Episode 1 - “Gateway” Finale
Scene 3 - “All’s Well That Ends”
JP/Collab by the ENTIRE CAST!
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@sail3695“Mebee ye shood drop him into the sea too?”“Maji! Fok ya tinks?!” Mathias said, his voice high and strained to … everyone.
Cyd dashed to her two brothers, not minding Isaac’s’ vomit, quickly patting Mathias down, knitting a string of swears like a sweater. The gore on his white shirt wasn’t his own. Her fear that the bullet went right through the man and struck her brother subsided.
No doubt about it, the Fed was porous as a sponge. Stepping up to the man’s corpse, the Captain toed the slumped shoulder. Once nudged, he rolled over, his standard issue clattering to the deck at his side. “Ugly,” the captain remarked of the grisly scene. “Coulda been uglier,” he muttered, glancing about in the first throes of a head count as the deckhand, Hook, strode up.
Hook was a bit shaken up by the ordeal. He really didn’t want to kill anyone. It felt necessary. He would never let anyone harm his family again. He holstered his pistol and walked the remaining steps down to the cargo bay deck. He looked around as people started to regain composure.
It appeared the task would be left to him. Hook walked over, picked up each of the dead man’s arms and pulled him over toward the opening in the deck. He waited for someone to grab the man’s legs to help get him the rest of the way.
“I got it,” Cal answered the silent question. He squatted, taking the corpse by it’s ankles to lift it from the deck. He didn’t have to offer guidance; this man Hook was all about the business as they marched the Fed over to the open bomb bay. One swing was all it took to set the homicidal marshal to rest in a deepwater grave. “The pistol, too,” he pointed toward the ownerless piece. “Don’t want forget-me-nots floatin’ about.”
He watched the gun spin lazily downward, til the hungry storm took it for its’ own. For a hair’s breadth the captain peeled his eyes below in hopes of catching a sign, a flash of orange bobbing on the storm tossed surface. But no. Unlike that dark day when Highgate fell and he damn near fell with her, the time for thrilling rescues was done. And he still had cleanup to do.
“C’mon,” he glanced toward Hook. “Let’s pop that crate. I got a powerful need to see what our friend said was gonna put us underneath the jailhouse.”
Joe Hooker helped the Captain unlock the latches and remove the cargo straps. Someone passed him the screw gun. He maneuvered it around the box to get it unlocked. The lid fell to the deck with a clatter revealing Badger’s property.
The last piece of Badger’s charter lay before them, it’s black poly surface casting the barest of gleams like a parasite determined to eat every last bit of light.
For a second, the captain didn’t want to lay hands upon it. Then, chiding himself for a fool, Cal Strand turned the hasps.
The lid swung upward, revealing to all a surreal army. Dozens of lucky cats glowed gold, their round little bellies emblazoned with red characters depicting good fortune and wise choices. Painted eyes gazed merrily upward, their welcome enhanced by plump arms waving their nubby paws in the air.
The captain stared into the bizarre cargo, his arms folded. “Huh,” he observed. “I’s expecting somethin’ a touch more...I dunno…” a hand rose to scratch his jaw..”incriminatin’?” Cal’s eye landed on Hook, who silently studied the multitude of little waving arms. “Let’s dump that crate,” he nudged the deckhand before turning away. Cal had taken two steps off, resuming the head count, before a fresh notion dawned. “But keep the cats.”
Hook smiled at the Captain, “what happened to not having any forget-me-nots floatin’ about?” The question remained unanswered. Hook was fine and willing to take one of the cats. This was quite humorous to Joseph Hooker.
”Can’t argue with that,” the captain thought over his own inconsistency. For a man of few words, Hook knew the ‘where’s and when’s’ of smokin’ out a possible slip. The cat empire waved its’ approval as one by one they were freed of their prison.
Still, he mused,
why would she haul ‘em about?Made no sense. Fugitive Browncoat….general, if he heard that Fed right. On the dodge with a passel of stolen Alliance tech. He picked up a cat, his thumb subconsciously rubbing the belly for luck as he eyeballed it. Cal gave it a shake. Nothing. He opened the bottom plug, peering into a hollow cavity which held naught but the inner workings for the arm. “Nothin’,” he muttered. Then an idea took root. “Just a big old
Qù nǐ de left behind for purple pursuers.”
For a moment, he almost wished they hadn’t sent that gun addled Fed to the hot place...just to see the look on his face when they opened it. But the sight of two boys standin’ unharmed after their ordeal sent that wish right out to the weather.
Nice decoy, Cal thought as he returned the cat for herding.
Three Skyes...Hook…Isaac lazily wiped his mouth as he tried to regain his space legs. He looked to his sister, confused. "The heck was going on down here?" He asked her as he tried to assess the remains of the shit show that lay sprawling about the cargo bay when he realized what was missing. He sighed, dejected. "The bearings" he nodded with understanding, "you didn't have to-" as he waved his hand to the mess implying she didn't have to go through all this for them.
