The Thunder of Coins - [Warbirds-system]

[Vagabond422]

The oldest Croy child rolled over in her bed, the final time she would sleep in it for a bit. As her eyes started to open she saw a figure sitting in a chair, it was blurry but for just a moment she though she saw him. Broad shoulders and a clean white shirt, bracers holding up a pair of rugged pants, his brown hair perfectly parted, his mustache well groomed.

"Dad?" She asked.

"No girl." It was her mother's voice and all at once the apparition was gone.

The boxer turned pilot blinked a few more times clearing her vision. It was her mother dressed in her best dress with a newspaper across her lap.

'PATROL SUFFERS GREATEST LOSS IN FIVE YEARS. INCOMPETENCE OR SABOTAGE'

Read the headline.

"What is it mum?" Al asked, sitting up a little in her bed.

"I suppose I can't make you reconsider?"

"Reconsider what?"

"Leaving us again."

"Mum, we need this money."

"That's what your father always said. Always said that before he would take off, letting his wings cut like blades through the sky." Her mother's callused hands gripped the paper tighter. "They never mentioned him in the papers. Never spoke of his greatness, of his 43 air victories, of his decade of exemplary service, of the family he left behind. They didn't even put his name in the article. He was just a pilot lost during an operation against Forest." A tear fell from her eye falling onto the paper smudging the ink.

"Mum, I know, I know they did dad wrong." Al sat up fully reaching out to grab her mother's hands. "I don't do this for the fame, or the notoriety. I do this for you, for Charlie, Will, Cathy, and Mary. I just want to take care of you all. Like dad did."

"You...you didn't have to fill his boots." Her mother looked up her eyes a little red. "You don't have to be just like him."

"You know that if I could have found another way I would have. I know you're afraid for me."

"Well someone has to be."

"This is where we are at," she squeezed the elder Croy's hands. "I love you mum, and I love all of you. I have to do this."

"I know, it's just…" Elizabeth Croy wrapped her arms around Al pulling her into a tight hug. "You're my little girl."

"I know mum. I know."

__________

The train station was a towering thing, a place she hadn't really been before, but she'd seen it a few times. She was a little lost having to check her ticket a few times to get the platform right. Thankfully in her uniform everyone already knew where she had to be and were helpful in showing her. As they reached the platform she turned to her family, all of them came to see her off, even Daliana.

Al didn't even think about the reporters skulking around, though as she turned to face her family there was a familiar figure in the crowd. A young man with a flat cap, thin mustache and a playful grin. Slick was what the boys down at the Grey Peacock called him. A looker with a silver tongue, could talk his way into anywhere. He even tried to talk his way into Al trousers. However he didn't have much luck with that. He wasn't her type.

Slick gave her a nod pulling down his had a little. A silent understanding that her family was being watched over while she was away.

Looking to her family she started with Cathy and Mary kneeling down a little.

"You be good for mum alright you two."

"We're always good." Mary said.

"Uh huh, always good." Cathy followed up.

Al ruffled both their hair giving them a deep smile. Next was Will looking as standoffish as he tried to be 'adult'.


Spontaneously Al wrapped her arms around him giving him a big kiss on his cheek.

"Al…" he moaned in distaste.

"For Queen's sake have some fun." She said squeezing him. "There will be plenty of time for seriousness later." She let him go standing up to look at Charlie, holding Daliana's hand.

"You," She said poking him in the chest. "You keep an eye on them." She gestured to their younger siblings. "And be good to her. She actually likes you, and you'll be hard pressed to find another." She again tapped him on the chest. Charlie did his best to knock her hand away but he couldn't help but smile.

"Keep him out of trouble for me." She said to her brother's companion. "I can't keep eyes on him all the time."

"Oh, I'll keep a close eye." She giggled a little tugging on his hand. The poor boy stood no chance, not against her.

Lastly was her mother all the words had been said, decisions had been made. All that was left was to say goodbye. Her mother pulled her into a hug a hug that both parties would have wanted to last forever.

"Queen watch over you. And see you home safe."

"I'll come home to you, always."

Her with eyes slightly glassy Al made her way to the train, as she saw a young girl gathering her bag Al tried to save her from more work.

"It's alright I think I can carry this." The broad shouldered woman said holding up a simple suitcase.

"No mam' it's fine, I have this." Undaunted the porter took the bag and added it to the stack.

"Alright."

The staff and many of the other passengers cleared the way from the DOP officer guiding her to the car she would be sitting with her comrades. At the stairs she met Dawson giving him a curt nod though she didn't have a good bead on Mavis just yet.

She turned her back making a moved to enter the car and get herself situated, when she heard the sound of heavy boots thudding against the marble of the platform. Out of curiosity more than anything she turned her head to see a head of wavy brown hair rushing towards her. The man bumped into another passenger.

"Sorry." he said simply before carrying on at a breakneck pace. Al knew that voice, it had that ring that echoed in her ears. As he came close he held up his hand. "Wait." the word came out a little weak he was clearly out of beath. The man must have run all the way from Base to get here. As he got to the train car he bent over putting his hands on his knees, panting. Edward Hawkins looked up his DOP overalls stained with oil and his own sweat. "Wait." he said again somehow weaker.

Al waited, smiling and holding back a giggle.

"I just...I just wanted…" Hawkins spoke catching his breath. "I just wanted to see you off."

The smile deepened as he looked to her with those warm brown eyes.

"Be safe up there."

"I will be."

"I'll be here when you get back." He said without an ounce of doubt in his voice.

"I'll be here to meet you."

There they were two young people in love, and all they could do was look awkwardly at each other fidgeting with their hands.

There was an unspoken promise, to meet again, to return to this spot.

And they wouldn't break it.

 

[Simpli]

If Mavis had hoped her natural charisma would carry her through this encounter, then she was in for a surprise, as Calitri merely opened his notepad to quickly write a few lines of text onto it and then closed it again, before giving his photographer a dry look. The young woman did have the decency to at least pale a little as she fiddled on her camera, smiling unsure as the older reporter merely sighed for a moment: "Peony, the paper isn't going to pay for that picture and while Ms. Harper tends to be quite eye catching, her parents did her best to make sure her scandals remain as lowkey as possible – she isn't really going to be worth much to most magazines out there. But I guess you could go with one of the woman magazines for the downtown magazines.", tapping his pen against the closed notepad, he smiled sourly at Mavis "But I said you would do Harper, you still owe me for helping your father in getting you home from last years Gala without your mother finding out how smashed you ended up."

With a sardonic smile he gestured to the dark suitcases and the duffel bag that was surely holding the Tripod for the bigger camera that must be somewhere in the suitcases. "None of the Porters want to carry them into the train, because breaking one of Peony's camera's is going to be worth their whole monthly wage. Why don't you show her that your appreciation and bravery as pilot make you the most suited person to help with that? Well, I think I saw our editor somewhere at track three. He will surely want to talk about the story or the expenses again.", with a deeply resentful infliction on the last note, he gave a sloppy goodbye and disappeared into the mass of people, his salt and pepper hair bopping up for a few times, before disappearing between fashionable hats and some Lady's umbrella.

There were some downsides to knowing her father's friends and acquaintances – and left standing in the middle of the train station with the young photographer opposite of her. At least Pascale seemed even more embarrassed about the whole situation, clutching her light dress, while her flush only made her freckles stand out even more. "Uhmmm….", she began eloquently, before staring down at the suitcases and then shaking her head lightly "Sorry about Mr. Calitri, he's quite intend on getting off the island for his next story, the Editor appearing now is most likely making him …nervous?", she half questioned unsure. Looking down at the suitcases again she sighed lightly "I don't want to hold you up Ms. Harper, I can get these things into the train – somehow.", the last word was spoken with the kind of uncertainty that was unsuccessful in clearing up if she was speaking to Mavis or to herself. But true to her stated attention the petite woman soon bend down, beginning to gather the suitcases into her arms, slinging the bag with the tripods over her shoulder and wavering a little as both the weight and unwieldiness of the items bothered her.

-​

While Mavis was taking one for the team, Stitch found himself alone in the crowd – or at least for the moment it took between the disappearance of his aunts and the arrival of a rather cheery looking porter, who looked far too young in her slightly oversized uniform to be able to carry the sheer amount of luggage she already had under one arm. Still, the slip of a girl in her bright red uniform smiled quite happily, her pocket seemingly ruffled from having gotten something stuffed into it as quickly as possible: "Good Day Mister, yor redheaded friend send me te cop yor luggage onto the train – said yer and the officer were gonna share the same compartment in the train.", what accent clung to her words quite clearly showed that the girl belonged to the outskirts of town, but somehow she must still have gotten a job in the train station proper.

