Warehouse District: The Scillus - 24 MT, Amica

[Guest]

The following day was one of the most uneventful Amica could remember. The day before the captain had brought her a change of clothes, guarrdi in style, and an evening meal. He did not return the following night and Amica was left alone for the night with the sound of the storm as her only companion.

The following day was more of the same. Amica stayed hidden in the captain’s room. He appeared three times that following day to bring her more food. He greeted her but said little else, making excuses as to duty or complaining about the weather. The only information he provided was that the vessel was sure to depart on the morrow.

And so, the 24th arrived, the day when this mighty vessel was due to launch.

[Amica]

(OOC: Pardon my liberties as far as the clothes?)

It was a dress, and it was horrible. Oh, Amica had seen them worn time and again, but never had she even imagined wearing such a thing herself. And beneath it was a horrible device that was designed to squeeze the life out of her! But dutifully and obediently, she wore it...after a great amount of time learning and understanding how it must be worn.

The corset she could not wear directly, for it pinched her horribly, and so she took out the chemise she had stolen from the whorehouse so long ago. It was a filmy, smooth undergarment without sleeves that was transparent as colored water and actually pleasant upon her skin, though it served no purpose at all. Hers was shortened such that it only just reached past her crotch, undoubtedly too short by design to satisfy the whims of the whores. Over this she could place the corset, and it was only with the help of the Sky Captain that she managed to tighten it properly, her already narrow waist reduced to an absurdly tiny degree that forced the breath from her lungs as well as her beasts...

Perhaps it is not so foolish, she thought, inspecting her profile and her form as best she might given that she could not readily bend anymore. Certainly, the horribly suffocating device did wonders for her form and her figure...and it brought out her chest in a very pleasing fashion. Perhaps the gaurrdi women were not so foolish afterall? Over this, she struggled into a crimson dress, the garment horribly tight around her hips and her chest and horribly loose around her waist. It took the desert nomad a great deal of time to arrange herself within the garment, poking, pushing, lifting and settling, once again enlisting the Captain's aid to draw her dress closed around her strained, uncomfortable waist.

She had all day to master the intricacies of dressing in the style of the guarrdi, and she did just this, never leaving the Captain's cabin and taking some amused pleasure in his brief, clearly anxious visits. Amica was not by nature cruel, but she did take some comfort in his embarrassment and she made a cute game of trying to insure she were in the most ridiculous situation or state of dress for his arrival.

When she had slept for the second time in her assigned cabin, she went through her careful motions of applying her guarrdi costume once again. She combed out her hair carefully, and around her exposed neck she wore her talisman, nestled into her suddenly crowded bosom such that she could feel the direction of the Peshawgo. Feeling like an overturned flower...and yet feeling perhaps lovely...she awaited the return of her Sky Captain, anxiously awaiting the moment they would lift away from the earth.

[Guest]

OOC: No problem on the dress. Your interpretation was much more lively than I would have made it.

It was after the morning meal when the Captain returned. In the distance, Amica heard a shrill whistle punctuated by the knock that had so often signaled the Captain’s arrival. He opened the door and peered in cautiously, a look of awkward fear on his face.

“Ma’am, we’ll be launching within ten burns. I suggest you secure yourself.”

As if to emphasize his point, the young shaman heard the shout of some crewmen echo the captain’s words.

“All hands! Launch in ten!” The order was repeated throughout the ship.

“We’ll be airborne soon,” continued the Captain, “once so, the Marshall has requested your presence in the gallery. Can I get you anything before we depart?”

[Amica]

She almost told Sky Captain that the dress would not do, and while that was no great surprise, it was the reason for her coming comment that truly amazed the nomad. The dress was red...a rich, royal red...and while it would certainly do well over her skin and her hair, it would not do for her eyes, and Amica almost said as much, a perfectly amazing thing for her to even realize much less complain. And then she dared to curtsey, a singularly foolish and silly thing that she attempted nonetheless, the purpose behind the movement clear to her given that she could not bow, kneel, or even breath due to the corset, so a sudden dip was perhaps all any wet lander woman might manage.

"You have this one's thanks, Sky Captain. There is nothing she requires," replied Amica softly, dipping in a perfectly clumsy curtsey. "You must command your machine, and so you should not concern yourself with me. I will find Sky Marshal when Machine flies," she assured him, as much to perhaps make up for her onery behavior from the prior day. She knew Sky Marshal's cabin was only just near here...just towards the back of Flying Machine...and she would have little difficulty going to him when it was necessary.

Instead, she could use the next ten burns to to focus upon her hair. Tying it seemed...inappropriate to her for some reason, at least in the same way she had before, and yet she did not know how to bundle it up atop her head as she had seem some guarrdi do. This did not stop the rather stubborn woman, however. Seated upon the lowered bunk, she toyed with her hair for some time to attempt to do just this before she surrendered, electing to leave it loose and unbound at all, a great mass of loose, dark, wavy hair that would spill down and cover much of her back.

