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Chip insists that he's the captain of their still unnamed crew. After all, he was the one who sailed the Big Chipper from Skullslice to Featherbrook, the one who recruited Jay, Gillion, and Old Man Earl. He boasts of his childhood aboard the Midnight Rose, being born to sail the seas, and becoming a man just as fearless as the Black Rose Pirates.
All of Chip's bragging goes down the toilet as soon as the Albatross sails into her first storm. He holds onto the helm as tightly as he can, feeling his footing begin to slip as water sloshes across the deck. Gillion stands bravely at the bow, raising his sword into the sky, only to serve as a lightning rod and be immediately struck down.
"Reef the sails!" Jay shouts out, rushing to tug on some of the ropes.
"What?" Chip yells back.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she says, grabbing another length of rope and climbing up the stairs to the helm. "You're not strong enough to hold onto that thing, and neither am I."
With unexpected expertise, Jay quickly ties the rope to the wheel and runs the lines in a way that makes it more stable and easier to control. She beckons Chip to come with her to the main deck, shouting orders at him. Thunder booms around them. When he struggles to understand the vocabulary, she starts explaining in plain language exactly which rope to pull and what it'll do. The winds are strong enough to push the ship even with smaller sails, but at least now they're easier to control.
When there's a moment of calm, Jay rushes over to where Gillion fell and cures his wounds. He stands up again, and is the only one who doesn't look miserable from being soaked head to toe in the pouring rain. The wood of their newly constructed ship creaks beneath their feet, letting water through the boards. She directs him to use his magic to seal it up, or at least keep the ship from taking on too much water.
The wind whips some of the loose ropes, nearly smacking Chip in the face. Jay grabs hold of them and ties them down with a few more knots. Chip doesn't have time to smugly claim that he was going to do that anyway, and Jay doesn't have time to get angry at him for not doing it either. He can't hide his terror when another wave starts crashing into the hull. But thanks to Jay's orders, the ship was positioned to take it at an angle, making it far less dangerous than it could've been.
The crew manages to sail out of the storm into a quiet, calm night. Safely below deck, they warm themselves with bowls of stew handed out by Earl.
"Thank the gods we're alive," Chip sighs, hanging his only shirt near the stove to dry.
"We wouldn't have sailed into that storm if you were actually paying attention to the weather, captain," Jay complains, with sarcastic emphasis on the final word.
"Yeah?" Chip says back, pouring himself just a little too much rum and taking a big gulp. It burns on the way down, which is just what he needs right now. "If you think I'm such a shit captain, why don't you be in charge instead? You were the one ordering us around back there."
"I wasn't going to let us die!" Jay snatches the bottle out of Chip's hands and pours herself a drink too.
Chip bites his tongue. He doesn't understand how a random barmaid, of all people, knows how to handle a large ship like theirs. It was almost as if she was prepared for situations exactly like this. He doesn't realize that she was, and that in their moment of need, her navy training took over in order to save their lives. He sets his mug down and leans back in his seat. "Sorry. Thanks for saving us."
Jay is momentarily surprised that Chip was willing to put aside his pride, but she accepts his thanks anyway. When Gillion comes back from checking on the leaks, all of them continue discussing what needs to be repaired on the ship. Humbled by the storm, Chip is a lot more willing to take Jay's sailing advice from then on, even if he still doesn't know where this advice is coming from. Maybe she got it from Drey. He made the right choice after all when he recruited Drey's niece.
On calmer days, Jay explains to Chip and Gillion what all the parts of their ship are. Gillion is still struggling to grasp the concept of a boat, but Chip is a quick learner. He recognizes most of what she's saying based on the chatter he used to hear as a kid, finally being able to put the pieces of the puzzle together. In time, he becomes just as familiar with sailing, if not even more so. But for now, he has some sails to repair.
The leather sailmaker's palm fits comfortably on Chip's hand. He waxes a length of thread, passes the end through the eye of a thick sewing needle, and immediately gets to work. Jay eyes him with suspicion as he starts, but his stitches are precise and neat. After all, this was one of the responsibilities he was given back then. When the sail goes back up, it's as good as new.
Miscellaneous clothing repairs also find themselves in the hands of Chip. A torn seam here, a fallen button there. Jay assumed that she would have to do it herself, but the half-fixed shirt was snatched from her hands before she could even notice. A few minutes later, her messy stitches were replaced with a repair so fine it was practically invisible.
While cataloging their supplies and deciding what they need to restock on, Jay notices Chip going topless again, sitting on the deck as he darns the hole in his sock.
"Why don't you have more shirts?" she asks. They're about to stop somewhere to buy things soon, and they definitely have enough gold for a few basic shirts.
"Don't feel like it," Chip grumbles, shifting his position to get more sunlight on the sock. Incredibly fine stitches crisscross his work, weaving new fabric into the hole with nothing but ordinary thread. He's been at it for an hour already, putting strain on his eyes and his hand. It's a good thing he's ambidextrous enough to switch to sewing with his other hand. The thought of making a new shirt after all this sounds exhausting.
