wanderingwolf

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Final Boarding Call

OOC: JP Collab that takes place as an intermission to the party at Bunaglow Bill’s, starring @aalakrys and @wanderingwolf.

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Bungalow Bill’s was replete with charm, pool tables, drinks, and eclectic music, and it was only for a moment that Strand glanced down at the buzzing cortex in his pocket. In the iridescent blue light that spilled from the screen shone the few words from one Hafez Nadal. Cal’s eyes scanned the missive.

“Salutations Captain… Tomorrow, noon… As always, give my best to Penelope.”

The man sure had a flair, but there was business in his blood. The coordinates for their rendezvous were attached. Looked like everything was in order.

Cal glanced up from his seat beside the pool table. With a wave Alana’s way, he rose, coat over his arm. As he passed Abigail he intoned, “Steppin’ out for a spell, order me another?” He paused to catch her eye, “Just not a Vodka and Boom Boom,” and with a wink he stepped onto another of Bungalow Bill’s platforms to a higher deck.

He’d need a signal if he was going to raise the pilot. As he donned his coat, Cal extricated the short-wave comm set to route through the China Doll. Throwing the dial, a satisfying click set the walkie to life.

“Sam, you read me?” he dialed out the static in the seconds waiting for a reply.

“I read you, Cal. A little early for ‘drunk dialing,’ wouldn’t you say?” came the lilting Bostonian accent of the China Doll’s guest AI.

“I’m buzzin’ just fine, thank you. It’s Abigail you should worry about. Girl’s got a new favorite drink and boys linin’ up to order her another.” He shook his head, smiling.

“Any trouble?” Her tone was even.

“We’re set here. Need you to raise Penelope for me; put her on the frequency.”

“One minute,” came her cool voice, a digital gradation pulling her last syllable as she slipped off the connection to call the pilot

Penelope’s comm gave a series of chirps from atop the low table it sat upon as the AI attempted to hail her. The pilot herself was in the nearby attached kitchen showing Elias the proper way to prepare juice from the jalebi fruit they’d found earlier in the day while clearing away brush. Though he was tired, he was fascinated, the pair of them engrossed so the chiming didn’t register at first. Rowan, on the other hand, had glanced in the direction and found lights flashing on the communicator his daughter sat aside.

“Pen-nut, I think you’re being hailed.” He said as he moved to pick up the small handheld. There was a softness she recognized as sadness there, her hazel eyes meeting his to see it hidden in the smile he wore as he passed over the comm. But, it didn’t mean goodbye, not yet.

She wiped her hand and took the device, pressing the button to speak. “It’s past a decent hour to call the pilot in. Everythin’ shiny?”

Sam’s digital voice realigned into her lilting accent, “Apologies, Penelope, but the Captain wants a word with you. I didn’t detect cause for alarm; could just be he’s had a few and you know how he likes to talk business when he’s in ‘in his cups.’” She’d been waiting for an opportunity to use that idiom, the mirth in her voice betraying her casual tone.

Penelope wasn’t exactly expecting to hear Sam, wasn’t sure who would be calling her from the Doll, but it likely would’ve pleased her regardless of who had been on the other end. Her father and his neighbor were of course paying attention, Elias being the one who quirked a brow at the mention of a captain who frequented cups. She waved away the concern, for now, and leaned against the counter to respond as the men departed to sit on the couch and eavesdrop from a more respectable distance. There was a returned amusement that lingered in Penelope’s tone more often than not as she gave her reply. “I’d imagine you’d know better than me, Sam. I’d imagine I have more to learn.”

The comm chirped in response, “I know that he likes Mango wine, but that’s a relatively new development.” There was more she wanted to add, from her conspiratorial tone, but instead she added:

“I’ll put him through.” After a second of static, the lines were joined.

“You read me, Penelope?” Captain Strand’s voice was in good humor as he pivoted back to view the crew gathered around the pool table. A toucan of some sort flew over his shoulder then, and from a perch, its brilliant beak flashed as it turned its head this way and that to watch the man standing on the highest platform alone save for one tiki torch fighting the night.

