The group of eight men came into the bank and took to the doc’s direction immediately. Four went over to the teller, Morgan and the others to Sam. Wolf brought the hover mule to the rear doorway as the men lifted Sam up gently, with backs straight as if he was a precious cargo. The Hover mule can seat 4, 6 if you don’t mind being cozy and aren’t in a rush. The men drape Sam across the back of the mule to keep him flat and steady. One of the miners gets into the mule and adjusts a back seat to drop flat, which is where they carefully put Morgan.

As the men gathered about Sam and the other wounded, Wyatt steps out of their way, worry gripping his gut but never showing on his face. "Keep your iron shut up when walking through that Tong-yard, Kid. Willow might've sweetened some up earlier, but I ain't puttin' us in harms way unnecessarily." Turning to JW, Wyatt gave the man a nod instead. "I appreciate the kindness for me and mine."

“We‘ll talk later tonight. I best do some crowd herding.” the older man said as he stepped outside. If he noticed or was bothered by Asher holding his woman tight, he didn’t show it.

Taking his communicator from his pocket Wyatt calls Rocinante "Ma," he said into it with a dry voice. "Keep Rocinante locked up nice an' tight as though no one's home 'til we git back. We're gonna be sittin' tight at the town doc's house fer a spell."

There is silence on the comm. And then two mike clicks, a sign from Trish that she received the call and would do as told.

The Doctor heads towards the front door, “I’ll ride ahead and lead the way Ms. Willow. If you don’t mind, would you ride with the injured and keep them stable. Don’t let Wolf drive! He’s wounded and should be resting.”

Asher comforts the distraught Brigit and starts to make for the doorway. Willow intercepted them before they could get through the room.” How are you, Miss Brigit? Shall I take a look at that lip? Seems like you’ve been struck, you poor dear!” she asks.

Brigit smiles and detaches herself from Asher, “Oh never mind me. You take care of those brave men.” She says smoothly, shooting Asher a look of a woman who knows she’s crossed the line but with a mischievous grin of enjoying it too. She touches her lip tenderly, “I’ve received worse beatings than this in my time,” She says very sadly still looking at Asher and then looks around as if just realizing something, “I best be getting to JW. He can get mighty sore if I’m away from him for too long.” With that she moves quickly to the front entrance of the bank, and outside where JW is talking loudly to the crowd.

“Now listen up!” JW didn’t shout but he knew how to project his voice, “Anyone not wanting Alliance digging through their private lives better skedaddle and fast!” Folks took the hint on that rather quickly and the street began to clear, all the while conversation of a new sheriff in town was to be heard.

Brigit came up beside JW at a run, “You okay, Honey?” he asked as she threw herself into his arms.

“I am,” Brigit smiles shakily, “I hope that that man is gonna be okay though. He was so brave…” Her bottom lip quivered.

“There there dear. Doc will fix him up right.”

Out back of the bank, the wounded are on the mule and the doctor has come around on horse to lead the way. The mule is quite loaded but no one is looking to do top speed, just fast enough to get under cover before the patrol ship arrives.

(I am gonna assume that you’ll figure out seating and the like. Either Asher or Wyatt will drive, despite protest from Wolf.)

The Tong Temple is a large octagonal building behind the bank. It is not particularly fancy, but the grounds around it are lush with floral gardens and hanging baskets that would rival some gardens in the core planets. Many of the tong are among the paths and plant-life, tending the gardens with skilful patient hands. They look up as you pass, seeing the doctor, many of them give respectful bows but no one interferes with your progress. A man comes out of a side doorway of the temple. He looks like a younger, more robust version of the “grandfather” that Wyatt, Sam and Willow had met earlier. He also gives a slight bow to the doctor as he passes, by the bow of someone recognizing an equal. His eyes pass over all in the procession, but linger for a long time on Willow.

The Doctor’s place is a big house, single floor ranch style. The shed is a huge structure, bigger than many of the houses you saw while coming into town. The doctor opens the doors and you glide in with time to spare before the patrol ship arrives. Inside the shed, the building is mostly empty, with an emergency fuel cell generator in one corner and three hover-stretchers covered in white sheets on the other side of the room.

You waste no time, and get the stretchers out and under the two seriously wounded men. The back of the doc’s place has two doors, one oversized and the other regular. The doctor opens up the large one to reveal a small prep area outside of the surgery room. He directs you into the theatre as he hits the main switch for the power, revealing a operating room with three surgery tables. The Medcomp and the 3d imager are clearly labelled with “NEWTECH”. He is all business as he moves from equipment to equipment, opening drawers and pulling out instruments. “Gentlemen! Thank you but you are now in the way.” He says pleasantly and points to a side door, “If you use that door, it will take you to my study. Make yourself at home, there are refreshments in the cooler and the cabinet. Guest bedrooms are there if you’d need to rest. If the door is locked, then I don’t want you in that room. Wolf, I haven’t forgotten you but these two be needing both our attentions now and you ain’t in danger unless you bleed on my furniture.”

(assume some conversation but the doc will only tolerate so much, as he wants to get to work. I will let Vanadia write the surgery scene)

Asher, Wyatt and Wolf find themselves in the Doctor’s home. The place is immaculately clean and tidy. The study has two overstuffed high chairs, a comfy couch, a series of bookshelves, mostly with medical journals but some light fiction and more than a few holo-disks.

The living room is immense with a large wood burning fireplace, now cold. There is a large screen plasma holo-viewer with a cortex terminal connection – so impeccably pristine that you wonder if it is straight out of the box. A liquor cabinet stands against the wall with modest selection of high end booze (no cheap rot gut here), most of them full. Throughout the room there are pictures of a woman. Although there is a definite passage of time in the pictures, the woman is very attractive and often on the arm or holding hands with a younger Doctor McGuire. They look very happy together, very much in love. But there are no recent pictures of the lady, and the most recent looking one is on the fireplace mantle with a black frame.

The kitchen is spartan, with a simple stove, pantry, a cooler/icebox and counter area. The attached dining room has a long wooden table with 6 chairs and a well-carved buffet with fancy china behind the glass doors (locked).

There are three bedrooms, all neat and tidy but appearing as if they have never been used. Each room has a double bed, a writing desk with a chair and a side table for a water pitcher and wash-basin. The bedroom at the end of the hall, presumably the doctor’s room, is locked.

With the shooting over and the Doc having checked him over Fenris took the time to close his eyes and rest as the adrenaline high was over. His hand still resting on the Uzi in his lap he thought how much he had liked its rapid fire, a lot different the his scatter gun, and would have to talk to Asher about getting one. Maybe even this one in fact depending on what the gunslinger would want for it. His thoughts then drifted back to the ship and her engines waiting for his caring touch. Then just as he was about to almost fall asleep the Cap’ns voice brought him back to the here and now.

"Wolf! You know where the Doc's place is? Haul that mule into the shed there if you would, and be quick about it."

His eyes open and his hands already moving by reflex he answered.

“Okay Dokey Cap’n on my way”

Fenris shouted back as he started the Mule and was just about to put her into gear when Asher jumped up and told Wolf to move over. Though he started to protest he was at the same time rearranging himself into the passenger seat for the short drive to the Doc’s place.
In a few moments the mule was stored, bedrooms assigned, Wolf granted a couch, and he had learned of the approaching alliance personal. With nothing much else to do at the moment Fenris relaxed and kept an eye and ear on the happenings around him all the time keeping the Uzi sub gun close. He knew all about alliance pissanals and would not suffer again what he had at their hands during the war. If they came looking for a fight, a fight they would find indeed....


