Deep Water Blackout, In Character Thread Options

[Method]

"The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness." -- Joseph Conrad

Seattle, Friday 14 Feburary 2070, 0800

Seattle is a weird place- a place where worlds collide. On a clear day from the deck of a ship you can see the Cascade Mountains in the East, full of life and natural beauty. They stand like a geological reminder of a way life people actually used to enjoy. They're only about 30 clicks away as the crow flies, but any sprawl dweller knows they might as well be in another world. The reality is it's almost never clear, and the world of the average sprawl dweller is filled with concrete, pollution, poverty, crime and violence, all under the sickly glow of artificial lights. It's a world of long hour drudgery, short life spans, and even shorter expectations. A world where corporate-driven consumerism is the only meaningful religion left.

Today its raining, just like yesterday and the day before. The "Emerald City"? it's called- supposedly because of the way the buildings shine after the acrid rain rinses off the dust and grime kicked up from the city streets below. Inside those towers is another world, equally far away despite the minute spacial separation afforded by a thin pane of mirrored glass. The corporate world is full of luxury, excess, intrigue and sometimes just as much violence as the streets. They just don't tend to call it crime when it draws a profit.

And then there is the world you live in- a world in between, a world in the shadows. The sea affords you a kind of freedom that neither the sprawl-dweller nor the corporate wageslave can claim. Freedom from the oppressive control of the corporate sphere. Freedom to come and go as you please. Freedom to travel the world in search of your own truth. Freedom to think, to feel, to be. Some come to the sea in search of its secrets. Others come to the sea fleeing their own. But everyone who comes to the sea is changed and once you cross into that world there is no going back...

[TheOneRonin]

Seattle (30 klicks offshore), Tuesday, 11 Feburary 2070, 0545


"Today lad, you cannae let last night's drinkin keep ye from yer workout. Cap'n ill have coffee ready a'for you're done."

Desmond forced the fog from his consciousness as he stretched his muscles in preparation for his morning run. The deck of a ship wasn't the ideal place for morning PT, but it was better than nothing. Des could feel the wintery, early-morning chill in bones as ran his laps around ship.

After his morning workout, Des made his way to the galley. Sure enough, Captain Carter had already prepped the auto-chef for coffee, and it was just finishing it's brew cycle. Des grabbed a cup and made his way up back to the deck to watch the sun rise up from behind the Cascade Mountains.

Desmond drained his mug and went back to his bunk to shed his sweats, take a shower, and get ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do, starting with running pre-launch checks on all the vehicles below decks.

[Lidralyn]

Bar downtown Seattle, Someetime in Feburary 2070, 2130

As he left the bar alone that night to go back home and study some more pages on some spells he is studying Lidralyn is approached by a newcomer to the corp and asked about his life in the corp.

"My life you say?, all I do is work and go home, my job and my study is my life. Perhaps if you stick around long enough and I find your true to your word you might find what that study is. Don't count on it tho, I have found much corruption in this world as of late. Mayhaps you will be the one who proves to me that there is something more to life than slaving away all day only to die at a young age under someones knife over some fate this cruel life has thrown your way."

"There has to be something more..."

With that Lidralyn leaves and goes home to a long night of studying and work.

[crizh]

300m Below, Puerto Rico Trench, 24 December 2069

Merry Christmas mon ami.

The last of the canisters slid gracefully over the edge of the escarpment and disappeared into the crushing depths below.

Petwo's dinner-plate eyes swiveled on their stalks to follow the path of the mind-rotting poisons the Ghosts had left on the sea-bed for local trawlers to 'find.' Alien lids blinked with satisfaction when the darkness swallowed the shrinking capsule.

Flexing muscles most people would never experience he rode a jet of freezing water along the ocean floor, letting his deadly tentacles trail menacingly behind him.