She didn't dwell upon the Machine's ascension. Instead, she simply remained upon the lowered bunk, holding upon whatever presented to await Flying Machine's departure. She would gauge the most appropriate time to visit Sky Marshal based not upon the movements of the ship...no doubt it would fool and amaze her...but instead upon the orders she might hear overhead and around her. When the sounds of movement, haste, and orders were perhaps more subdued...in perhaps ten burns....she would rise carefully, keeping herself steady with her hands upon the nearby bulkheads, and she would move beyond her little prison, opening the door and peeking beyond before she would emerge and turn to present herself before Sky Marshal, either with a crisp knock upon his door or, if it were open, then a smooth entry and a very....unsmooth curtsey.

[Guest]

The captain looked at Amica strangely but then his eyes lit up with interest. For almost a day he could think of nothing to speak to this strange woman about. He’d had to watch her, feed her and even give her his room. He’d even had to find clothing for her, which, aboard a ship containing all men was more of a challenge than anyone had realized.

“No ma’am, I think you’ve got it wrong,” he said shyly.

“I don’t fly the ship. Rezon’s the pilot, this is his machine.” He chuckled softly assuming Amica might be following.

“We Army chaps keep our nose out of anything to do with these ships. In fact, I need to go secure my men. I will look for you again around tradetide.”

The captain gave Amica a slight bow and left her to prepare for the ascension of the Scillus.

It had not reached tenth burn yet and Amica’s hair was still not where she wanted it to be when she felt the vessel begin to groan. A great whirring sound arose from the rear of the ship and Amica could only assume it to be the giant blades which she’d used to help her board the airship. She did not notice physically when they were airborne. It only felt like a lessening of strain on the ship’s hull and structure. However, her ethereal senses were piqued as the ascension was completed. The Shaman felt the magical energies used by the ship mix with the air and tickle her with their power. Somewhere below, deep within the ship, a great engine of sorcery pulsed with magnificent force. As it stabilized, it was so powerful Amica could feel it resonate within her own body.

The hull of the ship had stopped creaking and the few unsecured items that slid across the room had stopped moving. Amica knew that their ascent had steadied if not completely leveled off. Moving slowly, she opened the bedroom door and peered into the hall. She could hear voices and shouts but none seemed to be near. Down the hall to her right, the door to the gallery was closed. To her left she saw the entrance to two ramps, one leading upwards, the other leading down.

[Amica]

They would have one Chieftain for Flying Machine and one Chieftain for those who serve aboard Flying Machine? thought Amica quizzically after Sky Captain had left. But that meant he was no Sky Captain at all. He was...a soldier, and that was a term with which Amica was very familiar. Rolling her eyes for a moment, she almost muttered to herself. Silly guarrdi gibberish. And does Sky Marshal rule all these Captains? Perhaps he is the only true Chieftain?

Casting her concerns of the guarrdi tradition out of her mind, Amica enjoyed the very strange sensation of lifting off. In truth, there was no sensation, save for a general sense within the wood around her. It was the bitter sting of magic that she did notice, a very oppressive sensation that gave her to catch her breath in surprise. A great spell? A great ceremony? Has T'Kil come aboard after all? she thought, peering out into the hall and suddenly very curious to learn what could make so much power...so much demand upon the natural world. Or is this the heart of Flying Machine?

Either way, Amica was determined to investigate. Disregarding Sky Marshal's cabin would be inappropriate, but there was yet time and she would know of that which could generate such power that it left her light of head and almost intoxicated. Concerned for her own well-being, Amica sought to place her shield upon her, tracing the rune of 'Ushki over her chest just over her bosom such that she might be perhaps less vulnerable to the bite of such strength. Once she had done this, she would turn her attention to the hatch that lead downward, for it was down she detected the heart of Flying Machine, and so she would go in this way.

Crouching low as much from habit as anything else, Amica stalked across the hall and promptly trod upon the hem of her own dress, yanking her down mercilessly in a very slow collapse upon the deck below. "Cruk!" she exclaimed softly, quickly fighting back her frustrations over the garment she had been given to wear. I am as graceful as an upturned flower as well, she fumed, rising up slowly and taking greater care when next she moved, raising the hem of her dress in her hands such that she could move to the downward ramp and descend towards whatever curiosity awaited her below.

[Guest]

Amica moved down the hall noiselessly. Even in her guarrdi dress, her desert skills served her well. The art of silent movement changed little between environments; only the particulars changed. Aboard the ship it was the creak of a board, the sound of a footstep and the labored breathing of the sneak herself. In less than a burn, the shaman-as-wetlander reached the descending ramp.

