The airship descends and moors in slow and majestic fashion, as always. The ground personnel starts dotting the grassy airfield, extending the rolling stairways, moving luggage and helping passengers disembark. Soon, the station fills with travelers bound for Rome, porters, servants, and luggage.
Constance hands her single light bag to one of the over-eager porters that move towards her, smiling graciously, if somewhat distractedly at him as he takes the bag. Her eyes take in the whole of this massive airship, clearly impressed. It's amazing what these mortals can come up with, if given the opportunity, she thinks with a smile, and then wonders if a Dwarf had a hand in the creation of this ship. Perhaps there is even a Dwarf as part of the crew, maybe a fine, proud Dwarf with a respectable Craft name. She shivers delightedly at the thought, and begins to make her way towards the great glass doors, looking to make sure her new companions are nearby.
Lord Swiftwing, after seeing to his two servants (who see to his luggage), puts a look of affected disinterest on his face and walks purposefully onto the airship, thinking deep, unfathomable thoughts (like does the Faerie EVER stop smiling?)
Fiona signals to her own servants, a maid and a porter, and trusts that they will handle the arrangements for boarding in order to stay near Constance. At the same time, she keeps scanning the crowd (particularly those offboarding the Parsifal) for suspicious characters.
Constance moves up the stairs rather cautiously, the grandeur of the massive airship offset by the fact that a crushing amount of metal looms ominously over her unprotected head. But the beauty of it touches her Faerie heart, and she smiles, seeing the beautiful detail these mortals have put into this wondrous machine. Upon entering the ship, she pauses to examine the various wooden fixtures, and the artwork that might be nearby, admiring the workmanship and the lovely craftsmanship put into them. She especially looks for any sign of Dwarven work on the fixtures and small devices. Anything that is exceptionally done, she naturally assumes a Dwarf has done, and wonders what his Craft Name might be.
The travelers file through the large doors and cross the airfield, dwarfed by the size of the airship. Excited exclamations erupt as they climb the slightly vibrating stair ramp and step on board across the small gap. First-time passengers are awed by the Parsifal's dimensions and luxury. Passengers standing close to Lord Swiftwing notice with curiosity that shipboard personnel salute the Dragon lord, discretely but firmly. Captain von Vietinghoff greats the new passengers in courteous, if reserved fashion. His hawkish eyes scan the vizier and his entourage politely, but coolly when the Important Traveller sets foot on board.
Lord Swiftwing strolls aboard the Parsifal with his servants. As soon as possible he heads off to his suite and relaxes until dinner.
The crowd finally disperses as the travelers are eager to see the rest of the ship as well as their quarters. Dinner is announced for 7:00 PM, and the ship is scheduled to reach Sofia at 8:00 PM (9:00 PM local time), where it will remain moored for the night.
Watching Lord Swiftwing retreat to his quarters, Fiona says to Constance, "I don't wish to alarm you, but have you seen the passenger manifest for this voyage? Perhaps we could ask the ship's captain for a look at the passenger list! It might tell us, unless he is using an alias, if your stepbrother or any of his friends are scheduled for this trip."
Constance turns to Fiona, and shakes her head. "My brother is
not here. If he were, I would smell his blood. That's how
I have been tracking him all this time. The blood he spilled
upon the Veil has left him vulnerable to my senses. No, I fear my
brother has much bigger things on his mind right now than myself.
He seeks the Seed, and until he finds it, I doubt he will spare the time
to hunt me."
Then she turns to look down the hall, catching a final glimpse at the retreating figure of Swiftwing. "You know, I believe I would like to get a drink of some sort. Perhaps we can find the dining hall?"
"That sounds like a wonderful idea!." Fiona says. Following the signage, Fiona and Constance decide to proceed to the passenger's lounge, if they serve drinks, or the dining hall, whichever is most appropriate for this time of day. Upon inquiry, they discover that although the kitchens are closed at the moment, it is quite easy to get a drink or a light snack on board. For tea, coffee, wine and freshly prepared fruit juice, as well as finger food, they can go to the Main Dining Room on Deck Five; for various alcohols, they can visit the bar on Deck Four; and they can order tea, coffee, a variety of herbal tisanes, and cucumber sandwiches from serving maids in the Sitting Rooms on Decks Two, Three and Five. The Upper Dining Room they arrived in, on Deck Three, is currently closed.
