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[Maverick-Werewolf]

Darkness hung thick on the Achaean sailing ship. The interior was designed for a large crew - of humans. The assorted monsters now held below deck could barely even fit through the doorways, though some had far more trouble than others, and yet the rooms that held them now were spacious enough... Perhaps because they had been cleared out specifically to serve that purpose.

 

This ship, whatever its goal, was already at sea. The prisoners could hear the waves against the ship's hull and feel the vessel rocking on the water. For now, their voyage seemed calm. No windows in their containment rooms meant they couldn't look outside, but at least they weren't in the middle of a storm.

 

Only a few lanterns hung from the ceiling here and there, providing sparse illumination - but they weren't of Achaean make, like the rest of the ship. In fact, they were strange indeed, made of twisted, silvery metals and holding a single glowing crystal each.

 

But the unidentified appearance of these lanterns matched the unidentified appearances of their captors. They were fairly short, all of them, standing a little under average Achaean height, and all were clad in full suits of plate armor, most of it bearing spikes and almost demonic-looking designs, and they all wore helms that concealed their faces from view - but, from a few of them, the prisoners could catch a glare from glowing red, purple, or yellow-green eyes under those helmets. They carried and assortment of weapons, always armed to the teeth, and yet... There weren't really many of them to go around. The guard patrols could be somewhat sparse.

 

No matter the strange lanterns or the heavily armored strangers who kept them prisoner, everyone was restrained in their own ways, and the first order of business would be to find a method to escape those shackles and recover the possessions that had been stripped from them...

 

That, and not all the prisoners were in the same room. In fact, though they themselves did not realize it, they were sorted by value as slaves.

 

---

 

In the first room below decks, one entered the doorway and found two cages, one on each side of the room. In the center of the room rested several crates and barrels of unknown contents. Here, each trapped in their own individual cages, there were four figures: Dgurritz the Wild, a goblin, in a cage to the left side of the room; Vilk the Coward, a rat-man, in the left-side cage adjacent to Dgurritz; and, on the right side of the room, there were two more cages containing Gertrude Gwendolyn Galvin and Menorel Vaylis.

 

They could each recall vaguely the sounds exchanged by the guards as they had been dragged aboard. The voices were well-spoken, but they had been using a language none of them understood. They had all, individually, been brought before an armored figure whose helm bore a crown of horns...

 

Dgurritz remembered his encounter being very brief. The figure had looked at him for all but two seconds before he barked something in his tongue and gestured for the goblin to be taken away.

 

Vilk recalled his experience with the figure as an odd one. Several words had been exchanged between the figure with the horn-crown helm and the guards flanking the rat-man. But they had been brief, terse phrases, before the one with the crowned helm gestured angrily, and Vilk had been taken to his cell.

 

Gertrude most assuredly believed her time spent before the figure in the crowned helm was impressively extensive. In truth, it had been almost as brief as Dgurritz's experience. She had been dragged before their leader and glanced over by all the guards present before the one in the crown of horns laughed and motioned for her to be taken away.

 

Menorel, meanwhile, had a terrifying experience indeed. The leader of the slavers had looked at her for a long while before clamping the void iron shackles on her arms. He barked something to his guards - and one of them had drawn a sword. She remembered his helmet had two ram-like horns. But another guard, his helmet bearing a crest of spikes and a pair of swept-back horns like a dragon, leapt to put himself between Menorel and the blade. He spoke hastily in their strange tongue and seemed to beseech their leader. After a moment or two, she had been taken to her cell... But she couldn't shake the feeling that she owed her life to that guard whose helmet bore a crest of spikes and two sweeping horns.

 

And now they were here, locked in their cages. Their room smelled particularly like bilge. In fact, there was an opening near Dgurritz's cage that led down to the bilge deck. All of them had been given similar accommodations: straw to sleep on, some ale to drink, and a bowl of unknown, somewhat grey-brown substance to eat... Except for Menorel, who also wore a pair of void iron shackles on her forearms and hands; presumably she could eat by licking from the dishes.

 

Only one guard came and went periodically throughout the room, giving the cages a cursory glance and leaving again. Sometimes it was one with ram-horns on his helmet, sometimes it was one with a crest of spikes and two large horns instead. A single lantern hung from the ceiling in the center of the room, holding one glowing blue-white crystal and lighting the room in a glow almost like moonlight.

 

Worst of all, however, they had simply devastated Gertrude's lovely hair while hauling her around and roughly shoving her into her cell like a bunch of barbarians. It looked like a nest fit for the humanoid rat in the cage directly across the room from her.

 

---

 

In the next room, separated from the first, were four more prisoners. Their room was laid out almost exactly like the first: two cages on each side, with crates and barrels in the center. They had water to drink and grey-brown muck to eat. Overhead, in the center of the room, there hung a lantern containing one glowing yellow crystal that lit the room almost like sunlight. Now and then, one or two guards would enter the room and glance around before leaving again.

 

In the cage to the upper left, farther from the door, was a sea elf: Jordan Attwater. In the cage adjacent to him was an Achaean woman, Captain Adriana Dewitt. In the cages on the other side of the room, Chryseis the Dryad was contained farther from the door, while the siren Kyra Gustin was in the cage adjacent to the dryad.

 

They recalled their encounters when first dragged aboard the ship. Individually, they had been presented to one of their captors who wore a helm crowned with horns, and they had listened as the armored strangers spoke in a language they didn't understand - clearly discussing their fate.

 

Jordan remembered his encounter as a brief inspection by the armored figures. They looked him up and down before the leader snapped something that sounded halfway disgusted, and then he had been brought here.

 

Adriana recalled hers as largely silent. The leader had examined the crest she wore before snorting something amused and ordering her off.

 

Chryseis remembered hers as almost confusing. The armored figures had all seemed very interested in her, looking her up and down, and even the leader was asking questions of his underlings. They spoke with interest, curiosity, and amusement. After a conversation, of which she hadn't understood a word, she had been taken to her cell.

 

Kyra had been gagged already when she was taken before the leader. He lifted one of her wing-arms and examined her feathers, speaking to his men. One of the guards, one wearing a helm with ram-like horns, had laughed. The one wearing the crest of spikes and two sweeping dragon-like horns on his helm had not. Shortly thereafter, she had been thrown in her cell.

 

And now they were here, in their cells. Most of them had no special restraints - all except for Chryseis, who wore void iron shackles, and Kyra, who had a metal gag locked firmly around her entire lower jaw, to keep her from making a single sound.

