*Past the HMAS Greyfin, passes a Korean cargo ship (carrying the staff to the designated island), then stops and sounds it's horn, seemingly the captain noticed the HMAS Greyfin*
*Havelock’s standing on the starboard wing, forearms braced on the rail, a mug of long-gone coffee in one hand and a cigar in the other. The Korean cargo ship slides past—big, boxy thing—then the horn booms across the water.*
*He squints, jaw tightening slightly.* “…Huh.”
*The sound vibrates through the deck; his tail flicking once.*
“Alright then,” *he mutters, voice rough as gravel. He straightens up and taps ash from his cigarette into the wind before grinding it out under his boot.*
*He turns toward the bridge, raising his voice just enough to carry.* “Oi—bridge! They’re givin’ us a hello. Let’s not be rude, yeah?”
*He lifts his binoculars, studying the cargo ship’s, then walks into the bridge and sends the cargo ship a message over the radio frequency prepared by the crew.*
“This is HMAS Greyfin, minesweeper on patrol,” *he says calmly, trying to be professional but unmistakably Australian in his accent.* “Afternoon to ya. Everything alright over there, cobber?”
*He waits, posture relaxed but alert—one hand on his hip, the other steady, eyes never leaving the other ship as the sea rolls between them.*
