[b]The Debate[/b]

The civilian group debates the morality and logistics of taking a portion of the gold, revealing ideological rifts.

[i]Co-Written by Badarby, Bingelly, Dyelli Beybi, Expendable, InfamousGuy101, Imaria Theyra, Tesserach[/i]

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The airship cruised smoothly through the open skies, the hum of the engines a constant backdrop to the unfolding morning. Carter stood at the helm alongside Itzi, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a compass as he checked the map spread out before him. The morning light bathed the world below in a soft glow, revealing a patchwork of farms and villages that seemed untouched by the chaos tearing through the cities.

Carter glanced out the window, his gaze lingering on the tranquil countryside. "Almost feels like home," he said absently, his voice carrying a rare trace of warmth. "West Fork had fields like that. Wide-open spaces, hard-working folks. War’s got a way of skipping over the simple places… until it doesn’t."

Itzi, who had been adjusting a lever and monitoring the altimeter, turned to him with a grin. "Beautiful, isn’t it? Flying something like this... I never thought I’d get the chance. Back home, my folks would lose their minds seeing me at the helm of a ship like this," she said, a touch of pride in her voice. "They’d probably try to throw a big party for me. Mama would insist on roasting a whole hog, and Papa would just sit there, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it."

Carter chuckled faintly, keeping his eyes on the compass. "Sounds like good people."

"They are," she replied, her tone softening. She let the moment linger before brightening again. "You know, we should name this thing. Every good ship deserves a name. How about [I]Skyward Dream[/I]? Or maybe [I]Cloud Chaser[/I]? What do you think?"

Carter glanced up from the map, offering her a sidelong look. "I think you’ve got a knack for optimism," he said dryly, though there was no malice in his tone.

Itzi raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Oh, come on. You don’t have any suggestions? [I]West Wind[/I]? [I]Freedom’s Wing[/I]? How about [I]Mainer Pride[/I]?”

"All those names are terrible and make me think of people who live in swamps and are missing teeth," Zoe supplied as she made her presence known on the bridge. "Personally, I'd just call it [I]'Zoe'![/I] Simple, elegant, and regal," she declared with a slight smirk.

"Might I suggest: [I]The Unrestrained Hubris[/I]," came the somewhat annoyed call from the other room. The young Iktani Chamer was engaged in going through the contents of his storage trunk, papers strewn everywhere as he sorted through them.

Carter glanced at Zoe, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Naming a ship after yourself, huh? Sounds like something straight outta the old continent. What’s next, slapping a family crest on the side and declaring it a monarchy?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoe the Zeppelin… real humble, that."

"Well yes, that is the continent we are on," she nodded. "And good point, yes, we [I]should[/I] paint my crest on it as well. How good are you at drawing dragons and wyverns?" she asked.

"Ware below!" called out the hoarse voice of the boatswain's mate, Nikos. The little man slid down the ladder carrying a carafe, with coffee cups tucked in his jacket pockets. "Coffee, sir and ma'am. What's going on?"

"Dragons and wyverns?" Mitunbaal, dressed in traditional garb, raised an eyebrow at the mention as she scribbled notes down in a journal of some sort. The arrival of the boatswain caught her interest momentarily. "Yes, black coffee if you please." Turning her attention back to Zoe, she added, "So you must be a noble, I presume?"

On the chart table, Nikos put down a cup and filled it with steaming brown liquid, then carried the cup over to the lady. "Be careful, it's hot."

"Zoe Spirou," Zoe re-introduced herself with a slight bit of hesitation. "I suppose you could call me that, but nobody that significant... but having our own airship - it's a bit of fun, isn't it!"

She paused before offering Nikos a bright smile, "Yes please, Sir, coffee would be most welcome."

"Coming up, ma'am!" he smiled, hurrying back to the chart table and pulling out two more cups from his pocket and filling one. He carried it carefully to Zoe.

"House Spirou," Mitunbaal repeated as she looked over the woman quizzically. After a moment of thought, she offered the woman a smile. "Ms. Mitunbaal Vasiliou, at your service, Lady Spirou."

"Your coffee,” Nikos passed yet another cup to Mitunbaal who gladly accepted it. 

Pausing her typing with a yawn, Marietta looked to the Boatswain's Mate. "Sir, may I take a coffee? I'm unsure we got your name as well.”

