The sea outside the porthole extends as far as the eye can see, tinted with a touch of red reflecting the sun about to disappear over the horizon. It all feels eerily calm, and the waves are just gently gracing the wooden hull of the ship.

"So when are we going to sail by, what's it called, human America?" Vriska asks, shattering your peaceful introspective peace and looking over your shoulder at the nautical maps as she towers over you. "I told you, we still have three days of travel." You huff, shaken back to Earth by an inconsiderate pirate alien. "And then we'll have to sail up the Potomac river to get to the White House." "Ugh! Three days still? I'm bored!" She groans, slumping on her chair. "Get over it, Serket. Sing a sea shanty or something." "No, I'd rather antagonize you."