Tommy had been dreaming of beer....lots of beer. A fountain of it, he and his buddies filled their glasses and clinked them together and sang and old hymn.
He awoke with a startle, not the way you want to end a good beer dream, the floor that he was sleeping on scratched his back, like bark...he knew bark, he was a lumberjack! Had he fallen asleep in a tree again?!?! The room spun with sleepyness before he finally came to. There was, what seemed to be a boy with a tail and cat ears...a woman threatening him with a hammer, and a young man with glasses. In situations like this, Tommy was more in the "Wait and See How It Plays Out" camp...but given the circumstances that he had no clue where he was or who any of these people were, he felt the need to say something. He stood up, a tall man, when he stands up people notice.
"Now let's just wait a minute here." He said in his deepest voice, "First....why don't we lower that-there hammer real slow. Secondly, where in the name of maple syrup and whiskey are we, and what is going on?
"We're all trying to figure out where we are. So far it's a pretty safe bet that we're on a ship." Deciding that it would be better not to trapped in a room with strangers Chris opened the door. The wind rushed in and the loose maps strewn about began to flutter around. Not seeing that as a critical thing he took a look outside.
Out in the open the scene looked slightly familiar, from what little he knew of ships, but as the room already showed it was not ordinary in its own right. His observation was interrupted by flying paper. He had misjudged the mess the wind was creating and closed the door a bit so they would at least have the light without so much of the wind. "Sorry. That was a bit more than I expected. I was also kind of expecting it to be locked so that's weird." With better vision he looked about the room again. The flash of metal on the shelf caught his eye and he walked over to it but waited on reaching for it. He still didn't know enough about these people so better to be cautious.
So she was right he was a solder, she still did not know from where. Just because a person talked in an accent it did not mean they currently lived there. She was just going to have to wait until he gave some sort of clue where he lived. She was a little surprised that to hear that he was also an amateur artist. For some reason she did not think that someone in the military would be into anything like that. Then again she did not know anyone in the military.
“Well my book The Reaper's Lie is on the New York Times Best Sellers list right now. That would be the one I am most known for. It's being sold in many countries right now so it should be available in any book store.”
She personally did not think she was that well off. She had been careful about spending her money. Her second book was not out yet and she did not want to risk not having money if it did not turn out as good as the first. “It makes enough to get by. I really don't want to go back to school to be an accountant. Being at a desk all day is not the life for me. I'd rather go to a park and wrist a novel any day.”
She took a look back at the two sleeping members. She wanted to make sure that they were okay when they got up. If they were anything like her they would start thinking the worst right away. The last thing she needed was a fight occurring and someone getting injured. She doubted the room had a first aid kit anywhere. So when she saw that there was one sleeping body she looked around.
She saw the girl on the other side of the room. She was hold something that she could use as a weapon. “Hey put that down. You're going to get your clothes dirty. I've already tried the door, it's locked.” She then pointed to the horn. “We're waiting to hear a response for the speaker here. Maybe someone can come and let us out.”
She hoped that was enough to get her to drop the weapon and come join the group, she doubted it. She barely trusted these guys, but right now this was the best opportunity to get out of this place. Or at least find something to eat.
"Mhm?" Dakota rolled over slightly. He was roused by the soft murmur of voices. It was probably his mom on the phone. He rolled over the rough bark, reaching out onto the bedside table to shut the lamp off -
There was no lamp.
Dakota quickly snapped out of his blind groping. He was on the floor, not in a bed. And what's more, he was supposed to be leaning over Karl's cage, feeding the Siberian husky doggie treats, not... not whatever the heck this was.
His leg began to quiver and his heartbeat began to quicken as he was hit with the frightening, abrupt realization that he was not at home. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but something told him that wouldn't be a smart move. He subconsciously felt his headphones resting on his neck. His eyes followed the wires to his pocket, and pulled out his iPhone. No service, no WiFi -
Dakota grumbled under his breath as the battery icon gave way and the screen turned black. No battery.
Slowly, he brought the shattered pieces of his resolve together, taking a clearer note of his surroundings. The faint rolling and bobbing of the floor indicated that they were at sea. The wood looked like it had aged quite a bit, but it seemed... living, uncomfortably reminscient of the belly of a great beast. Looking around, Dakota noticed the brass telescope and the domed ceiling were clues that the room was an observatory of a sort. He involuntarily made the sign of the cross. He wasn't Catholic, but it helped still the nerves.
Suddenly, his observations were interrupted by the sudden outburst of noise. A quivering middle-aged man, a girl in Egyptian garb speaking in a foreign Arab-ish language, and a burly tattooed Caucasian man with a considerable amount of facial hair. Dakota took a deep breath as he tied his thick winter hoodie around his waist - were these people his captors, or fellow prisoners?
Now that Connor thought about it, the writer's accent did not match any of those that could be found on the British isles, or at least those that he knew of. Her mention of New York was what made Connor guess that she was an American, and that simply added to the mystery of their presence in the room. Whoever, or whatever had brought them here certainly made sure that everyone came from different parts of the world, and if Connor was willing to entertain the idea, different periods of time as well. He had decided that the clothes everyone else wore looked far too strange and different to be from any part of the world that he knew; even the French probably did not dress the way the other two did.
Still, Connor decided to keep that theory to himself for now. It sounded ridiculous and silly even in his head, and the last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself. There were still parts of the world unknown to him, like the deepest parts of Siberia, the central Asian plains and Canada. That made for a lot of places the other two could have come from. "Ah, I apologize. I haven't heard of that book." Connor said sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "I don't think there was a bookstore on the part of the Shetlands I lived in, and we only do get books every once in a while from the steamers that roll through every week or so."
