The Way Out (Wayward Saga)

Ira: *blinks and looks around, sagging somewhat and nearly stumbles from the sudden release of pressure* Uhg... Oh, that felt bad... *shakes himself and looks up* Hey, at least half of my plan worked - freaking you out did do some good after all. *calls up to Garret* You okay up there? No hard feelings?

*no answer*

Taryn: *mouth agape for a moment, finally shakes her head and marches up to Ira, and punches him on the shoulder* You jerk! Geeze... *also calls up to Garret* What do you see up there? Is there a way to get out of here?

Lisette: *lets out a little squeek as Garret flies up and crashes through the glass. A second later there is a bright flash of light and a loud bang. Lisette is gone, though tiny sparks of light are everywhere and if watched, drift closer and closer to the spot she was in*

Garret: *a small tickle of blood leaks over the edge of the roof and drips into the warehouse. Garret's leg doesn't even twitch and he doesn't respond to Ira or Taryn*

Ira: *smile drops off his face as fast as lightning and his expresion goes slack* aaaw....shit... He musta banged his head. *paces for a moment...* Think, Ira...think.... *watches the blood drip into a splattered puddle* Hrm... I wonder..... *kneels down to it and sticks his fingers into the still-warm blood, picking up Garret's signature, and anchoring onto his personal gravity and with gritted teeth starts to sink into the puddle of blood, fully disappearing, and begins to leap up from one droplet to the next above him in the dripping stream until he reaches the roof and Garret's wound and then pulls himself out with an effort and a gasp* Uhg, that felt so gross... Garret? Garret, man? *leans over him, genuine worry on his face*

Taryn: *watches as Ira...melts into the pool of blood with confusion and horror* What....what.... *Then Ira disappears and she's left standing in an seemingly empty warehouse, and turning around to look notices the reforming spores of light* Lisette? Ira? Garret?

Garret: *something akin to a low moan of pain escapes Garret's lips, though he still seems mostly unconscious. He's bleeding from a small head wound, where he went through the glass head first.*

Lisette: *after a few moments, the spores of light congregate to the spot where Lisette was and reform into her. She has a shocked look on her face, and is more than a little confused* Did I...? Where's Ira? How long was I... exploded for?

Ira: *frowns and looks about, getting a view from the roof top for the first time* Hang in there, Garret... I gotta plan. *hangs his head in over the edge* Hey, Taryn, Lisette, I got an idea, hold on a second, okay? *disappears from the hole and drags Garret away from the broken glass and takes a deep breath*

Taryn: Lisette! I...you...exploded for? Uh, I dunno...maybe a couple minutes. Are you okay? *startled by Ira's head appearing over the edge of the broken window* Ira! How the hell did you get up there? What the hell is going on? Is Garret alright?

Lisette: *nods* I'm glad I'm not the only one confused right now.

Garret: *bleeds*

Lisette: *moves closer to Taryn, looking up through the hole where Ira was a moment ago* I'm scared to think what he's up to now.

Ira: Sorry man... I'll take your word for this being okay, alright? Because you ain't doing so good, and I gotta get the girls outta there, alright? Alright. Good...here goes.... *sinks into Garret fully and feels his limbs fill Garrets, connecting with muscles, nerves, skin, bones.... /alright now, easy does it.../ Opens Garret's eyes and sits him up, pulling the blood pouring from his head back into his body, and clots it, then stands him up. /Alright...so the breathing, the gill-things....ah, here they are.../ Flares out the gills and practices with a couple deep breaths and then practices lifting Garret off the roof a couple feet with a small blast of wind. /Okay...so it's not flight, so much as propulsion...we can work with that.../ Using Garret's voice: "Clear a space down there, I'm coming in... *Jumps into the opening of the window and takes a breath, letting it out with the gills to slow before crashing into the floor* "Taryn, Lisette, I'm going to take you both up at once, just in case, come here and hold on tight..."

Taryn: Garret! *smiles and rushes forward before catching the look on Garret's face and slows down.* Garret? Garret... *peers into the dull eyes and catches sight of a light behind them.* Oh, no...oh, Ira?? Ira, is that you? That's not right! ...wait, what do you mean, hold tight? *looks Garret's body over and shudders involuntarily.* This is so wrong... *shaking her head, wraps her arms about Garret's waist and closes her eyes*

Lisette: *more than a little creeped out herself, she slowly moves forward and holds on to Garret-Ira* Wrong does not seem to fully capture how weird and screwed up this is... *shudders* Thank goodness I can't explode again for a little while. *closes her eyes and waits to find out what happens next*

Ira: Alright, here goes nothin'.... *inhales a deep breath with Garret's gills and storing it for a second to build up force, squeezes the girls tight to Garret's chest with stronger arms than he's used to and let's out the blast, propelling them up, up, through the window, up into bright daylight, and then starts to fall back towards the hole, and with little puffs propels them forward to land on safe roof. Once safely settled, he lets go of them and steps back*

Taryn: *feels her stomach plummet into her feet as the lurch hauls her off the ground and up into the air. Only once her feet are touching the roof does she dare open her eyes, and only after a careful look around does she unclasp her hands and step away.* Okay...that was...different. *clears her throat* Now, out of that man's body! *scales starting to rise as the cold air of outside cools her*

Lisette: *lets go of Garret-Ira and stumbles back a few steps* That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but still too weird for me. *she stares at Garret-Ira* How did you... no, wait. I don't want to know. *looks around now that they are out of the warehouse* Ummm... where the heck are we?

Ira: Okay, this guy is still out cold, so when I pull out, make sure he doesn't fall, alright? *then he starts to pull himself out of the nerves and bones and skin and joints and blood, seeping out through Garret's back and pulling away, fully Ira, clothes and all, like stepping out of a doorway. Takes a deep breath and then shakes himself* Fweeew! Uh, that's better. I'm glad that worked...
Taryn: *seizes Garret's arm as Ira voices his warning and holds on, feeling the strapping man become dead weight in her hands as Ira leaves him and Garret's body slumps* Oof! He's heavy! Lisette, help me lay him down...

Lisette: *leaps forward as Garret's body slumps and grabs his other arm, helping Taryn lower the man to the ground as gently as they can* Okay, we're out, and Garret's really out. *sighs* Any ideas for what comes next? I think Garret needs medical attention, but where or how we get there I have no idea. *wishes she knew where they were*

Garret: *lets out a bit of a strangled moan as Ira leaves him, but is still out cold*

Ira: Okay.... So, what now? There are other rooftops, that with Garret's powers we could get to... I see security cameras, though... Three that I can see from here. That means private property - either privately owned or some company's... *turns and looks at them, hands on his hips* So? You guys wanna hazard the ground, or try to travel from up here?

Taryn: *frowns thoughtfully* Well... I don't think you should puppet Garret any more without his permission. That means finding a way to get down. I'd feel safer on the ground, anyhow, it'd be easier to move about if we need to. Is there any ladder or something...drain pipe? gutter? Anything we can climb down by?

Lisette: *moves cautiously towards one edge of the rooftop and peers over* There is an alley along this side, filled with garbage mainly. No movement but also no ladder or fire escape either. I'm guessing this is one side, so... *points to the other edges not directly across from her* One of those is the front and the other the back.

Garret: *twitches slightly, a small sound of pain emanating from him, but his eyes still don't crack open yet*

Ira: *chews his lip at Garret* Are you sure I can't get inside him once more, just to move him down off the roof? I mean, he's good n' strong, he'd be safer to move down via his own muscles than if any of us tried to carry him down... *ruffles his own hair*

Taryn: *glares at him* You're completely incorrigible, y'know that? *walks over to one of the directions Lisette pointed out* Uh... this looks like it could be a front...or back. There's a door that's been welded shut, by the looks of things, and a security camera. There are some crates by the door, but they're only two feet high at most, it'd be a bit of a drop down to them.

Lisette: *also glares at Ira, then goes to check the other side opposite fro Taryn* This looks more like the back from what I can gather. No door or cameras, a slightly rusty drainpipe and... a flatbed tractor trailer. No cab, just the bed. It has something blockish under a tarp, but I have no idea what. It's not a huge drop, but without knowing what's under the tarp...

Garret: *groans* Don't.... even... think about... touching... me... *his eyes flutter a bit and crack open, looking sightlessly towards Ira*

Ira: Oh, hey man! I'm glad you're awake! You had me real worried... I patched up your head for you, and nothing seems to be broken, but you prolly should still take'r easy, eh? *squats down next to him* Can...you sit? I'm not sure if you're concussed or not.

Taryn: Garret! *rushes over and kneels neck to him* Are you alright? *peers into his face, her own lightly covered in scales again* You got us out, Garret... *smiles*

Garret: *limp thumbs up* I don't know how, but if we're out, that's good. *he tries to sit up but ends up slumping back to a laid out position* I think I just need to lay here a while... and what do you mean _you_ patched up my head. *reaches up to touch the wound and winces in pain*

Lisette: *looks back to Garret and smiles. Him being conscious is a good thing. Though it still doesn't solve the problem of getting down*

Ira: *nervous smile* Stopped the bleeding... What? So, hey, don't touch it! Don't be pickin at that scab... You still gotta heal, alright? Besides, no one else was strong enough to do what you did, man. S'a good thing we had you. *stands and rubs his hands together* Now, I'm gonna look at getting off this roof, who's with me? *hastily walks away towards the edge Lisette reported on*

Taryn: *stares off after Ira wonderingly and then turns her attentions back to Garret* Are you sure you're alright? Is there anything I can do to help? *shifts herself to sitting* I mean, we can't leave you here, and Ira was right... we can't move you by ourselves. You're heavy, you know.

Garret: *half propped up, he shakes his head* No... I don't think I am alright. I have a headache that could kill a horse and everything looks kind of foggy and pulsing. I'm having trouble concentrating too. *tries to sit up again and his eyes roll back, but he fights through and remains seated though he's wavering a bit*

Lisette: *looks over the edge again* It's a short jump to whatever that is under there, but risky. It could be anything. Bricks, bags of cement, wooden crates, or even bundle of that pink insulation stuff.

Ira: *grins at her and wiggles his eyebrows* Well, let's live dangerously! Geronimo! *leaps off the roof onto the tarp, lands sprawling, rolls over and comes to a stop. A distinct reverberating clang rings out when he hits it* what the... *feels at the tarp* Metal, I think... *knocks on it, the clang rings out again*

Taryn: *reaches aronud his shoulders and hugs them a little, trying to be supportive* Well, take your time, Garret... There's no rush. No need to push yourself, okay? *peers at him concernedly* I don't know anything about first aid, but you look pretty concussed to me...

Lisette: *holds her breath at Ira jumps, not caring* Metal? *she echoes after wincing due to Ira's landing. The flatbed was fairly close, but the drop down was still a good six to eight feet and if he landed on something metal, it still had to sting* Are you alright? What is it?

Garret: *rubs his eyes* I feel really concussed. I may need help moving. Staying up here on the roof is not something I want to do. Plus, if I have a concussion, medical treatment is necessary. And I doubt an ambulance can get up here easily. *he tries to get one foot under himself* Help me stand Taryn. *drapes his arm over her shoulder*

Ira: Aw, yeah, sure... Bruises won't kill ya! *calls up cheerfully, but is clearly wincing as he pulls himself to his knees and feels around under the tarp* I dunno? A storage container, maybe? Kinda weird it's next to the warehouse, and not...y'know, -in- it. *tries to find an edge to the tarp and succeeds in lifting a flap of it* What the... Looks like a...portable, of some sort. Like... Like a grins up at her* Like the TARDIS! I'm gonna get a better look at this thing... *shimmies down the tarp to the ground and slips under the lifted flap*

Taryn: *supports him as best as she can, bent under his weight* Are you sure? We can wait if you need more time... Afterall, how are you going to move around like this? You can't climb down off the roof in this state. I mean, you broke the window with your -head- Garret, you knocked yourself out pretty solidly. Maybe we should wait for Ira...

Garret: *does his best to support the majority of his own weight. Most of what Taryn is saying goes right through his brain without registering. Which is common for those who are concussed. He'd not thinking all that clearly* I'd rather be moving. We've been cooped up for too long already. *blinks* I broke the window with my head?

Lisette: Like a what!? *confused since she has no idea what a TARDIS is* Ira? IRA!?

Ira: *pokes his head out* A TARDIS! Dr. Who? No? Nevermind, I'm a huge nerd. There's a door under here, but, of course it's locked. No windows or anything, to see in. There's this solid piping on it, maybe electricity? I mean, if this is just a port-a-potty or something, it's the damn fanciest one I've ever seen. Looks -way- more sophistocated than the warehouse's quality.

