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

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

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


Joint Post from [@Aalakrys], [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695] 

"Ah, just in time…" Pen said as she held up the finished product of her handiwork. The hoop was now wound up in intricate twine twists and ties, cord running through, making the tree of life. The roots of the tree overflowed, dangling down, while the leaves above poked off the branches in tight-knit folds. She held it up towards the camera lens she'd begun to habitually face while talking aloud. "What do ya think, Sam?"

The little box's whirring slowed with clicks as the camera activated. It seemed the machine had come to learn when Penelope was showing it something over the last few days. After a moment, Sam asked. "What is its purpose?"

"It ain't got much of one 'sides prettyin' up the place." Penelope grinned as she turned to look at it slowly spinning in her outstretched hand, similarly having become accustomed to the conversational pattern they'd formed. "It hangs up, for folk to look at."

"It is visible, so I believe you achieved your goal." Sam responded. Pen chuckled, shaking her head. "What is it called?"

"The design is Yggdrasil, the tree of life or the tree that connects worlds, but … the art is called macrame." Penelope said as she stood to hang it on a bolt on the wall of the ship for now. Sam whirred away, likely processing the new information. They'd talked about macrame once already, but Penelope's teacher always talked about teachable moments and she supposed this qualified. 

The dashboard readings alerted her of their approach just as she sat down, telling her they were coming up fast on their destination. She picked up the receiver and spoke into it as she prepared the ship and reviewed the read-outs. 

"Hey, folks, this is your pilot lettin' ya know we are comin' up on New Melbourne. I'll be disengaging full burn for the atmo entry in less than five, so find ya a good spot to buckle in here in the next few. Weather ain't lookin' none too calm, so y'all might wanna keep strapped in till we make touch-down. Pen, out till next time."

From her place standing behind the pilot, Ms. Baker allowed herself a secretive smile.  “It’s good,” she thought to herself, “that even in a ‘verse as jaded and tough as this one, there’s still people like young Pen here to shine a light.”  

Before them, New Melbourne was a graceful blue crescent, filling the lower half of the cockpit viewports as the spritely pillot angled China Doll for entry.  Soon, the first buffeting of atmo friction could be felt through the deck.  Stray wisps of glowing orange flame began to dance over the viewports.  The Firefly jinked and reared with each thickening pocket of air she struck on her way down, each deviation brought solidly under control by Penelope’s hand.

When they struck a particularly rough patch, the mechanic steadied herself on a handrail.  Even from this altitude, she could pick out craggy lines of thunderheads, the blackening of their bases lit with flashes of lightning.  “Storms...supercells,” she thought as their fiery descent threatened to opaque the view.  Their course would take them right into the violent weather.  “And that,” she thought, “is the best stroke of luck I’ve had on this entire odyssey.”   

There was still a very distinct possibility that she’d be walked off this boat in cuffs and leg irons.  But that was always the risk.  Denying the Alliance its’ latest atrocity?  That was an outcome worthy of staring down one of their firing squads.

As the Doll struggled against Penelope’s hand, Cal made his entrance onto the bridge. No matter how many times he watched the world appear beneath the Doll’s nodding jaw, it always gave him that feeling of butterflies. Up here, in the black, the feeling of safety met the cold of space where no man could take the sky from you. On the ground, all manner of men fixed to assert their will. With a nod to the mechanic, he reached up for a leather hand strap that hung from the ceiling. “[i]How W’rin Bu Lai, Whai W’rin Bu Jwo[/i],” he remarked, watching their steady approach on those roiling gray domes (good luck don’t come, bad luck don’t leave).

Though the pilot had been skilent as she concentrated on the reentry, seeing those storm-clouds she was steering the China Doll directly towards had her all but radiating the thrill welling up deep in her bones. Penelope was all for plunging right in, but she would take directive from the captain now that he was there. Keeping her hold steady on the controls as the weight of the bay was countered with the pitch of the rolling clouds, voice in check as well not to reveal just how excited she actually was, she asked: “Cap’n? I can steer her up and over, sail around the long way, or plunge down low but take the poundin’ of the storm. Which are we hankerin’ for?”

