wanderingwolf

Firefly - Second 'Verse

High Midnight, Part 2

JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

“Hook,” Root cocked an eyebrow. “So that’s his name.” After a sidelong glance shared with Cottonmouth, he said, “Fella he killed was called Lip. We’re buryin’ Lip when we get back to Greenleaf. Closed casket,” he added. “Hafez Nadal lookin’ to welch our deal by hirin’ you as a scab is one beef I’m willing to call settled. But one of yours killed one of ours. Blood for blood, Strand.” The biker chief’s eyes hardened upon the Firefly captain. “Give us your boy. We’ll do the rest.”

"Hold up. The girl you took, the one what didn't lay a finger on 'Lip'--how do I know she's alive?" Cal's eyes didn't depart from the leader's, though they ached to go searching for Abigail's silhouette. Breaking away to trade glances with Rex, Cal laid out a silent warning: 'Get ready'--before refocusing on Root and his reply.

The biker chief took note of this crew’s posture, watching as Strand tossed a quick glance toward the big guy in the flowered shirt. Now I know who’s who, he thought. Unlike the others, this one didn’t pack a pistol, opting instead for a healthy looking knife on his belt. Whatever their plans were, he didn’t betray them with a nervous flinch toward the weapon. “Oh, your girl’s alive and…kicking,” Root couldn’t help a chuckle as he answered the captain. “Bring Payback out here,” he ordered.

Once the order was given, Alana immediately trailed the two men with her eyes. Her heart was no doubt racing as ugly, intrusive thoughts filled her head. They going to pull out their big guns and shoot us all dead...

With a dutiful turn, Nips and Cottonmouth threaded their way through the bikers’ ranks toward the waiting van. The doors swung open, obscuring the view as the two lieutenants removed their charge from the back. The three returned, stepping through the parked bikes and an opening made by their comrades. Abby walked between them, her wrists and shoulders restrained by the two bikers as she stepped into view of her shipmates.

Much to her relief, the sight of the deckhand trumped any previous fears. Alana had to keep herself from taking off running towards the girl. The scrapes and bruises on her persons was a sign that she'd endured some form of abuse from her captors, and it was simply instincts to want to rush to her side to provide whatever aid required. If they had willingly inflicted that much pain onto the poor girl, it was only fair to assume there were no holds barred.

Joe watched the movement by one of the members towards a van. He followed the person as they brought Abby bound at the hands to the front of the group. She looked roughed up a bit, but healthy enough to walk. His rifle was locked and loaded, ready to fire off another nine rounds if necessary. At the coloration of her face, he was more than willing to plant a few more.

She promised herself she ain’t gon’ cry, though sight ‘o’ China Doll durn near broke that’n. “Nice and easy,” Nips whispered as they led her among a bunch of Kings an’ Headhunters tah come face tah face with her crew. “Almost over.”

Abby felt ‘er heart beatin’ as her crew's all lookin’ back at ‘er. Seein’ their faces had ‘er fightin’ back more tears as she pulled up a weak sorta smile to greet ‘em. She didn’t see Pen, and they ain’t no sign ‘o’ Hook, neither. Jest as well, she contemplated. Either one would have me blubberin’ right now. As it was, what she seen in Cap’n’s eyes was enough. “Hi, Cap’n,” Abby said in tha stone silence.

Seeing the shiner she sported, Strand's imagination ran wild. "This is 'one piece'?" He threw a look at Root before adding, "Hey kid."

“Jus’ say da word cap’n,” Joe whispered to Cal Strand.

As Abby was led front and center by her two captors, Edina looked on. She couldn’t make out all the wounds the girl had suffered at the bikers’ hands, but the darkly bruised face, puffed lips, and an eye blackened and swollen shut were all too familiar. Her face suddenly felt hot; lips trembled with a volcanic rush of fury. Until this moment she’d been fearful of both the confrontation and the possibility of letting these good people…letting Abby…down. Edina’s nostrils flared as eyes turned laser focus onto the gang’s leader.

Until now, the thought of pulling a pistol in anger was abhorrent to the woman. Yet, with her mind cast adrift in a violent blur, Edina now held the bulky .44 aloft, her stance squared as the weapon’s gunsight whined a target acquisition on Root.

“Oh la shi,” Yuri gasped at the sight of Edina’s gun on display, and the immediate response from the bike gang. “Captain,” he sounded the warning, before removing the smaller pistol from his pocket. “Steady,” he whispered into Edina’s ear. “Steady…”

Time seemed to slow as Alana mirrored her crewmates’ actions, gripping the pistol tucked into her waistband to aim it at their rivals. She had the weapon trained on one of the men directly opposite of her, and he too had his sight on her. This encounter would turn into nothing short of a bloodbath if somebody didn't let up, and from the looks of it, she couldn't quite guess who'd do the honors first. "Cal..." she let slip, unable to find the words to lead on. It's not like she was a trained negotiator or something of the likes.

