It is a chill, murky night off the coast; the waters are international, the clouds obscure the stars, the shore has been left long behind. There are no lights, though there is sound. Low voices - men's voices - and the faint hum of boat motors. The slap of waves against the sides of the boats; their two, large, shadows looming out of the darkness, and your own sleek sailboat, as yet unnoticed. Silence from the sailboat - silence and a ridiculous exhilaration from at least one of the occupants. Sandy turns and flashes Dolphin a grin, then pulls his gas mask on over his head. He tacks closer to the larger boats, coming up into their shadow - almost close enough to hear words now. Dolphin does not match Sandy's enthusiasm. She is calm, yes, resolute, but not particularly happy about any of this. What little light there is catches in the gleam from platinum hair and your own gasmask faceplate. Dol is silent... of course. Poised at the edge of the boat, ready to slip into the waiting water. The voices drift to you, low and hard. "This isn't enough." "Fuck you, man. The deal was half a mil, you got half a mil." "The deal was old." It's not like -- well, all right. He digs action. Furthermore, when the ether sends him a hint that's actually useful, it rather helps Sand's frame of mind. Carefully furling the sail, then tying the tiny craft loosely to a hook on the side of the bigger boat, the adventurer draws his wirepoon and turns and nods to Dolphin. Time to go. "Look, you want more? You take it up with my boss, *next time*. For now, this is what I have. Hand over the shit and let's get out of here. "Yeah? Maybe we oughta take the extra out of your ass." "Frank, man. We gotta go." "Fuck. Fine. Get out the stuff." Dol nods slightly and slips over the side of the boat. Not a splash, not a sound - she is gone into the water. Your boat nudges against the side of one of the larger vessels, pushed by the waves - a loud scraping sound. "What the hell was that?" Cursing mentally, Sand doesn't hesitate any more - he pulls a capsule from his belt, biting it and quickly tossing it up and over, then fires the 'poon up the side of the boat, and it catches with a distinct metallic clink. The smoke pouring from the tiny caplet should occupy their attention enough that they don't worry so much about the newer, fainter sound. Sand starts to scale the side of the boat. "What the --" "FIRE!!" "Bloody... uhnnnngh..." "Frank?!" "Back to our boat!" The sound of footsteps, leaping thumps as several men make the jump to the second boat. "Get back here, you -- son of a bitch, where's the fire extinguisher?" The thud of footsteps are coming along the outside railing, directly toward where you're about to reach the top of your climb. Wait -- wait -- and *now*! Executing a move that - if it works - would make Bruce Lee proud, Sanderson's gloved hands grip the top of the short railing, and he swings his body up and over, jackknifing in midair so that his feet are aimed at where he judges the running fellow's head to be. Your boat, of course, is spotted. But the guy barely has time to yell, "Hey, there's -- " .. and then, wham. The boots of Golden Boy vengeance slam him in the head - now that's gotta hurt. He goes down hard, gun toppling to skitter along the rail and splash into the water below. His limp body threatens to do the same. There are sputtering noises from the other boat as its engine roars to life. Not even thinking about the other boat - he trusts that Dol is probably far more capable of taking out a boat than he is - the man in the gas mask lands in a crouch; his arm shoots out to snag the man heading for the water and he pulls him back against the wall opposite the railing. Shoving his wirepoon back in its holster, he draws his other weapon and creeps along the wall, silently heading for the rest of the voices. Apparently Dol has done something, yes -- that roar only lasts for a few seconds, then petres out again. Sputter. Sputter. A frantic yell, and the harsh sound of gunfire from boat #3. Sandy finds himself creeping through his own smoke, safely protected by the mask. There is the sound of a fire extinguisher being used, and a rough "Get the hell out of here!" before the engine of boat #2 is harshly started. Smiling ever so slightly behind his mask - way to use a fire extinguisher when there no, you know, actual *fire* - the Sandman quickly spins the barrel of his gas gun and pulls the trigger, releasing a good lot of highly potent knockout gas into the already present roiling cloud of smoke. He listens at the cabin door for a moment, trying to get an idea of where its occupant is. A startled yell