wanderingwolf

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Mango Wine with a Side of Brooding - Greenleaf Day 3

Cal reflected on the events of the day. When he'd thought of what might happen when he and Alana finally made it that 'backrub' he owed her, and what might transpire from there, he hadn't considered how he might feel after all was said and done. Sure, he'd guessed that there would be some release and probably some regret, but he'd seen that all before. To his mind, their date was fixin' to be a one-night-stand, with sideways glances and avoiding each other in the galley 'til the next stop. He'd vowed not to think on it until that time came, and that was just it: it hadn't come.

His time in the lagoon with the doc had gone well--better than he'd considered. Truth be told, he was relieved. Whatever he was feeling for his new crew, it wasn't black and white, nor was it akin to previous crews he'd hired along.

As he sat in his quarters at the pull-out desk, pouring over the holo-clipboard with a half glass of that mango wine, a crystal clear voice penetrated the silence of his refracted gaze.

"Hello Cal, how was your date with Doctor Lysanger?" Sam's voice was curious, but cautious. To his ear she might be learning to hedge her bets with the nuance of inflection. Damn if that little black box wasn't more than the sum of its parts.

"So we're talkin' in my quarters now, are we? Can't a man get a minute of quiet to hisself?" Cal's brows had knit as soon as he said it.

After a moment the com crackled alive again, "Sorry to hear it didn't go as planned. If you like, I can leave you to your thoughts." The wall com fizzled to static for a moment.

"No," Cal backpedaled. "No, it didn't go as planned." But that begged the question of what he had expected when he drove Alana out there in that beautiful sun dress of hers. "It went better than expected, I suppose." He lifted the glass to his lips.

"That's good, isn't it? If so, then why are you nursing a glass alone?" The speaker elucidated the confusion in Sam's voice.

"It is good," he said, interrogating the glass in his hand. It tasted like Alana to him now, the way their kiss lingered while they melted into the warm sand. The way it cut through the tobacco on his tongue and created some kind of electric medium between the bitter and sweet.

Sam considered what it was that Cal was feeling. To her, it made little sense, for the binary of good and bad, proper and poor, positive and negative all have their purpose and their meaning in the world. This, here with Cal, pushed the boundary of the world she was piecing together; of the world as she knew it. Here he was, admitting that things went better than planned for his expectations of the Doctor Alana Lysanger, yet he exhibited all the signs of being in a poor mood--cut off, in darkness, and brooding.

"Are you feeling well, Cal?"

That seemed to rouse the sour Captain with a smile. "I feel like la shi, Sam, lower than la shi."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club, darlin'."

Firefly - Second 'Verse

What happens in the Lagoon... (Part 2) - Greenleaf Day2

JP/collab from @Xandrya and @Wanderingwolf

Retcon Day 2 afternoon/evening

“You ever been to a place like this before?” Cal asked, chin turned to watch that pristine look on her face when she knew he was watching her.

“No, can’t say I have,” she grinned, holding his gaze, “only ever seen pictures.” He had that certain look about him, or so she imagined because Alana was momentarily distracted by the way the sun above lit up his eyes. With one hand, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before giving the blanket a slight tug. Alana then eased herself down into a sitting position, softly patting the empty space adjacent to her.

“Join me if you will and let’s make a toast to this beauty of a day."

Cal filled a glass for Alana with non-synthetic mango wine cultivated here on Greenleaf. Handing it to her, he sat and filled his own glass; much closer to her now, his eyes swept the lagoon before landing on the visage of Alana once more. Holding his glass to her’s, he toasted, “To this beauty of a day, and the beauty before me.”

She tracked Cal's large frame as he settled down adjacent to her, the space between them practically non-existent. As Cal handed her the glass before tending to his own, Alana leaned towards him, using her free hand for support to keep herself propped up. “And to that I say salud,” she responded, her voice a notch or two above a whisper. With a smile, she clinked her glass on his before taking a sip, instantly in love with the refreshing taste.

It had been a long time since he’d let himself get entangled, but he could already feel the pull from where he sat. Normally he had strict rules about crew: one night stands only. Kept things simple. Clean. And usually they’d just get off at the next port anyway. Somewhere inside he realized, he didn’t want the same to happen with Alana. That carefree attitude she portrayed on the surface was certainly a front for something, though he had yet to plumb those depths. It wasn’t just the enigma of Alana that spurred him; it was those eyes, framed under those prominent brows, so serious yet so ready to smile. And that wit? He smiled picturing the way she’d not only proposed this wager, but hustled him at the pool table. Woman after his own heart, it seemed.

If she was being honest with herself, Alana hadn't heard such compliment in a while, and although she hid it well, Cal’s romantic gesture had just about caused her to blush. Almost. She'd summed it up to being slightly intimidated by him. Given what she had experienced thus far, it went without question that he knew how to draw a woman in. Though one always had to be careful of the other’s intentions, she was curious where the road would eventually lead them. Yes, there was a possibility that this phase between the two of them would be temporary, but that wasn’t holding her back.

After the two of them had had their first taste, Alana pulled in even closer, their faces maybe an inch apart. She looked into his eyes momentarily before going in for the kiss, feeling the moment to be just as right as any.

The moment of recollection as Alana’s face drew near—a yearning in those bespeckled, blue eyes, and Cal’s lips parted in reply of their own accord. His hand found the gentle curve in the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. The intoxicating call and response of testing kisses followed Alana’s overture. She tasted like the bright mango wine, and smelled like floral lavender. To Cal, the lagoon faded from view except for the chattering of budgies, parakeets, and love birds in the palms above. He thought he detected an urgency in her touch, in the way her hand felt on his skin, in the brief glimpses he peeked between kisses.

In his mind he saw amendments being made in the matter of Ms. Alana Lysanger. She had been a medic, a vagabond of sorts, perhaps aimless, perhaps searching for something–maybe even running from something. Eager as she was to join the crew and just after seeing him rough a man up in a bar; that too did not go unnoticed by the Captain. As cool and calmly as she proposed a game of pool and a backrub for the winner; strong and able as she was to pull a half-living man out of the freezing drink. In the short time he’d known this woman she had proved her mettle, that and more.

And now here she was, walking the edge of the ‘Verse on the China Doll. With her captain. Cal wasn’t sure it all made sense to him, yet, but if her first move was any indication, it nudged the time for talk somewhere into the future. The now being flooded and filled with endorphins.

The little flutter in one’s belly typically described during these experiences made its presence as Alana kissed her captain, the decision to make the first move independent from any alcohol influence, making their intimate moment that more intense. She lost herself in the kiss once her attempts to quiet her mind were successful, shutting down any sort of doubts which could have potentially turned into unwelcomed distractions. And thankfully that wasn't the case. Her skin started to tingle, eliciting a soft sigh from her which was muffled by their greedy passion at play. Needless to say, her own needs were as clear as the day they were both currently enjoying.

When Alana did eventually pull away, she was nearly breathless, her chest heaving up and down in steady rhythm. There was quite a contrast in the white of her eyes against the flushed skin surrounding them, and she collected herself by running her fingertips down to his wrist in a gentle caress before breaking contact altogether.

"Quite the start to our date," she whispered, subtly shying away from his stare as she glanced over the crystal blue surface in near distance, "wouldn't you say?"