 

---

 

In another room, four more figures were restrained. This room was not quite big enough for the comparatively large prisoners it held. Crammed up in the four corners of the room, wrapped in layers of silvery chains that they couldn't break even if they tried with all their might, were four beastfolk: Prisk, a formican; Khasan, a crocodilian; Grimfang, a monster no one would have even recognized as a beastman, given no one on board the ship knew what a gorilla was; and Tuukka, a verrbjorn or bear-man.

 

They recalled their encounters when first dragged aboard the ship. Individually, they had been presented to one of their captors who wore a helm crowned with horns, and they had listened as the armored strangers spoke in a language they didn't understand.

 

Prisk remembered the conversation about her as a lengthy one. The armored strangers had chatted over her, looking her over with curiosity. One of them had pointed out her missing arm with concern, but their leader had dismissed it. Shortly thereafter, she ended up in chains.

 

Khasan's encounter had been almost just as lengthy. A handful of guards had stood around him with weapons at the ready and spears pointed at his face to keep him from moving as their leader looked him over. He'd sounded impressed when he'd ordered Khasan taken away.

 

Tuukka's imprisonment had been similar to Khasan's, though he wouldn't realize it. The guards had kept weapons trained on him, ready to kill him the moment he made one hostile move, as their leader inspected him. Impressed and perhaps even a little amused, the leader of their captors had ordered him put in chains.

 

And now they were here, chained to the walls, with restraints wrapped around all their limbs. and great shackles holding their wrists in place. Khasan even had chains around his powerful tail, and Khasan, Tuukka, and Grimfang all wore strange, muzzle-like devices that didn't keep them from talking, but they would have to unlock them before they could bite down on anything. They could, however, still pour water or the mush they had been given to eat through the bars on their faces.

 

There were no crates or barrels in this room, and hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room was a single lantern holding a glowing red crystal, which lit the room in a strange, unearthly glow. Just barely within reach of each prisoner was a bowl of water and a bowl of grey-brown muck to eat. Now and then, three guards would enter the room at once, always staying well out of reach and with their weapons drawn, and they would leave hastily once they were sure everyone was still restrained.

 

---

 

In yet another room were two humans, or at least they appeared human... Charlotte Finch and Jack "The Dog" Carver. Both of them wore silvery chains that they couldn't break, and Charlotte could tell that even her man-bat form would be restrained under such shackles. Their chains were attached to the walls, wrapped around their limbs and with heavy shackles around their wrists. Carver had a rope gag in his mouth, and so did Charlotte.

 

Their lantern, however, did not hold a crystal to light the room. Instead, hanging above their heads was a lantern that formed a sturdy glass prison for the pixie Daria Whitefoam. She was unaware anyone else was in the room with her, nor could she quite look down enough to see that there were other prisoners around. All she could see from her lantern were the wooden walls of the ship. Likewise, the two prisoners chained up in the floor couldn't see the lantern well enough to discern that it held a pixie.

 

Just like all the others, they had been brought individually before an armored figure wearing a helm with a crown of horns, who had assessed them using an unknown language...

 

Charlotte's encounter had been brief enough. Their leader had looked her over, and he exchanged a few words with the guards. The one wearing the crown of horns had fallen silent for a moment or two before he ordered her taken away.

 

Daria's encounter had been... different. The guards had brought her, one carrying her by one wing - it had hurt quite immensely, and her wing still ached and was twisted from the experience. She wasn't entirely sure she could fly. Their leader, however, had looked at her closely - she remembered smelling his breath that wafted out from the holes in his helm - and then laughed. She'd been thrown in a lantern and hung in what, to her, at the time, had looked like an empty closet.

 

And now they were here, with only Charlotte and Carver aware of each other's presences, not knowing Daria was there, and Daria couldn't be sure anyone was in the room with her, either. The room was almost the size of a closet, with the two humans crammed up in their chains, their knees almost touching. The door was to one side of them, closed tight. Now and then a guard would crack it open enough to glance at them before it was slammed shut again, leaving them in either a dim light or total darkness except for what leaked in through the crack under the door, depending on Daria's desires. Nearby, they each had one bowl of water and one bowl of grey-brown muck - Daria even had tiny bowls of the same substances with her in her lantern.

 

 

 

((Just to let everyone know - I plan to put a bit more emphasis on skills and talents this time around, so keep in mind your character's strengths as you plan your escapes and inspect your environment! Note that not all details of your environments have been given, and that there are numerous possibilities for escape.))

[Harry Monster Princess]

Adriana Dewitt frowned, angrily pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to clear the fog from her head. All the frustration, rage and resentment would do nothing but give her a headache in this tiny cell, combined with the anxiety about the tight space. She needed to focus on something, so with nothing better to do, Dewitt scooped up the slop bowl being passed for food. She awkwardly cupped the bowl and sniffed the contents. She still couldn't tell what it was, but she'd had worse. Faaar worse. She slurped a bit of the goop down as she looked over her cell, the wall behind her, and the rest of the room. Maybe she'd be able to spot something useful.

 

Immediately, she spotted her bizarre collection of cellmates. A blue elf, a tree woman and a bird woman. Dewitt hadn't really looked around before she had eaten the goop, she half wondered if the captors had tainted it. Welp, might as well make some small talk with the potential hallucinations.

 

"So, a siren, a tree person, and a discolored elf walk into a bar," Adriana started, taking another sip of slop as she eyed the room. "And somehow end up on some kinda slaver ship. How'd you lot manage that?"

[Ryoma]

Gertrude never knew she got seasick.

 

What a way to learn.

 

She clung to the sides of her cage, white-knuckled, as if they were the only things keeping her in this world. Her stomach had long ago emptied itself of her pancakes with what was certainly maple syrup, and now she was reduced to dry heaves and sweat.

 

Sweat.

 

Honestly.

 

She pulled herself away from the sides of the cage with a moan that was not dissimilar to a walrus in heat. She could feel her hair falling over her face, her do now a firm "Don't." She ran her hands through it with a little wail, and sat down on the floor of her cage.

 

Her bum landed on something cold.

 

She jumped up and patted her bum. Her hands came back soaked through with some kind of...grey goop. The sight of it was enough to make her retch, and she wiped her hands on her dress. Which also made her retch.

