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Author Topic: Homecoming  (Read 1380 times)
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« on: April 13, 2017, 03:21:06 am »

An Idea I had.

A new RP? Maybe, if anybody's interested.

Add your own entries here if you like, or perhaps we could start a new RP, sequel, or otherwise, in a new thread. Anybody?

_____________________________________________________________________
Homecoming
"Follow that Damned beast!" the Duty Officer bellowed, as the kraken shot forward, spewing a cloud rarified gas and particulate, the airgoing squid's equivalent of the seaborne variety's ink that they expelled when attempting to escape danger. The noxious, clingy stuff splattered the ship's envelope, bow, and the prow of the gunboat section, befouling the bridge's bay windows until the anti-smear arms (a gifted student of the Airwise University's engineering department had invented them not a year hence) cleared the mess away. "Dimension Hopper on Standby! We don't want to miss the portal!"

"Aye, Sir!"

Blue and white actinic arcs suddenly sprouted and began to play over the entire surface of the ship. "All Hands, close exterior doors and brace for Dimensional Jump , Repeat, close exterior doors and brace for Dimensional Jump!"

"Ensign!"

"Sir?"

"Ring up the Commodore, will you? Tell him it's a big one, and she appears to be following the exrtrapolated London Proper Jump Pattern."

"Are you sure, sir? Last time -!" The ensign quavered.

"Stiff Upper Lip, Rogers! HE keeps believing, so should we!"


Jaisen Santiago Dreyfuss, former and current Commodore and commander of the Republic of Texas Airfleet's London Liaison and master and commander of the Second-class Aerial and interdimensional Man o' War RTAF St. Elmo, made his way along the corridor toward his cabin after the morning inspection of the corps of cadets. He shook his back and dislodged a couple of feathers from under the greatcoat that he wore, the doffed it and shook and popped it just to make sure no more pinions remained. "Angel did a good jonb o this thing," he muttered, "but consarn it if I don't keep moulting in it!"

The sound of the squawkbox in his cabin sounded a muffled buzzing noise through the door, and he unlocked the portal and stepped in, hooking the handset from its cradle with his left pinky.

"Dreyfuss here. Report!" He listened, and made a fist, his face coloring and his back twitching in a certain place as the import hit home. He punched the bulkhead beside the door, his fist fitting well into the dent made there in the partition's steel surface by long habit. Five years, ship time, had passed since they left London Proper; the Airwise Academy became the Airwise University as it's cadets matriculated through the classes, and a few cadets became full-fledged officers; some even married and had children, adding to the ship's complement, and making it like a flying family compound, perhaps even a city at times. Dreyfuss had given up the captain's cabin in the stern of the gunboat and moved to the new quarters in the newly-opened space in the envelope section that the adoption of Sir Charles's inventor's antigravity lofting just before departure had made possible.

Five years, first spent following energy traces that a cadet had identified, and experimentation had proven, belonged to Nadya and Irene, two former female crewfolk and persons dear to Dreyfuss' heart. A brief period of hope and longing had buoyed up The commodore's spirit at the thought of tracking down and reuniting with Nadya, but that had died as it became apparent that she knew she was being followed and had taken several devious detours that made it obvious she was not keen on the idea herself - not to mention made it impossible to follow her, without a massive recalculation of her possible future choices. Dreyfuss had given up that idea, and in a long-term fit of pique, even refused to use his Bright One's powers (which in truth were the only thing aboard that could still locate Nadya's trace) to find her.

"Taking the hint," he'd said to Jock Loughmalley, the Chief Engineer and an old friend from their days in the Marauder Mercenary Company's Air Division.

"You sure, Dreyf? Ye nivver know, mebbe she'l just show up again, like she did th' firs' toime."

"I don't think so, Jock," Dreyfuss had answered. Better see if we can just Find Irene. At least she's blood family."


But Home! Well, London, anyhow. Home. Miss Emma, Patrick, his Boheme companions. He looked to where the Boat Gun stood in the corner, an old friend that had seen him through many a scrape in the old days, and had seen him through more since, after the ship had gotten lost in the airways of Time and Space. zhe felt for teh Whitefire pistol at his hip-!

