Steam and Sand Game Thread

[Stella Gaslight]

"No more going away at least not till the sun is up ok?"  Dear looked out the porthole with Conlan.  The moon was a friend that lit the way on dark nights.  "Then we will go see the world together.  Cause Conlan needs Dear to help fight the bad men and Dear needs Conlan to teach her things that Mama couldn't"  Grim purred as Dear absentmindedly petted her.  "And Grim can come to if she wants too cause she is a good kitty."

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan nodded. "I won't go away, I promise." He had never felt more sincere. " Maybe tomorrow I can teach you how to use a slingshot. Those are good weapons in the right hands, and your hands seem just right. Squires would use them all the time because we weren't able to use metal blades."
He found his bare hand stroking the shiny coat of the half asleep feline, its heart beat pulsating beneath the tips of his fingers.
"When we get to the next Atrium we'll buy the supplies to make you a good slingshot."

[MWBailey]

the hiss of steam from the boiler in the APC, as the water heated up just enough to run the dynamo, made little impact on the world outside the microcosm of Molly, and was barely loud enough to cause Malc to stir in his sleep; it was much the same when pressure and expulsion reached the proper intensity to actually turn the blades of said dynamo.The dynamo thus operating and producing electrical current, the electric motor attached to the blower began to turn, thus introducing an increased airflow and causing the flame in the center of the pile of coal in the firebox to rise higher into the boiler section, heating the coiled tubes of the flash boiler more evenly and efficiently.

This created more steam to speed up the dynamo, thus causing enough pressure (by the process already described) in the line to release the steam dome injection valves, and thus the steam dome began to "roar in" as the steam rushed through the valves, their racket becoming louder in the larger, more resonant space.

It wa still not enough noine to penetrate outsid eteh skin of the tank, but thby then the increased burning of teh coal had begun to produe a thing exhalation of black coalsmoke from the covered-dish-style smokehole cover , thus betraying that Molly was, indeed, beginning to pressure up.

It would take about another hour and 45 minutes for the process to produce enough pressure to trip the boiler bell and wake Malc up...

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

Royce was exhausted and decided to head to bed, for real. He stepped in on Conlan - the boy had grown up all strict like and never seemed to miss the morning sun. Royce was in the class of nocturnal folk and got up only after a long battle of will.

"Make sure to wake me first thing." he said. He saw Conlan and Dear looking out the window. He felt a sudden attachment to them both. They were both so young, but had saved his arse in a serious way back on Wight. But sitting here, they seemed almost like brother and sister... or young lovers... This turned his thoughts first to Skinner and then back to himself. He needed to sleep to get over this serious thinking problem he had.

"Watching the moon?" he said. "Keep a close eye on it -it's been a good friend to me over the years." he half joked. "Nice friend too - no matter how it wanes, it always comes back. Plus... remember that all over England, all men and women watch the same moon. Even if you're miles away from your earthly friends, you both see the same moon at night. So... well, I suppose that's something. Get a good sleep."

With that, he went to bed.

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear sat at the foot of Conlan's bed nodding off with Grim's head in her lap.  "Tell Dear about this Atrium place we are going to, please." It was just another type of bed time story to her.  She found the idea that people lived out among the brown and blasted lands together almost a fantastic as a clockwork dragon.

[Aeryenne Tederich]

"I'd say so." Scarlette hoisted herself up beside Skinner, making herself comfortable and gazing around the cathedral, admiring the stonework of the aging building. It was moderately cold, but not enough to bother her - she was used to chills. She just wrapped her arms round her knees to keep some bodyheat in, humming to herself absent-mindedly before she realised what she was doing and fell quiet. And quiet it certainly was - every little scratch of a bird or bat overhead could be heard clearly in the echoing dark, but other than that the night was silent. But it was a comfortable silence - she felt like she belonged here now.

[Skinner]

Skinner leaned back non-chalantly, stretching out her arms as far as they would go- one of them was behind Scarlette's back. When she relaxed and gave a breathy sigh, she lowered her arm so that it encircled the other girl's shoulder. An old trick, but she had honestly wanted to stretch, anyway. The chill was getting to her shoulder, so she shifted in a little closer, almost side by side.

"Bit nippy, though. D'yeh fink it's haunted?"

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well," Conlan began, his tone becoming like that of an old story teller.
"Atriums are full of people, so the one we shall head to will be no different. Brizzle has quite a few people, forgemasters, tinkers, artists, chefs even knights like me, though they work under a different king."
Conlan recalled the black clad knights of mercia, their cruel stares made the rest of their body just an outline.
"It would be wise not to cross them."
Conlan went on, telling her about what kinds of people to avoid and what kinds she needed to tell him about. Then he rewarded her attentiveness with an overblown story about his encounter at the bar with a pair of steel salvagers.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

The crew that were awake that night continued their talks, as watches shifted and then finally into the morning when the alarms went off. Royce sleepily got up and began getting the crew into order. Within a few minutes, they were packed and ready and a couple of hours later, the docks of Brizzle had come into sight.

