Aalakrys — Roleplayer Guild

Chillin' in the Roost

JP/Collab with @wanderingwolf

The cold had not taken long at all to settle in once they’d broken through atmo. Once the course was plotted and everything looked green, Penelope was free to release the control and slip her earth-toned kaleidoscopic sweater over the faux leather and suede motorcycle jacket she’d put on before take-off from Pensacola. The slouch knit beanie was added over her ears right after, and matching mittens tugged on over her trademark fingerless leather gloves. When she was finished, her legs were pulled up under her with the dark green weighted blanket wrapped over the shawl about her shoulders and her quilt piled on top of that. The blankets had been folded back so her arms were free to assess the shirt that sat in her lap, though they too were covered in the bundle. 

It was the one she’d picked up for Abby. A purple tourist t-shirt, akin to what the girl had sported a time or two... without the tagline. As was every gift from the hands-on crafter, Penelope’s discerning eye was considering adding pizzazz. The tri-color sunset color-scheme filling the bubbled lettering of ‘Pensacola’ took up the majority of the display, its white cursive above it ‘Welcome to’ written with space to justify balancing it out with something at the bottom. It’d been a while since she’d stitched, and she couldn’t quite do it without her fingers free, but considering - well, that was another thing. Since she was a visual person, she liked to put her eyes on a project, to feel it, too. 

She wasn’t particularly worried about the repercussions of questioning the captain. Again. So soon. And it wasn’t that she was feelin’ particularly defiant or self-satisfied. Penelope was the type to know when something was coming, and know there was no sense frettin’ till it did. She’d also made a habit of not doin’ anything she wasn’t ready hold, convictions and all. Savin’ a near-drowned and frozen man didn’t sit wrong with her, no matter how she looked at it, and so she could easily be more concerned about what exactly she wanted to add to the t-shirt so it was meaningful.

His pilot, balancing on the cockpit chair with a mountain of blankets and a faded rainbow beanie sitting atop the pile, had something laying across her lap. As the captain sidled up beside her seat, blowing breath into his hands, the purple shirt adorned in colors and stitches styled from decades gone, came into view. Knowing her, Penelope was seeing the ‘what could be’ in this particular number. It still smarted that he hadn’t yet received something by her hand to date, but he held back the grumble in his voice as best he could as he thumbed the sleeve. “Who’s the lucky recipient this time, Freckles?” He took a leaning seat on the console opposite her, his eyes passing over her bright shot of orange hair and her understated choice of earrings this go-round.

"This 'beaut' is for Abbs." Penelope said, adopting the local terminology from its displayed destination. She looked up then, grin plain. " Reckon you're gonna say I'm spoilin' her, but maybe you can help with the slogan that's missin'? Somethin' to commentate her time planetside."

“Oh yeah, what’s the occasion; shell and a shirt? Shoot!” He blew into his hands again, wearing only his regular get-up, duster and plaid shirt buttoned to the throat. At Penelope’s glance he replied, “She wouldn’t stop talkin’ about that shell.” Thinking for a moment, he added, “Ought to read somethin’ about secret rendezvous and slippin’ about in the dark, if you ask me.”

"You know about that, too." The sly hint in her tone wasn't a question, and left no room for surprise. Penelope wondered how much of an eye their captain kept on the place, and this exchange answered that curiosity. Of course, she wasn't the one who'd left against doctor's orders and had 'secret rendezvous', as Cal had put it. After all, Penelope had only left room for imagination when she shared her own plans that night. Seems they both caught Abby in hers though. "Got to use it now, then."

Her eyes went back down to the shirt, considering a moment before glancing back up with a brighter smile. "I'll let ya know what I come up with. Meantime, how's the patient? Doc gettin' 'em warmed up despite the icebox we put 'em in?"

Cal nodded, “Man’s just about the luckiest marooner in the seven suns, thanks to you lot. ‘Magin he’s recoverin’ under Doc’s care as we speak.” He blew into his hands again, casting a furtive glance over Pen’s mountain of blankets, then out the Doll’s eyes. The black was somehow blacker on this trip, but he had a good feeling about this buyer on Greenleaf. “How’re we lookin’, Sam? On course to keep us from freezin’ to death?”