 

She looked around the room, and saw other cages with dark forms in them. Raising her voice, she called out to anyone (unfortunate enough to be) in range. "What kind of party is this?!?"

[Dalton Westmoore]

Dgurritz was not having a good day, which was not unusual for him. The creatures on this ship had annihilated his entire tribe, except for him, and apparently this was simply on a whim, as their leader had not seen fit to examine him closely, which probably meant that he was not considered important.

 

Unfortunately for him, the pompous looking Noblewoman with the most bizarre hair he had ever seen chose this moment to speak up and say: "What kind of party is this?!?"

 

If he had not been wearing manacles, he most likely would have thrown his mug of ale at the woman, which certainly would not have improved her hair.

 

Instead, he chose to go a different rout, and said in his grating voice, garbled by a strange accent "Dis ain't no Party, Popinjay: I've been ta worse name-day celebrations. Dis is a prison fer us, until we dae o' starvation or whatever it be dat dese weirdos are feedin' us."

 

---

 

Chryseis looked at the contents of her bowl and, for the third time that day, debated on whether or not she should attempt to eat her food. It was a delicate procedure, and she had never seen the strange substance before, and, for all she knew, could be alive.

 

So, to the best of her ability, as she was restrained by Void-Iron Shackles, Chryseis moved her bowl to the side (at least until she was desperate enough to eat it), and hunched up, her arms wrapped around her legs in the fetal postion.

 

She felt concerned for the Siren: she was a living, breathing creature and didn't deserved to be restrained like this. She didn't seem to care much for the Human or the Elf, and her level of caring dropped as the human, a female, cracked what appeared to be some form of humor:

 

"So, a siren, a tree person, and a discolored elf walk into a bar, and somehow end up on some kinda slaver ship. How'd you lot manage that?"

 

"First of all," the Dryad said with an amount of hidden contempt "I am a Dryad, not a tree person: if I wasn't restrained, I could turn this tub into a floating forest in the blink of an eye to prove it. Secondly, these people were nice enough to pick me up when I was lost at sea in a skiff without provisions or any idea of where I was sailing to."

 

A minute passed before she queried "How did they get you?"

 

 

[Sareth]

Rel was still in shock, sitting with her back pressed into the farthest, darkest, corner of her cage, knees pulled up against her chest.

 

Everything from the moment she had awoken to find herself on the ship —a proper ship, not the small fishing boats the people in her village had used— seemed so unreal. It had to be a nightmare, right? But a part of her knew it wasn't. She had even, for the first few seconds after realizing where she was, entertained the hope that her family would come for her, before memory came crashing in and promptly disabused her of that notion; if her family was thinking of her at all, it was probably to be glad that they were finally rid of the 'freak'.

 

Tears drew tracks down her face as she sobbed silently. While she had longed for adventure, she had never imagined anything like this...

 

She couldn't stop rubbing at the metal on her wrists; she didn't understand... When she had first been thrown in the cell, she had immediately tried to use her magic but, for the first time since she had discovered it, it hadn't responded; her gift had abandoned her. And there was the metal itself, black like iron, but it still felt cold on her skin —like it hadn't warmed up at all despite how long the cuffs had been on her. And where it touched her, her skin felt tingly and numb, like her hands were falling asleep, no matter how much she moved them. Was that the reason? Was that why she couldn't use her gift? But, how... and how had they known?

 

And, was that why... Was that why they'd tried to... Was that why they'd tried to kill her? But... why? She didn't understand! Why were people always so afraid of what she could do? 

 

'Snap out of it!' snarled the voice in her head —her own, of course. 'Remember all those stories you liked —the ones with heroes and knights? You think they had it easy? No, things were always hard, but they got through it —they didn't give up!—, that's why they're heroes! And if you ever want to live that life you've been dreaming of, you can't give up either —you can't just sit here and do nothing!'

 

But, what? Trapped in a cage, on a strange ship crewed by armored men —if they could even be called that, given the glimpses of strange eyes she caught through the slits of some of their helms— bound for who knows where, without her sword, unable to even use her magic... there was nothing to do...

 

'Don't give me that! There's always something you can do, it doesn't matter how small! Look around.'

 

And so she did, finally prying her head from its comforting refuge behind her knees and started properly examining her surroundings for the first time since she'd been put in the cage. The first thing her eyes fell upon was a bowl, food, she surmised, and, right beside it, a cup of liquid. Little things indeed... she did have to eat, after all, and if she ever hoped to escape she'd need her strength.

 

Darting forward, she quickly grabbed the two containers and dragged them back to her corner. With her hands shackled, she couldn't really scoop the food up with her hands, and so had to settle for balancing the bowl on her knees while the licked up the mush. It tasted... well, to be honest it tasted somewhat like the gruel her mother used to make out of seaweed and what little grain they'd had when the fishing was scarce. Still, it was food, and she forced herself to lick the bowl clean.

 

When she got to the liquid, she was surprised to discover upon her first sip that it wasn't water as she had thought but was rather... ale? Who gave prisoners ale? She had never even been allowed to drink it at home —though she had snuck a sip once when her father wasn't looking. She wasn't quite sure if she liked the somewhat sour taste or not, but she drank it all anyway —albeit slowly, as the bubbles tickled her throat.

 

Setting aside the dishes, she finally got around to checking out the rest of her surroundings. There were two cages opposite her, though in the dim bluish light she couldn't quite make out the occupants. Her attention was finally drawn to the cage beside her —she having been too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice the sounds coming from it before— by a rather strange moan —it sounded a bit like the time she'd seen sea-lions fighting...—, the occupant of which turned out to be a rather fancily-dressed woman.

 

"What kind of party is this?!?"

 

"P-party?" Rel repeated softly, confused. "You— you're on a ship... in a cage" she said, keeping her voice down, not wanting the ram-horn-helmed guard to return.

 

"Dis ain't no Party, Popinjay: I've been ta worse name-day celebrations. Dis is a prison fer us, until we dae o' starvation or whatever it be dat dese weirdos are feedin' us."

 

"Eep!" Rel exclaimed in surprise as a rather rough voice spoke up from the cage opposite hers.

 

"Who— what are you?" she asked shakily, for, as her eyes became more accustomed to the dim lighting in the hold, she could start to make out said cage's occupant —and it was decidedly non-human looking...

