sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Read The Room”

Thing she come tah like most ‘bout Mr. Eleanor was he didn’t cut ‘er no slack in his teachin’. Diff’rence was after he done whupped her ass, he’d take time tah show ‘er how he done it. Abby watched as fer the last time, he snatched ‘er queen from tha board.

“So,” the old man peered above horn rimmed glasses. “How did I take your queen?”

She studied an’ studied afore answerin’. One thing he taught ‘er ‘bout chess was how important it was tah keep relationships with all yer pieces. And now, without the black queen fer an anchor, what she put tahgether weren’t gon’ hold off his attack fer long. “I’s too busy chasin’ yer bishop,” she said.

“It’s ‘I was…too busy chasing your bishop.’ Ever heard of diction, Squirt?”

Matter ‘o’ fact, she had. The mem’ry took ‘er right back tah her first days on China Doll, when ole Rex come struttin’ up like he done owned tha boat. Weren’t but a tick afore they’s thowin’ barbs like squabblin’ kids when he taught ‘er that word. “Ah have,” Abby’s eyes come up from tha board. “Why Ah need tah sound like ever’body else?”

“Ah!” Cyrus Eleanor gave her a rare smile. “Do you know the old phrase ‘Read The Room?’ Do you understand the meaning?”

“Sure’n Ah do,” the deckhand give a quick nod. “It’s like knowin’ all tha exits, never sittin’ with yer back tah tha door…sizin’ up them as like tah come at yah.”

Her response wasn’t quite what he had in mind, but it was nonetheless correct. “True,” replied with a nod. “Now, change the scene from that dingy barroom. Head uptown to a really fine establishment.”

Abby shook ‘er head. “Ah never go tah places like that. Don’t aim tah start now.”

“But that,” he lifted an index finger, “is where you can find the really big coin. Read the room,” he waved her attention to the chessboard, “and you’ll always come out ahead.” Without preamble, he reached across, plucking one of her a black pawns from the line to make a two space initial move.

“But why’dja…” She went silent. Abby always tried keepin’ as solid a wall ‘o’ pawns as she could tah protect ‘er king, but Mr. Eleanor done made an opening. She then looked on that pawn, try’na figger out his meanin’. He sat quiet as she conjured. Fer true they’s now a lane tah her back line, but that pawn just saved ‘er knight…and, she come tah see, give ‘er a whole new advantage. He’d have tah back ‘is queen, and that meant all the white queen protected would have tah back up too. “Ohhhhh,” the girl give a slow nod. “Ah see it now…but how’s that connect tah muh speakin’?”

“Read…the…room.” Cyrus retreated, his queen taking a diagonal path out of danger. “It’s the little things,” he offered with a touch upon her pawn, “that will win the day. Diction, Squirt. If you find yourself in a room with kings and queens, dialing that twang down and the skill to play at their parlance can help give you power.” He flipped his palm upward, gesturing as he continued. “Under all that rough and tumble, you’re a pretty girl, Abigail. That’s an advantage. Your move.”

Tha whole board done changed afore her eyes. Inwardly, she thought tah bristle at his boldness. Ever’ time in her life a man come tellin’ her she’s perty ended up with tha Colt persuadin’ him tah keep his hands tah hisself. But Mr. Eleanor weren’t makin’ no move tah touch ‘er. Hell, from what she could see in ‘is eyes he’s jest tellin’ somethin’ he felt was true, alot like somebody’d speak about tha weather. “Ain’t no whore,” Abby finally said as she pushed a knight two left, one forward.

He nodded his satisfaction. “Good…good. You see it. You don’t have to be a concubine, Squirt. But when the times demand, proper diction, a little charm, and some upgrades to your appearance can transform you from Abby to Abigail…and the marks will be eating out of your hand.” He pushed a pawn up to cover the queen’s retreat.

“Yah mean like a Companion?” Quill Cassidy come tah mind. Abby never conjured no taste fer girls, but Quill…she’s just so gorram beautiful an’...elegant. “Seems a mighty high mountain fer such as me tah climb.”

“Somewhat,” Cyrus’ hands rested on the tabletop. “But what if you only had to act the part for a few hours? Suddenly it becomes manageable. Do you follow?”

“Like a caper…runnin’ a job?”

“Exactly!” His queen broke left, a last ditch effort to protect an exposed king.

Abby’s eyes narrowed. “What’dja say yer line ‘o’ work was, Mr. Eleanor?” She could take that queen with her knight…wait. Then he’d kill tha knight with his king. But if her bishop done the deed, with tha knight guardin’...

