…

Look, you care about Glass and her friend, genuinely. It took everything in your power to stifle your emotions right then and there, and maybe you could have chosen your words more wisely. But there’s just something you can’t quite shake…

She made you bow to an actual demon. 

Your soul is in jeopardy… You’ve sinned and Shama bore witness. She pulled you down, yes… but you did not get back up. You did not resist. 

You did not resist because you’re weak by design.

No matter how you try to keep on the straight and narrow, it always seems like you end up closer to wickedness. Only an idiot like you can end up sharing a bed with a hunter. Though it was Shama’s will to care for her — and there was absolutely no pillowing involved, you still can’t help but feel very guilty.

You’re a strayborn, born from literal sin. You are condemned to seek forgiveness and it is the thing you will do until God sorts you out on the pasture. Outside of being a warning for abstinence, you are worthless, weak, incompetent, and a coward! Just a stupid 130-pound vessel of endless confession!

If you weren’t waiting on your crank you would march to the nearest temple and repent. But since you can’t, you’ll save them the trouble and start the process yourself!

When you stand before Shama at the golden pasture, this is going to matter… you can’t keep straying from his light.

Man up? Sure, like “easy prey” such as yourself hasn’t tried that.

And isn’t that what got her mad at you? If you didn’t run your mouth there wouldn’t have been a problem with Glass, but then you’d have a problem with Shama.

But somehow your pathetic strayborn frame managed to piss both off. Great job.

That’s what you’re at the guildhall for. To get your hull insurance claim sorted out and hopefully get a new crank engine. Because, you know, you’re Zeb.

A poke approaches you, “Zeb?” 

You quickly straighten up, “Yes?”

“We have your claim in order, come along.”

You enter the inner courtyard of the guildhall.

The poke starts, “So, regarding the mainspring escape involving your Model C, the guild deems it applicable to your contract, and a payout for the full loss of the hull is in order, as well as partial payout for the lost cargo— though as this has been a reoccurring incident, you should expect that risk to be factored in during your next contract renewal.

“Now, you left out any reportable harm-of-self in the filing, is this accurate?”

You nervously chuckle, “N-No injuries here, I guess God watched over me.”

“Or they find it amusing to pull your tail,” he quips.

The poke adjusts his spectacles, “We can proceed to the reimbursement for loss of the hull and goods. This can be provided to you in a monetary compensation, or a forward payment towards a replacement.” He gestures to the crank engine behind you, “Which in your case — should you choose to the latter option— would be a Blokker Workshops Model D, supplied right here from the guild under the guild rate. All we would need is an additional 76 urchins from yourself to cover the costs. Which would fancy you?”

You think on it. In the situation where you would have a lot more coin to your name, you’d have loved to move up to a new Model F with its upholstered crashguard and horn, but honestly, any crank from the last 20 years really isn’t that bad. The D is definitely an upgrade — one being offered at a much lower price than you normally could get, and so the debt wouldn’t be an issue. You managed to save some money for emergencies like this, so at least you’re doing one thing right.

You decide to go for the replacement.

“Fantastic. You can take that one over there. Let me grab the ownership seal for you.” He heads inside.

You inspect the Model D. And she’s a beauty. She’s weatherproof, has a half cabin for the wind and bugs, more hours, an epicyclic gear train so it takes less time to wind up the mainspring, wider wheels, two more spokes. You can neutral out the drive to unspool it without putting it on the block, and she can even go backwards — oh, and it’s the first model to feature suspension!

You’ll miss your C though, she was a pain in the tail and all, but she got you into this guild and provided you with a more-than-stable income.

Then again, she almost killed you. But that’s the beauty in cranks: elegant, but dangerous.

Like a sword…

You’re starting to feel a little bit better…

Sure.

Well, your uncle — Janko’s father, fled Hwombazu to Mandasko under suspicion of heresy. Then he had Janko, and of course your cousin would fall into Shintaricsm after that, holding a grudge against Pasturism ever since.

You really hate how the Nanzuul keep pushing people away from Shama. If they treated people like guests instead of enemies, then perhaps more would see Shama’s love and everyone would be worthy of salvation.

Well, I guess not everyone…

A stomping of hob-nails and squeaking of metal approach you.

A green gauntlet stuffs your drive lever. “A moment of your time, lass?”

You awaken from your thoughts, “I’m a— W-what do you need, uh, miss—”

“Captain.”

She holds out a paper to you, “You familiar with this one?”