Taryn: *patient and careful to move slowly to keep him from strainin himself* Yeah, with your head! You all but FLEW up when Ira got too close and Rocket Man'd your way through the glass, head first. You were unconscious right away. So, please, don't strain yourself. I'm gonna do my best to get you to a hospital as soon as I can, but you can't go and die on me before I can -find- one, please?

Garret: *nods* I'll try not to die until after we find a hospital. *looks at Taryn through bleary eyes* You know, now that I'm used to the scales, you're kind of cute. *starts towards where Lisette is yelling for Ira*

Lisette: Whatever it is doesn't matter right now. Can you see any easier way down? Garret is on his feet and concussed pretty badly. We need to get him to a doctor as soon as possible.

Ira: Oh, I know an easy way to get him down, but uh...it doesn't seem to make me popular around here, y'know? *quirks a kind of pained smile* But uh... let me look around and see if I can find a ladder or a rope or something...

Taryn: *flushes and the scales harden to shimmer a little, spreading the rosey hue into her hair* Er... You're concussed... Here, careful around the edge, alright. Hey, Lisette, where's Ira? *honestly lost sight of him in her attentions over Garret*

Lisette: Ira jumped off the backside of the building. *she responds without turning, then realizes how what she said sounded* He's okay, and looking for a way for us to get Garret down safely. *turns* Are you guys okay? Do you need a hand with him?

Garret: *a little spaced out in the eyes, but aware* I'll be okay. I'm just leaning on Taryn a bit. *blinks* Did you just say Ira jumped off the building?

Ira: Oi! I'm down here! *waving his arms over his head* I found a TARDIS!! *convinced it's something cool by now* But, uh... I don't think it'll help you guys get down... But I'm trying to build a staircase here... *dumps another crate on top of his hap hazard stack* Gotta get more, be back!!

Taryn: *peers over the edge carefully, still trying to support Garret's weight* Sheesh... That guy runs off energizers, I'm sure... But the crates might just work...

Garret: *tries to look over the edge too, but is attacked by a sudden wave of dizziness and steps back* Whoa... that's not pleasant. Maybe I'll just sit down here and rest a bit after all. It's gonna take Ira a bit to build the crates up anyways. *blinks and recalls some first aid stuff* Just don't let me fall asleep okay?

Lisette: *shakes her head at Ira* It's some Dr. How thing or something. I have no idea what he's so excited about. *looks back to Garret* Yes, rest and we won't let you sleep. No worries. *she smiles* We have to take care of our hero.

Ira: *puffing pretty good by this time, drags a barrel towards the wall, a couple wooden crates and a milkcrate stacks wobblingly on top, he places the water barrel at the bottom and starts arranging his assortment of crates to as stable as he can make them, climbing half-up it in order to place the higher boxes, then standing on the top of the pile, holding onto the wall for support calls up*

Ira: I think that's probably as high as it should go or it's gonna get dangerous. Can you guys climb down to here?

Taryn: *Helps Garret sit and squeezes his shoulders gently* Don't worry, we've got you. *smiles at him and then Lisette, then distracted by Ira's call and shifts a little to peer over* I'm sure I could make that, but I dunno if Garret can... *glances back at him* How are you feeling?

Garret: *seated, he takes some deep breaths with closed eyes* I'm feeling a little more stable. *opens his eyes* Lisette, why don't you climb down to Ira and make sure things are stable. Taryn can help me over to the edge as I try and climb down, then she can follow once you two have me stable. *smiles* Does that sound okay? *looks to Taryn and Lisette in turn*

Lisette: *nods* I think that makes sense. I don't see that we have much of a choice even if it didn't though. *makes her way to the edge and slips over, dangling for a moment* How do I look Ira? Am I close to the top of your structure? *curses being the shortest of them*

Ira: *watches Lisette's bottom come into view and grins for a moment* You look fine to me... *shakes his head, softly chuckling to himself* Anyway, I'm here... I'll catch you... *reaches his hands up, letting the pull growing between them direct her gravity*

Taryn: Alright then, you let me know when you're ready, alright? I'll make sure you get over okay. *watches Lisette with a little concern, hoping this all works, and that they don't end up with any more injuries*

Lisette: *she can almost feel Ira's eyes on her and sighs* Focus Ira... focus. *cringes as her mind delves into what he might focus on, but she pushes it away and lets herself go, hoping he really is ready to catch her* Squee! *lands in front of Ira and turns, relief on her face* Thank you. *looks back up* Okay, Garret, when you're ready.

Garret: *still seated* Okay... give me another moment or two. Make sure whatever Ira built can hold the three of us while I get prepared. *takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly* I'll need you to help me up in a moment Taryn. And thank you.

Ira: *pulls his hands away as Lisette lands to prevent himself from getting sucked in and shakes his fingers out behind him, feeling the stack shift but not wobble.* Fwew... Alright... Alright, so far so good... *calls up* Okay Garret, man... We're ready for you!

Taryn: *gets to her feet and holds her hands out to Garret* When you're ready... *calls over her shoulder to the other two* How's that 'staircase' holding up? Can it take another two?

Lisette: *shifts her weight on the staircase a bit, seeing how wobbly or shifty it is, but it still seems decently stable* It seems stable enough. I think it'll hold us. I can always jump off if it starts to groan or anything.

Garret: *another deep breath as he shifts his feet in preparation to stand. He grabs Taryn's hands, pushing himself to stand without pulling her down in the process* Alright, lets get off this roof shall we? *walks to the edge and fights off any dizziness, then prepares to slip over the edge* Okay, we're ready here, are you two good?

Ira: *reaches his hands up again, locking on to Garret and pulling him towards him subtly* Yup, we're ready... I've got you stable, so just move slow and hold on, alright? Don't want you falling off...

Taryn: *holding on to Garret's arm* How about you sit down on the edge, put your feet over and lower yourself from there? It might help lessen the shock?

Garret: *nods at both Ira and Taryn, though Ira couldn't see the nod* Okay... sounds good. *sits down on the edge, then rolls onto his stomach to lower himself down as controlled as he can* I know my butt isn't as nice to look at as Lisette's, but am I lined up?

Lisette: *blushes slightly, but keeps her mind on the task at hand* Doing good Garret, how do you feel? *reaches for his hip, but can't reach just yet*

Ira: *steers Garret towards the crates by letting the pull increase a little* Alright, lower yourself a little more and you're good! *sweating a bit now from the effort of restraint*

Taryn: *squatting on the roof in her bunched t-shirt of a pair of shirts and leans back, holding on to his hands to support his weight* Let me know when you're ready to drop, and I'll let go, okay?

Garret: I think I'm doing okay. *gets comfortable with the idea of dropping from the edge of the roof onto a structure Ira built* Well, I'm as ready as I'm gonna get. Here I come guys, brace yourselves. *lets go of Taryn and the roof edge, dropping to the others with a heavy thump*

Lisette: *guides Garret down as soon as she can reach him, but knows Ira is having the greater affect* Gotcha! *tries to keep him stable as the crates wobble again* I'll help you down if Ira will help Taryn.

Ira: *grins at Garret a little sheepishly, and again starts flicking his fingers behind him* I'm glad you're alright, man... *clears his throat awkwardly and looks up to the roof* Taryn? I'm ready when you are... *reaches his hands up again, expression taut with focus and growing discomfort*

Taryn: *peers over the edge, waiting for Garret and Lisette to climb to safety before climbing down herself, then following Garret's method, swings her legs over, rolls onto her stomach and dangles from her elbows with a grunt* I hope you're ready, Ira, because I can't hold myself long like thiiiis.... *slips off and tumbles down into Ira's arms, who grabs her, starts to sink and then drops her like a hot potato before he slips entirely* Oof! Ouch, Ira... Some gentleman you are...

Lisette: *got Garret to the ground before Taryn climbed down off the rooftop* Okay... a little bumpy but everyone is alright. *hears Ira drop Taryn and cringes* Well... mostly alright. You okay Taryn? *glares at Ira*

Garret: Free at last. *looks around as the others descend* Now... where are we? *nothing looks familiar, but he already knew they weren't in his neck of the woods. Heck, he didn't even know how far from his neck of the woods they were*

Ira: *fully wheezing by this time and in considerable pain, shoots a defensive look at both the girls* Hey...give me...some credit... Dropping you was better...than gettin' under....your skin... *sits down to rest on top of the stack and wipes the sweat from his face with a shirt-sleeve* Uhg... I don't want to do that again, alright? No more rooftops...

Taryn: *blinks at that, having forgotten that Ira's power wasn't something that went away, like hers* S-sorry... *clears her throat and stands, dusting herself off, calls to Lisette* I'm fine, really... *climbs down the stack to stand on the ground, her feet quite scaley from the cold ground* What now?

The Rise of a Tiger (Ul-Zaorith)

Asarid stood straight, breathing the cold wind rising over the crest of the hill. The scent of spring to come was in the air, that crisp smell of budding grass, the dew, the wet earth. He gave another thought to the path before him and turned his shoulder into the wind, the salty air blowing his milky hair around his face even worse than usual. He stepped back towards the edge of the thin road with short, quick steps, a staccato of precision and confidence. There on the road stood his small caravan with his handsome gypsy coachwoman. He turned back once, sure that he felt something in the air. It felt like the lines between realms were spreading, if only for a moment. Somewhere nearby someone was walking in the forbidden art of their subdued people. It could be a boon or a bane, depending... Asarid quirked a twist of a smile in the corner of his lips and squinted. His coachwoman called out to him, impatient as always. "Hold! Wait..." Asarid replied, his voice sticky sweet and somehow biting at once. "Something's a-walking..."

Wilem, Son of Nesane, walked briskly down the well worn road before him. He had quite a journey before him before he would arrive at another town of decent size and he was not one to dawdle. His rosaine jacket wrapped around him to shield from the crisp breeze, he tried to appear as just another lone traveller. No one of note, let alone accost. He carefully brushed his dark indigo hair from his eyes when he felt a shiver run down his spine. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The shiver hadn't been from the coolness of the air. Experience told him this was more. Much more. A well honed sense of intuition caused him to pause in his long, languid strides and raise his gaze to the road before him. In the distance he could make out a vehicle, perhaps a coach. Another shiver ran through his body as he swallowed and lowered his head once more, pressing forward with even more of the poor, lone traveller act. With a little luck, he'd avoid whatever was tingling his intuition.

Asarid let the patterns of shifting sunlight through the clouds direct his acid-green glance. Ah, sure enough, here came the one causing such ripples in the fabric of the world. Asarid strode out two steps from the side of the caravan and stood akimbo, head held high, elbows cocked out jauntily. He waited with a modest amount of patience and a quickly spinning calculating mind fast at work. He watched the figure approaching, taking note of the gait, the stride, the height, weight, gender, dress and detail. How much could he glean before having to speak to the stranger? Asarid knew he was no mastermind, but he prided himself with an artful eye and good judge of character. What could his senses tell him of this man?

Wilem tucked his ersunbe closer to his hip, trying his best to minimize it's signature beneath the folds of clothing. The matching ersun rested comfortably at the small of his back. He did not expect trouble from whomever was in his path this day, but preparation is the best tool for survival and always has been. He risked a glance up at the small caravan before him as he drew closer, his pale grey eyes noting every detail he could in such a quick evaluation. Deftly and as covertly as he could, he drew upon the magic energies his people were so adept with and cast a quick, simple subterfuge spell. It was a risk, but if this stranger intended him harm anyways, it wouldn't make much difference over all. And if he meant no harm at all, then he could kick himself later. As he drew closer, Wilem started to take notice of every shadow deep enough to use should things come to that, but he did not diverge from his course. As he drew within speaking distance of Asarid, he smiled coyly. "Greetings stranger. Are you in need of assistance, or do you bar my path for some nefarious reason instead?" There was no sense in trying to slip past them without any discourse. The stranger's studying eyes told him that much.

"Assistance... What a word..." Asarid replied cryptically. He stood still a moment longer, staring at the other, noting his bizarre eyes and detecting the faint linger of freshly cast magic. Suddenly, with a quick, sharp sweeping gesture of one nimble arm, Asarid stepped aside and the twist of a smile grew over his slender face. "Nay, p'raps, Stranger, it is you who might be assisted. You travel a lonely road, and there are few brave enough to use it in these dark times. I can make room in the cargo, if you'd like to rest your walking feet..." Asarid rested a hand lightly on the dull green paint of the side of the caravan and smiled again, ne'er blinking for a moment lest some finite movement escape him.