"Alright Skinner." he said. "Guide us back home. I'll start getting some of this stuff unloaded and find buyers. Then... well, we'll see." He'd actually found a rather interesting book that he'd kept for himself and it was giving him ideas for a profitable salvage run.

[MWBailey]

The pressure in th eboiler was finally great enough make the boiler bell ring in triplets, and then for the high-pressure relief valves to begin their hammer-and-anvil sounds, keeping the  pressure from becoming too great; t e sounds echoed in the ruins of the Cathedral.

Malc got up, dressed, and got the APC into position to hook up to rear end; only one difficulty: Conlan's armor didn't have a coupling that he could connect to, unless it were with a chain or some such. it looked as though he would have to just drive on into brizzle with the rig an dhook up later, if teh opportunity arose. He leaned from the driver's side hatch to ask, "any chance o' gettin' 'ooked up to Sir Conlan's armor, or should I just follow in to Brizzle?

[Rowland Elmstone]

Flint ran down a deserted alley, rounded a corner and jumped off a flight of steps. He ran around another corner and held himself up against a wall. He steadied his breathing as he turned his head and peeked around. Several large mean carrying carved clubs and chains, a few with knives, and one with a pistol stopped and began to look around. One of them shouted something further down the alley, while the leader nodded and pointed. The group ran back down the way they had come, while Flint wiped his brow. That was close, he thought to himself. Flint pulled his cloak a bit tighter, lowered his desert goggles, adjusted his drivers cap and fled the scene. He jangled his pocket and smiled slyly. It wasn't like that caravan NEEDED any of the fine golden antiques he had just taken, besides...he was just borrowing them, right?

Flint moved into the main trade area of Brizzle. He wouldn't attempt another theft today, it was much to risky. Beside, if those traders only knew what they had their hands on. He was doing them a favor. He wouldn't have stolen them if he knew they couldn't have been salvaged for the better. He wasn't a thief. The young man continued on his way through the main areas of the atrium and moved to the docking area. He glanced out into the open wasteland and shook his head. Not to many crews coming in anymore. Either they hit gold or died. More likely the later. He sat himself down and opened his greatcoat, revealing his vest. He dropped his hand into one of the pockets and pulled out his watch. He still had time. Not much, but some before he was found out. He leaned back against the wall, dropped his goggled eyes and capped head and tried not to be noticed. It wouldn't be hard.

[MWBailey]

After Conlan unhooked his armor and Malc coupled the APC to the rear of the rig, steam, electrical, and mechanical couplings all joined perfectly, and the canvas corridor extension, with its zip-up side doors with their tinted perspex circles, attached at both ends, Malc eased Molly backward (after Skinners word to do so, of course) until they were out of the Nave, and back onto the disintegrating road. Sir Conlan and Malc both then hooked the Armor to the rear of the now-extended rig.

When it came time to get going, Skinner and Malc both then eased on to their throttles, the 7-7'loco pulling in forward gearing, and Molly pushing in reverse; the difference was striking, as the rig started moving and continued up to speed more smoothly and quickly than than before; that and the fact that the 7-7's front unit didn't have to work so hard.

Once the rig got up to an easily-manageable speed, Malc took Molly offline and went ahead and did things the the easy way: He changed to the spare guide rods, thus taking only an hour to do what might have taken all morning.

When he was finished, he went  to report to Royce and see what he could do to pitch in aboard the rig he'd just (literally, in fact) joined. "What're  we needin' to be done, Cap'n?

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear was half excited half scared to meet a lot of new people. She got up as soon as she heard the others moving about and washed her face and combed her hair until it sparkled.  Dear did her best to dress nicely but her clean clothes were too big and she had no shoes. Conlan had talked about shopping and she wasn't completely sure how it worked bur maybe in the treasure they had gathered there was enough to buy things.  When Conlan came back in Dear shyly asked him about it.  "Do you think we can buy things for Dear when we get to the Atrium place?  Cause Dear doesn't have any shoes or any other clothes." Her tummy grumbled.  "Oh and Dear would like some food too please."

