Date: 11-10-796, Late afternoon and evening ------- Location: Throughout the Greenest Dolphin
The passengers of the Greenest Dolphin, along with some members of the crew, have formed a plan with The First Mate. With the support of the crew, they're to fashion large oars to help propel them in their desired direction. In order to do this, they're gathering whatever supplies they can - tearing down bulkhead doors from the cabins, tearing apart trestle tables in the galley, barrels, unused crates, you name it. The passengers move throughout the ship, a bustle of activity as they bring supplies from the hold to the forecastle.
(Halima): In the forecastle, Halima watches from her hammock with an amused expression as various people arrive with armfuls of debris, dump it wherever they can fit it, and leave as quickly as they came. She jerks to the side as a sailor starts demolishing the barrel next to her, splinters flying haphazardly in the enclosed space. "Hey, watch it!" she shouts angrily. The sailor gives her a blank stare before returning to his task, albeit a bit less recklessly.
(Rostam): Rostam comes up from the hold, carrying a collection of once-used nails. "I pried these out of empty crates!" He is as triumphant as a victor returning from the battlefield. Laying the handfuls of nails down, he smiles at Halima and turns to rejoin the work elsewhere.
(Zahra): Zahra is particularly useless in this sort of endeavor -- manual labor. Regardless, the young woman seems quite content with just keeping out of the way while she follows Rostam and other laborers about, congratulating them on their various physical achievements.
"Oh, well done, Sayyid," comes her very-much-not-sarcastic-sounding comment to Rostam in particular when he shows off his prized collection of once-used nails. "I do believe you might be the best nail collector aboard the vessel."
Flashing Halima in her hammock a wink, she is then moving on, no doubt off to bear witness to some other great feat.
(GM): OOC: Zahra just rolled magnetism by itself, coming up with 54.
(Yasin): Yasin enters the forecastle sometime later that evening, perhaps passing by others on his way in, looking pleasantly worn-out - like someone who'd just put in a bout of exercise. "The galley," he declares, upon entering, "has now only a single trestle-table. Kinsa and I chopped up the rest, and the wood is in the corner, in as neat a pile as we could manage. That woman is -excellent- with a hatchet."
He then makes his way over to a hammock, dropping his supplies nearby and not bothering to even change out of his kaftan. "I'm just going to have a bit of a lie down." He mumbles into the hammock, and indeed - that is precisely what he does.
(Kinsa): In the galley, the sounds of the work of violent industry would have gone on for the past few hours- Kinsa and Yasin tore apart tables with fist and axe, and by the time they're done, a variety of lumpen chunks of wood are laid up against the wall, ready to be put to a more practical use by those of a mind to do so.
(Ziyad): Apparently, Ziyad had been previously asked to help design the makeshift system of oars to the best of his ability by Yasin and Rostam. Right now, he keeps pacing the ship from bow to aft and back again while scribbling on some paper and muttering softly to himself. At times, he'd walk over to the railing and squint downwards into the mist, as if trying to make measurements with his eyes. "What everyone needs is a seasoned engineer, not a dabbler trying to rummage through the fog of his memories for anything useful..." some might hear him saying to himself during that muttering. "What I'd do to have access to some reference material..."
(GM): OOC: Ziyad just rolled logic and engineering, coming up with 56.
(Rostam): Rostam pauses to let Yasin know how good a job he's done, then goes down to check in with Kinsa in the kitchen. He examines the wood, such as it is, and compliments Kinsa on the hard work. Really, he's not doing much himself at the moment. Going to check on his own stores of rope, Rostam confirms that there seems to be enough for his project of 'frapping and lashing', whatever that is, then returns to the deck.
"You're doing very well, Sayyid," he reassures Ziyad. "Once you have a design, I think that we can get to work putting them together." After a beat, he adds, "No rush. There's no great hurry. Get this done right."
Throughout, he keeps looking over his shoulder, as if expecting a certain 'cheerleader' to come congratulate him on his excellent supervisory work.
(Yeshev): "'ey! Bring that over here," Yeshev beckons to a sailor on the verged of demolishing a bulkhead door.
