Music: You’ll be Loved Again by Cowboy Junkies, clipped for opening. Hopefully I will be able to add a link to music.

Scene opened from blackness. Sun comes up in accelerated shot, revealing a Firefly Transport sitting among wrecks. Song begins

How could he take you in his arms
And help you to be free
Screen changes to split screen, Wyatt face on the left, hand-drawn, slowly changes into that of the real face. On the right, Wyatt stands defiant – drawing his gun, then Wyatt holding a bottle in his room, looking at it like it was an enemy, then Willow and Wyatt arguing and then Wyatt and Dash fighting each other on the deck of the cargo bay.

Then leave you forgotten
And is it enough to cry
When you're so taken.
Screen changes to hand-drawn Dash on left fading to the real face. On the left, Dash at controls of the firefly, looking intent, Dash with rifle in hand, jumping off a roof, and then Dash drawing a gun and shooting the bottle in Wyatt’s hand.

Her cold eyes tell you that you're not welcome
She tells lies but you'll take her back again
Face of Willow, hand-drawn fading to the real. On the left, Willow walking through a crowded bar, everyone stopping to look at her, Willow in the infirmary, crash-carting Asher, Willow with a mischievous smile on catwalk above cargobay.

And is it enough to die
When you're so broken
Kora face hand-drawn fades to real. On left, Kora takes out three men with her bare hands and feet, Kora covered in grease, working on the engine, and then Kora in a frilly dress looking ready to murder someone.

You will be loved again
You will be loved again
Trish’s face hand-drawn to real. On the Left, Trish serving dinner to the crew, Asher and Trish holding each other like mother and son, Trish blasting away with her pink shotgun, hood pulled over head.

But will she sing and will she dance
And will she forever
Asher’s face hand-drawn to real. On the left, Asher fires shotgun, discards it and draws both pistols and fires, Asher talking to Willow as she slides pass him, ignoring him, Asher driving mule in a wide turn with three mules chasing.

But will he sing and will he dance
And will he forever
The Firefly soars across the screen in a slow roll. Scene changes to firefly going to hard burn, light glowing around backend of ship.

Someday you will feel a love so deep
And you will find someone not lost in sleep
A long shot of the inside of the ship, camera slowly rolling backwards. A superimposed ghostly image of a horse running down the length of the ship away from camera. Scene fades to back, then the emblem of the Rocinante forms out of the black.

And you will be loved again
You will be loved again
Final shot of crew gathered at the dinner table, laughing, sharing food and enjoying themselves. Camera pans around to capture each member.

You will be loved again
Screen fades to black.

Crew of The Rocinante Wyatt Sung - Captain of the Ship - Bromern Sal
Samuel “Sam” Dash - Pilot - Eol Felalas
Asher Talhone - Gunslinger (Public Relations) - Blamm
Kora Mei Ling - Mechanic - Lyskhala
Willow Takahara - Medic/Spokesperson - Vanadia

More to come soon. Adventure begins in January.

Wyatt Sung looks out the forward view port of the Rocinante, a Firefly class Transport, at the world of Beaumonde.

Yep. Things could have gone a might smoother
You had landed on the desert side of Bellerophon, a good place to be if you didn’t want a watchful eye upon you. It was there your client had made arrangement for you to drop the shipment. Five large cartons of 2 inch, self sealing Sten bolts –that be 500 of the critters. Very important items, so you were told, if you were mining for liquids or gas, or working without air or underwater. Whatever the reason or the need, you picked them up from his contact on the shady side of Shadow and brought them here. Simple fetch job, avoid the authorites, nice payout. What could go wrong?

As soon as you landed, you knew something was wrong. Both Trish and Kora were feeling that feeling in the gut that you learned meant trouble. Trouble was confirmed, in the form of your client and his work crew all getting a bad case of the dead – murdered that is. So you had no client, and a hold full of cargo with no buyer. Worst yet, for a job that was supposed to pay 1,300 credits, you only got 500 up front. That covered costs but left little profit unless you found someone to buy these Gorram Sten bolts.

Beaumonte was the best bet. Industrial world could have uses for this stuff, and you knew a guy on Beaumonde who could move anything if you gave him enough of a cut. Name was Dodger, and he had friends everywhere and anywhere.

So here you be, looking to land on Beaumonde, lose this freight, get another job and keep flying. At least no one was shooting for you and the cargo wasn’t stamped with Alliance markers. Things could be worse.

Rocinante touches down without incident. Time to get the crew moving on doing what needs to be done, and just as Wyatt turns to grab the mike for the intercom, he spots something out of the corner of his eye.

Sitting on the pad next to the Rocinante is a Dragonfly class with an emblem of two dice on a crap table – The Royale written across it. The ship has certainly seen better days. The starboard thruster looks like it has exploded from the inside out. The back engines are blackened and there seems to be extensive fire damage. He ain’t going anywhere soon, and it’s a thing to wonder how he got it to land as it was.

Dash looks over Wyatt’s shoulder, “Ain’t that Griffith’s ship?”

“Yep”

“Doesn’t he owe you money?”

“Yep. He does at that.”

DM’s Note - Okay, chance to do introduction posts before we start. Things you need to do on Beaumonde – Contact Dodger, sell the Cargo, get a new job, and see Griffith about the money he owes you. The local watering hole is a place called Idoru and you'd bet on Griffith being there. Dodger has his office on the east side of town.

