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⌚ Gears, Brass & C L O C K W O R K ⌚; Active | Closed | Mature
Topic Started: Mar 13 2012, 12:06 AM (653 Views)
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<BR>It was just like me, wasn't it? I really should keep better track of my things, I mean, WHAT IF SOMEONE GOT HOLD OF IT. I'd never have it again, now would I? No. No, I would not. Of course, I was just missing my goggles, but they weren't just any goggles. I had made them myself! I couldn't just buy them. I didn't want to show my face in town anyway. I was pretty regular here. Those horrid people knew me, and oh, how they knew me. Hah. Not a moment longer on them. Jokes on them. They will SEE. Oh, how they will see. I grin to myself a bit maniacally as I trudge back to what had been my home for the past few days.

<br><br>Honestly, I would have to buy normal goggles and reproduce my favorite specs. That would not be easily accomplished. They were specially made by my own hand and something made by August R. Proctor was... Well, sometimes it could be a piece of junk, but I was proud of those goggles! Alright, Auggie, stop with the goggles. You will get them back. Yes. No cat or bird would want my goggles. Now, that is mad, I tell you.

<br><br>Or is it?

<br><br>I worry a bit, my dark brows furrowing. What if I had left something more important and had gone so much father? What if I lost my time machine?! Someone may think it's just some regular old locket, which is most certainly was not. What I had around my neck and tucked under my shirt was a fine piece of machinery. A wonder, you could say. A real time machine. THE FIRST OF IT'S KIND I TELL YOU. Of course, it just so happens to be missing a piece. It's been missing a piece for more than a decade. I have been searching for that long, but well, I don't know what the piece looks like. I couldn't even replicate it if I wanted to.

<br><br>Won't it be grand though? A time machine. Time travel has been something we have yet to touch. What if I was the first? Oh, how they would eat their words! I wouldn't be poor mad Auggie anymore. No one would say I was a few marbles short of a set or some gears short of a clock. THEY WOULD EAT THEIR WORDS I DARE SAY.

<br><br>I'm not crazy, you know. Really... I... I'm not. It's real! I know it is. My grandfather built it, and it worked, but for safety reasons, he had disposed of the 'key' if you will, that makes it run. I don't know the complete story. All I know is I must find this piece and fix what we built together. I was just a lad. Oh, it was so long ago. Was it? I hardly even know my age. I laugh, to no one, the birds fluttering about at the abrupt sound. I think I scared a squirrel. I suddenly frown and do a complete 360, glancing around before I face forward again. "Focus, focus. Yes. Focus. Mmhm. Spectacles first. Yes." I continue to walk, my brown boots padding along the dirt and grass with each step. I'm not a graceful walker. I tend to clink and clunk into things. I do this to people when I'm in a crowd. It's amazing I can do anything with my hands, but they seem to be what doesn't fail me.

<br><br>I come to the clearing at last, where my last abode sits. This town was my home, and due to it being where the piece originally went missing, I return here frequently. I go over things I've already searched or discover new places I hadn't thought of before. I have not had a stitch of luck though. It is time to move on from the place I call my shelter, an abandoned estate with an equally abandoned tree house. I prefer the latter to be honest. I hardly step foot inside the house after I nearly tore it apart looking for the piece. The tree house is a very suitable little place indeed. Well, it's not so little, but it's no spacey mansion. Oh, the emptiness. I shudder at that. Only nature is allowed such space.

<br><br>I see the tree house ahead and I come to the base of it, my head tilting the side as I eye it silently. I stand there for a bit, quiet, unmoving, and about five minutes later I come to realize I'm completely blanking out, and I shake my head as if I'm adjusting my brain into the right place, though for me, that's probably an impossibility in a world that I feel lacks them. I move forward and climb the fantastic oak, getting up to the top in a reasonable time. The balcony creaks beneath me as I make my way to the door of the structure, strutting inside as if I own it. In my mind, it is mine. After all, I claimed it long after I found whoever had lived there before had deserted the fine property. Goodie for me! They can go enjoy their wares elsewhere. They gave me a place to be where those common people won't laugh in my face, or push me, or hit me, or shout that I'm a loon. No. No. This is my haven. There is no one here.

<br><br>This isn't to say I'm not social. I have my moments, but I can talk to people! They just want nothing to do with me. I've almost grown used to it.

<br><br>You can imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find a bride of all things sitting in my tree house. I spot my goggles on the shelf beside her, gathering sun dust, warm mid-afternoon light shining in, glinting against them and nearly making the lady's ivory dress glow. I lift my index finger and open my mouth, before I drop it and my mouth closes, thinking over my response before that mouth of mine opens again. "You. Girl. Thing. I..." I pause, pressing my lips together, before my gaze flutters back and forth between her and my goggles. I swiftly snatch them, placing them on my head where they rightly belong. They are quite the pair. On the left side I have several layers of optional magnification I can sport, and on the right, a small telescope I may pull out if need be. I don't need them now, so they simply sit at my hairline. Looking satisfied, I look back down at the girl.

<br><br>"Why's a bride hiding in a tree house?" I laugh as if it's preposterous before I twitch my shoulder and turn to face the wall. My hands go behind my back as if I'm thoughtful. "This is my tree house. Or, well, it could have been yours but you left it so until I've left for a bit it is still mine. You can use it now though because I'm leaving. I just had to get my goggles back you see because I cannot leave them behind you know as they are one of a kind and-and I need them." I shake my head as I turn back to her. I'm rambling on and on and on. I usually don't even need a another person for this.

<br><br>"Brides shouldn't be in tree houses. No. No. They should be at cathedrals and alters and marrying themselves off. Or-or-or, no, maybe you aren't a bride? Just a lady who enjoys white dresses of silk? Still, still, either way, miss, why are you in my tree house?" This is the most important question, isn't it? Do I have time for this? I must. I don't know where the piece is. It's not like I know it's running off to somewhere in particular. Yes. I have time. Time. Time. I take out my pocket watch and glance at it, but it's cracked and broken up on the inside because I haven't repaired it yet, and I casually slip it back into my pocket as if I did just legitimately look at the time.

<br><br>I have no time at all and no time at all means I have all the time in the world, does it not?
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[align=center]Posted Image[/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"><br>"Oh, Lavinia, you look so lovely," croons my mother as she pins the headdress atop my hair that has been carefully piled on the crown of my head for today. I think I look absolutely ridiculous. There's too many frills, too much lace, fabric rosettes and feathers. I feel like a circus tent in this outfit and the gloves feel just silly. It seems mad to think that only moments ago, I was in a comfortable cotton shift, without a care in the world as I was sleeping in bed, and then my mother came in and yanked open the curtains and the daylight screamed in my face and woke me up to this horrible nightmare. It feels as if I've been pricked and buckled all morning, like a chicken getting plucked for dinner.

<br><Br>"Lovely's hardly the word I'd--OUCH!--choose!" I remark while Mother yanks the laces of my corset tight. I don't bother protesting, however, knowing any sort of objection would fall on deaf ears. She'd tell me how fashionable it is for your stomach to have the width of a coin. I settle for plain complaining. "I look like a feather-duster on her way to the ball," I murmur under my breath as I stare at my reflection grumpily, not enjoying the de Pompadour dress fashions of today as Mother shushes me. The saving grace is there was no space (ironically) for me to wear another one of my mother's favorite steel bustles. I much prefer being in breeches, or my equestrian clothes in general.

<br><Br>It seems odd to return to this house now. The city's tradition is that the bride-to-be's groom proves that he has the capacity to take care of her and her family by purchasing a new estate for her family of their (reasonable) choosing. Thus the house I grew up in has been empty and has been being prepped for the market ever since the engagement party. The last visit a bride must make to her old home is the night before the wedding. She sleeps in her old bed and gets ready in her old house before embarking off to her new life. Oddly enough, upon returning here yesterday, my family and I discovered that someone had ransacked what was left of our home after we moved. There was nothing missing, but many things were overturned, as if someone was looking for something. "Bad omen." I had responded, only to be promptly hushed by my mother. She hates my superstitions.

<br><Br>I sigh as I'm slipped into another sheer layer of petticoats, imaging the large crowd waiting for my arrival, my childhood friends who can't understand my misery, my awkward father's sweaty palm as he escorts me down the aisle. This is hardly what I've been dreaming my wedding day would be like. I pictured a reception in the sky, in a hot air balloon with streamers in the wind, over a sweeping sea, and just my husband and I, no bickering relatives going on about the reception. This is the exact opposite of what I want, but I've known that my little vision was just a teasing pipe dream. I've been engaged to Sterling Slade since before Mother was even expecting.

<br><Br>The Slades were foreigners, rich ones, but foreigners nonetheless, and if there is one thing my city, Greyhaven, dislikes, it's things that don't belong. No matter how much money they have. Our water-wheeling, steam-pumping, gas-leaking metropolis prides itself on its fine breed of human cattle, and it doesn't enjoy blood intermingling. It can be rather cruel to outsiders, a trait that I really loathe, for it means we never have as many travelers as I'd like. But when my father was in desperate need of money to pay off a rather vicious loan shark, he turned to the Slades. They turned out to be loan piranhas themselves, for in exchange for the mortgage, they had my father sign off his unborn child as a bride or groom to one of their children as interest to the deal, knowing that such a union would elevate them in society. Mother was outraged at first, hating the idea of her own child falling in status due to an arranged marriage, but Father was so cowardly and afraid of what the loan sharks might do that he agreed anyway, and now, here I am. Mother's warmed up to the idea over the years, perhaps because I think she finds Sterling charming, but he's far too overbearing for my taste, the brute always thinking he has the right to kiss me whenever he likes because I'm already his by contract. He's the most chauvinistic of ways, and the worst part is that the other girls love it for reasons I simply cannot fathom.

<br><Br>But either way, it's not like I have a choice. I have to grit my teeth and bear it, face it bravely and go through with it. Maybe in twenty years, Sterling's ego will fade to the amount of a teaspoon, and he'll be tolerable. Or I'll go deaf from all his boasts and just be immune. The latter seems much more likely, unfortunately. It'd be a small price to pay, but I'd miss my music.

<br><br>Mother finishes dressing me soon enough, and then it's down to the carriage where my mandatory fate soon awaits. Mother ushers me in quickly, afraid we'll be late when we'll already be half an hour early. That's when I realize that I forgot my locket. Greyhaven wedding ceremonies involve the bride and groom both clipping two slim locks of their hair, exchanging one, twisting those together and putting them in their separate necklaces, a symbol of our entwined lives to come. If my hair could move, I'm sure it'd reject Sterling's strands. Mother starts worrying again, but I've already gone back into the house.

<br><Br>But…instead of going back upstairs…my eyes fall upon the back door the leads to our gardens..which are connected to a forest on the large estate my father inherited. I don't believe I was really thinking when I start running off all of a sudden, long skirt getting caught for a second on one of the wooden stairs outside but I keep on running, letting it tear, my leather clodhoppers moving clumsily on the soft grass. I start to hear my mother screaming from the carriage for me to hurry up, unaware that I've run off and that drives me to run even faster. Eventually I pick a destination, the only real destination in the forest.

