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She went down to the Cargo Bay where Camilla's call came from. Gideon didn't follow her, so she assumed he was probably still working away in the Engine Room. Daphne noticed several other people were scattered around the area. She watched as Camilla left the area, what is she up to? Daphne thought of following her, but that would probably end with her getting shot if she startled Camilla. Nothing good would come of that, so she stayed in the Cargo Bay.

Finally, Daphne noticed the people talking to the Captain. She tried to hear what was being said, but she wasn't in a very good position to do that. Looking around, she saw another position that would be better for her to eavesdrop from. Quietly, she made her way over closer to the group of people. When Daphne heard them mention Patience, that was the end of it. She knew that Patience tried to get money from people whenever she could, even if they already paid her. She knew one thing though, she did not like the look of the man called Brutus.

When the shooting started, she whipped out her pistol and started firing at the group of people, taking care not to hit Anisa. Well, nothing good is going to come out of this. Even if we kill all of the people here, what is to stop Patience from sending more, we're stuck here for a few more days. Oh well, can't worry about it too much.

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Dorothy kept her focus on Patience's men, frowning when she spotted the snake, perhaps a split second before the horse did. About to make some sort of remark about the bravery of their men, she blinked, hearing the shot go off, and a bullet strike Anisa. Bullets began to fly from all around, and her heart clenched as she saw Daphne firing a good number of them.

"Mei-mei, this is wei shan!" Dorothy exclaimed, firing rounds at Brutus. Cut off the head and the body will flounder, so they say. But to Dorothy, she was more focused on Brutus being the one, as far as she could tell, to wound the Captain. "No need for you to g’en ho tze bi dio se," Dorothy added, speaking to her sister, yet not taking her eyes off of the bastards in front of her. She couldn't help but aim around the horse, hoping that the steed would cause some complications for Patience's men. A freaked horse could tend to do that.

Taking a brief moment to glance over at the Captain, she made a mental note of the injury. A thigh wound may not have been fun, but the Captain should live. As long as it hadn't hit anything too crucial, the Captain would be able to wait for medical treatment until after the fight. It hadn't even occurred to Dorothy that she perhaps should have remained behind, in order to keep Patience's men from killing the medical personnel of the crew.

However, the thought almost amused her. Without her, there wouldn't be anyone to help or save the crew--no matter what the Preacher's book said about the healing power of words. It was a testament to the need for actual and proven skills.

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Jackson wasn't particularly surprised as Dorothy came out and joined the two of them in their standoff, she may have been a doctor but when it came to situations like this, she was just as comfortable dealing out injuries as she was treating them. That was a veteran for you, he supposed. Jackson remained relatively quiet as Anisa spoke with Brutus, keeping his gun aimed carefully at one of the thugs as he watched Brutus, waiting for the slightest drop of a hat to burst into action. Showdowns like this weren't exactly uncommon in their line of work, he was always cool and collected when it came to situations like this.

Jackson didn't need to see that Anisa was hit to react, the very second he heard the shot he pulled back on his trigger, sending a round toward the thug he'd been aiming at. He left Brutus, figuring he'd be a priority target for some of the others, and shifted his aim between a few of the other thugs, firing a pair of shots toward each as he took a few steps back toward whatever cover there was nearby, taking a moment or two to reload once he was out of ammo.

Jackon praised whatever god might've existed that he had always been a decent gunfighter, a quickdraw was usually his style and the man favored a handgun above all else, showdowns like this were the kind of fights he shined in. Ducking around from cover again as he reloaded, he sent another shot toward Brutus, eyes shifting over to Anisa momentarily. He saw she'd taken a hit, but it had only dropped her to a knee, she'd taken far worse and he knew it, both of them had, as long as it stayed this way, he had no concerns. Especially considering he figured the rest of the crew would be there soon.

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"War isn't usually a particularly artistic endeavour." Gregory countered to Carla's initial comment with a fairly bland tone. When he could avoid it, Quinn preferred to avoid risking his men, and at the stage he'd reached - in the event that resulted in the odd misfire or collateral damage, that was just war. He raised an eyebrow as she brought up the strawberries, and the eyebrow remained raised throughout the duration of the PA announcement for the bridge. Getting underway finally, it was almost enough to bring the slightest semblance of a smile to Gregory's face, almost.

As she suggested they return to the bridge, Quinn sighed, leaning forward to finish off his tea and set the cup back down as he stood. "A fair idea, shall we?" He motioned to the door and moved out along with her, beginning to wander the halls toward the bridge. Most often, Quinn would sit in his office during take off, he trusted the bridge crew not to screw up their jobs, or they'd be dealing with him - but with a new pilot at the head of the ship, he figured he should at least be present to scold the man first-hand if he happened to make some unecessary maneuver which Quinn found risky.

He was quite content to have Carla along with him, more than aware of the nicknames she had, Quinn had no quarrel with them. Quinn made no effort to hide the fact that the woman was essentially his only real confidant on the crew, arguably the only person he completely trusted - perhaps a horrible idea when it came to an assassin. But Carla had never given him reason to doubt her, and he figured she wouldn't start to any time soon.

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Lieutenant Harper couldn't quite suppress a smile as he engaged the Retribution's atmospheric grav propulsion, lifting the vessel lazily off of the ground. It had been quite a while since he'd maneuvered a craft any larger than a personal conveyance or industrial (read: Prison) hauler; the experience was ambrosia to the starving. It took a great deal of self-control not to slam the ship into a controlled, rising spiral and slam the docking thrusters on at the last nanosecond, pointing them in the precise direction of departure, followed up by an immediate and dramatic flare of twin engines running to Alliance standard precision. The sudden jolt would have put them offworld before the G-Force inspired vomit of the crew ever hit the decks.

But no. Another time, maybe, gorramit... Nope, this time it was quiet and simple. The grav units brought his New Girl up nice and easy, thrusters maneuvered her into position, and the Retribution steadily angled into position, idling carefully into the flow of traffic making their exodus from the Eavesdown Docks.

The moment they had open sky, Liam aligned the ship's forward momentum with Persephone's axis turn and, making the planet's gravity work for them, at least marginally. Not that it was required for a stocked vessel of this power; it just felt good to do "pilot stuff". And, it didn't break regulation. Just the tiniest flourish, if you will; the signature of a pilot taking a ship up for the first time.

