recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
Is that a Yeva on your back? - (Day 5 - Morning)

*e paused as the infirmary door slid open. Sister Lyen stood there. She blinked, then turned. “No no, Sistah!” Dorian chuckled. “C’mon in! Yeva’s tryin’ tah fix mah back…bad night on tha couch.”*

*“Good morning, Seester!” Yeva bubbled as she placed her left elbow onto the small of Dorian’s back. “No, we are make pop!”*

*As she thrust her elbow into his back, Dorian felt, rather than heard, the sudden crunch. “Ah swear,” he grunted, “yah gonna kill me.”*

Eyebrows raised, the nun entered the medbay. Dorian's posture--bent over, elbows flat on the counter, and Yeva behind him, hands on his back--made her mind wander. She was starting to remember that when good-natured people inhabit the same space for a while, the walls separating physical space begin to comfortably deteriorate. If she was honest, she'd seen the same behavior in herself. With Marisol. Even with Dorian--not to this point, though. Nuns of the Order of the Interverse were taught that touch was a physical manifestation of sensuality. Especially concerning the opposite sex.

"Good morning Yeva, Dorian," her eyes sheepishly skirted their entanglement. Though the display may not have been romantic, it was certainly intimate. "Couch, huh? We might have some beds to spare, maybe we should check with Riley-" her face went a shade of white. She'd overheard Serena discussing in her non-inside voice about what Dorian and Riley were doing last night in the infirmary. "I mean, I bet she knows where *empty* beds might be, since, you know, she knows that sort of thing." Lyen was pursing her lips while looking at the ceiling.

"I was picking up some gauze in case I needed to redress Gill's leg," she continued, half reminding herself, half looking for something to busy her hands with. "He was still sleeping when I left him." Ly felt like she was being childish, but it stirred something in her to see acquaintances--no friends--relating so carnally, Yeva or Riley or Dorian notwithstanding. She wondered if this were part of the life that Dorian referenced on their snowy search two nights ago. Concluding that she'd follow up on it at another time, she turned, gauze in hand, back toward the pair.
Enter the Son-On-Yee

The captain swore again, loudly. "So my deckhand got drugged and needs dental work, but the emergency dentist is MIA, my engineer looks like he got jumped in an alley, the cabin kid was stabbed, we got mobsters bearing down on us, and where the gàn is my ruttin' pilot!" He said to no one in particular.

As if on queue, a speeder carrying the two men from the bar as well of two of their friends pulled into Bay 19. The Captain kept a hand on his sidearm as he stood on the landing gate of the Lunar veil.

"Evening." He called out. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"We're looking for someone." The bigger of the four replied.

"Well, you found someone." The Captain replied, pointing to himself. "So I reckon you can now be on your way. "

"The boy!" He called back. "With the rooster haircut. We don't need to have a problem with you. Send him out, we'll leave you be." The captain thought for a moment.

"No, I don't believe I can do that. The boy's part of my crew." *I think.* "That means if'n you got a problem with him, then you already got yourself a problem with me. Now I thought we settled this at the bar. Didn't I buy you fella's a drink? That's gotta be worth something."

"I don't think you understand. We're the Son On Yee. If we let one lèsè gàn disrespect us, others may follow. "

"Disresp...As far as I saw, you all tripped. Maybe the boy is clumsy, but I don't think there were no disrespect intended. I'm sure for all our sakes we can settle this right peaceful."

"If you send out the rooster boy. If not, we make an example of your ship here. Be a shame if something were to happen to it."

"Listen, I ain't having a good night as it is. I had to leave the Lucky Cat on a hot streak, I didn't get laid, and then on my own ship, someone drank my whiskey. So if we're gonna fight, let's just get down to fisticuffs. We hit you, you hit us, and then we'll leave and you can say you runned us off just as soon as I find my pilot and dentist."

"Your ship has a dentist?" The smaller of the four asked.

"And a vision plan." The captain mocked. "So we can skip the fisticuffs and you can call us all sorts of yellow bellies when we take off." The four thugs looked like they were mulling it over.

"No..." the tall one said. The captain noted he was built like a tree. "we're going to need the rooster boy."

"Well, shit, we're at an impasse. Devron! You're gonna have to take the big one. "
Day 2 - T Minus 1 Hour -I'm the good Cop right now ...

“Gah!” Vas squeaked with a jump, part of him though she was enjoying that a little too much. “Right. You heard the lady Dim-sum.” Vas said trotting back down and putting the crate to the floor for the moment. “You go get your pistol. I’ll meet you at the passenger’s room.” Vas said as he strode to the passenger quarters.

“Mr. Merchant.” Vas called knocking at the door. “Your presence has been requested at the infirmary and I have a lot of work to still get done. So kindly open the door and come with me before the big Russian fellow with the gun gets here. I promise you he isn’t half a nice as I am right now.” The boy explained.
Engine room follies

Thomas returned to the engine room after the useless argument. He picked up his clip board and started checking all system readings. As he made his way from system to system, he noticed Engine #1 was performing at only 90%. He started a system scan on power output and noticed a recent power surge from inside the ship.

