"All right, enough! Give the man some room!" Boatswain Brizz's voice is almost a match for Camael's, his bellow honed from years of shouting orders down ship gangways and noisy mechanical bays. The crowd retreats a pace.
"Sergeant Camael, for your drinking prowess, you shall be forever remembered among the crew of the Horizon's Pride. You are. . ."
A cathedral bell a toll fills the room. As it fades away, voice crackles through a wall mounted vox speaker. "Attention, attention. All hands report to stations in preparation for Warp entry. Warp entry in t-minus four minutes. All hands report."
The crewmen groan like so many schoolkids called in before their game is done.
"Quit bellyachin. You know what to do. Get to your stations."
Muttering, the crewmen shuffle out of the lounge, each one congratulating Camael as they pass.
Brizz lingers a moment. "A silly tradition no doubt, Sergeant, but I can't thank you enough. The men's morale has been flagging lately. One of their mates, well. . .it's a bad business. Killed an Enginseer. He's in the brig until we put into a Forge World and hand him over to the Mechanicus. And the problems with all the servitors only makes it worse." He shakes his head, then breaks into a smile. "This is just what they needed to pick up their spirits. Thank you, Sergeant."