The very second that the Retribution hit the Black, Liam breathed an audible sigh of relief. He was off Persephone and moving far, far away from the hole that took years of his life. He was Lieutenant William Harper, Alliance Navy Flight Officer with a shiny new assignment doing routine Alliance Navy lā shǐ. Distasteful, but it bought his freedom. At least he could fly, and that was something.

Lt. Harper opened the P.A. and addressed the crew once more. "Attention, Flight Officer Harper speaking. We have successfully hit open space. You may unharness and return to duty. Per orders, our destination is Whitefall. At present speed and heading, we should arrive in approximately two days, sixteen hours. That is all."

He had noticed the return of the Captain, electing to stay on task rather than risk an unnecessary conversation with a man he hadn't previously met and did not know a thing about. Instead, he sought to keep it brief. "Sir? Sir. We are presently at full burn in clear and open sky. Proximity alert is set and coordinates are fixed to high orbit around Athens, synchronous with Whitefall. With your permission, I would like to see to my personals and familiarize myself with the ship, Sir."

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The Esteemed Mr. Foy Coiffeur strapped himself into the nearest harness. He never did like those things. A halfway decent pilot would have been able to bring them swiftly and carefully out of the atmosphere and on their way without much in the way or bumping about. At least, smooth enough to weather it with a simple handhold on a support or rail. Still, Foy was on an "Official Alliance Vessel". As such, it was bound by "Official Alliance Regulations", which meant that, unless he wished to thumb his nose at his contract holders, he was going to strap in just like everybody else.

Foy reached into his vest pocket and produced a masterfully crafted platinum pocketwatch, complete with filigreed moustache. As the ship lifted from the earth beneath it, the Gentleman Mercenary made it a point to monitor the time it took until the ride gentled, indicating full immersion into open space. "Not bad, New Guy. Not bad at all, sir." He took a few seconds to wind the very fine chronometer, not that it needed it. The watch itself would run for a great span of time before requiring upkeep, but the manufacturers knew that many of its clientele would be timepiece purists; the sort of people that would want the tactile experience of an Earth-That-Was pocketwatch.

He unbuckled his harness and leapt up smartly, striding with enthusiasm toward his quarters. He had promised someone a dram of Londinium Brandy, and there was, of course, the vulgar topic of new orders. Well, such was the life of a Private Contractor bound to an Alliance Contract. There were ways to extricate himself from an unfavorable contract; Foy had seen to many such clauses in his own standard paperwork. Still, a good friend, good spirits, and the intrigue of a mystery out here in the Black...

A flask and two glasses accompanied Foy on his quick and simple search for Jahosafat. This looked to be quite the day indeed.

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Camilla's finger squeezed against the trigger, the bullet launching out of the barrel. She had been aiming at Brutus's head but as he stumbled back she managed to catch him in the chest. It would do as the bullet tore through the mans heart and he laid sprawled out on the ground lifeless. "Whatever works," she muttered to herself as she shifted another cartridge into place and adjusted her sights. The bullets were flying this way and that, one coming from out of no where that embedded in the hull of the ship next to her.

"Hǎo qiú," she muttered under her breath, not even moving from her spot. Shaking her head a little she watched as the leaves flew against the bushes, taking it into account as she took aim once again. Another round was popped off and one of the men was knocked off his horse as the bullet flipped his hat off the top of his head and he spilled out onto the ground with an exit wound revealing what little gray matter he had.

Another round was popped off at her and she rolled far too late, the bullet going into her shoulder. Grunting she slid back over the top of Vengeance. She wouldn't do any good to them if she stayed up there and bled out. Sliding the strap of her rifle over her shoulder she slipped back down to the air lock on the side and stumbled inside. Resting back against the wall she took a deep breath as she put pressure on the wound. She could feel the warm wetness soaking into her shirt on the backside she at least knew it was a clean through and through wound.

"Fuck, I love this shirt," she bitched as she shook her head, feeling a little light headed as she walked; her rifle still slung over her shoulder as she moved down the stairs and towards the infirmary. Her hand resting against the door before just sliding down the wall and having a seat. She figured once all the hell that was breaking loose was over with Dorthy would be back in there anyways, least they wouldn't have to move her far. Resting her head back against the door frame she closed her eyes and just had a moment to herself; thinking of the one person she wished was there right then.

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Atticus' eyes widened as everything started, bullets popping off this way and that. Well this was not how he wanted his day to be and as he witnessed life after life dropping to the ground he knew his day would be busy if they ended up remaining. So many to put to rest, so many that perhaps did not deserve the rest but ones he would give it to nonetheless; even those going to that special place in hell would need a little light before it was all taken away. Not that he thought they deserved it, coming here and shooting up his Captain and all but it was his lot in life. It was hit duty and it was a big duty.

Ducking down he saw Anisa fire off towards Brutus and the shot she took to her thigh. Rushing over to her he kept watch as best could while he checked the wound; Jackson and Dorthy, each dropping their fair share of bodies, and others were there now and he figured someone else was up top at least for a little while the way certain bodies dropped. "My lovingkindness and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and He in whom I take refuge, who subdues my people under me," he said as he grabbed a hold of her pants and ripped them open to reveal a rather nasty bullet wound that had no exit.

"Fucking hell, have some gorram respect for a man of the cloth and stop firing that shit towards me! I'm a fucking shield of God right now! Don't mean I want to be dented!" he yelled as a bullet ricocheted near him and the captain. Turning he fired a shot out into the fray, taking out one of the men's knee caps before he turned his attention back to Anisa. "Now, where was I? Oh yes, PSalms."

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Anisa grunted as she lost her balance and felt the burn of the bullet in her thigh. "Yi Dwei Da Buen Chuo Roh," the Captain said under her breath as she grabbed a hold of her thigh above the bullet wound as her pants started to darken with her blood. It was searing and bleeding but thankfully it on the top meatiest part of the thigh inside of inside where it would have hit something vital or anywhere else where it could have dug into bone. Flesh healed faster.

Looking as more and more dropped she glanced towards the preacher as he came over to her and rolled her eyes as he spouted off his verse from the bible. "Not the time Preacher, we'll pray later," she said as she held her gun out and took aim, dropping a horse where a man was hiding behind it. The poor animal dropping and landing right on top of him pinning him there. As Atticus started yelling she bit the inside of her cheek, such was the duality that was preacher. He never stayed holy long.