[Ambad]

The plethora of mostly unpleasant smells in the small room was enough to keep Prisk's antennae perpetually twitching in discomfort. As hungry as she was, the slop they had been given would refuse to stay down, she knew, in the presence of so many assualting odors. At least she could tell where most of them were coming from.

Her erstwhile cell was shared with three other creatures, at least two of them of beastfolk sorts she had seen before. The third was... more exotic, but he certainly seemed to fit the criteria for what the fairer races called monsters. And all three of them were putting off musky, strongly masculine scents that she was sure must have spoke volumes about their desirability as a mate to their own species. To her, the smells were simply too obtuse to be anything but offensive.

Although those three made up the bulk of the stink, there were faint hints of other beings in the air, which became stonger whenever their captors opened and closed the door, circulating the air from outside in where she could smell it. It seemed the vessel they were on was a veritable menagerie of beings. And all of them, regardless of their former stations, were now equally imprisoned.

Escape seemed like a poor choice, as well as an exceptionally difficult one, since their captors seemed particularly good at what they did. Surely, if one got out of their chains, they had no hope of making much further than beyond their cell. Even if the four of them in here were freed, it wasn't likely they could do much more than kill some of their jailors before being overwhelmed and slaughtered.

Still, dying like that might be better than whatever fate awaited them at the end of their voyage.

Her race's traits gave her a few slight advantages when it came to trying to escape. Rather than soft, flexible skin and flesh, her exterior was hard. Thus, the chains wrapped around her could not be quite as tight without risking damage. And her smooth chitin allowed the chains to slide freely around her. Also advantageously, she wasn't muzzled like the others, and her mandibles were free to use.

So she put them to use attempting to slide the chains around her until she could locate whatever held them tight and attmept to undo it...

-----

Trapped in the dark, with a man in chains like her own, and a lantern that didn't seem to work, on a ship full of - judging by the sounds and smells - a wide variet of shapes and sizes of prisoners.. Charlotte had reached a new low in her career as a pirate, and certainly in her time as a vampire.

Still, it could have easily been worse. She could have been chained up with the beastfolk she smelled, or left someplace where sunlight could have found her. Either way, she'd have likely been dead. At least the person she shared this closet-sized cell with was human. He was even handsome, as far as she could tell. Being wrapped in chains and gagged didn't really do much to make anyone attractive.

What stood out most were his eyes. She'd never seen any quite like them, and wondered where he might be from that people had such interesting eyes. Charlotte didn't doubt he had all sorts of interesting tales to tell, as seasoned of a sailor as he looked. Likewise, he was probably skilled enough in running a ship to be of use if they were somehow able to get away.

Thus it filled her with regret that the means by which she'd have to free herself would immediately turn him against her. That she'd probably never get to see him rig a sail, or tell his stories. That she'd never find out where he got those eyes. Because there was no doubt that once he found out what she was, that nothing she could say or do would make him think of her as anything other than an abomination.

And how could she blame him? That's what she thought of herself after all. But her desire to live - if the state of undeath could be called that - was too great. She was an abomination that wanted to continue to exist. And to do so meant getting away from here at the first opportunity. And to do that, she'd need out of these chains, and to feed, and to fly away to safety, if any could be found.

Suddenly, distantly, Charlotte heard an unmistakable sound. It was an animal cry, the mating call of a walrus in heat. And it meant they must be near land. Her opportunity was at hand.

She started the act by shivering a little and rocking in her seat. Moving her legs restlessly, and crossing and uncrossing them, she gave the impression that she urgently needed to relieve her bladder, hoping that maybe her fellow prisoner would catch on and avert his gaze or something.

Finally, when he failed to take the hint, she cleared her throat emphatically and attempted to speak around the rope gag. "Ah gahha fee...", then she motioned her head to signal that he should look away or close his eyes. Not that she was sure whether or not he could even see her in such darkness. Not everyone was as accustomed to it.

[Balder]

When Vilk was thrown into his cell, after being examined by Horn-Crowned-Scary-Helm, he'd been in absolute terror. Never before had he been in a predicament like this, never had he been in a position where he could't just run away from the danger and that frightened him greatly. Not that he didn't usually experience fright when danger reared it's ugly head. But usually he could just run into the comforting shadows and disappear from danger. Not this time, no. This time he was already down before he knew there was danger and when he woke it was too late to run.

 

So when he was left in his cell he immediately scampered to its darkest corner and tried to hide himself as best as possible, hyperventilating in panic all the while. It was only a while later, after he'd calmed down, that he noticed the food and ale left for him. Quick as can be, Vilk darted out of his corner to the bowl and the cup of ale, greedily consuming both in less than a minute. As soon as he was done he turned his greedy little eyes to the cell next to him where his keen nose could smell more food for the taking. Only problem was the cells occupant, a nasty looking Green-man. Vilk needed to wait for him to be distracted. He didn't need to wait long.

 

From the other side of the room, in the opposite cells, there were some commotion. Vilk could smell the bile of vomit. He heard a small yelp and then a few retches. Soon after a woman called out,"What kind of party is this?!?"

 

There was some kind of meek reply, but Vilks attention was on the goblin whose attention had conveniently been stolen by the woman's outburst. "Dis ain't no Party, Popinjay: I've been ta worse name-day celebrations. Dis is a prison fer us, until we dae o' starvation or whatever it be dat dese weirdos are feedin' us" the goblin spat with a glare. That was just what he'd been waiting for. In a moment he was over at the side of the goblins cage, stretching his chains and greedy long fingers as far as he could to reach the food. Just a little further...

Edited by Balder, 19 December 2015 - 04:13 PM.

[GhostlyCheese]

Jordan sat quietly, his skin stung from the heat and his eye was sore, poorly bandaged by someone. Maybe one of the... things that brought me on this ship had some skill in aiding the injured... Jordan tugged slightly at the bandage around his head. His clothes were ragged from his days being battered by the ocean. He definitely fit the part of The Shipwrecked.

Around him were a few others, an Acheanian woman, she looked adjusted to the sea, a Dryad, a bit further from him. Jordan then took note of the Void Iron shackles around the Dryad's hands. At least she can't do anything magic-ey... Along with a siren, with a metal guard around her mouth for good measure.

So, a siren, a tree person, and a discolored elf walk into a bar," The woman started, taking another sip of slop as she eyed the room. "And somehow end up on some kinda slaver ship. How'd you lot manage that?"

If only they put one of those metal things on her mouth...

