Up on the improvised court chalked onto the flight deck, they all solemnly swore to limit their superhuman abilities to Roy's approximate level of physical power, removing any overt magical or technological stat boosts that would inevitably turn a simple friendly game into a terrifying, potentially lethal, superhuman circus. Even with these self-imposed limitations, it took a solid ten minutes of pure, unadulterated chaos, blatant fouls that would make a seasoned referee weep, traveling violations that defied the known laws of physics, and ballistic passes that threatened to decapitate unwary onlookers, before Roy finally huffed in exasperation, slamming the ball to the deck.
"Time out! Time OUT!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "Everyone, EVERYONE, watch the official rules video AGAIN, or we'll never get anywhere with this! This is supposed to be fun, not a prelude to a full-scale diplomatic incident with whatever poor fishing village we accidentally bombard with a stray basketball!"
A few base model Presidroids held up a large monitor on the deck that displayed a the same surprisingly comprehensive basketball tutorial he had them watch everytime they played. Everyone crowded around, watching with varying degrees of half-attention and barely concealed bewilderment. Warrex folded his massive arms, scowling at the tedious, overly detailed explanation of proper dribbling technique as if it were a personal affront.
Lutrian, his arms still carefully bandaged from the previous duels, listened politely, though his eyes glazed over slightly during the section on zone defense. Eryndra looked utterly baffled by the very concept of "no traveling," her brow furrowed in deep, uncomprehending concentration. Zehrina, meanwhile, stifled a delicate giggle when the dry, robotic narrator emphatically emphasized the importance of "no aggressive or otherwise unsportsmanlike physical contact." Skellbro, predictably, had already wandered off to investigate a particularly shiny bolt on a nearby turret.
At last, the game resumed, this time with a slightly better, though still hilariously flawed, understanding of the rules. Roy tried to execute a textbook bounce pass to Takara, who squeaked in surprise when Eryndra, moving with the speed and grace of a striking viper, swooped in for a near-steal, her silver hair flying. Warrex, with a guttural grunt of effort, quickly shielded them, his arms spread wide like a protective, if somewhat grumpy, bear. "I got you—!" he grunted, pivoting with surprising agility to absorb Eryndra's powerful, and probably illegal, shove. She stumbled a bit, but laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound.
Meanwhile, Lutrian found himself squared off against Zehrina near the center line. She danced sideways, her movements fluid and hypnotic, carefully dribbling the ball with a precision that was frankly unfair, all according to the newly learned rules. Lutrian mirrored her moves with an almost playful, challenging smirk, occasionally feinting a reach, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and competitive spirit. Their back-and-forth was less like a basketball matchup and more reminiscent of a graceful, high-stakes martial-arts face-off, each silently testing the other's reflexes and strategic thinking.
On the other side of the court, Skellbro, having returned from his turret-bolt investigation, confronted two of the Elite Presidroids with a dramatic, theatrical pose. He puffed out his small, bony chest and hollered, in a surprisingly deep and resonant, if poorly imitated, dramatic voice, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS… this ball to your teammate, for I shall intercept it with my superior skeletal agility!" The Presidroids, unfazed by his declaration, attempted a neat, efficient bounce pass between them. Skellbro, with an unexpected burst of speed, stooped under one's extended arm, snagged the ball mid-bounce, and darted off with it, letting out a triumphant, cackling "Ha-haaa! My genius is unparalleled!"
The match continued in a whirlwind of collisions, surprising displays of teamwork, and moments of sheer, unadulterated athletic absurdity. By the final minutes, they'd all completely lost track of the actual score, and the enthusiastic cheering from the sidelines from a few off-duty Presidroids had completely overshadowed any pretense of who was actually winning. The last shot of the game soared, Eryndra in a fit of overenthusiastic showboating, launched the ball from over half the court. It arced through the air, a perfect, beautiful parabola, ricocheted dramatically off the rim, and time itself seemed to freeze as the entire deck held its collective breath. The buzzer, actually a pre-set alarm Roy had rather cleverly set up on his datapad, rang out. A shrill, jarring sound, and the ball, with a final, taunting rattle, bounced out. Game over. With no clear winner, and frankly, no one who particularly cared.
