The rush of cold air announced the hatch’s opening. “Kin I come in?”
The voice was unfamiliar. All that Yuri could deduce was its’ owner had to be female, and sounded young. He pulled the sheet up to mid chest before answering. “Yes.”
A girl stepped into the shuttle. The fresh face with a few lingering freckles from childhood offered clues. She was medium height, a bit on the thin side, and her reddish hair told its’ own tale of what she valued. But to Yuri, the real prize was tucked under one of her arms in the form of his boots and neatly folded clothes. “Name’s Abby,” she offered. “Cleaned yer clothes. I also soaked the salt outta them boots and dried ‘em proper. They might be a fair bit stiff fer a few days.”
Yuri sat up to receive his things. “Thank you. I’m Yuri...Yuri Antonov.” He gratefully accepted his things before eyeing a tightly rolled blue tee shirt. “I don’t think that’s mine.”
“Doc didn’t conjure yah gettin’ that arm inta a coverall sleeve,” the girl replied. “Thought I’d give yah that tee shirt tah wear underneath.” She eyed the sling. “Need help gettin’ into it?”
“No, I…” The mechanic looked downward, gauging the actual mechanics of getting into a tee shirt with a broken arm. “Actually...yes,” he grinned sheepishly. “I could use a bit of help.”
“Shiny.” With the girl to stabilize his arm, Yuri removed the sling. She carefully guided the left sleeve up the forearm, and past the elbow until it rested upon the securely bound bicep. After a tilt of his head and the right arm through, he was in. Abby helped him pull the shirt down upon his torso before applying the sling once again. “Fits perfectly,” he smiled his satisfaction. “Jinks Marine Outfitters, Pensacola,” he read the artful design. “I like it.”
“I’s gon’ use it fer sleepin’,” the teenager said, “but yew can have it.” She looked over the remainder of his boots and clothing. “How ‘bout all this? Yah good, or do yah need a hand?”
Honestly, he had no idea, but Yuri wasn’t about to expose his nethers to the girl, no matter how helpful she was. “I think I can manage, but thank you, Abby. You’ve been so kind.”
“T’ain’t nothin’,” she tossed her hair. “We’ll be on tha ground soon. Gotta head fer the engine room.”
“Are you the mechanic?”
“Don’t got one right now,” Abby said. “Hopin’ tah hire on Greenleaf. I’m jest babysittin’.” She pointed toward the shuttle’s seating. “Once yer dressed, kindly strap inta one ‘o’ them chairs? Burn-in’s always a skosh rough, dohn mah?”
”Ku.” After a final glance toward the tee shirt, Abby made her exit. Yuri set to work, struggling into the underwear and coveralls, which he could only button to mid chest height. He’d just slipped into his boots and was pondering their lacing as the first buffetting caused the hull to shudder. Yuri strapped himself in, and spent the next minutes listening to China Doll sing her songs of burn in and the rough caress of the winds over Greenleaf.
He closed his eyes, focusing upon every subtle shift and nuance of the boat’s changing attitude. This pilot’s got a great hand, the mechanic observed as the landing...acid test for flying prowess...was performed with the fluid grace of a dancer on pointed toe.
They were down. People would be coming for him. He could only hope that Niska was good as his word.
The rough hewn girl..Abby...had brought her fresh coffee and cookies. With the aid of an extra blanket and the cheerful glow of a space heater, her room aboard this boat...the China Doll, was quite to her liking. Perhaps a good deal of the reason for that was the lockable door. The ratty apartment she’d fled had no door through which Andres couldn’t force his way.
The black was wonderfully silent. Save for a few pleasant words exchanged between the girl Abby and the other passenger, she hadn’t heard a thing since they broke New Melbourne’s grip. Locked behind her door, a pistol tucked beneath her pillow, Edina could suddenly lower her guard. Her reward for this leap of faith was the kind of sleep she could only enjoy when her husband wasn’t stalking about the flat.
Andres had put to sea this morning, signed onto one of the big corporate boats. He’d be out for at least four weeks. A nice head start, she’d uttered to herself before every one of his castoffs. Drain the account, book a passage anywhere. Just go. Just go. Figure it out while you’re on the move. It had become fantasy, a tale told only to assuage her feelings in the aftermath of “being uglied up” to ensure her chastity during his absence. As it usually did, the story would fade in time with her bruises. She’d spend the latest respite in peaceful solitude, slowly building the rationalizations for both their behaviors until his return commenced the latest cycle.
Until today.
The long held pipe dream finally proved itself a script, so embedded in her DNA that she seemed to be on autopilot through each step. Andres’ boat wasn’t through the channel mouth before she’d taken every pfennig from the account. Next came the armourer's shop, and a look of surprise on the gunsmith’s face when she actually laid down coin for the pearl handled .38. Then, home.
The landlord was grateful for rent in advance...at least Andres would still have a place to collapse after his drunken nights out. The suitcase was exactly where she’d placed it. She knew the clothes she’d pack, the toiletries she needed, and the few keepsakes she couldn’t part with. She was meticulous, the years having cemented so many of her choices for a day that would finally come to pass. Perishables out with the garbage. The door was firmly locked; the key hidden beneath the third walk stone...just where he’d find it. All according to plan.
Except for the final step, the booking of passage on the next boat off planet. Edina wandered the spaceport, her search becoming ever more aimless as the resolve to escape began to crumble. The suitcase was getting heavy...this was insane. She should just go home...maybe talk to a shepherd. Swallow it all down as she’d done so many times. The bed was unmade. Andres hated that. She should… The Firefly looked to have just taken a cargo. Edina didn’t conjure much about the workings of spacegoing boats, but she was fair certain that was a reactor fuel truck that just uncoupled its’ hoses. She spied a young girl seated in a lawnchair....
Now, she could hear that girl, laughing, along with the man across the corridor. Their conversation was animated, upbeat until the sounds of movement followed them to the passenger lounge out by the medical room. She lay for awhile, sipping coffee and taking unusual pleasure at the friendly tone of their muffled dialogue. The girl’s speech would end in the frequent upturn of a question. The man would respond, his tones either corrective or encouraging. She could hear the excitement building in both voices, punctuated by bursts of communal laughter. Her curiosity piqued, Edina wrapped herself in a blanket and ventured out of isolation.
“Like that?” Abby glanced over her shoulder.
Marquina studied her work. “No,” he shook his head. “I think those lines are too neat.”
The pair had flipped lampshades upside down, angling both to splash light upon an open bulkhead above the lounge’s sofa. The man, a scientist of some kind, she’d heard, was seated in an easy chair, papers and notebooks scattered over his lap and the coffee table. Abby was standing on the sofa, it’s limp cushions rising about her feet as she moved to and fro. The bulkhead was decorated with a very large blossom. She didn’t know much about flowers, beyond the roses Andres would offer after a night's beatdown. In that moment, she swore an oath to never accept roses again.
