OOC: JP between @Winters, @MK Blitzen @Yule

---

Cyd absently picked at her food while leaning against the chair back. The humidity hadn’t been kind to the rave make up, or the siblings hair. Her once perky high-pony now was a tangled mop that stuck to her neck and face in dire need of a good brushing. At least the diner had cool, conditioned air. They mostly ate in silence, except Mathias, who was in the play-with-your-food stage of Rave. Mathias had outstretched his legs onto the bench- he’d lost one shoe somehow, somewhere with someone. Cyd managed to hold onto hers, and stretched hers own legs on top of her brothers. Isaac occupied the ‘booth’ part of the table, clad only in his boxers with a full sized Anaconda or Python draped around his torso and neck. Cyd disdainfully referred to it as some sort of constricting, slithering non-venomous nope-rope. At least she hoped it was non-venomous, seeing as it hissed and would give him ‘love bites’ on his neck and cheek now and again. He was holding it for the half-naked snake girl he’d met -seriously, there was one at every rave - when he straight up fainted from the heat.when he became the half naked fainting boy after passing out from the heat. Cyd never would have suspected it’d be Kari the IT tech.

-Ding!- She glared at her younger brother as another wave dinged on her cortex. It’d literally been non stop since they left.

Isaac groaned, barely wincing anymore from the attention being showered on him by a pretty pissed off snake. "So loud" was all he could mutter as he regarded the happy little chimes from the cortex coming in at regular intervals, his one hand cradling his throbbing head while the other tried desperately to blindly find his mouth with a forkful of fried chicken finger. He briefly entertained the idea that maybe that's what the snake was after but quickly dismissed it.

Mathias was … far and away. "Uh huh …" he answered and he played a game with his waffle where only he knew the rules. He shoved the bit that lost into his mouth with a dramatic 'bwaaaaahhhhh'. "These make me so happy …" he said taking a deep sigh as he chewed.

Cyd chuckled lazily. “I’m glad, Yobo,” she said, her voice sounding strained from shouting over the loud music. She made a mental note to re-check Mathias’ hand when they got back to the shuttle. The brightly colored tape she’d used to wrap it had lost most of its stickiness in the damp air.

-Ding!- went the cortex, prompting another glare. She’d ask Isaac about it, but the Skye’s had a pretty strict code about after-rave questions,.

Mathias jammed a fork in a piece of waffle. "Oh no … don't eat me … nooooo!" Mathais said in a squeaky high voice. "You have lost! Feed your god!" Mathais said in an exaggerated deep voice, jamming it in his mouth.

It was a shade less embarrassing than the choo-choo-train he’d made with his chicken earlier.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Isaac whined, his head pulsing and vibrating at every sound as he lazily waved his empty fork at the offending noise. His new reptilian bestie reared up and followed the utensil, considering another strike but then thought better of it. It seemed that out was losing about as much interest in biting the youngest Skye as he was being bit.

Mathias chewed, staring at Isaac, swallowed, sipped some water, leaned in and whispered. “No.”

Cyd giggled. “He means the snake, Jimi, ” she clarified, teasing him with the name he was stuck using for the rave.

Isaac squinted as he raised his his head, his face twisted in a mixture of confusion, annoyance and pain. The snake didn't even bother reacting this time to his sudden movement. It was bored of him. "I was talking about him!" He corrected his sister as he jutted his chin towards his brother. "Who the hell is Jimmy??" But without waiting for a response, his head dropped back down into chicken and waffle stuffing position once again.

"She said Jimi not Jimmy … duh." Mathias rolled his eyes. He stopped looking around. "Wasn't there more of us?"

Isaac lazily kicked the sleeping girl under the table and she groaned. "Present" he confirmed.

"Oooooh … there she is!" Mathais snorted as he dribbled more syrup over his waffle. "Yeeeess blood for the blood god!" He chuckled.

“Now you’re making it weird, ja nee?” Cyd complained, pushing her dish aside. -Ding!- How many girls did he give this number to? she inwardly groused.

"Oh what time is it? Cuz I'm pretty sure it's half past weird o'clock." Mathais said, trying to smother his giggles in fried chicken and waffles.

“Time for you to smoke a little dagga, come back down,” Cyd chuckled, counting out a few credits for the table.

The sun had already come up by the time they left Herb’s Chicken, Waffles & Shawarma hut. Outside in the parking lot, Mathias lit up as the ride-share service honked its horn. Isaac in his boxers helped Kari and her pit viper into the backseat. Kari drew Jim- Jams little brother into one final lip lock, the white of his sugar skull smearing against her face before the driver brought the raver bunny home.

-Ding!- Mathias ticked his head, the thin cigarette hanging from his lip. Neon grease paint stained the back of Cyd’s hand as she rubbed it against her cheek. Isaac’s was a half-naked mess, and Mathias’ dark eye shadow gave him an eerie glow, his one shoe giving him a limp in his step..

With a slow gait, the weary party-goers started home.



Isaac outstretched his hand as he trudged along to keep up with Mathias’ long gait in a crude attempt to snag the small blunt. Mathias easily blocked him with an elbow. He turned his head to avoid the grab which was when Cyd seized the opportunity and the dagga from her brother’s mouth. She ran ahead, turning to face her sibs while inhaling, then held the smoking paper out up to taunt them in a come-get-it-if-you-can sort of way. She laughed as they gave chase.

Lovin' is what I got
I said, remember that

-Ding!-

Lovin' is what I got
I said, remember that

Bad decisions.

Lovin' is what I got
I said, remember that

Great memories.

JP/collab from @Aalakrys and @sail3695

---

What she wouldn’t give fer a good ole toad floater of a thunderstorm jest ‘bout now.

Day’d started well enough. She got up early tah have ‘er coffee afore cleanin’ out tha lower deck lav. Once towels an’ rags was in the washer, she even snuck out tha topside hatch fer a spell, where she stripped down tah unders an’ lay on ‘er stomach in tha mornin’ sun. A good hour of that’s all she could stand, with her back tinglin’ an’ the hull gettin’ too hot tah touch.

Now, the heat an’ humidity was just brutal. She done sweated through today’s tee shirt.
Molly Malone’s Billiard Parlour and Foot Massage was now stuck tah her like a new skin. Fer tha umpteenth time, Abby moved her lawnchair tak keep in the boat’s shadow. An’ it was then the fella come callin’.

“Excuse me…miss?”

When Abby turned around, before her on the dock stood a rather lean, tall fella. Aside from the shiner discoloring the right side of his face and somewhat unkempt appearance, he looked like some sort of professional with his white lab coat and black scrubs underneath. Plenty of folks on Greenleaf wore similar outfits, or coveralls, that worked for the major pharmaceutical plant based in the city. This one just looked like he hadn’t seen a razor in a few days and decided to go with the style his night’s sleep - or lack thereof - gave him for his hairdo. “Is this the China Doll? It said the China Doll was a Firefly, and I don't see any others around... so...”

First thought come tah her mind was he must be marinatin’ in all them clothes. Second thought struck ‘er was looks like ‘e slept in’em, tah boot. Now, fair an’ sure she couldn’t fault a fella fer his late doin’s. One look at them Skyes come draggin’ in at sunup made this fella look straight up kosher. Even with that love tap on ‘is face. “Sure’n it is,” Abby answered. “How can we help?”

“Outstanding,” He said, brightening a little and diminishing the tiredness circling his unblemished eye a fraction. Nothing could help the other side. He glanced down as she swung the messenger bag around, its battered front cracked leather worn smooth. “I have something… a package. For your pilot.”

He sounded distracted, tired still, as he fished around inside and pulled out a wrapped bundle. He offered it over to the young woman, the contents concealed behind parcel paper and twine.

Now, it’s startin’ tah go sideways. Abby looked down on tha package he held out, then looked him over a second time. “Fer our pilot, yah say,” she replied ‘thout reachin’ fer it. “That pilot got a name?”

The man’s somewhat chipper disposition faltered, but only back to tiredness in those hazel eyes as his smile turned right upside down. His tone sounded more speculative as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I think she’s Penelope - that’s what the registry said when I looked her up.”

“How ‘bout yew?” the girl asked. “What’s yer name?”

“Me? I’m Rowan.” He answered without hesitation, lowering the package only slightly since she didn’t seem to be willing to take it. “It says so on my… Oh.”

He flipped the work ID badge fastened to his coat pocket over: R. Randell. Obviously, he was not trying to be sneaky, because he wouldn’t be that great at it, it seemed. Or, he was really good at acting like it. But, that was highly unlikely given how easy-going he seemed to be about this whole thing. “Ha, they don’t put our first names on these things. Never noticed.”

The deckhand’s eyes laid on that badge. Randell. She looked at ‘im again. Man’s got some years, but not too old. An’ them hazel eyes. After last night’s surprises at Hap’s, her brainpan was still all a jumble of fam’ly mysteries an’ missed connections…enough tah kin if this here fella was the genuine article, her muddled nature could mess things right up fer a person she come tah care about. “Ni hao, Rowan,” she finally said. “Muh name’s Abby. You a relation?”

“What? To you, no I don’t think so.” He answered without thought, then chuckled absently at his own joke. “Penelope, yes. She’s my second daughter. I, uh, had reason to believe she was on Greenleaf - alive, which I can’t tell you how much of a comfort that is… but anyway. Yeah, yes. I’m her father. Oh, and nice to meet you Abby, by the way.”

Yup, Abby thought as a blush rose tah her cheeks, I can sure screw up. “Ah hell,” she give in, “here I am lettin’ yah bake out in the heat like this. C’mon,” she waved toward the ramp, “lemme take yah inside. I can getcha a cold drink while I figger out where she is.”

“Ah, no, thank you.” His affable light smile faded into a more sad one as he took a step back at the offer, waving his free hand then indicated his outfit as he added: “This is not as hot as it seems - specially engineered for the planet’s temperature. Anyway, after last night, I think it’s best not to cage her in. She’s always been like that, so … yeah.”

Though his tone remained light, it was certainly not as happy as he was making it out to be. He lifted the package. “If you could just give this to her, I’d appreciate it.”

Abby tucked the clipboard under one arm, so’s tah accept tha package with both hands. “I surely will, sir,” she took it with a reverence, “but are yah certain? I’m sure we could find ‘er in two shakes?”

For a brief moment, Rowan did consider the offer. It would be more than wonderful to see his daughter again. But, he knew what he said was true. Penelope was the sort to come on her own and only go further away if chased, especially when she didn’t want to be found. “I’m sure, Abby. Thank you for this. It… is more than enough to know she’s alive and well.”

Fer a moment, she almost begged, til she sussed that pang in ‘im. Couldn’t never tell what drew wedges intah families. But tha pain was always there. “Okay…” she give in. “Shiny. Jest lettin’ yah know that we’re here til noon tomorrah, if yah change yer mind.”

There was likely a part of him that would have preferred not to know that, but he thanked her all the same before heading back down the docking port. If Penelope had a mind to see him, then at least he’d know when to stop expecting her. Still, he smiled as he shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled on home.

“May tha road rise,” she said softly tah Mister Randell’s back. Abby studied the bundle in ‘er hands with a might uncertainty, afore common sense kicked in an’ she headed up tha ramp. She’d stepped through tha after hatch when that cool air hit ‘er. Fer all tha gooseflesh it raised ‘neath her sweatshoked tee shirt, Abby took one look an’ knew she’d have tah change afore meetin’ anybody, especially one ‘o’ the men.

She’d jest about tah head fer her room when Pen come boundin’ down the steps. “Oh, hey Pen,” Abby greeted her with tha package. Just met a man says he’s yer daddy. He broughtcha this.”

Penelope’s lifted hand in greeting froze with the rest of her just for a spell. Her tired features which resembled her father’s about the eyes went from contentment to mild hesitate panic. But, it was gone in a blink, beings he wasn’t standing around in view. She smiled as she reached to take a parcel. “Thanks, Abbs. I hope he wasn’t any trouble.”
The deckhand shook ‘er head. “Not a’tall. I invited ‘im in, but he turnt that down. Gotta tell yah true I’s a little hard tah be ‘til I conjured who he was.” Her eyes showed some remorse at her earlier behavior. “Hope I didn’t put ‘im off, Pen.”

“Knowing him, he probably didn’t think nothin’ of it.” There was fondness to that statement as Penelope’s easy smile returned. “I was on my way to shower - it was an interesting night last night…”

The dried remnants of white and yellow smears that remained on her face-paint Cyd had done up all streaks along her temple and cheek. There may have been a leaf in her hair, which she tucked back behind her ear and found in the process. As she pulled it free, she asked: “Say, did you get out into the city any?”

Abby nodded ‘er head. “Got tah do some traipsin’ about. Had a perty good night of it, but weren’t nothin’ excitin’...leastways compared tah tha Skyes when they come in this mornin’.” She spied the erant leaf, pretendin’ not tah notice that or tha makeup made Pen look like she mighta been same place as the three passengers. “Yew git up tah no good?”

“From what I remember, it was fun.” She grinned, absently pulling the parcel to her chest. “But a lady doesn’t share those stories.”

It was a joke - a play on their previous conversation, complete with a wink. With an air of pondering, she added: “I will say that a night out in Greenleaf isn’t done if you don’t wake up in a tree.”

Abby’s jaw dropped as all kindsa pitchers ‘o’ tree sex flew through ‘er mind. She threw up a hand. “I don’t wanna know…wait…I think I do!”

That got a trill of Penelope’s merry laughter, and she shook her head. Amusement touched her eyes as she teased her friend with: “My lips are sealed.” Definitely was poking fun, but that was the nature of friendship, wasn’t it?

“Great,” the deckhand grumbled. “Yew get monkey sex an’ all I git’s bein’ a one woman wet tee shirt contest! Gotta go change outta this’un. Catch ya later!” With a smile, Abby turned toward ‘er room an’ hurried off.

"Later, Abbs." Penelope laughed again at the grumbles, the departing call after Abby nearly lost it in. As she turned to go back the way she came, her gaze shifted down at the package. Quieter, to herself, she asked: "What could he have sent..."

