Search for a Lost Fantasy(semi-literate+)

[Placebo Effect]

- { Cɾïṡïṡ Pïɾατε Alεχαṉḋɾïα Sτøɾṃ } -
“Do it today, it might be illegal tomorrow.”

Naturally, Alex only caught a few of the signs and signals that Tor was trying to act out. She was shortsighted, Tor was a blur but she knew it was him, because there wasn't really anyone else with such utter and sheer amazingness - that's what Alex thought of the person flying below the ship. He didn't talk, but he made up for that with the absolute random gestures and acts to get himself noticed. She doubted anyone else could think of throwing themself off the ship (though she would be trying it later because it looked fun down there) just for attention. It might have seemed desperate to some, but Alex guessed when you don't talk, you have to resort to desperate measures.

She got that he was flying. There wasn't really anything else she thought he'd be doing down there, and it was a silly question for her to have asked - but it was a natural quesion. When you catch someone doing something out of the ordinary, you ask them what they are doing. She also got the climbing motion, it was a little harder for her to see with her bad eye sight (she should really consider glasses) but it was something she did often and recognised it pretty easily. The watch motion, that was the one she strugged to see, his actions were a blurry mess to her. But that was an action she'd seen Tor use many times, to ask something related to time. She'd seen others use it too, it was a natural reaction to point to your wrist when asking the time, much like when you ask a person what a gotee is (It's a type of beard if you didn't know) they will touch their chin as part of the explaination.

So, Tor was flying, climbing and there was something to do with time. She couldn't help but wonder for a split second if he was worried about when lunch time was or something like that - speaking of lunch, she was starved and lunch sounded good right now. Alex could easily eat for all the pirates on the ship if she wanted to (which she did want to, all the time) - but she doubted it was what Tor was bothered about.

She sat up, pulling herself up out of the porthole and rubbing the sting of cold induced tears from her eyes. It was too cold to stay out there too long... And with that thought, she assumed that's what Tor had meant. That he was coming inside pretty soon. She rubbed her bleary eyes, and rubbed her cheeks in attempt to bring back some warmth to them, as she moved out of the way of the rope. Her fingers were red and raw right now and she was reconsidering her thoughts about hanging from the underside of the ship herself. Serious reconsiderations. The engine room was warm - though a little colder today since someone had left a porthole open while they hung from the underside of the ship - and Alex was used to the warm. She was so used to the warm that she had been told off a few times for messing with the heating of the rest of the ship and making it as warm as the engine room.

Aparently everyone else didn't like temperatures of 40-55 centigrade because it made the ship feel like an oven.

She realised her hair had been ruined when it flopped down into her eyes. Honestly the temperature wasn't the biggest decideding factor anymore. It was no longer on the scale. She'd have to fix her hair again, if only she could remember where she'd put the comb she'd used.

Another thought went to the boy flying below the ship, did that winch even work? Did winches work in the cold? Alex had no clue since the winch she'd got for the harness she was supposed to use to fix the dials on the top of the engines (they were quite big cylinders these engines were) didn't work at all and she simply climbed the rope and ignored the harness unless she was going to be there a while. If the winch didn't work however, she'd find out soon enough if Tor didn't get back inside so she could close the porthole that was slowly stealing the warm air of the engine room.


{{Ooc: It's alright XD I looked at them through Alex's bad eyesight to see what she makes of them. }}

[SmileyWily]

Frankie, Crisis Mechanic in Training
Frankie stopped just before he got to the top. He jumped down and landed silently on the balls of his feet. He covers the pipes so they weren't exposed to the air. He grabbed his satchel and began climbing up the metal ladders. When he reached the top he said, "Alex, I'm done." He voice was muffled by the black bandanna.
He rests his arms on the metal platform and looked at his teacher. Her hair was messy, and he quessed from the open porthole that the wind had swept it out of place. He begins to climb up onto the floor and then heaves himself up to his feet with the help of a warm pipe. He stands up tall, his body resting on the horizontal pipe. "Is Tor down there?" he asks, moving the bandanna this time as he talked.
Frankie wipes a bead of sweat from his face, but that was weird since he was used used to the warmth of the engine room.
Maybe it was the steam getting to him, causing him to be unable to breath. His throat felt tight and he said, "I gotta go. Frankie climbed back down the ladder and began staggering down the hall of pipes. Frankie stopped just before the ladder, and passes out right then, his head hitting the ladder and floor with two loud flanks. His lays limply, his face turned to the side and his body otherwise in a straight line with his legs straight down and his arms at his side.

