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Fantasy The Putrid Strait
sspky
ooof my bones
OOC: I’ve based the SS Lisburne off of the SMS Engadine from WW1. So, reference that. Also, the Putrid Strait is a totally made-up island chain to the north of the total real island of Svalbard, Norway. Whalesmouth pier and Innscantry are also made up. Scotland is probably real, though. =p
The HMS Oberon was a ship with a noble history. Built in 1906, she had sailed under the flag of the British Empire during the Great War. At the tail end of 1918, she was decommissioned and then sold to the Northstorm Shipping Company, where she was rebranded as the SS Lisburne.
She was docked at the Whalesmouth pier in Innscantry, Scotland. Professor Charles Weir marvelled at the sight of her. She was an old thing, at a length of just shy of 100 metres, she had two smokestacks, three steam-powered turbines, and could travel at a speed of 20 knots. At her prime, she would have boasted a company of 200 men, though these days she was lucky to be manned by more than a skeleton crew.
At present, she would be crewed by 30 men and accompanied by 21 additional passengers. The passengers were all party to Putrid Strait expedition - a scientific and anthropological endeavour supported by the University of Manchester and privately funded by a trio of discerning households. With the reputable Captain Fitzsimmons at the helm, Professor Weir was confident in the expeditions timely and safe arrival at the Strait in a little under 5 days’ time.
Professor Weir was standing before the gangway, the stiff collar of his woollen jacket pulled up tightly about his face. He held a heavy leather valise under one arm, and with his other hand, he kept his wide-brimmed hat pressed firmly to the top of his head. The weather was abysmal, the wind ripping white-capped waves up across the salt-soaked dock.
It was early June and their journey would take them north, to the island of Svalbard. Although it was nearly summer, the weather approaching the arctic circle promised to be treacherous. Professor Weir was thankful to be in the company of such an experienced captain and crew.
Most of his colleagues had already boarded the ship, but the Professor had lingered, expecting a final arrival of passengers. He wanted to be certain everyone was accounted for before he began to settle into his small cabin.
* * *
The HMS Oberon was a ship with a noble history. Built in 1906, she had sailed under the flag of the British Empire during the Great War. At the tail end of 1918, she was decommissioned and then sold to the Northstorm Shipping Company, where she was rebranded as the SS Lisburne.
She was docked at the Whalesmouth pier in Innscantry, Scotland. Professor Charles Weir marvelled at the sight of her. She was an old thing, at a length of just shy of 100 metres, she had two smokestacks, three steam-powered turbines, and could travel at a speed of 20 knots. At her prime, she would have boasted a company of 200 men, though these days she was lucky to be manned by more than a skeleton crew.
At present, she would be crewed by 30 men and accompanied by 21 additional passengers. The passengers were all party to Putrid Strait expedition - a scientific and anthropological endeavour supported by the University of Manchester and privately funded by a trio of discerning households. With the reputable Captain Fitzsimmons at the helm, Professor Weir was confident in the expeditions timely and safe arrival at the Strait in a little under 5 days’ time.
Professor Weir was standing before the gangway, the stiff collar of his woollen jacket pulled up tightly about his face. He held a heavy leather valise under one arm, and with his other hand, he kept his wide-brimmed hat pressed firmly to the top of his head. The weather was abysmal, the wind ripping white-capped waves up across the salt-soaked dock.
It was early June and their journey would take them north, to the island of Svalbard. Although it was nearly summer, the weather approaching the arctic circle promised to be treacherous. Professor Weir was thankful to be in the company of such an experienced captain and crew.
Most of his colleagues had already boarded the ship, but the Professor had lingered, expecting a final arrival of passengers. He wanted to be certain everyone was accounted for before he began to settle into his small cabin.
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deumDeitas
the branches have yet to wither
Nearly 4 whole pages talking about how awful the idea was, and yet he wasn't swayed. Family politics was more exhausting than being out to sea, and he doubted reporting the findings of the professor and their crew would actually require much time and focus. It would give James a nice, needed break; much to the dismay of Margaret. Admittedly, the break from her was perhaps his biggest motivation for agreeing to his fathers request for the mission. While his parents found her a good match...James Adger found her to be...too much.
