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Captain Flint DAWN

     After a week of preparation from the Elites hired as escort, vanguard and general support for this hunt, and after months of careful, deliberate searching from Flint, after numerous attempts by forces in and out of his own crew to frustrate and usurp the endeavor, the Urca hunt has finally begun. The fleet is now on the open sea, on its way to wealth beyond measure.

     All is not well among the combined forces sailing today, however. Flint's distrustful crew has created a mess for him, spreading their suspicion of his true motives to his Elite mercenaries. Further, there are those among his crew that have begun to suspect John Silver's true role aboard the Walrus isn't as its chef.

     To make matters worse, dark stormclouds loom on the horizon, and the ship's navigator, DeGroot, has warned that, not only is this storm a possible 'ship-killer,' but that it'll be upon the fleet in a matter of hours. Anyone who wants to confront Flint should take a launch to the Walrus now--while the weather still permits, and while it is still possible to travel back to their respective ships.

     The captain himself is in his cabin. He sits behind a desk where several layers of maps, books and scrawled notes lay. A globe of construction more recent than 1715 also sits on that desk, perhaps a trophy from some multiversal conquest. On the far wall, a tall, well-stocked bookshelf stands firmly. Behind him, two wide windows reveal the slowly fading island of New Providence and its port town of Nassau.
Lima Ultimos The Coma Navaja is part of the fleet, sailing a bit aways from the Walrus, but occasionally getting close enough to allow people to go back and forth. It's a nasty ship - rotted wood, the ship itself rocking and making weird wailing noises occasionally, and the entire crew is in some form undead - often with claws or horns. A short man with both has been primarily at the wheel - Tigerbabble, if his name is asked, the Quartermaster of the ship. Lima Ultimos, the Captain himself, has been swinging from between the ships to mingle, and has shown little worries about the pending storm.

The ship is a 17th century brigantine, likely for merchant use. It has cargo holds which are full of weird stuff (and one that has been refurbished into a plant sanctum, specifically carnivorous ones), there's a fog machine in the back, and a telegraph room that seems to have the telegraph connected to the table and floor itself, making eerie clicking noises constantly. It's certainly a corrupted ship, but the crew are pretty merry, and seem like human pirates in every regard - including their want of the loot.
Septette Arcubielle      Septette has spent most of the journey elsewhere, teleporting out at all hours to attend to 'delicate matters' which she seems reluctant to describe or define. When she returns for the few hours at a stretch she spends with the crew, she is nearly always spattered in blood of wildly varying quantity and colors, and always immediately occupies herself with a specific task: discussing strategy, examining the readiness of the weapons, or speaking with the crew.

     The little robot is absolutely ceaseless in her 'tasks' and preparations, never sleeping or resting for a moment. Combined with her resoundingly loud footfalls and whirring machinery, this is bound to endear her to the rest of the crew, who would likely rather sleep than listen to a killbot noisily sharpening her blades on the deck above. At least she's more commonly absent than present at nights.

     This visit, however, she's conspicuously clean of viscera and dressed neatly in her traditional shawl and headband. Clanging, crunching footfalls approach the entrance to the Captain's cabin, audible from at least twenty feet out. Then they abruptly stop... and are followed by a delicate, polite knocking on the door that manages to be quieter than the footsteps themselves.

     When Flint invites her in, she'll fold her arms behind her back and incline her head respectfully, waiting for a convenient time to speak without interrupting his studies. Septette is acting unusually demure and well-behaved today- an infallible sign that she wants something.

     "Captain Flint," she finally says in that harsh-edged thrumming voice, "do you mind if I speak with you for a few moments in private? It's about the nature of our mission."
Starbound Flotilla     The Starbounders are going to stay with their main craft, or at least most of them are. Five of the six have remained aboard -- sometimes bringing Septette aboard by way of a convenient teleporter they've left inside their craft for her -- but one hasn't. And it's oddly not Pavo. She's the one they need captaining the ship to make sure it works in tandem with Flint's tactics. No, the one they've left with Flint is, oddly, George.

    For those who know George's history or hinted inclinations, the precise nature of this action reveals itself as far, far more meaningful than it seems. But such a meaning is opaque to the casual observer, possibly even to the crew of the Walrus even.

    Ostensibly, he's here for hull-related matters, as the Flotilla's foremost hull engineer. He's here to make adjustments and handle maintenance on the armor they've provided! But he'll also be spending some time with the crew, showing them how the rail-cannons the Flotilla has furnished operate almost exactly like contemporary naval cannons, as long as a different brand of powder is used, or otherwise helping out with any (incredibly minor) adjustments necessary to help keep the Walrus armed up in a slightly more multiversal way.

    At some point amid all this, amid some bothering of Flint in his office, he wound up leading the conversation gently towards a topic of subtle interest of his. "So," He asks. "Moving all these assets all at once, there's probably a good reason for that sort of thing happening. What sorta blowback are you expecting? There's no way for that much to disappear without someone getting mad, I'd love to hear who's really gonna take the hit and the fall on this one."

    On one hand, George's authentic interests in disruption as a concept mean he'd be asking this sort of question out of a real motivation. On the other hand, George is the kind of son of a bitch who's using this as a moment of subtle sonar; are there any motivation hints he can puzzle out with this sort of harmless poke?

    Around now is when Septette's check-in will probably happen. Convenient that the conversation can flow so easily about the upcoming raid!
Lyria Mason Lyria Mason has been keeping watch on how the waters were feeling, after all she knew there could be a storm that was ship-killer grade on the way. She was keeping watch for the moment or had been with the ship for almost all the trip. Save for a brief evening where a job pulled her away. She is aware they may be part of a larger play here, but there's little solid proof for her to work on at the moment.

She wasn't alone either a strange mechanical serpent had been aiding her with her tasks on the ship and shocking very well behaved. Also here and there the small spider drones she uses as well skittered about the ship.

"So it's almost time, Swimmer..."
Josuke Higashikata     Josuke has been trying to be as useful as possible aboard Lima's ship. Though he's not exactly the most nautically-inclined, and almost wishes he'd brought Jotaro. Then again, he's not sure Jotaro would have been comfortable here, since... well, most of these guys are undead, and the ship itself seems like it wants to eat him if he lets his guard down. Though he's been trying to be useful nonetheless -- maybe fixing a thing here or there, trying to do some of the smaller tasks so the pirates can turn their attention to other, more important tasks.

    But he too is headed over to the Walrus once the Lima gets close enough. Though rather than swinging or jumping, Josuke employs Crazy Diamond to leap across the distance while holding onto him. This time it'll be about the same time that Septette heads over, by some coincidence. If the door's open, Josuke will peek in, if not he'll knock first. Either way he'll then call out, "Captain? Mind if I come in?"
Sombra     What has Sombra been doing this week? As always the hacker seems to be everywhere at once, though she doesn't say much. After a quick trip aboard the other ships, she had moved onboard with the Starbound Flotilla, considering they have the most tech for her to work with. What, she's biased. So her other amigos will have to see more of her later.

    Whistling what sounds like a classical tune, she's lounging near the Flotilla captains, working on her screens which might not come as a surprise at this point. Plans of the Urca, intel on the cargo, what crewmembers she could dig up... it's all there, and it's shared with the others. While Sombra might be secretive, she doesn't mind sharing some of the useful info with others. When it suits her.

    A translocator has been left with the other ships so she can quickly go here and there as needed... and one has been left in Josuke's care, as he should know very well what to do with it by now.

    "This is going to be interesting, isn't it?" Sombra asides to Albert, giving the large primate a cheeky grin. "I trust you'll be there to take advantage of any opportunity I give you amigos, no?" The initial plan they've made is certainly something, that's for sure.
Captain Flint "Come," Flint calls, loud enough to be heard over the creaking of the ship and the calls of his crew. Any Elites waiting to speak to him can take that as their invitation to enter his cabin. When they do, they'll see that he's in the middle of a discussion with John Silver.

     "Not at all," says Flint to Septette and Josuke. "I was just doing the same with Mr. Silver, here. I'll be just a moment more." Odd that he'd discuss strategy with the ship's cook. "The final page, if you will," says the captain expectantly. Silver confidently scrawls something onto a piece of paper, then notes the mess of maps and scrawling atop Flint's desk.

% "What's that?" asks the cook.

     "My own reconnaissance," explains Flint. "There are a dozen bays and inlets within a day's journey from here that will make reasonable locations for the Urca to take on water. If the course you write down leads to one of them, chances are your information is accurate."

     Silver swallows nervously. "And... if it doesn't?"

     Flint's eyes flick up from his work, staring the cook down. Thunder rumbles in the distance. "Division Bay," he says, looking back down at his work and circling a small island on the map before him. "The course leads to Division Bay. Shoals on the eastern shore, but if we approach from the windward, we can take up a strong opening position." Flint writes down the course on a piece of paper, quill scrawling quickly and purposefully across the page. Folding it up, he hands it to Silver. "Take this to DeGroot, and have him relay it to Ultimos and Pavo." The cook nods, but lingers, hesitant to leave.

     "Something else?"

     "Well..." Silver takes a look around at the gathered elites, gears turning as to how to phrase his next remark. "Now that I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, I'm just wondering where you and I stand."

     "Keep wondering."

     Silver leaves, frowning. Flint then takes a look at George, taking his measure. Were it not for the jumpsuit and the red eyes, the man would look right at home aboard the Walrus. Perhaps the gesture was done for the comfort of Flint's suspicious crew, but somehow he doubts that--especially given the disparity between himself, George and the myriad other Elites here. "A fair concern," says Flint, looking towards Septette--he wonders if that's her concern, too. "You appear to be human--are you a student of history? Do you come from a world like this?"

     "Currently, England and Spain are at war, over whose king has divine right to rule and who should inherit the Spanish throne. In truth, all of Europe has a stake in the fight, but England and Spain are the two most powerful contenders at present. I'm to understand the conflict has gone on slightly longer in my world than in other, similar worlds. The Urca is a treasure galleon, meant to transport King Philip's riches from the Spanish Main to Spain proper."

     "Spain will be upset, of course--but, by the time the news even reaches them, they'll have no one to point fingers at but England, who will of course blame piracy. They'll try to attack Nassau in retaliation, but by that time, they'll find it a far cry from the impoverished ditch it currently is. I plan to use my share to turn Nassau into a Multiversal power proper--a place free of the evils of imperialism."
Captain Flint Belowdecks, Silver returns to 'care for' Randall, the ship's previous cook. "Well, Randall--you're back on board the Walrus, you have your own personal caretaker now, and you don't even have to work for your wages. I wonder if you didn't orchestrate that whole drama on the beach to get to this point..."

     Randall says nothing, affixing a vacant gaze to Silver, silently peeling a potato.

     "Oh, you want everyone to think you're just a half-wit. But I think that's just an act. I think you're really a shrewd operator who plays that role to keep eyes off of him. Randall, you might just be a god damned genius."

     Randall gives no response, save for a long, shrieking bit of flatulence.

     Silver sighs.
Septette Arcubielle      "A fair guess, Captain Flint. Like this world in some ways, yet very unlike in others," she responds politely. "The level of technological advancement in my homeworld is roughly the same as in yours- even the ships are similar, with sail and cannon. My kind was an outlier, built to resemble and work alongside humans by something... other. Nothing else there is my equal." Imagining a killbot kicking around in a Colonial-era world natively is a tad surreal... and rather terrifying, from a certain perspective.

     Septette eyes George and Josuke, inclining her head to them respectfully as well. She'd initially planned on being quite blunt with her concerns, but it's better not to risk striking that nerve with others present: Flint's anger might spill over to them as well. "The regional politics sound complex... and unfortunate. When whales fight, it's the shrimp that suffer. Hopefully this could help bring things to a swifter end."

     "On the note of consolidating power, however, I have been hearing... strange stories from some of your crew," she adds diplomatically. "Sometimes these stories, they spring up around those in positions of power like mushrooms under a tree- nothing to be done about them. But other times, they have a basis... and that troubles me, when assessing the cohesiveness of your fighters."

     Her gaze sharpens, almost imperceptibly. "So. Are these stories baseless, Captain Flint? The envious tales spun about the powerful by their subordinates? Or can you think of any concrete cause that might have sown the seeds for some systemic disloyalty?"
Josuke Higashikata     "Thank you, Captain." Josuke enters the room quietly, placing himself in an unassuming place while still listening to the conversation between Flint and Silver. He's definitely filing THAT away for later. Not only that, but Flint's explanation of the troubles of his world. Unfortunately he isn't much a student of western history, so he'll just take Flint's word for it about the conflict going on.

