sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Travis. Abby Travis” - (Part 3)

”...if the meet is set for a bar, then you should have a drink…”

One Vodka an’ Boom’Boom become three. Goin’ Dutch become Abby runnin’ a tab. Thomas jest got funnier an’ funnier, not tah mention easier tah look at. “Now I know yer lyin’!” she chortled as the band commenced another sea shanty.

Raise a Wreck

“My hand to Buddha!” He give a lopsided grin. “There is such a thing! We sell ‘em every day!”

“Whatcha take me for?” She give ‘im a playful shove. “Think I jest fell off tha boat tahday? Wait..don’t answer that...” They both broke out laughin’ on that flub.

Thomas landed an empty bottle on the bar. “We can settle this right now,” he grinned. “C’mon, we’re goin’. Pay the man, Crabby….you know somethin’? You’re kinda pretty when you pout like that..”

“I ain’t poutin’!” Abby went for her coin. “I’m...I’m...glarin’! See?” She give a fierce look, til her mouth started crackin’ an’ they both laughed. “Damndest thing ever,” she muttered. “Meet some yokel on muh birthday an’ I wind up payin’.”

Thomas had her duffel on his right shoulder. “I’ll take it out in trade,” he give her a wink, and his left arm to steady her. “Lorry’s right outside.”

With help from his arm, Abby eased herself off the stool. “This ain’t yer way ‘o’ gettin’ me back tah yer place...is it?”

“You conjured my evil scheme,” he chuckled as they made for the door. “Take you back home, show you what I got, introduce you to my mom. No doubt about it,” he chuckled. “I am the Makeout King of Pensacola.” He led her to an old green lorry what had stakeside rails on the bed.

Abby read the faded door sign. “Jinks Nautical Outfitters.”

He threw it open. “Gonna lift you up on the sideboard, so you can ease onto the seat. Afore she knew it, Thomas’ hands had taken her by the waist. He boosted Abby off her feet, toward the open cab. “Careful now.”

His hands was still on her. Not that she minded...much. “What’re yew doin’?” she asked.

“Keepin’ your drunk pi gu from fallin’ outta my truck.”

“I ain’t drunk!” Abby protested. “Am I?”

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

Thomas was positively beamin’. “You see? I told you so!”

He’d been good as his word. ‘Stead ‘o’ walkin’ her inta some sorta makeout pad, he opened up tha fam’ly business. Took her right past all manner ‘o’ boat parts an’ tools tah their “Crew Clothes” section an’ set her right up. First come some new denims. “These wear like iron!” he pointed toward them’s he had on. She took two pair, an’ after some measurin’ an’ fittin’ his mom hauled ‘em off tah her sewin’ room.

Abby found herself some new unders. A six pack ‘o’ white cotton panties what come with a free stripey pair made up fer what she left on Mariposa. She also found some boxers, all decorated with ship’s wheels, compasses, lobsters, crabs, an’ them big fish with the pointy noses. Thomas tried sellin’ her on a black pair what read “The Man...The Legend” with arrows pointin’ up an’ down. She conjured Rex or the Big‘un would try’n steal ‘em, so they went back on tha shelf.

And now, here’s Thomas, all proud of hisself as she’s standin’ ankle deep in the dog’s water bowl. “Feet dry?” he give her a big, expectant smile.

She looked up, eyes fulla wonder. “Sure’n they are!” Abby exclaimed. “I’da never believed it! Waterproof socks!”

“They’re warm, too,” he added. “Been around since the war. Some purple scientist conjured ‘em up.”

‘Warm’ was definitely workin’ fer Abby, seein’s they had a right frigid trip ahead. But mention ‘o’ purple snapped her right back. Her eyes found tha duffel...already emptied of what she brung. “Where’d the gen’ral’s bag go?”

Thomas shrugged. “What bag?”

”...a competent spy never wants to know more than their own part of the operation. Never talk shop…”

“The one what I...oh,” she caught wise. “Sorry,” Abby stepped outta the water. “Meant muh duffel...an’ it’s right there.” She reached down tah squeeze one sock. “Holy la shi,” she gasped. “Already dry!”

“How many you want?” Thomas was punchin’ prices inta a clattery old cash register.

“Got seven panties,” the girl reckoned. “Sounds like seven pair ‘o’ socks.”

”Ku.” The boy tapped it all in. The register’s bell sounded an’ the cash drawer flew open. “You got the family discount,” Thomas snickered at the shock wrote all over her face.

Abby’s jaw near hit the floor. “You sure?”

“Girl buys me drinks on her birthday? If I didn’t cut you a break my Dad would whip tha tar outta me.” He opened her duffel and set to stuffin’ all her new socks ‘n’ unders inside. “Plus one of our tee shirts for your collection.” Thomas pulled a rolled blue tee from beneath the register. “Hey Mom!” he shouted. “MO-OM!”

“What?”

“How soon on Abby’s denims?”

“Ten minutes!”

“We’ll be outside.” After droppin’ her coin into tha till, Thomas led the way toward the back door. “I want you to meet my girl,” he held it open fer Abby. “C’mon...she’s right out here.”

She weren’t feelin’ none too excited ‘bout that, but he’d been so all fired nice that they’s no way she’s gonna turn ‘im down. But then it got curious when Thomas showed her out onta a big dock. They’s a fishin’ boat tied on the end, lights blazin’ an’ crew gettin’ their gear stowed. Tha name CHELSEA J stood proud on ‘er transom. Abby seen a girl on deck, haulin’ heavy buckets of somethin’ nasty down inside. “That her?” she asked.

The boy stopped. “Her? No, that’s my sister. Those’re my brothers,” he pointed out the other crew,” an’ that’s my Dad, up there on the bridge. “My girl,” he give her a smile, “is right here.” Beyond knowin’ she’s lookin’ at a sailboat, Abby couldn’t say a thing. She was long an’ low. Looked to have a tiny cabin on ‘er. Abby didn’t see no wheel, jest a long handle what come off the rudder. Boat had a single mast, with a boom trailin’ back. She had a grace about her. Looked fast, but Abby never seen how fast sailboats could go. Still, growin’ up in boats like she done, the deckhand could spot good care an’ hard workin’ upkeep. She also conjured how purty a thing’s workin’s could be, to boot. Then her eye caught the name.

