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Will we ever learn from the past? Have eons of destruction and war taught us nothing? It was once said that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it and yet, how many times is the past that we remember that which leads us to the mistakes of our future? Perhaps looking to the past is nothing but heart break. Remembering those we have loved and lost. The homes we once knew. The lives that no longer draw breath. We cling to these memories as if they are the very air we breath yet they are nothing but poison. Reminding us of the pain and the agony, the tightness in our chest telling us we have to carry on for vengeance and those standing on the other side seeking retribution for the same. When does the cycle end?

The year is now 2521; ten years after the Battle of Serenity and the end of the Unification War, three years since the tragedy of Miranda was revealed and the 'Verse learned the origins of Reavers. We saw a world without sin and one consumed by it. One tenth of one percent of Miranda's Population was what turned into Reavers, that was what they said. The Population of Miranda was over 5 Million. That meant just on Miranda alone the Alliance created over 5,000 Reavers. Many thought with the annihilation of the Reaver Fleet that Reavers would become the thing of lore and legends in time. They were wrong.

More Reavers are making themselves known as each year ticks by, but the Alliance claims to not know where they are coming from, that Miranda was the only planet on the Outer Rim that was subjected to the PAX but can we trust them? Some say yes, some say no but who has time to debate when war has broken out once again. The Rebellion has started and now the 'Verse faces The Independent Wars; Alliance verses Browncoats, both against the Reavers. Will anything survive come the end? Only time will tell. If any survive, I beg of you to remember the past but not to linger there. Don't be so driven by the past that you throw away your future.


Whitefall: Population 2.5 Million - One of the moons that orbit Athens. A green planet with patches of scrubby deserts and rolling rills, reminiscent of the central North American continent back on the planet of Earth hundreds of years ago. In the northern hemisphere the weather is anything but pleasant right now. The day is hot with temperatures reaching close to 100F(38F) and humid. The moon is too far out and too small for the Alliance to normally bother with.

Since the day that the K-3 Mine was destroyed none have bothered to even land there in that location, much less rebuild. That doesn't mean that other things do not happen on the rest of the planet but that area is basically a dead zone. Patience has other matters to attend to. Especially now that war has broken back out and her fenced goods are fetching a higher price than ever.

Outside of the ruins of the K-3 Mine sits Vengeance. The ship landed not twenty-four hours earlier because of an emergency that broke out. Several emergencies.

• Fire Suppression System: Pressurization Failure
• Grav Boot: Shipwide Gravity Fluctuations
• Heat Exchanger: Steam Venting into Kitchen
• Atmo Scrubbers: Clogged Filter
• Compression Coil: Inner Ring Busted

If that hadn't been enough, the final nail in the coffin was when a power cell exploded in the fusion reactor. It was only by luck, or Gods Grace according to Preacher, that Vengeance had been close enough to Whitefall and Daphne had been a skilled enough pilot to make the landing near K-5. The yelling in the bridge from Captain and Daphne had been something along the lines of The Definition of Interesting is Oh God Oh God We're all going to die and then a brief word from Captain over the com telling people to fasten in, smoke them if you got them, and brace to explode.

Thankfully that had not happened but it can easily be assumed that everyone that did smoke lit up right after landing. Since that moment Anisa and Jack left to deal with Patience's people to try to get repair parts with the order of - If one more things breaks shoot yourself so I don't have to. Parts have been acquired and the two are back. Repairs will take two to four days if they are lucky.


Persephone: Population 2.5 Billion - A vast planet that is home to both the pinnacle of Alliance High Society and the depths of the Criminal Underworld. Today on Persephone the weather is as pleasant as ever. The sun is shining, a few wisps of clouds are in the sky. The temperature is a comfortable 73F(22.7C) and the wind is blowing in from the east. A perfect day.

Down at the Eavesdown Docks rests The Retribution: an Alliance Patrol Boat that is in the city to refuel and restock. The had set dock three weeks before for repairs after a minor skirmish with some Browncoats. There was minor damage to the ship but enough to want to get the repairs done before meeting up with any other Independents. The airlock fork was fracturing and the oxygen relay was deviating. These could have lead to much larger problems so it was decided to dock for repairs. The crew has been doing what is needed of them and today they will be setting back off into the Black. It was a good thing they had stopped in the end, their resident pilot was set to be transferred out and onto another vessel and a new comer was coming aboard. Instead of having to go elsewhere in the 'Verse for the trade, Persephone made for a good middle position for all parties concerned.

Up on the Bridge, a communication comes in that reads the following - Information Acquisition; broken signal but source reliable. Unknown Independent Ship, location Whitefall K-3 Mining Post. Investigate.

This location will ring a bell to Higher Ranks alone. It was one of the many locations destroyed while the Alliance was trying to capture River Tam right before the Universe Battle in which the truth of Miranda was revealed. Why would anyone make a landing in a place that was whipped out and has yet to be rebuilt? The crew will be able to calculate that with a plotted course it would take between 3 Days 17 Hours and 2 Days and 16 Hours to travel the 89.74 AU depending how much Burn the Captain wanted to put the Retribution through.

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"So you're gonna tell me this little hissy fit pitched by my ship has nothing to do with your tinkering? My ship don't crash, if she crashes you crashed her," Anisa spout off as her fingers wrapped around the frame of entrance way to the engine room. The woman was livid right then. Hours of having to deal with the middle men to get the parts they needed was enough to make anyone's blood boil and the captain was not known for being a patient woman; especially when it came to her ship.

"Get this shit fixed or I swear to fucking god I will serve you up as an appetizer to the Reavers," she added with a swift kick at an empty box that sent it sliding across the floor towards Vengeance's resident mechanic. Turning, the sound of her heels clacking along the metal walkway echoed through the hull of the ship as she made her way towards the bridge.

The task at hand was a pick up of military weapons stocks that had been stolen by the Independence on Boros. The job was simple enough. Pick up and drop off. Stay under the radar. The pick up had gone off without a hitch. Even at cruising speed that were supposed to have been in Newhope in a little more than twelve hours. That deadline came and went a while ago as her ship was sitting under the baking sun of Whitefall. Sure they were not far away from Newhope right then but it wasn't exactly like they were teenagers and they could call and tell mom they would late for curfew.

A Comm had been placed to let the people know they were stuck for a few days and it was decided to let sleeping dogs lie. One known Independent ship on the planet was more than enough, having another to come and hand off was pressing it. They had been lucky enough to have been picking up armaments that had yet to be discovered missing. There was no talk about the job on the airwaves. It was better to take it slow and hopefully stay under the radar.

That didn't put the captain at ease though. "Tian Di Wu Yohn," Anisa muttered under her breath as she ducked her head slightly, entering the dining room and shooting the preacher a look as he sat there shuffling his deck.

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The landing had been anything but soft and at the time it happened Preacher had been in his bunk thumbing through his bible until he was thrown because of the turbulence and all around fucked-up-it-ness of the situation. He opted to stay on the floor of his room until they either exploded or landed. He figured it was better than to try to get back into his bed or get to a seat and strap him, imagining he would just get tussled here and there again.

While the landing could have been worse he was just glad that his little collection of explosive materials hadn't decided to get temperamental during that time where he was laid out on the floor in his underwear and sock while staring down a box of grenades. A few bumps and bruisers were more than acceptable in his mind considering the alternative. Always better to be injured than, well you know, dead.

