And thank you Kuro, writing with Idle is always a wonderful time!
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Justric, Derren - wonderful posts all around and yes Lil, there just might be a date in Penny's future, imminently!
And thank you Kuro, writing with Idle is always a wonderful time!
And thank you Kuro, writing with Idle is always a wonderful time!
There's absolutely no hurry to reply Jiskastya, take care of your poor head and write when you can!
*thoughtful chintap* Honestly Lil, I have no opinion one way or the other, and would be more than happy to roll with either. My character, however, is far more likely to carry an axe than a bow or a gun either way, so it may not matter all too terribly much either way
Pauline's smile never slipped, and not even once did she give in to the curious furrow of her brow that wanted to quirk just so as Jack Pumphrey spoke. Instead, she deliberately practiced the virtue of patience - one that her quick-thinking mind most lacked - and simply waited the space of a heartbeat while she listened. A hearbeat, a second or two, just long enough to string together the unfamiliar phrases and inflections, the mixtures of words familiar and, as spoken by Jack, utterly and completely foreign.
For Pauline, indulging in that heartbeat, it became something of a game really, piecing this strangely delightful translation together in her thoughts. Besides, Mr. Pumphrey did not seem to be in any particular hurry - quite the opposite actually. So why should she be in such a rush?
"Newfoundland?" The young woman let her arms fall before her, the tablet held in the fingers of both hands as she tried her very best to dredge up the Geography 101 compulsory course she'd been forced to take. When it came to numbers, equations and the physics of matter and motion, Pauline was in her natural element. But in truth, the nuances of the long march of humanity through time and space had never been her strong suit.
She chewed her lip softly for another moment before her face suddenly lit with joy. "Canada! Oh, you're Canadian then?" Pauline was inordinately proud of her recollection, and beamed happily. All her life, and living in Wyoming after all, she had yet to meet a Canadian quite like Jack Pumphrey - but there was always room in her world for the new or strange or wondrous.
Pauline fought the urge to play with the crucifix on her necklace that Jack pointed out, her smile thanking him for the pretty compliment before he moved right on into his own namesake. Saint John? Few people outside the Catholic church referred to the apostle or the prophet as such, and she wondered if, perhaps, Mr. Pumphrey might be among her co-religionists. But since he did not elaborate, she could only guess he might not wish to go on in that vein. Lapsed Catholics were not exactly uncommon when the Earth was whole and healthy. Here aboard the Copernicus, a mere speck of humanity in the vast, cold darkness of space? Well, if the malaise of the Second Shift was anything to go by, faith and hope in the ultimate goodness of the Divine was not exactly overflowing and abundant.
"And for whatever it's worth, you can just keep... Talking... Talking the cat off the fish truck? That would be perfectly fine with me because yes, 'Saint Jack,'" she teased with a wide smile of her own. "Born and bred in Wyoming, and lived there all my life. My father worked at the Mountain and, I'm afraid, there's nothing else terribly interesting to be said about me." And in that moment, Pauline's words were as sincere as they could be.
She turned her head just so then, catching sight of the silver winking at Jack's own throat. No, not a crucifix surely, but something else entirely that caught the reflection of the florescent lights above. "What is that, if I may ask, that you have on your chain? Is it something from Newfoundland, or is it entirely special to Petty Cove Harbor?"
For Pauline, indulging in that heartbeat, it became something of a game really, piecing this strangely delightful translation together in her thoughts. Besides, Mr. Pumphrey did not seem to be in any particular hurry - quite the opposite actually. So why should she be in such a rush?
"Newfoundland?" The young woman let her arms fall before her, the tablet held in the fingers of both hands as she tried her very best to dredge up the Geography 101 compulsory course she'd been forced to take. When it came to numbers, equations and the physics of matter and motion, Pauline was in her natural element. But in truth, the nuances of the long march of humanity through time and space had never been her strong suit.
She chewed her lip softly for another moment before her face suddenly lit with joy. "Canada! Oh, you're Canadian then?" Pauline was inordinately proud of her recollection, and beamed happily. All her life, and living in Wyoming after all, she had yet to meet a Canadian quite like Jack Pumphrey - but there was always room in her world for the new or strange or wondrous.
Pauline fought the urge to play with the crucifix on her necklace that Jack pointed out, her smile thanking him for the pretty compliment before he moved right on into his own namesake. Saint John? Few people outside the Catholic church referred to the apostle or the prophet as such, and she wondered if, perhaps, Mr. Pumphrey might be among her co-religionists. But since he did not elaborate, she could only guess he might not wish to go on in that vein. Lapsed Catholics were not exactly uncommon when the Earth was whole and healthy. Here aboard the Copernicus, a mere speck of humanity in the vast, cold darkness of space? Well, if the malaise of the Second Shift was anything to go by, faith and hope in the ultimate goodness of the Divine was not exactly overflowing and abundant.
