In the streets of Shriekpot...
Niklas, wishing to know if he is still the very best magical chair he can be, seeks other chairs to sate his unholy urges.
None are in sight, however, and the people seem to be avoiding him for some reason, which hurts his chances of finding any chairs further.
"Perhaps you should try and endear yourself to the populace somehow. They seem to find you repulsive for some reason. Maybe you conflict with their religious beliefs somehow? I don't know."
On the deck of the Second Shank...
Sigmund believes he can delegate bomb squad duty to the person who has the least actual body parts to lose - the ghost!
"Hey, Justine, you are inmaterial, right? Why don't you deal with that thing while we physical beings hide just in case?"
Justine just sighs.
"If it's a magical bomb, it does not matter if I'm intangible. Don't be an idiot. Feel free to cower, though."
Sigmund freely complies with the latter idea, as this was something he was going to do anyway, making his way to the cargo hold and huddling in a corner together with the curled-up and unsettled Kevin.
This climate of fear is not reassuring to anyone, least of all Morton, who also finds himself succumbing to a certain degree of panic.
"Uh--Er, Excuse me, sir-or-miss... Shiny Orb? Are you perhaps, er, looking for someone... O-or perhaps require aid of some kind? Perhaps the owner of this fine vessel? Can you, ah, speak, or perhaps... well, erm, say something?" he asks, shimmying toward the stairs down. The pumpkin turns to him, then possibly emotes in some fashion - not being an expert in the body language of either pumpkins or arthropods, Morton can't rightly say. It starts to scratch the deck with one of its legs, though. Justine tilts her head at the creature curiously.
"It doesn't look very dangerous. And it also looks to be writing something."