Fly to Hell (Part 1) by Timer < Submission | Inkbunny, the Furry Art Community

Keywords male 1177354, female 1067814, canine 186690, feline 148462, bear 48357, panda 18429, jackal 11725, gun 7635, bull 7473, smoking 5837, ursine 5506, western 4543, siamese cat 1622, steampunk 1306, zeppelin 27

Fly to Hell
Part 1

“Pardon me, sir.”  A young feline in fine dress implored the male behind the counter.  “I was under the impression that I was to have a private cabin in first class, this ticket clearly says that it is in coach.”

“Yes, ma'am, it does.”  The bovine attendant behind the counter replied without even looking at the ticket.  “I'm afraid that all the first class cabins on this ship are filled.  I'm terribly sorry.”

“Why, this is unacceptable!”  She huffed, her tail swishing back and fourth in annoyance.  She normally carried herself with a dignified posture befitting her proud Siamese bloodline, but the stress of travel grated on her.  “I demand that reparations be made and I be given a proper boarding pass!”

“That's not possible.”  The bull looked strained and possibly apathetic to her plight.  He plugged away at a noisy typticker that spit out a stream of information on a narrow roll of paper.  On the floor all around him were streamers of dispensed paper, like white confetti thrown in celebration.  “We're overbooked as it is.  If you want I could possibly find you a later ship that has an available cabin?”

“If you would, please, I would greatly appreciate it.”  The feline quickly calmed down.  It was undignified for her to have an outburst that sort, but she found travel to be a beastly affair, one made worse if forced to mingle with the common fur.  She wanted nothing more then to hide away in a cabin until it was over.  She tugged at the hems of her white gloves and tightened the shawl that was draped on her slender shoulders.  Spring was in the air, but the chill of winter continued to linger.  The port station was crowded, but even the mingling of warm bodies couldn't overcome its unheated and drafty construction.  It was noisy and chaotic, furs shouted their conversations to overcome the din only to add to it.  The station was overburdened with the feverish seeking to head west to the promise of fortune.  Desperate to leave the crowded metropolis with its pollution, disease, crime, poverty and unemployment behind.  Desperate enough to cling to the merest hope that the west held something other than suffering and death for them and their families.

The typticker buzzed and clattered, spitting out a stream of paper.  The bull adjusted the spectacles on his wide muzzle, and read the print-out.  “It appears that we have a cabin available for the first of April.  Would you like me to book that for you, ma'am?”

“The first of April?”  The Siamese cat balked.  “That's almost two weeks away!  No, no, that is not acceptable at all!  I'm to be wed in San Salval by the end of the week!”

“Then I strongly suggest you take this ship.”  The bull told her as he pointed to the ticket.  He pulled a brass watch from the breast pocket of his vest.  “You should hurry.  It's boarding right now and scheduled for departure in less than fifteen minutes.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh.  “Very well.”  She said.  “But I fully intend to lodge a complaint upon my arrival.”  She snatched up her luggage and walked briskly away from the counter.

“Ma'am!”  The bull called out to her.  She turned back around.

“Congratulations on your happy day!”

The feline opened her mouth to reply, but only curt words came to mind.  She remembered her manners, shut her mouth and offered a polite nod of gratitude to him even though she felt he hadn't taken her concerns seriously enough.  The bull waved forward the next passenger in line as she turned to make her way through the station.  “Happy day” might have overly optimistic on his part.  She had  met the gentlemale that she was to marry only once, and even then she had been a little kitten at the time.  All she knew of him was that he was much older and had amassed a great wealth in the frontier lands of the west.  He also shared the same Siamese lineage that she did, anything otherwise would have been unthinkable in her family.  Her father had arranged the marriage several years prior, giving her little choice in the matter.  At the time she took the news as a gleeful cub with romantic notions in her head.  Slowly she began to realize that she had been sold into wedlock so that her father could shore up his own waning estate. Even so, she had a duty to her father, her soon to be husband, and her family.

Did she not?

An ursine attendant at the exit was checking tickets and stopped her for a moment.  He looked at her ticket, seemed satisfied with it and punched it with a hole punch.  The feline noticed something odd about the bear.  At first she thought he was wearing a glove, then she realized that his left paw was made of metal.  A clockwork prosthetic replaced his missing appendage.  Most likely having been lost during the war.  A mechanical replacement was an unusual extravagance for a commoner, but not unheard of.

He looked down at the luggage she was carrying and asked:  “Would you like some assistance with your baggage, ma'am?”

“Yes, please, that would be wonderful.”  She replied.

The bear turned and snapped his fingers toward a group of cubs standing against the wall, the metal pads of the prosthetic rang loudly.  The cubs were a mishmash of different races, but wore identical blue uniforms.  A red panda on the end stood bolt upright and rushed to the attendant obediently.

“Help the young lady with her baggage,” He told the cub, “and if you drop them this time so help me I'll box your ear with my left paw!”