Cyrus offered a contented smile in return. “I don’t believe that I did.” He watched as Abby removed his queen from the board, her bishop/knight combination posing an intractable threat to his king. “But, my dear Ms. Travis, I accomplish much of my task through reading the room…” He fell to silence as China Doll’s intercom squawked to life.

“Attention all crew and passengers, this is your pilot speaking. We've got about five minutes before we begin docking at Little Moriah Skyplex, please prepare for arrival and ensure all cargo is strapped down and all passengers are prepared for entering atmo. Thank you kindly!"

Abby took to her feet. “Ah got work,” she said. “Need a hand gittin’...getting…your steamer trunk off?”

Cyrus dismissed her with a casual wave. “I’m shiny,” he quipped as his threatened king was laid to rest on the board. “Good game, Squirt.”

“Didn’t think Ah was gon’...excuse me…I didn’t think I was going to like you,” she admitted.

He offered his hand, and they shook. “I don’t suffer fools unless there’s coin to be had. And you, Abigail, are no fool.” Cyrus Eleanor hoisted his steamer trunk onto a pair of inset casters. “Please take care of the chessboard for me. We will be playing again.”

*********************************************************************************

Docking Berth Three-Oh-Nine.

China Doll was secure, pulling power and vitals from Skyplex umbilicals. Abby lowered the cargo ramp, then watched as one by one, the passengers disappeared into moving sea of humanity. “Read tha room,” she whispered, afore Yuri’s voice come over the com.

”Attention all hands, this is the first mate. Due to the length of time and remote location of our next job, Captain’s ordered everyone to report to Medbay for a complete physical exam. Abby, you’re up first. Imani will be ready for you in thirty ticks….”

The deckhand shrugged. “Guess them rooms...I suppose cleaning those guest rooms will have to wait."

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy St. Patrick's Day from the Cargo Bay!

So, after a protracted bout of real life struck several of our members, not to mention your humble hosts, China Doll appears to be getting her feet under her once more.

We're just a couple hours shy of docking at Little Moriah Skyplex. Once there, we'll say goodbye to our passengers and then pick up all the supplies and hardware we need to complete our current job, heading outside the 'verse to intercept an asteroid in its' 300 year elliptical orbit.

Cap'n and Boone are putting the finishing touches to a JP that'll get us docked. Imani and Abby are completing a JP that'll drop after we're hitched to the skyplex. But for now, the crew are all getting ready. Feel free to write your char going about their business. What would they be doing a couple hours out? And just what are Edina and Yuri up to?

I hope everybody has a great finish to the weekend. I'm headed out, as my beloved Atlanta United are facing rivals Orlando City SC for the first time this season. I won't be wearing green, but I'll def. have a taste of whiskey in honor of the day. Slainte!

Write When It's Fun,

Sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Prepare for Docking, and Other Double Entendres

“Lesson Number One. If it can move, it will.” During their time together in China Doll’s galley, Hook made double certain that if she learned nothing else, Edina had that one down pat. On a boat in space, loose objects weren’t just a nuisance; they could be downright catastrophic. And the galley, with its’ heavy pots and pans, not to mention all manner of things with pointy ends and stuff that would make even more pointy ends if it broke, was a whole passel of catastrophes just waiting to happen.

And so, Edina was careful. During his tenure as cook, Joe Hooker had meticulously organized the galley, his vision taking not only the sense of utility, but also an abiding respect for safety. Each pan and utensil had an outline drawn to indicate its’ place in the cabinets. He had taken pains to secure these objects by means of bungee loops anchored into shelves and trays. His pupil was only too glad to continue the practice.

“This is your friendly galley girl,” Edina piped up on the shipwide comm. “The galley is officially closed until after we’ve docked at Little Moriah Skyplex. There are sodas and bottled water in the cooler. If you’re jonesing for just one more cup of coffee…I’m looking at you, Captain…you’ll find a fresh pot in the thermos, next to some paper cups. And maybe, if you ask me real nice, you might just get a cookie or two. Thank you for flying China Doll!” she quipped before cutting the mic.

“Hey, Galley Girl!” Yuri stood across the serving counter, fixing Edina with a good humored smile. “I take it I missed lunch?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You take that right. Where’ve you been?”

“With Elias,” he set the clipboard down. “Giving him the lowdown on the truss cage.”