With her back to her father and Elias, she couldn’t be sure the sort of expressions they wore. Penelope had spent more time catching up with her father’s life and hadn’t quite gone into the details of hers. Obviously he knew she was the pilot of a ship called the China Doll, but they hadn’t touched on that topic too much just yet. Now her captain, who liked talk business while on the sauce, was ringing her up late at night. She held her amusement in check though, the smile of her tone subtle as her casual manner of speaking. “Sure do. You and all that ruckus. Out enjoying the nightlife of Greenleaf, Cap’n?”

“And then some, Freckles. Shame you couldn’t make it. Hook cleaned house at the pool table, the new mechanic near broke the other arm, judgin’ by the sound of things, and Abigail’s got a new favorite poison called a ‘Vodka and Boom Boom.’” The comm cut out for a second as a particularly loud round of shouts heralded Yuri’s progress on the deck below. “But I didn’t call just because I missed the sound of your voice. I got a hail from Hafez.”

Penelope glanced over her shoulder to see concern etching both men’s faces in entirely different ways. She was concerned that Elias, whose protective streak extended to all the Randalls apparently, would have his brow permanently frozen in the quirk by the end of this conversation. Her father, on the other hand, likely felt bad for taking her away from what seemed like a questionably good time with what could possibly be another sort of family. She gave him a soft smile as she spoke without having to consider her words. “I can’t rightly say I’m sorry in this case, Cap’n, sweet as you put it. I figure there’ll be plenty of other near-bar brawls to miss with you lot.”

She turned back with an idle kick to the faded floor tile. “We still shipping out on schedule?”

Unbeknownst behind her, Elias’ brow dropped to meet the other in a creased furrow as he turned to Rowan and mouthed “Hafez? Nadal?” Rowan merely shrugged, unlikely even knowing who that important figure was given his general disinterest in anything political.

“No brawlin’, least not yet. Arm wrestle competition, but I’ll keep you posted in case we need a bailout.” Cal chuckled, feeling the night’s alcohol doing its work. “Job’s moved up a bit. We’re loadin’ at noon. Since you’re with family, figured I’d give you notice in case you made plans, shiny?”

“That’s plenty considerate of you, Cap’n.” Pen said as she studied the little crease that formed as she toed the tile with her shoe. She wasn’t sure how she felt about leaving sooner than planned, though she and her father hadn’t made any particular arrangements. They weren’t planners, but rather filled time as it came with any deadlines in mind. And hers just got moved up. “Gonna get back to it unless you needed anythin’ else.”

The static answered in sharp reply, “No nothin’ else. Rest easy and see you for pre-flight.” Cal could tell he’d pulled her away from something, so he wrapped it up with a simple, “Over and out.” The need to be with family was something the Captain conjured he knew little about, having left the nest in his teens with nary a look back. Still, the hole it made was something he still sought to fill, even today, so it was with a sobering thought he slid the comm back in his pocket. The toucan still sat on Bungalow Bill’s aluminum sheet overhang, cocking its bill toward the solitary stranger.

With a flip of the wrist, Cal’s cigarette case produced a paper cylinder. With an inaugural drag from the tiki torch, Captain Strand blew a slow plume toward the bird which dissipated in the clear evening air.

Art by Wanderingwolf

Greetings to all of you!

@aia2022 Your list are great reasons to join RPG! There are a ton of great RP's here, and lots and lots of 1-on-1 story partners to write with. I hope you get to enjoy some great RPing and story writing! By now it appears that you've gotten the lay of the land from free, casual, and advanced RP. Some games have Apply statuses on them, and still others advertize in the Interest Checkers. Best of luck!

Greetings to all of you!

@aia2022 Welcome! What drew you here? What sorts of RP do you usually write in?

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Kin and Kind - Greenleaf Day 3 Afternoon

JP/Collab from @sail3695 and @wanderingwolf

Captain Strand gave a knock at Abby's door, "You in there, Abigail?"

“C’mon in, Cap’n. It’s open.” The door swung free, admitting him to the utilitarian space. After passing a bank of shelves which contained bedding and cleaning supplies, he found the simple bunk and night table the girl called her own. The curved aft bulkhead above her bed had been festooned with pictures. The first of which was a grizzled man who looked to be in his fifties. His arm hung around a smiling woman, whose hands rested upon the shoulders of a freckle faced six year old Abby. Nearby was another smiling couple, husband and wife both uniformed in the brown coat and striped trousers of the Independents. There was a child in this picture as well, a babe in arms. A Firefly was the subject of another, the name Mariposa boldly painted upon her portside bulkhead.

