He steps into the cold sea air with his sleeves rolled up, his mask still on, using the skin of his forearms to dampen with the spray that rose every time the ship cut through a bigger swell. He aims for the sharp cold to seep into him, soothe the hypervigilance installed in his body - he was going to be riding that for the next couple of days, still.

He almost mistakes this person as a commander, for some reason, until there's something nagging at the back of his mind, telling him differently. It's what makes him stop at the greeting. It sounds foreign to his ears, nothing he had heard before. "What's that?"