Payment was way too high. I fixed

The docking pad on Beaumonde was hot and teaming with activity as Kora stepped onto the ramp and took a deep breath. The air wasn’t the best but at least it was fresh. She stretched her bare arms over her head and released a small sigh of happiness for the freedom the stop had provided. Taking a moment to survey her surroundings she saw a couple of other ships docked close by. The one that caught Kora's eye was on the pad next door. It was a Dragonfly class and had the name “Royale” tattooed on it’s side. “Gorram! Glad I don’t have to fix that thing!” she muttered to herself as she looked wide eyed at the damaged vessel wondering where and how it could have sustained all that mutilation. “hmmm…maybe I don’t wanna know” she thought as she absently picked up her toolbox.

Asher, who had just finished up grub duty made himself comfortable by leaning against the mule with his arms crossed over his chest. A toothpick hung out of one side of his mouth and his eyes were closed. His blonde hair tousseled as if he had just crawled out of bed. Occasionally he would lift one eyelid to see if Kora was done with her inspection. She knew he was anxious to get the shopping done so he could unwind at the local waterin’ hole. She smiled slightly at the sight…”Typical” she thought. “Just like Ash to not offer a hand” Asher wasn’t lazy, he was, as she was fond of saying “undermotivated” at least until it came time to eat. “That kid can put some grub away” she mused to herself, “but, he is a growing boy” she reasoned and turned to focus her attention on the ship.

Softly humming a favorite tune, she took the better part of an hour opening all the hatches and panels to check for leaks and broken wiring. The last couple of missions hadn’t gone well and the Rocinante ended up taking some heat. Not as much as the Royale she grinned, thanks to Sam’s quick reflexes and drivin’ skills but she wanted to make sure everything was in working order before they set out again even if it meant she had to forego the idea of spending some hard earned credits and time on a clean room with hot running water she didn’t have to share.

She was pleased to find the only problem was an inoperative running light and after closing all the hatches and panels got busy fixing it. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of a greasy hand as she removed the shield and retrieved the lamp. “SHINY! she said with a satisfied grin. “Now if I can get this replaced without gettin’ humped on the price we’ll be in business”

She was just finishing up when Wyatt and Sam departed the ship and made their way toward the Royale. Wyatt tipped his hat in greeting and as usual, Sam made a comment about how sexy she looked in grease. She responded with a sarcastic grin and a comment Sam couldn’t make out.
Kora knew Sam didn’t mean any harm, he was just bein’ Sam. Since her arrival, she and the cocky pilot had developed a close relationship despite their constant bickering. She thought of him as a brother who was relentess in teasin’ her and she was probably the closet thing he had ever had to a sister. He had been instrumental on several occasions in bringing her back to reality after having had a flashback from her former black ops days. He was truly a good friend no matter how annoying he could get.

Still grinning from the humor Sam had provided she lazily ran her slender fingers along the nooks and crannies of the well worn metal as if petting a thoroughbred. She spoke softly to the ship as she took one final look at the landing gear and outer surfaces. “Looking pretty good old friend. Hope I hold up as well as you have” Patting the metal gingerly as if to say “later” she wiped down the tools with an old t-shirt she carried specifically for the job and placed them gingerly back into the toolbox. “Now, let’s see about getting myself cleaned up and finding some nice new parts for you.”

Wyatt had stood over Sam’s shoulder while the other man had guided Rocinante through the landing maneuvers that brought them portside of Beaumonde; not because he didn’t trust the pilot, or that he was checking his work. Far from it. Sam was perhaps the person Wyatt trusted most in the ‘Verse with Rocinante and his life, sometimes even more so than himself. Quite the contrary of that perception, Wyatt Sung stood over Sam watching the progress of the landing because he was feeling a mite antsy.

The captain of Rocinante, a firefly class caravel, couldn’t dislodge the notion that things were about to go even further south than they already had. It was never a good sign when you showed up for payday and find your employer caught with their pants down around dead. The pay-off they’d received would barely cover fuel and docking fees, and for the captain of a hungry crew, that was never a promising thing.

“These things’ll come in threes, Sam,” Wyatt had said ominously when they’d stood in the desert heat of the open air at the meet, weapons in hand while Willow’d checked for any survivors. It was something Sung believed whole-heartedly and he couldn’t help the position he now held while looking over Dash’s shoulder at the landing pad as they secured their place among the rest of the space cowboys that’d decided they had pressing business on this rock.

When the ride was over Wyatt slapped his friend on the left shoulder and grabbed the microphone to make the customary announcement to the crew.

“Well, folks. We’re touched down, so there’s some things we’ve got t’ secure ‘fore we all go runnin’ off t’ the nearest waterin’ hole. I’d appreciate yer help in a few matters, if’n y’all don’t mind none.

“Trish, if’n y’ll stay aboard fer a shift, I guarantee ya some shoreleave should ya be wantin’ it later,” Wyatt knew the older woman wasn’t likely to take him up on the offer, but he made it as was customary just the same. “Kora an’ Asher, if’n you’d be so kind as t’ get some grub set up, I’m bettin’ that Trish’ll have a list o’ groceries fer ya. Sam an’ Willow an’ me’ll see if we can’t get somethin’ set up with Dodger so this whole thing weren’t such a big bust.

“Ya gots any questions, y’all know where I am.”

Hanging the microphone back up on its hook, Wyatt felt Dash rise out of his seat and look over his shoulder.

“Ain’t that Griffith’s ship?”

