Osborn listens to the zee-stories with a certain boyish wonder. He seems enthralled by both Captain Drake and Professor Siankan’s stories, and he has an excited look in his eye when they finish.
“Well!” Osborn exclaimes. “That all sounds properly spectacular, to be completely honest. Sounds like my kind of fun. Except maybe the bit about wresting a Lifeburg. I think I would zail away very quickly rather than fight one.” He said, laughing.
“You’ll have to pay me a visit sometime. come with me down to the Docks, and I’ll show you what the underside of the Stolen River looks like.”
"Is it not curious," Lady Byron observes, "how the Zee and undergarments are apparently so inextricably intertwined? For example, the Professor speaks of Polythremic ones whilst whenever I have been zailing–although I am no frequent zailor–I have returned with several pairs not my own … or at least that did not start out as my own."
"Ah, I believe I have a story combining both the zee and salacious gossip, as it is. I stopped at Venderbight, to give a few tomb-colonies a tour of the zee. Most of them were eager to see everything, pestering the crew and terrorizing every place we docked at but two of them, well, they kept to themselves. Holding hands. Gazing adoringly into each other’s bandages. Whispering low enough to summon submerged monsters. That kind of thing. I was busy enough keeping the other ten raucous, uncouth Tomb-Colonists happy, so I was grateful these two were quiet, until they decided to take a swim -a swim!- at the waters of Irem. Apparently, they found the rose petals inviting. Next thing I knew, only one was left floating and I was hunting zee-beasts trying to retrieve the other from the belly of a slimy beast."
Jolanda takes a breath, as if remembering the underwater chase; takes a sip, and continues.
"Somehow I got lucky, but when my crew sliced the beast open to deliver the man, his bandages had dissolved almost entirely. And what did we see, instead of a withered husk struggling for breath? A man of barely thirty. I turned to his paramour and she confessed. It seems the two idiots had eloped from London, disguised as tomb-colonists, to live their love in Venderbight of all places. Venderbight! The story was so much beyond me I said nothing, bandaged the man back myself, along with some monster spleen and someone else’s gold watch still attached, and went up to the deck pretending this was all as normal as anything can be at zee. One of these days I am meeting the spouses these idiots left behind in London, just to observe what they were running from."
edited by Jolanda Swan on 12/19/2018
August enjoyed the stories of the Zee, from shivering in anticipation of what came next and sitting on the edge of his seat at the reveal of the Tomb-Colonist’s reveal. He had in the meanwhile picked up on Lady Sapho’s comment. “Indeed Lady Sapho, it seems like whenever I set sail on the Zee on my Yacht I return with a few pair of undergarments more then I went with, and it won’t even fit me.” He said with a jolly laugh. “Since I got the Yacht trips on the Zee have been so peaceful, it’s a shame the Masters didn’t let me keep my Zubmarine alongside it… The adventures I had therein.” He said dreaming away to the adventures from the past.
Ondine raises an eyebrow. “Care to share?”
August pondered for a moment. “Well, there was really nothing to special about it compared to the others here. I’ve seen Flukes the size of Ms. Plenty’s Carnival, those were monstrous, luckily they seemed dormant or otherwise uninterested in me.” He said recollecting the tales of a while ago, before he went to the cave of the Nadir, the tales were hard to recall. “I once remember being in grave peril, a Plated Seal had breached the outer shell of the Zubmarine. There was water inside, I’ve never before had such a dislike for the dark water as then, the men quickly closed the door leading to the room that was being flooded with a bulk seal door so the ship could be brought back to the surface, albeit really slowly. We couldn’t see the Seal until we reached the surface where I engaged with it in a fight, eventually subduing it and killing it with my Knife of the Lost Sky.” He said as he pulled the knife out of it’s sheath, showing it’s blue blade.
[OOC: Sorry for my long absence. This week really has been killing me.]
"Of course, Mr Draiss, and I never intended to devalue or minify your …tasteful… gift." he chuckles.
"Ah, excuse me, Professor, you too are in possession of one of those marvellous diving vehicles? And Mr August, you owned one as well? For a time I thought I had the only one, since its construction was quite an accomplishment of engineering and an enormous investment of resources.
The draugthsman back then claimed that he had never seen anything like it before.
But, since everyone was working on it in utmost secrecy, how could we have known that there must exist at least half a dozen of those miracles of technology by now?
Only a few weeks ago, while attending a rather tedious Salon (to comply with my countless social obligations), I heard an interesting story from an ambitious young lad, who claimed that he had construced a locomotive capable of flying. (Just in case anyone thought that da Vincis’ concepts were ridiculous.)
He announced that his first flight would happen the very next day! Unfortunately he hasn’t returned yet to report his triumph. We are all very eager to hear of him.
On the other hand, quite like in nautical engineering, the consequences of failure usually prevent reporting of any kind…"
"And dear Ms Swan, you have been in Irem? How is it? What did you see there? I have heard some bits here and there and they sounded more like something from a honey-dream.
Oh, forget that I said that. Since there are enough reasons by now that it could be from a honey-dream."
The fuzzy ball in Mr Oathes’ lap begins to purr audibly.
"What is it, Mr Kitten? Are you hungry again?"