He started up a power relay history check on the computer and went to the main power console to check the readings. Engine 1 was still running at only 90% even though all power systems were operational at 100%. *What caused the power surge and why am I not getting full power to the engine? I will need to pull the power panels and find the fault.*

He went to his tool box to grab the Socket wrench and the 13mm socket along with his electrical tester. As he opened his socket drawer he noticed the wrench and several sockets missing from the drawer. *I know I had them put back after the repairs, I know I did.*

Not knowing where they were, he started a full search of his engine room for the tools, opening all drawers, cabinet doors and his 2 storage crates. He didn't find the tools he was looking for but, he did find that he was also missing his drill and several bits and a jar containing a yellowish liquid.*Great, someone is using my engine room as a bathroom. I am going to have words with someone and they will not like it.*

He took the yellowish liquid and poured it down the floor drain and threw out the jar. At that time, the computer sounded the completion of the Relay history check and found the source of the surge to be from the Infirmary.

He then went over to the intercom and accidentally hit general PA switch instead of Bridge switch. "Bridge, this is Engineering. Engine Number 1 is down 10% due to an internal power surge from Medical. I would like to check the relays for damage however, someone has stolen some tools and I am unable to open the panels. In addition to that someone has used my engine room as a latrine and I had to dump their urine filled jar. I will try to restore full power as best as I can.
Disarming

Gill did not want another argument with Vas. Truth be told he was grateful for the intervention and he and Haddie had been through enough for one day. He handed over the pistol grip first and then fished around the large sack of swag from Old Joes to produce the bloody machete and several wicked looking knives. He gave Haddie a hard stare as the knives kept coming and she shrugged and looked away.

He thought for a moment then and fished around in the bag once more. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and handed it over. "I have a few more, but I guess they'd be for the Captain... if we can come back with you that is?"

He glanced down at his sister who was busy shuffling her satchel around towards her back, "Hand it over." he hissed down at her and she bobbed out her tongue.

"Haddie I swear. Give it to me."

She rolled her eyes and snatched a cut throat razor out which she handed over in disgust. Gill passed it on before pulling one of the spliced Cortex ID cards he had taken from his shirt pocket. He handed it to Vas with a grin, "This could be useful."
Getting Her Bearings - (Day 1 - Early Evening)

Her hair.

Marisol studied her reflection, turning her head left and right, a disapproving look in her eye. No matter how she tried to conceal it, the large swath of shaved scalp from the surgery would not be concealed. Fortunately, the most effective hairstyle was also the most reliable for work in an engine room. She pulled her hair back and applied the band setting the pony tail. It didn’t really change the obvious bald patch, but, thanks to Lyen’s careful hand, nearly all of her hair would grow back.

Her face still bore remnants of the bruising. Again, Dorian gave all credit to Lyen for repairing and bonding the lacerations to her cheek and forehead. The left cheek held a mild indentation, a minor ripple in the otherwise smooth pool of her flesh. She’d get used to it, over time. She’d have to.

Chatter on the comm. The yard hands were onsite, ready with the usual shore power couplings and umbilicals. “On my way,” the mechanic replied.

……………………………………………..

“Damn, sweetie! What happened to you?” The yard foreman’s gaze lifted from her hips to take in the exposed scalp and the bruises to her face.

“Prank,” Marisol responded as she opened the panel hatch. “There you go. Power, potable water.” She turned. “You got purified water? We had a mixup awhile back that turned our vent ducts into a forest.”

“No, ma’am,” the man shook his head. “That yer waste coupling?”

“Yup,” she nodded. “And there’s oxygen. Fuel and hydraulic are down there,” she directed. “Do me a favor and get me the power first, wouldja?”

“You got it, hon!” the yard foreman gave her a wink. “Want a receipt?”

“There’s a woman sitting out front of the cargo bay ramp,” Marisol said. “Could you give it to her?”

“She pretty like yew?”

“Prettier,” the mechanic called over her shoulder as she headed for the ramp.

Lieutenant Thorne was there pouring over a clipboard as she sat with military rigidity in the chair at the ramp’s base. The mechanic stopped. “The yard’s hooking us up. Foreman will bring you the receipt. Be prepared for his eyes to crawl all over you.”
“Charming locals,” Riley quipped, briefly looking up from her work. “I’ll add that to my list of things to love about Silverhold.”

"While we're on shore power, I'm pulling the graviton core. Time for its' bearings to be inspected and repacked. Makes for a long day, but we'll be back online for preflights at 10:00."

“Keep me posted, let me know if there are any delays, I want boots in the air by 12:05.”

The diminutive mechanic offered a nod. “Shiny,” she replied. “I don’t expect weirdness. This is pretty common stuff. Just takes time, is all.” After receiving a nod from the lieutenant, she headed up the ramp. Job Number One would be erection of the A frame chain hoist. Marisol’s stride was deliberate as she headed for the engine room.
Any Place to Sit

Lyen watched in horror as the child, Haddie, had been carried into the room in her current state. The poor child looked in urgent need of every effort the doctor could give her. She had been watching, helplessly, from the back of the room after she had found the infirmary instead of Riley. It already looked as though the doctor had things under control--and in his current state. The room was beginning to feel crowded with Gill, Haddie, Dorian, Jacy, Vas, and herself. His request for a chair from the lounge with arm rests didn't fall on deaf ears.

"Jacy, I can help you with one of the chairs." Ly offered, waiting for her response before heading out of the medbay.
Do all dogs like Mach?