is choked off; the sound of bodies thudding into the deck is the swift result of the gas. There is a clang, as well, just after the sounds of the fire extinguisher are abruptly cut. The cabin door is closed; its occupant is a silhouette, frantically twisting the navigation wheel as the boat begins to pull away in the water. Small lights gleam on the control panel, the only illumination on the darkrunning vessel. From boat #3, the sounds of gunfire are quick and sharp; a voice cries out in the night. A voice - whose voice? Fear all of a sudden hitting him like ice in the gut, Sandy shuts his eyes momentarily. He'll do this the easy, fast way - one chamber left of gas, though it's the less powerful variation. Quickly opening the cabin door, he fires unhesitatingly at the sole occupant, even as he eyes the console in search of the key (or its equivalent). Hurry - god only knows whose cry that was. The quick, frightened look of the man in the cabin - whipping his head back to stare over his shoulder - is lost to smoke, to the sudden rolling up of eyes. His form crumples to the base of the wheel; the boat is still surging forward, away from its shady partner. The surface beneath your feet rocks back and forth. The key is in the ignition next to the wheel. As for the cry.. impossible to say. There are a few more shots, and the sounds of splashes, growing slightly distant now. Yeah - great. Squinting at the console, taking a second to get his bearings (and those of the boat), the Sandman takes the wheel and turns it again, going back - circling back to the other boat. Waiting is the hard part. He watches the window, stopping when he thinks the boat's close enough, then cutting the engines. This is taking too long - way too long. The hull scrapes against its sister, and Sand sprints out the door. There's another scrape as well - the hapless sailboat, towed along, runs again into the side of the larger boat as it stops. Sandy's exit from the cabin reveals the fallen forms of the men at the back of the boat; splashing sounds and sputtering yells indicate at least two men in the chilly ocean water. "SHARK!! OHMIGOD SHARK!!" And, from the third boat, "Crazy bitch, I'll -- " A nasty thudding sound there. Thank God! If the dealers are yelling about a crazy bitch, Dol is okay -- even though, you know, she's quite far from being a crazy bitch. Also, the yelling man's words were cut off, which is always a good sign. Taking a moment to toss a couple of life-savers over the side of the boat in the general direction of the men in the water, Sandy glances momentarily at the other vessel, trying to spot Dolphin. Come on - trust, trust. It takes effort to keep his attention on -his- bad guys. The clouds part momentarily, blurry moonlight revealing the shapes of the frantic swimmers. There are, indeed, fins cutting the surface of the ocean waves. Three or four of them, circling. You know, of course, that these are a few of Dolphin's pod. The men are splashing toward the boat, not without various terrified curses. And now, from the third boat, there is nothing more. Seeing the fins, and the shapes of the sleek forms in the water, Sandy's suddenly a lot less worried. It probably mystifies the terrified men in the water - this is a vigilante, no? They don't let people get killed, right? He leans on the railing, wiping mist from the lenses of his gas mask, looking across to the other boat. Where--? The dolphins in the water are avoiding breaking the surface; apparently this shark farce is deliberate. They swoop in close, herding the terrified drugrunners to the boat where Sandy waits. "Shit, man! SHIT! Gimme a -- oh my god --" "Shark! Shark!" The ladder is lunged for, fought over. And on the other boat ... ah. There she is. At the rail now, white hair flowing around her in the breeze. Her alien eyes, in turn, seek out the man in the gas mask. A dark liquid streak is making its way down her left arm, but she seems unbothered by it. Noting the blood, Sandy frowns invisibly behind his mask, inclines his head slightly toward the merwoman, then returns his attention to the men clambering desperately up the ladder. He takes a second to scoop a gun up off the floor, almost as an afterthought, using it more as a threat than anything else. Herd these guys up, rope 'em, and call in the coast guard - it sounds so easy, now, doesn't it? Hm - he could probably use a hand. Dol nods back to the masked Sandman, then turns her back and steps away again. Very likely concerned with her own captives. The men hurling themselves up the ladder throw themselves to the deck, shivering, swearing, turning to glare back at the .... sharks? A