Hot and Bothered

[rassafraggin]

Coastal birds and land crabs pick through the ashes of a night's cookout at the beach firepit. Ten Rebman ships are at anchor in the placid lagoon, and the stone piers are lined with shoreboats, though a large section is taken by the low-sitting Solar Flare with her serpent seahorse figurehead settled in a complacent S-curve. This places a good number of ships' personnel presumably somewhere on the island, probably one of those first-of-the-month meets. Bound to be a lot of fancy men /and/ women in the base. A perfectly devastating time to act should one wish to /explode the island/ today.

Ruby emerges from further inland, exiting the footpath from the forest, occasionally coming into view beyond grassy knolls. It takes some time, so either she's lost or it's the tricksy way that she has to navigate the place. When she's finally on the beach proper, she's eyeing flotila of ships and whomever may be present. She squints up at the sun, as if being outdoors is a little hard on the peepers. Her usual outfit of a loose shirt, medallions and baggy trousers has been discarded in favor of more form-fitting attire. The kind that won't snag. A tight vest and similarly close-fitting shorts, bracers and sandals, all dark fire-resistant leather. A pair of dark-tinted goggles perch atop her pulled-back dreds.

Seated kind of near the remnants of last night's fire, Maggie watches the crabs and birds with the sort of quiet attention that generally indicates either rapt study or thoughts a mile away. Her hands are folded in her lap and she is still enough that a brave crab skuttles closer to her on its way toward the firepit. Who knows? There might be delicacies hidden in those cold ashes.

The deck hatchway of the Solar Flare stands open already, and a couple of men in naval officer uniform climb up and out, followed by Merrisol, less formally dressed but wearing a military armband over his jacket that ranks him as Lieutenant-Colonel. He sets the convex hatch back down and goes over the rail to step across and join his visitors on the pier. Their conversation is rendered to a low garble across the water to the shore. Soon enough, Merri glances over to note familiar persons on the beach, and he starts herding the ships' officers before him towards land.

Mercier is on one end of the beach, sitting down on a convienent rock, fishing rod out, with line in the water. He whistles to himself, a low, mournful tune, as he watches the people come off the ships, with an idle intereast. Rebma /did/ make spying on it somewhat easy. He watches the Solar Flare officers come down, with their Captain, and shakes his head at the company before the rod jerks and he lurches a bit, tugging on it sharply.

Ruby kicks some sand in some imaginary faces and wriggles the grits between her exposed toes. Her nose wrinkles as she inhales the assortment of scents on the beach. She gives a little involuntarly shiver and then makes her way towards the firepit. She looms up on Maggie and a smile begins to slowly transform her slightly ambivalent one into a more friendly kind. "Maggah." she intrudes, "If it ain't me most fav-o-rite femme to share a wee thought or two or three with. Truth."

Maggie catches sight of movement on the pier and her reverie is broken. Taking note of the other captains with Merrisol, she huffs a bit of air out through her nose. Whatever thoughts she might be thinking are masked by a quiet stoicism. Then it is Mercier's catch that steals her attention and she lifts a wave and a smile his way. Spotted! The shadow that falls across her back and extends toward the firepit causes her to tip her head back until she can smile a bit upside-downedly at Ruby, "Ruby!" The delight in her tone is echoes in her eyes, "Good to see you. If you care to sit, we can talk a bit. The Captain meeting won't start right away. How are you?"

After a bit of a struggle, Mercier manages to pull in... something, of okay size. Carefully working to avoid getting too much water from the struggling fix on his clothes, he places the rod down and grabs the thing, extracting the hook, and tossing it into a wooden bucket, with two or three others, before picking up the bucket, and the rod. He's san's coat at the moment, and he makes his way across the beach, a bit, passing close enough to the bonfire site as he does so. Hands full, he provides a nod to the two women.

Ruby crouches down on her haunches beside Maggie and tosses a few leather aprons and what looks suspiciously like some manner of chaps to the sand, terrifying a few ornery crabs in the process and cloaking them in instant nighttime. She rolls her shoulders, eyes still a bit squinty so that two pearls of salty tears threaten to squeak out from the edges of her eyes. She nods a few times and settles while peering off towards Merrisol only briefly, before eyeing Mercier bringing the results of a successful angling. "Doo-doo'n good. Looks like bloody serve-y-tude, but s'all good. Listen...I've got words for you. Good words. Dead good. Have to thank you for our earlier talk. Aboot them ideas'n exercises'n pretend-me-not but pretend-me-do type stoof. Got all knucky-knucky with the heat...like you. Makes things bloody bettah down there."

Maggie's gaze flits to Mercier once more at the nod. She offers the man a grin, "You can clean 'em near the water, Templeton. The sea will take the guts and feed other things. Then you can broil 'em or bake 'em here. We can blow up the fire again." Which is not the same thing as blowing up the island with fire, mind. Shifting in the sand, she watches the crabs skuttle away from Ruby and the shadow of her leathers and tilts her head to see what those caught by the sudden weight and darkness will do. That does not last as Ruby begins talking. Her smile is instant and warm, "Ah? Excellent. Yeah, it makes an enormous difference." The difference between functional down there and dead. "I'm glad to hear it and looking forward to see what you can make down th..." A thought smacks her right between the eyes and she blinks three times. Her attention does one of those shifts from Ruby over toward the Solar Flare and back. "Uh. Uh. Ruby? I need to ask you about something. Making something. But... Let me think on it a while, okay?" She leans close enough to speak quietly enough that her words do not carry to the others.

"Ah, thank you kindly, Captain." Mercier, says, stepping past the fire towards the water and setting the bucket down, then the fishing rod, then a satchel, opening the satchel up to produce something to lay the fish on, a bit farther away from the fire, so, he certainly can't hear whispers. Still, he tries to keep an ear out. Secret Rebman things were going on, and access or not, it /was/ Mercier's job to snoop.

Ruby winks and grabs a handful of sand to grind within a palm. While she polishes her calluses with the fine grit, fingers rolling it against her skin, she moves her glance off of Mercier and eyes maggie thoughtfully. So thoughtfully in fact, she juts her lower jaw forward, creating a short-lived underbite and a more troll-like impression. She mirrors Maggie's lowered voice and replies.

Maggie tosses Mercier a slightly distracted smile, "Anytime, Templeton." Then she listens to Ruby's reply and considers. She even offers a soft, 'hrm' sound before her hands fold in her lap and she leans over to speak again. And again, her tone is soft enough to keep the sekret sekret. Poor Mercier.

Mercier continues the process of beheading and cleaning, cutting, and gutting the first fish, placing the fish head aside, and chucking the bits he doesn't use in the sea, looking proficient enough with the business.

Merrisol and the naval officers amble along onto the beach, where the sand sucks quietly at their boots, then scatters to obscure their passage. As they draw nearer to the communal area of the fire pit, their jibber-jabber apparently concerns the risk assessment of trade incentives masquerading as charity. One of the fellows is snorting, "Luckily you now have an Aunt who happens to head up trade with Amber. If she gives us the nod, I'll be happy to hook up a few scows as they surface." The other Captain nods agreement, "See you inside.. you and Captain Flame. And be prepared to account for the absence of our most valuable asset," he winks. They wave their departure then, nodding deeply to the ladies as they break off and heads up onto the escarpment and away to the trees.
Merrisol continues alone to the pit with a simple air of assurance despite the ominous remonstrance. He inclines his head in polite greeting to Mercier and notes the fishing catch bemusedly. "Hullo Templeton. Good afternoon, Maggie, Ruby.. excuse me," he adds, as he notices he might be interrupting sekret girl chat, the most sekret of all Rebma's sekrets. He diverts a bit to join Mercier at the water's edge. Yay..! Just in time for a roast fish lunch! With a man who wants him hanged!

