The Stowaway, The Pilot and the MechanicItzi finds out of a particular stowaway.Co-Written by
@InfamousGuy101,
@Expendable and
@Tackytaff
After his attempts at brute forcing his way out of the air-ship's ceiling proved fruitless, Puskurunuwa had begun wandering the space above the gondola's main floor. It was a tedious process, slow-going and painful to crawl his folded body through the tight passages, dragging his carry-sack behind to result in what must have been a terrible scraping noise to those below.
Only when he felt he couldn't move any further did he stop to rest. As his breathing settled, his functioning senses returned to him in the darkness. The sounds of the ship were still pronounced, but they sounded farther away than before.
Meanwhile, Itzi lay sprawled on the small cot in her chosen room, a cluttered yet oddly cozy space nestled close to the engines. The rhythmic hum of machinery vibrating through the walls was oddly soothing to her—like the heartbeat of the ship. The room was modest, with little more than a bed, a side table, and a small porthole letting in the faint light, but it felt like hers. She liked the warmth radiating from the nearby pipes and the faint scent of oil and grease that reminded her of home, back when she used to tinker in her father's workshop.
Propped up on one elbow, Itzi idly flipped through the pages of a worn journal she'd brought along—a mixture of personal sketches and half-baked designs for mechanical contraptions. One of the pages showed a crude schematic for an improved carburetor she’d once dreamed of building, the margins littered with notes and doodles. With a pencil in hand, she made a few idle adjustments to the drawing, her thoughts wandering. This wasn’t exactly the life she’d planned for herself, but as she scribbled ideas for a compact engine-powered tool, her lips curled into a faint grin. She could still dream, even in the middle of a war, even on this ship where every new day seemed a gamble.
It had been some time since Nuwa heard voices or footsteps leading him to the conclusion he was no longer in the more populated areas of the ship. Most importantly, he felt a draft. Nuwa carefully ran his fingers along the surface supporting him in the dark, slowing inching them closer to the cool slip of air until he was able to discern a small seam. He took a final deep breath the steady himself before prying his nails underneath. Just as his fingertips began to pinch between the seal, it gave away all at once. With a crash and surprised yelp Nuwa tumbled to the floor with only the sparse contents of his bag to cushion his landing.
“Ow.” He remarked glumly while his eyes blinked to adjust to the sudden light.
Puskurunuwa's gaze would be welcome by the gleaming barrel of a .38 pistol pointed squarely at him. The weapon's steady aim left no doubt about the intent of the hand holding it. A woman standing over him, her stance tense and her expression a mix of incredulity and barely contained annoyance.
"You've got about ten seconds to explain who the hell you are," Itzi growled, her voice low but covered with an intensity that suggested she didn’t make idle threats. She squinted up at ceiling, her grip on the pistol unwavering, "And what made you think that out of all places you'd come crawling through
my room was the one?”
It took nearly half the time to woman had given him for Nuwa to comprehend what it was he was seeing. He stared at the gun, the woman behind it, then their surroundings, and held back a curse. While not the worst situation he’d fallen into in his short life, it was hardly the stocked kitchen he’d been hoping for.
“Puskurunuwa Petrides” He sputtered when her grip began to tighten on her weapon. It came out faster than usual, and given the woman’s foreign accent he thought it worth a second attempt after a quick swallow. “Friends call me Nuwa,” He offered with what he hoped was a disarming smile and raised his hands, palms forward, before trying to stand.
“Didn’t know anyone was here, honest. You’re mighty quiet.” He stole a glance towards the desk she’d come from before returning his gaze to the gun. “Sorry, but I really was just looking for something to eat.”
Itzi tilted her head slightly, her finger still resting lightly on the trigger of her .38 handgun. Her keen eyes scanned the man who had so unceremoniously dropped into her quarters. He was lanky, with a disheveled appearance that suggested he’d spent far too long in places no one should. His clothing was frayed, patched in some areas, and stained in others, but his face held a roguish charm that, to her surprise, she briefly found attractive. She shoved that thought aside quickly; there were more pressing matters than entertaining the notion of a handsome stowaway.
