They dreamed of a white dragon, a tree, a streetlamp haloed by moths. A glossed fangy grin, a shimmer of scales, twisted dark trunks that swayed and creaked and snapped, a deep howling hollow, a flicker in the lamplight. The wind smelled like salt and moss and blood and indigo. The leaves on the tree were shaped like faces. Someone was coming. The dragon opened its molten eye.

Wake up.


They'd been lying stiff on the floor for awhile now, rocking gently, surrounded by the wooden creak and muffled waves of a ship at sea. Gray foggy sunlight splintered through the seams of the domed ceiling and cast a dim light upon the room.

The floorboards and panels -- which had once long ago been straight and polished -- were rough with new bark. Sprigs of tiny bright leaves dotted the floor and the walls and quivered under the ceiling.

Thin vines webbed up the hexagonal column at the center of the room. The wooden column was also veiled in bark and little branches, but the intricate reliefs and carvings were still visible under the growth. On one side of the hexagon was an empty hollow and a faint imprint of a hand in the wood within. On the opposite side was a door.

The column rose six feet, and atop it rested a magnificent -- if tarnished -- brass telescope. It dominated the room, and must once have shimmered splendidly, but now it only stared blindly up at the closed ceiling while the skies passed outside.

Access to the eyepiece of the telescope could be obtained via a short staircase that rose along the wall. The stairs led to a small weedy platform from which the eyepiece could be grasped. There were, of course, stiff valves and switches attached to the eyepiece which could be used to adjust the view of the dark ceiling.

Farther along the wooded wall was another door, and then a mechanical lever fixed into the wall. The lever was rusted and knotted with stringy vines. A tough black cable ran up the wall from the lever and disappeared into the ceiling.

There were books here, crumbling in bookcases set into the walls and secured by creeping vines. A weathered, lichen-spotted table was nailed to the floor, and on it an orrery gleamed.

The orrery was the only thing that seemed untouched by age, though it sat dormant. Its clean brass sun -- the size of a grapefruit -- was circled by an array of mechanical planets supported by rods and gears and springs.

Below the floor came the low murmur of voices.


They lay among musty parchment and scattered pencils, a chaos of thrown books and two runaway globes that rumbled and rolled with the tilt of the room. It was dry here, and it smelled like old paper and ink and glue. All around them, wood creaked and groaned. Occasionally a ring of old iron keys tapped and jangled against the wall where they hung. Beside the keys was a door that -- given the glow of pale sunlight behind it and the louder sounds of the ocean -- must lead outside.

The floor, the walls and the ceiling were coated in new bark and sprouting little sprigs of leaves, as if the wood had come back to life. Few of the new sprouts on the floor had survived the constant trek of the globes that crushed them, and leaves lay withered and dead among the frayed maps. Almost all of the maps on the floor bore at least one X, scrawled in thick ink.

The center of the room was filled by a wide hexagonal column that stretched from floor to ceiling, and it was sprouted and rough with bark as if it fancied itself a tree. There had once been beautiful carvings in the column, depicting scenes from seafaring folklore -- but they had long ago been carved over by a madman's hand, which had gnawed runes and arrays and a crude carved picture of a dragon into the side of the column with a penknife. These carvings had been smoothed long ago by bark and thin webbed vines.

A crude map of an island was tacked to the column. On it was scrawled "Last known strike of feather" with an arrow pointing to a mountain at its heart.

On one side of the column was a small hollow, at chest height, in which sat a ratty stuffed bear with one eye. On the opposite side was a door.

Bookshelves spanned one wall, and wispy vines and struggling saplings filled the gaps where most of the books had been yanked and tossed on the floor long ago.

One shelf near the ceiling had been entirely cleared away, leaving only a small silver box. It was carved ornately with flowing patterns, and sat on silver feet like talons. All of the keys on the wall were far too big to fit the little silver lock.

Another sprouted wall held a dozen glass boxes, each of which contained the skeleton of a strange small creature -- some with two heads, others that appeared to be not quite lizards nor birds nor mice. Two of these boxes were empty.

A long table and four red-cushioned chairs were nailed to the floor, all of them covered in dust and scrolls and maps and ink. A long map of an ocean passage was held down on the table by two empty mugs, a magnifying glass and an oil lamp. A tripod was positioned over the map, and a sharp gleaming pendulum swung back and forth. There were traces of dark old blood on the pendulum and the map.