[Artesian]

TOR - Crisis Navigator

Tor was having a little trouble with his winch. Although it still worked (when the snow had been wiped off it) the rope it tried to grab onto was slick with snow crystals; it was like trying to grip sand. The winch whirred angrily after the first foot, so Tor switched it off. It'd be less trouble to climb the rope himself. On most ships, the Navigator tended to be a bookish person, often one who was a former fighter or mechanic: the sort of person who'd been everywhere, seen everything, and preferred dozing in their room or partaking of the excellent and varied table of the C-pirates to running around on deck or climbing. Tor was different. He was probably one of the best on the ship, if not the best, at the sort of aerial acrobatics and climbing which irritated the mechanics and frustrated the fighters.

He stripped off his outer gloves, clutching them tightly as the wind tried to steal them away. The furry, thick woolen gloves were incapable of grabbing onto the rope with any surety - even bare hands would be better. He tucked them into a pouch on his hip, trying to focus as he swung wildly in the wind; the storm was getting worse as they passed the highest peaks of the Alps. Underneath his woolen gloves were his precious seal-skin leather gloves, made in Norway for him a few years ago. They were absolutely irreplaceable, and could grip anything at all. He flexed his fingers - already feeling tendrils of chill slipping across his knuckles into the snug second skin of the leather, and carefully swiveled his body from its horizontal flying position, and into a vertical hang from only two of the ropes.

The wind hit him ferociously, swinging him out of sight of the porthole. He was presenting so much more area that it felt like hitting water from a ten foot jump, like a huge slap by a peeved Mother Nature. He gritted his teeth and shifted one hand up above the other. And again. And again. And again. This would be child's play - even Frankie or Ren could climb a rope like this - in normal weather, but this wind was tricky. He hung by one hand, a long loop of rope hanging below him, brushed the snow off his goggles, and triggered the winch on his chest. It whirred up the loose loop of rope into a sturdy coil, securing him against slipping back. Then, he climbed again. Up, up, up, aaand... he was below the porthole. There was almost no wind here, oddly enough, probably a result of the design of the ship. His ears felt strange, like sound was being sucked out of them. He clicked the winch again, waited for it to pull up the rest of the rope, and...

He pushed the heavy glass porthole open, thrust his arms through the hole and pulled his body through the porthole by straightening his arms to their full extent. He tucked his knees through, and, with one fast motion, shut the porthole and disconnected his harness from the metal brace in the floor. Then he stood and shook like a dog, spraying snow everywhere. Sheesh, it was cold. He shivered theatrically, pulling his hood down and pushing his goggles up, blowing on his fingers and rubbing his hands together.

Alex and Frankie were here... Frankie was okay too. Tor liked Frankie's drawings, for while Frankie was a true artist, Tor only drew pictures of the world below the ships... endless aerial landscapes, all perfectly accurate. Back when Frankie had first arrived, Tor had given him a picture of the small town they'd picked him up from. It was all there: the streets he'd stolen on, the gang's territories, the stores of rare amber they'd blasted the roof off of with a loaded hollow gunpowder cannonball... Quite a day, really. Navigator had no idea what he'd done with the picture - he'd slipped it onto Frankie's bed as he slept, and Frankie had never asked him about it. Tor liked him anyway, no matter what ended up happening to that picture.