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well, I have plenty of money, and the atrium is only about a half hour's drive. I'm sure we can get you something comfortable for you to wear, but we have to consider quite alot now that we have the Anglians on our tail. When we are at the atrium you must make sure not to tell anyone where you come from, alright?"
He handed her a plate of steaming sausage and a pair of fluffy scones with dollops of golden butter atop them, melting slowly.
"That will keep you tided over until we reach the atrium. Maybe we can get a treat after getting you some clothes."

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear picked up her fork and knife, she sort of remembered how to do this.  She skewered a sausage with her fork and tried to cut it with her knife but she was holding it upside down.  When she saw the knife wasn't working she bit the sausage trying not to be messy.  Mama had said good table manors were important.  Dear jumped a little at the warmth of the meat. She hadn't had cooked food since the nice lady left a basket on her island years ago.  "So if Dear can't say she is from the island than where is Dear from?"  Dear took a much bigger bite this time and made a happy sound as she swallowed.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well..."
Her time in the sun had darkened her skin quite a bit, her somewhat hunched standing and walk gave him a rather devious idea.
"Should anyone ask, I found you in a derelict cottage in the black forest of Prussia."
He swirled the story around in his mind, nodding approvingly.
"That works, that works just fine. Prussia is nowhere near Britain so no-one will know the difference unless we head out into the sea. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
He took her hand, flipping the knife so the blade pointed down.
"Now try."

[Skinner]

Skinner looked knackered, but happy. The night had gone more... platonically, than she had hoped, but she was glad for the flirtation. Brizzle came into view, and like they had once before, she cruised the 7-7 Down into the old riverbed, and lined up the rig with the agape Atrium doors.
She was glad Molly was offline, and she told Malc sternly not to fire her up at all, now. This was a Maneuver that she was so used to doing, that if she had any extra torque on the way in she could not only damage Molly, but the carriages, the cargo, the crew, and every other rig within swinging distance. It was better to do it slow and sluggish than fast and out of control.

That being said, she made it look easy, smoothly rolling the whole strange trail of cars, then the APC, then the Steam Armour. She had forgotten about that, in fact, and swore loudly as she pulled in, realizing what everyone was staring at. Some of the city guard started to approach the Skinner docking bay, and worst of all, her Father emerged from the house across the road from the Quay, and looked a bit cross.

"It ent mine!" she cried over the sound of the engine cooling down as she practically lept from the cabin doors. "Let me explain why we've got that stupid machine; Now hold on just a minute, don't look at me like that! We ent Anglians- Look, that's my Dad, there, he'll tell yeh. Old Brizzilian, from way back. My whole family is! You wouldn't think a true Mercian born-an-bred would side with them pigs, eh? We found it, Sirs!"

She wasn't the best negotiator, and they still cuffed her, possibly more to stop her arms flailing so wildly in her attempt to prove her innocence. The Cheif Inspector, the Mayor, the Commander of the Port-Guard, The Dean of the College of Technology, and about forty different uniformed men crowded around the armour, looking up in awe, and suspicion.

Skinner scowled while her Father tried to negotiate her release while the Police Constable searched her for anything that might prove her to be a spy. They only found her weapons, which were common and not outlawed here, the little cross from the Cathedral, and her whiskey hip flask.

In a loud, commanding voice, Mayor Briar Foxwell, flanked by Cheif Inspector Horace Paisely, and Port Guard Commander Alfred Drew, asked for who was in charge of the rig, to step forward and explain themselves.

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear smiled as the knife cleanly cut up the rest of the sausage and the scones.  She ate quickly like she was afraid the food would vanish. Dear smiled wide and rubbed her tummy.  "That was good Conlan, Dear is all full."  They pulled in to town as Dear washed her face and hands again.  "There are people outside that put funny bracelets on Skinner."  Dear was watching the seen unfold with curiosity.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Aw good lord." Conlan sighed. He quickly headed into his closet and slapped on his armor.
"If this is anything like our last brushes with the higher ups we may be in a bit of a predicament. I suppose slingshot lessons might have to wait, that is if things go as I beleive they might."
He readied his rifle and sword before heading to the entrance, not making himself visible until the need be. A knight's prescence did quite alot when it came to negotiation.

[Titus Wells]

At dawn, Red was hauled from his room by a couple of Scots, untied and lead to where Richard and a team of scouts were waiting.

"Morning, sir Red" Richard had reassumed his noblesse attitude, but seemed to have adjusted his view of Red from serf to knight.
"We await your directions to your rig. These boys are the best assault team you'll have ridden with. Let me introduce their strike-captain, Shamus the Boar."

Shamus was a true giant of a man, red haired, bearded and kilted and easily twice as wide as Red and head and shoulders taller. He snarled a little and Red saw one of his canines was slightly oversized and capped with a gold ornament. Red hoped the ride would be a peaceful one. He didn't like how the team kept looking at Richard and himself, then to Shamus and smirking.

