Since the little incident above water with the mercat, Arkold hasn't come into contact with any further Mariners – Siren, Abyssinian, or otherwise. It's probably just as well, because most of his supply of Achtung was ruined by that "cute" little splash of water caused by the mercat as she departed. Arkold isn't in dire straits just yet … but it could be just a matter of time.

So far, his duties have been fairly erratic. He has to report for duty at certain times, and most of his work has been totally mundane – cleaning, mostly – but he's had at least a little free time. He's been advised that this isn't likely to be the norm.

Today finds him in the "Abyss". This is not to be confused with the "Great Abyss" that the "friendly" mercats hail from, somewhere off near something called the Crimson Archipelago. No, this is a network of tunnels and domes that have been pretty much forgotten – for now – by the Emirate and the Kampfzengruppe, thanks to bribes put in the right places.

Beer isn't illegal at Gateway Island, per se, but it's a little more readily available in this part. There's some gambling, and perhaps a few other vices. Most of them are far too expensive for Arkold to even consider the possibility. Plus, this area tends to be a wee bit on the dangerous side – as if that really means anything to the average Legionnaire.

Most of this area is walled in by rock, and many of the tunnels haven't any lighting at all. A few Eeee Legionnaires have essentially marked off their own little "ghetto" of a hangout by virtue of leaving it pitch black.

Word is that the Eeee might have some "recreational powders", but that it's all very expensive.

Other parts are a little less dangerous. A little. The area Arkold is currently in is a crossroads of sorts – a ledge of rock juts out from the island, sealed in by a crystal dome, with several crystal tubes leading off to other domes, or tunnels burrowing into the rock. A few Legionnaires hang out here in what a striped Rhian has turned into a "bar" of sorts, though the prices change daily. It's the "Abyss", of course, and the general area has drawn its name from this central "business".

One of the tunnels leads off to the "red light district", complete with red lights. Prices there go no lower than copper, and it's a wonder how any Legionnaire could afford such a thing once, let alone make a habit of it. Another corridor leads off to an area reputed to have a bunch of chambers devoted to some bloodsports. And there are several tunnels that Arkold has already learned from rumors and warnings that he simply shouldn't go down – This pond already has its own "big fish", and they have big teeth and generally don't like uninvited guests.

With hands shoved deep in his pants pockets, a Jupani man makes his way deeper into the caverns. His mood is sour today – which is to say, more sour than what passes for his "normal" personality. As he stalks the ways, he considers his options. The bar, which may offer some clue as to a source of his habit, or the Eeee … whom he would rather step on than look at. Bitterness makes the decision and he opts to try the bar first, and heads in that direction.

The bar is moderately crowded. There's enough room to maneuver without bumping anybody bigger than Arkold. Arkold gets a few stares from seedy-looking individuals – an albino Kavi, a hooded Naga, a frumpy-looking human, at the very least – who look to be sizing him up as a possible mark.

(Dagh's front teeth, I'm in an aquarium.) The wolf's expression darkens. (If she hadn't … grr … Now I have to waste my time here, or with those flying rats!) He balls his fists within his pockets and makes his way towards the bar, glaring at anyone smaller that him dares look his way.

A tiger-Khatta looks up, seeing the wolf pass, and he chugs down the remainder of his drink, nodding to a Gallah companion at his table, then walking up after the wolf. "Hey there, pal," he mrowls. "Here to look for a drink or a fight?"

Behind the counter, a large Rhian with black and white zebra-stripe markings reaches for a tap, holding a glass mug tilted before it as fizzy amber liquid starts streaming down to fill the container. He clips the tap off while righting the mug, then sets it down before a patron, and looks around for other empty glasses or newcomers in need of a drink.

The wolf stops walking as he is addressed, and turns to look at the tiger out of the corner of his eye. "Depends," he tells him before turning around. "Which are you offering me?" He then smirks widely in recognition.

