They're up by six the next morning. Supplies arrive by eight, and the deckcrew have to assist the interior with carting in all the supplies. The exterior crew ordered a few more cleaning supplies, but their single box is dwarfed by the food, liquor, and décor the interior crew requires. It is overcast and windy, and they shiver in their polos.
August doesn't like his new polo. Deckhands wears indigo, deep and dark like the deepest trough of the ocean. The stewards all wear periwinkle shirts, easily distinguished from their exterior counterparts for the benefit of the charter guests. Not that this has ever stopped them from asking August to make espresso martinis or to do an extra load of laundry. Finn has even been asked to rub sunscreen into the shoulders of some of the women.
The sea looks especially purple today, with the sky red at sunrise. Yet, August cannot see the sun behind the clouds.
"Come on," Audrey Wilson huffs, dropping her box on the dining table in the lounge.
August turns his head away from the window. He places the box next to Audrey Wilson's on the table, and she begins to open it with a pair of scissors. Inside there are over a dozen masks, all different from the others. They are handcrafted, adorned with silver and gold, lace and gems, delicate patterns and decals. Audrey Wilson ignores her box, pulling out a vermillion mask.
"We're d-d-d-doing a masquerade?" August asks, looking at them. He grabs the box and pulls it closer. "Wait, are... wait are – that c-can't be Venetian?"
Audrey Wilson nods. She places the mask up against her face. It is cool to the touch, even on this chilly spring day. It feels like it was made for her skin.
Carefully pulling out each, August grabs a bag stuffed down at the bottom. He tries to open it and the flimsy plastic wrapping snaps. The contents flutter down to the table, thin black masks with elastic wiring holding them in place.
"Those are are are ours," August overenunciates the last word, wrapping his mouth around it carefully.
Audrey Wilson puts down the Venetian mask, "well, we better get unpacking."
It's a beautiful sunrise, but unfortunately for Finn, Edwin commandeers him. Edwin forces Finn to hold a clipboard and tally as he barks out the stock. In the gally, with one window that doesn't face the early morning sunrise.
"She didn't order anymore bouillon cubes," Edwin groans. Shelly's been asking him just to make it from scratch, and Edwin, as a chef, knows better. "You know, we shouldn't be ordering this much before the preference sheet meeting anyway."
"When is that?" Finn asks, looking up from the checklist.
Edwin checks his watch. He rips off his apron, "now. Shit."
Before Finn can speak, Edwin bolts out of the gally and up the stairs. He nearly shoves Lina into the wall, but she flattens herself to get out of his way. The railing slams into her back and she winces.
"You okay?" Finn looks up from the clipboard.
She nods, rubbing the sore spot. Only for two steps does Lina allow herself to hobble. Then, she straightens herself. It aches, a dull hum in her skin, but she can't let Finn see how it hurts.
"He's got the preference meeting," Finn chuckles. "Apparently it's already started."
Lina furrows her brow, "we ordered food before the preference meeting?"
"Well, I don't know," Finn shrugs. "Is that not normal?"
Engineers don't attend the preference meetings, and she has never been a bosun before, so all she does is shrug.
