Aventurine is glued in place, looking up the towering masts to see you, tied up by rope, completely restricting your entire midsection and arms, and by that rope hangs from one of said masts.

Several sailors are yelling and hollering, something about a “monster of the sea” and “blight of their catches” echoing across the ship. You, seemingly half conscious and delirious from the blood loss in your wound, wriggle around weakly, eyes half closed. All you know is that you’re in so much pain, you need to get out and just feel the current once more. Maybe the petty and scornful merfolk would have been a better option than these humans.

Aventurine finds himself nervously swallowing at the sight, Aeons, they have utterly humiliated you, stripping you bare and bleeding onto the wooden deck. Treating you as if half of your body wasn’t human. The gambler keeps his cool, cunning facade, knowing that panicking will not win the situation in his favor. Hell, why was he even doing this for you? He’s Aventurine, he doesn’t lose, he doesn’t make irrational decisions—

He’s already sweet-talking the crew leaders into keeping you for himself, although it’s hasty. Your wound in your side could be fatal if not staunched soon.