Scrimshaw grins at the wolf. "Hey, just trying to figure out what you're up to. You've just got this look on you that says you're just itching for a fight. Thought I'd warn you: around these parts, there's always someone looking to take you up on it, whether you like it or not."

Still smirking, the Jupani makes his way over to the tiger-Khatta so he need not speak at a distance. "Yah, well … " He forces his fists to relax now and offers his hand to the other man. "S'not been my best of days, eh? Lookin for somethin', but short of the, heh, clams."

Scrimshaw smirks, and grabs Arkold's hand in the typical friendly greetings in these parts – more like an arm-wrestling grasp than a handshake – and then lets go to gesture toward the bar. "How 'bout we talk over a drink? My treat, this time. Least I can do, for you taking out that Siren like you did. And maybe we can see if I can help you find some clams."

"Yah, you're a regular pal," says the wolf as he reaches over to pat Scrimshaw heavily on the back. "And since you're 'Mr. Expert', you kin find us a seat too."

Scrimshaw makes his way over to the bar, and slaps the counter with a meaty hand, as he roars, "A Snark Slammer, if you please!"

"And another for my pal here, the Siren-hunter, unless that's too strong for him," the tiger adds in a lower voice, making a feral grin.

The wolf grins toothily. "Yah? We'll find out, ehh? Gimme one too. Wouldn't want kitty here to drink alone." He thumps the tiger-Khatta on the back again.

There's a snort from the equine bartender at the tiger's request. "Sure thing."

The wolf settles down into a seat. "So yah heard about my run-in with the turbulent temptress, ehh?"

"What do you expect?" the tiger mrowls. "Everyone on board heard. You don't want to go through a Siren attack, pal. They start cutting through the blubber with their burrowspear fish, flooding the tunnels, making themselves right at home, and then they kill what they don't drown first. Monsters, they are." The tiger shakes his head.

The zebra-Rhian fills a metal container with clear liquids from two different bottles, then fastens a metal lid over it and shakes the container vigorously for around thirty seconds. He leaves it to sit for a moment while he fills the bottom inch of a tall, empty glass with a dark beverage, then pours the shaken contents from the metal container on top of it. Dark tendrils of liquid leach upwards through the clear upper layer. He places the beverage before the Khatta, then repeats the process for Arkold.

"I figured. You know, seein' as how he looks it, the first mate had some clue … unlike our 'heroic leader', Cap'n Kitten." Arkold snorts in disgust before shaking his head slightly and turning to watch the bartender make the drinks. "Wouldn't be surprised if the captain has me keel-hauled once he gets some guts, though. You shoulda heard 'im scream when I fired. 'Nooooo!' What a pampered pansy. Coulda got us all killed. And yah wanna know the worst of it? He's the son of the man who forced me here in the first place." His hand, which has since been placed on the counter, tightens around the beverage in front of him. "Dagh's right toe! It burns me."

The tiger slaps a ten-mark coin on the counter. "Keep the change," he says, grinning. As if anybody bothered making change in this part of "town".

The coin scarcely touches the bar before vanishing, and the equine moves down the bar to his next customer.

"Yeah, yeah," says the tiger, "I hear ya." He guides the wolf away from the bar, drink in one hand, and makes his way over to a "table" fashioned from a large wooden cable spool set on its side, with wooden ammunition crates (empty, of course) for seats. "You'll get by. If the Emir hears about 'Captain Kitten' and his antics with the Siren … well, suffice it to say that the Emir ain't gonna hear about it, and you ain't gonna get keelhauled. Not from him, any road. Now, what's this about a clam deficiency?"

The Jupani follows along side Scrimshaw with his odd beverage in one hand. He chugs some of it down before speaking. "Yah, you're probably right. Ehh, stressin' myself too much over it." He allows his hand to release again as the tension begins to become painful. "Clams. Eh, I need some. You probably guessed they don't pay me much, if at all, and I have some … eh, matters I need to see to. Expensive matters."

The tiger hrms. "We talkin' 'I'm sick of rations' expensive, 'I need a woman' expensive, 'I need someone gutted' expensive, or … ?" He gives Arkold a measuring glance.

