Alyce pales. "But why try to kill the Masons? And why kill all the nobles at the party? Some of the highest are there, excepting League members. What is Von Ryuko up to?"
Patting the young lady on the arm; she pours a drink with her other hand. "Here, sip this lightly."
"I think it might be that he's working with someone. Maybe Princess Alexia Veritas, maybe not." with remarkable insight she adds; "Von Ryuko is hardly one to be a lackey for anybody else - he has his own agenda."
"From the Masons he either wants information or to stop them from spreading it." she adds.
"Not that I've been to one of Veritas' parties but they are just the sort of place I'd expect Von Ryuko to frequent." her voice is soft, as she sips a martini.
"If you wish I can teach you some self-defence, Alyce? Nothing too strenuous, but effective none-the-less." the adventurous noble adds.
Alyce takes a sip of the drink Cassie gives her and tries not to let anyone see that her eyes are watering. After a moment or two, she manages to gasp, "It's delicious. Thank you." She takes another sip or two, these burning less as her tissues become numb, and nods as Cassie speaks. At Cassie's offer of training, her face lights up. "Gee, that would be swell, Lady DuSollier! If you don't mind."
Not too corny on the innocent act, her wiser self warns.
"I hope it isn't too strong...?" she says taking a sip of her own. "Training requires 3 things: Flexibility - in your actions and strikes; Judgement - judging your opponent, their strengths and weaknesses; Knowing your objectives - when to run and when not to." she shrugs softly in a slightly self-deprecating manner not that used to teaching.
"No, no... just right. But I thought fighting was about knowing moves and styles and things like that. I can use a gun, but not really deal with somebody hand-to-hand. Isn't that what you will teach me?" Alyce looks at her drink for a moment and then tosses the remainder back, choking slightly afterwards.
"Yeah, but anyone can kick or punch someone." she adds with Gallic flair; "It's all about style, knowing how hard to fight and when. No point beating up a drunk in a bar when you can cut him down with a word or just a look." she adds.
"Of course, I can help your natural style and flexibility." Cassie stops pushing up on her elbows, so her face falls flat to the deck. The arch of her back remains as she uses the momentum to grasp her ankles and bring them level with her ears. Then from this contortionists position she slides her head past and unfolds so that she's standing.
It's an awkward motion, but the fluid grace she performs it with is astonishing - almost as if she hasn't a spine. She runs her fingers quickly over her top, to ensure there weren't any 'accidents'. Before she sits back down on the edge of the recliner and picks up her drink.
With a quick look across she tries to see if that has impressed Alyce; 'My it's years since I've tried that.' she flexes her spine almost imperceptibly.
Alyce watches Cassie's gyrations with wide eyes. "Do I have to be able to do that?" She holds out her glass for a refill.
Cassie lets out a warm gentle laugh, the first genuine one for what seems like an age. "Oh no! Just showing off."
With some care she refills Alyce glass, quite impressed with the speed she's drinking. "But maybe if we work hard, you'll have the flexibility to. This should be fun, we even have some partners to spar with." she looks to Drake and Squirrel with a smile. "That is if they are willing? And we can spar with each other too." Cassie seems very relieved to have someone to talk to.
Alyce sips the cocktail thoughtfully and stares off at the mountains. "But Veritas is in the League, right? Why would she... hmm. Were any of the targets at the party members of the League? Maybe they're out to eliminate up-and-comers?" Leaning against the rail, she looks down without a trace of acrophobia. "Look!" she cries with a child's delight, pointing to the mountains below where a bright red steam train winds its way up and across the side of a mountain far below.
A passing crewman follows her finger. "Yes, miss, that is the train to Italy. They're headed for the Brenner Pass. You won't see it for long, as the captain steers south by southeast along the Alps to Geneva, so we will miss the scenery they will see. This route is much safer for us, though, as the alpine winds can wreak havoc with airships." He crosses himself swiftly.
Cassie also crosses herself, for she knew how precarious airships could be. Her own needed constant maintenance, especially without a crew - at this thought her fingers tickle for a wench. However she pushes the thought away at the amazing vista before her.
Easily a smile slides upon her face as she leans over the rail; she does hook a leg around a spindle just as a precaution. "Amazing isn't it. Have you been skiing before?" she asks subtly changing the tone before she actually adds quietly. "Not league members, just the Rorensons, Massri's and the Meowselsworths'. But good assumption."
