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Previous Brown Bottle Thread Is Here

The Brown Bottle sits in the center of a dusty block of similarly squat, square concrete block buildings, near enough to the docks that the impact proof windows shimmy whenever anything with a Cappesin engine dropped into berth.

With a constant decor in shades of dingy and dark, The Brown Bottle lives up to it's name. Brown laminate tables and chairs were scattered here and there. The bar occupies one large room, only casually divided into sections by the mere arrangement of seating. Frivolities are limited to a pool-table with settings that mostly work, a few dartboards with some of the numbers worn off. An automatic music system drifts dusky background music, loud enough to break silence and soft enough to not harm conversation. And behind the bar, on shelves backed with a long wide bar mirror, rest rows and rows of vintage beer bottles in shades from palest amber to darkest mahogany, some from as far away as Earth-That-Was.

----------------

Sidonia Baron unlocked the door and took a cursury glance around, her lank brown hair swinging under the brim of the western hat she wore in deference to the misty 'rain' that fell outside, turning the pale yellow dust to grimy mud that clung to everything.

Kicking the mud off her boots, she shed her light-weight canvas jacket and headed behind the bar, glad it had been slow the night before and there wasn't much to do to get ready to open.

A flick of her wrist opened the cash register, and she pulled the day's change from it's hiding place under the bar, prepared to make change for whatever currency swaggered in off the docks that day. In the kitchen, she flipped on the deep fryer and the grill to heat up, scrambling up an egg and dumping it into a bun for some breakfast for herself. After a moments hesitation, she grimaced and chased it down with a mug of coffee, still cold from the night before.

Back in the bar, her sharp eyes took in the room, swallowing it up with a vague sense of irritable pride. It was hers, and it was good, mostly, but lately something had begun to tug at her. Too many folk came through and went again. More folk knew her name than she'd ever remember of theirs, but sure enough, a bar like this was a lonely place. She missed bein' around folk who hung around, who knew more than her name. Rutt, she even missed that jackrabbit Boone.

"Hell with 'em," Sid grumbled, striding back to the door and flipping the open sign on. "Got enough to do without folk in the way."

OOC- Any GM'ing in this post has been okay'd by a couple in red. They are also to be thanked for the editing.


I am the voice inside your head
And I control you

Light seeped through the cracks between the blinds of what was in the least a dingy rundown room. Cockroach's were too good to nest here. Dom wasn't however. He'd stayed in much more decrepit spaces before; this was just the next one. At the moment there was no discerning of time, night or day but he knew one thing for certain. It was time he got up. He had a fix to get and the Brown Bottle was calling him.

I am the lover in your bed
and I control you

He pulled himself up to a sitting position before rubbing his alcohol-weary eyes. Those same eyes then traced over to the naked form lying beside his pillow. Smelling of booze and stripped of clothing and empty on the inside he stared long at the still figure.

"God, what've I done this time."

I am the sex that you provide
and I control you

With one fell swoop he slapped the neck of last nights company sending the bottle spiraling through the air before smashing into a million glass shards on the floor. He turned around again and looked at the small wad of credits on the table. Like the bottle it wouldn't make it another day.

I am the hate you try to hide
and I control you

He slipped into his brown jacket, something that brought with it a sense of guilt, pride and anger mingling together in a dangerous cocktail each time it was adorned. Memories would never fade from the fabric of the cloak. Hatred for the Alliance and what they had done would never leave.

I take you where you want to go

He grabbed his cane.

I give you all you need to know

He grabbed his credits.

I drag you down I use you up

He grabbed his flask.

With all in hand he stepped towards the door, the glint of light in the filthy mirror reflected in his eye, causing him to turn and stare at it. He walked over and wiped away some of the filth with his sleeve, staring at himself both vacantly and deeply at once.

"Mr. Self Destruct." He uttered as he left the room and headed down to pay his tab. After that he was on the streets of Persephone wandering his way over to the Brown Bottle.

I speak religion's message clear
and I control you

A street preachers booming voice rose above the sound of even incoming ships, as he spoke of rapture and the coming doom. Dom had to forge a path through his followers who had gathered around him before leaving them in the past.

I am denial guilt and fear
and I control you

Two Alliance soldiers bumped roughly into Dom, pushing him off balance and when their eyes met with his they openly challenged him to say or do something about it. As tempting as it was he turned and continued his way down the street.

I am the prayers of the naive
and I control you

I am the lie that you believe
and I control you

From crazy street preacher on to institutionalized insanity; He came across a cathedral as the shepherd at the top of the steps flocked in his sheep. Every so often a God bless you escaped the aging bible banger's wrinkled lips as if it carried some form of verbal poison, casting a spell upon the naive. Dom passed them by as well.

I take you where you want to go
I give you all you need to know
I drag you down I use you up
Mr. Self-destruct

Cane, creds and flask on his person he finally came to his destination near Eavesdown Docks as the Brown Bottle appeared in front of him. A haven for those like him, a sense of comfort and soon, hopefully it would be a source of employment.

I am the needle in your vein
and I control you

He found a seat at the bar which had likely just opened for the day as attested to by the sparse amounts of people. He didn't pay attention to anyone but the bartender, good looking girl but he didn't want her for her looks.

"Drink. Whiskey. Please." Today he had decided the problem with English was all those pesky words. He chose to simplify.

I am the high you can't sustain
and I control you

He finished off the few drops in his own flask and slapped down the remainder of his credits on the counter.

I am the pusher I'm a whore
and I control you

The drink came to him almost immediately and disappeared nearly as fast.

I am the need you have for more
and I control you

He raised his empty glass, shaking it to ask for another.

I am the bullet in the gun
and I control you

An Alliance patrol poked their heads in, Dom wondered for a second what trouble they thought to cause. His hand instinctively slipped into his jacket where his gun lay to rest, seldom used anymore. Where most people saw purple on their chests he only saw red. The anger and need for revenge.

I am the truth from which you run
and I control you

It wasn't that patrols fault however. Two fresh-faced young men had no part in his war. In fact the Alliance wasn't to blame for his rage anymore than he himself with the guilt he bore as a cross, replacing the one his dead wife had given him and he'd lost years before. He was his enemy now.

I am the silencing machine
and I control you

His refill had come, drawing his attention from the two men. He filled his flask, then polished off the rest of it. His urge to draw his weapon remained and in a moment of overwhelming denial decided it was those two men who needed to pay for past sins.

I am the end of all your dreams
and I control you

His chance at vengeance had passed as the two men who once occupied the entrance were gone. Reluctantly Dom drew his hand back out from his jacket and hugged his glass as if it would run away on him if he wasn't watching it closely.