“Day Tripper,” she read aloud. “That’s an old song, right?”

“Yes!” he laughed. “How did you know?”

“My Aunt Lupe loved a bunch of ‘em.” Abby studied tha boat’s curves, sussin’ out how things work by the ropes what run from ‘em. “So,” she guessed, “looks like it takes two folk tah sail ‘er proper?”

He laughed. “You got a good eye. That’s right! I can single hand her, but manning the tiller an’ trimmin’ two-three sails is a serious handful.”

She give ‘im a sidelong grin. “That how yah lure yer girls?”

’La shi,” Thomas swore. “Haven’t found one yet would agree to go. They take one look at her and say “I don’t wanna get wet.” That last said in a high pitched, nasal tone.

Abby snorted. “Sounds tah me like yer askin’ tha wrong girls.”

“You think?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“I been accused.”

Thomas shrugged. “You could be right. I’ve been chasin’ debutantes. They were all at some high toned to-do last night while I was on the Chelsea J, settin’ trolling lines. Maybe I should take the hint,” he shook his head. “But what about you, Crabby? Spendin’ your days sailin’ the black? Got a boy in every port, do ya?”

“Nope,” she tossed her hair with a chuckle. “Truth of it is I ain’t really been lookin’. Spent muh whole life in tha black, so they’s never much time in any port we touch.” Abby’s eye swept off toward tha night. “ ‘sides, I seen I’m purty much tha one gits looked right past...what’s that over there?” She pointed toward the northeast horizon. The hazy sky looked to glow somewhat, a pale sorta pink what flashed an’ danced. Sight was purty. She’d never seen tha like.

“Hurricane.”

“Fer true?” Her head whirled on her shoulders. “Should I warn my Cap’n?”

He shook his head. “Nah. It’s about three hundred miles northeast. Last Mariner track had it movin’ on north. It’ll fizzle out when it hits real cold water in a couple days. For now, it’s a bad one,” he said. “Good news is it won’t trouble anyone but fish.”

“If it’s s’far away, how we seein’ it?”

“We’re not, really. That’s just haze in the atmo above it, reflectin’ the lightnin’.”

They stood quiet for a time, watching as the distant lights moved and flickered. “It’s beautiful,” Abby said. “Seen a storm in tha black once, looked sorta…”

She’s interrupted by Thomas’ dad as he come abreast. “Thomas, don’t forget, we need that DISBEAC unboxed and mounted before seven in the mornin’.”

“Yes sir,” the boy agreed. “I’ll do it tonight, after I drop my friend off. Dad, this is Abby. Abby, my dad.”

“Hiram Jinks,” he give his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She smiled back, shook his hand. “Abby Travis. Nice meetin’ yah.”

At first, he’s dismissive tha way she’d had other grown folk treat her when meetin’. But somethin’ went odd when she give her name. Abby could feel the man, studyin’ her face all intense. Like he’s sizin’ her up...but she couldn’t conjure the meanin’. “Abigail Travis,” Hiram released her hand. “I hope this young man’s treated you well?”

“Sure’n he has, sir.”

“Good.” Hiram’s all gobsmacked. “Good.” Afore too much air could leak inta the conversation, he turned. “Well, I have to hurry off. Fishing season starts tomorrow. We aim to be outta port by seven and on the grounds when the clock strikes. Nice to meet you.” He’s still lookin’ kinda funny as he rushed off up tha dock.

Thomas shrugged. “Sorry. My dad gets sorta Qíguài de the night before a cast off. Don’t take him serious.”

“It’s shiny,” Abby tilted her head toward the building, “but I think yer mom’s usin’ muh denims fer some kinda semaphore.”

Her denims were ready. After packin’ em in tha duffel an’ sayin’ her goodbyes, Abby let Thomas lift her back inta the lorry. As the old truck rattled off, Hiram Jinks joined his wife at the window.

“She the one?” he asked. “Brought the General’s bag?”

“Yes.” She turned toward her husband. “Name of Travis,” she observed. “Feel like you’ve seen a ghost?”

He cast a glance toward his wife. “Two of ‘em.”

*********************To Be Continued********************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Travis. Abby Travis” - (Part 2)

”When you’re a spy, you make tough personal choices to support the assignment…”

“Um…” Mickey offered as he pedaled his rickshaw through the streets, “you know everybody can see you, right?”

“They got time fer that,” Abby arched her back, shoulders pressed inta tha seat as she pulled them chinos up over her hips, “means yer not pedalin’ fast enough.” Trash bag was gone, stuffed inta tha duffel what she hid inside it. The gen’ral’s bag was tucked inside that’n, along with her boots, clothes, an’ pistol. A bag inside a bag inside a bag. Notion tickled her when she first thunk on it.

Mickey pushed on through the humid night air. “Not that I mind the eyeful I got,” he said, “but I saw that bandage on your bottom. Can I ask what happened?”

Abby bent deep, groanin’ soft as she pulled up ‘er boots. “Gunfight,” she grimaced, “with tha last fella stared at my pi gu.”

“Hope you brought lots of bullets.”

Pegleg Pete’s. She had a feelin’, and that feelin’ come out right.

The moment she laid eyes on the hemp rope an’ fishin’ nets all strung about, Abby knew she’s bein’ coerced inta a tourist trap. Joint was playin’ hard on old seafarin’ lore, with swashbucklin’ pirates an’ pitchers ‘o’ sailin’ ships scattered all about. Works, too, she conjured as she passed the gift shop afore bein’ waylaid by a smilin’ woman in pleated shorts an’ a staff shirt.

“Welcome to Pegleg’s! Wait for a table’s running about an hour.” That much was true, judgin’ by the tourist types all lined up on them benches out front.

“Meetin’ someone at tha bar,” Abby replied.

Woman eyed her curious fer a minute. Abby’s wearin’ her boots an’ dark chinos hid legs what looked like barber poles from gettin’ sun on one side only. She’s in her fav’rite shirt...grey mechanic’s button down hangin’ open over the sleeveless pink tee. Name of “Earl” embroidered above the breast pocket. Abby never met no “Earl,” but when she seen it in that thrift shop on Regina it just struck her funny. Had her duffel slung on her left shoulder, Ms. Baker’s….Marisol’s...bag all hid inside. She knew carryin’ it about’s like a big neon sign fer ev’ry footpad an’ con artist on New Melbourne, but leastways tha average Fed wouldn’t give ‘er a second look.

