1. Ava {#ava-1}

A kid on the rocky bank of the floating island stared in disbelief. Out in the distant ocean, the wrecked ship continued burbling into the water. A hand shot out, flopping onto a rock.

The kid dropped his fishing rod onto the ashy grey rocks, letting it tumble into the water. The bank of the island was itself a sea of rocks that rose at a steady gradient towards the top ridge. Another hand shot out of the water holding a broken sword, both arms now hauling a woman up. She lay face down, puffing and keeping one eye on her ship who’s bow finally collapsed under the surface of the water.

She stood up and her washed-out black coat dumped its ocean contents out, staining the rocks a dark black before quickly evaporating. She looked at her sword with an almost perfectly straight snap in the middle, and tossed it to the side, it clattering in the same direction as the fishing rod.

She glanced over at the kid with fury behind her eyes, the steam from her coat rising into the air. “Is this the capital?”

The kid nodded shakily.

“Alright, cheers.” She flicked out her coat and hopped from one rock to another towards the top ridge.

About halfway up, the hum that was filling the soundscape quickly ramped up into a deafening roar. To her left a gargantuan brown stone structure with four horizontal cuts glowed an ethereal blue, and the island started shuddering across the water. She readjusted her footing and continued up.

Finally at the top, the depressing rocks gave way to a field of golden, almost glowing grass that was whipped back as the island gained speed. In the distance, a shimmering marble city seemed to ramp up in activity in response with noise and dot-sized figures moving around madly.

The woman took a moment to shake the water out of her matted hair with her hands and pressed on towards the city. To her right, overshadowing the city, was a giant stone structure that looked like a god’s hammer had been planted handle-first in the earth. A rampway of the same material spiralled up with a neat line of wooden guards on the sides preventing a splattery death. An identical tower stood across to an adjacent island.

The city proper had a neat row of entrances that was flooded with people, carts, livestock, and noise. There were no designated entrances and exits, only chaos.

But she finally muscled her way past everyone and arrived. She stood in front of a building that stuck out like a sore thumb. A building front made of dark wood that looked like you could get a splinter from it by just looking too long.

She entered and the blast of muggy air hit her immediately. People ranging from toga-wearing delegations to people wearing tattered rags all drank in different, but nonetheless dank areas. Shouting, belching, the occasional tussle. She breathed it in and sighed with a sense of hominess.

At the far back of the pub, a greying bear of a man studied a splayed set of papers with a compass in one hand and nursing a beer in the other. He sat across a kid who looked at the papers just as intently, sans the beer.

“TRACKER!” She shouted, entertaining grumbling and dagger-glances from the other patrons. Tracker looked up from his papers and immediately regretted looking up.

The woman walked over and sat next to the kid, motioning him to move over. She was still dripping ocean matter onto the bar floor. “It’s been too long, how the hell are you?”

Tracker scooped up his papers and stuffed them into a knapsack seated next to him. “Ava, why are you here. And why are you wet, you go swimming or something?”

“Long story. I need to find someone.” She glanced over to the sandy haired kid who was staring up at her. “Hey, how are you doing.”

Tracker motioned to the papers. “Already in the middle of a job.”

“How much is this clown paying you? Because I can already promise you easily twice what they are.”

Tracker sighed. “It’s not about the money. I started a job, I finish the job. It’s the same courtesy I extend to you.”

“And if someone else came to you with a job this sweet I’d let them have it in a heartbeat.”

“Uh huh,” Tracker said, rifling back through the knapsack for the papers. “You’re welcome to leave now.”

Ava huffed as Tracker took out the stack and placed them on the table face down. She started scooching away until the kid said, “Dad, we’re just looking for the steam beds of Kraken Island, I wanna hear about the sweet job.”

Ava grinned at Tracker as he carressed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “We’re going there to meet a clie—”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Ava interrupted, “I’m looking for two things, actually, an island and a woman. Luckily they’re at the same place.”

“Why?”