Sitting back in his chair, he rocked on the back two legs as he placed his booted feet on the table and crossed them; shuffling his deck of cards mindlessly while he listened to the captains voice ring out down the corridor. Seems she was pissed and was taking it out on Gideon yet again. As much as he thought she was too harsh on the boy or that what had happened wasn't his fault she couldn't fault her anger. It wasn't exactly the best place to be in right then.

Looking over to her he gave her a crooked grin. "For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay."

He couldn't help but chuckle as Anisa stopped in her tracks and her head whipped to look at him incredulously. "Habakkuk 2:3. I'm basically saying that shit happens when the time is right," he said before giving her a toothy smile as he shuffled the deck once again, letting the cards fold together between his fingers.

Granted that might not have been exactly what was being said in that verse but it was the first one that popped into his head and he ran with it. The bible was flexible by his standards. It was a guideline. Then again, it was the final say and law. So it just depended on his mood and the situation to what babble came out of his tower.

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When all Jing Tian Dwohn Di had broken loose Camilla had been wandering through the ship nibbling on a strawberry. She had finished stowing their cargo in the various little smuggling holds that were through out Vengeance and decided to grab a little snack. It wasn't often they had fresh strawberries available but it had been part of the payment for the current little endeavor they were on so she figured she might as well enjoy it.

She had just sat down along the main walkway overlooking cargo bay, the one that connected access to the port and starboard shuttles. Her feet dangling over the edge as she rested her forehead against one of the railings. Everything seemed peaceful enough, then things started to go wrong. Like suddenly she weighed a lot less and alarms started blaring. Camilla leaned back as her head swiveled about, the strawberry held between her lips as she grabbed a hold of the steel bar. Then it got worse and she couldn't remember how she had gotten from up top to laying on her rear end at the bottom of the stairs, everything happened so fast but she had a bruised bottom to prove that she hadn't taken the easy way.

Yelling in Vengeance was never kept to just the room it was uttered. It traveled, like a megaphone through the place and even down in her room on the other side of the dining room from the engine it came in crystal clear. The captain was at it again but by the time she had grabbed hold of the ladder that lead up and out of her room the yelling had stopped and she heard Anisa's heels clanging against the metal with each step she took. Did the woman really have to where five inch heels on the ship?

Shaking her head she rested against a rung of the ladder and had to laugh to herself as Preacher started in on one of his sermons right then. Did the man want to start a fight with her? Letting out a long breath she looked up and made the climb out of her bunk and peeked her head into the dining room. Making note of the look on Captain's face. The woman looked like she was about to throw a fifth of whiskey at the mans head. Figuring it was better to remain silent right then she slipped around the back wall of the Dining room and passed them heading towards the engine room to check and make sure Anisa hadn't done anything but yell at Gideon.

Stopping at the doorway she crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the frame. "Piss in her protein this morning?" she asked with a smirk on her lips as she glanced around the room; her eyes rolling up and over the ceiling before looking back over to Gideon.

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Location: Bridge -> Med Bay

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Well, that could have been worse. I was sure we were all going to die in a great big fireball, but at least I'm still breathing.

Daphne was still at the controls, not wanting to leave for the Captain was yelling about it. She could hear the shouting from the front of the ship. Poor Gideon, wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now. Wonder what did happen down there? I mean, last I checked it isn't very common for a power cell explosion to be caused by the pilot, especially one who hasn't crashed the ship yet. Maybe I'll go ask Gideon later.The ship was stuck there for a while, at least until the ship was repaired, and based on the shouting, it could be a while before they were fit to fly again.

The console was still beeping at her loudly, saying that there was a problem with the reactor. There was nothing else in the bridge, just a bunch of flashing lights and beeps caused by the power cell explosion. Well, there is nothing left for me to do here.

Even though it was risky, Daphne ventured out of the bridge to head down to the Med Bay and find Dorothy. There was nothing else for her to do. She went through the dining area and headed to the stairs by the Engine Room. Daphne looked inside as she walked by, and saw the Captain standing there, still yelling. Gideon was in there too, but she didn't wait to hear what they were saying. She caught a glimpse of the fushion reactor as she went. Well, at least I'm not the one who has to deal with fixing that. I'm only a Pilot, can't be expected to fix everything. Daphne quickly went down the stairway, landing right by the Med Bay. She walked inside and found Dorothy, messing around with some of the equipment, looked like she was cleaning up.

"Hey Dory, quite the landing eh? Need any help?" she asked as she entered the room.

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Jackson wasn't exactly pleased when he heard about their unexpected landing on Whitefall. On one hand, it was because of the imminent and likely chance of exploding as they neared the planet's surface. On the other hand - he was reminded of the fact that Patience had shot him the last time they came to the moon, an interaction he was in no hurry to revisit. Patience was always a charmer, and one who generally tried to get the better of folk like himself and Anisa, he appreciated at the very least that this time they hadn't dealt with her directly - and of course, that he had returned bullet-hole-free.

While Anisa set about delivering the repair parts to Gideon for him to work on fixing the ship, Jackson took a moment or two outside. The day was hot, humid, and Jackson had already had plenty of being stuck on the ground, lord only knew how the next few days would go. He hated every bit about being grounded, while some spacers loved the feel of dirt beneath their boots after a long haul in space, Jackson much preferred the idea of being back up in the air. Hell, if it were up to him, they'd never come down, the black was a whole lot of peace, most of the time, in their line of work, and with the war on, ground was nothing but trouble.

"Well, ain't this all just ri shao gou shi bing?" Jackson let out another long, irritated sigh, turning his gaze back toward the ship as he moved up the ramp and inside, heading over to the controls and closing the ramp as he moved around and up the stairs, onto the catwalks above.

Taking off his coat, he rested it over the railing for a moment as he reached out, rolling his sleeves idly up to his elbows as he moved toward the companion's shuttle. As per usual, he made no effort to knock or make his presence known as he moved inside, eyes darting about and settling on Genevieve as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't suppose the captain's told you we might be stuck here a few days, hope that won't interfere with any appointments you've got lined up." While the words were sincere, the tone was anything but, a smug underline to the words as if he was just fishing for a smartass comment to make.

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Quinn adjusted his uniform as he moved out of his office, hands shifting to clasp behind his back as he moved down the hall toward the bridge, not bothering to return any greetings or salutes from some of the lower ranking crew of the patrol boat, readying for its launch. For their entire time on Persephone, Quinn had hardly left the ship, he was not one for time off, especially in a time of war. It may not have been a war he believed in this time, but he'd picked his side, right or wrong, and he couldn't change that even if he wanted to.

"Ensure the crew is all on board and ready to leave, and get our new pilot up here immediately." Quinn snapped to an ensign as he reached the bridge, approaching his command console as he looked out of the viewport onto the docks. Outside, crew, soldiers and contractors moved about, working and simply going about their days, following whatever goals or orders they had. He was pleased to be getting underway, whatever their orders would be - and just as he thought that, those orders came in.

He glanced over the information report, it seemed fairly average, although the location was curious. It rung a bell, while he had not been sent to Whitefall, Quinn had been on one of the crews to clear out a few of the hiding holes for the Serenity crew during the search for River Tam. What a disaster that had all been. Regardless, he had a feeling whatever was going on that had an independent ship there of all places was important, perhaps they had decided to use it as a cache, hoping the Alliance wouldn't bother, well, that would change. "Have us ready to leave as soon as possible and ready to burn hard, that ship isn't slipping through our fingers." As his order was acknowledged, he clasped his hands behind his back again, eyes shifting back out the viewport.

