80 Days

A/N: So this will be a LoK story set in the 80 Days (the Android games) universe. The story will be told from my OC's POV. Where, when, and how this story ends depend on YOU to decide. That's right! You my fellow reader will decide the flow of this story. So without further ado, hope you guys read it and leave a review or a criticize. I do not matter which as long as it will help me grow better as an author. And pardon my English. I'm an Indonesian and English isn't my first language.

I lay silently in my bed, counting how many times the airship groan and rattle through the air. A thought occur to me whether am I going to survive this unholy travel. Sure, the accommodation was nice to put it mildly-the bedroom is sleep able with a single bed, a drawer, and a bathroom that is equipped with a sink and a bathtub. In addition, the food wasn't worldclass for the omelet is usually under salted and sometimes a bit overcooked for my peculiar taste, but then again I never cook on a travelling airship so I cannot complain.

The airship once again rumbling as it hits an air turbulence-am I saying it correctly?-and I find my hands griping hard on the edge of the bed. It's a torture my friend. Can you imagine stuck in a Cross-Atlantic airship line connecting New York and London in a three days travel? The brochure never said anything about this rumbling ramshackle known as The Liberty. When I arrived in the airfield just a walking distance from Hudson River, my heart stopped as I saw my soon-to-be carriage to London. The hull of the airship looks like it's been on military service throughout its live, what with a couple of dents, and a bullethole?! I blinked a few times and I surprised that I'm not imagining. It is a bullethole not quite large, but it is still there. I'm about to complained but after a second thought, this is the only mean of travel to London, and I already paid the ticket-as the brochure kindly said 'No refund under any circumstances'. I hope that 'death' is count as circumstances. Therefore, with a slight hesitation I climbed aboard, while muttering Hail Mary under my breath.

Another rumble disturbs my head from replaying the last two days memory. This time, I'm sure that my stomach takes a flip and I feel my breakfast is about to come out through my mouth. I quickly get up from my bed and run to the bathroom. I locate the sink and I'm standing there, waiting for my vomit. Thankfully it didn't, so I just stand still in front of the sink. I loosened my grip on the edge of the sink a bit, as I lift my head and stare at the mirror. I look green. Greener if that possible, as I'm suffering the same condition in the last two days. I study my own reflection, noticing how my slightly tan face sporting a few cut here and there. I run my right hand to the right corner of my lips, where a horizontal cut still left a mark that is visible if someone stands close enough. Then I trace my jaw, realizing that I just shaved yesterday. My short hair is still as perfect as it can be-a thing that my years serving the Army carried until now. Suddenly as the word 'Army' appear in my brain; I see a flash of images. Horrible one, an image that I thought would have gone after the war ends. A few images flash again, hurting my head more than my airsickness. My hands reach my throbbing head, holding it until I'm sure that the pain is gone. After it stops, I notice my heart was beating rapidly. I take a few calming breath just like my usual post-war traumatic routines. When I'm able to control my heartbeat I begin to walk out of the bathroom and grab my coat from the drawer. I'm going to die if I keep staying in that room. I need a fresh air, and a lunch.

The dining area is always full during lunchtime. Passengers are mainly consist of well dressed businessman, or a newlywed couple deciding to visit England, or just some scholar that want to study at the finest of all the finest university-Oxford and Cambridge. You can see a lot of color in this area, a mix of culture and ethnicity. I see a family of dark skinned American chatting and talking, and I actually smiling for the first time since I set foot in this airship. How does it feel, when the thing you're fighting for, with blood, tears, and sweats, are worth it? For all my time I spent fighting the rights for minority the sight in front of me is a reward itself, one that will always be treasured deep in my heart.

I enjoy this place. Unlike the other area that made from metal, most of this place built from wood and it gives you the feeling of home-y. All the mahogany tables are covered with white fabric with intricate details and a vase in the middle of the table. The entire table scattered throughout the floor, surrounded by window that overlook the blue Atlantic Ocean. This place is actually one of my favorite places in this airship-of course, when it's not groaning or rumbling as an additional view of the ocean isn't exactly ease your fear. I spot an empty table closest to the window and make my way there. I settle myself there, while a waiter comes to my table offering a glass of water, which I take wholeheartedly, hoping that a glass of clear water might help my airsickness. I take a sip from my glass and stare the vast ocean underneath the clear blue sky. Funny that my life take a turn like this. How I never think to leave the safety of my home in New York to embrace the foreign land of London. A place of innovation I heard, one that brim with sort of gentlemen and gentlewomen and all the upper class, while also hold its own darkest part. Apparently, poverty and the general crime rate are pretty high in London, what with the Poverty Law and the ever abundant of slum area in there. Some even claimed that the prisons in London are crammed up with criminal. Ah, such pity to be the capital of the greatest empire in the world that rotting from the inside.

I wonder how am I going to survive there, when another air turbulence hits the airship. I do not need to think twice-I grip the edge of my table as hard as I could. The other passenger seems to feel the turbulance too, as I can hear some gasp or yell from a number of tables.

When is this going to end? I will never know. Supposedly if the timetables are accurate-which at this point I begin to doubt-then we should arrive to London tomorrow morning. I stare at the ocean once again, definitely not thinking of how high we are, or how deep is that water.

