James E. Carter & Itzi Ku

---

The low hum of the engines filled the bridge, steady and almost comforting after the chaos of the last days. Beyond the windows, the forest canopy rolled away in dark, endless swells, cut only by the scar of the railway and the grey smudge of smoke rising over the Mortree. Arkadios’s voice drifted faintly from the speaking tubes as he relayed orders to take them north of the tracks and signal the Mittelanders. Somewhere below, Mariner’s report about the smoke had set the bridge crew muttering in clipped, tense exchanges.

Carter stepped in quietly, tool belt hanging from one hand. He looked worn down, like a man who’d been awake too long but didn’t trust himself to stop moving. Crossing the short stretch to the helm, he leaned against the bulkhead near Itzi, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the horizon in some time.

“Well,” he said after a beat, voice rough with fatigue, “after today, a rich man like me fixing canvas might soon be a thing of the past.”

Itzi didn’t answer right away. She nodded absently, still watching the pale plume of smoke in the distance. Carter waited a moment, then tried again.

“Quiet for a change,” he said, glancing at the compass, “Almost peaceful. You’d think we weren’t flying toward a battlefield.”

“Almost,” she replied, tone flat. She kept her hands on the wheel, knuckles pale.

He studied her for a moment, then tilted his head, “What’s on your mind?”

That finally drew her eyes from the glass. There was a flash of something, uncertainty or perhaps fear, before she let out a breath and turned back to the helm.

“You walk in here,” she said, “like it’s any other day... Out there it’s a war and we’ve been inches from dying, Aden nearly got himself killed, and for what? If we’d gone down, my parents would never even know what happened to me.”

Carter didn’t bristle. He only nodded slowly and looked past her to the smoke on the horizon.

“Once you’ve been close to the end,” he said, “close enough to taste the salt in the air as your ship goes under… it all gets a little numb after that. My crew went down in the open ocean. Sea doesn’t care how much you scream at it.”

Itzi’s expression softened, guilt edging in. She looked down at the brass rim of the wheel.

“I’ve been on the edge,” he continued, “Close enough to see the teeth. After that, well... things just feel quieter inside. Not better... Just… quieter.”

A long silence followed. Then, gently, Carter shifted topics.

“But we’re not dead, are we?” he said, flashing a small smile. “We made it out, we found the hoard, that’s a damn ‘King’s Favor’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

Itzi let out a small, reluctant laugh, though her smile faded quickly.

“You really think they’ll let us just walk away with it? The soldiers here... or the ones waiting for us in Mitteland?”

“Don’t care,” he said, plain and sharp. “I came to this damn country to do a job. The Inburians handed me a broken contract, a ruined ship, and a dead crew. That gold’s not loot, it’s fair compensation.”

“They’ll pay us,” Itzi said, more out of obligation than conviction.

“With what?” Carter questioned, “Inburian notes?" he scoffed, "Those’ll be worth jack in the Main before the year’s out. You see what’s happening down there? The country’s eating itself.”

He stood, pacing once before leaning against the bulkhead.

“And let’s say, somehow, they do pay,” he went on. “That won’t stop Evig Trade from coming after me. I lost their airship, their men, their cargo. You think they’re gonna send a fruit basket? No, they’ll want heads, and mine’s easiest to roll.”

He went on, quieter now, his face shifting down, “That crew had families, Itzi. Kids, wives, folks back home who depended on what those men brought in. I’m not walking back emptyhanded and telling them the Empire says ‘thanks, good luck.' I knew them and I know who they left behind. I’m not walking back with empty hands while their people starve. A few missing bars won’t sink the Inburians’ bottom line… whatever the hell their bottom line even looks like these days.”

She wanted to argue, but the words caught. Part of her wanted that gold too, more than she liked to admit but she could feel trouble coiling around it already.

Carter seemed to sense her hesitation. “All I want’s my fair pay and a way off this continent,” he said. “If some of the folks aboard have other plans, that’s their problem. I’ll keep my cut, and be gone before the wolves start snapping at each other... and hey, you’ll go home to your folks with more wealth than they ever dreamed, something to show for it. Maybe we could open up our own shipping company together.”

Itzi gave the faintest smile at that, though it didn’t last. Outside, the plume of smoke thickened, and the forest ahead rolled into a jagged spine of foothills. The ship’s engines thrummed on, carrying them toward Mitteland, and whatever waited there.

Private Aden Robertson

Healing magic had always been the thing of fiction to Aden. Tales relegated to history and the occasional play or novel the private indulged in occasionally. Rumors abounded about some squirreled away within the higher echelons of some societies but that was the standard gossip along the like of those vile cure all drinks they peddled in the seedier districts.

Yet for all the stories; none had actually captured how it went. Mitunbaal looked drained in the glimpses he caught of her. Not withered but more akin to the aftermath of a long march. Or how his wound felt as if he had simply overexerted the limb and not suffered a near debilitating gunshot. The scar almost faint instead of the angry red and upraised skin it should have been.

Though the still stained greatcoat hanging in his locker a stark reminder of how close he came. Physically at least.

Mentally he could still remember the panic and the pain as Zoe flittered about. The deck rumbling around him as he felt his eyes grow heavy; the fear that this was it. The cold spreading in his chest. Thoughts of his family; abandoned in a moment of youthful rebellion. His first squad, their corpses splayed across the Calarian border, eyes bulging from gas. His first kill, the young mortar spotter, killed by Aden so the marksman could die on a airship. Poor trade-

Then Aden woke up in his bunk. Fresh clothes and scar too small for the wound he remembered. It had taken a day for him to gather what had happened; a miraculous save by all accounts.

"Poor trade." He muttered aloud as he worked at a side table within the bridge. A manual for ariel gunnery laid beside his sketchbook. The private making notations within the sketchbook and scratching out ballistic calculations; trying to figure out how to adapt his sniper rifle for the airship.

The book was made with machine guns in mind but the rounds were similar enough to-

'Once again you cheat death. How many others more deserving didn't?'

The thought was intrusive; his pencil scratching harder then necessary and breaking off the slightest bit of lead. Aden gave a grunt of frustration, closing the sketchbook and reaching into his borrowed airman uniform pulling out a cigar; half squished and partially smoked. A flick as his lighter followed the cigar; stubbornly remaining unlit for just long enough to remain annoying.

Finally, the familiar taste of the cheap tobacco and those other flavors he and the others had associated with their "trench smokes" filled his corner of the bridge.

"Thank the Dawnbringer for helium."

James E. Carter, Zoe Spyroe & Hamelie Le Marinier



collaboration between @InfamousGuy101, @Dyelli Beybi and @PrinceAlexus

---

Carter’s boots thudded dully against the planks as he made his way down the narrow passage, tool belt still slung low on his hip, Harlan holstered at his side leg and he smelt faintly of tar and canvas glue. The ship had gone quiet, save for the low hum of the engines somewhere aft. He passed closed cabin doors, each rattling softly with the rhythm of the hull, until a flicker of movement ahead made him slow.

Zoe was there, coming the other way.

He offered a short lift of the chin, the ghost of a smile in the eyes,
“Afternoon,” he drawled, voice low and easy, as if they were on a river ferry instead of a warship limping between fronts. “Didn’t figure I’d run into you down this way.”

"I've always been interested in these machines," she said, glancing about the ship's interior with a vague look of interest, "In another life, maybe." She paused, smiled, "Good afternoon, Sir."

Carter’s grin tugged just a little wider at the edges, “Well now, that’s good to know,” he said, shifting his weight as though giving the idea some thought.