Taking a deep breath as her pants were ripped she rose a brow. "I think you owe me dinner and a drink before you can start tearing my cloths off Preacher," she said as the last body dropped. Looking over towards Jackson she gave him a slight nod. "Get the one under the horse, make sure he sends a message to Patience. Her payment has been made in blood. If she would like anymore she can come claim it herself because if she doesn't I'm come claim it myself," she hissed from behind clenched teeth.

"Is there a doctor in the house?"

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The take off was rather smooth, some the gentleman could appreciate. Once in the black he undid his restraints and followed his old friend for a bit of refreshment. He could meet with the captain after at least a single toast. It would be rude not to partake in such generosity with his old friend. Plus he knew that the news that he carried close to his vest would be better received with a bit of liquid luck flowing through ones veins. Perhaps they should take the bottle and louse up the captain a bit before he delivered his news of their actual mission.

The man loved his work but he knew it would not sit well with the Captain or the Crew; perhaps not even Foy but this was his job and he felt that the end game far outweighed any danger that he could possibly be putting anyone in. Glancing around he wondered what the rest of the crew was up to right then. The pilot could be done and resting now, the captain just speaking with whom ever, other nameless folk could be grabbing a meal now or tending to their duties. There was a doctor on board, perhaps he was looking over the medical records of those on the ship. It was something he would have done when he was a healer. Though the doctor would find nothing on Jahosafat, there would not even be a file to access of him. What records he could find of Carla or Foy would be only what they had chosen to reveal before boarding; the simplest of things needed. The rest of the crew would be the standard files.

"Mighty fine my dear man, mighty fine. Shall we find the dear Captain now. I do think it is time for my big reveal and one wouldn't want to be late for their debut," he stated joyfully as he licked his lips of the sweet liquor. Turning he made his way to the bridge and glanced around, his find and dandy hat tucked beneath his arm as he spotted the Captain.

"Captain, if you would. I do believe it is time we had a little discussion about what this fine ship will be assisting me with over the next while. Though I do believe that perhaps somewhere private would be best. And without the assassin. This is between us Gentlemen, no offense ma'am," he said tipping his head slightly. "You just don't have sufficient... clearance for our little briefing."

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Dorothy ceased her fire, seeing most of the miscreants drop to the ground. Blowing slightly on the edge of her gun, enjoying that old cliche, she glanced upwards. Brutus' bullet hadn't come from any of their guns down there--it'd been from on top of the ship. Smirking slightly, it took her a moment to figure Camilla must have climbed on top, acting like a proper sniper. Of course, she wasn't the only one to notice Camilla up there.

"Preacher! Those gorram phrases of yours don't do nothing for her!" Dorothy shouted, resuming her fire. She was running low on bullets in her gun, and she'd need to reload in a moment. It was perhaps the only thing she hated about pistols--she wished reloading wasn't needed. They'd be much more efficient if they just magically reloaded themselves. But alas, that was impossible. Fortunately, it seemed the skirmish ended. Mechanically putting her gun away, Dorothy glanced out at Patience's dead and wounded.

"Hope you boys got yourself a doctor," Dorothy commented, before walking over to the Captain. Examining the injury slowly, Dorothy pulled out the pair of latex gloves from her pocket, snapping them on. She was a bit unorthodox in her selection of black gloves--but she figured that patients would be less freaked out if they didn't see the contrast of blood against white or blue.

"You're in luck, Captain, this wound is nothing," Dorothy encouraged, motioning for Atticus to help her move Anisa. They didn't have the luxury of having a stretcher to push around the ship, and if they did have one, she figured someone would've used it for smuggling somehow. "Let's get her to the med bay, fix her right up."

Grabbing onto Anisa from underneath, Dorothy smiled down at the Captain. She waited for Atticus to get her legs, and once he did so, Dorothy began to walk backwards. It wasn't the first time she'd brought someone back to the Med Bay like this, and it wouldn't be the last. Fortunately, it wasn't too far. Once they were inside, Dorothy set Anisa gently down in the chair, nodding at the Preacher to show her thanks.

"You too?" Dorothy asked slightly, glancing over at Camilla. The wound seemed to be in her shoulder. Muscles were perhaps the best place to be hit with a bullet, but shoulders could tend to be more prone to blood loss. And of course, not to mention the possibility for damage to nerves, bones, and vascular systems. Heading over to Camilla, Dorothy crouched down, examining her wound with a fresh pair of gloves.

Whichever of the pair seemed to be in the rougher shape, she'd treat first. Had she not cared about bedside manner, she would have asked which one felt closer to death. "I need to determine who to treat first--could you two rate your pain for me, on a scale of one to ten? Nothing seems to be all too serious, so do try to relax a bit if you can..."

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It took time, but eventually the shootout in the Cargo Bay dissipated and the crew was all right, save for some wounds she knew their resident doctor would take care of. What bothered her was the fact she could do little to help except being back-up in case things got hairy. Perhaps she should ask the Captain or Jackson for firearm training. If the shooters would have gotten close to her, she would bet a month's salary she could have easily taken them down and disarmed them, but they had guns, more likely than not they weren't going to charge in this situation.

She saw the Preacher and Dorothy carrying the Captain to the Med Bay and decided to follow them, partially because she wanted to make sure the Captain was ok. She also wanted to talk to her.

As the two set Anisa down, she walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Captain, I am relieved to see that you are all right, more or less," she looked down at the wounds given, before returning her gaze, "Though I know the answer, I will try again and ask that after this little ordeal you come see me and talk about this, if even for a minute or two, just to make sure you are ok. I know this isn't your first firefight, but even veterans need to sit down and talk. And before you ask no, I won't sleep with you unless I feel it would be beneficial. Just a talk, that's all." she smiled warmly, hoping the Captain would either accept or turn her down gently, as she has done so in the past. She made a mental note to offer the same to Camilla and. the others (though she was more worried about Camilla).

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Looking at the results on his diagnostic tool, Gideon tapped his tongue against his teeth impatiently as the device ran a test scenario. Using the inputted data to verify the rest of the ship's status wouldn't affect the test fire, it would let Gideon known whether or not he was safe to initiate a warm up or whether it would cause more harm than good. Looking away from the device for a minute, Gideon noticed the sounds of gunfire coming from outside the ship before the commotion moved inside the cargo hold. Clearly the Captain and her first mate had once again found themselves on the bad end of a deal.

Also means it's a bad time to accidentally blow her ship up.

