[Everything hits at once.

Luke's eyes open, and his senses, still rousing from whatever dropped them into the sleep, are roundly assaulted. Sea, salt, storm, wet—as if to punctuate the point, a spray of ocean chooses just that moment to belt him across the face with the head of a wave. Gasping, wet, and shivering, he casts his eyes around the deck, attempting to make out the other figures around him.

Everything was wrong. This was wrong. Even if something had happened—if everything had failed—this wasn't even a possible scenario.

Was it?

Stubbornly, he struggles to his feet as much as he can, calling out against the wind:]

Tear? Guy?

Jade?

Anyone!

[It was all wrong.]

[It's been practically one ridiculous thing after another—but trapped in a cage by grinning, meat-eating monkeys? There was limits to what Luke's (in)dignity could tolerate.

Swordless (and weaponless in general), his frustration vacillates between kicking the wooden bars, and hurling insults at his captors.]

Hey, bananabrain! Yeah, I'm talking to you! Why don't you let me out, and I'll tell you what I think of your accommadation!

[Each sentence is punctuated by a spirited attack on the cage—making some slow progress with each blow.]

[Stories are swapped back and forth, and for the most part, Luke just listens, strangely silent, zoning out on his own seat. He's got a couple of marshmallows between his fingers, but not doing much else.

It's not until there's a beat, then another, of silence, eyes drawing in on his own presence, that he jerks up, blinking, an abashed look creeping over his face.]

Uh.

What are these?

[He holds up his hands, giving the marshmallows a squeeze for effect.

The fire sputters.

This might take a little time.]