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If you do, I'ma do too.


Sharing host/GM duties for "Firefly - Second 'Verse" with Wandering Wolf.

Other than that, kind of a goofball who loves writing stories and playing radio for an audience consisting entirely of my dogs.

Most Recent Posts

The Reckoning - Part 1

JP/collab from @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

Rex Black is a character created by @Psych0pomp

Cal waited.

His hands occupied themselves with the hinge of his silver cigarette case.


Of all the people they could have taken; her the youngest, brightest kid onboard.


That eye, swollen double. That jaw, taped shut. That gash across her cheek.


And Joseph Hooker lay somewhere in the middle of it with the leader’s condition: “Have him at the meet. He skips out, you can kiss your little girl goodbye.” The thought made his blood boil. Joe's face on that capture. His blurred fist as it painted a target on Abigail. Even as it sent them all straight into Da Shiong La Se La Ch’wohn Tian. (tr: The explosive diarrhea of an elephant)

He pulled a cigarette from the case.

"You shouldn't smoke in here," came Sam’s a resolute voice from behind his shoulder.

"I'm the captain. Mean's I get to do what I want." The lighter's flame punctuated his statement.

"That stuff will kill you, you know."

"Somethin's gotta." He took a long drag, "But not afore I hear the part Hook played in bringing this la shi to my door."

Finding the cook was more challenging than he reckoned. Usually about this time, Hook would be in the galley, putting the spurs to some sort of lunch plan. But today, there was just a woman he’d not seen before. On any other day, the sight of some pretty would’ve changed his course a bit…but not today. Not after what he’d just seen. “Beg pardon, ma’am,” the First Mate said. “Have you seen Hook?”

Edina Wyman turned from the frying pan she’d found lying next to the stove. “No,” she gave the familiar face a smile. “Just got here myself. You’re Rex.”

“All day long,” he nodded as he shook the offered hand.

“Edina,” she answered the unvoiced question. “I got on at New Melbourne. Gonna fly with you to Osiris. The friendly smile held steady, though she noted a more serious veil behind the man’s eyes. “Care to share what’s on the captain’s mind?”

Rex turned. “That’s for the captain to say, ma’am. Can I ask a favor? If you see Hook, Let ‘im know the Captain needs him in the cockpit?”

“Count on me,” she said to his back as he hurried off. “Nice meeting you, Rex.”

Well Hook had been in the galley earlier. He started a pot of coffee and was going to work on making some coffee rolls, but then decided he needed to take that shower instead. He was a bit exhausted from the night he had, but cleaning up took priority.

Once the shower ended, he strolled back to his quarters unaware of what was going on in the ship. He needed to get dressed before he returned to the galley to make the coffee rolls and anything else the crew or its passengers might need.

“Hey, Hook,” Rex caught up to the man. “Captain needs you on the bridge. Now.”

“No problem, Mistah Black.” Joe went back to his quarters. He dressed in navy blue coveralls, his usual work boots and then slipped the gunbelt containing the Ruger Redhawk in its holster. The gunbelt was just a standard appliance he was accustomed to wearing. He had it on him the night before, but never considered using it.

Within a few minutes, He was up on the bridge, “You wanna see me, Cap’n?”

………….To Be Continued…………
is the mechanic spot still open? i'm a little hesitant about hopping into an ongoing rp, but this seems especially interesting.

Yes, we have a place filler mechanic holding down the fort until someone comes along. Please PM us if you're still interested in the position.

@wanderingwolf and @sail3695
Sounds like a good trip. Another reason I'm sticking to the home front this summer is the dearth of overdue projects on my plate. With luck, I'll get them caught up and be back on schedule to put the house on the market in a couple years.

Happy Sunday from the cargo bay!

So, as folk are gathering in the galley, we caught a glimpse of Abby's current situation.

BTW, doc invites went out for the shipwide JP/collab. Check your emails, and you'll also find a link in the game chat. Yuri and Edina left tags for Alana there. No reason we can't get some good conversation rolling in the galley while the bridge JP gets wrapped up.

So, once these two JP's are posted, expect a few time skips. I have been told that Abby might have a post or two from aboard the Headhunters' ship 'Road Angel,' so there will be opportunities for everyone to post inflight. As we've always said in the past, "we've got a plan, but if you've got a character subplot that needs more time in the black, let us know and we'll do everything we can to help make it happen."

We're also easing toward summer. If you've got any major vacation plans (or if one of us is becoming a new mom,) let us know your dates and we'll work on different scenes while you're away. As for myself, while I'm sure there might be a long weekend somewhere, my next real time away won't happen til mid October...because hurricane season is the best time to rent a beach house.

I never claimed wisdom or intelligence. WWIF.



