[center][h2]One Walked, One Was Dragged[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/59FbNjZ.jpg[/img] [/center] JP/collab from [@wanderingwolf] and [@sail3695] [b]Rex Black[/b] is a character created by [@Psych0pomp] For Rex, the act of opening one eye required superhuman effort. Though his mouth was sticky dry, his cheek and the underlying pillow, were soaked. He groaned at the weight of what he felt certain to be an anvil sitting on his head. The pain radiated downward; his body threatened open revolt as he clawed himself up to a sitting position. Rex blinked, dulled wits slowly coming to grips with the alien surroundings. He was in one of the Doll’s guest berths. A small trash can stood by the bed. There, on the night table, lay 4 aspirin tablets. Standing guard were a pair of tall glasses, beads of condensation sweat trickling down their sides. As a man in the desert might do, he gulped the first, water cascading down his chin as he drank the glass dry. He waited for the signs of a rebellious stomach. When none came, Rex downed the aspirin. This time, he sipped from the second glass as the cobwebs cleared. “The kid,” his voice rumbled as if he hadn't spoken in years. She must’ve put him to bed. He had some memory of last night…couple yahoos throwin’ down in the street til she came along. Money…something about the root of all evil. If he remembered right, it was his other root that brought the evil down upon him. As if on cue, Rex’s bladder throbbed an overload warning; time to drain the lizard. A quick lurch across the corridor had him in the lav to enjoy the first sweet relief of a morning he’d rather forget. After tucking ‘the weapon’ away, he busied himself with a few righteous splashes of water from the sink. The face staring in the mirror had more to mar it’s image then the customary red rimmed eyes and three days’ stubble. There was a puff to his cheek. His lower lip was swollen and flecked with dried blood. Yeah, now he remembered. He’d had himself a time, alright. And the kid had come out of her pocket to square him up. After a quick face wash and fingers winnowing his hair to some kind of order, he made his way across the cargo bay. This hour of the day, Cal usually had the deckhand’s little [i]pi gu[/i] parked in her lawnchair to scare up fares. “Hey, Cal Junior,” Rex squinted, blinking in the harsh morning sun as he stood in the opening. “They say sex sells. That why you can’t make any bookings?” When no answering retort came, he shielded his eyes. It didn’t take more than a glance to conjure that whatever took place here, it was sure no [i]Yúrén jié[/i]. “Kid? ABBY!” he shouted. Only the clipboard answered with a silent rustle of pages. Now awake and sharp, Rex hurried aft, toward the nearest intercom. “Cal,” he keyed the mic. “Cargo ramp. We got trouble.” From the pilot's chair, Cal leaned over one of Penelope's parting gifts, a pair of knit gloves he'd donned for the freezing ride to the Greenleaf. He slipped one on as he sipped coffee from a tin cup with the other. Rex's concerned voice echoed off the steel bridge, chasing away the early morning stillness. "Roger," came the reply as Strand stripped off the glove and made his way through the crew births. The tone of Rex's call, being so counter his regular nature, was warning enough. As he approached the ramp, the scene Rex stood among began to tell a story. The first mate looked up from his study. “Never been a gumshoe,” he said to the silent figure atop the ramp, “but it’s all pretty clear. Can’t suss out tracks, but somebody hauled her outta here on the double quick.” Strand watched the pages of the abandoned clipboard curl and fold in the morning breeze. "Looks that way," came his reply from tight lips as he took in the chair, the colt, the cortex. A few steps carried the Captain to Abigial's device, which blinked an incoming message: [b]Is it something I said?[/b] Looking up from the cortex at the tracks that led away from the ramp, Cal added "Close this up and get everyone together in the galley; I want to know what's goin' on. Meet me on the bridge in five." Strand turned toward the bow, taking the cargo bay stairs two at a time. [i]"Maybe Sam saw somethin'..."[/i] he hoped in vain. “Yeah…shiny,” Rex’s eyes followed Cal for a moment. As the captain disappeared into shadow, his first mate picked up the clipboard. Abby’d had one delivery…the two pallets strapped in the aft end of the bay. One-fifty in coin…enough to steal, but he couldn’t see anything beyond a street holdup for that. After folding the lawnchair, he lifted Abby’s revolver from the dirt. With surprisingly gentle hands he wiped the dust away with a shirttail, before slipping the gun into his pocket. Rex Black lifted his eyes to sweep the surrounding port for any sign of the missing girl. When none came, he collected the things and headed inside. Once there, he flipped the intercom to ‘shipwide address’ and keyed the mic. “Attention, all hands and passengers. This is the First Mate. The Captain’s called for a meeting, fifteen minutes from now, in the galley. Be there.”