“Got ident?” the hostess asked.

“Sure ‘n I do.”

She’s still catchin’ a wary eye. “Sorry,” the woman, name of Mia on her badge, offered. “Your face is just so…youthful.”

Abby shrugged. “Git that alot...usually from them’s tryin’ tah bed me.” She didn’t bother with touchin’ the Colt on her hip. Deadpan expression an’ a flat tone of voice did the trick.

The hostess’ face started goin’ all crimson like. “Right through there,” she managed with a nervous point. “Follow the music. Bartender has menus, too, if you wanna order food.”

“Thank yew.”

Trawler Man

Saloon was kinda noisy. They’s a band in tha corner, all beltin’ out somethin’ she took tah be sailor songs. Few folk was parked at tables, all hootin’ an’ poundin’ rhythm tah tha music. One fella caught her eye. Looked tah be her age. Sorta purty, with blond hair in a couple curls. He give her a grin, then offered an open hand towards tha empty chair at his table.

Abby shook her head. No time tah dawdle. She’s runnin’ tha mission.

”...always read the room..."

Abby cut loose a fresh gasp ‘o’ pain as she got sitiated. Set herself all careful onta the barstool, leavin’ the bandaged right cheek tah hang in midair. Duffel’s parked at her feet, but she got the strap within reach. Not takin’ no chances. She looked about, checkin’ other folk at the bar an’ around the room. Ain’t nobody showin’ interest in ‘er, but she kenned that fer a ruse also. Like in that one super-spy book she tried readin’. Some fella named Dirk Piston. She’d give up on it after three chapters, ‘cuz Dirk Piston spent more time bird doggin’ women than he done any spyin’...but he always conjured tha way out. Most like, she figgered at tha time, tah escape pissed off husbands, way he’s taggin’ somebody’s wife ever’ other page.

But good advice was good advice, she couldn’t deny. Abby’s countin’ doors when the bartender come saunterin’ up. She durn near did a double take at tha sight. Rex never talked about no twin brother, but she conjured she done found ‘im. Big fella with a goatee, tats on his arms an’ a shirt what looked like a floral massacre. “Hiya, doll,” he offered all friendly. “What’s your pleasure?”

She woulda jest asked fer Captain Bob’s...but not tahnight. She’s on a mission. Secret handoff. Browncoats an’ tha like. Trouble was, she ain’t never ordered no drink in a saloon. “Ummmm…”

“While you’re decidin’, Babyface, let’s get John Law taken care of.” Barkeep whipped out his reader. “Lemme have your ident.”

”Ku.” She give her card over. Man slipped it inta the reader, caught the green light, an’ then give it a closer look, afore meetin’ her eye with a smile. “Well happy birthday!”

“Thank yew.”

“I’ll whip up a special cocktail...your first legal drink! Big occasion!” The bartender set tah work. Abby didn’t bother tellin’ him t’was her first ever drink. She turned her eye toward the band as they led a singalong.

John Kanaka

Didn’t see them blond curls there no more. He was purty, she mused afore the bartender set down somethin’ powerful scary.

“On the house!” he near shouted over tha ruckus. Drink was tall. Glass had a couple handles. An’ ever’where, stuff’s hangin’ off tha rim. Cut limes, cherries, even a fresh peeled shrimp. They’s toothpicks stickin’ outta the whole mess with fruit n’ olives, one ‘o’ them little parasols, an’ toppin’ it all off, coupla sparkers all fizzin’ an’ smokin’ away. Fer tha life of her, Abby wasn’t sure if she’s meant tah drink this thing or watch it break atmo.

A voice come from over her shoulder. “Drink like that,” he said, “sends a message. Tells folk ‘I’m not from around here.”

Abby turned a harsh eye what softened a touch when she seen it was her blond haired boy. “Oh yeah?” she raised an eyebrow, sendin’ a hand tah rest upon the Colt. “What’s this sayin’ tah yah?”

He spent a might longer’n she liked studyin’ her hip. “Party girl?” the boy smirked. “What’s of interest to me,” he raised his eyes, “is the way you’re side saddlin’ that barstool. Seen that before, every time my dad’s ‘roids are actin’ up.” He give her a charmin’ smile. “You got the ‘roids?”

She scowled. “What I don’t got,” Abby bristled, “is no time fer messin’ with some scrub. Step off, now. I’m meetin’ somebody.”

His smile went all crooked an’ amused. “I know. I’m the one you’re here to meet. Thomas Jinks,” he give his name as a hand come up tah shake. “Was hopin’ I’d meet you when China Doll landed, but you weren’t about when we picked up our crates.”

”...treat new contacts as if they’ve been compromised...”

“Jinx, huh?” She fixed him with an eyeful ‘o’ mistrust. “Never heard ‘o’ yew.” Abby left the hand hangin’. “Most like, yer jest another land shark out fer a…”

“Did Mei Lin and her ba ba cross the mountains yet?”

“What?” She looked at him all kindsa confused.

“Book you’re readin’,” Thomas’ hand remained up, patient as he give the proof. “They get chased by that bear yet?”

She looked him over, ponderin’ hard afore it all come back. ”My girls loved the ‘Mei Lin’ series,” Marisol tole her that one day. So this was it. That was tha code, tha secret ident. Nothin' fancy a'tall. This Thomas Jinks was her contact. Deep down, that pleased her a touch, but she weren’t gonna let that show. “Thanks fer spoilin’ it, jackass,” the girl grumbled as her hand joined his. “Travis. Abby Travis.” She ‘membered that from one ‘o’ them spy movies.

Thomas chuckled. “Well hello, Travis-Abby-Travis,” he answered. “Nice meetin’ you, too…”

“Hey Birthday Girl,” the barkeep interrupted. “Something wrong with that drink?”

“Birthday?” Jinks’ head turned. “It’s your birthday?”

Abby nodded sorta absent as she eyed the drink. The fireworks afore her was fixin’ tah set light to the parasol. “Not sure how tah drink it without I lose an eye.”