Beside the map was a hammer, and the crushed remains of bones in a shallow bowl. One of the little skeletons sat beside the bowl as if awaiting its fate.


They had been lying stiff on the floor for a long while before the gentle rock and creak and clink of wood and metal roused them. The stifling room was pungent with copper and cedar and oil and soot. The floor was spattered with old oil stains and charred by ancient accidents, which were hidden by new bark and sprigs of little leaves, as if the floorboards had begun to come back to life.

Four huge, lichen-pocked boilers dominated the room, surrounded by pipes, valves, gauges, levers, buttons and sprockets that crowded the thin corridors. A network of cold pipes crisscrossed overhead. Four deep wells -- two along each wall -- were filled with giant gears and slack cables. At each well was a ladder that led down into the dark crawlspaces below the floor.

The gears of one of the wells were jammed by splintered bones and tattered gray cloth.

Each of the six levers throughout the room had been locked into position with crude knotted chains. Wrenches and screwdrivers had been crushed and lodged between the gears' teeth. Buttons had been yanked from their seatings, the springy disks littered the floor.

The boilers were empty, and the burners hung open and black, invaded by creeping vines. At the far end of the room, plenty of coal sat unused in a metal closet. Beside it sat ravaged boxes of tools and oily singed gloves.

At the other end of the room was a locked door that led deeper into the ship; what dim light there was to see by shone down through a grate above the door. Beside it was a brass horn connected to a pipe that disappeared into the ceiling. Attached to the pipe was a switch, no doubt for the purpose of opening or closing communication with other decks.

On opposite walls, vine-wrapped metal ladders led up to locked trap doors in the ceiling. Dark oil lamps hung from nails on the walls.

At the center of the room, surrounded by walkways and boilers and ladders, was a tall, complicated nest of thin pipes, cables, gauges, gears and wires that undulated and wrapped around one another like the ornate trunk of a tree. The core of the messy and beautiful sculpture was a glass cylinder with delicate clamps inside it. Whatever this had been meant to protect was now gone.

Engine Room

Suichiro sat up slowly and with a weak wince. Lying on stiff boards with no cushioning wasn't comfortable in any way. He stretched slowly, first wondering how he ended up sleeping on the floor. Then he opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar room. "Eh?"

He stood up and dusted himself off of some splinters. He could tell from the gentle rocking motion that he was on a ship of some sort, but when did he get here? He had gone to sleep at home with his wife, not here. He scanned the room and noticed he wasn't alone. There were four others. He wearily walked over to what clearly was a device for communicating to the other decks. He flicked the switch on and spoke into the device. "Hello?" He didn't really expect anyone to respond, at least not anyone on the other end of the pipes. He could hope that someone was there to explain what was going on at least.

He paced around not too far from the communication pipes waiting for someone to say something. He stopped briefly to look inside of the horn before he resumed waiting for a response.

Map Room

Was it the rocking or the unsettling rumble of the globes that moved freely about? Whatever it was Chris woke only to be greeted by an entirely unfamiliar setting. The question that first came to his mind was "Where am I?" He had a flashback to waking up on the floor after passing out and asking himself the same question. Unlike then there was no mistaking this was somewhere new and very unusual. The rocking and creaking as the wood settled brought up images of wooden ships the likes of which one only saw in movies.

Sitting up he first noticed the movement of the globes. Not finding that particularly important at the moment he came to the realization that other were in the room as well. A large burly man, two young women, and a teenager. Should he attempt to wake them? Probably, one of them may know what was going on. Stepping over to each he nudged them on the shoulder and spoke. "God I hope one of them knows what's going on." Having disturbed the lot he began to look around the room again. There was not the greatest of lighting here. Figuring that the outside lay behind the door he stepped over to open it.

Engine Room

Risa moaned as she started to wake up. She could tell that her pillow was missing and without opening her eyes she looked for it. He alarm had not yet gone off, so she was going to sleep until it did. That was until she felt that she was not touching the hardwood of her home, but something else. She opened her eyes and found that she was not in her bedroom or even her office. She thought for a second if she had gone out the night before, but she clearly remembered that she had gone to sleep in her bed.

