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Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Time and Tide” Shore Leave Day 2 - Evening

The museum’s Aviation Pavilion had been transformed for the gala. Lights swung and whirled from the ceiling above, their colorful beams painting the host of white linen table tops to set a glow in the overall space. The tables shared the floor with a number of aircraft replicas, museum built facsimiles to represent the propeller and piston engine warplanes from one of the darkest periods in human history, the early nineteen forties.

As they were shown to their table, Yuri took it all in as a matter of vague interest. He recognized the planes from his reading…the Mustang, the Messerschmitt, the Spitfire. Above him, a P-40 with Chinese markings pursued a nimble Japanese Zero, the aerial ballet another work of the museum’s holographic projectors. “Flying Tigers,” he muttered absently.

“What?” Edina turned, and Yuri found himself bedazzled once again. The dress she’d chosen was a simple thing, its’ neckline and short sleeves a modest cut. But fiery red color and knee length hemline combined with her mocha skin to take the breath right out of him. “You’re doing it again,” she teased at his gaping.

“I’m not the only one,” Yuri managed a chuckle. The museum’s fund raising event had drawn the typical “gala” crowd, well dressed men and women whose grey and silver hair, should hair remain, was on display. Edina wasn’t the only pretty young woman in the room, but she’d nonetheless managed to turn a number of heads. “Flying Tigers,” he answered her question. “A great story from history…”

“It is.” Ms. Cornwall, the museum’s curator, greeted the couple. After ushering them to chairs and alerting a waiter for drinks, she offered, “so lovely that you could come. What do you think of our little get together?”

Edina responded with a broad smile. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’ve seen a few captures from this period, but to look at those…planes…in person? They’re so much bigger than I Imagined!”

The older woman accepted the compliment with a polite nod. “Our builders attempted to recreate them as exact, working replicas of the originals. There are some disparities. Aluminum of the era is not cost effectively produced, nor is the rubber used for the tires. Likewise, the leather of the pilot’s seats. Otherwise,” she offered the couple a contented smile, “our aircraft reproductions are completely faithful to their forbears. I’m particularly happy with the Ford Trimotor.” She raised a slender arm, drawing their attention to the band stand. There, suspended above a projected orchestra,, the larger museum piece looked down on the festivities, propellers spinning lazily.

“Shiny,” Yuri managed to conceal his disappointment that tonight’s big band was, like the aircraft wheeling and darting above, a bit of holographic trickery. “Love the musical choices,” he offered a smile as ‘Take The A Train’ filled the room.

The museum curator lifted a hand, a casual gesture that summoned a waiter and a bottle of champagne. “We’ve also hired a dance coach for the evening,” she offered as three flutes were filled with the bubbling, golden vintage. “From what I’ve seen of nineteen forties big band swing dancing, it’s energetic enough to remain the premise of the young. Endeavors,” she hoisted her glass.

“Endeavors,” the China Doll crewpeople joined their host, the fine crystal glasses ringing softly as they touched. Though he’d never developed a taste for champagne, Yuri had to agree that this particular bottle was actually very pleasing. “That’s nice,” he observed. “Hardly sweet, and a nice tang.”

Henrietta Cornwall’s ever present smile remained. “I, too, enjoy this one’s subtleties. Take a sip. This time, don’t roll it around your mouth. Just let it sit upon your tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.”

Edina was no connoisseur herself, but with Ms. Cornwall’s patient tutelage to guide her, she found appreciation for something she only managed to choke down once each New Year’s party. “Wow,” she grinned excitedly. “That really is something.”

“Indeed.” Cornwell’s eyes danced from one young person to the next, before her face restored its’ placid, businesslike countenance. “Tell me,” she asked as the waiter poured refills, “this vessel of yours…China Doll. I understand her to be a Class three Firefly?”

Yuri nodded as the glass met his lips. “That’s right,” he answered. “And she’s in great shape for a girl of her years.”

The old woman chuckled. “An enviable claim. If it’s not too rude of me, might I ask about your bookings? Are you busy?” she asked. “Or do your contracts come on more of a catch-as-catch-can basis?”

It seemed a bit off putting, sharing details of the rough and tumble that was life in the black with a Grande Dame of Pelorum society. Despite the woman’s flawless veneer, Yuri found no condescension in the question…but the mild gleam in her eyes was its’ own tell. Business was about to be discussed. “As most of our trade involves hauling cargo or passengers,” he replied, “contracts are typically a series of one-offs.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t leave us much leeway for longterm planning.”

“Time and tide wait for no man,” the curator smiled. “And what of your current prospects?”

This time, Edina spoke. “Normally, we base our destinations upon the largest cargo we’re booked to ship.” As Yuri nodded agreement, she continued, “as Pelorum’s chief export appears to be fun, I conjure that we’ll probably just be hauling passengers on the next run.”

“Mmmm,” Henrietta pursed her lips. “And therefore, not such a profitable voyage.”

Yuri’s time with Cal Strand had taught him a few lessons about people and the way they liked to deal. Here, Ms. Cornwall’s insinuation was setting the stage for an offer on her terms. ‘Don’t let ‘em fence you in,’ the captain warned about such maneuvers. ‘Change the narrative. Put yourself on better ground.’ "Actually,” he spoke up, “with so many folk coming and going from Pelorum on their own schedules, we stand to make good bank on the next run.”

“Have you booked anyone thus far?”

“Not yet,” he smiled toward Edina. “Captain gave the crew some shore leave. We’ll be chasing that work the day after tomorrow.”