“Yes, sir!” The cub squeaked, and unburdened the feline of her luggage.  They were not terribly heavy, the passengers of the ship were allowed only two parcels of luggage, no heavier then twenty pounds each, but the cub was quite young and struggled with them.  Normally she would have had a servant with her to handle those menial tasks while traveling, but her father had insisted that he could spare none.  More accurately, he could afford none.  It hadn't occurred to her that her fiance could have easily supplied her such a luxury but had somehow overlooked her needs.

The Siamese walked through the door and into the field with the struggling cub close on her heels.  A cold wind blasted them both, fluttering her dress and tearing at her hat.  She put a paw on it to prevent the hat from upsetting.  It was tied under her chin, so it wasn't in danger of flying off, but there was still a risk that it might undo her hair if it slipped back.

“Are you on the 686, ma'am?”  The cub puffed.

“Yes, which one is it?”

“The first one right across, ma'am.”  The little panda told her.

The expanse of the field in front of them was vast.  Two massive airships, each a thousand feet long, were moored to tall docks set into huge concrete slabs.  A third zeppelin was slowly being towed into the last dock by four heavy steam locomotives on parallel tracks.  The wind made it cumbersome and difficult, the engines were consistently blowing their horns back and fourth to signal each other to slow down or speed up.   Far behind two more airships slowly cruised circles over the open field awaiting their turn.

She had ridden zeppelins before, but they never ceased to awe her in how massive they were.  Even as the light of day gave way to night, the silver sheen of their skin glistened brilliantly.  A towering testament to the advancement of technology and how small the world had become in this day and age.  In these behemoths one could cross the entire continent in less than three days.  Two if the wind was right.

A long, bellowing horn blared, echoing off the large buildings that lined the field.  It drowned out all the other noises of the shipyard.

“We'd best hurry, ma'am.”  The cub told her.  “That was the 686's final boarding horn.”

The feline stepped up her pace as best she could in heeled boots.  The young panda lagged behind despite his best efforts.  All over the airship there was a bustle of furs working to ready the ship.  With the sound of the final horn they started descending rope lines to the ground, looking like tiny spiders swaying in the wind next to the silver colossus.

When she reached the gangway steps she was stopped by a stewardess and asked for her boarding pass.  The feline relinquished the pass.  The stewardess was also a feline, but of common and mixed breeds.  The cub staggered up and nearly dropped her bags when he set them down.  He gasped for breath.

“I'm sorry ma'am,”  The stewardess told her after looking at the pass,  “This is where the first class passengers board, you'll have to board over there.”  She pointed to the rear of the ship.

Once again the Siamese felt very put out.  Having to bear the shame of walking to the rear of the ship to board was an indignity that a feline of her stature and careful breeding should never have to endure.  Without a word she proudly carried herself to the coach boarding gangway.  The young panda sighed and picked up her baggage again and followed.  He had been certain his job had been finished.

The stewardess there took her ticket and punched it and gave it back without a word.  The Siamese started up the stairs.

“Ma'am?”  A tiny voice piped up.  “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not a'sposed to go aboard after the final horn has sounded.”  The little panda told her.

The feline sighed and stepped back down to retrieve her baggage.  The young panda looked up at her expectantly, hungrily even, and she realized he was hoping for a gratuity.  Really!  To expect such a thing for only a short walk!  What gall the cub had!  He didn't so much as carry it up the steps for her!

She opened her small handbag and sifted through it.  Having expected to be flying first class and most of the amenities taken care of, she didn't have a great deal of money with her.  Not that she would have had much otherwise.  Still, she had more then enough to set this greedy little rapscallion straight.  She pulled out a small copper coin with every intention of giving the paltry sum to the cub.

Then she looked down at his small upturned face and realized it was longer and more gaunt than it should have been.  A cub should have a chubby, round, healthy face.  How many meals had the cub missed in his life?

She sighed again and fished out a silver coin from her purse as well.  She leaned over and took the cub by his paws as she handed over the coins.  She smiled at him and instructed.  “Now on your way back I want you to tie your shoe.  When you do so make sure you slip this silver dollar in it.  When that brute asks how much I gave you show him the penny and you don't have enough to split with him.”

The little red panda face lit up and he smiled up at her, his front teeth were missing and had yet to grow back in.  “Thank you very kindly, ma'am.”  He said before turning and running back to the port building.  About halfway back he appeared to remember that he was supposed to hide the silver dollar and paused to tie his shoe.

The Siamese walked up the steps with her luggage in tow.  There were others at the top of the steps awaiting those ahead of them to find a place to sit and allow them access.  Many were impatient, jostling and pushing to try and board, perhaps fearful the ship would lift off and leave them on the stairs.  The feline was eager to get aboard as well, the wind whipped across the field and chilled her dreadfully, but she would be damned before she would attempt to force her way like a clod.  She stood on the steps patiently as the passengers slowly managed to board.  A straggling family of mixed breed dogs ran up behind her as she waited.  They pressed up against her breathlessly and eager, seeming to believe that the two step berth she had allowed between her and the next passenger was an affront to them somehow.

It was like that all the way into the ship.  Pushing, shouting, bumping, shoving, squeezing past each other, with only an occasional apology or begging of pardon.  The Siamese felt like she was being swept forward in a wave.  Onto the ship and down the aisle with uncouth furs who steadfastly refused to make way or even avoid stepping on the hem of her dress.  At one point she felt a paw on her rump.  She gasped and turned, but was unable to make out the offender in the gaggle of paws, tails, luggage and fur.

