Well, there is this one ship that just docked. She's got a couple painted eyes on the hull, both a forward and a deck gun (did the deck gun just swivel into a ready position on its own?), crates stacked up at the plank, and three interesting-looking people disembarking.

There's a woman wearing a simple orange blouse and fitted trousers who appears to be made of wood, smiling gently and talking softly to the other two as they walk down to the dock together.

There's a short girl with half pink and half brown hair, with a white streak in the pink side, wearing snug trousers and a dark brown leather bustier over a white blouse with puffed sleeves, gesturing animatedly in the conversation but seemingly silent, walking down with a spring in her step, the handle of a knife visible to a keen eye at her hip.

And a young woman with dark, feathery wings, and hair the deep peligin of the zee, with streaks of cosmogone, irrigo, and viric. One of the irrigo streaks changes to cosmogone as she disembarks.

Well, they certainly qualify. Hmm, how to approach?

She waves from a bit down the dock. "Want any help unloading those, ladies? For an interesting bunch like you, no charge."

She looks maybe thirty, but very dark skin suggests that she's actually from the deep Elder Continent. She wears salt-beaten zailor's clothes and isn't obviously armed. From closer up, several faint scars, a wiry but muscular build, and what's probably a shoulder holster suggest she's a bit more dangerous than a first impression might think.

The apparent captain turns and smiles at the Centenarian. "Awfully kind of you, stranger. We'd be glad for the help. We've fifty-eight crates to load onto carts and into the Sapphire Exchange. Speaking of which," she turns to the tricolor girl, "fetch two carts and a bill, love?"

The Acrobat nods, bounces up to peck the Skipper on the lips, then flips backwards off the ramp, landing nimbly on the dockside and darting into town.

The Skipper smiles after her as she goes, then turns back to the stranger. "I'm the Truthful Skipper, that was the Silent Acrobat, and this lovely lady is the Fierce Figurehead. Come on up and introduce yourself?"

"Happy to! I'm usually the Agile Centenarian, currently between ships. The Figurehead of the 'Heart's Handbasket', I assume?"

She quietly sizes up the crates while they talk - no sense interrupting the conversation, but she's offered to do some work and it's polite to keep that somewhat visible.

“Just so," she says with a smile. "Is that between state one you're looking to end?"

And she steps back aboard for a moment and picks up a crate with deceptive ease, carrying it down the ramp.

"Well, I'm not in a rush. So I've been holding out for a crew that's interesting."

She'll grab a crate as well, it's not a huge effort.

"Interesting, you say. Well, I suppose that's a threshold we reliably meet at least," she replies, grabbing one herself as well. "What are your strongest skills as a zailor?"

Cockily, she says, "Well, I'm competent in everything, I was already a sailor before London brought their Zeds into it. But I'm a particularly good navigator, and I'm-"

The hitch in her voice is short, and could almost go unnoticed, except that the cockiness vanishes and she's almost subdued when she continues, "-the best gunner I've met on the Zee."

"Well," she says, a soft smile as she sets her box down, "that sounds like a capable fit. Is there anywhere in particular you're hoping to go? We have a usual route for when we're not up to anything interesting that takes us across most of the Zee, but we have business that can be done 'most everywhere except the surface."

"A few places. I made a bet - get back with a frozen tear from Frostfound, Waswood from Irem, and a story from Scrimshander, and I get back my ship, with improvements. But I'm not in a rush."

"Irem is a stop on our standard route, so that's easy enough, though I don't usually step into Parabola on the average visit. It—"

She pauses briefly, a contemplative, bittersweet smile on her face, irrigo and viric briefly replaced with cosmogone before her hair settles down to irrigo and apocyan streaks in her usual peligin.

"It could be nice to visit again. It's been a while."

She picks up another crate. "As for Frostfound, that's easy enough if we take our north route, perhaps hit Mount Palmerston on the way. I don't like visiting Scrimshander, though. I went once, and got away with leaving a feather, but it took three times as long to grow back."

