It is now Day 4 - Landing Day for China Doll.

The boat is scheduled to land at midnight, at coordinates within the Capital City Blackout Zone. (We first learn about Blackout Zones in the Firefly TV series, episode 5 - "Safe.")

Through hard running and round-the-clock effort by the boat and her crew, they're running two hours ahead of schedule, which is good. Cap'n has a plan.

JP/Collab from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695


What Rex had to tell him wasn’t comforting at all.

These bikers…these Headhunters. They’d been doing this business for years, making regular runs to Osiris with a hold full of drops. Doc had all the scientific names for the chemicals she’d found hidden in harmless looking little bottles, but whatever they were called, truth was plain as day that he’d been played by Hafez Nadal. He’d been made an unwitting poacher, and for a fraction of the price.

Tough enough predicament to conjure one’s way clear of. The fact this same bike gang now had a blood feud going with China Doll was gonna make it nigh on impossible to steer him and his clear without bloodshed. Though the crew, and even their lone passenger were all one hundred percent behind facing the gang to get Abigail back, the lonely calculus of their captain had him more’n a bit worried that good people were gonna wind up on the ground. When they came, they’d come in numbers. He was out of options. With a silent curse for his efforts, Cal accessed the cortex.

The image on screen flipped, rolled, and then eventually locked upon the one person he’d thought to avoid. Badger, the lower tier crime lord from Persephone, fixed the captain with the grin of an amused predator. “Well, well, well,” he began, “Captain Strand finally chooses to return my message. Have to admit to feeling a bit like your old mum. ‘You never call! You never write!” he teased.

“Oh c'mon Badger, it ain't like that. If I'd got a wave from you I'd've replied out of respect, sure as the mail." He could feel his thin smile slip ever so slightly.

“Didn’t receive it, you say?” The little man slipped two fingers beneath his bowler hat. As he scratched his head, he offered, “I hired two blokes on New Melbourne with instructions to deliver a personal invitation. I was told they gave said invite to a member of your crew in the street. Never made it back to you, then?” He chuckled. “Sounds as if one of us needs to reexamine our hires. So,” he continued, “let’s discuss what prompts you to call on such a bright day. How might I be of service to the great Captain Strand?”

"You could say that again," Strand thought aloud, considering who might have failed to pass along the message. Now that he thought of it, might be the same crew who landed them in this mess in the first place... "See, I'm headin' into a colorful sort o' situation," Strand paused to scratch his chin, "The sort that might suggest a gang of bikers whom I seem to have slighted by doin' a run as a favor--you know how it is."

Badger raised an eyebrow. “Bikers? Mmmm. Quite the cockup,” he responded in a condescending tone. “So what’s it you’re looking for? Even the odds, perhaps? Gun hands start at five hundred a pop, but if you’re skint and hiring that cheaply, you might’s well put the coin into coffins. Add to that the eleventh hour nature of this request, and I’d conjure you’re looking at…hmmm,” his smile transformed into the toothy grin of a viper, “twenty thousand for ten. Have you got twenty thousand, Calvin?”

Cal sobered a mite as the serpent played with his food. Removing his hat, he ran a hand through his hair. "Bai Lih Mohn there Badger, if I had that scratch lyin' 'round I wouldn't be flyin' into this ruddin' mess." His back was against he wall, sure, but he had one card yet to play. (trans: wishful thinking)

"They took the kid; the one what got tangled up with your 'passenger' on Persephone. They did a number on 'er, too. All shades of black and blue." He watched Badger's face in the beat that followed.

“One of the more colorful aspects of business as usual. So perhaps a more…symbiotic…solution might be in order?” Badger’s eyes danced merrily as he toyed with his words. “Just so happens that I’ve an acquaintance in Capital City…the very one whose affairs I’ve been hoping to discuss with you. Promises have been made, and now they must be kept. I’ll make a call,” he spoke as if delivering salvation, “and then, old chum, it’ll be your honor to keep my promise. How’s that, then?” Badger’s grin broadened. “Seem a better fit for the old coin purse, does it?”

The Captain chewed his cheek a moment before acquiescing, "Fine." There was that feeling of falling again; falling into another open-ended deal with a ship that couldn't fly on promises.

“Splendid,” the aspiring criminal don answered. “Send me your landing coords and ETA. I’ll have my associate pay a visit. Mind you, you still might be walking into a Serenity Valley of your own making, but I can’t fix all of your faux pas, now can I? Do call if you haven’t been ventilated, will you?”

Cal's smile didn't quite touch his eyes as he raised a finger to kill the wave. Badger might just come through, but his incessant prattling was a price to pay in itself. And in the end, could a man ever really rely on anyone besides hisself?

Badger lifted an imperious finger. “Final thought for an old mate. Next time you find yourself considering business dealings with some overtly friendly sort, do come and discuss it with old Badger? My expertise comes at a price,” the ever present grin tightened a bit, “but it just might keep you and your crew out of the O.K. Corral. Best of luck.” With a tip of his hat, the little man’s image winked into blackness.

The Captain stood from the pilot chair, alone on the bridge in the black of space. The cigarette was in his mouth of its own volition. Somewhere, out there, Osiris's blue dot was growing toward the China Doll. Maybe too fast for him to think his way out of this one.

Road Angel’s hangar deck was all kindsa busy. As Abby watched, Root an’ four ‘o’ his folk powered up their sky cycles afore hoverin’ clear ‘o’ tha parked bikes. The five of 'em formed a jagged line in tha open bay. Once he’s settled, tha bike gang leader waved ‘er over. “Ever ride before?” he asked.

“Horse,” Abby said as ‘er eyes crawled all over tha big machine.

“Kinda similar,” Root patted the seat behind him. “Hop on.”

"What do I do?” She weren’t quite ready to git on this thing.

“See the foot pads?” he pointed toward the flat chrome rests. “Mag lock your boots to those. Now, handgrips are your choice. Some folk like the ones just beneath the seat,” his gloved hand connected with a low hung chrome handle, “Or you can lean forward an’ put your arms around me. Don’t fret,” he laughed at the stormclouds on the girl’s brow, “it doesn’t mean we’re going steady or anything.”

“Handgrips are shiny.” At his coaching, she threw a leg over tha bike seat an’ climbed on. Abby set 'er boots down, feelin' tha grip as they's clicked in an’ locked tight. She had tah admit tha EV suits these bikers wore was lighter an’ more comfortable’n what she growed up in. ‘Cept fer bein’ magged, she didn’t feel no problem movin’ about. “Think I’m all set,” she tole Root after tryin’ them handgrips.

”Ku.” Close your faceplate. Let me know when you got a green light.” He pulled his into place, sealing the suit. “Com check. Everybody on?” Root studied his bike’s status readouts as each of the gang confirmed. “Payback, that means you too.”

“I hear y’all,” Abby’s voice come over the com. “Got a green light on muh suit.” Root locked a boot on tha deck, holdin’ them in a low hover. The girl watched ‘is hands on tha handlebars, right hand throttlin’ as left kept tha brake engaged. She could feel tha bike’s power rumblin' up underneath each time he revved that throttle.

“Slack,” Root ordered. “Open her up.” The hangar door rolled upward, revealing the broad sweep of Road Angel’s forward landing deck. The pale blue jewel of Osiris lay ahead and beneath, one of her moons peeking out above the horizon as a dazzling tapestry of stars flickered in the heavens. “Everybody good?” the biker chief's voice sounded in coms. Once the rest of his crew gave the 'go' sign, he lifted his boot. “Let’s roll.”



The five bikes peeled off, one before the next, into the black. Abby hung on as Root’s bike led tha way along tha deck. Suddenly they swung left, leanin’ hard inta a turn. She looked down on tha rough plankin’ whizzed below jest outta reach, til they weren’t no boat left tah see, jest black. She could see Root, grippin’ them high handlebars as stars an’ planet whirled about tah suit his new headin.’ One look over ‘is shoulder said they’s steerin’ fer tha far horizon. “We ain’t goin’ down?” she asked.

The biker’s head turned. “Half orbit,” he said through the com. “Cap City’s around the back. It’s nighttime there.”

Tha girl turnt on ‘er seat tah look back tha way they come. She seen tha other four bikes, all runnin’ sorta loose formation tah catch up as their boat, Road Angel, growed smaller an’ smaller behind. It’s a good thing, she conjured, ain’t nobody can see I’m likin’ this.

The five cycles raced through the inky blackness, before falling into an easy bank for their half orbit. To the right, Osiris filled the sky, her cloud tops and land masses moving in a stately progression as they tore past. “So, Payback,” Root said on the open channel, “Haven’t heard any freakouts. Not your first time in an EV suit, I conjure?”

Abby shook ‘er head. “Nope. Growed up in tha black. First time out tha airlock when I’s ten.”

“Really?” Nips’ asked. “What’s a ten year old girl doing in an EV suit?”

“Ya’ll call me a liar if’n I tell.”

“Oh, now we gotta know,” Cottonmouth joined in.

“Yeah!” Mouse piped up from the tail end of the pack. “C’mon, Payback. Spill!”

The surface ahead of them lay in the shadow of advancing nightfall. Moving together as a unit, the five Headhunters swept on toward the oncoming darkness. Here and there, lights began to wink on among the deepening shadows. “I’m with them,” Root cajoled his passenger. “We gotta know.”

“Chalk drawin’s,” Abby surrendered.

“WHAT?”

The channel come alive with all them bikers laughin’ an’ askin’ questions. “All kindsa stuff,” she answered one. “Nah, it all wipes off durin’ burn in,” she tole another. To a third she answered, “most times nobody ever sees ‘em but me…'cept’n that one time we's stood to fer an Alliance cruiser. Officer tole my Uncle Bob they’s thinkin’ on finin’ him, but they liked all them flowers on ‘is hull so much they changed their mind.”

“We should try that one, Prez!” Nips chortled as the planet below fell to the black of night. Ahead of them lay Capital City, a spectacle of lights that sprawled out for miles in all directions except one.

Abby looked at tha city lights. “Is tha city on a big lake or somethin’?” she asked at the large chunk of darkness seemed ta nudge right up agin’ tha town. In that pitch black she could only make out a few lights. Seemed sensible they’s boats out on tha water…

“That’s the Blackout Zone,” Cottonmouth replied. “Where we’re headed. Crammed full of all the poor folk, the moon brains, the junkies…anybody don’t qualify as an upstanding citizen of the Alliance.”

“Yeah,” Nips agreed, “but even they come sneaking around for a taste.”

“Or a piece,” Mouse added.

“Cut the chatter,” Root ordered. “Time to burn in. Set your shields.” At his order, all five bikes deployed reentry shielding that seemed to telescope out from their bottom frames. Each thin sheet locked into place, creating a clamshell shape that curved out and upward.

Abby watched as Root lifted tha bike’s nose a spell. From over his shoulder she could see tha screen and how he’s aimin’ right down tha center of a long curved tunnel ‘o’ squares, purty simple stuff.

“Hey boss,” Cottonmouth said hopefully, “It’s really dark down there...”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon!” the gang’s enforcer nearly whined. ‘It’s too perfect! Can’t we do it? Please?”

“Pretty please?” Mouse put on her most appealing tone.

“No,” Root answered.

