sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Special Delivery

“Snakeskin,” Abby cocked an eyebrow as she checked tha order on ‘er clipboard. “Two pallets. Hunnerd fifty.”

The driver offered his coin. “Here you go.”

She took payment, then wrote out a receipt. “Bein’ picked up on Osiris by MacMillan Leather Goods,” she read aloud. “Jest over three an’ a half days’ flight…gonna put us in ‘bout midnight on Tuesday. They can come git it next mornin’ after eight.”

“I’ll let ‘em know,” he tossed a friendly wave as he climbed into his truck. “Safe travels.”

“May tha road rise,” she replied as the truck coughed an’ rattled away. "That’s one,” the girl pondered as she jacked an’ strapped tha pallets inta place. Second truck was comin'…some kinda cosmetic skin cream that Cap’n said keep an eye out for. Tha big haul was due in at noon. A dozen pallets full ‘o’ stuff like hair growth tonic, boner pills, somethin’ called ‘skin re-jeoo-vin-aters,’ an’ scads ‘o’ diff’rent diet pills, pain pills…even stuff tah keep yer dog from gettin’ all anxious. ”They got a drug fer ever’thin’,” the deckhand shook ‘er head as she settled down front in tha lawnchair tah wait.

She parked tha clipboard on ‘er knees, afore pullin tha cortex outta her pocket.

<tjinks>
Sooo…hung over today?

Abby smiled an’ put ‘er thumbs tah work.

<abn8tr>
Nope. Right as rain. Yuri gave me a good tip.

<tjinks>
Yuri Yuri Yuri! Ima get jealous.

<abn8tr>
He’s a good kisser, too.

<tjinks>
WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?

It was hard tah type fer all her gigglin’.

<abn8tr>
JKJKJK. You know who I’m saving all my kisses for.


<tjinks>
Oh yeah. So when do you get that puppy?

<abn8tr>
Dumbass

A high revvin’ truck engine caught ‘er ear. Abby looked up from her messagin’. A white cargo van come whippin’ up, swung it’s nose away from tha boat, an’ then backed right up tah tha ramp. ”Ain’t wastin’ no time,” she conjured as she got tah her feet.

Back doors come open an’ three fellas jumped out. “Hey,” Abby greeted ‘em. “Y’all deliverin’ some kinda..”

The flashlight clocked ‘er straight on tha left temple. Abby staggered; her cortex an’ clipboard gone flyin’ as she tried tah reach fer tha Colt. A boot caught ‘er in tha solar plexus, takin’ all ‘er air as a fist pummelled straight intah her right eye. She thought she had tha Colt…thought it was in ‘er hand, but as she collapsed in tha dirt, it weren’t nowheres in reach. Tha boot come again, this time given’ her such a kick as tah knock away ‘er senses.

She kinda felt hands on ‘er. They’s pickin’ ‘er up, afore piitchin’ ‘er like a sack 'o' taters. Hard rubber deckin’ pressed intah her face. Her hands was pulled behind ‘er an’ zip tied at tha wrists, but loopy as she was she couldn’t figger a move tah save ‘er life.

Doors was slammin'. Voices all from folk she couldn’t see, face down’s she was. “Call Root,” one falla barked. ‘Let ‘im know we got one.”

Abby weren’t sure, but it felt like they’s movin…fast. An’ then it all went black.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

A Bigger Game

Rules was rules.

Rules was what kept the MC in order. Rules was what made the coin flow. And after finding one of their own dead in the alley outside the Twirling Rabbit, it was rules what kept them all alive while they sussed it out.

The Headhunters’ clubhouse was in full lockdown. Husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends, not to mention an army of kids, had been shuttled from their beds into the direct protection of the MC. For hours, the air was filled with the smell of breakfast cooked for dozens of innocent mouths whose owners all wondered just how long they’d be stuck in this place.

In the table room, Root and his lieutenants hashed out their next moves, and waited for news from their eyes and ears all over Khao Yai. Momma Ellsbeth had handed over the bar’s security capture. The biker chief and his war council studied the images again and again.

“I know Lip didn’t help himself none,” Roach was saying, “but we all been around enough to spot a man lookin’ for a fight.” He backtracked the scene. “See right there? Dude’s sizin’ up his marks.” The image froze. In the bottom corner, Lip, the gang’s money man, jostled for a place at the bar. Not four meters away stood the dark stranger, eyes locked on their brother’s polo shirt with deadly intent.

Root pulled on his cigarette. “So this wasn’t a hit.”

Cheesedick spoke up. “I’m with Roach. None of the other MC’s was out. The Mau-Maus were throwin’ a divorce party for their V-prez and his old lady, and the Chupacabras were layin’ low since Booth got a few of their three-strikers out of stir. This guy,” he pointed toward the screen, “was a one-off.”

“Who is…this guy?” Root studied the face, a murderous intensity on the big screen. “Nips? We pickin’ up any cortex chatter?”

“Not a word,” she replied as she pushed some image prints across the table. “I put the capture out to all our friendlies and anyone who owes us. Hit all the banger turf, the port, and we got a couple barefoots watchin’ the jungle trails. He sticks his head up,” she continued, “we’ll know.”

The biker chief grunted his acknowledgment. “Word from the funeral home is ‘closed casket.’ Not enough of Lip’s face left to rebuild.” He straightened in his chair. “Til we got this guy, we’re buttoned up. Four man rides to check leads. Full pressure on the streets.”

A quick knock at the door announced Ellsbeth. The old woman entered, and settled into her customary seat along the wall. Though she didn’t warrant a place at the table, her confident presence was undisputed among the outlaws in this room. Root offered a grim, deferential nod to his mother.

‘Whatcha want us to do when we find ‘im?” Roach asked. “Make an example, or a quick kill?”

“Lip wasn’t patched,” the boss rubbed his jaw, “but he was still one of ours. Unless our boy’s runnin’ with a crew,” Root answered, “take him down where you find him. Blood for blood.”

“Copy that, Prez.”

Root’s eye landed upon a silent lieutenant. “C-mouth, pick three and saddle up. Sun’s up now. Cover every inch of ground around the Rabbit. I want to know…”

A persistent chirping interrupted the leader’s command. “Sorry, boss,” Nips grabbed her cortex reader. Tucking it to her ear, she turned away from the table, her conversation a hushed whisper whose intensity grew through body language and gestures. Though her brothers often found reason to stare, on this morning her usual distractions didn’t enter into their attention. “Thanks,” she said as her chair swiveled back to face the table. “That was one of Lucchesi’s capos. Our guy’s in the port. Rent-a-cop saw ‘im sleepin’ in a mud puddle, and took him for a sailor who couldn’t finish the walk home.”

The chief leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “And did the donut eater see where home was?”

“Yeah,” his lieutenant gave a single nod. “Said a woman came along and handheld him to a boat on Row J.” She checked her cortex as the vibration announced incoming traffic. “China Doll. Not twenty ticks ago.”

“China Doll?” Root asked as he caught his mom’s eye. “You sure?”

With a swipe from her screen, Nips ‘tossed’ an image onto the table capture. China Doll lay serene in the morning light, a pair of figures making their way up her cargo ramp. She zoomed in, clarifying to reveal an attractive blonde in the act of helping the blood streaked killer shamble his way forward.

“Now I got two beefs with that boat,” the chief grumbled. “C-Mouth,” he turned toward the enforcer. “Change of plans. We’re doin’ this on Lucchesi’s turf. His rules. No sleds, no cuts. Take the van. I want it quick and quiet. First one of China Doll’s crew you see, you shank ‘em and roll out. You feel me, L-T?”

“That’s a rodg.” Cottonmouth took to his feet, hand resting upon the haft of his knife.

“Cheese,” Root waved his cigarette. “You’re still Plan A. Get your posse ready for the black. Nips, you, me, and five watch the gate in case our boy’s crew try to chase C-mouth.” The MC president rose from his seat. “Roach…home guard.”


“You know,” Ellsbeth lifted a hand, “we may have better options.”

“Go on.” Root waved the henchmen off to their errands.

The old woman rose to speak. “You were planning to hit that boat when she broke atmo? Breach a hatch and take her when she depressurized?”

The biker chief settled back in his chair. “S.O.P. Put ‘er down on Bryson’s Rock. Pull the cargo, eighty-six the bodies and sell the boat to scrappers. Then we’re back at the table with Hafez.”

“S.O.P,” she nodded her understanding. “Predictable. Predictable for us, for Hafez, for Five-Oh. Tricks of the trade that no one expects an MC to ever grow beyond…which is why we’re trapped within our margins and losing out on upper tier employment.”

