Re: The BATTLE of the CENTURY! [S!7] - Round 1: The New Frontier
08-31-2012, 04:43 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
Alright. Okay. Hang on.
Mickey was on top of things. In control. All over the situation. He was going to work out just what was going on, figure out what to do about it, and get it done.
So. First. We cool here? We good?
It was a dark room, not much space, not much light. There was a bit of light shining through a few vertical slits. A doorframe? Whatever. The floor was rocking, hopefully anyone coming by would be distracted. The room seemed safe for the moment.
Right. Good. So. .
The dossiers he'd been handed were still clutched in his hand. It was too dark to read them.
Alright. Hang onto these. Keep 'em safe.
That settled, he moved on to the issue at hand: gathering information. When it got down to it, his job was either to work with engines or to get the family useful facts, and as there didn't look to be much in the way of internal combustion handy, that just left the one option.
"...drunk at his post again, I imagine."
There was a voice from outside. Mickey pressed his ear up against a crack and listened. The voice was a strong, confident one; it sounded like someone used to being obeyed.
"Signal the Admiral that we're fine, send Isaacson back down to the galley again, and take over his post. We're nearly there, I don't want any more issues."
From a distance away (out a door, perhaps), came a second voice, extremely subservient. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Let me know when we're about ready for landfall."
There was a second "yes, sir," and then a door shut and someone took a few strides across a thick rug.
"God, that imbecile. Really, right now, that's when you nearly capsize the ship?"
There was a clinking noise, then someone loudly sipped something, and aside from another few loud sips, there was silence for a minute or so.
Soon, though, the person finished their drink, set down the glass, and left, closing the door behind them. When they didn't come back, Mickey decided it was time for action.
Groping around, he managed to find a latchy sort of mechanism, and it didn't take ages to work out that lifting the bar stopping the door from swinging made it open.
Peeking out, the Soto saw what looked to be a set straight out of a pirate movie. There was a big desk, some nice carpets, tall windows, and several brass things that were probably for navigation or something.
Captain's quarters. Alright, I can live with that. What's next. Charts?
Mickey stepped out of the closet and over to the desk, looking down at the papers spread out across it. There were a number of islands laid out on the pages, each named and with some basic stats attached. Conveniently, the sheets were each just one fold away from fitting into the dossier folders, so in they went. Glancing around, he found a decently-sized bag, a nice red-and-gold number with fancy patterns sewn all over it. The previous contents (a bunch of teabags) went into a desk drawer, and the strap on the thing went over Mickey's shoulder. A handful of coinish things from another drawer went in the bag as well.
Footsteps outside. Mickey froze, his brain spun up, and he took what action he could.
"...don't care what the Admiral says, we're keeping our landing area. A simple crew failure does not mean that we can't still land on the ridge safely! You signal him back and tell him-"
Captain Deans walked into his quarters, closely followed by two of his crewmen, and froze. There was a man in there, outrageously dressed, staring out a broken window and holding one hand inside his coat.
The captain was beyond the use of sentences. Who in the hell was this man, and what was he doing in his quarters? All he could manage was to shout a single word.
"BRIIIIG!"
Alright. Okay. Hang on.
Mickey was on top of things. In control. All over the situation. He was going to work out just what was going on, figure out what to do about it, and get it done.
So. First. We cool here? We good?
It was a dark room, not much space, not much light. There was a bit of light shining through a few vertical slits. A doorframe? Whatever. The floor was rocking, hopefully anyone coming by would be distracted. The room seemed safe for the moment.
Right. Good. So. .
The dossiers he'd been handed were still clutched in his hand. It was too dark to read them.
Alright. Hang onto these. Keep 'em safe.
That settled, he moved on to the issue at hand: gathering information. When it got down to it, his job was either to work with engines or to get the family useful facts, and as there didn't look to be much in the way of internal combustion handy, that just left the one option.
"...drunk at his post again, I imagine."
There was a voice from outside. Mickey pressed his ear up against a crack and listened. The voice was a strong, confident one; it sounded like someone used to being obeyed.
"Signal the Admiral that we're fine, send Isaacson back down to the galley again, and take over his post. We're nearly there, I don't want any more issues."
From a distance away (out a door, perhaps), came a second voice, extremely subservient. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Let me know when we're about ready for landfall."
There was a second "yes, sir," and then a door shut and someone took a few strides across a thick rug.
"God, that imbecile. Really, right now, that's when you nearly capsize the ship?"
There was a clinking noise, then someone loudly sipped something, and aside from another few loud sips, there was silence for a minute or so.
Soon, though, the person finished their drink, set down the glass, and left, closing the door behind them. When they didn't come back, Mickey decided it was time for action.
Groping around, he managed to find a latchy sort of mechanism, and it didn't take ages to work out that lifting the bar stopping the door from swinging made it open.
Peeking out, the Soto saw what looked to be a set straight out of a pirate movie. There was a big desk, some nice carpets, tall windows, and several brass things that were probably for navigation or something.
Captain's quarters. Alright, I can live with that. What's next. Charts?
Mickey stepped out of the closet and over to the desk, looking down at the papers spread out across it. There were a number of islands laid out on the pages, each named and with some basic stats attached. Conveniently, the sheets were each just one fold away from fitting into the dossier folders, so in they went. Glancing around, he found a decently-sized bag, a nice red-and-gold number with fancy patterns sewn all over it. The previous contents (a bunch of teabags) went into a desk drawer, and the strap on the thing went over Mickey's shoulder. A handful of coinish things from another drawer went in the bag as well.
Footsteps outside. Mickey froze, his brain spun up, and he took what action he could.
"...don't care what the Admiral says, we're keeping our landing area. A simple crew failure does not mean that we can't still land on the ridge safely! You signal him back and tell him-"
Captain Deans walked into his quarters, closely followed by two of his crewmen, and froze. There was a man in there, outrageously dressed, staring out a broken window and holding one hand inside his coat.
The captain was beyond the use of sentences. Who in the hell was this man, and what was he doing in his quarters? All he could manage was to shout a single word.
"BRIIIIG!"