Aalakrys — Roleplayer Guild

JP - Wandering Wolf (Cal) & Aalakrys (Penelope)

The Eavesdown docks branched to a bustling central hub for the trading, restocking, and purchasing for all manner of equipment that might tickle the fancies of ship owners and crew alike. Cal was staring at a pair of thruster guards for the atmos before waving to the attendant. 

“These ones here, over to the China Doll in slip eight.”

“Deliverin’s ex-trah suh,” the man whistled through gapped teeth.

“Put it on Badger’s tab.” When the man’s eyes widened, Cal leaned in. “Or do you want to explain what’s hinderin’ his business to the man himself, mmm?”

The attendant scribbled the order and shouted out the back of the shop, “Sally! Get the mule. This sucker owes Badger. And what d’ we call a man owe’s Badger?”

“A dead man walkin’, pa!” The girl no older than fifteen appeared to ogle Cal.

“Oh yeah, real funny, sister.” Cal said, checking his list.

Sally, undeterred, began to croon:

“He’s a dead man walkin’
Got nuthin’ in his noggin’
Way Badger deals
Won’t see him agin!
Cuz he’s a dead man walkin’!”

“Oh, well you’re just a charmer ain’t you? Hey, you oughta get this one’s head looked at.” The attendant lifted the part to take out back, laughing the entire way.

“Qīn'ài de fú,” Cal said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the throng of buyers and sellers.

After meeting with his notorious benefactor, Cal felt a burning need to get everything buttoned up for the Doll to fly as far and fast as she could toward New Melbourne come nightfall. He shook his head; it was a frightful thing to be under Badger’s thumb, but with the state of things and the heat he’d taken on with his last job, the choices were dry up here on Persephone until the Alliance caught a whiff, or Badger. 

His list was almost complete, except for two items. The first was a piece of technobabble he needed to interface the ship with a bit of tech he picked up recently. The second was a stiff drink. 
Rounding the corner, Cal found a booth replete with scrap cables and consoles for steering the boat in deep space. “Howdy,” he began to noone in particular, “You ever hear of an ‘Epsilon adapter’? Kinda looks like a three-pronged hook what’s got your standard plug on the other end.”

There was something to be said about the noise and crowds of a busy port and those that walked it casual as could be after being in the quiet of the black for a good long stretch. Penelope lived for both, in a way. Nothin' like being amongst the stars, but it did good to stretch the legs on land and be jostled by the masses. At least, she thought so. Then again, she liked people. 

The ever-present soft smile on her face as she threaded her way through the crowd, thumbs tucked into the straps at her shoulders, just about said so as she breathed in the various blends of burn exhaust polluting the air all around. Most of it was clean burns, thanks to regulations, but here and there and old engines besides could never mistake that smell. Penelope was used to the jungle, that moist earthy heated aroma, but she liked Persephone all the same. It was the scent of adventure, she'd thought her first voyage out. And, she was always right. 

Between the hawkers peddling fights and peddlers hawking their wares, there was plenty to pull her this way and that. Mostly, the wares. She never saw the sense in bloodyin’ each other up over money, but she did see a mighty fine display of trinkets to turn anyone in mind for some fancying up. A finger reached to touch at her current earrings - as if trying to recall what she’d put on that cycle. Feathers - she grinned - the white speckled ones. Went well with the cozy outfit she was sporting: sleeveless brown knee-length tunic, white thigh leggings, and her beat up low-top green canvas shoes. Most of her belongings were similar - they never called for attention, but expressed an easy comfort in which they were. Fitting, Penelope’s sister Helen had often said when she declined anything not made of cloth or found items. That’s what her entire jewelry collection was - found items - so the glance she spared the display was merely for ideas, paying only the polite comment deserved before she moved along. 

She was just playing a bit of fancy in her own head about the dream of a ship - what she’d name it - when a snatch of conversation caught her ear related to her own musings. No sooner had Penelope wondered after the name China Doll - where that sort of name came from, what sort of captain would choose it - had she heard it. Or, she thought she heard it. 