She listened tah this fella…this ‘Root’ as he’s called, givin’ tha Cap’n what for. Didn’t make no sense to Abby as she’s dumped on tha floor. Them as took her done slugged ‘er somethin’ righteous. Her whole head was throbbin’ away an’ one eye weren’t comin’ open. She didn’t taste no blood, so nobody walloped ‘er mouth…yet. The girl struggled tah dust away ‘er cobwebs, while tha spy from Uncle Bob’s shows was tellin’ her how it was.

“…For a captured spy, the equation is simple. A violent capture equals a violent interrogation equals a death sentence. Despite what they say, despite their bargaining, the hostage taker’s goal is to end your captivity in blood. Do your best to make it theirs…”

Didn’t right kin how she might do such a thing, what with her wrists bound behind ‘er back an’ such…an’ a knot ‘o’ fear what grew outta her stomach an’ terrified her still. They’s part ‘o’ her wanted tah cry…wanted tah beg these folk whose boots was clompin’ all around her fer some kinda mercy…but no. She’d be gorramed if she showed that side tah these Joo Fuen Chse.

“Get her up,” Root ordered.

Hands grabbed her, near jerkin’ an arm right out tha socket as she’s picked up an’ dropped inta a chair. Abby got ‘er first look at ‘em. Despite what they done tah her face, she couldn’t help but sneer as that Root fella leaned over her. Soon’s tha tape come off ‘er mouth, she had one ready. “Is it ‘Dress Like a Pirate’ day? I can getcha a parrot.”

“Funny kid,” the MC president squatted at eye level. “What’s your name, Sweetie?”

“Notcher sweetie.”

“Shiny,” he said as he reached for the printed capture. “Let’s try another one. What’s this guy’s name?”

She looked on a pitcher ‘o’ Hook. By golly, he was wailin’ tha ever lovin’ tar outta some fella. But what really caught ‘er was his face. Granted, she ain’t known Hook any too long, but tha look on him reminded ‘er of tha bear what killed Mei Lin’s pa in ‘er book. All kinda wild fury in them eyes…

Root lowered the capture. “So you know him, then.”

“Nope.” She seen Root glance tah his right an’ nod, afore her head was knocked all pigglety. Took awhile for them stars tah clear out til she could lift ‘er face an’ look ‘im in the eye.

“You wanna tell me again?”

“Yeah…yeah…I know ‘im,” Abby tilted ‘er head tah coax a mem’ry. “Fella got one ‘em Asian names….goes by ‘Yu’. She paused, thinkin’ on it. “First name is uhhh..,I’m thinkin’....ummm…oh yeah,” her eye brightened. “Fuk,” she answered. “That’s it. Fuk Yu.”
Next blow like tah rattled ‘er teeth out.

“Enough for now.” Root stood up as the girl slowly shook her head. “Time to bounce. Cottonmouth, get her on the Angel.”

“Copy, Prez.” As Root and the others left the room, the man named fer some kinda snake leaned over her. “Wanna go for a ride?” Afore Abby could answer that, tha sack come down over her face.
Happy Sunday, all. I hope everyone is enjoying a great weekend. Like Abby, I'm currently being held against my will in our Dallas corp. offices. With an insane level of business and scraping the bottom of the barrel for backup resources, I can assure you that I feel every bit as black and blue as our deckhand's face at the moment. It's been a crazy, crazy week.

Likewise within our 'verse. While this week's departures were abrupt and not on the best of terms, I will remind everyone that what we do here is a game, a world of respite for busy adults who wish to escape the pressures of life in 2022. In that spirit, I offer my sincere hope that wherever our former shipmates clear timber and set up camp, the place they create rewards them with the same joyful respite.

And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

I know there's a time sensitive JP in the offing. After that will come the shipwide JP for Cal to drop the 411. If work releases me from its' clutches at a reasonable time tonight I'll fire up a doc and send invites. In the meantime, Yuri will find his way to the galley, as will Ms. Wyman, our NPC passenger. And we will doubtless see the first installment of "The Perils of Abigail Travis" unfolding when I get time to live in my right frontal lobe.

Quoting Stan Lee: "nuff said." WWIF.


The Terms

JP/collab from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

Rex Black is a character created by @Psych0pomp.

The First Mate made all haste to join his Captain on the bridge. As he bounded up the stairs, Rex could hear Cal in earnest conversation with the mysterious Samantha AI. He’d never voiced curiosity over the oddity…over their years, Cal and Rex had learned the art of “some things better left unsaid,” As he stepped onto the bridge, he saw no need to go challenging that norm today.

Cal was bent over the pilot’s console, palms resting on its’ surface as Sam captured the inbound transmission.

“Hey…China Doll.” The face onscreen was that of a man in his middle forties. A chiseled countenance was made all the more daunting by a scar whose path from forehead to chin was broken only by a patch worn over the left eye. “You took two things from us. Now, we got something of yours.”

