A Defiant 'Verse - In Character
POSTED BY: Defiant2thelast
UPDATED: Thursday, July 23, 2009 08:49
VIEWED: 32764
PAGE 6 of 10
Moe made his way through the skyplex's insides, clinging to the sides of the thronged hallways to avoid being swept in with the streaming crowds, snaking his way around merchant stalls and flocks of haggle-ready commoners. He was saddled like a mule, with a tallback pack towering above his head and a large suitcase gripped in each fist. He winced at the burn of lactic acid building up in his upper arms and shoulders, beads of sweat swelling at his hairline, and took a left up the sloping passageway leading out of the marketplace and onto the docking ring.
He stopped at a viewport looking over the station's docks, letting the suitcases drop to the floor. "Docking bay Ninety-four," he recited, his eyes narrowed to a keen squint as he cast them over the berthed ships. Funny, should be right here... Unless I got the digits mixed up, then I'm a long way off. He second-looked at the dozing ships, annoyance tugging at his lip.
"Dammit."
He croaked a curse or three and gathered up the suitcases. Better make haste, don't want 'em casting off without me. He felt his pack brush against something as he set out—a fellow pedestrian, perhaps—but didn't care enough to give it a look-see and hurried off as fast as his load would permit.
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Ships lined up along the sky-plex’s odd dockyard, with viewports allowing enough view to see what kind each was. Activity at their various airlocks told stories to anyone paying attention. Shade eyed one loading cargo, the two men arguing over each crate giving her pause. Not in the mood for that... The next ship was closed up tight, a man in a long coat doing... something... nearby. Shade skipped over him, seeing the small device in his hand. Something about hand held games that kind of ruin the bad-ass look....
The next ship was a firefly. Shade really only knew that because she’d flown on one before, but they were pretty easy to spot anyway. Defiant. Nice name. Shade smiled, maybe they’d forgive her own defiant tendencies, with a name like that. Wouldn’t that be nice? Maybe not – could spell boring too. The ramp was down, the inner airlock door closed. Didn’t look like they were leaving yet, but no sign of cargo or passengers out front could mean they would be soon.
The next ship was open, a large, fat man standing near the ramp, lounging against the airlock door. She didn’t know what kind of ship it was, but it was certainly ugly. She sniffed a little, eyes flickering back to the firefly. Sweet little ride, that one. Plus, Oreck had been on the last one. Shade had liked Oreck, a LOT. Back to the ugly ship, eyes narrowing at the fat man, now currently scratching his stomach under his shirt. Her lips tightened, pulling slightly down to the left in a pout, following her thoughts as they bounced around from ship to ship.
Well... he was just standing there, waiting for... whatever. There were other ships, but she had to start somewhere. He certainly looked like the type to need a little brute force once in a while – and fat enough to look like he’d rather have someone else to provide it for him. Question was, would he pay for it?
She slipped back into the crowd, dodging a woman with four bickering children, and a man with a monkey on his shoulder. That one turned her head... where do you get a monkey in a place like this? Turning back with slightly raised eyebrows, she almost automatically snagged the kid that was darting through the crowd. Both hands were fisted, and he wore that look between terrified and too jaded to care that marked a not yet accomplished pickpocket. She frowned down at him, looked at the back of a tall backpack, disappearing through the crowd. She looked down again, sighing deeply.
Kid couldn’t have been more than twelve. Skinny. Underfed. Terrified now that she was slanting those dangerous, fiery brown eyes down at him in a speculative manner. She finally made a disgusted face, and casually pried his hands open, taking the small items he was clutching. Talk about a crime of opportunity. She looked at him again, and she couldn’t help the little inner giggle. He’s gonna wet his drawers at this rate.... “Lesson learned?” she finally asked, in a low, dangerous voice.
He nodded rapidly, and she let him go, he gave her a respectful, split second smirk, “Don’t get caught!” and the crowd swallowed him. Shade grinned a little, one edge of her mouth in the shadow of her hat rising. Looking back over the crowd, she returned to her former scowl. Backpack was gone. Swearing under her breath, she stashed it. If she found him, she’d give him his things – if not, luck of the ‘Verse, man: You Got Robbed. Moving on, she found herself drifting along the edge of the docks, overhearing the men arguing over the crate.