"And for whatever it's worth, you can just keep... Talking... Talking the cat off the fish truck? That would be perfectly fine with me because yes, 'Saint Jack,'" she teased with a wide smile of her own. "Born and bred in Wyoming, and lived there all my life. My father worked at the Mountain and, I'm afraid, there's nothing else terribly interesting to be said about me." And in that moment, Pauline's words were as sincere as they could be.
She turned her head just so then, catching sight of the silver winking at Jack's own throat. No, not a crucifix surely, but something else entirely that caught the reflection of the florescent lights above. "What is that, if I may ask, that you have on your chain? Is it something from Newfoundland, or is it entirely special to Petty Cove Harbor?"
"Please don't run Ethan." Bree folded her arms as she leaned over the railing beside the green-eyed man, her own gaze falling over the bucolic beachside view. Truly she took in precious little of the otherwise lovely scene before her, beyond the irony that here, where her strange, impossible search finally ended, there were so many happy families on these dark sands, so many laughing children and sweet young smiles.
This place, this beach, was pretty much the very last location in the world Bree imagined she'd find Ethan again - if she ever found him, of course. But for the long stretches of beach, Bree did not care for Atlantic City in the least. Everything glittered and shone and begged for attention with sweet smiles and music, bells and flashing lights - but only ever on the surface. She could think of little else but the layers of vibrant cosmetics caked on an old whore, or a lovely, masterfully rendered vintage movie poster plastered over layers of ancient, torn bills and crumbling plaster walls. Every last thing was for sale it seemed, the sole reason this place existed, and Bree had never been enamored with the vice of gambling.
From the beginning, this search had not been much more than a half-assed wild hunch, not even worthy of the name "plan." The FBI had no way to find him, little Jacob. No leads, no tips, no evidence pointing any which way from analysis of the envelope or the thumb drive or the video it contained.
'Ethan... ' That name began as a soft whisper in the back of her mind, easy to ignore and push away for a time when she finally stumbled from the office bathroom. But by dinner time, it was a full-blown drumbeat through her skull, ceaseless, relentless in its march through the battered halls of her brain with a racking, thumping pain that had her burying her head in her hands.
Only when she was decided, irrevocably, to leave Richmond, to search for Ethan this very minute, did the agony suddenly and simply... End.
Bree tried the more conventional methods of finding him first, via identification and credit card and bank transactions. Unsurprisingly, "Ethan Sampson" played out pretty quickly, and had simply fallen off the radar soon after Ethan was swallowed up by the great wide world all over again. She had never believed he had given her his true identity of course, but at the time she had been content to let the charade go - not that it helped her efforts to find the green-eyed man today though.
She had closed her eyes with the frustration, stood from her desk with her head bowed with defeat - and that was when her own voice rang through her head. 'Drive. Get in your car right now, and drive.'
And she did. There was no sense, no rhyme or reason to her drive. Only hunches about where she ought to turn off, what exits she should take. There was only intuition and her own inner voice, whispering which highways would take her where she needed to travel, which streets she should stroll to get her to the best vantage point.
What she was doing made absolutely no damned sense in the least.
No matter. She found him. Somehow, she always found him. Bree had no name for the connection that seemed to bind her and Ethan. She saw no numbers in her head - hell, she'd been lucky to [barely] pass College Algebra. And yet here she was on this boardwalk, an impossible thing that, in truth, seemed damn near inevitable if she thought on it long enough.
"I'm not here to arrest you, or harass you," Bree said softly, her grey-eyed gaze torn with some effort from the ocean to the man beside her. "The reason I'm here isn't about you or me at all."
Slowly, one hand reached to the inside pocket of her jean jacket, as if Ethan were some nervous deer she might scare away if she moved too quickly and frightened him away.
"Go on. Take it. His name is Jacob Gianetti." A little boy with laughing dark eyes peered up from the photograph, an impish little grin on his wide, freckled face. "He's four years old, and his big sister is already dead."
"I don't know how this works, these numbers you see in your head. But I need to know if there is a chance, any chance at all, that he is still alive - and if there is the remotest possibility you can tell me where he is right now."
