OOC – As usual I kept the conversation to a minimum to let you add you own. Feel free to change anything that I had your character say if you feel it was out of line.

Rocinante Cockpit
“All right, Sam,” Wyatt said after a moment, “Take us in.”

“Aye-firmative,” Dash replied, firing a quick and hopefully hidden burst from a pair of maneuvering thrusters to align Roc’s attitude to the most promising of the patrol gaps, “Hush-a-bye an’ say goodnight, afore ya knows it we’re outta sight.”

Rocinante moved closer to the alliance ships, with Dash steering her towards the gap between the Cruiser and Destroyer, Wyatt running shotgun on co-pilot.They had done these things before and Wyatt and Sam had a system to running silent. Kora even wired a switch into the pilot console that shut down the pulse beacon and reduced the engine noise. Sam dearly wished the mechanic was here to monitor the engines but they’d have to rely on Asher to keep an eye on things.

Neither of the big ships would waste the resources to be doing long range scans. If this was a military operation, things would be different but this was the Mining Consortium flexing its political muscle to try and squeeze dry another independent operator. No doubt some first command captain or someone who pissed off someone in high command was stuck with this duty.

At least, that was what Wyatt and Sam were banking on. Fortune smiles upon the ship and crew as they reach the danger zone – another Firefly transport was detaching from the Patrol Ship and flying towards Regina.

Sam realized the opening and pushed more speed out of the engines, hopefully without creating an energy blip on someone’s screen.

“Kid. Gonna need some more juice in the mains.” Sam called back thtough the comm.

Back in the engine room Asher was feeling a bit nervous. He had done silent running before but always with Kora’s watchful eye to correct him. He was sure of his abilities though, it was just that if something went wrong, then no doubt Dash would be all over him for it. The young man moved the lever a single clip at a time, watching the gauges as he did. He was rewarded with a slight jolt and a faster spin on the drive.

“Nothin’ to it Dash” Asher called back.

Sam got the power he needed and quietly too. Kid was doing a good job back there. Pulling the Rocinante into a slow spin to slide the other firefly between it and the Cruiser, Sam was effectively hiding in the shadow of the other ship.

Victorious Heavy Cruiser – Main Bridge
Do you want to come back to my place she said. Could have told me you were the high commander’s wife. Next thing I know I’m running a dodge duty in the boonies. Next time, we go back to my room
“Commander?”

Commander Yin rolled his eyes as he broke out of his painful reminiscing and turned on his heels, “Yes, Ensign Carstairs?”

“I have a strange reading on the transport that was just cleared by Redoubtable sir.”

“If it was cleared Ensign, why are you bothering me?”

The Ensign stammered, “Ummm….Well … Ummmm”

“Yo Hua Kwai Suo (Talk now and quickly) Carstairs!”

“There were two of them, Commander. For a moment there were two of them”

“Two ships Ensign?”

“Well there is one now. Sir.”

“Which is it? One or two?”

“Ummm… I’m not sure sir.”

Firefly Transport Seka, Cockpit
“Cap! We got a tick on our belly.”

“Yep. I hears the proxy go there for a second. You see it yet?”

“No Cap. Whoever it is, he’s as smooth as silk across a Ma Tze’s (whore’s) butt.”

“Smuggler. Roll an Ivan on him, let the feds deal with him”

“Hold on a Sec there Captain.” The pilot and captain of the ship turned around to see their passenger standing in the doorway – not their only passenger actually, but the most important one by far..

“You got a problem JW?” Captain asked congenially.

“That smuggler. Might be something else. Actually I am kinda hoping it is, and it would be to your boys’ benefit if they slip on by like an old love of mine.”

“How so?”

“If it is what I think, that is yours’ and mine meal ticket, boys.” JW smiled, “Can you help them”

Rocinante Cockpit
Sam swore under his breath. He zigged when he should have zagged and came too close to the other ship. If he didn’t set off a proximity alarm, that ship was flying blind.

Wyatt quickly compensated for the swerve and they were back in the shadows again. All they could do was keep moving and wait to see if anyone noticed them.

Victorious Heavy Cruiser – Main Bridge
“Commander! There it is again! For a moment there were two ships!”

“Run a diagnostics on your station Carstairs. Ensign Jenkins, did you get anything from that ship?”

‘No Commander, but …”

“Commander! I have run a diagnostic and everything checks out.”

Firefly Transport Seka, Cockpit
“We could stall, Captain. Develop some messy engine troubles. Spew a back draft across the black. It would mean that Feds would come and detain us again though.”

“They’ve waited a while for me; they can wait a bit more. I’d be much obliged Captain”

The captain looked to his passenger and back to the Pilot. “All right then, tell Willie to make it so and do it fast. I want the place to look like hell broke loose when them Feds come on board.”

Rocinante Cockpit
Rocinante was close, so very close. Another ten minutes or so and they be past the point of detection.

The Victorious lit up the long range sensors. Warning lights flashed across the board.

“We’re humped!” Sam cried out, preparing to flip the engines to full speed and run for it. Then something unexpected happened. The ship that they were shadowing suddenly slowed and began to spin while spewing out fuel vapours. As it did the warning lights stopped as the trail disrupted the sensor waves.

Knowing an opportunity when he saw one, Dash pushed the engines up to speed and made a straight line toward Regina and the Frisco Port Authority. There is no doubt on either of their minds that the sudden “accident” probably saved their hides.