“...Lao Chen said if we make it in three, we get first pick – all of us!”
His partner growled back, “Lao Chen’s a yangwei yanse lang! He can’t make any promises...”
She moved beyond them, slowing in front of the firefly, thinking of Oreck with a faint smirk. Man could throw a punch, and was no slouch in a bunk. Best of all, not the faintest idea of romance – no silly sentiment to ruin a good time.. Memories of wild times clouded with alcohol made her downright nostalgic. She shook her head at her own fancies, and moved to pause outsid
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Jackie looked at the thick lump of dust on her finger, then hastily wiped it on her thigh as she met Bargara's gaze. "I guess it's been awhile since anybody bunked here. T'sall right, germs helps us make antibodies."
He smiled.
She looked around the small quarters, the thin mattress on the single bed. It wasn't cozy as her cottage, but it was freedom, and that carried a helluva lot more weight.
She was anxious to leave but didn't want to appear too anxious and arouse suspicion.
"I believe I will settle in, like you said, before I see how the infirmary's set for medical supplies and such, but I did want to ask you a couple things."
"Sure. What's on your mind?"
"That other fellow in the kitchen, Dale, I think Bucket called him? He seemed disturbed when I mentioned Three Hills. Is there a problem?"
"And secondly," she continued, looking down at his left leg, "I can likely help you with that limp. Bother you much?"
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Maurie pushed hard to keep up the pace. Staying out on an all-night bender and precious little eating the morning thereafter had sapped his stamina. His breathing had grown loud and husky, and tart bile bubbled up his oesophagus, lapping at the back of his throat. Hmph. What I'd give for a quick nip.
He busied his mind looking back on his prior encounter with Nathan Rey, capitaine du nom. The man had moxie in spades, and an ego to match. His approach had been concise and plain-spoken: he was rounding up a salvage crew, and short a mechanic. Maurie's name had gotten around in a good way; his reference were unanimous in their praise, and the fact that he brought a strong baggage of practical experience to the table to go along with his steady gun hand had him high on Rey's draft board. Moe had taken a liking to the man's spunky drive... And the rest's history. Right.
He craned his neck above the coursing crowd, eyes casting about for a paint-flaked metal sign that read "Docking Bay 49", but his gaze stopped as it beheld a well-acquainted sight through one of the viewports. A strange chimera of a ship, with a vaguely birdlike forepart blurring into a blocky midsection affixed to a bulbous rear end. A firefly. An aught three, complete with its set of extenders, all in all in proud condition. Now ain't that a regal old girl. A smile whisped across his features as he made a line for the ship's airlock. Just as much as Rey's plucky leadership, the prospect of shipping out on one of these grizzled birds was what had drawn him to the job.
He started up the loading ramp, and was surprised to find someone idling around the sealed airlock. An askance eyebrow shot up, as he could tell from her shuffling eyes and tentative demeanor that she had no right place there. "Can I help you?" he grunted, treading up the ramp with stomping footfalls.
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Shade glared at her thumbnail, the ragged edge prompting her to gnaw on it while her eyes flickered back up to the airlock. It hadn’t been more than a minute or two since she pressed the button. Had it even worked? Was she wasting her time? It was frustrating to not even know if it was the right button, and that frustration made her more uneasy than she liked. Made her feel a bit foolish standing out here. Not three minutes from pressing the button, and she was ready to bolt, already. Nuo Fu, she sneered at herself.
Maurie started up the loading ramp, and was surprised to find someone idling around the sealed airlock. An askance eyebrow shot up, as he could tell from her shuffling eyes and tentative demeanor that she had no right place there. "Can I help you?" he grunted, treading up the ramp with stomping footfalls.
Heavy footfalls on the ramp behind her made her turn, eyes narrowed – for a split second – dangerously. That shifted to a faintly speculative look as she nearly growled out a response, only barely shifting from the reflexive troublemaking words to the more appropriate, “Depends. This your ship?” One eyebrow rose a little, slightly challenging. She really didn’t believe a man carrying suitcases and wearing a backpack was the... backpack? Her look shifted even more to the appraising. Did that pack look familiar?
