mitochondriaaya | Fact takes no heed of human hopes...

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steampunk au

Fact takes no heed of human hopes...

She sighed softly and reached up to absently massage a temple; no matter how she pieced the facts together one of them remained triumphant above the others. They should not be going to India. No, rather, the man they were carefully hunting should have been caught on Bournes in London. He should never have made it across the Thames and certainly no further than Paris!

No matter the reach and influence that the East India Trading Company still held none of the agents she knew of had even whispered about the mole from parliament. And yet the quarry had eluded them; twice was stretching coincidence, three times and it spelled a grim future for this hunt. There was another hand at work here, there had to be, it was the only factor that would make sense of what she'd observed and encountered in this chase!

But who?

Certainly there were no shortage of enemies to contemplate. She worked for the crown, and the crown was quite the enchanting target, ergo most names of power and discontent had crossed her desk, and her uncle's before her, at one point or another. But who would stoop to spiriting away a functionary?

Who indeed.

That question had spun her mind in ceaseless circles for well over an hour now. It was a sign that she was tired, certainly, that she couldn't pull the details she intended from the papers but instead was mired in these useless chains. Some days she felt as if she hadn't slept well since she was a child and far before she began taking on some of her uncle's work. Information seemed to linger in her head long beyond the point when her body gave in.

She'd get nothing more from the pages before her eyes so with an act of will she dropped her hands from her temples and closed the notebook in disgust. It would be some time yet before she could sleep no matter what biology demanded so she checked her hair and stood from the small desk, swaying slightly as her body registered the movement of flight beneath her.

Ah yes, the air ship.

It was interesting to meet friends that figured so prominently in her Uncle's stories. She knew better, of course she knew better, but she'd expected men of his generation. These friends were still in their prime and she was rather certain that her uncle was quite happy to be back amidst them with the prospect of raising bedlam again.

She'd worry if the idea didn't intrigue her.

And the company, so far, was pleasant. Her uncle would laugh if she admitted such to him!

Speaking of, she cracked her cabin door open to meet her uncle's amused gaze. He knew her well, and damn the man for having more stamina than her even at his age! Biology or no she should have been able to catch him napping at least once! Alas, it was an old, old game with them. "Restless?" he asked, not unkindly.

"A touch," she admitted. "I thought to walk the deck, clear my head before sleeping."

"By all means," he gestured her grandly to the door and...pulled a stool out to set on the deck for himself. He wouldn't pace her, not here where he was convinced it was safe, but they both felt better when she was in eyesight.

She brushed a cheerful kiss against his cheek as she passed him then braced herself for the far cooler air at this altitude. It was bracing, and quite what she needed to clear her mind...or she hoped it would be after a bit of time. She didn't pace; that wouldn't be lady like and it would most certainly be rude to pound out her frustrations on a hapless deck before the night crew. No, rather she drifted in a slow circle. There were plenty of things on this ship, after all, to catch her attention and to study briefly.

Walking the deck in leisure for the first time was quite like walking in a garden; it would be an unkindness to rush the viewing. The entire ship spoke of care and maintenance; it was not overly gilded nor built for show. She rather approved, and the quiet hum of function beneath her boot heels was soothing. By her second circuit she was fiddling quietly with her pocket watch. Taking it apart and reassembling it was another of her soothing habits, the familiar motions helping to lull her further toward sleep.

Yes, this had been the correct decision, the right path, even if the early misses had frustrated her.

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"Some nights," she noted, a wry smile on her lips, "my mind hardly allows for sleep. That and a great deal of practice keeping pace with my dear uncle one would suspect. I'll likely be settled enough after seeing you sit to a proper meal."

"Perhaps a glass of mulled wine to help dull your mind enough to sleep?" he wasn't talking about getting drunk, just the comfortable floating feeling of rich wine and spices, "Here, this is the galley. You may come for food at any time, there is always someone on duty and always warm food available."

Feeding Katzu was, after all, serious business.