Those hazel eyes of hers were scanning the area, trying to see where it’d come from, when she noted a pretty morbid sounding jingle, if that were what it were. Badger - she knew of him. Hells, almost got in a nasty spot because of him way back. O’Malley saved her time over again back then, she smiled, resolved to trust the man in regards to his opinion of the yet to be found China Doll. Not that she was lookin’ too hard. It was easy to get distracted round Eavesdown, and she liked taking it all in after a span in the black. 

It’d probably be best to find the ship’s slip and square away travelin’ arrangements, she knew. And so she was resolved to do that first when she heard a man callin’ out about somethin’ she knew a little bit about. She wasn’t no peddler and she sure didn’t have no booth, but she knew that the prices for some parts ‘round here … well, they weren’t exactly reasonable when compared to the quality at other places. O’Malley taught her that. Now, she wasn’t much a meddler, not really - but she did figure sometimes people were in the right place at the right time to do the right thing. And it just so happened she knew exactly what an Epsilon adapter was and what it was good for and what could work better and what could work worse - prices all depending. It didn’t hurt her any to go have a listen in… Just for a minute anyway.

“Now, I told you already, I ain’t interested in your inverters, or switches, nor toggles. I don’t need any waive screens or pressure readers! Hell, put that Alliance salvage down. I’d have to be moonbrained to put that lā shǐ in my boat.” Cal was beginning to raise his voice at the man who was being all sort of unhelpful in the name of ‘bundling costs.’ 

“Let me spell it out for you, since you seem to be hard of hearing: Ep-sil-on. Got a plug what looks like my mother’s crooked paw, and you’re liable to get one upside your head if you don’t quit wasting my time. Fú ràng wǒ miǎn yú shā sǐ zhège shǎguā.” Strand shook his head, glancing at the sky. Badger’s men would be by at nightfall, and he’d better be ready.

“Lissun, suh, yew seem like a man who knows ah deal when ‘e sees ’un. This heeyuh Epsohlawn adaptah requiahs ah pro-standahd convuhtah in ordah to reach optimum throughput; anybody will tell yuh the same! I’ll cutcha a deal on thah convuhtah at twenty-five pahcent off if yew gotcher eye on the Epsohlawn, but it won’t last!” The rotund man behind the counter had one hand on the converter, the other brandishing the Epsilon adapter, a single monocle held fast between his furrowed brow and healthy cheek folds. 

Cal’s hand went to his hip, thumb unbuttoning the strap on his firearm before thinking better of it. Instead, he raised both hands in defeat.

"A pretty fancy converter, I bet, for such a generous discount." The words had left Penelope's lips before she realized, the amusement in her eyes still shining through though she had sense to place a polite set of fingers gently to her lips all the same as she glanced at the irate customer. 

The peddler seemed to regather his stamina that momentarily lapsed at the sudden disbelieving interruption, bushy brows knitting back down as he decided to ignore the unwanted intruder. What he said just made her smile the bigger: "Can' be takin' tha 'pinion ov a wuhman that done look tah know nuthin' 'bout finer parts, suh. Those hans ov hers ain' got narry a'scratch."

Penelope dropped that delicate hand of hers to show her full smile hidden behind it. She too addressed the customer. "I didn't mean to go droppin' no eaves on your conversation, sir, but I do haveta say that these hands of mine ain't scratched 'cause I'd be doin' somethin' awful wrong if they were in my line ah work and - though I ain't one for braggin' - I'd like to say I'ma decent enough pilot to know ya don't need no convert for an Epsilon 'less you plan on powerin' somethin' mighty big through it. An' I ain't seen a cruiser docked anywhere, so I'd guess ya wouldn't."

Cal glanced at the newcomer, a slight woman, about a foot shorter than he stood, but it was something about her tone that caught him off guard. She looked the picture of comfortable in her skin, and as the booth man hawed, the woman fired right back, vim brimming behind that smile of hers. In the silence that followed her revelation, Cal considered quietly, eye moving between the attendant, the firecracker, and the part in question.

“You know, ‘suh,’” Cal began, “if you’re gonna try to rob a man blind, best do it with a more convincing bit of kit. This ‘wuhman’ here can see right through your fèihuà, just like I can see that Alliance issue black box you got back there bold as brass. It’d be a shame if a Purple Belly happened by because o’ hollerin’.”

