wanderingwolf

Firefly - Second 'Verse

It Can’t All Be Vacation - Shore Leave, Day 3 Morning

JP from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

Cal, enthroned in the Captain’s chair, had his feet up on the console while wearing a bright orange and red printed silk shirt embroidered with seagulls and palm trees. He gestured to the empty bridge, “Look, just ‘cause a body wears a brightly colored shirt don’t mean it’s a cry for help, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

The crystal clear voice of SAM echoed back, “What’s the phrase? ‘I call it how I see it’? According to known human history, this sort of change in behavior occurs when someone seeks attention to how they’re feeling, so if you want to tal–”

“Don’t get me wrong, Sam, I know you love your facts and figures, but I’m tellin’ ya, I just found this shirt in with the laundry–probably Rex’s–and I figured ‘when in Rome.’ That’s all.” His tone, despite it all, wasn’t deriding or dismissive, and the smirk he wore, had SAM been able to see it in her capture, would tell her she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Is that all? Well,” she continued after a moment, “I was going to say, if you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Appreciate the sentiment,” he replied, then changed the subject, “How many passengers we got lined up for this next leg?”

“It’s been a slow couple of days, but three have booked so far. Mr. Eleanor, Rev. McDermott, and Mrs. Hewitt have taken berths, but returned to town. I suspect they’re taking advantage of what’s left of the day before we leave this evening.

“I might have to take advantage, myself,” Strand said, thoughtfully touching his knuckles to his lips.

The sound of voices echoing down the corridor drew Yuri from the galley. He leaned through the cockpit hatch, a mug of coffee leading the way, before abruptly stopping. The man who lounged in the left seat had all the Captain’s mannerisms, right down to the timbre of his voice. But the floral explosion he wore was definitely the most ‘un-Cal’ thing the first mate had ever laid eyes upon. “Excuse me,” he buried the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth, “who are you and what have you done with our captain?”

“Et tu Yuri? I just got finished settin’ Sam straight and before you come up with any grandiose designs on my mental health, let me assure you: that’s a stupid question and don’t ask.” He righted himself in his chair, swiveling toward the first mate. “Heard we got scarce few stragglers for payin’ customers next hop.” Cal crossed his arms, “Ain’t Pelorum just a ray of sunshine.”

Seems to be in good spirits, Yuri thought as he leaned against the pilot’s railing. The captain’s absence had thusfar yielded an unusual taste in clothing and a moderately decrepit mule…but no doctor returned to the fold. Cal hadn’t mentioned Alana, and Yuri wasn’t about to broach the subject. “Gorram stupid question, you ask me,” he nodded amiably. “A ship’s Cap’n is wise as a sage, brave of heart, and clear of eye and mind. So say we all who want to keep drawing pay,” he chuckled. “Have to admit that I’m surprised we have any passengers rostered, what with our ace lawn chair girl off skylarking.” After pausing for a sip from his mug, the first mate spoke again. “We do have a job offer, though, sir.”

“Cortex books, way Sam tells it. She’s been experimentin’ with her own digital lawn chair, and apparently with a few captures and fake reviews, folk are liable to bite.” Strand chuckled. When he’d swiped the AI those months ago with designs to offload it as soon as possible, he had no idea how things would pan out. Now, much as he was loath to admit it, SAM was wearing him down; especially since she didn’t draw a share...

“Music to my ears,” Cal said, rising from the Captain’s chair. “Did you catch it or did it fall in your lap?” From where his duster hung on the back of the chair, he sought out the silver case in the breast pocket. His fingers worked the mechanics of lighting the cigarette at his lips while he said through the side of his mouth, “You haggle the price like I told you?”

Yuri was shaping up into quite the first mate. Having been drug from a life of ships and sea-faring, he acknowledged the chain of command and was keen to listen. He had a stubborn streak, but Cal had to admit he acted much the same a decade ago. What with Edina having appeared on the scene, he’d watched a transformation of that stubbornness into an easy-going, and somewhat goofy, nature. Women did the strangest things to men, he conjured. That thought pursed his lips a little too tightly around his cigarette, as he surveyed his first mate.

