Brantley looked upward, as if he could see the somewhat-oddly-formed airship above, and slowly descending to ward the blimp, but via a circuitous route, as if the crew and passengers on board are determine to not cause a massive alert.
"Well..." he began, "Seeing as how the Preacher has disappeared instead of splatted on the dirt of the street, I'd say he's gone someplace besides here, and probably isn't dead, or not completely dead." he hears Miles'question as he steps up close to the
Beau, and answers, "Yes, Mr. Miles, I am somewhat better informed, especially now that this new ship has arrived." he addressed Pulsifer then, asking, "Jack, is that the St. Elmo?"
"yep, that's her, and no different from when I saw her last," Jack answered, "so I'd say they came back to try and figure out where I went, and got sucked into here, wherever "here" really is" he looked slightly aprehensively and very apologetically at Meta, and said, "I'm Sorry, Meta, I don't mean any offense, its just all a bit much to take in all at once. I'm still chewin' on the 'jumper not workin' right, and just how I managed to land in a town where God's own rabid bounty hunter happens also to be; everything else is just gonna have to take a number and wait, if you know what I mean.
"Miss Thalesia, be careful of Jasmine; you're right, she's precious as a princess about 99 percent of the time, but every once in a while she gets moody, and when that happens, look out! She's about as strong as four full-grown men, an' she packs one hell of a hook punch in both hands, and yeah, I do speak from experience."
Brantley spoke up again, then, and said, "friend or foe? that kind of depends--!"
"AAooww, stop sugarcoatin' it, MW," Jack howled. " I really hate it when you wheedle like that. Miss meta, Dreyfuss and his firemanning n' engineering man are good people. Salt o' the earth. But miss Irene? you'd best watch it around her, I've not had direct experience around her, but Dreyf's had plenty, and the stories of her from the Cold One war and the assault on St. Petersburg and the winter palace...
Th' story goes, she showed up one day out of the blue, drivin' a tracked Land 'Clad tank with a plow in front, makin' a trail in the snow fer itself (that was Siberia in deep winter, don'cha know), an' proceeds to help drive off the Cold Ones' attack on the crashed
Boheme, then takes off, meanin'
flyin', no less. Tank just folds out set of wings, and props unfold out the back, so the story goes, and she goes flyin off after the boheme, and persnally rams about three-quarters of teh russian air Navy, makin 'em all but a few crash an d burn, lit'rally. Then, when she rams that final ship, first one and two of her four props snaps off, and she crashesto t' ground ad is rescued by a boheme crewmrmber and placed on board teh Boheme. but she was just playactin' all along...
"She's got turncoat in her blood, Miss Meta, to make a long story somewhat shorter; the only reason she didn't throw in with the enemy and kill the other members of the
Boheme's crew was a-cause ol' Dreyfuss pulled his pistol and cocked it by her ear, an' stuck the muzzle to Irene's head, while she had Miz Lighton in a chokehold, and her own pistol aimed at Miss Lighton's head. Between Miss Lighton and Dreyf, and the other members of the crew, they managed to talk Irene down and into surrendering, and even joinin' the final assault on the Tsarina's chamber. All o' that I got from Cap'n Hudson, pilot cap'n and master of the
Boheme when I ran into 'im in Dublin last month.
"I hear from Dreyf and elsewhere that she's been amazin'ly docile ever since, or at least she hasn't actually killed anyone...well, anyone she wasn't supposed to...or who didnt deserve it...er, much..." He shrugged. "But she's reportedly still sort of a loose cannon, whom Dreyf just barely manages to either control or keep appeased, take your pick." Jack paused, seemed to consider something before speaking, and then said, "But she's immortal, Irene is. You cut 'er, or shoot 'er, or whatever you do to 'er, she heals instant-like, and she ain't aged since her birthday two year ago, or so I got it from a stevedore in Liverpool who knew her dad, and saw her at that party, and then again the day the
Boheme's crew (them 'n' Dreyf an' Miss, I suppose I should really say,
Dame Irene, and him
Sir Jaisen Dreyfuss, now) were knighted and what not by the queen in that big ceremony after the Battle of London, two, three months ago." you'll want to brace yerself fer seein' teh left side of 'er face, Meta...she was burned in an argument over a man several year ago, and the burn cost her the left eye, which was replaced by a mechan'cal proze-theddick eye (Jacks accent and speech habits caused him to pronounce "prosthetic" word as two weirdly-accented words). Burns red, it does, like a conductors lantern on a dark evenin', so she keeps it and the horrible scars on her left face covered by a veil,. and reveals it for shock value now and agian...
"What's not scarred is gorgeous, she sure musta been a beauty when she was younger..." Jack trailed off, musing...
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(OOC: Irene always keeps her daguerreotype on her person, in a specially-constructed, sealed, latchless, hingeless, leaf-less, no-way-to-open-it silver box that Dreyfuss made for her. (he's well aware of her faults and dormant traitorous streak, but is a doting guardian nonetheless -- heck, she's the daughter he'll never have (so far as he knows), so no wonder...

)
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(OOC- Have a great day, MW, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TEXAS! YEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWW!! One of these days, maybe we'll get together and do the "dueling banjos" thing (written, btw, by Arthur Smith, not the pretender Mac Wiseman.) I've been working on some 'different' banjo stuff, lately, kind of Bill Keith (Banjoistics), not quite as far out there as Bela Fleck, but different...I've almost got a "Star Wars" medley worked out.
~J)
Sounds impressive! Think it'll mix with clawhammer? (that's the style that I play, plus a little stroke and just plain old frailing at different spots on the plectrum...) ).