[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/LTk8sZJ.png?1[/img] [h2][b]Out of the Cold![/b][/h2][/center] [sub]Collaboration with: [@sail3695] & [@wanderingwolf][/sub] [hr] “Alrighty, Pen,” Abby said on comms. “We got shore power. I’m shuttin’ ‘er down.” When word come from the cockpit, the girl hit the heavy clutch, bringin’ the core tah windin’ right on down. Her sweater’n hat was already off, draped over the handrail. “Warmin’ up already….Rex! REX!” The lump in the hammock shuffled a bit til one eye slit give her the nasty. “I was SLEEPIN’ here!” he groused. The deckhand didn’t budge. “Yah mean snorin’,” she said. “C’mon…we’re down. Boat’s warmin’ up Yew n’ Lucky can head back t’yer quarters. Go on…git!” She turned back towards the log an’ made ‘er last few entries. The sound of Rex’s feet hittin’ the deck reminded her it’d been an age since she’d had some right sleep. [i]Can’t now,[/i] she thought. [i]Got work afore I lay my head…[/i]”Son of a…REX!” she screeched, whirling away to shield her eyes from the nekkid man. “Gorramit, Rex!” “What?” he yawned. “Fer Buddha’s sake, gitcher self covered up and git lost!” “Alright, alright,” he answered. After a few seconds fumbiln’ about, he tole her, “Okay, Cal Junior, I’m all decent. You have a nice time pushin’ fish. I need a drink.” The cargo bay done warmed a bit from the burn in. All them tubs leaked, leavin’ big puddles on tha deck. “Add one more chore,” the girl said as she crossed toward the ramp controls. She give the lift button a slap. The bulkhead unsealed with a rush of heavenly warm air. Abby closed ‘er eyes, mouth hung open as the tropical breeze lifted her hair fer a second. A truck was jest backin’ up. [i][b]Dupree’s Ocean Delicacies[/b][/i] split right down the middle as ‘er back doors opened an’ two men come out. “We’re here for the tuna and oysters!” one shouted up at ‘er. “You conjure you can get ‘em to us, little girl?” Abby glanced over her shoulder. Seein’ Hook an’ the Cap’n steppin’ up behind her, she give the fishmongers a nod. “Yeah…I conjure.” Joe pulled off his jacket, dropped it on the decking. He unbuttoned the top of his coveralls allowing it to drop over his gun belt. The same gun belt he always wore. He pulled up on the sleeves, wrapped each to the front and tied them off at his waist. His upper torso covered in an A shirt, or sleeveless undershirt. “Ok, we got this! Come on Miss Abby,” Joe stood behind the first tub ready to push. Cal walked down the China Doll’s ramp to the man who was most assuredly Mr. Dupree, judging from the expression on his face. Sure as the mail, that Penelope had a curious way about her; one conversation and fellas made moves on her behalf what landed a man like Dupree with more than he bargained for. Sure as hell didn’t feel any better hearin’ from Hafez that he was just the latest fish that bit on the man’s scam. Captain Strand didn’t walk so far as to greet the man who’d hoodwinked him. He stopped half way, hand tucked into his belt beside his pistol, watching Dupree’s men take the haul from cool eyes. The cook and the young deckhand put their backs into the work, starting each heavy tub on its’ way with a forceful shove. Each time they sent a tub slidin’ down the ramp, a man wearin’ a shirt an’ tie ‘neath his coveralls would jam a meat thermometer inta one ‘o’ the fish on top. He’d give a grunt, an’ his two helpers would trundle it on the lift gate. After the sixth load ‘o’ tuna went out, Abby walked back with Hook, flexin’ her left arm as they went. “Don’t know ‘bout yew,” the girl offered, “but it feels mighty good breakin’ a sweat again.” “Nuttin’ wrong wit puttin’ in a hard day’s work,” Hook remared to Abby’s comment. “”Course, the day is young.” They pushed the tubs off the ramp for Dupree’s boys to take. “Shore ‘em glad to see those things git off this ship. Ah was startin’ to tire of that darn cold air.” “Sure’n that’s true,” she give a nod as the last of the oysters went inta the truck. “I didn’t sleep a’tall. Most like gonna turn in early tonight after workin’. Out the corner of her eye, she seen the man Dupree, all stone faced as he give over a coin pouch to the