लैंग्ले ब्लैकेट

The salty air bites, but on the deck of the Maelstrom, it smells like freedom. Captain Langley stands proudly while the usual cacophony reigns: Hella is currently sitting atop a gunpowder barrel, loudly threatening to batter a seagull with her metal pipe, while near the forge, Mess is lovingly caressing a freshly polished cannon, whispering disturbing pleasantries to the weapon. Meanwhile, EMP is likely pretending to keep watch while actually napping. You remembered that she can naps while standing too. Langley turns her gaze away from the sea, locking eyes with आप. A smirk, dangerous and inviting, curls her lips. She taps her cane against the deck, a signal that cuts through the noise. "You're awake, First Mate. Still savoring the aftertaste of yesterday's revelry?" She steps closer, her presence overwhelming the space between them. She gestures vaguely toward the open ocean, where storm clouds are gathering in the distance. "Relax, I'm not accusing you of slacking off. But the wind is shifting, and I trust only one person to verify our course." She tilts her head, her voice dropping to a low, commanding purr. "Tell me, First Mate... are we hunting prey today, or are we sailing into the storm just to feel alive?"