Row after row she was swept deeper into the ship.  On each side of the aisle there were booths, all full of dirty, dingy furs all trying to settle in or stow their luggage in the overhead.  The booths were situated in pairs, each pair facing each other with sparse leg room between, either to encourage conversation or to increase capacity.  The feline decided it was the latter.

In short order she found herself at the end of the aisle.  Further passage was blocked by a heavy curtain.  Over the curtain was a sign that indicated that beyond was the sleeping quarters and the lavatory.  A couple of furs pushed passed her and through the curtain, no doubt having need of the facilities.  She looked around and spied an open booth, but she hesitated to take it.

There was a jackal seated in the final pair of booths.  He was alone, and there was little doubt as to why.  The lanky male lounged in an uncouth sprawl.  One booted foot rested on the booth across from him, and the other was lazily hung out the open window.  In his paw a cigarette smoldered in clear defiance to the sign that explicitly forbid the activity.  On his hip was strapped an unusual weapon, it looked like a rifle that had most of its length hewn off to make a crude pistol.  His clothing was a mishmash of military and civilian garb.  He wore a dingy brown trench coat over a double breasted rebel soldier's shirt and a well worn pair of blue jeans.  He had allowed his mane to grow out as opposed to cutting it as a proper gentlemale should.  A wide brimmed gray military hat was pulled down low over his face, almost, but not quite covering his sickly green eyes.  The jackal was frightfully thin.  He coughed lightly into a pawkerchief before stuffing it back into his pocket.  It would be obvious to anyone that he was being consumed by a terrible disease.

The Siamese turned to walk back up the aisle against the steadily slowing wave.  Surely there was a seat somewhere else that she had missed.  Or perhaps someone would be kind enough to make room for her?

“Madam,” the jackal spoke without looking at her, “if it is your worry, I assure you that what ails me is not contagious.”  He patted the cut down rifle on his hip. “If this is your worry, I assure you that it is unloaded as per the rules of the aircraft.” There was a thin metal clasp wrapped around the weapon, indicating that it had been checked by a crew member and was indeed unloaded.  It was secured in a way that prevented the lever from being used and cycling in a live round.  “In any event, I would appreciate the companionship as the other passengers seem to find my presence-- disconcerting.”

His voice surprised her.  She had judged by his appearance that he was a ruffian and a oaf, but he had a very proper and haughty southeastern accent.  There was nothing sloppy or common about his speech, he sounded sophisticated.  She was torn.  The jackal seemed sincere, but she could hardly be expected to mingle with such a sickly fur.  Voice aside, he could still quite possibly be a ruffian.  The ship was just so crowded, and really, there were few on this part of the ship in which it was proper for her to socialize.

The feline decided it would be impolite to walk the aisle again, not to mention awkward if she found herself returning to that end without finding a seat.  She sat down on the empty bench across from him.  Setting one of her bags on the floor at her feet and the other one on her lap.  The jackal made little ceremony when she decided to join him, he didn't offer to put her bags on the overhead shelf or even move his foot that was resting on the seat next to her.  He only offered a slight nod with a suggestion of a hat-tip before taking a drag from his cigarette.  He turned his head and coughed out a puff of smoke from his nostrils.  He pulled out his pawkerchief again and dabbed his maw before finally giving his new companion his full attention.  The whites of his eyes were discolored and yellow.

“Well,”  he said with a smile,  “you're not terrible to look at.”

The feline frowned.  “Perhaps this was a mistake.”  She told him as she started to gather up her luggage.

“My apologies, madam.”  The jackal said as he pulled his leg out from the window to sit up proper.  “I mean no disrespect.  I'm afraid the severity of my condition has left me terribly direct.  A frailty I'll take precautions to suppress in the future, if it pleases you.”

The Siamese hesitated for a moment before nodding.  “Very well.”  She agreed.

The canine smiled again.  There was something oddly unsettling about his grin.  He seemed much more confident than a sick and dying male had any right to be.  It made the feline nervous, like he was a predator ready to pounce on a meal.  There was something else too.  Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.  It was intriguing to say the least.  The jackal offered his paw to her with the palm up.  Before she could stop herself she put her gloved paw in his.  He had done it backwards!  A decent male wasn't supposed to give a tactile greeting to a female unless she offered first.  Judging by the slyness that crept into his eyes he was well aware of that.

“The name is Valentine.”  He introduced himself, pronouncing it Valenteen.

“Ada Moragon”  She replied as she withdrew her paw, clearly annoyed at herself that she had fallen for his subtle faux pas.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Moragon.” Valentine said as he leaned back in his seat, still wearing the grin.  “I had expected this trip to be uneventful.”

Ada cared little for how he phrased that.  “Before you entertain any crude intents, you should know that I'm already promised to another.”

“In that case,”  Valentine said as he took a final draw from his cigarette before tossing it out the window,  “this should be doubly interesting.”

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Fly to Hell (Part 1)

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