Not having to worry about the external temperature too much, at least at this level, Sam whirred along in her spot below doing whatever it was she did while not in conversation. But she was always attentive. It only took a moment for her to process an answer to the question Cal asked, though likely involved some time in the Cortex given the response. "We are set to arrive as scheduled. If you maintain your internal temperature by wearing appropriate clothing and consuming warm liquid, you will not freeze, Cal."

"I would lend you a blanket, but I never got the last one I leant out back and the need is more dire now, Cap'n." Penelope said as she burrowed down in the mound so only her dancing eyes shone out in amusement. "Can smell coffee minglin' with that fish smell waftin' this way though. If ya ain't gonna chew Sam an' me out for naggin', might be a good idea to take up her advice on gettin' a warm liquid."

"And procure protection for exposed skin - mild frostbite can settle in at this temperature." Though Penelope knew Sam was not poking fun as she had been, she was glad the blanket she'd tucked down into hid her lips from the smile the AI's additional advice. The additional note proved that Sam did access the camera, but it was more humorous than concerning to the pilot. "If you continue to blow moisture on your palms, the vapor will freeze in this air."

Captain Strand narrowed his eyes at the two beady ones his used pilot to peer out amongst her warm mountain. “I’m smellin’ somethin’ on this bridge, alright; somethin’ akin to insubordination...” Still, his narrow eyes followed the smell of coffee toward the galley. “Anyhow, don’t you two ladies worry about me. A captain’s got ways of keepin’ warm,” his eyes relaxed, replaced by a smirk. That is, until he considered that Alana might be tied up all trip reviving their stowaway. Then his lips soured.

He blew in his hands defiantly before pitching himself off his perch on the console. “Might go see what our passengers are up to--captain’s gotta play the good host, afterall. Be there if you need me afore you show up yourself.” He eyed her blankets, gauging how cold she’d be under it all.

There was a slight innocent look to the tilt of her head, but those eyes of hers always got her in trouble. She grinned beneath the fabric, and pulled her hands free without getting any cold air in her cozy little bundle. "Cap'n - a gift."

The knit gloves. They were held out, maybe as a peace offering in all their light banter. "Don't count though - didn't make 'em. I'll be sure to weave in some shimmer when I do yours up."

If she still had doubts about this ship and its captain, Penelope would be hard-pressed to find any. Plus, she was having fun now. Even if it were too damn cold for her. But she had her mounds of blankets to tuck her hands away in, and would do so the second the captain took those gloves. Wouldn't be much longer till she found herself moseying on towards the offered warmth of the shuttle, but for now she sat.

Cockeyed, Cal considered the offering, “Uh-huh, not sure I’m the shimmerin’ type-uh guy. All the same, if’n it’ll quiet down Sam, I’ll take ‘em off your hands.” He pulled one on and held it out to survey. The brightly colored yarn made him look a shade more feminine than he liked, even if he didn’t sport the matching beanie on Penelope’s head. Not one to wallow in the moment, Captain Strand made for the door, patting his mittens together as he went.

Penelope's eyes glinted still from the depths of the blanket she'd pulled over top the beanie once the captain took the mittens. She'd remember that anecdote, though she hadn't been serious about the shimmer. Her eyes fell back down to the shirt in her lap and smirked to herself, knowing what would be stitched on when she had use of her hands again. In the meantime, she reached out only long enough to fold the shirt back and toss it gently atop her satchel that sat nearby in its 'spot'. 

She'd looked out the port view and sighed. Greenleaf. She was finally going home. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been there a time or two before. Since Jun, since they were dumped out on its forest floor. But, she wasn’t Penelope during those visits. She wasn’t even sure she was Penelope now, really. Talking with Cal had helped figure out some of it - stuff she didn’t even know she was holding on to, stuff she hadn’t thought through because of not wanting to address anything that had happened since then. 

Way I see it, your conscience is liable to keep you from the very thing you crave.