The bundle lay atop Penelope’s stripped bed, still bound in its brown parcel paper by the twine. She had notions on opening it after she deposited her sheets for washing, not wanting to sleep with leaves another night, but here she sat twirling the loose end of the string between her thumb and forefinger. If she left it, even until after they departed, she wouldn’t be tempted to go back. Only thing that had led her there was that little rainbow pill. Wasn’t it?

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her father. Quite the opposite, in fact. That pill had certainly lowered her inhibitions - the whole point was to keep him, Helen, and the twins safe. Hafez had kept her sole-survivor status a secret, had sent her away under a fake name to keep it that way. But she never could burn her idents. That pull to go home, to get it over with. The half-baked plan to turn herself in…

It hadn’t triggered an Alliance alert, even when she registered as pilot of the China Doll. Hafez had said he was delighted to see her, not surprised. She hummed as she puzzled, reasoning out the figuring she was doing while she twirled that little string. It slipped the knot looser just so.

All this unknown just because she hadn’t allowed herself to be curious. The fake ID Cal had made for her must’ve expunged her records for any alerts coming into Greenleaf, but something picked up her name for Hafez to not be surprised. Or, he was just being the model unflappable business minded man she knew he could present.

But what mattered now was that her father knew she was alive. Knew she was on the planet. Knew not to take Abby up on the offer to come aboard. Penelope blinked back the tears, only noticing them as they misted along her skin. Her love for her father was so incredibly overwhelming that it was painful; the release of it breaking her resolve to leave the package unopened.

My Penelope,
I can’t express in words how it felt to discover you standing on our overgrown trail last night. I don’t think I would’ve if you hadn’t run. There’s been so many nights I find myself watching the foliage, hoping you’ll come through but then remembering that is impossible. But that isn’t the case. I’m sorry I reacted on instinct and chased after you. I didn’t believe it was you. Thought I’d missed a little too much sleep or had a little too much in my nightcap. After I made it home, I couldn’t sleep without knowing. Barely did even then, once I saw you were indeed a registered pilot for a ship docked on Greenleaf. You’re alive, and that is all that matters. Before I missed my chance since I don’t know how else to contact you, I wanted to let you know that you’ll always be able to come home. Not to stay, not if you don't want - but always if you want. Look at me, I'm rambling on my sixth attempt at writing this. I know you belong somewhere you feel free, so... No questions asked until you’re ready, if you’re ever ready. Being the selfish man I am, I just want to see my little girl’s face again. Love you forever and back again, Pen-nut.
-Dad

Warmth radiated from the silent tears streaming down her cheeks, a few droplets splashing the letter and causing the ink to blur, but Penelope was smiling. Pain and happiness combated within and had her near as giddy as the drug last night. It bubbled within and she was laughing, wiping away the tears as more spilled.

Once she recovered, she looked at the items mentioned in the PS: If you don’t make it home this time, I’ve brought a few things so you can take home with you. The wrapping of all the other items was Helen’s beautiful sarong she’d accidentally burned a hole through and caught hell for, even after she patched it (unsatisfactorily) and thus used it as her bedroom curtain. It had made her laugh when she’d first seen it, before she opened the letter. Pushing it aside, the massive dreamcatcher whose core was made from the forest lay atop the photo of her with her twin brothers - all three making silly faces up at the capturing lens above as they lay with their heads together for the shot. The frame itself was a joint effort of her brothers’ - cardboard and tape. Helen had said it was an eyesore, so it fit right in with the rest of Penelope’s room, but she loved it. The final piece had been the journal of pressed flowers her mother had kept.

“Thank you, papa.” She said as she ran her hand over the stitched cover, swallowing back another bout of tears. It truly was like having her family and home right here in the room with her. He knew she wouldn’t stay if she did come home, but he did want her to have home with her where-ever she was, just like he’d said.

There it was again.

The overhead lights flickered. This time, Yuri could also hear the tripping of relays, forcing the boat’s air handlers to cut and then spin up once more. He turned away from the crew dining table that served as his waiting area to view the devices in the galley. Sure enough, anything with an onboard timer or clock was flashing 00:00, the fresh start of a twenty-four hour day.

He’d been here, waiting for a moment of the captain’s time to apply for the mechanic’s post. He now saw the wait as foolhardy, given whispered comments from the crew about a possible tryst between the captain and the boat’s lovely doctor. Though he assumed she’d order him back to a bunk for rest, Yuri couldn’t abide the thought of all this empty time. He craved movement; his mind was parched for stimulation…and his demons required a good tamping down.

There it was again.

The girl, Abby, bounded up the steps and into the galley, wearing shorts and a tee shirt that revealed her time out in the rising tropical humidity. “Hey Yuri,” she greeted him. “Ya doin’ alright?”

“I am, thanks,” he smiled as the girl slipped into the galley. “Have you seen Captain Strand?”

“He ain’t showed?” She stepped back from the open refrigerator, her brows knitted. He could read the sudden transformation upon her face, the merge from curiosity to a sort of conspiratorial humor flashing just behind the eyes. “I cotton that makes sense,” Abby shrugged before resuming her search. “Ain’t seen tha doc nowheres this mornin’, neither." The lights flickered once more, darkening the refrigerator before the compressor restarted. “Yew seein’ that?” the deckhand asked as she pulled a bottle of Capt. Bob’s Cola.

Yuri chuckled. “Yes. It’s been bothering the daylights out of me.”

”Playin’ Merry Hob with muh washin’,” she said. “Conjure I might jest have tah find a good rock down by tha creekbank.” She popped the soda’s top. “What yah figger it tah be?”

“Can’t be certain without tracking the circuit path,” the mechanic observed, “but my first guess is a faulty shore power coupling.” He could see the girl’s mind working as she sipped at her drink. “Abby,” Yuri offered, “while I’m sure the captain wouldn’t appreciate me putting hands to his boat without permission, I’d be glad to look over your shoulder as you did the work.”

The girl’s brows lifted. “I think that’s shiny,” she nodded his way. “Chance I’m gonna come away from this dirty?”

“Most like,” he grinned. “I’d put on coveralls. Expect a smudge or two on your face, to boot. That’s your badge of office..”

“I been dirtier,” she agreed. “Got coveralls in tha engine room. We goin’ there first?”

“Yup,” Antonov pulled himself to his feet. “We’ll backtrack connections, from distro to the transformer first,” he said as they moved aft. “Need to double check the batteries and autorelays before we pull any power.” Though something as simple as a power hiccup didn’t rate high on his personal challenge scale, Yuri found instant gratitude in both the opportunity, and more important, the distraction. Surprising to think that something so simple might once again make him comfortable within his own skin.

JP/collab from @Xandrya and @Wanderingwolf


Cal knocked against the infirmary door opening. Looking inside, he could see Alana was lost in thought or busying herself with some such work that required her full attention. It’d been a while since they’d addressed his “I O U” for her pool game winnings back on New Melbourne, so he conjured now was just the time, what with the sun warming the planet and the cool breeze that blew into the valley. Sam had let him know that the beach was only an hour drive by mule, so Captain Strand took it upon himself to pack some sundries from the galley in a pack he had slung over his shoulder.

“Hey Doc,” he said, moseying into the med bay. “How’d things go with Abigail and her stitches?” Cal leaned against the counter where Alana sat on a stool.

The reports she was preparing for the sake of recordkeeping were just about done. Alana had some background music playing, that which was set at a reasonable volume as to not be distracting. But even then, the knock that caught her attention was distraction enough. Cal stood at the entrance for a brief moment before stepping inside, drawing a smile from her.

“Abby did just fine and dandy, you know that girl is stronger than a given number of men out there.” Her hands rested on her lap as she went on talking about one of her favorite people. “The type of stitches I used on her are a new grade, which is really helpful given she’s not the type to sit still...” Alana smirked, getting up to put the paperwork on the counter before turning back to him. "Busy with work too?” She motioned towards the bulk hanging from his shoulder.

Strand chuckled, Doc told it true. Abigail was proving her worth to be more than many men, and shoulder to shoulder with previous crew on the China Doll, he wouldn’t hesitate to put her in charge. “No, that girl don’t sit still,” does Doc know just how restless her patient can get?, he wondered, “I’m sure she’s thankin’ you up and sideways for that.”

“Oh this?” He asked, thumbing the strap of his satchel. There was a gleam in his eye, “Why, this is your comeuppance, Ms. Lysanger. Food, drink; a picnic to be enjoyed on the finest jungle beach Greenleaf has to offer, on authority of the locals, way I hear.” He offered her a debonair smile, “What do you say?”

“A picnic, you say...” Alana pretended to be disinterested in the notion, putting away some things like the paperwork that would get addressed at a later time. “I suppose I can squeeze you in given there’s food and drinks involved,” she went on, turning to face Cal to stare him up and down, “and good company by the looks of it.”

Rather than show her enthusiasm for their date, Alana had decided to keep up the charade. “Allow me a few minutes to get out of my work clothes and we can be on our way. Make yourself comfortable if you’d like, I won’t be long."

Cal noted the even tone with which she spoke, and when she departed, a light frown appeared on his face. Slinging his pack down onto the sitting table outside the infirmary, Cal seated himself. Tapping his thumbs to his knee, he wondered if he’d misread the good doctor, second guessing that sun lotion he’d picked up with Penelope their first day land-side. Rather than stew, the Captain picked up the closest reading material to leaf through, which happened to be some kind of scientific journal about the species of plants on Greenleaf.

Back in her room, Alana changed into the dress she’d purchased before for an occasion such as this one. It was cream-colored and it was accompanied by a brown belt cinching at the waist. She wiggled into the garment, letting it fall her length until the hem nearly touched the deck. Alana then reached for the belt, looking down to set a comfortable fit. Not too tight, not too loose, but just right to accentuate her figure. She had decided to wear her hair down parted to one side, hoping there was a breeze to bring out some waves in her otherwise straight hair. Slipping into her simple pair of sandals, Alana fanned out her hair as she stared at herself in the small mirror. She was satisfied by what she saw, and she decided she wasn’t going to keep Cal waiting any longer as she made her way back up to meet him in the med bay.

‘The species Psychotria elata or labios de puta, are plentiful in the dense rainforests of Greenleaf, clinging to the transitional belt of sandy soil to forest loam. It is most notable for its distinctly shaped red bracts and is consequently nicknamed “Hot Lips”.’ Cal looked up from his reading just in time to watch Alana descend the steel stairs into the common area toward the medbay. His eyes widened as he reconsidered his reconsidering, chucking the book onto the end table. As he stood, he tipped his hat back to make sure he could take it all in. “Well ain’t that somethin’,” he commented under his breath. The linen dress she wore tied into curling bows at her shoulders, cascading downward with each stair step until her sandaled feet touched the cold steel of the cargo bay. “Doc, you clean real up nice,” he ran a smoothing hand over his own hair.

Catching his expression as she neared the med bay, Alana smiled slightly at his comment. "Oh, this old thing?" She played off his compliment in hopes to conceal her warming cheeks, though such was obvious against her light, creamy skin. "Thought I might dress a little for the occasion, you know? Getting to pretend we're on an exotic vacation or the like."

Looking past him momentarily to assure herself nothing else needed her attention, Alana sidestepped to allow Cal some room. "I'm ready if you are. Dying to know what goodies you’re keeping packed in there, aside from your sense of humor that is.”

Alana glanced over his frame as he made to step out, a content expression not betraying her otherwise impure thoughts.

Captain Strand gave a wink as he lashed the pack to the back of the ‘Mule’, a quad vehicle with a single seat inline. Their journey ahead would measure about an hour with him in the driver seat, the Doctor perched behind him, if Sam’s calculations were correct. He tucked his hat into place before mounting the Mule. “Hop on and hold tight, Doc,” he said, patting the seat behind him.

Walking up to the quad, Alana inched her dress up to be able to climb on. Once she had settled, the hem of the garment resting on her thighs, she wrapped her arms around Cal's midsection, heeding his advice before the two finally set off on the way to their adventure.

Roughly an hour had passed when Cal and Alana arrived at their destination. The gusts of wind coupled with the high humidity that accompanied them through the trip had turned Alana's hair a little more wilder than before, something she was unaware of. The doctor got off the quad to stretch, taking in the colorful sights surrounding them. "Wow, if this isn't paradise then I don't know what is."

Cal took the opportunity to glance at his accomplice. The wind-swept look really worked for her, he surmised, brows arched in agreement. “You said it. You know, I had no idea losin’ a bet over a pool game in some backwater town on New Melbourne might land me in a tropical picnic alongside the likes of you. Can’t say I’m a sore loser.” The Doc had been giving him all the signals of someone genuinely interested since she’d bested him fair and square. He gave her a sidelong glance, still not sure if he’d applied a little too much charm too quickly, or if she were thinking of sticking around at all.

"You? A sore loser?" Alana cocked her head to the side slightly as she eyed him with a smirk, a response she typically fashioned after exaggerated claims. “If this is your way of making up for a lost bet, then you need to do less winning more often,” she went on matter-of-factly. Feeling the need to make herself useful instead of standing like a statue watching him work up a sweat, Alana helped Cal unpack to set up their picnic. The fact that they were isolated and only accompanied by the sound of pure tropical bliss made her look forward to this time alone with him even more.

The picnic was replete with blanket on the sandy lagoon whose cool green and blue waters stretched out all around them. She’d hit the nail on the head: it was gorgeous. The way the water coyly covered the land in folding intervals; the majestic curves of the mountainous hills as they knelt to meet the lagoon itself. Penelope had steered him right, indeed.

JP/collab from @Xandrya and @Wanderingwolf


“You ever been to a place like this before?” Cal asked, chin turned to watch that pristine look on her face when she knew he was watching her.

“No, can’t say I have,” she grinned, holding his gaze, “only ever seen pictures.” He had that certain look about him, or so she imagined because Alana was momentarily distracted by the way the sun above lit up his eyes. With one hand, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before giving the blanket a slight tug. Alana then eased herself down into a sitting position, softly patting the empty space adjacent to her.

