sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Ugh. I'm sorry to hear that.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

It's alright, gang. As Wolf always says, "Blame it on Sail."

When I do the recaps, I work off of things I'm told about character plans. At one time, this had included our cook heading into town to seek pleasurable company. As we'd settled on Day 1 target practice and Day 3 for Hook's full crew pub crawl, I assumed that said fornicating would occur on Day 2. However, the good cook (and his writer) are always free to change their minds on the subject.

As to food, I shall lay down a NEW RULE. We shall call that rule "BLIND HUSBAND" (in honor of my wife and the number of times she has to point out the thing for which I've spent 30 minutes rummaging in the fridge.) The galley may be fully stocked, with the finest local and preserved delicacies just waiting for the crew to partake. In no way does that status prevent one Abigail Travis from muttering "Thank Buddha we at least got PB &J, or I'da starved!"

Humans. I love 'em.

Sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Nickel Tour

JP/collab from @deegee and @sail3695

I’ll be gorramed, Abby smiled at ‘erself. Sneaky Pen, she conjured on jest how the pilot done maneuvered ‘erself right past the girl’s questions ‘bout dancin’ with the Cap’n. This ain’t over. Smile stuck tah her face as she picked up ‘er book once agin.

The ko-dee-ak was smart; apparently he’d fallen through thin river ice before. He ran along the bank, pacing Mei Lin, each heavy grunt expelling a puff of vapor to mark his progress. The left bank offered her no escape, it’s jagged bluffs affording no handhold for her to climb. And so, she ran upon the snow topped ice, her lethal pursuer showing no signs of relenting.

A shadow fell over the page. Abby glanced up. The man was nigh onta her height…thirtyish? Fortyish? Hard tah tell, but ‘cept fer tha vicar’s collar he showed tah be livin’ on tha low. “Howdy,” she shielded ‘er eyes with tha left hand. “Bound fer Osiris, mister?”

He didn’t immediately reply, but nodded a greeting. Osiris was a central world, wasn’t it? He smiled down on the young woman sitting cross-legged on the ramp of the ship. “What’cha readin’, Miss?” he inquired, glancing down at the book in her lap. “Not too many read actual paper pages anymore.” He took a bit of the jerky he was pressing between calloused fingers, softening it a little before the next bite. It was strong, and more than a stick of it would have been too much for his palette.

She closed the novel, pressin’ the rolled dog ear cover twixt thumb an’ forefinger tah show ‘im. “Mei Lin in tha Wild,” Abby answered afore tuckin’ it away. “I like them paper books. They’s cheap. Sometimes a page been tore out, so I git tah guess what mighta happened.” The clipboard popped open.

“Osiris, is it? Mebbe so, mebbe so.” He offered her the small paper bag with three more jerky sticks inside. “Go on. I’m full up.” He glanced past the girl’s wild mane of curls into the hold of the ship, then back to see the colt revolver at her hip, in oiled leather. “Got room, do yeh?”

Abby nodded. “Sure’n we do. Setcha up in a single or a double. Takin’ off day after tomorrah.” She give the stranger prices fer both a single room and the bigger double. “China Doll’s a fine boat…an’ we got us a cook can really git tha job done. Yah pay now, we can take care ‘o’ ya…but no real cookin’ til we’re in tha air…mostly PB and J ‘less tha cook finds somethin’ special, dohn mah?”

“I surely do. I think I can scrape together enough to afford a single. An’ mebbe I can help out a little around the ship to help pay mah way? I’m happy to roll mah sleeves up.” He hands over a small coin bag with all his savings. It is nearly the amount Abby has quoted. “You say we take off day after next? Like to have a roof over mah head tonight, if it’s all the same to you… but mebbe I can rustle us up some eats for the evening meal ‘fore I come aboard.” He checks the sky. “...still time afore night falls on us. How many mouths to feed?”

“No bother with that. Most of ‘em’s scattered about town.” She counted out tha coin, her brow furrowin’ as she struck bottom. “Yer a might shy,” Abby said as she conjured percentages. Discounts wasn’t somethin’ yah thought of when it come tah passengers, but if she’s bein’ true, what tha man could pay weren’t outta line with deals she done fer cargo. “I reckon we’re good,” the girl stashed the coin away as the clipboard come open. “Can I have yer name, mister?”

There was no hesitation in his reply. “I’m Collins. Pleasure’s mine.” The girl fascinated him, frankly. She was all of what – fifteen? Fourteen? And looked like she had barely spent a day planetside in her entire life. The pistol at her hip, the grease stains on the thighs of her pants, the complexion that asked for a touch more sunlight… all of it added up to what Brother Christopher would have called a ‘Bilge Rat.’ Collins wouldn’t use the term aloud, as it ran a 50/50 chance of running him afoul of the girl.

Fact was, he was just interested in how someone could live their life in the Black. He didn’t like space travel that much, hadn’t experienced it till only a few years ago. “And what can I call you, Miss?”

“Name’s Abby,” she said on takin’ tah her feet. “C’mon, I’ll walk yah back.” The girl led their new passenger up tha ramp. As she moved, she give ‘im the well worn spiel. “Welcome aboard tha China Doll, Mister Collins. It’s perty easy gettin’ along. Cap’n says stay outta tha cargo bay, the engine room, cockpit, an’ any sleepin’ room ain’t your’n, less a body invites yah.” The after hatch swung open. “Them stairs’ll take yah up top. Galley an’ a nice sittin’ area are up there. Coffee an’ tea’s always on. Sometimes Hook…he’s our cook…lays out a tray ‘o’ cookies or such fer latenight snacks.”

The deckhand beckoned Collins down the short staircase aft. “That’s Medbay. Doc’s name is Alana, an’ take it from me. She knows her la shi. Patched me up a short spell ago. Lav’s right there,” she pointed out a doorway. “Three commodes, two showers an’ sinks. No worries about who’s usin’ ‘em, but they’s womenfolk aboard might appreciate yah knockin’ first, dohn mah? Got another sittin’ area,” she pointed out the sofa an chairs restin’ underneath her chalk orchid. “An’ that’s all she wrote!”

