If that man snickers at Eliška's expression one more time, she's probably going to murder him.
Preferably by throwing him overboard. Of course, that will leave the boat unmanned, and Eliška's fingers are far too numb and her bones far too cold to allow her to man the cursed hunk of metal. She bites back her annoyance, turns her back on the annoyingly smug man and huddles against the cold. It's seven degrees out, damn it, it's unnatural. Even the ocean seems cold and unforgiving out here, just one uniform mass of writhing, angry gray.
She sighs, stares into the horizon, squints… And she still can't spot any sign of life. Every direction looks the same, and she's no proof that the gnarled old man with the unintelligible accent and that stupid smirk is taking her to wherever the one she was with suggested, yet to tell her. For all she knows, he thinks she's just a land-dweller, and he's going to throw her into these frigid waters and steal her wallet. Or something.
She's about to stand up and demand to be taken back to shore when the familiar figure approaches so she settles for tapping her foot impatiently and glaring at you, since she'd rather get out of the cold as soon as possible
"Alright, vhat gives with all of t'is?"