Penny

Penny's Pencils

Cinnabar Forever! (RCN)

Sabatine let the water sluice over her in one of the small shower units in the communal bathing area. Given the size limitations of a starship, the space could be struck down to a mess in a matter of minutes, allow a watch to eat and then be converted back to showers just as quickly. That wouldn't be necessary while they were in an RCN base and there were barracks and showers ashore and most spacers preferred to spend their pay to eat at restaurants, or more frequently bars, along the strip. Once their money ran out they would be back aboard for the packet rations the RCN provided, though it was rare that a ship stayed in port that long. She thought about Kaiden's words as the water sluiced over her naked body. He hadn't asked for this, probably hadn't at any rate, any more than she did and there seemed little to be gained by perpetuating a fued that had been over for years. Still the memories of his treachery strung her even now, RCN officers didn't marry if they knew what was good for them, not before attaining the rank of Captain at least and she wouldn't have been of a social match for Kaiden anyway. Perhaps it was the realization that despite what she had thought they shared, she had been just another in a long line of women to him. The embarrassment at her own actions only served to inflame the situation, even if she couldn't fully admit it. She turned the shower off and stood dripping for several long seconds before roughly toweling herself off. Byron, the mess steward, a power room tech who took extra coin from the officers in exchange for performing the duty of manservant had whisked away her dirty uniform to be laundered and laid her second best second class uniform, dress grays. She really would have preferred the gray on gray battledress of her third class uniform but she hadn't left instructions and this was perfectly proper. Pulling on the uniform she stood under the heated dryer for a minute while running a brush through her hair. She normally wouldn't have washed it but if they were to dine with Commodore this evening it meant she would eventually need to change into her whites and she couldn't very well ruin those with muddy hair. Struck by the thought she touched her lapel mic.

"Byron, this is ....," she stumbled knowing her designation was about to change and then went with a name instead, "Hickoring. Lay out my dress whites for me will you. Also better let ... uh the new boson that just came aboard with the new XO, I didn't catch the name, let her know to ready an escort of four mostly sober spacers to escort us to dinner tonight."

"Ma'am," came Byron's terse response, obviously not best pleased at having to lay out another uniform after already having done so even though dinner was a couple of hours away. It might have been polite to suggest that he lay out Caladwardem's uniform also, but as she doubted he had unpacked yet, and he hadn't yet come to an arrangement with Byron it wouldn't have been proper for her to ask in any case. Servants, even hired ones like Byron, were sensitive of their rights in Cinnabar society, and for all she knew Kaiden had bought a servant of his own, it would be his style, and she didn't want to infringe on THAT servant's right and prerogatives either. Besides if he had to scramble for a uniform at the last second it would serve the prick right.

That pleasant though was cut of by her com bead.

"Five this is Howarth, there is a blonde haired piece down at the entryway that wants to come aboard," Howarth declared. His voice held a touch of... not panic, but uncertainty about what to do. What exactly a 'blonde haired piece' was doing at the gangway was an open question. Clearly this wasn't a naval officer or spacer of Howarth wouldn't have bothered to ask her for direction.

"Is she a civilian?" Sabatine asked, puzzled as to why anyone would be approaching the ship.

"Yes..er no, that is... I don't," Howarth stammered miserably. Sabatine sighed.

"ALright, hold what you got spacer, I'll be there soonest. Sabatine slipped on her boots and hustled down the companion way to C deck where the hold was located. Howarth and his mate were both on their feet now, neither held their weapons, a win for everyone, and both seemed to be talking animatedly to a striking woman in an expensive looking civilian dress suit in white and cream. She could see why Howarth had described her as a 'blonde haired piece' she was shapely and attractive and straispherically above the sort of doxy a spacer would find in one of the brothels on the strip. A lanyard with a pictograph embedded in hung around the woman neck. She turned at the sound of Sabatine's boots and Howarth and his mate straightened looking a little guilty.

"Ah Lieutenant is it?" the woman asked pleasantly.

"Yes, and misstress there are no civilian's permitted on the ship at this time," Sabatine told her coldly. The woman's eyes hardened slightly and it was then that Sabatine noticed the very small but expensive recording rig nestled around the woman's shoulders like an ermine fur.