As you hit atmo, you receive an enthusiastic wave signal for the surface. “This is the Frisco Port Authority! Gau Guhn! (literally “high Pole” – woohoo! or awesome) The whole town’s turned out to greets you. There’s a band and everything. Mr. Blake is hopin’ you’ll make a speech when you land – you know, to get everyone’s spirit up and all. You are cleared to land on Pad One. See you in the world!”

The transmission ends.

Victorious Heavy Cruiser – Main Bridge
“Commander, the Transport seems to be developing engine problems now.”

“Which one?” the Commander asked dryly.

“Ummm….”

“Never mind Carstairs! Your equipment detected the malfunction and you misread it. You made me waste valuable time and energy on an unnecessary sensor sweep. You will dismantle your station and check every circuit and connection for the defect until you find the problem, Carstairs, and you are not dismissed until you are done.”

“But there are thousands of…”

“DID YOU HEAR ME CARSTAIRS!!!!!!”

“Yes Sir. Right Away Sir!”


Note -another post for Willow and Trish will be coming.

“I want to know what has you so fired up about that bracelet, Auntie dear,” Willow began,” The kitten has us all concerned for the trouble it can bring to our door, but you are spooked by the bracelet itself. I want to have a good look at it,” and she held up a pair of surgical gloves from the medical bay,” without you taking it away from me again. We’ll also need to talk….so spill, Trish dear.” With a determined look on her lovely face, Willow pushed her last two items over the counter towards the older woman: a notepad and pencil.

Trish shook her head and gave the “It’s nothing dear” look to Willow. But the doctor and former companion wasn’t about to be simply pushed aside.

(assuming some persistent pushing)

Trish shook her head and took the pad and paper. She scribbled down a few lines and handed it back to Willow.

“Don’t be asking me. It’s bad news. Trust me.”

Willow handed the pad back, “That may work on Asher or the boys Auntie Dear, but not on me. Give.”

Trish grimaced in a mixture of anxiety and frustration. With her facial scarring, it was quite hideous to see. She wrote a few more lines down.

“I made a promise. I won’t break it.”

“Hon, who are you gonna betray out here in the black with you telling me?”

“You know there are eyes and ears everywhere. Trust me, if you go looking into the abyss, it will reach out and pull you in.” Trish wrote.

“Can I at least examine the bracelet or should I get the captain to get it for me? You know I can.”

Trish’s eyes widen into the “you wouldn’t” look, but was faced with the “yes I would” from Willow. A few moments of silence passed between the two ladies and finally Trish went to the stockpot and brought out the necklace. She grabbed the pad and wrote emphatically “You and Me only. Not the boys.”

“Our secret Auntie, I swear.” Willow donned her gloves and took the bracelet. “Want to give a girl a hint as to what I’m looking for?”

Trish put the pad down. She mouthed a word to Willow, slowly and dramatically so the doctor could perceive what she would have said if she had a voice.

Dreamdrowse
Willow knew of it, everyone had heard of it. It was a “recreational” drug, banned on all the planets. It created a euphoric hallucination filled dream like state in the user that was more real than real (picture heroin, ecstasy and MMORPG rolled into a drug) combined. Highly addictive, in fact one or two uses was usually enough to suck a person into the world for good. Despite the officials constantly battling to eliminate the drug – it kept right on popping up. No one knew how the manufacturers’ kept on moving pass the authorities. So what did this bracelet have to do with it?

“We’re humped!”

Wyatt’s face remained impassive as his eyes played quickly over the readouts and displays. It sure seemed like Dash was right, and in the split second it took Wyatt to come to that conclusion the warnings went dead. Sung held up a hand to stall the evasive maneuvers he knew were just a blink of an eye away—not that he needed to, Sam was well aware of the sudden change as well, and the telltale sensation of being pressed back into his seat told Wyatt that the pilot had acted on their good luck.

The black gave way to atmosphere, slowly at first, the coupled with a slight burn across the nose of Rocinante that crawled up to the cockpit and shook the whole of the ship like an angry child. Dash made the announcement that he was going to Burn and Wyatt snatched the intercom from its perch.

“Looks like we made it boys an’ girls. Fasten in ‘cause we’re burnin’ atmo.” As soon as his announcement was made, the radio squawked to life.

“This is the Frisco Port Authority! Gau Guhn! The whole town’s turned out to greets you. There’s a band and everything. Mr. Blake is hopin’ you’ll make a speech when you land—you know, to get everyone’s sprit up and all. You are cleared to land on Pad One. See you in the world!”

Wyatt sat back in his seat and cocked his head slightly to the side while he stared at the console the happy voice had just emitted through. Then, slowly, Captain Sung turned and offered Sam a questioning gaze while tilting his hat back on his head.

“A shipment of ice don’t warrant a parade in my book. I think the mule we piggybacked in here might’ve been set fer somethin’ glorious, an’ we’ve now been mistaken for the other boat. How W’rin Bu Lai, Whai W’rin Bu Jwo (Good luck don’t come, bad luck don’t leave).” Wyatt thought for a moment… they didn’t have too long.

“Need some suggestions, folks,” Wyatt had grabbed the intercom again and was now relaying his request throughout Rocinante’s interior. “Seems we’ve slipped into the boots of expected guests, only we’re not gonna be received too well once we dock an’ the good folks down there realize we ain’t who they was expectin’. Then, as I see it, it’ll all come t’ light that we just ran the gauntlet and the bloody Consortium’ll be itchin’ for our scalps.

