sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

“Here!” the First Mate shouted as they skidded to a halt. Her hands trembled as she threw the hatch couplers. “Get in!” she barked as the pursuing animal howls and gunshots grew ominously closer.

“What do we do?” Bã ba gasped as he clambered into the escape pod.

“Strap in!” She ordered, before a hail of gunfire forced her to take cover behind the open hatch. “Saskatoon’s below us. There’s a garrison at Yellowknife…’bout two hundred miles East. Pod’ll ride their RDF beacon all the way down!”

The escape pod was built for one. Bã ba pulled his daughter close, the tight straps clicking home as an automated voice counted down. “Launch in five..four...three..” Mei Lin glanced over her shoulder. Through the viewport, she could see Cavendish, the First Mate. The woman lifted her hand, a last farewell before those things were on her. It was all so fast...muzzle flashes from her gun strobe lit the violent struggle. A desperate hand slapped the pane, leaving in its’ trail a filmy smear of blood. Suddenly, a face appeared, eyes ablaze as their owner tried to force the hatch. At first she thought it had to be a mask; the girl had never seen such a blood spattered twist of madness and rage before.

And then they were gone, hurtling through the void with only a tiny window to see the planet below. Mei Lin thought about Reavers, and all the tales she’d been told. “They’re wrong,” she considered as Bã ba’s heart pounded in her ear. “They’re so much worse.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

China Doll’s laundry gear was tucked in amongst her water and waste recyclin’ tanks. Abby sat cross legged atop the churning washer, eyes glued to the open novel on her lap. Jest out of the shower, she’s barefoot in a fresh pair ‘o’ chinos an’ a tee shirt what read Cleo’s of Valentine - Come For The Faroe Game...Stay For The Sushi! She’d towelled her hair dry, but weren't a soul alive couldn’t see need fer a good brush. So deep inta Mei Lin’s harrowin’ escape was she that even Ms. Baker walkin’ up didn’t catch her ear.

“What you readin’? Oh, sorry,” she chuckled, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

The girl tucked her book away. “S’alright,” she answered. “First of tha Mei Lin series.”

“Ooh,” the mechanic nodded, “my girls loved those. How far along are you?”

“Jest started. Reavers took their boat.”

Baker smiled as she removed the hood. ”Mi esposo… sorry, my husband,” she checked herself, “heard me readin’ that to our youngest. He was afraid it’d give her nightmares. But she loved it. Pretty sure I owe Mei Lin the credit for teachin’ my daughter to read.”

Abby nodded. “It’s mighty fine. Hope tah finish afore we set down. Wanna find a bookshop fer tha next one.”

“You could read ‘em all with a cortex.”

“Don’t got a cortex. Well, not one as I can use at will. Sure’n they’s a reader or a source box tha Cap’n’ll let me borrow,” the deckhand said. “Still gotta look up trit-ee-um an’ see-see-um one three seven.”

Ms. Baker fumbled through the folds of her robe. “Here,” she held a gleaming piece of sleek metal up to the light. “Use mine.”

“Don’t wanna break it…”

“It’s not a holy relic,” the mechanic smiled. “Was gonna get another one on New Melbourne, anyway. Go on, use it,” she laid it across the girl’s open palm. “But there’s a price.”

This cortex felt all shiny...all modern...like somethin’ she weren’t allowed tah touch. Uncle Bob had always talked it down. ”Cortex ain’t good fer’ nothin’ ‘cept lies an’ nekkid folk humpin”. But she’d found other stuff...stuff she could use, like word on planets an’ fixin’ things cheap...though watchin’ nekkid folk humpin’ got her thinkin’ that tha actual doin’ might be better. She cocked an eyebrow. “Ain’t there always?”

“Uh huh,” Baker grinned. “While you’re on the cortex, look up a Firefly radion core, oh-three-K-six-four. You got that?”

Abby tilted her head. “Oh-three-K-six-four. Ah’ll find ‘er...but why?”

“Cause I’m gonna ask you questions,” the woman used a sing song voice as she turned. “I gotta go see the doc. Back in two shakes.”

“Look out fer them horn-dogs.” Abby was already engrossed. R-A-D-I-O-N-C-O-R-E…

“Horn-dogs?”

