damia ravin speaks fluent sarcasm (contrabandist) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-26 18:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, damia ravin, loch lemach |
the devil's knocking at your door
Who: Damia Ravin & Loch Lemach
What: Time to fuck up her own ship.
Where: Aerodrome, the Lareine
When: The 17th, backdated
Rating: Pretty tame
Status: Complete!
After a week of wondering how to go about sabotaging her own ship, the night finally came where Damia was meant to meet with Loch to poke and prod and damage Lareine just long enough to keep her docked for at least another two or three weeks. Plans needed time to settle and breathe, and while Cian seemed like a miracle worker, she owed it to him to give him all the time he needed to lay everything out. It was verging on eleven o'clock by the time they stepped into the Aerodrome, closing in on quarter past by the time they found the bay where Lareine was docked. The plan to get inside had been a little trickier, but she allowed Loch in first, trusting her enough to scope out who was inside before they made their move. The Aerodome was far from empty even at this hour, but she wasn't exactly an unfamiliar face, and no one really noticed whenever she walked in, so she leaned against the side of the airship, arms crossed as she waited for Loch to return. It did not take long; after a few minutes, Loch reappeared next to her, stepping out of the ship and her Vanish veil. "All aboard," she said, motioning for Damia to climb inside after her. There was a smug note in her voice. "Let's get this over with." "Let's," the younger blonde agreed as she did as motioned, ponytail swinging behind her. The inside of Lareine was familiar now as it was when she was a teenager, her steel walls strong and floor solid. Feeling like she was going back through a memory, she smoothed her hand along a rail as she passed, moving on quiet boots toward the engine room. When they finally reached the hallway, Damia paused at the corner, peering around to find― a sleeping guard. There were usually at least two ― ideally conscious ― people stationed, especially considering the nature of the ship. She didn't fly any obvious signs of being in the illegal export and importing business, but it was safer to have vulnerable places guarded. She frowned. "A thirsty bunch," Loch said. Her tone might have sounded conversational, if not for the smugness on her face. "To a thirsty man, a crate of wine from a nonexistent noble benefactor must be irresistible." She stepped over the man's sleeping form neatly, and stopped before the door to the engine room. "You have a key, or are we picking the lock?" So that was how it'd happened. Damia might've cursed herself for not thinking of that herself, as well as for being a step behind and not ahead of someone ― a friend, but not a friend ― who didn't even know the ship and her history. Of her dreams and what this airship meant to her. Still she followed, pulling a ring of keys from her back pocket. "Assuming they haven't changed the locks since last year," she offered, twisting the key and raising her brows when it clicked open. "How safe. Who knows what strange people with keys might do here?" The door was pushed at, but it didn't budge too much, seeming like something was propped against it. With a well-aimed shoulder into the steel, it gave just enough to reveal a body slumping over on the other side, a mumble to follow. A look was directed to Loch. "Your handiwork?" Loch's smile was answer enough. "How you wound me with your accusations. I'll push him aside, you push the door open." Unceremoniously, she placed her boot on the man's back and pushed his weight forward. He slumped over himself and, still asleep, curled up on his side. The door gave way, and the two women slipped inside. The Lareine's engine room seemed to see regular maintenance―it was in better shape than other airships Loch had seen. From a pouch tied to her belt she withdrew a set of tools, and examined the skeleton of cogs and gears that took up most of the room. "This is a pretty lady you got here," she said. The sleeping guard by the door mumbled, and with a look in his direction, Loch said, "Keep an eye out while I work. Should be done before they wake up, but I ain't got no idea how long ago they had the wine so it's anyone's guess how long it'll take them to come around." That was good enough for Damia, who eyed the sleeping guard with his mumbling. Both of them would make a racket, but Loch on her own would be much easier. Besides, she didn't know enough about engine rooms to know how to fix them― could figure when there was a problem and how to fix that, but not the other way around. She kneeled down in front of the man, noting how she didn't recognize him. "Aye aye," she said, softly. The only sounds were the sleeping men's snores and occasional mumbling, and Loch's tinkering. As a rule, she never talked while she worked, and she made no exception this time. "This'll keep her in dry dock a couple weeks longer, I'd say," she said, once she was done. "Next time they try to start the engine, the magicite'll fritz and cause a shortcircuit. Melt this part into an unusable lump of metal. Fixable, of course, but they'll need a replacement part." Her tools were put away and replaced with her knives―a tool for every purpose. Loch nodded towards the door with a small smirk. "Shall we?" This was only the beginning― there was still a lot of work on Damia and Cian's party, particularly on his, and she appreciated all the aid, she did, but there were things she needed to do herself. Still, that Loch had taken the time to give her a hand meant a lot, and she made a mental note to offer a repayment favor when Loch needed it, but for now, things were going just as planned. She returned the smirk. |