Ruby listens carefully and has her eyes drawn towards the decapitating of innocent aquatic animals while her ears are for Maggie. She purses her lips and the lids of her eyes lower until they're almost closed. Merrisol's approach has her rasping a quick response to Maggie. Girl talk! Ooooo.

Maggie grins at Ruby as the reply is offered. "Thanks." She lowers her voice again, but stops to offer the captains a respectful nod in greeting before they vanish. Merrisol is given a smile and another nod, "No trouble. We'll be finished in a moment." Girl talk. Can't be rushed, right? Right. Then she relowers her voice to speak for Ruby's ears alone. Again. Must be super important girl talk.

"Mister Merrisol." Mercier responds to the Rebman officer, still working on apportioning the various bits of fish, taking out a jar of... something or another. Hey, at least they're talking! "Enjoying that freedom?" He asks, in a decidedly neutral tone. Best not cause trouble with the Warden of the Deep when surrounded by men he could order to arrest you. He doesn't look up to Merrisol though, continuing his businesss with the second fish.

Ruby slides her jaw back and her lips part. Her jaw then lowers. Ruby's cranium swivels back to Maggie so she can focus her most important senses back to the woman and the topic at hand. There's a relatively substantial pause as she digests the new information. The islands gonna explode! No, that would instigate running. The large woman lets the remaining sand in her hand spiral out between her fingers and leans closer. At this distance, the scent of her recent exertions deep in the earth are mixed with sulfur and the tang of metal. Her brows furrow, creating more dramatic accents above her mismatched eyes. She looks down and then up again as she murmers.

The usual minnow-like scavengers come around to nibble up the gross bits, and the sea birds come wandering down the beach to eyeball the opportunities around Mercier's activities. They're like a microcosm of society and its outlaws, they are.
Merrisol observes the crouching man somehow without giving him a swift nudge of his boot to roll him into the Sea. "Aha, still pissy over that, hm? That's a shame," he glowers, brows slipping off-kilter in annoyed thought. "You asked. I don't know what you expected to hear." He shoves his hands into his pockets, standing about while he waits.

Maggie turns a grin to Ruby. The scent of sweat, sulpher and heated metal does not seem to bother her. Either that or her sense of smell died somewhere and was quietly buried at sea. Whatever the quiet discussion was about, Maggie's nod hints that it might be about finished. "Thank you. Great. Would you like me to speak to Captain Meijanri?" Her glance slips over toward Mercier and Merrisol, their conversation registering with her. The grin fades to a frown as her glance flickers between the two men.

Ruby hunches up her shoulders in a noncommital gesture, a small wince appear on her face. She wobbles up one shoulder, and then alternates with the other, almost mimicing the sideways progress of a crab as she gesticulates. "Aye...Think that'd be grand. Grand as a Goby glowbelly. B'sides...I think she can use a wee chat from someone other than me'n Templeton. She's still torn over Bennie. Truth. One femme Cap'n to another, aye? Blokes tend to muck aboot unless they gots tha tongue for't. An most wag't aboot like'ah Woofah. Wag wag...Need a bibbie." she turns her head to take a gander at what Maggie is spying on. She watches silently as Mercier and Merrisol trade pleasantries. Hmmm, not so much wagging and jabbing.

"Some better defintion and reason then being a thief because you liked the freedom about it." Mercier notes as his hands continue to work, "Not that I don't appreciate the honesty. So yes, it wasn't exactly an enamoring answer." The second fish gets a cut, and the head goes off to the side.

Merrisol notes the volume of the discussion behind them lifting to conversational level, and turns to look at Ruby and Maggie, "Good to see you again, Ruby.. you needn't worry about the cloak anymore, by the way.." Then browraises as the fish head goes roly-polying and the gulls go bananas around them. "That's your own definition again. I would say thievery is a byproduct of the freedom," he says, and more loudly as he takes a step back from the squabble, which concludes with the birds flapping off over the shallows chasing the one with the head hanging by a strip from its beak. "Not the other way 'round!" He narrow-eyes over the fleeing jerks, and inquires, "Shall I get a fire started for those?" Even thieves are capable of asking politely for things, apparently.

Ruby rises up off her haunches and swipes her palm across her hip, producing a faint raspy sound. The mention of the cloak has her raising her eyebrows in suprise. "Aye?" and she peers between Merrisol and Mercier, seeking some manner of clue as to the source of tension. She purses her lips in thought and then blurts, "Bit busy. Bit...noisah." she eyes the gulls and their squabblings. "These all gonna come down intah the bloody furnace?"

"It is not /my/ definition of a pirate, but the accept one. A pirate, by definition, is a man who robs shipping at sea. If there is some dictionary that I am not familier with that says a pirate is a sailor flitting about without a flag, then I would love to see it." He says, tossing bits of guts father out so they actually reach the sea, "As you want, it'll get started one way or another." He notes, turning his head to regard Ruby idly as she enters into a bit of the conversation, "Furnace, eh?"

Merrisol gestures to the pit. "Here, I thought. I'm not certain lava-fried fish is all that healthy for digestion," he remarks. Another studious glance down to Mercier, and he scoffs, "The pirates of your past acquaintance formed your viewpoint, not some book of widely-accepted terms. I don't know which is a worse platform to stand upon for arguing prejudice, really.. and here we are again at the mental impasse, Templeton." He ends on a frustrated note, to look back at Maggie and Ruby, noticing the frowns, and exhaling. "Apologies.. how rude to bicker before you both." If only he could have done the ear-whispery girl thing like how they do. He resolves, "You were saying, Ruby, about the forge?

Ruby nods to Mercier very seriously, her mouth twitching to the side in a half-smirk. She waggles her eyebrows for added effect. "Bloody 'ot. Bake yer guts in your tummah before your edges crisp. Well, mebbe not 'as 'ot as that if you keep to the safe places, just don't goo-goo dipp'n your pokey bits in the bins or molds or troughs 'o melty stoof. If you're visitin the forge that is. Made sum good stoof. Dead good." she stops and switches gears. The process making her look like she needs to sneeze or denounce a god somewhere. Her expression becomes more serious as she speaks of the forge. "Aye...Look. Listen. Lemme just say it's bloody grand as a goldfish down there. Truth. Lemme also just say...it wouldn't 'urt to get a few more bodies manning the 'ammers and anvils. Thumpy thwacky tim-tam-tum. Right now, just me. An I could use a few 'ard types to lug'n carry and ferry so I can get on with the important bits. Was gonna ask b'fore, but there was the cloak'n the Cap'n need'n some attention. Plus, an no minus, need more special 'elp time tah time. Like...when you see what I'm gonna show ya, you'll be impressed. An you can call me Ritter if it isn't so. But all same, gud to pick the skull of'ah arty-san now an then of the more 'ocus-pocus sort. Truth." she takes a breath to reinflate.