Following the ramp down revealed another level of the vessel that Amica had not anticipated. The deck below was not as the deck above and Amica was forced to immediately retreat upwards for fear of discovery. This middle deck, for there was indeed a level below, sounded as if it were teeming with people; men to be exact. Her quarters had been far enough that she’d not heard them before but now, on the same level, Amica could easily hear the sounds of raucous conversation.

An open door separated the ramp area from the middle deck. Peering through Amica would just make out the edges of the bunks that lined the portside hull. A few indistinct figures moved across her line of vision but none seemed interested in moving toward the door. To pass by, she would have to be swift and silent to remain unnoticed.

[Amica]

Had she a measure of confidence in herself, Amica might have continued downward to hunt down the heart of Flying Machine. Already, fantastic images of what she might find filled her curious, inquisitive mind, perhaps a mandala of power or perhaps great glyphs scratched into stone and brought to life...methods of casting that she herself knew, ones that could muster such power. Amica was undoubtedly very wrong considering that those methods of magic were not the guarrdi way, but she had known of no other and could not imagine magic performed in any other way.

She might indeed manage to sneak past if she were to compensate for her silly attire. Reaching down, she would hike up her skirts to her knees and slip forward, infiltrating deeper into Flying Machine to get at whatever curiosity awaited her beneath. She could almost imagine, the upturned flower slipping past them like a thief in the night...a ridiculous notion given that she had failed to be an adequate thief even wearing her somber, black sari of her tribe. Do not be a fool, Ami, she goaded herself. This dress is red. How will they miss that which is the color of blood?

Closing her eyes, Amica silently fought away and overcame her curiosity. She would not sneak down to the heart of Flying Beast and view it so quickly, but in time perhaps she might be taken there by her guarrdi host? It is no great thing for a woman to earn a man's service. Can this be done with Sky Marshal? she pondered, turning her billowy, red form to return to the hallway above...one that would lead her back to the Marshal's stern gallery. She paused in the privacy of the ramp to adjust her bodice further...lifted and presented as they were, her bosom was under great pressure and strain...before she strode out and to the Marshal's door directly.

Knock knock knock, she rapped upon the door, quickly tossing her hair back with her hands and smoothing her dress with her hands to insure her presentation was as lovely as it could be, a weapon she might use to bring Sky Marshal to be more...cooperative with her.

[Guest]

A soft rustle came from behind the door followed by the sound of boots on the wooden floor.

“Hold, please,” came a muffled reply. Amica recognized it as the voice of the Marshall. In less than a burn, the door creak and opened, revealing the Marshall, dressed in a complete military uniform.

“Ah, the Tempestatis woman,” stated the Marshall absently.

“Please, do come in. I’ve been expecting you.” Amica could feel the older man’s eyes move up and down her figure. Whether he appreciated what he saw was indiscernible, for he kept his face emotionless. This was a man practiced at hiding his thoughts.

“I see the Captain found you some less foreign clothing, but . . .I’m not sure his choice will help you stick out less, though.”

He waved the young woman into the gallery and motioned toward a chair next to the wall. His private chambers were closed and he had set up what appeared to be a desk in this larger room. He had placed the maps again on the large table and was sipping something out of a delicate cup.

“Please, Miss Tempestatis, have a seat. May I offer you some tea?”

[Amica]

While she had been trained a shaman since her very birth, Amica was certainly no flawless creature. She did not understand how wearing so much material over her body could make her any more or less beautiful, but she had witnessed the shape-defying contraption of the corset beneath, and she did indeed believe that the guarrdi dress gave her to look far better, at least among the guarrdi. In her experience, gaining the attentions of a man required her to reveal more flesh instead of less, but the dress was a thing of promise...promise of what it might hold beneath, promise that she might indeed spill out of it, which felt very likely with every moment, and promise of how readily her skirts might be lifted or cast aside. Amica felt attractive in her guarrdi attire, and so at Sky Marshal's examination, she almost felt her body straighten and raise even more as if she might display her form to greater effect...though her body couldn't have been anything but perfectly straight due to the horrible corset beneath.

She managed what might have been a curtsey...a bob upon her bare legs beneath the skirt, while her hands hiked the hem of the skirt...before she swept into the room and moved to the offered chair with something that might have amounted to grace, her every movement designed to please Sky Marshal. She even walked upon the balls of her feet that she might seem perhaps taller, an ignorant thing but a tiny gesture made necessary by her vanity alone. Reaching the chair, the shaman was confronted with her first problem...