He did not know who would take the hit here, the Cartels or the local dealers they were courting, it didn't really matter, someone was out millions and nobody really knew what had happened. Ignorance breeds distrust and paranoia, blood would no doubt be spilled on both sides. Petwo did not think any would lose their lives that did not deserve to but when a storm is about to break it is best to be elsewhere.

Yes, a holiday is in order. The Pacific I think, I have always wished to taste it's depths.

The eye-stalks flicked south, towards Panama...

[pragma]

Seattle Wilderness, Cascade Ork Boarder, 10th Feburary 2070, 0630

Guy rolled haggardly off the couch he was sleeping on and landed on the dilapidated, dusty floor of the safehouse. He struggled to his feet after a muffled grunt. This job was taking too long. Big Dog had convinced Guy to operate a radar and perform some electronic warfare along a critical smuggling route. It was getting boring, and Guy was starting to feel his karma back up like water at a dam or feces in an infected colon. He decided that, whatever metaphor was appropriate, this was probably his last day on the job.

Solid ground had too many ghosts living on it anyway.

His vision swam with icons and connections as he brought his commlink online -- 182 new messages from some spam bot in Caracas, he really needed to rewrite some chunks of his spam filter. He started performing some back breaking yoga on the floor of the cramped wooden shack along Cascade Ork's border. The radar assembly outside the window was begging for attention. It's noise floor had been creeping up and he suspected some birds were roosting in the assembly. He stopped after a few positions, his body wasn't the spiritualy aware yoga machine it used to be.

He felt a compulsion to idly flip through his messages again, and was rewarded for following his instincts by finding one, day-old message from Captain Joseph Carter saying that he was in the Sound. The week was brightening right up. He threw on a poncho and headed outside to check the communications gear that was nestled gently in a pristine wilderness while sending a message back.

<<"Carter, I'm in Seattle and looking for a change of pace. If you need another deck hand -- drop me a line.">>

[BlackHat]

Shithole on the Seattle Waterfront, Wednesday, 12th Feburary 2070, 0930

Having finally come to an agreement, the two men shook hands, laughed and threw back their long neglected drinks, setting the empty glasses near the others - fragile reminders of how long they had been haggling. Both men were feeling the effects of their drinks, and neither one had been especially clever or skilled, but both seemed pleased with the agreement they had come to. On the floor, Carter's heavy boot kicked a small metal crate across the bar floor - leaving a slight scrape that nobody was going to notice, in a place like this. Up top, Pete smiled and tossed a small wad of cash across the table. Both men took a moment to inspect their new gifts - unconcerned with the amount of attention their bartering had garnered. Carter finished first, running a quick thumb over the edges of the currency, before tucking it into his pocket. He trusted Pete as much as anyone can trust a professional pirate, and, today, as usual, he was the one doing the favor. Pete took a bit longer, fumbling with the rusty crate before getting it open, and looking inside. His widening eyes showed more thanks than his payment did.

"E' still works?" Pete asked sceptically.

Certer shrugged. "I said I'd go down'n get it, not repair two months of rot."

Pete nodded. "Aye, thanks mate. You're a life-saver."

Carter smiled, and stood up, wobbling only slightly. "Right, then. You won't mind picking up our tab, eh?" With a nod, he caught the waitress's attention, and gestured to Pete who seemed oblivious. Carter was already halfway across the room, before Pete responded. "Wha? I... sure thing, mate."

[DireRadiant]

Port Orchard, February 2070

With a grin he doffed his Papa Johnny's Pizza cap and haphazardly folded it into his rear jeans pocket. From the top his re integrated tool case he pulled out the white stetson hat, and jauntily perched it atop his cropped afro. Bart smiled, his white teeth contrasting with the his negro skin. A full 3 meters from the bedroom wall he stopped, put down the tool box carefully, and mentally flipped through a series of checks. As the ARO indicators performed their various perambulations he zoomed in on the area of interest.