She noticed the door and quickly ran to it and tried to open it, but since it was locked it did not budge. It was at that moment that she realized the she was trapped in the room. She took a deep breath in attempt to keep herself calm. She was in a strange place and she could not afford to panic. If she was kidnapped by someone then it was only a matter of time before they came back. Maybe she could hide and get them from behind when they came in.

She started to look around and that was when she noticed that she was not alone. Her thoughts went from kidnapping to black market organ ring. Why did she have to think about things so negatively all the time. 'stay positive,' she told herself mentally. At least she was not in the room alone. She made her way over to the male that was beside the horn. "Let me guess you went to sleep in your bed as well?" She had heard him say hello to the horn she decided to see if there was going to be a response. She knew very little about how these machines worked. She had studied accounting and was a writer now. Give her something to do on paper and she would be able to do it. But to actually get these things to work or get out was another thing. "I'm Risa."

MAP ROOM

Moss awoke with a start, as was usual. Even being nudge awake wasn't unheard of for her, though it usually meant something bad was about to happen. So when her eyes shot open, and she saw that she was in fact not in the alley of the train station, but in fact what looked to be the stomach of some old forest home, her reaction was a tad...extreme.

When Chris prodded her she shot up instantly, scrambling away from him with no heed or attention paid to those she might have run over. Distance, she needed distance from this strange man with odd-looking glasses. Her eyes scanned the room, not for information, but for protection. She saw the massive column at the center she could maneuver around, but for the most part there were only books and maps. All of the furniture was nailed down, which at first she didn't understand. It wasn't until she made a run for the table that the sway of the boat made her stumble, and the realization only made her run faster. It wasn't going to be much, and if this guy was armed as well she was going to have a bad time, but she'd had them before.

She grabbed the hammer, then whirled around to face the man who'd woken her. "Fok'n get back!" she shouted, holding it tight in one hand, the other held out like some sort of defense. "I swear to Christ I'll bash ya god'm head in, where the hell am I?"

Oh god, there were others too. She hadn't noticed it at first but there were more people strewn about the floor. They all looked so strange, even the businessmen that came to San Francisco didn't look like them. Moreover, she'd been far from the coast, she didn't even know anyone who owned a boat. How the hell had she slept through this.

Engine Room

All Connor wanted was just a good night's rest.

The day before had been incredibly taxing. Not only was it the coldest day of the year, it was also the one day when he had to marshal out with the rest of his regiment to go on some exercise to prove that yes, they still knew how to fight. Even though he went along with it like every other militiaman, Connor never saw a point to the exercises. The Shetlands were about as far away from civilization as one could get without going to darkest Africa or the ends of the Earth. The most 'action' they ever saw just involved a handful of them sailing out to chase away Danish or Norwegian fishermen who entered British waters.

He was so worn out by the time he got home that he had simply just dropped his rifle on the floor and fell face-first into his bed, still wearing his uniform. Washing up was something that could wait till the next day, he had thought. At that point in time, he wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and sleep. Thus, when he woke up and found himself in a place which he could only describe as being a cross between a dream and nightmare, he felt his heart skip more than just a single beat.

He quickly got to his feet and looked around him. There were others with him, some asleep, two awake and seemingly busy doing something with some odd contraption that he had never seen before. In fact, the entire room was alien to him; it looked like one of the engine rooms of the steamers which occasionally docked at the Shetlands for resupply, but at the same time, it looked far too advanced, like something out of a writer's imagination. He did not like this at all, but forced himself to remain calm. There was no way he was going to get anything done if he started panicking, though for the first time, he found himself wishing he had his rifle with him.

The second thing he did was to look down at his own body. Yes, he was still in his uniform, and it still looked as dirty as it was when he fell asleep in it. He took a look at each of the people around him. While they looked normal - or at least what he thought was normal - he still found himself feeling more at ease when he felt the hilt of his sword bayonet, even though it was notched and worn from being used for everything other than its intended purpose.

Once he had gotten his bearings, he figured that if he was going to find his way out, he was going to have to work with the people around him. The two studying the contraption looked approachable enough, and so Connor carefully made his way towards them. "This was not how I wanted to wake up," He said and cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone as light as he could. "Connor O'Flaherty. I take it neither of you know what's going on either?"

Engine Room

"Let me guess you went to sleep in your bed as well?"

