Recent Statuses

10 days ago
Current Today I ordered an ortholinear split keyboard from ZSA called 'Moonlander.' In two weeks all my posts will contain terrible typos and you all know why now.
19 days ago
The crew is booking up for this class three Firefly. Get in while the git’n’s good!
23 days ago
Our Firefly game is finally up! Come gander over yonder:…
24 days ago
I’ve noticed that the group posting seems to be slower than proposed 1x1 posting on this site. Is that normal or just the summertime slump?
28 days ago
Just put out an interest checker for a new Firefly game here:… Drop by if you're curious!


Linux makes me happy, Blender helps me art, and Solus solved a lot of my problems.

I'm here because I like to RP in depth with high quality writing. Now, don't mistake me for high quality; I'm just hoping it rubs off.

Sharing cohost/GM duties with Sail3695 of "Firefly - Second 'Verse." Advanced game here:…

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The blood and the spatter from his first blow not only covered the Father in guts and gore, but sent the putrid substance all across the walls and floor. It seemed that he had not been as careful as he aimed to be. Morgan's voice echoed from below, and seeing that the zombie was still anchored to the chain which bound it, Isaac dropped a free hand to wipe the splatter from around his eyes.

"Yes," he sighed in his thick Haitian accent, "just lost my grip," he added, still mopping his eyes. "Alright, you might want to cover your mouth this time, just in case." Father Isaac could scarcely believe that he was butchering what looked to be what was left of a man in his pajamas, the rest of his face notwithstanding from the first blow. Now, the gory hole in the side of his face clicked with each gnashing movement from the zombie's incessant jaws. With that the Father raised the machete in his hands yet again, hoping this time to deliver a clean blow to end the thrashing zombie in front of him before the chain gave way under its efforts.
Sorry I haven't updated here. An emergency came up the last few days and I've had to travel to fix a family member's computer. I'm wrapping up here now and should be back home tonight.
Howdy crew!

Hook's taking care of crew and passengers alike in the galley, Badger's men just showed with three crates and a passenger on the ramp, and takeoff is imminent! Tuck into your meals fast, as the China Doll's about to see the black! Should be plenty of time to wrap up JP's in the galley, or any other solo posts you've got brewing.

Cal wants to be up in fifteen, but knowing him, we've got an hour. :D
OOC: JP from @psych0pomp and @wanderingwolf

Rex heard other voices and movement throughout the ship, but he made a beeline for the bunks. He threw his bag past the bunker-like door and it gave out a muffled thump as it hit the floor. He more carefully brought Lucky’s cage down with the power of his arm strength and careful maneuvering of his body. As his feet landed one the ground, he was reminded of why he hated Firefly models. Damn bunks felt like a grave.

He didn’t have much in the way of luggage. It was what he could stuff into his leather pack and tow from ship to ship. He tended to Lucky’s cage first. Securing it to the hull with a thick chord and setting out some food and water for the bird. He undid the latch, letting the door swing down much like a drawbridge. It would give a place for the bird to sit and watch him. And Lucky did, after grabbing some processed bird food that cost more than Rex could consume in a week—in food. His black eyes watched the tall human maneuver through the room, and chirped up when Rex started whistling.

The clothes were packed away first. The trinkets, like a lucky golden cat (much to Lucky’s ire), a hand sewn flag with a mixture of galactic symbols, and a few books started to fill the empty space of the room. He even threw that plumb colored scarf over a light, adding a rather mauve ambiance.

Rex pulled his jacket off, placing it on the bed that he had made and adorned with a small blanket that had a lot more sentimental value than one might first realize. He stood there in the bright blue shirt with pink flowers adoring it. It was tucked in the front of his pants that displayed his belt with a bawdy buckle in front and a leather knife holder at his side—he’d hung his gun up, it was more a hazard on Rex’s person than anything. His arms were bare, tanned from the weather rather than genetics. Surprisingly, he didn’t have tattoos. He did have quite a few jingly bangles and tied pieces of leather around his wrists. They barely hid the puckered white scars that adorned both of his wrists. He ran his ringed hand through his hair, pulling his glasses off and setting them to the side. He rubbed his eyes.

Lucky fluffed up, content to be off the streets of Persephone. The bird started singing a repetitive ditty, and Rex joined in with his whistling—surprisingly matching the song.

Into the belly of the ship, the captain met empty hallways up to the gangway. Cal had half a mind to pop in on Penelope and see how things were going, or if they were still on reserve power while Badger’s mechanics buttoned up the boat. That’s when he heard a strange, yet familiar sound. It was the whistling that caught Cal’s ear.

Rex had been on the China Doll before. In fact, the pair had shared near on two years aboard the ship before the unfortunate circumstances which parted them ways. Seeing as Rex saw fit to show his face here again, and as a mate no less, Cal needed to look the man in the eye. And so it was with a kick to the hatch below that Cal summoned Rex from above.