So her initial plan was scratched. It’d been decided as the words left her lips to ask Cal if he knew how to go about getting her a fake ID. No alliance shackles for her. Part of her past that she was leaving there still nagged though - bit at her soul. That must have been survivor guilt. There were no reparations that could be made to make it better. Where would she even start? 

No, it’d have to be something to live with - even if she hadn’t chosen any of it. It’d taken that conversation with her new captain to make her see that. It hadn’t been her choice, all that happened. She’d blamed herself instead of accepting that. But, it was time to do it. 

To Penelope Randell, the barefoot who left her past in the past, and the pilot who braved the storm for that silver lining.

She smiled, just as she had when Cal had said it. There was still a lot to figure out, in her own time, but at least she had faith she could now. Better than to give up. 

“The internal temperature of the China Doll is holding steady at 20 degrees.” Sam’s voice cutting through the coldness had her hazel eyes lifting from the unfocused gaze towards the panels as she’d been mulling things over. “Are you not cold, Penelope? I understand that humans find this temperature uncomfortable.”

“You’re right - it’s mighty uncomfortable. Don’t like the cold, actually, but this all I got piled on is doing a good job of keepin’ my heat in. I’d be cold just about anywhere onboard so I’d rather stay here and keep you company for the flight.” Penelope answered with the smile back in her tone for truth, then she frowned as a thought struck her. “Hey, Sam - how come you were so quiet the other night when Cal and me were talkin’ about everythin’?”

“I may be non-human, but I do know when it’s rude to interrupt a personal conversation.” Sam sounded a little proud of that, and slightly offended at having been asked. It made Penelope smile again, chuckle even so little puffs of air escaped where she’d pulled the shawl up over her face. 

“Ain’t never said you weren’t polite, but that’s a true testament, it is.” She said when she recovered, careful not to let the blankets move since the cold touched anywhere it could with those icy, invisible tendrils all around. “How ‘bout you tell me how ya pinpointed our newest passenger, then? Ain’t rude of me to ask, is it? Don’t have the know-how on artificial intelligent persons.”

"I will, if you agree to shelter with the passengers in the shuttle." Sam replied after a moment, getting a grin out of Penelope. It wasn't just the captain, then, that was within Sam's ability to show concern for. And so she did, both holding up their end of the bargain. Penelope gathered up her blankets about her once Sam concluded her tale by promising to call if anyone is needed in the flight deck. Bundled so that not a hint of her was visible besides the eyes, Penelope shuffled towards the door then carefully went down the steps to the hall and on to the galley. Hook had cooked up a storm, the scents mingling with the fish odor, but Penelope could barely smell it thanks to the wrappings about her face. 

The desire for warmth over food won out though, and she continued onward. 

She hadn’t made a show of leaving, her mind all turning with what she needed to tell her captain about their next mission, and whatever he had to tell her. Penelope passed from the room at her usual stride, giving a departing smile to the youngest Skye on the way. Really, she hoped the best for him and that girl that had him all upbeat. 

Upon quitting the galley, Penelope followed Cal up the forward hall and into the flight deck. He hadn’t turned back to make sure she was following, likely knowing she would since she’d been the one to propose they mosey on out. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of what she’d done to Sam; probably wouldn’t care. Could, but he didn’t seem to be the sort of domineering captain who’d get upset about a little thing like that.

Once they were inside and settled, Penelope spoke from where she’d leaned against the side of the hatch. Though she had a few concerns about what she had to share, her posture was relaxed and voice its usual easy cadence.  “You want to go first, or me, Cap’n?”

He’d taken a seat in the captain’s chair, boot heel balancing on the console as he swiveled to face his pilot. “You first, Sunshine.” His eye wandered toward the navigation console where a veritable shrine of beach and brine encircled the black box that housed Sam. Cal’s brows shot up in surprise, which settled into amusement as he pointed toward it, nodding.

Penelope wasn't sure if it was relief she felt at getting to clear out her headspace first. It'd been a while since it had been allowed to get all twisted up. But, the expression that crossed her captain's features broke that tightness some and she found herself ease up instantly. "Brought the beach to Sam. Wanted to celebrate her first time on New Melbourne. Most of that can come off, but the shell is more permanent."