“Though, the other side t’ the coin is, we hoof it for greener pastures elsewhere an’ we’re like as not t’ get the Consortium all spit shining their iron and testin’ their hangin’ rope all the same. Either way, seems we’re humped ‘less we can come up with somethin’ Da Chung Wu Dahn (impressive display, despite having no substance).”

“Shhhh, bao bei,” Dash mumbled as he reached out and flipped the silent running toggle that Kora had installed, “not s’much as a clickty-clack.” His gaze dipped to the console, unnecessarily verifying that Wyatt had his back from the co-pilot’s chair, then swept discerningly over the scene beyond Roc’s canopy before returning to the console. Sight, instinct, instruments, in that order… that’s the way he had flown all his life and it had kept him breathing so far. The pilot’s eyes repeated the circuit over and over as he nudged the Firefly towards the gap between the cruiser and the destroyer and, in those first moments, a whisper would have been like a scream in Rocinante’s cockpit.

Let’s hope we’re jus’ as quiet out there, he thought, tweaking the yoke to starboard a hair in order to keep clear of the Alliance vessels short range capabilities. If Alliance protocols held true, Sam reckoned, these blockade boats wouldn’t be wasting resources on pinging the long ranges… not in support of some gorram Mining Consortium money grubbin’ nonsense, no how… There was a sudden prickling at the back of his neck and, for a quick second, Dash considered the stowaway cat and the tracking collar the critter had been wearing and the twitchy part of his mind suddenly screamed ‘Trap!’.

“Easy,” he muttered, flexing his fingers around the controls and forcing his gaze to sweep the circuit again, “do th’ job an’ don’ ruttin’ think.” His instincts told him that they had just nosed into the ‘danger zone’ and letting his paranoia get the best of him now could lead to the whole crew being wong dahn (done for). “Ever’body hold yer ruttin’ breath,” he said, this time not muttering, “if’n ya gotta sneeze er fart, get it done in th’ next two seconds; we’s in the ugly.”

Absently chewing his lower lip, Dash made a minor adjustment to their course when he spotted another Firefly detaching from the Redoubtable. “There’s our hidey-hole, Cap,” he breathed, nodding in the Seka’s direction, “we’ll glue ourselves to their hull and drift right on by.”

He reached for the mic without taking his eyes off of the other transport. “A’ight, mei…dammit.” He released the talk button and scowled, remembering that Kora was no longer backing him in the engine room and his stomach flipped at the thought. Dash cued the mic again, correcting the hail; “Hey, Kid! Gonna need s’more juice inna mains… just a nudge, boy… don’ go burnin’ us out.”

“Not a problem, Dash,” Asher called back after a moment.

The pilot smiled faintly as he verified that the Kid had gotten the results they needed, then goosed the throttle and maneuvered into position to shadow the Seka. “Way how, Kid…here comes the fun mi tian gohn.” As delicately as he could, Dash weaseled into the Seka’s shadow, rolling Rocinante over and sidling up to the already cleared ship. Ya don’ see me, ya don’ see me, ya don’ see me, the pseudo-mantra repeated in his mind as he eased in.

“Gun! Son of a motherless…” he swore quietly as an inadvertent twitch on the controls bumped Roc just a hair too close to the other ship. If that didn’ set off their prox, they need new ‘lectrics… Gorram it! Wyatt had been quick to correct the error, though, and Dash let out his breath as he nodded his thanks to the Captain.

“If they seen us,” he whispered after a few moments, “they ain’t too all fired concerned about it, Cap. Another ten minutes or so an’ we’re inna roost, free an’…” It was then that his console lit up and Sam almost flinched; the Victorious had kicked in a long range sweep. “We’re humped!”

If the Seka’s ‘accident’ had come a nanosecond later, Roc’s crew might have been treated to the sound of a horse galloping through the decks as Dash’s fingers were a hair’s breadth from killing the baffles and dumping the Firefly to full-burn. An apparent miracle had occurred, though, and the other ship fell back, listing erratically and spewing fuel vapor into the Black. “Jahn,(fantastic),” Sam breathed, flicking an incredulous glance at Wyatt and catching the captain’s raised hand that would’ve been a warning to forestall any evasive manuevers, as the warning lights winked out, “That’s all I need…Sheh sheh, Jayzus!” Without a second thought as to the why’s or wherefores of the other boat’s sudden problems, Dash opened up the throttle and pushed Roc for atmo.

“Bringin’ ‘er in, Wyatt,” Dash said as he hauled back on the yoke and bellied the Firefly into Regina’s exosphere, “I got the burn in if’n ya wanna tell the kids.” His grip firmed up on the controls as Rocinante passed through the next layer of atmo and then shook like a dog’s chew toy as the mesosphere burned against her hull.

“This is the Frisco Port Authority,” the comm. squawked almost immediately after Wyatt’s announcement to the crew, “Gau Guhn! The whole town’s turned out to greet you. There’s a band and everything. Mr. Blake is hopin’ you’ll make a speech when you land—you know, to get everyone’s sprit up and all. You are cleared to land on Pad One. See you in the world!”

The pilot arched a confused brow. Surely that message wasn’t intended for them… A band? Who inna hell is Blake? Speech?!? … “Umm,” he said, once again glancing in the Cap’s direction, “oops? Sounds like we stepped off the wagon and into the sheepdip, puhn yoh; that ain’t us, I don’ reckon.

We take that slip they’re offerin’ an’ we’re humped like a reaver in a lovebot factory, Cap. We could burn ta th’ outskirts an’ find us a nest ta hide in, contact this Sachet fella an’ go from there but, I reckon, that’d be purtnear’s bad’s pretending we is who we ain’t, get me?”