Rex’s whistling came to an abrupt halt. Lucky was startled at the noise and flew towards Rex, landing on his shoulder and burying himself into the collar of the tacky shirt. “Occupied! Find some other bunk to kick at.” He turned to the bird, who was trying to find sanctuary in his short-trimmed beard. “How green is this crew that they don’t even know how hatches work? I fully expect to find one licking fire by tonight.” Before he could finish his laugh with his avain companion, another stern, summoning kick came from above.

He tossed aside the old book he was thumbing through and climbed up the ladder. Pushing the hatch up, he started speaking before he could see who was above him. “If you don’t stop, we’re at a perfect angle that I can punch you in the nuts, and if you’re a…” his words trailed off as he saw Cal above him. A smile passed across his lips. “Well, if it isn’t the man himself, Captain Strand. Not dead or fat, I see. Though you might be working towards one of those.”

Strand stepped aside while stroking his chin and watched the man climb out of the bunk. “See, now I’m confused.” He waited a beat. “Near on two years since I’ve heard the name Rex Black. I believe it was the night before the chicken-shit job, when you slipped out on a stopover in Ariel. After we fueled up I thought you was passed out in this very bunk, ‘til we touched down in Hera. You know, we sat there for hours with a mountain of chicken shit in the boiling heat waiting for your contact to show?” He arched his brow at Rex. “Poor Jesse and Phil had to scrub the la shi from the Doll and it still smelled like fowl for a month.”

Rex pulled himself out, closing the hatch behind him as he did. The ceilings of these ships were always lower than he’d like, giving a feeling of claustrophobic compression. So, he had a tendency to hunch. “Wait, what?” He asked. He started to thumb one of the beaded bracelets on his wrist in thought. “Look. That was a humanitarian mission. It was supposed to be fertilizer for a small colony planet out in the Border. Why the hell Mikkel wouldn’t show is…” He paused. “Well, at the time he was one of the Alliance’s most wanted. Or was that before the Great Bovine Escapade? Oh man, did you see that on your cortex? That shit was insane.”

“I did,” he replied, “put me to mind of ‘18 when we steered a head straight for some no-name town on Beaumonde,” Cal shook his head, “when the baron’s men showed, surrounded on all sides; they were lookin’ for a five-fingered discount.” He laughed, “I think you missed every shot, but they were all lookin’ at that neon green shirt you had on.” Strand scratched the back of his neck, “Gǎnxiè fú, one of us can shoot.”

Rex laughed. That caused Lucky to make a somewhat light trill as he turned his head towards Cal. It was almost as if the bird’s eyes narrowed, but maybe he was just sleepy. “I’ve always been honest about my skills from day one. Why do you think I dress like this?” He paused. “Though, remember that time I got trapped with that Mayor’s daughter, Beatrice or something, without nothing but my gun? I was halfway across the field when I turned to shoot. I pressed the trigger. And bam the mayor’s goon went down. I was thanking Lady Luck that I’d finally figured out how to shoot. But turns out, it was you--like five feet behind me.” He tugged on his collar. “I still have that scar where he got half a brand off on my back. I was a little preoccupied at that moment. If you know what I mean. Speaking of which… did you and what’s-her-face ever work out?”

“Aw c’mon Rex, you know we can’t all be swashbuckling romantics out of some trashy holo like you.” Cal’s face relaxed. “Much as my pride hates to admit it, I could use your help here. I got a ship full of crew I don’t know and we’re runnin’ a job for Badger… Not my finest moment, but the China Doll’s still in the air, so that’s somethin’. This time I need to know I can count on you not to leave me holding the bag of bird shit when you’re out the door. Whaddya say, first mate?” He offered his hand to Rex.

“Badger?” Rex’s tone easily reflected the dubious nature of that deal. “Not your finest moment, indeed. But I’m not one to judge--obviously.” He extended his hand as Cal did. “I promise I won’t leave you high and dry this time. I won’t head out for a pack of year long cigarettes again.” It was then that he grabbed a hold of Cal’s hand and held it firmly. He drew the captain into a brisk hug, never one to enjoy a sterile greeting. Lucky took that moment to jump ship and hopped onto Cal’s shoulder.

“So, how green are we talking with this crew?” He said, pulling away. “Are we talking mint julep peach or so green a dog might accidentally shit on them?”

Cal’s eyes widened as the bird surveyed him from his shoulder, switching sides of its head probably to measure eye-plucking distance. “Let’s just say I met the doc while bleedin’ out the ear, the pilot kept me from shootin’ up a charlatan, and the deckhand hired the rest, even with all her personality.” Cal had raised a finger to Lucky’s beak height, maybe gauging to see if the bird felt the need to chew on flesh before he would scoop it up. “Damn, I could go for a pack of year-long cigarettes right now.” Then he moved closer to Rex, “Last job brought down a little more heat than I anticipated; partially why I needed Badger and t’ kick dirt ASAP.” Seeing as Lucky had deigned not to bite Cal’s finger, he ventured for a five-fingered pet of the colorful beast.