“You don’t drink that,” Thomas pushed the glass away. “C’mon, Nick, get her something that doesn’t scream “date rape,” okay?” He looked at her. “What’s your regular drink? Gin? Whiskey?” Apparently he seen the confusion on her face. “Ohhh,” he said, all understandin’. “Let’s start easy. Nicky, set her up with vodka and Boom-Boom...single shot. I’ll take a Barnacle Bill.”

“What’s a Barnacle Bill?”

“Only beer I can afford,” Jinks chuckled as an eyebrow lifted. “Less you’re buyin’? Oh, alright....can’t blame a man for tryin’,” he winked at the sudden thundercloud on her brow.

“Jest make sure yah don’t ‘try’ nothin’ else,” she answered...but somethin’s wrong. Words come out more playful soundin’ than she intended.

Nick set drinks down afore ‘em. Jinks lifted his brew. “You got nothin’ to worry about. Girls I like wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.”

She didn’t know she should be relieved or indignant like. But laughin’ out loud? Hadn’t banked on that. “Well, that makes it all right clear,” she giggled.

“My pleasure! Cheers!” After clinkin’ her glass tah his bottle, Abby tasted her first alcohol. Funny, she thought on it. Don’t really taste like nothin’ a’tall. The ‘Boom-Boom’ was nice ‘n’ sweet, with a right zesty sorta tang to it. Gorram, but this was good…

*********************To Be Continued********************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Travis. Abby Travis” - (Part 1)

Cal Strand’s cameo by @wanderingwolf

”When you’re a spy…”

Almost too late, she recalled them shows she seen on Uncle Bob’s cortex. They’s chock full ‘o’ cool spy doin’s, with the main man hisself tellin’ yah how things was s’posed tah work. Abby loved them shows, ‘specially tha gun totin’ girlfriend an’ tha slick wingman. Never thought in all her days she’d be tryin’ tah make use ‘o’ tha ‘how to’ parts...

”...people want to dismiss you. Make it simple for them to put you in a box and forget you...”

After supper, she changed back inta her cutoffs an’ a big tee shirt she kept fer sleepin’. Now she looked tha part ‘o’ someone’s stayin’ in fer tha night, she could put the rest of ‘er plan inta action.

”....remember that the best accomplice is an unwitting one.”

“Who is it?” Perfessor Marquina opened his door. “Oh, Miss Travis! How are you feeling tonight?””

She smiled. “Lots better, thank yew. Hate tah bother, but I thought I’d best git a space heater inta yer room afore they’s all snatched up.” She held out the little unit. “Perty simple, an’ fire safe, so yah got no worries. I’ll bring extra blankets in tha mornin’, too. Listen…’cuz yer gonna be holed up alot while we’s in tha black, thought I’d keep hot drinks close ‘ta hand. What’s yer pleasure?” she asked, “coffee, tea, or cocoa?”

The perfessor looked delighted. “Tea, please! Any brown is quite sufficient. How considerate!”

“Ain’t nothin’ a’tall,” she give him a smile. “I’ll keep a hot thermos in yer’ room fer all yer wakin’ hours.” She spied his cortex, layin’ atop a stack ‘o’ sketches...all of what looked tah be tha same flower. “Is that yer orchid?”

“Yes!” His eyes lit up somethin’ fierce. He showed her the pitchers, pointin’ out important bits like coloration in tha blossom an’ give ‘er a primer in spottin’ male an’ female plants. She had tah admit she didn’t ken tha stronger ‘twixt the orchid or his passion fer it. Either way, she promised she’d take time tah hear more once they’s in tha black.

“But fer now,” Abby said, “I need tah make a quick call. Ain’t got a cortex. Could I borrow your’n?”

“Of course.”

She whipped out tha bidness card, an’ tapped in that connect code. “Mmmmmmmmmickey Rickshaw!” came tha answer. Fella’s even annoyin’ in ‘is calls…

“Hey...this is Abby. You gimme yer card taday? Out front ‘o’ that Firefly?”

“Firefly…..oh yeah! Well hello, Beautiful!” he durn near shouted. “Decide you’ll let me take you for a ride?”

“Yep.”

”Jīngrén de! How soon should I be there?”

“Now.”

”...mask an escape attempt as the most common day-to-day errand...”

She made a break fer it, luggin’ a garbage bag across tha cargo bay. Well, limpin’ with a garbage bag, leastways. Jest ahead’s tha door. Twenty foot...fifteen foot...ten foot...she’s gon’ make it…

“Abigail.” Cap’n’s voice come down from on high, in a tone says “busted.”

She stopped cold. “Cap’n?”

“Where you bound?” He’s leanin’ on tha catwalk railin’, lookin’ down on the deckhand with her trash bag.

”...when you’re under interrogation, keep your answers simple…”

“Dumpster.”

“In the dark?”

She heard his cigarette case come open. ”Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease...“ the girl silently chanted afore answerin’ Cal. “Yessir.”

“Gotta admit to bein’ all manner of curious,” he said afore sendin’ a cloud ‘o’ smoke toward tha ceilin’. “What sort ‘o’ trash is it makes my deckhand break the Doc’s order to lay low tonight?”

”...Avoid scrutiny by embarrassing the scrutinizer...”

“It’s…” she made tah struggle with her words. “Muh beddin’. Sheets, blanket, ‘n’ such.”

“Now I really don’t…”

“It’s muh time, Cap’n. Started up right after supper.,” she stammered, soundin’ all flustered. “Powerful heavy flow. Couldn’t make it fer a pad an’...”

“I got it,” Cal cut her off with a raised hand. “Just be careful, dohn mah?”

”Shì de, chuánzhǎng.” she thowed a nod of ‘er head afore swingin’ tha door wide an’ makin’ her best speed down the ramp, where Mickey an’ his rickshaw was waitin’.

“Hey Sweetness!” he’s all bright an’ cheerful as she pulled herself inta the canopied seat. “Where to? I know some pretty great places…”

”...a little style never hurts…”

“Pegleg Pete’s,” Abby commanded the rickshaw jockey. “ Punch it.”

