[center][h2]The Welcome Wagon - Galley Meeting, Part One[/h2][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/PO7jvEf.jpg[/img]
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OOC:  Part 1 of a JP/Collab from [@Xandrya], [@Bugman], [@ Little Bill], [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695]   


Cal entered a full galley. The Sister, Abby, Edina, Elias, even Imani were all present and correct, though the looks on their faces were a cocktail of sorts. Strand wore an inscrutable expression; somewhere between that last ‘I-told-you-so’ and the somber mask he’d worn ever since Pelorum. As his gaze passed over each member of crew, the Captain pursed his lips, a herald of the silver case which was already in his palm. It ignited, a near spontaneous combustion, as the first mate–the picture of a classic jawline and fit physique–entered the room. To follow, a gargantuan tree-trunk of a man ducked as Boone crossed the threshold into the high-ceilinged galley. All eyes, including the Captain’s, were certainly glued to the China Doll’s new pilot.

Crossing to the table cigarette in his lips, Cal took a pull before gesturing toward Boone. “I’d like to introduce you to your new crew. This here’s Len Boone. He’s taken up as our pilot, and China Doll’s in good hands.” The Sister’s brow raised at the word ‘good’ from the Captain’s mouth, eyes full of those ostentatious tattoos.

“I’ll let him introduce himself,” Cal said, leaning against the table in Boone’s direction to cede him the floor.

Elias raised an eyebrow at the fellow, eventually uncrossing his arms and decided to give himself a little bit of vain hope. “My dearest gentleman, you do not appear to be of the erudite variety or of otherwise disposition that would have a reason to learn sign language, but perchance, would you know it?” Was the sentence formed in Elias’s head, and then transmitted somewhat imperfectly through his fingers. It was worth a try before writing a far more meager greeting on his card. 
   
Edina’s eye caught the opening gesture of Elias’ response, the palm of his hand tapped twice to his chest.  [i]My,[/i] her mind reacted, drawing upon recent ASL training sessions she’d arranged with SAM.  She watched as the mechanic’s hand moved upward, fingers clutching the air before a slight bow of his chin.  The galley hand thought he’d signed “dear,” but there was something else there, a prolongation of the motion that left her curious.  

As with any new language, sometimes discerning individual words and phrases from a native speaker’s conversation could prove daunting.  She tried, her brow furrowing as occasional bits were cherry picked,  [i]You,[/i] a simple point of Elias’ index finger, was quickly followed by a negative shake of his head and arms folded across his chest.  [i]My dear…something…you don’t…[/i] but then she’d lost it.  She knew he’d ended with a question, having caught [i]know[/i] and the crook of his index finger.  

And there was Yuri, offering up some sign language of his own, a subtle tilt of his head toward the Captain, followed by a more pointed glance toward the carafe and mugs in her hands.  “Sorry,” she mouthed silently as she moved toward the head of the table.

The unmistakable colossal shape entering the galley drew her attention, and Imani made no deliberate effort to attempt to conceal her surprise. The reason was simple: in her mind, she’d already pictured a much smaller human on the pilot’s throne. Maybe not the same tiny frame as their previous one, but by no means had she imagined a mammoth for a counterpart. Now, the mental image was etched in her mind... The burly man hunched over the controls while the chair underneath him tried its hardest not to break apart.

Imani cleared her throat to keep from laughing, reaching for the warm cup of tea set in front of her.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The giant sheepishly said after what felt like an eternity of silence, scanning the many expressions before him. “Name’s Boone.” More silence followed, and he gave a deflated exhale somewhere between a sigh and a balloon having its air let out. 

Though he had his back to the galley’s sole exit and looked to weigh about as much as Elias if he had just [i]eaten[/i] Yuri, Boone had the body language of a frightened rabbit in a trap, holding his hands in front of himself to look as small as possible, with his head hanging low.

“Usually, on someone’s first night in Urvasi we grill ‘em with questions, so I suppose it’s my turn to answer ‘em.”

