[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgeIw95MdTk][b][u]Get to The Chopper - Ready for Takeoff[/u][/b][/url][/center]
[u]Hangar[/u]
Edward had been mildly irritated when Constance had taken the hand which had been proffered to [i]him[/i]: in his world, it was almost treasonous to take someone else's conversation away from them. To his relief, however, Krauss and the others in the hangar appeared to be taking the woman with a grain of salt, which seemed smart. To be honest, he wasn't sure what to make of the woman. She seemed to deflect questions with practiced ease, though he knew eventually he'd get something to stick. 

It was just a matter of finding the right material to use on her. Still, he noticed she seemed to be treating the whole expedition as if she were still back on the Isles. He chuckled inwardly at that: it was literally a whole new world out here, so the Isles really weren't a good metric of how to behave. Adaptability and mental flexibility were key, although he had to admit that she had shown remarkable aptitude for shooting a fire hose, despite her panicky expressions at the time.

Suddenly the pilot was speaking, telling him to hop into the copilot's seat. The copilot's seat? There was no way he was even remotely qualified for that! "Wouldn't it be better for someone with more experience to be in that seat? I'm sure--" He'd been about to say Constance, but then he realized he didn't want her anywhere near the controls of any aircraft that he was aboard. "--sure there are better options," he finished, painfully aware of how pitiful the sentence had become.

One of the men milling about the ship laughed, a deep, guttural sound of mirth. "Hah! Boy, UINC requires two pilot only for excursions." He spoke with a rough accent that combined the English language with the powerful pronunciations of a Leigri native. Ed resolved to eventually ask everyone on board where they hailed from. It could be useful to the story if he could write about the multiculturalism of the crew. "Two are here: Conway is pilot from before now, yes? Besides, only UINC cares for safety. Krauss is best of best: why ask for better than best?"

The words were oddly reassuring. Edward took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay," he said. "I can do it. But you'd better walk me through what to do if need be." He paused for a second, then pulled his little notebook and a sheaf of papers out of his pocket. "I figure we can head out past the charted zone a bit. Around this sector, that shouldn't be too hard to do." Edward had found the most detailed maps and charts of the currently known sea-level world that he could find before leaving, dotting them with notes and question marks." He looked apologetically at Constance as he climbed into the Copilot's seat. But not too apologetically.

He found himself musing through the maps and his notes, camera in his bag which he had somehow not lost during the shitstorm they had just survived. It was waterproof, too: that thing was like a god damn tank. So it was with a surprising and somewhat terrifying jolt that the aircraft began to move, being wheeled out of the hangar into the bright sunlight.

What was he doing? They were about to embark on the most magnificent trip of his life and he had his nose buried in notes? He shook his head with self-disgust and put the papers away gently. He readied his camera for the upcoming flight and snapped a quick photo of the clear blue sky, the back of the Garrloch, and the ocean stretching away to the horizon. It was incredible to actually see the horizon: the United Isles were all at slightly different elevations, and you couldn't look across from one to the all the others. 
	
Generally you could see the Ring of Thunder, the water far below, and the other islands floating gently, impossibly in the middle of it all. This was so much better. He only wished his camera took better quality photographs: there was no way it could replicate the majesty of what they were seeing.

[u]Main Deck[/u]
Keenan caught Captain Conway just as he was heading up to the top deck. "Mister Conway!" puffed the young boy, heaving from the combined exertion of moving so quickly and the terror of the woman who had just threatened him. "Sorry to interrupt you, sir, I know you're busy, but--"

"Wha's that on yer mouth, lad?" Conway tilted his head to one side. Keenan gulped, wiping a smidgen of brown off of the corner of his mouth delicately.

"I-I don't know, sir. Things got r-really crazy for a minute there." His face was a burning red, but he pressed ahead before Conway could question him more. "A-anyway! The freaky Ysmirod girl wanted me to give you a message. She said there are two sailors, Danzig and Rast, that were talking about..." he lowered his head, glancing side to side conspiratorially before whispering, "...mutiny."

Conway nodded. "Ay, sounds 'bout right. Those two 'ave been a bit shifty since we left." 

"Y-you know?" splutered Keenan, nearly slipping on the precariously steep ladder of the ship. "B-but--"

"Those boys be a bit misguided, I ken tell. Can't blame 'em none, either: that storm was as much a hell as we're likely ta ever see in this life. S'fair to fear for their lives. Thank ya fer yer information, lad. Best be off now." He finished heading up the stairs with that final parting remark, and found none other than Danzig and Rast in the flesh, working with a third man to clear away some of the irreparable wreckage from the lightning strike.

"Good work, all," said the Captain as he approached them. "That lightnin' strike was quite tha black miracle, eh? 'Course, we're outside tha range o'them now. Let's work ta get this covered and--White Whale, man, yer leg!" Conway pointed to Armas's leg, where a wicked-looking gash was oozing in the thigh. It wasn't gushing blood, and it seemed wider and longer than it was deep, but Conway wasn't about to let the man work himself to worse conditions. 

"How are ya not feelin' that, man. Plummet. Find medical an' have 'em take a look at that fer ya. Go on!" The captain shooed the man away, before returning his attention to the other two men. "Let's take care o'this, eh?"

[u]Medical, Starboard[/u]
"All right, all right, now that that's taken care of, we can--God be kind, what the blazing shit is this?"

At the entrance of Starboard medical was a middle-aged man with a strong jaw, a strong hairline, and generally 'strong' features. He was dressed in the telltale blue scrubs of a UINC hospital officer. "I leave for a couple of hours and it all falls apart!" He clapped a hand to his face and groaned.

"Hello," he finally said, removing the hand and looking at the catastrophe within the infirmary. "Officer Raoul, chief medical officer. Nice to meet you all. I was treating some poor sap at the engines for seasickness when we hit the storms. Can someone explain what has been going on in my absence? Why is that man bleeding from his nose? Why is [i]that[/i] man sleeping on the other side of the room? Who are the two of you?" 

He closed his eyes and exhaled with the air of someone who was feeling overwhelmed, but was not necessarily angry. "So much shit to do," he muttered. "Someone get me up to speed. That's an order: I'm pretty sure I can give orders...that's nice."