I take you where you want to go
I give you all you need to know
I drag you down I use you up
Mr. Self-destruct

OOC2- Song is Mr. Selfdestruct by Nine Inch Nails

Sid relaxed a fraction when the vet's hand moved away from his weapon, and her own hand moved away from the shotgun under the counter. Her grim expression didn't alter. Ling and Belzen were just doing their job, and they didn't like bein' in this part of town anymore than her clientele liked havin' em there. But it was a symbiotic relationship on this end of the docks. The Law kept the streets a bit safer and the drops dealers out of the front stoop and Sid kept the Browncoats from stirrin' fights just to be stirrin'.

"They ain't worth it, soldier." She gave the man a shake of the head, her voice a slow drawl, "You can't fight the whole world, 'specially not on the booze you're guzzling."

Her head cocked, dark eyes appraising, "You want some chow on top of that?"

"They ain't worth it, soldier." She gave the man a shake of the head, her voice a slow drawl, "You can't fight the whole world, 'specially not on the booze you're guzzling."

Dom brought his grey eyes up to the dark eyes watching him, knowing that they had been on him ever since his hand entered his jacket.

"Maybe not. S'pose it wouldn't do nothin' t'bring 'er back anyway." He let out a defeatist sigh as he stared at his once again empty glass then back to her.

"Sure as rut coulda put two holes in 'em purples b'fore ya pulled yer piece there though." He nodded at the counter not that he knew exactly where her weapon was concealed but certainly she had been ready with one.

"I do however take it as a kindness ya ain't shot me anyhow. Or thrown me on th'stoop."

"You want some chow on top of that?"

"Norm'ly I'd say money spent on grub is money wasted not spent on a good ale. All things considered I am slightly famished. If it ain't a bother maybe I will trouble ya for some. Not picky whatever you throw in front o'me I'll eat. Oh an' another drink wouldn't hurt. Please."

"Maybe not. S'pose it wouldn't do nothin' t'bring 'er back anyway."

Another soldier sob-story. Sid didn't react,

"Sure as rut coulda put two holes in 'em purples b'fore ya pulled yer piece there though."

"You keep tellin' yourself that." She clipped shortly, knowing that the soft- imitation wood of the bar wouldn't much impede the slugs in her shogtun. No drawing needed.

"I do however take it as a kindness ya ain't shot me anyhow. Or thrown me on th'stoop. Norm'ly I'd say money spent on grub is money wasted not spent on a good ale. All things considered I am slightly famished. If it ain't a bother maybe I will trouble ya for some. Not picky whatever you throw in front o'me I'll eat. Oh an' another drink wouldn't hurt. Please."

"Well, good to see you got some manners left, but I hope you don't take offense that I ain't ruled out out shootin' you just yet. Still early around here." Sid flashed the man a half-smile and, after a glance around the room to ensure that the few other customers were set she stepped back into the kitchen.

And nearly jumped out her skin as a shadow emerged from behind the stacked potato sacks.

Shortly after the Alliance left the doorway to the Brown Bottle, a far smaller form blocked the entrance, but only briefly. Clare Rilke cast a very small silhouette before moving out of the faint, rain-dimmed sunlight. This was not the first time she had visited the Brown Bottle, but it was the first time in quite a while. She certainly still knew her way to the bar and soon found herself a seat near Dominic Doyle as Sid left for the kitchen.

Clare's brown eyes followed the proprietor before studying the man beside her. She set a beat up leather duffle on the floor next to her chair, then laid a black backpack on top of that before she stretched her dark brown leather jacket over the pile to dry.

Likely picking up on the tension that just preceded her, she folded her arms on the edge of the bar and gave the veteran a slim smile, brows rising slightly. "Is the whiskey here still good?" she asked, her voice a little dry and drawling. She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the bar, picking out some of the decor and any of the other patrons. "Nice to breathe some real air for a while, at any rate. The recycled stuff gets old in a hurry, sometimes."

It was the rain, in the end, that drove Quarter Key to seek refuge in the Brown Bottle. She was tired, and cold; the damp had worked its way into her leg and had been gnawing at her bones for hours. And much as she disliked the idea of sharing close spaces with people just now, she would have sat through hours of one of the major's speeches if it meant a mug of something hot would be at the end.

A single glance was enough to take in the dingy, grumbling 'coat and the skinny blonde that made up the clientele as Quarter Key crossed the distance and folded an arm across the bar. Remembered just in time to smile because that's what normal people did, smile and talk back when other people talked, so she took a deep breath and let it out again before ending her days'-long silence, saying with a slight smile, "Haven't found a better clock yet." There was another dull, hollow dip in her mouth. A perfunctory creasing of the lids and the lips lagging just the extra second behind her words, and by the time her expression had caught up her eyes were off again, going this way and that, from Clare to Dominic to the bar and back again. She tried to keep eye contact with Clare, but she couldn't stop blinking, so she turned back to the bar and said, "Still and all..." She trailed off, took a deep breath, then let her eyes shut as she exhaled. Talking didn't used to be this hard.

"Sid?" She said, finally, her thumb coming up to rap the bar in time to the music, one-two, clean notes pouring over the back of her hand. The singer was off-key. Third verse, second measure. "Got a coffee without the coffee?"

"Well, good to see you got some manners left, but I hope you don't take offense that I ain't ruled out shootin' you just yet. Still early around here."

"None at all." Came his response returning her half smile as she disappeared into the back. A friendly warning but for from an empty one he was sure. As Sid left into the back another woman came in and took a seat near Dom giving him a slim smile. This time he didn't return one, not out of disrespect more due to a mouthful of liquid hell, he did manage a slight nod.

"Is the whiskey here still good?"

"Better'n you'll find on Verbena in th'least." Just the mention of the name brought him back to the cold purgatory where his war was undone. He swallowed hard, feeling the ache of his souvenirs.

"Nice to breathe some real air for a while, at any rate. The recycled stuff gets old in a hurry, sometimes."

She had a point, the fresh air was a nice change from the stagnant reprocessed oxygen he had spent half a decade inhaling in jail but he didn't feel free yet. This fresh air in this independent friendly joint was still on a planet firmly entrenched in the empire of his enemy. His thoughts were continued out loud as he set down his glass and spoke.

"Somethin' t'be said for certain types of recycled air too. Sometimes it has this feelin' o' freedom. It's your air an ain't belongin' to any gover'ment or company. Breathin' it all in can feel like your piece o' serenity in this chaotic 'verse…" A moment of peace washed over him as he turned his glass in circles, watching the contents swirl within.

"O'course, that same air is found in all the fine slammers as well. So I s'pose I'll take this real stuff while I can." He finally directed a smile at her, a smile that was extended as well to the woman who just came in from he rain and took her own place at the bar.

"Haven't found a better clock yet… Still and all..."

She seemed as prone to wanting to talk as Dom was… when he was sober. Which meant not at all. Dom's eyes finally lowered back to his whiskey. Purgatory in a glass.

And he thought he was done in jail.

Haven't found a better clock yet. Sid? Got a coffee without the coffee?"

Clare gave the next arrival a brief smile coupled by a half nod. "Clocks have such limited usage, anyway. The second you leave terra firma, the thing becomes pointless." She turned back to the bar to rest her elbows on its edge, her fingers loosely folded together. "And I'll take whatever coffee is leftover," she added quietly after Quarter Key's last before glancing back to Dominic.