OOC: Blammm I put Asher into the drivers seat I hope that was ok.)

With JW’s men, and the concerned crew of the Rocinante pitching in, the injured men were set carefully on the mule for transport to the doctor’s house. At the doctor’s request, Willow climbed aboard the mule, one hand lifting the kimono free of her feet, and settled between the two semi-conscious men. She touched them gently, stroking hair off the face here, settling an arm more comfortably there, and gave Fenris an encouraging smile.

Moving through the Tong’s courtyard may have been tense, but many of the people there bowed to the doctor, and no one impeded their way. When a younger version of Revered Grandfather came to the door and watched them pass, Willow felt his eyes linger on her. She did her best “Bollywood regal” pose, head high, profile sharp in the sunlight, eyes flashing, then darting away demurely, then returning to his, challengingly. He may have noticed Wyatt, Asher and Fenris, but it was Willow he’d remember, if she had anything to do with it. It was one of the little ways she was useful to the Captain, and she did like to help.

As the injured men were moved into the surgery, Willow stopped dead and stared in wide-eyed wonder at the equipment she’d never seen out of a medical catalogue. Maybe the facilities above Ariel had such largesse, but Willow had never gotten near it.

“Oh, doctor,” she breathed, low and sweet, “you do have all the pretties! JW sure does like his men healthy and happy…”While she’s gaping at the 3D imager, the doctor shoos everyone not bleeding or burnt out of the room. He starts to pull on gloves, holding a pair out to Willow, but stops when he looks up to see her standing between him and Sam’s prone form, a determined look on her lovely face.

“Now that we are alone, or close enough for my purposes, it is time to come clean, Doctor. Back outside the bank, you asked me to triage, not trusting your legs, or some such nonsense. “

Willow wasn’t used to challenging authority figures openly, but perhaps Wyatt was rubbing off on her a bit. It still didn’t help that she looked like a kitten standing up to a mountain lion. “Truth is, doctor, you were lying to me, and I’ll not let you lay so much as a finger on these men until I know why, dohn-ma? ”

The Doctor looked at Willow for awhile, neither smiling nor seeming upset. After what seemed like an eternity, he said, “Miss Willow. I was made Chief of Surgery of St Lucy’s on Ariel because I thought I was a gifted surgeon. Turns out, I was more gifted as an administrator than a surgeon, because I slowly stopped doing surgery and started shuffling papers. That’s why Mary and …” He trails off and clears his throat, starting again, “When I saw that explosion, I pictured many people wounded and dead, many of which I hold dear and that … well that scared me. I have not faced a medical emergency as key op for well over 17 years. Now, the situation wasn’t as grave as I suspected, and I feel that can help your friend, with your assistance of course. If you feel that you can not trust me, then my home is yours and I will leave you to save your friend.”

Willow’s expression softened as the doctor told his story. His words weren’t in as much conflict with his body language before, but Willow hadn’t heard everything. She was sure of that, but she wasn’t getting the “bad client” vibe she’d been trained to trust. She stepped closer, as if drawn by his words, and tilted her head to look at the doctor, who was staring at the floor as he spoke.

‘Who’s Mary, Doctor?” she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper. Maybe now she was about to touch the source of pain she’d heard when they’d first met.

“My wife,” The Doctor replies quietly, “She’s gone now, some ten years ago. Something in the air here didn’t agree with her and she died shortly after we settled here. Funny, she wanted to stay on Ariel and I wanted to come here because maybe I could …well, I wanted to be a doctor again.”

“She must have loved you very much,” Willow said simply, “I am sorry for your loss.” She paused for a moment, before becoming brisk. “Well then, best we get started on these men. May I trouble you for a set of scrubs? The sleeves on this,” she waved dismissively at the elegant kimono,” are trouble in the ER.”

Accepting the surgical scrubs from the doctor, Willow turned her back and slipped the surgical pants on up under the kimono, changing with the nonchalance of someone who wasn’t ashamed of the human body, but with some modesty for the doctor. The kimono slid away, revealing a smooth expanse of creamy skin, the delicate knobs of her spine undulating as she moved, and the sweet, sacred nape of the neck was exposed briefly as Willow bent her head to pull the surgical tunic on. She folded the kimono with a few crisp, practiced flicks of her hands, and set it aside.

The doctor had used the time to examine the bank teller himself, and Willow nodded when she saw electrical leads in the doctor’s hands. She glided forward to help cut away the teller’s shirt so that the contacts could be set on the man’s chest. “The medcomp should be able to regulate his heartbeat, give the heart time to heal from its shock,” Willow stated, moving on to examine again the electrical burns covering his face and hands. “Shall I start with the dermal mender, doctor?”

“No, I can manage that once I get the medcomp programmed with Albert’s stats. You get started on that young fella of yours,” the doctor replied.

Willow whirled around to return to Sam’s side, where he was mumbling to himself, drifting on the ragged shore of consciousness. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself now, Sam dear,” she murmured as deft hands cut away his shirt and sawed through the straps of the ballistics vest. She lifted the vest clear of Sam’s chest and was shocked to see just how many bullets were embedded in the vest.

“Merciful Buddha, Sam! There’s got to be an easier way to fool me into giving you mouth-to mouth!” she continued to speak to Sam as she worked, her tone playful, but her expression serious. Nearly every bullet impact on the vest had a corresponding bruise on Sam’s chest, but the vest was badly warped along one side. When Willow bent to look at where that part of the vest would have been on Sam (brushing away Sam’s hand from where it had found her bottom with a distracted “behave!”) she saw a deeper bruising and a misalignment of the ribs. Removing the vest had caused Sam to breathe easier, but he was still having a hitch of pain with every inhalation, and Willow knew those ribs were broken.

“You must have a bone knitter amongst all these toys, doctor?” Willow asked, and was directed to one of the cabinets. She set the unit over Sam’s chest, positioned so she could still get at his bullet wounds, and started the NewTech Osteografting unit. It started purring like a mechanical housecat, and the doctor joined her at that point, Morgan resting comfortably on the other bed.

The two were able to make short work of Sam’s remaining wounds, and he too, moved into a deeper state of rest as the pain meds starting working. If the doctor wondered why Sam’s face was bandaged, he didn’t comment.

Lt. Ling adjusted the strap on her helmet and swore bitterly at no one in particular. She looked again at her wrist chronograph and continued with the swearing. In three hours, 45 minutes, she was supposed to be meeting Lt. O’Leary in the level 4 a supply closet where, she hoped feverously that he would be taking her in a manly fashion. She only had to get through one more hour of standby duty and she’d be off but no – the scramble alarm had to sound and her squad had to be first on the list. It was like the verse was trying to keep her frustrated and out of sorts. All she could hope for was that whatever this mission was on the dustbowl below; it could be done quick and neat. She touched the screen on the control panel and entered her clearance code. The image of her superior officer, Captain Jin, came up immediately. “Sir! Orders?” She asked crisply.

“We detected an explosion on the surface with elements that are similar to the contraband materials.” The captain drawled in a bored monotone. “Go down to the surface and check it out.”

“Define ‘check it out’ sir.” Ling knew better than to accept a vague order without asking for clarification.

“Investigate explosion. Determine if there is Comet Ice present, if so, make arrests, detain prisoners and bring them back here. If it is a local matter, then disengage and return.”

“Yes sir.” Ling replied with a strong feeling that this was going to be a local matter if she had anything to do with it.

“These are civilians Ling. I don’t want another Shang Tao.”

“Shang Tao wasn’t my watch, Captain.” Ling replied tersely

“Either way, keep the men in check.”

“Yes Sir. Ling out, Sir.”

