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There were no pressing matters to attend to, but Belo felt that she'd idled long enough in this reverie. She wasn't one for daydreams and mental meanderings, but the occasional escape into the make believe was harmless. Trite, but harmless. Her limbs strengthened rapidly as her legs grew sky-worthy, though her confidence was not quite as steady. She rose just as Cain's mistakable bellow crossed the upper deck and the entire ship pitched hard to port. Her eyes shot wide open as she tilted downwards, bending at the waist over the railing. Gravity failed her as her feet left the safety of the hardwood paneling. She might has wall have been dangling from the yard tackle; might have had a better chance of remaining aboard. The gently wafting clouds became ominous puffs of demise as she realized they'd be her first stop on her way into the watery abyss. But ah, of course, there were other limbs in her arsenal! Both hands groped for the railing, the artificial one overcompensating for the loss of footing by digging the brass digits into her guard rail. It was enough counter force to propel her away from the ledge and plenty of grip strength to send a shower of splinters skyward as the railing snapped in her plated hand.
The commotion ceased as quickly as it had begun, leaving her in a stunned silence while she mutely examined the chuck of oak in her hand. A foul taste snaked across her tongue, bitter and tangy all at once; like sucking on a foul penny. She spat and the flavor washed away, leaving her in a precarious stance. A deep fury bloomed within as she slowly craned her head round to peer into the bridge, stony gaze locking on their slapdash pilot. His skill was sound, though uncouth, much like her own, but the compiled events of the week had allowed Belo few pardons. There was no quarrel with him, as her carefully blank face expressed, but a quiet undercurrent flowed within, its direction unclear. This was no declaration of war, but without a proper outlet for her chagrin, it would all most certainly boil over and the crew would be left to deal with the explosive repercussions. There was no hurry in her step, no obvious course as she descended back into the hull, bridge in her sight. All the while, the wood in her hand began to shift and wriggle as she left a trail of shavings behind. The taste returned, but she occupied her lips with a whistler's tune as she ambled into the bridge, leaning against the doorway and entirely blase. She cupped her hands together for an instant, then let them fall away.
Belo's creation, however, maintained a steady altitude of roughly four feet off the ground. The chunk of hand rail had become an entirely separate shape with crudely defined features. She pushed off the wall and strolled down the hall, footfalls echoing evenly in the distance as she drifted off to the galley. The hunk of oak, however, floated towards Cain slowly before pausing over his lap. It fell with a soft thud into the awaiting lap where it revealed itself to be a modestly-whittled donkey, completed with hollowed eyes. As soon as it made contact with unassuming flesh, the side of it crackled and popped into living flame, searing the unmistakable word, "ASS" permanently into its wooden hide.
The word flickered and flared, the miniature fire flailing and snapping viciously for mere seconds until it died away in an instant, leaving the smoking brand in its wake; a permanent reminder of what exactly Belo thought of his hijinks and disregard for her tender state. Next time, she'd seek out his bedchamber rather than the upper deck to vacate her bowels. Now, he could eat the thing for all she cared, though she rather liked entertaining the idea of him keeping it among his possessions; a mantle piece if you would. It was actually one of her finer works, really, considering she generally resisted all magical creative urges. Call it weakness. Sometimes, the more mundane methods of expressing oneself just weren't up to snuff. She had to be intensely motivated to deny her otherwise consistent reluctance to use her ability, but the rewards could be so sweet. Oh, what a tangled mess she was. Hypocritical? Damn straight. Did she care? Once in a blue moon.
Her empty stomach rumbled insistently at her and she was keen on obliging it. The retching fit hadn't diminished her appetite and she looked forward to hoarding whatever salted atrocities the galley held for her. To hell with cookie; she'd take her fair share and be off with it. Damned be the one to stand in her way of jerked prunes.
Passive mention of their ultimate goal failed in coaxing Colt from his vacant roll over the drab scenery. Planks, bed, trunk, desk. Dull as dust bunnies and they'd be suffering whole days of doing little more than staring down the walls in hopes a rat or some other living being that wouldn't place their cause at risk might scurry in. About the only thing that the note of that target mineral inspired his imagination to scale was the possibilities to improve wherever their next living quarters would be with as many distractions as they were willing to afford. He could already tell he would be desperate in more ways than one by the end of this ballsy enterprise.
Now, though sentiments were alloyed closely with his brother's reproof of idle chatter, there was that rebellious glimmer that strove to contest; what sense was there in putting on an act with no intention of any witnessing all the fine-tuning of your facade to make it convincing? Not to say the mirror of the other male had any intention of bidding any unnecessary attention their way. Enough wisdom had been measured to him along with a fuel of self-preservation and greed to keep him from anything too asinine or brazen, but it had to be said that he was not looking forward to spending the duration of the voyage spent in near social isolation from all but the one plopped on the mattress. Unless they were lucky, drunk or the feminine gender populating the aerial vessel were ready to lift their skirts with as little encouragement as a proper amorous glance shot their way, the silent bastard type sure wasn't going to be gaining them any ground. Ol' Jedt could always claim some form of dementia had befallen him to excuse any variation in his behavior, though that cycled right back to what should have been their primary objective of lying low. Herein lied the disappointing sides of an extended con, at least one with qualifications so exact as to keep curtains from stirring to so much as allow a glimpse of the backstage. The magic of the production wouldn't be the only thing they'd lose if they were figured out, and Colt, in agreement with his partner in crime, was not about to put them in the direct line of fire if the option to slip under the radar was there.
Reflexive brace of tendons stuck his position as the ship lurched, blood rushing as that sense of both altitude and momentum climbing revved his cardinal engine. Outside, unchanged, worn leather skin pressing to the pillar to push him from his reliance upon it then both palms rose to grasp dusk waves, giving them a tug to tighten his short ponytail. "Right-o, buck. I'll get real cozy wi'em." Unenthusiastic, but not without the cheeky grin characteristically splitting his bronzed features. An about-face, the door was opened, a listless flick of his wrist over his shoulder the closest Liroy was getting to a wave. "Be back when it gets stale. Knit or somethin' t'keep yourself occupied."
Back down what would soon be an all too familiar scene, steps were retraced soundlessly for the most part as he recalled the path he took to get down to the living quarters. Now, if rumors set him straight, there were plenty of respectable canons on this rig, though his real interest was pricked at those fuzzy images none seemed capable of coughing up a decent description of. Whatever they were, the little rat had adequate understand to discern that your run of the mill artillery wasn't what kept this bird in the sky, nor gave it the glistening reputation that made its orbit about the ports. Temptation to exceed his boundaries and scope the vessel for those enticing toys would what he'd be fighting the entire trip, and he knew it. Maybe he would get lucky and something in those restricted areas would break down and the crew would need a hand; that or he would just sneak in while the smoke, sparks and frantic energies flooded the atmosphere.
Deviation of his attention spanned some time as he wandered his way back up flights to the top deck, a varied euphonic air pushed through puckered lips along the way. May as well start with surveying the top and working it way down until he was either called off for other obligations, halted and forbidden to go further or some other glinting captivated his focus. Whistling arched to a high and blithe note as those last stairs were climbed, the brine and bristling gales the welcome wagon along with... his nose being turned into a sanguine fountain.
Though the pilot may have been so kind to bellow out a warning for the port veer, if any would consider it as such, Colt hadn't the reaction time when emerging from his closed world of though for a reaction that might have saved him. Not even a stumble, just mercilessly flung to the side, face right into the wall. There were worse experience of discomfort and sobering jolts stored in the man's memory banks, but this certainly did a fine job of sending nerves into a flaming panic, routing urgent signals of pain to to his brain. Something that quickly subsided once the ship began to level out and the pressures of the incline weren't so strong. Still pressed to the wooden surface, a tinted, obnoxious chortle spilled from his mouth, amused and slightly agonized simultaneous.
"Heeeeell," Oh, that did not feel lovely in the least, contrary to his seemingly tickled response. Peeling himself back, fingers were ran below his nose and then held out to observe as he straighten himself out. No scarlet strains. Good deal. Now here was hoping there'd be no swelling, otherwise Liroy was getting a fist pumped into his schnoz that night. Slightly disoriented, steps were shuffled back and forth a bit before he swiveled about, jasper dropping to the planks at his feet. There it was. Volume and intensity of his eruption had dropped significant, now a subsiding snicker hissed as he bent to retrieve his black hat from the ground where it had toppled off his crown. Quick twists of his skull were made, dusting the headgear as he established his gait to proceed with his meandering out onto the deck. About then was when the other two present were noted as he sauntered his merry way toward the line of canons along the edges.
Booze 'n' boobs 'nd.... What'd they say the pretty one's name was? Captain.. F... Somethin' with an F.
"Bet the bastard gets some kicks out'a that, yeh?" Footinbra! ... No, that was just the twins' impulsive, lack-decency response upon first hearing it. What it had actually been before their bastardization, Colt could not recall to save his life. Best just stick to "Cap'm'" and "Yessir." And along came Booze 'n' Boobs (Bibi, maybe?), with the... guardrail in her hand..? The grin he wore remained, though the humor was now diluted to something pale and perhaps a taken aback by what exactly the pieces of the scene were coming together to tell him. Right on through, the innate was on her skippy way off the deck to elsewhere, and he kept right on with his befuddled grin. She just tore off a chunk of the guardrail, right? Right. Okay then! So far, this ship was filled with every type of woman you were afraid to unbuckle your belt around. The song did not ring out too happy thus far.
The Vast Sea, Twentieth Hour of the Seventh Day of Winter
Day descends quickly into night. The first day is uneventful, the weather too calm, the piloting too calm. The crew seems restless, used to facing challenges every step of their way. A few are even starting to miss the Aeronaut's sadistic piloting style. The day wears on, clouds and fog slowly forming in the gentle breeze. As night arrives, the first dinner of the voyage is begun, a mix of rations and an all-too-precious treat of fruit. It is the only night they'll be able to eat the latter, and with the addition of the scientist and the the mechanic, there is barely enough to go around. A few of the crew are grumbling over this.
What her kind called the stench of magic was not a stench at all, really. It was a sometimes pleasant mix of feelings, a taste in your mouth, a shiver along your spine. As Cas descended the stairs to the deck, she felt the bitter, sickening taste, the shiver, the disgust, and all of it pointed directly to her left. She glanced over her shoulder at Belo, the beast of a girl who was using her god given tricks as if they were toys. Cas took a deep breath, her hand on the blade resting at her side. She had come down here to do something, something productive, whether it be showing the scientist his place or threatening to cut the First Mate didn’t much matter to her. She was embarrassed, angry, and in a bad mood. Someone had to pay for that.
Lucky for Belo, Cas’ focus was elsewhere. The scientist boy was nowhere to be seen, probably below deck, and that left the First Mate as the scapegoat for all the pent-up anger she was feeling. He was still looking a little pale from his encounter with the Captain. Good. If that had scared him, what she was about to do might just make him shit himself. A grin quirked her lips. Good plan.
She wasn’t a cruel woman. On a normal occasion she took no pleasure in the pain of others, but would cause it if necessary. But Tallow Vance was an unlucky man, unlucky enough to have given her a reason to be. And while Cas would later feel a twinge of guilt for the man’s broken pride and parts, she couldn’t help but experience the rush that came from doing exactly what her kin were designed to be: dead sexy attack poodles.
The elf made the three steps it took to come upon the First Mate, the grin twisted and sly. She looked up at the man, who seemed surprised at her sudden presence. Her grin widened. Slowly, so slowly, she took a half step forward, close to the man. His eyes widened as she dug the metal heel of her boot into his, grinding it into the soft, plush flesh of his foot. Crunch. And the grin grew even wider. Her small hand slipped into her pouch, drawing out a thin knife, and she drew her arm around him as if in embrace, holding the blade to his back.
“The Captain may be merciful, but the first chance I get I’m throwing you overboard, Tallow.” She winked and patted his chest, gathering her skirts and gone as quickly as she had come.
“Cas, come here.” Her mother motioned the girl over with her finger, drawing the girl in though she wanted nothing more than to stay away from the two men. Onewas tall, and frightening, nothing like the elven men she had known as brothers. Compared to this godschild, even her father seemed tiny and weak. The other was nearly as tall, and was watching her very quietly, beads of sweat breaking out on his face.
She approached slowly, eyes wide. The second was grinning, he was very happy about something and she knew exactly what. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, herself. Embarrassed from the meeting of eyes, she looked down, only happening to spy the strange glittering things which hung from each of their hips. Her eyes grew more round, and she sped up, leaning forward not to embrace the man to be her lover but to touch the metal object.
“Ah!” he said, starting slightly in surprise and looking down. “What are—ah, I see you like my revolver.” The man grinned and pulled it out, and her eyes grew rounder still in wonder. She had never seen something like this.
“What does it do?” she asked, running her fingertips over it. Her mother was on edge, glancing between the two.
The man chuckled. “It kills, of course. Don’t they teach you any sort of self-defense here?” Her mother winced at that, and exchanged a glance with one of the other women. Even in her worried state, she couldn’t help but appreciate the irony. He leaned forward, obviously very proud of the thing. It was beautiful, a work of art, in more ways than she would know just then. “It’s a new technology, sure, but most soldiers these days use one in addition to the usual blade or bow. It’s very deadly, more than what they have back west. You see, there’s a sort of explosion here,” he said, pointing, “and it propels a bullet out of here, which can kill someone real easy.”
Cas was enamored with it. She wasn’t any good with a bow, rather slow in fact and the last in her class. A shame, considering her mother was one of the finest assassins the city had known. Or not known, rather. Cas had some vague awareness of what a gun was, that they were weapons of heathens and that her kind would have no part in their use. It must have been driving her mother mad to even see one, she thought, glancing up at her. She was right.
“Can I have it?”
“Cas!” Her mother protested.
But the man shook his head and laughed again. “This cost me an arm and a leg. Besides, a pretty lass like yourself wouldn’t have any use for it.”
Cas couldn’t believe it, but she was actually starting to miss Cain’s sadistic piloting methods. She’d wandered back and forth across the ship, snapping at anyone unlucky enough to get in her way, including the scientist, Cain, and the poor bastard of a First Mate again. She was on edge for more than one reason, though voicing one of them, even in her mind, might just make things worse. Anger dulled the feelings, pushed them back, and she was happy to oblige.
After too many boring hours, night had finally arrived and the call for dinner went out. Cas had found herself lounging on the deck, laying down with her palms under her head. The clouds hadn’t the tiniest bit of interest for her but at least it was a change from watching the sea or maintaining her guns. She could only do so much of the latter before they started wearing down. Slowly the elf got to her feet, dusting herself off and rearranging her many layers of skirts. Casting a glance around the deck, she hopped down the stairs and made her way into the dining hall, where the meals for the ship’s primary crew had just been set out. She smiled the tiniest of smiles and sat in her usual spot, nodding to those already seated. Except, there were too many chairs. Two extra. The scientist and…?
Her smile faded. Oh, yes. The so-called gunman who thought he could take her spot. It was too bad she hadn’t thought to poison his drink with laxatives earlier. Ah well, there was always tomorrow night, she thought, biting into a cherry and closing her eyes with a sigh.
