The Argonaut Society

Episode One: Where Ladies Dare Not Tread

Amelia Stodge cursed under her breath and set to untangling the keys and fixing the ribbon on her typewriter, whispering the genius sentence to prevent its escape. It took a certain amount of talent to bring sparkle and flash to something as tiresome as the Periwinkle Society's annual Spring Rooftop Garden Exposition. But Amelia had endeavored to inject some of her youthful enthusiasm into what amounted to a gathering of old women showing off their prized petunias and grandchildren while collecting dusty bits of gossip over weak tea.

The ribbon slipped into place. At last, she sighed, and wriggled her fingers over the keys in expectation. But the sentence had vanished, like a wisp of steam from the sky trolley. She cursed again, this time out loud.

"What ladylike language, Miss Stodge," a male voice said behind her, belonging to a Mister Gavin Graves. Amelia scowled at her typewriter, then plastered on a complacent smile as she turned to greet her coworker.

While in no way a gentleman pilot, fellow journalist Gavin Graves chose to wear the accouterments of one: radiant white linen shirtsleeves, waistcoat festooned with chains attached to gleaming brass compass and pocket watch, unspoiled riding boots that likely had never experienced grass, let alone a horse. His top hat was tucked in the crook of his arm. Despite its slavery to fashion, Amelia was reluctant to admit, however, that he pulled it off. Mister Gavin Graves could pull off just about any article of clothing he liked, according to the office girls.

Gavin was speaking, but Amelia's thoughts drowned out his babble. He could carry a one-sided conversation with a stump for all she cared, but breeding required she not appear openly rude. Reluctantly, she reigned in her attention and focused on what he was saying.

"...and so I'm off to the Exporium for the latest airship advances out of the Terra, and I wondered how your — ahem — Periwinkle Society article is going." He attempted to conceal a smirk behind one immaculate leather-gloved hand.

Amelia pulled her snarl into a semblance of a smile. "Tops and tails!" she replied. "Can't say enough." No truer words had been spoken.

Gavin smirked outright and turned to go, his figure cutting a larger portion of swagger than propriety allowed.

Amelia wanted to lob her typewriter at him. Instead, she bashed out the rest of her article.***"You realize you needn't wait for my approval anymore, don't you?"

Mister Quinn McGoffery, the Metropol's stalwart editor-in-chief, perused Amelia's Periwinkle Society article with the same lack of enthusiasm that he showed every page that crossed his desk. After a minute's contemplation, he stamped it approved and tossed it in the press tray.

"Fine job," he said without looking up.

Amelia waited. After a few moments, she offered a discrete cough to signal her continued existence in his plane of existence. Finally, she threw aside all social stricture and addressed her employer directly. "Sir, do you have another assignment for me?"

McGoffery's head snapped up, the fragile lens-bearing arms of his head-mounted magnification apparatus bobbing. He stared at her for a moment, one pale grey eye appearing to bulge grotesquely through the lens. Trick of the glass, Amelia hoped, but found herself staring with mingled disgust and wonder. One slender vein zigzagged through the white of his eye, appearing to puncture the iris. She imagined it had sucked the color from his eye, and wondered if it had hurt.

"I'm beginning to resent that stipulation," McGoffery grumbled. "You'd think by now they'd trust you to fend for yourself." With a bluster of throat clearing and indistinguishable mumbles, he pawed through the stacks his desk before finding the social activities calendar under his inkwell. He leaned back in his chair with an air of being thoroughly put upon.