Even as Wyatt snatched the mic from it’s cradle and solicitied input from the rest of the crew, Dash’s mind flashed to the reeling Firefly they’d shadowed past the blockade and, then, back a couple of years before that – to a time when his name was Morgan Trent and he had become sickened by flying for the Alliance and… “Or,” he realized suddenly, though unaware he was actually voicing the thought, “we could fake us a crash…”

Rocinante Engine Room
Regina.

Since leaving Lullabelle, Asher had spent most of his waking hours preparing, and even some of his sleeping hours dreaming, for this day… for this moment.

The past few days had been busy, what with Asher checking over every major system, trying to keep the same pace of his predecessor. He had walked through the motions of silent runnin’ with Dash more times than he could count.

And now the moment was upon them. Asher had even put on a pair of old coveralls today that he’d found at the bottom of his closet. They weren’t a bit shiny, and he had got some glances at the breakfast table, but they reminded him of Kora and that was what he was going for.

As they approached Regina, Asher couldn’t help but feel a little lonely in the engine room. The space was big by any means, and Kora and the Kid were constantly trying to edge ‘round each other when they had worked together…

Gotta stay focused, kid… Asher could almost hear the mech say. Never know when the big boys upstairs gonna want some juice, and you gotta be ready.
Asher smiled. He was nervous, for sure, but he felt ready.

Dash’s voice crackled through the comm, “A’ight, mei…dammit.”

The comm went silent for a moment. Here it comes, kid… get it right or Dash will be riding ya fer the next month.
Dash’s voices came through again, “Hey, Kid! Gonna need s’more juice inna mains… just a nudge, boy… don’ go burnin’ us out.”

Asher clicked the comm unit, “Nothin’ to it, Dash!”

Moving to the main engine power panel, the Kid moved the lever a single clip at a time, watching the gauges as he did. In the foreground of his mind ran the audio clip of Kora counting, One, two, three, advance… one, two, three, advance… one, two, three, advance… move it any faster and we’ll light up the Purple Bellies’ sensors brighter than a nova. That, and Dash will rip yer head clean off…
Her voice moved to the background as Ash was rewarded with a slight jolt and a faster spin on the drive. Dash came back briefly over the comm, ““Way how, Kid…here comes the fun mi tian gohn.”

Asher smiled again. All shiny.
===================================================


OOC: QUICK REPLY TO THE CAPTAIN
Asher piped up at the Captain request for opinions:

"Hey, I say let's take them up on their offer. They sounds like good folk! Probably some good food down there too, what with a party goin' on.

"Miss Willow be good with words and all. Not that you ain't, Cap'n, but she's just real pretty too. I'm sure the locals would love to hear her talk. Maybe even sing them a song, Miss Willow. I'm sure they'd like that.

"And I'm sure the real folks they're lookin' to celebrate will be along shortly and then we'll just join in on the festivities... All shiny like!"

Why'd it seem like all the jobs they ran as of late got 'em in trouble? Wyatt impatiently drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as the suggestions came in. One ear on the intercom, the other to the ground, so to speak. The way he figured it they were humped whether they flew in nose first, or ass first. Once it became known they weren't who was expected questions'd be raised 'bout how they got past the blockade, the Consortium'd send in the Law, and they'd be bound by It. Rocinante'd wind up grounded, and likely auctioned off while they spent a good long while rotting away in prison on some God-forsaken backwater moon. Even with these erstwhile thoughts bouncing 'round his head the captain's face remained a mask of calm.

The intercom fell silent and Wyatt paused for a brief moment longer while he formulated a plan. The fuel readings were as much a deciding factor as their lack of resources on the planet--God, but he wouldn't give a fortune to have a connection with the local authorities right then! Then again, he'd be happy with a major distraction; maybe a meteor shower, or a Reaver raiding party, or the Alliance showing up to recognize some big damn hero to take the focus off them. It wasn't in the cards though, which meant that the crew of Rocinante'd have to play the round holding butkuss and bluffin' like they was born to it.

"Alright," Sung clicked the comm button and held the receiver close to his lips. "We'll continue on in. Ash, get strapped. Willow, get all gussied up 'cause you're the ace up our sleeve at the moment. Yer gonna hafts have yer game face on, Sweetheart, or we'll like be eating jailhouse grub tonight. Once were earthbound everyone but Trish'll make landfall like were accompanying Willow as bodyguards. Let's hope that there's no registered companions portside or we're humped."

Wyatt released the clicker and dropped the device back in its cradle. "Take us down Sam, and once we're landed get your hog's leg and meet us in the hold."

That said, Captain Sung rose up out of his seat, retreated to his quarters, and began getting ready for action by slipping into his mesh shirt, slinging his Colt, and sliding his shotgun rig into place. He didn't leave off his knife, holdout, or patting his picture of elephants good-bye either before he made his way to the cargo hold to experience their welcome.

All in all, Willow felt the “discussion” with Trish was going well. Trish could be stubborn and ornery at times, and would play the mute card from time to time, but Willow was not the same pushover she’d been as a young girl. She’d gained a backbone along the way, along with a varied set of skills for getting her own way. She’d taken the bracelet into her gloved hands when Trish mouthed the last word Willow expected to ever see.

Dreamdrowse
Willow almost dropped the bracelet as if it was infectious, and she fought the atavistic urge to cringe away from the object she held. She knew of dreamdrowse, well enough, both as a doctor who had seen the ravages of drug addiction and a Companion trained in judicious use of recreational drugs. Some clients wanted or needed the extra sensations provided by pharmaceuticals, and she knew the legal status and the common sexual applications of most drugs on all of the planets.