"Lieutenant." Riley corrected. "I didn't spend two Gorram years in the academy to be called Ms." She of course understood the loss of margins, many, many times the Captain would make "deals" which resulted in the loss of her margins. Usually with the captain though, it was because of a pretty face and firm assets, not really anything to do with business at all. "I'll make sure we have a place for Ms. Schnabel and her deceased. Please make sure I get a copy of the certificate for our records." At least then if they were boarded and the casket were full of drugs or drog kyri parts, they could claim stupidity. Wouldn't save any of them, but it might make the crew feel better.

"For rut's sake, Jat, are you still jerking around with those dogs?" Riley bellowed as she stormed up the ramp.

"Drog-Kryi!" The Captain called from somewhere in the ship. That only deepened the scowl on the lieutenant's face.

"Account for one extra passenger, she'll need the large cabin." She raised her voice to insure she was heard over the barking. "Make sure your crew knows she isn't to be disturbed, she's in mourning! Find out if Adler knows of anything to settle these ruttin' mutts down. I don't care what fancy name they go by!" She preemptively yelled to the Captain, before making her way towards the bridge.
History Lesson

*"No, that kid said if it was an emergency to talk to the captain - but it wasn't and with our history, I hoped to talk to you. I was hoping to have a word, maybe in private?"* Riley already missed the bridge, but she also wanted to hear Henry out in case it was a lucrative proposition which would *pay handsomely.* She turned her steely blue eyes first on Vas, who being of sound mind and body took the hint and scattered like a roach after the light switch was flipped. Dmitri proved to be a little... thicker when it came to reading people, so she handed him a plate and told him outright to scram.

Once the galley was cleared, she folded her arms across her chest, and prepared to hear him out.

*"I know the crew is mighty full, but from what I've read of Ezra, its fairly barren. Doesn't sound like much opportunity for a guy like me - so new to it all. I was hoping, well... with how helpful I was with getting them ship parts, that maybe that'd buy me some goodwill? Ya see, I'm willing to earn my keep. Seems like you got lots of hands, but none who seem too keen on getting 'em dirty. And believe me, I know dirty... I was on latrine duty for the whole abbey... I'm a fair hand at cleaning and cooking. I know space is money and y'all could get your pick of passengers willing to pay top dollar for a bunk, but I'd be much obliged to stay on past Ezra a piece if I can't find a decent job within a day or so of us landing?"*

"I've been on this ship for a few years." Riley said flatly, keeping eye contact. "So I've seen a lot of shit. I've heard a lot of shit. You paid for passage, and you got us the ship parts and if you think you're the first person who has bribed your way aboard, you're extremely mistaken. If you think you're the first person who thinks they can use that fact to their benefit, you're again, extremely mistaken. In fact, I beg you to try it. I don't ask you or anyone on this ship questions not because I'm stupid, it's because I don't care. This ain't a luxury liner. No one comes on this ship just to see the verse or to take a holiday. I wasn't planning on ditching you on Ezra, not for any of the reasons you mentioned, but because no one in their right goram mind would want to stay on Ezra. So if you want to make yourself useful and scrub latrines, by all means. Once we get to Ezra I'll gladly switch your passenger bunk for a crew bunk and if you prove yourself useful, then I see no reason to boot you off. This is a big ship and as such requires a big crew and being generous I can count on one hand how many useful people I think we have. But if you stay, know this, if you think that you and I have *history,* if you think I'll keep you for *goodwill*, we don't and I won't. The last thing you want to do, Henry, is underestimate me. Next time you want something, just ask for it, without your reminders of our *history*. Understood?"
Empty

Dillon stayed in what had been Samson's room for a time. Had his ex doctor not left it spotless, he would've cleaned it up himself, but instead, he sat on the bed, staring at his feet. His mind was blank. He had no idea how long he was sitting there.

He had a huge weight off his chest, at least temporarily. Why didn't he feel relieved? With the weight gone, he only felt empty. It was better than miserable or broken down, but it still didn't feel great.

Eventually, he stood. He wouldn't make Dorian have to come up with excuses for him as to why he was slacking off. He'd find something to do. Something that required thinking as a distraction from this feeling.

It being a central room of the Lunar Veil, Dillon found himself in the Galley. The man from the night before was cooking again. Having tasted his last creation in the form of leftovers, Dillon had some respect for the man. His cooking wasn't bad.

"I don't think we've met," he said, approaching the man. He put on that friendly smile. "I'm Dillon. Should've introduced myself last night, but... I've been resolving some personal drama. Are you a... passenger?"
Horse With No Name (Day 2 - Mid Morning)

[i[The following is taken from the thoughts and observations of Dorian’s companion for his first night on New Kasmir.[/i]

Strangest barn I ever did see. Warm, though. Best bed ever.

Bangs outside. New man takes his bang maker out. Two mans talking. I can hear. They relax. No more bangs. While mans talk, I go back to sleep. Best bed ever.

Nice morning. Wolfs gone. Red snow…smells like wolfs got et. New man feeds me. He’s called Doc. I like names like that. Easy to remember. Doc gives me water, and even man food! He’s light, not like some mans I gotta carry. Won’t get tired.

New man shows up on a noisy metal horse. Not man…..whoa-man. Doc likes whoa-man. I can smell his mate scent. Whoa-man’s mate scent gets stronger. Pets my nose, rubs my jaw. Nice whoa-man. I dump on wolf marks. Show them I ain’t scared.

