Mlynar stared at the dish in front of him. Elysium and Jordi seem quite alright with the dish, but he for his part couldn't comfortably find himself entirely at ease with what he saw. They dragged him, well Elysium dragged Jordi and had the brilliant idea to also grab Mlynar as well, to the mess hall to try the new Siracusan menu. This impromptu meal group had also included Czerny, who Mlynar had accidentally drawn attention towards when Elysium passed him in the hall, and Thorns, who was already sitting down and eating his first portion when Elysium dragged the group to him.
Which now led to the current thought that occupied Mlynar's mind, the actual meal. He had made no explicit preference for food, allowing Elysium and Jordi to choose for him. Czerny had echoed much the same sentiment, although he was moreso concerned with writing on the few stacks of sheet paper he brought along. Apparently he had reached some sort of writer's block, which was the weak link that Elysium used to drag the man with on the pretense that perhaps this Siracusan cuisine could give him some sort of musical inspiration.
It had worked, and it seemed with the gusto that Czerny was analyzing his food and writing in his notes, it was certainly tasty. Well his meal was. Mlynar's was very… Black.
"What… What did you order for me?" Mlynar eventually relented to Elysium. The Liberi was eating some sort of grilled cheesy flatbread, their appetizer that had been ordered previously, and finally looked over at Mlynar's plate.
"I'll be honest, I have no idea. It looked pretty neat, so I thought I'd order it for you," Elysium said sheepishly. Mlynar's eyes narrowed, a complicated look on his face, with a very deep line appearing on his forehead before he rubbed his eyes. Letting out a deep sigh he turned towards his food, once more looking at the inky black mess of noodles.
"Oi, you have something against my cooking." Mlynar now looked up from his dish, seeing a rather irritated looking Lupo staring at him. His hands were cleaning themselves on a pink floral rag, but it didn't at all simmer down the look of challenge on his face. Inwardly Mlynar cursed his luck.
"I have… Questions about this dish." He said each word deliberately, trying to not provoke the man. A jerk of the Lupo's head gave Mlynar the allowance to continue. "What causes this dish to be so… black?" The Lupo snorted before turning on his heel. Pushing through the swining doors, there was a shout of surprise and the sound of something falling before he pushed his way out the doors again before they even settled. In his hands was a jar of inky black substance. No, to Mlynar's surprise it was ink of some kind.
"Genuine ink from a seakin," Leontuzzo Bellone proudly declared. "Caught and extracted with my bare hands. A real Siracusan delicacy. People would pay top LGD for food like this. So I expect it to fit anyone's taste." That look of challenge returned again, and now Mlynar was aware of the others at the table and a few from other tables looking at him.
How did I end up in this situation. He thought with another scowl before looking at the dish again. Picking up his fork, he put it in the pasta dish.
"Twirl it around. Makes it less messy, and trust me, you're lucky you're wearing a black jacket," Leontuzzo added with a smirk.
"Noted." Spinning the fork slowly a fair bit of the pasta coiled around it into an almost spool like appearance. Black, but now that he was closer to it, it had hints of garlic and a small hint of wine as well. It's sight was startling, but the smell quite pleasant. He ate it quickly, putting the fork in his mouth noting the slightly stickiness of the black ink slapping a bit on his cheek before rubbing away with a napkin while chewing.
The onlookers spectated him with held in breaths. Eyes flicking to the Kuranta's thoughtful expression and the Lupo's look of challenge. Neither wanting to step in to stop ANOTHER potential dynamite explosion, but also not wanting to make it worse if it at all possible.
Eventually Mlynar swallowed and another thoughtful expression was on his face. Everyone felt the room grow cold as Leontuzzo's eyes bore towards Mlynar.
"I feel like this dish would be better paired with wine. Do you have any recommendations?" A grin broke out on Leontuzzo's face as everyone else let out a breath they'd been holding.