From the water side deck area and adjacent rooms the muted sounds of genial partying filtered into the room, the lights of Seattle across the sound provided illumination enough to not need any additional lighting. In any case, the things he was worried about weren't in the visual spectrum so it didn't matter. It made a fantastic view though, the lights reaching into the sky and reflecting across the water in an embrace of sea and sky.

What he wanted to look at was what was in the brand new Hoffman safe he'd seen delivered here last week.

The ARO indicators slowly flicked into a green background, except for the stubborn olfactory sensor. He shook his head and smiled, as he looked at it again, expecting it to simply be reporting the pheromones, sex enhancers and de inhibitors he'd laced the stack of pizzas with.

well this is a right little pickle

It took 2.1904 seconds before he even thought about not moving. Then he very carefully continued to stay very still and thought furiously.

It hasn't been blown yet... sooo....

Sometimes you just had to go with it, and since the only way to get the most out of this was to assume the best, Bart was just going to have to go with it. It wasn't like he'd been through this before.

time to buy myself in

"Well, pardners. you've got me dead to rights here, you've staked your claim free and clear. But I'm thinking I can help you out a bit. While doing it your way is certainly going to work, it's going to be kinda loud, and in case you haven't noticed, there's a dozen kids in the place. In ten minutes I can get you what you want, very quiet, and I'll even toss in this last undoped pizza.

Real Pepperoni.

Unless you are actually wanting a Hoffman 3000 that you'll take days opening?"

Bart hoped he hadn't been talking to thin air...

[Method]

Lidralyn:

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0735

You arrive at Mitsuhama’s North American Head Quarters early as usual. The last shuttle leaving the corporate housing complex is always packed, and a person in your position cannot afford to be late. Passing through the beautifully manicured Japanese garden on your way to Tower 4 you are scanned half a dozen times by sensor arrays discretely worked into the architecture and landscaping. You know better than most that any one of them can trigger lethal countermeasures if your PAN does not return the proper passkeys when queried. You nod to Terick as you enter the building and he gives you a tusk-filled grin and a wave from inside the armored glass security booth. He discretely punches a quick text into his comm.

<<Sorry I couldn’t make it last night. Boss made me work the graveyard again because some breeder called in “sick�. You weren’t drinking alone again I hope? –Terick>> You ignore his jab and get in line for an elevator.

As you ride the mirrored glass cage up to the 32nd floor you gaze out across the courtyard at Tower 6, which houses Mitsuhama’s Thaumaturgical Research Division. It's a building you frequent all too often in the course of your duties, but yet another place in which you feel like an outsider. Other corporate magicians share a kind of camaraderie that doesn’t often extend to members of the Internal Investigations Division, even if they are “gifted�.

After running a gauntlet of coffee-swilling good-morning wishers you arrive at your small cubical. Your comm automatically accesses the office terminal to sync your calender with any new meetings or appointments. The small device chirps to indicate an addition to your schedule, but before you can check it Ted Peterson is leaning over the office divider with a mug in one hand and a head full of useless drivel he likes to think is hot gossip.

“Did you hear about Bob Johnson?� You glance over at the neighboring cubicle, which is uncharacteristically empty. For 4 years you’ve shared a cubical row with Bob Johnson and not once have you managed to beat him to work in the morning. You’re pretty sure he’s a habitual Long Haul user with a productivity complex. “Yeah, apparently some go-gangers ran him off the road. Wife, kid… the whole lot of ‘em went under a Hermes delivery van in the on-coming lane. I heard the kid lived but they don’t expect him to make it. I told Bob not to buy that Dodge Inspira. Those things are a death trap…� His voice trails off as you start to tune him out.

Your commlink chirps again, jolting you back into reality.

<<My office in ten minutes. – K. Tomiki>>. You can tell it’s going to be an interesting day.

[pragma]

Seattle Wilderness, Cascade Ork Boarder, 12th Feburary 2070, 1430

Guy applied the wax to the bottom of his board with loving care. Layers of wax caked the surfboard.