“Oh yeah, Cal Junior. I met her.” He smiled. “For a second there, I thought you had a kid, Captain. I was about to feel sorry for someone. Who? I don’t know.” There was only a beat before he really examined what Cal had said. “But it sounds like a decent group, even if it seems like you’re trying to pad your chances for romance.” He winked, still chuckling as Cal got closer. Lucky seemed wary for a moment, but allowed the Captain to give him a pet, even if it was only self-serving.

“Shit, Cal,” Rex said, keeping to their hushed tone. “What’d you do?” He then held his hands up. “Actually, don’t tell me. Just tell me what you want me to do when Badger arrives. We don’t want to spill the mint julep of our new crew all over him.”

“Hell, Don Juan, you never change, do you?” Cal said, impressing even himself with how good he was with animals. Retrieving his hand from the bird he rubbed it off on his shirt.

“Fill you in over a drink. For now, keep a handle on things here with the crew and passengers; I want to be in the sky within thirty of receiving the haul. The deck on the ramp knows to flag me when they show. ‘Sides, doubtful Badger will make an appearance. He only cares about one thing--” That’s when a crackly comm could be heard from the bridge, just a few paces away from them.

“Cap’n,” Abby keyed the mic, “cargo bay. Yah wanted tah know when them last crates showed up.”

“Right on queue,” the captain said to his first mate. Scooping up Lucky from his shoulder, Cal unceremoniously deposited him on Rex’s shoulder. “I wanna be nose up in fifteen,” he called over his shoulder. With that Captain Strand disappeared through the porthole to the cargo bay below.
Isaac jerked away from the opening, putting the machete between him and the anchored zombie. "There's one up here!" he called down to Morgan. "It's chained to something." His eyes scanned the room and took in the various sundries. This was either the final resting place for a prepper, or a tomb for a loved one. He crossed himself with his free hand.

The zombie's lolling eyes greedily watched Father Keller's movements, stretching out two massive bloody hands to try to take any hold. The iron collar around the zombie's neck pressed deeply into the tissue, collapsing the trachea as the determined mindless monster swiped at the area between them.

Keller pulled himself up into the attic proper and brandished the machete. It felt heavy in his hand, and he hoped it would be enough to end the zombie in one fell hit. Raising the machete with both hands, the preacher bore down on the zombie attempting to hit it straight in the head and crush those ballooning eyes.

Isaac followed Morgan's eyes to the ceiling. Why hadn't he seen that before? She sure had a keen eye. "I'll do my best," he replied in his think Hatian accent. Finding a nearby chair, Father Keller gingerly tested his weight on it at first before reaching for the ajar attic door. The latch pulled down with ease, a folded ladder nested in the door. As it unfurled, the bottom rung met the floor before them. Isaac looked to Morgan with an arched brow. Things were looking up. Literally.

Since he was already there, Keller reasoned he ought to take a look inside, just to make sure it was safe. "Give me a moment, I'll make sure the coast is clear." With his machete in hand, Father Keller poked his head into the already lit attic to see what was inside. Hopefuly, there was a way to get to the roof, or some other way to keep ascending the building.
@HEAVY METAL I'm here! Let me get a post up!
OOC: JP between @Sail3695 and @Wanderingwolf

The sun hung low in the sky as Cal caught sight of the China Doll. He’d snagged a pilot and doc, which might get them off this rock, as long as Badger’s men had made good and handled the parts he’d sent this way. The closer he got, the apparent repairs presented themselves: the thruster guards were installed, so at least they wouldn’t burn up on upthrust. The remaining fixes had been in the belly of the Doll. He made a mental note to check their work as he approached the young woman he’d hired this morning.

“How’d we do, kid,” he scanned the darkness of the bay, seeing several people moving within, “is she heavy with work?” His hand was held out for the sheet.

Abby handed the clipboard off. “Tolerable,” she replied. “New Melbourne’s a good run now, what with Tuna Season kickin’ off in a few days. Got three cargo shipments,” she pointed toward the line items of the ledger, “an’ booked a couple rooms fer passengers...folk headin’ over tah get jobs on the fishin’ boats. Ain’t seen hide nor hair of Badger’s crates, or that Baker woman,” she shrugged, “but we got her room all squared.”

Something about the way Abigail pronounced ‘New Melbourne’ brought a smirk to Cal’s face. For a youth, she certainly put out airs of having done all this before. He shook his head, congratulating himself on sizing her up proper. Cal let out a few ‘uh-huh’ sounds as he glanced over the clipboard, flipping pages. “I’m sure they’ll be along. Got a feelin’ we’re gonna be makin’ dust soon as they show.” That’s when he came across names of crew in Abby’s scrawl. “Well, I’ll be damned. You let Rex Black on my ship?”