The day passes with pleasant chatter between the French dancer and her protege, the ladies seeking the sun in the chill high-altitude atmosphere as the great airshift drifts over Lausanne and Geneva, passing to the west of Grenoble to avoid the mountain updrafts. Finally, the Mediterranean opens up before them, sun setting past the Iberian peninsula as they pass between the airspaces of Marseille and Monaco.
The crew serves lunch al fresco, then calls the nobles for dinner in the dining room before Duchess Meowslesworth's performance.
As the afternoon turns to evening, Cassie excuses herself - for the chill and her attire are not compatible. Thus she comes back down to the evening meal, wearing dark britches, cream shirt and a bolero jacket. The smile on her face and feline saunter indicate how happy she is to be back up in the air.
The German noble seems to be rather scarce all throughout the afternoon, spending most of his time lounging in different rooms on the Phantom, helping himself to fine wine. Asides from his apparent restlessness, his mood appears to be indeterminate, though something is clearly on his mind. A crewman only just catches him leaving the engine room (of all places), informing him that the others would be gathering for supper soon.
Is it that time already?
The sun had certainly started to set, by then. Frowning at his conduct, Vorian hastily returns to his cabin refresh himself, making sure to splash some cold water onto his face. A rather rushed search through the room's wardrobe yields another simple black suit, not nearly as fanciful as the gold-laden one from the Ament, but appropriate enough for the occasion. Once a quick glance at the mirror assures him that he is presentable, he snatches up the cane Silberwolf and heads right out the door and straight to the dining room.
He had to be fashionably late.
Alyce follows Cassie's clothes-changing example but dresses a bit more formally. The fitted bodice of her deep red velvet dress poofs at shoulder and waist into fuller sleeves and a skirt covering rustling petticoats - full, but not overly so. In honor of the evening's event, she draws on opera gloves and does her hair styled up and full as well as she can by herself.
"I thought since the Duchess was singing..." she blushes, seeing Cassie looking so sleek and sensual.
A slender figure in the white uniform of the ship's crew joins the group assembling in the little foyer of the ship's theater. It takes a second look to discern that it is Rashida, who has apparently spent much of the afternoon removing her beaded hairdo, gold fingernail extensions, and heavy makeup. The white uniform shows off her bronzed skin, and the light makeup and simple, pulled-back hairdo make her look like a particularly attractive crewmember.
She pauses a moment in the entryway, then strides toward Cassie and Alyce with a determined look and pace. "Good evening," she greets them, "You both look wonderful. I can't wait to hear the Duchess sing." Her dark eyes shine from tears or excitement; it is impossible to tell which from her taut expression.
Putting a hand up to give a reassuring pat to Rashida's arm, then she sees the expression upon her gorgeous countenance and thinks again. However she does nod to Alyce; "She looks amazing in red. I suppose I should have worn something blue that shows, then we could be the tricolour." she winks.
"Have you seen the Duchess perform before? I haven't though I have only heard good things about her conservatory." Cassie adds.
"I have not had that honor," Rashida says softly, eyes flicking between Cassie and her shadow, Alyce, "She was not yet born in my day."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that you cannot be older than 23... 25 at the eldest." she looks up and down the Goddess; "Next to the pair of you I feel an old hag."
The dancer snags a pair of flutes of amber liquid and sips one. The Servo-bot hums on it's way through the crew-members.
Startlement fleetingly flashes across Rashida's visage. "I'm... fairly young. But the Duchess is much younger, I am sure." Bumping Cassie's arm, she almost smiles. "Are you planning on drinking both of those yourself?"
At the friendly bump, Cassie slips into a exuberant smile - her true emotions written plainly across her face. "Well not at this moment." she passes over the untouched flute, before snagging another for Alyce.
Offering it to the young lady, she adds: "Be careful it's quite strong, drink slow if you aren't used to it." Trying not to hurt the youngsters feelings, but ensuring she doesn't get wasted too quickly.
For a second she thinks about commenting upon Drake & Squirrel, then realises how indiscreet it could be with Rashida's current romantic woes. "You must have been to Tripoli before, Lady Massri? It's stunning scenery, and the cuisine is really superb. Though if anyone offers you a camel ride... turn them down."
Alyce, tuned in to the tension between the pair, accepts the flute and takes a sip, then raises her glass to Cassie and Rashida before slipping away to join Ralph and Drake, leaving the friends alone for a private chat.
"Don't care for humping it through the desert, hmm?" is Rashida's ribald rejoinder as she sniffs the drink and blinks, then sips it carefully, "I take it you're intimately familiar with the place? Good. Maybe you can find tales of slaughter for us. Sometimes provincials can be quite insular. You could be very valuable here, Lady DuSollier."