“Because about two cabins down the portside reciprocating flux compensator’s been acting up all morning. Might be your chance to put those ‘other life’ skills to the test.”

He gave her a sidelong look, half teasing, half appraising, “Course, if it turns out you don’t know the difference between a wrench and a soup spoon, I’ll have to start questionin’ your résumé.”

"Hmm... I might leave it to people who know what they're doing," Zoe wrinkled her nose at the idea, "I do know the difference between a wrench and a soup spoon and indeed, table, dessert and teaspoons as well, but I don't know what on earth that other thing you mentioned was. In this life, I mostly dance and make witty banter."

Carter chuckled, the sound low and warm in the narrow hall, “Can’t say I’ve ever been one for fancy silverware myself,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But seems your abilities work well enough. You’ve got this bunch pointed toward a common goal, and that’s more than most could wrangle outta this lot.”

He leaned a shoulder against the bulkhead, tone easing into something almost nostalgic.

“Back at the Western Fold in the Main, we used to have these nightly dance parties. Out under the lamps, music carryin’ over the river… in my younger years, I was quite the dancer.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe when this is all over, we’ll see if you can keep up.”

Zoe gave a small laugh, raising an eyebrow, "Me, Captain? I merely pointed them at money... and I can promise you I can keep up. I don't tire easily."

Carter’s grin lingered as he gave a slow nod, “I’ll have to hold you to that,” he said, voice carrying that easy mix of challenge and humor. “Who knows, maybe once we get to Mitteland, we’ll find out.”

He shifted his tool belt a little higher on his hip, eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity, "Speakin’ of which… what’s the plan for you once we touch down? Can’t suppose you’ll be headin’ back to Inbur.”

"Oh," she pursed her lips thoughtfully, "If you mean the city, then 'no'. It's best if I give that town a wide berth. No doubt the communalists will want a word with me," she gave a small shrug, "What can I say? I have a charming smile. Perhaps Grendell? Once we land in Elvesland we'll fund out more about the state of the city."

"But as for the other matter. Why wait?" she declared, "Everyone is walking around this ship looking so glum! We should have a dance! The old dining hall would be perfectly suitable."

Carter let out a low chuckle, rubbing the side of his jaw as though weighing the notion, “Well… given what we just slipped away from, maybe it’s not the worst idea. Might even shake some of the ghosts outta folks’ heads.”

He glanced toward the passage, “Never been to one of those fancy dining hall balls myself but it might be nice, even if the backdrop’s a country teeterin’ on the edge.”

His eyes glinted with a touch of mischief, “Hell, Arkadios and that stuck-up Elga might even crack a smile for a change.”

"A dance, might help some people, can be wound too tight." Le Marinier said as he came into view having gone for a walk to try and stretch his legs in this airship... there really was not many places to go.

"Besides, we need to pair the right summer red with ration chicken and a white with some tinned beef stew. Maybe whatever passes for scotch after. Dowger Duchess had a much better celler." He tried to potentially boost morale a little and a abit of a dance, a few drinks or just some social gathering might ease pressure on the crew. His humour was a little dry he had to admit right now.

He could not deny being a military diplomat did not have... perks...

"I don't know if we have any of that, but I'm sure I saw a phonograph in one of the officers' cabins," Zoe chipped in, "There must be some shellacs or cylinders to go with it. That's all we need really. We'll make do with the rest." She glanced between the pair, a slight curve of a smile on her lips, "Can I leave this in your capable hands to organise while I let the others know what we're planning?" she asked before adding, "This way is best, they're unlikely to say no to me. Like I said before, charming smile," she declared, gracing the pair with a demonstration.

Carter gave a small nod, glancing between Zoe and the Favish officer, “Well, long as the ship’s still holdin’ together, and she is for now, I don’t see a reason we can’t make it happen.”

He looked over at Mariner with a faint grin, “Sounds like you’ve already got your mind on that drink, Captain. Guess that means I’ll have to see what passes for a bar on this heap.”

Then he turned back to Zoe, a more businesslike spark in his eyes, "Alright, you go work that smile of yours and get the crew on board with the idea. Me and the Captain here’ll see to getting the dining hall squared away.”

He gave a quick, approving tilt of the head toward her before adding with a dry edge, “Just don’t promise ‘em too much, we’re fresh outta Dowger Duchess vintages.”

"I'll promise nothing more than my presence," she said, with a slight smirk.

“Well now, that’s one way to keep expectations manageable. I’ll try the same line next time someone asks me to patch a gasbag in the rain," Carter said with a knowing smile.

As Zoe drifted off down the corridor, the sound of her steps fading, he glanced sidelong at Mariner, “Alright then, Captain,” he said, “if we’re serious about this shindig, we’d better make sure there’s some of that good Pobrysh you keep talking about. No sense starting a dance without the right fuel.”

He hitched the tool belt higher on his hip and tilted his head toward the passageway.
“Come on. Let’s go see what we can dig up before someone else gets to it.”

James E. Carter and Hamelie Le Marinier



collaboration between @InfamousGuy101 and @PrinceAlexus

---

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.

---

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.

---

Nikos

Zeppelin #27, Galley

---

In the galley, Nikos pulled the lever and watched as coffee flowed from the spigot into his cup, but his mind was racing.

Magic was real.

Hot coffee poured over the rim and splashed his hand, making him flinch and cry out in pain as he splashed coffee on the urn. Putting down his cup in one of the wire holders, he went to the sink and poured cold water over his wound, stopping after a few seconds and blowing on it.

Magic was real.

The value of that dwarfed all the gold they managed to get aboard - no, of that repository where they liberated those bars from before they got shot at.

If magic was real, then what about the legends of ancient creatures, like the satyr or the siren? Were they real, as well? Or...?

His mind raced for a moment, then he grabbed his cup and took a quick sip of coffee.

It wasn't enough.

Reaching inside his coat, he grabbed his flask and poured a dram or two in. He was about to seal the flask, then shook his head and downed the rest of the liquor.

Music suddenly blared from the dining area.

"What in the world...?" Nikos demanded, downing the rest of the coffee to steel himself, then stepped past the curtain.

"What is going on here?" he demanded, then his eyes alighted on the bar.

"Ahh," he said, nodding. Others wanted a drink, too.

Giogoula Giorgiou

It's been quite a hectic few days lately for Giogoula, between the transport of gold to the airship and leaving with a bunch of armed men shooting at them. Granted, while she didn't took part in the actual moving of the gold bars, she had spent much of the time during the transport on guard duty at the top of the airship. She was glad that she got some much needed shut eye and rest after the whole deal, now it's time to get some hot coffee or tea for her mug.

The policewoman mused for a bit about the whole affair of the gold while she walked. She didn't like the attitude that some of the people, especially the Carter fellow from the Main, have about taking some of the gold for themselves one bit. This is gold of the Imperial treasury, not some hidden treasure of a long passed Monchian pirate waiting for some brave explorers to dig it up. She just hopes that the military men would handle the gold appropriately and that all of it would be delivered and held in a safe place until the war's end.

As she got closer to the dining area, the sound of music surprised her.

"Now what could this be?" She thought, walking in to the dining area to see a couple of people listening to music and drinking what looks to be alcohol. It was a peculiar sight for Giogoula, she doesn't even know where the alcohol came from or who would have the time to stash crates of them in a military airship. The policewoman thought of just turning around and leave the area, but she decided against and walked through the door. Other people are already there and some socializing would do some good. She just need to not touch any alcohol past her lips.

