Dreambergris

[rassafraggin]

What ho? What's this? New shadow and some new ships to help fill the vacancy of those lost. As far as the war on attrition goes, the recent battle was won, but not without cost. The books are not balanced and the fleet needs repair and refit, especially the new acquisitions and severely battle damaged. The Port can be smelled before it is seen, and heard before any great detail can be made out. Nifty keen senses get both barrels of it. Those gifted souls will have a hint of the clamour and pollution well before those that rely on the five mundane senses.

There's been trips on and off the ship lately for different reasons and via unconventional means. One such has brought back written letters and notes for sailors earning a living far away from their homes. Small tokens of correspondence to say how Billy is doing as an apprentice cobbler, who just married whom, wondering when they'll be able to come home...the usual personal things. In addition however, is a fat stack of the Lower City Gazette. It is disseminated along with the mail to the fleet, and makes its way staining fingers and raising eyebrows. Not everyone can read, but there's always one smarty pants wanting to show off being able to red dez wurds.

Ruby is very obviously reading one such gazette at the most visible place she can find on the ship. Over the big words, her mouth moves silently but enunciates as blatant as a stage actor. The odd time she'll lean towards the crew member currently at the wheel and bother for how they'd pronounce a certain word. And give the paper a little snap to smooth out a particular passage to reread. She's the worst.

Alas, there are no letters awaiting Clive at the port! The sea-hardened fellow makes only a quick stop off-vessel, returning with a crate hoisted up on one shoulder. The moment he hits the deck, he sets the thing down a bit rough, setting off a series of clanking bottle noises as they all now come into view. Now it can be seen that this is a full case of rum! With a smudgy copy of the Gazette folded and tucked away around one of the bottles. Reaching down, he takes up that very bottle, separates the pair, waves the paper about in Ruby's direction, and then proceeds to pull the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and spit it overboard. "Cap'n, looks like you're famous. When you writing your book?" The bottle is then upended for a long, healthy sort of sampling of its contents.

Ruby turns, eyebrows hoisted in mock surprise. She offers a fake raspberry to her well thumbed parchment. "In general, I ain't a fan 'o books. Somethin too bindin with them. Once tha ink sets, can't change it, an if you try an write overtop it becomes bloody mess an ruins stoof. I dunno." Her eyes go a little unfocused as she contemplates a book. A muscle flinches and she disengages from the mental exercise. "'Opefully there is another, and tha title be: Oh allo, nevermind, they ded. Aye, but regardin murky and present dangers...I understand you an Doc Sidonie managed tah gather a bunch 'o stuff from your undersea see."

Clive pulls the bottle away and sets to nodding as he wipes a billowy sleeve against his mouth. "Ain't that the point sometimes, though? Get a good, final word in?" He shrugs, taking a few steps further in, but keeping his case well within eyeshot. Can't trust these buggers on the crew worth a damn around a full crate of rum! "Nah, ain't our time for that yet, Cap'n. Afraid the sea still has some plans for the lot of us. Song sounds like she's just warming up." The bottle comes back up for a shorter swig and he offers it in her direction while shrugging again, "You might have to ask the Doc and the others about that. I was just down there for health and safety. Headcount checked out out on both ends, so I call it a win. She seemed excited about something, though."

* * * * * * * * * *

That stinky and noisy Port is getting closed in on. It's an unnatural cove, a wedge having been carved from white cliffs of chalky substance. A city farther inland, and connected to the deep-water docks via chair-lifts, hideously unsafe tubes, roads and as yet identified moving deathtraps. The fleet should be able to anchor well in sight by nightfall, but as there are already weird ironclads and clippers taking up positions at the docks, it may have to come down to logistics to get in those massive drydocks and take turns at the things that look like isolated oil derricks bearing cargo booms and scaffolding. It is ~busy~. There's a lot of traffic coming and going, marking this place as a possible shadow crossroads of industry and trade.

Up to this point, there has been a collection of information after that deep water recon...

Merrisol has been away for a bit as well, his own errands in and around Rebma, at one point with combinations of Maggie and Sidonie.. As busy as he may be, there is no way he's going to miss being here when that oil-fuming racket of a port town comes into view. Having arrived via Ruby, he does take note of the influx of Lower City Gazette weekend editions just fluttering under makeshift paperweights. He pries one out, but pauses in scanning the front page as the cranky drone of propellors and generators bounds across the waves at the fleet. Moving deliberately towards the foredeck, he leans at the rail with the folded sheaves of newsprint blocking the nibbling attempts of the peasnappers blooming there. At first he only has enthusiastic Begman eyes for the rambling constructs overland and the transport innovations in the harbour... but it isn't long before the gaze of the Rebman Warden is skimming the slick-tinted waters around the runoff sites with chagrin.

