The Log of the HMAS Marigold: Parts I-V

[MWBailey]

SHRIEK...SCRAAAAAPEEEE...THUMP!

Sound. In the fevered, impaired brains of the shambling horde in the hallway, it reverberated, and with it came whatever passed for a thought in such a diseased organ. In a normal human, the thought would have been a mouthwatering vision of delectable delicacies just ripe for the taking. In other words...

FOOD

With a collective moan, and an urgency that surpassed mania and took a swan dive into absolute frenzy, The Swarm charged the vestibule...

------
Rourke'as blood ran cold when he heard teh all-too-familiar slavering, mouth-smacking, stompstomp stumble-stomp rush of a charging Swarm

"HERE THEY COME! he shouted pulling steel and revolver at once, FILL YER 'ANDS 'AN FOIGHT LIKE 'ELL!"

[Private Weasel]

OOC: Sorry, been waiting a day to post this, looks the like board has been down, but...

Hawthorne passed a reassuring smile back towards Mary, but seemingly not acknowledging the slightly worrying way she spoke.

"You are too kind," he remarks softly, the timber in his voice low to keep the conversation from the crew, "but if I get the choice, perhaps a reckless charge against inconceivable odds to save the remaining survivors would be more appropriate."

He leans in almost conspiratorially, the smile on his face for the first time reaching his eyes.
 
"Or, if that's impracticable, I would appreciate that you shoot me, and then engineer a suitably noble but fictitious sacrifice when you write your report."


With that Hawthorne weaves forward, gracefully making his way through the group until he stand facing Rourke at the door. Hooking the leather strap of his cane over his wrist and theatrically rubbing his hands together he put his hands to the Latch-wheel to take the strain.

Hawthorne's wiry frame is evidently built more for grace than brute strength as the door strains but fails to move as he put his weight behind it.

"Wedged indeed," he agrees after a second or two of force, "together then?!"

[Private Weasel]

With that first unholy scream Hawthorne steps back and draws one of his pistols. The large revolver is almost too big to be held single handedly, so the young Lord steadies it with his left and glides his feet backwards to the rest of the group and creating distance between the portal himself and removing himself from the "killzone" that the portal will allow.

"Rourke?!" he asks, "Fall back, our advantage is range."

[MWBailey]

Rourke lent his strength to the opening; the Swarm was still several hundred yards down teh hall. With a lot of straining, cursing and just out-and-out stubbornness, they managed to open the door wide enough to allow two people abreast to pass through.

"Let's stop it there, he said, 'cause Uncle Greenlips and th' 'ole bottom rung o' th' family've come tio meet us! Roight, everybody with a shot gun over 'ere beside 'awthorne...Wait for it...wait... NOW! he fired point-blank intio the remains of the faces of the Greenies,as the others blasted away with their guns, and then, when everyone's guns were empty, he yelled "Now for it! Swords n clubs, have at 'em!" And he sprang forward and started in on the remains of the horde, slashing here, smashing the handguard into the face of another greenie there, catching another through the chest on the backdraw, Chopping through another and starting over again, snatching the nunchaku out of his boot when the saber got stuck and twirling it about like a master (he wasn't one, but he did alright anyway) laying about him in a near frenzy, a rictus that was an unholy marriage of snarl and baretoothed-gleeful grin on his facde, laying waste to the undead all around him -- but there were plenty more for everyone...

[Private Weasel]

Following the lead of Rourke, Hawthorne pressed forward. As they released the barrage of bullets against the horde, Hawthorne is quickly forced to hold a revolvers in both hands as, whilst devastating in the hand of a broader man, his lithe and noble frame wracked with each sharp cacophonous blast. Never the less the shots ring out and true, it is clear that his Lordship is no stranger to a firearm, as he blows adversary after adversary off it's feet, then as the gun ran empty, flicking the looped cane to his hand and striking out at the beasts, disabling, disarming and disorientating as those with terrifying blades and brute strength went in for the kill.

As the first wave faltered, Hawthorne dropped his cane ones again, leaving it hanging on it's strap around his wrist. Forcing his free hand into the pocket of his Greatcoat he pulled a handful of shells and, clicking the drum open with a practised flick, pushed another five shells into his hand cannon.

"This is just like Shang-Hai" he is heard to disconcertingly announced as he clicks the drum back into place, ready for the next slavering monster.