"See, told you it'd be great. As for wine, I recommend a white vineyard, Siracusan of course. It seems the kitchen has a few choice bottles in stock for cooking, but I have my own personal collection if you'd like me too—" Leontuzzo stopped his explanation before every hair on his head and tail stood on its end. "Give me, one moment please." Mlynar didn't get a word out before the Lupo once more broke off into a sprint back through the kitchen doors.
Moments after he reentered the kitchen, one of the doors leading into the messhall opened up once more. Everyone's heads whipped around as they saw Penance march through, murder in her eyes. Those who were in path quickly skated out of the way as she looked around before turning on her heel towards the kitchen entrance.
What came next many in the mess hall could not hear, what with the speed and vitriol of the Siracusan shouted. Yet despite the shouting, dishes continued to be sent out, tough arguably they seemed to be moving faster. Lada and Rafeala quickly moving in and out of the doors to serve those who had ordered.
"Well this was certainly something," Thorns noted still munching on some sort of bright red carapace creature. "Dinner and a show. Stop that." The Chemist smacked the wandering hand of Elysium who had tried to grab ones of his delicacies.
"Stingy. Hey Jordi, share with me!"
"Eh, uh, sure."
Mlynar simply kept to himself. A strange occurrence, but with Leontuzzo no longer breathing on his neck, he was able to enjoy the meal. Czerny had asked to try it, thinking the sheer bombastic appearance of the dish would aid him in his composition. Acquiescing, Mlynar handed the remainder of the dish to him, not a large eater by habit, and was rewarded with great thanks from his roommate.
Then the doors opened and Mlynar now felt trouble. His upper ears flicked upon hearing the familiar clanking of plate and steel, as well as the similarly shined words of two in particular… And a third.
"Wh-When I said helped, I did not mean carried like this!" Deszcz wailed as she tried to hide the blush on her face.
"Nonsense, this is the most economical manner to carry someone. Your arms look quite tired to hang on to me," Margaret laughed. She turned back to face the mess hall for smiling. "Good evening everyone!"
"We're back!" Maria piped up from behind her as the mess hall erupted into cheers. Some even came over to more warmly welcome the two women back to Rhode Island. Maria had helped Deszcz from off of her sister's hold as said Nearl was being pulled into different conversations about how her mission went, how she was, and why it took so long.
Mlynar for his part quickly tided himself up. Sparking a quick glance at his table, who seemed to share the same delight at the two Nearls' return, he mumbled a quick apology before quickly moving out of the room. He didn't feel himself at all ready to properly speak to them again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Doing his best to look as innocuous, he began to weave amongst the crowd, despite his own stature, he seemed almost to blend in with the many others if he hunched a little. Before he was able to make it passed the doors, he made the mistake of looking behind him briefly, and he ended up meeting Maria's eyes. She looked… Hurt, betrayed, confused? The expression was complex, but Mlynar didn't give it a second thought. Someone walked in front of her, and when she looked back, he wasn't there anymore.
No his feet and body seemed to work automatically. Moving through the hallways of Rhode Island, his mind a conflicted mess and thoughts arguing with each other. A scowl forming on his face that made many steer clear of him as he walked through the belly of Rhode Island. Eventually he found himself in an elevator, doors dinging and sliding open to deposit him into Rhode Island's engineering foundries. Even with the dinner having been called hours ago, he still saw a great number of the many craftsmen of Rhodes Island still at work.
He nodded a greeting to the few who he had come to know through his trips down here. His recent sword needing some small adjustments he himself could not do. Vulcan herself seem most enamored with its craftsmanship. Although he had once come to see her needing to wrestle it out of that Ceobbe's grasp, the Perro thinking it another sword for her.
Many of the Engineers were strangely welcoming, though he figured that their impression of him came not from rumors but from their interactions with Maria who also came down here on her own time, never the same as his he made sure of such. Yet by their own statements they found his standoffish nature refreshing, and his apparent ease of conversation, he mused it was due to the many Engineers who were stumped would often talk to him bouncing anything off of him as he himself did his own task before they would inevitably come to their own answer without any of his own input being needed unless asked. But for the most part, they left him to his own devices.