It was time to go to war.

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The near death experience of having their ship, their home for added effect, nearly explode was, in her opinion, almost thrilling, but she would prefer it in the future if they didn't almost die.

Genevieve sat in her own personal shuttle, the interior dressed to her specifications, offering a homey feeling as well as a luxurious one that said she enjoyed the finer things, even if her budget didn't meet said demands. She was confident in the abilities of Daphne to pilot the ship with ease and Gideon to make quick work of repairing. She imagined the Captain was chewing him out, even though by all things it was most likely not his fault. "She'll find a way to blame him though," she thought. Even though she respected the Captain, she felt at times she was often too hard on Gideon, even her crew. But she wouldn't want to be in her shoes, as nice as they were. Running a ship like this can't be easy and she could imagine the stress of it would leave anyone feeling agitated. She could help with that stress, of course, but she knows the Captain wouldn't hear of it. One day...

While in thought, she heard the door open and in stepped Jackson Tanner, looking as good as can be given the situation. Though he hardly changed his facial expression on most days, she could feel the underwhelming sense that he wasn't enjoying their stop. The words had a hint of venom in them that she quickly dismissed, because she knew he did actually mean it that way. She knew he wasn't a fan of her profession and she wasn't going to get in another arguing match with the man to try to sway him. She merely smiled, "I think it was safe to assume the stop was necessary and repairs will take some time. It won't affect anything too badly, I can always rearrange things." She stood up and walked around the desk she was sitting at to stand in front of Jackson, "Is there anything you or the Captain wish of me? As I've told you both before, my skills are not limited to bedroom play. I am willing to help wherever needed."

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Carla was on Whitefall. She was a kid again; young, sanguine, and on the hunt. The mule the targets were riding had erupted into flames. The girl tossed aside her sniper rifle and ran up to the wreckage with all the glee of a fledgling savant. Two smoldering -mostly intact- corpses lay in the wreckage. A trail of soot, sweat, and blood lead away from the wreck and to a young man clutching at dirt. He clasped a handful, dragged his torso up, and reached for a second lunge. Carla was on him pressing her heel into his red-stained back. He gasped and opened his mouth to scream. "Promise...Promise you'll at least--"

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Eye lids fluttered open. The room was dark but for the sun outlining a golden hue around the drapes and let in filtered light. The monitor had been notifying her of a wave. The woman rose from her bed and stretched. The old wounds ached but complied and were silenced once she stood and began to dress.

A sharply dressed kid in Alliance uniform left a message informing her that all crew members were to report. A new mission. Carla went through her routine of hygiene and dress with efficient methodology. She dressed in a fresh suit, left the tie on the hanger, and opened the neck of her shirt.

She grabbed a wooden box on her end table and walked out the building onto the Eavesdown Docks. A short walk led her to the small line of crew members checking back onto the ship. A fresh-faced officer checked her in for muster on board the Retribution. Carla navigated through the passageways bustling with activity and up to the bridge. She walked up to Quinn's side, opened the lid of the box, and popped a strawberry into her mouth. Her face soured and she offered the box to Quinn with an aside glance.

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The man strode confidently forward, keen eyes searching for an Alliance ship designation among the signs and arrows present, leading would-be travelers to their vessels of choice. This was truly a melting pot of different people, much more diverse of a world than his own home. The confidence in his face belied the knot tying itself in his stomach. It was only a short walk to his destination, a vessel called "Retribution". If he was allowed to board, he was home free. If not, well, he was a hell of a distance runner. As he walked, memories of the recent and not so recent past flooded back to him, simultaneously bolstering his confidence and feeding his worry.

He had been in Eavesdown for two days now. It was enough time to procure some essentials and make a few decisions. The essentials involved a bit of tech, some tools, baked goods and as much preserved fruit as he could purchase. William had been in a less than comfortable place for some time, and he missed life's tiny luxuries.

But now, he found himself walking toward an Alliance ship, everything he owned in the 'Verse on his person or pulled behind him. He had on crisp, clean clothes, teeth shiny and new looking, hair coiffed in a stylish but pragmatic manner suitable for an officer in the Alliance Navy. It had been quite a while since he had worn a high-collared officer's coat. It reminded him very much of the styles of clothing common to his homeworld, a place he'd likely not see for a long time, yet. Not until he finished some business, anyway. Until then, he was to serve out the remainder of his Navy hitch and part ways amicably, hopefully to fade into obscurity someplace warm and green, with good Cortex access and dire need of a Tech Engineer. Start his life over at 35, while he still had time.

William rounded a corner, catching sight of his assigned craft for the first time. It was breathtaking sight, especially considering the beater in which he arrived at Persephone. A fully armed and outfitted Patrol Vessel, built for speed and versatility. It was a beautiful craft, and its helm was his to control. He adjusted the massive wrench on his Browne belt (a thing with which he could not bear to part, if at all possible), and boldly strode up to the Yeoman stationed in front of the landing.

"First Lieutenant William Harper. Here are my papers." He spoke in clear, authoritative words. Obviously, he had done this before. William allowed the junior Navyman to scan his Ident and presented his travel orders for inspection. The yeoman threw a salute and stepped to the side, permitting entry. "Thank you. Have a steward secure my personal effects and show me to my quarters. I will be on the Bridge."

Lieutenant Harper entered the Retribution, quickly acquainting himself with the layout of the deck. He turned down the main corridor, headed to the Bridge just as he told the enlisted man outside that he would. Quickly locating the most important looking person in the room, William threw him a salute, holding it briefly. "Captain Quinn, I presume? Lieutenant William Harper, Pilot, reporting for duty, sir. The moment my gear is stowed, I'll ready to hit Black. Our orders, sir?"

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The last few weeks were not easy on the Retribution's medical officer. The ship's repairs and resupply were done by standard procedure, but a last-minute change of logistic staff and a blurry inventory bill had raised a wall of bureaucracy between Friedrich and the maintenance the medbay and its tools required. The acquisition sergeant rattled off the words "Standard Issue" enough times to make his grammar incorrigible, and it took the entirety of Friedrich's willpower to conceal his anger. Who are you, people who get up in the morning to delay progress, to waste time, to Gway Ma Jeow at your every step? Where do you live? At the end of the third week, he had a dark wish to see the man's intestines pulled out by a hungry reaver, if only to make his walking-talking carcass actually useful to someone.

To make it worse, Eavesdown was just a temporary stop. There were no strings to pull, no friends to bribe, and the Captain seemed preoccupied enough. The doctor spared no words in describing the situation in the medbay's last status report, but had little to no hope in replenishing the more exotic tools he was used to work with. Traveling the black did not always mean lowering the standards, but this time it will.

This is why the doctor was on a slow boil when he entered the ship in response to the summons. He pushed past a sharply-dressed soldier on the ship's ramp, no doubt another bureaucrat on the way to lower the ship's coffee supply due to updated regulations or other infuriating nonsense of the same nature, and stormed into the medbay.

"Pre-flight inventory," he spat in response to the nurse's blessings of good morning. The man was shocked for a few seconds, then sighed and turned around towards the various cabinets along the room's walls. Friedrich's eyes drilled the nurse's back until the doctor detected his own slightly accelerated heartrate, and released a similar sigh. He threw a look on the small desk, now clear of everything but the pen used to write yesterday's post-maintenance report. "I'll make the coffee." he finally said, and walked off towards the recreation room.

