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Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Long Con (Katya Voss cont.)

Now was the perfect moment to take another drink, lest one laughed out loud.

Dorian pressed the glass to his lips, ignoring the offer to play the useful idiot to one of the oldest con games in the ‘verse. Just give me my share and I’m gone forever. The trouble was that so long as there was coin to sniff out, they never were. He recalled a lyric, a song from Earth-That-Was about a man coming to such self awareness.

”Sometimes I get this crazy dream
That I just take off in my car.
But you can travel on ten thousand miles
And still stay where you are.”

This Grady lived under the curse, perpetually trapped within a cage of grand desires and the allure of fast money. Dorian could empathize; that desire and other lusts had introduced him to Faeroe, Tall Card, and Poker. Whatever his intentions, Grady threatened to drag his sister along that dark path. He wasn’t holding a gun to her head, but in the end, the damage would be the same. This time, Dorian would not intervene. He’d known Katya for all of thirty minutes. She had to weigh her brother’s challenges on her own.

Fingers dipped into the pocket of his silk vest, past the small blade to close around the pocket watch. Dorian brought it into the light and loosed the catch, checking the time. It had been roughly twelve minutes since he’d sent the gunman scurrying for the door. That, and the barked knuckles of Katya’s errant brother, led him to believe that reinforcements were soon to arrive. How they’d be dealt with was a matter that hung upon Katya’s response to her brother.

What Are You Listening To?

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Anthem - (That’s a Wrap, Part 2)

Who needs coffee when you’ve got a 5:00 AM face plunge into ice water?

“Girl,” Rene cocked an eyebrow as she coaxed Morgan from the sink, “tell me you got some sleep last night?”

It was good that the makeup artist didn’t wait for the actor’s first performance of the day. “I got a few hours,” Morgan lied before her voice was snuffed out by the hot towel.

Rene shook her head. “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” she placed a judgmental hand upon her hip. “That mouth says ‘yes,’ but those bags under your eyes say ‘huh uh.’ I’ma tell Summer…she will so give you ‘the look.’ Good thing I brought my bag of tricks."

“I’m sure I’ll get busted any minute,” the girl smiled at the unintelligible muffle of her voice. Rene soon lifted the towel, wiping Morgan’s face one last time before setting to work. Though the character Abby typically shunned makeup and only occasionally brushed her hair, a typical day’s makeup prep still required a good thirty minutes to be camera ready. This morning, Morgan was slated for ninety, a much more detailed treatment for shooting her “Mirror Abby” parts. Wise of Edgar to plunge her straight into the most nerve wracking portion first.

As Rene set to work her art, Morgan glanced over the swath of photos taped to the mirror. Summer gazed back, her expression neutral through the series of closeups detailing her makeup. The two women were a match for height and body type. Summer had colored her hair to match Morgan’s reddish hue. She noted the difference in their faces…Summer’s jawline was a bit more rounded, and Morgan realized that her nose was more of a button, where that of her dance coach and on camera double had more graceful lines. “How’d she do?” she asked.

Rene pulled back, admiring her work. “I missed the dailies…had Harrison in the chair for a night scene, but I heard it was all B roll…hmmm.” She rummaged through her kit, frowning. “I’m a little short on your base. Gimme a sec to grab more from the van.”

“Sure.” The makeup artist dashed from the room, leaving Morgan and her stomach full of butterflies. She pondered these fears as the confident eyes of Summer gazed back from the photo set. It’s not Abby, the actor mused. I can wear her like my own skin. Maybe it’s how this scene connects? Or how it doesn’t? She knew the script, knew the blocking and moves. She understood the overall surreal nature, a fantasy sequence which could be the actual choke point for a girl as grounded as Abigail Travis. She’d listened to “Pipe Dream” so many times in rehearsals that she could make her marks without thinking. But could Abby? The character hooks were easily adopted, but for the life of her, Morgan had yet to find ‘that thing’ which would tie this scene directly to the soul of China Doll’s youngest crewmember.