This blossom was a creation of chalk, drawn by the girl’s hand at the professor’s guidance. Each petal was a burst of unusual color, ranging from a deep violet beginning to a pale yellow across the tips. Some vibrant orange marks snaked their way outward like the veins upon her hand. The contrasts were stark, but their beauty was undeniable.
“So I should mess ‘em up?” Abby made some rough zigzags on a clear patch ‘o’ bulkhead. “Like that?”
“I don’t think so,” the professor sifted through his pages. “He calls it ‘a ragged crosshatch…”
Abby worked quick, drawin’ out a neat grid on their test spot. “A crosshatch...like this. I use it fer shadowin’ all the time.”
“Nooooo?” he brows furrowed as he reached for a datapad. “I might find a capture.”
Edina broke her silence. “I think I know,” she offered.
“Oh! Ms. Wyman,” the girl turned. “I’m sorry. Was our racket botherin’ yew?”
The professor came to his feet, realizing only too late that his inbred courtesy now sent a sheaf of papers scattering to the deck. “Oh...oh...yes, I apologize. Abigail was helping me...so sorry to disturb.”
She chuckled at the awkward greeting, then dropped to her knees, joining the academic’s rescue effort. “I wasn’t disturbed,” she offered up handfuls of pages carefully collected. “I was fascinated. What are you two doing?”
As they finished recovering the scattered papers, he told her of his unclassified orchid, the upcoming jungle research trip, and the need to have a decent image for his guide. “And so, Abigail has kindly offered to help...oh!” he stammered. “I’ve been quite rude; I apologize. I’m Sergio Marquina.” He extended his hand.
“Edina Wyman.” They clasped hands briefly. “Do you two mind if I join in?”
“I’d be delighted!” Marquina exclaimed.
Abby made to come down off the sofa. “I’ll fetch yer space heater an’ yer coffee.”
“No, no,” Edina waved her hand. “I’ll take care of that...oh, and that ‘ragged crosshatch’ the professor mentioned? Abby, have you ever seen paint that’s cracking and chipping up?”
“All tha time.” The girl give her a curious eye.
Edina smiled. “Sometimes it looks like a whole bunch of mismatched little squares with crooked sides? Or maybe,” she continued, “like a plank that’s been fire burnt on one side.”
“Ya mean somethin’ like this?” The deckhand drew up another crosshatch, but this time it’s all crookedy with little curves an’ ain’t nothin’ lined up neat.
“Yes!” both Edina and the professor replied. “That’s it exactly….on each petal, and the color is a red orange.”
Adding the detailed crosshatch to a drawing of such scale would take a couple hours at least, a chore she witnessed Abby tackling with a deep sense of enjoyment. The professor looked on, his expression rapt at the first sight of his prize. Edina had once thought to hide her bruise behind the sunglasses, but the easy companionship and their acceptance decided her otherwise. It would eventually heal, as would she, though she felt some scars might be carried the rest of her days. She’d have to come to terms, live with her wounds, learn what might be taught by them. But despite the questions of her future, one answer came clear. Her time for hiding was ended.
Cap’n an’ the doc was conversatin’ at the galley table as Abby set up a tray. She din’ interfere, jest went ‘bout ‘er business all quiet like, loadin’ fresh carafes and’ two small plates ‘o’ cookies fer tha passengers. Ever’ now an’ agin she’d press ‘er hands up ‘neath ‘er arms for warmin’. Her breath come out in little puffs as she made ready.
Boat may be cold, but all in all it’s a fair good night. Time passed with them Skyes come out better’n she conjured, mayhaps a corner turned by Isaac. It struck ‘er surprisin’ how tha simplest kindness could make a difference. Aunt Lupe used tah tell ‘er that “Hard feelin’s stiffen the rudder, but the smallest gift of goodness to an open heart can turn a battleship on a dime.” She never cottoned to tha meanin’ of that til now. Considerin’ the way the two olders done her previous, Abby weren’t about to drop her guard...but she didn’t sight reason not tah git on a bit friendlier.
Her pocket vibrated. She clean fergot she had a message waitin’. The girl fished her cortex free an’ tapped the screen.
Message from Jinks, Thomas - Image attached
Another touch opened his wave.
As promised, Heroic Nautical Picture #1
She near bust out laughin’. In the pitcher, Thomas was standin’ in his sailboat, Day Tripper. One foot’s propped up like tha pirate cap’n on them rum bottles. Thomas had one hand on tha tiller, tha other shadin’ his eyes. His shirt’s open, bare chest all puffed out as he clinched a buck knife in ‘is teeth.
Decidin’ turnabout’s fair, Abby held the little device at arm’s length tah grab a capture of herself, all bundled in sweater an’ knit cap with a servin’ tray. The smile she give him was the genuine article. Non Heroic Deckhand Picture #1, the girl typed out afore sendin’.
She’s just ‘bout tah head off when another message come. See? I’m showing this to my friend Jeremy. He says you’re mean and scary.
Jeremy....she wracked her brain til tha memory come. He musta been that tall skinny guy delivered word tah meet fer the suitcase drop. Abby’d caught ‘im lookin’ at ‘er legs an’...mayhaps did come off a might harsh. She twisted her face into a full on scowl an’ snapped tha capture. Show this one so he recognizes me.
Time to go. She lifted one hand, a wave toward the Cap’n an Doc as Hook showed up. “Back in a short if yah need any help,” the girl offered afore takin’ the steps down. Her limp was nigh on gone tahnight. She wondered if the cold had anythin’ tah do with that.
Father can arrive anytime that suits your creative fancy. Right after landing,(Day 1) there'll be deckhands offloading the fish and oysters (not to mention lots of hosing and mopping...Abby'll be thrilled.)
Days 2 and 3 are full days. Cap'n puts Abby out front to bring in passengers and talk cargo shipping.
Day 4 is prep and liftoff, but we have taken last minute passengers right before the ramp went up.
If you've got a Greenleaf story you'd like to tell, we're glad to facilitate that by having Father meet one of our folk in the street or some other circumstance. If not, then come on over and we'll get him aboard.
We hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. Now that we're all staring Monday morning in the face, we thought it's time to make sure we're on the same page.
First, posts:
Part 2 of the Skyes' shuttle warmup will be posted tonight. If you still have something to write, now's the chance! We'll take it it offline today at 5PM EST and post it this evening.