Nips cut in to the rescue. “You know,” she said, “Payback’s never seen it. If you’re tryna get her to swear in, seems to me we should show her some of the cool?”

“Had this planned, dincha?” Root played at a brusque tone. “Alright, alright….but just ten percent fuel dump. TEN PERCENT!”

Abby felt tha first buffetin’ of friction as the atmo come up to meet ‘em. Tha bikes was all set up in formation now, a tight vee, like a flock ‘o’ geese. She seen their shields all startin’ tah glow orangy-red as they come plummetin’ down.

“Ready?” Root asked. When the first flames appeared, he gave the order. “Light ‘em up.”

“YEEEEHOOO!”

Abby turnt tah catch tha sight as tha bikes dumped fuel. Each one’s shields was flamin’ like a torch, an’ tha fuel they's jettin' out made five fiery trails what stretched out fer miles behind ‘em. All them bikers was hootin’ an’ hollerin’ tah beat tha band. As fer Abby, weren’t no two ways on this’n. Yeah, she thought, this is cool.

As if her could read her mind, Root said, “It’s okay to enjoy this, kid.”

Weren’t no time a’tall til they’s down in thick air. Everybody left their shields out as windbreaks an’ tah slow them bikes fallin’ through broken cloud as tha black zone rose up tah swallow ‘em whole. Soon enough they come in low, an’ Abby could make out a few lights an’ one-two folk movin’ about.

“So, what’s the plan?” Cottonmouth asked.

“The Kings,” Root said. “Pacho’s waiting. We’re gonna hang at their clubhouse an’ drink their beer while we wait for the signal. Then we’ll take Payback to her people and claim what’s ours.”

“Yew mean killin’,” Abby said flatly.

“Hope not. Only one of your crew owes us a life. If your captain’s wise, he’ll see it our way.”

The bikes circled over what appeared to be an abandoned freight yard. Burning trash barrels cast their lurid glow upon ranks of parked cycles, and also marked the landing sight for the Headhunters. Root led the way, easing his bike down toward the center.

“Wait,” Abby said. ‘What if I swear in…ride outta here with yew when this is done? Is that enough tah keep killin’ outta this?”

“We can talk,” the MC President said as his skids touched down.

China Doll descends through broken cloud toward the surface. Cal guides her in, with Sam’s navigation directing them toward the coordinates offered by Root. In the distance, Capital City is a gleaming pinnacle of central planet advancement, the magnificent spires of her towers glowing as they reached for the stars overhead. Even to those flying in at night, the opulence of both the city and the sprawling suburbs was unmistakable.

Not so for the designated “blackout zone.” As the Firefly dipped in low, the occasional streetlamp or dim glow from shuttered windows could be seen, scant patches of light from a world enveloped in darkness. Finding their objective, Cal brought the ship to hover above a rough looking patchwork of bare foundations, stark reminders of the buildings that once stood on this ground.

Headlamps flashed in the distance; the waiting truck signaled the ‘all clear.’ Though still lacking the finesse of their former pilot’s touch, Cal was able to set the boat down in a fashion that didn’t spark alarm from her human or AI crew.

Once China Doll settled, the unloading went quickly. Rex, Hook, and Cal put their backs into hustling the twelve crates down the ramp and onto the truck’s lift gate. In just minutes, the job was completed. The truck sped off, leaving Cal with his payment and a strong sense of unease for what was to happen next.

His orders came quickly. Rex hurried inside to summon the doc and Edina. Hook disappeared into the darkness, a rifle slung over his shoulder.

As the crew gathered on China Doll’s cargo ramp, the air soon filled with the growing rumble of engines. The bikers were coming.

JP/Collab from @Xandrya, [@Gunther}, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

The China Doll was still a few hours out from Osiris. Joe retired to his quarters in order to prepare for what was to come. He decided now was the time to alter his appearance slightly. He retrieved his razor, shave cream and a towel; then proceeded to the head. Once there, he shaved off his beard and cut his hair. When he returned to his quarters, his head was completely bald and face was clean shaven. He was quite worried about the encounter about to happen. His worry was more directed toward the crew than himself.

He slipped on a pair of tan canvas work trousers with cargo pockets, black T-shirt, his black work boots and the black nylon assault vest he kept in his duffel bag just for situations like this. He also had a pair of black leather gloves with the fingertips removed and his black wool watch cap.

He loaded twelve, 10-round magazines with .308 caliber ammunition for the H&K 770 gas operated rifle. He used the rifle more for distance and would use it for that purpose this time too. By removing the scope, it worked equally well as an assault rifle. Then he inserted two each magazines into the four ammo pouches on the front of the vest. The best also included a first aid kit, two 2-quart canteens and a butt pack. The butt pack contained spare rations, a weapons cleaning kit and a rag.

By the time the ship landed on Osiris, Joe Hooker was ready to go. He needed to help Cal and Rex unload the pallets. Once that was complete, Joe slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed off into the darkness.

Edina stood with the others, feeling like the biggest gorram impostor there was. Her hands were trembling so badly that she was terrified of the gun that now seemed to have tripled its’ weight in her jacket pocket. They’d all heard the approaching roar of the hovering bikes. When the machines finally appeared, their headlights were obvious, yet her nerves wouldn’t stop her from blurting out “there they are!” She quickly glanced at her four shipmates. Yuri’s composure held, but she could read some nerves behind his eyes. The Doctor appeared thoughtful, as if studying a virus under a microscope. Her glance toward Rex was met with a wink. But the captain…she’d never seen the kind of cold eyed hardness in the man’s features before. And in that moment, she found herself thankful that he was here to lead them.

The air felt thicker to Alana somehow, almost as if suffocating her. But despite the tense ambience, there was a sense of camaraderie to the crew, one brought on by their sole mission to bring Abby back alive and in one piece. The weapon she'd been loaned by Cal was kept from sight securely tucked against the small of her back, his act of kindness one she was more than thankful for, especially as the gang began descending upon them. Their numbers were impressive, but Alana's bravado didn't waver any because of it. In fact, she felt a slight sense of rage starting to form by their mere presence.

As the crew watched, eighteen sky cycles rumbled into the area. The ‘sleds’ hoverd a meter off the ground as they fanned out to form a semicircular ring around China Doll’s cargo bay entrance. Headlights played brilliant upon the five would-be defenders as the bikes settled to ground and kickstands were put out. The riders, all in combinations of denim and leather embellished by the cuts proclaiming their gang affiliations, climbed off their machines. Not a word was spoken as they squared up with the boat crew. As a rusty van rattled to a stop behind this armada, the two gang leaders, Root and Pacho, shared a few whispers.

Yuri squinted in the headlights’ glare. So many of them. The mechanic hadn’t seen clearly enough to count the horde of bikers, but his rough estimate came in at about three to one in their favor…even with Hook’s rifle out there in the darkness. He recognized one advantage. They’d all stepped forward in masse, forming a large, black silhouette before the headlights of their bikes. If this meeting went badly, China Doll’s crew need only fire into that black blob of humanity. Edina had moved in close to his right. He could feel the woman’s trembling through the touch of their shoulders. “Gonna be alright,” he whispered. If the shooting started, he might be able to get her off the ramp and out of the line of fire. If, if, if…

Root nodded agreement with Pacho. Then, with Nips and Cottonmouth flanking him, he stepped forward. “Which one of you is Strand?” Probably not a question he needed to ask. The tall drink of water at their front looked worthy of the introduction, but this wasn’t Miss Madelyn’s Charm School. “That you?” he asked.

"You the fella called Root?" Strand replied from the ramp, not shifting an inch. His eyes passed slowly across Root and his two lieutenants as their dance circled to the next phase in posturing: sizing up the opposition.

From his step toward the Doll, Cal could make out the tools of Root's trade along with the colorful patches muted in the moonless night. His own snub-nose kilo-caliber, a spare from his boot, hung lightly from his cross-holster concealed in the fold of his duster. His eyes met the man's as he added, "Quite the welcoming party you brought all the way from Greenleaf. Could have saved them the trip, though, on account o' we did as you asked without hair nor hide of Alliance." If he was going to deescalate things, now was the time parley.

“That you did,” the bike gang chief replied as he looked over the little knot of people. Aside from this captain…Strand, the pickings looked pretty slim. One guy had some beef on him. Also seemed to be holding nothing more than a knife, not much of an asset for a gunfight. Skinny guy with a broken arm was packing, considering the bulge in his right pocket. Two women in the group covered opposite ends of the spectrum. The blonde had her wits about her, and a cool anger that she kept directed right at him. On the other hand there was the mocha skinned woman. Hard to tell if she was gonna leap out of her skin or just pee herself. That left the Guest of Honor. “So you ran your cargo under the noses of two cruisers, got it here on time, and collected your little bit of money,” Root observed. “All according to plan. But,” he gestured toward the pitiful little crew, “for all your efforts at good faith I don’t see the one fella who’s supposed to be here.”

Cal's hand rose to push the brim of his hat out of his eyes. The biker's dismissive wave may as well have been the universal sign for Chwee Ni Duh. With a slow shake of his head, Captain Strand's gaze fell to the ancient concrete foundation neath their boots. "Oh he's here..."

Joe was that one fella, but he wasn’t anywhere near the ship. He couldn’t hear any of the conversation at the back of the ramp. He watched from a distance of just under nine hundred meters. He kept the small hand held radio close. It was clipped onto the upper portion of his vest with a small wire and earpiece inserted into his right ear. He peered through the scope. With only a little light available, he could easily make out the group of bikers assembled at the rear of the ramp. They were still a distance from the crew. He could not see the crew that well, but could identify the bikers, one of whom was undoubtedly having a conversation with the captain.

Meeting Root's eyes, the Captain slowly raised a com in plane view before speaking, "Hook? Why don't you let these fine folk you're present and accounted for."

Joe heard the captain’s voice on the radio. He could see the assembled group and their transportation all lined up in a neat row behind them. He was slightly tempted to loose a round into one of their skulls, but thought it best not to play that card yet. They needed Abby still. He panned the barrel several millimeters to the left and found the furthest bike from him. He put the crosshairs on the headlamp and pulled some tension on the trigger. He exhaled, stopped breathing, then completed the rearward movement of his trigger finger. The resultant explosion was just as much a surprise to Joe Hooker as it was to the assembled group below. In less than a third of a second, the headlamp was struck.

Root couldn’t tell from which direction the shot was fired beyond a vague impression of “somewhere to the right.” As the echo ricocheted numerous times from the surrounding buildings and concrete foundations, the MC president glanced over both shoulders to check the members of his posse. The only casualty appeared to be one of the bikes, whose headlamp now lay in gleaming shards on the ground.

Captain Strand raised his com again, "Much obliged."

The shot that split the air didn't startle Alana any. After all, the captain had prompted Hook to respond accordingly. She did, however, grow concerned as to the gang's reaction. She continued to keep an eye on them, not so much that fella Root who was engaged with Cal, but the rest of his crew.

JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

“Hook,” Root cocked an eyebrow. “So that’s his name.” After a sidelong glance shared with Cottonmouth, he said, “Fella he killed was called Lip. We’re buryin’ Lip when we get back to Greenleaf. Closed casket,” he added. “Hafez Nadal lookin’ to welch our deal by hirin’ you as a scab is one beef I’m willing to call settled. But one of yours killed one of ours. Blood for blood, Strand.” The biker chief’s eyes hardened upon the Firefly captain. “Give us your boy. We’ll do the rest.”