That far-off look took his eye as he ran his thumb over the flat of his cheek, tracing the path of her hand moments before. “To quote an old crooner from Earth-That-Was ‘Still it’s a real good bet the best is yet to come,’” he said, tucking his hat around his ears. His tongue tingled still, that sort of gentle postcursor to a really good cigarette. He watched the flush from Alana’s cheek subside; that tough exterior she hefted was coming down and he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was in that moment, out of breath, slightly pink, but happy. Reaching back into his satchel, he retrieved more of local fare, offering her a vine of grapes from his open palm.

As she accepted the offering, the Captain sighed, hand automatically flipping open the silver case to produce a row of neatly packed, unfiltered, synthetic smokes. With a flick of his wrist the flame touched the end and any worry he may have had floated to the heavens like the plumes from his mouth and nose.

“So tell me, Doc, what are you runnin’ from?” His eyes were soft as he watched for her response.

…

The day wore on as the two spoke in confidence to one another, the flush and fire of those first moments still lingering in their eyes. When the wine and food was gone, and the budgies inhabiting the trees above them began their evening songs, the Doc and Captain bid farewell to the lagoon in its jungle-lined glory and packed up the mule for the ride back to the China Doll.

It wasn’t far, thankfully, only a few miles in the dimming light, and it so happened that Cal bid farewell to Alana as she and her beautifully somehow-still-white dress made her way back to her bunk. As he watched her go, his hands lazily finished unpacking and strapping the mule.

The sun was glimmering its goodbye from the canopy as he pulled out a cigarette to bookend an evening he’d be playing back a time or two.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

What happens in the Lagoon... (Part 1) - Greenleaf Day 2

JP/collab from @Xandrya and @Wanderingwolf

Retcon Day 2 afternoon/evening

Cal knocked against the infirmary door opening. Looking inside, he could see Alana was lost in thought or busying herself with some such work that required her full attention. It’d been a while since they’d addressed his “I O U” for her pool game winnings back on New Melbourne, so he conjured now was just the time, what with the sun warming the planet and the cool breeze that blew into the valley. Sam had let him know that the beach was only an hour drive by mule, so Captain Strand took it upon himself to pack some sundries from the galley in a pack he had slung over his shoulder.

“Hey Doc,” he said, moseying into the med bay. “How’d things go with Abigail and her stitches?” Cal leaned against the counter where Alana sat on a stool.

The reports she was preparing for the sake of recordkeeping were just about done. Alana had some background music playing, that which was set at a reasonable volume as to not be distracting. But even then, the knock that caught her attention was distraction enough. Cal stood at the entrance for a brief moment before stepping inside, drawing a smile from her.

“Abby did just fine and dandy, you know that girl is stronger than a given number of men out there.” Her hands rested on her lap as she went on talking about one of her favorite people. “The type of stitches I used on her are a new grade, which is really helpful given she’s not the type to sit still...” Alana smirked, getting up to put the paperwork on the counter before turning back to him. "Busy with work too?” She motioned towards the bulk hanging from his shoulder.

Strand chuckled, Doc told it true. Abigail was proving her worth to be more than many men, and shoulder to shoulder with previous crew on the China Doll, he wouldn’t hesitate to put her in charge. “No, that girl don’t sit still,” does Doc know just how restless her patient can get?, he wondered, “I’m sure she’s thankin’ you up and sideways for that.”

“Oh this?” He asked, thumbing the strap of his satchel. There was a gleam in his eye, “Why, this is your comeuppance, Ms. Lysanger. Food, drink; a picnic to be enjoyed on the finest jungle beach Greenleaf has to offer, on authority of the locals, way I hear.” He offered her a debonair smile, “What do you say?”

“A picnic, you say...” Alana pretended to be disinterested in the notion, putting away some things like the paperwork that would get addressed at a later time. “I suppose I can squeeze you in given there’s food and drinks involved,” she went on, turning to face Cal to stare him up and down, “and good company by the looks of it.”

Rather than show her enthusiasm for their date, Alana had decided to keep up the charade. “Allow me a few minutes to get out of my work clothes and we can be on our way. Make yourself comfortable if you’d like, I won’t be long."

Cal noted the even tone with which she spoke, and when she departed, a light frown appeared on his face. Slinging his pack down onto the sitting table outside the infirmary, Cal seated himself. Tapping his thumbs to his knee, he wondered if he’d misread the good doctor, second guessing that sun lotion he’d picked up with Penelope their first day land-side. Rather than stew, the Captain picked up the closest reading material to leaf through, which happened to be some kind of scientific journal about the species of plants on Greenleaf.

Back in her room, Alana changed into the dress she’d purchased before for an occasion such as this one. It was cream-colored and it was accompanied by a brown belt cinching at the waist. She wiggled into the garment, letting it fall her length until the hem nearly touched the deck. Alana then reached for the belt, looking down to set a comfortable fit. Not too tight, not too loose, but just right to accentuate her figure. She had decided to wear her hair down parted to one side, hoping there was a breeze to bring out some waves in her otherwise straight hair. Slipping into her simple pair of sandals, Alana fanned out her hair as she stared at herself in the small mirror. She was satisfied by what she saw, and she decided she wasn’t going to keep Cal waiting any longer as she made her way back up to meet him in the med bay.

‘The species Psychotria elata or labios de puta, are plentiful in the dense rainforests of Greenleaf, clinging to the transitional belt of sandy soil to forest loam. It is most notable for its distinctly shaped red bracts and is consequently nicknamed “Hot Lips”.’ Cal looked up from his reading just in time to watch Alana descend the steel stairs into the common area toward the medbay. His eyes widened as he reconsidered his reconsidering, chucking the book onto the end table. As he stood, he tipped his hat back to make sure he could take it all in. “Well ain’t that somethin’,” he commented under his breath. The linen dress she wore tied into curling bows at her shoulders, cascading downward with each stair step until her sandaled feet touched the cold steel of the cargo bay. “Doc, you clean real up nice,” he ran a smoothing hand over his own hair.

Catching his expression as she neared the med bay, Alana smiled slightly at his comment. "Oh, this old thing?" She played off his compliment in hopes to conceal her warming cheeks, though such was obvious against her light, creamy skin. "Thought I might dress a little for the occasion, you know? Getting to pretend we're on an exotic vacation or the like."

Looking past him momentarily to assure herself nothing else needed her attention, Alana sidestepped to allow Cal some room. "I'm ready if you are. Dying to know what goodies you’re keeping packed in there, aside from your sense of humor that is.”

Alana glanced over his frame as he made to step out, a content expression not betraying her otherwise impure thoughts.

Captain Strand gave a wink as he lashed the pack to the back of the ‘Mule’, a quad vehicle with a single seat inline. Their journey ahead would measure about an hour with him in the driver seat, the Doctor perched behind him, if Sam’s calculations were correct. He tucked his hat into place before mounting the Mule. “Hop on and hold tight, Doc,” he said, patting the seat behind him.

Walking up to the quad, Alana inched her dress up to be able to climb on. Once she had settled, the hem of the garment resting on her thighs, she wrapped her arms around Cal's midsection, heeding his advice before the two finally set off on the way to their adventure.