Frankie was leaving, with an oddly muffled I gotta go, when Tor turned to Alex, ready to listen to whatever she had to tell him. Despite the horrible noise of the engine room, Tor could hear the wind whistling at the cracks in the porthole, and even some sort of fight, (probably) several floors above him. Her voice would be no problem to hear over the hum of the engines. He listened for Alex's inevitable questions, when he heard another sound. It sounded like... his face contorted with worry, turned his head quickly, jumped to his feet and - a rope from his harness flailing behind him, ran towards the sound.

Frankie had fallen, and was passed out on the floor. Tor swore, mentally and wordlessly, and, stripping off his harness, lifted him carefully in his arms. He absentmindedly mimed a choking, can't breath, hyperventilating attitude... when he started to feel a little woozy. There was something in the air here! He started to climb the ladder with one hand, Frankie draped partly over his shoulder. His harness lay abandoned on the floor. He hoped that Alex was following him... he couldn't carry both of them.


TOR is carrying Frankie up the ladder, with Alex somewhere.

[OoC: I hope my reference to Frankie and Tor knowing each other is okay... I figured, from Frankie's bio, that he's been here around four years, while Tor's been here about eight, so they must know each other..? ]

[Placebo Effect]

- { Cɾïṡïṡ Pïɾατε Alεχαṉḋɾïα Sτøɾṃ } -
“Do it today, it might be illegal tomorrow.”

She'd nodded when Frankie had asked if Tor was the one hanging from a rope underneath the ship, and for the breifest second wondered why he'd asked, since she'd just been yelling Tor's name. Alex had stepped back out of the way when the porthole was opened, to avoid being hit by the blast of freezing cold air that blew in from outside. She had grinned as Tor went about shaking the snow from himself, and she brushed it off her clothes, face and hair with a slight laugh. She was tempted to 'borrow' Tor's goggles to try on, surely they'd go brilliantly with the hairstyle she had that was currently breathing it's last smoke scented breath.

She'd been about to burst into her spring of questions, knowing that Tor didn't speak at all had made her feel awkward when she'd first met him, there was just this ominous silence that she felt needed to be filled. Then the awkwardness had drifted away when she'd realised that Tor didn't mind her sprouting so many questions and then answering them, the going off on tangents, and talking about engines, it was a strange friendship but it was one that worked. Alexandria spoke enough for two people, and as long as Tor was listening she felt like he was joining in the conversation and she didn't feel like a batty person talking to herself. That, and Tor was just brilliantly strange.

Then she caught her tongue as she heard the noise, and saw Tor's worried face. She sprinted after Tor best she could, since it was hard not to trip over the rope that was trailing after the racing Navigator. She watched Tor as he preformed another action, wondering what was with the air in here that no one but her could stay in here quite happily. She frowned, following Tor up the ladder, staying behind him just incase he fell.

At the top of the ladder she took a deep breath, a really deep breath, just to see what was causing Tor and Frankie's troubles. Nothing. Whatever it was, she was used to it - well she did spend at least a few hours in here every day - but thinking back to when she'd been training as the mechanic, she had fallen unconsious on more than one occassion in the first few months of training. Now she didn't feel any side effects from being able to breath whatever it was, just she couldn't hold her breath as long as many others could seem to (though this didn't hinder her chatterbox attitude one bit).

She slipped past Tor and pushed open the heavy metal door that led into the ship, hoping that Frankie would begin to wake up if he was getting fresher air into his lungs. Frankie and Tor were after all her best friends, even though they didn't know it, since they were the pair that she spoke to most and hung around with most. Without them, she'd have no one to talk to and she wasn't prepared to let that happen. "Tor! He's okay isn't he? And you? You're okay too aren't you?!"