Root scratched his jaw. “I don’t like where this is going, mom. We gotta show strength. One of our own was cut down…”

“...by some offworld bèndàn who just signed away his crew’s future,” Ellsbeth interjected. “Blood for blood” is still a viable move, but it shouldn’t be your first.”

“What have you got in mind.?”

“You’ve just been handed a bargaining chip,” she said. “Pick it up, and others will follow.”

Root fixed his mother with weary eyes. “I hate it when you talk in riddles.”

Ellsbeth smiled.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Road Home

OOC: These events take place before Hook tries to head for the boat. Rex Black is a character created by @psych0pomp. Cameo by Captain Strand, courtesy of @wanderingwolf.


Once they’d managed to wrest their mechanic from the arms of a woman on the dance floor, the crew of China Doll made their departure. Everyone chose to exit Bungalow Bill’s via the knotted rope, though few understood the act of climbing down required a level of care that alcohol might inhibit. Abby patted the dirt from her bottom as Yuri took the stairs, under the stern countenance of the Doc. As the little party trod the jungle path back toward Khao Yai, he fell in beside the deckhand. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

Abby cocked ‘er head. “Tolerable well,” she said. “Thinkin’ a walk’ll do us both some good,”

“Just remember,” he whispered, “before you hit your bunk? Double dose of aspirin and two tall glasses of water. Might not avoid the hangover,” he added, “but it’ll make the morning better…dohn mah?”

”Ku,” the girl answered. “Who was that woman yew’s daincin’ with?”

“Her name was Drucilla.”

“Y’all know each other?”

“We do now,” he smiled off into the darkness. Yuri caught sight of unanswered curiosity. “I met her at the bar. She’s a working girl.”

“Workin’ girl,” Abby frowned as she thought on that. Presently she smoked out tha meanin’, and with eyes wide she whispered, “Yah mean she’s a whore?”

“Simply put. Never really liked that word, though,” Yuri said as they walked together.

“But…” Now she’s all confused. “I conjured whorin’ was jest ‘bout sex. All yew did was daince…’cept fer a goodnight kiss.”

“You’re not wrong,” the mechanic smiled. “Most folk like her’ll tell you their entire coin’s earned between the sheets. But tonight? All I needed was a dance.”

“Yew paid fer a daince? Shoot, I conjure Doc an’ me both woulda said yes if’n yah asked.”

The smile became a good humored grin. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he chuckled. “But I had the right music, and a woman whose eyes I could gaze into without it getting creepy.”

“Well,” the girl give it some thought, “yah got me there.”

“So hey,” Yuri shifted the topic, “I heard a rumor that we don’t get cargo til noon tomorrow?”

“That’s what Cap’n says,” Abby nodded. “Got a couple small things comin’ earlier, an’ a passenger or two, so I’m on the lawnchair most tha mornin’.”

The mechanic nodded. “Is there a good time for you to walk me through preflight checks?” Ahead lay the lights of the city, and a dazzling clear sky full of stars. The crew found themselves on pavement once more. At this hour, many of the shops were closed, and the lights of personal dwellings were steadily winking out. His bunk would feel good tonight.

“Sure,” Abby piped up. “Gonna scare up breakfast ‘round oh-seven-hundred. Gotta clean tha lower deck lav at eight. I conjure we could squeeze a few minutes somewheres.” They came to the intersection of Harbor Street. As the crew turned toward the port, the girl said, “I got a stop tah make, first. I’ll see y’all back at tha boat.”

Yuri stopped. “You need company?”

“Meetin’ a friend. Don’t worry,” she give tha Colt a pat, “I’ll be along presently.”

There’s Cal, eyes all serious. “You remember what I told you ‘bout bartenders an’ waitresses, Abigail?”

She smiled, part from his expression, t’other part from the worry he’s showin’ her. “My drinkin’s done fer tha night, Cap’n…’cept fer lotsa water. I’ll be there in two shakes.” With a wave, she set off in tha opposite direction, toward Hap’s La Frontera, and tha chance tah learn more ‘bout ‘er parents.

…………………..

Hap’s was still closed.

Shutters was all locked, doors was bolted, an’ ain’t a sliver ‘o’ light peekin’ out from between. “Gorramit,” Abby muttered ‘neath ‘er breath. Story was Hap’s was always open, so she’s curious as tah what might cause the old man tah miss their git together an’ close up shop like this. But that part didn’t matter. Now she was against tha clock. Skids up tomorrah meant she’s on post all day aforehand…

Abby stood on the warped front stoop, ponderin’ her next move. Across the street, Tampico Royale was goin’ full tilt, with music an’ folk caterwhallin’ echoes down tha block. Mayhaps she could go there, borrow a pen from tha bartender, an’ stuff a napkin with her message inta Hap’s mail slot…

The front doors burst open. Two stacks of hardened muscle emerged, dragging their near limp bundle until they could pitch him into the street. Then, both bouncers set upon the victim, raining blows and kicks upon the man who raised feeble hands to ward off the assault. A woman had followed them. She was naked, but for a sheer robe she attempted to clutch about her. “You piece of la shi!”, she screamed at the man, who covered his head as he tried to wrap himself into a ball.

Abby’s eyes looked on tha deadbeat an’ that gaudy floral shirt gettin’ all messed up. That shirt…she seen it. Hell, she done washed it a time ‘er two… “Oh, shit,” she muttered as she come inta tha street. “Whoa, fellas….WHOA! STOP”

One ‘o’ tha bouncers looked up. “Mind’jer business, Cutie Pie. Step on.”

She laid a hand on tha Colt. “He is my business!” Abby retorted as tha gun slipped free ‘o’ tha holster. “That’s my crew! Leave ‘im be!” The bouncers now stood straight, eyes on the skinny teeager with the big gun. “I’m talkin’ tah yew!” she barked.

From his place on the ground, Rex Black shook himself off, releasing a combination of bloody spittle and dust into the street. “Cal Junior?” he squinted upward. “That you?”

“Rex,” Abby’s eyes didn’t waver. “Why come yer out here gittin’ dusted off by these gorillas?”

“He didn’t pay!” the woman shouted as she clutched her robe together.

The deckhand rolled ‘er eyes. “How much?”

“Fifty,” the First Mate answered in unison with the woman who shouted “seventy-five!”

Abby cut loose a disgusted sigh. “Tell yah whut, fellers. I’ma put this away so’s I can go fer muh coin purse…but y’all git sketch an’ it’ll come out agin real fast. We good?”

The biggest ape waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah…we good.”

“Thank yew.” Once the Colt found leather, she set tah countin’ tha last of ‘er money. “Twenty…forty…sixty…five,” the girl pulled all her cash out. “Plus change…sixty-five twenty-seven.” Abby held the pay out fer tha whore. “That cleans me right out.”

“He owes seventy-five,” the second bouncer objected.

“He ain’t got it,” Abby tossed ‘er hair as tha money disappeared from ‘er palm. “And now I’m tapped. Looks tah me like y’all give my shipmate ever bit of a ten credit ass whoopin’. How ‘bout we call this done an’ even?”

The bouncers traded glances, then turned toward the prostitute. She was so engrossed in counting money that she hadn’t noticed the neglige gown had fallen open. “I conjure that’s as good as it gets,” the Alpha dog decided. He dropped to one knee, a thick index finger jabbing Rex in the chest. “Make sure you never show your face in my bar again…capiche?”

“On my mother’s grave,” Rex nodded solemnly.

The bouncer glared at Abby. “Take out the trash, girlie.”

“Shiny.” Abby bent over Rex, an’ took an’ arm for tah help ‘im up. “C’mon, jackass,” she grunted, “I cain’t carry ya back. Git up.” The man was powerful unsteady, wobblin’ to an’ fro til she th6wed an arm ‘round ‘is waist. He hooked a thumb in her gunbelt, an’ the pair of ‘em set off, staggerin’ a weak sorta zigzag path back toward the port. Rex was covered in odors…stale perfume, his own arm sweat, liquor, and a musky sorta stink she conjured must be what sex smells like if’n yah don’t wash. “Do me a kindness,” she said as she helped him along. “Take a shower when we git back.”

“Been at it for three days,” Rex slurred. “Sleep first.” After they stumbled together for another few minutes, he asked, “Did you take care of Lucky?”

“Yes,” she answered all annoyed, “I took care ‘o’ Lucky.”

His arm tightened around her a touch. “You know, Cal Junior, I do have fun teasin’ you…but you’re okay.”

“I still want muh money.”

“You’ve got my word,” his voice took a serious cast. “I really appreciate you gettin’ me out of that scrape.”

