brkln
voted by supermajority of 2/3 to serve long range reconnaissance to determine if the rumors of the upheavals at the (former?) national capital are credible. if so, am expected to serve as emissary to any like minded players at the scene. if rumors unfounded, am to suss out the mood of the inhabs and serve as instigator with a mind on the accomplishments of manhattanville. am chosen for supposed prowess as both a diplomatic liaison and a provocateur, but regardless of the situation which awaits in arlingtonton, the honour of my election will likely result in my final glance back to the green and busy hives of the island nation�s backbone being the last glimpse i am to enjoy.
building our confidence in the rumours of arlingtonton is the late reduction of force being displayed across the rivers; the attacks on any craft attempting to cross the moat have subsided enough that our salvage trawlers are able to operate with impunity even in daylight.
some trade has been established with the villages of brkln, inhabitants of which - perhaps as fellow islanders - harbour their own share of animosity to the estabs who fled to their shores. nevertheless, passengers are not allowed to disembark on their iron beaches; all exchanges are made quickly by passing notes and goods with drifting rafts. through these channels, contact was made with some willing to smuggle inhabs across the east river and down the jersey shore.
contact could not be made on open water; rather a series of cables and webbing suspended from the W'msburg brkln bridge is utilized to traverse the river on the underside of the skeleton of the bridge - the bed and tracks have been pulled up and put into service as shore barriers in the battery - and descend the eastern pier to be plucked from the water by a brklner as a though one was mere flotsam.
the webs are not a single network of uniform strands, but rather a piecemeal result of continual additions made by each passerby and smuggler. every hand ties on a new rope or cable, leaving an organically branched mass of knots and slippery loops, calling to mind and ancient maypole or aboriginal coup. suspending the runners above the e.river is not fabric, but a quilt.
hearing the drum of a wrench against the steel hull of a trawler, i tighten my flotation device (straps of velcro hold plastic sheets filled with foam to my trunk) and descend into the black water.
