Steampunk snippets

I participated in MLS's midterm marathon at her school this year and had a great time doing it. Two of the stories that I wrote there were steampunk, and so close to NaNo, it really got my brain in that mindset. I am currently 10,498 words into my project, and every last word of it has been steampunk. HERE ARE A FEW SAMPLES. :3

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“The fuck do you mean we're out of meat?” Brogan crowed indignantly.

“Exactly what I said. We won't have fresh meat until we hit the next port in three days.”

“That's bull fookin' shit, that is. We'll die. I thought it was weird, us not having meat for these two days past, and now I learn it's because we're out. Die of missing minerals, is what'll happen.”

“It will be fine, Brogan. It hasn't been that long and we have plenty of beans, still.”

“Beans? ED have you ever seen a man go without meat? Shriveled, helpless things they are. Wretched, starving, ribs all showing and their teeth falling out. The truly poor! I'm still a growing boy, ED, I'll not go without meat.”

“Well in three days when we make port, you can have some damn meat.” ED repeated firmly. Her tone attempted to squash any continued protest. It did not work and Brogan pressed boldly on.

“And if I'm dead 'fore then?”

She sighed. “Well then, I guess you won't.”

“Blackguard!” Brogan pointed, nostrils flaring. He promptly disappeared into a vent.

ED rubbed her forehead and retreated to her quarters to re-examine the route and see if there were any ports, even small ports, closer by that she had missed. Twenty minutes into this, Brogan's impatient knocking shook her concentration. She stowed her maps and tools with great care before opening the door. Brogan stood with his arms full of material and a pleased grin on his face.

“Here, you ought to take us down til we're let's say... fifty feet above the water.” ED eyed the bundle in his hands uncertainly, then reached out to pull a strand. It was cargo-netting.

“And why should I do that?” She asked, polite caution outweighing her protesting doubt over being told what to do. His grin widened when she did not simply tell him to fuck off.

“Because I'm going to catch us some fish is why,” he jostled the armful of netting to show her. “We've got plenty of good strong line, like the stuff you hook me up to when I need to make some repairs or clean the bird blood off the main windshield. All we need to do is bait them a bit with bean-slop, useless leftovers, things what went bad. Fish'll follow low-flying ships because they know they get scraps from them sometimes. So we bait them and throw the net down and use the winch to pull them up, lickety split!”

“That's... that's actually kind of brilliant,” ED blinked. Brogan puffed his chest up in pride.

“Well, as you know I was born and raised on an airship. So get this bird a'hovering and I'll catch us some dinner.”

To ED's surprise, Brogan's plan (which, admittedly sounded great in theory) actually worked. And not just worked, but worked so exceptionally, that the boy said that he would cure and dry the leftover fish (at least fifty pounds of it) with their salt stores and the heat from the sun, if she could be so kind as to avoid the clouds for a while.

ED made her way down to the hatch, which was still open and allowed the salty sea breeze to ventilate the cargo bay. Brogan sat with his feet swinging in the open air, spine twisted so that he could gut a big fish into a bucket. He looked up at her approach and waved with his bloody knife. “Quite a haul,” she observed.

“Very lucky, this,” Brogan agreed. “We must have hit regular trade waters, for the fish to be this gullible.” He turned his attention back to the still-struggling fish, whacked it in the head with a mallet, and resumed gutting it.

“We are on a trade path, yes,” ED agreed. She thought it strange that he would be more accustomed to fishing off the trade paths, than on them.

“I threw a couple o' the bigger fish back. It's a lot to cure and if we run out of sun because of a storm, or the like, then it'll go bad.” He explained. She would not have known that anything got tossed back, given the amount of fish still squirming in the net. “This'll last us a while yet. Emergency stores and the like, you understand? Don't excuse you from not buying more beef,” he grinned.

“When we get to port, I'm taking you out for a pint, on me,” ED invited. The boy's eyes lit up.

“Really? If I'd have known that, well, I'd have converted your cargo-nets to fisheries long ago!” 

ED laughed and ruffled his hair. “Don't go using any other supplies without asking, and I expect that net to be rinsed off and dried before you put it back.”

“Aye, aye,” Brogan said.

“You did really good, Brogan.” ED encouraged. The boy hunched into his shoulders and didn't say anything. ED could tell he was blushing.

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“My father had one o' these,” Brogan remarked as she carelessly turned the spyglass over in his small, grubby hands.

The item had been a gift from her own father when her ship had come into her possession, and he had given her the sage wisdom that 'the best path to take is often the one right in front of you, but it doesn't hurt to be able to see a ways down the road.' He had then walked into a chair, which cemented the endearing memory forever in her mind.

It irked her to see Brogan handling it with such disregard, but she was not worried about him breaking it. Over the months that she had gotten to know him on the ship, she had observed him closely, taken little mental notes of his mannerisms. He was not as clumsy as he played himself up to be, and he had, if anything, sticky fingers over buttered ones, especially when valuables were present.

He brought it up to his eye, the other screwed up tight and his tongue pressed between his lips in concentration.

“You won't be able to see anything from that distance,” ED explained patiently.

“I know that,” Brogan exploded hotly. “I'm just seein' what I can see!”

“Which, judging from the tightness of the room, is nothing,” ED said. Brogan puffed his chest up, indignant, and glared. Before he could leave in a huff or squawk and rail, ED continued. “But if we take it up to the deck, you'll be able to see plenty.” The boy deflated, his large green eyes wide in shock and his eyebrows disappeared in the refuge of his bangs.

“Really, ED?”

“Of course. You can look for other airships, see if there are any towns,” she shrugged. “Useful stuff.” She folded a map up neatly to take with.

It was rare to be in Brogan's presence in silence. ED savored it until it shattered in a fresh wave of boasting.

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(Months after the last snippet) 

 “What do you see?” ED called over the roar of the wind rushing through the porthole. Brogan stood on the top rung of the ladder with a spyglass raised to his eye.

“A lot of fookin' clouds and nothin' else,” the boy called back unapologetically.

“That is not helpful, Brogan,” ED responded.

“Well, tell the clouds to get the fook out of the way and that might change.”

“We are going to hit the city in the sky if we aren't careful.”

“Real smart idea, hanging a city in the sky for passing airships to smack into. Oh sure, aint nobody going to collide with this here cloud fortress and then, CRASH, whole city o' people dead, and us to. I tol' you when I signed on that I didn't want to get exploded. This here seems like a good way to get exploded,” Brogan complained.

The moisture from the clouds had robbed the curl from his hair. Water dripped down his chin. ED wondered briefly if this would be the best way to clean him up for important dignitaries or general guests, or the next time he started to smell scummy.

“Oh, there it is! Shite, ED, we really are going to get exploded. We're headed right for it. Move your arse!”

“Which way, Brogan?” Her tone registered as annoyed despite her heart pounding away in her throat.

“Er-- Port? Starboard? Any way but this way!”

ED slid down the ladder and shouted orders to Percy over the ship's communication system. The ship tilted violently enough to throw ED into the wall. She rubbed her jaw as the floor leveled out.

Percy piped up on the comms to inform her that their course was set for a successful docking. After thanking the mechanic, she turned to Brogan to offer a pat on the back and was surprised to find her smart-mouthed absent. She looked up to find the port-hole unlocked and the ladder vacant.