Cap’n. Cal didn’t count; he jest stuffed it inta his coat as they parted without handshakes. “So, Hook,” she kept watch as the truck rolled off, “Ever been tah Greenleaf afore?” “Long time ago,” Hook responded. “Ah was a deckhand on a…” Joe paused a few seconds. “Allow me to correct mahself. Ah was a [i]Space Hand[/i] on a Floating World Class luxury ship called tha [i]Truthful James[/i]. All these hoity toity bitches. They didn’t call us deck hands. They had their own title, Space Hands.” Joe laughed. “Ah only worked there for three years and had to leave. Ah conjure ah did somethin’ to piss ‘em off.” Joe smiled reflecting back on that moment. He knew he couldn’t go back. “But that was at least ten years ago.” “For some reason the Truthful James stopped off in Greenleaf. Ah got shore leave for’n three days and back on mah way. Back to the inner planets. Honestly, ah don’ member much of it.” Abby watched him as he tole her ‘bout somethin’ she ain’t never seen, ‘cept fer a capture or a pic on the cortex. But [i]toity bitches[/i]...she seen their kind a’plenty, and could ken jest what Joe’s sayin’. Didn’t take no time tah conjure when one of them was lookin’ down their nose, or snickerin’ behind their hand. So she done her best tah steer clear. Fer true she ain’t seen much outside ‘o’ China Doll or Mariposa…but Hook had. Jest like Pen. Jest like the Cap’n. Them’s the folk whose eyes she wanted tah learn tha ‘verse through. “Sounds like fine liners ain’t so grand to them as does the work,” she said. “Them luxury liners sho was purty. They had fine furnishin’, everythin so clean. Nothin like this firefly. Everythin juss so nice. The rich folk from the inner planets ride on them to come out to the outer planets juss to git a look. They kin afford such things. None of them ever talk to me. They kind a treated us like we was second class citizens…the space hands, ah mean.” Joe expanded on his experience on the luxury liner. “Ah much prefer a ship like this one here. More like family.” Joe gave Abby a smile. She give a solemn nod. “That’s my gander, too. ‘Sides,” her eyes swept about the cargo bay, “they’s lotsa purty on an old boat like this. Jest gotta look at it diff’rent.” Next job was cleanin’ the deck. The ice melt meant water runnin’ off them fish. The big puddles’d soon disappear, but if they didn’t do nothin’ the hold would start tah smellin’ powerful bad in a day or two. First come the cleaner, a gritty powder what they sprinkled outta boxes into them puddles. Once that’s done, Hook an’ Abby took push brooms an’ set tah scrubbin’ each puddle into a right froth. The pair was hookin’ up a hose fer tah spray the whole deck down when Abby caught sight of that fella Yuri. He come down the catwalk steps, movin’ all slow an’ such so’s anyone could see he’s still well sore an’ stiff from his doin’s. Yuri give her a wave an’ a smile, but then he caught sight ‘o’ Hook, an’ picked his way down them steps all purposeful like. “Looks like he wants a word,” the girl nudged her friend. “Go on, Joe. I can knock this out in two shakes.” Joe wasn’t paying attention at first. He was unaware someone else was in the area. When he heard Abby call him, Joe, he looked up. “Oh, this the guy we pull outta the water.” Joe leaned his broom against one of the bulkheads. He walked over to the man and put out his hand. “Names, Hooker. Joe Hooker.” Yuri accepted the offered hand with a grateful nod. “I remember you, sir.” He shook the hand with perhaps more enthusiasm than he’d planned. “I’ll never forget what you did for me. I’m Yuri Antonov…and how I repay, I’ll never know.” “You owe me nothin’,” Joe shook Yuri’s hand. “I needed a bath anyway.” Joe smiled at him. “Are you leavin’ us? Or stickin around fer a bit?” Joe was curious if he was going to join the crew of the China Doll. Yuri watched for a moment as Abby sprayed the deck with a water hose. The suds and water swirled into several floor drains, while some escaped down the open cargo ramp. “I have to go,” he answered. “My company has many questions about the loss of our ship.” “Yea, understood. Good luck to you, Mr. Antonov,” Joe stated as the man left. He picked up