"Oh. Yeah.  Dammit..." The miraculous sidearm had disappeared from its holster in a plasma storm on the edge of the Earth's atmosphere as they chased a sprite form the top of a thunderstorm to find the portals that they caused. The air krakens of this current dimension had a peculiar ability to open portals in similar fashion to those storm sprites in that other plane, and the energies that seeped through these newest portals bore energy signatures that matched london Proper's patterns exactly, right down to the depleted Cold One taint.

"Well, old friend, one more time, eh!!" He strapped on the Boat gun, it's weathered strap laying just between his wing humps on his back, over the greatcoat. In a few moments, he swaggered in through the door in the upper bulkhead of the bridge. "Let's see if we can get home this time, people," he said jovially as the lightnings flashed and roared, a steh St. Elmo plunged headlong into the screaming corridor opened by the passage of the lightning kraken.

A blinding flash, a press of cloud and rain, and suddenly bright sunlight flooded the Bridge. There, Below, lay The Medway, Aetheric liners plying the waves and airships of all kinds swarming the air. Soone an all-too-familiar voice blasted the ears of the Bridge Crew .

ST. BLOODY ELMO! came the voice over the Aetheradio...
Logged

Walk softly and carry a big banjo...

""quid statis aspicientes in infernum"
The Corsair
Defective Inspector
Moderator
Zeppelin Admiral
*
New Zealand New Zealand


PixieOnTheMic
« Reply #1 on: May 04, 2017, 06:10:19 am »

A cold, bone-white hand flicked the syringe.
"Now hold still..."
And the syringe, colder still, pressed against the ensign's arm track-marked. Even the good doctor had long lost the patience to properly treat the young man's injection wounds adequately. If anything, the men could wear their track-marks with pride. Except this one, of course.
"For goodness' sake calm down. You've done this enough times." the whipcrack-sharp voice came. Deep like the cracking of glacial ice, and just as unnerving. "Nurse hold him."
Restraints whipped up from where they hung from the bed rails and bound themselves together, like they had some sort of life of their own. Amusing to think so, the doctor felt, but of the many things that had life in this room the restraints were not one of them.

The needle pierced the ensign's haggard skin, just inside the elbow joint, and the doctor's steady hand sunk the plunger. Immediately the ensign went still, then slumped limp and stopped breathing. Above him, his Other Self began to build and glow.
"Thaaaat's better isn't it? We'll keep the room locked while we jump and you'll be juuust fine."

The nurse whispered in his ear, "All vitals normal Apothecary. His ghost will ride this one out just fine."
"Nastiest case of spiritual dissociation I've ever seen..." the doctor muttered back.

He looked around the room at the glowing blue almost-people floating about. Some hung close to their bodies, others drifted freely and even conversed - as much an incorporeal form could converse that is. His eyes met the ensign's ghost and he smiled.
"You're safe here with Abernathy. Always."

Then the jump came, and my was it a good one...
Logged

I think I should also mention I had a dream about this game, only Bailey was a woman...

I assure you, that incident in Singapore was all a misunderstanding.
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #2 on: May 04, 2017, 08:42:10 am »

Colin Sunnybrook looked up from his seat on the park bench where he'd been dozing in the morning sunlight, a meteorological rarity n London Proper even now, long after the demise and defeat of the Cold Ones and the interdimensional wars that had ultimately spawned the Aether League's Aether Guards, a year after the presumed demise of the St. Elmo - and his sister, Rebecca, along with it. The front lawn of the O'Flaherty Technomagical Institute, which so many years before had been the site of a titanic battle that seemingly had presaged the coming conflict - but now bore few scars; the only such remaining were those considered to be monuments to the struggles of the Heroes of the Boheme and St. Elmo; the shell holes made by the salvo fired from the Obs deck of the Texian warship as Captain Ishmael brought her to the battle (in a timely intervention that destroyed the enemy's aerial battlewagons in a hard-fought dual-broadside artillery slugfest) had been artfully converted into sunken bowl-shaped flower gardens, and the ripped-up sod and loam where the Texian battlewagon's mooring torpedoes had had to be laboriously removed had been made into a rectangular reflecting pond, edged with more flowerbeds and a path on which sat the bench upon which Colin drowsily half sat, half reclined.

