Open Catch a Ride: South Ilica, Harbor Village of Cisne

[Param]

​

---

"What, you want want three coppers for a lump of steamed dough?" the gold eyed Deva cocked his head to the right, eyes narrowed to accusatory points.

The local vendor glared back, sweet smelling steam wafting about him, as bamboo baskets sat atop trails of hot vapor that boiled up from a shroud-stone cookfire. "Did I stutter?" He held the lid of a half opened basket in one hand. Fanned it as the plump little morsels glistened inside, skin stretched to the point of bursting.

The Deva clicked his teeth. Shook his head. "No, no. No stutter," the Deva dismissed with a wave of his hand. Huffed through his nose as his tail swished, and he shift his weight. Shoved his hand into the slip of his robe. "Just know when I'm getting robbed is all,"

A shark's grin spread across the vendor's lips. "Robbed?"

"Well, I didn't stutter, did I?" he said, fishing out the coins. with a clink. Showed six in his palm.

The vendor muttered beneath his breath, plucked up the dumplings one by one, and set them onto a steamed leaf that rest nearby.

An exchange. Coin for dumplings.

"Thank you for your patron-" the Vendor said through gritted teeth.

"I want four," the deva said flatly.

"What?" The vendor said stunned.

"Four dough balls for six coins,"

"Dough balls? These aren't dough balls!"

The Deva blew a raspberry. "How do I know that?"

"They are dumplings! don't you see them?! They are stuffed with shrimp, and green onions, the seven spices, I hand rolled them this morning you ungrateful-"

"Look," he cut in again. "I'm a sailor, savvy? Been to every port from here to Seluca, and I ain't eaten too many dumplings worth three copper a pop,"

A growl from the Vendor as he snatched up the dumplings he had so tenderly set. "Fine, don't have my dumplings! See if I give a damn!"

A little laugh from the back of the Deva's throat. A sharp tooth poked over the brim of his lip, and his tail swished from side to side. "Hey now," he said with his eyes full of a mischievous light. "I'm over here, trying to help you out, pal,"

"I'm not your pal," the vendor corrected.

The Deva nod, and fanned the worry away with a gentle, push-push of his clawed fingers. "No, course not, I'm just a sailor, passing through," his smile was still on his lips, and he nod to the other vendors, busier with lines of sea-folk waiting about. "Like them over there,"

The dumpling vendor clicked his teeth. "Their dumplings aren't worth the dough they are made with!" he exclaimed.

The Deva gave another nod. Slower, more understanding. "And look, I believe you, really, I do," he assured. Cut the air as he pointed to their signage. "A copper a piece though, is a mighty fine deal,"

The vendor stared, a moment too long as the trails of steam swirled quick beneath him. "Business... has been tough," he admitted.

The Deva nod along. Jaw moving as they worked something, whilst he held back tears in his eyes. "Mhmm," he sounded. Gulped. "And I feel for you, I do,"

The vendor blinked. "You do?"

"Course I do, see, nothing a sailor wants more than a warm meal to stick to his bones, savvy?" He grinned. Quirked his brow. Shook his head. "Well, little else, I should say, really," he laughed small. Shook his head. Nod. Pointed a sticky finger at the vendor. "But look here, your success, is my success, you heard?"

A cock back of the vendor's head. "I heard?"

The Deva smacked his fist into his own palm. "Aye! If you keep in business, well, that means one more port for me to find, come the storm, aye?"

The vendor blinked.

The Deva grinned wider. Eyes wild. "Aye?!"

"Uh, Aye, aye!"

The Deva clapped his hands with a yip. "That's the spirit!"

The Vendor shakily put the leaf laden with dumplings down. Took his chopsticks, and grabbed up another. "Suppose, Three copper for two, does have a nice sound to it," he said with a smile.

"Sure as gull-shit does," the Deva chimed.

The Vendor nod. Handed him the four dumplings, steaming and fat bellied. Pink meat inside shining rosier against the deep green of leaf. "Well, six copper then, for six," he said with a nod.

"Six copper," the Deva agreed, and slapped them onto the stall's counter.

"Param!" a hoarse voice cut across the dockyard, sure strides sounded against the stone of the street.