Other posts we're aware of: The Doc and the Cap'n are trading wits in the galley. Abby's gonna mix it up with the passengers. A JP is in the works for Pen, Sam, and the Cap'n.
And then, we land!
After speaking with the Skyes' representative, here's what our time on Greenleaf will look like:
Day 1: Landing -3PM local time (Immediate offload of seafood/passengers) Day 2: Full day - (Cal + 1 will meet with a local to deal on a cargo haul) The Skyes have work plans Day 3: Full day The Skyes have tourist plans Abby's shopping for headphones Day 4: Receive cargo & supplies Prep for launch Liftoff - 12:00PM Local time
Does that work for your character subplots? If you need additional time on planet to tell your story, let us know.
“What game ya playin? None o’ that fifty-two card pick up fer me. How bout some Texas Hold em?” Joe had never heard of Texas. Never heard of the place, but knew the card game. It looked like they were going to play some cards, betting for buttons. “Ha! Buttons!” Joe smiled. He then took a seat at the table and picked up the deck of cards. He shuffled them half a dozen times and then dealt two cards to Abby, Mathias, Isaac and himself.
“I heard tea and coffee?” Cyd said, as a heavily blanketed Pen opened the shuttle door. “Aweh, Mr. Hook the Cook!” She said brightly, seeing the other deckhand. “Come to gamble? Mathias is a madder card player.”
“Ah would’t wanna take advantage o’ yer brother, Miss Skye.” Joe smiled as he spoke knowing all too well he would play cards. Once Cyd and the hot beverages were inside, Penelope followed behind bundled in her blankets, and shut the door. The warmth was much appreciated, and it didn’t take long at all for her to start removing layers so that she had her own seat to sit on when she was done. She helped Cyd in the distributing of mugs and tea cups while the guys and Abby played a few hands, then settled down to get on knitting now that her fingers had fully thawed.
The following hour revealed a music all its’ own...the staccato precision of cards shuffling and knitting needles clicking, the minute slaps of buttons all added a rhythm punctuated by intermittent groans of agony, and an omnipresent laughter. Fortunes were being won, and in a few cases, lost.
Abby bit from a cookie, her habit bein’ tah keep a hand ‘neath ‘er chin to catch crumbs what somebody’d have tah sweep up otherwise. She set the rest down on a pie plate, brushin’ her palm clean afore studyin’ her cards agin. “I conjure I’m in,” the girl sighed as she tossed one ‘o’ the buttons from her dwindling pile. Pitious thing, she reckoned, Uncle Bob not decidin’ tah teach me poker til he’s kneewalkin’...
The boys had tha card table out an’ set right quick. Now, if them piles was any indication, the Skye brothers an’ Hook was all holdin’ their own, more ‘r less on par, while Abby found ‘erself eyein’ the buttons on ‘er work shirt tah keep in the game. Don’t conjure Earl would mind, she thought ‘o’ tha name monogrammed above the breast pocket. Hell, she didn’t never use ‘em nohow. If push come tah shove, she might jest put ‘em inta play….but not fer these cards.
Mathias made a click sound with his tongue putting his cards down to fold his hand. "Sai Weng Shi Ma."
Can't win them all. Poker was a predictable game but relied on more luck than he liked. But Abby seemed to be enjoying herself.
Isaac was liking his odds better all the time. Seeing his older brother fold caused a big grin to grow on his face before he caught himself. Poker face, gotta keep that poker face, he scolded himself inwardly. Outwardly, his face turned stern and he gave a little nod, silently agreeing with his inwardly voice. "I'll raise…" his voice straining to sound deeper, more serious "...three" he finished as he dropped 3 buttons from his pile onto the pot one at a time. Click. Click. He let the silence linger before the last one in some display of confidence. Click. He rested his cards face down on the table and leaned back taking a sip of his soda before briefly leaning forward to lift them by the corner in order to peek at them once again and reassure himself. Satisfied, he leaned back again, giving a nod to the other contestants around the table.
Hook looked at the two cards he was given. He lifted the corners just enough to read the number and suit. Not a face card or ace in the pair or two consecutive numbers. He made it a rule in this game to only stay in if he had a pair, two numbers of the same suit or a face card or ace. He had neither. “I’m out too,” he placed the cards on the table. Apparently, he had been the dealer.
Them cards wasn’t gettin’ any better. All she's doin’ was holdin’ up tha game. She fished three buttons up...weren’t difficult, seein’s she only had five left tah start. Abby dropped ‘em inta the kitty. “Can I swap three cards?” she asked. “Is that legal in this game?”
“No Miss Abby. You have to make a play with the cards you was dealt,” Joe informed the young deckhand.
He waited for Abby to see Isaac’s raise of three buttons and then placed the first three of five cards face up on the table. They were the 5 of diamonds, the Queen of Hearts and the two of diamonds. Joe saw this and figured if someone had two diamonds, they were four fifths of the way to a flush or straight flush. He did not have a diamond. The face up cards were known as the Community Cards. “How you like them cookies, Miss Abby?”
The girl smirked. ”La shi, I’m two buttons away from likin’ ‘em jest fine...less I start cuttin’ ‘em off mah shirt.”
Joe flipped another card onto the table. It was the three of clubs. Didn’t help the flush, but maybe someone could use it.
“Miss Travis?” The voice what come through the walkie sounded heavy with sleep.
Abby pulled it from her belt. “Ms. Wyman? How can I help?”
“I think I slept too long,” the woman answered. “My coffee’s cold. Could I get some more?”
“That yah can,” the deckhand replied. “I’ll have a fresh carafe down in two shakes. Our cook baked up some cookies an’ pie also. Wouldja like some?”
The sleepy voice popped back in the com. “A cookie or two would be nice. Thank you.”
After clippin’ the walkie back on her belt, Abby stood up. “Gotta run,” she said, “but y’all took me tah tha cleaners, anyhoo. I conjure it’s Pen’s turn now. Pen! Yer turn.” She wriggled inta her sweater, an’ then pulled the knit cap over her head. “Thank y’all,” Abby offered up a warm smile fer the three hosts. “Had a real fine time tahnight.”
“Waardeer, appreciate you stopping by,” Cyd replied with a wave. “Open invite if you get chilly later on.” She rested her hand on Isaac’s shoulder before turning back to her cortex to fiddle with the next song.
Penelope looked up from a half-knitted mitten, sans shimmer, at being addressed. She had been more interested in watching, but she did indeed stand. Rather than go right over, she lifted up her patchwork quilt from the pile and wrapped it around Abby’s shoulders. “Don’t doubt I’ll get this one back - unlike my poor pastel knit…”
The girl’s smile widened a touch. “Thank yew. Ah’ll make sure it finds it’s way home. See that’n?” She pointed toward Isaac. “He’s the one tah beat. Won most ‘o’ my buttons tahnight. Git ‘em back, jiejie.” With a wave fer the group an’ a pat on Hook’s shoulder, she headed fer tha hatch.
