[Closed] Drag Me Into Place (Memory)

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Just Past Midnight
Samson's Machinery

Summer came to the Rose, and even this city was beautiful in it. Sure, the heat made the smell rising off the streets in the less well-to-do parts of town stronger than it was in cooler months. And yes, Samson's Machinery was not located in the most visually pleasing of areas, needing to be in proximity to their clients. But the sky overhead had been a dazzling summer blue, cloudless and perfect, sun warm and kind until it sank back out of sight. Even this Rose bloomed in Roalis.

Charlie Ewing was humming to himself. And why not? he would have demanded of anyone who had asked him about it. He was in a good mood. The work in front of him today was somewhat dull, but it was going well; he had finally found something stable, he thought. It had taken nearly five months, but he had found it in the end. He was the most junior mechanic in the shop, for now--given boring jobs like this, little routine repairs that had to be done off-ship, working on smaller machines, so on. Charlie thought he would have minded more, but the work was absorbing even when it was dull. He always felt better with something in his hands.

Absorbing sometimes meant he lost track of the time, too. Charlie scrubbed a hand across his face, pushing his hair out of his face before remembering he was filthy. What he needed was a haircut--it was starting to fall too much over his eyes in the front, and if he waited much longer to cut the back of it he would have to start pulling it back. Charlie was beautiful no matter how he wore his hair, but he had never liked the look of long hair in particular--not on himself, anyway. Other people, yes. He wiped his hand pointlessly against the denim at his thigh. He had been doing so all night already, and he succeeded more in pushing the dirt around than removing any of it.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. Then, remembering he was alone in the back of the shop, repeated himself again louder and with more gusto. There. Now he felt a little better.

At least he was almost finished, which meant he could leave. Which was good, because he was one of the last ones still in the shop. Fair enough, as he'd shown up late--his excuse had held, as far as he could tell--and it all balanced out in the end.

Most importantly, it had been his birthday for nearly an hour now.

Charlie was not the type of man who did not enjoy his birthday. He had never particularly cared for the people who thought he shouldn't, like there was something shameful in the indulgence of it. He indulged more than most, it was true, but what was the harm? It was only one day a year. Really, what wasn't there to enjoy? An entire day where everyone was required to pay attention to him, to do things for him? Where drinks were very often free, if he mentioned it to the right people? No, Charlie loved birthdays. Especially this one--his first as Charlie Ewing, his first in his new life. A new name that came more easily now to his tongue--he hardly ever stumbled, even when drunk or high or both. A new job, with promises to let him work on bigger, more interesting things. Things that paid better. Everything, he thought, was looking up for him.

Just a little bit more. He could have left, but he was close to being finished with the repair. No point in leaving now when he was very nearly done. There was no good stopping point, and he wanted to be out on time tomorrow. To maximize the amount of birthday evening he had, of course. Charlie grinned to himself, thinking of a few people he would be very happy to track down on this particular day. There was no sound but the ones he made, and some shuffling from somewhere towards the front. At this hour, quiet had settled deep over the whole of the shop.

Until it was, abruptly and without warning, shattered entirely.

[moralhazard]

Just Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
Samson’s Machinery

Uzoji breathed in the sour, fishy tang of Old Rose Harbor with vivid, unfeigned joy. He didn’t slow his step, walking quickly and unhesitatingly through the dark streets, hands deep in his pocket and his gaze firmly ahead, the cool summer night breeze whisking over him.

His field, mingled physical and static mona, was still faintly energized by the weight of recent casting; his head was unshaven, just barely pricking with stubble. The crisp white cotton bandage on his shoulder wasn’t visible as more than the faintest bulk, and he moved with no particular stiffness.

He would rest, Uzoji thought cheerfully, when he was dead. In the meantime, there was a good deal to do.

The journey back from the middle of the desert hadn’t quite gone as planned. They’d lost the two days he’d planned to spend in the Rose, if they meant to reach the Shier mountains in time for the rendezvous. Dhapu had turned out to be an even worse mechanic than Uzoji had feared, and they’d flown the last six hours bleeding thick black smoke into the atmosphere, and as far as he knew Chibugo hadn’t yet regained consciousness.

