Life is Stewardship

[waito_x]

The Conservatorium owes much of its botanical allure to the ministrations of its sole gardener, Jessabelle Jeremy Jameson, known around these parts as Morrow given her habit of pulling most of yesterday's work firstly. If only it was that clearcut.

---

Front Access, Conservatorium Gardens

Morrow, taking stock of some of the underwatered rose bushes as the Conservatorium grounds readies up for summer, hears the shifting flap of an outright kaleidoscope of Vanessas, and knows it must either be the raven's feeding time, or...

She turns, in time to see Joyce presenting her case to a trio of understudies. "Ah, when did you get here?" she says wistfully. The raven, perching again on her shoulder, motions for both of them to make introductions.

The maids dip out, feeling like no longer squinting in the morning sun at the newcomer.

"Hey, was it something I said?" Joyce tries.

"Yoohoo, Marsh or Merryweather?" the gardener asks.

"Neither. I am making the rounds, seeing who has Chloe, and have had it up to here with the dodginess of your investigation."

The gardener, glancing knowingly at the raven, dips her head. "You will find her, especially with the lad's help."

Joyce turns about, perplexed. Then her eyes track along to Warren slowly extricating his person from some thorns.


The Two Voices Hotel

Steph and Ryan, content with relaxing on separate hotel beds as they trawl the evening news broadcasts, both perk their ears up as Alex returns from the lobby. Most of their stuff is already dry, despite the fog-laden trek.

"Whatcha got there?" Steph asks.

Alex regards the stack of reference material filling much of the entertainment setup's surface area, the result of long hours schmoozing and perusing with the town's librarians.

She wonders now where to deposit the hotel room access card, before feeling pressured by Steph's unspoken 'harumph'.

"I've looked at so many maps, my phone is about to run out," Ryan says all of a sudden, staring balefully at the coffee maker.

"K. As requested, a charging dongle, your liege?" Alex, walking over, deposits the accessory in his midst.

Steph, blinking, thinks to inquire afresh, particularly...

"Yes, I was going to get you something as well," Alex informs her, scooting around the nearest bed to take Steph into a tight hug. "The vending machines are pretty bare, I think there is some kind of flash mob that blew through here."

"Oh, I'm all for some flashing," Steph tries.

"Look here, Ms. Disk Jockey," Ryan begins, twisting to regard either of them better. "I'm all for putting the 'ho' in hotel, here, but we need to--!"

Steph has hastily pushed Alex aside to impart Ryan's snide remarks with a pillow or two.

"Eh, you two play nice? I'm going to try to score some cash from the lobby."

"What did I tell you," Ryan says blandly.

"With my guitar?" Alex thinks to mention, assuaging Steph's crestfallen lilt with a headpat. "You're not going to believe who I ran into."

Bit of a Stone's Throw from Absecon Bay

"We going to sit through these shenanigans, again?" begs Diane, still Luna's junior in the temporal hijinks department.

"Well, assuming some of y'all just got here, then of course," the Abbess states, focusing more it seems on Mayfield discretely annihilating crumpets within a folded napkin.

Luna glances up, the height of the observation gallery not nearly as big a deal. "Phew!"

"Yeah, them stars no longer clouding her vision," Diane infers, waving a hand in front of Luna's face, before retreating from a beaded glare by the maids guarding the basket of AM crumpets.

"Starting to feel better?" Claire asks, situated beside her.

Luna blinks, before turning to regard the gallery access. "Just how late are some of the girls?"

"Just how put together are some of these digs?" the Abbess emphasizes. "Well, yes, there's the matter of catching them in the act before we can think of trying them good and proper, but," then her accent goes haywire, "but I won't be using this timepiece again."

"It isn't a question of displacement, more to do with timing," Luna tries.

"Hmm," Claire, pausing her admonishment of Diane a row behind mimicking Luna's recent noshing, figures she has heard it all before.

"Oh, this is different," Diane, lifting a toy monocle to scrutinize past the heads of the front most rows.

"Yeah?" Luna considers, before eyeballing the French exchange student. "You didn't take the portal to get here."

"Fire is my specialty, not potholes?" she counters.

"Never mind."

Right then, there is a clamor down below, as a capitol staffer blows past several ushers and rushes the podium with a stack of papers.

"Oh," the Abbess, sizing up his gait, throws up her hands. "Who let that asshole through?"