He cleared his throat. "But New York? I hear that it's more Irish than Ireland nowadays. Can't say I'm surprised. The English are doing grand ol' job in making us leg it for the New World." He said with a grin, and was about to ask about what the writer had meant when she said that she was going to school to be an accountant. As far as Connor knew, that was something you learned as an apprentice, not something you could master by simply flipping through a book. However, he noticed that her attention had be drawn by another person who had woken up.
The other girl looked terrified, though Connor could not say he blamed her. He could tell that she too had come from somewhere far away - the newspapers and tabloids had been filled with news about the ongoing war in some nation in the middle east, and if he ignored all the traits that were obviously added in for propaganda purposes, the girl more or less fitted the description of someone from the region. Or, at least according to Fleet Street. "Don't be too afraid, we're all friends here." Connor said, though he kept his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword bayonet. He nodded to the other two with him. "They haven't tried to lynch me for being Irish, so I'll vouch for them."
Tamara Jane rubbed her eyes again before checking that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. Because this was crazy.
She had felt her head get smacked and white explosions of pain had woken her. At first, she thought she was in the back of her friends car, most likely Chels' since that chick was all queen bee controlling and had to be the driver, just had to! So most likely, Tam Tam was all passed out and heading home after some stupid party which involved horny football players flirting and feeling up all the chicks again. Most likely at Max Pederson's place... Ewww. Shudder, no really, ewww...
But at any rate, most likely Tam Tam had passed out, lulled by the sounds of the radio, the rhythm of the wind shield wipers and the sound of Chelsea and Morgan arguing up front while in the back seats, Diana had an arm draped over Tamara Jane, rocking her friend gently, singing along softly to the words of the song playing on the radio, when the tractor trailer blared out its horn and the bright headlights of a demonic, out of control, on coming SUV glared into Chelsea's cute little red car, and into the faces of four teen girls.
They most likely did not even have a chance to scream. When the black monster vehicle plowed right through Chels' cute little red car, the last thing TamTam felt was pain from her head when the force of her being thrown forward into the dashboard of Chels' cute little red car crushed her skull.
But no. That did not happen. Because she opened her big blue eyes again and saw what she was actually seeing. It was crazy.
TamTam made a small gulping sound to moisten her dry throat. “No, like seriously, chick... Wat. Da. Fu--”
She steadied herself as the room lurched again.
Pale hands pulled gently at the soft chutes as she knelt, feeling their complete and utter 'realness.' Blue eyes fixated upon some shiny pendulum on some exotic and chaotic table. She was in some kind of messy, madman's plotting and scheming room, she surmised... but some kind of plotting and scheming, leaning and rolling room made with growing shrubbery and surrounding some kind of post shoved through the middle of it?! This was crazy!
At first, Tamara Jane thought she might have been abducted by her friend Matty and his con-going, cosplay-loving boyfriend, Amir and she had partied and passed out in the middle of some weird cosplay setup LURPS or wut-evs it was called...? But no. The people around her were way too freaked out to be acting. But that was not the huge tip off. No, the neko kid... he was speaking, but the words she heard did not match the movements of his mouth. And not just TamTam understood, but so did everyone around her. Crazytown up in here, up in here.
Then she thought it was a dream because... well... what do you get when you grab: a Les Miserable chick, a Neko, a nerdy-looking dude, a cheerleader and a lumberjack (a freakin' stereotypical lumberjack too! I know, rite!) then stick them in a nature-loving, map happy, plotting and scheming mad man's (or woman!) room made of trees? You get crazy 'realness' because it's not a dream. It's just crazy because Tamara Jane Winstanley does not dream in colour nor does she pick up on the smells.
It smelled like craziness in here... a stand-off between Les Mis and Neko-chan there, Shrek the Lumberjack talking with Mister Interlulz, so TamTam decided to stay out of it... but it also smelled of something else... something else that made her heart skip a beat. Something else that made big blue eyes glisten with hope and a wish, so close, oh so close to being fulfilled...
Yes, it was crazy but they were on a boat of some kind. The rocking motion... the nailed down table and its maps, inks and X's and free-roaming globes... and the smell... oh the smell of--
Mister Interlulz, the nerdy-looking-dude opened the door and as the wind blasted in, TamTam stood up and turned towards the direction of the shape of the bright opening, tears streaming down her eyes. Wind ruffled through her neck length black hair, through her half-top jeans jacket and up her white halter top with the cheap knock off rainbow pony print on it. The stuffed bunny slung over her shoulder did not seem to mind the wind; its dark eyes reflected the glint of the single eyed stuffed bear in the column as if giving it a wink. Her baggy blue jeans pulled taut against short, but strong legs and her white sneakers were blown clean of dust. Her exposed mid-riff tightened as she clasped both rainbow fingernail-tipped hands over pink cherry-balmed lips, leaving her big baby blues, now cartoonishly large, peering over said hands.
She had never known the smell of the sea-water. Until now.
They just had to be on a boat sailing off the coast!
It was her ultimate dream to be able to afford plane tickets to the coast and buy cruise tickets for herself and--
“I'm so sorry, err'body! So sorry, but TamTam just can't stay here no more, cuz this soooo cray!” she said in a high-pitched, hysterics borderline sounding voice, “No, like really! The shh is bananas! Like, c'mon! 'The actual eff are we all doing here?!! You're all crazy! ...and so am I... but, okay, okay...? I'm soooooo sorry but I need to get out on that deck! I sooo needs to see it! I needs to asee the big wet out there... the water!! And her! She's out there! I sooo knows it!”
Tamara Jane wiped away at her tears as she rushed towards the partially opened door.
The massive man had awoken, and massive he was. She'd seen taller people before, but none with the kind of presence he had, the kind that filled up the room. Moss felt her throat close up when he looked at her, and only gripped the hammer tighter when he told her to lower it. Like hell she was going to drop it; it didn't matter if the heavy-voiced man was God himself, she'd found it and it seemed to be a pretty damn goo tool for not getting the shit beaten out of her.
