Search for a Lost Fantasy(semi-literate+)

[Hobo!]

{I'm presuming I'm accepted, since.. Well, my charries are on my first post :3
I'll be posting for them both now!}

Mitch; Crisis fighter
The girl took a deep breath, standing in an empty room she used to train. Only a few over turned and sliced chairs remained in what used to be some sort of game room, also a poker table, pushed to its side, its ghostly figure resting lazily in the corner of the unlit room. The small area was perfect to train. Small enough to move, but not so big Mitch got overwhelmed. A single, murky-like glass window was up high on the wall, sending in a meagre ray of light, illuminating a square of floor and also showing the presence of millions of dust particles.
Mitch pulled out her sword with a metallic sound, sticking her arm out straight. Her large boy's shirt hung off of her arm, the poof-y white fabric pooling off of her, and threatening to spill over her hands if the girl hadn't rolled up the sleeves first. She wore tighter black pants, made for a boy again, but befitting to the girl's more muscled legs.
She took her fighting stance, her legs in a crouching position, one arm holding the sword straight out, the other behind her, up in a ready position. She did some small steps, testing her balance and ability to be swift in her new, high black boots. She finally lunged forward a couple times, raising her back arm, making the front arm stiff as she poked the wall in front of her with the blade.
The sky-pirate quickly wiped sweat from her brow, putting down her sword and starting to walk in a circle, facing her invisible opponent with a sneer, her right arm dangling, resting, at her side, the left still holding her silver sword. She continued to circle, then suddenly lunged forward, swinging with a swift sort of fashion, holding her breath, and finally going in for the kill as she swung at her invisible opponent's throat.
She sheathed her sword, panting. It was hotter than usual. She ran a hand through her damp hair, making it stand and looked around. She walked out of her training room, her hands behind her head as she walked.

Blue; Clouds flier

The boy stood carefully at the wheel. It was his turn to drive, so he looked upon the vast sky in front of him. He'd suddenly had a change of plans earlier though; supposedly there was some new intel on the location of LF. He'd had to completely turn the ship around, but he eventually did it, smoothly and contentedly, as usual. THe boy kept his unusual eyes in front of him, holding the wheel firm and transfixing on the puffy clouds in front of him, distracting himself with the book he just finished; making up his new ending.
Although it was certainly a great book, it just ended terribly. Blue often thought this though. And often did what he was currently doing. He created the new ending, where the heroine is the one that survives, her love dying tragically in battle while he waited for her to come home from whatever misadventure she'd gone on that time.
In Blue's version, the lover always died. The parents always stayed. He didn't know why it happened this way. He wasn't really a morbid person to be honest, but he jsut found the love of the parents and family more than a temporary lover to be more pure and special than any.
He shook his head out of his daze, looking forward and watching as a blob of birds parted so his ship could go through.

[SmileyWily]

Frankie, Crisis Mechanic in Training
Frankie slowly swings his legs off of the side of the bed. "Come in," he says. He pushes himself off and away from the soft mattress. Frankie shuffles to the door and pulls it open. "You knocked?" he says sort of sarcastically. He walks out of his room and closes the door behind him.
"I'm just kidding. I already its something small with the engine. What happened to it?" he asks and starts walking down the hall and grabbing his gloves from his satchel pocket. He stops as he puts them on and turns to see if she is following him down the gloomy corridor. Frankie wipes his sweaty face off with his pure gray gloves. "Do you have your tools? Mine are down on the bottom level near the um..." He starts twisting his finger in a vertical circle like the giant fan-like thing went.
"I forgot if I asked, but where's the problem located?" he asks as he stares blankly at the cold, hard floor. He was only here to help with the small things and that was it. He had never been asked to help with something bigger like the belts or main generator of the engine. Always the small things.

[Noel]

Skye Briht, Crisis Fighter
((A very... bad post cause I had to write it quickly. ^^"))

Sara might have only nearly walked into Skye, but he was daydreaming and moving forwards; he quite literally walked smack into her. Most fighters had the callings of imaginary worlds smacked out of them the first time they took a wound as a result of not paying attention, but Skye was not most fighters. He had lost an eye and taken more scars then most people could survive, and still found time to stare blankly out a window and ponder ridiculously fantasies like a young child. Until running into the girl, he had been picturing a rather violent daydream, involving gutting someone he was less then fond of. A great many wondered how Skye had ever survived that long, let alone become Co-Captain of the ship. Sometimes Skye wondered as well, but usually his narcissism provided an answer.

