RP GR "Adventures in GunRunning" ACT 15
POSTED BY: DireKtorsSmeagol
UPDATED: Monday, May 3, 2004 06:49
VIEWED: 24050
PAGE 4 of 11
Inara & Rowan Blended Post:
LOCATION - INARAs SHUTTLE
Quote:COMMS OPERATOR (monotone): "One Moment please."
INARA: "I wish to be connected to Fa-Zhou Aislin, Please."
A screen comes up with "Selene" in glamorous gold animation that resembles rippling liquid platinum, but only for a brief second.
COMMS OPERATOR (monotone): "I'm sorry, but Fa-Zhou Aislin is currently engaged. Whom shall I say waved?"
It was a fifty-fifty chance that they would actually be able to talk to her in person, but Inara feels the disappointment keenly nonetheless. Rowan's hand stays on her shoulder, even giving hers a firm squeeze as if to say, it's all right.
INARA: "My name is Inara Sara. Could you have her return my wave at her convenience?"
COMMS OPERATOR (monotone): "Your wave is received and logged for delivery. Thank you for calling The Selene, stunning jewel of the Blue Sun Line."
The screen blinks back to the liner's entrance page just before Inara logs off and turns to Rowan, expressing her disappointment with a sigh.
INARA: "I'm sorry we couldn't reach her in person."
Rowan takes a long, steadying breath and gives the companion a smile that blends both delight and relief.
ROWAN: "It's okay, really. I'm not sure what I would have said if she did answer. Now maybe I'll be able to work up something that won't sound like I'm still eight years old."
Inara smiles and holds Rowan's slim hand in both of her own.
INARA: "Would you like me to finish your makeup now? Or perhaps before we land?"
ROWAN: "Before we land, I think. Come to think of it, I should be receiving my information packet on the tournament anytime now. I should go up and see if the pilot has received any waves for me."
Sensing that Rowan isn't in any hurry to leave, Inara recalls the advice Simon gave during Rowan's treatment. She's supposed to be getting rest, but the tension Inara can perceive in the her shoulders and her eyes indicates that Rowan likely hasn't let herself sleep or even so much as relax since the procedure.
INARA: "I wonder if I could interest you in a massage then? I imagine you could use one, and it would certainly be beneficial before starting a tournament. What do you say?"
EOM
We have art so as not to die of truth ~ Neitzsche
http://www.mnartists.org/artistHome.do?rid=7922
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Bolo's Intro
Location: unnamed port
They prepared to leave their ship, silent as always for they no longer need random conversation. An odd trio for an odd mission. All are dressed in tailored suits, wearing blue gloves. None smile, but then again, they never do.
They step out into the darkened and deserted port, an unimportant building before their faces. Old, desolate and unkempt, even the building is coated in layers of filth. The doorway is deep in drifted trash. Outward appearances suggest no one has been here in a long time.
The leader moves swiftly ahead, the other two falling in line behind him. The largest and most impressive of the trio takes up the rear. He has seen rough times or intentional mutilations – a curved metal plate covers half of his face, from neck to crown, inset with a cybernetic eye.
The code lock on the door is a minor obstacle, hardly a challenge at all. The door creaks open and they quickly slide inside, closing it behind the last one, leaving themselves in darkness. No question of not closing the door before showing a light, stealth is second nature to these three men. The leader feels about softly and quietly for a light switch, might as well see if it works, before bringing out the lesser illumination they are carrying. He is pleasantly surprised when the long dormant lights flicker briefly and then remain lit. Well, that was a piece of cake. I would have thought there would have been more – security, the leader thinks. Someone has been very lax. Their eyes recover quickly.
And they find that they are not, after all, alone.
Their objective is what looks like an oversized silver coffin, dim light reflecting from the intricate designs carved on the exterior. It is in the center of the room, resting on two very ordinary sawhorses. However between them and their target is a woman. Not just a woman but also a Warrior of female gender. She is not as large as their largest companion, but hardly average.
She stares at them as if her eyes could burn and speaks slowly, her voice rusty with disuse and full of venom. “You. Leave. Now!”
No consultation is necessary, this team has worked long together and reacts in an instant. The two in front pull their weapons, and while their companion in the rear dodges to one side they shift to the other, drawing her eyes, and the guns that rapidly fill her hands after them. The first flurry of gunfire is both swift and ineffective as all three gunfighters are abnormally fast and practiced. They dodge and fire in a weaving circular dance that leaves the third man out of the battle for the moment, if not safe from flying projectiles.