He’d left Niccolette in charge of the last problem; he himself meant to tackle the second to last.

Samson’s Machinery was not quite affiliated, but the owner, Farley, knew where to pay his dues. Uzoji and Aremu had had the Eqe Aqawe’s engine brought to his shop, three years ago, for heavy repairs Aremu had been unable to do on the shop. Since, Uzoji had come to Farley Doverton a handful of times for work he needed done discretely in the Rose.

It was not unsatisfying that Dhapu was, likely, somewhere shy of Pa Kral. He’d left rather than put up with Niccolette a house longer; Uzoji thought of it with distinct, fierce pride, and quickened his steps.

There was, Uzoji noted with a wash of relief, enough of a gleam through the dirty windows to tell him someone was home. He banged on the heavy metal door a bit more loudly than he’d meant to. It creaked open.

“Ibutatu,” Farley said, bushy white eyebrows lifting. He stepped back, opening the door wider, meeting Uzoji with a swift caprise.

“Doverton,” Uzoji bowed; he came into the shop. “I need your help,” he said, frankly. “We’ve a mess on board, and I need to take the ship out tomorrow morning at latest. I’ll pay you double.”

Doverton tsked. His white hair was short, gleaming faintly with grease; his glasses, too, were slightly smudged with the stuff. For all he was a galdor, and an Anaxi too, thin corded muscle ran beneath the wiry white hair in his forearms. “Extra coin can’t fix an engine on its own,” he said.

Uzoji bowed once more. “No,” he said, smiling, “but with it I hope to tempt the man who can to help me.”

“Pulled a muscle in my hand last week,” Doverton said, regretfully; they both glanced down at the offending limb. “Still - for old time’s sake, and that scrap of yours... Ewing!” His voice rose suddenly, carrying to the back of the shop. “I know you’re still here, boy!”

Uzoji flinched slightly, but turned, looking towards the back of the shop. He was, other than the prickle of hair on his head, not too disheveled; he wore a collared silk shirt and a light jacket, and well-creased pants, Mugrobi-bright, and all of it neat and clean and well-tailored.

He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the young man, and turned to Doverton.

“Well, Ewing,” Doverton said, frankly, looking the young man over. “You wouldn’t be my first choice, but you’re a good enough mechanic. Keep your mouth shut, and there’ll be some extra coin in it for you.”

Uzoji suppressed a smile; he bowed, and reached out with a polite caprise. “Mr. Ewing,” he said, pleasantly. “My name is Uzoji Ibutatu; I’m captain of the Eqe Aqawe. We’ve run into a bit of engine trouble, and could use a man who knows how to handle such. What do you say?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Just Past Midnight
Samson's Machinery

If Charlie had noticed the sound of someone pounding on the heavy metal door of the shop, he didn't show it. There was nobody who could possibly be at that door for him at this hour; or any hour, really, at this stage in his employment. Doverton was still here, after all. Charlie didn't even look over his shoulder.

"For fuckssa-- Coming!" Charlie had startled when he heard Doverton's voice from all the way at the front of the fucking shop, dropping the wrench in his hand squarely onto his foot. The curse had been muttered, but he had shouted the last part towards the front. His voice carried only a hint of recalcitrance on it. Charlie stood, wiping his hands once again on the front of his pants, adjusting his suspenders. He shuffled at no great speed to the front of the shop.

When he arrived at last, Doverton was not alone. Somehow Charlie hadn't expected whoever had knocked at the door to stay. He had not expected also for this neat, well-tailored Mugrobi man, entirely too bright for the hour and the environment. It made him feel more unwashed than he already was. Not that anyone stayed too clean in the shop for long, but there was being unclean in the shop, and there was being unclean out of it. Charlie suddenly felt as if he were doing the latter.

"Did you need me for something? ...Sir," he added, just in case. He still wasn't very good at that bit, but it seemed to go over just fine at the shop. So far, anyway.