He smiled to himself, sliding the diagnostic tool back into its holster as he gather the proper tools to move onto the next job. If the crew had just finished a fire fight, there would likely be wounded to attend to and stomachs to feed. The next few hours were optimal time for Gideon to get some work done as he'd be left alone without offers of help that came with the need to be instructed. Tightening his tool belt, Gideon activated the flashlight on his googles as he climbed into the ship's maintenance corridors in search of the fire suppression pressurization chamber. After taking a few wrong turns in the narrow labyrinth, Gideon finally arrived at his target sitting in the rafters above the cargo bay.

Gazing down below, he caught the tail end of Dorothy's desire to move the Captain to the medical bay for further examination before the majority of the crew left the large room. Whistling to himself, Gideon fastened a harness to the rafter to secure himself before beginning to dismantle the pressure chamber. Knowing that the depressurization had to be gradual due to the lack of damage to the chamber and the fact it was still standing at all, Gideon had a pretty good hunch what to expect as he opened the vessel. Sure enough, the seal crumbled into his hands as dried and worn out rubber disintegrated upon the release of its holdings. Without the seal, the pressure couldn't be maintained within the chamber which means they needed a new one yesterday.

Making a new seal wasn't an option, there was no way to do that onboard the Vengeance. The chances of having a replacement were pretty slim too but they couldn't very well risk using the engines without having an operating fire suppression system. Climbing back into the maintenance conduits, Gideon made his way back to the engine room. Rummaging around, he looked for anything he could spare that might have a seal large enough to use on the pressure chamber. Coming across a container of a spray-in sealant, Gideon paused for a minute considering the outcome. It would be a pain to clean off once a proper repair was available, but it could do the trick for the time being with a little jury-rigging.

Going back into the conduits, Gideon returned to the pressurization chamber preparing the spray canister as he replaced the destroyed seal with the sealant. Pulling a roll of adhesive tape from his tool belts, Gideon wrapped it around the vessel to hold the drying sealant in place. Pulling out his diagnostic tool, Gideon drew up his list of repairs while muttering to himself.

"Alright, what's next."

And just as quickly as the firefight erupted, it ended. All the sound of gunshots had vanished. He tooks the trip downstairs just in time to see Dolores take Captain Crowe over to the medbay with Genevieve following closely behind. From the way she was walking, she probably took a shot to the leg. Annoying as nǐ mā zuó wǎn those kinds of wounds were. It reminded him of one time when some jackass thinking he was funny accidentally shot him in the foot. It took weeks for him to be able to walk naturally again. Still that hú ān got what was coming to him. Lionel walked out to purview the damage caused.

"Well ain't this here a right fucked mess?" There were bodies strewn everywhere, blood, guts and other bits of body parts flung about. Atticus was giving last rites to people that were already dead. Unseemliness all around. Was that Patience's middle man? Oh he could tell right away that whatever happened here was a mere seedling that was going to blossom into a beautiful flower of kǒujiāo. Hands in his pockets, Wickett moseyed on over to Jackson Tanner.

"Mr. Tanner, would you mind fillin' lil ol' me in on what in the Wide Wide World of Sports went on here?"

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The hum of the controlled explosion lifting the ship out of the planet's atmosphere echoed through the trembling metal. Carla took the slightest of deeper breaths and counted from one hundred. Ninety nine. Ninety eight. Isn't blasting off great? Quinn wasn't secured and walked with the quiet confidence of a seasoned veteran of many ship launches. Her arm still reached out slightly to catch him if he'd fall.

They walked onto the bridge and Carla began continued to count. Twenty five. Twenty four. The pilot isn't a bore. She fished her gloves out of her jacket pocket and deftly slipped them onto her hands. The ship was out of the bosom of Persephone and into the Black. I'll never get used to someone else flying.

Carla regarded the dandy on the bridge directly addressing Quinn with the same disinterested look she had on her face when she was told her superiors were killed, jailed, or Alliance dogs. Death would have been cleaner. Carla took a step back from Quinn's side and found a home leaning against one of the ship's navigation monitors. She turned her back to the assorted personnel on the bridge and studied the deck. A brief thought ran across her mind: Death. She was going to be set up for a suicide mission or strangled in her quarters. She shrugged at it and lifted her eyes to gaze out of the ship.

Carla stared into the space of nothing that made up most the 'Verse.

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@JustDoingMe - The black is clear and Carla can see out into it without issue now that they have broken atmo. Everything seems quiet on the ship, in fact perhaps it is a little two quiet. There is a new comer on the ship, two in fact, and the rest of the crew has been shuffled off. It will probably seem odd to have the crew taken down from full to skeletal in the course of a single morning; especially without any previous notification. Though it is unlikely that this is the first time that Carla has been in a Black Ship.

@Lord Wraith - The repairs are coming along but some will take longer than others. There are more repairs to do now though. The hydraulics to the rear exit ramp for the cargo bay were blown out in the fire fight and the hull was breached next to where Camilla had been perched up on the top of Vengeance. So that just adds more to Gideons work. Oh well at least he won't be bored with too much down time. Might want to see if any of the other crew members can help. At least enough to carry things back and forth and start handing Gideon tools. Patience won't take the killing of her people well. Well actually she probably won't care about that but she does care about money. You are going to want to get things together before the Captain gets pissy. I mean more than she normally is and well she has been shot, that never puts her in a good mood.

@Sigil - The ship's course is set and baring any problems or interruptions it seems that William can take a small break. The ship is on auto pilot now, so hopefully no alarms will be blaring out. As per standard procedure, as long as the Captain doesn't have any more tasks for him, William is free to wander the ship and do whatever else he wishes or is needed of him. The computers will alert the ship if anything gets in the path of the Retribution. William will need to make regular check ins with the bridge every 4 to 6 hours just to make sure by visual check that everything is still okay and that they are on the right path and running on expected time.

@Pundii @Dragoknighte @Bluesky44 - Everyone but one of the men that attacked is alive, and he is pinned under a horse that was dead. He trying to get a hold of his weapon but it is out of his reach, barely. He keeps reaching for it between trying to push the dead beast off of the top of him but he is pinned from the waist down and well that is a dead horse, it weighs a lot. He isn't going to be able to move it by himself. He looks to be younger than the rest of the members of Patience's Bill Collecting Party, and he doesn't look familiar from what anyone can tell. He certainly hasn't dealt with this crew before over the years.