"I'm Tilda Savari," the woman said smoothly, "I'm a reporter with the Sarento Gazette and I have every..." Her hand dipped towards her lanyard but Sabatine didn't let her finish.

"Mistress," she repeated a trifle more firmly, "No civilians on the ship, please get to the bottom of the boarding ramp." By now her tone had lost some of its neutrality, exhaustion and Kaiden's unwelcome intrusion into her life coloring her words with hostility.

"I am a member of the press and I..."

"Listen," Sabatine snapped, "I don't care if you have authorization the Senate and the Gods in assembly, I dont care if you are the Senate and Gods in assembly, if you don't get off this ship in the next ten seconds I'll have these spacers throw you down the gangway. That is the metal ramp you should be moving your ass down right now." Howarth and his mate stiffened. THey didn't look happy but there was no question they would obey such an order instantly if Sabatine gave one.

"Ok, ok!" the reporter squaked backing down the gangway with commendable ease. Sabatine uncharitably wished that the woman would fall into the slip but she managed the task with commendable ease.

"Just one quick question Lieutenant, was that Kaiden Caladwardem I just saw coming aboard what is such an eligble bachelor doing out here?"

"I'm not a liberty to discuss personnel assignments and neither is anyone else without Commodore Welkin's written permission," Sabatine snapped, eliciting a guilty wince from the two spacer on entry watch.

"Lieutenant I really must protest this is..."

"Engine's this is Five," she spoke, queing the link to the chief of ship, chief engineer Savachev.

"Go ahead Five," Savachev responded instantly.

"Run up the induction pump on starboard three will you?" she asked a split second later a powerful hydraulic pump roared to life drowning out the reporters shrill complaints. Sabatine gave the woman a jaunty salute and then turned and headed for the bridge.

"Unbefuckinglievable," she groused.

Damned to the Depths

The Blood Axe ships surged forward, great kettle drumbs booming the rythym as the stroke oars bit deep into the bay, hurling the ships forward with a violence that made their aged timbers groan and frothed the sea around their sharp prows. The defenders had, by now, gotten their oars unshipped, but they were pinned between the onrushing ships and their own harbor walls. With blood thirsty shouts and cracking timbers the Bloodaxes crashed into the defending galleys, abandoning their oars and swarming up over the bulwarks. Pistols and ancient firelock muskets cracked in the darkness, the puffs of light reminiscent of fire crackers at spring festival.

The Weather Witch herself rushed past the western most breakwater with only a few dozen yards to spare. At the tip of the artificial harbor sailors in the chainmail veils of Dalib Sahara were trying to manhandle the ancient bombard around to bear on the attacking ship which was now less than a bow shot away. Sparks flew and men tumbled to the grounds as men in the fighting tops poured musket fire into the

"Hand's aloft to reef sail!" Markus shouted as they cleared the breakwater and Sketti threw the helm over slewing the sloops headlong rush into a long beam reach which canted the deck sharply. Fire blossomed on the far side of the harbor as the guns there opened fire. A section of the front bulwark of the forecastle exploded with a ruckus swquark of protesting timbers. Men fell screaming hewn down but splinters of wood. A second shot struck just to the right of the bow sprit, raising a vast gyeser of water which pattered over them. Several other shore based guns spat flame into the night but Calliopie saw no evidence that their shot passed anywhere near them. Above them the crew were hastily looping the sail in quick inelegant reefs so they no longer caught the slackening land-breeze that flowed of the hot continent to the sea. Men cheered as one of the guardships flag came down and the Blood Axe red banner was run up. The cheer was short lived as the deck of the vessel seemed to burst apart in a great dirty spurt of fire reaching for the heavens. The concussion shattered the hull like an egg and the Blood Axe vessel was tossed aside like a toy, broken open amidships and swamping in seconds. The concussion hit them like a physical slap knocking several sailors from the rigging as they scrambled down to the decks. It must have broken every window hundreds of yards.

"Umberlee's tits!" Calliope cursed in shock, "Did they fire her magazine?" It seemed staggeringly unlikely that anyone posted to a guardship wanted to give up his life for the Emir. Markus spat and shook his head in disgust.