Charlie looked first to Doverton, trying and failing to suppress a frown. Just who was the first choice, then? And too bad, because Charlie was the only other one here. Everyone else was sensible, and had gone home to their families or their vices, whichever proved more compelling. Like Charlie was going to do, as soon as he'd finished what he'd started.

Then he looked to the visitor--Ibutatu, he'd said, all pleasant smiles and shit--and braced himself. The same way he braced himself when he met everyone, especially at work where he couldn't just be rude and back away. Not as easily, anyway. He bowed, less neatly than Uzoji had, and grit his teeth against the brush of the man's field. His return was shallow and just this side of rude; Charlie did not let the caprise linger.

He was so focused on these details--the bracing, the grimy feeling, the general aura of handsomeness--that there was a moment where he didn't quite know what was being asked of him. When it sunk in, his eyebrows rose, blue eyes widening slowly before he mastered his expression again.

"Me?" Charlie rounded on Doverton, suspicious immediately. "What's the catch? I'll do it," he added, looking briefly to Uzoji, "and there's no better choice." Of the people present, who had not fucked up their hand last week. Still.

He was almost ready to go home, but--Charlie couldn't turn down the extra coin. He didn't know, quite, what he was keeping his mouth shut about. But how long could this take, anyway? A long night was worth it, he thought. He could always sleep the day of--it wasn't like his plans started until the evening.

[moralhazard]

Just Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
Heading towards the shipyard

It took Uzoji a moment to realize just how young Ewing was. He hid it fairly well, between the scowl on the sharp planes of his face and the slightly wary look around his eyes, but Uzoji had always been good at guessing ages, and he knew to trust his instincts. His caprise was thin and unpleasant, although he didn’t linger in it, which was something at least. Then again, Uzoji had never made the mistake of thinking a mechanic needed to be a good sorcerer.

He glanced back at Doverton, who was still frowning at Ewing with a look that was solidly on the grumpy side.

“I don’t believe there’s a catch,” Uzoji said with a pleasant grin. “We’d like to be out of the Rose by the morning; I’m hoping the engine’s in good enough shape for it.”

“Good bones, at least,” Doverton said, thoughtfully, raising his eyebrows at Uzoji. He frowned. “When were you last in the Islands?”

“Beginning of Roalis, not two weeks ago,” Uzoji raised his eyebrows, surprised more that Doverton had thought to ask than anything. He grinned, thinking of a solemn, frowning face, and remembering the way Doverton’s face had twisted, once, on a similar subject.

It had been a good visit; it was only since that things had gone somewhat unexpectedly sideways. Uzoji always liked to go to the islands after the end of the rainy season; there was nothing to make one appreciate Dzum like spending almost two months in the sooty, booze-soaked haze of Viendan parties. “We had a full work up then,” Uzoji added, smiling.

“Problems shouldn’t run deep, then,” Doverton tugged at the neat white hair of his goatee. He turned to Ewing, and looked from him to Uzoji. “What’re you waiting for, then? Night’s half gone already.”

Uzoji bowed, deeply. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Doverton.” He said, grinning a little wider.

Doverton scowled. His gaze flickered to Ewing, once more, and the thin line of his lips twisted, slightly, but he said little more.

Uzoji waited at the doorway, his hands lightly behind his back. He was impatient, but he saw little point in hurrying Ewing along, and he didn’t expect it to take long regardless. He had a sense that Ewing was as eager to get this over and done with as he was, and that he wouldn’t dawdle without reason. When he was ready, Uzoji grinned at him, and pushed the door open onto the street outside, letting the mechanic go first, the pink scarring on his right hand glinting in the dim light.

He caught him after a step or two. Uzoji was just taller than he was, he noticed; it was unusual for an Anaxi, although he’d known others at Brunnhold around Ewing’s height or shorter.

Usually, he liked to land the Eqe Aqawe in one of the most distant, quiet harbors. They were Hawke’s, in the way that everything in the Rose was Hawke’s, and in more specific ways besides. But all the same, he scarcely liked to advertise it; they ran themselves, more or less, and they had mostly done so since first coming to the King’s attention.