Fortinbras Carlyle didn't falter as Cain whipped into a savage left turn. The rudder groaned in protest. The angled blackened vanes of the solar sails shuddered as though in a savage gale, metal rattling under the stress of mounting pressure. Even a few of the seasoned deckhands lost their footing, tumbling to the decking with muttered curses or cries of outrage. Fort merely heard the call and shifted one foot to brace on the port gunwhale, steadying himself against the sturdy soarwood as Cain made his gentle correction. His smile spread and a throaty laugh billowed from the core of his being.
The Captain shifted with the hull as Cain straightened out, the ship and its master moving in synchronous grace, a single being. A man made of soarwood. A vessel of flesh and blood.
There was no pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sensation which held the barest candle to the sight of the earth simply falling away beneath him and the sky, interminable and cornflower blue, opening its arms like a welcoming lover. The Ardent gained altitude, driving upward through the atmosphere until the towers of Cann seemed no more than the playthings of some long-vanished child, their angular silhouettes blurring with the distance and, as Cain shunted more fuel into the roaring aft engines, mounting speed. The world slipped away, peeling away at the edges like the curling of burning paper. And for Captain Fort, the cares of the work-a-day world were reduced to cinders. Here, he was untouchable.
Enough of that now...there was work to be done.
***
"Ante, lads."
The Traitor's Pick could have passed for any of a hundred grog-houses in any of a hundred little backwater burgs with all of the standard appointments which made life possible for the crews of any of a hundred petty blockade runners. It was a dimly lit little hive, smokey and redolent of moldering tinder, stale beer, and unwashed bodies. The furniture was scarred, mismatched, but comfortable enough for the purpose of a midnight carouse. Even the man behind the counter seemed a caricature: built like a bear with a gut like a musk-ox, heavy jowls covered in a bristly salt and pepper beard cut with a tracery of stray scars which gently implied time in either the military or in one of the bands who now frequented his establishment.
Four men sat around a scarred table covered in ale mugs, coins of various foreign mints, trinkets, and a battered flintlock pistol. All held a handful of cards close to their chest, furtive eyes scanning the pot and the faces of their counterparts. They were embroiled in a game which had become very popular in dive bars the world over, "Five Crowns."
The man who had called for ante was dressed in a well-tailored suit whose cut quietly whispered money. His oiled black hair, hidden when he sat by a large top hat, had not a lock out of place. He had a habit of idly stroking his neatly waxed mustache as he considered his play. He gestured to the man at his left.
The man at Tophat's elbow was arrayed in billowing shorts and an open vest of silk. Calamar, no doubt. A golden dragonshower upon that burning eastern wasteland. What had brought the shaven-headed golden-skinned stranger to the Traitor's Pick, one could only guess. He laid down a thumb sized jade figurine and waved on the man at his left.
The next man wore heavy canvas traveling breeches and went shirtless, his chest stippled with scars from errant sword-strokes and a single puckered gunshot wound beneath his left breast. The slouch-hat which covered his eyes was pulled low, obscuring his eyes, but not the manic smile which pulled at his features as he laid down the palm-sized pouch of purple velvet. With a jerk of his wrist, the silver crowns spilled out.
Clad in silk and leather, the fourth man studied his cards intently. With a toss of his head, the cascade of arterial spray which served as his hair whipped away from his eyes. He pursed his lips.
"In or out, Carlyle?"
Fortinbras Carlyle did not speak, only stood. A low groan passed through the assembled players, thinking he meant to step from the table. Instead, Fort's hands fell to the ornate silver buckle of his swordbelt. With a practiced wrench, the whole harness came undone. Without a word, Fort laid his lovingly forged schlager-bladed rapier and the heavy Harlon Arms bolt-pistol, both heirlooms from his father and his principal means of subsistence, on the table. A roar of laughter and approval followed as Fort reclaimed his seat.
"Fair enough, Fort. Here's to you." Tophat reached into the vest of his suit and produced a tightly-rolled scroll. Without ado, he tossed it upon the pile and chuckled. Everyone's eyes went wide.
"Show," said the Calamar.
A heavy breath in and out; a terse silence which held while men laid down their cards. The Calamar was sandbagging. An off-pair and a trey. Slouch held a straight, a low one. Tophat held three crowns and an ace, a look of triumph crossed his face. Fort swallowed heavily...
And laid down five crowns.
Inarticulate rage crossed Tophat's face and he reached for something else in his vest. Calamar shoved back from the table. Slouch dropped for floor, mouthing a curse as he saw what was coming.
Fort vaulted the table, the bolt-pistol in the holster atop the pot coming to hand like an old friend...
***
Fort spent his day plotting the Ardent's course, reviewing their commission, and going about the many things which occupied a Captain's time during an extended voyage. He was not the micro-managing type. His crew continued to sail with him because they knew their jobs. They did not need him breathing down their neck in order to see them done either.
Perhaps it was for that reason that he was surprised when the sun set and the bell rang to inform the crew that dinner was served in the galley. Fort stood, not bothering with his studded jerkin. Clad in the crimson silk and black leather that was his customary raiment, he crossed from his stateroom toward the ladder which led to the lower decks and the lovely aroma which emanated from the galley.
There would be few enough of these days. The cook would have less and less to go on...lean days ahead. Best to make the most of it while he could.
Fort stepped into the galley and made momentary eye contact with Cas, his resident elf and femme fatale. A lovely creature, certainly, and undeniably deadly. He dipped his head in something like greeting. "Evening, Cas." He stepped to the shelf and selected a plate before moving to take his customary seat at the head of the table.
Generally one to stand upon ceremony, Fort braced his elbows on the table and folded his hands to await the arrival of the rest of the crew. In the flickering illumination of the slim taper candles, he fell into a silence which had long since become supremely comfortable.
Aleta stayed below in the engine room a little while longer after take off, just to be sure that everything was running smoothly. She had been pleasantly surprised when the Ardent moved smoothly and slowly away from the docks. And she wasn’t the only one, most of the men with her had braced themselves for a wild take off that never even came. It appeared as though Cain had actually listened to her for once! She was so proud, maybe next time he needed medical attention she wouldn’t take a painfully long time trying to draw blood. Those damn veins could be just so darn tricky sometimes….not really. She just liked to poke Cain relentlessly with needles. The one person you didn’t want to get on your bad side was the ships doctor. It Cas or Belo injured or...well blew you up during a fit of rage, then it was Aleta who put you back together. In a way your life was held in the palm of her capable sadistic little hands. Although just as Aleta was thinking smooth sailing was ahead, the bastard pilot up above made a sharp turn. That was what she got for assuming Cain was going to take it easy on the ship for once in his miserable life. Unfortunately the poor girl was caught off guard. Her body swayed as she was knocked off balance, and she instinctively reached out for something to catch herself before she fell to the ground and embarrassed herself in front of the men that were present. However humiliation seemed inevitable, because what Aleta reached out to balance herself with was the scorching surface of one of the operating furnaces. A very angry cry ripped through the halls that led to the engine room, followed by thunderous cursing. By just the language alone, one might have mistaken the source as being the abrasive Innate aboard the ship.
Aleta hissed thru her teeth as she grabbed her throbbing hand. Her skin was rosy, showing signs of minor burns. It wasn’t anything serious but it still hurt like mother fucking hell. And then to make matters worse the engines roared as Cain accelerated rapidly. Aleta probably would have fallen backwards had one of the engineers not grabbed her. Goddamn shit for brains Cain! Aleta swore to everything holy that she was going to drug him and use him as a test dummy for surgeries. He was going to wake up one day without a kidney, maybe half a liver, no teeth, feet for hands and hands for feet, and to top it off a goddamn vagina!! After Aleta got her footing back she just swore under her breath. “Doesn’t he realize that there are enough people to hate in the world already, without him having to put in so much effort to give us another!?!” she asked no one in particular. However she already knew that the other engineers agreed. They were defiantly not apart of Cain’s insignificant fan base. “Tch…I’ma gonna go take care of this” Aleta said, motioning to her burned hand. And with that, the fuming red head stalked out of the room. They had just taken off, and already she wanted to murder that gobshite of a pilot! Oh boy, this was going to be such a bloody pleasant trip. The engine room wasn’t terribly far from her quarters thankfully. Being the doctor, her room was connected to the small clinic. That way if anything was amiss they didn’t have to go far to summon her for help. The clinic consisted of a few spare cots as well as an examination room that was also used for surgeries and any other sort of procedures. It wasn’t large, but it was adequate and enough for Aleta to keep the crew healthy.
The Doc sighed as she shouldered the door to the treatment center open. It was quaint looking, and wasn’t blindingly clean and white like most hospital settings. Aleta walked past the examining table that sat in the center and moved towards the cabinets that lined the back wall. It took her only second to locate the bandages that she needed. She knew this place inside and out, probably because she had spent a lot of her earlier days here…learning.
“Why did’ja bring me here?” the lanky red headed teen asked, wrinkling her nose slightly. It smelled funny and there were always sick men tossing and turning on beds in just the other room. The gruff looking man standing behind the girl put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to move further into the sterile clinic. “You said that you wanted more responsibilities didn’t you?” he asked the kid quizzically. The girl just looked over her shoulder, frowning unhappily….”This isn’t what I meant! I can fix anything on this ship better then half the men here so why stick me here of all places!! ” she complained. All she had wanted was more work to do around the ship…of the repairing variety! However she was one of many mechanics aboard the Ardent and things didn’t break nearly enough to keep her occupied. And being young and restless, the girl got bored easily.
“Don’t look at me like that” the older man chided as he looked at the freckled girls grimace. “Just hear me out….engineers come and go, they are vital…but easily replaced on a ship. A doctor on the other hand is hard to come by.” He tried to explain. However the girl was stubborn and was failing to see his reasoning. She just crossed her arms over her chest and looked like she was ready to lash out. “I’m failin’ to see yer point Old Man!” God she was such a pain in his ass. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight back the migraine that she was causing him. “ You want to be someone important don’t’cha!” he blurted out “ learning medicine will cement your place on the Ardent until the day you die…and any spare time you have can be spent fiddling with whatever needs fixin’” Honestly the man just wanted the girl out of his hair for an hour or two. Plus the present Doc was past his prime, it was probably about time he start passing his knowledge on to someone. Besides the man could probably keep the girl in line…seeing as old Doc Winchester was about as difficult as the Kilkenny girl herself. “So…what do you say?” he asked, watching as the girl just moved her green eyes around the room. He could tell she was mulling it over in her head.
“Fine…I’ll do it.”
Aleta held her hand under the faucet of the sink and was letting the icy water run over it. It soothed her skin and helped numb the pain somewhat. As she tended to her burn, she felt her belly groan. It rumbled and tumbled, trying to tell Aleta to hurry and finish what she was doing. She had been so mad at Cain that she didn’t realize how hungry she actually was…or even what time it was. She glanced at the clock that hung on the wall and cursed under her breath. Everyone would be gathering in the dining hall by now, and if she didn’t get down there soon all the food would probably be gone. And Aleta couldn’t have that happening. She may be a small girl, but she ate enough for five men. She quickly finished bandaging her hand and without wasting another minute she left the room and made a dash for the dining hall. Hell would freeze over before she gave Cain the chance to get first dibs on the grub! Her boots clunked nosily on the wooden floors as she approached, probably alerting everyone of her impending arrival. “Gah, I’m so hungry I think meh stomach is trying to ingest itself!” Aleta announced as the door of the galley swung open to reveal the spirited red head. Cas was already present, in all her indifferent glory. And the Captain was already seated at the head of the table, it seemed as though she was not as late as she initially thought. So she quickly grabbed a plate off the shelf and settled into her usual seat, eager to start stuffing her face.
Rem was is a completely sour mood now. He knew he should have never left the sanctity of his dark sanctuary, but he had, and now he had a wonderfully large bump on his head for all of his trouble. As he walked into the dining hall he had his shoulders hunched over hissing something about the crappy pilot. His head was still sore and would probably be that way for a while…
~
Wandering was not such a bad thing when most people did not notice you doing it. It was like a long game of hide and go seek. With his charcoal colored hair, and even darker suit he was basically invisible from everybody that walked by. Every now and then somebody would notice his blue eyes watching them, but mostly everybody stayed quiet. Nobody seemed to want any trouble ever since the captain had managed to somehow recover.
It was almost comical to see how different the crew acted when the captain was there to threaten them. Rem knew he had made a good choice in funding him. Other men did not have the strength or will power to control a group of men the way that he did, especially when sick. It was admirable.
Much more admirable then most of the other members of the crew for sure. It seemed that all the men on this ship ran completely on sex and booze. It did not hurt to pick up a book every now and then... Then, of course, there were the women. That psychotic elf did not seem like the friendliest female to be around. He would hate to get on her bad side. It would probably be one of the last things that he did. Then there was the Innate. She was probably busy doing whatever it was that Innates do, for him to get too close to her. The redhead from earlier popped back into his head also. She did not seem that bad, but just perhaps, a bit odd. Which was certainly not a crime. The Heavens only knew how odd Rem must be...
Rem had just managed to make it to the top of one of the stairways when things went horribly wrong. The ship suddenly took a sharp turn, leaving Rem, the lightweight, airborne. His first instinct was to lean back to avoid crashing into the ground. He completely forgot about the staircase. When his weight pulled him back he automatically knew he was in trouble. He swung wildly trying to keep his balance, but it was already to late. He flew down half the staircase, in a most interesting, and somewhat graceful, dive, landing straight on his forehead. The initial shock left him lost for words, but as soon as the pain set in he had to bite down on his tongue in order for him to remain silent. In his head he began to listing off every single curse he knew as his mouth filled with an iron flavor of blood.
~
Several hours after the incident, he still had an enormous bump on his head. I looked like a unicorn he thought with a huge tone of embarrassment. It was painful and humiliating. He had one hand pressing down on his bangs in a vain attempt to hide the mark. If his hands could fit around that neglectful, probably drunk, pilot's neck he would use all of his strength to insure that he never did any act of stupidity again. That thick, insufferable, son of a bitch is gonna pay for this one way or another… he fumed to himself. Rem was not one who normally held a grudge, but pain certainly did bring out the worst part of him.
He stood in the door way to the dining hall for a couple moments surveying the room. The captain was present, as was the elf, which was not all that unusual. He was also surprised to see the redhead. Luckly, (for the pilot,) the pilot was not there. Rem marched straight to one of the empty seats praying that nobody said anything about the bump. In his current mood he was not too positive that he could keep from snapping at anybody. He would just sit quietly, eat enough to keep him satisfied, then leave. Simple enough, but it seemed to be much harder when he actually had to do it.
The sorely-needed nap improved her mood immensely. Belo found that she even possessed the indifference to endure their typically unsavory nightly meals. She'd abandoned her cap and goggles to the condensed pile of belongings that now closely resembled a nest and had shed a majority of her outer wear, instead donning a clean-ish white blouse and gray tweed vest. She wriggled the mechanical digits into a black leather glove as she customarily did when a non combative group scenario arose. It was not that she chose to conceal the unnatural limb for the benefit of her crew, but rather to avert the myriad of stares it drew. Cain had the occasional snide remark, but those were easily brushed away. Their scientist was the main motivation for her choice of wardrobe. He often cast her glances she might have classified as lustful had they not been purely spurred by the desire to take her apart, spin a gear or two and attach electrodes to her eyeballs. Or whatever it was these educated types sought to do with blunders of nature such as herself. Cas exuded obvious loathing of the whole package and there was nothing to be done about that aside from stoking the fires and shrugging off the verbals barbs the high-strung elf spewed incessantly.