This place, this beach, was pretty much the very last location in the world Bree imagined she'd find Ethan again - if she ever found him, of course. But for the long stretches of beach, Bree did not care for Atlantic City in the least. Everything glittered and shone and begged for attention with sweet smiles and music, bells and flashing lights - but only ever on the surface. She could think of little else but the layers of vibrant cosmetics caked on an old whore, or a lovely, masterfully rendered vintage movie poster plastered over layers of ancient, torn bills and crumbling plaster walls. Every last thing was for sale it seemed, the sole reason this place existed, and Bree had never been enamored with the vice of gambling.
From the beginning, this search had not been much more than a half-assed wild hunch, not even worthy of the name "plan." The FBI had no way to find him, little Jacob. No leads, no tips, no evidence pointing any which way from analysis of the envelope or the thumb drive or the video it contained.
'Ethan... ' That name began as a soft whisper in the back of her mind, easy to ignore and push away for a time when she finally stumbled from the office bathroom. But by dinner time, it was a full-blown drumbeat through her skull, ceaseless, relentless in its march through the battered halls of her brain with a racking, thumping pain that had her burying her head in her hands.
Only when she was decided, irrevocably, to leave Richmond, to search for Ethan this very minute, did the agony suddenly and simply... End.
Bree tried the more conventional methods of finding him first, via identification and credit card and bank transactions. Unsurprisingly, "Ethan Sampson" played out pretty quickly, and had simply fallen off the radar soon after Ethan was swallowed up by the great wide world all over again. She had never believed he had given her his true identity of course, but at the time she had been content to let the charade go - not that it helped her efforts to find the green-eyed man today though.
She had closed her eyes with the frustration, stood from her desk with her head bowed with defeat - and that was when her own voice rang through her head. 'Drive. Get in your car right now, and drive.'
And she did. There was no sense, no rhyme or reason to her drive. Only hunches about where she ought to turn off, what exits she should take. There was only intuition and her own inner voice, whispering which highways would take her where she needed to travel, which streets she should stroll to get her to the best vantage point.
What she was doing made absolutely no damned sense in the least.
No matter. She found him. Somehow, she always found him. Bree had no name for the connection that seemed to bind her and Ethan. She saw no numbers in her head - hell, she'd been lucky to [barely] pass College Algebra. And yet here she was on this boardwalk, an impossible thing that, in truth, seemed damn near inevitable if she thought on it long enough.
"I'm not here to arrest you, or harass you," Bree said softly, her grey-eyed gaze torn with some effort from the ocean to the man beside her. "The reason I'm here isn't about you or me at all."
Slowly, one hand reached to the inside pocket of her jean jacket, as if Ethan were some nervous deer she might scare away if she moved too quickly and frightened him away.
"Go on. Take it. His name is Jacob Gianetti." A little boy with laughing dark eyes peered up from the photograph, an impish little grin on his wide, freckled face. "He's four years old, and his big sister is already dead."
"I don't know how this works, these numbers you see in your head. But I need to know if there is a chance, any chance at all, that he is still alive - and if there is the remotest possibility you can tell me where he is right now."
So good to see more character sheets! I was actually waiting for yours Kraft, before I fleshed out mine a bit further with Petya. I'll go ahead and edit in just a bit 
eta: edits done, and so glad you liked that bit there with Oskar, Lil! It just seemed right to me, and helped make yet another connection in Adishi.
eta: edits done, and so glad you liked that bit there with Oskar, Lil! It just seemed right to me, and helped make yet another connection in Adishi.
((Collaboration with Idlehands and Igraine))
Owen Reece watched Pauline go and once the door was shut he turned back to Abby, meeting her deep blue eyes. He cleared his throat and said, "Negligent homicide. Negligent. With explosives. That has me a little concerned, to say the least. I've only spoken with her once and my impression is she's a bit unstable."
He pulled out the tablet and tapped it, "She killed her brother by accident. That shit's got to weigh heavy on her shoulders, how do we know she's mentally fit to do this job?"
"I know she's up for the job, because of the one she did before the Copernicus launched," Abby replied steadily as she settled herself into one of the freshly cleaned office chairs. One booted foot hiked up over a knee, she smiled up into those stunning grey eyes, even as she settled back with an exhausted sigh. Abby was not frustrated with Reece - not in the least. None of this was his fault. On paper, the information he'd been given was certainly concerning - hell, shocking really - even if he should never have had access to Deli's police record in the first place. Hell, she'd be most ill-pleased herself, to wake up to this news and, over all, Reece was really handling the news as well as anyone could expect.
But that didn't make the fires she had to put out in different places on the Copernicus any easier.