He liked the taste of spaceship coffee - in fact, he had been slowly affecting the blend inventory until it contained actual high quality types. Ironically, the latest coffee requisition hadn't met a wall of bureaucracy, unlike the medical supplies he actually needed. Well, to be fair, he didn't check if the Captain had any effect on the problem. And while the smell of freshly ground brew slowly filled the room (and to some extent the entirety of the ship), the man called Finger allowed himself to relax.

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Dorothy had been in her quarters, reviewing a particularly thrilling (not) book on the so-called Central Dogma of Biology when the gravity appeared to just disappear. At first, she had suspected that Preacher had done it, and she rolled her eyes, as she found herself pinned to the floor with her book on her face.

"You sah gwa!" Dorothy had shouted, pulling herself up from the ground, and tossing the far too heavy book aside. The Captain's soothing voice on the intercom gave her something other than the Preacher to be angry at. Her mei-mei was flying the plane! Dorothy's eyes widened as she clung to the wall, slowly making her way out of her quarters, only to fall into the Med Bay.

That time, Dorothy decided it was best to stay down. Daphne would be fine, after all. She could handle it. And if not, it's not like they'd be alive to be yelled at by the Captain.

And now, hours after they'd broken down on Whitefall, Dorothy still hadn't gone much farther than the Med Bay. The crash had caused things to fall off of shelves, a few pills even falling out of containers and mixing with one another. Figuring that it was best to remain away from the Captain's line of wrath, she had spent her day tidying things up. By the time she heard the recognizable steps of her mei-mei entering the Med Bay, most of the room was back in order.

"You nearly gave me whiplash there, mei-mei," Dorothy chuckled, setting some surgical tools aside. They'd need to be re-sterilized again. She didn't trust the ground to be a clean spot to keep them, after all. At Daphne's offer of help, Dorothy glanced around. "I think we're about good here...But if you want to hide from all of the yi dwei da
buen chuo roh on the bridge, I can always pretend to examine you."

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Jackson let an eyebrow raise as he heard Genevieve, a smirk splitting his lips as he watched her, chuckling in an almost unbelieving as she moved to stand before him. "The offer's appreciated, but 'less you picked up some tips on engine maintenance on your back at some point, I doubt most any of us can do anythin'." This time, it was the opposite - his words were harsh but the tone anything but. Jackson normally would not have been quite so quick to deal out insults, even to Genevieve for her profession, but the run so far had worked up a great deal of stress, and going to see Patience had only topped that, the fear of being shot did that to a person.

He made a mental note to get some rest while they waited on the repairs, he figured not a great deal would happen while they were waiting, the location they'd set the ship was quiet, and Whitefall itself was dead most of the time. He thought he'd seen Camilla with some strawberries earlier, the small sweet would certainly do wonders to calm him down a bit. As he stood there, Jackson was aware of the way his words came out, and his own frustration and exhaustion was more than evident to him already. He sighed, glancing down for a moment before letting his eyes settle back on Genevieve.

"I don't mean t' be harsh, it's been a long day." He explained himself relatively plainly, shifting his hands down to set them on his hips, pinkie finger idly tapping on the grip of his gun, an odd tick he'd developed from time to time, usually when he was feeling a little tense.

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Quinn remained where he was aboard the bridge, idly watching the workers outside the viewport as he waited for things to get underway, signing off on a few things and giving instructions to a few Ensigns as they wandered about the bridge, ensuring things were ready. He glanced toward Carla as she came onto the bridge, giving her a slight nod, but not a word of greeting for now as he reached out and took one of the offered strawberries. Bringing it to his lips, he took a bite and savoured the taste, while he enjoyed the small fruits, he rarely let himself enjoy them, generally saving them for a success. While this did not exactly fit into the category of a success, things had been going well for the crew in the past, and he took it as a good luck charm of sorts.

As he heard another enter the bridge, Quinn turned over to the face he didn't know. Well, he did know the face, but not the man. He'd seen Harper's file, and had been looking over it just a short while before in his office, the Retribution's new pilot. He took a few moments to look the man over, to take in every aspect of the man who was now under his command. There was something about him which seemed fresh, but Quinn supposed a similar feeling came with all new additions to the crew. He figured so long as the man did his job well enough, he wouldn't particularly care for much else. Returning the salute briefly, he cleared his throat.

"Then I hope it is stowed quickly, Lieutenant. We have orders to investigate an Independent craft on Whitefall, I want us there as soon as you can." He did not bother to add anything unnecessary, or even any pleasantries. Quinn was eager to begin with their work, the break had been more than long enough for his liking. He didn't bother to consider what the new Lieutenant may have heard in regards to him, Quinn was more than aware of some of the rumours which went around the officer's lounge about him, but they were no concern of his - William would learn of how Quinn did things, and how he liked them done. That was good enough.

Lionel was in the middle of having a bowel movement when the ship decided to up and shit itself. He barely had any time to try holding on to something before he was launched into the opposite wall of the small room and covered in no small amount of toilet water. It took quite a bit of time for his wits to fully recover, old age ain't kind to the body, but when he did, a righteous fire sprung forth in his belly. He had half a mind to stab someone, but more importantly he'd need to clean himself up first. He did a rough job, the entire time muttering half-formed ideas and vocalized malice under his breath. Just to be sure that he was clean, he made sure to wash his hands up to his elbows three times over before leaving the bathroom.

Although he had removed the worst of the matter from himself, he was still covered in wet stains that slightly smelled. Lionel walked down the halls, movin' as if possessed by the wrath of God Almighty himself. His footsteps resounded through the hallway like great thunder, his shoulders hunched forward like the great mountain upon which Moses was given his Commandments and his eyes bore a terrible fire from the lowest pits of Hell. Not once did he stop his steady flow of obscene language until he reached the Engine Room itself, where he found Gideon and Camille. He pointed his index finger right at Gideon, to remove all doubt for who these words were meant.

"肏你祖宗十八代!" (literally meaning "Fuck your ancestors to the 18th generation") He shouted loud enough for the entire ship to hear given the enhanced acoustics before storming off back to his room. He picked out another suit which looked essentially identical to the ones he was wearing. He continued on the warpath back to the bathroom, where he slammed the door shut so he could take a shower and maybe cool off.

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---

---

---

The Captain must have been having one hell of a day. It took every ounce of Gideon's will power not to double over laughing at her asinine accusations that it was somehow his tinkering and not her running the ship ragged that had caused the numerous malfunctions across the Vengeance. Gideon had known from the moment they picked up that compression coil it would blow but the Captain had insisted that was the best he was getting with their limited finances. Perhaps next time he should insist she part with a few pairs of shoes so they can get the parts they need.

As Anisa stormed out of the engine bay, Gideon felt his lips curl into a smug smirk. The Captain's heels clacked annoyingly along the steely floors of the Vengeance her hips swaying with so much vigor that Gideon was sure one could give out at any moment.

"Too much negative engine man, ship ain't supposed to be named like this one. Ship should be named with love." The engineer muttered to himself, gathering up tools before turning to notice Camilla had entered the room.

"Heh, no I frosted it instead." Gideon replied with a raised eye brow and a mischievous grin, answering the sarcastic inquisition with a smart remark. "Don't suppose you'd want to lend your pretty hands and help a lad out?" The engineer asked as he scanned his diagnosis tool. The malfunctions were all over the ship but if he had Camilla help with some of the simpler tasks then they could still get the boat in the air reasonably soon.