The last of the bunch was the most recent. A young man of curly blond hair grinned toward the capture, his hand resting on the tiller of a sailboat. All of these pictures were bound together through a series of chalk lines, sweeping graceful arcs between them and the centerpiece of the display, an elaborate seashell.

Abby stood in the space, a bathrobe tied about her as she pulled her hair back with a brush. “Jest about tah grab a shower,” she said to Cal. “How can I help, Cap’n?”

The wide chalk lines drew his attention at first, as the winding scrawl made its way through photos and sea shells. Near that, Cal's eye was drawn to a particular photo depicting Independents, a swaddled child in the arms of a couple in the capture. Facing his deckhand, Cal nodded his head.

"Well earned," he said, regarding her still grease-smudged cheek. "Hired that fella, Antonov. Said he'd give you part his share to act as his hands 'til he's healed up. Didn't think you'd mind that one bit. Said we had mechanics lined up to take the gig and he anted up." Cal smoothed a photo on the bulkhead with an errant hand. "You can thank me later."

The girl’s face broke into a smile. “I’ll thank yah now,” Abby said as happy arms wrapped Cal’s shoulders. “I’s gettin’ a might nervous ‘bout fakin’ it on another run. Thank yew.”

Caught a mite off guard by the display of affection from the young woman, Cal nonetheless returned the embrace in earnest, "Way Antonov tells it, you might have just faked yourself into a job. 'Magine you'll be learnin' a bit more while you're his hands for now, besides. Marisol rubbed off on you in more ways than one, I'd wager." Over her shoulder, his eye traveled back again to that capture of Browncoats in a neat line.

Abby stepped back. “Sure’n I wanna learn the job, too. Uncle Bob…that’s him,” she pointed out the photo, “taught me little scraps ‘o’ jobs when he had need fer help. I can fly a boat in the black. Can folla a course and handle ‘er. Jest never did the takeoff or landin’ parts.” She grabbed a few stray wisps of hair afore tyin’ it all back in a knot. “An’ I’ll be powerful glad tah learn what Yuri teaches…like that oscillation stuff.”

"My that hair o' yours really puffs up in all this humidity, don't it?" Something about Abigail screamed kin to the Captain. It was a feeling a man who'd known naught else than the black for two decades was scarce to conjure; yet here it was, beaming as bright as Greenleaf's sun. He pulled back enough to speak to her proper, "You joinin' us for drinks tonight? I hear Hook's got a spot all picked out."

“Yep, I’ll make it, puffed up hair an’ all,” the girl chuckled. “Gotta head inta town fer an errand first, but I’ll be along presently.”

"Good, don't let me keep you," Cal said, readying to leave the Abigail to her washing up. "When you get a tick, have Antonov cross his 'T's," Strand said by way of farewell and made his way fore.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hello Sailor - Greenleaf Day 3 Afternoon

JP/Collab from @sail3695 and @wanderingwolf

While he shook the man's hand, Cal glanced one last time around the engine room which looked well taken care of on the whole. He probably had Abigail to thank for that and her short tutelage under Marisol. "Yuri--what was your surname?" Cal fixed the man with a frown.

A crystal clear voice emanated from the com anchored on the wall, "That would be Antonov, Cal, Yuri Antonov," Sam added, an even and somewhat digital tinge in her tone.

"Ah, right. Antonov," he replied, releasing his grip of Yuri’s hand.

Yuri’s hand froze. He blinked, then turned curious eyes toward the speaker. He blinked again. “Is that…” he began to ask. “Should I…?”

"That's Sam. She can feel free to introduce herself." Cal took a step outside the engine bay before turning back to the stunned Yuri. "Seein' as you're just about crew, there're some particulars for you to sign with Abigail." He traced the man's gaze back to the com. "I'll let you two get acquainted." With that, Cal made his way to Abigail's room.