"Yes, I imagine her brother's death does weight heavily on her. She'd have to be a sociopath otherwise, and while Deli strikes me as impulsive and easily distracted? The last thing I see is a young woman without a conscience - not that being capable of normal human emotion qualifies her to be on your crew. I get that, Reece."
Abby's fingers flew quickly over her own tablet, pulling up pre-launch files complete with some hazy photographs, dimmed by the sulfurous, poisonous atmosphere brought in the wake of the Kind. "Deli was on the team that helped blow The Mountain." She leaned over her bent leg to hand him her tablet. "A civilian, true, but she still hooked up with our military EOD personnel, Sergeant Harrigan and a few other people you might know. By all accounts, her work was exemplary, and she's more than able to work on a team. Well, to military standards of teamwork?" Abby laughed with a small snort, shaking her head.
"Of course not! But it's fair to say that without Deli and her expertise, we might still be grounded on a dead, poisoned Earth."
He listened and the memory of his own fuck up crept to his mind. His call, his decision to push his chopper too close to a hot landing zone where the wounded were waiting for extraction. Reece knew it was foolish bravado and overconfidence that had made him do it, he was certain he had more skill than the enemy had bullets but he was wrong. Two good friends died because he was wrong and he bore their names on his sleeve covered bicep. Running a hand over his shaggy hair he sighed through his nose.
"I suppose she deserves a chance," he finally said after flipping through the information on Abby's tablet. "She did well on that mission, so she can work under pressure. It's not like we have a surplus of explosives experts aboard the ship either."
Reece handed the tablet back and crossed his arms across his broad chest, "She'll worry me until I see her in action but I'm not a complete asshole, I'll let her prove herself. We all gotta do that anyway, earn the trust of one another and make a cohesive team. I know Bill and he knows me, Conner's growing on me, goofy hair and all. Deli will make it or she won't, time will just tell."
He shifted in his chair, "Now about the girl that was here, Pauline. I've allowed her a place to help out with the training programs, it's a vital bit of work that needs to be kept up. I don't know if it's my place to ask, it ain't really my nature to pry but since she's here, I'd probably better know. Why is she awake?"
"Reece, the very last thing in the world I'd ever call you is a 'complete asshole.' Partial asshole? Mmm... Maybe. But it's not like you wouldn't be in good company." Abby shrugged her shoulders, a sly wink and an impish grin trying to tease away the dark cloud that momentarily crept over his solid, rugged features. She was a combat veteran too, and had seen her own share of fucked up shit; vile, heinous shit that would stick with her to the day she died. Abby had a good idea of the darkness that was creeping through Reece's thoughts as he considered Deli's future.
Still, Reece's agreement - no matter how reluctant - set free a small, soundless sigh of relief as she took her tablet back.
"Thank you. Really, thank you. A chance is the best she could ask for." Abby's deep blue eyes roamed over Reece's handsome but care worn face as he spoke of his team, building that essential trust. This was a good man sitting beside her. A damn good man, no matter how shady the circumstances of when they first met - and a damn good leader too, no matter the monstrous burden of guilt he'd likely shoulder to his grave.
She wasn't entirely prepared for the conversation to turn to Pauline, though she probably should have been. Abby's grin faded as she took a deep breath, nodding her head slowly.
'Fuck.'
But he had to know. As her supervisor, he really needed to know about something like this, for the young woman's sake if nothing else - and Abby trusted Reece. She trusted and respected his judgment like she did few others, no matter his own, deep-seated doubts on that matter.
"Pauline is awake because she's pregnant, Reece," she began matter-of-factly enough before her gaze found his and held it for some moments. "From the briefing this morning, the murders on the Second Shift - do you remember mention of a lone survivor?"
Abby nodded deliberately, her gaze turned meaningfully toward the office door Pauline exited only minutes ago.
Reece breathed out slowly, lowering himself to lean his elbows on his thighs, his hands loosely clasped. "She's her then? Goddamn."
His jaw clenched under his salt and pepper beard. The crime was disgusting and cruel and he was glad the man was dead. That sweet bright girl had been attacked in such a way made him sick but the fact she had survived and fought her way out of nearly literal dead sleep was impressive. She must have an iron spine under the pretty package and his hands rubbed together slowly, glancing at Abby, "And she kept it? That's a hell of a thing."
Owen Reece said no more, what was there to say? The girl had been through hell and what was worse, it was probably going to become known. He pushed himself upright and stood up. "Well, it'll be her business, I won't say anything to her about it if I can help it. But if anything...You know if she needs any accommodations because of her condition, I hope she won't hesitate to ask."