With her taking Stitch's bags and suitcase, somehow being able to carry and balanced it together with must surely have been Mavis luggage and the various things her mother must have packed into it as well, Dawson soon found himself approaching a quite touching scene. If anyone would have to guess, the dance his commanding officer and a certain technician had shared in the broken Fang, wasn't going to be the last one.

At least the evening on the dancefloor had given Al and Hawkins some experience in how to press close together in small and contested spaces and with the mass of the passengers moving around them, the hissing of the trains steam engines and the whistles of the conductors resounding underneath the glass domes of the train station, the world was loud and hectic -aside from the couple that was standing opposite of another, nearly touching, but not yet – so close but only trembling.

Well, as the porter seemed to have little inclination to break them apart, mostly making small squealing noises as she hide her own peeking gazes at the couple from behind her suitcase, it was on Dawson to find a way to respectfully inform Iron Jaw that the train was going to go in a few minutes and it was time to head out…

 

[Semi-Autogyro]

Mavis quirked an eyebrow at Cameron's retreating figure before glancing over at Pascale and huffing out a single word. "Rude."

Besides, that party was such a drag. Handsy older gentlemen who were just sauced enough that the normal prospect of earning Papa's ire went by the wayside. Her father just was one man after all, and she distinctly remembered him having to deal with the handsy wives of the aforementioned nobility. And the people her age? She'd rather have a repeat of flight schools hell week than have to sit and listen to the vacuous narcissistic prattle concerning their shallow lives. She had been there to sing a few songs, pose for photos, and be a stand in for her mother who had about as much interest in attending as a feral bloodbeast would at a vegetarian buffet. That, along with the well stocked open bar, was a death knell to her sobriety that night. Mavis didn't regret ruining that ugly vase that was up for charity auction either, even if she did wind up having to pay for it.

Pouting a bit as she straightened out her skirt, Mavis stood and got back onto her heels. Papa and his old boys club had long ago become immune to her wiles, much to her consternation. It wasn't worth trying to change the mind of the old salt anyways.

Miss Pascale had started to apologize for her boss, only for Mavis to wave it off. "Please, call me Mavis, Peony. May I call you Peony?"

The redhead didn't waste any time and reached for a bag, smiling cheekily at the camerawoman as she she slid it over her shoulder. "Besides, what sort of dashing pilot of the DOP would I be if I didn't stop to help a pretty damsel in distress?"

Deciding on one of the smaller bags, the Givrian gave a small oof of effort as she lifted the heavier than it looked bag. Good thing I've been putting time in at the base gymnasium because what in the abyss does Peony have in this thing, lead weights?!

Mavis turned to face the train and paused, every romantic bone in her body (which was all of them) squeeing in excitement as she caught sight of Al and Hawkins. "Peony? I will quite literally pay you out of my pocket right now if you take a picture of those two soldiers, because I think we're about to witness one hell of a goodbye."

Go on Hawkins, do it. Kiss the girl.

 

[Dariusprime]

Dawson couldn't help but be impressed. The young porter earned her money and more just from gathering everything together. Let alone actually hauling the load. A mental note reminded him to give her an additional tip.

What did Mavis pack? An armory?

If only he knew.

With an affable smile, he nodded to the porter, "Yes, ma'am. Let me know if you need an assist." He didn't outright ask if she needed assistance. That would be rude.

No sooner had he donned his jacket and shouldered his bag than little hearts began floating in the air. Well, not really. But they may as well have. The source could have been none other than Al. Judging from the behavior between her and Hawkins. The scene he would describe as cute, touching even. He stopped a bit back, next to the porter, and his smile turned tender. He shared a look, and the smile, with the young workwoman. Yes, they both knew what was going on.

Okay, go for the kiss, you two lovebirds.

But they didn't. Even in the hectic crowds, he could sense their awkwardness. Edward was an unknown quantity, but Al was stubborn enough that even her awkwardness was stubborn. Three-to-one odds the couple would part without a proper goodbye. The station clock caught his attention, and he hummed to himself.

This could end poorly.

Before he could make his move, a familiar sound caught his attention. Mavis of course. And a camerawoman. What was her name? Pascale! Peony. The one accompanying that Calitri shark. Not that he'd hold that against her, but he didn't want a photographer spoiling the moment. Which instinctively made him want to block the shot. Should she decide to snap a photo.

Thus he glanced at the porter again, "One moment please," before moving between the couple and Peony. At which point Mavis came into full view and he realized she was Up to Something. Talking with the photographer.

Ah, the romantic strikes again.

He veered across their view, passing through the crowd with a muttered apology or two, and whispered to Edward as he passed by. "Kiss her, you fool."

Then he disappeared into the crowd and circled around toward Mavis and Peony. Just to make sure what the score was.

 

[Vagabond422]

They stood there looking into each others' eyes as often as they looked away from them. It felt like time stretched out forever, that each second was an eternity. Al's heart was pounding it she was about to step into the ring. But it was different, it wasn't the excitement to put her body on the line, to prove her strength and earn money for her family. This was nerve racking unsure of what to do, or what to say. They just stood there, Edward fidgeted with his hands. He hadn't really thought out what was to happen next, he was just left there looking up at her as she waited on the train, moment from getting whisked away from him. He knew what to do but couldn't find the courage, the will to do it.

A voice whispered from beside him before fading away. He was being a fool. He stepped forward, and she stepped down one. His hand reached up callused and stained with black oil. It gently caressed the back of her head, pulling her closer. Their lips met and her breath was stilled, though her nose was still tickled with the scent of grease, and oil. It wasn't unpleasant, it just smelled like him. Again they held that moment, that pose, her bend down, her ponytail hanging over her shoulder, the blue scarf Mavis had given her complimenting her blonde hair, his head craned up, his eyes closed.

They broke the kiss, taking breaths they didn't know they'd been holding. As their eyes met the world came rushing back in, final calls for boarding were made and it was time to go. They had no more words to say, just nodding to each other.

Looking around Al caught sight of Mavis looking her way a photographer next to her. The boxer's eyes went a little wide, her cheeks turning slightly red with embarrassment. It was a new level of nerves realizing that her wingmate and friend had seen her lock lips with a man.

Hawkins looked down.

"Come on," Al called out, gesturing with her hand, before straightening her uniform. "Train's leavn'."

 

[Simpli]

Al's nonchalant exit from the situation was broken by a short, half swallowed giggle – which of course only made it stand out even more as everyone who might have bothered to look, would have found Peony with her cheeks burning scarlet red and her whole body shivering lightly. Only her hands were calm and collected as the camera was as expertly taken apart and stowed again as it had been put together for the short moment it had been asked to capture. Now the freckled photographer seemed to be both more and less in her element as she glanced between Mavis and Al, before smiling lightly "To whom shall I send the image when it has been developed? I do fear it will take some time till I have it developed completely; I am heading out towards Lugoy with Mr. Calitri.", she said in way of an explanation.

Not that there was much to be spend on the platform, just as Al was willing to fearlessly lead her wing forward into the cabin, the conductors had begun to clear the way. Their whistles could be heard all around the train as they gestured for people to step back, moved between tearful goodbyes with as much tact as the clock allowed and quickly pushed people and luggage that were not yet inside into the train proper. Thankfully Wing Three escaped such a fate both by virtue of the uniform Al was wearing and which was doing a great job at clearing away all those between her and the groups intended cabin and of course the small mountain of camera equipment Mavis was holding in her hands and carefully balancing as Peony led her further up the waggon, where the first class cabins were set. With thanks and goodbyes, Peony moved into the cabin she was sharing with mostly her equipment - and Calitri if he turned up again before the train reached its target.

And with the photographer stowed away – the wing found itself back together for the first time in days without any social event or family members distracting them from one another. The cabin was only second class, but it had a comfortable and well-worn look to it, that was downright bourgeois. The bright glass panels gave the trio a look outside, at the mass of waving and shouting people still standing on the platform as the train began to move. At first it was slow and ponderous, but as the steam build up, the power increased, the motions grew more and more fluid and it slide out of the train station downright elegantly. Soon the centre of the city was moving past the window, then the industrial district and its sky chocked full of air, then the shambling outskirts of town and finally the train was rushing through the fields and forests, smaller cities and hamlets moving past as the train went its way. Ever onwards, ever towards its destination.

Inside the compartment things were comfortable at least: the younger porter had brought the luggage – most of it Mavis- and secured it either in the nets above the seats or below them. The seats themselves were covered in leather, a bit used by now, but well-polished, the same could be said of the wooden frames underneath and the metal construction that formed the basis of the whole wagon: all in all not bad. There were even some magazines and papers lying out for people to read on the way.

