Test post.

More testing.

City of Cann, First Hour of the Seventh Day of Winter

The crisp, wintry morning has laid thick fog across the docks. The Ardent floats gently, not betraying the immense power that strains at the ropes keeping it from going free. It's almost ready for it's crew, and as the last barrel of herring is being loaded in, a hawk swoops down with a piercing cry and snatches one of the fish. A shout is given and the barrel is nearly dropped. The crew is just beginning to arrive, one by one. They've rested well after their last job--escorting some pansy nobleman to Au--and said their farewells to anyone worth saying farewell to. But some of the crew are unsure. It pays well, really well, and on the whole doesn't demand any particular combat. But some of the crew members whisper the unthinkable: that this job can't possibly be completed. It's an impossible task, they say, even for the Ardent. There are feelings of both unease and excitement among the crew. And a few of them feel like they're being watched.

Cas Seingalt

A knock at the door, the morning wake up call Cas had ordered. The elf was already awake, she had been for an hour, but the sharp knocking snatched her attention away from counting the boards in the ceiling and had her up and on her feet in a moment. She took two long, graceful steps to the window and drew the curtains open, gazing into the foggy docks far below. The Ardent seemed tiny compared to the massive hulls and billowing sails of the vessels around it, but a smile lit her lips as she regarded it. The Ardent was often underestimated because of its size and appearance. As was she.

There was another knock, and she glanced over her shoulder as the door opened. The tavern girl peeked in, her eyes widening and cheeks reddening when she saw Cas' state of near undress. But the elf seemed unperturbed and nodded, turning back to the window.

"Thank you, I am awake. Could you have some wine ready for me when I get downstairs?"

The woman mumbled a 'yes' and closed the door quickly. Cas gave the Ardent one last, long look before bending over and opening her old suitcase. Most of her belongings remained aboard the airship, but she kept the essentials with her. She rummaged through the clothing and found what she wanted, slipping it on a little carelessly.

When she was finished she packed up the last of her things and set the old suitcase on her bed. Cas slipped a blade into the pocket tied just above her boot, then tucked her revolver into one of the specially sewn folds of her dress. Finally she began strapping on the belts that would hold the weapons she wanted people to see. When finished, she stepped out of the inn room and hurried down the stairs, bristling with weaponry. A long, curved and gilded saber hung from her hip and slapped her thigh as she walked. Three daggers, arranged neatly in a row on her belt, stuck out at a slight angle--perhaps a warning to anyone thinking of wrapping their arms around her waist. A simple revolver rested in its holder there, ready to be pulled out at a moment's notice. And finally, her beloved clockwork rifle was slung over her shoulder. She preferred to hold it, but commercial establishments preferred it when she didn't disturb their customers. Of course, it didn't seem to matter that they were disturbing her with their stares. She grit her teeth at their surprised, gawking expressions and reminded herself that this was not the morning to make a scene. She had a job to do. Cas spotted the empty table, a single glass of wine placed on it. She strode to it and snatched the glass up, swigging the drink before setting it down and nodding to the tavern owner. She slipped him the heavy gold coins, patted his old hands and gave him a small smile. He had been kind to her, and would find her payment doubled.

She walked briskly to the ship, her breath exhaling in little white puffs thanks to the cold morning air. The Ardent was almost finished loading and a few of the crew had already arrived, though it seemed to only be technicians and cooks. Good, her mates weren't here yet. It would give her time to catch her breath and prepare her rifle. Cas set the long, gilded firearm on the ground, handle-side up, and pulled a set of heavy bullets from one of the many pouches hanging at her hip. She began to load them in, and, glancing up and seeing the others were not here yet, set to polishing her beloved rifle, eyes sad.

Aleta Kilkenny

Thump Thump Thump

What the hell was all that racket!! The thin purple blankets piled on top of the bed began to stir, and suddenly a hand emerged from underneath the mountain of fabric. The hand moved to the floor and fingers began feeling around until they trailed over the circular face of a grey wristwatch. Grasping the watch the hand then retreated back into the cave of blankets. A series of mumbles could be heard as something once again stirred beneath the heap of blankets. Finally one after another the sheets and blankets were thrown to the floor.. Dagger green eyes gazed sleepily up at the ceiling, while a hand moved to sweep brilliant red bangs off to the side.“Ehhhh” was the only thing that’s escaped her lips. She didn’t want to fricken get up. She was comfy! But that damn thumping noise wasn’t stopping. Aleta attempted to get out of her bed and escape the cave of sheets that still remained. However the still half asleep girl got her legs tangled in one of the sheets. She struggled with it for a few minutes, trying to wrestle herself out of it. “Get offfameh!” she yelled…as if the stupid sheets could obey! However during the wrestling match she came precariously close to the edge of the bed. And well, stupidly she rolled to the right and off of the bed. There was a loud thud and a grunt as her face colliding with the wooden floor. After a series of curse words flooded from her mouth she sat up and ripped the sheet that had been tangled around her legs and threw it across the room.

“Gah!..Dammit all to Hell” she complained as she rubbed her nose. That hurt! Why the hell was she getting up anyways. Oh that’s right, the slight damn thumping. It took her this long to realize that the noise was someone knocking on her door. Now if it wasn’t obvious by now…Aleta was never really a morning person. And it was just far to early for her…or at least she thought it was. Her damn watch had stopped working, cause it often got thrown against a wall. This girl liked her shut eye…nothing more to say about it really. Her red hair stuck up strangely on one side in little tufts, the tips curling upwards to reach for the sky. She tried to pat the cowlicks down, but they were rather stubborn. Eventually she just gave up trying, it was rather useless. “I’m coming I’m coming! Aleta finally shouted to the person on the other side of her door as she began to move towards it. However she stopped before even reached the door handle...and looked down. Might want to put pants on first…yeah she mused to herself with a crazy grin. Yep she was still wearing just a pair of underwear and an sleeveless shirt. Which was…as you know…was not exactly appropriate attire to go walking about. She quickly stripped and threw her pj's to the ground and moved to the corner of the room where she had some clothes piled in an untidy bunch. She hadn’t been in the room long yet she still managed to make a mess. Yep this lass wasn’t the neatest. She pulled a black tank top over her head and then pulled on a pair of grey pants. They clung to her hips, and she secured them with a belt.

The last thing she did was lace up her boots and slip on her goggles. Aleta utter one last yawn as she reached for her door. Yanking it open she was met with a rather timid looking girl. Aleta just stared down at her with a look that probably looked a little more then irritated. “Uh…um, y-you ordered a wake-up call?” the poor girl stuttered out. Aleta just rose a brow in confusion “I did?” The girl viciously nodded her head, probably hoping not to be yelled at by the tired looking woman. However Aleta had switched gears, instead of grimacing a large grin spread across her face. Her hand rested on the girls head and ruffled her hair rather roughly “Well…I guess it just slipped my mind” Aleta laughed as the girl ducked out from under her hand and backed away. Aleta was awake so her mission was accomplished. And with a few more nervous glances the mouse like girl scampered off down the hall. Aleta retreated back into her room and closed the door…sighing to herself. “Man....I could go for a nap” she muttered. However there wasn’t time, she had gotten that wake up call for a reason. They were all supposed to meet back at the Ardent this morning. So that meant, she had to pack up and skedaddle out of here. Aleta looked around the room, and the mess she had left. Her messy ways made packing a pain in the ass. She made a mental note to be more neat from now on. Although it was pretty much a lost cause. The day Aleta was neater was the day that the captain let her sleep an entire day. Which was…never!

The red head was too impatient to fold everything neatly. So her method of packing was just picking up everything off of the floor and shoving it into her bag. Soon enough you could see the floor again. The bed remained unmade; but Aleta wasn’t even going to bother. The inn maids could take care of that. Once everything was packed away Aleta grabbed her olive green jacket off of the dresser and left the room. She slung her bag over her shoulder as she walked downstairs. Her night had already been paid for so she didn’t need to pay the front desk a visit or anything. Instead she made a beeline for the front door. Slipping her arms into the sleeves of her jacket Aleta opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the cold winter air. She made a hiss as she involuntarily inhaled through her clenched teeth. God she hated winter. And not only was it chilly, but she could barely see because the fog was so thick. Well at least the docks weren’t too far away from here. White vapor escaped Aleta’s lips as she began to walk. Even from here she could see the Airship harbor. Some of them were massive, unlike the Ardent which was a rather small and sleek vessel. However it was its size that allowed it to be as quick as it was. Also the Ardent wasn’t weighed down by unnecessary amounts of weaponry. Aleta reached the docks, and as she walked towards were the Ardent was moored she spotted Cas. She looked as if she was fiddling with that rifle of hers. Aleta just grinned as she approached “ Mornin’ Cas!” she said, breaking the serene silence.

RESERVED

Cain Nakim

Cain rolled over on his hammock and pulled his arm over his eyes. A low, rumbling groan rolled up his throat and shook his voice awake. He wasn’t asleep but he wasn’t consciously aware either, hadn’t been for quite awhile now. He wasn’t exactly ready to get up yet though. It felt longer but he figured for the past two hours or so, the rest of the crew had been loading up the ship with all the stuff they would need for their next adventure. The first thud of cargo on the ship had woken him and the constant patter of boots and luggage had prevented him from falling back asleep. Normally it would annoy him but he’d already slept more than usual and he was starting to get a crick in his neck from the position he’d managed to maneuver into. Sure he was looking forward to the trip. He loved flying and he really couldn’t care where the hell he was flying to (or flying into). There was something about the journey that made him thrum with excitement and old-aged giddiness. It was the preparations that he didn’t like. If he continued to keep quiet and pretend he wasn’t hiding behind a stack of crates and barrels in a make-shift hammock he’d set up no one would come looking for him to help. He could survive in his hideaway for days considering he’d set up camp in the galley.