Sidonie drew up the scratchings she had memorized. She decyphered its alphabet, and got to translating what she found. How and since when she possessed this skill, she didn't bother to think about, she just /wrote/. Hours below decks in nighttime hours, the scratching were copied on one book, next to it another book steadily filled with story upon story in the surgeon's neat hand. So much text that all the squinting made her head hurt and the cook lent her his spare reading glasses. The more she pulled the stories' string the harder it became to focus on the text. The light hurt her eyes, her eyelids drooped with sleep, not to mention the stories. The STORIES. Inane. The Octopus and the Three Eels? The Kelpie and the Porpoise? The one where the sleeping seahorse was awoken with a kiss?!

It's unbearable. Without bothering to take off the embarrassing, tiny wire-rimmed glasses, the surgeon stomps up to the deck, sheet of paper crumpled up in hand. Merrisol's position on deck is noted, grumpily, and she walks in his direction.

After a nice, long sleep and a jaunt off to Rebma with Merrisol and Sidonie, Maggie returned and took up her Captain-y duties for Ruby once more. The thing about going off to Rebma after waking is that memories lurk in the deep places there. Memories that drove out the here and this Shadow now. On returning, the dreams she had during that long snooze began to filter back alarmingly. Maybe that is why she sought out the Whydah not long after returning. Had to set something straight, right? But, now it is time to once more haunt the deck of the Beast, so over she comes. For once, on arrival via small boat, she remembers her manners, calling, "Permission to come aboard?"

Ruby has transferred her newborn onto the critter Ark a day ago, preferring her own rest over extending periods of collicky bonding. A trio of nannies have been deployed. Trips are made via hair-raising carpet rides. However, there is word of the beebee creche possibly dispersing unless an easier mode of transportation is available for the families. Some have notioned a pulley system rigged between Ark and visitor, and jokes about catapults have been snickered at. As such, the creche still exists, and has a +1 to hide amongst the herd. Ruby has just come in for a landing and wrapped the heavy curtain around the closest thing to a lightpost. She composes herself and goes to the rail to help welcome Maggie aboard. "Granted. Gladly."

Merrisol hasn't been the only one who had to take a powder and deal with issues in Amber. Mercier had to spend some time in Amber at least some time in the past. Back aboard for a bit, however, he's spent most of the last few hours writing and rewriting notes, organizing his data, and at least giving the appearance of going blind at a ledger. Stepping off a position at the bow, he quietly lights a cigerette, illuminating his face for a moment, having taken his fill of the ever approaching civilization.

Drawing up a collapsed spyglass from his pocket, Merrisol tucks the paper under one arm and levels the instrument in a slow sweep of the harbour, then the cliffs of chalk. "They're watching us come in," he says of the port authorities, after catching the alternating winks of lamp light in the high watchposts. Behind him, he can hear the exchange between Maggie and Ruby, quiet himself until the former is well aboard before he translates the flashes from the dirigible, "We're being signaled, Captain Incarnate. They'll be wanting to see the fleet colours, and limit the approach to five ships at any given time." He turns then, leaving all the fiddly return signalwork to Ruby's officers. He steps down from the fore deck to join Ruby and Maggie, though he slows as Sidonie comes up, perusing her disgruntled expression questioningly.

"I can't," Sidonie gripes, and yawns. Her pace slows when she sees Ruby welcoming Maggie aboard, so that she's now putting herself in the midst of the group as it coalesces. She looks at Mercier, notices the cigarette, and looks at it rather longingly. Maybe that will help her wake up? To Merrisol, she says. "I can't anymore. There's no more to be learned from this drivel. It's all nonsense, and I could swear it's putting a spell on me." She yawns again, scowls. See? "No wonder they're all falling asleep."