The shell in question was the angelwing, now painted with a sunny shore scene. Hermie the Crab included. Above the fastened shell was engraved 'Pensacola, New Melbourne', curving along one rounded wing. It had been fun, talking with Sam, telling her about the beach while she worked. But she remembered what they were here for too soon and her smile relaxed.

"Well, Cap'n… I got some things to confess 'fore we get to Greenleaf." Her eyes strayed as she thought about how to go about it, even though she'd been considering it through most of dinner. "Guess confess ain't the right word… more like, let ya in on some things I reckon we left out the whole takin' me on."

“Hey, I ain’t a saint either. We all got skeletons,” Cal replied.

Her gaze returned to Cal to see that lead in hadn't unsettled him, and continued on in his usual manner of speaking - even if she were startin' to feel more antsy all a'sudden. "When we met on Persephone, I was intendin' on goin' straight home. And, turnin' myself in."

That had piqued Cal’s curiosity, and he placed his boots back on the ground as he squared his seat with Penelope.

Again, she found herself looking back to her captain to see, well, anything. It instantly annoyed her that she was doing it, reminding herself of how things used to be an' all, so she forged on. The slight impatience in her tone faded near instant, but she remained still against the door side, physically relaxing a bit again as she explained. "Ya see, I was hoodwinked inta flyin' smuggled goods. It weren't the smugglin' I didn't know about, but the type'a goods. There's a lot more wound up in that, includin' a grippin' tale of naivety and idolism leavin' me feelin' all sorts hurt and pathetic, but we can share that later if you're keen."

Captain Strand nodded in the affirmative, his hand stroking his chin as he took in what his pilot had to say.

She'd broken off her monologue to give a wink, not flirtatious or suggestive, more a joke on her words compared to how she felt saying them. Nothing, was the feeling, which she marked good. But that absent sense of emotion couldn't stay safely dammed up with the way the next revelation threaten her heart. "Anyway, thought some romantic notion of bein' a guerrilla agent deployin' medical supplies and gettin' my people their fair cut was worth the risk. Ended up in a shoot out with some drug dealers when we got back. Later found out my captain wasn't who he said he was, we weren't doin' what he said we were doin'. That's why I was a bit more demandin' last time we talked up here."

Like a puzzle whose pieces had been withheld, the corners of Penelope Randell finally fell into place. A trust destroyed, an implication of connection severed, a criminal record garnered for her troubles. Having been a man who’d taken a new name himself, he wondered if ‘Penelope’ might even be a faux moniker. 

She was absently rubbing the back of her calf with the top of the opposite foot, lookin' upwards by this point. Not 'cause she felt apologetic, but it was easier to ramble all this out that way. It had taken her months to learn avoidance to the point of absentism, and here she was just listing it all out. Now she was gettin' to the end, though, she looked back to Cal again. Seeing him, in the Firefly class flight deck, brought her present - where she liked being. "I don't know if I have a warrant out for me on Greenleaf. Half expected the purps to come 'round when we landed here and my real name was on the roster. But wanted to let ya know that Greenleaf is my final destination."

The cheer usually on her face naturally was gone, but she didn't seem apologetic either. Penelope felt she had to pay for her hand in the death of Jun, and all those folk who likely died of overdose thanks to her helpin' deliver the toxins that stole their life away. It weren't just the natural leaf, that one couldn't kill a person. It was worse. Way worse. And she never wanted a part of it, but it was too late now.

Sensing her tension, Cal rose from the Captain’s chair, lips pursed, his eyes on the deck. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Penelope. I’m sore to hear you’ll be leavin’ us on Greenleaf.” He scratched the back of his neck before adding, “What I can’t conjure is if they’ve got a warrant on your head, why do you want to stay there?” His eyes finally lifted to meet hers. He had a sneaking suspicion that desire had something to do with that buoyant spirit of hers; some self laceration for the sins of her past. Some inadvertent wrong made right by self sacrifice and immolation. The muscle in his jaw tightened as he waited for her reply.