The sooner she was off the planet and having her clothing ripped in a closet, the better. She looked over her team and nodded; they were a good group and she could trust them. She leaned over to the pilot, “Hey McBroom! We safe for dust down?”

“We are,” the pilot laughed heartily, “But the locals might be pissed at us for blowing their straw and stick houses down.”

“Fine. Well do a grav-belt drop then”

“Not a problem. I’ll just hang around.”

Ling left the cockpit area and entered the cargo bay where her team sat ready. Sarge Card was her second and a good man, Corporal Suddeth was also a fine soldier and a cool head under fire. Corp. Kremers and Beyer were good men in a fight and took orders well. Private Fitzhugh was new to the group and already proving to be a bit of a loose cannon. She’d tie him down soon enough though.

“Listen up!” she shouted out so they could all hear, “This is a simple drop and flop. Stunners and sidearms only. No, I repeat no autos or grenades. You got that Beyer?” The beefy private merely nodded and looked disappointed. She continued, “Corporal Suddeth – you are driving the skiff. Beyer, Card, Kremers, and Fitzhugh – get your grav- belts.”

“Coming up on the Mark” McBroom called out and the light for the back door lit up. The men took their positions quickly as the back boor of the ship opened up. Suddeth immediately shot out in the AK17 skiff, flying in a wide arc to recon the area. As soon as he was clear the team ran out the open door and leapt out the patrol ship.

The first to land was Beyer, then the others followed suit. Five soldiers dropping to the ground out of nowhere was intimidating to most folks, and the whine of the charging sonic rifles only added to the effect. Then Suddeth flew a close pass over, the 50 cal on the swivel rotating back and forth as if looking for someone to mow down.

Ling looked around. There were some peasants; most of them were leaving as they usually did once authorities came. Everyone has something to hide. she thought cynically. There were dead people, some in the streets and property damage. She read the sign declaring this a bank and started to feel hopeful, but she’d be in worse trouble if she wasn’t sure. She keyed her comm. inside her helmet, “Okay. Do a perimeter search, two by two, two buildings out in all directions. Card with Fitzhugh and Kremers with Beyer – double time now.”

“You got a date or something, Looie?” Suddeth quipped back.

‘No. I hate peasants. Like to be gone before I find a reason to mow them all down” She turned off her comm. and shouted to the people, “Who’s in charge here.”

“That would be me.” An older man answered, standing near one of the dead. There was a woman standing next to him, clinging to his arm – a red head in a peasants dress.

“Looie? Can I question the redhead?” Fitzhugh asked via the comm. “she looks like she needs a hard questioning.”

“Negative Fitzhugh. Keep to your search.” She replied and turned to the man who answered her, “And you are?”

“JW McClarrin. Owner of this here mine.” He said and offered his ID card. Ling took it from him and put it into her scanner. She read the data as it came up.

“Senator. What happened here?”

“Some local colour decided to try a bank robbery. Things didn’t go smoothly for them.”

Ljng smiled to herself, Definitely local and said, “We detected an explosion. A large hydrogen explosion.”

“That you would have,” the Senator replied, “One of the boys souped his mule with a transport fuel cell. Mighty unstable.”

“Ahh.” Ling walked passed the Senator and into the bank. More bodies and what looked like the owners of the bank in some distress. Looking better and better she thought happily.

She poked around for awhile waiting for her men to report in and replying with very vague answers to any of the senator’s questions. He obviously didn’t want them there and she really didn’t care.

“Report.” She spoke into her comm..

“Negative Looie” Kremers replied

“Nothing so far Looie, but I think the saloon here needs much further investigation.” Fitzhugh replied with a laugh, “There are some ladies here that …”

“Give it a rest Fitzhugh and get out here where I can make sure your pants are on.”

‘Ahhh…. Yes Ma’am.” He replied and Ling ground her teeth. She hated being called Ma’am.

She opened up a channel to the ship. “Ling reporting.”

The captain looked at her through the screen, “Yes Lieutenant.”

“Local matter captain. Bank job gone bad. We did a perimeter search and found on trace of Ice or any other contraband.””

“Very well Lieutenant. Return to base.”

“Yes sir.” She answered and waited. The captain always added some job to do after his dismissals.

“Oh, and Lieutenant? Are there casualties?”

Here it comes "Yes sir."

“Oh. Have them checked for ID and scanned for death records”

Like anyone cares “Yes sir.”

The screen went dead and Ling let out a sigh of relief. IDs and scan was a ten minute job. “Fitzhugh! You got dead patrol. Grab or scan and make it fast.”

“What! Man!”

“Now Private!”

The private ran into the bank to start searching for ID cards on the dead and if they didn’t have cards, scanned their fingerprint and retinal. This would be fed into the central computer for death recording and next of kin notification. Fitzhugh was in the bank for about five minutes before he keyed his comm. “Looie. Can I question the lady in here? She’s got some mighty fine … suspicions.”

“Fitzhugh.” She shouted angrily, “You are going on report if you don’t get out here with those scans in five.”

The private came running in two, stopping to look over the man outside the bank. He had an ID card which Fitzhugh flipped to the Lieutenant as he scanned finger and eye. Ling ran the card as she waited. Ethan. Ludlow. List of petty crimes, and a number of warrants of backwater moons – nothing she cared about. Two Brothers – Ernest and Edward, also with a long list of misdemeanours and one with some hard crime. Lovely model family She thought. Father ….

Ling gasped audibly when she saw the father’s name. How did he end up with such Joo Fuen Chse for sons. She keyed her comm to the Skiff. “Need you down here, Sarge. We got a body to take back.”

JW looked confused, “Why are you taking the bodies? We got a cemetery right over there.”

Ling looked at the old man, “We are not taking all the bodies Senator. Just this one,” She pointed to Ethan’s corpse. “His father is Commandant Herbert Ludlow of the 21st Grenadiers. I suspect he will want to see the body of his son.”

The Doctor’s House, 3:30 pm
Wyatt watched out the window as the Alliance patrol ship hovered over the town. An hour passed, and another and then finally the skiff that had landed before left with what appeared to be all the soldiers.

The Doctor and Willow entered the study. The Doctor looked around, finally spying Wolf and waggling a finger to him to come so he could look at his wound.

“Captain. Your man is doing well. Good thing he was wearing a ballistic vest though, because it saved his life more than once. He's very banged up and bruised right now, but he will up and around in no time. He’ll need to stay here overnight so the bones can be properly mended and he can get some rest. Morgan will stay as well as he is on the mend too. Now If Miss Willow has no objections, I will tend to Wolf’s shoulder wound and call this a successful day.”

“Captain. Your man is doing well. Good thing he was wearing a ballistic vest though, because it saved his life more than once. He's very banged up and bruised right now, but he will up and around in no time. He’ll need to stay here overnight so the bones can be properly mended and he can get some rest. Morgan will stay as well as he is on the mend too. Now If Miss Willow has no objections, I will tend to Wolf’s shoulder wound and call this a successful day.” The doctor entered the room like a shade as far as Wyatt was concerned, breaking him from his thoughtful reverie while he watched the street for any sign of trouble.

Wyatt had been considering the implications behind the Ludlows. The Verse weren’t no small thing, and to run into the brothers under one operation, bothered the captain to no end. It was like a burr under his saddle, an itch when tied, or that irritating noise that a body can never identify in the engines of your ship. What was it that tied the two together, and more importantly, how did it effect his crew?

