[The wind tears at their cloak and very nearly wrenches the Drifter off balance several times. Their progress is slow and painful but nonetheless quite deliberate as they plow across the deck of the boat, barely seaworthy as they suspect it is.]
[They do not like the water, the lashing rain. They hear it: a loud voice, calling out into the wind. Largely a fruitless endeavor. The Drifter cannot speak, and cannot very well answer back. Not verbally.]
[The rain drenches the crimson of their cloak a dark and bloody black, but the stripe of bright blue skin peeking out from beneath their helm is unmistakable.]
[A hand catches Luke's shoulder - dark, gloved, the tips slightly pointed, as though possibly clawed beneath the fabric. Their eyes shine out from the cobalt of their skin, beetle-black and wet-dark.]
1!!!!
[They do not like the water, the lashing rain. They hear it: a loud voice, calling out into the wind. Largely a fruitless endeavor. The Drifter cannot speak, and cannot very well answer back. Not verbally.]
[The rain drenches the crimson of their cloak a dark and bloody black, but the stripe of bright blue skin peeking out from beneath their helm is unmistakable.]
[A hand catches Luke's shoulder - dark, gloved, the tips slightly pointed, as though possibly clawed beneath the fabric. Their eyes shine out from the cobalt of their skin, beetle-black and wet-dark.]
[Hey there.]