    He offers a bright smile and a wave in return to Septette's nod. And yes, he lets her begin. Very diplomatic. He nods, adding in a gentle voice, "I heard a few, too. And I'm worried that things will fall apart at a critical time." Wouldn't do to have some of the crew turn during the battle with the other ship's crew. "Might just be idle, uh... what's that word? <Jaw-jacking>?"

    Josuke's English is rather bad, so it comes out a rather ridiculous 'jaajakingu'. Though that too is planned -- it's probably funny to an English speaker, and might just help to diffuse any tension their inquiry might cause in Flint.
Starbound Flotilla     George's brain races for a moment through conjectured outcomes. Steal the Spanish money, get enough time delay on a spanish assault against Nassau to use it to build up, hold off the response. A few million dollars -- relatively massive amounts of money for the time -- invested into a micronation full of disenfranchised naval talent and resources? Is that the angle? A military micronation like that won't be sustainable long-term, but it'll likely be able to accomplish one or two goals that only a political entity of such a size could in the short-term, granting a vast array of political maneuvering options. Right?

    George's racing mind is only exposed by a few concealed indicators. Twitches of the eye. Light, repressed brow-furrowing. A little pressure between the teeth. But his easygoing appearance floods through him to sort of drown that out. George seems so far to only be able to see outcomes here that still end in the gold being real, even if there's another hidden agenda afoot. And you know what: Going up against a king actually secretly entices George and George's obsession with fighting authority and power. Flint may or may not be aware that he accidentally said a very optimal thing just then.

    And of course, George pretends like he's not been thinking about that at all. "Huuuuh. Sounds like a big event. You know, we're good builders ourselves. If we pull this off, I'll promise you a discount on getting Nassau up to speed with some real heavy infrastructure." George grins wide and gives a little fingergun gesture and wink. "I've always wanted to build, like, /ten/ taverns at once." He's not distracted in the least though. His head cants to one side, eager to listen to the response to Septette.
Lyria Mason Lyria Mason is just out on deck at the moment she's not felt the need for a while to talk to the captain. Then again it's abotu time to catch up with him isn't it? She orders her drone creation to remain and wait for her. She'll move to go for Flint's Cabin to see him and it seems that he's not alone. Josuke and Septette are here already and likely there may be more.

"Captain."

She gives Flint a nod as she enters.

"Still not sure what to make on my read of the ocean right now..."

She listens to the conversation after she gives her very tiny report. She is soaking up this additional information too.
Priscilla     As promised, Priscilla has, indeed, found the time to be here. Barely. She'd only arrived at the figurative last second before anchor had been pulled, and spent a good leg of the trip simply taking in the ocean sights. This is, in fact, the first time she's ever been sailing. Even if it's an old Age of Sail era ship, with all the usual smelly and grumpy men, the sea air, the gulls and gales, the water all the way to the horizon (and maybe even a dolphin!!!) has her pretty thoroughly distracted. Luckily, she does not appear to be susceptible to motion sickness.

    Hanging out by herself on a deck full of old-fashioned pirates isn't really a bother either, lady or not. She's the boss of the other two ships in the fleet, something of a loose confidant with Flint, and scarier than half of them by far.

    Previously, she had been content to leave all matters of sail to Flint. After all, he's the pirate captain of many years, and she still walks pretty much everywhere there isn't a warpgate. When she sees the rest of the Multiversal crew start to gather though, she finally takes interest. Following Septette, especially, convening on the cabin, she stops by Silver just long enough to give him a long, cold, and very obviously appraising stare, before shadowing the doorway herself. "Is there something the matter with our captain's direction?" she asks from behind, with approximately the volume, as well as the cough, of a polite cough.
Captain Flint Flint actually takes to Septette's questioning with a pleasant smile and a chuckle. "Of course," he says. "It's as you say--baseless accusations springing up under the shadow of a tree." The captain rises, reaching for a book on his table. It lies open. He closes it and places it into an empty spot on the bookshelf. The title, in gold leaf, reads 'Statism and Anarchy,' by Mikhail Bakunin. He pauses, turning to look out the window at the shrinking speck that is New Providence.

     Looking over his shoulder, peering at Josuke: "Jaw jacking is a good word for it," he says, but without any derision. It seems Flint isn't the sort to mock others for their accents.

     "Still--had I told my men about the Urca before they were ready to hear it, they would have gone all over the island running their mouths to anyone who would listen, potentially jeopardizing an endeavor months in the making. Sure enough, my hand was forced, and I had to reveal the plan to them lest their unfounded paranoia rob them of the future I've worked so hard to provide for them. Even so, they did exactly as I thought they would, and their... eagerness nearly cost us the Urca's location. It was only thanks to Mr. Silver's impressive memory that we were able to recover a page stolen from the Urca schedule-stolen by a former member of this crew, no less. Suffice it to say, Mr. Singleton paid the price for his transgressions." He gives Priscilla a glance after saying this, acknowledging her presence with a slight upturn of the lips and a gracious nod.

     "No problems so far, Priscilla-just allaying some concerns. My crew are suspicious, and superstitious at that. Ours is not an era where literacy is looked upon fondly, and you can plainly see my love of books," he says with a gesture to the bookshelf on his right. "I'm also a very private person, trying to build a life with a similarly-minded Puritan woman who's the subject of many of these stories. Pair that with my tendency to act in the crew's best interest despite their worst qualities, and you can see why these stories crop up from time to time. If there's some account or detail you've heard from a member of my crew, I shall be more than glad to discuss it openly and without rancor. You all have my promise."

     Of course, dealing with these suspicions isn't the only thing on Flint's mind. There's also the enticing promise that George has made. After the demonstrations given by the Flotilla, having a /fort/ equipped with the same weapons and armor, for a discount, would be a load off of his mind. "Your offer is very generous, George," says Flint. "After the prize is ours, don't be surprised if I take you up on it."
Septette Arcubielle      A faint grin crosses Septette's face at Josuke's malaprop, before she breaks into that light and chiming laugh. "Haven't heard that term before, but I'll have to remember it. It's very... descriptive." She gives him a brief, but grateful look, as if to acknowledge his diplomatic efforts. They haven't gone unnoticed.

     Priscilla's entry earns another respectful nod, but Septette doesn't answer the question just yet- let Flint speak for himself on the matter. "Certainly, Captain Flint. You've done us the favor of discussing these things without venom or rancor, so I shall return the favor in addressing a delicate matter as matter-of-factly as I can."

     "The first incident I wish to discuss is the Maria Aleyne. You told your crew there would be fantastic riches, much like the Urca de Lima is purported to hold. There were none. Your actions would seem to indicate that you knew this. What was your true goal there?" She already strongly suspects she knows, but her tone and demeanor reveal nothing: this is a probing question, designed to determine how forthcoming he's really willing to be, by asking about something that the Elites gathered here already know.

     Then, her tone abruptly changes to something calmer, quieter. "I can understand deceiving rowdy pirates in order to get them to act in what you believe are their own best interests, Captain. I have little reason to suspect that you have dealt with us dishonestly. And I hope that you do not do so in the future."

     "I am a very busy person," she continues, "and I bear exceptional weight on my shoulders. I cannot afford to be trifled with. I cannot afford to be deceived. So on the exceedingly rare occasions that someone has the temerity to do so, I make an example of utmost severity out of them, so that all who hear it will never dare to do the same."

     Despite her unsettling words, her tone remains perfectly calm and cordial, and her expression demure and undisturbed. "I hope that we have an understanding, Captain Flint. And I very much look forward to our constructive partnership continuing."
Starbound Flotilla     "Oh, yeah. Literacy's important. I mostly just read memes though!" George says, bringing out a cigarette and seeming to check out a bit on the conversation as he lights up. Septette seems to be the one taking the full-on confrontation approach, and so George is sort of symbolically getting out of her way. He even leans a little bit to one side, sort of making sure he's not between Septette and her conversational partner. He wants to see what this turns out as, even if he doesn't quite agree with the way she's handling it. At the very least, he got his chatting done before she started.

    While she does that, he takes the opportunity to check out the shelves and the books that Captain Flint is reading. It's a good way to get a bearing on who a person is, to look at the sort of things he likes in that sense. And George can play it off as being a bored weirdo.
Josuke Higashikata     Hmm. That didn't quite work. But it gives Josuke more information about Flint's character. Either he's more respectful of others with weird accents or he just doesn't find weird accents funny. Anyway. Josuke does wince a bit at the mention of someone 'paying the price'. He's pretty sure that means something very unpleasant, as well as a very quick finish for whatever his punishment was. But that's kind of the pirate way, so...

    Flint puts it pretty succintly, and Josuke can see how this could all be exactly as he says. On the other hand, the best lies are the ones shrouded in truth. It could be just as the crew says... or it could be something completely different.

    Septette's laughter gets a grin from Josuke -- confirmation that he was indeed trying to get someone to laugh. But then he goes serious when she starts airing her own concerns. In the meantime, he greets Priscilla with a smile and a wave. Though Septette's severe words get a blink, and he looks back to her. And Josuke raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, remembering what prompts her severe words.

    Josuke does pick up one thing from Flint's explanation-- 'trying' to build a life. He tilts his head, looking thoughtful. Hoping to somewhat soften Septette's words, he inquires gently of Flint, "What's stopping you? From building a life with the Puritan lady, I mean. You say you're 'trying to'... that sounds like there's something in the way of that."
Sombra     "What indeed."

    Sombra is suddenly there in the doorway, speaking right after Josuke does, giving Captain Flint a curious look with an arched eyebrow. The other people present earn a nod, and Sombra finds herself a place to sit. "So when are we striking? This is getting boring, you know... just waiting." Septette's words causes the hacker to smirk somewhat, looking amused in Flint's direction. Deception is a funny thing, isn't it? "It's such a shame about the crew. You can learn a lot of things from reading, really. And not just memes, George." Though she can always send some his way later if he likes them.
Lyria Mason Lyria Mason has no idea who the authors of the book are but the title does catch her eye. She leaves it there as it's not important, for the moment. It could be useful later she may look it up later. She doesn't seem too bothered by things the comments about paranoia.

"That's how it seems to go when you get big, the bigger you are the more fungus starts growing about. As for books always good to keep reading."

She debates on sharing the story and wonders on one hand if it's false it would be good to know, if it was true the guy who told it might get singled out. She makes the choice to not bring it up for the moment. So long as the job goes well? If Captain Flint has another goal she's fine with it.
Captain Flint "Ah, the Maria Aleyne." Flint nods gravely. "Not my proudest moment." He sighs, considering his options, his brow furrowed. "There were two very important persons aboard that ship," he begins. "A man and a woman with connections to Whitehall--to the ostensibly democratic portion of England's regime, the Parliament. Originally, I had intended to hold them for ransom. Whitehall would've been at our mercy, and the ransom could've covered our costs for years. I even considered retiring from this trade with my share to live out my days with Miranda."

     "I entered the cabin with the intent of securing them, but, fearing for their lives, they made a concerted effort to wrest my pistol from me. I was left with no choice but to kill them, which dashed our chances for the prize and severely weakened my position with the crew. I recall coming back that day, seeing Miranda waiting and smiling, only for that smile to fade as she saw me make landfall empty handed."

     While Flint explains, George peruses his bookshelf. The captain is a lover of wisdom, a philosopher in a world on the cusp of devaluing that love. His tastes range from Marcus Aurelius to Dostoevsky to Pliny to Marx. Yes, there are just as many anachronisms as there are books more appropriate to the time. Most of it is political theory and philosophy, and what fiction does exist is often the sort that comes shrouded in introspective thought and allegory. There are a few in the same vein, though, differing opinions on forms of governance. Perhaps Flint is trying to broaden his horizons and determine the best form of governing for his dream of Nassau?

     "You're still young," says Flint to Josuke. "Like Billy." He frowns. "Mr. Higashikata, I've learned that happiness has a price attached to it. If I were to give up these pursuits prematurely, those predators which lurk in waiting would strike at the chance to rob me of that happiness, just as they have countless times before. Once upon a time, Miranda and I lived a happy life in England. Then we made the mistake of disagreeing with the lords of Whitehall. They examined every aspect of our lives, looking for some way to be rid of us. When they finally found something they could use as leverage, they took everything from us. Our friends, our homes, our livelihoods. As long as England retains control of Nassau, and indeed, as long as Europe is dominated by greed, ambition, and the Church, there will be no safe place for us to live on our terms, and our dream of an alternative solution to the ills of society will lie dead in the water."

     "All that aside, Sombra is right. We should discuss strategy..."
Captain Flint Flint shares the details of the strike with the Elites. As Josuke observed quietly, sometimes the best lies are those shrouded in truth. The Elites have heard both sides of the story, as far as Miranda and the Maria Aleyne are concerned. Whether Flint is telling the truth about the Urca remains to be seen, but at the very least, he's going to a lot of trouble to capture it.