Suichi was glad he was great at English, it was something he excelled at when he was in high school even though he never used it outside of lessons. When he had graduated he had taken over his father's flower shop which had only Japanese customers, so he was much more comfortable in his natural language. He nodded a bit before responding. "Y-yes." He didn't really know what else to say. Any questions he might have thought up, there was no way she'd know the answers to.

The woman then introduced herself, and he was about to introduce himself when one of the men stood up and gathered himself together. He wore a uniform that looked to be military, but unlike any military uniform he had ever seen... except in history books. Maybe the man was a cosplayer. He certainly had no problem with that.

"This was not how I wanted to wake up," He said and cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone as light as he could. "Connor O'Flaherty. I take it neither of you know what's going on either?"

Suichi shook his head with a calm expression. Right now wasn't the time to get worried yet. "We're at a loss here." He pointed over at the communication horn. "I was hoping someone might respond through the speaker here, but no luck so far. I'm Suichiro Hamani."

He turned to face the brass horn again and flicked the switch on again and leaned towards it to speak into it. "Hello? Is anyone there? Can you help us?" He then sat down against the wall to wait for any answer.

He figured if he could start a conversation with the others while he waited they'd be able to pass the time at least. "What do you both do for work? I'm a gardener and flower shop owner."

Christopher knew that he had quite a bit to drink but it was weird for him to have this much of a rocking sensation, plus he didn't own a water bed so it really didn't make sense to him. He had stirred a little bit more and seen that it was day time but it didn't have the same level of light that he was used to have come through his windows. The moment that Christopher had noticed that something was out of the usual was when he picked up the scent that just wasn't right. He could tell that the scent was salt not just salt that you would reason your food with but salt water. This startled him because there wasn't any salty body of water for literally hundreds of miles.

Christopher decided to sit upright and observe the space that he currently occupying. The first thing that he seen was a giant pillar in the middle of the room, with a ladder leading to the top. It had something sitting on top of it but he hasn't figured out what it was quite yet. He also noticed that he wasn't the only person who was in the room there were some other people who were lying on the ground also. He went to the first person and gave them a quick little shake but they didn't respond to it. He looked closely seeing that the chest was raising and falling meaning that they were alive, which he was grateful to see. He went to the other three people that were occupying the room with him and did the same thing but had the same response each time.

The next thing that caught his eye was the bookcase filled with books. It was made with a type of wood that he had never seen before in his life. It was quite a nice looking wood, he took his hand and let it glide across the surface. The wood was treated perfectly giving it a nice looking finish. He took a quick glance at all of the books that were on the shelf also but out of all of the books eligible to read he had never seen any of them in his life. There had been one book however that had looked brand new, almost looked like it was fresh out of a bookstore. The only thing that looked brand new in this place. Christopher tried to take the new book off of the shelf but it wouldn't move, it seemed almost like it was one with the shelf and wouldn't ever move.

What kind of situation has he gotten himself into this time. Maaaan he was never going partying with two Russian woman at the same time again.

Observatory.

The awakening wasn't quick. Sidwell shuddered and a blurring sea of vision leaked back into his eyes, but for him, one dream had merely given way to another, for he was well used to shutting the real world out of his mind. Soon, almost forcibly, he dozed again.

When the gentler dreams had tugged Sidwell's drifting body back to the shallows by the shoulder, he began to feel the intrusiveness of his new surroundings. The hardness, pushing his poorly covered bones back into him. He'd slept in worse places, but not for a long while, and this was not the feel of a hammock. His ears opened. Creaking, yes, but no wind with it. Why was his cabin creaking if there wasn't a storm?

His body woke with a shudder of effort, pushed against the floor, blinked wide. Nothing but fuzz. They blinked again, straining. Slits of light in the roof, then walls. Not his walls. Grander than that, and greener. Everything felt green, just softly greening away in the quiet. Sitting position. His eyes reached the floor and found the others.

Shock finally found Sidwell, shaking him, throwing a hand before his mouth, backing up until his shoulders hit a hard surface. He stood, still in the workwear he had fallen asleep in, still pressing against the wall at his back as if it could save him. Then surely I have died, and this is Hell. For Sidwell had never known any alternative answer to a change such as this. Prayed desparately in his whispers, his free hand made a cross on himself, but his eyes did nothing but gaze at them, the strangers, the foreigners. They were three, all sleeping. A young woman in a red framework mask and two children, one with almost long hair, one completely bald, the first with almost thick enough clothes for a snow, the second in jewels of a noble's son. They were likely no more than fifteen and twelve, by height. Both were from nowhere near Flidais. They had no such look about them.