 

[Semi-Autogyro]

Mavis beamed at the photographer as she set down the camera equipment long enough to presdigitate her contact card along with a few bills from her décolletage, before passing it along to Peony.

"You're an absolute doll, Peony" the redhead said as she recollected the equipment and helped the shy shutterbug to her cabin.

"Don't be a stranger! Oh! Almost forgot!" Mavis leaned in close to Peony, her blue eyes peeking over her sunglasses with a mischievous glint as she said goodbye in the traditional Givrian fashion: the faire la bise.

A happy "Ta!" afterwards and Mavis was sashaying her way to the wings assigned cabin. Which was rather easy to find with how Diana was still trying to get everything situated.

"Thanks again Diana. Would you mind leaving those three on the bench?" Mavis indicated a pair of cases that bore heavier padlocks and a smaller bag that contained the things she'd wanted to have on hand while on the train.

Taking a seat, she doffed her sunglasses and put them away and gave a little wave of hello at Al and Dawson.

"First things first," Mavis informed solemnly to Al.

"I'm so happy for you!" The redhead gleefully gushed to her friend.

Once congratulations (and a celebratory hug) were exchanged, she pulled a package out of the third bag and handed it over to Dawson.

"I managed to drop off Al's...but I didn't want to stop by unannounced at your house to give you yours." She indicated the fetching blue scarf around Al's neck and the samite one around hers.

The scarf was a verdant forest green with an umber houndstooth pattern that Mavis had picked to compliment her friends predilection towards earthen tones. "I hope you like it."

 

[Dariusprime]

Dawson could be described as frugal by nature. Not that you could tell from how he dressed. One of the advantages of being a tailor was a fantastic discount on custom clothing. This meant, of course, he made most items for himself with materials bought at a tailor's discount. Even coupled with a CEO's (reduced) salary, the thin man didn't tend to be ostentatious with his money. His dosh came reserved for the proper moments.

One such moment presented itself as the wing proceeded to its cabin. First, he saddled up next to Edward, introduced himself briefly, and palmed the young mechanic some money during the handshake. With a quick goodbye, he trailed behind the others. If Edward took a bus or cab back to the base, or pocketed his well-earned bonus, Dawson did not care.

A similar handshake, plus generous tip, awaited Diana after their luggage rested securely in their cabin.

Visible relaxation and a sigh of relief overcame him as he sank into old, comfortable seats. He waved back to Mavis and otherwise dealt with arrangement his shoulder bag next to him. No sooner had he started than he himself received a gift.

A random passerby could hardly have missed their new scarves. Someone with a designer's eye? Well, best to wait until the proper moment. Dawson grinned as he threw the loose end over his shoulder and struck a pose, hands on hips, looking into middle distance. A classic pilot's pose if ever there was one.

He chuckled, "It is simply fabulous, Mavis. Adorable! You have a designer's eye. Perfect colors for my palette and a classic pattern wearable just about everywhere. I love it. Thank you!"

He couldn't, for the life of him, not beam while wearing his new prize. A gentleman's fine scarf at that!

Before he could say more, something caught his attention outside the window. He waved to someone. Or someones in this case. A sharp eye could pick out three women among the waving crowds. One was sitting at the station bistro, chatting up a reporter. Another was browsing magazines and comparing notes with another person. The third stood amidst the photographers. All waved at him at the same time.

This... looked to comfort Dawson. He sank back into the seat and sighed again. Examining the scarf, he asked, "I must say your scarves are perfection as well. Wherever did you find such exquisite weaves?"

 

[Vagabond422]

As her wingmates moved in closer Al heard what sounded like a stifled laugh. It was almost like when her sisters were up to something but didn't want to get caught. Following the noise she found a freckled woman, her face slightly red, was she taking down a camera? Before the Lieutenant could say anything more the conductors whistles began to sound, and the platforms began to clear. Loved ones said their final goodbyes, or chased the train to see them off.

In the packed crowd she could see Edward his cheeks just a little flushed as he gave her a final wave, and further behind him, her family. Cathy was on Charlie's shoulders, and Mary sat atop their mother so they could see the train. Al swallowed hard, fighting back some tears. She was going to miss them.

She waved to them one last time before leading her wing through the train car towards their cabin. Her rank pins giving them something of an easier time of it. In not time at all they made it to their seats. It wasn't the best of the best but, it was certainly better than anything Al could have afforded on her own. Sliding into a seat and looking out the window her attention was drawn to Mavis who looked at her solemnly.

Al's brow rose just slightly before Songbird's arms wrapped around her. The wing leader's heart pounded in her chest her face turning slightly red. It was surprising, and Al would be the first to admit that she was still getting used to seeing her wingmates as close friends. Close friends that could give her hugs. After a few moments of shock eventually Al patted her friend's back.

"Thanks," She said weakly.

With the attention taken off of her for a bit she let out a breath looking out the window as the train lurched into motion. As Dawson looked at the scarf Mavis had given to him she found her hand brushing against hers.

"Oh, and I don't know if I thanked you properly...Thanks Mavis, for this." she tugged lightly on the cloth around her neck. "I'll try find something for you later." She said, wanting to repay Mavis for her kindness somehow. "Though I don't think I can top this…" She muttered to the side.

 

[Semi-Autogyro]

"Any time, Al." She said to her friend and wingleader.

Shortly afterwards Givrian noble gave a amused chuckle at her friends antics, happy that her choice of gift had been well received. "There's a shop on Heathcliff & Teak called Claire's Confidentials. The owner's husband, Ogden, has been trying his hand at accessories now that their main offerings are keeping them well in the black. These," she said indicating all their scarves, "came from me bemoaning how dreadfully pedestrian the DOP issued white scarves were back in flight school. Add in the untapped market that the DOP pilot cadres represented meant that Oggy had already started selling them when I visited the shop the next time I was in the neighborhood. He'd love to talk shop with a fellow fashionista, I'm sure."

"Uh uh, none of that." She vetoed the idea of repayment with a chiding shake of her head. "It is a gift, honestly given. I never expect any repayment of my largess, Alberta."

She turned her attention back to Dawson. "That goes for you too, mister." The statement was emphasized by a quick point at the tailor.

"Besides, with us being the 'Wonder Wing' that survived the debacle that was our first deployment unscathed we now have certain expectations of us. You both saw all of the newshounds sniffing about ever since the rags broke the news about the Zephyr and the Inventionis. We cannot be mere pilots anymore, ergo the scarves as a starting point. Wendi, all her eccentricities aside, deliberately cultivates a certain air of mystique about herself" She explained as she dug around looking for something in one of her bags.

"Al, you've never had to worry about something like this before unlike Dawling or myself. After all, I'm an infamous maverick and Dawling over there is his own august personage. Aha!" The Givrian produced a small case out of the bag, holding it aloft briefly in victory before passing it to Al.

The small makeup case was well made, and compact enough that Al would be able to fit it easily in her rucksack. "So! This is for you! Last time you wore makeup your poor beau was torn between staring and picking his jaw off the floor. And that was with pilfered contents of my vanity bag! So imagine what colors that complement your complexion will do!"

Her infectious cheer continued as she indicated a well made briefcase and a more traditional DOP gun case."Speaking of appearances, it would behoove us to show up at Lanza Aerodrome not packing just our service pistols. So I stopped by the base quartermaster and requisitioned some heavier firepower for us." Mavis stood up long enough to pass a the locked cases to her friends before sitting back down.

"Be sure to thank Captain Randolph next time you see him, since he went out of his way to help expedite getting those. Dawling, the code for the briefcase is 591. Al, here's the key for yours." The redhead lightly tossed said unlocking device at Al.

"They should both fit in your cockpits, so we can at least pay lip service to the ladies of blessed firepower and their insistence of being armed at all times..."

---

The rolling hills of the countryside passed outside the window as Mavis got up and locked the cabin door before sitting down and getting her wingmates attention by clearing her throat. Her posture was prim and proper, nothing like her normal laissez faire attitude. "I promised you both an explanation at the wake. I hope that what I will tell you will not cause you to treat me differently."

Mavis steeled herself, drawing her shoulders back and gone was the mischievous fox. "My name is Lady Mavis Viviane Harper and I am the last scion of my family's line. For two-score generations my family has sworn fealty to the Kingdom of Givria; serving as advisors, diplomats, and when needed the bloody right hand of the crown."