Mathias bopped Isaac on the head. “Wys Isaac! Jo, fok dintshang Cyd?!” Mathias said not sure if he should be relieved, angry or follow Isaac's que and upchuck as well.
“Eks!” Cyd stammered heatedly, apologizing while trying to process what happened. Her head was swimming. “Ek’s Jammer!”
Isaac let out a sigh of relief that Cyd was ok and threw an arm around his sister's neck giving her an affectionate squeeze as he bumped his forehead against her shoulder.
Cyd held Isaac tight, drawing Mathias into a group hug, which her older brother tersely accepted. His whole body was tensed as his eyes scanned the chaos of the ship. Hot tears streamed Cyd’s cheeks. Her brothers, her lifeblood - they were okay. She let out a slow breath and relaxed, as Mathias slipped off.
“All present or gone for a swim,” the captain realized as he completed the impromptu headcount, “cept for one.” He scanned the crates that remained as that “wrong” feeling crawled up the back of his neck. “Anybody seen my other deckhand?” he called, looking for Abigail. Once more he looked about, eyes landing on the bright hair of the passenger girl before a sound caught his ear. “Abigail!”
“Yeah?”
“Where you at?” Another sweep bore fruit in the form of her hand, raised up from behind that row of blue Seatronics crates. “Yuh hurt, kid?”
“I reckon..” Abby pulled herself up on an elbow tah see what’s goin’ on. Right leg weren’t workin’ none too good; try as she might, even little move give up a powerful sting. She cast eyes down til they come to rest on her jeans. They’s a a tear, an a stain of blood runnin’ gettin’ wide over her hip. “Well
la shi,” she swore. “Cap’n? Looks like I’m shot...in tha
pi gu.”
Rounding the boxes, Cal kneeled beside the deckhand, his hand landing in a pool of warm crimson. “You’re speakin’ true, kid,” he replied, holding up a hand made slick with blood. His headcount hadn’t turned up Rex...or the Doc. Cursing his luck, the captain called out to his unshot deckhand, “Hook! Hook! “Got get the doc...wait,” he caught sight of her rushing in through the aft hatch. “Gorram if you don’t know how to time an entrance!” he waved toward Alana. “Got a gunshot wound here.”
Noticing Cal waving her down, Alana hurried along to his side as she donned some gloves. He was holding Abby who appeared to be the injured party, him, not so much. She knelt down as she offered a quick greeting to the both of them and gently turned the girl to examine her wound. Sure enough, quite some blood had slowly gushed out, though now it was just a trickle. "I got it from here, Captain," Alana momentarily peeled her eyes away from Abby, her expression begging for an explanation as to why exactly their youngest crew member was bleedin' out on the cargo bay deck, but knowing that if such words were gonna be communicated, now wouldn't be the time.
Abby’s gaze traveled upward, all surprised and such. “Bastard shot me in tha
pi gu. Hurts like all fire!”
He stifled a laugh, his brow creased over the injured child in his arms, “That it does; remind me to tell you about the time I took a bullet in the shoulder… Doc,” he turned his gaze. “You need help gettin’ her back to Medbay, you sing out. Abigail,” he met the girl’s eyes once more, “Doc’s gonna take good care of you. I gotta get us on the ground, and then I’ll be in to see you. That shiny by you?” When Abby responded with a ‘thumb’s up,” Cal rose to his feet. Time to bring this little misadventure to an end.
The out of place laughter snapped Mathias back from his daze. It took him a moment to take it in that the Captain was laughing at the kid who just got shot. ‘What a guaiwu.’ The sooner they got off of this death trap the better, ideally before anyone realized three passengers were now witness to a Fed getting shot.
Rememberin’ somebody else deserved a check, Cal strode to the intercom. “Penelope,” he keyed the mic.
Penelope looked to Sam, or the box that was Sam. Her hands were occupied. “Sam? Can ya playback what I say like a comm?” Once she got the affirmative, her recorded voice chimed in a beat later. “Still swayin’ with the storm, Cap’n.”
“We’re buttonin’ up right now,” he answered. “Give us two shakes and then take her on in. Prob’ly want to get up outta this weather an’ back on Pensacola’s radar,
dohn mah? He caught sight of Rex hustling in, and waved the man over.
Rex clamoured in, breathing heavily and in an odd sort of disarray. His teal shirt was basically a crop top as he’d torn the bottom off to wrap around his palm. It was soaked in blood, with more trickling down his fingers. His other hand rested on the back of his head as he rubbed it, wincing every pat or two. He looked to be suffering from a nasty fight. Though considering the participants of the current situation in the hangar, it’d be hard to say with who. One foot had a sock on, parrots of varying hues against a velvet background, and the other was bare. He surveyed the scene with wide eyes and an odd scowl. “Come on, Cal. When I said this place needed a paint job, I didn’t mean like this. Red is
not your color.”