“Join me if you will and let’s make a toast to this beauty of a day."

Cal filled a glass for Alana with non-synthetic mango wine cultivated here on Greenleaf. Handing it to her, he sat and filled his own glass; much closer to her now, his eyes swept the lagoon before landing on the visage of Alana once more. Holding his glass to her’s, he toasted, “To this beauty of a day, and the beauty before me.”

She tracked Cal's large frame as he settled down adjacent to her, the space between them practically non-existent. As Cal handed her the glass before tending to his own, Alana leaned towards him, using her free hand for support to keep herself propped up. “And to that I say salud,” she responded, her voice a notch or two above a whisper. With a smile, she clinked her glass on his before taking a sip, instantly in love with the refreshing taste.

It had been a long time since he’d let himself get entangled, but he could already feel the pull from where he sat. Normally he had strict rules about crew: one night stands only. Kept things simple. Clean. And usually they’d just get off at the next port anyway. Somewhere inside he realized, he didn’t want the same to happen with Alana. That carefree attitude she portrayed on the surface was certainly a front for something, though he had yet to plumb those depths. It wasn’t just the enigma of Alana that spurred him; it was those eyes, framed under those prominent brows, so serious yet so ready to smile. And that wit? He smiled picturing the way she’d not only proposed this wager, but hustled him at the pool table. Woman after his own heart, it seemed.

If she was being honest with herself, Alana hadn't heard such compliment in a while, and although she hid it well, Cal’s romantic gesture had just about caused her to blush. Almost. She'd summed it up to being slightly intimidated by him. Given what she had experienced thus far, it went without question that he knew how to draw a woman in. Though one always had to be careful of the other’s intentions, she was curious where the road would eventually lead them. Yes, there was a possibility that this phase between the two of them would be temporary, but that wasn’t holding her back.

After the two of them had had their first taste, Alana pulled in even closer, their faces maybe an inch apart. She looked into his eyes momentarily before going in for the kiss, feeling the moment to be just as right as any.

The moment of recollection as Alana’s face drew near—a yearning in those bespeckled, blue eyes, and Cal’s lips parted in reply of their own accord. His hand found the gentle curve in the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. The intoxicating call and response of testing kisses followed Alana’s overture. She tasted like the bright mango wine, and smelled like floral lavender. To Cal, the lagoon faded from view except for the chattering of budgies, parakeets, and love birds in the palms above. He thought he detected an urgency in her touch, in the way her hand felt on his skin, in the brief glimpses he peeked between kisses.

In his mind he saw amendments being made in the matter of Ms. Alana Lysanger. She had been a medic, a vagabond of sorts, perhaps aimless, perhaps searching for something–maybe even running from something. Eager as she was to join the crew and just after seeing him rough a man up in a bar; that too did not go unnoticed by the Captain. As cool and calmly as she proposed a game of pool and a backrub for the winner; strong and able as she was to pull a half-living man out of the freezing drink. In the short time he’d known this woman she had proved her mettle, that and more.

And now here she was, walking the edge of the ‘Verse on the China Doll. With her captain. Cal wasn’t sure it all made sense to him, yet, but if her first move was any indication, it nudged the time for talk somewhere into the future. The now being flooded and filled with endorphins.

The little flutter in one’s belly typically described during these experiences made its presence as Alana kissed her captain, the decision to make the first move independent from any alcohol influence, making their intimate moment that more intense. She lost herself in the kiss once her attempts to quiet her mind were successful, shutting down any sort of doubts which could have potentially turned into unwelcomed distractions. And thankfully that wasn't the case. Her skin started to tingle, eliciting a soft sigh from her which was muffled by their greedy passion at play. Needless to say, her own needs were as clear as the day they were both currently enjoying.

When Alana did eventually pull away, she was nearly breathless, her chest heaving up and down in steady rhythm. There was quite a contrast in the white of her eyes against the flushed skin surrounding them, and she collected herself by running her fingertips down to his wrist in a gentle caress before breaking contact altogether.

"Quite the start to our date," she whispered, subtly shying away from his stare as she glanced over the crystal blue surface in near distance, "wouldn't you say?"

That far-off look took his eye as he ran his thumb over the flat of his cheek, tracing the path of her hand moments before. “To quote an old crooner from Earth-That-Was ‘Still it’s a real good bet the best is yet to come,’” he said, tucking his hat around his ears. His tongue tingled still, that sort of gentle postcursor to a really good cigarette. He watched the flush from Alana’s cheek subside; that tough exterior she hefted was coming down and he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was in that moment, out of breath, slightly pink, but happy. Reaching back into his satchel, he retrieved more of local fare, offering her a vine of grapes from his open palm.

As she accepted the offering, the Captain sighed, hand automatically flipping open the silver case to produce a row of neatly packed, unfiltered, synthetic smokes. With a flick of his wrist the flame touched the end and any worry he may have had floated to the heavens like the plumes from his mouth and nose.

“So tell me, Doc, what are you runnin’ from?” His eyes were soft as he watched for her response.

…

The day wore on as the two spoke in confidence to one another, the flush and fire of those first moments still lingering in their eyes. When the wine and food was gone, and the budgies inhabiting the trees above them began their evening songs, the Doc and Captain bid farewell to the lagoon in its jungle-lined glory and packed up the mule for the ride back to the China Doll.

It wasn’t far, thankfully, only a few miles in the dimming light, and it so happened that Cal bid farewell to Alana as she and her beautifully somehow-still-white dress made her way back to her bunk. As he watched her go, his hands lazily finished unpacking and strapping the mule.

The sun was glimmering its goodbye from the canopy as he pulled out a cigarette to bookend an evening he’d be playing back a time or two.

Cal reflected on the events of the day. When he'd thought of what might happen when he and Alana finally made it that 'backrub' he owed her, and what might transpire from there, he hadn't considered how he might feel after all was said and done. Sure, he'd guessed that there would be some release and probably some regret, but he'd seen that all before. To his mind, their date was fixin' to be a one-night-stand, with sideways glances and avoiding each other in the galley 'til the next stop. He'd vowed not to think on it until that time came, and that was just it: it hadn't come.

His time in the lagoon with the doc had gone well--better than he'd considered. Truth be told, he was relieved. Whatever he was feeling for his new crew, it wasn't black and white, nor was it akin to previous crews he'd hired along.

As he sat in his quarters at the pull-out desk, pouring over the holo-clipboard with a half glass of that mango wine, a crystal clear voice penetrated the silence of his refracted gaze.

"Hello Cal, how was your date with Doctor Lysanger?" Sam's voice was curious, but cautious. To his ear she might be learning to hedge her bets with the nuance of inflection. Damn if that little black box wasn't more than the sum of its parts.

"So we're talkin' in my quarters now, are we? Can't a man get a minute of quiet to hisself?" Cal's brows had knit as soon as he said it.

After a moment the com crackled alive again, "Sorry to hear it didn't go as planned. If you like, I can leave you to your thoughts." The wall com fizzled to static for a moment.

"No," Cal backpedaled. "No, it didn't go as planned." But that begged the question of what he had expected when he drove Alana out there in that beautiful sun dress of hers. "It went better than expected, I suppose." He lifted the glass to his lips.

"That's good, isn't it? If so, then why are you nursing a glass alone?" The speaker elucidated the confusion in Sam's voice.

"It is good," he said, interrogating the glass in his hand. It tasted like Alana to him now, the way their kiss lingered while they melted into the warm sand. The way it cut through the tobacco on his tongue and created some kind of electric medium between the bitter and sweet.

Sam considered what it was that Cal was feeling. To her, it made little sense, for the binary of good and bad, proper and poor, positive and negative all have their purpose and their meaning in the world. This, here with Cal, pushed the boundary of the world she was piecing together; of the world as she knew it. Here he was, admitting that things went better than planned for his expectations of the Doctor Alana Lysanger, yet he exhibited all the signs of being in a poor mood--cut off, in darkness, and brooding.

"Are you feeling well, Cal?"

That seemed to rouse the sour Captain with a smile. "I feel like la shi, Sam, lower than la shi."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club, darlin'."

JP/Collab from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

Cal made his way up the rungs of his quarters to the main gangway still feeling perturbed. But, there was business to be conducted, and with the clipboard under arm, the Captain made his way to the bridge to take readings and check shore power. When he met the gauge for shore power whining away under constant load, he tapped it a time or two to confirm the reading.

"Well I'll be; the jitter's gone." he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sam's voice echoed from the com, "You'll find a few improvements aboard, Cal. Your crew has been hard at work."

"'Improvements?' Since when could Hook or Abigail rewire a thing? Don't tell me Rex..." A grim expression crossed Cal's face.

"Don't worry, Abigail's hands did all the work." There was a cheer in Sam's voice, as if she were holding back.

"Am I goin' to have to start payin' her more? Wait, just her hands?" His brow knit as he cottoned there was more to the story than she let on.

The com was silent for a moment as Cal continued, "Intergalactic woman's day comes along and I can't get a straight answer from not one of 'em." The Captain turned toward the aft of the ship and disappeared through the passage toward the Galley.

"Abigail!"

The sound of all conversation in the galley came to an abrupt halt.

“Cap’n?” Abby leaned ‘round the corner. She’s in coveralls, holdin’ a bottle ‘o’ Cap’n Bob’s Cola as she eyed Cal pacin’ tha corridor. “Need somethin’?”

"Yes'm I do, Travis shao jeh. Now, what's goin' on with shore power all a-sudden workin' right--" he held a hand up to quiet her, "and don't mistake my tone or volume for me not bein' pleased, though I am a might tetchy on account of I like to know what's goin' on with my boat before it happens."

He squared up to the Deck, crossing his arms while awaiting her reply.

They’s somethin’ here she’s missin’ tah be sure. Abby looked up inta the Cap’n’s face all uncomprehendin’ like. Fer a tick she pondered tryna be careful with her words, but hell, what words was gon’ be tha right ones, anyway? “Uh,” she near stammered, “we fixed it?”

From calculating eyes, Captain Strand let his gaze fall over her companion: the man they'd pulled from the roaring ocean--Yuri was his given name, if he remembered proper. He took in her coveralls smeared with grease, the streaks on her face and hands, and the lack thereof on him what was seated beside her. So that's what Sam meant by 'Abigail's hands did all the work.'

"This the 'we' you mean? You and this fella?" Strand uncrossed his arms, placing the clipboard on the galley table. He rested his palm there, too, meeting Yuri's eye.

Yuri offered a solemn nod as Abby answered the question. “Yessir,” her eyes was cautious as she spoke. “Yuri here done the lookin’ an’ thinkin, an’ I turned wrenches. Turned out tah be jest a loose term-in-a-shun on our transformer. Did yew know,” she started gettin’ excited, “they’s a thing call oss…..oss..”

“Oscillation,” Yuri gave her a fond smile.

“Yeah, what he said,” Abby looked from one t’other. “Once yah know tha frequency of a thing, yah can durned near pick tha date tah check yer connect…”

Cal's brow rose slightly as he watched the two back and forth. Seemed he got along well with Abby, and that was an indicator for certain. As his first gut feeling proved true on the kid, he reckoned it might extend to her sussing as well. The talk of transformers and oscillation, even from the kid's mouth, got his brain pan to working on this Yuri fellow.

"Sounds like you know your boats." Strand said, interrupting Abby's waxing mirth on all things oscillation. "Was it your idea to go messin'?"

“I know systems pretty well, sir,” the young man answered. “We were talking about the power flicker, and I conjured it to be something simple. Told Abby I’d be happy to look things over…yes,” he cut himself off. “I guess it was my idea.”

The Captain stroked his chin for a moment before replying, "Uh-huh. Let's you and I have a chat in the engine bay; just you," he added, with a glance at Abby. Straightening, Cal scooted the clipboard in front of the deckhand, which had updated figures and signatures in all the right places, along with instructions for their last day on Greenleaf.

"I conjure you know the way," he said, gesturing for Yuri to lead.

Yuri left the half empty soda on the table as he rose to make his quiet way aft toward the engine room. All the way, the strike of the much larger man’s bootheels from behind told that he might’ve done some overstepping.

Abby watched tha pair of ‘em go. Fer tha life ‘o’ her, sometimes she couldn’t read twixt tha Cap’n’s lines. One thing she did conjure was when he pushed tha clipboard her way, she’d do well tah study it. After cleanin’ up tha soda bottles, she carried it below tah her quarters. Mebbe he’n tha doc didn’t have quite so good a time’s we all supposed? she wondered as she bounced down the stairs.

JP/Collab from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

Once inside the engine room Yuri waited as the Captain closed the door. “If I did something wrong, I’m sorry,” he began. “The girl was excited to get the problem fixed and…I feel like I owe you all.”

Strand let the man stew for a moment before his reply. "So..." he began, collecting a wrench from the side wall and shaking it for emphasis, "You're sayin' all it took was a few turns of a wrench to fix our shore power blip? That thing's been driving me fēngkuáng de since we landed on Greenleaf. Reckon the storm mighta knocked somethin' loose while hoisting your soggy self aboard." (Crazy)

Yuri answered with a smile. “Just Abby’s oscillations, sir. Nothing unusual about a boat with wrench tightened connections coming loose over time.”

The Captain paused to look Yuri over in earnest. The man had a glint in his eye, and aside from the sling around his shoulder, appeared in good health--probably thanks to their Doc. Damn if she didn't have the brains to match that smile. He rubbed his chin again: made no lick of sense to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Thinkin' I ought to thank you for fixin' our little problem. And seein' as you feel you owe us, how about we call it square?"

The mechanic’s smile dipped ever so slightly. “That’s kind of you. I think I came out way ahead on that deal. So…Captain Strand, I was wondering. Abby mentioned you might be looking to hire?”

