The Lafette

[Atlas Mason] It was a warm, cloudy day in the windy city, and with the sun hidden from view the river was dark and choppy. The piers in this area jut out into the water like jagged teeth long and grey, they were intended for smaller freight ships, fish haulers, and mid sized cargo ships. Where many of the piers were bustling and well maintained, this one had fallen into disrepair . Perhaps it was why Atlas had chosen this particular location to berth his ship, no one thought that there would be anything of worth.

The ship itself looked almost as derelict as the pier, its full 350 feet of length barely contained within the safety limits of the pier itself. The ship almost looked like an old WW2 destroyer without the armaments. But where it may have at one time been regal, and almost stately in its prime, the ship was now dark and ruined, The signs of repairs and reconstruction are evident upon the hull of the ship, great swaths of fresh steel plating had been welded and attached to the sides, covering holes that would make many mariner's shiver with fear. Emily could tell that the ship had seen worse days, but it would be a long time before it would see its prime once more.

Barely recognizable, with filth and rust coating the side of the ship is the name "Lafette". The ships gangplank sat extended, and untouched. Just beyond the chainlink gate that blocked entrance to the pier, Emily can make out a bevy of tools, piles of scrap metal, and an array of devices that may have at one time, been wonderous creations, but were now merely piles of scrap as well.

She really might wonder how this whole scene had gone unnoticed to the authorities.

[Emily Littleton] It's a warm day, but the water always brings with it a certain chill or stickiness. The Orphan girl wears a hoodie over her tee-shirt, jeans and sensible shoes. That's a favorite saying of her mother, sensible shoes. As if it made sense to have nonsensical shoes, or footwear of an unreasonable variety. Whenever she put on shoes with rubberized soles and tight-tied laces, Emily could hear her mother in the back of her head, all prim and British-sounding.

The ship was a little worse for wear, worn and rusted, wearing out and reinforced and hodge-podged after its journey. But this was not its journey's end, and Emily was here to see about seeing it on to its next great adventure. There was a purpose to this visit, and that directedness helped her find an even keel. Emily, herself, was feeling a little worse for wear, rusted through and hodge-podged together herself these days.

She stopped at the chainlink fence, threaded her fingers through the links and looked down the length of the Lafette. Looked down at the collection of tools. It smelled like water and metal here, like algeae and summer humidity, like work and adventure. She breathed in deeply, and cast a look around the Etherite who had invited her on a work-study visit.

[Atlas Mason] She looks about, and the site looks deserted, not a sound or sign of the ancient Etherite, but then the Lafette is a large ship, bigger then most you would see in these waters. But she can be certain the man is here, as his motorcycle is tucked in safely just on the other side of the fence.

As Emily threads her fingers through the links she finds that the gate moves freely, opening at her weight and swinging open just a touch. Apparently the man isn't to concerned about security either.

But before she can press inside, movement catches her eyes. From a portal in the side of the ship, steps the man, the same as he always seems to be, dressed like the rugged academic he is. He' doesnt spot her off the bat mind you. His eyes are elsewhere, and who knows where his mind is.

[Emily Littleton] The gate gives, yields, swings open enough to allow her ingress, and Emily finds her way in through that portal. She closes it behind her, as well, even though it does not lock. It keeps out little, in truth, perhaps only stray thoughts, certainly not even the wind, but it's a boundary and boundaries are meant to be respected, redrawn, reinforced.

When she's close enough to enter his field of view, she raises a hand in greeting, waves a little. There's a smile that goes with it, a little shy and a little excited. Her hair is pulled back from her face so that the wind cannot push it around overmuch. If he still does not see her coming, Emily will call out a Hello!, wave again, and grin a bit more broadly.

Smiling categorically increases your visibility to bystanders, didn't you know?

[Atlas Mason] The man seems distracted, and he doesn't notice the woman's presence until she calls out waving and grinning broadly. He blinks as if he is somewhat surprised, but then the man is smiling and waving back to the woman as he begins to walk quickly down the gang plank towards her. The gang plank clatters, but it doesnt shake, apparently its quite sturdy.