“What if you didn’t have to chase?” the elder woman posed her question with a half empty flute held before her lips.

“We’re listening,” Edina said.

“That we are,” Yuri agreed.

A look of satisfaction crossed the old woman’s features as she sipped from her glass. “We’ve got a job,” she leaned toward the young couple, her voice low. “Artifact recovery. Your recent care of the items we entrusted to your handling and interest have had me thinking that China Doll might be the correct vessel for the job.”

“What artifacts?” Edina asked.

“That’s a discussion for a different setting,” Cornwall parried. “Suffice to say that to perform the job, you’d have to effectively double the operational range of a Class Three Firefly, while tripling your cargo capacity.”

“An exoskeleton,” Yuri caught the woman’s drift. “Strapped with extra fuel, oxygen, and water for the trip, plus freight containers. Can be done,” he nodded. “But building that out isn’t a quick and easy job. Gonna require time…and coin.”

The curator met this with a genuine smile. “This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you that coin is no object. I won’t do that,” she chuckled, “but I will make what I consider to be a very fair offer for your services. What we don’t have in abundance is time,” her expression grew serious. “Our window opens in about two months. China Doll would have to be onsite by then. From there, you’d only have about three days to search and recover, before you’d be compelled to return.”

The gravity in Edina’s eyes was palpable. “What happens if we take longer than three days?”

“You’d be stranded,” Cornwall replied directly. “For about the next three hundred years.” At the lift of her hand, a second waiter appeared. He fastidiously placed a silver serving tray before the two China Doll crew. “My offer,” she said as the gleaming cover was lifted to reveal a plain envelope on the dish. “We’ve taken the liberty of calculating your hard costs for the refit, the journey, and return. Total estimated time is three months.”

Yuri lifted the envelope, tucking it into his breast pocket. “I’ll need to show this to the Captain,” he replied.

“Of course. I think you’ll find that in addition to your operating costs I’ve added a generous markup for services. But ‘time and tide,” she smiled. “I’d like a meeting with your Captain…Calvin Strand, I’m told…to convey the details and cement an agreement. My private link is included with that offer. Please offer my invitation to set a meeting tomorrow?”

“At my earliest chance,” the first mate replied.

Henrietta Cornwall pressed her hands together, a prayerful gesture of gratitude as she rose from her seat. ‘Splendid,” she said. “But now, I must see to my other guests. Their donations will finance your expedition,” she smirked. “Do enjoy yourselves tonight. Oh! There’s Benjamin!” She waved toward the Period Dance Instructor. “I leave you in good hands.” With a gracious nod, the museum curator swept away, her sights set on a table festooned with the grandl;y dressed representatives of the Upper Crust.

“Wow,” Edina breathed as the older woman left them. “What do we do now?”

“She called the tune,” Yuri felt the weight of the envelope pressing upon his heart. “Looks like we could be dancing.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Sunday from the cargo bay!

As you're aware, Wolf and I are both spending this Sunday near Paris. (He's in France; I'm in Texas.)

With our travel schedules in mind, we're taking our time with Shore Leave for China Doll's crew. Official ship time is Day 2 evening. We'll get to see Edina and Yuri cut a rug at the Museum shindig...it's in my head. Now I just have to write it.

The Day 3 evening shenanigans JP is off and running! If you don't already have adventures in store for your characters' final night of shore leave, feel free to come aboard! Everyone's got the link, but I can supply if you need. NOTE: As I think the episode climax happens Day 3 night as well, we promise to have everyone back in plenty of time to join in.

I've learned a bit during this episode. Abby has been pretty much out of her comfort zone the entire time. Having the rambunctious Lorraine take her under wing has offered me interesting reflections on the character. I've always known her to carry damage, as well as social and educational gaps, but getting the chance to look at her through Lorraine's eyes is revelatory. Character growth is one of the great joys I take away from RPG. Abby's struggle to find her place in the 'verse is thought provoking fun, and I'm grateful to all of your for both input and leeway.

You've all seen the ideas we have for the next episode. I think that once Wolf and I are back on our respective home fronts we should all get together to put some flesh on those bones. In the meantime, I hope the rest of your weekend is great!

WWIF,

sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Las Bandidas Bikini

The beach at Las Palmas Resort was picture perfect, an idyllic setting frequently used in the adverts for the tourist trade. An amiable sun chased feather whiffs of cloud above a glistening sea. Waves crashed onto the beach, a broad swath of sugar white sand dotted with pastel colored cabanas, pink, green, and sky blue. In the center towered a lifeguard stand, its’ occupant bronzed and fit, his sunglasses focused on the graceful red haired girl and her companion, Elvis the dog, playing together in the surf.

From a lounger in their own second row cabana, Lorraine couldn’t help the smirk over her new friend’s transformation. At first, Abby had resisted the bikini, her deep seeded modesty aghast at the diminutive bits of fabric. Her protests were short lived, however, faded away beneath the age old siren’s call of the waves and sand. The girl nicknamed ‘Cornflakes’ was truly dazzled, all self awareness dashed aside as she entered the water for the first time. Now, she cavorted with the big dog, romping and playing with the abandon of a child. Despite herself, Lorraine couldn’t help but be charmed at the sight.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone have so much fun.” Reg had appeared, crisp in his hotel cabana uniform of pale blue polo, white knee shorts and socks. He laid the serving tray upon the wicker table, depositing four fresh drinks.