<br><Br>It's the treehouse my grandfather once built for me, a place where I could be alone and dream of anything I wanted without punishment. It's vast for a treehouse, even complete with a tower, and it was always the perfect stage for my childhood imagination. I don't have much in the treehouse save for a couple of novels, keepsakes, blankets and candles and what not so there's never been any security on it, save for the apparatus on the door that has you turn dials until you have the proper match in order to open the door. But over the years, it's rusted over and stopped work, and anyone could enter the house. Not that anyone except me ever does, and I haven't in at least five years. I push myself, despite the constraints of my outfit, to climb up the wooden post with stakes sticking out for you to mount.

<br><Br>The door's easier to open than I expected. I would have thought that it would be a little stiff after years of neglect, but the doorknob turns smoothly and I stumble into the old place (having used more force than necessary), dust falling through the sunlight like snowflakes in winter. It's warm in here, surprisingly so, and I've no idea what I'm doing. I let my knees collapse beneath me, and I sink like a melancholic dancer to the floor, leaning against the wall next to the window. I expected to cry, but my eyes are remarkably dry, my head less foggy than I would've pictured.

<br><Br>I'm not…sad. I'm just…unhappy.

<br><Br>There seems to be a difference.

<br><Br>I've no reason to be unhappy, but unfortunately such a circumstance doesn't entitle you to be purely happy either. Many girls would be overjoyed to be in my situation. I, on the other hand, sit here, rather nonplussed. My hand wanders to a chain around my throat, and I pull out a necklace that had been tucked down the front of my neck. Looped through the steel is a ring my grandfather used to carry with him all the time before his death. I've never taken it off till this morning, and even then, I insisted on wearing it on a chain. Mother declined my request, but I snuck it on when she wasn't looking. She always thought it was a junk-y looking piece, the ring of a mechanics daughter, not her own. She would've sold it if I hadn't salvaged it from the box of my grandfather's possessions. But I know it meant a great deal to him, and I can't imagine it falling into the hands of a stranger. Besides, I've always found it consoling to spin the dials with my finger while I'm thinking, the clicking keeping me bound to a world that I've always wanted to cast off.

<br><Br>I need to figure things out, I need a plan!

<br><Br>Mother will rip me to bits when she discovers me…if she discovers me. If?

<br><Br>I…I could…

<br><Br>Suddenly, the door bursts open, and panic immediately swathes me, thinking I've been found out. Out of instinct, I immediately shove the necklace back in its hidden place. But…no, it's not Mother, it's not even someone I recognize. It's a man with the lips and chin of an aristocrat, but eyes, eyebrows and nose of someone much kinder. When he speaks, however, he shatters all these illusions. Thing?! His peculiarity seems to actually knock me out of my state. What on earth…he lunges forward and grabs a pair of specs that I failed to even notice, then prattles on endlessly. It seems as if there's a cog in his system somewhere…but to me, it's like meeting a character out of some off the shelf novel. He's…fascinating. In need of a good oil check, but fascinating still.

<br><Br>I don't interrupt him, allowing him to finish before I choose to speak. But when it's my turn, I find myself at a loss. I don't want to be known as a bride because I'm a runaway bride, a rare but belittled stock."I'm not a bride," I say rather decidedly for a lie, but I calm down quickly. He's not at fault, after all. I shake my head. "And I can't imagine why anyone would enjoy white dresses of silk; they're terribly impractical," I quip slightly, the tear in my dress obvious, my stockings peeping through the material.

<br><Br>"As for the treehouse…well, I don't see how you come off claiming it for yourself," I remark, but there's no annoyance in my voice or face. In fact, I smile (albeit a little confusedly), amused as to how someone had stumbled across my childhood landmark…but I don't entirely mind that he's been here. It's not as if there's anything really precious to steal, and if I hadn't run away today, I might've never known someone had taken refuge here at some point to begin with, so it's really no great matter. It makes me wonder if he was the one who pillaged my house, however, and if that's the case, I do believe I might've appreciated it if he hadn't made such a mess, but that's all over and done now.

<br><Br>"It's belonged to my family for more than a decade," I murmur, reaching back to grab the ledge of the window before pulling myself onto my feet. This is the strangest situation, but nonetheless, I think a proper introduction is in order so without further ado, I hold out out my hand. "I'm Lavinia Trumeter," I initiate with my smile warming. Hopefully never Lavinia Slade, although there's no telling what'll happen now. I envy this man who speaks of coming and going so simply. There's nothing in this city that ties him down, and I can't help but be curious. "If you don't mind me asking…where are you heading off to?"
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<BR>She says with quite a bit of disdain that she is in fact not a bride, as if it that is the most atrocious thing in the world. Is it? I wouldn't know. I would hardly know if being a groom is horrid. That thought has never crossed my mind. Marriage. Matrimony. Being with one person for the rest of your life. I can't recall the last time I was with one person for more than ten minutes. Woman hardly last long in my presence. They seem attracted by something, though I have hardly a clue as to what it is, and then once I get to speaking, they are cautiously shuffling off. I can't recall if I've ever tried to court a lady. I probably haven't. What would be the point?

<br><br>I find my slightly crazed teal gaze moving down to the ruined skirt of her fanciful dress as she mentions not finding pleasure in the garment she wears either, finding her striped stockings the best part of the ensemble, looking at the item itself more than admiring her actual legs like some other men might. Was that what other men did? Admired a woman's form whenever possible? What's unique about legs? Nothing much. I have them. Hers are just skinner and yet more shapely than mine. "They do not seem very... Well..." I stop as my eyes find her face, my mind nearly whirring as I think of a proper word. I keep thinking 'practical', because she just said 'impractical'. Oh, this does not suit well. My vocabulary is better than this. Oh, never mind. "They don't seem very." I grin and chuckle once as if it's so amusing. Very what I don't know, but maybe that possibly makes a lick of sense to her like it does in my mind. They aren't very much of anything. Useless garments. What can a lady do in such a fragile gown? Hardly anything without making a mess of herself!

<br><br>The back of my hands find my hips as my lips shimmy back and forth, "Now, now, if you are not a bride and if you do not admire silk ivory garments, what are you? Are you anything at all?" I question, squinting my eyes as I peer at her like she might not even be there, leaning over slightly. "You look like something, but I'm afraid the title is beyond me. Yes. Something yet nothing for now." I nod my head once before I check my pocket watch again. Why do I bother? It is a habit though. I suppose I could blame that... Though the thing has been broken for a month now. I slip it back into my pocket nonchalantly and pat down the pocket before I fidget my fingers and moved to adjust my goggles atop my head. I do not stand or sit still. This is something you must know now.

<br><br>"The tree house was empty, my dear. Anything that is empty is open for me. So, I claimed it." I nod my head. "You have hardly touched it. Which is your loss because it is a grand little house, is it not?" My voice is a matter-of-fact, my finger pointing at her loosely, the appendage almost wiggling before I wing my hands out with a grin. I notice she has an odd smile on her face, and I feel it's one I see on those who pity me more than anything. I drop my hands and I take a quick gander around, hearing the floor groan beneath me as my weight shifts from one foot to the other and back again. "Creaky during the windy nights but nothing compared to those squeaks and moans on Ol' Rusty." That's my airship, you see. I built it myself! Well, with my father. It would take a single man a very long time to build a airship as big as mine. The noise doesn't really matter. I don't think anything seems loud to me. I'm so all over the place I don't really know what peace and quiet really means.

<br><br>I nod as she tells me how long the tree house has been with her family. I don't say anything. I shift my eyes towards the window that is facing the house that I wrecked, the house that was her family's before they left it at my destructive fingertips. Oh well. I don't apologize. There wasn't a trace of an individual in that home when I had found it. I have no particular guilt. In fact, I can't remember the last time I felt guilty over anything. I blink hard before I turn my head to face her once more. She's standing now, and she precedes to hold her hand out to me, introducing herself. "Trumeter. Trumeter." I murmur under my breath. Does that sound familiar? I feel as if it's a yes, but I have not a clue as to why, so I brush it off. It's nothing. Just a name.

<br><br>I give her a flash of a closed mouth smile, both of my hands clapping down on each side of her own. I shake it quite vigorously, my enthusiasm in the energy of my actions instead of in my face. "August R. Proctor." I state strongly, giving her hand one more hard shake that might even hurt her arm a little. I let her go before I start to slowly circle her. My hand finds my dimpled chin as I examine her in her funny little dress. I can hardly understand the fashions of women, or even some men these days really. Her waist is so teeny. It could not be natural. "Does this hurt? Can you breathe?" I reach out and poke her side, which is as hard as copper. I furrow my dark brows and poke it again before I pull my hand back like I've been bitten by a snake. I shake my head, "No. No. No." I mutter quickly to myself, as if I'm answering my own questions. Finally, she asks me something.

<br><br>Where am I going? This is a very good question indeed. "I am-!" I stop, pausing to think, the finger I had pointed up curling downward and slowly lowering. "I just had it, right there." I point to a random section of my brain, "But maybe it went over here." I gesture to a part that's closer to my ear. An opening, a door. "And it fluttered away." I wiggle my fingers in order to represent flying. "They tend to do that. Doesn't that happen to you?" I lean towards her again, cocking a brow, before I step back and nod my head. "Happens to me all the time." I add quietly before I rub my palms down the side of my pants. "Never fear though! It's back at my ship, Vinnie!" I grin and take a large stride over to the door, putting my hand on the handle. I throw my free hand out with a twist of my wrist, "Just have to go look and I can-Oh, wait, wait, wait. No. I must be going, you see. It's far away from this place. I can say that... And I should be on my way you know. And you... You are something. Yes. Something... And something's have other somethings to tend to so I bid you good day, Vin dear."

<br><br>With that, I throw the door open and skedaddle down the ladder, ready to get back to my airship and depart to who even knows where.
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[align=center]Posted Image[/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"><br>I notice him eyeing me, but even more…my legs. The look in his face doesn't hint at any lascivious thoughts…yet, why else would he be looking? I know this sort of gesture, for Sterling has ogled me and every other girl in Greyhaven in the same manner at one time or another, and yet I don't feel the same sense of annoyance as usual with this man's eyes. Still, any attention as pinpointed as this on a spot on my body isn't exactly desirable, so out of habit, I hurriedly shuffle and move to cover my legs with some ruffles. It's action that becomes redundant, however, as his vision travels up towards my face. I wait patiently for what he has to say about my clothing. People always seem to find some way to disagree with me, saying that I'm lucky I don't have to don a chimney sweep's livery, while on the contrary--those uniforms always strike me as much more durable.

<br><br>But instead of reprimanding me and saying I shouldn't whine, or brushing my words off as silly female talk, he replies with a statement that I've never heard the likes of before. They don't seem…very. And he ends it there. Smiling and laughing, so it's very distinct that he's finished his sentence with the adverb. My face remains waiting, lips still slightly parted, though he's already done. And then, somehow, I find myself agreeing with him. "…quite right," I reply, enunciating the T sound as my eyebrows raise, the two syllable rhyme making the articulation sharper…surprising myself as I chuckle along with him, blue eyes brightening. "…very." My laugh lifts. There's something very about him, himself.