Well, ain’t that strange? Wyatt frowned a little and tipped his hat back as he looked the Royale over. The luck of it… maybe it’ll cancel out the pendin’ streak, but what the hell happened t’ ‘er? “Yup.”

“Doesn’t he owe you money?”

“Yup. He does at that.” From the looks of Royale, it don’t look like he’ll be up fer payin’ it though.
Wyatt gave the situation some considering before giving Sam another pat on the shoulder. “Grab yer gear. I’d like a little good news ‘fore the meet with Dodger. I’ll see ya in the bay.”

Striding from the cockpit, Wyatt made his way into the small room between the bridge and the fore deck, slid down the stairs using only the rails and his hands, then set off down the hall to the ladder leading to the crew dorms.

“Willow,” he called to her without using the com and pounded on the bulkhead for added attention-grabbing.

(OOC: response; I’ll backpost if necessary).

“Try an’ git a meet set up with Dodger will ya? Royale’s docked next door an’ she looks a bit worse fer the wear. Dash ‘n me’re gonna go see if Griffith’s hangin’ somewhere’s about. The jien huo owes me some cash-funds that might just turn this gorram mess int’ something shiny… maybe.”

(OOC: response; again I’ll back post if necessary).

“Thanks,” Wyatt was already swinging down the ladder to his quarters as he spoke. “Yer a peach.”

Wyatt’s room had once been a disaster of interior decorating with a mixture of art deco and Asian form that had nearly driven him back off the ship when he’d first arrived. That was a long time ago, and now, as Wyatt went to his dresser to retrieve his gun belt, the captain barely took notice of what had become his home in its Asian/Western mix of decoration. Buckling on the handgun so that it hung low on his right thigh, Sung tied it about his leg, then pulled his brown duster on about his shoulders and fastened another holster rig over the top of that. His shotgun went into the back holster and a combat knife was tucked into his back waistline underneath the coat. Readjusting his hat, Wyatt took a look at himself in the mirror once quickly before jogging up the ladder to the fore deck again. Within a minute he’d made his way to the rear door.

Kora was already at work checking Rocinante when he arrived, and Dash was waiting for him as well. Asher was hanging out near the mule waiting for Kora to finish so they could go shopping (it was nice having two people on board who could handle negotiations), and Trish was there with him. Wyatt gave Sam a nod and then strode out to the landing pad giving Kora a tip of the hat brim on his way. Making his way about the nose of Rocinante, Wyatt moseyed, not appearing to be in too big of a hurry and not moving too slowly.

“Ya think luck travels t’ those ya know, Sam?” Wyatt casually said as Royale drew closer. “I mean, things happen in threes, right? So, what if our li’l problem rubbed off on Griffith?” Wyatt raised his eyebrows when another thought hit him. “Or what if his rubbed our way? Mei yong ma duh tse gu yong! If that wong ba duhn brought me an’ mine bad luck, I’ll kill ‘im. I swear it, Sam. I’ll wipe the gorram deck with ‘is scalp.” Though the litany of threats was uttered, it was obvious that the captain didn’t really think of his friend Griffith as he’d referred to him, nor was there any doubt that it wasn’t likely he’d kill the man… unless, of course, Griffth did, in fact, bring bad luck down on what Wyatt considered his own.

(OOC: will respond to Dash if needed.)

“Hey!” Sung called out as he reached Royale’s door. “Grif! You feh feh pi goh! You home?”

“First floor,” Dash smirked as he delicately tugged back on Rocinante’s yoke and set the Firefly down on the landing pad, “hootin’, hollerin’, hooch, an’ hookers! Evr’body off.” He released the controls and let the stick slip back into its cradle even as the ship’s forward gear was still settling. “Ya notice, Cap,” he grinned as his fingers skipped across the consoles surrounding him and brought the boat’s systems down to portside norms, “I didn’t say third floor?”

Wyatt slapped him on the shoulder and reached for the mic and commenced to welcoming the crew to beautiful, scenic Beaumonde. If it had been any other man besides Wyatt standing behind him – especially hovering over him as he had during the landing routine – Sam likely would have come unhinged. There weren’t many folk in the Verse that Rocinante’s pilot trusted to any degree and most of those he did trust to any extent still knew better than to stand, walk, or so much as breathe behind his back. The captain of the boat, though, was a different tale in the tellin’. Fact of it was that if Dash trusted anybody in the Verse at all it was Wyatt Sung, so the man didn’t get the invitation to leave offered on the business end of a hogleg that most would have. He did get the little jab about things comin’ in threes, though; that slap on the shoulder was a little rougher than the usual, nice parkin’ nudge.

Dash chuckled softly, turned and rose out of his seat as Wyatt finished passing out the chores when he noticed the Royale berthed on the next pad over. “Ain’t that Griffith’s ship,” he asked, peering over Wyatt’s shoulder to get a better look at the Dragonfly.

“Yup,” Wyatt replied.

“Don’t he owe you money?” Could be a good turn for us if’n he’d be so kind as to pay up, Sam thought rubbing a hand across his stubbled cheek, but, if Grif’s as haggard as ‘is ship, I don’t reckon that’ll pan out none. Don’t reckon it’ll count a tally aginst Wyatt’s three, neither, gorram it!
“Yup. He does at that.”

The Captain seemed to contemplate the other ship for a while, then turned and patted Sam on the shoulder, again. “Grab yer gear,” he said, “I’d like a little good news ‘fore the meet with Dodger. I’ll see ya in the bay.”