Maggie's brows lift as Mercier gives his opinion and Merrisol offers his rejoinder. Her expression goes from animated to sober to irritated in a heartbeat. Uncurling from where she sits, Maggie gently dusts off her trousers. She is careful not to scatter grains of sand over Ruby. When she stands up again, she looks almost as firey as her moniker indicates. Lifting her arms, she folds them beneath her chest. But, Ruby begins to speak and it is a very good thing that she does. It gives Maggie a chance to temper her temper and tamp down her ire. The look she directs to Ruby is gentler than that aimed at the two men, "I'm sure you can hire whomever you need, Ruby. Just make sure that they sign the agreement so we can give it to Martin. If you need funds, please let me know. Okay?" Then she looks back at Mercier. The look is penetrating. Her eyes flip to Merrisol and she keeps her tone calm, "When is the meeting to begin? Are we waiting on Meijanri?" Because... that's far easier to deal with right now.

"The culinary qualities of lava fried fish have not been explored." Mercier notes, idly, looking to Ruby as she's speaking, giving a slight nod, "Ah, well, I imagine those are all good qualities of a forge... though I wouldn't intend to stick my uh... 'pokey-bits' in anything nearly that dangerous...." He furrows his brow, "Though... yes...." He quibbles with silently, before shrugging a bit and continuing his work, passively listening to Ruby's job offer, inwardly taking note of 'something to show' Merrisol, and the subsequent bit about signed agreements and Martin's approval. Something was certainly going on. He finishes with the second fish and reaches down to open the jar of solution, to apply a cure to the fish, "So what definition am I missing, Mister? What definition does Amber use when they send pirate hunts out, or Minos use when we have to avoid using names around admiral's and officers. What do /they/ think a pirate is?" He doesn't seem... overly effected by Maggie's penatrating look, but its noted, "She.... I don't know."

A few hundred yards offshore, a menacing dorsal fin emerges from the surface, splitting a fine wake like a blade of silver-gray. From the tip dangles the ring of a piercing, which would suggest this particular shark knows how to accessorize. Even if it's -clearly- up to no good. This is probably Mercier's fault. Him and his delicious fishes.

A dark form rises in the surf behind Mej as she nears the shore. Followed by some splashes as it leaps over her trailing coils and back into the foam. In the brief moment it was above the water their was the impression of wide and laughing eyes one the vaguely doggish face of the seal. Moments later the seal wade-wiggles up onto the beach, before shimmering into the form of Ruben. Bizarrely still dressed for some deep desert shadow. Cheerfully calling, "Greetings, hello!"

Ruby stares between the assembled personalities. "Aye...This be really cozy and all..." she trails off as the group is addressed. She turns her head and looks towards where the beach meets the water. Some manner of disturbance in the water. Near the water. A se...it's a guy now. She blinks and considers actually rubbing her eyes.

Meijanri knows a manatee when she sees one. There goes the neighborhood. As she pulls herself up onto shore and slithers out into the sand she looks discernably less cheerful than the manatee, which is absolutely not a seal. More like man-atee, if you ask her. She glances briefly at the weapon on the man-atee's hip and nearly scoffs, expression dour as she moves beyond him without a second look. Knock-offs.

Merrisol listens with intense single-mindedness while Ruby speaks. He nods a few times to keep her going until the end of her spiel, and then imperceptible settles back from it, giving it consideration and casting his gaze to Maggie, then back to Mercier. In a moment, he's tackling the questions in an order he deems best: "I settled the matters concerning the Solar Flare earlier," he tells Maggie, "and as you heard we will both need to attend the afternoon session.. not for a while yet. Templeton," he looks at Mercier, "kindly give it a rest. We'll never resolve our differences if we keep on with generalities." He frowns dubiously but offers civilly, even hopefully, "Let's take it up later, alright?" Lastly, to Ruby he nods and directs, "Show me how you've set up, then.. and I'll make the necessary requisitions. As to the.. specialists. I know a few, as does Maggie. It depends on what you are aiming for..." He gestures, weighing things in his hands. "Personal arms and defence, or grander in scope.. ship arms and the like." He looks around to see the more unusual specimens of Rebmanity (but not Rebmanatee) come to terrorize them with their blubber....ing...? Ahrm. "Lady Meijanri.. Lord Ruben. Good day," he calls.

Ruben rolls his eyes at Mej's 'cold shouldering' and approaches Merrisol, grinning. "And a good day to you Captains, and, is it 'miss' Ruby?" As he searches his memory for a possibly forgotten title Ruby might have.

Mercier gives Merrisol a level look, before shrugging, "I cannot keep you hear, nor compel you to answer those questions." Mercier responds, before sighing, "However you please, I'm not here to keep you lot from important matters of state or the machinations of the deep, or something else sufficiently dramatic." He turns his head as Meijanri swims up, followed by that seal fellow he met before. He raises both eyebrows at the presence of Meijanri, but stands up as she arrives, politely, "Meijanri... good to see you."

Again Maggie's attention flashes to Merrisol and Mercier. Again her eyes narrow slightly. She purses her lips as though struggling to avoid commentary. This is difficult for her, as she is so often governed by impulse. Her lips compress into a faintly harder than usual line, though her eyes drop to the spent fire pit rather than leave her thoughts echoing in her gaze. The contemplation of ash is not maintained as Ruben's voice announces his presence. She looks up, gaze clearer, "Hey, Ruben. Good to see you." Meijanri's slithering presence captures her and she starts away from the firepit where she and Ruby were head to head in deep conversation. "Mei." Her focus settles on the Undine and she extends the offer of a hug.

Ruby lifts a foot and shakes sand from the sandal. She does the same to the other despite the fact that walking back up the beach will just insert grit again. She smacks her hands together and rubs. And then spies Meijanri. "Aye! It's the Cap'n." she practically hoots. The large woman then notes her expression and notes the familiar expression. Ruby winds down the spring inside her and returns to a more level-headed state. She rasps, "Aye...It's the Cap'n." The second utterance given a whole new slant and tone of voice. With that extra unnecessary bit of dialogue she turns to Lord Ruben and finds a flicker of recollection threatening her frontal lobe. She gives a sharp affirmative nod to Ruben and raises her voice. "Rubah...If it 'elps it roll oof the tongue, you be welcome to use extra fancy bits, but I'm none bothered by the lack."

Meijanri gives Merrisol, Ruby and Mercier each a nod of her head, pulling her wide-brimmed hat lower on her face to shield her eyes. She approaches Maggie and gives her a gentle - and soggy - embrace in return, but says nothing. Folding her hands behind her back, she simply listens, a stoic and somber look on her face. Looks like she isn't quite done grieving yet, but there's work to be done. One cannot mourn forever.

Ruby turns to Merrisol and addresses his question in particular. "Let's get this mobile then, aye? If you follow me holes in the sand we could mebbe get down in the deep b'fore it's eat-time." she swallows and takes a breath. "Got a few ideas to improve...course, this is all thoughts. An I nevah write'm down, so I gotta wait till they surface and not pop. Try to keep'm from popping."

Merrisol inclines his head a bit to acknowledge Mercier's statements, spoken truly if with a certain 'tone' to them. Meijanri's subdued nod beneath the hat draws his attention for a few silent significant beats, watching Maggie go to her, awww. Himself, he waits on Ruby's excitements over Meijanri's arrival to subside before starting to repeat, "Ahh, you were going to show your accomplishments in the forge, I believe, Ruby?" Oh.. wait, she's remembered herself, so he nods and headtilts. "Holes in the sand.. beg pardon? Oh.." Footprints. Right? Please do not be digging extra tunnels through the island substructure please. "Shall we, then?" He glances over to encompass the others, assessing them but apparently seeing no obstacle for any to come with, if they so choose. Except.. "I can provide some suits to manage the heat." Except.. "Meijanri, I ah.. don't have anything ready to fit. How do Undine fare in great heat..?"