It was a good question - especially given as Penelope hadn’t told him her reasoning. Maybe she figured he’d just understand? Or maybe it was because she didn’t want to lie. These past few years had been all about changing her way of thinking, and the last few months training her to not think at all. It had been somewhere in the black on O’Malley’s ship that she decided once Old Bertha made her final port, she’d go home. Every time she tried to reason out what was really motivating her, the new philosophy of life in conjunction with a practiced old one would hammer another board up on the walls built between her heart and mind.

Still, being asked out flat must’ve done the trick. The stricken look passed as her eyes softened, and that soft grin returned easy. “If ya can’t go home when ya want, then it ain’t really home no more.”

Those hazel eyes fell down to her shoe that was idly rubbing against the metal grate. “It ain’t entirely altruistic … I got feelin’s about what my part played into that scuffle, and the folks who those drugs went out to, but... “

She sighed and looked up, feeling that tug at her heart. “I miss my family, Cap’n. Especially my little brothers. Even Helen, my older sister. My clan… I want to be able to see them. An’ I cain’t when I might bring the Alliance down on ‘em.”

Cal thought on that for a moment. “So, what, turn yourself in to the Alliance? Hope they won’t ship you off somewhere and lock you up ‘til your gray; serve your time?” He paused only to fix her with a measured look. “Way I see it, your conscience is liable to keep you from the very thing you crave.” The Captain walked to the guard rail which separated the avionics bay from the bridge. Leaning against it, his back to Penelope, he added, “I can understand feelin’ responsible for playin’ your part. Hell, I know exactly how that feels--” his own shootout with the Alliance which landed him as Captain of this very boat flashed across his mind’s eye. “But you didn’t know. So how could you have changed a thing?”

“As far as family’s concerned, you’ve got ties. I get it. But if that’s your plan, I can’t see anything short of the occasional visit through iron bars quenching your thirst.” Cal still wasn’t facing his pilot, instead, he gazed out the fore viewport at the darkening clouds on the horizon.

If Cal hadn’t given her that look, Penelope may have retorted back that it was more than Jun had - or that at least she’d get to see them in some aspect. She hadn’t vided them, written to them, or even stopped in on them when she was on Greenleaf under her false name. It was a near spark as anything come close these last few months, but… the captain spoke sense. That was the problem with not allowing time for reflection. Not cleansing the soul properly - her clan leader would be disappointed in her if he knew how much she was picking and choosing from their philosophy. 

Unfocused eyes followed the captain to his new position, and she thought. For the first time in a very long time, she replayed the event that she always pushed away, the one that was so similar to what happened just a few nights previous in how it started. Gunfire from down the bridge hall, captain and her surprised the same. That rush down the hall, the gun left behind, that was only a memory. Being shoved backwards by a body crashing in through the open hatch leading to cargo as bullets sprayed, hitting metal wildly and hammering into flesh so hard she felt it through the body pressing her down. “Play dead.” Jun’s final words, a pained breath of a whisper as warm blood oozed from his body and soaked into her clothes.

He hadn’t suspected her, something that she realized before she stopped thinking backwards or forwards. Despite how ‘inculcated’ Jun thought her, his dying breath was used to save her. 

It was the warm wetness of tears that surprised her out of it, her fingertips reaching to touch the trail left behind in surprise. That was another thing that hadn’t happened in a very long time. Her glance up showed that only a flash of time had passed, the captain was looking up out the view port. Before she knew it, she’d moved away from the wall, but only a step, and her feet hadn’t turned to go. Progress. “And what do you think I should do then, Cal?”

That more clear way of speaking had returned - she’d learned it from Jun. When to be taken seriously, speak with more formal a tone. Don’t smile, don’t apologize, and don’t hesitate. It wasn’t like when she’d been standing her ground though last time they spoke here. She was asking, maybe in her mind in a way that meant she was deciding to take this seriously, not to fool-heartedly rush into a final decision. To stop avoiding her past mistakes if she really wanted to own up to them like she claimed. 

