The Cloudcutter approached Undertown from the south under cover of darkness, just over the Edge so they wouldn't be seen. The endless expanse of clouds stretched off to infinity on the ship's left. Craggy stone sped by on it's right.

Alex called softly to Raff when the gigantic flight rock that held Sanctaphrax came into view. The floating city slowly bobbed on the end of the Great Chain, it's massive iron links alternately straining, then slack, straining, then slack. The warmers must be having a time of it stabilizing the city this soon after sunset and it's dropping temperatures, scrambling to warm the rock so it didn't break away from the ground.

Raff slowed the Cloudcutter, gently raising it so it was just under the lip of the cliff. The Captain usually handled piloting of this nature, but he was sick. Weak. Though he had tried, he couldn't move quickly enough, barely had the strength to pull the weight levers. Raff had relieved him, sent his haggard Captain off to bed, assuring him that he knew where to go.

The smuggler's dock was low to the ground on Undertown's south side. Other airships, merchants and Patrol vessels, docked at the highest points in the sprawling city's skyline. Built with buoyant wood so they didn't collapse under their own weight, the tallest buildings in Undertown were either docks, or owned by the wealthiest citizens. Height equaled prestige. Closer to Sanctaphrax.

The diminutive stormchaser attracted no notice as Raff piloted her up and over the Edge, slipping along close to the ground until they reached the dock. The crew stood at the rails, ropes in hand, until the dock workers signaled. Quickly, the Cloudcutter was lashed down under the cover of ramshackle roofs, and the complex cage of heat lamps set up around the flight rock to keep it neutrally buoyant so the ship didn't strain at it's moorings.

The crew prepared to disembark, those chosen to remain behind on watch taking their stations.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:53, Sun 18 Aug 2019.

   Jane couldn't help but watch it all with wide eyes. She knew the city, but always with her feet on the rocks. Empty bags slung over her shoulders, and Brax's list in her pocket, she followed the cook as he had instructed her. "Stay close." He said again, voice low and directed at her. She nodded to show him that she had heard and took a step closer to him. She took a deep, steadying breath as they filed down the gang plank and stood on the dock.

All eyes turned to the ship when the Captain, supported by Damien, began his slow way down the gangplank. Behind them was Beau and Connor, carrying Carson on a litter.

In the few days it had taken them to reach Undertown, the Captain seemed to have shrunk. His long hair was tied back practically, and his clothing subdued. His face looked thinner than usual, hollow at the cheeks and temples, and he was pale, almost blue around the edges.

But as he stepped onto the dock and looked at his crew, he paused. He took a moment to stand tall like he used to, and nodded to them all with fire in his eyes. But he couldn't keep it up. He fell into a coughing fit, and Damien quickly led him away, calling to Beau and Connor to be careful as they hurried to catch up.

Raff and Wesley looked at each other, then separated, heading off on their own tasks. Alex watched from the deck, Dirk by his side, worrying at his frayed length of rope. J.J. was up there somewhere too, keeping an eye on their home.

Brax led Jane, Andrew and Gunny through the darkened streets, muttering about a night market he knew of nearby. They were on the lookout for oil, mostly. Their food supplies only needed to be topped off. Brax also mentioned visiting a water seller the next day. "Hasn't been raining enough," he grumped. "Our own stores are running low." He tried to disguise it, but the cook's worry was obvious in his every motion.

   Jane tried not to think about the haggard appearance of the Captain as they hurried through the dark streets. She tried to focus on the things they were looking for, and keep an eye out for shadowy corners. Undertown could be dangerous, she was grateful for Brax, Andrew and Gunny.

Jackson winced as he carefully pulled sweater number three back on over his head. Three sweaters was all he owned, and he had thought it more than enough, but he still felt like a few more layers were needed. He was chilled to his bones, and the cold made him ache.

The man Damien had brought him to see, Doctor O'Shauna, had been very professional in his examination. And even though Damien was there the whole time and Jackson had barely had to say a word, he had hated every second of it. He had described his pain, rated the severity of it on an abacus, let the man smell his breath, breathed deeply until he was almost weeping with the agony in his chest.

The only question he didn't answer was how he had nearly drowned. Neither he nor Damien had a word to say about that, and the good city doctor was just going to have to live with it. Carson was in the other room. His arm had broken in a 'sailing accident.' Jackson wanted to know everything about Carson's chances, but he was a patient, too. The doctor had looked at him askance, and reminding him that he was the boy's Captain had not loosened his lips. Jackson, irritated, had let it lie. Damien would tell him everything later.

If he was honest with himself, Jackson was afraid. Pneumonia... it was like drowning in slow motion. He had no desire to suffocate ever again, and the fear reared its ugly head every time he struggled to take a breath.

His body trembled with weakness, and Jackson tried not to hate himself for it. It wasn't his fault, he was sick. He could hate it, but not himself.

He needed a drink.

A few moments later, Damien and Doctor O'Shauna turned from their quiet discussion to find the Captain missing, the examination table bare except for a note scrawled hastily on the back of the examination sheet. Back soon.

***

Jackson slid onto a stool at the bar. "The most fiery whiskey you've got," he rasped when the bartender looked at him. "Make it a double. And neat, please." The man eyed him distrustfully and a little fearfully. Jackson waved a hand. "I can pay. And it's not catching."