"Yes, ma'am!" Nikos bustled back to the chart table. "Boatswain's Mate Vassiliou, Nikos Vassiliou, ma'am!”

He filled the other cup and carried it over to Marietta, the scruffy man giving her a friendly grin.

"Your coffee. Sir, would you like a cup?”

Carter nodded toward Nikos as the man approached with the coffee. "Yeah, I’ll take one, thanks. No sugar, no cream." He leaned on the edge of the chart table, watching as Nikos poured.

Itzi held out for her own cup with an eager smile. "I’ll take some too, Boatswain, but load it with sugar if you’ve got any. Sweet enough to keep me awake and flying this big girl."

Carter glanced around the cabin, eyes lingering briefly on each person. "So let’s see," he began, his tone dry but amused. "We’ve got a typist," he gestured to Marietta, "a scholar," nodding toward Mitunbaal, "a damsel," his smirk landed on Zoe, "and a scrappy boatswain who looks like he could punch out a bear." He chuckled softly. "And somehow, I’m supposed to believe we’re all going to survive if the soldier boys decide to turn this ship into their personal command post."

Itzi, not looking up from her cup, slid her hand briefly toward the holster at her waist, hidden under her overalls. "Well," she said casually, "guess we’ll just have to make sure they don’t try anything stupid." She shot Carter a sidelong glance, her expression coy.

"Damsel?" Zoe gave a small laugh. "I prefer the term 'charming high-born rogue'... but on the subject of our good soldiers... they are doing their jobs," she shrugged. "They will listen to me, though. It's the natural order of things," she declared. It wasn't clear if she was serious or joking... or a bit of both.

Giogoula walked into the area where the other civilians were gathered, holding a cup of water.

"Trying to grab gold from the treasury seems a bit dangerous when we’re in a good position to fly to safer areas," she said, taking a sip of water.

"The main is still on the table..." Itzi chipped in.

"Sorry, it's just black coffee," Nikos said, pouring—then froze, spinning his head as coffee spilled out on the chart table. "Eh? Grabbing gold? Oh!"

"Sorry!" he cringed, setting the carafe down and pulling a rag from yet another pocket, trying to blot the spill. His voice got very casual. "So, what's all this about the treasury?"

"Well, actually, it's flying in the direction of Mitteland, so it’s not that dangerous," Zoe shrugged, then turned to Nikos. "We are going to assist the Government in retrieving some of the gold reserve and, perhaps, take a modest cut for our hard work."

Bringing the cup to her lips, Marietta took a little sip, letting the hot beverage flow over her tongue. She paused for a moment before spitting the coffee right back into the mug. "Boatswain, this is the worst coffee I’ve ever had. This is a pale imitation of anything even resembling coffee. I’d wager the damned Communalists have a better drink."

"Beats rotting in one of their prisons, drinking putrid water and eating stale bread..." Carter commented as he sipped the coffee, letting out a refreshing sigh.

"You should be happy that there is a hot cup of coffee for consumption at this time," Giogoula responded.

"Oh, I haven’t introduced myself. Name’s Giogoula Giorgiou, my father calls me Giogio," Giogoula said. "Work for—well, worked for the city police.”

"Err, sorry, ma'am. I think that Communalist engineer must be sabotaging the percolator," Nikos apologized, bowing his head, before turning back to Zoe, "A modest cut, did you say?"

"Depends on how much we can lift," Zoe replied to Nikos, "but this is an airship, so—a lot."

The young Iktani appeared then through the hatchway, wearing a matching deep green dinner jacket with gold trim, white lace cravat, and hat—having apparently changed at some point since take-off. He sidled up beside Marietta, offering her a steaming cup of liquid. "Try this," he suggested, observing the proceedings while taking a sip from the bottle of expensive tequila he'd tucked under his arm.

Despite his almost whispered voice, the Iktani poet fidgeted next to her, looking slightly annoyed.

"Well, Sir, find him and string him from the side of the ship for making a fool’s showing of Calarian culture. Those damned godless, immoral charlatans have to keep ruining everything they can even ephemerally touch."

Nikos blushed, then said, "I can't, they made me give her back her gun. It's a wonder if we're not all shot in our sleep."

Turning back, he finished filling the two cups and handed one to Itzi and Carter. "Sorry about that. How much do you think we can get aboard?"

