@Princess of the Teacup "Well I'm not doing it" The statement was followed by grumbles of assenting opinions from the crew of the Serpent's Rage as they stood, assembled, on the forecastle deck. The ship was moored in a friendly port, the sea was calm, the anchor dropped, and the townsfolk scurrying about in appropriate submission. Tyrell looked at the dock and swallowed hard. If he had heels he would have attempted to dig them into the boards of the deck. However, the dark-haired gunner lacked these extremities, and could only coil the loops of his black snake's tail tighter below his human stomach, lowering himself by degrees. His tail was probably over twice as long as his human legs had been, and he could usually elevate himself to a more impressive height, but right now, he didn't really care to be noticeable. He's thought as a minor officer, he might get to stay aboard the ship again, but apparently anyone not Captain or Captain's brother on this ship was to suffer as equals. He'd tried going ashore in their last port. Being a half-serpent creature helped to keep the streets clear, and a horde of other mutated monsters such as himself bolstered the terrified elbow room. However, when he woke up on a pub table the next morning, he was fairly sure it wasn't the free alcohol that made his bones ache and his head whirl as he weaved his way back to the ship in a cold sweat, with the same feeling in his stomach that he'd had when he found a bullet hole in the corner of his tricorne hat. "Some of you." The Quartermaster reiterated in a growl "Go into town and get supplies and a bead on our next target." His orders were met only with silence and muttered reservations. The master looked over them a moment before adding with a darkened face; "Anyone I have to order twice is stripped of rations for three days."