“I’ll try my best.” Penelope gave a wink and went to her new spot as instructed after collecting her little comfortable pile of blankets to sit on while Abby said her goodbyes.
“The bet is to you, Miss Penny,” Joe stated. The four revealed community cards remained on display in front of Joe Hooker. If Penelope had a card that could be used with either of the community cards and they made a better hand than whatever Isaac was holding, she just might win.
Since Abby had left her button pile and cards splayed down when she’d stood, Penelope looked at what she’d been dealt. A faint little smirk touched her lips, the amusement that always seem lit in her eyes returning, as she let them back down. From what she’d gathered in the conversation over the game, Abby was learning. She had no idea what she held. Pure beginner’s luck, is what Penelope recalled it being called. Those hazel eyes lifted to look towards Hook, since he seemed to be the one that was leading this little game. “Can I put in my own buttons or am I just playin’ with what is here?”
“You can either pass, which means you don’t want to bet or you can raise the bet for Isaac to match,” Joe explained to Penelope.
The answer she got had Penelope’s brows wrinkling. She knew the basics of how to play the game, and that wasn’t what she’d asked. But Hook was a bit odd, so she just lifted her shoulders and pushed the few buttons Abby had left across the table. “Alright… All in.”
If she lost, she had more than enough buttons to give to Abby. And if she won, it’d be fun to see whatever reaction it got out of the always delightful Isaac. Besides, she was more than a little tired from the stay on New Melbourne and the lack of sleep, so the warmth of the shuttle had her more inclined to take a nap than play for long.
With Penelope's smile after checking her hand, Isaac's confidence in his own hand wavered. The heck does she possibly have?, he wondered as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands and chewing on his lower lip in consternation. He glared at the pilot's face down cards as if to will their values onto his mind through the posterboard. It never worked before and, unfortunately for him, this time was no different. He looked up at the cards' current owner and narrowed his eyes. "No way Abby just up and walked away from a good hand for you to inherit." The youngest Skye deduced, his voice low, almost accusatory. "No way at all." He repeated, more to reassure himself than anything else. He absentmindedly clutched a few of the buttons at the top of one of his little stacks and dropped them repeatedly back on top, making a cadence out of the plastic clicks. His glance darted over briefly towards one of the dark corners, thinking he saw something over there but then immediately brought them back to bear on his prey. "Your call…fly girl," he said in almost a hiss, "raise...or call…"
The reaction from the kid had the devious side of Penelope rein in her expression, pressing her smirk with a vague shrug as her eyes drifted casually away. “If I had more buttons, I’d raise. Ain’t got none of Abby’s left, but I can match that whole stack you got there and then some with my own. Feel like losin’ it all at once?”
Mathias lazily rolled a button along his finger as he watched his baby brother play high noon with the pilot. Leave it to Isaac to make any game more interesting with his antics. The button vanished as Mathis switched elbows before reappearing in his other hand smoothly rolling along his fingers.
There was no possible way she's got anything that good. He was certain of it. Isaac started to push his pile into the pot when he caught himself. "Whoa whoa whoa!" He wagged a finger at Penelope. "Almost got me. How do we even know you're good for it?" He eyed the pilot up and down. "Maybe you were just hoping no one would call ya on it, hmm??" The hand that was on his hoard now curled defensively around it as he made a "come, come" motion with the free one. "Let's see the buttons, sister." He insisted, the edge of his lip twisted into his best intimidating sneer.
The pressed smirk spread into a full grin as Penelope shifted from the splayed back position on her palms to retrieve her satchel. She pulled it from behind her and sat it in her lap, and now that Abby was gone she could rummage freely in the contents. The little velvet bag that used to hold a glass bottle a few folk would find more interesting than the current contents was dropped atop the table, making an audible thump. She undid the string in a fluid slip of her finger, and the treasure spilled free. Not one button appeared to be like another, a kaleidoscope of color in different shapes and sizes spread out towards the pile. “I’d say this makes me good for it?”
“Ok, high rollers at this table,” Joe chuckled. He then pulled out the fifth and final community card to reveal it next to the other four. This card was the six of Diamonds.
“Well, that feeds nicely into either a diamond flush or a straight depending on what y’all have,” Joe was really interested in what cards Penelope and Isaac were holding onto.
Mathias watched the ensuing staring contest and tried not to giggle at the absurdity of it. It was adorable, really. He reached over nibbling on a sweet pretzel feeling something painfully pinch his foot. “What the cao?” Mathias jumped and angrily went to peek under the table. ‘I swear if Isaac is pinching my toes …’ He grounsed already planning vengeance.
Now Mathias was not a small guy and he was relatively long limbed so it had taken him a relatively longer time to learn some self-coordination and spatial awareness and that just flew right out the window in the span of three seconds. In Mathias’s mad scramble to get away from the table he painfully knocked one knee hard enough to send snacks, cards and buttons spraying all over Hook.
Isaac watched helplessly as the table went up and over with all his sweet, sweet "winnings". He quickly went from surprised to annoyed as he turned towards the source of the calamity… Mathias.
Unaware of the rodent upsetting the Skyes, all Joe Hooker saw was the table flying up into his face along with the playing cards, snacks and buttons spread across the table. His reaction was to push back away from the incoming table, but he just wasn’t fast enough. His chair tipped over backwards, he sprawled out on his back across the floor with the table and all its acoutrements scattered across him and the floor around him. “Ha ha ha ha ha,” Joe let out a guttural uproarious laughter at the predicament. He had gotten himself so involved with the game, upsetting the table eliminated that sensation. Hitting the floor with everything scattered across him appeared to be quite amusing.
“Godverdoem gorrel my spyt kak hoender poes se bloed poes! GETITOFFGETITOFFGETOFF.” Mathias screeched kicking foot out, something brown and fuzzy nearly smashing Isaac in the face. A rat sailed across the shuttle with Mathias' sock still latched in its mouth.
Isaac never got a good look at the thing. When his eyes locked in on the brown fuzzy blur flying at his face, he let out a high-pitched squeal and threw his hands up to protect his precious face! "WHAT IS IT?!?!" He shrieked as he shielded his head from the incoming rodent!
“Ag, man! Shame, it’s a scaly ship mouse.” Cyd chastised as Isaac physically shook off the incident, “Eish, Yobo - get the broom!” The middle Skye kept her eye on the interloper while waving a hand towards where the broom was upstanding. The furry brown rat with the long pink tail scurried off to the corner of the shuttle, squeezing itself between two boxes.