<br><br>Suddenly, he begins narrowing it down, asking me what I am, and although the question could easily be taken in the unembellished sense, the verbatim, and I could swiftly respond that I am the daughter of an insignificant man and woman with a purpose in life equal to that of promised cargo, I take the inquiry in a deeper sense. What am I? A hero, a traveler, a staple, a princess, a pauper? I can't answer, and I can't even begin to answer, so instead, I end up staring back at him, my face paling, the look of someone snowed under. I don't move as he leans over and then answers himself.

<br><br>I am nothing.

<br><br>Nothing, superfluous, unneeded in this world if not for the bargain. The universe would hardly be impacted by my death. The epiphany throws me into the swivet for a second, but then his last words rebound and engulf me. "For now." Yes…it's only for now. I still have a chance at being something, like he said, if only I could…do something with my life, for once! Something that wasn't written down and scheduled in my mother's book. I mean, I've already done that by being here, but I have to do more….see more, be more! I just have to…continue going, leaving. Like...him.

<br><br>He's the jittery kind, checking his watch constantly and fingers flying. It's a great, wonderful contrast between the statues I normally sup with.

<br><br>"I'm a blank slate," I return, as unequivocally as I stated that I wasn't a bride, except for this moment, I'm telling the truth. I'd like to ask what he is, but I think it might be more fun to discover it. I've a couple guesses so far. A simple traveler, or explorer, or adventurer, all ideas cut from the same cloth but equally as riveting. Anything's riveting in comparison to the carbon copy jobs in Greyhaven. "That's a rather risky ownership," I murmur in response to his way of laying claim on anything that appears vacant. I can't imagine what would've happened if I was some sort of ruffian, discovering a man on my property. I wonder if he's ever had any trouble because of it?

<br><br>He then almost pretentiously proceeds to tell me how fine my tree house is, and I almost feel as if I'm being accused of not caring after it well enough…but I suppose it's nice to know my grandfather's work is appreciated still. He never did receive enough credit. "I've touched--" I begin to defend myself, but then pause, finding his wording odd in my own mouth. "I've used…" Use doesn't sound right. It's too stuffy. "There was hardly a moment in my childhood when I wasn't in the treehouse." I don't like that either, but I've already altered it too many times. "If it was up to me, I would've moved here." Instead of that snooty house purchased by the Slades with all its European furnishings.

<br><br>When he talks about the squeaks the house makes during the storms, I can't help but try to muse how long he's stayed here before. But…"Ol' Rusty?" This man has the habit of mentioning things other people know nothing about as if they do have knowledge. It's a curious tick that drives others all the curiouser. Could Ol' Rusty be his own house? Does he even have a real house, if he's always on the move?

<br><br>After I introduce myself, he makes no hesitation in seizing my hand in his, pumping it up and down so powerfully that I feel as if he thinks I'm a water source, and the bone in my socket feels a shock of pain so acute for a moment that I'm just barely able to catch his name. "It's a--pleasure to meet you," I respond as cordially as I can, nonetheless, though my words echo some hurt. August R. Proctor. I'm not sure if I've heard of that family name before, so many pedigrees and ancestries recounted to me daily by my mother. If I have, I don't remember, and this isn't anything uncommon. He starts visually vivisecting me out of the blue then, and I feel as if I'm having my dress fitting all over again. When Mr. Proctor asks if it hurts, I immediately assume he means my arm, but before I can lie and say I'm fine, he goes on to question if I can breathe, causing me to stop long enough for him to prod my side with his finger. For this moment, for once, I'm glad for the corset, because I might've burst out laughing--Trumeter blood is unfortunately, exceedingly ticklish.

<br><br>Mr. Proctor's reaction to my corset proves to be almost comical, however, acting as if I'm wearing something with teeth, almost. "It doesn't have electric currents, you know," I respond, laughing a little as I watch him, shaking my head before I really answer him. "My mother thinks breathing is overrated and for the common-stock." Which is almost as ridiculous as a corset with teeth.

<br><br>Finally, he starts to answer my question when…what? He loses the thought, but not only that…he maps out the precise place in which he believes he lost it! I've never seen anyone do that before. I've never seen anyone speak like this in general before. "It does…I just never…thought of it like that," I reply, but my voice is that of someone not really paying attention, too enthralled by his mannerisms to speak properly and then--"Your sh--Vinnie?" What?…is he referring to me? No one's ever…never mind, never mind, that's besides the point right now! I shake my head. "You have a ship?!" But he's starting to leave!

<br><br>Mr. Proctor goes to the door and with a rather garbled goodbye, exits and starts to descend the ladder. I'm scarcely allowed a second to make a decision--but then again, these sort of rushed conclusions are what led me to the treehouse to begin with--and so I go with my instincts for the second time today, and clamber down the ladder after the man like Alice after the rabbit.

<br><br>"Wait!" I exclaim before my feet hit the soft sod below. "Mr. Proctor, please!" I hurry to walk alongside him, hiking up my skirts, already short of breath no thanks to my corset rationing my air with little mercy. "I'm sorry, but--but could you possibly…take me along?" I can't believe the words that are coming out of my mouth. "I know it's…bold of me to ask and.." I check my dress for a moment, trying to remember amidst my madness if I'm wearing a reticule, but I'm forced to realize that I haven't a coffer to my name.

<br><br>"---I…don't have anything to pay you with-- I grimace, hating to depend on someone so much. "--but I wouldn't take up much space at all! And you'd just have to take me to the next port, and then I'd be out of your hair--or goggles--for good!" I get the sense that I'm still not making much of a case, and finally I pull myself ahead. "You said I have something to tend to," I start, and then pause right in front of him, stopping him for good. "I do." My eyes stare his down, despite the fact that I'm much smaller and I probably seem as formidable as a rake. "And it's getting away from here."
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<BR>The girl was, I suppose, interesting. Yes. Interesting. To be honest, my contact with any of the female gender was few and far between. I had my occasional interactions in markets and such, but oh, how foreign they were to me. A complete mystery my inquiring mind could hardly understand. I can't say I understand other men either. I'm too... Alternate. Not crazy. No. I'm not crazy. I'M NOT. My father and grandfather just said I was a little different... A sort of different where they preferred to keep me inside because others just didn't understand. I didn't mind. I liked our inside. I prefer some outsides now though. Forests and valleys, cliffs and ravines, ravines and gorges, and oceans and rivers. Yes. The outside was beautiful.

<br><br>...Where was I?

<br><br>Oh, I was heading back to my ship!

<br><br>What was that noise?

<br><br>It's the girl. She's telling me to wait. Wait for what exactly? Why was she calling me Mr. Proctor? That was my grandfather's name. Sometimes my father went by that, but he told most to call him Mr. Reginald instead as that was his name. I hardly even want to be called 'mister' anything. "August. Auggie. Aug. No mister, please. I am no mister." I pause, "Well, I am a mister technically but I do not wish to be called one, you see." I didn't even bother to call her 'miss'. That is proper protocol, but what is proper has never really applied to me. I just do things as I do them. If I offend, well... It's just a silly title. Wouldn't you much rather be called by your name?

<br><br>She wants me to actually take her along. As I walk, the leaves shuffling beneath me, I furrow my brows and purse out my bottom lip in thought. Why in the world would she want to go with me? That's preposterous. No one in their right mind (Which is everyone I've ever met besides my family) would want to travel with me. I don't say this as though I think low of myself. I'm indifferent towards myself I believe. I just notice patterns, and a common pattern in my life is that people treat me like a disease, either running away like they can catch it or trying to get rid of me somehow. I suppose I found it a tad hurtful when I was a lad but now it just seems to be an annoyance that leaves a strange sensation in my chest I don't quite enjoy. This is why I avoid town when I can.

<br><br>I keep walking, not considering what she's asking me. It's not happening. I shake my head at her as she rambles about not having anything to pay me with. Even if I did take her on, I wouldn't bother asking her to pay me. I'm not a greedy man. I get what I need and work with it. I take what no one wants and make use of it. I sell things I make. I don't particularly need money, so, no, I wouldn't take anything from her. I don't say a word. I don't try to shush her. She has the right to talk and I find myself enjoying the sound of her voice. It makes me feel nice for some reason. Not overly so but there's a budding pleasing feeling there. It basically seems as if I'm ignoring her, which despite me hearing every word, I suppose I sort of am, and this must be what leads her to step right in front of me, stopping me mid stride. I waver a bit side to side before I catch my balance and look down at her petite frame with a raised brow, the opposite eye squinting down as I watch her speak.

<br><br>She says the something she needs to tend to is getting away from this place. "I can't blame you for that. Not much here anymore is there?" I always return, I always look, but it's never here. Now that my family is gone, there is nothing here anymore. Not a thing. Well, this girl is here obviously, but she's not a part of my something. She doesn't want to be, or at least, that's what I convince myself. I hate telling her no, but this is what it has to be. She says she wants to travel with me now, but halfway through the journey she'll be screaming I'm mad and demanding she get off the ship immediately or some sort of thing like that. No. I won't chance it. "You'll have to find some other way, Vinnie. People do not travel with the likes of me. No way. No how. They do not care to." I nod to her and swerve around her, continuing my traipse through the forest. "'Til we meet again, something!" I raise my hand and do an odd backwards wave to her. We depart after that. I leave her behind, and I finally make my way back to the clearing my air ship sits in. She is no more. She's not in my presence. She's in here however, in my head, and I hope I don't lose her, cause she's an acquaintance I don't want to forget, even if knowing her was of no use to me.

<br><br>After turning everything on and getting her up in the air, my Ol' Rusty heads north, creaking about a bit as she goes, but she goes all the same. Once things are steady, I leave her on autopilot and tend to work at my desk, which is covered in piles of papers and thingamabobs which I can't recall being there before. I don't even spot the name of where I am heading. I sigh to myself, a tad frustrated, poking a tower of papers over, allowing them to flutter to the floor. I wouldn't have been able to give her an answer anytime soon. That was for certain. I huff, and as I breathe back in, I get thick scent of pine running through my nostrils. I realize it's me, of course, after going back and forth through the forest so many times. I did run into a tree. I should probably shower. The last one was a couple of evenings ago, in the lake near the girl's house. Yes. It's about time for one.

<br><br>With that decision made, I strip myself of my broken pocket watch and carefully slip the time travel locket from underneath my vest and shirt. I examine it to make sure all is in it's place, which is always is as it is a sturdily built piece of machinery, before I hang it on a hook beside my desk. I admire it with a twinge of a smile, hope rising in me before I turn and make my way towards my bathroom. I slip inside, my first decision to make the water as cold as it can be, for I do not want to feel tired. I want to feel up, and freezing temperatures will do just that. I reach out and grab the brown curtain, swinging it open only to find none other than a little something I met earlier in the forest, hiding away in my tub.