"The grav boot isn't a huge priority in my opinion, so long as everyone knows to strap themselves down once we're out of the atmosphere we could make due. The compression coil is going to be the most time consuming but..." His voice trailed off slightly as he scanned the list. "The atmo scrubber filter could likely just do with a routine cleaning. Any chance you'd want to take a whack at it?"

---

---

---

---

---

Retribution: Things on the ship are going smoothly and the crew is doing what it can to get everything loaded up and stowed for now but there has been a bit of a hiccup. Retribution was not set to leave port for another three hours so not everything has been delivered yet. The rest of the food and medical supplies are still on their way, it will be at least another hour before anyone can go anywhere.

Another hail comes through the comm. Once the bridge answers the hail, the vid will show this woman; Admiral Thorton for the Alliance. "Captain Quinn, you will be receiving a new addition to the crew shortly; one Doctor Moreau. Former Commander. Do not leave port without him."

Vengeance: Temperatures are climbing a bit on the planets surface but thankfully things at least physically are not heating up within. The repairs still look to take two to four days to get finished. It may go a little faster if there were more hands to help, or who knows more hands may just slow Gideon down and make things worse. For now, you all are stuck. Outside of the ship the coast is clear for now.

---

---

Anisa's eyes narrowed towards Atticus as he started in one his little bible verse of the day. It was bad enough he would spout of scripture when ever he seemed to feel like it. It was ten times more aggravating as he piped in when she was already near the limit of her tolerance for anything biblical. A busted up ship and being late for a drop off was enough to make her level of patience absolutely none.

The sound of each of her knuckles popping could be heard as the line of her jaw stiffened. Taking a slow step over towards the table. Placing each of her palms on the edge of the table as she watched the man shuffle the deck of cards, right then even the sweet sound of them folding together was irritating her. Lowering down a bit she got on eye level with the man as the tips of her fingers curled under the edge of the worn wooden table. The look in her eye would have been one that Atticus would have known well, the entire crew knew that look.

"Like the moment I finally put a bullet in your skull? I'll remember that," she hissed through clenched teeth as she righted herself, her hands still remaining gripped to the edge of the table. A suddenly heft up and the other side of the table dipped down as she half flipped the thing, hoping to spill the Preacher out on his bible beating ass.

She didn't bother to stay and see if it worked, the sound of the table legs hitting the ground as she dropped it back into place. Turning on her heels, the sounds of them clacking against metal letting the crew know that she was headed not towards the bridge anymore but down to the main cargo area and out the back of the ship. Anisa figured it was time to get herself a breath of fresh air.

Stepping outside she sat down on a crate outside of the loading dock and pulled out her pack of cigarette's. Hitting the bottom of the pack a few times until the butt of one slide out slightly. Wrapping her lips around it she pulled it out fully and shoved the pack back into her pocket before lighting it. Taking a deep breath, she held it for a moment before blowing it out roughly, her bangs flying out of her face only to land right back over her left eye and cheek. It was going to be a long day.

---

---

Atticus watched Anisa closely and though to himself here it comes. He knew that look all too well, figuring he received it far more often than the rest of the crew did. Most on the ship at least seemed to try not to ruffle her feathers or get her dander up but Preacher wasn't the rest of them. It was as if he had a death wish the way he kept on where she was concerned. Her looks, threats, and even all out physical attacks never seemed to phase him or even make him consider stopping.

"And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held: Revelation 6:9," he said calmly as he kept shuffling the cards. His eyes never leaving hers as she righted herself. Figuring she was about to spout off another threat at time.

It threw him off a bit when suddenly the end of the table where he had his legs propped up dropped and he did indeed start toppling over. His hands came up quickly, the deck of cards he had been shuffling flying up and out of his grip; floating through the air as he threw back one arm to brace himself against the back wall of the dining room and the other grabbing the edge of the table as it dropped back into place.

Looking over at Anisa as she stormed, the sound of her boots clicking against the steel making him shake his head a bit. Sighing he set his chair back down on all four legs and rubbed the back of his head lightly as he glanced around at the mess of cards all over the place. It was time to play fifty-two card pick up. "Ta ma duh...." he mumbled under his breath before he reached out and started gathering his deck back up.

---

---

Camilla was about to say something when Lionel came along and her head cocked to the side, her brows furrowing a bit as she looked at the older man a bit surprised by entire endeavor. Pulling her hand to her mouth she bit at her thumb nail a bit as she waited for him to walk off and then shook her head. Seemed Gideon was getting the blunt of blame today. Granted, she couldn't blame anyone for how upset they were. Nearly crashing and having a fiery death wasn't usually on someone's list of things to do for a day, usually it on the list of what to avoid.

"Well aren't you the popular one today? Trying to get votes most likely to get shot into the black by Captain?" she said as a smirk crawled across her features and she dropped her hand. Stepping into the engine room fully she glanced around and nearly lost her composure when he asked if she would like to help.

"Only if you want me to just blow the place up. I suggest you handle this. You're the one that supposedly good with his hands," she added, sticking her tongue out as her fingers ran across the shell of the main engine drive before dusting them off on her pants. Glancing over to him out of the corner of her eyes she finally did in fact laugh. "I didn't clean for a man when I was engaged and you haven't even bought me dinner."

Stepping back over to the door way she leaned back against it as she crossed her arms over her chest and let out a bit of a huff. It was odd how Quinn would come up from time to time when she wasn't thinking. Just spouting something off like that, then suddenly he was back in the forefront of her mind and she could remember the look in his eyes as he gave the order back at the Valley that had changed everything for both of them. The huff of breath blew her hair out of her face and she held her hand out to Gideon.

"Fuck it, hand me something and show me what to do."

---

---

The smell of strong coffee entered a sudden all-out war against the smell of anesthetics when the doctor returned to the medbay. He put his own mug on the desk, and offered another, made precisely to the nurse's liking, as trade for the report in his hands. He was met with an apprehensive look that he cherished and despised simultaneously (since it meant that the man both knew his place and was unworthy of anything more).

"It's too early for bad news." he stated firmly, pushed the mug against the young man's chest and used the short moment of confusion to whip the clipboard out of his hands. Of course. All supplies that were marked for restock after that cursed requisitions replacement were running late. The man simply didn't care for schedule. It was the worst kind of incompetence.

The doctor rested the cliboard on the desk and took a long whiff of his brew, the bittersweet, heavy, dark spiciness mixing with the sharp, uncomfortable, penetrating smell of lab alcohol. He has been experimenting with his blend lately, to find a way for the alcohol to actually improve the smell. No luck so far. But the coffee was still damn good.

"I will get this to the captain." He lifted the clipboard after finishing the mug in a wholesome swig. "You make sure the loading crew are aware of what we are missing." It was the best kind of deals. The bottom of the food chain felt more at home with one another, and they could never get his instructions right anyway. Besides, he wasn't aware of all the details of the upcoming launch, and if this was an actual disaster there was no need to pit anyone else against the captain. With this in mind, he pushed himself away from the desk and headed towards the bridge, in hope of finding Quinn there.

"Captain." He called from the entrance to the bridge. "The medbay logistics report is complete. Some critical supplies are missing. We are assured it is a matter of an hour at the most." This was army code for 'two hours at least'. At least he thought it was.

---

---

Carla was a fixture standing by the Captain nibbling on the tart fruit. Lithe fingers impaled the berries and lifted them up to her mouth. She chewed as the pilot and Captain exchanged pleasantries. The message came through notifying the crew of delays and Carla found a particularly plump berry. By the time the doctor made it to the bridge the box had been cleaned out.

