Aug 21, 1914

The massive ship rocked steadily on the choppy water. Waves sprayed over the deck, drenching any who dared to venture out from below. The occasional rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

Their journey had been fairly smooth so far, aside from the current storm. Three days ago, they left port for a set of coordinance in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. From there, they would dive down in a submarine to the ocean floor and...pick around for artifacts or something. Honestly, it all sounded pretty asinine. But, Sasha was getting paid big bucks to take this little vacation, so he would keep his doubts to himself.

He'd kept himself busy the last three days by helping load and unload equipment around the ship. He'd wandered around the cargo hold a bit to admit the magnificent submarine, and maybe even got sea sick once or twice. The books he'd been wise enough to bring had been a great time killer. He had a feeling he'd get all his summer reading done on this trip. Honestly, Sasha wasn't sure why Whitmore thought an entire armed militia was necessary. They were going to the ocean floor, what were they supposed to fight? Lobsters?

It was safe to say that he didn't buy into this "Atlantis" nonsense one bit. Sasha was a realist. He didn't believe in fairies, ghosts, or lost cities. But, who knows, maybe he'd be wrong.

The bunk he'd claimed as his own wasn't nearly big enough for him. He laid on his back, head propped up and feet hanging off the end, a book in his hands. Sasha was good at keeping to himself. He'd exchanged polite chat with his crew mates when it was necessary, but he wasn't exactly the image of hospitality. They seemed alright, though.

"Curse this storm", Szalai exclaimed as he narrowly avoided a wave that came crashing on the deck. Opening the door back inside with his right hand firmly on his hat to keep it from flying away. Closing it as fast as he could. With a clank, the door was closed and all was there was a wet Szalai wearing a black overcoat with a black hat. It was not as bad out there as he thought and it was a good idea to wear his overcoat. Even if the cotton overcoat offered little protection from the rain. At least he is not drenched and he just wanted to see the outside for a short time before spending the rest of the day inside the ship.

With his outdoor outing finished, Szalai took off his overcoat revealing his chothes underneath. Folding his overcoat the best he could before heading futher in to his bunk. He disliked being cooped up in the ship and it did help that this particularly ship was a large one. Even since that one cramped boat to Iceland for a business trip. He had been unease with being cooped up in a metal ship. At least this trip is poised to be a exciting one.

It did not take Szalai long for him to reach his bunk. He gently placed his wet overcoat on his bunk and his hat on top of the overcoat. Then feeling his hair to feel how wet it was and shook his hand once he was done. Not was wet as he thought.

Szalai was alone in the room and he exchanged some talk with his fellow crewmates on the expedition but, he has mainly kept to himself. Passing time by reading some books he had brought and watching the ocean from the outside deck. It was relaxing up until this storm arrived. Still there are plenty of things to do on this ship.

From his bunk, Szalai made his way to the cargo to get another look at the impressive submarine there. Mr. Whitmore must really belicve in the lost city is he spent this much money on finding it. Hopefully this trip proves to be a eventful one and they find something about Atlantis. It would be unfortunate if they find nothing but, Szalai has hope. As long as they can prove the city actually existed, he will be happy.

Once he arrived at the submarine, he stood in place and watched it. Eventually they will be inside of that thing and going down to the ocean floor to find the city. Eventually this adventure will begin and Szalai can not wait for it.

Preston Whitmore could put every military in the world to shame. Thucydides Beauregard could think nothing less than that as he completed his inspection of the the Ulysses and the accompanying vehicles, submersibles and all of the weaponry they'd been equipped with for this expedition. He'd thought that Whitmore had spent obscene amounts of money on just the Icelandic expedition, but this...he couldn't fathom how one man could have managed such feats of machining and science. Good thing that his friend hadn't ever considered a political career. He'd dominate the world by now.

He paused a moment to draw a cigar from one of the many pockets of his fatigue coat. Whitmore had even provided custom uniforms for the expedition, which Thucydides couldn't help but chuckle at when he'd first seen the things. Yes, the old man had covered every single one of his bases here. The big man smiled as he clipped the end of the stogie and slipped the thing between his lips, striking a match against his cheek. He took a slow, satisfied puff as he strolled along through the ship, taking that one last opportunity to breath in the sea air before they'd be embarking.

The Hungarian was already down in the departure bay when Thucydides made his way down again. He offered a polite nod as he approached, looming at 6'6" and easily outmassing the geologist.

"Find everything to your liking, Mr. Zalan? Whitmore spared no expense here by the look of things." The big man offered a smile around his cigar. "Afraid I'm not the best of judges with the excavation equipment."

Tristan had to grip his typewriter with force as the ship lurched rapidly against the storm powered waves. He cursed quietly as readjusted the position of the typewriter on his room’s desk. He would be quiet cross if the expensive machine were to be damaged. While the expedition’s benefactor Mr. Whitmore had quite enough money to easily replace it, Tristan would still feel bad if such a nice piece of machinery was ruined by the jostling of the sea. Plus, Mr. Whitmore had said that Tristan could keep the new typewriter once the expedition was completed.