Whoa-man gets tough. Both tense up. Doc turns away, doesn’t choose whoa-man. Never worked for me. Before Tom took my danglers I just get tough right back and climb on. Doc sits on my saddle. We head toward man places. Wolf behind trees. Just watches us. Watches Doc.

Doc is different now. Not of himself. Edgy. Jerks my reins. We go to man places. Bath…big, hot water. Bar-bah…covers Doc in face snow, then scrapes it off. I eat more hay. Doc-tah…like Doc? Bad smells from inside. They shake hands, all friendly like, but no trust.

Home. Tom comes out. Takes my halter. He and Doc talk. Hands shake. Doc gives Tom the shiny. Doc pets my nose, scratches my ears. His voice sounds nice, but he still ain’t right. Mayhaps Tom should take his danglers off…makes everything so simple.

Apples. I love apples. Saddle’s off. Now I’ll get brushed, then a blanket. I see my friends. We all nod and snort. It’s cold, but a good day.
Doing what I'm supposed to!

“Deck Handing.” Vas replied to the stern fisted pilot going down the stairs at a trot. The supplies were coming in so now it was just putting them in their appropriate homes. “Jacy's putting them to the shelves in the kitchen.” He added lifting another crate to bring to the kitchen.

He had to wonder what kind of deckhands she had before! It wasn't exactly the brainiest of jobs. Pick up stuff, put stuff down, put stuff away, secure stuff, clean stuff, get stuff. Get Paid. Do it all again.
Fancy (Day 1 - Evening)

*“Excuse me,” he said as the woman attempted to make a nondescript exit, “Ah don’t believe we’ve met. Dorian Adler, ship’s medic,” he offered his hand.*

Fear at being caught someplace she ought nohow be made Elle's eyes show white all the way around. At least for as long as she kept them on Dorian's face. They dropped along with her head and a slight tension indicated she was expecting a cuff. Not fearing it, just expecting it.

Elle wiped her hand on the front of her shirt then hesitantly took Dorian's once that cuff didn't come. Hers was hard and rough from work with a fisherman's set of calluses from pulling lines. "Elle," she said, her name sounding like the letter and not giving her last name. As soon as he was done shaking it, Elle pulled her hand loose. Didn't feel right leaving her grimy mitt in the hand of someone as high class as the sawbones. Even though he was her height give or take a centimeter they couldn't be more different; silk vest where she sported hard wearing coveralls, a fussy mustache that spoke of time for daily grooming, and the lustrous peep of a dueler's pearl handles on the iron just visible as he held his hand out.

Fancy.

*“Ah conjure Miss Serena would appreciate what yah’ve brought her,” Dorian nodded approval at the woman’s consideration. “Ah’m also sure she’d appreciate a visit tomorrah? Yah welcome tah come by an’ check on her,” the medic offered. “Nice tah meet yah, Miss Elle.”*

Relief swept the tension out of her shoulders and allowed the plain faced woman to look at Dorian instead of his waist. He wasn't upset, sounded a little bit like he thought what she'd done was right. "I won't be underfoot, Mister. 'Preciate the offer." But was that a yes she'd come or a no with an excuse of being in the way? Elle didn't explain, just nodded like she'd been given an order and moved out of the Doc's path instead of pushing past him. Only when he'd gone through did she go back into the passageway.

"Ah conjure," she said when she was alone, imitating the doctor's elegant drawl. "Ah conjure it's a delight, sah," she said and made a pirouette like she imagined a lady in one of them pretty dancing dresses might do at a soiree. A little laugh trailed in her wake as the deck hand went about such business as was proper her station.

Even if she had been a lady in her head for a minute.
Lazy bunch ...

Vas watched Gill chase after his sister wondering what bug crawled in the girl’s hair. He was about to call Gill back but thought better of it. Best let him drag the girl back to keep her from getting stab-happy again.

So Vas shook his head. He would have to make a point to meet the new crew member. He couldn’t say he was happy the old engineer was gone as that might imply he knew anything about him. The young punk focused on his work instead; on putting together the dog bathroom run.

The dogs, now fed, lazed about the cargo bay, tails wagging every time Vas turned to make sure they were behaving. “Lazy bunch … all of you,” He accused with a wry smile.
He stepped back looking at his work. It wasn’t half bad! Vas looked back at the lazy balls of fur. “Anyone wanna test this out? No? Right - be good while I go about my work. Bark if you need.” Vas said stepping over the dogs.
Down, but not out.

Jacy considered Dorian for a moment while she drummed her fingers on the box. That was twice she asked Dorian Adler to bring her into his confidence and twice that he'd politely told her to get spaced. There was a rap at the door and Jacy looked up to see a shorter woman in overalls. It was Marisol, the new Mechanic, though the two had not yet met and Jacy only knew her to be a woman possessed of beautiful skin. For all her training and poise and flourish, Jacy was still quite young, being twenty-five, and even she was susceptible to transitory deficiencies in conviction. Without realizing she was doing it, she’d played up her womanly wiles and only when they’d been evaded did she notice what she’d done. Jacy was not frequently familiar with that situation and combined with the appearance of a new female to the mix, well Jacy was not feeling up to introductions. She smoothly slid the little box of teeth across the counter towards Dorian and hopped down. “Tomorrow morning will be perfect, Doctor. I’m sure a full set of teeth will bring with it a mouthful of questions and there are just so many things I wish to know about your profession.” To Marisol she gave a quick wave and moved to the exit, closing the sliding door against any retort from Dorian, hoping he’d at least let her have the last word.

