Justric — Roleplayer Guild

"O, we sailed away at the break of day
to pull traps in oilskin trousers,
on the Suzy Jack but tonight we're back
wit a thousand pounds of lobsters.
O, Shantytown, we're gonna tear ya down!
I got money comin' outta me stockin's!
Tonight I'm due to bushwhack Sue
an' take her to the gumboot cloggeroo,
an' we'll do a little gumboot cloggin'...
Do a little gumboot cloggin'..."

Jack voice wasn't the greatest in the world, and the truth be told he didn't mind much. Maybe if he had gone to one of them there fancy schools in Montreal and took lessons the such, he'd be able to sing the larks down from the trees. Only he never saw the point in that. Most of the folks he heard on the radio or saw in the television who made their money by singing or acting or anything of the like also seemed to have their fair shares of woe with all the drinking and drugs and carrying on. It was nothing Jack wanted any part of. So with a decent if untrained voice, he sang to himself as he finished mopping up the last of cryo-stasis bays that had until recently held the rest of the Third shift crew. The day had brought lots of vomit. Someone had been thinking straight on that, he mused as he rinsed his mop in the bucket once more. The first people roused had been the cryo-bed technicians and the top officers, followed by... the custodians. Someone had to clean up after all the heaving stomachs and aching bellies as everyone else awoke! Jack wasn't sure what the problem was, himself; when he had been awakened, he had felt fine! At worst, he had been a little stiff in the joints but that went away quickly enough.

His work day had started a day earlier than most folks, which was good since some duck who'd still been all in had gone green right into circuit panel in the auditorium and let her insides out over one of them there projector things. Jack hadn't bothered to attend the Briefing. Rumor and gossip were second nature to the cleaning staff, and while there were those generous enough to say the custodians' work was just as equal to any of the doctors' and astronauts' and other chuckleheads', they felt they knew where they truly stood. Even before the a quarter of the Third Shift had been revived, the Second Shift Custodians had told the Third Shift Custodians all that had happened... colored by their points of view, of course. Jack thought it a sad, sad thing. As easy a man as he was, murder like that didn't sit well with his soul. Still, as terrible a series of deeds as they had been, Jack had hardly been in a position to do anything about it and the matter seemed over and done with now. Life goes on, after all, and there was work to be done.

Once done with the last of awakened crew's regurgitations, Jack pushed the bucket down the ship's corridor to the nearest maintenance room where he tipped the mix of water, disinfectant, and bile down the drain to be recycled. The water would be purified, the bodily fluids processed, and the soaps... Well, he wasn't too sure about that part. The engineers who gave the custodians a run down on the ship's plumbing had mentioned it, but Jack didn't bother paying attention. If someone asked him to fix or replace a pipe later, he'd learn more about it then. Pulling his handheld tablet from the breast pocket of his grey coveralls, he squinted at the tiny screen and checked off the job as done. Jack had thought to get a start on helping with the Second Shift's last loads of laundry, only someone had already taken care of it it seemed. The next job on the list...

"Well, ain't dat sumptin', b'y," he muttered to himself. The schedule was clear already! Scrolling through the job list, he smiled widely. It seemed the Second Shift folks were as decent as they all had seemed and had put spit and shine on everything before Third Shift could even get underway! Jack and the rest of the current custodians were going to have any easy day of it, and Jack painstakingly tapped out a message to the rest of his coves that they should make sure to do the same for First Shift when it was their turn. The only question was, what was he going to do for the rest of his day?? Leaning on the mop within the maintenance room, he chewed the stem of his unlit pipe much as his grandfather had done whenever thinking something through. There was a project he had in mind, the only question being how to go about it? Jack doubted it was anything that the proper authorities would appreciate it, but there would always be those who would be a like mind to Jack. He just had to find them...

Stowing away the last of his gear, he pulled his battered baseball cap down firmly on his head with a decisive motion. If he was going to start, now was as good a time as any! Who knows when he might have a light work schedule again? "Not everyday that Morris kills a cow," as his father would say of an unlooked for opportunity. Jack figured to the best way to find who and what he was looking for was to actually go look, and so with hands in pockets and pipe between his teeth, the handyman sauntered his way down the halls. His first thought was to head for the bays where the mining ships were; his family had distant kin in Wales, and Jack knew miners could be partial to a drop. He could only assume that the same applied to miners from the States. He had been half way there when his stomach growled.

Pausing in the middle of the hall, he looked down at his belly with a frown. "Jaysus, b'y, I'm that hungry now I can eat the arse of a low flying goose! All right, b'y, all right," he grumbled back in response, "Don't get all biniky on me. Let's go an' see what's on da stan, den."

He headed instead for the cafeteria, following his nose as much as his memory until he arrived at the open area with its tables and chairs and steam tables set out. There weren't many others what had arrived as of yet, most folks getting their heads down after dealing with the strain of coming out of stasis and the shock of the recent news. The Newfie frowned at the quiet. It seemed strange that there wasn't any music or background noise of note in the cafeteria, just the quiet murmurings of the few folks who sat quietly and the patter of the cooks behind their counters in the kitchen proper. Glancing over the food, Jack grimaced. While he was sure the folks in the kitchen knew their business, he didn't quite see anything even vaguely appealing. Bold as brass, the custodian wandered over to the door leading into the kitchen and poked his head in calmly. Jack was careful not to actually enter the kitchen; he'd learned at an early age from his mother that coming into the kitchen unbidden was asking for a thumping with the mixing spoon. With a friendly and open gaze, he took in the trio: the big black man, the skinny young buck, and the cute foxy head in the apron.

"'Ow she cuttin' dere, by'e?" he greeted the staff warmly. "Jack Pumphrey, I'm one o' dem dere custodians an' dis is my walk. T'ought I'd drop in an' give a bit of a wave. I were wondering, d'you have any lassy to spare? Maybe an ol' slut about you've no use for, den? I got this idear for brewing up a bit of screech, but all I'm having is air. Could ya do the proper ting, b'y, an' give me a hand without bigger ears about?"

Jack looked at the crew expectantly, hoping they might have some spare molasses or an old kettle he could use to make a small still with but willing to take a gentle rebuke if needed.

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