"One of the shore batteries hit their own ship, must have gotten lucky and set of her powder magazine, probably didn't have it stored properly," he growled. Another salvo of cannonfire tore from the shore batteries, only seconds apart, though that was luck rather than coordination. A whole appeared in their spanker which began to snap and his as it spilled air.

"Stand to your guns!" Markus shouted and the crew began casting off their lines and running out the guns they had loaded before the attack began. They crew hauled on the tackles and the gun captains crouched over their firing holes, firing lanyards in hand. Calliopie tried a spell but instantly felt counterspells forming from a dozen different sources. It was probably civilian wizards rather than the Emir's men, but enough diffuse attacks from enough different sources could defeat even the mightiest mage, and she had already almost exhausted herself.

"Sketti, put her a point a'larbord," Markus commanded and the Witch yawed and steadied, presenting her broadside to the batteries on the far side of the harbor.

"Fire as you bear!" Markus shouted with a flourish of his sword. The guns began to boom, first one, then a rolling salvo as all twelve starboard guns thudded back on their carriages. Powder smoke rose in a thick sheet but with her mage vision Calliope saw one of the gun emplacements disintegrate, a ball striking the barrel and smashing it from its carriage with a clang like a colossal bell. Near misses hammered the stone embrasure and the crew fell screaming as shards of stone eviscerated them. Calliope whooped in feral excitement her eyes gleaming at the roar of the cannons and the destruction they had wrought.

"Hard a'port!" Markus commanded and Sketti obediently put the helm over with a swing that left the wheel spinning free of his hands. By now the Witch had crossed nearly a third of the harbor on the momentum of her initial rush, bleeding speed rapidly from the maneuvers Markus was putting her through the only sails still driving her was and the shot torn spanker, that was flogging itself to pieces and she now moved no faster than a man might run. The ship heeled about, presenting her starboard, and as yet unfired, battery to the surviving shore artillery. Men leaped across the deck to their opposite guns, in most cases leaving their guns unsecured. That would have been dangerous at sea where a rolling swell might send several hundred pounds of iron rolling across the deck to maim crew and spring masks, but the bay was mill pond flat save for the ripples of gunfire, and besides this wasn't a day to even think about safety.

"Fire!" Markus roared and Calliope threw back hear head and crowed with laughter as the guns hammered out their message of death and destruction. By now the crews of the remaining two batteries, having witnessed the destruction of their fellows had fled, but the guns remained a threat and thus had to be destroyed. The salvo was less precise this time. One cannon fired early and the ball ricoched of the water like a skipped stone, arching high over the low buildings of the harbor front. Only one of the remaining batteries was destroyed, as a ball struck the hub of the carriage wheel, sending spokes flying in all directions, but the threat was ended at least for now.

"Hands to midships!" Calliope yelled as the Witch coasted towards one of the piers on what little remained of her momentum.

"Stand by to cast lines!" but she needn't have bothered, men were already leaping the six feet between the dock and the pier, their mates tossing them lines that were quickly snugged around the pilings. The Witch came to rest with a jerk as she snubbed up against the ropes and there was a moment of odd quiet before screaming pirates leaped from the ship onto the pier, swords and pistols waving.

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

@Jarl Coolgruuf Emmaline did her post doctoral research at UCLA, don't you read my head cannon!?!

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

I just realized I didn't make this clear, but we are all in Chicago!

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

And we are off to the races. We will rotate the Clue Introduction each round of posts once we get going. The person whose turn it is will introduce a new clue or lead, everyone else is free to build on it. I will be the leader in the next round just to get us started.

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

Part 1- Bodies

The man's heart thundered in his breast like a tribal drum. The back of his throat was bitter with fear and the exertion of running at a dead sprint at a time in his life when his body would no longer tolerate such unplanned exertion. Tears of fear burned at the corner of his eyes as he pounded down the alley, trying not to look back and yet unable to stop himself from trying to steal a glance at the… the thing that pursed him. Risking a look he could catch only its shadow, long and tenebrous, against the red brick wall of the alley way, not upon him, not quite. The man burst out of the alley mouth across a deserted street, hurdling a low rope divider that set off a neatly apportioned city park. Moonlight and terror gave the place a sinister aspect for all the merry-go-round and duck pond must have made it idyllic in the daylight hours. He pounded down the gravel path towards the pond, casting another furtive glance over his shoulder as he passed a park bench that in warmer times might have housed a drifter. Even that dubious human contact would have been something. There were no people anywhere, no bystanders, no police, no help.