The name he’d offered—Puskurunuwa Petrides—meant nothing to her. “Nuwa,” she echoed under her breath, as if testing how it felt on her tongue. Her grip on the pistol relaxed ever so slightly, though she didn’t lower it entirely. There was something about him that screamed trouble, but trouble wasn’t new to her. This ship, though—it seemed determined to outdo itself when it came to secrets. First the gold, now a ceiling-dwelling stranger.
Itzi finally lowered the gun, though she kept it in her hand. “Itzi, Ku” she said shortly. “I’m one of the two who flies this thing.” She glanced at the spot where he’d fallen from, an amused smirk creeping across her lips. “So, Nuwa, was the ceiling cozy enough for you? Or do you usually go for grander accommodations?”
Her tone wasn’t entirely unkind, though there was a sharp edge of wariness. She motioned toward the door with her free hand. “Come on. We’ve got a kitchen, fully stocked—lucky for you. You can grab something to eat while you explain how you ended up living in the guts of an airship.”
She gestured for him to lead the way, keeping a careful distance as they moved toward the corridor. Though her gun was lowered, her fingers hadn’t left its grip. After all, charming or not, a man who falls through the ceiling wasn’t someone to trust without caution.
“My luck, I think, was finding you Miss Ku,” Finally standing, Nuwa finished the greeting with an exaggerated bow, hand over his chest. His face had reddened at her words, but the wide smile remained. Internally, hundreds of questions fought to leave his throat; her name alone was strange enough to sound foreign even to Nuwa’s well-travelled ears. Only the weapon between them kept his excitement tempered. Not that it seemed to effect him outwardly; putting on a show of nonchalance while his heart pounded was second nature. He followed her gesture to lead down the hallway and used the new space to stretch the stiffness from his arms and shoulders as they moved.
“I was going to wait out up there until we landed,” He began explaining himself. “Figured it was soldiers that had got us moving and away, but didn’t know which side.” He turned his neck to look at her again. While her dress was strange for a woman, it wasn’t exactly a uniform either. How did a woman become a helmsman anyways? It didn’t seem a question she’d appreciate hearing yet and Nuwa shook it out of his head.
“Fortunately, my impatience was rewarded.” He finished instead, giving a wink before turning back around, hands entwined behind his head and elbows out, as though he was on a casual walk with an old friend rather than a threatened march.
“I don’t supposed you’d do me another kindness and tell me where the ship is headed?”
Itzi walked behind Nuwa, keeping a measured pace as she listened to his explanation. His relaxed demeanor and casual remarks, while undoubtedly charming, weren’t enough to lower her guard entirely. Still, there was something oddly endearing about his bravado, and she couldn’t help but smirk slightly when he winked.
"Well, this ship hasn’t been seized by the reds," she replied evenly, "And no, it’s not entirely run by Inburian soldiers either. Let’s just say it’s a mix of...interests." Her eyes stayed sharp as they moved down the hallway. She pointed to the right as they reached a junction,"That way."
The hallway opened into the dining gondola, a spacious yet utilitarian room with rows of tables bolted to the floor. It wasn’t fancy—far from it. The room had a military efficiency to its layout, but the presence of a few scattered mismatched decors hinted at a more casual atmosphere among the crew and passengers. On one side, a self-serve buffet with steaming trays of food waited, accompanied by stacks of metal plates and utensils.
"This is where you can grab a bite," she said, gesturing toward the buffet. "Help yourself." Her voice softened slightly as she added, "The berry tarts aren’t half bad." She slid her pistol back into its holster at her waist but kept her posture upright, her confidence in control, yet still watchful. Itzi leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she waited to see what Nuwa would do next.
Nuwa dropped the topic of their destination as readily as she’d evaded answering. They were going wherever they were going and he had neither the means nor knowledge to change course. Not that he would know were to go anyway; away from the reds was about as far as his own plans had gone. He instead gave his attention on the spread of food available. When he had a plate piled high with a generous portion of each offering her returned to her.