“Hol’ on juss a minit thar-” The man raised the Epsilon adapter into the air, dropping the all-important pro-standard converter into the trash heap he’d fished it out of. 

“What’s this now I’m hearing?” He turned to his fortuitous companion with a hand cupped around his ear, “Is that an Alliance scanner?” Cal arched a brow and cracked a smirk as the attendant began to change color.

The flustered shopkeep apparently hadn't bargained for anyone having the know-how on the part coming along in the middle of his attempted scam, but he surely hadn't expected to be put out as far as this. Beings the soft-heart she was, Penelope felt for him being all fearful now, even with his derogatory comment about her being a woman and all. "Aw, shucks, no need to go foolin' with him that far, sir. After all, he offered you a real nice discount on that converter."

It wasn't lost on her that the deal had been part of two, but that was before the man had been called out. It only seemed fair that the man beside him pay the actual price. She gave him a grin. "For your troubles and all."

“A softy, huh?” he commented of the woman, before returning to the attendant, “Well, consider today a lucky one as I’ll happily take the Epsilon off your hands at full price, then leave you to your business.” Cal extended a purse of coin to the man, jingling it between thumb and forefinger.

The shopkeep swiped at the bag, dropping the Epsilon adapter in Strand’s open palm. “Pleasure doin’ business,” Cal called. The attendant only huffed and turned his back to the pair. Pivoting where he stood, Captain Strand pocketed the gadget inside his duster, “What sort of boat you fly, there?” he asked nonchalantly of the stranger beside him.

Once the customer seemed to be concluding the business at hand, Penelope was ready to move off on her way. Just as she turned to mosey along in her usual easy stride, thumbs back tucked under the straps of her rucksack, the man caught her midstep. "Oh, I've sailed all sorts, but my latest was that smokin' ol Komodo in slip 19." 

She angled her head in that direction. There were still remnants of the aforementioned smoke, but the crew at the docks had stifled the cause in a frenzy. "One of the first of its type, been through it here and back, with the war an’ all the decommissioned parts coming off… Poor girl, bound for the scrap heap now.”

A wistful sigh was spared before she turned her eyes back on the inquisitive man, then to the part he now had on hand. “What sort are you flyin’ - needin’ an Epsilon converter for its dash?”

“Firefly, third class. Saw its way through the war, too, even flew it myself for a stretch durin’ the time.” He patted the pocket where the Epsilon adapter rested, “This kit is more of an ‘after market’ modification I’m workin’ on--pet project.” His eyes followed her gaze in the direction of the horizon. Seemed she had some fond feelings for the old boat. And she was out a job...

“That’s a decent sized ship.” He shook his head in mutual understanding, fishing inside his jacket to retrieve a silver case. “When a bird like that breaks atmo, do you rely on the main fore engines, or opt for a chandelle to cut speed?” His fingers deftly flipped open the case retrieving a single cigarette, a match book appearing in the other. As the match flared, Cal’s eyes took a second look at those hands the attendant had commented on. Carefully caliced around the thumb knuckles, soft pad, strong wrist. Following north, he noted a bright orange tendril of hair woven in at her crown, the speckled feather earring dangling beneath. Releasing two jets of smoke from his nostrils, Strand rested a hand on his hip, gauging the woman’s response.

Question and conversation was always welcome to Penelope, so much so that she learned at a young age most people didn't hanker for a chat and she'd dismiss herself before making them annoyed or uncomfortable. Easy breezy and no sweat off her shoulder. It was a skill, reading social cues, and she knew now that the man before her wasn't ready for her to get gone just yet. 

In fact, from the look, she was being measured up with a test. A good one too, and he had a Firefly… she smiled, easily letting her true feelings for her answer show in her bright eyes. "Can't go lumpin' her in with all her family, 'ship like that'un. She's pretty hard out, and needed a good ease." 

She let a soft chuckle escape, with a small shake of her head so the feathers hinted a tickle at her shoulders just so. "What I mean is, I let the bird tell me how she's gonna handle the flight. Feel it in the way she gives or pushes back. Old Bertha needed a little more than a gentle push in, on this last break, and I had to glide her down till I could use the last bit of push she had to land her as pretty as possible in the shape she was in."

