[IC] A sea most sunless

[Natsucooldude]

Zeeman stood up from his desk and walked out to the deck and to the side of the ship. "We're full, no more applicants needed", he announced. Several sighs went through the ranks of hopefuls as they began to disperse. He looked over to the zailors that had made the cut, they were going about the deck, preparing the discreet steamer for the journey ahead. It was quite an old ship, acquired in a moment of opportunity when an old captain auctioned of his assets to retire. The ship's old name had long since worn away, and he was quite unsure what he would rename it to.

Then, he heard footsteps on the ship's gangplank, he turned to the new arrival and saw a man wrapped in bandages. "excuse me sir, but..." The tomb colonist said, but he was cut off by zeeman. "Passage to venderbight?" the captain asked, seemingly without thinking for a moment. The tomb colonist was slightly taken aback by this guess. "Err... yes, that's what I came here for."

Zeeman smiled at the battered man. "Well, I do suppose a rookie like me should take every chance he gets." He moved over to shake the tomb colonist's hand. "you can stay in the hold, just don't eat the food without asking" The tomb colonist shaked Zeeman's hand, though his eyes showed a rather insulted expression. "My good sir, I would never even consider such a rude gesture to you"

Zeeman simply kept up his infuriatingly calm smile. "It wouldn't be the first time." He said, seemingly without a clear reason. Wasn't this his first voyage as a zee captain?

[SomeChap]

Gunnary officer James F. Howard had made himself busy in keeling beside the deck gun of the ship in which he was serving and checking the thing over. He was one of those few fortunate...or unfortunate given your point of view, souls to have been allowed to join the crew of Captain Zeeman, and his seemingly nameless vessel. The gunner had little opinion of Zeeman as of yet, though he was confident that the chap was at least competent. James himself was becked in the slightly worn navy blue uniform and finery befitting a somewhat mild ranking officer of the current London naval forces, his cantaloupe-coloured facial hair impeccably well groomed and neat.

While in reality his hands were busy toiling away and checking various components of the naval gun, his mind has since revolted at such reality as this and had shown not the darkened docks of the city, but instead a bright and well preserved docks with the sighing of rejected zailors being instead the well-dressed masses cheering for the sailors of the navy. "They clearly don't make these guns as they used to do" he muttered in a barely audiable mumble as he checked over the steel and iron construction of a gun. "With any luck we're stocked up on ammunition..." He followed in a somewhat optimistic voice.

Raising himself from the rather small calibre armaments of the nameless vessel, James proceeded to generally get accustomed to the surroundings of the ship. He was not used to such a diminutive vessel and the lack of space (and large calibre naval cannons) had proved to be quite disorientating to the old zailors senses.

Casting his gaze across the vessel, he saw the current captain engaging in conversation with what appeared to be some manner bandage-clad figure. "Remarkably strange things they are, those people." He commented, though in a voice keeping it's volume well in control as to avoid incitng the tomb colonist. With a slight sigh, James proceeded back to his station, to await instruction.

[Chairman Stein]

He's a strange fellow...

Doctor Buran had already traveled below deck of the nameless vessel and found what he assumed would be a Surgeon's Quarters. The immediate oddity Buran noticed being the constant changes in size. One room would easily house at least ten men, the next barely three. He knew that this vessel was clearly old, but the navy of the past couldn't possibly have been so inconsistent and unorganized in their building schematics. In addition to the oddness of the vessel, it was only befitting that the little Doctor Buran had seen of Captain Zeeman also gave off the impression that he too wasn't entirely normal either.

Regardless, the promised pay and the chance to get out of Fallen London and onto the zee once again. Thus the Doctor began unpacking the few trinkets and supplies he brought with him, predominantly medical equipment and vials of strange and exotic herbs and medicines. If there was one thing about the Unterzee that was positive, it was the marvels that nature had created in these dark depths. Marvels that the good Doctor planned to collect, for scientific and medical research alongside a personal interest.

As he stared into a the purple leaves of a small plant he had collected in a previous voyage long ago a crash broke the silence of his newly designated quarters. With a gasp Buran spun around to face the source of the noise, only to still find his surroundings empty. He strode to the entrance to his quarters and looked down into the hall, curious as what had caused the mysterious broken glass sound. However, the halls were just as empty as his quarters...

Such a strange ship...