The fourth object on the floor was his hat. Thoughts interrupted, Sidwell stooped to take it back up, relishing its familiarity. It fit as well as if he had woven it for himself, and he had. It brought comfort.

In a better state of mind, Sidwell saw the curved shape of the room, and turned to follow it. He had been leaning against not a wall but a great pillar, supporting at its head a vast tubular object completely foreign to him. And the pillar, too, was green with vines. Under it was wood. Hell is the place where the worms never die, nor the fire is ever quenched. There is no fire here. There were even books, under the green- Many, many books, more than he'd ever seen even at a monastery. They brought up poor memories. There was a low table. Sidwell stepped towards it, squinting at the oddly elegant tangle of brass rings and spheres resting on it, unwilling to touch what seemed to have an importance all of its own, and a value likely greater than his own life. He turned further, restless. A man, this one wakeful, with his back to him and his face to a shelf. He wore, like the child, well-dyed and well-made clothes. There were black marks on his arms.

Sidwell removed his hat and took a step, then stopped. He did not know what he'd see if the man showed his face to him. Demon? Or merely another sufferer in this strangest circle of Hell?

What God has ordained, let be, he thought, and stepped a little closer. "God bless you and the day, friend," he spoke aloud.

Map Room

@BR8K

Moss' reaction was far from what Chris expected. Forgoing opening the door he took a step back and held his hands out where she could see them. "Whoa whoa, no one is going to do anything." He glanced at the other two. "At least I won't." He put one hand down and used the other to lift his glasses back into place. The woman's accent was definitely Irish, but that could mean several things. She had asked a question that he had no real answer to.

Taking another look around the room for anything familiar he was drawing a blank. He should probably be terrified about waking up in a strange place but it hadn't quite sunk in. He checked his pocket real quick and found his phone missing. This was bad, or at least it was looking to be that way. If neither of them had any idea what was going on they they may have both been abducted. "I don't know where we are. This isn't where I fell asleep. And my things seem to be missing. We might both be in a lot of trouble." The concern was starting to show in his expression and for the moment it didn't seem to be directed at Moss. Something else was occupying his mind, namely where they could be and why. A ship for sure, but that didn't mean a lot. There was a lot of ocean.

Observatory

Zosime wasn't consciously aware of being gently shaken, but it was probably what started her on the path to wakefulness. Half in a dream, she was vaguely aware of the wrongness of her surroundings. Lying on her stomach, her face buried in the crook of her elbow, Zosime was sleeping aware that she shouldn't feel the texture of bark under her hand, shouldn't be gently rocking, and shouldn't be able to smell salt in the air. She should have been in her quarters in the temple of Sekhmet, sleeping on her hard pallet, incense lingering in the air from last night's ritual, when the chosen among the priestesses had consumed huge amounts of wine to turn aside Sekhmet's wrath.

But she was more asleep, and these glaring contradictions didn't immediately trouble her somnolent mind. Her hand idly fiddled with a small cluster of leaves growing out of the deck beside her, rubbing the smooth surfaces between forefinger and thumb, and tucked her face tighter into her arm, shielding her eyes from the light.

What jolted her awake was the sound of a man's voice. She did not understand the words, which was worrisome in itself, but it was clearly a male voice, and men were not supposed to be in the female quarters. Ever. With a yelp, she scrambled to her feet, stumbling when she realized she had been lying on the floor instead of the slight elevation of her pallet. She whirled around, taking in the bizarre surroundings - a gently rocking room full of weird things and made of apparently living wood - before taking in the people who were present.

Two were asleep, like she had been; a male and a female, both dressed in incredibly strange clothing. The other two, clearly her captors, were standing. Both were very tall men, both were bearded, and one was tattooed. This did not seem to be good news. She crossed her arms in front of herself, noting that she seemed to be fully dressed - did she even remember returning to her quarters after the ritual? - and levelled her very best glare.

They looked pretty disreputable, and hairy, so Zosime decided to speak in aramaic when she demanded, "Who are you? Where am I? Why have you brought me here?"