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Lincoln's hand went to his left leg instinctively, he glanced down and then patted his thigh.
"Yeah, been a trouble for awhile now. No one's really been able to do anything for it. I had a good doc in the Core look at it once when I had a chance. Said there wasn't much to do without an operation."
He changed the subject quickly before she could ask any more questions. He didn't like talking about how it happened and sensed she would ask that next.
"Three Hills. It's all over the news nets on the cortex. Huge battle, quite a few wounded and dead on both sides. Captain has a job in mind. I really shouldn't say much more."
He bit his lip, wondering if the woman would realize they intended to loot the battle site of whatever they could carry off. He himself felt a bit of hesitance over such an activity, however he realized that the Alliance would be just as likely to do it. He hated what the Alliance was forcing here, a war. He'd supported the Alliance most of his life, always disliking the politics and bureaucracy of it, but admiring the freedom and protection it provided. They nearly abolished the slave business in the core systems and the border. Something that had prospered for as long as anyone had remembered. They kept crime in check, or at least claimed to. But he'd seen enough atrocities committed in the name of the Alliance and justice to turn his favor towards the Independents. Who in all honesty seemed little better, a mix of everything good and bad humanity could offer. Chaotic and rebellious, many of the worlds were anarchical and crime ridden. Slavery flourished as did trade in drugs and other unsavory merchandise. Yet small pockets of peace and prosperity stood out like oases amidst a desert of chaos. These places were the drive and money behind the Independent movement. A handful of planets were as wealthy as the poorest of the core planets.
"Bargara?" The doctor asked and he realized he was still standing in her doorway.
"I apologize, I was drifting. Should be underway in about an hour or two. Probably serve a meal shortly after that. You are welcome to join us." He nodded politely and excused himself.
Walking towards the stairs he considered cornering the Captain before he briefed the crew to inquire about who he'd lined up as a buyer. If he had anyone yet, at all.
"Big.. big mug."
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Dale had watched sharply, with a jumble of reactions to the varied discourse that occurred in the kitchen mess.
Firstly, annoyance as Lincoln didn’t pour him coffee.
It didn’t look like much, but on a boat with only a few humans in meaningful existence, small actions (and inactions) meant things.
Usually the large man was a source of warmth and famility in this cold metal bird, and well, now the rest of the ver-
Dale stopped and restarted his thoughtline.
It was unusual for Linc to rebuff a happy greeting. He was about to shrug it off (after all- he was probably demonstrating dominance for the new passenger) when he nonchalantly shrugged off the fact of the next destination and implied job!
He'd felt momentarily guilty for raising the name to Bucket's attention as he almost broke down at the kitchen table.
Lincoln then seemingly ignored Bucket's state, even grinning a little, magically turning all of Dale’s pity for Bucket and self-guilt into pure anger- directed at Lincoln.
No assistance, reassurance, pity? NOTHING?
Shortly after, Lincoln’s customary kindness surfaced once again, offering to get the captain to do the take off and suggesting some to Bucket he get some sleep, mollifying Dale.
He wondered whether anyone had even noticed any previous irritation.
Bucket didn’t seem to notice even as Dale righted the chair he’d knocked over, nor him wiping up the splashed coffee and the return of his mug to Buck’s rather weak hands.
And of course Lincoln was distracted listening to the newcomer tell her backstory.
Quote:
"I always wanted to take a ride on a Firefly."
An interestingly bad backstory.
Quote:
"My contract was up and I'm a free agent, so to speak. After two years in a backwater, I'm feelin' a mite restless. Need to find myself a bigger pond."
Ok, a reasonably innocuous backstory. Buuut, then again, possibly too innocuous.
She’d tacked off the original line, as if wary it had failed.
A truly innocent idiot-girl would insist that
“they’re so rustic and cute! They look like a brrrd”
And someone who was hiding something minor or just embarrassing would likely admit to it at this ideal early probe and move on.
She was suspicious.
Or...
maybe he was just being crazy. He could always be inventing problems for the “joys” of analysing.
