Mar 7, 2020
// @lachlanatsea // snick. the sound of the whetstone against the length of her cutlass is a soothing sound, nearly as much so at the water lapping at the belly of the ship. it’s CALM --- almost too calm, sails hanging limp with naught a breeze disturbing the water. accalia worries this bodes ill for them, after all the sky had been fading RED early this morning when she rose, the carnal tones turning blue washing out the last of the stars. snick. she hefts the blade to examine its edge, gaze pausing at a nick along the used blade before she happens to gaze beyond it. the cutlass settles across her lap, unamused gaze turned up toward the newcomer. “ can i help you ? ”