“Roger that, Cap,” Sam nodded, tugging at the edge of his bandana, “Some good news sounds plum shiny after that mess on Bellerophon. Be with ya in two shakes.” With that and another stretch to loosen the muscles in his back and shoulders, Sam strode from the bridge, kicked open the hatch to his bunk and slid down the ladder. Finding their client and his crew laid low back on Bellerophon had gotten Rocinante’s pilot on the tingly side of twitchy and Wyatt’s warning of things coming in threes hadn’t helped to ease that off any… between there and here, in fact, Sam had started to wonder if the Alliance or that Go Neong Yung Duh Phoenix hadn’t set all that up as a warning to him that they were getting close to having him in the bag. To make matters worse, with the client getting himself dead and all, that meant the overhead on this run was already suffering and unless Dodger came up with a right sweet connection, there wasn’t gonna be the pay off from this job that they’d all counted on and, if that’s the way it worked out, there was like to be a sight more sittin’ and a might less movin’. I’d ruttin’ hate havin’ to sit still on this rock…too many gorram folk moseyin’ about fer comfort an’ peace o’ mind!
All this and more ran through Dash’s mind as he strapped on his gunbelt and lashed the holster to his thigh. He drew the heavy pistol and checked the cylinder to make sure that he was packing full iron and then made sure to stock the belt with plenty of extra rounds, just in case. Next, sitting on the edge of his bunk, he checked the combat knife sheathed in his right boot and tucked one of his derringers into the left – the small pistol’s twin found it’s way into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back after he got to his feet again. His whiskey-colored eyes were drawn to the shotgun that hung on the wall nearby and, for an instant, he considered taking that with him, too, but figured that Wyatt’d be likely to give him some guff about taking the scattergun on a social call. Instead, he reached for the denim jacket that shared a hook with the SPAS30 and shrugged it on, obscuring most of the silver lettered Chwee Ni Duh scrawled across the front of his black t-shirt as well as the faint but still tell-tale bulge made by the derringer stuffed into the waist of his tattered jeans. “Good ‘nuff,” he snorted tugging at the bottom of his jacket before he climbed back out of the tiny room, “let’s go make some money.”

As Sam slid down the railing of the steps into the cargo bay he caught sight of Asher hanging out by the mule and offered the boy a nod. “What’s happenin’, kid,” he grinned as he sprang off the railing and landed with a clang on the deck, “ya waitin’ on Kora ta get done givin’ Rocinante the ol’ turn yer head an’ cough ‘fore ya shin out?”

(OOC: Assuming a positive response… backposts as needed…)

“Yeah, well, ya know how she likes ta make plumb sure I ain’t humped nothin’ in flight ‘fore she conjures doin’ anythin’ else,” he chuckled. Then, his eyes slid to Trish and he offered the mute woman a friendly nod; “Ni How, Ma…”

He was about to ruffle Ash’s feathers by asking Trish to make sure that “her boy” didn’t spend all the grocery money on bullets but, before he could launch the half-joking request, Wyatt clipped down the stairs and offered a nod, indicating he was ready to go. “Ya’ll stay frosty,” he called back as he followed the Captain out of the bay and onto the landing pad, “We’ll be back ‘fore supper.”

He saw Wyatt tip his hat to Kora and followed the man’s gaze to where the woman was perched on Rocinante’s hull. Shading his eyes, Sam too peered up at the mechanic and watched as she sealed up an access panel. “Rung Tse Song Di Ching Dai Wuo Tzo,” he hollered at her, “What’d I break this time, Mei Mei?”

(OOC: Again, response as you see fit… etc…)

“Nothin’?!” he chuffed in mock disbelief at the woman’s reply, walking backwards as he kept pace with Wyatt, “Mi Tian Gohn! I’ll try harder next time out, darlin’. I know how ya hate ta be bored. ‘Sides, yer damn sexy smeared in grease an’ sech… it’s ruttin’ inspirin’!”

Sam’s gaze swept the length and breadth of the docks as Kora shouted something back and he turned to face in the direction he and Wyatt were headed. As they rounded the nose of the Firefly and Royale came into view, he gave a low whistle as his attention was drawn to the ragged pieces of scrap that at one time was the dragonfly’s starboard thruster. The thing looked like it had exploded from the inside out and, unless things were goin’ right smooth for Griffith, indicated to Sam, at least, that the Cap wasn’t likely to see that debt paid back this go ‘round.

“Ya think luck travels t’ those ya know, Sam?” Wyatt casually said as Royale drew closer.

Sam tore his eyes from the ruined thruster and glanced at his friend but didn’t reply right off. Wyatt hadn’t taken a deep enough breath to have been done talking just yet.

“I mean, things happen in threes, right? So, what if our li’l problem rubbed off on Griffith?” Wyatt raised his eyebrows when another thought hit him. “Or what if his rubbed our way? Mei yong ma duh tse gu yong! If that wong ba duhn brought me an’ mine bad luck, I’ll kill ‘im. I swear it, Sam. I’ll wipe the gorram deck with ‘is scalp.”

He offered a knowing grin at the captain’s threats, certain that he didn’t really mean any of what he said about Griffith. “I reckon it’s possible, Wyatt,” Sam answered as they strolled into the shadow of the dragonfly, “Had a shepherd tell me once that ever’thin’ in the Verse touches ever’thin’ else sooner or later an’ folk ain’t as far apart as they care ta think. Course, he was probably goin’ on more ‘bout souls an’ crap like that, but twouldn’t surprise me none if luck worked the same way.”