The image shook, then whirled at a dizzying pace as the stranger redirected his capture. A compartment, dimly lit, scattered with refuse and various scrap parts, was the scene in which China Doll’s captain and first mate caught sight of their missing deckhand. Abby lay on one side, her head lolling to the deck. Arms pulled behind her back told of her bound wrists. The capture moved in, jittering slightly as her face was framed in the image. A large welt crept from beneath her hair and down her left cheek. The girl’s right eye was swollen shut, her face a macabre mask completed by tousled hair and a duct tape gag firmly over her mouth. Her open eye revealed both fear and fury as she offered a subtle shake of her head.

“Damn, they really did a number on her,” Rex whispered to the stone-faced captain. Cal didn’t need the overture his first mate offered to cotton the twist of this particular knife. After a few moments of seeing red, Strand shook his head to square up to the man who held Abigail’s life in his grimy palm.

“She’s alive,” the voice cut in as the vid jerked away toward her captor. “If you wanna get her back that way, here’s what you’re gonna do.” The erratic jittering of the image settled as the kidnapper seated himself at a table. “You poached the Osiris run from us. I’m pretty sure you don’t conjure just what you’re carrying, so you’re probably doing it on the cheap. You’re gonna load it up, and you’re gonna haul it all the way to the drop…just like you told Nadal you would. Couldn’t be simpler, right?” His face broke into a crooked leer. “We’ll be there, and so will she. You deliver without any Alliance or cops taggin’ along, and your little lost lamb will make it home. But we catch one whiff of tomfoolery…I conjure you know what happens next.”

The capture whirled again to offer a glimpse of the deckhand.

On a screen adjacent to the capture, a colon-backslash appeared in apple green with the words: “Probability of rape, loss of limb or life to Abigail Travis: 87.33%.” Cal’s eyes bounced from the grim cautioning of Sam to the capture of Abby’s stubborn expression, even beneath the duct tape and bloodshot eye.

“One more thing.” The image lurched again. This time, a still capture swam into view. Joe Hooker was front and center, his face a mask of rage as he clutched a handful of another man’s blue polo shirt. The cook’s right fist was slightly blurred on it’s way to deliver the next blow to his opponent’s face. “That guy,” the kidnapper’s voice spoke once again. “Have him at the meet. He skips out, you can kiss your little girl goodbye.”

Cal fixed Rex with a look which his first mate knew to mean ‘bring me the hide of Joseph Hooker.’ Without a word, the solemn-faced mate backed off from the capture into the inky, black bowels of the China Doll to deliver the cook to the captain.

The grizzled face appeared once more. “We conjure you touch down in Capital City next Tuesday at midnight. Don’t be late.” He fumbled with his capture, palm covering the screen as he struggled to cut the feed. “Get the Angel ready. Tell C-mouth to…”

As the feed died, Cal slammed a heavy fist onto the console, sending his tin cup to the floor of the deck, and with a swift kick, all the way down to the crew berths.

One Walked, One Was Dragged

JP/collab from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

Rex Black 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 pi gu 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 Yúrén jié. “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:

Is it something I said?

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. "Maybe Sam saw somethin'..." 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.”

<Open tag>
Happy Mothers Day from the cargo bay!

It's been a week, and we've got the writing to show it. Everybody made it home from Bungalow Bill's in one piece. Cyd had her table dance interrupted by what looks to be some serious work. Pen's reunion with her father has resulted in her departing the boat for a Happily Ever After.

Unfortunately, it's not all roses. Driven by an inner demon, Hook went looking for a fight which left a bike gang's 'money man' lying dead in an alley. Exercising their connections, the Headhunters MC did the math. In this case, 2+2= China Doll. They came around, looking for payback, and found Abby.

After looking over the scene at the foot of the ramp, Cal ordered Rex to call an emergency meeting of all crew and passengers. Y'all head for the galley to hear how it is.

@Aalakrys has chosen to leave the game. She will be missed, and we hope that she finds nothing but happy writing along her road.

ALL HANDS JP/COLLAB: As mentioned, Cal has summoned everyone to the galley to talk about navigating the rough times ahead. This week, we'll be sending doc invites for each of you.

So, it's Mothers Day. If your mom's still in the picture, show her some love. If you are a mom (or mom to be), here's hoping you get to put your feet up and relax for a change! On our front, I cooked breakfast for my Beloved, and will soon deliver her to worship from her adult children.

Adult oxymoron if ever I've heard one.



Story Note

The scene of the crime…

Anyone who glances toward the foot of the cargo ramp will notice the following:

The lawnchair is knocked over, on its’ side.

The clipboard is lying open, its' pages flipping in the breeze.

Abby’s cortex reader is several feet away. A closer inspection will reveal the following message:

Is it something I said?

Finally, Abby’s prized replica Colt Navy revolver is lying in the dirt.

There may be tire tracks, but no sign of the vehicle that made them.

<Open Tag>
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