Tonight, however, was a careless night. She secured the door behind her and made the short trek to the galley where the other employees of fortune would be waiting with less-than-eager faces. She breached the threshold just behind the ginger doctor and looked up to find Cas shooting her a look of pure abhorrence. She arched an amused brow before taking her seat across the table from their resident assassin, offering a close-lipped, seemingly good-natured smile. The tiny creature wasted so much energy detesting Belo and really, she couldn't return the sentiment with the same fervor at all. At its worst, the feeling manifested as annoyance.
Belo offered a curt nod to their captain as she slipped into her chair, craning around to snatch a plate from the cupboard. Oh, the captain was a hoity-toity specimen indeed, not unlike those detailed in stories of old. They were valiant, enigmatic beings bearing stony guises and sheltering bleeding hearts. Ole Cap'n Fort was no exception. He had the air of a man who'd buckled much swash and anticipated many more encounters of the most perilous nature. Of course the hard bound book of life taught her that men were fallible and imperfect so the image of the stalwart captain had tarnished in her mind, but Fortinbras certainly was a novelty to behold.
Now the unfortunate fact of the meal was that the best had been laid out before them. Belo had never allowed herself fruity morsels in the past and didn't plan on making a habit of it. She eyed the more exotic offerings with some suspicion, unsure as to whether or not they warranted a taste. A cautious hand reached for a banana, one of the more nonthreatening choices among the present cornucopia. She leaned back as she peeled it, resisting the urge to prop her boots up on the table as she did so. The night was still young and she hadn't struck the proper nerves yet for that to be appropriate. Perhaps once the china started flying her way, she'd give it ago. Until then, she'd just have to cross her fingers and hope someone burst into a fit of rage and started hurling cutlery into the pineapples.
She'd bide her time until then and wait for someone else to start a promising bout of strained dinner table conversation. Belo wasn't about to start inquiring as to the state of everyone's constitutions. No, leave that duty to the ones actually enjoying this pleasure cruise. Unless...
A damn fine banana, this... Damn fine. A smirk teased her lips as the mischievous thought took shape. It wouldn't be in earnest and of course was out of character, but... oh, life was one big Tuesday and sorely lacking the shits and giggles required to render life palatable. "So how was everyone's daaaaay?" she said with the best feigned interest she could muster as she addressed the whole... four of them, then helped herself to another bite of banana.
Now, the accessible artillery had been surveyed, little notes and sketches tucked away in a pocket notepad for detailing all models and whatever other details the pair may need to review. Even when drawing it to the most painfully dull extent Colt could manage, the tasks were none to entertain him for a full day. Thus, he managed to make himself useful, either helping out a few deck hands or just pretending to look busy if anyone happened to walk by. Shine a canon or pretend to dismantle it and assure all parts were in working order. Loose a few screws here and there for Liroy to find later, keep him entertained and blame it on whoever was supposed to be taking over his obligations overnight, if they were discovered. Otherwise, it was about as much fun as pouring salt over a bucket of slugs. No, that would have been far more exciting.
There was the wonder of gazing off into the clouds, peering down into the patches of ocean when grey and white nebulae ebbed from time to time, but his attention for the sights and the opportunity for introspection and contemplation of his place in the universe just wasn't enough to fill the day. Really, given his character, the whole self-examination thing was avoided at all costs for the most part, lest he have to man-up and face some serious convictions. No sir, he was fine with all the calloused tissue about his heart, thank you very much. What he could have killed for was an open bar and the hope that some grace was bestowed to him that none of the crew would take notice that he scarcely vacated the place, but knew better than to set his sights on the lofty, iridescent prizes. Save their whole reason for choking down the disenchanting tedium this voyage promised them. lest these sea monsters and pirates showed up, though he'd take the numbing routine over the chance of losing his head anyway. That Particle Shift promised more than he and his brother had the might to avert their attention from. Glittering and gold, far too captivating for a pair of miserably acquisitive dogs to feign indifference toward. Still, that didn't keep him from mentally whining all the way.
Night pulled in like a distracted slug. Couldn't be too soon for the mutt's churning insides, either. Down those stairs and the halls to where he had passed by the modest mess hall in longing a few times that day already, this time, it was occupied, and adorn with what was likely the best sight he had witnessed that day-save the guardrail being torn off. He was still impressed with that. Swank slink lead him in to the next chair in the row of seats already filled in next to the ghost-locked one, right in time to intrude and seize the first response to the inquiry presented.
"I tell you, I saw this fish-bird thing flyin' low... Might've been part foot with the damnable funk, but that thing could'a swallowed that shiny arm o' yours whole," he rattled, though with no variation in his confident projection to lead any to believe he was for one minute conjuring the whole experience. "Think it was eyein' our rudder." He collapsed in the seat, one elbow folded on the surface and up to cradle his chin with one roughened hand, the other reaching out in front of him to pluck a stem of grapes from a platter and begin consumption, countenance absent of any real excitement. In other words, "Dull, Bi..er.. Mum." Whatever her real name was, some little voice in the back of his head told him she wouldn't appreciate any of the pet names mused, and that went for those constructed for the rest of the crew, as well. It wasn't his fault he had no proper introduction. Skills and some temperament traits the regulars possessed along with a few names dropped here and there, but the majority of the members he possessed no recollection for any descriptions. "Bird's got some mighty pretty guns, though," a nod was given, the captain, and it was about then he realized the quiet looming about the place... And the whelp's swollen forehead, which only inspired a twitch of a smirk. Aha, he wasn't the only one to smash his face, at least.
The sudden appearance of a floating piece of wood pulled Cain’s attention away from what he was supposed to be doing, steering. It fell into his lap and he looked at it curiously. It was a donkey. A rather poorly done donkey at that, kind of a hack-rush-job. He smirked and moved to pick it up when the damn thing burst into flame. Cain leapt up and sidestepped it, waiting long after the fire vanished. He didn’t even move until he felt it wouldn’t burst into flame again to right a “Jack” in front of the charred and smoking “Ass.” When he felt safe, Cain bent over, one hand on the wheel, and picked it up. That was not natural so it had to be either Belo or the short, smart kid. He would seriously need to learn his name one day. Cain turned it over and slowly began to laugh aloud. It had to be Belo. He hadn’t done anything remotely bad to the kid today. Hell, he hadn’t done anything that bad to Belo but she’d been stone-dead hungover this morning and her patience had probably long since reached its maximum quota for the day. This, however, was unexpected. He had never seen her use any type of magic before. For awhile, Cain actually doubted she could do anything but spit and sleep. It seemed so.
Time passed and one of the other pilots came up to take over. Cain asked him what he was doing and the kid pointed towards the horizon. That was when he noticed the sun had started setting. When did that happen? Reluctantly, he gave up the wheel to the co-pilot, pocketed his compass, and headed down towards his room. He could feel the Ardent slowing bit by bit as he walked. None of the back-up pilots liked flying so fast. It irked him but he had to deal with it because he’d never sleep otherwise. He liked sleep. A lot. It was a favorite past time of his. Along with flying and collecting the various things that had been thrown at him while on the crew. There was a shelf just above his bed where most of the prizes stayed and that was where he put the ass. He glanced at the bottle the captain had chucked at his head and resisted the urge to have some more. He didn’t need any. Maybe when Cas decided it was open season to hunt him he’d have at the contents of the bottle. He tugged off his goggles and tossed them onto his bed, massaging his face. The outline was faintly visible around his eyes. Shrugging on his coat, Cain turned and headed off towards dinner. He dug his hands into the pockets of the coat and wiggled his nose, trying to regain feeling. He hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. He must have lost feeling a couple of hours ago from all the wind hitting his face. One bonus to not having to do any of the night shifts, even if they were shorter. It got cold out there in the winter.
There were already people in the room when he walked in. Aleta was the first thing he heard and responded to. "Please, do me a favor and let it ingest itself." Cain grabbed a plate and filled it with food but he didn’t start eating, not yet. He decided to jump on what the new guy was saying instead, “I don’t think a flying fish would want to eat Belo’s arm. Not after where it’s been.” Then he tuned out. He filled a shoddy tin cup with something that looked promising and began gnawing on an apple. He took the first empty seat he came to smack next to Mr. I’m A Midget. God, what was his name?! Cain frowned as he tried to remember but the only thing he kept coming up with was fishtail. What the hell did a fishtail have to do with anything?
Cain was nursing a tin cup of unmentionable fluids when Belo had managed to grind out her first sentence to anyone, or so he assumed, since she’d boarded that morning. “Fine and dandy, Darling,” he responded nonchalantly and continued to drink. Somewhere at the back of his mind, gears had begun spinning and bringing separate thoughts into one. Cain wasn’t normally one to pay attention to his subconscious but the collision sent him spiraling and he proceeded to spit all over his plate and choke on what was left. His skin darkened slightly at the vile, combined thought and he quickly shoved his chair back. He brought his fist to his face as he tried to regain semi-normal breathing and to inconspicuously conceal his face. “I’m o—” a particularly nasty hacking, “o—okay,” he finally managed to spit out. His skin tone was getting lighter, most likely from the sudden lack of air, but he was happy he wasn’t blushing anymore. God, this was going to be hard to explain away. Hell, like he’d even try. If Belo didn’t assume he was mocking her like usual he would ignore her until she did. That always worked. Of course, he’d only tried it once but it had worked then so he was pretty damn sure it would work now.
He scooted away from the scientist kid, even more perturbed by how he had been imagined. “Soooooo,” he drawled as he tried to think of a way to save face. He could always go with pissing everyone off, although he rarely had to try to do that. Ah well, the best distractions were usually messy. “How many people kissed a wall today?” he inquired. That hard turn he’d done early hadn’t even phased him but he’d heard among some of the youngins in the crew that to fly on the Ardent you didn’t need “sea legs” or whatever they called it nowadays, you needed “Aerodar legs.” He still didn’t know why they were so fond of that nickname. Cain started to muse and only jolted back to what was going on when he accidently put his hand in his food. “Shit,” he hissed and licked his fingers. He looked back up at the group. First person he looked at was Cas and more thoughts started connecting. He swallowed, forcing the pictures back down and pulling a smile out of his ass. He was still staring though. Goddamnit, he needed help. “Well, I’m having a great day,” he said with a laugh while forcibly turning his head to look elsewhere. Wood wall, safe ground. “Smooth sailing so far.”
One of the engineers had asked her once if she loved the Captain. No, she’d replied, she loved serving the Captain. The bewildered expression on the engineer’s face and the subsequent rumors from below deck had convinced her she needed to make her loyalty to the man less obvious. So it was that when the Captain greeted her, Cas returned it with a cold, indifferent nod.
She did, however, have greetings for the other members of the crew. “Nice bump,” she said with a smirk as the young scientist took his seat.
The slow trickle of crewmembers slowly grated on her nerves, and Cas found herself eating quietly and glaring at whoever was seated across from her—which just happened to be the walking piece of trash, Belo. Her high-pitched, faux friendliness didn’t help things.
“Oh, just peachy,” she replied through grit teeth.
Despite the great pleasure the food was giving her, none of it showed on her face. She finished her strawberry and reached across, snatching the plate of bananas Belo was feasting on and placing it neatly on her side. Cas made sure to eat every last one of them, licking her fingers and glaring at the girl all the while. She had a hard time not noticing Cain’s entrance, tall as he was. She glanced up at him, trying not to give him any more attention than she had to. “I don’t think a flying fish would want to eat Belo’s arm,” he said. “Not after where it’s been.” Cas’ lips twitched and she wasn’t quite able to contain the rare laugh. Indeed, she thought with a smirk, which faded after he called her ‘darling’. She ate another one of Belo’s bananas for that. Strange, she thought, and tensed up a little as Cain started to choke, watching him uneasily and sighing in relief and annoyance once he'd stopped.
“Have something against fruit, love?” she asked with a wry grin once he’d recovered.
She wasn’t sure if he heard her—he was too busy making the strangest sort of scene. She raised her eyebrows at his strange behavior. He’d started choking himself, put his hand in his food, and then to top it all of he was staring at her. She looked away, annoyed and embarrassed, and made a mental note to confront him about it later. Paranoia told her he was hiding something big, maybe working with that mutinous sonofabitch Vance. Maybe the kid was in on it too. Yes, and Belo too…somehow.
“Smooth sailing indeed. Are you sure it was you piloting today, Cain?”
- - -
“I want you so bad.”
Cas Seingalt shivered. She was cold and naked in this strange man’s bed and she wanted to be anywhere but here. Her arms were wrapped around her slender body, her legs pressed tightly together and her blankets pushed away by his uncaring hand. She was a little thinner than usual, she hadn’t been eating much at all since martial training had finished and she had been forced to move onto…this.
Fuck, did she want him too. More than anything. She hated the son of a bitch, hated him for the way he joked about her body and treated her like cattle. Hated him for happening to be born with the exact combination of genes that attracted her and made it a lie to say she didn’t want him. She was willing to bet it was this godchild’s grandfather who had come up with the sick idea.
“Aw, come now lass, don’t be so down,” she said, stroking her shoulder eagerly. How could he grin when she was so frightened? He was trying to seem nice, to calm her down, but she knew he would take what he wanted regardless. “Just you lay back there, and...”
She wanted to push him away, an act that would earn her ten lashings if the Ladies ever found out. The man was the cowardly sort of brute, just like his grandfather. She was supposed to be thankful she didn’t get him, but she wasn’t. The man was still fully clothed. He was afraid of being seen naked. It made her feel even worse that he demanded it of her. At his hip glinted that wondrous revolver of his. Her eyes rested on it as he began to undo his pants’ laces, his hands shaking and his breath loud in her ears.
Cas didn’t need to think about it for more than a moment. She ran her hand down the side of his waist, her grin growing wider and wider as it neared his holster. Grinning like a cat that had caught not just the canary but the whole damn tree, she slipped the revolver out and put a bullet into the brain of her would-be lover.
Freedom.
Well it seemed as though she hadn’t been the only one to be caught off balance by Cain’s little maneuver. The whiz kid walked in with an impressive welt right smack dab in the middle of his forehead. It looked as though he was trying to hide the bump with his bangs, however the thing was just to huge. It jutted out like a fricken horn…it could be a second nose. Aleta actually had to stifle a little laugh when Cas bluntly pointed it out. Probably in an effort to embarrass the boy in front of everyone. However she was careful to catch herself and keep her chuckle quiet. Why? Well because he hadn’t been the only one to hurt himself. Aleta spared a small glance down at her lap where her burned hand rested gingerly on top of her legs. It still hurt but at least the pain had dulled a bit. Not wanting to be the butt of anyone’s joke Aleta was careful to keep her bandaged hand beneath the table and out of sight. If any of her crewmates caught a glimpse of it she would probably never hear the end of it. Aleta wasn’t exactly known to be the most graceful member of the Ardent crew. In fact she was such a klutz that some of the crew had even joked that she had the poise and reflexes of a drunken cat. And speaking of inebriation, Belo must have joined them at some point. By the time Aleta looked away from the Brain the woman had already settled in the seat across from Cas. Oh boy this was going to be an interesting dinner. The two were not exactly fond of each other. In fact Cas and the drunkard were already staring each other down. The Doc looked between the two of them, it probably wasn’t wise for them to be sitting across from one another. However Aleta didn’t say anything, mainly because this would probably provide some entertainment for the evening. Dinner and a show! There couldn’t be anything better.
