Gambling on Midas
Flight of The Phoenix: Episode 1
(a Firefly RPG)
If there was anything more miserable than being on Whitefall in winter, it was being broke on Whitefall in winter.
Genesis flexed her fingers inside the leather gloves and felt her own warm breath caught in the gray scarf she'd added to the upturned collar of her brown coat. It helped but it didn't help enough. It was a marvel how the fresh snow mixed immediately with the dust of the planet so that what should be pretty and white just looked dingy.
“Let's get this stuff loaded, like yesterday, people.” She knew it came out as an ill-tempered bark, the rasp of her voice making it even rougher, “Let's get off this rock and somewhere warm.” It was a rhetorical kind of order anyway, nobody was in the mood to stay.
Nessa motored by on the mule and up the ramped cargo bay door, bundles piled behind her seat and the small trailer behind that loaded similarly. Terran was hitching a ride on the back, his expression grim. The engines were already beginning to whine, Zoey was on the job in the engine room.
Shouldering the canvas sack that held far too little coffee, tea, and flour for her liking, Genesis trekked up the ramp behind the mule, pausing to look back. At least they didn't need to wait for Narcissus and Lawry, they'd never left, Whitefall wasn't their kind of place.
Genesis nodded to the doctor, who stood at the door controls, “Everyone's home, button it up.”
She handed off the sack to Joseiah, “There's a few more foodstuffs on the mule,” she told him, “best be gettin' those put away.” Mostly that pressed protein crap. Again. Goose's little egg producer would be in demand as always.
“Goose!” Genesis called across the hold to the co-pilot, “Morgan's already up t' the bridge, she likely knows we're headed to Persephone, Eavesdown docks. Now you know, too, tell her to get it goin'.” Her voice dropped to a grumble, “I've got no need to see a minute more of this place.”
As the ramp came up, a puff of snow entering around the edges in a kind of spiteful last word, the engines reached a higher pitch. Genesis thought there could be no sweeter sound. Not that it could erase the absolute stinking rotten--
Teeth bared, eyes cold, she threaded her way through the working bodies, footsteps heavy and quick. She'd get to her quarters, maybe throw some cold water on her face, and try not to murder anyone until she'd had a chance to calm down.
Gorram it, Patience and her skinflint ways...