[center][h2]High Midnight, Part 2[/h2][/center]
 
[img]https://i.imgur.com/ITOLfZk.png[/img]
 
JP/Collab from [@Xandrya], [@Gunther], [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695]   

“Hook,” Root cocked an eyebrow.  “So that’s his name.”   After a sidelong glance shared with Cottonmouth, he said, “Fella he killed was called Lip.  We’re buryin’ Lip when we get back to Greenleaf.  Closed casket,” he added.  “Hafez Nadal lookin’ to welch our deal by hirin’ you  as a scab is one beef I’m willing to call settled.  But one of yours killed one of ours.  Blood for blood, Strand.”  The biker chief’s eyes hardened upon the Firefly captain.  “Give us your boy.  We’ll do the rest.”

"Hold up. The girl you took, the one what didn't lay a finger on 'Lip'--how do I know she's alive?" Cal's eyes didn't depart from the leader's, though they ached to go searching for Abigail's silhouette. Breaking away to trade glances with Rex, Cal laid out a silent warning: 'Get ready'--before refocusing on Root and his reply.

The biker chief took note of this crew’s posture, watching as Strand tossed a quick glance toward the big guy in the flowered shirt.  [i]Now I know who’s who,[/i] he thought.  Unlike the others, this one didn’t pack a pistol, opting instead for a healthy looking knife on his belt.  Whatever their plans were, he didn’t betray them with a nervous flinch toward the weapon.  “Oh, your girl’s alive and…kicking,” Root couldn’t help a chuckle as he answered the captain.   “Bring Payback out here,” he ordered. 

Once the order was given, Alana immediately trailed the two men with her eyes. Her heart was no doubt racing as ugly, intrusive thoughts filled her head. [i]They going to pull out their big guns and shoot us all dead...[/i] 

With a dutiful turn, Nips and Cottonmouth threaded their way through the bikers’ ranks toward the waiting van.  The doors swung open, obscuring the view as the two lieutenants removed their charge from the back.  The three returned, stepping through the parked bikes and an opening made by their comrades.  Abby walked between them, her wrists and shoulders restrained by the two bikers as she stepped into view of her shipmates.

Much to her relief, the sight of the deckhand trumped any previous fears. Alana had to keep herself from taking off running towards the girl. The scrapes and bruises on her persons was a sign that she'd endured some form of abuse from her captors, and it was simply instincts to want to rush to her side to provide whatever aid required. If they had willingly inflicted that much pain onto the poor girl, it was only fair to assume there were no holds barred.

Joe watched the movement by one of the members towards a van. He followed the person as they brought Abby bound at the hands to the front of the group. She looked roughed up a bit, but healthy enough to walk. His rifle was locked and loaded, ready to fire off another nine rounds if necessary. At the coloration of her face, he was more than willing to plant a few more.

She promised herself she ain’t gon’ cry, though sight ‘o’ China Doll durn near broke that’n.  “Nice and easy,” Nips whispered as they led her among a bunch of Kings an’ Headhunters tah come face tah face with her crew.  “Almost over.”

Abby felt ‘er heart beatin’ as her crew's all lookin’ back at ‘er.  Seein’ their faces had ‘er fightin’ back more tears as she pulled up a weak sorta smile to greet ‘em.  She didn’t see Pen, and they ain’t no sign ‘o’ Hook, neither.  [i]Jest as well,[/i] she contemplated.  [i]Either one would have me blubberin’ right now.[/i]  As it was, what she seen in Cap’n’s eyes was enough.  “Hi, Cap’n,” Abby said in tha stone silence.

Seeing the shiner she sported, Strand's imagination ran wild. "[i]This[/i] is 'one piece'?" He threw a look at Root before adding, "Hey kid."

“Jus’ say da word cap’n,” Joe whispered to Cal Strand.

As Abby was led front and center by her two captors, Edina looked on.  She couldn’t make out all the wounds the girl had suffered at the bikers’ hands, but the darkly bruised face, puffed lips, and an eye blackened and swollen shut were all too familiar.  Her face suddenly felt hot; lips trembled with a volcanic rush of fury.  Until this moment she’d been fearful of both the confrontation and the possibility of letting these good people…letting Abby…down.  Edina’s nostrils flared as eyes turned laser focus onto the gang’s leader.

Until now, the thought of pulling a pistol in anger was abhorrent to the woman.  Yet, with her mind cast adrift in a violent blur, Edina now held the bulky .44 aloft, her stance squared as the weapon’s gunsight whined a target acquisition on Root.

“Oh [i]la shi,[/i]” Yuri gasped at the sight of Edina’s gun on display, and the immediate response from the bike gang.  “Captain,” he sounded the warning, before removing the smaller pistol from his pocket.  “Steady,” he whispered into Edina’s ear.  “Steady…”

Time seemed to slow as Alana mirrored her crewmates’ actions, gripping the pistol tucked into her waistband to aim it at their rivals. She had the weapon trained on one of the men directly opposite of her, and he too had his sight on her. This encounter would turn into nothing short of a bloodbath if somebody didn't let up, and from the looks of it, she couldn't quite guess who'd do the honors first. "Cal..." she let slip, unable to find the words to lead on. It's not like she was a trained negotiator or something of the likes.

Root seemed to deflate as the guns came up on both sides.  “Gorramit, Strand,” he cursed.  “You were so close to walkin’ out of this whole thing.  I’m through playing now,” his tone shifted harsh.  “Drop the guns or we start makin’ corpses!”

[i]Well,[/i] Strand mused in the micro-seconds between Edina pulling iron and the biker leader drawing a bead on his chest. [i]If I'm gonna go, this scrap o' dirt will do just as good as any... But the kid--the crew--they don't deserve this.[/i] The captain didn't answer in iron, but he did peel his duster open so his cross-holster saw the light of day.

He reckoned he'd at least take Root and maybe one more before he hit the ground. Wyman might clip one. Hook would empty his clip sure as the suns shined. But there was no way anyone on the Doll was walking away from this [i]Wong Dahn.[/i] (trans: imminent doom)

"Let's not [i]G'en Ho Tze Bi Dio se[/i], mmm?" Strand didn't budge as he eyed Root, "That's your call as much as mine." His stance squared with Root as he watched the man's face for the tell-tale pull. (trans: Engage a monkey in feces-hurling contest) 

The scene had gone eerily silent, but for the high pitched keening of numerous gun scans.  Rex Black slowly lifted both hands.  “This isn’t what we want,” his voice rang clearly across the two opposing bands.  They studied each other, eyes darting from one would-be opponent to the next.  The familiar clicks of hammers being cocked gave the scene a sense of inevitability.  This gunfight was about to be set off.