The woman in the black suit licked at stained teeth with her mouth shut while the crew around her completed their important tasks. She turned on her heel and gave Quinn a glance. "I'll be in the conference room. When you get the chance." She left the bridge empty box in hand. Greg needs a target. She could feel his impatience radiating off him on the bridge with each notification of a new delay. Almost like the 'Verse didn't want them back in the black.

Carla made her way through the passageways and the crew hurried out of her way. She would have to look into the latest scuttlebutt about her once they were in deep space. The doors hissed shut behind her as she sauntered into the room and took her seat next to the Captain's.

Whitefall.

Carla closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her body shudder for a moment. "Shāntiḥ." She opened her eyes and lifted her hand up over her face. The shadow of it stretched over her features. Her fingertips were stained ruby red. She brought her hand down, licked each finger methodically, and brought her hand up into the light. Clean.

---

---

What a fine and chipper morning it was on the Retribution. A funny name for a ship, Retribution. Brings to mind a great hammer, poised to smash ne'er-do-wells and violent enemies of the Alliance. The manner of massive flagship sporting hundreds of fighters and dedicated patrol boats, crewed by the best and brightest that the Central Planets had to offer. The Retribution. Yes, a truly intimidating name.

The unfortunate state of things: It was a patrol boat. The kind that would have been at home docked on an Alliance Interdictor; the latter being the type of ship he had really hoped The Retribution was going to be. So much for sweeping staterooms, wide hallways, and grand amphitheatres. So long to five-star cuisine prepared by the finest of Core culinarians, and goodbye to the security of being quartered deep inside several hundred hulls of a spacebound citadel surrounded by thousands of soldiers and combat pilots.

Being intimately accustomed to finery, that would have grown dull eventually. It was a consolation, seemingly small in nature, but it rang with truth - Finery can be acquired from many sources, for a man of means. New experiences, particularly ones that come with monetary compensation, are a unique and coveted thing. Besides, he was under contract. An elaborate contract, full of allowables, clauses and the like. Very businesslike. Very up front. It detailed the conditions - realistic conditions - of his quartering and provisioning. This... sufficed, despite not being all for which he had hoped.

Nonetheless, it was still a fine and chipper morning. Our not-quite-protagonist stood in front of a long mirror in his quarters, viewing the result of his morning rituals. He was classically attired in pinstriped vest and slacks, a tough but stylish longsleeve dress shirt with loose cuffs, and a pair of well shined black madisons. The top button of his shirt was still undone. Ordinarily a faux pas, unless said gentleman did so intentionally to signify that he was at leisure. He was most certainly not at leisure, not this early in the day. But he did have to give consideration as to the nature of his tie.

Yes! His tie was an important status symbol, worthy of his consideration. The neckpiece connoisseur stepped to the second (and thankfully unused) bunk in his room, to delve into his wardrobe trunk thereon. A quick snap later revealed an odd assortment of shoes and ties, cufflinks, etc., as well as a more interesting set of intimidating revolvers and the hint of something much larger and scarier just underneath. Picking through the finery and firearms, the Gentleman found the object of his search: A black silk ascot with a gold deco pattern. With practiced ease, dexterous fingers manipulated the length of imperial cloth into a loose Windsor knot and pushed the longer bit underneath his vest.

A black long coat and felt bowler cap were considered, but ultimately rejected as duties should not take him out of doors that morning. Pockets and holders inside of his attire quickly filled with various sharp implements and unguents, personal items and tools of his more pedestrian trade. A dab of cologne, a touch of pomade, and a few seconds of maintenance on his profoundly luxurious handlebar moustache later, and he was ready to greet the day. "You are one Dapper Gentleman, Foy Coiffeur." he praised to his mirror. "Time to go to work, old boy."

Having been resupplied late the previous day, Mr. Coiffeur stepped lightly and smartly out of his quarters and down the hall to a comparatively larger room across from the medical recovery room. Outfitted to serve as a proper workspace for a Gentleman Barber, it was as much lounge as anything else. A selection of pastries and pot of fresh coffee waited there for him, beckoning to be sampled as a light breakfast. Foy selected a croissant and cup of the bracing black liquid, then punched up Alliance news on a nearby terminal. It was a short matter of time before members of the crew without formal obligation filtered in; the room that he affectionately referred to as "The Foy-er" had become a popular gathering point. Perhaps it was because it was the least military-looking room on the vessel. Or just maybe, it was because Foy had an inexhaustible supply of Wrapped Candies on premises.

The first of them appeared just in time to see Foy stropping an almost comically oversized straightrazor. The man considered turning back around and leaving; Foy had paused in his efforts to hone and polish his blade to stare at it, transfixed as if by memory. The light glinting from the tool seemed to hold him in some trance of memory, a slight but sadistic smile curling just beneath his gloriously oiled handlebar moustache. Noting the man entering the Foy-er, he closed his razor and tucked it into his belt. "You are a touch early, sir. I shall be with you momentarily, do help yourself to something sweet while you wait." Three or four minutes of setting up classical and contemporary items of business later, Foy returned with his giant razor, asking, "Would sir care for a trim, or just a shave for the time being?"

...

Word got back to the Foyer that the ship was to be made ready to depart as soon as possible. It would take a little while to recall all parties attached to the vessel, so he figured he could finish doing what he was doing. After the boat made it to the Black, artificial gravity would make the interior as stable as if it were sitting on flat earth, and he could resume his overt work. Their pilot, whenever he or she reported in, would make a pre-flight announcement and give the final warning to strap in before the antigrav boosters hurled them skyward.

Until then, The Esteemed Foy Coiffeur continued to see clients and keep the conversations going, intent on finding out the details of the day without actually leaving his barbershop.

---

---

The Captain of this vessel seemed anxious to depart. In truth, so was William, though he was reasonably certain that his reasons differed from the ranking officer's. No matter. He could have his gear stowed in three minutes and have them off the ground in five, if need be. That part was simple. What was not so simple was the woman next to the Captain, in a simple black suit and blue gloves.

He knew what that meant. Generally speaking, it signified that one's proverbial goose had reached a proper internal temperature, with crispy skin and clear running juices. Unless they were part of your crew. As no one was dead yet, so far as he could tell, that must be it. William kept his face neutral, except to state a simple, "Yes, sir.". Mentally preparing for takeoff, his mind was already numbering the steps necessary for a vessel this size.

When the message came in informing the Bridge that their departure had been delayed, the pilot wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or nervous. "I'll see to my belongings and return straightaway to plot astrogation, sir." He nodded to the Agent lady before turning, stating a flat and simple, "Ma'am." as she departed. William stepped off of the Bridge, immediately met by a steward, hauling his few worldly possessions with him. The new Pilot followed close behind as he was led down the hall to his new living space for the next undisclosed length of time.

It was set up for two people, but from the look of it, the room was unused. That was a comfort, at least; he had some privacy. The moment the steward saluted and left, William brought the door to a close and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't unpack, so much as secured his luggage and brought out one or two items of interest. First up was his Cortex Terminal. It was a secured device, unmarked and without signature identifying its presence anywhere on the Cortex. It was quite true that you can't stop The Signal, but in many instances you can hide where it's coming from. There were no obvious red flags about his situation in the usual places, and that Agent hadn't taken him in immediately. It seemed that he was free to embrace his new existence and move on with life, until a viable opportunity presented itself.