"Emily! Gratuitous pleasantries and applicable gratitudes for your convergence upon this locality, I must inquire are you feeling nominal this time frame? Are you prepared accordingly for the afformentioned, projects? It is a positively charged instance in space and time to note that you have agreed internally to remain with the project."

He asks her questions and tells her things all at once, apparently he is quite happy to see her there one way or another, genuine enthusiasm for her decision to join him in his endevours.
He makes it to the bottom of the gangplank and quickly picks his way through the construction site that was at one point a pier and steps up to her quickly, still smiling.

[Emily Littleton] ((Int + Enigmas: [Analytical]))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Emily Littleton] The young Orphan's smile does not fade, which is an odd blessing these days. She has gotten a bit more rest, so the hollows of her cheeks and the darkness under her eyes has mostly lifted. She seems to have no trouble at all parsing his unique speech patterns, either, which is another small blessing.

"I'm well, thank you. I trust that you are, too?" This, a question, trending upward as it ought. She continues down the pier to meet him, so that he does not need to travel the whole of its length, just to trek back toward the gangplank with her in tow.

"And thank you for inviting me to assist you. I enjoy puzzles and projects," she tells him, as if it is some secret that she likes to tinker with things. Things, thoughts, puzzles of any variety. She prefers troubleshooting and augmentation, breathing new life into existing strictures, to creating something truly anew. Though the latter has taken on a new interest for her since awakening.

"What's today's lesson?" she asks, eager to begin.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas meets her and claps her on the shoulders, smiling broadly before he turned and began to walk with her towards the gang plank, an eager look on his face. His hand remains on her arm, gently guiding her, until he comes to the realization of what hes doing and drops his hand and coughs briefly.

"My physical structure and cognizant processes are nominal as of this time factor, appreciable gestures for your inquiry." He says as he walks with her now, rather then leading her. "This juncture, our personages will endeavor to actualize and finalized several electron transference trunking reroutes, as well as re-affirmation of functionality of the primary H20 fossil fuel driven force applicators, as well as the affirmation of functionality of all primary control surfaces within the forward command observational deck."

[Emily Littleton] If she is in any way uncomfortable with Atlas guiding her toward the gangplank, Emily does not show it. The girl has some Old World manners, and a hand on her arm only makes her stand a little straighter and walk a bit more lightly. It's a little shift, palpable because he's so near her, but still well within normal Emily parameters.

"Sounds like fun," she says, and quite likely she means it, even if she's never seen or heard of most of these systems before. "I have no idea where to begin, but I do know a spanner from a screwdriver. Just point me in the right direction!"

She's rather steady-footed, now that her ankle has healed. Presumably they would head up the gangplank and onto the vessel, but Emily wasn't really sure what to expect. She looks around, taking it all in. It's been quite some time since she was on a sea-faring anything, moored or otherwise.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas does indeed lead the woman up the gang plank and towards the portal that will take her into the bowels of the ship. As she steps past the threshold of the aged door and her eyes adjust to the lighting within the ship, it becomes painfully apparent just how regal and impressive the Lafette once was.

The hallways have been widened, they would never have the claustrophobic feeling of most navy vessels, and at one point these halls were almost austentatious. Upon the floor is the remains of what was once a lavish carpet, a deep burgandy red that is now patchy and decaying. The walls were at one point a deep red wood, which now molders and hangs from iron mounts, revealing the old bulkheads beneath. Once shining brass accents and rails now hang tarnished and bent.

More unusual fixtures hang from the ceilings as well, tubes of glass criss cross the ceiling above, some of them intact, others shattered their pieces gone, presumably swept away already. What their purpose was is uncertain, and they certainly no longer fullfill it.

"We shall initiate the project upon the forward command control and observational deck, two planes in ascension from our current locality." He says as he leads her down the hallway, and towards a stairwell. He looks over at her with a smile.

"Are you capable and appropriately instructed in the use of electron transference trunking Emily?" He asks casually as he moves, slowing as they approach the stairwell, and waits for her to go first....a gentleman apparently.