Her normal upper crust Neoboromihian accent was gone, replaced by the lilting style that was common to native speakers of Givri. "I can trace my lineage back to my namesake: Viviane of Dionne, Sibyl of the Lady. Who with her wisdom saved the life of Sorrel Épineux, first King of Givria. In repayment, he granted her the land that she had made her hermitage upon and a noble title. Our family has ever since resided in Dionne, the Lake Province, at base of the Catalan Massifs where the headwaters that feed the region emerge from the root of the mountains."

"Givria lost to the Stratocracy a little under four centuries ago. They initially tried to dissolve the nobility, but ran into armed insurrection and guerilla attacks breaking out across their their newly acquired spoils of war. So, they compromised by reinstating the nobility. The nobles would continue to serve, as long as they understood they were subservient to the Stratocracy Elders on top of the recompense of tithes. My family and our vavasours never traded in flesh like some of our so-called peers in the old country. We provided soldiers, sages, and training to combat the growing threat of the Forest. That miserable status quo remained in effect up until fifteen years ago, when the Stratocracy had no more use for the polite fiction after their heavy handed actions caused a rebellion. One that was instigated by actions against my family." Her hands clenched tightly against the hem of her dress, knuckles going white as she visible prepared herself for the next part.

"Amélie and Julian were twins on top of being my older siblings. They were inseparable, but ultimately they wanted different things out of life. My brother entered the Officer's Academy, following in Papa's Footsteps. My sister had no taste for the blade, unless it was attached to a scalpel. She badgered my parents constantly for months to attend to the finest medical school available, Galatea College, which is located right in the very heart of the Stratocracy. She was so excited when she was accepted. After she left, we got a few letters at first and then heard nothing at all from her for several weeks. So naturally, both of my parents and I certainly were not expecting the sight of a stranger bearing an letter of apology complete with an Elder Seal showing up on our doorstep."

Mavis pauses to stare out the window for a bit before continuing. "I do not know the precise contents of the letter; only that it declared that my sister had the 'privilege' to have saved the life of one of the Stratocracy Elders by her selfless personal sacrifice."

"I didn't even recognize Amélie as she stood before us, because those monsters took almost everything from my sister aside from her life. Oh, she was physically fine. But would you be able to look at a strangers face in the mirror everyday and see your family treat you different because of it? That your passion could be twisted into a living horror? Knowing full well that following your dreams had cost you everything that made you, you? My sister couldn't." Grief wars with hatred in her voice as she tells her tale.

"I had talked to her the night before, you know. Gave her a hug goodnight, said that she was still my beloved sister regardless of what had happened. I wonder to this day what more I could have said or done differently to save Amélie from herself." Mavis paused to dab her eyes in order to not ruin her makeup.

"After the funeral my brother...changed. Julian started speaking out more and more against the Stratocracy, knowing full well the ramifications of what he was doing. 'We must dissent,' he told me one night after getting too far into his cups. By the time he had graduated with an officer's commission, the Stratocracy threw him on the front lines to keep the tinderbox from igniting back home. I do think they were hoping he would get himself killed out there, but he kept coming back alive. More and more draconian policies and measures started being enacted in Dionne as unrest rose, to the extent that even my mother was taken in for questioning about disseminating seditious contraband. All these attempts to tighten their grip only resulting in the control they desired to slip further through their fingers as they alienated more of the people." Mavis gestured along as she talked.

"By now all that was needed was a single spark to ignite the flames of insurrection, which Julian provided when he was murdered on the front. It is very strange when a sharpshooter misses and hits their officer in the middle of camp, no? His men turned on the political officers and loyalists, putting them to the sword before abandoning the front. Open rebellion followed my brothers' body back home, whereupon his comrades informed my father the truth of what actually transpired. My father immediately ordered my mother and I leave for New Boromih as he assembled the rest of the familia and proceeded to march on the Administratum. The storied Sanglant Chevalier of Givria turned his blade against his former masters, reaping a bloody toll through the loyalists ranks as both Dionne and his sons earthly remains were incinerated in that charnel house pyre. I remember standing on the deck of the Trencaclosques while holding my mother's hand as we cried; of not being able to to see the horizon due to the smoke and flames. When my father returned bloodied yet unbroken, our family's honor had earned a black mark upon it as we left the smouldering ashes of our familia and ancestral lands behind us." She gave the pair a sad smile.

"At the wake you met the only surviving member of the house of Groza, Ursula. She and I may have grown up and played together when I was a child, but after certain words about my sister were said I excised her from my life. I had hoped at the time that it was the last I would see her, red-faced in anger and screaming bloody vitriol. But fate was not so kind, for either of us. She lost her family then as well, not to the revolution but to the Stratos making an example out of them for their supposed failures as the highest surviving administrators in Dionne. As far as I am concerned, Ursula died alongside her family that day. 'Sula' is nothing more than a soulless mockery wearing a dead woman's face, twisted both inside and outside by the butchers to be their little marionette." If looks could kill, Mavis was packing an autocannon at the moment.

The anger burned bright for a moment before Mavis sighed and then gave the pair a helpless shrug. "In my defense I did not know she yet lived until three years ago, where I harshly critiqued her so called film. I only found out who she was when that woman later challenged my father to a duel. He humiliated her by letting her live for her hubris. She cannot now seek satisfaction under the old code for whatever grudges she is still nursing like an old wound. It is likely she will attempt some other scheme or to try goad me into accepting a duel. It ultimately depends how far she has truly fallen from her heritage. Whatever may come, I only ask of you that you take the veracity of anything coming from a quisling bastard as nothing but hypocrisy and mendacity."

"So there you have it, for good or ill. I would appreciate it if you would not repeat the story, if only for my parents sake."

 

[Vagabond422]

Al gave a slight grin towards Mavis as she soundly rejected the idea of repayment. Gifts were something unknown to the lower class girl. Whenever something was given there was always an agreement, that you would pay them back. Most people she knew barely had enough, so giving something away was unheard of, but trading that was common practice. It was odd to not owe something back, it itched in an odd way in her heart. Mavis seemed fine with just giving things away, flatly and forcefully rejecting any thought of paying back. Though Al didn't have too much time to dwell on it as she looked on curiously as her wingmate dug around in her bag while talking about appearances, and the fact that reporters were now following them around.

There was a slight pit forming in Al's stomach, almost like she knew where this conversation was going. Almost like she could see what Mavis was searching for in her bag. As the makeup kit was produced the former boxer couldn't help but feel a little nervous. But there was also a little excitement. She remembered how Hawkins looked at her all dolled up, she almost felt pretty. Though she wondered if she wanted to present herself as such around others? Would being pretty make people pay attention to her, to recognize her as the commander she was? Part of her rejected the idea of being some pale lilly, or pinup that other pilots would put on the nose of their machines. She was a fighter, a woman that talked better with her fists than her lips. Maybe there were other ways? Other uses for makeup beyond just making her more aesthetically pleasing.

"Thanks…" she said quietly to the redhead. "Um, you'll have to give me some lessons on how to use it…"

Al looked away a little, a slight embarrassed blush on her face as she took the shotgun. There was a clear unstated reason this close range firearm was given to her...her ill fated attempt to go fist to giant ant in the corridor. It wasn't her best moment she would admit but, she was still very comfortable with her fists and her knife. While she could shoot just as good as the others, her true talent was up close and personal. With this shotty maybe it would turn the next close range encounter slightly more into her favor.


As the rolling hills past by her, Mavis drew her attention. The Givrian had locked the cabin door and was sitting in an almost military like pose. Very unlike her, Al felt as though Mavis couldn't sit still if her life depended on it. Then she spoke, an accent slipping into her words, one Al had heard only sparingly before.

The wing leader sat quietly, patiently, letting Mavis tell her story, in all it's painful detail. The loss of her Sister, and how it sent her Brother into a spiral that ended with the loss of everything she'd ever known. The fact she came from nobility was a distant second thought to the sheer weight of her family's fall. Being forced out of a place you'd known your whole life, from the only home you'd known. Her old place sounded like a beautiful place, before it burned to the ground. Al only ever grew up with bedtime stories of Alhertia, Mavis grew up in her homeland.

Her father seemed like quite the warrior and swordsman. Maybe when they returned Al could take a few lessons. But thoughts of the future would have to wait, Mavis needed her friends, needed support.

"Well, if you ever need someone punched in the face, or a second...is that the right word." Al said a slight smile on her face, an attempt at a bit of humor to lighten the mood. Mavis's dour face wasn't a good look for her. "I'm your girl. Hell, I'm contemplating fighting her myself." She did steal Hawkins away from her on their first meeting. Sure they weren't an item before that point but that hardly mattered. "But, I'll let you take the lead on that. Just know you've got a girl with a dynamite right in your corner."