MAP ROOM

Moss didn't lower release her hammer, but she did seem to relax a little bit. The more she looked at the guy the less she was afraid of him, and the less she thought that he was the one to have done this. He didn't look like a sailor, in fact he didn't look like much of anything she'd ever seen. Besides, he was unarmed as far as she could tell.

Her attention turned back to the room, and she scuttled over to the long map on the table she'd snagged the hammer from. It was...definitely a map, that was for sure. It looked like one anyway, or what she imagined a map looked like -she'd never actually seen on before. Her interest in it died, and she looked back to the other bodies on the floor. She had half a mind to rifle their pockets, a few of these bastards looked pretty well off.

"Lot o' poor shites here," she mumbled, giving one a little kick to the foot, as if to test if they were awake. There was a burly man she thought might be most at home far from the sea, and a girl who looked...odd, to the say the least. Colorful. She had short hair though, like her. Then there was.

"Fok'n-" She jolted in surprise at the sight of Elin. "What the bloody hell is that?"

MAP ROOM

~~~Dream Sequence~~~

Running wild as he jumps from roof to roof, he flies through the air as he grabs hold of the hang rail as he flips a bit and lands on his feet sliding down as his tail sways from side to side. He hits the bottom crashing through a pool of water before he reached out to his goal, a bright ball of light as he was about to reach it he got hit from the side as he lost reach of his dream and opened his eyes

~~~DS Break~~~

A young boy with cat ears was nudged as this disrupted his dream somewhat, he opened his eyes slightly as he was still sleepy. He was not able to hear what was said and just dosed back off to sleep not even understanding the situation he was in as he curled up into a ball like a cat would. Though it appeared strange from a human body, his flexibility was definitely really good not that it mattered right now as he drifted back off into dream land

~~~Dream Sequence Continued~~~

As he was falling to the side his goal having drifted further away he crashed into the water as he felt his entire world swaying which was strange. He never had this feeling before and did not understand it as he looked around, he was now all alone in a blank empty space as he was not sure what this meant. He forgot what he was chasing and why he was there as he searched in the blank empty space. Things were boring and he began to think he was trapped in some kind of facility like a lab, maybe he got a disease and they were checking up on him. He was a bit worried since sometimes if the disease is too dangerous they take you to a white room and then explode you with explosions. This term would make no sense in the distant past as being exploded with explosions exploding explosions was something invented by a mad man of the past. As he waited he just felt a sharp pain as his entire world exploded.

~~~Dream Ends~~~

He heard some strange noise and he heard some strange language asking what bloody something was there. He could not understand it and then he blinked a few times as his eyes tried to adapt to the light as his cat ears twitched from left to right and all around picking up different sounds. He blinked a few more times before his eyes slowly began to accommodate the lighting of the area. He saw some strange old guy with some strange object over his eyes, he had never seen something like that before and he was about to look around further when he looked at the strange red head, he had not seen that colour in a long time. The last time he saw it was when he jumped and hit a wall and scratched himself a bit, then a while later the healing bots would patch him up and then placed some soft bouncing pad near the wall to make it safer. He did not understand the bots, but then he noticed there were no bots, he could not hear them and further more the strange red head and blinked a few times before realising she had a weapon in her hands as he jumped up he ran as his instincts kicked in.

He dashed around as the parchments and pencils flew all over the place as he scurried around with a pace that was not much faster than a normal human, but he could not balance normally as he fell one, two then finally a third time before stopping and looking to his attacker. This red headed beast must be after his tail as it was something that he learnt. In the world he lived people from outside ate anything from animals to plants to tails and even ears. He held on to his tail tight and finally spoke in his native language which was En, an advanced speech which uses the minimum of sounds to explain meaning. They discovered the spectrum for sound had over fifty billion or more variations and by using those variations they created the language of En.

He spoke and what they heard was "En...hn...." which unknown to him translated to "Leave my tail... alone you red beast". He was struggling to keep his balance as the ground was shaking like an earthquake to him, this ball that kept rolling passed nearly hit him twice as it was bothering him slightly on instinct and partly because it nearly hit him a few times now. His knowledge was not the best in the world but at the very least his basic knowledge was anything strange and anywhere without the bots was outland, the land outside of the Society which was described as Hell. This made him mistake the bloody hell for meaning that she was going to take him deeper into hell. He was not surprised to understand different languages though as in the Society exists a universal translator in every area in order to prevent misunderstandings.