The blowing of the wind caught her attention, and the choking smell of the sea filled the room if only for a moment before dissipating away. The salt practically blinded her, and she had to rub the thick air from her eyes as well as hold her nose. What an awful smell, the sea. So much salt and grime, filled with the piss and shit of a million fish and other god-only-knows horrors.
Then the other girl woke up. Moss didn't know what to think of her, she looked young, but...frillier than any of the other kid-folk she'd seen. Then again the bespectacled man was more or less just as surprising. Then of course there was the freak, but that was its own field entirely, and damned if she was gonna mess with it.
The girl opened her mouth, and suddenly Moss's surprise turned, once again, to confusion. TamTam? Who the fuck was TamTam? Was she speaking the same language as the freak? She understood moving to the door well enough, though.
"Ay!" Moss snapped, watching the girl. "Are you outcha god'm mind? We can't just go out there, what if the fokers who put us in here are out there?"
It seemed however, that she was outnumbered in her opinion. The girl was gone and with her the lumberjack. Well, either they'd die first, or they'd get lucky, but Moss wasn't going to bank much on the latter. Not with that oddity of a girl around, anyway.
Suichi listened as the two of them responded and then went on to have their own conversation. He found himself to be very puzzled about Connor who spoke of the New World as if it were still a commonly used phrase. Either the man was very committed to his cosplay or he actually believed he was from the colonial days. He had heard about the book as his wife read it quite a bit. She certainly liked American literature, so Suichi took the time and effort to make sure she had new copies of books every so often. He decided it wasn't prudent to speak and simply listened as he waited for a response from the speaker.
Then he noticed a fourth person had woken up with them leaving the fifth one still unconscious. This newly awakened person reacted quite seriously out of fear. He understood. All of them were strangers and it was hard to know who could be trusted. He had a lot of faith in humanity though having seen a lot of good things happen through hard times.
Suichi walked up to the newly awakened woman and knelt just within reach of her with a warm smile on his face. "I'm Suichiro Hamani, you may call me Suichi if you'd like. You're safe with us. We only just woke up as well. What's your name?" He remained calm and friendly. If they were going to get out of here they'd need to work together.
Christopher had heard some stirring behind him but decided to pay no attention since he was paying complete attention to the bookcase that he had been inspecting. He couldn't believe what kind of preparation and maintenance would have to be done to keep this wood looking this nice. Especially in a environment that was as harsh as this, having being surrounded by all this strong salt air would case some sort of slightly rapid deterioration if not treated properly. However this was not the case for this bookcase. It was such a shame that such a beautiful bookcase was housing such disgraceful looking books, something this beautiful should have more than one new book in it. It should contain nothing but new books to complement it.
so Zosime decided to speak in Aramaic when she demanded, "Who are you? Where am I? Why have you brought me here?"
"Et dimitte nobis debita n-nostra sicut et nos dimisimus debitoribus nost-t-tris," "Your friend is named Innocent, of the Sidwells. I believe I am dead, but I do not know."
It wasn't until he heard conversing behind him that he decided to give his attention to the other occupants of the room since he was likely going to have a better conversation with two conscious humans as opposed to four unconscious. He also could tell by listening to what he could understand through broken dialect and tough to understand accents that they were in the same predicament that he was, stuck at this unknown location with no clue of how they got here. Christopher had turned around to observe the two conscious people and it was the short Egyptian female and bearded male wearing what looked like an apiarist outfit while two others still occupied their space on the bark floor. Just before he decided to speak the young male with headphones awoke and looked as shocked and confused, especially after looking down at his phone. He felt a slight bit better knowing that they were all in the same boat together. The only one who was still out was the young female with orange hair.
"Hello my name is Christopher, unfortunately I don't have any more answers than any of you. I assume alike you all I have awoken on the same bark floor unfamiliar with any memory after going to sleep. I assure you I would have loved to wake up in my own bed"
The Egyptian frowned in confusion when the man with his back up against the pillar in the middle of the room knelt and started blathering in Latin. It took her a momnt to mentally change gears from Aramaic to the Roman tongue, and Zosime thought she must have missed something important in what he was saying. Something about debtors?
"Conantes dicere quid?" What are you trying to say? Zosime asked, raising one hand to rub at the side of her head. She was a little surprised to hear the man speak Latin - she'd pegged him for an Israelite. Well, she didn't meet all that many Romans, there were probably some scruffy looking ones from the western edges of the Empire, where the Celts and Gauls and all sorts of other barbarians lived.
He said something else then, which sounded kind of like Latin but well, more like he wasn't saying all the letters, and the vowels were much more nasal than she was used to. She didn't like the sound of it. But, even though the words sounded unfamiliar to her, she was somehow certain that she could understand them. At least she knew his name now.
"Mortui non sumus, Innocent," Zosime said flatly. We aren't dead, Innocent. They couldn't be dead; she could clearly feel herself, physically connected to her body as she should have been. Her ka had not detached; she knew that she was not facing neter-khetet. This was not the underworld through which Amun-Ra sailed each night. The more she interacted with the old man, the more the Egyptian came to believe that far from being her captor, he was a frightened idiot.
Zosime started to open her mouth to try to explain why they couldn't be dead, when one of the remaining sleepers awakened. He spoke an even less comprehensible language, like something she had once heard a captive Teuton shout. Like the pseudo-latin, she felt strangely certain that she could understand this young man's words, even though she knew the sounds coming out of his mouth were unintelligible.
She took a deep, calming breath and shakily forced it back out. It seemed like everyone here was going to be just as confused as she was. The scribe certainly didn't trust them, and she wasn't at all comfortable with the situation, but was suddenly sure that if she didn't stiffen her spine and take charge, no-one was going to.