Twirling a thick tress around a scarlet tipped finger. "Do you really think I'm that bad?"; she says jokingly to Rashida's perceived humour, but her eyes betray her.
Looking around her, and seeing the space that seems to have opened up nearby. With a hint of tension the auburn siren continues; "How have you been? You seem more... " she doesn't quite know what to say. "pre-occupied."
"Well, yes. I've been out of the game so long that I don't know who's who anymore, beyond general family allegiances. And I'm not certain what my own family is up to. What happens if I fall into their hands? Will they welcome me or destroy me?" Her attempt at a smile only gets as far as grimace territory. "So yes, I'm a bit preoccupied. Sorry."
She looks at Rashida with soulful eyes; 'Out of the game?!' her words follow her thoughts, "Out..."
Before they are cut off; 'Her own family may want to destroy her?!' Tentatively she reaches up and puts her hand delicately to the golden goddesses bicep. "Oh really? I did say that I'll try and protect you and I mean it." her words barely above a sigh, with a touch of nervousness as she also avoids the topic of Taraz.
Rashida manages a smile for her friend. "I'm sure it's kindly meant, but how do you propose to protect me from those who are gods? You have talent, but you may be a bit out of your league here, Lady DuSollier." She turns to view the stage, which has several crewmen/stagehands moving half-walls and vegetation into place, and sips her drink, a placid smile on her lips.
"We make our own gods. Destiny can find a way as can ingenuity." she says quirking an eyebrow enigmatically. "But realistically, with some planning and luck. Anyway I'd never admit I'm out of my league." Cassie softly jokes, enjoying the repartee suddenly realising how much she has missed it over the last few days, as well as much of her life.
"You think there are no gods? I think you are wrong. Once something is so far beyond us that we cannot rationally explain its power, it may as well be a god, don't you think?" Rashida quirks an eyebrow right back at the graceful dancer, "But then, that implies that if we know more than others and can put that knowledge to use, we can be as gods. A heady thought. What god would you be, hmm? Goddess of dance and death?" Rashida's dark eyes dart to Cassie's for a moment before returning to the stage.
"There is a God." she shrugs softly with a hint of defensiveness to her eyes. "I know religion is not fashionable, since Pope Innocent XII excommunicated and bombed Antwerp, but it's how my nanny raised me."
Moving slightly away from her personal beliefs to the matter at hand; "I've seen unimaginable sights, things I cannot explain or wouldn't wish to. However a practical and rational thought can decipher their meaning and existence."
With a stern pout that is both defiant and enticing; "Anything can be fought, you just have to work out the methodology."
"Dance & Death, sounds like a...." she quirks an eyebrow. "'le petite morte' she breathes. "interesting pairing. You put your knowledge to good use?"
At the Sidi oasis, a group of figures are stood. A conclave of the tribes people, both men and women garbed in their flowing robes that conceal them from the desert sun. A very stoic people, leading a brutal life in the harsh desert they have secret depths and are capable of great emotion but usually keep it hidden from outsiders.
A hard-life written across their faces and in the heavy scars that criss-cross their whip thin bodies. Sharp thick-lidded eyes, used to the desert sun squint sharply at what might be the leader; "Tomorrow we reach the airfield. There old debts will be repaid, you have my word upon it."
Though some raise their glasses of sherbet to this statement in what is a standing ovation for the reserved tribesmen, others look on shrewdly plotting for the morrows' events.
Darkness descends and a young gentleman moves onto the stage, highlighted by a pale spotlight that picks out the prominent lines of his visage and casting contrasting shadows across his handsome features.
With a bow to his audience, that shows off the trained body beneath his tailored garb. He then starts to do a bit of compare work and warm up the audience. Melodious voice is enhanced as his routine proceeds to include more magic, simple sleight of hand and card tricks. Natural charisma and the soft patter put the audience at ease, though not necessarily suitable for a noble audience most of the watchers are not of high-birth.
Cassie smiles and oooh and ahhh's appropriately as the performance unfolds, casually enjoying the tricks as much as the performer.
"Not so much," Rashida murmurs softly to her companion as the lights dim, "Though I may know more of death than most, as it turns out." Despite her light tone, the cords on her arms stand out as her muscles tense without her realization.
She remains standing as the curtain rises, watching the performance from the floor behind the small, tiered seating area, face impassive and attention obviously far away.