With that she gave a bit of a small shrug, not bothered by the smoke from the man's cigarette enough to wave it away out in open as they were. She left her answer with a final easy bit of fun, smile spreading as she said: "I like to spare a girl integrity of her hull when I can, leave her lookin' all pretty, even if it's just for a trip to the scrap heap. Girls can care about that sorta thing, ya know."

Cal nodded, taking another drag from his cigarette. The Captain seemed to have made his mind up about something, by the way he squared with Penelope. “And you? Headed for the scrap heap, too, or back to the black on another boat?” With one hand, Strand nudged the brim of his hat to widen his view, before meeting the woman’s eyes.

Never one to be unnerved by a steady gaze, Penelope's demeanor didn't waiver. Her naturally wide eyes creased into a smile. "Well, I reckon I ain't near ready to be hauled off with the scrap, no matter how akin I've grown to it. Suppose you're the captain of China Doll, the bird I was huntin' down for a ride to Red Sun."

It wasn't a question, since he'd already said he had a Firefly, and she was one who believed in happy happenstance, so she bet her buttons he was the one she was lookin' for. 

“Is that right?” He considered for a moment. “That I am. Cal Strand,” he offered his hand to shake. “Now, you could book passage with us to Red Sun, or… You could fly us there, an’ maybe then some. Last pilot preferred greener pastures and that’s left us in a bit of a spot. I got a job needs doin’ and a pilot’s seat needs fillin’. Could work out for the both of us, if you’re keen.”

Penelope took the offered hand to shake, her other falling to her hip as if by fluidity more than purpose. "Well, don't that sound just mighty fine, Cap'n Cal."

Her hand fell at the conclusion of the greeting, crooked smile now residing. "Reckon I'd have to tell ya I ain't never flown a Firefly, but that's a hankerin' I can't deny. If'n you'll have me, knowing that, we can both test the waters to see how we feel when we get to Red Sun. Can't rightly hold a man to a bargain till he's seen how I fly his bird."

“Shiny. If you’ve flown that old Komodo, a little Firefly transport shouldn’t buck you much. I’ll take you through upthrust, and we go from there.” Cal tucked his hat back around his ears. “China Doll’s in slip eight down dockside. Should be a deckhand called Abby there with all the particulars; pay’s standard, bunks near the cockpit. I got some more stops to make ‘fore I’ll meet you there, but we’re skids up at nightfall. Couple men should be fixin’ up the old bird as we speak.”

"All that sounds just real nice, it does." Hands returned to the straps, ready to head off but not quite steppin' yet. First thing's first, an' he'd given his name, so it was her turn now that he was willing to give her a chance at the helm. "Name's Penelope Randell. I'll mosey that way then…"

She'd started to turn with her words, but she shifted back real quick so her pack would've swung wide if she hadn't been holding the straps again. "I get a bunk to myself, for true? Only, I've seen Firefly, been in one one time 'fore I was flyin', and they have real nice bunks near the cockpit."

If she felt the question was odd, she wasn't showing on her one bit. Only open, amiable curiosity - it'd be nice to have uninterrupted sleep for once, after all. Been a long stretch since she had a bunk to herself. In an enclosed area. An area that was hers.

That made Cal chuckle, “For true, Penelope Randell, bunk’s all yours. ‘Less you prefer sharin’ it with someone or the cargo hold, and it’s a mite drafty in there.” He held the cigarette between his index and middle finger. 

"Nah, I think I've done enough open-air and sharing to set me up to appreciate silence for some time to come." Penelope grinned, feeling mighty thankful for the recent stroke of luck that blew her way. "I'll take this wind a' ways down to the slip and poke around some, bein's I got the captain's permission?"

“Aye, go get acquainted with the bird; pilot seat’s yours. I’ll meet you in the co-pilot chair for take off, then we’ll see what you can do.” Penelope was young, but he could tell she had spunk. If he were honest, she reminded him of himself after he left for the core planets to make a name in this wide verse.

"Sounds like a plan, Cap'n. I'll see ya there." She gave Cal Strand a nod, eyes giving a quick assessment of her own in that moment and deciding she would be glad to give it an honest go. Plus, the best part of it all, a Firefly! The thought would tickle her pink if she was still a giddy girl, but instead she merely went with a smile as she strolled towards her next adventure.