The man at the shelves picked that time to turn around and introduce himself, somewhat deflating her sense of self importance. He seemed pretty calm. And he seemed to be speaking that Teutonic-sounding language as well; she was increasingly suspicious that this whole abduction was a Roman plot of some kind.
"Salutem, Christopher," Hello, Christopher, she said, deciding to stick with latin. At least one person there seemed to speak it. The Teutonic men might too, for that matter, if they couldn't understand her mysteriously like she could them. "I don't know where we are, or why. It looks like we are all equally confused here. If we are going to get any answers, we will probably need to stick together. My name is Zosime." She looked around the room, taking in the strange furnishings, living wood and unidentifiable metal contrivances. "Does anyone have any idea what any of these things are?"
Observatory. "Conantes dicere quid?" More fluent than his own words, and a reassuringly human sentiment. Some tension released by the change of tongue and tone, Sidwell listened closely.
The confused foreigner in finery, whom he had decided to establish as a woman, was plainly lying or self-deceived, or perhaps even a pagan. Saint John had been shown the dead rising from their tombs at the end of days, and Thomas Didymus had put his finger in the wounds of the risen Christ; So surely Innocent could be yet dead while he feels his heart pump and his chest shift. Or if not dead, in some state of having died. I am in Purgatory, he concluded with ultimate confidence. This place is my Judgement.
A third stranger arose, mumbling. The boy. To Sidwell's immense relief, his first action was very familiar. "Benedico te," he mumbled, waving a hand in blessing underneath the marked man's stoic but polite introduction in a blend of sounds not entirely dissimilar to what Innocent's precious few Anglish visitors spoke. Christopher- A good name, a very good name, although his arms remained his most distracting feature. Was the man diseased, or cursed? Yet still a small oddity in the land of the dead.
The hairless woman's name was Zosime. By her own confession, she too had no answer to their surroundings, but was vigorously intent on finding them. Sidwell already had the only answer he needed to be satisfied, but the notion to stay grouped was a good and obvious one. He stepped a little closer to the metal device, noticing the rock in the floor and the strange, salty tang in the air that he had missed. "...Credo fiunt ex aere," I suppose they are made of brass, he offered in innocent helplessness, uncertain of the Latin phrasing. His world was too small to know much about anything here except the books.
The air was stale and the minutes seemed like hours as Tommy watched the girl with the hammer like a hawk, but about that time a girl got up and said something in what seemed like english, string a large number of words together and head toward the door. What seemed like a very intense moment that was going to last for years was broken by the distracting girl. By now, Tommy had figured out, by the words of the girl with the hammer, that the younger girl was about to go outside.
"Hmm...well, someone has to do it." He said, trying to ease the anger of the room, "I'll go with her, ain't no one going to hurt me, least not sober."
He followed the strange girl out of the room, shutting the door quickly behind him because of the wind blowing the maps everywhere. The sunlight seemed to hurt his eyes, it felt like it had been days since he had seen it. The crisp salty air was not something that he was used to. A smile stretched across his face, he was surprisingly happy with the situation....sure it was inconvenient to be taken away from his friends and job, but he always had a heart for adventure ever since he had ran away. He tried to keep pace with the girl, she was quite excited and practically running to see the sights of what was now confirmed to be a ship. He didn't really know what to say to the girl, and was afraid to ask anything because he didn't know if he could follow a conversation with her.
"Er...uh..." He said, looking for something to say just to make the situation on the ship less stressful, "So...uh... what 'id you say yur' name was?"
The boy got a fright as this large man stood up, he did not notice how huge this giant was until now. He had never seen such a huge creature before in his entire life, then again the biggest thing he ever saw was the machines that were there during his time of birth. He then began to feel a bit dizzy again as the ground he stood on was moving, he could not understand it but if it was not for his tail he would have fallen again.
The giant told them to wait for a minute, this was a long time to wait as he was worried as he kept one eye on the dangerous red beast gripping the hammer tighter. During those sixty seconds so much could happen and a lot did happen as the man asked the red beast to lower their weapon and asked where they were. He was also curious to know where he was when suddenly the guy with the glass in front of his eyes replied.
He said we were all trying to figure it out, as the boy looked curiously at this weird guy with the glass in front of his eyes. Either he was one of those espers that could read minds, or everyone just happened to think this and he was just stating the obvious so maybe he was actually stupid. He could not figure this out as he kept looking as he did not understand what he meant by ship since they were on water. Most ships went to space or were in the sky, it was clear that they were on a boat and not a ship. Though boats were considered cheap forms of transport long forgotten by the Society.
Then the man in glasses did something that was either really stupid or really smart as he opened the doors. The strange salty wind rushed in hurting his nose as he kept rubbing it and sneezed a bit. He had never smelt or tasted such a strange wind before, let alone felt a natural wind. He was a bit excited and curious as he nearly forgot about the giant monster and the red beast. The wind also made his hair a mess and papers kept hitting into him and all over the place as the one globe rolled passed him again.
"Sorry. That was a bit more than I expected. I was also kind of expecting it to be locked so that's weird." With better vision he looked about the room again. The flash of metal on the shelf caught his eye and he walked over to it but waited on reaching for it. He still didn't know enough about these people so better to be cautious.
Then the only normal looking person to him stood up and made a way towards the door. He then thought for a moment that something was odd, then he remembered that females had a slightly different shape, as he looked carefully there was three girls as girls main difference was to have a big or strange chest. He could not remember any others since the rest did not matter really, gender equality was something in the society so he did not fully get gender to begin with.
The normal like lady started saying sorry and a bunch of other stuff that even when translated did not make any sense at all. So much for there being someone normal amongst them is what he thought.