[Zendrelax]

Accalon was hidden, and hidden well. He's learned how to hide himself from his time as a thief. First in Spite, then the Flit, and...

Well, let's not get carried away now.

Suffice to say, there wasn't a soul that could tell he was there. Not a single human being—not the general crew, not his fellow officers, and not the Tomb Colonist that had just gained passage to Venderbright—could see him in the shadowy nook by the door which, after a few twists and turns, would lead to the engine, and his quarters next-door. No human eye, however sharp, could spy him, in his dark leathers and cottons, blending in with the shadow and the ship, while his shoes made of shadowsilk—the only expensive thing he was wearing—would guarantee no human would hear him. Accalon was certain.

Perhaps the Captain might. But then, Accalon was also certain that the Captain wasn't human.

I mean really? Either he isn't actually named Zeeman, or his first name is actually Captain. And perhaps it was a sign of how long Accalon had been in the Neath, but he wasn't sure which of the two was true.

But yes, Accalon had concluded that the Captain wasn't human. There were plenty of not-humans here, in the Neath. Like the Rubbery Men and the Devils—but the Captain clearly wasn't a Rubbery, and his eyes and his fashion showed that he wasn't a Devil. But just enough about the Captain was just a little bit off...

Of course, he could be wrong. The Neath could do strange things to people.

But whatever the case, whether the Captain could see hom or not, whether the Captain was human or not, Accalon had a job to do.

He walked up to the Captain, who at this moment was facing away. He knew his old trade well, didn't make a single sound until he spoke.

"Captain." A pair of nearby Zailors jumped, having not heard him approaching. An old past-time of his, startling folk like that. It was a shame that doing it too much on a small ship like this would be unwise. "The engine is ready for departure on your order."

[Natsucooldude]

Zeeman was simply reviewing the contents of the hold. Five tins of meat. A basket of fresh fungus bought on a whim, several barrels of coal. Forty complete packets of ships biscuit, all without a single crack or blemish on them. The captain picked up one pack to marvel at the good state he had kept it in ever since he had purchased it. So pristine and perfect and...

"captain" A voice rang out, *crack* the biscuit went. Broken by startled hands. The captain looked at the ruined piece of baked goods in his hand. He vaguely heard something about engines being ready by the same voice that had snuck up on him. "Err... yes, start the engines my man... We sail to Venderbight. Now... If you'll excuse me."

Zeeman calmly stepped away from the engineer. He would have to talk to the fellow about not startling him like that in the future. the rest of the ship seemed to be in order as well. There was that interesting navy officer from earlier, fiddling about with the just barely scrapworthy deck gun. And the good doctor was unpacking his personal effects as well. It seemed the man had become acquantanced with the ship's 'peculiarities'

He strolled over to the ship's rudder. Already, he could hear the rhytmic music of a steamer's engine starting. He unwrapped the packet of biscuits. They were broken, but it wuld be such a shame to simply discard them. As the steamer sailed out of the familiar embrace of wolfstack docks, Zeeman spotted a group of Musicians rehearsing a spot of music on the shore. He then looked onwards to the zee. The moment the ship reached open zee, he started steering it northwards without even a hint of doubt. Of course, most people living in london had a vague idea of venderbight's location. North of london. He took a bite from the biscuit, chewing rather heartily on the dry, tasteless food. He had a good feeling about the journey ahead.

[Zendrelax]

Accalon's response tot he Captain was a curt affirmation. And to any observers, it would be clear on his walk to the engine that he was rather put out. He had considered several reactions the Captain may have had, but none of them were that he would actually be startled.

At least he wasn't all that upset by it.

But, while there was certainly something off about the captain—and his name was still patently ridiculous—Accalon was beginning to think that he had... missed the mark. He was strange, to be sure. But stranger than a Tomb Colonist? Than a Rubbery?

Perhaps it is the ship.

He hadn't been on too many voyages out onto the Unterzee, but he knew the design of the inconsistency of the sizes of the rooms was... abnormal. And it was an old ship. He wasn't sure how old. Ten years? Twenty?

...Thirty?

While he could hardly tell, the thought that the ship dated from before the Fall of London was—

No.

Accalon had reached the engine.

I can't go off like that. Need to keep my head. Keep rational.

He fed fuel into the engine.

I'm not just some furnace-stoker.

He lit the fire.

I'm not just some pickpocket.

