Regina, Frisco, Day Ten (Perhaps Day Eleven), Planet Time
Willow woke slowly, luxuriously, and a smile played upon her full lips. She felt good, really, really good and she began to stretch so that the good feeling could get all the way to her toes and fingertips. She had to stop when a weight stopped her, and her jade eyes flew open.

Lao Tsu lay beside her, on his stomach, one arm around her waist and his face buried against her neck. Her hair was wrapped around them both, as were the silk sheets of Tsu's bed. As she began to gently extricate herself, his arm tightened and he spoke against her neck.

"No. Not yet. Wait for morning. Please." Willow smiled and relaxed into his arms, wondering that the warm timbre of his voice still thrilled her. "I must be losing my touch", she murmured as Tsu raised his head to look at her, laugh lines deepening around his eyes," You aren't asking me to stay forever."

"I would if I thought it possible...but your eyes show that you have already left," he replied simply, before the smile came back, "Besides, don't I already owe somebody a year's income or some such award? "

"No, love, that was just two people comforting each other, nothing more nor less," Willow replied lightly, sitting up and shaking her head as Tsu also rose, freeing her hair. She touched his face gently, remembering the conversation they'd shared over dinner.

His tale of two young brothers, anxious to make their names in the Tong, worming their way into the Independents just to steal cargo the Browncoats themselves had stolen from the Alliance. It had all gone horribly wrong, with the money tainted beyond salvation, and they had turned to Grandfather, the one person with the resources and connections to have it hidden away. It was Grandfather who'd created the semblance of a tomb to the fallen, and had found a way to secure the treasure, leaving a means to check on it periodically. Tsu had taken on the responsibility of guarding the treasure, along with Grandfather, but Benny had cracked under the strain of such a terrible secret, descending into alcoholism and drugs. When he'd run away, taking the chesspiece with him, the theft hadn't been noticed at first. It had been a way of hiding the key in plain sight, so much a part of the temple that people had stopped actually seeing it. Knowing that the treasure was buried even deeper than ever meant that Tsu could go find Benny, if he chose.

Willow had shared her own story of the treasure, facing down Brigit after Sam had been knocked out. She'd never regretted her beliefs of non-violence and peaceful resistance before, but the knowledge that the entire planet may have become poisonous wasteland had she failed weighed on her.

"You are a willow, are you not?" Tsu had asked. " The strongest wind cannot break you should you learn to bend and flow with it. I have seen you move (one eyebrow wagging comically suggestive) and you are stronger than you seem. You could learn Aikido...it is purely defensive, and uses your opponent's own aggression to defeat him. I could show you the basics, until you have to leave Regina".

"I'd like that," Willow spoke now."Learning Aikido from you. A gift I take with me always."

And so the next two days passed quickly, with Willow taking lessons from Lao Tsu while doing what she could to ready the ship to fly (mostly shopping for supplies and making sure her crew got enough rest while healing). When at last she said farewell to Tsu, he walked her back to the ship, and gave her a datafile.

"This is a recording of our lessons, so you can study what you do well, and what needs to improve. It is also a series of lessons we have our children use...it will help if you cannot find a teacher. Perhaps you will return to me someday for more lessons, if for no other reason?" His tone was light, but his eyes were serious.

"I will call you sensei for the many things I've learned from you," Willow replied, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye. The kiss deepened, and it was a few moments longer before Willow could tear herself away, knowing she'd not answered him. She walked out of the sunlight into the cool gloom of the cargo bay, where Trish waited in the shadows, watching as always.

At a look from the older woman, Willow shook her head, clutching the datafile and touching her still tingling lips. "No Auntie, you worry too much. His intentions were honourable...too honourable for a butterfly like myself. He...deserves better."

A few days later, Willow approached Asher, dressed in a white gi , "Asher? Would you do me a big favour? I need a training partner who will let me throw him around...and I think I can trust you to not get mad about it."

OOC: Will let Asher react.

It was three months later after landing on Beaumonde when it happened. Willow had already put away the few medical supplies she'd needed since leaving Regina and had settled down to practice her brush calligraphy in the infirmary. Soft music was playing as she carefully inked her brush, then made a series of strokes on paper, the ink flowing and spreading into the paper in a pleasing way.

"This is your captain,….. Sam Dash has tendered his resignation and will no longer be flying with us. It was a difficult decision for him, an' he wishes all of you his best. He had some fond nonsense t' pass on t' each of ya; which if yer so inclined t' hear I'll share it with you in a more confidential setting later. ….Meanwhile, this leaves us short a pilot and a job. So, git yer gear together an' git about yer day people. We got work t' do in order t' get back into the Black. I want to burn atmo as soon as possible."

Willow paused at the Captain's voice, then as she understood that Sam was well and truly gone, she lowered her head. She gathered up her calligraphy materials, no longer caring that the ink was still wet, and the paper marred with new wetness.

Oh Sam, my love...you didn't need to do this. You had a home that could run away anytime you needed to, with people who'd keep you safe and whole.
She couldn't spend too much time worrying about her own loss, however, as Wolf came stamping into the infirmary, cursing about Sam and engine parts that had no business getting in the way of his head.

"Come now, Mr. Wolf...don't you be hurting my fine ship with that hard head of yours. Sit down so I can reach the top of your thinking bits and we'll see what we have," Willow was all crisp business, snapping gloves into place and probing the bleeding gash with gentle fingers. "No need for stitches, you lucky thing, just a bit of dermal plast."

Later, when Wyatt have given all their instructions, Willow sat quietly while Wolf demanded that they go look for Sam. She knew better to counter the Captain in front of the entire crew, bad for morale, and not giving the Captain any room to save face. She held her breath, wondering if Wolf was the right fit for such a tiny ship in the Black.

As Wolf waited for an answer Ash walked over to him and placed a hand on his arm and quietly said,
“Come on... Wyatt’s given us our job. You know Sam and look’n for him would be harder than …. Uh.. well it would be hard. He don’t want found.“

Shrugging off the gunfighter's hand Wolf continued to look at Wyatt. "Doesn't matter how hard it is if we don't at least try what does that make us cowards? For him to leave like this means he is in deep kimche and needs our help. Just because he's too proud or afraid of us getting hurt to ask for our help does not mean we just give up trying to give it to him!"
When Wyatt replied, Willow shivered at the cold hardness of his tone. She knew why it was needed, and hoped it would be enough to quell the big man, but it hurt to hear it, nonetheless.