Dreamdrowse was different. It was what her order referred to as a soul-eater, and no companion would allow him or herself to be associated with its use. No companion would breach client confidentiality to report it, but a contract could be broken without any repercussions if a client tried to introduce dreamdrowse into the loveplay. Willow, as an apprentice, had never been in such a situation, but she’d heard the stories.

“Definitely something we will keep between ourselves, Auntie,” Willow managed at last, but her voice was not as light as it was before. “At least until we know what we are up against, agreed? The boys have been twitchy enough with all that’s going on, no need bringing them news of an undiagnosed problem. I’d like to hang onto this, I’ll see if I can test it for any trace of the…substance you mentioned.”

(OOC: If Auntie agrees, Willow will secure the bracelet in her drug cabinet in sick bay. Otherwise, she’ll surrender it with the promise to get it back when she’s ready to deal with it.)

Willow made her way back to her room, and thumbed her console up into research mode. She started looking into the reagents needed to test for active ingredients for dreamdrowse and other related hallucinogenics. For now, she restricted her search to databases stored on the ship’s computer, no need to set off alarm bells on the cortex.

“Need some suggestions, folks,” Wyatt’s voice came over the intercom and Willow paused to listen. “Seems we’ve slipped into the boots of expected guests, only we’re not gonna be received too well once we dock an’ the good folks down there realize we ain’t who they was expectin’. Then, as I see it, it’ll all come t’ light that we just ran the gauntlet and the bloody Consortium’ll be itchin’ for our scalps.

“Though, the other side t’ the coin is, we hoof it for greener pastures elsewhere an’ we’re like as not t’ get the Consortium all spit shining their iron and testin’ their hangin’ rope all the same. Either way, seems we’re humped ‘less we can come up with somethin’ Da Chung Wu Dahn

Willow thought for a moment before opening the intercom for a shipwide reply. “Willow here, Captain-San. Those folks on the surface surely know about the blockade, and are likely hurting from it. We may not be the folks they are clearly expecting, but we do bear the ice they need and the Consortium is trying to keep from them. Maybe they’ll be disappointed, but hardly likely to blow the whistle on a shipment that somebody planetside is expecting. Why not respond that you’re confused by the warm reception but have a load of ice that just might be worth celebrating? Give us sometime to know what we’re getting into, at least.”

Willow heard a few other replies and then Sung’s final response. Being the “face” of Rocinante wasn’t something new, and she was used to being the only part of the crew anyone remembered. She knew just how to dress to that effect, too!

The comm. went silent in the engine room for a moment. Ash waited anxiously for the orders he loved to hear Cap'n's got it all under control, Kid. Just give the man a moment...
Sure enough, the captain's voice came over again: "We'll continue on in. Ash, get strapped."

Asher clicked back his response, his "go-get-em" attitude shinin' though clearly. "Gotcha, Cap'n."

Sung continued: "Willow, get all gussied up 'cause you're the ace up our sleeve at the moment. Yer gonna hafts have yer game face on, Sweetheart, or we'll like be eating jailhouse grub tonight. Once were earthbound everyone but Trish'll make landfall like were accompanying Willow as bodyguards. Let's hope that there's no registered companions portside or we're humped."

"Public relations" was Ash's favorite part of his job. He was born to it. The lad quickly did a final run over of the ship's diagnostics, makin' sure everything was in order for their landing, before nearly sprintin' off to his room.

Once he'd dropped down the ladder, Ash made his way to the gun lockers which lined his one wall. Unlocking and opening all three to get a good look at his options, the Kid was like a lady gettin' ready for a party trying to figure out what to wear and what to accessorize. Let's see, he thought with a smile.

The Peacekeepers on hips, with an extra mag for each... Grizzly over the shoulder for a little extra "we mean business"... one Heckler in the bag, with two mags just in case... and... OH! Ash paused for a moment by his collection of grenades. Yes, yes! Two of these lovely smoke ones ought to do the trick.
And just like that, the Kid was ready to meet the public. He moved quickly to the cargo hold.

OOC: Okay! Just so we're clear... when Ash meets y'all in the hold, he'll be wearing two Peacekeeper pistols on his hips, a Grizzly assault rifle over his shoulder, a combat knife strapped to his belt, and he'll be carrying his athletic bag. I am assuming that we've been together long enough that you all know that Ash does not use the athletic bag for gym clothes. The bag contained the Heckler submachine gun (with two magazines) and the two smoke grenades. Ash has also "dressed up" and is wearing his "Sunday-best" for the occasion.

Regina, City of Frisco. 10:15 am Regina Time
The cargo bay doors open up to a sight that not many of you have seen before. A whole mess of folk are there waiting for your arrival – from smiling dignitaries, fine dressed ladies, local miners, town folks, and everyone in between. A podium with a mike and speakers has been set up in front of the hatchway, all ready for some speechmaking and the like. As the doors begin to open, the sound of the brass bands begins to play loudly.

Bada daha Bada dah dadada,. Bada Daha bada Daaaaaaaaaaaaa…….”
The band peters off. Some of the people look at you confused and you can hear chatter amongst the folk.

