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Firefly - Second 'Verse

Last Night at The Lair

As We Live

The running joke about Desmond’s Lair was that no two of any item were alike, from the barstools and tables right down to the glasses. Everything had been scavenged over time. Even the once grand mahogany bar had been pried out of a shuttered hotel on the eve of the wrecking ball.

For Abby, the whole world had gone a skosh soft about tha edges. She followed Lorraine inta tha bar, servant girl to a queen, judgin’ by tha sorta greeting from within.

“LO-LO!” came a singsong shout from tha bar’s far end.

“Come on!” Lorraine pulled Abby by the hand. “You gotta meet all these LOW RENT CHEONG BAO HO TZE * SONSOBITCHES!” (* monkey raping)

“I SWEAR TO BUDDHA…JUST ONE TIME!” a voice shouted back as Lorraine propelled Abby into the middle of the boisterous group. “This is Cornflakes!” she tossed an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “She’s with us tonight!”

If yew was tah ask, ain’t a whole lot more fer her tah remember. Them folk all took ‘er as one ‘o’ their own, laughin’ an’ shoutin’ tah be heard all at once over tha band. They’s a drink landed in ‘er hand, another Vodka Boom Boom what she didn’t rightly recollect tellin’ no one she wanted. Ain’t no way she’d turn it down. That’d jest be rude.

She met Miller, a tall woman looked more muscle bound than most men. They’s Iggy, friendly guy what lost ‘is legs in tha war, an’ his giant friend ever’body called “The Scrote.” Then she seen Brit, pretty woman with a sweet smile got ‘er ruminatin’ over both Alana an’ Penny. And then they’s Reginald. Powerful tall, skin ‘o’ chocolate brown, an’ thin dreadlocks touchin’ ‘is shoulders. His eyes was dark an’ soulful, but when he smiled… mmm, mmm, mmm! Had a grin what dazzled, an’ a musical island accent sounded her name as “Obby” tah cut her butter like a hot knife. Could be tha vodka. Hell, prob’ly was. But this boy was purtiest thing she ever did lay eyes on. Mayhaps that’s how he got ‘er out on tha dance floor so quick.

Kiss The Ground

Abby liked dancin’ well enough tah understand she weren’t good at it. But Reg had an arm down behind ‘er waist, an’ he swung ‘er about free an’ easy tah the heavy beat. “Dot’s right,” he give ‘er a smile started a proper quickenin’ inside ‘er. “Just move wit’ me, girl.”

She could feel it, heavy thumps in ‘er chest an’ his hips leadin’ hers. Her hands was on his shoulders, feelin’ muscle and sinew ‘neath ‘is shirt. Abby thought by now she’d be wobblin’ on unsteady feet, but not a ‘tall. Instead, she felt nigh on graceful, her body reactin’ tah his lead, and a downright pleasure fer his fingers as they pressed tha small of ‘er back. “Wow!” she blurted all sudden, “this gotta be what sex feels like…wait...I didn’t say that.”

Reg threw back his head and laughed, his slender dreadlocks tossing in the warm air. “And I didn’t hear it.” He chuckled, before offering the girl a pull from the smoldering blunt. “Rude of me not to share,” his eyes smiled down into hers. “Care to try?” When she nodded, he said, “I’ll shotgun it to you. Pucker your lips…dot’s right, like you’re about to kiss. Den suck in de smoke when I blow it. Ready?”

“Uh huh.” Abby’s all puckered, waitin’, til; Reg leaned in. With his lips jest a hair’s breadth from hers, he blowed a tight cloud right at ‘er. She inhaled, suckin’ in tha smoke, takin’ it through ‘er lips til it landed on ‘er lungs…all afore it set her doublin’ over in a coughin’ fit. “Sorry,” she ‘pologized twixt ‘er hackin’. “Ain’t used tah…”

“Nonsense,” Reg killed the joint beneath a heel as he draped both arms around Abby’s waist. “De more you cough, de more you get off,” he laughed as they reclaimed the rhythm. “You feelin’ it, Obby?”

“Yeah…yeah!” She’s feelin’ somethin’. Vodka’s doin’ it’s part. She thunk she felt tha chronic connectin’ ‘er tah tha music…which sounded gorram great!...an’ commenced puttin’ all manner ‘o’ thoughts in ‘er head ‘bout how she’d want tha rest of tahnight goin’. Fer a tick, Abby thought ‘o’ Thomas. A guilty pang crossed ‘er mind, afore she put tha kai bosch on that notion. Sumbitch got a dozen messages he ain’t answered, her rebellious mind pushed back. So does Alana. People come and go in tha ‘verse. Right now, dancin’ in tha arms of a man she felt might jest show her how it’s all done, Abby conjured them words she done said time and again. People come and go. She sussed out mayhaps weren’t her place tah keep hangin’ on tah them as went their own way. Let ‘em go, she figgered, a smile touchin’ ‘er lips as Reg pulled her in against ‘im. Let ‘em go.

Fixated as she was, Abby barely took reconnoiter of Lorraine. The waitress was at tha bar, talkin’ with a man looked right outta place in these environs. Well dressed gent, ‘bout Abby’s height. Thirties. Sandy blond hair an’ a moustache. Fer a tick, they both turned tah look square at her…and she knowed she seen his face afore. A face she should know…but ‘er mind couldn’t track.

Reg stopped dancin’. “Sorry,” his lips brushed her ear. “Cortex. I have to take ‘dis.”

“Shiny.” Jest as well, Abby considered as Brit waved her over. I’s right close tah givin’...

“Hey, girl,” Brit shoved a fresh drink into her hand. “Just warning you. Reg doesn’t really speak all ‘island.’ He just uses that accent at the resort he works at for the tourists,” she offered, “and to charm the la shi outta women he’s tryna bed.”

“That so?” Abby asked as Vodka Boom Boom Number Six touched her lips. She was really gonna hate herself tomorrah. “It was workin’, she fessed up, “like a champ.” The two women went all silent, starin’ at one t’other, til all at once they bust out laughin’. She looked about. Ain’t no sign ‘o’ Reg, Lorraine, or that swell she’s chattin’ up. Even drunk as she was, Abby conjured tha business of ‘naughty men slipping about.’ They’s somethin’ bein’ hatched, fer sure.

“So,” she asked casual like. “How long y’all here for?”

‘Spring break,” Brit answered right off. “Lots of rich college kids and oldsters. We make good bank, we won’t have to work summer season,” she smiled. “Then it’s families with half pints and empty coin purses. How ‘bout you?”

“Here til muh boat goes skids up. Lookin’ like we might git a whole week while Cap’n ties down our next job,” Abby said after a long sip. “Nice yer all a crew, goin’ places tahgether.”

