-2- Some Terrors don't know how to use filters

[lieutenantsteward]

Strange, your bird is a menace! It is constantly staring, and I swear it is conspiring with that damned creature. It often returns from its treks into Hell itself with tufts of fur in its beak. The two creatures are either the same, or they are plotting something.

Get rid of it.

...

If any are still going out on deck, I would advise to mind your distance from the bird if you haven't already.

Comments

[wishiwasatree]

Trixie's relieved that she doesn't have to keep writing. She pulls on her shawl and heads out to the galley, eager to stand by the stove for a little while.

"How can I help?"

[lieutenantsteward]

"How well do you knead, Miss?" he asks gently, tearing apart a bit and handing half to her. "If you could continue this so I can fry it, I would appreciate it."

[wishiwasatree]

"Well enough, I 'spose," she replies, rolling up her sleeves. She takes the dough and starts to work it.

"So this...creature."

[lieutenantsteward]

"The tuunbaq, Miss. A creature, or spirit. We are unsure of exactly what it is. But it is dangerous."

He watches her carefully, though, once he is pleased with her work, he turns to the fried dough.

[wishiwasatree]

"Tunback. Tunbock."

She gives the dough a bit of a slap.

"How fucking dangerous is it?"

[lieutenantsteward]

"Very, Miss," he tells her gravely, taking the dough from her and showing her how big the pieces he wants are. "It killed many of our men."

[wishiwasatree]

Trixie's a quick study, so after the first piece she's deftly segmenting the dough to fry.

"Anyone here?"

[lieutenantsteward]

"Mr. Strange, here in the dream. As for myself and Mr. Goodsir, no. We escaped its wrath." He isn't sure if he should talk about his Captain to her, so he doesn't.

[wishiwasatree]

She frowns. "But Mr. Strange is still with us, how's that fuckin' possible?"

[lieutenantsteward]

"I don't quite understand it myself. But death does not stick as it does in our own worlds," he explains. "So he has returned."

[wishiwasatree]

"So he didn't die."

She stops separating the dough.

"So we can be killed, or murdered, or torn to pieces here, but we can't die?"

[lieutenantsteward]

"Yes, Miss," he tells her, taking the dough she had worked on and frying it. In return, he handed her one of the completed doughboys. "In the case of Mr. Strange, he woke where we had placed him."

[wishiwasatree]

Trixie sets the completed doughboy down. She's quiet for a long moment, unsure of what to say.

"It's Hell."

[lieutenantsteward]

"That is what I thought, yes. But I'm less inclined to believe that now." He gestured to the finished product. "Try it."

[wishiwasatree]

"And how did you come to that realization?"

She eyes the fried dough and pops it into her mouth, chewing quietly.

[lieutenantsteward]

"Because my Captain wouldn't be in Hell," he says plainly, watching her reaction to make sure they were cooked through. "Mr. Goodsir would never be in Hell."

[wishiwasatree]

She's avoided the captain, but agrees that Goodsir seems too gentle to be in Hell. She nods.

"Fucking delicious," she concludes.

[lieutenantsteward]

He smirks, not bothered in the least by the words she chooses. "Would you help me make the rest?"

[wishiwasatree]

Trixie's happy he asked. "'course." Anything to keep busy.