Maggie does not seem to mind that the hug is damp. She's used to varying degrees of dampness from her friends. After all, some of her favorite people are members of the greater Rebmanity. Stepping to one side, she motions Meijanri forward. Glancing up at Merrisol, she pauses as though the notion that anyone has trouble with heat is new to her. It isn't. She just... Finds it odd and kind of awkward at times. "Um... f you would rather stay above, I will remain with you, Meijanri. I can go see Ruby's accomplishments after the Captain's meeting." Though she does kind of harken toward the others, "Though if you are okay with heat, we can certainly go on down."

Meijanri gives her head a shake, "The sort of heat you're talking about, I think would be too much for me. I'll stay here and keep an eye on things." Pulling her long tail into a coil, she settles down into the sand. "Please make sure my crew makes it back alive and uncooked?" She shakes her head to Maggie as well, "It wouldn't do for Captain Flame to blanch at a little heat. I'll be fine by myself." A hand brushes along her scales, shaking some sand loose, "Though if you'd prefer to stay here, I have no objections."

Mercier looks at the two cured fish, then reaches into a vest pocket to produce his pocketwatch. Opening the case, he spies the time, and frowns at it, snapping the case closed and placing it back in his vest. As the poor sad Undine goes to hug Maggie, Mercier leans down and proceeds to wrap the two fillets he's produced and applied a cure to, looking about before digging a bit into the sand to bury the wrapped fish. The third fish in the bucket gets a look, before Mercier sighs at it. "Best be getting to the Kelpie. You're lucky day, poor fish." He says, picking up the bucket and walking to the ocean, letting the live fish go.

Ruby frowns when it appears Meijanri will not be accompanying them. But it's show and tell day! Her eyes sweep left and right, as if something within her field of vision can be thrown together to solve the problem. Stupid brain. A sound in her throat builds. It slowly resolves into words rather than a dissapointed groaning sound. "What Fa...Merri said. Truth. Let's goo-goo. I'd drop anythin that you don't want to get soppy-soaky. It ain't wet, but you're gonna sweat like you gone swimmin. Less kit on, the bettah. Unless you gots ways to be knucky-knucky with inside 'o a bloody volcano, take the suits..." she trails off and offers Meijanri a last concerned look before turning about and stalking her ways towards the interior of the island.

This is a footpath into the forest beyond the grassy knolls overlooking the beach, and is the correct one amongst a dozen other false leads. It's a shadowy spot that hooks left and runs into a large briar patch. Luckily there's a bower-like opening through which most humanoids can walk upright. Up the slope on a path that seems like it's aiming for one of those exposed watchtowers, it forks after a while and the other path doubles back discouragingly towards the beach again. It however is the correct route; it curves under itself and enters a cliff-side clearing where waterfalls thunder down into a steep chasm. A natural land bridge spans across into opposite cliff-face, and there is the entry to Gwyn Gaer, Rebma's secret island stronghold. Visitors are met by sentries performing spot-checks at least once along the way. ((OOC)) Kindly RP responsibly whether you are authorized or not.

A volcanic fissure, formed long ago and since fortified, running just under the lava crust, towards a small island to the southwest, and closer to the heart of an undersea volcano. A heavy sweat can be achieved by those so inclined, just walking through the steamy causeway towards the Forge. At several points, the crust of the old fissure has flaked away to expose the tunnel to the sea, but the opalwood and shatterproof glass and ceramic fortifications keep implosive flooding at bay.

Ruby smoothes any loose coils of hair back and ties them with a rough loop of leather. The goggles atop her head are resettled and she stalks along the causeway to the forge. She peers through one of the visible flaked away areas of the crust, peering momentarily to see if anything is staring back from the dark water held at bay. "Not long now. Truth. If it glows...don't touch't. If it sizzies...don't touch't." her voice carries an odd acoustic within the area, as will others. The heat in this place is really something. Though for a wonder, Ruby refrains from sweating or having any trouble breathing.


--[ Volcanic Forge ]-----------------------------------------[ Somewhere ]----

Entering the forge allows the eardrums to come back to a more bearable
pressure. Beyond the threshold that looks like it could belong in a
vault, large gears and levers and a groove in the floor keep things
very firmly open or closed. To call it stygian would be apt. Troughs
and trenches run in orderly patterns. Very orderly, though not
everything appears fully functional. Large ominous crucibles line
themselves against a far wall, looking formidable enough to transport
superheated alloys and liquid rock to a series of empty stone pools.
Hewn from the very rock, these basins could hold pre-made molds or
simply create a stew of magma. One thin experimental trench is
currently casting an evil orange glow up towards the ceiling,
providing illumination and intense heat. Discarded cutting tools and
mauls lay in piles or leaning against stalagmites. The atmosphere is
an oven.

Thermal Levels --> Subterranean Hot Spring

-------------------------------------------------------------[ Exits: NE ]----


Ruby crosses the threshold and immediately starts off towards one of the far walls, letting people assemble and find a non-lethal area to meander and whatnot. The other workstations are empty of any other smiths of craftsmen. No hollow ringing of hammers. There is the constant sizzle and intense heat that makes if feel as if the very forge is alive with elemental forces. About the room is evidence of trying to harness that force into something productive. The fruits of which are arrayed on the wall or leaned against recesses in the walls. Prototype cannon molds, axe-heads, hammers, steelwork for ships, anchors, heaps of chain. Ruby heads over to a wall of tall tridents and other weighty weapons of war. She takes in a deep breath and grins widely. "Smear yer marbles over't. Take a peek." she adds quickly, "Mind the 'ot spots."

Maggie walks after Ruby into the volcanic forge. Like the smith, the captain does not seem to be overly bothered by the heat. Stepping over the threshold, she pauses to take in the sights. It takes her a moment to assimilate the area, what with the searing yellows and reds of the magma, the oranges, blacks and browns. Stepping forward slowly, she whistles very softly, "Wow." Such eloquence. Slowly a grin flares at her lips and she increases her pace, "Ruby, this is amazing." And she hasn't even looked at the molds yet!

Mercier left his satchel in the Kelpie sanctuary, after promising a certain bonded sea creature that he would be back momentarily. Despite the company, the change to get a good look at Rebman military-industrial capacity was hard to pass up. One never knew when one had to blow something up, after all. Slipping back into the group, Mercier keeps quiet, and unobtrusive, for the most part, though he does remove his hat and roll up his sleeves, "Its hotter then a Queen's Consort down here." Mercier notes, whiping his brow.