From the previously shared podium, Carlisle has now taken the place of Keifer and seems keen on beckoning the younger-looking Mr. Jefferson forth, before at last receiving the upheld documents without a word and turning to sift through them.

Jefferson, clearing his throat, eyes the chortling from the nearest rows. "Do you mind if I...?"

"Be my guest," Carlisle, flipping through the last of the updates, says tiredly.

"I've just returned, and have to warn you, it is another shipwreck before us," Jefferson says, voice raised. "And, it is perhaps one of the most noteworthy cases that we have handled this March unlike any other. I bring before you the sinking of the steamship City of Columbus."

There is an immense outpouring of disquiet from the joint Congress so gathered.

The Speaker, tucking the rest of the papers into the podium, bangs his gavel. "The 49th Congress is now in session. Recording for us today..."

Up in the balcony, Diane swears aloud.

Ahead a row, Luna crumples, wincing visibly.

Claire instantly reacts, pressing a hand to her upper back. "Luna? Ah, étouffer avec quelque chose?!"

"Oh, what's gotten into you?" the Abbess asks, having dealt with enough drama for one field trip.

"We totally misjumped."

 

[waito_x]

"...what the heck is in those pastries?"

---

.

___________                         __  .__                 .___             __         .___             __  .__           
\_   _____/______  ____   _____   _/  |_|  |__   ____     __| _/____ _______|  | __   __| _/____ _______/  |_|  |__   ______
 |    __) \_  __ \/  _ \ /     \  \   __\  |  \_/ __ \   / __ |\__  \\_  __ \  |/ /  / __ |/ __ \\____ \   __\  |  \ /  ___/
 |     \   |  | \(  <_> )  Y Y  \  |  | |   Y  \  ___/  / /_/ | / __ \|  | \/    <  / /_/ \  ___/|  |_> >  | |   Y  \\___ \
 \___  /   |__|   \____/|__|_|  /  |__| |___|  /\___  > \____ |(____  /__|  |__|_ \ \____ |\___  >   __/|__| |___|  /____  >
     \/                       \/             \/     \/       \/     \/           \/      \/    \/|__|             \/     \/

        _____    __  .__             _________                                                 __               .__                         
  _____/ ____\ _/  |_|  |__   ____   \_   ___ \  ____   ____   ______ ______________  ______ _/  |_  ___________|__|__ __  _____           
 /  _ \   __\  \   __\  |  \_/ __ \  /    \  \/ /  _ \ /    \ /  ___// __ \_  __ \  \/ |__  \\   __\/  _ \_  __ \  |  |  \/     \           
(  <_> )  |     |  | |   Y  \  ___/  \     \___(  <_> )   |  \\___ \\  ___/|  | \/\   / / __ \|  | (  <_> )  | \/  |  |  /  Y Y  \         
 \____/|__|     |__| |___|  /\___  >  \______  /\____/|___|  /____  >\___  >__|    \_/ (____  /__|  \____/|__|  |__|____/|__|_|  / /\ /\ /\
                          \/     \/          \/            \/     \/     \/                 \/                                 \/  \/ \/ \/

​

​

Up until the seatbelt indicator, he was pretty certain that his passport and other effects with those rubber-band ID tags all read his initials, R.B., but soon as he stumbles through the customs, he becomes accustomed to the whimsies of the Lighthouse.
For, in lieu of lavish amenities of the ground-level airport just past screening, there before him shows up a large, gaping stone passageway.
His tracking instincts suggest there are signs of Mistress Claire, or someone with similar abilities at least.
Just up ahead, a small wooden sign, the garish scribbles pecked away by time and talon. There upon it is a phrase written in an odd script. But he knows it perfectly well.

"Ah, water magic again. This ought to do it."

From just outside the least understood sections of the old Conservatorium, steam billows out from all around, scaring away canal traffic.

Undaunted, wand gripped in his teeth as he uses both hands to pry open a loose bit of decorative slate, finding the control interface. "Ba-zing!" he half-celebrates, before the discharge from his fire attack arcs and courses its way back to about eye-level, prompting tears. He grits his teeth, smearing away grit from his eyes as he stumbles his way through the service subroutines.

"Would it be too much trouble to-- ...!?"

He freezes. Somebody else is nearing his location. The wand is back in his grip, but too late as the passageway hastily dematerializes, in its place a mere magic barrier, barely luminescent on its own with contours befitting the keel of a ship.