"Better'n you'll find on Verbena in th'least."

Clare gave a quiet laugh in response and leaned forward to rest her chin on her knuckles. She waited long enough to see the man's hard swallow, which brought a faint frown to Clare's face and a pensive squint to her eyes. Whatever she had been about to say, she shelved it, gaze moving past Dom to look for Sid, then back again.

"Somethin' t'be said for certain types of recycled air too. Sometimes it has this feelin' o' freedom. It's your air an ain't belongin' to any gover'ment or company. Breathin' it all in can feel like your piece o' serenity in this chaotic 'verse… O'course, that same air is found in all the fine slammers as well. So I s'pose I'll take this real stuff while I can."

The pensive look cleared as Clare politely turned away, letting her eyes focus on the various objects behind the bar. She remained silent for a few beats before replying in her same dry, quiet voice, "I suppose in the end, it's all recycled, really. Still have to breathe in the bad with the good."

Beep, beep, beep. The Cortex screen in her motel room wouldn't stop beeping to indicate an incoming call. Charlie sat up, her long hair knotted in all sorts of directions. She pushed off the covers and yawned, blinking the grogginess out of her bright green eyes. After a few more moments, Charlie crossed the room in only her nondescript gray tee shirt and simple underwear. When Charlie reached the screen, she clicked the buttons to receive the call. An image of a man in his early thirties appeared on the screen. He had black hair and brown eyes. He looked Charlie up and down and smiled, Charlie rolled her eyes.

"Captain, why are you calling me? You kicked me off your ship months ago." Charlie said, pulling out a hair tie to pull her messy hair back. The man's smiled widened.

"Right, an argument. Because your brother insulted my planet, the Browncoats, and me. Excuse me for breaking his arm." Charlie rolled her eyes and responded. "Anyway, what's up Captain?"

"Captain, you know I liked our..talks. I had a good time on your ship. But I talked to a buddy of mine and he said there's a ship looking for a gunner that might be more suitable for me." Charlie said, smiling.

"Sorry captain, but Glacius is just not my place anymore. And if you have to even ask me to leave my jacket, you know there's no future here. I gotta go now Captain. You take care of yourself, and your ship's shiny guns." Charlie smiled. The captain nodded in defeat.

Charlie waved as the screen went black and sighed. She stretched her arms over her head and looked around the messy room for her pants.

A few minutes later, after successfully getting dressed, Charlie closed the door to the motel behind her. She uncrumpled the napkin in her hand with the directions Boone had given her to the bar that was pro Browncoat. It was messy and hard to read, but she had recognized the area Boone mentioned. She headed towards the docks that were less than respectable, slightly excited by the prospect of new work. Hanging around, drinking a ton and not doing much else was not a lot of fun. Charlie much preferred life on a ship, operating the guns. That was real happiness.

Charlie arrived at the docks in no time. Sh walked the streets, searching for the sign that Boone had described. She turned one corner almost to run directly into a pair of young alliance soldiers. They eyed her up and down, noting her brown leather jacket, and went on their way. Charlie waited until they were a few minute gone to continue on her way. The Brown Bottle was only a few steps down the street, and Charlie entered, eager to get out of the dreary weather. When she entered she could see she was rather early, there were only a handful of people inside. Charlie took a seat next to the others at the bar. This was as good a place as any to spend the day. As she was sitting next to a rather striking black haired woman, she heard the mention of coffee.

"If coffee is available, I would love to partake."' She said. Smiling and nodding to the bar's other occupants.

"I suppose in the end, it's all recycled, really. Still have to breathe in the bad with the good."

"Ain't that th'truth lass." He smiled at her as he finished off his drink and rose to his feet. His first instinct was to reach for his cane but rescinded his hand, opting to leave it resting there as he went over to the dart board.

"Ain't that th'truth o' it all." He whispered to himself before collecting the darts. He took several paces back, feeling his weakened leg nearly give out, the muscles kicking into action just in time to save him from an embarrassing fall. The first dart barely hit the board landing outside of any scoring territory, causing the vet to grunt and adjust his positioning. Accuracy had never been a problem for him but then again he hadn't exactly had much practice aiming in anything other than a toilet bowl in the past few years.

The second throw was better, landing in the inner ring a couple inches shy of the bulls eye mark. As he prepped a third throw the doors to the bar opened and in walked yet another woman, this one a bit younger than the other two, though she couldn't have been much more than a year or two junior to the second who'd entered. All three lookers not that he was looking, four if one counted the woman behind the bar with a big gun.

"Nice coat. If I di'n't know better I'd reckon you ladies were part o' some sort of club." He indicated the similarities in attire between Clare and Charlie with a nod before turning back to his game. His own leather jacket would have placed him in the same cult but then again that was why all of them were there. He wasn't quite certain of the one girl who'd come in just before the last but he was pretty certain she might be in he same club as well.

"Nice coat. If I di'n't know better I'd reckon you ladies were part o' some sort of club," the man said after a while, bringing Quarter Key back from her reverie.

She gave him the smallest of pauses, little else. Frowned and bit her thumb, tasting the grit and warmth of it like a prayer. Feeling for the thickening swells of blood where bone met the flesh beneath. Names scrawled in a language all her own. It was easy to see the bruises left over from the last time, still sore red and healing, every bump a stitch holding her together, stitches that were dug out again with blunt fingernails. She'd have to wrap them later. "Ran out of shirts," Quarter Key finally said, distant. She looked at Dominic's reflection in the polished wood bar, muted and lost in the black beneath her hands, and she thought about whether she should be angry. There was an argument on her bottom lip, something biting and sarcastic, but it never took flight.

Her lips parted, and Quarter key found herself offering a sickly sweet smile through their indirect connection. "Be easier if we looked at each other sometimes. Talking," she said then, a weak attempt at a joke, half-forgetting that she wasn't alone, and maybe that wasn't entirely wrong.

"If coffee is available, I would love to partake."

Clare glanced over at the newest arrival and gave Charlie a nod of greeting, returning the younger woman's smile before she turned on the barstool to lean against the bar, possibly to watch Dom toss the darts. Her gaze fell briefly to the cane the man had left behind, but it returned to him at the mention of coats and clubs. Her deep brown eyes took in the attire of both Dom and the other two women in a brief glance, but for now she merely shifted so she could hook an elbow behind her for a casual lean on the bar top, her hands folded together.

The same scrutiny from before turned now to Quarter Key, details picked up and sorted, stored according to some internal mechanism. The thumb biting, the marks...

"Ran out of shirts."

The tone. At first, Clare's expression turned impassive, instinctual walls thrown up before barriers could be breached. Her eyes narrowed with hints of suspicion before she could force them to relax, before she could force herself to relax. Her folded hands separated slowly until the fingertips of each hand were pressing against each other. Nothing but a simple mental exercise. One she found she needed far too often these days.