“Thanks, Doc,” Sung turned from the window and his reasoning to nod his thanks in tandem with his statement. He still slowly turned his ruined hat in his hands, reminding him that he’d need to either mend it, or replace it, along with the ballistic shirt Sam’d survived. As the thin, aging man turned to help Wolf, Wyatt raised his eyebrows Willow’s way, inviting her to join him by the window.

“None of this is proper, Willow,” he whispered while eyeing the doctor’s handywork. “It just don’t sit right with me, and that sticks in my craw. It was JW that allowed us to hide in his shadow burnin’ atmo, and it’s his pretty plaything that holds our meal-ticket once we land. Then we got the two Ludlows: one on the comet an’ the other here in town. We’re too bloody close to the Cheong Bao Ho Tze Alliance fer my taste, we’ve the Ung Jeong Jia Ching Jien Soh Tong workin’ under the sway of a shepard wantin’ to meet with you—an’ I gotta be honest, Willow. I’m not too fond of that particular idea none either. I already allowed Sam t’ go off on his own an’ git all full of holes…

“To boot, I don’t have nothing lined up for the turn around—haven’t had the Ta Ma Duh time with all the bullets flyin’. We need some answers. How do you feel ‘bout doin’ a little snoopin’ while Sam an’ Wolf recover? You, me, an’ The Kid?”

He had always heard tell that them as is dyin’ see their whole ruttin’ lives flash before their eyes. For some reason, though, he’d always figured that meant that, when your time came, you saw the whole thing play out in chronological order from the time of your birthin’ on up until the minute where the one with your name on it took you out of the world. So it was that Sam Dash couldn’t quite decide if he was dead or not.

He had vague recollections of Asher, flanked by Brigit and Willow, slipping a pistol into his holster - “Figure you might still be needin’ this yet today, Sam. If ya can hear me still, she’s reloaded and safetied.” – but, try as he might to catch a glimpse of the Kid and the two finest females he’d ever seen, his eyes didn’t want to cooperate and everytime he tried to open them he was greeted with little more than wavering, gauzy, silhouettes and little else. Then…

“Last sortie of the day, Lt Trent,” the crew chief reported as the pilot strode across the flight deck and began his preflight walkaround of the Arclight, “Your ordnance’s all loaded and failsafed. You shouldn’t so much as hear a rattle until the bay’s open and you’re rolling ‘em out over Athens. One more sweep and you’ll have all them Browncoats pounded right the hell off of the planet, huh?”

“Roger that, Sarge,” he replied. His gaze drifted from the crew chief and caught sight of his own reflection in the Arclight’s canopy – young, clean shaven, with a neat, military haircut and a determined, well-disciplined look in his eye.
~~~

“That ain’t me,” a not quite conscious Sam murmured, “not any more.”

…there was the sensation of being lifted by numerous sets of hands and floating – or maybe being cradled by some thin matressed cot or a hammock - for a moment after those hands released him. Beyond that gauzy veil that greeted his vision each time he tried to open his eyes there was suddenly a flash of light, much brighter than what had been there before and, soon after a sensation of falling…

~~~

“Heroes of a Glorious Victory” was the headline that flashed above the the picture of himself, Xu, Bachmann, Lin, and Levin when it appeared on the newsfeed. Each one of them - flightsuits zipped open and helmets carried casually under one arm while the other was draped around the shoulders of the pilot next to them - was flashing a brilliant, flyboy smile at the camera on that day. He couldn’t find it in himself to smile like that now, though - not after the sortie they had just returned from - and he sure as hell didn’t feel anything like a hero.

“Turn that luh suh off,” he grumbled at the bartender even as the rest of the purple bellies in the Officer’s Club whooped and hollered and cheered in reaction to the story.

“C’mon, Morg,” Xu grinned at him, “Enjoy the accolades while they’re being lauded on you. Today we’re the heroes. Next week it’ll be someone else and people’ll forget all about us.”

“Chwee ni duh, Xu,” he shot back after swallowing another shot of whiskey and shrugging the man’s hand off his shoulder, “We’re not heroes, were ruttin’ murderers! We dropped our ordnance on non-combatants! Innocent people!”

“Is that still eating at you? Merciful Buddha that was more than two weeks ago! I told you, man, that’s considered collateral damage. Nobody likes it but it happens.”

“Collateral damage my ass,” he snapped back, slamming the shot glass down on the bar and shoving Xu away, “Those buildings were specifically targeted in the briefing! Browncoat strongholds, they said! But what were they really, Hong? A gorram church and a gorram schoolhouse is what, and the thudders that I dropped from my bird are the ones that killed ‘em!”

“They were sympathizers at best, Morgan,” Xu replied, the friendliness having evaporated from his tone only to be replaced with a cautionary one, “It’d be advisable to keep that in mind…”

“Sympathizers,” he came off the stool he’d been occupying and glared in disbelief at the man, “Sympathizers?! They were women and kids, Xu! Innocents!”

“Ease back on that burn, Lieutenant,” Xu warned, “Talk like that’s liable to get you labeled as a traitor or worse. S’pose the Colonel heard you talking like…”
~~~

“Suppose the colonel kisses my butt with his tongue out,” Sam snarled through clenched teeth as the forward momentum of the mule moving across the tong yard synced with the part of that ages old memory in which the man-that-he-once-was stormed out of the O-Club. So he was a little bit surprised when the door out of the club on Londinum dumped him into Blansky’s Saloon on Jiangyin.

~~~

“Sam! Show these fellers th’ door woodja?”

He looked up from having just tied a bandana securely over his head – he’d recently come to learn that when a man decides he’s gonna bust a bottle over your head it doesn’t hurt to have a little something extra between brainpain and glass… plus, if they can’t see ya bleedin’, the don’ know yer hurt – and flicked a glance at the the scowling hulk that was Bob Blansky before turning his eyes on the pair of barely standing men on the other side of the bar. “You got it, Bob,” he nodded, dragging his boot slowly off the bar’s footrail, he finished his beer and set his mug down before ambling towards the blinking drunks.

“You heard the man, fellers,” he drawled, still struggling with the ‘rim worlds accent,’ “If ya’ll’d be so kind as ta step ta th’ door an’ take yer business ta another establish…”

“Chwee…hic… ni duh,” one of the drunks burped, “hic…duh! Puhn yoh, I ain’ts done… hic… drinkin’ yet.”

“Yeah,” parroted the other one, swaggering back a few steps and regarding Sam through glassy eyes from behind his partner, “He ain’t done yet, puh…hic…n yoh!”

Sam scowled, wondering why these two looked so familiar… ‘Course, with them bullet holes in their foreheads they shouldn’t be standin’ there at all, should they? … both were big, barrel-chested SOBs with wavy brown hair, crooked teeth, and the look of just plain bad men about them. He sighed, rubbing a hand across a beard-stubbled cheek as he studied the two. “Yeah, I reckon ya are,” he said finally, the leather of his gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers and started to advance on them, “Both you boys done went an’ got yerselves shot inna brainpan an’ th’ night don’ look as if it’ll get no better for ya none if’n ya keep hangin’ round here…”

He had just reached out to grab a handful of the closest one’s coat when both of them produced two of the biggest, most humped up, jury-rigged handcannons he’d ever seen.

“Like we said, Sam,” the Ludlows chorused just before those guns went off in his face, “we ain’t done!”

After the blinding flash dissipated, Sam found himself standing out in the Black, trying to focus on what looked like a comet burning a path straight for him. He thought it was kind of strange the way that comet, at first, looked like a galloping horse then, as it got closer, looked more like a Firefly. The real mind bender, though, came when, just as the caravel-sized comet was set to plow right into him, it imploded and became a tiny, green, winking light with what looked to be a set of wings. The thing darted and flitted around for a minute before zipping suddenly towards his face and coming to a halt within a few inches of his nose.