He didn't intend to respond until they docked at their destination. With that in mind, he slid the dense letter into his luggage, eyes rolling over to the dock as the automobile approached. From the back seat he could see people boarding, and he got his bag ready. "You said we'd be early." He muttered, catching the drivers eyes in the circular side-view mirror. They sighed. "Timing must have been a little off. Apologies, sir."
The moment the car stopped by the dock, the noble stepped out, two small trunks held at his side as he headed to the boat. He watched the deck for the captain, and watched the crew. He found himself stopping by the professor to set his luggage down, a quick glance over his shoulder at them before his gaze fell back to the ship. His overcoat was buttoned tightly around him, hanging just below his knees, with fur lining to keep him warm. His black hair was combed back, and his lips in a straight line. There was tension visible in his shoulders, as he stood beside Professor Weir. "Beauty of a ship, isn't she, Professor?" He spoke softly, making small chat as his eyes wandered the docks. A few more passengers coming to board, but shouldn't take too long. "The weather's nice now. Hopefully it keeps. A storm shouldn't be any problem for the Captain, though." He sighed, watching the deck again before giving a small, halfhearted smile and a small breath through his lips as he turned to face the man beside him a little more. "You are Professor Weir, aren't you? You look like description they gave me, but it wouldn't be the first time I assumed wrong."
He offered his hand, small smile on his face. He wanted some quite. "James Adger. A pleasure to meet you, regardless." He stood their quietly a few more moments, waiting for the business of other late arrivals to calm as they boarded. He wasn't in any rush, Captain Fitzsimmons had told the family his room would be arranged- while he knew the retired ship would be no luxury, he knew his room was secured and he wasn't about to lose it to anyone. He'd board when people were getting settled; bring his bags to his room and have a chat with the captain. He foresaw the trip being relatively easy.
He didn't intend to respond until they docked at their destination. With that in mind, he slid the dense letter into his luggage, eyes rolling over to the dock as the automobile approached. From the back seat he could see people boarding, and he got his bag ready. "You said we'd be early." He muttered, catching the drivers eyes in the circular side-view mirror. They sighed. "Timing must have been a little off. Apologies, sir."
The moment the car stopped by the dock, the noble stepped out, two small trunks held at his side as he headed to the boat. He watched the deck for the captain, and watched the crew. He found himself stopping by the professor to set his luggage down, a quick glance over his shoulder at them before his gaze fell back to the ship. His overcoat was buttoned tightly around him, hanging just below his knees, with fur lining to keep him warm. His black hair was combed back, and his lips in a straight line. There was tension visible in his shoulders, as he stood beside Professor Weir. "Beauty of a ship, isn't she, Professor?" He spoke softly, making small chat as his eyes wandered the docks. A few more passengers coming to board, but shouldn't take too long. "The weather's nice now. Hopefully it keeps. A storm shouldn't be any problem for the Captain, though." He sighed, watching the deck again before giving a small, halfhearted smile and a small breath through his lips as he turned to face the man beside him a little more. "You are Professor Weir, aren't you? You look like description they gave me, but it wouldn't be the first time I assumed wrong."
He offered his hand, small smile on his face. He wanted some quite. "James Adger. A pleasure to meet you, regardless." He stood their quietly a few more moments, waiting for the business of other late arrivals to calm as they boarded. He wasn't in any rush, Captain Fitzsimmons had told the family his room would be arranged- while he knew the retired ship would be no luxury, he knew his room was secured and he wasn't about to lose it to anyone. He'd board when people were getting settled; bring his bags to his room and have a chat with the captain. He foresaw the trip being relatively easy.
sspky
ooof my bones
Professor Weir chuckled dryly at the man’s comment. The skin of his cheeks was already flushed red by the fridged wind.
“Ah yes. Mr. Adger.” he moved to shake the younger man’s hand but hesitated as a gust of wind nearly took his hat from him. He returned his grip firmly to his hat, held his luggage tighter to his chest, and nodded awkwardly instead, “Perhaps it’s best we leave the formal introductions until we’re comfortably onboard, sir.”