As they wobbled along the dark street, Abby thought on his words, and them as she’d heard tonight with the rest of China Doll’s crew. Family. The word played on her mind as she kept Rex movin’ toward home. Family. Finally, she spoke. “We’s shipmates. I been told that’s how it’s done.”

“You had a good teacher.”

“The best.” She could see the port entry gate, just ahead. The pair hobbled forward, the much larger Rex draped over Abby as she struggled to keep him moving. For a time, the silence between them broke only for labored breathing and grunts. Eventually, Abby spoke. “Rex.”

“Yeah?”

“Gitcher hand off my ass.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

In Vino Familia

Part 5 of a JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

At the Doc’s comment, Cal couldn’t help but notice she’d dove headfirst into the party spirit; that made him smile. More than that, it meant he needed to catch up. After a trip to the bar, Cal returned to the crew with a round of shots of something called ‘Synthquila’, one for each of them with an extra for himself.

“If it’s advice you’re lookin’ for, I’ve heard one or two of these will help your game after a certain point. But I’m no doctor,” he flashed a wink as he set down the tray of shots. “Here you go,” Cal placed a shot in each of the women’s hands, before joining Hook with a pair of shots; his last catch-up shot sitting lonely on the table for his return.

Joe took one of the shots and knocked it back without a problem. He was starting to feel the alcohol and it was making him very happy. He had a big smile on his face and could quite easily be talked into dancing or singing if that should be the case.

Abby looked into the amber gold what swished in the shot glass. She’d read in one ‘o’ her books that drinkin’ was akin tah datin’. “Dance with the one who brung ye,” said tha old prospector from “Gold Fever.” Not much of a yarn, but seein’s she had scant experience with both booze and boys, the girl took tha old man’s wisdom for true.

Til tonight.

Took two on board, she ruminated on the vodka that now held a two tah one lead over rum in ‘er bloodstream. Might’s well give ‘synthquila’ a try. The deckhand lifted ‘er shot glass. “We toastin’ anythin’?”

The crew wasn't slowing down any, that was for sure. She nodded as a thank you as Cal handed her the shot, a small smirk forming from his comment. Staring at her poison, Alana attempted to remember the last time she'd had this much to drink, and how she'd felt then. But her memory wasn't the best right now, so she looked over at Abby and raised her shot glass as well.

“To a night we hopefully don’t forget…”

Strand raised his glass, "And to a mornin’ we hopefully will... Don't s'pose you got a cure for hangover?" he asked of Hook by his side.

“The best way to take care of a hangover the next morning is bah consumin’ two or three shots of hard liquor, Cap’n!” Joe stated matter of factly with a smile. Then he tossed back another shot of rum followed by several gulps of beer. He smacked his lips and let out an exaggerated yet satisfied sigh. The ground did start to swirl a bit. He knew he was entering his happy drunk phase.

“No truer word’s ever been spoken,” Cal replied to Hook’s sage advice and knocked back the first shot, grinning at Joe.

Hook’s smile had spread. It was one of those contagious smiles that let everyone know Joseph Hooker was not just in a good mood, but a great mood. The music playing on the jukebox was getting to him. He started singing along.

Abby tapped ‘er glass down on tha pool table’s edge, then raised it to her lips. Smooth, was all she could think as it slipped right down easy like. Hook’s singin’, Cap’n an’ Doc was makin’ secret eyes fer one another, an’ if tha racket comin’ up from below told true, Yuri jest got beat at arm wrestlin’. She leaned on a handrail, crooked little smile teasin’ as she watched ‘er shipmates. “This is what it’s like,” the girl rekindled ‘er musings from last night, ”bein’ from someplace.” Jest ‘cuz that place moved twixt worlds in tha black didn’t make it no less home…long’s these folk was on board. “I won’t fergit,” she answered Doc’s toast in a whisper, afore joinin’ in tah sing with Hook.

Hook's response elicited a laugh from Alana. He was throwing 'em down like juice, which Alana found impressive in its own sense. Once they got to singing and whatnot, she placed the empty shot glass down on the table, the aftertaste a tad unpleasant but not long lasting. Looking over at Cal, she walked to his side and noticed the additional shot glass. "Trying to play catch up or just showing off?"

That brought a smile to his face. “Showin’ off? Now why would a Captain need to go and do a thing like that? Au contraire, I’m just doin’ my best to catch up, but just so’s I know how far I’ve yet to go, how many might that be?” He asked, finger wrapped and poised around the shot glass a–glimmer in his eye. “By the way, looks like you went easy on Hook; s’at ‘cause you made another win-win wager I ought to be jealous of? Just for the record.”

"Oh I don't know, that'd be between 2 and 20, somewhere along there..." she shrugged playfully, unable to detect the slightest hint of inebriety as them two interacted. And of course, once more he had managed to catch her off guard. Alana's jaw dropped in response, paying him back with a playful shove. "So you think a girl like me would have multiple wagers of that kind floating around simultaneously?" Alana looked him in the eye as she posed the question, eager for his response.

Cal evened up her gaze with one of his own, “I see no reason a strong, vital woman such as yourself shouldn’t keep her options open.” He offered a smug grin that touched his eyes as he followed up with, “Well, well! Looks like I’m behind by quite a few.” Strand raised a hand to the bartender with the universal sign for another round.

It wasn’t just Alana’s gaze that set him in a proper mood; tomorrow he had a clear direction in a job from Hafez Nadal. That direction would see the China Doll to her next port and keep her flying with all the supplies he’d been neglecting for the last two legs. That alone was enough to set a smile on his face.

But there was more than that now, standing among his crew. He wouldn’t cast himself as a sentimental man, but this bunch had surely grown on him. The one within arm’s distance even more so.

"You've got the talent for leaving a girl speechless, that's for sure," she retorted, poking him in the chest with a finger. "I can only imagine how much more of a handful you'll be once you stop babying the drinks." Alana leaned to one side to use the table as support, briefly looking over the rest of the crew and contemplating getting herself some water.

Joe listened to the song come on. He had heard it before and thought he knew the words well enough to sing. He started in when the song played,

“Well, in the North of Cackalacky,
way back in the hills.
Me and my ole paddy and had him a still.
He brewed white lightnin' 'til the sun went down
And then you'd fill him a jug and he'd pass it around.
Mighty, mighty pleasin',
paddy's corn squeezin'
Sh, white lightnin'”

He didn’t know all the words, but did his best, “Well, the "G" men, mmm…mumble mumble mumble.”
He did seem to know the verses a bit better, “Well, ah asked my old paddy why he called his brew
White lightnin' 'stead of mountain dew.
ah took a little sip and right away ah knew.
As my eyes bugged out and my face turned blue.
Lightnin' started flashin', thunder started clashin'
Sh, white lightnin'
Well, the "G" men, "T" men, mmm…mumble mumble mumble.” More indiscernible sounds. A lot of this next portion of the song got lost in shoults and mumbles that resembled the song the singer was singing.
“The "G" men, "T" men, Sh, white lightnin'” then he fell quiet for a few seconds and gave a shout, “Woop! Woop!” He raised his beer into the air and took another swig.

Joe Hooker was one man of many talents, but surely as the black was wide singing half-pissed weren’t one of them. That didn’t keep that infectious grin of his from passing along to just about anyone laid eyes on him, including the Captain.

At just that moment the jukebox switched up its rhythm to play something a little slower. A group of bearded men sang at full volume near the bar, and Cal raised his glass toward his crew.

The Captain’s baritone rose steadily as he intoned the first bar. “Of all the money that e'er I had, I spent it in good company…” Eyes met eyes as the group circled up, Hook, Alana, and Abigail. From the bar, the bearded men’s rendition of the soft and willowy tune took on a boisterous male bravado that Strand heartily obliged in, wrapping one arm each around each of the three.

“Of all the comrades that e'er I had, They're sorry for my going away…”

The bartender, watching the group around him degenerate into loud and cavorting fancy, stood up on the bar and placed hands around his mouth to project a warning:

“Last call on the deck!” to which the rowdy group of men only raised their glasses higher.

To that Cal assented with an emptying of his own glass, “C’mon you three, I conjure we ought to see how many pieces Yuri got himself into this time.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Win - Win

Down below at the bar, Yuri was holding his own. As the shouts and laughter grew apace with the betting, the wiry mechanic observed a change in his opponent. The Greeter, a man of nearly twice his size and weight, harbored a dawning frustration over his adversary’s refusal to budge.

“Hey, Shrimp!” one of the boisterous gawkers slurred in his ear. “Whatcher name?”

“Yuri.”