"Is Parabola where you got the excitable hair? I've never gone too deep, but I will have visited from Irem plenty of times. I've only seen Scrimshander from a distance, the Stone's Song can't go under the surface. Yet, at least, when I get her back she will."

"No, my hair is an accident from the last time I got drunk, a few years ago."

It's about then that the Silent Acrobat returns, pushing one cart ahead of her and pulling one behind. Each cart is wide enough for two crates and long enough for four, and the front cart has a carbon-duplicate form sitting on the flatbed with a tray of three iced coffees holding it down.

"Welcome back, dear, and thanks for grabbing these," the Figurehead calls out, setting her second crate directly onto the empty cart and starting to stack the already-dropped ones on as well.

She turns to the Centenarian while grabbing the next one and asks, "Would you like an iced coffee? It's fine either way. These two can fight over the spare if not."

"D---, what were you drinking?," she says with a giggle. "I'd love a coffee, thank you."

The Acrobat passes out a coffee to the Skipper and the Centenarian, sips on one herself, and then sits on the empty cart and starts filling out the basic and obvious facts about their cargo on the form.

"Absinthe," Skipper says with a giggle of her own, "but I doubt it has as much to do with what I was drinking as what I was working on at the time. Never get drunk while doing Red Science. Neathbow hair is among the better outcomes you can hope for there."

She sets her current crate down atop one of the first ones on the cart, then takes over with the form and adds a few more details to authorize the sale, then signs it.

"Wise advice. I'll keep it in mind if I ever try that sort of research."

She sips her coffee.

"If you don't mind me asking," she says to the Figurehead, "how were you built? The Skipper here?"

She nods. "Built me herself in Polythreme, from my keel to my deck, and poured her love into every rivet and nail."

The Skipper hands the form back to the Acrobat. "Say hi to old Marshall for me when you drop this off, and tell him I'll be along with the last cart."

She gives her Skipper an exquisitely expressive Look. Does she look like she can talk?

"Hey, he's been practicing his signs."

Oh fine. She kisses the Skipper's cheek and starts tying ropes to anchor points on the sides of the cart.

"Well, she did a good job, then. I've met one other ship like you, and last I heard, he was near the center of Khan's Shadow, hoping to escape ever having a captain again. You seem much happier with your crew."

"Oh my, I hadn't heard there was another like me. I..."

Warm arms wrap around the Figurehead's waist from behind, and the Skipper kisses her cheek. "We can visit him whenever you'd like, love."

The Acrobat sets her ropes down and wraps around the Figurehead in a hug as well.

She leans back into her captain's embrace with a grateful smile, and wraps her arms around her tricolor sweetheart. "Thank you, loves. I don't know if I'm ready this run, but perhaps the next one," she says, getting a nod from the Skipper.

Aww, they're cute.

"He might be hard to find, I don't think he likes being known. After how his time zailing went, I can't blame him, it was ugly business from start to finish. But I'd happily help you look."

"Thank you. That would be very kind."

The girls all unhug and resume loading crates onto the first cart.

The Centenarian takes another drink of coffee and then she's back to work as well.

Soon enough a full load of sixteen crates is on the first cart, and the Acrobat straps it down the rest of the way, tucking the form under one strap, and rolls it swiftly back toward the Exchange.

The Skipper and Figurehead smoothly switch to loading the second cart.

"Has it just been the three of you aboard?", the Centenarian asks as they all switch over.

"It has. We don't need a large crew, since so many things aboard the Handbasket can handle themselves. Fights are the time where we could most use another person. The guns are faster with two people on each, one on loading and the other aiming and firing. I can handle the forward gun alone at full speed, but without another crew member that just leaves my girls handling the deck gun together, and the Handbasket can handle maneuvering more swiftly and precisely if she's not splitting her attention to crew a gun. She has more attention capacity than a human, but there are some limits."