“Matthias, don’t humour her; We need to meet this client—”

“Dad, I’m just interested. What’s the harm in letting her talk?” Matthius said.

“Yeah, what’s the harm in letting me talk?” Ava joined in.

“I can think of some,” Tracker mumbled.

A grumbling janitor rolled past, mopping up the quickly crystallising salt water trail that led right to Ava and glaring at her as she left. Ava turned to the kid.

“I was given a job from some old geezer to steal a document from the Scholars…” Ava began.

“Steal?” Matthias repeated, “Don’t they skin people alive who they catch stealing from them?”

“That’s why the key is to not get caught. And I was going to get paid 100,000 gold for that.”

That shut the others up. The noise of the bar died down a little at the same time. Even the crackling fire at the end of the room seemed to get a bit dimmer.

“That’s not real,” Matthias said.

“Oh it is.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you who, let’s be clear here, you are a scoundrel, were given a risky job to steal a high value document instead of a professional?” Tracker asked.

Ava thought for a moment. “Yep, sounds about right. Guy showed me the gold and everything. Looked old enough to turn into dust right in front of me but the money is good.”

“And the woman?” Tracker asked, leaning more forward.

“The woman I need to see about driving a rapier through her jugular.” Each word came out like a snarl. “And I have good reason to believe that she is on the Scholar island as we speak. So you don’t even need to do any extra work.”

Tracker held his breath for a moment and said, “And what’s stopping you from just taking the map and not risking your whole operation?”

Tracker put a hand over his drink before Ava slammed her fist on the table.

“BECAUSE SHE DESERVES TO DIE!”

Tracker sighed. He reached deep into the knapsack, producing a weathered leather bound book. He flicked through the creased, water damaged pages and pulled out a stylus and a pot of ink.

“Really?” Ava said.

“The kid likes you and I guess I owe you one. I can make sure you do this job and don’t die, probably.” He dabbed the stylus in the pot, little black flecks spraying over the table that was already caked in the stuff.

“Amazing. So I’m thinking your cut will be—”

“I’m going to need a name before anything else.”

Is the reveal that the two lads are going on a holiday and not heading for a client too cartoony? Maybe they can be meeting a client there

2. Genevieve {#genevieve-1}

“Genevieve?” The black cloaked figure asked in pure monotone.

Genevieve stood at attention, arms behind her back at perfect military attention. Her uniform looked as if it was ironed on to her, with regalia proudly stitched on.

“Yes,” She said, “You a Scholar?”

The man’s head was down so she was just talking to the top of a hood. Without flourish, he rotated on the spot and stood with his back to Genevieve. “Follow.”

Genevieve slung her bag over her shoulder and dutifully marched alongside the scholar. She glanced one more time back at the island that dropped her off as it sped off into the distance at full pelt, engine aglow.

The hilly plains of emerald grass had working on it rows of beleagured workers of many different stripes hoeing the land and transporting goods on carts. And not a single one of them looked like they wanted to be there. They worked, back to the forest behind them with crimson, tatty canopy draped over a thin smattering of charcoal tree trunks.

Moving up a hill the man disappeared into the tail of the forest that swung around from the workers’ end of the field to where the two were walking. Genevieve joined him.

“Your job is very clear,” A voice rang out, echoing around the forest, “You will pilot where we tell you to go. You will ask no unnecessary questions.”

Genevieve spent much of her time locating and walking towards the source of the talking. He still wasn’t in sight.

“You will learn of nothing we do not wish. You will be paid promptly when you transport us safely to where we need to go.”

Genevieve marched through the forest floor as it got more mucky. Despite how patchy the roof of the forest was, it was still able to keep out the sunlight almost completely.

The rustle of leaves and crunching of sticks alerted her. She shot a glance over and saw other hooded figures, all solemnly marching single file on the outskirts of the forest. The few workers that walked past them kept their gaze firmly planted at their feet or the ground.

While looking at this, Genevieve slipped on a root and fell on her back. Through a hole in the top she saw it. A mighty stone cube, reaching well into the sky, patterns of intertwining lines straddled around it like stone tree trunks. She leaned up, like she was compelled towards it.