Greg wasn't a bad guy. No worse than most. What could he have done to deserve this... this whatever it was. Fumbling in his pocket he snatched out his cellphone and swiped the display live. In front of him the gravel path wove between gracefully arching oak trees. In the warmer months it would have formed a pleasant canopy but at the moment the bare branches were skeletal and threatening. A weird laughter sounded behind him, sinister and inhuman. Sobbing he bolted for the trees furiously thumbing his phone for a number, any number and thrust the phone against his ear. In the dark he stumbled his expensive shoes slipping in the gravel, instinctively he threw out a hand to arrest his fall as he tumbled into the red cedar mulch, feeling the rough would splinter his hand but caring not at all.

"Hello..." a sleepy voice asked in his ear.

"O...Olivia," he panted feeling the first spark of hope since the thing had appeared in his peripheral vision as he left the bar. He thrust himself to his feet, one of his shoes was gone and the gravel stung his foot through the thing sock as he got back onto the path, racing between the trees.

"Greg? What the fuck its three in the god damn..."

"Oliva I need you to call 911 tell them I'm in the park west of..." Something stabbed downwards from the trees in front of him and Greg opened his mouth to scream, but the only sound that was heard was a hollow mocking chuckle as pain and darkness closed around him.

______________________________________________________

There were many things that Eleanor Tregellan enjoyed. Wine, chocolate, feminine company, bookstores, necromancy, and coffee. Running however, she could have done with out. At 35 she was no longer the energetic youngster who had cheerful ran marathons just for fun, the ravages of Mother Time were beginning to catch up with her in a dozen aches and pains that she wouldn't have had to deal with ten or even five years before. She was a trim woman, though that was more through exercise than genetics, hence the running, with dark red hair and a generous spattering of freckles that broadcast 'kiss me, I'm probably at least Boston Irish' to anyone with an eye for it. She jogged up the driveway of crushed marble, past the sculpted trees and well concealed wards, to the large two story house she shared with Emmaline. According to her annoyingly precise smart watch, it was nearly five forty five, though in early March dawn was still an hour or so away. The motion detector on the house lights clicked and soft illumination flooded the front steps. Blowing hard, she wiped the sweat from her brow and slowed to a walk stepping to the dark oak portal and pressing her hand to the middle of a large brass sun and moon symbol which was screwed into the timber.

"Hestias," she intoned wearily and the lock opened with a soft whisper of metal on metal. She pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold, closing it with a quick check of her hip that sent a gentle bang through the lower story. The interior lights were already on and she could hear a soft musical voice humming a German folk tune from the kitchen. The smells of hot food and freshly brewed coffee were like ambrosia and Ellie changed course and headed to the kitchen. A statuesque blond woman behind the gold shot marble counter tops, pouring some kind of butter syrup over pancakes. Even in an old UCLA t shirt, Emmaline Von Morganstern contrived to look elegant and sophisticated, her mused hair, yet to be tamed from sleep, hung in a stylish disarray that a model on the catwalk might pay for a hairdresser to achieve. Emmaline looked up and smiled as Ellie entered and she promptly forgot all about her aching muscles and the various irritations of approaching middle age.

“There you are gelibete,” Emmaline said with a smile her Autrian accent clipping the words sharply. Though Emmaline had been in America for a decade the Land of the Free was making little headway against her implacable Teutonic tongue. You could take the girl out of Neuschwanstein but you couldn't take Neuschwanstein out of the girl. Emmaline produced a pancake and a cup of chilled orange juice and set them down on the kitchen table for Ellie, liberally adding the buttery syrup without asking.

“You are just hell bent on undoing my run aren’t you,” Ellie teased as she took her seat. Emmaline snorted and produced a second pancake and some coffee for herself before joining her lover at the table. She laid her hand across Ellie’s and squeezed gently.