If I keep this up I'll need to sell it as a candle, not a board.

Even though the ritual was redundant, useless and actually harmful to his ability to use the surf board, Guy needed to feel a mental connection with the polyurethane and fiberglass platform that had been the source of so many good times for him. Applying the wax, checking for scratches and dents and ascertaining that the skegs were still in optimal position was a reminder of saltwater, freedom and beach parties at night where his gray hair was an afterthought, not everyone's first thought.

The birds were out of the assembly and it worked fine, but the antenna temperature of one dish was surprisingly high. He'd already tagged it with pertinent information, he didn't have the equipment to run a full diagnosis of the antenna.

He was getting anxious about Carter. Maybe he could charter some kind of trans-Aleutian work -- though that'd still be way too cold. Nothing like going back to LA and diving for a while. Fitz would be glad for business.

The days dragged by in the depths of the Cascades.

[Method]

Petwo:

Southern Aztlan Coast, 2 January 2070, 0005

The dreams started somewhere off the West Coast of Aztlan after the New Year. The Pacific had felt different since you crossed into its waters, but the dreams remain particularly troublesome. They are always the same and always on Thursdays, which seems somehow appropriate.

You find yourself standing on a rocky shore gazing out across a turbulent sea. White caps roll and break along the beach and the cold salty air assaults your bare skin. Instinctively you wade into the icy water and submerge.

Despite maintaining your metahuman form you have no difficulty breathing beneath the water and can hear clearly what sounds like the blaring of a horn rising out of the black depths. You continue deeper and deeper walking along the ocean floor as though buoyancy has no hold on you. A surreal light seems to swell up around you, illuminating rocky formations and schools of fish along your path.

You suddenly become aware of four fish circling you. As soon as you notice them they break from their circular course and dart off in the 4 cardinal directions except for one fish that circles again slowly and then swims northward, allowing you to follow.

After some time you come to a great ocean trench that extends off in both directions as far as you can see. Standing at the edge of the great chasm is a powerfully built mulatto youth dressed all in blue. He welcomes you with a nod of recognition as you approach, but his face remains solemn.

You stand side by side in silence staring down into the black void for what seems like an eternity. An ominous feeling of concern grows in your heart. Eventually the man turns to you and speaks:

"The course of your destiny has changed, Pee Pee, and where you must go I can no longer travel with you..."?

Before you can utter a word you are startled awake.

[Method]

Carter, Desmond and Bart:

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1248

BANG! BANG! BANG!

From the deck below you can't quite see Doc, but judging by the sound of it you start to worry that he might be doing more harm than good. You spend a few more minutes craning your necks while he clangs around in the sensor array before climbing down.

"Yep. I think you're right. The coupler to that forward array is just about shot."? He wipes his greasy hands on a rag and tosses the wrench back into a nearby toolbox. "?I might be able to find another one, but it could take a week or two to get my hands on it and it won't be cheep."

The prospect of expensive repairs makes everyone cringe. The safe heist was profitable enough to cover everyone's bills for a few weeks, but every day at port meant more bribes to Davis and his lackeys in the Harbor Patrol.

Doc scratches his chin and glances upward again. "Or if you know anybody that knows their way around a sensor main they might be able to reconfigure that port-side emitter to bypass the faulty coupler... Either way I wouldn't put out to sea until its fixed."? His suggestion reminds Carter of a text he'd received a day or two prior.

While Doc packs up the rest of his tools, Desmond is alerted to an incoming text message:

<<Des: An associate of mine in Seattle is looking for a crew familiar with smuggling operations. I'd help him myself, but I'm tied up in San Francisco. This job is small but the J is very well connected and could be a source of future work. If you're interested he'll be at a club called the Strip House Monday night around 8 p.m. Ask for Kurita at the door. -- Yojimbo>>

[BlackHat]

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1248

Carter thanked Doc and slid the man some bills for his time - probably less than he was due, but it was all Carter could afford. As they walked towards the exit, Carter spoke up, "Thanks for taking a look at it. We'll give you a call if we decide to order those parts." He was pleasant, but saw the looks on the faces of his crew, and felt his own stomach turn at the news. They weren't going to splurge on brand new parts. What he needed, he realized, was to take Guy up on his offer, and see if bodging together the faulty coupler would be a passable solution until they got their next big break.