She had stopped not far from the medical bay to think. It would be inaccurate to say that Jacy was fuming. She was irritated at her own inability to elicit information from Dorian when he had already educed from her the true intentions of her ambition. But of course he had done no such thing and she’d offered that up freely - prematurely it would seem. And from there her mild frustration stemmed; she’d been outplayed by someone whom she had not realized was playing the game or perhaps he refused to be played entirely. Jacy considered what she knew of the man, then considered whether she knew it to be true or just took him at his word. She caught herself fidgeting with the ends of her hair and dropped it immediately; that being a bad habit of which she’d been broken as a child. At any rate, expansive efforts had been made in that area. She heard the door to Dorian’s Domain open again and fearing he wished to continue their conversation or that she’d be forced to make introduction with the new woman, the blonde tucked her hands into the partial back pockets of her partial shorts and mindlessly strolled into the galley where she came across Lyen enjoying a cup of tea.

“Sister Lyen,” Jacy greeted the woman. “I half expected to see you in pink lace. Were you able to find a purchase at the novelty shop befitting your personal dimensions of comfort?”
Just Something She Had in the Trunk

Jacy responded to Riley’s summons to muster in a timely manner, but it somehow was not timely enough. When she arrived in the Cargo hold it was unoccupied and the ramp was down with a view to the dusty planet beyond. She parked her hands on her hips and looked around, the mule was gone. That meant she’d be walking wherever she went; it was a good thing her chestnut boots and their four inch heels were made for just that. She was dressed like a store bought cowgirl from the red light district. Her glossy brown leather pants were so tight they may have been vacuum molded or she poured into them and the long sleeved blouse she wore resembled a vest with a wide neckline that dipped past her exposed navel and ended somewhere below the belt. The front of that blouse had frilly ruffles that drew attention to its precarious constraint of her bust and was bleached stark white. She had a sleek brown Stetson style hat perched jauntily atop her head with pale white hair splayed out beneath. Her shiny pistol was in its holster strapped low on her right thigh and every step she took came with a soft creak and well placed wrinkle in the leather beneath each cheek of her eye-catching tushie. It was an entirely functional outfit, but not one most would attempt in a setting like Ezra.

She could go looking for Vas, there were only so many places he could be. Or she could make another statement. Yeah, she’d do that. Jacy found the wall-mounted intercom and leaned in to speak. “Deckhand Jacy Lloyd paging deckhand Sugar bear. It’s time for our unchaperoned social outing. I’m leaving this ship in thirty seconds and I desperately hope it’s at the end of your arm. Come on, Baby, don’t keep me waiting. Your life is an occasion, rise to it.”
Fancy Name - (Day 3, Late afternoon)

The trail of blood led to the medical bay like she expected it would. It would have been there or the galley and Elle knew where food was served and the blood trail went the wrong way. A little eavesdropping and one lucky glance inside as she stood up with her bucket of blue water now gone purple with blood let her see that it was Serena who'd been shot.

Shame. The girl was a real cutie pie and had a personality to boot. Good worker too. In the small jobs they'd already pulled together she both knew her task and made it lighter by pulling more than her own weight. It was hard not to like someone like that and from the number of people she saw coming and going and their expressions Elle reckoned the rest of the crew felt the same way. Probably the ship's Mei-Mei, the little sister they all adopted and adored and looked out for. No wonder Vas had looked so murderous.

Or maybe they were square dancing under the blankets? They worked together, were of the same class of folk, and neither one was bad on the eyes. Might explain why Vas had been the one to take out the trash instead of one of the officers. Officers on ships usually went strapped up and weren't above fondling their smoke wagons or skinning them to make a point and enforce discipline. Vas was okay. Serena was okay. The Captain and Riley seemed okay but anyone could pet a dog then kick it the next moment and what were crew but the ship's dogs? You just learned to stay busy, lay low, and show up when it was time for food.

Elle was just washing up the bucket and her hands when the announcement about taking off came. Beaumond. Fancy name, what would it be like? Tin clanged against the bulkhead as she hung the bucket up over the mud sink.

With no way to gauge the wind like she'd read the waves, Elle had learned in her brief tour as a spacer to always assume the worst. A few shipmates she'd been around took a great deal of pleasure ribbing Elle about strapping in and she took it without worry. Someone was always going to try and get up your backside and most of the time they didn't mean it. When they stopped talking to you or teasing you then you worried because it meant you weren't worth their time and they were shunning you. A life on a ship meant you couldn't get away from someone you didn't like so you ignored them, shut them out, made them cease to be. If you messed up bad enough the whole crew would ghost you and she'd seen more than one fuckup not turn up the next day for muster as they chose to go kiss Davy Jones - sometimes voluntarily, sometimes with some assistance.

She hoped the takeoff was gentle so as not to poke a stick in Serena's wound. Girl was likely hurting enough already.
I Spit in Your General Direction

To hell with it. Jacy let the Mudder’s Milk spill out of her mouth. It wasn’t doing much to ease the pain and tasted vile. There was no ladylike way to do it, she couldn’t spit because it hurt too much moving her mouth that way. She wasn’t overly cautious in keeping the spew from splashing on Devron’s shoes either. Just to drive her irritation home she kicked her foot at their mechanic and mumbled like her jaw was wired shut. “MMeerrm fuutthh uuurr aaassthhh.”