“Truth of it is, Puhn Yoh,” he added as they reached the door, “I don’t like ta think about it overmuch… If’n that’s the way it works, we’re probably good’n humped right now. We’ve got a cargo without a buyer an’ Grif’s got a busted boat an’ here we are sidled up agin each other just swappin’ bad juju like we was grapplin’ with hookers on nickel night at the whorehouse. If the mi tian gohn does come in threes like ya say, let’s hope that Grif got the last two an’ things’ll be jahn for us from here on out, get me? I ain’t got no beef with ol’ Grif gettin’ the stinky end of the poop-stick if that’s the way it works.”

As Wyatt called out, announcing their arrival at the Royale’s door, Sam stayed a few steps behind, his hand never drifting far from the butt of his pistol, and continued his wary scan of the docks as the Cap waited for someone to answer…

(OOC: Keepin' a twitchy eye on the Cap's back, of course, but Sam'll keep up his end of the conversation... )

The measured cadence of Pachabel’s Canon drifted through the scented air of Willow’s room, the soft strings and flute seeming to caress the sheer silk draperies hung about to soften the cold angularity of steel walls. Willow was about to perform a delicate operation, and it needed a clear mind, calm nerves and steady hands. A timeless hour in the lotus position had helped with mind and nerves, and brushing her hair out with one hundred brush strokes had steadied her hands with its soothing, repetitive motion.

She stared down at the clean instruments arrayed on the white cloth before her and took a few last cleansing breaths. At the moment of complete and utter readiness, one hand plucked the implement from the table, the other stretched her left eyelid into a straight edge, and the false eyelash was glued into place. Matching the right set of lashes perfectly, she gave them a test flutter as she checked the results in the mirror.

“There we are! They can put a man on every moon between here and the back end of nowhere, but eyelash enhancement hasn’t changed since my granny’s day! Where are the priorities, I ask?” she murmured at the tiny Buddha in his shrine beside her mirror, and patted his belly indulgently before finishing her elaborate eye makeup.

Her timing was precise, as she had just finished all the tasks that required delicacy before Dash touched down on Beaumont, light as a feather. She stood up and stepped back from the mirror to review the entire result critically, turning this way and that, and nodded with some satisfaction. Dodger was a Rastafarian, and like many of the men from the long lost Caribbean islands, he appreciated fine booty over long legs or ample cleavage. With that in mind, Willow had chosen the deep maroon salmar kameez over sheer wrapped dulpatta pants. The long tunic looked demure enough for walking through town, with its long sleeves and high beaded neckline, but the precise fit of the tunic and the iridescence woven into the textile caused a shimmering glow around the curve of hips and buttocks in what she hoped would be a highly distracting manner. With her hair up in elaborate coils around the butterfly hairpin and the sheer dupatta draped as a veil, Willow would look all lady, but her walk would be pure woman.

“Willow,” Wyatt called from immediately outside her door, and before she could respond, pounded on the bulkhead in what passed in the Sung household for politeness.

Muttering a quick prayer of thanks that she’d already finished with eyeliner, Willow pressed a finger to the small frown line starting to appear between shaped brows, willing it back into smoothness. “Yes, Captain?” she called back out musically, thumbing the com open, “You bellowed?”

“Try an’ git a meet set up with Dodger will ya? Royale’s docked next door an’ she looks a bit worse fer the wear. Dash ‘n me’re gonna go see if Griffith’s hangin’ somewhere’s about. The jien huo owes me some cash-funds that might just turn this gorram mess int’ something shiny… maybe.”

Willow rolled her eyes at the mirror and shook her head with one part affection and three parts exasperation. She’d had ten days of burn from Bellephore to plan her dealing with Dodger, and Captain was asking her to arrange the meeting now. At least he does not tell me how to sew up wounds…
“Dodger has already accepted my request to visit…anytime after sundown will do…and do give my regards to Griffith…he’s a dear. “

“Thanks,” Wyatt was already stomping away from the com as he spoke. “Yer a peach.”

“Oh, yes, my dear Captain,” Willow murmured to herself as she thumbed off the com port, “ I am a complete peach…fuzzy bits and all.” She laughed merrily and turned to her array of perfume bottles. Some of them were sadly getting low, but there was enough Blue Sun No 5 for a light touch at wrists, nape of neck and the backs of knees…maybe there’d be time to hit the triplex and pick up some supplies….

Willow hummed happily to herself as she continued the thousand small abulations that a natural beauty needed to be presentable in fine company.

Asher was all set and rarin’ t’ go a half hour ‘fore the Roc landed. The lad was more than a bit excited at the prospect of puttin’ his feet on some dirt. It wasn’t that he didn’t like life on the Roc – he surely did. Cap’n and the crew were mighty nice folk and, well, the Roc was like a second home.

But sometimes… sometimes, ya just, ya know, need t’ have yer feet planted on dirt instead of steel. Sometimes, ya just need to see a sun set on the horizon. And sometimes, it’s just good t’ breathe fresh air.

Well… freshish air. Asher reminded himself.

The lad had even dressed up a bit fer the occasion – put on his duster and hat and special, fancy, double holster, gun slingin’ belt with the mighty nice silver buckle. He’d even polished up Leah and Rachel, his precious twin six-shooters, fer their time out on the town.