"Oh shit," Param, the Deva, said as he snatched up the food, and half ducked, hairs on his head, along his arm, and across his tail sprouting wide. He turned, but bumped right into a stout shouldered grey-beard.

"You ain't over here harassing the locals none, are you boy?" The storm-eyed hume grumbled.

Param laughed nervously. "Me? No Mister Cormherr, never would dream of it," he looked down at his dumplings. Two sadder and more deflated, his bright orange robe stained with the juices that had popped from inside.

"And my name's Sally," he said low as distant storm. He plucked a silver, and slapped it on the counter of the cart. "For your troubles, ser," he assured the vendor.

The vendor stared wide eyed at the coin. Blinked, and snatched it up.

"Come on boy," Cromherr ordered. "Captain's said Holtu's spice caravan's delayed. Our Client's paid the premium to avoid further delay, so we're takin the Narcisca to scout,"

Param was busy trying to get the grease out of his robe. "Right, right," he assured. Followed in step. "Right behind you," he said as he frowned. Plucked up one of the deflated dumplings with the point of his claws. Gave a huff, and popped it into his mouth.

 

[Etoile]

Etoile had been busy staring at the sky, which no longer made the crew uncomfortable but wasn't so common that they had cast aside their mockery of her. She couldn't hear their snide remarks about being a weathervane and hardly noticed their shoving cups at her with wet tea leaves at the bottom. As long as they didn't try to shield her eyes from the sky, they felt like nothing more than a fly buzzing around her ears; annoying at times but easily ignored, especially when she was trying to decipher a message. However, the language of stars was not easy to know, and some stars had weak conversational skills that lacked the power to reach the sea.

So, while the stars were hidden, Etoile watched how the birds spun and angled in the pale sky instead. She had a large, white, fluffy bun in her hand with only a tiny bite that had yet to reach the filling taken out of it. Some birds arced, others lazily floated along a powerful wind current, but none of the birds moved in uniform patterns. Etoile knew that some birds received messages from the stars that were not meant for them. It often messed with their heads for a day or two if they flew too high up into the night sky, but the message never lingered long.

If only she could get closer to the sky herself, surely she could hear the warning in the sky. Something was coming, but whether it was good or bad had yet to be decided. She was jolted out of her trance when a broad back moved into her line of sight. She blinked, dazed and confused, panic swelling in her gut as her hand crushed the steamed bun in her hand. Where was she? What was going on? Wide gray eyes darted frantically, taking in blurry images of people and food stalls covered in steam.

Noise invaded her entire being. A conversation about being robbed. A conversation about the sweetness of the dough. There was a conversation about there not being any vinegar left. Someone was out of the pork dumplings. There was too much chive in this. Spicy, bastard gave them something spicy. The seafood wasn't fresh, and they could taste it. There was talk of some dolt just standing in the middle of the road and not getting out of the way, and so a line had to be snaked around her-- oh.

Etoile stepped out of the way, colliding with a person made of bamboo and wearing a robe smelling of savory salt.

"Oh." She stopped clutching her lunch so tightly that a reddish-brown filling burst from the bun and slowly slid down to her fingers. She brought it up to her lips and began to lick the filling before her fingers could get messy. She began to follow after the pair, remembering now where she was, what she was doing, and where she was going. "Param. What are you eating?"

@Param

 

[Param]

A smack and a jolt saw the last surviving dumplings tilt and shift amidst the palm of Param's hand. They threatened to roll off. His eyes went wide, his breath hitched and all the hairs along his neck, down to his tail stood tall as they could. Zip zap swoop, his hand counteracted.

The dumplings stilled.

Param let out a sigh of relief. Blinked. Saw Etoile there in front of him. Blinked again. Looked down at his dumplings. "Shrimp dumplings," he said. Most of the little morsels still in tact. Sacks full of their succulent soup. "Want some?" he asked, already pinching up one of the deflated two. He thought better of it, and offered her a full one instead.

Cromherr cleared his throat loud enough for the two to hear. "Tempestari," he said with a ring of respect. "We have business to conduct. If you would like to remain on the-"

"Come on, Toli," Param said with a big grin. "We'll need your sight if we want this to go well," he popped the last of the sad dumplings into his mouth, and handed the rest over to her before he ran off to the Dockyard.