"Well, I hope you feel like it by the time we make it to port," Jay says, walking off and checking over her shopping list again.
When they do, Chip begrudgingly goes to a textile shop to pick up the supplies. Spare pins and needles in various sizes, thread in white, black, and other common colors, beeswax for the thread, and a new leather thimble after he lost his old one. He picks out some attractive shell buttons to use on the cuffs, and finally gets a few yards of white fabric. With some friendly banter, he whittles the price down and gets some other fabrics too. Just in case anyone else in the crew wants something new to wear.
It's a nice, sunny day at sea when Chip starts making his new shirt. He lays out the fabric on the deck and measures out the pieces he needs to cut. One massive rectangle for the main body of the shirt. A couple more rectangles, wider than you'd expect, but ready to be gathered down into big poofy sleeves. Some pieces for the cuffs and collars, and finally a few little squares for various gussets.
Every seam is tightly backstitched. At this point, it's well known that anything repaired by Chip comes back stronger than it was before. You could tug someone by the collar, and the fabric itself would give out long before any of his stitches did. Each piece of fabric is set securely in place, transforming a flat pile of rectangles into a three dimensional shirt.
It takes longer than usual for Chip to make his new shirt, having to do other work around the ship in between sewing. It certainly takes longer to construct a new garment than it does to simply repair an old one.
"How long is it going to take to fix that?" Jay innocently asks early on in the process, not recognizing what he's working on.
Chip takes offense, assuming that Jay is insulting the quality of his work and implying that he needs to start over. "I know what I'm doing," he snaps back. "It was your idea for me to make another shirt, but I doubt you could do any better than this."
"Wait, you're making a shirt from scratch?" Jay says, bewildered and impressed.
"Yeah?" Chip says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Where else do shirts come from?"
"I was just suggesting for you to buy some," Jay explains, thinking back to their past conversation.
"Buy one?" Chip scoffs. "I don't need a fancy shirt. Just a normal one is good enough for me." He resumes sewing, tying off the end of his thread with an invisible knot, then starting another. Jay watches him work for a while, honestly impressed by his speed. She had been thinking about picking up a sewing machine just to tinker with the mechanism, but they still don't compare to the skilled hand of someone like Chip.
On further thought, Jay is a little embarrassed. To her, buying fully made clothes was an ordinary occurrence. As she grew up, her family often went to get measurements, and would return a few weeks later to pick up the new shirts and dresses. Her father certainly earned enough money to afford that. But for most ordinary folk, particularly a kid like Chip who grew up on the streets, the only clothes you could get were the kind you fixed or made yourself.
Chip's finished shirt looks pretty much exactly like the old one, but in a crisp, pristine white without any stains. Jay definitely assumed that he simply bought the old one before, but now it was obvious he made that one too. Chip flaunts his handiwork, and honestly, he deserves the praise.
The new shirt is soon splashed with seawater as Gillion returns from fishing, hauling his net onto the deck. Chip doesn't mind, and goes to help him bring it in. Together, they sort out the fish, dropping the good ones into a barrel and tossing back any other creatures that were unintentionally caught.
Without hesitation, Gillion takes a big bite out of one raw fish. "It's so tender and delicious!" he says with his mouth full as the fish stops squirming in his hands.
This sight was something that Chip, Jay, and Earl all had to quickly get used to. Gillion finishes eating his snack, and once all the fish are sorted out, he inspects his net.
It's unlike any other fishing net that any of the others have ever seen. It's intricately woven in several colors, with symbols of waves and sea creatures and a great big crescent moon in the middle. All around the edges are various shells to weigh it down. As Gillion inspects the net, he finds a few holes from where it got snagged on rocks. It's a shame that such a beautiful net has been torn. Gillion stops to think about it for a moment.
"I'm sorry about your net," Jay says gently. She hates to see that it has to be thrown away.
"What?" Gillion says, confused. "This happens all the time. I'm thinking about what symbols to add next."
He opens a repair kit, stocked with dozens of colors of twine, and selects a few. With a series of small knots, he outlines a few shapes around the holes, then delicately weaves in the middle. A golden axe, a blue bird with wings outstretched, and an orange circle with a little green leaf. These new symbols are added to the tapestry of his life, for the milestones of meeting Chip and Jay and for rescuing the people of Loffinlot.
"All tritons make their own nets when they're kids," he explains. "You're supposed to hold onto them and keep adding onto it over time." And with each adventure, that's exactly what Gillion does.
The three of them couldn't be more different from each other, but they've found themselves sailing together all the same. They each have their own strengths and weaknesses, their own roles to play, their own skills to share aboard the Albatross. Their paths have crossed and intertwined, becoming more tightly bound with every passing day. In the knots on Jay's rope, in Chip's thread, and Gillion's net, their lives are tied together.