[sub]OOC: Collaboration with sail3695[/sub] “Little girl,” the agent offered his best ‘intimidating’ glare, “ain’t yah evah been taught about bulk rate discounts?” Abby’s deadpan expression held firm. “Yep, includin’ the part where if’n yer not shippin’ the bulk, y’ain’t gettin’ the discount. Got two crates at two hunnerd pounds each. Discount don’t kick til the weight hits one-K. Bring me three more ‘o’ them crates an’ I’ll cutcha thirty points off the cost.” “The cost of shippin’ a thousand pounds.” “Uh huh,’” Abby nodded. “But that’s still almost twice what yer chargin’ me tah just ship these two!” the agent griped. The girl shrugged. “Not a boat on these docks wouldn’t boost rates fer New Melbourne, what with King Tuna season nigh on to start. ‘Cept us. Cap’n says charge standard rate. Somethin’ tells me yew want these crates full ‘o’ trawl nets in the market afore them tuna boats leave harbor…[i]dohn mah?”[/i] The agent scowled, then went for his purse. “Yah daddy must be so proud of what a gorram little pirate yah become.” “He gimme a parrot fer my sixteenth,” Abby quipped as she counted the man’s coin. “Here...fill this out, an’ have yer boys wheel ‘em inside.” Hook plowed through the sea of people bustling to and fro near the berthing docks in Eavesdown. It was the sort of town one needs to adapt to slowly. The smells wafted in the air like a dead weight; low and heavy, reminding him of the tight quarters he shared with his brothers back on the farm. Then another smell would sneak in and take him away from such foolish reverie. [i]‘It is for the best. No need thinking on those days. Will never see my bros again,’[/i] Joe Hooker thought to himself. Thoughts of family only hardened his heart. He was far from the farm. The thoughts used to make him sad, almost like weeping over their deaths, but he had since come to terms with the loss. They were his family even if none of them ever knew their real mothers. A small scrap of paper clung to the fingers in his right hand. His duffel bag pulled down on his sinewy shoulders. One of his rifles was slung over his left shoulder, the other in the bag. His pistol was holstered on his right hip and a small bag in his left hand. He eyed the paper to see the berthing number, then looked up as he walked along the row. Eventually, he found the [i]China Doll[/i] and spied a young woman seated near the opened ramp. She appeared to be haggling over something with another man. Not sure what they were talking about. Maybe a new hire like himself? Or a businessman interested in shipping goods to some God-forsaken planet. Joe waited for the man to shove off before approaching the young red-haired woman. The closer he got the younger she got. But this had to be the ship. “Is this the [i]China Doll[/i]?” Joe asked the young woman. After assuring herself that the two hands hadn’t botched the load in, Abby kept an eye on the trio as they turned to leave. Her attention was quickly diverted to the stranger. Tall, had a frame on him. More interesting was the rifle strapped to his shoulder. “This is,” she responded to his question. “Bound fer New Melbourne. You a passenger?” “Nah, miss. I’ve worked on a few boats in the past and ended up here on Persephone. I need to find new employ. I ken also cook some. Learned on the farm I was raised on,” Joe looked at the young woman sizing her up. He was no threat to her and he didn’t perceive her as one either. He actually never considered fighting with a woman, especially someone as young as this one. [i]‘She looks like a child,’[/i] he thought to himself. “Aside from being tha cook, I have been a deckhand since the war ended.” Abby hoisted the clipboard. “Boat’s hirin’. Cap’n says deckhand gets a standard share an’ yer own bunk. That square with yew?” “Well that sounds down right fine, if’n I do say so myself. I am square with that, miss.” Joe Hooker allowed himself a smile. “The name’s Joe Hooker, but most folks call me Hook.” The man appeared to relax knowing he would be able to work again. “Abby Travis.” She extended her hand. “I conjure yew’n me are gonna push alot of boxes together. I hate cookin’. I’ll trade yah laundry duty fer cookin’.” “Did I hear ya say we was headin’ to New Melbourne? While we there, we need to get some Talapia and shrimp. I got me a wonderful blackened shrimp gumbo recipe that’ll curl yer toes. My mama always raved over the stew. Good stew, I guarantee.” Joe shared his ideas for cooking. “I actually enjoy cooking.” “Are the crew quarters in the usual place? Ah been on a Firefly once before about five year ago. I can stow my gear.” The girl offered a nod. “Yup...upper deck, forward of the galley. Cap’n might want to choose fer each of us, but if yah grab a single yer as like to keep it. Tell me how they are...ain’t seen a thing since the Cap’n hired me.” “Will do, Miss Abby.” Joe started to walk past Ms. Travis. “I don’ mind if’n the cap’n wants me to change bunks. Jus wanna take a load off.” Joe strode into the cargo bay eyeballing the walls, gangways and electrical wires. He headed up to the crew quarters to see how they were. Left his duffel on one of the bunks along with his handbag and the sniper rifle he had been carrying on his shoulder. Wearing a set of blue coveralls and work boots, armed with his Ruger Red Hawk, Joe turned to the galley. He wanted to see the appliances. He inspected the stove, the oven and then the cupboards to see what the ship had in the way of dishes, utensils and cups. It was the standard kit for a Firefly class ship. He then returned to the cargo bay to see what would be next on the crew’s agenda.