They collapsed onto the deck in a heap of exhaustion, each side immediately, and loudly, joking that they'd "technically won, if you really think about it." Laughter and ribbing abounded as they slowly, achingly, trickled off toward the showers, leaving behind a scene of sweaty chaos.
"Men call first dibs on the showers!" Roy called out.
In the showers, steam, thick as a Noruma morning fog, filled the air. Roy peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, letting the hot water run over his aching arms and shoulders, a blissful sigh escaping his lips. Warrex, true to form, grumbled loudly at the weak water pressure, joking that he hadn't even used nearly enough energy during the game to actually need a shower, and that the only thing tiring was holding his strength back. Lutrian, scowling in mock offense at Warrex's boasting, picked up an empty shampoo bottle and pitched it at Warrex's head. It bonked off his thick fur with a hollow, unsatisfying clonk.
"Oh, you want a real workout, big boy?" Lutrian challenged, his eyes sparkling as he adopted a surprisingly authentic wrestling stance in the soapy, slippery puddles. Warrex's brow lifted, and a wide, predatory grin spread across his face.
Without a moment's hesitation, they locked up in the center, a tangle of straining muscles and gritted teeth, each trying to push the other back. Skellbro, who had decided to join the shower festivities uninvited, clapped his bony hands and whooped with delight from the sidelines, offering helpful, if entirely unsolicited, advice like, "Bite his ankles, Lutrian! Go for the shins!" Roy, still enjoying the bliss of his own showerhead, facepalmed dramatically. "Guys, this floor is ridiculously slick! You'll—"
He never finished his sentence. Warrex and Lutrian, locked in a tense, grunting clinch, simultaneously lost their footing on the treacherous, soap-slicked tiles. They collapsed in a wet, flailing heap, their limbs tangled in a Gordian knot of princely and beastfolk anatomy, a chorus of surprised curses echoing off the tiled walls. Skellbro, ever the opportunist, seized the moment, leaping onto their prone, sputtering forms with a triumphant war cry. "Ha! Lutrian wins by default due to superior hair! And I, Skellbro, the Mighty, have defeated both of you in one fell blow with my strategic intervention!"
"You foolish child," a deep, resonant, and vaguely annoyed voice rumbled from the shower entrance. Father Skeleton stood there, his hollow eyes gleaming with paternal disapproval in the thick steam, a bright yellow rubber duck clutched incongruously in one bony hand. "Tell your mother, when she eventually reanimates from her latest unfortunate... test, precisely what new manner of mischief you've perpetrated. You cannot be roughhousing in a communal bath with a-"
Skellbro, far from chastened, cut him off with a defiant cackle. "Oh, lighten up, old man! It's just some good, clean, incredibly dangerous fun!" He hopped off the tangled pile of Warrex and Lutrian, squaring up to Roy with a mischievous glint in their empty sockets.
Roy, who had been trying to suppress a laugh at Father Skeleton's overly dramatic entrance, waded in. "Don't get so mad, pops," Roy said lightly, reaching out to playfully nudge Skellbro. "They're just blowing off some steam."
This was, apparently, the invitation Skellbro had been waiting for. With a surprising burst of speed and agility that belied their skeletal frame, Skellbro lunged with a surprisingly well-executed takedown attempt aimed at Roy's midsection.
Roy yelped in surprise, reflexes honed not very many near-death experiences kicking in. He sidestepped the initial rush, grabbing Skellbro's outstretched arm and using their momentum to spin them around, trying to get a dominant position. For a moment, they were a flurry of limbs and clattering bones on the slick, soapy tiles.
"Not bad, bonebro!" Roy grunted, managing to hook a leg around Skellbro's, sending them both tumbling to the floor in another wet, undignified heap. Roy ended up on top, pinning Skellbro's shoulders to the tiles with a triumphant grin. "Ha! Gotcha! Never underestimate the Captain's superior grappling skills! My uncle would never allow me to lose a wrestling match!"
Skellbro, however, was far from defeated. He let out another laugh, his bony ribcage shaking. "Oh, you foolish mortal! You've merely fallen into my cunning trap!" With a sudden, powerful buck of their hips and a surprisingly strong shove, Skellbro reversed the position in a flash, ending up sitting squarely on Roy's chest, their skeletal knees pinning his arms. He leaned down, his skull-face inches from Roy's, empty sockets gleaming a brighter green than usual.