<br><br>She's just standing there, and I open my mouth, my lips hovering in that position a moment before I get words out, "You... I... You..." I point to her then to the door as I look over my shoulder. I furrow my brows as I lean pretty far back and look into the hall, as if the answer as to how she is standing in my tub will be there. I move back into the small room and squint my eyes at her. "You were... I left you! IN THE FOREST!" I gesture up to the sky in an animated fashion as if that's where the forest is located. "Why, what, how?" I can't recall seeing her follow me, not in the slightest, but I'm so distracted by everything and nothing that I can't really be that surprised. My shoulders drop, and I tilt my head to the side curiously, just staring at her, waiting.

<br><br>Why in the world was she here? I told her people didn't want this. Maybe she wasn't people. Was there something else that looked like us that did not think like us? Maybe she truly was a something and not a someone.
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[align=center]Posted Image[/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"><br>I listen as he gives me his first name back in three different forms, asking me to leave out the etiquette of our meeting. I suppose that's a reasonable request; it's not as if this was an ordinary rendezvous in a childhood treehouse someone made their home. Besides, I can understand the annoying feeling of someone calling you something you dislike. I can't say I'm very fond of the nicknames oozing of treacle that Sterling so enjoys using, on any female, really. "All right then, August," I nod, liking the name. It makes you think of sweet, cold tea outside on a shady veranda on a blistering hot day, swarms of parasols branching under sunlight, even wading in a lilypad pond, as bizarre as it sounds.

<br><br>When August agrees that there's next to nothing here in Greyhaven, I feel chance bubbling up within me, yes, he knows how I feel! "Yes!" I affirm fervently, the word nearly broken into two parts in my hasty breath. I fight the urge to grab his arm in a gesture of sympathy. "Barely anything at all!" Encouraged, I continue on, almost in a rant that I didn't know I had been holding back. "A-And what little there is left, I'm not allowed to pursue." Finally, someone who understands. This is it, he might take me along after all, and I'll be able to have all I--

<br><br>What, no-o, he's…not. My hope's dashed upon the floor, face blanching as I listen to him. At first I think it's just his habit, August saying that there is "no way" and "no how" that people travel with his type. What is that supposed to mean? I hadn't figured him for the haughty type when we met, but perhaps a pauper maybe-runaway bride isn't fit to fly in his ship, is that what he's saying?…no, it's not. August finishes by saying no one cares to travel with him. I do. I do!

<br><br>But before I can declare how I feel, he gives me a curt nod and moves around me like a fork in the road, and he's choosing the path that doesn't include me. This isn't…happening. What am I supposed to do now? I turn, gaze following him, too stunned to even reply when August bids me farewell. My nails dig into the thin fabric of my skirts as I clench tighter, watching after him as he continues through the forest, stammering wordlessly before I find my breath again. "You can't just--" I start out, but he's already disappeared amongst the wooden dells. He can't just…what? He could do whatever he pleased! I was the one who couldn't just…or…no, no, I promised myself I wouldn't be thinking like this anymore. I've shed my shackles. I can do whatever I want now, I just…need a moment to think. No, no, that's right, no more thinking, more doing.

<br><br>I follow after August, uninvited.

<br><br>It's an utterly demented quest, but it's one I've chosen on my own.

<br><br>So with the vigilance and stealth of a cat, I stalk after the man from the treehouse, quietly as I can, hidden amongst the trees. Luckily, he seems to be the distracted sort when he walks, losing himself in various thoughts and I feel that we could've gotten to the clearing much faster without it, but obviously, I'm in no position to complain. His ship's a strange…(or perhaps unique, like its owner) variety. A tarp, fins, flags, ropes…scattered about, it looks like a musical piece composed by various artists, but all that matters to me is that it plays. I wait behind the closest tree as August vanishes into his ship, and the second the door closes behind him, I make my move, hurrying onto the deck. By the way its creaking, I know that this is his Ol' Rusty.

<br><br>Once it's a good deal up into the air and making enough noise to mask my entrance, I look for a window that I can push open, and soon find myself tumbling into a room through a small porthole. I land not too hard on the floor of what looks like a kitchen…though it's so messy it could very well be anything. No matter though, I just have to…find a place to hide until he makes port, and then I'll sneak out again, and August would never know I was here to begin with. At least, as long as it doesn't take too long for him to land…who knew how long we'd be in the air? I start to panic a bit in the back of my mind, reminding myself why people usually think decisions out before making them…but then I hear footsteps, and I bite back a shriek and hurry down the hall, slipping into the first room I find. It's the washroom. I suppose I could hide here for a while until he's occupied eating or reading and then change my location.

<br><br>I crawl into the steel tub, concealed behind the curtain, waiting for him to pass by…but then suddenly, I hear him enter the bathroom…oh, no, I hadn't planned on this, I thought I'd be able to escape from here before he'd need to wash up or anything! Before I have time to devise another plan, a familiar hand gropes around the curtain and thrusts it open like a magician at a show…only to discover that there's an undesirable in his audience. August is clearly shocked, and I can't blame him for that--though the way he shows his shock is much more vivacious than I've seen before--and I wince initially, clenching my teeth off to the side, knowing I'm in the wrong. Yet oddly enough, he doesn't seem as angry as he does intrigued as to how I'm even here in the first place…so I take that as a good sign. "I know--I…I'm sorry," I get out at first, moving aside and stepping out of his tub as I hold up my hands and lower them slowly, as if it'll help unruffled his feathers a bit. "Just let me explain myself."

<br><br>How on earth am I going to explain myself? How does one even begin to justify stowing away? If these were earlier times or if he was a bloodthirsty marauder and I had snuck onto his sea-ship, he'd have every right to toss me overboard. I don't even want to think of the same consequences applying when you were in the air. My hands start to fuss restlessly, and I have to clasp my hands to steady them, lowering them to my center. "For…one matter, you didn't allow me to finish earlier, where I would have said that I care very much to travel with you." Why not? He was extraordinary, much more interesting to be around than anyone else I've known. I mean, it's not to say that I'm so blind as to not see why some people might not wish to travel with him. But I can also clearly see that I am not one of those people.

<br><br>"But you didn't grant me the chance, so I was forced to resort to this," I murmur, feeling as if I'm making little sense, and that my plea would be easily cast aside by anyone with a cold heart. Thankfully, I feel that August is kinder than the blue bloods I normally have to converse with--I just pray it's enough. "I figured if you never found out it couldn't…really hurt." My gaze shifts to the floor, and I take a deep breath--and then, suddenly, a wild flash of hope like lightning whirs through my mind, telling me one thing that I know he could relate to. I raise my chin, my countenance regaining its confidence, and I take a step towards him, lowering my brows. "The bottom line is--" I fold my hands behind me. "--your washroom was empty, so I claimed it." I grin as I lean back, a little proud that I managed to speak in his logic.

<br><br>I'll have to admit that I find it rather amusing that only a few moments earlier today, I was the person with the pleasure of finding someone in a place he didn't belong--though August most likely thought the same of me at the time.
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<BR>I let her explain herself, of course, because I would like to know. My eyes go to her hands as they flutter about, attracted like a moth to light at her fidgety nature. My gaze stops when her hands do, just for a moment, and I meet her gaze as she begins to speak. My brow slowly cocks at her odd words. She would care to travel with me. She really wants to. I squint my eyes as her as I lean towards her a bit, examining her face, looking to see if a deer or a bird hit her. My eyes start to widen, taking this in. "You...?" I stop, not sure what it is I'm going to say. Maybe there isn't anything wrong with her. No. No, of course not. I suppose I can't assume everyone is the same. I'm not the same. Really, no one is the same. So, this girl is very different. She could care to travel with me. It had to happen at some point, right?

<br><br>A strange smile tweaks at my lips as I stare at her. I let her speak now. She must be an adventurous sort. She followed right after me and sneaked right onto my ship. Surely if she stuck around she might be able to handle my hectic travels. I don't really think she'll stick around long enough for any adventures. She may just be using my ship to get from point A to point B, but I can't blame her for wanting that. There was nothing in Greyhaven. From what I've seen, there is a lot more everywhere else. I only go back to look and look and look again, just in case, because that piece has to be SOMEWHERE, but any enjoyment is of faint sentimental value. From what I can gather, this girl feels so free to leave because either she has not a stitch of family left, or what she does have is not what one would call ideal. Many people aren't ideal, as unfortunate as that is. I've dealt with un-idealistic people all my life.

<br><br>Of course, even if I wanted to at this point, I wouldn't kick her off of my ship. Not only was that horridly disgusting to do such a thing, but I didn't mind her presence. I quite enjoyed it actually. I enjoyed how fair she was, as if she had never seen the sun. She looked to be made of ivory. I had a few mechanical instruments with Indian and African ivory used in them. Her eyes held emerald and sapphire hues all at once, like the reflection of broken glass. Her mouth was thinner than most. Her lips were sharp, just like her nose, and her jaw was strong. I gather most men would be attracted to her, in a sense I can't understand. In my sense, I find to be something I just wouldn't mind in my eclectic and chaotic abode.

<br><br>If I had been one to need convincing, she got me hook, line, and sinker (Was that the phrase?) when she used my very own logic against me, saying that she had claimed my washroom because it was empty. I open my mouth a little, my finger lifting up, but I don't know why I bother. I have no argument. She's right. Suddenly, I beam at her as if I'm proud. "Well!" I step towards the sink so that she has more room to exit. "My common area is also quite empty so you should claim that dear Vin for it is much more comfortable than this old tub. Come. Come. Come." I usher her right out of the room, through a hallway, and towards what you could call my 'main room', where the controls of the ship are located in front of a magnificent round window. To one side is a couch in the shape of a loose 'C' and a table, both of which aren't particularly clear of clutter. On the other side is a dining table and a kitchen, which is at least clean in the sense that there is no grease or other such liquids or crud present, though there are a few tea cups lying about.

<br><br>"You can't very well travel in a BATHROOM, now can you? No. You can't. It's just not suitable, you see. It's not as enjoyable as traveling here!" I throw out my hands, nearly hitting her in the face, before I do a sweeping turn and bow to her. "Welcome to Ol' Rusty. She's one of a kind, which in other words means she's not the best but she does the trick. She even swims!" One feature I love about my lovely ship is that she can go underwater, making evading anyone I need to evade a whole lot easier. I came up with the idea, and with my father's blueprints, Ol' Rusty was born. That was how she got her name. She was Mildrid but the poor salt water made for the red stuff growing on her outsides, and well, she was older than my travels, and that counted her as pretty old.

<br><br>I go over to the controls of the ship, forgetting about my shower for now as I make sure all is going well. We're on the right track. The wind is good. No one is in the surrounding area and SWEET BRASS GEARS I KNOW WHERE WE'RE GOING. I suddenly let out a maniacal laugh, my hands turning into fists as I lean back and shake them. "WE ARE GOING TO GERMANY!" I shout as I swing back around on the heels of my boots. I let out a breath before my hands cover my ears, "I didn't lose it after all! Not completely. It just lost it's way."[/b][/color] I make a swerving gesture above my head before I clap my hands together, "Fantastic. Now. Now... Where was I? Oh! Wait... No. That's not it." I place my hands together and touch my fingertips to my lips before I gesture to her, "What..." What am I asking? I just go with the first thing that comes to my disheveled mind, which equals to what might be something nobody has ever asked her before. "What would you like to do, Vinnie?" She can think a lot clearer than I can. Maybe she can make a decision.
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[align=center]Posted Image[/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"><br>He appears to be genuinely shocked that I want to travel with him, examining me almost as if he distrusts my assertion, as if I might be ill. On the contrary, I've never been thinking more clearly! He warms up to the notion however, as I notice that smile pinching at his lips as I continue on, and I try not to be distracted by it as I persist to state my rationalization, my alibi, my testimony in the whole great matter, the last piece being my strongest point.

