Clover asks where they’re going to shove Sabre now that he’s kinda dead. Sorta.
 
“Probably gonna lock ‘em up in the brig again, maybe even chain him or something. Me and Silver are getting sick of this, and eventually, the crew are really gonna start questioning it.”
 
Sabre groans in agony, still mostly unconscious.
 
“Shut up you lump, or I’ll flick that broken nose of yours.”
 
Clover asks what a wench is.
 
“It’s a mare who makes really poor decisions at late hours that makes me happy. Don’t question it further.”
 
She then asks where Shanty is; gotta give her an orgasm, after all.
 
“What? Ah, that bitch always likes to pick on me for working in an orphanage, eh? Putting you up to teasing me? Tell her to go fuck herself. She’s up on deck managing the sail.”
 
After that, his happy demeanor shifts back into a usual scowl. Clover touched a nerve, it seems. She comments that his eyes look beautiful.
 
“Okay, now YOU’RE fucking with me too. Lil’ bugger, no chocolates for you then.”
 
Why did you call her a “small”?
 
“Well, you’re small, ya small. What else is there to it? Smalls are small.”
 
Clover thanks him for the help, her eyes noting that things look… a little better than before. A bit more clean.
 
She makes her way onto the deck, opening up the door into the billowing storm. It’s nowhere near as bad as before, but it’s incredibly dark out. A lighting system is rigged across lines, casting brilliant sparkles of light amidst the darkness. She’s wet within moments, the sun nowhere to be seen. Hopefully it isn’t this bad at Vanhoover. She really wants to see it from up high. Maybe Shanty can help with that…
 
Above her is the mast and crows nest, two shadows darting across the lines. It looks to be two familiar pegasi, one smaller than the other. She thinks she spots Hook on the wheel, holding on tight and keeping the ship on course. Heck, even Skillet seems to be running about, helping keep control of the ship. By the looks of things, everything is under control, and there isn’t much to worry about. She notices Salt and Sea Wind working on some rigging, wet and worn.
 
Even as she looks about, they seem to be hitting a breaking point in the storm, the rain settling into a gentle patter.
 
What should she do?
 
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