“Hey there, Sammy boy,” said the fairy, batting her big, blue shaded eyes and playfully pushing a shock of ebony hair behind her ear, “Ya ain’t runnin’ round the Verse humpin’ up all my hard work are ya? Whaddya think about my outfit?”

He blinked at her, trying to figure out which question she wanted answered first… Not to mention what th’ hell she’s talkin’ ‘bout… then, as his eyes travelled from her much-too-young-to-be-that-sexy face to the outfit she’d asked him about, he realized that it was an Alliance flightsuit with a nametag reading ‘Trent’ affixed to the right breast.

“What th’ hell?”

Tinkerbell flashed as bright as the Ludlow’s hand cannons, then, and Sam found himself surrounded by hundreds more of the tiny, winged creatures…
~~~

“Hey,” Sam murmured as the painkillers that had been pumped into his system took effect, “wha’s wit’ all th’ ruttin’ fairies?”

“Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself now, Sam dear.”

When Willow’s delicately alluring perfume filled his senses he couldn’t help but wonder if those fairies might not be angels and, when he felt her fingers come gently to rest on his chest he became almost certain that they were… or, at least, she was.

“Merciful Buddha, Sam,” her musical voice rained gently around his subconscious, taking him back to that peaceful place he was at before, “There’s got to be an easier way to fool me into giving you mouth-to-mouth!”

His eyes opened for an instant when she lifted the weight of the ruined mesh off his chest and his breaths came easier. “Gorram but yer purdy, Miss Will,” he sighed, the sudden rush of oxygen combined with the effects of the meds making him believe he was still in that silken bed with the her, and his hand drifted upwards hoping to touch her again, “Purdier’n all th’ fairies inna ‘verse…”

“Behave.”

He felt his hand fall away from the curve of her behind and, just before he stopped dreaming all together, he realized that it really was Willow standing over him… “Hey… Tell Cap… them innocents might not all o’ made it… ‘m sorry…”

A black deeper than the Black fell over him then. There weren’t no dreams of grapplin’ with Willow or anything this time but, still, it was right peaceable again.

((OOC: Not a whole lot of bearing for as lengthy as it turned out but writing it, I think, broke me out of the funk I’ve been in this week so why not post it, right? Anyhoo… just random, in-and-out stuff for Sam, here… the side effects of injuries, endorphins, and drops more than anything else… and maybe a few mumblings that might’ve seeped out into the really real world.))

As they were preparing to leave, Asher quickly scooped up the ‘not-so-legal’ hardware that the bank robbers were carrying, specifically the grenades. “No need to give the Alliance a reason to ask more questions.” He said to noone in particular.

As the bodies of the injured were laid across the back of the mule, Asher moved to the driver’s seat. “Sorry, Wolf. Move over. Doc’s orders.” He gave the tough mechanic a wink.

Wolf moved over with little protest and Asher gently eased the mule over to the doctor’s shed, paying careful mind to stay clear enough away from the Tongs so as not to appear threatening. The Kid was alert for danger and anxious more than just a bit. This was Tong territory, and the Tong’s were always a mysterious, deadly people to Asher. His brothers had told him stories when he was a wee lad of Tongs killing folks dead because they had looked at them the wrong way; about how if you killed a Tong, you were as good dead, for there was always another Tong ready to avenge his death; about how the Tongs knew how to keep a man alive long enough to have him eat his own heart.

Asher didn’t believe that last part so much… but still! The fact that it would take him a little longer to draw his pistols with his hands on the wheel was a bit unsettling for the Kid.

But the Tongs seemed kind enough to let them pass unscathed and as Asher pulled the mule into the shed, he breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly jumped out and helped bring in the stretchers. Patting Sam on the shoulder, Asher encouraged the pilot quietly, “We’re here, ghuh-ghuh.” Asher looked across the room for a moment, let out a low whistle. “Looks like the Doc’s got all the fancy toys too. I’m sure Miss Willow’s gonna have lots of fun with you in here.” The Kid smiled and gave Sam another reassuring pat.

The Doc spoke up. “Gentlemen! Thank you but you are now in the way.” He says pleasantly and points to a side door, “If you use that door, it will take you to my study. Make yourself at home, there are refreshments in the cooler and the cabinet. Guest bedrooms are there if you’d need to rest. If the door is locked, then I don’t want you in that room. Wolf, I haven’t forgotten you but these two be needing both our attentions now and you ain’t in danger unless you bleed on my furniture.”

“Thanks, Doc!” Asher said as cheerfully as he could. He made his way into the study, ensuring that he had grabbed his athletic bag of ‘destruction’ with him, along with his rifle. Another low whistle was elicited from the Kid as he caught sight of the beauty of the Doc’s home. “Nice place you got here.” Asher called back. To the Captain, he quipped,” And almost as neat as Ma.”

Making himself at home at the diningroom table, Asher quickly laid out and reloaded the rifle, and stashed away the weaponry he had pilfered from the bandits into his athletic bag. Moving over to the livingroom, the Kid found Wolf resting on the couch. He noted how the mechanic handled the uzi he had been given earlier. “Wolf. I’m gonna need that piece back. Alliance don’t look kindly on automatic weapons and such, so I think it’d be best to be puttin’ it out of sight.”

[OOC: Assuming Wolf hands over the uzi…]

If Asher notices that Wolf doesn’t have a piece of his own, the Kid hands over one of his Peacekeepers. Either way, Asher takes the uzi back lovingly, returning to the diningroom table. With quick efficiency, the Kid reloads and safeties the automatic weapon and places it into the athletic bag. He hides the athletic bag and the rifle under one of the beds, ensuring the bed skirt keeps both out of sight.

Coming out of the bedroom, feeling good about havin’ put his toys away -- Ma would be proud -- the Kid made his way to the kitchen fridge in search of some milk. “Don’t let me down, Doc…” he said quietly to himself. Asher smiled as his eyes settled on the bottle of pure white liquid. “Thank you.”

Making his way to the window, Asher stood silently by the Captain, the only noise being the sloshing of the milk as the Kid drank straight from the bottle. He knew when to let the Captain to his thoughts and now was one of them times. He’ll think of something, Kid. Don’t you worry none. They comes in threes. We’ve had the bad… now’s time for some good. He took another swig from the bottle as he watched the Alliance patrol skiff passed by over head once more. Now’s time for some good…

Wolf was almost asleep when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder to quietly awake him. It was Asher.

““Wolf. I’m gonna need that piece back. Alliance don’t look kindly on automatic weapons and such, so I think it’d be best to be puttin’ it out of sight.” The Gunfighter asked his hand held out.

“Ok no prob but if ya get a chance can I have it later all I got is my sawed off and my Python and to be honest I ain’t that good of a shot.”

With a semi agreement to use, but not own, Asher clearly attached to the small SMG’s, Wolf was once again alone on the couch but now fully awake and restless.

The mechanic seeing that he was not needed grabbed his room sweeper and moved out to the barn to see if he could somehow fix the Mules brakes better then he had. Even though he knew that the Alliance troopies would not be looking for him he still decided to stay under wraps as his involvment in the shooting was already surely well known by the residents and you never knew who might blab. Working on the mule he lost himself in time.........

Willow noted Wyatt’s look and glided over to join him by the window, her posture as erect and graceful as it had been first thing this morning. Truth be told, it had been a long, stressful day already, and it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Before Companion training, Willow would have pressed the heels of her hands into her closed eyes and rubbed at the tiredness, but she settled for concealing a small yawn under the pretext of letting her hair down and shaking it out. In the surgical scrubs, glossy raven locks pooled on her shoulders and tumbling down her back, Willow looked almost childlike, green eyes watching her captain.