<br><br>August seems to delight in my declaration without a rebuttal, acting as if my words were a lovely surprise. I wasn't sure how I thought he'd reply to it all, but he accepts it so warmly…I don't think anyone's ever been this pleased by something I've said before. Especially not when I've stowed away on their ship without invite, imposing on them like this. But August…he's welcoming it, practically, and while I had been hoping that he'd accept my defense, I didn't expect it with such fervor, and a look of bewilderment crosses my features as he moves aside and begins to escort me into the parlor of his airship. Once I realize that he won't be punishing me or anything of the sort, however, an amused chuckle adds to sound to the picture of my bafflement, brows knitted together as we walk together (him more pushing and me more stumbling, again) down the hallway.

<br><br>We enter his common room, where various hodgepodge is strewn about, a medley of his workings. Untidiness hardly bothers me, what interests me is that window like a clock! It's sitting at the front along with the gears that steer the ship, I imagine, and I feel a rush of excitement sweep over me--I've never traveled by airship before, only ever by carriages and trains and trolleys, things skimming the ground. I hurry forward, past August, going over to the glass and looking out just as Greyhaven is disappearing beneath us, the green expanse of open countryside and roads now decorating the view. My hands clutch the rim of the window as I leaned forward, legs at a slant, peering forward. "August, this is amazing!" I exclaim before looking back at him--then realizing I've acted a bit out of turn, and I hurry back to his side, and he proceeds to tell me more about his ship…nearly smacking me in the face once he starts, causing wide eyes and a sharp gasp at first as I narrowly escape the unintentional slap. August makes no notice of it, however, going on to inform me that Ol' Rusty can actually swim.

<br><br>"Oh! That explains the fins, and the…" I form a point with my hands, the pads of my fingertips touching like a sideways tent. "…very streamlined exterior." I remark, beaming at the idea as my fingers interlace and I drop my conjoined hands in front of me, liking this idea very much. I've never heard of an airship that doubles as a submarine…most people wouldn't think that would be needed, since most air voyages can cover any amount of travel that is needed. But to go undersea…to see the wild life depicted in paintings and books, in the flesh! Or scales. It seems like a dream.

<br><br>I follow August back to the controls, wondering if I would ever be able to try my hand at steering--but oh, no. I'm not going to be here forever, just until we land. I purse my lips. I can't allow myself to become so attached, although that seems to be a difficult feat for he's so entirely different and interesting, it's constantly having new adventure after adventure. You can't predict what'll happen next an--suddenly, very keeping to the point, August laughs a little psychotically, tossing up his hands before announcing our destination, my final stop. "Germany," I breathe, the pastel blues of my eyes illuminating with the repetition. With the country's amazing technology and music, it certainly would be a wonderful place to start anew, and yet…something in the back of my mind keeps me from being completely happy at this news, for I really don't know if I want the journey to end. But it's not up to me, and I wouldn't want to burden him with a passenger for the rest of his own adventures. I try to focus on the positives, and then August turns to me, venturing to figure out the next thing on his itinerary. I'm stunned at his discovery, however.

<br><br>"…me?" I stutter like the top of a locomotive's steam whistle clattering.

<br><br>What would…I like to do?

<br><br>I can't remember the last time someone's asked me that. It had to be when my grandfather was alive, before my mother began prepping me for marriage into aristocracy, into filling the role that the Slades wanted.

<br><br>What did I used to answer?

<br><br>I think I'd say something with an adventure. I'd tell him I'd want to go somewhere, be somewhere or be something new and different, and now…well, all of those things were already being granted! I'm on a ship to Germany, and I'm a free person. I couldn't ask for anything more and yet August's asking me what I would like, anyway. I feel like I'm truly being pampered for once. It's funny how people always have these grand ideas about the life I lead in such an upscale manor, but all there really is, is tedium and schedules. Only right now, with my crown shed, and being placed in this man's hands and his ship, do I actually feel like royalty. It's a silly little thing, isn't it?

<br><br>There's really only one thing that's on my mind right now, and it's been stabbing at my sides since the beginning. Quite literally. "Well…I…would really appreciate it if you had anything to spare for me to change into," I start, giving him a sheepish smile, one hand dropping to my side as I pinch the side of my ruched skirt, raising it in a half curtsy-style and dropping the fabric unceremoniously, exaggerating my displeasure. I tuck my chin in slightly, as if divulging a secret. "We've already covered the futility of my clothing, after all." I say it in all seriousness, but then a smile starts to bud at my lips, pushing forward until it blooms into a full-fledged laugh. If he doesn't have anything, I suppose I could just strip down a bit and peel off some of the heavier pieces, but I really don't wish to wear this outfit for the entire duration of the trip.
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<BR>An almost knowing smile falls upon my lips when the one thing the girl wants is to change out of her ludicrous clothing. I'm nearly awed she's still standing here breathing in that contraption. I hold back the temptation to poke her again, amazed by how hard the steel corset is. I wondered if you could shoot her with a pistol and if it would go through, or if it didn't, how hard she would feel it. Of course, I wouldn't try that out. I wouldn't want to risk killing or brutally injuring the girl. I was too fond of her for that, and even if I loathed her, I was not one for murder. I shuddered outwardly at the thought.

<br><br>I clasped my hands together in glee at the prospect of getting this girl some more practical clothing. You might wonder how I would be able to compute anything practical, but as I told you before, I'm simply not crazy. If she is going to adventure with me for the time being, she needs clothes that will not get caught on levers and gears. That could lead to accidents and gruesome things. No. No. No. That monstrosity of a dress would not due. "Why didn't you say so before?" I grin, speaking as if she had already been here a day and was just bringing this up. "Lets see." I rub my chin a moment before I suddenly reach out and rip the head piece from her hair. I toss it onto the floor behind me as my brows shoot up, "Won't be needing that!" Next, my hands shove into her hair, shaking all of the pins out of her locks with a strange amount of intent in my eyes. "Mm hm!" I pull away and rip off her frilly sleeve before I put my hands on her shoulders and push her gently towards another room.

<br><br>It is in fact my bedroom, which in comparison to some is not very elaborate, yet compared to a few others, it's not so simple either. Behind a bundle of curtains by my bed is what would be a walk in closet, except hardly a thing is hung up, unless when I threw it and it miraculously landed on a hanger. It's an organized chaos of piles that only I can navigate, and that's hardly. "All right! Lets get to it!" I dig into one of my many vest pockets and take out a small measuring tape, piling out the actual tape part of it and swiftly measuring her out. "Tiny, tiny, tiny." I click my tongue at the roof of my mouth, going up behind her and measuring her corseted waist. "Going by the rest of you, once that thing is off I'm sure you are not much bigger." I drop the measuring tape into a completely different pocket from which it came as I move to stand in front of her. I cock my head this way and that as I examine her, my fingers coming up to prattle against my strong chin. Whelp, time to dive in!

<br><br>I walk over to a pile of trousers, all relatively clean I mind you. I may be messy, but I'm not a slob in that sense. My nose is a bit sensitive to these things. I grab a couple of my tighter pairs I don't tend to wear unless I have my months where I constantly forget to bother eating until I'm nearly nauseous with the need for it, and I bring them back to her. "Lets see now." I put the waist of one pair up to the bottom of her torso, but it's far too large. The next pair, which is a little smaller, is still much too sizable. WHAT WAS I THINKING? I toss those over my shoulder without a second glance. I head over to pile a shirts, and it's the same debacle. She would just be SWIMMING in these things. She's so small. I'm amused. I'm not a man of great stature. I hold myself high because well my head is just everywhere at once I can't be staring at the ground you see, but I'm not even near a six foot clearance. It doesn't matter though. This something is too small a thing for my usual attire to accommodate.

<br><br>Was there a time I was her size? Well, of course there was! I was the size of a doll once, as we all were, and that's surely smaller than she is now. When was I that size though? Oh, possibly twelve. Yes. Twelve sounds proper, as I was a stout size of five foot six at fifteen and- THAT WAS IT. "Why did I not think of this before? Oh, Vinnie." I wiggle my finger at her as a wide grin crosses my features, "I should have thought of this. I could pin you down in my sort of newish but not particularly that newish clothing but why do that when I have my very oldish clothing?!" I throw my hands down, palms facing her and fingers spread out. I nearly trip on a pile of garments as I sharply turn, hopping and skipping over to a smaller pile of clothes towards the back, "I don't throw many things away, you see. People say it's not right, why would you need these things, you've outgrown them, there is no sense. You are no sense... BUT JOKE IS ON THEM!"

<br><br>I feverishly grab a whole outfit of clothing with much confidence before I run right back over to her and grin, a bundle in my arm, "You, my dear, will have to be wearing old fifteen year old me's clothes, because you are very small and I just have nothing else that fits you." I drop the clothing at her feet before I pick them up one at a time and hold them to her. They would be a tad loose, but nothing that would be of hindrance to her. Yes! Yes, this will do lovely! The clothing consists of a striped long sleeved undershirt that matches her stockings almost perfectly, and there's a midnight blue blouse, which short sleeves existed because I had shredded them off. I can't recall why exactly. I was probably horrifically warm for some reason or another. Anyway, continuing on, there was a worn pair of rusty brown overalls that would end up being a tad short in the legs on her cause I had cut those as well, but they would fit and it came with a handy belt to hang things on! To finish things off, I found a hat that matches the overalls and boots that will fit just fine if she ties them tight enough!

<br><br>I drop them all to the floor again with a proud smile before the back of my hands find my hips, "Well, there you have it. This will do for awhile. Much better than that frill you're wearing." I make a disapproving scrunch with my nose before I smile at her again with my eyes, "You get changed and then we'll have edibles, shall we?" I nod simply before I pass by her and move to the other side of the curtain, closing it, allowing her to change in some sort of privacy. "If you need help getting out of that device, let me know!" I shout even though only a curtain separates us. I wander about my room, my eyes going from the ceiling to the floor to the various walls, never staying on any particular location for long. "What is it you like to eat, Vinnie? Do you like tea? Do you like bread? Cucumbers of the pickled variety? Fig jelly? Not all together, you aren't me but separately or with other things. I have several other things. I'm sure we can suit your tastes somehow. What did you eat back home?" I ramble on and on, my hands meeting and lacing together behind my back as I stroll around my bed, listening to the rustling of silk, lace, and the far more comfortable fabric of my aged garments.
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To my luck, August seems to be happy to help. In fact, it seems as if every since he's discovered me on the ship, he's been more than willing to grant me any favors. It's certainly a turn around from when he denied taking me with him at all, but I know that was for anything but selfish reasons. I feel that to say his demeanor is wholly refreshing would be a great understatement, but I'm not sure how else to put it. He's nothing short of an emporium of excitement and wonder--and this is only scraping at the surface.