"Got any other bombs for me, Abby?" he grumbled, before flicking his glance at her, "Does the crew know about my time or Bill's?"
Abby let the growl and grouse in Reece's voice pass without so much as a lift of her eyebrow. By this point he had every damned right to be more than a little pissed. All told, he was handling everything pretty well and finally - at least once during this whole conversation - Abby had a reason to give him a little news that resembled "good."
"No Reece, that I do know at the least. Unless you tell them, no one among the crew knows about your record, or Bill's." Abby left off her suspicion that if Reece and Bill weren't already scheduled to come work for Third Shift, under General Lahan's watch, they likely would have been anyway. But this was only speculation on her part anyway; there was no proof, and Reece was already about as angry as she'd ever care to see him.
"So no, no more bombs - not from me at least." Abby regretted the fact she'd only had a pile of shit to lay in Reece's lap. He didn't deserve all this extra stress, just opposite the end of the world. Not in the least.
But it seemed there was a lot of that going around.
"And honestly Reece? I'm glad Pauline wound up down here with you and Connor and Bill, and even Deli. I can't say what accommodations she'll need down the road, beyond clothes a few sizes larger in a few months here, but I'd hope she'd speak up if she needed anything. Yes, she's keeping that baby - and she's got to know she won't be able to keep that 'her business' forever."
Abby rose to her feet, smiling tenderly as she lay a hand gently on Reece's thickly muscled shoulder. "I don't give a good damn what anything looks like 'on paper.' There isn't a better, safer place for that young woman on the Copernicus, than here in Hangar Six, among some of the very best people I know."
Owen Reece watched Pauline go and once the door was shut he turned back to Abby, meeting her deep blue eyes. He cleared his throat and said, "Negligent homicide. Negligent. With explosives. That has me a little concerned, to say the least. I've only spoken with her once and my impression is she's a bit unstable."
He pulled out the tablet and tapped it, "She killed her brother by accident. That shit's got to weigh heavy on her shoulders, how do we know she's mentally fit to do this job?"
"I know she's up for the job, because of the one she did before the Copernicus launched," Abby replied steadily as she settled herself into one of the freshly cleaned office chairs. One booted foot hiked up over a knee, she smiled up into those stunning grey eyes, even as she settled back with an exhausted sigh. Abby was not frustrated with Reece - not in the least. None of this was his fault. On paper, the information he'd been given was certainly concerning - hell, shocking really - even if he should never have had access to Deli's police record in the first place. Hell, she'd be most ill-pleased herself, to wake up to this news and, over all, Reece was really handling the news as well as anyone could expect.
But that didn't make the fires she had to put out in different places on the Copernicus any easier.
"Yes, I imagine her brother's death does weight heavily on her. She'd have to be a sociopath otherwise, and while Deli strikes me as impulsive and easily distracted? The last thing I see is a young woman without a conscience - not that being capable of normal human emotion qualifies her to be on your crew. I get that, Reece."
Abby's fingers flew quickly over her own tablet, pulling up pre-launch files complete with some hazy photographs, dimmed by the sulfurous, poisonous atmosphere brought in the wake of the Kind. "Deli was on the team that helped blow The Mountain." She leaned over her bent leg to hand him her tablet. "A civilian, true, but she still hooked up with our military EOD personnel, Sergeant Harrigan and a few other people you might know. By all accounts, her work was exemplary, and she's more than able to work on a team. Well, to military standards of teamwork?" Abby laughed with a small snort, shaking her head.
"Of course not! But it's fair to say that without Deli and her expertise, we might still be grounded on a dead, poisoned Earth."
He listened and the memory of his own fuck up crept to his mind. His call, his decision to push his chopper too close to a hot landing zone where the wounded were waiting for extraction. Reece knew it was foolish bravado and overconfidence that had made him do it, he was certain he had more skill than the enemy had bullets but he was wrong. Two good friends died because he was wrong and he bore their names on his sleeve covered bicep. Running a hand over his shaggy hair he sighed through his nose.
"I suppose she deserves a chance," he finally said after flipping through the information on Abby's tablet. "She did well on that mission, so she can work under pressure. It's not like we have a surplus of explosives experts aboard the ship either."
Reece handed the tablet back and crossed his arms across his broad chest, "She'll worry me until I see her in action but I'm not a complete asshole, I'll let her prove herself. We all gotta do that anyway, earn the trust of one another and make a cohesive team. I know Bill and he knows me, Conner's growing on me, goofy hair and all. Deli will make it or she won't, time will just tell."