“Her first ever day at the beach,” Lorraine offered. “I conjure Elvis there’s also the first dog she’s ever had chance to play with, too.”

He collected the empty glasses. “Gotta say she’s good for business,” he observed. “Send her around those four cabanas there. They’re all buying your drinks.”

“We’ll both be charming as fuck,” she grinned beneath her shades. “Heard from Brinker this morning. The job’s been put off til tomorrow night.”

He frowned. “Tomorrow? Why?”

“Turns out there’s a shindig at the Earth-That-Was Museum tonight. Most of our marks are on the guest list,” she lifted a glass to her lips. “Mmmm, Bobby’s pouring ‘em strong. You should drink one of these.”

“Can’t.” Reg gave a shake of his head which sent the neat dreadlocks flying. “If a guest saw that, there’d be hell to pay.”

“They’re too busy watching Cornflakes’ little pi gu. Drink one, before you have to carry us both off this beach.” Her argument carried weight, as Reg complied with a surreptitious downing of one drink. Lorraine continued, “The trawler’s ours. We got the clothes, and we got the boat’s course. What we’re short is hands.”

This news was met with a furrowed brow. “How short?”

“Two, mayhaps three.” Lorraine proffered a bottle of sunscreen. “Do my back?”

“Sure.” The serving tray touched down in the sand as Reg set to work. “Now, how we gonna pull this off if we’re short?”

“Mmmm,” she murmured her approval as his fingers massaged lotion onto her shoulders. “I might know one or two reliable folk.”

“Like who?”

“Like her.” She pointed toward Abby just as Elvis sent her sprawling into the surf.

“HER?” His questing fingers halted just above the strap of her swimsuit top. “What’s she gonna do? Get drunk and start kissing folk again?”

“Two birds, one stone,” Lorraine encouraged him with a nudge. “We’re s’posed to be looking out for her, so we’ll bring her along…put her to work. Badda boom, badda bing.” As he resumed with somewhat more reticent hands, she continued. “Believe me, Reg, Abby’s shiny. Doc gave me the four-one-one on her last night.”

He squirted a thick dollop of lotion along her lower back. “Go on,” he replied. “Make me confident.”

“She knows her way around triggers. Man who raised her was some kinda hotshot gunslinger. She’s quick.”

Reg was unimpressed. “I thought we weren’t going in strapped this time,” he replied.

“We always need a couple. Remember Moab?”

“Do I have to? Anyway,” he persisted, “how do we know she’s steady when it counts?”

“That girl,” she folded an arm to hold her top in place as Reg undid the strap, “was shanghai’d by a bike gang on Greenleaf. Word is that til her crew could get her back, those bikers kicked the ever lovin’ la shi out of her for a name she wouldn’t give up.”

“Greenleaf?” Reg asked. “Was it the Headhunters? Heard about them,” he muttered. “So what happened?”

Lorraine snorted. “She kicked back. Doc tells me Cornflakes there broke one biker’s nose and dislocated another one’s jaw. Third fella tried raping her. Word is he’s still unwrapping his gāowán** from ‘round his neck,” she laughed. “After that, the gang decided they liked her. They patched her in!”
**testicles

Reg worked lotion down into the muscles of her lower back. “Okay,” he gazed out toward Abby, who for the life of him looked every bit a delighted child as she tossed a driftwood stick for a happily barking Elvis. “She can take a beating. But can she do the job?”

“Doc seems to think so,” Lorraine flexed her back beneath his probing fingers. “She took care of some business on New Melbourne for his boss. That was right after she caught a bullet in the ass.”

“So she’s been shot,” He studied the distant girl’s hindquarters. “She got a scar?”

“Bet you’d like to find out.”

The partners in crime shared laughter before Reg shrugged and said, “well you’re the boss. When you gonna feel her out about it?”

“How about now?” With fingers raised to her lips, Lorraine’s high, piercing whistle carried down to the surf. Elvis’ head bolted up, ears perked at the signal, before an answering sweep of his master’s arm summoned his return. Abby was quick to follow, trotting through the sand, her hair running rivulets down fair skin colored by the sun.

“Well hey, Reg!” she give ‘im a big smile. Gorram, but he’s good lookin’ in his uniform, she reckoned. Way he’s smilin’ back coulda melted ‘er right there, til she conjured jest how little ‘er bikini was coverin’. Good tha sun done pinked ‘er up, she thunk. Mayhaps he wouldn’t see ‘er blushin’.

“Obby,” Reg’s Charming Island Accent was now deployed. ‘Tank ya for comin’ out dis ofternoon. Always nice hovin’ such a pretty girl like you playin’ on dis beach.”

“Down, boy!” Lorraine commanded. “Rehook my strap, wouldja? Don’t wanna talk business with my mimi’s hangin’ out, dohn mah? Cornflakes,” she gestured toward the adjacent lounge. “Take a load off. Grab one of those drinks.”

Abby done so, but not afore drapin’ a towel over herself. “Yah said business?” she asked. “What kinda business?”

Lorraine turned, her slender legs slipping over the edge of her lounge. “We got a little job for tomorrow night,” she smiled, her eyes alight as she leaned close. “Reg and I conjure cutting you in, if you’re not too shy about coloring outside the lines?”

Abby knowed tha lingo. She done heard it aplenty when Uncle Bob’s too likkered up tah set tha terms. Likewise, once-twice when Cap’n brought ‘er along fer a sit down. “Depends,” she took a pull from ‘er glass, playin’ it all cool like she seen Cap’n do. “How far outside we colorin’?”