The pair stopped in a space where two short corridors could be seen. “Yer room’s in tha starboard passage,” Abby pointed, “second door on tha left headin’ aft. Mine’s last door on tha right,” she offered. “If yah need somethin’...spare blankets an’ such, don’t be askeert tah knock. Now make yerself tah home.” The grey collar caught ‘er eye once more. Hadn’t interested her afore, but now he's gon’ be flyin’ with ‘em, made sense tah git her bearin’s with Mr. Collins. “Beg pardon,” she asked. “You some kinda shepherd?”

He followed diligently along, noting lefts and rights, trying to take in names… cookies… knock first… He paused at his door, smiling back at the young woman. “Xie Xie, Miss Abby – I ‘preciate the lay of the land.” He tossed his meager kit – really just his pack, and his gun belt, onto the bed, and turned back to her as she asked him about his collar. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Weren’t her way tah put questions tah them didn’t wish tah be asked, an’ Abby picked that up right quick from the shepherd. “If yah need somethin’, I’ll be back out front til sundown,” she siad afore turnin’. “Rest easy, Padre.” Once back in ‘er chair, she noted Collins’ room an’ what he paid fer tha trip. ‘Neath his name, she added Shepherd. After some ‘o’ the folk done flew on China Doll, she conjured Cap’n would like knowin’ a man spreads the Word found ‘is way aboard.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Hump Day from the cargo bay.

It's Day 2 afternoon on Greenleaf, and we're rolling right along. Cap'n and Pen scored us a run for Capital City, Osiris. Thanks to Niska's shuttle chaser lawyer, Yuri's back aboard and lookin' for the mechanic's job. We ain't sure, but we conjure the doc's gettin' all gussied up fer her escape with the cap'n. Hook done disappeared. Rumor has it he mighta R-u-n-n-o-f-t tah scratch "the itch." Abby's parked out front, catchin' up on 'er readin' when she ain't talkin' trade of one sort or t'other.
Father Collins been pointed right at China Doll, an' he got concerns as tah just who might be the bad guys here.

Heard tell that the Skyes got a rave planned fer tahnight. Alana an' Cal most like'll be busy. Not sure 'bout tha rest.

But don't fergit...Day 3 (tomorrow in game time) Hook's invitin' us all out fer a friendly drink. Gunther and your humble hosts will kick off a Gdoc for all interested crew and passengers to join in. Come thirsty!

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Lost and Found

Thanks to @wanderingwolf and @psych0pomp for lending characters and words.

” Listen to me, child.” Ba ba’s hands cradled her face, “You run. Run as fast as you can. Don’t stop til you’re safe.”

Mei Lin felt the tears come, and a quiver to her lip that wasn’t brought on by the cold. “No! I can help you! You’ll see!” Ba ba’s head turned at the sound of a heavy crash further up the ridge. The bear, now excited by the blood trail in their footprints, had picked up its’ pace. “Come with me!” the child whimpered.

“Go…GO!” She saw the moistening in his eyes as he shoved her downhill. “He’s coming!” Ba ba cried urgently. NOW!” She turned, half blinded in her tears, and began to stagger down the snow covered slope. From behind came the thumps of heavy footfalls, punctuated by the rhythmic grunting of the pursuing bear.

”Ko-dee-ak”, the word Ba ba used, darted across her mind. She’d seen bears only once before, when Ba ba took her to a traveling sideshow. They were funny, wearing silly hats and peddling tricycles around a ring. She’d thought them delightful. But this ko-dee-ak was nothing like them. He was a mountain, standing tall as the trees when he reared up, all teeth, claws, and roar when he’d struck their camp. She found her speed, racing downward into the thickening treeline, knocking snow from the overloaded boughs as she fought to keep precarious balance.

From behind her came a deafening roar, answered by Ba ba’s angry shout. ”Hā! Nǐ xiǎng yào lìng yīgè, nǐ zhège gǒu shǐ? Hǎo la…hǎo la!” He must’ve struck the bear with the crash kit’s knife. Hobbled by his shattered leg, weakened by the blood loss that their makeshift ter-ni-ket couldn’t staunch, Ba ba was putting up a fight. The sounds from above gave her hope. Maybe she shouldn’t run too far. He’d need her to circle back and help after he’d killed…

Then came the screaming, a gurgling wail that seemed to rise up from deep within. Like the bear, she thought, but…was that Ba ba?

“RUUUUNNNNN!”

“Beg pardon, ma’am?”

Abby glanced up from her novel. The man looked local. He wore the loose fitting clothes and broad brimmed hat over knee boots all scuffed from lotsa traipsin’. His beard was flecked in grey, trailing down a face gone ruddy and dark from years spent ‘neath the local sun. “Yessir?” she asked.

“Lookin’ fer work,” he said. “Got anythin’?”

“You mechanic? We’s needin’ a mechanic.”

The stranger shook his head. “No, ma’am. But I ain’t afraid ‘o’ hard work.”

Abby give a mild shake of her head. “Sorry, friend. Ever’thin’ else is covered.” She looked down the way. “Lotsa boats berthed jest now,” the girl offered. “Sure’n one of ‘em’s gon’ come up shorthanded fer launch. Look fer them’s takin’ on cargo first. They’ll be yer best bet.”

“‘Preciate that, ma’am.” The man give a tip of his hat afore settin’ off.

“May the road rise,” she said in kind. The deckhand just put ‘er eyes back inta Mei Lin’s flight down the mountainside when ‘er hip pocket commenced vibratin’. What’s he done now? the smile rose tah her lips as she anticipated more from Thomas.

_____________________________________

Message from: NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND

Hey Kid, we’re bound for CAPITAL CITY, OSIRIS. Cargo is 12 pallets. Skids up day after tomorrow, high noon. Do some Abby-cadabra and get my hold filled up. Extra points for passengers. Pen says hi. Girl knows how to dance.

Captain Slide

___________________________________

“Huh,” she said again tah his messagin’. Abby put Mei Lin aside an’ scooped up tha clipboard. After conjurin’ actual flight time she figgered out per kilo shippin’ rates an’ passenger fees. Then, she flipped over tah her notes of all them as come askin’. “Nope…nope…negatory,” the girl struck each name an’ destination off ‘er list. Next one she found herself hopin’ for:

Celia Winters - 1 passenger & 20 beagles - Londinium

Abby worked the chart, clockin’ in current orbits ‘o’ both planets ‘round tha White Sun. “Hmm” her brows lifted, afore she jumped on tha cortex to call Ms. Winters.