     The Urca will take on water on the eastern side of Division Bay, a small bay full of shoals. The fleet will approach in a westerly direction to avoid navigating that hazard. Then, the plan will proceed as normal, with the Walrus flying a Spanish flag and getting 'attacked' by the Coma Navaja, with Pavo playing a supporting role if necessary, to draw the escorts away from the Urca. The fleets will then open fire on the escorts to disable them, then chase down the Urca and seize the prize.

     With strategy discussed thusly, there's only a short amount of time for everyone to get to their chosen posts before the storm hits.

     TWELVE HOURS IN

     The mood on the Walrus is somber. Her crew, her quartermaster, and her captain should be brimming with excitement, but loss has robbed them of that vigor. It happened so quickly--a storm so violent as to earn the appellation of 'ship-killer' from the ship's navigator, DeGroot.

     The worst of it robbed the Walrus of her boatswain, Billy Bones, the rain so thick that the ships of the fleet couldn't even see each other, much less one unfortunate soul tossed overboard. The wind snapped a pulley loose and struck Billy in the chest, knocking him overboard. Billy had time to utter one panicked shout, Flint time enough to cry out in vain to his crew--and then the waves simply swallowed the blond-haired pirate up in the darkness, the violent undercurrents carrying him to who knows where.

     The loss of the popular boatswain has had a notably negative impact on morale aboard the Walrus. Given that Billy had begun to become suspicious of Flint's motives, his untimely demise has given rise to old suspicions Flint only recently quashed. Other pirates, still trusting Flint but superstitious nonetheless, claim Billy's death is a bad omen.

     Heavy sheets of rain batter the fleet as it crashes through thick, dark waves of roiling water. Conditions abovedecks are unpleasant, and belowdecks they aren't much better. Even with the upgrades from the Flotilla, water leaks through the Walrus' planks into the bilge, and the summer heat does nothing to improve things. Any ship in the water rolls wildly as it crests the waves, and each thick column of water slams so violently into the ships as to be felt by their respective crews.

     The captain of the Walrus is currently in his cabin--as is the quartermaster, Hal Gates. Even here, things are only relatively dry, the occasional bucket's worth of rainwater splattering through the quarterdeck above and onto the floor near the entrance. Candles burn atop his desk, upon which a thin layer of moisture lays. Even as the boat rocks from the waves, Flint's personal effects seem to stand sturdy. The window behind him rattles every so often as plumes of water splash against it. Unbeknownst to the captain, a small camera, placed by Sombra, records the conversation taking place between Flint and Gates.
Captain Flint      "We need to talk," the weathered quartermaster says, with a glance towards the door of the captain's cabin. "The Maria Aleyne," begins Gates. "You told me the two you killed were reaching for a weapon." Interesting--the story he told the elites said they reached for /his/ weapon. A meaty hand runs down the length of Gates' bald head. "I went and I looked. There were no weapons in that cabin. But I still kept my mouth shut. I don't know why, but I know you used the crew to assassinate those people. Men died that day. Our men. And I suspect there's been other times when we've been expendable to you. And if today was one of those days, then we have a problem--because Billy wasn't. Expendable. To me. /You/ could've had Septette or Lyria save him. You didn't even pick up the fucking radio. You didn't even tell the other ships, for Christ's sake!"

     "And what was I supposed to do? Have them risk their lives for one man on my crew? What if we'd lost Billy /and/ one of them? /You/ didn't intervene once when he came to you with these fantasies, these unfounded accusations against me." Flint retorts. "Perhaps if you had--erhaps if you helped him understand the world in which he lived... he'd still be here right now."

     Gates gives a great, resigned sigh, a sound that comes only from knowing someone at their core. From having known someone for a long time. That sigh is the sound of a friendship withering. "I'm tired of this," he says quietly. "I'm tired of the energy it takes to believe you. To believe /in/ you. "I will sail with you. I will keep my mouth shut. I will help you take this prize. Upon our return to Nassau, you and I will quietly go our separate ways... and I'll thank you not to protest." It seems there's now dissent even from Hal Gates, the voice of the crew, and supposedly Flint's longest held friend.

     EARLY MORNING

     The fleet arrives a few miles off the coast of Division Bay. There's only one problem--there don't appear to be any ships here. A pall falls over the Walrus.

     "Check the route," Flint says tersely to DeGroot.

     "Captain, this is the route you requested..."

     "Check it /again./"
Priscilla     The sight at the door isn't what Priscilla had hoped to run into. Priscilla, specifically, is part of an exclusive club here. One of a very, very small number of people who happens to know the half of the complicated mess of threats and leverage and ruses that currently tangles Flint and Silver together despite likely wishing nothing more than for the other to promptly drop dead. One of very few people who knows the truth of the logbook, the cook, and poor Singleton. Of course, she had no part in any of it, having transpired before she had even begun to get involved with the hunt for the Urca, but it had been her conscious decision to take advantage of it, and in a way that Flint surely understands, but the two of them have not discussed at all.

    So now, she has to put on a less enjoyable face, and deal with the situation as the leader of a Covenant should, and not as she would like to, on the level of a personal friend to those concerned.

    "So it may be." Priscilla begins to Septette, her tone as even as the frozen surface of a lake, with no indication as to how thick or thin the ice truly is. "And so, if it wouldst stand that thou art made to feel as if thine time has been misused here, then I am certain thou wouldst hath mine sympathies and most probably adequate compensation for thine efforts spent. However, I wouldst be remiss to remind thee not, that Captain Flint hast approached the Concord as his ally, and as dearly appreciated as thine assistance hast been, thou art not, in the official sense, entitled to act upon Concord matters, as of yet."

    The implication is fairly clear. Regardless of what you think of Flint, this is the Concord's mess to pull something out of. No vigilantes tolerated. Whether someone chooses to take it in defense of Flint, or as putting herself in charge, is entirely up to them. Priscilla won't have anyone trying to take revenge for dead men in the middle of this hunt.

    Not that it stops her from requesting to listen in on Sombra's feed. Not wanting to wind up a soaked and bedraggled mess, Priscilla had made certain to retreat to more waterproof lodgings when the storm had hit (courtesy of the Flotilla, no doubt). What she hears isn't shocking, but it sets her already perpetually cold expression into something glacial, as if it put someone at risk of hurting themselves by looking at it the wrong way. The first thing she does, ordering over the radio to anyone and everyone, is thus:

    "Find Silver. Bringeth him to me."
Josuke Higashikata     Aha, now there's the explanation. It all lines up with what they were told, too. And Josuke can't really sense any subterfuge. It does make sense -- Josuke hasn't really seen any strange powers in this world so far... at least, none that were native to this world. So he has no reason to believe that this lady's doing something to control Flint. Or if she was, that someone in the group wouldn't pick it up. Glassy eyes, vacant stare... Josuke hasn't seen anything like that about Flint yet.

    When he's addressed, he blinks, looking to Flint as if drawn from a reverie. The mention of Billy, and the frown, get a worried look from the teen. He listens, and nods. "I think it's called the 'separation of Church and State'?" he notes. "Best thing that ever happened to governments, I think. Not that I think religion's bad. But people tend to twist the words until they can use them as weapons against people they personally don't like. It's not for their god. It's for themselves and their vanity."

    He doesn't seem to much like that concept. But... what can one do?

TWELVE HOURS IN

    Sadly, Josuke had been able to do little about the falling overboard of the boatswain Billy. Josuke had been on board Lima's ship when the tragedy occurred. All he'd seen was something whip out from the ship, snakelike, and he knew it was a bad thing.

    So, before anybody could caution him otherwise, Josuke had used Crazy Diamond to fling himself across the distance, through the storm, onto the Walrus, to repair the broken railing. Whatever broke loose, he knew it was a bad thing, and could spell disaster for the Walrus. Lima's ship can heal itself; the Walrus could not. And so, Josuke remained on board the ship to repair whatever the storm broke -- ropes, pins, sails, even the ship itself.

    But not just that. Josuke can see the growing suspicions of the crew, and has tried to buoy everyone's spirits as much as possible. Not trying to get them to forget, no. But to get them to keep moving regardless. He's unaware of the conversation between the Captain and Hal Gates, the arrangements made. He'll find out in time. For right now, though, the crew and the ship -- and keeping BOTH of them in one piece! -- is more important.

EARLY MORNING

    Josuke had remained on the Walrus that evening, trying to keep things repaired as he could. Doubtless hasn't gotten much sleep. And his hair probably took a beating, too, though he's managed to fix it in some semblance of his typical style. But as the ship comes to the coordinates, Josuke starts heading up to the Nest on the Walrus, when he hears there's no ships around. He's supposed to be up there anyway, when the fighting starts. And he can get a good view from up there.

    But yes. He sees no ship. "...I don't like this," he notes, probably too quietly for most others to hear. "I smell a rat..."
Lima Ultimos Lima Ultimos managed to get to the group after all the debate, but just in time for the strategy meeting. After it's done, the Coma Navaja sets off to prepare for its own role. When the storm hits, the crew is working hard to keep from falling overboard, but the ship itself seems to not be taking much from the storm. If this is a shipkiller, the demon ship is probably not going to die.

And then, when it's time for the attack...there's no ship. No one can spot their target. After taking a second look and chattering over the radio, the Coma Navaja decides to take a look most cannot. There's only a single warning given to those on board. "HOLD ONTO THE DECK!" The crew grabs tight onto things, as the ship begins to /lift/ out of the water, straight into the air. Within several moments, it's several hundred feet high, flying upwards at an insane rate until it has an excellent vantage point. It then proceeds to fly forward along the coast, trying to fish out the location of the Urca. Where could it be?
Sombra     Having a general idea of what to do is good, though it's important to always be able to improvise. After all, there are always a few Jokers mixed in with the rest of the playing cards, making it hard to determine every single event. Which is why Sombra took precautions.

    Storms aren't her thing, sadly, though fortunately the Flotilla ship seems to be in a better state than the Walrus. And perhaps her skills are helpful in keeping the ship stable during the rough weather. If that isn't enough to keep her entertained, then the conversation going on in Flint's cabin certainly is... The fact that Priscilla seems to know fully well that she's keeping an eye on what's going on is only initially surprising, and well... it's not something she has a reason to hide from her superior. So rather than just keeping it on her ear, Sombra summons a small screen in front of Priscilla to watch and listen in. "It doesn't surprise me that the capitane doesn't always tell the truth, el Comandante... it wouldn't be the first questionable words to pass his lips," she asides in a low and amused tone. They will have to deal with that later.

    In the morning Sombra stands on deck, idly tapping one nail against her elbow as she stands there with her arms crossed. Her eyes are narrowed, and she's watching the deck of the Walrus intently, eyes darting from person to person. Priscilla's words to find Silver, that's something. But there is somebody else that they should find too. "I'll keep in touch," is all the hacker says before her form shifts with lines of purple and white, all before she simply disappears... where did she go off to now?

    Below deck on the Walrus, Sombra appears again over the translocator she had hidden in one of the less used rooms, stashed in with other items. Bringing up her hand she activates her thermoptic camouflage, silent as she hurries out, listening and searching... because if the two people she didn't notice up on deck, then where are they? Most likely below deck, but for what reason?
Septette Arcubielle      If Septette bristles at Priscilla's words, it doesn't show in her easy and placid expression. She nods to Flint, indicating that his reply has satisfied her, before stepping back into a shadowed corner and remarking quietly to Priscilla: "Worry not. I care not if the man hides his past. I do not care of small lies, or withheld information, or even of honest mistakes. The only scenario I am concerned of is one where he would no longer be considered a friend of yours either."

     EARLY MORNING

     Word of the storm never reached Septette until its solemn end- something of which she is keenly and guiltily aware. Had she been there at that exact moment, it wouldn't have been difficult to try to rescue the drowned man; she may be too dense to tread water, but saltwater and crushing pressure bothers her little. It doesn't really occur to her to ask why the captain never requested her help- perhaps he thought the water would damage her, or that she wouldn't be able to arrive in time- but the idea that he could've been saved nags at her, nonetheless.

     She is, however, present when the Walrus fails to find its quarry. With a concerned expression, she disperses three of her drones to their maximum operational range, hoping to catch view of the Urca de Lima over the horizon. But that seems unlikely, at this point.

     The little robot's lively face furrows in thought and worry, though betrayal is far from her mind: if Flint has any ulterior motive, it cannot be served by leading them to the middle of nowhere. "Perhaps it sank in the storm? Its cargo would have been much heavier than ours, after all..."
Lyria Mason The Talk with the Captain goes well enough but once that is settled she'll head out and get back to work. They how3ever end up losing a member of the crew this early into the job. Th storm was bad, very bad it caught Lyria almost off guard. There was no chance for her to go after Billy or so she thought. There was little she could do now the confrontation happens shortly after. It doesn't get too violent at the very least. 5R
she doesn't know what to say but she simply sighs. Captain's call but she also gets she could be disposable too if it came down to it.

