082 Can You Hear Me?082. Can You Hear Me?
The Etherium is calm and peaceful. The bright light of distant stars winks down at him, the deep blue space swallowing up every worry and care.
It's early in the morning and Jim's on lookout, otherwise he'd never be allowed out here on the bowsprit. Sure, most of the crew wouldn't give a Serpantid's tail if he lost his footing and floated to his death, but the Captain would probably hang him if she caught him endangering himself like this (and likely only because he's a minor and that would make her look careless). And don't even get started on the Doc.
But right now he's all alone, and the next watch isn't due for another half hour or so. He's savoring every second he has.
The crisp, cool air is rushing past, and Jim shivers just the slightest bit. He takes a deep breath, and he feels the cold of the Etherium night in his throat.
He almost understands why his father left.
This is amazing.
To live like this every day? Nothing holding him back from grasping the Eth
092. All That I Have092. All That I Have
Is this fate? Is this destiny? Or is this just another random awkward moment?
Who knows? Maybe this is all a dream.
Jim pushes open the door to the Benbow Inn, stumbling as he tries to carry most of the weight of the old injured airman inside.
"Aaah, good lad. Thanks, lad. Ya fell from the heavens, ya did," the man mutters.
"Actually, it was just the sky, but I'll take that," Jim helps the man into a chair. The inn is empty; business has closed for the night and the walk here was very long and tedious. Jim doesn't carry a pocket watch, but he guesses it must be at least eleven p.m. now.
The old airman groans as he sits down. "Wherever ya came from, laddie, it was in the nick of time. Those cutthroats and hooligans would have been on me in a second."
"I'm sorry, what was that?" How hard did this guy hit his head?
"Them pirates! T'ose blasted, wicked, no good t'ieves goin afta' me map. They won't have it, I tell ya! It's me own, Cap'm Flint gave it me 'is
051 Sport051. Sport, or, This is How a Crew Should Really Be
"Tell me, Jimbo, ya ever played purp hockey before?" Silver is tossing a purp up and down pensively. They're sitting down in the galley, relaxing a bit after a hard day's work. Supper's done, dishes washed, tables all wiped down, and the floor's been swept and mopped. Jim's finally getting his chance to cool down, but the mention of food and/ or sports will never fail to get a teenage boy's full attention.
"Purp . . . hockey?" No, Jim never knew that a purp could be used for anything but eating before.
"Hm. Well I s'pose it's bout time I taught ya someting useful,"the galley cook says with a grin. "Snuff! Birdie!" Silver barks.
Mister Snuff and Birdbrain Mary look up from the corner table that they're sitting at, playing cards.
"Cabin boy here's never been acquainted with the marvelous sport of purp hockey. Whaddya say we give him a little learnin?"
Snuff stands, emitting a sound that is best described as something between a squirt an