01-15-2013, 11:28 PM
Crispin beamed with almost paternal pride as Cass exclaimed over the airship. Maternal might have been an appropriate term, also, given that he had spent almost every waking moment-- and no few sleeping moments-- for the past nine months either working on or thinking about the craft. He had designed the entire vessel, and every part from the largest piece of tubing to the smallest screw had passed through his hands and been inspected for flaws before being put in place under his watchful eye. Given all that, it was perfectly reasonable that he viewed the airship with a parental eye. In his mind, he had even given her a name, although he was a bit shy about sharing it with anyone. Beatrice, after Dante's perfect woman. Perhaps I should tell Cassandra... I think she'd understand, and it would be strange trying to call Beatrice the wrong name if someone else chose one...
The sudden hug startled Crispin, and his thoughts scattered as he accepted it awkwardly. He was not in the habit of being hugged by girls. The ones in fine clothes were afraid of the grease on his hands, and his mother didn't let any other kind of girl near him. Well, except for the female mechanics and engineers who frequented the Warehouse, but they didn't count. At the Warehouse they were all business, and Crispin simply didn't go anywhere besides the Warehouse and home. He floundered for something to say while Cass said her farewells, finally managing a slightly bewildered smile.
"Have a good evening, Princess. I'll see about having someone write down instructions for the features you're unfamiliar with? So you can tell your father you understand the machine thoroughly." He waved goodbye, taking no thought of her invitation. It would be pleasant to visit her at the palace, but he assumed the invitation was a polite formula not really meant to be taken at face value.
Left alone on the ship's bridge, Crispin's eye was drawn to the blueprints on the back wall. They were more or less identical to the eyes of the layman, but the real differences were like night to day. Or air to water. The blueprints on the left were, indeed, prints of the Beatrice, but on the right was a dream. A dream he already called Laura in his mind, that would hopefully one day swim through the seas the way Beatrice would swim in the air. Or it would if he could ever find a way to compensate for the weight of deeper water.
A faraway expression came to his face, and he pulled out his notebook to begin anew the calculations that would eventually make his dreams reality.
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