[Emily Littleton] "I've covered the bases in practicum at University and also as a hobbyist," she says, perhaps a little shy at admitting just how many things she's taken apart and put back together in her time. As a rule, she always undersells her skill set. It leads to fewer pronounced disappointments.

"She was lovely in her prime, wasn't she?" Emily asks Atlas, before she carefully ascends to the next plane. She knows, that a ship is a She. She knows that there is affection between a captain and his vessel. She is respectful of it, as if she were meeting a member of Atlas's family not just an object. "I didn't bring any tools with me. Is that alright?"

[Atlas Mason] "Her stature was rated among the most proficient and ascetically pleasing designs within the data repository compiled and factored by the Royal Ethernautical Society. The initiating project and action plan was initiated by five of the most efficiently cognizant personages within the conglomeration known as the Son's of Ether, to theorize in any other concurrent direction would be a fallicy."

He says as he follows her up the stairs, they don't stop at the next level, instead they continue up, but it doesn't take long for Emily to see the port hole through which she is going to go, as there is no other way to go.

She asks about tools, and the man waves a hand dismissively as he climb's behind her. "Mundane applicators and damage refitters are in gratuitous supply within this structure. Personal applicators will not be required at this juncture."

It is at that moment that they arrive...on the bridge, apparently that is what he meant by the forward command control and observational deck, windows fill Emily's vision, and there is a plethora of consoles and stations, some look entirely mundane, others are strange and obviously magical, where some of them, a concentric ring of three near the center of the bridge, seem to be completely devoid of any kind of interface. There is of course, an old fashioned steering wheel.

[Emily Littleton] There's a little bit of wonder to finding herself in a place with so many obvious avenues of inquiries, so many shiny buttons and curious knobs. Emily is inquisitive, to put it mildly, but self-restraint wins out over the desire to test and explore and -- it isn't her place to do so. There's still a wide-eyed wonder to how she takes in the bridge, to how she steps forward and almost lets long long fingers alight upon this button, than switch.

"It's amazing," she says, with an unabashed hush to her voice. Reverent, yes, and that awe does not stop with His wonders alone. There's magic here, just below the surface. There's mundane miracles, too. The Sleeping world has its own magics, and this, this is a convergence of both.

"Sons of Ether?" she asks, a bit belatedly. "Is that your Tradition?" she asks, because, yes, she really is that new, that naive. There's no derision, even though she leans toward a less technologically progressive grouping. "And Ethernautical? I'm unfamiliar with this term."

Questions, questions. Curiousity and questions. Oh, yes, he has captivated her interest, Atlas has. There's delight in her deeply blue eyes as she turns her smile toward him again. Waiting. Expectant. Okay... where do we begin?

[Atlas Mason] Atlas steps forward into the room after Emily and moves about to one of the consoles where he begins flicking several switches, at that several other consoles begin to light up as he does so, springing to life after who knows how long they have been inactive.

He gazes across at her with a smile as she expresses her wonder for the room and all that it contains, a happy look of his own for her compliments, when she asks about his tradition, the man nods. "Indeed, The Son's of Ether, commonly categorized by the laymen as the Etherites. The title is derived from the basis of our foundation. That being the Ether, a form of matter which composes all things, functioning, terminated, non-actualizing, and all other forms of existence. Ethernautical is an assimilation of a variety of terms to identify the process of traversing the Ether, commonly catagorized as space."

He says as he flicks on several more switches, which produce no results, much to the mans chargrin. "We shall examine and initiate prepatorial stasis for all active terminals. At that juncture we shall begin diagnostics. I will assist your personage until the fundamentals are actualized within your cognizant synaptic databanks."

[Emily Littleton] "By space, do you mean three-dimensional space commonly demarcated in cartesian coordinates?" she asked, watching as he flips switches and brings the panels to life. "Or space meaning the area beyond our atmosphere? Or even inter-dimensional space, as posited in multi-dimensional physics and metaphysics?"