“Two of ‘em,” the girl said. “Makin’ eyes on all tha women. Been askin’ ‘bout yew an’ yer crates.”

Baker turned. If Abby hadn’t been all dazzled with the cortex, she mighta seen the hard look in tha woman’s eyes. “Is that a fact?”

“Sure’s Ah’m sittin’ here.” 0-3-K-6-4

“What do these fellas look like?” the mechanic lifted her hood, plunging her face into shadow.

A whole world ‘o’ pitchers an’ names was lit up in fronta her. Abby conjured the core in them pitchers was jest like one on tha upper deck. “One’s tall,” she said, her eyes down on the screen. “T’other’s shorter….light skin. Both got matchin’ short haircuts. They’s all hot fer a ride...somethin’ ‘bout a private fishin’ charter. I’s closin’ up fer launch when they come runnin’ up beggin’. Paid double fares each tah share our last room.” The girl chuckled. “That’s why I’m out on tha couch fer this run.”

“They paid double,” Baker’s voice had gone cold. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes’m. That’s a fact.” Here’s a pitcher showed flow twixt the radion core an’ tha reactor. When she tetched parts ‘o’ the boat, whole to an’ fro….circuits...would light up an’ send little arrows flyin’ out an’ back agin. What a wonder…

Ms. Baker watched the girl for a moment, her mind racing. It could be true. These ‘horn-dogs’ could be just a couple overaged rubes livin’ out some frat boy fantasy...or they could be Feds. Her money was on the latter. They hadn’t moved on her yet, which most like meant they were lookin’ to see how many more they could round up on New Melbourne. “Time for Plan B,” she thought as she made her way down to the infirmary. “Conjure I’d best think one up.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

You scamps! I'd tousle all your hair, but it looks like you're using product...

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Uncle Bob used tah say that “Passengers was like taters. No two’s alike, but once yer done with ‘em, it generally means a full belly.” Abby had all shapes an’ sizes tah peel on this run, fer sure.

First, they’s the fishin’ boat hands. Easy peasy. Most of ‘em recoverin’ from all manner of hell raised on Persephone. All of ‘em used tah closin’ up in their bunks with a bottle an’ whatever they’s watchin’ on their cortexes. Folks what knew schedules. Tell ‘em what time tah eat, an’ they’s johnny-on-the-spot. Up showerin’ by oh-five-thirty. Couldn’t be easier tah git along with.

There was the good timers, folk what conjured the party commenced moment they hit the black. Most wasn’t a bother, stickin’ tah the lounges fer card games an’ whiskey, but now an’ agin they’s one she had tah steer back tah his room, or a puddle ‘o’ puke tah be mopped. Sometimes, like on this run, come a couple horn-dogs what conjure the boat fer their own floatin’ cathouse. Of this pair, the taller spent ever’ moment crawlin’ eyes over Penelope, the Doc, an’ Green Haired Girl. Shorter one had set his sights on Abby. Man run his mouth, but she was grateful his hands wasn’t in the game.

“Heard you’re sleepin’ on the couch?” he asked, watching her all bent over at her moppin’.

“Yep.”

“You should come join us!’ he piped. “We got room.”

“Nope.”

“Well then,” he grinned, “how about I come join you on that couch tonight?”

She kept to the job, unfazed. “Conjure it’d be a might crowded, what with three of us all up in there.”

“Three? I think we could ”menage,” he chuckled at his joke. “Who’s the third?”

“Muh six shooter,” her voice come easy as the mop dunked into her bucket. “Powerful jealous...got a hair trigger on ‘im.”

What played a skosh odd was fer all their lechery, both was fixed on Ms. Baker, watchful of her comin’s and goin’s, and with a bunch ‘o’ questions, tah boot. “We got a nun aboard?”

“Yup.”

“Heard she’s a mechanic, too?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“Word is she’s got a bunch of crates? She haulin’ church stuff?”

“Don’t know,” the girl answered. “Don’t care.”

“She ever say anything?”

“Yeah,” Abby nodded. “Said she’d say a prayer I don’t shoot nobody on this run.”