“Repeat customer,” Yuri shifted, his palms landing on the rail. “The museum we hauled those artifacts for? The Curator has a recovery job she pitched to Edina and me last night. There’s an asteroid she thinks might have some cargo containers ditched from one of the original colony ships. Its’ elliptical orbit puts it back within reach of the ‘verse for the first time in over three hundred years.” He paused a beat as Cal touched fire to a cigarette. “She wants us to head out and get what can be got.”

During a long draw on his smoke, Strand calculated the ship and crew specifics behind Yuri’s words. To check his work, he replied, “Haul like that means scaffolding and belly tanks; orbit like that means a narrow window to get the goods…” Cal let out a jet of smoke, eyebrow prompting Yuri to continue.

The mate nodded, his gestures more emphatic as the captain ticked boxes of a mental checklist. “All true…all true,” he agreed. “We’d need a truss exoskeleton bolted to hard points on the boat, extra fuel, extra oh-two, extra water. Pretty heavy prep that’d have to be done in the black somewhere off the beaten path.” He straightened his posture, the expression deepening as he delivered the next bit. “Not to mention a pretty wide berth we’d need to cut out past Miranda.”

The Captain nodded as Yuri confirmed the particulars. “Miranda?” Cal didn’t like that one bit. “Does Mrs. Museum conjure what she’s askin’?” Cal drew on his cigarette, considering. “When does this rock see this side of the ‘Verse?” Yuri was right: they’d need time to prepare, and more importantly, to find a pilot what could maneuver through asteroid fields. Cal’s hand was steady at the yoke, but he had to admit his reflexes weren’t honed for guiding the Doll. The wheels started turning on the latter subject.

“We felt her out as much as was do-able in a room full of folk,” Yuri replied. “She conjures the prep to be done, and our want to tiptoe the entire job to avoid pirates and claim jumpers, not to mention Reavers. I’m guessing she wants this just as quiet as we do to steer clear of the Alliance making their own claim.” He set the empty mug down beside the pilot’s console. “We didn’t talk coin. I told her that was for you and her to work out. But she did make it clear she’d have our charter for three months to get the job done.”

Cal nodded, “Three months of honest work is no joke. You did good. Maybe I oughta attend more hoity parties like you. I’ll wave her down and walk her toward a figure that’ll put us right.” He moved to the ashtray on the captain’s console. “I got an inklin’ on how to find us a pilot, but I need to suss a few things. And we’ll need one for this gig.” Cal looked out the nose view pane, “You know Abby’s gonna be over the moon for this job.” He shook his head, “Girl loves the black more than white on rice. Didja see the chalk picture she drew on the hull before Osiris? Gigantic butterfly. ‘Mariposa,’ excuse me.” Cal sighed and ground his cigarette in the tray.

To that, Yuri responded with a slow nod. Hope she’s got her ‘surprised’ face ready, he mused briefly before lifting a mild smirk toward Cal. “Think we should add a bucket of chalk to our bid?”

“Reckon I might just.” Cal hooked his duster on a finger as he made way toward the corridor. “Though, I oughtta inspect Edina’s cookin’, first. Man alive, woman’s got a way with spices, don’t she?”

“She’ll be pleased to hear that, sir.” Yuri collected the coffee mug as Cal made for the corridor hatch. “Museum’s expecting us today. I’ll set the meeting.”

“Shiny,” Cal replied, then hesitated half-way through the hatch, “And Sam?”

“Yes, Cal?”

“Don’t tell nobody you saw me in this getup,” he said, gesturing to his shirt. “Goes for you, too,” he said, pointing to Yuri.

“Saw you in what?” the first mate asked.

“My lips are sealed,” her lilting accent punctuated the digital smirk.

“Uh-huh,” Cal replied before disappearing, shortly before the sound of his bunk ladder clapping shut behind him.

Reassured by the heavy clang of the ladder hatch, Yuri cast an eye toward the video capture pickup. “So…Sam?” he said easily, “did you get pretty pictures?”

“High resolution color,” the AI responded crisply.

“Good.” A smile touched his feetures as he strode toward the hatch. “Please add ‘em to the ‘Blackmail’ folder, along with Abby’s new nickname…Cornflakes.”

