NaNo'13: Reffy: The Clam and The Moth

[Jenny (Reffy)]

DO NOT POINT OUT THE MISTAKES OR I WILL KILL YOU!





The very start of the novel: (good hook, yes?)

"All aboard! Hurry up!"

The large man at the docks bellowed, spittle flying from his chubby cheeks and cracked lips. He looked tired, the bags beneath his eyes big enough to carry all of the luggage currently being shuttled up to the vessel. He wore a new uniform but already it looked tattered and discoloured and it was barely held in place by a thick leather belt. With big meaty hands he waved people on, or at least tried to make the queue a little less disorganised.

The queue was more like a sea of people that crashed against the barriers erected to create a queue. People, dressed in the same uniform, fought to take payment and count heads. Between these people runners were sent and messages slung along on pulley lines as to how many more passengers the ship could take. Everybody was trying to get on The Clam and The Moth. It was more than a ship. It was a way out of Xereus.

This was the poor people's line. People queued in the hopes of getting away in the hope to start a new life. There were entire families here pushing and shoving each other out of the way, waving hands full of cash and screaming louder than the next. It was condensed desperation as each fought to the front, some times interrupting the person in front of them. They were rags the colour of mud and hair that bristled with dirt and bugs. Most were lucky to have a full set of teeth. Each bore their own scar or mark. A few in the crowd were missing eyes, being pulled along blindly by their family. Little girls in the crowd cried while boys joined their dads in the brawl. Bruises and a bloodied nose was worth it if they managed to get on the ship.

(I kinda info-dumped at the beginning and didn't really mean to. Oh well! Word count liked it. The ship doesn't leave for another 5k in words.)



Mushy moment:

"And it will fly?" The gentleman removed his spectacles and gave the girl an earnest look. Smoothly he tucked the glasses away into an available waist-coat pocket. He had an upper-class feel and authority that spoke of a life of education but lacked the confidence to exude it. It was like his confidence was tucked up under a rock so other people could avoid tripping over it.

"Of course it'll fly, dafty! It's flying right now. Look at it. She's a beaut, Richard. Never seen better." The girl had a heavy but homely accent that drooled like golden syrup over the back of a spoon. It wasn't anything like the posh people sauntering passed but Charlie never cared to stand in line like all the other chickens did.

Richard agreed but it wasn't anything compared to Charlie's wide grin. It was why Richard had been attracted to her in the first place. She was everything he wasn't and more. She had the confidence and had it hanging out there for all to see. Her parents weren't as rich as Richards but he'd aided in some of her studies and with some of the school tuition costs. She was worth it in his eyes.

When his father had told him about the plans to get away from Xereus Richard had gotten really excited. The idea of travelling was always a dream of his and he knew just the girl who would love the chance to put her engineering skills to the test. Charlie was the handy-man between them. She understood how steam engines worked and the size a cog should be and how best to utilize the power created.

"She is pretty. It's just … well, will it fly over oceans?" He asked awkwardly, altogether aware that his father had funded the project and had given Charlie a lot of responsibility in getting it right. If the ship failed, or worse, fell out of the sky Richard knew he'd be in a lot of trouble and for a lot of reasons.

"I'm not sure." Charlie stuffed her hands in the pockets. "Why don't more women wear these things, Richard?" Gesturing at the trousers. "They hold everything you'd ever want to carry with you and without those spindly carrying machines!" As if to prove a point she removed a spanner from the pocket and flipped it a few times.

Richard ignored the latter part of what Charlie had said. It was the "Not sure" part in particular. "What do you mean not sure?" He sounded exasperated.

She only smiled in return. "I was playing with you, Rich. You know? Having fun? You ought to lighten up. The Clam will fly and she'd do so beautifully." She held her arms to the sky as if to broadcaster her message to the world. A few people nearby noticed the outburst but then saw Charlie and quickly averted their eyes. They didn't do so because she wasn't pretty. No woman wore men's clothing, at least, not on this side of the wall. Charlie was a short girl, with brunette hair swept back into a knot, and a freckled face. On every available patch of skin and cloth was a small greasy smear. She wasn't the norm and that was disturbing to the normal every day women-folk who never left the house without gloves on and on a good day a bonnet.

Richard smiled, wrinkling his pale face and smoothing his worried hazel eyes. "I suppose you're right," he said quietly from between his pursed thin lips. "Let's get aboard, lest they accidentally leave us behind."

Unrest brews beneath deck with the lower-class people:

"I can't wait to get off this sodding machine."

"You've never liked this modern stuff, Luke. Just chill. You won't last the whole month if you keep pacing like that. Wear a hole in the floorboards and pop out the bottom of the hull. Maybe even fall to your death." Keith regretted adding that last part, especially when Luke turned sharply around to glare at him.

"You think you're helping but you're bloody well not. Why do we have to be cooped up in here anyway? We should be allowed up there with the rest of the toffs." He coughed. It was a wrecking cough that brought up a globule of phlegm, which he promptly spat on to the floor.

"We can't go up there. Not yet. Need to get educated. Need to be a learned man. Then we'll have access to all that. In the meantime we need to stay down here." Keith leaned back on the wall again, recovering from the recoil Luke had provoked in him.

They were both below deck in one of the holding rooms for the lower-class. There was no escaping the smell down here. Even though it was a new boat the heavy air of sweat, dirt, and tobacco swam around like circling sharks. Even space was occupied by a bottom and every wall had somebody leaning on it. The only space in this particular room was taken up by Luke's pacing and even he had to take measures not to step on people sprawling about. Most ignored the conversation. It was one they'd heard a million times before. It was the same old tale: go get educated, find a job, and get out of the slums. It was a fools dream but some times people needed something to hold on to. Some times, not often, somebody did make it.