The six years since that battle and the reconfiguration of the St. Elmo into the Airwise Academy(and it's departure via the newly-refurbished D-Hopper drive) had seen Patrick's school burgeon from a small, acclaimed, yet obscure isolate institution into one with multiple campuses in most of the major cities of Europe and the Empire of Britannia, and even one in Austin, the Capital of what had become the United Commonwealth of Texas, now a powerhouse world power in her own right. Most of that was lost on Colin, however, as is often the case with supremely-gifted students. He was mainly concerned, at least for the moment, with dozing on the bench, his smith-magery text balanced precariously on his knee, and his boxed lunch being stealthily visited by one of the campus's many gray squirrels. It was with a shock that he awoke suddenly to the sound of a mighty bellow of thunder from above and in the direction, seemingly, of the Docklands harbor and aerodrome complex. It soon became apparent that it was something more than just an unexpected cloudburst when three Aether Guards corvettes streaked from three separate directions across the midmorning sky overhead, their ball-turretted guns visibly being run out of their ports, warning klaxons blaring as they formed up en echelon and roared off in the direction of the thunderclap. His callbox (a dictionary-sized device all technomagical students learned to make in their first classes of their first semesters and which all students used - somewhat excessively, according to several of the schools more conservative faculty) squawked to life.

"COLIN! YOU"LL NEVER GUESS!"

Colin sighed, fumbled the bothersome thing out of his labcoat's thigh pocket and  and thumbed open the  callbox's lid, flicked the toggle and pressed the "speak" button. "Never guess what, Roy? Another incredible dice roll that you lost our week's grocery money on?"

"Whitefire, no,  roomie! You'll never believe it!" Roy De Valera's voice squawked back. "Himself (the term the students used for Patrick O'Flaherty, the school's headmaster) just came slammin' outta his office, yellin' for wife and  Miss Angel, adn and sayin', "it's Mister Dreyfuss an' the St. Elmo!"

Colin went slack in shock. The ST. ELMO!? Rebecca? Was his sister alive after all!? He suddenly became aware that the other students scattered around the lawn were all chattering excitedly on their own devices, and then the airwaves that the boxes served quickly became jammed with traffic, until headmaster O'Flaherty's voice roared above all others on all frequencies.

"ALL STUDENTS 'N FACULTY INDOORS NOW! THIS'S 'N ORDER!"

A a huge silvery airship shape of the old school, flanked by the shapes of three more modern-seeming military-like craft, slowly hove into view overhead, as a blimp-like lighter with the particulars of Tinker's Row Airdock stenciled on her envelope's prow approached from the opposite direction, and then hove to alongside the Texian airship. The St. Elmo was finally going home to her berth-away-from-home in Tinker's Row.

AS Colin and others watched, even as Patrick and the school's faculty ushered them inside the school buildings, it became apparent that the St. Elmo had been damaged, repaired, and rebuilt, remodeled, and modified several times since her departure from London Proper. Her centrifugal ducted fans had always WHOOSHed a bit loudly, but there was now a thunderous undercurrent, as of an engine or set of engines of much more magnified power than she had originally had, or so one of the older professors, who had been around at the time of the interdimensional war, remarked. Her guns were all run in, the casemate doors tightly shut, but it was obvious, even under the paint that scores of student maintenance teams had slathered over the gunboat sections hull, that she had been damaged and that armor patches that were obviously made on board had been welded over the worst bits, and one or two casemate doors looked different from their fellows. In several places she still bore the scars of battles with krakens of the air, and it seemed that she had seen more than one  broadside fight with other warships since her departure, judging by several dents that had yet to be hammered out or patched over. 

