Lightship above the Sea of Fog

Space reserved for characters and mechanical information.

Space reserved for rules explanations.

It was nearing midnight when the interurban finally broke the curtain-fog and crossed the shoals to the highland town of Cayenne. The monotony of white, then grey across the window saw Alcide Fresnel bury his nose in his paperback almanach or bother one of the other passengers for chess. With the sleeper car now given over to sleep and few other passengers disembarking in a sleepy upland town, he found himself doing more of the former for the last leg of the trip. His eyes were compelled by the amber lights of Cayenne's streetlamps, the vivid pinks and blues and oranges that lavished the facades of old brick and cinderblock rowhouses built along the town's narrow winding streets, jutting out like matchsticks and sometimes stacked and joisted together by wrought iron catwalks and wooden footbridges.

The train slowed as it made the last leg of the climb to the stop. Soot-stained and dust-caked but otherwise handsome back ends of residences and overhanging balconies scrolled by, at first a blur and then a gallop and a crawl. Alcide took his things, a blue canvas duffel, canteen and a satchel for lighter carry, and descended the steps at the end of the car when the conductor called the station and the soft chime tolled twice.

"Passengers of ITR002, we have arrived in Cayenne Station. It's a pleasant but-not-balmy 13C outside, so remember to get your jackets on."

Alcide put his boot forward off the ramp and onto the creaking wooden panels of the station platform, lacing his blue flight jacket on as the evening breeze cut right through his thin cotton undershirt and sent him into a shiver. With his duffel over his shoulder, he hurried off the landing and down wrought iron stairs to the little cul de sac that joined the station to town, framed by a few squat office buildings and the town post office, with the lights and noises of a pub on the second storey. The road was mostly empty, a few postal workers closing up shop, bar patrons in well-worn clothes smoking off the pub doorstep, and a single woman on an antique motorcycle with a sign that said 'Fresnel'.

He could identify his local handler as local, sun-kissed but not naturally dark-skinned, wearing a grease-stained grey sweatshirt, coarse denim pants and black combat boots that were worn enough to be vintage, with frayed laces only completed a quarter of the way up the calf. Her face was partially covered by a dirty neckerchief and the visor of her helmet, with just the bridge of her nose and a bit of her round, ruddy cheeks peeking through. She seemed sloppy.

"Ah, hello." Alcide waved as he caught up, then reflexively saluted. "Alcide Fresnel, I'm with the Foreign Air Force, Survey Corps." She didn't return the gesture, so he slightly awkwardly put his hand away.

"Cool. I'm Nora, I'm supposed to be driving you around." She gave a nod and went back to sit on the bike. "Get on. I don't have a spare helmet, so make sure you grab on tight."

"To… what?" Alcide approached, and reflexively stopped himself. A waft of tobacco and oil hung around her clothes, a smell that reminded him of the hardy, incorrigible working men of his hometown.

"My waist." She said before a thoughtful pause. "Have you ridden a bike before?"

"No."

Her fingers dove to the latch under her chin, releasing the helmet and jostling her head side to side to release black hair, pasted to her head by hours of wear. She put it into Alcide's hands. "Put it on. You probably don't know how to fall off a bike the right way." He didn't, but he also wasn't aware there was ever a good time for that!

"Uh, sure." The inside of the helmet was damp and hot, with a faint scent of a neutral-scented fabric deodorizer and a floral shampoo, but mostly sweat.

"Sorry about the sweat. I've been riding around all day." She said with apparent self-consciousness.

"It's fine." It was more than fine, but there exists no correct way to say that in circumstances like these. He took the backseat and put his hands on her waist, finding it a little thicker and firmer than he expected but not in an unpleasant way. "I should be thanking you for looking out for me."

Her brows and cheeks raised a bit, like she was smiling under the bandana. "It's my job. Anyway... I could drive you right over to the Lightship, if you want. There's not much to do around town at this hour, but there's a couple of bars around or we can chill out. I have a rented garage space you can crash in, there's a shower that you'll probably appreciate."

[ ] Get taken straight to the Lightship to get ahead on work. (+1 Downtime Cycle)
[ ] Take it easy, take the scenic route and reminisce a little. (Chargen in Retrospective)
[ ] Why not hit up a local pub? Odds are you're not going to see her ever again. (Chargen in Discussion)
[ ] A shower and a couch? Sounds like heaven. (+2 Vigor)