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Atticus chuckled a bit as he looked over towards Dorothy, "Patience is a virtue." Stopping he realized the irony in what he had just said and laughed at himself as he shook his head. Reaching down he helped hoist up the Captain and get her into the med bay; being careful as to not shuffle her around too much. He knew how gun wounds could hurt and being tossed around like a sake of potatoes never made it easy. She hated that she had been wounded but at least it hadn't been anywhere vital.

Looking down as they stepped into the Med Bay he tilted his head as he saw the blood coming from Camilla's wound and sighed. Seemed the Captain wasn't the only one that took a hit. Setting the Captain down he shook off the adrenaline going through his veins. Glancing back towards Camilla but it looked like she didn't want any help right then, waving him off as he tried to get close to her. Yeah, she didn't want help. At least not his kind.

"Well then, I will be back later; have to give last rights," he said before heading out. Rushing up to his room he grabbed his bible and a few other things before strolling back out of the back of the ship and looking around. Adjusting his collar a bit he sighed. There were more dead than there were alive but at least the crew of the Vengeance were all in tact, for the most part.

Taking a deep breath he glanced around at the crew that remained outside. He doubted the fact that he was about to give last rights to people that attacked the crew would go down well but he had to do it. He hoped that Jackson would at least keep them off his back while he did God's work. He knew that Jackson was not the religious type but the man knew what he had gone through to make sure his wife was laid to rest properly, hopefully he would allow these men the same.

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Anisa's eyes shot over towards Atticus as if she was boring holes into the mans head with his glare. "Patience is a gorham feh feh pi goh!" she hissed from behind her clenched teeth as she holstered her weapons and shook her head.

"Yeah, yeah, just get the damn thing out of me," the Captain added as she was lifted up and carried to the Medical Bay. She grunted a bit, it wasn't the best feeling to have a bullet bore into her flesh but at least it didn't feel like anything too serious and Dorothy didn't look concerned. Holding on as she was carried her eyes darted over to Camilla as she was moved through the doors of the Med Bay.

"Take care of her first. A captain with a limp is one thing, a sniper with a bum shoulder is another," the Captain ordered as she shifted back on the med seat and slid up on it a bit more. Grabbing her trousers and moving her leg onto the leg of the seat before resting her head back. She knew hers wasn't too bad by the way it felt but she didn't want Camilla out of commission any longer than she needed to be and she wanted her to heal up properly.

Taking a deep breath she pulled out each of her weapons, one at a time and reloaded the ammo in each one. Knowing Patience this wasn't the end of it and she was going to be ready, to hell if she had lead in her thigh right then. Glancing over towards Genevieve she perked a brow.

"Talking is fine, if I have time," she said as she glanced down to her leg and then smirked a bit to herself. "As far as sleeping with you goes, you have a better chance of actually getting Preacher to ask for that type of help than me." Glancing up as she rested her head back once again. "Hell, I'd probably chase after Preacher before I did you." Granted Anisa wasn't referring to which one she liked better as a person but Anisa had never been attracted to women, no matter how skilled they were. It just wasn't her thing.

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Swatting away the Preacher Camilla let out a long breath before looking over towards Captain. She wasn't about to argue with the woman. She was the captain and she gave the orders. Camilla was just a hired hand and one that wasn't looked at too well by most of the ships staff, she wasn't going to push her luck by telling the woman to shove it and just to have Dorothy go ahead and patch up the Captain first.

"It's a clean shot, just lost blood is all. Was able to get down off the top of the ship before the dizzies set in. Just patch me up, I should be fine," Camilla said as she unslung her rifle from her shoulder and rested it against the wall off the room with the safety on. Grabbing the door she hauled herself up and moved over to a seat.

Pulling her shirt off she cringed a bit as she had to move the fabric over her wound before resting the bloodied fabric in her lap. Sighing she sat up as well as she could, knowing she couldn't sit back just yet since it would press her shoulder up against the back of the chair and make it impossible for Dorothy to get to the exit side of the wound.

"Are we the only two that got shot on the crew? Is everyone else okay?" she asked as she sat there.

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Dorothy smirked slightly at Anisa's assessment of Patience. She couldn't help but agree with the captain wholeheartedly, but she had more important things to do than to get into an argument with the Preacher. For now, both Anisa and Camilla were in the golden hour. A fight might push them out of that and cause the Preacher to have someone more important to give last right's to. "Gen, this best be important, otherwise I need you to get gone, understood? Ma shong, Gen." She didn't exactly need the Companion to be getting underfoot at the moment. She preferred to have the Med Bay clear, allowing her to quickly move around if needed. "Unless, of course, you have a bullet in you as well?"

Nodding, Dorothy returned to a crouched position by Camilla. Eyeing the entry and exit wounds in turn, she grabbed an antiseptic and began to clean Camilla's wound. "So, Camilla, what's your favorite color?" Normally, Dorothy would've asked her patients to talk about a memory from their childhood, anything to keep them calm and steady. But for Camilla, she doubted that would've kept her in decent shape. It was a bit of a painstaking process, cleaning out the wound, and she kept her eyes glued on her patient. An antibiotic may become more than necessary otherwise. Setting aside the antiseptic once she finished, Dorothy grabbed a fresh bandage, and began bandaging up the shoulder, careful to keep pressure on it. "Camilla, love, are you feeling any dizziness? I need to know if you'll need more blood, but you seem to be remarkably well," Dorothy mused. She kept pressure on the wound, counting up in her head as to pass the time, as she waited for the bleeding to stop. In some cases, it could take upwards of ten minutes. As soon as she judged her patient to be fine, Dorothy smiled, and took a step back. "Try to be kind to that, yeah? Don't be going off and hurting it again for a little while."

Changing out her gloves and grabbing the supplies she'd need to treat Anisa, she moved over towards the Captain. A quick inspection confirmed her thoughts--the bullet was still inside of Anisa. She'd need to extract it, otherwise, lead poisoning could become incredibly possible. "So, Captain, tell me all about your dream pair of heels?" Dorothy asked, maneuvering the light above to shine down on Anisa's thigh. With various metal instruments, Dorothy held what appeared to be a glorified pair of tweezers in one hand, and in the other, a simple rod to help her ease the wound open, as well as keep pressure. She would nod along as Anisa (hopefully) went on about her dream pair of shoes, carefully easing her instruments into the wound, her hands steady. As long as Anisa didn't flinch, everything would be fine. Neither of them seemed like they'd go into shock, thankfully. The bullet was mostly intact, and Dorothy found the largest piece, and slowly removed it. She set it aside, repeating the process until the bullets were out.

