New Hokkaido - The Prologue to an Adventure
POSTED BY: DireKtorsSmeagelle
UPDATED: Thursday, February 10, 2005 13:59
VIEWED: 12019
PAGE 1 of 3
New Hokkaido.
A place with promise. A place with intrigue. A place with ... places.
AcKtors take your places, lights, camera - Action!
Smeagelle has prepared this for you, so don't let it go to waste. Post, mi'lords, Post.
DireKtor's Smeagelle
Oh well, probablly no one to see anyway ... (sneaks away muttering)
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OOC: I asume this is my cue to start roleplaying, so I think I'll christen the new thread.
Calbrax's move
Graham Calbrax wanders through the Re-inactment faire, looking at the displays and watching the performances. Some of what is there strongly resembles what Calbrax knows about Earth-that-was. A lot is merely supposition, perpetuating myths about eras that have long been erased from all records. He is wearing a face scarf to keep from being recognised. He overhears two people talking:
"They carted him away last night." says one "said he'd been ferrying illegal weapons. Can't see it myself."
Calbrax rushes up to the man and grabs him by the shoulders
"Who was taken away?" he asks. "Quickly man, tell me."
"Why, it was Mr Barnes." the stranger replied. "One of the Re-inactors."
Calbrax let the man go. 'Gorramit,' he thought, 'have I come all this way for nothing?'
"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."
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OOC Great first post! Calbrax intrigues me. Welcome to the storytelling! I'm happy to have you in the gunrunners.
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OOC: Thanks maniac. I'm happy to be in the Gunrunners
"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."
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Smeagelle forgot to give you OOC for this story. This oversite now fixed -
http://www.fireflyfans.net/thread.asp?b=17&t=8282
We now return you to your regular scheduled programming.
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Quentin’s Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire
Quentin 'Hawk' Hawksworth III is strolling through the reenactment faire as well and as luck would have it he’s three stalls behind Graham.
Quentin has brown hair, is 6'0", weighs about 175 pounds is attractive and is in his 30s. He wears a blue shirt, black pants, a black duster, a pair of sunglasses and boots. On his belt is small cloth bag. He has a small duffel bag slung over his left shoulder with some of his belongings inside. The rest of his stuff is in a small flat he has rented nearby while he waits on his next piloting gig.
He notes that someone has another person by the shoulders a few stalls up. His eyes wander from that sight and he starts to look around his immediate area.
A young lady bumps into Quentin and then walks away. She continues on towards where Graham and his scene have taken place. The lady reaches into her newly acquired cloth bag and is rewarded by a mild jolt of electricity from some sort of rudimentary joy buzzer-like device. The device and bag are dropped. The lady walks quickly away, trying to ease the pain by sucking on her ‘injured’ fingers. A few in the crowd chuckle at the spectacle.
Quentin chuckles a little at his prank and buys a rose in a stall. He then pins the rose on the sweater of the lady rose-seller and she thanks Quentin. He then contemplates his next action as he again looks around at the general area from his spot. No one has bothered as yet to pick up the bag containing whatever the young lady tried to touch.
EOM
*************************************************
http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm
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Robert Laing's Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire
Perspective is an interesting thing with only one eye. There's the blind spot, of course, but that's easily contended with once a fella gets the hang of it. It also seems to make the hearing on that side much sharper, as if making up for the lost vision. He thought the eye patch made him look more rakish. It certainly has the power to attract certain feminine attention effectively enough.
Hearing a buzz and a responding squeal, he casually turns his head into his blind spot, making it appear that he's just taking in a bit of the show being offered by the street juggler nearby. Seated as he is at the tables by a bank of food vendors in the re-enact faire, he's not as noticeable as he would be if he were standing. Aside from his dark color and the eye-patch, it's hard to hide in a crowd when you're a head taller than everyone, hence his personal preference to operate happily behind closed doors or on the sidelines.