"So how was everyone's daaaaay?" Belo drawled as she ate one of the bananas in the bunch that she had sitting in front of her. Although…they weren’t in her possession for very long. The minute Cas saw that Belo was enjoying her lovely potassium rich banana she just reached out and snatched the bushel away and out of the Innates reach. Aleta just snorted slightly, once again just trying to avoid bursting out in laughter. She was just waiting for something to blow up, or for someone to be shot at. Dinnertime was always so damn exciting. “ The day would have been better if it hadn’t started so early” Aleta muttered. Like most of the people here, she wasn’t to keen on having to get up early. If she had it her way, then she would still believe that 7 am was just a myth and that it didn’t really exist.
Aleta reached out and began to grab some grub. As more people showed up the slimmer the picking would become. Sure the food was good now, however that was only because they had just left port. The kitchen was fully stocked at the moment, although everyone knew that it wouldn’t last for too long. So she may as well enjoy the food while it was unspoiled. The plate in front of the Aleta was barely visible beneath all the food that had been compiled onto it. There was an almost childlike expression on her face as she looked lovingly at all the food. In fact she was so entrance by the smorgasbord she barely even noticed the new guy walk in and take a seat. He started talking about something weird like flying fish trying to eat Belo or something. Aleta didn’t really know, she had just sorta tuned everyone else out. Once she was satisfied with her abundance of fruits cheese and bread she just dove right in. The girl definitely had a healthy appetite, and absolutely no table manners to boot. She just started stuffing her mouth full of grapes until her cheeks were puffed out like some sort of starved squirrel. It was actually a rather grotesque yet comical sight. And it was at this time that Cain decided to make his late entrance. The minute he walked in Aleta seemed to just zero in on him. Green eyes narrowed as she glared daggers at the gigantic thorn in her backside. Honestly it was amazing that the Ardent hadn’t blown up or anything with the amount of animosity that the crew had for each other. But if looks alone could kill, then Cain would be a heaping mass of rotting flesh the moment he graced them with his presence.
"Please, do me a favor and let it ingest itself” was the first thing out of the giant baboons’ mouth. Aleta tried to mumble a comeback, but her mouth was too full to form any distinguishable words. She just watched with the most severe look of discontent as Cain grabbed a plate and settled happily into his seat. He went on to talk about how things were smooth sailing, how the day was just great, and how people were slamming into walls. That just made Aleta grimace, being reminded of her little fiasco in the engine room. Oh he was just so smug! She just glared at him as he stared off into space. He was always spacing out! What the hell went on in that tiny little brain of his. Well…since she could not form an insulting sentence to hit him with she did the next best thing she could think of. She spat a couple of the many grapes in her mouth across the table at him while he still looked distracted. She was careful to aim for his head. It was a bit childish, but hell it would make Aleta feel better. So she just smirked as she finished chewing the rest of her food.
Rem was currently attempting to be as invisible as possible; needless to say he was failing. The elf was quick to pointed out the wonderfully large mark on his forehead. With a bit of a huff he removed his hand from his head and said, ”Yes, I was hoping to start this trip off with a concussion,” he said layering on the sarcasm.
The remaining members of the main crew were quickly filling up the galley. First to enter was the Innate. For a few moments his eyes followed her across the room. In any other situation he would have continued to watch her, but in his current state he did not wish to draw attention to himself in any way. He had to force himself to avert his eyes.
Instead his gaze turned to his plate, which still remained empty. Several of the others had already begun helping themselves to the food. Normally, he would have been quick to join them- if one did not stake claim to what was available quickly, they usually did not get anything- but his appetite was the least of his concerns right now. In an attempt to look like he was not starving himself he grabbed an apple and left it in the center of his plate. He probably would not end up eating it, but the presence of the fruit at least made it look like he was trying.
He closed his eyes trying to think of anything else, but all he could think about was the his currently misshapen forehead. When he was usually bored he liked to come up with games to entertain himself. He could already cross off exploring from the list of things he was ever going to try on the boat again, so he moved onto another one of his games.List the facts. He would just choose a random object and try to name as many facts or details about it as possible. To start off the game he tried to keep it as simple as possible.
An apple... Scientific name is Malus domestica. A member of the family Rosaceae. Picked from a tree. Usually contains a white or pink flower. Five leaves. Blooms mainly in spring. Contains low amounts of Vitimin C, but still hold a lot of nutritional value. Are good for preventing future health issues...
After about a minute of this he was bored again. No entertainment came from analyzing something already discovered. That, of course, was why he was on this ship. The possibility of studying something new was absolutely tantalizing. Certainly much more appealing than listing off Botany facts.
He looked around again just barely catching a snicker from one of the other crewmembers. He did not recognize this male, but that was hardly a surprise. Before he could continue on with his game he saw someone else walk in. It happened to be the one guy on the ship that he was truly angry at. That stupid pilot!
The guy actually had the nerve to sit next to him! At this point and time his back arched back and hissed slightly, similarly to a cat. He did not bother listening to the pointless blubbering coming out of his mouth, but he did catch the last part of his monologue.
“Smooth sailing so far.”
Rem had to do everything to keep from loosing his mind. ”A blind man could sail smoother than you, You Imbecile!”, he hissed under his breath. Bring it back it in. Don’t waste your time on him, he said breathing in and out trying to remain calm. Back to the game…
Pilot... A Navigator. Aeronaut. One of the main members of any crew. Unfortunately. Controls the movements of the vessel. Keeps on course. Skilled at steering clear from danger. Skilled my ass.
That was it he could not take it a moment longer without some type of an answer,"What the hell was going through your head out there?" he asked the pilot hoping to get some type of reasonable answer."It had better have been freakin' important!"
With just one bullet to his head, she was free. But she knew it wouldn’t last. The sound would carry through the walls of the manor, and her sisters would be here soon. She had to act quickly. Cas pushed the bloodied, broken body off of her, lip curling in disgust, and let it roll off the bed with a dull thud. Gathering her discarded clothing, she peeked out the door to check if anyone was running towards her. Luckily it looked like she wouldn’t have to make a run for it in the nude. Hurriedly she slipped on a shift. Shouts were echoing through the halls and she could hear the pounding of footsteps above her. Wasting no time, she dashed through the halls and into the lounge, where the exit of the manor stood clear as day. She’d made it.
“Cas, what are you—?” Her mother’s voice. She turned quickly, eyes wide, the man’s revolver in her hands. A gasp. Then a shout, as the matron called for soldiers and reached for the blade hidden in the wall. Cas didn’t waste any more time and burst through the double doors and into the grey drizzle of Cann. She needed a shop. Shivering and soaked to the bone already, she darted through the nearly empty street and into a jewelry store. Cas wasn’t sure whether it was the appearance of an elven woman or the gun pointed at his head, but the man gave her what she wanted without a fight. Gold tender. Glancing over her back all the while, spying the smallish, hooded group in the distance, she found her way to a gunsmith’s shop. She dropped the gold on the counter and leaned over, a smile on her lips. “What’s the best this’ll buy me?”
Again the shock seemed to work in her favor. He was gaping at her, reaching for her hair—elves didn’t exactly make themselves seen in the city—and after a while she gave up and reached for the finest, grandest firearm she could see: a well-decorated, gilded clockwork rifle that drew her in immediately. Fine, then. She left the gold on his counter, imagining no other use for it, and exited the door. Her first mistake. Pain sliced through her left thigh and she screamed, dropping to her knee. She’d been too slow. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she shouldn’t have loitered where they could see her. Cas didn’t think they’d really attack her out in public. She had gravely underestimated how important godchildren were to them—a forgivable mistake as she had never even met a god. Another arrow pierced her side. A moment later, the same leg. She had to get out of there, now, or she might be the shortest lived elf in history. What a way to be remembered. Groaning, she pulled herself up and pushed the almost crippling pain away. She had a limp now, a serious one. Cas could barely use her left leg. She glanced behind her to estimate their distance—maybe she could book it and pass out somewhere where she’d be taken in purely as a novelty. Good plan, she thought. They were a fair distance from her, but as she watched a surprisingly large crowd poured out of a building between them, probably a theater. Blocking their view of her and stopping them in their tracks. Cas closed her eyes and thanked the gods for favoring her, whatever their reasons.
Limping, dragging really, she made her way across the street, away from where they would look. Airships. Docks. Ropes tugging, engines purring, as foreign a sound as she had ever heard. The last place they’d ever look for her. Her vision was beginning to get blurry. She dropped to her knees again, trying to focus on some vague figure before her. Red hair, she thought, but couldn’t be sure, and a kind voice. Gloves, grasping her before she faded out completely.
Last edited by Eden; 08-04-2011 at 05:56 PM.
“Naaaah, it must have been the ghostly lemurs that hang out on the sails piloting today,” Cain scoffed at Cas, wiggling his fingers when he said “ghostly lemur” for necessary emphasis. “I spent my day sleeping in my cubby.” He hadn’t been looking at her when she’d spoke and he hadn’t been looking when he responded. It would be at least another four hours and a decent sleep before he could glance at the elf and not see her in golden chainmail. Elves must seep something out of their skin that made men want to do bad, bad things in their presence. It was the only explanation he’d be attracted to someone who could kill him any number of ways and get away with it. Stop thinking about it Cain! Stop it!
A slimy, round object to the side of his face brought him out of his self-berating. A few more pummeled him and he quickly wiped his face. A morbidly disgusted grimace corroded his features and he let loose a loud “Ugh!” He glanced down the table at the culprit. Aleta was smirking happily to herself as she continued to eat her food, feigning innocence. He picked up his half eaten apple and chucked it at her face. “Here, let me share too!” he shouted with a laugh. He would’ve thrown his plate just to spite her but he had no desire to waste his food.
When Rem suddenly started shouting at him, Cain only managed to blink moronically. His first thought was “It can talk?” while the question Rem had asked processed itself. When it did, Cain’s brain grinded to a stop. That was possibly the worst way to word that question whether he knew why or not. Cain should have just retorted the way he usually did: part teasing and part nonsense. He should’ve covered it up with the question “Who’re you?”. He had no idea who the guy was so it would’ve fit at the moment and it would’ve distracted him away from his previous question hopefully. The kid might still be able to think semi-rationally even when fuming so he might just shoot out the question again to which Cain would be at a loss.
No, Cain did absolutely none of the smart choices and opted out for staring blankly at him while he actually remembered what he had been thinking earlier that day. First image that came to mind was the mermaids and for Pete’s sake, he was trying very hard not to say anything as he balked at the image of this kid with a fishtail. Why in all that is good and evil did a man-boy-midget thing have to look somewhat decent with a fishtail. He remembered his mother had been open, if that was the proper word, to loving every and all creatures but Cain highly doubted this is what she meant.
“There was a tree in the way,” he said, still dazed. He looked down at his plate and frowned. These were his crewmates. These were not people that flaunted and hung off of him like the manly idol he was. These guys threw things at him, spit fruits at him, and dropped flaming asses in his lap. And this kid he didn’t even know! Where the hell did all those wonky dreams come from?! Who the heck had spiked his coffee grinds? Damnit. Cain frowned further. Get over it man, get over it. Damnit. Not working. Gawdamnit. Stop imagining it. Stop it! SHIT! Cain leapt up and slammed his hands onto the table. He was still glaring darkly at his plate and his skin was scarlet, but that was as far as he got. Again, his mind reeled for some way to ignore what it was thinking and handle the situation. He’d imagined bad things before but never with other guys. Guys don’t fantasize about guys. And Cain didn’t fantasize about being married either.
Ah f*ck it. This was bad enough.
Then he realized what he was doing and quickly sat back down. He pulled a serene smile on and started laughing. Long and hard. He doubled over and set his forehead on the table as he laughed until he couldn’t breathe, until his sides hurt. “Pig shit, I amaze myself sometimes,” he wheezed. Sitting up straight, he wiped his eyes and sighed. He looked at the kid again and grinned. Then he noticed the bump. O. He’d fallen over. “You should really work on getting your footing instead of holing yourself up in...whatever all the time.”
Cain, apparently, did not have even the decency to look at Cas while he was speaking to her. “Naaaah, it must have been the ghostly lemurs that hang out on the sails piloting today,” Cain he said, wiggling his hands. Half wanting to crack a smile at his antics and half wanting to shoot him for being so rude, she instead opted to simply raise her eyebrows and mutter something about not having any manners in Kerria.
Damn gypsy.
Cas sighed and glanced at Aleta, just as the girl spat a grape out with surprising accuracy at Cain’s cheek, landing with an “ugh!” from the pilot. Now this was simply too amusing for the elf to fight, and before she could help herself she was doubled over, arms wrapped around her stomach and laughing quietly. She covered her mouth, eyes watering and shaking with the laughter, hoping no one noticed. It certainly wouldn’t do any good for her image but she simply couldn’t help it.
Ah well, maybe she’d shoot the new guy in the foot or something, initiate him and save her reputation at the same time. She couldn't recall any members of the crew she hadn't shot at least once, though occassionally she would remember someone who'd gotten lucky. That of course required dragging them out of the engine room, or better luring so they didn't run or scream, but...
When the laughter had subsided, she grinned as Cain tossed a half-eaten apple back at Aleta shouting, “here, let me share too!”
Cas let the tiniest smile stay on her lips and shook her head. Children. Good entertainment, nonetheless. She frowned slightly. Either the two hated each other, or their childish antics hid something worse. She bit into Belo's banana and began to find her mood souring once again.
But then, ah, the little man who’d funded their trip made the mistake of shouting at a member of the crew. Her crew. Well, alright, Fort’s crew technically but she felt protective of them nonetheless. The morons’d probably be dead if it weren’t for her. Well, they’d also have a few less bullet wounds but…who could blame a girl with a crew like this? Really, now, she should be commended for her patience.
“Idiot or not, well, yes, idiot, Cain is a member of this crew and you’ll show the proper respect for that,” she said as she calmly cocked her gun and pointed it at him over the table. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Are we clear?”
Quiet, fixed more on his consumption of what was included in the cornucopia of rations than involving himself with the mild cacophony composed between the other crewmen, Colt still kept one ear open and paid wordless panning for entertainment's sake. For the most part, it was all largely entertaining. Peculiar behavior of the pilot amplified only as provocation was provided by the others present, what he viewed as entirely harmless propulsion of perfectly good edibles, even up to the prepubescent-or what he assumed him to be by stature, countenance and reactivity-umbrage eruption, all delightfully hilarious. Doubt washed dark features of their crooked slant at the rosy bloom of the older man's features along with his rise to his full height and rapid decent, however, only for the uncertainty of the apparent stress tensing the man to begin with. Waves rolling back to that agreeable crest, the con snorted his humors through round nostrils, shaking his head slightly as he took a bit of a pinch of a wheat loaf he'd acquired while studying the scene.