Wilem quirked and eyebrow, pausing where he was. He kept a certain amount of distance from the stranger and took quick note of both his driver and any significant shadows nearby. Just in case. The driver interested him. She appeared to be a gypsy, a people Wilem held great kinship for, but that alone was not enough to earn his trust so quickly. Regarding the stranger he tilted his to one side, his smile falling ever so slightly. "Excuse my caution, but I do not know you sir and I'm sure you know in these times it is better to be safe than sorry. I do appreciate the offer as my feet are beginning to grow sore, but answer me this. Why should I accept passage with a complete stranger whom, by all appearances, seems to be heading in the direction I am seeking to distance myself from?"

Asarid took in a quick breath, gambling as he was wont to do. "I answer your question with a question of my own, sir. Does the word Founderline mean anything to you?" Asarid spoke it calmly, quietly, as if this were but a casual inquiry. He pricked his senses to be aware of any probing thought that might catch up this word and take alarm. He sensed no such tumult and was thankful for the dead road to ruined Calyx. "All else in the realm of answers comes from your reply, sir."

Wilem's mind tensed at the mention of the word Founderline, though he showed no physical reaction. He might have been born a nomad, but he was still a Tirivahni. He knew what the word meant, and more importantly, he knew what it stood for. "Show me the Tirivahni who does not know what that word means sir, and I will show you a liar. I do however, fail to see what bearing such a term has in our current discourse." Straightening his form, planting his feet and preparing for the worst as he hoped for the best, Wilem awaited the next cryptic answer eagerly.

"What bearing it has sir, is your direction." Asarid replied smoothly, changing his answers to those most safe based on the answers he'd received. "You head towards dead Calyx, sir. There are very unsavory folk camping out in the ruins there. Those too bold to be frightened by ghosts, and those too desperate to consider themselves much more than the spirits haunting the fallen stones. In those moss-encrusted relics, sir, what do you hope to find? Our caravan moves towards life and possibility. Would you give me an answer worth heading to dead Calyx? Or will you see reason and head towards a future less dim?" Asarid relaxed his shoulders a little, looking more an outlaw than a travelling gypsy.

Asarid's response caused Wilem to purse his lips and quirk his brow. Navigation was never his strong suit, at least not over land, but if the stranger was correct, there was nothing in Calyx for him. Perhaps he'd been in too much of a hurry to leave the last town. He'd struck out in a hopeless direction. Wilem in turn relaxed slightly. "If what you say is true, then I am indeed heading in an unfortunate choice of directions. I have no reason to venture to Calyx, or meet up with any of it's unsavory inhabitants. So, your offer suddenly becomes more palatable. Though I would prefer another option than returning from whence I came from." He weighed his options more carefully now, but still had a question left unanswered. "I still do not see why you have brought up the term Founderline however?" He added in little more than a whisper, sure the stranger would hear him fine. "And is it not customary for someone offering another a lift to at least offer a name?"

Asarid smiled, pleased the man was reasonable, and seemingly possessed of some amount of wits and logic. "I am willing to bargain the cost of your journey with us that the destination we are headed for is not the City you've left." Asarid paused and tilted his head, as if he held back some immense knowledge that was just below the surface if one chose to scratch. "Founderline... what does the term imply? Freedom, safety, strength, tradition. There are those of our kind who long for these things, there are others who turn their backs upon all that we are. If you were one who would scoff at the term, or fear me for my use of it, I would know there was nothing I could offer you. If, however, you took pride in the word - as you have done sir, then perhaps we have more to discuss on our journey. Now then," Asarid added, turning towards the gypsy woman, "This is Naella of the Circle, our talented coachwoman, and I am Asarid Son of Iella. Welcome aboard our Ship of Dreams, sir. And who might we have the pleasure of escorting?"

"The term means to me all you have said and more. The Founderlines stand for our very people and the great loss of their numbers in the war is tragic. To speak against such people is not in my soul sir, and I would take great offense to any who did not feel similar." Wilems words carried a trace of emotion he hadn't yet shown to the stranger, a great pride, reverence and honor. As he was introduced to the coachwoman he fell into a sweeping bow before her. "I am honored to meet you Naella of the Circle. Your beauty reminds me of someone quite close to my heart." He said in Greos Tirilys with a charming smile as he straightened himself. "I have no doubt you are as skilled as friend Asarid claims." He turned once more to Asarid and nodded. "I am Wilem, Son of Nesane and I humbly accept your offer of shared passage down these perilous roads. I trust I have not made a fatal mistake." He chuckled lightly to himself as he extended a hand to Asarid, a wry smile crossing his lips.

Asarid's full lips twisted into an amused smile as he took the man's extended slim hand and grasped it firmly in the Tirivahni custom. Asarid turned to the caravan and unbuckled the back canvas and lifted it to show the inside to Wilem. "It should be comfortable enough. There are blankets there on the rack you can seat yourself on. I'll be sitting up front on the coach seat, but I can hear you well enough from there so we can continue our friendly chat en route." Asarid said nothing about the contents of the caravan, weapons tightly wrapped were strapped to the curved inner walls of the caravan, mounted racks of foods, powders, alchemical supplies and even tiny potted plants all sat bound into their shelves. Richly embroidered carpets of the Humoran style and plush Suoro brothel pillows were piled in a makeshift bed in one corner of the caravan while a set of cooking pots and barrels of preserves were stacked and strapped neatly in the other back corner. At the very back of the caravan, a small latchable window was open to the view between Naella and Asarid on the boxseat. Through this window Asarid's bright face suddenly appeared. "Make yourself comfortable back there?"

Wilem climbed into the caravan, no longer taking efforts to hide his armed status. He drew a couple of the blankets from the shelves as directed and even stole one of the brothel pillows and set up a hasty, makeshift area for his own travelling comfort. He adjusted his ersunbe as he took his seat and braced himself for the eventual start to the journey. He nodded to Asarid as he peaked in upon him. "As comfortable as I dare in someone elses space. So where is it you are heading friend Asarid? And why so interested in my opinion on the Founderlines? I fear you've opened a can of worms my friend and you'll have a difficult time in closing it again if you try to do so." He smiled, curious yet still wary enough to remain vigilant.

"Close it?" Asarid laughed, but it had a strange quality to it, a kind of insane fervor to it, but it stopped before a distinct impression could be transferred beyond a slight discomfort in the listener. "I am not one to step away from a debate, no... And this is one I wear close to my soul, indeed." Asarid paused as Naella lashed the asera into motion. The Caravan creaked and then rolled forward steadily. Then Asarid turned his face back to the window and grinned in that mildly mischievous manner of his. "I might be able to answer your remaining two questions with a single answer. Are you familiar with the encampment known as Yuellisi Stofftierre?" Asarid paused and then with a wink added lowly, "Or as the Occupants call it, Hethen's Ground?"

Wilem shook his head, not recognizing the locations name. Or at the very least not letting on that he recognized it. "Sadly I do not know of the place you speak. Is this our intended destination?" He shifted, improving his comfort level now that the caravan was moving and at the same time aligning himself to the small window all the better. There was something this Asarid was not being forthcoming about. He bore a secret within him that he had not yet deemed Wilem important enough to reveal. But while most might feel ill at ease about such secrecy, Wilem saw it as a challenge. He'd made a living at finding out other people's secrets, and he was quite good at it. Though something told him Asarid was not your average mark.

"Ah, well it is good news you haven't heard of it, I shall have to tell Baryx, he'll be pleased." Asarid murmured, more to himself than to anyone in his presence and then he grinned over his shoulder at Wilem again. "But yes, that is where we are headed. Many of us believe that all hope of our country lies in Yuellisi Stofftiere. It is there we try to keep alive all that the Occupants tried so blindly to strip from us." Asarid gave a dark smirk as if he held a blade to any that tried to strip Tirivahni of the smallest flower. "They built it up, slowly in the shadow of the fall of the old Empress. We await the rise of the White Tiger that some day will come to break these chains of bondage. What is spoken of the country wide as a fools hope is a dream very much alive there. You will see..." Asarid spoke easily, but still cautious about how he phrased things and how much he said. A trick of ambiguity he learned from the Suoro slavemasters that had once held his bonds.

Wilem listened intently to each and every word. It all sounded interesting and benevolent, yet he could not help but wonder why Asarid would risk bringing a relative stranger to such a locale. If it was indeed a community of their people intent on defying all of what the Occupants had tried to force upon them, why take a risk and bring someone who could very well be a spy into their midst? It made little sense, but it seemed not to bother or even cross Asarid's mind. What Wilem wouldn't do to crack that mind and dig into the truth of things, but he did not like being that heavy handed. It was more fun, and took more skill, to draw out the knowledge through the bearer's own lips through charm and subtle manipulations. Though Asarid seemed all to willing to answer questions now, he still held something back. Something important. "It sounds like a very good place to head towards, though I don't really see how prosperous I might find it. Something tells me the inhabitants would not require use of my services. So, pray tell, why should I wish to go there? What would be in it for me?"

Asarid turned and stared at him, the smile twisting to something sickly, the poisonous green eyes narrowed nearly to slanted slits in his pale face. "The real question is what is in you for it." Asarid nearly bit the words off one by one by way of emphasis and then shrugged lightly and offered his twisted laugh shortly again. "Believe me, the uses you train yourself for are usually not those that others ask of you. I should know." Asarid shrugged his shoulders and lazily drew circles over his dark-skirted knee with a hand hidden by his bell-sleeve. "So, Wilem, tell me what is a Tirivahni of such lithe limb doing wandering the countryside alone? No slaver alive to bind you? No conscription to far-off wars to run to...or from?"

It was Wilem's turn to narrow his gaze as he stared back at Asarid. "I have had luck on my side since the day of my birth and thus have evaded the slavers shackles. Perhaps something of my father has rubbed off on me. And I find I have little taste for the wars the conscriptors wish to send us to. So I have also made it my duty to avoid them whenever possible. I wish I could say I have never seen battle, but that would be a lie and I have no desire to lie to you at this time. You have been honest with me, or so I assume, and feel it only proper to return the favor. I travel alone because it is easier to slip free of the webs that trap easier when I only have myself to worry about. I do not overstay my welcome anywhere and thus I have stayed fairly unmolested so far." He smiled, brushing the dark indigo hair away from his pale eyes completely. "And do not underestimate my lithe limbs, I know how to move them when needed."

Asarid chuckled darkly again, more of a snigger than a laugh. "I have no doubt you can, or you would not still be in one piece. Simply mentioning it because you'd be highly prized by the Slavers, I reckon. Fetch a high price..." Asarid mused idly to himself. "Good qualities to have though... Kind of a requirement to get into Yuellisi, really..." Asarid and Naella exchanged glances and then he peered back at Wilem. "So, what is your trade of skill, Wilem?"

"In a word, information." He spoke without reserve because he believed Asarid had earned that much. "You would be surprised how much some are willing to pay to find out if their lover is cheating on them, what their competitors are planning against them or where a relative is hiding their fortune." His coy smile crept across his face again as he examined Asarid's face through the window. "Well, perhaps you wouldn't be surprised, but others would."

"Ah, a Peddler of Truths..." Asarid sat hard and silent for a moment, computing this. "So, if one pays to know, you let them know, eh?" He asked at length. "And tell me, what base of clientelle do you serve, Wilem? Are you true to your people?" He asked, a hard edge in his voice, like a blade being unsheathed.

"I am true to my employer, regardless of who they are. Though I choose my employers very carefully. I will not pretend to understand what you are asking me, but I will say that my people mean a great deal to me. I am a patriot sir, but I will not claim I have not gleaned information from our own kind for others. As I have said however, I choose my employers very carefully." He knew Asarid was setting him up for something, though he wasn't sure what it was just yet. He would play along for now, storing the little clues to Asarid's agenda away for safe keeping. "And what about you Asarid? What is your trade?" He asked, looking idly around the interior of the caravan and it's odd assortment of cargo.

"My trade is in Souls, Wilem. I am a good Cleric of the Gods, serving our Holy Isaepo most faithfully." Asarid asnwered, his face sober but his eyes dancing with mocking mirth. Naella didn't say anything, but lightly coughed at this. Asarid grinned at her, "And Naella, lovely lady she is... a Purveyor of sweet flesh and heavenly virtues..." At this the coachwoman let out an exclamation and whipped Asarid lightly on the arm with her reins. He shrugged and nodded to Wilem. "I can always hope, eh?"

"Hope is a precious commodity friend Asarid, horde it whenever possible." He chuckled lightly again and slid into a more reclined position. "As for you being a good Cleric of the Gods, I do not doubt you though I know you are more than that as well. What still escapes me however, though I feel it must be tied to your earlier inquiries about Founderlines. What are you not telling me?"