Carter sipped his coffee again, giving Nikos a sideways glance as he posed the question. Setting the cup down, he leaned on the chart table and gestured broadly to the airship. "Well, if this thing’s built like most of the big haulers I’ve seen, she’s got a payload capacity of… what? A few hundred tons, easy. Now, that’s not counting how much fuel we’ll need to make the trip or the weight of the people on board." He tilted his head toward Zoe with a smirk. "But I imagine Miss Zoe here might have a better idea of what’s actually stashed in that vault—and what we might ‘redistribute’ for our troubles.”

Seeing the offered cup of tea wasn’t accepted, Chamer shrugged and paced toward the window, remaining quiet though his agitation clearly hadn’t settled. He took a deep sip of tea, causing a tremor to run down his spine as he stared out the gondola window toward the distant horizon, listening to the conversation as he braced his hands against the window.

"If we're tied up to the treasury's mooring post, then everything's got to come through the accommodation ladder. It ain't built for anything but foot traffic, iffen you beg my pardon."

"It's not like they're going to let us winch it aboard from the ground."

Nikos paused, scratching his chin stubble. "Maybe if we put down boards on the sides, we could use hand carts... but someone's gotta be pushing from underneath. That's gotta be heavy."

"Might I have some coffee? If there is any left." A shy voice spoke as Zano entered the room, looking a bit relaxed but still carrying his satchel and clutching it with his left hand. "I take it we have a task ahead of ourselves?"

"Oh! Sir, I’m sorry, sir!" Nikos blushed again. "I'll go fetch a fresh pot."

Snatching up the carafe, he hustled over to the ladder, rapidly climbing up. Footsteps echoed as he ran toward the galley.

"No, no, it is fine," Zano spoke to Nikos. "I mean... ," and Nikos was gone.

"There is more there than we can lift," Zoe replied with a shrug. "So we load her up with hand carts and so on until the ship can carry no more. Then off we go!"

Zoe took a sip of her coffee before remarking, "Well, I’ve had better, but we are on an airship! All part of the adventure, I suppose."

"I hope he adjusts the percolator. And who are you, sir?" Marietta said, gesturing to the new arrival in the gondola.

Zano sighed, looking at the others in the room. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Zano Mirazdar.”

In the galley, Nikos filled the carafe from the percolator, then paused to fetch a cup to pour in a little coffee for a sip. It was bold, bitter, brown, and hot—regulation navy coffee. "Civilians," he muttered, finishing it off before stuffing a few more clean cups into his pocket.

"Ware below!" the bosun called out, sliding down with the carafe in hand and more clean rags. "Sorry about that, sir. Just a moment!"

"Sorry about the taste. I can see about making a fresh pot. Haven't found the sugar yet from stores."

Zoe stepped back, waiting for Nikos to finish serving coffee, before gently catching his arm and drawing him aside. "Sir, while we are all very grateful for a hot drink, you, I believe, are the only person who is supposed to be here. How about you show me how to make the coffee, and I can help with that in the future?"

"Er, it's not right that a lady such as yourself be making coffee," Nikos protested, shrinking back. "I'd never hear the end of it from the officers!"

"Well, I should simply convince them otherwise," Zoe replied, as if that were the simplest and most obvious solution to the military not wanting her on the ship.

"Nonsense!" she replied to Nikos with a bright smile. "In fact, I think it would be quite fun. Why not show me, at least?"

“There is no rush, and you did not have to make more just for me," Zano said to Nikos.

"If you say so, ma'am!" the scruffy bosun nodded reluctantly, knowing he was between a rock and a hard place.

"[i]To Phos tou Kosmou[/i]... indeed." Chamer gave a snide laugh and took another swill of his personal tea, followed by a sip from his liquor bottle.

Carter’s expression darkened for a moment at the sound of the Iktani language. He didn’t understand their exact meaning, but the tone struck him, digging into his mind like a whisper of something unresolved. He stared into his coffee, letting the conversation flow.

Itzi, however, was less introspective. Letting go of the helm briefly, she gave Nikos a small smile as she accepted more coffee, still black. "Thanks," she said, taking a tentative sip and wincing slightly at the bitterness.