"The best way to combat death," she pauses "is to live life. To enjoy it to the fullest. It is too easy to withdraw, to hide, to slip away into the darkness." her words try to bolster her friend, to assuage the lingering feelings of guilt at the growing distance between the pair. Whilst at the same time Cassie's words have a ringing of honesty and of experiences best talked about sat upon a sofa with a hot cocoa.
"Oh my, am I late?"
Ebon cane in one hand and a conveniently procured glass of red wine in the other, the German noble steps into the seating area, looking to the stage with exaggerated distress. Nodding to the ladies present, he seats himself nearby, taking care to keep a respectable distance; intruding on a private conversation was hardly gentlemanly, after all. He sighs with content as he leans back, curling his lips into a small smile. Perhaps in folly, he felt more optimistic about this show than the last they had attended.
Ralph comes in to join the others, he hasn't changed his clothes, still wearing the same oversized suit, thankfully it wasn't s big that he looked totally ridiculous, only somewhat. At least someone managed to convince the young vagabond to clean himself up before coming for the show, they somehow even got him to shave, maybe they pinned him down and took a razor to him themselves.
The youth takes in a breath and looks about, spotting Alyce coming towards him he smiles, he couldn't think of anyone he'd like to see more, and what a sight she was; that dress was really something. "Kit" he says when the girl comes near "Wow darlin, ya really gots it ya know? Yer da bee's knees, must be da keenest doll in da joint. 'an ain't I lucky ya came ta see me." Well possibly him and Drake, but close enough.
The young urchin lets out a tired sigh seeming to be running out of energy. Hoping Alyce doesn't mind too much he leans his head against the girl's shoulder. "Dis learnin's hard Kit... I only been at it fer a few hours, but feels like days. Dis tug shure is comp'icated."
"Never, Vorian. Your presence enhances the evening." Cassie adds as the noble enters.
Ralph's entry elicits a smile, especially at his charming if rustic manners.
With a glance to Rashida and her impassive mask, Cassie twirls a lock of hair around a finger and brings it to her mouth worriedly. 'So that hasn't cleared the air as much as I hoped. It seems the rift between is growing.' Warm hazel eyes flick to Alyce and the handsome Squirrel; 'I suppose it's inevitable, they do make a good couple. And he really scrubs up well...' then she delicately blushes remembering the bath-house.
The performance upon the stage continues smoothly, the knot in Cassie's stomach grows - with a nod and a wane smile to the others she takes her leave of the performance.
Vorian smiles broadly at Cassie's compliment, raising his glass towards her before taking a sip. It's always hard to tell whether she is just flattering everyone... but I have never met anyone who has seemed so sincere. Not one to linger on nonexistent misgivings, he hastily pushes his thoughts to aside. His attention briefly shifts to Ralph and Alyce, eliciting an ever so slightly raised brow from the noble. Perhaps he can be a gentleman yet, he ponders with an amused grin, thinking his younger days. Or a charlatan, depending on who is asking. Even still, in spite of the pleasant company, an awkwardness seems to permeate the atmosphere. He directs a measured glance to the Massri among them, before looking back just in time to see Cassie making her leave.
"Leaving already, Cassandra?" he asks with a tinge of disappointment, though his tone betrays his curiosity, "We have not even heard the Duchess sing, yet! Is something the matter?"
Cassie moves over to Vorian with a natural swish of his hips, an unconscious defence mechanism. With a curtsey before the handsome gentleman, she smiles but the emotion doesn't reach her eyes. She takes him to a nearby table, taking a couple more flutes of wine she hands one to him.
"It's just, I don't know..." she says quietly for Vorians' ears only. A soft sigh escapes her full lips; "... everyone seems so far away, despite our proximity they vanish like smoke in my grasp. Well apart from Alyce." With a twinkle in her eyes she looks over to the young maiden, glad that she's at least got one friend.
With a little snort of self-derision, Cassie realises that a few days ago she was claiming Vorian was a ruthless murderer.
Vorian is all too happy to join the Frenchwoman at the table, a fact that his worried frown perhaps fails to convey. Seeing her smile for what it truly was, the jaded noble is attentive as she voices her woes.
Ah.
"A lot has happened over these past few days," Vorian reasons with a quiet voice, as he slowly swirls his wine in its glass. "Von Ryuko has complicated matters without so much as lifting a finger. It has taken its toll. Perhaps everyone just needs more time to come around."
She lets out a soft sigh releasing all the tension that she has seemed to hold in for so long. Putting a warm hand to cover his upon the circular table, with a gentle pat for his kind advise. "I know, just I like living in the here and know. So many bad things can happen, it's best to savour each moment."