"Sam Dash don't exist, dòng bu dòng? (Do you understand?) He ain't never existed as far as you're concerned--any of you. Someone asks you if you know Sam Dash...well, the immediate answer that you better conjure up consists of askin' if that's some sort o' cookin' condiment. If'n I find out that you--any o' you--set on a path lookin' after that ta made niao (g**da**) fool, I'll ventilate your brainpan so that the goldpanners on Haven could use it as a sieve. Hell. I'd sell it to 'em for a bite of a protein bar at that point. Now, guan ni ziji de shi (mind your own business), and get t' work."
"I think we understand you," Willow rose smoothly from her seat, her voice calm and light as she joined the Captain, taking his arm and giving it a subtle squeeze. "We all have our orders, right? So let's find us some work and a flyboy to take us back into the Black, hmm?"

Ash knew that Sam had done a lot for Wolf and that Wolf’s felt deeply beholden to him for that, but Ash also knew debt. Wyatt had pretty much taken over raise’n Ash and Sam was more family than the Kid could claim this side of the verse. But liv’n close let the Kid know the bounderies and Wolf had just pushed it. So he paused when Wolf shrugged off hand and winced when he heard Wolf continue.

"Doesn't matter how hard it is if we don't at least try what does that make us cowards? For him to leave like this means he is in deep kimche and needs our help. Just because he's too proud or afraid of us getting hurt to ask for our help does not mean we just give up trying to give it to him!"
Asher walked away, but wasn’t surprised when to hear Wyatt, "Sam Dash don't exist, dòng bu dòng? (Do you understand?) He ain't never existed as far as you're concerned--any of you. Someone asks you if you know Sam Dash...well, the immediate answer that you better conjure up consists of askin' if that's some sort o' cookin' condiment. If'n I find out that you--any o' you--set on a path lookin' after that ta made niao (g**da**) fool, I'll ventilate your brainpan so that the goldpanners on Haven could use it as a sieve. Hell. I'd sell it to 'em for a bite of a protein bar at that point. Now, guan ni ziji de shi (mind your own business), and get t' work." The Kid hoped the mechanic would understand Wyatt’s meaning as well as his words. If Wolf hadn’t been considered family the Capt’n would most likely have tossed him off the boat, but instead he spoke to all, to the family.

Asher had got the list of supplies they’d need to make life more comforting as they traveled the black. Doing the shopping was nothing new to him, he’d done it often enough. The simple mindless shopping let Asher think over the past few months.

A smile crossed his face when as he remembers the day Willow had almost shyly approached him and a asked, "Asher? Would you do me a big favour? I need a training partner who will let me throw him around...and I think I can trust you to not get mad about it." The thought that this gentle little lady could throw him around had almost made his laugh. His brother’s had taught him to fight… to survive when the only weapons you had left were your own two hands. He’d taken many a punch to the face and gut before he’d learned to block and punch back. Now Miss Willow was wanting to learn to fight, it gave him pause but he was also honored. When he meet the doctor in the cargo bay where she’d place mats on the floor he was a bit confused with what they were going to do. Willow told him of this “Aikido” thing that Lao Tsu had started to show her. She slipped a data disc into the cargo bay reader and showed the kid the lessons.

Over the next several months Asher found that this “Little Lady” could dish the damage and easily as she could fix it in the sickbay. First time Willow had flung him it had only bruised his pride, Wolf and Sam had happened by and their laughs stung more than the face plant into the mat. Willow taught Ash about meditation and concentration along with the skills they developed through the lessons Lao Tsu had provided. With this calm and concentration Asher found that his draw seemed faster and smoother. When they had landed Ash found a place to do a bit of shoot’n practice, it sure seemed his speed and aim were better. Maybe being thrown around by a lady had it’s advantages.

-------------
Ash had returned to his room after helping Trish store the supplies. He looked around at the gun lockers and case that were just randomly secured in his room. It had been easy for the guys and Sam to help themselves to his gear. The Kid also knew some of his “tools” may not be looked on favorably if authorities ever decided to search the Roc so he started measuring and planning.

During his next few trips town he picked up some supplies , include fancy new locks for his lockers and cases. Also he found “unused” materials around the boat that nobody would miss…… he hoped. So when someone inquired about what he was doing and what was going on in his room he just told them he was building a book case, they didn’t need to know it would store more than just books.

BACK POSTING
"Sam Dash don't exist, dòng bu dòng? (Do you understand?) He ain't never existed as far as you're concerned--any of you. Someone asks you if you know Sam Dash...well, the immediate answer that you better conjure up consists of askin' if that's some sort o' cookin' condiment. If'n I find out that you--any o' you--set on a path lookin' after that ta made niao (g**da**) fool, I'll ventilate your brainpan so that the goldpanners on Haven could use it as a sieve. Hell. I'd sell it to 'em for a bite of a protein bar at that point. Now, guan ni ziji de shi (mind your own business), and get t' work."
Wolf was ready to confront Wyatt on the issue of looking for Sam. Sam had been Wolf's only friend after his release from prison and the large mechanic owed him for that, hell if not for the pilot, Wolf would never have known of the Rocinante and Captain Wyatt. However as he was about to argue the point he met the Captain eye to eye. Though Wyatt had replaid in a very cold tone of voice not to talk or think about Sam, hell that Sam no longer even existed, Wolf could see in Wyatt’s eyes behind the words that the Captain too was not happy with Sam’s leaving. For him not to go after the pilot made it clear that there was more going on here then just Sam leaving. Looking into the Captain's eyes Wolf realized that if Sam were to call for aid Wyatt would at once give it.

Nodding his head in acceptance of Wyatt’s words, Wolf moved off without another word, joining with Ash to talk to Ma about the ship’s shopping list...........

Beaumonde, Eisley Moss Space Port, 1:00 pm
The loss of Sam to the crew of Rocinante weighed hard but there was no time to waste wishing things were otherwise. The ship needed to fly, Dodger had a line on a special cargo paying a fee for excellent care and no questions - so a new pilot was needed and quickly. But not just anyone was gonna fly Captain Sung's boat. No doubt of that.

Word spread fast around the Eisley Moss Station and within a day there were twenty five would be pilots come calling for the job. Some were easy to weed out, with a quick look over by Willow to note some had tell tale signs of addiction and dependency that would not be good for long trips on the black. Others took a few questions and they were eliminated from consideration.

"Experience?"

"I drive a Mk-4R Hoverbike - can't be much difference."

