recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
All Dressed Up... (Day 2 - Early Evening)

Today, Dr. Adler actually had his room back.

The mass exodus of passengers had opened enough rooms to permit Roose a wheelchair friendly space for the night he’d actually need it. As he dressed for the evening, Dorian noted the bed with its’ rumpled sheets and blanket. “Ah’ll be changin’ those,” he muttered to himself, knowing full well the activities that had taken place there the night before.

The tuxedo was trim, fitting him crisply. He regarded himself in the full length mirror. Fortunately, the tailor had left just enough room in the jacket cut to permit the concealed shoulder holster. The gun’s presence did not alter the line of the suit. He nodded his approval.

Dorian stepped out to the cargo bay, to find his shuttle waiting. Rain had fallen steadily, bringing the driver to wait just inside the bay, umbrella at the ready. “Just a moment,” Doc lifted an index finger as he set off for the forward crew berths.

He made his way up, then forward. Many of the hatches were open. Riley’s, however, remained closed. Dorian offered a few quick taps. “Riley?” he called. “Our shuttle’s here. Yah about ready?”
Day 1: Very late evening

"Well, well," Henry said joining so many, "seems like there was a party I wasn't invited to?" he asked in a joke. "If'n y'all are hungry, I'm a fair hand..." And he set to looking through the food stores. Pretty average fair for a ship like this, but over the years he had learned to make mush taste like a masterpiece so in short order he had a simple stew ready and set on the table with a stack of bowls.

"Glad to see I'm not the only night owl, so... what we talking about?" he asked, taking a bowl and seat.
Blown Off

*Dimitri dothed the rolled up something and looked around with a pause then turned to the skinny kid, Vas.*

*“Pint, is it?”*

*He said, in a thick curious tone.*

*“Where is good place to set my, ah, special project?”*

“No that’s pint and half pint.” Vas waved at the children. “I’m Vas.” He said pointing to himself. “Your room? It’s the only personal space you have ‘round here” The hawked punk said. “Make sure to leave room for Dillion I hear he is keen to bunk with ya or something. I dunno he ran off someplace with cooked oats.” Vas shrugged. He was about to light up what he felt was a well-deserved smoke when Jacy ghosted in.

*“You weren’t planning to light that, were you? We are in a sealed tin can oxygenated by equipment of questionable integrity. Where would you even pick up such a nasty habit at your tender age of….at least eighteen, right?” Jacy gave Vas a studied look, but she honestly couldn't determine his age. “Besides these will kill you and there are enough dangers to contend with. Like Reaver rapings if you put any stock in those streams.”*

Vas was about to reply when she just turned and walked away. The poor guy sniffed himself just to make sure. “I am not crazy that is the fourth time in a single day someone just walked up to me asked a question and LEAVE before I can answer. Is there something I’m not seeing that people just look at me and go ‘Ah fuck it’ and wander of?!” He asked Demitri before lighting up out of protest. The light smoke filling the air with spice and clove.
Gwred the Weak

Gwred's headstone in Penentulian and English, c. 1400

Gwred III, known as Gwred the Weak, was the 6th king of the House of Gwred, a branch of the Patallin Dynasty. He was the son of Gwred II and his wife, Eliza Rahenda.

## Biography

He was born on April 1, 128, to King Gwred II and Queen Eliza. His birth was announced with major fanfare around the empire, for his father was old, and nobody wanted Gwred's uncle, Patal, to become king. He was immediately prepared for kingship, being announced as Duke of Loskup and Earl of Loskopping.

In September 124, his father suffered a stroke and died. Gwred was announced king as Gwred III that day, with his mother as regent. Many nobles came to Rhii to do homage to the new King and brought their similarly-aged children with them, and Gwred made a lot of friends that would be powerful allies in the future.

Eliza ruled the country powerfully, as her husband had. The years 124-123 were surprisingly peaceful, given the fact that a child was on the throne. However, things took a turn for the worst in April 123. On April 1, to celebrate the King's birthday, they decided to let him play in a fenced area of the Rosewood Forest with his friends. At the end of the day, they rang bells to bring their children back, and all but Gwred came. The next day, Eliza organized a search party to find the King, and they did. He was dead. They buried him on April 3 in the Royal Cemetery next to his father.

## Reaction

The whole world was stunned by the death of a boy whose father gave him so much potential as a ruler. His mother was so grieved that she retired to her ancestral home in the Lyon Mountains and died the next month. His uncle was less in grief and more in gladness because he despised his brother, and Gwred's death made it safe to claim the throne. He was crowned the next day as Patal XVII.

Nobody knows exactly how he died. Most agree that it was a bear that ripped through the fence, but others speculate murder. Many people try to see what would have happened if Gwred had not died and had lived to his majority.

## Titles and Honors

* Duke of Loskup (128-123)
* Earl of Loskopping (124-123)
* King of Rhii (124-123)
Behave

Vas chuckled. “Doc the view from here says you may be suffering from too MUCH adventure.” He pointed out.

“Jacy, I’ll be back soon. Gill … you and your sis … straight and narrow. At least till I get back.” Vas revved the engine and drove off to get the Doc the assistance of professional for that eye of his.
Collaborative Cooking

Dillon shrugged. "There's always room for improvement, but I thought it was decent." He came a bit closer to have a look at what exactly Henry was doing. He took a gentle wiff of the stew. "I'd suggest adding some \*random ingredient here\*. And... Maybe a little less \*other random ingredient\* next time."