The engine roared to life.

I would think that I would have learned by now, not to jump to conclusions like that.

He sighed.

This place has turned me paranoid. I've got to work with these people. Live with them. This isn't Spite, or the Flit. I'm probably the only only person on this ship that...

He laughed. It was a soft thing, but filled with mirth. It banished the dour miasma that had taken over the room.

"Besides," he said aloud, "I keep the damn ship running. They all need me. If nothing else, I can rely n them for that."

He knew he'd need to keep an eye on the engine, but he wanted to get into the open air. Maybe watch as the Bazaar's spires shrank in the distance.

The Bazaar...

That's one thing about the Neath. It's always has a certain dignity, a certain majesty, to it. Even if it isn't pretty. Or plausible.

[Chairman Stein]

Once settled in and pushing the strange crash he had heard in the back of his mind, Doctor Buran strode calmly onto the bow and looked outward onto the Unterzee. Within those depths, things no mortal man should ever lay his eyes upon roamed and nested. Festering below that subterranean was madness.

No more mad than this ship.

Buran gave a smirk as he leaned against the railing along the bow. While others looked back towards London, he looked out onto the waters. Buran had watched the Bazaar shrink into the mist and out of sight as many times as he had seen the jagged rocks of Hunter's Keep and the dancing trees of Bullbone Island do the same. While more explored than many of those onboard, Buran regretted not visiting Venderbight in his previous travels. However, now was his change to redeem himself as a traveler.

As he watched the waters ripple below under the might of the nameless vessel, Buran began to wonder what path Captain Zeeman would be taking to reach Venderbight. From the maps he had scanned in the past Venderbight was a rather simple trip, not that a trip on the open Unterzee was ever simple. Would he risk traveling astray from the coasts? Buran turned his eyes up towards the command deck, knowing the Captain was up in his nest while the zailors worked below. The command deck itself held tinted glass, making it impossible for Buran to see if the Captain could see him or where the Captain even was. All he knew was they had taken a hard turn northward, north for the decaying Tomb Colonies...

[SomeChap]

James was almost calmed by the sudden jolt as the engines kicked to life and gave their own affirmative roar of being in working order, it reminded him a time most simple when compared to this, a time which he would be dear to return to but knew was impossible. Sighing once again, he paced about the main deck of the ship in a rather uniform manner. It was in his mind that a gunnery officer was also a man which should do his part in order to ensure that the safety of the ship was assured.

Placing a hand on the pommel of his sabre, James watched as the ever shrinking image of the Bazaar shrunk out of sight and into the depths of the all consuming mists which shrouded much of the zees. "All is lost, yet most do not turn to savagery. Remarkable" he mused thinking to his times within the somewhat higher class societies of London, most pleasant times those... With a swift motion, James realigned himself to be on course with his earlier pacing about the place though now it was set to end at the gunnery position, his position.

It still came as something of a shock to the aged zailor, and sailor, that people would even wish to venture out from the relative pleasantry of London and what remained of it's surface lands. James considered many of those people outside of the city to be barbarians and savages which lacked knowledge and decency amongst themselves. Setting his gloved hands on the side railing near the gun position, James observed the swirl of water just beyond the confines of the ship as they sailed off northwards to the Tomb Colonies.

[Natsucooldude]

The ship made good pace northwards. The zee air was rather clear for the most part, and no menacing silhouettes loomed on the horizon. Zeeman surveyed around the deck of the vessel, it seemed he was not really needed as a captain for now. It seemed as good a time as any to go and have a chat with one of the officers. Get to know them better.

The captain walked over the deck. Over near the cannon, he saw the forlorn marine staring at nothing in particular. Truth be told, he had been skeptical of allowing the man on baord at first. IT was obvious even to a casual observer the man wasn't... 'all there upstairs'. Still, the rugged efficiency with which he operated firearms was undeniable, and if he did turn out to be less stable than he claimed., the ship's brig could always serve to restrain him.

Then there was also the multilangual doctor, staring at london's receding skyline. He had shown himself quite the reliable person, at least going off of first impressions. The brief few words they had shared seemed to hint he was involved with some... unfavorable elements. He briefly attempted to recall what secret he had shared with the man in return. If he couldn't remember quite what it was, it musn't have been that important a secret. Still though, the thought briefly lingered.