“None of this is proper, Willow,” Wyatt spoke low, the deep tones more felt than heard. “It just don’t sit right with me, and that sticks in my craw. It was JW that allowed us to hide in his shadow burnin’ atmo, and it’s his pretty plaything that holds our meal-ticket once we land. Then we got the two Ludlows: one on the comet an’ the other here in town. We’re too bloody close to the Cheong Bao Ho Tze Alliance fer my taste, we’ve the Ung Jeong Jia Ching Jien Soh Tong workin’ under the sway of a shepherd wantin’ to meet with you—an’ I gotta be honest, Willow. I’m not too fond of that particular idea none either. I already allowed Sam t’ go off on his own an’ git all full of holes…

“To boot, I don’t have nothing lined up for the turn around—haven’t had the Ta Ma Duh time with all the bullets flyin’. We need some answers. How do you feel ‘bout doin’ a little snoopin’ while Sam an’ Wolf recover? You, me, an’ The Kid?”

‘Captain-san, let’s not look for more trouble than what’s staring us in the face. The Tong have no reason to interfere with us, I’m sure tomorrow’s visit is a courtesy, nothing more. Believe it or not, there are some people who like to spend time around me,” she dimpled momentarily before continuing in a serious tone.

‘What worries me is that we’ll have miners showing up to unload contraband that’s not been paid for, and the lone person there is a recluse with a pink shotgun, and no qualms about using it. We need to get this straightened out with JW. If that means snooping before dark, that’s what we do.”

Willow started to turn away, thinking to get back into her “public” appearance of kimono and formal hair, but turned back with a mischievous smile. “Now, Captain-san, by snooping, you do mean “be very visible and girly and draw every eye in the place so no-one notices you and Asher looking around and having quite conversations”, don’t you?”

‘Captain-san,” Willow said, “Let’s not look for more trouble than what’s staring us in the face. The Tong have no reason to interfere with us, I’m sure tomorrow’s visit is a courtesy, nothing more. Believe it or not, there are some people who like to spend time around me,” she dimpled momentarily before continuing in a serious tone.

‘What worries me is that we’ll have miners showing up to unload contraband that’s not been paid for, and the lone person there is a recluse with a pink shotgun, and no qualms about using it. We need to get this straightened out with JW. If that means snooping before dark, that’s what we do.”

Willow started to turn away, thinking to get back into her “public” appearance of kimono and formal hair, but turned back with a mischievous smile. “Now, Captain-san, by snooping, you do mean “be very visible and girly and draw every eye in the place so no-one notices you and Asher looking around and having quite conversations”, don’t you?”

“Go gussy yerself up, Willow,” Wyatt gave her the affirmation she needed with a nod of his head, and the statement. As she walked away, he turned back to the window, but addressed Asher. “There’s the possibility that we’re going t’ need some PR, Kid. I think Sam and Wolf’ll do just fine here with the Doc while we sort out our business. So, you might wanna pack all o’ that gear and get ready to go. We leave as soon as Willow’s ready.”

While waiting for the others to resolve their personal items and appearance, Sung found the doctor, still working through Wolf’s wounds. Peering down at the large mechanic who’d just joined their crew, he could only shake his head and offer an apology.

“Wish I could say it ain’t always like this, Wolf,” Wyatt’s voice was low. “But, I ain’t the lyin’ type. Some days go smoother n’ others…Look, I appreciate you being all Gao Guhn an’ hope this don’t affect your decision to be our mechanic none. That looks a might pain-filled, but I’m sure the Doc’ll hook you up right shiny, so I’d appreciate it if you could see to the mule. We’re likely gonna need it, and money’s tight so I can’t afford t’ just put it out to pasture. We’ll swing back ‘round before too long t’ pick you an’ Sam up, and hopefully dust this mudball with another contract in hand.”

(OOC: Wolf’s answer.)

“Now, Doc,” Wyatt turned his attention to the old man. “I also gotta offer my appreciation for your care of my crew. Like I said, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to credits, but I never leave a debt unpaid, so name yer price an’ I’ll see to it you get paid.”

(OOC: Whatever the answer…)

“I got two more things t’ ask, Doc. Where do you think I can find J.W., and would you mind if Sam and Wolf stick around until we get back?”

(OOC: Assuming a couple of suggestions as to where J.W. might be, as well as admittance that the two can stay.)

“That’s right good of ya, Doc.”

Wyatt killed time then, waiting on Willow to show in her shiny kimono an’ all, by making his way into the room where Sam lay attached to the machines. Sung stood in the door for a moment eyeballing the pilot’s many bandages, the discarded ballistic mesh, and absorbing the soft hum of the machines. They’d arrived just in time, and the toll that had taken on their good luck was immense, Wyatt was sure of it.

“Eight lives left, Puhn yo,” Wyatt said quietly. “Sure wish you were goin’ along on this little ride. I’m sure that Asher and Willow’ll help, but there’s more Joo How Rin when the whole of us are on our feet.”

Standing in the silence a little longer, Wyatt shifted in order to leave, pausing and peering back at the mesh. “We’ll get ya another shirt, an’ then we’ll end this Ma Fuhn an’ be back in the Black.”

Returning to the den, Wyatt waited on Willow in silence contemplating the pending events of the evening. He wished the Doc had some elephants he could pat, a rabbit’s foot, anything that could help things go down with a little more luck, but by the time Willow emerged looking her dazzling self, he had settled on relying on the Luck of Three once more. With a nod to the Doc, he offered Willow his arm and led the way to the streets. He informed Willow and Asher of the doctor’s suggested whereabouts concerning J.W., and headed for what he perceived to be the closest of them. He’d left his destroyed hat back at the Doc’s and felt naked without the brim shadowing his eyes, but it would have to do for now. He was ever vigilant, looking for any who might be following them, any who might be inching their way looking for trouble, and he kept his Colt within easy reach.

The plan was simple: find J.W. and get paid before those dockhands showed up at Rocinante looking to unload. At least, Wyatt hoed it was simple.

“Now, Doc,” Wyatt turned his attention to the old man. “I also gotta offer my appreciation for your care of my crew. Like I said, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to credits, but I never leave a debt unpaid, so name yer price an’ I’ll see to it you get paid.”

“Haha,” the doctor laughed, “Nothing to worry about Captain Wyatt. I’m on retainer by the mine as their doctor on call, and I figure if you are hauling miner’s stuff, it’s all under the same roof. If I ever need a Transport though, I’ll keep you in mind.”

“I got two more things t’ ask, Doc. Where do you think I can find J.W., and would you mind if Sam and Wolf stick around until we get back?”

JW? Well he’s just got came back from some parliamentary visit, which means that Cora and her Ladies Auxiliary have a days worth of parades and speeches and tea parties that they’d like JW to be part of, willing or otherwise. If he can manage to dodge them, he’ll likely as not be at the Lawrence Saloon. Nice place, clean, but it is a miner’s watering hole and the good ladies of this town would never set foot in there. Otherwise, his house is on the Sweetside, closest to the Schoolhouse. Him and Miss Brigit may escape there to get reacquainted if you catch my meaning. As for your men, I would say that Mr. Dash will be my guest for the night. The knitter will fix him up well enough but ribs can be a touchy thing and I’d prefer him to rest as much as possible. Any of your other crew are welcome to stay with me as long as they like. Don’t get company much though so I’m a bit rusty with conversation.”