"What did we get in today...?" he was mostly asking the empty room, thinking aloud. He wanted to refamilarize himself with what was available as he'd only unloaded half a crate himself. He began opening cabinets and checking the contents without disrupting the neatness Jacy had organized it all with.
A Monk A Monk A Monk (Day 5 Late Afternoon)

Tenzin chastised himself for letting his mind wander as Sherab spun the prayer wheel. He and his brothers sat barefoot on the the floor in a space so cramped, his bare feet near touched Geleg, who sat beside him. The chimes rang, and bowing their heads the monk’s stood.

This was not to be their ship, they had secured passage with the Janissary due to arrive next month, but it was Sherab who believed they were led to this journey. They were no strangers to changes of plans, such was the life of the nomadic order dependent on the generosity of others. But this part of their path was not brought to them by Alms from the ship. They begged in the streets during the fair until they could afford the two rooms of passage for the six travelers.

“Have you seen her yet?” Tenzin asked of Sherab, but the elder monk shook his head indicating he had not. Their wayward sister, as they’d come to call her. Clad in traditional bhikkhuni garb, they saw her first exiting a local saloon *arm in arm* no less with a gentleman. *Physical contact.* Not administering him because he was sick, or assisting a man who’d over imbibed, but laughing, giving in to carnal temptations. They spoke of shooting practice and whisky drinking. Sherab knew they had to help their lost sister relocate the road to enlightenment. This was the ship they returned to, this is where the nomads were needed.

It was good they traveled with Amoli and Jinpa, two of their own bhikkhuni, Amoli about the age of the wayward sister, Jinpa with many more years of wisdom to offer.

They would fast this solstice, Sherab decided, reflect on the task at hand, until the ship was well on its way. It was as he decreed: a captive audience tended to be the most attentive.
A Bad Trip

Gill grabbed Haddie by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. She met his gaze impassively and wondered what was wrong with him.

"What is wrong with you?" he hissed squeezing her shoulders slightly. She tried to shrug him off and started to look around at Jacy's room. So many pretty things. He turned her head back to face him... what had he said? she could hear a buzzing sound. Gill was talking to her but all she could hear was the buzzing.

Strange her lip felt wet. She brought up her hand and wiped beneath her nose. Blood? She had a nose bleed? Gill was shaking her now and still talking he looked worried, panicked even. Her vision grew blurred and the blood kept dripping from her nose. Gill was shaking her again.. hard this time... no..no she was shaking, he was trying to hold her still, carrying her to the bed.

The buzzing was growing quiet now. That was good. She was propped up next to the bed, it was dark in the room now and she was shivering. She wasn't cold though. That was odd.

"...be back with help." she heard Gills voice trail off as the world went black
DOA

Though it had taken a mild coating of dust on its’ trip through the dockyard, the hearse still gleamed an elegant black as it came to a silent halt at the cargo bay ramp. As two men in mourning attire climbed out of the vehicle, the mortuary’s limousine arrived. It pulled around its’ mate before stopping to idle.

The men, large, muscular specimens, unfolded a gurney behind the hearse’s cargo hatch. A moment later, they extracted a shipping coffin, which glided easily from one conveyance to the next. The coffin itself was unremarkable, an aluminum box ringed with a half dozen utilitarian handgrips. The lid was sealed by a narrow bead of weld, and covered with black and yellow caution tape to which an alliance transit tag had been affixed. Once they’d been met by Amelia Garrison, the strange little procession made its’ way up the cargo ramp, into Lunar Veil’s hold.

The mortician’s eyes scanned the now familiar environment. The unruly dogs appeared no better contained, though now it was the mohawk and a young boy who made the attempt. She noticed Chavez. The woman now wore coveralls and had her hair pinned back to reveal a mild smudge to one cheek…apparently her infiltration had gone without incident. “Excuse me,” she called out above the noise, “I’m Amelia Garrison, Garrison and Hayes Mortuary,” she offered her card. “Delivering remains and one passenger. We are expected.”

“I’m just the mechanic.”

Garrison produced a thick envelope. “These are shipping documents, death certificate, remains transport permit, and the coffin seal registration,” she said. “I’m bound by law to present these to either the vessel’s captain or its’ medical officer. Would one of them be available?”

Marisol turned, her eyes lifting toward the catwalks. “Don’t see the captain,” she observed, “but our doc’s on the job. Wait here. I’ll go get ‘im.”

She walked briskly aft, past the two cold shouldered deckhands and their chaotic pack of dogs. The infirmary door was open. As Marisol leaned in, she took in the sight of the third deckhand…the looker…seated upon a countertop. One glance told the tale…legs crossed to emphasize the appearance of thighs, a slight arch of her back to offer breasts for prominent display. Dorian leaned against the padded table, his expression subtle, and one hand extended to receive the small box clasped in the woman’s fingers.

Marisol rapped on the door frame. “Excuse me, Doc,” she said. “Coffin’s here. The funeral people need you to sign for it.”
Day 1: Afternoon - I don't know Buddah from Gouda, but welcome aboard.