Most of the professor’s face was concealed behind his woollen scarf, the thick collar of his coat, and the gray felt Homburg atop his head. His blonde hair was mostly obscured, but his high-cheeks, cool blue eyes, and beakish nose were visible enough. His normally pale skin was weather-flushed, causing the strange scarring on the left side of his face to stand out notably white.
“Young Mister Adger, I presume?” a loud voice boomed over the roaring surf. A large man with a thick black beard strolled confidently down the narrow gangway. Captain Fitzsimmons required little introduction. He was barrel-chested, wide-faced, and stood about six and a half feet tall. He was a man with a clear presence and he commanded respect in the sort of way that came easily to former naval officers like himself.
Professor Weir, who had been an infantryman in the Great War, had served with many men like the Captain and trusted him instinctively.
“Ah yes. Mr. Adger.” he moved to shake the younger man’s hand but hesitated as a gust of wind nearly took his hat from him. He returned his grip firmly to his hat, held his luggage tighter to his chest, and nodded awkwardly instead, “Perhaps it’s best we leave the formal introductions until we’re comfortably onboard, sir.”
Most of the professor’s face was concealed behind his woollen scarf, the thick collar of his coat, and the gray felt Homburg atop his head. His blonde hair was mostly obscured, but his high-cheeks, cool blue eyes, and beakish nose were visible enough. His normally pale skin was weather-flushed, causing the strange scarring on the left side of his face to stand out notably white.
“Young Mister Adger, I presume?” a loud voice boomed over the roaring surf. A large man with a thick black beard strolled confidently down the narrow gangway. Captain Fitzsimmons required little introduction. He was barrel-chested, wide-faced, and stood about six and a half feet tall. He was a man with a clear presence and he commanded respect in the sort of way that came easily to former naval officers like himself.
Professor Weir, who had been an infantryman in the Great War, had served with many men like the Captain and trusted him instinctively.
deumDeitas
the branches have yet to wither
Wind was rather awful, wasn't it? James withdrew his hand and gave a solid nod to the Professor. "Agreed. A rather windy take off we will have." He answered simply in reply, eyeing the Professor from the corner of his eyes. He'd never met the Professor himself. Nasty scar there, wasn't it?
Not that Sir Adger didn't have some of his own. Though the only one that was visible from here hung just below his cheekbone, dragging across his face just a little. A small scratch, especially in comparison to the one of Professor Weir's face.
His attention turned sharply away from the man next to him when the Captain's voice rang out. Mr. Adger stepped up to greet him confidentally. "Ah, Captain Fitzsimmons! Boarding seems to be going smoothly. Imagine we'll make good time?" He smiled, brown Ulster swishing behind him in stride, with black fur framing the collar on his shoulders; a golden pin striking through the dark fur on the lapel. His dark hair was brushed back out of his face, his turning red with nothing to protect it from the chill, his boots tightly laced and pants ironed beneath the overcoat. Everything custom tailored, as expected from a noble.
As he came to a stop, he didn't bother with a handshake this time. Not in this wind. Instead, he simply offered a smile, and looking over the ship again. "Beautiful, isn't she? I'm honored to be traveling on a ship with so much history." He complimented, eyeing if a little longer before turning back to the captain. "Think some of your men can help show me to my cabin? I'd like to settle in and talk to you a bit about the trip when you have time."
Not that Sir Adger didn't have some of his own. Though the only one that was visible from here hung just below his cheekbone, dragging across his face just a little. A small scratch, especially in comparison to the one of Professor Weir's face.
His attention turned sharply away from the man next to him when the Captain's voice rang out. Mr. Adger stepped up to greet him confidentally. "Ah, Captain Fitzsimmons! Boarding seems to be going smoothly. Imagine we'll make good time?" He smiled, brown Ulster swishing behind him in stride, with black fur framing the collar on his shoulders; a golden pin striking through the dark fur on the lapel. His dark hair was brushed back out of his face, his turning red with nothing to protect it from the chill, his boots tightly laced and pants ironed beneath the overcoat. Everything custom tailored, as expected from a noble.