Once the bartender finally turned away, Jackson lowered his head to his crossed arms on the bar, grabbing a napkin for his nose. Everything was foggy. He hoped the whiskey cleared the fog rather than adding to it.

A dark, curvaceous woman stood at the bar, with her legs crossed, pushing her bosom over her arms and her rear out. Black wavy ropes of hair draped down her back, held out of her face with a navy blue bandana. The primary materials for her rather scanty outfit were worn brown leathers.
She signaled the bartender. A rat-like man approached her, his hair greased back, flanked by two other men.
“You owe us, Alvarez.”
“I’ll tell you what, Lucky,” She lazily watched the golden liquid be poured into her glass, “Because the information you gave me was worth nothing,” she held the glass for a moment and tipped it back. Smacking her lips, she continued, “That’s what I’ll pay you.”
The man named Lucky slammed her glass back onto the bar, “We’ll get our money’s worth, bitch.”
Alvarez leaned into him, her face nearly touching his, “Oh, you poor, sweet, thing.” Yanking his arm from underneath him, she slammed his head onto the bar a few times, stunning him and let Lucky slump to the floor. One of Lucky’s boys rushed up behind Alvarez and wrapped his arms around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. Grunting once, she smacked her head back into the man’s face, forcing him to drop her as another hoodlum came from the front. She ducked as he swung a bottle at her head, smashing the glass against his partner. She elbowed his stomach and pushed him to the floor. Lucky was beginning to scrape himself off the ground, reaching for his sword. His fingertips merely brushed it before the pirate’s own dagger poked his nose.
“Tell me, Lucky, is this really worth dying for?” she asked. Lucky snapped his mouth shut, slowly circled away and scrambled for the door, his two goons on his heels.
She returned to her spot at the bar, sheathed the dagger and finished her drink.
“I didn’t think so.” She chuckled.

Jackson watched the quick, violent exchange, sipping his drink. His body warmed, but he wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the woman.

"I guess it just wasn't Lucky's day," he remarked, not turning to face her or really look at her. He wished he wasn't so ill; he tried to control the slight tremble in his fingers, but the amber liquid jittered in its glass no matter how hard he tried. He suppressed a sigh. Not the elegant captain he liked to appear as at all. He was sure he looked pathetic, if not down right frumpy.

The pirate gave the captain a side glance, smirking at his comment.
“My, and I thought the only men in this place were besotted fools who couldn’t hoist the mainsail.”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Fri 23 Aug 2019.

"Besotted? Maybe. Fool? Absolutely." He quirked his mouth into a half smile and gave her a sidelong glance. "Hoisting? My specialty."

She slid over to a stool beside the captain, copying his posture.
"Phillip, a refill for my friend here," she called to the bartender, giving a wink.

Jackson emptied his glass and set it on the bar for his refill, sighing appreciatively as the burn settled in his belly. The smokey flavor seemed to fill him up to his ears, and he knew he should take it easy on the alcohol, especially on an empty stomach, but he didn't want to. "Alvarez... the name rings a bell, though I can't yet say from where." He turned and tried to give her a sincere smile, wan though it must be. "I'm Jackson."

"Marina. Previously Captain Marina Alvarez," Marina's smile turned slightly melancholy, "Sadly, without my ship, the title rings a bit hollow." She tapped her glass and the bartender refilled it nearly to the brim. Marina turned her body to face Jackson and crossed her legs.
"Is there a last name to match such a distinguished gentleman?"

Marina. Marina Alvarez. That name was seriously ringing bells and raising flags, but he couldn't place it. Something about a song. Was there a song written about this woman? He saw no reason why not.

Smiling at her 'distinguished' comment, Jackson self-consciously tugged at the worn sleeve of his outermost sweater. "There is. But first, a toast." He raised his glass. "To absent friends. I don't know what I'd do if I lost my ship," he added, feeling the sadness of such a tragic loss. Once he'd drained his glass, he said, "Knight. Captain Jackson Knight."

Something nagged at Marina at the captain's name. Very familiar, on the tip of her tongue kind of name. Where had she heard it before? It probably didn't matter, she had been with other men not even knowing their names.

"And to new acquaintances, Captain Knight."

"Another round?" asked the bartender.

"I think so," Marina flashed her most charming smile, "Unless the dear captain doesn't have the stomach for it?" He looked a bit sickly, but she hoped he could handle a few more drinks.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:02, Mon 26 Aug 2019.

Jackson hesitated. He was buzzing pleasantly, but didn't want to go so far as to make himself even more ill. At the risk of appearing a lightweight, if the evening went about how he hoped, he wanted to be at least slightly physically able. So he smiled regretfully and said, "Another round? It'll have to be my last for today, unfortunately." He cleared his throat as he placed his glass back on the bar, eager to change the subject. "A true shame about your ship. Perhaps you'd like to come and see mine?" A slight twinge of guilt tugged at him. He had already been gone longer than he thought he would. Damien would be worried sick.

"A ship is always better than squandering in this hole in the wall," Marina dropped a few coins on the counter, soon swept up by the barman.
"What type of boat is she? I'm sure she's a beauty."

Sliding off the barstool while throwing back the last of the whiskey, Jackson stumbled a bit. He caught himself on the bar, and tried to play it off as drunkenness. "Yes. She's a modified stormchaser." He smirked as he straightened his sweaters. "So I hope you don't mind cramped quarters."