[b]Thursday, 14 March
Early afternoon
Southside Air Docks[/b]

The [i]Jade Dragon[/i] was a heavyweight for her speed. The ship was no brawling galleon for sure, but she could run down even an imperial hunter. The Dragon was technically in the hunter category of airships herself, but firmly on the fast side and with a large caliber chaser gun. During Sam’s time aboard, they had gunned down boats almost three times the length without difficulty. A pressure-driven slug gun on the port side made quick work of the larger boats’ larger crews. Sam had barely stomached the sight of a machine gun mangled corpse the first time she saw one, but that was well before her time aboard the [i]Dragon[/i].

The boat had arrived at Aeraport for some much needed shore leave and restocking. The [i]Jade Dragon[/i]’s captain had reserved the berth for two full weeks. The rest of the crew appreciated the downtime but Sam wasn't one to be overly comfortable stick on Aeraport for too long. She had already said her farewells to most of them as she disembarked. “Well Captain James, it has been my pleasure. I bid you adieu and may we meet again.”

She gave a tip of her hat as she turned away from the good captain. “Are you sure you won't join us again when we head out milady? Navy galleon take on the roster!” he called after her.

“Alas Captain, you know I cannot stay here got two full weeks. I will be long gone by the time you depart. Another time for sure!” and Sam turned and left.

 
Sam did little in the way of planning. Were she better at the practice she would have another ship to board the same day. Sam made her way through the less glamorous parts of the city towards an old tavern labeled the [i]Traveler’s Lodge[/i]. Sam had learned early that [s]illegal[/s] more fun activities were fairly readily available among the loose-lips drunkards, but not so much on public advertising notices. Honest work bored her. She took a seat at a table and ordered herself a bourbon on ice.

The table wasn’t for any expected company. Rather she wanted a workspace to clean a rifle. A barstool didn’t provide that. While her weapon did need it presently, it was as much habit of hers to do so when in a bar. Even the most wasted of sailors would think twice about making a fool out of himself at her expense with her shiny hardware scattered about in plain view.