[b]James E. Carter and Hamelie Le Marinier[/b] [center][b][i]Planning some rest & recovery II[/i][/b][/center] [i] collaboration between [@InfamousGuy101] and [@PrinceAlexus][/i] [hr] The planks underfoot deepened to a heavier thud as Carter and Le Marinier made their way toward the cargo deck. “You know I never did get the chance to thank you,” Carter said after a moment, “Back at the castle, guidin’ us through that storm of bullets. I’m sure Arkadios is a good officer, but you…” He gave a small tilt of the head, as if weighing the words, “you’ve got a steadier air about you. Feels better suited to the kind of mess we were in. Captain Le Mariner followed Carter nodding a wave to Zoe, moving down the plain and once far more luxurious corridors. He walked slowly but surely though he walked carefully, especially expecting the airship to sway like a ship at any moment. He nodded, he respected the younger Carter as someone who had proven to be a reliable hand in the last few days. “Just trying to stay alive. And keep people alive, day by day. Worry about rest later. I was a first Lt on a dreadnought main battery before i could not use binoculars. Even less space than here!” He said calmly, The whole thing keeps things confident and so was plain part of him at this point, he did not disdain the captain, he was just… different people. “Not your first scrape?” He asked, Carter was pretty calm and most people tended to panic, during, before, after, they always had a panic. “Better get you a dress uniform to go with that fancy spirit, to impress your date Miss Zoe ..” He teased the younger man, keep the mood flowing. Carter huffed a short laugh, "Hell, I don’t even remember the last time I wore full blues. Probably after the last dust-up between the Itkani and the Commonwealth… and even then, I think they had to drag me into ’em.” He let the grin linger a beat before waving Marinier's other notion with a flick of his hand, “Zoe? Nah, nothing like that. Just a spur-of-the-moment bit of celebrating we’re still breathin’. Sure, Aden caught a bullet and the ship’s wearin’ a tear, but we pushed through it. That counts for somethin’.” Not in small part due to Le Marinier himself, the captain may have been an old goat but he had the spirit of a thousand young intrepid ensigns, that was quite a blessing given the circumstances Carter thought. "I also heard about that woman with the healin’ hands? Never heard of anything like that, not in the Evig, not anywhere. I’ve been out past the Fold, sailed through skies thick with storm-wings, had harpies try to haul a man clean off deck… but a bullet hole vanish like it was never there? That’s the kind of thing I always figured belonged in some fanciful campfire tale.” He glanced ahead toward the cargo hold doors, his brow furrowing faintly, "Guess there’s always somethin’ new waitin’ to make a new tale... I figure you probably saw something like that in the Circle Sea? I haven't properly been to the Isles myself..." “Black, gold, dress sword. They even gave me a fancy hat, and lost 3 of them. 4 now. Summer state garden in full dress. Campaign in itself.” He thought he had lost 4 and his most comfortable dress uniform that fit.. well. It had taken so long to find someone who was that good and now they are dead maybe… Bad luck is a reality. He just was really bad with those hats and leaving them behind. “Few drinks, you'll be dancing with someone, we better get you a dress steak knife or something." He teased abit. “They cannot chase us through this. We can relax tonight and live a little, good flying, even if we trimmed a tree.” He reassured, the terrain they passed was dense to say the least damage was minor and no delay to stop and repair. “Never thought it was a dead art to be frank, like something out the books.” He said, a wave of his hand, metal and replaced partly. “Miricale to be alive I guess," he continued "So count my blessings instead of wishing i was a few decades early, take an AP shell to the turret, monitor, must have had a damn heavy gun, never exploded. Spalling is a bitch.” He spoke, a sense of breaking the barriers. “You'll find a lot of water,” He despanned about the Isles before carrying on as they walked. “Aye, it's got its secrets still, island we found a whole old Temple, looked too new, yet too old to be that intact. The whole place felt off, landed." A silence lingered before he continued. "Whole island was silent, no birds, No noise, no Wind, despite a storm a dozen miles away, no animals tracks, like you walked into somethings lair. Was a right one out the pirate tales. Officially... we reported lethal snakes, and claimed it was dangerous. ” He might have added a little to the sea story but that was tradition, the island being creepy as he'll was the truth. “Who knows, we might end up that way, you're welcome in the town estate if we do.” He said politely, he could open his home to people who helped him escape alive. That was least one could do. They had reached the dull metal door to the cargo hold and the ship got cooler as the designs saved weight on insulation and such luxury for a cargo deck. Carter listened to Marinier’s tale with a mix of fascination and unease. Silent islands with no wind, dead seas where temples stood like a bad omen, and serpents that were convenient cover stories for things men weren’t meant to linger near. Carter respected the old Captain for keeping his humor through it, but a cold edge pricked at the back of his mind, as if he was omitting something far more perturbing but the mainer didn't question it. He had the sense the man wasn’t just spinning a sea story, some part of it had teeth, maybe all of it. Still, Carter managed a faint smile, nodding along. The Isles had always been halfway between myth and map to him. For Marinier, the sea story was real enough, the place had freaked them out on a level they could not explain. A place they felt men were not welcome and that they would not be leaving alive if they pushed their luck beyond the land's already tolerance of limited intrusion. There always had been lost places, places that kept attracting tales and places where people refused to sail… maybe there was truth to them.. in a fashion. Myth And legend had to have a starting point. “Best as we’ll get on the old continent,” he thought to himself regarding Marinier's words. Maybe he was right, time in a Favish estate, a taste of proper hospitality. It would be a hell of a way to spend their hard-earned share. He could almost picture it, smoke curling from a hearth, something finer than salt pork and hard biscuits on the plate, and drink that wasn’t watered down by the week’s end. As the two men moved through