his broom and continued to push water and debris out of the cargo bay. “Joe Hooker.” Yuri stepped toward the man. “I owe you thanks…belay that. I owe you so much more.” He glanced toward the open cargo ramp. Fixing his gaze once more upon the cook, he said “God willing I find a way to repay.” Joe could only give him a slight salute as Yuri stepped off the ramp. He did not live his life keeping track of debts. He was taught to love an enemy as you would a brother and help others when you can. It was his plan to end up in that paradise the good people go to when they die. Cal picked up Joe’s broom and joined Abigail in her work on the deck. Joe’d earned a break to lollygag, way he and his shorter counterpart had made smart work of those crates without so much as a finger to budge them from Dupree’s crewmen. As the luckiest soul aboard made his affections known for Hook, Cal leaned into Abby, “Now that this all’s behind us and you’ve still got your ears and toes, what’s the resourceful ‘Abigail Travis’ gettin’ into her first night on Greenleaf? ‘Sides cleanin’...” Strand made wide strokes with the broom toward a drain, then shorter ones with a little elbow grease, still thinking about Dupree and the favor he owed because of the man. She’d finished the rinse down and begun a final round of sweeping as the Cap’n came to work alongside ‘er. “Ain’t slept since New Melbourne,” Abby said all quiet as two brooms swished ‘neath their feet. “After I strip the passengers’ rooms fer washin’ I conjure I’m turnin’ in early…’less you got somethin’ else needs doin’ tahnight?” “Uh-huh, ‘turnin’ in early,’ right,” Cal lifted a finger to tap the side of his nose. He conjured there’d be some such fella a-callin’, after catching the operative in the act the first go-round. Strand smiled remembering his own days of shore-leave not-too-much-older than whatever Abigail was. “Doll’s not goin’ anywhere’s for a couple days. Don’t see why you ought t’ break your back first night in.” Joe caught Cal’s eye, then. “Oh, Cap’n. Ah kin git that,” Joe commented on Captain Strand taking his broom to help Abby clean up the deck. Captain Strand handed Joe the broom and stepped aside, hand going for his silver cigarette case. As it flipped open, Cal’s brows knit together, and a grumble slipped from his lips. Snapping it shut, Cal’s eyes scanned the port through the China Doll’s open bay door in silence. The jungle of Greenleaf wafted warm and humid air in his direction, the sounds of many brightly colored birds carried on the air. No wonder Penelope took such inspiration in them–that and her being a pilot and all. Abby’s broom pushed a stray puddle inta the nearest drain. They wasn’t at it long, but the heat an’ humidity what poured through the cargo bay hatch already ‘er tee shirt stickin’ to her back. [i]What I wouldn’t give for a nice shower,[/i] she conjured as she worked about the deck. But that weren’t like tah happen til the doc pulled them stitches out her [i]pi gu.[/i] Cap’n’s question stuck in ‘er mind, though. Greenleaf…if she told it true, Uncle Bob never really let her go wanderin’ off. Tah hear him say it, streets around ports was chock full ‘o’ rapists an’ con artists jest lookin’ fer a young’un like her. But then she met folk like the Perfessor…an’ Pen growed up here. And while she could suss out that little uneasy somethin’ behind the pilot’s eyes when she spoke of home, Abby come tah think that if Pen was born an’ raised here, Uncle Bob mighta been pourin’ on the doom and gloom a tad bit much. She’d see about some wanderin’...tomorrow, after her watch. “Well,” Cal said after a while of watching Joe and Abigail work. “Hard work’s done for the day. Take your rest.” His gaze was still fixed out the rear door. “As for me, turnin’ in early ain’t on the menu. I’m headed into town. Call me on comms if you need somethin’.” Cal turned to nod at Joe and Abigail before stepping onto the ramp toward the cluster of buildings up the road. “You git some rest, Miss Abby. Ahm gonna go look fer somethin’ to shoot at.” Joe didn’t know if he was going hunting or simply target practice. Whatever he was going to do, it involved his rifles.