His companion didn’t seem to have anymore questions for him, content to simply stare. Being watched was never something that made Nuwa uncomfortable. The silence however…
He tried to focus on the food. His manners left much to be desired- if they existed at all. A spoon was the only utensil he took, and even then barely used, preferring to eat with his hands and making a mess of the table and himself. If these mixed interests were going to shoot or throw him overboard he’d at least have a full stomach. He did his best not to think of the last time he’d had a proper meal.
We shared those buns, filled with meat and warm enough-“I should thank you,” He said aloud, nearly choking on a potato as the words came out, but he was desperate no to let his thoughts wander a second longer. “I hope you won’t find trouble for allowing me this.” It was hardly the question he wanted to ask but he wouldn’t directly pry when she was already suspicious of him. He attempted casual conversation instead. “It’s all very good. Is the cook Inburian?”
Itzi leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, watching as Nuwa devoured his meal with what could only be described as unrestrained enthusiasm. It was... a bit much, but she wasn’t one to judge. Still, the scene made her feel a little awkward. Was this the kind of thing she could get in trouble for? Not that she had a boss anymore—at least not in the usual sense. Right now, she was here for one thing: a payout, hopefully large enough to make all this nonsense worthwhile.
When asked about the cook, Itzi gave a small shrug, her lips quirking into a faint smirk, "If there’s a cook, I haven’t met them yet. Honestly, I think this stuff just shows up. Probably stock from before the ship was repurposed. Buffet-style, military efficiency, no frills." She gestured loosely to the spread. "For all I know, it’s leftovers from some fancy gala that never happened."
She tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied him, "But let’s talk about you, Nuwa. How exactly did you end up stowing away in this airship? My guess? You’re running from the reds. Can’t imagine they’d have been big fans of your table manners," she teased lightly, though her gaze remained steady, clearly waiting for an answer.
Nuwa laughed politely and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to clean some of the mess. “Never know when a meal might be your last, might as well enjoy it.” He spooned more food into his mouth, taking the time to consider how much of the truth he was willing to share. Itzi seemed fine enough, if a bit wary, but the ‘mixed interests’ she spoke of could have meant anything. Hell, she could be with he Calarians and just waiting for him to confess something. She’d be wasting her time, but Nuwa’s conscience wasn’t clear enough to not hesitate.
“I’m afraid I don’t have many interesting secrets to reveal. There was fighting and I wanted out, getting on a ship seemed the best option, and I didn’t exactly have a ticket.” It was true enough for him to say it confidently. Whatever notoriety that had come his way during his short time in the city would have been that of a pickpocket, hardly a war criminal worthy of putting a name or face to.
“Before that, it was my employer that brought us to Inbur. Lord Landry’s Big Top Circus; the best show in the whole Cirlce Sea!” For the first time since their meeting, his easy smile faltered. “Or was the best, I should say. We got a bit scattered with… Everything.” He took a moment to swallow more food and bar any further thoughts on his family. “Don’t think the Calarians or Inburians every gave us a second thought really. Just found ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He placed his spoon down and forced the grin back to his face as he looked at her expectantly. “Hopefully this isn’t more of the same.”
“Ah, a connoisseur of revelry and entertainment.” He inclined his head to her appreciatively. “The trapeze was my speciality, contortion tricks a close second. Would catch the odd knife, but more often spun around on the board, could walk the rope too, but...” He shrugged “Flying was always more fun.”
She at least appeared to be relaxing around him, but it was hard to forget about the weapon still tucked away somewhere under the table.
“Have you ever-” Before he could get any more wistful or return questions of his own, they were interrupted by someone entering the hall in search of refreshment.
Yawning, Chrstina Ferarri walked into the dining area, one hand under her shop coat, scratching her ribs.
"
Buongiorno," she managed, heading toward the coffee urn. Picking up a cup, the skinny mechanic poured a little into the cup and held it up to her nose, sniffing it. She frowned, then risked a sip.