Keller was (finally - my apologies!) settling up at the bar after another round or two himself, when he heard some of his favorite words, well, his favorite words that could be

*"You heard of any passenger ships leaving Santo?"*

*His face crinkled in disappointment. "You sayin' you come in to my place of business, Kǒnglóng, wit' no intention of patronizin'? What do I look like, a billboard? Ya little yáng lājī! Get outa my bar!" Spittle accented his sweeping arm gesture.*Keller sighed. He didn't have enough liquor to get a decent buzz and here was this bartender being entirely, unnecessarily rude to a woman of the cloth. What cloth? He wasn't sure of. He'd never seen anyone wearing religious robes, well, except that one time at the Lucky Cat, and there were fishnets but that was a different sort of habit all together. Many of the core planets had temples, where things he had no inklin' to know about when on. He assumed it was a lot of chanting and gong hitting.

"Now, now..." Keller said, throwing his credits on the bar. "You may not look like a billboard, but you sound like an asshole. See? I had no intention of being patronizing while patronizing, but here we are. This should cover my tab. Miss... Krishna? I'm sorry, I don't know what to call you. Captain Keller at your service, and I just happen to have a passenger ship leaving Santo. If you'd like to come with me, I'd be happy to discuss the specifics."
Day 1: Still very late evening

"This is so interesting, but everyone should eat up before it gets cold," Henry replied. He really wanted them to eat - once they did, they'd love it. Maybe earn a few favor points around the crew. "I spent the last 30 years in the abbey on Santo, only leaving it once a week, toiling day in and day out, and I'd had enough so I left. I'm learned enough to speak like a Shepherd, so I tried to gleam the best from them and ignore all the parts I'm sure y'all don't care for. So I say...'Ràng jiā chéngwéi wǒmen de hēirén'! I'm just plum excited to be off Santo."

(Ràng hēirén chéngwéi wǒmen de jiā - Let the black be our home. He has it reversed, let the home be our black... )
Day 1 Afternoon - The Preacher & The Pilot

“Didn’t you say you got robbed?” Riley asked, though she was focused more on the credits and less on discrediting his story, so much so that she dismissed her own question. “That sounds awful, but good news, I think that should just about cover passage on the ship. I mean, I couldn't leave a man of the cloth just lying by the roadside." Which is exactly what she planned to do if she hadn't laid eyes on the fistful of credits. She slipped the pills purchased into her pocket, and changed her demeanor towards the wounded preacher. "Lieutenant Riley Thorne. Pilot. Samaratin. At your service, Padre. How about we get that arm in a sling to make due for now. I have to find some really specific parts for our ship, longer it takes me, the longer we're stuck. If you're saying you know a guy... well, leaving will be sooner rather than later. We have a full med bay aboard the ship, we can make sure to set those ribs for you, since I see you’re favoring that side." He didn't seem to protest, so she set to work fastening a sling out of some of the webbing on the Mule, usually used to tie crates down during transport. She noticed his clothes were slightly baggy as she made two slip knots in the material, helping the preacher keep his arm just so so as to not jostle his rib cage. She then secured the sling around his chest to further immobilize the arm. "Should keep you a little more comfortable," she informed him, readjusting her wool beret.

"This friend of yours, he wouldn't happen to have some Class III heat stabilizers, would he?"
Day 1 - evening, onboard - Medic?

"Thank you Lieutenant," Henry replied as graciously as he could. The package under his arm hurt a bit from the weight due to his broken rib, but he toughed it out during the tour till he got to his bunk. It would be more than adequate. He asked for a few minutes to get settled in alone, doing a bit of a 'dance' as if he needed to pee and was left alone.

So far, so good and all went according to plan, except for the ribs of course. Occupational hazard.

He didn't trust that the room wasn't bugged or that the locker didn't have extra keys so he took the precaution of tucking in an alarm of sorts so that if anyone opened it without him being nearby, he'd know. He procured a watch at the shop which looked common enough, not likely someone would steal it nor did he plan on taking it off, but it contained a sensor which disabled the alarm when he opened the locker (bluetooth of sorts) versus when anyone else would. If anyone else tried, his watch would start beeping like a standard alarm.

His last favor in Santos had been with the shop owner so the package had a tablet, again, encrypted with Alliance grade software so he could surf in absolute privacy and he was glad Riley hadn't asked to check it or him regardless or she'd see the pistol, pair of throwing knives - tucked into his boots, and the stunner blade he kept on a retractable mechanism up his sleeve.

It was his favorite invention - something he could have contracted and built almost anywhere. He always had the parts made by different people and then assembled it himself. It stuck high enough up a sleeve folks couldn't see it but could be ejected with a special and unique hand gesture. The blade itself was super strong and sharp yet light. It also carried enough of a single charge to restart (or stop) someone's heart like a crashpad/AED would.

Oh, how many times this little contraption had saved his neck. But, amidst the ribs issue, he'd have to go without for a brief time...

He stepped out of his room and locked the door, again, with a similar sensor to alert him if it was opened and headed out to find Riley.

"Oh, Lieutenant, about that medic and this rib?" he asked feigning pain.
Day 1 Afternoon - Before you go, jiǔguǐ

Santo, what a world.

Lyen had been walking all morning from Yongshe Temple on the edge of the city. Her long, brown hair was bound up below a wide-brimmed traditional hat, and her hands were hidden beneath the folds of her kasaya robes.