James E. Carter, Hamelie Le Marinier, Volodar Naesandoral and Aden Robertson



A collaboration between @InfamousGuy101, @PrinceAlexus, @Bingelly and @Terrans

---

The bar top gleamed under the low light, bottles catching faint glimmers as Carter tipped a measure of whiskey into his glass. The phonograph hummed in the background, scratching out a tune that lent the place a strange, almost homely warmth.

Bootsteps on polished wood turned his ear as some curious folk began to enter the dining hall. Sure enough among them was the tall, sharp-eared figure of Volodar.

Carter gave the glass a lazy swirl, then leaned an elbow on the counter, cigar still clamped in his teeth.

“Evenin’, come to join the rabble?” he said easily, giving a low gesture with his cigar.

"One could say that, Mister Carter," Volodar replied, offering the human a nod, and a cold smile.

The elga turned his attention to the bottles along the top of the wooden bar as he stepped towards it. Gesturing towards the glass bottles, the cavalier cocked an eyebrow "And where were these acquired from? I don't believe you and I had the good fortune or the opportunity at Custospada to find a crate or two filled with alcohol."

Carter didn’t shift much, still propped with his elbow on the counter, the cigar bobbing faintly between his teeth as he talked.

“Courtesy of me and the old man,” he nodded toward Marinier, “we took a stroll through the stockades. Turns out this ship was sittin’ on a fine little treasure hoard of its own, crates of the good stuff, tucked in between the dry oats and the gold. Looks to me like someone was plannin’ a fancy-schmancy soirée for high society pricks before world turned upside down.”

He gave a low chuckle, rolling the whiskey in his glass before tipping it back in a solid swallow. The burn set warm in his chest, and he let out a puff of smoke that curled slow and lazy toward the chandelier.

“Miss Spyrou and I got to jawin’, one thing led to another, and now… well, here we are. Alive, richer than we were a week ago, and with a bar worth drinkin’ from.”

Carter poured himself another glass without missing a beat, then tipped the bottle toward Volodar in easy offering.

“Glass for you?” he asked, the crooked grin still there.

The Captain nodded and took a pull from his cigar with a content look and balanced a glass of rather nice Brandy. "We found a nice bounty and thought we would share it with the crew. Mr Carter here found us some fine cigars and one of our best vintages." He raised his glass clinking slightly in a damaged hand with prosthetics.

"Whoever this was planned this had rather excellent taste." He said and toasted the luck of their find and enjoyed the excellent alcohol.

"We safe for now, as best we can be. We can take a night to enjoy being alive ". He believed they had earned a small mercy in the grand scheme of the universe.

Volodar bristled at the Ardellian's tone, and he deeply frowned at the man as he told his story.

"Those bottles must have been left, or stolen, from the passenger line that built and operated this ship before the military seized it," Volodar commented, though his nearly perpetual scowl did fade slightly as he eyed the offered bottle. "It is surprising that they survived unmolested thus far, between us and the work crew converting the liner for military use."

Carter only smiled at Volodar’s fussing, the kind of easy grin that sat halfway between amusement and dismissal. He didn’t bristle, didn’t bother countering with any lecture, just topped off the glass he already had in hand and slid another across the polished wood toward the elf.

“Passenger line, military stash, highborn’s rainy-day cupboard... hell, maybe some poor sod just forgot the whole lot down there,” Carter said with a shrug, smoke curling from his cigar as he spoke, “Point is, it’s here, and it’s ours now.”

He lifted his own glass in an informal toast, catching Volodar’s eye.

“Past few days we’ve been running and bleeding, no chance to breathe, let alone sit a spell. As the captain says, let's change that for once. A drink, a cigar, and the knowledge we’re still standin’, beats starin’ at the bulkheads in silence, don’t it?”

Without waiting for agreement, Carter knocked back a swallow of whiskey, then gestured to the other glass with the bottle still in hand, the offer plain.

The Captain nodded to the other Captain, this air ship has so many Captains aboard it was like a joke. They needed like a number system. "Hidden, damaged goods, someone might have wrote them off. Our gain regardless. " He said as a potential answer to why, damaged boxes or so and got lost in a corner as they rushed to convert the airship to military use.

"Even your vaunted Cavalry would face a challenge keeping up with us in this terrain, if any time we could relax. It's now." He backed his point up, they might not get a chance like this for a long time, they had to make best of the good times.

"We repaired the ship l, we need to keep its crew in good shape too, physically and mentally." He reasoned switching to an avenue the Elf would find hard to counter. He was a diplomat after all and he had a few levels of trickery to him besides fancy flying.

Maybe even get a dance going, at least a quiet evenings good drinking and rest.

"Captain le Mariner," Volodar turned his attention to the Favian diplomat, "I have no objections to a man drinking, in moderation of course. There does remain the possibility the fine libations we are indulging in may have been provided by my capital." The elgan laughed before continuing, "By no means is that a claim of ownership, but the airship industry is a rather narrow field and aeronautics is an interest of mine."

For a moment Carter almost looked stunted as if he was weighing the claim in earnest, eyes narrowing at the amber liquid in his glass as if it might suddenly confess its lineage.

“Well now,” he said at last, letting a smile creep back, “if this here bottle really did crawl its way outta your capital, guess that makes tonight a proper diplomatic function. You can drink to national pride while the rest of us just drink to bein’ alive.”

He lifted his glass again in casual salute, the humor glinting sharp in his eyes.

“Either way, it’d be a sin to let it sit corked. So what the hell call it yours, call it ours, doesn’t matter much now. We’re already here, already pourin’. Might as well see the bottom together.”

"Well Captain, you can rest assured just intend to celebrate life, with anyone willing." He said politely, the old Elf was a strange one but could do either a drink to be less stiff. He might snap otherwise.

"We have multiple, cultural exchanges of our nation's fine produce of industry." He said though it had meant to lighten the mood, like the industrial gala where nations out did each other to display their prowess from science, industry and weapons.

"Would you care to join us glamorous Miss, honoured Captain and pass the word over the intercom, that we invite those free to gather with us." He spoke, with a sign of his rogue sneaking out on the miss, nothing too inappropriate but just a little fun and a sign of some good alcoholic beverage he and Carter had started early on.

Aden wandered in; borrowed jumpsuit looking out of place even as the scout tried to drag a few more puffs from the stub of his cigar. The scout's eyes danced to the finer cigars already being enjoyed; his nostrils flaring and giving hint to the reason he had entered the party.

Carter caught Aden’s entrance out of the corner of his eye, the younger man’s mismatched jumpsuit and stubborn chewing at the cigar stub making him look more out of place than himself. He gave a short laugh under his breath, then reached for the cedar-lined box he and Marinier had cracked earlier.

“Private,” Carter called out. He plucked one of the finer Oscurarians from its bed of shavings and held it out between two fingers.

“Can’t have you choking down that sad little twig while the rest of us are sittin’ pretty. Here, proper smoke. Light it, lean back, and remember we ain’t dead yet.”

"Take it slow, this is probbly smoothest cigar you ever smoked, good slow burn tobacco." putting his drink down to pull a short sailors knife out and offered it to cut the cigar in lack of a proper cutter he could see. The Captain offered, that cigar he smoking barely was a stub... Be like smoking those columist cigarettes he stole, rough as a bar fight in a back alley.

"We just having a fwq drinks, some music, a dance if ladies willing " he explained and took a pull from his own smokable.

Aden gave a few more puffs; before stubbing out the remnants of his field cigar in an ash tray. Taking one of the proffered cigars with a mix of trepidation and anticipation.

It felt heavier then those he had squirrelled away; the aroma enticing and banishing away the thoughts he had lit the first cigar to escape. A quick flick of the offered knife left Aden satisfied enough to pull out his light; the tarnished metal still holding the crudely drawn emblem of his unit. Well what had been his unit....