Stumbling backwards as his head cracked against something, whether goggles, head, shoulder or something of the sort he wasn't sure, Skye cursed loudly. There wasn't any point to filtering his thoughts, or at least that's what Skye thought. So when his thoughts were cusses, then he let them be heard. Pressing a hand against his forehead, which would only be a bruise at worst, Skye blinked a few times and tried to see what wall he had walked into this time. Or, Skye blushed as he realized, what person. A girl, who normally he would have attacked for running into him, but Skye knew it was just as much his fault as hers. That, and the ship captain threatened to throw him off the edge of the ship it he randomly attacked people anymore. So far he hadn't obeyed that fully but his effort must have showed, for he had yet to become a splatter mark on the ground.

"Ah... ouch." He muttered to himself, before once again remembering that there was another person there. Looking up, still holding his hurt forehead with one gloved hand, Skye muttered a quick apology. "Sorry 'bout that."

[Hobo!]

Mitch; Crisis fighter
Mitch rounded a corner, one she heard a smack from, and kept her hands behind her head. She raised an eyebrow as she heard the multitude of swear words escaping a higher pitched, male sounding voice. She walked a bit farther, two figures coming into view. Two chicks? Who had the guy voice?
Mitch walked carefully up to them, avoiding direct head trauma like she assumed the two of them had just face. A silent 'Ah' escaped her lips when she noted the tall blonde was actually their co-captain Skye. he was a respectable fighter, quite respectable actually, but he was quite a violent boy. Not to mention.. Boy.
The guy looked as though he could be an extra, rarer girl on the ship than the guy he actually was. Mitch carefully brushed passed them, but pretty obviously, purposefully bumped Skye. He already seemed frustrated, why not push her luck a bit?
"Oh, sorry miss-.. Oh, hello Skye." She said, putting her hands to her sides and giving him a smirk. Everybody knew about his violent tendencies; Mitch just wanted to see up close.

[Artesian]

[OoC:

Sometimes Skye wondered as well, but usually his narcissism provided an answer.

xD Heheee! I can imagine what that answer is.]

QUIANA - Cloud Mechanic

Quiana nodded. "Ah, ya' only got so many hours inna day," she agreed sympathetically. Fighters generally weren't very good at the mundane parts of running a ship. They liked swanking about and practicing their sword-play and telling tales.

Still, she bore them no ill will for their incompetence as far cooking, cleaning and fixing went: without fighters, there were no trinkets for her, or, for that matter, fuel for the engine. They kept the ship running almost as much as she did. "An I wouldn't dream o' challengin' ya! I wouldn't know wha' end o' a sword ta' stick inta what," she told Mel, scurrying along towards the kitchens. As long as she had a purpose to her movements, Ki-ki hurried. Something bred into her from centuries in the factories, she supposed, not that she minded.

"Ah, thanks!" Quiana pulled at the old shirt (far too large for her) knotting it up behind her. Loose clothing and cooking did not mix, as she'd learned (with a burn scar to prove it) years ago. "One o' the navigators g'ave it to me. Don't know 'is name, I think ee's from another ship," she informed Mel cheerily. "I was outgrowin' the other one, ee said. True enough, that. I didna expect ta' grow sa much!"

"So," she asked, opening the door to the kitchen. "Anythin' in particular yeh'd like? I 'ear they've got some fresh gouda chees' in from that German town we stopped in yeste'day. Where they heard that tip-top-off that got us all a-scurryin?"

One of the cooks, a fat lady with her hair tied back with a brilliant pink ribbon, glared at her. She wielded a spoon like a club and a plate like a metal discus, it was said. "None for you, missy. That's for the fighters, to keep their strength up."

"Iz for a fighter, ma'am," Kiki told her politely. She looked unsure, but, seeing Mel, nodded and bustled out with a bowl of some sort of tasteless mush for some poor invalid.

QUIANA - is in the kitchens with Mel, feeling cheerful. As usual.




TOR - Crisis Navigator

Tor was thinking.

Today, he'd been asked to lay in a course to the Moroccan outpost.