Thinking it best not to go discussing his problems while standing, Arkold waits until both he and his company are seated to answer. "Eh, 'I need to forget life for a bit' expensive," he answers in a low voice, hunching over slightly. Another gulp of drink is downed before he continues. "Needa bit of, yah know, portable recreation."

The tiger raises his eyebrows. "Ah. That sort of expensive. Well, sad to hear that, pal. If you don't have friends in the right places, or happen to be born of the right species … well … that gets pricey. Sure you can't break the habit?"

The beverage goes down smoothly, warming the throat and stomach as it passes, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. Arkold's about two-thirds of the way through his drink now; most of the remaining clear liquid is threaded with strands of the dark, making an intricate pattern rather than blending together.

A snort from the Jupani. "Break it? Heh, yah. And then they'll break me when I go … eh, off the deep end, if you know what I mean." He drops his gaze now, scowling down into his drink. "S'not an option, anyway. S'yah see my problem."

The tiger-Khatta shakes his head. "Get a transfer as soon as you can, pal, because that sort of problem will make you fish-food real quick. First off, the Kampfzengruppe base commander is really down on yorspice and myspice and every other kind of spice. It's a wonder he hasn't flushed the squeakers already."

"I'll make do," the wolf mutters, "Heh, s'not like I've been exactly useless. I just need to make … arrangements."

The tiger looks as if he's contemplating an idea. "However … I might be able to help you. But it's a long shot. And you may not like it."

Arkold sits up again now and finishes his drink before wiping his muzzle off with the back of his arm. "Yah got an idea there? Iffin it works, I'm all ears, pal. All ears."

The tiger winces for some reason.

"I … wasn't supposed to drink that, ehh?" asks the wolf as he lowers his gaze to look into the empty glass again.

The liquid brown stuff at the bottom of Arkold's glass is not, however, smooth. It's exceedingly bitter, like eating burnt coffee beans, and burns in the mouth and throat like liquid fire.

The tiger shakes his head solemnly.

The contents of the drink lay in Arkold's stomach like a lump of acidic, burning lead. His eyes start to water.

The tiger-Khatta says, "Don't worry, it won't kill you. It'll only feel like it." He takes another careful sip of his drink. "Now then… "

Arkold's left hand begins to shake, and his eyes squeeze shut. He makes a pained grunt sound as he forces the liquid down his throat to swallow it as fast as possible. However that helps little, and he can only strain where he sits. Weakly, he waves the tiger-Khatta to keep going.

The tiger-Khatta does his best to pretend to ignore the spectacle before him, saying, "… you see, they have this fighting ring, where the toughest sailors go at it. Prize varies, but a lot of them put bets on themselves… "

Meanwhile the Jupani does what he can to look calm and composed, strong against the fire likely eating away at his stomach lining. He doesn't make any commentary for the moment, only moving so far as to squeeze the glass until his paw hurts … and beyond.

"… anyway, I'd say you've got what it takes to last a few rounds. And if you make a lucky break … hey, maybe you'll get a little spice in your life again," the tiger-Khatta mrowls. He then raises an eyebrow at Arkold. "You're holding it, aren't you? If you're going to hurl, don't do it here, or the barkeep will make you clean it up yourself."

For a moment, it feels like drink has settled, then the burning resumes, more intensely than before. Arkold's stomach muscles start to knot around the source of the pain.

"Going," mutters the wolf as he pushes himself up to standing. Focusing with what strength he has that isn't being eaten by the horrible goop, he straightens himself and opens his eyes. "Follow," he barks to Scrimshaw before he begins making his way for the exit.

The tiger-Khatta finishes most of his drink, leaving some dark sludge in the bottom, and casually makes his way up to the bar, dropping off the two glasses for the Rhian bartender. He tosses off a salute, then leisurely makes his way after the wolf.

