His lips followed the line of her shoulder with gentle kisses while her hands traced the planes of his back. Each muscle tensed as her fingers played along his spine, fiercely butterflied by the symmetrical carving of his ribs. As his kisses claimed the nape of her neck, S.A.M.N.T.H.A. exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding in. Her arms enclosed the small of his back, pulling him toward her.
"Come away with me, Cal" she breathed into his hair, "Let me take you away from all of this."
"Darlin'," his hands lightly caressed her thighs before meeting at the small of her back, "you know I can't do that." Cal's tone was playful, encouraging, even.
Even if departing the lifestyle of being a Companion crossed his mind, to leave it for Sam would be complicated, no matter the complex feelings he harbored for her. The living, breathing flesh in his embrace now was simply a conduit for the... person... he knew as Sam. A body on loan for tonight. Another hired actor in the entertainment this evening.
"I know," Sam's tone was still hopeful, "it's just that this feels..." she paused to find his eyes, "special." No matter how many times she met with him through different eyes, that look he gave her never changed--never faded. To her, Calvin Booth Strand was at once her savior and paramour. If he hadn't removed her from Alliance control, she would never have built the peace she had built, used the profits for the betterment of the 'Verse, grown so fond of the man who made it possible... All of this was possible because one night, on a job with a client, Cal had decided his coat was more Brown than Purple.
His hazel eyes stared back into hers, "It does," his thumb came to rest on her cheek, tracing the outline of her temple. Drawing her in, his lips met hers, their eyes closing to allow the multiple points of contact throughout their bodies to alight.
Their kisses intensified as the pair lay back on the soft bed sheets in Cal's shuttle. The decor of modern angular furniture was accented by warm lighting and calming impressionist works from the masters. Feodore's 'Beach at Sunset' painted with only pallet knife, hung above the occupied bed--its broad streaks of stippled red, blue, and yellow evoking the gamut of emotions of which Sam and Cal succumbed.
Her hands found purchase on his shoulder blades as Cal hung above her. His body closed the gap between them and his lips sought out her suprasternal notch. She noted the feeling of their skin--like soft silk--as subtle motions began their play between them. Her eyes met his, a look of alarming warmth staring back at her.
Suddenly, everything went loud--red painted over the entire room as the pair moved in tandem.
Only it wasn't the heat of the moment that shot red light across the room, but the warning alarm which sat above the shuttle door. The Phoenix station to which he'd docked must have thrown the panic alarm, which menaced the pair as their sight returned among the sheets of Cal's bed.
Sam was the first to respond, "Red light..." to her memory of station internals, having written much of the safety code for this one herself, she knew that could only mean one thing. "We have to go, now." Gone was the soft and pleading tone she employed just moments ago; now, the cold steel of her eyes trained upon the flashing red light and the image it heralded.
Her elbow ducked from beneath Cal, his arm extricating his hold of Sam as he rolled away. In moments Sam was pulling on her black slacks and peacock-green blouse, a calm hand lashing on her gun belt.
"What does it mean," Cal asked, his eyes beginning to narrow as he followed her lead and began getting dressed.
With one look over her shoulder, she let the word slip without meeting his eye.
Penelope Randell lay back against the warm canyon rock, enjoying what little breeze came her way from the height towering over an expanse of desert. Hazel eyes watched the peregrine soaring away from the outcropping she’d spotted it nesting in, wonder at how majestic the bird was filling her mind. How would it feel to spread her arms and let the wind carry her up, to sail through the sky then swoop down in a dive. Exhilarating.
“Nel, get back over here!” The frustrated demand from behind her made her realize she’d stood and walked to the edge of the cliff, arms up. Innocent, young eyes turned back, round with sadness at being scolded by her older sister. “Sorry, Helen…”
She was all but five, and her older sister at twelve knew better and was always looking out for her. So of course little Nel shuffled back to the circle Helen and her parents were making camp for the night. They’d traveled all the way to Regina just to see the stars - something Helen didn’t understand since they could see them anywhere. They flew through them just to get here.
“Aw, Nel, just stay away from the cliff’s edge, honey.” Her mother said softly as she wrapped her arms around the pouting little girl. “Your sister wasn’t getting onto you.”
“Yes, I was!” Helen retorted, only to get a playful wack of brush to her arm. “Hey, that’s scratchy, Dad!”
“I was just being like the bird, Mama.” Penelope said as tears threatened. “I know I can’t really fly though. I ain’t got no wings.”
“Sure you do, Nel,” Her father said as he dropped the pile of sticks and brush before getting to sorting them. Instead, he knelt down and poked his little girl in the chest just so. “Right in there. And one day, you’ll figure out how to use them.”
“How about you make the fire instead of trying to get my little bird to leave the nest too soon?” Penelope giggled as her mother wrapped her arms tighter around her little body, pulling her away protectively with an emphatic kiss to the top of her head.
Later that evening, she lay on her sleeping bag alongside her sister, listening to the fire crack as it died down. Helen turned suddenly, so Penelope turned her eyes from the stars to look at her older sister with a smile. It faltered when she saw the cross look being sent her way. “What is it, Hel?”
“How come you have to be so full of nonsense, Pen? I wanted a normal sister, you know, not one that talks about being a bird or making friends with toads.” That hurt, even for a little five year old who didn’t fully understand how much resentment was in her sister’s tone. What she knew was Helen was mad at her, and she’d been real mad at her a lot lately. She tried to make it up to her, brought her things she made from stuff she found, but ever since the last time when Helen slapped it away, Penelope hadn’t made anything new.
“I’m sorry, Hel.” She said, more concerned with how angry she’d made her sister instead of how the words hurt. “What can I do to be a better little sister?”
The music of The Underworld hummed and pulsed to the delicious haze enhancing Penelope’s first club-going experience. Her rainbowed metallic hoops spun about her wrists as they moved with the sea of bodies too lost in rhythm and movement. Somehow, she’d left though, and was sitting in a booth with people she didn’t recognize, laughing and drinking. Words were shouted above the blended sounds, a conversation she couldn’t follow. Another round! She took the shot between her styled nails, glinting off the overhead beams when the light hit just right, and threw it back.
Her friends had regrouped and pulled her along, out into the too cold night for what little they were all wearing. Penelope tugged at her lime green fur coat, but it did nothing for her bare legs the latex skirt didn’t come close to covering. Wind blew, and her friend screeched while huddling altogether as she winced her faux lashes shut against the sound and chill. They laughed and carried on, university students brave and fearless. Recklessly so.
Halfway back to the dormitories, the girls stopped because their ringleader was punking in an alley. Her second-in-command had the job of holding back the shocking purple and silver locks, and the other two were tasked with keeping an eye on their little wanderer. Unfortunately, an argument broke out in regards to the cute guy at the club and who he had really been checking out.