Tonight, though, chased by thick black smoke and feeling the shuddering of the ship beneath his hands and all through his bones, Uzoji had set down at the closest shipyard he knew, and thought nothing more of it than that.

“It’s not too long a walk,” Uzoji said, grinning at Ewing. He didn’t go slowly, all the same; he made his way quickly and decisively through the pale dark streets, the white flash of his smile and the silk of his shirt gleaming in the moonlight.

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Just Past Midnight
En Route to the Shipyard

Out by morning--Charlie relaxed at the sound of that. He'd worried, perhaps, it was a longer job, and he'd have to turn it down. Work was important, but this was his birthday at stake. Morning he could do though. Just a late night. He'd probably have been up anyway, really. He usually was.

I wasn't waiting for anything, he wanted to protest, but he kept his mouth shut. It flickered over his face in the form of a brief shift to the petulant, but he thought he clamped down on it fast enough.

"Just waiting for the word go, boss." Charlie nodded cheerfully, ignoring the way Doverton had looked at him grouchily. He was just a grouchy sort of person, Charlie thought. At least he hoped so, because he got that look rather a lot and he did like the job for all of his grumbling. "I'll just get my things--shouldn't take more than a minute."

Charlie dashed off to the back again with a lazy kind of wink and a shallow bow. He couldn't finish what he'd meant to, not now, but he could certainly tidy it up a little to make it easier on himself when he came back to it later. He thought maybe to wash his hands, wipe his face, something. After a moment of reflection, he decided it wasn't worth the lost time. He would just be filthy again shortly, anyway, and he didn't want to waste any more time than he had to. The sooner he left, the sooner he got there, the sooner he could get the work over and done with and get back to more important things.

Uzoji let Charlie go first, which he wouldn't have minded except he didn't know where they were going. The Eqe Aqawe could have set down anywhere; there were certainly plenty of places to choose from. Whatever people thought of him, Charlie was not so stupid to not know what was implied by the sharp instruction to keep his mouth shut. That only offered more choices, not less. Uzoji caught up quickly enough, at any rate, so that was all fine then.

In fact, he kept walking quickly. Charlie didn't dawdle, but he felt slightly annoyed at the idea of being expected to hurry without being asked or communicated with about the degree of urgency. He nodded and did not speed up his step any. Just kept the flash of that well-cut shirt in front of him. He would get there when he got there, and not a moment before.

"Awfully late, to be in such need of a mechanic." Charlie let the comment float out idly in front of him, not quite asking the question. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he couldn't stand to just walk on in obedient silence either. He had become at least a little better about trying to judge the shape of things before he got involved, in the last few months. Not much, but some.

[moralhazard]

Just Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
The Eqe Aqawe, a Brothers Shipyard

Uzoji slowed his pace a step to let Ewing catch him. He grinned at the mechanic’s comment, not disagreeing in the least; he didn’t add anything to it either.

“Is Ewing what you like to be called?” Uzoji asked instead, glancing at the small, somewhat grubby galdor.

It was a cloudy night; wind blew in off the harbor, stirring the clouds overhead, with little light but the moons from overhead through the city’s gaze. Uzoji breathed the fishy smell of the Rose in deep. There was time enough for conversations, to answer Ewing’s questions - or at least for him to ask them, but soon enough they would arrive.

There were two Brothers at the entrance to the airship yard, one with a scrawl or pirate tattoos on his face. Both watched them enter, arms crossed over their chest; they said nothing.

Uzoji climbed the narrow staircase to the pier quickly and easily. Airships bobbed up overhead, tied down and drifting in the wind. He made his way along the wide metal platform, railings on either side, until they reached nearly the last docked ship. There was no one else around, no one but the occasional drift of laughter over a railing or a creak of distant movement half swallowed in the dark.

The Eqe Aqawe’s sleek dark silhouette gleamed overhead; it swayed, hull cutting a sharp line through the air.

