Who: Calling all captains! What: Staff meeting to discuss circumstances When: April 23rd, 1810 Where: Cádiz, makeshift command room Warnings: Opinionated captains with volatile tempers?
Glinda had begged a moment to visit the washroom, in the limited time remaining after she'd fetched water for Aleria and had someone bring over a good-sized sheep. In spite of her best efforts, she'd added sheep's blood to the dust and grime that coated her skin, and a good scrubbing had only rinsed it from her face and hands.
She was aware she looked as though she'd been on dragonback all day - which she had - and the ocean spray had done her no favours, crusting her hair with salt. To make up for her appearance as best she could, she wore her brightest smile when she entered the room, a step-and-a-half ahead of Charlie, who'd been gentleman enough to hold the door.
"Hello," she greeted those assembled, judging by their numbers that she must have made Charlie, if not late, then just barely on time. "Captain Prescott, of Aleria. Thank you all for seeing us safely down; I appreciate the effort taken on our behalf. I'm sorry for not giving you adequate warning; there's been no ship able to easily make harbor, as I'm sure you know, and we didn't want to send up a flare in case the French beat you to us. Not that they would have," she said warmly, pride in the Aerial Corps making her words confident and sure. "But please; I don't want to keep you longer than I already have."
Not to mention, somewhere there was a tub with Glinda's name on it, and she had no intention of keeping it waiting until after supper. She only hoped she currently looked more poised than bedraggled.