He shifted in his chair, "Now about the girl that was here, Pauline. I've allowed her a place to help out with the training programs, it's a vital bit of work that needs to be kept up. I don't know if it's my place to ask, it ain't really my nature to pry but since she's here, I'd probably better know. Why is she awake?"
"Reece, the very last thing in the world I'd ever call you is a 'complete asshole.' Partial asshole? Mmm... Maybe. But it's not like you wouldn't be in good company." Abby shrugged her shoulders, a sly wink and an impish grin trying to tease away the dark cloud that momentarily crept over his solid, rugged features. She was a combat veteran too, and had seen her own share of fucked up shit; vile, heinous shit that would stick with her to the day she died. Abby had a good idea of the darkness that was creeping through Reece's thoughts as he considered Deli's future.
Still, Reece's agreement - no matter how reluctant - set free a small, soundless sigh of relief as she took her tablet back.
"Thank you. Really, thank you. A chance is the best she could ask for." Abby's deep blue eyes roamed over Reece's handsome but care worn face as he spoke of his team, building that essential trust. This was a good man sitting beside her. A damn good man, no matter how shady the circumstances of when they first met - and a damn good leader too, no matter the monstrous burden of guilt he'd likely shoulder to his grave.
She wasn't entirely prepared for the conversation to turn to Pauline, though she probably should have been. Abby's grin faded as she took a deep breath, nodding her head slowly.
'Fuck.'
But he had to know. As her supervisor, he really needed to know about something like this, for the young woman's sake if nothing else - and Abby trusted Reece. She trusted and respected his judgment like she did few others, no matter his own, deep-seated doubts on that matter.
"Pauline is awake because she's pregnant, Reece," she began matter-of-factly enough before her gaze found his and held it for some moments. "From the briefing this morning, the murders on the Second Shift - do you remember mention of a lone survivor?"
Abby nodded deliberately, her gaze turned meaningfully toward the office door Pauline exited only minutes ago.
Reece breathed out slowly, lowering himself to lean his elbows on his thighs, his hands loosely clasped. "She's her then? Goddamn."
His jaw clenched under his salt and pepper beard. The crime was disgusting and cruel and he was glad the man was dead. That sweet bright girl had been attacked in such a way made him sick but the fact she had survived and fought her way out of nearly literal dead sleep was impressive. She must have an iron spine under the pretty package and his hands rubbed together slowly, glancing at Abby, "And she kept it? That's a hell of a thing."
Owen Reece said no more, what was there to say? The girl had been through hell and what was worse, it was probably going to become known. He pushed himself upright and stood up. "Well, it'll be her business, I won't say anything to her about it if I can help it. But if anything...You know if she needs any accommodations because of her condition, I hope she won't hesitate to ask."
"Got any other bombs for me, Abby?" he grumbled, before flicking his glance at her, "Does the crew know about my time or Bill's?"
Abby let the growl and grouse in Reece's voice pass without so much as a lift of her eyebrow. By this point he had every damned right to be more than a little pissed. All told, he was handling everything pretty well and finally - at least once during this whole conversation - Abby had a reason to give him a little news that resembled "good."
"No Reece, that I do know at the least. Unless you tell them, no one among the crew knows about your record, or Bill's." Abby left off her suspicion that if Reece and Bill weren't already scheduled to come work for Third Shift, under General Lahan's watch, they likely would have been anyway. But this was only speculation on her part anyway; there was no proof, and Reece was already about as angry as she'd ever care to see him.
"So no, no more bombs - not from me at least." Abby regretted the fact she'd only had a pile of shit to lay in Reece's lap. He didn't deserve all this extra stress, just opposite the end of the world. Not in the least.
But it seemed there was a lot of that going around.
"And honestly Reece? I'm glad Pauline wound up down here with you and Connor and Bill, and even Deli. I can't say what accommodations she'll need down the road, beyond clothes a few sizes larger in a few months here, but I'd hope she'd speak up if she needed anything. Yes, she's keeping that baby - and she's got to know she won't be able to keep that 'her business' forever."
Abby rose to her feet, smiling tenderly as she lay a hand gently on Reece's thickly muscled shoulder. "I don't give a good damn what anything looks like 'on paper.' There isn't a better, safer place for that young woman on the Copernicus, than here in Hangar Six, among some of the very best people I know."
Name: Vasily Vukašin
Age: 26
Appearance:
Occupation: Woodsman, forstmeister, carpenter, older brother to Petya and Papa to little Antonina.