"Behold!" Skellbro crowed after pausing for a moment, his voice echoing slightly in the tiled room. "The student has become the master! I have achieved ultimate victory! Now, surrender your dignity, Captain, and admit my unparalleled prowess!" He punctuated this with a series of playful, if somewhat painful, pokes to Roy's ribs with his bony fingers.
Roy, caught completely off guard and struggling for breath under Skellbro's surprisingly heavy weight, could only sputter and laugh. "Alright, alright, you win, you menace! Get off me, you're surprisingly pointy!"
It was at this moment that Father Skeleton, who had been observing the impromptu wrestling match with a mixture of horror and something that might have been grudging amusement, finally decided to intervene more forcefully. "Skellbro! Cease this unseemly display at once! And you, Captain Gunn, should know better than to engage in such… intimate tussles with my… offspring!" His voice was stern, but Roy thought he detected a faint quiver of something unreadable beneath it.
"Intimate? Don't make it weird, man..." Roy muttered.
Before Father Skeleton could elaborate on the impropriety of wrestling Skellbro, with a final triumphant cackle, leaped off Roy and darted out of the shower room, leaving Roy soaked, sputtering, and thoroughly defeated on the wet floor, Warrex and Lutrian groaning nearby.
From outside, Takara's impatient, and now slightly concerned, shout echoed, "Can you ridiculous dopes please hurry up in there? What in the world is all that racket? Are you sacrificing a goat?!"
Roy groaned, pushing himself up with Warrex and Lutrian's somewhat slippery assistance. "Just a moment!" he called back, glaring daggers at the rapidly retreating, and still cackling, Skellbro in exasperated, if slightly pained, amusement. He had a sudden, fleeting thought that Skellbro was getting alarmingly strong, and also alarmingly good at trash-talking for a reanimated skeleton.
Once the men finally vacated, their laughter and grumbling fading down the corridor, the women took their turn. Eryndra, Zehrina, and Takara found the water pleasantly, almost luxuriously hot. Steam swirled around them in thick, fragrant clouds as they washed away the layers of sweat and grime from the day's exertions. Skelly Mom made a brief, dramatic cameo, letting out one of her signature, ear-splitting shrieks before turning abruptly on her heel and drifting away to her own designated shower stall, presumably to contemplate the existential angst of being an undead matriarch on a spaceship.
Sorrowclaw, newly allowed out of the brig to use the significantly nicer crew facilities, a privilege Roy had granted with much internal debate and many stern warnings, hopped and skipped from foot to foot, dancing under a steady stream of warm water. She slipped multiple times on the slick tiles, each tumble followed by a musical, delighted laugh before she immediately resumed her impromptu, sudsy jig. Eryndra and Zehrina exchanged amused glances, trying, and mostly failing, not to giggle at her obvious, childlike glee.
They quickly switched to more practical matters: washing hair, scrubbing arms, and debating the optimal water temperature for achieving peak cleanliness. Zehrina and Eryndra, in a moment of surprising domesticity, ended up side by side, Zehrina gently, almost tenderly, helping Eryndra rinse the thick shampoo from her long, silver hair. Eryndra blinked in mild curiosity at Zehrina's delicately pointed, elf-like ears, which were currently adorned with tiny, glittering water droplets.
"So…" Eryndra began, her voice casual, "why do you have those pointy bits and I don't? I can't remember... Did your box have a 'deluxe elven upgrade' option that mine was missing?"
Zehrina gave a nonchalant shrug, her expression thoughtful. "The containment unit I was… packaged in… might have responded to my original designated owner's latent desires or aesthetic preferences at the time of activation, shaping my physical form accordingly. Or perhaps it's simply a random genetic quirk of the forging process. Who can truly say? The mysteries of hyper-advanced, wish-granting magic are vast and unknowable."
"Hmm, well, it's neat," Eryndra conceded, then fumbled, nearly dropping a slippery bottle of conditioner with a startled yelp.
Zehrina snickered, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, her expression turned sly, a mischievous glint dancing in her gaze. "By the way, Eryndra darling," she purred, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "when exactly are you planning to finally 'get with' our dear Captain Roy? The suspense is simply killing me. And the rest of the crew. We've started a betting pool, you know."