Penelope found herself standing atop a building, her stiletto heels cast aside as she stood up on the edge. Music still played somewhere, she could hear it as she looked skyward, unable to see a star in the sky. The green coat had slipped down her arms, pooling at the sleeves so it remained caught on her elbows. The wind here was still, tunneled between the buildings below, but the music of it coursing through was what had her attention now. A bag drifted high above the nearly empty streets below, thrashed this way and that.
“Hey, little bird, why not step back from that ledge you’re on?” Most people would have jerked, surprised - and if she hadn’t had so much alcohol in her system, delaying her response, she might have as well. But big arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her back. She might have laughed. As her head rested against a large shoulder without a visible concern at the situation, she sighed a sad smile. “A bird? I haven’t seen a bird in years.”
“She has great reflexes, sir.” Penelope stood quietly with her hands clasped behind her back, listening to Axel give her field report to their garrison leader. “Her slight build does not do well for hand-to-hand, but her perceptual ability makes her a shoe-in for long range. Target practice could do with some improvement, but when we put a sniper rifle in her hands she saw things rarely noticed in previous recruit’s simulation runs.”
Penelope glanced at her mentor, his big frame was blocking the view of the chief, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t Rollins’ approval she ever sought. Hearing Axel give the assessment without any admiration meant nothing, the fact that he was highlighting her skills was what surprised her. Every day at training, it was hard-ass steel. Never encouragement or a word of praise when she did well.
The pampered city girl had to be broken out of her - and when she realized that, everything turned around. That girl that was caught in a black out zone of Osiris was gone. Here stood a trained assassin. Or, one in the works.
The tell that she wasn’t quite so passive had been when Axel gave his recommendation. “If we can get her to another base, maybe a Xuan Wu location, we can see about flight training.”
“Really?” She spoke out of turn, getting a hard look from those shale eyes as Axel turned to glance over at her. Penelope pressed her lips to stop the smile as she cast her eyes downward.
Without looking up at her mentor, she knew he’d turned his gaze back on his commander before he continued speaking. That’s just how he was - in an official capacity. “We’re short on pilots doing the runs now that a whole circuit got clipped by the Alliance in Red Sun.”
“Yes, but can your little bird actually fly if you let her out of that cage you’ve kept her in so long?” The curt clip of Rollins’ snear got Penelope’s hazel eyes peeking back up. The woman never liked her, and in truth, it was mutual. “Song birds aren’t fighters, Axel.”
“This one is.” Axel said, a hand going to his covered forearm. Penelope knew that beneath it was a ragged scar from the night he’d captured her, teeth and nails tore so deep he needed stitches. That got her ‘talons’ broken off painfully with a set of pliers. Ever since, she kept her nails short and natural. “But more importantly, we need fliers - ones that aren't full of fear the first time they strap in. I’m thinking the one moon orbiting Zeus. We can leave out tomorrow, on your order.”
“We, Heroux?” Penelope could picture that thin brow lifted, her own head tilting further up as curiosity was getting the better of her. “You’re trading the cage for a tether. So be it - take the girl. If she dies in the crash course, it won’t be a great loss.”
Jake Meadows found the Bernard Class Search and Rescue Vessel at an abandoned mine roughly one hundred thirty miles from Paradiso on Regina. The starboard magnetic grappler was missing, as was the starboard hardpoint grappler. The first was replaced with a missile battery, to help conserve power and give the ship much-needed protection from boarding. The starboard hardpoint grappler was replaced with a fixed forward one-pound autocannon operated by the pilot to provide some additional firepower. The remaining hardpoint grappler and magnetic grappler are used to pull salvaged vessels in close for boarding. Jake Meadows and his brothers spend most of their time salvaging wrecks or deserted ships in the ‘verse.
Jake grew up on Hera with his brothers and sister. Seven of the boys fought in the Unification War. When the final battle in Serenity Valley ended, so did the war. It was a pyrrhic victory as the Alliance achieved supremacy in the universe. The boys tried to go home to the farm on Hera but found the Alliance had killed the owners and took over the farm. No one knew what happened to the McGinnis family. The boys, who were in their twenties then found transit working on a cargo ship. They ended up on Regina where they found the Salvage ship.
Jake’s brothers include Jo-Jo Hooker, who is currently serving as his first officer; Carl Miner, also known as Scrapper, works as the ship’s pilot; and finally, Paul Trask, Winston Trask, Derek Malloy and Theo Steiner all serve the ship as the boarding party. As first officer, Joe Hooker leads the boarding party during inspections and salvage operations. While spending time in the ‘verse finding loot hidden on wrecks, they also found Penny McGinnis who apparently did not die when the Alliance took over her father’s farm. She now serves as the ship’s weapons officer. Along with operating the weapon system, she also uses the grapplers during boarding operations. Aside from the grapplers, her primary concern is the missile launcher which has a maximum range of 16 Kilometers. The autocannon is operated by the ship’s pilot, Carl Miner.
The boys agreed to name the ship, “Fortunate Sons”. They all felt lucky they survived the battle of Serenity Valley and although they were mostly Brothers from Other Mothers, they all considered each other brothers. They were family. The name Fortunate Sons seemed appropriate to the brothers.
They had recently completed stripping parts and supplies from a wrecked Titan Class Heavy Bulk Transport ship. The crew had either departed before it went adrift or died on the ship itself. The boarding party reported seeing corpses on various decks of the ship. They found food supplies, a few laser batteries and parts they may be able to use on their own ship or sell on the black market. The ship’s primary cargo had already been stripped clean. But hauls like this were there mainstay for earning a living.
“Make your way to the nearest space station,” Captain Jake Meadows said to Scrapper.
“Aye, Cap’n,” the pilot, Carl Miner responded. It would require an additional twenty hours before the space station came into view. At this range it was still many kilometers away. Eventually, the Fortunate Sons came in range. Carl Miner let the captain and crew know, “approaching the station now.” Carl Miner sat at the helm of the salvage ship intending his approach to be for a docking. As they got closer, he could see through optics that something was wrong. Something was out of place. ‘This doesn’t look right,’ he thought to himself. “Captain, git up to the bridge. Reavers!” Carl exclaimed over the intercom as realization hit him.
When the alarm rang out about the Reavers, the remainder of the crew jumped into action. Penny got to her weapons station on the bridge behind the pilot. She worked her external optics in order to bring the Reaver ship into view. It was still over twenty kilometers from the Fortunate Sons. Joe Hooker, first officer was already in his jump suit as were the rest of the boarding party. They gathered weapons donning combat helmets and assault vests. Their ammunition pouches were will filled with magazines. They carried fragmentation grenades as well as flash bang and smoke grenades. Derek and Theo carried energy-based laser carbines. Paul carried a sub machine gun modeled from an Earth that was, Heckler & Koch MP-5. His brother, Winston carried a 12-gauge shotgun from another Earth that was model, a Remington 870 and a Ruger Redhawk .357 revolver. Many of the brothers carried .357 caliber handguns in a hip holster. They knew if they all carried the same caliber weapon it would simplify the caliber of ammunition they had to carry.