"Hold up. The girl you took, the one what didn't lay a finger on 'Lip'--how do I know she's alive?" Cal's eyes didn't depart from the leader's, though they ached to go searching for Abigail's silhouette. Breaking away to trade glances with Rex, Cal laid out a silent warning: 'Get ready'--before refocusing on Root and his reply.

The biker chief took note of this crew’s posture, watching as Strand tossed a quick glance toward the big guy in the flowered shirt. Now I know who’s who, he thought. Unlike the others, this one didn’t pack a pistol, opting instead for a healthy looking knife on his belt. Whatever their plans were, he didn’t betray them with a nervous flinch toward the weapon. “Oh, your girl’s alive and…kicking,” Root couldn’t help a chuckle as he answered the captain. “Bring Payback out here,” he ordered.

Once the order was given, Alana immediately trailed the two men with her eyes. Her heart was no doubt racing as ugly, intrusive thoughts filled her head. They going to pull out their big guns and shoot us all dead...

With a dutiful turn, Nips and Cottonmouth threaded their way through the bikers’ ranks toward the waiting van. The doors swung open, obscuring the view as the two lieutenants removed their charge from the back. The three returned, stepping through the parked bikes and an opening made by their comrades. Abby walked between them, her wrists and shoulders restrained by the two bikers as she stepped into view of her shipmates.

Much to her relief, the sight of the deckhand trumped any previous fears. Alana had to keep herself from taking off running towards the girl. The scrapes and bruises on her persons was a sign that she'd endured some form of abuse from her captors, and it was simply instincts to want to rush to her side to provide whatever aid required. If they had willingly inflicted that much pain onto the poor girl, it was only fair to assume there were no holds barred.

Joe watched the movement by one of the members towards a van. He followed the person as they brought Abby bound at the hands to the front of the group. She looked roughed up a bit, but healthy enough to walk. His rifle was locked and loaded, ready to fire off another nine rounds if necessary. At the coloration of her face, he was more than willing to plant a few more.

She promised herself she ain’t gon’ cry, though sight ‘o’ China Doll durn near broke that’n. “Nice and easy,” Nips whispered as they led her among a bunch of Kings an’ Headhunters tah come face tah face with her crew. “Almost over.”

Abby felt ‘er heart beatin’ as her crew's all lookin’ back at ‘er. Seein’ their faces had ‘er fightin’ back more tears as she pulled up a weak sorta smile to greet ‘em. She didn’t see Pen, and they ain’t no sign ‘o’ Hook, neither. Jest as well, she contemplated. Either one would have me blubberin’ right now. As it was, what she seen in Cap’n’s eyes was enough. “Hi, Cap’n,” Abby said in tha stone silence.

Seeing the shiner she sported, Strand's imagination ran wild. "This is 'one piece'?" He threw a look at Root before adding, "Hey kid."

“Jus’ say da word cap’n,” Joe whispered to Cal Strand.

As Abby was led front and center by her two captors, Edina looked on. She couldn’t make out all the wounds the girl had suffered at the bikers’ hands, but the darkly bruised face, puffed lips, and an eye blackened and swollen shut were all too familiar. Her face suddenly felt hot; lips trembled with a volcanic rush of fury. Until this moment she’d been fearful of both the confrontation and the possibility of letting these good people…letting Abby…down. Edina’s nostrils flared as eyes turned laser focus onto the gang’s leader.

Until now, the thought of pulling a pistol in anger was abhorrent to the woman. Yet, with her mind cast adrift in a violent blur, Edina now held the bulky .44 aloft, her stance squared as the weapon’s gunsight whined a target acquisition on Root.

“Oh la shi,” Yuri gasped at the sight of Edina’s gun on display, and the immediate response from the bike gang. “Captain,” he sounded the warning, before removing the smaller pistol from his pocket. “Steady,” he whispered into Edina’s ear. “Steady…”

Time seemed to slow as Alana mirrored her crewmates’ actions, gripping the pistol tucked into her waistband to aim it at their rivals. She had the weapon trained on one of the men directly opposite of her, and he too had his sight on her. This encounter would turn into nothing short of a bloodbath if somebody didn't let up, and from the looks of it, she couldn't quite guess who'd do the honors first. "Cal..." she let slip, unable to find the words to lead on. It's not like she was a trained negotiator or something of the likes.

Root seemed to deflate as the guns came up on both sides. “Gorramit, Strand,” he cursed. “You were so close to walkin’ out of this whole thing. I’m through playing now,” his tone shifted harsh. “Drop the guns or we start makin’ corpses!”

Well, Strand mused in the micro-seconds between Edina pulling iron and the biker leader drawing a bead on his chest. If I'm gonna go, this scrap o' dirt will do just as good as any... But the kid--the crew--they don't deserve this. The captain didn't answer in iron, but he did peel his duster open so his cross-holster saw the light of day.

He reckoned he'd at least take Root and maybe one more before he hit the ground. Wyman might clip one. Hook would empty his clip sure as the suns shined. But there was no way anyone on the Doll was walking away from this Wong Dahn. (trans: imminent doom)

"Let's not G'en Ho Tze Bi Dio se, mmm?" Strand didn't budge as he eyed Root, "That's your call as much as mine." His stance squared with Root as he watched the man's face for the tell-tale pull. (trans: Engage a monkey in feces-hurling contest)

The scene had gone eerily silent, but for the high pitched keening of numerous gun scans. Rex Black slowly lifted both hands. “This isn’t what we want,” his voice rang clearly across the two opposing bands. They studied each other, eyes darting from one would-be opponent to the next. The familiar clicks of hammers being cocked gave the scene a sense of inevitability. This gunfight was about to be set off.

JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695
Rex Black is a character created by @Psych0pomp

"Om Tare,
Tuttare,
Ture Svaha."

In the Order of the Interverse, there is a chant which calls upon Green Tara, or the 'Mother of Liberation.' She is hailed as the embodiment of profound compassion, relief from mundane suffering, and universal salvation.

"Om Tare,
Tuttare,
Ture Svaha."

This chant entreats Tara to swiftly deliver us all, and even now, the syllables "om tara-ture-tara-ture ay soha" flooded the standoff in the shadow of the China Doll. Two dozen tiny mouths uttered those strange words as children materialized from the darkness, weaving their way among whizzing targeting scans, biker leathers, and bats not yet bloodied.

"Om Tare,
Tuttare,
Ture Svaha."

At their center, a splash of color, a bright orange kasaya robe and a woman who wore it. Her face was calm, serene even, as she made her way among the Kings clan toward Root, his lieutenants, and Abigail.

Joe stared in awe at the vision of the children and the bright orange robe. ‘Who the F—? Is that?’ Joe thought to himself. He just stared through the scope watching the scene unfold. Then he noticed something peculiar. It wasn’t anything developing in the clearing near the China Doll. It was his hand. The trembling started slightly at first, then his hand began to shake violently. His entire body began to shake. He gently placed the rifle on the ground and buried his face into the soil. The desire for whiskey was taking over. He closed his eyes and focused on fixing whatever this was. Slowly, the shakes faded, but he felt tired. He would not let down the captain or Abby. They needed him. He picked up the rifle and resumed peering through the scope aware of what just happened to him. Hopefully, it was just a passing thing.

Enthralled by the sudden appearance of multiple bodies, Alana's immediate reaction was to lower her weapon just the slightest, the muzzle well below range of her target's center mass. Their chanting was captivating, even as the strange woman made her way towards those holding Abby hostage. Maybe Alana was too afraid to move, or maybe there was something else at play, but whatever was going on, she remained firmly grounded in place. Beyond the physical aspect of the experience, it seemed as if her inner voice had quieted down, settling her down some despite the circumstances.

The mechanic gaped at not only the woman in her bright orange robe, but also the band of children in her wake. Little silhouettes filtered through the assembled bikers, before stepping into the dim light from the cargo bay. They swirled around the woman like a school of fish, moving and chanting to lift the pall of threat from those in their path. Yuri took his lead from the Doc, feeling relief wash over him as the pistol slipped into his pocket. “C’mon, Edina,” he whispered as he lay a hand atop hers. “Come on.”

Until Yuri touched her, she’d been alone with her rage, sighting down the tool of her vengeance toward another who thought such violence came as a god given right. Edina knew intimately the sort of pain these people had visited upon Abby. She could feel the sharp ache, the uncomfortable tightness of skin stretched by swollen tissues beneath, and the throbbing cadence of a head trauma. She knew first hand the cruelty, and grief welled in her heart for one so young to endure it. And there, square in her target scan, was the man responsible.

The arrival of children lent a surreal cast to her surging emotions. At first she resisted. How to give up the source of so much pain when he’s standing right there? Yuri came to her rescue, a gentle hand upon hers to lower the heavy gun. “C’mon, Edina.” Her hands trembled as he removed the weapon. The hateful spell now broken, she felt the first tears on her cheek as her eyes found Abby once more.

“We’re done here,” Pacho said to his people. “Put ‘em away. Saddle up.”

Seeing his local reinforcements turning for their machines, Root held his stance. “Hey Pacho,” the biker chief called his counterpart, “you gonna tell me what the dìyù just happened here?”

“See that woman?” Pacho stepped up beside his ally. “She’s the Sister, man. We don’t cross The Sister.” He patted his old friend on the shoulder. “See you back at the clubhouse.” He paused to raise a deferential hand. “Buenas noches, Hermana.”

'The Sister' dipped her head slightly in response to Pacho's show of respect. The children had gone silent, occupying themselves now by standing close to the members of Root's gang, surveying their Greenleaf cuts and jungle-mud soaked boots in wide-eyed wonder. As Pacho's gang of biker backup quit the scene unfolding in front of the China Doll, the witching-hour spell of quiet began to fall away, and Root's crew was much more matched to that of the China Doll.

The Sister? So the woman had a name. Judging by the biker who was readying to pack up and go, it seemed she wasn't one to mess with, especially since her and her "children" had materialized out of thin air. Alana side glanced her crew as well as her captain. The fact that one man was bowing out so easily was very telling, and she wasn't too keen on sticking around to find out why.

As more than a dozen bikes coughed into life, the Headhunters president remained unfazed, his pistol trained squarely upon the forehead of the boat captain. “Debt’s gotta be settled, Strand,” he said. “Blood for blood. If it ain’t this “Hook,” then it’s another one of your crew. Make the call.”

"Not so fast there, cowboy," the Captain began, mightily aware of Root's pistol pointed square at his head. "Your customer's gonna get mighty tetchy when they open up what they paid for and find a bunch of lucky cats." Despite effort, a grin played at the corner of his lip as he faced the biker leader. "But if you hightail it, I can point you to the plot we stashed it for safe keeping. Whaddya say?"

“Nips,” Root’s eyes were as unwavering as his pistol.

“On it,” The woman holstered her pistol in favor of her cortex. She raised it to her ear, then jerked it back in reflex to the explosion of profanity at the far end. “Stavros? Hey, wait a minute…what?” she asked as the next tirade could be heard by all within earshot. “Yeah…yeah…we just heard about it…right. Bunch ‘o’ lucky cats.” she traded glances with her chief. “We’re fixin’ it,” she assured the client.

