the sudden absence from the surface of a fight between a giant shark and a massive duck was not by itself sufficient cause to be relieved. All that thrashing about had really stirred up the water, as Mibbet clung to the boat for dear life, suppressing a wince every time nature decided that what fresh tattoos needed more than anything else was repeated saltwater bathing. (Hey at least it’d be sterile right?)

The Wellerman, meanwhile tossed and turned on the surface as Captain Acab did his best to keep things under control, at this point half the crew were at the bilges, and the other half were busy trying to prevent a capsize. (Ships tend to fare very poorly when full of water or upside down, it’s a design flaw of titanic proportions but one you can’t really fix.) Sir Leeroy meanwhile was searching the oceans surface for signs of Addy, like a massive sentient boulder was somehow going to bob to the surface. Which for obvious reasons was NOT happening. Worse they didn’t even have any salvage gear on board, so all he could do was hope she was okay.

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Deep below, on the ocean’s floor Addy looked up. She looked peeved, she couldn’t exactly get back to the surface and back on board, so she pondered what to do for a moment, before with a very bubbly sigh turning and looking around. Above her those two were still fighting, but they were never a threat to a construct from the beginning. (Being eaten would be gross, and unpleasant, but she would be fine eventually, unlike the creature foolish enough to eat her, who would end up with a very terminal case of indigestion.)

Well, there was nothing else she could do here, though when the crew returned she was going to be having words with them about the importance of proper anchorage. She opened a compartment on her leg, and lifted out slightly soggy map (which promptly disintegrated, of course,) and a compass, the port was directly due east.

Well she couldn’t count on a lift, but she did have a solution most seafarers lacked. She turned back towards Daveejons, and started to walk. This, could take a while.

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On the surface the Crew of The Wellerman finally had her under control, and quickly turned to the rapidly water-logging Dinghy containing The Princess, They had to get her onboard, and quickly, so far this kingdom had never had a ships crew misplace a Princess, and Captain Acab’s crew had absolutely zero desire to be the first to gain that dubious distinction under any circumstances. They hauled alongside, careful not to hit any of their Mer allies. (Alliances tend not to fare particularly well when one of the participants accidentally keelhauls the other. Though in all fairness it wasn’t something that came up often. The last time being less of an accident than a captain who was keen on plausible deniability, but not very good at the plausible aspect. Which is why last time it had happened twice, as the first mate, rather keen on the prospect of promotion, and rather less keen on the captain in question, had a little whoops moment of his own, that accidentally keelhauled him, then made him “slip” on deck while wearing a spare anchor, could have happened to anyone, really.)

Soon enough she was hauled back up, and clung to the deck like it was an old lover. Usually there would have been some judgementalism there from the crew, but really, who could blame her this time?

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Deep beneath the surface, the battle raged on, The Don having figured out that anything is edible if you chew hard enough, while The Quacken ripped and tore at their opponent in a frenzy. Their tentacles clung tighter, and tighter, as one wrong move here could spell their doom.

It seemed that neither side could quite get the edge they needed, they were both exhausted, and in pain, but both knew this was THEIR territory, they couldn’t let some intruder take it from them like that. The Don tried once again to aim at the soft underbelly of The Quacken, whose tendrils kept twining the jaw, making it hard to bite, and going for the eyes, causing a massive thrash to pull the head free enough to escape before they could be blinded.

It didn’t help that the tentacles were not alone, there were webbed and taloned feet that clung and rent and ripped away chunks of The Don’s flesh.

The Don meanwhile was thrashing in a frenzy, rough skin tearing away at any tender flesh that clung to it. Making the blood-lust worse. They were at a stalemate here, but both sides had to win in order to survive, and as we all know, there is no greater motivation for anything than trying not to get eaten, it was pure survival, and nothing more.

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The crew had finally managed to get The Wellerman to hold steady, while The Mer beneath stood ready, the waters were still thrashy, but worryingly calm, and now nobody knew quite what to do anymore.

“Maybe they both took each other out?” Errol suggested, earning himself a warning glare from the crew, you did not go around tempting fate like that. It would find a way to screw you over one way or another anyway, but nobody needed to go around providing it with inspiration. The Crew watched the surface anxiously, waiting to see what would happen.

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The battle had been long, and hard fought, but like all battles there would eventually be a victor, as with one last brutal tear, they tore a trophy from their hated enemy. Above them lay the ones who had lured them here, and it was time for them to pay for their foolishness. A baleful glare pierced the water, as they eyed their new prey, and started to swim upwards. They were furious now, and all they wanted was one thing, they would have their revenge.