It was actually kind of convenient. Even if the ship was in working order, they were shorthanded.

Reentering the room with Des and Bart he sighed. "Alright, guys. We're going nowhere while our sensors are offline - and it is getting too expensive to leave it here. I'm going to call up a buddy of mine, and see if we can get him to take a look at this thing. If he's interested, we might take him on full-time - our electronics and computer systems could all use some work. Meanwhile, you two should stock up on supplies, and keep your ears open for any new 'opportunities'."

"If we haven't found any 'real' work by the time we're sea-worthy, we're going to head out anyway, and do some training exercises. It'll be cheaper to float adrift for a few days, and practice diving techniques than to rot here a day longer."

A few minutes later, he was composing his text message. His commlink took extra-long to start this morning, which worried him, but he decided if he was going to get it looked at, it might as well be by Guy.

<<Good to hear from you, Guy! If you're still interested in a change of scenery, I could always use somebody like you on board. Come on buy. We will be heading out soon.>>

[TheOneRonin]

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1250

As Desmond listened to the bad news, his commlink buzzed with an incoming text message. His fingers subconsciously tapped the display output button on the commlink, beaming the message to the image-link in his cyber eyes. A semi-transparent window opened in the top-left corner of his field of vision, the green text from his commlink slowly scrolling across it.

Desmond grinned...work was on the way...and right at the time they needed it.

"Cap'n...sorry to interrupt, but I think we might have some work coming our way. One of Yojimbo's associates needs some folk to coaxy a bit o'cargo for him, and he fancies us to yokit. Might e'an be more work ta follow. Can ye smell the nuyen, brother?"

[BlackHat]

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1255

Carter laughed. "Seriously? That's some fast work there - and some good news, to boot. I knew our luck would turn soon." He thought about the situation for a second. "Okay, lets meet his contact of yours, and see what it is he wants us to do." He looked around the rundown ship a little bit sheepishly. "An' lets try not to let him know that we probably have to take it... no matter what it is...."

[Lidralyn]

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0745

Lidralyn tunes out his office mate and looks through his commlink one more time to review the assignments he is on. Already being swamped with work, he is not looking forward to more work on top of the normal.

He silently walks away from his cubicle back through the winding corridors of Tower 4, finds his boss' office and waits outside to be let in for the morning meeting.

[TheOneRonin]

"Aye Cap'n, na need ta pelter though. We're to meet the high heid yin at the Strip House pub, Monday night, twenty-hundred lima. Gives us 5 days and then some. Penty o time ta get that coupling lous'd."

Reading the agreement etched on Carter's face, Desmond taps out a reply to Yojimbo on his commlink.

Aye Greg, got myself a crew and a ship. Tell Kurita we will meet him at the Strip House at 8pm

Des sends the message, then realizes there's one more person he needs to contact.

@ Tabitha: Ma dearest bonnie quine, your darling Desmond will be shore-side on Monday and would like to share some of Seattle's best karry oot with ya. Let me know ye will grace this poor lad with yer presence. Until then...<bows>

[pragma]

Seattle Wilderness, Cascade Ork Border, 12th Feburary 2070, 1830

The goddamn birds had come back and Guy was up to his elbows in mud, muck and bird shit. He had a sneaking suspicious that this was a set of thunder-bird hatchlings and it made him very, very worried. Not good for his chakra at all (or any of his assorted electronics.

He supposed that it was good that Carter was calling.