Cromherr's eyes narrowed as a he pushed out a long breath through flared nostrils.

---

On the docks, the crew of the Narcisca made ready. It's wooden hull aloft, lift balloons full with shroud-heated air. Binds and knots undone. Rigging labored over to make ready to set to the sky.

Captain Feng stood at the helm, her keen eyes scanned across the deck, her hands prim behind her back.

"Make ready to take off!" Cromherr shouted over the din of work, grunts, and shouts grew louder as his boots thunked up the gangplank.
"Pilot!" A long beaked Corvodii gleamed from beside the captain. "To your post!"

Param went wide eyed, hustled double time up the gangplank. "Yes Mister Aktan! Right away!" Near bulled over Mister Cromherr. "Oop, oh, sorry Mister Crom-" he said, and grabbed the man back.

"Weathervane," the captain spoke to Etoile, voice clear as the wind across the deck. "You keep your witchcraft in check," she turned towards the pumping machinery that hummed with the harmony of shroudstones at work.

Param's eyes widened as he took his place behind the helm-wheel. His eyes looked to Etoile, frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Weigh anchor!" the captain called out.

"Weigh anchor!" Aktan said.

"Weighing anchor!" Mister Cromherr replied.

Inch by inch. Foot by foot. The Narcisca rose from the docks. Param eased his weight onto the great wheel of the ship. Felt his toes splay wider across the planks of the deck. Worries wiped clear from his mind as the air-ship took to the wind.

"Set balloons to lift!"

"Setting balloons to lift!"

The ropes shift, the hull rocked, easy as the ship rose and turned all the same, as a flagman signaled to the dock. A flash of oranges and greens.

Art by Jourdan Tuffan

@Etoile ​

 

[Volter]

At long last the shouts marking departure graced the air. The deck became more alive than he’d yet seen it, a couple men nigh colliding with one another in the rush, making himself rather thankful he was an expert at staying out of people’s way. And their minds, if he wanted to.

Silent and perfectly still in his seat, he watched past his spectacles as a young man hurried along and up the stair to the helm, seizing it. His eye fell on the Captain in turn therein, met it even — her stare was cold fire, no doubt out of disapproval that he would’ve remained on deck despite usual conduct. Passengers below, at least for lift off.

He’d denied need for such a thing and continued on lounging, with his ledger open in the self-important manner of a man who’d trained in it for nigh three decades, royally unbudging. By the look of her, had it been any other day, she would’ve fought him on it. On principle. And he figured she’d won had it come to that, but— alas and alack.

The ledger snapped closed, loose leaves of silverpoint notes flattened betwixt pages upon pages of work he’d been pretending to do. There were numbers yet, for sure, but something else— An idea, had caught him. Perhaps a little drama. Strands of dialogue about the skies and seas and the similarities therein. Or was it just a couple thoughts, floating or flapping in the wind, unhinged.

He held onto the side of the vessel as it begun upwards, without any sort of initial lurch. That was rare, to his experience, but terribly pleasant. Perhaps this busywork, accompanying the ship to provide his personal record as for his associate’s missing investment, wasn’t to be wholly unpleasant after all. What was more, there was supposed to be a Tempestarii aboard, one that the Captain had so helpfully pointed out upon their arrival. He had to admit she looked— Rather weary, even from all the way over here where he’d tucked himself away to.

With the view holding very little interest for how many times it’d been glanced upon, he kept his regard on the crew, with the insufferably dignified air of someone that had much expected something greater.

@Param @Etoile

 

[Etoile]

Etoile was no stranger to being handed food by others, and when it was someone like Param, at times she almost expected it. Though the thought of sharing her bun with him did occur, her thoughts were quickly thwarted by Cromherr. His voice always managed to stay in her head, which diluted the whispers. She followed after him, gingerly holding onto the shrimp dumpling between her thumb and forefinger, as if it might explode and splatter juice all over her pale face. Her heart swelled, greater and greater was the thrum of her blood in her veins as she neared the ship.

Soon, she thought, a sly smile forming, soon I’ll be close to you.