Ah, the infamous truss cage, Edina recalled silently. She was nigh on certain he’d managed to successfully talk everyone’s ear off about that little piece of engineering. Especially hers. Edina wouldn’t ever say that Yuri had become insufferable, but when she found herself kissing him just to shut him up, she had to admit that she was more than a little worn out with the topic. After making a silent promise to thank Elias for his service, she replied, “Sorry, but we’re all scrubbed and buttoned up for docking. If I’m honest, I think Boone ate your portion, anyway.”

“Makes sense,” the First Mate observed. “Seein’s he’s still a growing boy and such.” He then met her eyes once again. “You said there were cookies?” he asked hopefully.

China Doll’s Galley Chief folded her arms. “I said there might be cookies.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Boys who can’t remember to make it for lunch usually don’t qualify.”

Yuri chuckled, “I see,” he gave a nod and a lift of an index finger. “The punishment for not eating is…not eating some more? That about sum it up?”

“Perfectly,” she answered, flashing her ‘this is me picking on you’ grin.

He appeared to think on that. Presently, Yuri turned. “Can we work out something? Favor for favor? A barter, maybe?”

Edina crooked her finger. “Follow me,” she smiled, before stepping inside the pantry. “Get the door.”

“Uhhhh,” Yuri hesitated. “What are we doing?”

“You want my cookies,” Edina teased, “you gotta give me your cookies.”

“I am totally lost here,”

She heaved a sigh which lifted a stray wisp of hair. “If Abby was here, she’d say something like, “That thar was one ‘o’ them double entendrees, yah dumbass!”

“Oh…OH!” Yuri finally caught wise. “Thank Buddha she’s not here!”

Edina’s hand shot out of the pantry, grabbing Yuri by the collar. “Come here,” she ordered, before yanking the First Mate inside.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”The Courtesy of a Reply…"

“Gorram it.”

The draw weren’t feelin’ right, like her whole body done fergot how. Truth be told, Abby ain’t had practice in a coon’s age, and brother, did it show. She’s still fast, leastways to her own thinkin’, but with each draw before her mirror the deckhand conjured just how much she’d left the muscle to atrophy. Her right shoulder’s dippin’, one of the worst tells to anyone might choose to square up with her some day. Gotta calm that la shi right down, she pondered as Daddy’s Colt slipped back inside the holster.

”Ye gotta be loose, Chick Pea.” Uncle Bob told her that a thousand times. ”It’s like what them monks an’ nuns call meditation. Ye gotta clear yer head til they’s nothin’ left but yew, yer pistol, and the fella done been stupid enough to call ye out.”

She waved her arms a spell, slippin’ ‘em out like she’s balancin’ on a tightrope. Abby crooked her neck, tryna summon the sort of limber she knowed she had. ‘Cept it weren’t comin’. Meditation…maybe I should ask Sister Lyen about that, Way she figgered, gettin’ ‘er head right was tha whole sitchiation. And it weren’t no mystery what had her nickers in a twist.

<TJinks>:
Hey, can we talk?

After so long silent, seein’ his message at first robbed all common sense outta her. She opened it soon’s her cortex pinged its’ arrival…before remembrin’ he’d git word she done seen it. Abby’s still cringin’ over herself when Thomas’ next wave hit.

<TJinks>:
I miss you.

She let two days pass with no reply. Not that she ain't wrote one…or three…or six, afore deletin’ each. She wanted to rage, tear inta him with a buzzsaw of harsh words. She wanted ta hear him apologize, tell ‘er how wrong he was fer goin’ silent so gorram long. She wanted tah remind him that she’s a growed woman and she’d make ‘er own choices, thank yew very much. But underneath it all, Abby wanted most to hear his feelin’s. He said he missed ‘er. Well, that was kinda goin’ the direction she hoped.

But no way was she just gon’ go runnin’ back now he had a mind tah pallaver.

First she thought was tah make him wait a spell. Seemed only fair, after all tha weeks an’ weeks he done left her waves hangin’. But as days went by, she come tah conjure she couldn’t know how her silence measured on him, but it sure as hell was playin’ Merry Hob with her equilibrium.

That, and Alana, the girl reasoned as she slipped outta her gunbelt. China Doll just seemed all dumbstruck by the doc’s passin’. Nobody talked about ‘er, leastways not in sense of some kinda memorial. It’s jest like she’s never a part of tha crew tah begin with, and deep down, that weren’t sittin’ right with Abby. Folk come an’ go in tha ‘verse. How many times had she held ‘er own feelin’s in check with that old sayin’? She weren’t thinkin’ tah argue tha wisdom of it, seein’s how she could count plenty folk left China Doll over the two and a half years she worked aboard. Pen left tah reunite with ‘er pa. Rex joined the bikers what had kidnapped her. Hook? Man had demons tah smoke out.

