There were no pressing matters to attend to, but Belo felt that she'd idled long enough in this reverie. She wasn't one for daydreams and mental meanderings, but the occasional escape into the make believe was harmless. Trite, but harmless. Her limbs strengthened rapidly as her legs grew sky-worthy, though her confidence was not quite as steady. She rose just as Cain's mistakable bellow crossed the upper deck and the entire ship pitched hard to port. Her eyes shot wide open as she tilted downwards, bending at the waist over the railing. Gravity failed her as her feet left the safety of the hardwood paneling. She might has wall have been dangling from the yard tackle; might have had a better chance of remaining aboard. The gently wafting clouds became ominous puffs of demise as she realized they'd be her first stop on her way into the watery abyss. But ah, of course, there were other limbs in her arsenal! Both hands groped for the railing, the artificial one overcompensating for the loss of footing by digging the brass digits into her guard rail. It was enough counter force to propel her away from the ledge and plenty of grip strength to send a shower of splinters skyward as the railing snapped in her plated hand.

The commotion ceased as quickly as it had begun, leaving her in a stunned silence while she mutely examined the chuck of oak in her hand. A foul taste snaked across her tongue, bitter and tangy all at once; like sucking on a foul penny. She spat and the flavor washed away, leaving her in a precarious stance. A deep fury bloomed within as she slowly craned her head round to peer into the bridge, stony gaze locking on their slapdash pilot. His skill was sound, though uncouth, much like her own, but the compiled events of the week had allowed Belo few pardons. There was no quarrel with him, as her carefully blank face expressed, but a quiet undercurrent flowed within, its direction unclear. This was no declaration of war, but without a proper outlet for her chagrin, it would all most certainly boil over and the crew would be left to deal with the explosive repercussions. There was no hurry in her step, no obvious course as she descended back into the hull, bridge in her sight. All the while, the wood in her hand began to shift and wriggle as she left a trail of shavings behind. The taste returned, but she occupied her lips with a whistler's tune as she ambled into the bridge, leaning against the doorway and entirely blase. She cupped her hands together for an instant, then let them fall away.

Belo's creation, however, maintained a steady altitude of roughly four feet off the ground. The chunk of hand rail had become an entirely separate shape with crudely defined features. She pushed off the wall and strolled down the hall, footfalls echoing evenly in the distance as she drifted off to the galley. The hunk of oak, however, floated towards Cain slowly before pausing over his lap. It fell with a soft thud into the awaiting lap where it revealed itself to be a modestly-whittled donkey, completed with hollowed eyes. As soon as it made contact with unassuming flesh, the side of it crackled and popped into living flame, searing the unmistakable word, "ASS" permanently into its wooden hide.

The word flickered and flared, the miniature fire flailing and snapping viciously for mere seconds until it died away in an instant, leaving the smoking brand in its wake; a permanent reminder of what exactly Belo thought of his hijinks and disregard for her tender state. Next time, she'd seek out his bedchamber rather than the upper deck to vacate her bowels. Now, he could eat the thing for all she cared, though she rather liked entertaining the idea of him keeping it among his possessions; a mantle piece if you would. It was actually one of her finer works, really, considering she generally resisted all magical creative urges. Call it weakness. Sometimes, the more mundane methods of expressing oneself just weren't up to snuff. She had to be intensely motivated to deny her otherwise consistent reluctance to use her ability, but the rewards could be so sweet. Oh, what a tangled mess she was. Hypocritical? Damn straight. Did she care? Once in a blue moon.

Her empty stomach rumbled insistently at her and she was keen on obliging it. The retching fit hadn't diminished her appetite and she looked forward to hoarding whatever salted atrocities the galley held for her. To hell with cookie; she'd take her fair share and be off with it. Damned be the one to stand in her way of jerked prunes.