“You are too skinny anyway,” Emmaline told her primly and began cutting into her pancake. Emmaline called them pancakes but in reality they had so much egg in them they were more like a custard slice and they were Ellie favorite.

“Have you looked over the auguries this morning? They are not good,” Emmaline complained, her accent sharpening ‘good’ to something more like ‘Gut’ with a German glottal stop. Ellie groaned.

“You have made breakfast and read the auguries? Only you could make me feel lazy for only completing a 90 minute run,” Ellie laughed. Emmaline leaned back, the fabric of her shirt stretching rather distractingly over her chest, and retrieved a tablet which she passed over to Emmaline. It was an android of course as the Wozniak Geas made all apple products inherently dangerous for any kind of Working. Emmaline thumbed it on and looked at the file which was being displayed, a PDF copy of the output of a half dozen pen and ink stenography machines. She frowned as she adsorbed the information.

“That looks like dangerously like a Silinus curve to me,” she said indicating the right most graph. Emmaline nodded.

“It’s only a five step Fourier transform of it,” Emmaline corrected. Unlike Ellie she maintained ties to the world beyond the occult, teaching part time at DuPal where she lectured on the Philosophy of Mathematics. She was better at the math than Ellie was though Emmaline lacked Ellie’s stomach for its more esoteric application.

“Do you think we should stop forecasting?” Emmaline asked, taking a sip of her orange juice before continuing her examination.

“Maybe,” Emmaline conceded, “I’ll know better once I see what you looking at it has done.” Reading the future was a tricky business, especially so because reading it could very literally alter the events previously foretold. Schrodinger's cat was alive and dead until you opened the box afterall. Sometimes the best thing you could do was stop forecasting all together or else risk disaster via the Cassandra Paradox or some other esoteric law of probability. Ellie nodded and set the tablet down, pushing away thoughts of troubling omens and portents in the mathematical substructure of reality. It was too early to get all ‘and lo I saw a pale horseman’ about it. Conversation turned to more mundane matters. Emmaline’s sister was visiting from Austria next week. The faculty was putting together a dinner party to celebrate Beltane, an idea Emmaline had planted no doubt. Ellie allowed the wash of happy domesticity to pass over her for a few minutes, making appropriate noises in those rare places it was required and generally enjoying Emmaline’s company. Both witches suddenly stiffened a heartbeat before Emmaline’s phone began to buzz. It was work. Of course.

“Speak,” Eleanor commanded as she answered the heavily customized smartphone. She nodded her head as the voice on the other end outlined the situation.

“Yes, I’ll be in, call it 30… no 45 minutes I need to shower,” she said at last and then hung up the phone.

“Do you need me?” Emmaline asked, her blue eyes serious and concerned. Ellie reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“Yes,” she said simply and then added, “but not for work, you have class today.” Emmaline pursed her lips no doubt lingering on the ill omens as Ellie devoured the last forkful of pancake and stole a quick swig of her partners coffee.

“Ok, Ill take down the forecasting rig, but if you need me, call me, I doubt my students will object if they miss out on a lecture about the importance of the Mandelbrot series,” she admonished. Eleanor was already heading for the door and she turned to give Emmaline a leer.

“I wouldn’t be so sure dearest,” she teased, “but don’t worry, this is West Coast stuff, how bad can it be?”

__________________________________________________________
From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail];[e-mail];[e-mail]; |untranslatable rune|
BCC:[e-mail]
Subject: Pending Assignment - Possible Travel [Urgent]

Hi All,

A situation has arisen that requires an immediate investigation. Please report to the office ASAP. Travel may be required rapidly so please bring whatever supplies you will need. Current estimate is three days though this may be revised upwards.

After the incident with Delta last month I remind you that any weapons will need to be in properly checked baggage, ditto any artifacts that will interfere with navigational equipment.

See you shortly,
Eleanor Tregellan
__________________________________________________________

Guide

Clue introduced - None
Prompt - Get your character from home to the office, give a sense of who your character is at home and make up some details about the office!

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-150

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

Ok I will get everyone!@Fetzen@Jarl Coolgruuf

Nothing of note here:

The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

Well if I can pretend magic is real I can believe someone six foot four is inconspicuous. Speaking of magic, I will probably have the first post up later today.