He could be analysing them out of boredom.
He could be analysing the analysis out of the sense of intellectual superiority it elicited, the thought that he casually thought at a third tier level. He could be admitting to this out of a sense of modesty, or because any happiness or superiority was as hollow and deluded as the smugness that accompanied previous thought.
At that point in the continuum there were really endless options
One thing was certain-
Any more thought along this line was purely self indulgent and purposeless.
It didn’t even help, or gratify anyone.
It was self-absorbed, pointless and antisocial.
And it actually hurt his head little.
Time to return to reality and, what was he doing again? Kitchen, of course.
Where had everyone gone?
Hmm.
“Well, I’d best see the cargo bay and the captain”
Dale said to no-one in particular as he headed out of the mess, round and down the stairs to the cat-walk.
Wherever they were headed- he still wanted off this sky-shack.
ASAP.
Ideally with a few extra voices to distract from his internal one.
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Moe overlooked the wary edge in her voice, letting the pack slide off his back and propping it against the ship's carbon-streaked hull. His legs, leaden with effort a moment ago, felt numb and springy under him. "In a manner of speaking," he said, cocking his hands on his hips, his chest heaving with every breath. He glanced up and down the length of her, eyes screened behind opaque shades. He knew the hard eyes, harder words and belligerent shoulder chip. She looked the the type to start a fight in a empty room should the mood strike her.
Not many reasons a gal like that shows up here looking all jittery, he thought. Either she's running, or she's looking for work. A frown jerked between his brows. In his experience, people's motives were seldom so clear cut. Or both. He kneeled by his backpack and set about rummaging through the pockets, fingers feeling for the cool touch of his liquor flask. "You sign up with Captain Rey too? That why you're here?" He had a confident notion of what the answer to that would be, however he saw no reason not to inquire a little further, if only for comity's sake.
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Shade watched him, the tension easing a little at the simple chance to confront someone and get this over with. She wasn’t exactly famous for her patience. In a manner of speaking... wasn’t the same as yes. Wasn’t no either. His appraisal only gave her a faintly defiant look to her eyes, but she kept her attitude in check for the moment. Her nose twitched, and she’d’ve sworn her spine was itchy. Her shoulders shifted reflexively as his question clarified things a bit. He’s not the captain then... ‘kay... Shade’s mind stood at the depot distracted, while that train of thought left without her. Impatience was making her want to act, not think.
“Might say that’s why I’m here,” she said unhelpfully. “You know where I might find him?” She was almost proud of herself for that answer. Give nothing away, right? She felt downright subterfugical. She jerked a thumb at the airlock, “Ain’t answering the hail thing.” With some creativity, one could almost tell she was indicating the button she’d pressed nearly six minutes ago. Her dark eyes dropped to the pack his hand was buried in, distracted again by the nagging of... something. It made her spine itch again, and she shoved her hands into her pockets to ignore it.
What the guai... She pulled out a small, faded violet velvet pouch. The kid! She unconsciously patted her other pocket, and pulled out a small metal flask. The same pocket the pouch had come from yielded up another small bag, and Shade shook her head. Her eyes darted back to the pack. Can’t be! It’s too... coincidental or whatever! She leaned slightly, looking at the back of the pack – it looked the same....
“You... uh... missing anything outta there, Mister?”
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Dale leant against the catwalk railing, realising with a large yawn he hadnt yet had coffee.
He sure could use some. At least to keep him running till after take-off and the welcoming brief for whatever new people they'd picked up.
And then for the second brief minus civilians regarding the Three Hills job.
Yup,
He'd be requirin caffeine before then.
A lack of sugar on board was certainly a disappointment.. but then, he had bought something that'd do nicely as a replacement. Hell, it'd do better. Just he'd hoped to save opening it till they were further away from civilisation.
He dropped down the metal stairs, noing the captain and a lady by the left shuttle bay and two strangers by the entrance.
Looked as though they were fillin up quick.
Odd that, after a week or so of no interest shown.
As he passed down out of the hold past the medic bay he wondered if there was any event in the city that was necessitating exodus. Other than the endemic obvious ones.
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