No one liked being called a twit especially when they were soon to be booted from their short lived posting. Granted, Jacy made a terrible deckhand, but feelings were still feelings. She was trying not to think about what she’d do once the Captain gave her the slip and left her behind. She knew she could find work; talking her way in and out of people’s good graces was something she did quite well, but the market districts of Persephone were notoriously rough. And she wasn't doing much talking just now.

She looked like crap, she felt like crap, she was talked to like crap and the only thing she had to look forward to was anesthesia and oral surgery at the hands of a stranger or worse, Aello. There were certain secrets she did not wish revealed and did not know if she could count on either of them to keep them.
Following Orders

The boy jumped as he was goosed from behind as Jacy skittered by causing his ears to pink. Well, at least the girl took the incident in stride.

*"It was our Fathers," Gill tried to explain, "Can't she just empty it out? You won’t hear another sound from us I promise."*

Vas wanted to empty the bag over the kid's heads and stuff both of the little hellions in, then hang ‘em on a gorram hook till they landed! Sadly it wasn’t his call.

*“If not,” Dorian said, “perhaps Mr. Vas and I might put this poor crate out of its’ misery.” He laid a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder. “There’s an old saying on Earth-That-Was about stopping to smell the roses,” he smiled. “Nice move getting yours right amid the blossoms.”*

The comment caused Vas’s face to turn red all over again. “Doc I swear it wasn’t like that!” He said trying to preserve his innocence; fact was the whole incident had Vas in an embarrassed huff! The only consolation was Jacy wasn’t ticked at him when she had every right to be. “The gorram kid hood hooked me cross the face real good!” Vas protested blood dribbling down his face dripping fresh red drops on his worn dark shirt. The punk was really trying not to think about how hard it was going to be to get the stains out. It wasn’t like he came aboard with a suitcase. Just a sack with a change of clothes, his smoke and some loose change … wait the loose change may have been confiscated. Gorram it.

Vas extended a hand to the Fed in the box with his free hand and the man clasped it trying to get up. Sadly the man buckled and toppled over his legs cramped up to high hell from being stuck in a box for who knows how long!

~Well ain’t that peachy now I gota carry the gorram fed.~ He groused inwardly, pitching the man onto his shoulders in a fireman carry. “Uggh Even with a busted nose you reek.” He complained. His ears went pink thinking of things that smelled better …way better … then quickly tried to shove such inappropriate thoughts away as he amble awkwardly to the Med bay.

The Doc … the tooth Doc … had to open the door for the boy given his hands were full at the moment. He worked to let the Fed down gingerly on the med bay chair before frisking him briskly for anything and everything. He tossed everything he found into an empty bin and checked him again to be sure he found everything. “Right Doc, go on and stich him up, I’m going to clean up first if you don’t mind.” Vas said from behind a wad of paper towels. “Be a shame to tape me up to have it fall off in the wash. I’ll make it quick.” He promised grabbing the bin of the feds stuff to drop off to the … pilot. Since she seems the one to actually be running things.

After dropping the bin with all the Feds stuff at the cockpit with Riley Vas went washed up. The water sadly was ice cold. Not wholly a bad thing but he did work to clean himself up quickly before he turned into a block of ice. He put his spare pair of clothing on and set his dirty clothing, particularly his bloodied shirt to soak for a spell before head back to the Med Bay to get taped up.
It's an Intervention!

*<<“Don’t play with me!” he roared, grasping her forearms. “Liǎng zhī yīnjīng gǒu de érzi…Jacy, listen carefully. This Dr. Merchant…he doesn’t leave this boat without me seein’ him. Get tha other deckhands. Get Dimitri an’ his gun if yah have tah…dohn mah?”>>*

It wasn’t the first time Jacy had been manhandled, if that’s what you wanted to call it. Some men paid good money for a bit of light rough housing, once the talking and self growth was done and out of the way. She watched Dorian rushing back to the infirmary and knew it was better to follow his advice than let the situation get out of hand. She considered going for her own gun, but if it came to it and Samson Merchant required the motivating force of a skinned firearm, it would serve Dillon better if she wasn’t the one who’d done it. And she didn’t want to be the one to do it. Swinging a crowbar at a living man’s skull was easy enough, but shooting a man was something else.

Jacy made her way to the cargo hold where she came across Dimitri and Vas. She squeezed Vas’ right butt cheek by way of friendly greeting.

“Dimitri, Doctor Adler requested our presence in the infirmary. Bring the newest passenger with you, Samson Merchant. And bring your gun.” She thought better of that last statement and clarified, “Bring a small gun. Sugar bear, you should join him. Dorian’s going to have words with Dillon and his private family Doc. I guess he’s expecting things could go sideways?”

Jacy wanted to remain near the ramp in case it became necessary to close it for some reason. Or to watch Samson Merchant off. But they were also expecting the ventilator and ceramic kiln to be delivered and time was getting short with takeoff coming up in roughly an hour. She wasn’t made of money, though it might look it to those with little more than a few coins to rub together. And Jacy did have a side business of sorts that more or less ran itself for periods at a time, but she hated to think about the possibility she’d forked over all those credits for durable medical equipment she’d never see.
Fiddle for the Drum

"I was born on Athens, a city called Elder. I wouldn't recommend it; not really a tourist destination--little too many groups with agendas. But that's where I found the monastery: the Toa Te Ching. Probably one of the best things for me at the time. " She paused to face Vas, then brought the clove to her mouth.