There was also a slight doubt in Colin's mind. Something seemed odd, almost arcane or magickally mysterious; the Ship and her master and crew had always been surrounded by uncanny and (some would say) occult legends and rumors, the strange case of the ship's cabin with a haunted reputation, and commodore Dreyfuss' relation to a certain Louisianan magickal practitioner looming large among them, not to mention the strange, rumored transmutation of the commodore himself; his mystical, sometimes seemingly demonic paramour; and his allegedly deathless niece - but Something more, yet indefinable, tickled at the back of Colin's skull, as a blue arc crackled down the length of the hull from stem to stern, and then crackled to nonexistence.

-----------
"Damage control, report!" the captain's voice barked tinnily through the squawkbox network and the classroom PA system. TEh disciplined answers rangout through the same system. D-hopper mechanisms all sound and  secured. No damage to the gun deck. student, faculty and crew complement all present and accounted for. Hull sound, with no breaches. Aether reciprocators running a bit rough; Chief Engineer Loughmalley's voice nagged, not for the first or even hundredth time, that the antennaeic aetheric collection array needed recalibration with the capacitance matrix. The Bat colony seemed agitated, according to the Husbandry Detail's cadet JG lieutenant. Antigrav lofting in optimum form and trim, save for a slight juddering in the repulsory output of the port trim ballonet (why Sir Charles's engineers had persisted in calling them "ballonets" instead of stabilizers was nonsensical, Dreyfuss mused to himself.   

Hearing Patrick's voice greeting them as they broke out of the portal and into the Medway's bright, unseasonable sunshine had been a welcome sound to the Dreyfuss' ears. He wondered how Miss Emma was getting on - then turned at the report that no, two students and three air rangers had injured themselves when they failed to grab  handholds and brace during the jump.

"Joyriders, seems like," the Ship's Doctor speculated aloud. "They said they wanted to see London Proper through the 'aetheric aura,' whatever that means."

Dreyfuss and the Bridge Gang muttered various epithets about D-Hopper dime novels (a craze that had erupted the week before the ship's departure from that same London Proper five years before) and penny dreadful authors, and then the First Mate told the Doctor to treat the miscreants and send them back to duty as their treatment allowed.
Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #3 on: April 14, 2018, 03:07:54 am »

Rebecca Sunnybrook swung open the porthole of the Officer's Country cabin that she and three Junior officers (formerly cadets of the RTAF St. Elmo Airwise University, now graduated and serving as full-fledged, though extremely junior, crewmembers) shared; part of what had originally been the Commodore's now extensively subdivided personal quarters, it resided against the starboard side of the galleries of the ironclad that had been integrated into the ships airframe, and thus sported the original porthole, with it's accompanying gatling cannon, that had once grimly decorated Dreyfuss' stateroom. The whole ship's like that, she mused. Despite five years of constant modification, the ship was still what it had originally been, under all the paint and classroom additions, even with the interdimensional drive and various educational and just simply decorative bric-a-brac: a frighteningly powerful battlewagon, geared toward hunting and killing national threats and piratical miscreants.

Even as an interdimensionally lost,  travelling university of the air, she and her cagey and resourceful crew, regulars and students alike, had been able to fight off numerous kraken of varying sorts,  military aggressors, machiavellian warlords bent on capturing and using her to their own ends, and fought and finagled their way through many more misadventures. The undead threats that the Old Girl and her early skeleton crews had fought through in the  years before her becoming the D-Hopper toybox battleship of the Foreign Service had not recurred, despite Morganthe's and Merovingia's vows of vengeance, but many others had persisted until the St. Elmo and her crew had been forced to make peace with them, or in some cases destroy them utterly.  

The Texians, and then Sir Charles, had been shrewd and smart, she realized, to attract and keep the "Cowboy Commodore," as the dime novels often (and tritely) called Dreyfuss. If they had not, as it was often posited in classes aboard the ship,  the St. Elmo might well have become a pirate vessel herself, and Dreyfuss the terror of the post-Cold-Ones-War skies.

