Fanfic: On Starlit Wings 2/?
Aug. 31st, 2009 05:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bibliodragonOn Starlit Wings 2/?
Rating: Teen
Characters: Bill Adama, Ensemble
Summary: Captain William Adama and the crew of the dragon Galactica are to be posted to the Americas; Britain's Aerial Dragon Corps having little use for the aging dragon. But first there is the treacherous crossing of the Atlantic to be taken; tensions between the crews of ship and dragon and family, and why has the Lady Laura Roslin taken passage aboard a dragon transport ship? And then there are rumours of sightings of the ships and dragons of a group of pirates known only as the Cylons... A Battlestar Galactica/Temeraire crossover AU.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I'm just borrowing them. Not my world, I'm just playing in it. They belong to RDM, Syfy etc. and Naomi Novik.
Still close enough to land for French patrols to be a potential issue, the ground crew were carefully going over Galcatica's harness and armour; spread out across the dragon deck crewmen picked over the leather straps, tugging and pulling at any piece that showed the slightest bit of wear, under the watchful eyes of both ground crew chief Galen Tyrol and Galatica herself.
Adama watched as she would make a comment here and there whenever she thought someone was not being attentive enough. With such a voyage still ahead of them it may have been wise to stagger the work, so the crew would have some work ahead of them, but he could not risk a strap coming undone if they were called to battle. If necessary they would just have to repair the smallest of scratches; at least no one would be able to accuse them of sloppy work.
“You will make sure that shoulder strap is the right thickness? Otherwise it is uncomfortable,” Galactica said, leaning over so her shadow fell over Tyrol.
“Every time you ask that, and every time it's fine,” was his response, the crew chief not looking up from his work.
“But this might be the one time it's not,” she said with mock concern, her resonant voice tinged with amusement.
“It's more likely to happen when you’re hovering over me. Why don't you go check on someone else? Cally, I need some more silk thread over here.” Waiting for the young woman to bring it over, he glared up at Galactica, but only equalling the severity that the dragon was currently showing.
Even by the standards of the Aerial Corps Galactica's crew was unconventional: throughout her many years Galactica had developed a habit of collecting crew members no matter what the Admiralty thought or according to social mores, ever since she had emerged from her egg and chosen Adama's great-grandfather for her captain. Having been forced to accept this eccentricity, the Admiralty had since decided to take advantage of her reputation and would often assign to her those considered troublemakers, or who did not fit in to Aviator society. Adama did not care one bit for their opinion; the crew had served well, and he would trust any one of them in battle over their Lordships.
“Are you brooding?” Seemingly content that the ground crew no longer needed her close supervision, Galactica had curled her neck round towards him without him noticing, the great bulk of her giving them a semblance of privacy from the busy deck.
“I do not brood. I'm just thinking.”
She snorted affectionately at him, with a force that would have caused him to step back were he not securely situated against her foreleg. “Thinking then.”
“I am thinking. Nothing wrong with that.”
“But fighting is more interesting. I wonder why the French don't attack us.” She sighed, and Adama patted her nose.
“Bloodthirsty thing. Don't you think about anything else?”
“I worry about you, you have hardly moved from the dragon deck here. Are you going to spend the entire voyage here?”
It was only two days into their journey, and Adama was not looking forward to having to deal with a dragon who wanted to play nurse maid on top of all the other problems that unquestionably came from such a voyage.
“I'm needed here; Tigh has been laid down with seasickness and someone must keep an eye on the crew. And you for that matter.”
“Me?”
“I seem to recall an incident aboard the William of Orange in '86. Someone took down the entire mizzenmast sails when they decided on a night flight.”
Galactica shifted guiltily. “That could have been any dragon.”
“The only other dragon aboard the transport was a Winchester courier.”
“Yes, well, I promise not to damage this ship,” Galactica said. “Even though these ships should not be so fragile. I'm sure I could quite easily knock down these masts without even trying.”
As it was impossible for such a large dragon to whisper, at overhearing this several of the ground crew not used to sea travel visibly paled as they looked at the masts as if expecting them to fall down at any moment, while the sailors scowled and muttered at this slur against their vessel. Adama could only wonder how long into their journey it would be until she caused a diplomatic incident.
“They are built to survive storms at sea, and I am sure some thought was put towards the attentions of bored and determined dragons.” He patted her again. “But please, don't try to destroy the ship.”
“I shall try not to.” She nudged against his hand with surprising gentleness. “And I do mean that you don't have the stay here the entire time. I'm sure Lieutenant Agathon would be able to look after things for a little while.”
“And where exactly would I go? My berth may be fine for sleeping, but it gets a little tiresome staring at four wooden walls.”
She unfurled one wing in a shrug. “Perhaps you could look around the ship.”
“I could almost think you were wanting to get rid of me,” Adama said, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course not!” she said, scandalized. “It's just, well.” Lapsing into silence, she fidgeted slightly; her wings rustling against her back, then with a deep sigh she stilled. “We need some battles, that is what we need. I could go aloft and see if there are any enemy dragons, and they could see me; they would have to attack us rather than any ships,” she said, almost as if to herself.
“If only that could be the answer to everything.”
“It should be.” Lifting her head up she yawned widely; her yellowed teeth glinting dangerously in the sun despite the slight blunting of age. Her forked tongue flicked out once to taste the air, then she turned her head towards the dragon deck stairs alongside the foremast. Though her outward manner had not changed, Adama could feel a shiver of tension run through her body and he stepped forward so he could see what it was that had drawn her attention.
Coming up the stairs was an officer of the Atlantia; the gold epaulets on his collar marking him as a lieutenant, and an expression of carefully constructed indifference on his face that did not fully succeed in concealing an underlying anger. Not quite looking at Adama, yet it was still clear that he was heading towards them; there was no reason for an officer of the ship to intrude upon the domain of the aviators. Adama's face settled into severe lines as he stepped forward to meet with him.
“Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Lee Adama, third lieutenant of the Atlantia, merely responded with a stiff formal bow. At a casual glance an observer could be forgiven for not realizing that they were father and son, they were not much alike beyond their blue eyes and similarity in bearing. Even in the past their relationship had been strained; even if the decision had come from on high that he was to be Galactica's last captain, Lee would still have been in an excellent position to be put to an egg had he remained in the Corps. Instead, he had called upon his mother's connections to get a place in the Navy, much to his father's consternation . The still recent tragedy only served to exacerbate the situation.
Adama hoped that they would not reiterate their previous encounter; as well as not wanting to row in front of his crew, he did not know how Galactica would react. But whatever Lee's real feelings on the matter were, they remained concealed behind an icy politeness.
“The Captain extends his compliments and wishes to extend an invitation to you and your officers of dinner.”
The words came out in a rush, as if he wanted to extend the invitation he had been ordered to give and then leave as quickly as possible. The sounds of Tyrol berating the ground crew seemed excessively loud as Adama considered how to respond to the invitation; had it been any other officer of the ship he could have used the excuse of not wanting to leave his dragon unattended, but Lee's familiarity with her meant that he could not try and pass of her currently composed demeanour as that of a dragon likely to fuss at a sea voyage.
Instead he nodded and gruffly said, “my officers and I would be delighted,” then turned and waled back to Galactica's side, and after a moment the sound of brisk footsteps moving back the way he had come informed him that Lee had withdrawn.
He glanced up at Galactica, who was staring after Lee with large eyes. “Don't you say anything, he is impossible to get through to.”
She turned and nudged at him for him to stroke her nose. “I wonder where he could have gotten that from.”
Rating: Teen
Characters: Bill Adama, Ensemble
Summary: Captain William Adama and the crew of the dragon Galactica are to be posted to the Americas; Britain's Aerial Dragon Corps having little use for the aging dragon. But first there is the treacherous crossing of the Atlantic to be taken; tensions between the crews of ship and dragon and family, and why has the Lady Laura Roslin taken passage aboard a dragon transport ship? And then there are rumours of sightings of the ships and dragons of a group of pirates known only as the Cylons... A Battlestar Galactica/Temeraire crossover AU.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I'm just borrowing them. Not my world, I'm just playing in it. They belong to RDM, Syfy etc. and Naomi Novik.
Still close enough to land for French patrols to be a potential issue, the ground crew were carefully going over Galcatica's harness and armour; spread out across the dragon deck crewmen picked over the leather straps, tugging and pulling at any piece that showed the slightest bit of wear, under the watchful eyes of both ground crew chief Galen Tyrol and Galatica herself.
Adama watched as she would make a comment here and there whenever she thought someone was not being attentive enough. With such a voyage still ahead of them it may have been wise to stagger the work, so the crew would have some work ahead of them, but he could not risk a strap coming undone if they were called to battle. If necessary they would just have to repair the smallest of scratches; at least no one would be able to accuse them of sloppy work.
“You will make sure that shoulder strap is the right thickness? Otherwise it is uncomfortable,” Galactica said, leaning over so her shadow fell over Tyrol.
“Every time you ask that, and every time it's fine,” was his response, the crew chief not looking up from his work.
“But this might be the one time it's not,” she said with mock concern, her resonant voice tinged with amusement.
“It's more likely to happen when you’re hovering over me. Why don't you go check on someone else? Cally, I need some more silk thread over here.” Waiting for the young woman to bring it over, he glared up at Galactica, but only equalling the severity that the dragon was currently showing.
Even by the standards of the Aerial Corps Galactica's crew was unconventional: throughout her many years Galactica had developed a habit of collecting crew members no matter what the Admiralty thought or according to social mores, ever since she had emerged from her egg and chosen Adama's great-grandfather for her captain. Having been forced to accept this eccentricity, the Admiralty had since decided to take advantage of her reputation and would often assign to her those considered troublemakers, or who did not fit in to Aviator society. Adama did not care one bit for their opinion; the crew had served well, and he would trust any one of them in battle over their Lordships.