“Where’s JW?”
“That ain’t JW!”
“She’s sure purdy though!”
“When they say they’d be here?”
“Be purdier without them …”
“Fool gone and landed in the wrong spot.”
“Someone stole my teeth”
“They’ve got a lot of guns”
‘I told them this wasn’t them”
“I said Julie, Don’t Go!”
“But it ain’t them. Them never listen but I knew”
“Kidnapped JW?”
“Ain’t them cause I knew it ain’t them”
“Shucks, wasted my day coming out”
“They ain’t JW. I knows JW and they’s ain’t no JW.”
“I put on my best duds for this?”

Some of the people start to drift off, ignoring you completely and seeming generally displeased that you are not who they were expecting. A couple of men start to head towards you, but they only grab the podium, the mike and speaker and then wander off towards the Port Depot. The well dressed officials form into a group and discuss their plight in great detail before deciding to head off to the Port Authority Depot for an explanation.

Of those that remain, one is a lady who watches you from a distance. She is without a doubt one of the most beautiful women any of you have ever seen, with big wide green eyes, flowing wavy red hair, and a voluptuous figure that would rival many a leading ladies on the holo stage. She focuses on no one in particular, but she certainly seems to be curious about you, getting a good look-see at all of you. She is dressed simply, in a flannel shirt and a beige skirt that is modest in all the proper ways.

A man approaches you with a slight smile on his face. He is a big man, square jawed and big shouldered with only a wisp of hair remaining on his head. He is dressed in oil stained overalls and a red checked shirt that looks like it has been used to clean a few engines. He appears to be in his late 40’s or early fifties. “I’m Bailey. Bailey Sackett.” He says offering his hand to shake. He introduces himself to each of you, making sure he gets your name right. He looks around and says loudly, “You must be the people with the CONTAINERS. Them CONTAINERS that belong to the mining guild, wouldn’t that be correct?”

As you talk to Bailey, some of you notice that the pretty lady has disappeared while you were occupied with the mechanic.

Looking around from your position at the Port Authority Depot, you can see a packed dirt road runs straight north up a slight rise into the heart of the town where the taller, more permanent building stand. The rest of the dwellings are tents, lean-tos and shacks built on whatever patch of ground was available at the time. You can hear the sound of the occasional gunshot rolling down the sun-baked avenue, along with raucous laughter from the saloons.

Welcome to Frisco.

Willow watched the crowd’s mood deteriorate with hidden dismay, though her face remained serene with it’s gracious half smile. Standing beside the captain in her formal kimono, Willow was a vision in black and gold silk, golden bamboo and scarlet peonies on a black background, with a gold obi cinching her waist down to an impossible small span. Her hair was done up in a modern geisha style, with the butterfly pin supplemented with a spray of cherry blossoms made of rubies and mother of pearl.

As the crowd dispersed, Willow squeezed Sung’s arm, and as he leaned into her, Willow muttered lightly,” talk about bringing a girl down a notch or two, captain-san. I must be losing my touch!”

Her eyes swept the area and narrowed slightly as she spotted the woman giving them such a thorough once-over, Willow felt her kimono had turned sheer in the sunlight. This woman had presence, despite the simple clothing, but she disappeared before Willow could get much from her posture and body language. It disturbed Willow that the woman had had plenty of time to make her own observations from the crowd.

A big man approached them, and Willow turned her attention to him, bringing her smile up to full, blinding wattage. “I’m Bailey. Bailey Sackett.” He says offering his hand to shake. He introduces himself to each of you, making sure he gets your name right. He looks around and says loudly, “You must be the people with the CONTAINERS. Them CONTAINERS that belong to the mining guild, wouldn’t that be correct?”

“Good day to you, Bailey Sackett. I’m Willow Takahara and yes, we have a delivery for you. This is Captain Sung, I’ll let him introduce the crew as is proper.”

Willow played the submissive lady to the hilt, taking Bailey’s hand in her delicate grasp and ducking her head in the Japanese manner that so pleased her paternal grandfather. She noted the surprising weakness in Bailey’s grip…not the “holding back for fear of crushing the little flower” that some men affected when shaking ladies’ hands, but a genuine weakness at odds with his great size. When Willow overhears Sackett repeating everyone’s names carefully, she makes the connection: the poor man has Bowden’s Malady.

“Like as not half the planet has it…if mining is the main source of work on this dustbowl,” Willow thought to herself, and wondered what this could mean for them.

Atmosphere touched his lungs before the sun hit his shoulders. Rocinante’s bay door opened slowly, casting smog-filtered sunlight through the hold across his boots, then up his legs, across his duster, and over his shoulders. Captain Wyatt Sung stood with his hands hanging easy by his side, his hat tilted low on his brow. He listened to the exclamations, his eyes panning the crowd for any reason to draw iron. He wasn’t prepared for the dissipation of the crowd without incident, though one comment did set his nerves on edge. The watching woman didn’t help either, but Willow’s comment did bring a small smile to his face.

“Wouldn’t take none of it personal-like. These folks seem t’ be pretty blind,” Wyatt drawled as the mechanic approached them.
“I’m Bailey. Bailey Sackett.” The mechanic said as he shook Wyatt’s hand. He continued to introduce himself to each of the present crew, making sure he spoke each name correctly. Then, he looked around and loudly proclaimed, “You must be the people with the CONTAINERS. Them CONTAINERS that belong to the mining guild, wouldn’t that be correct?”

“Good day to you, Bailey Sackett. I’m Willow Takahara and yes, we have a delivery for you. This is Captain Sung, I’ll let him introduce the crew as is proper.” Willow’s response was cordial and diplomatic; just what it should have been.