Turning to the room, her voice took on a more serious tone. "Look, I think we’ve all got the skills to make this work—Carter, Christina, even me and the others. But," she paused, cautiously glancing around for Yuri and Arkadios before looking back at the rest of the civilians, "we gotta be smart about this. If the military folks don’t hold up their end of the bargain, or if they decide that ‘their country’ matters more than the people on this ship, we’re the ones who’ll end up with nothing. Or worse."

Chamer finally turned away from the window to face the assembled group, holding up his hand. "I'm sorry—I am a stranger as it were in your land, but I do have one question about this great adventure." The Iktani's eyes were bloodshot and wide. The man had a manic, frenzied look about him, though he paused as if waiting for permission to continue.

Both Nikos and Zanp glanced at Chamer worriedly.

"Their country is my country, Iktani," Mitunbaal spoke up suddenly, "And it is the country of several of us in this room. Understandably, we would not wish to leave it to fly halfway across the globe in an Imburian military vessel to do God knows what at the impulse of foreigners."

"I agree with Ms. Vasiliou, even if I fall in the minority of people who wish to leave the continent as someone who was run out of my home twice," Marietta commented.

Chamer waited for a calm with a wan smile. "Is this truly how the [i]Great[/i] Inburian Empire dies? A group of so-called educated, so-called skilled people—members of the great and vaunted elite—standing amidst the greatest marvel of engineering known to the world, debating coffee and planning a theft—I'm sorry, [i]'skimming a little off the top'[/i]—only to slink away like thieves in the night? All while Communalists ransack the city that was once called the light of the world."

"Better for the military officials to transport most of the gold to a safe designated location," Giogoula added. "I wouldn’t want a bunch of foreigners to decide what to do with my wealth, either."

"You can't leave the treasury for the Communalists, sir!" Nikos protested. "Them'll just take it back to their boss, those gormless idiots, as he starves them half-blind."

Chamer nodded to Nikos. "Then let's do the job properly. Like proper men and women—not pretty criminals scheming while the world burns. Or is honor truly dead in this continent?"

Carter leaned casually against the table, his expression calm, swirling his coffee before taking a slow sip. "We’re not stealing anything. We’re making sure that gold doesn’t fall into the hands of those red loonies." He looked directly at Chamer and Giogoula.

"And yeah, there’s a finder’s fee involved—call it payment for risking our necks to make sure it gets to the 'right people.' Better that than it ending up funding a revolution or lining the pockets of someone who’s got no business having it." He shrugged, his tone steady. "We’re doing a job, plain and simple. Everyone wins."

Mitunbaal scoffed. "Thievery by any other name. At least be honest about the dirty work, or would you then not sleep at night or find comfort in God?"

"What do you think's going on down there? You think the Communalists aren't taking everything for themselves?" Nikos said hotly. "That's thievery, alright. And if you protest, they shoot you."

Carter shrugged, unbothered. "Call it what you want. It’s still better than letting the reds walk away with it."

Itzi smirked, leaning on the helm. "Dirty work, sure, but at least we'll smell better doing it than they will."

"Except, sir," Mitunbaal turned her attention to the bosun, "we aren't dealing with the Communalists. We're dealing with the House of Hasikos and the Inburian state."

"Pah!" Chamer scoffed. "Look at you all, wringing your hands, positively salivating at the prospect of—dare I say it—redistribution of wealth!"

"Indeed," Zoe agreed, nodding to Nikos. "This is a patriotic act. We're saving gold that would otherwise pay Communalist soldiers and buy their guns and ammunition and returning it to our people. My people. If we take a commission for the work, is that so bad? Otherwise, which able-bodied crew would want to do this?"

"This is simple pragmatism," Zoe said, stabbing a finger at the table with the charts on it to emphasize her point. "That pragmatism is what built this Empire. We do what we need to do to survive."

Starting to get fired up, Marietta threw her hat into the discussion. "Exactly, you all have the correct idea. Leaving it only lets the Communalists have it, and they'll use it to keep their bandit kingdom afloat for another 10 years. I think we will get paid for our valiant efforts. The gold will allow the Imburians to keep fighting. It will certainly liven their spirits, allowing our higher moral character to shine through again, alongside allowing the remaining forces to purchase war-making material. Should the Communalist state continue to keep fighting and winning wars on the back of their underhanded tactics, such as poison gas, honor will be dead on this continent. What's the next thing they'll develop, especially if they get the gold? Land battleships? A squadron of war airships?"