“Already done.”

Art by Wanderingwolf

The last post I wrote had the captain on his way to rock bottom. His lady friend just ended things with him in a pretty explosive manner, and he’s just spent the night gambling and partaking in other pleasures in a tiki-themed brothel to try to lift his spirits. Unfortunately, he still needed to take care of business, namely, getting a new mule since the last had been abandoned in a quick get away.

Here, the captain is flat on his back in the street having paid through the ass for a new mule that barely runs because he mentioned to the mechanic that he’d just met the man’s sister at the whore house.

Any critiques are welcome. I tried to get through this image as quickly as possible through assembling lots and lots of pre-made (pre-paid) assets (thanks Ian Hubert). It was more about story telling for me with this one. I’m sure none if the above comes through in this shot, but it was fun to make. Thanks for reading.

All done in Blender from modeling to comp.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Look Out Rock Bottom

Pelorum, Day 2

Cal's world began to come into view through sleepy, blinking eyes. The sprays of brown and blonde hair in his arms and on his chest began to clear the cobwebs, then the headache struck with each beat of his heart. Harsh light from the Pelroum sun sliced through the askew slats of the bedroom window. Two forms began to shift and sigh in soprano as he extricated his limbs from the curves of their pillowy, soft flesh.

He slipped into his trousers and buttoned his shirt, not looking back at the two sleeping, naked shapes sprawled over the bed. As he laced one boot, and then the other, he considered whether he ought to check in with SAM and Yuri, but decided against it, having nothing to show for his trip into town but a lighter purse. As he stood in the doorway, Cal permitted himself one look at last night's escapade. The brown-haired woman was petite yet buxom, her beautiful breasts moved in sleepy breaths, her face hidden in a pillow. The blonde woman was resting peacefully, curves completely uncovered by the clinging sheet, her relaxed face adorned with such pronounced brows that he had to swallow and rub his eye to banish the phantasm. No, it wasn't her. He knew it wasn't her.

Taking the stairs of the brothel two at a time, Cal took in the sight of the place in the light. The whole thing was a solid wooden structure, with a tacky bar carved with tiki men stacked on each other's heads. Accenting the bar were brightly colored leis hung and sagging over each tiki head which parroted the 'hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil' trope, but with a hand filled with cards here, or a peeking eye there, each tiki naked and hung as the day was long. Above the bar and around the place woven palm fronds created a canopy from the accommodations above where patrons retired to sample the primary service of the establishment.

Mid-day, he judged by the sun through the windows, meant that he would need to make up for lost time. For his galavanting on the main floor, dedicated to gambling as was custom, he'd earned a tip by keeping his ears open, part and parcel to a good hand of Tall Card last night--one of his only good hands. By name, it was Duke's Junk Yard, and by rumor it had a mule or two to spare. 'Course the tip was followed up with 'My brother works there, sugar! Tell him Tina says hullo,' from the woman at his elbow, pressing her cleavage up against him. Cal considered if it weren't unwise to out Tina as his source; whore houses might complicate family dynamics, he reckoned.

Cal tucked his hat onto his head and strode out into the street. Duke's was only a click from the spot and he was hoofing it to the sound of seagulls crying in paradise. True to form, the junk yard showed all the signs of disrepair he'd expected. Weeds wound in and among the chain link fence that lead to the arch which read "Duke's Junk," the sign pinned to the spot with rusted nails and covered in bird droppings. The double gate was open on one side, a hung sign read 'Open' on the other.

"Hullo," announced Cal to the burned out vehicles and parts of ships that lay spread among the weeds. The building wound around back where a dirt path had been worn. Once he rounded the corner to the garage he spied a man on his back beneath a jacked mule, decked in overalls and saturated in oil from knee to chest.

"I say hullo," he repeated to the man who pushed back from his work and regarded him with a wary look. He rose, wiping his soiled hands on his thighs. Cal couldn't tell if his hands got cleaner or dirtier.

"Afternoon," the middle-aged stranger replied, "I don't do deliveries, only haul-a-ways and scrap parts." His eyes measured Cal's expression, "Now, what brings you in?"

Pointing, Cal drew attention to the man's work, "That one there, does it run?"