Her hip pocket vibrated. Good thing Rene’s not here, Morgan smirked at the makeup artist’s “no phones!” rule. She fished the iPhone from the pocket of her sweats, then blanched when she saw Edgar’s name on the text.

When I listen to the lyrics, I hear a young woman discovering her personal anthem. What does Abby hear? -E.

Morgan knew them by heart. She’d pored over the lyrics, industriously conjoining important words and phrases with Summer’s precise choreography. She’d done the work, graduating from the timed mechanics to the addition of more graceful, fluid efforts. The music flowed through her.

As was often the case, Abby’s observations could knock her right off her pins. ”Yah conjure sharin’?”

”Sharing?” she asked the character. ”What haven’t I shared?” She mused over the question.

”After I press ‘play,” Abby’s familiar twang filled her mind’s ear, ”yew ain’t give me a shot at la shi ‘til we’s up against tha wall.”

There was no arguing. Morgan knew…felt…the truth of that. A big, surprise dance number in a show that wasn’t big on dance moves. In her worried rush to master Summer’s choreography, Morgan had left the principal element standing outside the dance studio door. Abby, the rough hewn girl to whom this scene belonged, hadn’t been given any say. Sorry, Abby, Morgan acknowledged her failure as the earbuds came out from her pocket. I’ll fix that right now. With the deckhand settling into her skin once more, Morgan called the song onto her phone. For the first time, they shared the music, listening together as the lyrics struck home.

”Well if it feels good then do it,
Don’t let nobody shake you down…”

The music pulsed through them. A smile rose to Morgan’s lips. “What do you think?” she asked.

Abby’s head bobbed gently as she listened. “Yeah,” she answered. “I cotton tah this.”

”Think you can dance to it?”

“Mirror Me?” She could feel a wry smile from Abby. “She’ll be tolerable shiny . But Real Me, wearin’ muh boots an’ day-tah-day? Let’s jest say yer girl Summer’s gon’ have ‘er work cut out when I’m done.”

“But…it’s all planned. All set up.”

”Best thing ‘bout havin’ a plan,” Abby quoted one of Cal’s signature lines, ”is how well yah can change it. Put reg’lar me up first.”

“Abby, there’s a schedule. Edgar…” Morgan protested as her thumbs began tapping a message into her iPhone.

Abby wants up 1st. B4 Mirror Abby. That OK?

“God, he must think I’m a spoiled little diva,” Morgan whispered as she and her character awaited the director’s response.

They didn’t wait long.

Splendid.

”I like that fella,” Abby said.

Morgan could feel the smile spreading across Abby’s face. “Me too.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Family Reunions (Katya Voss cont.)

“And who’s this?”

Who indeed. The man was obviously related to Katya, or very well known to her at the least. The flash of anger within her eyes was not accompanied by an involuntary ‘fight or flight’ tensing of her extremities. If anything, the little emotional jolt steadied her pouring hand. This man was no threat to her.

However, Dorian noted with some small amusement, the stranger was attempting to mark a bit of territory as regards his presence. The use of ‘sis,’ and the less than subtle parking of his hand to advertise the gun at his belt offered a wealth of tells regarding his temperament, and his current station in life. Adler hefted the tail end of his bourbon, eyes casually dismissing the newcomer. “Tha Prodigal Brothah, Ah presume,” he offered before the glass touched his lips.

Feigning a polite deafness to the sisterly tongue lashing of ‘Grady,’ Dorian nonetheless found something more precious within Katya’s anger. Harsh words, to be sure, but when delivered by the one person who had your back in perpetuity, there was an underlying sweetness, a sense of home he hadn’t known for well over a decade. Carrie Ann used to chew into him like that, her rebukes now something he could but only cherish…another thing the war had taken.

He noticed himself in the bar’s mirror. The well rehearsed neutral cheer had clouded a bit, darkened by an old sorrow attempting to creep around behind the eyes. Katya’s words brought him back from his ghosts.

”...I want you out for good, or at the least until you handle your business entirely.”