Yep… he was all rarin’ t’ go and ready fer action when the Roc touched down. So, it should come as no surprise that the lad was more than a bit disappointed when Cap’n came over the speaker, sayin’ Kora and the Kid were on groceries.

Again, it’s not like Asher had somethin’ against shopping, ‘cept fer maybe it seemed a little more like women’s work. And the boy surely did like t' eat. It’s just that Asher liked t’ be where the action was and, well, there just wasn’t a whole lot of action found in pickin’ up food stuffs and supplies.

While Kora worked outside, giving the Roc her lovin’ once over, Asher busied himself with gettin’ some crates and stuff bags together… things they’d be needin' for shopping. When Cap’n and Dash strode on by, packing more than a little steel, the Kid couldn’t help but notice.

“That there be more than a little steel there, Cap’n. Ya look like yer expectin’ t’ see some action. Sure ya don’t want an extra set of hands?” Asher asked eagerly.

[Tag: Sung]

[OOC: I stopped it here. If Sung takes Asher along, super. If not, Asher will busy himself with getting a grocery/ supply list from Trish, and waiting for Kora.]

“That there be more than a little steel there, Cap’n. Ya look like yer expectin’ t’ see some action. Sure ya don’t want an extra set of hands?”

Asher’s words gave Wyatt the briefest pause. Willow had already arranged the meet with Dodger, but that was to be expected, just as it was to be expected that the doc’d spend the majority of the rest of the afternoon prettyin’ herself up. Kora could certainly handle any trouble that came her way shopping for groceries, and judging by the damage Royale had taken recently Wyatt couldn’t be sure Griffith was even in possession of the ship anymore. He had no idea what trouble might be waiting for him and Dash dockside, and the triple play he was sure was pending could come crashing down on their heads at anytime. In fact, the Royale being there was mighty suspicious… almost too good to be true.

“Aight, Asher,” Wyatt said as he continued by. “Keep the iron strapped though. Leastwise ‘til I says there’s need t’ skin it. Dohn-luh-mah.

Kora, ya gots the provisionin’ detail on yer own, girl. Be back ‘ere in time t’ join us fer the meet though.”

(OOC: Carrying on to the end of the last post unless there’s more conversation, then I’ll backpost.)

The docks are crowded with the usual assortment of equipment, freight containers and dockworkers. Steam vents from numerous sources and the wafting smell of waste tank antiseptic fills the air.

Kora and Asher look over the Rocinante with experienced eyes. Nothing major was wrong or fallen off, but there were things here and there that showed signs of wear. The coaxial on the main buffer panel was fraying, the secondary compressor coils was overheated, the waste influx gasket was barely holding together and the list went on and on. This was all part and parcel of the flying a ship package, the regular maintenance. However, with the job going south and Wyatt needing to refuel, perhaps a bit of duct tape medicine would be needed this time around. Hopefully the lean time wouldn’t last long.

Wyatt bashed hard on the hull of Royale as Dash looks on. The senior dockworker, an older gentleman in grey overall and a red vest denoting rank, came over with a smile, “No one is in there Captain! She’s locked up tighter than Tai-kong suo-yo duh shing-chiou sai-jin wuh duh pee-goo.”

(Assuming some question as to where Griffith is and the nature of the ship)

“Captain Griffith is over at the Idoru. He wasn’t too pleased about some of his crew abandoning him after this incident. Plum bad luck though. Royale sucked a cry-baby into its starboard engine. Probably would have just chewed it up and spit it out except whoever rigged the crybaby, put a surprise inside. Must have been a fair amount of explosives to do the damage it did. Pilot must have been some TZOO-foo to get it down on the ground safely.”

As the chief tells the tale, a patrol of 6 alliance soldiers moves though the docking area where you are talking. They are armed, but guns are in holsters or shouldered and they seem to be searching for something. Their attention is focus on the ground, and they are focusing on areas around freight bins and boxes. Two of the soldiers have motion detecting scanners that they stare at intently into as they search. They move a few boxes around, moving back and forth in a sweeping pattern.

The Chief shakes his head as they pass, and calls out, “You sure I can’t help you find something sir?”

The Sergeant looks over to him and shakes his head, “No thanks Citizen.”

“You seem to be looking for something small.” The chief laughs and shoots a look to you.”

“Does it?” the Sarge laughs as well, “I wouldn’t be asking too many questions about our small matter then Chief, Dong ma?”. He replies in a friendly tone but one that carries a warning.

The chief put his hands up in mock surrender “Wuo DWAY-nee BOO-woon, boo-JEN, then. Just trying to help.”

The Sarge grins and nods as the patrol moves on to the next section of the dock.

***

Inside Willow’s quarters, she hears someone knock lightly at her door and the descend the steps. She turns to see Trish is there, dress in her usual draping cloak and voluminous hood. The older woman nods to Willow as she turns, offering a note between her fingers.

GM's note - I have more to add but I wanted to get something up for everyone.

Wyatt glanced at Dash, then Asher, when given the news of Griff’s crew disbanding. Ship crews usually develop a sense of family and Griff’s had bee no different as far as Wyatt could recall. And someone rigging a crybaby like that… any pilot worth their weight in salt could have avoided a crybaby in the black unless something was really pushing them.

He was about to lead the other two away from the ship to the Idoru when the interaction with the Feds took place. Wyatt watched with minor amusement until a thought came to bear. What if they’re lookin’ fer something ‘avin’ t’ do with Griff?
“C’mon, boys,” Wyatt said in a quiet voice while the dockworker chuckled his commentary. “Time t’ see if’n ol’ Griff’s been sharin’ his luck, er if’n he’s sharin’ ours.”