Taking a drink of the rice wine kept in the silver flask he'd gotten as a gift, he notes the smile on the face of the man watching a woman skitter away. He's a confident looking sishengzi but otherwise not entirely remarkable. Carries himself proudly, which relates some large measure of confidence, and he's dressed reasonably well which means he suffers from enought regular employment to get by. He doesn't seem to have the shiftiness of the Alliance kind about him either, which is cause to relax again. Wishing for Rowan's gift of observation, he wonders absently what she might have to say about the fella.
Thinking of her again effectively turns Robert's attention away from the man. The UBA tournament is slated to start in a couple of days, and on the one hand he's hoping it will be enough of a draw to bring her out to the Feds shiny new jewel. On the other hand, considering they haven't seen each other since the Alliance invaded Independent headquarters, he's not entirely sure how warm her reception will be.
Breathing a sigh and taking another quick sip--weile Xiang--Robert caps the flask and tucks it into the breast pocket of his brown leather coat. Stretching out his legs, he crosses his ankles and settles in. The sun is nice today, people-watching is plentiful, and the Feds are off meddling in someone else's business, well away from the Faire so as not to spook the tourists. Best to enjoy it while it lasts.
EOM
sishengzi = bastard (not an insult)
weile Xiang = for Xiang - Robert's way of saying "for the cause"
OOC: *waving* hi fellas
Fans come and fans go...but zealots are with you until the bitter black end.
I draw...therefore I am. http://www.mnartists.org/artistHome.do?rid=7922
Minnesota Meetup - join us! http://firefly.meetup.com/45/
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Calbrax's move.
The re-enactment faire
Calbrax is distracted from his dilemma by a passing thief being thwarted by a joy-buzzer device. Calbrax is familiar with these gadgets, having used them himself to protect his belongings. Knowing that the device is now safe to touch, and unaware that the bag contains nothing of value, Calbrax picks the bag up and approaches Quentin.
Calbrax holds the bag out to him and says,
"Is this yours?"
"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."
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Location – Alliance Cruiser Valorous: Docked, Hera Spaceport, Alliance Military section.
Commander Timberlake was not entirely pleased. It was OK doing routine patrols in a peaceful sector; least there was a comfort in knowing that you are where you are supposed to be, and probably not expecting any … excitement. Two years on the edge of Reaver space had taught him the value of a little boredom, and rotating back to this patrol was a change at least. However he had been on the milk run long enough to begin to consider a return to something … more challenging. ~…That’s always the way of it. It’s either feast or famine …~ he thinks to himself.
And now here he is, grounded on Hera of all places to pick up a “Specialist” and hand-deliver their sorry ass to New Hokkaido. ~ Probably some high muckity-muck brass wantin’ to watch the Billiards tournament, and not wantin’ to take public transport. ~
Per protocol, he is standing outside of the lock, to formally welcome their visitor; idly playing ‘spot the new problem’ with the passing crowd. When he sees the woman approaching, a head taller than most of the surrounding people, his first thought is, ~OK, fine. Not this one, please.~ When she makes a beeline for his berth, Timberlake knows that he has somehow pissed off the universe and may now be required to pay for it.
It’s nothing really specific he can put his finger on. There are one or two female members of his crew that match her in height, if not in bulk. She’s not wearing a uniform, just a - flight suit that looks as if it was borrowed from someone a couple sizes smaller than she is. It bears no insignia whatsoever. She carries a duffle casually tossed over one shoulder. Heavy boots. Her dark hair is pulled back and secured at the base of her neck. And she has the blankest expression he has ever seen, as if there is nothing at all going on behind those dark eyes.
She reaches into a pocket as she approaches and fishes out an Ident card. Reaching the ship the woman wordlessly hands the card to him and he inserts into the portable scanner he holds. The search pops up green – S. Troy, Specialist, detached to the Valorous for transport to New Hokkaido. Upon arrival, detached to local Commander Sinclair, Hold and await Orders. All right then, he drives her to the next destination and she becomes someone else’s problem. Suits him just fine.