What had the poor boy walked in on and why did they have to be creatures bigger than him. He did not even notice that there was this strange girl laying behind him or that there was this large man also laying around as well. He was scared, confused and all alone

Map Room

Too many questions had been going on in Chris' head to notice Elin's odd appearance. But after Moss exclaimed he stopped and took a close look. There wasn't much time to make it out clearly before the boy jumped up and began to frantically run around. After having fallen a few times there was finally the opportunity to get a good look at him.

At first the young man just stared. There was no way what he was seeing was real. But the ears and tail moved quite naturally which said otherwise. "Okay, I either I'm dreaming or I'm going crazy. Do you see this too? Does he actually have cat ears and a tail?" His head was starting to hurt. Things were starting to look like some bizarre anime or the like. Just for safe measure he double checked nothing had happened to him by running a hand through his hair. Ridiculous? Perhaps, but nothing was out of the ordinary there so that was good he supposed.

Turning back to the red head he grinned slightly. "Well it doesn't sound like he knows what's going on either. It might be safe to assume we're all in this boat together" A bad pun, but it was his style of humor.

When the boy jumped and ran -or rather tried to run- Moss only stood even more on-end. He glared daggers at her, holding onto his tail like it was a lifeline. She gripped the hammer with both hands and glared back. The little demon thing might've looked like child but Moss had heard enough folktales to know that appearances weren't everything. Deception was key, and if this kid was lying behind some disguise she wasn't gonna fall for it.

And yet the other guy was coming to his defense?

"Are you serious it-" she recoiled when Elin spoke, brow furrowing. She'd run with plenty of gypsies before, folks from all over, and not a one spoke like that. "Look it's fok'n speakin in tongues, it's got a tail comin' out its arse for Christ's sake!"

MAP ROOM

He lost focus as the strange guy with the strange glass in front of his eyes spoke and said he was dreaming or going crazy. The dreaming part he understood, however he was not fully brought up with an understanding of what exactly crazy was. The translator seemed to lack a dictionary of sorts to help further the translation for him. The guy made it sound likes his ears and tail were something strange, he wondered if this weird guy grew up inside one of those caves he once read about in history, a hole where people who have nothing live. While he looked slightly at the moving hand through hair movement which also seemed strange before returning his gaze to the red beast. He then mentioned an ancient word known as boat, he had no idea what exactly a boat was other than it used to be used to travel over water and was stupid. He could not remember the rest since he hated history, he also did not get what was going on even more.

The Red Beast held on to her hammer tightly as if about to attack And yet the beast spoke strange, when she listened to his voice and speech he did not understand what she meant by him speaking in tongues and then thought maybe she was not used to speaking with normal people since she was a beast using her stupid long speech primitive language. He then got confused and replied with "en... hn... hne..." which more or less sounded nearly exactly the same as the "eh hn" he said earlier. However it translated into something completely different as he was saying "my tail does not come out of there, stupid red beast" the way he had said the "hne" was in a way that meant stupid and somewhere in the way he spoke the frequency meant red and the way he made it short refered to her being a primitive beast. His language was simple in sound but advanced in a sense that it also relied on frequencies with their even being some words only understood with his own ears. Without the translation there would be nearly no way for these people to communicate.

He was a bit less scared then he was earlier as his tail which he let go of was slowly lowering itself to his side as he stood up a bit, he was short and as he realised he was the smallest one here he knew he had to be careful. He then mumbled softly "hn" which if heard by anyone would translate to "help"

Engine Room

It did not cross Risa's mind that this person would not understand English. She had just assumed that the people around her would be able to understand her. Everyone were she was from spoke English. While she had in the past thought about learning other languages she had not gone through with it. So when she heard their responses she thought about it. All of them had gone to bed and woke up here. She did not know why they were brought here, but she was getting a really bad feeling about this.

She looked at the two males she was talking with. The one talking to the horn looked normal enough, but the other one was wearing a military uniform. The news often showed military uniforms and none of them looked like that. Maybe he was some from small country that did not get on the news often. That would mean that they were taken from different locations and brought here in one night, unless she had been drugged, then she could have been out for much longer then a single night. This was not good. Maybe calling out for help was a very bad idea.