On reaching the deck, Maggie brushes off the attempts at nibbles from the sea-dlings growing along the rail where she climbs aboard. Leaning over, she hollars down to tell her crew rowers to return to their posts. There is a chorus of 'Aye aye, Captain' from below and the small boat turns to make its way back. Smiling at Ruby, she nods, "Thank you, Captain." She does not ask about the beebee yet, but there is a question in her eyes. Merrisol's arrival drives it from her mind for the nonce, and he is offered a full-fledged smile. One of his very own, even. Sidonie's arrival tempers the smile, concern damping down the enthusiasm there. Turning to her, Maggie's voice softens in case the expression signals a pain somewhere, "Everything okay, Doc?" Mercier's approach is noted with a smile though the direction his gaze angles draws her own glance toward the port for a moment. Sidonie's comments draw her attention back and she stifles an answering near-yawn, "I had... dreams. While I slept. I told you one, but there were a lot more. Soft of a jumble-tumble of fairy tales or folk tales or... Well, it seemed to be just... stuff. But, I think there was something more to it. A kernal of importance stuffed into the nonesense."

Ruby places a hand to her abdomen which is diminished, even as she's offering her other to Maggie if she wants assistance up on deck. Regardless, she feels a twinge of discomfort in her gut and then it's gone. Not one to devote too much time into recuperation. She bellows towards a junior officer in charge of the nautical flags to put a confirmation in sequence for the Port, and then dreads the missives to send out to the rest of the fleet. "Ak-know-ledge! We find a place tah corral tha fleet where trade currents not provide a traffic block, so we can dipsy-doodle them all in as we can. Will 'ave tah go ashore an make arrangements for 'ull scrubbin. Scheduled Shore leave once we gots tha particulars sorted." She lowers her voice to more conversational levels for those gathering. "Is there some sort 'o connection with all this snoozin? I swear I gonna scrub tha bottoms 'o these ships you all identified until they gots a mirror sheen, Truth. But...See, tha only solves part 'o tha problem if it works. I met with tha Queen not long ago. Long term solution be...uh...I promised Queen Moire I'd find an deliver tha bloody Narwhal tah Rebma. Bog knows how..."

"A compass and a scuttle seems like it might be too aggressively simple a solution?" Mercier asks Ruby, taking a small inhale of whatever shadow's chemical composition fills the nicstick. He exhales smoke through his nose. At Sidonie's look, the cigerette gets put back into his mouth, and a cigerette case is produced, opened, and held out, "Would you care for one? They're, sadly, reminiscint of my current life style. A bit abrasive." If she takes one, he'd be amiable enough to light it for her as well, using a simple, thin little brass lighter. He turns about to look at the city again, "It looks like quite a call, from here at least. Might be good to get a deep breath of soot."

Merrisol absorbs the reports of Doc Decryption and his own Dreamy Spouse, his regard sliding between the two with edging concern. "Bedtime tales, then.. or fables? Those are the ones with the lessons attached. Morals," he adds after some thought. "In any case, the whale seems to have an exhaustive repetoire... uh, sorry," he mumbles, realizing the pun too late. "The year before last, when you," he nods to Ruby, attempting to disregard her mention of the Queen Beneath the Waves, "took a group of us out to those ice fields and managed to free the poor blighter from torture and predation, he followed the Beast around for a while then, too. Ailith Chantris and I got three earfuls of ramblings each, before he wandered off. I wonder.. if he's lost a pack of marbles from the century's incarceration, perhaps?" Glancing over at Mercier, he spends a moment considering the merchant's habit, looking tempted himself. But instead he reaches for Maggie's hand, looking at her closely. "The ships can be scrubbed glossy, Captains.. but what about those already afflicted? You can't sleep at all without slipping into those dreams, Hotstuff?"

Ruby turns to regard Mercier now, eyeing him thoughtfully. Her face going impassive. She murmers, "I think tha would be an ex-cellent idea, Templeton. You should go ashore as soon as possible. Per'aps we could share a small drink an exchange notes before you on your way though. I be very interested in pickin your brain on what you might 'ave compiled durin your keen efforts. Could be insightful intah all manner 'o things. I know you very, very observant, an always do what you must."