<br><br>When he makes the slight accusation that I've delayed in bringing up the matter, I start to say that he never asked, but then I decide to go along with it, taking a breath and lowering my shoulders as if I hadn't the faintest idea how it happened. "It must've slipped my mind," I grin back at him, knowing he understands that feeling.

<br><br>At first, I thought August was simply mulling his thoughts over, thinking of what clothes he had that would suit…but then, all of a sudden, his hand shoots out and seizes my headdress of Valenciennes and delicate quills and wrenches it from my hair as if it had burst into flames! "OW!" I couldn't help but cry out both from alarm and pain, because he hadn't known Mother had meticulously secured it into my hair so that under no uncontrollable circumstance it would leave my coiled tresses. He pitches it to the floor as if it was finished cigar. "What're you--" I start before he thrusts his hands further into my hair as if its a monster he's trying to throttle, the carefully set pins flying everywhere like hail being hurled from a cloud. "Just a momen--" I attempt again to actually question what he's up to, but it's to no avail as he snatches my sleeve just as abruptly as everything else before yanking it away as easily as a folio of paper from a book. Then it's off we go again, August leading me into his bedchambers. I've hardly a moment to look around before I'm nudged into a room beyond the curtains.

<br><br>It appears to be a closet, though there's more pandemonium than clothes here. It sort of reminds me of when you take a walk in the park between autumn and winter, when all the warm hued leaves are already littering the cobblestoned floor. Had any other man I just met an hour or so ago ushered me into his personal lodgings and then into a cluttered armoire, I'm sure I would have felt more than a little disconcerted, but somehow, I know I can trust August with…anything, really, and I'm much too distracted by his actions to even worry about a thing. Honestly, who carries around tape measure? What use could that serve? I blink this thought back, the smile returning. It's completely mad, yet quaint.

<br><br>Without asking for permission, August circles the tape around me, taking my unremarkable measurements. But he clucks at my size like a disapproving seamstress, proclaiming me "tiny" three times. I arch a brow, intrigued by his deposition, then chuckle, shaking my head as I shrug it off. Not that I necessarily disagree. I've never thought of it as very important, though if I have to choose, I'd say I think of myself as average size. Though in comparison to a man, naturally, I'd be much smaller. However, I've been criticized for my body more times than I care for, unfortunately. "Mother would beg to differ," I remark, with a very "what have you" look in my glance, but a smile still set in my lips, for it's only a reminder of the things I won't miss that I've left behind. I certainly won't regret leaving those days of being reamed out for letting a morsel of lemon cake pass my lips. Mother would alter my skeleton if she could, and I don't think she'd believe it to be such a bad thing if I cracked a couple of ribs, as horribly macabre and morbid as it sounds.

<br><br>August perseveres, trying to find something that would fit the tiny, tiny, tiny me and suddenly I feel as if I'm no larger than Thumbelina. Unfortunately, I'm no skeleton key, and I can't just miraculously fit into whatever he has to offer. I watch (with a bit of amusement, I'll admit, but really, everything he does is entertaining) as he continuously slings article after article of clothing behind him once he sees they're no glass slipper. I'm about to suggest that we abandon this bootless endeavor and that perhaps I could just alter my current dress to make it more reasonable for travel, when he gets an idea, wagging his finger at me, a reprimanding gesture without any reproach. I'm afraid I don't quite understand his point at first…"Oldish clothing?" I'm not sure how that would help, but once he mentions the word "outgrown", I realize by oldish clothing he means clothes from his past, not last season's wear, as my mother would have called it.

<br><br>He retrieves his former clothes and hops back over the piles towards me, dropping the heap in front of me as he announces that I shall be donning the vestments from his fifteen year old days. My mouth widens, one brow curving humorously as I rest my fists on the sides of my hips. "Well, you, my dear August, are brilliant," I stake my claim with a laugh…and then a bit of curiosity if anyone has ever told him that before, outside of his relations. He starts to size the clothing again. It's all much smaller (understandably) and I think it will do perfectly. I've never worn any clothes of this fashion, but that might be why I think I will like them just fine. I relish his objection to my current attire, beaming at his nose wrinkling in detest. He tells me to change and then we'll eat, and I place an appreciative hand on his arm.

<br><br>"Thank you so much for this, August" I utter wholeheartedly, my lips quirking into a close-lipped smile, all the more serious yet gentle. "For all of this." I wouldn't have been able to done anything without him. I owe a great deal to August, and I'm not certain how I'll repay him, but I know it will be done. The curtain falls closed between us, and I begin the chore of undressing, casting off my gloves and unbuckling the cloth bodice over the corset. After I step out of the skirt, I begin unclicking the snaps of the steel girdle when he speaks up again, asking me for my preference once more. I listen to his suggestions as I set the corset aside (reveling in my absolute freedom now) and pull on the striped undergarment and Egyptian blue shift, chewing over my possible answers.

<br><br>"Well…I'd--" my voice is slightly strained as I slip into the overalls. "--hate to be any sort of inconvenience." I roll my eyes a little drolly at that as I fasten the overall straps tighter. "I mean, anymore than I already am," comes my titter, shaking my head. "But I'm allergic to certain seafood, if that means anything." It's mostly cephalopods, which isn't too bad considering that they aren't a typical cuisine. I sit down on the floor as I tug the boots over my feet and start tightening the laces as I speak. "We ate the usual foods at home…watercress, potato dumplings, lamb, bread pudding and tea sandwiches." I shrug my shoulders and place the cap on my head. As of late, eating hadn't been so much of an enjoyable pastime as it used to be, because of all the ludicrous planning for the wedding. I wasn't even able to vent my frustrations through my usual errands, for Mother didn't want me lifting a finger anymore, so the peace and solitude I used to have when dusting Father's den or stringing snap peas was spirited away. Stasis is the worst sort of punishment.

<br><br>Finally, fully, comfortably clothed, I exit the curtains feeling lighter than air--and yet ready to take on any new task. There should be a revolution in women's clothing, with this very outfit as the paragon! But regrettably, I know that if my mother or former fiancé saw me right now, they might think I look like a mix between a newsie and a circus attendant. Both jobs which would be a long shot more interesting than marrying Sterling, but thanks to the man standing before me, that's no longer an issue. "I'm not a very picky eater," I confide to August, idly scratching the side of my jaw. "But I'm not entirely useless in the kitchen either, so you must let me help." Maybe this was a bit of disservice to myself, because I've been simmering consommé and grinding sausages since I was very young, but that was because we were always so busy working off debt that we could have never afforded much staff in the house, so my duties included helping the cook.


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<BR>I find myself freezing entirely when she calls me 'brilliant'. I... I haven't heard such an expression explaining me since before I was separated from my family. I stare at her, my eyes wide. I tilt my head to the side, before slowly a broad and bright smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and with that, I precede with getting her clothing. It's refreshing, for someone not to call me crazy, insane, mad, daft, or an imbecile. They can't seem to understand that I'm NOT crazy. It can get downright annoying if you ask me, which you didn't, but I'm telling you anyway. She's different. FOR ONCE, someone is different. She doesn't question me like I'm some old loon who drinks too much, which is delightful, for I am young, NOT a loon, and I don't drink a drop of that poison. I like this travel companion. Yes. Very nice indeed.

<br><br>As I move to leave, she places a hand on my arm, and with eyebrows shooting up, I turn my head to look at her. She thanks me, and instead of a simple smile, I let out a laugh like she told a good joke before I fall quite serious. "Thank you, Vinnie." I pop my eyebrows up and then down at her, "For being the you that you are." I leave her after that, feeling fortunate she needs no help with that thing she wears about her tiny waist for I just don't know how I would've gotten it off without hurting the poor dame. Going by her lack of a request for my help, she is fairing just fine on her own.

<br><br>In response to my inquiry about her eating habits, she tells me she's allergic to types of seafood, which I don't find a hindrance at all. "I despise eating aquatic life." I confide with a nod of my head she can't see. "It's just tastes... It does not suit me well." I shake my head rather hard. I have not met a creature of the oceanic nature I have been pleased to eat, so you wouldn't find such things here. I continue to listen to her, my hand moving to touch my time machine even though it does not there. I swiftly put my arm down and grasp my other hand behind my back once more. "Right. Right. Got it." I pause. "We have none of those things here but we shall make do!" I raise my hand and wiggle my finger, "We will make do. Yes. Food is food. Fuel for you and I." I do enjoy some foods. Maybe that was why I sometimes forgot to eat. It might also have been because I had to cook it all myself, and while cooking could be fascinating I did not find myself to be of any excellence in that area. My favorite cuisine seems to consist of fruits and nuts, as well as my preferred beverage of gray tea, lemonade, a mix of the two, and water.

<br><br>The girl finally appears from behind the curtain, and I turn to look at her. My eyes smile as I stroll over to her and circle her, taking her in. Yes. Yes, indeed! That is a much better outfit for any person going on an adventure! I stop in front of her as she mentions being useful in the kitchen. My eyes go as broad as saucers and I laugh in delight, my hands clasping together, "Help? Yes! Help would be, hm, helpful." I slip to the side and snake my arm about her frail shoulders. With more grace than earlier, I lead her back to the main area, but this time I guide her over to the kitchen area. "I'm sure together we can make a lovely lunch... Or is it dinner?" I take that darn broken pocket watch out again, but this time she's able to see that it is indeed not a working clock, before I place it back in it's proper place, probably the only item that goes into the same pocket every time.

<br><br>It is easy to see my preferences. I have several different types of fruit separated and placed in nets that hang above the counter, off of the surface, making it so they don't spoil as swiftly. Nuts, lentils and seeds are all in canisters, and I have a copper 'tree', if you will, that holds of my favorite sorts of teas. "There is tons more in the cabinets. All sorts of cans and whatnot." My hand gestures to each and every mahogany and brass cabinet, before coming to the shiny brass box in one corner. "That keeps things chill. I can't recall if I retrieved any meat at the market, but if I DID, it'd be in there." My hands come together and I place my fingertips to my chin as I rack my brain. "Everything works." I mutter. "And you, my dear, are allowed to touch anything you like. Anything at all. Yes." I suddenly slide back, my boots squeaking against the floor as I pull back to get a full look at her, "Yes. You, Vinnie, have access to every bit of matter on and in this ship." I nod with certainty, not giving her a chance to give a sad and supposedly polite 'but oh I couldn't' or anything of that sort.