Praise be this trip didn’t have no Travelin’ Royalty...them as paid cheap as could be an’ thought room service an’ high thread count sheets was part of the deal. Had one got all twisted once ‘cause they’s no mint on her pillow at night.

And grifters. Them three in the double came tah mind. Abby couldn’t put her thumb on jest what they’s playin’ at, but she settled on keepin’ arm’s length twixt her an’ them til they got off on New Melbourne.

Last, there’s folk what jest got no place in the black at all. Cap’n MacReady was him all over. Talk about ‘no good deed goin’ unpunished.' Headin’ tah New Melbourne fer tah run a tuna boat while his ailin’ brother’s laid up. The black done got him all tore up. Spent his first night with it comin’ outta both ends, an’ he’s so sorry about it. “Don’t unnerstand,” he shook his head. “Spent twenty-five year with a deck pitchin’ ‘neath my feet and nary a belch. Get to the black an’ my innards is doin’ backflips. I’m so sorry, Miss Abby,” he looked back on the mess of his room. “Just couldn’t make it to the head.”

“Jest space sickness,” the girl said afore mouth breathin’ tah dodge the smell. “Y’ain’t tha first. Sure’n yah won’t be tha last. Go on get cleaned up, an’ head fer the galley while I handle this. My friend Hook’ll have crackers an’ somethin’ fizzy tah drink.”

“Let me help clean this,” he cast a hangdog look.

Abby loosed a rare smile. “I got this. T’aint nothin’. Good shower an’ somethin’ on yer stomach’ll make yah feel scads better.” As the sea captain wandered off callin out lots ‘o’ ‘thank you’s’’, she set to work, collectin’ the sopping sheets an’ stained bedclothes afore bundlin’ the whole mess up in the down comforter. “Poor fella,” she thought while eyein’ the la shi storm, “looks like a crime scene in here.” After this, she’d be grabbin’ her own shower a might early.

Uncle Bob was right, she conjured as she hauled out the mess. Passengers was like taters. By Abby’s reckonin’, best part ‘o’ that was they’s all gone in a few days.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Well, I suppose we need to open the back door of the sausage works for a brief tour. Wear gloves and masks, and no touchy...

Our plan for ep. 1 is primarily intended to introduce the boat, and to permit writers the chance to both introduce and grow comfortable within the skins of their characters. Participation at this point has been great, and we're so thankful for the folks who've been able to leap into the deep end of the pool. We have a couple writers who've had some difficulty (hence the point of my scree) and are hopeful that they'll be able to place themselves within the story.

Our original plan involved a pretty large time skip. In fact, we weren't going to see a landing on New Melbourne at all. However, with Hook and the Cap'n planning a fishing trip and the Skyes working up some of their own shenanigans, we've changed the ep plan to accommodate. Given what we know people are writing now and the plot we're addressing, I do see a time skip coming, albeit a short one.

I'm grateful for the refresher on the use of italics. As a writer, perhaps I've taken to the abuse of bb code when I should've been abusing bourbon. While I will make a personal effort to adhere to more established practice, I won't ride herd on what or how our member writers choose to emphasize in their own posts. FF2V was created as an RPG (role playing game.) We live in a 'verse where, as Abby might put it, "proper dik-chun don't always go 'round here," and posted accordingly in our game info brief.

I've got to say that I'm thrilled some of the group appear to be as passionate about what we're doing here as I am, but I've learned to temper that passion with gratitude for the time and energy that may limit our individual involvements. I know the Cap'n would agree when I say that we're so happy you guys are here, and we can't wait to see where you'll take us next.

Keep flying,

Sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

It goes without saying that 2020 was a completely awful year.

In addition to all the suffering we as humans shared, I was struggling under the weight of a massive writer's block. For the last half of the year I found myself utterly unable to string thoughts and words together in anything resembling a storytelling approach. The vicious nature of the cycle was glaringly obvious, but that insight made the equation no more avoidable.

Sail can't write = Sail is depressed = Sail doubts his ability to write = Sail can't write

It was Wolf who rescued me from the trap. Early in December, when we both talked about the two weeks' Christmas slowdown, he suggested that we dust off a couple of our characters for a short lived holiday RPG. It sounded like a fun exercise.