Constance heads down to the Main Dining Room, foregoing the opportunity to judge the dubious quality of mortal alcohols compared to the sweet taste of true Faerie wines. A little fresh juice would go down much nicer, she decides. Upon arriving in the Dining Room, assuming Fiona is with her, she finds a nice table near a window. Then she turns to Fiona and asks "What kind of food do you enjoy? I'm afraid my own experiences with mortal food have always been rather rushed, and somewhat lacking in taste." So saying, she scans the room to see if there are any other Faerie around, or perhaps even a Dwarf.
As Constance's last sentence trails, she finally realises that Fiona is nowhere to be seen...
Constance starts, and looks around, puzzled. She had thought her new friend was behind her, but it seems she either had other business, or perhaps she decided to visit another part of the ship. Constance frowns slightly, wishing the mortal had told her she was leaving. She shakes her head slightly, and turns back to her table, raising a hand to attract the attention of a steward, and ordering some fruit juice.
A steward rapidly appears to take Constance's order. A number of freshly pressed fruit juices are available, despite the fact that it is quite early in the New Europan growing season (late April). If Constance, who is well-attuned to seasons, is surprised, she will learn that these are brought by the Royal Luftschwansa ships that cross the Atlantean Ocean several times a week, and come from the more temperate parts of the New Continent, and even from the Mexican Empire and further South! Those fruit are brightly coloured, sweet and juicy, and resemble nothing Constance has ever seen in her native forest. The steward offers to bring not only juice, but a bowl of those assorted fruit with fresh cream and shortbread cookies or biscotti.
Constance is amazed and pleased at the ingenuity these mortals have
shown in the care of fresh fruits. Who would have thought that they
would put so much effort into extending the blessings of the land for themselves
all year round. Also, the amazing variety available pleases her.
"Perhaps you could bring me a some of this, and this, and bit of this as
well." she says, pointing out the various types of juice she has never
tried before. "And perhaps I will have the bowl of fruit with cream
and the cookie things you mentioned, if they are tasty." Constance
accompanies her request with a brilliant smile.
Even that ethereal perfection is forgotten, however, when he takes in the silhouette of the other lady accompanying the Dragon. Her hand on the Faerie's shoulder, she doesn't look up but straight ahead; however, that dusky red hair and short but shapely form spell "Esmeralda O'Hoolihan", captain and owner of the aptly named Harpy!!!
As Jean-Michel gasps with surprise, the three silhouettes disappear from his view as they reach the ramp and start climbing to the Small Dining Room. For a long moment he is held fast by surprise and more than a touch of dismay. He had thought that with Cayo Tiburon nearly two months and half a world behind him that the whole Sirocco incident had also been left behind, however he now has proof positive this is not the case.
His brow furrows in thought and, unaware that he is doing so, rubs his hand against his left jaw. He wonders how she succeeded in crossing the Atlantean and determines there are two likely possibilities. The most probable is that, in his absence, she has taken hold of a prize that exceeded even the Sirocco. The other, which causes him no small concern, is that she has found patrons or sympathizers in the form of either the Dragon Lord, the Faerie Lady, or perhaps both.
Now he truly wishes he had paid more attention to Grandmother’s stories of Dragons and the Faerie. Although he could request information from the Parsifal staff his lack of immediate knowledge will certainly be a hindrance in his planning, and plan swiftly he must if he is to separate Captain O’Hoolihan from her two companions. He is fully aware he must endeavour to confront her alone as he does not believe her patrons or anyone else in the immediate vicinity would appreciate catching a bullet in the lungs should the confrontation take its all-too-likely course.
Slowly he wends his way towards the lower portions of the Parsifal while bearing in mind the layout and his quarry’s most likely route. For a moment he marvels at the reversal of fortunes that has taken place in a scant few weeks; that she has been able to secure the patronage of two such powerful creatures does not bode well.
He briefly considers that perhaps he is mistaken in his identification of the Good Captain but decides he is not. Well does he remember that distinctive shade of dusky red hair, the very colour of a dried cayenne pepper with a temper to match. It is very likely that money, or the promise thereof, has sweetened her into more agreeable behaviour towards her companions. He is all too aware it would certainly relieve many of his immediate concerns…
He locates a suitable observation post and slouches down to disguise his height then pushes back his hair so its length is less noticeable. Although his position is not in the most optimal of places he knows he must needs remain at a distance until he has ascertained whether or not his immediate quarry remains in the others’ company or if she is now alone. Once that has been established he will better know whether to continue the stalk or to actively pursue. With a predator’s patience he settles in to wait.
After a moment, the Dragon Lord salutes his two female companions, then disappears up the central stairwell. The Faerie and Esmeralda exchange a few inaudible words with a steward, then the Faerie starts walking down the corridor, leaving her her human companion to catch up.