Her path through the bazaar was filled with shady dealings and hushed conversations. Lyen thought she could already feel the consequences of their careless regard for one another. It was difficult for her to see this grit and slime again, but this time to hold it at arm's length. Lyen stared blankly, remembering years in places like Santo. Hours spent on the best pills and cocktails she could get her hands on. As if from a distance, she could still feel the pull of the pill and needle life. The constant thought, the nagging need to sate the urge.

The invincible feeling of being miles higher than her problems.

Years traveling from temple to temple had taught her how to quiet that growling. And it was true that no meditation could cure it; but she had found that strong, black coffee could subdue it--just for one cup.

A bend in the crowded road of carts and lively shop fronts led down a row of bars and gambling halls. 'What I wouldn't give to fly far from this rock' she thought. Above in the sky she could see various ships departing Santo for the black beyond. Her eyes glinted in the sun. 'A new town on a new world, perhaps with fresher ears than Santo.'

Closing her eyes, Lyen felt a tug from the verse in the direction of an unimpressive and derelict dive bar. She pursed her full lips and regarded the lack of windows and gathered refuse around the entrance. With a shake of her head, she incredulously followed whatever strange direction her third eye had set her down. Normally she would have felt strange walking into a bar, but from what she'd seen this whole planet was basically one never-ending-drunken-night-out. Coincidentally, that's what drew her here: more people in need of experiencing the verse's Order.

However, evangelizing for the Order of the Interverse turned out to be harder than she had expected. She discovered that 'Order' fell on deaf ears when people loved their personal chaos more than anything else.

"Amituofo," Ly said this traditional Buddhist greeting to the tender as she sidled familiarly up to the bar. "I need to ask you something," the barman leaned into the bar. "You heard of any passenger ships leaving Santo?"

His face crinkled in disappointment. "You sayin' you come in to my place of business, Kǒnglóng, wit' no intention of patronizin'? What do I look like, a billboard? Ya little yáng lājī! Get outa my bar!" Spittle accented his sweeping arm gesture.

Lyen stood stock still, eyes wide.
Almost there...: Decisions

Dillon let out a long vocal sigh. He'd made the decision before he'd run in the first place, but here he was presented with it again. Somehow the decision was much more difficult to think of here, maybe because now each path was easier to see down and he wasn't overwhelmed with emotion like before. Now, he was calm.... Or... something between panic and calm.

He had to put it all plainly like he had the first time he'd made the decision. It was the old philosophy- would you rather be safe but imprisoned, or free but at great risk. He didn't like the idea of 'great risk', but that risk was only death. He'd take death over misery. He'd already proved that to himself.

Would he really be miserable back home, though? Was this something he'd simply get over? It sure didn't feel like it. The thoughts brought him back to everything that had pushed him this far in the first place. No. No, he would not get over it. He could never go back there.

Thinking it all over again only took a few minutes. Less than five. Thankfully, Dorian had let him take that time in silence, the only outward signs of his thoughts being his eyes flicking back and forth on an imaginary complex diagram in front of him.

"I'm not going back there," he said confidently, an almost fire in his eyes. "Whatever comes along with that decision, I'll take."
A Touch of Home (Day 1 - Evening)

Life aboard ship, whether it rocked in the blue or floated in the Dark, meant a never ending list of things that needed to be done. Without Serena to clue her in on bigger jobs, and Vas was so occupied with the fact she had a hole in her she tweren't supposed to, there wasn't anyone to give Elle any specific jobs. Lots of hands might have slipped off to a dark corner and put the linger in malingering or sample still squeezin's. Not Elle. It just wasn't in her. She might have been born poor ship trash but she wasn't lazy.

So she cleaned. Decks, bulkheads, hatches, the tops of pipes and ducting and faintly buzzing cableways that she cautiously touched with the back of her hand to make sure weren't no lightin' fixin' to fry her up right crispy. Any time anyone had a chance to see her bent over back as they passed found her working and keeping to herself.

The astute would notice how her work kept her within whistle and peeping of the infirmary. The downright suspicious would notice that every time someone went in she moved a washer or bottle top or other bit of innocent trash from her left pocket to her right. Every time someone left it went from her right to the left until if it was ballast she'd have a notable list to port. Elle's braid slithered across her back as she looked to see if she was clear, head cocked to the side in that odd way that made a body feel like they could hear better. Anyone watching from the shadows would slide a hand down to their wrist cannon on account of how suspicious the new deckhand looked.

From the bottom of one of the buckets she carried, hidden by a scrap of foam torn to make a shelf over it, Elle pulled out a tightly wound bundle half as big as a pillow. Without further hesitation she walked the few meters to the infirmary and went inside, cursing the sound of the hatch even though it was quiet.

Earlier in the day she'd gone through the little space Serena called her own and taken things. Serena's pillow, a clean pair of what Elle judged to be the girl's comfiest panties, the kind you'd wear on your moon, loose fitting pyjama bottoms and a big shirt that had to be some man's. The way Elle knew it when you were hurt bad you wanted to limp home and curl up in your nest until you felt better. They weren't letting Serena do that, probably for good reason, so Elle brought home to the wounded girl.