*********************To Be Continued********************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Supper With Shipmates - Part 3

JP/collab from @wanderingwolf, @Psych0Pomp, @Aalakrys, @Xandrya, @Gunther. @Winters. @MK Blitzen, @Yule, @sail3695, and @LuckytheParrot

“Engine room,” Abby piped up afore slicin’ salmon with her fork. “Should stay tolerable warm. Keep ‘im in his cage, cause they’s lots ‘o’ movin’.....MMMM!” Her eyes went wide as that first bite landed in her mouth. She give a gesture to Hook afore swallowin’. “This is gorram perfect,” she shook her head. “Wow, Hook! You done spectacklar!”

“I second that, and this coming from someone who doesn’t make seafood her first pick.” Alana took another bite and after a few moments she addressed Abby, though in a lower tone. “I hope you’re feeling better? At least the appetite is there.”

Abby downed a swallow of her drink. “Yes,” she give a nod an’ a smile to tha Doc. “Still a might sore an’ I’m movin’ slower’n molasses on New Kasmir, but I feel good enough tah head inta town.” Soon’s she said it, she thought better of blurtin’ that one out. “If’n yew say it’s shiny, that is.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down that request, little lady. If you need something I can go ahead and fetch it for you as I’m heading out myself one last time, and I’d feel much better if you stayed put. Don’t want to risk it, ya know?” Alana smiled softly, serving up one last small batch of potatoes for herself. She was slightly obsessed with them, so she knew she would be making a request to Hook in the future.

The patient’s face seemed tah fall ‘bout tha same as her shoulders slumped. “Yes’m” she answered tah Doc’s orders in a flat tone.. ‘Course it made sense an’ all, but…aw hell, she finally conjured. Doc spent yesterday diggin’ ‘round my backside. I gotta follow her advice, but...tha mission. Made that promise, too. All glum in her spirits, Abby speared a carrot an’ said “I do got a couple things I could use, if yah don’t mind.”

Isaac trotted up the gangway and up the catwalks towards the galley. He could smell the cooking from the ramp and quickened his pace when he heard the deckhand's approval. That girl didn't seem to like anything, so it had to be good. He popped his head in the galley doorway, ape hanging from the side frame. "Someone mention food?" He grinned as he bobbed his head to get a look at what was left.

“Go on and help yourself Lo. Try to chew your food this time eh?” Mathias teased the youngest Skye.

"Pssh! And waste valuable eating time?" Isaac scoffed, then was immediately distracted. "Ooh! Roasted potatoes!" He said excitedly as he made his way towards the end of the table where the tasty spuds rested, foregoing taking a seat. He snagged what appeared to be an unused fork and stabbed two prize pieces of potato to munch on where he stood.

“I swear at some point he was taught manners … I think.” Mathias shook his head at his brother's antics.

"Oh, so terribly sorry." The younger Skye responded with a piss poor imitation of a rich person's accent as he gave a little bow. "How was everyone's day?" He queried those gathered around the table. Without waiting for a response, something else caught his eye. "I love carrots!" Stab stab went the fork again as he continued noshing, now resting part of his weight with his free hand on the back of one of the chairs.

Penelope giggled at the youngest sibling's enthusiasm. He was just so darn adorable. Between him and Abby, it made her feel quite homesick for her little brothers. Isaac reminded her of Pollux, so exuberant, while Abby was more like Castor in his more literal way of thinking. Hopefully, she'd get to see them soon, since Greenleaf was the next stop.

“He likes your cooking a lot,” Cyd tried to explain apologetically, pulling out the chair next to her while tugging Isaac’s shirt so he’d at least sit. The kid was a cyclone sometimes! She was chomping at the bit to find out about his date, but it was Isaac. His mouth would be full for the next fifteen, twenty minutes easy.

Abby seen firsthand that Little was settlin’ right inta life on a boat...boardin’ house reach an’ ever’thin’, but fer all her thinkin’ he coulda swiped food from her plate without her battin’ an eye. They’s the mission she promised. Any way she sliced it, hadta be her makin’ tha drop. Think like a spy in them books. I gotta make that meetin’, she thunk, Jest got scads harder, seein’s ever’ soul on this boat ‘cept that new passenger heard me gittin’ grounded. What was it Doc didn’t want ‘er to do? Carousin’, most like. No daincin’...but Abby weren’t a daincer, noways. Prob’ly no big walkin’ about’s tha big reason. But It’s fer true Doc didn’t mind her sittin’ down front all day, and she’d stuck to it...even when that rickshaw boy spent ten minutes starin’ at her legs an’ tryna ta sweet talk her inta a ride. Barely took no fer an answer… And that’s when tha idea come. She could keep both promises. Sorta.

Cyd had a need to fill silence, if not with music, then at least with words. Having finished her salmon and potatoes, she took a sip of water before answering Issac’s question. “Day was kiff er… good,” She said in case anyone was unsure of kiff. “Odds, ends. Getting the shuttle kitted out before launch. Captain Cal just let everyone know the next sixteen hours the ship will cut the heat, so it’s gonna get lank icy cold. Before we take off, if anyone hits up Pirate’s Cove, just a little advice, your head is larger than a cannonball, and it will get stuck,” she giggled and side-eyed Isaac. “The maintenance folk were lekker nice about it though, they say it happens all the time.”

Isaac pointed at his sister with a potato skewered fork. "TOLD you other people had done it!" He said, looking quite proud of his dubious accomplishment.

“Enough that they have a code for it,” Cyd agreed with another chuckle.

"We've got a squib in Number 1." Isaac said in his mock officious voice as the siblings simultaneously mimicked the crewman's exasperated sigh and laughed.

"Oh! And Castaways, right on the beach." Cyd added, stifling her giggles over Isaac’s antics. "For serious, you can have a rum and Pensa-Cola right on the sand by a bonfire. Luau every night, and a steel drum band that are madder good.”

“Even better with a daga and good going chwee chweereekeys.” Mathias snickered between bites. “Either way, we learned that Issac is fond of sticking his head in random holes and one day, Lolo, there ain't going to be a code to pop you out.”

“How’d the alley cat fare?” Cal asked from the head of the table, chopsticks hanging between his next bite. “These two mentioned you had some oats to sow,” with a smirk, Cal reached for a roll.