Then the red beast spoke and closed the door saying there were people who placed them there. He began to think maybe he fell out of the sky and ended up in the primative world of Survival as he backed away a bit then fell in a pile of papers as he did not pay attention to his surroundings yet. He stayed still only his ears sticking out as he thought to himself he was well hidden. He was not that smart, but in the Society you could be dead stupid and still survive easily with the help of machines. Where were the machines, in the sky looking down and watching over them.
He stayed hidden within the sheets and piles of paper..
Well this was all quite confusing. So far it was looking like this group was tuning out to be quite a band of misfits. No one knew what was going on, nor did they seem to have any kind of direction or coherent communication. The last girl to wake up talked like she was hyped up on something. Perhaps they all had been drugged and thrown on this ship. That still didn't explain the cat boy though. A dream, maybe. Hopefully actually. If this was real it was sure to give him a headache trying to figure it out.
"TamTam" hysterically made a dash for the door babbling some nonsense about wanting to see that water and someone being out there. However the redhead blocked the way. So far he liked her the best because despite the accent she made the most sense. At least she thought logically without blindly charging into the unknown. The burly man was a close second until he offered to go out with no idea what to expect. Sighing slightly he watched the two go outside. He had noticed the cat ears sticking out of the papers but decided it wasn't worth the effort to point out the flaw in the hiding place. His attention went to Moss. "I say we wait here and see what happens to them. In the mean time..." Turning back to the shelf he grabbed the metal box and looked it over. It definitely looked in better shape than everything else in the room. The intricate patterns also made it the most out of place given the setting, not that he would describe the scene as normal to begin with. He was curious about the objects contents but it appeared that it was locked. The keys by the door surely would not fit the tiny key hole. Shuffling around some of the maps and books he searched for the key. He spoke again while he looked though. "My name is Chris by the way. I'm hoping whatever is going on here gets sorted out soon but in case it doesn't I'd like at least one person to know who I am."
The freak was scuttling around again, but Moss's initial fear of Elin had more or less turned to aggravation and general distaste by then. Clearly, the boy needed a leash, or at least some house training. When she noticed he was hiding away now, she smirked, twirling the hammer in her hand.
"Aye, you stay there."
The bespectacled man spoke up again, this time to her. At least he seemed a bit cautious, and though she was still cautious of him, [i]she[i] had a hammer, and he had...well, it looked like a box. Besides, she'd scrapped with folks bigger than him before, and unless he was one of those martial-arts types, she figured she and the hammer would handle well enough.
Chris, he said his name was. She was fairly certain she'd never met anyone who went by Chris, but there'd been a handful of Christopher's at the mines, and she'd met one or two Cristof's with the caravan. Which one this boy was, she didn't know, he looked fair to midland for either one, really.
Her hammer lowered, but still gripped tight, she began to look around again. Nothing caught her attention though, she'd gotten her deal from the room already, and if the two outside weren't dead soon, she'd probably be heading out there herself. But until she heard screams or otherwise, she was sitting tight right where she was.
"Moss," she said back to the other boy. "M'name's Moss. Y'got a pretty fancy tone to you."
Oh wows... like what a for really reals awesomes accents... wows...
The accent was really amazing to the freshly turned eighteen year old cheerleader girl, but it was not the voice as much as it was those eyes. Yes, they were blue, just like her own but... but still, never had Tamara Jane ever seen such wildness; an intensity of a lone wolf. That was the closest she could describe those eyes. Winter like the blues of a wolf, lonely and selfishly alone in its loneliness. But Tamara Jane would never know such ferocity...
...but the depth of pain in those icy blues... just could not remain so hidden when it reflected like a mirror to the soul especially in such a time. A crazy time.
"Ay!" Moss snapped, watching the girl. "Are you outcha god'm mind? We can't just go out there, what if the fokers who put us in here are out there?"
“The door's open, chick,” TamTam said with a melancholic giggle, “you are sooooo awesomes, but even you... have you ever been left wonderin'... just wonderin'... 'what if?' I need that answer to that, Les Mis. I soooo needs it. 'What if...?' Lil' bit o' love, whole lotta' hug... she gave me a reason... What reason? Hahahah... simple...
The door's open, chick...”
Such depth in those icy blues. You could just dive in and gets all lost in them...
A single glance she cast over her shoulder and she saw the nerdy-looking dude grab at a silver item and greedily search for something to pick it open... “Hey, Interlulz probs just give it to Les Mis over there to smack it open?”
TamTam kind of wanted to see her smack it open but-- suddenly she caught sight of Neko-chan dump himself in papers and Tamara Jane smiled at his totally cute whackiness. Wait. Wut. Those ears looked so real. Soooooooooooo effin' real... ewww... for really reals now? The teen was really curious but...
She pulled open the door and marched outside, missing the words of the lumberjack mentioning he would go outside with the teen girl. The wind blasted into her face and the salty wetness of the outside gave her heart a skip of a beat, even though she had to shield her face with both hands. Was she really out here? Into the crook of one denim clad arm went her pale face as she reached back to close the door with her other hand. But it closed itself. Or so it seemed.
A small hand reached out and grasped gingerly at a handle near the door frame. She steadied herself and took a single steeling breath before she decidedly went to go look for her. Another tingle and skip of a heartbeat as she could hear her, just hear her say--
"Er...uh..."
Shrek had followed her outside. And closed the door behind him.
"So...uh..."
All she could see was that massive face and upon that massive face was that bushy, pervie moustache moving over his quivering mouth.
"...what 'id you say yur' name was?"
Ewww. Max Pederson much? Ewww. Daddy Max... but ten times bigger and complete with teenie girly seeking dirty mouthing moustache... ewww...!
His intent was pretty clear. It was just them, just the two of them out here. No witnesses to watch him and his pervie moustache. No hammer to stop him cold. He closed the door afterall.
TamTam was about to scream at the top of her lungs, but the weather and rough seas had decided that they did not want her to get away from danger. Another swelling of big wet hit the hull and the boat lurched violently once more and TamTam lost her grip on the wooden frame. Another gust of wind in her face, driving back and TamTam lost her footing on the wet wooden deck.