The slender, black-haired young man has been surprisingly busy in the forecastle, keeping the various size nails and wood planks sorted, and helping out far more than one would have guessed, given his dubious endorsement of the plan in the first place.
"What you gotta remember," he says, using the back curve of a bronze-handled steel jambiya to wriggle out a screw here, a nail there, "Is that someone put all these these things together once, yeah? You figure out what steps they took..." Another fastener out, and the bands of wood reinforcing the bulkhead door slide to the floor accordian-style "... and ya take them backwards, with just a little care... " With a knock of the bronze hilt, the handle falls with a clatter, leaving a plank of wood with a convenient rectangle cut into it. "...and the whole thing comes apart. In pieces ya can use. Like this." With a final twist, he's detached the hinge assembly that once let the bulkhead doors swing open. Placing it near the pile, he fixes the sailor with a look. "Oars need hinges, don' they? There's a start for ya."
As he sets himself to tinkering with the next ripped-apart fixture, one might notice that his ever-present driftwood cane now resides in the scrap wood pile, and he twists and bends his body with no seeming discomfort in either ankle.
(GM): OOC: Yeshev just rolled finesse and tinkering, coming up with 36.
(Ziyad): Ziyad pauses in his pacing to dip his head at Rostam. "I'll do my best, Sayyid. It's simply that I don't want to let down so many people, but we'll get there somehow with so many people putting in their best efforts. I must put in my best effort as well." He touches the twisting fulgurite pendant that's always seen around his neck and inhales deeply through flared nostrils. "I -am- already getting a decent idea on the required dimensions of the oars along with how to best secure them in place."
Now centered, the short young man picks a spot by the forecastle where he won't get in the way of the people breaking down wooden furnishings to keep working on the design with brows furrowed in concentration and greater calm.
(Esfandiar): "Doors need hinges," the plump, nimble fellow with the dainty mustache murmurs from the hammock he's trying to sleep in, arm thrown over his eyes as if blocking out his sight will somehow shield him from all the noise. Though evidently not, as he remains awake throughout. "I am not convinced about oars. Hey--!"
The bottom half of him falls to the tacky plank floor abruptly, as an unapologetic sailor claims - "I need this" after wrenching out the nail that had held up one end of the hammock. The other half of the plump fellow's body follows slowly, sliding down as the patched cloth stretches under his weight, until he is sitting on the ground. Esfandiar wipes his face with both hands, gives a long-suffering sigh and says wryly, to no one in particular,
"No, no, there is no need to assist me. My only hope is that, when this is all over, my sacrifices will be remembered."
Afterward, there may be the distinct impression that some nails here and some spare boards there, small tools of all sorts, had found their own way to the intended destinations while their original procurers were occupied elsewhere.
(GM): OOC: Esfandiar just rolled luck and stealth, coming up with 87.
(Zahir): Zahir mills about on the periphery after adding a few small scraps to the pile. When Yasin and Kinsa finish with their work in the galley he sets himself to bringing up the pieces... one chunk at a time.
(GM): OOC: Zahir just rolled strength by itself, coming up with 6.
(Zahra): It does seem that Zahra has appointed herself as "supervisor to the self-proclaimed supervisor" given that throughout all this hustle and bustle, she has been Rostam's own personal poltergeist. Just following him about. Congratulating him for every little thing.
In a very much not condescending tone.
"Oh, well done, Sayyid Marzani--"
"-- truly no one encourages others like you, Marzani."
"I don't think I've ever seen a man pick up a board quite like that, Marzani."
At some point, she would probably find herself, at least for a short time, within Yeshev's orbit, taking note of the young man's own contributions with a far more intrigued and less theatrical mien...
But then she would be back to, with the utmost seriousness, stroking Rostam's already overly inflated ego.
"Oh, Sayyid. Just how many boards do you think you can carry?"
(GM): OOC: Zahra just rolled magnetism and dissembling, coming up with 72.
(Sitra): Sitra, between bouts of rest and her ever present prayers, shows up to spend some time attempting to piece together oars with the aid of those supervising the endeavors. While seeming used to delicate handicrafts with her hands, construction and carpentry is clearly rather beyond her even as she puts her all into her work.
(GM): OOC: Sitra just rolled finesse by itself, coming up with 10.