After trading glances with Reg, Lorraine plunged ahead, her expression building delight as she unfolded the tale. “Bunch of rich swells,” her excitement translated into nervous fidgeting of her legs. “At a party. They’ll be loaded with cash and jewels. We’re gonna take it all.”

Abby heard some Tomfool schemes afore, but this’n put a look in ‘er eyes Lorraine done gone flat mental. “Whole passel ‘o’ rich folk,” she said even like. “At a party. Loaded down with cash an’ jewels. An’ we’re jest gon’ walk right in an’ lift it off ‘em?”

“Uh huh!” Lorraine nodded enthusiastically.

Now Abby’s sure Lorraine been out in tha sun a tad bit much. “Ain’t never seen no rich sumbitch without some muscle lookin’ out for ‘em…’specially a whole bunch in one place?”

Now Lorraine was beaming. “Oh, they’ll be there. Wanna know the best part? THEY KNOW WE’RE COMING, CORNFLAKES!” she chortled. “AIN’T THAT THE SHIT?”

Abby give Reg a cautious eye. “Yah got a doctor nearabouts?”

“No no no!” Lorraine belted a laugh as her hands flew up. “Here’s how it is.” In the minutes to follow, she could gauge the impact her plan had upon Abby, as the girl’s face transitioned from alarmed to dubious. Eventually, the slight crack of a smile appeared, accompanied by a spark of humor in Abby’s eyes. “We got the boat,” she concluded, “we got the togs, and we’re set to go tomorrow night. “Only thing we’re short is a couple more reliable folk to pitch in. So,” her grin was lopsided as she took Abby’s hands. “Whattya think?”

Abby could bare keep from bustin’ out loud in ‘er friend’s face. “I think,” she fought ‘er humors fer control, “that is nigh on tha most wackadoo scheme I ever did hear.” She seen disappointment flower in Lorraine’s eyes afore given’ ‘er hands a squeeze. “Course I’m in!” she laughed out this time. “Whole thing’s so bughouse I gotta see it now!”

“SHINY!” Lorraine vaulted from her lounge to land in a startled Abby’s lap. “Mmmmmmwah!” she pressed a kiss to the girl’s forehead, along with a firm hug. “This is gonna be huge!” she exclaimed, “but tell me, Cornflakes. Might you have one-two other folk on your China Doll who could lend a hand?”

Ain’t no holdin’ back now. “Mayhaps,” Abby smiled back as she hugged Lorraine. “Mayhaps.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

On The Menu - Shore Leave Day 2 Mid Day

Cornflakes sure could hustle.

Even though they’d started behind the eight ball, Lorraine and Abby wasted no time in getting the job done. The countrified girl from the black just fell into the work like she’d been here every day, attacking dirty dishes and delivering hot food while Lorraine kept on top of orders and drinks. By lunch rush, the pair had their routine down pat, serving up all of Vic’s menu items fresh from his griddle, along with a side dish of spirited banter that kept the diner’s patrons laughing. “HEY CORNFLAKES!!” Lorraine shouted across the crowded room.

“WHAT?” Abby come out with plates balanced on one arm.

“FELLA HERE WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU’RE ON THE MENU?”

“TELL ‘IM I’M THA HOUSE SPECIAL!”

“HE WANTS TO KNOW HOW MUCH!” Lorraine grinned.

“WHAT’S THA OLD SAYIN’, BUGSY? IF’N YA GOTTA ASK…” Abby quipped as she laid orders before customers.

The two women honed their lively repartee as wave after wave of workers on lunch hour rolled through the tables and counter. “ORDER UP!” Vic shouted as two overflowing pastrami sandwiches hit the stainless steel shelf. “Cornflakes,” he glanced up from the half dozen burgers he was flipping, “I’m swamped here. Couldja put chips and pickle spears on each of those plates?”

“Yeah, it’s all shiny,” tha deckhand cum waitress give a nod. She’s jest finishin’ up when Lorraine nudged ‘er shoulder.

“Sweet Jaysus,” she muttered. “Feast your eyes on the slice of pretty just walked in.”

Abby looked up an’ gasped all surprised like tah see Yuri comin’ through tha front door. “I’ll be gorramed,” she said ‘neath ‘er breath.

“Dibs,” Lorraine whispered.

“Knock yerself out, girl!” Abby giggled afore dartin’ off with them sandwiches fer table twelve. Weren’t more’n a tick or so til she winced at a whistle like tah sawed ‘er ears right off. Her head whipped round tah find Lorraine, sittin’ next tah Yuri an’ wavin’ ‘er over. Sight ‘o’ his expression near ‘bout had ‘er laughin’ by time she made it across tha room. “Well howdy!” she greeted ‘er boss. “Whatcha doin’ in these parts?”

The spiky haired waitress’ attentions had him feeling more like fresh prey at the moment. “Making good on my reputation,” Yuri replied. “Out buying some galley supplies. So this is what you do when Captain and I give you three days’ shore leave? Pick up a side job?”

Abby shrugged. “It’s all her fault,” she pointed a finger at her friend. “She’s Lorraine. He’s Yuri, first mate on muh boat.”

“That’s how I’d rate him, too, Cornflakes,” Lorraine purred. “Hi Yuri. You know whatcha want, or should I warm up something special?”

“Um,” he shifted away in his chair, “can I get a Cap’n Bob’s while I look over the menu?”