He sat up and looked over the curtain of preserves and rum, bedraggled and semi-dazed. Cain probably looked a mess right then, dark hair tousled every which way, eyes flickering between closed and squinted. His goggles were reversed around his neck. They had been perched on his shoulder and had fallen backwards when he’d sat up. Now, the leather belt was pressing against his Adam’s apple awkwardly. He swung his legs over the edge and stood up, scratching at his chin absently. The scruff was getting thicker and he’d need to shave in a day or two. Beards didn’t work for him, too much of a hassle to take care of. He arched backwards, bent to touch his toes, pulled at his arms, and then sat down on the floor to tug on his boots. He picked up his vest from the rest of his discarded uniform parts and quickly fastened the buttons. His time piece was hooked up and tucked away; his compass was stashed in his pants pocket. His leather gloves were pulled on and the bracers were fastened tight over his wrists to prevent slipping. The dark color was fading at his palms from the constant abuse of steering. He didn’t care enough to get new ones. He turned his goggles back around and worked on fastening the scope over the left lens before settling it on the top of his head. A large yawn that stretched his face and made him flick his tongue with a soft “nyuck nyuck” sound alerted a passing technician to his presence. The lad jumped, peered at him, then frowned and walked away, muttering something about “Incompetent pilots.” This only made Cain sniff and scratch his ass.

Feeling like he was adequately dressed, Cain dug around in the stores he was hiding behind until he found an apple and a canister of already ground coffee from awhile ago. Looking between the two, he shrugged and sat back down. He ate the apple first and set the core on the ground beside him to throw out later. Then, he dug out a spoon from an inner pocket of his disregarded coat and began eating the coffee. This wasn’t a new process for him. He never felt like spending the time brewing coffee and then having to wait to drink it. After he discovered eating coffee was easier and possible, he opted for that instead.

When he finally emerged from the galley, his coat was thrown over his shoulder and an indifferent, almost bored look was on his face. He stepped out on deck and went up to his post at the helm without so much as a glance at anything else. His head wasn’t exactly on the ship yet. It was still far away in his imagination, a dirty imagination not suitable for women and hardly suitable for men. At a particularly amusing thought, a serene smile broke out on his face and he leaned against the controls. His coat fell to the ground at his side, forgotten. If the captain wanted him to wear it, it was there to be acknowledged and not used.

Cain didn’t wake up until he tipped too far to one side and toppled over onto the deck. His goggles fell over his face and his watch clattered on the wood. He stared up above him blinking a few times as he finally came to realize where he was. It was hard because his scope made his vision seriously distorted as his brain tried to combine a magnified and non-magnified image into one. He quickly pushed his goggles back and sat up. A quick glance around and a silent “O” told everyone Cain had finally arrived.

“Glad you could join us, Aerodar,” another technician said snidely as they passed by him, “The Ardent is safer when you’re asleep.” Technicians didn’t like him much. According to them, he made their job difficult. According to him, he gave them the job in the first place. If he didn’t side-swipe a cliff-face or over-burn the engines, they would only have a job for about two to four weeks a year, when the ship got a complete diagnosis and work-over. Needless to say, he and them rarely saw eye to eye but none of them could pilot and he couldn’t build machines so they were stuck with each other.

Cain stood up and looked around. This time he noticed the two girls he’d missed before. He leaned forward against the rail and waved at them in case they looked up. To make up for completely ignoring them earlier.

He did have manners.

Rem Reaper

Rem was completely asleep in the local college library. Specifically he was resting in the leather chair he had been reading in last night. He was using a large textbook as a makeshift pillow as the rest of his body contorted itself around into a ball. To most people it would look like an odd, and not very comfortable pose, but it was just how he slept. His currently he was dreaming about the theorems and formulas that he had been working on last night before he fell asleep. The laws of science were not a good mix with the possibilities of the dream world. His eyebrows furrowed as his mind tried to make sense of the illogical.

Suddenly a gentle hand touched his shoulder, ”Child, have you been sleeping here all night?” he awoke with a bit of a start to see one of the elderly librarians looking at him with kind and concerned eyes. He rubbed his eyes as he realized that it must be morning, his bedtime. When the sleep was out of his eyes he turned to the elderly woman, ”I was doing some research. I have a pass so I can access the school’s resources after hours.” he said as he flipped out a college id. The identification was a brass card that stated his authority as a professor across the different schools of the nation. The credential was legitimate, but it was odd to see such a young face on it. The woman greedily tried to grab at the id to inspect it closer, but Rem’s hands were quicker. His hand flew back to his coat pocket tucking the item away safely. The librarian looked frustrated and still a bit skeptical, but before she could complain he was already gone.

He walked quickly down the hall of the college daring anyone who passed him to make a remark. He had only gotten one, possibly two, hours of sleep so it was safe to say that he was grumpy. He probably would have been more comfortable at the hotel, but the guest dorms at the college were the closest rooms to the library. Plus, he already could stay here for free. If research meant sacrificing a bit of comfort than it would be worth it.

For the last couple months he had been working on a special project. When he had been abandoned as a young child he was left with a few possessions, one of them being a small journal. The book was obviously old, and was completely indecipherable. It was written in a sophisticated code despite its old age. Whoever had written it had made it so it was nearly impossible to translate. So he had challenged himself to defeat the book’s complex design. So far the only thing he had managed to gain was a headache. It would be easy if he only had a reference or cheat sheet, but none of the cryptogram books he had read had anything on these unfamiliar codes.

Yet even without knowing what it was he suspected it to be important. It could very well hold the secrets to the mysterious Shift Particle. Then again it could just be the diary of some teenage girl. Either way he still wanted to solve the mystery. It was all a big game, a puzzle waiting to get solved.

When Rem finally made it back to the guest dorm he had rented he was met by a tiny room. The entire place was covered in dust, the bed was tiny and unkempt, and the floorboards squeaked. Still, it was still better than the orphanages in the slums. He was even lucky enough to have a washroom here. There was a basin of cold water right below a musty mirror. He dunked his head into the water. The icy water instantly jolted him into full awareness. When he brought up his head he looked into the mirror to see the face of what looked like a young child. Wide, sharp, blue eyes examined the face in the mirror. He was deceivingly youthful. It was always annoying to explain that to people. It was easier to let them assume what they wanted to believe in. While still looking at his face he was also annoyed how feminine he looked. He could probably pretend to be a female if he had to. The features appeared to be Tyrisian, but the hair was wrong. It would be safe to assume that he was a mutt.

His, now dripping, hair was the color of smoke. It also smelled of smoke. His entire body had a certain ashy scent to it. Part of it was due to the opium that he had occasionally sampled when he was truly frustrated. But, the scent was mainly due to being around too many fires and explosions. Science did that to a person.

His figure was small and un-athletic, but still lean. The signs of malnutrition still seemed to be taking their affect on him. His current lifestyle did not seem to be improving him much either. The hours spent indoors and in the dark had made his skin far too pale. The men of Ardent’s crew was right, he really did resemble a vampire. The only thing that broke up his creamy flesh was the fiery red salamander tattoo located on his back. When he was still living with the woman he assumed to be his mother she had the symbol put on him. She had called it a symbol of change, but he hardly understood what that meant, even now. Getting the mark had been painful, he remembered crying a lot, but that had happened ages ago. He hardly thought about the mark anymore.

His silent study of himself was interrupted when the school’s morning bell rang. He jumped in surprise as his hand flew to his heart. Suddenly he remembered what today was. Today the Ardent was setting off again. Most of the crew did not take too well to him being on board, even if he was the one that funded them. To them he was just a rich child that was only there to get in the way, but he had been able to prove that theory wrong plenty of times. Despite that they still enjoyed playing the guess-how-old-the-shrimp-really-is game. Nobody had actually been able to guess correctly, and even if they did he would never tell them so. His hand flew to his pocket watch. With a bit of dread he confirmed his suspicions: He was late.

As quickly as he could move he began to throw all of his possessions back into his trunk. There were several outfits, but most of the items were books and instruments. His work required all sorts off odd tools. He was making it his job to research the odd minerals were said to have turned up in the west. He guessed most of them were pretty safe, but there were always exceptions.

Once the trunk was shut he left. It was a good thing that the chest was on wheels; it weighted just about as much as him. By the time he ran out of the school he was already out of breath. With a bit of effort he continued on until he was safely in sight of the Ardent. Once he made it to the dock he collapsed on top of the trunk and tried to catch his breath. His chest was pounding from the exertion. It was a good thing that it was cool outside; otherwise he would have been covered in sweat. If he was not as exhausted from the run he might have tried to compose himself in front of the crew, but right now he was even beyond words.

City of Cann, Second Hour of the Seventh Day of Winter

Suddenly there's a powerful gust of wind, blowing a few items off the deck and disorienting the members of the crew. Something whizzes past the heads of the crews and lodges itself in the wood, just next to the pilot's seat. An arrow. Obviously, because of the wind, this isn't where it was intended to hit. The assailant is nowhere to be seen, however, and nobody in the docks seems to have noticed anything strange. Life is going on as usual, children are laughing and dockmasters are shouting. Whoever has attacked them is long gone.

