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Sungrass's sails bell and her standards flap in the stellar winds. Tailrings flit and circle, perching sometimes on the masts or the railing or favored shoulders, snatching smaller creatures to clutch in their little hands and devour.
It would be the very picture of a fine space voyage if not for the patched and tattered sails, the repair crew prying boards from the aftercastle and taking them to the outer hull, and the ever-present sound of hammering. An experienced starfarer would know, too, that this many tailrings couldn't be supported so far from a port on plankton and random small fry alone; they would either need to be fed regularly, or devouring an infestation. The smell of mynocks and space barnacles being cooked up in the galley just confirms it. Sungrass, like most ships in the Rebel Alliance, is old and scarred and long overdue for a refitting, but she can still fly. The funds, when they're around, always end up going to something else.
Plourr Ilo is here. She isn't as big as the grim-looking Tunroth Xarcce, but she has a presence that makes her huge to the mind's eye. People look to her when the two or three ranking people on this ship aren't present.
She is dipping in and out of the aether prying up and hammering down boards damaged by mynocks and other parasites, secured with a rope harness whose other end is tied to a piece of rail that was more singed in battle than she realized. Or she's in the crow's nest with a telescope, scanning the cloudy nebulae and any nearby ships and wildlife. Or she and Xarcce have been sparring and both women then decided to lie down, and she's stirring. Plenty of things could be happening.
It would be the very picture of a fine space voyage if not for the patched and tattered sails, the repair crew prying boards from the aftercastle and taking them to the outer hull, and the ever-present sound of hammering. An experienced starfarer would know, too, that this many tailrings couldn't be supported so far from a port on plankton and random small fry alone; they would either need to be fed regularly, or devouring an infestation. The smell of mynocks and space barnacles being cooked up in the galley just confirms it. Sungrass, like most ships in the Rebel Alliance, is old and scarred and long overdue for a refitting, but she can still fly. The funds, when they're around, always end up going to something else.
Plourr Ilo is here. She isn't as big as the grim-looking Tunroth Xarcce, but she has a presence that makes her huge to the mind's eye. People look to her when the two or three ranking people on this ship aren't present.
She is dipping in and out of the aether prying up and hammering down boards damaged by mynocks and other parasites, secured with a rope harness whose other end is tied to a piece of rail that was more singed in battle than she realized. Or she's in the crow's nest with a telescope, scanning the cloudy nebulae and any nearby ships and wildlife. Or she and Xarcce have been sparring and both women then decided to lie down, and she's stirring. Plenty of things could be happening.