"Next! Experience?"

"Umm...Someone said there would be refreshments served?"

"Next! Experience?"

"Big Guy, I can fly you to the moons and back with my tongue."

"Next!"

It was a short process to get the 25 down to 6, and then Wyatt took them inside the cockpit one by one and ran them through some dry run drills with the controls on simulation mode. That brought the list down to two. One was a man named "Gator". his resume and references were impressive, with many glowing recommendations from a former captain. Gator was tall, thin and lanky. He had brown hair, a scruffy beard and knew his way around a cockpit for sure. He had an unfortunate habit of calling people dude though and Wyatt wasn't too sure about being called "Captain Dude" but he could make some ground rules. Gator had flights time but all after the way, bein ga young man when the war ended.

The other was a lady named "Tess" and she was the pilot of Destiny which many of you had heard the rumours. It was lost in the black when a bounty hunter looking for a companion, EMPed the ship, boarded it, killed some of the crew and the engineer blew up the ship to kill him while the remaining crew got away (Tess, the Captain Jon, and a Doctor Stephanie). She had combat experience, fought on the browncoat side and Wyatt knows Captain Jon enough to trust his judgement. Tess was a smooth hand with the controls on "sim" - almost uncanny actually, but she had a thing for superstitious charms and trinkets. Wyatt has his own superstitions to deal with, let alone another's.

With two good candidates, Wyatt wanted to see them fly for real, because "sim" was not enough. He wanted to go someplace quiet, no traffic, where they could fly in atmo, leave, do some black time and come back. He has heard of a place called Baker's Gully nearby from the locals.

Meanwhile, Fenris has the port side panel off the power couplings and is looking at the wiring and swearing like a fishmonger's wife. Ever since he put the new Grav Dampener into place, he had been having nothing but troubles with the electrical system of the Roc. Power shunting off, overloads, NAV computer going down - you name it. The two shouldn't be related but the evidence was there. Wolf reached back to his tool tray for a Interlocutor and swore some more.

Beaumonde, Eisley Moss Space Port, 7:00am
As Wolf along with Ash moved threw the streets of Eisley Moss gathering the needed supplies for Willow and Ma he still could not help think on what had caused Sam to disappear. What was in Sam’s past that made him dangerous to know, on top of that, was Sam even his real name? No matter, short of Sam being an ex-Alliance hit man, Wolf would have his back if called.
------------------------------------

Beaumonde, Eisley Moss Space Port, 1:45pm
*“Da-shiong bao tse shr la doo tze!” Wolf swore as he stood up from beneath the new Grav Dampener before him. Ever since he had put this ~Ai ya~ Dampener in he had, had nothing but trouble with it. It had started to seem that every time he fixed something, something else went wrong. From the power shutting off, once he had it up and running, it overloaded. Then once he had gotten that under control it had then died yet again. The worst thing of it all this was the second! ~Ai ya!~ Grav Dampener he had installed! The first one had been worse shutting down not only power area’s and the engines but at times separate electrical systems of Rocinante itself. The worst of these systems the NAV comp. Be just the ship’s luck to be out in the black with no idea where to go.

Now Wolf, though he considered himself a +zhen de shi tian chai when it came to engines, had to admit, if only to himself, that he was pretty weak in the electrical aspects of the Rocinante. Though he had gotten most of the electrical systems up and running his lack of sure knowledge of said systems had him feeling it was not going to be for long. However at the moment he had decided to try something new by rerouting the power lines of the ship through a stabilized power meter/protector matrix programmed to keep the power from shutting off or over loading. Hopefully this would work. If not then he would have to talk to Captain Wyatt and tell him that his best was just not going to be enough where those area‘s were concerned

Crawling back under the Dampener he positioned himself, rather tightly once again, to continue. Reaching to his side for his Interlocutor he found it not where he had left it, right side pocket of his tool belt. Instead it was lying on the ground, out of reach, behind him having fallen out of the same said tool belt!.

^“Liou koe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh bun ur-tze Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng!!”........................


*“The explosive diarrhea of an elephant!"
~Damn~
+an absolute genius
^"Stupid son of a drooling harlot and monkey, frog-humping sonofab----"

Business a usual, except for the fact that there was someone other than Sam sitting behind the Roc's controls. It had been a long day, and Wyatt found himself longing for the less complicated interactions that took place within the decrepit mine a few months back. Of course, the need to full the pilot chair want a necessity if Wyatt wanted to plant his fanny in it ask of the time. The potential for an increased profit margin across the board was tempting, but the thought of being tethered gave him an empty feeling in his gut. So he endured the rediculousness that accompanied such searches with, perhaps, a slightly more critical eye and less patience than usual.

"So," one gaunt-faced man who had to of been barely such, but looked weathered and worn ventured during the preassessment. "How soon you be makin' fer the Rim?"

"Ain't got no baring as of yet," Wyatt had said dismissively. "It says here you flew Tremonton? Was that under Captain So Li?"

"Naw. Was Captain Brimhall," the man said, his tongue flicking out between his cracked lips. "You got any prospects fer the Rim?"

Sung didn't bother looking up from his newly acquired data book to see if the man's eyes backed up Wyatt'ss intuition about him. The wraith of a man was dangerous, and in more ways than just being deadly with a weapon. Wyatt could practically taste the metallic flavor of blood on the wind between them. His immediate thought was that whomever was after Sam was really hot on his trail, and he wondered what would happen if he leveled his Colt at the pasty dandy's belly and squeezed off a shot--would he even have a chance to? How many of this fellow's shadows were playing hide and seek with the crowd? With Willow next to him, and her likely being aware of the cards this fellow was holding before Wyatt had ever begun to taste copper, the captain had decided to play it cool.

"Can't say that I do," tipping his hat back on his head, Sung used the cover of his hand to quickly scan the dock while scratching at the crown of his head. Allowing the hat to settle naturally back into place, Wyatt settled back in his fold-up, creaky lawn chair and offered Dangerous a soft smile. "But, I hear tell there's a nice frigate on the other side of the docks just itchin' to deliver a ship full of milk dispensers t' Higgins Moon. Maybe if ya hurry you can hitch a ride."