Roughly an hour had passed when Cal and Alana arrived at their destination. The gusts of wind coupled with the high humidity that accompanied them through the trip had turned Alana's hair a little more wilder than before, something she was unaware of. The doctor got off the quad to stretch, taking in the colorful sights surrounding them. "Wow, if this isn't paradise then I don't know what is."

Cal took the opportunity to glance at his accomplice. The wind-swept look really worked for her, he surmised, brows arched in agreement. “You said it. You know, I had no idea losin’ a bet over a pool game in some backwater town on New Melbourne might land me in a tropical picnic alongside the likes of you. Can’t say I’m a sore loser.” The Doc had been giving him all the signals of someone genuinely interested since she’d bested him fair and square. He gave her a sidelong glance, still not sure if he’d applied a little too much charm too quickly, or if she were thinking of sticking around at all.

"You? A sore loser?" Alana cocked her head to the side slightly as she eyed him with a smirk, a response she typically fashioned after exaggerated claims. “If this is your way of making up for a lost bet, then you need to do less winning more often,” she went on matter-of-factly. Feeling the need to make herself useful instead of standing like a statue watching him work up a sweat, Alana helped Cal unpack to set up their picnic. The fact that they were isolated and only accompanied by the sound of pure tropical bliss made her look forward to this time alone with him even more.

The picnic was replete with blanket on the sandy lagoon whose cool green and blue waters stretched out all around them. She’d hit the nail on the head: it was gorgeous. The way the water coyly covered the land in folding intervals; the majestic curves of the mountainous hills as they knelt to meet the lagoon itself. Penelope had steered him right, indeed.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Just to also offer my two cents on @aalakrys leaving: There's no replacing Penelope and she's woven a huge part of our story. Especially given how this episode was powered by her connection in no small way, Cal will be posting a discovery, followed by a relay to the crew when Day 3 rolls around.

As far as travel is concerned, don't slip on all that fun you've got planned @gunther! I'm headed to Miami this weekend and should be back late the following Friday. The forecast there is much the opposite of your New Hampshire, so I'm packing shades and sun lotion! (just to rub it in a little)

Art by Wanderingwolf

Getting back into sculpting a little and made a cute little mind flayer.

Art by Wanderingwolf

I made this meadow about a week and a half ago. Thought I'd share it here: blenderartists.org/t/meadow/1353949

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Holiday Alternate Universe RP 2021

Come Away With Me Part 1

---

His lips followed the line of her shoulder with gentle kisses while her hands traced the planes of his back. Each muscle tensed as her fingers played along his spine, fiercely butterflied by the symmetrical carving of his ribs. As his kisses claimed the nape of her neck, S.A.M.N.T.H.A. exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding in. Her arms enclosed the small of his back, pulling him toward her.

"Come away with me, Cal" she breathed into his hair, "Let me take you away from all of this."

"Darlin'," his hands lightly caressed her thighs before meeting at the small of her back, "you know I can't do that." Cal's tone was playful, encouraging, even.

Even if departing the lifestyle of being a Companion crossed his mind, to leave it for Sam would be complicated, no matter the complex feelings he harbored for her. The living, breathing flesh in his embrace now was simply a conduit for the... person... he knew as Sam. A body on loan for tonight. Another hired actor in the entertainment this evening.

"I know," Sam's tone was still hopeful, "it's just that this feels..." she paused to find his eyes, "special." No matter how many times she met with him through different eyes, that look he gave her never changed--never faded. To her, Calvin Booth Strand was at once her savior and paramour. If he hadn't removed her from Alliance control, she would never have built the peace she had built, used the profits for the betterment of the 'Verse, grown so fond of the man who made it possible... All of this was possible because one night, on a job with a client, Cal had decided his coat was more Brown than Purple.

His hazel eyes stared back into hers, "It does," his thumb came to rest on her cheek, tracing the outline of her temple. Drawing her in, his lips met hers, their eyes closing to allow the multiple points of contact throughout their bodies to alight.

Their kisses intensified as the pair lay back on the soft bed sheets in Cal's shuttle. The decor of modern angular furniture was accented by warm lighting and calming impressionist works from the masters. Feodore's 'Beach at Sunset' painted with only pallet knife, hung above the occupied bed--its broad streaks of stippled red, blue, and yellow evoking the gamut of emotions of which Sam and Cal succumbed.

Her hands found purchase on his shoulder blades as Cal hung above her. His body closed the gap between them and his lips sought out her suprasternal notch. She noted the feeling of their skin--like soft silk--as subtle motions began their play between them. Her eyes met his, a look of alarming warmth staring back at her.

Suddenly, everything went loud--red painted over the entire room as the pair moved in tandem.

Only it wasn't the heat of the moment that shot red light across the room, but the warning alarm which sat above the shuttle door. The Phoenix station to which he'd docked must have thrown the panic alarm, which menaced the pair as their sight returned among the sheets of Cal's bed.

Sam was the first to respond, "Red light..." to her memory of station internals, having written much of the safety code for this one herself, she knew that could only mean one thing. "We have to go, now." Gone was the soft and pleading tone she employed just moments ago; now, the cold steel of her eyes trained upon the flashing red light and the image it heralded.

Her elbow ducked from beneath Cal, his arm extricating his hold of Sam as he rolled away. In moments Sam was pulling on her black slacks and peacock-green blouse, a calm hand lashing on her gun belt.

"What does it mean," Cal asked, his eyes beginning to narrow as he followed her lead and began getting dressed.

With one look over her shoulder, she let the word slip without meeting his eye.

"Reavers."

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Smokes and Sunscreen

---

JP featuring Penelope and Cal between @Aalakrys & @wanderingwolf

No sooner had Captain Strand nodded his goodbyes to the deckhands than he caught the eye of his pilot on the bay catwalk. He paused a moment, considering, then with a jerk of his chin he summoned her down from her view on-high.

As Penelope had been taking in the goings on, mostly lost in her own thoughts as she enjoyed the warmth wafting in over the smell of sea and brine, she caught sight of her captain’s beckoning gesture. It was obvious he was indicating her as no one else was lingering along the railing, so she stood to descend the stairs. Once she was close enough, the usual easy-going expression leaving her more relaxed than she felt in truth, she ribbed him in her way. “If you’re thinkin’ Sam and me’ll be plottin’ in your absence, don’t worry - your toes are plenty safe from the frost on Greenleaf. Might want ta check your boots for other things ‘fore you go puttin' ‘em on though if ya fancy goin’ barefoot outside the ship.”

Cal’s expression was serious as he let a simple smile reach his lips, “Walk with me.” As the pair fell in step together, Strand thought on what lay ahead for them tomorrow evening at Hafez Nadal’s party. For Penelope, a reunion of sorts, for Cal a chance to pay the piper. Having never heard of Hafez in his travels, Cal felt left in the lurch. He wouldn’t go so far as to say the devil you know is better than the one you don’t, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do his homework.

A minute of walking saw a pandemonium of parrots pass overhead, looking for perch on the buildings and queen palm trees that towered above them. The birds’ constant chatter was both interrupting and engaging, and Cal’s eyes watched the flock move for a moment before he simply stated the object of his concern, “Hafez Nadal.”