It was excruciating.

A character whose skin I'd worn like a glove now felt odd, stiff, and ultimately forced. The thoughts he shared no longer held that easy fluidity of our previous time together. Six months spent in my left brain had severed all the connections, leaving me with the same obvious answer to this challenge as to that awful cycle.

(If) Sail loves to write
(and) Sail misses writing
(then) Sail must suck it up and write every day.

I set a goal of one page per day. By this time (March), Wolf and I had moved to a third 1x1 plot, and the muscle was beginning to limber up once more. Thanks to his constant input and support, I finally began to feel comfortable again, not only in the skin of an old character, but with the return of plot and scene inspirations that I'm now impatient to write, both in and out of our forum.

Here's the moral of the story. The other day, one of our writers said, "I need to do something with my character." Consider this: We are at the beginning of (hopefully) a long road together. We all know and love the base material that inspires this game. If you're finding yourself stymied with a new character who doesn't yet feel natural, I encourage you to take that character down to the baseline. Chances are they have a job aboard China Doll. Begin there. Tell us about their job and how they approach it. What aspects written into their CS will come out to play while they work? What will they think about? What will they remember? Thanks to Gunther, we can also ask about what they might dream at night?

As the GM's/mods (I prefer 'hosts'), Wolf and I are always available to either bounce ideas or JP/collab. Our first goal here is that all of you have fun writing in FF2V, and we're working hard to place everyone in a position to shine. The journey is just beginning. Flex that muscle...and keep flying.

Sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

“No thanks,” she’d responded to Abby’s offer of breakfast. “I’ll eat after I’ve grabbed a few hours’ sleep.” Apparently, this morning’s bacon was the last of their stores, and the cook had kindly put some aside for the young deckhand. As the girl devoured her meal, the woman she knew as Ms. Baker sat with her. She sipped coffee, listening to Abby’s story. The girl’s former boat, known as “Butterfly” in the native tongue of the woman, had been her home. Despite the rough-hewn nature Abby showed the world, her conversation revealed hints of a somewhat sheltered existence, fostered by a protective aunt and uncle. A whole lotta life she hasn’t lived yet, the temporary mechanic observed in silence. At least she’s bright enough to conjure what she doesn’t know.

After the youngster cleared away her dishes and set off to begin the day’s chores, the woman finished her coffee in silence. She gave a thankful nod to the cook, placed her cup on the dishpan, and made her quiet way back to the engine room. China Doll’s radion core spun merrily, pushing the boat through the black toward their destination...and hopefully, a safe end to her current task. She checked the numbers. Fuel consumption was within tolerances, and the uneven burn the pilot had told her of had proven a simple corrective adjustment.

Her stomach felt more than a bit off, a condition so frequent these days that she’d come to accept the queasy death of appetite to be her norm. He’d warned her about the drawn out, inexorable decline. For a time she thought she might’ve escaped his prognosis, a false confidence sometimes bolstered with the help of drugs, when she could get her hands on them. But the slow ravage was always there, working its’ way through her, sapping her strength as the hair collected by her brush steadily increased. She was so tired...but the job wasn’t over til she made the handoff.

Once more, she slipped through the cargo bay hatch. The crates were there, neatly lined up and strapped in place. The woman circled her charges, checking the seals on each before casting her eye over the subtle marks placed to betray any tampering. So far, so good, she thought of their undisturbed condition. Mayhaps I got off Persephone with none the wiser. Buddha knows they’d paid Badger well enough to arrange discretion, but ultimate success was still two days away...on a boat full of passengers.

She could feel the dulling of her senses, just when they needed to be their sharpest. Time to meet this boat’s medic.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Mornin’ felt like mornin’.

Most folk done bathed an’ had breakfast by now, leavin’ Abby with a passel ‘o’ towels to wash. Good news was they’s on a short run. On Mariposa, sheets weren’t washed til the fourth day...less’n a passenger raised a ruckus. She conjured it's just as like aboard China Doll...leastways til somoeone told her different. After droppin’ bedrolls, pillows, extra sheets an’ blankets last night to the horn-dog fishermen an’ them three in the double, Abby put that chore out of her mind. They’s full to burstin’ with passengers, meanin’ she’d be right busy once they touched down on New Melbourne.

