[color=gray][quote=Suichiro]He let out a fearful shout and found himself a corner to curl up in. He remembered that fearsome noise from just before he blacked out. He remembered the terror that thing produced. He shuddered uncontrollably, repeating. "No... No... No..."[/quote][/color]

The sounds under the floor faded to a small scuffle, a few clinks and shuffles, the hushing sound of vines being torn away from the machines. Then, there was quiet.

The gray fox padded up to Suichiro, snuffled his ear and licked his face, its bushy tail swishing empathetically.

Above, thunder crashed. Light flashed through the cracks in the ceiling. The ship tossed and rocked and crashed on the waves. The gray fox skittered, crouched, and crawled close again to Suichiro, whining.

[color=gray][quote=Chris]Hell even the small table had legs. Curiously it moved and swayed to counter the rocking of the boat. Curiosity wasn't completely gone as he saw a valve off to one side. So far everything had caused one event or another so he degan to turn it.

Near his feet something moved. They looked like large spider legs. Whether they were or not didn't matter because when they sprung out it caused Chris to jump and stumble over the parts strewn everywhere. Coming down with a crash one of the models was crushed under his arm. A dark fluid leaked out onto his arm, oil maybe. Looking up he tried to find what surprised him. Maybe he was just on edge but he swore that he felt something move on his arm but there was only the oil.[/quote][/color]

Indeed, those hinged machines that littered the workshop -- strewn throughout the room by years of being flung about in storms and waves -- appeared to be moving in the corner of Chris' eye.

Turning the valve did nothing, at first. But as the minutes went on, the pipe it was connected to would slowly heat up, and a dim hiss of steam would flow through it freely.

The boilers in the engine room had been filled and set alight.

The oil on Chris' arm didn't behave like usual oil -- it clung to his arm, more like a leech than a liquid, and occasionally it shifted as if the oil itself were alive. Simply brushing it off would send it to the floor, where it would seep into the cracks between the floorboards.

[b]"WHO'S THERE!"[/b]

A gravelly voice shouted from the pile of wreckage behind Chris, and the gears and spider-legs began to shift and move. The inventions seemed as if they might be coming to life, their springs and hinges extended to capture Chris and devour him into their metal chaos --

Instead, a very human old man pushed his way out from behind them, grunting and grumbling and huffing with the effort of untangling himself from a set of hanging spider legs. He was a slightly rotund, red-faced, bushy-bearded old man who had possibly never smiled a day in his life, and he squinted through foggy spectacles at Chris.

[b]"WHO ARE YOU?"[/b] he shouted, throwing his big hands in the air. [b]"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"[/b] He grabbed Chris' arm where the oil had spilled, and yanked it close so he could see the stain closer. [b]"WHAT DID YOU TOUCH?"[/b]

His voice boomed throughout the ship, followed by a crack of lightning outside.

In the Mess, the gray fox perked its ears and stared with interest in the direction of the workshop.

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