It was...a lot less than she'd expected it to be, although disappointment had never been an unfamiliar companion to her expectations. It was small and relatively plain looking, made entirely from some brass-like metal and sporting no discernable attributes that could differentiate it from any other solid, brass box. A box without hinges, a key, or a lid, and yet inside a golden treasure is hid. Or something along those lines. Elizabeth cupped the little cube in her hands, narrowing her eyes at it and pressing her lips into a thin line. She, of course, didn't know how to use it. This meant returning to the coast of England to speak to her father. Which in turn meant persuading Thomas to inform the crew that they were working under orders of a priest. Not something she, nor the captain, wished to do. Speaking of the captain... Elizabeth looked up toward the doorway, brow arched but her face otherwise drawn back into a stony state of expressionlessness,"Captain?" Thomas sank into the room, grinning,” The crew is happy. Apparently it was a very good raid. Although, a few of them were a tad upset at being told to 'keep it quiet’,” he let his smile quaver into the half-held form of a mock-frown. Elizabeth snorted and returned her attention to the box. "In an exceptionally good mood, even,” he sidled into the cabin, turning away from Elizabeth to eye the array of trinkets that decorated the shelves lining the walls. He plucked a figure from a shelf and sniffed it distractedly. Elizabeth set the cube on the table and stood,” They’ll take it better if you inform them, Thomas." "They'll take it better if no one informs them at all, but that's not going to happen, is it?" he lifted the figure into the light,” Still smells strongly of mint. It was a soap container, you know?" "No,” said Elizabeth, eyeing the horrid little thing from the doorway,” I didn't." She curled her lip and removed herself from the room. The crew was in the mess hall, and what a suiting name for it too. They were a rowdy lot that night, and they had every right to be so as far as they were concerned. Men and women were huddled around the tables, shouting, and singing, cursing obscenities and deities and every name they could think of in honor of their magnificent plight. The air stank heavily of cheap wine and beer, and Elizabeth's mouth watered at the aroma. There was no harm in her having a few sips of this or that before breaking the news to the group. She sauntered toward the wine barrels and poured herself a mug of cheap liquor, downing it with a heavy series of gulps. She wiped her mouth and set the mug on the table beside her before moving toward the center of the room. She licked her lips, and waited. The noise didn't stop, and nor did she expect it to. She watched a pair of mugs fly through the air, spattering nearby sitters with alcohol, and clunk, breaking, against a stool, before stepping forward. There was no sense in clearing her throat, or shouting, because the noise would only find itself lost in a myriad of similar cacophonies. Elizabeth whipped her pistol from her belt and fired a round into the roof of the ship. The crew quieted down. "Captain Thomas has given me the unfortunate task of informing you all of our next destination." Groans sounded all around the room. "Don't fookin' tell us if we're not gonna like it!" one voice exclaimed to Elizabeth's right. She ignored it with a twist of her lips into an ugly sneer. "We will be returning to England for an indefinite amount of time, in order to-" "England!" someone shouted,” It’s bloody cold in England." Elizabeth gritted her teeth, nodding her head a fraction of an inch,” We will not be staying long, but we will be going, and we won't be returning to warmer waters until a matter concerning a possible...solution to our heating problem is fixed." A wavering stream of laughter erupted around the room. Elizabeth shot another round into the ceiling,” Enough!" One of the crew, a slight man with wide, watery eyes, leant over his table, chuckling a little still,” We’ve been looking for a cure for the cold for ages, Miss Elizabeth. Unless England has an oil reserve hidden away, I doubt there's going to be some sudden miracle heat." Elizabeth cocked her revolver and pressed the barrel against the man's brow,” There is no oil reserve, but I assure you, by the time we set sail again we will have heat,” she let her gun fall to her side,” Anyone else want to contradict me?" A few people stirred, muttering behind hands and under breaths, but no one spoke up. "Very well,” Elizabeth nodded and stepped out of the room. Damn crew had no respect for their superiors. Thomas appeared at the top of the stairs, grinning again,” Got around mentioning Simon, I see." Elizabeth growled and stalked passed him. .:.:.::.:.:. It took nearly three weeks to reach England, traveling through the blistering colds that only seemed to get more and more unbearable the further north they went. Australia, at least, had had a natural heat to sustain them through the summer months and warm the metal plates on the ship. But the heat only lasted so long, and not even a week into the journey the crew was forced into multiple layers of clothes and keeping well out of the chill air. Most of them hid below deck, shivering beneath blankets and huddling together to keep warm. They had brought the books, of course, but there hadn't been many, and they were all ashes in the water by the time the coastline of Europe loomed into view. The ship made her docking in the south-western beaches, about as warm as it would get for the island, and the crew disbanded to enjoy the freedom of land as well as they could. Elizabeth was not granted such pleasures. Her one and only pleasure would, perhaps, be to see her father. Such occurrences were few and far between, even with him technically being the commander of her ship, Thomas' ship. Simon, her father, very rarely ever gave his orders himself, instead using a middle man to deliver messages between him and his daughter. That's the way it had to be. He had to protect himself. After all, he wasn't supposed to have a child. Even more so, he wasn't supposed to have one with a whore. Elizabeth made her way across the cobbled streets toward the cathedral. It was a massive building, made entirely of some cold, white stone. The steeples were tall and impressive, looming over the city like ivory beasts, stained with muted colors over glass. Elizabeth never enjoyed stepping into the church, felt she was condemning herself by dirtying the floors of god’s house with her presence. She'd killed, she'd tortured, she'd done worse than both, and she'd enjoyed