China Doll was a powerful lot like Mariposa, ‘cept a little better off fer wear. Washin’ machine was the same...even had the same cycle switch what needed a good jiggle tah git her runnin’. Didn’t take as much persuadin’, though. Once she heard it churnin’ away, Abby took her clipboard to the galley table.

Afore takin’ her seat, she fished her pockets an’ hauled out what coin hadn’t been given to the cap’n yet. The girl laid it out, countin’ with great care to make sure the math was all right. First come the bills the big’un handed over. As she’d done last night, Abby shuffled ‘em out, one by one, til she had three even piles. Three fares less ten percent each she recollected as she scratched in check marks next tah the names Skye - Cyd, Isaac, Mathias.

She picked up one ‘o’ them bills. Abby stretched it ‘twixt her fingers an’ held it up ta tha light, squintin’ all serious like detectives in her books, though she had no clue how tah spot a counterfeit less’n somebody wrote tha note ”I’m a counterfeit bill" on it. They never ‘splained that part. She let it go, landin’ the bill back among the cash afore stackin’ it into one pile.

Rest was all coin. Double fares from the horn-dog fishermen, bulk rate fee from Seatronics fer their crates. Only coin she didn’t have accounted for was ‘sposed to come from Ms. Baker. Capn’s notes made it look like Badger done skimmed his off the top, leavin’ thirty percent they’s tah collect...somethin’ she conjured was kinda off when yah took inta account repairs the woman done overnight. I’ll let the Cap’n square that one, she decided, afore placin’ all the money in a pouch to hand off, along with her chit.

Ms. Baker. Prancin’ about like a nun when she ain’t. Notion struck her a might odd, ‘specially the mechanic takin’ the girl into her confidence like that. Not the first time she’d dealt with folk masqueradin’..there’s that time Uncle Bob took triple fares from a boat full ‘o’ respectable folk come to mind. Soon’s they hit black, ever’ one of ‘em put on animal costumes, got all piled up an’ commenced tah...well...let’s jest say that when a shepherd come preachin’ ‘bout the lion layin’ down with the lamb, Abby had a purty clear pitcher what that looked like.

Still, last night struck the girl positive. She’d known mechanics on Mariposa. All men, either lookin’ to shoo the girl away or tah git under her clothes. Spite that, she’d learned stuff, an’ conjured she could handle the job...til Ms. Baker showed her a whole new way ‘o’ lookin’ on it. There’s a heap ‘o’ learnin’ I gotta do, she conjured. With a nod of her head, Abby flipped to her lessons:

DIK-CHUN

PARROT FOOD

CHO

YOBO

JONEE

MOOWEE MOOWEE

KIFF

SHOT

She put pen to paper, thinkin’ hard to tax her memory of what Ms. Baker tole her.

TRITEEUM

SEEZEEUM 137

TACK WELDING

List was gettin’ long. Abby hadn’t put mind tah what she’d be doin’ with any coin she earned. Way things was shapin’ up, could be wise fer her to pick up a cortex of her own. Mayhaps Cap’n knew what to get...or Rex. Way she’d sassed him when he come aboard was sorta fittin’ to make nice, seein’s he’s First Mate an’ all.

She rounded up her clipboard an’ the coin purse, afore settin’ off tah find tha Cap’n.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Saturday, all,

Sorry I've been scarce of late. Work and help[ing my daughter move kept me pretty tied up for the past few days, but I should be more accessible for awhile now.

As I'm writing the mysterious Ms. Baker for this episode, just a word to let you know that both she and that deckhand I write are available for JP.

But now, I promised I'd clean the laundry room. Later!

Firefly - Second 'Verse

OOC: JP from @Aalakrys and @sail3695

“Abigail.”

A hand touched her shoulder, its’ gentle grip kinda reassurin’ as she come undone from her dreams. “What….umph…” the girl’s eyes blinked, her mind struggling to conjure not just who’s wakin’ her, but where’n hell she actually was. When the answers finally come, they all come at once. “Ms...Baker,” Abby came awake. “Time is it?”