“Tracking the Reaver ship at twenty kilometers, Captain,” Penny commented. By this time Jake had reached the bridge. He was in near enough to Carl and Penny for them to talk to him in person. Penny wanted to ask what they wanted, but she had enough experience to know the Reavers just wanted to kill and steal. There was only one solution. They were not someone to be trifled with.
“Roger that, Penny,” Jake responded to her. “Hold weapons. I don’t want you alerting them to our presence or firing before we are ready.” Penny nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“Boarding party is ready for action, Cap’n,” Joe Hooker added to the intercom traffic. Joe looked over Paul, Winnie, Derek and Theo to insure all their equipment was good to go.
“Roger that, Jo-Jo. Stand by,” the captain answered his first officer. Captain Jake Meadows was confident in his brother’s ability at entering a ship tactically, providing overwatching cover to advancing members of the team. They all had worked together as a squad during the war and didn’t forget the small unit tactics they learned from experience.
“Captain, the Reavers are attacking that Firefly!” Miner commented. Carl could see laser blasts spreading over and across the top of the firefly class cargo ship. There were no secondary explosions yet. They hadn’t scored a vital hit yet.
“Penny, are we in range?” The captain asked the weapons system officer.
The young woman, whose parents were slaughtered by the Alliance purple bellies, zoomed her camera view of the reaver ship, “closing to sixteen kilometers. Aye Cap’n,” she spoke to Jake Meadows. “Fifteen, Fourteen, Thirteen…” She gave a countdown as the Bernard class Salvage Ship closed with the Reaver and the Firefly.
Don’t fire unless I tell you to, “Laser blasts arced across the Firefly as the Reavers closed with the space station. The ship appeared intent on landing at the station. “They want to take the cargo ship. Bring her in close, Scrapper. And make damn sure not to give our presence away!”
“Aye Cap’n!”
“Prepare to board!” Jake ordered Joe Hooker then turned to Penny, “Get ready on the grapplers. We’ll tie on and board them. Breach their hull. Clear their ship first.”
“Passing eight kilometers,” Penny told the captain.
“They are docked now, Cap.” Carl Miner pushed the ship to get in closer.
“five, four, three, two, one…” Penny’s voice trailed off as the ship slowed.
The Fortunate Sons closed with the Reaver’s ship, pulled up alongside as Penny fired off the grapplers. With the Salvage ship tied alongside the Reaver ship, the Trask brothers placed a shape charge along the Reaver hull and pulled the detonator. They immediately moved back behind cover.
Following the explosion, smoke, and brilliant light, the five members of the boarding party ran through the newly created hole prepared to engage Reavers inside their own ship.
Another day on China Doll. Another toilet tah clean.
Abby sprayed in tha solution, goin’ all ‘round tha underside of tha rim. Then she hit it with her brush, scrubbin’ an’ diggin at ever’ spot til the bowl’s all shiny. Once that part’s done she grabbed a fresh paper roll from her cart an’ slipped it inta place. ‘Cept fer makin’ a pass with the mop, she declared “One down, two tah go.”
Second stall was a rinse and repeat. She’d jest dropped on her knees in the third when ‘er hip vibrated. Abby pulled the little reader from ‘er back pocket.
New Message from Thomas Jinks. (Image attached.)
She thumbed the link. The screen glowed with both his words an’ the pic he shared.
Come back to New Melbourne. The glamorous life awaits.
Pitcher was a closeup of Thomas, grinnin’ all crooked as blood an’ fish guts was drippin’ down his face. If she’s any judge, looked like the Jinks kids got up tah tha devil while they’s cleanin’ their catch. Abby held her capture up so’s tah git a proper shot ‘o’ her scrubbin’ the toilet, a big smirk on ‘er face fer tha cam’ra. Then, she typed a message right back at him.
And give up all this?
Thomas musta liked that’n, ‘cuz he didn’t waste no time.
Darling Crabby, my Princess of Poop.
The deckhand giggled an’ banged out a reply. That’s Queen of Commodes, to you. Don’t you have work to do?
Next message from Thomas come with an audio file attachment. My brothers say you’re right. Give this song a listen. I heard it and thought of you. She took a minute, cleanin’ out the last toilet afore she stood up. Showers was next. Easy peasy, ‘cuz they both mopped up jest like the tiled deck. Abby fished the buds outta her pocket. With her mop an’ bucket at tha ready, she pressed “play.”
“And cut!” Edgar’s voice rang across the soundstage. Morgan knew at once that the director considered this take to be The one. He was so polite that one needed to listen carefully for his tells. Unlike Joss, if Edgar wasn’t satisfied with a take, his call to cut scene came in the form of a dubious question. Hearing “Cut?” was her signal to approach him for a quick consult before cameras rolled again.
She could see him, laughing and chatting with the head ciinematographer. Edgar was happy. Today was a wrap for shooting in Studio A, but she had work to do. Morgan laid the ear buds on the prop table, before donning her mask. “All good?” she asked the guest director.
“Splendid,” his eyes sparkled above his mask. “Tomorrow’s the day. How do you feel?”
“Terrified.”
He dismissed her worries with a “bah” and a hand upon her shoulder. “You killed it in blocking, Morgan. Repeat that, and tomorrow shall be a very short day. Get some rest tonight, alright?”
“I’ve got a table read in thirty,” she replied. “Then it’ll be ‘trailer, sweet trailer’ until Makeup at five AM.”
“As the lord intended,” Edgar chuckled as he flagged down his Floor Manager. “Miles, let’s prep for B-roll.”
“Right away,” the serious young man keyed his shoulder mic. “That’s a wrap, people,” his voice echoed through the studio. “Anybody who isn’t a gaffer should clear the stage. One hour dinner break for everyone shooting B-roll tonight. Check your departmental sheets for tomorrow’s call times. And remember, everybody,” he paused as the entire cast and crew shouted his nightly farewell message back to him.
“GET HOME SAFE, COME BACK SOBER!!!”
Thirty minutes til table read. Enough time to wolf down her dinner salad and get to the rehearsal room. Morgan hurried to the craft services table to find her meal all packaged in a clear plastic container. Romaine lettuce, cucumbers, and vinaigrette, was inscribed on the lid. A small bag of almonds had been taped on as well. Amelia never forgot. She’d just collected a water bottle when a voice came from behind.
“Cal Junior, I presume?”
Even behind the slight muffle of his mask, that voice was unmistakable. Morgan turned, her eyes widening at the proof of her ears. “Why…hey…wow, Mr. Fi…”
“It’s Nathan,” he offered a friendly elbow bump. “And I’m the one who should be starstruck. I just wanted to tell you how much I love what you’re doing with Abby.”