Wyatt gave a nod and scanned their surroundings once more, “Yup, Sackett. We’re the crew with the shipment. Now, if’n you don’t mind showing us where we’re supposed to unload this cargo and get paid, I’d be right obliged.”

In the sky Sam new that his suggestion hadn’t gone unheard… hell, Wyatt had shot a side-long look his direction as soon as he’d so much as thought about it; one of them looks that said, ‘Don’ even joke ‘bout crashin’ my boat’…other than that quick glance, though, his idea hadn’t made it even as far as the might-have-run list.

“Din’t mean ta say it out loud, no how,” Dash shrugged as the Cap listened to the more optimistic replies from Miss Wil and the Kid, “I’m jus’ gonna shut my pie hole, now, an’ drive th’ boat… Bump an’ grind’s about done… Oughta be peepin’ the LZ in just a few.”

Licking his lips, Sam lost himself in the burn-through and landing routines to keep his paranoia at bay – there’d been nothing but trouble for Roc and her crew since Bellerophon and, on top of the trouble itself, no good news about it ending any time soon. Be ruttin’ shiny as hell if we’d manage to dump this cargo, get paid, and skin out without no one gettin’ lead poisonin’, he mused, Oughta do somethin’ ‘bout that chwen kitty cat an’ its gorram neck-bobs, too…
“Alright,” he heard Wyatt say, acknowledging the suggestions from the crew and making his call based on the input and gut-instinct, as Roc dipped through the clouds of Regina’s atmo, “We'll continue on in. Ash, get strapped. Willow, get all gussied up 'cause you're the ace up our sleeve at the moment. Yer gonna hafts have yer game face on, Sweetheart, or we'll like be eating jailhouse grub tonight. Once were earthbound everyone but Trish'll make landfall like were accompanying Willow as bodyguards. Let's hope that there's no registered companions portside or we're humped.”

Wyatt released the clicker and dropped the device back in its cradle. “Take us down Sam, and once we're landed get your hog's leg and meet us in the hold.”

“Roger that, Cap,” Dash nodded, reining the yoke in and pointing the Firefly at Frisco, “Be there quicker’n the Kid c’n drop his skivvies in a whorehouse.”

On the dirt Rocinante had no sooner settled onto the landing pad, the actuators in her landing struts rocking the boat momentarily as she leveled her bulk, than Sam had locked the controls down and set off to his bunk. “Good job back there, Kid,” he hollered down the foredeck as he nudged the door to his own bunk open, “Kora’d be all tingly. Let’s hope we din’t hold this thing t’gether fer nuthin.”

A short time later the pilot climbed back out of his billet ready to wade out into Frisco’s streets. His pistol was strapped to his thigh and at the ready, of course, and he’d made sure to stow four extra loaders in his jacket pockets just in case. He had also tucked one of his derringers in a hideaway holster at the small of his back and tucked the other into his left boot, leaving space in the right for his knife. A ballistic mesh vest had been donned over the Gatling Gun Geisha t-shirt before he had shrugged into his denim jacket and slung his SPAS30 across his back (making sure to pocket a few extra rounds for the shotgun in his pockets, as well). Dash had deliberated on slinging the sniper rifle he kept under his bunk, too, but had decided against it at the last minute… If things get ugly on the pad, he decided, won’t do no good to have range, no how… Instead, he tucked a couple of the cigar-shaped flashbangs in his breast pocket, and a pair of smokers in another.

“Well, boys,” he smirked as he clomped down the steps from the catwalk and joined Wyatt and Asher in the cargo bay, “I sure’s hump hope we ain’t roosted in th’ nest of some high-falutin’ Nien Mohn knucklehead. This turns out to be some gorram official welcome wagon, we’re like ta have our pi goh put on a platter an’ handed back… Wil still gettin’ dolled up?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned, tugging the beat-up harmonica from his pocket as he leaned against the bulkhead and both men regarded him with brows raised, “I know… Dumb question, Dash.” Mercifully for Asher and Wyatt’s ears, they didn’t have to endure much of the pilot’s tuneless playing before Willow glided into the bay.

In his standard position, flanking Wyatt and a few steps back, Dash squinted against the sunlight as Roc’s bay door yawned open… his hand dipping, for a split second, to the butt of his revolver when the fanfare of horns accompanied the whooshing squelch of servos and the in-rush of dust and smog. The rather quick dispersal of the disappointed crowd as they descended the ramp surprised him a little but, at the same time, took a little bit of the sharp edge off of his twitchiness… Less they stand ‘round gawkin’ th’ better, he figured, We ain’t who they was expectin’ an’ that’s all… gooood yukkers!
He hadn’t failed to pick up on some of the chatter that had floated through the crowd, though, and wondered about who this JW fellow might be and what in the name of the great fuzzy-wuzzy above might’ve prompted these folk to even mention a kidnapping of the guy… Neither had he failed to notice the red-haired woman who had lingered much longer than many of the rest… Hell, notice wasn’t even the right word, even in his vocabulary; he’d practically ogled the woman, mentally stripping her of that plain garb that she was wearing and imagining all sorts of grappling that might take place should he manage to talk a beauty like that into his bunk… “Damn,” he muttered under his breath before Sackett lumbered over, introduced himself, and diverted the pilot’s attention from the woman, “Mebbe I ain’t in such a big ruttin’ hurry ta get this stop over with as I conjured…”

Other than offering the man a curt; “Dash”, when introductions were made (and cringing a bit at the weakness of the large man’s handshake), the pilot held his tongue and left the majority of the talking to Willow and Wyatt… Leave th’ gabbin’ ta them as is good at it, he thought, his eyes flicking back to where he’d seen the red-head just a moment ago…Ta mah duh! Now where’d she get to?
“…Now, if’n you don’t mind showing us where we’re supposed to unload this cargo and get paid, I’d be right obliged.”