Brit clinked her glass to Abby’s. “Just like your crew, really. Safety in numbers. Women like Lorraine and me…hell, even Miller, jacked as she is? ‘Verse is no place for a woman on her own. So we find work, get the job done, and move on.”

Raised By Wolves

Abby nodded. “I copy that,” she agreed. “Muh Uncle Bob used tah say…” A splash ‘o’ dingy pink caught ‘er eye. There’s Lorraine, grinnin’ out front a’ tha band stage, index fingers crooked up tah beckon an’ tha devil in ‘er eye. Sight made tha deckhand laugh out loud as she dropped off ‘er stool. “Whatchoo want, Bugsy?” she asked all fake innocent as tha waitress reached tah take ‘er hands.

“DANCE WITH ME, YOU BITCH!” Lorraine laughed, pulling Abby into her arms.

Abby’s none too sure what they done could be called ‘dancin’. It’s more like a couple young’uns, skippin’ an’ flailin’ arms all about, her hair flyin' like she lost her gorram mind. Over time they did make a couple moves, with Lorraine teachin’ her how tah sideslip a hip or rock ‘or wiggle ‘er pi gu...somethin’ she called ‘twerkin’. What she did know fer certain was they was havin’ a slap good time of it, laughin’ and jumpin’ all over.

”You left a child out in the wild,
And I was raised by wolves,
I was raised by wolves.
Aooooo-oooo”

Abby seen Lorraine throw back ‘er head an’ howl…somethin’ she took likin’ to right off.

One moment saw the pair leaping in the air, playfully hanging onto each other as they gyrated to the music. In the next, they spun, hands clasped and screaming as the rest of Lorraine’s crew joined in the fun. The floor soon filled with people, all dancing and howling with the joyous recklessness of children.

I was raised by wolves.
Aooooo-oooo.”

Abby felt Lorraine give ‘er hand a squeeze. She seen a girl she only knowed since lunchtime, eyes all sparklin’ with mirth as they both howled. Folk come and go… Now she conjured it. Ain’t nothin’ permanent, ‘specially folk yah take up with. Someday hence she’d go her own road. Didn’t mean she couldn’t some bit ‘o’ happy while she’s here, with a damn crazy she called Bugsy. Might be drunk thinkin’, but howlin’ among folk as she was, felt durn near fine with Abby. Fine enough tah howl all night.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Playing Dress Up

They was right back at Vic’s. Lorraine pulled Abby up a narrow little back stairway tah a tiny apartment right over tha restaurant. “Not much biggern’ muh quarters on China Doll,” the deckhand said as ‘er host poured out kibble fer Elvis.

“China Doll?” Lorraine cocked an eyebrow as she rinsed two glasses. ‘Sounds like a floating brothel. What’d you say your job was again?”

“I told Cap’n same thing when ‘e hired me!” Abby chortled. “Lotsa stuff. Deckhand work, cleanin’, moppin’, scrubbin’ toilets…perty much whatever needs doin’.” She gazed about tha place. It’s all stacked up in boxes. Some labels she conjured. Others she took fer high toned sorta stuff what she ain’t never thought tah buy. One thing’s a certainty. Fer a waitress in a diner, Lorraine sure had bunches of it. “Whatja say yer job was agin?” she asked.

“Oh,” her host moved toward a small cabinet behind a stack of crates labeled Ginette’s of Londinium. “You mean all these boxes?” she asked. “I’m keeping ‘em for a friend.” An oversized bottle of vodka made its’ appearance, generous pours following ice cubes into two glasses. “Whattya mix with?” Lorraine looked up from her chore.

Abby looked all askance. “Uh…Boom Boom Lemon?” she asked. “We drinkin’ already?”

The spiky haired Lorraine popped a can, splashing the soft drink into what little space each glass had left. “Pre-gaming!” she said brightly. “You don’t look like you’re made of money, Cornflakes. Cheers!” After they clinked glasses, she took a healthy swallow. ‘Okay,” she waved her half empty glass toward Abby. ‘Now get naked.”

‘Whut?” Abby near spit out ‘er drink. “Why?”

“Because,” Lorraine giggled as she grabbed one of Abby’s calves, “I’m gonna make you irresistible. Gimme that foot.” She snatched a shoe, pressing it sole to sole with the red hightop on her own foot. ”Ku!” she exclaimed before diving head first into an open box.

Abby stood there fer a tick, one shoe on, one shoe off, seein’ only Loraine’s pi gu as she tossed a pair ‘o’ shiny lace up boots over ‘er shoulder. “Those’ll work…hey! Get outta your clothes! Bathroom’s through there,” she pointed toward an arch just past Elvis as he went face down into his bowl. “You need a full shower, or just a three-P?”

‘Whut’s a three-P?”

“Jayzus!” Lorraine exclaimed. “What’re they teachin’ you on that boat? Three-P! Pi gu.” She gripped her bottom, followed by a slap to her underarm. “Pits! I’ll wager you’ve got the last one all sussed out by now?”

Abby downed ‘er drink, more fer need ‘o’ courage than anythin’ else. “I copy,” she answered as her clothes commenced hittin’ tha floor. A few ticks later she come back out, scrubbed an’ clean from tha shower with a towel draped ‘round ‘er. Lorraine was there, her grin sorta frightenin’ as she shoved a fresh drink inta Abby’s hand.

“I got you all set up,” she said. “You drink. Follow me.” She led the way to the apartment’s center. A large mattress lay on the floor, tousled blankets and sheets revealing this to be the waitress’ regular bed. Atop the tangle was a pair a pair of loosely arranged outfits. “That’s mine,” Lorraine pointed toward a rough looking cocktail dress of pink chiffon, accompanied by black elbow length opera gloves and a pair of the gleaming black boots. “And this,” she said proudly, “is yours.”

Like Lorraine, Abby seen her own lace up boots. ‘Docs’, they’s called, though she ain’t got no clue why. They’s a skirt…dark red plaid what only reached part way ‘round, leavin’ ‘er left thigh an’ hip covered by a short black under skirt. They’s a belt strap sorta kep it all from flyin’ open. What Lorraine put our fer up top was…”A bra?” Abby demanded . “Jest a bra?”

“It’s called a bustier, stoopid.”

“I get it! Good thing I don’t got much goin’ on up there or it’d all come ‘boost-in’ right outta that!” Abby griped.

Lorraine sipped her drink, the free hand resting upon her hip. “Cornflakes, ain’t yew jest a reg’lar knee slapper?” she teased, directing a slender index finger toward the clothes. “Put ‘em on,” she ordered, “and then tell me how amazing you look.”

“Oughtta jest go nekkid,” the deckhand grumbled.

“That’d look amazing, too.”