The captain was right. It was smooth and different then anything he had tasted before. Aden bit back a cough as he settled onto a stool.

"It's good. Very good..." Another puff. Another slight cough. "What do you mean dancing?"

"Well, gentlemen," Volodar said as he stepped away from the bar. "Do enjoy your evening. I do advise against over-indulging. We may need to make a landing tomorrow."

Carter gave a sharp click of his tongue, the kind that called a man’s attention whether he wanted it or not.

“Now hold on there,” he said, already reaching for another glass, “Wouldn’t be right to let our soldier here enjoy his first decent smoke without a proper toast to go with it. Brave lad’s carried a bullet for all of us, least we can do is raise a glass in his name.”

He poured out two fresh measures, one for Aden and one he slid pointedly toward Volodar, then stepped away from his own stool to press the drink into Aden’s hand himself.

"You’ve earned better than watered oats and column cigarettes," He gave the younger man’s shoulder a firm pat before turning back toward the elf.

“And you, don’t think you’re slippin’ out without wetting your lips first. Just one toast, then you can go back to your bulk or as you wish to do.”
"He shed blood, the least we can do is raise a glass in his honour." The Captain agreed, it was important to recognise the crews efforts and help them bond as a crew of misfits as much as able.

"No Navy Rum, but we will make good with what gifts we are given. A toast to a brave soldier who earned that cigar the hard way. And somthing of age of sail from my homeland, The wind that blows, The ship that goes,
And the lass that loved a sailor!" The older captain gave the younger soldier a respectful nod and also tried to make it clear he was part of somthing more than himself.

He did not mention his pack of those, complete with blood stains to ruin the mood, it was rough as sand paper, be a desperate day he smoked those. Maybe he was playing it up abit but he chose to and he made that choice to elevate the younger man. Plus they had precious little to celebrate in last few weeks.

Aden for his part looked at the glass with skepticism. Unused to liquor, outside of ales, and his last tasting had started his whole foray into the military in the first place.

Still it seemed as if they wouldn’t leave him alone until he took a sip. So he took his glass hesitantly; faze fixed on the liquid.

Volodar very deliberately took the drink from Carter. There was a moment of thought before he raised his own glass, and he side-eyed the young private. "To good fortune and fair winds, and praise God for healing magic."

Carter raised his own glass high at Volodar’s words, grin flashing back into place.

“To good fortune and fair winds,” he echoed, “and here’s to the healing that can kep us all standin’ when we might’ve been buried instead.”

He clinked his whiskey gently against Aden’s glass, then tipped it toward Marinier and finally toward Volodar before knocking back a hearty swallow. The burn went down smooth, leaving him with that satisfied glow he never tired of.

Aden glanced once more at his glass before looking back at Carter. The man seeming to be indulging most of all in the liberated libations. High off the gold most of the crew had secured for no more noble a cause then personal wealth.

The sudden anger surprised Aden but he knew where it came from. It was how Carter acted as if he could toast to Aden. As if his experiences in a foreign war with a foreign military allowed him to bestow on the private honors.

He hadn't scrabbled through mountains and hasty ditches under fire. He hadn't left friends choking on gas and scattered over hillsides. Hadn't had to retreat for weeks under the constant cloud of defeat and artillery fire.

He sat his glass back down. Trying to keep his tone level even as the wound's pain flared to mind.

"I'll drink when the communalists are back where they belong."

He stuffed the fancy cigar out then; standing to leave with a pang of loss. His pride and pain the only thing keeping his resolve over such petty an act.

Carter let Aden’s words sit for a beat, the reality of them alongside the soldier's body language cut through the haze of smoke and amber burn in the Ardellian's chest. For all his grin and easy manner, the young soldier’s bitterness carved a reminder that not everyone could just laugh it off with a drink. Carter gave a slow nod, he wasn’t about to match anger with anger, truth was, the lad had earned his say. But in Carter’s mind, fortune had finally turned their way for once, and damned if he was going to sink into the same gray fog everyone else carried.

“Suit yourself, Private,” he said at last, voice steady, almost mild. “Glass’ll be here if you change your mind.”

---

Nikos

Zeppelin #27, Galley

---

In the galley, Nikos pulled the lever and watched as coffee flowed from the spigot into his cup, but his mind was racing.

Magic was real.

Hot coffee poured over the rim and splashed his hand, making him flinch and cry out in pain as he splashed coffee on the urn. Putting down his cup in one of the wire holders, he went to the sink and poured cold water over his wound, stopping after a few seconds and blowing on it.

Magic was real.

The value of that dwarfed all the gold they managed to get aboard - no, of that repository where they liberated those bars from before they got shot at.

If magic was real, then what about the legends of ancient creatures, like the satyr or the siren? Were they real, as well? Or...?

His mind raced for a moment, then he grabbed his cup and took a quick sip of coffee.

It wasn't enough.

Reaching inside his coat, he grabbed his flask and poured a dram or two in. He was about to seal the flask, then shook his head and downed the rest of the liquor.

Music suddenly blared from the dining area.

"What in the world...?" Nikos demanded, downing the rest of the coffee to steel himself, then stepped past the curtain.

"What is going on here?" he demanded, then his eyes alighted on the bar.

"Ahh," he said, nodding. Others wanted a drink, too.

Giogoula Giorgiou

It's been quite a hectic few days lately for Giogoula, between the transport of gold to the airship and leaving with a bunch of armed men shooting at them. Granted, while she didn't took part in the actual moving of the gold bars, she had spent much of the time during the transport on guard duty at the top of the airship. She was glad that she got some much needed shut eye and rest after the whole deal, now it's time to get some hot coffee or tea for her mug.

The policewoman mused for a bit about the whole affair of the gold while she walked. She didn't like the attitude that some of the people, especially the Carter fellow from the Main, have about taking some of the gold for themselves one bit. This is gold of the Imperial treasury, not some hidden treasure of a long passed Monchian pirate waiting for some brave explorers to dig it up. She just hopes that the military men would handle the gold appropriately and that all of it would be delivered and held in a safe place until the war's end.

As she got closer to the dining area, the sound of music surprised her.

"Now what could this be?" She thought, walking in to the dining area to see a couple of people listening to music and drinking what looks to be alcohol. It was a peculiar sight for Giogoula, she doesn't even know where the alcohol came from or who would have the time to stash crates of them in a military airship. The policewoman thought of just turning around and leave the area, but she decided against and walked through the door. Other people are already there and some socializing would do some good. She just need to not touch any alcohol past her lips.

The sound of boots on the deck pulled the men's attention. Nikos came first, half a question already spilling out of his mouth before his eyes landed on the bottles lined neat across the counter. Carter smirked around his cigar and raised his glass in greeting.

“Well, look who smelled the trail. Bar’s open, friend. Coffee, whiskey, hell, mix ’em if you’ve a mind to. We’re makin’ the most of what the ship decided to gift us.”

Hot on his heels came Giogoula, her stride sharp and guarded even before the music rolled over her. Carter caught her in his glance and gave her the same easy smile he offered anyone who walked in, tipping his glass in welcome.

“Ma'am,” he said with a more formal shade.

@Terrans

As the toasts died down, Zoe stepped over to Aden, a glass of white wine held casually in her hand, "So," she declared, with a slight smile forming in the corner of her mouth, "The old boy made it sound like you leaped in front of a bullet intended for the whole crew. If so..." she raised her glass, taking a genteel sip, "Though I must say, I'm distinctly impressed by the quality of the stitches. Excellent work, you're healing up nicely."