History/pertinent bits: Hardworking, devoted, and exquisitely skilled with his hands, Vasily's craftsmanship graces most every home in Adishi, in one way or another. As a favor to Stanislav some years ago, he did attempt to take Oskar for an apprentice of sorts - a role his younger brother Petya simply could not be bothered with. But it became apparent rather quickly, that though the boy certainly did have the skill, the precision and eye for shape and form required to create the artisan furniture and home wares that Vasily crafted? His heart simply was not in the work. Vasily at least, did not fault Oskar - no matter Stanislav's thoughts on the matter.
There was a time when Vasily smiled readily, as easily as breathing, but those days passed with his wife Anna three years ago. For now, the smiles are reserved almost entirely for his sweet sunshine, his little girl Antonina of the curly golden hair, her father's pale blue eyes and her mother's giggles. There was a time too when he tried to be that father figure for his young brother Petya, had attempted to share with the boy a sense of responsibility, the steady stability a grown man ought to have if he wished for a family of his own one day. Vasily was the woodsman, the forstmeister, and his knowledge of the woods surrounding Adishi was unparalled, and he gladly shared all his passion with his younger brother, who seemed to love these forests as dearly as he. But for all Vasily's good intentions, all he really seemed to accomplish was to breed Petya's resentment.
It was Vasily's lovely Anna who had always smoothed the rough edges between the brothers, and covered everything with her love. But when she passed, the gulf between Vasily and Petya only grew, no matter that they lived beneath the same roof.
Not that little Antonina notices, of course. As in the way of most all little girls, the three-year old believes her Papa holds the world in his hand, most especially for her. And her Uncle Petya with his fuzzy furs and funny stories of the beasts, great and small, in the woods beyond their home, is an endless font of delight.
Age: 26
Appearance:
Occupation: Woodsman, forstmeister, carpenter, older brother to Petya and Papa to little Antonina.
History/pertinent bits: Hardworking, devoted, and exquisitely skilled with his hands, Vasily's craftsmanship graces most every home in Adishi, in one way or another. As a favor to Stanislav some years ago, he did attempt to take Oskar for an apprentice of sorts - a role his younger brother Petya simply could not be bothered with. But it became apparent rather quickly, that though the boy certainly did have the skill, the precision and eye for shape and form required to create the artisan furniture and home wares that Vasily crafted? His heart simply was not in the work. Vasily at least, did not fault Oskar - no matter Stanislav's thoughts on the matter.
There was a time when Vasily smiled readily, as easily as breathing, but those days passed with his wife Anna three years ago. For now, the smiles are reserved almost entirely for his sweet sunshine, his little girl Antonina of the curly golden hair, her father's pale blue eyes and her mother's giggles. There was a time too when he tried to be that father figure for his young brother Petya, had attempted to share with the boy a sense of responsibility, the steady stability a grown man ought to have if he wished for a family of his own one day. Vasily was the woodsman, the forstmeister, and his knowledge of the woods surrounding Adishi was unparalled, and he gladly shared all his passion with his younger brother, who seemed to love these forests as dearly as he. But for all Vasily's good intentions, all he really seemed to accomplish was to breed Petya's resentment.
It was Vasily's lovely Anna who had always smoothed the rough edges between the brothers, and covered everything with her love. But when she passed, the gulf between Vasily and Petya only grew, no matter that they lived beneath the same roof.
Not that little Antonina notices, of course. As in the way of most all little girls, the three-year old believes her Papa holds the world in his hand, most especially for her. And her Uncle Petya with his fuzzy furs and funny stories of the beasts, great and small, in the woods beyond their home, is an endless font of delight.
Her fingers started to ache, wrapped as they were about the ties of the garbage bags she'd filled with so much debris from the Second Shift and Connor's office. Her tablet neatly tucked beneath her arm, Pauline stopped to shift a bag or two to her free hand now, and resumed her walk back through the hangar.
It would have been a lie to say Pauline did not wonder - and worry, just a little - about whatever might be happening in Connor's office this very moment. She was not so vain to believe the entire world revolved about her and her problems, and Ms. Larson... "Sarge?"... No, Abby. Abby certainly seemed a decent enough woman at first glance, a good replacement for Lee Stanford.
Lee... Poor Lee. Pauline truly hoped Abby would not be near so exhausted as her predecessor by the time she finished her Shift. There had been so many new white hairs creeping through Lee’s neat black hai-
Pauline’s pale blue eyes widened with surprise, and then delight, as her thoughts were so sweetly interrupted and the garbage bags easily lifted from her grip by a handsome young man with a brilliant smile who, at first hearing, seemed to be speaking some foreign language or other. But as she listened, hearing and understanding separated by the space of a heartbeat, Pauline realized this really was English – well, for the most part at least. And at the very least, anything that didn’t quite translate, she could pick up quickly enough in context.