She swallowed a flutter of doubt as she studied the other three one more time, then she turned to face the room squarely, her hands resting on her thighs as she perched on the barstool. "I'm going to toss out a wager here that we're all veterans," she began in a low drawl. "The Brown Bottle's reputation isn't entirely a secret." She didn't need to be all that careful of her volume this early in the bar's business hours, but she kept her voice quiet anyway. "The tension in here is downright unhealthy, so I'd like to propose some simple introductions to help pass the time. My name is Clare." And I'm a recovering Browncoat, just like the rest of you.

The grizzled man in the window booth hovered over his mug of dark ale, body ducked down into his overcoat, an image older than his years, like an illusion cast over his frame for any who might look.

The group of gathering patrons amused him. Somewhat. He could guess their histories by the dust on the soles of their shoes, and if he were a wagering man, their futures as well. They were thoroughbreds, stomping in their stalls, waiting to run again, even if it was a race they would lose. They wanted to run, even if it was up against each other.

And in the end, though their goal was the same, Covenant wasn't just a breed apart. He was a different animal entire.

"The tension in here is downright unhealthy, so I'd like to propose some simple introductions to help pass the time. My name is Clare."

Might as well get the words out of the way. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for years. But one of them would one day need the monster they didn't know how to be. That was the nature of war. The thoroughbreds would run their race, doing their damndest in honor and faith, out in the open. The Thin Red Line.

No one wanted to think about what happened behind the Line. What actions happened in the shadows.

Until they needed him.

He didn't look over, eyes still on his drink, steeping his voice with the gravel of years of brown dirt, musing on days gone by, "Clare... I knew a Claire once, but he wasn't a she. Good name, though, still."

At first the older-than-his-years vet kept his eyes on the dart board despite the one lass' insistence on them looking at each other. He had just collected the darts again and tossed two, lining up the third he corrected his form, picked his mark and then….

"…My name is Clare."

His shot went far wide of the board at the name. To say it caught him off guard was an understatement on the scale of calling Serenity Valley a blood bath. He wasn't there but everyone knew about it. His cold eyes turned to Clare, hands clenched in a fist. Like a bad drug the memories of his lost beloved one surged through his blood, chilling and boiling it all at once. He didn't speak but another patron whom hadn't said so much as a word before piped up and echoed statements at least part of them that he would have spoken if there was speech left in him.

"Clare... I knew a Claire once.."

Dom's eyes scanned across the bar to the man in the corner, his hand instinctively reaching for his flask, pulling it out he took a moment to inspect the engraving on its face. His other hand trembled as it fingered the markings before unscrewing the top and bringing the silencer to his lips. The small round opening felt like a gun's barrel except the bullet was a harsh liquid instead of cold led. A long swig ensued, his eyes had found their way back to Clare. Slowly pulling the container back down he replaced the cap and buried it once more in his jacket pocket.

"Right… well. Good t'meet ya." The tormented shell of a soldier managed before turning back to the dart board. His dart tossing became less of a structured art and more of an attack at the board with the hopes that his anger and frustration would seep into the dart and depart him. After again depleting his darts he moved to the board and plucked five from it, checking the floor to see where the lost sixth one had gone to before finally locating it a couple feet away from the intended target.

Through his recovery in an Alliance hospital and his time in prison and the time after that never had it been made so apparent how far gone he had become than when he laid eyes on that dart astray. For a moment he tried to shrug off the analogy and reached for the dart but rescinded his hand for a reason he would never explain for the rest of his days. Stabbing the other darts into the board he limped his way back to the bar, taking a seat he once more pulled out his flask, eying it as his thumb traced over the engravings again before setting it on the counter.

"Som'un mention somethin' 'bout coffee?"

In the Kitchen

He'd near scared the pissin' out of Sid, he could tell that.

"SHHH! Sid, it's jess me!" Snapping up both hands in the interversally recognized symbol for Don't Shoot Me, he stepped back three or four paces.

"What the rutt, Tommy!" The proprietor of the Brown Bottle looked around, then wrinkled her nose with a sniff, "My god, what is that smell? Didju sleep in here last night?!"

Her fingers were strayin' for the big butcher knife on the wall, "No! Well, yeah, maybe, a bit!" The former self-proclaimed King of Persephone leaned back against the wall, "Need yer help, Sidonia-gurl. Willin' to pay top coin for it."

Dark eyes narrowed and a glance cast towards the door. Sid's patrons were steps away; a call was all it would take, "Talk fast, Badger. Or get the rutt out."

"Oi gotta get off-world. Now. Yesterday."

"So? Where are all those fancy ships you're always hiring to do your dirty work?" Sid barked, but she was busyin' her hands with cooking, instead of looking to stab him. Or worse.

"Oim in big trouble, sis. Big trouble."

Sidonia whirled and glared, "You made your bed. You lie in it. And I ain't yer sis."

"Oi'm serious! Men are lookin' to kill me!"

"So am I! ." Eyes cold as steel bludgeoned him with their stare, "Or have you forgotten that you sold me out when it suited you? Your hide ain't worth the prison tattoo on your pigu."

This weren't goin' the way he'd hoped, and he bristled, spine stiffening. Din't help that she was right. "An' I paid you back for that? Remember?" He let his voice drop, but the threat his words once carried was missing, "You owe me."

"No. I don't." Sid slapped a burger into a bun and scooped a basket full of fries on the plate beside, "That score evened a long time ago."

"I ain't gonna beg."

"So don't." She turned toward the door, her long brown hair swaying. "Get the rutt out of my place. And don't come back."

Badger was a proud man, and proud of his namesake. He kept at what he wanted until he got it. That's what had made him king of the Perseophone docks. His den was a place men and women and candy-sucking babies knew to fear. His crew was the toughest around, bloody and unyielding.

Former crew. They'd turned on him. His own toughs were lookin' to tough him.

"Sidonie, Oi'm beggin'. Please, you gotta get me offworld."

Sid stopped in her tracks and looked back at him. They'd grown up in the same streets, fought the same tracks. Something in his downcast gaze, the tilt of his shoulders, held her, words more fact than question dropping in slow wonder, "You're really scared this time. Never thought I'd see the day Tommy O'Grady was scared of anything..."

Gorram it, she'd always been able to see through him. His shoulders slumped, "Me plums are pegged, Sid. Alls Oi need is a ride."

"Sid? Got a coffee without the coffee?"

"I gotta get to work." She sighed, "I'll see what I can do. And get this place cleaned up, you pig."

As the swinging door slapped closed behind her, Badger sunk down on a heap of potatoes. He'd come a long way from the gutters of Dytton Colony to get where he was. And if he had to crawl all the way back up again, he'd do it. If he lived that long...

