Musasha's thudding footsteps pass the threshold of the steps down and he is immediately a blur of activity. His bulging arms wrap around ropes being brought in and sail cloth being stowed. It isn't long before he falls into step with the rest of the crew making the ship storm ready, not in the way at all. He instinctually heads where they need a strong pair of hands, like he's done this before.

Among the others working there that day were several heimin. One of them had the look of having seen more than a few fights. In fact, by some standards, Musasha had probably seen less grizzled looking vets along the wall, sometimes. She was pockmarked with lots of little scars and a nasty looking puffy one along her face, under her right eye. She growled low as she fought with the ropes and muscled her own share into place, looking as comfortable as a fish in the sea. She gave whatever nod or salute the other heimin were giving when another fellow in clan colors showed up, but her mind seemed to mostly be on the task at hand.

Samurai or not, a sailor was a sailor. Musasha was doing the lifting and pulling of two men his size, though, Amaya couldn't find much worth in the deeds he was making.

Muscle bound oaf. Thought his ilk were the line of Hida or something?

She almost caught herself muttering and kept it to herself. Might as well stow it. Even if he was playing the easy street on his work because he had the muscles to get away with it, there was no point in actually telling the big headed body builder that to his face. It was nice to keep breathing after all, and those guys came with overgrown hammers instead of just three foot razor blades.

Pull, heave, pull, heave.

He grunts as he holds a rope to be tied down. The strain causes his armor to lift a bit, showing his upper thighs of pure muscle. The heimen doing the knot takes his time, but there's no complaint from Musasha.

Kami. They were taking too long with that. Amaya could feel her muscles strain a little and she began picking up the pace on her end as much as she could without causing a problem elsewhere on the line, just to pick up the slack for samurai trying to come in and do what was peasant work. Some people probably hadn't done an honest day's work in their lives, too busy standing on a wall and watching. Mind you, she wouldn't trade jobs, but still.

A grunt came from her and she shot the rope a glance, holding it in place and bracing herself with the chord wound around one arm. The muscles didn't show as much, the lines faint beneath a woman's softer skin, but the fact that they showed at all was something on its own.

When the rope is tied down, the man he was helping watches him move on to another task, and a subtle grin can be seen on his face. Musasha, to his credit, simply keeps moving and helping where he may.

As a rope breaks loose, he shows surprising agility, catching it mid air before anything goes awry, and he starts backing it toward Amaya. His face scrunched up beneath his straw hat. "A bit...too...much...for me. I think...this...is holding...a crossbar..."

Amaya turned her head as she noticed her line was tied off and nodded, letting go of it to grab hold of the line Musasha had hold of and began hauling. She was no delicate thing as she did so, gripping and edging back. It definitely was pulling with greater pressure than she was used to, but she could tell she was going to be in agony tomorrow anyway. A Sengokobune was a far more labor-intensive task than some sampan wandering the ocean. She didn't say a word, other than a muttered "-sama" somewhere between clenched teeth, moving to help him get the line in position.

As a third comes and begins tying it down, Amaya gets the feeling the only reason the knot is going at a normal rate is the fact that she's helping. The other heimen keeps looking at Musasha with a scowl.

Once it's done, Musasha nods to Amaya, "Thanks..." He moves off to elsewhere to give a hand where it's needed.

A crisp salute, formal as was needed, was the reply from a panting woman. She waited until his back was turned to almost scowl and then quickly move to her task. She knew better than to dwell on whether he had his back fully on it. A good captain would catch that crap, and he'd be cleaning out the bilges in no time. It wasn't her damned job to make sure everything was happening on the up and up. Her job was to make sure the damned lines were in place. She moved swiftly to grab and start hauling.

At least the damned sails didn't need repairs.

As the hour moves on, approaching the next, things are just about under control with only the clean up work left to do. Musasha helps with that as well, mostly just moving things below deck. A barrel or two, huge sacks, and uncountable coils of rope, often all at the same time. When he finishes up the heavy work, he takes his leisure on the rail, which is mostly all the heimen notice onboard...

Peasants didn't lounge. The woman from before was squatting in a section of the aboveboard ship and checking the sail. Her eyes and hands went over it while she checked for any tears, however small. Fraying wasn't something you just let slide. She was not about to have this thing tear on her during a good gust, even if it was a fair-weather sail. Her face had a sort of perpetual frown to it, the glower made all the worse by whatever had happened to her face over the years.

Oblivious to the stares about him, he pulls out his grooming knife, sharpening it, and then does his best to shave in the rain without a mirror.