Cain watched as the little newbie huffed his way up to the docks. He hadn’t even managed to get on the ship and he was already exhausted. Too funny. Too funny. Cain leaned over the rails and watched him collapse onto his trunk. How old was the guy? He was a scientist, that much he had managed to pick up and remember. Names and ages though weren’t interesting. He looked really young though to be as smart as he was. Maybe he figured out a way to stave off aging. Women liked the idea of permanent youth. Maybe he was self-conscious like them. If he was, it kind of made him a bit more girly than he already seemed with his weak physique, soft features, and the focus of priorities on mental capabilities. Really now, why did girls have to be so focused on things in their head. Seriously. You eat. You drink. You f*ck. You sleep. What else did they need to know? Maybe you fought and maybe you flew. Not much that needed to be over-thought. Cain turned away from the edge and strode back over to his seat. Thinking about how people liked thinking made his head hurt and only reminded him he wanted to go back to sleep and be woken up when they were ready to take off. Waiting was dull.

A sudden wind kicked up and Cain hardly moved. His hair tossed widely about his head and the collar of his shirt was thrown up and sent crooked but he didn’t so much as twitch. As soon as he heard the arrow whistle through the air, Cain yelped “SLICE,” threw his arms over his head, fell to the deck, and rolled to the side. In his head, he went through old instinctual maneuvers to avoid being hit when under fire. It was something that he would never escape no matter how hard he tried. Those gestures, those procedures were as much a part of him as his facial scruff. Sure, he could shave it off for awhile but it eventually grew back. In all actuality, Cain was too lazy to fully shave that often anyway so he just put up with the habits like he put up with the beard slowly invading his face. Still made him look silly.

When the wind settled, Cain lifted his head and looked around. He flipped over onto his back and rolled up onto his feet. A quick survey of his surroundings showed no signs of fighting. It isn’t even the same landscape his mind had conjured up while he went through the old procedure of duck and cover. Cain scratched his head, dumbfounded as he wondered what the hell just happened and where the hell he is. Had he really just imagined he was back on the front? He hadn’t been in service for years now and he could still remember it so vividly. The thought settled heavy in his stomach and he had to resist wandering back to the dirty little fantasies in his imagination. After turning back to his station, Cain noticed the arrow lodged not far from where he’d been sitting. He goes over and wiggles it out, running a finger over the splintered wood. Someone had been shooting at him, or near him. He couldn’t remember which way the wind had been blowing so he couldn’t figure out where the arrow had actually come from, or where it had been going. For all he knew, someone had just tried to drill a hole through the side of his head and he had been nearly oblivious.

He turned the shaft over in his hand and pressed a finger to the tip. Sharp, decent material, and finely crafted but nothing identifying. It was a generic arrow style and it was even a generic color for the fletching: red. Only thing he could figure from the arrow was whoever it belonged to was a hell of a shot in both a good and a bad way. One: they got some nice distance if he couldn’t see them now. Two: they missed. More out of curiosity than feeling threatened, Cain pulled his goggles down, closed his right eye, and took a gander around the docks with his scope. The usual dockhands, passengers, and lurkers were there but nothing out of the ordinary. It didn’t even seem like anyone had noticed the wind. That was a bit weird. Setting his goggles back on his head, Cain looked at the arrow again and nibbled on the tip. That would’ve been very, very painful if it hit him. Definitely nice stuff. Cain took another look around, this time disappointed with himself. It would’ve been useful to know what the arrow was originally intended to hit. They may not have been under fire at all and the sudden burst of wind had sent it completely off course. It wasn’t heavy enough to sustain a decent path through air like that. Still, it hit the ship. He probably should go find the captain before he had to start steering and show it to him. He had no idea where the captain was and he really couldn’t be bothered to go off and find him. Cain told himself he’d just show it to Otto when he popped by. Really, Otto would probably notice before Cain ever showed it.

Leaning back in his chair and kicking his boots up onto the control panel, Cain tipped his head back and closed his eyes. A morose soldier tune rolled up from his throat and he swung his head back and forth with the slow beat of the song. The arrow laid across his stomach, already forgotten.

It might have seemed, sometimes, to the outside observer that Cas Seingalt's natural expression was one of bitter and cold annoyance, but this was simply not true. It just so happened that nearly everything annoyed her.

For example, take Aleta, the Ardent's doctor and head engineer. Her cheery, mindless demeanor grated every one of Cas' nerves. Cas Seingalt was serious, and quiet, and thoughtful, everything Aleta was not. Or take, for instance, the ship's patron, that bumbling weakling of a scientist. She couldn't be bothered to remember his name. And if not him, then the Ardent's arrogant and scruffy son-of-a-bitch pilot, Cain. Just looking at him wave cheerily to her, looking like he had woken up on the wrong side of his hammock, made her stomach knot up and her scowl deepen. And if not for him, there were always the minor annoyances: the stupid complacency of the townspeople, the sheep-like skittishness of even the burliest of men around guns, the squawking of seagulls, the mighty gust of wind getting her hair in her face.

When Cas heard the arrow zip over her head and onto the ship, the expression disappeared. Instinctively she drew her revolver and fired from her hip, upwards. But the gust of wind left the location of the assailant a mystery and wherever she was--for Cas knew well it would have been a she--they were long gone. There had been no commotion in the docks, only a few screams and frightened glances when she had fired the revolver. Likely, no one had seen who had fired the arrow. Reluctantly, glancing around very slowly at the docks, she holstered the gun before whirling around to check for any sign of crimson spilled across the shirts of one of her comrades.

She spotted red. It was not blood, but rather the bright red feather fletching on the arrow, which had embedded itself in the wood near the pilot's seat.

No one was hurt, and she closed her eyes and whispered thanks to her gods for the gust of wind. Cas grit her teeth, giving Cain a warning glare but the obtrusive idiot grabbed it and played with it like it was a toy. She dashed up to the decks and gave him a scorching look before snatching it from his hands. Huh! How he treated it was almost demeaning. Ignoring his usual banter, she turned the arrow over delicately between her fingertips, eyes on the red feather fletching. She knew it well. Cas glanced up at him, quiet and solemn.

"You should have been more careful with this, you could have broken it the way you were playing with it," she said, shaking the arrow at him chastisingly. Her frown deepened a little and she looked down at it. "Why isn't the captain here?"

Aleta’s merry greeting hadn’t been very well received by the often gloomy elven warrior. And honestly Aleta hadn’t really been expecting a warm greeting from Cas. The woman had never really taken a shine to the cheerful doctor, even if she was the one to sew her back together when needed. And that was probably because their personalities clashed pretty dramatically. The Ardent’s Doc was rather boisterous and often times, obnoxious. However the girl just couldn’t help it, it was just the way she was. Aleta wouldn’t be able to survive if she was stern and stone-faced all day. Life was no fun if you looked on the dark side of things constantly. So Aleta did her best to keep things on the ship a bit more lively and upbeat…much to the annoyance of her more solemn crewmates. Cas for example would probably feel no guilt about throwing the rambunctious Tyrisian overboard. Aleta just crossed her arms over her chest as Cas gave her the cold shoulder, not even acknowledging her presence. Sourpuss…Aleta thought to herself. Sure it was early, but at least Aleta was making an effort to be pleasant. In Aleta’s opinion, the elf was just way to serious all of the time. I mean jeez, you can’t be all doom and gloom all of the time! Or that was what Aleta thought, until she met Cas. She had never seen the woman crack a smile. She just always seemed disgruntled about something.

And then Cas’ frown was kicked up a couple notches when she looked upwards. Whatever was looking down at them from the deck of the ship was only making her mood worsen. Aleta didn’t really have to look to know who it was staring down at them; however she cast her green eyes upwards anyways just for the hell of it. And sure enough…there in all his irritating glory was Cain, the walking talking migraine generator. And for a moment, Aleta’s expression almost mirrored Cas. Man, Cain was just a pain in her butt. Yes she was technically the doctor on the ship, however she did have a little side job. Aleta was also the head engineer aboard the Ardent. So anything that the mechanics had trouble with or couldn’t figure out, she took care of. She knew this ship inside and out, and it was like her little pride and joy. Which made Cain the constant thorn in her side. Why? Well because he was an ass who liked to pull risky little maneuvers with the Ardent. In fact the poor ship rarely made it to port without some sort of damage due to Cain throwing caution to the wind. He was just a no good scruffy shit-for-brains pain in the ass!

Aleta picked her bag back up and threw it over her shoulder once again. She figured she might as well go aboard the Ardent, seeing as her welcome had worn out the minute Cas saw her. “Well this has been an enjoyable conversation as always” Aleta just grumbled sarcastically, casting a side glance at the elf she was speaking too. However before she began to move towards the Ardent Aleta heard what sounded like dragging. She looked over to see that kid that had been tagging along with them. Rem was his name if she recalled correctly. Anyways….he was supposed to be some sort of scientist or something. Although he really didn’t look old enough to be that accomplished. Aleta hadn’t really had the chance to sit down and actually talk to him or play the guess his age game that was so popular. All she was really certain of was that he was paying for this whole expedition of theirs. As long as she was getting paid, she didn’t really care what the mission was. So she was a little greedy, bit hairy deal. Everyone likes to get paid, even if they try to deny it. Well Rem seemed exhausted; his trunk seemed to be giving him a fair bit of trouble. Well this was probably embarrassing. Many of the crew members already felt like he was useless, and this probably wasn’t helping his already poor image.