Strand watched his new pilot chart the course to the China Doll. Himself? He had a mighty need for some whiskey before stepping off Persephone by the skin of his teeth.

There was something to way the engine had sighed when Penelope guided Old Bertha to her final port that told her all she needed to hear. ‘Fore the captain even came round to deliver the news, he found the plucky pilot gently caressing the console, giving all the soft utterances needed to the ease the passing of the ship’s final moments. 

“Reckon it ain’t a good sign to see the pilot sayin’ last rites.” The weathered old man, Captain O’Malley, said with a thoughtful rub to his grisly beard. “Shoulda known the way entry went that it’dta be my last flight.”

Penelope turned her hazel eyes up at that with a final pat to the dash, surprise at hearing he too was retiring from the black. “Say it ain’t so, captain. You got plenty’a courses yet to chart.”

“Oh, girl, it’s better to not get a scoldin’ for pushin’ Bertha on this last leg, but I can’t say your sweetness doesn’t jab the heart just so.” O’Malley gave a soft chuckle. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout it plenty. Was hopin’ to let ya know when we touched down back home, but… maybe this place’d be for the best.”

“For the best? I never took ya for a city man, Cap’n.” She grinned then, but the sudden shout from down the hatch cut her short. O’Malley sighed as he looked down the way. “What’s riled up down there? I did my best to keep her steady, I did.”

“An’ a fine job ya did, Pen. Better make the announcement ‘fore Dev stirs the nest.” The captain moved over to the side of the control panel, lifting the transceiver from its cradle while his pilot slipped out of the way with one last look at Old Bertha’s dash. As she made her way to her bunk, she heard his gravelly voice come over the speakers, crackling with static: “Y’all might’ve guessed with the rough entry, trailin’ smoke a mile on long, and this here electrical situation goin’ on that Persephone is the last port Old Bertha is ever gonna make, so ... I’m havin’ to make decisions a lot sooner than I hoped. It ain’t the way I’d like it ta go, but it seems this is a split for us all. We did a lotta good work, an’ once the payload is in, your cut’ll show. Persephone has more than enough ways to make a man, but if’n you’re hankerin’ to head home like planned, I’ll pay for a trip into Red Sun so’s it won’t take none of yours. Ain’t got much else to say ‘cept it’s been a good run. I’ve got some arrangements to make for the ol’ girl, and cargo to offload, then we’ll say goodbye proper.”

While the captain had gone on, Penelope made it to her bunk and saw to making sure she had gotten all her things. There was some amount of bittersweetness here, having to take down her personals from the wall, knowing she wouldn’t see the crew again for who knows if ever. It wasn’t like they were all a family - O’Malley took her on when he found her stowed away with the cargo, determination set that she had to trade out what she brought. They had a few runs, but only a few. Dev was a merc that stayed on too long, and run’d his mouth too much, causin’ trouble for the fun of it. And she didn’t like the way he looked at the women they took on as passengers, but he never did nothin’ untoward, so at least there was that. 

With a sigh, she stared at the grey metal, reached out to touch a spot of rust. “Poor ol’ girl. I hope they treat ya real nice, and maybe a piece of ya will touch the black again. I hear Persephone is real good at metal works. Hey, maybe you’ll be part of one of them fancy trains. Ain’t never imagined it, did ya?”

She grinned, considering how maybe it would be nice to try something different out. With her personal keepsakes all bound up, she tied it to a tattered and well-loved copy of her favorite book (Treasure Island), then stuffed it all in the front pouch of her rucksack.She took her clothes and folded them real tight, pushing them down to the bottom of the inner bag, then placed her box of earrings on top. This wasn’t home, not at all. A bunk shared out in the open with the passengers left her feelin’ safer than bolted down in the crew quarters, but the passengers came and went. And crew didn’t last long with Dev around. Maybe, she smiled again, her next adventure would fill in those missin’ pieces.

Canvas rucksack strapped over her shoulders, she waved one last goodbye to the captain after he handed her the credits for the mission he’d collected. He’d told her about a ship he heard was charting back to Red Sun, looking for all sorts. With the fare she tried to refuse on her person, and a last look at Old Bertha, she made her way to find the China Doll.

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