Something like chains. No, less metallic. In whirls a heavy cord of rope at him.

From the shadows, a warning: "Fixing you do that again? Not on my watch."

Life is Stewardship will return in a moment! ​

/NEXT TIME!

 

[waito_x]

As it settled on her desk one morning, opened in the midsection face down, dust and embers sloughing off and eating into the map of Atlas, Olive Harper could not quite place the originator of the work. Though, everybody in her unit affirmed that most everybody was read up on the escapades of the boy with the lightning bolt between his regal eyebrows.
Olive hastily tried putting the book away, only to find a page in the back that even at first glance seemed loosened intentionally.

---

Absecon Bay, NJ

"Hoooo!" demands the stage driver, steeling a glance at the busy thoroughfare ahead. "Here be as close my steeds will get, Mistress!"
Harper pulls on her bonnet to get a clearer look of the center of town. Something seems rightly off. "Stay put, I will check this out."
"Suit yourself," the driver, working the reins something sinusoidal, stills the horses from anxiously back trotting.
The clop and clip of her conveyance disappears into the bustle of the New Jerseyan harbor community, the opportunity to mingle with these denizens, all behaving convincingly as if thrust back a century or two, is probably going to take all day.
Her assignment, however, only stops at finding the source of the mysteriously inserted scroll, and the means, as she unfolds and glances over it again, of deciphering the not-so-Rosettan scribble-de-bobble.
Holding it up, the weight or print tone is clearly beyond the capacity of wherever this is, a place that some crack Atlesian sniffers deduced over umpteenth cuppa.
She reels a moment, rolling the page rather than complying with the inadvertent desire to tear it to shreds. How or why is her head banter going against years of proctored, militaristic discipline?
"Well, ain't you a right sight for sorceress scrying, little lass," someone says from the front deck of a humble inn.
"Pardon?" Olive whirls about, promptly dropping the document as she sprints forth into the outstretched arms of Glynda Goodwitch. "Never thought I'd--" but a finger is calmly planted over her lips, instilling pause.
"Not here, let us check out the rooms upstairs first and, you probably need some stout drink and filling food. Then and only then will I tell you."
"Tell me what?" Olive prompts after the shock finally clears from her system. The horse and rider whistles idly nearby, whom she waves over to double the tip she originally provided.
"Much obliged," the rider begins, before working the finicky horses away from the trough out front the inn. "H'yaw! Not this tomfoolery again!"
Glynda looks quizzically over at the commotion, wiping a mocking expression as it clicks. "Oh, I am so sorry."
"Aye, we've got a well a town over that isn't nearly this brackish," grits the stage driver, before dipping a bowler hat adieu.

