"Oh, of course! I can't promise I'll be an attentive guide but, yes. I think some of the poets have a cooperative for that. They pay you up front and take a cut and sell it to sky-captains when they come around. I suppose it's convenient that the Chorister Bees leave us wealth when they take blood..."

"Always good to spot the silver linings, yes." Huh, that's a new idiom. "To the cooperative, the station, and then to somewhere you're comfortable sitting down to learn some more Zemurian?", Hailey asks the Linguist as they make their way out of the building.

Nod, nod! The Erratic linguist asks for more vocabulary on the way, gets distracted comparing Spanish and German and French and muttering about the connection between Latin and Greek, excitedly hugs a slightly drunk friend of hers they run into along the way, and then they're at the cooperative. Someone is standing on stage now, reading a mediocre poem about the beauty of danger in a tone that is supposed to be deep and slow and melodic but is mostly just slow. A Bespectacled Writer arranges the details - and Hailey now has two hundred seventy-eight Sovereigns. Not a vast fortune by any means, but not a bad sum to live off of for a while either.

Convenient of her stolen memories to come with a sense of how much this money is worth. Hailey nods along with various poems, provides vocabulary, and shares what little she knows about the etymology of her native tongue. Poetry's never been her strong suit, but some of these are interesting, and it's especially interesting to see how the people live and act.

The station is easy enough to find, and is torn between two different architectural styles, both seemingly half-finished, as if the groups supporting each had begun their project and then left to argue about which way to complete it. Dark wood and red brick walls and victorian windows on one side, flowing metal lines and bright stained glass evoking vines on the other.

The more competent bundle of men and women from the earlier battle are there, guarding a stack of crates and a pair of mechanics working on the locomotive. A Scarred Captain tells her they're leaving as soon as repairs can be effected, probably this evening, and they're low on space, but perhaps she could buy passage if she's interested in going somewhere that's not covered in b____y artists.

The station is fascinating, but the Scarred Captain's attitude rubs her the wrong way. Insulting the people who'd helped her? Insulting Cherie? "I'd rather work for my passage as a fighter, and with someone I could actually respect, not a—", and here she dips into Zemurian for a particularly vulgar word combining meanings of lazy slob and willfully ignorant catspaw. "Pardon me for not wanting to spend my hard-earned coin on… you."

Hailey turns and strides away, a scowl on her face.

"You put on a show with those whatever-they-are but do ya know how to load and clean a Cotterell & Hathersage model 1905 'Beulah'? How to wear a sky-suit, calculate weapon trajectories? Do you have your sky-legs? Ability to actually follow orders in combat, seeing as engine-combat is surprisingly slow and takes everyone working together to win? Ah, why am I arguing." He scowls. "Waste of time. Best for both of us if you go."

Yes, obviously she's going to have a lot to learn, but an oaf who insults everyone isn't worth studying under. She scowls and continues out of the station, reminding herself that she shouldn't start a fight.

"Well, that was educational," she says to Cherie with a forced smile. "Shall we find something else to do?"

"'Course. I'll show you the wonders of Titania!"

Over the evening and next two days Cherie leads her through wine, linguistics, poetry reading, people who want to know about her country's art and her weapons and clothes' designs, discussing history, appreciating art, linguistics, stargazing (a bit transgressive, almost taboo, maybe slightly dangerous!), coffee, linguistics, strolls in the flower's gardens, a dense and impenetrable argument about gun calibers, and linguistics discussions.

Cherie lives up to her 'erratic linguist' descriptor at one point and has a small fit that involves ranting in a patois of greek, arabic, and german and reorganizing a corner of a library according to 'semantic value'. Cherie's friends assure Hailey that this is nothing to worry about as long as she's not hurting herself.

Early in the afternoon on the third day in Titania a bulging, blocky grey locomotive can be seen leaving a thick smoke trail through the sky as it swings around the rear of Titania, making for the station at the tip of the titanic orchid's highest petal. Artistic types of all descriptions wander in the general direction of the platform, if they have business there.

Who knew there was so much nuance to wine? (Isabelle did.) Linguistics continues to be interesting. Some of these people aren't good poets, but they were passionate about it at least. Erebonian art turns out to have a lot in common with German and Norse styles. Her batons are made of a special alloy designed to be conductive to Orbal energy. Stargazing being transgressive is a bit odd (no it isn't), but being transgressive with a sweet and clever girl is really great. The gardens are gorgeous. Guns are weird, but she pays attention since she'll probably be handling them on whichever locomotive she joins. And she's finally running short on vocab that comes readily to mind.

It's been a delightful visit, and Hailey feels she's hopefully found a lasting friend here in Cherie, but the excitement on her face is unmistakable at the sight of the grey line of smoke through the sky. "Shall we go see the new arrival?"