Serena wasn't her friend, they didn't ken much about each other at all. But she was a shipmate and to Elle that was enough. Maybe she'd take a hidin' for it if her betters found out but it wouldn't be the first discipline Elle had taken. Discipline never lasted, you just had to ride it out until the storm passed and some storms were worth weathering.

She put the bundle down at the foot of the sleeping girl's bed. Elle stood there for a second then nodded as if she'd done what she should have. The nod of someone done with a task and feeling better for it.

"Clean lines and fat fish, *Mei-Mei*."

Elle went to the door and opend it to leave the infirmary, one eye peeking out to make sure the coast was clear before she went back to where she'd left her work.
A Job

Thomas laid down his cards, smiling. He knew that the only other Ace was a the bottom of the deck, the dealer had accidentally shown it. This would be a nice big win for him, well would have. The dealer laid down his hand and there was the ace, sitting there in his hand and Thomas had lost the pot. The other player smiled at him and started to take the pot.

"Why you cheating son of a Reaver Whore!"

Thomas was up and across the table before the other person knew what was happening and the fight was on. As soon as the two of them started fighting, others jumped in and took sides, soon the whole bar was one large free for all. Chairs, bottles and anything else that could be thrown were, tables were smashed along with faces and heads. While there were no fatalities, many were seriously wounded.

Then there was the shot. From behind the bar, four employees had brought out scatter guns and one had fired into the air. "That will be enough ladies and gentlemen! Next person to throw a punch or break anything will get it. Now everyone get up and leave, all money lost or left on tables will cover the cost of damages, NOW GET OUT!!!!"

Well, that was it then. Thomas had just lost what was left of his savings. He went to the code boxes, inserted his card and retrieved his weapons (Weapons were not allowed in the bar for obvious reasons) and walked out into the incessant drab and neon lighting of the Skyplex Bazaar's morning. *Well, another fine mess you have gotten yourself into Thomas.*

He was walking along the street thinking about his next move when he heard someone talking about a ship called the Lunar Veil that had just fired its entire crew. *And fortune has shined upon you again Thomas.* After a couple inquires, Thomas learned of the location of the ship and who to talk to so, he of course made his way straight there.

As he walked up to the ship, he noticed a younger female with blonde hair and a Beret on at the rear of a ship matching the description. *This ought be good, rumpled clothes and a banged up face and knuckles.*

"Excuse me, is this the Lunar Veil? I heard you may be in need of an Engineer."
Boxing day

Dimitri shrugged as he was grounded.

Still promotion, but means lack of resources.

He went to his bunk to poke about for resources. He'd be in cargo long time. He decided to try hand at magnetizing some washers and make detachable trip wire... And maybe pulling bullets, who know.

He bundled these things and klashnikov in blanket and may way to cargo to wait...

"No brother in law's, blyat. What pizdets does look I? I know security"
He dumped unstable prototype onto ground and slid on mask from bundle and fished pliers out of mess. He crossed his heart as he stepped out into the sand and fired shot.

His ears rang as he stumbled back onto the ramp of cargo Bay. Fucking hot.

"Now we have fun"
He sat down and placed pliers in chest pocket, wiping brow.
He popped gate on revolver, pushed ram rod, ejecting shell with a tinkle. He spun barrel and push out other bullet.
"Oppa, careful dimi" he whispered as he took needle nose pliers to tip of bullet. He gripped bullet in other pliers.

Carefully he ripped out bullet head, and set down casing next to him... Powder is for later.
He took empty shell and bullet, push two together, clamp with pliers.

It look perfect.
He empty gun and load dummy round, pull heavy double action trigger...
Click
Hammer is back
Slide
Cylinder touches barrel
Slide
Cylinder rotates....
Click.
Hammer strike dead bullet.

Dimitri laughed hysterically as he wipe brow. He have interrogation in 2 clicks. He marked bullet with spare marker on side. Just extra precaution. Primer was detonated, but still need tell. He slipped bullet into his breast pocket, before turning to his batteries and series of screws, nuts, washers, and bolts.

"Time to secure perimeter"
Better head on back.

Rowan hefted the disassembled base plate of an Alliance ion regulator onto his already burdened sled. He grunted with the effort, the gruff noise matching the furred, bulky silhouette he cast. Most of it was clothing; a necessity in New Kasmir's frigid climes. Breath condensed around his face, adding to the frost that cling to his beard. He took a moment to assess his haul; a few interesting components but mostly it was scrap. He could really do with another run but he was concerned the ‘Old Girl’ was running out of parts to salvage. She loomed behind as a snow covered mound. Its lines of geometry would clash unnaturally against the landscape, were it not for the compounded ice and snow that blended it in with the surroundings. Not many folk took to wandering all that far into the ice fields, so stumbling on the Alliance wreck left over from the war was fortunate for Rowan, who was struggling to find consistent income on this more rural of planets.

Looking to the sky he noted the small, distant glow of the protostar Penglai was reasonably high in the sky. The main Kalidasan sun, however, was beginning to dip downward. There might be time enough to pull out a few more lengths of cabling, but he’d be pushing it... just then his eyes caught the sight of dark shape against the sky. It’d been a loooooong old while since a ship had come into this nowhere town.

“Well that about decides things,” Rowan muttered, slapping his hands together to get some movement in his circulation. “You gonna help me pull this sled, Doodle?”