The team set out across the plains in an easterly direction, hoping to intercept the rig as it returned from the Isle. Red's idea was that they would cross some sign at some point, but his best guess was that they'd either return northwards to Bristol or try to make the Cornish borders, in which case they would probably cross at some point soon.

[MWBailey]

Malc had sponge-bathed the night before with water from th estill-tepid boiler just before he started steaming up again, but the brown leather and steel cuirass was still a bit bloody, and his eye was still too tender to risk his Da's Eyepatch, and the fresh dings and cut scars on his steel pith helmet were still silvery, so when he popped the Driver's side hatch of the APC and eased out, closing and locking the hatch behind him, wearing his full kit, including the 8-bore rifled musket, and the Lemat and Da's peppermill revolvers, it made Skinner's story of fair battle spoils more believeable.

HE didn't think he'd be recognized, but then again, he'd been proven innocent of the assassination charge years ago, so it was not as if it mattered much. Still, the exclamations of "bloody 'ell, why don't 'e fall over?" and "well, at least one o' them lot looks loik he was in a fight," made him a bit uneasy.

"Hands off'n me tank, young'un," he said to a boy with hair red as a mahogany heirloom table, whoi had been stroking the treads and cooing "cor...!" like he'd never seen such a tank before (which he probably hadn't, Molly being a one-of-a-kind hodge-podge of well-chosen parts of other vehicles). "No, don't lookit me loik that, Milord," he said to the Mayor, "I'm not th' Cap'n; e'll be along in a minnit or two. Molly, here, 's mine, and I built 'er from an auld missile tank," he explained.  He was proud of his "lovely" little tank." M' name's Malcolm McCrory..."

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"What seems to be the trouble?" said Royce, smiling. Better to play it cool. "I'm Royce Grosvenor and I'm in charge of this operation. We've just been... antiquing, you might say. I didn't realize there was always such a fuss here when folk got some interesting salvage. Not in Mercia. Hopefully not in Brizzle."

He was making an offhand comment how some of the nations, especially York, taxed heavily on salvage coming in. Mercia was known for having almost no taxes at all, besides those that the knights placed on the cities to get operation funds. Hell, that was why he'd left York. But he realized this was probably more about that damn steam armour.

"Er, could you please uncuff my rig driver? She's the daughter of the harbour master. Now, look here, I realize you're concerned, but this is absurd. I realize you're just the authorities of this city, trying to manage. Let's just sort this out peacefully. Or I'll have to invoke my rights as a Mercian and call in a Knight to arbitrate this matter."

[Rowland Elmstone]

Flint awoke with a start. He turned his head and pushed the brim of his driver's cap up. He raised his goggles and moved around the corner. He noticed a group of mish-mashed...well, he supposed adventures, standing at the dock entrance. He must have missed several key figures of the government move past him. Good thing I made myself unnoticeable, he thought. He walked silently behind the group and stood in a small outcove of the docking area and decided to watch what was happening. He noticed one of the group was getting cuffed, while several men came out of the rig to defend her. He thought it strange that so many came to her rescue. During times like these even crews were sometimes split. Only travelling with one another to get some pay and respect in the community. He smiled and continued to watch the goings-on.

[MWBailey]

One of the matronly women in the crowd became excited. "Malcolm McCrory? thats the fellow who brought in our Rusty last year, after he was accused of murder by that old biddy...whats her name...Smallhampton! Widder Small hampton! and he was acquitted and now we owns our li'l store... That's Rusty Williams, sir, I'm his wife Daisy, we own the little clothing store over by the Trading post."

She turned to Malc, then, and said, "Far as I'm concerned, sir, you're Aces! You need a new shirt, what with the hole in that one, you just come right over and see us!"

Malc thanked the woman warmly, he was always touched by the bright-and-cheery souls in a community. They helped make up for the less-than-friendly ones.

"Mr. Mayor, sir," Malc said, "I assure you that Skinner's not a bad sort. Best front-end driver I've ever encountered, and a true comrade-in-arms." Hopefully, this town would remember even more of the positive side of his reputation...

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear slipped out quietly curious about the gathered people.  The ground was rough, hot and dirty under her feet bur Dear was fascinated by all the people.  There were all ages shapes sizes and colors.  So far it was all right so far no one was yelling or trying to hit her and they had taken the funny bracelets that that had upset Conlan off Skinner.  There were little ones in the back playing and she wanted to join them but that would mean leaving Conlan and friends never left each other, of that she was quite sure.  But still wanted to know what all the buildings were for and climb up and see what it looked like from up top.