That’s when he turned to look her full in the face--the damp lines on her cheek; the welled look in the corner of her eye. His heart sunk in his chest. “Pen,” he lightly shook his head, “can’t nobody pretend to know what you’re feelin’. Can’t nobody make the choice without bein’ in your skin.” His right hand went to the back of his neck as he still leaned against the railing. “I can tell you what I’d do if I were in your shoes, but it may’nt be what’s best for you.” After a beat, he added, “I’d play dead. Throw everyone off my scent, then reach out anew to kin and kind.” He watched for signs he’d overstepped by way of sticking his nose where it don’t belong. “Then, you could come and go as you please with no one the wiser.”

She stared at him, expressionless a moment with tear streaks down her cheeks. It had been over a year since Jun died atop her, told her to play dead. For months after that, she'd tried to stop waking every night from that nightmare. Tried to stop thinking at all, until she was finally successful. And that'd only come with the decision to turn herself in once O'Malley had no need of her piloting. Ironic, how death could take many forms. Here was the captain, telling her ultimately to live by doing exactly what Jun had said. It seemed very simple. Very obvious. "Play dead."

It was nearly too much to think about, all this. Mistrust hit her, only briefly. But Cal wasn't saying it as it'd be an inconvenience to lose a pilot. Wasn't hard to get one. Nearly anyone could fly these days. Sure, she had skill, but no. It wasn't that. He'd been honest answering a question she maybe shouldn't have asked. 

"I'll need the roster changed." If this conversation had happened before Old Bertha, she might have not been able to carry on. Her time on O'Malley's ship was transformative. She still held her morals, but she was also made of stronger stuff when it got personal. So, she gulped, and wiped away the tears with the back of a hand before moving to the pilot chair. She didn't look at him as she did so. "My real name is Penelope Randell. Do you know anyone who does fake IDs? For transports out of Greenleaf, they'll scan credentials… Unless you’re wantin' to use the smuggler’s run."

Then she swiveled around, looking up at him, her cheerful self not present but more a form of her true nature when it came to business. That's what this was. She'd figure out the rest later. And for once, she meant it. Wasn’t no need to bring Cal into all that … mess. He needed a pilot, and likely one that knew about the jungles of Greenleaf based on their working relationship so far. And she was practically a pile of shiny gold when it came to smuggling in and out of Greenleaf.

Captain Strand closed the distance between himself and his pilot, offering a hand to her, “Pleased to meet you Penelope Randell,” his amber brown eyes met her stern ones, “I’m Calvin Boone. Now before we go and pronounce you dead,” he released her handshake to pivot and plant a foot on the descending stairs that led to the avionics bay, stooping to retrieve a bottle of shimmering liquid dancing in a green glass bottle. The clink of two partner tin cups hit the console as Strand poured out a generous finger of Scotch and offered one to Penelope. “To Penelope Randell, the barefoot who left her past in the past, and the pilot who braved the storm for that silver lining.”

The girl who Penelope had been just a little more than a year previous might have instantly gone all teary-eyed once more as idolization solidified in her soul as she looked up at the benevolent man and took his offered hand. Since she was scorned and thus wiser than that now, the feeling of warmth that coated her soul was more about understanding and mutual respect. Cal alluded he was in the same boat, and only someone who truly had been could've been so sincere in what he did. Her smile had returned, full, as she lifted the glass. "And her captain, one Calvin Boone, fellow spirit who helped guide her through."

It had been a very long time since the amber had touched her lips. Though she'd thrown it back, and the fire did burn at her throat as she remembered, she didn't come round with a coughing fit like she had the first time she's tried whisky. Her eyes might have gotten a little moisture back in them, but it could've been the gratitude she felt for her captain. After licking the remnants off her lips by way of rubbing them together, she exhaled a great breath that released the tightness left in her chest. As she held the glass in her laced fingers, she looked back to her captain. "Thank ya, Cal… for that. It was real nice. Means you're stuck with me for now though. I might not seem like it, but I tend to linger, 'specially when I like the company. Folks here on the Doll… they seem like good people. Already been more welcome without'a doubt here than I've felt in a long time. So, thank ya again, Cap'n."