The Captain had told the Head Navigator who'd told him to make it as fast as possible, and not to worry about fuel. He'd crossed the Alps' on a low swoop and climbing course to maximize lift into the stronger air currents while... well, it had been expensive in fuel. But it'd be fast and he'd never been this close to the alps before.This called for a hanging-out-from-the-underside-of-the-ship-time. He had no name for it, just a description. It wasn't as if he could ever say what he thought of it. He didn't need a word for it... it just was.

He had put on as many layers of his clothes as possible: long underwear, four identical t-shirts, three identical pairs of pants, oil-cloth pants and a thick leather and fur jacket. He'd slipped a ski-mask on and did up the strings on his hood to tie it up tight to his head. Add a set of green-lensed goggles, and he was ready. He pulled the thick loops of rope and hooks from the back of his door and slipped them onto his shoulder. They were surprisingly light, for something so strong.

He'd waddled down to the lowest deck, near the engines (earning more than a few funny looks along the way), and meticulously clipped the ropes onto the service-rings. He tugged on them fiercely and inspected the screws for any sign of rust. All well maintained. He wasn't surprised, but it was best never to be surprised after you'd dropped out of the porthole. That was a terminal and undesirable surprise.

Tor took out a thick piece of white card board and wedged it under a tiedown. It read, in large black letters more like printing than handwriting: Do Not Detach. Do Not Lock Portal. Please. The cardboard was creased from use. Soon, he'd have to make a new sign. He blinked at it momentarily, and listened to the hum of the engines, the hiss of steam venting, and the clack of gears turning. It was too warm up here, in his garb.

He clipped the ropes to his homemade harness, closed his eyes, opened the port hole and dropped...

Dropped...

And caught, hanging on his harness. He heard the wind whistling past his ears. Snow, blown from the peaks of the mountains below him whirled past him, catching in the fur around his hood. Tor grinned so widely that it seemed as if his face would split. Then he opened his eyes.

The mountains swept by beneath him. The storm beneath him was patchy, and he could see around the dense clouds to the mountain towns before. He could even see the hard lines of the border, superimposing them on his mental image of the map back in the Navigator's Nook. Mountains. Trees. A new road, it looked like. All tinged green by his goggles.

Tor hung in silence, watching.

TOR is hanging below the engine room by himself.

[OoC: Frankie and Alex might find his card... or the open porthole.]

[Placebo Effect]

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

She had to wonder, what had been the point of saying come in if Frankie had been on his way out? In response to his sarcasm she gave a smirk, "I didn't knock, I hammered as if it was your head on an anvil and I was the blacksmith." She didn't like being talked to as if she were inferior, by a kid nonetheless. She yawned and stretched as she followed the boy, wondering where exactly he was heading as if he somehow knew where the damage was - if he did, she'd be a mixture of impressed, suprized and worried if Frankie had suddenly become a mind reader.

"What's happened?" Alex yawned slightly as if the conversation was boring her already, though it wasn't since she loved mechanics. Lack of sleep was the cause of her troubles. "Well the exhaust manifolds in the differential have gotten themselves clogged up again." She looked over at him as she watched him act out a machine and realised that techincal terms meant nothing to him. "You know the engine room, where the air filter is? Well the big brown box next to it has pipes inside it which direct the fumes from the air filter outside. The pipes are clogged and I can't get at them. I'll talk you through it it's not hard." She tapped her belt when he asked about her tools, today she'd just decided to clip the things she used most to the belt since it made everything a whole lot easier.

"Oh... And it's rather an urgent fix since we'll all choke to death if it remains clogged. No presure." She grinned as she handed him a screwdriver and a small metal pole with a weird wire brush on the end. "So perhaps we should head there pretty sharpish? Rather than stare at the floor. I know the floor is quite interesting... But I'd rather not cough up my lungs."

{{Ooc: Sure, I directed Alex to the engine room for you~ }}

[SmileyWily]

Frankie, Crisis Mechanic in Training
"Well, sounds fun to me," Frankie says sarcastically. He take the tools and carefully places them in his satchel. Frankie spins around on his heal and starts walking down the path to his. He'd be there in about a minute at his quick pace. He hoped Alex could keep up, because it would be abnormal if somebody so tall couldn't keep up with somebody that's about 11 inches shorter.
He turned left and began his decent on the shaky black ladder. He looked down at his feet to make sure he didn't fall on his way down the scrap of metal. He jumped down, skipping the last 5 rungs of the ladder and started walking down the steamy dark corridor. What did she call that thing? he wondered silently as his footsteps echoed down the long hallway.
He looked at the pipes that ran alongside him and began to quiet his feet. He placed his hand upon a cold, fat pipe and instantly knows it is either air conditioning or water. "What's in this pipe?" he calls back to the mechanic, or his "mentor." Whatever he was supposed to call her. All he knew was that Alex was technically his "superior."

