James E. Carter, Hamelie Le Marinier, Volodar Naesandoral and Aden RobertsonLibation Amidst the Clouds
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.
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