Nikos snorted, patting the railing. "It's what they were planning for the Sword here, weren't it?"

"If you want pragmatism, let that gold buy guns and soldiers’ wages. You all can take your blood money—if that's what you truly want—but I'll have none of it! If I am a man, and alive, then let it be said I lived and fought for freedom—not sucking the lifeblood of a nation in its moment of need and doing the Communalists' work for them. Put a rifle in my hands, and I'll help you liberate your gold, but of ill-gotten gains, I want none of it. I don't want it! I can forgive foreign mercenaries demanding their pound of flesh, but those of you who are Inburian should be ashamed to call yourselves such!" With that, Chamer spat on the floor.

Carter smirked faintly as he sipped his coffee. "That’s acceptable to me," he said casually, setting the cup down with a clink. "Means more for the rest of us who aren’t too proud to take what’s earned."

Itzi grinned, raising her cup with a playful glint in her eye. "To pragmatism, survival, and a nice hefty cut!" she cheered, tipping her cup toward Carter.

Carter chuckled, raising his own cup slightly in her direction. "Cheers to that."

Nikos, shaking his head, interjected, "Sir, there's just a handful of soldiers, and most of 'em aren't ours. It isn't fair to risk civilians for this. But we're the only ones who can."

There was a flash of anger in Zoe's eyes. She stepped forward, "I have the right to give that gold to whom I please," she declared. Then, abruptly seeming to cool off—or at least giving the pretense she had—she shrugged and smiled brightly. "If I can get it, that is. Which I will!"

At Zoe's approach, Chamer smiled wryly. "Oh-ho! A reaction? So there remains some shame left in Inburia for its discarded national character after all. Perhaps there's hope, and I have a suggestion—if any here care to hear it."

"What is your suggestion?" Zoe crossed her arms across her chest. "It would be impolite not to hear you out."

"Yes," Carter added, "do tell..."

Chamer stood straighter, a fire burning in his eyes. "Let me say this communalist host, this horde, this [i]blight[/i], may yet be beaten back, but if it is, it will be no thanks to men and women who plunder Inburia during her hour of need. So let's have no more talk here of stealing ammunition, food, and vital war materials out from the hands of the brave men and women below our feet who even now bleed for this struggle while we drift here amidst the clouds, counting out coins that don't belong to us."

He paused to survey the room, his voice hardening. "As I see it, everyone here has a choice, and it's a simple one: either you're a part of this struggle, or you're not—and your opinions can be safely ignored. Return to your cabins. You'll be disembarked at the next safe part. For those who choose to stay, a united effort is required. Faction will destroy us. Denying gold to the enemy is a laudable effort, but a war chest is no one's private property! And I, for one, will not suffer to see it squandered by those who neither fight nor suffer."

Chamer took a breath before finishing. "The terms I propose are simple enough. You'll be afforded a fair patriot's wages, but if you're in: it's commitment to the cause, to unity of purpose and command, to learning how to crew this ship [i]properly[/i], and to ensuring that if we do this thing, we have a responsibility to see this gold—should we attain it—is effectively put towards ending this communalist blight. Every last coin accounted for and spent in service of the effort. Now: who's in, and who's out?"

Carter tilted his head slightly, glancing at Itzi with a raised brow as Chamer's impassioned speech came to an end. He wasn’t sure whether to applaud or roll his eyes. "Well, that was... a lot," he muttered under his breath before speaking louder. "Look, I agree with the basics. If we get this gold, it should go to the right people to fund the fight against the Communalists—fair enough. But let’s not pretend people don’t deserve some reward for risking their necks. Patriotism or no, effort should be compensated."

He sipped his coffee, letting the bitter taste distract from his unease. Fighting a war that wasn’t his didn’t sit well, but he’d already decided that staying alive—and profitable—was his primary goal. Still, this self-righteous talk of noble causes grated on him. The Inburians could bleed themselves dry for their land; he was just here to keep the ship running.