"Coffee good," she decided after a long moment, filling the mug, then grabbed a plate and began putting eggs, sausage, and toast on her plate, followed by a pastry. A cauldron held some curious sort of slow bubbling gravy that made her shudder. Christina then sat tiredly down at a table next to Itzi and Nuwa and frowned.
"
Mi scusi," she said, staring at the pair. "You, I know."
Her finger then pointed to Nuwa. "You, no. You are...?”
Another woman, with a clear Calarian accent. He raised an eyebrow at Itzi, who appeared unperturbed and not at all surprised by the newcomers presence. For his part, Nuwa went quiet as he watched her move about the room, apparently oblivious to his own existence until sitting a foot away.
He gave her a small nod to her question before beginning his introduction. “Puskurunuwa Petrides. Circus Preformer and accidental stow-away, recently discovered and rescued by the lovely Itzi.”
Itzi smirked at Christina, leaning back slightly in her chair as she gestured toward Nuwa. “Much like everyone else on this ship, Mr. Nuwa here decided he’d had enough of the enriching ideas of the Communalists. And, well, when you’ve got nowhere else to go, I guess crawling into the ceiling of an airship seems like a good idea.” Her voice was teasing, but her expression was lighthearted.
She grabbed another piece of her berry tart, popping it into her mouth before continuing. “Of course, now that he’s here, I figure he might as well be useful. Maybe he’ll provide some good entertainment while we’re busy trying to save the gold reserves from landing in the wrong hands.” She tilted her head toward Nuwa, her tone turning playfully pointed. “But let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Petrides—no more sneaking into rooms. At least not without an invitation.”
She gave him a sly wink before looking back at Christina with a grin.
Christina nodded wearily as Itza warned the stowaway about sneaking into rooms. "In training, *esercito popolare* taught how... What is word? No matter. We taught to cut lower parts. Best you stay out.”
Nuwa’s gaze volleyed between the two women. He continued spooning at his food, but with comparative reservedness, and a small frown drawing between his brows. The talk of his potential usefulness made him wary, but the mention of gold reserves snagged his train of thought and refused to let go. Only when he looked up to see Itzi winking at him did he notice his lack of attention; failing to recall her final remarks. He smoothed his features back into a relaxed smile and hoped she didn’t expect a response.
"So no wings, good," Christina said, pausing to take a bite of sausage. "Anyone else up there?"
“I came alone and haven’t seen anyone else.” Nuwa replied to the Calarian as she began her own line of questioning.
"Communalists killed my parents," the mechanic stated flatly. "Running good idea if you no can fight."
She eyed Nuwa up and down. "You can fight?"
“Not much of a fighter either so you won’t be forced to demonstrate that particular ah- skill.” Nuwa’s voice hitched at the end of the sentence, forcing him to clear his throat before desperately latching to the next topic, and allowing his attention to return to Itzi.
“I was wondering about the rooms myself, I don’t suppose there are any left?” He rapped his fingers on the table. “Do we know how many people are aboard for that matter?”
Smiling thinly, Christina took a sip of coffee, then frowned. "Rooms? You have rooms? Where get room?”
"Dozens of empty rooms, probably meant for the crew or passengers before all this chaos kicked off. I’ve already claimed mine, though.” Itzi's voice took on a mock-serious tone, “Of course, that was before a certain someone decided to burst through the roof like some kind of circus cannonball. That someone might just owe me a little handiwork fixing said roof.” She raised an eyebrow at Nuwa, her smirk widening.
Turning to Christina, Itzi continued, “But don’t worry, Ferrari. There are plenty of rooms left. I’ll show you two around and get you each one that’s nice and comfy. Preferably with ceilings that stay intact.” She jabbed a thumb toward Nuwa with a grin. “And hey, maybe we’ll find you one with a trapdoor or something, in case you feel the need to do any more dramatic entrances.”
She stood, brushing off her overalls. “Finish up your food, circus boy. You’re coming with me to help scout out rooms. Oh, and don’t think I’m joking about that roof. If you’re going to freeload, you might as well contribute, right?”
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