“Tell ‘im the Kings won’t forget how he tried to screw them outta the deal,” Root said. “We’re gonna fix that for him, too.” As his lieutenant relayed the message, the M.C. president said, “You just don’t know when to quit, do you, Strand?”

"Don't reckon I know how," the man intoned. His eyes stayed trained on Root's while he felt Rex move from his left.

“He also doesn’t know where the goods are.” Rex tapped his forehead with two fingers. “But I do.”

Cal's eyes finally strayed from the biker to focus on Rex's profile, a furrow forming in his brow.

[center]
[/center

JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @Gunther, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695
Rex Black is a character created by @Psych0pomp

---

The biker chief rolled his eyes. “Seems like all you folk do is crawfish. Payback, is this really what you wanna go back to?”

“Lookit my face an’ ask me that agin’,” Abby retorted.

Rex eased himself into the line of fire. “No crawfish,” he gave his head a single shake. “Just insurance. You’ll have the real deal back in your hands tonight. I’ll lead you right to it.”

Root fixed this new problem with a skeptical eye. “Strand, why am I talking to this fèifèi de pìgu liè kāi?”

“Because,” Rex grinned, “this baboon’s ass crack is gonna make it all right for you…more than that, I’m gonna make you and your business whole again.”

The biker cocked his pistol’s hammer. “Shiny. If I don’t get Hook, makin’ a hole in your brainpan’s gonna have to do.”

The First Mate lifted his hands. “Sure, you can do that. Take my life and the blood box gets checked. But I got a better proposition for you. After tonight you walk away with your product, and an upgrade on your pencil pusher? What say,” Rex offered, “we put the guns down and you hear me out?”

“So you figured out your pal Hook offed our money guy,” Root shrugged. “That supposed to impress me?”

Rex’s hands remained aloft. “No, but I got your ledgers… well,” he chuckled, “anything Khao Yai Five-Oh had in their sealed files.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lots, but right now what’s important is you’ve got nine shadow companies running without anyone who can catch ‘em skimming. Not that it meant much, since your boy Lip let it happen to cover what he was pulling out right from under your nose.”

“I thought so,” Cottonmouth muttered.

Cal wagered that their little gambit had struck gold, from the ugly one's involuntary confirmation. Rex had always dubbed his flourish for words je ne sais quoi, to which Strand had always replied: 'I got no godly inclin' what you're sayin'. Even now as he witnessed the man rise to the occasion, he both relished the sight and mourned the loss that it would mean to him and his.

“C-mouth,” Root cut a sharp glance his way before returning his eye to Rex. “So you got all this great information and you’re gonna make us whole again. How's that work, exactly?”

“Easy,” Rex replied. “You’re gonna swear me in.”

If he was looking to get sworn in... Even though Alana had never gotten around to sitting for a proper meet and greet with Rex, it went without question his departure would add more strain to an already low headcount.

“Excuse me for not bein’ born yesterday,” Root offered a derisive laugh, “but why in the hot place would I trust you or anything you’re sayin’?”

The First Mate lowered his hands. “Cuz I know all your little secrets…at least those you an’ Hafez paid good coin to have files sealed over. And in a minute,” he continued, “you’re gonna know mine. I’m gonna tell you a name…a name I’ll warrant you’ve heard before. ‘Scuse me while I step in.” He approached the biker chief, who responded by pressing the gun’s barrel against his skull. In the sudden hush, the First Mate whispered into Root’s ear. “Now,” he said as he stepped back, “I just gave you my life on a silver platter.”

The biker’s well trained poker face broke veneer for the slimmest of seconds. “You conjure I can check this out in two shakes?”

“That I do,” Rex nodded casually. “But be discreet when you do. The family gets wind of this…well…could get sorta messy.”

Root fell silent, lips pursed as he worked his jaw in thought. Then, without preamble, he lowered his gun. “Put ‘em down,” the Headhunters president ordered his faithful. “Saddle up.”

“Payback?” Nips asked as she and Cottonmouth removed hands from the girl’s shoulders, “you wanna come with us?”

Abby found ‘erself lookin’ inta Alana’s eyes. “Nah,” she didn’t turn ‘er head. “These’re muh people.”

Upon hearing Payback's pronouncement, the Sister moved beside the girl, contented eyes flashing at Nips. "Time to go," the Sister challenged. With a gentle hand on Abby's shoulder, she began guiding the battle-worn woman toward the ramp of the China Doll.

“Cottonmouth,” Root gestured toward Rex. “Give ‘im a ride.” His orders delivered, the gang leader turned his attention to Cal Strand. “I find out that any piece of what this rube says is la shi, next time I come around won’t be enough nuns and kids in the ‘verse to stop our triggers.”

Fer a second time, Abby found ‘erself beholden to a gentle woman in an orange robe. She contemplated in that moment tha meanin’ of a touch an’ how much it might tell. Cottonmouth’s grip had been firm, tellin’ her who’s in charge. Nips was kinda like that, but jest a bit easier…she conjured it tah say “let’s just do this and be done.” But The Sister’s hand weren’t nothin’ like either of ‘em. It felt…kind. Sorta touch one pined tah feel when they’s on tha doorstep of home.

“Home,” escaped ‘er lips as The Sister’s hand showed ‘er tha way.

And so it was done, all without bloodshed, death, nor any of that heartache. Alana sighed in relief, watching Abby be brought back to where she belonged by none other than The Sister. Needless to say, they had suffered a loss, but not to the extent originally expected. The barrel of the weapon had been aiming down at the ground since the order was communicated, and she at last tucked it securely into her waistband once more. Alana would tend to Abby the moment the bikers were outta sight.

The Headhunters’ bikes all roared to life. As the others waited, Cottonmouth pulled forward, his machine rumbling as he came to collect Rex. “There’s my ride,” Rex offered a grin to Cal. “Still got a few question marks about how this’ll all play out, but I think I’m gonna become Root’s new best friend.”

"Rex," Strand chuckled despite himself, "You're one lucky son of a doxy; but then again thanks to you, so am I. If your luck don't hold, feel free to look me up. If mine does, I'll still be flyin'."

“Can we go now? While the beer’s cold?” Cottonmouth demanded.

“See?” Rex teased. “They’re playing my song already.” He sidled up closer to his captain. “Thanks for takin’ me back aboard, Cal. Not sure when, but I’ll see you down the road.”

"Is that a threat?" Cal's eyes twinkled as he pushed the brim of his hat to sit back on his head. "May the road rise," the Captain intoned as he shook his first mate's hand.

After a back slapping hug, the man known as Rex Black climbed onto the waiting sky cycle. “I’ll be back for my stuff!” he shouted above the revving engine. “And take care of Lucky!” He gave the biker a friendly pat on the shoulder. “What’d Root call you?” he asked as the cycle pulled away. “Sea-mouth? I’m Rex…sorta like ‘sex,’ but most folk say it’s closer to ‘wrecks…”

Cal shook his head as Rex Black rode away absolved of every sin for the first time he'd abandoned the China Doll. This time, that smug head of his was held high as he threw one last wave over his shoulder. Cal dipped his head in response before turning to the crew who had proved their mettle in a crisis, and to the bruised Abigail who had somehow earned a moniker among the clan of bikers and an invitation that did not sit well in the least.

"Payback?" was all he said to Abby before raising the com to his chin. "Hook, head on back. We're dust up in fifteen."

Ahead of him on the landing of the cargo bay ambled a small army of children much younger than Abigail, and at their head the Sister Badger had called in as reinforcement. A nun, dressed just like Marisol was. The way those bikers cleared off, Cal had half a mind to lump her under the same banner too, but, to be honest, the kids did give him pause.

As his last steps carried him to the top of the ramp, the Sister met him there with a resolute look in her eye, "Amituofo Captain Strand, I'm Lyen Giu. We need to talk."

<Fade to black.>
<Roll credits>

WELCOME TO OSIRIS! The time is now 10:00AM local. After her doin’s in the Blackout Zone last night, China Doll backtracked into orbit and fired up her pulse beacon for a proper landing. This morning finds her snug in her berth at Capital City Spaceport.

Cap’n and Rex pulled off a neat one last night, but with Rex gone and Abby in the Doc’s hands, workin’ crew is becomin’ a might scarce. Hook was pullin’ duty all over the boat, helpin’ the broken armed Yuri in the cargo bay and gettin’ up a mighty fine breakfast, but he wasn’t lookin’ any too healthy this morning. Cal decided to bump Yuri up to First Mate, handed him the clipboard, and nudged him toward the lawn chair to drum up passengers and cargo.

Now, with everyone settled into their chores, China Doll began her regular dance. Find folk. Find cargo. Keep flying.

OOC: We’re finally here! Welcome to our new writers!

“Snakeskin,” Yuri read off the manifest. “Reticulating Python, two pallets.” He offered the clipboard to the driver. “Please sign there and you can drive ‘em away.”

“Sure.” The man pulled a stylus from his pocket.

“So what do you make out of snakeskin?” the new First Mate inquired. “Boots, maybe?”

“Lotta boots.” Larry, the driver, gave a nod. “Jackets, hats, wristbands…you name it. Even upholstered a guy’s shuttle seats in it once. Some people’s children,” he smiled with a rueful shrug.

Yuri laughed. “Too rich for my blood. Speaking of,” he added, “this is my first time in Capital City. Where should a poor man go to grab a bite or a drink?”

The driver waved an arm. “You’re there, sorry to say. Got a few diners and saloons around the port’s cargo exits. That don’t work, grab a city transit shuttle and ride it as far outside town as it runs. When the pretty stops, the price drops.”

“Mmmm. Good word.”

“And stay clear of the Blackout Zone!” Larry shouted as he climbed into his truck. “Poor folk like us get caught in there, they never letcha back out!” He tossed a wave through the open window. After grinding the clutch enough to rouse Yuri’s sympathies for the poor gearbox, the truck lurched forward. He watched it leave, the cloud of blue smoke in its’ wake speaking volumes to the former mechanic.

“Did I hear right? Are congratulations in order?” Edina Wyman stood at the top of the ramp, looking fresh and pretty in a sweater and blouse.

As he took in the sight of her, Yuri couldn’t connect the dots between this sweet appearance and the furious woman who jerked a pistol into the air last night. Regardless, her smile never failed to coax his own. “I’m not so sure,” he chuckled. “The captain says until I find us a new mechanic I’m on double duty.”

“No good deed,” she teased. “But isn’t this Abby’s job? Looks like triple duty to me.”

“I think being kidnapped earns her some extra time off,” Yuri answered as Edina joined him. “How’s she doing?”

The woman’s face seemed to fall a bit. “She was sound asleep when I stopped by. Far too many bruises, from what I could see. Doc’s watching over her like a mother bear.”

A sage nod was his response. “Dr. Lysanger’s a rarity. I have that one on personal experience. But how are you doing this morning?”

“Oh,” Edina’s eyes darted away, “I’m fine. Still a bit shaken up.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

He nodded emphatically. “First time I’ve ever pointed a gun at anyone. I’m just relieved that we all came through it.”