At the leading end of the salvagers sled, a lump of material shifted until a little furry, white face with a pink nose came to view.

“Hhrfff!” He grunted, as the ferret snuggled back down into her cosy den. “Figured not.”

Digging his chain-wrapped boots into the compacted snow he began the trudging journey back to tow, pulling the weight of his spacecraft bits behind him. There was, he knew, little point having more salvage if it meant missing out selling, and new faces were more likely to be wanting.
Cleaning (Day 2- Early Morning)

Working on a fishing boat Elle was no stranger to those that had fought losing battles with machinery or the environment. Crushed limbs, missing hands and eyes, legs severed by the closing of a line that cut it off as neatly as a wife's fillet knife flicking away a fin; every boat had them what had suffered. There wasn't the social safety net of a Core World to take care of them and they just kept working, making do with what they had left or turned to tasks their new situation allowed them to tackle. Elle had been fortunate to not have suffered an injury but she did struggle with her own shortcoming.

Education. Lack of it. There just hadn't been time for much of it and Elle never took to letters and numbers. Where other kids mastered them Elle mixed them up and didn't understand how it was so easy for everyone else. It was her own problem to deal with, handed down from on high, so she just dealt with it and didn't feel sorry for herself. There were ways to cope.

Like the little yellow wax pencil in her pocket. Every time she dismantled the cover on a duct she drew a square, or a box, or a triangle, or the half moon on the bulkhead beside it and then drew the same thing inside the cover where it wouldn't be seen. That way she could match 'em back up once the cleaning was done. They were filthy, all furry in places with grime and hair and dust. After filling a large tank in the hold with water and some red chemical she'd found that cut grease, Elle took to dumping them in there to soak while she went and got more. Marisol was getting some cleaning equipment and Elle wanted everything ready to go.

Sides, not like she was going out of the ship. That was for folk that had coin and cred and a burning need to be rid of them. Ashore, or dirt side she supposed she needed to start calling it, there was just too many temptations to spend money on and entire storms of trouble to find yourself in. Nope, better to stay and work and make sure when the LV lifted off she was aboard by choice and because her betters what owned the ship thought Elle was a good hand.

Soon enough she had a good pile of vent covers soaking in the tub. There were more to get, a lot more, but she needed room for them. Also some of them were in the cabins of passengers or officers. T'weren't no way Elle was going to go bothering them without Marisol's say so and someone to go with her to make sure she couldn't be accused of stealing nothing. Stuff came up missing and it would be natural to blame the new girl and the outsider. No thank you Little Baby Buddha.

Red water turned black and stained her arms up to the elbows as she scrubbed the vent covers clean. Cleanish. Cleaner anyway. It was easy work and Elle just sort of switched off to let the time pass.
By Cigarette Light

Vas blinked as a kind nun took a seat with him at his little corner of the cargo bay that passed as his haven. “Oh … uh … no not really.” Vas admitted not that he was hurt by this or even bothered. It was a bit of unpleasantness he didn’t people would want to hear after all.

“But really I’m fine. Nothing some sleep and rest can’t fix. Doc gave me a clean bill of health and everything.” He as if he had gotten a gold star next to his name for it. Vas seemed unfazed by it all in spite of his appearance. He was still bruised and lacerated, his nose was straightened and patched but had Lyen now known the full story she could have assumed he had won a prize fight or something.

He was at ease, relaxed in his worn chair. Vas wasn’t a jittery mess or even had that haunted look some might get. Vas smiled, winced touching the sore spot on his nose. “It’s really kind of you thought but there ain’t much to talk about.” He said completely sincere. There was, of course, that small nagging concern of scaring the bijous out of the nun with tales of horror.

Not to assume that she may or may not have been through things but he doubted, slavery, mercenary, wet work and torture would be among them. He was keen enough to know many folk would be off-put not just by the description but the delivery as well.
He lit up another black cigarette but noted her eyed the clove stick. “Did you want one?” He offered the nun. Vas would be the last guy to deny a kindly nun of a harmless vice.
Clue - The Firefly edition pt2

"They still there?" Keller asked, literally almost no time later. Riley curled her upper lip.

"Aye Sir, they haven't left in the past four minutes. But not a move from them. Either they coincidentally charted the same exact course as us to Santos..."

"Or they're tailin' us. " He continued to hover.

"Weren't you going to go ask around? Be subtle?"

"Don't tell me what to do on my own ship, I'll go ask around when I'm good and ready,

"Aye, Sir. Understood." Riley continued to look uncomfortable as the Captain still didn't move.

"I'm good and ready."

"Aye Sir." The Captain asked found the medic and Devron in the galley, a good a place as any to start askin' around.

"You uh... got in another good skirmish there on Persephone, didn't ya?" He asked, settin' out three glasses, and offering whiskey to them both. "Listen, I ain't good at bein' subtle. We got a ship tailin' us ever since we left Persephone. Either of you have an inclination as to why that is? You piss someone off son? Sleep with someone's sister? It's okay, I understand how those things can happen. I just need to know what we're dealing with, and to let you know we might need you down in the engine room, in case they decide to try anything."
Day 1 evening- coincidences

*"Come on you two, cheer up! We're all hiding from something on the Lunar Veil and we'll all find something we're looking for too. Eyes peeled on the shops, we're looking for a lighter."*

Dillon felt his face warm up a bit. Never in his life had he met someone so... Brazen? She was friendly, though. She meant well. He put that smile back on, just for a bit.