William was a pilot. Times past, he was an officer, as well. This is what he did, with proficiency enough to make many envious. Two more years, or another opportunity to "die", and he could live and let live for the rest of his days. But first, a quick splash of water to his face, and back to the Bridge. The Lieutenant had astrogation toward Whitefall to program.

---

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"Well I dare say this is a marvelous turn of events and I thank you greatly dear woman for the opportunity it is presenting me. Now if you will excuse me, I must prepare. I do not think the Captain would take well if I were to dawdle." With that the Vidcon was over and the screen went blank. Tapping the line of his chin Jahosafat's lips slowly crept into a broad smile and he let out a hefty guffaw. "This is going to most exciting indeed," the coxcomb exclaimed to himself as he slapped his knee and rose from his seat. Jahosafat had spent years working on Persephone for The Company and enjoying life to its fullest but now it was time for a new adventure. One he had turned down for years but with the prospect of an old friendship being rekindled, well it was just the spark he needed to fuel the fire of an adventurous soul.

Twas no more than a hop, skip and a jump later and Dr. Moreau was standing there looking at the Retribution with his two attendants flanking him at either side. Both men hauling to rather overly packed carts with them containing trunks, cases and a fair amount of hat boxes. Strolling over towards the Yeoman, Jahosafat looked down his nose at the boy and smirked. "Dr. Jahosafat Moreau," he said as he handed over his ident, it between his two fingers as if he was trying to ensure that he would not be touched by the lower class citizen.

"Sir, they will need to remain here," the man said before he slid the card into the reader.

"No, they won't. They will store my gear my good man and then they will exit. Understand?" he said simply before snapping his fingers and attendants stepping forward. The Yeoman looking as if he was about to call for back up. This type of delay would not do. "Check the ident card lad." Looking down his eyes widened.

"Of course sir, yes, right away. Come on you two, get to it," he ordered. A snatch of his ident, wiping it off with his handkerchief before slipping it back into his coat pocket, and a tip of his hat later it was taken care of. His two men moving quickly through the air lock and into the lower level cargo bay. One of them following Dr. Moreau up the ship with one of the carts.

"That one. Now, do be good and get everything stowed properly and then you may leave Barnaby." Jahosafat had pointed out his quarters to his man, the open officers quarters across the walk from the captains quarters. Smoothing out the line of his vest he stepped onto the bridge and gave a charming smile when he spotted the captain of the Retribution.

"Captain Quinn," he said in a gentry manner as he removed his bull top hat and tucked it under his arm. "I knew a Dr. Quinn, a medicine woman. Any relation?" he asked more as a social opener than actually caring if the man related. "I hope to assume correctly that Admiral Thorton has contacted you. Very kind of you indeed to let your vessel be procured for this little endeavor. I assure you that it will be well worth you and your crews time. Now, if you wouldn't mind. I will get settled in, we can talk after the ship is cleared of all nonessential personnel and breaks Atmo headed for Whitefall," he yammered on in a polite voice as he pulled from his inner coat pocket a thick stocked envelope with the Alliances Seal on it and handed it over to Quinn.

Pulling his marvelous hat back out from under his arm he dusted it off for a moment before settling it back down on his head. He was about to turn to leave when he suddenly snapped his fingers as if he remembered something, for he had. "Now I recall where I know your face and name from. You were the lad who was once engaged to the dear Camilla Powell. Such an enchanting woman, truly a rose among the thorns. How did you ever let her get away," he said nonchalantly before tipping his hat and turning on his heels to make his way out of the bridge.

Within the envelope Captain Quinn would find new orders, vague orders. The only thing for sure was that the ship was now under the direction of Dr. Moreau and that all nonessential personnel were to be removed post haste. The ship would run with minimal crew. Such things only happened when The Company or The Agency was involved. The letter insured that the new arrival would explain more in-depth once the ship was secured but for security purposes he would not be able to say more before hand. Captain Quinn was still in charge, to a point, but it seemed that this new addition was about to be playing a heavy hand in the actual function of the ship.

The ship would need to be cleared, there was a list of what personnel were cleared to remain and which ones would have to be removed. - Outside of the listed cast, there will be 1 Orderly in the Medical Bay, 1 Mechanic, 1 Culinary Specialist (Chef), 1 Gunner, & 3 Yeoman NPCS. - Other than that, everyone else would be cleared out and the ship would be locked up tight. The paper clearly stated that the Retribution no longer existed as far as the public eye was concerned. Something was up, something big.

Checking his quarters as his attendant disembarked Dr. Moreau smiled to himself. He had one more thing to attend to before he got to business. Something of the utmost importance. Continuing down the hall it did not take long for him to find his destination, a fine sign outside of the room across the way from the recovery ward told him everything he needed to know.

Stepping in slowly as the door slid open, his head tilted down as his fingers rested along the brim. "Well my my my, isn't this just the most gratifying of moments," he said with a bit of gravel to his voice as his eyes lifted and looked over the rim of his colored spectacles; a charismatic smile spreading across his lips and brightening his face. "Salutations..." he said before pausing for the briefest of moments. "Fucking Foy."

---

---

Genevieve let the words play out a bit in Jackson's head after he said them. She felt the impact of them even more due to the tone in which he said them. Though this wasn't the first time that the two have butted heads, Genevieve would have liked it if she was more than just a prostitute to some of the people on board the Vengeance. Back home, it was more commonly known that Companions weren't your average courtesean, they were meant to entertain, to comfort, to listen and react, and to help you with whatever issues you were dealing with. She was highly trained in Psychology, art, history, heck, even hand-to-hand combat, but yet, not many on board the vessel could see past her appearance. In her eyes, that made her both a strong ally, and a liability.

"I am afraid I have not had the pleasure of bedding a spaceship engineer, or if I had he or she did not share their secrets with me." She knew the man was dealing with many things at the moment so she didn't mind it too much that he was being particularly harsh to her, but at the same time she hoped that their traveling together would have made it somewhat easier on the two. Soon.

"It's fine. You're going through a lot right now. I'd offer my help in that area but we both know you would turn me down if I tried." Genevieve has offered her services before to most, if not all, of the Vengeance crew members, but she was usually met with laughter, some avoidant conversation, or flat out refusal. No one could seem to get over the fact she slept with people, despite it being a small percentage of the job.

---

Med Bay -> Engine Room

---

She looked around, and saw that a lot of the mess had already been cleaned up in the Med Bay. Daphne listened to her sister's suggestion, and thought about it for a minute. If I stay here, I hopefully won't have the captain shouting on me, and I won't be in Gideon's way while he tries to fix the ship. Then again, if I go see if Gideon needs help, I can see just how much damage was done, and we might be able to leave quicker. Well, I've made my decision about it.

"Sorry Dory, as nice as that sounds, especially if it means avoiding the Captain's wrath, I think I'll pass. Just thought I'd see how you were doing, but doesn't seem like I'll be much help here since you've already got just about everything put away. I'm heading to the Engine Room to check on Gideon, he might need help now that it sounds like the Captain is done yelling at him. See ya." she said, and headed back out the door.

She wanted to see if she could be helpful on another part of the ship, and the Engine Room was probably the place to be right then. She walked back up the stairs to the Engine Room, looking around as she entered. Looks almost as bad as I thought it was. Well, any landing you survive and don't cause the ship to explode is a good landing in my book. She saw Camilla was already there, having him tell her what to do. She looked over at Gideon and smiled.

"Hey there. Looks like you might need some help. Tell me what to do Gideon." she said, walking over to him.