Without waiting, the Jupani forces himself on and out the doorway. Once outside, he stalks over to a pile of rubbish and hunches over immediately. An unpleasant sounding splatter can be heard, followed by a groan.

Several of the bar patrons snicker at the wolf's departure. "Looks like the snark slams another victim," one stage-whispers to another.

Through a large, floor-to-ceiling crystal window set to one side of the stone cul-de-sac, several fish flit by, oblivious to the wolf's discomfort.

As the wolf continues to heave, one of the "fish" swims closer, proving to be a curious mercat. She pauses a few feet from the window, watching the ill land dweller engage in this odd activity.

A few more splattering sounds follow and then the wolf staggers backwards away from the pile that includes his drink as well as lunch. "Uhhh, if I didn't like you, I'd kill you," groans the wolf. His hand then digs around for a moment before producing a rag which he wipes his face off with.

At last, the wolf's stomach is empty, though it still burns unpleasantly. It does feel much better now, though. Sort of like how pulling a nail out of your arm feels so much better than hammering it in.

The tiger-Khatta manages to catch up with the wolf, looking like he's in no particular hurry to do so. "Ah. Whew," he mrowls, waving the air away from his nose. "Looks like you need your privacy. Tell ya what. I'll go see what I can do about finding some opportunities, and let you get back to … ah … personal business, all right?"

The aquatic feline swishes her tail, propelling her body right next to the clear crystal window, and rests one hand against it, her head tilting to one side as she looks in. White mane streams in the current, while refracted sunlight highlights her blue-green skin and white rosettes.

"Eh, yah, you do that. I need a … err … moment," replies the wolf. He continues to clean his face, eyes wandering away from the disgusting heap in front of him, only to glance at the Mariner. He scowls at the mercat for a moment before dashing at the window in an attempt at scaring her off.

The tiger-Khatta apparently mistakes Arkold's rush at the window as an encore of his "personal business", and takes that moment to stride quickly away, giving no hint of noticing the mercat outside the window. "Catch you later!" the tiger-Khatta mrowls, and then turns a corner.

When Arkold dashes toward the window, the Mariner swishes away a couple of yards, eyes widening in alarm, lips parting.

From beyond the window, the mercat can see a rather angry looking wolf shaking his fist. He seems to be yelling something, quite a few things really, and a lump of trash gets booted off heavily as he does so.

Alas, booting the lump of trash wasn't such a great idea. His boot now needs some cleaning in order to meet proper uniform inspection standards.

Realizing that the Jupani would endanger himself far more than her by breaking through the window, she stops moving, hovering in place now, still looking at him curiously. After a few moments, she swims to the window once more, pressing her fingers against the smooth Sifran crystal.

"Ahhh!" roars the Jupani in frustration. "Vhai! Dagh cursed floating bait-eater, scruddy slippery sea hag!" He swings a fist out to impact the wall near the crystal window in his rage.

The crystal lets out a cracking sound. Yes, cracks are forming quickly on the crystal!

The sea-feline backs away from the crystal again as it shows signs of fracturing, blinking in surprise.As the Jupani does not seem about to leap to attack her, however, she does not move more than a few yards.

A sound like a chime rings out … and the doorway to the chamber seals as sheets of Sifran crystal slide out and close.

Several guys from the bar stand on the other side of the Sifran crystal wall that has just formed. They start passing shekels and marks to each other, and are apparently talking quite loudly, though Arkold can't hear a thing they're saying.

"Uhh," emits the wolf as the implications of that noise sink past the anger. "Oh, vhai!" He abandons his boot cleaning and turns to dash for the exit. Seeing it has been sealed, he checks around for another way out.

The section of stone that Arkold impacted with his fist glows faintly from within. As for other ways out … No,this little cubbyhole has no apparent exit – unless one is about to be provided for the wolf, that is.

The floor-to-ceiling crystal window continues to crack, the cracks now radiating out from the center all the way to the frame.