“Up we go,” Uzoji said with a grin, gesturing at the rope ladder which hung off the side of the ship.

Uzoji went first, and offered Ewing a hand from the deck to come over the railing. His grip was warm and firm; the deck rocked slightly, swaying in the wind. “Use the straps if you need them,” Uzoji said, gesturing to the leather handholds around the deck.

The deck itself was broad, well-cared for, with two little extensions back along the ship on either side, although not all the way. The huge gasbag above connected to the top of the cabin with a sea of rigging; the chainmail around the balloon’s gleamed, and rattled in the wind.

The deck was not - quite - clean. Something damp had dried on it, with a faint metallic odor, though not strong. Uzoji opened his mouth to say something.

There was a sudden burst of noise from inside; the door flung open. Chibugo came roaring onto the deck; he was dressed only in loose linen pants, with white bandages wrapped around his torso and shoulder. His face was drenched in sweat, and the short braids of his hair gleamed with it.

“If I’m going to die,” the pilot yelled, “I’d die on the deck, like a man!” He sagged against the wall, eyes faintly glazed. His field was a churning mess of emotion, unusually uncontrolled.

Niccolette followed him out. Uzoji smiled at the sight of his wife, eyes gleaming, dressed in men’s pants and a shirt, all her long hair spilling down her back. “The reason you should die is stupidity!” She yelled back; her field flared sharp, flexing, a bright wash of living mona sweeping over him and Ewing.

Uzoji cleared his throat. Niccolette didn’t turn to look at him; he knew she must have felt his field. “Chibugo,” Uzoji said, eyebrows lifted. “I see you’re awake.”

Chibugo looked up at him, and then down to Ewing. He glanced over at Niccolette. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at him. He shifted against the wall, looking abashed. “I’d rather die on deck,” he said, sounding somewhat confused.

“He is feverish,” Niccolette said. She turned to Uzoji now; her gaze swept briefly, disdainfully, over Ewing, and she made the faintest little expression of it on her lips. “Not,” Niccolette said, turning back to Chibugo with a forbidding scowl, “dying.”

Chibugo sank down against the wall, sitting on the edge of the deck; he closed his eyes, swaying somewhat.

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Just After Midnight
The Deck of the Equ Aqawe

"Like" was a strong word for it, really. Charlie nodded his assent anyway when the other man asked, because it was as good as anything. He certainly liked it better than other names he'd had, and he somehow didn't think "Charlie" was appropriate here. "Ewing is fine, yes."

Charlie followed Uzoji through moonless streets, breathing in the distinctly seawater-scented breeze that came off the harbor. Charlie hadn't quite decided if he liked it or not, as strong as it had become by mid-Roalis. People tended to wax poetic about the sea air, of course; they usually neglected to describe or perhaps even think much about the parts of it that smelled like the rotting corpses of marine life. Charlie thought of little else, and yet still he would describe himself as undecided.

There had been no answer to his comment about the timing, other than a smile he could just barely see in the dark. Well, fine then. They were almost there, Charlie could see already--before them were shadowy and indistinct shapes of airships tied down in the shipyard. His instincts about what sort of business drew Doverton to tell him to keep his mouth shut were confirmed by the look of the two men who stood at the shipyard entrance. They said nothing, and Charlie didn't invite them to; he didn't think they were the sorts of men you wanted to have conversations with, generally speaking.

Now truthfully, Charlie had spent very little time on airships himself. With their engines, or pieces of them, yes, but on the ground, off-ship. He had been a passenger more than once, but not so often as to be what one might consider familiar with the experience. He looked up at that smooth shape, just a shadow against a dark sky, and Charlie permitted himself a small, genuine smile.

None of that stopped him from grumbling to himself as he climbed up the rope ladder to the deck, of course. He took the hand offered him only slightly hesitantly, mostly out of unwillingness to admit that he needed it. The deck rocked beneath his feet, and he eyed the leather straps with trepidation. It would be better when he was not on the deck, Charlie thought. It usually was.