"A small glass in good company may be just the thing," she admitted cheerfully. And this...was an impressive galley! She had been on ships, certainly, though none as grand. She rather thought, ratio wise, this was above most!

"I must confess that my own ability in the kitchen is little more than what is required for a decent tea. Where might I remain out of the way?"

"Pick any seat." Dilan said, nodding towards the long tables at the sides of the room, bolted to the walls with built-in benches, "I will get the footrest that Pierce uses when eating, since they are a bit too large for you."

Very comfortable for the Katzu on board, but Pierce had to make due. "I am a decent enough cook, I suppose? Braig has never complained, at least, if I have had to cook. This might be due to the fact that his own attempts could poison a Katzu."

"Did." grumbled the cook on duty, mostly amused by the anecdote. Mostly.

"Bah, Toral, you recovered."

She chuckled softly as she followed his offer, amused by how her booted little feet dangled, "It would be appreciated," she admitted. "Even if just to salvage some manner of dignity. It has been some time since I've felt overwhelmed by simple furniture!" Quite some time indeed. She'd never been of grand stature, but she rarely ever dangled any more!

"I have heard stories of how people will rush to intercept your captain rather than allow him to cook on a venture, even over a fire. Did my father truly eat a raw trout rather than allow Braig to cook it?" she chuckled, watching the cook and Dilan avidly for confirmation. She rather thought her father wouldn't have been able to choke down a trout, but some things were exaggerated in the telling.

Dilan slid the stool under her feet and then, with a soft laugh, slipped a pillow as well. Pierce was rather taller than Aya, after all. He settled in at the corner, explaining cheerfully, "I am left handed. Not, I assure you, a devil's child." it was a thing some protestants believed in. Dilan, obviously, thought it ridiculous.

"Yes, he did." There was a bit of glee in that, "To be fair, there are many foods from your mother's land that include an amount of raw fish. So it was not as though he were eating a rabbit raw. Nevada and I had rabbit. One of us would have done the cooking, but we were not close enough to camp to get there before we were too tired to cook. Nevada had twisted an ankle, which saps energy, and I carried him back."

She shot him a rather wry smile at his chuckle, then tucked her boots neatly upon the pillow. Yes, she was rather short. She was well aware. It was handy in some instances but still rather amusing in others. "Certainly not a hardships, excepting that it needs must extend our range of conversation," she agreed, shifting slightly on the bench to face him better despite him taking the further seat.

"I'm afraid I would not know," she admitted. "My father is loathe to speak of her and my uncle thought to spare him pain when we are all together. I admit the idea of raw fish makes me shiver slightly, rabbit is far more appealing!" Granted, she was raised by Nevada.

"Excepting both might make me ill. Alas. I'll content myself with wine."

"Ah." Dilan fell silent for a moment, "She was a woman of uncommon strength. Graceful of manner, and yet as unyielding as a rock when she chose to be. I never saw her to be less than perfectly presented, and I never saw her shy away from things that by right should have ended with her as mucky and miserable as the rest of us. Beautiful, yes, but even if she had not been physically so she would still have pulled all the light to herself.

"I confess, I cannot understand how your father could have stood to be with her. She was a force of nature, as intimidating and beautiful as an ocean storm." Dilan did not have a crush on Aya's mother. She was just too...untouchable, for that. He preferred women who were more, well. Of this earth.

Aya closed her eyes, listening even as she rolled the wine over her tongue. It was, perhaps, fact that she'd often wondered how such as she had come from such as her father. A startling mother was...far different than the the image she'd been given from her father's shrine. "My father is a man born of land," she admitted, "But not shining. He he is drawn to those who live." As if that statement made sense.

Though...this man, Dilan, had known her father when he was young. It might be simple statement of fact for him.

"He has no drive since the loss of my mother. I do not know if any should hold another so deeply that they lose those parts of themselves that allows them to live. My uncle took me from my father, I was not given. He hoped to spare me such a slow decay as my father has fallen to without her."