“Oh, no, don’t do that.” Penelope said as she gathered her nearly empty button sack from the pile she’d been poking around in. All things considered, she’d been pretty calm comparatively though the spectacle of Mathias and Isaac had her eyes wide as it unfolded. Now, she simply shook the remaining buttons free of her velvet bag as she made to stand. “I’ll get him in here - he is just looking to be warm, is all.”
With the assistance of a spare cookie, she went to trap a mouse. Usually it was spiders - or sometimes snakes - that she’d snuck up on with a cup or bowl, something she might want to warn the Skyes about Greenleaf since they seemed to not like critters… But that was for later.
While Joe lay covered in the remains of their card game, he listened to the conversation about the rodent. It appeared Penelope would catch the mouse. He got to his feet and began to upright the table. He also gathered the cards up and brought them back to a full neatly stacked deck of cards. Then he began picking up as many buttons he could find and returning them to the table. “You kin sweep this flo’ once yous done dealing with tha’ mouse.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hook the cook,” Cyd replied, taking the broom. “Pen, don’t get bit, or you’ll get lank sick! We near lost Isaac to rat bite fever when he was little. He was in bad shape for a long time.” She made a mental note to keep an eye on Mathias for signs of illness.
“Aw, li’l fella won’t bite - hopefully,” Pen said as she assessed the mouse’s refuge. The boxes were wedged against the wall tight, so it was only the one-way little crevasse he’d trapped himself in. She sat down on her haunches at the opening, peeking in to make sure he wasn’t scaling a side, and placed the cookie just inside the mouth of her bag after lying it open at the entrance. “Besides, we have a doc on board and we’re headin’ to Greenleaf - I’m as safe as can be.”
Cyd handed the broom to Mathias, who was the better shot, while she watched and made a mental note to throw out Isaac’s secret snack stash.
“Yew kin have mah buttons ahm, headin’ back to the galley,” Joe stated. Joe chuckled a little more upon leaving the shuttle. Meanwhile, Penelope spotted movement in the dimly lit crevasse between the boxes, and just as quickly felt a scurrying at her wrist. The little booger had bypassed the bag in favor of making his escape up the pilot's arm. With her free hand, she part-instinct and part-surprise clamped her hand down atop it, swooping it down towards the ground. It landed right atop the velvet bag, momentarily dazed, so Penelope risked a bite to cup it under her hand while she turned the bag in on itself. "Gotcha, troublemaker."
Content, she turned with the little bag in her palm, movement wild within until the mouse found the cookie, most like. Penelope asked the room at large, as if it were a perfectly reasonable inquiry. "Got anything that could be a make-shift cage till Greenleaf? Reckon my bag won't last long against those little snippers."
Cyd looked around quickly after Pen gave a mouse a cookie, and Isaac clutched a big jug of cheese puffs warily. Her eyes drifted across the shuttle to his new bucket. It was a painters bucket, never used except for as a drum by the youngest Skye, purchased at a hardware store to placate him and help ease a broken heart. Isaac threw his sister a mistrustful glance, tracing her gaze. He tapped his finger on the top of the cheese puffs, a code Cyd ignored. Mathias took half a step back before his two sibs dove for his makeshift drum.
“This or the cheese puffs, Lolo!” Cyd grumbled as they locked in a bucket tug of war.
“Neither!” Isaac replied.
“I don’t have anything that would make a good mouse house!” Cyd reasoned while grappling. “I can’t help it if your stuff is more… rodent residential… rodential!”
The battle continued for a few seconds until Cyd eyed the cheese puffs again. Isaac quickly weighed his options, the gears turning in his head. With a disgruntled huff, he let go of the bucket and saved his snacks. Cyd, who had put her entire weight into the war, leaning back on her heels would have fallen flat on her backside if it weren’t for Mathias’ quick reflexes. In one swift move he one-handedly steadied his sister on her feet. Even so, she still considered herself victorious. She handed the clean 10 gallon pail over to Pen to give the furry interloper somewhere other than their shuttle to stay.
It was a swak way to end a jol, but like someone should’ve said, the best laid parties of mice and men often go awry.
“Thank you for calling Ogilvy-Norton Seaborne Logistics. Due to the tragic loss of NS Eileen McSorley, we’re not responding to any inquiries by media or trade related interests. If you’re a relative of one of the McSorley crew, we are contacting those family members listed as emergency contacts with further information. If you haven’t been called, please leave your name and cortex ident. A bereavement representative will contact you shortly.”
Bereavement representative. The corporate approach to admitting that all hands were lost. Another hard truth in a day full of hard truths. Everyone he knew aboard...Chrissy, Chief Edwards, Martinez…
With no other options offered, Yuri left his name and employee number on the recording. He was quickly rewarded by a breathless young man who called back to transfer him to “Senior Leadership.”
He recognized DeVillers, VP of Engineering, the moment his image popped onscreen. A craggy face, pockmarked by a ferocious bout of teenage acne, from which protruded a narrow hawk’s beak of a nose. He hadn’t done himself any favors in the matters of appearance, choosing close cropped hair that stood up to reveal a prominent widow’s peak. The man wasn’t here to win congeniality contests; his rise to Ogilvy-Norton’s hierarchy was the result of two key factors, the first being an encyclopedic knowledge of each vessel in their fleet. The second happened to be the absence of his right leg, literally gnawed off by the drive cams of a propeller shaft.
He opened with his trademark move, presenting the harsh profile before turning to deliver a withering rebuke. “You know,” DeVillers began, “it takes a really sick fuck to go masquerading as...Antonov?” The tough features softened for the slimmest of moments before eyebrows came together in accusation. “What happened?”
“The hurricane,” Yuri answered his superior. “We were taking water. Lost a vent, lost a primary pump. From then, we couldn’t equalize.”
“The Moncrief’s captain reported you lost all radar and nav aids...your radio, too.”
“That’s true,” Yuri gave a solemn nod. “The wind rolled a lifeboat over the wheelhouse roof. Engineer’s Mate Stephens and I went up…”
“How much water?” the older man demanded.
“At oh six hundred, it was knee deep in the raceways,” the younger answered. “Chief was pretty certain we had water in the hold as well.”
De Villers’ eyes narrowed. “How?”
“The eight fathom shoal,” Yuri answered. “Chief Edwards thinks...thought... we hogged.”
“Listen to me,” the executive pressed toward his screen. “You are still an employee of Ogilvy-Norton. As such, you are to discuss the sinking with no one, from the press, to your friends and family, to the dockyard whores. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“I’ll send a shuttle for you. Where are you?”