Strangely milky-white eyes locked with Wyatt's frost for what seemed like an eternity. During the whole of which Sung's right hand hovered near his piece, and though it was an internal struggle, his breathing remained steady. Wyatt had no idea how long that little staring contest would have lasted, but he was sure that had Wolf not dropped something metal inside the open bay behind him and followed it up with a series of swears in Chinese that broke the pasty one's concentration, they might have still been at it. Instead, Mr. Danger had silently removed himself from the scene and Wyatt now found himself resting his hand against the cool metal of the wall just behind the pilot's seat while the one who kept calling him "Dude"--Gator was his name--whatching the man deftly dance the simulator through his steps. It was a graceful performance. One of the best of the day, and Wyatt was grungingly finding himself considering what life would be like with the dudemeister wandering the corridors of Roc. He was distracted from the lanky man's performance when the screen blitzed.

"Uh...dude?"

Wyatt blinked away the comical images playing through his head in Chinese animation, and frowned at the blinking static that had interrupted the test.

"One moment," He responded, snatching the mic from it's cradle in the process. "Wolf. There's a test goin' on here. What's this feihua (nonsense)?"

...

Wyatt Sung stood, leaning casually against the counter in the galley. At the table before him was Gator, and Tess. The last of the selection (Thank Buddha!). Wyatt had just spoken with Fenris Apollo about the reason Roc was sneezin' all over his auditions, and he wasn't exactly pleased with the answer. The mechanic was outside at the moment trying to resolve the issue leaving Wyatt and Willow to entertain.

"So..." Wyatt drew the word out in such a way to leave the O hanging in the air. "Any questions?"

"Do you really hafta go, Sifu?"

"Yes, little flower," Fu Sheng smiled at the eight year old girl who stood pouting in the doorway of his cell, "I really have to go..."

"But who will teach us gong fu while you're away? And tell us the stories about fetching water and the hole in one jug and cuz o' that flowers grew on the one side o' the path an'..."

The monk's hand flashed out with such speed that the little girl wondered, as the tip of his index finger landed feather-light on her lips, if even Sifu Cheung had seen it, himself... or did his hands truly move as quickly as his thoughts?

"There you go, again, blooming much too quickly, little flower," Fu Sheng laughed softly, "a step is a journey all it's own, remember?"

"Amb mbapin om morm wum jermee ib neber wibe por thobe wib omy phoo pheet," she finished from behind her pinned lips.

"That is right," the monk smiled, his finger gone from her lips, now, but the silence it had induced remained, "now, what was your first question?"

"Sifu," the girl offered a respectful bow, "who will teach us gong fu if you go away?"

"Sifu Huo," Fu Sheng answered with a smile before turning back to his packing.

"But he's soooo old," another young voice protested from the corridor.

"Shhh," the girl scolded.

"And very wise," Fu Sheng answered, abandoning his preparations to, once again, turn and face the door, "Sifu Huo has taught me the best of my own gong fu, after all..."

The monk clasped his hands behind his back and whispered a step or two closer to the doorway, the smile never leaving his lips; "Would you mind stepping out so that I can see you, Dewey?"

"...and, if you pay attention and learn his lessons well," Fu Sheng continued as a pink-cheeked boy of eleven or so appeared in the doorway behind Little Flower and feigned interest in his own toes for a split second before meeting the monk's gaze, "I'm sure that he will teach you the best of yours, as well."

"Yes, sifu," both children chorused, neither sounding completely convinced or enthused.

"Good," the monk nodded, "Will there be more questions?"

"How's come they don't send summun else," Dewey asked, then, mayhap a bit hastily…

“Ma Bu,” Sifu Cheung barked suddenly, “ma shong!”

The children reacted instantly, each settling quickly into the deep horse stance their teacher had called for. Quickly, precisely, but not so much silently.

“Aw, man,” Dewey moaned as he assumed the stance.

“Buhn dahn,” Little Flower grumbled at her friend without even glancing over her shoulder at the boy, “They aren’t sending somebody else because they’re expecting trouble.”

“Oh.”

“They are not expecting trouble,” the smiling Sifu assured them as he glided around them and made subtle corrections to their stances, “They are sending me because, for whatever reasons of their own, the farmers trust me to ensure delivery.

As to the question you have yet to ask,” Sifu Cheung continued after widening the lad’s stance with the tap of a toe and straightening his posture with the touch of a palm, “You are being made to do this because you are not where you should be… both of you, I believe, are supposed to be studying your numbers… instead you are here, seeking answers where there are no questions.” He tapped the boy lightly on the temple before pacing slowly back into his cell. “What sort of sifu would I be if I neglected your education?

You will hold this stance,” he flowed effortlessly into the posture he’d just assigned them, “until I have finished packing.” Then, rising out of the stance and turning in the same motion; “During that time, you may ask as many questions as you like.”

Despite sincere attempts to do otherwise, Dewey and Little Flower smiled. This wasn’t going to be much of a punishment; Sifu Cheung didn’t really have anything. How long could it take to pack nothing?

“Questions ‘bout anything, Sifu?”

“Yes,” came the simple answer as the monk took his time about rolling up a pair of trousers.

“It true you kilt five men t’once?”

“Bi jhwe! ,” Little Flower hissed.

“What? Sifu said anythin’.”

“Stoopid…”

“No,” Fu Sheng fought to keep his smile from faltering… it was eight, if you counted Hoskins Shian Shen and his bodyguards… and managed to do so by Bhudda’s grace, “It is not true that I killed five men at once.

And Dewey is correct, Little Flower,” he appended, laying the trousers on his cot and reaching for another pair, “I did say anything.”

“Yes, Sifu.”

The second pair of trousers, rolled neatly, was placed on the cot next to the first pair…

“Sifu?”

“Yes, Little Flower?”

“Are you sure there’s not gonna be any trouble?”

“I cannot see the future,” Fu Sheng smiled, “but, yes, I am fairly sure that there should be no trouble.”

“Then why’re ya packin’ them?” Dewey nodded at the Monk’s Spade, the rope-dart, and Sifu Cheung’s favored pair of exotic rattan clubs where they lay on the cot, neatly arranged, just above the new-formed row of trousers. He was rewarded for the nod by being coaxed ever so slightly out of his stance.

“Ma Bu,” came the monk’s rebuke for the offense as he considered the weapons and the boy’s question. “Practice,” he answered, turning from his folding, now and finding Dewey trying his best to get back into the stance, “Always practice.”

He moved a few steps forward, then; paused beside Little Flower, for an instant, and reminded her to ‘breathe,’ before strolling towards Dewey… “Toes in more…back strong… tuck in your butt…”

That last evoked a snickering from Little Flower but, despite that, Dewey had it just about locked when the Sifu again demonstrated the ‘perfect’ horse stance directly in front of him and said; “Ride the horse. Strong horse stance, strong gong fu. Ma bu. Dohn mah?”