At the man's query, Cal turned toward the engine itself, "You know, she's a beautiful thing; never let me down." He placed an affectionate hand on the dormant casing, "Always points the way; keeps us flyin'. No spot in my sky too far for her to carry us, but only if she's taken care of. Me, see, I've been less than nurturing. I've let her corrode, pass from mechanic to mechanic like she's the town whore. Hell, I even let Badger's men fiddle with her when my back was against the wall. She deserves more, and I know that."

He faced Yuri, hand still on the China Doll's sleeping heart. "I am lookin', but I got a few mechanics lined up for the job. Why? You lookin' to make a change from sea to stars?"

The mechanic had come to this moment with a host of prearranged lines, all intended to sell his skill set and general reliability. But as he watched the captain’s stern facade melt with a simple touch and prosaic words for this boat, Yuri dashed those out of hand. The honest truth, ”my Niska appointed lawyer suggested I take to the black,” would paint him as just another running man in a ‘verse full of them…a liability he felt certain Captain Strand would shun straight away. In fact, there were other points, all equally true, to be made, but a mechanic with a broken wing and a known litany of other injuries was clearly the least appealing candidate.

In the end, he kept it simple. “The black is where I started, on an orbital skyplex. I’ve been listening to machines talk ever since my father put me to work,” Yuri answered. “If you’d asked me that question five days ago I wouldn’t have heard you, ‘cause my old ship was hurting and I was doing everything I could to bring her home. In the end,” he paused as a shadow crossed his eyes, “it wasn’t enough. I was half delirious when China Doll lifted me out of the ocean, but even then I could hear what she told me plain as day. Portside atmo engine’s thrust director needs a minor adjustment. Your pilot compensated for it on hover and landing, and she takes pains to avoid undue stress on the spaceframe and hydraulics.” He looked about the engine room. “This girl’s had plenty of hands on her, but from what I see, most have been good as conditions allow.”

He patted his cast. “That goes for the hands that tended me, too. I know there’s better choices than a one armed mechanic for certain. It’s true I’d have to lean on your deckhands for anything strenuous for a few weeks. For that, I’d take whatever pay you thought was fair.”

Strand saw Yuri's heartfelt yearning for a machine to nurture weave its yarn through the vibrations he'd already picked up on concerning the Doll. He saw, too, the reverence with which he spoke when he mentioned his past and last station which lay at the bottom of some sea on New Melbourne. There was a fire in this man's belly; something propelling him to go all in here, with the China Doll. Maybe he was mighty grateful. Maybe he had nowhere's else to be now that his old life was dead and gone. Cal could somewhat empathize.

"Well, I'll tell you what: I see goin' down with the ship as indicative of a body's loyalties, and, son, your number's already been called there. If past is prologue, I could see a place for you on board." Cal looked the man over again, then patted the China Doll's engine. "If you and my pilot can get on the same page on what's what, and Abigail can lend you a hand here twixt moppin', I'd consider you for the post."

Captain Strand held out his hand to the man's non-casted arm. "Shiny?"

Yuri gripped the outstretched hand. “Shiny,” he smiled as he gave the captain a formal nod. “Glad to be aboard, sir.”

JP/Collab from @sail3695 and @wanderingwolf

While he shook the man's hand, Cal glanced one last time around the engine room which looked well taken care of on the whole. He probably had Abigail to thank for that and her short tutelage under Marisol. "Yuri--what was your surname?" Cal fixed the man with a frown.

A crystal clear voice emanated from the com anchored on the wall, "That would be Antonov, Cal, Yuri Antonov," Sam added, an even and somewhat digital tinge in her tone.

"Ah, right. Antonov," he replied, releasing his grip of Yuri’s hand.

Yuri’s hand froze. He blinked, then turned curious eyes toward the speaker. He blinked again. “Is that…” he began to ask. “Should I…?”

"That's Sam. She can feel free to introduce herself." Cal took a step outside the engine bay before turning back to the stunned Yuri. "Seein' as you're just about crew, there're some particulars for you to sign with Abigail." He traced the man's gaze back to the com. "I'll let you two get acquainted." With that, Cal made his way to Abigail's room.

"Hello Yuri, my name is S.A.M.N.T.H.A., but Cal and Penelope call me Sam." Her light Bostonian accent from Earth-That-Was became apparent with the lilt of her introduction. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

“Hello…Sam,” Yuri’s mind raced as the captain left him alone in the engine room with…her? Nice meeting you as well.” An A.I. wasn’t a complete surprise. They’d been put into use aboard ships for decades now. The Mick had three, systems whose limited scopes determined their employment under a few select departments. “Well, then,” he cleared his throat, “what can you tell me about yourself? Are you integrated into the boat’s systems?”

"As you've probably guessed, I'm an artificially intelligent software and hardware system. As to more than that," the com captured an audible inward breath, "Cal's asked me to... give the 'short and sweet' version, as he calls it." The com crackled for a moment as she responded to his second question, "Yes, I am integrated into some of the China Doll's electrical and hydraulic systems, however, due to the analog nature of the craft, many systems are unaccounted for."

Remarkable, he thought of the breath sound effect. The A.I.’s he’d previously experienced served either as a simple Q and A information services, or verbal command interfaces for certain directed functions. But this…”Samantha” had adopted a range of casual speech inflections and characteristics to make her seem astonishingly lifelike. Pretty sophisticated, the mechanic thought. Must be one helluva processor under the hood.

“There are interfaces,” he offered, “I’m betting you’ve already created a list. Has the captain approved your being tied into all the systems?”

Her tone was precise, "Indeed he has," Sam began, before detailing to the mechanic the list of systems she lacked access to, with particular attention to the radar. "I've had to use other means to simulate the China Doll's active radar from systems not on this ship, in the past. Access to this system would speed up calculations considerably."

The new mechanic caught himself nodding, then shrugged as he thought an image capture or two might come in useful for such an intuitive system. “My experience with radars is mostly nautical, the Seatronics professional line and such. Modern systems have a data interface port, which would make your integration a snap. I’m guessing China Doll’s radar won’t be so easy to access.”

"On a Firefly class three ship such as this, those systems remain on auxiliary or subsidiary capacity. Schematic comparisons indicate that this was the chosen route from model two to three Fireflies, in an effort to maintain continuity of systemic supply chains," Sam affirmed. "Cal liaised me to the main pilot console via Epsilon adapter which propagates to most of the modern systems, but several remain outside of cognizance."

Sam paused, but only for a moment. "What about you, Mr. Antonov? What can you tell me of yourself?"

“Not alot to tell, actually,” Yuri answered his unseen companion. “I’m standing here because of this boat, and I’m betting you had a hand in saving me as well. Three years aboard my old ship as an Engineer’s Mate, spending most of my time maintaining her old RBMK reactor. Before that I helped my father on board an orbital skyplex. The whole thing was truly a massive gyroscope…lots of very big moving parts. Not a lengthy resume,” he offered, “but since I handled my first tools at age ten you might say I’ve got tenure.”

"An orbital skyplex? How interesting," the AI's tone was curiously excited. "I have yet to encounter a skyplex aboard the China Doll. I'm beginning to be fascinated by all things to do with 'critters,' as Penelope calls them, and I have seen several reports of rodent infestations on such vessels. To see such ingenuity and will to survive is both hopeful and inspiring." Sam's voice trailed off as a short burst of whirring traveled through the com to Yuri, calculations, perhaps, of the fertility and virility of such species in the cold confines of space and their adaptability therein.

Yuri gave a light chuckle. “Comrade Krysa. My father liked to say that ‘humans and rats are the true civilizers of the ‘verse. Where one goes, the other will surely follow.’ That can pose a problem aboard ships of all kinds…which reminds me. Are you coupled to any sort of sensors aboard the boat? Image captures, motion detectors, or the like?”

"At present, I have access to the pilot's external communication platform which includes an image capture." Sam's voice was declarative but interested in the new mechanic's line of reasoning.

He paused to consider her words. “External communication” most likely meant China Doll’s radios and cortex tap. But a single image capture piqued his interest. Then again, the mechanic thought, [i]I could keep this AI talking all night, when a simple flow diagram would suffice. “Sam,” Yuri responded, “would it be possible for you to generate a full ship’s schematic, including your current access points?”

Slow clicks accompanied Sam's reply to the eager, newly-minted mechanic of the China Doll, "I'm preparing it now. The schematics will be available presently on the engine read-out display." She could tell already that she was going to enjoy communicating with Yuri Antonov, the engineer who sought knowledge and improvement; or perhaps it was she who was seeking out more knowledge by making contact with the new mechanic of the China Doll. Whatever the case, her voice reflected, ever so slightly, the excitement which heralded new interfaces and data to be analyzed with the help of Yuri.

JP/Collab from @sail3695 and @wanderingwolf

Captain Strand gave a knock at Abby's door, "You in there, Abigail?"

“C’mon in, Cap’n. It’s open.” The door swung free, admitting him to the utilitarian space. After passing a bank of shelves which contained bedding and cleaning supplies, he found the simple bunk and night table the girl called her own. The curved aft bulkhead above her bed had been festooned with pictures. The first of which was a grizzled man who looked to be in his fifties. His arm hung around a smiling woman, whose hands rested upon the shoulders of a freckle faced six year old Abby. Nearby was another smiling couple, husband and wife both uniformed in the brown coat and striped trousers of the Independents. There was a child in this picture as well, a babe in arms. A Firefly was the subject of another, the name Mariposa boldly painted upon her portside bulkhead.

The last of the bunch was the most recent. A young man of curly blond hair grinned toward the capture, his hand resting on the tiller of a sailboat. All of these pictures were bound together through a series of chalk lines, sweeping graceful arcs between them and the centerpiece of the display, an elaborate seashell.

Abby stood in the space, a bathrobe tied about her as she pulled her hair back with a brush. “Jest about tah grab a shower,” she said to Cal. “How can I help, Cap’n?”

The wide chalk lines drew his attention at first, as the winding scrawl made its way through photos and sea shells. Near that, Cal's eye was drawn to a particular photo depicting Independents, a swaddled child in the arms of a couple in the capture. Facing his deckhand, Cal nodded his head.

"Well earned," he said, regarding her still grease-smudged cheek. "Hired that fella, Antonov. Said he'd give you part his share to act as his hands 'til he's healed up. Didn't think you'd mind that one bit. Said we had mechanics lined up to take the gig and he anted up." Cal smoothed a photo on the bulkhead with an errant hand. "You can thank me later."

The girl’s face broke into a smile. “I’ll thank yah now,” Abby said as happy arms wrapped Cal’s shoulders. “I’s gettin’ a might nervous ‘bout fakin’ it on another run. Thank yew.”

Caught a mite off guard by the display of affection from the young woman, Cal nonetheless returned the embrace in earnest, "Way Antonov tells it, you might have just faked yourself into a job. 'Magine you'll be learnin' a bit more while you're his hands for now, besides. Marisol rubbed off on you in more ways than one, I'd wager." Over her shoulder, his eye traveled back again to that capture of Browncoats in a neat line.

Abby stepped back. “Sure’n I wanna learn the job, too. Uncle Bob…that’s him,” she pointed out the photo, “taught me little scraps ‘o’ jobs when he had need fer help. I can fly a boat in the black. Can folla a course and handle ‘er. Jest never did the takeoff or landin’ parts.” She grabbed a few stray wisps of hair afore tyin’ it all back in a knot. “An’ I’ll be powerful glad tah learn what Yuri teaches…like that oscillation stuff.”

"My that hair o' yours really puffs up in all this humidity, don't it?" Something about Abigail screamed kin to the Captain. It was a feeling a man who'd known naught else than the black for two decades was scarce to conjure; yet here it was, beaming as bright as Greenleaf's sun. He pulled back enough to speak to her proper, "You joinin' us for drinks tonight? I hear Hook's got a spot all picked out."

“Yep, I’ll make it, puffed up hair an’ all,” the girl chuckled. “Gotta head inta town fer an errand first, but I’ll be along presently.”

"Good, don't let me keep you," Cal said, readying to leave the Abigail to her washing up. "When you get a tick, have Antonov cross his 'T's," Strand said by way of farewell and made his way fore.

OOC: JP between @Aalakrys, @MK Blitzen





Cyd kept her eyes closed. At 125 beats per minute, the repetitive melody meant to quiet her brain just wasn’t keeping up. The hot shower may have washed away the smeared make-up and tangled schlock of hair, but as Isaac snored and Mathias slept soundly, her thoughts were still stuck in overdrive.

Breathe. Four, Seven, Eight. Inhale four seconds, Hold for seven, exhale for eight. Repeat. Focus on breathing, let everything else go, simple in theory, but sometimes ‘things’ just wouldn’t leave! Inhale 3-4 Why won’t the encryption work? Hold. 2-3-4 Try the key again. 5-6-7 What is with Sam and Plan B? Exhale 3-4-5. What’s the next job going to be? 6-7-8. Repeat. What if Mathias’ hand gets infected? Inhale 3-4 Did I re-bandage it well enough? Hold 2-3-4 Where is the next job? 5-6-7 Plan B.Exhale 3-4-5. Mathias.6-7-8. Repeat. Isaac. Inhale 3-4 Gunshot. Hold. 2-3-4[ Encryption. 5-6-7 Microchips. Exhale 3-4-5 Plan B. 6-7-8. Repeat. Why this ship? Inhale. Waving cats. Hold. The fed. Exhale. Why is no one looking for the fed that was gunned down? Inhale Pen. Hold. Mathias could get caught. Exhale. Isaac’s broken heart. Inhale. 53R3N1TY Hold. The next job. Exhale. Repeat. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Plan B. Cyd’s eyes snapped back open. Sleep was being an elusive little prick. Coffee. Maybe coffee would help slow things down. There was always coffee.

“Padikos,” she whispered to her older brother when he stirred as she got up, indicating she was hungry. He mumbled something about bobotie as she pulled on a button up over her tank. Even conditioned air was lank hot on Greenleaf. “Ja, nee,” she replied, patting his arm reassuringly before slipping out of the shuttle.