Oh, the near endless questions. Emily is a thinking girl, a quick study. She's never spoken with an Etherite about their brand of magic, or their mode of thinking. It's fascinating to her, and not at all strange. Even with her ecclesiastical leanings.

"I hope I'm not asking too many questions. I'm curious, that's all. This is all so new to me. Charlie says I think to much," she says, with a wry smirk, remembering her afternoon with the Akashic and his attempts at helping her with focus and control.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas doesn't seem at all concerned with Emily's questions, infact he seems to be more then willing to answer them, and expect more infact, where Charlie may have told her to think less, Atlas is obviously of a quality that expects her to think more.

"Posited?" Atlas chuckles a little. "Correct your statement to verified Emily, I have verified and actualized visually, spatially, and sensorally, dimensions out of phase synchonization with our own." He says as he moves to one of the nearby terminals and starts going over it.

"However the characteristical interpretation of Ethernautical travel would postulate towards the exploration and data acquisition within the area beyond this planetoids atmosphere." He adds as an addendum as he puts up a hand and points a finger towards the ceiling.

"It is my express request that you do not cease or withhold any inquiry of any nature. Cognizantly processing data and experience is parallel to the inhalation of oxygen and other trace molecules. It is necessary, it is mandatory!"

[Emily Littleton] He flat out corrected her and Emily, rather than looking taken aback, just nods and takes it in stride. No doubt it's filed away somewhere in that quick mind of hers, ready for easy access later. No doubt, she's already adjusting expectations, questions, queries.

He also tells her to question. To not hold back. That it is as imperative as breathing. It's contrary to her personality, to wear everything on her sleeve, to let every question that crosses her mind find voice. She's skeptical, to say the least, but too inquisitive to leave it off for long.

This is closer to her mundane inquiries, to her familiar and every day life. Things that need mending, need fixing, need wiring up or diagnostics run. They're talking about an extremely specific niche of engineering, of physics. It's fascinating to her.

"I will try, then, to fully indulge in my inquisitive nature," she agrees, just short of chuckling with delight. Then, the girl claps her hands together, rubs them, lets them fall down to her sides again. "Alright. What can I help with? This is amazing, Atlas. You'll have to kick me out to get rid of me, you know."

[Atlas Mason] Atlas pauses in his work and looks around at Emily for a moment and smiles happily. "You are socially offered the opportunity to remain within the physical molecularstructure of the Lafette for an indefinite chronological frame of time Emily." There is something slightly different about his smile now, something...warmer as he gestures to one of the console's next to him.

"The doplar terminal interface is currently in diagnostics, if you would activate and deactivate every control surface and interface device upon the console plane please? Formulate notations in regards to any control surface which fails to indicate successful connection. Once we have identified all failed connections, we will dissassemble the terminal and effect nominalizing activities."

He says with an eagerness about him as he turns back to whatever it is he is working on at the moment.

"It is a curious particular Emily, that your chosen plan of action renders and shapes your dynamic paradigmic personage along the lines you are currently travelling."

[Emily Littleton] "Do you have a laboratory notebook or diagnostics template you wish to use?" she asks, looking about for a clipboard or a matrix to fill out accordingly. Emily is nothing if not detail oriented and fastidious about her experimental notekeeping. If Atlas ever saw her lab, saw her workstation within that lab, he'd recognize it as the physical manifestation of a highly ordered mind -- so ordered that their work space had to be kept clear and tidy, so the chaos could manifest between her ears and spurn some sense of creativity or epiphany.

"Are you referring to my currently unaligned state within the Traditions?" she queries, trying to get at what he's intimating without outright stating her chosen tradition. She has not, as it is, sworn an allegiances just yet. The more time that passes, the less certain she feels about the whole affair. "Or that I am considering joining the Chorus?"

There. It's out, now, in the open. Easily said, like it were self-evident and perfectly reasonable.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas steps away from the terminal he is at briefly, turning to regard Emily specifically now, no longer dividing his attentions, she had asked a very pointed question, one that deserved the entirety of his attention while it was out in the air.