“TAKE HIM DOWN, YURI!” the drunk reeled on his feet as another credit slapped the bar. “YU-RI! YU-RI! YU-RI!”

The smaller man heard the chant rise around him, and personal bets doubled down. The winner-take-all open kitty had also risen to a respectable height. He’d begun this contest with the notion of ‘winning’ a free triple soursop and rum. But now? With the chanting crowd and the fact his beefy opponent hadn’t already forced him down, the arm wrestling match had taken a whole new interest. Of course, the smile of the mocha skinned woman down the bar presented other motivations…

“Wrap it up, fellas,” the bartender-cum referee admonished. “I got thirsty customers.”

“Shiny,” the Greeter said. Yuri felt the man shift tactics. Suddenly, the match became a tale of two wrists, one pushing hard to flex the other backward, a move intended to ultimately drag the entire arm down to defeat. Greeter’s bulk was perfect illustration of his familiarity with both bar and barbell. His greater pectoral and arm’s muscle mass would, with patience, exhaust the mechanic. But what this weightlifter didn’t conjure was the wrist strength of a man who turned wrenches for a living. “Gorramit, kid,” the man grunted, “you on some kinda ‘roid?”

“Just clean living,” Yuri’s teeth gritted as he fought to hold his position. A tremor in his forearm told him this contest was moving toward an end, until the bartender swooped in to the rescue.

“Guys, you've got one minute,” the barman presented his watch. Sixty seconds. Go.”

Greeter heaved, pitting the full measure of his strength against the scrawny upstart. The sudden thrust nearly toppled Yuri’s resistance, setting his forearm to quiver as he rallied to blunt the assault.

“Fifty!”

The roar of chanting and laughter grew around them. As the clock ticked down, a flurry of betting ran through the crowd. Sweat was now rolling off Yuri’s arm, making his elbow’s purchase on the bar ever more tenuous. His wrist strength had bought him time, but now he was forced to lean into his trembling arm.

“Thirty!” the bartender shouted above the hubbub.

In traditional contests, both competitors’ free hands would grip firmly mounted pegs to help steady them. With none available, Yuri resorted to pressing a flat palm to the bar as he struggled to hold steady. A grim confidence shone in Greeter’s eyes as his massive arm began the final push.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The crowd picked up the count, their shouts echoing loud enough to persuade the band to take a break. The lead singer smirked as he tapped a selection into the bar’s jukebox. “Five! Four! Three!”

With a smile, Yuri relaxed his pressure. The Greeter’s arm did the rest, slowly pushing over and down, until the mechanic’s decline knocked the triple glass over. Howls of anguish and raucous laughter exploded in the air around them as the two men shook hands.

“Not bad,” Greeter was all grins as winning gamblers slapped his back. He scooped up the pile of coin as the crowd set to clearing up their own bets. “Now, drink up!”

The mechanic eyed the remaining tall glass. “Drink it?” he laughed. “I don’t even think I can lift it!” With a good natured chuckle, he hoisted the “Nancy Boy” triple rum and soursop to his lips, setting the crowd to a new chant.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The glass steadily inverted, its’ bottom rising with each swallow, until Yuri held it aloft for the boisterous crowd. As if on cue, the jukebox kicked in.

Who’s Sorry Now?

As the crowd dispersed, Yuri thanked the bartender with ten credits. He thought to ask where the pool tables could be found, until his eye rediscovered the mocha skinned woman. With a grin to light the room, she patted the stool next to hers. “By my count,” she purred as he joined her, “you’ve knocked down six healthy shots of rum.” Slender, perfectly manicured fingers pushed a tall glass of water toward her guest. “You might want that.”

“I might,” he offered a grateful nod. “I’m Yuri.”

“So I heard.”

He laughed. “I guess you did. And you are?”

“Drucilla.” She offered her hand, which he accepted with a formal nod. “So, how’d you break that arm, Yuri? Lose another match?”

”She really is lovely,” he smiled as the answer rose to his lips. “A few days ago, I was a castaway, adrift on a stormy sea. Now, thanks to some really fine folk, I’m sailing through the black, with this arm to remind me of my good fortune.”

“Oh merciful Buddha,” Drucilla cracked wise. “A poet sailor. Tell me, does that line of la shi get you anywhere with the girls?”

“You tell me,” his playful grin answered. “What are my chances?”

“In the law of averages,” the woman smiled, “it’s a sure thing.” She hooked an index finger to beckon him close. As Yuri leaned in, Drucilla placed a hand upon his shoulder. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered her truth.

“Ohhh,” he settled back, nodding his understanding. “But how does that work? It’s at least twenty minutes’ walk to get back to civilization. When does the clock start?”

She crossed her legs, allowing the slit in her skirt to reveal a shapely thigh. “I can be quite generous with my time. Most are in a hurry, though, so I’ve got a little spot set up in the jungle.”

His eyes widened in mock terror. “The jungle? With the snakes? And the pumas? What about the pumas?”

Drucilla’s chin dipped, a subtle move that accentuated eyes whose gaze could ignite a man’s passions. “Treat me right,” she whispered, “and you won’t become puma food.”

“Sold,” Yuri smiled in return, his good hand fishing pockets for the agreed price. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Please.” This time, Drucilla pressed close to Yuri, her hand falling to his knee as he whispered his desires. “Of course,” her smile was genuine as she drew back to face him. “I’d love to.”

“Alright,” he eased from the barstool. “But fair warning. The rum is really starting to hit. You may have to hold on tight.”

Drucilla laughed, looping her arm in his. “You’re not my first drunk. Oh…and since we’re being honest? While we’re out there, I’d like to hear more of your ‘poet sailor’ la shi…dohn mah?”

“Anything for the Queen of Pumas.” The band was still on their break. After a stop at the jukebox, Yuri and Drucilla strode arm in arm toward the dance floor.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Quit Talking and Start Chalking”

Part 4 of a JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

Between that side-eye she was giving him and his own back at her, Cal floated the offending Vodka and Boom Boom. “You see this? You see a barman make it or a waitress serve it?” Captain Strand extended the drink away from Abigail and upturned it to pour the contents into a passing trash can, “No? Then ‘yew’ don’t drink it. All sorts of folk in the ‘Verse, Abigail, and some get their kicks roofie-in’ redheads what just discovered alcohol. Dohn-ma?”

“Roofie?” Abby’s jaw dropped; sure’n she’d heard about ‘roofies.’ Uncle Bob called it “slippin’ a Mickie inta yer drink,’ but ain’t never got past tha ‘what’ tah the ‘why.’ Cap’n ain’t said it in so many words, but he didn’t hafta. She could hear it in ‘is tone…see it in ‘is eyes. “I got it,” the girl nodded. “Thank yew. That coulda…yew know,” she cut ‘er own self off. “Thank yew, Cap’n.”

“Now,” the captain let his herding arm fall, “Let’s get you another, mm?” he said as he led the deckhand up into the loft whose platform spread into another bough of the massive tree Bungalow Bill’s called home.

Joe finished off his beer while waiting for the captain. He ordered another shot of rum and another local brew. The shot went down as easy as they always do, then he began sipping the beer.

"It sneaks up on ya real easy, doesn't it?" Alana rhythmically tapped the side of the glass with her fingertips, eyeing Hook as he made his way back with another beer. "I had to slow down if I wanted a shot at a fair match, but serves me right for downing them as quick as they come..." Still leaning on the table, she pushed the drink aside and interlocked her fingers in front of her. "So you been here before, you glad you back for a few days?"

Joe noticed the doctor leaning against the table, causing him to smile. “What’s up, Doc!?” Joe asked Alana. “It sure does sneak up on ya’. Ah don’ know if ah could go on without it, ya’ know?” Apparently she hadn’t noticed the shot of rum he knocked back at the bar before starting into his second beer. “This place is OK. Ah don’t mind it. It can be fun here if you know where ta look. I really enjoyed mah time on Persphone before signing onto the China Doll, but ah sort of wore out mah welcome there and had to leave. The timing was perfect. Ahm better off if ah keep busy.”

"I get what you mean, who knows how long I would have been wandering 'round had the good captain himself not offered me a spot in his ship." Alana took the first sip in a while, the glass wet with condensation. Once she forced it down, she freed her hand to wipe it dry on one of her pant legs.

Rack ‘em Up

“Good to see you, here, Doc. I’ll rack ‘em up. You can break, OK?” Joe set his beer down on a nearby table and pushed the button that automatically racked the virtual balls. They were detectable by the pool cue and their impact translated well onto the table. It was not like a real game of pool, but Joe Hooker had never played on a real table.