---

Somehow, she was too close to Captain Feng, and somehow, she was still holding the shrimp dumpling between her fingers. The skin now look dried and stiff, no longer glistening a sheen of jiggling, youthful steam to bolster it’s appearance. She had to finish her bun first, a habit that no one had been able to break from Etoile of eating one thing at time, and by the time she had finished her first food of choice, the business of the ship had overcome her.

Though Etoile had training, it was best for her to step aside. Intuition guided her instead of millennial wisdom, which all at once frustrated and befuddled the pilots she tried to help. Uncanny and uncouth in her ways, Etoile had found her way to the helm and Captain Feng. She had very much kept her magics in check, at least she thought so. Only twice this year had she accidentally brought the winds to go against the ship’s sails, and only once had she dropped a dwarven compass into the sea. The latter was the real shame.

Etoile tipped her head back, opening her mouth to then drop the shrimp dumpling into her mouth. Though it had gone cold, the shrimp was still sweet. Very sweet. It must have been fresh, and cooked with a masterful nose. She chewed slowly, savoring it, until she heard a whisper.

‘Little pictures have big ears.’ She turned, catching sight of the spectacled man, and the first initial jolt of take off. She didn’t stagger or falter, her balance adjusting so that only her hair moved in response to the push and pull of the air. It ebbed around her face, like waves lapping against the white shore at midnight, framing her bone structure before flying right out before her in a sea of ink.

“Oh,” she said once she had swallowed after chewing her food into such a fine mash she could have served it to a baby puffin without fear of it choking. “Our skies might not be clear in the future.” And there it was, another prophecy, more vague than a politician when asked a hard question.

@Volter @Param

 

[Param]

Clawed toes splayed against the grain of the wooden deck planks. Hands firm about the steering gear, and eyes wide on the horizon as furred tail swished lazy to twitch fast and frantic.

"Oh?" some part of his mind had registered. The sound like the first drop of rain to kiss upon the skin. A grin spread wide across his face. "A bit of bump and jostle then?" A click of sharp teeth. "Easy,"

Captain Feng narrowed her eyes and cut her gaze towards the deva. "I hope this is not misplaced confidence, pilot,"

Param's tail shot out, bolt straight, and his spine stacked to follow. "N-no Ma'm, course not! I-" a rough shift in the Narcisca had some sailors wobble and woah. Param sucked in a breath, eased the wheel to account for the gust.

"Mouth shut, eyes forward, pilot!" the Corvodii crewman snapped. His beak cut through the wind, and his feathers stirred with the atmospheric currents. "Speed, efficiency, no unnecessary risks or heroics, understood?"

"Aye-aye Mister Aktan!" Param said with a little stomp of his left foot, before he bent to the wheel work.

Mister Aktan gave a sharp nod, and proceeded to strut down to the main deck to oversee the work. The crew busy with the ties. Harvesting long spools of rope which dangled down the sides of the rising airship.

The Captain remained at the aftcastle as the ship sailed clear into the sky above the town of Cisne, high as the gull calls and steady as a bright cloud. The world smaller and farther away below them with each breath that passed and each beat that pumped.


"Mister Volter," Firstmate Aktan said as he came to sharp taloned stop before the older gentleman. "We fly towards unknown conditions," the corvodii's long beak flicked sharp to point left. His onyx colored eye gleamed as it took in the playwright. Blinked white lidded. Opened all the wider "You will take shelter below decks, should trouble find us," beak flicked to point forward, and his whole spine stretched up as he stared down at the opulent passenger. "Have I made myself clear?" A shudder of fluffed neck feathers.

 

[Volter]

“ Mister Aktan. “ He greeted politely, a professional, deadpan detachment about him as he eyed the approaching corvodii. The expression quickly melted into a faint smile as the first mate spoke, laying down the law in a manner that to him appeared— well, not so much outright ruffled as understandably irked.

Non-negotiable, hmh?

“ Believe you me, Mr Aktan, if any trouble actually do find us— “ He glanced at the fast passing aerospace, unbothered. “ I’ll be the first one to scramble out of it’s way. Not exactly the image of a fighting man, am I? No, wait— “ He rose a hand, swifty.

