The stranger who came knocking at my door, little did I know, would awaken a world of nightmares. The Geneviever captain, with his raspy voice and tattered uniform, left an indelible mark on my mind. On stormy nights, when the winds howled and the airships swayed, I would see him in my dreams. He would take on different forms, sometimes he was missing a leg, other times he had become a monstrous being. But no matter the shape he took, the terror was always the same. I would see him chasing me through the skyport, over the docking platforms, and through the dark corridors. I paid a heavy price for the encounters with the captain, my nights were plagued by these terrifying visions.
His stories were the stuff of nightmares. Tales of daring heists, sabotage, and treacherous storms that shook the very foundation of the skyports. He spoke of a life spent among the most ruthless sky pirates and airship bandits, their deeds too heinous for the faint of heart. His words painted a picture of a lawless world where the skies were ruled by the strong, and the weak were left to fall. But despite the horrors he described, people couldn't help but be drawn to him. They were both repulsed and fascinated by the life he had lived, a life so vastly different from their own. Some even pretended to idolize him, seeing him as a true sky-dog, a rugged adventurer who had tamed the wild skies. But my father, the owner of the skyport, knew better. He feared that the captain's stories would drive customers away, and that the skyport would be ruined. But in the end, the captain's presence did bring a certain excitement to our quiet skyport life, and I couldn't help but wonder, what other secrets and tales did this mysterious captain hold?
The Geneviever captain's presence was both a blessing and a curse. He was a source of fear and fascination for the patrons of the skyport, but his prolonged stay was slowly draining the skyport's finances. My father, the owner, had tried to broach the subject of payment, but the captain's mere presence was intimidating, and any mention of money was met with a loud snort and a stare that could freeze a man in his tracks. The captain's prolonged stay had exhausted all the funds, and my father was at a loss as to how to proceed. The captain's presence was a constant source of annoyance and terror for my father, and I believe it greatly contributed to his early and unhappy death.
The Geneviever captain was a strange and mysterious figure, who made little effort to blend in with the society of the skyport. He made no changes to his attire, except for buying some socks from a street vendor, and allowed the brim of his hat to hang low after it broke, never bothering to fix it. His coat was nothing but patches, sewn together by his own hand in his room, and it was clear that he was not a well-off man. He never sent or received emails or messages, and only spoke to the local residents, mostly when he was drunk on alcohol. His sea-chest, which he kept locked and never opened, added to the air of mystery that surrounded him. He was a man who seemed to have no past and no connections, living a solitary and enigmatic life at the skyport.
He was only crossed once, and that was towards the end, when my poor father was on his deathbed. A doctor came to see the patient, took a bit of dinner, and went into the living room to smoke a cigarette while he waited for his ride, as we had no parking at the old skyport. I followed him in, and I remember observing the contrast between the doctor, who was neat and well-groomed with a powder as white as snow, and the rough and unrefined country folk, and especially with that dirty and unkempt airship captain of ours, who was sitting there, drunk out of his mind, with his arms on the table. Suddenly, he began to sing his eternal song:
"Forty men on an airship's deck-
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of Synth-Ale!
Society's traps, we'll all outsmart-
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of Synth-Ale!"
It was clear to see that this captain was a far cry from the sophisticated and polished pilots that frequented the skyport.