“Hey, Cal Junior,” Rex’s voice boomed out behind her as he tromped down the ramp. “Showin’ a little leg, huh?”

She give ‘im her “wooden indian” look. “Nothin’ gits by yew.”

“Not that, anyway,” he waggled his eyebrows over them sunglasses. Looked like Rex done dressed fer tha planet, wearin’ khaki shorts an’ a tropical print shirt the girl swore she could read by after sundown. “Important tanning tip, mei mei. Gotta lay on your stomach if you want color on the backs of your legs.”

“Smart talk from a man’s got tha pastiest shanks I ever did see.”

He grinned. “Ladies who ride the highway like a well marked onramp. Hey, what’s Cal Senior up to?”

“Him an’ Pen went inta town,” Abby said. “Linin’ up a job. It’s called work.”

“Take it from me,” Rex shook his head. ”Nàgè gǒu shǐ huì shāle nǐ.”*
*that shit’ll kill you

Abby come back, smilin’ all sweet as she asked ”Nǐ zěnme zhīdào de?”**
**how would you know?

“You need more sin in your life, kiddo. Anyhoo, tell him I’m lookin’ for him, wouldja?” Rex give out a big yawn, arms spread wide as he stretched. “Well, gotta run. Things to meet. People to do. Ciao.”

“Hasta.” She watched the man as he sauntered off. Seemed like Rex had a lucky star in the ‘verse. Set Abby tah wonderin’ if they both shared tha same one in their Cap’n.

Her call tah Ms. Winters went straight tah voice mail. “Ni hao, this is Abby from China Doll,” she said tah the voice recorder. “Turns out we’s headed fer Osiris. Not a straight run tah Londinium, but orbits look right tah make it a puddle jump if yah wanna change boats. Leastways there’d be time tah check with tha Cap’n ‘bout takin’ a side trip. Lemme know if yer interested.” That part wrapped, she set tah work figgerin’ out a couple package rates tah git tha woman an’ her dogs tah Osiris with the Londinium add-on. Cap’n would want the numbers. Right now they wouldn’t make nothin’ fer the side hop, but she conjured they might pick up somethin’ else ta keep both China Doll and her finances in the black.

Gato Que Avanza, Perro Que Ladra

When the shuttle dropped skids right fronta her, weren’t no way she couldn’t stare. Thing’s painted all metal flake purple with flames trailin back orange an’ read along her sides. Roof struts’d been chopped a might tah narrow out tha windshield an’ passenger windahs. They’s more chrome on it she’d ever seen. Whole thing glowed unnerneath like she had a reactor all broke open, til Abby conjured it’s naught but LED lightin’. Couldn’t see inside, what with them windahs tiinted so dark an’ all. Whole thing throbbed an’ shook so much she pondered how it weren’t leavin’ a trail ‘o’ screws an parts what done fall off.

Back door flew open, an’ music hit ‘er in tha chest. The real surprise was that fella Yuri, him as they rescued on New Melbourne, climbin’ out. She could see he’s still perty stove up an’ movin’ slow. He raised his right hand tah wave, a smile comin’ tah his face til tha shuttle’s passenger windah rolled down. “Hey, cabrón!”

“Yeah?” Yuri turned back.

“C’mere,” All Abby could see was sunglasses, a doo rag on ‘is head, an’ tha pen he waved as Yuri leaned toward ‘im. “For good luck,” he said as he signed Yuri’s cast. “You need some. Buena suerte, man.” He give the cast a friendly pat, afore lookin’ over his shades right at her. A mouth fulla gold teeth grinned, then ‘is lips pooched as he blew ‘er a kiss. “Oooh, mama!” he laughed as the shuttle went skids up an’ cruised back the way they come, music throbbin’ as it faded away.

“See yah made friends,” Abby set ‘er eyes on the mechanic.

“Yeah…yeah!” Yuri chuckled. “They were good guys. It’s Abby, right?”

“Sure’n it is. How yew keepin’?”

“Well enough.” He stopped before her. “Is the captain about?”

“Nah, he’s off handlin’ business.” She looked ‘im up an’ down. While it’s pain as day Yuri’d cleaned up since she last seen him, what with the cast, new bandages an’ such, she could also spot the tiredness rollin’ up on ‘im. “Yah wanna wait inside, mebbe have a bite an’ a sit down?”

The smile returned to Yuri’s face. “Do I look like I need it?”

“Our doc would give me all kindsa nasty looks if’n I didn’t offer.”

“Hey,” he said, “you told me the boat needed a mechanic? That still true?”

She nodded. “Ever mechanic on a Firefly?”

“No, but I do know the MSR reactor - radion core combination’s one helluva lot safer than the one I just spent three years keeping together.”

“They’s reliable, alright,” the girl opened ‘er clipboard. “Cap’n’s got tha last say on it, but if yah conjure tha goesintahs an’ goesouttas he’s like tah hire yah. Usual deal…full share, gun bonus if we gotta pull ‘em an’ such.”

“I don’t have a gun,” Yuri shook his head. “I don’t have anything, right now.”

Abby come up outta her chair. “Tell yah what. Lemme walk yah back. We’ll setcha up a room tah stretch out in. Got things like toothbrushes fer them as fergot tah pack ‘em. Might also have some clothes in tha lost ‘n’ found. Welcome aboard tha China Doll.”

“Thanks,” Yuri gave a grateful nod as he fell in at her side. “Nice to come aboard under my own steam.”

Once Yuri’s all sitchiated, Abby headed fer tha ramp. On tha way, she’s bangin’ out a message tah tha Cap’n:

_________________________________

Message from: IN YOUR DREAMS

Copy on Osiris. Might have a nibble for cargo, but nobody booking passage yet. Tell Pen I want details.

The Mop Queen

PS: Abby-cadabra. Just pulled a mechanic out of my hat.

___________________________________

Firefly - Second 'Verse

And Justice For All - Part 2

The screen switched to an impenetrable blackness into which probed a pair of bright searchlights. As the submersible maneuvered, the first images to be seen were bubbles, an occasional cloud of silt, and small marine creatures who gyrated and whipsawed their way out of sight. Soon, the depths ahead yielded a glow which brightened as the image capture drew near. A silhouette took shape, growing in scale as the beams of numerous searchlights played upon it. Brilliant flashes popped from each drone; photo captures revealing the subject in their artificial lightning. The Eileen McSorley lay upon the bottom, her hull crudely bisected atop a carpet of the reddish brown taconite she’d once carried. Yuri froze at the sight, but despite his horror, was unable to tear his eyes away.