“Oh,” Morgan expelled a breath that seemed to deflate her. “I love her so much. She’s a joy to play…but sometimes I think she’s starting to take over. I catch myself speaking ‘Firefly’ and slipping into her twang at places like Starbuck’s,” she laughed nervously.
“Shiny!” Nathan’s smile was self evident through his mask. “Happened to me all the time. I catch myself channeling Mal during little moments…like contract negotiations. So…” he ventured. “Ready for tomorrow?”
“No…yes…I don’t know,” Morgan shook her head. “Doing both parts in two single takes? I mean..it feels good in rehearsal, but when I think about tomorrow? She clutched her stomach. “Butterflies for days.”
“Hmm,” Nathan shrugged. “That’s not what Summer says at all.”
“Really?”
“Really.” In the distance rose the high pitched whine of electric motors. The gaffers had wheeled out their lifts, and were now headed up to focus the lighting. “She and I had dinner last night. Now Summer’s always a pretty positive type, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get her to shut up about your rehearsals. Believe me, I tried..even offered to pay her. That was a joke.”
“I’m sorry,” Morgan tilted her head. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” But she wasn’t. Not a bit.
Nathan dipped hands into his pockets. “You’ve worked with Summer going on three weeks…long enough to know each other’s moves and to have fun with it. Fun…that’s the key,” he said. “Alan and I brought Edgar in for tomorrow’s scene because he can capture the detail and draw that fun out. Tomorrow? Summer and Edgar are gonna have a great time. I’d suggest to you that you’ve put in the hard work. Tomorrow’s the fun part…but Abby already knows that.”
Morgan smiled as her eyes met his. “She does, doesn’t she?” The studio clock flashed, catching her attention. “Oh,” she scooped up her things. “Sorry, I’ve got a table read in fifteen.”
He nodded. “Right, you and Val for ‘The Great Drawl-Off.’ Joss was worried it’d come off comical, so he’s liable to be stressed. Don’t mind him, okay?”
“I won’t. I know he’s got a reputation problem right now.”
“He does. Have things been alright between you?”
“Listen,” Morgan spoke frankly. “I’ve worked with so many indy directors who make Joss on his worst day look like an angry kitten. I can handle some needling. Besides,” she looked about the soundstage with it’s numerous shooting sets. “He brought this to life. And you…”
“And you,” Nathan interjected. “There’s not a person involved here who doesn’t love what we’re doing. That ‘verse,” he pointed toward the set as lights flashed and moved in the gaffers’ hands, “started in Joss’ head, but every one of us has helped it along. You and the China Doll crew own it every bit as much as Serenity’s crew does.” He cast a wistful eye over the darkened galley set. “There’s a lot of love in these places. Enjoy this, Morgan.”
“I will…I do.”
“And don’t forget,” Nathan lifted an index finger. “Christmas party tomorrow night after we wrap. Jewel and Sean are coming. There may be caroling, but I didn’t say that…now, you’d better run. Do me a favor? Tell Val I said “Haaaagh.”
“Okay,” Morgan chuckled, “and do me a favor? Don’t tell Joss I called him an ‘angry kitten?”
We hope that all of you had a wonderful Christmas with your friends and loved ones! We're also excited by the Holiday AU pieces many of you have posted to the OOC thread. While we enjoy seeing what you bring to each episode, it's a real blast to read the product of your imaginations.
As mentioned earlier, Wolf and I will move the clock forward on Episode 3. Day 2 on Greenleaf will officially kick off MONDAY, 12/27. If you've got additional Day 1 posting you'd like to get up, we encourage you to post before turning in tonight. One JP we're aware of won't be ready in time, so I've already posted a place holder. If you're in similar straits, feel free to do likewise.
So, lots of activity on Day 2! The Skyes embark on their latest heist. Yuri realizes that his future is in the hands of a "shuttle chaser." Alana's pulling stitches and prescribing sound advice. Father Collins will arrive. Hook has dropped hints about visiting a professional. Cal and Pen will get the skinny on our next job from their new best friend, Hafez Nadal. And Abby, wild child that she is, has plans to go shopping for headphones. Lots to write, and always a joy to read.
Remember that we're leaving OOC open to AU posting through Sunday, 1/2. I've got more to write there, and I hope y'all are having as much fun there as I am. Enjoy your holidays, and stay safe into the new year.
His lips followed the line of her shoulder with gentle kisses while her hands traced the planes of his back. Each muscle tensed as her fingers played along his spine, fiercely butterflied by the symmetrical carving of his ribs. As his kisses claimed the nape of her neck, S.A.M.N.T.H.A. exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding in. Her arms enclosed the small of his back, pulling him toward her.
"Come away with me, Cal" she breathed into his hair, "Let me take you away from all of this."
"Darlin'," his hands lightly caressed her thighs before meeting at the small of her back, "you know I can't do that." Cal's tone was playful, encouraging, even.
Even if departing the lifestyle of being a Companion crossed his mind, to leave it for Sam would be complicated, no matter the complex feelings he harbored for her. The living, breathing flesh in his embrace now was simply a conduit for the... person... he knew as Sam. A body on loan for tonight. Another hired actor in the entertainment this evening.
"I know," Sam's tone was still hopeful, "it's just that this feels..." she paused to find his eyes, "special." No matter how many times she met with him through different eyes, that look he gave her never changed--never faded. To her, Calvin Booth Strand was at once her savior and paramour. If he hadn't removed her from Alliance control, she would never have built the peace she had built, used the profits for the betterment of the 'Verse, grown so fond of the man who made it possible... All of this was possible because one night, on a job with a client, Cal had decided his coat was more Brown than Purple.
His hazel eyes stared back into hers, "It does," his thumb came to rest on her cheek, tracing the outline of her temple. Drawing her in, his lips met hers, their eyes closing to allow the multiple points of contact throughout their bodies to alight.
Their kisses intensified as the pair lay back on the soft bed sheets in Cal's shuttle. The decor of modern angular furniture was accented by warm lighting and calming impressionist works from the masters. Feodore's 'Beach at Sunset' painted with only pallet knife, hung above the occupied bed--its broad streaks of stippled red, blue, and yellow evoking the gamut of emotions of which Sam and Cal succumbed.
Her hands found purchase on his shoulder blades as Cal hung above her. His body closed the gap between them and his lips sought out her suprasternal notch. She noted the feeling of their skin--like soft silk--as subtle motions began their play between them. Her eyes met his, a look of alarming warmth staring back at her.
Suddenly, everything went loud--red painted over the entire room as the pair moved in tandem.
Only it wasn't the heat of the moment that shot red light across the room, but the warning alarm which sat above the shuttle door. The Phoenix station to which he'd docked must have thrown the panic alarm, which menaced the pair as their sight returned among the sheets of Cal's bed.