 

[Dariusprime]

Dawson gave an absent nod at Mavis' explanation. At the moment the scarf underwent extensive examination with a jeweler's loupe he had produced. "Ah, yes, Claire and Ogden. Lovely couple," he muttered before focusing on some inscrutable detail of the stitching. "I will make a point to visit them both next leave. I've been meaning to talk shop with Claire about the undergarments industry since we met at a reception...oh, a couple of years ago now." Something about his matter-of-fact tone suggested that may as well have been yesterday.

As his wing mates chatted, Dawson continued his observations while keeping one ear open. He murmured from time-to-time, typical details such as thread count and weave type. He did not, quite on point, mention that each of these scarves probably cost more than a month of Flight Officer pay.

He did, however, raise one hand, as if to stay, on my honor, I will accept this gift graciously.

The mention of the 'Wonder Wing' did draw his attention back to the conversation. He continued to beam as the scarf returned to its proper rest over his shoulder. He could guess where this conversation was headed. One, he knew Mavis well enough now to guess, and the topic felt like an elephant in the room anyway. His expression couldn't help but turn a bit sympathetic to Al's plight. Well out of her comfort zone for starters. Though much could be said for seeking new opportunities. And Mavis was right on her points: the newshounds would be swarming, and poor Edward didn't have a chance against Al.

In the lull as the guns changed hands, Dawson noted, "Whatever your style may be, we're behind you, Al."

Now this submachine gun... well, he couldn't completely field strip the thing. But the jeweler's loupe reappeared as he scoured the machine. Checked the barrel for pitting. Checked the mechanism for fouling. Felt the trigger pull. The comfort against his shoulder. Evaluated its overall grade and condition. He nodded to his satisfaction as he held up the weapon. "Excellent! Even has interchangeable ammo! You're a genius, Mavis. Thank you once again." He grinned.

A quite mischevious grin. "I don't suppose you know why an smg with no serial numbers was fitted into an executive's Bentonite briefcase?"


A sheath of papers and a notebook occupied his time after that. The papers appeared to be technical drawings and notes. Even upside down, the peculiar style of Stratocracy formatting could be discerned. A gamut of emotions had crossed his face in the time from starting his work. Consternation, intrigue, scheming, inspiration, even disgust ranked among them. He'd copied some details and sketched out a design for what appeared to be an enormous parachute system consisting of smaller canopies reinforced by a system of rigid conduits lined with metal cables. In theory the parachutes would catch air resistance and pop open not unlike metal-framed cubes that unfolded like umbrellas. He was just making a few notes for the engineering team (mainly concerning such interesting tidbits as weight-to-tension resistance ratios for materials and percentage redundancies vis-a-vis operational failure rates) when Mavis turned serious.

One eyebrow went up at her antics. Or rather at the sudden lack of antics. Mavis seemed almost... vulnerable. Alongside Al, Dawson likewise listened with quiet patience. His face remained a stony neutral, and he didn't so much as nod. What a tale it was! The tailor couldn't help but think her story almost fairy tale. Excepting the horrific nature of the Stratocracy. They made for dark fairy tales and fables. Even by Old World standards.

And yet her history explained so much about her behavior. Particularly her devil-may-care attitude and her ferocious response to Al after the Battle of the Forest. The fury burning in Mavis' eyes didn't appear directed at Al. That anger felt more personal. He knew why now. Money and titles meant shockingly little when you had a sword of Damocles hanging overhead. One that could do worse than kill you. Or take everything away from you and leave you alive. Like so much was taken from Mavis, her mother, and her father.

His more self-aware side reminded him that a lot of what she spoke about: nobility, dueling, honor, etc., didn't make a lot of sense to a Kubutian. Especially a Kubutian of New Boromiah derivation. The latter stock developed a more independent and progressive character. People of the 'frontier' such as they were. He remembered reading about how New Boromiahians were less than thrilled to have the Duchy transplanted from Kubutia to New Boromiah. But then Kubutians rolled their eyes, plotted for change, and made the best of it.

This though was about Mavis. The loss of her sister, her brother, her home, and her world all rolled together. And that she chose to share so much. A swell of sadness about her loss mixed with a sense of pride that she chose to confide in them.

Dawson added a solemn nod to Al's reply. "I am in your corner too. Thank you for your trust."

He held his arms our wide, his body language asking if Mavis now needed a hug.

 

[Semi-Autogyro]

"Thanks…Um, you'll have to give me some lessons on how to use it…"

Click to shrink...

"Of course I'll help you, Al. By the time we get back, you'll be a natural!"

Mavis then leaned forward a bit. "If it helps, think of this..." she waggled the makeup case, "like that." The redhead pointed to the shotgun.

"They're ultimately just another weapon in your arsenal. And if you get good enough with them, you can knock 'em dead before they can even lay a finger on you. Or the opposite, if that's your goal." The implications of the latter statement clear by the rakish grin and eyebrow waggle from the bubbly pilot.

"I don't suppose you know why an smg with no serial numbers was fitted into an executive's Bentonite briefcase?"

Click to shrink...

Mavis gave her friend a mysterious smile. "It's a familiar story, retreading that old chestnut about fools rushing in where angels fear to tread. Just this instance being quite literal, especially when concerning armed trespassing on DOP property."

"Well, if you ever need someone punched in the face, or a second...is that the right word? "I'm your girl. Hell, I'm contemplating fighting her myself. But, I'll let you take the lead on that. Just know you've got a girl with a dynamite right in your corner."

Click to shrink...

"I am in your corner too. Thank you for your trust."

Click to shrink...

Mavis easily accepted the hug, resulting in the scent of woodsy spices from her perfume tickling Dawsons nose for a few seconds before she pulled back.

"Thank you both. Your words mean a great deal to me." Mavis replied to the pair as her formally stormy countenance began to clear up like a spring day after an errant rainshower.

"Now if you'll please both excuse me, I'm going to go use the powder room and get changed before we arrive."

Mavis grabbed her DOP bag and then unlocked the door before disappearing down the corridor. She returned a quarter of an hour later wearing her pilot uniform complete with the new accessory of a trail carbine on her hip. The duo could tell she wasn't fully back to normal as Mavis sat with her back against the window while softly singing to herself, paging through what looked to be a Givri to Hertian language guide by the title.

 

[Vagabond422]

Al smiled seeing Mavis perk up, her bright smile returning to her face. The wing leader was sure if she could handle much more of the Serious Face of the Songbird. Not that it wasn't important, just that it was eerie seeing her friend in such a state. Though now that she was shining like the mischievous little star she was the former boxer felt much more at ease.

Move a little to let Mavis go change Al looked back at the gifts Mavis had given her. Yet more largess from the woman. Again it sat funny with her just accepting generosity. She would find a way, even if it wasn't through gifts or money, she would find a way to repay Mavis for this. Looking at the makeup kit she flipped it open. She was presented with a dizzying array of options and tools. The pilot recognized some of them, and knew sort of what they were used for but, how it all came together was another mystery. Closing the kit she set it to the side choosing instead to focus on the shotgun, something she could understand.

It was a 12-gauge pump action checking the shells looked loaded with buckshot, good stopping power. Now she would pack a punch from further than arm's reach. Her hand ran over the smooth walnut stock, her fingers wrapping around the grip feeling the weight a little. Her eyes came up to the makeup kit, regarding it with some curiosity…

"Another weapon huh…" She said before buttoning up the gun case and setting it to the side.

She had a lot to learn, makeup, leading, and her officer's exam. She hadn't forgotten about that. Rifling through her pack a little she pulled out some the materials command had sent along to help her study.

When Mavis returned Al again made room. She shook her head, Mavis could make even the standard uniform look good. And the Carbine on her hip looked beautiful and deadly, just like the woman that carried it.

Mavis was looking at her book and Al had her nose buried in hers. She owed it to her wingmates to pass this exam. They had bled and fought together, if they were broken up or, Queen forbid, be put under another commander, they would lose something special.

She wasn't about to lose that.

 

[Dariusprime]

Dawson smiled and returned the hug. Even if nothing else, he gave good hugs. He too appeared pleased to see a little of the darkness fade from Mavis' countenance.

Oak and cinnamon with a touch of lavender. Chantel No. 2, vintage 2 years, fall batch. A fine choice.

A look of surprise accompanied Mavis excusing herself. My how the time flew when you were having fun. He had to check his filigreed pocketwatch to be sure. "Huh."

Pulling out a bag, he glanced to Al. "I'd best change too. I shall return in a moment."

And indeed he did. Returned a few minutes before Mavis even. He wore his uniform and pilot jacket. His new shoulder holster took a little adjustment but eventually looked good as well as comfortable.