The stranger turned to survey the mule. "It runs, the drive shaft needs replacing; shudders like an Quaker."

"How much as-is?" Cal removed his hat and approached the mule. It was in considerable condition, plenty of life in the chasis. The tires needed turning, by his eye, edgewear indicated it had been driven in the city, mostly. Shocks looked suitable, but the drive shaft enclosure was exposed as the man had been in the process of replacing it.

The man watched Cal appraise the mule while he produced a semi-white handkerchief and blew his nose. "Six hundred, once I button up the casing."

Strand fought the urge to balk and bit his tongue. "Six hundred, huh? Looks like it needs new tires and replacement shocks. Four-fifty and I'll take it off your hands."

Scratching his neck, the mechanic eyed the mule, then Cal. "Four-fifty..." the man hawked and spit. "For true, five-fifty is the lowest I'll go."

"Five-fifty," he wore his poker face to keep his smile at bay, the man went down now, he'd go down even further with a little push. "You know," Cal placed his hat on the mule, "I was told to say hullo for a little woman called Tina." He turned away from the man, looking again at the prize he'd soon secure.

The color drained from the mechanic's face and his mouth drew tight. "You saw Tina last night?"

"We talked while I played a hand or two," Strand said, turning his back to the man.

"Uh-huh, played a hand or two, didja?" He slapped his handkerchief on his thigh and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Indeed, so what do you say to five-hundred even?" Cal turned back to him wearing his most charming smile.

"I say you can go fuck yourself for five-hundred, just like you did my sister."

"Hold on now," Cal raised his hands, "No such thing happened, she just mentioned your name during cards--that's all. I ain't laid a hand on your sister. I swear on my mother's grave."

"That so?" the man, probably called Duke, eyed Cal from stem to stern. He chewed his cheek and spat. "Seven-hundred and no less. If not? Get out."

Cal picked up his hat and spat, too. He needed a mule. Couldn't go back to the Doll empty handed. "Twist my arm."

"I'd like to," came the reply as he abruptly lowered the mule from its jack.

"Hold on, what about the casing?"

"I'll throw in a wrench, but you go on the street."

Cal threw off his jacket one arm at a time, casting it over the seat of the mule. Set to neutral, he wheeled the thing out of Duke's and into the weed-ridden street. Unceremoniously, the Captain crawled under the mule armed with a wrench and bolts to fasten the casing over the exposed rod.

"Oughtta known, with my ruttin' luck," the casing fit into place without a fuss. "Buddha-forsaken place like Pelorum, society of inbred yīngōu shǔ," he turned the wrench which banged against the casing. "Core planet la shi," casing fastened, he wriggled his way back out from under the mule. "Thing oughtta be made of solid gold for seven-hundred."

Tossing the wrench in the short bed, Cal mounted the mule and gave it a kick. It belched carbon and roared to life, a high-pitched idle to follow. From his meager knowledge, it told him he'd need the likes of Elias or Yuri to take a look and make sure the choke was situated. Thrown into gear, the mule eased forward with great vibration, and Strand tucked his hat around his ears. The waning sun lit the pot-hole ridden road back to the China Doll.

As he'd given Abby shore leave, not a soul greeted him as he rode the new mule up onto the ramp. He parked it where its counterpart had been and killed the gas, home sweet home, he thought. Sans a medic and a pilot, this boat felt less like a home and more like those strapped years where his lonely needle and yoke respectively filled those posts aboard the shell of a ship. His left pinky never had set right from his own splinting as reigning medic. A captain without crew weren't captain of much. He scratched his chin and pursed his lips.

After his bout with the nun, he was wary of finding her in the galley, but the smell from Edina's cooking drew him in, in spite of himself. He'd have a bite and chalk up meandering from vice to vice these last hours to the win column, seein' as he came back with something to show for it, leastwise. Finally, his silver case of little white soldiers had been reinforced, and he lit a smoke as he took the stairs to the galley.

"How we lookin'?" he asked of the empty cargo bay, hand covering the flame at his lip.

"Welcome back, Cal," came Sam's unprompted response from a wall speaker to his left. "Most of the crew is townside. Enjoying the sun, I imagine. Fuel reserves have been repleneshed, and the waste resevoirs have been drained."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, but didn't reply.