“ Don’t answer that. But while we are on the topic— “ His head tilted, tone cordial and almost sincerely curious, if greatly offset by how knowingly pedantic it was.

“ What do you imagine constitutes as trouble. Turbulence, a cumulonimbus, pirates— something less likely? “ Yourself throwing me overboard isn’t entirely beyond possibility either, is it? He blinked, smiling all the more pleasantly.

“ Or would you rather let me know personally in the moment, as it’s happening? Keep me on my toes a little. “

All in good fun.

 

[Etoile]

The wind blew back her inky hair every which way, stray tendrils swirling up above her head until one gust blew a reasonable length of hair to obscure her eyes. It didn't matter if, for that moment, she saw little through lines of black, for as they rose higher and higher, she heard the starry siren song falling onto her. She shivered delightedly, gooseflesh appearing on bare skin as the overlaying melodies warbled dissonantly. If she had tried to focus on the messages now, she'd have received a migraine for her efforts. Little sense could be made, and to whether what trouble was to come, Etoile would not be able to say.

Not that anyone in charge asked her what would happen, most likely understanding by now that such prophecies were saturated with words that held little meaning as clues were far and few between. When Param had steadied the ship, Etoile had a momentary reprieve to unwrap the hair around and over her face. She should have tied her hair back, but she always forgot that part until it was too late. Now her hair was so tangled that tying it into a braid would have been silly.

Etoile tilted her head back up to the sky, breathing in deeply. Her hair flowed behind her, no longer fighting the rhythm of the ship.

"Param. Where are we going again? I forgot what we are doing again."

 

[Param]

"Going?" Param asked absently. His hands so firm about the ship wheel's spokes, his feet so firm upon the deck planks, he could hear little over rush of the wind, and feel less than the thrum of the ship, come coursing through his bones. Still, the pilot hummed. Etoile's voice, small as it could be, clear in his ear through all the rest. "Out, I think," he said, simple as could be.

Captain Feng gave a smile. Sharp as pairing knife. "North and west, weathervane," she gave. "To search for our client's cargo," she craned her head to regard the span of land below them. The slow roll of the buildings and homes as the town waned and the country began. Green and golden, dotted with patches of dark canopied trees. "With luck, we'll find them stuck in a rut, with not but a broken wheel," she went on. Looked to the clouds and how they shaped themselves. "Suppose your portents say otherwise though," she thought aloud.

Param nod as he toe tapped. "There, ya see?" he said with a fool's smile. "That's where we are going," he eased the great wheel some, and the ship gave a gentle groan as it turned with the breeze. Its sail's the fuller, and its wheels the faster.

On deck, Mister Aktan looked down his sharp beak at the plump berry of a man who sat before him. "Your safety aboard the Narcisa is of no small matter to us, Mister Volter," he stressed. "Any trouble," he said sharply. "Be it pirate, nimbus, or a suspicious shake of the deckboards," his eyes narrowed the more. "And you make for the shelter," a malicious gleam caught in his dark eye. "Don't imagine you'd fare too well in a wind rattle, would you, Mister Volter?" Something like joy there in the darkness of his thoughts. Or was it amusement.

 

[Volter]

“ Why, I’ll be damned if I don’t cause a suspicious shake of the deckboards all by myself already. “ He cut in thoughtfully, look searching the billowing clouds beyond the rigging like he meant to keep an eye for additional man-eating vultures. Yes yes, safety safety — he may have called it a noble concern if only it hadn’t been delivered in such a condescending tone. Though he kept his smile, a petulant sort of defiance descended upon him, temper visible in the tilt of his posture as he propped one elbow on the broadside railing.

Behind the spectacles, two flinty eyes blinked twice at the corvodii’s last remark, a feigned fascination in them. He let it bleed into his tone, which, while genuine in it’s questioning, could’ve suffered not making a caricature out of it.

“ But heavens— A wind rattle? “ He started, brows climbing towards where his hairline definitely used to be decades ago. It’d quarantined itself to posterior pastures so early he barely remembered it having been anywhere else. “ I haven’t the faintest as to what that even means, so I should be all the more glad that you are here to keep a keen eye, Mister Aktan. “

As will I. From there, his look bounced at the quarterdeck, sidelong and with a new kind of curiousity.