But they’re all alive, she mused. Alana’s gone forever…and it’s like nobody’s allowed to say goodbye or feel sad about it. It was then that one of them connections snapped home in Abby’s head. So I’m not talking, she realized, about Alana, or to Thomas…and all I’m doing is hurting me.

The truth of that couldn’t be denied. She sat down on ‘er bunk, beside tha pistol and gunbelt, her mind connecting the dots between issue and resolution. As she thought on it, her eye traced them captures of ‘er fam’ly taped onta tha bulkhead. They was all there, tha folk she loved, mem’reis and bonds explained through a rainbow of colorful chalk connections. It was then she got her idea. Don’t need to talk about Alana, the girl’s expression brightened, not when there’s a better way to remember her.

With a freshening resolve, Abby took on her next vexation. The cortex reader slipped into her hands. Her thumbs went to work on a fresh response. This time, she sent it.

<Abn8r>:
What do you want to talk about?

This time, Thomas didn’t make her wait. Weren’t more’n a minute before he banged out a fresh wave.

<TJinks>:
About how I’m a real idiot for puffing up and trying to tell you how to manage. When you shared the pic of all your bruises I just went all ‘male gorilla.’ I’m really sorry, Abby.

“Puffin’ up.” Seemed like the first time in forever that Abby smiled. She dashed off a response.

<Abn8r>:
I conjure you were feeling protective. Next time, let me tell you when I need a hero?

<TJinks>:
Shiny. My sister said the same thing while she was whacking me with a dead mackerel.

That got Abby gigglin’. The Jinks fam’ly must be out on another fishin’ run.

<Abn8r>:
Tell her to hit you one for me.

<TJinks>:
How about we save future assault and battery for the next time you’re back on New Melbourne?

<Abn8r>:
Deal.

She checked the time. ‘Bout three hours left til they docked at tha Skyplex. Her chores was all done, an’ the passengers was just fed, so Abby had some time tah kill. Judgin’ by tha way he’s tryin’ tah catch up, so did Thomas. As she traded wits an’ stories with him, Abby come tah realize that her world was brightenin’ right up.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

History Lesson 3: “Survivors’ Guilt”

OOC: This episode will include a few interspersed history briefs to set the stage for China Doll’s adventures at Asteroid AN-3872.

From Let’s Learn History! Grade 3

…”The arks carried all the people from Earth-That-Was for a long, long time, over 100 years! If you were a new baby when the journey began, your grandchildren would be very old when they arrived in our new home.”

From Foundations in Alliance History - Grade 12

…”While the arks carried a substantial portion of Earth’s population to the new system, there were other vessels that followed in the journey. Conditions aboard those ships could be harsh. Some didn’t survive the rigors of a 125 year spaceflight.”

From The Eternal Voyage: The Lost Generation Fleet - Banned

…”Due to the physics of inertia in spaceflight, these ‘ships of the dead’ kept pace with their living counterparts, a vast, traveling graveyard that over time hindered navigation and forced the use of precious fuel in collision avoidance burns. When the time came for the designated course correction burn to intercept the terraformed worlds of Londinium and Osiris, many ships of the following fleet lacked sufficient fuel. Some fared well, choosing pre terraformed worlds on which to land and await possible rescue. Others lost the gamble, and were subsequently doomed to join their counterparts of the ‘Graveyard Fleet’ for an unending journey.”

…………………………

For a humanity now spaceborne, the first few years were dreadful. Year One of The Migration saw an astonishing death toll. Most casualties were those whose only choice to escape their fate on Earth was a berth aboard one of the thousands of vessels ill suited for a 1.25 century voyage. The first ‘Mayday’ calls came after only a week, mechanical and structural failures outweighing the wishful thinking of those who cast their lots in the ragtag flotilla. As weeks became months, once optimistic supply manifests were reduced to ever more draconian rationing. When a vessel’s food, water, or oxygen reached critical levels, their fate was broadcast via the now customary SOS call.

The cruel truth not taught in history classes was that none of these cries for help was ever answered.