So Aleta just smiled widely and waved in his direction“Mornin...Say... did’ja want any help?” she asked. Why not throw the newbie a bone, it would make things on the ship more enjoyable if people would just come to terms that they weren’t going to be ditching the little scientist. “That trunk looks –“ Aleta was going to say heavy, but her voice was cut short by the sound of a gun going off right next to her. Aleta’s arms flew to her ears, but it didn’t seem to stop the ringing. “Ah…GOD” Aleta shot a looked over at Cas who was lowering the firearm that had delivered the shot. “Give a little warning next time will’ya?!” Aleta complained. Great now she was going to be partially deaf! Of course Aleta knew that Cas never fired unless there was a reason, however that didn’t change the fact that it had startled her. Well Cas didn’t seem to be paying attention, she was looking around for something that Aleta had obviously missed. Apparently the doctor hadn’t heard the whiz of the arrow. After Cas was done looking around she went rushing up the deck of the ship and disappeared from sight, leaving a very confused red head behind to scratch her head.

It took a while for Rem to finally calm himself back down. His chest was continuing to run on double-time, but at least he was a bit more aware of what was going on around him. His still wet hair caused a small chill to travel down his back when the wind began to blow. He swung himself up so that he was no longer sprawled across the trunk, now his legs dangled off the side. His feet barely touched the ground. It would be nice to be taller, but he was not going to sweat the small stuff. (No pun intended.) This was the body that he was born with so why should he complain. Besides, if he was truly that bothered by his height he could always find a way to make himself taller. Plants had fertilizers to make them bloom so why could people not have some kind of miracle elixir to increase their height. In fact, it was not such a bad idea. Perhaps I should make that one of my next studies… he mused.

When he was breathing normally again his eyes surveyed the docks and he tried to determine how many people had seen his undignified performance. He automatically noted many of the different faces around him to be from the Ardent. Wonderful, he thought bleakly, I wonder how long it will take to live this down. Truthfully, he did not know any of the crewmembers by name, but he was still embarrassed. When it came to the crew he saw no reason to get close to them. They were simply a hired crew. They did what they were paid to do. Useless information, such as their names, would only end up taking up too much room in his head.

Not to mention, he did not want to get too close to them incase they were secretly after his research. He could safely assume that when it came to the Shift Particle, he had gathered the most information out there. Even if there was not a lot known about it, he was one of the most knowledgeable about the substance. His brain basically made him a sitting target. If he went around making friends with everybody he came in contact with he might as well just hand over all of his findings to them as well. He was already handing over his money to the crew, so why should he bother to do anything more.

Of course, his life was full of irony. As soon as he looked up he saw one of the female crewmembers waving at him like a mad woman. He was fairly sure that she was some sort of medical worker. A doctor... or maybe a high ranking nurse... Whoever she was, she was currently speaking to him. As the odd woman spoke he simply rose his eyebrow. Is she trying to be nice to me? he wondered. It would be one of the first acts of kindness he had received from a member of the crew. It was a bit touching, but at the same time he tried to not think too hard about it.

The woman's offer was suddenly interrupted by a loud gunshot. For the second time this morning he had to stop his heart from jumping right out of his chest. He turned to the source of the noise to see one of the other females storing away her gun. The brunette wasted no time in leaving without even so much as an apology. Once she was out of earshot he hissed, ”What the hell was that for?" He was already beginning to hear a growing ringing in his ears. He massaged them tenderly in an effort to prevent any type of permanent damage. A loss of hearing was not something he wanted to add to the long list of things wrong with him. He would have to speak to the captain about the crazy girl with the gun later. After a moment he looked back at the redhead and said, ”If you're still offering, I could use a hand getting this trunk on board." The tools were a burden to lug around everywhere. If he was a bit stronger it would not be much of an issue, but with his small frame and complete lack of muscular build transporting everything completely wiped him out. One of these days he would have to hire somebody to carry around all of his supplies. With a bit of embarrassment he added, "It's kinda heavy."

Cain opened his eyes and looked up at Cas. She must have been the one discharging her weapon earlier and startling all the other crewmates. Few people in this day and age were used to handling firearms, let alone the sound they made. Cain himself had never shot one off but he had heard plenty of them and thought little of it now. Maybe he was going deaf at a young age. Who knows?

He was about to smile at her, under the pretense she had actually come to check on him. “Nah, nah I’m alright. Didn’t even skin me,” he said, but she didn’t even look at him. He noticed the flash of red in her hands and quirked an eyebrow. He looked down at his own and noticed they were empty. He flexed his fingers for good measure. Yep. Definitely empty. Cain looked back up at her and frowned slightly. So she hadn’t come to check on him at all, how disappointing. When had she taken the arrow from him though? He opened his mouth to ask why she’d snatched it only to realize she was speaking. He finally started listening to what she was saying and realized she was lecturing him about the arrow. Now, very little annoyed him. His mother told him it was the Kerrian spirit, to be accepting of things. His father said he was a moron and didn’t know any better. In fact, he could probably count the usual things he disliked on one hand: excessive manual labor, waiting on coffee, floozies only after his goods, and infants. This lecture was annoying him. It was just a dumb arrow and it almost shot through his arm. What did it really matter if he broke it now? Better snap the thing in half like the twig it was and throw it overboard so it couldn’t be used again. Why was she so adamant about keeping it intact?

“And you flinging it around willy-nilly,”—Cain grabbed the arrow’s shaft and held it steady before it pierced something important—“in my face no less,” he ground out, “would make it any safer from harm how?” Cain couldn’t hide the biting tone. In his mind, Cas had a tree shoved up her tiny ass. The woman rarely smiled at anything. He’d been intrigued by her dour mood for awhile after she’d been employed but now it kind of grated on his nerves. Just enjoy something you miserable elf or my hand to GOD I will make you. On more than one occasion when they were arguing, Cain had imagined mentioning the looseness of Cas’s race. He’d even imagined her being that loose once or twice and promptly woke up angry, slightly ashamed, and in denial that it had ever happened. That brand of opinion would stay inside him until he died. Hell, he wouldd probably die prematurely if he ever mentioned it. At her hands. Sneaky priss.

When he felt she would stop flinging it around, he let go of the arrow and resumed his comfortable position at the helm. He tucked his hands behind his head and stretched. “Why are you so bent on keeping the thing anyway?” he grumbled. He checked his watch, tapped his compass, and shrugged in response to her question. “Don’t know where Captain is. Hasn’t shown up yet.” He smirked up at her, “You want to tell him about that, or should I?”

Belo was drunk. Had been since half past. She had no recollection of ever turning down the covers of the bed she'd paid begrudgingly for and the innkeeper was having very little of her belligerence while she refuted the fee. While she hadn't had enough hard liquor to reduce to a impossible mess, she was still sloshed to the point where her judgment suffered from absences here and there. She'd gathered her belongings into a tattered rucksack and hauled them into the lobby, making a great show of her insistence to leave immediately and acquire her full deposit. Though fully dressed, her attire added little to her credibility. The cap that usually tamed her pale hair had turned askew, revealing an embarrassing assortment of unwashed cowlicks. Her white blouse had once been arranged in a provocative fashion as she had attempted to woo herself a few free drinks at the pub the night before, but the shirt had ceased revealing an ample bust and had shifted sideways, draping down her shoulder to display the metal arm she had tried in vain to disguise. The keeper maintained his eye contact for the most part, but his gaze kept drifting from her mis-laced boots to the perpetually spinning gears that tiered down her limb into the fluffy mess of her belled sleeve.

"Now, I ain't one for brutalizing the lady folk, but missus, you're tempting me real good now,"the innkeeper warned, exasperation slipping into his tone.

But Belo would have none of it and couldn't find an appropriate response in her repertoire of retorts. Instead, she found herself spilling colorful curse words until they turned to insults.

"...And your mum, the loose git that she was, losing her bits all over the place. Don' even know who your baker is, do ya?" Belo slurred over the harder consonants as a wave of unpleasant sensations crashed over her. The downside to indulging in a drunken escape was that it always had to end, and typically with the worst possible timing. Vision sharpened and words became clearer, but she paid for the renewed senses with a swelling headache and uncomfortably dry mouth. She had hoped to time her binge just right so that she might just make it back to the Ardent and be able to sleep away the first few hours of their lukewarm reunion. Her anger, however, had not abated and she was preparing herself for a counter attack. Much to her surprise, the keep simply wiped his hands on his apron and shook his head and retreated back to the counter, retrieving the strewn cloth as he resumed his morning rituals. Unsure as to why he had relented so swiftly, she continued to prod at him and tempted fate all the more.
"You... you hear me? I'm calling your mother a whore."

The keeper sighed and barked in reply, "Sod off, will you? Here, take it..." he reached below for the cash box and gathered her bills, flinging the currency across the floor, "Take your money and go. I know who you are, so let's just get past this, all right? Have yourself a nice day and don't ever come back here again."

That soured her mood almost immediately. Her face fell as though someone had just denied her a fantastic treat and she went about picking up her change, grumbling all the while as the headache took control. Belo could practically hear her conscious' mocking voice, mourning lost morals while she pissed away whatever positive reputation she still had in this harbor town. She gathered her things and left without a second glance at the innkeeper, pocketing her funds while she passed the threshold and reacquainted herself with the sun. It was a bloody miserable encounter as blue eyes withered under the light. The door did hit her in the ass on the way out and she staggered forward with an awkward flail paired with an unforeseen belch. A passing gaggle of schoolgirls giggled in unison and Belo didn't bother to cast them the dirt glance she'd mastered. The horrified gasp that followed, however, warranted a gander. Her eyes widened as the glint of metal caught her eye; the countless plates of her arm. She scrambled to pull up her sleeve as she hurried down the thoroughfare, eyes on the Airship docks and nothing else. She'd recollected herself and claimed some composure, but her stomach was waging war against her, retaliating against the whiskey she'd downed without a meal to accompany it. Belo, though thankfully odorless, was in an unsightly state. She'd been on edge since she began her fleeting shore leave and the only thing that truly comforted her was the knowledge that she had kept her will entirely bridled... while sober.

The Ardent came into view quickly and she prepared to board again with a sigh. She held nothing against the ship or crew in particular, but she was on the verge of exhaustion thanks to her rate of employment. This should have meant an increase cash flow, but she always found herself stinted in the end and on the wrong side of the Vast Sea. Belo hauled her things up the gangway and made her way to the bridge. She figured she could at least make her presence known and then disappear back into the hull to recover from the short-lived celebration. A stiff back and kinked neck assured her that she hadn't, in fact, slept in that bed... but there was a suspicious blank spot in her memory of the evening's festivities that she couldn't make heads or tails of. More likely than not, she had called it an evening on some poor bastard's yard. Belo appeared in the doorway, eyes drifting from Cain to Cas, then the arrow... in due time.

"Evening, all... er morning. Whatever. Bugger it... Nice arrow, you've got there, Cain. Lovely." Well, she felt that about fulfilled her quota for small talk while recovering from intoxication. Details be damned. She was fairly certain she'd be made aware of the circumstances some time later. Preferably after an eight hour nap. "I'll be down below. Don't bother none unless it's an emergency of apocalyptic proportions... or a chaser. I'm about to lose my head right now," she groaned, turning from the helm without any proper goodbyes as she stumbled towards the galley, suddenly overcome with the need for water and brandy at the same time. She rued the inevitable moment when her power would become necessary. The fluke of nature and science, a matter-mover uninhibited by the limits of man. It was all well and good for those witness to the magic, but for her... she'd just as soon floss with piano wire. She retreated, muttering all the while, her lips spilling forth oaths vile enough to make even the saltiest of sailors blush.

Aleta just sighed and rubbed the back of her head. Cas had disappeared from the docks, having rushed aboard the Ardent after firing off her damn shot gun. Honestly, firing that close was enough to give the red head a heart attack. And it seemed as though she wasn’t the only one, the gunshot had startled brainy kid as well. He of course was still a bit new, and so he probably wasn’t used to the sound of gunfire. Well, now that he was aboard the Ardent…he better get used to it. Aleta cast Rem a look when he hissed something at Cas’s retreating back. The nutty doctor just grinned and walked over to the lad “Ah, Cas was probably just shooting at Cain or something, maybe if I’m lucky this time she won’t purposely miss.” Okay that was a load of crap. Cas didn’t shoot at everyone that annoyed her, cause if that was the case then the Ardent would be piloted by corpses. No, the tightwad of an elf didn’t fire her gun unless provoked by something. So that meant Cas must have sensed something with that killer instinct of hers that Aleta and Rem had not. Aleta had just lied to keep from making the kid paranoid. Last thing Aleta needed early in the morning was some boy panicking about something the assassin had shot at…er..whatever. “The ringin in yer ears should dull eventually” she laughed when she saw him rubbing his lobes.


Then when Rem motioned to his trunk, and asked her if she was still willing to help. “ Yea, no prob” Aleta chirped as she walked over to where the large trunk stood. She took the handle with her free hand and held it with a firm grasp. Lifting it a little to test it’s weight Aleta found it to be rather bearable. Although Aleta’s was somewhat small she had a good build-up of muscle. That was probably thanks to her engineering work You would be surprised to know how grueling some repairs can be, not to mention hauling around spare of broken parts. Rem was a tiny fella, so it probably took a lot out of him to drag the thing all the way down to the docks. Aleta wondered if he was Tyrisian or not. He had the stature, but lacked most of the typical traits that the Tyrisian people had. Unlike Aleta who was quite clearly Tyrisian. Her hair was bright like fire and her eyes were as green as emeralds. Brown specks decorated the bridge of her nose and spread out across her cheeks. The only thing that was off about her, was her size. Aleta wasn’t quite as tiny as most of her race. She was considered quite tall by her people, yet at the same time she still had to look up at most of the other crew members when speaking with them. It got rather annoying after awhile….


Aleta set the trunk back down and pulled out the handle that would allow her to drag it along behind her. I mean, why carry it when you could simply let it roll along behind you. She wasn’t lazy….well okay maybe she was, but that’s not the point. No reason to go straining yourself carrying a stupid trunk up a ramp. “Oi, lets get ya aboard then” Aleta told Rem. And just as she was turning to head towards the ramp someone else came into sight. Belo, one of the other oh so cheery member of the Ardents crew. And boy did she look like she was in a mood. If Aleta had to guess, she would say that the woman was suffering from one doozy of a hangover. Or at least, that was usually the case when it came to Belo. Anyways the muttering woman passed without so much as a glanced and just walked up to the dock. Jeez was there anyone on this ship that wasn’t cantankerous all of the time! I mean was it really that difficult to fake a smile…or at least pretend to be in a good mood. “Good morning Aleta how did you sleep? By the way you’re looking especially gorgeous today are you trying a new shampoo…” Aleta spoke mockingly, playing out how a morning would be like if she didn’t live with a bunch of grouches. “ Oh I slept just fine, thanks” she went on muttering under her breath “and I am using a new shampoo, how nice of you to notice”


Yep, Aleta was talking to herself. The brainy kid was probably thinking that it was a bad idea to entrust her with his trunk. So the red head shut up, instead letting the monologue of hers continue in her head instead of out loud. “Com’on” Aleta grumbled as she finally began to move, expecting the science whiz to follow her. I mean it would be unwise to leave the trunk in her hands. Knowing her curious nature she would be rifling through it the minute she was left alone in a room. The scene that she was greeted with when she boarded the ardent was…interesting. Cain was waggling an arrow in Cas’s face, and she didn’t look more annoyed then when Aleta greeted her on the dock….shocker. Wait…where did the arrow come from anyways? The gears in Aleta’s mind finally began to turn. OH, now the random gunshot made more sense. Man the ears on elves were pretty astounding if it could pick up the sound of an arrow whizzing through the air. Aleta set Rem’s trunk down. She found her mind imaging Cain getting his eye poked out by the arrow that Cas had just snatched away from him. Although him getting hurt was probably not the best thing, cause then that meant that he had to pay a visit to her little ‘office’ and then she had to deal with him….No thank you!

Stiff-soled knocking over the paved terrain of the frosted port was an uneven rhythm accompanied by a back-up of creaking and thunderous rolling of wheels and the blended chorus of grunts and the occasional vulgar spill at the face of hills, dips or most any obstacle. Knuckles bleached of their typical dark olive glow as result of both winter's gnawing and strain put on by the several hundred pounds toted in the rather obnoxiously sized rolling case behind, the lofty male breathed a baleful hiss of a sigh out his nostrils. Sure, it sounded like a hilarious and simultaneous effective strategy in the prep meeting, but laughter faded when requirements included hauling luggage which easily outweighed yourself all through the blooming harbor so you'd come across as convincing. Colt was not in such favor of this part of plan now that he was the one literally dragging it out.

"We'll just stroll right in under their noses," Mocking grin, feigned notes of mirth in muted murmurs struck with deliberate disregard to maintain any validity-contrary, in fact, bitter sarcasm echoing clear in the annunciation-and capped with an arid snigger. Would it have killed their motor carriage to blow off regulations and drop them off a wee bit closer to their destination? "If we ever reach the bloomin' ship." Just to make sure the unseen someone knew just what a burden they were, at least in that instant. "... Fatty." Rootless sentiments, shrugged off in an instant to be redirected at the cold, anything or anyone who happened to cross his path to make him stall in his arduous journey. Moods would certainly shift the instant this leg of the effort was turned over for that which would actually require some skill-how much, of course, depending on the condition of the edge of the individuals who would be trying them. Physical exertion was nothing Colt bared any particular distaste for, in fact, felt better provided it was a healthy work-out as opposed to being driven to the point where the cycling of oxygen was like breathing acid, but this dragging all his accessories about in the gelid weather was nothing he was going to suffer through with a grin. Nosiree. Thus, the sight of that little golden ray of a ship brought all grumbling to subside to an silent eagerness, if only for the promise of closing this short, vexing chapter and opening up to what he pleaded might be a better conditioned one.

Shuffle of footfalls accelerated as they could, nothing too significant, to hasten through the final stretch up to the ramp-Of all damnable obstacles, why a ramp? As though there was much of an alternative to expect. Hexing rumbles at the back of his throat aside, that incline was scaled with strained muscles and grunts all the way to the top, at which point the heavy load was temporarily dropped-sans regard for the fragility of anything that the case may have contained. Several deep breaths were heaved in and out, straightening himself out, flexing his tired grip over and over as tendons were given a bit of a rest. Nothing more than a few ticks, then the anchor was taken up again as he navigated his way through the scrambling crew members too consumed by their preparation duties to give much more than a glance to one of the few new hands sure to be cycled out by the end of this voyage. Just the way it should have been. If all went well, if that trend of indifference held through to the end, or at least somewhere near it, then whatever struggle that may come to pass would be well worth it. At the envision of such sweet success as to gain a piece of that wealth surrounding the rumored mineral-the Shift Particle, he believed he heard it called?-a small, crooked simper pulled at the corners of his mouth as he scooted along to what he could safely assume was the bridge.