As he came to a stop, he didn't bother with a handshake this time. Not in this wind. Instead, he simply offered a smile, and looking over the ship again. "Beautiful, isn't she? I'm honored to be traveling on a ship with so much history." He complimented, eyeing if a little longer before turning back to the captain. "Think some of your men can help show me to my cabin? I'd like to settle in and talk to you a bit about the trip when you have time."
sspky
ooof my bones
“Yes, yes,” the Captain replied, before shouting for one of the sailors to assist them. A young man with a thick mustache and sideburns trotted across the pier towards them, “Mr. Devonson, see to it that Mr. Adger's belongings make it to his cabin. Quickly now.”
Captain Fitzsimmons offered the professor an inquisitive glance. Shaking his head, Weir said, “No, I’m quite alright. Most of my belongings are on board already. I’ll...keep this one with me.” he clutched his leather case tighter still.
“Mr. Devonson will handle your effects, Mr. Adger. I’ll not have any time to speak with either of you until we’re out at sea. Settle yourselves in your cabins, and feel free to explore the mess hall. I’ll call for you as soon as I’m able.” the Captain said
While Mr. Devonson moved to collect the young lord's luggage, Captain Fitzsimmons gestured to the gangway and continued, “Now, if you gentlemen will follow me aboard, I think it’s about time we set off.”
Captain Fitzsimmons offered the professor an inquisitive glance. Shaking his head, Weir said, “No, I’m quite alright. Most of my belongings are on board already. I’ll...keep this one with me.” he clutched his leather case tighter still.
“Mr. Devonson will handle your effects, Mr. Adger. I’ll not have any time to speak with either of you until we’re out at sea. Settle yourselves in your cabins, and feel free to explore the mess hall. I’ll call for you as soon as I’m able.” the Captain said
While Mr. Devonson moved to collect the young lord's luggage, Captain Fitzsimmons gestured to the gangway and continued, “Now, if you gentlemen will follow me aboard, I think it’s about time we set off.”
deumDeitas
the branches have yet to wither
Admittedly, while James Adger didn't want to carry his luggage aboard himself, he was anxious about it being handled by someone else. So when someone was called over, the noble gave them a glance over, swallowing nervously. Seemed the professor also had a bit of anxiety, at least with one bag. But James was willing to push aside the anxiety in exchange for extra time to settle in. "Understood." He said simply to the Captain, eyes quickly training back to him as he said he wouldn't have time quite yet to speak. Though he did have his questions to record...he was taking this work very seriously.
He gave a firm nod, following the captain up the gangway and up aboard the ship. "Indeed. The sooner we leave, the sooner we arrive…and then the real work starts." Feet aboard the docks, he took a moment to look around. His luggage could he dealt with later, he only needed his paper when the Captain called. For now, what he really needed was a drink. So he dismissed himself once on board with only one comment. "I think I will go explore that mess hall." And turned to leave, heading to it and looking around quickly for a member of the kitchen staff. "Something to drink, please? I'm going to take a seat over there-" He pointed. "Bring it to me?"
He was used to it being this way. Not standing and waiting for anything, always being fairly comfortable, even in jobs like this. Being waited on...came second nature to the noble. So did moment of silence like this as he sat down, silently staring at the table in thought. He got his questions all lined up for later, trying to remember what all he'd need while on the boat. He'd set up his cabin later tonight...but what else was there to do during the trip?
He gave a firm nod, following the captain up the gangway and up aboard the ship. "Indeed. The sooner we leave, the sooner we arrive…and then the real work starts." Feet aboard the docks, he took a moment to look around. His luggage could he dealt with later, he only needed his paper when the Captain called. For now, what he really needed was a drink. So he dismissed himself once on board with only one comment. "I think I will go explore that mess hall." And turned to leave, heading to it and looking around quickly for a member of the kitchen staff. "Something to drink, please? I'm going to take a seat over there-" He pointed. "Bring it to me?"