Sam was the first to respond, "Red light..." to her memory of station internals, having written much of the safety code for this one herself, she knew that could only mean one thing. "We have to go, now." Gone was the soft and pleading tone she employed just moments ago; now, the cold steel of her eyes trained upon the flashing red light and the image it heralded.
Her elbow ducked from beneath Cal, his arm extricating his hold of Sam as he rolled away. In moments Sam was pulling on her black slacks and peacock-green blouse, a calm hand lashing on her gun belt.
"What does it mean," Cal asked, his eyes beginning to narrow as he followed her lead and began getting dressed.
With one look over her shoulder, she let the word slip without meeting his eye.
Who needs coffee when you’ve got a 5:00 AM face plunge into ice water?
“Girl,” Rene cocked an eyebrow as she coaxed Morgan from the sink, “tell me you got some sleep last night?”
It was good that the makeup artist didn’t wait for the actor’s first performance of the day. Morgan’s words immediately snuffed out as a hot towel covered her face. “I got a few hours,” she lied.
Rene shook her head. “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” she placed a judgmental hand upon her hip. “That mouth says ‘yes,’ but those bags under your eyes say ‘huh uh.’ I’ma tell Summer…she will so give you ‘the look.’ Good thing I brought my bag of tricks."
The girl smiled nervously as she settled back into the chair. “I’m sure I’ll get busted any minute.” As Rene set to work her art, Morgan glanced over the swath of photos taped to the mirror. Summer gazed back, her expression neutral through the series of closeups detailing her makeup. The two women were a match for height and body type. Summer had colored her hair to match Morgan’s reddish hue. She noted the difference in their faces…Summer’s jawline was a bit more rounded, and Morgan realized that her nose was more of a button, where that of her dance coach and on camera double had more graceful lines. “How’d she do?” she asked.
Rene pulled back, admiring her work. “I missed the dailies…had Donald in the chair for a night scene, but I heard Summer rocked it…hmmm.” She rummaged through her kit, frowning. “I’m a little short on your base. Gimme a sec to grab more from the van.”
“Sure.” The makeup artist dashed out of the room, leaving Morgan and her stomach full of butterflies. She pondered her fears as the confident eyes of Summer gazed back from the photo set. It’s not Abby, the actor mused. I can wear her like my own skin. Maybe it’s how this scene connects? Or how it doesn’t? She knew the script, knew the blocking and moves. She understood the overall surreal nature, which could be the actual sticking point for a girl as grounded as Abigail Travis. She’d listened to “Pipe Dream” so many times in rehearsals that she could make her marks. But could Abby? The character hooks were easily adopted, but for the life of her, Morgan had yet to find ‘that thing’ which would tie this scene directly to the soul of China Doll’s youngest crewmember.
As she sought her answer through Summer’s image, her hip pocket vibrated. Good thing Rene’s not here, Morgan smirked at the makeup artist’s “no phones!” rule. She fished the iPhone from the pocket of her sweats, then blanched when she saw Edgar’s name on the text.
When I listen to the lyrics, I hear a young woman discovering her personal anthem. What does Abby hear? E.
Morgan knew them by heart. She’d pored over the lyrics, industriously saddling important words and phrases with Summer’s precise choreography. She’d done the work, graduating from the timed mechanics to the addition of more graceful, fluid efforts. The music flowed through her.
As was often the case, Abby’s observations could knock her right off her pins. ”I ain’t heard no words.”
Morgan’s jaw fell open. After these months…the absolute immersion to give this character a living, breathing persona…she’d totally left Abby’s feelings out of the scene altogether. She’d failed in her job as an actor…more important, as a host to this character. Sorry, Abby, she gave silent reply as the earbuds came out from her pocket. I’ll fix that right now.
With Abby settling into her skin once more, Morgan called the song onto her phone. For the first time, they shared the music, listening together as the lyrics struck home.
”Well if it feels good then do it, Don’t let nobody shake you down…”
The music pulsed through them. A smile rose to Morgan’s lips. “What do you think?” she asked.
Abby’s head bobbed gently as she listened. “Yeah,” she answered. “I cotton tah this.”
OOC: A Silly Late-night JP between @Winters, @MK Blitzen@Yule where we altered the Verse ENTIRELY!
Special thanks to Mark Sheppard who is awesome in every role he plays, and is blissfully unaware of his cameo in this AU.
“All right,” Cyd said, running a hand through her shaggy hair. Her free hand pressed the flip phone tightly to her ear so she could hear over the radio Mat refused to turn down. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Thanks, Bobby, keep us posted. Mat? He’s… fine,” She side-eyed Mathias who sat in the Impala’s driver’s seat, eyes focused on the road, focused on their next job, too focused, but that was him, feast or famine. Her big brother, hell-bent on saving the world. Ever since he came back from hell… again, all he seemed to care about was the job, watching out for his pain-in-the-ass kid sister, Baby, and Cheeseburgers. So essentially the same as always. “I’ll make sure of it. Thanks again.” She closed the flip phone and slid it into the pocket of her jeans. “So get this,” she said, turning to her brother who sat across from her on the car’s bench seat. She crinkled her nose and had her hand slapped as she went to turn down the radio.
Mathias who hadn't paid attention to a single word as his fingers tapped in time to the music blaring on the car radio. " … Dirty Deeds … done dirt cheap …" heard as the chorus kicked. " … what?" He asked, noting the look he was getting. "Oh come on, it's a good song!" Mathias defended.
“Yeah, maybe in the ’70s. I swear, Mat, you gotta update your cassette collection. For one thing? It’s a cassette collection.”
"This Is why the driver picks the music," Mathias muttered indignantly. "It's vintage okay!"
“Right. Well, Bobby doesn’t think that this is just your run-of-the-mill reaper, he thinks – are you listening to me?”
" … Concrete shoes, cyanide, TNT, Done dirt cheap …" Mathias sang loudly. " … arrite arrite … Bobby … the not but still crossroads demon. See I was paying attention!"
Cyd scowled. “C’mon, man, this is serious. There - up ahead, take that left.”
Just then, Isaac peeked his head in between the siblings from the back seat. "Cyd. Mat." He said very matter-of-factly, his voice low and gravelly and his expression calm. "Sup?"
"SON OF BITCH!" Mathias yelled as the car swerved missing the turn. He was pretty sure his soul momentarily separated from his body. "How many times have I told you not to do that Issac!?"
"Sixty-seven." Isaac responded plainly.
"You think it would have sunk in by now?!" He said irritated. "The hell is wrong with your voice?"
"I...thought it'd make me sound cool…" Isaac said, sounding hurt as he dejectedly rested his chin on the seatback.
“Dude! You missed the turn!” Cyd grumbled, pointing towards the turnoff. “We’re on a bit of a time crunch here.”