"This one hopes she does not find Sky Marshal too busy," she said, her guarrdi tongue perfectly fluent though very out of practice. If I could have bundled my hair up, then it would show my neck well. I must work upon this. When I come back to Sabata, perhaps I will present myself before T'Kil in this way? It would be not unlike a great joke between us, she thought, examining the chair critically. She couldn't imagine sitting in it while wearing such a thing, but she tried first by backing before it, the furniture fouling her skirt horribly before she even came close.

"Do you not find this one to look lovely, Sky Marshal? Art well you should know that all woman would wish to stick out. Sky Captain has done well to give me to look...guarrdi," she declared, changing her seating tactic to bend down and place a hand upon one of the chair's waiting arms such that she might lower herself gracefully...a nice plan until her corset made it impossible, the shaman instantly righting herself with a gasp after the boney ridge of the corset dug into her ribcage just below her breasts. Unable to find a graceful, effective way to seat herself in the chair, Amica disregarded it in favor of the wooden deck just beside it. Reaching down, she gathered her skirt and lifted it almost indecently before she lowered herself down to rest upon the floor.

Sitting upon her heels with her skirt spread out around her, Amica gave Sky Marshal an almost sweet, demure smile. "This one thanks you for such an offer, Sky Marshal, and would like some...tea," she declared.

[Guest]

The Marshal chuckled at Amica’s comprehendible but slightly garbled use of the “guarrdi’s” tongue as she so called it.
“Yes, my dear,” he said kindly, almost fatherly. “You do indeed look lovely. However, it was not my intention to call further attention to the fact that there is a woman aboard this ship. To my knowledge, there are few, if any women here and one more . . .will be noticed.”

The guarrdi smiled and walked to where he had a small kettle and two delicate cups. Pouring two cups, he offered Amica one and took a small sip of his own. To Amica, it seemed an odd ritual. The man, obviously some sort of military chief, holding a tiny, fragile piece of crockery with his pinky sticking out in the most ostentatious manner.

“So, Miss Tempestatis, is it? I’ve made some inquiries. Apparently, when I caught you stowing away in my cabin, that wasn’t your first attempt to board this ship, was it? And, I also hear you have a husband somewhere. Should I assume he’s hidden somewhere aboard our little vessel as well?”

[Amica]

Amica accepted the cup carefully, her own hands as clumsy...if not more so...than Sky Marshal. The tea was hot, and that was strange...and peering into the little cup, she found it filled with the expected beverage, which she considered little more than good water dirtied. "My thanks, Sky Marshal," she murmured with a hint of demure, bringing the cup down into both hands before she would respond.

"I do not know what has become of him," she replied, uncertain of T'Kil's fate. For all that she believed, he had disappeared back into the city, and Amica had almost hoped for as much. Certainly she demanded her own death with her great risks, and it seemed improper that she might risk his death as well. Comfortable that she had spoken all she need of the matter, Amica turned her green gaze upon Sky Marshal as she drew the cup to her lips, her shaky grip upon it pausing for a moment. "Why has Sky Marshal so few women aboard? It is strange," she said, taking a tentative sip from her cup.

She tried to mimic Sky Marshal's hold upon his cup, her pinky held outward and her fingers clutching at the tiny porcelain. She did manage the briefest of sips before the heat gave her to shudder, a shudder that quickly gave her to lose control of the beverage and spill it, the steaming liquid draining down into her bodice and between her breasts, robbing her of whatever dignity she had hoped to keep in this rather alien and uncertain scene into which she had been thrown.

"AAAAAIIIIIIEEEeeeee!" shrieked Amica, the steaming fluid invading her cleavage fully and reaching down inside her corset where it could not be reached. "Aie!!" she wailed, her body lurching backwards as if she would evade the pain and her hands clutching and pushing into her bodice, her cup falling into her lap...where it would spill upon her further and give her legs to kick out fiercely in protest. "AAIIIEEEEEE!" she screamed again, her body rigid and unbending due to the tyranny of the corset and forced to fall back against the deck with a dull thud, her legs kicking bare from under her skirt and her body rolling to one side in protest of the tear-jerking pain of the piping hot drink that had so easily beaten the shaman where a Witch or a Djinni could not.

[Guest]

The Marshall watched Amica drink. She was not a stranger to men’s glances and she’d noticed the Marshall appreciate her womanly charms. But what she saw now carried little of the lust most men carried in their gaze. What she saw now was curiosity. He seemed fascinated by the way she held the cup, sat in the chair, even fussed with the western style dress. And when she asked her question about having few men aboard he understood, or at least thought he understood, why she might ask that question.

“Do you think it strange?” he asked. “I am familiar with several cultures,” he continued, almost condescendingly, but not quite. “But, I must admit, I have spent little time with the tribes of the Terra Incognita. We are a group of warriors, only few merchants. Would your people’s warriors be both men and women?”