Isaac looked like he was about to die of embarrassment from the Captain's directness. He gave a quick pleading look to his big mouth siblings for putting him in such a situation before turning back to Cal with a dopey grin, cheeks flushed. "Went fine, sir." He replied, trying to hide behind his fork. "Sarah's real nice. Wasn't too thrilled that I was leaving tomorrow, though." His expression flickered sad for a moment, then hopeful. "Any idea when we might be back this way...uh...sir?"

“Always leave them wanting more; good job, kid.” Captain Strand interrogated his plate at Isaac’s question, “Maybe a month or two might see us back on planet, but not Pensacola. Next tuna season, maybe, long as things don’t go sideways tomorrow.” His expression didn’t mirror the boy’s hopeful eyes.

Penelope glanced along the table down to Isaac, tilting her as she was to do when giving a suggestion in the form of reminder. "But we have a shuttle, no matter where we land next time."

No sense in killing his dreams so quick, her glance back towards Cal said. Amused, of course - young love and attachment was cute, especially given the nature of what the Skyes signed on for. They were all vagabonds here, every one. She, having been more an observer than participant though, was done eating. Her mind was a bit more full of thoughts she was ready to get out, and looked like Cal was done enough as well. "Ready for that chat, Cap?"

Cal dabbed his mouth with a ratty, cloth napkin, “Better to have loved and lost, they say,” he chided, pushing out from the table. His eyes met Penelope’s before standing and quitting their company for the bridge.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Supper With Shipmates - Part 2

JP/collab from @wanderingwolf, @Psych0Pomp, @Aalakrys, @Xandrya, @Gunther. @Winters. @MK Blitzen, @Yule, @sail3695, and @LuckytheParrot

Rex was startled awake either by the smell of food or the hum of conversation; it was hard to tell which. He almost knocked the cup of cold coffee over as he immediately went into a stretch. Lucky let out a perturbed squawk before retreating to his place under Rex's coat. "What the hell?" He glanced around. "When did this happen?"

“Magic.” Mathias snickered with jazz hands before snagging a plate to load up with food.

Alana tried her best to stifle a laugh even with her mouth full. No doubt the drinks from earlier that day had loosen her up a bit, causing her to find humor in just about anything. She reached for a smaller piece of salmon to give it a try. Truth be told, her taste for seafood wasn’t all there, but she was the adventurous type when it came to food either way. “Glad you could join us; heard you mumbling a whole lotta nothing in your sleep,” she went on matter-of-factly as if such a thing had actually happened.

Penelope was all innocent as she snagged up some more potatoes with the chopsticks she’d traded her spoon out for, for precision. That blanket had been there a while now, but she wasn’t going to own up to it when others were taking it in a different direction.

Cyd giggled at her twin’s response. “Hook the cook,” She put a piece of salmon on her own plate, then one for her brother. “Everything looks kiff, off the track, shot for it.”

Rex rolled his eyes at their passengers. He then felt something tickle the back of his neck. Someone had put a blanket on him. Lucky hadn't said a damn thing, probably relishing the entire debacle. He just grumbled through the fog of sleep and reached for a plate, eyeing the vegetables like an alcoholic eyed a full bottle of gin.

“Help yourself,” Cal said with a full mouth, sliding an empty plate across the table to Rex.

With the table set and everyone digging into the food, Hook considered sitting next to Rex but preferred not to be near the bird. He chose a seat near Cal instead. Although he worked on a farm when he was young and got along well with horses and cows, he just didn’t know the bird. What the hell was it? It spoke and that just didn’t set well with Joe Hooker. He was just a bit uneasy around the bird.

Watching Joe take a seat, Cal set down his chopsticks and cleared his throat. “It’s good most everyone’s here because I promised certain people that I’d let you all in on our next job when I had it set. Tomorrow, we’re lifting off come afternoon to take on four-thousand pounds of tuna. It’ll be all hands-on deck to get it set and strapped, but that means we’re going to have ourselves a mighty fishy trip ahead of us to Greenleaf.” Cal lifted a glass to his lips before continuing. “In order to preserve our catch, we’re going to be flying without temp: we’re turning off atmo for the ship, so it’s gonna get cold.” Captain Strand surveyed the faces across the table from beneath the brim of his hat. “But I got a couple space heaters in storage, and we’ll break out the blankets. My sources say it’ll be about twenty-three degrees, but we’ll see when we get in the black.”

Lesson learnt. Never turn the Doc down when she’s pushin’ pain pills. Abby couldn’t be sure it was really her surgery doin’ tha main hurtin’, seein’s she let her legs git all burned an’ such. Needless tah say they’s none too happy bein’ jammed inta a pair ‘o’ chinos. As Cap’n filled ever’one all in on tha chilly run ahead, she limped in...like an old gramma...and lowered herself all careful like inta tha chair Pen waved her toward. With a quiet ‘thank yew’ fer the pilot, the deckhand set tah work fillin’ her plate as folk passed the dishes her way.

“How long is this trip to Greenleaf?” Hook asked. He was thinking if the trip was too long, the crew would freeze to death, and they wouldn’t need whatever money they earned for the trip. But with space heaters, that might be just enough to take the edge off and make the trip tolerable.

“Near sixteen hours, but maybe Penelope can get us there sooner,” Cal replied.

She glanced over at the pilot as she reached for some water. Alana would have to shop for something to keep her warm unless she wanted to end up an icy treat.

Penelope looked up from her cut of fish at being called on. She’d been figuring in her head, about somethin’ else, but gave a nod in his direction all the same.

“That’s quite a lot to ask folk to put up with sub-freezing temperatures for sixteen hours,” Hook interjected. He knew he could make it. He packed some winter clothing and was prepared to don them if needed. He figured he could always duck into the engine room to absorb some warmth from time to time.

“Well, they’re gonna have to put up with it. No better way to transport four-thousand pounds of tuna without losing a percent to degradation.” Strand shook his head decisively. “I suggest you pick up an extra coat ‘fore we leave shore.” Chopsticks back in hand, Cal took another bite from his plate.

“We need to pick up warmer sleepers,” Cyd said as she pierced her fork into the salmon, nudging her brother. “Especially if we’re gonna doss on the floor.” They had ordered Japanese style bedding to save space.