"What about your dream coat, hmm?" Dorothy asked, now largely repeating the work she'd already done on Camilla. She sterilized and cleaned the wound, bandaging it up and applying pressure in order to stop the bleeding. Anisa's pants were largely in tatters, after Preacher ever so kindly tore them apart. Once her work was largely done, Dorothy took a step back, examining the pair of them. She had adrenaline on hand, if they needed it, and a fairly decent supply of blood.

"You've both been shot before, so I'm assuming you'll be able to tell if you're going into shock, or if you're dizzy from blood loss," Dorothy said, eyeing Camilla and Anisa. "So, that being said...How are you feeling now?"

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As the crew made relatively short work of the thugs outside, Jackson let out a satisfied sigh, taking a moment or two to reload his gun as he took a few steps over to Anisa, taking a glance toward her wound as he lowered his weapon to his side. The bodies would need to be cleared away, but that could wait, from where he was he could see the survivor, squirming under the horse that had trapped him and reaching for his weapon which was just out of reach. Hearing the order from Anisa, Jackson gave a firm nod. "Aye cap, try not to bleed out."

Moving out toward the horse and the man under it, Jackson glanced over his shoulder as Lionel came out. "Just some local colour is all, Patience just loves to make sure we're all doin' fantastic." He'd comment, moving closer to the dead man and kicking his weapon further away so he couldn't get it. "Ain't that a fact, boy?" Jackson said to the young man under the horse. Kneeling down, Jackson gave the man a smile, noting that they hadn't interacted before, he figured this was one of the newer additions to Patience's bunch of thugs.

"So here's the way things're goin' to work, you're goin' to head on back to Patience and let her know how we shot all 'er men, politely mind you, to pay that lil' tax she wants goin' on, hm?" He'd give the man a nod, as if to confirm that he understood. "We're goin' to finish fixin' our ship and get outta her hair, but if she wants to come back, well..." He cocked his gun again, pushing it to the man's head and giving him a stupid smile. "You get the idea." Moving to stand again, he holstered his weapon, carefully moving to try and lift the horse off the man.

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Watching through the ship's view-port as they left atmo, Quinn remained relatively quiet and simply observed for the time being as Harper took the ship out into the black, not wishing to disturb the pilot in his efforts, simply wishing to observe and make his judgements. Watching as the man stood, his eyes did not leave Harper as he moved closer, listening as he spoke and giving him a light nod. "You may go and get settled, but remain on-alert, in case I need you called back to the bridge." He ordered, he doubted they would need any careful flying for a while, but he wanted to make sure it wouldn't be far away.

Turning his gaze over his shoulder, he heard as the other of their new additions began to speak to him. The conversation he proposed seemed to have some worth to the Alliance Captain, he knew next to nothing about Moreau, so any opportunity to learn exactly why he was aboard his ship was a benefit. "Very well, we can speak in my office." He turned his gaze to Carla, giving her a light nod as he moved out of the bridge past Moreau, assuming he would follow as he moved to his office.

Heading inside, Quinn wandered about the desk which sat in the middle of the room, settling down in the comfortable, cushioned wooden seat which sat on the other side of a pair of simple ones, gaze locking on to Moreau as he motioned toward one of the seats. "Please, have a seat, and feel free to start wherever." He urged the man, leaning back in his seat as he waited to hear whatever it was that he had to say.

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Daphne watched as Dorothy took the Captain to the Med Bay. She thought about seeing if she needed any help. Nah, I'll probably just get in the way, as usual. Looking down, she saw one of them was still alive, just under a horse that probably weighed a lot. Daphne notice Jackson trying to pull the horse off, she almost went over to help him, but decided not to. I'm not the strongest person in the world, I'd probably be barely able to nudge it.

She walked around the cargo area, and saw several bullets that had missed hitting people. Well, Gideon needs to get cracking if we plan on getting out of here quickly. I'm useless as a pilot if we can't get the bird off the ground without exploding. She saw Gideon messing around with his tools, to her it looked like he was assessing the damage. Daphne watched him for a few minutes, glanced back at Jackson trying to move the horse, and back to Gideon again. Well, I could go try and move a horse, or help hand tools to someone. Well, knowing my strength that isn't a hard decision.

"Hey Gideon, I've got nothing to do right now, need a hand with anything. It was either help you or move a horse." she said, walking over to where she had seen him disappear to.

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Liam took in the Captain's immediate and strangely reasonable answer to his request. He seemed like the kind of man who might insist upon the new pilot staying put, purely because he had the authority to do so. A sort of "I'm in charge here, not you" moment. A mote of surprise twinged within him, never expressing outwardly and fading fast. The Alliance Navy, while generally restrictive and disciplined, was most assuredly a number of steps up from where he had recently been living. Who knows? He might even get some personal time without having to shank anyone for the privilege. He didn't like shanking people; wasn't hid style. Truth was, if someone needed correction, he'd rather club them out with a big tā mā de Wrench.

As it turned out, he happened to have a Big Tā Mā De Wrench. Lucky him.

He took the Captain's order to stay at the ready seriously, as indicated by an unhesitant "Aye, sir." Liam partially stood from the Helm, finishing up the last few routine prompts from the station's terminal, and turned to leave the Bridge. One step from his post, the dandy he had seen just earlier entered the Bridge, along with a similarly dressed individual he didn't quite recall meeting yet. The former spoke directly to Captain Quinn, something about a private meeting that the Agent wasn't cleared for. That was a particularly intriguing fact. The latter man seemed to know everyone aboard; he kept nodding to members of the crew that would catch his gaze, some with a mischievous smile that appeared and disappeared quickly. Liam surmised that he had been on the ship for longer, and was a bit of a socialite.

Either way, this conversation did not involve him. William did want to address an issue with Quinn, himself, but it could wait for a while (he hoped). If he was to be made privy to any of the knowledge from the meeting, he would find out soon enough. In the meantime, Lieutenant Harper stepped off of the Bridge to do precisely what he said he was going to - Make himself more at home in his quarters and lay eyes on every interior surface of the Retribution he was able.

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Well then, my my. A secret meeting among Gentlemen. And Captain Quinn. While it was true that the good Captain wasn't an overly moneyed individual, the right Finishing School would be able to turn someone like him into a person worthy of being presented at Cotillion. Such was the opinion of Foy Coiffeur.