“And that,” Dorian offered a casual shrug as he leaned toward the fresh drink, “poses tha question. What is that business, sir?” He offered the siblings a smile as the glass rose from the bar. “Considering tha mannah in which Ah negotiated with one of yah associates Ah daresay a little enlightenment is in ordah. Cheers.”

<Open Tag>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

A Friendly Drink (Katya Voss cont.)

“Any day you don’t pull your pistol is a good day.” As he watched the man retreat through the double doors, Dorian mused, “not a good day…but not a bad one, either.” He returned his own weapon to its’ cross draw holster, an economical gesture bearing none of the flourish enjoyed by some of his counterparts. Though still flustered by her ordeal, the bartender paid a keen eye as his gun tucked into black leather. “Yah don’t owe me a thing, ma’am,” he offered a pleasant smile, “though Ah nevah turn down a drink with good company.”

The next moment found him once again at the bar, nudging his stool forward to prop a casual elbow upon the worn edge. “Ah presume,” he answered her earlier question, “that yah’ve got a fav’rite cocktail? Yah signature drink? It’d be mah honah tah lift a glass with yah…Katya, is it?” The newcomer extended his hand. “By tha way, Ah’m Dorian. Dorian Adler.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Never Threaten The One Who Pours The Drinks - Katya Voss cont.

“Ah washed tha sink fah yah, ma’am…oh,” the bar’s last patron said mildly as he was brought up short by the scene before him. There stood the woman...Katya, if he’d heard her name correctly over the earlier noise of a busy night at Shindigs. She was icily still, her face pale with fright. She’d been working to close, a towel draped over one shoulder, until a pistol had nuzzled its’ way into the hair on the back of her head.

Dorian eyed the gun. It was a cannon, typically freakish behemoth of a weapon chosen by those who thought such a sideshow piece would add to a dwindling street cred. A big gun to make a big noise. As he sized up the weapon and the man who brandished it, he felt fairly certain that it was loaded with hollow point slugs that had never entered the chamber.

“Get out,” the intruder hissed, his gaze held upon the contrasting colors of his victim’s hair. He was thirtyish, a few years younger than Dorian himself. Cheap suit, scuffed shoes, and a two day stubble were sufficient tells to complete a base assessment. Here was a low level footsoldier in somebody’s organization. Not a bright enough spark to rise through the ranks. Doomed to be a hanger-on, never to be welcomed to the family itself. “I said ‘Get out!” His gaze had turned, but the weapon hadn’t.

Dorian took a breath, meeting the command with a shrug. “Ah’d do that,” he drawled, “but fah one or two little things. That’s mah hat on tha bar,” he nodded, “and that drink next to it is paid fah.” The man’s eyes followed, flicking left toward the broad brimmed hat and the double shot of bourbon sitting alongside. An instant later, his nervous gaze returned to find the business end of a nickel plated revolver just inches from the bridge of his nose.

“Now then,” Dorian spoke with the ease of a man accustomed to sipping juleps on his back porch, “what say we dispense with these unpleasantries and let this poor woman go home?”

<Open Tag>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

That’s a Wrap - Part One

FF2V Holiday AU

OOC: Part 1 of a holiday themed AU that I started in 2021. With your kind permission, I’ll finish it this time around.

Another day on China Doll. Another toilet tah clean.

Abby sprayed in tha solution, goin’ all ‘round tha underside of tha rim. Then she hit it with her brush, scrubbin’ an’ diggin at ever’ spot til the bowl’s all shiny. Once that part’s done she grabbed a fresh paper roll from her cart an’ slipped it inta place. ‘Cept fer makin’ a pass with the mop, she declared “One down, two tah go.”

Second stall was a rinse and repeat. She’d jest dropped on her knees in the third when ‘er hip vibrated. Abby pulled the little reader from ‘er back pocket.

New Message from Thomas Jinks. (Image attached.)

She thumbed the link. The screen glowed with both his words an’ the pic he shared.

Come back to New Melbourne. The glamorous life awaits.