After sitting for a few moments, Charlie took the time to really examine the bar. There were a handful of people inside, as she had recognized earlier. Two other women at the bar, a young man throwing darts, and a few people sitting at the tables and booths. It was not nearly as shabby as some of the places she had spent her time; it was actually quite nice. It was clean and it was Browncoat friendly, what more could a girl ask for?

"Nice coat. If I di'n't know better I'd reckon you ladies were part o' some sort of club." The dart man said, gesturing to her and one of the women at the bar who was also wearing a brown leather jacket.

Charlie smiled and nodded gently to the man. The way Boone had described the bar, all of them should be toting brown.

"Ran out of shirts," Came from the black haired woman she was next to. "Be easier if we looked at each other sometimes. Talking,"

Charlie's lips raised in a half smile again. The woman was apparently not one for conversation, speaking in phrases more than sentences. Still, Charlie found the woman's observations amusing. They seemed more honest than most people's long sentences. Charlie withheld any comments of her own, not really feeling the need to join in yet.

"I'm going to toss out a wager here that we're all veterans," The other woman in the jacket began in a low drawl. "The Brown Bottle's reputation isn't entirely a secret." She kept her voice quiet despite the emptiness of the bar. "The tension in here is downright unhealthy, so I'd like to propose some simple introductions to help pass the time. My name is Clare."

Charlie turned to the woman, she now knew as Clare, surprised at her speech. It too made Charlie smile. She was rather enjoying the other characters in the bar, they were more interesting than most folk she had come across in recent months.

"Clare... I knew a Claire once, but he wasn't a she. Good name, though, still." The voice came from a booth Charlie had yet to really look at. She chuckled softly at the man's comment about a male Claire, which would just make her introduction as "Charlie" funnier.

"Right… well. Good t'meet ya." Again from the young man who was now apparently drinking. Charlie watched him move and grab the darts all but one. He seemed conflicted. "Som'un mention somethin' 'bout coffee?"

Charlie's half smile appeared again, it seemed like that was all she could do. She stood up slowly, stretched, and then looked deliberately at the young man.

"Unlike others, I will answer your request, Clare. Call me Charlie." She smiled warmly at Clare, then walked to where the last dart laid, bent over to pick it up, took a few steps back from the board, and threw the dart. It landed near the middle, close enough for her. She shrugged, then turned back to the young man.

"So, mister mysterious with a flask, who might you be?" Charlie's eyes were challenging in contrast with her teasing smile. Still, Charlie could feel her curiosity about this man beginning to bubble. Something about guys who drink from a flask and have trust issues.

It had been a long night. Nik had worked late in the shop helping her cohort - Jin - fix a welding mishap forged from her employer's sheer stupidity and she had little time for sleep as a result. She was supposed to be back in for her next shift fifteen minutes ago to do inventory on "new" parts, but instead Nik trudged through the mud and rain to a nearby pub for breakfast. It was a Browncoat refuge - which she usually avoided - but considering its proximity to work, the Brown Bottle would do.

As she opened the door and entered, the warmth and smell of sizzling fries immediately wafted around Nik, lightening her mood considerably before her eyes could even adjust to the establishment's dark surroundings. Nik just paused to savour the sensation while shaking the water off her coat and knocking the mud from her boots, then strolled to the bar while the conversations around her continued.

"Unlike others, I will answer your request, Clare. Call me Charlie."

The barkeep seemed busy when Nik approached, so while she waited - in no particular rush to get to work on time - she leaned contently against the counter and surveyed her surroundings. A few patrons were scattered here and there but then she clapped eyes on a face she never expected. There, standing barely five feet from her, stood her old Sergeant, Dominic Doyle. Nik leaned forward to get a better look, unconvinced such a coincidence could occur as the man in question gazed at a flask he held so nostalgically.

"So, mister mysterious with a flask, who might you be?" A woman nearby asked him curiously. Nik frowned - this couldn't be the Dom she knew. He looked ragged and broken, and a cane sat at his side. He was barely a few years older than she, what happened that he would need a cane? After a moment however, Nik's investigative vein eventually pushed her forward a few steps, forcing a question that overstepped her typical spirit of indifference.

"Dom?" She asked carefully.

He opened his mouth to part ways with one of those mind-blowing, cliche introspective phrases which would indicate the crossroads he currently was at in his life but that all went for naught when someone answered his name for him.

"Dom?"

The voice was already pegged in his mind even before he looked over at Nik. His eyes widened some, he had never expected to see her again and here she was standing in the same bar.

"Ten creds for th'lady. That is my name." He couldn't help but smirk as he turned on his bar stool eying the woman up and down, not to admire what was by all standards a fine physique but to take in the sight of the first friendly face he'd seen in near a decade.

"Well, well. If it isn't Nik Nederezencu, baddest pe-gu in all th'verse. Y'ain't aged a day." He didn't lie, she looked the same as she did last time he saw her. Less the uniform and bar surroundings.

"Never figured you for much of a bar type." His hand reached out for his flask, tempted to open it but forcing himself not to.

"So Nik, Charlie, Clare. Creepy fella in th'corner. What brings y'all t'this neck o'the woods. Lookin' fer work like me?"

Well, she had tried. Clare gave the two men a slight smile, though her eyes never changed. Dom's reaction was filed away with all the other details, to be discarded or examined as the situation demanded. She gave the woman named Charlie a more pleasant grin, nodding to her as she turned around again to the bar. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Charlie," Clare said quietly before she glanced toward the kitchen for Sid.

Clare's attention was soon diverted again by the arrival of Nik, and Dom's information regarding both his name and the newest patron's. The Brown Bottle was certainly filling up now. She was just starting to consider dipping into some of the provisions in her duffle when Dom spoke again.

"What brings y'all t'this neck o'the woods. Lookin' fer work like me?"

Clare analyzed the guy for a couple seconds, bringing up those details again to be weighed and measured. And then there was the "Creepy fella in th'corner" to consider. These days, one just can't be too careful. "Always looking for work," she replied finally, folding her arms on the edge of the bar. "Usually it finds me first. Just passing through, really." She waited a beat, glancing at the others at the bar before turning back to Dom. "What sort of work do you do?"

More talk. It was long and stilted, and unable to avoid the questioning glances being passed around like hols presents, Quarter Key filled her silence with coffee. Looked away when they asked after her name, looked back when they didn't. It wasn't personal. She wasn't terribly interested in giving her name out, even a name named after a lie, and as to the second part, well, she wasn't sure why she was here. She also wasn't sure why she didn't just leave. She considered it, as she watched the others talk, but by the time her mind was made up, it was too late.

"Waiting," she said to an audience that was no longer listening, and that was okay. She wasn't, either.

She glanced a look at Sid, measuring and slow and not much different from the one she'd just been aiming at her coffee. "Didn't know you'd hired help, Sid." She'd heard noises. Quiet ones, quickly stifled, but it'd have gone off better if they hadn't bothered. She'd learned to tune out everyday noises years ago, but she had good ears, and the quickest way to rouse Quarter Key's attention was sneaking about. Wreaked hell on her sleeping patterns, if anybody tried to leave without waking her up, but it came in passing useful sometimes. Now, though, probably wasn't one of those times. She had to lay bets, was pretty good odds that Sid had a bit of fluff back there. Hadn't seemed the type, but then, she didn't know anything about anybody anymore.