She glanced idly around the party, "Nobody is dancing, which is distinctly boring."

@Bingelly

Meanwhile, Arkadios had propped himself up against the side of the doorway leading up to the bridge. People seemed to be relaxing, which was definitely a good thing. The last thing he needed were further clashes between the soldiers and some of the more bellicose civilians. He took a sip from his whiskey, letting his gaze drift across the room as he took a small sip from his whiskey. He needed to pace himself; it wouldn't do to be caught drunk if another crisis occurred.

As Volodar left Carter's presence, Arkadios quietly stepped across, "This is an interesting distraction, is it not?" he posed, "Though I must say it is not a bad idea to keep the civilians distracted while we head to a friendly port and refit the ship for a purpose other than a rescue vessel."

---

Nikos

Zeppelin #27, Saloon

---

Nikos' eyes glanced past Carter and his smile faded as he took in the open crate. Magic was forgotten as the cold hand of fate grasped his heart.

"Where did you find all those...?" he asked faintly, dreading to hear the answer. This was the General's booze, down to the last drop. And a very unhappy general if he found all this going on...!
There is a war on, he reminded himself. If I'm lucky, I'll die before the general finds us.

Maybe the General would accept he was out-ranked, the Zeppelin stolen, there was no way he could have protected the booze..!

Maybe it was the General who fired on them, to get back his collection? But of his troops, there was no sign.

Maybe they'd make it quick, a firing squad?

But there was one dangling escape line...

"Err, coffee?" he managed, then nodded. "Aye sir, I'll bring some immediately"

Private Aden Robertson

Aden had been against a wall; making his escape slowly from the room. A mix if anger, shame and guilt still burning in his gut when Zoe appeared as if she was made of shadows.

Or maybe the blood thundering in his ears hid her footsteps.

"So," she declared, with a slight smile forming in the corner of her mouth, "The old boy made it sound like you leaped in front of a bullet intended for the whole crew. If so..." she raised her glass, taking a genteel sip, "Though I must say, I'm distinctly impressed by the quality of the stitches. Excellent work, you're healing up nicely."

She glanced idly around the party, "Nobody is dancing, which is distinctly boring."

Compliments was the last thing he expected from her; or an agreement with Carter's ambitious toast for that matter. No sarcasm or ill intent seemed to linger on her gaze or features. Honesty seemed to be her default. It was refreshing and surprisingly it took some of the sting away.

"Do you want to?" Memories of the steps accompanied the days spent learning the common dances; a necessity for an upcoming trader looking to intermingle with the upper crust. If only out of a commonality. Still for whatever reason Aden offered the appropriate arm and bowed his head in askance. "My waltz is serviceable, my lady."

Though doing so in army boots, with a pistol belt and a stitched arm wound would be a new experience for Aden. He wisely left that part out.

It seemed the part got tense to the Post Captain but things began to cool down again between Carter and the elven captain, Captain Carter too… too many Captains probably and all used to being the lord and master of their commands.

Toasts raises he was glad that the spirit of the evening was a good one, they had worked hard and faced hardship to get here, this evening might not happen again for a while.

“Agh, we need something more suitable, allow me.” He went over to the music player and changed the wax carefully to a more upbeat dance, not quite socially ideal for this event but needs must and with one eye carefully aligned the head, losing your eye screwed with your depth perception and he had knocked over many a glass before be learned how to adapt after his injuries on the dreadnought.

Lighter with a faster beat and more energy, he had done the best he could. The end of the world as they knew it made those silly social rules about the right kind of hat and suit seem small compared to staying alive. “That better milady, enjoy.”

He raised his glass to Zoe who had proposed the idea and made his way over to an enlisted crewman looking out of place, it was for all not just those with a commission. He was entitled to take a night off, steward, attendant, crewman, whatever rank or role he chose to take. “That's quite the tale, Myself and Captain Carter were offered an idea, so we went looking, and we found a bounty to share with others.” The Favain Captain used an ash tray to knock some ash off his expensive cigar he and Carter had acquired earlier.

He turned a little more serious but placed a hand on the younger man's arm. “This night is for all of us, military, civilians, officers, crew, we have survived and won our first battle together, it's safe right now, safe as can be anyway. We do not know when another chance will come and we are alive, so we celebrate it. My advice as a man who has come close.” He paused and gestured to his eye patch with a damaged hand.

“Live, enjoy, get a few drinks, and take a night off. We can get our own drinks if we want one. You earned this celebration the same as all of us have, your off duty, get a drink, relax man. That's an order if you need it. Duty can wait till morning.” He tried to give him a chance, they would have hard times, tense times and dangerous ones. You had to enjoy the good when it came too or you would just break down or snap. Hopefully the crewman would let himself take the opportunity provided.

He noticed one of the civilians enter, a former Police woman he believed he recalled and walked over putting his snubbed cigar away for later and his glass down. He was still sober and despite his damage, he had plenty of practice on the dance floors of galas.

“Welcome mi lady to our humble celebration, would care to dance and celebrate our continued adventures. I had quite the lessons in the capital and can promise on my honour your toes shall remain unharmed.” He said offering his arm, deciding as probably one of the most senior present he should set a good example and set the tone. It was a time to celebrate their life for one more day.

He could have a charm and charisma when he needed it, confident but this required a different kind to the steel of battle. Sometimes you have to prepare to fail and take it with good grace and to just roll on without letting it become a rut. But you lost every chance you never took.

@Terrans@Expendable@Dyelli Beybi@Badarby

Arkadios and Zoe

Meanwhile, Arkadios had propped himself up against the side of the doorway leading up to the bridge. People seemed to be relaxing, which was definitely a good thing. The last thing he needed were further clashes between the soldiers and some of the more bellicose civilians. He took a sip from his whiskey, letting his gaze drift across the room as he took a small sip from his whiskey. He needed to pace himself; it wouldn't do to be caught drunk if another crisis occurred.

As Volodar left Carter's presence, Arkadios quietly stepped across, "This is an interesting distraction, is it not?" he posed, "Though I must say it is not a bad idea to keep the civilians distracted while we head to a friendly port and refit the ship for a purpose other than a rescue vessel."

Volodar Naesandoral

With a quiet nod as he stepped away from the bar, Volodar acknowledged Arkadios's presence as he too sipped from the rather fine Pobrysh that the men led by Carter seemed to be drinking as though it was cheap swill. The smooth warmness in his chest, as relaxing as it was, did little to smooth over the cavalier's unintentionally bruised ego nor dull the man's senses in any meaningful capacity.

"It's also a rather dangerous distraction, useful though it may be," he replied matter of factly. "With that Klamka drzwi drinking his fair share of liquor, who is at the helm? That Hunyunak woman could likely manage, but God only knows if she's supposed to be the one on station right now."

Mitunbaal Vasiliou

Unusual for the her short time among the crew, Mitunbaal seemed less than eager to join in the center of the merriment. She had been late to enter, and had quietly taken a seat having yet to grab a drink. Despite the reluctance, she wore a smile on her face and hummed along to whatever was playing on the phonograph as she watched the others in the bar raise toasts with the clinking of glasses. She did dutifully keep an eye on the private Robertson as he moved between the group, though more her intent was studious than amorous.

...

"Do you want to?" Memories of the steps accompanied the days spent learning the common dances; a necessity for an upcom9ing trader looking to intermingle with the upper crust. If only out of a commonality. Still for whatever reason Aden offered the appropriate arm and bowed his head in askance. "My waltz is serviceable, my lady."

Though doing so in army boots, with a pistol belt and a stitched arm wound would be a new experience for Aden. He wisely left that part out.

