[img]https://i.imgur.com/nalNq9e.jpg[/img]



Uncle Bob used tah say that “Passengers was like taters.  No two’s alike, but once yer done with ‘em, it generally means a full belly.”   Abby had all shapes an’ sizes tah peel on this run, fer sure.  

First, they’s the fishin’ boat hands.  Easy peasy.  Most of ‘em recoverin’ from all manner of hell raised on Persephone.  All of ‘em used tah closin’ up in their bunks with a bottle an’ whatever they’s watchin’ on their cortexes.  Folks what knew schedules.  Tell ‘em what time tah eat, an’ they’s johnny-on-the-spot.  Up showerin’ by oh-five-thirty.   Couldn’t be easier tah git along with.

There was the good timers, folk what conjured the party commenced moment they hit the black.  Most wasn’t a bother, stickin’ tah the lounges fer card games an’ whiskey, but now an’ agin they’s one she had tah steer back tah his room, or a puddle ‘o’ puke tah be mopped.   Sometimes, like on this run, come a couple horn-dogs what conjure the boat fer their own floatin’ cathouse.  Of this pair, the taller spent ever’ moment crawlin’ eyes over Penelope, the Doc, an’ Green Haired Girl.  Shorter one had set his sights on Abby.  Man run his mouth, but she was grateful his hands wasn’t in the game.

“Heard you’re sleepin’ on the couch?” he asked, watching her all bent over at her moppin’.

“Yep.”

“You should come join us!’ he piped.  “We got room.”

“Nope.”

“Well then,” he grinned, “how about I come join you on that couch tonight?”

She kept to the job, unfazed.  “Conjure it’d be a might crowded, what with three of us all up in there.”

“Three? I think we could [i]”menage,”[/i] he chuckled at his joke.  “Who’s the third?”

“Muh six shooter,” her voice come easy as the mop dunked into her bucket.  “Powerful jealous...got a hair trigger on ‘im.”

What played a skosh odd was fer all their lechery, both was fixed on Ms. Baker, watchful of her comin’s and goin’s, and with a bunch ‘o’ questions, tah boot.  “We got a nun aboard?”

“Yup.”

“Heard she’s a mechanic, too?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“Word is she’s got a bunch of crates?  She haulin’ church stuff?”

“Don’t know,” the girl answered.  “Don’t care.”

“She ever say anything?”

“Yeah,” Abby nodded.  “Said she’d say a prayer I don’t shoot nobody on this run.”

Praise be this trip didn’t have no Travelin’ Royalty...them as paid cheap as could be an’ thought room service an’ high thread count sheets was part of the deal.  Had one got all twisted once ‘cause they’s no mint on her pillow at night.

And grifters.  Them three in the double came tah mind.  Abby couldn’t put her thumb on jest what they’s playin’ at, but she settled on keepin’ arm’s length twixt her an’ them til they got off on New Melbourne.

Last, there’s folk what jest got no place in the black at all.  Cap’n MacReady was him all over. Talk about ‘no good deed goin’ unpunished.' Headin’ tah New Melbourne fer tah run a tuna boat while his ailin’ brother’s laid up.  The black done got him all tore up.  Spent his first night with it comin’ outta both ends, an’ he’s so sorry about it.  “Don’t unnerstand,” he shook his head.  “Spent twenty-five year with a deck pitchin’ ‘neath my feet and nary a belch.  Get to the black an’ my innards is doin’ backflips.  I’m so sorry, Miss Abby,” he looked back on the mess of his room.  “Just couldn’t make it to the head.”

“Jest space sickness,” the girl said afore mouth breathin’ tah dodge the smell.  “Y’ain’t tha first.  Sure’n yah won’t be tha last.  Go on get cleaned up, an’ head fer the galley while I handle this.  My friend Hook’ll have crackers an’ somethin’ fizzy tah drink.”

“Let me help clean this,” he cast a hangdog look.

Abby loosed a rare smile.  “I got this.  T’aint nothin’.  Good shower an’ somethin’ on yer stomach’ll make yah feel scads better.”   As the sea captain wandered off callin out lots ‘o’ ‘thank you’s’’, she set to work, collectin’ the sopping sheets an’ stained bedclothes afore bundlin’ the whole mess up in the down comforter.  “Poor fella,” she thought while eyein’ the [i]la shi[/i] storm, “looks like a crime scene in here.”  After this, she’d be grabbin’ her own shower a might early.

Uncle Bob was right, she conjured as she hauled out the mess.  Passengers was like taters.   By Abby’s reckonin’, best part ‘o’ that was they’s all gone in a few days.