Timberlake hands the card back to her; she takes it and pockets it without a word or change in expression. In keeping with her attitude he merely motions her to follow him, and re-enters his ship. He turns Ms. Troy over to his second, for quarters and mess assignment and heads towards the bridge to prepare for liftoff. Now that the last passenger/crew is aboard it is high time they were on their way. Walking up the passageway, a thought stops him in his tracks. He has isolated why this person has given him such unease. He remembers long ago as a cadet – there was an insurrection on Far Horizon that had gotten out of hand. They had been deadlocked for a couple weeks, hunkered down outside of one section of the city they had been forced to abandon – to the riots and the flames.
Then one evening they were ordered to pull back. A transport vehicle had pulled up and disgorged a dozen people, men and women, in simple charcoal-colored jumpsuits. No insignia. All but one was of heroic size and all displayed the same impassive visage this specialist showed. One moment they were standing outside of the transport, the next they were all – gone.
Two days later his team marched into the area unopposed and order was restored. He never saw that squad again, either on Far Horizon or anywhere else. Until now, he suspects.
Hoping she is willing to stay in her cabin, the Commander prepares to make way for the next stop.
EOM
If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress
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The Starport made her feel ... comfortable. It's the only description she can ascribe to this sensation. She is well aware of why - it is crowded. That is well. She thinks it is because a crowd can offer a small amount of concealment, not considering how much taller she is than the people surrounding her. Shelby is not aware it is the fact of the crowd itself, that she is not alone, which is providing what amounts to as close to a feeling of well being as she can be said to experience. They are emotionless, her family, or as much so as can be managed, but they do feel – hunger, pain, heat, cold, comfort or discomfort, a muted sense of anxiety during times of confusion ... and lately for Shelby, fear and rage. Oh yes. The last half-cycle has been a trial for them all. And if she ever catches up to her missing cellmate ... their last disagreement will look like a play battle between kittens.
She wends her way easily through the civilians surrounding her. It helps that she is going against the flow of traffic for the most part, and the throng is eager to get out of her way. Which is as it should be. It does not occur to her to question why that should be so; she simply accepts that it is.
It was only yesterday that she had to report the failure of her last assignment. What she had been guarding was taken from her and that bothers her. Reporting back had been … uncomfortable. As yet no mention had been made of her failure, instead orders were sent for a new assignment, travel arrangements made. Given time only to gather what belongings she needed to transport, Shelby was on the road within minutes of receiving the wave. Anything left behind in that empty warehouse is not her concern.
She walked to the port; it was close enough and after half a cycle in that one room, the excuse to stretch her legs is sufficient, and appreciated. The day is pleasant; which is wasted on Shelby, who is indifferent to weather conditions short of natural disasters. She arrived quickly and well within the timeframe given her, the destination was close and to be tardy would be unthinkable. Cannot happen. Will not happen.
She heads towards the military section, where her transport awaits. Part of her – a part she is not really aware of – is still scanning around her, attempting to see/feel/hear/sense a teammate. It is an unconscious habit and the failure to do so leaves a vague sense of unease at the back of her perceptions. Not enough to make much of a difference, just a shadow on her mind, easily countered. Commander (she consults her database) Timberlake is awaiting her arrival. Observation shows that he is not entirely pleased with the situation. This does not bother Shelby; his attitude is a matter of supreme indifference to her. She hands him her Ident card and waits for him to return it. No question that it will pass inspection, not at the level her clearance is issued. He hands it back to her without a word and turns to lead the way inside.
She notes the ship, comparing the actuality with the schematics and deck plans in her database. Appears to be original equipment, not a blend, composite or adjustment on the original design. That noted, she is now aware of the ship as a battleground of sorts – it is her training to be aware of danger zones, ambush points, etc. Once her location is analyzed, her subconscious drops back on scanning her immediate surroundings while she follows first Commander Timberlake and second Lt. Carson, to her bunk. Once there, she drops her duffle to the deck, and seats herself, cross-legged on the floor. When they are en-route, she will use the time for training. For now, during the pre-flight checks, she will simply stay out of their way.
Shelby waits.
EOM
If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress
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