It was a bit unusual to be on a vessel and not be in charge, but for Chad, it was a bit liberating in a way. Without anything to have to look after and a vast blue sky and deep blue ocean beneath, the voyage was actually quite relaxing if he ignored Yazu’s antics aboard the ship. 

Leaning on the side of a rusted bit of railing, the merchant captain sipped from a small glass of scotch. There were only a few clouds in the distance, breaking over the horizon where blue met blue. Puffs of uneven black steam rose over the jury-rigged airship. Moko no doubt was working the hired engineer to his limits in keeping the engine running. With the help of the obnoxiously loud man from the Harbor Company, Chad and Moko had put together a team to repair and crew the derelict ship in record time. 

Surprisingly enough, the 150 meter long flying vessel was quite an accommodating ship, with a large mess hall, sightseeing module, and state rooms that in its heyday would have been quite luxurious. None of the fancy stately upholstery remained, but some decent furnishings were acquired that would tide them over for the trip. With the engine running to a respectable specification, it would be a less than a day until they reached Astopol… and hell. Chad wished the voyage would take a little bit longer.

As Chad sipped his beloved vintage scotch above deck, Lyra was in the mess hall, attempting to do what she did best. She was having a mighty hard time of reading, however, for several of the portholes in the room were missing their glass panes. The vortex of violent wind this created was unsuitable for reading, however comfortable the chairs and couches were in the room. Unfortunately for Lyra, there was no other place for her to be; anywhere aft of the mess hall, black soot and steam from the misfiring engines filled the rooms with smoke and cancer; the state rooms’ lighting had failed, so it was only really useful for sleep; and forward of the airship was even windier than this room with all the holes in the hull. For perhaps the first time in her life, Lyra was not a happy camper. Shielding her book from the wind with an awkwardly placed elbow, she turned a page with a frown. At least they would get to do something interesting enough soon enough...