She takes a sip of her drink; "I suppose it's selfish of me, since you and Lady Massri are dealing with all that complicated politics. But then again you are both so clever and beautiful."
"Clever and beautiful...? And you are not?" Vorian replies with a small smile, slightly raising a brow. Leaning back in his seat, his voice again changes to a quieter, more somber tone.
"No, I do not think you are being selfish. You are doing your part, after all. You were certainly more helpful in Friedrichschafen than I. As for Lady Massri, well... I do not imagine she is looking forward to what is to come."
"I may be able to strip and rebuild a fuel manifold or identify wine from any region." she gives a little shrug, causing the creases in the pale shirt drawing the eye. "However I'm not as nuanced in politics, philosophy or spiritualism." There's a touch of ruefulness, as she knows her own faults but accepts them.
Cassie glances back over to the quiet Rashida, as Voriens comments concludes; "I know, we have drifted apart again. I wish I could be there to support her - but she's so wilful" the Frenchwoman adds ignoring her own deficiencies in this area; "if only she'd let me in maybe I could help."
Alyce dimples at Ralph's compliment and graces him with a formal curtsy as he approaches. "You'll turn my head, Lord Squirrel. And don't you look handsome? With a tailored suit, you would fit perfectly in the ballrooms I used to spy on as a child. Why, you'll give our good Doctor-actor a run for his money, won't he, Lord Drake?" She nods at Drake in a friendly manner, then jumps slightly as Ralph's head touches her shoulder.
"Oh, er... you must be exhausted, Squirrel," she says softly, raising a gloved hand to gently touch his hair, "Try to stay awake. The Duchess has yet to sing, and it is a rare thing to hear, I understand."
She glances curiously at the table where Cassie and Vorian are seated, chatting companionably, then on to the slim figure in white now seeking a seat. A tiny wrinkle appears between her eyes, then vanishes as she schools the curious frown from her face and smiles brightly at her companions. "Yes, this should be an amazing evening."
"Her will is strong," Vorian agrees, recalling a past discussion with the Massri. "Stronger than we know, perhaps. At the moment, all we can do is sit and wait. We will all be able to help her when the time comes." With a wan smile, he adds, "It is what we are here for, after all."
"If you cannot tell, I am not much of a philosopher either."
Cassie's words ring in Rashida's head as the young woman stares at the stage without seeing the show. "The best way to combat death... is to live life. To enjoy it to the fullest. It is too easy to withdraw, to hide, to slip away into the darkness." That thought chases others in circles in her mind. But what if the only way to live is to slip away? And what if the only way to live right is to risk that life? Still, what do I owe any others? Should I allow myself to be a pawn in their games? Or am I already one, thinking I am changing the game while doing their bidding?
Soon, unbidden, the face of a young man intrudes into the circle of cogitation, one who she had met at the Baron's and who had changed her life forever. Realizing where her thoughts have wandered, she gives herself a mental shake and looks around, surprised to see Cassie seated with Vorian and the man on stage taking bows. When did Ritter arrive? Unwilling to spill her drink, she taps a foot on the parquet as the others clap their appreciation of the jongleur's skills. Her brief, uncertain hesitation at joining the seated duo proves fatal to that plan, as the house lights darken completely and a bright circle of light appears onstage, the hissing of the limelight the only sound in the theater beyond the distant rumble of the ship's engines, more felt in the gut and bone than heard.
Rattling, a man clad in a brown morning coat, starched brown shirt, dark brown waistcoat, and striped brown trousers steps stiffly from behind the curtains to stage right, tendrils of steam leaking from under the brown bowler hat atop the rigidly erect figure. Stopping near the edge of the stage, the bent-armed form executes a soldier's right-face, spinning ninety degrees to face the audience. A very human right eye surveys the theater while a brightly polished gear spins in place of the left. His right hand rises stiffly to his hat brim. When he jerkily raises the bowler to salute the audience, a complex of spinning gears is where his cranium should be. The lips form the shape of a smile as the mouth opens.
"Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome," a voice booms through the theater, slightly out of sync with the movements of the man's mouth, "Gluklich zu sehen, je suis enchante, happy to see you. Mein Damen und Herren, mesdames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen! Guden Abend, bon soir, good evening! Leave your troubles outside. So, life is disappointing? Forget it! We have no troubles here! Not here, where the Divine Duchess graces us with her song!"