“ Your helmsman seems awfully young — figure he’ll keep his head in any which rattle? “ Of the deckboards, wind, or otherwise. “ I’m rather used to seeing greyer heads in that post. “

 

[Etoile]

"Oh, the cargo,"
Etoile mumbled, shoulders deflating from the realization. Of course, they weren't taking her to the stars. It was a silly notion that came about whenever she stepped foot on any ship. She wasn't sure how it came to be or what brought it forth, but it was there, taking up space in her mind like a bad hangover. Not that she had ever had a hangover from alcohol, but once she had been locked away in a supply closet for punishment for a whole night. The stars had kept her up all night, having the opposite effect of what Stormmother desired. Etoile expected that to be like a hangover, thirsting to glimpse the sky like it was water for her soul.

Etoile rubbed her eyes with both hands until tears formed between her eyelids and wet her eyelashes until they became dewy and spikey. The rims of her eyes were red and raw as if she had cried, but the sensation felt good to her nerves. Misty eyes returned to the sky. She had liked Param's answer of 'out' much better. Sometimes, captains could be so grumpy and unaware of the slender threads holding the sky together.

"Is the spectacled bald man the client?"
She pivoted on her heel to point her finger at the one who matched her description.
"Oh, I don't think he is. He doesn't seem very upset. Anyone would be upset if a business had to halt."
Etoile considered to herself, musing aloud before a gust of wind blurred her vision.

For a moment, she was a wolf in a snowy environment, chasing a rabbit. The rabbit was slow, and her jaws snapped around the rabbit's skinny spine. Pain erupted behind her eyes, red and sticky. The wolf keeled over in pain, the rabbit not far from a bloody maw. Red dots are left on the snow, a shape that Etoile should know: a triangle, no, a diamond. There were other dots around it.

Maybe she should have brought her book of asterisms, though she was confident it was the spring or autumn diamond she had seen. She looked back at the spectacled man speaking to Aktan. Her feet moved without thinking about it, but suddenly, she was beside the two men, ignoring them to try peering into the glasses. It was hard to do when she saw a corvidii's reflection and the shape of bottomless pupils.

"Can I borrow those?"
She began reaching for them but halted halfway through.
"Please?"

 

[Param]

"He is a client," the captain corrected. "But no, weathervane, as you say, he is not the client,"

Param frowned at that. "Captain, its not-" Etoile moved away, as if a cloud carried by the wind. Ever laden with the promise of a storm, just behind the gentle curves of white and gold-kissed-by-the sun. Param huffed.

The captain turned her eyes onto him, fixed him a stare. "It is not?"

"She is a Storm Reader, Ma'am, a Tempestarii,"

She smiled. "And you presume I do not know that?"

Param's hands tensed about the wheel. "No ma'am, it is just, well, it's rude is all, down right disrespectful,"

A little laugh fell from Captain Feng's lips. "Respect is earned, Skyman Param," her eyes narrowed. "And when our little Tempestarii, proves she's anything more than a bit of superstition no Shroud Master can account for, then I will address her accordingly, is that understood?"

A growl rumbled behind Param's teeth. His tail flicked left and right. "Yes ma'am, it is understood, ma'am,"

A nod from Captain Feng. "Good," she went on, scanning the horizon.

---

A huff from Mister Aktan. "Param?" hes eyes flit towards the young man, ever on the balls of his feet amidst a bounce to some rhythm only he seemed able to hear. "He pilot's well enough," the first mate managed. "Haven't seen him work through any chop too rough just yet," the old bird's eyes fell back to Mister Volter. "Helmsman Genry is too sick to be trusted behind the wheel," the first mate confessed. "Ate some bad fish back in Veldin," a clawed hand waved it away as he looked to the land below them. "So, we consulted the crew-manifest, and saw this ones credited with piloting over he course of his career," a nod. "Kharsagan, born aboard a ship's deck, the lot of them. Most are superstitious as a letterless fish-hand, but worth their weight in salt aboard anything with a sail" his eyes flit back to Mister Volter.