Now, he had dealt with his share of eccentrics, these being nothing of a shock, but it was a matter of discerning what was proper and what would put his-and his brother's-head on the chopping block, were they to trespass on terrain their soles were unfit for, according to this group. They certainly were the reactive bunch, from what he gathered thus far. This wasn't the difficulty for the gunman, though. That very proclivity for reprisal would be his temptation throughout the duration of the voyage, his own inclinations being to expose those who would be at any and every turn. Most, particularly the feminine and young, were easy enough targets, which made it all the more arduous to keep from engaging his innate tendencies for mischief.
It was while pondering what possible impish routes were set before him, forbidden as he was to tread down them even a few steps at the time, that he was drawn out of his blithe little world and back to the reality of the situation, which, frankly, even had him taken aback to some extent. Now, it wasn't so much the act, but that it was conducted with so little agitation. Was the elf really pointing a gun at the kid for speaking out? Whoo-hoo, he sensed a certain trickling of scarlet streams or something severely misplaced in the girl's demeanor.
Arch expression twisting his features, a discrediting smile and a high curve of one brow shot to the one so eager to stroke her trigger as he rustled two-toned locks. "Wo-hoah, priss. Think you'd be a trifle miffed if your pretty face was mucked up, too." Tones were even, spared the trembling the firearm should have instilled, even if it was not pointed his way. He was certainly amused with the brunette's vehemence, but with no flare of censure so much as curiosity in his approach. This was not so much a defense for the youngest of the bunch as it was an attempt to cipher the perplexing pattern of the short female's actions. If the kid was all-deserving of a bullet, Colt wouldn't be the one convicted for placing it right between his pretty blue eyes, having likely employed his firearms for worse before, but he could not, for the life of him, see the justification here. Not that it was always needed, but he'd like to be enlightened, if there was something he was missing, if only to avoid staring down the barrel himself in future accounts.
"Really goin' t'waste your bullets?" Colt, for one, could think of better things to save them for.
It was beginning to feel as if the drumming rain was never going to stop. The rain had been coming down rather heavily for the past couple of days, and it was making her restless. Most people found the sound of falling rain soothing, however to her it just made things seem gloomier then they really were. The clouds were dreary and cast the city into darkness. What Aleta wouldn’t give for just one tiny ray of sunlight to come peeking through. There was no work to be done, so she was left with nothing to do…and she had grown tired of pestering the pilot. “Bored…” she whined like a child as she just leaned against the railing, staring longingly out into the city. If the weather had been nice then they would have been able to hear the hustle and bustle of people in the streets, vendors calling out to prospective customers, entertainers shouting to try and draw a decent crowd, and of course the experience wasn’t complete without hearing the local drunks out causing a ruckus.
Suddenly green eyes spotted movement a little ways down the dock. She leaned over more to get a better look, and saw a woman approaching…and stumbling around from the looks of it. Heh, maybe she would miss out on seeing the local drunks afterall. Or at least that was her initial thought. It was rather hard to see through the rainfall. She just watched, prepared to watch some inebriated woman make a complete fool of herself. However as she staggered closer to the ship, Aleta finally realized that the woman wasn’t drunk at all. She could finally make out the red stains on the strangers clothes and the sticks with feathered ends sticking out of her body. Green eyes widened and without wasting another second she was racing for the ramp. To anyone that saw her pass she was nothing but a blur of red.
The woman collapsed to her knees just a few feet from the Ardent’s ramp, the rain diluting the puddle of blood that pooled around her. Aleta reached the woman a second later…and was shocked to find that she was staring down at an elf. She had never actually gotten to see one close up. They normally kept themselves out of the public eye. The woman’s startlingly dark eyes were unfocused as they looked up at her. “Hey, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?!” Aleta asked speaking loudly to be hear over the pounding rain. She was trying to get the woman talking so she wouldn’t fall unconscious. However there was no response, and then the elf began to sway. Aleta quickly reached out to grab the woman’s shoulders to try and steady her. However brown eyes rolled back into the small woman’s head as she passed out. Her head lolled forward and she became dead weight in the red heads hands. “Dammit” she cursed. The woman was in bad shape. Three arrows stuck out of her body. One in her side and the other two in her left leg. One was embedded in her thigh and the other just a little below it. It was lucky that the woman hadn’t stopped to pull out the arrows. Although they had created the wounds, they were also plugging them in a way. The blood had to flow around the arrow heads, so with them it would take her longer to bleed out.
The rain had soaked them both, and although it was dangerous to move her…Aleta had no choice. Besides the woman had already been stumbling around, so a little more movement wasn’t going to make much if a difference anymore. However before she even thought of budging the woman, she had take care of her leg. Taking off her long sleeve jacket she tied it around the woman’s left thigh, just a little above the first arrow. She had to create a tourniquet before moving her, because the arrows were in a place where they could have possibly punctured the femoral artery. She tied the jacket tight, it would do fine for now. She had to get the woman to the clinic as soon as possible. The woman was rather small, so Aleta was actually able to gather her up and carry her bridal style up the ramp. Even with the water weighing down her clothes she was able to carry the woman with relative ease. Droplets of blood and rainwater were left in the red heads wake as she rushed through the halls. “Out of my way! Move it!” she shouted to one or two crewmates along the way. They just stared on in shock as she rushed past with the unmoving elf cradled like a child in her arms.
The door of the clinic was flung open and she immediately began barking orders at all of the assistants that were present. They dropped what they were doing and began to rush around as Aleta laid the elf on the table in the center of the room. One drew blood so they could get what type she was, the other grabbed Aleta’s surgical tools, and the last one brought warm towels. It was probably good that the elf was unconscious, because she might have had a problem with what they were about to do next. The wet clothes had to go…and since they couldn’t disturb the wounds Aleta had to literally cut the clothes off of the woman. Well…she at least tried to be courteous, making the men turn their backs until she had covered the elf’s womanly bits with the warm towels. With the clothes gone, Aleta had a clear view of the wounds. And with plastic gloves snapped into place Aleta grabbed her magnifying glasses and got crackin. Removing the arrows would be tedious, so she had to be cautious so not to do any additional internal damage during the extraction. “Uh…doctor Killkenny?” a voice suddenly came from behind her. “What?” she responded in a more then irritated tone, this wasn’t the time for talking. “We were just wondering….who is she….?” It seemed as though they thought she was a member of the crew. That explained why one of them was rifling through the crew’s files. Aleta just stuck an IV in the elfs arm and sighed…”I don’t know…” And with that the room fell silent as Aleta went to work.
It took approximately 3 and half hours to get all three arrows out cleanly. There had been points were the woman’s breathing had shallowed, however she managed to pull through. She had lost a lot of blood, but the transfusion she had received through the IV had kept her organs from beginning to fail. Well it was over now, and the woman was still alive. They had carefully moved her to a hospital bed where she was fed blood and antibiotic fluids through the IV’s stuck into her veins. Yet, she hadn’t yet regained consciousness in two. Each time that Aleta looked in on her it was the same, it was discouraging. Although she was a doctor, Aleta still wasn’t used to death. Losing patients was always difficult on her, and she was beginning to fear the worse. Maybe she had missed something? Suddenly a light groan could be heard, and it was the most beautiful sound the red head had ever heard. She looked over her shoulder to see the white blankets of the hospital bed beginning to shift. Oh her heart was all a flutter! Aleta immediately rushed to the bedside and watched as the woman’s eyes slowly open. The first thing they would see would be Aleta with this insanely wide smiled plaster on her face. “Wakey Wakey eggs and Bakey!” Aleta said with immeasurable cheer. She could barely contain her excitement. However the woman on the other hand, just looked positively aggravated. A look that Aleta would become well acquainted with. A look of indifference took the place of irritation as the woman’s brown eyes moved away from Aleta to stare at the ceiling. “Is this what hell is really like….” She asked herself quietly, her voice a little raspy. Aleta just shook her head “Nope your still in the land of the living…you were knocking on deaths door for awhile though, but I took good care of you!” her perkiness still hadn’t faded, and the woman just closed her eyes. “I think I would have preferred hell…”
She was just sitting there with a dazed look on her face, chewing on a piece of swiss cheese when she was snapped out of her memories by a flying piece of fruit. Caught off guard she nearly choked on her food. The apple just bounced off of her face and then fell on top of her plate. And to add insult to injury there was a giant bite taken out of it. “Ugh, god…I’m going to catch something!” she cried as she tried to wipe Cain germs off of her face. It was during this time that the whiz kid went off his rocker and joined in on hating Cain. Aleta just raised her eyebrows at the lad, he was probably just cheesed off because of that lump on his head. Although it was still in his best interest to keep it to himself. He wasn’t apart of this crew, so no one here had loyalties to him. Sure they all gave each other a hard time, but that’s what families did…bug the ever living shit out of one another. Just cause he sat at their dinner table didn't mean he could start calling people names. Well Cas wasted no time trying to put the boy in his place…going as far as to point her gun at him. Well, he was the only one aboard this ship that hadn’t been shot at yet.
The Vast Sea, Twenty-First Hour of the Seventh Day of Winter
The night wears on, and the primary crew of the Ardent is beginning to “enjoy” their meals, albeit with some food and insults thrown around. Not unusual. The piercing cry comes suddenly, without warning, and then suddenly the Ardent finds itself almost capsized. It recovers, but barely, and several members of the crew can be heard screaming above deck as they fall into the ocean hundreds of feet below. Towering over the tiny Ardent is a creature of terrifying size and power, rippling with scales and glowing in the full moon’s light. Beasts of the sea this size are rarely seen this close to shore, especially during the night—something has gone wrong. Perhaps a navigation error, perhaps something aboard the ship, or perhaps just bad luck. The ship is built well and can withstand the pressure of its tail being wrapped around it, but the creature poses a serious threat to those aboard it.
Rem could not believe the sight in front of him. The pilot actually had started to daydream while getting yelled at. Somehow in the middle of the guy's fantasy he was able to pull an obvious lie out of his ass. Perhaps he has some type of mental disorder, he thought. That would certainly explain things. It was a wonder that they had not crashed into anything yet. One of these days he would steer them straight into the ocean and not even realize it until he saw the fish literally swimming past his useless head.
Apparently, the others seemed to had noticed Rem’s… outburst. For some, it must have been the first time they had ever heard him talk. What a wonderful way to start a relationship. Then again, throwing food at each other was not the best way to make friends either. It was a wasteful and barbaric act. If he was not busy yelling at the pilot for his bad navigations then he would have been yelling at him for that. A lack of sleep really seemed to be taking its toll on his patience.
He was just about to start back on yelling at the pilot again when the elf from before stepped up. Her threat was pretty clear. The gun in her hand seemed to emphasize her point just that much more. It looked like she might even do it, too. She did not seem the type that would consider anything else, but total compliance. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her just daring her to try it. If she did shoot him he could always repay the act by slipping a little something to her later.
He wondered what it was exactly that made her so freaking protective of the man. It was not like the man was her kid or anything. Maybe they were lovers or something along those lines. He had heard plenty of rumors about the many ‘relationships’ the men of this crew seemed to take on. He could not actually imagine the two of them actually being together, but love bred interesting relationships. It would not be the weirdest thing he had ever seen.
Another one of the crewmembers spoke up. Perhaps he was not the only one who objected to firing off weapons at the dinner table. Then again, comment sounded more like some sort of an insult than help. Rem would have said something if he did not have a gun still pointed at him. In the current situation, he really did not have time to think about the comment in full detail. It was not like anything he said could make this situation any better.
Things could not get much worse than having a crazy elf gun point a loaded weapon at you…
Of course, irony made the world go round. It was only seconds later when the loud shriek echoed across the boat. A chill down his back. Something is not right, he thought with a bit of growing panic. Things weren't right. The moment the boat started turning Rem’s arms latched onto whatever he could grab- he did not want to end up with two giant bumps- which just so happened to be the table. Apparently experience had taught him something.
When the ship swung back around Rem looked up at everybody as to ask 'What the hell was that?' The screaming they heard was not a good sign. Whatever was going on was not going to end well. Pirates did not have enough power to push the boat over so easily. A storm was unlikely. The only other thing he could consider was ... well it was not good. He almost did not want to be right about his theory, but he already knew he was. He reluctantly looked out the dining room window to see what he had feared. Oh shit... This is not good. In such a situation he needed to stay calm. Keep priorities straight. Make a list.
First, stay alive. He was doing good so far. Second, the chemicals down below needed to be kept safe. If the storage cabinet crashed, his room would basically become a makeshift bomb. Even if they survived the monster the explosion would certainly due the trick. He took off running back to his room, he was fairly sure the boat would be able to hold out for a bit longer. He still had time to try to save them from at least one threat.
The kid wasn’t stupid: he hadn’t opened his mouth with the elf’s revolver pointed at him. Smart move, Cas thought with a wry grin. Maybe she wouldn’t have to shoot him for insulting the Ardent’s crew. Still, the other new guy wasn’t helping things by opening his mouth—apparently he wasn’t as smart as the kid in front of her. She ignored him, putting no weight into this two-bit, second-rate gunman’s words. He was damn lucky, though, because just as she was considering putting a bullet into his leg to teach him a lesson, there was a great, deafening shriek that rang painfully in her oversensitive ears and made her drop her gun.
A moment later the ship lurched and she was thrown into the wall as if gravity had shifted and the floor had become the ceiling. It corrected itself, and she slammed back into the floor and a pile of bodies. Immediately she knew who to lay the blame on. Her ears still rang, but she was sure to be loud and clear. “Cain, you incompetent fuck, what’d you do?!” she growled, shoving the hard heel of her boot into his rib as punishment. Aleta had somehow managed to fall on Cas’ arm. She pushed her off with some effort and leapt to her feet, clothes and hair askew.
She racked her brain, glancing through the open door to the steps beyond. The shriek had been a beast of the sea, or perhaps the ship had hit something, though she doubted the latter possibility. She’d heard what sounded like a few of the secondary crew being thrown overboard. Her chest twinged with pain at their deaths momentarily, but she pushed the little bit of grief to the back of her mind and began trying to figure out how to fix the situation.
Something must have gone gravely wrong if they’d been attacked by one of the great sea serpents. The ones large enough to attack airships were spectacularly rare and weren’t usually found this close to the coast. Either someone had made a navigation error—probably Cain—was flying too low—probably Cain—or something else had happened—probably Cain, too. She grit her teeth. When this was all over, someone was getting shot.
Cas didn’t wait for Fort’s orders. The others needed orders, she knew her way well enough to act without them. And the kid seemed to have had no problem running to his room like the coward he was without so much as a word from the captain. She paused a moment to look and see that everyone was alright—she wasn’t a doctor but a cursory glanced confirmed that at least no one looked dead in the moving pile of limbs and faces—before dashing up the stairs to the deck.
It was a chaotic scene. The secondary crew was a large one and took up nearly two thirds of the personnel count of the ship, it said something that Fort needed so many of them to “replace” the primary crew. And she was willing to bet their numbers had been slashed by at least a half. Blood smeared the deck, mixing with water and making her path slippery. The red-tinted light of the moon cast an eerie glow to the mangled and moaning bodies she stepped over. Her lips set in a tight, grim line, she hoped the gods had enough mercy to send them overboard instead of being dashed against the railings for the rest of the night.
