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[galley]

Alexandria laughed and set the rabot on the floor one more,

"I guess it will be alright. He's not been out in so long, I'm sure he doesn't have enough power to do much to anyone, anyways."

As Sylvian spoke once more, Alexandria backed up a few feet, not wanting to be eaten as well, and went to help Penelope with the dishes.

"Is she always like this?"

"there will be no eating the crew and passengers on my ship of you would, Mys Bruno." The captain mock glares, as he hoped it was some spark joke.

"to answer the earlier question, I crashed my steam flight pack my grandfather had made into a alchemist shop shortly after leaving the service. By service I was a pilot for the Northern Sky Division. After my Grandfather died i left, the service had been his life, and it hurt too much to serve without him. the crash fused my pack into my flesh and bone. effectively poly morphing us together. The alchemist was greatly upset of course. But i was able to work for him for a time to pay for damages. Took a entier year.... shortly after leaving him, I acquired the Khaos, and changed again into what you see now."

The captain, sans shirt, indicated his torso. The chest was sculpted out of a leather of some kind that had been formed inot a mimicry of the human anatomy. A bit too heroic but workable. the arms (and legs if one could see through his trousers) were bronze plate, strong but thin. The pneumatic servos and pistons hissed quietly as he moved.

"I like good food as much as the next person, and our cook is a wonder" he smiles at Penelope. "but i need a dose of coal and water every now and again. Some magical after effect keeps the mechanical parts in good shape, even converting a replacement part to match the rest, should i loose one. same goes for coal and water, I don't need nearly as much as I would need to fly and move about." Dan enters the kitchen and spoons himself a bowl of stew.

The teaopt had rolled under a table after being knocked away from its target. The wing man's shoulder was his and his alone! Righting itself, it totters over to the kitchen, and starts tooting and whistling to get the captains attention, indicating that it wanted to get up on the counter. Once Dan picks him up by his handle and sets it on the counter, it scampers off to the deispenser on the wallo and bumps a lever. a small claw takes off the teapots cap and drops in a few leafs and fills it with water. the teapot seems to be straining to do something when it starts to whistle and a lovely aroma of a exotic blend of tea fills the room. moving over the counter it whistles a question, and suddenly freezes in place. its gears having wound down.

with a few quick turns from the key sticking out of its back from the captain, the teapot shivers once and looks up at Dan dancing a bit.



(soirry for such prolonged absences, working 4am to 1pm every day is wearing me out.)

[[Introduction V2: Boning up the first attempt really doesn't do well to create vividly positive impressions. NONETHELESS. I est Kate, and from here on in, I do dare state my being in your palms from here on in. You have my apologies in advance :'3

EDIT: Oh God. It was that long? I mean, dear lord. That was slightly unexpected. It definitely was not planned as being that lengthy. D': ]]




[The evil-smelling back-alley of an unintitled Cog Island ghetto.]


Suspension; something in close enough proximity to perhaps be a cannibalization of a waltz in the creeping of muscles, the decension-- where does the headhunter so prowl within taut intestines?

Shoulders first rather the lady; so slooo-ohhh. Feline to lap at a tastier morsel, though in the current case dealing more with eyes and retinas and imaginary pistons than milk or fish (Granted, the pistons were quite convincing), lower adomen swept into indefinite airborne, minature miles of legs afterward, soles below toes -No, she was terribly apologetic to admit she might not posess one- getting formally aquanted with the asphalt.
Wind brimming with ill-incentive targeted marrow and demanded a slight sway, though this being only a trial-period, disallowed her increasingly spreading arms from taking lift-off. Frowned when she realized in passing seconds the significant lack of lacking of asphalt beneath her bare feet, minutely disapointed.


More of a skip than a glide, though how exactly the two were merged in the first place surpassing the mystery of what the product was afterward; a rather grimy gentleman politely paused in his beating of a younger but similarly filthy adolescent of his apparent pocket change to observe such a trek. Nostrils were then concreted in the preciding overwhelming scent of mint where he found himself releasing the collar of his victim to focus more heartily on choking.
A stark shadow of passing descent, grabbing eyes and something of admiration in lock of the visible acid apple gaze that was as of yet never returned.


***


Cobblestone laid low before being entitled 'street': irregardless, gravitational-hopskotch skipping eventually claimed her tresses in more hygiene-friendly rays of an overseeing hydrogen yarnball.
Compulsive lying snow; truly -should such a concept exist-, the hair atop the scalp and hither-dither strapped against the forehead, actinium apple eyes below, of such bold color and shade against plaster-alabaster-magic caster skin, ever thus so white-- Am I Human, so spoke the Beaste!

Jawline cutting corners something bladed comorbid with cheekbones doing part to absorb light particles from manufactured suburban suns in passing, make light of the weeks of deprivation from such vibrance playing hide-and-seek upon lips and eyelids alike.
---Ah, alas the eyelids, lidded in reminiscence or comparison of the expert alcoholic settling into his gin, the sidekick stare encompoassing clouded by 50 proofs and evidences of a visual plane having witnessed minor tradgedies tulpa'd into ecoplasmic, appropriately alcoholic film decorating an emptied glass; her strut, a torpid swagger.