"Waiting. Didn't know you'd hired help, Sid."

This was awkward. Well, for Nik it was. "Am I supposed to hug him or something? It's been so long - what do normal people do when they see an old friend?" she wondered silently. It had been a while since Nik had to really converse with strangers, so she didn't really know how to handle this situation. But she had nothing serious to hide anymore, so there was no reason to be anti-social.

Returning to her original position against the counter between a woman who identified herself as Charlie and the dark-featured woman who just spoke, Nik attempted to be polite.

"Well - I already got a job - sorta... Just down the street," she said in Dom's general direction, though she meant it for whoever else was listening as well. Finally deciding to sit down, Nik then leaned forward to make eye contact with Doyle and the two women between them. "Ain't nothin' special though, so if any y'all lookin' for work hear of any spots for a mechanic, feel free to holla." She paused once more to grab the attention of the owner. "Can I have whatever breakfast special you got 's long as it's got eggs - sunny side? Oh - and some tea?"

Turning back to the others, Nik wondered if these people knew each other, and if she was interrupting. There was a nice booth in the corner she was eying if she was.

"So... I'm guessin' that since y'all are meetin' here for jobs, it ain't exactly for office work..."

The implied question was a general one to spur the others to speak while giving Nik a chance to give Dom another once-over and ponder what he had been up to such that he would be in such a state of... Defeat? He tried to hide it with idle chit chat, but you didn't need a degree in psychology to see he wasn't exactly the most cheerful of men.

Charlie was so focused on hearing the man's answer, she was oblivious to the woman's entrance into the bar until she spoke. Charlie straightened and turned to see the newcomer. Another nice looking woman who apparently knew Mr. Mysterious, now identified as "Dom". The woman's name was Nik, funny how the gender associated with names from the Earth-that-was seemed to be a gray area now.

"So Nik, Charlie, Clare. Creepy fella in th'corner. What brings y'all t'this neck o'the woods. Lookin' fer work like me?"

Dom's question launched Charlie into thought for a few moments. Boone had been specific in saying to lay low about the ship. It was not an auspicious gig, and she had been properly reminded and warned about being too showy about it.

Always looking for work. Usually it finds me first. Just passing through, really."

When she heard Clare's response, Charlie smiled. The response was perfect to her as well. She would likely give a line that was similar.

"Waiting. Didn't know you'd hired help, Sid."

Again, Charlie was impressed by the dark haired woman's honest observations. She watched the woman for a few moments. It seemed like she was slightly out of sync. Not quite looking in the right place or using the correct inflection. Not that Charlie was right good at the right inflection or 'nythin'. She shrugged off her curiosity yet again to focus on the conversation.

"Well - I already got a job - sorta... Just down the street. Ain't nothin' special though, so if any y'all lookin' for work hear of any spots for a mechanic, feel free to holla."Pause. "So... I'm guessin' that since y'all are meetin' here for jobs, it ain't exactly for office work..."

Charlie smiled, never having even set foot in an office. Not her style of place at all.

"I tend towards the gunnery of ships myself. Operating one of those is the only real training I've had. And y'know sometimes being able to operate your ship's guns is real shiny." Charlie couldn't help spilling about her love for the gunnery, which was the only constant in the lonely woman's life. It kept her away from face to face combat, for which she was grateful. It was easier to keep a clean conscience from inside a ship. Her fine gun shooting had landed her with a sniper rifle or a machine gun on occasion, but those were not her fondest memories. No, the ship's guns were much shinier.

Strides timed to heartbeats carried them through the docks.

Titania's long brown duster swept her boot-tops, and the wind tugged at the thick black braid in which she wore her hair. The light rain had tilted closer to a heavy mist, dank with the stench of mud and gasoline, rancid smells for a rancid place. On either side, Boone and Aialia moved with her, and she felt their presence at her back like a bulwark.

They had taken the Alliance. They were outlaws.

An Alliance patrol crossed their paths, and Ti watched them go, breath caught in case they turned back, but they kept moving.

And one day, they would be heroes.

The captain of The Endless Horizon didn't pause at the door of the Bottle, but swept it open wide with a smooth swipe, letting her momentum carry her up and into the familiar space. She let her eyes sweep the bar, searching for the unfamiliar, the unexpected, and relaxing when she saw the grizzled vet in the corner booth. Acknowledging him wasn't in her purview, and she stepped deeper into the bar, making way for Aia and Boone. Amongst these patrons were the start of her army, the beginning of the end.

That they would fall was possible. That they might fail... That was unacceptable.

"Sid!" She waved a hand as she pulled up a chair at a round center table, spinning it to straddle where she could see both barfront and door, "Fetch us a pitcher of the good stuff."

Lowering her gaze, she glanced back to Boone and Aia, then to the waiting crew hopefuls, "Make your hales and hellos. I want us back in the air before we have to buy a second round."

It was worth it. It had to be worth it. Boone had repeated the mantra to himself over and over for the last thirty-six hours, ever since they had dragged Nate off that ship with a bullet in his shoulder. It was worth it. They were fighting for freedom where everyone else had given up, some of the few left to do so. Nate had been the first to pay the price and all things considered, it wasn't such a terrible price, was it? A bullet in the shoulder, a couple of busted ribs and a fever? Could've been worse. Could have been much worse. It was worth it. Just.

Suppressing a yawn, Boone paused for a moment outside the bar, taking a deep breath, then plastered a smile on his face, knowing that it would probably jar badly against the dark circles under his eyes and the redness of his eyes. Never mind. It wasn't like he had to be on his best behaviour today. They weren't here on a charm offensive, after all, and the folks they were picking up were already more or less friends of theirs. Running fingers through his damp hair, he followed the captain inside and just a quick glance had him pick out the ones they were here to collect.

He shrugged out of his coat as he moved through the room, draping it over a chair by the table Titania chose, glancing at one woman, then another, he finally decided to welcome one, though it seemed more urgent to greet the other. A genuine glimmer of fondness surfacing in his eyes as he gave a half-bow to the green-eyed lady. "Charlie, darling. How lovely to see you again," he said, glancing at the man she was with, one Dominic Doyle, if Lia had been accurate in her description and the pictures hadn't lied. "You two know each other?"

A quiet, deep breath took in the moisture rich air. The smell of a rain that plagued the area for more than just a few hours was strong and sweet. Water droplets that clung to skin and hair left the sensation of becoming cleansed of past sins. Rain is pure; rain is clean; and rain can calm even the most ruthless of creatures. Aialia liked the rain.