Just as I about to curse my decision on choosing this airship, I hear someone dragging a chair on the other side of my table. A rude gesture as I intentionally picked the furthest table so that no one can disturb me. But then again maybe this person also has the same idea as me. I divert my gaze to the fellow in front of me, and I find myself studying her figure. The fellow isn't a guy, but a lady perhaps four years younger than me. I can't see her face since she is reading a book. I focus my sight to the book title, "The Spirit of the Law" by Montesquieu. A serious book for a young lady like her. I continue my observation, watching her toned arms-perhaps bigger than mine-seems bulging out of her blue unbuttoned overcoat. I can see her hand that holding the book, the dark color of her hand that looks like some Native American. Her brown, short hairs that stop just above her strong jaw, really makes her look intimidating. This lady must be-as I deduced-a strong girl, spending her time working in a field or a wood. And that arms, how I wish I have an arm like that.

It seem that she can feel my intense gaze piercing through her book, as she suddenly drop her book and her eyes meet mine. Now I can see her face, the tan color of her hand accentuate her face, with a blue eyes as blue as the morning sky in a warm summer. She is definitely not American nor is she an African-her skin having a unique shade of chocolate that put her as a Native American.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I didn't notice that this table is occupied. I mean there are a couple of tables that might be empty, but this place is close to the window and I kind of like the view of the ocean, and as you can see I'm reading a book here so I can't…"

I have to stop her rambling and her further attempt to embarrass herself, "No you don't have to apologize."

She still looks flustered as the pink not leaving her cheek, "I'm really sorry you had to hear my rambling. I mean, of course, my parents always told me about that and how that going to affect my social skill. Which at first I denied for it doesn't make any sense at all. Sure there is times where people looking at me like I'm sick or something, or the times where I go rambling when I mistook a bag of potato with my laundry and my mom found it out and I had to explain her because…"

I can't hold my laughter anymore. She sure is tough as her exterior.

"Did I just tell you not to apologize?"

She still avoids my looks, as she trying to control herself. I have to make her feels better. "Look, I've seen worse ma'am. And I'm proud to tell you that you are normal."

She then looks at me with a playful grin, "Being so formal to a stranger now?"

"Nope. That's how we address female in Texas." She has an air of confident, even though she had just rambling like a maniac a few minutes earlier.

"So you're a Southerner?"

"Not really," I said, knowing where this conversation might end up, "I born in Texas but I grew up in New York."

She releases her breath, "Phew, for a second there I thought you're an ex-Confederate."

I chuckled slightly, "Do I really look like a Confederate?"

She held her chin, deep in thought, "Let's see… You definitely have the attitude, and the way you dress up is kind of a giveaway…"

"You did not just commenting my style of dress."

She has that smirk on her face, "Sure am."

"For my own defense, this coat is what Parisian called très chic. It's the very definition of modern gentleman-one that arguably respect fashion."

She then laugh, and I find myself laughing too. I'm actually having a nice conversation with this stranger. Stuck up in this dreaded airship really makes you miss an actual social interaction with another human-one that understand jokes.

"Catherina" she said while extending her hand. I take it and very surprised by her strong grip.

"Surely I cannot call you with you first name, that would be rude."

"You really are difficult you know."

I smile at her word, "Stuck in this deathtrap makes any sane man changed ma'am." An air turbulence hits the airship for God know how much, and by instinct I grip the edge of the table. It appears that my action didn't go unnoticed by Catherina, as I hear a laughter escaping her lips.

"Let me rephrase my word. You really are difficult and a pussycat."

I know she was just joking, but I find her word insulting, but I too distracted to actually care, "Even a gentleman like me has something to fear, ma'am." I said, "To think we are this high with layers of metal that separate us from death bellow is not make this trip enjoyable to me."

Her eyes are suddenly lost it playfulness, as concern suddenly replace it "But are you alright? I'm sorry if my joke hurts you're feeling. I should've known my limit."

I face her and flash her my-hopefully convincing-reassurance smile, "You don't have to. It's just I never travel this far using an airship."

Convinced by my look, she continues our conversation, "Seriously? Back home, I used to ride a unique airship that resembles a huge bird. My family always used it to travel between farms…"

I watch her talking animatedly, how her hand actively moving with each word as she's trying to describe her experience as best as she could. I find myself zoning out watching her enthusiasm lift my spirit once more.

"… that my house in Oklahoma-"

I snap out of my trance, "Oklahoma you say?"

She stop mid sentence, looking at me confused, "Yeah, that's where I came from. Why?"

My head connect all the dots. All information I gather just by observing her earlier suddenly make sense. With a smile I extend my own hand, "Please allow me to introduce myself", she then grabs my hand still with that confused look.

"My name is Jack Rusco. But please call me Jack."

"Um, sure thing Jack" she say with a friendly smile.

"So what's your name?"

She looks even more confused with my question, "It's Catherina… How can you-"

"Forget it? I'm asking your real name."

It takes a few second before she understand what I'm implying. Her eyes grow wide with fear, as if I'm saying that I'm going to kill her.

"How… do you…?"

"Lucky guess. One that I'm sure spot on this time."

She still looks bewildered with my revelation. Her face turns red as she focus her gaze down to her shoes, trying her best not to look me in the eye.

"It's… Korra…"

What do you think? The original chapter is too huge so I have to split it into two parts. So yeah, it's just some opening chapter letting you know a bit about my OC. The adventure isn't starting… yet, but as I said before you reader have control on how this story will played out. How do you do that? Well, I'm gonna explain it after we arrive in London, and that's about two more chapter worth of waiting. That means the progress of this story really depends on you, so please drop your review. At least I know if I should continue this story or not. Anyway, thank you for reading and see you next time.