Root seemed to deflate as the guns came up on both sides. “Gorramit, Strand,” he cursed. “You were so close to walkin’ out of this whole thing. I’m through playing now,” his tone shifted harsh. “Drop the guns or we start makin’ corpses!”

Well, Strand mused in the micro-seconds between Edina pulling iron and the biker leader drawing a bead on his chest. If I'm gonna go, this scrap o' dirt will do just as good as any... But the kid--the crew--they don't deserve this. The captain didn't answer in iron, but he did peel his duster open so his cross-holster saw the light of day.

He reckoned he'd at least take Root and maybe one more before he hit the ground. Wyman might clip one. Hook would empty his clip sure as the suns shined. But there was no way anyone on the Doll was walking away from this Wong Dahn. (trans: imminent doom)

"Let's not G'en Ho Tze Bi Dio se, mmm?" Strand didn't budge as he eyed Root, "That's your call as much as mine." His stance squared with Root as he watched the man's face for the tell-tale pull. (trans: Engage a monkey in feces-hurling contest)

The scene had gone eerily silent, but for the high pitched keening of numerous gun scans. Rex Black slowly lifted both hands. “This isn’t what we want,” his voice rang clearly across the two opposing bands. They studied each other, eyes darting from one would-be opponent to the next. The familiar clicks of hammers being cocked gave the scene a sense of inevitability. This gunfight was about to be set off.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hey all!

Part one of our latest episode finale has been posted! Great job everyone in the doc. Thank you for your participation and story telling; we couldn't do it without you!

Firefly - Second 'Verse

High Midnight, Part 1

JP/Collab from @Xandrya, [@Gunther}, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

The China Doll was still a few hours out from Osiris. Joe retired to his quarters in order to prepare for what was to come. He decided now was the time to alter his appearance slightly. He retrieved his razor, shave cream and a towel; then proceeded to the head. Once there, he shaved off his beard and cut his hair. When he returned to his quarters, his head was completely bald and face was clean shaven. He was quite worried about the encounter about to happen. His worry was more directed toward the crew than himself.

He slipped on a pair of tan canvas work trousers with cargo pockets, black T-shirt, his black work boots and the black nylon assault vest he kept in his duffel bag just for situations like this. He also had a pair of black leather gloves with the fingertips removed and his black wool watch cap.

He loaded twelve, 10-round magazines with .308 caliber ammunition for the H&K 770 gas operated rifle. He used the rifle more for distance and would use it for that purpose this time too. By removing the scope, it worked equally well as an assault rifle. Then he inserted two each magazines into the four ammo pouches on the front of the vest. The best also included a first aid kit, two 2-quart canteens and a butt pack. The butt pack contained spare rations, a weapons cleaning kit and a rag.

By the time the ship landed on Osiris, Joe Hooker was ready to go. He needed to help Cal and Rex unload the pallets. Once that was complete, Joe slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed off into the darkness.

Edina stood with the others, feeling like the biggest gorram impostor there was. Her hands were trembling so badly that she was terrified of the gun that now seemed to have tripled its’ weight in her jacket pocket. They’d all heard the approaching roar of the hovering bikes. When the machines finally appeared, their headlights were obvious, yet her nerves wouldn’t stop her from blurting out “there they are!” She quickly glanced at her four shipmates. Yuri’s composure held, but she could read some nerves behind his eyes. The Doctor appeared thoughtful, as if studying a virus under a microscope. Her glance toward Rex was met with a wink. But the captain…she’d never seen the kind of cold eyed hardness in the man’s features before. And in that moment, she found herself thankful that he was here to lead them.

The air felt thicker to Alana somehow, almost as if suffocating her. But despite the tense ambience, there was a sense of camaraderie to the crew, one brought on by their sole mission to bring Abby back alive and in one piece. The weapon she'd been loaned by Cal was kept from sight securely tucked against the small of her back, his act of kindness one she was more than thankful for, especially as the gang began descending upon them. Their numbers were impressive, but Alana's bravado didn't waver any because of it. In fact, she felt a slight sense of rage starting to form by their mere presence.

As the crew watched, eighteen sky cycles rumbled into the area. The ‘sleds’ hoverd a meter off the ground as they fanned out to form a semicircular ring around China Doll’s cargo bay entrance. Headlights played brilliant upon the five would-be defenders as the bikes settled to ground and kickstands were put out. The riders, all in combinations of denim and leather embellished by the cuts proclaiming their gang affiliations, climbed off their machines. Not a word was spoken as they squared up with the boat crew. As a rusty van rattled to a stop behind this armada, the two gang leaders, Root and Pacho, shared a few whispers.