Booth nudged the mechanic. “You don’t have to hang for this,” he offered.

Yuri shook his head as the view took in a closeup of the battered wheelhouse. “No,” he replied. “I’ll stay.”

DeVillers, his attorneys, and the young staffers were all transfixed. “How are we seeing this?” his voice had gone soft in wonder.

“Oceaneering Services,” Booth replied. “They were running structural viability surveys on a bunch of old drilling rigs til the hurricane forced ‘em in. My other client,” he continued as the submersible’s camera lifted over the bridge railing, “diverted ‘em to the wreck site. They’re catching full images, and something called hull stress metallurgy scans…whatever that means.”

Gasps were heard from both conference rooms as the view peeked through a shattered bridge window, revealing two bodies that hadn’t been swept out when the ship’s death plunge rammed her into the bottom. “Shenequa,” Lenny said. “Cut it.”

Yuri’s eyes swept the tabletop before him. “My god,” someone from the Ogilvy-Norton group uttered.

“How did you find them?” DeVillers’ tone was sharpening to its’ usual accusatory pitch.

“Wasn’t hard,” Booth answered. “We had a fix radioed in by the…the ship that was behind it…I’ve got it somewhere…”

“The Moncrief,” Yuri filled in the blank. “From there, locating the reactor’s heat bloom led them right to the wreck.”

“Is the NMMP on the scene?” Lang asked.

Booth shook his head. “Just Oceaneering, but tomorrow morning, MP’s sending a team to look over our guys’ shoulders for some official finger pointing. So we’re short for time, gentlemen.”

Lang, the senior attorney, lifted his hand. “Wait a minute, Counselor. We’re hearing an awful lot about this other ‘client’ and his ability to control this situation. Just who is he and what is his interest in this?”

Lenny smiled. “He’s sorta the lynchpin to the whole operation. Because of his influence, Oceaneering’s discovery will back up your insurance claim, your reactor will classify the wreck site as off limits for the next five hundred years, and Mr. Antonov will disappear into the black, along with any knowledge he may possess. As Ogilvy-Norton’s newest partner, Adelai Niska can offer those services immediately…but time’s a wastin’ fellas! Whattya say?”

The lawyers and their client circled into a huddle. Yuri could see the sweat glistening on DeVillers’ brow as the color drained from his face. Clearly, he was being educated about just who it was come to call. The quietly heated exchange broke long enough for Lang to ask, “what are you proposing for Mr. Antonov? Ident change, or the like?”

“More like an internal records correction,” Booth said. “It’s alot easier to say that a Yuri Antonov went down with the ship, just not this Yuri Antonov…capiche?” As he was met with blank expressions, the lawyer chuckled. “Get one of your source box jockeys to make a few number changes and voila! My Yuri Antonov never worked for you. You can pull his settlement cost out of your “discretionary spending” account. Oh, and one more thing? Somebody call off the dogs here on Greenleaf.”

Onscreen, Lang cast a sidelong glance toward DeVillers, who responded with a curt nod. “Mister Booth,” the attorney collected himself, “we should like to call a brief pause to consult with our client. Would fifteen minutes suffice?”

“Bueno! I gotta pay the rent for those four cups’o’ coffee, anyway!” Lenny said brightly. As the screen winked to black, he ushered Yuri to his feet. “Now’s the boring part where I deal Niska into their little card game. No need for you to hang around for that.” He opened the door for Yuri, then offered Shehnequa a cheerful ‘thumb’s up.’ “See Diane on your way out. She’s got your new ident. You can start drawing funds on it right away. You’ve got a balance of twelve-point-five thousand all ready to go! Welcome to your new life, my friend!”

The whole day had been surreal. Yuri barely thought to ask about the disparity of his payout. “What happened to the hundred twenty-five thousand?”

The lawyer shrugged. “Simple. Twelve-point-five K for my fee…I did this on the cheap because I like you. Fifty K as tribute to Mr. Niska, and the other fifty? He tells me that your dear old mother is living under his care at the skyplex. That money covers her upkeep.”

“She’s working like a house slave for the man,” the mechanic growled.

Booth shoved hands into his pockets as they stepped into the corridor. “Feel free to take it up with him. In the meantime, I can have Diane set you up in a hotel…maybe book a passage? Niska did say he’d be glad to have you come to work running all those big spinny things that keep him in orbit. But hey,” he made a turn for the restroom, “I really gotta drain the lizard. Take care of yourself, dohn mah?”

Yuri Antonov tried to grasp the change now confronting him. Nearly killed aboard his own ship…then pursued by something Booth called a ‘wet work team’...only to end up escaping both Ogilvy-Norton and Adelai Niska with a few coins and his life. A life once more cast adrift. When the idea struck, the mechanic nearly laughed at just how well the notion seemed to fit. “Mr. Booth,” he said, “can you have someone give me a ride?”

Leonard Booth, Attorney at Law, halted his desperate retreat to face his client once more. “Sure. Where to?”

“The Trade Port,” Yuri replied. “I heard something about a job.” China Doll had rescued him once before. He wondered if they'd be willing to do it again.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

And Justice For All - Part 1

The offices of Attorney Leonard Booth were everything Yuri might imagine of a lawyer whose client extraction technique included mariachis. Terrazzo floors seemed to cower beneath the knockoff Persian style area rugs. Nowhere could the eye travel that wasn’t slathered in dull gold leaf, or propped up by a mishmosh of Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns. The lobby was dominated by a large screen which blared the latest “Booth the Truth” advertisements and tutorials in which the man himself explained what not to say to the local 5-0. A dozen wing backed leather chairs with ornate cherry wood fittings dotted the space. As they swept through, Yuri noted that nearly all the seats were taken. By members of the same gang, if the matching doo rags were any indication.

“Booth,” their leader rose as the lawyer nudged his charge past. “You gotta help my brother, man.”

Lenny stopped. “Aw, geez, Diego. Don’t tell me Ramon’s back inside?”