"Why Mister Robertson, I thought you'd never ask!" Zoe declared with a slight smirk, extending a hand politely, to allow him to lead her to the dance floor. She glanced across at Carter, then Volodar and Arkadios, giving a quick eye to what was going on in the room before giving her full attention to Aden.

She still had that slight smirk on her face, as if there were some great joke that nobody else in the room knew about.

---

Volodar Naesandoral

With a quiet nod as he stepped away from the bar, Volodar acknowledged Arkadios's presence as he too sipped from the rather fine Pobrysh that the men led by Carter seemed to be drinking as though it was cheap swill. The smooth warmness in his chest, as relaxing as it was, did little to smooth over the cavalier's unintentionally bruised ego nor dull the man's senses in any meaningful capacity.

"It's also a rather dangerous distraction, useful though it may be," he replied matter of factly. "With that Klamka drzwi drinking his fair share of liquor, who is at the helm? That Hunyunak woman could likely manage, but God only knows if she's supposed to be the one on station right now."

Arkadios gave a wry chuckle, knowing just enough Haltian to understand the comment, "I would suspect it is her," he paused, chewing him lip for a moment, before adding, "though your comment puts me in the mind to check. Do you know how to pilot a ship such as this Sir?" he inquired, "As an infantryman, I, sadly, do not, though I have a rough grasp of some of the science behind her operation, gathered through my own reading."

He paused, clearly hoping to have someone who knew what to do with him, in the eventuality the ship was uncontrolled.

James E. Carter

---

Carter nursed his glass, the drink turning easy as he leaned back against the polished bar. The phonograph’s scratchy tune, the smoke curling toward the chandeliers, the clink of glasses... hhell, it almost felt like a proper saloon if you squinted hard enough.

He’d caught enough snippets from the others as the night wore on. Arkadios, steady and practical, calling this a good distraction. Volodar with his usual stiff-collar complaints about who was at the helm, as if Itzi couldn’t keep the ship flying straight. And Marinier, the old goat, saying plain as day what Carter himself believed: you had to take your mercy where it came, or you’d snap in two.

For once, Carter felt fortune leaning his way. Gold stacked in the belly of the ship, liquor flowing, a chance to laugh without gunfire snapping at their ears. After years of chasing shadows and bad luck, he wasn’t about to spit on it.

His gaze wandered the hall, over the mismatched crowd. Zoe twirling the wounded Private into a little waltz, of all things. Miss Giorgiou judging the gathering like the typical high society broad she seemed to fancied herself as while Nikos went on being of service as ever, offering excellent coffee. The Favian captain meanwhile smoked like he’d been born to it. And then... her.

Mitunbaal Vasiliou

Unusual for the her short time among the crew, Mitunbaal seemed less than eager to join in the center of the merriment. She had been late to enter, and had quietly taken a seat having yet to grab a drink. Despite the reluctance, she wore a smile on her face and hummed along to whatever was playing on the phonograph as she watched the others in the bar raise toasts with the clinking of glasses. She did dutifully keep an eye on the private Robertson as he moved between the group, though more her intent was studious than amorous.

Miss Mitunbaal.

She sat quiet, humming faintly, a smile on her lips but her eyes elsewhere. Carter had heard the talk, how she’d mended Aden with nothing but her hands, bullet wound closing under her touch. Healing magic, he’d always thought that sort of thing belonged in storybooks about queens and liberators, not in the middle of a cramped airship of a modern age. He’d seen plenty in his travels from rogue raiders blotting the sky to harpies dragging men screaming off decks, but healing magic? It was stranger than all of that somehow. Part of him scoffed at it yet another part couldn’t quite look away, curiosity gnawed within him.

He tossed back the last of his glass, set it down and let out one last curl of smoke, slow and steady, before grinding the stub of his cigar into an ashtray. No sense showing up reeking like a chimney. He let a slow grin tug at the corner of his mouth.

He crossed the floor with usual ease, but when he stopped before her, he kept his tone gentler than the usual grin-and-draw some in the crew had gotten used to from the Mainer.

“Looks like the floor’s startin’ to fill,” he said, a faint tilt of his head toward the two dancers, “Figure it might be better company with a few more steps in it. What do you say, care to join me for one?” he offered his hand to her.

Private Aden Robertson

"Why Mister Robertson, I thought you'd never ask!" Zoe declared with a slight smirk, extending a hand politely, to allow him to lead her to the dance floor. She glanced across at Carter, then Volodar and Arkadios, giving a quick eye to what was going on in the room before giving her full attention to Aden.

She still had that slight smirk on her face, as if there were some great joke that nobody else in the room knew about..

Aden could admit he had been thrown for a loop. The first reasoning was that Zoe had accepted his offer. The second was that she had been waiting for his askance.

Then he was out on the “dance floor”; fumbling into his position with distant muscle memory. Hands settling in her grip and side respectively. He felt off; the emotional torrent still bubbled under the surface, the song in the background was off-tempo for a waltz and Zoe moved easier and surer in her steps. Aden stumbling slightly as he almost stepped in her left foot.

“Sorry.” He met her gaze. Flashing a grin that was part nervous and part anticipatory. He ignored the slight ache of the stitches and moved for the next set.

He wasn’t sure when he noticed but his attention eventually found Mitunbaal’s. She was watching from the corner. Eyes locked on Aden and Zoe’s movement; but he got the impression Zoe wasn’t cause for her attention.

Aden might have said something; or perhaps returned the gaze of Zoe hadn’t returned from the latest step of the waltz and nearly off balanced him.

Zoe

<Snipped quote by Terrans>

"Why Mister Robertson, I thought you'd never ask!" Zoe declared with a slight smirk, extending a hand politely, to allow him to lead her to the dance floor. She glanced across at Carter, then Volodar and Arkadios, giving a quick eye to what was going on in the room before giving her full attention to Aden.

She still had that slight smirk on her face, as if there were some great joke that nobody else in the room knew about.

---

Arkadios

<Snipped quote by Bingelly>

Arkadios gave a wry chuckle, knowing just enough Haltian to understand the comment, "I would suspect it is her," he paused, chewing him lip for a moment, before adding, "though your comment puts me in the mind to check. Do you know how to pilot a ship such as this Sir?" he inquired, "As an infantryman, I, sadly, do not, though I have a rough grasp of some of the science behind her operation, gathered through my own reading."

He paused, clearly hoping to have someone who knew what to do with him, in the eventuality the ship was uncontrolled.

Volodar's focus remained on the Captain over the rapidly assembling group on the dance floor. The frivolity of the civilians and the young soldier was to be expected. "I have some experience flying these crafts, Captain," Volodar nodded in reply. "Though I must warn you, it was a far smaller craft as it had been personally constructed. I do have faith I can see us delivered to safety should the need arise."

Miss Mitunbaal.

She sat quiet, humming faintly, a smile on her lips but her eyes elsewhere. Carter had heard the talk, how she’d mended Aden with nothing but her hands, bullet wound closing under her touch. Healing magic, he’d always thought that sort of thing belonged in storybooks about queens and liberators, not in the middle of a cramped airship of a modern age. He’d seen plenty in his travels from rogue raiders blotting the sky to harpies dragging men screaming off decks, but healing magic? It was stranger than all of that somehow. Part of him scoffed at it yet another part couldn’t quite look away, curiosity gnawed within him.

He tossed back the last of his glass, set it down and let out one last curl of smoke, slow and steady, before grinding the stub of his cigar into an ashtray. No sense showing up reeking like a chimney. He let a slow grin tug at the corner of his mouth.

He crossed the floor with usual ease, but when he stopped before her, he kept his tone gentler than the usual grin-and-draw some in the crew had gotten used to from the Mainer.