<<Give me two days to get myself free and then I'll groove on out to the Odyssey.>>

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1830

[b]Big Dog had been rather unhappy about losing his radar op. He said that it would take weeks to get someone trained enough to replace him. Guy figured that explaining that the hardest part of his job was dealing with wildlife wouldn't help the situation. He recommended a range of suitable drone replacements and left.

After spending a day packing and a day battening down the array and camoflauging it from any prying authorities, he set out for Seattle and arrived at Harbor Island.

"Captain Carter -- I understand that you have some sensor problems," Guy shouted from the dock.

[BlackHat]

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1255

"Okay, can one of you track down Petwo, and let him know the score?" Carter headed towards the exit, leading to his own chambers. "I've got some things to take care of if we're going to take on a job."

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1830

"Not so loud!" shouted Carter in reply, smiling at Guy. He met him halfway onto the ship, and shook his hand and patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry I didn't mention the sensor issue before, Guy." Carter grinned, "It's just a little thing. Forward array coupler is acting up again. I should replace it, but that's not really an option right now - and I don't really have the tools necessary to fix it. I was hoping you could take a look at it."

By now, they were up onto the boat, properly. Carter stopped and looked at Guy seriously. "...but, that's not the only reason I got back to you. You're a good man to have on board, and we've got a job coming this Monday. If you're available, and up for it, there's a place for you among the crew - and a cut of the take, of course."

[DireRadiant]

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1900

"Coming aboard!" With that cheery shout, Bart waved the pallet drones up the loading ramp and preceded a set of weatherproofed boxes onto the deck. With a pause on the deck to reference the ARO deck guide, he turned left and headed to Carter.

"Darned if I can't get the hang of this port and starboard business, what happened to left and right? Anyway, got my gear out of hock, and I need to store... wait stow! it somewhere. Do I have to tie everything down? I knew a gal like that once, well, never mind that. We'll save that for when we lost at sea or something. But what you'll be wanting to hear about is that I did manage to get a hold of a fine little goodie of mine that'll help. Besides my tools, I have a Black and Decker Bench Top Manufactory, which might be able to help out with that sensor coupler issue you've been moaning about. I checked my set of build plans, and I don;t think I have the complete device, but if we need some small parts, it can probably crank some out."

"Say, who's the new guy?"

[pragma]

A moment's pause followed the Black man's outburst.

Guy Freebird, I was planning to patch the signal through the port side array ... I figure it doesn't get real high signal traffic anyway. Oh yeah, I hope you live in peace and karma ... er.

He trailed off as he realized that he remembered precious little of the spiritual introduction he was always supposed to make. He didn't put too much stock in it anyway. It hadn't worked. He turned to Carter.

"You know damn well that I'm in, gotta get off this rock and I think you're the least likely to get me killed.

Turning back the the newcomer he said:

"So, who're you and where'd you get the forge"

[DireRadiant]

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 ~1900

"Most folks can call me Bart"

He tipped his stetson back and smiled broadly, "Picked that little beauty up straight from the warehouse. Not available retail yet."

"I'm the new medic, might as well be, as much of that dramamine I need to feed myself every time a wave comes through. With all that practice handing out pills from the autodoc, I should be good for anything you folks can throw at it. As long as all we need are pills."

[BlackHat]

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 ~1900

Carter winked, "Another rag-tag team. I'll introduce you to everyone below deck." He eyed the new equipment as it boarded the ship. "What a beaute. This thing'll see a lot of use, here." He followed both men on board, making idle technical talk regarding both the faulty electronics and Bart's new toy.

[Method]

Lidralyn:

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0745

Almost as soon as you arrive at Mr. Tomiki's office he calls you in. He doesn't bother to look up as you enter, but continues to peruse a data pad intently.

"Lidralyn. I'm just going over your report on that profit skimming investigation. Hmmm..." he pauses and grimices a little. "It looks... adequate." You're fairly certain thats the closest he's ever come to giving you a complement. After another moment or two he finally looks up, and acts as if he is surprised to see you still standing. "Please, come in! Have a seat!"