He was a man of few words, and Lyen got the feeling that he had lived many full lives before he landed on the Veil. Tinker, tailor, soldier... who knew what mysteries of the soul Vas had witnessed first hand. She knew he had a reputation for being quick to act, as seen through him accosting Henry, or whatever his name was, on her very first day aboard the ship. He didn't feel violent, though, not in this moment, gently puffing on his cigarette sending vapors into the air.

Lyen had a nagging worry for him, in light of everything he had been through. She remembered a song from Earth-That-Was:

*And so once again, my dear Johnny my dear friend.

And so once again you are fighting us all...*

His gentle rebuffing and disinterest, playing it off as if what he'd been through was nothing. Still, she wondered if she could help him find the peace and the star.

*Oh my friend, how did you come to trade the fiddle for the drum.

Oh my friend, we have all come to fear the beating of your drum.*
Last Deckhand Standing

Vas had returned to the galley to resume putting away the can good and what little groceries had been gotten. He was still wondering how he was the last one standing here doing the work. Of course, he back was to the door while he searched for what went where. Truth be told he had not spent a lot of time to getting acquainted with the galley.
Don't you blow up my ship! + A Sticky Situation (Verbena, Afternoon)

*“Good day Lieutenant.” Bolak came to a halt a few paces away, “I have some small business up at the munitions factory and will require some cargo space for goods onwards to Beumonde. Should weigh in at around half a tonne all told. Needless to say we intend to remain aboard for a while longer at the rate we agreed with your good Captain.”*

"Normally, we don't ask many questions about the cargo we haul, but if it's explosive? Give a head's up to our crew chief or deck hand, for proper storage would you." The lieutenant replied. "Next stop is Beaumonde, then Silverhold if you'd like to plan accordingly."

*Haddie stood looking at Riley, half scared half defiant. Through the smudges of red and yellow that covered her face dried tear tracks ran down her cheeks and onto her neck. Her hair was a tangled mass of condiments.*

*“Oh my.” Bolak said in a low voice to Riley, “I will be about my business, we can settle the particulars over supper.” And with that the two men took their leave and Haddie shuffled forward to stand next to Riley in silence.*

Speaking of things that could explode... Riley folded her arms and looked over at the teacup sized terror, maintaining her bearings.

"Got into the condiments, did you?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow, looking the girl over. Haddie gave what looked like a sheepish shrug. "Got into the condiments, did you?" The lieutenant pursed her lips together and nodded. Sticky. This is more how she pictured children in general. “Best get yourself showered and cleaned up. If you can stay that way by take off, co-pilot seat’s open, if you want to give it a try.” She would have tousled the girl’s hair, but like the rest of her, it was … sticky.
Diagnosing Vas

Vas: *“Let’s get my dashing face taped up so I can get some rest before something ELSE happens.”*

“Why, right you are,” Dorian quipped as he gestured the punk toward a stool. “You’ve got women to woo,” he chuckled as he brought the treatment lighting to bear. Before Vas could open his mouth in fresh protest, the doc hooked a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face. “Breathe for me,” he said as he focused a penlight up each nostril. “Through your nose.”

Once he was satisfied with the result, Dorian set to work cleaning the injured proboscis. With thumb and index finger he gently pressed the contours of the boy’s nose. “No fracture,” he said quietly as he worked his way up. “Cartilage feels a tad bit loose, but there’s a good deal of swelling, might explain it.”

Vas: *“We locking the fed in here?”*

“Here?” Doc asked as he examined the wicked blow from the broomstick. “At tha rate y’all need medical attention, Ah’d suggest another space.”

“Tell me, Mr. Vas,” he said as the penlight moved to the punk’s eyes, “how’s your head? Vision clear? Balance alright?” He lifted an index finger before Vas’ face. “Without moving yah head,” he drawled, “Ah want you to track mah finger with yah eyes.”
Killing the Margin

*"Are we agreed?"*

This woman, Riley, wore nonchalance as her counter offer hung in the air. She knew she was the only game in town. Perfect.

Amelia Garrison’s mouth fell open in protest. “But it’s not…that’s incorr….” She folded her arms, turning away from the lieutenant. After a brief moment, she turned again, and with a lift of her chin, restored decorum. “Very well. Though, for the record….” She stopped herself. “Alright. Let’s just conclude this.”

After grudgingly forking more cash from her purse, the mortician activated her cortex reader. “Marcus, it’s me….yes. Inform Mrs. Schnabel that arrangements have been made……yes……the Lunar Veil, a Firefly………..it’s fine………….those are dogs. Yes, they’re hauling dogs, too………I don’t have time for this, Marcus……………LISTEN TO ME!.....................the boat is leaving in….” She cast a curious glance toward Riley, who gestured a response. “An hour. Have Johnnny and Bill deliver Mrs. Schnabel and her husband immediately……..Docking Berth Twenty-Seven……………….no, we don’t have another option………………….I’m hanging up now.” She cut the channel, darkening the device screen as it slipped into a pocket. “My partner,” Garrison offered a mildly sheepish smile. “Can’t wait to tell him how we just killed the margin on this one. Our people are on the way, Ms….Riley, is it?”
Chasing Gremlins

The hull tap-outs had yielded a few notes that she’d have to report. First and foremost, the entire re-entry surface would be due for a recoat. It didn’t need to happen immediately, but some of the leading edges were showing a minimal burn through pattern. Bottom coat was a damned pricey proposition. Marisol conjured she’d try to make do with a couple five gallon buckets once they got to New Kasmir. A trip topside with a hair raising crawl over the cockpit viewports revealed similar weakness in the primary buffer panel mounts. She could protect them for a spell with the same bottom coat, but reaching them, even with a brush on a broom handle, was a righteous pain in the *pigu* Maybe she could sweet talk whoever had the longest arms into helping with that one.