Before Amica could answer his question, though, her introduction to western culture suffered a most grievous setback.

"AAAAAIIIIIIEEEeeeee!" shrieked Amica.

The Marshall rushed over to Amica’s side producing some sort hand kerchief from his person.

“Madame!” exclaimed the Marshall in an overly concerned tone.

“I am so sorry, I should have warned you it was terribly hot! Are you alright? Please, what may I do to help you?”

The Marshall knelt down next to Amica’s sprawled form and attempted to help her rise. To his credit, he did not even sneak a look up Amica’s dress.

[Amica]

Embarrassment. Humiliation. Frustration.

So I would wear their dress, but in it I am still no guarrdi, thought Amica, her face flushed as much from embarrassment as from the strain of the pain that had overcome her. For a moment she was left clutching Sky Marshal's hands tightly, her grip strong and tight and empowered with suffering as she awaited the nearly scalding fluid to cool, leaving a wet spot over the crotch of her skirt as well as down the center of her cleavage. Only when the pain had subsided did she move to right herself, remaining seated upon the floor...she hadn't yet learned how best one might use a proper chair while wearing a skirt...but returned to her heels with her skirt spread out around her.

Thankfully, the tiny, porcelain cup had remained safely tucked within her lap, and so it had not broken. Gathering these, she lifted them almost pathetically to her host, "I...I am sorry, Sky Marshal. This one has...clumsy fingers," she murmured, the blush still covering her face. She avoided his eyes then, seeking to watch the floor before her such that her hair would at least obscure some of her embarrassed expression. She did take the offered handkerchief, using it with barbaric, direct purpose as she stuffed it into her cleavage to clear away the worst of the moisture she could reach...a strangely pointless gesture given that most of the moisture was where she could not reach it. Her Talisman came clear of her bosom for a time, her hands freeing it from her bosom such that it hung to one side, the intricate, wooden charm still alive with subtle nudges and pushes.

[Guest]

OOC: I'm assuming the Marshall did not see the talisman. If you meant him to see it, let me know.

IC: The Marshall took the cup with model grace and gently helped Amica to her feet.

"My dear, it is I who should be sorry. I was thoughtless. I shall make amends," said the Marshall. From without, a soft knock and a voice Amica recognized as the Captain's could be heard behind the door.

"Marshall, are you all right?" came his voice. "Do you need assistance?"

"Captain, we are fine, stay there please" replied the Marshal, raising his voice so it would carry. He stood and moved toward the door. Opening it slightly Amica could overhear his hushed tones.

"Captain, please bring another dress. We've had a slight spill." He shut the door and returned to his guest.

"Now, where were we. Ah, yes, we were discussing why so few women were aboard this ship. Do you, my dear, even know where this ship is bound?"

[Amica]

(OOC: She did nothing to really hide it, so he certainly might!)

Sky Marshal was quick to relieve her of the cup, order a new dress, and then move to help her up...all of which spoke of very...wet lander courtesy. Oh, she would have been fine leaving her dress to dry...it never took long...and she would have happily remained seated upon the floor, for she found it far more serviceable than the chair, which she had refused completely due to her rather awkward and silly style of dress. It was almost as if Sky Marshal sought to make in her something of the wet lander perhaps...and by treating her as one.

She might have protested his orders. She did not wish to struggle with a new dress, and she did not wish to be so great a burden, but she had no time, his orders issued privately, quickly, and directly. Instead, she simply waited...and then his hand came forward to help her up, as if she wanted to get up at all. Guarrdi do not sit upon floors, so he will assume the same of me, she thought, accepting his help gracefully. She still didn't try the chair despite the abuse her skirts had already suffered due to her disaster with the tea. So instead she stood, her hands still brushing at her skirt to smooth away wrinkles from the floor.

"This one knows not where goes Flying Machine, but this one knows where Flying Machine does not go," she replied evenly. "Flying Machine will not go to City by the Great Water, for it is from there we have come," she said, a very even and neutral comment considering. And in truth, she had every intentions of capturing Flying Machine by way of her magics and giving it deliver her where she must go, so it had not yet been so great a thing for her to find out before. Still, she would now ask, for if Flying Machine would take them to the Keep of the Mountains, she would not need to do even this. "Will Sky Marshal speak to Amica of Flying Machine, then? To where does it fly? And why does it carry soldiers within her belly? Is there a Great War?"

[Guest]

“So, you do not know where we’re going. You truly are just running from Ramessu, then,” he replied, more to himself than to Amica. He began to pace around the room obviously thinking about how to answer Amica’s question. He wrung his hands behind his back as he walked and his brow was furrowed deeply. It was the first time Amica had seen the man anything less than completely confident and poised.