He was used to it being this way. Not standing and waiting for anything, always being fairly comfortable, even in jobs like this. Being waited on...came second nature to the noble. So did moment of silence like this as he sat down, silently staring at the table in thought. He got his questions all lined up for later, trying to remember what all he'd need while on the boat. He'd set up his cabin later tonight...but what else was there to do during the trip?
sspky
ooof my bones
Heading straight to his cabin, Professor Weir was quick to unpack and make himself at home. He hung up his jacket and hat, folded his scarf neatly, and laid his warm leather gloves on his suitcase. From his precious valise, he removed a number of thick folios and a worn Remington Rand, which he placed on his small work desk with care. When he felt his lodging suitably arranged, Weir stepped out of the little cabin and made his way towards the mess.
The ship was stuffy, but Weir still felt a sharp chill in his bones, so he found the nearest crewman and asked for directions to the kitchen. After assembling himself a steaming cup of tea, he scanned the mess, spotted Mr. Adger, and decided to join him.
“Do you mind some company, Mr. Adger?” he asked, standing with the tea in one hand and a large folio beneath his other arm. Without his hat and wool coat, the scars on the Professor’s face were more apparent. Specifically, his skin was marked by one large burn that began on his left cheek, and stretched down his neck, before disappearing beneath the collar or his neat, white dress shirt. His left hand, too, was scarred, although apparently not badly enough to limit his range of motion.
The ship was stuffy, but Weir still felt a sharp chill in his bones, so he found the nearest crewman and asked for directions to the kitchen. After assembling himself a steaming cup of tea, he scanned the mess, spotted Mr. Adger, and decided to join him.
“Do you mind some company, Mr. Adger?” he asked, standing with the tea in one hand and a large folio beneath his other arm. Without his hat and wool coat, the scars on the Professor’s face were more apparent. Specifically, his skin was marked by one large burn that began on his left cheek, and stretched down his neck, before disappearing beneath the collar or his neat, white dress shirt. His left hand, too, was scarred, although apparently not badly enough to limit his range of motion.
deumDeitas
the branches have yet to wither
He couldn't stay on one topic. Perhaps he should have brought his journal down, after all. James had heard before that great minds like to wander, but his mind didn't feel all that great as it wandered into its own depths. His hand moved next to him on the table, as if writing a letter as he sat there, eyes closed and breathing in the scents of the old ship. His eyebrows were furrowed, lips pursed- a bitter expression that broke when the Professor's voice broke his little bubble of silence. His shoulders loss some tension as he turned to the Man behind him. In this lighting, his scare stood out more. James tried to polite and not stare at them, but his eyes lingered for a moment as he spoke.
"Not at all. The company is well welcome. By all means, take a seat Professor." He made sure his glass was out of the way- some cider by the taste of it- his mother must have told them to have it on board. "We're in for quite a trip aren't we, Mr. Weir. Maybe we'll come back with a big discovery under our belts." One James knew he wouldn't deserve any credit for, but that he'd likely get some for anyway. "Any guesses what we'll find out there, other than old rocks?"
"Not at all. The company is well welcome. By all means, take a seat Professor." He made sure his glass was out of the way- some cider by the taste of it- his mother must have told them to have it on board. "We're in for quite a trip aren't we, Mr. Weir. Maybe we'll come back with a big discovery under our belts." One James knew he wouldn't deserve any credit for, but that he'd likely get some for anyway. "Any guesses what we'll find out there, other than old rocks?"
sspky
ooof my bones
Taking a seat, Professor Weir sipped at his tea, nodding at the younger man's question. Placing the mug down gently on the table, he said, “Well, I’m confident we’ll find the wreck herself. Failing that, we should at least find the strait where she ran aground.”
As he spoke, he laid his folio out and opened it carefully to a section of sea maps. A little over a year ago a trio of local fishermen, caught in an unexpected storm, happened upon what they claimed to be the wreck of the HMS Queen Charlotte, a wooden vessel from the 1700s that had disappeared during a northern exploration and research expedition some 200 years earlier.