Gentry or not, information of a secret nature really should be passed along with an accent of something smooth and alcoholic. To that end, the enigmatic Gentleman Barber had neglected to store his flask of brandy with the rest of the collection, instead opting to keep discreet hold of it in the interim, until they could have a touch of privacy to discuss whatever it was that brought his childhood friend, Jahosafat Moreau, on board the Retribution and away from his precious research facilities.

The elephant in the room, or large black crate in the cargo hold, also drew his interest. He would not be a man as impolite as to merely blurt out his curiosities, no, Foy was content to wait until Dr. Moreau was done with his presentaion. As Quinn and Jahosafat exited the Bridge, Foy followed, a gleam of intrigue reflecting in his bright eyes.

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@Lord Wraith @Bluesky44 - These repairs are going to take some time to get completed. So get used to seeing that when it comes to the repair updates. You have most of what you need but it looks like there might actually be another trip required to town for a few things. That is unless you all could manage to scavenge somethings from the remains of the mine that is near by. There are a few crashed shuttles there from what happened before the last time that Serenity was docked. It doesn't seem that Patience felt it was worth her time to strip everything away. And who knows what is actually left inside the mine since it was abandoned. Might be best to check it out before trying another shopping spree at Patience's HaHa I am going to fucking shot you Hacienda.

@Pundii @Dragoknighte - The man there, boy more like it, looks rather scared, nodding quickly to what is told to him. Right now he just looks like he wants to get the hell out of dodge before he ends up shot and someone decides to deliver the message personally to Patience instead of sending him as a messenger. Granted, who knows if he will actually go. Patience isn't exactly known for her patience. She might just shoot him for returning with everyone else dead. Either way he has stopped reaching for his gun, hands up for a moment before trying to help get the horse off him. Two isn't going to cut it. That horse is heavy. Maybe three can? Going to have to try and see. Now, what to do with the horse? You all have been stuck on protein rations for a while, who knows Horseburgers might make a nice change.

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Jahosafat grinned broadly and waited for the Captain to lead the way, giving a curt nod to the rest of the crew, respectfully of course, before turning and following. Once he, Quinn, and Fucking Foy, were in the captains office he slid the door shut and locked it. One could not be too careful in this day and age. Taking a breath he pulled his hat out from under his arm, flipping it around in his fingers a few times before removing his glasses and gloves; tucking them into the hat and resting it on the desk. Bobbing his head slightly as he undid the front button of his coat before he sat down on the edge of his seat and laced his fingers together, giving both the men with him a wide eyed look before settling into business.

"Now, gentlemen. I must advise you that what I am about to tell you is classified to the highest of order. In fact, you will speak to no one of this besides to myself and each other. What we are involved in could make or break the tides of the war and I do not mean the war against the Independence. I am, my good sirs, referring to the war against the Reavers," he said as his head bobbed and turned to each one of them in turn and then back again. His fingers flexing and curling back together as he spoke. His tone was firm and unjovial, he was always like this when he got down to business. It would be something that Foy would have been able to note that the doctor was no longer just enjoying a ride into the black.

Leaning back in his seat, he rested his hands on either arm of the chair as he crossed his ankle over his knee. "As you may or may not be aware, what happened on Miranda lead us to know that only certain parts of the population were susceptible to becoming Reavers. Roughly 1/10th of 1%. Now that in and of itself might not seem like a great number but when you look at it through the prospect of every planet within the 'Verse being under that and their populations... Well let us just say that in time we could be looking at an army of Reavers with ranks into the hundreds of thousands. Now that my dear gents is a rather terrifying thought."

Standing he pulled picked up his medical bag and set it on the desk next to his hat, opening up the archaic looking leather satchel he pulled out a small stack of papers. "You will have to bear with me gentlemen. I do so hate having to enter things into the signal. It can always be hacked. I prefer the written word," he explained as he handed the stack over to the captain and then retrieved an identical copy and handed it over to Foy. Within the files were maps of the 'Verse and where Reavers had been spotted or had attacked over the last three years.

"If you look closely there is a pattern, as if they are spiraling inward towards the Core worlds. By our calculations, if they continue on their current rate of acceleration they will be able to reach the central planets before the end of the decade. With as many worlds and moons as there are, this really is not a lot of time. And it seems that the Reavers are growing in population for one reason or another. They can, how do I explain, sense their own kind. This makes them even more dangerous, for they are not killing ones that can become what they are. They are adopting them in a sense and rearing them as their own." he explained as he pulled out a folded up map of the 'Verse and spread it out over the desk. Reaching over he pointed towards Whitefall.

"We believe this is their next target and that they will be arriving there within the next Four days, we had first calculated it would be two weeks from this day. They have sped up their time tables from our reports. Now, you were informed that there was an Independent Ship there on Whitefall? This normally would be of no concern to the Alliance, let them fall for all they care. Normally for me, I could care less, that was until I identified the vessel," he added before reaching back into his files and pulled out a personnel file.

"As my old friend can confirm, I am not an emotionally attached person. Love them and leave them is my motto. Life is far to short to be tied down. Yet there are a select few that I hold close to the vest. One such beating heart is aboard this vessel and I wish to retrieve them before the Reavers strike." Taking the file he flipped through it as he sat back down and leaned back in his seat.

"Whitefall is merely a pit stop though. Our mission now is for me to determine what if anything can be done to keep the Reavers from detecting their own when they attack. If we can do that, slaughter they will, but at least then they would not be collecting more for their army. It is my job to find a way to stop the spread. I have a test to run during our journey. It is your job to ensure I remain safe while I execute these orders. Whitefall may end up being our first test site as it were. I agreed to do this on one condition, that I am allowed to retrieve previously mentioned person before I continue."

Opening the personnel file fully he spun it around in his hand and rested it over the map. There on top of the file was a single picture; Camilla Powell. "I chose this ship because I knew it might very well become a personal mission for you my dear Captain. Camilla has always spoken so well of your time together before Serenity Valley."

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Folks will line up to shout out the downfall of the 'Verse. Reavers. Alliance. Independents. Bureaucrats. The Assassin had looked each face of the supposed great enemy in the eye, measured them, and found them wanting. The real enemy was the mundane. The routine that set in people's minds the controlled explosion that set them off into the vast nothingness was so because it could be no other way. Everybody knows that everyone dies. People still plan out their days as if they were the exception. Carla reached out and rested a gloved hand on the thin stretch of glass that separated her from the nothing that would rip her inside-out before she could finish a thought. Not being in the pilot chair made her antsy. On rare cases, a nihilist. She had stopped counting and was focusing on her breathing.