Without a book of his own, Dawson focused on finishing up the book-like stack of papers from his shoulder bag. Dawson's notes went into a carefully sealed and addressed envelope. These beauties were bound for Emiko and safe keeping. The originals from Sula though... he hesitated. He glanced up at Mavis and back to the stack several times. Then a small, mischevious smile crept over his face.

He had an idea. A wonderful, awful idea.

Sula's originals disappeared into an unmarked manila envelope.

Was it a risk? Oh hell yes. Would it be interesting? No doubt.

The rest of way he admired the scenery whizzing past the window. Occasionally, he would tap the envelope on his seat cushion but otherwise did little but enjoy the time. Very likely these moments would be the last quiet ones for a long, long deployment. Best to savor them.

He did notice Al working on something. Looked like what he expected, but he wondered if he should offer to help. He knew she'd do well on her own. Together though they'd really nail down the material and benefit everyone even more.

Later.

 

[Simpli]

While New Boromih was the Capital of the Duchy, the seat of its government, the fortress of the Patrol and the Fleet, it was Ayrada that had become the economic centre of the duchies trade with the western continent. As the train arrived in the city coming from the east, its railway line hugging the southern coast for a minimum of elevation, you were greeted by the splendour of its buildings and the hectic coming and going of ships in its harbour. From your view the artificial bay of the city formed a perfect sickle shape, its buildings clinging to the rising hills beyond it, sometimes breaking to make way for cliffs, somethings staying in enforced order with great substructures. The architecture is a mix of the most modern building styles currently en vouge on the continent: steel and glass dominate, with creamy marble plates and burnished copper mixed into it. You can see the graceful greenhouses of the Ducal Zoo, the polished glass protecting animals and plants from the whole eastern continent that are otherwise unknown to the world. Far above it, on the peak above the city, sits the Ducal Observatory. Using modern day lens production, as well as floatstone assisted floating platforms, they research the night sky at ever greater highs and with ever more interesting results.

But of course, the true monument and sight of Ayrada is the emporium of Giannou. Said to be the founding nucleus of the whole city, it is the central and most vital place of commerce on the whole island since humans began to life on it. Where legends talks of wooden shops and a few landing piers for ships, the greatest palace of consumption on the whole island now stands tall and proud. Taking the space of what might in other parts of the city have been at least five if not six building blocks, its foundation is set in the traditional and tasteful creamy stony that comes from the nearby quarries. Upon this storey sized pedestal, sits the modern day construction: a filigreed network of steel, marble and glass, forming what from the distance looked like a most expensive and artful dollhouse, but from up close was indeed a building complex of five storey's dedicated to nothing else but the sale of luxury goods from the whole known world. Restaurants, terrasses with greenery, even a cable car could be seen connected the Giannou with the high-rise district further up along the flank of the nearby mountain.

But it was not the smell of pastries that hit your noses as the train moved into the city proper, but the mix of diesel, coal and sea water that was ever so oppressive at all harbours. While the wealth of the city was displayed above, the true wonder was the artificial harbour carved into the land to expand the far smaller natural bay. The train drove past the harbour and to its left you could see row upon row of piers and warehouses, cars and carriers moving with larger and smaller packages, seemingly enormous cranes lifting whole pallets of wares from who knows where into and out of the waiting ships. These were just as varied as the goods they were transporting: quick and agile wooden schooners from Pleshin could be seen anchored next to the slim and steelbound hides of Stratocracy merchant vessels, while luxuries passenger lines of the republic gave their passengers a view from their top deck onto the city to the faint sounds of a live orchestra at the ships bow. Dozens of larger and hundreds of smaller ships could be seen as far as you could see over the sparkling sea. But what caught your eyes was not the romantic vision of sailing – but the fortress that seemed to jut out of the sea, despite the waves lapping at its cliffs.

It's historic walls date back to a time when gunpowder was a closely guarded secret, only few dared to learn and use. Back then the influx of refugees onto the island lead to Ayrada growing into a true port city in a matter of weeks – to protect the fledgling settlement from pirates and monsters both, the gun witches were offered an share of the tariffs the new port would generate – in exchanged for guarding and protecting it. This pact has held for centuries, even if many of the cities Harbourmasters had tried to wiggle their way out of it again – but as long as this pact was honoured, the Gun Witches of Ayrada would know no financial troubles and thus they held onto it by virtue of their naval cannons pointed into and beyond the harbour.

But you only caught a glimpse of the venerable fortress, as the train finally moved into the train station of Ayrada proper and already from a first glance you could tell that the architecture was smaller than the one at New Boromih, but clearly served as model for it. The same high vaulting archs, gas lamps which burned ever brightly even at the day and what seemed like a small army of porters and conductors holding back the tide of people who were eager to get into the train you would now need to disembark.

Of course, what drew the eye even a cursory glance was the gap in the middle of the crowd, as if the travellers were shying away from something. What precisely that was, became apparent when you looked at the centre of the gap: shouldering a rifle as tall as herself, a gun witch was smoking a cigarette without any care in the world, not even glancing at the people shying away from her. Even if there hadn't been the space around her, she would have stood out in the group of travellers by virtue of her uniform alone. Exotic – archaic – eye catching. From the tall leather boots, to the wide cut of her pants, the long white and embroidered overcoat and the dark, gilded coat with the high collar, which only covered her left body side, while it ended abruptly beneath her waist on the left. Ceremonial it may be, but neither the rifle, nor the sword-bayonet hanging at her side were for show.

As the brakes of the train finally squeaked for a last time, she crushed her cigarette underneath one boot and pushed up the visor of her helmet, her blue eyes trailing over the train as if searching for someone…

 

[Vagabond422]

Al's brow furrowed as she looked over her study materials. Math, why was there math on this exam? Numbers were not her best subject, she could do simple addition and subtraction but beyond that she had much more difficulty. More than once she turned to Dawson asking for some assistance on some of the harder questions. Though she was a little nervous about asking, she wouldn't have Dawson in the exam room with her. She could only hope she picked up enough to pass.

The flight leader kept reading, and making a few notes in a rather rushed hand that only she could read barely, until her eyes hurt. Eventually it got too much and she had to look away. Looking out the window she let her eyes adjust to focus on something far away. Thankfully they were just coming in sight of the city. Ayrada

Al hadn't heard much about the place, most of her contacts were local, though Len said he had a cousin out this way. She saw high up on a mountain an odd dome with what looked like an oversized spyglass jutting out of it.

"What is that?" She asked quietly, she didn't have the foggiest, though no doubt Will would know. A little further down she saw the towers and estates nestled into the mountain side. What was it with the wealthy and living above everyone else. Then further down she saw the crown jewel of the city, the emporium of Giannou, not that Al would know it was call that. To her it just looked like an oversized train station, but she wasn't seeing any tracks or train moving in and out. Though she did notice the cable cars moving from the mountain side to it.

"How do those work?" The city was a marvel to itself, so different from her home New Boromih yet so similar. Taking in a breath her nose crinkled a little, that was the smell of the sea, and a few other things. Looking out the other side she saw the great harbor the beating heart of the city, the place that provides for it. She'd never seen so many ships in one place, and so many types, from luxury liners to little wooden boats. It seemed everyone wanted to come here.

And further out, just for a moment she caught sight of the imperious fortress of the witches. It stood proud watching over the entrance to the harbor, she could just see some of the long guns, before it disappeared behind the walls of the train station. After the majesty of the station back home this seemed much the same, though a little smaller. In the crowd of people she noticed a void, an perimeter around one particularly dressed woman. The rifle was as tall as she was and her uniform seemed awfully out of place.

"I think we found our welcoming committee." Al quipped to her wingmates as she pulled her new shotgun out of its case. "Might as well make a good impression."

The wing leader made her way out of the car and onto the platform. Do doubt the gun witch noticed the three uniformed DOP members by this point. Walking up to her Al extended a hand.

"Lieutenant Alberta Croy." She introduced herself.

 

[Dariusprime]

Dawson proved more than happy to assist Al. His method helped Al break down the question and assess each component. Once Al understood what they wanted, she could focus on the how she needed to achieve the desired result. In particular Dawson emphasized the role of the why. He even mentioned offhandedly that once you knew the why of something, the foundational principles, everything else flowed from it. The whole exercise sounded to Mavis like an exercise in critical thinking skills. Which to Dawson it was. Which also said a lot about how Dawson operated.

Indeed, he came across as a kind teacher. He only offered assistance as she requested. He never talked down to her. He encouraged her. He was ever patient. He congratulated her. He even offered to write up more practice questions. He wanted her to learn and succeed for her own sake. This felt like an unseen side of the pilot.