The Scholar popped between her line of sight and leaned over her. “You will speak of nothing you see here to anyone. Understand.”

Genevieve cleared her throat and hopped to her feet, scrambling back to her ‘at attention’ pose and nodding. “I understand. You want me to pilot, only pilot, and get you all safely to your destination. As far as I’m concerned, what you all do here is none of my business.”

The Scholar nodded, and once again made moves to leave, this time with Genevieve firmly in tow, taking one final glance at the monolithic structure above.

They finally breeched the backside of the forest and there, just over a few more hills, was the bridge of the island. The shimmering white stone structure reached high enough to concuss a passing bird. It looked like a god’s hammer had been planted handle-first, with a walkway spiralling around to the top area.

Genevieve swore under her breath as they drew closer. The walkway had no railing.

The Scholar floated over and up the walkway, not stopping to catch himself. Genevieve kept both hands firmly on the column and flitted her attention back and forth between her hands, her feet, and the edge.

He was waiting for her as she finally found the strength to jog up to the top, the rampway terminating at a perfect cut on the underside of the bridge.

“You have to understand, we do not bring outsiders onto our isle. There are many of us who were opposed to bringing you aboard. But you come with assurances that you can do what we require.”

Genevieve looked around for non-existent help, and nodded.

He continued staring and Genevieve stood at ease. “Oh, I see.” She walked over to the console, kicking up dust with every step, and brushed her hand over the controls.

A fine layer of red rust lay on top of everything. Uncoloured dials, switches, levers, and needles dotted the entire thing. It grew out at an angle from under the bridge, like a tree growing and presenting itself to its pilot. A window horizontally spanned across the walls as a thick band, shining sunlight into the barren room.

She mumbled to herself a sequence of instructions and threw the great central lever upwards. The console breathed into life, glowing a turquoise blue from beneath the controls.

It then sputtered a few times, the power switch rattled a few times, and slammed down in the off position. Genevieve frowned.

She pressed a few auxilliary buttons in and threw the switch again. Some more hopeful humming before slamming back down. At this point the scholar was right next to her.

“What has happened?” He demanded.

“The controls are refusing to stay on.”

He raised his head, his pale face partially showing from underneath. “Fix it,” He said.

Genevieve rolled up her sleeves and pointed towards the walkway. “If you want to go anywhere, you’re going to have to fetch me a pickaxe.”
Introduce more senses to describe the island
Apply more cinematic language to this chapter
Is what happened here enough to justify this chapter? Does it need more interesting shit happening?

3. The military base {#the-military-base-1}

Ava stood, leaning her back on the wall
Ava looking around, think of it like a scene from a show or movie

“And?”

“Barracks South, Second Island.”
…
”Has to be with the uniform you described”

• Ava wants to kick in a window and go exploring, Tracker wants to try another route

• Starts spinning a story (confidence trick) to the CO (Don’t know if they already know each other)?

  • Think like Mike’s postal inspector trick from live free or die

• Husband here or [[Vessel Pirates/Old drafts/Season 1/Part 1 - Draft 2#TBD|here]]?

  • Feels like the explosion is going to get Ava and Tracker out of trouble, but it needs to be a net inconvenience (Like they were about to get the info)

1. Explosion, Part 1 (Genevieve) {#explosion-part-1-genevieve-1}

• Rubble on the ground, pickaxe flung across bridge
• Explosion at controls, disabled
• Genevieve gets Washington out before it gets worse

1. Explosion, Part 2 (Ava) {#explosion-part-2-ava-1}

“Did you do this!?” Tracker shouted over the sound of soldiers screaming and rubble.

“How the hell would I even do this?”

• Slightly longer than Genevieve’s explosion to explain how Ava and Tracker escape from the barracks

1. Bombing run {#bombing-run-1}

2. TBD {#tbd-1}

3. A soldier and a smuggler {#a-soldier-and-a-smuggler-1}