Merrisol detours a moment into a storage level and brings out a case of some proto-type suits and frontal aprons that shimmer reflectively over its tight organic weave. These, he explains, are developed from the thermophile species of kelp found thriving very close to the superhot chemical vents in the region. A further layer of fibrous insulation within bulks out the back-loading top, with built-in gloves, and the full-legged trousers with built-in boots. The headware features a thickly-shielded visor, so vision would be fairly limited. The suits are for occasional purposes only, it seems. Visitors, not working Rubys.
"I highly advise these, if you are going to linger for any amount of time close to the crucible or other exposed elements. If only for some modesty after your clothes ignite." Merrisol strips his shirt but wears a pair of the pants, and offers Maggie an apron for that reason, with the remainders to be brought along through the sweaty tunnel... in case of someone's equipment malfunctions and a spare is required. Yeah, that's right. Test subjects gonna test. Merri has a risk of his own to undertake, pausing at the baking entrance to the vault to activate his tattoo, still visible under the sheen of perspiration. Fwoosh. "Look at that.." he mutters, squinting through the vapours, and taking it step by step until he is assured of effects. Taking a moment to regard his own person in bemusement, he turns back to the array of weaponry. "May I..?" he asks Ruby, with a anticipatory move to take a trident down from the display set up away from the melty heat.

Ruby moves along the wall, like some distorted caricature of a showroom model, letting her fingers trace over the armaments that are actually completed. Some interesting examples of shields, though some not perfectly round. There is an evolution on display here. A niche has cast-offs and perhaps ruined items that punctuate the otherwise fair display of smithing. No personal style dominates what is shown until a /pocket/ of the best pieces of metal work are segregated from the rest. She beams with pride, fairly radiates with it. Or that could be the heat. She nods enthusiastically to Merrisol. "Be me guest! Goo-goo, grip'ah shaft, grabb'ah 'andle. Everybody free to touch'n poke'n whatnot.../Pleazzzdoo/." she tries to accentuate in a formal manner, and even tries a horrible bow at the waist. When she straightens again, she yaps happily, "Weapons'r good. You can really git a good swing an really pound sum feel'ns intah the metal. An the glowy goop makes it all weebly-wobblah. It weeps...cries like'ah wee sticky beebbie...An then you make't strong again. A weak wee beebbie in'tah a strong woomin."

Mercier takes a moment to don and doff the appropriate equipment, after a subtle glance over it himself as the form and function are explained... and to ensure it looks about as well built and free from defect as the others. He looks at the goods and listens, but doesn't bother picking any up since... well... he wouldn't have much ability to swing things about in the suit anyway.

Ruben movoes along with the crowed and accepts one of Meri's mysterious suits, eager to see what the fuss is about.

Maggie almost foregoes the offered protective gear, but remembers how her clothing caught fire the last time she was here. A faint blush touches her cheeks and she nods a grateful smile to Merrisol, "Thanks." Donning the apron, she sort of shrugs it into place and voila! No embarassingly exposed Maggie-flesh even if the seams begin to smoulder. Or worse. Then she steps off after Ruby and Merrisol to survey the progression of pieces from the castoffs to the utilitarian to the ultra-cool. One hand lifts to finger the handle of a hammer. Hefting it, she clasps it, the metal fitting to her hand fairly well. Testing the balance, she darts a grin Ruby's way, "You did a really good job with these, Ruby."

Merrisol takes the weapon down carefully by its haft, close to the junction of graceful branching tines. He turns, letting light glow down its length to look for telltale bends or weaknesses in the joints or lengths. "This.. and a sampling from the best of the others.." he decides, "should be brought to show the Regent. I know he'll be delighted to know his forge has a talented smith once more." Uh. What.. happened to the last one? Merrisol goes on without missing a beat, "I'll let the outfitters know there'll be new chain to weigh and test." He steps away from the alcove with the trident still in hand, to play around with it in a more open space.

Meijanri is back up on the shore, poking a hermit crab with a stick.

Mercier is in his firesuit, not handling the weapons, still a little wary in handling the heavy weapons so encumbered. Still, he watched the others handle them, and takes mental note of their speech. He finally does pick up a dagger or knife of sorts and tosses it up briefly, nodding an approving fashion, before placing the knife down.

To (Merrisol, Mercier, Maggie), Ruby pages: Since you've decided to pick up a few of the weapons. Along the haft of the weapons you've chosen...There is a blackish residue. Definitely out of place, whether you're a crafter or not. It's a little raised, like a layer of skin. On Maggie's hammer, it collects where the shaft has been attached to the head, curling around like a rubber washer. On Merrisol's trident, collects between the forks, evidence of which becomes more apparent when the ambient glow of the forge highlights what should be not be present. On Mercier's dagger, after the weapon has been given a good artful toss, just as it's put back down a speck of something 'off' on the very bottom of the knife pommel where bare metal has not been covered by leather wrap, but by the residue.

Or... Mercier's about to place down, when he pauses at something. Its hard to tell... he runs his thumb over the daggers hilt and then raises it to the visor, as difficult as it is to see through it. He flips the dagger about in his hand, and rubs the residue against one of the walls.

It takes less than a moment for Maggie's delight in Ruby's handiwork to fade to concern. Her brows draw downward toward a frown as her gaze focuses almost sternly on the hammer. Turning it this way and that she runs her finger's tip up the haft, pausing before she touches the join. Spinning it around, she inspects the spot where the head meets the haft. Lifting it, she sniff sniff sniffs right there. Lifting her head with a jerk, she darts a glance first to Merrisol's trident, then to the dagger Mercier tossed. "Kerf. Templeton." But, clearly Templeton has seen it. Maggie moves toward Merrisol.

Merrisol was getting in touch with his inner gladiator, twirling the trident slowly from hand to hand. And gleaming. He gets to pondering the range of his fireproofness, however, and is now working his way closer towards one of the troughs currently glowing with a line of molten goop. Standing so close to exposed lava is so new and geekily fascinating, that Merri only just then remembers that he's still holding the poor pretty trident. He takes a few steps back and begins to inspect the weapon solicitously for.. erm.. droopiness. Finding spots of blackness near the business end, he frowns with concern. Ruby's gonna flay him. Maybe if he... licks his thumb and scrubs it off... like... "Yes Maggie..?" he pauses, turning her way.

Ruby pages: If touched. The gunk can be scraped off. It is very keen on sticking to metal however. It loves it. It will be attracted to other pieces of metal if temporarily removed. Sluggishly creeping over surfaces to try and find another bit of metal to hump against.

Ruby feels all that wonderful glowing pride and happiness. That is until an imaginary icecube dropped down her spine from the paws of the evil Lord buzzkill. She drains of all those positive vibes and widen her eyes, her gaze sweeping from one person to another. She starts shaking her head, already preparing to deny or dispute anything even remotely negative about what's happening. Getting her feet to move is a challenge. The muscles in her legs spasm, anxiety welling up.

Mercier examines the dagger again, frowning a bit at the goop, "Hmm..." He says idly, acknowledging Maggie's statement, before it dawns on him that she addressed Merrisol as well. He looks up and notes the concern in the other guest's demeaners, "Ruby, I was curious about this byproduct here... something to do with the forge or its fuel." He notes stepping towards the woman, showing the remaining stuff on the hilt of the dagger, "I imagine there might be similar concerns there... seems a little... different then simple patina."

Maggie winces as Merrisol rubs at the stuff with a thumb. She lifts the hammer she is still holding and turns it so that the join shows. There is a ring of blackness there that is reminiscent of a washer. Lifting her other hand, she scratches at the stuff and some does come off beneath her nail. "It is like... I don't know. It feels organic rather then metal." Turning, she watches Mercier ask Ruby about it, curiosity in her gaze, "The craftsmanship is amazing, Ruby." Just to be clear and; perhaps, to alleviate the smith's clear concern.