Perhaps the weather and rough seas wanted her for themselves. Tamara Jane rolled in a backwards somersault or two, hopefully not towards the outer railing and closer towards the frothing, greedy cold waters.
He stopped examining the box as the girl answered back with a name. He couldn't has he'd ever heard anyone named Moss before. But given the thick accent it could very well be more common outside the States. So far he had managed, by some mysterious thing, to understand most of what was being said. This time it failed him. It was probably less a failure of translation and more a misunderstanding of phrase. Looking at Moss curiously he rolled what she said through his mind a few times but couldn't figure it out. "I don't think I quite understand what you're getting at. Fancy tone?" There wasn't much other choice but to ask at this point. Otherwise it would probably drive him crazy before long.
She quirked a brow at him. People not understanding her was common enough, she supposed, but it never failed to make her a tad indignant. She leaned against the center pillar, mulling over how to rephrase her question.
"Aye, ya voice. Ya talk like one o' the suit-and-tie-folks, y'know, the businessmen. Not a lot o' them around San Francisco anymore, so where ya from?"
It was perhaps the first question she ever asked people. Even when she was set up behind a small table, playing them in rigged games of blackjack or find-the-lady, she'd always lead with some form or another of "where are you from?". Mostly because she was curious about that sort of thing, but also because she'd vowed never to con a Spaniard or another Irish. Seemed like bad blood, really.
Chris could face palm himself. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense. Now I feel stupid. I'm not much of a businessman though I just talk that way." He didn't think about it often but he did tend to talk differently than most people he knew. He was about to explain something when the mention of San Francisco sank in. He looked at Moss for a moment but there wasn't any hint that she was playing around. "I'm from Texas. And I've never been to San Francisco. Or California for that matter."
Curious now he tried to put two and two together. "Is that where you were last you remember? Because the last place I was was at my home back in Dallas. Not exactly down the street."
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 hammer was heavy for its size, and its dark handle was well-worn. The head of it was ornately carved, with initials scratched into the top. When Moss yanked the hammer from the table, a small puff of bone dust drifted into the air; bits of tiny bone dropped from the bone-powdered hammer.
Forgoing opening the door he took a step back and held his hands out where she could see them. . . .
Moss didn't lower release her hammer, but she did seem to relax a little bit. . . . 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.
The map was huge and incomplete, and very obviously had been drawn by several different hands. There were coffee stains, blood stains, pencil and charcoal marks, and of course the fading and fraying that comes with age and saltwater air. There were no continents, but only islands drawn out with scribbles of writing that were too faded or blurred to read. Several of the islands were marked out with Xes; many of these were accompanied by faded lists of what might be names. And then in the corner was an articulate drawing of a feather with exquisite markings.
The bloodstained pendulum which stood over the map seemed to be swaying in the same direction, unaffected by the sway of the ship. It almost seemed to be urging toward an unknown spot on the map, left blank and unexplored.
The ceiling above creaked with footsteps. People were moving and talking in the room above.
Oh mercy . . . Et dimitte nobis . . . nos dimisimus debitoribus . . . believe I am dead . . . are you? . . . loved to wake up . . . [incomprehensible muttering] . . .
. . . he jumped up he ran . . . He dashed around as the parchments and pencils flew all over the place . . . this ball that kept rolling passed nearly hit him twice . . .
Elin flung himself around the room, scattering paper that had been still for ages. Revealed on the floor among the old maps and notes was an old flintlock pistol, charred with use and well-worn. Across the room, a pocketwatch glimmered, its gold chain tarnished by age. It was delicately engraved with ornate patterns -- and it was ticking.
He glared daggers at her, holding onto his tail like it was a lifeline. She gripped the hammer with both hands and glared back.
"Now let's just wait a minute here." He said in his deepest voice, "First....why don't we lower that-there hammer real slow."
Moss felt her throat close up when he looked at her, and only gripped the hammer tighter when he told her to lower it.
Pale hands pulled gently at the soft chutes as she knelt, feeling their complete and utter 'realness.' Blue eyes fixated upon some shiny pendulum on some exotic and chaotic table.
The tiny saplings which grew resiliently out of the floor were not quite green in color; they had a purplish sheen to them, and a light oil and a faint smell of strawberry sugar came off the leaves onto Tam Tam's fingers. Their stems were prickly, and promised of future thorns given time to grow.
The pendulum was dark with old blood, and it swung sharply on its silvery thread. It didn't appear to be affected at all by the rocking of the ship, but more insistently sliced the air in one firm, confident direction. It hadn't been doing that before.
Deciding that it would be better not to trapped in a room with strangers Chris opened the door. The wind rushed in and the loose maps strewn about began to flutter around. . . . He had misjudged the mess the wind was creating and closed the door a bit so they would at least have the light without so much of the wind.
Maps, paper, notes, bone dust, charcoal shavings, all of it flung into the wind that was released like a torrent in the room. The keys jangled against the wall. The door in the column at the center of the room creaked open a crack, pulled by the change in air pressure; inside was a tiny dark enclosure piled with boxes of crackers and flatbread, sealed bags of dried meats, stacks of unlabeled cans, and a ladder that led upward.
The plantlife that grew throughout the room seemed to grow a bit brighter and strained immediately toward the light that was let in. An observant person might realize that within those few moments of light, the little saplings were just a bit bigger than they had been before. The walls creaked -- but then, the entire ship was constantly creaking, wasn't it?
The wind also made his hair a mess and papers kept hitting into him and all over the place as the one globe rolled passed him again. . . . he backed away a bit then fell in a pile of papers . . . He stayed still only his ears sticking out as he thought to himself he was well hidden.