“So am I,” she admitted, “but in that moment…I nearly lost it. I know it was my gun that started things Southbound.” The woman’s eyes hollowed with a mixture of guilt and grief. “I could’ve…gotten us all…”

“But you didn’t,” he replied, taking her hand. “It all worked out.”

Her eyes fell for a moment, taking the sight of her hand in his. “It…” Edina shook her head, “was a rage that took me. To see that girl all battered as she was…” Her eyes lifted. “I wanted to kill ‘em. There’s a part of me says that’s all in my past now, but seeing Abby’s face…just brought it all back down on me. And I,” her hand clutched his more tightly, “nearly brought it all onto you. Can’t tell you how sorry I am for that.”

Understanding that his words couldn’t offer more than a superficial comfort, Yuri let the time go in silence. He chose instead to just be here with her as she sorted things out. After a moment passed a sheepish smile rose from her lips to her eyes. “I should go,” Edina withdrew her hand. “I need to find a bookstore.”

Yuri’s hand fell to his side. “What’s on the reading list?”

“Abby’s nearly done with the first 'Mei Lin' book,” Edina’s smile was warming again. “Thought I’d get her the second.”

“That’s a great idea!” he exclaimed. “So, question. Are you planning to stay with us for the next run?”

“Depends on where we’re headed.”

“Captain says Pelorum,” Yuri said.

This was met with an eye roll from Edina. “Ugh, beaches and oceans!” she groused. “I’ve had a lifetime of that.”

“Had more than my fair share of ocean as well,” Yuri smiled. “But there’s much more to do than just the beach thing. Museums, galleries, and some pretty great jazz bars, I’m told.”

“Well,” she made a show of considering the idea, “I might be talked into riding along for that.”

“Shiny!” he grinned. “What say we talk about it over a drink tonight when I’m off duty? I hear there are some really awful bars close by.”

Edina laughed. “You make it sound so tempting.”

---

---

---

---

Two Days Ago

The room was decked out in an ultra-modern style that screamed both "I have money" and "I do not have taste". Money does not buy a sense of style, after all. The room was straight out of a furniture catalog that any wealthy tycoon could throw at his secretary and tell them to buy it. However, one was not here to judge style (though if she could make that into a career she would have a lucrative side-gig). She was here to listen, please, and provide comfort where comfort drained out years ago.

Varuq Ginovese. Some channels refer to him as the "up-and-coming playboy billionaire" and others call "the washed-up third son still trailing after his brothers". The Ginovese family is a wealthy one on Osiris. They have their hands dipped in many pockets in various sectors, not all of which are on the up and up. Again, she is not here to judge. Varuq is the youngest sibling who made a name for himself in the technology sector. His family, oddly enough, rarely touched technology in terms of business, instead preferring trade and travel. Varuq wanted to set himself apart from his family, especially his elder brothers, both of whom were married with children and successful businesses on their own. So successful that they were able to manage all dealings from their own homes so they could stay with their partners and children. Varuq is still young so he still has time. At least, that is what he tells himself in the mirror after he wakes up in the morning, usually with a woman or man in his bed, still asleep from the alcohol and drugs from the night before.

This exchange was different. This was the first time Varuq hired a companion. He heard about them, of course. One does not run in elite circles without hearing about companions and their famed skills. But Varuq was also not one to take the easy way out. He still aimed to prove himself. To show everyone he can handle his affairs.

Needless to say, he didn't and couldn't.

So in the ultra-modern room of his penthouse suite, with the light of the sun slowly dipping over the crest of the city as the morning slept and the night awoke, Quill sat on one of the chairs that looked like it would be comfortable but, in reality, made the person wish they never sat in it in the first place. Decked out in a silver dress that cut just above the middle of her thigh. Enough to catch interest, but not too much. Her hair was in a slick updo. She kept her make-up simple, enough to highlight the parts of her face she knew Varuq would be interested in (her eyes. Varuq liked other things on her body, but those did not need to be accentuated). A glass of wine in her right hand, barely drunk. She did not need alcohol inhibiting her.

Varuq sat on his bed, his button-down shirt open to reveal a broad chest and muscles. His own glass of wine was nearly depleted, as was the bottle. "I've never done this before," he admitted.

"Enjoy the company of another person?" Quill asked. Varuq looked embarrassed for a split second. "No! No, I have enjoyed many a person's company. I meant having a companion. I'll admit, I do not know how to proceed."

Quill smiled and set her glass down, standing up to move over to the bed. "It's not so different than enjoying the company of another. I am here to meet your needs, whatever they might be. In whatever capacity you need me." Varuq looked up at Quill, his eyes falling down over her body. "I suppose that's fair. Do you...want to...?" he asked like a small boy asking his mother for extra sweets. Quill sat on the bed next to him. "This is not about what I want. I sense uncertainty in you. This is a welcoming space. Feel free to be who you need to be."

Varuq looked uncertain. He had never had to be something other than what was expected of him. "Is it true that companions provide more services than...carnal?" This was not the first time Quill had engaged with someone who did not know how companions worked. There would always be those who assumed the worst. "Companions are whoever you need them to be. People take comfort from many avenues. Sometimes through physical needs, sometimes through social, or mental, or emotional." Varuq seemed to take this in like a student eager to learn from a valued professor.

He stood up and paced the room a bit, before coming back to her. "I am the youngest member of my family. There are so many expectations placed on me, all of which I have met. Yet, it never seems to be enough. So I find myself filling the void with other pleasures, none of which fill that need."

Quill had come to expect this. "It sounds to me like whenever you reach that expectation the line is moved. It is hard to be the person others expect you to be when there is no clear message what that looks like. "She knew all too well about that, but tonight was not about her.

Varuq nodded. "My brothers have families. Successful businesses. Children! I see them and I know that's what's expected of me, but that's not what I want." Quill leaned back on the bed a bit, "We are each our own person. Do you subscribe your success to your family or to yourself?"

"Myself! My family never worked in technology before. I had to make connections. I had to make deals. All of which I did on my own."

"Then it seems to me you achieved success not because of them, but in spite of them."

"They don't even acknowledge it."

Quill stood up and walked over to the entertainment system and programmed some music. It was a soft, techno song. Enough to set the mood. "Then maybe it is time to decide who you want to impress. Them...or yourself."

Varuq strode over to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her. She reciprocated in kind. "Let's move to the bed again."

The night proceeded with words exchanged, flesh met with flesh, and Varuq, ultimately, filling his need for approval.

---

One Day Ago

"So tell me what the plan is?"

Camilla, picking up her cup of tea, asked, sitting across from Quill.

"According to what information I gathered, the Ginovese family has ties to this resort. The same resort my family has often visited. I need to find passage to that planet. So I need to find a ship that is going there and is also willing to let me on."

Camilla, dressed for a day to the theater, despite them sitting outside of a cafe, sipped her tea again as she thought. Camilla Aspen was a close friend of Quill's. Despite her appearance, Camilla had ties that stretched far across Osiris. Those same avenues did not always fly above board. What was a girl to do after being kicked out of her childhood home by her new step-father? "Seems to me like anyone would be glad to take you, provided you can pay."

Quill smirked at that comment. Camilla knew Quill's profession, knew she was good for it. "I can afford it. It's more of a matter of finding a ship that is going there."

Camilla finished her cup and set it down. She tapped her finger as she stared at her friend. "What do you hope to find at this resort then?"

Quill didn't know. It was the first tangible lead she had. "Anything. Even if it is directions to a new planet where I could get information."

"I can put some feelers out. See if I can grab some information. I can't promise results, we get ships here arriving daily."

Quill cemented the deal with a handshake and a peck on the cheek as she left her friend to go do her work.

---

Present

Camilla had her work cut out for her. But connections were made. Quill would find a ship docking today that could make the trip she needed. She would have to put in the work of speaking to the people there, advocating for herself, and sealing the deal.

Quill dressed what she determined was professional. A black cardigan, slim black, leather pants, and scarlet red heels. Not something one wore to a trip to the shipyard, but she needed to find passage and it was better to present an honest front (or as honest as she would be) rather than lie. As she strode forward, she noticed looks from people unloading cargo, from workers with ear pieces shouting commands, from ship captains with guns on their hips. The more people that noticed her, the easier this would be.

Camilla could not grab details on the exact ship. All she could muster was that it came in today and would be heading exactly where she needed to go. She would have to put in the leg work.

Any one of these people could be who she needed. Lost in thought, she strode forward and bumped into a man built like a tank. He turned around and glared at her. "Watch it, you gorram doxy!" While Quill was fluent in languages, she was also able to understand slang. This brute had tried to insult her. It was laughable.

"My apologies. I will watch where I walk going forward. Safe travels to you." She expected that to be the end of it, but the lug moved in front of her. "Pretty talk from a pretty lady. What's a pretty lady like you doing here?" Now the tool was trying to flirt with her? Ah to have the confidence of a man. "With all due respect, that is none of your concern. Have a good day." She inched away again, this time in the opposite direction when she felt a hand wrap around her upper arm. "I wasn't done talking to you." Quill looked back at the man, then at his hand over her arm, then met his gaze. "I am going to ask you nicely, once, to please let go of my arm. If you do not, what occurs is your own fault." The lug nut laughed, phlegm threatening to choke him then and there. "Is that right, bi-," he attempted to say. As quickly as the words came out, Quill moved forward, grabbing the man's arm and twisting her body so the man's arm twisted in the opposite direction as it normally moved. He let out a shocked gurgle before she felt his grip loosen. Taking the opportunity, she smacked his arm off her using her wrist before she twisted away, aiming a kick at his....manhood. As she expected, she hit her mark. The man fell to his knees clutching his only pride and joy. Tears in his eyes, she took the opportunity to walk forward, bend down to meet his eyes, and whispered "Next time you want to try having your way with someone, remember this moment. The next one might not let you keep your unit."

The event caused some disturbance, but that was to be expected. She announced what she intended to do if he didn't listen and she followed through. She noted no one in his crew came after her, leading her to suspect the man was by himself (not surprising).

Leaving the man to nurse his wounds and pride, she strode forward. Hopefully, her next encounter would not be as lively.

---

The small army of children disappeared down alleys and backstreets when the China Doll made port, but Sister Lyen stayed behind. Cal motioned for her follow him up the cat walk to the fore of the ship. Once through the galley, he made way for her to pass. The way she carried herself was unlike Marisol's military gate, but the shade of the robe she wore was exactly the same.

"It's Badger" Lyen began, once she and Cal had stepped onto the empty bridge.

"Here it comes," Cal said under his breath, turning away from the nun, or whatever she was.

"There's something he wants you to do," Lyen watched the back of the Captain's head, gauging her words against his posture.

"But there's something I want you to do instead," her almond eyes waited for his reaction.

Cal balked, "Now that's the first time a nun's asked me to run a side job." He faced her, his jaw working out how he felt about the notion. "Behind his back?"

"Precisely," brown eyes flashed at him; something indignant burned behind that gaze.

"Sister, you've got my full attention."

---

After some time to discuss the particulars, Sister Lyen bid Cal farewell and he saw her aft toward the cargo bay.

"It's just through that way and down," Captain Strand said pointing the route.

"I know the way," Lyen replied. The nooks and crannies of the Firefly, third class, were as familiar to her as her own mind--or at least, they were. The turn of the stairs down to the cargo bay directly around the infirmary caused her to pause.