Feeling refreshed after a shower that scrubbed away the sweat, remnants of paint, and jungle from her body, Penelope felt much lighter. As if all the sins of her past had been washed away with the clarity and certainty her father's words had given her. Another option than what she thought possible - what she'd not allowed herself to consider a possibility. She was just about the most cheerful picture carrying a bundle of laundry tied up in her sheets and thrown over her shoulder.

Once it was deposited, she was dressed for the weather outdoors and there she'd go. Her last day home would fully be enjoyed. At home.

Just as she crossed from the galley to the catwalk, however, Cyd was coming from the shuttle the siblings rented out. Penelope's smile brightened. "Mornin' - or afternoon, as it is. Seems we got separated last night."

“Howzit?!” Cyd greeted, slightly startled. “Sorry, that happens, lank crowded, oweh? Did you have fun though? Trade kandi?”

"I must've … things are a little fuzzy, if I'm honest. Got back in one piece though, and then some." She pulled another stray leaf from the bundle that she'd brung 'round her shoulder and rested by her foot, flashing it to Cyd with a more sheepish turn to her smile. Really, her brain still felt wobbly, like it was sloshing around this way and that. "How about you and the fellas?"

Cyd smiled and nodded. “They’re ibhabalazi,” she explained, putting prayer hands to her cheek as she tilted her head, indicating they were sleeping it off. “The DJ was lekker, he had insane drops. I hope you tag to the next one, good time for all.”

Penelope recalled the way the alcohol she'd started off with made the music curve and flow around her. There had been plenty of faceless dance partners to enjoy it with. Flashes of lights and sound captured a few moments of the night in memory, but once she tasted the first 'kandi' trade someone placed on her tongue, that's when things took on a more streaked and hazed color of rainbows across the night. Thankfully, this open invitation meant she hadn't done anything too out-there. "I just might."

There was a more appreciative turn to her soft smile a beat before she looked as if something just occurred to her. It wasn't a recollection that told her one way or another if she'd gotten more than friendly with the pretty lady before her, which had crossed her mind enough to warrant a worry, but rather that there was something special for Cyd and her brothers in her bag. Just before going to rummage in her bag with her free hand, she had given the universal 'one sec' gesture. Her fingers found purchase on the neck of a long bottle and she pulled the faux glass free. "Here, this is for you and your brothers. Thanks for having me along for'a good time."

"It's pure water, from the crystal clears further in the jungle here on Greenleaf. If you chill it, it's the most refreshin'." Penelope said as she handed the resealed bright blue bottle, chosen as a slight hommage to who she was handing it to. The surface was bare except coordinates written where a label could have been.

“Shot, mate!” Cyd exclaimed. “Err… I mean, thanks, thank you.” She couldn’t wait to share it with the boys. She took a moment to admire the bottle. Reusable! At least Greenleaf learned from the Earth that was! “I love the container! One of my favorite colors. No gifts needed though, oweh? Your company is enough. Wish I had more of it at the rave. I saw you ducked out. I know it can be loud, and crowded, and sometimes people get handsy.”

OOC: JP between @Aalakrys, @MK Blitzen





Hearing that her company had been welcome filled the free-spirited Penelope with joy, though her spreading smile turned sheepish at the mention of her venturing off on her own early enough to be pronounced a short-lived enjoyment of their time together. She rubbed absently at the back of her neck as she spoke in a more apologetic way of explanation. “My feet seem to have a habit’a carryin’ me away when left to their own devices. Weren’t nothin’ on the company. Though… I don’t much right remember most ‘cept flashes. Explains my ears ringin’ somethin’ fierce this mornin’ though. Real sorry I went a’wanderin’.”

“It was a jol,” she said with a bright smile, “Good party. Glad you got back safe and sound. So….” Cyd stared at the bottle, examining the unique markings, the container keeping her focus. “Come right back to the ship?”

"By way of jungle." Penelope gave a little shake of her head, as if the journey was second nature. "Weren't my smartest decision, I figure, bein's I was goin' on about how dangerous it is. But…"

The lightness of her tone trailed away as her brain belatedly wired connections from the flashes of memories. Her racing heart, the fractured glimpses of passing buildings she dashed by. "I was runnin' from -"

She passed that memory off as being a flight from danger, maybe away from someone who had been too handsy like Cyd had said. But, then she had gotten that letter from her father and it had filled in that missing piece. In a blink, she saw him standing on the patio just before he gave chase. "My pa. Reckon I realized where my feet carried me and I weren't ready for the destination."

She grinned, the brightness of it tempered by the sadness and regret for how everything had went. It was all too fast. But, now was the time for sorting. And this mood was no good. Cyd was being real nice to check after her and her she was bringing things down. "Speaking of, those coordinates will take ya to where the water was got. There's waterfalls, if ya still haven't gotten to see'em yet."

“That was …” Cyd started, pausing as she ran her hand over the coordinates. “Lucky,” she decided on an adjective. “With the jungle. Our tour guide was talking about quicksand and panthers and the like.” She made a mental note to keep a better eye out the next time. “Your Pa is skollies? Er… not a good man?”

The idea of her father being considered a bad man gave way to a laugh escaping her lips before she could stop it. "No, no - don't know a gentler soul than my pa."

Her smile waned sadly. "I wasn't sure I'd see him this go-around. Thought I'd have more time to figure out how to tell him I was still alive. But we'll sort it all out today. Was actually on my way to see him."

“He thought you were dead?” She asked, raising her eyebrows, “howzit?”

"Ó, yuánlái shì gùshì… (Oh, that is a story)." Pen grinned in that passive way of hers, but gave a slight shrug as she mulled over what was important about it. "Short version is that the ship I was pilotin' was reported crashed with no survivors. Don't look good on a resume, but I reckon bein' dead don't either."

Or that it was a cover-up so Hafez could pursue his own investigation after the other two survivors. But, that wasn't relevant to the question so didn't make the cut. "So far, being alive again has been pretty alright."

“Oweh,” Cyd said with a nod, trying to hide a smile. Her new cuz was a bit of a kitten off the track herself. “In that case, welcome back to the land of the living! You’ll give me the long version of that sometime, kiff?”

Penelope softly laughed at the energy of the other woman. The idea of retelling it all didn’t quite seem so daunting now that this trip back to Greenleaf had put some balm on her ails that past and uncertainty had brought on. And, like others of the crew she’d been spending some time getting to know, Cyd was luring her out of that drifting along mentality. Something about her energy, it being so opposite her own, drew her in. That curiosity needled more than her caution and wariness to get close with others had once weighed, and so there was surprisingly no hesitation to delivering the decision she’d come to with a glint to her eyes. “Only if you’ll trade me a story of your own.”

“Deal!” Cyd agreed. “It’s a fact like a cow. Maybe when we leave Greenleaf, ja nee? If you want some company while you’re flying that is. Otherwise, you’re always welcome to visit the shuttle with me and my sibs. "

The warm exuberance was well-received by the pilot. It had been a while since she had someone willing to kick about in the flight deck with her during runs. Jun’s face was a near flash in her mind, wearing much the same smile Cyd did now. It would’ve been enough to temper her mood had her brain not started puzzling out the logistics of the offer. “I surely wouldn’t mind the company up on deck, but Cap’n said only crew was allowed. Not sure where long-term shuttle renters fall, so I’ll have to check before I can officially commit.”

Penelope wasn’t quite sure, but she guessed it may have had something to do with Sam more than anything. She usually flew strictly-cargo vessels though, so maybe it was a standard rule of flyin’ folk around. A fair amount of pilots didn’t like to be pestered while doing their job, when having to be more hands on. Penelope was the sort that could go either way. As amiable as she was, she knew when to tell someone to give her room to work. At present, she was sincere in her reply in all regards.

“No skade, er… I mean, I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. Besides! It’s not a big ship. We’re bound to run into each other. She held up the bottle and winked, not wanting to hold the pilot from her reunion. The kind gesture had taken Cyd by surprise. “I’ll make sure of it. And shot … thank you for this, it was –” She almost blurted Ubuntu, but that’s who the pilot was. The only person so far, except her sibs of course, who would get the concept, anyway. Pen made an effort to make the raver girl feel like less of an outsider. “Kiff of you,” she finished. “Peace be your journey, oweh?”

"And to you on yours." Pen grinned with a nod towards the bottle as she lifted her bundle for the wash. Coordinates to waterfalls were the least she could do for the adventurous trio that had her along for a night out. She hoped Cyd did take up the trip for the day given they'd be leaving Greenleaf come morning. Something she had to keep in mind herself given her own plans for the day. But, no matter how things shaped out, she found herself looking forward to coming back to the China Doll and the promised more time with a new friend.

When Penelope left the China Doll, she was feeling mighty swell. Cyd had that kind of energy that seemed to fill all the spaces an easy-going spirit like her let drift along in the breeze. It wasn’t an overwhelming sort, more like making the flight more interesting. It’d been a while since she had a friend, and it seemed like the China Doll was nothing but the start to some bonds forming.

As she neared her father’s home - her home - her thoughts turned more on the task at hand. It was the sort of pleasant weather that came after a nice rain, before the sun warmed the water to steam. The best she could hope for in her plan for the day. She enjoyed the remainder of the walk, listening to the songs of the forest birds that the city could never mute. It was good to be home.

There was a hitch to her plan, though. She discovered it the moment she found herself facing the electronic panel on the outer storage door of the little covered patio. As she worried her lip in thought, mostly about how that wasn’t there before, the door to her immediate right cracked open. Its door track’s squeal was what caused her to jump slightly, being caught out so early on wasn’t part of what she’d pictured.

But neither was the rather large dark-skinned man hulking in the frame. Her first thought was she’d somehow gotten the wrong privacy area, but all the markings making this place her family’s was there down to the dent in the door frame Castor had gotten Pollux in trouble for just alongside the man’s big hand. If it weren’t for the warm smile that spread in his gold-flecked dark eyes as his rich voice asked: “Penelope?” she might have found herself running again.

“Don’t go. Please.” The stranger must’ve sensed her flight-instincts, because he stepped back slightly into the room rather than crowd her, explaining as he did so. “I’m Elias. Rowan asked me over to watch for you. He was worried you’d come by and he would miss you because he couldn’t stay awake. From what he said, last night was… eventful.”

There was a familiarity in which the man spoke about her father that seemed warm, friendly. The hint of amusement on the tail-end made it more true to Penelope. She smiled, the nervousness tickling at her only in the way she rubbed absently at the arm she’d clutched while listening. “Reckon I have no small part in all the excitement… How is he?”

“I’d say all manner of ways, but when he finally fell asleep… hopeful.” Elias glanced back towards the closed door she knew led to her father’s bedroom, Penelope following the gaze to notice him turn a lifted brow to her. “Any particular reason you favored the storage door over this one?”

“I wanted to fix something, I reckon, and since … well, this seemed the best place to start.” She gestured by a spanning wave at the overgrowth and neglect, then frowned again at the obstacle. “But the old lock is gone.”

“The code is 1805.” Elias said after her eyes settled sadly on the space a weathered yet otherwise like-new panel sat. “I convinced your father to have it installed after a series of thefts hit the lower units.”

Penelope reached to punch in the code on the touch-pad but paused, looking at Elias with curiosity plain on her open features. “Do you live here, too?”

“Next door.” He smiled in a manner that she couldn’t discern, though she didn’t have to after all. As she went to enter the code, leaving it there for now, he went on. “Since your brothers left the nest, I have been looking after your father. As a fellow widower with grown children, I understand the need for company. And your father… he seems to let things get away from him.”

Penelope smiled. Elias had put that mildly, and they both knew it. She could tell from the smile they were now sharing. “I was going to say… the sitting area looks a lot neater than I’d expect.”

“I couldn’t help myself.” It seemed as if this were a grand admittance in the way he sighed, and Penelope couldn’t help herself in the soft laugh. “Say, would you like some company taming this part of the jungle? I’ve told Rowan I wouldn’t mind tending it, but he said it was a job for two - then went to bed. Every time.”

Penelope could imagine that conversation - her father’s avoidance going for a whirl with his distraction and exhaustion. He was not a fan of the jungle, in any form. Not since her mother had died in it. Why he had kept a ground floor flat was beyond her until she read the letter. She wondered how much of all that Elias might know. The best way to find out was to take him up on that offer. Besides, he was easy to like. Given the wrong tone, her words could have been harsh, but Penelope’s warmth shined through. “Well, since it’s a job for two, I reckon I can’t say no.”

As they worked, the heat of the sun thickened the air around them. That didn’t weigh either of their spirits down though. Penelope learned Elias was a pediatrician. He’d taken the day off without hesitation when Rowan asked for his help. There was a fastidious nature to him that conflicted with the organized chaos that was her father, but he was too steady to be bothered and she liked that about him. There were also things he didn’t have to say that she understood from the way he spoke. That her father had not done well the past few years, but convinced most people otherwise. That he had trouble sleeping, based on the mention of late night flicks and drinks. And, though she was speculating, Elias had feelings for her father.

It wasn’t until later that evening that anything would be addressed since her father still slept. They worked into early evening, just before dusk as the birds began to settle in for the night. As Penelope was rounding up the tools, she heard her name and turned to see her father standing in the doorway. Aside from the shiner, he looked put-together. His hair was damp and combed back, and his beard trimmed neatly down so it looked like a purposeful five o’clock shadow. He looked as he had two years ago, with only a little grey threatening now.

“Daddy, I … got your letter.” She said as tears touched her eyes. She was, by comparison, a wreck from the day’s labor. But that didn’t matter to Rowan since he had her in his arms in two steps. All that came after - his marveling at the drastic change to the greenspace after all their work, the revisiting her room to find it untouched, the cold shower that wasn’t onboard a spacecraft but rather in her own home, the dinner that Elias insisted on cooking to spare them Rowan’s attempt… nothing touched her as much as being wrapped in her father’s arms and her him saying: “Welcome home, Pen-nut.”