Lorraine’s eyes held a predatory gleam as she rose to her feet. “You can have whatever you want, baby. I’ll be right back.” After a mischievous wink for Abby, she made her way behind the lunch counter.

“Well,” Yuri cleared his throat, “she seems nice.”

“Lorraine’s jest messin’ with yew,” the girl come out with a chuckle. “I seen ‘er do tha same last night tah two-three diff’rent fellas she caught lookin’.”

“What’s with the side hustle, though?” he asked.

“Helpin’ ‘er git tha job done. We’s out til wee hours last night an’ woke up late..”

“Not to mention,” Lorraine returned with Yuri’s soft drink, “my friends and I are takin’ your girl here to the beach after work. Wanna come?” she asked, puppy dog eyes on display. “We’ve got killer bikinis.”

“We do?” Abby’s wide eyed over that’n. “Uh, yeah,” she recovered. “We do.” Course, thought ‘o’ wearin’ such in front ‘o’ tha likes ‘o’ Yuri…or worse, Cap’n…struck ‘er uneasy like.

Yuri hoisted the menu as a shield, stifling the mild flush rising from his neck. “Sounds like fun, but Edina and I have invitations for a big to-do at the Earth-That-Was Museum tonight.”

A broad grin sprouted across Abby’s face. “Well lookit yew!” she laid a hand on ‘er hip. “Finally takin’ her out on a date?”

“No, it’s not a…yes,” he gave in. “I conjure you’re right. And they might have a job for us…”

Lorraine was not to be put off. “I got a job for ya,” she cooed. “You figuring out lunch, or you gonna keep hiding that pretty face behind your menu?”

Abby rolled ‘er eyes. “Leave ‘im be, Bugsy.”

“How about,” Yuri dropped the menu, “grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

The waitress jotted his order. “I’m all over it,” she turned, nudging a hip to his shoulder before hurrying off to the kitchen. “HEY VIC!” she shouted on the way. “GRILLED CHEESE, EXTRA CHEESY, and TOMATO SOUP!”

This time, Yuri turned to watch her as she sped away. “She’s a proper carouser, huh?” he observed.

“We did have a full on blast last night,” Abby smiled. “Hey,” her face an’ tone went serious. “Heard from Alana?”

“I was all set to ask you the same.”

“Nary a word. Left ‘er a few waves. Stopped afore she might reckon it’s creepifyin’,” the girl said.

Yuri sipped at his cola. “Captain left early yesterday,” he offered. “Nothing from him, either. We haven’t asked Sam to track their cortexes, but we’re hoping they worked things out.”

“Me too,” Abby nodded. “I care lots fer Alana. Cap’n too. Wait. That how yah found me?” she asked as ‘er eyes hardened.. “Sam checkin’ up on me?”

“That’s my culp,” he raised a hand. “Sorry, Abby. My mouth outran my brain. Wasn’t until Sam gave me the word that I conjured I was stepping on your privacy.” After a tick’s silence, he added, “We lost you once before, mei mei. I couldn’t abide a second time.”

She thought on that a skosh. While Sam trackin’ ‘er about did raise hackles a might, she couldn’t deny how folk might be feelin’ if one ‘o’ their own was missin’. Same way they all felt ‘bout Alana right now, she reckoned. In tha end, Abby came tah understand. “I ‘preciate that,” she said in quiet. “If it helps, I’ll send a wave ever’ day I’m off tha boat?”

The first mate shook his head. “Only if you want to,” he said. “You know the ‘Hey Rube’ signal if things go sideways.”

“That I do,” she nodded ‘er head. “Just tha same, I’ll letcha know tahnight if I’m headin’ back or stayin’ out.”

Yuri smiled. “All us old folk will be in your debt.”

“ORDER UP!”

“That’s me,” Abby smiled with a nudge towards tha kitchen. “I wager Lorraine’ll be all over yew like white on rice. Gotta bounce.”

“Sure thing…Cornflakes.” Yuri teased.

“That’s gon’ folla me back tah tha boat, ain’t it?”

“Most like.”

Abby run off fer her next order. Things got ponderous busy, what with Lorraine takin’ time tah fawn over Yuri. Mighta twisted ‘er hair a bit, ‘cept fer how funny it was watchin’ him squirm. Soon enough, she answered the first mate’s wave as he paid up an’ made fer the door.

The two women watched him go. “He’s a really nice guy,” Lorraine observed.

“Fer true,” Abby agreed.

“Who’s this Edina?”

“Part ‘o’ tha crew,” the deckhand said. “Yuri’s been sweet on her fer a spell.”

“Mmmm,” she slowly nodded. “Think I got a shot?”

“Nope.”

“Way to kill my dreams, bitch.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Art of Awakening (Shore Leave, Day 2 Morning)

05:32

Edina yawned, arching her back as fingers and toes stretched her extremities to their furthest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually slept in; her habit of “beating the clock” was an old one, born of the years spent cowering at the sound of father’s heavy footfalls stopping outside her door. The grim history was only doomed to repeat itself through her marriage to Andres, another decade spent ensnared within the insidious cycle.

China Doll had been a random choice, the first boat to get her off New Melbourne before her husband conjured she’d high tailed it. How could she know that after all this time she’d still be aboard? With friends who looked out for her, and now had come to include her among the crew? As she lay here in the dark of a room she’d kept for over a year, Edina could still marvel at her good fortune.