The big job would be the rotator seal rings on the atmo engine pylons. Of course, replacing a seal on something that rotated typically meant taking something off in order to slip a fresh one into place. In this case, that ‘something’ was an entire atmo engine and it’s coupling…not a project to be tackled by a crescent wrench. The design was intentional; the engineers at Allied Spacecraft Corp, reasoning that if one moving part was wore out it was time to check the others, namely, the support shaft and its’ bearings. Probably another reason that well maintained Fireflies didn’t just fall right out of the sky, but a real sock to the cash purse in dockyard crane fees. Lunar Veil had about six more trips in her current seals before they got proper dicey, so she had a little time to get that seed planted in the captain’s mind.

All in all, “el Vee” was ready for upthrust. Hydraulics, avionics, control linkages all checked out. The power plant had a weird kind of imbalance across its’ three phases. One phase appeared to be drawing a lot more amperage than its’ mates. Still, the load calculations pointed toward green lights, so that was a problem she’d suss out while they were underway.

For the moment, Marisol was chasing a loose metallic rattle. Careful not to get snatched up by the spinning engine, she dropped to her knees, arching her back to bend in low. A pocket flashlight shone downward, it’s beam playing across the accelerator core’s dorsal housing. Somewhere down there was a loose plate. It serenaded her with a rapid *bump-bump-bump-bump-bump-bump* sound that, while strictly an annoyance, would also impede her ability to listen to the ship talking. Carefully, she scanned the length of the housing…

*"Who are you?"*

She glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of a pair of boots. The owner was a teenaged boy, and just barely so. His clothes had seen better days, but no matter. Having a teenaged boy of her own, Marisol conjured that the specimen before her would be growing into a new set of clothes right quick.

*"Where is Devron?"*

She backed out from beneath the spinning engine to settle on her knees. “I don’t know,” she answered the youth. “My name is Marisol. What’s yours?”
Goin' Walkies - (Day 2 - Evening)

Don't like boom booms. Hide under Doc's bed. Why my boys don't come?

Big house is almost empty. Smiling Woman is here. She took me out for walkies before the boom booms. Don't like boom booms.

Bitch is still here. Lookin' for her pups. I can smell her. She cries when she don't think I'm about. When she sees me, she goes all alpha. Just how it is with bitches. I'm a good sniffer...my boys say I'm a hound...hounds are best sniffers ever. I'd help bitch find her pups...would she help me find my boys?

New noises. Little steps, but not One-Eye. I like One-Eye. She brings treats...don't bark with her mouth, but she talks plenty. Steps are bigger...but no talk, so it's not Talking Woman. Gotta be Food-Woman. Not so scared of boom booms when there's food.

It is her....and..."HEY! BELLYCRAWLERS! TWO OF 'EM! SHE'S FIGHTIN' 'EM! BIGGEST I'VE EVER SEEN! HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY! FIGHT ME! FIGHT ME!" I bite one...teeth can't get a grip. This don't taste like no bellycrawler I ever killt. Used to get 'em all the time in the barn..them and leathertails...would kill 'em before they could bite my boys. "HEY! HEY! HEY!!"

Food Woman is holdin' me. Got me in her lap. "Shhhhh." I know that word. Means stop my caterwalling. Bellycrawlers ain't moving...but I seen that before. Never trust a bellycrawler til it got no head. I growl at 'em. Food Woman tells me "Shhhhh." Says somethin' I don't ken.

"You wanna go walkies?" Marisol asked.

Sounds nice, but...wait. She got my leash! Where we goin'? Find my boys? I'm waggin' and happy...maybe more food? Bellycrawlers must be dead. They ain't moved when I stepped on 'em. I growl at 'em all the same. Never trust a bellycrawler til it ain't got a head.

"Come on," Marisol says encouragingly.

Wait. We're goin' out? There's boom booms! I ain't goin'. Dig in. Sure do miss my leg.

"Okay..okay. You win. Just like we do in the black."

We're goin' to my spot. I sniff a bit. Bitch was here. She's sad...I can smell it in her mark. I leave mine. Friend. I'm friend. Miss my boys, too.

I'm gettin' pretty good at my squats. When I'm done, Food Woman takes me back to Doc's. Leaves my leash on. We goin' somewheres else? Look for my boys?

Bellycrawlers...."IS ALIVE! "LISTEN TO EM ROAR! HEY! HEY! HEY!" Can't get at 'em. Leash got me by the neck. "HEY! HEY! HEY! LEAVE FOOD WOMAN ALONE!"
What's she doin....she's up on a climbey thing...stuffin' both bellycrawlers into a hole in the wall? I can smell her...she ain't askeert at all! She must be winnin',...but them bellycrawlers is still hissin,' all loud and wooshy-like. Never trust a bellycrawler. "HEY! HEY! HEY!"