So she was breaking again. That prompted memories of her previous game with Cal and how much fun she'd had, even before the victory they had bet on. But now, after alcohol had taken its natural course to deteriorate her skills, who knows how sloppy she'd be. "You're a sneaky one, Hook," she nodded to herself as she went for a stick. "I will probably blow it and hand you the advantageous start but it's okay, I can only bounce back stronger."

With stick in hand, she walked past him to finally break, her drink forgotten about on the table behind them. She wasn't so much focusing to line up the perfect shot but she did concentrate enough to look like a more sober version of herself. When she did finally take the shot, she was happy with the results. None of the balls went in but the spread was more decent than she was expecting, which needless to say was a pleasant surprise.

“Nice, break, Doc,” Joe complimented her. He focused on the table looking for a shot. The striped balls had a nice dispersion. He leaned in to take a shot on the nine in the side. He focused down the length of the cue, set up the shot, pulled back gently on the cue and sharply pushed forward. The cue ball rolled gently forward, tapped the nine and rolled easily in the side. The eleven was set for a high bank shot on the corner, but he would need low English to pull the cue back to line up on the fifteen on the opposite pocket. Joe looked down the cue and lined up for a bank shot into the eleven to get around the one ball, which was in the way. He positioned the tip of the cue low on the cue and focused on the angle the cue would have to take to get around the one ball and hit the eleven. He gave just enough push with low English stopping the cue as soon as it impacted. The cue hit the rail, bounced toward the eleven, struck it on an odd angle and sent it lazily into a position on the far left corner. The ball did not drop into the pocket, but stopped right in front of the pocket, thoroughly blocking it.

“Oh well, can’t win ‘em all,” Joe remarked about the missed bank shot. The low English helped the miss along. Without the English he may have completed the shot, but then the cue would have been out of play for the follow on shot. “You get solids, doc.” Joe reached for his beer to take another sip. The beer was refreshing. He might need another shot of rum to go with it though.

"Can't win them all indeed..." Alana glanced over what she had to play with, and she realized she had a choice. Make the obviously easy shot from where the cue had come to rest which had lined up just about perfectly with one of her solids, or go for a slightly harder shot. The former would just about prevent her from getting another turn, but if she went for the harder shot and it went in, then she would get the chance to go again. Can't win them all, Alana said to herself in her head, needing no convincing to go with her gut. She walked around and situated herself for the shot, but as she leaned forward on the table, she felt slightly light-headed. The sudden movement must have triggered it, though that didn't stop her as she paused for a moment and blinked away the sensation. The young woman then concentrated on slowing her breathing. She worked out the angle to the best of her abilities and then pulled the stick back before sending it forward to strike the cue ball. Alana stood, slowly this time, watching as lucky number 7 made its way towards the intended destination. Unfortunately, the ball stopped just a hair shy of the hole.

Alana sighed with disappointment. "If that ain't some otherworldly intervention, I don't know what is..."

“Ah,” Cal said, eyeing the table, then turning to Hook, “She hustled you, too?” Strand laid a consolatory pat on Joe’s back before shrugging off his coat. He couldn’t help but smile before he caught Alana’s disappointed expression, “What’s this?” he asked, tossing his coat on the back of a chair. “Could it be karma?”

Alana glanced his way, not in a mean kinda way but she did look like she wanted to say something, though there was some delay there. "I ain't done no harm to you to get a piece of karma, just because your skills are lacking..." She shrugged while walking past him, contemplating getting another sip of her drink.

The more Abby seen, the more she liked this place. All about was diff’rent levels an’ ladders tah climb. She followed Cap’n up one, thinkin’ all tha while on jest how much her eight year old self would a loved prancin’ about this place. She come up top tah find a quiet little space what had its’ own bar an’ a couple pool tables. Doc was liftin’ ‘erself up straight, cue stick in ‘er hands an’ a look said things ain’t exactly goin’ her way. “Don’t wager jobs with ‘im,” the girl whispered to Alana as she threw Hook a grin. “Tomorrah’s cargo loadin’. Yah don’t want none ‘o’ that.”

"I would say I learned my lesson, but that's some lie. Nonetheless, I still know better than to wager against Hook and alcohol. Or anyone and alcohol for that matter." Alana took it upon herself to casually place her forearm on the girl's shoulder, using that same hand to point at Hook. "At this point I can't tell if he's that good or I'm that bad tonight, though either way it's gonna be one hell of a morning for me tomorrow. But luckily since I am the go-to for any ailments, I have a feeling I'll be raiding my own supply closet before I'm off to bed."

Joe wanted to say, ‘nice shot, Doc,’ but the ball did not drop and that could appear rude. So he did not.

He looked at the table and saw an opportunity to place the twelve ball near the hole where the eleven ball came to rest. He took the shot, the twelve struck the eleven, knocking it into the pocket leaving the twelve up against the rail. It was not a shot he could follow up on but the fifteen was still hanging out on that other corner. He lined up for the fifteen, using some low English and sent the fifteen into the corner pocket with the cue stopping dead pan right where they impacted. From there he was able to get the twelve, which was up against the rail. The problem now was the fourteen, ten and twelve were all on the other end of the table, but hidden behind Alana’s balls. The best he could hope to do was to send the cue down the other end of the table and maybe it would line up for one of the three remaining balls. When he took the shot, the twelve did go in, but the cue ended up falling into a far corner pocket–a scratch!

“Your shot, Doc!” Joe spoke while retreating to the table his beer was sitting on. He took a sip and watched the doctor take her shot. “Nah, I don’t wanna wager nuttin with ‘er MIss Abby.”

Walking off from Abby, Alana watched as the cue ball flicked into existence in its original starting position. Since Hook had scratched, she guided the ball along to where she thought she had the best chance, and there were a few of those as she certainly had more options on the table than her opponent. Given her last shot was a flop, Alana decided to go the easy route now especially since she had an audience. Not that she was under pressure, but she'd rather not look like a complete amateur in front of the rest of the crew.

And it turns out she was right. The cue wasn't that far from the purple which wasn't that far from the middle hole opposite of her. Easy shot indeed, Alana couldn't help but smile as her bad streak was finally over, at least for the moment being. What followed was another shot, this time aimed at the yellow. Not as easy as the previous one but easy enough to have it go in too. "The tables may be turning..." she said to no one in particular, though she was sure they'd heard her. Unfortunately the celebration didn't last as she found herself without any good choices to follow through. "Hey Abby, is it cheating if I ask your opinion for what'd be considered a smart play at this point?"

“Mmmm?” Abby turned ‘er eyes from her next vodka boom boom. “Honest, Doc,” she give ‘er head a shake what sent hair flyin’, “I been lost ever since Hook talked ‘bout ‘puttin’ English’ on a ball.”

…To Be Continued…

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Cap’n’s Work Is Never Done

Part 3 of a JP/collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

Joe looked at his crew, “Anyone interested in a game of Billiards? They have a table upstairs.”

"I'm game," she responded with a slight shrug, her eyes still straight ahead. Alana smirked before taking another sip, remembering the game against Cal. "Anyone else want in? We can always make it a doubles match.”

“Ah haven’t played in awhile. Ah recall when ah worked on that luxury liner we stopped here for a few days. Ah spent some time in this here club. Played many games upstairs.” Joe was trying to sell the game to his crewmates.

Hook’s admission raised Cal’s eyebrows a might. “Well,” he cocked his head to one side, “I conjure that’s a sight better’n you sayin’ this is your first time with a cue stick.” After watching that joke fail to land, the captain changed course. “Go rack ‘em up,” he agreed. “I’ll be along soon’s I ‘persuade’ our deckhand to join in.”

Joe nodded toward the captain and made his way up one level where the pool tables could be found. He found an open table, placed his beer on a side table and called for the balls to rack. It was a virtual game. One could pass his or her hand through the balls, but the special attachment to the cue enabled the balls to react as though they had been struck with the proper force and angle.

The captain’s eye followed the pair as they struck off for a distant ladderway. While his gaze might’ve lingered on the comely doctor, Cal found that only reasonable. “Good captain knows his crew…from all sides,” he reckoned. “Noblesse Oblige.” He was a little fuzzy on where he’d picked that one up. Mayhaps a book, or some fancypants passenger along the way. Still, it sounded good as he stepped toward the Great Arm Wrestling Match at the back corner of the bar.

Drink was maybe a quarter of the way done, and Alana looked down at all that was left. Maybe she ought to slow down if didn't want to blow the game for herself and whatever unfortunate soul happened to be paired up with her in her semi-inebriated state. She watched Hook set up, leaning on the table as if guarding his drink, her own next to his.