Charlie could not, at first, determine what the issue was. He also couldn't tell what that was on the deck, gleaming slightly in the low light and smelling distinctively enough to cut through the scent of the saltwater air. Charlie thought of the men at the entrance of the shipyard, of his instructions not to say anything, and resolved not to think about it any more after that. He was getting better at that kind of thing.

The shipyard was mostly quiet, with only a few scattered sounds drifting here and there on the wind. As made sense for the hour; he had expected that to continue, on board the Eqe Aqawe. He was wrong. All at once a man came bursting out from the door, yelling about dying like a man. He looked distinctly more sweaty that the weather could explain, the temperature still dropping sharply as the sun set at this point in the summer. Charlie almost flinched back from the roil of his field but held himself firm. He did, however, grab a strap, if only to steady himself in his surprise.

Good thing, too, because the screaming man without a shirt on was followed rather quickly by a woman. More importantly, he was followed by her field, and this time Charlie did flinch at the sharp brightness of it. He felt absurd urge to dampen his own, pathetic as it was, just to draw away from that monstrous thing. What the fuck was that?

He was beginning to think there was a catch after all. At least he was only a mechanic, and at least the job would be over by morning. Charlie got the distinct feeling this was trouble, and not the kind he usually liked to get involved in. His flavor of trouble tended to involve less risk of severe injury. Although not always, he reflected.

The woman looked at him with distinct and brief disdain; Charlie straightened himself up, though he thought they were of a height and it didn't do him any favors. His smirk remained in place, although it took on something of the air of a sneer. The dark would hide it, he thought. Maybe. There was more light on deck than there had been on the ground.

"Good to know everyone is remaining firmly alive," he said, looking at each person in turn and ending on Uzoji. He raised his eyebrows, but he didn't think it was best to ask anything. It wasn't best to have said that at all, honestly, but he felt like he should say something and that was the first thing that came to mind. "I'm the mechanic," he clarified after, because he hadn't been introduced and wasn't sure he would be. Not that it mattered, but he thought it might be good for everyone present to know he wasn't just some strange, beautiful lurker.

[moralhazard]

Just Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
The Eqe Aqawe, a Brothers Shipyard

Chibugo’s face had gone oddly pale, for a Mugrobi and a dark colored one at that. He was breathing rather more shallowly. Niccolette was watching him still, her small face set; Uzoji could see the tightness in her jaw.

“Of course,” Uzoji said, quietly, into the air between them all. He turned to Ewing and smiled. “Ewing, let me introduce my wife, Niccolette Ibutatu, and another of our pilots, Chibugo pez Kadare. I assure you the average night finds us somewhat more hospitable.” He grinned. “Let me help Chibugo get inside, and we’ll get you to the engine room.”

Niccolette glanced over at his introduction; her gaze swept Ewing once more, and she looked no more impressed than she had the time before. Her arms crossed over her chest; she was, Uzoji noticed, barefoot on the deck, and one foot tapped lightly against the boards.

“Come on, old friend,” Uzoji murmured in Mugrobi as he crouched next to Chibugo. He settled the other man’s arm over his shoulders; he rose, slowly. Chibugo let out a long, low groan; his head lolled, but he took some of his own weight, and, together, they came to standing.

“Let Niccolette steer for a while,” Uzoji went on, still in Mugrobi. “You know well what she is capable of.”

Chibugo’s head inclined, lightly; his eyes fluttered, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Niccolette did not move as they came closer, lurching across the deck. Chibugo was bent over that his face was at her height; Uzoji brought him to her, and he looked up, blearily, golden eyes fixing on the Bastian.

“Do you trust me?” Niccolette asked in her own flawless Mugrobi, meeting Chibugo’s gaze. His field, tinged wild with fever, swirled around them still. Niccolette exhaled; she swamped them both, burning bright with all the etheric remains of her earlier casting. She blazed through Chibugo, and through Uzoji as well, reaching out to the fullest extent of her range.

“Yes, sister,” Chibugo said. He smiled; his eyes flickered heavily. “Take the paddle.”