Tristan had just finished a draft of his account of the expedition so far. Normally Tristan would have went through several drafts already, wanting to tell the story in the best way. However, there wasn’t much to tell. They were only on their third day at sea with very little to report. While the splendour of the ship had initially been very interesting to Tristan, giving him ideas about writing a nautical adventure, the whole thing had become humdrum fast as everyone fell into the monotony of their duties. Hell, this was the first time there had even been a storm, which was something of note.

Tristan placed the typewriter and his report into the large suitcase next to him, one designed to store a typewriter, and placed the luggage under the bottom bunk he had claimed. As he did so, his stomach growled reminding him that he had skipped lunch to read a book and write his report. Tristan hoped that there was still some food left, as lunch was over two hours ago. Tristan threw on a brown overcoat, as it was chilly today, and left his room. In the hall outside, several of the military types were gathered and laughing. It gave Tristan pause to try and figure out what about this expedition would be so dangerous that it would require a small army. In fact, Tristan still had many more questions about this whole endeavour. If they were looking for ruins at the bottom of the ocean, then why did they need demolition experts? It was a little bit sketchy to Tristan, but he had placed his faith in Preston Whitmore, who he was still greatly appreciative of being offered this job.

Tristan made his way out of the hallway and onto the exposed part of the ship. Bursts of sea spray greeted him, darkening his overcoat as he was dampened. Tristan hurried down toward the mess hall, wanting to get away from the storm as fast as possible. As he turned the corner that led to the mess hall, Tristan slipped on the wet floor, sliding forward. At the same time a sailor also turned the corner, colliding with Tristan. The two were both knocked off their feet, the sailor dropping a bag of potatoes, while Tristan’s journal fell out of his coat pocket.

“The hell is your problem?” spat the sailor as he tried to pick the potatoes of the floor.

Tristan froze up. He was not good with confrontation. So, he quickly gathered the potatoes and handed them to the sailor, before grabbing his journal and fleeing the scene, leaving the sailor with a confused expression. Tristan’s hunger left his mind as he rushed out of the area. What a klutz, he thought. Once he found a secluded part of the ship Tristan stopped and breathed in the ocean air. The salty mist calmed him down, grounding him, and quieting his mind. Tristan then took out his personal journal and made note of this situation so that he may learn from it.

Szalai was slightly startled and when Thucydides spoke to him and turned to face him. "Ah Commander Beauregard, I did not hear you approach and yes everything is to my liking rest assured". So this is the Commander, Szalai thought as he looked at the man. A tall American this one and he seems fine so far. "Yeah, Whitmore spared no expense with funding and outfitting this expedition to find the lost city". Szalai turned his head to the submarine. "I have to admit that I am surprised at the lengths he has taken to supply this expedition and I would hate if all of this went to waste". Szalai chuckled to himself at the thought of this trip turning up with nothing. "Hopefully this is not to waste".

A thought came to him if they are searching for the remains of the lost city on the ocean floor. Why do they need a militia? Seems rather odd, what is supposed to attack them? Pirates? Either way, Whitmore seemed to have hired them for a reason, and for now, he trusted him about this. There has to be a good reason why right?

Still, Szalai is excited to find any trace of Atlantis and turned his head back to the American. "So Commander any advice about being in a submarine?" Szalai gave a weak smile, "It should not surprise you that I have never been in one and well, this expedition is going to some firsts for me". He looked back at the submarine, "this submarine being the first of one several before this expedition is over with".

“Afraid I’m not much of an expert myself. My understanding is that it isn’t much different from a normal ship. Just have to be a tad more careful about seals.” Thucydides offered, puffing in his cigar as he took another look around the bay. An entire convoy of trucks loaded down with supplies was already starting on up the boarding ramp, though most of the crew itself was still lingering. That would change soon.

“I’m not much more excited than you about traveling in this thing, believe me. Prefer to know there’s sky a certain distance above me. We have our duty though. Is there anything else you need prepared before we embark?”

"Just like a normal ship huh", Szalai replied as he looked at the submarine. "I will take your for word it then and then it should not be too hard to live in". Being in a submarine sure will be an experience, being underwater and everything. Granted he will be waiting around for a time before they find traces of the lost city. Still, it will be worth it once they found what they were looking for and Szalai is excited about it.

"I am just excited to find the lost city is all and not exactly excited to travel in a submarine. Just it will be new for me and being in an impressive submarine like this one". Szalai noticed the supply trucks and moving up the boarding ramp. "I take it that we are leaving soon and as for me Commander. I just to retrieve some things from my bunk and I should be good to go. It should be fast to get and I assume you are ready to depart?