Her boots splashed through puddles that gathered on the ground as she followed Titania’s lead through the streets with Boone to the opposite side of her. No words were spoken for none was needed. That was the beauty of knowing what your job was, even one as small as picking up new crew; it took away the need for unnecessary communication and filled the empty spot with purpose. Communication that is not needed can lead to trouble, but a sense of purpose? There was no arguing with that.

She had very little opinion on the matter of those who left the crew so suddenly. People are bound to come and go at random. It was just the way of life. Especially among those who were in a similar line of profession as those who occupied the Horizon. Perhaps they will decide to return one day, or maybe they will never again be seen. Whatever the case may be, they were gone now and it was abundantly clear that new people were needed to take their place. This was their purpose.

Lia followed Ti into the bar with next to no hesitation. They were here for one thing and one thing only, gathering those who were to join the crew. Hesitation would only show uncertainty; and uncertainty only caused doubts in the eyes of newcomers. They couldn’t do with doubt. If people doubted their purpose, they would not work to their fullest capacity. The people needed to see certainty.

"Make your hales and hellos. I want us back in the air before we have to buy a second round."

That was all that needed to be said. Aialia’s chocolate eyes fell immediately on Dominic. If there was anyone she was most like in the whole ‘verse, it would probably have to be him; for they shared a common life lesson, the lesson of pain. Undoubtedly, there were many souls walking who shared this same commonality, but each for their own reason. And while the story may be the same, everyone reacted differently to get to where they are now. So, perhaps she wasn’t most like him when you get down to the nitty-gritty details; but it sometimes felt that way to her.

With sure, measured steps, Lia made her way over to the man known as Dom and with a single nod of her head, she greeted him. “Dom. Been’ a while.”

Clare had given up on the idea of coffee. This waiting was doing funny things to her empty stomach, and the idea of adding some more acid to the mix seemed like a recipe for ulcers. She listened to the interactions around her as she studied her fingers. The travel to Persephone had undone some of the usual upkeep. She made some mental notes to take care of that once the business in the Brown Bottle was over. She wasn't fit to tie a stitch at this point.

"So... I'm guessin' that since y'all are meetin' here for jobs, it ain't exactly for office work..."

Clare smiled slightly as she gave up on the hygiene study and glanced at Nik. It was a shame people couldn't just be open with each other anymore. So much more than just freedom had been lost all those years ago. Simple trust had fallen so far out of fashion, yet subterfuge did not come naturally to the wartime wanderer, so she opted to remain silent. Subterfuge. From the Latin, "to escape secretly". The coward's way out, she thought to herself, wishing again she had a mug of something, just to give her something to do while the waiting dragged on. She never felt right in her skin if she wasn't working, and it had been a couple months since the funds at the last colony had sent her in search of work once again.

"I tend towards the gunnery of ships myself. Operating one of those is the only real training I've had. And y'know sometimes being able to operate your ship's guns is real shiny."

Clare turned her back to the bar again before giving Charlie a second look. Her chin dipped down slightly in what may have been a nod, but then her attention went to the Brown Bottle's doors as a trio walked in looking... purposeful. Anticipation churned sourly in that empty stomach of hers, then dropped as the face she'd been waiting for did not appear. And yet...

"Make your hales and hellos. I want us back in the air before we have to buy a second round."

This could be it. Clare studied them as they settled at the table. Communication had been necessarily terse, just enough to get her here in time from the colony on the Rim. Frustration fluttered to life, but she fought it down, just as she always did while silently thinking new curses on the Alliance, deserved scapegoat that it was. It was almost an hourly ritual sometimes.

"Charlie, darling. How lovely to see you again. You two know each other?"

"Dom. Been a while."

The self-proclaimed gunner got yet another glance from Clare, then the cane-wielding man on her other side. Simple logic combined with statistics narrowed down the possible purposes for this gathering of veterans. Besides, if her guy hadn't shown up by now, maybe he wasn't going to, and what did she really have to lose, aside from something better than shepherding more colony hopefuls to a place destined to let them down? Nothing short of somehow turning in Mr. Mei-Mei, if even that, would ever get her back into a med-acad. As if she would, anyway.

Clare forced her shoulders to relax and affected an easy smile before she spoke up. "You three wouldn't happen to have a Crawford with you, by chance. I'm Clare. Been looking forward to seeing him again." It was sort of an introduction, at least. Did this count as subterfuge?

Standing on a hill, staring at a mountain;
Swallows dive and turn, trying to catch what we can't see

Dom was a bit surprised at Nik's response; for one he never knew of her mechanical inclination, he also never took her for a settle down in one place type of girl. Then again they only met because of the war and very few would have mistaken him for a once promising athlete. That was a long time ago; still he felt there was an opportunity for her where he was going. He had recently made contact with the wife of an old comrade who had mentioned an opening on her crew, that's why he was here. If they were willing to take on someone of his increasingly decreasing abilities surely they would be able to find a place for Nik, whom Dom held in as high a regard as anyone. As he mulled over this idea his eyes fell to the door as the group entered, most predominant for him was Aialia a woman he still had trouble making eye contact with.

When all the work is done, by the light of a setting sun;
We see what we've become -- two of the lucky ones.

Dom. Been a while."

Sure ain't the first time; hope it ain't the last time
When all the work is done, by the light of a setting sun;
We see what we've become -- two of the lucky ones.

"Too long." His response came with his own nod back to the woman, still feeling like he owed her. It wasn't just a feeling, he did owe her. He owed her the man she lost that he couldn't save; common sense would say he couldn't have prevented his death but guilt demanded that he should have found a way. Dom never did take grief well. He adjusted his positioning on the stool to face her over her shoulder was Nik.

For the very first time, there's no words to be found;
Opened up our eyes, there was love all around --
When all the work is done, by the light of a setting sun


"I appreciate you wavin' me Aialia. Not much work t'be had for a lad who wore both brown an' orange. Like t'introduce ya to a good friend o'mine." His hand gestured to Nik.

"Nik here knew… Richard. Fine a mechanic as you're likely t'find." The last part he had no evidence to back up, but he knew Nik and knew whatever she set her mind to doing she could do. Who knew, maybe they needed a mechanic and after finding her so many years later. He wasn't nearly ready to say goodbye so fast.

Standing on a hill, staring at a mountain.

(OOC: Song is Two Of The Lucky Ones by The Droge And Summer's Blend. I know it's a love song but I have my reasons why I think it fits.)

Quarter Key blinked. Gaped, really, unable to speak. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, and her lips gave the barest twitch, different from anger but no less dangerous. Dangerous to laugh, too, but she did it anyway, a soft huff of sound that hung in the small space, bright, sharp and lingering, retreating from her coffee one heartbeat at a time. Quarter Key thought just once as she laughed, but her eyes were closed. "Three 'coats walk into a bar..." Closed her eyes. Mumbled the words building in the back of her throat because they weren't words, not really. No more than she was a soldier anymore. Semantics. Could be argued. There were words, when she wasn't being thick about it, just as there were words for curious folk, but she couldn't think of them just now. She felt a tightness in her chest, sharp and painful, and her hands shook as she looked down, watching Titania's reflection in the mirror behind the bar, eyes wide, heated and dark. She couldn't not.