The hassle of dragging them further void of purpose, his belongings were abandoned temporarily in the hall while the mixed-blood male sauntered his way toward the entrance where the measure of bickering could be detected. Prooobably not the best of times for a new hiree, sure to be shot looks of scorn and forced withstand the worst of assumptive judgments of the seasoned crew, so he took a moment to pause and adjust himself. Smoothing of the dark, worn leather of his knee-length coat, tug on the sleeve, a flattening of the collar, then some more waiting until, much sooner than anticipated, an opening.

What had emerged was something of a female, though a moment after visual registry had been completed, another sense kicked in, one which he had to fight a potent reaction as result of its detection. Backing to the side with a tip of his had to allow the woman to pass, it was as she was moving away that a low whistle was pushed through his lips. Rank. Positively dizzying just at the pungency of the woman, the scent distinct and familiar, though none he had expected to be greeted by so early in setting foot on the vessel. Someone was still soggy. Brows once again lowering from their struck rise, he shook his head along with the remnants of the smell from his receptors and hurried his way in while the door was still cracked. Immediately, a fingerless glove clad hand rose to remove his hat from his sable and strawberry crown, lowering it over his chest in a convincing act of ritualistic respect to the upper crewmen, waiting until there was some pause proper for his interruption. When it did arise, he began to articulate the reason for his presence, as was common for those playing the role of the new and clueless brat.

"Jedt Vanderclese, mechanist and gunman." from his coat pocket, a neatly folded paper was retrieved, on it a printed contract detailing what he was in the process of announcing. Jasper optics scanned those present as he began. Restraint required not to quirk a brow or crack a smile failed as both succeeded in breeching to expression mostly as he swiveled from the chiding female, the male on the receiving end of the bolt she waved. He paused, looking about to try to tag who would be the head of this brigade, but, though faces and features were seasoned, none struck him as the mighty leader type. Though he could always just be blind to what qualified as such. "Jus' came to confirm my contract 'nd... See whereabouts you want me to pile my wrenches 'nd screws."

The contract, forged masterfully, listed every fictitious claim uttered in fine verse from his false lineage to his expertise in in the field of the operation and repair of weaponry found on rigs such as the Ardent. Vice of his index and middle fingers was lightly clenched, only enough to suspend the paper without letting it fall to the ground as it was offered out to any with authority who may have interest in reviewing it. The sooner this little episode of initiating this scheme was over, the more comfortable he would be. That and this whole professional front was going to get real old, real quick, already looking forward to the first interval of solitude in which a separate character from his own would not be required.

The delight of their illusion had worn off some time ago and Liroy was now quite concerned as to the nature of the smell he was breathing in. Some kind of grease mixed with the fumes of long lost ham. His vision was limited and the tiny air holes let in fine streams of light, enough to prove to him that the bulk of the trunk had not been pitched into the water. The lanky conman was bent and folded into a frightening figure, compressed tightly within the comparatively spacious case. The rounded top would have provided ample stretching room had there not been a thick layer above him disguised to look like a tray of assorted tools. Their guise was flawless in appearance, but what they possessed in craft, they sacrificed in leg room. He wanted very badly to let a pent-up kick fly and rend the lid in two. If the fates were kind, the planets would align and rubber sole would connect with a stubbled chin. But of course, the ruse would be ruined and their entire enterprise foiled. He had to hand it to Colt, though... this was quite a brazen move. They had shared a name on countless occasions and basked in the fruits of their labors, but never had they dared enter the dragon's den for an extended period of time. No, of course there was no fear or regret in the thought; merely the hope that their expedition might give way to more interesting encounters. A few choice words with the feminine gender and moments later, three new pairs of socks without a clue as who to blame. Possessions were trite, but always ripe for the picking. Liroy considered himself a connoisseur of what was most definitely not his own.

Still, the going was hardly enjoyable. Liroy muttered a curse of relief when they came to a halt, irritated by the incessant scraping of wood on wood. He hardly bounced at all, thanks to the padding his stowed clothes and various deceptive accessories provided, but this didn't make for the must refreshing air. He heard the unmistakable lilt of Colt's inglorious voice and grumbled, "Don't muck it up, arse git." They'd be sleeping right under everyone's nose as it were. He'd made a clear point of not wanting to sleep in the trunk at all while harbored here, but the risks were great and the inevitability of it was looking terribly grim. He'd have to find an alternative for this, or else Colt would pay for the outrage in pride. Massive amounts of pride... which by their standards, was quite minuscule to say the least.

They'd bickered about the name some time ago as Liroy had been set on 'Winsington Adlesby', but it hadn't settled well, despite the fervent arguing they indulged in. He would occasionally drop the name with a client while under the disguise, only to be rewarded with the most bewildered looks. It did not please him and he still blamed Colt to this day for the death of the name. No, it wasn't the most hardened specimen of a name, but it was refined and strong, just like the man they pretended to be. In the real scheme of things, they were uninhibited arse wipes who laughed farts and hid each others undergarments at holidays. Life in the Barega slum was never dull.

By now, he was itching to break free and nap as sprawled as possible. Call it preparation for the con ahead. The two had tried in the past to create individual identities for themselves despite the fact that they were... well, twins. The options were limited. Pierced bits here and there had to go when donning the joint guise, if not a tad bit resentful of it all. Colt could not talk fast enough and he was sorely tempted to wriggle about and give them all a good scare... as long as it meant he'd be free of his boxy prison shortly thereafter. As long as Colt withheld scamming on the ladies until after they were sorted out, the going would be all right. Knowing his brother's self-control, however, didn't paint a pretty picture. He'd pulled his cap down tight to provide some kind of padding against the wooden walls and stuffed his goggles down his pants to prevent any breaking. His jacket had been shucked prior to their leaving as he was well aware that the ventilation would suck terrible. His gray wife-beater was steadily growing damper while he became crankier and more likely to piss himself.

"I'm going to knock your face in if you don't hurry this act up you stupid, sack-faced, shit-'tard..." He'd been waiting, waiting, waiting and was not a patient man. Colt had wound up on the cozy end of all this and he was beginning to steam up about it. Mercy on the man who opened this trunk, for it would soon become the jack-in-the-box from hell. Liroy Rufford Barega would not be so kind to his liberator.

City of Cann, Third Hour of the Seventh Day of Winter

The crew was starting to get impatient with the captain still not showing up, until the First Mate rises from below deck and announces solemnly that the Captain has become ill and will not be joining the deck for a day days. The Ardent is still making it's voyage today, he assures them, and he will be in charge until the Captain recovers. He clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at Colt. Examining the papers, he finally hands them back and nods dismissedly, motioning for one of the lower crew members to take the man's luggage. "Not that we need you, but fine. Get seated and shut up," he says, gruff as usual. "We'll be leaving dock in a minute. Aleta, get the ship running. Cain, stop chatting and get us out of this dump. Everyone else, look sharp."

Rem quietly nodded at the redhead as he followed behind her. He was relieved to hear that the ringing was only temporary. Never the less, he hoped he would not have to go through the experience more than once. He made a mental note to avoid anyone who carried weapon, which was going to be extremely difficult on such a voyage. While sailing to dangerous lands, investigating the unknown, and searching for boundless treasures there was bound to be conflicts. It would be stupid to not have weapons and people who knew how to use them on board. He was fairly sure that most of the crew was packing some sort of weapon. Even this redhead probably had something on her that could make her formidable.

After a minute it became painfully obvious that this one, who referred to herself as Aleta, was a chatterbox. Her bright hair seemed to reflect her intense personality. If Rem was known for being the quiet brainy kid then she must be known for her loquaciousness. She seemed to fill in her own conversations when the others ignored them. Some might say that this was a charismatic characteristic, but it also could be perceived as borderline insanity. It was still a bit too early for him to decide which side of the scale he was leaning towards. She was assisting him after all.

He secretly prayed that he had not entrusted his life to a bunch of loonies. So far things were not looking too hopeful. He would just have to pray that the rest of the crew could balance out the lunacy. As soon as he entered back unto the Ardent he realized that his hopes had already been dashed. The crazy elf from earlier was now swinging around some sort of arrow. He wondered what other weapons she had in her arsenal. Then there was the lazy pilot resting in a chair near her. Every time Rem had set his eyes on him the man seemed to be doing something unproductive. Today was no exception.How does a bum like that even manage to hold a job? he asked himself. He also saw the ship’s drunk innate stumbled past them grumbling about something. She must have had one hell of a night. Alcohol usually did that to people. He personally could not stand any kind of liquor. Alcohol tasted funny to him messed with his head too much. He was now smart enough to avoid it whenever it was presented to him.

Before he could assess the innate’s wellness she left. Out of all the crew she was probably one of the ones that he had the most interest in. Not because of her looks or personality, but because of her magic. He would love to study her sometime, but a bad history between the supernatural and past scientist prevented him from ever trying anything. If he approached her on one of her bad days she might destroy him, along with half of the ship. He shivered slightly at the thought. It was not his ideal way of passing on.

