wooo! who are you? a pitiful weakling, without a shadow of a doubt

Of course.” Liane looks out towards the water as well, a ghost of a wry smile stealing across her lips. He looks about to say something more but stops himself, instead looking out at the sea with some urgency, to watch the waves being cleaved by the galleas. “I shall be fine.” he replies again in a somewhat disdainful tone, giving her a sidelong glance and a propped up chin in a proud expression. He straightens himself when the enemy comes walking to appraise him, and tries to push the signs of weakness away rather obviously. The man seems to have managed to stay clear of the deck, even in his state.

Carefully, she looks over the deck nearby, making sure nothing has been left behind there to trip her up. “Bad draw, sailing home with such illness,” she observes, and though there doesn’t appear to be any mockery in her tone, neither is there an overabundance of sympathy. Liane’s pacing inevitably brings her towards the rail where Bryce is holding back illness, where she stops for a moment with an arch of her brow. The sight of Liane walking back and forth seems to call back the memory of the illness, but he swallows it and focuses on standing steady. Bryce looks around for the first time, taking in the scene and the others there. The other young man nods, even if he looks somewhat doubtful, then hurriedly strides off to catch some sleep. He nods curtly to the knight and mutters ‘I shall manage’ before waving dismissively. Another half a minute or so passes by before a slightly weakened Bryce comes back. Shortly thereafter, the familiar sounds of someone throwing up reach the few in range. The knight who is supposed to switch guard duty with the young Marcher-knight looks at the yellow and black apparition with a wince - he takes a step back in revulsion when Bryce stumbles towards the railing. Newly risen from his scheduled rest, Bryce arrives at the deck, looking more than a small bit of ill. Arms crossed over her chest, she tries to keep her gaze either on the deck in front of her feet, or the water over the rail, avoiding the attention of the others on the deck. Still, she seems determined to keep up some semblance of activity as she moves along the rail. Liane walks the deck, her pace brisk for what is, after all, a rather small space.

Wooo! who are you? a pitiful weakling, without a shadow of a doubt