Snippet #2761680

Giles would merely sniff at Grimm's first comment. "Yer know, John often sez the same fing, and 'e might be right. But 'e's still a madman, whatever 'e says," he would add severely as the giant climbed down the hatch into the spaceship. He would motion the other two wordlessly in, closing the hatch behind them as they enter.

The interior of the S.S Victoria had also been aesthetically considered in design, though pipes running along the ceiling and under the occasional grating underfoot also suggest that functionality was also a key point. The main corridor, lit by periodic gas lanterns, seemed to stretch a whole mile, from one end of the ship to the other. Giles was right; although it seemed big enough on the outside, it was like stepping through a portal into a cruiser. No doubt this brought the benefit of fitting in whatever specialised rooms were needed for an interstellar voyage, but the evident distortion of physical law was disconcerting.
As the volunteers made their way down the corridor, they would hear distant voices, not exactly raised in argument, but suggesting that this was an option. They would make their way in that direction as the voices argued.
"You didn't have to join, you know," snapped one voice, a higher-class English tone that could easily shift several social rungs down to Estuary when provoked. "When I put the advert up, I didn't necessarily put your names on it! Wise up, Max, the only thing that brought you here was your understandable thirst for something challenging, something more dangerous than the average local demon. And that goes to the rest of you!"
"Oh, come on John," complained another voice, still English but even further down the social ladder to Cockney. "I'd join yer even wivout the advert. Yor me bruvver, after all."
"Well yes, Adam," responded the first voice stonily. "I wouldn't expect you not to join. I'm referring to the others." Here, the tone changed, as if returning it attention to the 'others'. "You came aboard this spaceship because you knew that, for the first time in years, you could challenge yourself. Out there, where no-one except those who treasure their existence very little would dare venture, was the ultimate test of your abilities. So shut up about having to go, because you didn't."
"John, I hear footsteps," said another voice blankly. A few seconds of silence passed in what the group could make out to be an open, brightly-lit room, as if the voices had stopped to listen.
"Ah," the first voice spoke cheerfully. "That'll be the volunteers. Excuse me."
A skeletal head, dressed only in a purple bandana but with the expression of deep suspicion, would poke out of the doorway, looking one way before looking in their direction. His expression would then melt into a welcoming grin, although the effect was spoiled by his uneven teeth, as the rest of him poked out. He was easily seven foot, dressed in steel-capped boots, maroon trousers, brown trenchcoat over a purple waistcoat, and maroon gloves. The overall attire suggested a man who liked travelling in style. The dapper skeleton would straighten up, hands behind his back in an authoritative manner. "Ah, I take it you've come for the Edge voyage? Welcome to the S.S Victoria, volunteers. I am Jonathan C. Skelecoot, Governor of Old Albion and the captain of this vessel, but you can just call me John. Come with me to the Cafetorium to meet the others." He would beckon the others into the room, the Cafetorium as he refers to it.