Yuri squinted in the headlights’ glare. So many of them. The mechanic hadn’t seen clearly enough to count the horde of bikers, but his rough estimate came in at about three to one in their favor…even with Hook’s rifle out there in the darkness. He recognized one advantage. They’d all stepped forward in masse, forming a large, black silhouette before the headlights of their bikes. If this meeting went badly, China Doll’s crew need only fire into that black blob of humanity. Edina had moved in close to his right. He could feel the woman’s trembling through the touch of their shoulders. “Gonna be alright,” he whispered. If the shooting started, he might be able to get her off the ramp and out of the line of fire. If, if, if…

Root nodded agreement with Pacho. Then, with Nips and Cottonmouth flanking him, he stepped forward. “Which one of you is Strand?” Probably not a question he needed to ask. The tall drink of water at their front looked worthy of the introduction, but this wasn’t Miss Madelyn’s Charm School. “That you?” he asked.

"You the fella called Root?" Strand replied from the ramp, not shifting an inch. His eyes passed slowly across Root and his two lieutenants as their dance circled to the next phase in posturing: sizing up the opposition.

From his step toward the Doll, Cal could make out the tools of Root's trade along with the colorful patches muted in the moonless night. His own snub-nose kilo-caliber, a spare from his boot, hung lightly from his cross-holster concealed in the fold of his duster. His eyes met the man's as he added, "Quite the welcoming party you brought all the way from Greenleaf. Could have saved them the trip, though, on account o' we did as you asked without hair nor hide of Alliance." If he was going to deescalate things, now was the time parley.

“That you did,” the bike gang chief replied as he looked over the little knot of people. Aside from this captain…Strand, the pickings looked pretty slim. One guy had some beef on him. Also seemed to be holding nothing more than a knife, not much of an asset for a gunfight. Skinny guy with a broken arm was packing, considering the bulge in his right pocket. Two women in the group covered opposite ends of the spectrum. The blonde had her wits about her, and a cool anger that she kept directed right at him. On the other hand there was the mocha skinned woman. Hard to tell if she was gonna leap out of her skin or just pee herself. That left the Guest of Honor. “So you ran your cargo under the noses of two cruisers, got it here on time, and collected your little bit of money,” Root observed. “All according to plan. But,” he gestured toward the pitiful little crew, “for all your efforts at good faith I don’t see the one fella who’s supposed to be here.”

Cal's hand rose to push the brim of his hat out of his eyes. The biker's dismissive wave may as well have been the universal sign for Chwee Ni Duh. With a slow shake of his head, Captain Strand's gaze fell to the ancient concrete foundation neath their boots. "Oh he's here..."

Joe was that one fella, but he wasn’t anywhere near the ship. He couldn’t hear any of the conversation at the back of the ramp. He watched from a distance of just under nine hundred meters. He kept the small hand held radio close. It was clipped onto the upper portion of his vest with a small wire and earpiece inserted into his right ear. He peered through the scope. With only a little light available, he could easily make out the group of bikers assembled at the rear of the ramp. They were still a distance from the crew. He could not see the crew that well, but could identify the bikers, one of whom was undoubtedly having a conversation with the captain.

Meeting Root's eyes, the Captain slowly raised a com in plane view before speaking, "Hook? Why don't you let these fine folk you're present and accounted for."

Joe heard the captain’s voice on the radio. He could see the assembled group and their transportation all lined up in a neat row behind them. He was slightly tempted to loose a round into one of their skulls, but thought it best not to play that card yet. They needed Abby still. He panned the barrel several millimeters to the left and found the furthest bike from him. He put the crosshairs on the headlamp and pulled some tension on the trigger. He exhaled, stopped breathing, then completed the rearward movement of his trigger finger. The resultant explosion was just as much a surprise to Joe Hooker as it was to the assembled group below. In less than a third of a second, the headlamp was struck.

Root couldn’t tell from which direction the shot was fired beyond a vague impression of “somewhere to the right.” As the echo ricocheted numerous times from the surrounding buildings and concrete foundations, the MC president glanced over both shoulders to check the members of his posse. The only casualty appeared to be one of the bikes, whose headlamp now lay in gleaming shards on the ground.

Captain Strand raised his com again, "Much obliged."

The shot that split the air didn't startle Alana any. After all, the captain had prompted Hook to respond accordingly. She did, however, grow concerned as to the gang's reaction. She continued to keep an eye on them, not so much that fella Root who was engaged with Cal, but the rest of his crew.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Just a bump to show our pilot seat is still open. Come fly with us!

Art by Wanderingwolf

Added detail to the eyes and brow.

Art by Wanderingwolf

Defined the nose.

Art by Wanderingwolf

Just started a new Blender course from CGCookie called HUMAN. I'll post some updates along the way as I learn to sculpt the human face. Here's what I've got so far.

Art by Wanderingwolf

Firefly - Second 'Verse

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