“That’s right good of ya, Doc.”

At that moment there is a knock on the front door. The doctor turns around to go answer it, leaving you for a moment. After a brief time, he returns with a young man, around 20 years old. He is tall, around 6 feet, with black hair, well care for, and a very handsome face (Picture: a young Pierce Brosnan). He is dressed in a formal black suit, tailor made, his hands are clean, manicured and look like they have never done work before in his life. He is clean shaven with a chisel jaw and soft lips. His cologne is reminiscent of jasmine flowers and a sea breeze. No gun on his belt, although the bright polish on the shine of his shoes could be considered dangerous. Both Asher and Wyatt notice the bulge under his left arm that denotes a shoulder holster for a small gun.

“Good Evening Gentlemen,” He says pleasantly, oblivious to the fact that it isn’t evening yet, “My name is Blake. James Blake. I was asked by an associate of mine to come here to inform you that the coast is now clear. The bird has flown. The owl has left the nest. The eggs are back in one basket. The Alliance ship just….” His voice trails off as he spots Willow. Once he sees her, it is like no one else is in the room except her and him. His eyes take in the doctor with a smouldering desire, and his lips curl into a smile that is both dashing and demure at the same time. He walks directly over to Willow, looking deep into her eyes and says, “I have never had a dream come true before, until now.”


OOC: I was going to move forward a bunch but decided to let everyone reply to Wyatt and throw some eye candy at Willow. I'm a bad man.

Asher was still standing near the window with the Captain, when Miss Willow and the good Doc came into the room and shared the update on both Sam and the banker. As the Kid heard the good news about Sam being okay, he let up a joyful “Whoo-whee!” and a congratulatory “Good job, Doc!” as he passed by both of them to see Sam.

As he came into the operating room, Asher stopped in his tracks. He wasn’t certain what he had expected to see – perhaps, Sam sitting up with a wiry grin on his face and a “Hey, Kid!” – but the sight of the pilot laid out on the table under the mender wasn’t it. Asher approached more cautiously, almost reverently.

“Doc says things are lookin’ up, Dash. Guess the Captain was right, luck o’ threes, and stuff. You’ve had the bad. Now’s time for some good.”

He paused for a moment, a serious, sober look on his face. Then he broke into a lopsided grin. “Anyway, I just wanted to stop in and return the favor ya paid me when I was stuck in the doctor’s chair back when we were chasing that comet. I suspect the Captain and I will be heading out soon… check on things, and such. Sad you’ll have to sit this one out, but you’ll be back up in no time… so, I guess we’ll try to save you some fun, okay?” He gave the pilot a firm pat on the shoulder before walking back to the others. “Stay frosty, Puhn Yo… I’ll bring ya back a hat or something!”

The Kid entered back into the room just as the Captain and Miss Willow were finishing up their chat. “Now, Captain-san,” Miss Willow said coyly, “by snooping, you do mean ‘be very visible and girly and draw every eye in the place so no-one notices you and Asher looking around and having quite conversations’, don’t you?”

“Go gussy yerself up, Willow,” The Captain replied, giving her the affirmation she needed with a nod of his head. As she walked away, Asher stepped up to the Captain, sensing the Captain had orders for him too. Sung turn back to the window, but addressed the Kid. “There’s the possibility that we’re going t’ need some PR, Kid. I think Sam and Wolf’ll do just fine here with the Doc while we sort out our business. So, you might wanna pack all o’ that gear and get ready to go. We leave as soon as Willow’s ready.”

“You got it, Captain!” Asher said with a solid nod. He hustled over to the bedroom where he had hidden his cache of weapons, but stopped for a moment at the door. “Captain?” he called back. “You think we’re gonna need the grenades?”

[OOC: If Wyatt wants Asher to bring the grenades, he’ll do so. Otherwise, I think he’s gonna leave most of the stuff behind. If Wyatt doesn’t respond, Asher will assume “no grenades”.]

Going into the bedroom, Asher began sorting through his gear. Sure wish we were back at the ship… He takes a swig from the milk bottle. Most of this stuff just ain’t gonna be good for a night on the town. The kid looked over the assault rifle with a frown. See! This ain’t no good! He set the bottle down on the night stand.

Speaking aloud to the rifle, Asher continued his thoughts, “It’s not that I don’t like ya none. You sure were something else back at the bank! Whoo-whee! The way you shot that little mule into orbit like a match rocket… it was a beautiful, beautiful thing.” He paused for a moment, lovingly caressing the rifle. “But that’s just what I mean. No offense, but a guy’s gonna scare away all the ladies if he’s got a gal like you slung over his shoulder, catch me?”

He sighed, and slid the rifle back under the bed. “So… no assault rifle.” His eyes rested on the box of concussion grenades briefly before sliding them under the bed as well. “No grenades.” He sighed loudly. The Kid was about to slide the flashbang grenades under the bed too, but hesitated. He took the lid off for a moment and took one of the little devices out. A moment longer and Asher was stuffing two of them in his athletic bag. “The Captain won’t mind none… besides… you two aren’t really grenades, right?”

The Kid was left with the two uzis on the bed. “Whattado? Whattado?” He was about to leave them behind, but something nagged at him not too. Just the peacekeepers? And Sam not coming along? Better take one.
“One it is.”

Asher placed one of the uzis in the athletic bag, and slid the other under the bed. Sad to leave so much of his gear behind, but satisfied with his decision, the Kid shouldered his bag, grabbed the bottle of milk, and headed back for the livingroom.

“All ready, Cap…”

The Kid enters just as the new guest arrives – a young, pretty boy with fancy pants. Ash didn’t know Regina had this level of upper class… he didn’t care for the young man much either. He looked harmless enough, and though Asher noted the bulge under his left arm, the Kid figured he could beat the man on the draw handily. He takes a swig from the bottle.

“Good Evening Gentlemen,” the newcomer says pleasantly, oblivious to the fact that it isn’t evening yet, “My name is Blake. James Blake. I was asked by an associate of mine to come here to inform you that the coast is now clear. The bird has flown. The owl has left the nest. The eggs are back in one basket. The Alliance ship just….” His voice trails off as he spots Willow. Once he sees her, it is like no one else is in the room except her and him. His eyes take in the doctor with a smouldering desire, and his lips curl into a smile that is both dashing and demure at the same time. He walks directly over to Willow, looking deep into her eyes and says, “I have never had a dream come true before, until now.”

Whoo-whee! Dash is gonna be sad he missed this. Sure wish he was here… he’d sure have something to say. Asher tried his best to imitate the pilot. Softly under his breath, the Kid muttered, “Mighty pretty words… almost as pretty as dem shoes.” Asher let out a little cough.

The Kid takes another swig from the bottle, his eyes stay on the newcomer, waiting for a word from the Captain or Miss Willow.

