"Up, yah scurvy hound," one of the pirates grunted. Emghi started awake, confused for a second about who was what and more importantly, where, but soon he found himself in a hammock with a rather gnarly pirate staring down at him. His headache felt only marginally better, no help to the hangover he was nursing. Injuries that he'd been able to ignore yesterday had made his muscles stiff and sore. Emghi groaned in malcontent and when he didn't move quickly enough got aid by two meaty hands tossing him out of the hammock and onto the floor. Wrong choice then. It took him a precious second to compose himself and get up, fully awake now.
"Good morning to you too," Emghi muttered at the man, who returned his verbal gal with a glare of his own.
Some of the other men cowered, some rallied. A fight? Most however, were too hungover to truly care for what was going down. Another brawl in the crew's quarters would be nothing new. Emghi shifted his stance, readied his system for what was inevitably to come. But it seemed this man too was hungover.
All he got was a grunt.
"Varris," he said, then made a dismissive gesture to the upper deck. Emghi relaxed a little and sighed out. Of course. He had to 'scrub the deck'.
Emghi used what water was clean to wash up a little, trying to get the itching blood from his hair and neck, then realized his coat and garments too were blotted. Ruined, he reasoned. And currently, he had not a single currency to his name. At least he'd gotten a decent meal, drink and some sleep. Unlike yesterday, his mind seemed clearer and more calculating, already trying to register the patterns in which the crew moved so he could easily weave in between unnoticed. He would have to come up with a cunning plan if he wanted to take advantage of all the Raven offered.
On the upside, yesterday's hostility was waning after yesterday's celebration. Most were in a good or at least a forgiving mood. He observed the men's combat practise from a safe distance, pretending to clean a particularly bloody patch of the deck with slow, methodical swipes. Despite trying to keep a low profile, he did receive some sideways glances, like Rowan had warned him would happen.
Lo and behold, one of the men stood.
"Tall tales yesterday, Hawkings," he started. More eyes on them.
Emghi leaned on his mop and smiled at the man, "is that right," he drawled slowly, taking in the man's stance, the way he held himself and searched for weaknesses.
"If you were on the Crow's Feather, how did you get caught, huh?"
Emghi grit his teeth. They were questions he'd like answers too as well.
"Guess I'm human after all," Emghi said languidly.
"Seemed awful confident yesterday. Not so much now," the pirate hounded him.
"Is it a fight you want?" Emghi cast a short glance at Varris and Rowen, but figured they wouldn't stop a sparring match. Or a straight up brawl for that matter.
The pirate's grin was malicious when he offered up the space on deck, cleared out for training. Emghi carefully leaned his mop against the wall and shrugged out of his overcoat. If they wanted a show, they could get a show. Both of the men readied themselves and after a brief understanding, in which a nod was exchanged, Emghi started to circle his opponent. He observed the way the man's weighed carried, where his faults were. Likewise, the other man did the same in turn. And when one of them thought they had enough to go on, they moved. Emghi was expecting the charge and used the pirate's momentum against him, pulled and elbowed him in the neck. Stunned, and a little confused as to what had happened, the pirate picked himself up from the deck.
Emghi's eyes were trained on his opponent again. Another nod.
'Try again', he conveyed.
Emghi looked up at Rowen and winked at her. 'Watch me', it said.
The man's charge was possibly even more forceful and uncoordinated this time around. Emghi knew he wouldn't win in a straight-up test of strength, but he was quicker and used the man's strength against him. Again he was able to evade the fists coming at him, pulled and pushed, forcing the man to the deck. Emghi twisted the pirate's arm behind his back in a hold he knew was uncomfortable. He was not a brawler, but a gunner. That didn't mean he was defenceless. He shaped his hand into a gun, "bang, you're dead," he whispered at the pirate in his hold, whose struggles were only increasing his discomfort.
"Yeah, let's try that again," another pirate snarled, grabbing him from behind. Emghi had to let go, stepped back into his new assailant's ankles, twisted and tossed the pirate across his shoulder, flat on his back, where he stayed. It seemed to open the gates for more. Emghi was breathing hard, his ribs not mended in a way by which he could fight comfortably. His keen eyes scanned the newcomers. He would take down as many as he could before giving up. So far he'd fought without injuring, but he couldn't keep that up. His fist connected to an unfortunate soul stepping in too closely. His boot kicked at the vulnerable knee of another. Soon he was unable to dodge and or block all blows coming his way too. Still, Emghi fought with tenacity. The blow to his head was clever abuse of his older injuries and unfortunate. The world tilted on its axis the second he'd taken the hit and Emghi staggered, his vision flickering to black and back.
"Enough," Varris called.
Five versus one. Emghi still stood, but he man's colour was whiter than a piece of parchment. Varris picked up his coat and shoved it into his chest, "back to cleaning, deck-hand," he snarled. "Back to training," he told the others.