with sword in hand, wielded like a cane, eyes set on the target and red coat blowing in the breeze.

Clopis stood, hip jutted out to the side slightly, left hand places lazily on this perch, watching his captain think. As the high wind moaned over the entire ship, the bright sky blue caprice shirt fluttered as though to try and join the sky for which it was colored. The look on his face was almost stoic, uncharacteristic to someone as flamboyant as the gypsy lieutenant was. He was worried, and with good reason. Anyone on the Fourth, or rather, anyone who came into any sort of remote contact with him, could tell you that Ragnarok of the Thirteen Swords was an unpredictable man. So while he chose tomuch she thought of him a show-off. Even she, a self admitted slut didn't strut her hips about that much. While she was thinking this, Goliath asked in his deep resonating voice, "Are you wanting us to come ashore?" Ragnarok shook his head, saying calmly, "He's mine to kill. I'll take Clopis and the Gypsies on land, you two are to stay here and look after the Fourth while I'm away. I'm putting you in charge until I return, Goliath." His statement put, Ragnarok turned away from the horizon and walked past the two towards his quarters to make certain he was ready. Carmen, however, wasn't satisfied. Turning sharply on the spot, her white hair flashing brilliant in the sunlight, she called after him, "Why are you taking