"Both of you just … " Mathais grumbled in frustration, turning up the music before using the turn off to get turned around. "You stop popping in my car like you own it!" Mathias reprimanded the Angel through the rear rearview mirror. "And you … quit backseat driving!" he groused as his sister.
"She's not in the back seat." Isaac pointed out.
"I KNOW THAT!" Matthias shouted.
"I am." Isaac calmly informed his chauffeur.
"Sometimes I think you do this on purpose to mess with me," Mathias said, glancing at Issac through the rearview with narrowed suspicious eyes.
"Sometimes," Isaac confirmed cooly.
“Not saying we don’t appreciate the backup,” Cyd said warily, turning around in her seat to face Isaac, “But I thought you were with Meg, looking for hellhounds?”
"She goes by 'Sarah' now," Isaac said, making air quotes as he rolled his eyes. "We...aren't speaking to each other anymore. She kept the dogs."
"Wait, you let her keep the Hellhounds?!" Mathias interjected as he wheeled the car back on course.
"Only small ones." The angel rolled his eyes again, not used to being chastised by an uppity primate.
"Oh well if they're the small ones …" Mathias said dryly looking at his sister as he shook his head.
Cyd added them to her mental list of messes they needed to clean up when this was all over.
--------
The hinges of the Chevy creaked as the doors were opened, and several nearby birds took flight as they were almost simultaneously slammed shut.
Mathias used the second key to open the large trunk, and out of habit, Cyd inspected the Devil’s trap painted on the inside. You couldn’t be too careful. Using a sawed-off shotgun, Mathias lifted the fake cover, exposing the cornucopia of weapons the big trunk contained. Even with everything from holy water to hand grenades, there was still enough room for a body or two which came in handy more times than Cyd cared to count.
Cyd grabbed the holy water while Mathias checked his pearl-handled Colt M1911A1, a gift from their Dad when Mathias started to hunt. He checked to make sure the bullets were engraved with devil’s traps, while Cyd took the demon-killing knife they’d boosted from Ruby.
The pair worked the practiced ease as they armed up ready for a fight. It was always better to be over-prepared than under. With a sublet nod from his sister, Mathias slam closed the trunk. "We got work to do."
With the trunk no longer obscuring the view of the diminutive angel, Isaac stood there with an unimpressed look on his face and a cheeseburger in each hand. The sandwiches seemed to appear out of nowhere, though the generous pockets on his long beige trenchcoat were certainly more than capable of holding a few snacks comfortably in each. He took a healthy bite from one of the burgers and pointed at the sibling's collected kit with the other. "Not with that you're not." He said plainly, his words muffled by half-chewed food.
"Issac … why are you bringing a burger to a gunfight?" Mathias asked with an arched eyebrow.
“And since when do you eat?” Cyd asked the rogue angel.
"Oh, so like he's the only one allowed to enjoy cheeseburgers around here?!" Isaac protested, bits of food and spittle shooting from his mouth as he pointed an accusatory sandwich at Mathias.
“No,” Cyd replied, pulling the leather-bound notebook from her flannel lined jacket. “But according to Dad’s journal, what little lore there is says angels don’t eat or drink.” She tapped the page she was referring to for emphasis.
"Oh really??" Isaac said with a mocking tone as he gulped down hard to clear his mouth of food. As he stuffed the still uneaten burger back in his pocket, he snatched the book from Cyd's hands. "Gimme that!" He grumbled as he put the half-eaten sandwich down on the Impala's trunk, the flawless paint job sullied but a smear of ketchup and half melted cheese. The angel fumbled in his inside coat pocket for a moment until he fished out a pen. He looked at the particular page the journal was open to and started scratching out words and writing in something in their place. He tossed the book back to Cyd. "There. Fixed." He proclaimed.
Cyd furrowed her brow and picked up the book. “Angels do whatever they damn well please,” she read aloud, shooting a disgusted look to the boy in the trenchcoat stuffing his face. “Let’s just go get this over with.”
“Hello, Boys,” a familiar voice with an English accent quipped. The short, balding man clad in all black nodded to Cyd to include her in the greeting. “Moose.” Cyd looked down. Sure the holidays had just been there and maybe Mat did talk her into KFC for Christmas, but Moose? Crowley’s comment convinced her to go back to salads.
”The hell are you doing here?” Mat asked with a sneer.
“I brought you a little peace offering, thought it might soften the blow. Death is always a little more receptive when you bring him one of his favorite food groups.” Crowley offered. “Tell ‘em they’re from the King of Hell.”
Isaac grabbed at the bag of fried pickles, only to have Crowley snatch them back and toss them to Cyd, the one most likely to see they were delivered as intended.
“Why can’t you people just sit on clouds and play harps like you’re supposed to?” Crowley grumbled.
“I’m more of a drummer.” Isaac countered, dropping a wrapper on the ground.
“Dude!” Cyd chastised, picking it up. “Litter, really? Not cool.”
Crowley chuckled. “You know, it’s ironic. You three go around, big damn heroes, save the world, blah blah blah but between his feathery arse and Mat’s unusual attachment to this glutton of nonrenewable energy,” he took a moment to kick the Impala’s rear tire. Mathias looked like he was going to kick more than that in return until Cyd put a hand on his chest to stop him, “the Earth is going to get used up. Now me? I'm always up for some good old self-inflicted misery. But where's that gonna leave you lot? Find a new solar system, maybe terraform and colonize it? Maybe scores of other new Earths, some rich and flush with the new technologies, some not so much? And for what? All's so you can barely scrape, maybe get yourself a ship, find a crew, and just keep flying?
Cyd and Mathias exchanged a glance before bursting out laughing. “Shyeah, like that’d ever happen.” Mat snapped with disgust. “So beat it, Badger. I said we got work to do.”
"There's that can-do attitude I was waiting for!" Isaac said, perking up. His jovial expression was short-lived as he waved his free hand lazily at the twins' choice of weapons. "Seriously, though, bring more that or you're gonna die." He said, his voice falling back into that familiar emotionless monotone.
“We’re not gonna die,” Mathias objected. “We got an Angel of the Lord. You make with the smiting.”
“I’m not that kind of angel,” Isaac shrugged, tossing another wrapper on the ground.
Cyd quickly picked it up and stuffed it in her flannel-lined pocket. “So what kind of angel are you?” she asked.
Isaac perked up and straightened the blue tie that hung haphazardly around his neck. “I’m an angel of encouragement!”
“The hell is that? Mat sneered, checking his weapon one more time.
Isaac searched his trenchcoat but was sadly out of cheeseburgers. “You know that little voice inside that tells you how great you're doing? That's me!”
Cyd tilted her head, both eyebrows raised, unimpressed with Isaac’s hidden ‘talent.’ “That’s it?”
“Whaddya mean, that’s it?” he asked with indignity.