A serious study of Carla's face may notice the slightly widened pupils. The lips parted just so. Most everyone else would see a woman who could make a statue seem lifelike in comparison. Carla shut her eyes. She let her forehead rest on the glass. The world I leave behind is small and lonely. The 'Verse is empty. The ship is--Phokas. Carla's eyes opened and she stared into the void. She had made note of the skeleton crew when she had come aboard the bridge and through the few shadowy reflections they cast. The ship was blasting through stars and space to it's destination. A distraction to be addressed in time. Meanwhile, Carla stood still.

She was good at that.

"That's all, huh? Well maybe next time one of you will know to 保持它在你的裤子 so we don't end up in this here kind of plight again." Lionel stood back and watched Jackson try to lift the horse carcass off of the boy's body to no avail. Nothing in that situation was a likely to change unless some other sap came by to help him and the boy pinned underneath. Lionel looked around and saw that the only other ones around that could potentially help were Gideon and Carlisle. The former needed to be working on the ship so they could leave this gorram planet already, and honestly, he had no idea how much help the pilot girl would even be with lifting something as heavy as a horse's dead body.

Lionel sighed, discarded his jacket coat to the side and rolled up his sleeves. Might as well help out the poor sods, lest one of them decides to do something stupid. He moved to a spot the looked like it would be relatively easy to get ahold of and crouched down shoving his hands in between the dead flesh and the hard ground. Ew, there was horse sweat there.

[color=9C6F6F]"Alright, on my count of three, we're all going to try lifting this thing at once. Ain't gonna get nothing accomplished acting on impulse like a house full of beheaded chickens. You cocksuckers ready? 3... 2... 1!" Lionel was getting on in years, and he was never all that strong, but hopefully a bit of direction and the extra set of hands would be enough to resolve the issue.

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She would have reminded Dorothy that she had training in psychology, just another healing field in her opinion, and would be better helpful in this situation, but she let it slide. Just another person who felt she wasn't worth the trouble. She nodded at Anisa and walked passed Camilla, "The same goes for you, especially. My door is always open, but I would highly recommend you come talk about this. I'm going to go see if they need help in the Cargo Bay." With that she left the women to get patched up.

As she made her way towards the Cargo Bay, she thought about her situation again. It seemed many didn't consider her a worthy ally in this and that was something she would not tolerate. She was trained and perfected her skills, she knows lots of things these people couldn't even dream of, but she was always placed in the back. She hated that.

She came into the Med Bay to see Jackson messing about with one of the thugs. She couldn't help but smile at his playful attitude with the man. She stepped around, "Need any help in here? The Captain and Camilla should be ok, Dorothy is taking care of them." The Question was sincere as she waited for Jackson to finish his demands of the man before addressing her.

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Camilla looked over towards Dorothy as if she was nuts when the woman asked her what her favorite color was. She understood what she was trying to do but she really hadn't ever thought about a favorite color, at least not in a long time. Living out in the black and on a ship like the Vengeance one usually was not able to decorate their room in their favorite colors or patterns. That was something that the core worlds seemed to enjoy much more, many of them had the luxury to do so. She had had that luxury once upon a time.

Back then, she didn't recall having a favorite color per-say, the only thing that she remembered getting her attention that was of any color was the color of Quinn's eyes but she couldn't say that. Looking away she just said the first thing after that that came to mind. "Red, like strawberries," she said. It was no secret on the ship that she enjoyed the fruit, so it wouldn't be too far out there to say she enjoyed their color.

"I might once things calm down," she said to her friend when she suggested that she should come talk to her. A bullet wasn't much to talk about, it happened and it wasn't life threatening but perhaps just a little talk about anything or nothing would do her some good. There were few on the ship that actually would speak to her anyways.

"Right, I'll be fine," she said before getting up and stepping over to her rifle, picking it up as she did and resting the strap on her shoulder. "If you need me I will be in my quarters retrieving an unholy shirt," she said before smirking over towards Atticus as he was leaving and then walking out of the room.

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Atticus chuckled a bit at Camilla's word play before he had headed out, thinking back on it now that he was outside he had to keep himself from chuckling again. He had work to do. The others out there seemed to be dealing with a man about a horse. (yuk yuk) Once Jackson and Lionel started working together the horse was able to be slid off. The man however did not move once the horse did other than sitting up and taking several long breaths. He tried to move his legs, but one of them was not doing it without an immense amount of pain. It was pretty clear even to the untrained medical eye that when he fell off the horse and it landed on top of him he had broken his leg.

"Seems like we must turn the other cheek gentlemen," Atticus said as he grabbed one of the dead men by his heels and started dragging him away from the ship for burial. The boy would need his leg set before he could even think about delivering a message to Patience.

Atticus kept a loose eye on the group outside, nodding to Gene as she came out but not saying anything. This was one of the few times he was not running his mouth. He just would move each body one by one away from the ship, dig a grave, give them their final rites, and then cover them up. It was going to take awhile with all the death that had occurred but this was his job after all.

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Anisa chuckled as Camilla left before letting her head fall back once it was just her and Dorothy in the room. Then the fear came. "I think the bullet had poison on it," she said as she held out her hand to her best friend. It was shaking and the color of her veins was starting to change. Anisa had been the only one hit by one of Brutus's bullets, it was the only one he had managed to fire off really before Camilla had taken him out.

She had thought something was wrong as soon as the bullet hit, it burned more than other wounds she had received in the past, she felt more groggy than normal from that amount of blood loss, her mouth tasted like metal. It just wasn't sitting right in the pit of her stomach or anywhere else. Yet she wasn't going to say anything while the rest of the crew was around. She was the Captain, she had to be strong even with a bullet in her flesh. The fact she had even bit hit was nagging at her but there was nothing that could be done about it right then.

Once everyone was out of the room though, she could let down her guard. Dorothy was her best friend, oddly enough. She trusted her with her life and the life of her crew. It seemed like right then perhaps her life really was in Dorothys hands. Outside Brutus still had yet to be buried, maybe there would be something on him to let Dorothy know what was coursing through Anisa's veins. Or Perhaps another bullet had the same poison on it. Something. Looking at Dorothy she got a stern but still frightened look on her features. "Don't let them know."