“I’m in the black,” Yuri said. “Headed for Greenleaf.”
“Come again?”
Hardened eyes grew more accusatory Yuri could make out the vein as it pulsed and grew between DeVillers’ eyebrows. “The boat that rescued me has a schedule to keep. They agreed to drop me on Greenleaf…”
“The name?”
“What?”
“The boat,” De Villers cut in tersely. “What’s the name?”
On any other day, the mechanic would take the executive’s brusque nature as Trademark DeVillers...a pinch of arrogance, a dash of impatience, and a full litre of Húndàn. But there was something new here, stirring behind the man’s eyes like a serpent, coiled to strike. There was danger in those deliberate eyes…suddenly, he found himself not feeling quite so forthcoming. “Sorry, sir,” he answered with a touch to the bandage on his forehead. “I’m sure they told me, but...their doctor says I have a concussion. I’ll ask her when she returns.”
DeVillers checked his watch. “You can’t be more than ten-twelve hours out. I’ll have people waiting.” His glare seemed to reach across the distance. “Remember, Antonov, not one word.”
The channel disconnected, leaving Yuri a blank screen. “People,” he whispered to the silent shuttle. Ogilvy-Norton had just lost a great many people, not to mention a sizeable asset. And here he was, a surviving mechanic who not only knew the corners they’d cut, but had documented his concerns. Damned right they’d send people.
He tried to add up his options, a pursuit that yielded virtually nothing. He only had his clothes, wherever they’d got to. He had no money. The ident card that’d access his account was on the bottom. Banged up and bandaged as he was, Yuri conjured himself a slow moving quarry with a bright neon target on his back. Easy picking for DeVillers’ people.
He’d tapped half the sequence before realizing just who was being waved. Yuri paused. One last look at his dwindling options provided little solace. DeVillers was a viper, all rattle and coil as he prepared to strike. But this, he thought to himself as the com sequence glowed before him, is throwing myself upon the mercy of a python. He thumbed the ‘send’ icon, wishing all the while to awaken and find himself clinging to that table on the ocean.
“Wrong connect,” the young woman said, before her eyes widened. “Yuri? Is that...what happened to you?”
“Hi, Katka,” he managed a weak smile. “Is he in?”
Her voice lowered. “He’s in his negotiation room. Won’t be too happy if I disturb him.”
“Tell him I survived the Eileen McSorley’s sinking,” he replied. “That should pique his interest.” The image changed, revealing the familiar crest to Yuri as Katka rushed to alert her boss. I can still hang up, he thought fitfully. His finger moved, hesitant above the ‘disconnect’ icon…
“Yuri Antonov!” The face, though aged to begin with, seemed frozen in time. Sharp eyes sparkled through horn rimmed glasses as a grin of predatory delight lit up the man’s features. “It has been such long time!” he exclaimed in high pitch. “Your mother is speaking of you always!”
Time to make it official. Please welcome our newest resident passenger, Barstow "Father" Collins! A man to preach The Word to all you sinners. Now sit up straight!
Welcome, Father, and welcome, @deegee! We're looking forward to meeting you on Greenleaf!
With the sign in place, Cyd blew on her gloved hands and went back into the shuttle and its welcoming warm air. “They have lank tuna,” she commented, “tons. The Fishstick king would be madder jealous.”
To keep himself occupied, or rather to look occupied to get out of dancing, Mathias had spread the mats on the floor for people to sit and was currently breaking out his playing cards. “Spit?” He offered. “Eights?”
Cyd chuckled and shook her head, taking a seat across from him. “Anything but 52 pickup,” she warned him. The ball was in the crew’s court, they were more than welcome if they wanted to feel their fingers and toes.
The perfesssor’s all looked after. Abby set ‘im up with a hot bowl ‘o’ beef stew an’ a carafe ‘o’ fresh brewed tea. She give ‘im a walkie, jest in case he needed somethin’.
“Well if yah do,” she held up the radio, “just push an’ call fer me, dohn mah? I’ll be about.”
The botanist shrugged toward a small heap of sketches and notes. “I don’t anticipate leaving this room tonight. And you should rest, too.”
The girl nodded an’ stepped fer tha door. “Soon enough, perfessor. Got a couple more chores an’ then I’m like tah bundle up fer tha night. Have a good evenin’,” she said afore leavin’ tha warmth of his room.
Mrs. Wyman was still closed up in hers, with the door locked. Abby set the tray beside it. Tha stew an’ coffee would stay hot fer a few hours, even while temperatures down here in the passenger dorm was droppin’ perty sharp. She’s wearin’ a red knit cap an’ a heavy sweater, both hand-me-downs from Aunt Lupe. Sweater fit tolerable enough, even though Lupe’s so much shorter’n Abby growed up to be. ”Tall...like yer daddy,” Uncle Bob used tah say.
In the room she shared with supplies, Abby collected a bunch ‘o’ spare pillows an’ blankets, which she stuffed inta a large bag. After slingin’ it over her shoulder, the deckhand worked ‘er way up the aft stairs by medbay. She’s still limpin’ a touch, but the cold’s actually makin’ things nicer down there. Next time she saw the doc, she’d ask about when them stitches could come outta her pi gu.
Upper deck weren’t much warmer’n below, but she could feel the rise of some small heat, most like from the engine room an’ Hook’s stove. She checked on Lucky. Parrot didn’t appear partial to her company. ”Don’t take it personal, Cal Junior,” Rex teased her once. ”He doesn’t like anybody named Cal.” Shiny with her, long’s he stayed warm an’ safe til Greeenleaf.
The fella they saved today, Yuri, was in the starboard shuttle. She ain’t met ‘im yet. Doc said he’s gon’ be all right, but he’s doin’ some grievin’ tonight. That she could conjure. As she made ‘er way toward the port shuttle, Abby thought on that. Hadn’t been time to put up pitchers of her people yet. She’d do that tomorrow, after they’s on the ground. Her folk was owed their due. Ain’t nobody grieved fer Uncle Bob yet. Abby conjured just how she’d pay her tribute.
Skyes had put a cheery message up on their hatch. She brung the bag off her shoulder an’ set it afore her. After steelin’ herself with a breath, Abby knocked.
Mathias finished rolling a new daga and handing it off to Cyd before getting up to get the door. He yawned and stretched and made his way to the hatch, blinking at Calamity Jane doing an impression of Santa at their door.
“Abby! Howzit?” Cyd called from behind him. “Come in, come in, warm up!”
“I guess Christmas came early.” Mathias joked moving to the side to let the pistol kissed deckhand in.