“Yeah,” Dash added, his eyes still roving the surroundings for any signs of the red-haired woman, “an’ if’n ya don’ mind showin’ me where ta find that yummy li’l copper-top as was standin’ over there, I’ll be yer best gorram friend inna world!”

((OOC: Ya had to go and throw a green eyed, red-head in the mix, didn’t ya? Ow… Dash is about ta get in trouble, I think… Where did she go?!?!))

Wyatt gave a nod and scanned their surroundings once more, “Yup, Sackett. We’re the crew with the shipment. Now, if’n you don’t mind showing us where we’re supposed to unload this cargo and get paid, I’d be right obliged.”

Bailey nodded, “ Well me and some of the boys will be out come sundown to unload your shipment, Captain Wyatt. Say arounds midnight or so. As for payment …”

“Yeah,” Dash added, his eyes still roving the surroundings for any signs of the red-haired woman, “an’ if’n ya don’ mind showin’ me where ta find that yummy li’l copper-top as was standin’ over there, I’ll be yer best gorram friend inna world!”

Bailey wheezes a laugh at Sam’s comment, “Well that would be who you’d want to talk about payment. Her name is Brigit. Brigit Trousdale. At least it is for now, as she is JW’s fiancée. JW, being the man who owns the Hornsilver mine and is basically responsible for all of us being here.” Bailey looks around inquisitively, “Hurm…. I could have sworn Brigit was just over there. Oh, well she’s probably gone to see where JW is keeping. You can find her at the Schoolhouse often as not. She’s the School Marm here. Anyhow, she’s the one bankrolling this operation, to keep JW’s hands clean for the parliament and all. Talk to her about payment cause I’m out of the loop for this run.”

(throw in any questions here)

“Well I’s got work to do. See you tonight. There be saloons and the like in town. But be careful boys, and lady, “Bailey warns seriously, “This here is a lawless place. We gots no sheriff or lawman around here so it is best you keep to your irons,and an eye on your women, catch my meaning?”

Planet Regina, City of Frisco. 10:15 am RT
I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told
Fenris Apollo picked up his bags and walked towards the door. Danny Sol looked up at his from his bunk, “You heading out Wolf?”

I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, Such are promises
“Yeah. Time to move on” Fenris said nodding a cordial goodbye, Not that he really cares, no one ever did around here the mechanic walked out of the bunkhouse and looked up into the blue sky of morning.

All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest, hmmmm
The wave from Kora was a buddasend to Fenris. Rocinante was his old friend Sam Dash’s ride and the property of Capt. Wyatt. Fenris liked the two well, Sam being a good man who helped him out of a jam once, and Wyatt being the straight shooting honest type that the Mechanic liked. Kora said they needed a mechanic, and he was more thaj willing to take the job. Not like Bailey Sackett would mind. Hell, when Fenris was hired he was promised all sort of things – good pay, a house and the like. But nothing came to fruition. Wasn’t Bailey’s fault though – this was the political muckity-mucks mess with his life.

So Fenris Apollo, or Wolf as most came to call him, packed up his stuff and headed towards the landing pads. Either as mechanic, or as passenger, it was time to leave this rock. Walking through the streets of Frisco, he saw the people that were suffering in this lawless town. Something needed to be done here, and he’d hoped that something would be done soon. JW was coming to town, and the mine owner had pulled a miracle from his hat before. Wolf wished that he could do something, but it was more than one man with a criminal record to his name could handle. Even an unearned one at that.

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
'Til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains.


Li la li...

“…that would be who you’d want to talk about payment,” Sacket wheezed in reply to Sam’s inquiry about the woman, “Her name is Brigit. Brigit Trousdale. At least it is for now, as she is JW’s fiancée. JW, being the man who owns the Hornsilver mine and is basically responsible for all of us being here.”

“How wrin bu lai, whai wrin bu jwo,” Dash smirked after learning that the luscious red-head was engaged. “Jus’ my gorram luck,” he groused, “Can’t be hitched to no mi tian gohn fer brains yokel, neither, can she? Nooooo, she’s gotta be doinkin’ th’ ruttin’ local honcho… Ta mah duh!”

“..I could have sworn Brigit was just over there,” Bailey continued after giving an inquisitive look around the PA’s landing area. “Oh, well she’s probably gone to see what is keeping JW. You can find her at the Schoolhouse often as not. She’s the School Marm here. Anyhow, she’s the one bankrolling this operation, to keep JW’s hands clean for the parliament and all. Talk to her about payment cause I’m out of the loop for this run.”

The mention of this JW fellow’s ‘connection’ to Parliament had also snatched at Dash’s attention and brought back a momentary rush of paranoia, as well – though Sam was unaware that, at the very mention of the word, his hand had come to rest on the butt of his pistol. “Guess it’s gonna be jus’ another stomp around a ruttin’ dustbowl ‘til we get our cargo dumped an’ c’n burn atmo agin… What’s yer call, Cap?”

((OOC: Okay… just a quick one here. Dash will await Wyatt’s decision on how he’s going to proceed – going to see the school marm and get paid? (“Stay put, Dash, an’ keep yer poker in yer pants! Don’ need ya runnin’ off at the yap an’ getting’ us a case o’ the dead.”) Next actions depend on the Cap’s say-so…))