She shook herself back to her duty. She scanned the skies and the ground below (as was her assignment), for threats, or just things that seemed out of the ordinary. Like many of her generation, the buildup of Aetheric energies in the ambient atmosphere of Earth due to the Cold Ones' influence had imbued Rebecca with powers beyond those of ordinary humans; firethrowing, as well as the ability, not unlike that of Dreyfuss himself, to directly touch, direct and control Whitefire energy, the Technomage's force that seemed to exist in various  strengths across all of the dimensions that the St. Elmo had visited in her quest to return home. Rebecca used trained-in aspects of those abilities now, to see things in a light that revealed the energy levels of things above and below the ship. Like many other spotters stationed around the ship, she was trained to see not only the figures below as they scurried about trying to get a look at the silver battlewagon passing overhead. She saw, felt, noted and instantaneously memorized their faces and what they seemed to be doing, noting subtle clues that might reveal their actual intent. Suddenly, however, faces she recognized came into view and scrambled her diligence: Patrick OFlaherty, the headmaster. His wife. Faculty who'd aged visibly but whose dear features still showed; and then there, in the midst of the  greensward that hid most of a certain battle's scars, the shape and face of her BROTHER!
Colin! What are you gaping at, you fuzzy-brained fool! Follow orders and get inside!

She saw with satisfaction that one of her lesser inborn talents manifested itself without effort as her brother stiffened, then swung his head over to stare directly into her eyes, and then jump and wave wildly. She schooled her face to a stern countenance, but then smiled very slightly as she reservedly waved back. Fool, she thought. "But I do love the sight of you, little brother."

Another figure managed somehow to remain unnoticed in the shadow of a building across the grounds, and chuckled to itself. A deep chuckle, the voice not unlike that of the entity that so many years before had spoken to a certain Headmaster as he bent over the mortally-wounded form of Dreyfuss' second wife, who had been taken over by the being who possessed that same voice.

"Enjoy your homecoming, Sir Jaisen - And enjoy the return of your University, O Maker," the voice said like velvety vitriol, as the figure melted into the darkness of a steaming alleyway. "Things may not long be so comforting..."
« Last Edit: April 14, 2018, 06:48:10 pm by MWBailey » Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #4 on: April 14, 2018, 03:12:07 am »

Just thought I'd "bump" this, so to speak. Just can't seem to let it die. Anybody who wants to join in, do so. Or not, your choice.
Logged
Fairley B. Strange
Zeppelin Overlord
*******
Australia Australia


Relax, I've done much dumber things and survived..


WWW
« Reply #5 on: April 17, 2018, 11:26:20 am »

Is there a missing OOC for this one?

Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Logged

Choose a code to live by, die by it if you have to.
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #6 on: April 19, 2018, 02:46:22 am »

Is there a missing OOC for this one?

Spoiler (click to show/hide)





The OOC would probably be the RP  Steam London: Realms of Aether. I'm not sure if it's been purged from the site's archives or not.

I originally intended this as one of those kinds of Rps composed of, at first, different stories that would converge later into a specific storyline. Corsair's post is, I think, about the new Ship's Doctor, who as a sideline is saving or observing those who become "lost," or trapped in an interdimensional state when the ship makes an interdimensional jump (The D-hopper being a still-experimental drive in many respects, and full of bugs).

In terms of the storyline's origin, this is a continuation of the substory of Steam London: Realms of Aether that concerns the Republic of Texas Air Fleet (RTAF) St. Elmo, formerly the personal airship of one Jaisen Santiago Dreyfuss,
Spoiler (click to show/hide)
, formerly a crewman aboard the Associated Free Peoples (APF) Boheme, a ship and crew that figured heroically in the recent (in the universe of the storyline) War of the Cold Ones that was part of the final plot and storyline of the Steam London RP.

The St. Elmo, which had been removed from drydock, Dreyfuss' debts paid by agreement between the Republic and the British Government, and delivered to the Boheme's airdock at Tinker's Row in London by a skeleton crew (about two to three years before the Realms storyline begins),  had been serving as a "toybox" (a term I loosely define as "an experimental test bed") for projects destined ultimately for the British military and HM Secret Service as part of it's mission as a military/diplomatic Liaison ship representing, ultimately, the Republic of Texas (Said republic having been instrumental in fighting the Cold Ones on the American continents, and whose detachment of airships-of-war had figured prominently on the defenders side during the Battle of London, which marked pretty much the end of the war.