"Hello Yuri, my name is S.A.M.N.T.H.A., but Cal and Penelope call me Sam." Her light Bostonian accent from Earth-That-Was became apparent with the lilt of her introduction. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

“Hello…Sam,” Yuri’s mind raced as the captain left him alone in the engine room with…her? Nice meeting you as well.” An A.I. wasn’t a complete surprise. They’d been put into use aboard ships for decades now. The Mick had three, systems whose limited scopes determined their employment under a few select departments. “Well, then,” he cleared his throat, “what can you tell me about yourself? Are you integrated into the boat’s systems?”

"As you've probably guessed, I'm an artificially intelligent software and hardware system. As to more than that," the com captured an audible inward breath, "Cal's asked me to... give the 'short and sweet' version, as he calls it." The com crackled for a moment as she responded to his second question, "Yes, I am integrated into some of the China Doll's electrical and hydraulic systems, however, due to the analog nature of the craft, many systems are unaccounted for."

Remarkable, he thought of the breath sound effect. The A.I.’s he’d previously experienced served either as a simple Q and A information services, or verbal command interfaces for certain directed functions. But this…”Samantha” had adopted a range of casual speech inflections and characteristics to make her seem astonishingly lifelike. Pretty sophisticated, the mechanic thought. Must be one helluva processor under the hood.

“There are interfaces,” he offered, “I’m betting you’ve already created a list. Has the captain approved your being tied into all the systems?”

Her tone was precise, "Indeed he has," Sam began, before detailing to the mechanic the list of systems she lacked access to, with particular attention to the radar. "I've had to use other means to simulate the China Doll's active radar from systems not on this ship, in the past. Access to this system would speed up calculations considerably."

The new mechanic caught himself nodding, then shrugged as he thought an image capture or two might come in useful for such an intuitive system. “My experience with radars is mostly nautical, the Seatronics professional line and such. Modern systems have a data interface port, which would make your integration a snap. I’m guessing China Doll’s radar won’t be so easy to access.”

"On a Firefly class three ship such as this, those systems remain on auxiliary or subsidiary capacity. Schematic comparisons indicate that this was the chosen route from model two to three Fireflies, in an effort to maintain continuity of systemic supply chains," Sam affirmed. "Cal liaised me to the main pilot console via Epsilon adapter which propagates to most of the modern systems, but several remain outside of cognizance."

Sam paused, but only for a moment. "What about you, Mr. Antonov? What can you tell me of yourself?"

“Not alot to tell, actually,” Yuri answered his unseen companion. “I’m standing here because of this boat, and I’m betting you had a hand in saving me as well. Three years aboard my old ship as an Engineer’s Mate, spending most of my time maintaining her old RBMK reactor. Before that I helped my father on board an orbital skyplex. The whole thing was truly a massive gyroscope…lots of very big moving parts. Not a lengthy resume,” he offered, “but since I handled my first tools at age ten you might say I’ve got tenure.”

"An orbital skyplex? How interesting," the AI's tone was curiously excited. "I have yet to encounter a skyplex aboard the China Doll. I'm beginning to be fascinated by all things to do with 'critters,' as Penelope calls them, and I have seen several reports of rodent infestations on such vessels. To see such ingenuity and will to survive is both hopeful and inspiring." Sam's voice trailed off as a short burst of whirring traveled through the com to Yuri, calculations, perhaps, of the fertility and virility of such species in the cold confines of space and their adaptability therein.

Yuri gave a light chuckle. “Comrade Krysa. My father liked to say that ‘humans and rats are the true civilizers of the ‘verse. Where one goes, the other will surely follow.’ That can pose a problem aboard ships of all kinds…which reminds me. Are you coupled to any sort of sensors aboard the boat? Image captures, motion detectors, or the like?”

"At present, I have access to the pilot's external communication platform which includes an image capture." Sam's voice was declarative but interested in the new mechanic's line of reasoning.

He paused to consider her words. “External communication” most likely meant China Doll’s radios and cortex tap. But a single image capture piqued his interest. Then again, the mechanic thought, [i]I could keep this AI talking all night, when a simple flow diagram would suffice. “Sam,” Yuri responded, “would it be possible for you to generate a full ship’s schematic, including your current access points?”