Part 1 of a JP/Collab from @xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

The visit to Greenleaf had been a leisurely break for Joe Hooker. Compared to other stops, this was a relaxing visit. He enjoyed his time on the range with Abby Oakley. He had fun shooting with her, but she won their shooting competition and Joe was stuck cleaning the head while they were planetside. He didn’t mind cleaning the commodes and shower stalls. He performed tasks like this on other ships and even as a child on the farm on Hera. He thought he caught Abby cleaning up one day after him. He said nothing to her. Maybe he missed something? It did bring a smile to his face.

The rest of the time, on planet, he spent taking walks, reading books and inventorying the cold storage in the galley. There were plenty of leftovers including Beef Stew and Chile. He still had a few cakes, pies and cookies remaining from the Skye’s night in their shuttlecraft. Aside from having the gaming table upended and all the buttons scattered over him, while sprawled backwards across the floor, it was a fun night. Joe had been thinking about that night for the last few days.

An observation he made about the ship’s pilot was her textured clothing. Personally he preferred mostly cottons, but her clothing was different, more colorful. It made him curious. He never asked her about her outfits, but they were admirable.

The New Engineer seemed to be fitting in well. He hadn’t yet taken time to get to know him…sure he would be a great addition to the family.

The captain said the ship would be leaving around noon on the fourth day. It was already the third. They had one last night on Greenleaf before they had to leave. ‘I know, let’s get everyone together and go out. Have a night on the town,’ Joe thought to himself. He remembered the night playing cards with the Skyes and how they all went out to a Rave with Miss Penny a few nights ago.

On this, the third day of their stop on Greenleafe, everytime Joe ran into someone on the ship, he would stop them and say, “Hey, we are leavin’ tomorrow. Let’s git everyone together and go out tahnight. Miss Penny can choose the spot since she knows the area best.”

A mighty fine plan, ‘cept for when the time came, everybody thought everybody else did the askin’...so nobody had answers an’ the pilot was in the wind. They tried a couple ideas. Cap’n led ‘em to Cafe Al-Baz, but there’s a line all the way down the block. Abby come up with Hap’s La Frontera. After all, she’s sposed to pay a visit there anyway. Sounded fair an’ such, til they got there an’ found the place shuttered an’ dark.

They stood for awhile, thirsty souls on the corner, huddled over a cortex. In the end, as was usual, it was the Doc saved their big night with her idea ‘bout “someplace in the jungle?”

That set right with China Doll’s crew. With smiles an’ nods all around, they set off for the nearest jungle waterin’ hole, a safari lookin’ advert given’ ‘em their bearings….

“I dunno, Cap’n.” Abby’s followin’ along, but her eyes was on her cortex. “Map don’t show nothin’ but a big blob ‘o’ green where this road ends.”

Cal went for his cigarette case. “Well, color me all kindsa bemused,” he lifted one of the smokes to his lips. “Here I was, conjurin’ you only used that thing to send nekkid pictures.”

The deckhand didn’t rile none. “Gotta pay fer college somehow, sir.”

Yuri listened to the exchange. Surely, he thought, that has to be a joke? Next to the idiosyncrasies of people, machines were so much simpler to make acquaintances. Better now to keep his word hole shut; there’d be plenty of opportunities to play the fool.

Joe had grown accustomed to the banter between the captain and Miss Abby. He smiled at their discussion on naked photographs and funding higher education. He glanced at Yuri, The New Guy. He knew he didn’t have a clue. Joe garnered a bit of amusement from the Engineer’s facial expression. In a low volume, Joe Hooker muttered to Yuri, “you git used to it. They’s havin’ fun is all.”

The mechanic grinned. “Was I that obvious?”

The rivalry between those two never ceased to amaze her. Alana stifled a giggle and were it not for the fact that she was walking towards the back of the pack, that much would have been noticeable. And to think she couldn't name a more entertaining duo unless some coin was involved.

By and by, the pavement ‘neath their feet gave way to the thick, moist soil of the approaching jungle. Even under a bright moon, the thick tree line put up a wall of darkness to rattle the nerves. The little knot of China Doll crew strode forward to find a weatherbeaten sign, hand painted and lit by a naked bulb.



Not as big of a fan for certain wildlife, Alana shrugged her shoulders casually. "I ain't volunteering myself as the sacrificial lamb. Hell, I'd probably only be a snack, so maybe it's best I give the honors to one of the fellas more suited for the job," she gazed at Cal with a smirk. Maybe he'd read between the lines, maybe not.

Abby laughed an’ snapped a pic. “I wanna see one ‘o’ them great big snakes,” she said. “Perfesser Marquina? That flower science guy? He promised tah send me a capture…no, Cap’n,” her tone went all droll, “that weren’t no double intendry.”

Cal lowered his raised finger in exclamation before the deckhand shot down his lightbulb moment. Instead, he countered with a gust of smoke and a few choice words under his breath about big snakes and captures. “This way kids,” Captain Strand corralled, picking out the dirt path amidst the ferns.

“Pumas?” Joe said as he read the sign. “Mmm. Miss Abby we didn’ see no Pumas when we went shootin’ mebee our boom booms scared ‘em away.” Joe knows he would have shot one if it did come close. He was always carrying the Ruger RedHawk. He knew enough when not to use it.

“I ain’t too bright,” the girl fell into line as Cap’n led tha way, “but I conjure that sign jest let us in on a runnin’ gag. Fella I met once on Harvest warned me ‘bout ‘drop-bears,” she wiggled ‘er fingers in the air fer quotes. "Had me all wide eyed an’ fearful of walkin’ under trees till I seen folk laughin’.”

Yuri laughed as he followed the group. “Me too,” he chortled. “My father told me stories of the Rat King who lived in the bowels of our skyplex. ‘Big as a man, with huge teeth and claws!’ It backfired on him, though, when my older brother Ivan and I snuck down to kill the monster. Papa had to explain why his two sons were covered head to toe in sludge oil from the traps.”

“Ah, to be young and gullible.” He waved a broad hand in their direction, “I mean you two, seein’ as I ain’t never fell for drop-bears nor Rat Kings,” However, Cal scanned the darkening underbrush with a wary eye before returning to the road ahead, “Mark my words, pumas ain’t fairy tales; they’re cats twice as big as Abigail and with just as many pointy teeth, to boot.” He glanced to the back of the pack with a wink in Alana’s direction, “But don’t you worry, one of us should satisfy.”

...to be continued…

Edina had opted to spend the night in.

The lower deck passenger lounge was the perfect spot for the evening. She sat on the couch beneath Abby’s orchid drawing, legs crossed ‘lotus style,’ a book open upon her lap. The story was amusing, but hardly one to demand her full attention. Instead, her greater pleasures were derived from the tactile delights of pages beneath her fingers.

For all she knew, she was alone on China Doll. At the urging of ‘Hook the Cook,’ Captain Strand had led a shore party off in search of drinks and diversions for their last night on Greenleaf. She’d been invited, but Edina felt that this hardworking crew needed its’ liberty from paying passengers now and again…not to mention the allure of a quiet night was just too great.

She conjured the pilot was off on her own. Rumor had it she was a native. As for the Skye family, Edina had no idea. They kept the hours of club kids the ‘verse over, and seemed otherwise to keep to themselves…a trait she’d emulated all too well since rushing aboard on New Melbourne.

However, the urge to hide herself away had faded with her bruises. China Doll possessed a vibe, an easy, no nonsense familiarity that flowed from the captain throughout his crew. Cal Strand seemed at ease with the idiosyncrasies of his people, and they in kind with him and each other. Abby’d mentioned that most of the group had first arrived on Persephone. Edina quietly marveled at the growing rapport among them, and the way they’d welcomed their newest member, the mechanic. She’d only met Yuri in passing, but had sensed the polite confusion of all ‘new guys’ sussing their place among a fresh band of shipmates. He sported scars and bruises of his own. If nothing else, that was a bond they shared at once.

She’d almost forgotten Rex. Edina wasn’t quite clear on his function. To her eyes he’d taken China Doll as his personal shuttle from one brothel to the next…but she couldn’t rule out her own prejudices in that assessment. Abby seemed to veer between grudging humor and outright disgust at his antics, but the older members of the crew appeared unfazed. To each, his own, she’d ultimately decided.

They would all soon return, and China Doll would reverberate with the pleasant hum of a boat preparing for space. But for now, she was at her ease, save for the occasional tick and pop of the old hull casting off the day’s heat, or the hiss of her climate system. The boat was at peace. Edina was worlds away from her abuser, among good folk. Like China Doll, she could feel the tension draining off her bones. They shared in the comfort together.

A loud metallic banging suddenly echoed through the open cargo bay hatch. She recognized the sound at once, an old wrench that dangled on a piece of twine next to the personnel entry. Back so soon? the woman mused as she rose from the sofa. Another series of clangs greeted her as she stepped into the hold. “Coming!” Edina shouted, unsure if she could be heard at all as she padded on bare feet across the empty deck.

Hook had taught her the art of ‘cracking’ the personnel hatch so that its’ locking shafts would only permit a narrow opening. As she took in the sight of three rough looking characters on the ramp, Edina was profoundly grateful for the lesson. “Yes?” she asked.

Two men. One woman. All three wore combinations of weatherbeaten denim, heavy engineers’ boots, and matching black leather vests. The point man looked to be in his forties. A grizzled face hung gaunt beneath shoulder length hair. One blue eye met her in a fierce scowl. The other was concealed behind a black patch. “We’re lookin’ for a Shepherd. Goes by ‘Collins.’ Heard he’s here.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. Just a passenger.”

“Then go ask,” the woman stepped forward, her dusky voice the result of one too many ciggies.

“I’m really sorry. The crew’s all out right now. If you come back in the morning…”

“Why don’t you let us in and we’ll have a look?” The leader cupped his hand, fingers pressed into the gap to test the door.

Now the fear in her belly rose along her spine. “Can’t do that,” her voice cracked slightly as she answered. “Captain says…”

The sound of her fear raised three toothy grins. Like sharks smelling blood in the water, the three pressed forward. “You see Collins,” the leader’s voice growled, “tell ‘im he’s late for his meeting at the Twirling Rabbit. And we got long memories.”

“Um…” Edina stammered, “if I see him…okay?”

The ruffian gave the door a deliberate shove, its’ inward swing abruptly halted by the lock shafts striking the inner bulkhead. With a decisive jerk, he removed his hand, fingers splayed as he fixed her with a predatory smile. “Toodle-oo,” he waved goodbye.

The machines they rode had just coughed to life as Edina resealed the personnel hatch. Fright cascaded through her body as she hurried to her room. There, her hands trembled as she tapped out a message on her cortex.

We got shepherd aboard? Collins?

After pressing ‘send,’ Edina listened for a soft answering buzz from Abby’s room just up the hall. When none came, she returned to the lounge, drew herself into a ball, and watched her own reader for any sign of a response. She didn’t have to wait long.

Yes. #2, port side. Everything shiny?

Edina knew that the truth would have Cal and his whole crew back here in minutes. No matter how reassuring that sounded, she didn’t want to squelch their big night together over her jangled nerves.

Just got a msg. I’ll deliver. Have fun!

Doc & Yuri gonna teach me dance moves. Cap says I got 2 left feet. Come join!

Despite herself, she giggled. The toughs had worked up that old fear within her, but as she made her way toward the Shepherd’s room, Edina Wyman found herself beginning to feel better. “Shepherd?” she knocked upon his door. “Shepherd Collins?”

<tag Collins>

Part 2 of a JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

Lights along the path were few and far between, but some cautious navigating eventually landed the party at the foot of a venerable oak tree. Above them, held as a babe in arms by the tree’s muscular limbs, hung a ramshackle wooden structure. The numerous tiers and open air decks had been built with an eye toward respecting the ancient tree who lifted the entire contraption aloft. Colored lanterns were strung from overhead branches, casting a carnival sense of festivity upon the bars and tables beneath.

Another sign greeted their arrival.



When Joe saw the word, Yinjing on the sign, he bent over laughing. He laughed so hard he thought he would split his side. That was one word he’d heard before. “Mebee there be some young ladies named Puma inside?” Joe laughed at his own attempt at humor.

“Ain’t touchin’ that,” Abby smirked. “No…really. Ain’t touchin’ it.”

Yuri conjured pulling off his boots, but changed his mind at the thought of what might be waiting inside one upon his return. Done up in a cast as he was, he felt surely that if he chose to climb the ‘Townie’ steps, none inside would hold it against him, least of all, Dr. Lysanger. But there was the old adage ‘When in (insert location here)’ to be observed. With a devilish grin and a flex of his good arm, the mechanic advanced toward the rope. “Abby, spot me, would you?”

“Aw, c’mon, Yuri,” the girl protested. “Yah jest got tha gig. Don’t go breakin’ somethin’ else!”

"I think not." Alana walked up beside Yuri, giving him that look which warned him not to follow through with what he had in mind. Scolding her patients publicly was always a more effective way of getting her point across, and this time was no exception. "I'd rather not have to haul you off to the infirmary before the night even starts...up the steps you go."

The mischief in Yuri’s eyes gave way to a good natured chuckle. “Yes, Doctor,” he replied, his steps taking him obediently up the rough wooden staircase.

No sooner had the crew of China Doll lost sight of their newest member than an eruption of shouts came from the bar above. “Nancy! We got a Nancy boy here!”

Abby’s face lifted towards tha upstairs racket. “Well that tears it,” she looked ‘round tha group. “I’ma try this rope.” She put ‘er foot on tha bottom knot tah anchor it. “Anybody else? I’ll spot yah if yah show me how I’m sposed tah climb it.”

“That-a-girl,” came Captain Strand’s boisterous baritone. “Now, Doc, don’t get in a huff; you ought to scramble up, too. I conjure you can be a mite graceful, when the mood strikes.” Cal moseyed up to the knotted rope, placing one hand eye-level. “You hold it here, see, and just above. Then, tighten your grip, pinch your heels together and wedge in over the next knot. Lift yourself up again, with your legs, but don’t grab the knots with your hands, just the bare rope. See? You got it.” Cal patted the girl on the shoulder, tipping his hat back. “I’ll spot you from here, just try not to fall on account of I got a feelin’ the Doc might order you under permanent bedrest.”