"I know." Dilan's voice was sad, "He was never quite as...insane, I suppose, as the rest of us. Still, it hurts to see him and we do not visit often. It seems very ungentlemanly to rub his face in our relationship. I miss the Jerrig of years gone.

"Nevada wrote to mother and father before he absconded with you. Father wrote back that if he did not take you, we would."

"My uncle says, when he's tired and feels the years, that he was the stone that kept you all balanced," she added softly. The sane one. Every team might need such upon occasion. "He prefers to stay on his home grounds now, and only the threat of my leaving Nevada's lands drew him forth today." Because he did have some interest in the world his only remaining daughter was heading into.

"Pardon me if I feel that my path in life was perhaps best in my uncle's hands?"

"Oh, no." he smiled at her between quick, neat bites, "I think that you have had much more chance to grow into yourself by being raised by Nevada. Mother and father are wonderful people, but they are quite old and perhaps a bit staid at this point."

"We have met," she admitted with a soft chuckle. "And while they seem bemused at the idea of my uncle having a young lady in his care, they were...supportive may be the term?" Thinking over her admittedly few meetings with the elder couple she was more than convinced that some of the feminine touches in her life had been at their insistence.

"They are very good at supporting even when they do not understand." Dilan laughed, suddenly and loudly, "If nothing else, you may be assured that they understood Nevada with a girl child much better than their own son becoming a pirate."

The sudden, mirthful laugh made her look up and smile. It was a tired smile, true, but certainly an honest one. "Privateer would be the preferred term one might think?" she chuckled. "Or so I was cautioned to refer to such while traveling in said company."

"Well. To his face, yes." Dilan agreed, "At least until you know him better, and he knows you better. Polite fiction does tend to dissolve around good friends."

"I have quite the list that my uncle found it amusing to relay as to terms and names," she chuckled. "Though I'm quite certain most of it was jest on his part. I was also warned not to join in any game of cards with Braig."

"Some, I am certain. Less than you imagine, I am also certain. We were rather hell raisers, in our day." He frowned a bit, then, "That was impolite, was it not? I apologise."

"I am not entirely certain if it were impolite or no," she admitted somewhat cheerfully, "though if you wish offer a key to sifting the truth of what he told me from the fantasy I will certainly pay avid attention regardless."

"Ah, hmm. Well." Dilan pondered for a moment, tapping his lips with one finger as he thought, "If it sounds utterly improbable, and potentially impossible, it is quite probably the truth. If it sounds relatively likely, he is leaving things out."

'Ah, the fantastical criteria?" she chuckled softly, wrapping fingers around her wine glass so she might smile at Dilan entirely. She rather felt like smiling after that statement so why not? "So you did discover, and escape, the lost tribe of pigmies guarding the Temple of the Sun, but did not dangle her ladyship's jacket off the top of the Tower of London?" There were levels of incredulity after all?

The last seemed rather too likely given her impressions!

"Not Sun." Dilan mumbled, "Son. Fertility cult. Humans who believed that Katzu are gods. Jerrig, Nevada, and Braig guarded my back. I did not, however, dangle the jacket. That was your mother."

"Ah, that would be why he coughed a great deal when telling me this story," she chuckled softly before shipping her wine. As far as 'Oh right I shouldn't say these things in front of a young lad' signs went, well, it was an amusing one?

"Oh dear." No wonder the Countess shot dirty looks at her uncle when they had reason to attend public events. "Some transference of ill will there?" Being unable to hold a grudge, still, against Aya's mother translated to sour looks to everyone else who may have witnessed the disregard to her clothing?

"Yes, and I think that I shall leave it at that as well, if you do not mind." She is a teensy little human woman and not Katzu or an old friend.

"I believe she had been insulting your father." Dilan explained, "Your mother was forever unruffled, but that does not in the slightest mean that she was incapable of anger. Just that no-one ever saw it coming."

"Not in the least," she allowed, hiding a smile in another sip of wine.

"That would explain some of the lingering ill will at court. Terrible to have ones clothing disregarded, worse to have it be justified action against you and offered in an unruffled manner." That was quite the insult it would seem.

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