sergeant_slick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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westwhere2022-02-18 10:16 pm
sergeant_slick) wrote in westwhere2022-02-18 10:16 pm
Entry tags:
We'll be sailing to the sun til the voyage is done
WHO: Slick and Anduin
WHEN: Before the ship arrives.
WHERE: Boat!
WHAT: Slick drops in on Anduin. Also, here's your legally required shanty.
WARNINGS: The dropping in is pretty literal, so... vertigo, maybe?
This wasn't the sort of ship he was used to, but that wasn't stopping him.
Every clone, pilot-trained or not, had to get used to the deck moving under their feet. LAAT-i transports had you standing shoulder to shoulder in a metal box, swinging wildly through the air as the pilots evaded incoming fire. Compared to that? A predictable roll was nothing.
But looking up at the tall masts, he could see why the crew tried to foist lookout duty onto him. The swaying up there was magnified by the height. It'd be rough, but if he sat through a shift without turning green, it'd be easier to get them to stop treating him like a dumb clodhopper. So he'd just given them a confident smirk and started climbing.
That was hours ago. And he'd been right--this sucked. But he'd snuck up a few bits of dried meat to chew on when he needed a pick-me-up, and generally tried to stay relaxed. That kept the nausea under control. Looking down still wasn't fun, but he did so occasionally, just to spectate. Wave down to fellow offworlders he spotted.
...And plan how to show off. The sailors that stuck him up here would be watching to see how unsteady he was, and it was his duty as an army guy to make sure navy knew who was better.
When the whistle sounded for the shift change, he hauled himself out of the crow's nest, ignoring the--what'd they called them? Rattlins? The rope ladder things. Too slow. Too unfamiliar. And boring, when the unknotted ropes in the rest of the rigging gave him a direct line all the way to the bottom of the mast.
He grabbed onto a rope and slid, kicking off the mast when he needed to avoid the unidentifiable boat stuff tied to the mast every few meters. If he'd been barehanded, this would've sent him straight to the medic. But he was still wearing the tough bodyglove from his armor. That let him descend fast and brake hard, hopping off onto one of the cleats and down onto the deck, smiling triumphantly. Nearly turned an ankle, but nobody needed to know that.
"Well, that was alright. Not enough to make me go navy, but alright."
WHEN: Before the ship arrives.
WHERE: Boat!
WHAT: Slick drops in on Anduin. Also, here's your legally required shanty.
WARNINGS: The dropping in is pretty literal, so... vertigo, maybe?
This wasn't the sort of ship he was used to, but that wasn't stopping him.
Every clone, pilot-trained or not, had to get used to the deck moving under their feet. LAAT-i transports had you standing shoulder to shoulder in a metal box, swinging wildly through the air as the pilots evaded incoming fire. Compared to that? A predictable roll was nothing.
But looking up at the tall masts, he could see why the crew tried to foist lookout duty onto him. The swaying up there was magnified by the height. It'd be rough, but if he sat through a shift without turning green, it'd be easier to get them to stop treating him like a dumb clodhopper. So he'd just given them a confident smirk and started climbing.
That was hours ago. And he'd been right--this sucked. But he'd snuck up a few bits of dried meat to chew on when he needed a pick-me-up, and generally tried to stay relaxed. That kept the nausea under control. Looking down still wasn't fun, but he did so occasionally, just to spectate. Wave down to fellow offworlders he spotted.
...And plan how to show off. The sailors that stuck him up here would be watching to see how unsteady he was, and it was his duty as an army guy to make sure navy knew who was better.
When the whistle sounded for the shift change, he hauled himself out of the crow's nest, ignoring the--what'd they called them? Rattlins? The rope ladder things. Too slow. Too unfamiliar. And boring, when the unknotted ropes in the rest of the rigging gave him a direct line all the way to the bottom of the mast.
He grabbed onto a rope and slid, kicking off the mast when he needed to avoid the unidentifiable boat stuff tied to the mast every few meters. If he'd been barehanded, this would've sent him straight to the medic. But he was still wearing the tough bodyglove from his armor. That let him descend fast and brake hard, hopping off onto one of the cleats and down onto the deck, smiling triumphantly. Nearly turned an ankle, but nobody needed to know that.
"Well, that was alright. Not enough to make me go navy, but alright."