"Can I borrow those? ...Please?"

Mr. Aktan jerked his head back with a blink.

 

[Volter]

He hummed his sympathies at the tale, so sincere it was almost as if he knew a thing or two about bad fish in Veldin.

“ One man’s misfortune be another’s boon, yet again. “ He added, betwixt being let in on greater detail than he’d expected. Suppose it made sense that the young man should’ve been Kharsagan, at which he merely bobbed his head for want of stifling a remark about pirates. It may have befit his character for the moment, some uptight, unimaginative paperspinner as he liked to act as, but somehow it was a step too far. We all make do, as we do.

“ Superstitious, you say— “ He muttered, a satisfied sort of amusement upon him as he met eyes with the corvodii, his large ears having picked up the Tempestarii’s peculiar approach way before she even spoke. Once she did, way too close for his sense of decorum, he flinched.

Well, now that you said please—

“ No! “ He said firmly, stare indignant. Why on Gods’ green dirt would she require anything from him, let alone right now, just as he’d gotten a sense of perhaps, finally, being on the track of getting the First Mate out of his hair. This damn crew, upon all that is unholy— Despite his curiousity as to what she may have needed his spectacles for, he wasn’t going to relent and actually ask.

“ I do much enjoy the ability to see. What with the many perils Mister Aktan just finished warning me about— “ He gestured at the man, not so much diplomatically as to divert her attention to someone else.

“ I don’t believe it in my best interest to be blind as a bat for a second, let alone two. “

 

[Etoile]

"Perils?" Etoile echoed. Her head tilted to the side, curious like a small bird. She looked at Mister Aktan, studying his face and the feathers close to his beak. Etoile was sure those afterfeathers must feel soft and divine; those pale, wispy, fluffy, downy goodness would be lovely to stroke as she absent-mindedly thought about the skies above. Her thumb pad rubbed against the side of her index finger, and for a moment, she could feel one of Mister Aktan's downy barbs against her skin. She smiled at the Corvodii before returning to the client with the glasses.

"I'll protect you from the perils, then, if you let me borrow them?" She pointed back at his spectacles. "I won't drop them, but even if I were to-- which I won't-- I would guide you to safety. You see," she stretched her arms wide, palms facing the sky. "I am here, and I can bring you alongside me to where I will also be," Etoile finished, showing her teeth with a stretched-out smile. The purple bags beneath her squinting eyes condensed into a thin, dark grin that framed the underside dark lashes.

 

[Param]

Mr Aktan cocked his head at the wind caller. Unsure exactly how she'd gotten the drop on him. He cleared his throat and seemed to almost preen as his feathers flared the wider, and head ticked and tocked left then right then left in a shake of his beak.

"I've not the slightest what she means," he confessed at her mention of safety, and where she would also be. He eyed the playwright. "But do as you will man," he added, and watched on as the land passed them by far bellow.

---

At the helm, whatever dark cloud had gathered over Param began to thin. The creak of the ship. The stir of the wind, and the steady-stream glow of the runes as they lit their way along the tall stacks helped take his mind off things. The feel of the wheel spokes in his hands, the shift of the ship beneath his clawed feet, and the air that rushed across his tail with each moment that passed.

All was a lullaby to him, tell it true. Sweet as the song he could still hear his mother sing, all those nights ago.

"Skyman Param," the captain sounded, her eyes locked on the distant earth. "Broad on the port bow," she motioned toward the direction. "Turn us three hundred and thirty degrees," she stepped closer toward the rail. "Engines at half power, trolling speed!" she called out.

"Engines to half! blades to trolling!" Shroud Master Cromherr called out to the engineer.

"Engines to half!"

The Narcisca's blades cut the slower. The steady twift-twift turned to whop-whop as the engines, old hammer-head models, chugged hard with reduced speed, and the sky-fins at the beams of the ship shift with each degree turned upon the wheel.

Down below, a long trail of wagons looked stalled on the road. All manner of debris spilled out unto the fields there beside.

"Skyman Param!"

"Captain!"

"Maintain elevation, and bring us over that line, slow as we cross!"

"Aye ma'am!"

It neared and neared with each pump and twift of the magi-tech.