"Ah, and that's why a gunner is a good fit. You're sure you're fine having another aboard? With the cute little triple you have going, I might be accidentally... interrupting your privacy, shall we say."

"We can live with confining our shagging to our cabins, I'm sure."

She sporfles a little. "Not even a bit circumspect, are you? Well, good for you. Captain's in charge, after all, no reason to let anyone else's expectations get in your way."

"Being circumspect is boring unless there's a game to be played, value to be had, in doing so. And no indeed. I wouldn't be the Truthful Skipper if I let myself ever be anything other than myself."

Back she rolls with an empty cart, ropes resting loose atop it. She starts strapping down the mostly-full cart.

"An excellent moniker, then. I've not found one quite as good for myself."

Down goes another crate, and that's the last for this cart. "Perhaps in this chapter of your story you'll find a better one."

Strap, strap, strap, then away she rolls.

"Perhaps I will. I haven't been looking that hard, but now it seems all inadequate..."

Stack stack crates

"Well, it took me a bit to find this one. Went through a few misses. I always cared a bit more than most about names, though."

Stack, stack, stack...

"The modern style isn't quite natural to me, still, since I grew up, and even explored a good part of the Elder Continent, without it. I swapped over to it when I first came to sea, but that was mostly convenient timing."

She nods. "Understandable. In my case, both a name and a few monikers were given to me, and I found myself needing to replace them with ones of my own choosing that reflected me better."

Down goes another crate. "I'd love to know more about the Elder Continent, though."

"It's... well, it's enormous. Maybe it's just because boats are faster than horses, or maybe I was just young, but it felt ten times as big as the Zee. And other than the coast and a couple pockets, it's all the Prester's rule. Humans live for centuries, and anything might be alive, if not here then if you travel another fifty miles down the path. Like Polythreme, but scattered across the world. Cliff faces which form faces, and can talk to you if you know how to ask them questions. A city full of talking beasts, each species with a caste and role they perform enthusiastically. The College of Mortality on the steps of Stone Herself, a thousand nameless, ageless men with unparalleled authority. And those were all places you could see from where I was born, at least if you climbed up to the canopy and Storm and the Wax-Wind had stayed away that day."

"Oh wow, that sounds fascinating. I'd love to visit it someday."

The Centenarian isn't looking up from the crate she's carrying, and doesn't seem to be looking at it, either.

"Only a couple outsiders are allowed that close to the Mountain in a century. Usually for some great service they did for the Presbyter. The Mithridates say no one's allowed past Adam's Way, and that's not quite true, but they really are extremely protective of the Mountain and her Garden. Or maybe just of the College and the capital, Nidah, if you're more cynical. Even the tribes that live that close can't bring in guests without special dispensation."

She sets her crate down on the cart, looks up at the Centenarian. "Ah. Rumors of the Presbyrate's strictness aren't exaggerated, then."

"They seem like they'd have to be, right? I thought they must be when I was younger. But no. Don't go against the Prester's word."

The brightly mad apocyan streaks in her hair sour to troublesome violant, still wreathed in cautious irrigo. She has a plan to eventually handle even Law-light, there's got to be a way to deal with the Presbyrate. But later. "And I just bet you've learned that the hard way. Tch. I'll toe the line for now."

"I was young and stupid and felt invincible. So, yes. I was certainly warned. I did see a lot of the Continent before then, though, the immediate surroundings of the Mountain are the most exotic but other parts are very neat as well."

Her hair brightens back up a bit and she nods. "It certainly sounds it. Well, you're definitely welcome to zail with us for the moment. That bet sounds interesting to chase down, and we're glad to thumb our noses at the elites where we can."

"Heh. Sounds good to me."

Hmm, change topic, change topic... Ah!

"What sign language does the Acrobat use? I know some of the one they use in Huz, and some Codex pidgin-sign, but I didn't recognize either her language or her accent."

"Well," she says as she picks up another crate, "it's the main sign language of London's deaf and mute community, helpfully spread in a haphazard patchwork across the Zee by London's thieves and urchins."