Which is where he found himself now, a little alcove founded well aways from the majority of the other forges, foundries, and workshops closer towards the garages and vehicle bay of Rhode Island. The many land based vehicles, like their convoys or the company and personal vehicles of certain operators lay here alongside spare parts.
He had taken off his jacket and unbuttoned his blue shirt, hanging them off a hook alongside his tie. Wearing only a simple black undershirt he could afford to get grease and oil on, Mlynar set about his work on his personal project, an observer already milling about him that he cared not for, knowing said observer's nature.
"Returning so quickly after dinner? Even after such a show and meal, you're certainly quick to distance yourself from them," a voice mused as soft footsteps meandered near Mlynar. A grunt of annoyance was the response the Kuranta gave to them before a wrench was handed to him. A quick thank you was given before Mlynar turned back to the project. A light laugh accompanied the sound of the wrench tightening a top nut. This stretched for a few minutes, silence from the observer with the occasional grunt and strain of tools from Mlynar. It was eventually he, however, who started the conversation.
"Is there something you need Passenger?" The man formerly known as Elliot Glover only smiled with his mouth when Mlynar turned towards him. Grease and oil already caking his hands and his cheek.
"I was just wondering if you needed some assistance." Mlynar narrowed his eyes as Passenger vague statement. "You're not new to this, but even you most likely have your limitations in regards to this project of yours. Especially in the case of your most pressing issue, the lack of an engine." The Liberi's statement did not go over Mlynar's head. He knew what Passenger meant, and he himself knew what he needed but would not most likely receive. Even so.
"Is that an offer?" Passenger laughed once more at Mlynar's question now and the Kuranta's scowl returned. Rising up to dust himself off and clean his hands of grease, Passenger raised his hands in surrender.
"No, I dare not offer my own. What I would provide as an engine would seldom mesh well with your intentions, however I believe that the Feline boy who's been eavesdropping might have an offer that would better suit you." At his statement, the sound of tools clattering to the floor was heard before it was followed by the sound of Victirian accented swearing, mostly of pain.
Eventually the swearing and noise ceased before said Feline emerged from behind a stack of spare parts. If Mlynar was dirty with his hands and face in oil, then this Feline was filthy. His arms covered in the greyred grease to his elbow almost, and his checks sporting several stains as well. He hadn't even bothered clean up, knowing him, he would simply get covered in all the grease again and just waste time.
Mlynar recognized him as one of Closure's top assistants, or rather her protégé after that Pythia girl. But whereas the Pythia appreciated her input, the Feline followed her throughout the workshop. Eyes and ears open and eager to absorb whatever information or tutelage Rhode Island's chief engineer dispensed. He also lived in the workshop as much as his mentor.
"Is there something you need, Feist?" Mlynar asked. The lad's ears twitched and his red face and skewed eyes betrayed the embarrassment of his being caught as an eavesdropper to Mlynar and Passenger's conversation.
"Sorry, uhm, sir," he started. Mlynar didn't have time to dissuade the use of such formal speech with him, but Passenger seemed more than entertained at this show. "But you've always seem to come by and I got curious about what you were making is all. I'd heard from Maria you were some kind of noble knight so I was curious about why you always came down here."
"Could knights be craftsmen themselves?" Mlynar questioned, almost more to himself than to anyone else. "In the field, you often find yourself away from a smiths' hammers and have to maintain your gear yourself at times."
"My apologies, I meant no disrespect!" Feist stood ramrod straight. At this Mlynar sighed before beckoning the boy forward. Aye, he seemed no more than a boy to Mlynar. Much like Jordi though, he had hards eyes not befetting of someone his age.