Her trip above deck certainly confirmed her suspicions that the ship had been attacked by one of the greater sea beasts. Mentally she flipped through one of her childhood books, noticing its silvery scales and glowing tips. Stroud Kalimus. Found north of kal-Karta’sle, surfaces during the day and lives primarily on a diet of whales and lesser sea beasts. Lights at tips of scales activate when threatened. The beast had wrapped its long, thick tail around the ship, and while she was confident the Ardent was well-built and sturdy enough to take even this much pressure, all it would take was a dip below the ocean for the crew itself to meet a swift and watery end. Not the way she planned to go.
The ship tilted again, and Cas spread her legs to steady herself as she slid sideways across the wet deck. She gripped the railing when she reached it and groped around for a rope, something to keep her attached to the ship while she aimed at the great beast. She found one, not in the best shape of its life but she was light and it would have to do. Tying the rope around her waist, she reached for the heavy, powerful rifle at her side and leveled it squarely at the end of the beast’s tail. A sensitive point, she hoped. It was making the pilot’s seat a very dangerous place to be and in order to get out alive, they needed to be able to actually get out. The ship was rocking side to side, the tail thrashing wildly and digging deep grooves into the wood with its sharp edges. For a moment she hesitated, unsure if she could really make the shot. But her blood was pumping, her heart pounding and adrenaline rushing through her. She aimed, cocking the rifle and pulling the trigger. The shot rang true, and even the calm elf could not resist a triumphant, grinning whoop.
The grin quickly turned into a wide-eyed gasp and futile attempt at a dodge—made even more futile after tying herself to the spot--as the fin thrashed wildly, hitting her squarely in the abdomen and knocking the breath out of her. But she remained unharmed, albeit gasping and holding her side, while the pilot’s seat lay clear and open for the taking and the beast’s grip was weakened. A slightly silly, dazed grin lay on her lips.
Fort watched the display with a face as unyielding and placid as the bedrock beneath a frost-rimed mountain lake. The display was no different than any of a hundred others which had taken place about the table in the Ardent's galley. There had been a time, sure, when he might've been apoplectic at the squabbling and infighting which stitched through his crew. But it had faded as the Ardent had sailed on. Eventually it became a minor annoyance, enough to weave a bemused expression over the hewn-marble of his face. Now, there was only a small part of him which drew a bit of appreciation from the spectacle. The left corner of his mouth quirked upward in something which might've shared common ancestry with a smile.
Belo's syrupy inquiry caused his lips to tug a bit higher as his smile broadened. The Innate didn't give a damn about his day, but it was rather endearing to see her make even the most sarcastic attempt at idle chit-chat. Most endearing.
The newest member of the crew...Jedt, if his memory could be trusted, walked into the galley, slinking toward an empty chair and proceeding to become the most talkative member of their little coterie. I tell you, I saw this fish-bird thing flyin' low...
"That'd be a Gloaming. More interested in escaping something altogether more frightening than taking a mouthful of rudder, no doubt." Fort managed a tone of weary disinterest before lapsing once more into comfortable silence as the conversation continued in more...dynamic directions.
Like one big happy family.
Captain Fortinbras reached for a stoppered bottle of wine and began to carefully pour himself a glass, his plate still empty. The motions were precise, practiced, and seemed to consume him in a manner which was often left for prayer. When the thick bordeaux filled his glass to his liking, he set the bottle back against the table with a muted thump. He swirled the contents of his glass before running it under his nose.
It was at about that moment that Cas drew her pistol. Fort's smile drained from his face. "No blood in my galley Cas." He sipped at his drink, letting the command hang in the air for a moment. "Besides...he's the one who commissioned this little venture. Let him bitch if it so pleases him."
The ship gave a horrible lurch and his wine dashed against the deck. Fort himself pushed himself from the floor and uttered a mild oath and glanced about.
"Cain you incompetent fuck, what'd you do!?" Cas came to her feet spitting venom and vitriol at her favorite target. Certainly she couldn't believe Cain responsible for the shudder...he was eating. Sort of. Their problem was no doubt far bigger than shoddy stick-work.
His crew were busy righting themselves, save the elf and their young patron which both dashed from the galley.
Captain Fortinbras Carlyle drew a breath and listened to the sound of protesting soarwood and screams against the alien bellow of a beast that was ancient before man had mastered fire. His lips drew back from his teeth in a smile better suited to a wolf than a man. "Right, then...time to earn your pay. All hands to stations. Those without stations, get topside and tactical. Sounds like quite a fish-fry."
Fort's hand dipped to his sword-belt giving a soft tug to the rapier to ensure that it would ride loosely and be ready to draw at an instant's notice. The other snapped the safety-strap from his heavy bolt-pistol's holster. Without another word, the Captain strode from the galley and made his way upward onto the deck of his embattled ship.
The carnage was unbelievable. The crushed bodies of his crewmen dotted the deck here and there, making Fort loose a bitter little "Throne..." before shouting out to the survivors. "Cut a path, lads. Prep the long-nines." The heavy Harlon Arms bolter came to his hand like a fistful of divine retribution as he made his way toward the bow to stand above the double battery of nine-pounders.
The creature writhed below, eager for an easy meal. Little did it know that the Ardent was anything but easy.
Perhaps eighteen pounds of supersonic lead might prove most eddifying.
That fated rock may have spared him further bewilderment-and perhaps a wound he hardly needed in this chapter of his life-but the smith's son was hardly thrilled with the alteration of direction. Chiefly, for the fling which sent him, his chair and about everything else not bolted down through the atmosphere with liberal tremors and additional revolutions for good measure to follow. Agitation, fresh bruising, the stripping of his soundness would all have to simmer away unattended for the moment, the primary burner sending panic to violent temperatures to rival the most savage of volcanic cauldrons. Why, for all that was good and just in the world, were things inverted, was he off the ground for that breathless instant, was everything flying, crashing, thundering as their ship was wrung. Above all, what was that hell-spawned symphony measured beyond the planks shelling the crew? They weight of the ship was abruptly brought to his attention after their decent, what with the waves below hoisting and anchoring them along with the manipulation of the coiled terror. Breath raced, cardinal instrument hammering the back of its calcium cage as frantic jasper swiveled just as the rest of the crew began to reclaim their composure. A lucid suggestion that he enforce his own grip and drag himself from the tar-like pool of fear he had been submerged in for the briefest of ticks.
Colt had been sailing before, heard the stories of sea monsters in all their fabled horror, had dealt with his share of land beasties himself, but it was a whole other experience knowing you were sailing lofty one moment, and whatever had seized you from that merry path had to be large enough to reach you. Truth be told, he was hardly looking forward to his first glimpse of whatever this may be, his imagination served him a fine harvest of nightmarish vision as it was. Nonetheless, his constitution, for the time, was upheld as he rocketed out of the galley as was ordered and sensible. Steps swerved with the tilting of the ship, keeping his balance well enough down the halls-tempted as he was to rush to his room and confirm his twin's safety, it was resisted with Herculean effort-and up the stairs to the main deck, only to freeze a few steps out into the open. Nothing in his varied recollection, no towering ziggurat or crawling beast, scarcely a mountain (even then, only in size, not factors which inspired dread and chilled sweats) could match the gleaming force howling at its prey. Never mind contorted masses of flesh and spilled blood littering the slick slabs, sliding back, forth and off into the wrathful brine.
Hardly the squeamish type, be it motion or horrendous display, neither of which or the reality of their circumstance drove Colt to retrace his steps down below. Celerity employed both in his movements and the assessment of each wrap about the ship, its skull and the now thrashing tail made his next tact to be executed clear enough.
Soles pounded the tried floors to the perimeter second level where those cannons he had surveyed earlier that day were held, a customized firearm pulled from a deep-pocketed holster at his side. A revolver of sorts, only easily dwarfing the standard of the species, built for a specific form of shell over your usual cartridges. Nonetheless, Colt had not come with the expectation of taking down anything more than another man that night, thus, an expeditious, mastered swap of ammunition was made before his arrival at his aimed destination. What of the crew not manning the engine rooms, steering or struck by ill-fate were already manning the artillery, though it wasn't going to do them much good through the limited range each had on this particular level. Rather, the lanky male bolted for one of the carved slots without occupancy of a canon, some span from those blotted out by the bulk of the serpentine titan. Here, at least, anxiety for being flung overboard, whipped by that wild tail or caught between the needle-stocked maw of that snake wasn't as great; at least, the enclosed area might help in convincing one it was closer to safe than the alternative.
Distance was judged, already certain he was downwind and that this range would easily be conquered by the persuasive instrument, and though the skin had to be thick, doubt was entirely removed from mind that it would null the caliber of his special little number. Oh-ho, Liroy was going to lose it at the telling of their use for either performance or the fact that such an expensive, limited supply was used at all, even if in part. Not that Colt had much concern to spare for his brother's reaction at the moment.
Damn.. freaksnake...
Really, what good did something this frightful and gargantuan do the world? Colt would likely never comprehend such a design.
Lungs calculated the cycling of salty oxygen as his aim was steadied, the incline of the end of the last coil before the length stretched on to the silvery creature's neck and skull the target. In and out. Firm footing, wait for motions to settle a bit. In and out. This was as clean of a shot as he was getting. One solid inhale, and the trigger was squeezed. Immediately, one shot tunnel through the mist and buried itself into the sleek surface, splaying like a ripe fruit on a wall, and there remaining, dormant as a second firing aimed a similar, seemingly inconsequential wound a bit higher up. Less than a pinch of granule falls were passed in delay before a small, though certainly marring eruptions resulted as the warming chemicals contained fulfilled their chain, reaching the explosive conclusion. Slay the terror, it hadn't come anywhere near, but remove from it substantial chunks of snakey flesh, possibly impairing it to some degree, the shots were most definitely successful with. Enough of those, provided the thing just sat pretty for him, and he might have been able to tunnel his way right through the thick of the thing, though he was pressed for the ammo as it was, and it was certain lady luck didn't favor him so much as to stun the beast that all present could happily unload on the thing. Aim was taken up again for a third shot, hoping those above were fairing well, for the sake of them-concern really only being for himself and his sibling, currently-getting out alive.
“Hopefully you catch my charm!” he retorted to Aleta. She was a doctor for cry-sakes. Even if he was contagious, which he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t, the stupid girl should now how to keep herself alive either way. Hell, he found himself hoping for some strange Kerrian disease to infest her and keep her locked up in her quarters for months. He would have kept imagining his bliss, but he noticed Cas was pointing a gun at him. He recoiled in his seat before it hit him. His head was not that high up. If she wasn’t trying to shoot him, her favorite target if he could be so bold, then who the hell was she aiming at? He looked and his eyebrows shot up. It was the As-Of-Yet-Unnamed-But-Already-Hated-Him unicorn scientist. He did not look comfortable and Cain couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t look comfortable either.
Wait a second.
Why was she threatening to shoot him? What the heck had he just missed? The only thing Whoever kid had done was snap at him. That couldn’t possibly have set Cas off. She should be applauding him or griping as well. Not shooting the dude. He was pretty sure not a lot of time had passed that he hadn’t paid attention to so it was the only explanation. It still fried his circuits trying to comprehend it. Cain hadn’t been defended since he’d first started and that had been once, after he’d been hired. Captain Fort had been explaining why the crazed-up, risky pilot had been hired over the safer, non-lethal one. That had been it. Ever since, he’d been the laughing stock and kicking post for everyone (not that he cared). Hell, if you asked some of the technicians that had been around for the last primary crew what happened to them, they’d say “Cain happened.” He’d already tried explaining things to them but it never worked. The clouds had reduced visibility to a meager twenty feet and Cain hadn’t seen the cliff. He hadn’t collided with it, just skirted the side of the ship against it and maybe sent a few rocks onto the deck. They didn’t need to get so mad at him. Even if he’d made the favored technician turn in his wrench and leave when they docked, it didn’t mean the rest of them had to go to. He hadn’t killed anyone and the Ardent still flew like a bird. What the hell was the problem? Ah, good riddance.
A sharp spin sent Cain tumbling. As he came to a stop, Cain realized who he’d landed near and tensed. His awkward reaction didn’t last long. He yelped in pain when the heel of Cas’s boot tried to punch a hole through his ribcage. Doubling over, Cain rolled over onto the floor and coughed. The f*ck was that for? He’d been sitting here the entire time. If it was anyone’s fault it was the incompetent pansy of a pilot in charge right now. If the little scab-hound hadn’t been so against flying at Cain’s speed and Cain’s altitude and…well if he wasn’t so scared of flying the way Cain did, then things like this wouldn’t happen. Other bad things would happen and yes, they would be his fault. Most notably storms or flying into them. His preferred altitude above the ocean meant the ship was well out of reach of any dirty monster; however, they were dangerously close to the cloud line if a thunder storm decided to kick up and brew into something worse before it hit land. Of course, those were caused by nature and Cain had no control over the weather so it still wasn’t his fault. Didn’t stop others from blaming the hell out of him. Mostly Aleta. Second Cas.
He rolled over onto his knees, a hand over his ribs where Cas had roundhoused him (or so it felt like), and sat up. There’d be some wicked bruise there in the morning. If they got to the morning that is. Cain knew he needed to kick the kid trying to fly out of his seat if he hadn’t already been thrown from the boat in that spiral. The angry midget bolted from the room to who knows where. Cain figured he was going to save his own stuff. Or hide. One of the two. Fine and dandy with him either way. He didn’t think the kid could help fight off what ever had grabbed them anyway.
“Right, then…time to earn your pay. All hands to stations. Those without stations, get topside and tactical. Sounds like quite a fish-fry.”
Cain shot up onto his feet and nodded at the captain. “Yessir!” and he too ran to the deck. When he stepped out, the cold air slapped him and for once in his life, he was happy to be wearing a coat. On the other hand, his goggles were sitting back on his bunk meaning he’d be steering with the cold air whipping his face. If the crew thought he flew bad when he could see, just wait till his eyes were tearing up and his nose was dribbling. They’d be awed by his skills.
O who was he kidding? They’d be shocked he could get worse.
He started running towards his station when the ship tilted and he lost his footing. He fell face first and started to slide across the deck towards the side. He slapped his palms down and pushed up, trying to get his feet back underneath him. Blood was smeared over his coat and vest, forcing a dark grimace onto his face. He was not happy. If what he’d felt about getting an arrow flopped around against his nose was annoyance, this was anger. To hell with this creature. He was flying this damned ship out of here if it killed the secondary crew. They’d been in charge when it happened. Gawdamned them all. He hated having to trust the lesser crew members. His underling pilots who traded off short night shifts would be getting a serious Cain lecture when this was over. “You dolphin-humping nob-scratches, we prefer not to be killed! Do better!” would probably be what he’d say. One day he’d make his lectures longer, more impressive. He couldn’t be bothered for now. Even when he has to slide through what very well could be his underlings blood.
Nope. Couldn’t be bothered.