The woman knelt at her bedside...though it weren’t, actually. “One-thirty. You still up to help me?”

“Sure’n I am,” the deckhand nodded as covers was kicked off an’ she rose from the couch. “Gimme a minute to go pee an’ git clothes on.”

Ms. Baker took to her feet. “Meet me in the galley. A little coffee’ll clear out the cobwebs.”

*********************************************************

Near half an hour later, Ms. Baker led the way into the engine room. “Here’s your gloves.” Tonight, she weren’t wearin’ her nun’s robe. Instead, she’s done up in a pair ‘o’ coveralls, but them burgundy boots was still there. Her hair’s tied back, makin’ a single tail what she’d tucked ‘neath the collar. Abby’d done the like. Didn’t take more’n once to conjure an engine room’s got lotsa movin’ parts just waitin’ tah snatch yah baldheaded...or worse.

“C’mere.” Baker crooked her finger, drawin’ Abby to look down upon the spinnin’ core. ‘See that tiny streak of blue light as she turns...dit...dit...dit?”

Abby nodded. “Yeah...what’s it mean?”

“Old catalyzer. They get plugged up with carbon and back pressure starts crackin’ the ends like that. This one’s in a bad way,” Baker shook her head.

“We got a spare?”

“Captain Strand said he didn’t think so. I searched. No luck. So,” she offered a smile, “you and I are gonna see how well we can fix this one. What’s the pilot’s name?”

“Penelope,” the girl answered, eyes still followin’ the blue streak. Dit...dit...dit…

“Get her on com,” the mechanic instructed. “Let her know we’re shutting down the core.”

Good thing about Fireflies Abby reasoned as she switched intercom channels to number one, they’s all set up pert near standard “Engine room...cockpit? Penelope?”

With the crackle on the comms breaking the lulling sound of quiet night on deck, Penelope's eyes flickered over to it just as get name was called. She uncurled her feet from where they were tucked beneath her and sat her handiwork aside to lift the handheld. Even if she was feelin' a bit tired, her voice didn't seem any different as she spoke into the mic. "I'm here."

“Abby here with Ms. Baker, the mechanic. We’s takin’ the core offline now…”

“...and battery power will kick in…” Ms. Baker coached.

“Soon’s we do, batteries ‘ll keep us in lights an’ air,” the teenager reported. “Ms. Baker says should only be an hour afore we’re back online.”

"Alrighty, I'll keep an extra set of eyes up front and holler if there's need." Penelope let her tucked feet rest on the ground so she could swivel towards the sensors after setting the handheld back in it's cradle. She was ready to flip the switches once the drive was offline so the power up didn't trigger an overload with the current settings.

“We’ll give yah a call right when we’re fixin’ tah power up. Out,” she finished, settin’ the mic back onto its’ hook.

Ms. Baker threw the lever at the core’s front end, causin’ her drive tah disengage and spin down to a stop. “She sounds nice.”

“Just met ’er,” Abby replied. “She’s perty...not in that ‘dolled up’ kinda way, neither. Yah git tha feelin’ that tha perty runs inside an’ out…” the girl stopped, feelin’ the flush rise to her cheeks.

The woman gave her the space. “I copy what you’re sayin’. Folk like your pilot are a rarity in the ‘verse these days. Look forward to meetin’ her. Now grab the vac,” she instructed. “As I take each end loose, tuck the nozzle right alongside. You’ll see little black flakes fallin’ out. We wanna get ‘em all, dohn mah?”

“Why’s that?”

“Radioactive.”

“Fer true?”

“Not too bad,” Ms. Baker answered over the whoosh of the vacuum. “It’s called tritium...a reactor by product. Not a bother in little bits, but I wouldn’t leave it layin’ about for your beagle to find. The bad stuff..cesium one-three-seven and the like? The scrubbers get that...okay...now the other end.”

Abby kept a sharp eye, her vacuum catchin’ all the little bits what come out when Ms. Baker pulled the catalyzer free. “An that blue light?” she asked. “What was that?”