Merrisol had been rubbing at a black spot with the pad of his thumb, but stops as he sees the concern in Maggie's expression. He lifts his hand away enough that he can turn his thumb and examine it, expecting to see his whorled print caked with ashiness. Instead, it's still clean, although the slight impression of his thumb is still present across the tenacious mark upon the steel tine. As he watches, it reestablishes its even coating. Hm. He looks back at Maggie's activities, then over to Mercier, and then Ruby. "Organic life is possible at these temperatures," he nods. "This is unusual though.. is it corroding the metal?" He stands back and carefully checks the coated tine for brittleness.

Ruby swallows visibly and stiffens when Mercier approaches with the dagger. She almost doesn't want to look. Hesitant as hell to have the proof before her own eyes. The large woman's eyes narrow behind the almost opaque goggles, her pulse picking up so that a vein in her neck starts visibly throbbing. Maggie's efforts to try and use kid gloves has her in a sort of stable simmer. She's getting angry and worried and that forces her to look upon the dagger Mercier holds. Ruby stares at it like it just sold her out. Damn backstabbing knives. "That bloody shite wasn't there a few days ago. I...I dunno what tha is. What the fook...Life?!" she starts, as if goosed, and tears over towards the rack where the weapons were removed. She rips off the goggles and starts frantically checking for more signs of the gunk. "No no nononono..."

To (Merrisol, Mercier, Maggie), Ruby pages: If you move the gunk/skin away from where it's been squatting like a blob of evil pudding, metal fatigue is noticable. Brittle between the tines of the Trident and the bottom of the knife pommel. The metal can actually be moved like puddy at the base of Maggie's hammer...the head will bend if put enough enough pressure. Which is all very...very odd.
To (Merrisol, Mercier, Maggie), Ruby pages: It does not smell like pudding either. It has a faint scent of the ocean to it. Not fishy per se, but salt-water and organic.

"Life?" Mercier says, looking to Merrisol and Maggie, before looking back to the dagger, "Well, lets not panic, everything dies. We just use an... acid bath, pesticide, bleach something like..." He presses on the metal, and it warps, "Something like...." He briefly smiles at it, "How incredably odd...."

Looking again at the ring of stuff where the hammer's head meets the handle, Maggie frowns. "You think this is alive, Kerf?" Turning the hammer around, she looks for where her nail scrapped at the stuff. But, no. There is no longer a mark. The stuff has filled in the small scratches. Lifting her hand, she pulls the pad of her thumb from the nail and scraps the stuff out from beneath it. Turning to watch Mercier with the dagger, she blinks. Curiosity takes over and she turns her attention back to the hammer. Frowning at it, as though it has somehow done her an injustice, she presses against the hammer's head. And... it bends. "Huh. Now... That isn't supposed to happen." How helpful, Maggie. Lifting the hammer again, she sniffs at it, fully expecting to sense... something that she does not sense. "Well. There is no magic about it. But, it smells... Like..." Her eyes close, so she misses the bit of gunk she took from beneath her nail creeping toward the hammer she still holds. "Um. Like the ocean. Sort of. Like the way really fresh seaweed smells. Not rancid or old but clean and... yeah... Organic." Like life.

Merri glances at Ruby in panic-mode, and holds off on trying to bend her smithywork.. until she's torn off toward the display rack. Observing the experiments conducted by the other two, he frowns studiously and grips the nocked length of the trident's middle spear and gives it increasing pressure in an unprescribed direction. It seems to hold for a few moment, then a fissure opens beneath the mark and he snaps the tine clean off. Whhhoops. Merrisol stands rooted with uncertainty, while a trailing bit of sludge dislodged by the force of the break gathers itself and plasters to the broken edges. "If it's not alive, then it's a magnetic compound attracted to something in the metal," he muses, intrigued. He brings exposed steel from the broken tine slowly closer to a stain on the trident proper, peering with interest as the goo seems to reach out in a miniscule ripple of spines to attach itself to the fresh surface. "Like lode. The way it moves, though.. reminds me of.. Maggie, remember Thyasis? The mold. Ruby..?" He lowers the snapped weapon and goes to help the woman check racks and bins.

Ruby pages: The sludgy yuck will jump from compromised metal to healthier bits that are offered or prodded against it. The weakened brittle bits are no longer delish to it, as if it had licked off the choice icing and left the saliva-soiled cake beneath in favor of more sugar.

Ruby goes along the wall rack like an incontinent person looking for the Pepto at the pharmacy. Her eyes rake up and down the lethal bits of metal. Twitching fingers grab and twist before appraising with winces and narrowed eyes. She makes a warbling groan and plucks an axe off the wall. She quickly takes it a bare section of the forge without anything but bare rock and drops it with a clang. That completed, she hurries back to the wall of weapons and makes her way to the edge to continue checking. When she gets to the twisted attempts at earlier smithing she gets on her hands and knees and almost sobs when she notices patches of the skin clinging like taffy. One even lazily gloops when the metal it clings to looses it's rigidity just curls downward like the skin of a banana peel and lays against a fresh length of steel. When upon the new strand of virgin metal...it grows and divides, moving in opposite directions along the length. She pants and stares at the phenomena, shuddering.

"A solid observation and conclusion if there didn't happen to be more of it....." Mercier notes, "Its either a reaction or..." He looks as Ruby begins her search, assisted by Merrisol and examines the results while standing an appropriate distence away. The dagger droooping was especially dramatic, as was the fresh blades infection, "Alright, slow down... /slow down/." Mercier urges Ruby, placing the dagger down on a surface free from metal, and moving up to place a hand on Ruby's shoulder, "Its alright... do you understand, its alright." He turns to Merrisol, voice neutral, "I'd recommend taking this to your ship's spaces but... that seems ill advised. The hotsprings, next door... we need a laboratory. This could be.... momumentus or devestating, depending."

Maggie's eyes snap open when she hears the tine snap off of the trident Merrisol has. Her gaze touches the weapon, then flies to Ruby where the woman is sorting through weapons. She takes a step toward them when Merrisol's comment brings that mold to mind, "Oh, man. Yes. It has clear similarities." Her attention turns to the hammer and she winces as the ring she was looking at earlier ripples and expands. The glop from beneath her nail has made it to the hammer's handle and settled happily on a fresh spot. "I kind of want to dunk this in the lava to see what happens. But, if it can live here, then that might not be hot enough to kill it. And if it isn't, I don't really want to spread it through whatever metal exists there." Blinking, she turns to Mercier, "Momentus? How so?" Devestating seems more in keeping with what is happening to her. Watching the three cluster near the other weapons, she steps toward them, halting when she sees the glop gloop onto the fresh metal, "Oh, man. I can try to burn it... Though that might not really have any effect. At least with my fire it won't get into the lava."

Merrisol stands back from the barrels of finished chain links, and bends to take up the broken tine. "If it's multiplying itself on steel, this needs to be contained," he agrees, and further declares, "Nothing metal leaves this chamber except in a sealed container. We will need a laboratory, and there is one on the SF. We also need Quinlan." He looks over at Maggie. "Stand back from it before you try burning.. your fire isn't natural. It's magic.."

Ruby stares at the pile of infected metal and grips her hands into fists. She pushes her knuckles into the rock floor and kneels forward akin to a big gorilla. Her nostrils flare and she tries to calm herself. Under Mercier's hand her muscles are quivering with barely restrained fury. She draws in her bottom lip and starts to seriously indent her flesh. About to draw blood she shakes her head and the coil of hair behind her sweeps and rustles. She leans backwards and slowly sweeps her eyes about the forge. The anvils. The hammers. The tongs. The other rack of weapons. The chain. The cannons. "..." she opens her mouth and despite the heat, feels an unwelcome chill. "I gotta check everythin. It can't git to the bloody big stoof...Fook'n doomed..."