He finally made it up to the helm and grabbed hold of the controls. His hands made quick work of the old routines as he tried to wrestle back control with the beast’s grip slackened. Things were so much easier when there wasn’t a giant scaly monster holding the f*cking ship down, he growled out in his head. He wasn’t so great at flying out of a living creatures grasp that was probably heck-bent on devouring his guts. Flying out of anything else he’d had plenty of practice.
Fight with the wheel, trying to keep the Ardent on her course despite the raging storm. Water streaked his goggles and the dark sky blurred with the colors of the ship into one large dull mess. Cain had to squint and blink to try and regain clarity of vision multiple times. A bolt of lightning lit the sky above their heads, arching from one cloud to another. The loud crack startled Cain and his grip slackened on the wheel, causing the Ardent to tip starboard. He jerked it left and pulled back on the throttle. “Gawdamned ocean storm!” he shouted in anger. He bit the tip of his glove’s fingers and pulled it off, throwing it onto the deck. The friction of his palms helped him maintain his hold even in the rain. When the winds calmed for a moment, Cain shoved on the throttle and the Ardent lurched forward, trying to escape the heart quicker.
His grip on the wheel tightened and he scowled at what he could see of the beast. “I’m too old for this shit,” he grumbled before punching the throttle and turning the ship. While the beast was distracted, he shot for an opening under the curling tail as fast as he could push things. The engines roared beneath his feet and the controls shuddered under the pressure. Almost…almost!
The tail closed around the ship again and the beast screeched as it tried to holding the ship steady. Cain pulled back on the throttle to keep from straining the engines needlessly. “F*CK!” Cain shouted, slamming his hands on the controls.
Aleta just scoffed when Cain said something about being infected with his charm. She turned her attention away from the kid and the gun Cas was pointing at him to look ver at the ruffian of a pilot. “I’m more likely to catch your fleas” she retorted as she glowered at him from across the table. Cheeky bastard. Maybe if she threw her butter knife hard enough she could puncture something vital. They really were like bickering siblings. And the captain just sat quietly at the head of the table like a father that would rather forget that he had kids in the first place. Aleta then opened her mouth to fire another round of insults at the bum sitting across from her, however the sharp words would never leave her mouth. Green eyes stared upwards as some sort of shriek could be heard coming from the deck. And then, without warning the entire ship seemed to lurch and tilt violently. Food and bodies went flying about the galley. Aleta herself had crashed into the wall behind her after toppling out of her chair. Stars had exploded behind her eyes as she smacked her head against the wood, and she just cursed underneath her breath. Then ship the ship righted itself, and Aleta was tossed onto the floor. Her entire plate of food now decorated her face, and it turned out that she had somehow managed to land on Cas. “Cain, you incompetent fuck, what’d you do?!” An angry voice suddenly shouted. And Aleta could hear a yelp of pain come from Cain as Cas rammed her heel into his side. Even though he wasn’t actually up there piloting, Aleta still felt that this was somehow all Cain’s fault. Whatever was going on had to be a direct result of some bonehead move he had made. “You took the words right outta me mouth” Aleta grumbled, still trying to get her head together. However she wasn’t exactly quick enough for Cas because she suddenly felt a push and was just rolled off to the side…freeing the woman’s arm.
As she sat up a slice of half eaten Swiss cheese came peeling off of the good doctors face. She shook her head and a banana peel came falling out of her hair. “Gross….” She whined as she finally pulled herself to her feet. She took a look around to see that the galley had pretty much been deserted by now. Cas and Cain had taken off as well, and Fort was done issuing orders. Even that new guy….J…something was gone. Man…was she slow today. She quickly got to her feet and made her way to the deck. She could hear the frightened shouts of the crew, and even the sounds of gunshots. They were under attack…by something. Her feet took the stairs two at a time, and finally she reached the top. And what she was met with, was a bloody and terrible scene. Blood smeared the deck, and coiled and looming over the Ardent was beast from the Sea. Green eyes widened as she looked up at the creature as it tried to squeeze the life out of the Ardent and drag it into the sea below. She had to stifle a shudder at the thought. Aleta would never admit it…but the vast sea below terrified her. However right now was not the time to think about being pulled to a watery death. The limp and mangled bodies that were strewn about the deck were there to remind her of what needed to be done. Although Fort had ordered the surviving crew to clear a path Aleta reached out yanked a pair back that were running past her by their shirt collars. Chocked and startled they whirled around to face the red head. “You two! locate and take anyone who is injured to the clinic immediately!” she shouted to be heard over the sound of the creature and the gun fire.
The two men nodded violently “Yes ma’am” one stuttered, obviously a little shaken. It was understandable; half of the secondary crew had been cut down by the beast in a manner of seconds. The men left her sight and Aleta wondered how many would actually turn up. Her stomach twisted at the thought of all the men that would perish tonight. However there was nothing she could do for those that had been knocked overboard. All she could do was hope that their death and been a swift one. Aleta didn’t waste any more time. She quickly got her ass to the Long nines. Knowing the Ardent inside and out also meant that she had extensive knowledge of its weaponry. It was the one thing she could do to fight back the monster. Aleta only carried a very small pistol in her tool belt, nothing large enough to fight off a creature like that. So is would be useless firing at the beast. She would be of better use behind the cannons. “You heard the Captain lads !” she shouted when she was close. "Lets get these things blast ready!” she yelled. As The Long Nines were being packed and loaded Aleta could hear the engines roar to life. Cain must be at the helm now, attempting to propel them away from the beast. However they didn’t get far and the engines whined as the creature got a hold of the ship once again. Aleta could hear the splintering of wood underneath the pressure and grit her teeth. There would be a lot of repairs to be done when they got out of this mess. “all set..” one of the men said and Aleta grinned. "Long Nines are Ready Capt’n!!” Aleta shouted..waiting for the signal or order to fire.
Rem sprinted back to his room. When he was able to finally get the door open he nearly tripped on the brass instruments. He saved himself from crashing on top of the tools, but managed to stub his toe on the trunk. The pain was not as strong as his need to get everything to safety but it still hurt like a mother…
He grabbed one of the small empty travel kits and quickly began filling it with a number of the dangerous chemicals inside his cabinet. It did not take too long to fill the box. He would have liked to protect a few more of the vials, but there was no time to be picky. He packed up the box and began to leave when he remembered his book.
Being one of the last things he had from his old life it held a sentimental value. He quickly grabbed the dusty old journal and stuffed it inside is shirt. If his old teacher could see him know he wondered what the man would say. He would probably just give him his famous annoying bemused smile and say 'I told you so'. His teacher was always like that. He was a gentle soul, but had a stern hand when it came to discipline. He had been smart; smarter than Rem for sure. The man taught him everything he knew, and still always managed to surprise him with new nuggets of knowledge everyday. He remembered when the old man and him had first met... God I was an idiot back then...
---
It had been a normal day at the worn down building that claimed to be an orphanage. It was a poor excuse of a structure even for slum standards. The caretakers had called a seven-year-old Rem from his room and down to the kitchen-although it could hardly be called a kitchen seeing as there was never any food inside. Sitting at the table was a man who looked like he was in his sixties. His graying hair was pulled back into a neatly brushed ponytail tied back by a black ribbon. His face looked like it had been carved by years of wisdom. The gentleman was dressed in a simple, but still expensive suit. He even had a silver pocket watch to match his handcrafted cuffs. By one look he could tell this man reeked of money. He was wearing more than a factory worker could earn in a lifetime. As soon as Rem entered the room the man stood up. He was nearly twice the boy’s height.
“So this is the so called child prodigy?” the man said standing over him with an unimpressed tone. The two examined each other from head to toe. The man even had the nerve to poke at him a few times with his walking cane. Rem was highly tempted to tear the cane from the man’s hands and sell it on the streets. It could probably feed him for about two weeks, three if he was careful with it. But he did not do that. Instead, he simply puffed out his chest wishing to show no signs of weakness in front of the stranger, whoever he was. It was sort of like a challenge to see which would cave in to the other’s pressure. He could see that the man seemed somewhat impressed by him, but not because of his appearance or his attempt to act tough. Apparently, the man saw something else in him.
His intelligence. After weeks of writing letters the gentleman had finally come to meet the child and assess his abilities for himself. The caretakers had already spent hours tellling the gentleman tales about the boys intellect, but it was something that was better seen in person. It was hard to believe that some brat from the slums had actually taught himself to read. What was even more impressive was the fact that he seemed to keep on learning. Whenever he had the opportunity he learned. He sped through the books in record time, then be able to state any fact about the topic. He could take something apart and almost put it back together perfectly. He could repeat any fact on the spot. And that was just a little bit of what he could do. It was a gift unfit for somebody of this lifestyle. He was exceptional, and that natural talent was his ticket out of this run down tenement, or so the caretakers hoped. It was their way of getting rid of a mouth to feed and earning a bit of money for their troubles. It was also Rem’s way out of a life of being stuck in the orphanage then being shipped off to work in some factory when he came of working age.
The elder man gave a bit of a chuckle once his assessment was finished. Whatever he saw in the boy was amusing. Rem looked at him with a bit of a scowl, “Just ‘cause I’m shorter than you doesn’t mean that I’m a pushover. I’ll get you good if you look down on me!” he threatened. The caretakers grimaced at one another. The threat might have been laughed at if it were not backed up by a violent history. The boy had already been punished for attacking several other children who had laughed at him for being a mutt. He had sent one of them to the sickbed and had two others crying in a corner. Who could have guessed that such a malnutrition child could muster that sort of power when enraged? He seemed so weak and quiet most of the time. The man had paused then simply said, “It seems like the 'prodigy' still has not learned any manners. But that is alright there will be plenty of time to teach your smartass some proper educate once we get you to the university.”
An adoption? So the rumors were true!? Kids actually got to leave this place in hopes of a better life? Rem had always heard that good children got adopted, but had never seen anybody from here actually leave. Nobody wanted a slumbrat. He could not understand why this man could possibly want to take him home. Unless this was all a joke the caretakers set up. They’d give him false hope then tear it away once the joke got old. Anger boiled up inside of him as he snapped.
“I’m not gonna learn shit from you. I aint going nowhere with you either. I’ll break you long before you do that you old fucker!” he hissed. It was at this point that the man grabbed Rem jaw's and literally shut his mouth. With a ferociously tone he said, “I am doing this for your own benefit, boy! Now you shall shut up and start acting right or so help me I will seal your lips shut for good. Got it?”
He was so shocked that he could only give a tiny nod in response. The man released him and with a bit of a satisfied expression said, “Good. Looks like there is still hope for you yet. Now go get your things.” Rem stood in place. Belongings? Nobody here had anything to their names. He did not own a pair of shoes let alone a change of clothing. Toys were a luxury only given to those who earned them… or stole them. Rem never had any of these things. He did not even have a last name! He bowed his head in shame and with a bit of a blush said, “I don’t have any belongings.” At this point one of the kinder caretakers touched the boy’s shoulders and spoke up, “You have that journal don’t you, Rem?”
Yes, the old book was given to him, along with a few other useless objects he had long ago sold for food, when he his mother had left here. But the book was not written in any language he, or anybody else, had ever seen. “It’s is unreadable; useless.” The boy complained. The rich man raised his eyebrows in a bit of a surprise. He had not expected the boy to say that. He paused for a moment and then said, “True wisdom does not come from facts or equations. It comes from exploring the unknown. Just because you do not understand something does not make it useless. It just makes it a problem waiting to be solved. What is useless is you if you give up on it, because then you are limiting your own abilities. Now go grab this journal of yours and let’s go. There are places to go and things to be done.”
After Rem returned with the book in hand the two left inside a fancy horse drawn carriage leaving the orphanage behind forever. It was his first time ever seeing a horse let alone ride in a stagecoach. He would have been excited if he could actually comprehend the situation. For a while the two sat on opposite sides of the cabin, neither saying anything. Rem was going stir-crazy with questions. He hated not know what in the world was going on. After what seemed like forever he finally had to ask this man something, ”So does this mean you’re my father now?” The man looked at the boy with another one of his increasingly annoying bemused expressions and said, “No. You are most certainly not my son, you are my new student. So that makes me your teacher. You can call me Dr. Michaelis.”
---
Despite the man’s constant denial of parenthood the doctor had been the closest thing to a father figure he had ever had. Rem often missed him. He had been heartbroken when the man had passed away a few years ago. Even though the man was long dead, he still kept to his teachings. He never stopped searching for knowledge, always thought on his feet, and most importantly always kept to the solving problems at hand with a clear head. Of course, Dr. Michaelis probably never thought that Rem would be in this type of situation when he had taught him that lesson.
Rem stopped his reminiscing when the ship made another sharp turn. He could always take a trip down memory lane again when there wasn’t a monster attacking the ship. Rem checked to make sure the book was safely tucked away one more time before he grabbed the box of chemicals and made his way to the deck. He was not one for action, but he still had to be ready in case there was some way he could help out. On the dock there bodies were everywhere. He felt a tiny bit of pity for the fallen sailors, but that was quickly replaced by the need for self-preservation. For the first time he actually got a good full look at what they were truly dealing with. The monster was huge. It was a miracle that it had not crushed the boat yet. He wondered how on earth they were ever going to survive. ”How the hell are we supposed to stop that thing?!” he asked out in desperation.
The interest died away as soon as the responses came. Belo settled into a sound silence while she masticated a few more bananas until the bunch was dragged out of her possession. She locked a placid gaze on the perpetrator and considered a brief, swift retaliation, but the tropical treat had settled well in her stomach and a bout of magic would spoil her meal. The mere thought brought memories of the bitter tang to the surface and her tongue recoiled in anticipation. No, she would have to exercise a monk's patience and bide her time. The voyage ahead would keep them in close quarters for a good long while and would offer ample opportunities to enact more traditional forms of vengeance.
The lot of them seemed glazed, delving into their mental recesses as if on some memory holiday. A slender brow arched as curiosity claimed her. Their mouths continued to form words, but worlds existed behind their guises, replaying themselves in unseen orders. The mysteries of the mind were many, but Belo was one of the few who could not delve back in time at the drop of a hat. She possessed other, more unconventional facets. Besides, the path behind her was strewn with pitfalls and refuse; images and sounds she'd rather save for a day dedicated to self-pity. Then and only then would the memories be resurrected. The drawbacks seemed trite when considering the benefits.
Belo would never have to experience the consciousness lapse that Cain exhibited right then and there. A more droll crowd might have twittered with awkward, forgiving laughter, but the Ardent harbored much fouler compatriots. A blink of the eyes and a sneeze later, Belo found herself lost in the conflict, unsure as to what had warranted a quick draw and slew of threats. Reflex sent a pulse through her gun hand, trigger finger suddenly itching for a purchase. She had been brought up in a household devoid a a weapon any larger than a pair of salad tongs and the Kerrian-Tyrrian match that spawned her raised the lot according to a pacifist's code. An ignorant pacifist at that, guided by manners and meal time protocol. A young mixed-breed child certainly wasn't allowed to keep a prison shiv at her side during meal times, much less a pistol.