However he takes a running jump over most of the affected area and lands next to their target.
The gunfight continues and the men realize that she is good, possibly better than they are – without cover in the room the odds are going to catch up to them soon and if they do not bring her down, they are going to rapidly run out of ammo. They do not wish to go hand to hand with this one. But all that matters, in the long run, is recovering their objective and the leader makes a decision. He charges the woman and attempts to bring her down. As he does so the second man attempts to get behind her and the third begins the difficult task of moving the coffin. It had not been possible to bring anything to move it with – that was his job. He maneuvers his bulk under the box and between the sawhorses, puts one hand one either side for balance, and simply rises with it balanced on his back. It is a massive weight and his bones creak with the effort, like steel under pressure.
As he makes for the door as fast as he can manage, he can barely keep his balance. But he gets his center of balance at last and then the weight drives him forward – always almost but not quite falling forwards. He reaches the closed door and simply bulls right through it; he has no other choice. He is moving too much weight to be able to stop and open it.
The leader is dead, and the second
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Slight sits back, in the relative quiet of the Shuttle. The engines have been spinning, and he felt the quick moment of weightlessness as the ship left the gravity well of Hera.
Slight closes his eyes. What is he going to do now? Tam was the last one on the list. The Daughter is. . .or was, rather. . .in good hands. She still is, really. She's found a family.
Slight suddenly feels like retching. Family. That word has become a hell for him, worse than anything he's ever done or heard. He's tried so hard to understand it, to understand the feeling. But how do you explain the meaning of family to someone who's experienced only a false religion? How can you explain love and compassion to a man who know's only death, who's taken comfort in the quiet of a mind that is dead? How do you show a man loyalty who's had only himself, and been betrayed by his own father?
"You are alone, Brink. No one will ever understand you, will ever even try. You're pale skin, your eyes, are all the marks of a defect, of someone who is incomplete."
Harold Helsing was never one for beating about the bush. And a man who is twice your size, dressed impeccably in a suit with blue gloves knows the truth. Absolutely.
"And because you are alone, you must realize that you have to be strong enough for whoever crosses your path to know that. You must show to the world you have accepted that truth forever."
Helsing leaned forward, impressing this on the seven-year-old boy standing before him at perfect attention.
You see I cannot be forsaken/Because I'm not the only one.
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Book's Move
LOCATION - INFIRMARY
Whether it's all the different things pressing on his mind or his (shudder) age creeping up on him, none of the instruments Book rummages through look like the one Simon used with Niska.
Tucking the desire to search Simon's room beneath the surface, Book exits the Infirmary and goes around the corner to the aft stairway. He stops at the base of the stairs and glances down the port passenger hallway to River's still darkened room. She could have snuck back in while I was in the infirmary. he rationalizes and quickly walks down the hallway to her door.
It's exactly as he left it a few minutes ago. Book looks up above him to the ladders leading to some small, unused, mid-room height passenger dorms. Those doors never open. Resisting the urge to go into Simon's room, Book goes up the aft stairs to tell Mal that he must wait.
EM
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"You don't ever show weakness. You never show softness. Don't let you're enemy see your pain, your anguish. Walk tall, walk strong."
The Son never responds. Helsing launches a punch into the gut of the boy. His lips don't even flinch. He reachs, and blocks the punch. He doesn't counterattack, only defends. . .
The boy is fifteen, but because of his body, he looks and feels twenty. He is training with a "crush" team. Five Zealots and a priest. The priest watches dispassionetly as Slight breaks necks, crushes sternums and snaps leg and arm bones. The priest moves forward. Like any good soldier, he dismisses the deaths of five men. Of course, they aren't men. Not anymore.
"Congradulations, Slight."
Slight moves to the end of the room, breathing heavily and grabbing a towel. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
The man is a fit thirty at the moment. "You've just passed a test that thirty trained Feds would fail. Aren't you proud?"
Slight gives a sardonic grin. "That would include you, wouldn't it?" He lets the grin drop as he takes a drink of water. "But no, Lieutenant Thorne, I am not proud. Nor am I regretful." He clenches the towel around his neck, hanging his elbows loosely. The lieutenant watches him, shocked. "It's life, not an action, not anymore. It's not a job, or a passion. It is something I do, just like you breath air or take a piss. It's a function of mine." Slight shrugs. "No reason to feel anything, really. I'm just hoping for a little trim later, since I broke the record." Slight mops off his face.
"I think that deserves a reward, don't you?"