Early Morning.

Her spirits are not so hot with the loss of a crewman in such a fashion but she's trying to figure out what's up now the ship isn't there they haven't found the target they were after. She looks to Septette as she launches the drones, it's a good idea. She'd send swimmer out but he would be needed closer to home all things said and done.
Starbound Flotilla     Click, click, click...

"I don't like it."
"That is quite like many things you have opinions on, old friend.."
"Hasss point. Ssstorm hurt many sssystem!"
"The sea fills with rage."
"Worried. At least we do not seem to be leaking..."
"I don't care about the shields. Focus on the sensors."

    Click. Click. Click.

"Seft, run another recalibration."
"Anxious. I cannot seem to re-establish the systems after that...!"
"Then get down there and fix 'em ye tin can!"

    Click. Click. Fwish. George manages to get his soggy lighter alight, and light up an only somewhat damp cigarette, creating a small light in the damp and dark lower deck. A finger pressed to his earpiece gets an eyebrow raised, but he makes an affirming noise. "Son of a bitch. Just my luck." Without anyone around him, he mutters to himself. "Alright, this boat's got enough social pressure it'll cook itself alive if I don't get this done fast. Where's that son of a bitch Silver..." He sets off for bases of power. He has a little old experience with space-stations, and being used to ships, he knows where he can expect some areas of... More INTERNAL strife. Areas where the crew would meet, but not in public. Rooms with privacy. That sort of thing.

    He sets off. Searching for Silver, to bring him to Priscilla.
Captain Flint The faces aboard the Walrus are downcast. Some are disappointed. Some are sad. Some are beginning to let those feelings fester into resentment for their captain, who has seemingly once again promised them the world and come up empty handed. Flint always seems to know just what to say, but now? He's silent, his seafoam eyes sweeping across the sea of embittered pirates on his crew.

     Ultimos' chipper voice confirms it--there's no treasure galleon here, not even a ship.

     George will find Silver in the Walrus' galley, with Randall. The waters are still enough that it's safe to travel between ships via launches. When George attempts to extricate Silver, surprisingly, Randall comes to his defense. The Walrus' former cook puts up quite a fight, even attempting to strike George with his prosthetic leg--but ultimately, George's training proves him to be the better fighter. With Randall dispatched, Silver is dragged /very/ reluctantly abovedecks "Wait!" he calls. "Wait. There's something we've all forgotten to account for. Septette is right! She has to be!"

     When the Coma Navaja takes to the skies, John Silver's plea rings true, as does Septette's hunch--in a way. There, dashed against the shore, is the wreckage of the treasure hulk, along with chest after chest after chest of Spanish gold, glimmering brightly in the daylight. Unfortunately, it's not /quite/ undefended. The crew of the hulk patrols the beach with muskets and sabers, and as the Navaja begins its descent, the pirate in the ghost ship's crow's nest will spot a Spanish man-o'-war to the south of the island. The guns on that ship could be used as artillery against any attempt to take the treasure by force.

     "The storm," says Silver. "It would've passed through here on its way to Nassau."

     BELOWDECKS

     Sombra noticed the absence of the quartermaster and the ship's accountant Dufresne. Her efforts to investigate have led her to a private meeting between the two, the both of them oblivious to her invisible presence. "...and after all your talk, you're still protecting Flint."

     "These men are right on the edge and DeGroot wants to rile them up more by talking about a lying, thieving captain, then stand on a deserted beach and talk about an election. Before you know it, half a dozen men will have made a claim to the captaincy, camps will divide, and it won't even be dark yet before the fighting starts. Flint's gonna pay for his crimes, but we'll do it at home and we'll do it like civilized men. If you doubt that, see if this is good enough for you." Gates hands a letter to Dufresne, who opens it, reads it... and pockets it.

     "Good enough for me," says Dufresne. Their meeting is interrupted when Turk comes barreling into the hold.

     "The bastard was telling the truth," Turk says. "Get up here and see for yourselves. She's beached." With that, he exits, and the two men share a confused glance, still unaware of their hidden observer. Barring any attempt by Sombra to stop them, both men exit the hold and come abovedecks.
Lima Ultimos As his own crew spots the island, it's shouted over the radio, but they see it as well. This leads to the Coma Navaja pulling back towards the Walrus, where Lima Ultimos ropes over onto the Walrus's deck. "There be gold! But there also be a man-o'-war, south of the island! Heavy artillery on it, it be prepared to fight. What be our plan?" He holds on to the rope, waiting to see when he'll need to swing back.
Starbound Flotilla     "Just so you know, Great White, I want it on-record that whatever other punishments happen here, the guy who smashed me with the pegleg doesn't deserve any for that." George says, looking a little dazed and holding some sort of nanotech medical aid against his head while he holds on to Silver's arm and sort of foists him out towards Priscilla. "Because I respect gumption like that. That's the kind of moxy I want to keep going somewhere in the world-- Ow, splinter."

"Hmph. If it's beached, getting the assets aboard will be difficult."
"Worried. It will be all spread around. I may need to reconfigure an ore detector to help with this..."
"Gonna need dive sssuit! Oxygen nanossskin! Able to ssset up tonight?"
"They've some unfamiliarity with the land. It's possible we may be able to handle this over time."
"Floran think, ssskull friend need to find more data about big man-o-war, before fight! Gotta hunt prey by knowing prey!"
"Great White, Cap'n Flint, what be yer feel of the situation? Can we afford it? We'll need at least a night unless ye want us improvising on-site."
Lyria Mason It seems that the ship did get wrecked like in some of the timelines her and sobra's resarch touched upon but still it's seeming that things are going get interesing she takers a moment to pull out an pair of bincoars and get a good look at the wrecked ship. She sees the suriving crew, and the heavy firepower they still have.

Lyria's got some ideas to get to it.

"I can reach the wreck via the water, i can get myself and swimmer in with me as well."

she thinks a bit more on this they might just be able to do it.
Septette Arcubielle      A complex situation, to be sure. Septette's violet eyes sweep across the horizon, from the beached l'Urca de Lima to the escort in the distance. She doesn't look pleased to be proven half-right. "At the very least, we have the advantage of time," she remarks via radio, in a calm and calculating tone. "They're not going to be able to shift or dispose of that gold anytime soon. Let's take it slowly and engineer the situation to minimize casualties."

     She turns on her heel and glances around the area, noting noting the conspicuous absence of Priscilla, George, and Sombra. Between that and 'bring me Silver'... her eyes dim contemplatively, and her arms fold behind her back. Knifelike fingers grind against one another as one hand balls into a fist.

     She may only be the muscle here, but that doesn't make her feel any better about being kept in the dark.
Sombra     Upon discovering the two men, Sombra slows down to she can focus on being quiet, toed shoes silently stepping on the floor. It's a good thing the boat is creaky no matter what...

    Just what are these two meeting about? So secretive... so interesting. Exactly the kind of things that the shadow thrives on. Making sure to record this for later, Sombra stands still near them, watching as she listens. So they are aiming to turn Flint in after this whole mission, is that so? And my, what is that? A letter? That she needs to look at.

    Turk proves to be a good distraction, and as the two men start to exit the hold Sombra quickly steps up behind Dufresne, using one hand to poke him in the shoulder towards where Gates is walking, all while her other hand reaches down towards Dufresne's pocket, fingers carefully slipping in to grab the piece of paper...
Josuke Higashikata     Aha! Good, Josuke's BS detector was wrong for once. The confirmation that the ship IS there gets a relieved smile. But then there's the report of enemies. "Crap. Might have known." It's just one ship, though, right? Hopefully?

    Then suddenly people are being dragged on-deck from below, and Josuke hurries back down to the deck proper. Much like Septette, he seems disturbed about all this. Though he's not really sure exactly what is going on, but he's listening.

    He's also plotting. In the back of his head, he's carefully sitting on an idea and hoping it hatches into something he can use in the battle to come. For right now, though, most of his immediate focus is on the problem at hand.
Priscilla     Under different circumstances Priscilla would likely look a little more amused at seeing George come back half-beaten black and blue by a crotchety old man with a peg leg. At the minute, she could hardly care less about Randall, even if she actually wanted to feel vindictive about George getting his occasional comeuppance. Instead, her eyes are entirely on the man he hauls out before her; Silver, dragged forth at the demand of the First of the Concord, and not the whims of the crew, nor even Flint himself.

    It's not a pretty look. The 'cook' may be playing a dangerous game with the captain, who is himself playing a dangerous game with his own crew, but both are playing a dangerous game with entities and powers outside of their full reckoning. Silver is the link in the daisy chain of lies that needs to hold first and foremost. If he weren't aware before that Priscilla knows of the circumstances he was picked up in, and what he has on Flint (and Flint has on him), he should probably be able to guess, just from the wordless, toneless intensity of the crossbreed's inhuman stare, and tense, dispassionate posture. The way she looks at him screams of someone already unhappily picking between what cruel and unusual example they want to make, held only at bay by the formal process of allowing a single attempted excuse, and why else would she look at a simple cook that way?

    "How good of thee to join us, Sir Silver." she says, with the warmth of a frozen piece of glass, to the man George wrestles outside. It really doesn't help that she quite literally has the eyes of a predatory animal. "I believeth we hath met little reason to speaketh to one another directly. Perhaps I was previously only thine Captain's concern. Yet another set of ears to please and yet another stake to balance, along with all the others, perhaps? Rest assured, that which I wish to speak with thee about is . . . very much personal. There is no need to involve the others for this."

    The timing of the notice from Lima could scarcely be better for Silver. Priscilla's finger drifts to her earpiece, where she pauses for several seconds. Her gaze lingers on the dubious crew member, her tail twitching in unnerving imitation of a pissed off cat, but soon enough, the metaphorical shark fin drifting on the surface of her verbal tone submerges, and it becomes impenetrably flat once more. "I shalt wish to hath words with thee. Personally. In the presence of the Urca's spilled gold. Pray, think not of leaving before then. Consider it an honour that I wouldst wish to see thee at all."

    The fact that Silver had given Flint this much accurate information is less unthinkable than intentionally making a fool of him out at sea under these circumstances, but it still makes her suspect him for different reasons. Ones not pertinent at the moment, while the prize is actually in sight, but she'll not leave him to his own devices from this point on.

    So then she talks to George instead. "Equip all those in need with that which they require to manage under the waves. The Urca is not seaworthy. Only the guard ship is capable of removing anything from the shores aside ourselves. Boarding and crippling it wouldst be the ideal option, without sailing the Walrus into range of its weapons, yes? Whence thou art able, present me thine estimate as to the hands and resources required to recover the cargo before it is swept away, and a list of whom wouldst be most suitable. I hath something in mind for the enemy."
Captain Flint Silver's fortune isn't the only one to turn around so quickly. The crew gives a resounding cheer, with the notable exception of Gates and Dufresne. Thankfully, this far out, it'd be hard for such a commotion to be heard by the patrols on the beach or the escort on the other side of the island.

     As Captain UItimos comes aboard, Flint greets him with a firm handshake and a winning smile. "Understood, Captain," says Flint. He then touches his radio earpiece, transmitting his next piece of advice so that Captain Pavo can hear it as well. "It's average for Spanish ships of the line to carry just over a hundred guns in my world. It would seem that, if the other escort existed at all, it's not here now--perhaps it left to petition support from the crown. That changes our strategy considerably."

     He nods towards Priscilla. "We have the numbers to engage it directly if we absolutely have to, but with no other ships present to fight back, we also have the luxury of a stealthy approach. Why risk one of our ships taking a fifty gun broadside when we can send saboteurs and cripple it instead?"

     "We follow Priscilla's suggestion, disable the warship. Then, we'll make a pincer attack on the patrols. My men will attack from the jungle--they're used to fighting on rough terrain. We'll draw attention away from the shoreline, at which point Lyria and anyone else wishing to assault from the shore can clean up the rest." The captain gives Lyria a courteous nod for her willingness to volunteer.

     "The gold will take time to load, as Septette has suggested, but I believe our three ships will have enough hold space to carry it back to Nassau. As for taking it without risk... that depends on our ability to work in concert. Once it reaches Nassau, the lot will be warehoused and distributed to each party per our original agreement."

     Sombra, meanwhile, will find something truly interesting... it seems that Flint's plan to sequester a portion of the Walrus' share 'for the men's own good' still doesn't sit right with Gates. In the letter, Gates accuses Flint of the murder of a pirate known as Singleton, reckless endangerment leading to the death of Billy Bones, and most glaringly, theft of the Walrus' portion of the Urca gold. Gates' accusation ends with a call for Flint to be ousted as captain upon the fleet's return to Nassau.