Slow clicks accompanied Sam's reply to the eager, newly-minted mechanic of the China Doll, "I'm preparing it now. The schematics will be available presently on the engine read-out display." She could tell already that she was going to enjoy communicating with Yuri Antonov, the engineer who sought knowledge and improvement; or perhaps it was she who was seeking out more knowledge by making contact with the new mechanic of the China Doll. Whatever the case, her voice reflected, ever so slightly, the excitement which heralded new interfaces and data to be analyzed with the help of Yuri.

Art by Wanderingwolf

Here's a little project I worked on for a friend who is 3d printing his own special keyboard:

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Mango Wine with a Side of Brooding - Greenleaf Day 3

Cal reflected on the events of the day. When he'd thought of what might happen when he and Alana finally made it that 'backrub' he owed her, and what might transpire from there, he hadn't considered how he might feel after all was said and done. Sure, he'd guessed that there would be some release and probably some regret, but he'd seen that all before. To his mind, their date was fixin' to be a one-night-stand, with sideways glances and avoiding each other in the galley 'til the next stop. He'd vowed not to think on it until that time came, and that was just it: it hadn't come.

His time in the lagoon with the doc had gone well--better than he'd considered. Truth be told, he was relieved. Whatever he was feeling for his new crew, it wasn't black and white, nor was it akin to previous crews he'd hired along.

As he sat in his quarters at the pull-out desk, pouring over the holo-clipboard with a half glass of that mango wine, a crystal clear voice penetrated the silence of his refracted gaze.

"Hello Cal, how was your date with Doctor Lysanger?" Sam's voice was curious, but cautious. To his ear she might be learning to hedge her bets with the nuance of inflection. Damn if that little black box wasn't more than the sum of its parts.

"So we're talkin' in my quarters now, are we? Can't a man get a minute of quiet to hisself?" Cal's brows had knit as soon as he said it.

After a moment the com crackled alive again, "Sorry to hear it didn't go as planned. If you like, I can leave you to your thoughts." The wall com fizzled to static for a moment.

"No," Cal backpedaled. "No, it didn't go as planned." But that begged the question of what he had expected when he drove Alana out there in that beautiful sun dress of hers. "It went better than expected, I suppose." He lifted the glass to his lips.

"That's good, isn't it? If so, then why are you nursing a glass alone?" The speaker elucidated the confusion in Sam's voice.

"It is good," he said, interrogating the glass in his hand. It tasted like Alana to him now, the way their kiss lingered while they melted into the warm sand. The way it cut through the tobacco on his tongue and created some kind of electric medium between the bitter and sweet.

Sam considered what it was that Cal was feeling. To her, it made little sense, for the binary of good and bad, proper and poor, positive and negative all have their purpose and their meaning in the world. This, here with Cal, pushed the boundary of the world she was piecing together; of the world as she knew it. Here he was, admitting that things went better than planned for his expectations of the Doctor Alana Lysanger, yet he exhibited all the signs of being in a poor mood--cut off, in darkness, and brooding.

"Are you feeling well, Cal?"

That seemed to rouse the sour Captain with a smile. "I feel like la shi, Sam, lower than la shi."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club, darlin'."

Firefly - Second 'Verse

What happens in the Lagoon... (Part 2) - Greenleaf Day2

JP/collab from @Xandrya and @Wanderingwolf

Retcon Day 2 afternoon/evening

“You ever been to a place like this before?” Cal asked, chin turned to watch that pristine look on her face when she knew he was watching her.

“No, can’t say I have,” she grinned, holding his gaze, “only ever seen pictures.” He had that certain look about him, or so she imagined because Alana was momentarily distracted by the way the sun above lit up his eyes. With one hand, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before giving the blanket a slight tug. Alana then eased herself down into a sitting position, softly patting the empty space adjacent to her.

“Join me if you will and let’s make a toast to this beauty of a day."

Cal filled a glass for Alana with non-synthetic mango wine cultivated here on Greenleaf. Handing it to her, he sat and filled his own glass; much closer to her now, his eyes swept the lagoon before landing on the visage of Alana once more. Holding his glass to her’s, he toasted, “To this beauty of a day, and the beauty before me.”