Though sometimes her motivation for an early awakening came in the form of old nightmares, the hauntings were steadily becoming ever more scarce. This new life she’d discovered was filled with purpose. Though she wasn’t a die hard black dog like Cal or Abby, Edina had soon conjured that a going concern like China Doll could provide plenty of work, even for a dirtsider like herself. All she had to do was keep her eyes open and her hands at the ready. Soon enough, a regular crew berth would offer itself up…in her case, the galley.

Joe Hooker’s departure was bittersweet, a farewell to a much loved shipmate gone to a better life. Though he’d been outwardly kind to all of the crew, it wasn’t until Edina volunteered for galley duty that she began to understand the man’s personal demons. Her inventory of the pantry had unearthed no less than three bottles of rotgut whiskey, all hidden by a practiced hand. Under any other circumstance, their presence alone would’ve told a disturbing tale. It was the etchings…crude knife scrapes in both the glass and labels of each bottle…that painted a stark picture of the daily torment in which the cook was trapped. He’d carved out a single word, again and again.

NO!

Brokenhearted over her discovery, Edina was loathe to simply throw them out with the trash. Nor could she bring herself to share the find with any of the crew, even though she held certain that Captain and Yuri must’ve been aware of his struggle. Alana, too, for that matter. But Abby’s love for Joe was that of a child, a sweetness she saw no good in tarnishing. And so, she kept them, hidden once more in the recesses of the pantry. Into each bottle she’d tucked a note, her own wishes for his healing. With luck, she’d find a place to set them free. Edina pondered this, the power of her words wrapped in a vessel of his pain. Perhaps she should ask Sister Lyen about what might be fitting…

She heard water rushing through the pipes. A few seconds later, the change in its’ tone told her that hot water was now flowing into the lav, a sure sign that one of her shipmates was grabbing an early shower. No bother; she had a good twenty-five minutes before her wakeup. And her bunk was awfully comfortable this morning. As she found herself doing more frequently these days, Edina thought of Yuri.

Though uncertain if tonight’s outing at the museum gala could be called ‘a date,’ she nonetheless found a personal delight at the prospect. They’d both come aboard within a day of each other, the battered woman and the shipwrecked survivor. While all of the crew had taken them in without hesitation, the two damaged souls had found mutual recognition and respect, developing a closeness born of both loss and a need for a patient kindness. Through happenstance and shared purpose during some of China Doll’s darker adventures their bond had deepened, regardless of efforts on both their parts to foster an easy familiarity. Despite her caution, Edina’s feelings were triggered through the most innocuous events. A smile shared, the twinkle of mirth in his eyes, a simple touch…all could now inject a sort of giddy pleasure that she hadn’t allowed herself for many a year. She’d watched him find his place, settling comfortably as Cal’s first mate, and getting the job done without harshness or disrespect toward those he’d command, especially the women. After years spent under the cruel mercies of her father and husband, Edina was well aware of the red flags. In Yuri, she’d found none.

Tonight, they’d be dancing in each other’s arms. She had no idea of the outcome, but lying here in her bunk, Edina found herself ready to throw caution to the wind.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Morning News (Shore Leave, Day 2 Morning)

“Yuri!” A voice he knew…S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A, suddenly cut through the surrounding mayhem, the shock of realization lifting the nightmare veil. “Are you alright?”

“Mmmmph,” he grunted. “Yeah.” He rose to his knees, then gave his head a shake to clear out the last of his mind’s phantoms. “Looks like I rolled out of bed.”

His cortex reader glowed, orienting him to the darkened surroundings. “You had the dream again.”

“Yeah.” With a quiet moan, Yuri rose from the deck to sit upon the edge of his bunk. “Same one.”

“Four nights in a row,” the AI reported. “Each night, you become increasingly articulate. The issue of your past is troubling you. I’ve done some research…”

“Sort of creepy that you’re listening to me when I sleep,” the first mate rubbed fingers through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Oh-five-thirty-two. Yuri, Survivor’s Guilt is a very real condition. Helpful therapies have been developed. You can practice many of them on your own.”

“Can we talk about this later?” He took to his feet, then fumbled in the darkness for the pull out urinal. “So, who’ve we got aboard?”

Sam ticked off the list. “Elias Reiman. He’s on duty. His cortex activity centers on researching parts salvage on Pelorum. Sister Lyen Giu, Imani Ozuka, and Edina Wyman are still in quarters. Edina has an oh-six-hundred wakeup call to serve coffee and breakfast by seven. The rest are still planetside.”

“Even our youngling?” A pang of worry crossed Yuri’s brow. “Has Abby checked in?”

“No,” the AI responded. “Her cortex has pinged locations in the city’s ninth ward. Activity centered on a diner listed as Vic’s Good Eats. Should I contact her?”

He shook his head, the futile gesture reminding him that Sam didn’t have vid capture pickups in most of the boat. “No. She knows to call if things go sideways. Let’s give folk a little privacy. How about Captain or Alana? Either one touched base?”

“They have not.”

Yuri closed the urinal before washing his hands. “Well, I’m up,” he mumbled as he felt for the lighting control, then collected fresh clothes and his toilet kit. “Anything on the schedule for today?”

S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A replied, “today is day two of official shore leave for all hands. The galley scheduled breakfast for oh-seven hundred, and will have supper prepared for sixteen hundred.”

“Why so early?” he asked, his memory kicking in as the last words left his mouth.

“You and Edina were invited to the “Nineteen Forties Gala, located in the Aviation Pavilion, Museum of Earth-That-Was. Your passes arrived overnight. I took the liberty of forwarding them to your respective cortex readers.”