The fisherman had brought back a wooden nameplate and a water-damaged logbook that had appeared to be entirely authentic. Although the men had been unable to pinpoint the exact location of their discovery on any map, they had outlined a general area around the strait where they claimed it would be found.
The discovery was an impressive one, and should it prove true then the exhibition team aboard the SS Lisburne were guaranteed a small measure of acclaim for uncovering the root of a 200-year-old mystery.
“Yes, we’ve quite the trip ahead of us, indeed,” he smiled fondly, clearly excited to be seeking out such a lost treasure.
As he spoke, he laid his folio out and opened it carefully to a section of sea maps. A little over a year ago a trio of local fishermen, caught in an unexpected storm, happened upon what they claimed to be the wreck of the HMS Queen Charlotte, a wooden vessel from the 1700s that had disappeared during a northern exploration and research expedition some 200 years earlier.
The fisherman had brought back a wooden nameplate and a water-damaged logbook that had appeared to be entirely authentic. Although the men had been unable to pinpoint the exact location of their discovery on any map, they had outlined a general area around the strait where they claimed it would be found.
The discovery was an impressive one, and should it prove true then the exhibition team aboard the SS Lisburne were guaranteed a small measure of acclaim for uncovering the root of a 200-year-old mystery.
“Yes, we’ve quite the trip ahead of us, indeed,” he smiled fondly, clearly excited to be seeking out such a lost treasure.
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deumDeitas
the branches have yet to wither
Mr. Adger's smile was a bit forced, at the start of it. Confident they'd find it? James was a little more skeptical...they had a general area to look in, outlined by some average fisherman after a storm. He had some doubts about how accurate their idea of it's location was. But, admittedly, seeing someone so excited to track down some old mystery made his smile a little more genuine. "Will be interesting to see it in person. My father loved to make up stories about what happened to it for bed-time tales when I was a kid. I'm sure he's looking forward to getting the real story." Though James himself was less excited about it. What was so interesting about a ship that likely rammed itself into something on accident and sunk? He liked the children stories a little more.
He finished off his glass, setting it aside putting his left hand to his chin as he looked the maps over. "Do you recall how big the ship is supposed to be? I wonder how easy it will be to spot in the water." His right hand tapped against the table steadily- he should have brought his journal. "Should really be taking notes on all this. I wonder if the captain would let me borrow a spare map, when he calls us up."
He finished off his glass, setting it aside putting his left hand to his chin as he looked the maps over. "Do you recall how big the ship is supposed to be? I wonder how easy it will be to spot in the water." His right hand tapped against the table steadily- he should have brought his journal. "Should really be taking notes on all this. I wonder if the captain would let me borrow a spare map, when he calls us up."
sspky
ooof my bones
“The Queen Charlotte was 41 metres. A little larger than the HMS Terror, in fact.” he recited easily, “And according to the fishermen who spotted her, she was stuck up on a reef, with her bow jutting up out of the water at low tide.”
If the fishermen’s description was accurate, then the only reason she hadn’t been spotted in all this time, was due to the sheer remoteness of her location. The Strait was a treacherous stretch of rocky ocean between barren cliff-faces. Even if the fishing in those water was decent, the risk of running aground was far too great to chance temptation.
“Well, if our Captain has nothing to spare, I have a map or two you can use, Mr. Adger.” the professor said, “Though I would likely need to refer to them now and again.”
He spread out a few ocean charts across the table, as well as a very rough map of the Putrid Strait. There was an area of the shoreline circled carefully, and the professor poked at it with his index finger and said, “We’ll find her thereabouts, with any luck.”
If the fishermen’s description was accurate, then the only reason she hadn’t been spotted in all this time, was due to the sheer remoteness of her location. The Strait was a treacherous stretch of rocky ocean between barren cliff-faces. Even if the fishing in those water was decent, the risk of running aground was far too great to chance temptation.
“Well, if our Captain has nothing to spare, I have a map or two you can use, Mr. Adger.” the professor said, “Though I would likely need to refer to them now and again.”
