Volanta

"I thought men believed it was bad luck to have a woman onboard."

"I don't fall in with that sort of superstition," Peter replied. "Besides, a woman like you could never be bad luck, pretty Pippa. A face like that? Couldn't be anything but good luck. You must drive men to insane and foolish acts with those blue eyes."

"Not all men," Pippa muttered, thinking of Oliver. It didn't seem to matter how attractive she became; he still hadn't seemed to have even noticed. A few of the crew members had broken out fiddles and harmonicas and were playing animatedly while everyone else sat around laughing and drinking. It turned out Captain Sorenson was a most impressive fiddler. Peter bowed and extended a hand to her.

"Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?" he asked. Pippa shrugged, curtsying and taking his hand. He was a surprisingly talented dancer; she had expected him to be clumsy and awkward but he moved her effortlessly around the small space. It actually felt nice to dance. They'd all been cooped up on the ship for two weeks already, and some of the thrill had started to fade for her. She still loved the feel of salty sea air on her face and falling asleep to the sound of the lapping waves. But there wasn't much to do onboard the ship but read and get lost in her own thoughts.

At least she had adapted to life on the sea easier than Oliver had; he looked slightly green all the time. Pippa's sea legs had begun working in no time at all and it was fortunate that her stomach seemed to be made of cast iron. She rarely ever felt queasy. She found herself laughing as Peter spun her about dramatically and one of the men started singing some nonsensical sea shanty.

Eventually the rest of the crew seemed to get into the spirit of things, and she was whisked away from Peter as others asked to dance with her. The room quickly grew warm with so many people moving around and Pippa was growing dizzy from all the twirling, but it didn't put a damper on her fun. This was far more enjoyable than the stuffy parties she went to at home.

She finally had to stop and sit down for a moment, her face flushed and her hair coming undone from its elegant knot.

"I need a few moments!" she laughed, waving the crewmen away.

"Let the girl breathe for two minutes, you bunch of dogs," the captain grumbled. He asked her if she was all right before resuming his fiddling. As Pippa sat back to catch her breath she caught sight of Peter and Oliver, and she frowned as Peter goaded him into a drinking contest. She glared hard at Oliver but as usual he didn't pay her the slightest attention and tossed back a shot. Pippa huffed and crossed her arms, a look of disapproval etched on her face.

It didn't take too long for the other men to catch on to what Oliver and Peter were up to, and they started to gather around to pour more drinks and cheer them on. A few of them even jokingly placed bets on who would win. Pippa grew more and more annoyed as the evening progressed. Men and their foolishness; she would never understand it.

The match was declared over when Peter attempted to take another shot and toppled over out of his chair to land on the floor with a loud thud. There was laughter and cheering as men clapped Oliver on the back. His eyes and cheeks were red, but he still tried to stand. He had to brace himself on the table.

"I claim thissictory in the name of...wherever we are," he slurred, still in danger of toppling over.

"All right, that's enough of this. To bed, all of you. Someone get Peter off the floor," Captain Sorenson ordered. Pippa rose from her place in the corner, feeling disgusted. She squeaked in alarm as Oliver almost fell on her. Glaring, she grabbed his arm and tried to steer him up the stairs. It was slow-going and he nearly fell and took them both out three times before she got him to the top. Then she tugged him along towards their rooms.

"Of all the asinine, juvenile, ridiculous things," she muttered. "What in god's name is the matter with you, Oliver? I thought you at least had more sense than this."

"The ground is moving," Oliver said, starting to laugh before it was cut off by a loud hiccup. Pippa was unamused.

"Don't think I'm going to go jumping in the water to rescue you if you fall over the rail in the state you've gotten yourself into, Oliver. What were you thinking? You'd best pray I don't tell your mother about this when we get home."

She reached his room and propped him against the wall, just to find that his door was locked. He toppled over with a thud and Pippa sighed. She knelt down and rummaged through his pockets for his room key, ignoring his complaints that it tickled. She found the key and unlocked the door, half pulling and half dragging him inside. She managed to get his jacket off before forcibly shoving him onto the bed. Then she gingerly removed his shoes and began tucking him into bed.

"I don't know what's gotten into you," she scolded, fluffing the pillow. "Has all this fresh air addled your brain?"

"Addled is a funny word."

Pippa rolled her eyes. She sat and stared at him for a few moments, lips pursed. Then she sighed.

"This isn't like you, Otter. You're supposed to be sensible, remember? Three minutes alone with Peter and suddenly you lose all good judgment."

She tried to smooth his tousled hair but quickly gave up.

"Good night, Oliver," she said, leaving his key on the small nightstand and retreating to her own room. Not surprisingly, both Oliver and Peter looked horrible the next morning. They shuffled up from below decks later than everyone else; Sorenson hadn't even bothered trying to rouse them for breakfast. Oliver looked greener than usual, staying close to the rail. Peter stumbled along in his duties, taking the ribbing from his crew mates with a tight grimace. He tried to catch Pippa's attention once or twice but she pointedly ignored him.

She leaned on the rail next to Oliver, practically shouting good afternoon at him. She smirked when he winced.

"Please don't yell," he moaned. "My head feels like there's an ax buried in it."

"Serves you right, for being such an idiot. Of course," she added caustically, "on the bright side I'm sure your brother would be very proud of you."

That made Oliver grimace again and at least he had the decency to look properly chagrined.

"I never expected this sort of behavior from you," Pippa told him, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "What got into you?"

"I don't know," Oliver muttered. He cast a brief but dark look in Peter's direction.

"Really? All his silly goading got to you that much? Why?"

"I don't know," Oliver repeated. "I just don't like him."

"You don't like anyone," Pippa said peevishly. "Why does his taunting bother you so much?"

"I like people," Oliver protested. Pippa just rolled her eyes. Captain Sorenson approached them, looking both troubled and annoyed.

"Dr. Lambert, I wanted to ask you if you're sure you have us the correct coordinates."

"What? Of course I did." Oliver frowned. "Why?"

"Because according to the coordinates that you have us, we should be arriving at our destination right now. Do you see an island here?"

"They're not exact coordinates," Oliver said, looking like he didn't know whether to be nervous or insulted. "We could be off the mark by a day or two."

"So you want us to just sail in a big circle out here for a couple of days to see if this island of yours exists?"

"Yes," Oliver said, exasperation winning out. "Yes, I do."

Captain Sorenson huffed, but didn't argue further. He just walked away, grumbling under his breath. Oliver sagged against the railing, seeming to deflate a bit.

"They all think I'm incompetent," he muttered.

"They think you're young," Pippa said. "That doesn't mean you're wrong. I mean, you were acting like a complete moron last night, but I'm still think you're right about Volanta."

Oliver sighed. "Thanks, Pippa."