     Silver, meanwhile, has a lot on his mind, and Priscilla can see the gears turning in his mind. Coolly, he responds to her, waxing charm. "I wouldn't dream of leaving," he says.

     Things are starting to fall into place--all that remains is to take advantage of this apparent stroke of luck.
Captain Flint Night falls--the perfect time for an ambush. Launches ferry pirates from the Walrus to the densely jungled side of the island opposite Division Bay. Flint has ordered a strict no-lights rule aboard his ship, and asked the other ships of the fleet to abide by it as well. The atmosphere aboard the ship is tense.

     While Flint's men prepare to fulfil their end of the pincer attack, the saboteurs are no doubt making the very same plans.

     In the captain's cabin, Flint and Gates share a conversation that, for once, isn't tense. "Remember Cregg?" asks Gates. "Had a nose for sniffing out booze like a bloodhound. For years, he'd go on about how he'd had this huge stash hidden away," the quartermaster reminisces. The darkness makes it difficult for Sombra's camera to capture their faces barring any sort of night-vision tech. With or without that tech, she can at least hear the wistfulness of Gates' recollection. "Said I should live to survive him because one day I'd inherit it. ...as you know, we lost him on the Pembroke."

     Flint nods.

     "So, I open his locker, and what do I find? 12 pesos, a busted pocket watch, and a letter with instructions to deliver it to his sister in New York."

     Flint snorts. "Lying sack of shit, was Mr. Cregg," he muses with the first hint of laughter in some time. Ironic that Flint should be the one to call someone else a liar.

     Gates laughs, too. "Bought the boys a round with the pesos, traded the pocket watch for a bit of tail, and spent two /weeks/ that winter in New York trying to deliver that fucking letter to his sister. Looked high and low. Never found her. So, on the way home, I waited till we were in open water, and I could see no land in any direction... and dropped it over the side. Returned to the sea."
Sombra     No lights, huh? Makes sense. A bit hard though with all her tech lighting things up in an unnatural fashion, but so be it. There are things that need to be done before this raid, lots of preparation, since she needs to coordinate something to ensure the aftermath of this entire deal doesn't turn into a mess. It wouldn't be suitable in the long run.

    Josuke has been given clear instructions on what to do with her translocator. Better she wait behind on the ship until they are ready to strike, she had told him. Get the translocator somewhere unseen if possible, draw attention away from it, and she will be able to do more. Clear and simple, though she doubts the boy is stupid. With that she had touched a finger to his nose with a 'boop', then walked off to somewhere. Who knows? The hacker has a tendency to disappear and reappear when it's conventient for her. For now it's time to ensure her other plan proceeds as necessary. Even if she doesn't need to, it might make things simpler in the future.

    For now she's cloaked, hidden as she leans against the wall outside Flint's cabin, listening in to the audio on her earpiece, giving that channel priority over the ones that her allies are using to coordinate this raid. Flints and Gates... two men, both secretive men. Yet both so foolish. To hear them talk like this, getting along despite what lurks underneath the surface. Let's wait and see if she can ensure this ship stays afloat for a while longer.
Josuke Higashikata     Where, oh where, to toss a transponder? Sombra had instructed Josuke to make sure it made its way out of sight, not in the middle of enemies, where she could appear without much issue. This calls for distraction tactics on Josuke's part, since there's very little about him that's subtle -- when one is host to basically a screaming poltergeist, one tends away from stealth pretty sharply. That said, he's not completely incapable of it. And doing a thing and then going OH HEY I'M ACTUALLY OVER HERE in another location totally counts as stealth, right?

    Either way, while the pirates launch from the Walrus, Josuke is using his own abilities to get to the ship. This is REALLY DANGEROUS thing to do, but he's pretty good at this. It requires concentration, but since the battle hasn't really started yet, he can afford to take his time so he doesn't mess it up.

    What's he doing? He's using Crazy Diamond to throw himself over the water's surface, de-manifesting the floating spirt, and then re-manifesting it, to 'catch' him and throw him the next distance. He's trying to stay low over the water so he won't show up in anybody's visual scan. He's wearing dark clothes, so that should be enough to ensure he's not spotted.

    It's unlikely (at least he hopes) that the crew of the other ship will see Crazy Diamond's silver-blue armored, bubblegum pink skin. Not because it doesn't stand out. But only certain people can see his Stand anyway. He hasn't seen much in the way of magic or psychic abilities in this world so far, and unpowered people tend not to be able to see them.

    Anyway, he'll have his Stand 'catch' and 'toss' him over the water, until he can grab onto the side of the ship. Though it's actually Crazy Diamond who's going to grab hold of the ship, Josuke figuring that the Stand's usually invisible fingers wouldn't be detected. From here, he waits until the distraction has been deployed. Crazy Diamond won't get tired like Josuke would if it was him grabbed onto the ship.

    So until the distraction, Crazy Diamond will be hanging off the side of the ship with one hand -- not hanging of the direct edge of the deck, though. There are probably little other features to grab onto, like the cannon doors or features attached to the ship to aid in boarding and disembarking. The Stand's other arm is wrapped around Josuke's waist to keep him from falling while he waits.
Starbound Flotilla     Divesuits.

    Moonfin is the expert on those. The heavy EVA-like hardsuits are reinforced against pressure shenanigans, meant to ensure nobody gets the bends no matter what. The fact that the Starbound Flotilla can't reliably perform stealth doesn't mean that they can't stealthily set up their attack. Even George, now that Flint's somehow compelled him accidentally, has left for the Starbounders.

"Pressure is sealed. Oxygen full. What did you think, George?"
"Agenda, no question."
"Worried. Are we to still trust him then...?"
"Oh, absolutely. I don't think screwing us is /on/ that agenda."
"Roll with the punches if we have to. No plan survives contact with piracy."
"Floran can roll! And besssides, Floran will be right on top of shore."
"Where all the gold is. Mmmh. Alright. Ready."
"I am prepared."
"Aye, Albert."
"Affirming. Prepared."
"Checked and checking."
"Floran ready for hunt!"

    The Flotilla have traversed the seafloor up to the shore, leaving their boat hidden out of sight. Below the water, they wait, likely accompanying Lyria in as much a convenient way as they can manage, and ready for the stealthy sorts to properly disable that craft. They can't withstand an artillery barrage, but if they can clear that out, the beach just might be something they can take...
Septette Arcubielle      Pressure, corrosion, lack of air- none of those really trouble Septette. One might anticipate otherwise from her damaged and open construction, but she truly is an all-terrain machine!

     The little robot trudges along the seafloor with calm equanimity, kicking up little plumes of sand. Her preternatural density ensures she hugs the bottom tightly, and makes it seem almost as if she's moving through air rather than water; that kind of momentum will cut through either medium with ease. Even her long black hair hangs heavily around her shoulders, rather than billowing out behind her as organic hair might.

     The first sign the Captains would have of her approach is the red light of her core shining from a few hundred feet deeper out on the continental shelf; it's followed a few moments by her purple eyes piercing through the murky gloom as well. They're plainly visible to anyone beneath the waves- she's relying on the sun's glare on the surface of the water to mask them from anyone on shore.

     Finally, her body comes into view; she's already discarded her customary shawl, baring the jagged tan metal and black tubing of her body and limbs to the seawater. Her blades aren't deployed just yet, though- perhaps she has something dramatic in mind?

     "I'm going to try to draw fire as we come up on the shore," she says via radio- addressing the captains, though anyone can hear. "It's likely they're habitually armed, so just come up at any point after I do- hopefully they'll waste ammo, and the reload times on period weapons are horrendous. Sound appropriate?"
Lyria Mason Lyria Mason is a child of the sea and has her plan for the moment. She'll pull off her jacket leave it somewhere safe, make sure her weapons are safely away? She will move to leap into the water without another word. She'll do her damnest to get get over fast but given her abilities? That shouldn't be an issue for her. She swims like a damn fish and doesn't even seem to need a dive suit. She's got a small re-breather on but otherwise she's doing well and hasn't brought up her old grudge against Biteblade and Pavo. Maybe she has forgot or she's not going to go after something like that while on a job.

She's going to work with them, after all she's got her mind on the payday in the end, right?
Captain Flint "I remember once, walking in on Cregg," Flint says. "Rooting around in the prize ship's cabin, convinced the prize captain was hiding his best liquor. He pulls up a baseboard, finds a bottle, uncorks it and takes a huge swig in front of all of us..." The amusement in his voice gradually increases until he can barely contain it.

     Gates finishes, "And it was piss!"

     "It was piss," Flint says. "Oh, Mr. Cregg."

     Gates' laughter dies down slightly as he ruminates on the fate of Cregg's letter. "There's no legacies in this life, are there? No monuments... no history. Just the water. It pays us, then it claims us--swallows us whole. As if we'd never existed at all." The two men fall silent, each one pondering the weight of that sentiment in light of the imminent raid. Gates grunts and rises from his seat. "I'd best get back."

     The cabin door creaks open and Gates exits, observing the crew and helping oversee preparations from the quarterdeck. He's by himself, as is Flint, in his cabin.

     Josuke is easily able to reach the warship with Crazy Diamond's strength. The nature of 18th century shipbuilding means there is absolutely a feature on the side of the ship for him to hold onto--just beneath the cannon doors there is a large, thick supporting beam that wraps all the way around the ship's side, possibly to prevent water from spilling in or to serve some sort of structural purpose. Either way, it's a good, solid spot to hang on, and, indeed, there don't seem to be any cries of alarm from aboard the ship. It looks as though he's managed to elude detection.

     As for spots to put the translocator? There don't seem to be maeny men abovedecks. During his approach, Josuke would've noticed just one beacon of light, a lantern near the captain's cabin. There are two choices--he can either look for someplace abovedecks that's out of the way, or he can peek through a cannon door and take his chances there. The former would probably be safer for Sombra, but the latter would allow her to disable the ship's guns faster.

     Beneath the waves, things get darker the further away from the sandbar the subnautical Elites venture. The clear Caribbean waters eventually give way to a thick, unsettling blackness only pierced by the Septette and the Flotilla's technology, and Lyria's natural affinity for the sea. Once in range of the escort, they can see some likely points of attack. The rutter, which steers the ship, is huge but entirely vulnerable. Disabling it would render the ship unable to go anywhere but in a straight line. If a more direct approach is favored, the ship could also be sunk from below--but this would surely risk alerting the crew.

     "Understood," Flint says in response to Septette. "My men are almost in position."
Sombra     The door creaks as Gates exits, and it slowly begins to close...

    If Flint believes himself to be alone, he is mistaken. Not long after the door has closed, a low and melodious whistle can be heard inside the cabin. The Messiah by Handel. The next second a familiar lightshow can be seen in front of the captain, as purple lines of light reveal the form of Sombra herself as she casually sits on his desk, inspecting her shiny tech nails. "Aaah, it's sweet... sharing stories like that. If only you were as good with sharing other things, then you wouldn't be in such a mess, Capitane..." she laments with a pout, all before she turns her head to peer at Flint, a mischievous smirk playing at one corner of her lips. There's a look in her eyes... the look of a woman who knows something.

    He'll probably not be happy to see her, considering she's interfered in his personal affairs before. It doesn't matter to her, but she suspects she will have to remedy it somewhat. She /did/ let him know what his beloved was doing behind his back, after all. So maybe he will listen. If not, she will make him.

    Raising a finger to her lips, she indicates he should be quiet and listen to her. "I'm here to give you advice. If you're wise, you will listen."
Starbound Flotilla "Bonesy, one of these days I'm gonna catch nightmares from you."
"...'Catch', George? Though, that was quite the unnerving approach."
"Floran wanna catch nightmare! And then eat!"
"Good-natured. I am sure Septette would take pride in the fear she inspires."
"Could hardly see it in these depths. But..."

    Pavo's faceplate gleams in the short visibility of the black. Her eyes flash with something like inspiration. "Avast, Crossbones. I've an idea that's brewing. Moonfin, give me some help. Crossbones, hold ye still, and trust me, aye? I've a scheme or two to give ye a little extra advantage."

"This is likely damaging to the local ecosystem."
"Shove it, fishface, hand me that seaweed."
"Synthcoral shall be terribly abused by her joints."
"Needn't last a day, only long enough for those landlubbers to see."

    They're assembling something on Septette, if she lets them. Seaweed is wrapped in odd places. Synthcoral is built around parts of her limbs, and even an ominous half of her face. Strange ocean life is grabbed and woven among her body. Seafloor soil is packed against her. In a minute, she'll look less like a robot, and far, far more like a skeletal demon from the seafloor.