Zeeman wondered what a good conversation point would be... perhaps the color of the zeewater? No, that would simply sound silly... Or perhaps the small island bustling with activity on the ship's starboard side. “Ah, the ruins of hunter's keep... quite a tragedy what happened to the sisters.” Everyone knew the stories of how the manor had been claimed by a fire not too long ago. Some whispered one of the sisters made it out alive, but such whispered rumors were just that, rumors. The property had been shuffled about for some time, though it had recently been bought by some new people.

“I heard it's been bought by some enterprising doctors recently, said they wanted a secluded place for their studies. Mister Buran, would you happen to know anything about that? It all sounded quite interesting.”

@Chairman Stein

[Chairman Stein]

Doctor Buran eyed the Captain as he strode across the deck, his eyes going all to ensure the zailors were still going about their duties. Buran was somewhat surprised to see the Captain begin walking towards him, a small smile and a pondering look on his visage. For a moment Buran wondered if the Captain couldn't figure out how to start a chat, however at last he stopped and began a conversation.

"Aye, I believe one of those poor girls survived. Rumor in the harbor said she now travels with some captain she fancied, though she's not as beautiful as she once was. However that's all hearsay. Now, the Doctors that now own the place is a bit different. Of the two 'Head-Surgeons' I only have actually met one. Doctor Giovanni, a old Italian from the surface. I met him while working as a Doctor for Hire at Watchmaker's Hill, dreadful place that was. Good man though, Giovanni. A bit too invested in the occult for my tastes though."

It was indeed true that Giovanni was quite researched and reversed in occult rituals. However the true reason Buran had lost touch rather voluntarily with Giovanni was for far different reasons...

"So Captain, what shall we do once we've reached Venderbight? It's not a long voyage, and I don't imagine there will be a lot of work available in the Tomb Colonies. Just return to London?"

[Natsucooldude]

"The occult then? quite interestign to hear. I must say. Perhaps we'll pay them a visit sometimes when the house has been built." Zeeman pondered buran's other question. "I do suppose we might have some shore leave in venderbight. I never did get a chance to visit the place. And the tomb colonists must have some great stories." He was sure there was something else to talk about. "So doctor, how are you liking the ship? I heard youcame across one of its... perculiarities. Is there any truth to that rumor?

[Zendrelax]

Accalon endeavored to stay belowdecks as much as possible, to make sure the engine isn't experiencing any difficulties. However, he was confident enough in his skill as an engineer to leave it unattended for a short while.

And the air of the engine room was, while as safe as could be expected, presently unpleasant. Now, Accalon wasn't sure if he could call the Neath's air "fresh," but it was large enough to be fresher than the ash and soot below.

So equipped with his puspose and his justification, Accalon found himself under the false-night of the cavernous world he lived in. Being up above, his attention was caught by the Captain and the Doctor speaking. They weren't exactly close, but he'd had more than his fair share of practice listening to things he shouldn't have.

Accalon had noticed the ship's peculiar construction. The engine, and thus his quarters, were deep in its bowels. It would be impossible for him to not notice. But at this point, having chased down talking cats to learn their secrets, scraped together what meager knowledge he could about the Correspondence, met the Topsy King, and learned how to keep an engine running perfectly from talking rats, something as mundane as bizarre architecture really didn't stand out to him.

Perhaps it should have, but I'm not going down that road without anything solid to draw conclusions from. Not this time.

Of course, the ship's seaworthy-ness is what's keeping us all alive, so perhaps I should have been concerned from the start.

Adding to this was the fact that he suspected the Doctor had been in the Neath for some time. Of course, Accalon didn't have the faintest idea what the Doctor's actual history was...

Enough. Thinking myself in circles will accomplish nothing.

It was entirely possible that they had seen him—he hadn't exactly been trying to hide—but after being a thief for so long, walking silently had become something of a habit. He was halfway over to the Captain and the Doctor before he caught himself, and made sure to make noise with each step. More than was natural in fact.

Walking like this feels so very, very wrong.

He had reached them, just about. And as unnatural as it felt, and probably sounded, they couldn't not know it.

"'Scuse me," he said, "might you be talkin' 'bout the sizes of the rooms onboard? Because the engin' room's just about the size of a cathedral."

It was hyperbole, of course, but the engine room was massive. Larger was one thing, large could fit bigger engines than they had while working properly. The engine room was absurd.