“Yes, Sifu,” Dewey winced as the monk smiled back at him, “Ma bu!”

“Very good,” Fu Sheng said, rising out of the stance, clasping his hands behind his back and continuing on past the boy.

“Wh…where ya goin’, Sifu?”

“To get noodles,” the monk said, not bothering to look back, “I find myself hungry.”


“But yer not done, packin’…”


“No.”

“But you said…”

“Always practice,” Fu Sheng smiled as he disappeared down another narrow corridor on his way to the orphanage’s kitchen. “Continue asking questions, too. Why did I skip school to watch Sifu Cheung pack, for instance… What was I thinking might happen when I got caught?”


“He’s taking weapons,” Little Flower said after she thought the monk had gone, “Sure seems there’s gonna be trouble.”

“Uh huh,” Dewey agreed.

“Things are not always what they seem,” Sifu Cheung’s voice called back.

“Yes, Sifu,” the children chorused.

Nor are they otherwise, Fu Sheng didn’t finish that part out loud, he simply looked back for a moment, smiled, and moved on…


“Jin?”

“What?”

“What if there’s Reavers?”

“Bi jhwe!”

“Jin?”

“What?!?”

“My butt hurts.”

“That’s cuz you’re not breathing right…”

Somewhere on Beaumonde
Yardiff Bey, or Yari as his friends would call him, looked out on his estate and smiled smugly. Today is my day. He thought to himself as he looked down upon his guests mingling with the women he’d hired to entertain that day and evening. On the far side of his property, pass the in ground pool, servants were tending to the many whole pigs he had roasting over a big fire pit. No one could say he didn’t known how to throw a party.

It hadn’t been always like this for Yari. He’d been born with a disease that made him weak, difficulty breathing and the like, and his father, being a underworld minion low on the food chain, had to work hard pay for the operations and medicine. His dad resented him a lot for that – used to call him worthless, insipid and weak, said that he’d been better off if he choked to death instead of being a burden on the family. But his mom was always sweet and caring for Yari, always there for him and always told him he would be someone some day, so in his mind, Yuri dedicated this day to his mom, may she rest in peace. She’d died when Yari was 18 years old, just after he received his final treatment and a clean bill of health – like she held on long enough to make sure he’d be alright.

Of course once she was gone, Yari used his father’s underworld ties to make a name for himself and then strangled his father to death on the one year anniversary of his mom’s passing. Not so worthless and weak now he had thought as he watched his father die. He then sold his two brothers and sister into indentured servitude for a tidy profit. The thought of them toiling away on Higgin’s Moon without a hope of escape, cheered Yari immensely when he thought about it. Without that startup capital, none of this would have been possible.

But today, he had all the big name crime bosses of Beaumonde here on his estates. They would drink his wine, eat his food, do his whores and remember his name. He was playing in the big times now and this would be his day. He was the major supplier of dreamdrowse on Beaumonde, with robot cultivators tending to his plants in between the corn and sunflowers he grow. It was a sweet setup and the money was very good. Of course some local farmers got wind of what he was doing but Yari knew how to deal with that.

My secret of success? Oh I treat everyone like they were family!

Beaumonde, Eisley Moss Space Port, 5:00 am
Rising early Ash took out the tools he had borrowed from the engine room. He then started removing the wall panels. There were several recesses that would work nicely………..
All through the morning Ash continued to measure and cut, form and hang, hammer and screw. When he needed materials he searched through the passenger rooms and storage areas and barrowed what he needed. The kid kept the door closed so none saw what was going on. Once Wolf caught him hauling some panels through the passage way and asked what he planned to do with them, “Oh just mak’en a new table and books shelf”, Ash mumbled as he rushed on the his cabin.

By lunch the renno was done, a new folding table was built in nicely to the wall with a two shelf book case inset to the wall. The kid stood back to inspect the look. He’d took time to be sure the wall corner seams looked original, you’d never notice the room was nearly a foot smaller. The three cabinets fit nicely on either side and a new set of shelves with securing latches and locks held the kid's gun cases.

Walking over to the table Ash reached under the table and released the catch holding the support leg. The leg slipped up into position and the table folded and lowered smoothly into a small recess. A slight push on the lower shelf and a slight tag on the upper shelf and top panel swung down revealing his newly acquired JC39 Assault Rifle/Shotgun, the ammo boxes tucked neatly to the sides.

The kid pushed the gun back into it’s hiding place and the shelves returned to their place.

Pushing the table with his foot he slid the lower shelf sideways into the wall revealing the cases to grenades and flashbangs. A light touch released the shelf and it cover the hidie hole.

The “questionable tools” of Asher’s trade were now more safely stored, it would take some special skills to find them. The only thing left was to figure out how those fancy techie locks he’d bought for the cabinets worked. He hadn’t listen closely enough when he got’em and now he had to figure um out. It had been pretty easy for the crew to get into his gear and now that he was back that would change. The locks were made to replace the builtin cabinet locks. It didn't take long to dismantel the the old locks an install the new ones. They had self contain power units and used bio recognition along with the encripted codes. It was easy to supply the drop of sweat, finger print and saliva need to set the bio scan. All he should have done was grab the handle and punch up the code. The handle had the bio reader and the code confirmed for access. He followed the instruction and programed each. The first two worked fine but the last one holding his faverite peace keepers wouldn't open. He tried to reprogram it but wouldn't accept the new setting. Well he had plenty of time, Wyatt was seeing folks to find a pilot so grabbing one of the locks he walked out into the passage to head to the cargo bay.

As he entered the way Wyatt was walking with some guy toward the Comm, as they passed the smiling stranger with the Captain nodded and muttered ,”Dude”. The gun slinger furrowed his brow but nodded back and then headed to the cargo bay to work on the new lock, maybe techie wasn’t the way to go. Taking a seat he spread out the papers that came with it and tried to follow the instruction. "Ta Ma Duh......Chwen lock.....piece of Luh Suh....Lio Coh Jwei Ji Neong Hur Ho Deh Yung Duh Buhn Jah
J’wohn." The kid just mumbled as he kept trying to understand the technical instructions to reprogram the lock.

It wasn’t hard to see the kid needed help.