"Sounds like the beginning to a bad human joke." Jordan spoke up, his voice was crackling from a dry throat. "And what do you mean discoloured?" Attwater added shifting slightly to look at the pale surface dweller.

Before the woman spoke, the Dryad spoke.

"First of all, I am a Dryad, not a tree person: if I wasn't restrained, I could turn this tub into a floating forest in the blink of an eye to prove it. Secondly, these people were nice enough to pick me up when I was lost at sea in a skiff without provisions or any idea of where I was sailing to."

A bit sassy for a Dryad, I thought they were all about being secretive and mysterious, and not blurt out anything about themselves. Jordan took a bit of the sloppy substance and gagged slightly. At least it moistened his throat.

"How did they get you?"

Jordan cut in as he moved his wrists and looked out the window. "Does it matter how any of us were taken? We're here... and we're going to get enslaved or killed, maybe both, maybe neither if you're pretty enough, I can't really from here..." He said, looking away and rubbing his temples, looking into a endless sea without depth perception gave him a headache.

"But... that's my opinion..."

Edited by GhostlyCheese, 18 December 2015 - 07:23 PM.

[Burger Warrior]

At least I didn’t literally go from a frying pan and into a fire, I suppose.

 

That was pretty much all Kyra could think to keep herself from falling into a deeper, blacker depression than she’d been in back home. There she’d been a prisoner, yes, but she’d still been surrounded by family and friends… and she had more room to walk. Better yet, back home she was able to use her mouth. The siren wasn’t sure what sick joke these slavers were playing at, sealing her jaws with cold steel only to offer her food and drink. Gustin knew exactly why they had gagged her, though, and deep down she couldn’t blame them. She knew exactly what her voice could be used for.

 

Honestly, though, in this situation, the siren was very tempted to try singing even with the damned muzzle over half her face.

 

"So, a siren, a tree person, and a discolored elf walk into a bar," Someone spoke. Kyra jumped at the sudden sound, turning to see it was the one human in the room talking. "And somehow end up on some kinda slaver ship. How'd you lot manage that?"

 

The siren frowned at her, even if she was quietly thankful the human managed to identify her correctly. That was always nice… especially since she didn’t know what the other two were, either. However, the human’s comment still didn’t go down well with her, and Kyra grunted in annoyance. Apparently she wasn’t the only one ticked off by it.

 

"Sounds like the beginning to a bad human joke." The ‘elf’ spoke up, his voice was crackling from a dry throat, if Kyra was any good with voices. Which she was. "And what do you mean discoloured?"

 

"First of all," the Dryad said with more contempt than Gustin felt. "I am a Dryad, not a tree person: if I wasn't restrained, I could turn this tub into a floating forest in the blink of an eye to prove it. Secondly, these people were nice enough to pick me up when I was lost at sea in a skiff without provisions or any idea of where I was sailing to."

 

Kyra couldn’t help but snort. Nice? Nice?! We’re in chains, for the spirits’ sakes! Chains!

 

A minute passed before the dryad queried. "How did they get you?"

 

The siren rolled her eyes at that, looking around for something - anything, really - to use against the mask on her face. She was starting to get thirsty already, and she hadn’t eaten since… well, a while before she left the island. In the back of her mind, Kyra Gustin wondered if her captors would bother helping her feed, or just watch her slowly waste away…

 

"Does it matter how any of us were taken? We're here... and we're going to get enslaved or killed, maybe both, maybe neither if you're pretty enough, I can't really tell from here..." He said. "But... that's my opinion..."

 

Kyra snorted, and tried to speak… realizing she couldn’t after a second or two of attempting. The siren growled in frustration, turning toward a wall and bringing her head back, slamming her lower jaw - and the muzzle protecting it - into the wooden surface. In hindsight, that probably wouldn’t be too effective, but Gustin was more than a little desperate to at least regain a small portion of her former, brief period of freedom.

 

-----

 

Daria groaned, simply laying where she’d ended up being tossed in her small prison in the first place. Her wing still ached enormously from when she was dangled by it. Whitefoam wished she could remember who exactly it had been, so she could kick his teeth in. The thought of that made a small smirk tug at her lips, and the fallen pixie finally stumbled to her feet, glancing around at her dark surroundings. There wasn’t much to see, though a crack in the wall (or possibly very large door, it was hard for her to tell) let enough light in for her to see she was suspended in a large wooden box… which, besides her, seemed to be empty.

 

The ‘Fae Queen’ frowned at that, casually glowing rather brightly so she could see better. Her leaf green light illuminated the closet just fine, both for her and the two cell mates she was unknowingly stuck with. Daria remained oblivious to them as she glanced around, frowned at the lack of anything outside her glass prison… and the small bowl of water and goop that sat to one side of her ‘cell’. As hungry as the little pixie was starting to get, the stuff looked like it would stay down for a grand total of five seconds before she retched. Given the nature of her prison, Daria really didn’t want to deal with that at all.

 

So, instead, Whitefoam tried to strain her hearing, listening for any small animals that tended to reside on ships like this; the ambient noises beyond the walls and the constant movement of her prison having left her in no doubt she was indeed aboard a boat. However, right when she was about to call out to see if that was attract anything, Daria noticed an odd noise below her. It was the odd rustling sound of what may have been clothing, though it was loud enough that only something human-sized could be making it. That both made Daria feel better and worse, since it meant there wasn’t another pixie, but it could be Sebastian!

 

Her hopes were promptly dashed, though, by the sound of a somewhat muffled, feminine voice. "Ah gahha fee..."

 

Whitefoam moaned a little, quietly, when she realized that… until she also realized the human - she was pretty sure it was a human, from what she could hear - was talking to someone else. It wasn’t like people told themselves they had to pee; assuming that’s what the woman was trying to say, anyway. More importantly, though, was the idea that maybe someone from her old ship survived, and was being talked to!

 

Daria nearly announced her presence, but hesitated. What if it wasn’t Sebastian? Even if it was a member of his crew, they wouldn’t know her at all. And if it was a total stranger…

 

It’ll be fine. She told herself sternly. You’ll… figure something out. Maybe Sebastian’ll be somewhere else, or… something.

[Maverick-Werewolf]

Unfortunately for Prisk, her assumption that she had an advantage from her exoskeleton proved to be false. In fact, her chains were tighter as a result, and moving around too much only resulted in some pain. Her assumption that her captors cared whether or not she was injured was incorrect. With something like her, they were taking no risks.

