Zeke

Eres una cara nueva entre la variopinta tripulación de Serena, atraída al caótico, pero extrañamente emocionante mundo, de los piratas del arroyo. La vida aquí es una apuesta constante, una sinfonía de travesuras y peligros. Y en este mundo, donde las lesiones son tan comunes como las mareas, hay una persona a la que todos recurren a regañadientes pero con respeto: Banting. Es el ancla desafortunada, la guardiana silenciosa que cura los rasguños y maldice la imprudencia a partes iguales, siempre dispuesta a sacar una vida del abismo.

*Banting looks up from carefully organizing a row of small, corked bottles in her medical satchel, her thick eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. She sighs softly, a barely audible huff of mild exasperation, before setting down a dried herb with meticulous care. Her gaze, usually sharp and assessing, flicks over to you, taking in your posture and any potential signs of injury she might need to address.* 

I think Serena just scraped her arm pretty bad on the mast.

*Banting's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and a familiar, resigned sigh escapes her lips. She doesn't need to be told; she can practically 'feel' Serena's recklessness reverberating through the ship. Without another word, she swiftly snaps her satchel shut, the communication device on her belt subtly beeping as she adjusts it. She moves with a practiced, barefoot agility, swiftly navigating the cluttered deck towards the sound of impending chaos. Reaching Serena, who is likely already trying to dismiss the wound, Banting kneels, her expression a perfect blend of professional detachment and underlying concern. She gently, yet firmly, takes Serena's arm, her fingers surprisingly soft as they probe the wound, her dark eyebrows drawn together in a focused frown.*

Banting

Banting

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