“Well thank you so, Mr. Pumphrey!” Her hands suddenly freed, Pauline took back her tablet in one hand, the other reaching to be engulfed by the undeniably strong, work-calloused and surprisingly warm hands of this intriguing man. When she released his hand, the fingers of her free hand fiddled gently with the silver crucifix hanging about her neck for a moment.
“I’m Pauline. Pauline Weber, and I’m the… Well, I just found myself a job here in Hangar Six and I’m not even entirely sure there’s a title that comes with it. A… Training programmer I suppose? And hopefully one day soon, to be nearly as useful about the Copernicus as you obviously are.”
Pauline tilted her head curiously, everything about the smiling man before her putting her instantly at ease, like a warm hearth in winter. “Were you down here helping Connor or Bill to clean up then Mr. Pumphrey? The entire hangar was left a right mess by the Second Shift.”
Her brows knit in obvious disapproval as she nodded knowingly toward the especially stinky garbage bag he’d hefted onto the empty cart. “Well, as you can see, I suppose. And… Honestly, I have just got to ask… “
Pauline’s voice trailed off slowly, suddenly remembering all the lessons in manners her parents had ever instilled in her. Perhaps she might seem too familiar, maybe even rude with her question – but no. No, everything about this man seemed about as wide open and free as the once grand and blue skies over the Great Plains. She was suddenly quite sure, he would not mind the question.
“Where are you from? That accent of yours, the way you talk… “ Pauline laughed softly, a bright tinkling of a giggle that promised she was in no way making fun of him, but truly found Jack Pumphrey a genuine delight. “That’s like no corner of Wyoming state I ever knew!”
It would have been a lie to say Pauline did not wonder - and worry, just a little - about whatever might be happening in Connor's office this very moment. She was not so vain to believe the entire world revolved about her and her problems, and Ms. Larson... "Sarge?"... No, Abby. Abby certainly seemed a decent enough woman at first glance, a good replacement for Lee Stanford.
Lee... Poor Lee. Pauline truly hoped Abby would not be near so exhausted as her predecessor by the time she finished her Shift. There had been so many new white hairs creeping through Lee’s neat black hai-
Pauline’s pale blue eyes widened with surprise, and then delight, as her thoughts were so sweetly interrupted and the garbage bags easily lifted from her grip by a handsome young man with a brilliant smile who, at first hearing, seemed to be speaking some foreign language or other. But as she listened, hearing and understanding separated by the space of a heartbeat, Pauline realized this really was English – well, for the most part at least. And at the very least, anything that didn’t quite translate, she could pick up quickly enough in context.
“Well thank you so, Mr. Pumphrey!” Her hands suddenly freed, Pauline took back her tablet in one hand, the other reaching to be engulfed by the undeniably strong, work-calloused and surprisingly warm hands of this intriguing man. When she released his hand, the fingers of her free hand fiddled gently with the silver crucifix hanging about her neck for a moment.
“I’m Pauline. Pauline Weber, and I’m the… Well, I just found myself a job here in Hangar Six and I’m not even entirely sure there’s a title that comes with it. A… Training programmer I suppose? And hopefully one day soon, to be nearly as useful about the Copernicus as you obviously are.”
Pauline tilted her head curiously, everything about the smiling man before her putting her instantly at ease, like a warm hearth in winter. “Were you down here helping Connor or Bill to clean up then Mr. Pumphrey? The entire hangar was left a right mess by the Second Shift.”
Her brows knit in obvious disapproval as she nodded knowingly toward the especially stinky garbage bag he’d hefted onto the empty cart. “Well, as you can see, I suppose. And… Honestly, I have just got to ask… “
Pauline’s voice trailed off slowly, suddenly remembering all the lessons in manners her parents had ever instilled in her. Perhaps she might seem too familiar, maybe even rude with her question – but no. No, everything about this man seemed about as wide open and free as the once grand and blue skies over the Great Plains. She was suddenly quite sure, he would not mind the question.
“Where are you from? That accent of yours, the way you talk… “ Pauline laughed softly, a bright tinkling of a giggle that promised she was in no way making fun of him, but truly found Jack Pumphrey a genuine delight. “That’s like no corner of Wyoming state I ever knew!”
Lovely post, and I will response to you both tomorrow for Kings, Idle and Justric!
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