“Always knows what to say…” Cal shook his head. “Care to tell me what the Sam Hill happened to you? Or is this one of those tales we hold til there’s whiskey?”
“When there’s more whiskey and less panic. The two don’t go well together. But I’m glad to see everyone is in one piece. Well, I mean except for,” he trailed off, motioning to the blood splatter and the drag marks. “And you’ll have to tell me what went on here. I heard some gunshots… and… fought some furniture. Sad I missed the party.” The inflection in his tone said that he was quite fine having missed this party.
“I conjure,” Abby said all dubious like to the doc, “that I ain’t buyin’ a bikini no time soon.” She could hear tape rippin’ an’ felt the doc’s hands, but she weren’t inclined tah look. Weren’t the sight of blood upset her cart...livin’ in the ‘verse with Blackjack Bob O’Halleran fer an uncle had shown her copious crimson. ‘Cept fer her own...that sight weren’t one tah treasure. Instead, she looked about, studyin’ the other folk. Hook held his tongue as he sent that last crate an’ tha fake tops through tha hole. Rex was here...wonder if now might be the time to offer up no more sass?
Nah, she thought, afore her gaze found them three. Whatever she’d learned about ‘em an’ the way they’d played her didn’t matter much when she saw ‘em now...put off by what they’d seen, ‘shell shocked,’ Uncle Bob woulda called it. But more’n that, they’s together, takin’ care fer each other with eyes all free of tha grift.
One thing’s fer sure, she thought of the Skyes,
they got fam’ly all figgered out. Notion give a pang on her heart, afore the doc’s workin’ reminded her ‘bout tha pain in her….”Oww!” she complained, her eyes watering.
"Sorry love, gotta stop the blood flow, ya know?" She had retrieved some gauze from her cargo pocket to press against the wound. Painful, sure, but effective too.
Abby clinched her teeth. “Shiny. I’m partial tah keepin’ it where it belongs.”
"Up ya go." With Abby sitting upright, leaning to the side of course lest she wanted to worsen matters, as Alana had offered, the medic crouched and informed the deckhand to wrap her arm around her in order to get her to her feet. She placed her own around the other's torso and slowly pulled her up. No time wasted, the two set off to the infirmary.
The girl loosed a groan as the doc helped her along.. “My Uncle Bob tole me ‘bout gettin’ shot once. ‘Ain’t nothin,’ he tole me.” After a couple more pained steps toward the aft hatch, she give a shudder. “Uncle Bob lied,” Abby whispered. “This hurts like a sumbitch!”
“That you did,” Cal answered his First Mate. “Whiskey...later. For now, let’s get the passengers back in the lounge and the bomb bay all buttoned up. Penelope’s ‘bout to put the spurs to her.” Orders given, the captain turned toward the mic, before realizing he’d forgotten. “Rex!” he called out to the First Mate. “One more thing. For Chrissakes, get all them lucky cats secured!”
“I’m going to have to politely disagree with your statement, Captain.” Rex rarely became formal except when things were dire, but there was a smile on his face that announced no storm brewing in his words. “We need to call these cats ‘unlucky.’ Lucky would have been if platinum would have poured out that unfortunate fellow. But no… just blood and… bits.” His words trailed away as he moved further into the bay, shooing the lingering guestings and crewmates. He was about to tend to cleaning a mess that should have turned his stomach, but instead it just rolled over for a polite nap.
“All these crates,” he started to grumble to himself. “Going to have to doctor some logs.” He eyed the lucky cats. “Maybe one less cat than before? It would look nice on my mantle.”
Normal, if such was ever possible, was on the verge of showin’ her face. Cal keyed the mic. “It’s all yours, Penelope. Take us in.”
“Sure thing, Cap’n.” Penelope let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, probably gathered up somewhere in all that she heard going on down below as she remained transfixed with processing the readings and keeping the ship steady. Weren’t an easy thing to do, but she rather enjoyed the chaos from the flyin’ - not quite sure how she felt about all the rest. “Y’all’s movin’ ‘round down there, find somethin’ to help keep steady. I’ll let’cha know when we touch down.”
“I conjure I’ll know that when I got passengers in my grill demandin’ refunds,” he replied. “See you on the ground.”
In a moment, the bay was clear. Rex and Hook had taken care of business. Cal looked across the now quiet space. They had cargo, and passengers to drop. The thought of gunplay and one of his own now on the doc’s table would keep him at odds with his own conscience for many a sleepless night to come. Times like these were the stuff of the ‘verse and the life he’d chosen. But as he collected a mop and bucket, Cal Strand thought on that choice. “Can’t always be tea and biscuits,” he conjured. “Next run’ll go a might smoother.”
A rueful smile crossed his face as the mop sloshed up the blood. “Oldest con in the ‘verse.”
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Lady Arya
wanderingwolf
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