A small crowd had gathered round, laughing and hollering as Yuri Antonov tried to hold his own against a man at least twice his size. “Like a python wrestlin’ a fishin’ worm!” one patron chuckled as he placed his bet. “This gon’ end real quick now!”

Cal nudged his way through. “Hey, One-Arm. Just lettin’ you know we’re all gonna be upstairs for a friendly game of pool.”

Yuri’s concentration didn’t shift. He was locked, hand in hand, eye to eye against his opponent. The greeter stared right back, eyes mirthful and a tree trunk arm that hadn’t yet budged. “Upstairs?” the mechanic asked. “This place has an upstairs?”

“So says Hook. I reckon a treehouse can have an upstairs, leastways til you run out of tree,” the captain observed. Don’t go breakin’ anything…dohn mah?”

“Ku.”

Cal turned away from the contest. “Beg pardon…thank you,” he spoke as he worked his way out, eyes sweeping the main deck for tousled strawberry curls. When he finally caught sight of young Abigail, the captain frowned and quickened his pace.

Trouble with vodka boom booms was they just went down reeeeaaall easy like. Abby done had herself one afore that “See How I Miss Yew” song ended. Now the band was playin’ somethin’ jest had her movin’ an’ swayin’.

Be With Me

They’s couples all about, dancin’ soft an’ slow. Abby held ‘er drink glass up tah her chin, sippin’ out ice cubes and melt as the beat took ‘er away. The vodka an’ rum was dancin’ inside ‘er, an’ fer a second, Aunt Lupe was there, in ‘er ear. ‘This is how to make your backbone slip…’

She opened ‘er eyes. They’s a fella there, movin’ in close. “Hi,” he give ‘er a smile. “I just love this song. Dance with me?” He held out a hand an’ pushed ‘is hips like he’s ruttin’ in the backwoods.

“Looks like we already are,” she laughed an’ sideslipped from his touch.

He followed. “What’s your name, honey?”

Abby slow twirled, then eased away from a hand brushin’ against ‘er hip. “Not’cher honey.”

“You could be,” he grinned. “My name’s Brad. And this Yi Dwei Da Buen Chuo Roh is Max.”

Tha second fella waded right in, eyes walkin’ ever’ inch ‘o’ her as he offered a glass. “Hey, Beautiful! I brought you a drink. Vodka and Boom Boom, right?”

“Yeaaah,” she answered kinda slow, afore smilin’. First fella had ‘er playin’ the dodge, but now they’s two, an’ friends tah boot. They’s an alarm ringin’ way down deep inside ‘er, but what could happen here? She had crew in the room, an’ hell, all these folk about? Abby’s still strapped, Colt on ‘er hip fer all tha world tah gander. Them two fellas…Brad an’ Max…was gittin’ in sorta too close fer her likin’, but fer tha most part was playin’ hands off. She conjured she could keep ‘em evened out. And she wouldn’t mind another drink…

The situation unfolding around Abigail could have brought a lesser man to swoop in, wave iron, and grizzly stand any man who’s eyeing just so, but the Captain? No miss. He felt sorry for any fella asking to be handled roughly by the blossoming deckhand, and he said as much as he approached the fellas from behind, parting the pair with one hand on each of their shoulders.

“Abigail! You playin’ nice? She tell you the one where she broadsided a reaver–big as a barn–straight through the noggin’ with that there Colt on her hip? Yep, that one right there. Twixt that and the róudào, this here’s the prettiest lethal weapon you’ll lay eyes on this side of White Sun,” Cal tipped his hat in her direction with a wink. (Judo)

And now she’s stone sober. Weren’t Cap’n’s tone. She knowed that tah be his “tall tales” voice. Didn’t read it in his stance none, showin’ hisself all relaxed an’ such. No, she conjured as that alarm inside had ‘er lower that fresh drink from ‘er lips, the eyes. Sure’n it’s in tha eyes. Eyes what carried a warnin’, and as she studied the man, she picked up on somethin’ else, a signal. Play along…

“Aww, Cap’n,” Abby give an eye roll an’ kinda flounced herself afore his lecture. “I’s only havin’ a little fun’s all. Weren’t gonna hurt ‘em or nothin’...”

The captain stepped through the now confused looking pair of ne'er-do-wells to stand at the buzzing deckhand’s side. In a deft movement, he plucked the drink from her hand, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and addressed the pair, “She says that now, but trust me, gentlemen, I’m intervenin’ on behalf of blackouts and sore heads come morn.” His eye narrowed just a mite, “One way or another.”

“But…Cap’n,” she let ‘er voice go all singsong whiny, “I was...yessir,” she dropped her eyes all surrender like.

“Let’s go Da Jeh Da, I hear there’s a pool table, and I feel a powerful need to take you down a few notches. Boys” Strand tipped his hat to the sore looking pair as their eyes cast around the dance floor for some other quarry.

Last they seen ‘o’ her was Cap’n ridin’ herd, arm about her shoulders as he pushed ‘em both off tha dance floor. “I’m sorry,” Abby mouthed over her shoulder toward them boys, afore givin’ Cap’n tha side-eye. “Why I feel like yah jest rescued me from somethin’ I didn’t even know what?”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Best Bad Decisions

Part 2 of a JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

Lights along the path were few and far between, but some cautious navigating eventually landed the party at the foot of a venerable oak tree. Above them, held as a babe in arms by the tree’s muscular limbs, hung a ramshackle wooden structure. The numerous tiers and open air decks had been built with an eye toward respecting the ancient tree who lifted the entire contraption aloft. Colored lanterns were strung from overhead branches, casting a carnival sense of festivity upon the bars and tables beneath.

Another sign greeted their arrival.

WELCOME TO BUNGALOW BILL’s!

House Rules:

Shoes and shirts are optional. Pants ain’t.
Nancy boys use the steps.
Bwanas use the knotted rope.
Drink up.
Laugh.
Don’t be a Yīnjīng. Pumas get them first.

When Joe saw the word, Yinjing on the sign, he bent over laughing. He laughed so hard he thought he would split his side. That was one word he’d heard before. “Mebee there be some young ladies named Puma inside?” Joe laughed at his own attempt at humor.

“Ain’t touchin’ that,” Abby smirked. “No…really. Ain’t touchin’ it.”

Yuri conjured pulling off his boots, but changed his mind at the thought of what might be waiting inside one upon his return. Done up in a cast as he was, he felt surely that if he chose to climb the ‘Townie’ steps, none inside would hold it against him, least of all, Dr. Lysanger. But there was the old adage ‘When in (insert location here)’ to be observed. With a devilish grin and a flex of his good arm, the mechanic advanced toward the rope. “Abby, spot me, would you?”

“Aw, c’mon, Yuri,” the girl protested. “Yah jest got tha gig. Don’t go breakin’ somethin’ else!”

"I think not." Alana walked up beside Yuri, giving him that look which warned him not to follow through with what he had in mind. Scolding her patients publicly was always a more effective way of getting her point across, and this time was no exception. "I'd rather not have to haul you off to the infirmary before the night even starts...up the steps you go."

The mischief in Yuri’s eyes gave way to a good natured chuckle. “Yes, Doctor,” he replied, his steps taking him obediently up the rough wooden staircase.

No sooner had the crew of China Doll lost sight of their newest member than an eruption of shouts came from the bar above. “Nancy! We got a Nancy boy here!”

Abby’s face lifted towards tha upstairs racket. “Well that tears it,” she looked ‘round tha group. “I’ma try this rope.” She put ‘er foot on tha bottom knot tah anchor it. “Anybody else? I’ll spot yah if yah show me how I’m sposed tah climb it.”

“That-a-girl,” came Captain Strand’s boisterous baritone. “Now, Doc, don’t get in a huff; you ought to scramble up, too. I conjure you can be a mite graceful, when the mood strikes.” Cal moseyed up to the knotted rope, placing one hand eye-level. “You hold it here, see, and just above. Then, tighten your grip, pinch your heels together and wedge in over the next knot. Lift yourself up again, with your legs, but don’t grab the knots with your hands, just the bare rope. See? You got it.” Cal patted the girl on the shoulder, tipping his hat back. “I’ll spot you from here, just try not to fall on account of I got a feelin’ the Doc might order you under permanent bedrest.”

What she lacks in experience you sure make up for it in age... Alana would have loved to follow up with the thought up response, but she held her tongue instead.

“Shiny.” She worked ‘er bootheels round a knot as her arms pulled ‘er up. Weren’t so big a test, long as Cap’n kept his foot down to hold the rope taut. Climbin’ this rope made Abby think of inchworms as she scooched her way to tha top.

She watched Abby as she climbed farther off the ground. The girl made it look easy, though Alana was certain it was more of a struggle than it let on.