Pitcher was a closeup of Thomas, grinnin’ all crooked as blood an’ fish guts was drippin’ down his face. If she’s any judge, looked like the Jinks kids got up tah tha devil while they’s cleanin’ their catch. Abby held her capture up so’s tah git a proper shot ‘o’ her scrubbin’ the toilet, a big smirk on ‘er face fer tha cam’ra. Then, she typed a message right back at him.

And give up all this?

Thomas musta liked that’n, ‘cuz he didn’t waste no time.

Darling Crabby, my Princess of Poop.

The deckhand giggled an’ banged out a reply. That’s Queen of Commodes, to you. Don’t you have work to do?

Next message from Thomas come with an audio file attachment. My brothers say you’re right. Give this song a listen. I heard it and thought of you. She took a minute, cleanin’ out the last toilet afore she stood up. Showers was next. Easy peasy, ‘cuz they both mopped up jest like the tiled deck. Abby fished the buds outta her pocket. With her mop an’ bucket at tha ready, she pressed “play.”

“And cut!” Edgar’s voice rang across the soundstage. Morgan knew at once that the director considered this take to be The one. He was so polite that one needed to listen carefully for his tells. Unlike Joss, if Edgar wasn’t satisfied with a take, his call to cut scene came in the form of a dubious question. Hearing “Cut?” was her signal to approach him for a quick consult before cameras rolled again.

She could see him, laughing and chatting with the head ciinematographer. Edgar was happy. Today was a wrap for shooting in Studio A, but she had work to do. Morgan laid the ear buds on the prop table before donning her mask. “All good?” she asked the guest director.

“Splendid,” his eyes sparkled above his mask. “Tomorrow’s the day. How do you feel?”

“Terrified.”

He dismissed her worries with a “bah” and a hand upon her shoulder. “You killed it in blocking, Morgan. Repeat that, and tomorrow shall be a very short day. Get some rest tonight, alright?”

“I’ve got a table read in thirty,” she replied. “Then it’ll be ‘trailer, sweet trailer’ until Makeup at five AM.”

“As the lord intended,” Edgar chuckled as he flagged down his Floor Manager. “Miles, let’s prep for B-roll.”

“Right away,” the serious young man keyed his shoulder mic. “That’s a wrap, people!” his voice echoed through the studio. “Anybody who isn’t a gaffer should clear the set. One hour dinner break for everyone shooting B-roll tonight. Check your departmental sheets for tomorrow’s call times. And remember, everybody,” he paused as the entire cast and crew shouted his nightly farewell message back to him.

“GET HOME SAFE, COME BACK SOBER!!!”

Thirty minutes til table read. Enough time to wolf down her dinner salad and get to the rehearsal room. Morgan hurried to the craft services table to find her meal all packaged in a clear plastic container. Romaine lettuce, cucumbers, and vinaigrette, was inscribed on the lid. A small bag of almonds had been taped on as well. Amelia never forgot. She’d just collected a water bottle when a voice came from behind.

“Cal Junior, I presume?”

Even behind the slight muffle of his mask, that voice was unmistakable. Morgan turned, her eyes widening at the proof of her ears. “Why…hey…wow, Mr. Fi…”

“It’s Nathan,” he offered a friendly elbow bump. “And I’m the one who should be starstruck. I just wanted to tell you how much I love what you’re doing with Abby.”

“Oh,” Morgan expelled a breath that seemed to deflate her. “I love her so much. She’s a joy to play…but sometimes I think she’s starting to take over. I catch myself speaking ‘Firefly’ and slipping into her twang at places like Starbuck’s,” she laughed nervously.

“Shiny!” Nathan’s smile was self evident through his mask. “Happens to me all the time. I catch myself channeling Mal during little moments…like contract negotiations,” he shrugged. “So, “you all set for tomorrow?”

“No…yes…I don’t know,” Morgan shook her head. “Doing both parts in two single takes? I mean..it feels good in rehearsal, but when I think about tomorrow? She clutched her stomach. “Butterflies for days.”

“Hmm,” Nathan shrugged. “That’s not what Summer says at all.”

“Really?”