That said, Wyatt led the way to the Idoru.

(Cathy didn't have time to post before leaving, hopefully she won't mind me hijacking her character)

Edited by Vanadia
“C’mon, boys,” Wyatt said in a quiet voice while the dockworker chuckled his commentary. “Time t’ see if’n ol’ Griff’s been sharin’ his luck, er if’n he’s sharin’ ours.”

“Captain San!” Willow calls to Wyatt from the Cargo bay doors, “Before you boys go off and leave us ladies unescorted and unattended, there is one small matter.”

Willow walks across the docking bay to stand close to Wyatt. As she does, every man within sight of her stops to watch, and one of the soldiers almost drops his motion scanner as he walks directly into a shipping crate. To say Willow was unaware of this attention would be unfair, to say she didn’t enjoy it would be out and out lying.

“Captain Sahib, Trish has given me a grocery list longer than my arm, and wants to know if we could get more than half of what we need, or if it is protein paste for here on.” Willow looks at the list in her hand in mock dismay, “Personally I might die if I can’t have Trish’s fresh Bao, but we must make do. Not all of us are hearty adventuring folk.” She stopped to shift her outfit back into perfect positioning, beaming a playful smile at Asher as he watched. “Would you mind floating some money my way dear, so I might go with Kora to pick up provisions?” She asked politely while her eyelashes fluttered at a passing soldier.

Pardon the editing, but Willow flirts with everyone BUT the captain

(You can still post to the going on before. I just want to move us ahead so we don't stagnant.I will post for Kora and Willow at the market when I find out how much they have to spend)

Across the street and down an alley, The Idoru was a gambling establishment, located under the building that housed the HVAC of the spacedock. It was a rough and tumble type of place that drew a crowd from those who preferred a drink without rubbing elbows with authorities or alliance militia.

Down a iron stairwell to a gun check (run by an attractive young lady whose choice in outfits was determined by how much cleavage she could show) where no one checked their guns, but a man could get other aspects of his manliness checked. Beyond that was a bar in the back, many tables set up for those who like to drink, and then to the right, the card tables were set up.

Griffith wasn’t hard to spot, wearing his beat up brown wide-brimmed hat and long grey and white hair out the back (Keith Carradine as Bill Hickok in Deadwood). He was sitting at the poker table, with a surprisingly large stack of chips before him. As you approach he lays down a full house Aces over 8’s. The other players toss their cards down in disgust as the man happily pulls the pile to him to sort into his own. Then he looks up and sees you. His eyes were gleeful for a moment, then his face drops, as he looks to his stack, back to you, back to the stack, and then back to you. Then the smile returns to his face.

“Wyatt Sung! You gao yang jong duh goo yang!” he says with a laugh, “It is good to see you! My luck is turning.” He motions to the dealer to hold his winning and gets up, extending his hand to shake yours. “What brings you to Beaumonde my friend?”

“No one is in there Captain! She’s locked up tighter than Tai-kong suo-yo duh shing-chiou sai-jin wuh duh pee-goo.”

Dash glanced in the direction of the dock chief as the older man approached Wyatt and replied to the captain’s unspoken question regarding the crew with a curiously quirked brow and a faint shrug… We’ll be off ta th’ Idoru, I reckon, he thought, knowing that would be Cap’s next move.

His gaze drifted over Royale again, lingering on the destroyed thruster for a long moment… How in th’ hell do ya not miss a crybaby?... before panning the length and breadth of the dock. He had hooked his thumbs over his gunbelt and was pondering how even the dumbest of autopilot programs should have been able to avoid something that obvious when the Alliance patrol showed up. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and one hand drifted instinctually towards his iron as he nervously scanned each face in the patrol (he didn’t figure to find a familiar face among the group but, for some reason, he always expected it). At the same time, he had stepped back a pace or two into Royale’s shadow and positioned himself as to keep a wary eye on the Purple Bellies but keep himself out of their direct line of sight. Gorram it, Wyatt! Ya had ta go an’ put the rule o’ threes out there, din’t ya? He listened intently to the exchange between the Sergeant and he dock chief, mumbling something about the standard Alliance BS and politics as the soldier warned the chief against asking too many questions.

“C’mon, boys,” Wyatt said. “Time t’ see if’n ol’ Griff’s been sharin’ his luck, er if’n he’s sharin’ ours.”

Paranoia aside, it didn’t appear that the Alliance patrol had an interest in him; nevertheless, Dash made sure to keep Wyatt and the Kid between himself and the purple bellies. “Ku,” Dash nodded, grinning as he fell into step beside the Cap. “I could stand a beer an’ I wouldn’ hate seein’ somethin’ nekkid.”

“Captain San!” Dash couldn’t help but grin wickedly as Willow appeared on Rocinante’s ramp and cooed all pretty-like to Wyatt about the provisioning run.

Ai ya! Speakin’ of… Course, I’d prob’ly go blind if’n I was ta get so lucky… His stomach growled as Willow mentioned the fresh Bao that Ma was famous for whipping up when food stores were plentiful. It wasn’t exactly a t-bone steak but damn was it good. The way things had been going, though, Sam was pretty sure that there wasn’t going to be a whole lot of extra scrap to fill out Trish’s grocery list. Nevertheless, he cast a quick, hopeful glance in Wyatt’s direction as he answered the lovely Doc…

((OOC: Backposts and/or edits as necessary of course.))