It was too late to voice any objections to calling out. If there was someone on the other side waiting for them to wake up. At least she would hear them coming since the door had to be unlocked first. So while they waited she was only had two things that they can do. Explore this place or wait and talk with these two. Since the other remaining members were still asleep she thought it would be better to wait a little longer before going to see if there was something that they could do to get out of this place.

It looked like the Asian male was named Suichiro and he also was a gardener. The strange uniform mas was named Connor. At least she knew what to call them now. "I'm a professional writer. Before coming here I was working on my newest novel. This is not going to be good. My agent was supposed to call me this morning."

"I was a soldier," Connor said lamely. It was probably painfully evident from his red-and-black uniform that he was from the British Army, but then again, he was not so sure. The other two people - the gardener whose name Connor was not even going to try to pronounce and the writer - wore clothes that were completely unknown to him. Just by the presence of Suichiro, Connor was quite certain that they were all from different parts of the world. That was certainly going to make things difficult; it appeared that Suichiro could speak English, but Connor was not going to count on everyone knowing the language.

"Militia, to be specific. I'm actually an artist. Strictly amateur, but it makes enough money for me to get by." Connor corrected himself. "My regiment went on exercise the day before and I fell asleep as soon as I got home. Pity, I heard that the scenery would have been especially astounding today."

He turned to the writer. "A professional writer? You must be quite well-off, then. You certainly look a lot better than any of the others that I know of, though the Shetlands aren't exactly conducive for anyone hoping to be well-known. Have you written anything that I might have read?"

God, is it morning already?, Samira thought as she peeled open her raw, groggy eyes. She expected to see the idle title screen of the Romeo + Juliet DVD she had fallen asleep to last night. Instead, she found herself nowhere she knew.

Her clouded senses came alive with panic. She was at once aware that instead of lying on a soft, living room couch, she was instead sprawled upon on a hard, coarse floor. Instead of being wrapped cozily in her comforter, her legs were bare and chilled. Samira remained motionless and terrified. Where was she? Nothing was familiar. But more than unfamiliar. This strange old other-worldly place, it was terrifyingly alien. Dilapidated, industrial, overgrown... Her imagination began to spiral out of control as every horror movie she had ever seen began to spool out of her mind like a reel of terror.

Samira dared to look around her, and her heart nearly stopped when she realized she was not alone. Not far away stood three people. Two men. A woman. They were talking in calm voices with each other. She couldn't grasp what it was they were saying. Are they the ones who kidnapped me? her mind screamed.

Holding her breath, Samira quietly crept backwards, away from the mysterious threesome towards the far end of the room. The three strangers seemed unaware or unconcerned of her movements, but Samira's heart raced with the possibility that any moment they might turn around. After an excruciating minute of crawling slowly backwards, keeping her eyes locked on the strangers, Samira finally had her back against the wall beside an old, picked-over toolbox. Her thin hands darted over the pile of strewn tools and carefully removed a heavy, wrench-like tool, pulling her sweater sleeve over her hand first to keep the oil from causing it to slip from her grasp.

Heart pumping, she scanned the walls in either direction, looking for a way out. Having a weapon did not make her feel any safer.

Observatory.

Sidwell spun at the noise of the voice but was already throwing his arms to his temples with a pained face, blotting out the sensory world. The lordling had not even yelled, but his fragile, dreamy sense of calm had cracked and was shattering under the angry, questioning torrent. "Oh mercy," he gasped, dropping to his knees, an imperfect prayer position on the hard timber, and the prayer was already spouting. "Et dimitte nobis debita n-nostra sicut et nos dimisimus debitoribus nost-t-tris," he murmured rapidly, only slightly breaking the latin rhythm as the prayer ground to a halt at its end. 'And forgive us our debt as we forgive our debtors'. Mildly appropriate for Hell, but the teenager in finery was not quite Satan.

The questions Sidwell had heard were foreign to him, but even as they spoke a meaning was assembling itself out of them. Complete memories of words in perfect Frankish, as if there had never been another language. Voice, tone and and accent were all preserved to the finest, most human detail.

A cautious lift of the head to look at his speaker again. Not in the face, of course. "My, ah, my la- Liege," he addressed, unsure of the sex of his fellow damned soul but unwilling to stare. "Your friend is named Innocent, of the Sidwells. I believe I am dead, but I do not know."