“Really.” In the distance rose the high pitched whine of electric motors. The gaffers had wheeled out their lifts, and were now headed up to refocus the lighting. “She and I had dinner last night. Now Summer’s always a pretty positive type, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get her to shut up about your rehearsals. Believe me, I tried..even offered to pay her. That was a joke.”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan tilted her head. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” But she wasn’t. Not a bit.

Nathan dipped hands into his pockets. “You’ve worked with Summer going on three weeks…long enough to know each other’s moves and to have fun with it. Fun…that’s the key,” he said. “Alan and I brought Edgar in for tomorrow’s scene because he can capture the detail and draw that fun out. Tomorrow? Summer and Edgar are gonna have a great time. I’d suggest to you that you’ve put in the hard work. Tomorrow’s the fun part…but Abby already knows that.”

Morgan smiled as her eyes met his. “She does, doesn’t she?” The studio clock flashed, catching her attention. “Oh,” she scooped up her things. “Sorry, I’ve got a table read in fifteen.”

He nodded. “Right, you and Val for ‘The Great Drawl-Off.’ Joss was worried it’d come off comical, so he’s liable to be stressed. Don’t mind him, okay?”

“I won’t. He doesn’t bother me.”

“Have things been alright between you?”

“Listen,” Morgan spoke frankly. “I’ve worked with so many indy directors who make Joss on his worst day look like an angry kitten. I can handle some needling. Besides,” she looked about the soundstage with it’s numerous shooting sets. “He brought this to life. And you…”

“And you,” Nathan interjected. “There’s not a person involved here who doesn’t love what we’re doing. That ‘verse,” he pointed toward the set as lights flashed and moved in the gaffers’ hands, “started in Joss’ head, but every one of us has helped it along. You and the China Doll crew own it every bit as much as Serenity’s crew does.” He cast a wistful eye over the darkened galley set. “There’s a lot of love in these places. Do me a favor, Morgan,” his smile resurfaced beneath the mask. Enjoy this.”

“I will…I do.”

“And don’t forget,” Nathan lifted an index finger. “Christmas party tomorrow night after we wrap. Jewel and Sean are coming. There may be caroling, but I didn’t say that…now, you’d better run. Tell Val I said “Haaaagh.”

“Okay,” Morgan chuckled, “and do me a favor? Don’t tell Joss I called him an ‘angry kitten?”

“No promises.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Thanks, Wolf. Another reason why this is one of my favorite times of the year!

I'm going to start by resurrecting an AU I had running in '21. I didn't get to finish that one before the hard stop. Aside from that I've got ideas for all 3 chars. I'm running.

Work permitting, I'll have something up tonight.

Season's Greetings!

Sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

History Lesson 2: Earth-That-Was - “Remember, Remember…”

In 2047, journalists for the New York Times published leaked INS documents which revealed the failure of terraforming efforts on Mars, Venus, and the chosen moons. Though Mars had demonstrated initial success, atmospheric development figures indicated a near flatline result. The planet might become habitable, but according to these findings, not for another one hundred thirty-seven years. As government officials scurried to regroup and deflect blame, all terraforming efforts within the Sol system were summarily defunded and shut down.

As the scandals of governmental and corporate concealment are exposed, riots break out on a global scale. Destabilized governments collapse, plunging much of the so-called ‘third world’ into anarchy and sapping Earth-That-Was of ever more precious resources. In response to the mounting human catastrophe, China and the United States forge an alliance, restructuring the United Nations organization into a planetary governing body, the Global Exodus Alliance This new body is swiftly ratified and supported by the majority of nation states. Holdouts are goaded into supplication by a simple ultimatum: cede control to the GEA…or see your citizens left behind come Exodus Day.

The newfound Alliance moves swifty, taking complete control of global resources and crushing rebellion where it may arise. Rationing programs keep the population on subsistence level, as talent and material is poured into preparation of an organized evacuation. By 2062, eyes have once more turned toward the star cluster 34Tauri(2020) and its’ numerous planets.

