Clifford had little interest in fairy stories and the tall tales that accompanied adventure. Unless they led to some deeper truth, he had better things to do. At the moment, fairy tales seemed angry at the snub. As Miss Selwyn screeched like an ungrateful harpy - pity she got her sire’s pretty face but not his calm under pressure - Clifford was considering stunning the woman so she couldn’t make the evening more vexing.
As he was planning something ungentlemanly, like silencing ungrateful dead weight, he heard a wet slap and a noise that reminded him of something he had heard far too often in the last few days. “Delightful, the ocean has its own death rattle.” He grumbled before he could think better of it. Then came the orders and the shouting.
Clifford had his wand out at their captain’s orders, but before he could make sense of the thing flailing across the deck, he felt a splatter of seawater down the neck of his shirt. Looking up, he saw the blow coming as it blotted out the light. “Move!” He barked as he grabbed for the annoying blonde woman hoping to pull her free of danger. “Protego!” Whatever the hell was assaulting the ship slammed down on his shield will a fleshy smack, the jolt rocking the deck. Daring to stare up through the shimmering magic that kept him from smashing through to the hold, Cliff spotted suction cups pulsing and sucking at his shield, looking for a hold. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Captain Darrow, it’s coming from port and starboard!” If he sounded as shrill as Miss Selwyn for a moment, it was warranted. This nonsense was not covered in his pre-voyage briefing.
As he was planning something ungentlemanly, like silencing ungrateful dead weight, he heard a wet slap and a noise that reminded him of something he had heard far too often in the last few days. “Delightful, the ocean has its own death rattle.” He grumbled before he could think better of it. Then came the orders and the shouting.
Clifford had his wand out at their captain’s orders, but before he could make sense of the thing flailing across the deck, he felt a splatter of seawater down the neck of his shirt. Looking up, he saw the blow coming as it blotted out the light. “Move!” He barked as he grabbed for the annoying blonde woman hoping to pull her free of danger. “Protego!” Whatever the hell was assaulting the ship slammed down on his shield will a fleshy smack, the jolt rocking the deck. Daring to stare up through the shimmering magic that kept him from smashing through to the hold, Cliff spotted suction cups pulsing and sucking at his shield, looking for a hold. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Captain Darrow, it’s coming from port and starboard!” If he sounded as shrill as Miss Selwyn for a moment, it was warranted. This nonsense was not covered in his pre-voyage briefing.