Elin would find something digging into his leg where he sat: it was a little silvery key, no bigger than his finger. It was rather fancy and quite shiny, with delicate etchings and curiously patterned teeth.
On one of the pages in his hiding place was a scrawled drawing. This drawing was of a young woman wearing ancient clothes, with no hair on her head, holding a feather. It had been drawn in a hurry, and was little more than a sketch without a face: but whoever had drawn it had thought it important.
The stuffed bunny slung over her shoulder did not seem to mind the wind . . . Tamara Jane wiped away at her tears as she rushed towards the partially opened door.
. . . "Ay!" Moss snapped, watching the girl. "Are you outcha god'm mind? We can't just go out there, what if the fokers who put us in here are out there?"
. . . he grabbed the metal box and looked it over. It definitely looked in better shape than everything else in the room. The intricate patterns also made it the most out of place given the setting . . . He was curious about the objects contents but it appeared that it was locked. The keys by the door surely would not fit the tiny key hole. Shuffling around some of the maps and books he searched for the key.
Chris would not, in fact, find the key he was looking for. He would, however, find several drawings of landscapes in France in the 1700s: city streets, ship docks, rolling hills, houses made of stone, portraits of people and of a great monster with a dozen slitted eyes and teeth like splintered blades.
A globe stopped against Chris' leg. It was old and worn, and appeared to have been whitewashed and painted over with a new scene of waters and islands that were certainly not Earth. Something rattled and scrabbled like little living claws inside it.
She pulled open the door and marched outside . . .
He followed the strange girl out of the room, shutting the door quickly behind him because of the wind blowing the maps everywhere.
The light and the wind flooded the room again, and this time the saplings stretched themselves out toward the door, spreading their leaves. The wood of the walls and the floor shifted just slightly -- squirming imperceptibly, each panel like a stone snake awakening. And then the door was shut again, and everything went suddenly still.
Her hammer lowered, but still gripped tight, she began to look around again. Nothing caught her attention though, she'd gotten her deal from the room already, and if the two outside weren't dead soon, she'd probably be heading out there herself.
Moss' head would begin to feel light; she had been the closest to the bone dust on the table, close enough to breathe it in. She might see some movement in the corner of her eye -- like a tall, long, wisp of a figure standing with its white bony head near the ceiling, big eyes hollow like a skull's -- but when she looked, it was gone.
It had once been a ship's deck. Now, it was the beginnings of a forest.
The saltwater splashed over great branches and shimmering purple-green leaves that twisted and clung to the banisters and cannons. The floor of the deck -- which had at one time shone with polish -- was nothing but bark and roots and leaves and brush.
The old rigging, sewn through with leafy vines, whistled as it rippled in the salty wind. The masts still rose strong, though they had grown branches and were flowering as if they'd become trees once again. The sails were mostly gone -- tatters of their former selves -- but they had not been of cloth. They still shimmered a bit in the gray sunlight, made of something pale and glassy. Old pipes and levers and machines were barely visible under the masses of vines and leaves that enveloped them.
Just outside the map room was the helm; it was made of metal and polished dark wood and tarnished brass, and it looked out over the length of the ship from its perch at the edge of a landing. The helm was wrapped securely by a tangled net of small vines, pulled taut in such a way that the wheel was forbidden to move no matter how the wind and the waves tossed the ship. Beside the helm, equally secured, was a long rusted lever.
Two stairways to the sides led down to the deck below.
A short stairway to one side led up to the small landing just above and behind them; at the top of that landing at the rearmost of the ship was a closed dome structure with a door and little else.
The wind blasted into her face and the salty wetness of the outside gave her heart a skip of a beat, even though she had to shield her face with both hands.
. . . don't know . . . confused here . . . we will . . . Zosime . . . idea what . . . Credo fiunt ex aere . . .
On the wall outside the door they'd just come out of was a brass horn connected to a pipe that led down into the floor. The disembodied voices that drifted between the crashing of waves emitted from this device.
The sunlight seemed to hurt his eyes, it felt like it had been days since he had seen it. . . . "Er...uh..." He said, looking for something to say just to make the situation on the ship less stressful, "So...uh... what 'id you say yur' name was?"
Another swelling of big wet hit the hull and the boat lurched violently once more and TamTam lost her grip on the wooden frame. Another gust of wind in her face, driving back and TamTam lost her footing on the wet wooden deck. Perhaps the weather and rough seas wanted her for themselves. Tamara Jane rolled in a backwards somersault or two, hopefully not towards the outer railing and closer towards the frothing, greedy cold waters.
Tamara crashed through spiked vines and sharp branches; her ribs banged on the edge of the landing banister and she fell heels-over-head toward the deck below, where she rolled, skidded, slammed spine-first into a lever sticking out of the floor, and stopped against the outer railing. She was covered in bark, bramble, cuts, bruises, and strawberry-scented oil. Just beyond the railing, the water seethed and hissed and crashed. Saltwater spray dampened her clothes. She had only barely missed cracking her head against a vine-encased cannon that was chained down just beside her.
The lever that she'd accidentally pushed down in her fall was vibrating slightly.
The sky was a soft moving gray, and the water was bleak and choppy. The remains of the tattered sails high above whipped in the wind.
Something moved in the corner of her eye. A gray fox stood beside her, with her stuffed rabbit held tightly in its mouth.
Even Tommy, watching from above, would not have seen where the animal had come from.
. . . 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.
It was imperceptible -- especially while no one was paying much attention to it -- but the blade of Connor's bayonet was slightly brighter than he might have remembered it to be. It was as if something deep within it were glowing -- but even upon close inspection, it might only be a trick of the dim light.
She noticed the door and quickly ran to it and tried to open it, but since it was locked it did not budge.
The iron turnkey lock rattled when Risa tugged at it, but there was a second kind of resistance: as if something or someone was pulling the door in the opposite direction.
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.