Penelope had taken in her captain’s expression and posture as he walked, so she had been expecting the break here soon. It came as she watched the parrots squawk, fluffing out their plumage as they took purchase wherever they like, and begun grooming their feathers. She’d been all over since her last stop here, but nothing was like home. Though she hadn’t planned to leave the ship anytime soon, the captain’s need to hash things out had her stepping after, and she was glad for it - even if that meant they were going to have another one of those talks. “Feels like I’m always on this side of that tone, Cap’n.”

She’d stretched as she’d spoken, Penelope none to worry much about the present. But, she didn’t hold out on him and what he was after. When her arms fell back down to her sides and she’d gotten a deep breath of what she could over the landing docks, she turned her gaze to him. “Sam had the right of it. Hafez is the face of an enterprise, with hands to do his work.”

He chewed on that a moment, his hands buried in his pockets as they continued their path into the throng of buildings and businesses in the style of Greenleaf’s iconic and money-funneled architecture thanks to big pharma on the planet. “Uh huh, but what about your history? Which hand did you play, once upon a time in Greenleaf?” Strand’s tone was inquisitive as he gauged her response. If she knew anything about the sort of work Hafez got up to, or any clue as to what job might be awaiting them at the end of the festivities tomorrow, Cal had a mind to know the measure of the man.

The street opened up to main thoroughfare now, and they fell into sparse crowds gandering after wares or bustling from one shop to another. People of working class stood out by their clothes, and the pair of them were just different enough to stick out—save for Penelope’s gate, of which Cal took notice, she seemed like a fish in water. They walked past a bazaar off the central path, and several beggars turned chin to the pair, palms open. Cal fished for some creds from Dupree’s pouch and stuck one in each palm, before turning back to his companion and the road they traveled.

Penelope had been given all the time she needed to think, and as she watched the captain passing over coin with a gentle smile on her lips, she found herself grateful he was her captain. Not only was he a decent sort, even when he tried not to be, but he understood her in a way few did. So, when he turned his attention back on her, ready for her answer, she was ready to give it. “Remember when I said I’d been on jobs without knowin’ it before and I ain’t keen to fall back into the dark? My captain back then was one of them hands, turned out, so I only knew our host in passin’. Cap’n had left the RFID with the bodies, so he was the one that found Jun an’ me in the forest when another hand came lookin’ for his haul. I was his guest for some time ‘fore he put me in touch with O’Malley; couldn’t live all cooped up on an estate so close to my home. Needed soil an’ sky more than anythin’ else could be offered, anyhow.”

There was more to the story, but she wasn’t one to go into details unnecessarily - at the base of it, that was the truth. And being back on her world gave her clarity for what her captain was really after. “From what I did see while I was his guest… he is like the lianas of the rainforest, Cal. It was wrong of me ta compare him ta a spider, when he operates more like the wooden vines that wind their way through an entire section of trees to reach the canopy. They control everything in the section of the forest they occupy, and yet the forest an’ its wildlife become dependent upon it. And, only a few would know when it’s toxic or life-savin’.”

The comparison had been told in her slow speech, the sadness fading as she visualized what she was saying as the words left her lips. The Barefoot people revered the lianas, and it was evident in her tone that she did as well.

Toxic or life-saving. That boded all sorts of complicated, and the way his pilot spoke, he couldn’t suss if it was the man himself who had earned that respect, or if it was the metaphor from which she drew to paint a picture of him. Cal rubbed his chin in thought. Nadal was a player, that much was for certain, and he commanded the respect of Penelope. For him, and for now, that would be enough. Penelope had done a daring thing in both telling her tale and in bringing him Hafez in their hour of need. He set his jaw, deciding the ‘Verse was telling him it would all be alright. They’d just been paid for a job and set down on a beautiful locale. He glanced sideways at his pilot, today had enough to worry about on it’s own. Tomorrow could worry about itself.

“He took you in when you needed it. Makes sense that he’d be the one you call. And, Penelope,” he paused to furrow his brow earnestly, “I appreciate that you did. Saved us big on this job, and that ain’t something a lot of people would do. So…” Captain Strand offered his hand for her to shake, “Thank you.”

Now Penelope’s bright smile shown through as she gave a little tilt of her head and took his offered hand. As her slender fingers encased what they could on his hand, she shared her soft delight. “Well now, Cap’n, don’t know if I ever earned a handshake before. Glad to be of service.”

“Now, I need a cigarette ‘fore I do any further dealin’ or it’s guaranteed to go sideways, mark my words.” A bodega sat nestled on the corner, and neon lights flashing on the eaves advertised Cal’s favorite brand of cigarette, ‘Letrot.’ Letrot was made of the absolute chaff in synthetic cigarettes, but was widely favored among grifters and drifters across the ‘Verse due to its availability. In fact, the only places Strand found that didn’t stock his tar of choice were Londinium and Osiris, a matter which caused him no love lost when he considered what sort of people lived there and where he’d rather be. The Captain tipped his hat to Penelope before approaching the proprietor with a nod.

As her captain walked away to get stocked up on his habit, Penelope turned her eyes back to those birds, her hands folding together behind her back naturally as she watched. There weren’t nothin’ for her at the stall. All her wares were to be traded or scrounged, or at a specific delicacy shop across the burg, but that was if she made it that way. For now, she was content to let the humidity in the light rain starting to fall coat her soul. Rainfall in the jungle was more steamy, but this was a warm shower after the frozen flight from New Melbourne, and she would let it soak her through if she wasn’t careful. When Cal finished up his business and turned back, she hadn’t moved. Only then did she draw her eyes away from the huddling parrots to look at him, mist alight over her curtained, curling hair and bare shoulders. “Hey, Cap’n, I know you got wrangled into spending some of your shore leave with my old acquaintance, but did ya have any other plans in your downtime? Hope ya ain’t gonna join Hook in no shootin’.”

She’d spoken in the same manner she had when they’d first met, carefree and at her own pace, at least until she mentioned what she’d overheard while on the catwalk of the ship, watching the fish unload. The idea of hunting on Greenleaf made the natives ill, considering most came for trophies and sport rather than need. Wild boar for meat was one thing, and maybe that’s what the deckhand meant since he was keen to cook, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt - that he meant to go get in trouble instead, which was less a crime than hurting any critters in Penelope’s mind.

That silver cigarette case had scarcely closed before Captain Strand had one in his lip, “Captain’s don’t get downtime, Freckles.” He pursed his lips, shielding the lighter flame from the warming drizzle. His plaid maroon and green collar began to darken with the welcome rain. “But it just so happens that I do have plans for a bit of ‘R and R.’ I been meaning to ask you something’, matter-of-fact, seein’ as this is your world.” Cal took a long draw on his cigarette, his face instantly relaxing as he reluctantly removed it to tap ash.

His eyes were serious as he met Penelope’s, “See, I got a need to visit the warmest, driest, most shadeless beach near a couple clicks. Know anywhere fits the bill?” His eyes followed the cigarette as it met his eager lips yet again.

Penelope had been all ears before the captain even got to what he was seeking. She'd tilted her in thought, pondering as he spoke, and a smile spread at the inclination. "Now, what would a man such as you want with a sunny beach… you'll burn for certain. No, can’t have that. What you want is a lagoon, and I just so happen to know where one or two is that won't be occupied by them pesky tourists like over on the beaches."