“I let tha parrot onboard,” the girl countered. “As tah tha man what brung him, he’s tha only one come lookin’ fer the First Mate’s job. I tole him it weren’t official til ‘yew said so.”

Cal handed the clipboard back to Abby. “Well, Abby, preacher says we all sin.” Strand fished a cigarette from a silver case and stuck it between his lips before meeting her eyes. “Parrot?”

The teenager gave a diffident shrug. “I liked the parrot.” She pointed toward another name. “Gotcha another deckhand. Joe Hooker...goes by ‘Hook.’ Nice fella. Got callus an’ muscle in all tha right places. Couple weapons, so he’ll as like scrap if he needs tah.”

Strand nodded, striking a match on his book. “Way things are goin’ might be scrap ahead.” Cal shot a glance over his shoulder at the byways what led to the Doll. Expecting Badger’s men was an uncomfortable feeling. “Any other’s come a-callin’? Gonna be a short trip without a grease monkey if things go sideways.” He drew on his smoke, checking the height of the sun. “And much as I ‘mostly’ trust the gentlemen fixin’ up the bird to do the job, I’d appreciate a second pair o’ eyes on their handiwork.”

Abby shook her head. “No mechanic come knockin’ yet...jest them as I mentioned, and that pilot, Penelope.” As she spoke, a self conscious hand rose to fuss with her hair. “Some passengers, an…” She fished in the pocket of her denims, probing fingers coming free with a coin purse. “Here’s tha take,” she said as the pouch changed hands.

Cal pocketed the coin and considered patting Abby on the head, but seeing as they’d just met that day, he thought it of sounder judgement to hold off on such familiarities. Instead, the captain produced his silver cigarette holder again, holding it open to her, “Here, good job holdin’ down the fort, kid.” He pulled on his own, directing the smoke trail upward.

For a moment, she looked cautiously upon the neat rank of cigarettes. “Perty much my job on the last boat,” Abby replied as she carefully extracted one from the case. She took a moment, working the cigarette between her index and middle finger, before glancing toward Cal for a light.

Strand watched the teen as she carefully removed a cigarette. Snapping the silver clasp, Cal struck a match and cupped his hands in front of Abby. “What happened to your last boat?”

The girl leaned forward, pressing the cigarette to the flickering match flame. “Cap’n lost her in a card game,” she watched the paper turn black and ignite. “New owner sold ‘er fer scrap. I’s lucky enough to hitch a ride tah Persephone.” She pressed her lips to the filter, pulled in a deep lungfull, and immediately doubled over as wracking coughs sent her into spasms.

Cal fought the powerful urge of laughter at the sight of the fresh-faced Abigail Travis choking on her first cigarette. Instead, he offered a half-hearted pat on the back, “Ain’t you a little old to be havin’ your first cigarette?” Sure, the la shi he smoked was the bottom of the barrel, but it hit the spot. When she offered only coughing in response, he added, “You know, got a doc comin’ what can take a look atcha when she gets here, if’n it’s miner lung instead.” His smile hid between another pull.

“No…,<cough, cough>... I ain’t….,<cough>.....yeah, my first, “ Abby wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Uncle Bob….the Cap’n….never let me try….<cough> The girl regained herself, opting against a further attempt at the smoldering deathstick. “I’m alright...mebbe it just ain’t fer me, is all.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Cal replied. “Find me when Badger’s men show. I want to put eyes on cargo and passenger.” He sighed, not like he could say ‘no’ to the storm that was coming. “An’ keep an eye out for a mechanic; I dunno, heckle a few people or somethin’,” he added, helpfully.

Abby reacted with a smile. “Watch me work, Cap’n.”

"Thanks for sticking your neck out for me," Isaac said, holding the machete aloft and ran his thumb across the blade to see how sharp it was. He'd wielded one before, but had only ever cleared brush with it. The machete felt top heavy, like perhaps it was more of a tourist momento than a broken in bush blade. The edge was decently sharp, though, slicing into his finger nail.

"I think we should try to find him," he motioned toward the roof, "and ask him ourselves. At the very least, it'd provide a good view of the city. Maybe we could see if it's all like this." From that vantage, he'd be able to see the steeple from up there. His church would be engulfed in flames by now, the blaze he'd set himself to stop the escape of zombified congregants. He pushed the memory out of his head, focusing instead on Morgan. On the here and now. Two people had a better chance of surving than one. And if this roof dweller could be a third? Maybe they stood some sort of chance staying safe or getting out.

Father Keller looked around for a stair case, or some sort of indication of which way would lead them up, without going outside.
@Gunther Just sent you a message in GChat. Could you see it?
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