Itzi leaned on the helm, her brow furrowed in thought. Chamer’s lofty words struck her as idealistic—noble, maybe, but disconnected from the reality they faced. "Fair patriot's wages, huh?" she murmured, half to herself. She admired the sentiment, but growing up working the fields and chasing dreams of the sky had taught her that noble causes didn’t put food on the table. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of respect for his passion. "I’ll help, sure," she said aloud, her tone light, almost teasing. "But it better be a pretty fair wage. Seems like a lot of work for no pay."

Zoe paused, chewing her lip as she gauged the room's reaction to Chamer’s speech.

Mitunbaal offered Chamer a brief applause before speaking up herself. "There is an honest man among us. Praise God for that."

Nikos nodded to himself. If they weren't careful, this self-righteous man would get them all killed.

"So, uh, more coffee?" he asked, holding up the carafe.

"Clearly, this is going nowhere, so what if we put this up to a vote?" Giogoula suggested. "And we present what the majority wants to the officers?"

Arms crossed, Carter took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Fine by me," he said casually. "My vote? We go for the gold, but with the understanding that everyone gets their fair share for the work they put in. If that means most of it goes to fund your war, great. But if we’re risking our necks, then some of it better stay right here—on this ship—with the people who make it happen."

Itzi glanced over her shoulder at Carter, then shrugged. "I’ll second that. We get the gold, help fund the fight, and make sure those of us doing the heavy lifting don’t walk away empty-handed. I’m here to help, but I’m not working for free." She gave Nikos a grin. "Now, about that coffee..."

"I shall offer what I said before... 10 percent split evenly between all people. Any person can choose to give their share back to the Empire if they want," Zoe declared. "High-minded people and our military friends undoubtedly will. I... well... I'll decide if I want to return to the Empire or not. And that will inform whether I need the money or not."

"Here, here!" Chamer roared. "A toast to the end of Inburia! And to the people who, by simple majority, voted themselves amongst the richest presidents over her dying days!" He picked up his bottle of tequila and took a long swill of it before bowing with mock formality. "[i]Congratulations[/i] to the new lords and ladies, how [i]brave[/i] you all are, 'risking your necks' floating 10,000 feet above the fray aboard your [i]luxury airliner[/i]! To think my best friend in this world gave his life just so you lot could stand here disgracing his memory."

And with that, Chamer threw the tequila bottle on the ground and stormed out of the gondola, heedless of the broken glass under his boots or the tequila spilled across the floor.

"I believe I've made my position clear enough. God willing, you'll make the right choice," Mitunbaal said, frowning as she rose to her feet. She scanned the room one last time before moving toward the exit. "I shall make sure he does not injure or further embarrass himself."

Giogoula crossed her arms, her tone firm as she spoke. "I will add in my own piece that it’s simply irresponsible for us as a whole to demand the officers give a portion of the nation’s treasury to us in a time of national crisis." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the group. [I]I can’t believe a foreigner cares more about not robbing Inburia than some of you do. This entire argument sounds like the rhetoric made by fifth-column agitators at rallies I’ve infiltrated before. The country is in peril, and its citizens are fighting over wealth instead of helping.[/I]

She turned toward the hatch, her thoughts still swirling, [I]Perhaps the military folks will be nobler than the crowd gathered here.[/I]

Nikos leaned on the railing, deep in thought. [I]Of course, he mused to himself, me being military 'n' all, I ain't entitled to any gold, no how. In fact, them in charge is gonna be lookin' to me to explain how I let this zeppelin get taken over by all these people.[/I]

[I]I'll have to say it were a rescue, to save civilian lives, he continued, puffing up his chest a little. That it was necessary to keep the zeppelin out of enemy hands. I might even get a medal![/I]

His smile faded, and he slouched. [I]But what's a medal? It is a target to shoot at![/I]

[I]And besides, I'm only enlisted. Rescuing civilians only counts if you're an officer or an officer sees you do it. Then there's my prisoner, a spy, now running our engines! A medal is further and further away.[/I]

"Excuse me," Nikos muttered, looking a little green. "I think I’ll go check on the percolator."

As Nikos shuffled toward the ladder and the group began to disperse Carter let out a low whistle, glancing at Itzi, "Well, that was a show. What do you make of it?"

Itzi shrugged, smirking faintly as she tapped the rim of her coffee cup. "I think we’re on a ship full of people who might just talk themselves into something dangerous. Should be fun." She leaned back on the helm, the group still dispersing each carrying their own thoughts—and tensions—with them.