"Ah, that would explain why little bits looked vaguely familiar. Maybe I can pick up a little more while I'm aboard, not being able to talk with a third of the crew seems like a waste."

And that's when girl being discussed returns, bearing yet another empty cart, delightedly surprised at the Centenarian's stated intent.

"If that's really that surprising, I am disappointed in all your past passengers by comparison. I'm not going to be fluent any time soon, but I can get by in, oh, eight languages? And one of them's a sign, from Huz. If I'm going to be holed up with the three of you for days or weeks at a time, what am I going to do, effectively cut that to two plus the awkward one I can't properly communicate with? That's not just silly, it's bl---y rude."

The Acrobat smirks and nods, then signs something rapidly. After a moment, she tilts her head, then signs it again slower.

"She says 'Thank you, that's why we bounced the last extra crew member we had, and why we don't often take passengers.'"

"Though she called him something foul that doesn't directly translate out of sign."

"When you think I have enough to understand it, I insist you teach me what that was. Adding to my list of incomprehensible foreign insults to lob at annoying people is one of my favorite fringe benefits of traveling."

The Acrobat gives her an unmistakable oh hell yes look, then starts strapping down the full cart.

"When she knows people well, for some things she likes to use particularly expressive Looks, but Flitsign — which is what it's typically called when people aren't trying to convince stuffy outsiders to learn it — is essential for more complicated conversations. I'm really glad you're interested in learning it."

"Half the reason I called out to you ladies is that you seemed like you'd have stories worth hearing. Of course I want to hear the Acrobat's from her own mouth- well, hands."

The Acrobat throws a fond smirk back as she keeps strapping down the cart, then waves and rolls off.

"Okay, this will be the last cart," the Figurehead says as she sets down another crate.

Well, seems like she's halfway to making a friend there just by saying she'll try... That's cheerful but also sort of depressing by implication, but think that through later.

"Sounds good," she says to the Figurehead, and goes back for another crate herself.

Skipper continues hauling as well, and before long they get the last boxes stacked on, two high for the first two rows, with the last two crates forming something almost like an improvised bench.

The Acrobat dashes in just carrying the straps, grinning when she sees the way the crates are stacked, and starts strapping them down faster than before — with the other two joining in momentarily.

"Should I just hang back and watch whatever you're planning?" She's pretty sure she can't help with the straps, at least.

She ties down the last strap, at the back of the cart, then vaults forward, feet arcing high over her head, hand briefly braced atop a crate as a pivot, landing nimbly on her feet at the end of the cart and sitting down daintily. She turns and blows a kiss over her shoulder at the Skipper, then pats the crate next to her while looking expectantly at the Figurehead.

"Yep," the Skipper says with a giggle and an adoring smile at her girls. "She loves to get a ride on the last cart at the end of the unloading."

The Figurehead smiles with fond amusement and sits down next to her Acrobat, wrapping an arm around the smaller girl.

"Awww. You three are very cute."

"Thank you. These two can be like overgrown children sometimes, making up for things they missed, but what's the point of living out on the Zee if you're not going to find what fun you can? So we try to embrace the lighter side of things, where we can."

"An excellent philosophy. Do you want another set of hands to push it? Could get some real speed going."

The Acrobat sticks her hands up in a silent cheer!

"Hell yes, let's go for it."

She scoots over to the side of the handle, making room for the Centenarian to join her in pushing.

She grabs on. "Then let's go!"

And off they run, Skipper laughing all the while, the Acrobat snuggling into the Figurehead with a big grin. The streets are just big enough, and a few turns clearly aren't meant to be taken at this speed, but that just makes it all the more thrilling. At one point a stuffy-looking man dives out of the way, landing in the gutter and shaking his fist at them as they go.

Before long, the loading entrance of the Sapphire Exchange looms ahead, and just as they reach the enormous door the Skipper spreads her wings wide, pulling back on the cart and air-braking with her whole wingspan.