The last few hours had seen Sam chased around his dreams, melting out of one and into another with a weird fluidity that helped to blend the visions of two overlapping lives into a singular, disjointed episode. In one flash he was Morgan Trent, strapped securely into the cockpit of an Arclight bomber, hot-dropping into the strike zone from low-orbit over Hera and in the next, he was Sam Dash, sprawled casually in Rocinante’s pilot’s chair, languidly manipulating the controls as he set the Firefly down on a handkerchief-sized plot of dirt on the dark side of Lilac… of course, when he turned around expecting to find Wyatt standing behind him, he was invariably met with the business end of a pistol clutched in the grips of some nameless bounty hunter or Fed investigator. The gun always went off but, instead of dying, he’d find himself in one life or the other somewhere completely removed from where he’d just been a moment ago – holed up in the janky, coffin sized room in a skyplex waiting for some little fairy to make a prince into a frog or blinking into the shadows of some seedy back-alley trying to make out exactly who the wong bah duhn with the optical implant and bionic arm was before he managed to get killed again. Hell, one scene brought him back to when he was nine years old and playing pilot with plastic models of his favorite Nien mohn boats… that one ended when the ASREV model grew to full-size and commenced to unloading every last bit of ordinance it had into the young Trent’s chest only to have the blinding flash clear away and deposit Sam Dash amongst a zombie-like throng of mangled and faceless rim-worlders, mindlessly hungry for his flesh, probably in some way, seeking retribution for all the innocents that he’d sent to meet their maker…

“Goh se! Ni Ta Ma De! Tian Xia Suo You De Ren Dou Gai Si! ” Sam’s dreams finally chased him back into consciousness on the crest of a wave of profanities when the taloned fingers of one of the zombies closed around his throat and pulled him down. Even before his eyes opened, his hand had already closed around the grips of his pistol and was seeking to rip it free of its holster as he struggled to get off his back and into fighting position.

“Please remain still,” a feminine but somehow metallic voice requested, “It is important that you move as little as possible in order for the healing process to be completed successfully.”

“Juh Shi Suh Mo Go Dohng Shee,” he grumbled as his eyes finally focused and he found himself surrounded not by the corpsified ghoulies of all the folks he’d ever killed but, instead, by newtech medical equipment that he knew damn well wasn’t in Miss Willow’s surgical suite aboard Rocinante, “Where in th’ hell’d ya get yerself carted off to now, Sam?”

The mechanical voice repeateded its request in Mandarin as the pilot’s eyes scanned his surroundings and his mind tried to make a calm assessment of his situation. He was, of course, on some kind of medical cot or table or some gorram thing and, aside from the big hunk of machinery that loomed over him, Dash was able to pick out several other pieces of medical hardware and other accoutrements that indicated a well-funded and well-stocked facility that, to him, screamed Alliance or worse.

Don’ reckon th’ Feds er any o’ th’ rest’d’ve kept my iron strapped, though, he told himself, realizing that his hand was resting on the familiar grips of his Avenger, reckon th’ Cap’d chalk that up ta a tally on th’ side o’ good luck… I’ll take it.
Next Dash noticed that he wasn’t the only patient laid out in this particular infirmary. The pain killers and whatever other meds were pumping through his system made it tricky get a good, clear look at the face of the man who rested on a nearby bed, but the pilot was fairly certain that it had to have been the teller from the bank. A faintly satisfied (or, perhaps, relieved) smile played on Sam’s lips and he allowed his eyes to close again as the meds in his blood protested his consciousness. “Jahn,” Sam whispered, “Conjured ya mighta got kilt when yer box ‘sploded, puhn yoh. Glad ya made...”

The medications won out before Sam could finish his sentence and, feeling a little more than woozy, the pilot faded back into the ethereal midland between sleep and wakefulness. The drone of the machinery and the relatively dim lighting in the room (along with the previous, groggy assessment of his surroundings having eased his initial paranoia) served to keep him a bit more relaxed, now, and, when he did drift along the edges of sleep, there were no more dreams to torment him. He did think he heard Asher talking to him at one point, though, and had been waiting for another fong luh vision to start to take shape. When the Kid gave hima firm pat on the shoulder (right where Ludlow’s homemade hellcannon had plowed into him) Dash winced and realized that it wasn’t a dream.

“Ow.”

“Stay frosty, Puhn Yo,” Asher was grinning at him when Dash’s eyes fluttered open and fixed, blearily, on the Kid’s face, “I’ll bring ya back a hat or something!”

“Ya c’n kiss my lily-white pi guh, Kid,” Dash rasped, regarding the younger man through heavy-lidded eyes, “Whyn’t ya bring me a beer? I’m thirsty as all guay.” It still wasn’t easy keeping his eyes open, though, so Sam allowed them to close again. “Good seein’ ya, Ash,” he murmured, sliding back towards sleep again as he patted the Kid’s hand, “yer a good kid…owe ya some thanks, don’ I?”

He didn’t recall hearing anything that Asher might’ve said after that and couldn’t recall the Kid having left, so he was almost surprised when the next voice Dash heard was Wyatt’s.

“Eight lives left, Puhn yo. Sure wish you were goin’ along on this little ride. I’m sure that Asher and Willow’ll help, but there’s more Joo How Rin when the whole of us are on our feet.”

“Wyungsung,” Dash murmured faintly, turning his half-opened eyes towards the source of the Cap’s voice, “Jus’ gimme a minute er two longer, puhn yoh, an’ I’ll be right wit’ ya…Been layin’ here too ruttin’ long a’ready… This ain’t but a flesh wound an’…”

“Please remain still. It is important that you move as little as possible in order for the healing process to be completed successfully.”

Yeah, yeah! Bi jweh, he remembered thinking when the bone knitter and not the Captain answered him. He also thought he might have said something by way of apology to his friend where the account transfer and such getting all humped-up was concerned and he really had intended to ask about Miss Brigit’s welfare but, even as the knitter repeated itself in Chinese, Dash couldn’t tell if any of that had come out before he lapsed back into the limbo of groggy-land again… The next time he woke up Wyatt was gone, the Kid was gone, and it was just the teller and him, again… Layin’ here picklin’…

((OOC: There we go… more in and out from the human target… plenty of room for back and forth if anyone (Wyatt, Asher) sees fit to try and converse. Elsewise, Dash’ll snooze and recoup until the machine lets him up or another ruttin Ludlow appears. ))

“Good Evening Gentlemen,” Wyatt looked over to the dandy as he spoke, a deadpan expression on his weathered face, “My name is Blake. James Blake. I was asked by an associate of mine to come here to inform you that the coast is now clear. The bird has flown. The owl has left the nest. The eggs are back in one basket. The Alliance ship just….” His voice trails off as he spots Willow. Once he sees her, it is like no one else is in the room except her and him. His eyes take in the doctor with a smoldering desire, and his lips curl into a smile that is both dashing and demure at the same time. He walks directly over to Willow, looking deep into her eyes and says, “I have never had a dream come true before, until now.”

Softly under his breath, the Kid muttered, “Mighty pretty words… almost as pretty as dem shoes.” Asher let out a little cough. The Kid takes another swig from the bottle, his eyes stay on the newcomer, waiting for a word from the Captain or Miss Willow.

Sung remained still, staring at the man in his pressed suit, his obvious upbringing. He immediately didn’t trust him. Of course, Wyatt didn’t trust most people, and he’d long ago learned to trust Willow’s assessment of a man’s mettle, so he just watched while Willow responded, looking for the sign of acceptance that she’d give should they trust the man’s word.

(OOC: assuming Willow accepts Blake.)
“All right, Mr. Blake,” Wyatt drawled. “I appreciate your message-bearing skills an’ all. Now, might ya be willin’ to impress me something more by tellin’ me where ol’ J.W. is?”

(OOC: Following Alacrity’s lead here we’ll do just as he suggested in the QA thread and hunt down J.W. Upon encountering him…)

Wyatt approached the man with a brief nod of acknowledgment. “J.W., I’m sorry to be interruptin’ your evenin’ activities, but there’s a small matter that needs addressin’ before the shadows get too long.

“Our man was on his way t’ the bank with yer pretty miss to receive payment fer our…delivery. We’d already arranged with Miss Brigit for the pick up, but I’m gonna need the payment ‘fore that can go down—a matter of one thousand credits. I’m sure you understand. We appreciate all that’s been done since, and ‘afore, but a man can’t run a business by lettin’ things like that slide.”