She dropped the hand that had cupped her check as she'd been thinking, the smile on her lips made conspiratorial by the shine of her eyes. "It's a ways off the path, but coordinates and a shuttle can get ya there if you’re willin’, then you'll be right shiny, Cap'n."

It was an alternative offer, but she wasn't pressing. Either way, she'd tell him what he wanted to know, of course, but was fond enough of her captain to share a hidden gem of her home world. Greenleaf had plenty of lagoons, but not everyone was keen for the travel.

Cal turned to fix his eyes on Penelope, cigarette ember alight. “A lagoon, you say? Can’t say I’ve been to one, but a secluded locale suits me just fine.” He watched her eyebrow arch in interest, “I’ve got a bit of business sand-side with the good Doc, and a quiet spot in the sun is the perfect prescription.” Cal winked, obviously proud of his turn-of-phrase, his cheek occupied with another long drag from his slender, foul-smelling cigarette. “How’s my hair?” The Captain turned to show off the back of his head to Penelope.

"Well," Penelope said with that light mirth in her soft voice as she raked a hand through the back to comb it just once. "I ain't a doc, but I think it's safe to prescribe a trim. Reckon the lagoon works with a nice bit'a shag, though, so ya can belay those plans in favor ah the better ones.."

So that was what had Alana in such high spirits the other day, was it? Maybe, maybe not. They both got themselves quite a catch though, Penelope thought, so she couldn't fault a one. The Doc's near giddiness and this side of her Cap'n. Was downright cute.

“Shag,” he pronounced, following the path Penelope’s hand had traveled with his own. “You might be onto somethin’.” He was feeling in much better spirits now, having a clasp full of cigarettes and some excitement on the horizon. “How’re you with a pair of shears?” Captain Strand pulled again on his cigarette, tapping his Montana crease against his thigh as he hopefully waited for her answer. If not her, then maybe Abigail–seein’ as she grew up on a boat and such.

"Oh, depends on what I'm usin' 'em on." Penelope grinned, following where the captain was going but having to leave him disappointed. Wasn't her skill set - fabric wasn't near the same as a head'a hair. "My older sister took care'a the trims growin' up. I wouldn't wanna go ruinin' that roguish look with a sorry attempt. Not when ya got special plans."

The gentle teasing was a sign she was quite enjoying herself, even if she was sorry she couldn't be of more help. Maybe it was the mist and the bird, the thickness of the air, or maybe it was just this friendly back and forth. All her nerves at being home seemed to subside, at least for this moment. "Be a poor way to repay ya for the nice stroll. Maybe someone on board can help if they ain't all rushed ashore to thaw out. An' who knows, maybe the doc likes a bit of scruff."

Her grin spread. Given what her captain said to poor Isaac when he was all hurtin' over leaving a girl behind, Penelope figured thinking too much on a romantic notion might be pushing it, but from how giddy the two were… might not.

“Maybe she does,” and with that Cal closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and welcomed the jungle rain with a plume of smoke to the sky.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Fish Story”

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

Narrator: (Sam Elliott voice) “China Doll rode the black in as sweet and clean an arc as her pilot’s mittened hands could muster. The boat’s still mighty cold, what with a hold full of fresh seafood and folk takin’ turns at the few warmup spots tucked here an’ about. Rumor has it the Skyes kept the good times goin’ all night, despite Penelope’s latest rescue sittin’ in for a hand of poker. Speakin’ of rescues, that new fella, Yuri, passed the night quiet, but whether you can sleep after somethin’ like he been through is tough to conjure.

Lucky done did his first engine room watch like a champeen. Rex come outta hidin’ to look in on his friend an’ wound up slingin’ a hammock. Somethin’ happened in the lower deck passenger lounge. Place was all put to rights, but there’s a mighty big chalk drawin’ of an orchid blossom on the bulkhead above the sofa. Ain’t no one to ask yet, as Abby an’ them two passengers is all tucked in their rooms with space heaters goin’. Then there’s Doc an’ the Cap’n...but that ain’t our business. Man’s got a spring in his step today that’s just as like to the payday now growin’ in the Doll’s forward ports as to anythin’ else mighta happened...I ain’t sayin’.

Hook the cook gave ever’one a boost with a good hot breakfast. Some folk opted past the tabasco for sriracha’s extra fire. Now, Greenleaf’s just a couple hours out, an’ gettin’ bigger all the time. Just ‘tween you and me, I conjure that while nobody favored the cold, ain’t a soul aboard won’t think on this run without raisin’ a smile. Even our pilot, who’s got some mixed feelin’s about this stop as she an’ Sam point the Doll toward home.”

---

Penelope returned to the galley all wrapped up in her multi-layers of blankets once more, rested from a long nap after the antics in the Skye shuttle a few hours previous. The little mouse rescued and named Maurice was tucked away in a re-repurposed plastic bucket in the engine room with Lucky, keeping warm. From where she sat in her pilot’s seat, all looked shiny, even if she weren’t quite sure how she felt as she looked on at the approaching planet that was her home.

Greenleaf grew nearer, and every bone in Cal’s cold body cried out for the warmth that touching down would bring, even if he still maintained the genius of his plan to freeze the four-thousand pounds of King Tuna they were hauling. As he entered the bridge, his rainbow-colored mittens joined the matching set with Pen’s beanie, and the captain slipped them off with numb fingers. It was with a silent tap that Pen felt the pair pinned to her shoulder, a haggard look on the Captain’s face.

Breathing in deeply, Strand took in the growing sight of Greenleaf through the Doll’s eyes. He rested a palm against the frigid console, and tapped the wave dial to wake it up. It was time to hail his contact regarding their arrival.

“You look rested,” came the cranky declaration from Captain Strand.

Penelope had left her mountain of blankets back in the engine room with Maurice and Lucky to watch over. She’d warned them both of blanket bandits, namely Rex, before setting off towards the engine room. So, when the captain dropped her mittens on her shoulder, she actually felt the thump.

“Oh yeah, Cap’n - best place around for a nap was with the critters in the engine room.” She grinned as she pulled her palms from under her thighs to tuck into the mittens. “Got all caught up for the landing. Reckon folks who didn’t tuck in are ready to warm up, huh?”

“Reckon so; I know I am.” Cal input coords on the console for Dupree, his contact, before looking up at Penelope, “Critter-s? Last I checked Rex didn’t qualify, just the parrot.” After a few short moments, Cal was all queued up to turn on the capture. He was ready to make an easy payday on a shi-ton of Tuna; a smirk threatened to break through the perma-frown frozen to Cal’s face. Penelope flashed him a grin of her own at the comment, but kept the secret of Maurice to herself. No need to be bringing up a mouse when her captain was concerned about their cargo.

“Sam, how are things lookin’ in the cargo bay? Our trip long enough to freeze our haul through? Tell me we’ll have an hour or two ‘fore a thaw, sheh.”

After a pause in which Sam was no doubt inputting data and factoring out equations, she reported: "According to planetary temperature and the humidity index combined with reentry hull heat, maintaining a frigid internal temperature seems less than optimal, Cal. When factoring in the size of the cargo against rising heat, approximately three percent of the exterior stored lifeforms may expire within the first hour after reentry."

