bottle's direction, just out of reach, in order to ask for more. The tattooed sailor had no interest in laughing at Daske's attempt at humor. Whoever ended up using things for their intended use when out at sea, anyway? Glancing up through his narrow cabin windows from his vantage point in the safety of his own bed, he exhaled brokenly through still-clenched, too-perfect teeth. The storm outside was quite a mess, but at least they had shelter and it still paled in comparison to the start of spring. What didn't pale in comparison to that? Had he been more sober, he may have been more capable of perceiving how close to sunset they really were. Unfortunately, he was more focused on the searing pain of his patched up body, "M'sure there's somethin' o'er'n the kitchen if you're that hungry. S'more'n'I need, 'm sure. Least I can do, eh?" He nodded in the direction of his pantry, though he didn't particularly feel motivated to voice his thanks. Perhaps later, he'd be a bit more clear-headed to not be as angry. "Oh, an' I promise you'll know what time't's soon 'nough, if't be close to sunset, that is." He grinned lopsidedly as he added those words with slurred mysteriousness, still not quite as drunk as he'd like to be if he was forced to ignore all the happy nudity and keep playing injured instead. If it was close to sunset, they'd be in for a different kind of distraction from the storm. He wondered if he should bother to explain before hand that he was an ethaefal, but that was always so petching boring. He changed the subject instead, "Didja come from Riverfall'r Alvadas with all that, eh?"

[Gabrielle Seawind]

"Got the job from Alvadas," explained Gabrielle before she took another swig of rum. She could feel her cheeks starting to burn, and her surroundings were startling to spin a bit. The effect of the rum was evident in her slightly slurred words. It felt good. "First time Daske and I shared a job," said the girl with a wide grin. "You do the same kind of thing for a living, Pash?" The Svefra were pirates, and it wasn't uncommon to grab necessities by stealing. However, it was difficult to do so if you were travelling alone. It was difficult and unsafe... and also exhilarating. Gabrielle could remember the days when she travelled with her podmates, she could remember the adrenaline rush that ensued when they went after unwitting sailors at sea. "If 'ya asked me, Svefra should live as Svefra... running errands like these? What a joke," she muttered. The rum was making her speak the truth. She hated what she had been doing these past few seasons. She was going to say something else when she suddenly understood the meaning of the tattooed Svefra's words. As soon as Leth took over, Pash'nar's body changed entirely. With dazed eyes, Gabrielle watched. He seemed to grow taller, his hair changed its color, and his skin seemed flawless. "An Eth. Heard rumours that there were a few of you among our race," she muttered. Her words were simple, vague, and hidden in disinterest. However, in truth, she was utterly amazed. She had never seen an Ethaefal in that moment where they transformed. Outside the cavern, the storm continued to rage. The loud spattering of rain and the rum caused Gabrielle to shout almost everything else she said. The night continued, and soon enough, Gabrielle had downed three bottles of rum. She didn't even know what time it was anymore. Laughing like a child, she would listen to any conversation that would occur, finding humour in anything. She swayed like a fool. And before she knew it, she had insisted on climbing beside Pash'nar on his bed. "Stop taking up all the petching space," she muttered in Fratava, attempting to kick the Ethaefal away but failing to do so. There might have been other places to pass out in, but that was the closest one to her. Before passing out completely, she said something incoherent, and then she was gone... completely oblivious to anything else that happened in her surroundings.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Evening of the 5th of Summer On the evening of the next day they rounded the cape and passed south of Neemi Isle as they turned east toward Syliras. The wind was coming from the northwest at about fifteen knots and the Black Lady was making good speed through four foot swells. The storm had passed but left overcast skies in its wake. Cyphrus was barely visible in the distance to the south. Several interesting things had transpired at the party the night before, most of which Daske remembered. First, they had consumed six bottles of rum between the three of them. Daske was still working out how he was going to explain the missing cargo. Second, Pash had transformed himself from a Svefra into some kind of horned creature. Daske had never even heard of an Ethaefal before, let alone met one. His encounter the previous season with a Kelvic – another first for him – had somewhat prepared him for the experience, but he was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of someone who spends half his life in one form and the other half in another, determined by whether it was day or night. Not to mention the part about being immortal. On the other hand, it pretty much settled the question of who would take the night shift. The third interesting thing that happened was that Gaby drank herself into oblivion. Apparently her body weight wasn't up to handling three bottles of rum in a short span of time. He hadn't seen her since he and Pash had carried her to the Black Lady around mid-morning. He suspected that when he did see her, she would not be good company. As for Pash, he had sequestered himself in one of the bunks where he appeared to alternate between sleeping and complaining about itchy stitches. For Daske's part, he had woken up in the morning with a serious headache, a breath that would knock a sailor over at twenty paces, and a good deal of nausea. But after a little vomiting, he had felt better. A little. Pash had decided he might as well tag along with them since he wasn't really in good enough shape to sail by himself and the prospect of spending the next several days alone in a cave didn't appeal to him. Daske was sitting in the stern of the cockpit on the starboard side with one hand resting lightly on the tiller. The Lady was heeled pretty far to starboard. He let his hand trail in the water as it raced past. The swells lifted the Lady up and then let her gently back down in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. His was a simple life, but it was enough for him.