dolphin leaps into the air, chittering and playful. Hell yes, it's laughing at them. It gains a softly groaned, "Oh, *fuck*..." for its efforts. And, ah, there's Dol again. Each webbed hand holds the shirt collar of an unconscious man. She holds them seemingly without effort, lifting them above her head to accomodate their greater heights as she watches the hulls, then times her step across to boat number 2. The villains are set down, not particularly gently but without cruelty. Sandy silently holds the gun out to Dolphin, at the same time drawing the gasgun again. With neither vigilante speaking, this is probably getting terribly creepy for the drug dealers - but hey, maybe the experience'll put the fear of God into 'em. Once his other hand is free, Sand quickly loads another cartridge - nasty-looking - into the back of his weapon of choice and aims at the faces of the sodden, huddled men. Dolphin takes the gun, not without an expression of mild distaste crossing her features. On the other hand, she apparently knows how to use the thing; the aim she takes at the offenders is steady and expert. Noting the cartridge, she takes a precautionary step backward, and hopefully out of range. The two remaining men, teeth chattering, stare at the guns. "D-don't.. please don't kill..." One of them stutters it out. The step back is plenty - or Sand would let Dolphin know. This is the bush league of knockout gases, though it includes a tasty hallucinogenic cocktail. When the coast guard arrives, they'll find these fellows awake and incredibly cooperative, undoubtedly. 'Please don't kill us', they ask? Not a problem. Finally, the Sandman speaks for the first time tonight, and his voice is low and distorted. Just the capper to an evening of creepiness, it is. "Not bloody likely." A beat, and he fires. "Pleasant dreams." In a matter of seconds, a drugged stupor overtakes the two; the fear does not quite manage to leave their faces. A memory of faceless mask and terrible voice, etched now in their eyes. Dol watches a moment, then places the gun on the cabin roof and turns, gathering her previous two and tugging them over to the general pile. Darkness streaks bits of her hair where they've rubbed against the blood on her arm, dripping now down toward her elbow. Pulling his mask up so it's on top of his head - like a hockey mask when not in use - Sandy puts the gasgun back in its holster and moves to Dolphin. Hand stopping just short of her arm, voice quiet, he asks, "Are you all right? I need to set a beacon, then we should go." Dolphin follows the hand with her gaze, then blinks down at her arm. Apparently she hadn't noticed. She raises her right hand and traces the thin line of the bullet graze with swift curiosity, then she shrugs. It /is/ nothing, really. Little more than a scratch. A reassuring smile flashed up at you, and she moves to gather the others from the back of the boat. That was all he needed to see. Smiling a little uncertainly back, Sandy nods, then heads back to the cabin and pulls his mask over his face again. There's probably enough residual gas in there to cause him problems. Working quickly, he flicks several switches on the console (turning the array on), turns a dial (finding the correct frequency), and depresses a single key. Gotta love automatic distress signals. As he leaves again, he looks to see that the goods they were exchanging are in plain sight. There's a suitcase next to the drugged bodies; the other half of the deal is presumably on the other boat. Dol's already fetching it, hopping back from boat #3 as she sets a second case down. There's still that one guy lying in the cabin, but with the amount of gas in there, he should be safely out for a long while. Dol glances around, then arches over the side rail, vanishing into the water with a splash. A moment later, the groaning sound of wrenching metal is audible somewhere beneath the boat, and the surface beneath you tilts a little to the side. Apparently, the rudder is no longer in service. Definitely grinning now, Sandy leans over the rail to make sure the little sailboat is still there, even if it's a tad beat up now. Spotting it, he clambers down the ladder and jumps when he's about 3/4 down. He pauses, figuring Dol would probably rather swim, but just in case... For now, yes, Dolphin would rather swim. At least, she doesn't appear in the sailboat. However, as you unfurl the sail and bring the little craft around to take off again, one of the dolphins jumps playfully over the bow. The pod is with you, and so is she, a sleek form in the water as you head away from the two vanquished drug boats. Job well done.