Waking up to pain seemed rather unfair as it was the last thing she experienced before blacking out. But she remembers everything and holy hell can she still feel the gun shot wound in her lower abdomen. She couldn’t feel the bullet exactly but she was sure that it was still insider her somewhere rolling around wanting to be known and generally seeking attention. The pain was nearly all attention grabbing with actual effort required to suppress herself from screaming out. Besides the smell it was till obvious that she was still in the same gross and smelly public toilet, the walled cubical she was currently in was surely never going to give any favors for the condition of her wound. sanitary was a concept that didn’t have any place in this germaphobes nightmare.

Groaning and wincing from the pain, she pulled off a couple of more sheets of toilet paper to press against her wound. She never thought her weekend would be panning out like this. No matter how many times she was chided for having a healthy and partial drink, she never got shot while doing so. That thought did stir an urge for a drink, just a cup of water. She didn’t have that level of a drinking problem that she couldn’t cope functionally without it. Besides getting liqueured up didn’t seem appropriate with the immediate issue of a hole in her belly. Would she try and take a drink would the liquid just fall down her throat and out through the hole in her belly, she didn't’ know, she wasn’t a doctor.

‘think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts..’’ bracing herself Regalia rose from the toilet seat gripping the sides of the wall and wincing from the pain. Tears came unbidden at the corner of her eyes while her teeth pressed together in any small measure to try and ease some suffering.  She fell back down ontop of the seat with muffled thump. She remembers the effort being much less apparent without a gun shot wound. She couldn’t continue like this. Feeling about her person she looked for the thing that got her into this precarious state. Pulling off a couple of more sheets of papper she rubbed as much blood of her hands before feeling around her clothes pockets for that item that led her up to this point. Effort successful, she pulled out a small sealed bag of unassuming small cylindrical pills. A moment’s hesitation was taken while she took in her situation, kinda dead in the water on one side or discrard any sense of caution and swallow strange pills with a curious effect. Hardly a choice really, it wasn’t entirely new to her accepting strange pills from a strange source. Like her earlier thought she hoped she wouldn’t see the pill fall out of her newly made belly hole. Good news, solids stayed inside though less exceptional was her blood still bleeding and just making a mess of things in general. Stripping off a few more sheets of paper was only a temporary fix, at the least it stopped herself from bleeding over everything.

It wasn’t going to be immediately instantaneous but when it came on the effect was liberating. Just like that time before her concerns and worries ebbed away. The drug wasn’t for anxiety relief, she wasn’t high or stoned or the usual novelty effects a suspicious pill can produce. Neither hyped or wired just clear, sure of herself than she had ever been. Doubt was little to almost nonexsitant unless a sea king rose to bring her tiny little ferry under but that was a very doubtful outcome with a 2.62 probability she wasn’t able to calculate before. Apart from a monstrous beast from the depths to turn her already miserable day worse she knew what to do. Even if that big beastie showed up she already was instantly decided she was going to abandon ship and if there was more sea kings she was going to abandon them too. The basic Regalia was now a focused and complete version of herself, ignoring the bullet wound and this self discovery inside a dirt cake toilet cubicle.

Her path was clear, she needed to attend to this wound. Seeking medical help on board the ship could lead to questions and a potential risk of marines or unwanted attention getting involved. That was a no go direction.  Forgotten and obscure bits of memory no matter how trivial, brief or as casual as skimming over the cover of a magazine with no actual interest in it at all in a waiting room years ago. All the knowledge she had consciously and unknowingly obtained through her life was now accessible through a relatable thought producing a sparkling cocktail of useful information.  She knew what she needed to do and how to do it.

Breathing exercises can have many beneficial benefits like strengthening your longs, stress management and minor a pain relief method which Reglaia was going to employ now for any advantage to shift her ass of that toilet seat. No lie It hurt, and she could confidently class it as the 37th worst experiences in her life but felt she needed to reserve a spot for what was going to come later. Practical pain relief is going to be really desired. After some mumbling curses, using her jacket Regalia adjusted herself to conceal her wound with small success. Walking out from the bathroom she was in the ships corridor now and decidedly ambled to find a member of the crew or the ship’s doctor if it had one.

‘’eh excuse me.’’ Prudent to avoid her usual annoying nature when seeking help, Regalia just basicly spoke. A human member of the crew stopped though obviously weary of her racial qualities, it was a common reaction. Ignoring the behavior ‘’Would you have a doctor on board. Im feeling a bit ill’’ Regalia inquired. ‘’Nah, we will arrive on land in a few hours. Should be some doctors there. If your going to be sick do it over the ship, yea?’’ the man finished then briskly shuffled away putting his hands in his pockets. A part of Regalia wondered if the man made that action out of comfort or likey put his hands in his pockets in suspicion of the fish woman, failing her from pick pocketing him.

‘’well poop’’ She thought out aloud.

Her wound was still bleeding out, she could bet that her makeshift toilet paper bandaged was already soaked through. She needed to close the wound, without any stitches, a needle and thread that method was shutdown. Gluing the hole in her gut shut, possibly. If she had glue or something similar close at hand which she could use, doubtful or possibly chance of barnacles attached to the underside of the ferry. The experience of having to scrape off barnacles from her house and the knowledge that they grow attached by a strong adhesive which they produce from their glands. If she was able to harvest that substance that could give her the means to seal her wound though that idea was also put aside, she wasn’t in any condition to go underneath the ship to collect ocean crap off a boat and then somehow scale back on board.