She tracked Cal's large frame as he settled down adjacent to her, the space between them practically non-existent. As Cal handed her the glass before tending to his own, Alana leaned towards him, using her free hand for support to keep herself propped up. “And to that I say salud,” she responded, her voice a notch or two above a whisper. With a smile, she clinked her glass on his before taking a sip, instantly in love with the refreshing taste.

It had been a long time since he’d let himself get entangled, but he could already feel the pull from where he sat. Normally he had strict rules about crew: one night stands only. Kept things simple. Clean. And usually they’d just get off at the next port anyway. Somewhere inside he realized, he didn’t want the same to happen with Alana. That carefree attitude she portrayed on the surface was certainly a front for something, though he had yet to plumb those depths. It wasn’t just the enigma of Alana that spurred him; it was those eyes, framed under those prominent brows, so serious yet so ready to smile. And that wit? He smiled picturing the way she’d not only proposed this wager, but hustled him at the pool table. Woman after his own heart, it seemed.

If she was being honest with herself, Alana hadn't heard such compliment in a while, and although she hid it well, Cal’s romantic gesture had just about caused her to blush. Almost. She'd summed it up to being slightly intimidated by him. Given what she had experienced thus far, it went without question that he knew how to draw a woman in. Though one always had to be careful of the other’s intentions, she was curious where the road would eventually lead them. Yes, there was a possibility that this phase between the two of them would be temporary, but that wasn’t holding her back.

After the two of them had had their first taste, Alana pulled in even closer, their faces maybe an inch apart. She looked into his eyes momentarily before going in for the kiss, feeling the moment to be just as right as any.

The moment of recollection as Alana’s face drew near—a yearning in those bespeckled, blue eyes, and Cal’s lips parted in reply of their own accord. His hand found the gentle curve in the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. The intoxicating call and response of testing kisses followed Alana’s overture. She tasted like the bright mango wine, and smelled like floral lavender. To Cal, the lagoon faded from view except for the chattering of budgies, parakeets, and love birds in the palms above. He thought he detected an urgency in her touch, in the way her hand felt on his skin, in the brief glimpses he peeked between kisses.

In his mind he saw amendments being made in the matter of Ms. Alana Lysanger. She had been a medic, a vagabond of sorts, perhaps aimless, perhaps searching for something–maybe even running from something. Eager as she was to join the crew and just after seeing him rough a man up in a bar; that too did not go unnoticed by the Captain. As cool and calmly as she proposed a game of pool and a backrub for the winner; strong and able as she was to pull a half-living man out of the freezing drink. In the short time he’d known this woman she had proved her mettle, that and more.

And now here she was, walking the edge of the ‘Verse on the China Doll. With her captain. Cal wasn’t sure it all made sense to him, yet, but if her first move was any indication, it nudged the time for talk somewhere into the future. The now being flooded and filled with endorphins.

The little flutter in one’s belly typically described during these experiences made its presence as Alana kissed her captain, the decision to make the first move independent from any alcohol influence, making their intimate moment that more intense. She lost herself in the kiss once her attempts to quiet her mind were successful, shutting down any sort of doubts which could have potentially turned into unwelcomed distractions. And thankfully that wasn't the case. Her skin started to tingle, eliciting a soft sigh from her which was muffled by their greedy passion at play. Needless to say, her own needs were as clear as the day they were both currently enjoying.

When Alana did eventually pull away, she was nearly breathless, her chest heaving up and down in steady rhythm. There was quite a contrast in the white of her eyes against the flushed skin surrounding them, and she collected herself by running her fingertips down to his wrist in a gentle caress before breaking contact altogether.

"Quite the start to our date," she whispered, subtly shying away from his stare as she glanced over the crystal blue surface in near distance, "wouldn't you say?"

That far-off look took his eye as he ran his thumb over the flat of his cheek, tracing the path of her hand moments before. “To quote an old crooner from Earth-That-Was ‘Still it’s a real good bet the best is yet to come,’” he said, tucking his hat around his ears. His tongue tingled still, that sort of gentle postcursor to a really good cigarette. He watched the flush from Alana’s cheek subside; that tough exterior she hefted was coming down and he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was in that moment, out of breath, slightly pink, but happy. Reaching back into his satchel, he retrieved more of local fare, offering her a vine of grapes from his open palm.