(Rostam): "Yeshev, I think I'm going to ask you to take charge of actually turning all this into oars. You're... you're very, very, good at this." Rostam seems to try to be ignoring the...angel on his shoulder, but the looks he sends Zahra become more and more harried as the work goes on.
Finally, after laying down a stack of boards, he clears his throat and says, "I'll, er... go to the bilge. There might be some wood down there." He turns and looks, almost defiantly, at Zahra, acknowledging her full-on. "I think I could get a bunch of wood from down there. A bunch."
(Zahra): Shameless. Tireless. Relentless. Zahra hounds after one Rostam Marzani all afternoon and well into the evening -- but always with a smile and a note of honey threaded through her dusky, purring contralto as she congratulates him time and again for... picking up a nail. Walking. Breathing. Speaking.
No one articulates like Rostam Marzani, after all.
It's not until he finally turns to face her head-on, defiant, that she dissolves into a peal of warm laughter, her amusement a nigh palpable thing. "Oh? Do enjoy playing with your wood down in the bilge then, Sayyid," comes her immediate reply to the fellow, those words dancing off the tip of her tongue in a bantering cadence. And in the wake of said words, the young woman drifts off, finding some other way in which to offer her own special brand of "help."
(Firouzeh): "...and that is how my husband ended up returning home with twelve crates of pomegranates after winning a bet against Yehani pirates," Firouzeh says, concluding a story that has diverted a sailor from his work. After he wanders off to resume his task, she sighs, leaning her weight against a wall and observing the ongoing work. Sporadically, she offers words of encouragement to passersby, lacking both the charm and enthusiasm of the shadow trailing Marzani.
The only tangible assistance she has provided for this task has been the rhythmic cadence of her cane tapping against the ship's wooden planks as she moved about and the spooling of some lengths of rope.
(GM): OOC: Firouzeh just rolled magnetism by itself, coming up with 8.
(Yasin): At some point, Yasin wakes up from his "a little bit of a lie down", which probably turned into an overextended nap. The man wakes up with a start, that feeling of having missed something, and he quickly scrambles out of his hammock - an odd look on a not-very-lithe man.
The young man then looks on in true surprise at the bustle of activity - at Ziyad's design work, at Yeshev's supervision of tinkering, at the Priestess' attempts at carpentry, at Zahir's transport of the supplies, at Rostam's to-and-fro of nail and wood collecting (and he can't help but smirk at Zahra's torment of the man), and at all of the other work ongoing. Rubbing his forehead groggily, he looks momentarily dumbfounded.
And then, a few moments later, the Razmani collects himself with a few stretches and a roll of his shoulders, and wanders off looking for something else to do to help.
(Fadila): With the table most of the food had been now chopped away and the barrel which her flour had lain on Fadila finds a crate proclaiming this crate for the food. "Otherwise." She says softly, "You'll have to eat off the floor." "And with the way things get spilled here you mightn't like the results." "Vomit, splashed grog, sea water bread." She screws up her face, "Ooh how tasty." She says with a gag. After this pronouncement she gets clearly out of the way. With a muttered, "I'll have tea if people are interested." "But with all the chopping and hammering, chatter and movement perhaps that last isn't loud enough to be overheard. She mutters to herself as she finds a corner in the galley devoid of smashing chopping and chatter. She mutters thoughts aloud though again, they may or may not be heard. "I hope all this is for not." "I feel as though this ship needs everyone's help." "I just wish I could do more than offer fish and bread." A tear falls then, "This doesn't feel like my tidy ordered kitchen anymore." "It had to be done though for the whole of the crew and passengers." She says with determination a few moments later. A range of emotions passing over her face she sits ever present to offer food or a quite cup of tea.
(GM): OOC: Fadila just rolled composure and cooking, coming up with 97.
(Etennay): Every so often, the First Mate checks in, and appears to approve the progress of this mainly passenger-led initiative.
Materials begin to pile in the forecastle. Salvaged wood, cloth, metal -- old nails, a half-sewn sail made of both sailcloth and donated garments...
(GM): OOC: The scene fades to black.
(GM): OOC: The scene fades to black.
(GM): OOC: The scene fades to black.