"Feeling any better?" her lilting tone sounded hopeful.

"I'm fine, was fine. Will be... fine," came the response, ignoring her subtext. That machine was becoming more insightful each time it spoke. She spoke.

"Glad to hear it," Sam replied, unconvincingly, as her voice followed him through the aft opening to the galley.

The Captain added, "Send a wave to Yuri. Tell 'im I'm back with a new mule, but the choke needs lookin' at and the drive shaft needs replacin'. Have Elias take a gander."

"Consider it done. Any word from Alana?"

"No," he hesitated, arms planted on the counter, smoke curling from his cigarette. "No word."

In his debauchery the night before, he hazily remembered sending a wave, three-quarters-pissed, to the late medic. It weren't a beg or a plea, weren't no words at all, actually. Just static. Just empty static.

Art by Wanderingwolf

I’m learning how to use Blender’s grease pencil and this is the first result. I’m beginning work with a friend on a cute mouse knight game, and I traced and cleaned up this as a first pass to imagine the character.

Art by Wanderingwolf

I made this image for a Blender Artists competition last week. I didn’t win, so I took some more time to play with composition and coloring on this image. I’ve never used Blender’s real time compositor before, so this was a fun experiment.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”Stubborn As a Mule”

Pelorum, Day 1

All those brownie points with whichever Almighty shepherded this stretch of the 'Verse amounted to beans once they'd set down in their Pelorum berth. That cold fury that nary permitted him a wink kept him from watching her go once the hatch was down; least that's what he told the blended piss he'd switched to, away from the mango wine. Their mango wine.

"Sam? You there?" he articulated cautiously.

"I'm here Cal," her tone was familiar, and a touch pitying.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, took another swallow.

The pair sat in silence, Sam leaving open the static from the empty bridge.

"Is she gone?"

There was a beat before her reply, "Yes, Cal, she's gone. Abby saw her off an hour ago."

He shook his head. He only meant to fill his glass once.

"You might still catch her if you tried," the perceptible arch of her digital brow and her matter of fact tone was enough to set his teeth on edge.

"Makes you think I wanna do that? Huh?," having no body to face, he gestured wildly to his empty and ransacked bunk. "You think if I wanted her here, I'd just let her go? She don't wanna be here, and I ain't no tyrant. Anybody's free to go what wants to go." He was breathing heavy, he smoothed his hair.

"Anybody?" Came Sam's cool and cutting tone. He set down his glass.

"Any body." Cal collected his hat and wrenched down the ladder to the bridge cooridor. Like a tempest the Captain made his way into the galley, whipping open cabinets and drawers, jaw fixed.

Lyen, who had been reclining in the galley lounge rose to her feet, Lucky perched on her shoulder. The state of him rifling through the preciously laid cutlery Edina had just filed away after the onslaught of university students set the nun to cross her arms. Lucky let out a perfunctory sqawk before hiding behind Ly's braided hair.

"Anything I can help you find," the nun's even tone barely betrayed her mounting consternation.

Over his shoulder the Captain barked, "Cigarettes, Sister." He pried open a particularly stuck drawer, sending wooden chopsticks clamoring to the floor. "Just a little vice," his eyes flashed before returning to the crescendo of his work, toppling bowls and bamboo plates onto the counter, reaching toward the back of a cabinet.

"Okay, that's enough," Lyen said, stooping to the floor to gather some of the fallen wreckage of cups; Lucky took flight to a nearby chairback. Cal was on his toes still grasping for something behind the stove vent. "There's no need for all of this," Ly righted an overturned mug, miraculously unscathed, and straightened. "What's really going on?" He was approaching manic, she thought, the way his eyes flared.

"Cig-ar-ettes," Cal repeated in staccato, retrieving a burlap pouch and kicking his way through fallen jugs and bowls on his way to the dining table.

His blatant response caused her to bristle. "Uh-huh," Ly intoned, following him to the table where he took a seat.