“Well,” he started, “I’m not sure you’ll be terribly pleased with our destination and that’s part of my concern over what to do with you. I shouldn’t be telling you this. Breach of security, you see, but as you’re only choice is to dive hundreds of feet into sand to escape, I doubt you’re much of a threat.” He hummed to himself slightly while deciding whether to finish what he’d started to say.

“Are you familiar with the adhiel, Miss Tempestatis? They are the people that populate the great forests north of your precious desert. I’m not sure if it’s where you expected to go, but that’s where we’re headed. And, unfortunately, we’re not really headed toward any city and, we’ve not really been invited. I’m afraid you’re not going to have a much easier time there than you did here in Sabata.”

[Amica]

"So it is a Great War that calls to you," smiled Amica. This was a surprise to her...and it did present a problem...but war was no great thing to the desert nomad. Among the People, all were instructed to fight, and few were those that were not touched by violence before they had grown to maturity. Amica was among the lucky few...the shamans...who was not often a part of tribe disputes, raiders, or savage, internal clashes. The Black Tribe was not immune to such violence, but theirs was perhaps different. While few other tribes would contest or oppose those of the black, the tribus negri were not without their own internal struggles and contests. All told, the People of the Sands were a violent, brutal people, though Amica would never admit as much for she knew nothing else.

Still, it was a surprise. So Flying Machine carries warriors to battle against the Tree People. It is all a one...the Tree People must lie to the west as well, do they not? she pondered, noting to herself that she must compare Flying Machine's course with her talisman. At the very least, that meant that they would go some distance across the desert, even if it were perhaps further north...and that was good, for Amica did not relish the task of seizing the machine holding so many warriors. No doubt she would not be successful, for she was...no great warrior when it came to steel.

"Sky Marshal goes to make war on the People of the Trees. This one knows only little of these people...they do not live long in the Great Desert...but she has heard story of them. May Flying Marshal's warriors show courage," she said. While Sky Marshal had astonished her, at least she knew some comfort that they did not go to a great city...especially the City of Flesh Peddlars. The shaman had no great reason to love such cities, for most of them...even the Hidden City of Tents...often enough held trouble for her. "Sky Marshal might serve Tree People his tea, and he will know victory," she quipped, a rare moment of levity from the otherwise solemn young woman.

And now to find out where among the Tree People they would go. Now Amica had interest in his map, the map she discarded earlier...she was often foolish with documents, given their scarcity in her own childhood...but it may give her to know how close Flying Machine might come to the Western Mountains. "This one understands why Sky Marshal sought to keep his secret, for he would raid them where they expect him not," she predicted, a common enough tactic the world over. "Will you show this one where you go in the Great Forest of the Tree People?" she asked, smiling at the man in a way she hoped was rather gracious.

[Guest]

The Marshall chuckled at Amica’s joke, embarrassed but relieved she was not upset with him. He prided himself on his ability to relate to foreign cultures. It was one of the reasons he’d been selected for this mission. He did not want the simple mistake of spilled tea to ruin his chances at learning about the peoples of Terra Incognita. He still had much to learn.

“Our goal is not to make war, Miss Tempestatis. War is just our means to our ends. And it isn’t even ‘our’ end,” he said emphatically. “It is someone else’s end. And I, I am just their tool.” He smiled a secret, knowing smile and Amica knew that despite any outward appearance of honor and academic curiosity, the Marshall was a man who enjoyed his position in life. He was a man of war, bred and educated for the sole purpose of leading men into combat. The Marshall would have been a formidable chief of tribus rutilus.

He motioned the young woman over toward the table where his maps lay unrolled.

“How much have you seen beyond your desert and your city by the sea, I wonder,” said the Marshall.

“Here are the Great Mountains in the West,” he started, pointing to stark black lines in the middle of the map on the table.

“Here,” he continued, moving his finger directly east to a large black dot labeled in text Amica did not recognize,” is the city we just left.”

The map was well detailed and looking closer Amica could indeed sea a fairly accurate depiction of the coastline near Sabata and some of the larger formations in the Great Desert.”

“Here,” he said with a swift jab of his index finger, “is where we head. “ The coastline went almost directly north and then bulged slightly to the east. The Marshall’s finger pointed to a spot on the wooded coastline north by northeast of the city. Amica’s knowledge of maps, especially, world maps, was poor and her knowledge of military tactics even less. The point where the Marshall indicated seemed far from anything that looked like civilization. She could assume that the large dots were population centers and noticed only a few in the forested area north of the desert. Their destination was indeed far from even a small dot.