“Thanks,” he unearthed his bathrobe, another ragged find in the boat’s Lost and Found. “Anything in the world I should conjure?”

“Seasonal weather,” she said. “Afternoon showers followed by clearing skies and an average temperature of seventy-six degrees fahrenheit. Negotiations have broken down between the New Iberia Tradeport management and the local Dockworkers and Longshoremen’s union. The existing contract expires tonight at midnight, with picketing expected tomorrow morning. Local law enforcement is considering a curfew, but advises all transient personnel to avoid the port or at least to travel in groups.”

“That’s something you should pass along to our lost lambs.” Now clad in his bathrobe, Yuri swung the ladder hatch open. “I’m grabbing a shower. Mind the boat for me a bit longer?”

“Of course,” the unseen intelligence replied. “Would you like me to compile a document of the therapies I mentioned earlier?”

Sam made sense. Sam always made sense. But here in the early morning, her innate logic faced a wall of unvoiced excuses and fallacious arguments from the first mate. I really don’t want to mess with this, he mused as his feet touched the ladder. “Yeah,” Yuri finally managed. “I guess.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

About Last Night…(Shore Leave, Day 2 Morning)

Last time she woke up in somebody’s arms, she’s all ‘o’ seven.

Abby’s hair done gone all wild, some coverin’ ‘er eyes. But that didn’t matter, her brain fog cleared sorta slow til she conjured her face tah be buried in that somebody’s chest. What’d I git up tah? she posed a question tied her tah folk all through time, but fer answers they ain’t much. Dancin’, laughin’ a bunch, kissin’ Lorraine…

Did she kiss Lorraine?

That’un woke ‘er up. Whoever’s chest she’s nuzzlin grunted a deep sorta rumble. Abby drew a breath an’ all at once sucked in a wisp ‘o’ hair. “Ugh! Thhhpdth! Thhhpth!” she spat, her tongue stickin’ out as she wiped at it with ‘er fingers. Once she done that, she pulled ‘er own hair back tah find ‘erself sharin’ Lorraine’s bed, an’ all snuggled up against Elvis. “Oh!” her sigh ‘o’ relief heaved forth. “Hey, fella.”

Elvis din’ move…jest laid there, one eye cocked open as Abby untangled ‘erself.

“Oooooooh,” Lorraine muttered from across the big dog’s place on the mattress. “What time is is it?” She stretched her arms, wrists bending to and fro as her frame stiffened beneath the sheets. “Oh, shit,” her eyes conjured the morning brightness filtering into the apartment. “I’m late. Oh shit! Oh shit!” In a flurry of motion she tossed the sheet aside, her feet striking the floor with a thud as she bolted toward the window. With no apparent thought, the women hurled open the shutters. “VIC!” Lorraine shouted. “SORRY! I’M ON MY WAY!”

Sight ‘o’ Lorraine come as a shock, seein’ she’s bare ass nekkid in front ‘o’ her window. Abby felt a flush ‘o’ fear wellin’ as she hoisted tha bedsheet. Her disposition cleared a tetch when she looked ‘erself over tah find the leopard unders…panties, she corrected ‘erself…an’ a tee shirt what read Rude Kids all still coverin’ ‘er up. She ‘membered droppin’ coin fer tha shirt, a piece of last night’s puzzle still got big holes in it.

Vic’s voice boomed up from below. “YOU GOT FIFTEEN MINUTES TIL THE MORNING HOMEBOUND RUSH! LOTSA DIRTY DISHES!”

Abby watched Lorraine, still jaybird nekkid as she dropped a bucket on a piece ‘o’ string. “I can help,” she offered, “with yer dishes an’ such.”

“Shiny!” The waitress tossed a bright grin over her shoulder. “HEY VIC!” she shouted through the open window. “OKAY WITH YOU IF CORNFLAKES HELPS ME CATCH UP?”

“JAKE WITH ME! LONG AS I DON’T GOTTA PAY HER!”

Lorraine raised an eyebrow toward Abby, who responded with a nod. “SEND UP TWO COFFEES AND TWO SWEET ROLLS,” she hollered down as the bucket landed, “AND SHE’S ALL YOURS!.. WHAT’RE YOU LOOKIN’ AT?!!” she demanded, startling a passerby who’d stopped to gawk up at the naked woman in the window. “YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT! QU TA MA DE!”* (*fuck off!)

Abby’s sittin’ up now, legs folded tribal style on tha bed as she checked ‘er cortex. With no new messages tah gander, she put it down on ‘er thigh an’ looked up again, right inta Lorraine’s private bits before her. “AUGH!” she cried out, jerkin’ her head sideways as a hand flew up tah block tha sight. “Land sakes, Bugsy? You really gotta wave it at me like that?”

“What?” Lorraine smirked. “You were face down in it last night!” She watched all color drain from Abby’s face before doubling over in peels of laughter. “Just fuckin’ with you, Cornflakes,” she chortled as she sat, draping herself with the sheet. “Only one ya loved up last night was my dog. By the way,” she said as coffee and sweet rolls were doled out, “who’s Thomas?”

Aw hell, Abby mused as his name come outta Lorraine’s mouth. What did I say?, she quizzed ‘erself as silent oaths tah never drink again crossed ‘er mind. “Jest some húndàn,* she muttered inta her coffee. (*asshole)

“Well,” Lorraine bit off a piece of her sweet roll, “that húndàn is livin’ in your head, girl. I really thought you and Reg were gonna seal the deal…”

“I think I woulda...”