"You'll come to find, if you stick around my ship--and any body's free to go what pleases them, hear?--you'll come to find I'm a simple man," he placed his hat beside him as he unwrung the cord of the burlap pouch and wriggled it open, pouring its contents onto the wooden table. A stack of papers for rolling and a cloth bundle of tobacco lay bare before the Captain and the nun. His hands got to work as he continued, "A simple man only needs a few things," out slipped a roll of paper. "He needs a place to rest his head," a pinch of uneven tobacco lined the edge of the paper. "A job to keep his hands busy," the tight roll spun toward the edge, and he lifted it to his lips. "And a vice for when he aims to misbehave," his tongue trailed the slip. He surveyed his work, then his lighter appeared and a plume of smoke rose to the ceiling porthole.

"Interesting," the nun began, planting her palms on the table from where she stood, "a simple man has no need for a simple woman?" She wagered she'd sussed what got under the Captain's skin, though their knock-down-drag-out was on display for all to see not long ago. From heartell, the medic and the Captain had enjoyed a cautious romance, 'til Pelorum.

Cal wagged his finger, still breathing in smoke. "Simple women a simple man can handle; it's complicated women what jump at shadows and then tear into you for nothin' that cause him consternation." Pleased with his answer, the Captain reclined in his chair, maintaining his ember a magnificent orange.

"Ah," Ly gestured toward the shambles of the galley kitchen, "and no complicated man would do a thing like that." Her brow raised as she folded her arms.

"How should I know?" He asked, smile breaking across the left corner of his mouth, cigarette hanging in the right.

"How," the nun said, "You know," she said, gracefully seating herself opposite the conflagrating Captain, "I don't have much expertise in the matters of the heart, but in my experience the 'Verse has a way of working things out in its own time." (trans. 'Okay')

After taking a long drag, Cal exhaled and stood, "Da Chung Wu Dahn, Sister." He placed his hat on the back of his head, "You're welcome aboard my boat, but stow yer sermon for some soul less ragged, dohn-luh-mah?" (trans. 'Impressive display, but no substance', 'are we clear?')

Lyen smiled, nodding her head, "Nah Mei Guan Shee." (trans. 'In that case, never mind')

Cal made his way for the aft stairwell, but before he disappeared through the passage, Ly added, "Captain? Are you familiar with the concept of Anatta? No? It means no-soul. It is said that to reach enlightenment, we must come to the realization that we have no soul. Yěxǔ nín bǐ nín xiǎngxiàng de yāo jiējìn qǐméng." (trans. 'Perhaps you're closer to enlightenment than you think')

Without another word he quit the galley and rode the stairs down to the cargo bay two at a time. All he needed was another woman to set her sights on all the things wrong with him. Although his and Alana's fight ended hours ago and the cold numbness had set in, he clung to that fire to push him forward. No woman, digital or otherwise, could convince him he was in the wrong.

The empty spot where the mule usually sat strapped in braced his mind to his task: to find another mule. Armed with a job to keep his hands busy, the simple man amazed himself with how quickly he could move on from one mule to another. With one last pull on his cigarette, Cal's boots touched Pelorum, and his mind wandered to his vices.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Monday from the cargo bay!

This week we made some major strides in our group chat on Discord--thank you to Bugman and Xan for joining us! As a result of that meeting, we've come up with a document to peruse and float plot ideas for the current
or upcoming episodes! Please feel free to take a look at the plot ideas we have down and jump into an open plot that looks like fun, or come up with your own for us to jump into! The idea behind this document is for visibility not only into the overarching plot for the episode that Sail and I come up with, but also for subplots to get to stretch their legs. I'll post the Google doc in our Google chatroom.

Bear in mind that nothing in the Gdoc is carved in stone. It's a living document through and through, and each of you have edit privileges. Feel free to offer your alternatives or to suggest changes to what you see there.