[Placebo Effect]

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

Alex easily followed the smaller boy, and clambered down the ladder with the ease and grace of doing the same thing repeatedly day by day. She caught up to Frankie as he began worrying about pipes, and she took a glance at the one his hand was resting on. "That's the waste water pipe. That's why it's bigger than the rest." She tapped a small black pipe that ran closer to the ceiling, "Heater fluids." The medium sized silver pipes that ran zigzaging across the ship were given a tap next, "Water pipes." She then pointed to the floor, "Air-con pipes are kept under the floor because it's cooler and they are less likely to pick up bacteria under there. Pipe talk over."

She started walking again, "If you follow the copper pipes they take you to the boiler room since they carry hot water. However we're heading to the engine room, all you gotta do is follow the noise of the engines."

[Noel]

((Guys, ten lines. Minimum. Every post. However, don't think you can fool me by hitting the enter key a few times. >_> I want ten lines before you break it into paragraphs. So if I could make it all into one paragraph and it's not ten lines, it's not enough.
if you're typing in small font I'll cut you a bit of slack, but not in normal font.))

Skye Briht
Arrogant Crisis Fighter

Skye normally would have Mitch coming before she even rounded the corner, but he was a bit distracted by the pain in his head, which made everything more difficult as to be expected. He really needed to go ice it before he ended up with another bruise to add to the collection he had received while practicing with other fighters during their rather dull journey to the new informants place. Some people thought bruises were a sign of strength and Skye was usually one of them, but too many of them just made him seem weak. And Skye was known to attack people who thought that he was weak, poor souls. Having just taken head-trauma though, he only realized that another person was in the visual vicinity a half second before she 'accidentally' bumped into him. On reflex he shot a half-foot back, a gesture that normally would have been followed by a snap-kick to whoever it had been's gut. A reflex that a certain captain of the ship had knocked out of him very quickly after a particularly bad incident where he had done that and a certain important person ended up landing in part of the day's meal. Skye still thought that it was hilarious, but others disagreed sadly.
Hearing the 'miss' Skye made himself think that she had been talking to Sara. Of course though, Mitch soon made it very clear that she was pointing out his girlish appearance with the 'Oh'. Skye had been forcefully taught by a captain who often regretted picking such a violent boy as co-captain to stop attacking people on instinct, so just maybe Skye would have been able to hold himself back under the false idea that it was an accident. Instead Mitch smirked, which snapped any remaining restraint Skye had. Wishing he still had his practice sword from earlier, he gave her an irritated smirk, before seemingly teleporting a step forwards. Having stepped with his left leg, his stronger right one was in the air, and currently at about waist-height in a rather powerful kick aimed for her side. Simultaneously, Skye brought his right arm around to try to loop it around her neck to unbalance her.

Post for Mel will come... eventually today. >_<

[SmileyWily]

Frankie, Crisis Mechanic in Training
Frankie nods and walks along. But he had to question that didn't all of the pipes had the same amount of risk at getting the bacteria in them. He continued with his quick pace and stepped faster than her since she had the height advantage. He started hearing the hum of the engine grow louder and louder as they neared the room. He began digging in his satchel as he walked, grabbing a bandanna to cover his face with. He tied it over his nose and mouth, just to keep the fumes out of his weak lungs.
Frankie then grabbed out the two tools that she had handed him earlier held them limply at his side. He then made sure his gloves were pulled up all the way up to his elbows. "Is this clog severe or minor?" he asked, wondering if he would have to use his hands to get it out.
Then Frankie remembered that she might not know since she hasn't yet seen the clog. That's a plus to being smaller than other people. But that lent that he might only be asked to do the smallest things that only his hands could work with. Unless that one other Crisis kid did it. What was his name. Ben? No, it couldn't be that. Frankie then sighed as he heard the engine room that was now only meters away. He slowed down so that Alex could go into the steamy cavern first.