As she accepted the offering, the Captain sighed, hand automatically flipping open the silver case to produce a row of neatly packed, unfiltered, synthetic smokes. With a flick of his wrist the flame touched the end and any worry he may have had floated to the heavens like the plumes from his mouth and nose.

“So tell me, Doc, what are you runnin’ from?” His eyes were soft as he watched for her response.

…

The day wore on as the two spoke in confidence to one another, the flush and fire of those first moments still lingering in their eyes. When the wine and food was gone, and the budgies inhabiting the trees above them began their evening songs, the Doc and Captain bid farewell to the lagoon in its jungle-lined glory and packed up the mule for the ride back to the China Doll.

It wasn’t far, thankfully, only a few miles in the dimming light, and it so happened that Cal bid farewell to Alana as she and her beautifully somehow-still-white dress made her way back to her bunk. As he watched her go, his hands lazily finished unpacking and strapping the mule.

The sun was glimmering its goodbye from the canopy as he pulled out a cigarette to bookend an evening he’d be playing back a time or two.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

What happens in the Lagoon... (Part 1) - Greenleaf Day 2

JP/collab from @Xandrya and @Wanderingwolf

Retcon Day 2 afternoon/evening

Cal knocked against the infirmary door opening. Looking inside, he could see Alana was lost in thought or busying herself with some such work that required her full attention. It’d been a while since they’d addressed his “I O U” for her pool game winnings back on New Melbourne, so he conjured now was just the time, what with the sun warming the planet and the cool breeze that blew into the valley. Sam had let him know that the beach was only an hour drive by mule, so Captain Strand took it upon himself to pack some sundries from the galley in a pack he had slung over his shoulder.

“Hey Doc,” he said, moseying into the med bay. “How’d things go with Abigail and her stitches?” Cal leaned against the counter where Alana sat on a stool.

The reports she was preparing for the sake of recordkeeping were just about done. Alana had some background music playing, that which was set at a reasonable volume as to not be distracting. But even then, the knock that caught her attention was distraction enough. Cal stood at the entrance for a brief moment before stepping inside, drawing a smile from her.

“Abby did just fine and dandy, you know that girl is stronger than a given number of men out there.” Her hands rested on her lap as she went on talking about one of her favorite people. “The type of stitches I used on her are a new grade, which is really helpful given she’s not the type to sit still...” Alana smirked, getting up to put the paperwork on the counter before turning back to him. "Busy with work too?” She motioned towards the bulk hanging from his shoulder.

Strand chuckled, Doc told it true. Abigail was proving her worth to be more than many men, and shoulder to shoulder with previous crew on the China Doll, he wouldn’t hesitate to put her in charge. “No, that girl don’t sit still,” does Doc know just how restless her patient can get?, he wondered, “I’m sure she’s thankin’ you up and sideways for that.”

“Oh this?” He asked, thumbing the strap of his satchel. There was a gleam in his eye, “Why, this is your comeuppance, Ms. Lysanger. Food, drink; a picnic to be enjoyed on the finest jungle beach Greenleaf has to offer, on authority of the locals, way I hear.” He offered her a debonair smile, “What do you say?”

“A picnic, you say...” Alana pretended to be disinterested in the notion, putting away some things like the paperwork that would get addressed at a later time. “I suppose I can squeeze you in given there’s food and drinks involved,” she went on, turning to face Cal to stare him up and down, “and good company by the looks of it.”

Rather than show her enthusiasm for their date, Alana had decided to keep up the charade. “Allow me a few minutes to get out of my work clothes and we can be on our way. Make yourself comfortable if you’d like, I won’t be long."

Cal noted the even tone with which she spoke, and when she departed, a light frown appeared on his face. Slinging his pack down onto the sitting table outside the infirmary, Cal seated himself. Tapping his thumbs to his knee, he wondered if he’d misread the good doctor, second guessing that sun lotion he’d picked up with Penelope their first day land-side. Rather than stew, the Captain picked up the closest reading material to leaf through, which happened to be some kind of scientific journal about the species of plants on Greenleaf.

