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Snippet #2470683

located in The Onyx, a part of Temporal Conscripts, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Onyx

A star ship in the Dathidan Republic military.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Commander Viridin Character Portrait: Sir James Fritswick Character Portrait: Lieutenant Sophie Victors
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Fritswick could easily showcase his intelligence by rattling off facts about great historical events, or by solving simultaneous equations without use of an abacus.
The greatest part of his wisdom, however, was his ability to deduce the specifics of a particular situation without fully understanding what was happening. It had happened before; back when he had worked for the Professor, he had been able to judge from a distance the name, title and intentions of a visitor simply from the type of coat he had worn.
Here, Fritswick took in everything he could - the room, the strange contraptions, and of course the woman - brought him to two conclusions.
Firstly, based off the fact that the technology was entirely new to him, coupled with the accent of the woman and the silent, low-pitched rumbling that emanated from somewhere a few rooms away, led to the conclusion that he was on some sort of ironclad - a steam-driven iron plated warship. This option would only make sense if he had somehow been captured with the intent to make him fight in the civil war the Americans were currently having.
Secondly - and, while probably untrue, should still be considered - he was in Hell. The first indicator was the burning he had experienced while being dragged into this place; the second was the strange light that somehow healed him - for surely, this could be a way of keeping man alive while he endured endless torment.
Considering the woman had driven something like nail into a spot below his right ear, he felt as if he was obliged to lean towards the second option more.
At this point, Fritswick realised he had forgotten to respond to the question of the woman, who had been messing with something during the silence.
"Can you hear me?" she asked.
Fritswick felt that his most pressing question should be asked first.
"Am I in hell?"
Mid-sentence an air bubble caught on his throat, making his words seem more shaky than he wanted to seem.
"No, far from it." the woman replied. "Could you please tell me who you are?"
"Fritswick," he said, "James Fritswick. "Th-ah-call me 'Mister', please."
Fritswick found himself horribly out of breath. The woman did something he couldn't quite see, but whatever it was produced a lot of clicking noises in rapid succession.
"Mr Fritswick," she said, not turning back to him. "Could you explain how you came aboard?"
Of course he was on a ship - he almost felt ashamed for thinking otherwise.
"I don't know," he said. "I was just asleep in my garden, I felt like I was dragged through hell itself, and here I am! I would've expected you Americans to keep better track of whom you throw onboard before setting off."
"Americans?" the woman replied, confused slightly.
"Yes, I know you're an American - I've heard similar accents before. I'll have you know, I won't stand to be taken across the Atlantic-"
"Sir, please!" she said, raising her hands slowly. "Calm down, your body isn't ready for stress at the moment."

Fritswick - slightly appalled at a woman having told him to quieten down - took a deep breath, and let it out, managing to stave off his nerves for another minute.
"Alright, I'm calmed," he continued. "Can you please explain to me why, save for my lower skivvies, I seem to be in a state of undress?"
"Well for one the regenerator needs direct skin contact," she said, looking up at the source of the strange beam of light. "But aside from that you were found this way. What ever garments you think you might have been wearing are most likely gone. Even if you had them they would have most certainly been damaged beyond repair in the coolant reservoir."
Fritswick was confused by two things; the few words he didn't understand, and the woman that was saying these things.
"You seem to know your way around a dictionary," Fritswick commented. "I barely understood that sentence."
"It's my job," the woman said with a shrug. "Though, don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."
Fritswick looked at her for a moment in silence.
"I actually do not," he said. "Your words are strange to me. You are a scientist, I presume?"
The woman looked at him strangely, turning away from him slowly.
"Doctor, actually. Although my job does involve me applying the scientific process."
"Tell me, how did you get into this job?"
"I studied, like everyone else."
The woman began to repeat the action that produced many clicks, back now turned to Fritswick.
"They let women do that in America? My word... not that that's a bad thing, but to be fully honest some people I know would be appalled at the sight of a woman doctor."
"Uh-huh," the woman continued. "Sorry for asking but, what year do you think it is?"
Fritswick opened his mouth, but froze before he could speak, making sure he understood the question.
"Eighteen-eighty and seven, the year of our lord."
"I see," she muttered, not showing her face to him.
"I must ask, what is your name?" Fritswick asked. "I can-not have myself calling you 'That American Woman' in my head."
"Sophie," she replied. "Sophie Victors. If you'll please excuse me a moment."