“Hi,” Abby stepped past the smirkin’ big’un. “Brung yah some extra blankets an’ pillows, seein’s how yah’ll have some extra folk about this evenin’. She looked about their shuttle. “Got anyplace yah’d like ‘em set?”
“Any place, any place,” Cyd offered, standing up to give her a hand. “But are you sure the crew won’t need ‘em? Shuttle is pretty warm.”
The deckhand give a shrug. “Perty sure we got enough.”
“All right,” Cyd replied, taking them off the deckhand’s hands. “We appreciate it, but if anyone needs ‘em, they’re welcome to ‘em. You got some time tusit… er.. To hang around?”
“I conjure I do,” the girl answered. “Wouldn’t mind a warm up a’tall.” Shuttle was warm...they’d kicked up the heat well enough. Fer now she’d keep the sweater on, but if she did stick fer awhile she’d pull it off tah keep from sweatin’. Nothin’ worse’n gittin’ all wet afore hittin’ tha deep freeze. “Nice whatcha done in here,” Abby said as she looked about the place. “Might borrow a couple ideas when I got coin to put toward my digs.”
“Oweh?” Cyd asked, looking around, before nodding. “If I can help, you let me know. Here, take a seat.” She offered one of the folding chairs they’d repurposed. “We might get a couch or something to sit soon enough, but for now, the open space is great for practice, depends on how long we’re with the shuttle.”
The teenager sat where she’d been bid. “Oh,” Abby caught on, “word was yah’s doin’ some redecoratin’ on New Melbourne. Thought this was it,” she give an apologetic smile. “On my way up I’s thinkin’ ain’t even had time tah put my pitchers on the wall. I’m hopin’ the Cap’n gives us a couple days on Greenleaf so’s I can get sorted.”
“Don’t get too excited.” Mathias Chuckled at Cyd's sudden passion for interior decorating. Mathias was of the mindset that they live where in a constant state of movement and impermanence. Thus, wasn't willing to get too attached or get things too well cozy and decorated. If they moved on it meant most of it would get thrown away and that would be such a waste. “Oweh! If your rus bene for bit, care for a game? Guest get to choose.” Mathias offered to change the subject.
Abby looked from one t’other. “Sure,” she give up a nod. “Whatcha got?”
“He’s going to say cards,” Cyd warned.
"I wasn't going to say just going to say cards. Just one of many options!" Mathais said with an exaggerated wounded look to Cyd. "We got a mancala set around here … I think. We got dice and of course cards. See not just card. But we do play a lot of card games." Mathias admitted.
“They’re light and easy to carry,” Cyd explained. “Good when you travel a lot, ja nee?”
Mathias snapped an ear smartingly loud finger as a thought hit him. “I forgot we have Mahjong! Almal is lief vir Mahjong ja?”
Isaac peeked his head out from behind a privacy curtain that drapes in front of the largest bed. He pulled off his headphones, the tunes turned loud enough the others could hear the music coming out of the tiny speakers. "Heilige kak! We actually got takers??" The youngest Skye looked astonished but pleased. "And here I thought you didn't like us." He smirked as he teased Abby.
The girl cocked an eyebrow. “Heard tha jury’s still out on yew,” she quipped.
He crawled out from the sleeping area dragging his drumsticks and a pillow he'd been practicing playing on. The boy sat cross-legged on the floor but realizing it was too hard, reached back in to drag out another pillow for his butt. "Better!" He said, sounding quite satisfied with his little arrangement. "So, work's all done, fish all cozy?" He asked with a smile.
“Good an’ cold...jest like my feet. Hey, while yer’ goin’ deaf there, what’s a good set ‘o’ buds I should buy?” Abby asked. “Just got a cortex today an’ I want music while I’m doin’ all them fun chores.”
Isaac scootched over to where their new guest was seated, butt pillow in tow. He put his sticks in his teeth to free up a hand as he gave the "give it here" motion to his sister, requesting to borrow her cortex.
Cyd tapped a few keys to unlock it, and handed it to her younger sib. “What kind of music are you going to use them for?” She asked, “a lot depends on that too.”
Abby looked her way. “My aunt who raised me was Spanic, so that’s where I started. Since she passed, I’ve kinda been all over the place. Funk and hard beats fer work, flamenco fer nighttime...gotta be honest,” she said., “I’m jest out there givin’ all sorts ‘o’ things a try lately.”
Isaac started tapping away on the screen until he brought up an electronics equipment site. He quickly scanned through the offerings for headphones. "Crap….crap…" He flicked his finger on the screen passing by several options. "Pretty much anything Blue Sun is crap when it comes to headphones. Sound comes out tinny." He finally landed on a pair that looked strikingly similar to the ones he was wearing. "Love. These." He said with confidence of someone who fancies themselves a connoisseur. "Weyland-Yutes! Thumping bass, sweet mids, get some loss on the highs but for the money, solid." He turned the cortex to face the girl to show a pair of Weyland-Yutani CM-88B portable headphones. "Oh! And they stick real good to my head too! See?" He said as he popped the set back on his head and thrashed around a few times to demonstrate before going right back to the cortex. "These Odin headphones are supposed to be really sweet too buuut waaaaaayyy outta my price range." He said as he showed her some of the higher end models with equally higher end price tags.
“Weyland-Yutes,” she parroted. “Weyland-Yutes…all good tah know. I’s most like gonna just pick up somethin’ from a street stall. Least I gotta chance ‘o’ doin’ right now,” the girl smiled. “Thank yew...I’ll put a good word in with tha jury.” She conjured they’s no way she’d ‘member that name proper til she could go shoppin’. Abby pulled out ‘er cortex an started typin’. W-E-Y-L-A-N-D Y-U….The little box vibrated in her hands. She had a message.
Message from Jinks, Thomas - Image attached.
She finished typin’ Y-U-T-E-S, then slipped the cortex back inta her pocket. “Tell yah what,” she said to Isaac. “I’ll bring the ones I buy around fer you tah check out...jest in case I FUBAR’d it all up. That be alright?”
"Geen probleem!" Isaac said with a thumbs up before catching himself slipping into Lo. "Er...no problem." He added with a sheepish grin.
Abby looked on him with fresh eyes. Nine times outta ten she just had tah sit there all dumbfounded when they took native. But he’d just changed up...fer her. “Thank yew,” she offered in a warm tone. Surprisin’ how much she appreciated such a simple thing…
Cyd tried her best to hide a smile at Abby and Isaac making eyes and conversation. “Mathias, cards, oweh?”
"Uhh … I can go make some Honeybush … or cards, we can do cards …" Mathias said digging around for the most beat up deck of cards. He was getting to the point where he was going to need some new cards and toss some of the wrecked ones.