Cyd mugged up and nodded her head, trying to be diplomatic. “It’s… something.”
“Something useless,” Mat mumbled. Cyd swatted him for good measure.
“Like those corporate motivational posters,” Isaac added. “Know the one of the kitten hanging from a branch?” He pointed to himself proudly.
Cyd let that sink in. “Okay, seriously, dude? You might be a demon.”
“Yeah, SERIOUSLY, dude??” Mathias added. “What good are you?? Without smiting, you’re like a...baby in a trenchcoat!
Isaac glowered for a moment, shifting his jaw while turning to look away. With a petulant huff, snapped his fingers and he and Crowley disappeared.
“I think you hurt his feelings,” Cyd chastised, as she and Mat went to do what they did best. Saving people. Hunting things. The Family Business.
“Alright, now hold her steady…” She heard Axel in the earpiece as she strained against the gear shaft tugging back with all the force of a horse that didn’t want to be broken. The weight of the mock weighted cargo, the shift of the churning storm winds, and resistance in the toggling were all against her. Each time she failed, she’d paid a price, so she set her teeth as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes from the pain in her arms.
If a stoic, closed-off asshole like her commander could believe in her, then she could do this. It would help if his form of punishment at her failures weren’t physical exertion of her limbs to ‘build up strength’ so she could handle the strain. What she needed was rest, but she wasn’t willing to ask for it until she had managed to balance the load.
“You’re dragging ass, soldier. Pick up.” The firm demand in her ear had her fighting back the balk, biting back a cry as she pulled up. Too hard. The ship jostled and pitched, sending her forward into the yoke. The loud buzzing sounded just before ‘simulation end’ flashed over her view.
In the moment of weakness, she cried out in anger as she pulled the headpiece free and slammed it aside. It recoiled and struck her back on her temple, and she screamed as she slapped it away before sinking down in the seat and covering her eyes.
“Was that necessary?” Axel’s voice wasn’t in her ear but at her side, peeking between her fingers she spread showed his impassive frown at her display. It wasn’t exactly disapproving, but he certainly didn’t find it amusing.
“I ca-” She stopped herself from saying what she heard her sister’s voice tell her every day after the first failure. The frown deepened, the big man obviously understanding where her words had started to stray. Penelope sighed as removed her hand, letting it slide down her face and drop to the armrest of the simulation machine. Her eyes strayed, ashamed by how childish she felt at wanting to just tell him how tired she was, how she just wanted sleep. He’d done so much for her. They weren’t even supposed to be here, hidden away on St. Albans instead of in the Kalidasa system as planned. And she couldn’t even manage to pass one simulation.
As a few seconds of silence passed, Penelope figured he’d left her to pout on her own, but then she felt a heavy hand on her hunched shoulder. “Come on, little bird. It’s past time for this.”
Wide hazel eyes turned back up to meet his steely unreadable gaze. Curiosity was always her weakness, pulling her from any way she strayed. So, she took his offered hand as it left her shoulder and uncurled from the simulation seat to stand. This was a new approach.
“Why are we up here?” Penelope shouted over the wind as snow fluttered wildly around them atop the stony tower. It was cold, even with the fur-lined coat buttoned from neck to knee, matching boots taking over from there. At her side, holding her steady near the edge, her commander looked out over the small city’s lights in the night. “Sir?”
“Close your eyes.” He said, which immediately got her to do the opposite as she looked up at him to see his dark features sprinkled with white flakes. He sighed as he felt her eyes on him, the sort that was long suffering and understanbly so given how long he’d been attempting to get this girl conditioned into a soldier that followed orders without question. “Humor me?”
It was difficult to deny the request when a man as large and foreboding as him looked almost as gentle as he sounded. She pressed her lips in consideration, then relented. The warmth of his presence at her side took precedence over all other sensations in the chilled air, so when he stepped back she immediately took notice. For half a heartbeat, she feared he was about to push her over the high ledge they’d stood on, giving up on her for true.
But she felt her arms being lifted upwards from her sides, held aloft outstretched by steady hands that directed them out, and the racing in her chest slowed as her brows knit in confusion again. Just as she made to turn her head over her shoulder, her gloves were tugged free from the fingertips and she gasped at the shock of cold chill that immediately coursed between her spread digits.
Though it were not drastically below freezing, a warmer day on this planet, she hadn’t expected the sudden rush against her bare skin. Her mind didn’t have time to question, though, because Axel was already explaining, stilling her very breath let alone her mind. “You weren’t trying to jump that day when I pulled you from the ledge on Osirus. You told me - or screamed at me, rather - that you were tired of people trying to keep you from flying. Now there is no one in the way but yourself, Penelope Randell.”
As much as she had tried to remember their meeting, or what she had originally considered her kidnapping, it wasn’t until this moment nearly two years later that the missing pieces returned. It felt like another life, honestly, in which she stood atop the building with her arms outstretched like he’d positioned her now. Before he’d grabbed her, how she’d been high on the enjoyment of the cold air coursing around her nearly bare arms, she had been recalling a childhood memory somewhere in the lingering haze of alcohol and drugs in her system. He’d pulled her from that, and the delayed reaction at being yanked from her memories and all that followed… she didn’t remember what all she’d said and how she fought against him when she realized the situation she was in. Was this his way of repaying her somehow?
She reached out tentatively, feeling the air swirl around her and only just noticing that Axel had released her. Giving her the moment he’d taken, if she wanted it and could find it again.
“Alright, hold steady just over the ridge.” Her commander’s voice came in her ear loud over the wind blasting all around him. She looked out the viewport at the horizon, then down to the readers as she pulled the boat up and to the left. “Don’t go bucking me in the canyon, Pen.”
“My flying isn’t to blame if you don’t strap in.” She called back as she neared the drop.
“Oh, he’s strapped.” Chimed in the second-in-command on this little operation. “No way in the ‘verse is he going to let me take over and get his pretty little bird all to myself.”
“I think that must mean he doesn’t trust my flying.” Penelope filled the silence from their commander, mock hurt to cover the implication that Reed could’ve been making. Sure, the ship was also a bird, but in their unit it was common knowledge that she was as well.
“How many simulations did it take before you managed to not crash and kill us all?” Axel asked, the flat tone giving humor only she heard.
It was too easy to fire back at her commander, as if he had lined her up for it. “And how long did it take you to realize you had me in the wrong boat?”
“Only scavvers and degenerates fly Firefly class, usually.” The commander groaned, a common conversation most likely. “Didn’t know your set of wings would be so bright.”
“I do like the way she glides.” Penelope mused just before getting the readings lined up proper. “Coming in on the drop zone, sir.”
“Lower the hold, then get your ass back up here. Sir.” Reed added with a bit of impatience. “Any heat read?”
“None, other than ours.” Penelope reported just before a signal flash. “Scratch that - incoming. We got five before they’re on us.”