“Got us a girl Bwana!” a voice cried out.

Afore she could say ‘boo,” a glass ‘o’ somethin’ kinda thick an’ creamy white was shoved inta her hands by a man all done up in khaki. “What is it?” she eyed the drink all suspicious like.


"Please, will you be so kind as to spot me as well? Can't afford me getting injured and all..." Alana then leaned a little closer to Cal so whatever was said was only heard by them two. "Someone has to be there to listen to you go on about whatever." An unavoidable smile later, Alana turned to the rope and test pulled it--more so out of habit than a safety measure--once Abby had cleared free. Being only a quick climb away from a night of drinking and whatever else they were met with, Alana began her ascent to the ruckus above.

Joe climbed up the rope in the same manner as the Captain and Miss Abby. He had no significant difficulties. He understood the new guy not wanting to climb the rope with the doc here and all. It seemed natural. Upon landing at the opening in the club, someone handed him a drink of some sort, which he tossed back and swallowed immediately. He didn’t even ask what it was. He didn’t care. He was going to have fun.

See How I Miss You

“Soursop juice and rum…on the house. Welcome to Bungalow Bill’s!” The treehouse bar looked to be several different tiers, all connected by ladders and steps. The main floor held the bar itself, plus a broad open space most fit for either dancin’ or whatever sport folk might get up to. This was surrounded by a bunch of little platforms for tables and chairs. The entire place was open to the night sky, but each spot lay under its own thatch roof, with strands of brightly colored lanterns strung between. The more experienced members of China Doll’s crew conjured it for the tourist trap it was…but the eighteen year old was knocked right off her pins.

“Ain’t never seen tha like,” Abby’s eyes was all a-wonder as she downed tha drink. “Like a whole village up in here!” They’s a band playin a song she ain’t never heard, but tha rum hittin’ ‘er all of a sudden made her hips wanna move.

“Another girl bwana!” the host shouted as Alana emerged from the rope well. “Don’t know what you’re doin’, but way it looks it’s the womenfolk who’re wearin’ the pants in your group! He cast a glance toward Yuri, forced to drink a triple serving of the concoction for his stair climb. “Y’all ladies think you can carry that one home?"

"It's quite some baggage but we've dealt with worse." Alana smiled, knowing the double meaning would be lost on him. However, having just caught a glance at what Yuri would have to drink, he'd surely need the help unless his sailor ways held strong.

The triple high soursop rum was already bludgeoning it’s way into the mechanic’s bloodstream before he’d managed to chug halfway down. As the glass tilted slowly upward, Yuri gauged reactions from patrons and crew alike. The teenager was already buzzed; he’d keep watch to steer her from trouble. The doctor had just been handed her single. From the corner of his eye he noticed three guys huddled at the bar, a growing pile of coin before them. As he drank, they watched, mumbled among themselves, and slapped more cash into the kitty.

Abby’d caught on. She fixed him with a lopsided grin. He responded with a wink, tilted his head back as the glass completely inverted, and then slapped it down on the host’s serving table. “That was shiny!” he exclaimed. “Can I have another?”

After welcoming Hook with a single, the greeter laughed at Yuri. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

The shot had gone down smooth, and that was a problem because now she was wantin' more. "No, there isn't a doctor here," Alana shook her head in a slightly exaggerated manner as if he'd posed a ridiculous question, though the smirk gave her away. Excusing herself, Alana went to fetch some of what Yuri was having and then a little something more.

Abby nudged Hook. “I conjure our new gearhead’s lookin’ tah run a con, or you an’ me’s gonna end up carryin’ his drunk pi gu back t’tha boat.”

Joe chuckled, “you’s proly right, Miss Abby. I dunno if he kin keep up. That shot went down smooth. It was jus what the doctor ordered. I might need another one ah them.”

Yuri smiled as his good elbow landed on the table. “One throw,” he challenged the greeter. “Loser drinks the triple.”

“Son, I don’t wanna break the other arm.”

“That’s fair,” the mechanic countered. “How about this? Set up two glasses, one near my arm, one near yours. First one touches has to drink the triple.”

The big man thought on that as he poured for the captain. “So you got a doctor. You look like a wrench turner. Y’all some kinda boat crew?”

The mechanic was finding his way with the crew. Joe liked the trip out to the club. This is just right. He went to the bar and ordered another shot of rum and a local brew to chase it down with. He flipped the coin to the barkeep, tossed the shot glass back and began sipping the beer. He then returned to the crew.

Alana fell in beside Hook who'd just made his way back moments before. She'd downed two shots before returning with some fruity little gem since she was looking to pace herself at that point. Might be a tad late for that, might not. She figured she would talk to Cal later, maybe when everyone was doing their own thing for the night.

The greeter met Yuri’s challenge with a wolfish grin. “Yeah…yeah. Tell you what, kid. Your captain there gives the nod, I’ll take you up.”

As all eyes landed upon him, Cal answered with a casual shrug. “Long’s my mechanic’s on the job come first light, I got no qualms on how he gets his giggles off the clock.”

“Shiny.” The big man smiled as he moved to pour two of the ‘Nancy Boy’ triples. “It’s a slow night. Let’s do this.”

- to be continued -

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Uninvited Guests

Edina had opted to spend the night in.

The lower deck passenger lounge was the perfect spot for the evening. She sat on the couch beneath Abby’s orchid drawing, legs crossed ‘lotus style,’ a book open upon her lap. The story was amusing, but hardly one to demand her full attention. Instead, her greater pleasures were derived from the tactile delights of pages beneath her fingers.

For all she knew, she was alone on China Doll. At the urging of ‘Hook the Cook,’ Captain Strand had led a shore party off in search of drinks and diversions for their last night on Greenleaf. She’d been invited, but Edina felt that this hardworking crew needed its’ liberty from paying passengers now and again…not to mention the allure of a quiet night was just too great.

She conjured the pilot was off on her own. Rumor had it she was a native. As for the Skye family, Edina had no idea. They kept the hours of club kids the ‘verse over, and seemed otherwise to keep to themselves…a trait she’d emulated all too well since rushing aboard on New Melbourne.

However, the urge to hide herself away had faded with her bruises. China Doll possessed a vibe, an easy, no nonsense familiarity that flowed from the captain throughout his crew. Cal Strand seemed at ease with the idiosyncrasies of his people, and they in kind with him and each other. Abby’d mentioned that most of the group had first arrived on Persephone. Edina quietly marveled at the growing rapport among them, and the way they’d welcomed their newest member, the mechanic. She’d only met Yuri in passing, but had sensed the polite confusion of all ‘new guys’ sussing their place among a fresh band of shipmates. He sported scars and bruises of his own. If nothing else, that was a bond they shared at once.

She’d almost forgotten Rex. Edina wasn’t quite clear on his function. To her eyes he’d taken China Doll as his personal shuttle from one brothel to the next…but she couldn’t rule out her own prejudices in that assessment. Abby seemed to veer between grudging humor and outright disgust at his antics, but the older members of the crew appeared unfazed. To each, his own, she’d ultimately decided.

They would all soon return, and China Doll would reverberate with the pleasant hum of a boat preparing for space. But for now, she was at her ease, save for the occasional tick and pop of the old hull casting off the day’s heat, or the hiss of her climate system. The boat was at peace. Edina was worlds away from her abuser, among good folk. Like China Doll, she could feel the tension draining off her bones. They shared in the comfort together.

A loud metallic banging suddenly echoed through the open cargo bay hatch. She recognized the sound at once, an old wrench that dangled on a piece of twine next to the personnel entry. Back so soon? the woman mused as she rose from the sofa. Another series of clangs greeted her as she stepped into the hold. “Coming!” Edina shouted, unsure if she could be heard at all as she padded on bare feet across the empty deck.

Hook had taught her the art of ‘cracking’ the personnel hatch so that its’ locking shafts would only permit a narrow opening. As she took in the sight of three rough looking characters on the ramp, Edina was profoundly grateful for the lesson. “Yes?” she asked.

Two men. One woman. All three wore combinations of weatherbeaten denim, heavy engineers’ boots, and matching black leather vests. The point man looked to be in his forties. A grizzled face hung gaunt beneath shoulder length hair. One blue eye met her in a fierce scowl. The other was concealed behind a black patch. “We’re lookin’ for a Shepherd. Goes by ‘Collins.’ Heard he’s here.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. Just a passenger.”

“Then go ask,” the woman stepped forward, her dusky voice the result of one too many ciggies.

“I’m really sorry. The crew’s all out right now. If you come back in the morning…”

“Why don’t you let us in and we’ll have a look?” The leader cupped his hand, fingers pressed into the gap to test the door.