Eryndra's wet hair whipped around as she spun, her face flushing a brilliant, becoming shade of crimson. "E-excuse me?! He's just my Captain! My… colleague! I c-couldn't possibly— We're just… shipmates!" she stammered, her usual formidable composure completely deserting her.
Takara, who had been silently observing this exchange with a thunderous expression, stomped closer, her runic gauntlets, which she apparently wore even in the shower, sparking with suppressed indignation. "Hands off, pretender!" she snapped, her voice tight with jealousy. "I've known Roy since we were in diapers! If anyone's going to marry that oblivious, emotionally stunted, but secretly sweet goofball, it's going to be me! I GOT DIBS ON HIS MEATS!" She punctuated her impassioned statement by jabbing a sudsy finger dramatically in the air, only to slip precariously on a slick patch of tile and flail awkwardly, arms windmilling. She managed to right herself just before toppling over, then pressed her face aggressively near Zehrina's, as if daring her to argue further.
A quiet, almost mournful shuffle from behind them made them glance back. Skelly Mom, looking surprisingly subdued, loomed in the steam, let out a single, sorrowful screech, then drifted away again, leaving the three women to pause, exchange a thoroughly baffled look, and then, as if by unspoken agreement, continue their heated debate.
Takara threw up her hands in exasperation. "Anyway, I said what I said. He's mine. Back off." She stomped back to her showerhead, her cheeks still aflame, muttering darkly about "scheming thunder-hussies."
Zehrina couldn't help but let out a small, delighted laugh at Takara's predictably stormy exit. Eryndra, her face still radiating a surprising amount of heat, busied herself with wringing out her hair, pointedly avoiding eye contact.
The overhead speakers, previously silent, crackled to life, Roy's voice, slightly tinny and amplified, echoing amid the tiled walls. "Ladies, sorry to interrupt your… spirited hygiene rituals, but the new town is in sight. Be ready to depart in approximately forty-five minutes. And please, try not to drown each other before then. Paperwork for shipboard fatalities is a nightmare."
Takara, her earlier indignation forgotten, perked up instantly. "Forty-five minutes? Just enough time to eat! And maybe polish my gauntlets. A girl has to look her best when exploring new, potentially hostile civilizations."
Sorrowclaw, who had been quietly, and somewhat creepily, observing the entire exchange from behind her shower stall, poked her head out, her eyes wide and hopeful. "Captain Gunn… C-can I come too? Please? Just this one more time? I promise to be on my best behavior! No unauthorized interpretive dance routines in the middle of delicate diplomatic negotiations! Probably!" Her tone was hesitant, almost pleading, as if she knew, deep down, that the answer might very well be no.
Roy's reply, when it came, was a long, drawn-out, deeply theatrical sigh that resonated through the shower room. "Ugh, fine. Yes, Sorrowclaw, you can come. But only if Skellbro marks you again with one of his delightful little soul-curses. No running off! You're still technically a Class-A intergalactic criminal, and my insurance premiums are already through the roof."
Sorrowclaw squealed in pure, unadulterated delight, hopping up and down with such vigorous enthusiasm that she nearly slipped again. "I don't know what inter-whatever is... but, all praise the benevolent, if somewhat sarcastic, Thunder Rider!" she sang out, her voice echoing joyfully. "His mercy knows no bounds! Mostly!"
After drying off and dressing in fresh, practical attire, the group converged on the bridge. Sorrowclaw had opted for a large, concealing hoodie, hood drawn low to obscure her face. Skellbro, looking far too pleased with himself, stepped up to Sorrowclaw and gave her a quick, almost playful nick on the arm. It was just enough for a faint, shimmering pinprick of dark green energy to appear on her skin, a visible manifestation of his "mark." She winced but grinned, rubbing the spot with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.
"Alright," Roy said, gesturing towards the main viewscreen, where the new settlement was rapidly coming into focus. "We'll spend the last of Sorrowclaw's ill-gotten gains on much-needed supplies, so let's all try to get along and not start any inter-crew brawls until after we've secured the groceries. Deal?"
Sorrowclaw scoffed, pretending to be deeply offended. "Yes, yes. Rub it in, why don't you. My vast piratical fortune, reduced to funding your mundane shopping trips. The indignity."