“If we keep the door closed, we can use the shuttle atmo to stay warm. We can still get some extra warm stuff. Just in case.” Never hurts to be careful after all.

Cyd looked to the captain. “Is that right?” she asked, “shuttle has heat?”

She contemplated for a moment. “If the shuttle will keep heat, we’d be glad to share it with anyone who wants to warm up or even doss...er… sleep,” Cyd offered. She may have looked towards the captain with the invite, but it was completely unintentional, or at the very least subconscious. She shifted her gaze to Pen, Hook and Abby. “Open invite to all,” she added to clarify. They’d make room, and it could be fun. Play some cards, play some music. Oooh! She mused, Karaoke! Rave on.

“Aye, your shuttle has heat; you lucked out on this run.” After that, Cal’s mouth was busy with dinner as the chill he’d forecast settled over the table in the nervous looks among the crew.

Hook decided to focus on eating the salmon. It wasn’t that bad. Another recipe he got from Mrs. McGinnis. Of course, that thought made him think of Penny. He often wondered what happened to her. They did everything together. With the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. McGinnis, Joe assumed Penny and her brother were dead. He thought about Penny often. They were close when he lived on that farm.

Rex poked at the asparagus and potatoes, tending to the food slowly as his stomach would let him. Salmon didn't agitate him like red meat did, but it all bothered him. He raised a brow at Cal's declaration of the temperature drop. "You trying to kill my bird?" He paused. "It isn't going to bump you up in my favorite people standing. I'll replace you with your little clipboard toting clone." He pointed the chopsticks towards the captain accusatory with a smile on his face.

“I was hoping you’d come down with hypothermia and I’d get to keep the bird, but beggars can’t be choosers.” Cal shot a wink Lucky’s way.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Supper With Shipmates - Part 1

JP/collab from @wanderingwolf, @Psych0Pomp, @Aalakrys, @Xandrya, @Gunther. @Winters. @MK Blitzen, @Yule, @sail3695, and @LuckytheParrot

Hook had been in the galley preparing the food at least an hour before the meal was ready. He gathered all the ingredients from the pantry after cleaning the table off. He had prepared everything with cutting boards to keep surfaces clean. He preheated the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Once the topping was ready for the Salmon filets, he laid them across a few foil lined cookie sheets. The asparagus were treated with the garlic and lemon and then again laid out on a cookie sheet. When they were ready, they were inserted into the oven. The potatoes took a little more time to cut up into manageable chunks and then treated with some garlic, olive oil and sea salt. He cut up the carrots, placed them in a pot to boil on top of the stove.

Once all the food was in the oven or on the stove, he cleared away all the utensils used for food preparation and then cleaned them all up in the sink. After drying the cutting boards and knives, he put them away and set the table for eight people. In a few minutes, the crew started filing in.

“Take a seat, dinner will be ready soon,” Joe told the crew. As the timers were going off, he pulled the food from the stove and oven and transferred them to serving bowls and plates. These were then transferred to the table for everyone to access along with serving utensils.

Reaching over the sleeping first mate, Captain Strand plucked a fried tomato from mid-table, gingerly setting it on his plate. “Rex,” Cal called in a booming voice, “you wanna say grace?” His grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Aw, Cap’n, don’t go botherin’ him,” Pen said with that same faint smile that always lingered, this time more to do with the pastel rainbow ‘shawl’ across those large, hunched shoulders that she’d put there. She sat cross-legged at the table, with a foot hanging down swinging, cheek pressed to a palm as she glanced over at the big guy. “He’s cozy.”

Mid-bite Cal continued, “Cozy? That man could sleep through an Alliance raid, and he has before.” He finished his mouthful, before nudging Rex with the butt of his chopsticks. “What’d I tell ya? Kids, this is what happens when you party too hard.” Amused at his own joke, Cal went in for another bite.

“Must be nice to get that level of shuteye… Some nights even a feather dropping will pull me from my beautiful slumber, though a couple of drinks does help,” Alana mused, serving herself some more potatoes.

“Nothing bad happens from partying too hard,” Cyd replied with a knowing smile. She flashed a quick glance to the captain and the passed out man beside him who looked as if he’d raved the night before. She and Mathias managed to make it to the galley fashionably late. “Ever.” Their first of many shopping trips was a success, but the shuttle still needed a scrub down, and that itself was an understatement.

Mathias made an iffy hand. “I can think of a few times you had to nut someone... “He snorted, ready to be jabbed at by his sister.

“On them, not on me,” Cyd defended, jabbing him in the ribs. ”We heard there’d be a lekker dinner, Abby said plates at six.”

“Ah, the prodigal Skyes return. Pull up a chair. What, no small-fry? That’s okay; way I hear there’s not enough food in the ‘verse to fill that pit.” Cal made a sweeping gesture to the empty chairs and bench at the galley table.

“Small-Fry is getting his alley cat on. He may drop by after.” Mathias said with a bit of pride.

Cyd pulled up one of the chairs leaving a few spaces, Mathias sitting at her side. “Is that Rex?” Cyd asked, tilting her head. “Huh. Maybe we should hold off on first week’s rent?” They’d never had trouble paying anyone before. Why couldn’t this ever happen when they’d been short?

Penelope was polishing off a spoonful of rice pilaf when that notion came up, her eyes twinkling but smile hidden by the spoon still popped in. The Skyes were all sorts of amusing.

“Good for him. More for us.” Captain turned from the Skye twins to Penelope, “How’d the shore treat you? Abigail chewed my ear off over some shell or other.”

“Went right nice,” Penelope summed up. “Got plenty of shells to make up. Heard-tell we’re going to Greenleaf, so want to make sure my affairs are in order.”

“‘Deed we are. In fact, I was hoping we could have a chat about some business later on. Got a pickup tomorrow after midday ‘fore we take off for Greenleaf.” Cal reached for another salmon steak.

“That’d be shiny, Cap’n, since I was hopin’ for the same.” The pilot said as she helped herself to some garlic roasted potatoes, not real keen on sharing the details with the group at the moment anyhow.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Sunday from the cargo deck!

Lots of big doin's on the China Doll.

First up, today's the day! Hook's doin' some serious cookin' and yer all invited! We thought the chance to get y'all sittin' around tha galley table would be a fun Chat RP, so we're all hittin' Discord TODAY at 5PM EASTERN TIME. Bring yer appetite, and a story or two could be right nice.