Diego nodded. “He didn’t do nothin’.”

“Good answer,” the attorney said. “Look, I’m late for a meeting with some suits. Lemme get lunch for your crew. Diane? DIANE!” he shouted for the receptionist. “Get my friend Diego and his associates some lunch while they wait. That shiny with you guys?” Seeing nods all around, he stepped closer to the young woman’s desk. “Hit the cortex for any charges filed on Ramon Guitierrez. Then call Lt. Traxler. Tell ‘im ‘no interrogations without I’m in the room.’ Capiche?”

Diane responded with the dead eyed stare of a battle hardened receptionist. “I know how this works, Lenny.”

“That’s why I’m gonna marry you someday!” Booth exclaimed as he ushered Yuri toward a conference room. Compared to the helter skelter mismatches outside, the more traditional business trim of this room was positively austere. Except, of course, for the gigantic screen which made up one entire wall. “Really something, huh?” Booth chortled as he directed Yuri to a seat at the table. “I got this whole place from a client. Guy’s company made “art” captures for the cortex,” he winked. “This was his screening room. You can see every pore…hey, Shenequa!” he greeted a woman of considerable size who was already seated. “Say hi to Yuri!”

“Hi. You’re late,” she looked at him over glasses perched low on her nose. “They’re shēngqì.”

“Just how I like ‘em,” Leonard Booth, Attorney at Law rubbed his hands gleefully as he took his seat between them. “Fire that bad boy up, hon.”

The enormous screen glowed to life. In an instant, the room was bombarded by an image of seven people, all side by side at a massive conference table. Yuri recognized DeVillers’ profile as he huddled in conversation with three immaculately suited men to his left. “Those are the company sharks,” Booth whispered. “Leave them to me. The other three? Lackeys who carry your boss’ water. They’re here to balance the table and look intimidating. Just keep quiet. I’ll do the talking, and I’ll nudge you if you need to say anything. Remember, this is poker…”Hmmmmph!” he cleared his throat loudly, drawing the attention of the remote group. “Hey everybody, thanks for joining in! You know my client,” he smiled broadly as he laid a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “I’m Leonard Booth, representing Mr. Antonov. This lovely lady is Shenequa Robinson, my paralegal…”

“Howard Lang,” the senior attorney interrupted. “Representing Ogilvy-Norton. Mr. Booth, do you realize how long you’ve kept us waiting?”

“I sure do,” he nodded vigorously. “We were delayed en route…had a pop up meeting with some of your client’s associates. But, thanks to providence and Khao Yai’s uniformed law enforcement officers, we’re here in one piece, ready to proceed.”

DeVillers glared onscreen before Lang whispered a message. “Very well,” he began. “I’ll say that Ogilvy-Norton are relieved and pleased that your client managed to survive the tragic loss of the Eileen McSorley and her crew. We are, however, confused as to his abrupt departure from New Melbourne, not to mention an immediate retention of legal counsel.”

“Asked and answered,” Booth shrugged. “Mr. Antonov made all effort to contact Mr. DeVillers as soon as he’d been treated by the rescuing boat’s medic. As to being along for the ride,” he chuckled, “carrying shipwrecked survivors to the vessel’s next port of call is standard practice that goes as far back as sailing ships on Earth-That-Was.” Lenny grabbed a pad and stylus as he spoke. “And while Mr. Antonov is glad to learn of your client’s well wishes, perhaps if they’d chosen to show the love during that initial call we all wouldn’t be here charging our fees…but let’s move past perceptions. These are confusing times,” the attorney nodded amiably. “Both Ogilvy-Norton and my client have suffered a terrible loss. Nature can be a cruel thing, sometimes. No matter how we…”

“Spare us the preamble…Counselor,” said the legal team head. “It’s obvious that you and your client are attempting to leverage this grief stricken company for personal gains. Just tell us what you want.”

Booth lifted an open palm. “Well that’s the thing. You see, after doing his duty and then surviving the shipwreck, Mr. Antonov simply wants to live a quiet life. He harbors no ill will toward Ogilvy-Norton, and he’s not looking for anything more than you’re about to distribute to the bereaved families. How much is that again, Shenequa?”

She looked up from her screen. “A hundred twenty-five thousand.”

“A hundred twenty-five thousand,” Booth repeated. “Twelve point five salary, twelve point five hazardous duty bonus, and the standard one hundred thousand death benefit. As easy as that,” the lawyer gestured with both hands and a friendly grin.

DeVillers’ scowl deepened as around him, the attorneys chuckled. “We don’t pay death benefits to the living.”

“Good point,” Lenny nodded. “And if your fellas here on Greenleaf had been on their game, the death payout wouldn’t be in question.”

“Are you suggesting…” an attorney on screen welled up in practiced outrage until Booth cut him off.

“Have a sip of water, Counselor. What I’m…’suggesting’...is that my clients want only the best possible outcome to this tragedy, namely that Ogilvy-Norton experiences no disruption to your insurance claim processing, and that Mr. Antonov is simply given what’s promised in your client’s employee handbook.”

“Disruption?” DeVillers leaned forward. “Am I to infer that he thinks he might disrupt our insurance claim?”

Yuri opened his mouth to speak. A subtle hand squeezed his wrist. “Furthest thing from his mind,” Booth quickly filled the gap, “My client wishes to avoid that kind of unpleasantness altogether. In fact, he’s willing to take his story and all that he knows to the grave.”

“For a hundred twenty-five thousand?” The senior attorney was incredulous. “I’m certain your girl there has run the numbers on our insurables.”

“Yessir, she has.”

“And so,” Howard Lang, Senior Partner continued, “we’re expected to believe that your client will seek no further recompense, nor will he attempt to expose us to future liability? For a hundred twenty-five thousand?”

Lenny Booth grinned. “Guaranteed. You might’ve heard me mention ‘clients?’ Your junior partner did. He’s been tugging at your Number Two’s elbow since I said it.” He turned an eye toward his paralegal. “Shenequa, we got that feed? Share it with our friends,” he gave an encouraging nod.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hoedown at Hafez’s - Part 3

JP/collab from @Aalakrys, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

As the music faded and Penelope rose from their rather dramatic dip, Hafez Nadal applauded, forceful clapping that cued those in attendance to follow suit. “My friends!” he swept toward the pair. ”Sayidi,” their host grinned broadly as he shook Cal’s hand before swiftly moving to drink in the sight of Pen. ”Habibti,” Nadal’s voice took a gentle tone as his left hand touched her right shoulder. “Graceful bird. You have been missed.”