What she lacks in experience you sure make up for it in age... Alana would have loved to follow up with the thought up response, but she held her tongue instead.

“Shiny.” She worked ‘er bootheels round a knot as her arms pulled ‘er up. Weren’t so big a test, long as Cap’n kept his foot down to hold the rope taut. Climbin’ this rope made Abby think of inchworms as she scooched her way to tha top.

She watched Abby as she climbed farther off the ground. The girl made it look easy, though Alana was certain it was more of a struggle than it let on.

“Got us a girl Bwana!” a voice cried out.

Afore she could say ‘boo,” a glass ‘o’ somethin’ kinda thick an’ creamy white was shoved inta her hands by a man all done up in khaki. “What is it?” she eyed the drink all suspicious like.


"Please, will you be so kind as to spot me as well? Can't afford me getting injured and all..." Alana then leaned a little closer to Cal so whatever was said was only heard by them two. "Someone has to be there to listen to you go on about whatever." An unavoidable smile later, Alana turned to the rope and test pulled it--more so out of habit than a safety measure--once Abby had cleared free. Being only a quick climb away from a night of drinking and whatever else they were met with, Alana began her ascent to the ruckus above.

Joe climbed up the rope in the same manner as the Captain and Miss Abby. He had no significant difficulties. He understood the new guy not wanting to climb the rope with the doc here and all. It seemed natural. Upon landing at the opening in the club, someone handed him a drink of some sort, which he tossed back and swallowed immediately. He didn’t even ask what it was. He didn’t care. He was going to have fun.



“Soursop juice and rum…on the house. Welcome to Bungalow Bill’s!” The treehouse bar looked to be several different tiers, all connected by ladders and steps. The main floor held the bar itself, plus a broad open space most fit for either dancin’ or whatever sport folk might get up to. This was surrounded by a bunch of little platforms for tables and chairs. The entire place was open to the night sky, but each spot lay under its own thatch roof, with strands of brightly colored lanterns strung between. The more experienced members of China Doll’s crew conjured it for the tourist trap it was…but the eighteen year old was knocked right off her pins.

“Ain’t never seen tha like,” Abby’s eyes was all a-wonder as she downed tha drink. “Like a whole village up in here!” They’s a band playin a song she ain’t never heard, but tha rum hittin’ ‘er all of a sudden made her hips wanna move.

“Another girl bwana!” the host shouted as Alana emerged from the rope well. “Don’t know what you’re doin’, but way it looks it’s the womenfolk who’re wearin’ the pants in your group! He cast a glance toward Yuri, forced to drink a triple serving of the concoction for his stair climb. “Y’all ladies think you can carry that one home?"

"It's quite some baggage but we've dealt with worse." Alana smiled, knowing the double meaning would be lost on him. However, having just caught a glance at what Yuri would have to drink, he'd surely need the help unless his sailor ways held strong.

The triple high soursop rum was already bludgeoning it’s way into the mechanic’s bloodstream before he’d managed to chug halfway down. As the glass tilted slowly upward, Yuri gauged reactions from patrons and crew alike. The teenager was already buzzed; he’d keep watch to steer her from trouble. The doctor had just been handed her single. From the corner of his eye he noticed three guys huddled at the bar, a growing pile of coin before them. As he drank, they watched, mumbled among themselves, and slapped more cash into the kitty.

Abby’d caught on. She fixed him with a lopsided grin. He responded with a wink, tilted his head back as the glass completely inverted, and then slapped it down on the host’s serving table. “That was shiny!” he exclaimed. “Can I have another?”

After welcoming Hook with a single, the greeter laughed at Yuri. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

The shot had gone down smooth, and that was a problem because now she was wantin' more. "No, there isn't a doctor here," Alana shook her head in a slightly exaggerated manner as if he'd posed a ridiculous question, though the smirk gave her away. Excusing herself, Alana went to fetch some of what Yuri was having and then a little something more.

Abby nudged Hook. “I conjure our new gearhead’s lookin’ tah run a con, or you an’ me’s gonna end up carryin’ his drunk pi gu back t’tha boat.”

Joe chuckled, “you’s proly right, Miss Abby. I dunno if he kin keep up. That shot went down smooth. It was jus what the doctor ordered. I might need another one ah them.”

Yuri smiled as his good elbow landed on the table. “One throw,” he challenged the greeter. “Loser drinks the triple.”

“Son, I don’t wanna break the other arm.”

“That’s fair,” the mechanic countered. “How about this? Set up two glasses, one near my arm, one near yours. First one touches has to drink the triple.”

The big man thought on that as he poured for the captain. “So you got a doctor. You look like a wrench turner. Y’all some kinda boat crew?”

The mechanic was finding his way with the crew. Joe liked the trip out to the club. This is just right. He went to the bar and ordered another shot of rum and a local brew to chase it down with. He flipped the coin to the barkeep, tossed the shot glass back and began sipping the beer. He then returned to the crew.

Alana fell in beside Hook who'd just made his way back moments before. She'd downed two shots before returning with some fruity little gem since she was looking to pace herself at that point. Might be a tad late for that, might not. She figured she would talk to Cal later, maybe when everyone was doing their own thing for the night.

The greeter met Yuri’s challenge with a wolfish grin. “Yeah…yeah. Tell you what, kid. Your captain there gives the nod, I’ll take you up.”

As all eyes landed upon him, Cal answered with a casual shrug. “Long’s my mechanic’s on the job come first light, I got no qualms on how he gets his giggles off the clock.”

“Shiny.” The big man smiled as he moved to pour two of the ‘Nancy Boy’ triples. “It’s a slow night. Let’s do this.”

- to be continued -

Part 3 of a JP/collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

Joe looked at his crew, “Anyone interested in a game of Billiards? They have a table upstairs.”

"I'm game," she responded with a slight shrug, her eyes still straight ahead. Alana smirked before taking another sip, remembering the game against Cal. "Anyone else want in? We can always make it a doubles match.”

“Ah haven’t played in awhile. Ah recall when ah worked on that luxury liner we stopped here for a few days. Ah spent some time in this here club. Played many games upstairs.” Joe was trying to sell the game to his crewmates.

Hook’s admission raised Cal’s eyebrows a might. “Well,” he cocked his head to one side, “I conjure that’s a sight better’n you sayin’ this is your first time with a cue stick.” After watching that joke fail to land, the captain changed course. “Go rack ‘em up,” he agreed. “I’ll be along soon’s I ‘persuade’ our deckhand to join in.”

Joe nodded toward the captain and made his way up one level where the pool tables could be found. He found an open table, placed his beer on a side table and called for the balls to rack. It was a virtual game. One could pass his or her hand through the balls, but the special attachment to the cue enabled the balls to react as though they had been struck with the proper force and angle.

The captain’s eye followed the pair as they struck off for a distant ladderway. While his gaze might’ve lingered on the comely doctor, Cal found that only reasonable. “Good captain knows his crew…from all sides,” he reckoned. “Noblesse Oblige.” He was a little fuzzy on where he’d picked that one up. Mayhaps a book, or some fancypants passenger along the way. Still, it sounded good as he stepped toward the Great Arm Wrestling Match at the back corner of the bar.

Drink was maybe a quarter of the way done, and Alana looked down at all that was left. Maybe she ought to slow down if didn't want to blow the game for herself and whatever unfortunate soul happened to be paired up with her in her semi-inebriated state. She watched Hook set up, leaning on the table as if guarding his drink, her own next to his.

A small crowd had gathered round, laughing and hollering as Yuri Antonov tried to hold his own against a man at least twice his size. “Like a python wrestlin’ a fishin’ worm!” one patron chuckled as he placed his bet. “This gon’ end real quick now!”

Cal nudged his way through. “Hey, One-Arm. Just lettin’ you know we’re all gonna be upstairs for a friendly game of pool.”

Yuri’s concentration didn’t shift. He was locked, hand in hand, eye to eye against his opponent. The greeter stared right back, eyes mirthful and a tree trunk arm that hadn’t yet budged. “Upstairs?” the mechanic asked. “This place has an upstairs?”

“So says Hook. I reckon a treehouse can have an upstairs, leastways til you run out of tree,” the captain observed. Don’t go breakin’ anything…dohn mah?”

“Ku.”

Cal turned away from the contest. “Beg pardon…thank you,” he spoke as he worked his way out, eyes sweeping the main deck for tousled strawberry curls. When he finally caught sight of young Abigail, the captain frowned and quickened his pace.

Trouble with vodka boom booms was they just went down reeeeaaall easy like. Abby done had herself one afore that “See How I Miss Yew” song ended. Now the band was playin’ somethin’ jest had her movin’ an’ swayin’.



They’s couples all about, dancin’ soft an’ slow. Abby held ‘er drink glass up tah her chin, sippin’ out ice cubes and melt as the beat took ‘er away. The vodka an’ rum was dancin’ inside ‘er, an’ fer a second, Aunt Lupe was there, in ‘er ear. ‘This is how to make your backbone slip…’

She opened ‘er eyes. They’s a fella there, movin’ in close. “Hi,” he give ‘er a smile. “I just love this song. Dance with me?” He held out a hand an’ pushed ‘is hips like he’s ruttin’ in the backwoods.

“Looks like we already are,” she laughed an’ sideslipped from his touch.

He followed. “What’s your name, honey?”

Abby slow twirled, then eased away from a hand brushin’ against ‘er hip. “Not’cher honey.”

“You could be,” he grinned. “My name’s Brad. And this Yi Dwei Da Buen Chuo Roh is Max.”

Tha second fella waded right in, eyes walkin’ ever’ inch ‘o’ her as he offered a glass. “Hey, Beautiful! I brought you a drink. Vodka and Boom Boom, right?”

“Yeaaah,” she answered kinda slow, afore smilin’. First fella had ‘er playin’ the dodge, but now they’s two, an’ friends tah boot. They’s an alarm ringin’ way down deep inside ‘er, but what could happen here? She had crew in the room, an’ hell, all these folk about? Abby’s still strapped, Colt on ‘er hip fer all tha world tah gander. Them two fellas…Brad an’ Max…was gittin’ in sorta too close fer her likin’, but fer tha most part was playin’ hands off. She conjured she could keep ‘em evened out. And she wouldn’t mind another drink…

The situation unfolding around Abigail could have brought a lesser man to swoop in, wave iron, and grizzly stand any man who’s eyeing just so, but the Captain? No miss. He felt sorry for any fella asking to be handled roughly by the blossoming deckhand, and he said as much as he approached the fellas from behind, parting the pair with one hand on each of their shoulders.

“Abigail! You playin’ nice? She tell you the one where she broadsided a reaver–big as a barn–straight through the noggin’ with that there Colt on her hip? Yep, that one right there. Twixt that and the róudào, this here’s the prettiest lethal weapon you’ll lay eyes on this side of White Sun,” Cal tipped his hat in her direction with a wink. (Judo)

And now she’s stone sober. Weren’t Cap’n’s tone. She knowed that tah be his “tall tales” voice. Didn’t read it in his stance none, showin’ hisself all relaxed an’ such. No, she conjured as that alarm inside had ‘er lower that fresh drink from ‘er lips, the eyes. Sure’n it’s in tha eyes. Eyes what carried a warnin’, and as she studied the man, she picked up on somethin’ else, a signal. Play along…

“Aww, Cap’n,” Abby give an eye roll an’ kinda flounced herself afore his lecture. “I’s only havin’ a little fun’s all. Weren’t gonna hurt ‘em or nothin’...”

The captain stepped through the now confused looking pair of ne'er-do-wells to stand at the buzzing deckhand’s side. In a deft movement, he plucked the drink from her hand, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and addressed the pair, “She says that now, but trust me, gentlemen, I’m intervenin’ on behalf of blackouts and sore heads come morn.” His eye narrowed just a mite, “One way or another.”

“But…Cap’n,” she let ‘er voice go all singsong whiny, “I was...yessir,” she dropped her eyes all surrender like.

“Let’s go Da Jeh Da, I hear there’s a pool table, and I feel a powerful need to take you down a few notches. Boys” Strand tipped his hat to the sore looking pair as their eyes cast around the dance floor for some other quarry.

Last they seen ‘o’ her was Cap’n ridin’ herd, arm about her shoulders as he pushed ‘em both off tha dance floor. “I’m sorry,” Abby mouthed over her shoulder toward them boys, afore givin’ Cap’n tha side-eye. “Why I feel like yah jest rescued me from somethin’ I didn’t even know what?”

Part 4 of a JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

Between that side-eye she was giving him and his own back at her, Cal floated the offending Vodka and Boom Boom. “You see this? You see a barman make it or a waitress serve it?” Captain Strand extended the drink away from Abigail and upturned it to pour the contents into a passing trash can, “No? Then ‘yew’ don’t drink it. All sorts of folk in the ‘Verse, Abigail, and some get their kicks roofie-in’ redheads what just discovered alcohol. Dohn-ma?”

“Roofie?” Abby’s jaw dropped; sure’n she’d heard about ‘roofies.’ Uncle Bob called it “slippin’ a Mickie inta yer drink,’ but ain’t never got past tha ‘what’ tah the ‘why.’ Cap’n ain’t said it in so many words, but he didn’t hafta. She could hear it in ‘is tone…see it in ‘is eyes. “I got it,” the girl nodded. “Thank yew. That coulda…yew know,” she cut ‘er own self off. “Thank yew, Cap’n.”

“Now,” the captain let his herding arm fall, “Let’s get you another, mm?” he said as he led the deckhand up into the loft whose platform spread into another bough of the massive tree Bungalow Bill’s called home.

Joe finished off his beer while waiting for the captain. He ordered another shot of rum and another local brew. The shot went down as easy as they always do, then he began sipping the beer.

"It sneaks up on ya real easy, doesn't it?" Alana rhythmically tapped the side of the glass with her fingertips, eyeing Hook as he made his way back with another beer. "I had to slow down if I wanted a shot at a fair match, but serves me right for downing them as quick as they come..." Still leaning on the table, she pushed the drink aside and interlocked her fingers in front of her. "So you been here before, you glad you back for a few days?"