[Stella Gaslight]

Old Betsy was near useless this close for anything other than a club unless she wanted blow chunks off everyone.  Starling stiffened up for a moment took a deep breath and sighted a greenie just beyond Rourke.  A puff of air and a bit of white fluff was sticking out of its neck.  "Don't take that one out just yet!" She shouted  "Now we see what the anti fungal reaction is."  It continued to come forward but after three steps it was obvious something was wrong as it stared to claw at it's own throat and eyes.  It was foaming purple from the mouth and eyes then it fell over, thrashing and howling.  Starling watched it fall smiling. "Well that was better than expected."

[MWBailey]

Rourke managed to free his saber from the breastbone it had locked itself into, and checked the blade for nicks and notches and dulling of the edge. "Have to hone my beauty next chance I gets,"he murmured. "No damage, but ye don't want to neglect yer best friend." He stopped, then, remembering what Hawthorne had said.

"Shanghai? I 'eard about that. Heard abou' that pretty little princess, too -- !" He cut off and spun around, slashing the head completely off of a greenie, which for all the world seemed as if it had been trying to sneak up on him. "You know," Rourke said, thoughtfully, "There was this German doctor there who studied these ruddy things. He noticed three stages, I think it was, in the growth of the virus. Seems the third stage is where the things actually start growin' a brain of their own... HA!" Rourke shouted as he slashed another one to ruin "I'm beginnin' to think some o' these are loik that...

[walkthebassline]

His LeMat emptied, Morgan drew his sword and stepped fully through the door. Any questions about his swordsmanship vanished as the Scottish backsword flicked back and forth, its blade take off heads one after another. His eyes were hard and his face set; anyone accustomed to his usual flippant demeanor would have been taken aback.

"Cry Havoc! And let slip the dogs of war!"

As the press of bodies began to slacken, the old sly smile came back to his face.

"Aye, I'd say some of these poor sobs have the green thinking for them. Or at least coloring the way they think. If you could refine this and make it mostly harmless, you'd have a killer drug on your hands. The usual set would be fighting each other for a taste."

[Stella Gaslight]

Impressed with her results Starling stepped in to the hall letting the solid metal doors watch her back. Taking a deep breath she sent out a wave of darts hitting a handful of greenies Two went down almost instantly, another three stumbled for a while before falling and then being finished off by her machete, the fifth was acting oddly.  It was not as green as the rest so the reaction seemed to take longer but soon it fell lying still.  She crept up on it carefully not trusting it but as soon as her blade was in it rocketed back up to it's feet and pinned her to the wall.  Starling was unable to pull Old Betsy and the incredibly strong greenie just kept pushing relentlessly forward mouth open and snapping.  "A little help here please!" She shouted.

[walkthebassline]

Morgan Redburn sprung into motion, putting his weight behind his blade. The head came off first, then the blade flashed through the green's wrists; Morgan stepped past the monster and his sword flashed behind him in the air before its tip sprouted out of the thing's chest.

Unfortunately that left him open to a new attacker. He ducked as its arms swung at his head, and struggled for a moment to pull his sword free.

[The Corsair]

Joe had a slightly less combat-heavy entry. Having landed in the torn rags of the deflated envelope he found himself running about in the white-gone-grey maze until he found the service hatch that led down to the maintenance tunnels running just under the iron skin of the vessel. From here he found himself quite undisturbed by the greenies but sadly quite lost. Somewhere frequented only by those who knew it flawlessly was never going to have maps and because it was only for mechanical and maintenance purposes the whole system wasn't in the blueprints. He was essentially walking blind, having been disoriented already by the endless whitish murk of the storm-soaked envelope. He started walking in one direction, hoping to find some sort of central corridor that ran all or most of the length of the ship, from there he could probably find the bridge.

A few minutes in he found exactly what he was looking for. In terms of practicality, it's stupid to create a maze from one end of a ship to the other if your intention is to facilitate fast repairs so he had come in from one of the few turn-offs from the main passageway, which itself ran the length of the ship. Judging by the angling of the metal about him he managed to guess where the bridge was and was soon on his way.

