In reply to Denholm (msg # 24):

Grimsby replied "It is actually Mr. Baskerville --though I think you were misled by a colleague of mine who addressed me informally. Grimsby Baskerville, of an old Dartmoor family, though I am one of its lesser branches."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Sat 15 Nov 2014.

Dash opened his mouth to comment...

A look of concern came across Dash's face, as he whipped his cap off his head with his left hand, while offering his right to Grimsby.

"My dear Grimsby, I offer my deepest appologies!" Dash said, crestfallen, "I meant no disrespect, sir.  You are correct in that, after hearing those London Bobbies calling you 'Mister Grimsby', I made an erroneous assumption.  Do forgive me, old chap."

Dash put his hat back on.

"A Basingstoke of Dartmoor, eh?" Dash added with a chuckle to his voice, "That makes our families almost neighborly, sir!  We Hawkesburys hail originally from just outside Bristol; sailing to Nantucket in the early Eighteenth Century to get involved in the whaling, there.  Could be we have a distant cousin in common, eh?"

Viktor knew a cool response when he received one from Stella, however he was pleased at Remi's seeming assurance of mutual aide and so chuckled aloud as he snapped to and  dutifully obeyed the orders of the ship's Captain.

 Viktor easily snatched up the bags and carried them into the crew quarters to stow them beside his own duffel bag for the moment. Returning out onto the deck he busied himself with any other preparations Remi deemed necessary to get them underway.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:17, Sun 09 Feb 2014.

In reply to Denholm (msg # 31):

Grimsby replied coolly, "The error was understandable, pray do not trouble yourself over it. As far as I am aware, none of my family was ever in trade in Bristol, so I doubt we are kin. Our senior line has always been among the landed gentry, though the younger sons like me must fend for ourselves. One of my cousins went to Central America and another is now in Canada, while I have devoted myself to the lands beyond our Northwest Frontier in India."

One man arrives later than everyone else, a tall lanky man in an ill-fitting tweed suit that is just a tad too short at the sleeves and pant leg. Dark shadows under both eyes indicate a lack of proper sleep and the gleam in his dark pupils are beginning to show a fraying of sanity within the mind. He smiles to those gathered, setting down a clinking case and duffel. " Sorry I'm late. I haven't been sleeping well as of late." he says waving to those gathered to forego any extended hand shaking session, " Matthew Renfrew. Came all the way from Draven, Govenia to be here. I'm a long way from home but ready to fly." He walks over to the closest portal and looks out on the ground below. He was eager to have a window seat for the launch. Having made introductions, his attention is more focused on the details outside as he keeps only one ear open for conversation within. Matthew hadn't spent much time in the company of civilized folks and it showed in his withdrawn and awkward social skills.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:20, Wed 30 Oct 2013.

Dash frowned at the young man, then leaned a little closer to Grimsby, speaking in low tones, knodding at the fellow, "I say, Grimsby old sport, isn't that the young chap who rushed into the Gaslamp Club and was placed in handcuffs by your Yard friends? I mean, I know that for all intents and purposes Sam Clemens basically invited the whole of tonights attendees at The Club to come on this romp, but what's all this about his coming from Govenia to be here, eh?  Perhaps he's slipped up and let us know that he had forknowledge about the events at The Club?  Perhaps he's even with those assassins?"

Grimsby replied very quietly, "I believe my colleagues cleared the fellow --or he would still be in custody.  However, it would do no harm to keep watch on him.  I will welcome your help on that."

In reply to Grimsby (msg # 36):

"Well then, my dear Grimsby, let us put into practice the suggestion about friends and enemies given by that Florentine fellow to his new Prince, and get this Renfrew chap a little closer, shall we?" Dash quietly responded, then stepped forward with a smile, offering his hand to the newcomer.

"Well met, sir! Allow me to be the first of our company to welcome you!" Dash said jovially, taking a step towards Matthew, "Although Mister Clemens..." Dash gestured towards the snowy-haired old gent, "...has already made us quick introductions to one another back at The Gaslamp Club, please allow me to refresh to you the introduction of myself and our companions, here.  I am Denholm Agravain Saebroc Hawkesbury, of the Hawkesbury Trading Company of Nantucket, Boston, and San Francisco.  Please feel free to call me Denholm or, as I prefer, Dash."

Dash made a small bow towards Kentigern, "The Right Honorable Lord Kentigern, our host and patron for this adventure," Dash then turned slightly so that he could place his left hand on Grimsby's right shoulder.

"This jocular fellow is Mister Grimsby Basingstoke, late of Her Majestys Service in India." Dash then turned once again, and gestured towards Clemens, "My fellow countryman and man of no few words, the esteemed Mister Samuel Clemens.  Just in case you hadn't recognized the old busybody who got us all involved in this adventure." Dash gave the novelist a wink and a smile, then turned his attentions, "This gentleman is the astounding Mister Nicola Tesla, whose genius outshines even the Great Edison, himself!"

Dash again turned and, placing his right hand on his chest, over his heart, he bowed towards Anastasia.