Jean-Michel trails behind the pair, awaiting the choicest opportunity. 'Yes,’ he tells himself, 'It would certainly be best for everyone if this confrontation took place with none to witness it.’ So far all is proceeding smoothly and his intentions appear to remain unremarked by both his quarry and the other passengers.
As the oblivious Faerie forges ahead towards the Main Dining Room, her fiery-haired companion trails a little behind, taking in the sights on board. A few passengers walk by, chatting gaily. As the Faerie rounds a corner and down the stairs, the stalker closes in...
Jean-Michel mislikes the lack of privacy, however it seems this is the best he can expect given the circumstances. He steps forward with a more rapid pace; speed is now of the essence for he needs to conclude this matter quickly before there is any outside inteference.
He slows to a near stop only two paces behind the Harpy's Captain, her familiar, dusky red hair serving as a veritable warning banner. All too well he remembers their last encounter and he warily glowers down at her, a note of anger altering his circumspect speech into something more akin to a low growl.
“It would be best for everyone, and especially yourself, to let rest the matter of the Sirocco until a later date as they are most strict on weapons violations here. Remember, even if you do count a Dragon Lord and a Fairy among your friends this is not Florida and it most certainly is not Cayo Tiburón.”
Fiona - for it is her - whirls around at the gruff voice. "Excuse me, sir, but I believe you have mistaken me for another." She looks him up and down carefully, noting the placement of his hands and if he is in a position to threaten her with a weapon. "Threaten me, and I think you will find more than you bargained for."
Before her stands a young man in his early twenties, approximately 5’10” in height and lean in build, with a physiognomy that is neither homely nor pronouncedly handsome. His golden-blonde hair is remarkably long, slightly more than three inches past his shoulders, yet neatly kept; it contrasts strongly against the dark blue of his fashionable attire. Although his stance is combative there is something about it at odds with his apparent intent; upon reflection he seems to be on the defensive, as if prepared to ward off an attack rather than initiate one. Even his walking stick is held in such a manner.
He glares down at her with eyes reminiscent of sapphires, both in color and hardness; he looks her directly in the eye, blue locking with hazel and after mere moments a change begins to take place. A whisper of doubt, a hint of uncertainty, and suddenly he appears to be less sure of himself. His bearing becomes very much like that of a hound who has cornered what was perceived to be a fox, only to find that the fox is not precisely a fox.
With a bow, he again addresses her in his English seasoned lightly by French inflections, however this time there is no trace of the former, aggressive overtones. “Je suis navré, mademoiselle, I seem to have mistaken you for your sister, the Captain….” As the sentence fades into puzzled nothingness, his uncertainty grows. He does not recall any mention of a sister, however who else could this possibly be? Perhaps a cousin, but with that memorable, all-too-familiar hair colour surely she is a close blood relative of some sort. As he awaits her reaction, he hopes she is not grievously offended by his error.
Looking up into those saphire eyes, Fiona raises one eyebrow and a glimpse of a smile crosses her face at the uncertainty and defensiveness of the young man's posture. "Monsieur, I assure you that I am not the captain of any ship, and have certainly not been to Florida or the Cayes. But it does seem you may have a remarkable story, and perhaps I have a twin somewhere I should know about. So, I shall allow you to tell me all about it over some refreshment, as your penance for accosting a lady in such a manner." Fiona beams a brilliant smile at Jean-Michel and moves forward to take his arm, hopefully sweeping them both into the lounge area where Constance awaits.
Jean-Michel looks decidedly uncomfortable at the mention of “penance” however he meekly allows her to take his arm and lead him whither she wishes. All in all, she has been most understanding about his unfortunate faux pas and he is exceedingly grateful for her lenience.
As they proceed to their destination he elaborates. “I regret, mademoiselle, there is very little more that I may add. You bear an uncanny resemblance to another airship Captain whose acquaintance I made while in Florida, save that her eyes were a striking shade of green. Your hair colour is most uncommon and yet it is a perfect match for hers, which is what led to my regrettable misidentification. Would you perhaps be related to the O’Hoolihan family of Florida?”
Family…. What is it about that word that is suddenly so very important…? Zut, alors! First he accosts an unknown woman, then proceeds to ask her personal questions and as yet he has not even so much as attempted to introduce himself. For once he is glad that Yves is not with him, thereby sparing him the sight of this memorable breach of etiquette. 'Yes, Jean-Michel, you have definitely spent too much of your time lately in the company of the lower classes…. By the by, was there anything else you had planned to further impress her?’
On the verge of properly introducing himself, he is distracted by the
realization that his red-headed companion has come to a halt.
To Be Continued...