Upper Catwalk, Capitol Rotunda Modernization Efforts

Clutching a timepiece to her effects, the Abbess counts quietly to herself before alighting from the levitation trick. She finds her footing on the broad, sprawling outer scaffolds, only a catwalk and some choice footwork keeping her from ragdolling against pitched roof, columns or even the steps a number of floors down, rolling out in chiseled precision to welcome foot traffic from the Mall. "A'ight, double the ration of crumpets."
"Nice," Luna Mayfield says, turning to fist bump a mage apprentice in their burgeoning ranks. "Told ya."
"You seem to have all the answers, Ma-- umm, Miss Mayfield," tries Kate, curtseying politely. Then, she turns suddenly, as if someone is calling to her.
"Be seeing you?" Luna gathers, staying her own qualms at just how much the view from the dome to the wooded swatch of Federal land resembles that ordeal on the ol' dormitory rooftop.
"If there's even a way to get down," Kate surmises.
"Well," Luna considers, withdrawing her wand to check its charge. "I'd be remiss to say I read the instruction booklet on these things."
"Oh. By and by, here approaches the other wagon."
"Huh?" Luna utters, blinking into the bright Columbian sunshine. "Oh, that?"
Claire and her entourage are finally sync'd up, the wagon reconstituting into the stalls of visitor parking.
Luna issues a brief, antacid-deficient burp.
"Whoa, stand clear there, Miss Marsh," the Abbess, overhearing, cautions at once.
Kate, holding a kerchief to her face, smirks, before focusing on the grounds below. "You think I should scale back down?"
"The way you take to jogging, I think it should be okay," says another, though faintly and from below.
Kate and Luna glance over to find Claire and her entourage waving up at them.
"Here, maybe she can catch you, right Caulfi--" the Abbess thinks to remark, before steadying the knitting on a fitted bodice in lieu of her thick, dowager-esque gown and apron. It is an off-season look to account for the unusual heat for early District springtime. She clears her throat, as if remembering her station. "I am such a fool at times."
"That is what we love about you," Luna admits warmly. "But, now you have to do m a solid, 'kay?"
"Yes?" Kate infers.
Mayfield whirls about, shaking her head. "Nuh-uh."
The Abbess makes a sudden shooing motion. "Oh, be on with you, those ladies' arms will grow tired if they hold that wagon canvas out for much longer."
"Say wha--?" There is another clamor that draws her concerns for a moment. Turning, Kate yelps as a wheelbarrow rushes her position, materializing from thin air though stuffed to the flaring handle grips with the beige and black certificates of a raucous maritime update a Session prior.
"You can't be serious," Luna says aghast.
"That thing nearly took me out," Kate tries, working a jaw she feels she nearly dislocated unintentionally.
"Here, let me try to send it back real quick."
"I tried to warn youse," the Abbess asserts, eyeing both of them for a bit as she considers the next move. "Meh. Suffice to say that we are burning this candle wax."
"I've no idea what that means," Kate tries. "We put it to a vote, then?"
Luna holds up a hand, knowing her magic is going haywire of late as she has rank to essentially consider for either of them. "Just how is a stack of bounties going to solve matters?" she begs.
"Knew I could count on you," the Abbess says, smiling.
"That's not nearly what I'm getting at here," Luna tries, but, tiredly, she concedes, stooping to fetch some lose certificates and return them to the rest of the newly liberated pile. "Will these even work, or does someone have to sign for them?"
"We'll think of that, after we try sneaking all of it out," instructs their matron, hiking up her sleeves.

 

[waito_x]

As Conservatorium students, under the Abbess's terse instruction, finish loading up a number of borrowed wagons with a wheelbarrow worth of pilfered silver certificates and paper monies, Manaria and Lene are soon sighted and seem about to reach their position. These interlopers soon pause at the front steps of the impressive Capitol building, thoroughly clueless. Luna, having recovered enough for another go at the heist and now more determined than ever to see it through, grins knowingly as she issues a thumbs up to the lead driver. With a whistle from around the bend, in stream the whole complement of Absecon-bound wagons..!

---

Capitol Mall

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Manaria shouts, springing away with a gust of wind before a wagon wheel nearly crushes her foot.

"Sorry, sorry!" a voice calls to them from the back of the nearest one. "We're in a hurry!" Then, the apology is soon receding.

Manaria, aghast, steadies Lene only to reel a bit as Lene starts grabbing her arm tightly.

"Oh, I think I know that person!" she relates.

But, Manaria is all but ignoring her, as she sizes up the wheel gauge, the tracks they leave in the Mall mulch. That, judging by the speed and amount of daylight probably left, where precisely to find them next.

"So, what's the plan?" Lene, wiping sweat and wagon-spewn detritus from her brow. Eyeing the angle of sunlight with Manaria for a moment, her eyes soon fixate on an approaching flock of seagulls. "You expecting a message?"

Manaria snorts. "Yeah, right. More like they're conditioned to investigate human activity this close to lunch hour."

Lene raises an eyebrow. "In any case, that pedigree of waggoneers we saw?"

"Yes, I think can we place 'em."

"Lead the way!"

Butterfly's Barn

Morrow motions for Joyce and Warren to keep up, the Lighthouse working up a portal with glowing runes that neither of the Oregonians recognize immediately.

That is, not until their eyes have had time to adjust.

Joyce glances about, perturbed. Morrow is absent, though a lantern she was using a moment earlier remains beside a signboard indicating in clear English the hours of these little known Absecon Bay equestrian amenities. "Well, would you look at that."

"Hmm?" Warren beseeches monosyllabically, a bit worn out by the magic-induced travel.

"This graffiti here, of a horse's saddle. It's got my daughter's initials at the bottom."

"Well, where there's Chloe, there's bound to be a bunch of empty beer bottles. Watch your step?" he infers.

"You watch yours," she counters, picking up the lantern and smirking a bit. "I have my best boots on today."