Joe noticed the doctor leaning against the table, causing him to smile. “What’s up, Doc!?” Joe asked Alana. “It sure does sneak up on ya’. Ah don’ know if ah could go on without it, ya’ know?” Apparently she hadn’t noticed the shot of rum he knocked back at the bar before starting into his second beer. “This place is OK. Ah don’t mind it. It can be fun here if you know where ta look. I really enjoyed mah time on Persphone before signing onto the China Doll, but ah sort of wore out mah welcome there and had to leave. The timing was perfect. Ahm better off if ah keep busy.”

"I get what you mean, who knows how long I would have been wandering 'round had the good captain himself not offered me a spot in his ship." Alana took the first sip in a while, the glass wet with condensation. Once she forced it down, she freed her hand to wipe it dry on one of her pant legs.



“Good to see you, here, Doc. I’ll rack ‘em up. You can break, OK?” Joe set his beer down on a nearby table and pushed the button that automatically racked the virtual balls. They were detectable by the pool cue and their impact translated well onto the table. It was not like a real game of pool, but Joe Hooker had never played on a real table.

So she was breaking again. That prompted memories of her previous game with Cal and how much fun she'd had, even before the victory they had bet on. But now, after alcohol had taken its natural course to deteriorate her skills, who knows how sloppy she'd be. "You're a sneaky one, Hook," she nodded to herself as she went for a stick. "I will probably blow it and hand you the advantageous start but it's okay, I can only bounce back stronger."

With stick in hand, she walked past him to finally break, her drink forgotten about on the table behind them. She wasn't so much focusing to line up the perfect shot but she did concentrate enough to look like a more sober version of herself. When she did finally take the shot, she was happy with the results. None of the balls went in but the spread was more decent than she was expecting, which needless to say was a pleasant surprise.

“Nice, break, Doc,” Joe complimented her. He focused on the table looking for a shot. The striped balls had a nice dispersion. He leaned in to take a shot on the nine in the side. He focused down the length of the cue, set up the shot, pulled back gently on the cue and sharply pushed forward. The cue ball rolled gently forward, tapped the nine and rolled easily in the side. The eleven was set for a high bank shot on the corner, but he would need low English to pull the cue back to line up on the fifteen on the opposite pocket. Joe looked down the cue and lined up for a bank shot into the eleven to get around the one ball, which was in the way. He positioned the tip of the cue low on the cue and focused on the angle the cue would have to take to get around the one ball and hit the eleven. He gave just enough push with low English stopping the cue as soon as it impacted. The cue hit the rail, bounced toward the eleven, struck it on an odd angle and sent it lazily into a position on the far left corner. The ball did not drop into the pocket, but stopped right in front of the pocket, thoroughly blocking it.

“Oh well, can’t win ‘em all,” Joe remarked about the missed bank shot. The low English helped the miss along. Without the English he may have completed the shot, but then the cue would have been out of play for the follow on shot. “You get solids, doc.” Joe reached for his beer to take another sip. The beer was refreshing. He might need another shot of rum to go with it though.

"Can't win them all indeed..." Alana glanced over what she had to play with, and she realized she had a choice. Make the obviously easy shot from where the cue had come to rest which had lined up just about perfectly with one of her solids, or go for a slightly harder shot. The former would just about prevent her from getting another turn, but if she went for the harder shot and it went in, then she would get the chance to go again. Can't win them all, Alana said to herself in her head, needing no convincing to go with her gut. She walked around and situated herself for the shot, but as she leaned forward on the table, she felt slightly light-headed. The sudden movement must have triggered it, though that didn't stop her as she paused for a moment and blinked away the sensation. The young woman then concentrated on slowing her breathing. She worked out the angle to the best of her abilities and then pulled the stick back before sending it forward to strike the cue ball. Alana stood, slowly this time, watching as lucky number 7 made its way towards the intended destination. Unfortunately, the ball stopped just a hair shy of the hole.

Alana sighed with disappointment. "If that ain't some otherworldly intervention, I don't know what is..."

“Ah,” Cal said, eyeing the table, then turning to Hook, “She hustled you, too?” Strand laid a consolatory pat on Joe’s back before shrugging off his coat. He couldn’t help but smile before he caught Alana’s disappointed expression, “What’s this?” he asked, tossing his coat on the back of a chair. “Could it be karma?”

Alana glanced his way, not in a mean kinda way but she did look like she wanted to say something, though there was some delay there. "I ain't done no harm to you to get a piece of karma, just because your skills are lacking..." She shrugged while walking past him, contemplating getting another sip of her drink.

The more Abby seen, the more she liked this place. All about was diff’rent levels an’ ladders tah climb. She followed Cap’n up one, thinkin’ all tha while on jest how much her eight year old self would a loved prancin’ about this place. She come up top tah find a quiet little space what had its’ own bar an’ a couple pool tables. Doc was liftin’ ‘erself up straight, cue stick in ‘er hands an’ a look said things ain’t exactly goin’ her way. “Don’t wager jobs with ‘im,” the girl whispered to Alana as she threw Hook a grin. “Tomorrah’s cargo loadin’. Yah don’t want none ‘o’ that.”

"I would say I learned my lesson, but that's some lie. Nonetheless, I still know better than to wager against Hook and alcohol. Or anyone and alcohol for that matter." Alana took it upon herself to casually place her forearm on the girl's shoulder, using that same hand to point at Hook. "At this point I can't tell if he's that good or I'm that bad tonight, though either way it's gonna be one hell of a morning for me tomorrow. But luckily since I am the go-to for any ailments, I have a feeling I'll be raiding my own supply closet before I'm off to bed."

Joe wanted to say, ‘nice shot, Doc,’ but the ball did not drop and that could appear rude. So he did not.

He looked at the table and saw an opportunity to place the twelve ball near the hole where the eleven ball came to rest. He took the shot, the twelve struck the eleven, knocking it into the pocket leaving the twelve up against the rail. It was not a shot he could follow up on but the fifteen was still hanging out on that other corner. He lined up for the fifteen, using some low English and sent the fifteen into the corner pocket with the cue stopping dead pan right where they impacted. From there he was able to get the twelve, which was up against the rail. The problem now was the fourteen, ten and twelve were all on the other end of the table, but hidden behind Alana’s balls. The best he could hope to do was to send the cue down the other end of the table and maybe it would line up for one of the three remaining balls. When he took the shot, the twelve did go in, but the cue ended up falling into a far corner pocket–a scratch!

“Your shot, Doc!” Joe spoke while retreating to the table his beer was sitting on. He took a sip and watched the doctor take her shot. “Nah, I don’t wanna wager nuttin with ‘er MIss Abby.”

Walking off from Abby, Alana watched as the cue ball flicked into existence in its original starting position. Since Hook had scratched, she guided the ball along to where she thought she had the best chance, and there were a few of those as she certainly had more options on the table than her opponent. Given her last shot was a flop, Alana decided to go the easy route now especially since she had an audience. Not that she was under pressure, but she'd rather not look like a complete amateur in front of the rest of the crew.

And it turns out she was right. The cue wasn't that far from the purple which wasn't that far from the middle hole opposite of her. Easy shot indeed, Alana couldn't help but smile as her bad streak was finally over, at least for the moment being. What followed was another shot, this time aimed at the yellow. Not as easy as the previous one but easy enough to have it go in too. "The tables may be turning..." she said to no one in particular, though she was sure they'd heard her. Unfortunately the celebration didn't last as she found herself without any good choices to follow through. "Hey Abby, is it cheating if I ask your opinion for what'd be considered a smart play at this point?"

“Mmmm?” Abby turned ‘er eyes from her next vodka boom boom. “Honest, Doc,” she give ‘er head a shake what sent hair flyin’, “I been lost ever since Hook talked ‘bout ‘puttin’ English’ on a ball.”

…To Be Continued…

Down below at the bar, Yuri was holding his own. As the shouts and laughter grew apace with the betting, the wiry mechanic observed a change in his opponent. The Greeter, a man of nearly twice his size and weight, harbored a dawning frustration over his adversary’s refusal to budge.

“Hey, Shrimp!” one of the boisterous gawkers slurred in his ear. “Whatcher name?”

“Yuri.”

“TAKE HIM DOWN, YURI!” the drunk reeled on his feet as another credit slapped the bar. “YU-RI! YU-RI! YU-RI!”

The smaller man heard the chant rise around him, and personal bets doubled down. The winner-take-all open kitty had also risen to a respectable height. He’d begun this contest with the notion of ‘winning’ a free triple soursop and rum. But now? With the chanting crowd and the fact his beefy opponent hadn’t already forced him down, the arm wrestling match had taken a whole new interest. Of course, the smile of the mocha skinned woman down the bar presented other motivations…

“Wrap it up, fellas,” the bartender-cum referee admonished. “I got thirsty customers.”

“Shiny,” the Greeter said. Yuri felt the man shift tactics. Suddenly, the match became a tale of two wrists, one pushing hard to flex the other backward, a move intended to ultimately drag the entire arm down to defeat. Greeter’s bulk was perfect illustration of his familiarity with both bar and barbell. His greater pectoral and arm’s muscle mass would, with patience, exhaust the mechanic. But what this weightlifter didn’t conjure was the wrist strength of a man who turned wrenches for a living. “Gorramit, kid,” the man grunted, “you on some kinda ‘roid?”

“Just clean living,” Yuri’s teeth gritted as he fought to hold his position. A tremor in his forearm told him this contest was moving toward an end, until the bartender swooped in to the rescue.

“Guys, you've got one minute,” the barman presented his watch. Sixty seconds. Go.”

Greeter heaved, pitting the full measure of his strength against the scrawny upstart. The sudden thrust nearly toppled Yuri’s resistance, setting his forearm to quiver as he rallied to blunt the assault.

“Fifty!”

The roar of chanting and laughter grew around them. As the clock ticked down, a flurry of betting ran through the crowd. Sweat was now rolling off Yuri’s arm, making his elbow’s purchase on the bar ever more tenuous. His wrist strength had bought him time, but now he was forced to lean into his trembling arm.

“Thirty!” the bartender shouted above the hubbub.

In traditional contests, both competitors’ free hands would grip firmly mounted pegs to help steady them. With none available, Yuri resorted to pressing a flat palm to the bar as he struggled to hold steady. A grim confidence shone in Greeter’s eyes as his massive arm began the final push.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The crowd picked up the count, their shouts echoing loud enough to persuade the band to take a break. The lead singer smirked as he tapped a selection into the bar’s jukebox. “Five! Four! Three!”

With a smile, Yuri relaxed his pressure. The Greeter’s arm did the rest, slowly pushing over and down, until the mechanic’s decline knocked the triple glass over. Howls of anguish and raucous laughter exploded in the air around them as the two men shook hands.

“Not bad,” Greeter was all grins as winning gamblers slapped his back. He scooped up the pile of coin as the crowd set to clearing up their own bets. “Now, drink up!”

The mechanic eyed the remaining tall glass. “Drink it?” he laughed. “I don’t even think I can lift it!” With a good natured chuckle, he hoisted the “Nancy Boy” triple rum and soursop to his lips, setting the crowd to a new chant.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The glass steadily inverted, its’ bottom rising with each swallow, until Yuri held it aloft for the boisterous crowd. As if on cue, the jukebox kicked in.



As the crowd dispersed, Yuri thanked the bartender with ten credits. He thought to ask where the pool tables could be found, until his eye rediscovered the mocha skinned woman. With a grin to light the room, she patted the stool next to hers. “By my count,” she purred as he joined her, “you’ve knocked down six healthy shots of rum.” Slender, perfectly manicured fingers pushed a tall glass of water toward her guest. “You might want that.”

“I might,” he offered a grateful nod. “I’m Yuri.”

“So I heard.”

He laughed. “I guess you did. And you are?”

“Drucilla.” She offered her hand, which he accepted with a formal nod. “So, how’d you break that arm, Yuri? Lose another match?”

”She really is lovely,” he smiled as the answer rose to his lips. “A few days ago, I was a castaway, adrift on a stormy sea. Now, thanks to some really fine folk, I’m sailing through the black, with this arm to remind me of my good fortune.”

“Oh merciful Buddha,” Drucilla cracked wise. “A poet sailor. Tell me, does that line of la shi get you anywhere with the girls?”

“You tell me,” his playful grin answered. “What are my chances?”

“In the law of averages,” the woman smiled, “it’s a sure thing.” She hooked an index finger to beckon him close. As Yuri leaned in, Drucilla placed a hand upon his shoulder. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered her truth.

“Ohhh,” he settled back, nodding his understanding. “But how does that work? It’s at least twenty minutes’ walk to get back to civilization. When does the clock start?”

She crossed her legs, allowing the slit in her skirt to reveal a shapely thigh. “I can be quite generous with my time. Most are in a hurry, though, so I’ve got a little spot set up in the jungle.”

His eyes widened in mock terror. “The jungle? With the snakes? And the pumas? What about the pumas?”

Drucilla’s chin dipped, a subtle move that accentuated eyes whose gaze could ignite a man’s passions. “Treat me right,” she whispered, “and you won’t become puma food.”

“Sold,” Yuri smiled in return, his good hand fishing pockets for the agreed price. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Please.” This time, Drucilla pressed close to Yuri, her hand falling to his knee as he whispered his desires. “Of course,” her smile was genuine as she drew back to face him. “I’d love to.”

“Alright,” he eased from the barstool. “But fair warning. The rum is really starting to hit. You may have to hold on tight.”

Drucilla laughed, looping her arm in his. “You’re not my first drunk. Oh…and since we’re being honest? While we’re out there, I’d like to hear more of your ‘poet sailor’ la shi…dohn mah?”

“Anything for the Queen of Pumas.” The band was still on their break. After a stop at the jukebox, Yuri and Drucilla strode arm in arm toward the dance floor.