Deep rooted habits died hard as she sat unarmed at the table, save for the magic brewing in her blood. Cas was a loose cannon... like, holy fuck. While Belo spent the majority of her days shirking wary glances, the rest of the sailors aboard found her fanciful and endearing; a piece of confetti wafting on the breeze... unbalanced, bloodthirsty confetti. Really, Cas was the one to fear. Sure, Belo was a force to be reckoned with, but she was far less easily provoked than the elven girl preparing the load the boy's brain pan up with lead.
But the painful groan that shook the timber of the ship forced the lot of them to forget such trifles as the walls around them screamed for mercy. She shot out of her chair with the rest of them, irritation mounting as she realized, yet again, that she lacked a proper fire arm. All dinner time grudges were abandoned as she shot through the mid ship, eyes skyward as she burst onto the top deck just behind the other unfortunate souls that made up the crew of the Ardent.
The sight was a fearful one and she did balk there, agape with awe. The massive beast was quite a thing to behold and though she'd encountered a small share of the ocean's terror's in her travels, nothing could quite live up to the feeling of being enveloped by one of the Vast Sea's merciless denizens. They would be fodder for the demon if they relented and Belo would be one of the few supplying great force... much to her dismay. In a stubborn fit, she shot forward, mechanical arm scooping up a rifle dropped by either a fleeing or dead sailor. "Where's the bleedin' head!?"
She bellowed as a sailor bolted from the rail to the main mast. He hesitated, fear gripping him as he failed to find an answer. She growled and waved him over, slinging the rifle across her shoulders. "Bugger it... You! Grab me a buntline! I'm takin' to the foremast!" The boy fumbled, but was able to secure one with minimal incident. She directed him with her free hand as he secured the rope around her waist. Belo gave him a sharp slap on the shoulder and tugged on the line, sending him off while she found footing in the net. A proper perch might actual provide the target she was hoping for, as long as her aim remained true. She kept herself steady with the copper arm while the flesh hand gripped the rifle. Her proficiency was, unfortunately, with her own small arms, but the standard issue here could do no harm... hopefully. Once she'd ascended a good fifteen feet, she looped her legs through the netting and wound the buntline excess around her.
The tail flailed in the night as Cas' shot rang true and struck glittering scales, but she couldn't make out the damage done. Belo cocked her weapon and set the tail in her sight. Without a clear shot of the head, she'd merely be wasting bullets. Her finger squeezed the trigger and she let a round fly, lead connecting with scale with a satisfying bang. The reaction was similar and the grip only wavered. Still, the beast held fast. It shifted and she could feel the world tilting forward. The rope bit at her front while she pitched downward, but he grip did not fail. Gun in hand and goal in mind, the rage boiled and hatred towards the invasive beast swelled, fueling the desire to throw caution to the wind and dive for the kill.
Belo's wish came abruptly true as the fin retaliated and swiped across the mast, severing the buntline. It yanked her back, but she held to the netting and endured the sickening snap of safety line. It was a long drop to the deck below, but an even longer way down into the freezing depths from whence the foul beast came. There was no point in calling for help; the din of gunfire and blood curdling screams would drown that out quickly. Of course, such a plea was not within her vocabulary of things to scream during apocalyptic struggles at sea. Instead, she would have to make every shot count. She strung together the cock, aim and fire, landing another square shot on the sea horror. But the hateful beast took another swipe at Belo's perch and this time connected with mast. Lines snapped and wood groaned in protest, but the Ardent held. Belo's grip did not. The rifle slipped from her hands and careened to the deck, thankfully failing to misfire when it connected with solid footing.
Belo remained airborne, dangling from the net by her unnatural hand while the other groped for some kind of support line. Thick soled boots sought footing; something to brace, but the slick surface of the mast could give her no saving step. A bare hand found a tack within reach and Belo hung there, suspended between two lines while legs dangled uselessly. Pale eyes refused to dart to the ship below, but instead stared at the monster ahead. There was no physical arsenal remaining... and while the manufactured digits would hold true, she could do nothing to save the rigging around her. Belo knew well enough what would come of this, but refused to summon the inevitable. Still, the bile rose in her throat as the taste of metal invaded, the fine hairs of her arm rising to attention as the will swam around her. The power swelled, surging upwards as the first line of defenses fell and it found its way to the surface.
Not yet, she exhaled a shuddering breath, letting it swim around her in a sickening dance of power. It grew, pulsed, and sang its pleas to be released; to lay the ancient creature to waste.
The Harlon’s trigger slid back like buttered silk. The cylinder rotated, levering a round beneath the slim length of the firing pin. With deadly precision, the hammer descended, igniting the primer and sending the lethal two-inch projectile rocketing down the barrel on a pillar of fire and sulfur. The return stroke rocked back the slide, levering a new round into line; another lethal .75 caliber bolt of magnesium-tipped tungsten carbide aching to burn its molten course into the belly of the beast which held the Ardent in its grip.
The deadly projectiles rocketed forth. Four shots in half as many seconds. They turned the air between the Captain and his adversary into a wall of burning daggers as the magnesium at the head of the projectiles heated with the friction of the air passing at 2200 feet per second, becoming hot enough to incinerate bone. They left trails of light in their wake, shrieking their golden widow song.
Their fire was added to that of the fusillade from the rest of the beleaguered defenders of the Ardent, stitching through the scales and skin of the beast which held them captive. Hydrostatic shock blew the wounds wide for an eyeblink before muscular action sealed them. It was an impressive display, all told.
But it didn’t get them free.
Fort roared inarticulately into the gale, squeezing off another shot in his fury. It scored a glancing blow, ripping through scale and flesh to spill blood more blood into the seafoam where far too many of his crew had already found their stake in immortality.
Fort had seen worse jams. Though he couldn’t be bothered to remember any at the moment. His mind ticked over the problem, gears and pistons grinding against each other to find the solution. He’d be damned if he was going to allow himself and his crew to go and find their end in the waters of the Vast Sea. More so if it were today.
“Long Nines are Ready Capt’n.” Aleta’s voice rose above the gale, billowing from the gunnery deck just beneath his feet. Indeed, the two long-barreled weapons protruded from the chin-ports of the Ardent, ready to discharge their lethal payloads into the center-mass of the creature.
“Hold them. On my mark, fire for effect!” Fort roared his command before whipping his head around, the arterial spray of his hair flicking about like a nest of unquiet vipers in the wake of the beast’s breath.
“How the hell are we supposed to stop that thing?” The new patron’s voice. Captain Fortinbras Carlyle fixed him with a maniac smile, a plan forming even as he assessed the situation. “Get to engineering, bring any Ammonium Nitrate you have. Tell them to shunt it into the engines. Cannonade is the mark. Square?” Fortinbras fixed him with a meaningful look and what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It hadn’t lost its manic twist; the smile of a wolf cornered in its den and ready to fight its way clear.
Fort’s free hand reached for the gunwale to steady himself as his ship threatened to shake itself apart under the strain of the engines against the relentless grip of the Stroud. She wouldn’t last much longer.
“Cain, full bore. Slash and Burn on my mark. Make it a good one. We’ve only got one shot at this!”
***
They’d come in too low. There’d be no coming back for them. Somehow the engines had simply given up the ghost, dropping altitude and laying them into a collision course with the looming mountain bluff. And in his final moments, Fortinbras Carlyle didn’t have the heart to level blame.
In the end, it was his. Always. Immutable fact of nature. He, captain. They, crew.
At least he’d have the opportunity to go down with the ship.
The engines roared as they strove to churn air and send the doomed vessel upward and over the looming danger. The throttles were wide open and the exhaust ports were belching clouds of superheated black vapor. Nothing. No good.
And then something odd happened.
The roar of the engines cut away. Only the machine whine of the ailerons and the hiss of wind across the hull broke the slowly reassembling silence. Fort closed his eyes and leaned into the bowsprit, waiting for death.
Death didn’t sound like an exploding sun. Even death by collision with a mountain didn’t sound like the roar of reignited engines. No…he wasn’t dead. Which meant…
How he did it, Fortinbras didn’t have the heart to ask. Somehow the young aeronaut had gotten them canted upward and opened the engines at full throttle at forty-five degrees updraft. The boost of ignition had sent them sailing up and over the ridgeline by the slimmest of margins. Behind them, the rocky bluff had been scorched a flat black.
Cain was wearing the widest grin Fort had ever seen.
Slash and Burn…nothing to it.
***
The maneuver was risky. In fact, it was just shy of suicidal. Who knew what kind of structural damage the Ardent had borne. Their chances of survival were only slightly better than the chance that the engines would simply shear off and they’d crash ignominiously into the depths of the Vast Sea.
In theory, it was simple. Cain would cut the engines, letting the creature bear their weight for a handful of heartbeats. Simultaneously, the Long Nines would fire their lethal payload into the center-mass of the beast. At that point, Cain would boost the engines once more, twisting them from the grasp of the beast with maximum thrust and sending them upward and away from the beast’s grasp. The Ammonium Nitrate would boost the heat and power of the Ardent’s engines, not only causing a boost in the thrust the ship could mount, but also sending a wave of sulfurous hellfire from the aft engines, parboiling the creature in the process.
Alone, it might be difficult. But Fort had one more ace in the hole.
“Belo!” Fort cast about the deck, hoping against hope that the Innate was within earshot. Somehow she generally managed it. “Stand by to keep that damned fish at bay. Let’s get some altitude, people!”
Fortinbras Carlyle turned back once more to the creature which lay below them, staring down into the mass of slick flesh and sturdy scale, leveling the Harlon Arms bolter once more and squeezing the last three rounds off, just to be thorough.
“Stand by!”
The soar-wood protested as the creature tightened its grip, doing its damnedest to snap the spine of the vessel. Fort felt the Ardent’s pain like his own, feeling the pressure on his own bones. He tasted the copper penny tang of blood long before he realized he was worrying his own lower lip between his teeth.
“Throne, let this work.” He whispered to himself, a muted prayer lost in the clamor of the creature and crew. Louder, he roared what may yet be his final command. “MARK!”
Everything had happened too quickly for Cas. One minute she had managed to free the pilot’s seat from the beast’s tail, next she was dazed and in pain and on her ass, and moments later Fort was above deck and shouting orders. The blow to her stomach had left her breathless, disoriented and dizzy, a feeling she did not enjoy experiencing during the heat of battle. That sort of bullshit would have her smeared across the deck in if she didn’t snap out of it, fast.
Slowly she got to her feet, hands gripped tightly around the railing. It was times like these she would grit her teeth and reminder herself to stop wearing such heavy clothing and heels. She never did, of course. So Cas bore the extra effort and lifted herself slowly to her feet, wobbling slightly in keeping with the ship’s rocking.
Cas barely remembered the rope around her waist before dashing off to assist her captain, a lucky thing too, as slipping might have knocked her out. Growing increasingly frustrated with her uselessness, she grit her teeth and cut the rope away with one of her knives. Fucking finally.
She had taken a moment to glance around and see what was happening as the blade sliced the rope apart. Cain had managed to get to the pilot’s seat—she realized that cutting her ropes away was probably not smart, but too late now—and Fort was ordering the crew to the long-nines. Very well, then. They were fully manned, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t ward off the beast’s tail if it got close.
Mist and cloud and rain was beginning to form, and with the shrieking winds it was a painful combination. Her cheeks stung, her hair whipped her face, she was shivering from head to toe and soaking wet. Not pleasant. Not good for combat. She wiped her face clean as she approached the captain, gritting her teeth with anger as he shouted for the Innate bitch to hold off the beast. He was calling on her first, was she? And after the idiot had fired uselessly into the creature’s sides, doing little more than angering it, while she had risked her life and made one hell of a shot to clear the pilot’s seat?
Anger washed away the distractions of the icy rain and wind and hair in her eyes and brought her back into focus for the first time since she’d been knocked back. Her hips rocked with the ship’s movement as she looked to the Captain.
“Orders, sir?”
Her own name soared through the cacophony of desperate screams and struggling sailors, ringing true and steeling her resolve. The captain's whims were not to be disregarded, as much as Belo wrestled with authority. She'd meditated on this before and though she eagerly awaited the end of a soured contract, she could not help but hold some sliver of remorse at the loss of such a stereotypical icon. Frills, lace and cuff links aside, he was something to behold indeed. Belo had ascended several feet higher along the foremast and now possessed a panoramic view of the tragedy below. The bulk of the beast had been laid out before her and while the elusive head caused some frustration, there was enough silvery flesh her to absorb the shock wave she had planned. Even the most tempered of blades had bent behind the force of her will and though the scales posed a formidable barrier, the beast was flesh and bone to the core; humble matter inevitably rent asunder.
The power she'd held away for so long was roaring for release, though she knew well enough that her current position was unsteady and vulnerable to backlash. Still, the window would not last forever and this was too fine a shot to pass up. She could feel the pulsing in her veins; another, fiercer sensation beating alongside the natural rhythm of her heart. It had an identity all of its own and a personality to boot. The two didn't always get along.
When Fortinbras' order came, the floodgates open and whatever reservations she still had about her duty faded away, lost in the necessity of the moment. Her hair pricked and twitched while the force mounted. "Aye aye, Cap'n..." she muttered as a grin pulled at the corner of her lips; sick humor ghosting across her features. She'd met true mages, false mages, and other Innates so badly damaged by their own reputation that they resembled little more than husks; vestibules for impossible magic. Many required words or incantations, mantras of concentration in order to let the force flow and enact their will.
She found it tiresome and wholly annoying, but discovered that a physical accompaniment focused the direction a great deal. This meant, however, that some security would be sacrificed. The buntlines flapped around her as her pupils swelled, then shrunk to pinpricks. There had to be some shape to it; she'd settled to close to valuable rigging. She let her clockwork arm drop while the flesh hand gripped netting. Belo found that the false arm conducted a great deal of magic in a short amount of time and though the grip of her natural hand may falter, the blast would be worth it. Oh, so fucking worth it.
"Smile, you son of a BITCH!" she bellowed as the air around her funneled into a massive cone, expanding in an eye's blink and spiraling forward with a deafening sonic boom. Sheer force blasted forward, its wide circumference sucking unsecured rifles and tools with it as the wall of energy connected with beast flesh, ripping away what it could. Any scales that weren't torn away were hit with immeasurable force capable of setting enemy ships on entirely new courses... if their hulls managed the initial strike. But it was more than one sharp blast. Residual power pummeled the giant sea serpent and delivered a relentless barrage.
The wave alone should have forced it from the Ardent, but surface damage was very acceptable as well. It was not one of her better attempts at such a formation and her predicament had forced her to focus more on aim that raw power. Still, the damn thing should have been hurting. She hoped to high heavens that the long nines went off without a hitch, or else she might find herself returning to the top deck very, very quickly with the chance of a skull fracture. The coppery taste swelled in her mouth and she spat, squinting at the taste while her metal arm groped for the lost line, but found nothing. A pit fell in her stomach as she tried again to no avail, finding herself dangling by one imperfect hand.
Oh, shit storm...
"Cannons! Fire the fuckin' cannons!" Belo screamed from above, kicking outwards as she tried to swing closer to a safety net. The force of her own offensive had swung her back and the pain in her good hand was becoming quite pressing. Despite her refusal to look down, she couldn't help but consider the very real possibility of a fall. There could have been worse heights to plummet from, but this would still not be enjoyable by any means. Unlikely fatal, but hell fire, it would hurt somethin' fierce.
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