---

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---

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Dorothy nodded curtly, watching as Daphne left. She pursed her lips, feeling an imagined slight. Things had been hard between the two of them, ever since Dorothy left their childhood home. She never had been the overly protective sister, instead viewing Daphne as independent and able to take care of herself. Her mistake had been overestimated Daphne's ability to remain with their wretch of a father alone.

"Jing chai," Dorothy murmured, the doors of the Med Bay shutting. She went back to the surgical instruments, sterilizing each one before placing them back in the proper place. The entire room was fairly spotless once more, and Dorothy smiled smugly, enjoying the organization. She absolutely hated mess and chaos. For example, if everyone would use a planner to organize their schedule, Dorothy was fairly confident the 'verse would be a better place.

Wondering what sort of tian fuhn di fu she'd find in the rest of the ship, Dorothy left the Med Bay, entering the Common Area. No one was there, so Dorothy figured they must have been up in the dining room. It had been the source of the shouting, as far as she could tell. Climbing up the stairs, she then headed down the small hall into the dining room, seeing Preacher with his deck of cards.

"Trying to shuffle your way out of trouble with the Captain?" Dorothy inquired, sitting down next to him. She motioned for him to deal her in--to whatever style of game he was beginning to play. As much as the Preacher irritated her, she couldn't resist a game of cards.

And of course, she was fairly certain he didn't have any card games that required Hail Marys to be recited.

---

---

Liam took a deep breath and straightened his posture. He was in the Alliance Military again; it was time to carry himself as such. His one concession against the starch stiffness of his situation was his wrench - a large and painful affair that he generally kept fixed to his person as one would tether or sheathe a large carpenter's hammer.

The rigid discipline ordinarily expected of every member of the Alliance Military was often relaxed as it came to pilots. Relaxed in some ways, in any case. Certain personnel were given liberties, owing to the nature of their work. Pilots, Doctors, certain specialists; an element of tradition and/or superstition came along with longstanding occupations that would take a morale blow, and thusly compromised effectiveness, were they denied their little eccentricities. It could have been so much more awkward than a massive wrench, too. William had heard stories about pilots who refused to change their undergarments until after a rotation was over. Another insisted on the callsign of "Shifty Giggler" and refused to speak into his comm unit otherwise. Yet another one recited the Saint Crispin's Day speech before takeoff, every time.

He doubted the Alliance would begrudge him a wrench, so long as it was secured. Especially out near the Rim.

Not to say that Lieutenant Harper was undisciplined. Quite the opposite, his life was abundant with orders, work, and hardship; the kind that most people (even military types) never had to experience. Scars on one's psyche weren't always apparent, but they left their traces. Luckily, his weren't as obvious as some people's under similar conditions.

William Harper returned to the Bridge in short order, as promised. He paused along the way for just a second to take note of another new arrival, walking past him down the corridor in the opposite direction. Tall, dark-skinned man wearing ridiculously expensive clothing suited to a rustic gentleman; not Central Planet attire, but easily as stylish and costly. His impression of the man was that of perceived importance; he was there for a specific reason, at a guess. At the very least, he did not look like standard military. At the moment though, it was little of his concern. He was the ship's Pilot, and he had a job to execute. A curt nod and he was on his way again.

His return to the bridge prompted him to offer another salute to the Captain before taking his place at the helm. Were he on a larger ship, his role would be more specialized. In a patrol boat, his duties would be threefold: Flight Officer, Navigator, and Helmsman. Right at this moment, it was Navigator. Settled into the helm, Liam pulled up the NavComp and punched in Persephone's real-time coordinates. Next, the planet Athens. True, they were shooting for Whitefall, but Whitefall was a moon orbiting Athens. The larger body would prove to be the gravitational force they had to worry about when slowing to approach speeds. That's when they would need a competent and initiative taking Helmsman. Luckily, he was that, too.

"Course set in for Whitefall, Captain. At full burn, we stand to arrive in just over two days, sixteen hours. Ready to go at your command. Departure time, sir?"

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The irrepressible Foy was taking to his family's ancestral craft with vim and proficiency. The trappings of a classical barber at work lay organized and clean on a small workstation in between a wall mirror and a vintage-looking apparatus that was obviously a tastefully constructed reproduction of a barber's chair from Earth That Was. A clean, white towel hung over one forearm, and the opposite hand held a stylized straightrazor. It was a different tool than the one he was seen stropping earlier; somewhat smaller, more squared. Less intimidating, too. Some clients wanted more basic sort of service with little in the way of personal touches. Foy has satisfied to oblige, despite his instinct to treat each such dealing with an amount of upper class panache.

The (un)fortunate crewman in his chair had his face half covered with warm lather, a cottony bib attached snugly around his neck. Foy bore own upon him from his rear flank, deftly removing lather and stubble both in steady, practiced strokes. As fit his custom, Mr. Coiffeur was holding a mostly one-sided conversation with the man. It was an interesting psychological phenomenon in humankind - the willingness to stay quiet and still while someone else pressed a blade against their face, regardless of what they might be saying at the moment. Case in point:

"Yeoman, eh there, sport? Well, I am flooded with satisfaction that you made it into my parlor, nonetheless. You yeomen, you ah... Carry the bags and such, push mops, do you not?" Foy scraped away another line of facial hair from the enlisted man, continuing, "Well, no matter. It's all necessary to keep things tidy for the rest of us. Chin up there, son! No no, I mean raise your chin, Yeo-y. And thank you..."

Foy continued his work with grace and speed. He was an artist at his craft, and open conversationalist during, despite thinly veiled annoyance at the plight of the common man. I've never Yeo'ed, myself. But I did have the pleasure of having another yeoman in my chair a score or so years back. Charming fellow, in his own way. Silly boy got himself shuffled off to the hereafter two days later. Thanks to me, the corpse looked superbly dapper. I do hope one day you are likewise blessed, good sir."

The final few swipes were taken, revealing a fresh face unmarred by nick or razor burn. It truly looked as if the young man was born without the capacity to grow a beard of any sort, so close and thorough a job was completed by Foy Coiffeur. The barber wiped the blade on the towel over his other arm, folded said towel deftly and pressed it to his client's face, removing the last flecks of lather. He stepped back to his workstation, selecting a two ounce bottle of pale blue liquid. He rubbed a bit into his hands and slapped it brusquely upon the man's cheeks.

At that moment a voice sounded from behind him, using an expletive in alliteration with his presented first name. A combination he had heard many a time before, and with certainty was used many more times behind his back. Fucking Foy.

He risked a sideways glance backward to confirm his suspicions. Addressing the man in his chair, he intoned in a low voice, "Keep the aftershave, Yeo-y. You need to stand up slowly, and walk out of this parlor. Do not look back." Foy quietly retrieved the razor he was just using and pulled out the oversized, personal one he kept on his belt. The Yeoman took his barber's advice, exiting with a confused and concerned expression on his clean and dolphin-smooth face. Foy turned to square off with this new threat, coming for him inside his very own Foy-er.

The very second his client was out of view, Foy nearly split his sides in mirthful guffawing. Setting both razors down, he looked to his fellow gentleman, exclaiming, "Why, Jumping Josie Moreau, you delicious mahogany rapscallion! As I live and breathe, directly in my mobile parlor! Whyever would you come slumming, you old so-and-so?"

Foy's face froze for a half second, "Oh, something is afoot, is it not? Well come along, have a cup of coffee and give me all the scandalous details."