Beaumonde, Eisley Moss Town, Yesterday
The scanner’s read light shown through the narrow slit as the machine read John’s last payslip, the former message of “Good day. Welcome to the Alliance Central Banking Network. How can we help you?” on the display screen was replaced with a breakdown of the payslips value, including the tax and service charges deductible from it. John’s last job was meant to pay 400 credits, but after parts and tax the machine spat out just about two hundred. Slipping the notes into his wallet John turned, contemplating finding the new work that had so far evaded him, and left. Downcast, thoughts of what work he could do, what work he might find, how much that work might pay, filled his mind as he walked home. It wasn’t until John reached the building his apartment was in did the Hun cross his mind again, leaning against the forward wall of the building, not ten steps from the entrance, were some of the Hun’s thugs. A small group of them, one bloke about his own height with greasy hair and three tall, thick set men, with bold heads. Making no effort to avoid them John walked straight towards the building’s entrance, greeting them a short way away, before being frogmarched into a side ally, the shorter one giving a long whistle as they did. “Nice pad you got ‘ere, boss’ll be pleased ta know.” The other thugs guffawed stupidly. “We’ll be takin’ you’re obligations.” The shorter one smiled and stretched out the last word, it sounded alien coming from his mouth. Reluctantly, but dutifully, John pulled out his wallet and began counting out the bills. “Forty credits, two months’ worth.” He handed the sheaf over to the shorter one. “You’re [english, southern] accent annoys me John.” The shorter one commented, counting the bills for himself. “We’ll ‘ave an extra ten ‘cos of it.” Grudgingly John handed over the extra money, knowing they’d lay him out if he didn’t forfeit it. After sacrificing his tribute, and with a “Let’s go boys.”, the thugs shove past John leaving him to ascend to his apartment with lighter pockets.

Inside upstairs, in his poky apartment, John places his toolbox on the floor, empties his pockets, removes and hangs up his suit jacket, then logs onto the cortex to access the port registry to see a few new ships dock overnight, but no notices about work or crew needed. Just like most other nights and mornings for the past ages. Fates know why captains should post out for work when most have crew to do it John thinks to himself. Checking the nights episodes have downloaded and that his datalibrary has updated he drags himself up from the chair, carefully pulls on his suit jacket, and picks up his laundry to take downstairs. Having dropped off his suits for overnight cleaning John returns, picks up his datalibrary, and begins reading the latest updates and journals from his subscription list, the inane soaps and dramas he’s downloaded providing a background to alleviate the sense of isolation. Later that evening, with the cortex drivel long finished, John finishes reading the updates and replaces his shirt and trousers for night clothes intent on sleep. Siting on the edge of his bed he administers a meta-diphenhydramine patch, slips under the bedclothes, and falls into a tranquilizer induced sleep.


Beaumonde, Eisley Moss Town, 8:00 am
Come morning, after washing and showering, John checked the port records again, this time more from habit then the need to find work. Not much was different from last night, a few ships had left and a few arrived, but what caught his attention were the two jobs being advertised, this was a good sign. The first was a job for a mechanic, not an engineer, but the second was a job he could do. A ship that had come in last night, the Rocinante, a model 3 firefly, was suddenly and strangely in need of a new pilot. It didn’t say why the last pilot had ‘left’, and it wasn’t any of his business till he got the job, but he’d try to find out. The notice did say that the captain was holding interviews at one. Spirits lifted by the good fortune John resolved to go for it, but decided he might not turn up immediately so he could avoid most of the buhn dahn that would try out. Dressing, tucking his newtech sidearm into its concealed holster under his waistcoat and strapping his gunslinger’s rig and service pistol to his right thigh, John grabbed a fruity oaty bar for breakfast then went to collect his laundry.


Beaumonde, Eisley Moss Space Port, 1:30ish pm
After eating near the port area John pushed his way towards the landing bays, the surging crowds seemingly intent on blocking his way, but after so long in Eisley Moss he’d got used to the masses and mules that populated the port area. The right landing bay wasn’t hard to find, although not the biggest ships around fireflys were, are, iconic. Entering the bay John looked up at the Rocinante ‘s bridge, sitting proud and prominent, well forward and above the main airlock. This cheap, popular, common as dirt starship had helped colonize the rim and taken humans further than ever before. There were still a fistful of, presumably, applicants waiting around the ships boarding ramp, not wishing to join them John decided he’d give the ship he’d, fates be kind, soon be piloting the once over. As well-built as these old things were there was always something up with them, some quirk or something the ship had acquired, as if it were a person, over its years of service. About half-way round some ja hwo ma jung hwa attracted his attention. “Liou koe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh bun ur-tze Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng!!”. Looking around quickly he saw a toolbox, and a pair of feet sticking out from under the ship. By the swearing it could only be the ship’s mechanic, John had only known mechanics to swear like that. Crouching down near the mechanic’s feet John saw the interlocutor and picked it up. "This what you need?" John inquired holding the tool out so that the man under the ship could take it.

Willow was...bored. She knew that finding a pilot to replace Sam (as if Sam could ever, ever be replaced!) was crucial, and they had a cargoload thanks to dear Dodger, but Willow was tired of sitting and reading the body language of one hopeful after another.

Maybe it was because she was put out at having to even replace Sam, but she didn't want to examine those feelings sitting her in front of others. Maybe it was simply her sore arms - her last Aikido practice hadn't gone as well as the others, and she'd failed to let go of Asher as she sent him flying...causing her own arms to feel wrenched and stretched. It was her own pride, really, and dear Asher had been so sweet about helping her up and apologizing. Definitely her pride that insisted on continuing onto the yoga session, but Asher had been doing so well she hadn't wanted to disappoint him.

She fanned herself idly with her fan, the ornate gold and black design casting light and shadow across her face and sighed. The last few candidates had not been anything special, though she'd been bothered by the one fellow who'd been more interested in the Rim than anywhere else. Captain had sent him away without even checking his pilot hours, which was fine by Willow. The rest had just been..odd. Some were clearly lying about their experience, or were running from something, and one poor wretch was so looped on dreamdust that Willow had wondered how he stayed upright.

Willow's reverie was interrupted by a flurry of cursing, floating all the way from the engine room. She listened idly and shook her head, smiling. "Come now, Mr. Wolf," she called back over her shoulder."Surely you can do better than that! I must teach you some Bengali curses, just for the sake of variety!"

She caught sight of Trish in the shadows, who pointed at her and made a rippling motion with her hand, telling Willow she had a wave. Willow excused herself, taking a quick look at the man called Gator and seeing nothing amiss.