    "Perfection. Now, work on yer screamin' while ye help us get this rudder undone." Pavo says, giving Septette a thumbs-up. Then she turns to Lyria. "Ahoy! Pack yer grudge and pack some heat instead, lass! Let's tear a chunk out of this!" She launches a grappling hook up, latching it into the rudder, and the Flotilla begin attempting to pull, to yank it out. No doubt, though, the others have ways of far more effectively getting that rudder off.
Septette Arcubielle      "You mean I'm not in your dreams already, George? I'm hurt," she says in as coquettish a voice as she can manage before breaking character and snickering. "You've got it, though, Seft! Fear means swifter, cleaner victory. I usually prefer to be loved, per Machiavelli- but that's harder to inspire on a batlefield, isn't it?"

     Despite her usually businesslike demeanor on missions like these, Septette's more than happy to play dress-up for the moment- especially when it's for a practical cause! She even makes aesthetic adjustments to Pavo's decorations, like attaching coral 'horns' above her earfins and weaving the seaweed loosely so it'll complement her blades better when they unfold. It'll probably look a lot more terrifying when she manages to stop giggling, though!

     "I don't often like your tactics, Pavo, but I've got to hand it to you on this one: it'll go great with what I'm planning. More cowards means less blood spilled, doesn't it?" She elbows the bird in the ribs gently before taking the grappling hook in her own hands, and giving it a massive pull!
Josuke Higashikata     It's true -- if he's near the cannon doors, Josuke can sneak the translocator into that area. But then, as soon as the ship's crew realizes they're being attacked, they'll run onto the gun deck like a swarm of ants. That would leave Sombra trapped in there, with little escape, and that's not an option he wants to consider.

    Josuke is surprised; he expected more guys on the deck. But then again, the only knowledge of the whole 'pirate' thing is a bunch of weird English language movies. Which are, more likely than not, not very accurate representations as to how REAL pirates operate. Still, that leaves a safer area for Sombra to teleport into.

    Thusly Josuke chooses abovedecks to place the translocator. He will have Crazy Diamond climb up the ship -- away from doors and portholes, so he won't be seen -- and find a relatively safe spot to place it -- behind some crates or barrels, or something, that way it won't be seen either, particularly if it has glowy blinky lights. Hopefully he can do that without being seen, or attracting attention to himself.

    Once that's done, he'll climb back down to the place next to the cannon doors. Quietly into his radio, he notes, "Translocator placed." Just to let Sombra know she's got her 'in'. Though he's not just going to wait. He's planning on messing with some of these guns while he's out here.

    Josuke situates himself between two of the cannon doors, and hangs onto the ship with his own hands for a moment. He's not going to be able to do that forever, though. So he employs Crazy Diamond to either squeeze or punch at a few of the guns that he can reach. What he's trying to do is warp the barrels just enough that firing them is either impossible or dangerous. He's not going to be able to do that to many, considering he's relying on his own hands to hang on now, and his grip won't last forever.
Lyria Mason Lyria is use to the water things re darker though and shes has to knows the blackness down here is pretty scary all things considered. Though Earth didn't house the horrors of the depths her world does. She keeps swimming keeping with the Starbounders, Septette and any otehr allies down here.

She thinks the water crew is dangerous and skilled they should have a good chance for their part of the operation. She will join the others as they move to pull the rudder away. Lyria has a few tricks to make use of on this and she's going to make for the rudders which she will help with it's removable as she moves to attempt to cut with any weak points she can find using a vibro knife, a fairly powerful one too.
Captain Flint In the darkness of the cabin, Flint's frowning face is briefly illuminated by Sombra's stealth technology. In those brief moments, his face is neutral--not overjoyed, but not angry or displeased either. While Flint may bristle at Sombra's mischievous nature, she did indeed do him a favor by intercepting Miranda's letter. Without words, he gestures towards her, inviting her to give the advice she claims to have.

     Meanwhile, on the ocean floor, the Flotilla, Septette and Lyria attempt to dismantle the rudder. The size of the ship means it's a substantially sized, thick slab of wood, designed to withstand the force of waves and currents violently crashing into it. With that said, it wasn't designed to withstand killbots, nor is it capable of competing with technology from worlds centuries more advanced. Though the mighty oak puts up a good fight, the Septette's raw strength sends a telltale crack through its construction--a crack which the advanced tools of Lyria and the Flotilla can easily capitalize on.

     Abovedecks, there is a slight rumble, and one of the skeleton crew serving as a watchman curiously peers over the edge opposite Josuke (likely much to the Stand user's relief). Finding nothing, he sighs and mutters something about nerves, turning to face the shore.

     That leaves Josuke the perfect opportunity to go and place Sombra's translocator. On the port side of the ship lies a thick, coiled bit of rigging, beside some barrels. The profile of the supplies is a perfect hiding spot for the translocator. With that done, his task of crippling the ship's weapons begins. Crazy Diamond makes quick work of several cannons, each warped gun reducing the ship's ability to broadside the beach a little more. Some of them will refuse to fire, others still run the risk of backfiring and taking chunks of the gundeck with it.
Septette Arcubielle      As she stares up at the cracked underside of the ship above her, Septette frowns slightly. Her density practically glues her to the seafloor here. What's left is going to have to be a task for the others. "Going to ready myself for the shore offensive," she says with an approving nod to the Captains. "I trust that you all can handle yourselves in wrapping up the sabotage here."

     With that, she turns and strolls back towards the coast with a giddy spring in her step. She halts about a hundred yards from shore, far enough out to hide the glow of her core under the shine on the water, and folds her hands behind her back while dimming her eyes. For a few moments, the little killbot looks almost meditative. In her own mind, however, she's been entrusted with a grave task.

     Everyone who breaks and runs at her appearance is someone her allies won't have the chance to kill. This needs to be perfect.
Sombra     That's a good boy. Sombra offers a smile that might be real, and she leans over the desk some more from where she sits, craning her neck. "You have a problem on your hands, though you don't know it just yet. I can handle it, but it will require you to do as I say, comprendido?" Lowering her finger from her mouth, she pushes herself off the desk, standing on her feet as she traverses the floor of the cabin. "The next time somebody asks you something, be honest. Indulge them. If I suggest a target for you, then you will seriously consider it. If not... you might not live to enjoy the spoils of today, I promise you that. Be a friend to me, amigo... and I'll continue to be your friend in return. That's all." With that she turns around to peer at Flint, all while she taps a finger to her ear to check in on the others.
Priscilla     The most someone might see looking over the rail of that Spanish Galleon, is a heavily melted, barely-even-extant, chunk of ice bumping softly into the hull. At night, it might just look like a rock, or even a chunk of coral. Who knows. Who cares. It's a little bit late for that even if someone's there to see it. With all the launches occupied by all the pirate troops they could get, and with no intention of trying to clank aboard the ship in a pressure suit, and regrettably with absurdly little knowledge on how to swim, Priscilla spent her time plotting a leisurely float over, with the luxury that, even bobbing right out in the open, nobody would see her.

    Because she's invisible. Silent, as well. At least, close enough to it that the ice chunk only plunks slightly when she leaps off of it. She doesn't have any ninja grappling gear or fancy teleporters, but the fact is, even if she dresses like a queen these days, she'd spent a very long time getting into old and dangerous places before, and usually killing everything in it. With those beams, scaling the side is easy. The incredibly refined agility and balance of a supermortal creature is enough. She vaults herself up over the deck rail on silent, bare feet, and thanks to her odd plan, doesn't drip water all over it. She's free to move with impunity, for a little while.
Captain Flint "I'll take it under advisement," Flint says as Sombra leaves. It's probably the bes that she'll get from him, but given the circumstances it'll have to do.

     Flint departs, making landfall within perhaps ten minutes. Entering the treeline, he meets with his forces, the dense vegetation casting a shadow over the already dark scenery. A hundred yards ahead of them, Spanish soldiers patrol the beach, still working late into the night in an effort to clean up the beached shipwreck's endless scores of gold. They've been working in shifts all day, getting ferried back and forth between the warship and the shore. The hot sun has stripped the necessity of uniforms away, most of them clad in rolled up breeches and loose-fitting shirts in an effort to counteract the heat.

     The waters are still, the moon casting a long white pillar over the surface of the water.

     Priscilla will find that, as the shifts have just changed, there are now five sailors aboard the ship, freshly awoken. They peer curiously over the side at the iceberg, murmuring silently at the oddity of such a sight in Caribbean waters, completely unaware of the new presence aboard the ship.

     Flint raises his radio solemnly, shadows of the tropical foliage criscrossing over his face like a constantly shifting application of war paint.
Septette Arcubielle      "'Fire'? As you wish, Captain Flint."

     As Septette trudges towards the coast, her entire body begins to glow a dull red with fiery enchantments. Most of the heat bleeds off into the water, but enough stays in her bones to build up over time, even past the ostensible melting point of her constituent metals. Despite the rising heat, her lips curl into a manic grin. Oh, this is going to be fun.

     Bubbles. A broad trail of foamy white bubbles swiftly approaches the shore from perhaps a hundred feet out, seething up from somewhere below the surface of the waves. Something is boiling the ocean, sending up clouds of stinging steam that limit visibility. As the twenty-foot-wide trail of seething foam approaches the shallows, something underneath the waves grows steadily brighter until it casts the surrounding waters in an infernal red glow, as if Hell itself had opened up on the seafloor.

     The moment that Septette breaks the surface of the water scarcely twenty feet from dry land, a massive plume of steam and water vapor erupts that shrouds her in an instant fogbank, with a sound like a gunshot. Her red spherical core is all that shines through the billowing cloud like the baleful eye of some hideous and amorphous cyclops, judging the guards dolorously and finding them lacking.

     The piercing scream that follows is a calculated work of art. It is the keening howl of rending metal, the distorted rumble of a thunderclap, the exultant shriek of a rabid beast tasting blood. It is the auditory distillation of everything that Septette has learned brings fear to man. When it draws to a strangled, gurgling close, she finally steps out of the shrouding fog, her body glowing with enough heat to strike shivers of distortion into the air.

     The seaweed trailing from her limbs catches fire, wreathing her in tongues of dark smoke. Silhouetted against her unearthly magical lights and halo of red flame, the coral blackens, taking on the appearance of a demon's horns or the obsidian chitinous protrusions of some alien abomination.

     As she steadily advances, Septette's arms and legs unfold into nameless, cruel assemblages of flesh-tone scything blades, some nearly as long as she is tall, causing clumps of seafloor dirt fall from her inhuman frame and sharpened hands as if she had just clawed her way out of some benthic underworld. As they fall, they reveal glistening metal and jagged edges- a demon made of searing steel.

     "RUN OR DIE," the machine bellows in a bone-shaking, distorted, mechanical voice that seems far too large for her body. The sand of the seashore turns to glass at her approach, crunching under each resounding footstep as she approaches the ship and leaving a trail of blackened, glittering shards. "THERE SHALL BE NO MERCY FOR YOUR SOULS."

     That should get their attention.
Starbound Flotilla "Tricky. I like anything with costumes though."
"A terrible use of sealife, but effective use of flawed human culture..."
"Big, ssscary monssster! Yeah yeah! Looksss cool!!"
"Sheepish. It does give you a very... Intimidating air, Septette. Goodness."
"Hmph. Shock and awe. Fine. Do well with it."

    Pavo crosses her arms and grins under her helmet. "Oh, aye. Thought ye might. It's part of what I've learned, part of the things Bloody Revelations went and taught me. Now, let's make this work." She's the one who rises from the shore just after Septette. She's got her own draping seaweed, her own caked-on sand and dirt, her own look of something that ought to belong on the ocean floor. The glowing visor turns a brilliant red, and she draws her cutlass... A flaming one, filled with cosmic fires. In her other hand... A flaming lantern? It begins to gush fog; she's using the Starbound Flotilla's penchant for ENVIRONMENTAL SHAPING to saturate the area in thick smoke! Something to really, fully emphasize the horror of what Septette's doing.

    "THE STORM WILL NOT BE DENIED. THE SEA WILL NOT BE DENIED." She chants, swirling that lantern about. "THE STORM WILL NOT BE DENIED. THE SEA WILL NOT BE DENIED." She then starts that charge, as her fellow Starbounders emerge around her, beginning their approach. With a mix of heavy melee weapons, they keep close to Septette, keeping pace with her. They intend to close in fast and hard, striking with a series of coordinated and brutal melee attacks with swords, daggers, hammers, and all manner of other mixed weapons, but in a way that keeps the musket-men more busy with Flint's forces, who, ideally, won't exactly be breaking the show with their ranged attacks. Hopefully... They won't wise up to shooting at range at the less imposing figures of the Flotilla, flanking Septette.