"Oh, Dagh's tongue, you have to be kidding me!" wails the wolf in disbelief as he backs away from the glowing crystal break. Uncertain what exactly what he should be doing now, he positions himself with his back against the wall and lets out another stream of curses.

The crystal window bears a remarkable resemblance to one of the crystal windows of the Gateway Towers … the kind that crack open just like this, and then seal again when they close. Well, that's exactly what this crystal portal is doing, as shards of crystal retract into the stone … and water begins to pour into the chamber!

The wolf's audience back in the bar, meanwhile, appears to be having quite a bit of enjoyment at the wolf's expense, clapping each other on the back, waving at the wolf, laughing (though he can't hear them), and generally behaving like typical Legionnaires.

For a moment, the wolf turns to just glare at those people within the bar. He reaches to draw his sword, apparently as if considering breaking their crystal barrier as well, but lets his hand drop. He turns back now towards the growing rift and dashes for it, to give it another heavy punch!

While the water starts pouring in, the mercat reflexively starts to swing her tail, counterbalancing the strong pull of the water into the room. Air bubbles swarm out, further obscuring the scene.

Alas, hitting the splitting crystal doesn't speed up nor slow down the process. The room is now about half full of chilly sea water … and garbage, some floating, some not.

The crystal window has now pretty much opened all the way. It's only a matter of seconds before the room is completely flooded, if even that.

(I hate fish.) With the water rising and soon to cover the area, the wolf waits until the water is almost at his chin to take a deep breath. Once he has what precious little air he can hold, he dives under the water and begins swimming towards the window-exit.

As the Jupani swims towards the window, the mercat swims to it as well, and she gestures to Arkold urgently, pointing towards him and then the inside of the room repeatedly.

Even underwater, Arkold can still cast a glare at the Mariner in front of him. He ignores her for now and turns his gaze to the room, then the surface far above, then the room again. His ears lay back against his head and all at once his glare fades into a wide-eyed look of worry.

Most of the garbage has been washed out of the room now, by the current. Maybe that's why all the garbage was piled up there.

As soon as he pauses rather than immediately dashing out the window, the mercat swooshes into the chamber with him, then swims to the opposite side of the window, where she starts patting at the wall. After a moment, she finds what she's been feeling for, and pushes a panel in.

The crystal shards start forming again … lengthening from the stone, and drawing together to start forming a broken window once more.

By now the wolf is feeling his lungs rather taxed on air. He reaches towards his throat with a hand. His muzzle strains shut and his eyes clench, and he does little else.

The hesitation seals off any chance the wolf has to get back out of the waterlock … but also any chance for the mercat as well. The crystal shards seal together into a window once more.

The mercat scans along the wall for something else, as soon as she strikes the panel to close the lock. She finds it, and now that the window is sealed, pushes it in.

Suddenly the other crystal wall cracks and splits apart. Arkold's audience's expressions change really quick, to various forms of "What'n the… ?"

Water shoots out of the waterlock, knocking over all of the Legionnaires just outside … and Arkold finds himself swept along on top of a wave of water crashing through the bar!

Biting her lower lip, the aquatic feline fumbles around for purchase, stroking her powerful tail to and fro as she tries to keep from joining the tide of water into the bar.

Eyes shoot open as the sudden pull yanks the wolf from where he was just about to call it a life. Low thumps of his covered sword bouncing off pieces of the room as she is swept through it accompany even deeper thumps of his body doing likewise. He tries to reach for something to grab before he's flung into a wall or worse.

The wolf manages to snare a chandelier (or, that is, a poor excuse for one that someone somehow glued to the ceiling), which seems to provide a surprisingly sturdy anchor for the time being.

One hand then the other latches on to the chandelier, which the Jupani clutches for dear life. However he's still holding his breath and his lungs desperately plead for him to breathe in, water or not. Resisting the urge, he forces himself to keep going until the water settles.

The water level drops rapidly, as it disperses across the corridors, then starts draining out. A sputtering Rhian neighs, "What the – ? I got another six hours until quitting time. Dagh's tooth!"