"The conglomeration known to you as the Chorus does indeed contain fundamental benefits and utilizable merit. However, your from what I have observed of your activities, skills and capabilties, your dynamic paradigmic pathways may benefit a greater sum from the utilization of environments such as this structure." He says gesturing to the room around him.

"To appropriately furnish your inquiry with data, I am inquiring about the latter, if that had not already become cognizantly apparent."

He says without any real fear of reprisal either, the man was curious, and he had every intent of finding out an answer, no matter how small.

[Emily Littleton] Oh, it was going to be one of these moments. Emily quirked an eyebrow, as if she were surprised or bemused in some manner. She took a step back, and let her arms cross loosely over her middle. It wasn't a defensive posture. It was fairly casual, as if he'd asked a question with a multitude of answers and she was merely sifting through them to pick the right one.

"Because I don't believe that choosing a tradition or crafting a paradigm is solely about utility or merit," she says, simply but with a serious that outstrips her years. "And so much of what I have seen with the Tradition mages is about how we work, or what we do. For me, the Chorus answers or seeks to answer the fundamental inquiry of why and to what end which are quintessential to any metaphysical pursuit. It's not enough for me to have Wonder without Grace or Awe without Reverence."

She shrugs, somewhat, and watches carefully for his reaction. "Does that make any sense? The Chorus may be closest to what I believe, but it will never be all that I am or do."

[Atlas Mason] "Such internalized idealistic tendencies and requirements are also represented within the paradigmic conglomerations known consecutively as the Son's of Ether, the Euthantos, and the Dreamspeakers." He says with a shrug. "It was a point of inquiry I sought to address and cross interpret with your personage."

He doesn't seem bothered by her choice, or even against it, all the undertones of his voice are curiosity and interest, in her, and her life. It is at that moment that he hands her a clipboard, with a very specific and planned checklist for going over the radar terminal.

He doesn't turn away from her however, he stands there looking her over, before shaking his head. "Perturbatory." He says before going to turn away, for once, allowing something to drop.

[Emily Littleton] "You're the first Son of Ether I've really spoken with at any great length. Though I think Henrietta Bean may be one also." This is said while Emily pores over the checklist, cross references it to what she sees before her. Her eyes take on a sharper focus now, intent, thoughtful (unrelenting). It's threaded through part of her resonance, something he may have picked up from her on that first day.

And while she is tight-lipped with most about her past, her interests, her life and assorted curiousities, so far she is open enough to Atlas. She answers, more or less, what he asks of her.

Perturbatory, he says.

"Is something amiss?" she asks, always in that delightfully British-canted muddle of an accent of hers. It comes from neither here nor there. It's curious and Other, just like the technologically minded Chorister-to-be, who does not shirk away from this Etheric experimentation. She is an odd duck, Emily.

[Atlas Mason] "No characteristics, particulars or molecules are negatively represented in this time frame Emily." He seems to pauses for a moment as he puts his hands down on the console infront of him thinking. "It is your physical and cognizant characteristics that have repeatedly formed a synaptic recursive loop within my personage."

He picks up his check list once more and continues working on whatever console it is he is standing infront of, the man obviously knows it like the back of his hand, but he never did explain what it was. From the stoop of his shoulders, perhaps whatever he is referring to is both good...and bad.

He speaks up briefly with a turn of his head towards Emily. "Henrietta Bean is at this time juncture berthed two physical planes below our current position and 14.23 meter's to stern. She does indeed identify with my conglomeration."

[Emily Littleton] ...a synaptic recursive loop...

"I remind you of someone?" she asks, but it was a question about vocabulary, not meaning to pry. The pale-skinned girl flushes, slightly, when she realizes she'd puzzled it out aloud. "Oh, no, please -- you don't have to answer that. It was impolite of me to ask."

Oops. But he's working at the console again, and she's... she's supposed to be systematically assisting with affirming its functionality. Emily could do that. She started to work her way through another panel, taking careful note of anything that did not function as expected.

There was a problem with that, as Emily wasn't sure what the expected function of most of the buttons were. Live and learn!