"We will need a laboratory, but not the one on the solar flare... theres took much risk there. If this lives down here, there's no telling if it will live in water or not. And unless that whole deck is covered in wood or glass.... its too dangerous. We've got hotsprings in the other room, but more importantly, a single point of access, and cool enough to present without these damn suits." He looks to Merrisol, then to Maggie, shaking his head, "Yes, Monumentously devestating... sorry, I misspoke." Good, Isidore, good, don't tell the sea people what they've got. Mercier looks to Ruby, "Did you just use steel? Iron? Is there anything based on copper? Maritime brass, bronze, down here?"

For some reason, Maggie looks from Merrisol to Mercier and back again. For a moment, it seems as though she might not say why. Then, softly, she smiles at Merrisol. "You two..." And that? Is that. For the moment. Turning, she takes the hammer to a spot where stone lies bare in the heat. Setting it down away from other bits of metal, she backs away and crouches, "Gimme a sec. I'll try Quinlan. First...?" She narrows her eyes and points one finger. A spark blooms on her fingertip. Rather than remaining just that, however, it grows and extends until it takes on the shape and length of a rapier. Maggie sort of stares at it for a moment, then guids the tip over the goop. A spark drops from the rapier's tip to settle on the ring of blackness around where the head meets the haft. Magical fire, meet non-magical organic goop. And burn?

Merrisol headtilts studiously as Mercier dictates what will and won't be done with the material. "You know nothing about the Solar Flare," he says impatiently, "and the hot springs are not a sterile laboratory environment. We haven't found the source, but it if came in through another of the fissures in this chamber, the rest of Gwyn Gaer is not to be compromised." He inclines his head, the other way now, regarding Mercier for a curious moment, though probably not with the same quirky thought Maggie had. The spark of her flame draws his gaze over to the attempt to burn off the metal-lovin' slime.

The effect of the flame on the ring of blackness is rather dramatic and intantaneous. Nothing happened while the flame was being transported through the air. But when the /drop/ of magic fire /touched/ the stuff, the stuff reacted. The first thing to happen was a sort of thrum, like a subsonic call from a whale or elephant. The black skin looks like wants to move away from the drop that sizzles towards it, but then suddenly laps upwards with an extruded stretching of itself, a more translucent /skin/ appearing overtop the black goop like was wearing a sleeve of jelly. It grows and lengthens and squeezes itself like paste out a tube. The pseudopod like taffy-stretch, surrounded by a new almost intangible aura of see-through flesh arcs towards the manifestation of the rapier-form like arc lightning. The sound of metal nails scratching along sheets of metal plating squawk like super-charged feedback.

Ruby rocks forward and then backwards so she can roll onto her heels and get upright. Once she's at her full height she seems confused by Mercier's question. she squints and nods. "All sorts worked on 'ere. Not much coppah right now...But everythin. Steel, ironworks, bloody alloys..." she almost goes over onto her backside when things start going nuts. She takes a few cowardly steps backwards and bares her teeth in a rictus of fear.

OOC> Merrisol says, "Pawdon me if I am not visualizing correctly, but is it sorta like when the folks in The Thing touched the petri dish of bad blood with the hot copper wire. Leaping at the threat rather than recoiling, though?"
OOC> Ruby says, "Yup yup."

Mercier peers as Maggie does her magic fire thing and watches the goop just act.... well, very /not/ like a slow growing mold, and make that horrifying sound. He winces and covers his ears, briefly, before shaking his head and baring his teeth, through the visor, though that reaction dissipates quickly, as he moves forward, probably with a few other people, towards the threat.

For an instant, Maggie freezes as the stuff makes that... that sound. It stretches up to the tip of her firey rapier and... it does not sizzle away. Rather it begins to eat the fire, inch by inexorable inch toward Maggie's hand. There is irritation coupled with a kind of fatalistic urgency to its movements. As it progresses it grows, its skin becoming more translucent as it grows. She stares at it, then blinks and banishes the fire. Standing in nearly the same motion, she lifts both hands as she backs away, "Oh, hey there. Uh. I am sorry about that. Are you okay?" Yes. She is talking to the newly mutated glop. Does she expect a reply? Well. No. But there is clear contrition in her tone. Clear concern for the... whatever it is... Hints of guilt flash in her gaze as she looks back to where the others are. That look is quickly returned to the stuff. In case...

The dark skin drops to the floor of the cavern and splats with a dull sound like puddy. No big wet splats. It lays there, darkly translucent, higher off the ground than before, as if it had expanded and gained more of a 3-dimensional shape. It does absolutely nothing for all of five seconds, and then slowly starts moving towards the nearest source of metal. It's progress faster than it's earlier, thinner, more opaque form.

Ruben's previously unnoticed position is given away as he moves back even farther from the mysterious goop. He's now quite close to the exit, as if he'd like to run, but isn't willing to completely abandon them to whatever this stuff is.

Merrisol gasps in sharply as the organic stuff does one of those shocking things that tends to spill hideously expensive boxes of cinema popcorn. The breath leaves him again as he barks, "Bubble, Maggie! And burn..." ...and she snuffs her flame. And talks to the stuff. Merri's advice chokes off accordingly, while he watches wide-eyed for a second, then leaks the rest of his air in a flabbergasted manner as he refocuses on the slime as it drops, and opens his empathic sense towards the thing, trying to pick up anything. "Lady asked you a question," he murmurs, sotto-voiced. After another moment's concentration, he looks around at those gathered and reports, "No means of communication. It has desire, though. To feed and to propagate." He takes a few steps and reaches out the ruined trident to let the moving slime glide onto the two remaining spikes. "Right, we're sorting and containing this, and asking Quinlan to check it for chaos, before we do anything else." That was nothing close to a proposal.

Ruby watches the slow yet inexorable progress of the jellied-skin creep towards the offered source of metal. It's unnatural mode of locomotion gives her the creeps just trying to comprehend it. Lacking the sort of protective layers that some of her companions have, she hovers at the edge of the action and looks around for something appropriate to protect herself with. Seeing as metal seems to be out of the question, she crouches by a formation of rock and withdraws a knife by her shin. The large woman begins to slam the pommel into the rock to try and create some shards and pieces of the stuff. She offers a curse with every impact.

Ruben notices Ruby's problem, then edges close enough to offer her is 'inferior' glass saber. "I can easily get another."

The dollop of embiggened goop seems all too happy to use the trident as new place to perch. Once upon it, it spreads and coats until it has stretched to a suitable surface area, like a prophylatic barrier. The strange stuff offers no further sounds or vibrations. It does not respond to either Maggie or Merrisol.

Mercier pauses for a moment, before watching the thing going towards any source of metal, Ruby taking care of the problem. Mercier steps back, frowning at the thing, "Everything dies." Mercier notes again, looking back towards Merrisol, "Its your call to bring this stuff back to your vessel, /Colonel/. I might know much about the Solar Flare, but neither of us know anything about /that/." He says, looking back to the goop, "The suits... they're glass and fiber, right?"