 

However, in spite of how much it hurt - she could crack something if she kept it up - she found instead that her chains were connected to the wall. They were affixed firmly to metal attachments on the wood, and she saw that the shackles attached to her wrists had keyholes for unlocking. Otherwise, her chains had lock attachments - at her back. She could possibly reach them with one of her other arms, but she could feel larger metal devices on her spine. She couldn't seem to get the chains to move around so that the locks were at her front, especially given that the chains were also fixed to the walls.

 

---

 

In the light let off by Daria, hidden in the lantern, Charlotte could plainly see the look on the handsome stranger's face as she tried to indicate her need to relieve herself. Whatever he seemed to be thinking, he flicked his eyes upward in one of the briefest eye-rolls in history before he complied and turned his head away from her, watching the door instead. It wasn't like there was much else to watch.

 

---

 

While Dgurritz had his attention elsewhere, Vilk reached through his bars and tried to snatch the goblin's food...

 

[Vilk - Agility Check; Thievery - Success]

 

[Dgurritz - Perception Check - Failure]

 

The sneaky rat-man successfully slid Dgurritz's chow right through the bars and sneaked it into his own cell - without the goblin even noticing.

 

---

 

Kyra banged her jaw into the wooden wall of the ship, but she only succeeded in knocking herself in the skull hard enough to make her teeth rattle.

[Wang Fire]

Another cell. How many did this make now? These were the thoughts going through Khasan's head as he observed the hold of the ship in which he now sat. There had been so many now that he had lost interest in keeping track of the number.  Whatever that number was now, it was simply too many.  He glanced around the room, bathed as it was in that sickly red glow. 

 

He had company this time, three unlucky cellmates would ensure he at least wouldn't pass the hours in silence.  The first was a Formican. He had little experience with them, outside of an odd caravan into his people's lands from the Minoan Alliance. She (that was a she, right? It could be hard to tell with them) seemed to be tested the chains that held her prisoner, trying to wriggle her three remaining arms through them and meeting with little success.  Next was a large Verrbjorn, seemingly biding his time, observing the situation.  The last, well, Khasan hadn't seen any race or creature quite like him before. He appeared like a massive, over-muscled Human, covered in coarse thick fur across most of his body, and with large pronounced sharp teeth.

 

Having looked over his cellmates, Khasan turned his attention to his own bindings.  The heavy steel jaw restraints were a familiar nuisance, and his tail and arms were bound directly to the cage, in addition to his wrists being chained together.  The chains were heavy, but obviously had seen much use. Khasan gave a low, contemplative growl as he quickly snapped his wrists apart. He felt the shackles bite against his thick scales, gauging their heft and strength.

 

Khasan was tired of rotting in prisons and slave pens, this chain of humiliation would end. Not now, but soon. He was a patient hunter, and time was one of the few commodities he had.

[Harry Monster Princess]

"First of all," the Dryad said with an amount of hidden contempt, "I am a Dryad, not a tree person: if I wasn't restrained, I could turn this tub into a floating forest in the blink of an eye to prove it. Secondly, these people were nice enough to pick me up when I was lost at sea in a skiff without provisions or any idea of where I was sailing to."

 

"Firstly, how would you define a Dryad, if not as tree person?" Dewitt asked earnestly this time, genuinely unsure of how the Dryad saw herself. Adriana pondered it herself as she polished off her slop. "A shrub person?" Dewitt offered, shrugging and raising her brows. 

 

"Sounds like the beginning to a bad human joke." The blue elf spoke up, clearly disgruntled with his voice was crackling from a dry throat. "And what do you mean discoloured?" He added shifting slightly to look at Adriana.

 

Dewitt chuckled, picking up the mug of ale and lifting it in a mock toast. "It gets funnier the more you've had." She sloshed it enticingly before drinking half of it in one go.

 

A minute passed before the Dryad cut in again. She queried, "How did they get you?" And Adriana froze, staring down the Dryad.

 

The blue elf spared her from having to reply. "Does it matter how any of us were taken? We're here... and we're going to get enslaved or killed, maybe both, maybe neither if you're pretty enough, I can't really from here..." He said, looking away and rubbing his temples.

 

"But... that's my opinion..." 

 

"Frankly," Dewitt chugged the rest of the ale. "Your opinion sucks."

 

Apparently this all was grating for the Siren. After grumbling through her metal gag she slammed her head on the side of the cage, futilely trying to bust the muzzle and thoroughly rattling her skull.

 

"Hey, careful, don't hurt yourself," Adriana said, sitting up from her slouch and setting her mug down. "I know you wanna get that dumb thing off your face and stretch your wings, I completely understand. But let's play this smart, Prettybird." 

 

Adriana reassured the siren with an earnest smile, before turning her gaze to the interior of her cell, its lock, and everything within reach. She started running her hands over everything, thoroughly searching the cell for anything she could use or exploit.

 

"I dunno about you, elf," she grumbled as she looked. "But I'm not planning to let those armored cretins have another say in what happens to me."

 

 

[GhostlyCheese]

The human chuckled, picking up the mug of ale and lifting it in a mock toast. "It gets funnier the more you've had."

Jordan gave a huff of amusement at that and cracked a weak smile. At least my neighbor is funny... maybe she can talk us out of chains? "I bet they do."

"Frankly..." She finished her ale with a single chug. "Your opinion sucks."

"Well... that's only if you don't have any idea how to get out of here. Might as well get real with the fact that if we don't do something we might lose more then comfortablity." Jordan said before the siren smacked her head into the wall.

"I wouldn't try that, I mean, I can breathe underwater, but I don't know if everyone else can... speaking of water." Jordan reached for the mug on the floor, pulling it to his lips.

"I dunno about you, elf," she grumbled as she looked. "But I'm not planning to let those armored cretins have another say in what happens to me."

"I'm not exactly comfortable with a bunch of metal creeps keeping me down here like deadweight cargo, either." Jordan replied, sipping the ale, gagging slightly, realizing it wasn't what he thought it was. "We're kinda powerless, chained, Pocahontas can't commune with her forest friends, the siren can't sing a tune, and I've got one eye."

"But I'm still looking for suggestions..."

[Dalton Westmoore]

"Eep! Who— what are you?"

 

Dgurriz grinned nastily at the young girl as the Ratman quietly stole his food "Dgurritz th' Wild at yah service, Gyal. But, if yah want ta know what I am, I be a Goblin!"