[Amica]

Amica knew the desert, but she knew very little of maps. The image that Sky Marshal shared with her now gave her heart to lurch and her breath to come short. It was not the journey...it was not her task...it was not the destination or his explanation...but it was the size, her rather swift, agile mind quickly coming to understand the sheer scale of distance depicted on the humble piece of paper before her. She spotted the dot that would be City by the Great Water, and from there she spotted the Great Western Mountains...and to the north, the trees of Tree People. So much distance...such a long, long distance...and yet the map went on, stretching out beyond the Western Mountains to lands of which she knew so very little, the Dragon's Keep here, the City of the Flesh Peddlers there...and more cities, places she no doubt had heard whispered and rumored from passing, foreign mouths but places she could hardly imagine, places that lie so very far away.

And then there was water. City by the Great Water was here in the Great Desert, but where the water ends and the land begins could be clearly seen, stretching up where Sky Marshal pointed...but it did not end, continuing around and away, showing a land so very massive that her heart stopped at the sheer wonder if it. And while the land was so very great and broad, it all ran to water at it's edges, including a vast sea of water held within it's clutches just over the Mountains. The Wet Lands, she thought, her eyes almost filling with tears and her hand reaching out to touch the areas of the map that might include the Western Kingdoms.

"This one..." Amica paused. She heard her own voice breaking, and she realized how foolish she must seem. Of course Flying Machine could travel to all these places...and of course it could do so quickly...but Amica had never known a world beyond the Great Desert, a world that was as cruel and sadistic as it was powerful and tempering, a world that gave the People to be wise, sharp, fast, and strong...one that would take it's toll among the foolish, dim, slow, or weak. She blinked a few times and tried to recover herself. "This one does...not understand why this place holds significance, Sky Marshal, and this one knows so little of the Tree People she cannot advise or help you," she admitted, glancing to him with an apologetic look.

But there were other concerns that finally penetrated Amica's amazement. They were flying over water...they would slip beyond the coast for a time...and they were flying in the wrong direction. Indeed, she would have to sabotage the ship to force her will upon it, or she would have to wait for a better moment...perhaps after Sky Marshal began his attack...to challenge and capture Flying Machine. "Perhaps Sky Marshal will allow this one to remain with him until he touches ground in a place she might safely depart? She will be grateful, and she will serve Sky Marshal as he wishes until such a time," she offered, at least a way to be companionable. Amica found herself rather partial to Sky Marshal, a man that had only treated her with his own curious kind of courtesy and one that was not lost upon the desert nomad. She did not believe Sky Marshal could be convinced or seduced to change his course...his words of being but another's instrument were proof of that...but at least he could be made to reason, and if his ship were held at risk, perhaps he might become negotiable.

"And this one admits to some excitement, Sky Marshal, for she knew not that such places were," murmured Amica, her own fingertips running over the almost magical map, tracing from one dot to the next, clearly enthralled at what she saw. "She would find...enjoyment...to be accepted upon Flying Machine for a time, for she is...curious..." she finished, a statement that was very true, though Amica never believed for a moment that she would fulfill the sudden sense of wanderlust that was born in her.

[Guest]

The Marshall seemed to mull over Amica's offer of service. He stroked his chin and wandered over to look out the port hole at the expanse of sky before him.

"I may be mistaken, but I doubt there are any other women aboard actualy. You may be the only one. If, nay, when, you are discovered the men will without doubt think you my mistress. The officers will be concerned about a stranger in their midst. The crew, and maybe even some of the officers, most likely will covet you for their own."

He paused and frowned.

"It is my own curiosity that has us in this dilemma. If I had just turned you over . . ."

The Marshall did not get to complete his thought for he was interrupted by a loud rapping at his door. Again, Amica heard Captain Liam's voice., but it was rushed and tense.

"Marshall, sir. Pilot Rezon wishes to report progress and discuss the timetable with you. He is on way down."

The Marshall's frown deepened.

"My dear," he said curtly. "We shall have to continue this conversation another time. I will ask the Captain to continue to isolate you from the crew until I have discussed this with Rezon. Please accept my apologies. I have enjoyed your willingness for conversation."

He moved toward the door and gently placed his hand on her shoulder indicating she should follow.

"Captain," he said loudly, "please make haste to show Miss Tempestatis back to your room and provide her with dry clothes if you haven't already."

The Marshall gave Amica a distant smile and short bow.

"Good day, madame. I shall send for you this eveningtide and perhaps we shall dine together so we may continue our conversation."

[Amica]

Blink.

It all made sense to her now, and Amica had to admit to herself that she was surprised to know it. Perhaps Sky Marshal had been impressed by her...perhaps he was the first among his crew to be attracted to her, to perhaps covet her sexually...or perhaps his interest was little more than the curiosity he claimed? Regardless of why, it was clear that Sky Marshal's orders were designed less to protect her from the guarrdi...and more to protect the guarrdi from her...or at least to protect the guarrdi from what she might represent to them. After all, with no women aboard Flying Machine, it would not be long before she would carry the lust of a great many men.