Dawson looked out over the approaching city. He couldn't say he knew the most about the place. The heart of Loomis exports beat in that artificial harbor. He picked out the company logo on a warehouse here and a container there. The city itself though? Well, he knew that his ancestors counted among the founders and had their hands in the Emporium of Giannou itself. The details proved a bit fuzzy and blended into the local legends. He also knew a large segment of the family decamped for the city of New Boromih and retained ties with those who stayed behind.

I wonder if they ever regretted leaving. Look at the size of this place now... Need to see how everyone is doing sometime.

His gaze drifted toward the modern version of the Emporium. His thoughts felt ambivalent on that subject. Great business opportunities. An unholy union of gaudiness and avarice. At least the modern design had some style.

Built on the original foundations laid down in the year...

He leaned over a bit to sight whatever interested Al. He hesitated to answer her question. Was it addressed to the group or a rhetorical question to herself? He went with the former. "The Ducal Observatory. Houses one of the largest telescopes in the world. Their current project is mapping the surface of the moon. Be fun to visit."

He didn't answer the question about the cable cars. To that one he could only shrug. That was a question for someone like Edward Hawkins. Someone that knew the mechanics or the engineering.

One thing he did know about the city was that, for its own strengths and weaknesses, Ayrada felt a bit more inviting than his hometown. Even after spotting the fortress moments after Al.

"That looks like a place where Gun Witches would live."

"And that looks like a Gun Witch," he added after Al pointed out the rather impressively dressed person. "Love her suit."

Dawson trailed behind Al and Mavis. His wing leader may not have parted crowds like the Gun Witch, but her demeanor and uniform nonetheless proved proficient at the task. He himself faded into the background milieu. The smg remained tucked into its case, held in his left hand, and he shouldered his bag. He'd let Mavis pick out the porter. She had a good eye for talent.

He did however step up beside Mavis before leaving their compartment. He offered her the manila envelope and an enigmatic smile. "A gift from an old friend. Do as you please."

 

[Semi-Autogyro]

The train car plunged into darkness and then back into the light, Mavis blinked at the reappearance of the sun and snapped her book shut after marking her place. Well familiar with the route, she knew the tunnel they had just passed through marked the last one before Ayrada.

Nothing against the city, but she'd stayed at the brownstone her family owned for a summer a few years ago and spent most of that time exploring. And well, it was rather bleak. The Ducal Zoo was depressing; the sight of all the animals pacing around their enclosures. Never again free to walk, swim, or fly unrestricted by bars and glass.

The Observatory on the other hand wasn't in her wheelhouse by any stretch of the imagination; when she did go her tour was ruined by the undergraduate astronomer playing guide choosing to focus on her heavenly body over the ones scattered across the vault of the night sky.

Then there was that...monstrosity, Giannou Emporium, the supposed evolution of the bazaar that made Ayrada famous in the first place. Which was accomplished by taking the bizarre out of the bazaar for the sake of convenience. No haggling, no chatting with the artisans who created said goods, and definitely no commissions. Just clinical price tags and displays.

Taking a quick look about the cabin, Dawling was helping Al with what appeared to be algebra of some stripe. Mavis suppressed the shudder at remembering her own soul crushing experience in learning advanced mathematics. Please Miss Glasswaithe, stop asking me to find your X. I don't know exactly Y he left, maybe he was looking for a more equal relationship? Just move on and admit it's better if you never Z him again.

The redhead lips quirked at her own little joke as she busied herself getting the wings luggage ready to disembark. The busywork was also a convenient as to not getting roped into trigonometry or Lady forbid, calculus.

Unfortunately for Mavis, it took her all of five minutes to do so. Fortunately, Al had decided to not bake her noodle anymore with number crunching and instead took in the city as it unfolded as the train began to arrive into the city proper. The Givrian focused on the squat edifice looming over the bay. Mavis had hoped when she got this assignment that she might be lucky enough to see inside those imposing halls.

"That looks like a place where Gun Witches would live."

Click to shrink...

"It's offically known as the Sclopetum Convent," Mavis replied with an amused tone, "but I much prefer the local appellation: the Church of Violence."

The vista disappeared as the train pulled into the station, with Mavis noticing the woman standing tall in a sea of people.

"Looks like we warrant sending out a Witch-Seer to collect us." she commented on the smoking woman, noting the chevrons made from three sets of crossed rifles on her epaulets. Damn, where can I get a pair of those thigh high calfskin boots, Mavis wondered as she followed the others out the door. Only to be stopped by Dawson handing her an envelope and a cryptic message as Al forged ahead to meet the Gun Witch.

She gave her friend an quirked eyebrow in response before nodding and taking a moment to slide it into one of her bags. Mavis lagged behind her wingmates a bit, smiling at a waiting Diana as she left the luggage in her capable hands. Taking a moment to slide on her sunglasses and adjust her flight jacket, Mavis stepped off the train and onto the platform.

She was going over to meet their welcoming witch, but an excited exclamation of 'Momma look, a pilot!' provided a potent distraction. Aww, what a cutie! Mavis gushed internally at the little boy holding a well loved toy airplane painted in DOP livery. The redhead stopped what she was doing and gave a smile and wave to to the adorable tyke and his mother, as meanwhile Al had offered a handshake to the nun with a gun.

 

[Simpli]

"Lieutenant Alberta Croy." She introduced herself.

Click to shrink...

"Witch-Seer Zola – your Apostle, Lieutenant.", was the punctual answer, her hand – in quick succession – tapping twelve times on her chest, in a curved line reaching from her right shoulder to her left hip, touching her uniform only barely with her quick fingertips. Al could faintly remember having seen the witches do something similar on the founding days of New Boromih, when they honoured the Witch-Captain of that time. Clearly it was intended as some kind of salute this time and the Witch-Seer only glanced past the newly baked Lieutenant, quirking an eyebrow at Dawson hiding behind his superior, while the redhead was waving to someone else – somewhere down the platform.

Still, she didn't wait long enough that it would make things awkward and instead grasped Al's hand with a firm grip of her own. Iron Jaw could feel that the woman opposite of her had come through a few wrangles. From the heavy calluses on her hands where a rifle would surely fit quite snugly, to what felt like a scar ranging from in between her index and middle finger to nearly down her wrist.

Up close and with the leather and steel mask of her helmet down, Al was able to see a weathered face, whose age was close to that of her mother and just as worn, but with a dangerous glint in those dark eyes that was missing in her mothers. That the woman opposite of her was not putting on airs, was easy to see: a network of scars stretched across her exposed dark skin, from what looked like an at least twice broken nose, to someone's attempt of turning the right side of her face into a jigsaw puzzle – one that was expertly sewn together again, leaving only faint light scars that only her Trubcrican heritage made stand out.

For all the wear and tear of their wearer, her uniform colours were immaculate and a series of colourful ribbons were tired to her sleeves, fluttering with each of her movements as she shook Al's hand and let go of it once more: "Witch-Captain Thembi has tasked me with welcoming you to Ayrada and show you the sighs if you are interested. Legatine-Witch Rolande is handling the transport and maintenance of your warbirds on the Warborne. She is confident that everything will be prepared by the evening and thus with time to spare before our departure tomorrow, Lieutenant."

Glancing past Al again towards the unlikely duo of her subordinates, her lips seemed to shift for a moment, before she glanced towards the luggage that all of you were carrying "A Powder Neophyte is accompanying me with a car – if you are willing I can have her deliver your luggage to the Covent for the night. The Battleborne is undergoing last Inspections by her Grand-Witch – an important ceremony for everyone involved, but one that leaves the ship empty till its departure."

 

[Vagabond422]

Al waited with some curiosity as the Gun Witch went through her 12-point salute. She'd seen something like that before, an honor to the Witch-Captain during the founding of New Boromih. When the other woman took her hand, Al felt the hand of a career soldier. It was rough and course, more so than even the former boxer's. There was a slight texture difference running down the middle of her palm, a scar? It wouldn't be out of place given the visible scars Al could see, and the broken nose.

In that moment the pilot asked just how long this woman had been fighting. Given the weathered look on her face, and wrinkles around her eyes she was old enough to be Al's mother. How many years had she carried that rifle, how much had she gone through to earn those rank markings. Was this what awaited Al? A chest of metals and skin of scars? The question of if what she was doing was a job, or a career floated through her mind. Did she have the dedication to see it through to this?

She was brought out of her thoughts as the offer of a tour was made. They weren't allowed on the Airship yet, as final checks were being made. The wing leader was curious as to what the "Special Ceremony" was and if her and her wing would be involved somehow. She looked to her wingmates seeing if they had any suggestions.

