Stowing Away...

At the command of his captain, Jenkins opened the bag and began to set what he could find in it on the ground. What they found was mostly clothes, a few small, gold objects, some doucets and a few toiletries. With each item Jenkins called it out to the best of his knowledge. Finally, when the bag was empty, the captain turned around to look it over.

"Don't look like 'nuff to me. Send 'im sailing," Said the captain with a grin and a thumb pointed back to the railing.

Jenkins was quick to run up behind him and try to grab him from behind, aiming to pin down his arms in the process.

"Don't look like 'nuff to me. Send 'im sailing," Said the captain with a grin and a thumb pointed back to the railing.

That was all Alistair needed to hear. If he was going to go, he'd not be going alone. Without warning he took advantage of his position to rush at the captain, punch at his face, and try to push him over the railing. It was a shorter distance between him and the captain than between Jenkins and him.

In another moment his arms were grabbed, though he tried to struggle free of the other man's grip.

The captain could only barely pull his head to the side when Alistair moved to punch him, his knuckles grazing his cheek in the process. The force was almost enough to send them both hurling over the edge if Jenkins hadn't have interfered.

Leaving it as it was now, there stood a rather angry captain, a rather desperate con man struggling to get free and a crew man struggling to keep a good grip over Alistair's arms. This arrangement did not please the captain. He took measures to bring a knee to his assailant's gut, multiple times.

Once he was finished expressing his rage, he tried to grab Alistair's legs, struggling a bit with his kicking though eventually getting a good enough grip. Jenkins let go of his for a brief moment, aiming to grab his arms.

Alistair continued to struggle, trying to kick free of the captain's grip while also trying to punch at Jenkins. He had a feeling that he was soon about to die, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. He yelled and screamed as best he could, hoping that some of the other crew would be a bit more squeamish about tossing him over the side than these two men.

The two men didn't waste their opportunity when they found it: Once they had gotten a good hold on him, all it took was one good swing to get him over the ledge. The captain huffed once the deed was done, moving to look over the edge to make sure the unwanted guest had not found a handhold on his way down.

And then he was falling through the cool night air. He screamed, but the sound was left far behind him as he accelerated. The wind whipped past him so quick it stole his breath away.

Honestly, had this been another situation, he might have felt free, euphoric, truly alive. He might have enjoyed the sensation of floating on the wind and falling into an endless sea of stars. The cool night and fresh air would have felt soothing and wonderful after being cramped in a stuffy box for the last day. This would have been wonderful... if he wasn't so positive he was about to splatter against something large, solid, and bone-crunching at any moment.

As it was, his pants got a little moist in an embarrassing manner, and his brain could do nothing but repeat the phrase "I'm going to die" in his head, to exclusion of most other thought. It was certainly not the way he would wish to be remembered.