The St. Elmo is a formerly-steam-driven airship-of-war of a type that, when Dreyfuss first built her but was forced to leave her in drydock in Galveston, Texas (figuratively submerged in debt), would have been a first-rate at the time that she was built (approximately the late 1880s), but is now something close to a second-rate, somewhat unfairly due to the number and size of her guns, and the type of airship that she is (also due to the changing design and mode of aerial capital ships, somewhat similarly to our real-world naval history). After a 5-year absence, brought about by a malfunction of her D-Hopper drive, she has returned to a London Proper (the name of London in the RP) that has moved on from teh war and largely healed the scars left by it.

When the St. Elmo had departed on it's first instructional mission that fateful day, She had been newly-rechristened "RTAF St. Elmo, Aether League Airwise University," and was connected with the now-prominent Aether League academy run by Patrick O'Flannery, another Hero of the Boheme (all crew of the Boheme were knighted or similarly rewarded, as peers of the realm, following the battle and the surfacing of the facts of their case) and his wife. Shortly into the first jump, however, something went terribly wrong with the drive, and instead of jumping just once, she jumped several hundred times, into many dimensions which should not have been possible for her to detect, much less visit (the D-Hopper drive does not propel a ship forward or backward through time, but rather into neighboring dimensions. Thus, while paradoxes could still conceivably be caused, they would have nothing directly to do with the London Proper timeline except as by happenstance that her incursion affected a timeline already established between another dimension and that of London Proper). Early on, Dreyfuss became obsessed with finding his young paramour Nadya,
Spoiler (click to show/hide)
who herself had the innate ability to "world-walk," or travel between the interstices of dimensions into neighboring dimensional realities - which ability landed her aboard the St. Elmo when the ability went wrong while escaping the clutches of a pimp in another reality. She had disappeared a few days before the Airwise mission, but it all soon turned into a quest for the route home, in which they not only jumped to other Londons, but spots all over the world in hundreds of other dimensional realities.

Not to mention Dreyfuss' personal transformation over time from a "normal" human into a being from a race which was supposedly responsible for the maintenance of time, yadda yadda yadda...

...and so on. As you can see, if you're not familiar with the original Steam London storyline and that of Realms of Aether, it could be kind of hard to relate and come up with a backstory that makes it all fit in, so I was aiming for a new RP based - but not stringently so (outside of already-established norms and phenomenae, and backstories of former characters) - on the others. The period is approximately five years after the St. Elmo left on her first airwise mission, about 1895 or thereabouts; that would make the storyline's present day to be, by my reckoning, (somewhat forced, you might say, for periodicity's sake), about 1900.

By the way, Steam London, Realms of Aether, and my spinoff somewhat-serial story Between the Threads are where Dreyfuss, Morganthe and Merovingia, mentioned in that Birds of Paradise RP, originally came from)


It might be better to do your RP  Wink  Cheesy...
« Last Edit: April 19, 2018, 02:59:50 am by MWBailey » Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #7 on: April 19, 2018, 03:11:33 am »

My personal storyline so far is mainly intended to be between students and newly-inducted-as-junior-officers, and of course my own characters from before, and former students aboard the Airwise University and at the O'Flannery Academy (at the moment, Rebecca Sunnybrook and her little brother Colin, and whichever  others come to mind or happen along).