And amazin’ it was. She ain’t never wore nothin’ like this afore. Lorraine helped with tha straps an’ buckles, til ever’thin’ fit just so. Short ‘o’ her unders, Abby never felt clothes what hugged ‘er so well as these. Skirt was high waisted, wrappin’ her midriff jest above ‘er belly button an’ givin’ her a tetch more look of hips. For a girl who never wore dresses…ever, she’s a tad bit shocked at how much leg she’s showin’. Even when she stepped inta them Docs, her thighs an’ calves still looked all long an’ such…and she discovered she liked it.

The ‘boost-ee-yay’ was a right marvel. Abby knowed she was small in her breasts, but tha way this thing held ‘er showed that tah be a good thing. It didn’t give away nothin’ she wouldn’t want seen, but tha way it looked on ‘er was…was…

“Sexy, huh?” Lorraine stood behind her, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face as she offered up another pregame drink.

“Thank yew,” Abby took the glass, then turned before the mirror. “I never…” she said at sight of her own self, lookin’ so…fine? “I never…”

“Now you know,” the waitress said as she leaned around to color the deckhand’s lips, “that you can. Here, hold still.”

That lipstick was a dark red what looked tah match ‘er skirt. Abby couldn’t conjure what jest a little color might do fer a body, til she’s starin’ at herself. "La shi, but I had nary a clue,” she sighed. “Hey, I fergot. I ain’t wearin’ no unders.”

“Unders?” Lorraine giggled. “That some kinda redneck slang for panties?”

“How ‘bout this?” Abby cracked wise. “I ain’t wearin no unders…you bitch. Capiche?”

“Capiche…capiche!” the urbane girl laughed. “Look in that box over there. No, bumpkin, that one! La Petit Boutique. You look just barely like a size six to me. Try a five, first.”

Inside tha box was all unders. Glistening silk, delicate lace, an’ even some cotton like Abby always wore…’cept they’s a rainbow o’ colors an’ patterns. She let ‘er fingers run through tha softness, her eyes wonderstruck at all the pretty. Abby weren’t ignorant that such frillies was in the ‘verse. But til now, she jest never give thought tah ownin’ somethin like tha tiny silk leopard ‘panties’ she pulled out. “These,” she said as she lifted ‘em up fer her new friend’s nod. “Why come all these still got price tags?”

The girl she’d nicknamed “Bugsy” was all wide eyed innocence. “Do they?” she asked. “Gee, I dunno! Must’ve been like that when they fell off the truck!”

“Yeah,” Abby give ‘er a knowin’ smile as she kicked off them boots. “That’s gotta be it.” In a moment she’d hiked ‘em up beneath tha skirt. “I like this lipstick,” she offered as she commenced puttin’ on an lacin’ up ‘er boots. “Don’t seem like it’s comin’ off.”

Lorraine was now whirling out of her clothes. “The lipstick’s good for about a hundred kisses,” she snickered. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Cornflakes! People are gonna want to kiss you. Deal with it!” She grabbed a fresh towel and said “after I’m dressed, we’ll work on our hair. How’s about you mix us up another drink?”

Abby’s painted lips hung open. “Another one? I’ma be drunk afore we get there!”

“That’s the plan!”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Change of Plans

Abn8r
Hey Alana, I know you’ve got lots on your mind. Just let me know you’re doing tolerable?

Her latest wave done been sent, Abby tucked tha cortex inta her back pocket. She’s sittin’ cross legged, Tribal style, in a narrow little patch ‘o’ grass what was called a park for the poor folks. She swigged from a bottle ‘o’ water a street kid sold ‘er, an’ tried tah conjure her next move.

No Alana at tha Drop Shop…just a room full ‘o’ misery like tah broke ‘er heart. They’d been kind enough tah take ‘er message fer China Doll’s doc, an’ she dropped coin inta their donations box afore makin’ the ten block hike back.

So now, with tha sun dippin’ and completely outta notions, she sat in tha grass, watchin’ a mother an’ her toddler playin’. She had three days free…somethin’ both Cap’n an’ Yuri gone out their ways tah make sure she conjured. Day One was ‘bout tah shut down, and with Alana vanished she weren’t too sure what she wanted fer Two an’ Three. From where she sat right now, showin’ up at Vic’s fer breakfast an’ some more ‘o’ Lorraine’s teasin’ was the best thing she’d heard. Leastways ‘til she could hear if Alana’s doin’ alright.

All around her she seen people comin’ an’ goin’, Folk headin’ fer their night work at resorts, dressed as wait staff, cooks, room service types, all clean an’ crisp as they hurried toward tha rail platform. Then, there was them whose day was done. Housekeepers, maids, them as rich folk called “the help,” trudgin’ slowly home tah tiny apartments an’ whatever sorta life their narrow coin purses could bear. “Ain’t ever’body on vacation, Chick Pea,” Uncle Bob once tole her. She ruminated on that, seein’ its’ truth in the weary eyes all about her…’til the world went all pigglety.

She’s knocked ass over tea kettle, sprawlin’ in tha grass as somethin’...a powerful big somethin’...done come down right on top ‘er. Abby’s put outta her senses fer a tick as she couldn’t conjure just what’s goin’ on. Then, all sudden like, a tongue size of a beefsteak slathered right up ‘er face. When it drenched ‘er a second time, she caught on. The dog was solid muscle an’ gigantic head jest above ‘er face. She squinted, crackin’ one eye open tah get a look. Fer such a beast, he’s sorta goofy, huge body movin’ with each wag of ‘is tail.

“ELVIS! NO!”

By now it commenced gettin’ funny. Abby’s laughin’ as ‘er hands worked up both sides of the big head tah scratch the dog’s ears. He just licked ‘er face agin’ when ‘is owner caught up.

“Elvis!” she cried as she hauled him back by the collar, “Let her breathe, ya big re-re! Oh, Buddha, miss, I’m sorry! I’m so…Cornflakes?” Lorraine, the waitress, peered down upon the deckhand. Seeing Abby’s good humor about being tackled, she placed hands upon her hips and a faux glare upon her face. “You tryna make out with my dog?”

Abby wiped tha slobber away with a forearm, afore proppin’ up on ‘er elbows. Elvis whined, tongue lollin’ as he pulled against tha collar. “Didn’t know I was stealin’ yer man, Bugsy,” she quipped, offerin’ tha dog a bit of solace through a scratch ‘neath ‘is chin.

“My One and Only,” Lorraine settled onto the grass, joining Abby in doting upon Elvis. “I bring him out here after work for a little play and a good poop.” Seeing good flow between the pair, she offered, “He sure likes you. Wanna join in?”

“Don’t need tah poop.”

Lorraine smirked. “You sure?” She waved her little bags. “I brought extra.”

“I’ll letcha know,” Abby giggled.

“Any luck with your doctor friend?”