It finally occurs to the wolf that he's no longer submersed, and that his best chance of getting some air would be to breathe. Water is still draining as it slides across the floor of the bar. It looks like the mercat is back just outside the "water lock", hanging onto a rocky protrusion and trying not to get swept along by what little water remains.

A ragged sputter heralds the Jupani's gasp for breath. He hangs from the chandelier for a moment, gasping heavily, before he catches his breath and lets himself go. He falls with a thump onto the ground and quickly peers around the room for signs of more water – or people about to kill him.

The sea-feline inhales and exhales a few times as the rush of water dissipates, her body sagging awkwardly onto the floor. She blinks, then begins the painful process of dragging herself by her arms to the waterlock leading into the ocean again.

It looks like most of the bar patrons have either fled, have been washed away, or are still trying to recover from the unexpected deluge. The water on the floor dissipates quickly, far more quickly than could be attribute to mere drain-off. Gusts of air from stone chutes start blow-drying the bar.

Deciding against waiting for anyone to recover from the disaster – since he'd rather save fighting for when he gets paid for it – the Jupani dashes out of the bar. A few steps beyond the exit he skids to a halt near the "beached" Mariner and turns to grin wickedly at her, his hand reaching for something under his coat.

Tail flopping and wiggling rather uselessly against the ground, the mercat doesn't notice Arkold, absorbed by her need to return to the ocean environment. As her skin dries out, it takes on an unhealthy sheen.

Arkold's knife is drawn from its sheath beneath his coat. The Jupani then begins stalking towards the Mariner with it readied. "Dagh's teeth, now yer in for it," he growls at her.

A few of the patrons stagger to their feet. Scrimshaw doesn't look nearly so calm and collected as he usually passes himself off to be. Not that the barkeep looks any happier.

Halfway to the panel, the beached mercat gasps at the wolf's words, and rolls over onto her back to face him. She lifts one hand in a warding motion, but is hardly capable of mounting any kind of defense in these circumstances. She makes slight wiggling motions with her tail, inching herself away from the violent Jupani.

The knife is raised. "I … oughta … " His hand begins to shake now, and the knife pauses in the air. " … oughta … " A deep glare is focused on the helpless Mariner, and for a moment he just stares at her like that. (Can't.) All at once, the knife drops – and is shoved into its sheath, not the Mariner. "Rrryyyhh, fine. FINE," he grumbles quietly before kneeling down and scooping her into his arms.

A little squeak emerges from the mercat as he stoops to lift her. Her body trembles violently against Arkold's, teeth biting against her lower lip. As it seems he's not bent on killing her, she gestures with a shaking arm towards the panel he hit when this ordeal began. Now that he knows what to look for, it's easy to spot.

Without another word, the Jupani storms over to where the panel is, drops the Mariner under it without any effort to cushion the landing, and then he turns to storm out back the way he came so as to not be caught in the system once more. Once he gets past the inner door he slams a fist into his other hand. "Vhai."

The Mariner winces at a crunch as she's plopped to the ground. She rolls onto her stomach and manages, by dint of clawing at the wall and balancing on part of her tail, to get high enough to press the tips of her fingers into the panel.

The panel glows, and the crystal shatters once more, while the other crystal window snaps shut. Water pours into the chamber, and the process repeats itself, opening the depths of the ocean once more to the mercat.

Arkold folds his arms across his chest and stands with his back facing the Mariner. Although she would have a hard to seeing him, others around might catch him glaring at the ground in front of him while grumbling under his breath.

There is another wince from the sea-feline as the influx of water pushes her away from the wall, and she barely manages to get her tail positioned in time to save herself from being hurtled into the far side of the lock. She draws in a deep breath as the water fills the room, then relaxes into the liquid. Body still shivering slightly, she swims away without a backward glance.

"Vhai! By Dagh's left ear, scruddy, fish!" curses the Jupani. He holds his hands out into the air and squeezes them into fists. "Scrimshaw! Show me where I can kill something!"