Some Wagon-Lengths well outside the old 1780s U.S. capital

The Abbess loosens the strap of an umpteenth horse's bridle as the whole caravan takes to bed around a babbling brook. Content with their placement, she tosses a Philadelphia-minted silver to the head rider. "See that you lot get a good night's rest in town. We will cover the route from here."

Luna, overhearing little of this exchange, is tied up with gazing forlornly at the silhouette of Miss Claire, the latter switching into more campers-ready attire in one of the nearby tents.

The Abbess suddenly nears, quietly passing Luna a hot mug while stirring and recooking the contents of her own with a bit of magic.

"Long night ahead of us," Luna contends, nodding appreciably.

"That doesn't surprise me," their matron admits.

"Have a seat?" Luna offers.

"Yes, indeed. After all that riding. I get stiff at any length, it seems."

Luna coughs, lowering her mug as she furrows her brow at this. "...Indeed?"

They regard the treeline past the odd lantern glinting up and down the avenue length.

Settling back into the quiescent interlude from their travels, Luna at last smiles. "We should do a trivia game. To see who all remembers the most about Wharton's Forest?"

"Wharton's, huh?"

Max had once asked Chloe this very question, about one closer to home that had been set ablaze the years she was up in Seattle.

They sat on the hood of Chloe's truck, watching a freight roll calmly through, the flatbed bits flaking with the spindles and other forested effects from a previous haul.

At least, so her imagination was telling her at the time. Trying to process the phenomenon for a moment, Chloe at last gave in to the illusionary pull from the nether. "We'll be sure to go there if we ever get around to visiting New York."

Presently, Luna tilts back the dregs of hot cocoa. She knew very little about constellations, but they continue to shine so very brightly this hour despite the proximity of urban dwellings. This far back before electric lighting really took the scene, that is.

"If I were to ask her, she was the better tour guide," the Abbess says at last, somberly.

"Of course I do, how could I forget?" Claire replies with emphasis, smugly regarding the length of parked wagons. "Bet I can find just the thing." She disappears into the back flaps of one.

She returns to their conversation, huffing a bit as she lands a coffee table before them.

"Ooh, good call," Luna affirms.

"Yes, feel free to use it for this game of yousse."

"Miss Claire, do I detect the hint of a drawl?" the Abbess remarketh flatly.

"Why, I never!"

Laughing for the first time that evening, Luna holds up a framed photo of them all standing in front of a rusty car, holding a map while Chloe pretended to check a cracked sightglass for any booze.

"Okay, ladies. Luna, you go first if you please."

Claire, nodding eagerly, turns to acknowledge the starting turn of this friend she has made.

Then, she gasps. "How did you come by this rendering?"

"What, this? It's just a silly photograph."

Claire rounds on her, livid. "You shall not dabble in prior inca-nada! Not for her, or anyone!"

"Aye," Victoria exults from the other end of their encampment. "I keep telling her that."

"You are both full of surprises," the Abbess airs, finding somewhere to set aside her mug. "Still, the trivia game, you lot?"

"Hear hear, Luna!" Kate hurrahs from another cluster of peers. "Do give it your best shot."

 

[waito_x]

Warren is first to mentally recover from the portal. At Joyce's behest, he bridged through first, waiting for his head to clear to call Chloe.

---

"Here now, who is that?" Diane remarks, eyeing Maxine's friend as he stumbles through a constant procession of morning traffic.

"This better be some flash mob, or I'm about to get jumped by security for trespassing a live action take," Warren quips feebly.

The Girls' Lodgings

Luna feels a jolt as the watch activates. She sees images of different times and places flash before her eyes. They are like snippets of history that she can perhaps stitch together should they ever make it back home to Oregon again. Portal tech only goes so far.

More to the point, a relic that precious being used for something as trivial as vaulting her and a number of their top spellcasters to the portal periphery, a lodge built to keep watch.

Their furnishings already brought up, Luna thinks to change into proper pajamas. Though, she would have to ask Victoria who is intent on knitting in the stillness of morning, to avert her eyes. A true looker herself.

This, all of this, has to be a dream.

Sitting up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, she feels a draft in the rented space. She looks up and sees the Abbess entering from the hall, forgetting to leave a bucket of water down at the bottom of the stairs.

"When is the last time someone thought to clean up this place?"

Sudden footsteps ascend the creaking, roughshod stairsteps of the upper floor to an area tavern, displacing dust in the room that the Abbess and her staff had reserved to give ol' horse hooves some patching up. They are at least ten day's ride back to the Conservatorium.