She already had decided what that step would be but those were the rejected thoughts beforehand. She needed to cauterize the wound. Originally she would have said ‘seal’ or ‘close’ however this new self had the accurate phrase somewhere in Regalia’s knowledge. If she was to recall she would have known this when she was 14 and witnessed a blacksmith sear a wound closed at his forge. Needless to say herself and her young friends were rather traumatized at the time.

The kitchen was too crowded, she couldn’t just burn herself over the fire as the chef was making the crews beloved warm stew. She needed privacy otherwise the sight of a fishgirl burning herself would really get some wtfs. Making her own fire, especially on a wooden boat, could be problematic with a high possible chance of actually setting the rest of the ship alight. People would probably not like that action as the humans arn’t as good of a swimmer as her.

Maybe through distraction and slight of hand she could pinch the gun powder from a unsuspecting passenger on board, patiently stalking a potential victim and waiting for prime opportunity and possibly get shot in the face for her effort. Straight forward approach seemed more appropriate in her state. Approaching a amicable looking passenger, wielding a pistol tucked into his belt Regalia disturbed the man’s attention to the upcoming port ‘’ how much would you take to let go of some of you’re gun powder’’ The mans attention shifted to Regalia in a surprising manner ‘’what would you need with gun powder upon this rickety flammable boat’’ the man asked with some concern and amusement. ‘’its not for the boats purposes and even if it was I would be surprised if you had enough of the stuff on you to harm his this bunch of floating planks’’ the man conceded to Regalia’s logic nodding his head ‘’fair point, fair point.’’ following up she also added while taking a relaxed position on the rail while concealing her wound ‘’Baltigo is hardly a friendly neighborhood now is it?’’ In her travels Reglaia passed through, she would describe it as unsavory. The man barked a small chuckle ‘’that's a place that will take you to grow eyes on the back of your head’’ Physically changing his posture the man was settling for business ‘’now, I just brought enough powder for my own use in baltigo-’’ a basic haggling response which Regalia inwardly groaned over, she could play the game and weedle down the cost, that would require time and standing here suffering more moments of insufferable pain. She just blurted out three time the price if would usually cost for a small portion of fun powder, the mans response was a tap on the wood rail and ‘’sold’’ before limping off she added ‘’also, groovy mustache. Can you spare a match?’’

Finding the ships canteen she ordered a bottle of whiskey, a whole fat wonderful bottle and a few bits not on the menu. It did get a raised eyebrow and a possible curious discussion in the kitchen but with a warm smile and a bunch of beli she received what she wanted. The canteen staff probably believed her order to be a strange fishman diet. One chef was rather disgusted what kind of combination the fishgirl’s order can make. Coffee, ginger, thyme and camomile tea was a few to note among her order along with that bottle of rot gut whiskey. Not the most appealing choices of consumption as a meal. Besides the bottle of whiskey, people could argue that being a breakfast, lunch and dinner winner.  

Taking her order as well as a bowl and some utensils she retreated to a secluded part of the ship, although the toilet cubical was probably the best place for privacy it was’nt the most hygienic area for what she was about to do. Practising her breathing exercises she took one, then two gulps of the whiskey.  ''rough’’ she coughed cringing from the taste.  ''This is not going to be fun, not going to be fun’’ this repeated as a mantra as she continued to pour down the rot gut down her throat. While you might think it was an inappropriate time for Regalia to get her drink on it did have the benefit of increasing a person’s pain threshold and imitate the effects of painkiller. Although the drink was horrible the worse was yet to come. ''happy place and breath-motHER BOPPER!’’ she exclaimed as she began to pour the whiskey her wound. Almost unrealistic pain screamed back at her. Her free hand was clutching the trousers of her left while her jaw was clenched tight with all effort to endure through the pain. She was wreaked, the effort to restrain herself was utterly exhausting. Swallowing another gulp followed by five more, she dreaded her next action.

Lifting up a knife she took from the canteen, she stopped to focus on herself. She imagined the bullet, the entry wound and the spot of her pain and discomfort. She started to operate on herself  while tucked away somewhere on the stern of the boat. She finished with a ‘’holy hell’’ while dropping the bullet to the ground, her hands didn't shake though. It was a task that she wouldn’t have been able to do if she didn’t have some advantage to be as anal retentive on the action as possible and neglect feeling such as shock and disgust. Rummaging a knife through your own body was challenging though she didn’t feel so great about the next part. She disliked it that much that she procrastinated and skipped that step, she skipped it twice by taking another drink and started practicing a bit of chemistry. Previously all these components were just ingredients that sat on spice racks and kitchen cupboards, the only actually ingredient she used much while cooking was the salt. Through parts of her past, some place or another she learned some beneficial qualities to all the ingredients ranged in front of her. Taking the bowl she poured in all her ingredients, mushed it into a paste to create a salve to stimulate cell regeneration and quicken tissue repair while also discouraging infection.

Now the sucky part, sticking with her breathing exercises and leaning rather heavily on the bottle for for support, for moral support. She almost now entirely had the thing drunk down to last dregs. This was going to suck and she knew it. Despair scratched at the edge of her commitment. She started to sing while reaching for the gun powder  

''Gray skies are gonna clear up
Put on a happy face’’

she sprinkled the powder across her wound

‘’Brush off the clouds and cheer up’’ she lit the match
Put on a happy fac-eahhHHH’’

She screamed, dear god did she scream. There was no dam or mental barrier to fend of the scorching pain that streaked across her belly.  

It was all fading again, she tipped her improvised salve on her seared skin. She wanted this time to wake up somewhere other than ontop of a toilet seat in a nasty cubical. fade to black.