–
edited by Jeremiah Oathes on 12/21/2018
Jolanda laughs. "Oh it is… it was… it will be…" She stops confused and looks at her glass. "It was exactly like a dream," she corrects herself. I remember the rose petals and I remember seeking care for my wounds; next thing I knew, I was walking a forest, learning truths about places I never knew existed. I was visited by the ghost of a colour - the ghost of Viric. I walked into Parabola… But there was no honey involved, of that I am sure. I never felt in any danger there but… still, I wouldn’t recommend the visit to anyone. There was - there will be something too seductive about this place. All this calmness and soft light in the edge of the world, you might… you might never leave. I have never written a poem about Irem. I am not skillful enough, I am afraid. Though I would welcome any who would try!"
edited by Jolanda Swan on 12/22/2018
"This is why roses get so little poetic attention here, except for Veilgarden hacks. On the Surface, a rose is about love, or beauty, or maybe secrecy. Here, it’s still all of that, but it’s also about honey, and dreams, good cigars, tenses, cats, Arbor, Hell, and Irem, and darker places and things than that. The challenge isn’t finding meanings, but keeping people from reading in the ones you don’t want. The more the poet knows, the harder the job becomes."
The more informed in the party weren’t sure whether Professor Kan’s "darker places" meant Port Cavendish or the Shuttered Palace. Either way, the omission was probably wise.
edited by Siankan on 12/22/2018
‘”The more the poet knows, the harder the job becomes …’” Lady Byron echoes. “Is that really true? To be sure, any ignorant half-wit can scribble out a few rhymes and call it a poem … that’s easily done. But is it worth reading? I propose the more the poet knows, the easier the job becomes, if writing excellent verse is the job. I admit, however, that the more a thing symbolizes, the harder it is to be unambiguous with one’s metaphors using it. Falsely read-in meanings are so galling.”
"Well, that is rather broader than what I speaking of. On those terms, however, I almost agree. However, I would say that the more a poet understands, the easier the job becomes. If greater understanding accompanies greater knowledge, this merely improves the poet’s tool selection. However, knowledge can come without understanding, and then you’ve created nothing but an academic bore. One of the American presidents, I remember, crammed his poems to his wife with references to Chimborazo and Bohan Upas. I can admire a man for finding an English rhyme for Popocatapetl, but I can’t say it makes terribly good verse." He sipped his Greyfields. "No doubt Sally loved it."
Ondine laughed. "Perhaps she did, at that. To each her own. For my part, I’m not certain that even the Bazaar would pay for that."
"Ha! We’ve demonstrated our point! ‘Knowledge’ is laden with meanings: I used it in a philosophical sense, as in ‘true understanding’, whereas you falsely read-in knowledge as ‘mere fact’. Be that as it may, you are entirely correct in your broader assertion, viz., facts outside of context are rather like Whirring Contraptions outside of a p-- … ahem … a printing press: mildly entertaining, but of minimal utility."
"Knowledge, milady, sits on the epistemological ladder somewhere between understanding and ‘mere fact’. Facts must be combined and collated to become information. Information then must be synthesized and penetrated if it is to become knowledge. However, as one may see at any session of Parliament, it is possible for a man to be full of knowledge, and yet understand none of it. Yet even when you pass to understanding, you are still below wisdom, and Wisdom itself is merely the stepdaughter of Truth. So I must protest an equation of knowledge, truth, and understanding."
Sian smiled disarmingly. "I sat under a most excellent logician at Cambridge. However," he said, topping off Sapho’s glass, "I am sure that some of our companions are too sober to enjoy a long debate on philosophical definitions. For my own part, I am curious whether you can demonstrate your poetics with another verse. If you’ve one at the ready?"
Lady Byron raises a slender hand and her eyes look to the floor in deep concentration.
"Very well, then," she answers at last, over a sip of her wine.
"Peace Triolet
I’ll lay aside my lexical bludgeon
And you will set aside your scalpel.
To stop our dear friends’ dudgeon
I’ll lay aside my lexical bludgeon
And forgive thy definitional curmudgeon.
No more shall we linguistically grapple:
I’ll lay aside my lexical bludgeon
And you will set aside your scalpel."
Sian stood and bowed elaborately at Lady Byron.
“Beware, my boy, of a silken tongue
And a smile as smooth as the Zee,
For though she glow like the Whithern snow,
Yet the sharper wit has she.
“Beware, my lad, of a slender hand
And eyes that sparkle with glee,
For if those eyes make you their prize,
It is far too late to flee.
“Beware, my son, of a crimson frock
If it on a poetess be,
For should you test whose wit’s the best,
The joke shall be on thee!”
It was, perhaps, not his usual style, but one does what one must in a pinch.
“La!” Ondine cried in mock despair. “They have begun composing extempore! Swiftly, protect the innocent!”
edited by Siankan on 12/22/2018
Jolanda laughs and covers her mouth with gloved hands. “Oh, both of these were delightful! Is it too much to request a rematch, not for competition but for the pleasure of more verse?”
“Oh my, both of you are quite skilled indeed, what a delightful display!” August said with a smile. “I do admit I’m quite bad with inventing verses on the spot, but I stand with Jolanda’s point, we need a rematch between the two of you!”
"Well," says Ondine, "if we must make a parlour game out of it, I have ideas."
At the company’s request, she continued. "A simple toy from Veilgarden, though I’ve hope we will get better results. It is simple. Two of the company shall each provide a picture or an idea, the more different the better. Then our poets must compose a poem that uses both. Points for creativity in the interpretation. I once heard some delightful verse on Devils and Yorkshire pudding…"
"Well," Sian responds, "I suppose I am up for a round, if the Lady is." He tips his glass in her direction.
“Oh yes! By all means let us proceed. I await the proposed topics.”