Brooke Everett: The Cartographer

Brooke Everett was scrambling to the bridge of the ship, clutching several scrolls of maps, balancing some on a small open-topped wooden box with various books inside. The young woman's frazzled short black hair that was shorter on one side raised just above her large, circular glasses that made her big brown eyes seem even bigger. Brooke had been a beacon of anxious energy throughout the entire trip, having had her entire life turned upside down. The sleeves of her white undershirt were rolled up to the elbows, and a red vest clung tightly to her body. The shirt was tucked into a belt that kept up a pair of black pants that tucked into a pair of boots. Everything was tucked. Perhaps not of any desire to be orderly or prim, infact it was more likely that had her clothes not been so tightly tucked they would be flying all over the place and getting stuck on every possible place they could get stuck on. It was a matter of necessity, almost.

Preston Whitmore had changed her life. All those years of waiting, searching, hoping, it had finally come true. She was about to prove her and her grandfather right, and the Everett name would be brought to the public consciousness in the good light that it deserved. Finding Atlantis, following the notes of Shepherd's Journal in a high tech submarine---it was almost too good to be true! That was why she was so incredibly concerned with not messing anything up.

Despite some of the crew's potentially mixed feelings, Brooke was a true believer in the lost empire and expounded vibrantly upon the subject whenever someone dared broach it with her- or whenever they didn't.

Carrying the box and the scrolls full of text and words that no one other then a cartographer and linguist could make any sense of, Brooke came to a door that lead to where she needed to go. There was a small glass porthole, and the top half of her face peered through, the large round glasses poking around to try and see anyone on the other side.

With no free hands to operate the complicated naval door that only submarines had, Brooke pushed her forehead against the glass.

"Hello?" She asked.

Brooke leaned back against a nearby wall and extended her leg outward and began to kick at something like a handle or a wheel, trying to find a good grip on it to get the door open. "C-c-could somone---" She stumbled, slipping, and had to rebound before a map fell to the ground. She treated the maps as if they were expensive Chinese porceclain creations. Were they to fall onto the steel floor of the submarine, they would surely shatter into a million pieces. Brooke tried not to blink too much because she was certain that if she kept her eyes closed for too long she would wake up and be back in her gloomy New England apartment.

"I need some-" She once again began and prematurely ended a sentence, this time adding a beleaguered, good-natured giggle. "Oh, heck." She leaned up against the wall and tried to balance the box in her arms. At this point she was nothing more then a pair of trousers supporting a shaking box. This was going to take a while, and her obvious, loud plight would need to be solved by someone else. Eventually she may figure out how to put down the box and open the door and pick the box back up again. Again, if she put down the box, the rocking of the submarine may cause it to drift into the wall, have a collision, and burst into flames. Anything was on the table at this point.

“Just finished the inspection of all my team’s equipment. We should be prepared for just about any breed of danger that might keep in on us.” Thucydides replied. He paused then when he spotted the young Black woman trying to manage her rather copious luggage. He nodded politely toward the Hungarian. “If’ll excuse me, seems our cartographer needs an extra pair of hands.”

He gave a brief salute before he loped over toward the young woman. Thucydides loomed easily over the woman, and was probably four times her weight in muscle and bone, but even then he had to his best to not appear threatening.

“Let me give you a hand with that, Miss Everett.” He said, his Louisiana drawl as thick as could be. The big man offered a polite smile as he turned the wheel to open the hatch for her. “Captain Thucydides Beauregard. Pleasure to meet you at last. Raymond would be proud seeing all this.”

Brooke Everett: The Cartographer

Brooke was focused on the door and keeping her belongings from touching the apparently poisonous ground when the light from a nearby ceiling fixture was blocked. Brooke's wide eyes flicked up to the imposing yet gentle figure of a very big man. He was intimidating to say the least, though she knew he wasn't trying to be. Still, the edge of a cliff or a big metal spike wasn't trying to be intimidating either. But something that could easily squish her fragile form into tiny pieces was just inherently a bit spooky.

She gulped and smiled wide with a slightly nervous chuckle. "Oh, uh, thank you, Sir." She nodded at him and then rushed inside. Finding a nearby table she set the box down and turned to Captain Thucydides and gave him a salute. It was an amateur salute of someone who had only seen propaganda pictures of soldiers saluting before but it was the best she could do.

"I'm, uh, Brooke Everett. Yes...I...I imagine he would," Her salute faltered a bit and she looked wistfully to the nearby wall, her thoughts briefly drifting away a little.

“You wish he could be here to see this.” Thucydides nodded, that big, square-jawed face set in a stoic, if somewhat solemn expression. Yes, he’d know losing family, more than most. He returned her salute almost mechanically. “We’ll do right by old Raymond, swear that by God.”

He let his expression soften a bit again, the smile returning.

“It’s good to meet you at last. See you got that journal. Nice pictures, but I prefer a good western, myself.”