Maggie hears Merri's call and mentally reprimands herself for not thinking of that. Sort of fascinated and horrified, she watches the glop move slug-like to the offered trident. Shaking her head in disbelief, she flashes a glance over to Ruby and Ruben, then back again. Better late than not at all, though, she begins to call on small wisps of breezes and weave them into a balloon around the slug-like substance. It is not quick work despite the practice she has had. More and more air is added as she concentrates. Although she does not use her hands to begin with, as the barrier grows around the glop, she does lift her hands. Her fingers begin to dance in a pattern reminiscent of finger weaving. Soon, the barrier is stronger, the whirling air shimmering with heat. Gritting her teeth, she offers, "I think I can move the heat from inside the bubble out. Might cool it..." Hearing Mercier's tone, she flickers him a look, "We're in this together. Let's..." The effort to keep the bubble and talk? Telling, "Let's..." Where heat alone did not spark a gleam over her skin, the effort to hold the bubble around the end of that trident and talk? Sweat begins to gather over her brow, gleaming in the garishly orange light of the magma, "Let's just be a team, k?" It is said in a rush and her concentration returns to the bubble.

Maggie's efforts do not draw a visible reaction from the goop. It seems content to exist upon the remaining metal tines of the trident. Nothing auditory is issued forth either. It sullenly coats the new perch and rests suspiciously still. As the heat is drawn off, it creates a distortion in the air that the rest of the oppressive heat of the room quickly absorbs.

Merrisol can't help an extra moment of skewed-angle study when the trident head is sealed up in the mucus, and is in turn caught up in Maggie's air magic. "Yes... yes," is all he says in response to Mercier. Again, true words, and the merchant's delivery wasn't even that vicious. "Ruby.. what are you doing?" He can see Ruben offering his sword to her, and nods thoughtfully over the generous act. "If we can, move the untainted metal pieces elsewhere in the chamber, or simply melt them back down in the vat," he says, in a more team-y tone. "Leave it just enough to keep it to one area."

Ruby eyes Ruben suspiciously. But this is her default demeanor though and not some uncharacteristic paranoia at work. She takes the offered weapon and nods her appreciation of the much more effective instrument. "Don't wanna wreck't. Mebbe I can scrape'n scrape with this rather than a fist 'o flint." she mumbles and tries to wrap her head around the idea of herding the gel-like thing. "I'll goo-goo'n check the rest of the stock." she grits her teeth and adds, "Can't trust anythin with the bloody stoof so aye...so I'll start'ah pile."

OOC> Ruby says, "The black skin-like coverings on other pieces of metal in the forge can be scraped with non-metal objects. They will once again seek metal but will move quite slow. The bubble-contained skin (thicker, more translucent, and more animate) will not be so easily removed."

Ruben nods and slides back a good ways, "Maybe you need someone who can make it cold, slow it down some?" he offers by way of advice.

OOC> Ruby says, "The black skin will cling like taffy to any metal it is offered as bait. The longer it's there, the harder it is to remove later. Pepper me with questions you've got before I go and I'll try and fire out some answers before I poof."

"We might want to be careful about that." Mercier says, looking to Ruben about the cold, "For all we know, the heat's the only thing keeping it from growing legs and walking on out of here with a tip of its hat." Mercier says, "Then again, we'll have to start throwing beakers of saline and tar at it at some point." He give a look at Marrisol, then Maggie. "...Right." before moving to enact Merrisol's plan.... for the moment.

OOC> Ruby says, "None of the cannons under development have managed to get infected. The three weapons choosen, a pile of discarded pieces and an axe-head are tainted. Probably a shield and some other assorted items. There doesn't appear to be a pattern to what was choosen, rather expedience. Making a pile will not take long. Assessing all the metal pieces carefully will take time if one wants to be super careful about not missing anything."

Maggie has made bubbles before, oh yes. She has used them to redirect vibrations, even. Sounds muffled, or moved. Heat is nothing but another vibration, isn't it? Of course it is. A vibration that can be softened, stilled, shifted... Wait. What did Mercier say? Careful about heat? "What... about salt? Can we get Raphaela here?" The Saline Queen! "She can... still it in time, right?" Maybe. Sweat beads her brow and she tilts her head, "I can't tell if this is helping or not. Should I keep it up or stop, Kerf?" The air around the bubble continues that shimmer effect as she leeches heat out of the bubble, then begins to draw the air out.

Merrisol frowns, "I confess I am not sure what you're doing, Maggie.. the stuff looks inert, but then, it has what it wants.. tasty metal." Though he's mostly monitoring Ruby's progress through the taint-checking. He's still got the broken piece of trident, which will be added to the collection of evil-toss-me-nots, along with the dagger Mercier had set aside, the hammer Maggie had been holding, and the trident itself, no matter what comes of Maggie's experiment.

Mercier continues with the the work that needs to be done, taking a break here and there because... well... the suit might not breath terribly well, and... its hot in here. He looks towards the pocket of air, "I'm.... not sure either."

OOC> Ruby says, "Tomorrow is a new day, but somehow we're already there. And I fear I shall be sporatic with onlineness. I will try to drop in if I've got a few hours to spare if anyone wants to try anything. Yeah. Collection and Containment is all very do-able. Long-term containment may need some thinking. But we can safetly wrap things here."
OOC> Ruby says, "Metal will become brittle within a day. When the skin seeks out new metal, it /will/ appear bigger and has the possibility of splitting to seek another piece of metal."
OOC> Ruby says, "So the longer it's on metal, the more firm the grip and the larger it will get. And inevitably it will go for more."

Maggie draws in a long breath and holds it. Then? She lowers her hands and the bubble... pops. Air and heat all return to the blob in a rush, "Apparently... nothing." Stepping back away from the glop, she lifts an arm to wipe the sweat from her brow along the sleeve of her shirt as she turns to survey the remaining metal bits. Stalking over to the hammer, she bends and snatches it up in a low swipe of a grab. It is carried over to the pile of doomed metal bits. It is dropped onto the pile, the resulting clang of metal on metal indicative enough of her mood.

Merrisol examines the evolved crap on a stick, while he brings the trident over to add to the 'bad' pile. "Quinlan and Raphaela," he mutters reverently. Quinlan and Raphaela. Then the nightmare will be over!

Mercier finishes carting the metal he can into the various piles before stepping back a bit, watching the mold creep up on the metal... the difference engine in his head clicking and whirling as he finally stops, panting a bit, figuratively, from the heat, the suit, and the exertion. He stares at the mold, stepping around it, before crouching to look at it more closely, keeping his distance, but just... watching it for a moment, "Shattering Shoals." He mumbles, underneath his breath.

Maggie clenches her jaw as she stares at the growing pile of discarded and infected metal. Anger, remorse and frustration flare in her gaze and dance across her features. Lifting her head as she hears Merrisol's reverence, she flashes a glance his way. The look lingers for an instant, but no more. Nodding, her expression stills slowly toward a studied neutrality. Last of all, her jaw eases again, "I don't have Raphaela's trump. If you want to reach for her, please, Kerf, I will try Quinlan." So the nightmare can be over. His tone sings in her mind and her gaze does not linger. There are other things that need attention. One hand slips beneath her apron to her belt where the pouch of trumps is. Tugging it open, she pauses. "Uh. Wait. Let me go above out of this heat. Don't want the cards to catch fire." Or the pouch, though that is of less concern. Apparently. Turning toward the exit, she adds, "I'll be at the hot springs. There are more suits there, yes?"