There, through that window she could almost see herself--and Dorian and Kate, if she were being honest--at work. The many scrapes and bruises that sent her there; the surgery on Dorian's eye that started her life in a completely different trajectory.

With a sigh to quell the cobwebs, Lyen stepped onto the cargo bay. It was just a ship. But she'd be damned if it wasn't her favorite kind. The Osiris air hit her warm and bright through the open door as she stepped onto the ramp.

---

Cal took the high road to watch the goin's on from the catwalk of the cargo bay. Yuri, sure as the mail, sat in the lawn chair lookin' ratty in his 'lost-and-found' clothes that Abigail'd scraped together. The Sister lingered a moment lookin' over the medbay through the glass before makin' her departure. Havin' seen enough, Strand descended to the bay proper and began unlashing the mule.

'Sooner we get outta here the better-' he mused, 'Last time we tangled with a "nun", Abigail got a bullet in the pi guh.' The chuckle that escaped his lips at the thought of Abigail nursin' a flesh wound on the other cheek quickly passed. He had a feelin' the Abigail they'd wrenched from Root was a mite different than the fresh-faced teen he'd hired on Persephone, and that set him all thoughtful.

Their plans for the evening settled, Yuri watched as Edina made her way toward the port exit. It felt odd to him that this morning could be so bright and mild after their shared experiences of the night before. He took to the lawnchair, clipboard lying open upon his lap as the woman soon disappeared in the throngs of visitors and working folk.

A man detached himself from the passersby. He was small, fairly unremarkable in his dress and manner, the sort of person who’d be noticed only by the security captures of any establishment he chose to visit. “Hello,” the nondescript fellow tipped his hat. “Might I inquire as to your destination?”

“That would be Pelorum,” Yuri fixed the guest with an amiable smile. “Interested in a passage, or shipping freight?”

“Oh, heavens no,” the little man shook his head. “I’m an aerophobe. That’s a fear of flying,” he stated.

“I’m aware.”

“I’ve been seeing a counselor,” the visitor continued. “She’s tasked me with spending time here in the port, watching the boats come and go, talking to their crews. Oh, where are my manners? I’m Earnest Hekubah,” he extended his hand. “Tailor by trade, psycho ceramic by trapping.”

“Yuri Antonov,” he answered as they shook hands. “So is the therapy working?”

Hekubah frowned. “Not so well, I’m afraid. But then again, that’s the problem. If I were to so much as step onto your ramp I’d break out in a cold sweat and my heart would thump so as to make one think it’s popping right out of my chest. Oh!” he exclaimed as his eyes moved up the cargo ramp. “Sister! Amituofo!” He removed his hat, laying it upon his heart as he delivered a half bow toward the nun in her orange robe.

“Sister,” Yuri nodded in response as she moved in serene calm, a gracious smile and a blessing on her lips for them both. As she strode away, his eye fell once more upon the little tailor. “You know the Sister?”

“A remarkable woman,” Hekubah gazed after her departing form. “In my profession I’ve come to serve a great many dignitaries, most of whom, to put it gently, are ‘all tophat and no tails.’ But The Sister?” he breathed. “Her reputation among the poor and downtrodden has managed to escape the confines of the Blackout Zone. At risk of abusing the metaphors of my profession, she is truly cut of the finest cloth. Might I inquire?”

Yuri responded with a shrug. “I don’t know my own self.”

“And dreadfully rude of me to ask,” Hekubah apologized. “Tell me, Mr. Antonov. If one were interested in taking a guided tour of your vessel…for therapeutic reasons…might such a service be arranged?”

“I’d have to take it up with the Captain,” he said, his tone dubious.

The little man fished in his pocket. “My card,” he proclaimed as it passed between them. “I shall be glad to pay for said tour…and,” he offered an intimating smile, “if one were to come by my shop, I could offer a wide selection of apparel for a gentleman such as yourself. At an advantageous price, of course.”

Yuri’s eyes rose from the business card. “I could use a few things,” he ventured.

“Oh, smashing!” Hekubah chortled. “I shall be delighted to serve. But I fear I’ve taken far too much of your valuable time. Until we next meet, Mr. Antonov,” he offered a tip of his hat, “Adieu.”

“It’s a pleasure,” a slightly dumbfounded Yuri replied as the odd little character melted into the crowd. Suddenly assuming the worst, he jammed hands into his pockets, only to find what few things he kept still present. At least he’s not a pickpocket, the First Mate thought, though he couldn’t escape the odd tingling of the hairs on the back of his neck.

He’d settled once more into the chair, watchful of the passing crowd for any bit of eye contact which might produce a lead. What came his way instead was a series of quick shouts and disturbance from down along the berths. Yuri craned his neck, attempting to see through a small crowd that had gathered around the scene, an altercation, by the sound of it.. At first, there was nothing to see from this distance…until she emerged.

The woman stood out, not so much for her black on black attire, or even the pumps which augmented the look. She was, to put it simply, statuesque. He found himself staring. This might’ve embarrassed him until he realized that every other man on the thoroughfare, and more than a few women, were also transfixed by the exquisite nature of this newcomer. She carried herself with the poise and lifted chin of one whose customary social orbits were many levels higher than Yuri could rightly imagine. Yet, she moved through this crowd with confidence and ease. Directly toward him.

As those eyes fixed upon him, Yuri was barely aware of the mule’s engine coughing to life from behind him. Somehow, as if drawn by invisible command, he found himself upon his feet as this graceful creature glided his way. “Nī Haō, Miss,” he said in a voice that didn’t seem his own. “How may I help you?”

<Tag Quill, Cal>

Collaborative post with @sail3695

---

There she stood, perfectly unscathed as she glanced over the bruises scattered about on the face of her 18-year-old patient. In the short time Alana had known Abigail, the girl had been shot and brutally beaten, and she couldn't help but feel pity for her. It's as if she was being handed one misfortune after the next. Despite her strength and resilience, such young soul shouldn't have to go through these harrowing events, and it pained Alana to once more have to tend to her wounds.

Once satisfied with the vitals check, Alana was about to head back out of the infirmary when the young girl stirred herself awake, the grogginess evident from her expression a sure tell the cocktail of meds had done its job. "Hey there, Abby, I hope you're feeling better." Her condition could have been worse, but the scan that was conducted upon their immediate return to the ship the night prior showed no internal bleeding nor damage. Overall the prognosis was good, and she just had to reduce the swelling as well as the pain and keep monitoring. "Your swelling has gone down some but since you're gonna be mighty sore for the foreseeable future, I'll let the captain know you'll be on bedrest until further notice. Don't need him trying to prod you to get back out on that ramp."

Most times she woke, Abby conjured she’d been dreamin’, even when she couldn’t recollect no part of the dream. Not this time. Doc’s voice come onta her mind like the first star in an empty black sky. She blinked, lifted a hand tah rub tha sleep from ‘er eyes…that’s when she found she could see outta her right eye agin…an’ seen the Doc, lookin’ down on her. She always knew Alana’s pretty, but the care and kindness in her eyes proved that fact beyond all doubt.

When she spoke, ‘er voice come thick as molasses an’ jest as hard fer her tongue tah navigate. “How long?” Abby slurred like she had three Vodka Boom-Booms. “How long I been here?”

Poor girl was straining to speak. Alana placed the palm of her hand on Abby's shoulder as reassurance. "You ain't been out long, just overnight." She walked away from Abby for a moment, intending on providing additional comfort. "Let me get some water for ya, and if you want I can always ask one of the crew to cook up something for you." She reached inside the cold storage unit to pull out a bottle before walking right back. "Alternatively, if you're having a hard time swallowing, I can always put in an IV to help. All your choice, of course."

“Naw,” her voice come out sleepy. “I’m good. Thank yew,” Abby took tha water. She pressed an elbow inta tha paddin’ tah rise up. As she did, tha sheet tumbled down ‘round her. “Huh.” the girl said at first sight of them bruises on ‘er body. “I near plumb forgot.” The first swallow ‘o’ water was a cool revival. She swished it about inside ‘er mouth afore sendin’ it down. “We all copasetic?” she asked the Doc. “Ever’body good?”

Alana took a step to help, but Abby was already propping up all on her own. Instead, she degloved and leaned forward to put her weight on the handrails. "Not a scratch on their pretty little heads, so you needn't worry..." She paused for a moment, then looked the girl in the eyes. "Abby, I was thinking, do you want me to go talk to Cal about possibly having someone on the ramp with you when eventually you get back to working?"

She’d been thinkin’ ‘bout them’s she ain’t seen last night. Hook weren’t about, but Cap/n had spoke with ‘im on a walkie, so the girl conjured he musta been near. But Pen. She ain’t seen hide nor hair. Still, if Doc says all souls was well then she got no reason tah question that.

Abby’s ‘bout tah ask when she could git back tah work when Doc’s question knocked pins right out from under. Shook as she was, that water bottle come close tah slippin’ from ‘er fingers. Her mind raced tah figger out a answer what come across as ‘well reasoned and mature,’ while a part ‘o’ her recoiled at notion of bein’ babysat.

She took a minute on it, stretchin’ time by addin’ a swig from her water afore answerin’. “Doc,” Abby finally spoke, “if I cain’t do muh job on muh own I ain’t much use tah tha Cap’n. Don’t got a proper education. What I know best is what I learnt on boats, an’ there’s precious little ‘o’ that. Most girls dealt my cards got three choices in this life, husband, housekeepin’, or whorin’. Cap’n gave me a diff’rent road, an’ I don’t aim tah place burden on ‘im fer ‘is wisdom.” She straightened her backbone an’ met Doc’s eye. “I fought them as took me. Didn’t win, but I didn’t stop fightin’ ‘em…got most these bruises tah show fer it. Kinda shows me what I need learnin’ on next,” she said. “Gettin’ faster on muh draw an’ smarter with muh fists.”

She wasn't too receptive of Alana's suggestion, that much obvious given Abby's sudden shift in body language. It was a touchy subject, and since Alana was no psychologist, she didn't want to press the matter beyond what needed pressing. "I get your concerns, believe me. It ain't an easy road to walk on for some." Abby was the individualistic type, and maybe a pinch stubborn as a result. But at the least, Alana wanted to get the message across as she was trying to do right by her younger crewmate. "What you went through, and the aftermath, isn't at all a sign of weakness. You're resilient, and brave, and honestly stronger than some of them on this ship. I'm simply concerned, that's why I suggested having a partner out there with ya, if only for a little while post recovery." Alana straightened up, turning to toss the used gloves on the bin behind her. "If you give it further thought, you can come straight to me and I'm sure Cal will be more than happy to consider it."

Alana ended her statement with a smile before changing the subject.

"By the way, I took some lessons in massage therapy way back then, they help make those nasty little bruises go away faster. Can't do it right away, but can be done further along in recovery."

“Massage sounds mighty nice,” the girl worked up a smile. Abby had a good think on what the Doc had tah say. Chances were she’s so pent up ‘bout twice fallin’ on Cap’n’s good will by gettin’ ‘erself inta medbay that mayhaps she weren’t listenin’ afore her mouth run off. “I dunno,” the girl finally give up. “Doc, what scares me most is Cap’n doin’ tha math an’ conjurin’ I put ‘im inta red ink.” She folded ‘er arms about ‘erself, “When them bikers took me? I had a hunnerd fifty credits in muh pocket…money paid fer haulin’ cargo. They took it. Way I see it, that’s on me.”