"Ah, Henri and I aren't exactly mates," she cautions Atlas, with a somewhat chagrinned expression. "She took offense to me scanning her pet Goop. And I think she's likewise displeased that I associate with Ashley."

[Atlas Mason] Atlas tenses as she cuts through his speech patterns and identifies exactly what he was referring to, she'd puzzled it out and that is worth an answer at the very least. But he doesn't answer it with words, the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out an old, fading photograph one of those odd sized ones from way back in the day. In the picture is a younger Atlas, dressed much as he does now, except he also has a suit jacket on. Next to him, is a young woman, who Emily might note, looks disturbingly like herself. They are both standing infront of the river Thames in London, from the style of their clothing, she would figure it is from the 1930's.

"I am proportionally unconcerned with any direct or indirect social fluctuations between yourself and Ms. Bean, she must actualize the concept of inter-dependancy upon allies and paradigmic homeogenous individuals."

He says that as he hands her the picture without any real comment on it. Afterall they say a picture is worth a thousand words.

[Emily Littleton] ((Manip+Subter: !!! Tact, I can has it?))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] She accepts the photograph, handles it gingerly. Emily is well accustomed to handling delicate things, resonant things, trinkets or tokens from another life or culture of immeasurable value (mostly sentimental). There's a deep empathy within her, though she doesn't often show it. Atlas has prized this, made it precious, kept it close: she treats it with the requisite care and respect.

It takes a moment, for what he's showing her to register. There's a softness to her eyes as she places Atlas, younger, first. It takes a moment for the place to register because the Thames, while quite familiar, hasn't looked that way in Emily's lifetime. Or her parents' lifetimes. The young woman beside Atlas, however, draws immeasurable scrutiny. She looks enough like Emily to possibly be a member of her family, though who it might be she doesn't quite know. Her knowledge of the family tree is, admittedly, lacking.

Emily is no student of time. She's new enough to not yet know the intricacies of Etheric travel well enough to suppose that the Atlas in the picture might truly be the Atlas standing before her.

"Are they your parents?" she asks, because it's the best way she can guess to make sense of the anachronism. "Grandparents?" she corrects herself, feeling a bit remiss for casting him that much older than herself.

Both of these queries are launched tentatively, though, because she suspects, she is concerned and possibly excited at the possibility, that the 1930s Atlas is indeed the Atlas before her. The fisherman and culinary experimenter, the captain of the Lafette, world traveler. It is a curious thing, and a question that she, against his express earlier wishes, withholds for a moment.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas answers her questions with a shake of his head at first, before he turns back to the woman and gently takes the picture and turns it over, written in pretty feminine script, the kind of a lady who has had plenty of formal training are the words 'Atlas Booker & Sabrina Lafette. 1934.'

"The individual personages represented within this crystaline light wave capture plane are Sabrina Lafette, and myself." He says it with formality as if he wanted to make sure she does not mistake this for a joke, before he turns the picture back over and places it once more into Emily's palm.

"You now have a measure of understanding in regards to this particular situation?"

[Emily Littleton] It's the solemnity that wins out in the Orphan's expression. The quiet acceptance, seriousness. She doesn't question him on how, or why she should believe -- Emily is seemingly beyond those questions for just now. She accepts, and then sorts out the whats, hows and whys. He says it is a picture of himself and Sabrina, and she nods. Quietly now.

Lafette. Like the ship's name.

"I do," she affirms, carefully handing him back his photo. "You must miss her very much," she adds, surmising something that he has not told her. But if the ship is named after Sabrina, and he is suffering a synaptic recursive loop. Well, Emily can understand that. She has her own issue with echoes, given a particular Chorister's resemblence to a deeply personal connection back home in England.

"I'd be glad to help you restore her namesake to its former glory," she says, again overstepping, but Emily does not fear it is too much. It may prove to be, but she means it with all gentleness and support. Some times there is a greater purpose than utility behind the things they do; this might be one of those things.

[Emily Littleton] (( ... Pause ... ))