#odyssey

"I mean, we teleported here, but I ain't that good at Wayfare..."

"And even if we could, we couldn't get back. We don't even know where we are - and we aren't where we WERE..."

"First, we need to get to land. Stale food and water will only last us so long."

"Then we can figure out what's next. I mean, yeah, I'd like that packet, too, but what can be done? Jack and squat."

Citrine is fussing. She zips back and forth from Art to Thistle, obviously distressed by Thistle's distress.

"It would have been better if they'd left me behind and sent you with packet! At least that would be useful!" He says in a fit of pique.

"I used my goshferacckiin boon to haul yer twiggy behind with me, so don't even start with that."

"You have a brain, we'll figure it out."

Citrine has a brain. Well. she has a brain cell. She has TWO Brain cells. She rubs them together, and gets a SPARK.

And vanishes.

"Maybe the Baroness could... or marigold... someone could take pictures and text them? Wudlig?"

Blink.

"...That's new."

there was an audible POP

Like a soap bubble in a cartoon!

"...Where..." Art says blankly. "Huh?"

"Did you intend to build her to spontaneously combust?"

"I... I'm very confused"

"I... no, that doesn't smell like combustion..."

He turns in a circle, and starts looking under things.

POP!

Citrine reappears, and... is slowly drifting towards the floor, despite the frantic buzz of her wings.

Weighed down!

She holds a bit of ribbon attached to a flat wrapped parcel.

"Infreakingcredible"

Art straightens up and almost bashes his head on the low ceiling. Gwen is USED to stooping and has not done so. "What in the world?"

"Citirne can go home"

"But, how? Neverlanders don't use Cantrips. They can't. They haven't the concentration or acuity..."

"Redes are a chimerical thing I know, it appears Citirne has an upgrade"

"Balderdash! You brilliant little idjit!"

Thistle reaches out to grab the parcel.

She complains in Chimes that sound almost sharp and nockerish, as she struggles, and gladly plops down when the weight is release. She curls up on the first soft spot she finds, and promptly falls into an exhausted nap. Her key still turns, ticking, but she is clearly worn out from the effort.

"Oh poor Citirne"

"Um." Art says, realizing he has a Never on his lap. "I guess I'll just sit for a bit." A longing glance at a waterlogged book just out of reach. "But that WAS amazing. Go ahead, rest."

"Ain't she a thing? The little na'ar."

Gwen grabs the water logged book and hands it over to him

"I'm gonna get her so much candy."

"You should . She earned it"

"I found a few bottles of water, and some cliff bars. There's fishing tackle too - whoever had this boat seemed to be in it for the long haul. There were cooking supplies, but the flour and everything is completely wrecked. Let's hope we're not too far from land." He grins to Gwen and starts reading.

"Yeah... " A look at the parcel that's in Thistle's hands "Gonna open that?"

"That's for the island, which we need to GET to, for which I need to fix the engine... hey, Rocky, you got any chewing gum?"

"Art, I might need that tacklebox..."

"Chewing gum. Nope. Unless that goop can be used and dried? I don't know"

"Damn. Fine."

Art looks around for a bit before he realizes he's SITTING on it. "Oops." He scoots to the floor and pushes it to her. Luckily the thing was latched, else the floor would be littered with hooks.

"Cool. Now, if we..." She starts sorting through the gear.

There's good stuff in here! Lures and jigs, different sizes of hooks, sinkers, weights, leaders, swivels, bobbers, flies, a scaling knife, needle nose pliers, a ruler, a hanging scale for weight, insect repellent, sunscreen, a small flashlight, even a very basic first aid kit in case a the ol' "hook in the thumb"... and line, lots of weights of fishing line.

"Huh, whoever used to own this he was one preped son of a bitch... may he or she rest in peace"

It is GOOD that Citrine is conked out. The shiny lures may have been too much of a calling to her.

Thistle is muttering to herself, holding things up to inspect them. They don't LOOK like engine parts...

Gwen finds herself in a moment of melancholy - it's almost like being in a haunted house, or a little like grave robbing, to go through this person's stuff so cavalierly.

Thistle apparently has no such compunctions and she notices a tickling feeling, something catching her attention from that bulwark over there.