"As you wish." Cherie comments in Zemurian, sighing. "Still wish I had a better idea just what Orbal energy is, but I can't claim you forever and to try would be an offense." Cherie tips her hat. "If my opinion of the captain or the engine would be helpful I'd be glad to come up there and see you off."

"Much appreciated. And maybe after I've got a better idea of whether it interacts with anything else here, we can come up with some ideas for Orbal energy experiments next time I visit Titania?"

"Perhaps, perhaps. I'm not really the engineering type. And it's not like we have delicate instruments and heavy hardware here."

The engine is a slightly hulking thing, a long curving bulge at the front, criss-crossing tooling marks on the sheer metal walls of the machine, looking almost too wide and fat as it ponderously aligns along the platform and slowly rolls in to a stop.

"A day's shore leave in Titania!" The captain announces as he exits the locomotive. Well, presumably he is the captain, what with the red coat, badge, and fancy hat. Less well-dressed crewmen follow behind him. "Art and music and gardens. Just make sure you bring your guns in case of Chorister Bees, lads."

Hailey nods to herself, murmuring "Bracers Onward" under her breath before striding confidently up to the probable-captain. "That, Sir, is a very cunning hat. And you just missed the Bees by a few days. Good to be armed anyway, though. Could I have a moment of your time?"

"A good piece of haberdashery is not to be underestimated, so thank you. I have an entire day to spare as you may have heard, what could I possibly begrudge giving away a moment? Captain Pelignore, at your service."

She smiles, hands clasped behind her back, and responds in kind. "Hailey Topferin, a Breezy Adventuress looking for work and passage." As she says this, she touches a finger to the end of one of her batons, pulsing enough energy through it to make a comparatively tame whirlwind about herself.

"I admit that there's much I don't know about life aboard a locomotive, but I'm willing to learn, and I have my own unique skills to offer."

"-Well, that's still below my quota for things I've never seen before today. How did you do that with the wind, exactly?"

Hailey unclips her batons from her back and holds them up, forming a tiny ball of swirling energy at the tip of each. "I am from somewhere rather further away than you've likely traveled, a nation called Erebonia, and where I come from we each have a kind of energy in us, which we call Orbal energy. S'basically like magic, and can do various elemental effects. Channeling that energy through specially made tools, like my batons, makes it possible for a person to do complex things. I specialize in the Air element, and can use my batons to do things from jets and enhanced leaps, to windblades both fixed to my batons and launched outward at an enemy. I may figure out additional tricks to do with Air, or other elements, over time."

"In terms of how that's useful to you, I can likely accelerate projectiles, maybe make them more accurate, near-certainly get back to the locomotive if I fall out (perhaps to jump out and kill a thing), throw windblades at a thing for additional damage, and maybe hold the worst of the cold out in the event of a breach, though that would be rather tiring if I kept it up for long."

"Oh, I've no doubt you could make yourself useful one way or another. I have a fairly full crew complement already, is all, so it bears thinking about instead of being an automatic acceptance. I try to avoid fights, terribly risky and wasteful things, battles, but sometimes one simply can't. Is Erebonia on Old Earth? Is Orbal energy dangerous?"

"Erebonia is not on Old Earth. I'm not entirely sure where it is relative to here. Orbal energy is perfectly safe, unless you get in the way of an active attack. And yes, I agree that fights are generally better to avoid in most cases."

"Mm. You're new and strange to me in several ways. This is, shall we say, worrying. New and strange things are sometimes better left alone, you know? Still, I think we can probably come to an agreement - work for passage."

"Work for passage sounds about right to me. I'd appreciate some reasonable share of the profits for things I help with, enough to cover some temperate measure of shore leave and any incidentals. I don't tend spend much, though: food, shelter, a few books, and an occasional visit to a cafe while in station."

"All permanent crew get room and board and equipment provided plus a salary of three Sovereigns per week, and proportional bonuses after successful voyages. If you're of particular help dealing with some manner of menace that will merit a bonus, sure. We typically spend five to ten days between stops, a day in most stops, and return to major ports once every month or two, spending more time in port then. You might wish to find a more adventurous captain - I don't intend to give you much chance to show off this 'orbal energy'. You know, fights, avoiding."

"I'm not particularly desperate for fights. I just feel rightest in motion, and need to see a lot more of this strange new world I find myself in, and think I could be useful. I very much prefer to be useful."

Is her voice trailing off a bit at the end there? Couldn't be.

"Locomotives link the skies together, tying these distant communities in a web of travel and trade. We're essential to civilization in the sky. And there's no danger of feeling useless onboard a locomotive. There's always more work to do. No idle hands on a locomotive underway, as a general rule. Except for paying passengers, of course."