Cal nodded, since it wasn’t his problem after the bid changed hands, “Let’s hope Dupree’s men don’t dawdle.”

The screen switched, offering a view of the drab office space at the heart of Dupree’s Ocean Delicacies. The man himself was hunched over a desk piled high with heaps of unfiled paperwork. He wore a blue striped coverall over his shirt and tie at half mast. The stark overhead lighting reflected upon a head nearly devoid of hair. In the background stood a plate glass window through which the proprietor could watch the goings on in his freezers and fresh catch tanks. “Dupree’s,” he responded without glancing up.

“Dupree, lookin’ fine as usual, if I don’t say so.” Cal paused to scratch his chin nonchalantly, silently wondering if he’d end up looking just as wretched when he hit whatever age it was Dupree staked claim over. “Everythin’s lookin’ good on my end and we’re a couple clicks out from the rendezvous spot. ‘Preciate the expediency of our dealin’ here.” Strand fixed the capture with what he would have called a friendly look, despite the slight shiver running up his spine.

“Sounds good,” Dupree gave a single nod. “Let me know when the dockmaster assigns your berth number and I’ll have my truck there when you land.” His eyes dipped to the clipboard in his hand. “My guys will have your payment…two credits a pound. Did you manage to get me the full four hundred?”

Cal’s jaw hinged open, “Four hundred? Four hundred what now? The last we talked you called for four-thousand pounds of King Tuna--” He shot a glance at Penelope, who had returned her mittens hands under her legs and shrugged. She was never privy to the job details to say one way or another, and didn’t seem to mind at all as her eyes drifted back up to the viewport to see her homeworld getting closer by the second.

The fishmonger kept a rigid poker face. “Sounds like a typo…most like a signal skip. Sorry, friend, I ordered four hundred pounds of King Tuna. Four hundred’s what I’m paying for.”

“A typo? Listen, Dupree, the bill said four-thousand pounds, so we’re haulin’ four-thousand pounds. I got the whole lot on ice here to deliver up to you on the total fare for two creds a unit. Now, are we goin’ to deal on original terms?” Cal’s smirk was gone, his tone hardening as he watched the shiny bald man’s head reflect back at him.

Dupree shook his head, then lifted a hand to still the next protest. “Wait…tell you what, Captain. It’s mighty hot down here today. After you burn in, the clock’ll start ticking on that fish. I conjure you’ll have a good hour before it starts to spoil. Hate to see that happen over something stupid as a data hiccup, so how’s this? I’ll pay you for the four hundred at our set price. The rest? I’ll take it off your hands before it starts to smell for…say twenty P a pound? Sound fair?”

“Fair!” Cal’s temper was rising, “You take me for one-tenth the price on the ton of catch I’ve got here? I ain’t gonna G’en Ho Tze Bi Dio se, while you sit there like a Go Neong Yung
Duh.” Strand’s palm beat the wave’s termination button, his arms still anchored to the spot over the pilot’s console. (engage a monkey in a feces-hurling contest and son of a bitch, respectively)

"Cap'n," Penelope spoke up in that soft way of hers when he’d disconnected the wave, distracted still by her thoughts, but not enough to miss out on the clear robbery. "Usually when a fella gives ya the run-around in the market, you take the goods to another stall. Greenleaf ain't got no big salt-water, so this sort of delicacy wouldn't be too hard to hawk elsewhere. Plenty’a fences, too."

As he put the pieces of what she was saying together as a native, Cal turned where he stood, no longer shivering of cold thanks to his exchange with Dupree. “Plenty o’ fences?” His brows, though sternly fixed, arched just enough to beg her to continue her thought behind crossed arms..

“Greenleaf ain’t no stranger to unloading cargo that didn’t quite go through Alliance inspection,” Her eyes returned from the viewport to focus on her captain when he’d fallen silent, seeing that he’d wanted more information. “There’s a few places of reentry where the sensors aren’t as… thorough. Paid off folks that monitor, usually from the black market higher-ups. There’s a whole underground. Bunkers ‘round the jungle. I’m sure one of them are likely to take on the haul - it’d make ‘em rich to sell off to the Alliance upper class in the city.”

"Uh-huh," he intoned, his eyes were focused elsewhere, reasoning out a new plan factoring in the data his pilot supplied. "And do you happen to know who might be keen on what we're sellin'?" Having a barefoot onboard could be just the break he needed to get out of this fix. "I ain't lookin' to take a loss, here. We need every cred promised us on this run to keep flyin'."

Penelope was clearly thinking, but whether it was a list of old contacts she knew or her willingness to get in touch with them, that was anyone’s guess. Finally, she stopped chewing absently at her lip and said, “Maybe Hafez Nadal - it's been a long time since I've been in contact with him, but he's the sort to tread light just enough not to get caught up in'a snare, so I bet he's still around..”

A crackle preceded the cool, clear accent of S.A.M.N.T.H.A. on the bridge, “Hafez Nadal, Alliance intelligence claims, is the head of a syndicate here on Greenleaf known for shady dealing without crossing the line of legality. This distinction, it seems, has thwarted enough attempts to indict him that the authorities now vet any further allegations of illegality through a local task force that reports no real leads according to the digital files they keep in their precinct.” A burgeoning smile could almost be heard through the comm, “I don’t see your name in any of the collated list of his associates, Penelope. Though now, I admit, I am curious.”

"I reckon it's on account of my being presumed dead…" The pilot said it was if was her best guess after a moment of thinking about it. "Hafez must've kept it that way."

She seemed surprised, in that her eyes went a little wide at the idea. That meant … well, that'd be dealt with later. "I guess I'm comin' back from the beyond to load a lap full of tuna on him, Cap'n?"

Cal, scratching his chin absently, finally met Pen’s eyes. “Sounds like a charmer. Well, we got no choice. Can you call him?”

Penelope nodded and pulled one hand from beneath a leg, reaching over to send a wave to Nadal. There was only a bit of anxiety that touched her, given it’d been so long and all, but she hid it well as anything.

A luminescent title, Nadal Enterprises, glowed and pulsed on the screen. The image switched to reveal a large, overly ornate cafe space. Ceiling fans turned lazily above intricate tapestries adorning the walls. Tables and chairs, all richly burnished wood, cast a gloss which was augmented by the golden brass fittings. The garish opulence of the scene appeared an apt match for the man himself. Hafez Nadal wore richly embroidered robes. Chains about his neck and the rings upon his fingers glowed lustrous gold in compliment to the robust hue of skin well cared for. The breezy cafe, the clothing, the perfectly coiffed hair all told their tale. Here was a man who took appearances to extremes.

As his gaze zeroed in, the professional smile burst open to a dazzling grin. “Why, Penelope Randell!” Hafez nearly chortled in delight. “It brings me joy to see your lovely face again!”

“Nice compliment for the long departed,” Penelope’s easy smile came at seeing an old familiar sight. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine - exuberant as ever, Hafez.”

“I’ve been warned never to accept flattery from a beautiful woman,” Hafez’s grin held beneath eyes sparkling with wit. “But I’ll make an exception in your case, Dear One. Tell me, what are you up to these days? Something involving stick and rudder?”