This willful ignorance was based in sound reasoning. In space, the old adage about “turning the battleship” is made exponentially more costly and difficult. The first challenge to a would-be rescuer would be their own fuel consumption. The acts of changing course and implementing acceleration/deceleration burns would greedily consume resources sorely needed for the final maneuvers at voyage’s end. The actual rescue itself was fraught with danger, from two vessels maneuvering in close quarters at speeds beyond 20,000kph to the crewmembers who’d be forced to traverse the void between them. Of course, supply was the most insidious hurdle. Those rescued and their eventual progeny would spend the rest of the voyage consuming their savior vessel’s food, water, and oxygen. Long story short, a rescue attempt could very well be a death sentence for the rescuer.

Many bridge crew personnel suffered neurological trauma, relative to the ongoing litany of exceedingly desperate distress calls. For those tortured souls, relief did not come when a ship would eventually fall silent. One had only to glance at the radar screen, or in some cases, look through a viewport to witness the fate of their fellow travelers. The corpse ships would glide along their course headings, a ghostly reminder of unanswered distress calls that drove many a conscientious survivor to madness.

Most of those afflicted fell into deep bouts of depression. More serious cases retreated into delusional thought, manic judgment, or suicidal tendencies. Some lapsed into a wanton depravity that present day Alliance officials are quick to point toward as counterpoint to the assertion that their Miranda experiments might have created Reavers.

Though it is rumored that some records of the Graveyard Fleet exist, the Alliance firmly refutes this claim.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

OOC: Happy New Year!!!

We hope that you all had a great holiday season, and hope for a year full of well being.

Couple quick notes:

1. The "Galley Meeting" JP/Collab has been completed, and the first installment posted. We'll get the second half up in the next day or so.

2. TIME SKIP: Once that piece is up, we'll leap ahead a few days, moving to China Doll's arrival at the Skyplex. Boone will get to show off some pilot skills as the rest of the crew makes ready.

3. SKYPLEX: While there are some orders for each crewperson to follow, you're encouraged to write your characters' doings during our stopover.

4: HOLIDAY AU CONCLUDES 1/7! Hard stop in our OOC channel next Sunday night. If you've got an AU adventure you'd like to continue, we'll move your story to a Gdoc to share with the crew.

And that's all for now. We've got some excitement planned as the current tale progresses, and can't wait to see what you and your characters bring to the party.

Happy New Year and WWIF,

Wolf and Sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Welcome Wagon - Galley Meeting, Part One

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. My, 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, You, a simple point of Elias’ index finger, was quickly followed by a negative shake of his head and arms folded across his chest. My dear…something…you don’t… but then she’d lost it. She knew he’d ended with a question, having caught know 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 eaten 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. But, the deckhand conjured, when tha fella what’s askin’ for ‘em got a Cut Throat 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.

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.” A real softball, 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 only 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 did have a choice, sister. And I’ve spent twenty-four-and-a-half-years sittin’ on that choice, and a lot worse choices than that, 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.

Jesus Christ the insurance premiums. 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.

…TO BE CONTINUED...

What shows/movies are you watching?

I tried to watch 'Rebel Moon.' Thirty minutes in, I gave it up.

Over the holidays I took a second run at 'Blue Eye Samurai,' and I'm truly glad I did. The visuals and animations are quite beautiful...so much so that first time around I missed some really entertaining subtleties in the plot and character interactions. 4 hacked limbs out of 5.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Family Businesses? (Katya Voss cont.)

There’s a father, Dorian mused as Katya moved to carry out her decision. Whether the patriarch was at hand, not to mention handy, might be a consideration. Then again, the apparent ages of his adult children offered the possibility of his incapacitation by any number of maladies. Here on the outer rim, a man was considered long lived if he accumulated sixty good years. What he’d seen of Katya’s mettle was admirable, but the presence of a father might force her to stand her ground, a frequently unwise tactic. Still, the little knowledge he had wasn’t worthy of a course of action. He had to know more.

“Fahgive mah interruption,” Adler spoke as a deliberate hand pulled a second revolver from within his coat. The barrel dipped, pointing between his knees toward the floor planking as he popped the cylinder open. “Ah might be mistaken,” he continued as one by one, bullets were loaded, “but past experience tells me that yah friend shall return, doubtless with numbahs tah back his play.” He gave the cylinder a quick spin, followed by a fluid snap of his wrist to flip it into place.

“Grady,” he said. In the blink of an eye his arm extended, the gun scan emitting a near inaudible whine as he targeted his own reflection. “You were asked a question,” he swiveled on his barstool as the pistol slipped into its’ holster. “At this juncture, tha right move fah yah family’s well being is tah answer.” Dorian’s eyes lay casually upon Grady, his shooting hand once more wrapped around the drink glass.

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