Cal drank to that, too, “I find folk mostly want the same things from one another: to live and let live. Best a body can do is help ‘em on their way.” He fixed Penelope with a look before adding, “Glad you changed your mind. I mighta had to dust-up from Greenleaf, and that don’t guarantee we’d stick a landing in one piece.” Finishing his tin cup, Captain Strand poured another splash from the bottle, holding it out to the pilot. “I ‘spose the company ain’t so bad here, right Sam?”

The pilot politely shook her head. She had plans for the night that involved flying and couldn't take the extra shuttle.out if she had any more of that stuff. Her head was already feelin' the effects of the one glass.

From an adjacent speaker, that cool Bostonian accent emanated, “That’s right, Cal. Penelope has been great company. Did you see my wings?” Her tone was entreating. It got a grand smile from the artist in question.

“Ha, yeah, I saw them alright. Too bad we gotta move you outta sight, but I promise you’ll keep your wings.” He turned to toast Penelope, “Turns out, we all get to keep our wings.”

That radiant flash of joy turned inward as Penelope gave Cal a knowing nod of agreement. She sat back in her chair, pulling a leg under and absently fiddling with the glass she held. "Ya know, I almost got tattooed wings myself once. Great big ones, full back to arms, designed like an osprey."

It was fond musing, the wistful sigh matching the glint in her eyes. "My momma useta call me her little bird, always wantin'ta fly the nest. To go on adventures and explore much further than my feet could carry me. 'If ya had wings, we'd never see ya again.'"

She shook her head, part sadness and part fondness at the memory hitting her. But it didn't grip at her the way guilt once did, instead she found solace in that memory. Then her brow crinkled abruptly, full eyes turning on Cal again, apologetic. "Say, I've been jabbering on for a spell. Didn't ya want to talk about somethin'?"

“An osprey? You sure it weren’t a finch? You know, their call makes for handy signals on Fireflies I hear.” Cal raised his tin cup to his lips before replying to her in earnest. He divulged the plan for tomorrow’s pickup, the bearing they’d head out on, how she’d need to bring the China Doll in low to hover above the fishing ship. Cal also let her know that the big storm would be a few hundred miles to the North-East of their pickup and they shouldn’t run into any turbulence, just dark skies on the horizon.

When Cal wrapped up the run-down on the upcoming job, Pen nodded. "Sounds smoother than the last hover-over, so shouldn't be a problem so long as we ain't got any surprises tagged on."

She could tease, couldn't she? It was more light-hearted than firm reminder that she expected him to keep his word. Plus, she was smiling, so it was all good. Till it wasn't. That was a piece of the last year she'd like to keep. 

Cal looked up into that smile of hers, “Ain’t got no surprises planned,” then he flashed one of his own as he polished off his last sip and corked the bottle, ”after the surprise my pilot just sprung on me, I think the Doll’s used up all her surprises for the foreseeable future.” That grin of his remained, but he could see that look in her eye what said she wanted to believe she wouldn’t be taken again, just as she’d been taken before. Cal had no intention of embroiling his crew in any tomfoolery. Ms. Baker was an exception, not the rule; even if he hadn’t yet puzzled out what Sam was really made for. 

He placed a warm hand on her shoulder, “Don’t you worry, none. Get some rest. We got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Then? A payday we can hitch our wagon to, Ms. Randell.”

He must've sensed how apologetic his pilot felt at what she'd asked of him considering her own demand, or just knew that Penelope needed that reassurance. The steady hand on her rounded shoulder got a short sighed smile and eyes turned sheepishly up, but it wasn't long lasting. She grinned, the idea of rest not quite on her radar yet. "All that sounds real nice, Cap'n - 'cept the bedtime. I'm actually a li'l late on some plans I had. Can I borrow the primary shuttle? Makes gettin' back on time all the easier."

Cal cocked an eyebrow at that, “See, I once questioned a certain young woman why she was venturin’ out in the dead of night. Won’t be making that mistake again. She’s all yours.”

Penelope's cheshire grin widened as she gave a wink and nod. "Ain't doin' nothin' you wouldn't do, Cap'n."
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