“Looks like the floor’s startin’ to fill,” he said, a faint tilt of his head toward the two dancers, “Figure it might be better company with a few more steps in it. What do you say, care to join me for one?” he offered his hand to her.

Mitunbaal laughed lightly as she looked up at the Ardellian, her half grin remained behind a cupped hand. She swept a loose hair back behind her headscarf as she stood up.

"I suppose it could not hurt, sir," she replied, taking his hand into hers.

Giogoula Giorgios

The policewoman took a sip of her tea while listening to the music being played at the party. While she does enjoy an occasional swig of alcohol once in a while, she didn't touch the alcohol that some of the crewmember found in this ship. Giogoula considered the non-alcoholic beverages to be good enough in this impromptu party.

He noticed one of the civilians enter, a former Police woman he believed he recalled and walked over putting his snubbed cigar away for later and his glass down. He was still sober and despite his damage, he had plenty of practice on the dance floors of galas.

“Welcome mi lady to our humble celebration, would care to dance and celebrate our continued adventures. I had quite the lessons in the capital and can promise on my honour your toes shall remain unharmed.” He said offering his arm, deciding as probably one of the most senior present he should set a good example and set the tone. It was a time to celebrate their life for one more day.

He could have a charm and charisma when he needed it, confident but this required a different kind to the steel of battle. Sometimes you have to prepare to fail and take it with good grace and to just roll on without letting it become a rut. But you lost every chance you never took.

Giogoula glanced at the Favisian officer. Originally, she was going to reject his offer for a dance but she gave him a small smile.

"A dance, sir?" She asked, getting closer to the officer and took his hand. "I'll let you take the lead, then." She may be someone working for the city police and the Ministry of Public Safety but she can't be on alert all the time, even in a zeppelin. It is good for her to unwind every so often.

Private Aden Robertson
...
Aden could admit he had been thrown for a loop. The first reasoning was that Zoe had accepted his offer. The second was that she had been waiting for his askance.

Then he was out on the “dance floor”; fumbling into his position with distant muscle memory. Hands settling in her grip and side respectively. He felt off; the emotional torrent still bubbled under the surface, the song in the background was off-tempo for a waltz and Zoe moved easier and surer in her steps. Aden stumbling slightly as he almost stepped in her left foot.

“Sorry.” He met her gaze. Flashing a grin that was part nervous and part anticipatory. He ignored the slight ache of the stitches and moved for the next set.

He wasn’t sure when he noticed but his attention eventually found Mitunbaal’s. She was watching from the corner. Eyes locked on Aden and Zoe’s movement; but he got the impression Zoe wasn’t cause for her attention.

Aden might have said something; or perhaps returned the gaze of Zoe hadn’t returned from the latest step of the waltz and nearly off balanced him.

"Why you've made quite the impressive recovery Mister Robertson," Zoe remarked as she fell back in step with Aden. She was a graceful dancer, apparently practiced at this, if little of any practical value. Not surprising for a daughter on Inburian aristocracy. She still had that slight smile on her face as if amused by her own private joke, "So," she asked, eyes sparkling as she looked up at her dance partner, "What do you suppose our gallant Captain intends to do once we get to the Mitteland? Will he honour my promises of pay for those who were reluctant to retrieve the gold, or do you think he'll keep it all for the greater good on Inbur?"

She cocked her head to one side slightly as they turned in time to the music, "What is an honourable Captain to do in times such as these - when honour pulls in different directions? And what do you imagine our Mister Carter will do?"

---

...

Volodar's focus remained on the Captain over the rapidly assembling group on the dance floor. The frivolity of the civilians and the young soldier was to be expected. "I have some experience flying these crafts, Captain," Volodar nodded in reply. "Though I must warn you, it was a far smaller craft as it had been personally constructed. I do have faith I can see us delivered to safety should the need arise."

Arkadios motioned for Volodar to lead the way if he so pleased, before setting off in the direction of the bridge. It never hurt to be careful, even if they weren't lurching out of control yet, "That is useful to know. I appreciate, Sir that you may have been reluctant to step forward to do any flying at this point. However, if tensions boil over, which I hope they will not after this little matinée, it is good to know we have someone else capable of piloting us to safety."

As they approached the bridge, Itzi's back was visible at the controls, "Well that puts my mind at rest," Arkadios commented mildly, "Shall we return to the party?" he suggested.

---

Nikos

Zeppelin #27, Saloon

---

Nikos stared wide eyed back at the strange officer who gave him an order to drink...! before moving on to someone else.

Truly, he did not understand the nature of the problem, none of them did. They were all drinking the General's booze! But then most of them weren't Inburian.

If so much as a drop touched his lips, the General, where ever he was, would know. That much he was certain about. But then they raided the empire's gold reserve and were, without doubt, pirates!

It was too much. Turning to face the bar, he saluted the General's liquor collection, then did what any sensible soldier does - he left, heading towards his quarters. They weren't safe yet, and they were going to need sharp minds for the next emergency that came along, not ones reeling with hangovers or still drunk the next day.

He'd save his drinking where any sailor does - when safely tied up and on liberty.

"Whenever that is," he muttered as he walked into his tiny cabin.

Arkadios

<Snipped quote by Bingelly>

Arkadios motioned for Volodar to lead the way if he so pleased, before setting off in the direction of the bridge. It never hurt to be careful, even if they weren't lurching out of control yet, "That is useful to know. I appreciate, Sir that you may have been reluctant to step forward to do any flying at this point. However, if tensions boil over, which I hope they will not after this little matinée, it is good to know we have someone else capable of piloting us to safety."

As they approached the bridge, Itzi's back was visible at the controls, "Well that puts my mind at rest," Arkadios commented mildly, "Shall we return to the party?" he suggested.

Volodar Naesandoral

"Captain, a word before we return if you will," Volodar gestured for Arkadios to pull off into one of the cabins with him. "What is your intent when we make land and make contact with the Mittelvolk? Miss Spyroe promised some of this adhoc crew payment in exchange for their service. A single bar of that gold could likely outfit a regiment or keep one in the field longer than our enemies, and I fear she may be overly generous for what amounts to a fortnight's worth of labor."

---

James E. Carter and Mitunbaal Vasiliou
Cowritten

Carter led Mitunbaal out toward the open space between the tables, the rhythm of the phonograph filling the hall. His grip was firm but easy, steadying her as he shifted them into motion. At first his steps had that unmistakable Ardellian looseness; his boots tapping in an almost frontier two-step but he quickly tempered it with the steadier lines of Old Continent waltz, letting her find the balance between the two. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but guided with enough confidence that it worked.

"Can’t say we’ve had much chance to talk proper," he admitted with a faint smile, “Figure the least I can do is make amends for that."

He dipped his head slightly in something close to a bow, even as they kept moving in time with the music.

“James E. Carter,” he said by way of introduction, his tone light but touched with a kind of sincerity that wasn’t always there when he spoke, “Former Evig Company shipping captain, now at your service.”

The shariq took a moment to find her partner's very confusing step before falling into the pattern the ardellian had opened for her. She proved a skilled enough improvisor that the awkward blending of the steps looked somewhat natural for what it was, though it wasn't without a few near steps on each other's foots.

"I can be a rather peculiar woman," Mitunbaal replied with a chuckle. "It is hardly your fault our routines do not orbit one another."

She gave the man an awkward smile as she still followed his steps, her inquisitive brown eyes studying the man with each movement.

"Miss Mitunbaal Vasiliou, it's a pleasure, sir."

