1. Butterfly Beach I : The Wreck of the Golden Dove or the Consequences of Unfamiliar Fruit.


    Date: 9/27/2015, Categories: Fantasy & Sci-Fi, Author: sprite, Rating: 18, Source: LushStories

    the Professor as a cartographer, a detail that seems ironic due to our circumstances. He seems at a loss without his instruments, although I suspect that is in large part due to the shock of being castaway upon this unknown shore. In my humble opinion he is our small band’s weakest link and, personally, I find something in his manner disquieting, although I cannot put my finger on it. Perhaps it is the way that his eyes fix on Emma from time to time, or on myself when he thinks I am looking the other way. A gentleman, he is not, and while I try not to make it obvious, I take great pains to never be alone in his company. Earlier, I made reference to the strangeness of the flora and fauna of this strange place. We have made our makeshift camp above the beach, using a combination of the flotsam and jetsam of our beloved airship as well as what we have been able to scavenge from the lush paradise, and a paradise it is, that surrounds us. Canvas lean-tos shield us from the ravages of the midday sun and the frequent downpours that wash across the beach. The weather is very tropical and even the rains are warm. It soon became apparent that modesty was a luxury we couldn’t afford. By the third day, both Emma and I had shed the veneer of civilization down to our undergarments and the gentlemen, even the good Lieutenant, had shed all but the most necessary of garments, stripping down to suspenders and shirt sleeves or undershirts with the exception of ‘The Bull’ whose uniform now ...
    consisted of a pair of breeches torn off above the knee and a pair of sturdy leather boots. I must say, it was an admirable sight that brought a blush to the cheeks of Emma and I when we caught each other stealing glances at his physique. Colorful and fragrant flowers bloom everywhere, filling the air with scents and smells both familiar and strange. Need had taken us a short way into the lush vegetation on many occasion, to gather the myriad of fruit that seems to grow everywhere. As long as we are willing to go without a well-cooked steak, something I’d heard Mister McCross grumble good-naturedly about on several occasions, we are in no danger of starvation or even privation. Most of it is sweet to the taste and quite delightful, though occasionally we’d discover something bitter, like the pear-shaped berries that grow on the stems of what could only be described as giant daffodils. It makes me a little wistful that Professor Browning isn’t with us. His passion was botany. While we still hold out hope that we have merely been separated from the rest of the survivors, my last sight of him had been moments before a large piece of burning debris had pushed him beneath the waves. Of the fauna, fish, such as Mister McCross has caught using a makeshift line with a hook fashioned from the broach I had been wearing when we’d arrived, seem fairly ordinary, as do the crabs and mollusks that inhabited the tide pools, except for their penchant to appear twice as big as what one would ...
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