Questions.  Always struck Abby funny how tha whole room’d go silent as tha grave when questions was called for.  [i]But,[/i] the deckhand conjured, [i]when tha fella what’s  askin’ for ‘em got a [b]Cut Throat[/b] tat on ‘is neck an’ a teardrop under one eye, ain’t no mystery how folk might feel a tad bit skittish ‘bout gittin’ all up inta his business.[/i]

She took a swig from her soda, chance tah hide tha fact she’s readin’ tha room.  Yuri wore a poker face, eyes down on ‘is cortex.  Elias looked like he always did…pissed off.  One of her books called that “resting bitch face.”  Tickled her a bit, but she reasoned them scars’d wipe tha smile from any man.  She couldn’t see Edina or Imani, ‘less she made a show of lookin’ at ‘em.  Lyen?  Sister kept an open face, but Abby had tha devil’s own time readin’ them almond eyes.  Only other in her eyesight was Cap’n.  She been on his crew for two and a half years now.  Prided ‘erself on knowin’ tha man’s tells.  There he sat, lookin’ ever’ bit tha cat what ate tha canary.  She ruminated on that a spell, afore decidin’ on a question weren’t above her pay grade.

“Did they hurt?” Abby asked as her soda bottle pointed out tha new pilot’s tats.  “Ain’t never got one, but I been thinkin’ I might.”   [i]A real softball,[/i] she mused.  Sometimes it was good to jest be the deckhand.

“Only this one, dear.” Boone said, pointing straight to the tiny teardrop below his eye, tapping a four-fingered hand on his face. “I got it when somebody I care about happened to pass away,” He continued with all the softness of a schoolteacher in his tone, lowering his index finger to his chest, “So it hurt my heart.”

That comment cracked the porcelain visage of the nun of the Order of the Interverse, whose teacup hid the beginnings of a smile. Here, the pit fighter of a man had called Abby ‘dear,’ and had spoken with the tone one might use to speak to a cherished child. She cocked her head, taking stock a second time from behind her cup. Her chestnut, braided hair fell from her shoulder as her eyes traced from heel, the height of the man. 

Placing her cup on the galley table before her, she asked, “Who was it you cared about?” The nun’s gaze glued to his shining eyes.

“Dan. Two-Thumbs Dan.” Boone said, clasping his hands in front of him and switching his gaze to look down at his own thumbs. “We’ve all got two thumbs, only Danny [i]only[/i] had the two thumbs on account of all the mistakes he had made.” Boone smiled a silvery smile, flanking his pale eyes with a set of crow’s feet, clearly picturing some cherished memory of an old friend. “We came up together on ‘Dinium. He was a real wild card, Dan.” Boone’s smile quickly gave way to a more wistful look. “Anyway, I killed him.” Boone sniffed the air, unclasping his hands to absent-mindedly scratch his chin. There was an unnervingly casual tone of disappointment to his admission, as if he had just admitted to buying cigarettes while trying to quit. The silence in the room was somehow even stiller than before. 

“That sort of thing was just a part of the life. At the time, I didn’t really feel like I had a choice when they told me to.” He looked up and met Lyen’s gaze for the first time, his tone now barely above a whisper. “But I [i]did[/i] have a choice, sister. And I’ve spent twenty-four-and-a-half-years sittin’ on that choice, [i]and a lot worse choices than that[/i], just trying to get a little closer to heaven one day at a time.”

 A sonata played in Elias’s head as he zoned out listening about things like tattoos which he pretended to not find cool, and also pretended to not hear the tone in the voice that also very clearly found them cool. Instead, he wrote on his card. “DOES MR BOONE HAVE RECOGNIZED QUALIFICATIONS FOR FLIGHT?”

“Just over twenty years of sim-flying.” Boone said, giving a nod to his enshrouded crewmate. “Mr. Cal didn’t put much stock in it ‘till I took off.” Under normal circumstances Boone would have asked about his covered face, though these seemed far from normal circumstances for the giant.


[i]Jesus Christ the insurance premiums.[/i] was the thought that immediately went through Elias’s head. He wouldn’t bring that up here, he was raised too politely. But he’d have to talk to the Captain or one of the other crew that could be described as a crafty ne’erdowell about coming up with some sort of scam to not suddenly have any company automatically assume the ship is about to crash at any moment and adjust payments accordingly. For now as these new thoughts flooded in he’d let the next question go. 

…[i]TO BE CONTINUED[/i]...