Ms. Baker moved to an empty tray on the workbench, then up-ended the catalyzer. More black flakes come spillin’ out, afore gettin’ sucked into the vac’s maw. “See that crack?” she tapped at it with a gloved finger. “Little bit of air that came in through the crack got ionized. That’s what caused the blue glow. Just remember...you see a blue glow in this room that isn’t a light bulb, you tell your captain right away.”

“Copy that.” When Ms. Baker set to tappin’ the part with a wrench, it done belched out lots more carbon bits. Abby was Johnny-on-the-spot with her vac, makin’ sure each time she got it all up.

After several taps didn’t yield nothin’, Ms. Baker hefted the part. “Ever do any weldin’, Abby?”

“Nope,” the girl shook her head.

“Wanna learn?”

**********************************************************************

“Not bad,” Ms. Baker admired the work. “Not bad for your first tack.”

The catalyzer now sported two metal collars on its’ ends. Abby could still feel the heat through her gloves, but it was coolin’ down right proper. “Don’t take no genius to see which parts I done an’ which ones yew done,” she chuckled as the catalyzer changed hands.

Ms. Baker flashed a grin. “Don’t let perfect get in the way of good, child. You did a solid bead that’ll hold a seal. Gonna make your captain happy to know he can get another five-six runs outta this one.” After given’ it one more look-see, she tossed it over. “Care to do the honors?”

“Ku.”

As Abby locked the part into place, Ms. Baker picked up the mic. “Cockpit, engine room. Still with us, Penelope?”

The handheld was back up in the time it took Penelope to shift back around again. With soft good-humor, her voice came through clear. "Too quiet to sleep - can't hear the girl hummin' with you ladies lettin' her nap."

“We’re good to go down here,” the mechanic replied. “Repairs are finished and we’re about to touch off the core. All set?”

Penelope's feet slipped back down to give herself a push around as she spoke into the mic in her free hand, the other flicking through screen status to see green. "She's ready to wake up on my end."

Baker smiled. “Copy that. Abby...kick her over.”

Once she thowed the lever, the core set tah chuggin’. Then she picked up speed, bringin’ up her spin til’ E-lights was replaced by reg’lar overheads. “Looks like we’s back in business,” Abby couldn’t hide the smile.

“Alrighty then,” Baker spoke into the mic. “Penelope, I’m gonna stick for a few minutes to watch system balance...but I think we’re done! Thanks for sittin’ up with us tonight.”

"Aw, had to keep the Doll company before she got worked on. S'only right." Penelope's smile was in her voice, free hand rubbing the dash. "Have yourselves a good rest - ya deserve it after all the hard work takin' care of her. Out till next time."

With the receiver down, it was Pen's turn to do her part in waking up the China Doll, so she set to it with a grin spreading over her face. She spoke easily to the only sound she had going in the downtime. "Never gets old, eh Scratchy?"

“I think you’re right,” the woman placed the mic down. “She’s just flat out nice.”

Abby shrugged. “Yew should know,” she replied, “bein’ a nun an’ all…”

“I’m not a nun.”

“Come again?”

“Keep it between us...okay?” the mechanic leaned against a handrail, her eyes on the core, yet plain as day Abby conjured they’s seein’ somethin’ altogether different. “The robe...belonged to a friend of mine...somebody I miss.” She folded her arms, turned eyes onto Abby as she spoke. “When I wear it, feels like we’re not so far apart. Makes me conjure….she’s watchin’ over me.” She waved a hand. “I know...doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“I think I copy,” Abby give ‘er a slow nod. “Like how I feel when I got my pa’s pistol on mah hip...like he’s with me.”

Ms. Baker’s face brightened. “Tell you what. Let’s head for the galley. You can tell me about your father while we grab coffee.”

“Why not? Ain’t feelin’ no sleep now,” Abby piped up as she fell in behind.

Character Banner Art Needed

Hi! I'm Dan, and I have the artistic ability of a first grader.

All the folks in my RP are coming up with some pretty cool character banners. While I think I could piece something together with existing clip art, I have an idea that would require a couple simple original pieces. For that, I turn to you gifted artists.

I'm not sure what I have to barter, short of writing cameos or recurring characters in your RP, but I'm open to ideas. If you'd like to see what I'm thinking, please PM me. And thanks!