SHIP'S LOG:

Eyes Without A Face

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Grace Gearhorn 11/26/2017 4:58pm


Still adrift in the doldrums above the Infinite Prairie. No wind day nor night for a week. The Capt. still insists on saying that trading the engines for these sails was the best trade of his life, and we'll all see when we get back to port and have them examined. At least the land is fertile and the water is fresh.






Grace Gearhorn 12/3/2017 9:52pm


Saw a herd of wild Texas Toast moving across the grasslands today. They came within a quarter mile to inspect us, then drifted off, brushing themselves over the grasses to collect pollen, which they make into a rich, luxurious honey. Each one's as big as an ox, toasted evenly in the prairie sun.

I've got an idea, and as the captain's got nothing till the winds pick up, he let me try an experiment. We're leaving all the donuts and sweet rolls out along the perimeter of our ground location--but within lasso range. We'll lie in wait on the top of the hull, and when that Toast comes sniffing at it, we'll see if we can rope one.






Grace Gearhorn 12/6/2017 5:19pm


One of the Wild Toasts broke free during the night, but the other three have been strong enough to pull the Eyes Without a Face across the prairie at a fair pace. Can’t control where they’re going (they’re following their herd) but since the Capt. traded the engines for sails and there’s not a trace of wind, it seems better than going nowhere.






Grace Gearhorn 12/11/2017 11:08pm


The herd of Wild Toast has begun to accept our ponderous presence, or at least begun to ignore it. At first we spooked the herd terribly--as the poor slices we'd lassoed got nearer to their herd, the more frightened the herd became and sped away faster. The toasts on the ends of our ropes began to lather, and I was worried they might just drop dead of heart failure, or whatever it is toasts have, but eventually all the toasts got tired of running and now we're back together again, one big happy herd of Wild Toast.

As a result, we're also not really covering too much ground again, as the herd of toast to likes to meander and wander aimlessly across the prairie, tugging the Eyes Without a Face behind it like a kid with a balloon. Today it was mostly at a walking pace, and some of the sailors--including myself--disembarked to walk in the tall grasses and get up close to the rest of the herd. They didn't mind us a bit as we patted their flanks and made various clicking and whistling noises to let them know we were there and meant them no harm. I'll bet you could tame one enough to let you ride it, if you took your time about it.






Grace Gearhorn 12/16/2017 10:30pm


I seem to have a knack taming these Wild Toasts. The Captain had called me "the toast whisperer," with some derision, but now that we've broken these toasts and can control them, it means we've got a way to drive the Eyes Without a Face towards the nearest settlement. We've got a whole team in harnesses now, and I'm riding the lead toast--a great big strong slice I've named Golden Brown.

The Captain reckons we're still some days from civilization, but the wind still hasn't been strong enough to drive the sails the captain traded the engines for. If we're lucky there'll be somebody in the next town willing to trade us back.






Grace Gearhorn 12/23/2017 9:35pm


It appears that taming the Wild Toasts is something of a lifestyle for the local grasshopper folk. We drove the toasts towards the nearest town, towing the Eyes Without a Face behind by its tethers, then parked it a respectable distance away and left the toasts to graze. I gave Golden Brown what was left of a melted butter patty from my pocket and gave it a good scratch on the crust.

In town, it became clear that riding the slices is the main form of transportation in these parts, with stables and hitching posts everywhere. We sidled in to the local Milk & Tobacco bar and struck up conversation. The grasshopper people, with their swooping antennae and compound eyes, they told us of their great history of toast jockeying, and their particular method of taming their toasts, which begins with a mighty jump, their six legs flying through the air as they sail onto the backs of the toasts of their choosing.

But there's trouble in grasshopper town. You can see it in the way they move their heads, especially when they're out in the open. They're something preying on their minds, and I'm not sure we want to be around long enough to find out what it is.






Grace Gearhorn 12/28/2017 9:42pm


And sure enough, trouble came to Grasshopper Town. A gang of local giganeura--giant predatory dragonflies--had their hinged jaws clamped tight around the village, flying through in a swarm every few weeks to pick off a few of the Grasshopper folk. The locals accepted the murderous extortion, choosing to lose a few of their kind on a regular basis rather than put up a fight and potentially lose it all. Which is why they didn't take kindly to the Eyes Without a Face moving to act in their defence. We hitched up the toasts and tugged the ship to the center of town, and let the giganeura have it with everything weapon on the ship: harpoons, split shot and angels, flaming sweet and sour sauce we picked up in Old Madripoor. It didn't take much to drive those bullies away, but now the grasshopper folk are more skittish than ever. They say the dragonflies will return, and in greater number, and likely chew up the whole town--the Eyes Without a Face with it. With still no wind to blow our sails, we couldn't outrun the swarm even if we tried. But it's seems the Captain's committed to finishing what we started.






Grace Gearhorn 1/2/2018 9:51pm


The Captain's reasoning is this: though they certainly have anthropomorphic attributes, these insectizoid folks are still deeply rooted to the hierarchy of predation, i.e., the dragonfly people eat the grasshopper folk. So what eats dragonflies? Fish! And if we can adequately disguise the Eyes Without A Face into the visage of a very large carp, we can scare these dragonflies from ever causing trouble again in Grasshopper Town.

I don't believe it for a minute. What would a giant carp be doing floating out over a town? In the air? These dragonfly people may be insectizoids, but they're no dummies. The Captain said he noted my concerns, but here I am painting giant fish lips on the bow of an airship. We'll see if this ends as poorly as his decision to trade the engines for sails, as I am afraid it will.






Grace Gearhorn 1/9/2018 11:42pm


The Captain's plan was a disaster. When the dragonfly raiders returned--in greater numbers--they came right for the ship. The Eyes Without a Face was tethered in the center of town, bobbing in the afternoon breeze with great fins we fashioned out of the sails (the very sails the Captain traded our engines for weeks ago), and the giant carp lips he had me paint on the bow. This time we had no advantage of surprise, and the dragonflies--this time led by a much larger, more brutal variety--rushed through our defenses and tore the ship to shreds. Ground crews had been pulling her closer to the ground as it became evident our buoyancy was failing, and no hands were lost as the wreckage landed softly over Grasshopper Town. The residents of Grasshopper town were not so lucky, however, and seem to have been entirely gobbled up or taken prisoner by the marauding flying devils.

Now we have no ship--just a skeleton of its rigid former self. And without a ship, are we still a crew? We're holding a meeting. Without the Captain.






Tim Harthwell 3 - 1/17/2018 11:37pm

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