She honestly couldn't recall how she had discovered herself inside this area or the date in which she had become coherent of her lower appendages piloting the rest of her meat-ziplock into said area, though her toes relished nonetheless in coolness of cobblestone. Old man time let one of his children go astray, afterall. Two days, an hour, four and a half years? Dearie, dearie, deer-roadkill.
When was the last time she had eaten, again...?


It's a curious thing, indeed; why oh why must one sate the stomach when the brain is ever so full? The philosophical algorythmns and their delightful internal monolouge accompanionment, vague recollections of ferns and piano wires and muscle diagrams and scrap-metal and the correct posturing for pirrouets--


Something quite hard colliding with her physical existence.
Something quite wet against the left-center of her forehead.
...Oh.
It was blood.
It was red.



Tactical fingers at the now well-blossoming head injury, dipping their nerve endings into her life fluids ever thus radiant; occupied herself momentarily, involuntarily set in nigh-instanteous rapture in its brightness of hue and depth of overall color. Head injuries, however shallow, bled so easily, the skin thin and quick to break, nigh begging to be oxygenated and released into the world of small talk and soup. Red marbles swan diving off the sharp slope of a nose, suicide welcomed with the ultimate splatter onto her palm.


Observation completed, head inclined from her upturned hand to realize what had inflicted the initial splitting of flesh.

...Pupils inhaling jaded blimps, proud and clad against skyland, security within walls of wood and historic metal beaming. Insignias scrawled onto helium pregnant fabric.
A mental registration.
A widening until elation learned to crawl topsy-turvy upon lips.

The Kannibal swooned.


"Pulchritudinous in extravegence! Marvelous! Resplendent!" Wind-chime vocals. "Ah, look at the manner in which it rusts! Splendiferous! Pride in which I have little seen; the supporting flight mechanisms in perfect symmetry to one another, the markings! The dents! Sugoi! Schoon! Skjønn!"

One might have labeled at the current time the plainly preternatural leaping from which the young woman executed, being quite grounded, to the starboard railing of the Khaos perhaps something reasonably close to inhuman. However, should one have indeed labeled as such and extricated this, The Kannibal would more than likely either fail to take proper notice of the comment administered, or would presumably not achieve affect on the matter as she stood, bleeding somewhat concerningly from the forehead, grinning in a fashion that judged by angle of curvature disturbed most societies, and possessing all intensive premediation of storming the nearest hull on quite little rational motivation to do so.

...Indeed, minuscle sense was prevelant when The Kannibal, skipping and humming a dandy frightfully in key to that of a funeral march, entered the galley, nigh-exited through the opposite entrance-- and stopped. Upon realizing the small congregation neatly assembled within its walls, wedged finger betwixt her lips to think briefly, where realization was accomplished on her not knowing where the hull was located.
Where the woman then spoke; a somewhat hoarse, though questionably saprano tone. A parched shaking of vocal cords, at odds with rainbow oasis grin wide upon her visage.
"I apollo-apologize, however, I seem to have tiny clue as to the location of your wonderful mechanism's hull-- me oh my! Every breathing existence sitting and or standing within this marvelous room appears to be disgustingly adorable!"

Hull momentarily forgotten.
Arms now slung about the shoulders of an adolescent girl bearing little but a tussle of ginger curls and darker spottings of melalin against her complexion.



...Indeed. Minuscle sense was prevalent.

[Galley... still]

Dominik put the contents of his broken monocle in his coat pocket and looked up to see the woman who just walked in. Noticing the obvious (The fact that the woman was bleeding from her head), Dominik decided to ask what seemed reasonable to him.

"Are you quite all right?"

(That was... beautiful. You've a gift with words.)

[galley]

"I would prefer it if no one quite so much as nibbled on me. I am quite satisfied with my body in its natural form and besides, I doubt that I'd taste good, miss."

At once, Silas replaced the blade in his scabbard. He backed away a bit from Sylvian, turning to face Alexandria:
"I had no intention of harming the rabot. And I did not. I merely seperated them. I used only the flat of the blade, which did not even scratch whatever alloy your pet is ma-"

He stopped suddenly. A woman had entered, blood dripping down her face. She looked like Hell, and that was probably for a reason.

~ galley ~

Sylvian grins.

"You mean you haven't yet figured it out, Daniel? Myles almost did. The Khaos takes a tribute of flesh or blood from her chosen. Casual passengers have nothing to fear, but those who belong here, she... Marks? Tastes? Love-bites? And you, as her Captain, have paid more than the rest of us."

She gets up and dances airily across the galley.

"Have you checked the ship's logs yet, as Myles suggested, or are you too afraid to confirm that the Khaos was in port at the date and place of your mishap and face the implications that would bring to light?"

And this brings her near to Daniel and the new girl, to whom she bows graciously. "Welcome to the Khaos. And thank you for showing me something I thought I'd never see in my life."

And adds in a whisper and a wink, "An equal."

~ galley ~

Sylvian looks wryly over her shoulder at Silas and enunciates with precision, not harshly but with a modicum of amusement,

"You've never been anything but a casual passenger in your entire life. And probably will remain so to your dying day, on which the biggest question occupying your mind will be whether or not the afterlife will have adequate room service."