[SmileyWily]

Frankie, Crisis Mechanic in Training
Frankie remained limp in Tor's arms, breathing slowly and evenly. He was dreaming that he was in a steamy labyrinth, surrounded by rows of bushes, trees, and plant stalks. He was stumbling around, coughing. Frankie was lost and desperately trying to find his way out of the forest. He could barely see and stumbled into everything.
Frankie woke up, gasping for air and coughing. He starts squirming and trying to get away from Tor. He was utterly confused, so he tried getting away from Tor again. Then he saw Tor's face and stopped as he saw the predicament they were in. He stopped wiggling and asks, "What happened?" Frankie was still puzzled, and his voice clearly showed that.
This feeling wasn't odd for him though, passing out and waking up completely confused afterward. That was what always happened in this situation. He was just happy that Tor found him before he woke up, or he would have freaked out and run around the engine room.
Frankie began coughing once again, his lungs still weak from the steam that had caused all of this. Tor was lucky he had a bandanna covering his mouth, or germs would cover the guy's chest, and he didn't know how Tor would react to that.

That is actually awesome. I don't mind at all if Frankie and Tor are friends

[Noel]

Melody, Cloud Fighter

Mel had briefly stepped out of the room after hearing Amayas request, making a quick dash to one of the many places were she stored her things. Mel never liked making the journey over to her room every time she wanted to pick up something or put something down, so there were several little nooks that bore something of hers. This time she had gone to one of the closest little niches where she knew some of her old clothes that probably didn't even fit her anymore were. Sure enough, there were some old shirts there(clean, mind you, like said they didn't fit her anymore so it wasn't like she had worn them recently), which she promptly grabbed and started walking back. Ignoring the odd looks from seeing of a fighter on the side of the ship where fighters were rarely seen carrying clothes that obviously were too small for her, Mel pushed the door to the kitchens open. Selecting one of the better ones, in better shape and of better material, she set that lightly on the table to Ki-ki. The rest she offered to Amaya, with a shrug.

"Anytime ya need any, jus' tell me." Heaven knew, since Mel never bothered to throw anything out or find a use for something she no longer needed, she had a wide array of other bandage-worthy clothes somewhere. Besides, out of experience Mel knew that the medics always needed more bandages and such, given she was one of those fighters who went out and got injured again the minute they were deemed fit to fight again. And then usually kept fighting despite the injury, knowing Mel. Returning to the issue of food, which was quite important in her eyes, Mel's face brightened at the idea of an omelet. Good food like that was rare to a girl who rarely to never ventured to the kitchens and was often restricted to the tasteless mush that would have helped her heal if she could choke it down.

"That'd be great." She answered warmly, already hypnotized by the sight of cheese and the smell of what others were eating. After this, she was going to need to come down there more.

((Post for Ren should come soon.))

[Noel]

Ren, Crisis Flier-In-Training

Ren had slept for about half an hour after his practice fight with Skye, that of course had left him very sore and wondering how on earth that boy could kick so hard without even trying, before snapping awake. Skye had ordered him to rest though, which while it was a caring suggestion, it was backed with the older boy's authority as Co-Captain. Besides, if he was seen moving and active, he might end up assigned to another job of some sort, and his tired body did not like the idea of having to do much else then sit and sleep. However, after an hour of that, the pirate inside him somewhere was bored nearly to tears.

When the knock rang through the room, for Sara had indeed found the right room, Ren viewed it as a mental excuse to stop sitting around. Getting onto his feet, Ren walked across the room to push the door open and raise an eyebrow at the girl he saw there. Ren had been aboard the Crisis ship nearly two years, and yet he still had trouble remembering everyone. Sara. His memory told him after a moment. A Flier. Next in Ren's general thinking process, which only took a few seconds, was why she would be there. In the end, his mind provided him with three reasons. One, she was at the wrong room. That happened a lot. Second, she was just there to pass on a message of some sort. Three, she was the mentor Skye had told him he would be getting. Skye, who while not specifically a fighter knew quite a bit about flying small airships, had been teaching him the basics the past twenty months or so. But, since that boy had become Co-Captain a few months ago when the one before him was maimed and had to leave the life of a pirate, it was clear to both of them that he was too busy to keep that up anymore. So thus, a new teacher for little Ren.

That entire thinking process later, which took maybe five seconds of staring, Ren finally asked: "What...?"