I'm not sure yet if I'm going to follow a Japanese anime "Gakuen" type of story or something else, but it's mainly about the students and latter-day characters, rather than Patrick or Miss Emma or the others from the original RPs, mainly because so far none of their authors have shown any interest, and I'm not big on using others' characters without permission. I might refer to them or have them do something in situations in which it's unavoidable, but out of respect for the others, I will be keeping such to a minimum.
Logged
The Corsair
Defective Inspector
Moderator
Zeppelin Admiral
*
New Zealand New Zealand


PixieOnTheMic
« Reply #8 on: May 21, 2018, 12:30:04 pm »

As per usual, the patients all vomited as the jump came to an end. Abernathy had tried it once, as a proof-of-concept when first finalising his cure. By his own description, it was like being hit in the testicles by another pair of your own testicles. His sympathies lay with these men as they passed out in their sick-stained bedclothes. Around them the ship lurched a few more times, and the men rolled about beneath their restraints, ragdolling as much as one could when tied to a bed. Heads lolled and a few tongues slid out of sideways mouths. The nurses set about the grim task of making sure no-one chocked on said tongues - or worse, vomit - while the patients waited on consciousness.

"Frau Hendricks," Abernathy called to one of them. She turned to look at him from where she was stood beside the bed of a man who was just now coming-to. "Would you like to complete the report for this jump?" he finished with a wry smile. Ms. Hendricks' sweet lips bloomed into a georgeous white crescent of teeth, hanging like a sideways half-moon beneath a sky of flushed cheeks.

"Oh Doctor Abernathy, I most certainly would!" she replied in her southern twang.

Abernathy smiled again, this time fuller and with warm creases at the corners of his eyes. He turned to leave, but he could still so perfectly see Ms. Hendricks' curls bouncing as she strode toward his office. It was an image he might as well have carried on him like a photograph in a locket. She was a good student, that Hendricks girl, but her enthusiasm was as off-putting as it was charming. Perhaps that was the source of his most sinful perversion. But then what use did he have for notions of sin in this Godless place?

No, that was the Devil talking to him. His thoughts about Ms Hendricks were unacceptable. Any excuse his mind might conjure up was the work of the Serpentine mastermind himself. Such was the burden for a man like he; to tamper with life meant to swear oneself to the path of Godliness more stringently than all other men, lest he accidentally lead innocent souls to the gates of Purgatory and beyond. His sin was never just his own. It would be the sin of a dozen men if he wasn't careful. For Man to love Woman was God's way, but Abernathy was not a normal man, and Hendricks was far from a woman.

He rounded the corner and passed the threshold of the bridge.

"Captain, is this the one?" he said, patience cracking like sheet-thin ice, "Do I get to share my findings with the world at last?"

All those boys, lost to time, he thought to himself, I will be their saviour yet.
Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #9 on: June 02, 2018, 07:38:09 pm »

Captain Ishmael turned in his seat from the image of the three Aether League ships of unfamiliar design flanking and escorting the St. Elmo depicted in the scan-tank, to face the Ship's Doctor. "It's five years on, and London seems to've changed in the time since, but yes, it appears we're home, Doctor." he reached down to the floor of the bridge from his swivel seat at the Helm Command station, and picked up a metallic-looking feather. Apparently Commodore Dreyfuss was molting. Assuming that his kind molted, anyway. He handled the shiny steel pinfeather gingerly; the outermost of such were notoriously razor sharp. I wonder  how 'e keeps from shredding his greatcoat, Ishmael mused to himself.

"Ye might want to check with the commodore before going ashore, though. Seems the Aether League's none too happy to see us, if our armed escort're any indication. Mind the trim, Leftenant!" His mild , respectful demeanor toward the Doctor changed abruptly to a barked reprimand, as the rather pretty young helmsman allowed the Airwise University to fall slightly out of formation with her escort.

"Minding trim, Aye Cap'n!" the redheaded girl smartly called back from her station at the Helm Proper, as she spun the wheel.

"They 'ave to learn, Doctor, and there's no better way than to go ahead and do things," the Captain said wryly. "Unfortunately..."
« Last Edit: June 02, 2018, 07:49:17 pm by MWBailey » Logged
The Corsair
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PixieOnTheMic
« Reply #10 on: June 08, 2018, 03:25:09 am »

"We must trust others to tasks just as they trust us to do them, Captain." He said without so much as a lick of wit or sarcasm. "I'll speak with the Commodore then."

Dr Abernathy turned on his heel, striding through the ship to the Commodore's quarters. Feathers had begun to litter the floor inside, but then Dreyfuss had seen worse things on Abernathy's Medicum floor. No words of reprimand were exchanged between the mean, nor even a judgemental side-eye at the mess.