Cal looked to Baker, “Ain’t no time; take ‘er in and through. Quicker we can get to those coords the better. ‘Slong as we don’t end up in the ocean, I’m givin’ out gold stars.” The Captain watched his pilot angle toward the eye of the storm. The look in her eye hinted at joy--the way the corners of her mouth rose at his response. She seemed to be right at home; and ‘right as rain’ to meet the storm head-on. He could tell now, from her posture, that this was the part that kept her sharp. Normally, he’d find her with a leg tucked beneath her, pitched forward to pour over the controls and screens, but now, both her feet were planted, her hands wrapped--but not white-knuckled--around the yoke as she tipped the Doll’s nose toward the sea.

At the captain's orders, Penelope pushed her hold on the control wheel forward. Not the plunge she wanted, but storm surfing wasn't meant for these sorts of boats. They could handle it, with some wear and tear, but that was where Penelope drew the line. She meant when she said she liked to keep the girls under her control pretty, if it could be helped. 

As the altitude indicator shifted with them, the roll of the storm fighting back as she pushed through, a bit of that sheer thrill slipped in her tone as she said: "Hold onto yer hats, ladies and gents, this is one wild wind we are riding through."

Baker’s hold on the handgrip was given a vigorous test as China Doll pierced the storm.  From her position behind the pilot, she kept watch over Pen’s shoulder.  The myriad of dials and gauges told their tale of a boat that so far had mastery of her surroundings.  Witnessing a gifted pilot playing throttles and atmo engine rotations as Pen did with such fluid grace was actually kind of marvelous.  Fireflies were forgiving boats; they had a reputation for performing, even under ham handed maintenance and ‘pud knocker’ flyboys who were all jacket and no wings.  She’d endured more than one over her life.  Now, watching the intuitive dance between China Doll and Penelope amid the dramatic backdrop, the mechanic was more than a little enthralled.

“Coming up on the waypoint,” she said aloud, more from an ache to participate in this moment than any logical duty.

“Let’s do what we came to do and be on our way.” Cal aimed a knowing nod at Ms. Baker, “Don’t plan to tary, [i]dohn mah[/i]? Oughtn’t take long. Keep us below radar, just in case the neighbors are nosy,” he added to Penelope. Strand took the captain’s chair and flipped the hydraulic clasps on the bulkhead panel for the cargo gate to be lowered at the mechanic’s hands. Turning back to Baker he added, “Be careful, now,” holding her gaze for a moment.

As enthralled as the pilot was with the riding of storm waves above the actual pitching ones below rolled along, Penelope's eyes were ever alert to the sensors. The deluge of rain obscuring the viewports made it impossible to see there, but that wasn't what got her curious.

Baker met his eyes with a mixture of understanding and gratitude.  “Yes, sir,” the mechanic answered.  “We’ll be quick about it.”  Without further adieu, she made an abrupt turn and hurried through the cockpit hatch.

"I ain't seein' nothin' that qualifies as neighbors, Cap'n." Penelope said as Cal took his seat. 
Though her eyes were locked on the controls, Penelope continued with the dismissal of Baker. "'Less it's the tosslin' sea critters. Think they got bigger concerns right now. What about us, Cap'n? Any concerns I need to be made awares, doing a dead drop in the middle of an ocean as we are…"

Captain Strand replied to Penelope as Baker quit the bridge, “Just keep us steady,” he said, watching the storm cascade around them, “come hell or high water.”

Hazel eyes flickered over to the captain, knowing full well she hadn’t gotten an answer, but Penelope would save that for later. Right now, the China Doll was riding all the waves, and needed her help from pitchin’ or being swept off. “We got the high water, that’s for truth.”