[Artesian]

QUIANA - Cloud Mechanic

Quiana grinned and reached upwards to a cabinet above the cold storage. "I def'nitly could," she answered, pulling out a bag of tortillas. These ah' goin' stale anhyway, an' most o' 'em like bread too. The bag flopped onto the counter on top of the cheese round, and she undid the twine. "It's a foodstuff fo' Espana, up in th' North from 'ere." She pulled out a tortilla... still good, although it'd be stale in another day. "People in Espana make evr'thin with tortillas. Iz like pita, from where ah come from." She flopped it down on another part of the counter, and pulled out a knife from the magnetic block that kept them secure in the worst storms. Ki-ki had seen what happens in a kitchen with unsecured silverware during a gale. It's not pretty.

Amaya's next question was just as easy to answer. "Nah, I 'aven't got anythin' that izzn't all oil-stained or grit covered. Sorry, Aya. Maybe Mel 'as some?" She turned, the knife in her hand, to see Mel leaving through the main door. Hmm. "I betcha she's gone ta' check." Ki-ki conjectured, then put the knife down, and opened the cold storage again. Yup, there was the basic ingredients for the health mush. Quiana poured some into a small bowl, the flakes floating lightly through the air in deliberate mockery of their future taste, and pushed it across the counter. She raised her fingers to her lips, and winked at Amaya. Ki-ki knew some tricks with the bland, boring stuff, and Gouda cheese would mask its presence wonderfully. As the stuff didn't actually have any flavor, and the eggs mixed well with it, she'd gotten several injured fighters to eat the stuff without their knowledge in scrambled eggs, pastries, and even deviled eggs. Even the notoriously suspicious Sokyo had tucked into her fried rice without a qualm.

"Now... I'll make ya quesadilla, ah, Cheese Tortilla..." She began slicing cheese off the huge round with the knife. "Now... 'ow big should ah make it?" She pretended to squint at Aya, measuring her up. "You've gotten biggah, I wager." She sliced a couple of extra bits off the cheese, and laid them out on the tortilla. "Won't take a moment."

By the time Mel had returned with a pile of old shirts, the quesadilla was sizzling around the edges, the cheese perfectly gooey. Ki-ki flipped it out of the pan and used the kitchen knife to slice it into several pieces. "Ah, Mel." She grinned. "An omelet?" she repeated, just in case Mel hadn't heard her the first time. As Mel agreed, she wrapped up the quesadilla triangles in some paper towels for Aya. " 'Ere, ya are. It'd be best to eat tha' on th' way to th' infirmary, but come on back if ya' want any more, kay?"

She turned and cracked the first couple of eggs into the bowl, whipping them up into a scrambled, fluffy blob in just a few moments. "One omelet coming up!" she chirped through a mouthful of one square of Aya's quesadilla - Quiana almost never cooked for herself, living quite happily off of portions of what she cooked for others. Sometimes, she thought that she was incredibly lucky to live that way, as she ate around ten meals a day of all sorts of different food. She hummed cheerfully as she sprinkled dried chopped herbs into the bowl, ground pepper into the egg, and shook about a handful of the mush-flakes in as well. Not enough to affect the taste, she was sure, but enough to help Mel recover faster.

She poured the mixture into the pan she'd used for the quesadilla and chopped another portion of cheese off of the round. "So, any idea why we're turning and speeding up?" she asked Mel conversationally. "Seems we're going someplace else, maybe up North?"

QUIANA - is in the kitchens with Mel and (maybe) Amaya.


TOR - Crisis Navigator

Tor finished climbing the ladder and shifted Frankie to both arms again. The boy was still unconscious, but he was breathing normally, which was good. He continued walking briskly down the corridor, Alex close behind. He slowed, stepping over a toolbox that protruded out from the underside of the steering drive, and Alex slipped past him and pushed open the door that lead out of the engineering section and into the blessedly cool corridors of the ship.

Alex asked him if they were okay, and Tor didn't answer immediately, stepping past her and out of the door. He beckoned her through and shut it behind them, the heavy metal door squeaking slightly on its hinges as it swung shut with a gong-like slam. Then, with a strange sort of focus that merged on meditation, he concentrated on breathing. In... out. In... out. Yes. He was feeling better now, he must have gotten just a small dose of whatever Alex was acclimated to.