Niccolette inclined her head in a nod. She stepped aside, then, and held open the door to the hallway inside. Uzoji and Chibugo made their way back through, slowly and carefully; Uzoji had to lower Chibugo down the ladder rungs, leaning him against the wall.

Niccolette was at the door still; he saw her gaze turn towards Ewing, and heard her snap in Estuan, this time: “Are you coming or not?”

Uzoji brought Chibugo to his bunk; he settled him on the bed. The blanket was stripped, and the sheets already damp with sweat, but Uzoji doubted there was much to be done to it. Niccolette was standing in the door, leaning against it; her face was creased with tiredness. She straightened up, eyes bright, when Uzoji looked at her, and she came inside, leaving him space to exit.

“There will be screaming,” Niccolette said, casually. She closed the door to them both.

Uzoji glanced sideways at Ewing in the hallway; he smiled, encouragingly, and inclined his head. “The engine room’s this way.” He said, leading him down the hall. There was the heavy echo of monite in Niccolette’s voice, drifting through the doorway into the hall beyond; it drifted after them a few moments longer.

“Down here,” Uzoji said; he opened the door for the young mechanic, taking him inside. The ship pitched in a gust of wind, rocking lightly; he held his balance through it, easily. “Have you spent much time on small semi-rigids?” Uzoji asked, lightly. “We should be out of the worst of the wind in the shipyard here, but it’s more like a sailboat than one of the larger ships. There are straps in the engine room; use them as needed.”

The engine, and the engine room, was a mess. Greasy black smoke stained the walls and floor, and the engine itself; it was still shedding the faintest bit of heat.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” Uzoji said, quietly; he wasn’t smiling now, looking down at the engine. He looked back at Ewing; he inclined his head. “We trailed thick black smoke the better part of the last six hours, and there was a deep grinding sound I’ve never heard before.”

There was a pause; Uzoji looked back at the machine, and then back once more to Ewing. “Better to not fix it than to patch it too shallowly,” Uzoji said, holding the younger man’s gaze. “I’d rather we not leave than that we only reach halfway.”

[Charlie Ewing]

Roalis 14, 2718 - Just After Midnight
The Eqe Aqawe

More hospitable--Charlie looked again at the woman, at Niccolette, and his eyebrows rose in disbelief. Whatever he wanted to believe, Charlie supposed. Far be it from him to part a man from his illusions. Or maybe he knew it, in there with that "somewhat".

"Good to meet you," Charlie offered dubiously, not believing it in the least. Niccolette looked at him again; all Charlie offered her was an easy, arrogant smile, but he bristled again on the inside. Charlie stood to the side and he waited, feeling rather awkward as some conversation was carried on in a language he did not know--Mugrobi, he guessed, though he had precious little experience with it and for all he knew it could be something else entirely. He did try, generally speaking, to make allowances for things to surprise him.

Charlie didn't know what was said, and he didn't ask, and he didn't care. Whatever it was, it got the feverish man--Chibugo, or something--to smile. It was the fever, he thought; that had to be why. The mechanic could not imagine smiling after feeling that field, even if she was there to help him. Charlie felt it like leaning on a stove without realizing, one hand tightening on the strap he held.

It also seemed to settle things enough to get moving, for which Charlie was grateful. He let go of the strap and intended to follow just a few steps behind, trying not to get too close. It was very difficult, he found, staying out of range of Niccolette. That made Charlie frown too, though only for a moment and he didn't think anyone had turned to see it.

Or maybe she had, because she turned to him and snapped. Charlie looked over at her. They were, he noted miserably, absolutely of a height. He'd almost have preferred that she were taller. His best pouting was done when he was at a low angle. Instead he shrugged his shoulders, playing at nonchalance. "Ladies first, Mrs. Ibutatu." She went into the hall, and Charlie followed after, sooner than he would have liked.