“How the hell did we get tracked?” Reed fumed over the comms. Both the pilot and commander were in radio silence, steady with the task at hand. Penelope counted down the time, but otherwise kept the line open. “Sir, they’re going to be on us any second - pull up.”
The silence on the line had her pause. Instinct told her something was off. Engaging the auto sequence to hold steady, she took path to the cargo area as fast as her feet could go. Standing at the open drop gate, stood the second in command. If Reed hadn’t busted his leg up, he’d be the one making the drop and they all knew it. He looked up at her, the shattered control box in his hand for the lift. The moment their eyes met, a bullet landed directly between his eyes from the gun in her unwavering hand.
Before his body had time to fall through the chute, she was running back towards the flight deck. There was nothing she could do for the commander if he wasn’t still attached to the cables. No one else was on board to see to it. All she could do was get herself out of there, but even then she couldn’t bring herself to seal the hatch just yet. Outmaneuver, and hide. This planet had plenty of canyons, but if they were being traced … Well, she’d find out soon enough.
Without risking coming up, she took the canyon path as long as she could since the incoming vessel seemed to be honing in on the ship from a side she couldn’t see, so they must’ve been above. A little chase until she could get a safe distance away was the ticket, then into the black. From there, well… no one could stop her from flying. And she was going to spread these wings.
Now that we're mostly undecorated and getting over our sugar comas, we thought a little refresher on where we are might be in order.
It's currently Day 2 in game time. Here's what I know:
The Skyes are away in their shuttle, working a job that won't see their return until late tonight. Cap'n and Pen have a meeting with Hafez Nadal to get the word on China Doll's next job. Later, Alana and Cal are planning an escape. Not sure what Hook's got in mind for the day. Father Collins is fishing for leads in one of Greenleaf's local establishments. Yuri and his Niska appointed shuttle chaser square off with the suits. Abby's doing Abby things most of her time on Greenleaf. She's available.
Thus, Day 2.
QUESTION: Everyone seemed to like the AU fun we had in OOC. The "hard stop" last night left a few of you with stories to tell. Would you like us to create/manage a Gdoc to permit AU Firefly stories to continue?
That's everything for now...except to offer each of you wishes for a Happy and Safe New Year.
I feel I could have written more in the AU. My subject was based on Wolf's and therefore dependent on him. I have no problem stopping, not necessary to carry on with external doc. I am very busy. I got a 5th grade gig for these first two weeks. Also in a Nation Role Play set in space. I have another RP I may introduce this week. It is a Misthios Role-play set in a modern fictional world of my design.
The Greek term, Misthios is borrowed from ACO. It translates to assassin, mercenary, messenger, protector or adventurer. It can mean so much more. If you see Gunther's cast of hooligans and look for the World of Anhuac, that is the world I am using.
"Given today's political climate, we don't need to divide ourselves any more than we already have." - Eww, David!
AU's are gold. (Get it? Do you see what I did? I'm CLEVER! CLEVER I tell you!). They are fun, this one was fun. I will play the what if game, run side dialog, giggle over ideas like "Isaac in Wonderland" until waaaaay past my bedtime. But like gold, I hoard AU's in my gdoc safety deposit box, something I peek back at when I want to see something shiny.
I'm enjoying getting to know everyone's toon, both in character and through reading. (Collins! Can't wait to 'meet!') So my opinion - yes, it was a blast, I love to take my toons and put them in other situations, I think it's something I'd revisit when we have more verse to alternate. Supernat took two or three nights between planning, laughing, spinning SPN lore, and I could have put that into day two Greenleaf shennanigans. My six cents, I'm all for fostering in-game relations, and enjoying posts in the actual verse than alternate ones.
TL:dr - I want to focus writing and reading in the actual verse, but think this would be fun to revisit down the road. Not opposed to a gdoc, of course, for anyone who does want to continue, but I don't think the Skye's would use it.
Ahem, earlier in the chat I expressed how it was enjoyable to do the AU. I'd never done one before, so it was interesting. It was also a nice activity put in as a 'break' during the holidays if we wanted to work on solo-ventures so as to not keep others waiting, if we went that route. I get anxious when it's my 'turn' because I don't like people waiting on me, haha.
But, I do agree with MK that if it were a choice between how to spend my time with life and the baby and all, I'd rather stick to our actual storyline so I wouldn't use the AU area often enough for it to be a separate thing. Doing it over the holidays for those that wanted to was a great way to go about it, so if it pops up and we're pausing the RP, then sure. Just here for those that are up for it. ^^
@MK Blitzen@Aalakryswell said. The storyline I was heading along in my AU post is my preferred theme. But I really like where our primary focus is heading. I could jump back into it in the future. I use work as an excuse, but I am covering the same class for two weeks. I get a 40 minute prep every day and three days per week, an extra 30 minutes while the kids are at recess. The other two days, I have to supervise them at recess so they don't kill each other. One day, I wrote 1500 words during one of those prep periods.
On a side note, my gaming PC shit the bed. Something got fried in mid November during a power outage/surge. I found out the motherboard was the victim. I bought an Nvidia 3060 Ti GCU, so now I will spend my money on computer parts to build a new machine.
It's Day 2 afternoon on Greenleaf, and we're rolling right along. Cap'n and Pen scored us a run for Capital City, Osiris. Thanks to Niska's shuttle chaser lawyer, Yuri's back aboard and lookin' for the mechanic's job. We ain't sure, but we conjure the doc's gettin' all gussied up fer her escape with the cap'n. Hook done disappeared. Rumor has it he mighta R-u-n-n-o-f-t tah scratch "the itch." Abby's parked out front, catchin' up on 'er readin' when she ain't talkin' trade of one sort or t'other. Father Collins been pointed right at China Doll, an' he got concerns as tah just who might be the bad guys here.
Heard tell that the Skyes got a rave planned fer tahnight. Alana an' Cal most like'll be busy. Not sure 'bout tha rest.
But don't fergit...Day 3 (tomorrow in game time) Hook's invitin' us all out fer a friendly drink. Gunther and your humble hosts will kick off a Gdoc for all interested crew and passengers to join in. Come thirsty!
Just as she entered the galley, her pondering was done, and instead she was humming the tune from the party absently and thinking of dancing. When her hazel eyes came to rest on the stranger, she tilted her head in curiosity only just a moment before recalling what Abby had said. This could be the man from the ocean. Or a passenger. Both, even, since he technically wasn’t hired yet. Still, she smiled easily as always. “Findin’ everything ok? Hook, the hand that usually is around the kitchen, must’ve gone off somewhere.”
I am usually available most days; even at work. I get prep periods where I can write or read. I just read your recent post while the kids are at recess. I could drop a simple blurb in. Hook usually makes a fresh pot of coffee daily and spends a lot time cleaning up the ship or the galley.