[Pash'nar]

While it certainly wasn’t a unique experience in his lifetime, Pash’nar still always felt strange living on someone else’s ship. The larger merchanteering ships he’d hired himself out to were a little more private, a little less confining, but sleeping and waking and eating and living on someone else’s casinor was always a bit intrusive and strange, especially when he was the guest and not the captain. Sharp objects and alcohol-induced unconsciousness aside, however, the pair he found himself sharing with were certainly not disagreeable in close quarters. Svefra, at least. He knew them, though one was perhaps more comfortable in their tanned and sea-worn skin than the other. He understood that feeling, but had yet to compel himself to pursue the reasons. Not when he’d been handed night shift so that the others could rest, realizing that his ethaefal form was, in a way, less a cause for curiosity so much as convenience on this trip. Not that he minded. He felt false enough as a Svefra by day alone as it was, let alone when surrounded by them. If he remembered much of the past few days, they were a slightly painful blur. Once evening had fallen the day the three had met, Pash was left only partly along the path of complete alcohol-induced oblivion he’d planned on after such rough, unpracticed medicine. Unable to drink any further without a human metabolism, he was left at least somewhat drunk and able to watch the other two make fools of themselves instead. It may have been a fair trade for a bit of painful humiliation and itchy stitches. He was certainly never one to object to sharing his bed under more normal circumstances. Sleeping with a drooling, noisy, hardly capable of consciousness body was not really all that entertaining. Not that he had been left in the condition to entertain if the situation had gone differently. Once they’d all somewhat recovered their wits and the storm had blown its course, the tattooed sailor was in no mood to be left alone. The caverns seemed unvisited enough that he decided to stow his ship there—it wasn’t like he really owned anything he considered valuable save the casinor itself, anyway. Inviting himself along for the job seemed favorable enough, even if it meant purposefully putting himself in close contact with other Svefra. Memories threatened to rise to the surface of his thoughts when he surrounded himself with the people he’d once made himself a part of, only to run away from, and he didn’t feel like he really needed to spend too much time reopening old wounds. Not while he wasn’t alone. If he woke just before sunset that evening with old, unforgotten names on his lips, sitting up in his borrowed, unfamiliar berth with a few angry words at dreams that haunted him and a leg that still hurt, that was just a small price to pay. The angle of the Lady from inside the hull did him little favors, and he half-hobbled, half-staggered his way about the cabin with a complete lack of grace. The whole act elicited a string of unpleasantries in Fratava while he decided it was not worth bothering to fumble with his sandals or remember where his vest had disappeared to in the tangled mess he’d left of his sheets. At least he’d mostly managed to sun away the stain of his own blood on his lonely pair of pants, though he’d have to finally give in and replace them. They may have been the only thing to keep him from scratching his home-brewed stitchery out. Maybe. He found himself disinterested in eating so close to sunset, resisting the urge to petch with his itching stitches. He wouldn’t need food in a few bells, anyway, especially if the night was as clear and stormless as it had been just the day after the storm. Petching moody gods. When he finally staggered his way out the hatch and onto the precarious deck into the last golden rays of Syna’s fading light, it took him several ungainly steps to find his lopsided balance. He precariously made his way to Daske at the tiller, mostly using the boom and whatever lines he could snatch without upsetting anything necessary to all-but-crawl to the cockpit. It was still a bit early, but since he was up and needing an excuse to ignore any physical discomfort, he was content to take his shift before its due or at least pretend to be pleasant company for a few more bells. If he made the Svefra uncomfortable once day gave into night, Pash’nar was too long in his shifting game to care. It wasn’t any easier for the ethaefal, even over a century after his fall, but at least he could pretend it was. And it wasn’t like he really had any more answers than the other sailor about the mysteries of his fallen, unaging life, either. And so it went. Happy to take the night shift if only to be mostly alone under the stars, Pash was not opposed to conversation or a bit of companionship from either of the two Svefra during his shift, but was also willing to spend the time sailing in solitude while the pair rested. He was used to the latter more than the former, but it was an entertaining novelty to have someone to talk to, even if it meant he slept the some part of the day away instead. Relieved that like his own casinor, the Black Lady had a tiller, the ethaefal had no trouble adjusting himself to navigating a ship that wasn’t his own. The stars were the same and the method was familiar. In the dark before Leth’s face glared up from the horizon, Pash could almost pretend Daske’s ship was his own. Almost. The Timeless was just a handful of decades older and more worn, though he did take care of her just as well as he should. He admitted she could use some fresh paint, though. Unfortunately, the storm had left a headwind in its wake, forcing Pash'nar to sail off the wind and tack, zig-zagging a bit in the stiff forward wind to keep the casinor moving and on course. This made for more than just a less than ideal speed, for it was also less than comfortable for the shard of moonlight's wounded leg, as he was left constantly both manning the tiller and adjusting the mainsail and the jib to keep them from luffing uselessly. Forced to keep the sheets at close reach because of it's direction, the only advantage to keeping so busy was it kept him from complaining about or petching with his stitches. Between watching the stars and keeping a hopeful, prayerful-to-Zulrav eye on the telltales for a shift in wind, the ethaefal had little time to linger on old wounds, let alone new ones. And, as an added bonus, he'd occasionally be granted the distraction of conversation, though it seemed as though both his Svefra companions were as tight-lipped about their histories as himself. Had there been more rum to spare, Pash'nar may have been tempted to remedy that, but, unfortunately, the tempting alcohol was their payload and not their entertainment.

OOComg. i just posted without conversation. i feel weird.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Evening of the 10th of Summer Syliras They reached Syliras on the evening of the 10th. Once they had gotten past the storm, it had been smooth sailing with a strong west wind. Pash brought the Black Lady in and managed to get her docked with a minimum of awkward moments. Daske located the recipient of the cargo, who noticed the missing crate and complained, but Daske, Pash and Gaby stuck to their story that they were lucky to have lost only one in the storm they went through getting it here. When it became evident that he would have to take the cargo by force if he tried to withhold payment, the man relented and paid them. They split the proceeds three ways. Gaby went her own way, leaving Pash and Daske the task of finding cargo for the return trip. LEDGER : That's 11 gm each. Plus 36 bottles of rum, of which they consumed 7 on the trip leaving Daske with 29 bottles.