Thing was, she was curious. Not in what they were doing, that was plainly obvious. Recruiting. Building up the ranks again, never a hungry day in this man's army, see the worlds, meet interesting people and kill them, their planet, and their little dog, too, and declare it a moral victory in the bargain. Nothing new there. That wasn't the interesting part, anyway. The interesting thing was, they were different, in ways that she hadn't expected from Hitch's description. They actually looked, well, alive. More alive than she'd seen in years. Seemed the Brown Bottle wasn't just a funeral parlor after all. That thought was less encouraging than it was probably meant to be. More than it she thought it ought to be.

Quarter Key was desperate, frustrated, but she couldn't help moving to see their faces, all of them, couldn't stop her breath from breaking, hitched and stopped, and Quarter Key tensed, pressed against the stool and tense under her own fingers, and she thought that was a lie. She should stop, but she should never have started, and her skin did nothing but itch. She withdrew her gaze. "Forget it. Probably heard the end."

Just as Charlie was breaking herself free of her dreamy thoughts of ships and their guns, another woman entered. Her pace was faster than anything else had been that morning, and the woman already was in the bar, seated, with her chair turned around, and calling out her order. Charlie was impressed by the woman’s manner, she was the kind to be in charge, which was easy enough to recognize. Charlie had begun to settle her nerves, and loosen her muscles that had tensed on instinct at the abruptness of the woman, when the door was pushed open again. This time, the pace was slower and the face familiar.

Boone.

Charlie had experienced some pretty good times with the guy, both of them running in the circles of known “for hire” types. They had worked a few jobs together, had their fair share of jokes, and had drunk lots of booze together. He was a fun guy, one of the few Charlie could actually call friend. Charlie looked over the charmer, and she noticed how out of whack he looked. The dark circles, blood shot eyes, not the typical look for Boone. She couldn’t hold his appearance against him for more than a moment, she was too excited to see him.

Boone beat Charlie to the punch by starting the conversation as she had been preparing to do. His bow was expected, but delightful as ever. Charlie’s lips split into a wide smile, bright with enthusiasm.

"Charlie, darling. How lovely to see you again," he said, glancing at Dom, "You two know each other?"

Charlie was surprised by his question, looking to Dom for a moment, then turning back to Boone.

“This guy?” She asked, gesturing with her thumb to Dom, who was at that moment launching into a conversation with another woman, “Only for the past few minutes.” Her eyes lingered on Dom, unsure of how to explain him or how she would describe the choppy conversation they had shared. He was still a mystery to her. She turned back to Boone, smile back on and bright.

“It’s great to see ya, but look like something worked ya hard.” Charlie paused and put her hand on Boone’s shoulder and step closer, now speaking in a soft voice. ”Y’all right? Everything okay with the ship?” Charlie had been working the circuit long enough to know that business was not always smooth. She had enough scars to prove that, and she knew people who had worse.

<< I'm totally confused about positioning here, so I'm just going to wing it and hope that we're not at opposite ends of the room, shouting at each other >>

Although he was focusing his attention mainly at Charlie, Boone took notice of what was happening around him as he greeted the gunner. He noticed the presence of Covenant in his booth, a man that always made him uneasy and it put him further on edge seeing the man there, thinking it seemed too much of a coincidence that he happened to be here once again when they were picking up new crew. But Titania knew him, and apparently trusted him for some reason, so Boone attempted to push him to the back of his mind as he focused back on Charlie and the other woman who had joined them.

"You three wouldn't happen to have a Crawford with you, by chance. I'm Clare. Been looking forward to seeing him again."

"Clare," he said, smiling at the woman, whom he had already decided was the most important person in the room, at the moment. Never mind Covenant, never mind Sid or the girl who seemed to be familiar with Dom, or the one sitting at the bar, whom he recognised from a capture Hitch had sent. He didn't show his preference, though, but leaned a little closer to Clare, lowering his voice to a whisper, meeting her eyes with a look that was far more serious than the smile that played on his lips. "Nate sends his love and apologises for not being able to come meet you in person." There was no reason to explain further. Not now, not in such a public place, even if it was considered friendly territory.

"Nik here knew… Richard. Fine a mechanic as you're likely t'find."

Aialia was already dealing with Dom and his friend, but he still couldn't help turning half an ear on their conversation, while he spoke with Charlie and Clare. They could use a mechanic now that Jinx had left. Boone would miss him, but apparently the kind of life Horizon offered hadn't appealed to the old man and that was certainly forgiveable. After all, they hadn't been completely honest with the crew they had taken on before the raid on the Alliance shuttle. That would be different this time around. Everyone had been given a personal invitation and everyone knew the stakes. And Boone was certain that they wouldn't be here if they felt that it wasn't worth it.

“It’s great to see ya, but look like something worked ya hard. Y’all right? Everything okay with the ship?”

"The ship is fine. Old, but functional enough. She'll need a good mechanic, though," he said, just loud enough to carry to the group gathered with Aialia. He gave a glance over his shoulder toward Titania and gave a nod at the woman Dom had introduced as Nik. Back to Charlie, he gave a wink of the eye and smirked with a knowing glint in the eye. "You'll love her gunnery, Charlie. Honest to God military hardware. And the added bonus of mining lasers." He turned to Clare again, and again, the tone of his voice changed, becoming more severe with a hint of worry. "The infirmary isn't too shabby either. Mostly stocked with fresh meds and the like, care of good friends of ours, but the equipment isn't what you'd call state of the art. You'll see for yourself soon, though. We'll be heading back to the ship ASAP."

Sid moved through, sliding between the folk with easy grace, laying out Dom’s meal, refilling drinks and slagging out coffee cups in front of most everyone.

"Ain't nothin' special though, so if any y'all lookin' for work hear of any spots for a mechanic, feel free to holla." She paused once more to grab the attention of the owner. "Can I have whatever breakfast special you got 's long as it's got eggs - sunny side? Oh - and some tea?"

“This ain’t Londinium. Only eggs I got are pro-enhanced and scrambled. Can get it with cheese or sausage or both, 2 plat. Comes with fries. The potatoes are real and hot, an’ you can get ‘em deep fried or skillet-hashed with onion an’ dried peppers. “ She darted around Boone, swift enough that if the boy was thinking of a hiney-slap, he’d miss clean and clear. She was halfway to the table with the pitcher before it hit her - Boone! And the gal who’d hollered for beer was Praed!

Turning so fast she half-stumbled, Sid had to drag herself up to keep from dropping the tray, “Boone! Praed! Was just thinkin’ on you. Welcome back.”

Glancing around, she suddenly realized why she was so busy on a rainy day right after opening. Lowering her voice, she dropped a mug in front of Ti, “Looks like everyone knew you were stoppin’ in but me. Where’s the rest of your crew?”

And don’t you dare tell me you lost ