xp_submariner: (Ruins)
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Namor, Meggan, and Paige work to find a mechanical repair to the Engine. While they learn more about its inner workings, Meggan’s affinity for the fae realm and Paige’s current form prove to offer certain advantages aiding in repair. However, they find they'll need something more than a wrench and elbow grease.


Even the silent thralls seemed uneasy; in all their years on Otherworld never had the Grande Dame allowed her perception of the Engine to be despoiled by the presence of the chattel who operated it. However, even the faerie woman had been forced to concede they were the closest equivalent to experts on the matter, and so she had consented to their attendance – from a distance. Although she stood apart, her black eyes were locked on them.

The most able thrall was attempting to bring them up to speed. The current point of interest was a stepped wooden wheel, large enough to accommodate a dozen operators. Its construction was significantly less artful than the Engine, and so similar to the penal treadwheels of the nineteenth century it could only have been built by the people forced to power it.

“Don’t really understand how it works,” he explained. “Operation is easy. We walk the treadwheel, here, and the gears turn. The guards say the yield’s been going down for a while now.” He glanced to his fellow thralls, some of whom had simply slumped to the ground the moment it became clear nothing was immediately required of them. “We’re running out of people strong enough to work it.”

Paige looked over the machine, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “If a few of us help get it going, do you think that would help us find the issue?” She wasn’t exactly keen on getting on a human hamster wheel to power an unknown machine, but anything to get out of this strange mess.

"Maybe," the thrall said, though he sounded dubious. He turned to the handful of slaves watching the exchange with listless eyes. "Give me a few minutes to find out who's up to it . . ."

"Nonsense," came a gruff, and exceedingly tired, voice separate from the group. Namor had been standing near Meggan, in quiet conference, but he eyed the machine with all the violence that he'd been holding back since arriving in this dimension. "I hold the power of over twenty lungbreathers," he announced, "No more delays. All you must do is observe."

He didn't leave much room for argument. The Altantean stomped toward the overly large, overcomplicated machine with a ferocity that begged anyone to contradict him. A slight creak filled the chamber as he gripped the wooden handrail of the treadmill, but that was soon drowned out as it turned out that Namor wasn't merely boasting.

Super strength finally met a problem that could be, at last, solved by brute force.

Cogs moved. Mechanisms engaged. The hints of a small fire lit the dark room with majestic light. As Namor worked, the Glamour Machine roared to life.

As the machinery easily operated under Namor’s strength, Meggan’s attention was drawn to just beneath it. She had seen a spark of something, but couldn’t say what at first. She realized soon enough that it wasn’t a reflection of the room’s lights on the surface of the machine, because it felt different.

Just before a brilliant energy flared fully into being before her, she had felt like her eyes had tingled a bit more than earlier. She gasped, momentarily startled as energy was just suddenly there in front of her. The gold and green cords felt alive from where she stood. They writhed as they were drawn in and rippled, gradually being pulled into the inner workings.

“Oh! That’s really, really new!” It looked brilliant, and she could only suppose that it was the very magic of Otherworld previously mentioned being drawn into the machinery of the engines. It was beautiful.

She could also see an outflow, however, as she cautiously knelt near it, but not too close to get in anyone’s way as the machine worked. She didn’t want to get crushed. It seeped out in waves from beneath one of the cogs, and slightly from the largest of the pipes, sort of dissipating before it fully made contact with the ground; it wasn’t like an oil leak where it could pool on the surface.

Meggan didn’t dare physically intrude on its progress, not knowing what would happen in this place. She wasn't a mechanic. “I...I think I’m seeing where everything’s gone wrong. The longer you do the pushing, Namor, the better I can see it!”

“So what’s the problem?” Paige was staying as far back from the machine as possible. Better to not be in the way and to have room in case they really did need to fight their way out. “Can we fix it?”