    "THE SEA HAS RETURNED FOR WHAT YOU KEPT FROM IT."
Lyria Mason It's big, it's well made and it's heavy duty lumber, it not an easy thing but it secure is possible to do with the group they have working on it. It takes a good effort and soon they are able to see that it's starting to give she grins a little bit and she keeps working at it. Hopefully they will be done soon and Josuke is doing his thing above. She'll give a thumbs up to her allies down below and get back to working on making sure it's finally cracked. It shouldn't take much longer with the rate they are going at it.

She'll push harder spurred on to get this done so they could all continue.

It's not long before Sepetette is departing to do her thing and Lyria's certain she will do one hell of a job with it. She already looked the part, after tromping about under the sea floor.
Sombra     The shriek of metal in the air, now that makes Sombra smirk where she stands on deck, watching the chaos that ensues, her hands busy smearing the last needed makeup across her face, arms and legs. The ten minutes it took Flint to get to land ensured her time to change into some other clothes, as well get the yellow makeup from her old glory days in a certain group in Dorado. It might not be enough to startle people in her own world since they're used to it, but the people in this world might not be familiar with los muertos and their colourful makeup that glows in the dark. A woman with skeletal markings who disappear from sight only to reappear elsewhere might be enough to startle these superstitious sailors. It's a splendid show Septette puts on, and it's bound to grab their notice. "Time to join the fun, I guess~" she says With that, she translocates.

    Appearing suddenly over the coiled rope where Josuke hid her translocator, Sombra draws her submachine gun, quickly getting an idea of where she is, who's around her. With Septette and Pavo drawing the attention of the sailors it makes it less dangerous for her... and gives her ample opportunity to aim her submachine gun at the nearest sailor as she unloads several rounds at his back and head.

    "El mar nunca perdona!" The sea never forgives, indeed.

    With that, the woman with the skeleton makeup moves towards the next sailor.
Josuke Higashikata     Translocator has been set, and cannons have been abused as much as Josuke can reasonably do. When Captain Flint's signal comes over the radio, Josuke scrambles up the side of the ship he's on. Possibly in full view of whoever might be on-deck. But not for long. Josuke summons Crazy Diamond again, and directs the Stand to quite literally throw him back towards the crow's nest on the Walrus. This will require him to re-summon the Stand to grab hold of the mast to avoid him sailing past it -- and possibly spinning around it for a moment or two.

    Quickly Josuke scrabbles up to the nest and waits for a shot with the bomb-bracelet the Flotilla provided him for this mission. As soon as he sees activity on the ship he'll start dispensing those bombs, handing them off to his Stand, and having Crazy Diamond very precisely fling them at the other ship.

    Notably, he's not aiming for sailor casualties as he flings those bombs. He's aiming for the ship itself, trying to damage it, not the people on it. He's looking for torn sails. Broken masts. Destroyed cannons. That sort of thing.

    Suddenly he gets an idea. Another ship is always a good idea. So he calls out over the radio, "...Hey! I got an idea! Anybody on the island, throw as much of the ship debris into the water as you can!" This is probably a really dumb thing to do, but he's a Joestar; they kind of make their name doing stupid things. For the time being, he keeps aiming for precise non-personnel strikes against the other ship.
Priscilla     Flint has clearly given the signal. Even without the radio, Priscilla can see the bubbling explosion of steam and hear Septette's horrific screech from off-shore. She would be amused by the exhibition, but at the moment, that means everyone else aboard the galleon can see her too; including the gunners. Even with Pavo's fog machine going, they wouldn't have to do much aiming to saturate the area with cannon balls. That makes her job equally important.

    It bears mentioning that, though Priscilla has 'guised herself as 'mortal' as she can, for fitting into cramped decks and quarters like she has every other time meeting Captain Flint, that doesn't make her any physically weaker. She is effectively only slightly masking being a twenty foot tall half-dragon. That means, when she ceases to restrain her full strength for the purposes of stealth, she does so with the wicked point borderline indestructible Lifehunt Scythe on the deck. She uses it to rip through a huge, circular section of the wood, only to wrech it free and send the entire, hefty chunk of shredded beams flying sky high with a tearing crunch, as if a cannon belowdecks had somehow aimed straight up and blasted through it.

    That part is incredibly, deliberately obvious, meant to get the message that the ship is violently under attack, from multiple angles, and spread chaos. The chaos is then only advantageous to moving without being spotted. The rush of sailors will inevitably be loud, and those not moving predictably to their stations will be searching for something obvious. It leaves Priscilla to slip right down the hole, and sprint down the corridor towards the gun line.

    Admittedly, she doesn't have the greatest knowledge of ship anatomy, but she had at least spent some time reading in preparation. She wants to tackle one row of cannons at a time, moving past them in as quick succession as possible. Any that have no crew, she'll smash with the hammer-like reverse end of her weapon, cut the beams and push them into the sea; whatever is necessary to render them non-functional. Those that have crew, she'll simply cut down before they see her. Surely, badly mutilated corpses slumped over the guns will dissuade reinforcements from immediately taking their place. It becomes a question of how far ahead she can stay of the soldiers that will inevitably come down, and bashing down as many doors as get in her way as quickly as possible. Each second wasted could be another cannonball fired at the Concord et. all on the shore.
Captain Flint At first, the display of steam draws a curious murmur, soldiers pausing in their duties to point at the approaching column of bubbles. When Septette emerges from the water, the vertical pillar elicits a few startled shouts, several soldiers making the sign of the cross as the sinister eye gazes at them. The fear is palpable at this point--but when she steps out, it boils over into a panicked chaos.

     Several soldiers fire panicked shots at Septette, fleeing with those same weapons held tightly in their clutches when those shots bounce off of her metal frame harmlessly. The commanding officer tries to keep order, barking commands to no avail as his men all act indepentently. Those running towards the foliage are cut down by a hail of musket fire from the treeline, the Flotilla's weapon upgrades proving their worth in a single moment.

     This only worsens the hysteria--several soldiers now fire blindly into the treeline, trying in vain to strike at their concealed attackers. The commanding officer, a brave or stupid soul, brandishes a saber and attempts to challenge Septette in combat. So focused is he on the spectacle Septette creates and the efforts of Pavo to embellish that spectacle, that he doesn't focus on the very real threat of the advancing Flotilla captains.

     His saber clangs uselessly at Septette's armor, the officer clearly unused to fighting multiversal threats. A heavy blow from George sends him to his knees, dazed. Likely concussed, he draws a flintlock held fast to his waist with a sash, his hand shakily bringing the weapon to bear in an attempt to use it against his foes.

     Behind him, a hail of gunfire from the treeline keeps his musketmen pinned down, the pirates constantly changing positions to get new firing angles and confound the enemy.

     Aboard the warship, things are similarly one sided. Weapons the like of Sombra's machine pistol have never been seen in this world. Its rapid stream of led carves a vivid red line up the sailor's back, a call for help dying in his throat as he falls. The other sailors hear the strange sound of her weapon. In just a moment, they look from their fallen comrade to Sombra. Two draw flintlock pistols, firing at her (and hoping desperately to hit her). Another sprints towards the captain's cabin--and a bell that probably serves as the ship's alarm.

     As it turns out, he doesn't even need to ring it. Priscilla's scythe separates a large portion of the ship, allowing her access to the gundecks. True to her prediction, this sends the skeleton crew on board the ship swarming to their stations, some moving to the gundecks and others piling onto the maindeck to try and repel boarders.

     One by one, thousands of dollars' worth of pristine 20-pound guns go rolling ungracefully into the water, each one causing an audible splash at it heavily sinks to the bottom. On the far end of that same deck, a sailor tries to fire upon the beach. When the censer touches the powder, however, the explosion which occurs is far from what the sailor hoped for. The cannon backfires, cast iron shrapnel very messily shredding the man to bits.

     The ship is suddenly afire with shouts of 'piratas,' some of the gun crews attempting in vain to stop Priscilla, only to be cut down by the Lifehunter, their weapons easily cast aside by her skilled use of the weapon's curved blade.

     The ship's boatswain begins barking orders in Spanish, and some of the men, in the chaos, attempt to follow them by unfurling the sails. Escape, however, is not an option--Josuke's marksmanship ends up tearing the mainmast to shreds, effectively scuttling the ship now that its rudder is also snapped off. A few of the shots make impact with the mast, as well, splintering the thick column of wood and sending it crashing into the drink below.
Lyria Mason She's now moving away from the keel to join in on things she can maniplate the water to aid on this to help with selling the whole thing with Sepettet wonderfully done scary sea being that wnat to eat their souls. She's keeping to the water though for the moment as she would ruin things after all but damn she's impressed with the whole affair. Her part there is done as she'll hed back into the water for the ship she's got her plan she'll end up attempting to get aboard the ship and drop a few sonic grenades into the mix... hopefully ti disable some of the suriving crew and save her allies on bullets, right?
Josuke Higashikata     Josuke's response when he sees the damage done to the ship by the assorted Elites gets a grin. "<Great>! They'll surrender in no time!" he comments. Though he can see that some aren't getting the opportunity to do that. This makes him wince a bit, but he knows better than to poke Elites about brutal methods. At the least, SOME will survive. Hopefully. Though the tales they're liable to bring back might end them up in asylums...

    No time to think about that now! His plan needs to be put into action! Feeling enough damage has been done to the enemy ship proper, Josuke scrabbles back down the mast, back down to the deck of the Walrus. He's only waiting for the broken ship's pieces to get thrown, pushed or shoved into the ocean now. And he also takes the time to note, "I'm going to need some cover, I think. They've probably got enough trouble to deal with, but I need to make sure. If I get shot, it'll break my concentration."
Sombra     A wicked smirk is slightly lit up by the glowing facepaint, and Sombra watches the sailor fall, even as his comrades draw their primite weapons towards her. "You can't hurt the dead, cabrons," she chides them... all while light covers her form as they are about to fire, and with her thermoptic camouflage Sombra hopes that she will avoid getting hit, hitting the deck. It's a risky gamble, and one that barely succeeds. Pulling herself up, Sombra rushes up towards one of the men, aiming to knock him out with her gun aimed to the back of his skull. This breaks her camouflage, and she whips the submachine gun around to point it at the other man's face. "Boop."

    The gun fires again.

    It seems Priscilla has the one running for the bell handled, and Sombra looks around for more people who need to be handled. Still, there's one person she needs to find in all of this. Her eyes scan the area, not only for any pesky sailors that need to be put down, but also one person in particular.
Septette Arcubielle      On her way up the beach and towards the ship, Septette makes a grand spectacle out of her own violence, neatly concealing her own care and precision with the mien of a vengeful spirit. Most of those foolhardy sailors to stand against her are stunned or, at worst, maimed and cauterized. But whenever the Flotilla mortally wounds a crewman, she ends their pain in as swift- and gruesomely creative- a fashion as possible, and soon ends up drenched in boiling, cooking blood.

     Minimize suffering. Minimize death. But inflict fear.

     The Spanish officer is met with a cold, dismissive stare as he lunges at her with his cutlass- something like that would be trivial to block, yet allowing it to strike her ineffectually would be more likely to spread panic. She takes the strike to her tan armor plates without a trace of pain or concern- and then George smashes him, giving her a clear opening.

     The cutlass earned her contempt. The flintlock garners concern- if only because the man might turn it on her allies! Arcubielle grabs it by the barrel, twists it out of his grasp, and then crushes it in her palm before lifting him up by the neck with her other hand, fingers braced just under his jaw.

     As her glowing purple eyes bore into his, a sickening sizzle comes from his neck: her hand hasn't been cooled at all! As soon as the skin starts to blacken into eschar, her hand glows blue, abruptly halting the searing and chilling the skin. It's all done so quickly that there's barely time to process the sensation as pain.

     "Let me explain," Septette says in an eerily cool voice, "what is happening to you. I've just given you a circumferential burn to your neck and hydrated the scar tissue. Over the next couple of minutes, the burned flesh is going to constrict like a necklace and choke the life out of you. Either I can watch you drown on dry land, or you can tell me where you're keeping the gold while you can still talk, and I'll fix you."

     Her eyes glimmer with cold, inhuman malice. "... That is, I'll fix you after we find it. Lying will only get you a miserable death."
Priscilla     Out from one of the gun ports, Priscilla stops to peer at the massacre unfolding on the shore. This whole strategy /had/ been her idea of the most brutally decisive victory possible, with no chance of the gold escaping, but it surprises even herself how efficiently unfair it is. Her Elites (and those willing to work with her) continue to pleasantly surprise her.

    When she's done with the first deck, there's still the other half of the guns below her to go. The expedient thing would be to punch a hole in the ship and let it take on water, but there may be use yet for a captured ship of this size and nature, even if Septette might wind up getting tasked with fishing the cannons off the seabed later. Judging by the motion of the ship itself, and the crew rushing to their stations without actually getting the galleon moving, she can assume that the others were successful in clipping its wings, and that if they're trying to escape, they must be completely overwhelmed.