“Nah,” Abby shook ‘er head, hair gone even wilder than usual fer rollin’ about in tha grass. “I conjure she don’t wanna be found…leastways fer a spell. Left scads ‘o’ messages, though,” she give a sigh. “She knows how tah find me.”

“How many you send?”

“Five ‘r six. Why?”

The waitress propped elbows onto her knees. “Smart to leave her alone for now. Any more waves than that’ll just creep her out…or piss her off. Is she your boo?”

Abby glanced over, not sure if Lorraine’s jest funnin’ s’more or if the question come innocent. When she seen the girl weren’t sizin’ ‘er up for her answer, she said, “We’s close, but not like that. Jest a might worried fer her is all.” The deckhand reckoned it funny, but sittin’ here with Lorraine an’ her dog, words all just started comin’ real easy like. “We got shore leave fer tha next two days,” she said. “Alana an’ me had some plans. Sounds like they’s ‘bout tah change.”

Elvis now lay between them, his mouth open as he panted happily under the attentions of both women. “So what you’re saying,” Lorraine responded, “is you’ve got the night free?”

“Fer whut?”

“Blood orgy,” With a chuckle for the offworlder’s confused reaction, Lorraine offered, “Okay, how about this? Come out with me and my crew. We’ll have some drinks, maybe dance a little? That sound like fun to you?”

Abby rubbed Elvis’ forehead as she thought on it. By rights, she should head fer tha boat. See if they’s word from Alana. They give ‘er time off, but she’s fer sure certain ain’t Cap’n or Yuri laid eyes on tha lower deck lav. La shi needed doin’. She really oughtta git at it…There’s Lorraine. Creepifyin’ how she can read muh thoughts, the deckhand conjured as the waitress give ‘er some big puppy dog eyes. “Yeah,” she heard ‘er voice sayin’. “Sounds like fun.”

‘SHINY!” Lorraine was on her feet. “We are gonna have a serious good time!” She hauled Abby to her feet, then led the way, her arm draped about the girl’s shoulders as Elvis fell in at their side. “My peeps are gonna love you, Cornflakes! There’s a place we hang out…The Lair,” she grinned as they hurried down the street. “They’ve got a killer band there tonight, and not a single gorram tourist!”

“Cept fer me,” Abby quipped as she’s bein’ nudged along. All sudden like she pulled up short, stoppin’ em both in tha street. “I dunno…sorta sounds like I ain’t gon’ get in there…’specially in togs like I got on right now.” As she spoke, she waved a hand over ‘er top, tha shorts, an’ canvas shoes.

Lorraine grinned. “Bùyòng dānxīn**, Cornflakes. Leave everything to your old pal Bugsy.”

**No worries

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Bugsy and Cornflakes

The menu at Vic’s Good Eats was nigh on simple. Still, Abby kept readin’ it again and again. Her eyes took in them words, but ‘er brain jest weren’t payin’ no attention. She read, and read, and read.

Alana just up an’ disappeared. Abby tried tah find ‘er, playin’ it smart, usin’ ‘er cortex. None ‘o’ them fru-fru hotels’d tell ‘er nothin’, no matter what kinda lie she concocted. When she finally took wise an’ tried leavin’ a message fer Dr. Alana Lysanger, that’s when she learnt weren’t “no guest by that name” on tha roomin’ list. Short of fleabag flops an’ boardin’ houses, she done wore out tha town’s directory.

Hospitals was no better, and gorram tight lipped when it come tah questions ‘bout anyone what used “Dr.” afore their name. That’s when she conjured she’d havta pound pavement. Hours stretched on an’ on, as tha day wore inta afternoon. One kindly nurse pointed ‘er toward tha 27th St. Free Clinic in tha poor district, where all them resort servin’ folk had tah live. Knowin’ Alana’s way ‘o’ helpin’ them’s need it most, she thought she had tha answer at last.

But they ain’t seen ‘er. “We’ll pass your message if we do,” they promised.

Tha menu still weren’t gettin’ past ‘er thinkin’. Can’t just let ‘er go like that, some small part ‘o’ Abby cried out. She an’ Alana was gettin’ tight…kinda sisterly kinship she come tah realize had real meanin’. Whatever happened twixt her an’ Cap’n, she reasoned, ain’t nothin’ can‘t be put right. Pen didn’t say goodbye. Now, Alana. As she thought on it, her fingers rubbed the bullet, feelin’ tha necklace chain its’ hooked to. Have tah find ‘er, Abby paid no heed to tha menu. She can’t just…

“You gonna order something, or ya waitin’ for Vic to autograph that menu?”

The waitress looked on ‘er with dark eyes all skeptical like. Seemed tah be nearabouts same age as Abby. Her short black hair looked like she just climbed outta bed. Had a faded green apron over denim cutoffs, one hand on ‘er hip as t’other refilled ‘er water glass. Girl wore a tee shirt what read That’s a terrible idea! What time?

“Ain’t sussed it out yet,” Abby said.

“Well, sweetie, if you want food, you’d better suss real quick. We close in thirty minutes.”

In this life, they’s certain unwritten rules. One of ‘em was “Never order food just before closing time.” Abby laid the menu down. “Too late,” she said. “Ain’t gonna have yah dirty up a kitchen’s already bein’ cleaned fer tomorrah.”

“Trust me,” the waitress replied, “Vic wants your coin. Whattya havin’?”

“Got somethin’ jest warmin’ on tha stove?”

“HEY VIC!” the waitress shouted toward the kitchen.

“WHAT?”

“YOU GOT SOMETHING ON THE WARMER?”

“NOODLES!” the proprietor yelled. “I GOT NOODLES!”

Abby spoke afore tha waitress could ask. “I love noodles.”

The dark haired girl smirked. “That’s a rog. VIC!”

“YEAH?”

“BOWL OF NOODLES!” She turned back toward her customer. “Ya want any sauce or crackers to go with?”

“Sriracha’s good.”

“Hells yeah it is,” she give a nod what made the little hook of ‘er nose stand out sorta cute. “Comin’ up!” Abby watched ‘er go, takin’ sight of the girl’s red high tops as she darted behind tha counter. Weren’t more’n two ticks afore she come boundin’ back with a small basket ‘o’ saltines, bottle ‘o’ sauce, and a bowl what’s steamin’ as she laid it on tha table. “Careful, it’s hot,” the waitress cautioned. “Vic scooped all the chicken and carrots outta the pot for you.”

“Thank yew,” Abby replied.

“Thank yew,” the waitress mimicked her accent. “Thank yew!” She laughed. “I love that! HEY VIC!”

“WHAT?”

“THIS GIRL’S COUNTRY AS CORNFLAKES! RIGHT OFF THE FARM!”

“WHAT FARM?”

“I DUNNO WHAT FARM! BUDDHA! YA GOTTA HEAR HER TALK!”

“FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD, LORRAINE!” the cook groused. “LET HER EAT, WOULDJA?”

“Good idea,” Abby’s temper was fixin’ tah smolder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lorraine laughed it off. “Just breakin’ your balls a little. But you’re not from around here, and we’re way off the tourist track, so what’s up, Cornflakes? Why you down here slumming with all us poor slobs?”

“I’s across tha street,” she said after shovelin’ a bite down. “At tha clinic.”

“Oh yeah?” Lorraine gave a knowing smile. “D’ja get the clap?”

“No, dumbass!” Abby come back pissed. “I ain’t got no gorram clap!”

“Ha!” the waitress chortled. “Ah ain’t go no gorram clap! Oh, Cornflakes, I love your twang. I could listen to you all day!”

Abby fired back. “Bettern’ soundin’ like some sorta half assed ‘wise guy’ mafia capture, I conjure!”

“That whatchoo conjure?” Lorraine was genuinely tickled, then chose to pour it on thick. “You come in here, right off the boat, thinkin’ I’m some kinda mook?” Her eyes sparkled as she laid on her own rough hewn urban accent.

Abby could see in Lorraine’s eyes tha waitress was jest funnin’, so she let ‘er hackles down. ‘I’s thinkin’ a diff’rent word,” she answered twixt bites. Them noodles was right fine…

“Oh yeah?” The server plopped down in a chair opposite her only customer. “Starts with a B? Ends with an ‘itch?” When Abby tapped a finger to the tip of her nose, Lorraine threw back her head and laughed. “I like you, Cornflakes!”

“Abby.”

“Huh?”

“Name’s Abby,” she said with a mouth half full. “Yer cook sure knows ‘is trade.”

“Uh huh,” the waitress nodded. “He’s Vic. I’m Lorraine. HEY VIC!”

“WHAT?”

“CORNFLAKES LIKES YOUR FOOD!” she shouted.

“YOU SAY WE’RE OUTTA CORNFLAKES?”

“NO! No…oh, fuck it,” she laughed with a toss of her head. “Vic opens at seven…feeds working people breakfast and lunch…’cuz who can afford what they sell the tourists? Am I right?” Lorraine threw out open hands. “Am I right?”

Abby shook ‘er head. “Don’t rightly know. Ain’t done no touristin’.” She finished her bowl. “Been lookin’ fer a friend ‘o’ mine ever since Cap’n let me off tha boat. Hey,” she yanked out ‘er cortex once tha idea struck. “Seen a perty blond woman come in tahday? She’s a doctor? Dresses tha part?” The screen glowed with a capture of Alana’s image.

Lorraine glanced, then dismissed the picture. “Nope.” Then she smiled. “You’re the cutest thing that’s walked through this door all day.”

That’un struck tha deckhand off guard, but she did kinda like tha waitress sayin’ it. “Gitcher eyes checked,” Abby give a smirk. “Speakin’ of, yah know any other sorta free clinics or med stations about? Thinkin’ muh friend would wind up helpin’ at one or t’other.”

Lorraine pursed her lips, tapping them with an index finger as she thought. “There’s the Drop Shop,” she offered. “They give junkies clean needles and a safe place to use. They’re always up for medical help. Up 27th,” she pointed the way. “About ten blocks. Don’t get caught up there alone after dark,” she warned. ”Dohn mah?”

”Ku.” Abby put ‘er coin on tha table…cost of a bowl ‘o’ noodles an’ a decent tip fer her as served ‘em up.

“Hey, thanks,” Lorraine scooped up the money. “You gotta come here tomorrow for breakfast, Cornflakes! Vic makes these sweet rolls that’ll just knock you right out! And when it comes to coffee, we don’t fuck around.” She gave Abby a teasing smile. “Anyway, I’m not through pickin’ on ya.”

That raised a laugh from tha deckhand. “Helluva sales pitch, Bugsy,” she quipped. “I’ll think on it.”

Lorraine watched as the girl made her way toward the door. “An offer you can’t refuse?” she chuckled.

“Ah heard that!”

“WHAT?” Vic shouted from the kitchen.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Artifacts

The Earth-That-Was Museum and Archive presented an imposing countenance to the general public. Patrons would ascend a broad stairway, under the watchful eyes of two white marble lions. The building’s facade was all heavy stone block construction boasting three tiers of windows. The copper roof glittered beneath Pelorum’s sun, it’s steep pitch rising another ten meters above the darkened stone wall, upon which traditional gargoyles and the mystic guardians of numerous cultures shared a perpetual vigil.

A pair of ornate doors served as the grand entrance, though there were used only for celebratory events and the occasional private function. The museum’s paying customers were issued through a pair of simple revolving doors which deposited them before a smiling ticket clerk.

On this day, the lobby resembled the grand hall of an ancient cathedral. “Notre Dame,” Edina’s eyes traversed the soaring columns and high pitched roof to settle on one of the magnificent stained glass windows, whose colors were projected onto the floor by an afternoon sun. She’d been largely silent during their visit, holding back as Yuri conducted the business portion with Mrs. Henrietta Cornwall, the museum’s founder and primary benefactor.

“Correct,” the elder woman’s face lit in a delighted grin. “I’m so pleased. We’ve been very painstaking in our recreation of Notre Dame. Still, it’s a rare eye that recognizes the sanctuary.”

The young woman’s smile was sheepish as she answered, “It was a school project, I’m afraid. Once you learn just what I don’t know you won’t be so impressed. But…can I ask a question? The roof,” Edina’s eyes coursed once more across the sturdy wooden beams and planking. “Is this from before the fire?”

“And you said you wouldn’t impress me,” Mrs. Cornwall laughed. “Yes! Yes it is! It’s our good fortune that before the fire of twenty nineteen, the entire structure had undergone a thorough data mapping, and a wonderfully accurate redrawing of the construction blueprints. Digital preservation,” the curator’s smile was genuine as she regarded the museum lobby. “As a bit of a history buff, I spend a great deal of time and energy tracking the few tangible artifacts carried on our colony ships. As you saw,” she turned her gaze toward the two younger visitors, “they are wonders to behold. But without this,” her hand swept across the expansive view, “even items so revered as a Faberge egg, the Gutenberg Bible, and even King Tutankhamen himself suffer for want of context.”

Yuri studied their surroundings. “I’m amazed that this is all holographic,” he shook his head. “For the life of me, I can’t spot the projection sources.”

The old woman nodded appreciatively. “I know only enough to be dangerous,” she offered, “but our technical chief tells me that we mask their presence by changing locations to match light sources in the simulation.. The sun, shining through that window, for instance. A holo projector is tucked there. Every night after close, our crew resets the lobby environment to match the next day’s environment. Tomorrow,” she gave the first mate a smile, “this space will be the central plaza of Vatican Square.”

