Everything was fucking hard. To hope that one might be able to get a fucking break on this godforsaken, piece of shit world was apparently too much to hope for. Solomon had always harbored a sliver of hope that the Dominion's death might mean that things would be easier, but he should have known better. Life was.. different. Reality beyond slavery was in some way more, but it was not without its challenges. Tortuga was not the Dominion. Raikov was not Tiberius. His work here was expected, but it was based on his own merit, his own will (as strange as that was). Tortuga was better, but it was not easier. He wondered what he was capable of withstanding, it felt as though he was very much clinging to a tether that was due to give way. The war had torn him up, his lost limb taunting him relentlessly as he struggled to adapt. His addictions ran rampant and he struggled to combat his deep, vicious mental struggles. Part of him had wanted to lay down and let the hurricane wash over him when the storm had brutalized the tropical pack land. That would have been easy, in some ways.

But Triteia had not allowed that and she had made him run, pulled him along even in spite of her own fear. He had been startled to feel her alarm for him, to hear her stubborn rebuttals to his passionless escape. In the end, she inspired him, and even though he struggled he ran. Even minus a leg he had managed it. He felt like a roach, a nuisance but a fucking persistent one. Perhaps he was harder to kill than he thought. He supposed he felt some measure of pride in that.

He just needed to find out how to live rather than just survive.

(Maybe it was closer than he thought.)

As if to lampshade his musings, Triteia gently pushed him forward, coaxing him to answer the call from the Quartermaster. Solomon swallowed, his cracked lips pursed in a mild scowl. He had just been outfitted in his new 'leg', a piece of carved wood with a surprisingly intricate design to hold what remained of his forcibly amputated limb. It was absurdly alien and felt exceptionally strange, especially alongside the phantom pains that came with his injury. He'd been trying to walk properly with it for the past few days, but the progress was slow and arduous. He huffed, furrowing his thick brow before trudging forward. Triteia remained beside him, supporting his unbalanced weight when necessary. It never quite felt like she was hovering... just accompanying, providing assistance if necessary but in a way that was easier to swallow. He felt less encumbered with her, which made the journey somewhat less terrible.

Finally, on uneven paws, Solomon arrived to the gathering place. He sucked on his bronze teeth and peered around at the attendees, as cautious as he always was in crowds. As much as they were his packmates, he had lost his sense of idealized trust years ago. He had learned to be stiff and cautious of his blind spots even amongst compatriots. He sat hunched beside Triteia, his ugly eyes looking up to Eremiel as he addressed his pack. He supposed the Quartermaster's diatribe could be inspiring, but Sully had little use for words even if they were flowery and important. He huffed softly and flicked his tattered ears back.

He noticed Triteia shift beside him and he turned his head, noticing the source of her unrest after a moment of confusion. Ah. Baal. A familiar monster now. In an attempt to be comforting, Sully gently pressed his shoulder to Triteia's, making no other apparent note of the Kraken.

Raikov, the mighty Captain, was also obviously present. His demands were understandable and unforgiving, hardly unexpected. Sully knew nothing of those who had fled in the chaos of the hurricane's violent weather. He knew nothing of their circumstances nor their motivations and he didn't care. He vaguely recalled Shark's name and eventually associated it with the grizzled old man who had met he and Octavia at the border so many moons ago. Sully couldn't help but guffaw to himself. What did a man like Shark have to run to?

(He could have asked himself the same question, though. When he ran from the Dominion's ruins and then from Gemini's holy crusade.)

One of his own charges, Neta, clambered up his mother's body in a typically enthusiastic way, which made Solomon quietly grateful the boy had someone else to occupy him (he was also especially pleased that he didn't have to address the issue of what a cunt was). The other babe assigned to him, Notch, was also present, though she was far more demure than her counterpart. He supposed he'd check in on them after they were dismissed, as was his duty.

Eremiel spoke of Tortuga's future, of the test the young would have to perform to prove themselves. Life went on, as usual. Solomon chased away memories of youthful gladiators and the trials he himself had organized in a vaguely similar coming of age practice. He glanced over the Captain's growing children, his bent whiskers quivering along his upper lip. He saw too many old, dead faces, even over those of these fresh sailors. The ache was ever present.

Solomon closed his eyes and breathed deep. Tortuga thought of the future and he struggled to do the same.

A call rings out. The Sailor rises from his rest.

That was all he ever did any more. Rest. Rest and lay content on the beach, surrounded by wolves, creatures his kind normally hated.