"And last, but by no means the least, is the independant and self-determined lady who brings grace amoung us boorish misanthropes.  Mister Renfrew, I give you Miss Anastasia Waldorf-Smythe." straightening up, Dash then made an elaborate gesture of presentation towards Matthew, "Gentlemen and Lady...allow me to present to you our collegue for this lark to Scotland, Mister Matthew Renfrew.  Of Govenia."

Dash then did a double-take, as he noticed some activity in one corner of the salon.

"Forgive me, my dear Matthew! I have almost forgotten another of our group, with whom I believe you are already aquainted!" Dash drew everyone's attention to Hugo, who was, at that moment being placed by a handful of Lord Kentigerns dirigible crewmen.

"This, of course, is Hugo, the mechanical bartender from The Gaslamp Club..." Dash frowned, "...who appears, now, to be without a bar."

With the final placement of Hugo, Lord Kentigern conferred with his crew, and then addressed the group.

"It is now 21:17. We are casting off. The run to Scotland should take us just under 8 hours, barring any adjustments for windage. We expect to be there no later than 5:30am, well before dawn."

"If anyone would like a drink, there is scotch and brandy available."

In reply to GM StarMaster (msg # 38):

"By Jove, yes!  A measure of scotch would be quite welcome." Dash enthused, "And who would join me, so that we may toast the success of this venture?  Gentlemen?  Miss Anastasia?"

Dash turned to Lord Kentigern, "Dare I hope, My Lord, that you have a single malt Glenlivet?"

"While I prefer Tobermory Black Bottle from Mull," Lord Kentigern replies to Dash, "I do, indeed, have Glenlivet on board. My grandfather helped finance the building of that distillery back in '24."

"I must say, though, that I dinna like what this Hopkins company has done to the Black. As my mechanic is wont to say, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'! So finding a bottle before 1890 is getting harder and harder. The only redeeming factor is that aging it for 12 or 15 years means there is still hope for some of the old malt coming due soon."

As he made this statement, there was a clank and rattle from the corner where Hugo began moving forward, his programming kicking it to fulfill its function. Unfortunately, the flooring of the Flying Scotsman wasn't up to the task of support his weight... at least not that of one foot! There was crashing splinter as the floorboards gave way under Hugo's massive weight.

Nikola hurried over to Hugo, said a few words, and then assisted the mechanical bartender to stand back up onto the support boards that he'd been brought aboard on. Crew were soon rushing about to remain the damage.

"When do you see that these days?" Sam Clemens asked the group. "A servant eager to do its job!"

He then turned to Anastasia.

"I would think a woman of your refinement, Miss Anastasia, would much prefer a brandy! If you aren't used to airship travel, which I assure I am not, I hear a brandy helps one sleep at night."

"In my younger days, the thrill of the trip alone would have kept me awake, but, alas, those days have come and gone. It's still a bit early to retire, though. Would any care to join me in a few hands of cards?"

"Gin and tonic for me --Tanqueray and Schweppes, if you have them." said Grimsby.  "I trust there is small chance of malaria in Scotland, but Indian custom is still strong. As for cards, Mr.Twain, are you one of those Americans who have been bringing us the game of poker?" 
This message was last edited by the player at 01:20, Fri 01 Nov 2013.

"Be that as it may, your Lordship," Dash responded, "you must remember that, while educated, mine is still an American palate, and back home in New England, Glenlivet leads the list of fine scotch whisky."


"Despite the pinnacle social achievement that it would be for me to sit and play cards with old Mark Twain, himself," Dash lamented, "I'm afraid I must decline.  I have already spent a full day overseeing the unloading of the company clippership, and then dealing all afternoon to refill her cargo holds.  And, as we shall be reachiing that place to which we are headed in order to assist His Lordship in just under eight hours, I'm off to my slumbers.  After a nightcap, of course."

Rising from his place near the window, Matthew says to the bartender, " Glenlivet, neat please." he smiles gratefully, then turns to Grimsby, " I have played poker and would enjoy passing the time with a few hands Mr. Basingstoke." He hopes to get to know these gentlemen better so that he may get a chance to explain the case of mistaken identity that transpired at the Club. Whether or not he would be invited in on the card game would soon reveal how much damage the incident had done to his social status.

Inclining her head in the direction of the young man introduced as Matthew, Anastasia was unsure whether to be amused or mildly offended at being termed 'independent'; it sounded awfully like the adjectives one struggles to come up with upon being presented with a particularly ugly child. Why, he looks so ... healthy. But she was given little time to ruminate on such things as she was offered to partake in various spirits.

"I shall join both in the toast and with the game of cards, taking a brandy if you please. Though I must warn you my mother has disallowed me from playing whist or bridge in the games she hosts, she accuses me of cheating. But I assure you, I am simply more skilled than they."

"As I understand it," Mr. Clemens responds, "you can't play poker unless everyone has a gun, which would leave me out! My wife insisted that I learn to play whist... a gentleman's game, she called it, though she and the Lord know that I'm no gentleman! Too ornery for that!"