"I still don't like it. We're made of the same stuff: flesh, blood, bones, snot. Why can't we be in the same room?" He kicked his boot on the floor, scuffing some of the tobacco ash that had settled there from an older man's cigar.

"Start by saying it a little louder! Then perhaps we will be in the same room, very briefly, before getting throw off the damned boat!" Keith hissed, all too aware that the guards were still roaming, hoping to find something to do. The place seemed to be crawling with guards and staff. Something about a formal meal.

Luke stopped. "Maybe I will. Maybe I'll say it loud enough for the snobs to hear all the way up to their party. Then when I see one I'll give him a piece of my mind and my fist." He grinned, slightly toothless in parts. He'd lost a few teeth in a bar-fight before and a bet. Now he stood with his hands curling and unfurling in anticipation.

And my favourite bit so far! Mmmm juicy drama:

What he found had him stopping in his tracks. There was also no getting away from what he saw in the bedroom. On the bed was Libby sat astride a man he'd never seen before. Clothes lined the floor on the way to the bedroom, tossed around in a careless fashion. The bed was magnificent and had purple silk sheets. Libby had been slow to react and was caught leaning down to kiss the man, her ample bosom free to rest on the man's bare chest, but had now sat stock straight up and gathered some of the silk bedding to her chest; hoping it would cover the fact that she was completely undressed.

"Murray!"

The man on the bed, still pinned beneath Libby, tried to turn to see and then finally spat. "Who's this? … Murray?"

Libby crawled off the bed, taking the bed-clothes with her. This left the man on the bed to scramble away and grab up some trousers. During this time Murray hadn't moved. He was still shocked and stood in the doorway but looked fit to collapse at any moment. He used the door-frame to steady himself subconsciously reaching out for anything. "Libby?" He managed to croak.

She'd already started gathering some clothes to shove on. "What the hell are you doing here?" She admonished with a growl, hopping about like a frog trying to put on the dress again without letting go of the bed-sheet.

"Your father. The meal." It was all he could manage.

"I was going to be right along." Libby lied. The dress was mostly on. She dropped the bed-sheet to start tying the laces.

"You were …"

Libby said nothing, pursing her lips tightly. It was Philip that spoke up. He'd gotten so far as to be buttoning up his shirt. "It's none of your business."

This seemed to break Murray from the shocked trance. He ran across the room, leaping the sofa's, to get at Philip, who could only try to duck behind the bed. "It's all my business! She's my girlfriend!" He screamed.

Philip ran around the bed, trying to avoid the grasping hands of Murray. "Well if you took better care of her then maybe she wouldn't go elsewhere."

Murray cornered the bed quicker than expected, causing his ridiculous hat to go flying, just as Philip got his feet caught on some of the discarded clothing and fell. He landed badly on one of his elbows which crunched loudly. Quickly Murray was on the other man, throwing punches. Tears streamed down his face. It was one punch after another; thick and fast. He didn't care where they landed, so long as they connected. One fist caught Philip on the side of the head and another on his lip which split quickly showering his chin and Murray's fist with blood.

Somewhere in the background, hidden behind the grunts of the two men tussling, Libby could be heard demanding that they stop but neither appeared to be willing. Philip managed to get his hands up in front of his face finally able to block some of the blows. Even better, he was able to throw a few of his own. Unfortunately he couldn't put the same weight behind them being trapped on the floor by Murray. Another crack and spurt of blood told of Murray's nose being broken. It already listed to one side in evidence. Both had chosen white shirts which were now red and sweaty.

It was Libby who finally broke them up. She shoved at Murray with both hands, sending him sprawling away, but not before a fist could be thrown towards her. It caught her on the cheek which was already swelling to be red. "Stop it!"

Murray pulled himself up first, wiping away the blood from the bridge of nose. Philip leaned with his back on the bed. It looked like they were both recuperating to go for another round but Libby wouldn't let them. "Leave, now." She glared at Philip.

It took a moment for him to react before realising the fight was over. He'd wanted to throw himself at Murray again and continue the fight but it was well and truly over now. He noticed the damage he'd done to Murray's nose and gave a crooked smile. A tooth was missing and the rest covered in blood. He got up and left in silence, picking up his picture-box and notes, and whatever remaining clothes he had on the floor. He'd gotten the story. It was just a pity he didn't get the happy ending.

"Murray," Libby began but Murray waved her to silence with hands that now throbbed silently in swollen pain. She lied, "He took advantage of me, Murray."

"Yeah, sure looked like it." Carefully he stood and used one of the reflective surfaces near the bed to check his wounds. One of his green eyes was starting to fuse shut and the nose was ballooned to twice it's size.

"You don't understand, Murray." Libby began again, not sure this was working. A panic started to rise in her throat. Time had slipped away, quickly, and now her control over the situation was going the same way. For the first time Libby realised she couldn't just talk her way out of this problem.

"Oh, I understand," he spat a globule of phlegm and blood out on to the floor. "You were just hugging. That's it. Hugging. When were you going to tell me?" He sounded like a kicked puppy but one that would not back down either.

"It's part of the plan." She tried to move over to him, to put her hand on his shoulder and comfort him. The hand was shaking with the panic which made it feel like her heart was about to explode. Tears were starting to gather on the edges of her eyes but not because she was losing Murray; it was because she was losing control of everything.

"It's always about part of the plan. No matter who you hurt, Libby." He shook his shoulder away, making her hand fall. "I guess I'll go then. Your father can designate me a new room. I'm sure there's a spare. You can have your toy reporter back."