<br><br>"You are my companion here now, you see, and I will not limit you. What good would that do? Oh, no. You can put your hands on whatever you like." I stop, "Except." I furrow my brows as I think over the one exception, "Yes. Except for one thing." I hold up my finger. "One thing only you cannot touch, but that is only because I only trust Proctor hands on it." I hesitate slightly, for now is the time to tell her what it is. After all, I can't tell her not to touch something and then not tell her what that something is. "It's my time machine, you see. It doesn't work right now but IT WILL. I just need one piece, the key, and it will work perfectly. Yes. It WILL work, and I will come and go in time as I please." I give her a wide close-lipped smile of pure glee that easily reaches my eyes as I hold my other hand in front of myself, shrugging my shoulders up in mirth. I'm so proud of the machine that my family put together, so much so that it usually outweighs the faint paranoia that the person I am talking to that isn't a mirror is going to call me deranged.
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My reaction when he thanks me for being who I am is more like the reaction of someone being smacked in the face with a frying pan than someone being complimented. No one's ever thanked me, plainly for being me. No one's ever been grateful for the circumstance. Mother would like me to be more refined, Sterling would like it if I was quieter. The list of ways I could "improve" myself seems to be endless some days, but August has just set it on fire and turned it to ashes, as if I'm already finished and yet I've turned out to be the greatest I possibly could. I've always been on fairly good terms with myself, seeing the glass as neither half empty or full, but just as it is…making the best of it. Being told that the glass is actually filled to the brim leaves me a bit bewildered, but I manage to smile back before retreating into the curtains.

<br><br>August informs me that he doesn't really enjoy seafood either, so the arrangement works out well. "Fishy?" I suggest a little humorously when he's at loss for words. I've always enjoyed making simple puns, but Sterling hates it. He's not here to disapprove anymore, however, and I'm excited to finally be able to be useful again. No more sitting around and listening to menu plans or picking flower displays. Being able to exercise my hands and not just my mind again is a lovely prospect.

<br><br>He takes me back into the kitchen, which I hadn't really had the time to survey when I snuck into the airship. Now I see that it's definitely not your ordinary sort (then again, nothing on this ship is, including its captain). The fruit dangles like ornaments in a net above, and the tea is actually kept with something resembling a tree. It has the aspects of a garden of food, without actually being organic. It's a nearly festive presentation, but August interrupts my thoughts as he questions what time it is. It's a little before dinner, I think, but then I see him pull out the watch from earlier. However, I can see now that it's broken, cracked, in disrepair. I raise an eyebrow, but perhaps he's merely just checking it out of habit. Whatever the case, I don't comment on it. "An early dinner, I think," comes my blissfully ignorant remark.

<br><br>I listen carefully as August points out things, making note to remember. He tells me that I'm allowed to touch everything…surely not everything. "Really?" I say as if I'm half expecting him to take it back at some point, to suddenly say "Oh, no, goodness, I forgot, you can't go to this room and I can't allow you on this side and this certain time". But then he simply confirms that I have access to every place on the ship. It's a wonderful amount of freedom. Back in Greyhaven, you were hardly ever allowed to tour the ordinary house of a person by yourself when visiting. To think that I'd be able to explore anywhere on this airship promises a good amount of adventure already, not even including all the real travel we'll be doing! I squint at August and step back with a nearly devious smile, as if I'm testing if he really means it, as I gravitate towards the kitchen credenza. I reach towards the knobs and look back over my shoulder, but he makes no movement to stop me. With a pleased look, seeing I truly do have permission, I open the cupboards and start to make an inventory of what he has.

<br><br>There's a good amount of nuts and seeds, so he must enjoy that sort of meat quite a deal. I make a mental note to never make a pun on him being "nutty", however. If there's one thing I never wish to criticize, it's someone's mind, someone's imagination. I think it's a great imagination is the best thing a person can have. After my mother became strict on my upbringing, I had to rely on nourishing my mind on books and newspapers alone. But it would have been so nice to have someone to share things with. Father was always too busy to listen, Mother never wished to, and Sterling always overshadowed whatever I said with some dull story of his own so there was no point in even trying with him. It seems like now I may finally have a special "something" who might actually listen to me. This idea makes my smile broaden, and after browsing a little more, I get an idea of what we might be having for dinner.

<br><br>August suddenly realizes there is one thing he failed to remember, one thing that I cannot fiddle with. One thing is hardly anything on such a large ship so I don't mind at all, and he's already been so lenient. I turn back to look at him, waiting for him to tell me what it is, and when he does open his mouth, my eyes widen in alarm. "A time machine?!" I repeat, the concept never occurring to me. I mean, goodness, he already has such an amazing ship, I never would have predicted there was something even more cutting-edge here. But then August continues on and I realize it can't be used yet, more of a work in progress. It never occurs to me to think of it as a mad invention…perhaps I just have too much faith in things of spectacle. Perhaps August seems a tad off sometimes, with the way he carelessly flings his hands…(I'm thinking of when I nearly got smacked) as well as other objects. Maybe he's a little more honest than most. But that's no fault.

<br><br>And really, it's obvious he's no fool, he's built so much and traveled so far. In fact, you might say I've a grown a bit more envious of him upon hearing of this invention, for I've never really had any goals for myself, at least, not one to this extent. Clearly, it's something that gives him much joy, gives him something to look forward to. And I think if anyone could ever create something as advanced as a time machine, it could be August. I find it difficult to unhook bedlam from genius. Being brilliant means you have the capacity to think in ways others couldn't, so, naturally, you must be different.

<br><br>"Well, then," I begin, setting down a tin of lentils and crossing back over to him, stopping abruptly in front of August and clapping my hands behind me, fingers intertwining. I lower my voice and incline my head towards him "I doubt I would trust me with one either," I murmur quite seriously, but then laugh, because honestly, I've no experience at all with such devices, and I'm quite sure that I wouldn't have attempted to fuss with his machine even if he hadn't told me. I'd hate to make a mess of things, especially to my rescuer. Curiosity does reign in my mind, however. "But if I can't touch it…could I at least see it?" I ask tentatively, aware that he could reject my request, though there would be no harm done. I've only just become his passenger, after all, so I'm in no way entitled to know all his secrets.
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<BR>My mouth drops and my brows raise as Vinnie acts as if my time machine is something to ooh and ahh over, something special to behold. She doesn't act in the usual manner when I mention my machine. No. Usually I'm told I'm mad, or far too imaginative, that I'm speaking nonsense! Going back and forth in time? What a ludicrous idea! You should be doing better things with your time, boy. Clear your head and go for more realistic goals, you loon! It's upsetting, because oh, how proud I am of my family's beautiful invention, one which I know works. I haven't told anyone about it in a long while, until now, just because I had to to keep the girl from possibly breaking it. It's sturdy, but hands not used to handling such things could very possibly damage it, you see.

<br><br>"Yes! Quite right! A time machine!" I give her a full on grin before I watch her with intrigue as she closes the distance between us, agreeing with my point about possibly breaking it. I nod somberly, "Yes, but I do trust you, somehow, just not your hands, understand?" Yes. I trust her but not her hands. It's two totally differently things, you know. I reach down and grab one of her appendages, examining the smooth texture and skinny fingers swiftly before I drop it with a quick smile like what I had just done was as casual as... As... Well, I don't know what's casual to others, I only know what's casual for me, and that was casual.

<br><br>To my delighted surprise, she asks to SEE IT. She wants to see MY time machine. Well, of course MY time machine, for who else has a time machine and who else could she possibly know who has one. No one, that's who. I'm a bit taken aback by the request, and I stare at her with wide eyes before my face brightens with a thousand watt grin, teeth nearly gleaming, "Can you see it?!" I suddenly grip her by the shoulders, maybe a little too hard, but I can hardly contain my excitement. "Of course you can!" I slink behind her and guide her to my office, the papers still on the floor from earlier of course for I have been busy and it's not like I have a maid, now do I? "There it is!" I shout as I point towards my very special device.

<br><br>There it hangs, on a copper hook above my desk. The machine is small, only three inches long, an inch and a half wide, and only three fourth of an inch deep. It hangs on a strong lengthy chain that has never broken, though I usually keep it tucked under my shirt and vest to make sure I never lose it. With an amount of grace that I hardly seem capable of, I swoop the contraption up in my hand once I let her go and hold it out for her to see. "This is it! It's in perfect working condition. The only problem is that, you see, I am missing the key." I huff out a sigh. "Me, my father, and my grandfather built it together, but only my grandfather made the key. I never got a glimpse of it." I stroke the side of the time machine with my thumb. "You see, my grandfather didn't want the machine to get into the wrong hands... Into the hands of men who would use it for power, for money, to change things that shouldn't be changed." I shake my head, tsking as I do so. "So, he sent the key away. Not long after, they sent me away so I wouldn't be taken away to fight in the war, you see."

<br><br>At the time, the war over water among the majority of Europe was really getting on it's feet. The War of Agua Pura. As ludicrous as it was, instead of having it all equaled out, we continue to fight brutally for our shares of it. In desperate and crazed attempts to win during the beginning, and in frequent bursts throughout the following years, they draft boys as young as fourteen. At fifteen, I was a prime subject for that. "They wanted me to take the ship, get out of there as soon as possible, with the time machine on my person. I didn't want to leave them, you know." I shake my head feverishly, "But we knew I couldn't be in the war. I wanted no part of it. No part of it at all." I purse out my red tinted lips and narrow my dark umber brows as I continue the shaking of my head but in a much slower manner. "Not to mention the way-the way..." I huff. "The way I am and my affinity for not killing a living thing on purpose, I was not built for such things."

<br><br>I bring my eyes up, looking right into her pearly blue gaze rather intensely as I continue to speak. "I came back and parked in the very forest behind your home a year later. I figured it must be a little safe, safe enough to meet with my family, but what I found was our home without a trace of life in it. Completely sparse and ransacked." A strange sadness touches my eyes, and my head tilts as if I'm reacting to it, confused by it, looking passed her and not at her. I squint my eyes a little as I go on, "I found that my grandfather had died from a stroke, and my father quite quickly afterward from cholera." I bring the device closer to me, examining it like I'm seeing it for maybe the third time and not the three thousandth. "After that, you see, I started my journey searching for the key." I take in a deep breath and I let it out through clenched bared teeth, "Though. I. Don't. Even. Know. What. It. Looks. Like!" I reach up an empty hand while the other holds the machine, making a fist and shaking it.

<br><br>My hands and shoulders drop in defeat before I turn and hang up the time machine. "I wouldn't try to change anything, you know. They wouldn't want me to mess with that for them. I would merely enjoy what it has to offer." I place my hands onto the desk, leaning onto it for an abrupt moment. "I've been searching for over five years but I'm close!" I lift up that finger of mine as I pop up and turn around, towards her, with a small jump. "I can feel it. Yes. I can feel it. It's going to turn up soon and I'll travel to whenever I want!" I throw my hands up as I draw near her with just two large steps. I stop right in front of her and I smile wide, my heading cocking to the right, "When would you like to go, Vinnie dearest?" I embrace the back of her shoulders with one arm as I turn her back towards the kitchen, "A hundred years ago, ten years ago, five minutes ago? The future?!" The arm that's not around her swings out towards my elaborate clock shaped window before I let her go. I face my back towards the table before I grab the edge of it and pull myself up, sitting cross legged with a gleeful smile on my face. "Well? When would it be?" I loosely laced my fingers together in my lap as I look at her with bright and glinting eyes, curious as to what her answer may be, my focus one hundred percent on her. Such attention on another person is rare and difficult for me, but towards her it's not exactly hard.
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[align=center]Posted Image[/align][dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;">I'm amazed to hear that August trusts me, after the short time we've known each other. One would hardly say that a stowaway is someone worthy of faith, but then again, August is full of surprises. And strangely enough, I find myself trusting him too, despite the fact that he turned my former home upside down and was illegally occupying my grandfather's treehouse for a while. Those factors, as well as his avant-garde conduct, hardly warp my perception of him. Somehow, I feel as if he'll never lie to me. He could've lied about the time machine and just kept it from my sight, but August chose to keep me informed, trusting that I would respect the boundaries. I will, of course, but it means a great deal to me that he believes he can rely on me to begin with. August grabs my hand all of a sudden, examining it, reminding me that he had asked me something to begin with. "--I do," I finally respond, voice a bit startled but honest nonetheless.