An older gentleman of Japanese decent, Kenji Tomiki has worked for Mitsuhama for decades. Prior to taking over as an IID section head he had gained a sparkling reputation in the Thermaturgical Research Division where he developed a variety of novel techniques for magical forensics. He's known to be a by-the-book kind of guy, a demanding boss and a loyal corporate employee. He may not be the nicest supervisor, but you always know where you stand with him. That is usually...

"Did you hear about Bob Johnson? What a tragedy that is. His wife worked in Accounting you know." Mr. Tomiki's forced attempt at small talk takes you by surprise. In fact his whole demeanor seems a little "off" and you get a distinct feeling that there is something troubling him.

"Family is so important you know." He swivels in his chair and draws your attention to a digital picture frame hanging on the wall behind his desk. You watch for a moment while the small display cycles through various pictures of Tomiki's wife and kids. Tomiki reaches up and presses a button on the frame, stopping on a particular image. Its an photo of three cheerful middle-aged Japanese men on a fishing trip. Tomiki is in the middle and the three are posing with a large fish. He points out the man on the left. "Thats Hiroshi Tada- a brilliant scientist and magician. We worked together in MTR and were best friends. I married his sister." He trails off as if lost in thought.

He seems startled by a sudden knock at the door. "Just a minute!" he shouts, rushing to advance the digital pictures as if he were hiding evidence of a crime. His secretary enters with a form and is gone almost as quick as she came with the signatures she required. He waits silently for her to leave before turning back to you. His demeanor is now somber and his stern personality seems to be restored.

"I need your help on a new assignment. I want it to take top priority. The thing is..." he pauses for a moment as if choosing his words carefully, "...this will need to be an "informal investigation" if you understand what I'm saying. You're the only one I can I trust..."

[crizh]

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1900

The little homunculus clung to Petwo's shoulder and peered intently at the Sea-shells he was refining with dozens of unblinking red eyes. It looked like H.R. Giger had designed it as concept art for Batteries Not Included and Spielberg had wisely gone in another direction. It had a body about the size of a toilet roll tube with a dozen long shiny tentacles streaming behind it. With a couple of these it clung to the Houngan's jumpsuit as it hovered by his ear. Occasionally it would chirp at him as if to say 'you missed a spot' and it held a number of arcane devices, that the dwarf gave to it as he finished with them, in it's free 'hands.'

Thank you, little one, we are done here I think. Shall we go on deck and see what the fuss is all about?

He packed away his enchanting gear and wove between the few crates remaining in the vessels cargo hold. Before leaving he turned and bowed humbly towards the metallic centre post he had raised in the centre of the room. He whispered something in Creole before pulling the heavy metal door closed behind him.

Grunting he pulled himself up the out-sized metal steps onto the deck. The ebony skinned dwarf in the bright orange jumpsuit had a definite air of danger and mystery as he caught his breath and took in the scene on deck. The tiny flying squid insect thing that darted away from his shoulder, like some sort of Lovecraftian Parrot, to investigate the new boxes and crates, made him seem almost alien.

Nice forge, brother.

His deep voice rolled across the deck like molasses.

How much feedstock did you bring for it?

At this he cracks a huge enamel filled grin and rapidly crosses the deck to shake hands with the newcomers.

Petwo, Petit Petwo. I'm new to Capitan Carter's crew. I'm kind of a Jacko alltrades, I'll fill in wherever I'm needed. Just happy to be on the sea. Just you let me know if dere's anything you need? I could give you a hand getting dat forge situated in the workshop...

[DireRadiant]

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 ~1900

"Feedstock?", Bart winced.

" Jus' the sample stock, but I have a supplier, takes a bit of time to get in quantities. How much maintenance parts does this tub need? Maybe we can go over the maintenance log and project what kind of supplies we should order."

"And what is that? A flying jackalope?"