The Acrobat and the Figurehead hold onto the straps, keeping their seats through the sudden stop, grinning delightedly.

"Maybe I should try acting like an overgrown child more often. Even this side was fun."

"I'd certainly recommend it!"

She folds her wings back up, nearly seven feet of feathers tucking tidily away behind this not quite six foot girl, and steps over to a grey-haired man with glasses. "Hello, Marshall."

Three teenagers bound up and help unstrap the cart, stacking the crates over by a wall. Sapphires gleam everywhere in the warehouse, in sizes from sand all the way to one's fist. On another wall are crates of darkdrop coffee beans, the rich scent filling the room.

The older man — Marshall apparently — gives her a gruff smile and shakes his head. "Good to see you're still as... energetic as ever. The usual load of coffee, or are you taking sapphires as well today?"

"Just coffee. Any interesting news I should know about?"

"None fit to print, dear."

They fill out a bit of paperwork, and the Skipper gives him a tidy stack of echoes.

"I'll have the kids load your coffee and some extra fuel aboard the Handbasket, if you'll let 'em aboard."

"I'll let them up and get our new acquaintance settled in, love. I know you two need to make the rounds before we head out."

She's a little curious what 'the rounds' are, but it might not be something you talk about openly. Oh, and there was that thing she wanted to say somewhat privately, this is probably a good time. She'll just stick with the Figurehead and the kids.

"Sounds good to me."

"See you when we get back, then," she says with a smile.

The Acrobat waves, then she takes her Skipper's arm and they stroll out together, heading further into town.

The Figurehead leads the way out, trusting the kids who work as haulers and runners at the Exchange to find their way to the dock on their own.

After they've walked for a bit, the Centenarian turns to the Figurehead, subdued.

"There was something... rude isn't quite the word - that I wanted to tell you. I mentioned the ship like you who had an ugly time? His shipwright-captain could coerce him. And most people don't think too much about what rights he or you ought to have, so no one interfered until it ended in violence. I didn't do anything to stop that, not soon enough. Which I regret quite a bit."

"So, I don't expect this, you and the Skipper do seem actually fond of each other as people - but if it goes sour, if you break up badly or a different captain seizes command or anything, I'm someone you can call on."

For a moment, that brings the Figurehead up short, briefly twisting her face into a flicker of a snarl before she reminds herself that the Centenarian isn't accusing her Sable of such a thing. It's such a horrible thing to happen, and she hates that it happened to that other ship, who could arguably be her cousin in a sense.

"We can't go against each other like that. My soul formed alongside hers, before she even laid down my keel, before she even started collecting the timber and steel to build me. We're each tangled up in the other, to the extent that neither of us could want to harm the other. The closest we can come to real coercion is using our connection in play, but one of us truly forcing the other to do something she doesn't want at all is impossible."

"Good. Much better to not need it."

She waits a beat.

"Why 'Fierce'? Hasn't been the first word that would jump to mind for you, so far."

A small, wry smile turns up her lips. "Well, you've not given me cause to demonstrate it, have you?"

"Should I? Might be fun."

(To someone who knows her well, and isn't from her crew, this would be instantly recognizable as her teasing, and flirting. That's not a terribly large group of people, though, and no one from the Heart's Handbasket is in it yet.)

"Depends how well you like explosions, I suppose."

The Figurehead would not normally be best placed to recognize a comparatively subtle social cue, that being more her Captain's specialty, but she's been lightly flirting as well, so it's fairly clear.

"I'm sure we could find an excuse to show off at some point."

"At close range? I'd have to skip it. But I'd love to see you show off. All three of you, really."

She nods and smiles. "The Skipper and the Acrobat do try to make time for a good spar most days, and I doubt they'd mind an audience. As for me, the zee is a target-rich environment. I'm sure an opportunity will present itself."

Presently, they arrive back at the Handbasket, where the small squad of teens start carrying enormous sacks of coffee beans into her hold.

