The port we just left was on one of the smaller islands in the Bahamian archipelago. We're headed due east, to get us into the cover of sunlight faster, but we can change course. North, to the American territories, or south into the jungle regions. We can't make it across the Atlantic on the supplies we've got now.

[Until they decide, he's focused on using the wind and the ocean currents to just get distance from their starting point.

Getting the ship up to speed, he hands the wheel off to the nearest crewman. He strips out of his still dripping shirt.]

Time to find out. I ache everywhere, but most of that was from Carmilla's friendly pats on the back.

[His torso is a mess of bruises and gashes from claw-like nails. There's a fresh wound slightly under and to the side of his shoulder blade; something bladed that had grazed him but dislodged and sunk into the sea.

The adrenaline from their mad dash to escape is starting to fade, and he's feeling everything now.]

There's also rum back in my room. Best medicine there is for hopeless cases like us.