Carter let out a low chuckle as he guided her through another turn, adjusting his step when their feet nearly tangled. For all the odd mix of styles, she picked it up faster than most he’d ever tried to lead.

“Suppose our routines don’t orbit much,” he said, grin tugging as he echoed her phrasing, “but hell, this ship only has so many corners to hide in. Figure sooner or later, we’d have had to cross paths. Might as well make it here on the floor instead of bumpin’ shoulders in a corridor.”

He let the rhythm carry them a moment before his brow furrowed in thought.

“Mitunbaal Vasiliou,” he repeated, the name rolling slower off his tongue this time. “I reckon a name like that don’t come from the Western reaches. Shariq, isn’t it?”

"Indeed it is, Mister Carter," Mitunbaal replied.

Carter gave a small nod, guiding her through another easy turn.

“Thought so,” he said, voice even but curious, “Never had the chance to set foot in Shariq myself, though I’ve heard plenty over the years. Sailors swap stories, merchants spin half-truths, and every port’s got its own version of what the old kingdom was like...”

He let out a low chuckle, “But I'm getting ahead of myself... What brought you to Inbur, if I may ask?"

Mitunbaal subtly frowned at the mention of sailor's tales of her people's homeland for a mere moment as she took a little dip. "And such tales turn from half-truths to whole-falsehoods so very quickly."

"That said, I was attending to research and lectures at the University of Constaninos the Second," she continued, with her half-smile returning to usual. "Though I did take the opportunity to see some old friends while I was in the city."

"You’re not wrong there,” Carter admitted with his brow lifted a fraction at her frown, he kept guiding her steady through the dip and back into rhythm.

“Most of those sailor’s stories are good for passing the night and little else. I’ve seen a dozen brass lamps and clay jugs passed off as treasures from the East too, each one with a story bigger than the last. But I’d wager your word on the matter’s worth more than a thousand such trinkets.”

He drew in a breath, tone softening as he shifted the steps into a gentler sway, “I’ve flown over Constaninos plenty, seen the University’s spires from above, quite the sight. Always told myself I’d stop in, take a walk through those old halls.”

His mouth quirked faintly to a more melancholic font, “Guess that chance is gone now, least until the city’s not a battlefield.”

His gaze flicked back to hers, “I hope your friends made it out safe. Be a hard thing, knowing folk you care for are still caught in that mess... I know some myself."

"Most evacuated before the communalist advance." Mitunbaal said. "And God shall guide those who had stayed."

Carter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, giving her hand the faintest squeeze as they moved through the turn.

“Glad to hear most made it out,” he said quietly, and it was honest relief. But the words sat heavier on his tongue than he meant them to.

His mind betrayed him for a moment, back to that dockside in lower Inbur, where the Evig men were shouting over one another, trying to haul crates onto the gangway. Then the crack of rifles. The heat as fire caught on canvas. His crew scattering like startled sheep, some screaming, some just running. Carter had wanted to bark orders, drag them toward safety, but instinct had driven him the other way. Grabbed the Harlan, and ran. By the time he clambered up into the belly of this zeppelin, Zoe and Arkadios were already there, the whole city collapsing behind them.

He wondered, not for the first time, if one of those homes sacked in the chaos belonged to a friend of hers. The thought gnawed bitterly, but he shut it down, swallowing the guilt as he guided her through another step.

Realizing he’d gone quiet, Carter shook himself and let a wry smile creep back,“Maybe, when we do find someplace safe, you might think on headin’ to the Main. You’d have no shortage of folks keen to hear what you’ve got to say, and it’s a sight more stable than Inbur these days. Passage would be yours if you wanted it.”

"My people have lost their homes once before, sir," Mitunbaal replied. There was barely subdued rage in her eyes, hidden behind calm words and a neutral expression.

Carter caught the subdued fire in her eyes and felt his words falter. He didn’t press, didn’t try to soften her stance with another line. Instead, he gave a small nod, the kind a man gives when he knows he’s brushed against something that cuts deep.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice apologetic, "Your people’ve had to fight for what’s theirs before so I understand if your wishes are to stay, wasn't my intention to offend.”

He guided her through another step, steady and respectful, no trace of his earlier bravado, “Truth is, the war’s not mine, I won’t pretend it is. But so long as I’ve got breath and a ship under me, I’ll see you and the others safe to Mitteland. That much I can give.”

A faint smile flickered back, trying to bring back a more optimistic tone, “Maybe one day, if you ever find yourself in the Main, we might cross paths again. Share a drink and a dance without the world on fire around us.”

No smile rose to greet Carter's glint of a grin as Mitunbaal scowled back at him.

"Listen to me," she hissed, though her voice was no louder than before. "And listen closely for you may well learn something."

She still managed to keep step as she continued on.

"Step upon the cursed land in northern Xak-Shariq, where the Blight had its terrible birth, as I have, and ask the long dead souls buried in that tainted earth if intent had mattered. Ask the Hasikos and the Doges of Calaria then if the fight against the blighted hordes was merely a Shariq matter, that it was something the western realms needn't concern itself over. They certainly thought that it was no concern at the time."

She twirled under the man's arm before concluding. "The only reply you'll hear from all of is the haunting silence of the dead. Shariq, Calarian, Inburian, Haltian. Jagorsy, Mittelvolk... it did not matter which realm they hailed."

Carter held her gaze, he didn’t flinch at her harsh words. If anything, his step slowed a fraction as though to give the weight of her conviction space to settle between them.

“You’ve made your point clear,” he said calmly, “I won’t pretend to argue it down. History’s got its lessons, and Lord knows the dead speak louder than men like me ever could.”

He turned her gently through another sway, though his eyes drifted away for a moment, before turning back to her, “Where I come from… we told ourselves we’d stay out of Old World wars. That was the belief, 'Not our fight, not our soil.' But I was young, eager, and I signed on when the Commonwealth sent soldiers across the river.”

His jaw tightened slightly, “I was there when we dropped the first bombs from an Ardellian airship and I’ll never forget it... not the blast, but the silence after. Whole quarter of a city gone, and I knew damn well it wasn’t soldiers we hit. Came home to a hero’s welcome, ribbons and parades, people cheering… but I knew better. Knew the Iktani weren’t beaten, just angrier. We’d only stoked the fire for another war years down the line.”

He looked back at her, the grin gone, replaced by something more subdued. “That's why I left, worked with the Company and I can count with my hand how many times I've been back... So you’ll forgive me if I tread careful when it comes to calling another people’s fight my own. It doesn’t mean I don’t respect yours, but I will endeavor to make clear I learned what happens when my countrymen go sticking our noses where we don’t belong.”

His grip steadied as he dipped her once more, “That said… well if fate’s kind, maybe we’ll meet again. I have matters to attend to in the Commonwealth, much as it would pain me to leave your presence."

"Survival alone is not atonement for your sins, Mister Carter," the shariq bluntly replied. "I shall pray that you find it in time, wherever the Dawn brings you."

Carter dipped his head slightly at her words, “You’re right. Survival alone isn’t atonement. For me, that lies with the families of my crew who followed me into fire and never came back. I can’t undo that, but I can try to make their loved ones whole for what was lost.”

The music wound down and he guided her through the last steps, his touch steady,
“Maybe it’s too late for me to join another fight.”

As the final note faded he didn’t release her hand at once, instead lifting it slightly and bowing his head over it in a gentleman’s gesture, rough but respectful, “Thank you for the dance, and the lesson.”

He let her hand go with care, stepping back just enough to give her space.

"The highest thanks you can give to a lesson is to apply its teachings, Mister Carter," Mitunbaal replied before walking off to find her seat again.