She moved over to the console and thumbed the wave open. An older man looked back at her, his face brightening as he realized he was connected. His hair was thinning, but cleverly styled to conceal it. His clothes were well made, if a bit flashy for a man of his apparent age.

"Sunipta! My word...it has been a long time! You look...well, simply beautiful. It has been too long. I - I've missed you."

"Cameron-san!" Willow was startled, and took a quick look over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed. In a flash, she was but a girl again, worried about being caught by her father." It has been a long time. On purpose! What...what are you doing? Have you spoken to Father? " Willow blinked again, regaining a measure of her composure, "How is Anne Marie? And your daughters?"

"Anne Marie left me after ... the fuss. I haven't seen her or the girls in I don't know how long," the man's face sagged into bitter lines," and your father hasn't spoken to me, yet. It's not time - hell hasn't frozen over yet. "

"But none of that matters anymore, " he brightened again," I'm back. I'm a self made man, Sunipta, taking back everything that I lost. And I mean to make it up to you, for all the trouble I caused. I don't care what you're doing or where you've hared off to - I want you to join me. I have tickets to the Star of Sihnon. You must be my guest...I've sent you an e-brochure!"

Willow was taken aback. Even when she'd known him, Cameron Bridges had been a wealthy man, but not wealthy enough to afford the most expensive luxury cruiseliner ever made. As she considered this, the e-brochure loaded and overlaid Cameron's face with pictures of opulence and excess.

"Designed to be the most luxurious liner ever to ply the spaceways, the Star of Sihnon has more than managed to meet that goal. Catering only to the most exclusive of clientele of the already highly fashionable Five Star Line, this ship exudes luxury and craftsmanship from every surface. From the staterooms to the common areas, as if any portion of this exquisite ship could be considered "common", to even the crew quarters, the Star of Sihnon not only sets the standard of luxury, she is the standard by which all other liners must be measured..."
Willow thumbed the brochure closed exasperatedly, she was too confused to be distracted by all the pretties on display.

"I don't understand. Why are you doing this? We were a long time ago. A very long time ago. I was barely a woman, and you were my father's business partner. His best friend. I'm sorry, but no. Don't call me again, please."

"No, wait! Sunipta! Willow! You can't do this to m..." and Cameron's desperate face became a white dot on the screen.

Willow stared at the dark screen, lost in thought when the Captain's voice sounded behind her, with the tinny feedback of the mike, "Wolf. There's a test goin' on here. What's thisfeihua (nonsense)?"

“Liou koe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh bun ur-tze Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng!!” Wolf could not help swearing realizing the damn interlocutor had fallen out as he was moving into position. Having no choice but to inch backward he saw a hand pick up the tool and heard a male voice as the interlocutor was passed to him.

"This what you need?"
“Ahh yeah thanks” Wolf replied as he took the tool from the other mans hand. Inching back forward he positioned himself once more at the last section of open engine. Working quickly he had finished the last repairs and crawled out to get his first look at his ’helping hand.’

Standing before the Roc’s mechanic was a short cropped curly black haired man dressed in smart shoes, dark trousers, a dark waistcoat and an under laying jacket, the collar open. As Wolf grabbed a rag from his tool box and began cleaning the grease from his hands he also noticed that the newcomer was armed with an old service pistol strapped to his right leg in a gunslinger’s holster. Against the wing wheel of the Roc a large backpack was resting, surely belonging to the armed stranger.

“Thanks again for the interlocutor, woulda sucked having to crawl all the way out to grab it. Name’s Fenris” Putting out his now cleaned hand for a shake.

“John Ryan”
“Glad to meet ya” Wolf replied as he bent to pack up his tools. However just as he was about to straighten up a loud electrical pop came from the area where he had just been working.

*“gou shi gos se, Shah muh Ma-shong!”
Then almost at once Wyatt’s voice came quite loudly from the speaker just inside Roc’s open bay door.

"Wolf. There's a test goin' on here. What's this feihua?"
Shaking his head Wolf moved to the speaker, and pushed the to-talk button.

“Sorry Captain but it’s the electrical’s I just can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with them. I‘ll keep trying” releasing the button he turned back to Ryan.

“Well like I said it was nice meeting ya and thanks for the help, but I have to get back to trying to fix this +go tsao duh of an electrical system.”
(OOC: Ok have left it open for Loki to continue the RP between the two of us.)
*dog crap, what now!
+ Dog humped

Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
“Kong.”

“Wong ba duhn!”

Yellow teeth were revealed from behind lips that pulled tightly into a grin, “Watch you ‘ranguage, Tess.”

“How can I when ya’ll about to Mah-Jong on me?”

“Oh, don’t be upset. You never know, fortune may smile today.”

It didn’t. Four more moves and Tess Zhou had been soundly beaten by Uncle Benny, owner of Uncle Benny’s Secondhand and Pawn. It had been six months since Tess had more or less crash landed on Beaumounde, four of those six had been spent sleeping on a cot in the back of the store and helping Uncle Benny run the joint. Every over night found Tess and Benny sitting around a rickety card table, drinking jasmine and playing Mah-Jong.

The old chinaman was just about a shady as Tess had known, but deep down he was a good man. Times were tough, and she could hardly blame him for wheeling and dealing to his advantage. In addition, there was the back room that helped to keep his business afloat. She hadn’t learned about that until last month, which was lucky since some of the seedier patrons that went back there were starting to make her a might twitchy.

They both clinked their cups together and drained the last of their tea. Benny stood up.

“See you in morning.”

“G’night, Uncle Benny.” The little bell tinkled at the back door and there was a satisfying sound as he locked the deadbolt. Tess looked over the jumble of tiles, not really seeing them as she lost her thoughts in the silence of the little junk shop.

Dear Ancestors above, did she miss flying.

A few weeks ago, she had received a wave from Grace, mechanic from her last ship Destiny. Surprised wasn’t even the beginning as to how the pilot felt; the last time she had heard from the mechanic was as she, Jon, and Stephanie were running towards the shuttle through the middle of a firefight, and Grace radioed over their comms that she was staying behind to blow the engine. Turns out that gao guhn ji kong survived the whole gorram thing. Tess had no idea how the devil Gracie actually found her, but that girl was crazy brilliant when it came to that sort of thing.

Truth of it was, Gracie had told her, Destiny was still dead in the water, but she was sure she could get her up and flying eventually. After hearing that Tess had been grounded for the better part of six months, her face fell in regret.