Now the fear in her belly rose along her spine. “Can’t do that,” her voice cracked slightly as she answered. “Captain says…”

The sound of her fear raised three toothy grins. Like sharks smelling blood in the water, the three pressed forward. “You see Collins,” the leader’s voice growled, “tell ‘im he’s late for his meeting at the Twirling Rabbit. And we got long memories.”

“Um…” Edina stammered, “if I see him…okay?”

The ruffian gave the door a deliberate shove, its’ inward swing abruptly halted by the lock shafts striking the inner bulkhead. With a decisive jerk, he removed his hand, fingers splayed as he fixed her with a predatory smile. “Toodle-oo,” he waved goodbye.

The machines they rode had just coughed to life as Edina resealed the personnel hatch. Fright cascaded through her body as she hurried to her room. There, her hands trembled as she tapped out a message on her cortex.

We got shepherd aboard? Collins?

After pressing ‘send,’ Edina listened for a soft answering buzz from Abby’s room just up the hall. When none came, she returned to the lounge, drew herself into a ball, and watched her own reader for any sign of a response. She didn’t have to wait long.

Yes. #2, port side. Everything shiny?

Edina knew that the truth would have Cal and his whole crew back here in minutes. No matter how reassuring that sounded, she didn’t want to squelch their big night together over her jangled nerves.

Just got a msg. I’ll deliver. Have fun!

Doc & Yuri gonna teach me dance moves. Cap says I got 2 left feet. Come join!

Despite herself, she giggled. The toughs had worked up that old fear within her, but as she made her way toward the Shepherd’s room, Edina Wyman found herself beginning to feel better. “Shepherd?” she knocked upon his door. “Shepherd Collins?”

<tag Collins>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Pumas and Pythons and Drop-Bears, Oh My!”

Part 1 of a JP/Collab from @xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

The visit to Greenleaf had been a leisurely break for Joe Hooker. Compared to other stops, this was a relaxing visit. He enjoyed his time on the range with Abby Oakley. He had fun shooting with her, but she won their shooting competition and Joe was stuck cleaning the head while they were planetside. He didn’t mind cleaning the commodes and shower stalls. He performed tasks like this on other ships and even as a child on the farm on Hera. He thought he caught Abby cleaning up one day after him. He said nothing to her. Maybe he missed something? It did bring a smile to his face.

The rest of the time, on planet, he spent taking walks, reading books and inventorying the cold storage in the galley. There were plenty of leftovers including Beef Stew and Chile. He still had a few cakes, pies and cookies remaining from the Skye’s night in their shuttlecraft. Aside from having the gaming table upended and all the buttons scattered over him, while sprawled backwards across the floor, it was a fun night. Joe had been thinking about that night for the last few days.

An observation he made about the ship’s pilot was her textured clothing. Personally he preferred mostly cottons, but her clothing was different, more colorful. It made him curious. He never asked her about her outfits, but they were admirable.

The New Engineer seemed to be fitting in well. He hadn’t yet taken time to get to know him…sure he would be a great addition to the family.

The captain said the ship would be leaving around noon on the fourth day. It was already the third. They had one last night on Greenleaf before they had to leave. ‘I know, let’s get everyone together and go out. Have a night on the town,’ Joe thought to himself. He remembered the night playing cards with the Skyes and how they all went out to a Rave with Miss Penny a few nights ago.

On this, the third day of their stop on Greenleafe, everytime Joe ran into someone on the ship, he would stop them and say, “Hey, we are leavin’ tomorrow. Let’s git everyone together and go out tahnight. Miss Penny can choose the spot since she knows the area best.”

A mighty fine plan, ‘cept for when the time came, everybody thought everybody else did the askin’...so nobody had answers an’ the pilot was in the wind. They tried a couple ideas. Cap’n led ‘em to Cafe Al-Baz, but there’s a line all the way down the block. Abby come up with Hap’s La Frontera. After all, she’s sposed to pay a visit there anyway. Sounded fair an’ such, til they got there an’ found the place shuttered an’ dark.

They stood for awhile, thirsty souls on the corner, huddled over a cortex. In the end, as was usual, it was the Doc saved their big night with her idea ‘bout “someplace in the jungle?”

That set right with China Doll’s crew. With smiles an’ nods all around, they set off for the nearest jungle waterin’ hole, a safari lookin’ advert given’ ‘em their bearings….

“I dunno, Cap’n.” Abby’s followin’ along, but her eyes was on her cortex. “Map don’t show nothin’ but a big blob ‘o’ green where this road ends.”

Cal went for his cigarette case. “Well, color me all kindsa bemused,” he lifted one of the smokes to his lips. “Here I was, conjurin’ you only used that thing to send nekkid pictures.”

The deckhand didn’t rile none. “Gotta pay fer college somehow, sir.”

Yuri listened to the exchange. Surely, he thought, that has to be a joke? Next to the idiosyncrasies of people, machines were so much simpler to make acquaintances. Better now to keep his word hole shut; there’d be plenty of opportunities to play the fool.

Joe had grown accustomed to the banter between the captain and Miss Abby. He smiled at their discussion on naked photographs and funding higher education. He glanced at Yuri, The New Guy. He knew he didn’t have a clue. Joe garnered a bit of amusement from the Engineer’s facial expression. In a low volume, Joe Hooker muttered to Yuri, “you git used to it. They’s havin’ fun is all.”

The mechanic grinned. “Was I that obvious?”

The rivalry between those two never ceased to amaze her. Alana stifled a giggle and were it not for the fact that she was walking towards the back of the pack, that much would have been noticeable. And to think she couldn't name a more entertaining duo unless some coin was involved.

By and by, the pavement ‘neath their feet gave way to the thick, moist soil of the approaching jungle. Even under a bright moon, the thick tree line put up a wall of darkness to rattle the nerves. The little knot of China Doll crew strode forward to find a weatherbeaten sign, hand painted and lit by a naked bulb.

BUNGALOW BILL’s JUNGLE TREEHOUSE

-follow the lights-

Welcome to the jungle. Stuff to know:

BEWARE THE PUMA!
Stick to the path. Great big snakes. Dohn mah?
Pumas hunt at night. You look mighty tasty.
If something lands on you, brush it off. They get pissed off if you try to crush them.
Don’t feed the pumas. Intentionally, that is.

Have fun!

Not as big of a fan for certain wildlife, Alana shrugged her shoulders casually. "I ain't volunteering myself as the sacrificial lamb. Hell, I'd probably only be a snack, so maybe it's best I give the honors to one of the fellas more suited for the job," she gazed at Cal with a smirk. Maybe he'd read between the lines, maybe not.

Abby laughed an’ snapped a pic. “I wanna see one ‘o’ them great big snakes,” she said. “Perfesser Marquina? That flower science guy? He promised tah send me a capture…no, Cap’n,” her tone went all droll, “that weren’t no double intendry.”

Cal lowered his raised finger in exclamation before the deckhand shot down his lightbulb moment. Instead, he countered with a gust of smoke and a few choice words under his breath about big snakes and captures. “This way kids,” Captain Strand corralled, picking out the dirt path amidst the ferns.

“Pumas?” Joe said as he read the sign. “Mmm. Miss Abby we didn’ see no Pumas when we went shootin’ mebee our boom booms scared ‘em away.” Joe knows he would have shot one if it did come close. He was always carrying the Ruger RedHawk. He knew enough when not to use it.

“I ain’t too bright,” the girl fell into line as Cap’n led tha way, “but I conjure that sign jest let us in on a runnin’ gag. Fella I met once on Harvest warned me ‘bout ‘drop-bears,” she wiggled ‘er fingers in the air fer quotes. "Had me all wide eyed an’ fearful of walkin’ under trees till I seen folk laughin’.”

Yuri laughed as he followed the group. “Me too,” he chortled. “My father told me stories of the Rat King who lived in the bowels of our skyplex. ‘Big as a man, with huge teeth and claws!’ It backfired on him, though, when my older brother Ivan and I snuck down to kill the monster. Papa had to explain why his two sons were covered head to toe in sludge oil from the traps.”

“Ah, to be young and gullible.” He waved a broad hand in their direction, “I mean you two, seein’ as I ain’t never fell for drop-bears nor Rat Kings,” However, Cal scanned the darkening underbrush with a wary eye before returning to the road ahead, “Mark my words, pumas ain’t fairy tales; they’re cats twice as big as Abigail and with just as many pointy teeth, to boot.” He glanced to the back of the pack with a wink in Alana’s direction, “But don’t you worry, one of us should satisfy.”

...to be continued…