the cargo deck the air got colder, corpsman Urses Mallory stood near the door, rifle slung but eyes sharp, the soldier contigent was slim around the ship to say the least and they were rotating guard duty on a day to day basis, and it had been Urses' turn by the looks of it. He gave Carter a look that lingered while letting Marinier pass without much more than a glance. Carter felt it, the soldiers didn’t trust him and the civilians didn’t quite know what to make of him either. He gave a nod, not willing to give the soldier the satisfaction of looking rattled. The Captain nodded to the Urses as they entered returning the respect and passed though like he was meant to be their, no fuss and without breaking step. Rank had it's uses at time, but rank as nothing without men willing to follow you. The pair pressed on, the hold echoed faintly with the hum of the ship's systems. The gold was sat in crates and strapped, tons and more wealth than the richest of men where sat in simple box's of wood stamped with the treasury seals and numbers scattered in random orders. It was sobering and also dangerous. Any would happily kill them for this bounty but soon they moved past the glittering stacks. They arrived at the provisions section, rows of labeled boxes, barrels, and cases, secured against the sway of flight. Bread, vegetables, grain, meats, quite the stockade, then he saw it. "Liquors!" Carter pointed out as he approached one of the crates, prying it open with a small grunt. His eyebrows lifted as the light caught the glass within. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, straightening up with a bottle in hand. The labels showed the sweep of the continent: Inbur’s stout reds, Quinian ports, Finiquian bitters, clear Favish brandy, even a few bottles from the Nordisles and beyond. “Half this stuff I’ve only ever seen behind a Commonwealth officer’s back bar,” Carter said, turning one of the bottles for Marinier to catch the label, “Imported all the way out here... Must’ve cost a king’s ransom. Hell, I might’ve en transportef one of these runs without even knowin’ it.” He set the bottle back gently, “Guess our little celebration’s about to get a damn sight fancier than I figured. “I have to see if my sister did not find my vintage Brandy I hid in my study if we make it theerre.” He shook his head, he hoped to get home but it be a long trip and a winding one likely “Now this is good stuff, an smooth eastern one too. We be taking it.” Le Mariner admired a bottle from his homeland and gave it a once over with approving nod and something more, a tangable link to his homeland. “Not seen one since a crown feast and only from afar. They loading the govement cellers before the reds broke the lines? Im not complaining.” He saw the bottle Carter showed. He did grab a small bottle, lesser but still a decent bottle and not usually seen outside an officers or senior NCO formal dinner. He pointed out a few recommendations on top of what Carter chose to take to the main hall of the ship. “And a nip for the guard in turn to keep warm, does not matter what rank, it's just an empty title if you do not look after your crew. Win or lose. It's together.” Regulation, not by a mile but the things they had already endured. Carter knew full well but he said it anyway, they had to hold together and mismatched, mixed up and broken as they where that was all they had to try and make it out of this crazy adventure alive. He was pretty sure Carter was one of the ones They would come to depend on. “Anything else you want to procure, or ernough liquid refreshments?” He asked as they prepared some crates to take it over. There's probably was some cigars or other luxuries scattered about the hold of this was to go by. Carter gave a short snort and stooped back down among the cases. Men like Marinier had a way of thinking practically, knowing what small luxuries made hell more livable. Didn’t take long. A splintered crate, tucked behind sacks of dried oats, gave itself away with the faintest smell of smoke-wood and spice. Carter pried it open and sure enough the prize was sitting there wrapped neat in wax paper and cedar shavings. He let out a low whistle, plucking one free. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, holding the cigar up for Marinier to see, “genuine Oscurarian. Don’t get more real than this.” He worked the end between his teeth, a wide grin. “This’ll do us more than enough, Captain. Liquor, cigars, and half a ship’s worth of gold sittin’ under our boots... if that don’t call for a celebration, nothin’ does. Shall we then…” "Someones loss is our gain." Marinier could not help but take one his own in a pocket later, they deserved a small treat in all chais they had survived in a few days. His Navy pattern heavy built revolver resting beneath his outer layer, an less protection more something to give reassurance even if it was kind of useless vs a ground threat. "Lets make some people drunk, if they cannot be happy." He said as he took one of the crates they had prepared. "Well seeing as we looting cigars together, its Hamerlin, Mr. Carter, unless you had parents with no sense of naming," He said as they started to head out the hold where the cargo was kept. Urses watched on as the pair exited the cargo hold with the crates of liquor, he was handed a bottle of pristine Favis brandy, a taste of home. He couldn't refuse it. [hr] The dining hall smelled of polish and old wood but even beneath the clean veneer Carter could see the military steel dressed up in borrowed finery. The bulkheads still had the plain bones of a warship’s mess but someone at some point had decided to drape the place in velvet curtains, chandeliers, and lacquered tables as though sheer decoration could erase its origins. High society had played at luxury here but the iron rivets and gunmetal angles still showed through the gilding. Now the room was theirs. Carter and Marinier had worked the bar into shape, bottles lined in neat rows, the good stuff set forward and ready. Smoke already curled from their cigars, drifting toward the false chandeliers. Carter sat back in one of the high-backed chairs that creaked with age, puffing until he managed to shape a smoke ring that floated lazily across the room. “Not bad,” he muttered around the cigar, proud of the scene they’d cobbled together out of the ship’s innards. Then, with a crooked grin, he rose and walked toward the corner where a phonogram sat waiting. Dust clung to the thing but the needle still had a shine, and it didn’t take much coaxing to bring the old machine to life. “What’s a party without some music?” he said with a boyish pride, glancing to Marinier with a half-smile.