**********

The Idoru was Sam’s kind of place – a dark, rough and tumble little hole where a fella’d be hard pressed to find a lawman of any sort let alone an Alliance goon. The fact that they didn’t actually lock up your iron at the guncheck didn’t hurt none either. “Ni how, ladies,” Sam purred, his gaze trained on the attending girl’s ample cleavage more than on her pretty face, “how’s the mountain climbin’ round these parts?”

The guncheck girl offered an immodest… no… downright suggestive smile as she ushered them past the checkpoint. “If you’ve got any money left later, honey,” she replied, coyly fingering the neckline of her blouse, “you come back and find out.”

“Damn,” Dash grinned, still ogling the girl, “talk like that’s like ta make me spend all my money!”

His gaze didn’t linger overlong, though, and as he and Asher strode into the bar-proper in Wyatt’s wake, the pilot’s eyes swept appraisingly over the scattering of patrons. “Ya up to a drink, Kid,” he asked Asher after completing a visual circuit of the place, picking out Griffin (and not failing to notice the large stack of chips piled in front of him) as well as a few other faces that pinged against his twitchy nature. “I won’t tell Ma,” he promised jokingly as he edged towards the bar.

((OOC: Good enough for now, I suppose… Dash is heading for the bar not just to get a drink but also to ensure he keeps an “extra angle” on the place while Wyatt has his chitty-chat with Grif.))

(OOC: Backpost)

“Captain Sahib, Trish has given me a grocery list longer than my arm, and wants to know if we could get more than half of what we need, or if it is protein paste for here on.” Willow looks at the list in her hand in mock dismay, “Personally I might die if I can’t have Trish’s fresh Bao, but we must make do. Not all of us are hearty adventuring folk.” She stopped to shift her outfit back into perfect positioning, beaming a playful smile at Asher as he watched. “Would you mind floating some money my way dear, so I might go with Kora to pick up provisions?” Willow asked politely while her eyelashes fluttered at a passing soldier.

Wyatt paused and glanced over his shoulder, his mind going over the little bit of credits they had left and those crates sitting in the cargo hold. Taking a deep breath he sighed. They really couldn’t afford much right now, but hopefully after the trip to the Idoru that would change.

“Ya got sixty credits fer now,” Turning back towards the Royale, Wyatt muttered under his breath, “Let’s be hopin’ that fer now is all it is.”

---

Wyatt couldn’t help but smile a little at Dash’s bravado once they stepped inside the mood-setting tavern. Sure, the girls were inviting, but to the captain of Rocinante, there’d never be another Eden, nor would the holes left in his heart be filled by anything… not anything. Willow had actually helped him come to grips with that. Ambling down the stairs Wyatt scanned the room in search of Griff. Wyatt spotted him just in time to witness his winning hand.

Sung gave Dash and the Kid a nod as they peeled away, heading for the bar and then he moseyed on over to where his friend sat. Pushing his coat back, Wyatt hooked his thumbs in his belt just over the buckle and peered down at Griffith from underneath the brim of his own hat, noting the shifting gaze between him and the winnings.

“Wyatt Sung! You gao yang jong duh goo yang!” Griffith says with a laugh, “It is good to see you! My luck is turning.” He motions to the dealer to hold his winning and gets up, extending his hand to shake yours. “What brings you to Beaumonde my friend?”

“Guess you could say it was luck as well, Griff.” Wyatt gripped his hand in a firm, friendly shake and motioned back to the table. “Don’t mean t’ take you away from yer game, but we reigned in next t’ Royale and saw what’s been goin’ yer way. Have some business t’ attend to a bit later, but thought that I’d be a poor trail partner if I didn’ look ya up first.” It was pretty rude, after all, to ask for money right off the bat.

Asher followed in behind Sam as they entered the Idoru. Like Sam, the young lad could hardly make eye contact with the pretty guncheck girl. A nervous, giddy laugh escaped his lips, as he made motion to speak, “Wow…”

And that was it… Ash wore a silly, lopsided grin as he tried not the stare at the bosoms that so enthralled him.

“Damn,” Dash grinned, still ogling the girl, “talk like that’s like ta make me spend all my money!”

The Captain and Sam began to wade their way in, as the girl turned her attention to Asher, who was still lingering. “How ‘bout it, stallion?” she purred as she stepped in to his space a little more. “Feel to need ta sow yer oats?”

Flush-faced, the lad tried to respond, “Ah… wow…” He readjusted his belt. “Ah… yeah…”

It was about then that Asher heard Sam’s invite, “Ya up to a drink, Kid?”

Still speaking to the girl, “… I mean… ah… wow… I gotta… go… now…”

The guncheck girl just smiled, “Alright, then. You best be going.” Her body was saying something completely different, though, as she stepped in real close and whispered, “But you come back, now, ya hear.” Her hand gave him a slight smack on his backside as she stepped back with a laugh.

More than slightly embarrassed, Asher made his way to the bar to join up with Sam. “Sure, I’d love a drink.” To the bartender, he spoke, “A big, ol’ tall glass of homo milk.”

The bartender looked at him strange, and Asher noticed the others at the bar did too.

“What?” the lad asked innocently. “I like my milk thick and creamy.”

Snickers erupted around him.

[OOC: I'll leave it here for Sam, the bartender, or the folks around him to respond.]