“Abby, 'tween you and me, I have a very strong feeling that the captain would much prefer them bikers return you in one piece rather than the credits. Those blows to the head must have left you unconscious at some point, so what were you supposed to do?” Alana shrugged her shoulders, thinking it, but not saying it. In all honesty, the girl wasn’t the one to blame here. The gang was looking to retaliate and Abby just so happened to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Listen, along with the painkillers I’ll give ya, I’m also mandating you be stress free for the next couple of days, and that includes avoid overthinking the finance dealings with the captain. Think you up for it?"

“A couple days?” Abby looked up. “And then I can git back tah work?”

The question made Alana laugh a little. "Yes, a couple of days...given you're back to full health by then. Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll be on some additional sick leave. And Abby, I don't want you to go on hiding one ailment or the other from me, dohn mah? I don't care how long we're down by one, we can make it work..."

Her statement had concluded with a more serious tone, hopefully getting the girl to understand the severity of the situation.

What tha Doc said had a little sting to it, but them shenanigans Abby pulled on New Melbourne made Alana’s words more’n fair. “Got muh word, Doc,” she said all solemn like. “I’ll stick to muh room…’less I’m gettin’ food or hittin’ tha lav. Somethin’ don’t feel right I’ll come see you, pronto.”

Despite her being fiercely independent, at least Abby had her wits involving her own health so as to not be reckless as she pleased. Alana nodded with a smile, her mind at ease after being reassured by her patient.

Thought ‘o’ bein’ laid up with naught but what she’s carryin’ inside ‘er head fer two whole days felt pert near tah her own brand ‘o’ hell. Still, Abby knew Alana was in tha right. She’s lucky just tah be all banged up, but one look at ‘er face was like tah scare away any passenger. She ‘membered when Ms. Wyman come aboard, face all swole up from ‘er husband’s thrashin’. All she wanted tah do was sleep, an’ Abby watched over ‘er fer some odd days while she did. If she’s bein’ true about it, she did feel a might hangdog.

“I always conjure workin’ makes ever’thin’ better,” Abby said, “but I’ll stick tah restin’. Can I git a proper shower, first?” she asked.

"Shower away, you'll feel tons better once you've properly cleaned up. Take the device with you," Alana motioned towards the small electronic sitting within Abby's reach, "You know what to do in case you need help while washing yourself. I'll go ahead and update the captain as to your condition; and as of right now you are no longer confined to these four walls. Come on, let's see how well you do on your feet."

Alana reached out a hand to help Abby stand, hoping her balance wouldn't fail her.

Abby eased down, one hand takin’ Alana’s as t’other held onta tha table. “Yer right,” she said as feet landed on tha cold deck, “I’m feelin’ a might stiff.” Tha girl stood fer a second, hands out tah test ‘er balance. When all felt right, she give ths Doc a nod. “Think I’m good.”

The gown was one of them what hung open in tha back. She weren’t too partial ta walkin’ outta here with her pi gu seein’ daylight, but lookin’ on them denims and unders she wore last three days settled that bite ‘o’ hash right quick. An’ that vest…tha bikers’ cut…lookin’ at it now’s like tah turn ‘er stomach.

As Doc watched, Abby collected all ‘er things one one arm. The little blinky Doc give her was scooped up in ‘er free hand. “Much obliged, Doc,” tha deckhand said as she made tracks fer the door.

Once it’s open, she stepped through…and suddenly stopped. Abby turned about, walked on stiff legs right up tah tha Doc, and thowed an arm around her. “Thank yew,” her voice cracked as she whispered, huggin’ Alana tight. “Fer what yah did last night. Thank yew.”

Alana embraced her in return, gently settling her chin atop the girl’s head and smiling to herself. “You’ve got nothing to thank me for, you know I’ll always be here for you.” In that moment, their relationship didn’t feel like one of a doctor and her patient, but rather, a bond close to what sisters may share. If Abby would decide to confide in her from that point forward, then she would have more than enough done her job.

---

The mule kicked as the Captain rolled it down the ramp nice and slow. Yuri, his freshly minted first mate, stood near the base of the ramp beside a woman. Only, hell, that wasn't just a woman. Cal tipped his hat back automatically, slotting the mule into park while dismounting.

After taking her in for a moment, from those scarlet red heels to that impeccable hairdo, Cal could tell a few things right and proper. The first was undeniably male, especially given those leather pants, but the second was that he could already suss a thing or two about a woman who walked toward the China Doll like that.

In his recent, hazy memory the Captain couldn't call up slighting any lovers past or present that could bear semblance to what he saw before him. Barring ex-trysts, plus the fact that she stuck out like a sore thumb what wanted to be noticed, Cal deigned purpose the driving factor singling the China Doll out among the rest. Sauntering beside his compatriot, the Captain addressed the visage before them.

"What Yuri means is, there's no ship here finer than the China Doll; especially if you're headed for Pelorum. And ya' are headed there ain'tcha, Shao Jeh...?" Captain Strand removed a cigarette from his silver case while he awaited her reply.

<Tag Yuri and Quill>

---

---

---

---

Quill continued forward, aware of the eyes on her now. So much for the element of surprise. It wasn't every passenger aboard a vessel that was trained in hand-to-hand combat. Still, she could easily work around that. The galaxy was a dangerous place, after all.

Moving forward, someone caught her eye. Well, if she were being honest, multiple things caught her eye.

The first was the man with the cast. He looked like he traveled more for business than pleasure. Handsome, sure, in a rugged sort of way, though his clothing was a bit....peculiar. As she walked toward him, he greeted her. She detected the faint accent. All things pointed to this being a strong candidate for her needs.

The second was the ship itself. Quill wasn't picturing a luxury liner to take her to the resort but she definitely wasn't expecting this. She supposed that if it flew and didn't explode upon launch, that was good enough for the crew. Beggars couldn't be choosers. It looked like it was cared for, at least. And weren't those the best ships anyway?

The third, and last, was another man who came to join them. He all but screamed authority and, if she had to guess, this was the Captain. She took note of the ship's name. The China Doll. That was an interesting name, though she supposed it had stories to tell. If these two were part of the crew, she imagined the voyages it took were interesting.

She decided to greet them both. "Good day to you both. I am, indeed, looking for a passage to Pelorum. If you have room aboard your ship, I would appreciate it. I can pay, of course." She thought about sharing who she was, really, but she had to remember that she did not know these men and did not know their reason for heading to Pelorum in the first place. Could be honest workers or criminals for all she knew. But if she got a ride there, all the better.

"Going there for business and maybe some pleasure, if it can be scraped. Is that all right with you gentlemen?"

<Tag Yuri and Cal>

A sudden, awkward pause fell over the little gathering. Yuri waited, expecting Cal to respond to the woman’s question. Instead, the Captain’s head turned, eyes landing upon the mate with a look that told him he’d completely blown his cue. “Absolutely, Miss,” he blurted to fill the void. “This is our captain, Cal Strand,” he made the introduction. “I’m Yuri Antonov, first mate,” he said, offering a courteous smile which broadened as he turned to gaze upon the boat. “And this lovely lady is the China Doll.”

Yuri turned back to face their prospective customer. “We have both single and double rooms. The doubles are a bit more comfortable,” he added, propping the clipboard upon his cast. “We’d be delighted to have you fly with us, ma’am.”

<tag Quill, Cal>

Collaborative post with @sail3695

---

"The little critters givin' ya some work, aren't they?"

"They sure are," Jadaline smiled nostalgically, glancing back at her two sons playing with some toys before shutting close the front door to her modest home. "With Zane gone on this new contract he managed to snatch up, it's a damn miracle I ain't driven myself crazy just yet."

"You'll be alright, J, children'll be children," Imani chimed in, herself reminiscing the olden days. There were some fond memories here and there between the heartache and struggles she came to know from such a young age. But despite Imani's past, Jadaline was that one friend who proved to be beyond loyal. Her heart o' gold always made everything alright, and Imani never took her worth for granted.

"They'll be grown 'fore you know it, so enjoy this time prior to them leaving the nest."

Jadaline sighed as if the statement had saddened her. No reason why, the now and then was still a long ways away. That's what Imani figured.

"Ya sure you can't stay? There's plenty to discuss. I can make ya that supper you like."

Imani shook her head, patting her friend's shoulder. "Messy business if I stay; it's best I go, and the sooner the better."

The two hugged it out for a moment before saying their goodbyes and parting ways, Jadaline watching her friend's departure before going back inside to tend to her sons.

******

Having purchased a scarf to conceal some of her features, Imani kept a low profile as she navigated the horde currently going about their day. Having her head angled down some, she mistakenly bumped a tall, large man dressed for business. He turned his head to shoot her a deathly glare before two more look-alikes bumped her out of her path, moving him along to whatever destination. In different circumstances, she would've said something, but Imani figured it best to not bring about any trouble onto herself. She looked off to the side, ignoring the unpleasantry that had just presented itself, and noticed a Firefly class seemingly open for business.

What's to lose? she concluded, starting to make her way towards the ship ​​and its welcoming host comfortably positioned on a lawn chair.

Thus far, Yuri’s attempts to hawk China Doll’s services seemed to draw naught but oddities and parasites. The oddity’s business card lay in his pocket. The parasite stood before him, gesturing grandly as he ran a well polished spiel. “Tell ya true, son,” the man waved toward the Doll’s hull. “Your burn coat’s nigh on shot to hell. At best you got one, mayhaps two burn in’s left.” He broke from his scrutiny to fix Yuri with a narrow eye. “Where ya say you’re goin’ next?”

“Pelorum.”

“Pelorum?” The salesman spat on the ground. “That’s some thick air. Hit this old hull like a sand blaster. I take it back. You gotta recoat now.”

“You don’t think she’ll take it?” he asked.

The shyster wiped his brow. “Hoo, doggy! She might. She might not. You’re really rollin’ the dice to burn into Pelorum with this old girl in such a sorry state.”

“But you can help me out.” Yuri tried not to smile as he offered the man an opening.

“I sure can! Son…”

“Yuri…”

“Yuri…pleased to meetcha! I can set you up with the last bottom coat you’ll ever need.” The salesman jammed a screen before the 1st mate. “Feast yer eyes on that!” he grinned. “Duraburn ProMax Plus Undercoat! It’s the latest thing! Alliance been puttin’ it on their ships for five years, but now we can sell it at a discount to hard workin’ folk like you! Got a special runnin’ today only,” the salesman’s eye swept across the hull. “Class three Firefly rate’s thirty-five hundred, but today only? Nineteen ninety-nine!”

“No.” Yuri shook his head.

The salesman’s viewscreen glowed with a capture vid. A smiling young woman in a short skirt and polo shirt sprayed a thick black coating onto a gleaming shuttle. “Tell yah what I’m gonna do,” the salesman whisked the image away. “I’ll get in trouble for this, but I swear I couldn’t sleep knowin” I letcha fly off unprotected. Give you the full bottom coat, and I’ll throw in some touch up on your name header up there. Seventeen hundred…out the door.” He awaited Yuri’s reaction, his face projecting the classic “you’d be crazy to turn this down” expression.