"Who can say?" Asarid answered flippantly, throwing up his hands in a deft motion before dropping them again. "I haven't told you my mother was a Child of Nea... I haven't told you that I won my freedom from the grace of the gods... There's plenty I haven't told you. But why would I need to tell you any of these things? As for the comment on the Founderline... Well, it's always good to know who's company you're in. I like to know I'm dealing with a straightforward fellow, one who serves his country, and not betrays it. One who'd be willing to work with a Founderline, is one who can be of service. One who is a Founderline, serves my ends better still. You know, getting to know your stand, Wilem. Have I touched a nerve? Or your Truth Peddler's nose got a whiff of something good?"

He had indeed struck a chord within Wilem. The Child of Wipo had indeed caught whiff of something in Asarid's words and in the brief physical contact they'd had before. It was good to know the talents of the Thought Drinkers sometimes. "Two children of a Child of Nea. That explains certain things. And in the presence of a Child of Nea to boot. One might say it's an omen." He scratched his chin and wondered if it was an omen, what it was to mean. "Still, you have piqued my interest Asarid. And if the previous was a form of inquiry, I would gladly aid a Founderline without hesitation. Any assistance I could give such a person could only better our people as a whole. Though if I ever met a Founderline face to face, I would likely be humbled to silence."

Asarid didn't turn towards Wilem then, but from his profile one could see the leer of his acid-green eyes slid towards Wilem's direction and the edge of his sickly smile. "An omen, mn..." Asarid murmured thoughtfully, thinking the possibility over. "What do you think Naella? An Omen?" The coachwoman looked at him stiffly, pursing full lips for a moment before answering with a low, rocky voice.

"Nea, Goddess o' Secrets n' Mystery d'na omen be likely, ner fo' what'd be sure? Like somethin' d'na th' rise, be it, yah? Like as not, I say..." She said in true cryptic Greos Tirilys.

Asarid stifled another cackle and turned about on the boxseat to Wilem. "Well, there you have it, clear as day." He said, smirking with as much sarcasm as dripped from his voice.

Wilem nodded with a self satisfied smirk. "Yes, clear indeed. Naella reminds me more and more of my blessed mother and her companions with every passing second." Growing up with gypsies, Wilem was used to the sound of Greos Tirilys, though it was no less cryptic to his ears the majority of the time. "It's music to my ears friend."

Asarid nodded and smiled with sickening sweetness at Naella who made a direct point of avoiding eye contact with him altogether and instead clicked to the two Asera hitched to the caravan. Asarid nodded nonchalantly. He nestled himself back against the wall next to the window and started up talking again, his voice resuming a light, casual tone. "Now then, going into Yuellisi there's a few things you gotta know..." Asarid paused and held up his hand to extend a slender milk-pale finger. "First, there's a code of peace among the inhabitants. No fighting or abuse of any sort is permitted, unless it's training decreed by the higher ups." He flicked up a second deft finger. "Second, the man in charge is a Child of Ioc named Baryx. He is a good man, one to be respected and listened to. He knows more perhaps about our history than any Tiri alive." Asarid flicked up the third finger with a flourish and accompanied it with a flourished pronunciation, "Thrrree, Anything that goes on inside Yuellisi is bound to Yuellisi. There is a threat upon death to sell our secrets, Wilem. Understand me, they have ways of knowing who betrays them." Asarid gave him a stern look before flashing up the fourth finger. "Fourth, Any correspondence you need make with outside relatives/friends/colleagues must pass through one of our official Skryers first - scrambling, you see." The final slim digit on his hand spread out. "Fifth, that I'm afraid once you enter Yuellisi under my caravan banner, you do not leave it without my chaperone, and you absolutely do not bring in anyone else without my say so. Am I understood? Any questions? Any complaints?" Asarid propped one elbow up on the wall next to the window and rested his head in his hands, letting his five digits-spread hand relax and drop to the dark fabric of his skirt.

Wilem listened and supressed a chuckle at Asarid's theatrics. He understood that the man was trying to both warn him and impress upon him the severity of their mission. Whatever that is specifically. With a shrug, he held up his hand and stretched out five fingers of his own. "Just five querries actually. If there is a code of peace in place, does that mean I will have to relinquish my weaponry?" He let one finger drop as he went right on to the next question. "This Baryx you speak of, will I have the pleasure of meeting him or does such a pleasure need to be earned." Another finger dropped to his palm. "I would never dream of selling secrets of the Yuellisi, I am no traitor to my own people, no matter the price. I guess that was more of a statement than a question, but I move on." One more finger curled down. "I assume by your request that any communication go through your skryers first, that outside communication is allowed, but can your skryers be trusted to keep my secrets as well as those of your Yuellisi?" The last finger dropped as he asked the final question left on his mind. "How can I bring anyone else in, if I'm not allowed out? That's just silly." Wilem allowed himself a moment of laughter before regaining his composure and raising an eyebrow to Asarid. "I sure hope I'm worth all this trouble you're going through to bring me to the Yuellisi."

Asarid continued lazily staring at him as he listened carefully despite all outward appearances. At Wilems final comment he laughed, a silent opening of the mouth and a quick shudder in his thin body. "I also hope you are worth all this trouble, believe you me... But perfectly valid questions." He smiled and lazily drew circles with his half-limp hand. "You will not need to relinquish weapons. We believe in peace through choice, not by oppression. There's quite enough of that in Tirivahn already. Baryx you will most assuredly meet, likely upon our arrival, actually. He knows we are coming. I state the third clause as a caution. You now cannot say you did not know. There are some things you will learn that may seem tempting nuggets of knowledge. And if I've pegged your House right, your kind are not against siding with the strongest suit should the tides change." Asarid smiled as he said it, half-disarming the venom in the words, but the smile grew hard and immovable - an unnatural expression. His expression cleared and he moved on in his speech, face once again lax and seemingly careless. "Our Skyers are trustworthy to the point of death as long as your intentions are noble and follow our code. If anything in your messages smacks of betrayal, their confidence is lost. Everything outside that spectrum could have been spoken before the deaf and mute, I assure you. As for your last querry..." Asarid sniggered in his most honest of laughs yet. "Believe me, if I am right... and Baryx will know soon enough, Then once the training begins, you might be tempted to bring others to the enclave. When I take you out again and should such another opportunity arise, you are to take my decision as law, even if it seems cruel. As a creature of logic, yes, you should have no problem with that, as far as I can foresee."

Wilem raised an eyebrow at Asarid's answers, he studied every facial expression, every intonation in his companions speech pattern and every word he chose so very carefully. This was a man who held secrecy to a lofty standard as well. If it weren't for the slight bit of creepiness Asarid had, Wilem might actually admire him. "If you judge my House correctly? Interesting. Now, if I judge your House correctly, I believe we are more alike than you may realize. Brothers of spirit but not flesh. You need not worry about me Asarid, no one is paying me currently and I have no interest in stealing from my own people in a time when we need all we can get."

"Oh all that's only half of the bill, Wilem..." Asarid replied with a cryptic twist of a half-smile. "That's the half I'm less worried about. Unfortunately I can't say more on that topic until you've met Baryx. However, we have about another hour until we reach Yuellisi... So, aside from questions that I am forbidden to answer at present time, if there's anything else I can be of service with, then by all means, feel free to chat on." Asarid lazily closed his eyes to the rock of the caravan, but his posture still stated he was conscious and aware.

Primal Crusade #1 - The Garage

The garage was huge and well stocked with all sorts of automotive tools and parts. Oil stained the concrete and the smell of steel, gasoline and grease permeated the air. When it came to fixing or modifying a vehicle, you name it, this garage was likely to have it. Or at least something that would do in a pinch.

E.Z. Morgan cracked his knuckles loudly and scratched his chin, spreading even more grease into his thick beard than was already there. He'd already stripped off his shirt due to overheating. And when you're packing as much body hair as he did, it was a frequent occurrence. The coveralls he'd started with were also stripped down to his waist, leaving his chest bared and splattered with grease as well. He didn't seem to care however. It was common actually. He stared for several long moments at his newest pet project. An old tow-truck, one of those industrial ones that tow the big, heavy vehicles when necessary. He'd already gotten rid of the tow cable and was working on modifying the tow-arm into something more... interesting. He'd hit a snag though. Namely, he didn't know what something more interesting was gonna be. He knit his brow in thought and took a seat on the small stool near him. It groaned in protest, but again, he didn't seem to notice. On the A-Team they would have mounted a gun turret or something equally as nasty on the old tow-arm. But this wasn't the A-Team. Driving down the highway with a mounted gun on the back of your truck was asking for trouble no matter how cool it would be. No, something more practical, and legal, needed to be done with it. But what? He'd been pondering that for the last hour but everything he came up with was either useless or the aforementioned illegal. At least he'd gotten the thing running again. Reinforced the body, upgraded the engine. Sure, it would be a fuel pig, but that's part of the reason he added a secondary fuel tank. If he could just figure out what to do with that blasted tow-arm, he'd be set.

A knock - if you could call it that - resounded on the heavy pull door of the garage. The sort of sound a wrench makes when pounded on metal. There was a split-moment's silence... not really long enough for anyone to actually answer the door, when a voice called out.

"Eh! Open it up in there, man, this thing's fuckin' heavy, a'right?"

Seth's knees were braced, and his wiry, ropey muscle was taught with strain, but there wasn't much longer he could hold it. It, of course, being an engine out of a truck he'd picked up a couple weeks back from a salvage. There's been a request put in for an engine of this description back at Mickey's shop, and Seth hadn't any specific plans for it, so he thought why not - haul it on over. After all, he'd heard a rumour in the underground - in the 'thrope circles, if you will - that this guy was a Were. Accounts conflicted - but he was supposed to be something big. Seth nearly grinned just thinking about it. He liked the bigger ones, they were more straight forward, more honest (usually), and easier to read. Which made Seth's side of things that much easier. He hated having to deal with tricksy, little, shit-disturbers. After all, he had to live with himself everyday, and mama always said: variety is the spice o' life.

E.Z.'s brow furled as he turned his head, slowly, to the door of his shop. He wasn't exactly expecting visitors, and the shop was in a fairly remote area. Most of the surrounding businesses were vacant or locked up tight this time of the evening. Locals didn't like to be out when the sun started to set. It didn't bother Morgan though. He could handle any two bit punk who tried anything. Heck, he could probably handle a gang of two bits punks by himself, though he didn't have any desire to try anytime soon. Still, the punks didn't knock, nor did they announce themselves. This had a more businessy sound to it.

Grabbing his twenty pound sledge, just in case, he shouldered it one-handed with ease. A small smirk played across his face recalling caving in the skull of a Demon with this particular hammer. That was the most satisfying crunch he'd ever heard. The smirk evaporated as he reached the door and pulled it open with his free hand. He glared at the man on the other side of the door through narrowed eyes, evaluating him and his apparent intentions.

"Yeah?" he droned in a low, lazy bass tone. He could sense that the other was a Were, but that didn't mean anything. Judging by the engine in his hands and the look on his face however, Morgan didn't see any viable threat. He slipped the sledge off his shoulder and leaned it beside the door. "Selling, trading or need repairing?" he asked simply, nodding to the engine the visitor was straining to hold aloft.

"Deliverin'." Seth replied, shuffling forward to get over the threshold and looked around the expansive garage with appreciative eyes. "Where d'you want it?" Seth shrugged his shoulders, his knuckles white with the weight of the thing. "It's the LQ9 you ordered."

He had a chance to eye the guy over, and Were or no, he was already big. Seth felt pretty tiny in comparison to the guy. He noticed the sledge by the door; he pictured it swung in those hands and found himself grinning. He began to wonder off-handedly if he ever fought Demons with a thing like that. If he did, Ed and Dari would be pleased to know of it.

Morgan looked at Seth with a peculiar gaze as the smaller man walked past him into the garage and still struggling with the engine. He had indeed put feelers out for an engine like that, but hadn't heard anything yet. Now some Were just shows up at his door claiming to be delivering one. It was convenient to say the least. And usually that's what Morgan did. Say the least.

"On the table." he retorted, pointing past Seth to a large, slightly cluttered steel work table. He made no effort to help Seth. Not that he doubted him or didn't like the look of him, but out of sheer curiosity whether he could hoist the heavy chunk of mechanics up onto the table. It was kind of perverse to get any sort of entertainment from it, but he made his peace with that quickly. Maybe next time some advanced notice would be reciprocated with a helping hand. If there was a next time.

"Hope it isn't stolen." he stated, knowing already that is wasn't. This guy seemed familiar somehow. Like a few guys he'd heard about around town. Though he didn't know who and he didn't know any of them were Weres. He didn't really run in Were circles, so his contacts were almost exclusively mundane. "And thanks. I am looking for a LQ9. How much?"