Sidonie nods to Maggie and Ruby. "There's magic in there, but it's not the stories themselves, I think? If there's something deeper to them than maybe: don't talk to strangers in the kelp forest lest they eat you, or yes go ahead and make out with the sleeping seahorse princess if you find her, I've yet to find it. I've written them down, you are all welcome to look, though I'd recommend a strong cup of coffee or two if you try," Sidonie says. She takes a deep breath, seeking to tamp down the sharp pang of frustration she is feeling. She's awake, she very much wants to be awake, but it's a struggle - the stories pull at her consciousness like a string leading straight from her furrowed brow to her sleeping bunk. "I could swear the words have been weaponized, they've got the spell woven in them, signifier rather than signified." She reaches to pluck an offered cigarette from Mercier's case. "Thank you," she murmurs as he kindly lights it for her, then continues. "I'd like to test that distance from the scratchings relieve the affliction?"

Maggie does accept Ruby's assistance, indeed. With a smile of thanks echoing in the emerald green of her gaze. Noting the stomach patting, she arches a brow and vows to try and talk to Ruby about that. When things are less hectic. Which, naturally, means that Captain Incarnate's secrets are probably safe from prying Maggies.

Glancing around, she listens to each in turn, her expression thoughtful. That vanishes when Merrisol takes her hand. She smiles up at him, the look softening toward a dreamy kind of... She blinks and blushes just a bit, the yawn that threatens having nothing to do with the man and everything to do with the topic, "That's about right, Beloved. Every time I sleep they wait for me. I... Think you are right about the morals. I keep waking up wondering if there is a theme to them. As though the dreams are trying to give me hints to a puzzle that I was not aware I was trying to solve. I... would like to ask Miriam to help me go into Dreams to see if I can figure it out. Maybe I can find the other Captains in there and lead them out." Pausing, she tightens her hold on her husband's hand briefly, not letting go after the squeeze, "You know? There is divinity in the spells the stories carry. I only now remembered it. I sensed it when I sniffed the markings on the hull. Maybe I will try drawing the stories..." As to the Narwhale himself? She glances a nod to Ruby. "While I... am not a performer, and not really the right one to ask, but..." Yes, her two cents, "If we can find the narwhale, why not just invite him or her to have an audience with Her Majesty? I can't imagine any regognition seeking creature turning down such an honor. Then again... We should be sure that he won't sing her to sleep." The cigerette exchange is noted, but not commented upon. As for the port? She seems to be keeping her gaze away from it.

Mercier listens quietly to talk of deep dreams and hypnotizing fables. Concern, or even a bit of alarm, flits about behind his eyes, and he shakes his head a bit, "That sounds absolutely offputting. I wouldn't want something poking about my head through some footpath the Gods forgot about." Its nearly a genuine little shiver. The process of lighting a ladies cigerette is comforting enough though. The smoke is something sold in the lower city, with about as much work ethic. Its not pretty, and if there was quality there, it was a conman's lie; But it did its job well enough to be a cigerette. He cants his head curiously at Ruby and her words, brow furrowing curiously at her shift in demeanor, "I would hardly turn down a glass of something kept by our clever commodore, Captain. I'd be quite glad to, in fact. There are some concerns I have over the immediate... financial prospects-" His tone clearly indicates these concerns as anything /but/ financial in nature, "-of your endeveavor here. But you should be careful what ships you send in. I have the distinct impression that we might encounter some newly famlier.... problems when we toss down the mooring line."

Merrisol patiently takes in the remarks coming in from all sides, while running his thumb over Maggie's knuckles at the joining of their hands, perhaps in a bid to keep her alert. His gaze rests on Ruby's face for a longer moment when her demeanor grows flat, then moves on to Mercier for a bit of pause as well. "Well.. I'll be wanting to stretch my legs through the port as well. I'd offer to help with the Dreaming bit, Maggie, except I can't be sure how that will work out. Might be better off with me awake for the duration." He looks at Sidonie meaningfully then. "You seem to have a knack for the ancient language of whales yourself though, Doc..."

Sidonie nods to Maggie emphatically, seeming disappointed that her theory has been proven to be falst. "Damn Well, in that case, then it'd be best if no one else look at these stories too closely until we find a cure, in case any more become infected." Feeling a bit self-conscious now about the cigarette in her hand, she takes a step back next to Mercier, essentially creating a smoker's corner in their group. The smoke is inhaled and, while it's not exactly pleasant to her, its welcome stimulating effects are felt immediately. Now all she needs is a strong cup of coffee. Or maybe a snifter of whiskey? Or maybe both? Talk of a 'glass of something' makes her mind wander to the last time she had a good drink. Was it at the Golden Goose?
She blinks once, twice, and brings thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of her nose, only to find the cook's glasses perched there. Oh no. She has been seen... with the glasses. She makes a bit of a face and removes the glasses as subtly as she can, tucks them away. "Beginner's luck," she says with a tilt of her head and a sidelong glance at Merrisol.