He spread out a few ocean charts across the table, as well as a very rough map of the Putrid Strait. There was an area of the shoreline circled carefully, and the professor poked at it with his index finger and said, “We’ll find her thereabouts, with any luck.”
deumDeitas
the branches have yet to wither
"Decent sized ship, then. We shouldn't have too much trouble finding her." He replied, a bit of a sigh in his voice. "Long as the Captain sails right, we should all be fine and home with discoveries in no time."
Ah, yes, home...he'd have to find how to deal Miss Margaret when he arrived back. He could hear his mother now, on the docks to get him. "Now that you're back surely you're hearing wedding bells, aren't you?" He knew he was one of the...older bachelors but...Margaret really wasn't his taste. Though, neither had been his other matches.
He pushed the though aside. "I would appreciate it." He smiled at the professor. "I won't need it long- I...I'm a good copy. Just need to copy it down with some notes in my journal. It'll help me keep track of everything." An odd skill, to have, admittedly. But...one that was very well practiced in his youth.
He leaned over to look at the charts as they were spread out, eyeing the red circle, and then letting the wander the rest of the map. Lots of rough spots near the ship, no wonder she sank. The Strait didn't show any mercy, did she? At least their Captain was reputable. "How long out until we're there, you think? Wonder how long it'll take her to be searched." He hoped not too fast. The longer he was out on the water, the more of a...life vacation he got. Tracking the work of a research group was much more relaxing for him than being home.
Ah, yes, home...he'd have to find how to deal Miss Margaret when he arrived back. He could hear his mother now, on the docks to get him. "Now that you're back surely you're hearing wedding bells, aren't you?" He knew he was one of the...older bachelors but...Margaret really wasn't his taste. Though, neither had been his other matches.
He pushed the though aside. "I would appreciate it." He smiled at the professor. "I won't need it long- I...I'm a good copy. Just need to copy it down with some notes in my journal. It'll help me keep track of everything." An odd skill, to have, admittedly. But...one that was very well practiced in his youth.
He leaned over to look at the charts as they were spread out, eyeing the red circle, and then letting the wander the rest of the map. Lots of rough spots near the ship, no wonder she sank. The Strait didn't show any mercy, did she? At least their Captain was reputable. "How long out until we're there, you think? Wonder how long it'll take her to be searched." He hoped not too fast. The longer he was out on the water, the more of a...life vacation he got. Tracking the work of a research group was much more relaxing for him than being home.
sspky
ooof my bones
“What a useful skill to have,” he said agreeably. The ability to make accurate copies might have been peculiar in the young man’s social-circle, but in academia, it was a valuable trait to have. Professor Weir had long ago lost count of the hours he’d spent transcribing maps, hieroglyphics, old letters, and volumes upon volumes of notes.
“As for our good captain,” the Professor began, and as if on cue, the ship’s engines roared to life. While they had been idling hot before, now they were thrumming in a way that rumbled through the entire ship. There was a gentle, but very noticeable lurch, as the SS Lisburne pushed off.
“As for the captain,” he repeated, his teacup held steady in his pale hands, “I have the utmost confidence in his ability. He sailed the North Sea during the Great War, you know. Sinking German u-boats and the like. If anyone can navigate these treacherous waters, it shall be him.”
“As for the length of our journey, we’re expected to arrive at Svalbard in a little over a week.” he tapped the imposing arctic island with one finger, “From there, weather dependent, we’ll make it to the Strait in two days time.”
“As for our good captain,” the Professor began, and as if on cue, the ship’s engines roared to life. While they had been idling hot before, now they were thrumming in a way that rumbled through the entire ship. There was a gentle, but very noticeable lurch, as the SS Lisburne pushed off.
“As for the captain,” he repeated, his teacup held steady in his pale hands, “I have the utmost confidence in his ability. He sailed the North Sea during the Great War, you know. Sinking German u-boats and the like. If anyone can navigate these treacherous waters, it shall be him.”
“As for the length of our journey, we’re expected to arrive at Svalbard in a little over a week.” he tapped the imposing arctic island with one finger, “From there, weather dependent, we’ll make it to the Strait in two days time.”