Edina met this news with an excited grin. “I think you just sold two tickets.”

“Nonsense,” Cornwall brushed the notion aside. “You and your crew carried an Egyptian king to his new home. You’ll be welcome here as my guests. By the way,” she fixed Edina and Yuri with a mildly raised eyebrow, “we’re christening our new Aviation Pavilion with a nineteen forties themed celebration tomorrow evening. There’ll be period clothing, a big band, and dancing. It just so happens,” Henrietta smiled, “that I’ve a couple open seats at my table. Would you care to join us?”

“Nineteen forties aircraft,” Yuri replied, “and big band jazz and swing? I wouldn’t miss it!”

“So that’s how you’re asking to take me dancing?” Edina delivered a playful nudge.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Things We Keep

“That’s jest how things are. Folk come and go in tha ‘verse.”

Yuri noted the manufactured diffidence with which Abby answered his questions. He knew her well enough at this point to understand the importance of work as her default. Though never one to be shy about her opinions, if the circumstance involved her personal feelings or some upset among the crew, she’d clam right up and find something to do. This morning, with the shock of Alana’s departure weighing heavily upon her, the girl was loathe to share any of her thoughts.

“True, true,” the first mate offered a sage nod. “You know you’re on shore leave, right? You don’t have to help with this.”

She din’ bother lookin’ up. “I know.” Since breakfast, Abby slipped inta denims an’ a work shirt. If she’s bein’ true, fact she worked her chores til past midnight left precious little tah make ‘erself look busy this mornin ‘. Seein’ Yuri workin’ their cargo, them six climate controlled boxes fer that museum, looked tah grant a bit ‘o’ purpose fer hands needed business….an’ some time tah sort out what’s in ‘er head. “My Uncle Bob always said ‘Work Before Play.’ Don’t seem right fer a deckhand tah go gallivantin’ while there’s work on deck needs doin’. Can yah gimme that socket wrench?” She done wormed ‘er way in twixt them crates. Now, after feelin’ tha tool land in ‘er palm, Abby set tah loosenin’ up them bolts what held tha crates in place. “Should I pull power while I’m here?” she asked without lookin’ back at Yuri.

“No,” he said. “The museum techs will disconnect that. I conjure they’ll want to make sure there were no changes while we had their cargo.”

Her wrench chattered as she unscrewed a bolt. “Any idea wassinum?”

Yuri had joined in with a second wrench to undo the mounting bolts he could reach. “Historical artifacts,” he answered. “That’s all I know.”

“Copy.” Fer her two cents, seemed like Yuri’s sayin’ ‘that’s all I know’ a skosh too much…but t’weren’t her business tah call ‘im out on such. “It’s a puzzlement,” she offered, by way ‘o’ makin’ conversation, “that when our ancestors left Earth-That-Was they made room fer old museum kinda stuff. I’da used up space fer tools an’ food…an’ such.”

“You’re not wrong.” Yuri’s wrench settled atop another bolt, chattering with each turn. “But maybe…faced with leaving our home and flying a hundred years to a new part of the night sky, d’you conjure folk back then thought it might be wise to bring along things to remind us where we came from?”

She ruminated on that. Even now, in a ‘verse full ‘o’ folk movin’ to an’ fro, all the people she met took a pride in pointin’ out they’s actually from someplace. Hook come from Hera, Edina’s born on New Melbourne. Pen hailed from Greenleaf. “Hey Yuri,” she got curious now, “where did yew come from?”

“New Vladivostok,” he said without looking up. “My dad was a mechanic for terraformers. Did most of my growing in a skyplex over Ezra. My mom still lives there.”

“Yah got anythin’ from them times?” Abby asked. “Tah remember?”

Yuri shook his head. “What I had went down with my old ship. How about you?” he asked. “Where do you call home?”

“Don’t rightly know.” I’s raised by muh aunt an’ uncle. Spent muh whole life I can remember in tha black. So I guess Mariposa’d be muh home…but she’s been scrapped out nigh on two years now.”

“Got any keepsakes?” he asked. “To remember your childhood?"

“I do.” He could hear the girl brighten. “Got a couple captures on muh wall. Muh daddy’s pistol…an’ a book what’s called ‘Gunfighters of tha Outer Rim.’ Muh Uncle Bob’s in it,” her tone became proud. “Durin’ his prime, he’s tha fastest gun in tha ‘verse. Book says so.”

The first mate smiled as he worked. “Sounds like quite a man, Abby. Makes sense that you’d have someone like him in your line. And some pretty shiny keepsakes, to boot.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I’m tryna learn more ‘bout muh parents. They both died in tha war. Now with Uncle Bob an’ Aunt Lupe gone, muh chance ‘o’ findin’ out’s gettin’ right slim.” She tapped ‘er wrench on tha deck, dislodgin’ a bolt caught in tha socket. “They’s a barkeep on Grenleaf knowed muh daddy. I’s gonna see him, but them bikers come along…Yuri,” her tone changed as her wrench stopped workin’. “Yah think it’s important? Makin’ sure folk got a keepsake tah ‘member yah by?”

“I think it helps.”

“Yeah,” tha girl thought on it some more. If Alana’s truly gone, and gone she surely was right now, Abby seen her go without givin’ her nothin’. She give Hook a farewell. She’n Pen done traded things to an’ from afore tha pilot rejoined ‘er family. But Alana, who took ‘er in, protected her, patched ‘er up twice? She meant too much tah just let fly off in ta tha black. Abby had tah find ‘er…give ‘er tha one thing come from their bond way back when it started.

She had tah track Alana down.

“Yuri,” Abby spoke up. “Done undid all tha bolts in tight spots. Is it shiny with yew fer me tah go now?”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Sunday from the cargo bay!

It sure looks like Cap'n and the doc are on the outs right now...in the middle of the 'verse's most romantic getaway location. Funny how things can go all squirrely like that. But, the rest of us are on shore leave, if we're of a mind to take it. Of course, with Alana gone, don't seem like a single one of us got fun on the brain at the current moment...

Just a reminder that Pelorum is a wide open episode. You can either tag onto the one or two plots we'll float, or break completely away to write your character's own adventure. If your personal plot includes Yuri, Abby, or Edina, send me a wave and I'll be glad to join you.

We recently asked your opinions regarding the future of FF2V. The exercise proved not only enlightening, but also rewarding. Of the options offered, you were all most interested to keep flying, with a few reboots and tweaks. Some followup convos revealed that reboots were largely character oriented. While I'm aware of one or two character/position changes in the works, I have to say it was fortunate news that many of China Doll's crew will remain aboard. Yes, I love Abby Travis, even though vocalizing her speech and narrations is slowly wrecking my grammatical writing skill.