With only a few hundred metres to go to the bridge, Joe found himself confronted with a rather rude-sounding alarm. Unsure of what had triggered it or what it signified he stood still, waiting for it to pass or for something else to happen. And something else did happen. An enormous boom echoed its way around the passageway, shaking its way along the metal panels between Joe and the elements. He threw himself to the ground, clutching at his ears which now rang like a million bells at once and crying out in pain. As frightening as it was, it only took a short time for Joe to realise the Marigold must have docked up and the alarm must have been a warning to maintenance crew to get out of the tunnels so they could avoid exactly what had just happened to Joe. His hearing was now thoroughly dulled as he stumbled his way further forward, as though his aural senses were a knife that had been severely blunted. He threw up heavily from disorientation and collapsed backward where he stayed for a hellish hours' worth of five minutes, his perceptions and pain twisting time about. When he at last felt like the world was upright enough, he carried on slowly, clutching the handrails to ensure  he remained as vertical as possible in the ship's bucking motions as it was tossed around by the surrounding winds.

[Stella Gaslight]

Using the moment she had Starling pulled her blade from the now headless greenie and pushed the body out of the way.  It fell to the floor and she gave it a kick to make very sure it would not be getting up again.  Starling saw that Redburn was in a bit of a pickle himself and hit the offending greenie with a strong upward cut taking out the heart and a good chunk of the lungs. "Wasn't that a lovely dance?" She said with a sigh going back to back with him blade out and ready for the last in this wave of attackers.

[walkthebassline]

"Indeed it was a fabulous dance. Perhaps I should request the next one as well."

Redburn takes a moment to clean blood off his blade, being careful not to touch the blood with his skin.

[MWBailey]

"DON'T sit STILL!" Rourke shouted as he chopped and clubbed his way around and past Redburn and Starling, both saber and chaku green-red/brown with teh diseaqsed blood, an' his greatcioat now red in truth -- but also green , and brown where he green couldn't cover the red completely. "Keep ... choppin' ... an' slashin," He panted, "an' shootin'; when they're all gone, then you kin rest!" and with that the last of this batch of monsters fell to a slash of his saber and a sideways smash of the nunchaku. He then smashed a window that was running with rain and runoff, and stood in the wash  while the water rinsed away the offensive ichor fom his clothes and weapons.

"C'mon, you lot," he said, motioning the others over, "iss miserable, but it takes th' muck off..."

[Stella Gaslight]

Starling blushed, she knew that tone of voice.   She had used on love struck underclassmen plenty of times when they were mooning instead of working. She looked down at her splattered clothes and was rather bothered to see the marks from her close call standing out starkly.  If that creature had a few more moments she would have been another case study,  It was sobering.   "Come on Redburn, lets have a bit of a wash up while we can."  The hall was quiet, the only sound was the rain and their breathing.  They were alone and surrounded by the dead.  Starling let the water run over her shoulders but the musty smell seemed to only get worse as time went on.  "Does anyone else smell that?  It is like a swamp."

[MWBailey]

A deep BOOOOM like the knell of a Sioux signal drum the size of the whole world, followed by scrambling noises, and then the unmistakable shrieking SCREEECHHH of an outer hatch being manually cranked open -- followed by a cannonade of gunfire and the unmistakable sounds of a sword-and-club melee, with shots fired intermittently.... Shouts of command and requests for help...

A cold, merciless intelligence listened to these sounds, and the sounds of the dead massing in faraway corridors, interests piqued by the barrage of sound. Read the sounds as he had once read the sounds of wind, rain, and shifting sand under the feet of prey -- and those who meant to make him their prey.

Mircer Handthorpe. Wanted Dead or Alive in more countries than there were letters in his name, feared as a heartless, absolutely unstoppable killer in even more. Hired by Treadstone as a sort of shipboard 'regulator,' he had been and still was a law unto himself -- but now, he was stranded in a world that he knew, down inside, was fast dying. But he always saw The Job through. Always.

He stalked closer and closer to the sounds of voices and running water. Ducking out and ghosting across the corridor scant yards ahead of the newly-arrived people from the Great Outside, as he had lately come to think of it, Mircer soundlessly pulled one of his revolvers from its holster as he studied the people standing in the wash from the broken window, and the heaps of twice-dead former crewfolk behind them. A man in a red coat, washing his saber and a weird-looking pair of sticks bound  together by a chain. British, probably. A woman in similar garb. A woman in pants, A tall aristocratic dandyish fellow. Another dandyish man in spectacles , smelling of that infernal green fairy drink.

He ducked back into the shadows as the aristocratic feller looked his way. Had he seen him? Did it matter? The stench of a Ruling Mind Greener came to his nostrils, and he began to look for a way out of teh hallway.

He decided to not be there when they came looking, and ghosted back into the shadows, and was gone before anyone had started moving. He'd keep watching them, biding his time. Let's see how long they last, he thought.