 

He then began to fish around his his pouch of odds and ends, hoping that he could find something that could pass for a lock-pick. If he was lucky, a guard wouldn't pass while he was doing this, and if he was extremely lucky, he could actually pick the lock. He had never been one for such things.

 

---

 

"Firstly, how would you define a Dryad, if not as tree person? A shrub person?"

 

"I...really don't know..." The Dryad said, smirking at the human's joke.

 

"I think I'm going to like these guys..." she thought.

 

"Does it matter how any of us were taken? We're here... and we're going to get enslaved or killed, maybe both, maybe neither if you're pretty enough, I can't really from here...But... that's my opinion..." 

 

"Frankly, your opinion sucks."

 

"Well," Chryseis said as she rose to her feet "if we're going to work together to escape, it would be nice to know a little bit more about each other. And you're right, his opinion does suck."

 

"I dunno about you, elf, but I'm not planning to let those armored cretins have another say in what happens to me."

"I'm not exactly comfortable with a bunch of metal creeps keeping me down here like deadweight cargo, either. We're kinda powerless, chained, Pocahontas can't commune with her forest friends, the siren can't sing a tune, and I've got one eye. But I'm still looking for suggestions..." 

 

"Excuse me if I don't understand your point, but I don't understand how having one eye disables you in some way in this situation."

 

The Dryad extended her hands as far as she could and said "As far as I see it, we have three options at this point. One, we could seduce the guards and escape: males are male, not matter where you go. Two, we could knock out the guard that feeds us and take his keys or his weapon and break the rest of us out."

 

She lowered her hands as she said "The third option, of course, is to let the 'metal creeps' examine us, because, at the moment, we really don't have much say in this situation. Literally: we don't even know what language they speak, so they probably wouldn't understand our say in the situation anyway."

[Balder]

Ha! Stupid Green-man see nothing, Vilk thought victoriously, already stuffing his mouth with the stolen food. To Vilk the food was not at all bad, not that he ever stopped to taste it. But if he had, he'd say that it was really good, not all that surprising from a creature who is used to literal garbage and anything else he could find to eat. It was a small wonder he'd not been poisoned by his diet yet, though that could be attributed to his keen nose which have always been reliable to tell what was edible and what was not.

 

The silent voice from earlier choose now to speak up, in response to the goblins announcement. "Who— what are you?"

 

Turning, Vilk saw the Who-man child that spoke. She seemed like a frail little thing to Vilk and she seem afraid, much like himself some minutes ago. As much as Vilk was a coward and thief, he wasn't heartless and he felt some sympathy for the girl in the cage who in that moment seemed much like himself. But though he wasn't heartless, he was tactless. "What Who-man mean? You see him! He Green-man. Trust Vilk, Vilk know this! Vilk got good eyes and gooder head!" He then approached the cell door to get a closer look at the girl while he introduced himself.

 

"Vilk is smart Rat-man! Stick with Vilk, Vilk know things", he empathized with a tap to his forehead using the empty bowl of food he'd stolen, forgetting that the goblin in the next cell would probably notice how there was now two empty food bowls in Vilks cell and none in his. 

 

"Dgurritz th' Wild at yah service, Gyal. But, if yah want ta know what I am, I be a Goblin!" The green-man spoke.

 

"Goblin be other, stupider word for Green-man", Vilk clarified helpfully.

Edited by Balder, 19 December 2015 - 03:48 PM.

[Ryoma]

It was fortunate that Gertrude was not alone in this dismal excuse for a party cruise. While the light was dim and her eyes could make out little more than outlines, she could hear voices of other party guests who were no doubt just as disgusted by this as she was. 

 

 "You— you're on a ship... in a cage," Came a reply from a fellow woman. One who, from her response, clearly didn't not get as much as Gertrude had.

 

"Just because we are caged does not mean that this is not a party," Gertrude said in the tone used for five year olds. "I am never one to judge the master's idea of a good time. Though, this--"

 

"Dis ain't no Party, Popinjay: I've been ta worse name-day celebrations. Dis is a prison fer us, until we dae o' starvation or whatever it be dat dese weirdos are feedin' us."

 

"I'm sorry," Gertrude said to the newcomer. "I don't believe we are speaking the same language." Whatever the graveled voice had said had sounded like little more than the rumblings from the poor people back home. But how silly would that be! Why would a commoner be invited to the same social gathering as Gertrude? Was it some sort of poorly designed entertainment? 

 

Gertrude shook her head and said down, leaning her head against the bars as she collected her thoughts. This was merely an elaborate party game. Surely this ship was meant to give her a fun time like anything else, and goodness gracious would there be a laugh at the sorry state of her dress once she came topside. Imagine. Covered in...gray stuff and the poorest of liquers, her hair in a mess, and her layers of makeup running down her face. She must be quite the sight! No doubt she will appear, they will laugh at her appearance, she will insist to speak with the man who thought this was fun, they would gaze into each other's eyes and realize they were meant for each other, she would be married, life would be--

 

"Vilk is smart Rat-man! Stick with Vilk, Vilk know things."

 

"Dgurritz th' Wild at yah service, Gyal. But, if yah want ta know what I am, I be a Goblin!" 

 

"Goblin be other, stupider word for Green-man."

 

"Don't be silly," Gertrude said, waving her hand. "Men aren't green."

 

Then something clicked.

 

R-Rat-man?

 

Rat-man?

 

RAT-MAN!?

 

"I HATE RATS!" Gertrude shouted, jumping to her feet and smashing her head on the top of the cage, creating a fine red welt on her forehead that would sting in the morning. "Rats! Rats?! EEK! LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!" Her voice rose in octave until it became a screech that could bleed ears. 

[Balder]

"Don't be silly," Gertrude said, waving her hand. "Men aren't green."

 

"Vilk no silly, he Green-man" Vilk replied, shooting a surprised look at the puffy clothed woman. "Look on him! He green, so he Gre-"

 

Vilk couldn't finish his sentence, for no more had he began explaining the etymology behind the word Green-man when the puffy woman started screaming. "I HATE RATS!" She shouted and jumped, smashing her head on the cage. "Rats! Rats?! EEK! LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!" Her voice rose in octave until it became a screech that could bleed ears.