Sounds like after dinner, lotsa folk have plans.
Think I heard that both shuttles are goin' fer joy rides (excuse me, 'operational test flights'.) Skyes takin' the one they jest rented, an' Pen's got t'other.
Cap'n and the Doc got somethin' goin' on in town.
Abby's on a super secret mission. Wishin' she had a hat an' a trench coat.
Way up East, Yuri's all busy fixin' stuff what broke.

What about you? You got somethin' in mind fer our last night in town? Sing out an' we'll leave tha lights on.

Got a slight change 'o' plans. Wolf had an idea. Wolf had a terrible, wonderful idea. Instead 'o' wrappin' the episode when we break atmo an' time skippin' to arrival at Greenleaf, we're gonna RP our time in the black. Ain't a long haul...nearabouts 16 hours. Might also give us another shot at some chat RP...if y'all are feelin' it.

And that's what we know! Remember, we are all about character subplots and development. If you've got a story to tell on New Melbourne and need some extra time, let us know and we'll put the brakes on. Likewise for the black, or Greenleaf.

As Yuri's boss just said, "Danny-boy's just a bunch of hot air." So, it's time for me to shut up. See y'all today at 5PM!

WWIF,

sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

And The Sea Shall Yield Up….

Part 3

The galley of the NS Eileen McSorley was intended not only to serve fitting meals to her crew, but to send a message of family bonding and comfort to those who took refuge there. A series of comfortable tables were arranged about the room, their deck mounts concealed by the once plush, now wearing deep pile carpet.

The centerpiece of the room was its’ elaborate main dining table. In the ship’s early days, this table played host to teams of visiting executives and their families. It was the setting for sumptuous banquets served upon its’ inlaid wood top. Several years back, as the Mick relinquished her flagship status to newer vessels, a layer of polyplex had been slapped down to minimize damage by the crew. Though the march of time was slowly denuding the room of its’ earlier grandeur, the crew still found comfort and hearty food within the galley’s confines.

Yuri was seated at the main table, next to the Chief Engineer. Edwards was busily wolfing down a plate of porkchops. “Daniel, they’re callin’ it,” he dragged a slice through his mashed potatoes and gravy, then scooped the whole mess into his mouth. “Ain’t nothin,” the Chief’s voice was thick as he waved his fork toward the floor-to-ceiling viewpane. “Shoulda been here back in ought-nine....Kate? Now that was a storm.” To Yuri’s gratitude, his lunch partner finally swallowed the offending morsel. After following it with a healthy swig of Captain Bob’s Cola, Edwards resumed his tale. “Bad, bad storm. Took New Hampton right off the map. Mick was right in the middle of it,” the old man’s brows lifted. “I tell you, son, that’n had me holdin’ onto my cho chos. This?” He sent the fork in for another assault. “Danny-boy’s nothin’ but hot air. Gonna head north an’ die. Just a fish storm.”

Yuri nursed his coffee, eyes focused upon the hurricane’s chaos before them. A wicked sky of black, low hanging clouds swept above. The winds tore across the open deck, fueling waves that now broke among the cargo bay hatches. In the past hour, they’d gone straight from Gale One to Gale Three preparedness, closing watertight doors and instituting rolling damage checks within the hull. One such investigation revealed a larger stress fracture through which water poured every time the Mick rolled heavily to starboard. Even as they sat here, Martinez was welding a patch. “Eleven inches in the bilge, Chief,” Yuri offered.

“I ordered all pumps,” the engineer devoured more pork. “Conjure we’ll be dry again in a couple hours. Your reactor happy?”

“Efficieny’s rolling off in these seas. Three rods down and output is slowing. I think the roll stress is accelerating breakdown in the mod blocks.”

Edwards nodded. “We still running at ten knots?”

“Yes, but shipping seas over the port beam isn’t helping.” As if on cue, a mountain of water slammed into the port side. The great ship seemed to stagger beneath the blow, her deck hatches nearly obscured by the torrent of violent water, a sight to inspire gasps and whistles from other crew situated about the galley. “Whew,” the young man exclaimed. “That was a…”

The loud squawk that blared from both their walkies caused the engineer and his mate to reach for their radios. “Chief Edwards!” Chrissy’s voice echoed til both could cut their volumes. “Chief! Come in!”

“Edwards here.”

“Looks like we just lost a vent topside. Took heavy water down the duct. Port forward pump’s offline!”

The Chief’s eyes met Yuri’s. “Can you…”

“I got it.”

His coffee cup left behind, Yuri made for the stairwell, grabbing each handgrip to swing hastily downward. Deck by deck he moved, his descent accompanied by the radio chatter. “Antonov’s on his way,” the Chief responded. “What’s it looking like, Chrissy?”

“Regular wavebreak,” came the harried response. “Right down the duct. Shipping one - two hundred gallons each time. Waterfall...right onto the pump motor. It shorted out.”

”La shi,” the mate cursed under his breath. “Martinez,” he keyed his mic, “status?”

“Starboard midships...tryna finish this patch!”

Yuri entered the portside raceway, one of two interior corridors that would connect the fore and aft cabins and work areas. If this were a normal day, he’d have already completed his daily run, four laps of the eight hundred foot passage to get him just over the mile mark. But today, with the ship rocking under the hurricane force, his stride was more intense. “Port forward pump!” he barked into his walkie. “We gotta cap an air duct. Bring your rig, a four by four sheet of galvanized, and some eighth inch strip. Double quick.”

“Copy!”

Overhead, the roar of an angry sea echoed through the raceway. Yuri could feel the blow, sense the Mick as she labored under the added tonnage. They’d lost one of their four primary pumps. This struggle had just grown much tougher.



……………….to be continued………………..

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hey folks,

In case you missed the group chat today, we're thinking that Hook's Day 2 supper is a great chance for us all to live chat RP everyone hanging out together at the Galley table. Right now, we're looking at SUNDAY, 9/19 @ 5PM EASTERN TIME.

Please let us know if the time works, or feel free to suggest one that does. We'll save a plate for you.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Good thing Abby's "appointment" isn't til 8-ish. She'll be there.