“You belong in the air.”

“I know, Xiao Ya,” Tess had responded. The wave didn’t last much longer, Gracie went off about security and time spent chatting before finally ending the transmission. The problem was that Tess had been looking for another pilot’s chair. There were just too many damned pilots in the ‘verse and not enough ships to go around.

Tess gathered up the little chipped tea set, washing it clean before finally turning in for the night. She woke up in the wee hours of the morning, opening the shop long before any of the other stores opened. Benny had delighted in having her stay there and opening early, earnestly declaring, “More customers. Open ear'ry mean we have head start on day.”

When Benny came in later that morning, he practically ran to the counter where she stood, his yellow teeth flashing in another one of his signature smiles. Tess wondered what kind of hair brained deal he had made this time. The last one involved some sort of knockoffs of high fashioned jumpsuits that she wouldn’t be caught dead in.

“Ran into man on street. He say ship come in and look for pi’rot! And I know how good you arrrrrrrrre!” he said, poking her on the arm several times.

Her heart skipped a beat. This was not at all what she was expecting, “A ship? Which one?”

“Rocinante,” he replied, “and you be there tomorrow morning. Eis’rey Moss port.

“And no worry about Unc’rae Benny,” he continued as she frowned slightly, “I not too o’rd to manage store. Though business may suffer with no pretty woman around, eh?”

“Your speakin’ like I already got that there job, Ben. I ain’t even sure what type of ship she is.”

“Firef’ry. I know you. If you arms were wings, you be f’rying now. I sure he take you, no doubt about it. I got good fee’ring.”

The following day was spent gathering up her meager belongings, and going through some preflight procedures. After their evening Mah-Jong game, Uncle Benny told her that she had better take that tea set with her; it wouldn’t do any good for her to be out in the black with nothing to drink but swei.

Morning found Tess standing around with a growing crowd of potential pilots at Eisley Moss Space Port. She stood quietly, admiring the Firefly that sat before her. Her lines weren’t quite a beautiful as Destiny’s, but she was still a good looking ship in Tess’s eyes. A line formed, and candidates started getting turned away. After listing off her prior experience, she was directed towards a smaller group that would run through the sim.

For Tess, the sim felt like a cakewalk. Even though it wasn’t real, she still quickly went through her preflight rituals; rubbing the bottom of the chair twice, twirling her necklace clockwise once, and finally snapping her goggles down across her eyes. The whole thing was like an elaborate tease; the promise of flight, the somewhat accurate response of the simulation to her touch, the delayed reactions in the equipment. Almost the real thing. Almost. Her hand lingered on the back of the chair before the next candidate took a seat.

---

Tess had already decided that she liked the Captain, Wyatt Sung. He seemed to have a no nonsense way of running his boat. It actually stung a little how much it reminded her of Jon, but in the end, in her opinion, that was the only way to be if you were running the show.

She looked placidly across the table towards Wyatt, waiting for him to speak. For her, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Rocinante had a very relaxed feel about her, always a good sign. There were parts of Destiny that had given Tess the willies, but she was still home for a time. The “Dude” seemed to fidget a little before the captain spoke.

“So,” he said, dragging out the last syllable, “Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Tess started, “does Rocinante have any little quirks? Like maybe the drive axis is a bit tweaked on a hard burn, or summit like a quick left faint’ll pinch a line in the grav boot and we got crew floating all over the cargo bay?”

“More to the point, when do I get to feel this girl move beneath me?” she finished smiling.

OOC: Before you start reading, think of where your character would be during a flight audition and how they will react to what is happening. I assume Wolf and John will be in the engine room. Trish is in the Galley. Wyatt, Tess and Gator are in the cockpit. Asher and Willow? In your rooms perhaps?


Wyatt set Rocinante down in a field. Some locals told him this would be a good place to do a flight test and not bother anyone. Baker’s Gully apparently was owned by a farmer who used robotic cultivators so no workers or prying eyes watching. Nothing but corn fields and sunflowers for as far as the eye could see.

After a brief “impress me” talk and a warning that they if they scratched Rocinante they would be leaving and if they damaged her they’d be leaving by the airlock, Gator was first up to try out. The electrical problems that were plaguing the ship had subsided now, as Wolf had found a guy who knew something about the tech problem. Wyatt appreciated that Wolf knew when he need help and wasn’t afraid to ask. Some mechanics would keep saying they got it covered as the ship fell from the sky. Anyway, this John Ryan was on board and still working with Wolf on making sure the problem didn’t come back. John was here to try for pilot as well and Wyatt would give the man a chance afterwards.

Gator was the first to take the controls. The tall man moved into the pilot chair with ease and started the usual per-flight initiatives with ease. The ship lifted off the ground, hovering under the power of the side engines. Gator flipped the comm. button for the engine room.

“Wolf dude! Let’s get ready to rumble!!!!” Gator called out to the engine room.

(assuming a response of “huh”, “what”, or “Don’t call me dude”)

Gator pushed the power level up and rotated the thrusters. The ship fell a number of feet and then took off across the sky at a high speed.

“Weeyooo!” Gator cried out as he dipped the ship down close to the ground and the crops as if to show how close he could skim the ground. He then did a hard turn and buzzed over a small valley before rapidly shutting down the starboard engine, causing the ship to spin, but then re-engaging to straighten out and buzz the valley again. He then banked around again over the valley, doing a barrel roll with Rocinante and then move into a steep climb into the black.

In the engine room, Wolf and John watched as multiple relays blew one after another due to the strain of the sudden speed. Unable to do anything except reset the circuits , the two men sscrabble to keep the engines from seizing up. Then the rapid ascension threw the new Grav Dampener out of alignment and it struggled to adjust. Throughout the ship, people were tossed around as artificial gravity was lost for a few moments. John and Wolf are tossed like rag dolls across the engine room and struggle to not be thrown clear across the ship. From the Galley came an awful noise and the stock pot that Trish was using to make soup came crashing to the floor, spilling soup and protein nuggets everywhere.

As the ship enters the black, barely out of atmo, Gator puts the engines into hard burn. The sound that the crew was used to hearing, like a horse galloping the length of the ship, began as always but this time it wasn’t running like a spirited horse enjoying the freedom of a pasture. This time, it sounded like it was running scared and all hell was chasing.

(assuming that Wyatt will end the audition at this point, either with or without violence. As soon as the ship stabilizes, Trish will be heading up to the cockpit with shotgun in hand and death in her eyes.)