<br><br>August seems overjoyed that I would ask to see his time machine, seizing me roughly--it appears that he must've never been taught to go a little easy on others when expressing enjoyment--by the shoulders before exclaiming that I could, and taking me over to his office. The room's in a bit of shambles, papers coating the floor like dust, but I'm barely given time to imagine what could have happened before he points towards his device. It's not at all the way I imagined it. I pictured something larger, something more like a portal, I suppose. As if different time periods were more like solid locations. But I guess this is about right, because you're not necessarily going anywhere physically, only chronically. He holds it out for me to examine. "This is remarkable," I murmur, and instinctly, my hands move, but I stop them before they come in contact. "Oh--close one," I fess sheepishly, giving him an apologetic look. I have to remember that this is something off-limits. It looks a tad like a heavy pendant, and I try to imagine how it would work if August had the last piece. Would it open up into something larger, or engulf the wearer into a rift in time?

<br><br>He begins to tell me the history of the gadget, and it becomes known that it's something of a family heirloom. I could understand why his grandfather would be wary about keeping it protected. Being able to reject time would be like having the power of the gods in your possession. It can't be an ability that is left ripe for the plucking of just any hands. Terrible dictators and what not would love to get their hands on something like this. The story shifts, however, when August mentions the war. War time is more of a pastime for the higher caliber of Greyhaven. It is entertainment that could be read about in the papers, or discussed during tea time, but it is never something that really affects them. They do not ration their foods, and if their son is in danger of being drafted, they could send him away to live with a relative in another country until it is safe. It's horribly unfair, and this is the first time I've really heard about the gritty details of the other perspective. I can't imagine August in the war. His family was right to send him away. My expression turns solemn when he huffs about killing. It's very different from the way Sterling enjoys talking about a good hunt. It doesn't give you the feeling of annoyance, but the feeling of sympathy and sadness, and I wonder which is worse.

<br><br>When August gets to the part of his return, to an empty house, I'm gripped by fear, afraid to hear the ending of this story, if his family had been attacked by veterans, or caught between some battle or something. Instead, I'm gifted different news that is not at all comforting…death by illness. August seems put off by this part of the story, neither entirely reconciled or hurt by it but I place my hand on his wrist anyway, giving him a glance of condolences, even if he wasn't asking for one, or if he doesn't understand it. I don't interrupt him for now, feeling that there will be another time on our way to Germany in which this could be properly addressed. I never want to jump the gun on these sort of discussions. For now, I let him talk about his machine.

<br><br>It's ghastly to imagine searching for something that you have no clues about. At least my confusion about a quest in life is entirely abstract and open to taking on any form I choose. A key is something much more precise. I smile, however, when he claims that he feels it close-by. He's certainly optimistic after five years of searching, I would give him that. I don't know if I'd be able to keep to one particular mission for so long. But then again, it's part of his legacy. It's homage to his father and grandfather, not just an invention that would change everything. I think I might understand his dedication a little. August is so passionate about it that it seems like it's inevitable that he'll find the key eventually. I really do believe it. "Well, if you do find it before we part ways..." I begin, and I reach one hand up to fold his collar, which had been knocked a bit askew during his feverish proclamation. I chuckle. "…you must promise not to suddenly leave me to go off in the night, battling the gladiators and dinosaurs….at least not without prior notice." I quip, top lip pressing on the bottom and forming a wry smile. It's a funny idea, waking up to an empty ship to discover the captain's gone off to save the dodos from extinction.

<br><br>Suddenly, August goes to sit on the table and turns the inquiry around, asking what point in time I would like to travel to, if given the chance. I'll have to try to get used to the idea of someone wanting to learn more about me--for now, the concept's entirely alien…but wonderful. "…hmmm." I murmur, eyes flitting to the ceiling although not necessarily looking there, my vision slipping to the roof of my mind instead as I attempt to see myself as a chrononaut, a time-traveler. I wander over to his side, leaning against the table as I endeavor to choose wisely, my upper teeth clamping down on my bottom lip, tracing a line back and forth repeatedly with the enamel.

<br><br>At first, I think of returning to the days of my childhood, before the veil was lifted and I was hit with countless burdens of responsibility. Or rather, one responsibility that was just so massive and heavy that it felt like a multitude. But even if I went back to those days, it wouldn't be the same. It's not as if I would be reliving them. From what I understand from time machines (that I've only derived from a good chunk of science-fiction novellas), you're simply there in the moment, in your current body, as a spectator that may or may not choose to participate. Going back a couple of years wouldn't make me ten, it would make me see myself as ten years old. I suppose I could pass along some friendly advice to myself, but I don't think it'd be of much use. I think I might be a little better at giving advice than receiving it. Guidance is one thing I'm skeptical of.

<br><br>So then I imagine going to the future, perhaps a couple of decades. I would see so many innovations in culture, society, even architecture, I'm sure! But that would spoil the surprise later on, so things wouldn't be as fun. I like looking forward to whatever awaits us in the time to come. I don't think I'll rush it. I suppose I could possibly overshoot the time in which I'll probably live to see the end up, perhaps thousands of years, but I'll admit I'm a little frightened as to what that might be. There are many prophecies that tell of catastrophic wars and mysterious clouds, and if that's to happen, if it's inevitable, I might prefer not to know of it.

<br><br>Thus I go back to thinking of the past once more, and I realize there's one option I've overlooked. I've a scruple or two in telling August on my decision now, as it seems so petty…with a time machine, one could do so many things, and yet I've decided on something so small. But it means a great deal to me. "…I might like to return to the time before I was born," I begin, placing my palms behind me on the table surface, leaning back. My chin tucks under as I stare at the floor. "Convince my father not to make any rash decisions in selling his daughter to be some man's consort." Or maybe I'd earn some money before going back to help him pay off the debt himself. I'd even loot gold if needed! Anything would be better than those horrible last few years, than my family being subjected to all of this. Than me being subjected to it!

<br><br>Although…none of that really matters now. I am free. I just have to keep reminding myself of it. I never would have been able to meet August if this hadn't happened, so there's the good thing about it and I shouldn't ponder anymore. None of it is going to change, at least, not for now. I make a face, lips pressing together and forehead scrunching. "…that probably doesn't sound very exciting, now does is it." I shake my head, sighing and laughing at myself at the same time. "It's just that…if I did manage to do that, it would mean more opportunities for adventure, and excitement, could happen sooner for me." I'm not sure if I'm making much sense now, and if he's even interested in hearing it, so I stop there. I loll my head to face him, smiling. "What about you, August? Is there one moment in particular that you want to visit?" Surely he has something in mind…maybe even more than one. I climb up onto the table beside him, striped legs dangling above the floor beneath us.
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<BR>My eyes, almost in a panicked fashion, go to her hand as it fixes my collar like a mother tending to her child. I relax swiftly though, a simple smile reaching my lips at the action. I like when she makes contact with me. It's soothing somehow, as if my heart slows and my thoughts aren't there but here. I soon frown as I realize what she has said. Part ways? I do not want to part ways. When would this be? Does she want to leave? I shake that off. I shall enjoy the time we have together now, and worry over her decisions when she comes to them. We've only just left Greyhaven. I'm comforted to know she'll at least be around until we reach Germany.

<br><br>"You don't think I'd take you with me?" I ask, eyes widening. I laugh, shaking my head, "Vinnie, I would not do such a thing as leave you behind!" I roll my eyes as a simper plays upon my curved lips. "If I am to go anywhere in time and you are still in my presence, you will be coming with, I can assure you that." I had never realized how fun it is to have a companion, specifically one who was the girl in front of me. Why wouldn't I want her to go back and forth through time with me? I LOVE sharing with those who can understand, who can see the wonder in it and not the profit.

<br><br>I watch her in absolute silence as she ponders my question of when she would go, what time she would most like to see. She thinks on it awhile, so I study the prisms of blue shades in her irises, focusing so hard I can nearly see the strands of cool pigments, before finally she speaks up, answering my inquiry. My forehead wrinkles as my brows narrows, not sure I'm fond of the answer, "Your father sold you to a man?" I couldn't imagine being sold to anyone. "One time a man told my father he could sell me to doctors, so that they may test certain things." I wiggle my nose before I grin, reaching out and squeezing my knees. "My father said there was nothing to test, and walked on." I say proudly before my mouth falls back to a straight line and I tilt my head as I listen to her continue. I surely understand why she would want to change it. She deserves freedom, excitement, and adventure, of the mind and of the soul. She has it now, but she should have had it all along.

<br><br>She changes the subject, going on to ask me what one moment in time I would like to visit. My gaze widens as my head slowly turns from left to right, "One sole moment? Oh, no, no, no." I murmur as she sits upon the surface beside me. My hands go up, both index fingers pointing to the ceiling. "I do not have just one moment. I have a few. You see, I would like to go every-when, any-when, no-when. All these times. So, I will not choose one." I pause, mulling over the times I would like to visit. "I would like to visit my grandfather, tell him that the machine allowed me to travel to see him. He'd be so proud!" I clap my hands together in mirth. "After that, there are two particular times I would like to see. First!" My right index finger goes up, "I would like to visit the world before human hands touched it. The vast space, the natural wonders." I flatten my hand and wave it across the air as if I'm gesturing to towering mountains and grand ravines, my lips turned up and my eyes sparkling, as if I am actually viewing these things. "Second!" My left index finger flies up. "Second, you see, would be the future. Quite a few years in, see where we've gone, what we've done with the place. I want to know what machines we've come up with, how we live, how different. It would be interesting, whatever it is. I am sure of it."

<br><br>Suddenly, I freeze, another idea coming to me. I swing around so that I am directly facing her, legs still crossed, and I sweep up her hands in mine, giving them a squeeze. "There's also another time." I say nearly breathlessly. "I would go and see you." Does this seem odd to her? Is it odd? Well, no worries. I just tell it how it is. "Because if you go, like you say you might, well, who would I have to talk to?" I throw my head back a bit and laugh as if it's obvious she's the only one I have to converse with, even though I've only known her for a short bit of time, not even a day. She lets me though. I can talk to her and she accepts, she understands, she talks to me like what I say is actually of importance, unlike others who can be so opposite. I give her hands another embrace as my eyes smile, "I hope your younger self won't mind."
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SKINNED BY ALISON WONDERLAND OF ATF.