"You only care about the time it took to kill someone?" The lieutenant can't seem to understand. Moron.
"All I have is time. I'm going to die in less time it took you to reach puberty, Sir. Don't see why it matters that someone else is dead. We're headed to a war, you and I. Border planets are getting restless. And while we are going to destroy the backwater bagbirths, we are going to be required to kill. Sooner I get something done, sooner I can move on to the next thing."
Slight puts his face in his hands, tears running freely.
You see I cannot be forsaken/Because I'm not the only one.
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Inara & Rowan Blended Post:
LOCATION - INARAs SHUTTLE
A massage - to lie completely relaxed, warm and ideally naked under the knowing touch of a woman who understood the nuances of the human body and how to sooth most any ill. The idea was provocative and extremely compelling.
ROWAN (regretfully): "I would say it would be heavenly, but something tells me I better respectfully decline before you tempt me into a contract I can't afford."
Compassion draws Inara to her feet to stand before the taller woman and see the extreme degree of her fatigue up close. Tucking a strand of Rowan's glossy black hair behind her ear, she lets that hand rest on Rowan's shoulder.
INARA: "You need to rest, Rowan. You can't go on as you have – no one can."
Rowan is already shaking her head.
ROWAN: "I can't. I can rest, but you mean to help me to sleep and I can't do that."
INARA (softly urgent): "Rowan – "
ROWAN: "I can't. I dream when I sleep and lately all I can dream about is…"
Hearing the tremor in her own voice, she stops just in time.
XIANG's voice in ROWAN's Mind: For love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.
Rowan breathes a long, steady sigh to bring her emotions back under some semblance of control.
ROWAN (stoically): "I can't." (She swallows hard to dispel the lump in her throat) "I... I should go see to that packet I'm expecting and I should get my dress out for the reception. You'll let me know when Aislin calls back?"
Inara lets go when Rowan gives a gentle tug and folds her hands together in front of her, resigned to let the matter rest, as it were. At least for now.
INARA (nodding): "I'll be sure to notify you."
ROWAN (nodding back): "Thank you. For everything – and for meaning well."
Turning, she tries not to feel like some manner of fugitive as she leaves Inara's little shipboard haven behind.
EOM
OOC: GEEZER! Batter UP 
We have art so as not to die of truth ~ Neitzsche
http://www.mnartists.org/artistHome.do?rid=7922
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OOC: curses... my beautiful and ingenious chinese translation doesn't show up... 
Damon's turn:
LOCATION - CARGO BAY to GALLEY
Tools and straps put away, Damon heads back up the stairs to the galley. The galley is empty, which Damon finds strange seeing as it's lunch time with a dozen people on the ship.
He rumages through the pantry and pulls out an easy make meal package. Chicken and vegetable flavored protein. The instructions look easy and he's not picky enough to care what it tastes like. As long as it's warm and filling he's happy. Besides, he doesn't remember what real chicken tastes like anymore anyway.
He opens the package and dumps the contents into a small pot on the stove. Looking down at the box, he reads the instructions:
Add one cup of water. ????
He looks around at the cups on the counters. One thing he remembers being told is when it comes to cooking, things come in sizes just like wrenches and other tools, so you have to look for the one with the right lable.
Despite angry growling from his stomach, Damon starts looking through the cupboards.
???? = add one cup of water (just imagine chinese symbols 
)
I'm not broken, in my dream I win...
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LOCATION - MALs DORM
12:23 PM AMT
As ...
Jayne pauses to survey Mal's reaction.
JAYNE
"You 'member that alright, doncha? This Rowan's a real purtty one; could have that evil Companion training just like Saffron. Give her time, an' she'll be Mrs Jayne Cobb I betcha."
For nearly a minute MAL just stares at JAYNE. The internal struggle of emotions and rage play only in and around his eyes. JAYNE attempts to resist MALs stare, but fails. He has been here before, with the exact same stare hunting him. He fidgets and unconsciously slides back from the ladder into the short corner. He stops only when he hits the bulkhead. He looks pleadingly at MAL and begins to open his mouth. A BIG mistake.
Before JAYNE can utter a syllable, MAL has managed two lightning fast strides across the cabin, tipping his orange lounge chair over. His arms unfurl through the shoulder level rungs, flying right at JAYNE. MALs hands claw and grasps JAYNE's shirt front before JAYNE can even expel his breath in a yell. MAL yanks JAYNE forward with malicious intent. With an increadble resonating 'bong 'JAYNE finds the right side of his forehead and face squashed into he corner of the rung that is now above his head. He is pressed in so far, the right side of his lips are drawn back in a painful grimace.
