Davian had a sour look. He had not had a proper sword duel in months, and he yearned to feel the clatter of steel on steel. The pressure on his arm when he drove a point home. It sounded brutal when one said it outloud, but such was the way in his homeland. They dueled as easily and readily as breathing, but only when the opportunity truly called for it, at least to their eyes. Still, he was not against a match with fists. Davian was taller, likely stronger, and without a doubt more experienced than Gil, unless the unassuming rat of a man was secretly a warder or a hunched aielman. 

Davian stripped off his tunic, and though his torso was not bare, the thin white linen starkly contrasted his sunkissed skin and black tousled hair. He rolled his sleeves up, revealing a burn on his left forearm, and the end of a small scar against his right elbow. Gil, seeing Davian was not intimidated, was a bit perturbed, but he stepped into the center of the deck anyway from the raucous laughter and comments from the other crewmen. 

"Just hold your tongue and I'll let you walk away." Davian remarked, taking a practiced stance, fists held close to his body as he bent his legs. 

"Don't insult me, stowaway!" Gil snarled, and it was as good a bell as any. Davian leaped forward, but feinted, using his long legs to dance back before he even bothered to swing. Gil swiped, but hit only air. Davian pivoted and leaped back into range before an eye could blink, and his fist connected with Gil's cheek. The man grunted and was stunned, but he didn't stumble. It was too quick and with little power. Davian's next fist did not have handicap, hitting Gil in the stomach like a sledgehammer. Gil doubled over, but sailors were nothing if not stubborn. He used the swinging of his upper torso to launch himself forward, trying to grapple with Davian. The thief-taker was caught, and the two went down in a cacophony of limbs and curses. Davian had to admit the seadog gave him a few good bruises, but within moments, the man from Ebou Dar had his arm around his neck. Davian squeezed, and it was only Zoya shouting his name that got him to let up, and it was then he realized the men had already been attempting to loosen the clamp that was his arm.  

Gil was almost blue in the face, and he gasped for air like a man in the desert supping water. The Captain looked relieved, keeping Davian at bay with his hands on the thief-taker shoulders. Gil was helped to his feet, the scraggly sailor baring his teeth in frustration. He glared daggers at Davian, shoving his crewmates off of him. A few notable men did not aid him, watching with satisfied expressions as if they had been waiting for someone to make a fool of him. 

"This isn't over!" Gil said, pointing at Davian with a fat finger. Above, the clouds roared with thunder, and distant flashes shimmered in the clouds. The men grumbled, eyeing him. Davian knew they, despite being his crew, they wanted him to accept the decision of the fight. A few started at Davian, as if to blame him for not losing like a decent landlubber. Gil stood apart from the rest, having pushed his fellows away to keep his dignity. He groaned, but at their looks, he acquiesced. "I'll hold my tongue, but the sooner you and that witch are off this boat, th-" 

There was a clap, as if the creator himself had struck a cosmic anvil with a hammer the size of the world. Davian's sight went white, and then immediately dark. His ears rang, and for a moment he felt as if he was outside of the very wheel itself. But gradually, the world came back to him, and as the formeless floor and shapes of men began to grow more solid in his vision, he saw what had happened. 

Gil was no more than a smoking ruin on the deck, having been struck by lightning.