But that is the least of anybody's concerns.

"My lady!" Diane, short of breath, hacks as she rattles a doorknob. Though, it is to the wrong room.

One of the assistants goes to the door, pausing with a lip-nibble.

"Go on," the Abbess allows with a smirk.

So, poking her head out, she hisses at Diane.

"Sorry!"

"What's the sit rep?" the assistant says moments later, unblinking as the Abbess finishes loading her Colt sidearm.

Diane cannot stop sweating. "We need to get a hold of Steph, though this far out of town I've no clue how."

"And why is that?"

Diane, considering, raises her head as the clock strikes outside the lone window. She tests the latch and, with success, leans out.

"You brazen git, there's no balcony!" the assistant, striding over, is about to restrain Diane when the Abbess clears her throat.

"I see movement," Diane adds, hushed.

From the bushes lining a discrete portal end node, Warren returns afresh now with Joyce's hand in tow.

"Any day now, Chloe. My knees are getting too old for this," Joyce grumbles.

"You with Kate's party?" the tavern's newest stablehand asks in short order, moving to investigate their curious onlooking.

introducing herself as Eve, she walks them back over to her work area, before withdrawing a pail from a horse's chompers.

"Mind if I feed 'em?" Warren suddenly asks, flushen at the overall realism of the place.

"Yes, you may. The fee is waived if you prove your allegiance."

"Nobody said anything about that on the way over," Warren tries.

Eve shakes her head. "Do you take me to be a simpleton?" She approaches Warren, hesitant. "Cripes, you look just like her."

"Huh?" Warren hops back, looking to Joyce for instructions.

"All right, surely this amusement park has a visitor's center. Why did we veer right for the petting zoo, eh?" Joyce quips.

Neither of them realize who is quietly approaching, confident bob to her travel attire.

Eve, reddening slightly, turns to hide a mounting smirk.

Back in the upstairs of their temporary stopover, Victoria glares up at the rafters jutting out from over their row of units to angling back in again past the others down the hall, suppressing hiccups.

"Aye carumba," Diane cracks, shuttering the window abruptly. "They brought a certain tagalong."

"If it's Manaria," Claire half-surmises, looking from twin sweat droplets issuing out of the Abbess and Luna. "We have the numbers."

"Oh look, a nun," announces Warren, only to sprint clear as the barn doors splinter apart from Manaria's opening salvo.

"Who that?" Joyce, dumbstruck, prompts the stablehand.

But, Eve has run off, angling her way, all high steps as she arcs for the best place to watch the ensuing fight.

"This another one of your Butterfly Effects, Missy?" Claire asks calmly from an upper floor window, her words punctuated by the din of hooves clopping and well-placed explosions from the stable entrance proper.

Luna, already down below and a bit preoccupied with restraining their Abbess from dumping a pale of water on Eve's head, glances up to squint concernedly. "Say what?"

Sighing, Claire nods to attest: "Ah, Maxine! She dutifully remembers her abilities, but...well, then again, I look kind of different too."

"I'm supposed to have blonde hair," the Abbess, turning to regard them as she no-look launches bolt upon bolt toward a certain Sousse sidekick. Some maids join in and pelt the aggressors with stones and the occasional owl pellet found on the premises.

Then, they lose sight of Manaria, who soon proceeds from a billowing cloud, rending loose the upper floor with her quarry in tow. "Knew I'd catch up to you eventually." They glide back to the ground, Luna only half-struggling as this new proximity strikes her fancy a bit.

The Abbess whistles, and some of the girls begin murmuring an incantation, before the tip of Manaria's wand is to her lips.

"Gyah!" Everyone falters as magic chains materialize, coiling and constrict about their limbs and esophaguses.

From the other end of a successful teleport, Manaria plants Luna back on her feet. "You want bacons with those eggs?"

"I beg your pardon?" Luna asks, chuckling nervously.

Manaria beams.

 

[waito_x]

Knowing a bit more now about the identity and motives of the upper echelon within the Women's Conservatorium, Jefferson hops the Potomac to drum up some counter-ops recruitment via the Baltimore papers. This catches the interest of the capital's Commissioners, who spare one of their clerks to attend to these movements.