The shadowy male moves like a streak of oil across the gorund, arriving in time to hear all the words spoken. He remains quiet, there is no need for his opinon, no need for his words. Not with temper starting to flare. Amber eyes roam over the group, sad. There were less of them now, had others really fled? Why? Tortuga was paradise.

Zyaxe moves off to sit alone, his silky tail moving to curl about his paws, her dark hues causing him ot blend yet, stand out, his odd shape, his horns, just him. He fwlt alone and yet, he felt as though he were surrounded by friends. Tortuga had not cast him out. Yet.

While he was still just a Sailor, the Hound couldn't help but, wonder.... Would he be forced into something? Would he have to take up a job soon. A sigh drifted from him, he just wanted peace. He didn't want to be overly involved, that meant he'd have to trust. Trusting meant he'd have to open up. Opening up meant he'd have to hurt.....

He was there though. He was alive body that had not abandoned them.

ooc

The turnout was, well, definitely not their entire pack. The Quartermaster however showed no more than a quirk of an eyebrow at the feeling of disappointment that flooded him. But it did not matter, punishment and reward would function as usual as encouragements to participate in pack wide meetings. Those who showed up, Eremiel tried to memorize well.

Aztec he had seen during the war, and gave him a curt nod as a greeting. Adderon had been pulling his weight quite well, and Eremiel found it easy to remember the lions, anyway.

"We expectin' more pups sometime soon, 'remiel?"

A deep chuckle came from the priest, "Perhaps, though not from me. Unfortunately." he let out a playful sigh, ever delighted by children even if they were not his own. He had made it almost a trademark to adopt everyone around him, the Captain himself a son to him as much as his first litter. "I'm sure everyone will be aware if we get more pups, or cubs." loud, happy things they were. He watched his daughter come with Kaikona, and wondered briefly if those would be the next kids they would see.

Next came Vashe, along with a recent war prisoner. Then Aysu, a hellhound he did not quite recognize, and Mako. All stood quietly and listened. Eremiel was happy to have no protest, not even from the band new, sharp hellhound that came by. But hell, he wished they were more open to him. After all, it was much easier to work pack members when they were open books to you.

Then Baal came with her kids, and Eremiel gave her a warm blink, an upturnt corner of his lips. It was the same look he gave Triteia and her friend, just as warm and inviting. They were both his kids, whether they could look at eachother now or not. He hoped, in due time, he could urge them to heal, to fix, if only for the good of Tortuga if not for their own. Maybe more peaceful times could help stress healing, maybe he could-

The peaceful mind process was broken when his adopted son came up, at last. His words contrasted Eremiel perfectly, a 180 degree turn from talks of growing, children, tests, and family bonds. He demanded blood, and Eremiel could not blame him. Tortuga had never been kind to traitors, and if Eremiel was irked by it two years ago, he saw it as a crucial part of the family now. After all, he could not deny how the crowd reacted, jumping at his words, promising to find these traitors even if the Quartermaster doubted they'd be let out of the territory for it in the first place.

Cider pledged her allegiance to the cause, as if she would be expected to do anything else. Eremiel smiled at her, encouraging, he hoped. A brighter smile was thrown at Florian's direction, then at his new friend, Ezra. Them, along with one of Raikov's daughters, sat quietly and listened, not giving too many words for the Captain's cries for justice. 

Then came less familiar faces, all in silent or short agreement. The kids, with questions for their mother that Eremiel imagined she would have to answer all the way back home. He smiled at it, washing he had little kids to ask him what a cunt was.

"Let me know where ya' could use the torches, sir. I'll gather some new blood and see who's still got the balls to play with fire."

Eremiel cleared his throat, smiling at familiar, good, strong Aethon. "Smarts, Aethon, not balls." he teased.

Next was Cookie, excitable as she was, then Raikov's mate and his own eldest son, who for once kept fairly quiet. If Eremiel was a betting man, he'd put some money on his son being on edge with his mate out. Always the worrier, and he probably got it from him, as well. Hebe was joined by Ezekiel, and Eremiel gave Raikov a playful look, and a nudge.

More kids, trying to listen and maybe not understanding it all. Eremiel did not need them to, after all, they had a lifetime to learn. And they would learn. The Captain and himself made it very clear that they intent to have the kids learn a lot of things, and some things, quite quickly. Nothing like being thrown head first into life, he supposed.

After Raikov had finished speaking, Eremiel licked his thin maw. "Remember, that you are here for one another. If you are lost you can follow the stars, but you can also ask for directions. We all make choices, your path is rarely predetermined." he finished, sitting down and curling his tail around his feet. "That would be all. Those who had not shown up, well, will be dealt with I suppose. Dead weight is a dangerous thing."