Seth shuffled over to table and with a grunt. The hair and claws shifted out of his hands and the strength that came with it hauled the engine up onto the table quite neatly, without too much of a heavy clang.

Once it was safely resting on steel, Seth stepped back, letting the fur shift back to skin and shook his arms out. He gave a rakish grin and stuffed his hands into his pockets and openly surveyed the place. "Nice digs. Is this your place?" he asked, taking a few steps forward in horridly scuffed steel-toed boots and grease-stained coveralls tied about the waist. He looked less small and less skinny without the giant truck engine in his arms, his personality and personal magnetism giving him a bigger-than-life aura.

"As for price, since the truck was mine for parts, we can negotiate what you want. One of the pipes is a bit dinged up, but I tuned the thing, and it runs great still. I'd let it go for $600 or so... Unless you wanna trade it for pieces instead? I'm easy-going." He stood there grinning about for a moment or two, then stepped forward, swinging out a rigid hand for a shake to the other man. "Seth McGrath, man. Good to meet you."

Morgan looked at Seth's outstretched hand for a moment, then took a hold of it with a firm, non-crushing handshake. He still didn't quite know what to make of Seth, but that was alright. He'd heard of this dude. Supposedly he was good with vehicle graphics, which didn't really appeal to Morgan, and motorcycles. The latter of which was something Morgan hadn't had much luck with. Though, he always wanted a chopper solid enough to carry his bulk.

"Six hundred?" he repeated with a furled brow. The price was good, but he was a little strapped for cash at the moment. "I've got a bunch of spare parts out back, you're free to root through ‘em. If you find anything, we can work something out."

The sort of grin that Seth gave the other man was one that might've given one pause. It seemed to say: Aaah, precisely what I was hoping you'd say...

Seth didn't need to be asked twice and just started stalking to the back of the garage, rubbing his hands together and putting on an ostentatious chortle as he went. "Oh ho! Parts for Sethums, yes yes, parts for meee!"

He literally kicked open the back door with the toe of his boot and stepped out into the yard with wide spread arms. "Ba-boom baby! Come to ol' Seth with your glorious potential!"

Morgan followed along behind Seth, intrigued and kind of confused at the other mans actions. He grabbed a plastic milk crate that was near the door and pushes it into Seth's hands. "Grab whatever you want. Most of it out here has no project use to me at the moment."

The area behind the shop was covered, but without any walls per say. The buildings around it sort of formed all the walls needed. Plus, few would screw with Morgan's stuff. There were piles of scrap metal, auto parts, and what have you everywhere. It wasn't so much organized, but departmentalised to a degree. He really did need to sort it out someday, but he knew where everything was, and that's what really mattered.

"Yeah, it is my place." he responded to the earlier question. "I've heard of you." Morgan let a smile spread across his square jaw and scratched his beard. "Not all of it bad."

Seth took the milk crate and swung it about in his hands, grinning around at the pile of possibility before him. He nearly leapt to the first pile of scraps, crouching down in a squat as he rooted through bits of mangled metal, raw frame parts, detached lights and fenders, wheel spokes and pistons. He chatted easily over his shoulder as he inspected pieces - peering down their length through one squinted eye, or tinging their resonance with a grubby thumbnail, tossing this one back into the pile or hauling this one out and stacking it carefully into the milk crate.

"Oh-ho, heard o' me, eh? Not all bad, you say? That means you musta talked to any number of my ex's..." Seth grinned wolfishly over his shoulder, the canine mannerisms of his were-self showing through a tad in his enthusiasm. "If it had been all-bad, you'd've talk to m'ma." He tsked under his breath and shook his head, absorbed in inspecting a fuel-injector. Into the crate. "But yeah, 'm about a'right. Work over at Mickey's, y'know, and got a small shop o’ m’own, too. Over'n all that... I'm like you, so, word of our types tends to spin through the ranks purdy quick." Seth grinned up at him again, scratching at his messy blond faux-hawk with greasy hands.

"So, how come I never see you run with us? You with a different Crew?" He sniffed unconsciously then, trying to pick up any trace of another Were on him.

Seth couldn't pick up any significant trace of another Were on Morgan, simply because he didn't socialize with others of their kind very often. He'd crossed paths with them, like he did now with Seth, but he didn't openly associate with many. He'd met a big bruiser of a gorilla when he first came to town. Ed, or something like that. The guy talked about the war against Demons and more gave Morgan the impression of an army drill sergeant than a recruiter. Morgan opted to not join the fight. A decision that hadn't gone over well. If he recalled, there was talk about how he'd regret the decision and when the Demons came for him, he was as good as dead without allies to back him up. Morgan wasn't scared by the speech. He'd taken care of himself thus far without dying. Besides, just because he didn't run with a Crew, didn't mean he didn't have allies.

"No Crew. Just me." He responded plainly as he began to half-heartedly poke around the parts piles himself. The truck needed more. It needed something. Even if he had no idea what to do with the tow arm, it still needed a few touches to make it look more apocalyptic. That's what the client wanted. Heavy, post apocalyptic type vehicle, no weapons. And it had to be street legal. Apart from that, they had given Morgan carte blanche.

"You a fighter?" he asked over his thickly muscled shoulder. "Heard you were just a good mechanic." Morgan had heard a damn sight more than that, but Seth didn't seem the type that needed his impressive talents reaffirmed.

Seth slid a sly, jackal-like grin over at Morgan and leered at him. "No Crew? At all? Not many ‘round these parts who say that so lightly. So, what's your beef? You a quitter? Or you had some dame break your heart? Or...you like Demons, all cuddly like?" Seth sat back on his haunches, idly flipping a flat washer over the backs of his knuckles.

"I mean no disrespect man, but it ain't all bad, y'know. Take me, for e'zample." Seth prodded a few more grease spots on his grubby wife beater. "I'm a fighter a'right, sure. I'm gritty and dirty and not as noble as some in a fray. But sometimes that's what it takes." He sniffed and rubbed at the ring in his septum. "And sometimes it takes big, burly, sledge-hammer wielding...whate'r y'are." He gestured vaguely at the massive bulk that was Morgan and shrugged, raising eyebrows before quickly grinning again. "It's not like a girl guide camp, y'know. Dorian's not got us making anti-demon wallets and singing koombaya. I come and go as I please...but in a scrape I know someone's got my back." He paused and then leapt on a carburetor and hauled it excitedly from the rubble before finding fault with the mounts and tossing it back down again.

"Hey, we could even get crazy and say, you might even get attached to one of them out there like you - y'know, a Were friend is a nice thing to have. And Hell knows, you'd be a mighty comforting guy to have watching over one's shoulder in a dark alley."

Morgan glared at Seth when he joked about liking Demons. If looks could kill, well, let’s just say bits of Seth would be raining down over the area. Of course he didn't like Demons. He didn't like anyone who discriminated against him for just being who he was, let alone anyone who tried to kill him for it. From his experience, Demons didn't differentiate between the Weres that fought back and those who just tried to avoid it all. They were equal opportunity killers. He guessed that's why they were Demons.

"Bison." he informed, standing fully upright and cracking his neck. Morgan might not have been super tall, but he was still over six feet in height and damn near the same in shoulder width. Barrel-chested with thick, powerful muscle he could be imposing if he chose to. Most of the time he didn't choose to, however. So when he turned to face Seth full on, he kept a more passive posture. "Friends huh? I have friends who watch my back. They ain't our kind, but compared to the bootcamp asshole who tried to recruit me to the cause, I'd take them anytime."

He glared at Seth again and walked back to the door he'd let the other man in through. Picking up the twenty pound sledge again, he stomped back into the back scrap yard, straight towards Seth. Pausing before him, he stared long and hard. His lip started to curl, then his expression cracked into a smile. "But you seem okay. Call me if you need a hand." And he turned and went back into the shop leaving Seth alone and likely unsure if he meant if he needed a hand with the parts or in the future. A few moment later, the sound of the sledge hammering dense metal rang out. Morgan got back to work.

"Bison?" Seth just grinned. It never ceased to amuse him how Weres could interact - predator and prey - as if they weren't enemies in the wild. But the nasty look he'd gotten didn't go away. Seth remembered it and marked off a little check point in his mental tally. Not a guy to fuck around with, that was for sure. Hrm. Re-evaluate.

Then the big man came out with his big ol' sledge and Seth bristled, hackles literally rose from the back of his neck before the other man grinned. When he offered help, Seth gave a sort of wheezy laugh and nodded, a terse smile in place. He didn't like that kind of jest. Served him right, really. After all, mouthy usually met fisty if it didn't know when to quit.

He finished up rooting through the piles for parts, ending up kicking out an old barrel he found in the yard and transferring his loot into it. After all, you couldn't really stuff 600 bucks worth o' scraps into a milk carton - not from this pile, at any rate. He hoisted the barrel up in his arms and shuffled back into the Garage.

"Oi, Bison, you want to inventory this lot, or what?" He plopped the barrel down with a healthy ka-chunk and stood up, stretching out. He retied his coverall sleeves around his waist and scratched at his ear.

Morgan looked up from what he was doing, which apparently involved hitting metal with a sledgehammer until it behaved the way he wanted it. Beads of sweat tumbled from his forehead and lodged themselves in his beard and chest hair. Already the air was permeated with a musky scent. He shouldered the hammer again and tugged off the glove from his other hand.

"No need to inventory." he retorted, eyeing the barrel. "You got an honest face." He again cracked a smile. "Are we square?"

"An...honest face?" Seth spluttered incredulously. "Okay, that does it!" he stepped around the barrel and came striding forward, reaching into his pocket and swinging his arm up to stop with hand extended inches from Morgan's face.

In his fingers, a business card was clutched,

Mickey's Automotive.
Your Needs, With speed.

Seth McGrath ... 604-742-3049

"You seriously need to get out more. Beer sometime? Some Pool?" He grinned then, a quirky, half-arched thing that caused his eyes to squint, making him look every part a coyote.

Morgan didn't flinch, blink or otherwise react to Seth's rather odd physical manoeuvrings. If the coyote intended to strike him, the hammer would have struck back a hell of a lot harder. But he could sense no hostility, so it was a moot point anyways. Instead Morgan just looked at Seth's crooked grin, then the card and finally took it from the rather odd man. Even though Seth was way more boisterous than Morgan ever cared to be, they had things in common. So why not try and be friends. At the very least, they could collaborate on something in the future. From what he'd heard, Seth was a whiz with the fiddly little detail crap the Morgan always came up short on.

"Yeah. Maybe." He said with a nod of his large cranium. "Got a sec?" He didn't really wait for a response before motioning for Seth to follow him. He walked to the other end of the shop where 'The Beast' was sitting. That's what he'd nicknamed the truck he'd been working on before Seth's arrival. The thing was huge, so the name fit.

"Been working on this." He said, pointing like he needed to clarify what he was talking about, even though it was obvious. "Having a problem with the tow arm. Not sure what to do with it. Supposed to look post-apocalyptic except street legal and unarmed. Any suggestions?"

‘Maybe.’ Seth cackled and shook his head. That's about as good an answer as he was likely to get now or ever. He perked up though, when Morgan asked him if he had a moment. He scampered along behind the bigger guy, catching sight of the Beast and looking it over as they neared.

"Street legal, mn?" Seth wandered around it, looking at the modifications that had already been done. He could tell there was some money going into this project. Street racers? Film company? Industrial instalment? Hrm, hrm...

He stepped back and framed his hands around it, measuring by sight the proportions and lengths he had to work with. "What if..." He reached into his baggy pockets and drew out a small dog-eared sketch pad and a stub of a pencil. "What if... you built up armoured plexy-glass around the cab here, angle it up to a sort of hexagonal dome, right... Then here..." scribble, sketch, sketch. Seth's lines were jagged and heavy, but he drew with clean, almost tribal lines. "Then, if you lift the tow-arm up, right, and mount it on a swivel-bed, like they use on portable cranes, you can have a ball-and-chain gag going. The sort of, swing it into battle to clear a path, move. Kinda Thunderdome, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows up at the other, curious for his reaction.

Morgan's brow knit as he envisioned Seth's idea. The sketch was rough, but it gave him the idea well enough. He weighed it against what the production company had asked for but wasn't sure. He'd fulfilled all of what they'd asked for thus far. Big, heavy, armoured, street legal and well-worn looking. Check, check, check, check and check. He was given free reign beyond that as long as it didn't get turned into something war-oriented. They didn't want spikes or guns or a ram prow. They said it was supposed to be a transport mainly.

"Don't know. That might work." He squinted at the vehicle and rubbed his beard. "Not supposed to be a war wagon though. More transport." He started to walk around the vehicle again, as he had many times before. He took in all the angles, and in his peripheral vision he took in the parts lining the walls and piled in the corners of the room.