The option for a hiatus also received sufficient upvotes to warrant some discussion. We're keenly interested in what that would mean to each of you. I've got a couple of notions to run by you as well.

Wolf had recently tried to corral us into a live chat or a Discord voice chat to discuss where we'd like to take the three winning approaches. I think getting us all together is an excellent idea. When I return from my current goofing off (first beach trip of the year), we'll ping each of you for the right day/time/format.

On a personal note, my takeaways from our discussion were really quite poignant. The fact that every one of you voiced the desire for us to remain together was a mighty tug on my heart strings. I couldn't agree more. It's such a privilege to be part of a group whose talents leave me both envious and entertained with each post. Your characters live and breathe through your words, and frequently leave me uttering "I wish I'd written that." Add to that the friendships we've formed along the way, the celebrations of each other's lives and the support for our struggles that flow so freely among us, and it becomes apparent that FF2V has grown into more than the sum of its' parts.

Thank you all for making China Doll fly. Your love is definitely keeping this old boat in the air.

WWIF,

sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Helper (Shore Leave, Day 1 Morning)

Question: How do you help out on a boat when you don’t know a gorram thing about living and working in the black?

Answer: Do any little thing you can.

Right now, that was cooking. There was no equal for Joe Hooker in China Doll’s galley, a fact that the crew and passengers all learned abruptly. Hook’s decision to cast his lot with the Anabaptists had come as a shock, apparently as much to him as anyone else. Edina recognized his torment at leaving this crew, but the look in his eyes as he told of what he’d found in the faith made an even more powerful statement to those who’d listen. In the end, his departure was met with smiles, hugs, and tears among all of his shipmates…accompanied by a precipitous drop in the quality of grub.

The college kids were the easiest. They devoured anything and everything that required no waiting or minimal prep. As a result, all the packaged cereal, snack foods, and sandwich makings were completely gone. Watchful of her own crew, Edina the ad hoc cook had squirreled away the final two slices of bread, an unappetizing pair of heels, for Abby’s usual morning toast and jam. Even that simple repast took effort, as the students’ ravages left precious little jam in the jar. “Sorry, Abby,” she apologized as she laid the sad result before the deckhand. “Yuri promised to help me restock the galley today…”

“Don’t worry on my account,” the teeneager answered. “I can live on peebee an’ jays whole time we’s here, if it helps. Long’s we cot coffee,” she added with a smirk.

Sister Lyen seemed just as easy to please. Though Edina had noticed a preference for fresh fruits and rice concoctions, the newest member of the crew was always one to graciously accept whatever pitiful fare the volunteer cook might wrench from a near empty pantry. She’d managed to preserve an orange for the nun, which had been served as slices framing a laughably poor attempt at sticky rice balls, all of which Lyen treated as a banquet.

Imani Ozuka seemed every bit as hardy as her nature. She ate whatever Edina placed before her, offering no complaint…though she was a fan of salt and pepper. The new kitchen helper decided to engage her in conversation…feel her out for any preferences.

By far, the most interesting challenge was Elias, their phantom mechanic. Before his departure, Hook had explained what he knew of the towering man’s wounds and his own efforts to provide nutrition. Every meal was centered on basic protein paste, generally cut with milk, eggs, or water to ease in the process of swallowing. She dove into research, attempting to come up with the best approach on his behalf. What little the cortex could offer her did tell Edina that taste buds weren’t only found on the tongue, but also the roof of the mouth.

This epiphany set the woman onto a course of pursuing solutions for the mechanic. First, the food itself required some structure, enough to lift it to the roof of his mouth. From there, it was all about seasonings She had no clue as to the nature of the taste buds residing up there, so every meal was a different attempt at flavoring. So far, they’d agreed on hot seasonings. Now, she was working on sweet, sour, and savory, with an equal effort to give Elias’ nose something to look forward to at mealtime.

Quill Casidy entered the galley. For a woman so supremely well put together, she was the simplest of the lot. Edina smiled and greeted her with the steaming mug. After a gracious nod and a few pleasantries, she joined the little group at the long table, her breakfast of a single cup of coffee cradled in both hands as she added to their conversation.

Edina returned to her work on Elias’ breakfast. The other men aboard were typical in their preferences. Bacon, sausage, eggs, all of which she’d guarded jealously to have something for them on this first morning of shore leave. Tommy, the pilot, had taken off before dawn to grab an eastbound shuttle to some sort of ranch. She knew that Yuri was about, busying himself to hand over their cargo to the Earth-That-Was museum. As for the captain, and for that matter, the one woman she hadn’t seen today, the doctor? Edina hoped that they were beginning a well needed break by sleeping in together. She smiled to herself, a secret understanding that lately, similar notions had crossed her mind. “Who needs more coffee?” she piped up, to be greeted with a small sea of hands.

She could help. She could make this home.

She set Elias’ breakfast before him, then attempted to sign. “Sweet,” Edina signaled. “Let know me.” Around them, the conversation was lively. Abby was talking about the beach and buying herself a bikini, a topic that both Quill and Imani offered to share their expertise. The modest Sister Lyen looked on in quiet amusement. And then, there was Yuri.

Upon reading his grim expression, her blossoming smile faded. “Hey,” she asked, “Is everything alright?”

“No,” he replied, before quieting the group. “People? People!” he stepped to the head of the table. “I’ve got news.” The crew was now silent, all eyes directed to the first mate. “Captain wanted me to let you know that our doctor has decided to leave the boat. Sorry,” he lifted a hand to still mouths opening to spill questions, “She’s already gone. That’s all I know.”

Under a deepening pall of silence he turned aft, making his way down to the cargo bay. Among those who remained in the galley, not a word was spoken, as if the simple act of doing so might prove inappropriate or rude. After a minute’s silence, Abby scooted her chair. Rising quietly onto her bare feet, the deckhand took her dishes to the sink. Edina could see the furrows on the girl’s brow…furrows that threatened to become storm clouds over glistening eyes as she hurried past.

She knew that of the current crew, none were closer to Alana than Abby, except for the captain himself. But as she quietly studied the eyes of shipmates leaving one by one, Edina understood that pain was a deeply personal thing, not to be compared or measured by degree. Again, feeling her own sense of loss, she thought of the two questions.

How do you help out?

Do any little thing you can.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Welcome To Paradise"

Tommy Pearson is a character created by @Herald

The black surrounding Pelorum was a busy, crowded place. Everywhere Yuri looked, his eyes could spot the comings and goings of a myriad ships…a vast, seemingly chaotic armada, mere seconds from calamity, yet sewn together in a complex, living tapestry. The pilot’s radar could offer only a hint at the vast, intricate ballet that flowed to the world, its’ moons, and dozens of sprawling orbital casinos. For the moment, Yuri gave quiet thanks that his was not the hand required to thread this particular needle. Still, a glance toward Tommy Pearson was a glimpse into the pilot’s personal tao. He took his surroundings in stride, somehow finding China Doll’s place in the transitioning framework.