Penelope's warm smile radiated at seeing her old friend, her hand briefly meeting the one on her shoulder. She agreed easily, with a gentle squeeze to his hand. "It has been too long. Thank you for not only seeing we got settled in okay, but also inviting us to this party."

The host offered a courteous half bow. “You bring light to any room,” his smile was open and warm as he took a seat with them. “Captain, I congratulate you for your insight. Penelope is a rare creature. To recognize her wings speaks well of your own gifts.”

A rare creature, indeed, Cal thought to himself. He couldn’t contest the fact, and considering how she’d just cut the line on the millstone around his neck, he found himself nodding along to Nadal’s pronouncement. “She grows on you after a while, then she keeps knittin’ you mittens–well, I haven’t earned a pair yet.” His brow shot up in her direction to get a bright smile in return before she bit into a bird-shaped vegetable, then returned to Hafez. “If it weren’t for her, I’d have to eat crow. And if it weren’t for you, well,” he scooped the bottle of guava wine from beneath the table to present to Nadal, “Thanks.” It felt awkward, giving a man who obviously had everything he could ever desire, a gift as banal as wine from his own homeworld, but Cal didn’t falter.

Hafez accepted the bottle with both hands and a gracious nod. “You honor me,” his smile did not waver as he examined the label. “Such a vintage tastes all the sweeter when enjoyed with friends.” Nadal lifted two slender fingers, a signal promptly answered by a member of the house wait staff. “Please have the sommelier prepare this. My guests and I shall enjoy it in my office.”

“Very good, sir.” The waiter took the bottle, draping it in a hand towel as he hastened toward the kitchen.

“Please,” their host gestured toward their plates. “Enjoy your food. My grandfather founded this place. It would bring him joy to see you eat your fill. ‘Full tables, full bellies, loud belches,’ he used to say.” Nadal grinned at the memory. “The man could belch.”

Cal nodded, he had a feeling he’d get along with grandfather Nadal, though he might contest the man’s prowess at belching–considering Rex’s penchant. His fork moved ambitiously to the line that decorated his own plate as his eye followed Nadal’s gaze. He’d certainly worked up an appetite on the dance floor, after all.

Being the light eater she was, Penelope had already reached the limit of what her fill could be, even with all her homeworld delicacies and artistic renderings of finger foods representing the local splendor. Still, she nibbled and nodded along, not knowing the next time she’d have the opportunity and not wanting to pass it up after longing for it. The two men were looking out at the dance floor, so her eyes followed to see it sadly lacking even after their efforts. Though she wasn’t bothered none - she’d enjoyed herself in the process.

“Look at them,” the cafe proprietor’s smile dimmed at sight of the two clusters of teens. “At my fourteenth, I wasn’t going to be happy until I’d danced with every girl. Now,” he offered a rueful shake of his head, “they slump over their cortexes…like two pots full of dying weeds. My apologies,” Hafez placed a hand upon his heart. “The incoherent ramblings of a childless uncle. What business have I to bemoan the choices of our youngsters?”

“Reminds me of a ‘youngster’ I know. Just turned eighteen, matter-of-fact. Kid’s glued to her cortex; always taking pictures when she thinks no one’s watching. The ‘Verse keeps on spinnin’,” Cal offered by way of platitude, fork soon to follow.

Penelope gave her captain a side-long glance at the way he so casually made Abby sound like a typical teenager when she was anything but. There was a chiding coming his way. “Aw, Cap’n, that ain’t fair at all - she’s the hardest worker aboard, just a bit smitten, is all.”

“She’s certainly that,” he took a moment to finish the bite in his mouth before replying further. “Abigail’s the hardest workin’ deck I’ve seen aboard the Doll, hands down. I’m merely commiserating with Mr. Nadal insofar as that thing’s glued to her hand more often than the mop.” He watched Pen’s face and added preemptively, “All’s fair in love and chores.”

Taking note of plates soon to be emptied, their host offered, “I’ve learned that sometimes a pause can aid the digestion. We might put that time to good use by discussing a bit of business?”

Captain Strand wiped his mouth on his napkin, having finished the morsels in descending order of ‘things-I-can-suss’ to ‘things-I-ain’t-never-laid-eyes-on.’ Contentedly, he nodded at Nadal’s sentiment, “I believe we’ve ‘danced’ around the subject, some.”

Oh, that meant they were moving, Penelope realized as the two men stood. She sat aside the napkin she’d used to wipe her fingers on, making to follow suit. It was time to find out just how well they knew these steps. It left her slightly anxious, being involved in something again. For the last year or so, she’d flown an honest trade ship port to port. No bargaining, no questions, just a destination, one after the other. Participating in the likes of Hafez Nadal’s business ventures had not worked well for her in the past, though this time her captain was making sure she was in the know. It was much appreciated.

After courteously pulling Penelope’s chair as she rose, Hafez led his guests through the cafe’s dining room. There were a few stops as their host was set upon by party guests who chose to gush their gratitude, or to make apologies for a hasty exit. He took it all with the practiced aplomb of a man well accustomed to owning the room. “Apologies, friends,” he whispered as they were shown to a service corridor. “This way, please.”

The office was well appointed, but not to gaudy excess. Hafez showed them to a pair of comfortable chairs perched before a burnished cypress desk. “A beautiful piece, no?” he asked. “Penelope, you’ll remember Aziz, the groundskeeper at my place? He built this from trees we had to clear for an outbuilding.”

Ever the aficionado of repurposing and the natural world, Penelope was enamored with the new life the groundskeeper had given the tree at Hafez’s introduction to the desk. She gently ran a hand over the edge in appreciation as she moved to her seat, looking over the decorative work inlaid in the front panel as she sat. “Aziz always did have a respectful eye for his work. He’s the one that taught me some woodworking.”

The last she’d said to Cal, easily falling into a conversational frame of mind that tended to happen when around the affable Hafez Nadal.