His train of thought was derailed when the first mate yelled out an announcement. He was quickly drawn back to what was going on around him. There seemed to be more people filling the ship by the second. He turned back Aleta to see her still carrying his trunk with no problems. It seemed odd that he was having a woman do his work for him, even if she might be stronger. He hoped nobody else noticed that the trunk she was towing was actually his. When he determined that she probably had work of her own that needed to be done he said quietly, ”Thank you. I believe that I can handle this from here.”

As he said this he began to take the trunk back using it as sort of a buffer between him and the rest of the crew. He had to remind himself that their was a natural, but invisible, boundary between them that he should not attempt to cross. He quickly rolled the trunk his way down to the room he was assigned to. He was eagar to set off. Hopefully with no further issues.

Aleta just sighed as she let the trunk tilt back so that it stood on its own again. Her green eyes just glanced the room over, blocking out the sound of Cas’ and Cain’s conversation. Aleta had a keen eye for details, meaning if there was a knick in the wood, it normally didn’t take her long to notice it. It was a little skill that Cain probably wished the red head didn’t have, seeing as she could bugger him about the smallest cracks and dents. Anyways after a little once over, Aleta did finally notice the cut in the wood near the pilot’s seat where the arrow had originally been lodged before being yanked out. Apparently, the arrows intended target had been the slothful buffoon lounging in the pilot’s seat. “Wonder where the captain has gotten to” Aleta whispered, thinking out loud as usual. It wasn’t like the captain to be absent. And from what Aleta could understand from the snippets of Cas and Cain’s conversation was that they were not intending to tell the captain about the little incident with the arrow. Why was someone shooting at them anyways? Aleta began to wonder if what the others were saying was something to actually think about. Some of the crew had been talking about having a bad feeling about the new job. Even though the pay was good, they were still uneasy about the whole thing.

"Jedt Vanderclese, mechanist and gunman." a voice suddenly cut into her thoughts. Aleta glanced over her shoulder to see an unfamiliar man standing there with his hat over his chest. Now Aleta knew everyone aboard the Ardent, mainly because as a physician she had to see each and every once of them at least once. Just for a physical, blood samples and all that boring junk. I mean if you got wounded you wanted Aleta to know what blood type you were right? Anywho, Aleta had never seen this guy before. He went on to say that he was here about his contract. No one had ever said anything to her about a new crewmember! Was she just out of the loop, or as usual was she just the last one to be told. Aleta didn’t really know. However on other pair of hands couldn’t hurt, especially with an idiot for a pilot. After all, he had tools and said he was a mechanic as well as a gunman. “Well if you’re good with a wrench then you’ll have plenty of work to do then" Aleta spoke up “our brilliant pilot over there has a habit of abusing the poor ship.” It was then that the First mate suddenly emerged, not really giving Cain a chance to say anything back at the red head. Apparently the cause of the Captain’s absence was illness. Aleta’s brows furrowed, if the captain wasn’t feeling well perhaps she should pay him a visit. However first things were first, she had to get the Ardent moving. Cain couldn’t exactly take the ship anywhere if the engines weren’t fired up.

“I’m on it” Aleta announced as the First mate preoccupied himself with the new guys paperwork. However before she went anywhere, she heard another voice. It was the whiz kid meekly trying to take his trunk back. Man, she had totally forgot that she had even been helping him. Talk about a short attention span. “Oh…right” Aleta murmured, suddenly realizing that her hand was still gripping the handle of the boys luggage. Her hand relaxed and her arm move to just hang by her side. Rem then just took his trunk and quickly turned to leave the bridge without another word to anyone. Probably off to his room or something. “Well, about time we get this thing moving” Aleta said as she turned to leave the bridge as well. She walked past Jedt on her way out, listening to the First mate telling him to just sit down and shut up. Such a greeting….’welcome aboard the Ardent, don’t move or say anything, you know what..don't even breathe.’ With her bag still slung over her shoulder Aleta made her way below, heading for the engine room. She passed a couple of the other engineers on her way, motioning for them to follow along. Getting the ship in the air wasn’t a one person job after all.

After heading down another flight of stairs Aleta approached the heavy metal door that led into the engine room. Inside was full of clunking machinery. In the center there was the main furnace that heated the water and air that powered the ship and gave it flight. There were a couple other heaters that were used for backup should the main engine fail. No one wants to drop out of the sky… “Alright boys, lets heat this thing up” Aleta said with a grin as she moved towards the main furnace. It really didn’t take long for the furnaces to heat up or the engine to kick on. So it would be only a matter of minutes before Cain could take the Ardent away from the dock. Once the furnaces were hot enough open Aleta pulled the lever that opened the vents and released the gas that filled the balloon. Meanwhile the other men working with her were getting the engine that ran the propellers up and running. Basically the propellers at the bottom of the ship where the Ardent’s propulsion system. The engines began to whirr as they reached full capacity. To the Aleta could hear listen to the thrum of the engines all day, it was like a soothing lullaby. Well the Ardent was now prepared to take off. Aleta moved over to the speaker system and pushed the button that had ‘Bridge’ printed next to it. “Were all set to go” Aleta informed them “And don’t go flyin’ out of here like a bat out of hell Cain!” she warned. The engines had just kicked on, they weren’t warmed up enough to handle the damn idiots antics. And Aleta didn’t feel like having to fix an overheated engine right after take off!

Oh-ho, what lofty angles these kids had their noses pointed. Well, not likely, knowing wholly-or at least from what all the drunk bastards flooding the taverns at the port always came in moaning about-that it was common place to treat the greenhorns with total disregard, if not blatant cruelty. At least the redhead gave him a bit more acknowledgment, for which she was repaid with a lopsided grin, but, otherwise, it looked like the rest of the world was wrapped up too tight to allow for pleasant hellos. Peachy-keen. Bite the bullet and deal with it, the smile tapered down some with a nod to the one assuming the authoritative role as he shucked Colt's quasi-introduction to deal with the whole matter of getting this bird into the air. That street dog curl to his features was none out of gratitude for a job or any such thing, but the honey-sweet satisfaction that, thus far, everything was going according to plan. Yes, he reckoned this could be a smooth ride yet, provided they could keep their heads low and... nothing was actually expected of the twin-

"Woooooah, woah-woah," whorling as he was waved off and the nameless cronies attended to his cumbersome belongings unannounced, celerity rocketed to weave the lanky man around those in the bridge to those in the hall. Annunciation, though hastened, was none of upset, still even and accompanied with a pleasant-if not lacking in actual humor-laugh as one hand placed the hat back on his head while the other rested atop the lid of the chest for his own assurance. "Easy there, lil' bampots. Have some fragile cargo in there. Repairman's no good without his tools, eh?" Stretched wide, mouth flashing pearls, something told him scaring them with a fib about the contents involving some unstable materials for a specific shell or what have you wouldn't have been the best of things to tease with just yet. Still, it was an entirely true statement. This plan, as with most of his along with his continued survival in the world, was entirely dependent on what was cramped up like a wadded jacket jammed in your tote on your way out of a girl's home in the wee hours of the morning. Err... No, horrible, totally inappropriate welding of two instances which... A grotesque twinge tightened his features for a flicker, one neither of those aiding in the directing of his articles would concern themselves with. Criminey, that called for whisky, or at least prompt provision of distraction. Fortunately enough, it came as they approached the rather small cabin assigned deep in the smaller ship, taller specimen shuffling in after the pair aiding, pointing to what was the first place he spotted. "There's fine, I'll take it from here," though his smile flashed something resembling gratitude, inward thoughts echoed nothing but Ouuut, off with you, sliverdicks.

And off, they were in a matter of breaths, certain to have better things to do than lug around the new seed's precious wrenches and guns. Oh, if they only knew. Their exit, which he trailed them to the door with a clear offering of thanks before closing and locking the thing, he spun around on his heel, cheeky little smirk illuminating his ethnic blend of features as he sauntered quite mirthfully to the abandoned trunk. Craning his considerable height down a distance, he gave a few light raps to the sturdy wood lid, his masculine range softened and lifted a bit higher to mimic something-something was right, far from the mark-of an affectionate feminine measure. "We're home, m'wee soap.. dodger.." he trained off, nose wrinkling as he unlocked the thing and unfastened the restraints, breath caught in his lungs the whole time before quickly moving away from the breeding ground of offensive odors. "All flippin' holy saints, you nasty lil' turd. Y'drop a log while you were in there?" True, the unique scent wasn't quite the same, close to sweat and a few other things the body let loose, but all the same, it sure was nothing pleasant. That and, being male and a sibling, an chance for teasing could never go unexploited, of course.

Fortinbras Carlyle tramped through the early morning streets with the particular loping gait of a man who had either spent far too much time amid the currents of air or sea, or else too much time in the alehouses deep in his cups. The stiff leather soles of his bucket-boots, fastened about his calves with a dizzying array of silver buckles, struck the unsteady meter of a late-night ballad in the smokiest bawdy-house against the heavy paving stones.

He paused just long enough to raise a hand from the silver-chased basket hilt of his rapier to run through the torrent of his hair, as red as arterial spray and loosely bound with a leather thong, setting right a wayward lock displaced by an errant breath of wind. The small deviation in his pace was enough to send flashes of color dancing behind his eyes.

He was not well.

But Captain Fort had places to be. A contract to uphold. Good people in need of stern direction if they were to remain good people. He soldiered on. The Ardent was close now.