"Miss Anastasia gives us our fourth, unless Lord Kentigern wishes to join us?"

"I'm afraid I prefer chess," Lord Kentigern replies, "but enjoy yourselves."

"Then perhaps you would accept my offer for a chess match," Nikola interjects.

"I was going to suggest to Nikola that he program Hugo to play whist as that could alleviate the short-handed problem in a pinch," Mr. Clemens add.

"That would be... quite acceptable, Mr. Tesla," answers Kentigern.

There is a sideboard along the aft wall of the parlor from which a fancy gold and silver chess set with an ebony and ivory inlaid board is pulled, as well as a few decks of cards.

The chess board is set up on one table and the cards on another, and the crewmen fetch the requested drinks.

After Anastasia takes her seat, held for by Mr. Clemens as the senior male present, Clemens takes an adjacent seat, opens one of the boxes of cards and begins shuffling them. He sets the deck on the table, indicating to Anastasia that she can cut first if she'd like.

((OOC: Need a dice roll with the card deck option, as the two highest cards cut form a team against the two lowest cards.

This is just to establish the teams, per whist rules. High intelligence, plus some luck, is usually the key to winning.))

[22:44, Fri 01 Nov 2013: GM StarMaster on behalf of Samuel Clemens drew the single card: 2H using a deck of 52 cards.]

Having seated herself at the table, Anastasia took a sip of her drink, already beginning to focus her mind on the game. A faint smile present on her face at being given the chance to exercise her mental muscles, she reached over and cut the cards Mr. Clemens was holding, turning them face up to reveal the six of spades.

22:49, Today: Anastasia drew the single card: 6S using a deck of 52 cards.

"Well, my dear," Clemens says to Anastasia, "it looks like I've got the smartest AND the prettiest partner!"

The odds were certainly in favor of that assertion, but Lady Luck was quite fickle.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:15, Sat 02 Nov 2013.

Dash accepted his glass of Glenlivet -- with a nod of acknowledgement towards Matthew, a fellow Glenlivet man -- then raised it with the others.

"Gentlemen and Lady.  To the United States of America, to The Queen, and to the successful recovery of Lord Kentigern's property" Dash toasted, then, hearing a squeal and a hiss from the corner of the salon, he added, "And also to hoping that Hugo doesn't fall through the floor somewhere over the north country.  Cheers!"

Matthew raises his glass for the toast, smiling as he feels a modicum of acceptance. He hesitates in taking an available seat at the card table however, knowing it is a game for teams and allowing one of the other gentlemen a chance to play. He looks expectantly to Mister Basingstoke, who had suggested the game in first place. As for himself, Matthew would be quite content to watch, as he had little experience with playing Whist.

Over on the Falcon, it was quickly discovered that the lighter, smaller ship was also the faster of the two, and was soon racing ahead of the Flying Scotsman. However, it wasn't quite as maneuverable vertically. Kentigern's ship could rise and descend more easily than the Falcon.

"Hey, Vanessa," Mercy called out to her friend. "let's go check out the engines! They sound like they're running a big ragged!"


Remi is manning the helm, mostly because he's not sure if anyone else can be trusted to do it. He could tie off the wheel, but that couldn't correct for any wind drift.

Suddenly a bird lands on the railing. It's an albatross. It squawks at Remi as if to complain about this big bag of air that's in the way.

02:22, Sun 03 Nov 2013: GM StarMaster, on behalf of Matthew, drew the single card: 3H using a deck of 52 cards.


"Well, it seems as if I spoke too soon, Miss Anastasia!" Sam Clemens said as Matthew cut the deck to reveal the three of hearts. "Unless Grimsby here manages to find another two, it would appear we shall be adversaries instead! I hope you brought your wits! I sharpened mine just before boarding!"

The albatross quickly catches Matthews attention, and although he tries to ignore it's presence, he finds himself unable to focus on anything inside the ship as the words of Coleridge come to mind and he voices a couple of stanzas from memory. Day after day, day after day. We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink." he says. Going to the portal, he knocks on the outer hull, trying to spook away the bad omen. " Shoo bird! Shoo!" he says, knocking and waving his arms at the albatross.

Matthew must have been staring out the window daydreaming for a moment, though how he spotted the bird on the other airship was anybody's guess. Inside the enclosed cabin of The Flying Scotsman, there was no way the bird woud hear or see him.

His attention drawn back to the card game, he found the luck of the draw had teamed him up with Samuel Clemens.

"My boy," Samuel said to him, "I hope you are sharper at cards than shooing birds! If that's an albatross, it is a good omen, though, so I wouldn't be too eager to chase it away."

Matthew looks puzzled. " A good omen? Really? ...huh." he says, recalling only that a dead bird had been hung around the neck of the captain in the soon to be epic poem. Perhaps a dead albatross was a bad omen, but apparently, while breathing, they bring good fortune. He shrugs, turning away from the portal and his futile attempt to gain the birds attention. " I did not know that." he says to Samuel.