"There was no disrespect received, more so a hypothetical. Are Victoria's knights the ones who maintain their equipment, or do their staff do it?" Mlynar asked, curiosity rarely peaked.
"Some knights do, though most nobles tend to have their staff do it. B-But uh Ki-… uh, Vina, would work on her own stuff." Mlynar nodded at the answer. Curiosity of the working of Victoria's knight households slaked. "But sir, what you're making isn't any sort of knight equipment I'm familiar with."
"You were probably more surprised at my talk of an engine as well, weren't you?" Passenger needled at Feist. The boy's face grew red once more and Mlynar grunted, a gesture to Passenger to cease his unnecessary teasing. The Liberi raised his hands in surrender once more.
"Sorry sir," Feist apologized formally. "But if you need an engine built, I'd like to nominate myself for the job!" At this Passenger had to stifle his laughter once more, looking at Mlynar with mirth filled eyes.
"Well looks like my work here is done."
"You didn't do anything."
"Goodbye you two." And with that, the Liberi walked off leaving Mlynar and Feist with eachother as Mlynar mulled over how to handle this situation.
"Hmm, do you know what my… project has been?" Mlynar asked.
"No sir," Feist responded. Mlynar noted how earnest and honest the boy was. He mentally waved away a memory threatening to dredge itself up and instead looked at Feist.
"Then I would question how you know what I require?" At this statement, Feist loked a little lost before Mlynar let out a breath. "Come closer, if you think you're craftsmanship can be up to the task, I see no need for you to be kept in the dark?" Beckoning him closer, Feist walked till he stood right beside Mlynar.
"I know of Victoria's steam knights, never seen one in the flesh as none has ever come to Kazimierz that wasn't in a picture, but whatever engine powers them would be illsuited to power a Kazimierzian hussar."
"A what, sir?"
"It's… Never mind," Mlynar finished. "Take a look at this frame and tell me what you see." Feist nodded at Mlynar's request before his eyes scanned the objects in front of him. He noted the tires, smaller than a car, but also thicker and more sturdy than a bicycle. The frame as well, while perhaps it could be seen as bike parts individually, together they were much too sturdy and much too big to be seen as nothing other than a—
"Is this a motorcycle?" Feist finally voiced. From the hardened frames and large pronged steering handles, it was certainly a motorcycle that he's never seen before. Mlynar in his case nodded, affirming if only partially, Feist's conclusions.
"A hussar is somewhat like a motorcycle. In a brief time period, it was main method of transportation for individual knights. Both in transit and during battle. Ostensibly, its much more sturdy than your standard bike… Once Kazimierzian knights rode burdenbeasts, those were the original Hussars." The last bit of history was tinged with a bite of longing in Mlynar before he waved it aside. He noted however that Feist had gone back to analyzing his work once more.
"If I may be so bold to ask, would speed not be better? There's a lot of unnecessary weight and parts which I do not know their purpose of." At Feist's question, Mlynar shook his head.
"Speed without dependability is simply a chance at a faster death. Knowing you can traverse the distance outweighs the potential for how long it would take you do so if you cannot complete the distance." Mlynar paused, but upon seeing the earnest and curious eyes of Feist, he felt compelled to continue. "It was how Nightzmoran routes were broken, through a charge through their center breaking their speed with strength. Armored plating to deflect bolts and arrows. A stable speed allows one to ride one handed, freeing your other hand for combat. These principles and techniques from the days of the original Hussar riders carried to this current method."
Even though this current method is as much of a relic of the past as the original Hussars themselves… Mlynar thought.
"Fascinating! I think I have an idea of where I can start with this. Just one last question, did the Hussars have an arts reactor as well? You said that combat would be done atop the burdenbeasts, but I know some creatures can amplify arts, did the modern Hussars have something similar as well?" Before Mlynar could respond, his terminal blared to life. Ringing sharply before he quickly silenced it. "Uh, did you need to get that?" At this Mlynar shook his head,
"No. I don't." Not now… Not yet…