The tool that Samira held was made of iron and smelled sharply of rust and old metal and oil. One end of it was darker than the rest, stained with something deep red. There were sharper instruments in the toolbox as well, along with a few oddly contrived gadgets with uncertain purposes. From her position here Samira might see a sledgehammer propped against the wall, draped in vines.
There were only three ways out that could be seen: two ladders that led up to trap doors in the ceiling on opposite walls, and the locked door. It was unknown where the ladders leading down into the gear wells might possibly lead other than to an assumable dead end.
“Hey put that down. You're going to get your clothes dirty. I've already tried the door, it's locked.” She then pointed to the horn. “We're waiting to hear a response for the speaker here. Maybe someone can come and let us out.”
"Don't be too afraid, we're all friends here." Connor said, though he kept his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword bayonet. He nodded to the other two with him. "They haven't tried to lynch me for being Irish, so I'll vouch for them."
"I'm Suichiro Hamani, you may call me Suichi if you'd like. You're safe with us. We only just woke up as well. What's your name?"
While they all spoke to one another, a noise and a voice crept through the brass horn by the door.
[howling wind] . . . uh . . . what 'id . . . say . . . name . . . ?
The floor gave a sudden lurch, throwing everyone off-balance and crashing into the pipes and machinery and leafy vines.
hkssss-a-a-a-a-a-o-o
Something hissed and cackled and moved in the shadows behind the machines, startled when Risa knocked over a pile of loose pipes that clattered and clanged on the floor.
Something long and dark darted up the wall. It was only visible for a moment, but appeared like a huge skittering lizard as long as a man was tall. It moved quick as lightning, and it curled itself behind one of the ladders at the ceiling. The leaves on the walls trembled in its wake.
From that moment it sat perfectly still, a dark presence in the corner of the ceiling, with a slitted red eye watching, unblinking.
There were noises from above as something mechanical was triggered. A loose thick wire tangled among the gears slowly tightened. A few sprockets moved and groaned against the vines that bound them. When the wire was tight, everything stopped, strained, unable to move any farther in the constraint of the dislodged wires and crisscrossed vines.
He took a quick glance at all of the books . . . There had been one book however that had looked brand new . . . 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.
The book would indeed not come down: it was entitled The Reaper's Lie and was bound in ornate leather. Should Christopher continue to pull on the book, he would find that it gave just a fraction. It wasn't sealed fast to the bookcase, but rather was attached by something mechanical that creaked faintly with every tug.
It would take a great deal of effort to pull the book from the shelf, but it might slowly be pried away.
The fourth object on the floor was his hat. Thoughts interrupted, Sidwell stooped to take it back up, relishing its familiarity.
Perhaps unnoticeable at first, a butterfly was hidden inside the top of Sidwell's hat. Its wings were a luminescent silver, with luxurious tails and shimmering antennae.
There was a low table. Sidwell stepped towards it, squinting at the oddly elegant tangle of brass rings and spheres resting on it . . .
As Sidwell watched, the spheres moved. Only when he stepped close would he hear the telltale ticking of clockwork inside the machine.
The sun and all its planets were represented here by smooth metal spheres like huge marbles; though the one that represented the Earth was made of translucent stone that swirled and glimmered deep inside.
The planets were ever so slowly moving -- in the wrong direction. They orbited backwards around the sun.
At the center of the room, the door in the wooden column suddenly shook and rattled in its frame, as if it had been blasted with wind from inside. A moment later it was quiet.
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.
The leaves that grew out of the floor and the walls were slick with a purple-shimmering oil that smelled like strawberries. The oil came off on Zosime's fingers, where it continued to shimmer with a pale purplish reflection.
In the room below the floor, people were shouting.
Fok'n get back! . . . lower that . . . real slow . . . this soooo cray! . . . The actual eff . . . You're all crazy! . . . the water!! And her! She's out there! . . .
Dakota quickly snapped out of his blind groping. He was on the floor, not in a bed. . . . He subconsciously felt his headphones resting on his neck. His eyes followed the wires to his pocket, and pulled out his iPhone. No service, no WiFi . . . No battery. . . . Dakota took a deep breath as he tied his thick winter hoodie around his waist . . .
Music.
Faint, staticky music began to play through Dakota's headphones. It sounded like the crumbled crankings of a broken victrola playing the wistful music of a single warbling violin. It was only for a moment, and then faded into nothing.
Like the pseudo-latin, she felt strangely certain that she could understand this young man's words, even though she knew the sounds coming out of his mouth were unintelligible. . . . "I don't know where we are, or why. It looks like we are all equally confused here. If we are going to get any answers, we will probably need to stick together. My name is Zosime." She looked around the room, taking in the strange furnishings, living wood and unidentifiable metal contrivances. "Does anyone have any idea what any of these things are?"
He stepped a little closer to the metal device, noticing the rock in the floor and the strange, salty tang in the air that he had missed. "...Credo fiunt ex aere," I suppose they are made of brass, he offered in innocent helplessness, uncertain of the Latin phrasing. His world was too small to know much about anything here except the books.
The room gave a sudden lurch, throwing them all across the room, and wind rattled against the walls from all sides; it appeared that the walls and the roof were all that stood between them and the sea wind outside. The telescope above them creaked and groaned and dipped down a few inches. Perched atop the lens was something that appeared to be a mouse -- only it glinted metallic. It sat very still on the top of the telescope, and for awhile it wasn't certain whether the thing was alive at all. Until its gleaming tail twitched only slightly.
There were voices outside -- faint but clearly human.
The walls began to move. It was almost unnoticeable, but the bark-covered panels of the walls, the floor and the ceiling moved slightly like old sleeping snakes; the leaves trembled and moved as if in search of sunlight -- but there was none to be had in that dark closed room, lit only by the ambient gray sunlight that filtered in through the living wood.