Back in her room, Alana changed into the dress she’d purchased before for an occasion such as this one. It was cream-colored and it was accompanied by a brown belt cinching at the waist. She wiggled into the garment, letting it fall her length until the hem nearly touched the deck. Alana then reached for the belt, looking down to set a comfortable fit. Not too tight, not too loose, but just right to accentuate her figure. She had decided to wear her hair down parted to one side, hoping there was a breeze to bring out some waves in her otherwise straight hair. Slipping into her simple pair of sandals, Alana fanned out her hair as she stared at herself in the small mirror. She was satisfied by what she saw, and she decided she wasn’t going to keep Cal waiting any longer as she made her way back up to meet him in the med bay.

‘The species Psychotria elata or labios de puta, are plentiful in the dense rainforests of Greenleaf, clinging to the transitional belt of sandy soil to forest loam. It is most notable for its distinctly shaped red bracts and is consequently nicknamed “Hot Lips”.’ Cal looked up from his reading just in time to watch Alana descend the steel stairs into the common area toward the medbay. His eyes widened as he reconsidered his reconsidering, chucking the book onto the end table. As he stood, he tipped his hat back to make sure he could take it all in. “Well ain’t that somethin’,” he commented under his breath. The linen dress she wore tied into curling bows at her shoulders, cascading downward with each stair step until her sandaled feet touched the cold steel of the cargo bay. “Doc, you clean real up nice,” he ran a smoothing hand over his own hair.

Catching his expression as she neared the med bay, Alana smiled slightly at his comment. "Oh, this old thing?" She played off his compliment in hopes to conceal her warming cheeks, though such was obvious against her light, creamy skin. "Thought I might dress a little for the occasion, you know? Getting to pretend we're on an exotic vacation or the like."

Looking past him momentarily to assure herself nothing else needed her attention, Alana sidestepped to allow Cal some room. "I'm ready if you are. Dying to know what goodies you’re keeping packed in there, aside from your sense of humor that is.”

Alana glanced over his frame as he made to step out, a content expression not betraying her otherwise impure thoughts.

Captain Strand gave a wink as he lashed the pack to the back of the ‘Mule’, a quad vehicle with a single seat inline. Their journey ahead would measure about an hour with him in the driver seat, the Doctor perched behind him, if Sam’s calculations were correct. He tucked his hat into place before mounting the Mule. “Hop on and hold tight, Doc,” he said, patting the seat behind him.

Walking up to the quad, Alana inched her dress up to be able to climb on. Once she had settled, the hem of the garment resting on her thighs, she wrapped her arms around Cal's midsection, heeding his advice before the two finally set off on the way to their adventure.

Roughly an hour had passed when Cal and Alana arrived at their destination. The gusts of wind coupled with the high humidity that accompanied them through the trip had turned Alana's hair a little more wilder than before, something she was unaware of. The doctor got off the quad to stretch, taking in the colorful sights surrounding them. "Wow, if this isn't paradise then I don't know what is."

Cal took the opportunity to glance at his accomplice. The wind-swept look really worked for her, he surmised, brows arched in agreement. “You said it. You know, I had no idea losin’ a bet over a pool game in some backwater town on New Melbourne might land me in a tropical picnic alongside the likes of you. Can’t say I’m a sore loser.” The Doc had been giving him all the signals of someone genuinely interested since she’d bested him fair and square. He gave her a sidelong glance, still not sure if he’d applied a little too much charm too quickly, or if she were thinking of sticking around at all.

"You? A sore loser?" Alana cocked her head to the side slightly as she eyed him with a smirk, a response she typically fashioned after exaggerated claims. “If this is your way of making up for a lost bet, then you need to do less winning more often,” she went on matter-of-factly. Feeling the need to make herself useful instead of standing like a statue watching him work up a sweat, Alana helped Cal unpack to set up their picnic. The fact that they were isolated and only accompanied by the sound of pure tropical bliss made her look forward to this time alone with him even more.

The picnic was replete with blanket on the sandy lagoon whose cool green and blue waters stretched out all around them. She’d hit the nail on the head: it was gorgeous. The way the water coyly covered the land in folding intervals; the majestic curves of the mountainous hills as they knelt to meet the lagoon itself. Penelope had steered him right, indeed.