So I told you I would summarize some of the things I heard from the four of us chatting together, and here I am to make good on that:
1. We LIKE JP/Collabs because it fits in with the very character-based plot movement in the TV show, Firefly, and we like it because it feels easier than running solo posts.
2. We do not prefer solo posting per se, given the character interactivity of the original source material, not to mention the limitations and repetition of life in the black. Be that as it may, we welcome and encourage any solo posts for your character. If you've got a story to tell, your character has thoughts to think, or even if you wish to share the daily grind, we're delighted to read and respond, if you wish. I'm planning some solo work for Cal, Lyen, and SAM while we're here on Pelorum. At the rate Abby's going, someone will need to either bail her out or drag her back to the boat!
3. We would like to see some interconnectedness among the crew; maybe some back story from one character relates to another, and pieces of the puzzle will coalesce as we keep telling our tale. This is a bit of homework for Sail and me, but feel free to add your two-cents at any stage.
4. We need to make room for characters to take their time in the limelight in some episodes dedicated to them. We heard a bit from Bugman and Xan about how their CS pointed them in the direction of some arcs
they'd like to realize.
5. We're going to be pushing forward with our current crew and massage things into place with a time jump of two months. We should use the plot document linked in the Google Chatroom to float some ideas of how crew interacted with each other in the two month interim to establish some familiarity or background. Sail has an idea to help facilitate this called a 'caper.' More to come on this.

And that's the long and short of it! I'm posting this in our OOC, Discord (because why not), and in the Google Chatroom so we'll stumble over it in one place or another. Thank you again for making time to plot with us on your Friday night!

For now, we're playing out episode five: Shore Leave, until the end of day three. We have a crew-wide JP slated at the end, but feel free to jump into plots set forth in the doc.

Keep flying,
Wolf & Sail

Crimson Crusade here

Welcome to the guild! Hope you find a 1x1 or group that gets you the substance you're looking for.

Old school role player back from Hiatus.

Hey howdy, best of luck finding a home rp here!

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Friday from the cargo bay, cast and crew!

We've tallied the votes and they've fallen thusly:

Hiatus - 3
Keep Flying - 4
Reboot - 5

That means we'll be heading into a new era for the game with a reboot! Can I just echo what Sail said in our Google Chat room about how touching it is that, even though we all have real life obligations, every writer wants to keep writing together as a group. That buy-in is infectious, and I can't wait to see the stories we have yet to tell together.

Before I launch into the below questions to be raised, I think it might be a good idea for us to get together at the same time in our Google Chat room to discuss. Let's open up the dailog for time and day, but I thought I'd point us to Friday, April 14th, at 10pm Eastern Daylight Time--7pm PDT. I know we have writers across a few time zones, so feel free to chime in on days and times that work best for you.

Here's what Sail and I have hashed out that we'd like everyone to think about and chime in with their opinions and feelings on. Bear in mind, these are just touch-stone questions and so feel free to ask for anything here as we brainstorm together.

1. If you could change anything about FF2V, what would you like to change?
2. Do you want to keep writing the same character, or sunset that character and introduce a new one?
3. Would a time jump be interesting to you? Why?
4. As a writer, do you have particular roles or plots you'd like to see come to fruition in the scope of the game?
5. Do you like the China Doll as a ship and want to keep it around, or get a completely new ship (The Mariposa, perhaps?)?
6. Would you like to play a different role on the ship? (Companion, mechanic, pilot, etc. (see the below info))

Sail and I have a few mainstays during this reboot:
1. Abigail will keep flying with the ship.
2. Sail will write the 'First Mate' role (as Yuri, or whomever that might be) so he can fill in for the Captain when he goes on a bender.
3. Cal will stick around the ship as captain.
4. I'll probably keep SAM and Lyen around, too, but I'm still considering these characters.

As way of reminder (I had to sound this off, too), here are the current roles filled by hosts and member writers:

1. Medic - Alana
2. Companion - Quill
3. Mechanic - Elias
4. Muscle - Imani
5. Deckhand - Abigail
6. First Mate - Yuri
7. Deckhand - Edina (Cal: "Am I payin' you fer sumthin'?")
8. Captain - Cal
9. AI - SAM

That leaves a couple spots open just by way of necessity:

1. Pilot
2. Spiritual Guidance

However, apart from Sail and my mainstays, everything can get shaken up above (as long as the writer in that role is keen to vacate the role for something else, mind).

So that's all the news fit to print! Feel free to reply in our OOC in RPG or in the Google Chat with your thoughts, and let's find a time to get the gang together around the galley table all at once to talk this out.

May the road rise,
Wolf & Sail