"Oooh. I knew I liked the look of you."

"Oh good. You certainly have a certain interesting presence as well. Something about the way you talk, I think."

She sits down on a wooden bench with a good view of the teens as they continue loading.

"Do you have anything you'll need to fetch aboard before we pick out quarters for you?"

"I've just a suitcase, I travel light. I could go retrieve it now?"

She nods. "Up to you. I'll just be watching over this process until everything's aboard, and then I can help you pick out your quarters."

"Probably I should do that soon, while there's less going on. Before the other two get back from whatever they're up to."

She nods. "Reasonable. They likely have no more than half an hour left in the usual rounds, barring exceptional events."

"Should I ask what the rounds are?"

"Contacts, networking, and suchlike. I'll leave further details for my Captain to explain, after the kids have run along."

"I think I see. Okay, I'll go pick up my stuff, make sure I'm settled up with the landlord. Should be back around when they are."

Which she does.

Some time later, after the loading crew have departed back to the Exchange, the Skipper and the Acrobat stroll back up to the dock, holding hands.

The Skipper has a messenger bag slung over her shoulder that she didn't have previously, her free hand resting on it.

While the Acrobat is sipping on another iced coffee.

The Centenarian apparently has good timing, because she's approaching from another direction at about the same time.

"Everything go well for you ladies?"

"Quite," the Skipper replies with a smile. "Plenty of people with things to say, and only one unlucky fool tried to mug us along the way."

She smirks and gestures with her cup-bearing hand at a pistol hanging from her hip — one she didn't have when they left.

"Always so kind of them to keep our lives interesting. Is the new toy any good?"

The Acrobat shrugs.

"We haven't examined it too closely yet. It's moderately well-made, at least, and the tools of a failed assailant are his loss and our gain."

She reaches over and pulls it out, holding it butt-first to the Centenarian. It's a semi-automatic pistol of warm, gleaming brass, clearly of Infernal make. "No idea where he got it, but it's ours now."

"Hmm. I think our mugger was better off as a burglar. This looks to me like the guns devils make for each other, not for broad sale. Weird mechanisms, that seem like they ought to work even on the Surface, but it's hard to tell how. You know the type? They're good weapons, quick to fire and load, but a Hell and a half to maintain."

She hums and nods. "Probably our best uses for it, then, are either taking it apart to further our own understanding of firearm design, or trying to sell it back to Hell."

She leads the way up the gangway onto the Handbasket.

"Or sell to the Khanate, both the Heart and the Shadow reverse-engineer this kind of thing when they can. But yeah."

"I'll give it a try then. I'm good enough to make sure I don't break it, even if I don't get anywhere. Maybe I'll just make sure I understand it well enough to maintain it and make more cartridges and these curious magazines for it, and then just keep it."

As they step onto the deck, the Figurehead calls out, "Welcome home, loves. All cargo is in place, fuel loaded, and we're ready to depart at your order."

She steps out of the hold and nods at the Centenarian, "And you need quarters. Right this way."

She steps through a hatch that opens as she approaches it, leading the way down a corridor lined with more doors. The nearest two on the left, and one on the right, are open, revealing decent rooms with a bunk, a set of shelves mounted high on the wall, a private head, and a fold-out desk in each. "Take your pick."

"All sorts of skills, eh? Well, as long as you're confident!"

She glances over the rooms briefly. "Nice bunks. I guess I'm not surprised, it does seem your style. I'll take... this one." She sticks her luggage - really more of a footlocker - under the bed, then pops back out.

The other two doors shut on their own as she picks her room. When she emerges, the Figurehead points at a hatch at the end of the hall. "That is our room. The closed hatch to its right at the end of the hall is our darling Acrobat's, for when she needs her own space. Would you like a tour, lunch, or would you rather we get underway immediately?"

"I'm in no hurry, but if you want to cast off I'll help. If not... tour, I guess?"