Can this be used? thought Amica. She had only a little experience at drawing out a man's lust in the past, but she had advantages with her now. The guarrdi would see her as something exotic. Something mysterious. Something intriguing. And no doubt something sexually appealing, if she were to give herself to be. And she could do this, of course. While the People had a modesty of their own, they were also quite comfortable to dress in a fashion that the guarrdi would quickly consider indecent, scandalous, and...if enough of her flesh were to be seen...irresistible. And if she could become irresistible to the right people, then they could no longer resist her. Perhaps I have found a new way to send Flying Machine to the Peshawgo? Perhaps in time I need only ask it.

But before she could descend upon the men of Flying Machine, she needed to free herself of Sky Marshal's isolation. And there was no better time than now for such a thing, as Sky Marshal would be forced to act quickly just now, with his next guest...the Sky Pilot?...quickly on his way. "This will not do, Sky Marshal. We are away from City by the Great Water and it's dangers, and for this you have my gratitude. But you cannot trap this one in a cabin overlong as if she were a suckling sheep. It will only give life to rumor, and this one...abhors such a fate. Instead, I will go to Sky Captain's place and dress myself as a shaman of the People, and then I will walk among your crew as your guide. They will not come to covet me as I will not be so easily seen. I offer you this, Sky Marshal, unless you would make of me a slave."

She used the term slave in a deliberate fashion, of course. She hoped to appeal to Sky Marshal's sense of decency and humanity, and she hoped she might challenge his curious, foreign manners to see it as such. In truth, she would indeed be seen by his crew, and he would not know it until it was done. And then it will be too late, she thought, managing to avoid her smile. Then I will be seen, and all will know. I only wish that I did not feel so very...excited at such a strategy.

[Guest]

OOC: Happy New Year!

IC:

The Marshall looked concerned at Amica's suggestion.

"It is, I admit, a wise suggestion. But have you not already met the Pilot, Rezon? On board this ship, he is master. And if my inquiries are correct, he has already forbidden you passage once. My influence can only go so far while we are airborne."

He was prepared for the young woman to exit, not to propose an alternative solution. But, Amica could see that her idea struck the man as meritous. He was mulling over how he might make it work.

"Hmmm," he started stroking his chin again.

"Yes, that could work. You as my guide. I might say that I secured your services without knowledge of your meeting with Rezon."

He ushered her toward the door.

"Dine with me this evening and we will discuss. If our plan will not move forward, I will send word through Captain Liam."

[Amica]

He hadn't entirely agreed to her, but she learned perhaps more at his words, discovering perhaps more of the unusual struggle of power among those that lived aboard Flying Machine. And now he would have Amica wait until Eveningtide, when she would...dine with him. Will we not arrive at the forests of Tree People before so very long? she pondered, turning to leave with only a shaky, ineffectual curtsey at Sky Marshal. He has so much time...and I do not. Perhaps I must be more direct?

Departing from the cabin of Sky Marshal, Amica returned to Captain's cabin...is it not a jail? Have I not been hidden away like another crate in Flying Machine's belly?...she stood for a moment and pondered her options. She could not continue waiting...every moment brought them closer to the forests of Tree People and further from the western mountains...and she could not wait within her cabin and do nothing while the desert died. She had no power over Flying Machine at current, and so she had to act. If she did not, she would end up in some strange forest so very far from her destination...and she would have no way to travel quickly.

May Sky Marshal be damned to all the hells for his inactions, steamed Amica as she tapped her lips thoughtfully. And damn this Sky Pilot who would give him to be so timid, she added thoughtlessly. But a new thought struck her. Sky Pilot meets with Sky Marshal. They are in his chambers, and so I will not see him, she realized, giving her perhaps some time to move about freely and be seen by the crew. There was little more she could do but to force herself forward, and in her guarrdi dress, she would not likely be turned away by those that did not know of her.

With this in mind, Amica turned and collected her medicine bag and her knife, both of which she belted to her person under her skirts...a rather indecent and uncomfortable place to keep them, but one that would keep them largely hidden. She then emerged from her cabin once she was alone and moved back to the steps leading downward. She would disobey Sky Marshal...but it was clear to her that she must disobey Sky Marshal if her situation were to change in any way.

[Guest]

Following the ramp down revealed the level below the Marshall's quarters. This middle deck still sounded as if it were teeming with people; men to be exact. The conversation was lighter now as most of the men were performing duties or perhaps napping.

An open door separated the ramp area from the middle deck. Peering through Amica would just make out the edges of the bunks that lined the portside hull. A few indistinct figures moved across her line of vision but none seemed interested in moving toward the door. To pass by, she would have to be swift and silent to remain unnoticed. Or, of course, she could enter.