MALs face looms in, eyes icy with chilling flame. JAYNE suddenly has the same wrenching-gut-drop he experanced when he had been in an uncontrolled groundcar heading for a very deep ravine at ridiculous speed. Jayne tries to pull back, but MAL's strength is at manic level. It is as if JAYNE's face has been welded to the ladder.
MAL continues to search JAYNE's eyes for a moment.
JAYNE
in tiny, strained and nearly incomprehensible voice
"Ughhhg, Malgh, dis kida hurbts..."
MAL's jaw clamps and the cold fire in his eyes roars higher. In another sudden smooth movement MAL slides JAYNE's face up and around until it is now the left side that is streched or compressed beyond reason.
MAL
In a soft, nearly friendly tone - but with a bedrock of wrought steel and edged in red.
"Better now? It best be, 'cause you better lissen up. And I do mean devote every little greasy thought to what I am going to say to you ... Dong Ma?!
JAYNE blinks frantcally in agreement, his eyes the only moving thing on his face that doesn't hurt. A thought pops off and flies around JAYNE's brain, 'what-n-th-hell has set Mal off on my kiester?!!.
MAL smiles a small predatory grin that JAYNE really believes belongs on a big ole croc.
MAL
still with the same scary voice of sanity and reason...
"Git yer ugly meatsac up to the cargo bay and get it all squared away for tomorrow. I swear by my boat, if this job comes up with so much as a squeak of a hitch ... I will take out every inch of it on you ... MAL's eyes glint like chips of diamond ... and I will be sure to take a few pages out of Niska's Shan Yu book when I do."
MAL nods once and then pauses to see if this is fully sinking in . JAYNE's panicked expression tells all, so MAL continues.
"You just let me worry about all the other impediments to our nice and quiet trek."
MAL releases JAYNE so quick, that JAYNE nearly cracks his head on the back wall. MAL stands erect, crosses his arms over his chest and simply says...
"Git."
EOM
*CHIME* - it is now 1226 hours Alliance Mean Time... *CHIME*
"Remember, there is only ONE absolute - There ARE NO absolutes!!!"
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Wash's Move:
Location - Bridge
(After looking at the gunnery console, walks over to the door, and closes it, then goes back to his console and chair, and looks at the straps... then sits down, and begins to fasten them, and then snugs them up some. He leans forward, and finds that, to his mock horror...)
(to Zoe): I've been flying Firefly's around the stars for probably fifteen years, and I have never had to strap in before... then again I've never really had to worry about getting in a shot at someone before either.
(takes a sip of coffee)
(to space): Oh, well... (reaching for his "relaxation items") Gorram it, I can't reach Rex... I need Rex, without Rex, who will cause the inevitable betrayal?
(takes another speculative sip of coffee)
Maybe I can just move Rex... Yes that's it. It really is just that simple. I can live with this change.
(back to Zoe): How's the chair feel to you? Why am I asking you about a chair? (playfully slapping head, then with a sly grin) I'm sorry, how's the weapon look to you? Sorry, I lost track there for a minute, these changes come hard to me, you know, it's been my chair for six years now, and we've been through a lot, (Imperiously, to Bridge at large) but I accept this change, because it's for the good of the ship.
(Unstrapping from chair, and flipping a few switches... a green light appears, as a small screen says "Autopilot Engaged". Gets up and goes over to Zoe, still at her console)
Serenity says it's 1230 on the display, I've got her on auto, let's do lunch, and maybe a little afternoon delight, before we go back to the bridge? (Classic leer, of course, and a small peck on Zoe's cheek)
(Wash walks to the door, and opens it, just as Jayne goes tearing out of Mal's room, and down the corridor)
(quietly to Zoe): What's eating him? He looks like he needs a nice vacation... maybe with a companion... help him to relax.
EOM
Decoy, they make me go first.
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Jayne's Move:
LOCATION - MAL'S DORM to CARGO BAY
12:28 PM
MAL
"Git."
Jayne is outside of the Captain's room before his mind even catches up with what his body is doing. His head swirls in confusion and surprise, and with every heart beat his face throbs where it was merged with the metal ladder.
Jayne hears Wash and Zoe on the bridge and sees people across the catwalk in the dining area. He
slips down the stairs to the cargo bay, not eager to meet up with anyone at the moment. The weight bench looks like a good idea to clear his head, so Jayne sits and proceeds to do arm curls.
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