“Didn’t know you worked wood,” Cal said, chin upturned as he laid a smoothing hand on the cypress. To his delight, his palm glided over the varnish as he followed the grain. “Hell, first no mittens, now no finely crafted wooden furniture? What’s a Captain gotta do?” Cal sent a sidelong glance toward Hafez. Perhaps he was being too passionate, but he was in a good mood, all thanks to his companions.

“Ya didn’t want shimmer - can’t limit a girl’s creative freedom and then fuss about how long its takin’ to make ya somethin’.” Likely the dancing spirit was still in her as Penelope was more lively than usual, easily teasing back with a little more life to her soft manner. “‘Sides, ya won’t be needin’ no mittens down at the lagoon or anywhere else on Greenleaf for that matter, Cap’n.”

“I could provide a few planks with our shipment,” Nadal offered. “Now that you mention it,I do seem to recall one or two occasions in which Penelope brought the scent of fresh sawdust to the dining table…but forgive my rambling,” he apologized. “To business. To put it bluntly, Captain Strand, I’ve a shipment due on Osiris, and am in need of a reliable captain…one who understands the value of discretion.”

That brought sobriety to the Captain’s mood. Straight to the point; Cal appreciated that, at least. He tugged his chin downard as his mind ran through the possible scenarios. Thanks to Penelope, he had an idea of what Hafez Nadal may need to move. It’s always better to ask questions you already know the answer to: “And what sort of shipment might require such discretion?” His tone had changed to one of business. One that maintained the charade that this request could be refused.

“Pharmaceuticals.”

At his answer, Penelope’s easy smile faded as her eyes turned on Hafez. It had been like ice water was dumped on her, and she didn’t like the sensation one bit. Her natural brow ruffled, concern not common found in her smooth features etching her forehead with worry. There wasn’t accusation, or even hesitation, as she asked the obvious question: “What kind of pharmaceuticals?”

Hafez laughed. “The best sort,” he grinned. “Vanity drugs for the semi wealthy and socially insecure. Weight loss tablets, teeth whiteners, hair growth ointments, and every concoction one might imagine to enhance sexuality. First World problems, one might say?”

This answer cleared away the worry, at least from Penelope’s face, the rest would follow soon. Harmless, except in all the ways it was likely illegal and why her old beneficiary wanted discretion. In response, she hummed as she relaxed back from the position she’d unknowingly taken up - reclining into the chair once more.

“It is true,” their host nodded, “that these products are ‘off the books,’ but if one plies the trade with discretion, the gendarmes are not inclined to look twice. Pharmaceutical companies are required to run their production in preassigned lots which are then registered with the Alliance. However, a typical production run of any drug includes a small surplus to offset imperfections and packaging errors. When a lot is declared ‘complete,’ the surplus is then to be…disposed of.” Nadal chuckled. “We’re only too glad to render this service, and to offer these remedies to our known distributors. And that, Dear Captain, is where you come in.”

Cal leaned forward, “Alright.” Strand glanced at the desk again as he asked, “How much do you need to move?” If he were going in, might as well go in with his eyes open. At least Nadal was being moderately forthcoming.

“Twelve pallets, all contents sealed and shrink wrapped. Your manifest will read ‘non prescription medications,’ which affords you plausible deniability in the worst case scenario. Now then, as to the matter of your fee.” Hafez sipped from his glass, and with a contented smile, continued. “Standard charter rate, or do you have another figure in mind?”

It seemed Hafez wasn’t interested in turning the screw, which caused Cal’s eyes to narrow. Standard fare would see to the ship fueled, the crew fed, and walking around money. Hell, Hafez, on Pen’s good name, had just saved him from eating a huge loss. The deal was fair. “Standard fare ought to do.”

The proprietor nodded. “As to a timetable, I can have the cargo delivered the day after tomorrow. Say ten o’clock in the morning?”

“Suits me. I’ll have my men waitin’ to load it up.” Cal’s eye met Penelope’s for a moment. If she felt good about the deal, then so did he. His hand moved to his cortex, a couple lines of marching orders tapped out to the deckhand of the hour.

Penelope turned her ever-open gaze on Hafez at the unspoken final check for indemnity from her captain, the levity from earlier tucked away while business was being conducted and coming to its conclusion. He knew how deep betrayal could wound her, and though his line of work was fueled by deceit, she felt trust that he would not put the job at risk by hiding any ‘trivial details.’ Not when she was the pilot, and he’d done so much to keep her free. The warmth of her smile was reflected in her voice, meant as an assurance to her captain and gratitude for the trust she was able to still have in people thanks to the man she was looking at as she spoke. “Thank you, again, Hafez.”

“Then we are in accord. Tama!” Hafez offered his hand to the captain. After a firm shake, he repeated the gesture with the pilot, as a subtle knock announced the arrival of the cafe’s sommelier. She was a slight woman of olive skin and dark eyes who balanced a serving tray with practiced ease. “Ah, Djamilah!” the proprietor waved her into the office. “Impeccable timing, as usual. Please, please! Set that down on the desk.”

“Of course, sir.” The gift bottle now beaded up a mild sweat from its’ rapidfire chilling. The sommelier poured a small amount into one flute, then handed it to Nadal for approval.

He held it aloft, noting the color and the clarity from impurities or bits of cork. “A rich amber,” Hafez observed before his sampling taste. With an approving nod, he returned the little vessel. “It is good.” The nod given, she poured, filling each of the three flutes, which Hafez was only too happy to hand to his guests. “Permit me to offer a toast?” he asked.

Captain Strand accepted the glass with his calloused hands. “Surely.” Business behind him, a subtle smirk returned to his lips. His pilot nodded thanks as she received her own and turned her gaze back to their host, pleasantly expectant.

Hafez lifted his glass. “To friends, old and new. May we find good fortune in both business and pleasure.”

“Fi sihatik,” Pen said with a grin over her glass before enjoying the taste of something new.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Thanks, Gunther! I really appreciate you keeping up with the playlist.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Of Mice and Pigs”

Thanks to @wanderingwolf for a few choice words.

If they’s a clipboard starin’ ‘er in the face, sure’n that meant she ain’t got the afternoon tah wander. And jest as certain, Cap’n left ‘er a note:

Kid,

Freckles and I are looking into a job. Don’t conjure where that’ll take us, but ‘til we get the 411 there’s no harm in sniffing the air for what else we might catch. Take afternoon watch on the lawn chair. If folk come nosing about, get their vitals and we’ll follow up. Don’t firm up any deals!