“More or less,” Penelope answered, her teeth starting to chatter slightly at the hiss of the word. “Right now, I’m cold storage while we try to figure out a fishy situation. Literally sittin’ on my hands. Told my new Cap’n here that I might know someone who had a soft spot for me that’d help us puzzle it out.”

It was more difficult to hold her grin only account of the cold, but she’d motioned to Cal just by her with a nod of her head. “This is Cal Strand, Cap’n of the China Doll I’ve just recently started flyin’ - Firefly.”

She gave a wink, thrilled by the ship itself all the same as when she first wandered on by. But that was all she’d say on it, mostly because her lips were probably turning blue so the sooner they worked something out, the better. Maybe she should’ve brought at least one of her blankets…

The professional smile restored. “A pleasure, Captain Strand,” Hafez offered a courteous nod. “In such a moment as this, the old adage ‘any friend of Penelope’s is a friend of mine’ should go without saying. And so, my friends, to what do I owe such a wonderful surprise?”

“Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Nadal,” Cal’s eyes sought out the myriad ostentatious flourishes of which Nadal himself must have relished in his appearance and space. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure how to pin such a man who looked a little closer to Rex, if he’d had an enterprising bone in his body. “Penelope here tells me you may have trade in salt water fish; King Tuna to be exact.”

“King Tuna,” the crime lord offered a wistful smile. “Quickly delivered, given yesterday was the start of the season.” He cast a knowing smile toward Cal. “My compliments on an efficiently run operation, Captain. Yet, I can’t help but wonder that such well planned beginnings weren’t accompanied by an equally determined conclusion? Might there be a complication?”

“Some hucksters might call it a ‘typo’ but, seems there were only call for four-hundred pounds of catch with a generous offer at one-tenth for the rest.” Captain Strand shook his head, “Said offer came by a fella by the name of Dupree.” His jaw tightened slightly as his mind ran over the brief exchange for the nth time.

“I told the Cap’n we ain’t got much of a trade in sea critters, and beings it’s a delicacy, man would be a fool to go turnin’ his nose up at the haul - think he’s playin’ on a desperation to unload ‘fore they turn.” Penelope chattered through a frown.

“Dupree, of course,” A pained smirk crossed the immaculate face. “In the circus that is Greenleaf, the man is our proverbial ‘one trick pony,’ Hafez chuckled. “Having said that, when it comes to moving seafood among the reputable dining and market establishments, I’m sorry to report that his is the only game in town. Still,” the silk rustled as he folded his arms, “a man of his limited...vision...doesn’t achieve such status without the good will of others.” His face softened again as his gaze turned toward the pilot. “If it pleases you, I shall remind our friend Dupree that honoring one’s agreements pays a rich dividend, both in cash profit and my good will. Would that be satisfactory?” His eye travelled between the two faces on his screen.

A man who could wield his ‘good will’ in such a manner definitely got Cal’s attention. The wheels in his head began to turn, imganing just who this Hafez could be, and what sort of history could be colored between the lines twixt him and Penelope. His brief sidelong glance at his pilot looked to her for reassurance that such a promise was within this seemingly friendly face. Even then, someone who could ‘remind’ Dupree to honor his agreement triggered his Badger-o-meter; keen as he was to move this frozen haul, keener was he to keep things on even ground, which meant there was a quid pro quo in the offing.

While Hafez had been speaking, Penelope had busied herself with pulling her shawl over the lower half of her face, but when she caught the captain’s sideways glance, the creases in her eyes matched the reassuring smile beneath.

“I’d be mighty pleased to hear that change of tune,” Cal nodded steadily, trying not to be too visibly pleased.

Hafez brought his hands together in a single clap. ”Tama,” he nodded. “It is done. You may expect Mr. Dupree to meet with you in person upon landing. He’ll pay your agreed price, as well as apologizing for such an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Jahn sheh,” the Captain said, a little stunned. From where he was standing, Penelope appeared to have friends in all sorts of stations. As he considered just how far the reach of her ‘friends’ extended, his brows knit somewhere between concern and interest.

Penelope didn’t think that sounded too good for Dupree, leaving her feeling a little mixed up on the matter, but there wasn’t much that could be done on that end. Even if the situation was an innocent error, which she had doubts about, he still had gone a bit far on a swindle opportunity. If she hadn’t known Hafez, likely Cap’n would be knee-deep in rotted fish, and Abby would be stuck with the clean up. That didn’t sit well with her at all, so she ended up grateful things had turned out this way. “Don’t reckon Dupree will be pleased to see us, but an apology goes a long way. Thank you, Hafez. You’ve saved me from a situation once again, my friend.”

Hafez grinned. “The vision of your loveliness is its’ own reward, Penelope.” The crime boss’ features brightened as a fresh idea seemed to strike. “Tomorrow, my humble establishment is closed. I’m hosting a birthday celebration for my nephew. It would do me great honor if you both were to come and enjoy our hospitality? Captain,” he continued before they could answer, “I do admire a man who conducts his business so efficiently. To that end, during your time with us tomorrow I should appreciate a few moments to discuss an opportunity.”

And there it was, Cal released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I ain’t one to turn down hospitality. Send us the details—well, I suppose you know thereabouts, don’t you, Penelope?” Strand turned to his pilot, a foreboding look on his face.

“I do,” She nodded, retreating back into her thoughts on that some for a moment before returning to give her controlled chattering cheer: “We’ll be there, Hafez.”

”Tama! Hafez clapped his hands once more, grin widening in obvious delight. “Such a fortuitous day! I shall look forward to your arrival. The festivities begin at two o’clock,” his expression shifted into a wry smile, “but fashionable lateness might get you past the more ‘juvenile’ proceedings. Until tomorrow, my friends.” The onscreen image reverted to the glowing Nadal Enterprises title.

As the capture dissolved on screen, Cal sat back against the console, his face toward his pilot. “Reckon we’re goin’ to a shindig tomorrow.” A frown materialized on his face, “And I reckon we’ve got ourselves another job.” He scooted a little closer to her, suddenly reminded of the frigid cold of space. “Tell me, how well do you know this Nadal?”

Penelope hummed a bit, considering as she did everything asked of her personal life. She’d been forthcoming with the captain so far, and there wasn’t really anything suspect on her end involved with answering the question. “As well as anyone can know Hafez Nadal, I reckon, but I also think I already owe him if that’s what you’re askin’.”

Cal thought for a moment, “So, you owe him.” His finger extended in her direction, “And now I owe him…” He retrieved his finger, contemplating for a minute.

“Well, that’s how a fella like him works, isn’t it?” She speculated aloud as a visible tremor went through her, but only due to the cold. “Spiders don’t go gettin’ stuck in their own web, an’ all.”

Cal nodded officially, “That they don’t, and quick-thinkin’ finches always get their worm. Well I say add it to the list, ‘cause after this I owe you.” Just looking at how the cold was setting her teeth to rattling started to become contagious. “Weren’t for your shady blackmarket deals, Abigail would have quite the work to do with that mop, pi gu shot, or not.”

“Aw, Cap’n, ya don’t owe me nothin’ so long as you say I can take the Doll in and get us outta this cold ‘fore my toes freeze off,” She puffed beneath her shawl-made-scarf.

“For Buddha’s-sake woman, take us in before the Doc comes for all our toes-ss.” He bit down to keep that pesky ‘s’ from hissing along from the cold.