What the fuck happened here, was what he wanted to know. Or didn't want to know, he supposed, because he probably honestly didn't. There was very little that caused both injury severe enough for fever and engine failure that Charlie thought he probably wanted to be involved in. Niccolette's casual declaration that there would be screaming didn't dissuade him from this in any way. Uzoji looked back at him and smiled; Charlie supposed it was meant to be encouraging. He would have laughed, if he hadn't been concentrating on trying to avoid staring at the closed door.

Well, he was here now anyway. At least he just had to do the work in front of him--asking questions that had nothing to do with it didn't do anyone any good, least of all him. The ship pitched and Charlie was unbalanced; the question came as he struggled to keep his footing. That probably answer it, but he shook his head anyway.

"Not as such," he said sourly, finding his balance again but only just. He was going to have to use the clocking straps, wasn't he. Ugh. He followed after, taking in the sight of the mess. Part of him was rather pleased that he'd made the decision to not bother cleaning up. Looking at the engine now, he knew there would have been very little point. He didn't turn to Uzoji as he spoke, although he nodded in a distracted sort of way. The engine in front of him, Charlie's focus had shifted to that and that alone. He only looked up at the end, in time to catch the other man's eye. He grinned.

"Don't worry," he chirped cheerfully, "Either this is getting fixed or I'm not leaving. And I have plans, so it's getting fixed." He didn't know if Uzoji would believe him; he supposed it didn't matter, if he did it. Privately he was a little unsure of if the problem was too great for his expertise--but he knew what he was capable of, and whatever else anyone might say or think of him, he took his work seriously.

[moralhazard]

Just Past Midnight, 14 Roalis, 2718
The Eqe Aqawe, a Brothers Shipyard

Uzoji glanced around the engine room. They swayed, gently, in the harbor breeze; he noticed Ewing rocking slightly with it, a little off-balance once more, but he didn’t fall. A week and a half ago, he thought wryly, and the room had been flawlessly clean. Whatever black smoke they’d trailed had come this way out of the engine too, he supposed; he didn’t know more about it than that.

He met Ewing’s eyes when the man spoke again, when he grinned. Uzoji grinned back. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, quite cheerfully.

“I’ll be tidying up elsewhere,” Uzoji said. “This,” he went to the wall, touching a bell pull cord which hung from what looked like a slit in the wall, “will ring a system of bells through the ship. Pull once if you need something; pull twice if you need something very quickly. I’m happy to offer you a pair of hands if helpful; the engine’s my first priority for ship repair.”

“Any questions?” Uzoji asked. “We’ve a supplier on the ground for parts; like as not I can anything small or common tonight, if need be.” He felt tired; it was all through him, thrumming, beating in his chest and all his limbs. He’d flown the last six hours himself, with Willie charting a course the ship could bear. The Anaxi was fast asleep in his bunk, now; Uzoji, knowing how tired the pilot had been, doubted even Chibugo had woken him.

Uzoji knew better than to sleep, though. The adrenaline spell Niccolette had cast hours earlier would carry him a bit longer – maybe until morning, if he were lucky. It would be an ever and a half, today, endless; there wasn’t much for it but to hope Willie could take them out of the harbor, if they were even fit to fly.

Uzoji left Ewing; Chibugo’s screams had been muffled by the hallway and the door, but when Uzoji opened it they could both hear him. Uzoji swallowed, tightly; he glanced back over his shoulder at Charlie, offered him what he hoped was a reassuring grin, and shut the door tightly behind himself.

It was not better, a few moments later, when the screams trailed off into nothingness. Uzoji held a moment, half-breathing, in the hallway, waiting for Niccolette’s voice – nothing came. Unconscious, he thought then, and he was glad of it – for Chibugo’s sake. Niccolette’s spells to burn out infection worked, generally, as well as anything they’d ever found – but if there was any more painful healing, he’d yet to hear of it.

Uzoji filled a pail of water, added soap, and took a scrub brush out with himself to the deck. The cold pricked through all his nerves, aching in the skin of his hand and somewhere deep in his lungs. He breathed it in, and the lingering engine-grease smell too, and set to work scrubbing the deck clean, the door just barely open in case Ewing rang.