Your Brave and Beloved Captain

PS: I take that back. If the deal’s really, really good, firm it up. And no kissing strange boys, young lady.

“Huh.” Abby grunted, then headed for her room. She stripped outta her cleanin’ garb inta cutoffs. Tahday’s tee shirt was yella, with two black, greasy lookin’ handprints right over her bosoms.

Mookie’s Wheel and Chassis Works

Beaumonde

”Front end alignments are our specialty”

Uncle Bob always frowned when she wore that. He particular didn’t like so much leg stickin’ outta them cutoffs. “I declare, Chickpea!” he’d near spilt ‘is drink fer wavin’ the glass at ‘er, “What kinda sign yah think yer sendin’ ta ever’ man walks by?”

She’d smirked an’ patted the Colt on ‘er hip. “Dangerous Curves?”

That was tha only time Abby sassed ‘er uncle. Rememberin’ how he laughed still give ‘er a smile as she pulled a brush through ‘er hair. “Uncle Bob,” the girl said as she slipped on a pair ‘o’ canvas shoes. Sayin’ ‘is name again felt good. Felt like home.

Uncle Bob had ‘is failin’s, an’ he was a man had his share ‘o’ demons. Past few years done showed her straight up all his weaknesses. But even when he’s knee walkin’ drunk an’ shoutin’ at ‘er over this, that, or t’other, he’s never hateful or cruel. She could see the fear in ‘im durin’ them times. Fear he wouldn’t raise ‘er right…or keep ‘er from harm. While all else about his life broke moorings after Aunt Lupe passed, Uncle Bob never stopped tryin’ ta do right by his niece. An’ fer that, she would love the mem’ries of her aunt an’ uncle long’s she lived. Weren’t no doubt she’s in a better place now, with good folk all around an’ life tah taste, but who she was come straight from that old pistolero takin’ on a child he didn’t hafta. Abby mighta had doubts about Blackjack Bob O’Halleran bein’ tha fastest gun in tha ‘verse. That book he waved about might be wrong. But she’d keep them stories about his doin’s all the same. Them, and The Gunfighter’s Code. She’d try hard tah ‘member all ‘o’ that, too.

One ‘o’ his duels was fought right here in Khao Yai, at a saloon called Hap’s La Frontera. As she settled out front in the lawnchair, Abby checked ‘er cortex, an’ was all kindsa delighted tah learn the place still served liquor down on tha rough end a town. Tahnight, she’d wear her Colt, and go have a drink at Hap’s…fer him.

“You got a pretty smile, sweetheart.” The man was old…right close tah Uncle Bob’s years, but that didn’t stop lecherous eyes makin’ their journey all about her. “Pretty legs, too. Where you headed?”

Abby looked up from her screen. “Depends. Where yah goin’?” she countered.

His exploration of her thighs halted. “That’s not how this works, girly. I ask. You answer. Plain as day.”

“An’ I said ‘depends.’ Smart fella might read that as ‘open charter,” the girl replied. Spottin’ the beginnin’s of a grimace, she padded with “Yah look perty smart tah me. Yah got cargo, or just need a passenger berth?”

“I need,” he growled, “to put a riding crop to the backs of those legs…teach you how to speak to your betters.”

She already done sized ‘im up, but dropped one more fer tah make sure. “Spankin’s cost extra.”

“They do?” There’s the final tell. A look flickered in his eyes, a flame of lust fanned by wishful thinkin’, afore he collected hisself an’ tried maskin’ embarrassment with a growl. “Don’t toy with me, bitch.”

Biàntài, through an’ through, she decided. ‘Verse was overflowin’ with his type. Exactly what Uncle Bob warned me about. Abby tucked the cortex inta her pocket, freein’ the right hand tah lay near her Colt. “Don’t play yer kinda games, mister. Now step on.”

He took sight of the gun, and her hand resting close by. “Congratulations. You just cost your boat a sizeable opportunity. Easy run for big coin…gone. I’d hate to be you when your captain conjures just who it was you pissed off.”

“Yer prob’ly right,” Abby give a shrug, “An’ he gits tah spank me fer free.”

There it was again, a quick flicker cross the eyes afore his face gone all flushy with anger. ”Qù nǐ mā de, biǎo zi!” the man raged, balling his fists.

The deckhand took to her feet, gun hand now gripping the Colt in its’ holster as she squared off. “That’s on tha premium rate card,” Abby hissed. “Mister, yew really wanna walk on right now.”

He appeared tah pull hisself tahgether. “I conjure I do.” With a couple tugs at his collar tah hide ‘is moves, he glanced about, sure an’ true checkin’ tah see if anyone’s lookin’, til he caught sight of Ms. Wyman at the top of the ramp. “There’s a way things work in the ‘verse for girls like yourself,” he turned with a sniff. “Sooner you learn your place, the better off you’ll be.”

“Oh, I’m learnin’,” she answered as he took tah walkin’. Abby held stance fer a moment. When it was clear he wasn’t comin’ back fer Round Two, she spit on the ground.

Ms. Wyman descended the ramp. “Are you alright?”

“Tolerable,” The hardness left Abby’s gaze as she took in the passenger. “Headin’ out?”

“Since I’ve decided to ride along for a spell,” Edina smiled, “thought I might grab a few things from the market. Need anything?”

“Goin’ out my own self,” the girl smiled back. “Headphone shoppin’, an’ stuff tah make mouse traps.”

“Do we have mice?”

“Happens on cargo boats. Caught one. I’ma set up a couple bucket traps an’ see if we got more. Nothin’ tah worry about,” she added. “They’s more nuisance than anythin’ else.”

The passenger chuckled. “Believe me when I say I’m no stranger to rodents. Had full on rats at our place in Pensacola. A mouse is a welcome relief.” Edina paused a minute, then spoke in quiet voice. “You really did handle that jackass well.”

Abby’s eyes lifted, catchin’ sight of the man as he worked ‘is way from boat tah boat. “Mah Uncle Bob taught me ‘bout their kind.”

Ms. Wyman turned. For a minute they both studied the man. “What a pig,” she observed.

“Nah,” Abby watched him git turned away from an old sampan. “Pigs is nice.”