The deckhand shook her head. “Whatever game yah choose, yah’ll just as like end up havin’ tah teach me.” She shifted on tha chair. “Only game ever ran on my old boat was poker. Hard tah conjure, since mah Uncle Bob went by nickname ‘o’ ‘Blackjack.’ Go figger.” They’s right; their shuttle was warm. If she’s stayin’ she’d best ditch tha hat an’ sweater. Abby pulled the red knit cap off an’ tucked it ‘neath a leg. Next she pulled the sweater over her head. After tyin’ the sleeves about her waist, she glanced at tha hosts. “Alright,” the girl said, “I’m all set tah lose whatever we’s playin’.”
“Anything but 52 pick up,” Cyd warned Mathias with a glare. “And I can brew up the honeybush. Abby, do you like tea?”
“Tonight I’d drink anythin’ hot,” she agreed. “Reminds me. We got coffee an’ Oolong goin’ fer passengers an’ such all night. If y’all want any ‘o’ that I can bring some. Shoulda ‘membered that sooner.”
"No worries, 'sides if you ain't had Honeybush before then you're in for a real treat." Mathias assured as he shuffled the cards with practiced ease.
Cyd rummaged through a box until she found the loose tea. “Back in a flash,” she promised, wrapping her scarf around her neck before heading out into the cold ship.
Abby took tah watchin’ the cards slip ‘twixt his fingers. “What’re we ‘bout tah play?”
"Well since you're familiar with poker we can do that, if you're feeling daring there's always Screw Rat but if you're willing to learn something new there is always the great equalizer Bridge." Mathias explained. "So what do ya feel comfortable with?"
“Did y’all mention fifty-two pickup?” Abby smirked. “Fer true I’m horrible. Please, if there’s one yah like, let’s go with that an’ I’ll try tah catch up.”
"Hooboy." Isaac sighed. "Never admit that to Mat. He's gonna rake you over the coals now." Isaac hopped up onto his feet and went to check their snack stash. "Anyone want chips?" He asked to the room as he rummaged for a good half a minute. When his head came out again, there was a dried meat stick jutting from his mouth. "By the way, what're we playing for? Buttons, snacks, what?" He polled the group as he dropped down some fun size bags of various sorts then went back to hunt for the box of buttons.
“Jo loscop. We have a guest, we play for fun. We’ll save fifty-pickup for another time.” Mathias said with a wave. “How about screw rat? Little luck littl skin but lots of fun. Don't worry, you'll pick it up quickly.”
Abby’s shoulder blades rested upon the chair’s backrest. “If it comes with laughs I’m up tah learn. Don’t got nothin’ else tah stake.”
Joe Hooker had been busying himself in the galley. He found a serving platter in the storage closet. He brought it out, cleaned it up and laid it on the table. He cut two slices of pie from each of the three types. He had two Apple, two Blueberry and two Peach Cobblers. Each he placed on a plate along with an assortment of cookies; chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin and Sugar Cookies. He draped a towel over the deserts.
“That coffee is gettin’ right ole. Migh’ as well change it,” Joe mumbled to himself. He unplugged the cord from the wall, pulled the lid off, then the basket of grounds out, which he dumped into the trash bin. Then he rinsed the basket out and dumped the remains of the coffee down the drain. He set up a fresh pot of coffee and plugged it in.
He looked at his jacket hanging up in the corner and decided he wouldn’t need it. He did put the wool knit cap back on. He picked up the tray and headed out the galley door toward the starboard shuttle. When he arrived, he found the notice on the door. He noticed what looked like a woman holding a torch and holding a book with letters scribbled on it. He really wasn’t sure what it was, then headed inside.
“Hello!? Anyone home?” Joe Hooker announced his presence. He walked into the shuttle finding the Skye’s hanging out with Abby playing cards. “Hey ah brought some goodies; pies and cookies if you will. Ah also set the pot to brew a fresh pot in the galley.” Joe noted they were playing cards. He didn’t want to take advantage of these young people but often enjoyed playing a hand or two of Texas Hold ‘em.
Watchin’ cards fly was kinda like havin’ a dream she couldn’t ‘member upon wakin’. She knew it’s happenin’, but tryna keep her bearings as the deck was shuffled and hands dealt out was like tah make her out the deer in the headlights. When she’s little, Abby seen Uncle Bob play...leastways til the grownups shooed her from the room. Toward the end, when it was jest them two an’ whatever hands he could hire tah keep Mariposa flyin’, Uncle Bob cared less an’ less fer a game his tippin’ the bottle made ‘im lose more an’ more. So, ‘cept fer watchin’ and an occasional round ‘o’ Fifty-Two Pickup, the girl had no card sense a’tall.
“Alrighty,” she said all amiable as she picked up the cards landed afore her. “How do I….heya, Hook!” Abby give Joe a smile as he come in with a tray. “Yer jest in time tah watch me make a right fool outta myself.”
“Ok Miss Abby. Watcha playin’?” Hook asked. “Ah, fifty-two pick up.” Giggling, he looked for a table to set the tray down on. The quarters were a bit sparse. He decided a corner of the floor was good enough. “Don’ y’all have a table here?”
The girl chuckled. “I don’t know an’ I don’t know.” She glanced from Isaac to his older brother. “But I conjure them what brings the goodies should get a say in that, dohn mah?
“Darn tootin!” Joe Hooker exclaimed and felt embarrassed as soon as the words left his mouth. “Ah guarantee the pie is delicious. There is some whipped cream in cold storage back in the galley and the coffee is fresh.” The cold didn’t seem to bother Joe as much as it did some of the others. He considered checking on the cargo in the bay, but that could wait.
“That sounds right…lekker,” Abby tossed a grateful smile Isaac’s way, afore focusin’ on Hook. “I’m fair certain our passengers wouldn’t turn down yer bakin’, neither. Next time I run ‘em tea an’ coffee, I’ll dish some up.”
*****************************To Be Continued****************************
Sounds to me you've been awarded "Dan" status and I've been relegated to "Other Dan..." Glad to have you aboard! Wolf is doing his best "Hunter S. Thompson" impersonation in Las Vegas right now, but he promises me that I should be hearing his thoughts sometime today. Then, we can make it all official-like.
Sharing host/GM duties for "Firefly - Second 'Verse" with Wandering Wolf.
Other than that, kind of a goofball who loves writing stories and playing radio for an audience consisting entirely of my dogs.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Sharing host/GM duties for "Firefly - Second 'Verse" with Wandering Wolf.<br><br>Other than that, kind of a goofball who loves writing stories and playing radio for an audience consisting entirely of my dogs.</div>
wanderingwolf
Zoie Hart
Bugman
yobo
Antlers
Little Bill