“Are you brooding?” Seemingly content that the ground crew no longer needed her close supervision, Galactica had curled her neck round towards him without him noticing, the great bulk of her giving them a semblance of privacy from the busy deck.
“I do not brood. I'm just thinking.”
She snorted affectionately at him, with a force that would have caused him to step back were he not securely situated against her foreleg. “Thinking then.”
“I am thinking. Nothing wrong with that.”
“But fighting is more interesting. I wonder why the French don't attack us.” She sighed, and Adama patted her nose.
“Bloodthirsty thing. Don't you think about anything else?”
“I worry about you, you have hardly moved from the dragon deck here. Are you going to spend the entire voyage here?”
It was only two days into their journey, and Adama was not looking forward to having to deal with a dragon who wanted to play nurse maid on top of all the other problems that unquestionably came from such a voyage.
“I'm needed here; Tigh has been laid down with seasickness and someone must keep an eye on the crew. And you for that matter.”
“Me?”
“I seem to recall an incident aboard the William of Orange in '86. Someone took down the entire mizzenmast sails when they decided on a night flight.”
Galactica shifted guiltily. “That could have been any dragon.”
“The only other dragon aboard the transport was a Winchester courier.”
“Yes, well, I promise not to damage this ship,” Galactica said. “Even though these ships should not be so fragile. I'm sure I could quite easily knock down these masts without even trying.”
As it was impossible for such a large dragon to whisper, at overhearing this several of the ground crew not used to sea travel visibly paled as they looked at the masts as if expecting them to fall down at any moment, while the sailors scowled and muttered at this slur against their vessel. Adama could only wonder how long into their journey it would be until she caused a diplomatic incident.
“They are built to survive storms at sea, and I am sure some thought was put towards the attentions of bored and determined dragons.” He patted her again. “But please, don't try to destroy the ship.”
“I shall try not to.” She nudged against his hand with surprising gentleness. “And I do mean that you don't have the stay here the entire time. I'm sure Lieutenant Agathon would be able to look after things for a little while.”
“And where exactly would I go? My berth may be fine for sleeping, but it gets a little tiresome staring at four wooden walls.”
She unfurled one wing in a shrug. “Perhaps you could look around the ship.”
“I could almost think you were wanting to get rid of me,” Adama said, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course not!” she said, scandalized. “It's just, well.” Lapsing into silence, she fidgeted slightly; her wings rustling against her back, then with a deep sigh she stilled. “We need some battles, that is what we need. I could go aloft and see if there are any enemy dragons, and they could see me; they would have to attack us rather than any ships,” she said, almost as if to herself.
“If only that could be the answer to everything.”
“It should be.” Lifting her head up she yawned widely; her yellowed teeth glinting dangerously in the sun despite the slight blunting of age. Her forked tongue flicked out once to taste the air, then she turned her head towards the dragon deck stairs alongside the foremast. Though her outward manner had not changed, Adama could feel a shiver of tension run through her body and he stepped forward so he could see what it was that had drawn her attention.
Coming up the stairs was an officer of the Atlantia; the gold epaulets on his collar marking him as a lieutenant, and an expression of carefully constructed indifference on his face that did not fully succeed in concealing an underlying anger. Not quite looking at Adama, yet it was still clear that he was heading towards them; there was no reason for an officer of the ship to intrude upon the domain of the aviators. Adama's face settled into severe lines as he stepped forward to meet with him.
“Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Lee Adama, third lieutenant of the Atlantia, merely responded with a stiff formal bow. At a casual glance an observer could be forgiven for not realizing that they were father and son, they were not much alike beyond their blue eyes and similarity in bearing. Even in the past their relationship had been strained; even if the decision had come from on high that he was to be Galactica's last captain, Lee would still have been in an excellent position to be put to an egg had he remained in the Corps. Instead, he had called upon his mother's connections to get a place in the Navy, much to his father's consternation . The still recent tragedy only served to exacerbate the situation.
Adama hoped that they would not reiterate their previous encounter; as well as not wanting to row in front of his crew, he did not know how Galactica would react. But whatever Lee's real feelings on the matter were, they remained concealed behind an icy politeness.
“The Captain extends his compliments and wishes to extend an invitation to you and your officers of dinner.”
The words came out in a rush, as if he wanted to extend the invitation he had been ordered to give and then leave as quickly as possible. The sounds of Tyrol berating the ground crew seemed excessively loud as Adama considered how to respond to the invitation; had it been any other officer of the ship he could have used the excuse of not wanting to leave his dragon unattended, but Lee's familiarity with her meant that he could not try and pass of her currently composed demeanour as that of a dragon likely to fuss at a sea voyage.
Instead he nodded and gruffly said, “my officers and I would be delighted,” then turned and waled back to Galactica's side, and after a moment the sound of brisk footsteps moving back the way he had come informed him that Lee had withdrawn.
He glanced up at Galactica, who was staring after Lee with large eyes. “Don't you say anything, he is impossible to get through to.”
She turned and nudged at him for him to stroke her nose. “I wonder where he could have gotten that from.”