it all. Every time she took a step she felt as if she were leaving a stain of blood behind on the marbled floors. She made her way up the cathedral stairs and gently eased the pseudo-golden doors open. The warmth the church emitted was a welcome relief. The surprised look on her father's face, accompanied by a flash of fearguiltloathing, was not. "Elizabeth,” he croaked. He cast a quick glance around them, making sure no one was looking, before embracing her. It lasted only seconds, but Elizabeth reveled in it. She couldn't dwell on pleasant thoughts for long, though. "I've located the device,” she pulled the brass cube out of her pocket and handed it to him,” I don't know how to use it. That's why I'm here." Simon nodded and lifted a hand in direction of the confession booths. Elizabeth wet her lips and strode toward them, Simon following close behind her. They sank into their respected rooms and opened the grate between them. The darkness, too, was comforting. "I was worried,” said Simon, his voice was like granite, coarse and broken by weathering and age. Elizabeth nodded in the faint light,” I know." He was worried when he saw her, what it meant, what she wanted. Worried someone might see and make a connection between them. Worried Elizabeth wouldn't find the device, or not find it in time. Worried it might fall into the wrong hands. "It's a simple process,” he continued, lifting the cube so the weak bulbs reflected off of it. He pulled a pin from somewhere amid the folds of his robe, and pressed it into the very center of the cube. It slid through it like butter. A click sounded between them, and the cube vibrated in his palm. It twisted, contorting into itself, and spread apart like a flower gathering the last rays of the sun. Inside glittered a tiny, green gem, not half so big at Elizabeth's fingernail. Simon passed the object to her through the grate. "You understand what to do?" Elizabeth nodded. Get wood, get fuel, get anything that could be burned, and bring it back. "Do you know how to get back?" Elizabeth nodded. The same way she was going to get there. Simon passed his pin through to her, and she tucked it into her breast pocket. "When are you planning to leave?" "As soon as possible. Thomas already knows." "Thomas,” Simon’s lip curled at the name, in much the same manner as Elizabeth's did. He bobbed his head, and folded his hands over his chest. His voice fell to a whisper,” As we're in the confession booth, do you-" "No,” said Elizabeth,” and neither do you." Simon nodded. He understood. They both did. "Good-bye, Simon,” Elizabeth rose and slipped out of the cubicle. The word 'father' teased the tip of her tongue, but she dared not use it. Not even with the reassurance that it was his papal title, as well as his relation to her. "Farewell, Elizabeth, and good-luck." As soon as the church doors swung shut behind her, she lifted the device to her eyes and pressed a finger to the bubble of green light. .:.:.::.:.:. Elizabeth stumbled backward, her hand clutching her revolver. Where the hell was she. All around her, glittering metal slabs of steel lined the walls, and creatures gallivanted through the crowded streets, on two limbs, four, ten, none at all. Fear closed around her throat and she desperately tried to mold herself against the wall. Those, at least, carried some level of familiarity. Some being, sporting much to many eyes for her to count in the short amount of time she locked gazes with it, glowered at her from it's spot hovering a few feet above the air. It clicked, not one, but two sets of teeth at her and buzzed off into the noisy, shimmering, streets. Elizabeth's heart hammered in her chest and she moved away from them, eyes desperately searching the area for a door, for a hole, for anything she could hide herself in. She saw it. She raced through the entrance, finding herself faced with a deep, colorless corridor. This, at least, was relatively empty. She let out a wavering breath and collapsed against the nearest wall, forcing her pulse to slow down. A minute passed, and then another and she was still alone. Good. She pushed off of the wall, straightening out her clothes and returning her gun to its place at her belt. Smoothing back her hair she threw back her shoulders and headed down the corridor. The device hummed in her pocket, as if buzzing with life. She sneered at it, a wasted expression as it, too, was tucked safely out of sight, shoved into her pocket as soon as it returned to its natural cube-like state. Horrible blasted little thing. Where the hell was she. Footsteps sounded from the opposite side of the hall, and her chest tightened again. She groaned between clenched teeth and tossed open the nearest door. The footsteps passed, and she found herself able to breathe again. "Excuse me?" Elizabeth jumped, her hand reaching around to her gun as she pivoted to face her addresser. She sucked in a breath as soon as she locked eyes on him...them. There were two, and Elizabeth could not easily identify the species of each, but they did not seem as...alien, as the other creatures had. The first was an angel, pure, beautiful white, with a feline-like form, from which two elegant wings protruded. He was beautiful, soft looking and kind. Like her father, but no fear, or guilt, or loathing came to his face upon first seeing Elizabeth. The second was something even greater than that. Flamed breathed into the shape of a swan, brilliantly colored and glowing, emanating heat. Fire. Elizabeth's eyes blazed at the sight of her. She dipped her head to them both and opened the door,” I apologize for intruding, I did not know anyone was in here." They cast her a pair of nervous smiles, but said nothing more. Elizabeth slipped out of the room with an apologetic bow. A phoenix. That's what the second one had been. A bird of fire. Her hand curled around the cube inside her pocket. That was exactly what she was looking for. "Hello thar, miss,” came a deep rumbling voice to Elizabeth's right,"Lookin' to bond one of those sira-pheonixes?" Elizabeth locked wide eyes on the...thing before her. Large, plate-covered, and quadruple-armed. It reached out one of said arms in semblance of an urge to shake hands. Elizabeth bit back her fear and clasped hands with it...him. "Bond?" Elizabeth arched a brow quizzically,” Perhaps..." "But not too sure how to go about it?" the man-creature grinned,” I’d be happy to talk ye through the procedure. Thinking about bonding myself..." He started down the hall, and with one last glance in the direction of the door, the room containing the phoenix and the angel, Elizabeth followed after him. Back - Home - Next