"Commodore, what is this I hear about London taking issue with our return?" The doctor asked once the pleasantries were done with.
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MWBailey
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"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #11 on: June 08, 2018, 09:44:56 pm »

Dreyfuss eyed himself in the mirror over the folding head That sat in the Personal Hygiene area of his cabin. Hardly the spacious stern cabin he had once occupied when it was just himself, Ishmael, Chief Engineer Lough-Malley and Dreyfuss' seemingly indestructible niece, Irene, the cabin was still large enough to allow him to expand his wings to full size, and flex the limbs thereof to flap loose the brass-and-steel feathers that incongruously actually grew from the avian parts of his frame. It was also conveniently close to the bow of the gunboat section of the ship, where the bridge was located. He turned at the Doctor's knock, and gestured him in.

Upon exchanging pleasantries and hearing the physician's query, Dreyfuss pursed his lips, his now-bluish brows beetling, and his silver handlebar twitching in thought.

"Weyelll," he drawled, still the Texian airshipman he'd always been, despite appearances and his experiences and exploits, "We're not just a military escort ship like we were when the Elmo was first added to the Aether League's lists, Doc," He said,  "And we have a drive system and weaponry that could be considered a substantial threat. That and the fact that they have no idea what secrets we've accumulated. They'll want to debrief us at least, before they let anything out to be published."

His manner became more thoughtful and he appeared to be disturbed or worried for some reason or other. "Not only that, but we are in fact still very much what Sir Charles called a "toybox" ship, stuffed full of Secret Service and Aether League gadgets and suchlike; in essence, we are a creature, jointly, of the Secret Service and the League."

"I know," his voice became a bit softer and more sympathetic, "That you are concerned for those poor boys you've managed to secure below. Their fate concerns me as commander just as much as it concerns you as Ship's Physician. It's unfortunate, but in order to help them, we've got to 'press the flesh' with the government types, and get them to see that the DHopper Drive needs even more redesigning and improvement than our fledgling wunderkind have been able to implement here aboard. And to do that, we first have to cooperate with the secretive Ministry boys. All in good time, doc. Just not as short a time as  I know you'd like."

He pulled on and buttoned his shirt with the odd sleeves on the back, which corresponded to the ones on his greatcoat that hung on the coat-tree in the corner. "Could i trouble ya to hand me my coat?" he asked, as he laid out his saber and the Paterson Colt in it's wear-stained holster and rig. He added, almost as if it were an afterthought, "You know that I don't look quite the same as I did when we left," he winked at his own understatement, " And neither does the Elmo, truth be told. It's just possible they'll want to study Me as well as the ship and our students."

"That might make things a bit bumpy, just so you understand. I wonder if Miss Emma is still around..." he mused.
« Last Edit: June 08, 2018, 09:58:24 pm by MWBailey » Logged
MWBailey
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"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #12 on: August 31, 2018, 07:55:18 am »

The hall in the ancient Parliament building in London rang with the impact of the gavel of the chief Justice of the Aether League and HM Military tribunal that for several weeks had been hearing the inquiry of the St. Elmo Affair. The hall had erupted with laughter and derision as yet another of Dreyfuss' epithets answered the all-too-pointed questions of the League's counselor.

"Sir Jaisen, I crave your patience with the learned counsel," Aether Admiral Sir Professor Wayne said as the noise died down. "Some of his colleagues are greatly concerned that you did not take greater pains to study the flora and fauna of the neighboring  Londons while you were there, and I must admit that I myself am rather appalled to learn that you went ahead and took our nation's cadets into battle. Good experience, yes, but what could have been lost on the knife-edge of what would seem to be cavalier recklessness!"

"The darkest possible interpretation of th' facts at hand, Admiral," Commodore  Trevelyan of Her Majesty's Air Fleet fired across teh tribunal's bench at his colleague. "Sir Jaisen obviously knows that often the best way ter stay aloive in a bat'le is to keep advancing."
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