2070: A new terraforming approach has been tested and proven successful. Dozens of AI controlled terraformer ships are under construction, as competing designs for generation ships are debated and revised. These ‘arks’ will each have to carry and sustain an average of 10,000 people for a journey of approximately 125 years. With raw materials in rapid planetary decline, it is decided that existing infrastructure and urban construction will be dismantled to augment Earth’s mining, and mineral collection from Saturn’s rings. A demolition schedule is created, sparking a fresh swath of rioting that is brutally squelched by Alliance peacekeepers. Steel mills, mining and fossil fuel industries increase production to meet the anticipated demand. Environmental safeguards are frequently ignored.

The year is 2075. With her oceans now dead, wells running dry and mines yielding only dust, the first of Earth’s cities succumb to the wrecking ball. Arks are under construction, a process now considered the “only” priority by the GEA. Hope is on the rise as imagery sent from the “robot” fleet of AI terraformers reveals a larger number of usable planets in 34Tauri(2020) than originally anticipated. Good news for a future hardly conceivable as the skies blacken overhead with the pollution of desperate human industry. Climatologists revise their estimates. Earth will now be considered inhospitable to human life by 2105.

As New Year’s Day dawns in the year 2090, it does so without Paris, San Francisco, London, Tokyo, and New York. While many icons of cultural or historical significance are slated for preservation, notable structures like the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty have been demolished, their metals going into ark construction. While many have not survived to see the new year, disturbing reports of the ark fleet’s inability to house all of Earth’s population are stirring unrest. It is announced that this year, the arks will begin loading fuel and cargo.

By mid decade, the implementation of a boarding lottery system erases all doubt. The Alliance declares martial law, a mere formality, given the increasingly draconian tactics of their peacekeeping and law enforcement arms. Sensing a profit to be made from the ensuing panic, the owners of commercial spacecraft refit their fleets to join the arks. In 2098, C/V Gossamer begins refit to accommodate 1100 passengers. Though the asking price is beyond exorbitant, her berths are sold out within 2 hours of announcement. Equally precious are her 5 open cargo containers, the other 35 being filled with fuel and supplies for their voyage.

On November 9th, 2101, C/V Gossamer departs. For her passengers and crew, the final view of their home is a planet wreathed in black clouds, and dotted by a series of detonations, a literal ‘scorched Earth’ policy of destroying power plants, refineries, and fuel depots. The Alliance will explain this move as ‘the kindest cut’ for those poor unfortunates left behind. In 9 years’ time, all transmission, including flight telemetry, will cease. November 5th, 2110, is officially recognized as the Day The Earth Stood Still.

Dates and major events quoted from The Firefly and Serenity Database -
firefly.fandom.com/wiki/Timeline#2020

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Sunday from the cargo bay!

Here we go, kids. Thanksgiving and the holiday season is breathing down our collective necks. For Casa Sail that means that I'm foisting my cooking upon family and friends once more...a process that probably takes far longer then it should, given my inability to find items like mixing bowls and seasonings. There is an organizational scheme to our kitchen; Yours Truly hasn't bothered to learn it.

So, in case your character hasn't heard, Cap'n's called a crew meeting in the galley to introduce our new pilot and talk business. Since returning from a whiskey soaked adventure on the high seas I've managed to get Abby and Edina into the rooom, with plans for Yuri to follow up and join shortly. Feel free to put your char. into the galley!

I've also penned a rough draft for the next History Lesson. If you're looking for the basics, I'm pulling alot from the Firefly Serenity database timeline. Note that I am shifting a couple dates here and there to suit our narrative, but for the most part we're following along.

On the cyborg front, I've got more of my schedule back. The surgery and resulting rounds of PT went really well, so they cut me loose in time to go on a punk rock cruise. (Important note: passing through a metal detector is a whole new experience with a hunk of titanium inside one's body. More on that later.)

Once we've completed the Boone meet and greet, we're likely to have a time jump. Wolf and I are hashing out the particulars and will keep you posted. In the meantime, have a great Thanksgiving, love your people, and eat all the wrong things!

Also, WWIF.

sail