"Maybe." he started, moving to a hunk of metal that was once a fork lift. "If I rig the forks and lift assembly to the tow arm..."

Seth blinked at his sketch and then at the truck. "Oh, well, then that's right out. Transport, hrm..." He thought about it, and then flipped a page in his sketchbook and began scribbling anew. He began talking again as he drew, half-mumbling to himself. "What if you mounted something - like a car, or something more mobile than this big lug - something fast... to a bracket, and had the tow arm unfold, rotating the smaller vehicle to touch ground so that...while in high speeds, the pilot of the smaller vehicle could rev and hit the road with wheels spinning... leaving both to function simultaneously?" He threw a final harsh line under the scribble to signify road and flipped the book around for Morgan to see. This sketch - if possible - was even rougher than the previous, but it showed the tow arm unfolding, the mechanics of the mounting rotating the vehicle from up-side-down to upright and touching down on asphalt. "Too much?" Seth asked, thinking of the sort of money that kind of hydraulics and electronic control would cost.

Morgan looked at Seth, momentarily pulled from his own idea by Seth’s. "You don't watch much TV, do you?" He asked shaking his head. Seth's plan was just like something you'd see in the movies. Dynamic, spectacular and just plain cool. The problem was, it wasn't real. "That show, Mythbusters, proved you can't hit the ground running. Even with a vehicle." He didn't want to throw cold water on Seth's imagination, but functional was the plan even if it was for a movie shoot.

"It's not all bad though." Morgan glanced at the new sketch with a critical eye. "Too complex. I have an idea. Can I borrow your pad?" He asked, reaching with one beefy hand.

Seth actually stuck out his tongue at that. "What, no special effects at all? What lunatic wants to actually drive this thing around the streets? The cops won't like that, even if it is street legal." He waved his hands as if dismissing the whole thing, shoved his sketchbook back into his pocket, and left his hands in his coveralls, standing there, looking up at the big machine. "I don't fuckin' know. I build choppers, man. You're the one with the anti-sci-fi apocalypse lug."

Morgan creased his brow and retracted his hand. Seth was pouting apparently. Interesting. Stalking over to a battered steel desk in the corner, he yanked a drawer open with a metallic squeal and withdrew an oil stained notebook, dog-eared and torn. He kept digging and came up with a black sharpie. "Don't pout." He commented, returning to the other Were.

"Just ‘cuz we can't hit the ground running. Doesn't mean it won't work." He scribbled a few heavy lines, art was never a strong point for him. "And they're trying do everything as real as possible. The actors are even doing their own stunts. No special effects if they can help it."

After a moment of scribbling, he turned the page to face Seth. "If the secondary vehicle hit the ground in neutral, the driver can drop into gear and punch the accelerator with forward momentum." He smiled for a moment, then returned to neutrality. "Instead of flipping the vehicle around though, we can simplify the separation mechanic. Wanna help?"

Seth kind of looked over at him, but appeared to be sucking at his teeth. "I'm not really so great with stuff like that... I build choppers - I do sleek, pretty paint-jobs, standard construction, just....twisted a bit." He scratched at his faux-hawk and then shoved his hands back into his pocket. Man, a smoke would be good...

"If you got some welding or paint jobs you need, then I could help, sure, but you gotta explain the vision in detail or I might run off and turn the front end of your truck into a nice bike." He squinted up at the big lug of a machine and chortled under his breath. "It suits you, y'know."

Morgan nodded as he looked at the beast of the motor vehicle. It wasn't pretty, it was large, strong and heavy. It did kind of suit him. Although, he'd never drive anything that massive on a regular basis. He'd pulled his time behind the wheel of the big machines on a construction site. He didn't miss it. Heck, it was fixing those same machines that got him here. And he preferred here. "True."

He tossed the notebook onto the steel desk and pulled a grease stained towel from a hook on the wall. "Okay... fuck this." He turned to Seth and thumbed at the beast of a truck. "I'm starving. Wanna get a beer and some grub?" He wiped his greasy hands on the towel, and tossed it back onto the hook.

That wolfish grin again. Seth thumbed his pockets and rocked on his heels. "Now yer talking! I'm in the mood for Meat. Big ol' Ribs. Or a bison burger." He paused, eying the other. "You ain't a vegetarian or sommat are ya?" He started snort-chortling under his breath again, finding the whole contrast hilarious. "Funny thing, nature, y'know? making some big ol' lug like you nibbling away on grass in the corner, and giving some scrawny fuck like me the task of trying to take you down. What the fuck, eh?" He shook his head and stepped towards the door he'd come in by. "How are we heading? Separate vehicles or you wanna drive? My ride ain't exactly gonna hold ya."

Morgan actually let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Bison burger?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow. "I'm never telling you to bite me." He made his way into a small bathroom attached to the shop and ran water, cleaning up a bit before heading out. "There's a pub near here, they have decent food and beer. The waitress is one of 'us' as well."

He grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on, exiting the bathroom and pulling his coverall's back into place. "I can drive. My truck is outside."

"Is my Gunner going to be safe just out there? Or have you got a place I can park it for a bit? She's uh...well, she's the one lady who never leaves me. I'd kinda like to make sure she's safe out here, y'know?" He watched the other get cleaned up and looked down at himself. With a wry grin he shook his head. "Aw, I came straight from the shop, I ain't exactly dolled up, man. You don't mind having an ugly date, do ya?"

Morgan looked Seth up and down, not finding anything wrong with the way he was dressed. He'd been cleaner than Morgan, so it didn't really strike him as out of the ordinary until it was brought up. "Out of the two of us, I hold the patent on ugly." He added with a simple grin. "You look fine, you girl. And just pull the bike in here. No one with screw with it."

Morgan grabbed his keys and hit the button to open the bay door so Seth could bring his bike in. "Just find a scrap of space and park it. I'll set the alarm." It was true no one would screw with the shop. The last guys ended up in intensive care. And one didn't make it out. "I want a bike someday. Something that'll hold me."

As the door opened up, Seth's "Gunner" came into view. It was long and sleek, a thing gleaming in burnished dark steel. The wheels were on long suspension, the engine full of chrome and raw pistons. The gas tank was done up in swirling dark colours and polished lines. Seth went to it and lifting it easily off the kickstand rolled it forward. "Oh, Gunner here is good to 1000 pounds, easy. It's more the torque you'd get - or not get - with a guy your size. I've built stuff for people as big as you - but I dunno if they were up to your weight. You look like a dense mother. Still. I could do it."

The Gunner in place, he gave the leather seat a loving pat and then stepped back outside again. "Shall we, darling?" He asked, offering a crooked arm to the bigger man and a saucy wink. He was going to get punched in the sternum sooner or later. There was a twinge in his tendons waiting for it, almost.

Morgan just looked at Seth with that 'you are a strange little man' expression then hit the button to close the door. As it started to descend, he shoved Seth out the opening. "After you, dear."

Distant Star - Log 01 - When Space Meets Sea

Distant Star – Log 1 – When Space meets Sea

Jack swayed, nearly vomiting, and held the acid down with an effort, a wave of rippling discomfort rolled through him, followed by the familiar itching. He felt The Round Coin slow to a stop in his palm and opened his eyes. Staring out through the glass windows of the Observation deck he caught sight of the rolling ocean. He heard The Good Ship Ptarmigan shudder and spit, it's tethers slapping against the waves before the ship lifted up to a higher altitude, staying as clear as it could of the damaging salt in the spray. Jack took a breath. Blast, where had the damp trinket taken him this time? This is why he had vowed not to use it...and yet...he always did, sooner or later. "Good Ship, what can you tell me?" There was a pause, and then in a reverberating voice, as if echoing through copper pipes, a feminine, wispy voice replied, "We are no longer in familiar leagues of the Aether, Jonothan. We believe we may have passed through the Films, again." Jack stood at the railing, staring out at the endless expanses of water and hunched into his shoulders, stuffing both hands into his pockets and placing the Round Coin away. "Blast." was all he said.

On the Horizon, Storm Seed and its fleet of twelve Shadows were slowly making their way across the northern latitudes. The weather was beautiful and the Seed’s Shaper had done a marvelous job of aligning them with the currents. Sleek bodies of marine mammals flicked along the double keel of Viira’s ship, toying with the raging waters between the two hulls. At first glance it appeared to be a stately procession of grand vessels, with the Korinthian City Ship dwarfing its comrades but the outward tranquility by no means reflected the uproar on the Bridge. “Captain! Something’s… uh, just appeared on the horizon. It’s foreign and flies no recognizable banners.” The soul who’d spotted The Good Ship Ptarmigan pointed off towards where Jack’s ship was a rather sizeable silhouette. “Hmn?” Viira blinked, kicking her chair around to look out at the horizon, frowning. Unmarked vessels tended to be pirates of some sort and she was in no mood for an attack. They were fools, anyway, if they planned to challenge Storm Seed. “Bearing?”

“South by southwest, twenty knots. The unknown appears to be stationary,” Merkesh replied easily, coming over to stand by her chair, “Should we investigate?”

She waved a gloved hand at the man with the viewing scope and took it so she might peer herself and was greeted with the glint of metal in sunlight. “Ah… Do we know if any of the kingdoms have metallic ships?”

“Negative, Captain.” The Storm Seed’s chief Bard spoke then, frowning, “Why? What do you see?”

“Metal. And a form I’m not at all familiar with.” She set the viewer down abruptly and glanced at Merkesh then the crew, having noticed a gap between the ocean’s swell and the ship’s keel, “Prepare a scout vessel, I want a report asap but do not engage in combat. Keep a distance and try to establish communications if you can.” A chorus of affirmation sounded as men scrambled to do as ordered and a few minutes later one of the Shadows peeled off from the main convoy and raced across the waves towards the alien vessel. Who, or what, had the ability to levitate ships? Let alone manufacture one of metal. The seas were the Korinthians’ territory and none of them made such extensive use of those materials.

"Jonothan," came the Ptarmigan's echoing voice. "A ship is approaching from the north. Shall we do anything about it?" Jack turned slowly, and after a moment strode in his bow-legged gait to the massive telescope that was mounted through the glass ceiling of the Observation chamber. He spun the wheels and angled it to view the north, sliding back the magnifiers that would have him staring out into space. A small craft, no weapons pointed at him that he could tell. Still, the thing was simply sailing towards him. An ocean ship. He hadn't seen one of those in months. It had been a long time since he'd taken the Ptarmigan down to Enteria. "You know, I think we should," Jack replied languidly. "I'm going to go say hallo." He watched a moment more, then stood up from the chair, stretching out his back briefly until an audible crick sounded and then loped across the Observation Deck, up the stairs and into the upper hall. He took to a rung-ladder set into the wall and climbed up onto a landing, and from there, opened a threshold leading onto one of the ships many balconies. He stood there, directly beneath the Good Ship Ptarmigan's high Turret and snapped open his spyglass. The ship was considerably closer now. He lifted a fingerless-gloved hand and waved. They couldn't hear him yet, but he could make out crew on the boat as it drew nearer.

The Shadow drew up alongside the vessel and the crew was quite obviously stunned, no one was quite sure what to make of this levitating metal mammoth and flickered light signals back to the Storm Seed, sounding a brief report before the mirrors were turned on the other vessel. A brief, clipped series of signals were flashed but the Shadow didn't draw any closer. Even without orders, the crew was disinclined to get too close. One of the men in the rigging, however, grew bold once he saw someone step out onto a deck and waved in turn, shouting a greeting as he hung from lines with the comfort of a fish in water. "Ahoy! From what land do you hail from!?" Shouting followed on deck as the sailors tried to shush the man but he waved them off. They were supposed to make contact, right? He was making contact!

Jack watched the ship with interest, observing their flashing mirrors with a passive amusement. Then one of the men - and he was relieved to find that they were indeed men, Hovarthians, by the look of them - swung about in the rigging and hailed him. He cupped his hands to his ears, trying to hear the man above the rush of the waves and the hum of the Ptarmigan's chambers. He made out the words without too much difficulty, in the end and cupping his hands about his mouth in turn hollered back: "We come from the Aether Territories of Terrene! We went through a bit of a nasty storm! My instruments are still recalibrating! Tell me, where are we now?"

Silence met him as the man's jaw worked, unable to fathom where that might be. He tried again, however, assuming he'd misheard, "Say again!? There's been no squalls in these waters for a fortnight! You're a week's journey off the south shores of the Kingdom of Gilvaen!" He frowned. The man and his crew must be pretty muddled not to know where they were. From her seat, Viira watched the exchange through her viewer with interest, wondering what was being said. The report had confirmed what she thought had been a trick of the eye and now only a single man had come out to greet the scouting ship. "Inform the Shaper that I want our speed doubled and order the Shadows to form defensive ranks about Storm Seed, Guardships at the front. Has the Oracle said anything yet?"