"Having our bags stashed somewhere would be handy, thank you. And well, I can't speak for my wingmates but this is my first time in this city so I won't say no to a little tour."

 

[Semi-Autogyro]

Even though she had arrived fashionably late, Mavis did manage to catch the tail end of the conversation.

"My apologies, we had an admirer back there." The Givrian noble said as she slipped into the conversation along with a nod at the boy and his mother who were now moving up the staircase away from the platform. The striking dichotomy between the harderend witch and the bombshell pilot was readily apparent as Mavis made her way over for her introduction.

"Flight Officer Mavis Harper, thank you and your order for your hospitality." She said with good cheer to the Gun Witch while offering a friendly handshake. Behind her Diana seemed to be doing her best to be unobtrusive, putting the luggage cart between her and the pilots plus witch.

"Having our bags stashed somewhere would be handy, thank you. And well, I can't speak for my wingmates but this is my first time in this city so I won't say no to a little tour."

Click to shrink...

The redhead gave a little shrug as she glanced between the witch and her wingmates. "I was in town a few years ago and caught most of the attractions then, but that shouldn't stop either of you from seeing the sights."

Mavis looked back to the witch. "Would it be possible to attend the ceremony? I admit to being a more than a bit curious about your order's practices, if it would be allowed."

Not like I'm going to admit that what most I've read about the Witches is from their well known homilies or the Flintlock Memoirs; which were apocryphal but quite decent compared to most other bodice rippers about the Witches.

 

[Dariusprime]

Dawson watched the Witch-Seer's salute with interest. The gesture obviously took a moment, but at the same time, the motion was practically automatic for the Gun Witch. Which suggested the salute came standard with the Order.

Interesting. I wonder if there is an underlying meaning.

He couldn't help but smile a bit at the mention of an admirer. The idea of being a celebrity hadn't yet gelled for Dawson. Sure you could talk about reporters and press all you want. But a fan recognizing a pilot, even anonymously? Well, that was something else.

After Mavis made her introductions, Dawson likewise offered the Gun Witch a friendly handshake. "Flight Officer Dawson Loomis. A pleasure to meet you, Witch-Seer Zola. And likewise, thank you for your hospitality." The greeting emoted a certain businesslike formality: friendly but reserved. Not a difficult operation for Dawson.

The iron grip. The fighter's eyes. The scars. Yes, he took an instant liking to her. This person worked her butt off to get where she was. That he could respect.

Her scars, particularly on her face, reminded him to read up on first aid. After all he never knew when being able to sew up people could be a handy skill.

That thought soothed the little well of anxiety that bubbled up through his reserved demeanor.

Glancing at the cartful of luggage, he nodded, "Seeing the sights would be pleasant, thank you."

 

[Simpli]

The Witch-Seer nodded in affirmative at Al's decision, but the details of it had to wait for a moment: after all the rest of the wing was due its introductions as well. If the veteran Gun-witch was feeling any particular reaction as the red-haired bombshell appeared from behind Al, then she didn't particularly show it. Instead she took the offered hand with a polite and professional expression on her scarred face, inclining her head in greeting to Mavis: "We welcome the Patrols contribution to our missions, just as much as they appreciate our paychecks to keep your warbirds up to date. Meaning that we have been given some of that paycheck to show you around – maybe you would be interested in seeing some of the less…overrun tourist sites?", the witch offered lightly and then showed a crooked grin "Depending on how hungry you are, there might be a spa or two that are both affordable and interesting for someone from New Boromir.", she said easily.

Less open was her tone on the question of the ceremony, with a curt shake of her head, she denied said request "I fear that wouldn't be possible: it's a ceremony especially for the Neophytes who are joining us for their first real mission outside the confines of the fortress. But I am sure the Grand-Witch would invite you to the evening dinner. I am sure Witch-Captain Thembi has reserved three seats at her table for you.", after a moment, she added more lightly "But if you are interested, I can send a Neophyte to invite you to the morning drills on the Warborne itself. Or if you are more interested in a more….", she glances down at Mavis form "…elegant pursuit: there is a coven of sisters of the Second Exalted Order of Sword Witches accompanying us on this mission. They might want a partner for their…", she rolled her eyes lightly "…dance. Still it might be hard for someone unaugmented to partake in their moves. Witch-Captain Gabriela has led Operations against the Forest for the past six years and her coven has brought much from the Stratocracy that we are currently looking over."

Turning her attention to Dawson next, she shook his hand firmly – but not squeezing, her head inclining politely "A pleasure for me as well Flight Officer Dawson, I am glad to be of service – if anything you ought to think fondly of me, when you are bombing close to our lines.", she added with the lightest hints of a smile, before nodding at this own opinion: "Then I think it's time to head for the car: food or sightseeing first?"

She asked the gathered group as she led them out of the train station: which was smaller than the one in New Boromir, but no less opulent, with shops, boutiques, waiting rooms, café's bars, cigarette loungers and even a few motels for those who needed to wait on a train or a ship. Thankfully the Witch-Seer was able to push a way through the crowds that not only you, but also your luggage could follow. All around you, people from all over the world seemed to be gathered: you could see the colourful and thick clothing of the Patriarchy, the light floral dresses of the Republic, the tall hats of the traders and even the scars and firm military cuts of Stratocracy fashion. A dozen languages, three dozen currencies if you looked at the hagglers and shops and everywhere glass, brass, steel and burning lights of electricity or gas: it was dazzling and this was only the train station. When you exited it, you were caught between carriages, cars and even a tram. Shouting, running, honking and wildly gesturing drivers seemed to be completely normal for this kind of traffic. Thankfully that wasn't going to be issue for you.

The Witch-Seer lead you towards what you presumed was the waiting Neophyte, a young girl who must barely bee and adult, shouldering her own rifle and wearing a less ornate version of the Witch-Seers uniform. But what caught the eyes was not the young slip of a girl in uniform, but the armoured car next to her. The same colours used for the uniform of the witches were applied to the car, giving it a dark and nightly aura, only broken by brighter dashes and lines. But the overall impression was brutal: a heavily armoured brute, with a round dome on a hump in its back – from which a heavy machinegun was poking out. Truly not what you had expected to pick you up instead of a taxi.

"The chassis isn't great for sightseeing, but I prefer the gunports on the sides to large weak windows.", the Witch-Seer said unworried, as the Neophyte saluted. With her help your luggage was stowed inside the belly of the metal beast and the witches beckoned you to enter.

 

[Semi-Autogyro]

"Well now, that changes the landscape significantly if it's on the DOP's dime..." Mavis responded, her smile showing a bit more teeth than usual as she tapped her finger on her chin in thought.

Reading in between the lines, it was clear that Witch-Seer Zola was intent on keeping them away from the other Witches until dinner for whatever reason. But even with that, Mavis' gut trusted the woman. Only a fool ignores a local guide, after all. Now there's an idea.

"...that being said, is there anywhere you recommend or would like to visit Miss Zola? Avoiding the tourist traps would be ideal; I know there's some hidden gems tucked away in Ayrada known only to the locals. Places with some history. Ones not frequented by day trippers or mindless followers of whatever currently is gastronomically or culturally en vogue."

---

Mavis chatted with the Witch-Seer as they made their way through the train station, ignoring the sights in favor of getting to know one of the women who they'd be working with for the foreseeable future. Mavis had accepted the offer of training with the sword dancers, sharing an amusing anecdote about her father 'helping' that resulted in Mavis bringing a saber to a ballet recital to add some 'flair' to her routine. "I do not know who was angrier, my mother or the instructor when all the other girls demanded swords as well..."

Exiting the train station was much like New Boromih, with the wave of street noise practically screaming in your ear. Ugh, the sooner they were away from this the better.

The redhead let their guide lead them to the waiting...armored car. That's a new one.

Mavis gave a musical laugh at the woman's droll statement. "The fifty caliber right of way also helps a bit for when you're competing for a parking space as well, I take it?" Mavis moved to introduce herself to the Neophyte witch, afterwards helping to move their baggage from Diana's cart to the surprisingly spacious boot of the armored car. She still had one last thing to do, aside from calling dibs on the turret gunner seat, which was to see Diana off.

"Thank you for your impeccable service, Diana." The Givrian said as she passed the porter a few more bills and a note that looked to be composed on a memopad from the trains dining car.

"That's intended for your boss, but you can read it if you wish as it's up to you if you would like to pass it on. Adieu and fare thee well, Diana." Mavis finished cheekily before getting into the slab of metal masquerading as a car, leaving Diana holding a positively glowing feedback letter signed by one Lady Harper.

"...Aww, there's no bullets," came a disappointed voice from within the barbette turret.