He nodded and smiled brightly, before holding up the fingers of one hand - clumsily, as Frankie was hampering his movements - and with a swift point to himself and the OK sign, signaled that he was fine. He pointed at Frankie and nodded, with slightly less confidence. He shook Frankie gently, and was somewhat pleased when he awoke, squirming in his grasp, coughing and gasping for air. Consciousness was a good sign.

What happened? Tor looked frightened, rolled his eyes straight up and lolled his head to one side, but stopped quickly when Frankie began coughing. He shifted Frankie's position slightly, pulling his head slightly more upright, and pulled the bandana down. How Frankie could even breathe with that piece of cloth over his mouth was a wonder to him. Tor liked fresh air, thank you.

He turned to Alex, pointed to Frankie again, and shrugged minutely, a noncommittal expression on his face. Maybe after the coughing fit was over, he'd be okay? Sometimes it was best when you'd gotten the stuff out of your lungs. Tor had, in the past, passed out from a nasty fighting gas some other pirates had used to knock out the fighters. He'd had a coughing fit for almost ten minutes before he'd been able to breathe normally, but after that? He'd been perfectly fine. This seemed mild by comparison, so perhaps Frankie would recover in a minute or so.


TOR is with Frankie and Alex outside engineering.

[SmileyWily]

Frankie, Crisis Mechanic in Training
Frankie stops coughing a few seconds after the bandanna is pulled down. "Can I get down?" he asked. He know knew he had passed out. He also knew it was from the steam that had filled his developing lungs. Another cough squeezed its way through his throat.
Frankie pushed himself away and slid off of Tor's shoulder. He takes the bandanna off and puts it in the sat he'll that had remained at his side. "Bisogno di acgua, per favore," he said. That was what was weird, he was speaking Italian. But he often did that, at the most random times ever. The language that he started fluently speaking when he was 2 years old. "Per favore," he repeated and doubled over coughing once more. He pulled the bandanna out and wiped off his face.
Frankie soon realized he was speaking Italian. "Water, I mean water," he says, hunching over and looking up at the two. The two that had just helped him so much. If he hadn't been found, disaster would be upon the engines with a crazy 13 year old destroying it and causing the ship to crash into the Alps that they were flying over. "Please," he said once more, but in a language they could understand. That reminded him, nobody knew where Tor was from. Frankie was from a town filled with Sicilians, but not Italians.

[Placebo Effect]

- { Cɾïṡïṡ Pïɾατε Alεχαṉḋɾïα Sτøɾṃ } -
“Do it today, it might be illegal tomorrow.”

Smiles were good, and with Tor smiling with such intensity that he might be the sun. Alex nodded, glad that Tor and Frankie were going to be fine. She stepped backwards to give Frankie space when he began to wake up. She'd heard somewhere that you were meant to five people space when they were waking up from falling unconsious.

She nodded again as Tor preformed a few more actions, agreeing that Frankie might very well be fine after getting whatever it was out of his lungs. Whatever that stuff was, it probably lined her own lungs and had probably now replaced oxygen on the list of things that she needed to breathe.

As Frankie began to speak, Alex took it as a good sign. She listened to him speak Italian with a small smile, she herself had a habit of switching to French. She waited uptil he spoke in English, having no clue what he was talking about. When he said he wanted water, she nodded and made her way back into the engine room. "I'll be back soon... You guys stay out here and keep breathing right?" She made her way into the engine room, shutting the door behind her and then climbing back down the ladder she'd climbed barely a few moments ago.

She grabbed the canister of water from her work bench, it was easy to find since she'd painted it bright red, and clipped it to her belt so it wouldn't fall off, since she had a habit of clumsiness due to being shortsighted and refusing to wear glasses. She headed back to the ladder and climbed it once more, then slipped out of the door once more and passed the canister of water to Frankie.