"No reports have come in, Cap'n. This was entirely unexpected." Her First Officer replied with a sour look, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I. That's what bothers me." She murmured, flicking a glance at Merkesh. Hopefully whoever was on that vessel was neutral and or friendly.

"The Aether Territories of the Empire of Sphera of Terrene!!" Jack bellowed back. Perhaps the man's hearing was not as keen as his own. "Kingdom of Gilvaen?" He asked, becoming a tad more confused. "Have the Hovarthians finally united under a King, then?" He hollared, leaning over the railing. And then, over his shoulder he said to the ship, "Good Ptarmigan, a few feet lower if you please, I think we're having difficulties in hearing each other." The ship's humming vibrated at a slightly higher pitch and the ship lowered steadily and then stopped suddenly, now a mere ten feet above the waves.

The sailor gawked as the ship buzzed and then lowered itself, swallowing as he wondered at it. Thankfully that was the Captain's job - this whole assessing the threat kind of thing. The man hadn't attacked but... his ship was certainly something of a marvel. "What're you going on about? I'm no... Hoverian!" He waved madly, quite offended to be called something other then what he was and puffed up his chest, "We Shadow the Korinthian City Ship Storm Seed and you sail in our Territories!" He broke into a fit of coughing and spent a perilous moment doubled over, unused to such bellowing. Clearing his throat at last, he gestured at the spare boat that Shadow carried on her, "Do you have a rowboat!? I can barely hear you! Your, uh, ship's too loud!!"

'Korinthian', 'Storm Seed' and 'Rowboat' were all quite foreign to Jack. He paused a moment, and then, soundly under his breath cursed, "Mystic's blood, that damned Round Coin has done it this time." He took a deep breath and pushed a boney hand through his hair. "Rowboat...rowboat... Ah!! A Skiff, you mean? I'll take to the Tethers, be back with you in a wink!!" He hollered, his throat burning, and his skin crawling from the effort of healing the raw tissue. He was more than happy to quit with the screaming match. He ducked back in through the portal and scrambled back down the ladder, a few loping bounds down the hall and to the main stairwell which he took three stairs at a time. "Jonothan, shall we go into guard?" The Ptarmigan asked mildly. "If you'd like," Jack huffed hoarsely at it. "You're a clever girl, Keep yer senses pricked, right, and act accordingly." The ship hummed in response but remained silent. Jack by this time had made it into the Second Tier of the Brig and had leapt into the rusty skiff hanging from the ropes. He cranked the levers and the keel opened up a panel to allow the skiff unmolested passage from the Ptarmigan. He double rapped his knuckles on the paneling of the opened trap and the gears began turning of their own accord, gently lowering the swinging skiff into the ocean air and when a safe distance from the ship, he unhooked the ropes and the little boat hung in mid-air, a glittering aura faintly visible in the air around it, as if it floated on heat waves. A bulbous, ungainly thing, it boasted two fish-like fins on the sides to steer port and starboard, and a central folding main sail mounted towards the back of the boat, a set of levers controlling the angle on all three. Jack sat down at the small helm of the skiff and propelled it forward with a shudder and a cough of a glittering golden dust blasting out of the back of the hull. He cursed soundly again and maneuvered the boat forward towards the waiting Shadow. "Empress' Morrow to you, sir." Jack greeted the man in the rigging affably. "Might we convene somewhere more hospitable, if your crew would be so accommodating... The Aether lines are weak here, and I fear I can't keep my Skiff aloft long. If I might review your charts so that I can plot my course, I would not be ungrateful..."

The man backed up as Jack approached in a flying rowboat with no oars, eyes wide, and he pointed at the thing, clearly taken aback, "By the Great Mother's Breath what is /that/?" Below, the men had been able to watch the Skiff's approach and were equally stunned, though one managed to keep enough wits to flash a brief, if nonsensical, message back to the Storm Seed. Which was just as well, Viira had seen the Skiff approach and hover before her Shadow and with the convoy looming up just out of cannon's range, the creaking of timbre and snap of sails a comforting sound to the men on the Shadow. A great gust drove through the area then, the Shaper's work, and jostled the men back into action as swells rose, broke, and washed white froth across the deck. "Aaah... That's not up to me. You'll have to put the request in with the Cap'n." He waved at the men below and moved his hands in a blur of signs that the other nodded to, followed by a quick succession of mirror flashes.

"... He wants to review our charts?" Viira repeated, confused. A man with a flying ship and a flying rowboat, who appeared out of nowhere, wanted to see their charts? She sighed, "Please tell me I won't regret this. The day's strange enough as it is. Put a guard on whatever that is and bring him in. I want to talk to him." Rubbing her forehead, she rose and gave command over to Merkesh as she headed for the stairs that would lead down into the Lower Docks. A message was sent in reply and quickly passed along to the man in the rigging.

He grinned, "Captain Viira will see you now. Come aboard but don't try anything fancy." Dropping into a swing, he was through and on the deck in a few heartbeats, long limbs and agile frame moving easily amongst the rigging. "D'you have a name, by the way?"

"Ah." Jack replied, clearly disappointed. "Your 'cap'n' must be in the massive hulk of ship, then, eh?" He replied, glancing through his spyglass at the massive ship in the distance. He waited in silence as a series of mirror flashing began from the Shadow to the mothership, and after a moment, replied in kind. He knew of such signals, but not the code these two were using. He could only assume the translation of the crew member was the truth, afterall, the world had not slipped into greys. "Come aboard..." Jack repeated dumbly. After a moment, he pulled a stopper at the helm of the skiff and in a hushed tone murmured to the skiff. "Back to the Ptarmigan, now. I'll signal when I need you." He leapt out of the skiff towards the Shadow's sails, aiming completely clear of the rigging, not wanting to get tangled up in unfamiliar ropes. He went flailing through midair, seemingly on a collision course with the mast, but at the last moment, slapped out his hands, sliding the length of the nearest sail, kicking off the cross beam of the mast and falling to the deck into a tucked roll, only to spring up onto his feet again as if nothing had happened. He tapped one boot against the wooden planks of the deck and made a grunt of sound under his breath, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Wood, is it? You lot terribly wealthy then?" He asked over his shoulder to the man who had greeted him. And turning, he added with a characteristic shrug, "Most call me Black Jack Finnegan, gent. And yer jots or titles?"

The crew scrambled as the man flung himself into the air and missed the rigging, a few even running to spread a spare sail patch in the hopes of catching the mad man. Was he trying to kill himself!? The one who'd been in the rigging only whistled lowly when Black Jack hit the deck and stood, shaking his head in disbelief, "You're either mad or a thrill seeker, or both." Stepping forward, he blinked at the unexpected question then looked at Jack sideways, "And... what else are we supposed to build out of? We ain't got no metal monstrosities like your floating ship there, friend. Serpent's Bone and the like are for other things." Shaking his head in disbelief, he really wasn't too sure what to think of this stranger. "Well met, I think. I'm Commander Kolthas." Touching his shoulder knot, he arched a brow at Jack, "Maybe Captain Viira can sort you out..." With that, he turned away and the Shadow arched back towards the Storm Seed, heading straight for the line formation of guard ships.

As they drew nearer, the guards made way and allowed the small vessel through to tie up on the Lower Docks, a series of tiered platforms built into the side of the city ship that allowed the smaller ships to dock for supply and crew exchanges. When they arrived, a line was cast and the ship quickly moored, "This way." Walking out along gangplanks suspended several feet above the water, Kolthas looked up at the majesty that was his home. It towered over them and inspired confidence in the returning Shadow crew. Hitting the ladder that brought them up a level soon deposited them in an open area encrusted with salt from countless waves, on which stood a small gathering of people in fine dress and serious expressions. One, a girl of less then twenty, stood beside an older woman and her eyes were blue as the ocean depths, gaze both focused and distant at the same time. The other woman, however, had a far sharper gaze that fixed on the newcomer as soon as he appeared. "I hear you're lost, sailor." She arched a brow, the quirk of her lips amused despite the seriousness in her gaze.

"Commander..." Jack muttered to himself, shaking his head. This better not be a military vessel, all salutes and yes'ms... He made a sour face and slouched back into his hips, his legs bowing beneath him as the ship lurched across the waves, jostling and slapping. "S'like riding through a debris field, ain't it?" He asked of no one in particular, his stormy grey eyes fixed on the approaching bulk of the Storm Seed. He followed along with the ladders and docks, glancing around, keeping close track of his path through this massive ship. It had been very long indeed - some two-hundred years - since he'd last been on a ship this big, mind you it had been in the depths of aether, and he had been young and foolish then, in the military himself... He sighed deeply and came out on the dock where a gathering awaited him. They certainly looked military. His shoulders and hopes sagged. His glance flitted over each of the faces gathered and finally settled on the woman who addressed him. "Captain Viira, I presume..." He murmured, nodding his head to her. "Lost is a bit strong, off-course is more like it. I need to recalibrate my navigation instruments. They got a bit scrambled from the film-storm, you understand. I'll be out o' yer hair as soon as 'm able."

"No, I think lost suits perfectly well." She replied, stepping forward to greet him, "The likes of your ship hasn't been seen before. Where are you from? And what, praytell, is a film-storm?" She pursed her lips, noting his discomfort, and chuckled, guessing at the cause. She chuckled, "Relax. This is no gunship extraordinaire, stranger. You stand aboard my Storm Seed - I presume the Commander's given you some information already? Come. Let's speak in more comfortable quarters. We have much to talk about." She dismissed all but the Shaper and two of her Commanders then gestured for Jack walk beside her. Reflexively she walked on with him on the opposite side of the ruined side of her face, strolling at a nonchalant pace as she left the silence for Jack to fill.

Jack blinked at her when she told him to relax. "If I were any more relaxed, I'd be dead." He replied in a grunt. "As I told yer...uh, yer Commander, I'm a citizen of the Spheran Empire, of Terrene. And if you aren't Hovarthians, then that leaves me to conclude I've left Terrene far behind." He sighed, and shrugged again, hands still in his pockets. "A Film-storm. Some people don't believe in 'em, where I'm from. But I've been through 'em a few times now, and I can't help but have faith in that which tries to kill me." He rocked on his feet, and then fell into stride with her, an ungainly gait, but not dissimilar to her own sailor's bow-legged gaits. "As much as I can sum it up, a Film-storm's like... electricity where the seams of the universes meet. There ain't much learnin' on 'em, that I know of." He fell silent then, waiting for her to arrive at the 'comfortable quarters' she mentioned, and hoping vaguely that they didn't involve a brig cell.

Her pace slowed a little as Jack explained Film-storms then stopped complete and gave him a funny look, "Now, while I don't claim knowledge of all things mystic, I find it difficult to believe what you're saying, I'm afraid. I don't know about you but there are no universes seams here. There is no Spheran Empire on the Continent, and unless the Emperor of Ni'hilr has finally gone insane, I doubt there will be." She smiled, "I agree, You're no where near this Terrene." They turned a corner that opened up onto a vast open space of greenery all grown in table-top gardens as deep as her waist. Those they passed saluted her and a moment later they were climbing a ramp up into the living corridors where more and more people of all ages bustled. It had the feel of a city despite the wooden walls and gently swaying lanterns that dotted the wide passages. Eventually the stepped out in the Commons - a cut out in the decks three levels deep and covered in an outdoor garden complete with a saltwater pond full of decorative fish. "Come." She murmured, gesturing for him to follow her as they ducked into a room on the lowest level of the Commons. She stopped before the broad windows, hands at her sides and waited for everyone to settle before taking her own seat. However, she didn't sit in it properly and turned it backwards so she could lean against the backrest as she watched Jack with a look of curiosity, "Tell me how you get your ship to levitate."

"That proves it then, don't it?" Jack replied, halting with her and giving her a hooded stare. "If there ain't the Spheran Empire here, than It's wherever I'm from, yeah? And from my experience - and no disrespect, ma'am, but it's more'n yours - anywhere there's a world, there's a universe, and anywhere there's a universe, there's a place it folds up - the Film." Jack shrugged again. "But my goal here ain't to educate anyone. I'm no scholar or sage, and I'd prolly get it mostly wrong if I did try, anyway, or so the Mystics would say..." He trailed off with a grunt and shrug, and barely managed to stop himself from spitting. He followed again, eyeing the gardens and fish pond with open interest. Finally, they arrived in the "comfortable quarters" and the Captain sat down. Though he wasn't invited to, Jack scuttled to a stool closer to him by hooking a boot toe around it and collapsed onto it in the same moment it landed beneath the place his rump was aiming for. His posture looked like that of an insolent boy, boots rocking on their toes, knees bent around the legs of the stool, both hands braced over the edge on the seat between his legs, shoulders hunched, neck jutted forward like a vulture. The question came then, and at first Jack didn't answer. He looked hard at the captain's face, then turned and arched a brow at the other elect few she'd chosen to bring along. "Whot?" He answered, snorted and then let out a wheezing chortle of a laugh. "You lot really ain't got Air Ships, nor Aether Ships, and naught?" He chortled again and shook his head, eyebrows pinched into a twisted line of disbelief. "Whot a sloppy lot this is, Jack m'boy... 'Tis the end of that thing, now, swear it!"