The new Mate took to his feet. “Tell me,” Yuri lifted his eyes toward the hull, “can you spray that Duraburn ProMax Plus all over me?”

“Why you want a thing like that?”

“Because,” Yuri smiled, “if my captain learned I’d blown seventeen hundred of his credits he’d burn me right to ash. But thanks for your time.”

“You’re makin’ a big mistake, son,” the salesman shook his head as he wandered off. “A big mistake…”

With a quiet chuckle, Yuri settled into the lawn chair, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, fingers of both hands twined upon his stomach. I wonder how much of this Abby puts up with? he mused.

Having caught the end of the sales pitch, an impressive one at that going by persistence alone, Imani chuckled as she approached the ship. With a smile, she walked up to its occupant she figured to be responsible for letting folks aboard the aircraft.

"Mighty fine way to start the day, staving off his services and whatnot." She eyeballed the man up and down, noting the cast on his arm. Looks like he did more than charge for admittance and then some. "Name's Imani, promise I'm not selling a thing," she held out her hand introducing herself. Politeness went a long way, especially when favors were needed. "I'm looking for a way off this rock, is that a possibility with you?"

Being a wanderer on and off, sometimes without choice, meant she knew what she was asking for.

“So you’re not selling anything?” the 1st mate smiled as he rose. “Then you just made my day already. Yuri,” he took her hand for an introductory shake. “Nice to meet you, Imani. And China Doll is definitely a way to get off Osiris, if Pelorum’s where you’re bound.”

"Trust my word, were I selling you sumthin, you'd be havin' a word with your captain," Imani smirked. "Pelorum sounds as good as any," she added, glancing past him at the China Doll. Not a bad one at all... "Standard fare I take it?" Imani reached for some coin tucked away in her bag's side pocket, her jacket inching back, partly displaying the black grip of her sidearm.

“Yes ma’am,” Yuri nodded. “That’ll get you a single berth. We do have a double left for an additional fee, if you like.” The sidearm’s grip did catch the corner of his eye, an observation the Mate felt no need to advertise as he addressed a potential customer. “I don’t have a hard departure time yet. Captain’s making arrangements, but it’s likely to be two or three days from now. You’re welcome to come aboard when you like, though.”

She was gathering her coin accordingly as Yuri explained the workings. "A single berth's all I need. I carry light, and the added luxury's not sumthin I'm seeking." Once she had enough, Imani reached out her hand with a smile, handing over her payment to him. "I sure do hope the food is up to standard. Last transport I spent half my time locked up and sick, tryna avoid that same now. Help a girl out here, am I safe or should I stock up prior to the China Doll's departure?"

Yuri accepted her coin, tucking it into his pocket before he set to work on a receipt. “I try not to exaggerate, so I feel at ease telling you that I think our cook’s a wonder.” His eyes rose to meet hers as he said, “the man knows how to use seasoning, and somehow he scrounges up some pretty amazing stuff for our table. I’d say you’re safe, Imani,” he shrugged, “but you’ll get a couple chances to conjure that for yourself before we break atmo.”

The stylus halted its’ movement. “Imani, can I have your last name for the manifest?”

"Well then, can't wait to meet this wondrous cook o' yours." Relief visibly washed over her face as she stole a quick glance towards the entrance once more. Looked like her first round pick was a winner, lucky her. "Name's Ozuka, Imani Ozuka. I-M-A-N-I O-Z-U-K-A. Sumtimes the good folk don' get it right," she shrugged, placing her hands on her hips as she watched Yuri secure her spot in the manifest. She'd at last be able to let her guard down for a little.

“Imani Ozuka,” Yuri repeated as he added her to the passenger manifest. Next, having completed her receipt, he offered the document. “That’s a nice name. Welcome aboard the China Doll.” He folded the clipboard beneath his cast as he gestured toward the cargo ramp. “Allow me to show you to your quarters?”

"Kindly appreciate that," she motioned with the receipt in hand before tucking it away out of sight. Yuri offered the subtle compliment and Imani smiled a little in response, looking up the cargo bay once a walk-through was up for grabs. "Please, show the way. Not my first rodeo onboard a Firefly but it be best I not walk into a stranger's room doin' whatever strangers do dockside." Her expression was vague; possibly a joke, possibly not.

“Yeah,” he chuckled as they crossed the empty cargo bay. “My last ship didn’t have locking doors. One mistake was all I needed.” He spent the next few minutes relaying the captain’s rules and the ‘go-no go’ places aboard the boat. “And here,” Yuri slid open a cabin door, “is your berth. Usually there’s a deckhand named Abby who looks after passengers, but she’s got a couple days off. ‘Til she’s back, If you need anything, you can find me, or Joe Hooker, the cook.”

There was something quite likable about this Imani Ozuka. She was obviously attractive, but it was the easy confidence in her demeanor that drew his interest. He had a feeling that such a nature came with a number of engaging stories. Hopefully there might be time for us to swap a few, he conjured. “Speaking of,” he pointed toward the stairway, “Hook’s got a coffee cake and fresh coffee up in the galley. Feel free to enjoy.”

"Sounds lovely, though I ain't one of them caffeine fiends looking to get their hands on that next fix." Imanie stepped through the hatch, glancing around her birthing which'd be home for the foreseeable future. "I much prefer a good plate at my disposal." Her tired shoulders were just about done. Imani set her rucksack down on the deck and turned to face him. "Well you're as nice as they come, and you've been of great help. I'll be seeing ya later, Yuri."

And with that, Imani was off to sleep away the insomnia from the previous night.

JP/Collab from @Xandrya and @sail3695

“Fifty pounds potatoes,” Yuri read off Hook’s galley requisition. “Fifty pounds rice. Protein paste, twelve one gallon tubs.” Sounds tasty, the Mate smirked. “Two cases Captain Bob’s Cola. One case Boom-Boom Lemon. Peanut butter…grape jelly.” At least Abby wouldn’t starve to death. Word was that the girl was sleeping in her quarters. After making a mental note to check on the young deckhand, Yuri resumed his study of the boat’s supply needs.

Cal had taken the mule for an errand, hence no ‘Captain’s Requisition.’ Aside from the usual fuel, water, and hydraulic fluid top offs, much of what he’d need for boat maintenance would be a two step process begun by foraging up parts from nearby scrap yards. And that mission wouldn’t be any fun at all without a willing deckhand and two good arms.

That left the medbay.

After stowing the lawn chair and rates board for the day, Yuri stepped aft through the cargo bay hatch. Lights shone in the infirmary windows as he stepped toward the open hatchway. “Hey, Dr. Lysanger,” Yuri tapped on the frame. “Need any medical supplies for the next run?”

She was caught off guard as she had been weighing the pros and cons of a couple of meds with quite a number of similarities. She hadn't told a soul, but she wasn't feeling right ever since the night before, and so Alana thought it best to treat herself and hopefully get the issue resolved. When she looked up, she noticed Yuri asking about supplies. The list...where was that list? "Uh, yes actually. Needing some things prior to the next trip," she added, pushing the chair back to stand and go look for the list. She was confident she knew where it was, and a moment later her hunch was confirmed. "And here we go. Do you need a hand? Got a bunch of jargon written here."

The doctor’s list was well organized and written in a precise hand. Each drug came with dosage strength, description regarding tablet, gel cap, or liquid, along with a full count. “I can read it all,” Yuri chuckled, “but pronunciation is another thing altogether. Care to walk me through it?”

Walking up next to Yuri, Alana pointed at the listed meds looking to be from some alien tongue. "Let's see. That's levetiracetam, lee-va-tye-ra-se-tam. Arguably the easiest one on the list." Her eyes then continued to read. "Ah, here we go. Ustekinumab, yoo-stek-in-yoo-mab." Alana smiled at Yuri for a moment. "Trust me, I was feeling some kind of way too learning these for the first time. Aaand last but not least," she pointed further down the list, "isavuconazonium, or eye-sa-vue-koe-na-zoe-nee-um...think you got all that or shall we do another run-through?" she studied him for a reaction.

Yuri met her gaze, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Phew!” he swiped a hand over his head with a quick laugh. “Hey, I might have a better idea. What say,” he patted the cast on his left arm, “we head out together for your supplies? Then, in addition to what you need, we might get in to have my arm rapid healed? This new life of double duty’s sort of tough to deal with one handed.”

Alana couldn't help but laugh a little from his response. So it seemed her lessons needed some work. Ah well, at least she was good enough for her main profession. "Fair enough," she added, pocketing the list for later, "I predict the presence of slight discomfort if you single-handedly carried back such a load." Alana tried and refrained from smiling. Looked like she was neither meant to be a comedian. "What do you say we get you down to the center first, then do the supply run later?"

“Done,” Yuri smiled happily. “Captain’s got the mule out right now. Once he’s back I’ll be good to go. In the meantime,” the mate cocked a thumb toward the open cargo bay door, “I’m due for another round of ‘flying the chair.’ Lee-va-tye…lee-va-tye-ra-se-tam?”

"Hey, repetition is key," she nodded, clearly amused by his attempts. “Find me when the captain is back and we'll be off."

---

Osiris, the central planet that he thought could be a home for him after a year of traveling the Verse. Next time when he thinks about settling on a central world. He should either punch himself in the face or have someone else do it. Why did he believe the Alliance propaganda about what it is like on a central world. Despite what his father told him. Though to be fair, he did not like to listen to his father anyway. Only when he had to did he listen, and here he is on Osiris. The amount of surveillance makes him feel like he was in prison. Almost making it impossible to find the time to hide his pistol on his person. No wonder why the Browncoats did not want this life. Either way, Yijun had his fill of Osiris and is now seeking better pastures.

Yijun has wearing his normal attire, a white shirt with a black jacket with black pants. Barely standing out among the crowd as he navigates his way to the Capital City Spaceport. Granted, there was another reason for him wanting to leave Osiris.

Last night, Yijun, while at a bar. He saw something he thought not see or actually someone he thought would have not seen. One of his father's old associates. Zhen Guanting a man in his early forties. Yijun knew his father had... friends on this world but after what happened a year ago. He was not sure if they would still be around, but it turns out at least one is, but more importantly. Zhen could recognize him and given the state of things since last year. Yijun does not want to wait and see if this.... friend of his father is still loyal or not.

Yijun does not think that Zhen had spotted him the night before he is not taking any chances. Occasionally looking behind him so as not to look suspicious to the cameras and if anyone was tailing him. Well, so far, no one is following him, or at least not that he can tell, and his father taught him well about this. He just has to get to the space before without another sighting, and he will be good.

Which between his thoughts of Zhen and the spaceport did a thought enter his head, but he quickly dismissed it. Now is not the time to be thinking about her, she is bound to be alright. She is smart and knows what she is doing. Or at least he hopes she knows what she is doing. Either way, Yijun had finally arrived at the spaceport and seeing it full of activity, now to find a ship that would be heading to his destination. Yijun checked his back one more time, and still no one tracking him and no familiar faces. Taking a deep breath, he walks further inside the spaceport, ready to leave this planet and fade among the populace. He is good at that, and hopefully, his next destination can be his new home. Hopefully, this time at least.