She was not the finest ship tied to the quays. Not a four-masted fast-galleon arrayed for war like the Invidious. Not a fish-slick sloop sitting low and sleek, ready to break a barricade like the Fortune's Friend. Not even a rumbling merchantman with nigh-unfillable holds like the Dromedary, straining at the edge of the dockyards. But damn it, the little brig had at least one thing going for her. She was his.

The Ardent was sleek enough to pass as a blockade runner at first glance. A single-masted vessel, no more than three decks, fitted with enough motive power to set a pace only slightly slower than a coursing eagle at a steep dive. She sported enough of a hold to make any venture more than profitable. And should anyone want a tussle, she hid a dizzying array of surprises.

Yes, the little brig, straining at the mooring lines like a falcon tugging at the jesse, testing its bonds. She was as eager to get out as he should have been.

Never drink the Malar balaerd competitively. Drink no more than three men under the table consecutively. Sleep before the sun rises. Lessons learned.

Fort planted a foot on the gangplank in time to hear his first mate announce that the Captain was ill and unable to join the crew; that he would be unable to show his face on deck for a few days. The first mate spoke his assumption of command with a bit too much obvious relish. Fort's lips twisted into something between a smile and a snarl. It was an expression he was rather well-known for...and it did not bode well.

"Hung over and ill are not the same thing, lad. By the Golden Throne, Tallow Vance, I'd think a wastrel like you would be able to tell the difference. Back to your needlepoint in the stateroom." His voice, heavy and soft as sodden honeycomb and possessed in equal parts of ragged weather-worn gruffness and a subdued casually cultured accent, preceded him by a heartbeat, no more.

Captain Fortinbras Carlyle of the airship Ardent stepped onto the deck with an ease borne of familiarity, even looking like a three-day old corpse. His glacial eyes swept the decks, bloodshot and still twinkling with private mirth as they met with those of his crewmen. "As yet, I'm still breathing, and while I'm breathing, I won't miss a voyage with my crew."

Fort walked across the decking, a dashing figure, even in his beleaguered state. He was attired in black leather breeches, cinched by a matching sword-belt, a tunic of crimson silk, and a carelessly laced black leather gambeson dotted with silver studs. The finely wrought rapier at his side was balanced by an unadorned silver Harlon Armory bolt-pistol. At the tops of his boots, the silver hilts of daggers glittered.

Only those who knew him might see that he was utterly out of sorts. His complexion, generally ethereal and pale was florid with his recent bout with drink and he wore dark circles beneath the arctic chill of his eyes. His movements too were uncharacteristically leaden. Fort was an able fencer, whipcord lean and supple, though today he seemed somehow more leaden. His footsteps fell harder than normal as he staggered. He was alive, certainly, though he was something much less than his one-hundred percent.

Still...

"Now...are we all quite ready to be off on another whirlwind adventure fraught with danger, intrigue, and the promise of glittering prizes?" Captain Fort cocked his head to one side, his wolfish smile never faltering.

He felt more so than he heard the shift in possession and his pulse quickened. One wrong move or inopportune grip slip could destroy this entire operation. Liroy had more confidence in their capacity to lie, however, and was soon relaxed once more as Colt's voice quelled the grabby deckhands. He muttered a few choice obscenities as his brother continued to haul his boxed-ass through the halls of the Ardent. When the flicker of fear faded and died away, anger returned with full fervor. He was poised and ready to strike by the time of escape. Colt would have the luxury of existing as "Jedt" for the day while Liroy slothed about in their lodgings. It was always best to let the present company sleep on the memory of a face before the body changed. They were as identical as one could humanly be, but age had a way of warping beings and creating such unavoidable individuality. They were still young by far, but now bore enough marks to give the proper sleuth evidence to reveal them. Well, in their sleep... perhaps. Liroy and Colt had made an art out of their disguises, toying with cremes and powders to hide mismatched blemishes and old scars the opposite lacked. A good scrubbing, however, would reveal two very visible, individual personalities.

The movement subsided and Liroy grew antsy, eager to burst forth in a flurry of odorous justice. Forever and a day passed before Colt bothered to unfasten the blasted box. What once passes as formless muttering sharpened and became clear speech and the twisted grin plastered across Liroy's face tightened as coiled limbs unfurled and long, lanky legs kicked up the mock layer of tools, sending the tray clattering to the ground. He stuffed a free hand down his pants and groped for his goggles, previous concerned for their well-being forgotten as he flung the crotchety things into Colt's face. He sprang upward and vacated the trunk with an uncharacteristically graceful leap to stand upright in all his corded, bare-armed glory; muscles disgustingly moist-looking. One thick-soled boot connected with the wood floor while the other jabbed out at his brother's unassuming shins. "That'd be the smell of your bleedin' sandwich, ya' damp sod." He reached down for his crumpled jacket and straightened the sleeves, letting the rock-hard hoagie tumble into his hand, which he tossed at his brother's face. A blackened leaf of lettuce oozed from between the buns and landed on the floor with a sopping noise.

"Fuckin' rank, bro. I ought to piss in yo' ear." He squinted and arched his spine, hands helf fast at the small of his back while each vertebrae shifted and settled in sweet agony. Joints popped and bones cracked, but he was just as well put together as he had been before entering the blasted box. "Oi, now get me some food and go woo a lady type for me to snog. I'm blue ballin' something fierce an' somebody's gotta get Jedt off on the right foot,"he groaned as he ambled towards their bunk, flopping gracelessly onto the modest bedding. The likelihood of such a score was laughable considering the reputation that followed the crew. Right buggers, the lot of them. Easy on the eyes, but all around screwless. He'd been keen on seeing this elf creature they'd stowed away, but reliable and dastardly sources had painted her picture in a less than favorable life. She was more likely to harvest his parts for her own twisted designs and he just couldn't have any of that. There was a generation of lesser Liroy's to consider.

"Might be able to get down the skipper's pants, though. Heard he's a right puff... dandy man and all that. So pretty, pretty," he mocked, drawing his hands across his face and batting dark eyelashes in a mockery of such an effeminate being. Oh, he'd have a time with that one. It'd be worth whatever teeth he lost from the anticipated encounter. He drew his jacket over his torso, fur-side up as he let a leg drape over the edge. "Pack any snackies, pony man?"

Indifference card played for all the clunky clamor of the twin fighting his way for fresh air, it wasn't the first move of onslaught unleashed that Colt's senses were galvanized to life, having been distracted by the decor of the room they'd be inspecting the walls of for some time now. Blunt collision of the goggles with his face was received with a jerk and a muted yelp more startled than injured. "Ffffa-Ah!" Just as reprimanding was all revved and ready for take off, vibrant instruction for the other to keep whatever items that came anywhere near his cock-region far, far away from his face (as though it was the first time something that met that criteria had come his way), that righteous toe came drilling for the calcium bars below the thin layers of fabric, hair and skin. No, you ugly wanker. He saw it coming, staggering gracelessly back to try to restore that safe little bubble his brother had trespassed, almost succeeding, though contact was still made and sure to leave a minor bruise. Rapid scatter of notes as the war for balance was waged by his stumbling feet, it was eventually one, a low rumble in the back of his throat signifying his restored claim on stability and, just maybe, a bit of vexation for his brother's choice in action.

"Yeah, I'll just stroll right up there with the gimp leg you're tryin' to give me. Limps are irresistible." A snort that tried its best to sound offended failed, amused above the little perturbing exchange and the mild surges from his one shin by the fact that it appeared like they were, indeed, damnably good at their job. Snuffed short was that smolder of a grin, however, as what once would have been an entirely desirable meal was presented for the rotted wad of spoiled meat and vegetables it was. Sneering, lips pulled down taut while his nose wrinkled in disapproval. "Knew you had toxic flatulence, but-" And again with the propelling of all things he didn't want remotely near his face. This time, fortunately, he was keened enough to side-step and avoid acquiring that unique scent that now loomed about his brother and the rest of their clothing, if just barely. Disgust turned to a bit of a disappointed frown-he was going to eat that-but it was flushed with the orders given. Puh-leaaase, what was this kid thinking? Really?

"Smellin' like that, we know who that someone isn't," swift rattle in the lower volumed picked up, about ready to tell him he'd be getting left-overs when he was good and through with whatever prize he may have picked up, either that or when he got to the point of feeling sorry enough not to patronize the one who was going to be cooped up off his half of their alternating shifts, until the note of the current lead in command. "You would like that, wouldn't you, y'fart-knockin' fanny bandit? ... Was m'sandwhich, but.. Eh, might've shoved some pickled goobers in there..." Assuming the jar hadn't cracked and contributed to the already rank waves wafting up from the trunk.

Casual glide to the door ended with a light revolution and a displacement of weight to send his long back into the solid surface, relying on it for support as he leaned and continued the disenchanted survey of their modest barracks that had been interrupted. "Should be takin' off soon," engines could be heard firing, the steady growl and waves of vibration that would be a constant from then on a testimony to support the note. "Make rounds once we get out'a this hellhole." Which, contrary to assumption, did include duties which their forged contract implied. If they were going to get through and out of this scot free, then they had to play their part right, and doing so meant a bit of research of aspects of the ship other than the silhouettes of certain members of the crew. This part, provided he didn't receive any harassment for scoping out the ship's artillery-as that was what his listing claimed he was hired to do, anyway-was something he was truthfully looking forward to. Cons, they were, but their roots in guncraft and the involvement of their volumes of knowledge and years of experience and observation in this scam set his twisted little heart all a'flutter. There were pretty, petite hens, and there were polished, powerhouse firearms, and it was always a tough choice between the two. For now, however, guns were winning.