"No, dear. My fault—I didn't think. Here—" You take the tin mug from Lu and hold it close to the girl's lips. "Here, now. Just a sip, it'll settle you some." She does as you tell her, taking the strong liquor in tiniest measure—such a good girl! So obedient—and it does indeed seem to ease her. "Now, then. Let that sit, and we'll try the other again in a little while." Setting the mug down, you draw a cloth from a pocket of the robe, and daub flecks of sick from the girl's lips with it.
"But you wanted to know why I wasn't angry?" Nothing but gentle, your voice now. "The harpoon, my girl. Do you have any idea how rare such things are? How much they're worth? We could be half a decade at least, living on the treasure that'll bring us when it's sold. Wouldn't need to take a prize, wouldn't need to work a day—we will, of course. But won't have to. And that's down to you."
You set the cloth aside, and lean in a little, and place a soft kiss on the girl's cheek that can't be surprise her more than the doing of it does you. "A fine night's work, indeed, Emeline. You've faced a hard trial and won through—you and the thing below, just alike. You've brought the Bitch more treasure than she's ever seen before. And you've made your captain very proud."
Of course there's still the problem of Quen to face, but the girl need know nothing of that—not yet, not when it'd take away the great wide grin that's burst across her face at the close of your explanation. Not that you're averse to seeing fear in the eyes of another, but relief—ah, now, that's a prize beyond price, and weak as she is, it's made her all but giddy.
"Thank you, sir!" And she giggles—a small thing, but from one of her reserve, as much as a howl might mean from another. Indeed, she's barely so much as shown a smile, in all the time you've known her, but this New Albain waif is proving full of surprises tonight. "I—I thought you'd skin me alive, I did! Have me in your cabin, screaming—" and she suddenly remembers herself and claps a hand over her muzzle, ears going glowing red inside again.
"Oh, my very dear," you growl, leaning in again, muzzle close to her ear, but not before she gets a sight of your grin that must look as evil as it feels. "I might have you in my cabin screaming, yet. After that lovely little show you gave us all, down below? And what I saw of you out my window, after? I'd be lying to say I didn't want to..." And the tiny gasp—almost a whimper—is priceless. That, and the scent of her suddenly strong again, enough to set your nostrils twitching—and to think! You were only playing with the girl—well, mostly only playing; you'd hardly be averse, but she's never seemed the type. But you wouldn't have guessed her to have a taste for the strange, either—full of surprises tonight, indeed!
Oh, indeed. But even as you're shifting your weight, gathering your powerful legs under you to lift the girl and help her to your cabin—there to treat her to the sybaritic luxury of your great iron bath, and then to treat her to a whole other sort of pleasure, and that at length and in detail—even as you move, the deck moves beneath you, too.