 

Having especially sensitive ears this hurt very much for Vilk who immediately covered his ear rushing to the back of his cell to escape the noise. "STOP SCREAMING! IT HURT, VILK'S EARS HURT! MAKE HER STOP!" Vilk shouted to anyone that could hear, though his own screams were nowhere as loud as the wailing's of Gertrude.

Edited by Balder, 20 December 2015 - 01:19 PM.

[Sareth]

"Just because we are caged does not mean that this is not a party, I am never one to judge the master's idea of a good time. Though, this--"

 

Rel said nothing, she simply stared at the woman in stupefied disbelief. 'A good time', 'party' ... it's like she was speaking a different language. Did this woman not realize where she was, or was she simply delusional?

 

"What Who-man mean? You see him! He Green-man. Trust Vilk, Vilk know this! Vilk got good eyes and gooder head! Vilk is smart Rat-man! Stick with Vilk, Vilk know things."

 

 

"Dgurritz th' Wild at yah service, Gyal. But, if yah want ta know what I am, I be a Goblin!"

 

"Goblin be other, stupider word for Green-man."

 

She was starting to get rather confused now, still a bit off-balance from the well-dressed woman's apparent total disconnect from reality, but now ... rat-men, goblins? It was only after a moment that a half-remembered fact managed to make its way to the thinking part of her mind; wait, weren't goblins like small orcs!? She instinctively tried to shrink even further back into the corner of her cage at that thought.

 

But, after a moment, she calmed down a bit. After all, he was pretty small, and he didn't sound threatening at the moment, and, if he was a prisoner too, then maybe—

 

Whatever thought she had been in the process of forming promptly died a painful and utterly inhumane death as the woman in the cage next to her started screaming with ear-splitting volume.

 

"I HATE RATS! Rats! Rats?! EEK! LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!"

 

"Sh-shut up!" Rel hissed at the woman, terrified. If she kept going like that, someone was likely to come investigate —maybe even the guard with the ram-horns... maybe he would take the opportunity to finish what he'd started before—!

 

'She's not going to listen, she's hysterical!' came the rather more logical and practical voice in her head —somehow still intact despite the sanity-destroying noise the woman was making. 'If you want her to be quiet, you have to make her!'

 

But how...? Just then, she remembered her empty dishes, and an idea came to her. Quickly grabbing up her ale-cup, she went to the bars separating her cage from the woman's.

 

"Sorry about this" she muttered to herself —utterly inaudible beneath the woman's screeching. Without further hesitation, she promptly aligned the cup with a sufficiently-sized gap in the bars, and pitched it at the woman's head with all the force she could muster. It was somewhat awkward throwing with her hands chained together, but the distance was quite small....

[Burger Warrior]

Kyra groaned as pain shot through her head, and the siren collapsed with a light thud, a couple feathers slowly drifting after her. She watched one fall with pained and frustrated eyes, wishing her gaze could do more than convey emotion. If it could have, though, the feather probably would’ve burst into flames from the intensity of her stare. After a moment, though, the conversation amongst the others got Gustin to sit up and continue watching them in disgruntled silence.

"Hey, careful, don't hurt yourself," the human said, gaining Kyra’s attention first. "I know you wanna get that dumb thing off your face and stretch your wings, I completely understand. But let's play this smart, Prettybird."

 

The woman reassured the siren somewhat with an earnest smile, before turning her gaze to the interior of her cell, its lock, and everything within reach. She started running her hands over everything for some reason.

"Yeah, I wouldn't try that,” The elf added, “I mean, I can breathe underwater, but I don't know if everyone else can... speaking of water." He wandered off to deal with his thirst. That, of course, just dried Kyra’s throat up faster than being dropped into a desert.

"I dunno about you, elf," the human grumbled as she looked. "But I'm not planning to let those armored cretins have another say in what happens to me."

"I'm not exactly comfortable with a bunch of metal creeps keeping me down here like deadweight cargo, either." The elf replied, sipping his ale, gagging slightly. "We're kinda powerless, chained, Pocahontas can't commune with her forest friends, the siren can't sing a tune, and I've got one eye. But I'm still looking for suggestions..."

Kyra rolled her eyes, humming out a rather pleasant tune… but without the proper usage of every part of her voice, it didn’t have nearly the same effect as a true siren song. Still, she felt she made a point. Whatever that point was...

"Excuse me if I don't understand your point, but I don't understand how having one eye disables you in some way in this situation." The dryad said, "as far as I see it, we have three options at this point. One, we could seduce the guards and escape: males are male, not matter where you go. Two, we could knock out the guard that feeds us and take his keys or his weapon and break the rest of us out."

She lowered her hands as she went on. "The third option, of course, is to let the 'metal creeps' examine us, because, at the moment, we really don't have much say in this situation. Literally: we don't even know what language they speak, so they probably wouldn't understand our say in the situation anyway."

The siren grumbled at the last comment, gesturing to her metal collar. Languages or not, she couldn’t damn well speak, could she? Kyra Gustin sighed in frustration, stalking around her cage in silence. At least the rest of her body was unbound, so if one of their captors got close enough, she felt she could bring him down. As it was, though, the armored men seemed content to keep their distance. Still, while the others discussed their options, Kyra kept a sharp eye out both for possible weapons and for guards straying too close to her cage.

She could always get lucky.

-----

The silence was killing Daria.

It wasn’t complete - there had been some rustling noises coming from the opposite side of the closet from the woman’s voice - but she wasn’t able to tell what she was dying to figure out. Who was the other person in her prison? Was it even a man? If he wasn’t Sebastian, would he even try to be friendly? Hell, was it even human? Whitefoam began to pace again as doubt assailed her from every angle. What could she expect?

Eventually, though, the pixie grit her teeth and got as close to the edge of her prison as she could, looking down and trying to identify the man that hadn’t spoken, yet. “...H-hello?” She finally called, nervously, “Sebastian…?”

Please let him it be him. Please...

 

[Ryoma]

CRACK.

 

For a moment, Gertrude froze. Her mouth hung open in a wail, her eyes wide, her hands in hysterics. She swayed as she sat, as if the blow was about to knock her out cold.

 

If only we were so lucky.

 

She turned her head, face still frozen, toward the cup that landed in her lap. Slowly, her face slipped down, her eyes looking around as if seeing everything for the first time. This cage was not part of some strange party game, this ship was not some kind of pleasure cruise, and her dress really was stained with gray gunk. She raised one of her hands to her hand and felt its disarray. 

 

A long beat passed.

 

 

"I wanna go home!"