“Ain’t got issue with that at all,” Penelope shuddered again just before taking her hands from beneath her thighs where she’d stored them once again to get the coordinates for entry in. As she worked and shivered, she poked one last bit of fun before it was time to get serious. “Sam, can you tell who’d lose their toes first - Cap’n or me? I think me, on account of I ain’t got the desire for shoes no-how, but I’m pretty fond of my toes.”

It only took just a moment before Sam started to whirl off her rationale with data-driven facts on temperature and what she discovered about human frostbite while Penelope pulled the manual flight controls in to get ready for the take-over.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

I O U

Collaborative post with @Xandrya

---

Alana and Cal in the galley

Making her way to the galley once more, Alana was hoping to find the captain quickly to deliver her update. However, when she turned in, she saw none other than him. That would certainly save her the trouble. "Impeccable timing as always." Alana walked her way across the galley to drop off the dishes, those she would handle when the temperature normalized. "I'm happy to report our patient is alive and well—as well as one could be after a sinking ship in the midst of a hurricane." She turned to Cal, arms crossed in front of her. "I left him to get some rest but mentioned you'd be stopping by, so whenever you have a bit of free time on your hands, you may pay him a visit."

As it were, Cal’s hands were clasped to a cooling cup of coffee, a litter of papers strewn across the galley table. He’d seized the opportunity of a now quiet ship to dot ‘i’s and cross ‘t’s against the trusty holo clipboard. With his back to the hatch as Alana entered, he stopped the chattering of his teeth just in time for her to cross his vision. Of course, the captain looked no different than his normal wardrobe, apart from his duster buttoned to the throat and a pair of knit, rainbow colored mittens courtesy Penelope, pilot-extraordinaire.

“Yes ma'am,” he intoned through tight lips. Rising, cup in hand, he joined Alana by the stove to warm his brew from the pot on the burner which feebly fought the plunging temperature. “We’ll have a chat once I finish up here. Can’t say I’m not morbidly curious just how his tale played out...” he paused to top off his cup, raising it to his lips before squaring with his medic. “You looked mighty heroic out there, all ‘STAT’ and ‘A-SAP.’ They learn you that stuff in med school?” His smirk was hidden behind a constant nurse on that cooling cup of joe.

"Oh you bet, I learned that and then some," she eyeballed him, trying her darnest not to stare at the multi-colored mittens to keep herself from convulsing into a laughing fit. Instead, she stared straight ahead as Cal poured himself some more of the coffee, something she wouldn't drink out of personal preference. She was more of a tea person, as recently witnessed. Just then, Alana unwillingly caught a side glance of the rainbow when she shifted her weight and cleared her throat to compose herself.

“Good thing you’re staying warm,” she added, nodding towards his hands while simultaneously uncrossing hers and putting them in their respective pockets. “Who would have guessed that the big, bad captain was a fan of mittens...” The teasing could go for quite a bit given his playful nature, and of course Alana didn’t mind it at all. “My choice is not as fashionable as yours, but it does the job.” She was referring to the plain, black coat she had purchased on her shopping trip with Penelope.

He conjured the doc was trying to take a swipe at his latest fashion accessory, his jaw unhinging to reply, before doubling down on his sip of coffee. “See, I’m an opportunist; I see an opportunity t’ keep these money makers from freezing off while I’m relegated to the most glamorous part of captaining,” he half extended one mitten-clad hand toward the papers across the common table, “and I take it.” He arched a brow, “What? Not my color? I’ll have you know I’m part of a matching set.” He glanced back through the hatch toward the cargo bay, “the beanie is trapsin’ around here somewhere’s.”

"Absolutely your color," she nodded with a smirk. "In fact, you ought to make them your lucky mittens...maybe next match you'll have a fighting chance if you decide to bring them along—and your beanie too." She walked off for a moment as she spoke to grab some fruit from the bowl resting on one of the shelves. "But I can't, be too hard on ya," she turned to face Cal, taking a bite, "with such arduous responsibilities falling on your shoulders. Must be tough for a simple man like you." Shivering slightly, Alana used a hand to rub the opposite arm. No denying the cold was slowly getting to her.

Captain Strand leaned back to turn his head and take in Alana from head to toe. “You look… warm--” His crinkled eyes peered over his now cold cup of coffee, dejectedly. At that moment Abigail entered the galley and set to fixing up somethings on a tray. Captain gave her a nod, then returned his cold attentions on the doctor.

She watched him with his cup in hand, which musn't have been very warm by the looks of it. "Oh yes, I'm a little cold. What gave it away?"

The Captain let out a sort of cough chuckle, eyeing his coffee as if it had betrayed him. “I couldn’t touch another drop of this stuff.” Pouring it out in the sink, he decided it was a safer bet to lean against the coffee pot in it’s burner, that way there’d be less between him and the warmth. “I draw the line at nine cups in a one-shot.” He could already feel the caffeine crash beginning to rear its ugly head, and he’d already smoked his last cigarette before they took off.

Arms folded across his chest, a hurt look passed over Cal’s features, “Hey now, I may be a simple man, but it takes a special kinda genius to come up with a way to keep four-thousand pounds of King Tuna fresh for an inter-planet run.” He blew into his mittened hands, studying the doctor’s response, all the while his hands itched for his empty cigarette case.

Tilting her head just the slightest, Alana couldn't help but feel a tinge guilty. Yes, they were having another friendly back-and-forth, but his expression did her in. She lowered her head as in defeat while a half-smile formed across her lips. "Cal, if I were to go on about how genius of a captain you are, your head would be up in the clouds for days. In order to keep you grounded in reality, I'll instead pick on you for making us deal with freezing temperatures, notwithstanding all that fish making a fresh arrival." She took another bite, this time smirking as she looked him up and down. "And I ain't giving you any more compliments until I find out for myself how great of a masseur you are."

That drew a soured smile from the captain, “Fair enough, though I reckon you might take offense to these beauties doin’ all the work, way things are goin’.” Cal flashed his mittened hand, then turned, a thoughtful look on his face. “What say I pay my due on a jungle beach? Sun, sand, lotion needs rubbin’ in, hm?” A hopeful look wormed its way through his tense eyes.

She leaned against the counter using her elbow, eyes on the snack at hand before looking up to meet his own while taking another bite. A smirk slowly appeared as she chewed on the fruit.

Cal’s jaw flexed as he watched her leaning form, and her eye contact as she bit produced a shallow cough, “‘Til then, looks like I got a date with our latest creature from the deep.” He rounded the kitchen counter to the galley table. Nodding again to Abigail as she left, he scooped up the draft letters, bills of lading, and the holo clipboard, which he tucked neatly together before turning back to Alana. Clearing his throat Cal added, “Rain check?”

“There ain’t any rush, Cal,” she responded after a brief moment, “though an outing at the beach does sound rather pleasant after being on the verge of transforming into an ice statue.” Alana watched him get ready to take his leave. “Rain check it is. If our patient needs me, you know where to find me.”

With a nod Captain Strand agreed that Alana certainly was statuesque. He was already on that beach and with that gorgeous view.

After his departure, Alana remained in the kitchen for a little while longer, fingers mindlessly taping the edge of the counter as her mind transported her to the very near future.