    If they want to give up now, that would make things a lot easier. There's little gain in continuing to push them until they're made to fight with their backs against the wall, for lack of any other option. That in mind, Priscilla plays a smaller version of the stunt up above; just enough to get down another deck. An iron-riddled corpse bloodily thumps to the ground, pretty much certainly into the middle of the gun crew beneath if the cannons are aligned, and this time she makes sure enough to leave one survivor, hauling him off his feet by at least a good several inches so she can look him more or less in the eye when she reveals her face. Speckled with blood as it is, and visibly horned and serpent-eyed, her particular sailor may have to hope he's not the superstitious sort.

    "Thou. Thou shalt taketh I to thine captain. Do so, and spare the souls of the crew that yet live." she intones, intentionally frosty and without compassion. Then it's a swift, stomach-jerking ascent up through the series of holes, and then wherever the crewman points, if he's smart. If he's not, he'll get chucked overboard, and Priscilla will fall back on checking the lighted cabin.
Starbound Flotilla     "Woah there--!" George says, as the flintlock is leveled at him, dodging back -- but thankfully, he doesn't need to roll with any gunshots. Septette intercepts that, thankfully, preventing a major fiasco. Septette has the officer. George is a little disturbed by the fact that she's interrogating him like that, but he doesn't seem phased. "Better be careful." He says, with a black-humored mix of joking menace. "Or you're going to be properly drowned."

    While Septette speaks more closely with him, Pavo obfuscates the nature of her attack on him. She begins doing her best haunting noises -- hawk-like shrieks, mixed with Biteblade's yowling screeches -- to further emphasize this. They spread out over the shore, taking advantage of they hysteria. Thank GOODNESS Priscilla, Sombra, and Josuke have managed to prevent them being hit by cannons, they'd have been ripped apart. As it stands now, they can close in and clear these foes very effectively. In respect to Septette's methods, they strike more with heat weapons, meant to cauterize wounds even while maiming. A price that Pavo is willing to pay, even as she...

    Gets a bit too into this. Is anyone sure she doesn't authentically believe she's a vengeful god of sailing? Because right now, with her dramatic show, she seems almost like she'd believe her own lie. To really play things up, she's rigged and now finally ignited a few of her own lines of fire, giving her a disturbingly diabolical look here. "YOUR MAN-O-WAR IS FIRE AND ASH. YOUR GALLEON IS SPLINTERS AND DUST. YOUR LEADER IS MARKED WITH OUR CURSE. THE STORM WILL CLAIM WHAT IT WAS DENIED. THE SEA WILL CLAIM WHAT IT WAS DENIED." She calls out, refusing to lose momentum; she's going to try to force these men to properly scatter and flee inland.

    Seft is kind of put off. She pulls away from this, and tries to follow Josuke's requests: She'll try to locate those chunks of shattered ship, gather them up in her Matter Manipulator, and toss them into the water like he needs. Hopefully SHE doesn't get shot at during all this, with her more urgent, panicked running.
Captain Flint Lyria's sonic grenades tumble down the stairs, landing at the feet of several sailors attempting to hurry abovedecks. Grenades are something this world does have, as evidenced by the abrupt change in direction as they all attempt to turn tail and run away. Midway through their flight, the grenades detonate with a shrill sound, knocking the lot of them unconscious and sending them all tumbling back down the stairs.

     On the Walrus, Josuke's request for assistance doesn't just reach Elite ears. "I've got you, lad," says a familiar voice. It's Hal Gates, who claps Josuke on the back with one meaty hand while the other clutches a musket of Flotilla design.

     Faced with Pavo's theatrics and Septette's brutality, the enemy force on the beach is all but broken, the white sand littered with abandoned weapons as the sailors flee into the treeline--notably /away/ from where Flint and his men are positioned. On this front, the day belongs to the Elites, and that is apparent to no one more than the officer in charge of the patrols.

     As he dangles in her grasp, his eyes manage to narrow with contempt. "<Look with your eyes, demon,>" he says with a gesture to the gold on the beach. It's largely been abandoned by the fleering soldiers, left in open chests which litter the beach. "<My men cannot stop you today, but Spain never forgets an insult.>" Indeed, the Urca was to have two escorts... there might be reprisals for Nassau if the second returns to an empty beach, but by then, Flint's allies will be long gone with their shares.

     The beach, now virtually deserted, is in the perfect state for Josuke's trick--and assuming anyone would be bold enough to attack him, he'll have Gates providing cover fire in addition to his other allies.

     Aboard the warship, the sailor Priscilla speaks to seems inimately aware of what's going to happen next. She is guided to the captain after a moment of startled stuttering, the sailor pointing towards the cabin. Inside the cabin, the captain, visibly shaken, levels a musket at Priscilla--but one look at the chaos outside, and a glance at the massive chunks of his ship now torn from its body, sees him lower the weapon.

     "<Please... spare my men. We surrender.>"
Priscilla     Carrying the frightened sailor along like a stuffed doll, Priscilla, when presented with the muzzle end of a musket, gives the captain a stare that looks like it could melt the gun right out of his hands. "A wise decision." she says, before tossing the carried sailor onto the captain's desk like a sack of bricks. "Now sayeth such to thine crew, whilst they yet hath the opportunity to lay down their weapons and appease the wrath of the sea." She stands aside the door, then starts using her own radio.
Josuke Higashikata     Josuke smiles broadly as Seft's Matter Manipulator starts spitting the pieces of the destroyed ship back into the ocean. "Thanks!" he calls out to Seft. Possibly over the radio. "That'll help! This ought to work!"

    And then the clap on the back from Hal Gates, and Josuke looks up, startled. There's a moment, and he pauses. This whole business with the Walrus's crew, the secrets being kept and all the ulterior motives... it's left Josuke a little unsure of who to trust. But there's money in this for Gates too, so he's going to go with it, and hope this isn't a trick to get him to turn his back. So he nods. "Right. Try to keep them off me."

    And then he summons Crazy Diamond again, to throw him at the beach, re-manifesting his Stand to cushion the fall. There's a piece of debris on the beach, which he picks up. He hands the piece of debris off to Crazy Diamond and then instructs, "Fix." A single word. A simple command. But it's not so simple a task. Crazy Diamond's orange-gold aura shines bright, and the pieces of debris should begin to knit together.

    Soon, however -- provided this is working as intended -- the piece of debris is pulled towards the ocean with great force. It's only not ripped away from him because the Stand held onto it. This means that both Josuke and his Stand are yanked forward towards the ocean! Josuke, however, allowed for that -- he knows how his restoration abilities work. Everything goes to the central mass. Which may be underwater.

    However, his restoration ability also seeks to restore the object to 'the latest functional state'. And for a ship of this type, 'full of water' is not 'functional'. So when Josuke gets pulled out into the water, he's liable to land on a piece of the deck that's reassembling itself under him, with the bulk of the ship rising up out of the water to knit itself together.

    But why he requested cover will soon become clear. Not only is the going slow, but the closed eyes and intense frown points at a great deal of both concentration and effort required for this. Sweat soon starts to bead on his brow, and he starts to pant with the exertion, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. But he keeps it up, struggling with the amount of effort restoring an item of this size takes.
Lyria Mason Lyria Mason sees she's managed to disable some of the crew, and she'll get up on to the ship, she scrambles up like it's second nature to her. She'll make sure any others who keep wanting to fight will end up disabled she's gets on the comm with Josuke over something. She'll keep prowiling and calls out in a sing song voice.

"You parley and surrender? You'll have your lives and what's left of ye ship it's not what we're after do the smart thing and give it up."
Septette Arcubielle      Septette's eyes sweep across the beach for a split second before locking back on the officer's contemptuous glare. "So this is all, then? If any is unaccounted for..." She slowly sets him down on his feet in the interest of not actually strangling the man, but before she releases her grip on his neck, the little robot does something peculiar: she draws her thumb precisely down the midline of his throat vertically, cutting deep enough to slice through the burn-numbed skin but not enough to slice through cartilage or fat.

     There's an immediate sense of release: now that the burn scars can constrict by pulling the edges of the new wound apart instead of by crushing his throat, he's no longer in danger of being choked by his own skin. Septette mimes dusting off her hands as her sadistic array of blades fold up into approximations of normal human limbs, and gives the man a gentle, easy smile. "You'll live," she says in a tone that's abruptly amiable in a distantly disturbing way. "And tell Spain... they are free to invade the deep whenever they feel fit."
Starbound Flotilla     Pavo sees the enemy driven away or to surrender, and she hears that all the rest of this has been resolved. She halts her melee aggression, panting exhaustedly, with a grin on her beak. She hoists the lantern again, and the smoke swirls, whirls, and returns to it. And she slams it to the ground dramatically, and sheathes her sword.

"We're done, mateys."
"No we for sure are not. The Spanish are definitely coming back here."
"George is correct. We've a need to immediately collect and load."
"Yeah yeah! Letsss get to load! Floran will pick up!"
"Mmmh. Seft, set ore scanners to gold."
"Awed. ...We may not need to. If Mr. Higashikata's abilities..."

    They all stop and take a long look at what Josuke's doing, pretty impressed by it. They're hoping that it'll gather up the gold too, in that temporal effect. If it doesn't, they'll immediately set upon it, trying to get it gathered up. But they'll sure be /extra/ impressed if he can gather it all up just like that!
Captain Flint The captain nods at Lyria and Priscilla, then gives the order to surrender, and the crew takes a moment. They look to him, some of them still with a spark of defiance in their eyes--but ultimately, the maindeck is beset with the sound of weapons clattering to the ground. As the order is given across parts of the ship, sailors come abovedecks with their hands behind their heads, all of them, including their captain, kneeling and submitting.

     Gates takes a defensive position near Josuke while he concentrates, and to the pirate's credit, not only does he not backstab him, but he shows restraint in choosing when and where to fire. He looks to his right to make sure the young man's alright--only to see him yanked towards the flotsam in the ocean. In vain, Gates reaches out, not seeing the Stand and assuming something out there has yanked him off the ship. "Bloody Nora!" It then becomes apparent why he asked in the first place. With the Spanish forces defeated on both fronts, things on the beach have calmed down considerably, to the point that Gates only needs to fire once, at one particularly stubborn soldier. Trying to take advantage of a vulnerable enemy, the soldier aims, but a definitive crack from Gates' musket sends a shot zipping through the soldier's shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

     The Urca, plank by plank, is reassembled. Before the sea dashed her upon the rocks she was quite the work of engineering, easily three times the size of the Walrus. It's a lot of ship to put back together, especially with the majority of it being dragged across the sand like a giant rake. The great hulk slowly rises above the water, sand and bilge pouring out of it as Crazy Diamond's ability reconstructs it. The mainmast snaps back into place as if someone had hit the 'rewind' button, the sails reknit themselves and unfurl, the gaping hole in the side of the ship mends itself, like a wound closing. Finally, as the beast becomes buoyant once again, the paint on her hull gradually reflakes itself.

     On the shore, the commanding officer takes a deep breath, refusing to look Septette in the eye. Being resentful is the privilege of the living. He doesn't seem to have anything else to say, nor anything else to do save watching the retreating figures of his men with disgust.

     Flint's men exit the treeline, followed by the captain himself. They look pleased, and, for once, so does Flint. Barring his own ability to violate it, this should earn him the trust of his crew for some time. "Get to the beach and help load the gold into the Urca. Distribute anything that won't fit evenly amidst the rest of the fleet." His men keep the same pace, which sees his pleased expression sour slightly. "Handsomely," he specifies, and his crew, for once, follow his orders without hesitation, rushing to help the Flotilla in their efforts.

     The ore scanners pick up huge quantities of gold. Luckily, the soldiers did most of the work, and the vast majority of it has already been collected into chests. There are a few piles which will require matter manipulators, but by and large it's all present and accounted for.

     Of course, it still needs to be taken back to Nassau for warehousing and distribution--and that entails all sorts of potential plays against him. This victory doesn't mean his vision is realized yet. Some insurance must be taken. Flint gives an order over the radio. "Mr. Gates, take command of the Walrus and some of the men. Have her ready to set sail for Nassau."

     "What about you?"

     "I'm taking the Urca."

     With all the skilled labor on the beach, the Urca can be reloaded in roughly a half-hour. The Spanish banner is lowered and hidden away within the treasure galleon's hold, and Flint has some of the cannons from the escort loaded onto the Urca so that she's not defenseless. Within half an hour, the fleet is loaded up and on its way back to Nassau--what will be a triumphant and eventful return, to be sure.