“Hells yeah, Cornflakes, I get it. Believe me, that boy’s charmed me right outta my ‘unders’ more than once,” she teased. “But you? Once you got knee walking, you told us all about this Thomas.”

“Gorramit,” Abby cursed as ‘er face planted inta an open palm. “I conjure yew best tell me all ‘o’ what I said.”

Lorraine chuckled. “Don’t sweat it. You just told anybody who’d listen what a great guy he was. Believe me, every one of that crew has said and heard far worse. Actually,” she cheerfully exclaimed, “you’re a pretty happy drunk! They all liked you…especially when you insisted on kissing everybody goodnight. It was so sweet!”

The deckhand shook ‘er head. “Ooooooh man, oh man.” She’s embarrassed some, but that answered a big question sorta put ‘er mind at ease. “Not sure I can face ‘em agin after hearin’ that.”

“Sure you can!” Lorraine was on her feet and headed for the bathroom. “We’re takin’ you to the beach after work! Reg is gonna get us into the resort he works at.” As water splashed into the sink, she continued. “I’ll go get started. Can you take care of Elvis first?”

Abby’s wrigglin’ intah her shorts. “On it,” she replied afore fishin’ about tha chaotic place fer her shoes. “Where’s his poop bags?” She run ‘er fingers through ‘er hair fer some kinda order, but as she an’ tha big, happy dog clomped downstairs, Abby conjured she’d still look a wild mess. Not that she much cared.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Story Note

It's now DAY 2 of the crew's shore leave.

The Pelorum sun rises, promising another perfect day in paradise. Though much of the crew is currently off the boat, there's still breakfast in the galley for those aboard. Yuri collected the coin and did the math. We didn't make a whole lot on this run, so after paying out all the needed supplies local fees, each crewperson's share didn't amount to a whole lot.

Still, everybody's got some coin to play with. Careful how you spend it.

Writers' note: If you're searching for ideas, please refer to the Plot Plans and Ideas Gdoc we recently shared. And don't limit yourselves to what you see there. If an idea sprouts, let it grow.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Background

For Captain Cal Strand, looks like nothin’ ever goes smooth. Last couple years seen him gettin' crossways with crime bosses, space bikers, and even playin' chicken with slavers tryna run him down in the black. And that don't even account for his scrapes with local lawmen and the Alliance. Not that some of the folk in his crew made things any easier. The China Doll could be that gift horse whose mouth he shoulda checked, dohn mah?

Setting

The year’s 2523. War ended over a decade ago. Been 4 years since the Miranda Broadwave riled some folk up, but the Alliance put the boot down on that right quick. It ain’t easy for “naughty men to slip about” these days, but there’s still work as can be had, long’s the price is right an’ you ain’t the curious type.

Our Style

“Firefly – Second ‘Verse” is an episodic PBP game. Character and plot development will be encouraged and written over the course of each episode. Certain adventures will involve “capers,” live action scenes played out in chat by member players. These scenes could vary from crimes to action to something as simple as everyone talking over the galley table.

HELP WANTED...

Cap'n says the pilot seat is open, and he'd prefer to leave the flyin' to someone what knows more about landing than the deckhand. Could also house a Companion, if he or she has a mind to travel. Passengers, too, but don’t let none of this fence you in. Got a shiny notion? There’s lots of different folk out there. After all...it’s a mighty big ‘verse.

We're skids down on Pelorum, the number one tourist stop in the 'verse. Crew's been given a touch of shore leave while Cap'n tries to drum up business and figure out how he patches things up with our doc.

If you fancy comin' aboard, send us a wave!

@wanderingwolf - he makes the big coin...
@sail3695 - he cleans up on aisle 2...

Game Link

roleplayerguild.com/topics/186036-fir…

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Sunday from some bar on Pelorum!

Looks like Abby's taken up with the sorta folk we're sure her Uncle Bob warned her about...and is having a howling good time! Edina and Yuri acted all responsible and got the boat paid, along with an invite to a swanky soiree at Earth-That-Was Museum. And finally, Lyen and Sam are holding down the fort while Cal heads out to look for a new mule...and mayhaps a spot of trouble.

Just to keep us on the same page, we're on Day 1 of the crew's official Shore Leave. Characters are free to craft their own adventures, or if they'd rather have company, they're welcome to join in on any of the existing plotlines. A little bird told us there's at least one more Day 1 post on the way, so we're holding the clock til it arrives. If you've got a Day 1 post brewing, let us know and we'll keep the door open.

Speaking of, you all received the "FF2V Plots & Ideas" link, both in our group chat and your personal channels and emails. You'll find a rundown of the plots and subplots we're aware of, and who you should contact if you'd like to engage. You all received edit credentials, and we, your humble hosts, encourage you to share your thoughts and ideas as we move forward.

We had a departure this week. After a months long battle with the cursed Writer's Block and other issues shared in our group chat, @PatientBean has chosen to move on. Bean's a gifted writer, and we wish them all the best going forward.

But the challenge they faced is something that plagues all of us from time to time. My last writer's block was a ferocious bout that struck in mid 2020. Wolf rescued me through a series of 1x1 scenario RP's in Gdocs that finally had me back on track in 2021. If you follow our group chat, it's no news that Wolf and I both extend that same offer to any of our group who find themselves stymied. So please feel free to reach out if we can do something to make your writing experience more enjoyable.

WWIF,

sail