---

Row House neighborhoods, Baltimore

"Wouldn't you know?" Jefferson says at last, prompting his peerage to shine forth as his entourage of dignitaries and capitol press all stagger to an attentive clip. They have paused beside a towering likeness of a Founding Father sitting in the confines of a mini rotunda, scaled down though not unlike the one they had just left some moments ago.

"What, pray tell, is that row?" asks Carlise, mopping his forehead.

"That would be the canal works, just in time for the next parade of floats down Columbus Avenue," Jefferson infers resolutely, before dutifully motioning for his fellows to inspect the mechanisms of it. "See that? The crest of the Statesman himself."

"Stateswoman, actually," says a reporter from within the cluster of onlookers.

"I'm sorry?" Carlisle asks, stepping between Jefferson and the reporter's charming albeit unfamiliar visage.

"President Jefferson had pushed for opening the nation to trade with a canal, per se," says another.

"Correct. However, such was the challenge involved, it would take a little longer to fulfill this vision. That crest belongs to his in-law's desk, another Thomas. But, recognize that handwriting?"

"So, it appears we have Martha to thank for the canal getting anywhere close to construction talks."

"Aye, and some of it be readying to abideth the fleetiest of transports."

Jefferson, feeling the topic will only stall matters, leaves them to their discussion in search of a pint.


The Musty Main Batteries of ex-Canonicus Manco Capac

Though fraught with signs of recent naval engagements and still looking to replenish from umpteenth close-quarters brushes with the Chilean flotillas, at long last the ship has been given new orders to depart. The treaty of October still holds. There is talk of territorial concessions.

That much is plain to see, as a quick purview of the Manco Capac inner compartments will tell. Owing to refusals from command which went unheeded. That the redefined border within that treaty saw Antofagastatans take to the nearest serviceable, floatation-grade hardware and rope together a ride out.

Only, they are not able to get very far, owing to the Panamanians still havering about the person hours to dredge some tens of kilometers from sea to shining--

A resounding snort halts the roll of dice, as grizzled, malnourished stowaways regard the ship's captain.

"This doll keeps making los ojos atteradores at Capitan," the first mate infers.

"Who, Kratos? How'd he get through in one piece?" Mikey thinks to ask.

Steph, covering her nose from the soot issuing back into the hold as the old Ironclad works up the motor to contend with the wake of a friendly just ahead, mirrors his expression. "I dunno, Elamon roll already tho."

Lifting the leather folds of a room service menu turned sunshade, Alex smirks appreciably. "You guys."


Atlantic County Fire Brigade

"Thanks for the lift?" Claire asserts, before clearing her throat to curtsy.

"Yeah-p! Anytime sweetheart," Diane remarks, before glancing back to briefly check Victoria slowly nursing a shoulder from the wagon ride over.

The whole barn was distended, as were the moods of the barren of pack animal so woken in the skirmish, lengths of feed loosening perorally. Still, the portal remains undiscovered by the enemy camp. Diane sighs at this, the reins instructing her steeds to hold for a bit longer.

As Claire has yet to be let back in to the firehouse for the day's shift. Just what hour of morn is it?

"Yo, Claire?" Diane thinks to ask, as even Victoria remains vividly flummoxed about the time hijinks.

"Hmm?" But with a yelp, Claire is fetched in through the gap of the broad, barred fire station bay doors.

"Just where were you last night, Claire?" Madame Lefèvre asks, her voice cold and sharp. She slams a stack of missing persons reports on the lone table not overdone with typewriters, brigade helmets, or similar effects.

Claire flinches. "I was with the wagon ride back into town around 10 p.m. Anyway, this is news to me, what can I do to help?"

"It's about your sponsor, Little Mississippi," broaches one of the Madame's colleagues. "She's and half the harbor establishments are, how we say, les impliquées."

Claire looks over the first report, aghast, her fingers shaking, before she steadies herself, clearing her throat. "That does not surprise me in the slightest. Know that I've nothing to do with that part of town, nor should any of you really."

"Just who do you think is imparting the orders this hour, lass?" demands a wizened fire chief from the ladder-supplied roost.

But, the Madame simply raises her glasses, adding austerely: "Claire, it would sound you are interested in taking first watch, then?"

Diane, letting the rest of their conversation go with a brief shaking of her head, tightens her grip of the reins, her expression hardening. "Don't be a stranger, Miss Claire."

LIFE IS STEWARDSHIP WILL RETURN AFTER a MOMENT!
​