[Private Weasel]

Hawthorne peered out into the darkness, a frown creeping across his brow. Self doubt was not something that came to Hawthorne easily, but he was sure, just for a second he felt that someone was watching them.  Shaking his head to dismiss the paranoia, he approached the window and let the slick rain clean his blood soddened coat and weapons.

"Are we all accounted for? Nobody bitten yet?"

[Evelyn Adler]

Aim... shoot... kill. Don't think!
Taking up the rear, Mary made sure, to keep an overview of the situation and kill every Greenie that could fall into the back of one of the team. Shooting into a melee, especially with an unknown gun, was usually not advisable, but this was no usual situation.
It's them or us.
Strangely enough, the only thing that crossed her mind while shooting were the words of her father. "Aim for the eyes, Herzchen. I know you can do it. And do it right, the first time!" Not every father would take his ten year old daughter bear-hunting.
Too bad he couldn't see her now.

Aim... shoot... kill.
Starling had been a close call, she had no clear line for her shot, Redburn's back blocked her view. But then he hacked the Greenie that had attacked Starling to pieces. Another came stumbling towards him. Mary aimed for the eyes. The Greenie fell on the spot.

When the wave was over, she came to like from a trance. Now she noticed that she was drenched in sweat and how her heartbeat was hammering in her ears. Her hands were trembling too. But she smiled lightly, seemingly unconcerned as she reloaded her guns.

"I'm ok! That was rather like shooting grouse!"

[walkthebassline]

Stepping out of the rain to retrieve his top hat and dry his spectacles, Redburn shrugged.

"Looks like I made it through that first skirmish. And so did the rest of us. Where is our friend Mr. Rooney though? And did any of you get a sense that someone was watching us? No? Must be the absinthe."

He pulled out a flask and took a small sip, then began to reload his LeMat and check the repeater pistol.

[Private Weasel]

"I did indeed old chap" confirmed Hawthorne, without taking a wary eye off of the perimeter, "but who ever or whatever is watching is either an expert in the art of stealth.

He pauses, pulling a small hip flask of his own from his jacket and unscrewing the top.

"Or imaginary."

His Lordship take the briefest of tipples and extends his arm to the rest of the group.

"Right, now we're in, which way?  I'll quite happily go first, but I need to know a direction to go in."

"Drink?"

[MWBailey]

"This way's the shortest," Rourke said, pointing down the corridor." I was here back about three months ago, on a diplomatic  trip with the colonel. Ah! Thanks, Hawthorne."

[Private Weasel]

"Right then, are we all ready?"

Hawthorne takes point, gliding down the corridors his slight frame, whilst not designed for brute strength, obviously perfectly suited for the art of espionage. He walks carefully, softly; his pistol following his eye as he checks each shadow, each nook before continuing.

Thankfully the way is clear and the path is free of agressors.

For now.

[Stella Gaslight]

Starling decided that monster hunting was a bit of a nice change from hunting jungle cats, while still quite deadly none of the greenies had dropped on her from above.  Tho she did not like imagining one of them with claws.  The smell was still lingering and she wondered if she didn't have some of the cause on the bottom of her boots. They crept along like mice weapons sweeping the corridor.  It was strange seeing such a huge ship standing dead and empty like this.  As they passed one of the empty rooms carefully checking it for greenies a pressure plate is stepped on causing a light to blink on at the end of the hall  causing them all to train there weapons up that way. When they get about half way to it a strange sound to starts up, soft at first and then getting louder, Starling froze training her darts on the far door only to realize what the sound was.  "I swear that is someone singing in Italian."  She almost could tell what opera too.  What on earth was going on?

[Evelyn Adler]

"Careful!" Mary hissed from behind. "This ship is obviously rigged with traps!"
She listened intently, but didn't hear a thing apart from the soft notes of an aria.
"Be glad this one set off only Don Giovanni and not an explosion! Still - someone may be warned now."

She looked at Hawthorne.
"I suppose you may have some experience in that area as well? I'd suggest, we both take the lead and look for traps while the rest follows - slowly and carefully."

[Private Weasel]

Hawthorne gives a curt nod and moves to the right of the corridor to allow Mary to join him.

"I'll admit," he says softly as they continue, "trap finding is not one of my numerous talents. I tend to set them off, and then move; very very quickly out of the way."

Hawthorne smiles, as if recalling past exploits.

"I'll try not to get us killed shall I?"