Maggie turns a sober look at Merrisol, her nod slow and thoughtful. A lot of thoughts struggling through her brain right about now. "That is probably for the best, actually," is murmured more to him than to the company. Her free hand lifts to push a lock of curling, tumble-down hair from her forehead. Glancing between Sidonie and Merrisol, she half smiles at the Doctor's reply. A quote from a play she attended as a girl floats in the back of her mind and slips away again. Something about there being no such thing as luck. But, like a dream half remembered on waking, it is gone before she can really grasp it. Clearing her throat, she turns a baleful glance over her shoulder at the port, "Perhaps one of us should remain with the fleet until the particulars are ironed out, Captain Incarnis. I can take that duty for now and join you in the port if all is well. I have trumps of most of the group. I am only missing Doc, here, I think."

After listening to Mercier's suggestion like a lizard sunning itself on a rock might, Ruby regards the efforts and discoveries that are discussed. A small shudder as she contemplates dream-tripping. "I owe big whichever femmes or blokes attempt contactin tha sea-unicorn an re-directin tah Rebma. If we can 'ave a conversation, I dunno if it can get there itself or what. I don't know nuthin except it gots crazy notions. If you needs anything for tha dreamin, like uh...pillows or somethin...you just need tah ask." Ruby gives a solid nod towards Maggie. "Aye, needs someone I can trust back 'ere. Bog's barnacles, this is gonna be a nightmare 'o numbers an manueverin." She sighs.

The merchant issues a somewhat concerned glance of his eyes towards Maggie's state, for once at least glad he didn't make out with pirates (well, erstwhile) to go swimming. The cigerette gets plucked between two fingers, ash flicked off of it before he rubs his cheek, frowning at the scratching stubble that seems to be collecting, "I'm not a fan of my own dreams, I can't imagine I'd want to see anyone elses." He snorts at Sidonie's 'luck, giving a small smile, but not offering anything outing. There were rules to things like that, after all.

Merri looks right through the glasses... Bwah! "Meant that you might be included in the dream jaunt, Doc. In case there're words to be understood there, too. Or.. a chance to contact the narwhal directly there." He glances at Maggie to check if she's agreeable to that, adding, "Miriam will be part of the company on the Flare.. if you're looking for other options for guides, we could ask Liyandra." He sounds a touch wistful when he says the name of their ranger friend, long absent at least from him.

Sidonie wouldn't know the slightest about 'tha dreamin', as Ruby would say, so she has little to offer in regards to that except for a curt nod and a helpless glance. Oh, she did not miss Mercier's snort and that half-smile of Maggie's, but what does she say in response? Oh sure, I figured out I can decypher languages, what the hell does it mean? Her lips tighten, a bit at a loss, a bit embarrassed, maybe wishing she could just dissolve into the planks on the Beast's deck and avoid the well-meaning scrutiny. But she valiantly looks straight ahead, inhales from her yucky cigarette.

When Merrisol suggests /her/ for the dream jaunt, the surgeon straightens, blinks, then wipes all expression from her face. Aw, beans. The first adventure so far that fills her with just a bit of dread. "If I can be of service, I'll be there," she says firmly.

Maggie tilts her head to one side, and nods to Ruby, "Not a problem. I do have a trump of Sidonie drying, but it isn't ready yet." The Doc is given a quick smile and she catches the reaction to... something. Her chuckle? Mercier is sent a quickly curious glance before her thoughtful expression returns. Merrisol is sent a nod as his suggestion is met with approval, "I'd like to have you along, Doc. If you don't mind." Leaning back, she blinks, "Ah. Liyandra. I haven't seen her in ages. I will send her a bird asking if she would be willing. Miriam might have her hands full. But, if we don't hear back, then... I will ask Miriam." A frown starts though does not make it all the way to her brow, "When do you expect you will hit the port, Incarnate?"

At the question, Ruby looks up to check the wind taken by the sails, and then towards Port. Squinting doesn't help with reading the signals from there just yet, but she makes a guestimate. "By nightfall I think. We drop anchor and sort out particulars by nightfall. Beast an escort 'o two other ships can 'ead in deeper. She's got a bottom tha able any reasonable cove can accept."