She saw Meggan’s eyes glowing a bright gold as the other girl looked up. “Hey, are you ok? What did you see?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I think it’s this dimension’s magic that I’m seeing!” Meggan grinned, before she turned her attention back to the machine. "Maybe the essence?" She gestured to the two culprits that were causing the greatest drama. “There’s cracks right around here, and all the energy that’s gathered just comes in and...leaks out right around there.”

The longer she watched, the more certain she was that it was that.

She shook her head. “It’s not like physical oily puddles that somebody could step in and leave trails to trace back. It’s more like it just...dissipates after flowing outward, and goes back wherever it started out from, instead of being properly collected.” She really wanted to describe the look of it all, but it was difficult when it was constantly in flux. "It's amazing. It’s just this bright green and gold energy that twists around together.”

"How absolutely wonderful," Namor said with a drollness not entirely the fault of being the only one working, but he did not pause in his efforts. "Do enlighten me: how many mutants does it take to fix an interdimensional lightbulb? There will be time for awe later."

“Hmm.” Paige stared at where Meggan had indicated the leaking was coming from. Couldn’t be that different from patching the leaky roof at home. “Can we patch it? Keep the…whatever from coming out? Maybe they have some extra materials we could use? Or maybe I could transform into…something?” She looked around at the group.

The thrall had squatted next to the area Meggan had identified and sucked his teeth. "The area around the pipe can be welded," he remarked, "but if something's leaking from here . . . maybe we can tighten this up." He paused to examine a screw the size of a small plate. "But I'm not sure we have a tool for that."

“Here,” Paige said, walking over. “I’ve got this.” With still iron hands, she gripped the sides of the screw and slowly forced it to turn back into place.

“There, that fixes that problem. Welding I can’t help with, though.” Unfortunately, Paige’s powers didn’t cover temperature manipulation.

Meggan watched it, taking a moment to be absolutely certain it wasn’t going to start again at intervals like a recalcitrant faucet with a persistent drip. After long enough that she was 99% sure it wasn’t going to be causing further surprises there in the next few minutes, or just explode, she nodded with satisfaction. “No, that looks great,” she revealed. “I think you’ve fixed that one!”

It was with a bit of trial and error that they would eventually realize welding wasn’t required; instead, some stray rivets that had loosened were firmly forced back in to properly settle the pipe. Meggan helped to keep track of how much or how little the results were making headway until, finally, it seemed to be a success.

Mostly. However, there was still a slight problem. While she no longer saw any ribbons of green or yellow energy drifting upward, she did see the vaguest impression that more was at the brink of making itself known in one weak spot. There was the faintest of gleams that her eyes picked up, that could have been easily missed if she wasn’t looking right at it.

Meggan glanced over at Namor apologetically. “Could you please see if you can twist it firmly, with most of your strength, in that little area?” She pointed to the spot she meant. “Right there at the upper bit, where stuff connects to the bigger pipe? That yellow bit. It really wants to spurt out.”

He was stronger than her, and happily also had flight. It would also let her see just how long it would take for the lack of anyone pushing things to stop the energy’s flow.

The man got to work without complaint. A miracle of politeness, or perhaps the focus of a task at hand.

With one pair of hands in the air and another closer to the ground, the work went a lot faster. There were certainly hiccups with some of the least scientifically inclined Excalibur members present. Yet each twist in adjustment or calibration kept the engine running for longer. Increased efficiency was not a complete fix, however, and the gears still eventually lost any momentum – super or otherwise – applied. Rounds of fixes and manual power proved that the magical pilot light, if such a thing existed, would not stay lit.

Namor, now glistening from the hard work, landed with a frown between the two women. "We are missing something critical," he announced softly enough so that this was between the three of them, "I do wish welding was that fix, since our 'expert' might provide a flame hotter than a running commentary of critical jibes. Yet, the solution may yet have to be violence." He said that as if the weather had taken a regretful, expected turn.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Paige piped in. While she had never seen Jono’s powers in use before and she couldn’t say she wasn’t curious, she knew he didn’t like using them. “We could all use a moment to rest, and it may give us a chance to think up some more solutions.”

The Atlantean sighed, only a little disappointed. It was likely impossible to know how long they had spent down in this hole, but the mass of machinery in front of them wasn't going anywhere.

"An admirable start," Namor said, his voice pitched loud enough for any hovering nobility to overhear. "We shall take news of the successes that have been earned back to my other witchbreeds."

Hopefully the rest of the team had fresh ideas.


***

As the group searches for a solution, Jono, Jay and Pixie hit upon a potential answer.


The Grande Dame tutted to herself. “These improvements to the Engine will serve us in good stead, but alas, our bargain was for its restoration. A pity for you. For me, a failure not without its consolations.” The faerie woman turned eyes the color of molten metal on Jay and Jono, lips curving with veiled promise. “Still your fears, musicians. It has been some time since last we had players of merit in Our court. We are most . . . welcoming . . . of your talents.”

Jono hated...everything about this actually. It was official, kidnappings weren't for him, not his scene. He would like to go home. But he couldn't go home. Because he was still in the fucking fae realm.

He crinkled his eyes in his best imitation of a smile and bowed slightly to the Grande Dame before shuffling closer to Jay and Pixie. In their minds only he said, "Okay, so we either figure out how to restart that fucking thing or we're all slaves here for all eternity, yeah? So how the fuck do we start that?"

"Act of creation right?" Jay asked, feeling well over his head. "Suppose we could write something and sing us home, maybe?" It wasn't maybe the best idea, but it was at least somewhere to start. There was no way in hell he was going to stay stuck in this realm forever.

The suggestion was met with the Dame's crystal-sharp laughter. "Music has a power here, aye, but it has ever been in man's nature to ease labor with whatever diversions they may. You'd hardly know it to look at them now, but even these thralls once sang to pass the time. If mere song could power the Engine its fires would have been lit long ago."

Pixie gestured towards the hulking, tarnished Engine. "Okay, so, here's the deal," she began, looking between Jay and Jono. "This thing was built by a human, by what the fae call a 'witchbreed.' It was shaped and powered by his creativity. To the fae, human creativity is... like an alien force. Just like how magic feels to us. They can't create the same way we do, so they rely on humans to make this thing run."

Pixie's wings hummed as the threads of an idea began to weave together in her mind. "Wait a second – what if this 'witchbreed' wasn't a regular human? What if he was a mutant? Think about it. He didn't just use creativity, he used his mutant powers. That's how he made this work!"

The Dame tilted her head. "His was the power to heat and shape without forge. Metal glowed at his touch. Amongst you I see naught but power over form: flesh which runs, flesh which twists. Shapes more at home on Otherworld than earth. For Milesians you have a welcome comeliness" her eyes traced the arch of Jay's wings "but even the power of the Atlantean does not compare to the engineer."

Jay readjusted his wings at the backhanded insult but then thought before looking at Jono. Jono, who burned and burned and burned under his wrappings.

"You got your fire," he said to the other man.

Jono glanced at the Grand Dame and bowed again. "Please forgive the correction m'lady, but as I told the party my companion and I first met, we are not Milesians but rather something different. As the Firbolg were not the Tuatha and the Tuatha were not the Milesians, we are not Milesians but mutants. And I might be of a unique assistance to your people. Appearances may deceive your majesty, for my flesh is but a shell, containing the true power within."

Jono tugged down the wrappings around his face slightly, revealing the fire within. "It burns continuously and without fuel. With enough concentration I can heat metal. Though I am no engineer, with instruction, I might be able to repair your machine."

The Dame's perfect face went statue-still. For the first time it seemed she looked at Jono, really looked at him, avid as a cat to an injured bird. The light from Jono's flame danced in eyes now as black as a starless night.

"Our Engine, too, once burned without fuel," she mused. Lit by Jono’s fire, her face writhed with distorted shadows. "It burned and burned, until one day it suddenly burned no more. A resource we once thought limitless finally spent. I wonder, will it also be thus with that star in your throat?"

She smiled at him, red and horrible as a wound.

"I look forward to finding out together."

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