"Lighter, huh? I won't tell you how to live your life," he said to Vas. "It just tends to... Urk me when people take their working organs for granted. You do you, but... I'd appreciate if you didn't smoke around me... Weak lungs and all..."

~

*“Boy, you as moon brained as they come. Imani Jat ain’t dead!” He continued to laugh. ”She got herself hurt bad, sure, woman moved off world to some fancy core opera troupe. Doing a whole homecoming thing right here. Last stop of their tour or something like that. Not my thing but's why this place is so packed.” The man waved lazily at the hustle and bustle. “Everyone wants a peek at the Diva from Santo before she flies of ‘n away.” The man had himself a good laugh as he stumbled away to another bar.*

Dillon blinked. He could feel the stun from Vas. He was pleasantly surprised, himself.

"Well, hot damn..." He did some quick thinking. If Vas's mother was so famous now... What if he couldn't get to her? How could Vas get close to her?

He turned, suddenly very seriously to Vas. "You're going to that show." He announced. "I'll get you front row VIP tickets, or whatever it takes."

As he spoke, he noticed something in an alley out of the corner of his eye. Two kids being cornered. "... Aren't those ours?" he asked, his voice suddenly a much less confident tone. He pointed them out.
Day 1 Evening - Lyen, Devron, Riley, Henry

*"Amituofo, Lieutenant Riley. It's nice to meet someone who respects the path." Ly cocked her head. "And may I ask, do many people get stabbed aboard your ship?"*

"More than I care to admit to. " Riley said under her breath. "Over here, we have the galley, you're free to eat your fill, but when the good stuff is gone, we have oatmeal and something called grits if you're allergic to oats. If you're allergic to oats and grits, I'd make sure to bring a supply of whatever it is you can eat. Up there is the bridge, it's where I fly the ship, no disrespect, Ajahn, but I ask that everyone stay outta there. Over this way are the passenger cabins, I'm gonna set you up port side here, rooms ain't much but we make up for it in our lack of hospitality."

*Henry stepped out of his room and locked the door, again, and headed out to find Riley.* He didn't have to look far, because she was giving the 'grand tour.' *Don't we have Deckhands for this? Four goram deckhands, all scattered like roaches, because there's work to be done.*

*"Oh, Lieutenant, about that medic and this rib?" Henry asked feigning pain.*

"Not sure where our doc got off too." Riley said, scratching the back of her neck, so I'll get you squared away in the med bay. Ajahn, please feel free to explore the ship after you're settled, she's your home away from home for now. Just the cockpit, the cargo bay and the crew quarters is off limits to all passengers. If you're somewhere you aren't supposed to be, don't worry. Someone will likely come crying to me about it. Henry, right this way." She ushered him into the med bay.

"I really only have combat first aid, and we didn't come across many cracked ribs in the 99th. Broken noses, black eyes, but that purple belly armor protected ribs pretty good. I'd rather the Dentist set 'em for you, he's the expert. I will, however, give you something for the pain, so you're comforted until he gets here." Riley deftly prepared the needle, flicking the end to make sure any and all air bubbles were removed. "You can roll up your sleeve or drop your drawers, take your pick, just know if it's the latter, I'll be silently rating on a scale of one to ten. Won't knock you out, but I promise, you'll feel no pain."
Cuppa for your thoughts?

There had been very little solace or solitiude in the journey to New Kasmir: the Drog Kyri had made sure of that! As of yet, Lyen hadn't been in the right place or at the right time to introduce herself to the new mechanic nor the grieving widow who kept to her room. But, there was no time like the present. Ly's hands traced the outline of her prayer beads as she rose from her lotus posture on the floor of her cabin.

The captain's shrill alert to be on the look out for droggie-number-eight brought a smile to her face. This place had become home, even in the black, and the addition of the Drog Kyri had made it all the better. She would be sad to see them go, and she expected some of the other crew would feel the same; she had seen the new mechanic, in a somewhat regular fashion, surrender herself to the lolling tongues of the drogs with a smile. It was only in passing, but she gathered the woman took some pleasure, as Ly herself did, in the presence of seemingly bottomless pits of love (ironic though it was that they were bred for a much grimmer purpose).

She was in the galley when she heard Keller's announcement that there were suddenly more drogs on board than when they had left Valentine. That meant puppies! Her demure exterior didn't betray an ounce of excitement, as years of training had taught her to bridle the body and master the mind--attempt to, at least.

Putting the finishing touches on a tray of tea and a toasted slice of soda bread (homemade and slightly dense), Lyen set off toward the widow's cabin, sounding a gentle knock on the door when she arrived.

"Hello, my name is Lyen and I've brought you something to eat. May I come in?" she offered, through the closed door.
Dammit Doctor, I'm not a Doctor

The crew manifest listed 8 crew plus the captain, but two of the crew were currently hidden away. Passing off Lyen as a crew member gave them seven.*Shit, still one unaccounted for.*

"What the hell--" Riley asked asked as the doc came limping up, with a uniformed officer no less. "What the hell!" she repeated more emphatically, her eyes growing wide from seeing the doc with a weapon trained on the woman. "Adler, what the--" she was being redundant, and Adler didn't look in any shape to answer. Riley put his arm around her shoulder, but he was favoring the ribs on that side and slurred out a string of incoherent swears.

