Check in on the repairs.

You stand at the edge of the latch leading down to the lower levels, not to be in the way of any coming and going from the ladder, but you peer down to see how things are going. Thanks to the chains and the strange, segmented tentacles that bind your ship, it seems that you aren't sinking yet even with a hull half filled with water. A couple hours pass on by as you and the others enjoy the sun and the beautiful sea all around you. At least if they fail and the boat does fall apart, you have another to board now. The tension throughout the crew is mostly gone.

A short, curvy girl climbs her way up the ladder. It's quit the downblouse view from above. Her loose-fitting white crop top with clearly nothing behind it does little to contain the bounce of her hefty bust. She reaches the top, and it looks for a moment like her baggy brown trousers are going to slip to her feet. Her hips are wide enough to keep them up, however, though they sink enough to tease the V below her soft tummy. In her hand is a screwdriver, and in the other, a wrench. Her purple hair is tied back into a short pony tail, and over her forehead is a pair of brass goggles with pink lenses. Any and all skin exposed, which is a decent amount given her loosely worn garb, is covered in dirt and grease, made only worse when she tries to wipe her cheek with the back of her wrist, smudging it more. Now you can see too, a single mole on her right breast is near where the low collar of the shirt meets skin.

She fans herself with the wrench though of course to no avail. Her face is tinted red, so clearly she's quite warm after working so hard, though that leaves the question of why her nipples are so firmly poking against the inside of her top if she isn't cold. "I think we might have made a breakthrough, Captain," she sighs with a deep sigh. "Boy, my skin is so dirty. And I'm so sweaty. If my skin gets any slipperier, I might just--" She looks to you. "The bucket by your feet. Can you douse me with the water? It's just from below anyway."

You take hold of the handle and lift it up. "You sure?" you double check.

"Yeah. It'll feel so good."

Heaving it up into the air, you dump the contents down over the shorter girl's head, completely soaking her. The moment the cold water runs down her skin, she lets loose a giggling gasp of shock. Her loose white top clings to her chest, doing even less to conceal what's beneath. For a moment, her pants slip down, teasing what (barely) hides behind, but she catches them just in time. She pants heavily from the rush of it, and looks to you with blushing cheeks. "Th-Thanks. That was... That was what I needed."

Captain Silver chuckles and whispers to herself. "Oh Mole. Never change."

Finally, the girl looks over to her captain yet again and perks up with a wrench up to her forehead in salute. "I think she'll fly, Captain, but it'll take a lot more time and supplies to bring her near one hundred percent. I think how she is though, she'll fly for a few days straight. Maybe more. I just wouldn't push it."

"I have some people back home," you explain. "Fava, a pixie. She's a brilliant artificer. Laira is a smithy, but she's quite incredible at crafting most things. Luna here is great with her hands too if weaving is needed."

"A pixie, huh?" Captain Silvers asks. "Seems like it would be tough for someone so small to work on something so large, though."

Fang, still on the floor, mutters out, "Like a hamster eating a banana".

"Oh. I forgot you were down there," she says, taking a step away.

Mole grabs the front of her top, wringing it together to squeeze the water from it. Doing so nearly slips her tits right out. "I'll go finish up," she says quietly. Then after straightening out her drenched clothes as best she can, she returns to the ladder. "Give me ten more minutes. Then we'll fire it up and hope for the best!"

"Sounds good to me," you say. "Thanks... Mole, was it? And your whole crew, Captain Silver."

"Silvi."

"A cute nickname."

"You have it backwards. I was born Silvi. It just worked out this well to take the name Captain Silver, for multiple reasons I don't think I need to explain. Few call me that still, but you can be one of those who do, love."

"You're pretty kind. Forgive my surprise. I just meet a lot of monsters out there."

"From what I can see around you, there are plenty of kind folk too. Plus, you're handsome. You best get used to my flirting, unless you want to start looking worse."

"Sorry. This is just how I look."

"It's all right. I'll try to contain myself."

"... Please," grumbles Gwynevere from a distance. "Get a room."

Thomas Whitham climbs his way up the ladder next. Upon reaching the top, he wipes his brow with the back of his arm. "Wow. I can't believe we might actually fly," he says. "But Gwyn. Can't you come down and help drain the--"

"What did you just call me?" the elf snaps back. "Lady Gwynevere."

"L-Lady Gwynevere. Sorry."

"I cannot keep fixing your problem forever. When it comes to the work of my blade, I can continue for ages, but in terms of the power given to me by Seno'nojoch, that is not the case."

Fang snickers from below. "I thought only guys needed time to recharge like that--"

"Come here now!" the elf demands, taking a frightening step forwards.

The catfolk hops deftly to her feet and scurries away, cackling as she goes.