With a racheting flourish, his left hand flies up to point at the top of a stone tower sliding out noiselessly from stage left, where a second spot lights a tiny ledge there, empty of any occupants. While Rashida's eyes seek the helmetcat's form in the new spotlight, there comes a huge clatter, and the mechanical M.C. falls into a heap of gears and springs, tiny, glinting parts rolling across the stage while a few bounce out into the vacant front seats. Two youths in ship's uniforms dash onstage with brooms and pans, glancing at the audience with some alarm, and sweep up the hapless creation while the spots dim, the one on the stage winking out while the light at the top of the tower remains barely visible. Darkness fills the theater.
Cassie pats Vorians' hand and a retort dies on her lips, as the clockwork figure takes to the stage. Admiring the mechanisms, their ramshackle ways reminding her of the lost rickety airship of her own. The sweet pang of sorrow in her bosom deepens as the golem starts reciting her native tongue. 'Been a while, a wonder how mother is?' her smile lights up. Whence the cog-driven man falls apart, Cassie lets out a joyous chuckle at the staged event.
The emblackened stage causes her breath to catch in her throat, mayhaps the Duchess is taking to the stage....
Alyce squeaks as the mechanical MC begins his spiel, then claps and bounces for a second before grabbing Squirrel and Drake's free hands. "It's starting, come on!" she whispers, leading them to velvet-cushioned seats in the small but lovely theater. She seats herself between them, nudging Ralph once they are settled. "Now don't fall asleep!" she commands, then quiets as the MC falls to pieces, almost holding her breath in anticipation of the helmetcat's music.
Ralph smiles warmly at Alyce then chuckles softly when she mentions his tailored suit "Tailud well dis one is, just ain't tailud ta me... I tink 's one a Jack's he got it fer me. I ain't gots nuttin a ma own. So he got dis fer me." He looks down at the suit he's wearing "Purdy gen'rous o' him 'sidering whut hap'ned ta da last coupl'a suits I had." He looks towards Drake as he's told he might give the man a run for his money, considering the young girl said she was a huge fan of Drake's he figured that was quite a compliment.
With a small sigh the young urchin, with some reluctance, lifts his head from Alyce's shoulder "Yeah... I ain't used ta dis book lernin... 's wearin me out. Well eider dat 'r I jus needed a 'scuse ta git closer ta ya." He gives her a wink then finds himself being taken along by the hand.
Settling into the comfy seat it actually is rather tempting for Ralph to just close his eyes and take a little snooze. Having only just recovered from his injuries it probably wasn't a surprise that the young man was tired. The nudge from Alyce helps bring back his focus and he chuckles softly "Doll 's prolly back ta lernin fer me when dis is o'er, I ain't gonna spend da lil' bit o' time I gots wit ya sleepin." Besides he wanted to hear the Duchess sing, and see what all the fuss was about.
The silence stretches into what seems like forever. No music touches the audience's straining ears, only the thrum and rattle of the ship's systems and the pulse of blood through their veins audible.
Gradually, one after another, they become aware of the rhythmic sounds of the ship's life, engines rumbling in a basso thrum that pulses through their bodies like a giant heartbeat. The whine of the propellers rises and falls in eerie counterpoint. Gradually, the heating system begins to hiss and rattle, but in perfect time to add a percussion line to the melody of the great ship.
A white paw appears in the spotlight.
Little lights appear on the stage, dancing flickers of flames, as something moves through the darkness, whirling and spinning until it becomes obvious to viewers that there are several discrete units of multiple lights moving about the stage in the dark.
Another white paw appears in the spot.
The lights on the stage stop their whirl and become stationary as odd plinks and plunks of string and percussion rise, joining with the ship's systems to provide melodic lines and more filler percussion. The lights slowly come up to reveal an odd assortment of machines, all hunkered on the stage as little balls shoot from steam vents, striking parts of the mechanisms to elicit the music. Each is bedecked with a multitude of tiny oil lights which slowly burn out as the stage light brightens.
Kittington von Meowselsworth's face appears in the light, slowly sliding into existence as it enters the bright area, great round eyes glowing under the helmet, which is working to what seems to be its full extent. Soon, though, the vocal mechanisms stir to life as the helmetcat produces a light, haunting tune over the now full steam orchestra. The cat's mastery of her helmet swiftly becomes clear as the voice rises and falls, then splits into self-harmony, all the ranges of the human voice and more emanating from one single mechanism.
As the music crescendo's into a climax, Meowselsworth's mouth opens and her natural feline voice slips into the mix. Suddenly....