Her expression soured at that laughter and she sat up straighter, "Are you implying my ship is somehow lacking, good sir? There are no 'air ships' or 'aether ships'. We Korinthians rule the seas and I can say with some authority there are no levitating ships either. What magic do you use? Is it a Shaper? Or some cursed Landborne Mage?" She'd pursed her lips, at a loss as to what to make of this Black Jack. "I'm not interested in having you insult my ship or my crew, Jack..." There was an edge to her voice as she took offense to his words, the feeling that he was totally unconcerned with things hard to ignore. "I ask again. How do you get your ship to levitate - and stop with the nonsense of Universes and non-existent empires." She had half a mind to label him insane, and let out an exasperated sigh.

Jack fell silent, casting her a sly, side-long glance. "You don't need magic to make a ship float, ma'am. Unless you consider the works of science and alchemy a magic, which I don't. The Mystics have arts of the world, and of the Aether Dust, and that you need to make a Gravitation Core and Levy Sphere, and a Levitation Core." He paused and shrugged elaborately before settling again. "Sea ships ain't lacking - 'cept in them parts just listed." Jack replied soberly. "We got sea ships too, on Terrene, mark me. And they do a mighty fine job when it comes to waters. Air ships take the land and skies, and Aether leaves the planet behind." He paused at that and scratched at his cheek. "You want me to say nothing about universes and worlds, Cap'n then you'll not be getting the answers to the questions you're puttin t'me, because the one comes with the other." He didn't apologize, but from the tone of his voice, it was clear he was surprised at the offense they'd taken. Honestly, taking offense about something they knew nothing about! He had a mind to consider them lucky that they didn't have galavanters floating about the bloody planet, but he didn't think they'd take kindly to his sentiments, so he kept them to himself. It was half-relieving and half-infuriating that they had no idea who he was. Sorta nice to not be instantly attacked for the voicing of his name, but also disappointing no one was slack-jawed with awe and fear. "I've given no insult, that I can see, but I'm half-inclined to take your slander to my Empire as such. There ain't no need for this to get ugly, unless we got a previous score to settle, and on my slates, there are none. I give you answers, that's my lot. You decide whot you wan' do with 'em." His posture was still as hunched as before, but his fidgeting has stopped and he was rigidly coiled where he sat, making ready for what was to come.

Her face pinched into an expression of concentration as she tried to understand what he was talking about. After a moment she drummed her fingers against the side of her face, "You're meaning to say you are truly not from here? And by here, I mean neither the Oceans nor the Continent? And you use magics and strange alchemy to keep your shift aloft, beyond the world?" She smoothed her hair back and she eyed him, "And this Terrene is in another... world? Apologies, sailor, but there's nothing like that in this world. There are whispers of great alchemists and mad theorists on the continent but I do not think they would consider you friend or ally. Your ship, your very presence, is an enigma." She stopped then and glanced at her companions, "Leave us. Tell Merkesh I want the fleet kept far from prying eyes. If you can, lash the flying ship to Storm Seed to keep her near as we move." Her gaze flicked to Jack then, one brow arched, "I can assure you, stranger, that you don't want to go near the continent right now... not with those stories and that ship." She tilted her head for a moment, hair tumbling away to reveal the burns that marred her face once the room had been vacated, "You speak in words that might as well be riddles, my friend. I'm afraid you find yourself amongst a people that knows only the bounty and the fickle moods of the sea, not one that aspires to leaving the world in metal boats. I do not want trouble either, be it among my crew or with the continent itself. I was told you wished to see our charts? If I give you access to resources, how long will it be before you are gone?" She paused then, smiling, "Of course, I expect a trade of information in return. Information I can use, mind you, not tales of parts unknown."

Jack somehow produced a flask from one pant pocket that could not possibly have fit in his pants and tipped it to her in salute and agreement and took a drink. He sat there, licking his lips as the other people left the room until it was just him and the Captain. "I have no intention of stayin' Cap'n. As I had no intention of comin' in the first place. The Aether Tides took me here, and I guarantee the Great Leveller will hold it against me when I get home. He doesn't take kindly to this sort of thing - whether it was my will or no." Jack paused and listened as she spoke again. "Charts yeah," Jack replied offering the flask across to her. "I just need to recalibrate my Navigation Core so she knows which way to thrust. As fer how long...." Jack chewed at a thumb nail and squinted towards the ceiling. "I'd have to check m'Levy Sphere. I'm not sure how much Aether the ship burned in coming here. If I have enough, I can leave right away, if not... I'm gonna have to recharge 'em." He paused, then shrugging, took a leap. "If the Round Coin brought me here, there's a source of Leyline that's powerful enough to break the Film, if I can find it, I should be good for a trip back." He sat back, rocking the stool onto its back legs precariously. "Well, information I've got, but I dunno how it'll help you when you can't exactly use it."

With that settled, she relaxed some, and gave one final comment, "I do warn you, however, cause trouble and I will not hesitate to have you keel-hauled. Now. I find it hard to believe you’re from a place beyond the stars. What's it like?" She eyed his flask then took and sniffed it, "What's this?" Viira blinked at a term she was all too familiar with, "Leyline? As in... paths of power flowing from one node to the next?" She was all ears at that, flask forgotten as she congratulated herself on not being totally uneducated in extra-world things. "There are Leylines everywhere here... most aren't very powerful and most intersect on the Continent, however. I think we have charts of the Leylines' last know locations somewhere in the Vaults. They tend to shift around, frustrates the Shapers to no end." She huffed and took a swig of the flask before she realized what she was doing and coughed on the liquid. Clearing her throat, she rasped a reply, "Knowledge is a powerful tool, surely that's something you know. Concepts, actions... things we can use. I'm certain you have a few we might be able to make use of." Finally recovering, she smiled. It was a bright one and her eyes flashed with intelligence, "Besides, I love a good challenge."

Jack tilted the flask as if looking into it. "Uhhh...something my ship makes, I guess. It's a bit sweet, but tasty." He offered it again, a bit unconsciously. He slapped a hand against his knee, finally they were getting somewhere! "Yes! Leylines, exactl-- Wait, whot? You have Leylines in the -planet-??" He asked, aghast. "How does the bloody rock not explode?" He looked down at the deck a little mistrustfully. "No mystic wonder the cursed Round Coin brought me here...." He puffed up his cheeks and shook his head. "I can confidently say, you show me them Leyline charts, and I'll be gone fast as you can blink. I'm only hopin' the Good Ship Ptarmigan can handle that much locked power." He shook his head again and the stool wobbled precariously on it's teetering back legs. "Leylines, they tend to shift, yeah, but there's a science to it. I have instruments on board that track that sort o' thing. It's too cursed dangerous to sail an Aether Ship blind o' that knowledge." He watched her with a hooded glance again and swigged from the flask again, before offering it back to her for another drink. "My concepts, my actions, they aren't none too popular back home, ma'am..." He paused and visibly rethought that sentence. "Er, or maybe too popular to the wrong people? I got m'Mark of Eight coz of the stuff I act on. Fair warning, I think, before you go askin' Black Jack's accursed knowledge."

"Ah, yes? The stronger ones tend to make their homes within the ground and their presence suffuses the area with magic and energy... at least that's how I understand it. Our Shaper knows more, she follows their trails." She pursed her lips, confused, "'Less you can predict the whim of a Leyline, I doubt there's a science to it. They're notoriously hard to track down..." She shrugged, "I'll let you in on something, since you're not from around here. The Korinth have no home on the Continent for a reason. We're not too popular excep twith our own people. A treasure hunter, a pirate, a trader, whatever... I've seen, dealt with, and dined with all sorts. Everyone's got a reason and the popular opinion isn't always the right one. What's a Mark of Eight?" She asked, caught again on an unfamiliar term.

"Ah, not that hard..." Jack grinned. "I can't give it to yah, but I've still got the blueprints 'round on the ship somewhere, if you want the plans to my Levy Sphere? It might help you folk with the tracking down of Leylines? Is that fair trade?" He listened nonchalantly as she voiced their unpopularity and waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not too popular with at least two different races on Terrene, and often climbing under the Ol' Leveller's skin. I know what it's like to have to fight for the right o' some space to breathe in, to run when the enemy points too many guns, and to hide when they've got a mind to find you where you don't wanna be found. Some things ain't too different, i tell ya." He shrugged and let the stool settle on all four legs again. "Mn? Oh, I take it, you ain't an aura reader? A Mark o' Eight is this..." He untied the black ribbon around his throat and unfolded the two halves of the cream linen that covered his chest and torso. There, swirling and pulsing in his flesh like a hellish light was a mass of black like a hole in the fabric of the man before her. In the centre of the mess of it was a steady, albeit pulsing, figure-eight.

“Blueprints would be fair," She nodded, "If, along with that, how to make the parts was also included in the deal. If you're breathing the same air and speaking the same language, I think the base components are similar as well." She leaned forward when he spoke of aura readers and shook her head, "No. I don't have a lick of the mystic about me. I'm good with a sword and ship, but that's about it." Viira replied, though her words were cut short when Jack revealed his mark, "Oh! That's.... ah... does it hurt? It looks like it has to." She curled her lip in a look of macabre fascination, tilting the chair forward enough that she might reach out. "Somebody did that to you?" Shaking her head, the Captain sighed, "That's an ugly mark, friend." There was no insult in her words, however, just more of a naive sort of sympathy for something she didn't understand. Brands she understood well enough, burns too, and even the searing of magic cast but that was something different. "I bet there's a story or twelve behind that one." Viira settled back then, the legs of the chair clunking against the wood of the floor, "I suppose I should formerly welcome you aboard. Are you alone, or is there crew on your ship?" She wondered if that was something they'd need to worry about. One man she could allow safe passage for but welcome an entirely alien crew would neither be wise nor appreciated.

Jack made a thoughtful face. "I don't know how helpful my notes will be. I'm no mechanic or inventor. I can try, but I think the man who can best help you with that is one I have no command over, and I doubt you could match his pay." Jack let go of his shirt, but the flickering mark was still visible through the folds. "Aye, it hurts. With every breath and every minute of life." He replied, his voice low and with a queer tone to it. He blinked and nodded. "The Great Leveller did it to me, punishment for the lives sacrificed during the First Galaxy War." He sighed and shook his head. "I was young and stupid then, can honestly say I wouldn't have repeated the action now that I've had time to think about it, but the Great Leveller doesn't lay his curses lightly. This one I'm stuck with, even after all the sands of time run out and the universe folds up for good." He was glad for the distracting question. "Crew? The Good Ship Ptarmigan is my crew, but she'll be fine on her own out there, so long as she has fuel before a month is out."

"Or have interest in searching out another world traveller," she replied with a laugh, "You speak of events and constructs not seen here. It's difficult enough following you, let alone an inventor from your world." She fell quiet as he explained his mark and frowned, understanding the burden of lives if not the circumstance around which he obtained the mark. "Combat takes a heavy toll and a good leader bears the guilt of lives lost most heavily of all. Aah, so your ship functions without a crew to man it?" The idea was utterly absurd to Viira. It took many men to keep this ship afloat and moving... what kind of devices eliminated the need for men? "Fuel? What sort?"

"The Brass Duke isn't a world traveller - or at least, not extra-planetary. He runs about in his damned Collosus Golem, but doesn't have an Aether ship, so far as I know. He's not done seducing all of the eligible Terrene citizens." Jack snorted and shook his head. "But he's a genius, built some of the part in the Ptarmigan with his own hands. Cost a pretty fortune, too..." He shrugged dismissively y as she tried to understand the breadth of the loss of the First Galaxy War. But no one could - no mortal creature, for no one was left alive who had fought in it. She was trying, but it wasn't for Jack to accept. "Er," He replied, a little awkwardly. "She wouldn't run without crew, for sure...She just...is her own crew. The words won't mean nothin' to you here, but she's a treasure, some call her The Ship of Dreams." Jack replied with a measure of pride and love in his voice.

Authors: Teresa & Astra