Vas came bounding in from the cargo bay, "Alliance on their way. Plenty of them," he announced. *Well, shit.*

"What happened to--"

"Will explain later." Jat said, grabbing the cop.

"You'll explain now!"

"Riley," The captain interrupted. "Alliance is coming, we're two bodies short without Gil and Devron. Lyen's one --"

"You've been promoted to Deckhand." Riley told the lady cop, pushing her off to Vas. Riley traded spots with the policewoman, and Dorian, losing lucidity further, dropped his pistol hit the floor, retrieved quickly by Keller.

"You’re gonna find out….you’re gonna find out…." The doc slurred.

"Easy." Riley soothed, getting him into the med bay.

"Cut you inta bits,” he half sang, half laughed in a raspy voice. “Slice off both your tits…...you’re gonna find out….”

She ignored his singing and set him on the bed. "How bad are you? Adler?" He was closing and opening his eyes slowly. "What happened? Can you tell me what happened? What hurts?" *Maybe something easier?* What's your name?"

"Darrion Adder." he said lazily. "Doctash of denemen" Riley tilted his chin and shined a light in his eyes, dilation, but delayed.

"Okay, Adler, listen, you're rut'd up way out of my league, and we have to get out of this alliance jam, but you'll be okay. Just hang in there for me. I'm gonna put you under and you'll be okay." Adler grabbed her wrist before she could administer the shot.

"Torsemide. Toresinimide." He pointed to his head with the other hand. Riley raised an eyebrow, but followed his gaze to the medicine cabinet. On the third shelf, she found it - "Torsemide." She looked between it and the sedative.

"This is what I should give you?" She asked the man who'd just been croaking a melody of slicing tits off.

"1 cc"

"You best not just be speaking nonsense, Adler. If you cause me to kill you, I'll--" the idle threat paused in her throat. "All right, Torsemide it is."
Anxiety

Things continued to go from bad to worse. Dillon turned the stove off. At the very least, the soup wouldn't burn. He stayed silent by the stove with his arms folded while everything went down.

All he could really do was try not to look disturbed until the screwdriver came into the picture.

His mind scrambled for what to do. Should they be saving an incriminating life, or hiding an incriminating body? What should they do with Dimitri? The little girl? She was the least of his worries.

He held no power in the situation. It wasn't his decision. Hopefully he wouldn't be waiting long for one to be made, his anxiety couldn't take much more drama.
Day 1 Overnight - Coffee and Stew Please

One eye opened, and then the other, to stare at the metal rivets in the ceiling. The sound of celebrating, or fighting, and the smell of food woke Lyen with the chorus of an empty stomach. Coffee, that too, her weakness of course, pulled at her hardest of all.

Feet on the floor, she threw her shawl about her shoulders before cracking the door. She caught the last sight of Riley making her way to what she had mentioned was the off-limits-cockpit, but the noise came from the galley. The galley was full, except for few passing through. The space was intimate, but wide enough for her to make a B-line for the coffee pot, still sputtering, without bumping into anyone. An empty mug by the pot begged to be claimed, so Ly obliged. The brown liquid fired all the right neurons in her brain as she held it to her face.

Her hair was still up, and having slept on it briefly, an errant hand patted at the lopsided mass to suss out how bad the damage was. Letting it down wouldn't have been appropriate in mixed company. A sigh escaped as she sipped her coffee one-handed. On stove and in bowls around the galley, there was stew in no short supply, and it didn't look like anyone was biting yet. She sidled up to a seat, and made eye contact with the man who seemed to be doling.

"May I?" she asked, eye brows raised.
Bubbles?

“Patch,” Marisol’s voice was muffled by a wall of fur. “You’re such a good boy.” The gigantic dog whined pleasure as she nestled his ears. “Okay…okay…thpdth!” she spat at the errant strands which had attached themselves to her face. “I gotta…”

A mild shudder rolled through the deck. Marisol stopped. She listened carefully, but heard nothing. It hadn’t been much. Even the movement of a heavy crate could be the culprit…but none of the deckhands was in sight. “Okay, big guy,” she said to the complaining dog, “I gotta go.”

The mechanic tied back stray wisps of hair as she climbed the steps. A few hasty pats on her coveralls released most of the dog’s dander. Once she felt reasonably cleaned off, she made her way into the engine room.

The data screen showed nothing out of the ordinary. Fuzzy green numbers rose and fell with the minor variations of core temperature and output. The automation log held an item. “Auto-switch to tank two,” Marisol noted, before running comparison numbers on their actual fuel consumption. Again, the results pointed toward nothing of significance. The true burn was well within the margin of her calculations.

“Maybe an air bubble,” she ventured aloud. With the sudden change in mechanics, it was possible that her predecessor didn’t bleed the cells after fueling. That could introduce air bubbles into the fuel line, with such hiccups as the logical result. *No matter,* she thought. Bleeding the tanks while in flight was a simple process…one that she could get started on momentarily.

But for now, it might be wise to study the numbers for any other symptoms. Marisol toggled the image back to the basic performance screen. She pored over the stats as they varied. She laid a palm upon the worktop.

Normal.