Tommy keyed his mic. “Pelorum Approach, this is CV China Doll, pulse beacon ident seven-seven-six-zero Mike Charlie, standing by for burn in clearance.” The greeting was followed by an easy touch to the throttles. “Pelorum’s a busy place…especially right now with all the colleges in the ‘verse out for Spring Break. I conjure we’ll be coasting for a few ticks.”

“Heard that,” Yuri nodded from the left seat. “I know our bunch of kids are chomping at the bit…”

He was interrupted by a sudden burst of com traffic, a voice booming from a powerful transceiver. ’CV China Doll, we show you third in line for entry corridor two. Come left to zero-niner-four and make your speed fifteen-K-two-zero seven knots.”

“China Doll copies.” With a gentle touch to the yolk, the pilot nudged his throttles, goading the Firefly back up to standard reentry speed. A subtle roll brought the crystal blue disc of Pelorum to center beneath them.

In the distance lay the flashing beacon, a channel marker for one of the planet’s dozen re-renty points. As Yuri watched, a vessel swept past, her hull soon trailing flame as she buffeted into the thick warmth of the planet’s tropical atmosphere. “Guess I’d better get the children strapped in,” he quipped as he keyed the intercom mic.

”This is the first mate. We’re on final approach to New Iberia Spaceport. At this time, we need everybody strapped in place for burn in and landing. Abigail and Edina will come around to make sure you’re all squared away. Temperature at New Iberia is seventy-nine degrees. Local time is four fifty-two PM. The youth hostel you all booked will have rickshaws waiting for you when we touch down. I just want to say.” Yuri continued, “on behalf of the crew, we’re all grateful for your help getting the Anabaptists out of harm’s way. Hope you have a happy time on Pelorum.”

Hee slipped the mic back into it’s cradle, taking note of a quiet smirk on the pilot’s face. “Oh come on,” he chuckled. “They weren’t that bad, were they?”

Tommy fixed him with a sidelong glance. “Have you talked to Abby?” The pilot’s smirk broadened to a wry grin at the first mate’s nonplussed expression. “One of our college boys got a might…familiar…with our deckhand. Not to worry,” he chuckled. “Let’s just say she taught him the error of his ways.”

“Did that lesson end up in the medbay?”

“Nope,” the pilot smiled,, “but there’s bets bein’ laid about how quick he gets off when we drop the ramp.”

Yuri chuckled to himself. “Put me down for twenty.” He made a note to himself for a sit down with Abby. While there was no doubt the young deckhand could dispatch the unwanted attentions of a passenger, he thought it wise for her to fill him in when she ran afoul of such doings. For that matter, he thought all the women of China Doll should speak out. After Greenleaf and their dealings on Osiris, there wasn’t a one of them he didn’t care about. The ‘verse could be a hard place for a woman…but China Doll was sprouting a sense of home. By Buddha, he wanted it safe for them.

”China Doll, you’re cleared for entry corridor two. Maintain speed and pitch Z minus twenty-five degrees.”

“Roger, Pelorum,” Tommy acknowledged as he wheeled the boat into the channel. “China Doll’s on burn in.” One he’d set their descent course, the pilot pitched the Firefly’s nose up. Almost immediately could be felt the friction of atmo as it brushed their hull, rising temperature bringing with it a cherry red glow and fiery wake as she plunged into the air. “So, Yuri,” he asked casually, “got any plans for your down time?”

The first mate responded with a solitary shake of his head. “Not much. After Earth-That-Was Museum picks up their cargo I might drop by to have a look around. Maybe check out a jazz club if such is available,” he answered. Edina had already agreed to the museum trip. An easy enough outing. But jazz could be an acquired taste. He wondered if she had any interest, or if he should leave that as a solo night.

“Thinking I’ll go inland,” the pilot kept steady hands upon the yolk as the roar of thickening air played over the outer hull. “There are horse farms further in. Been a hound’s age since I sat a horse,” his tone became wistful as the atmo engines roared to life. “Ranch I’m eyeballin’ also has cattle drives. Haven’t thrown a lariat since I sprouted chin hairs,” he said.

The mate gave a positive nod. “Sounds really fine,” he agreed. “I conjure Cap’n’s gonna leave me to mind the store for a few days. Do me a favor? Take lots of captures?”

“Sure thing, Yuri.”

China Doll broke into a clear sky, her form silhouetted in the afternoon sun as she rode in over the wavetops. The coastline was a clutter of tightly packed resort hotels and vacation condominiums, their occupants teaming like ants across the beach and into the shallows of turquoise clear water. A moment’s passage soon found them over New Iberia Spaceport, hovering serenely as Tommy’s hand guided her nose in line with the berthing space below. As the longshoremen waited to couple umbilicals, the Firefly settled onto her struts, her posture seeming to ease as the engines spun down. This would be her home for the next several days…nearabouts a week, if Cap’n’s plans were to flower.

“Abby,” Yuri keyed the intercom. “We’re secured. You can open ‘er up.”

“Shiny,” came the girl’s answer.

Yuri watched as the corresponding light on Tommy’s panel switched from green to red. Despite his better judgment, the first mate couldn’t resist calling the deckhand once again. “I heard you made a passenger really interested in getting off the boat,” he said.

“You heard true,” Abby’s voice crackled over the speaker.

Tommy grinned as Yuri asked, “should I come down to see him off?”

“Done gone already.”

“Hmmm, seems awful quick. Abigail Travis, did you scare a passenger off this boat?...”

“...Again?” Tommy chortled.

Yuri laughed. “Again?” he finished the question.

He could read the faux innocence of her tone as she answered. “I ain’t did a thing, sir.”

“Nothing?”

“Nary a bit,” the girl replied. “Short ‘o’ introducin’ ‘im tah muh friend Sam.”

As Yuri’s brow furrowed, the pilot threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t get it,” the mate admitted. “Sam who?”

A gleeful Tommy replied by lifting the revolver from his hip. “Samuel Colt.”

Yuri keyed the mic one last time. “Shiny. Carry on.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

I'm in complete agreement with Wolf, and very curious to learn just what rebooting means to each of you. It's more than a little exciting to consider new characters and settings, not to mention plot lines. I'm really keen to listen to all of your ideas.

I'm also interested in whether a hiatus should still be on the agenda. We can discuss that possibility and how it might work best for you as well. (I was telling Wolf that I've got a ton of bits for my characters on Pelorum, and could likely fill a hiatus period just for fun, should we decide to undertake one.)

I'll be traveling with Mrs. Sail on Friday the 14th, but if I ply her dinner and drinks she's likely to grant permission for my joining a get together.

Sail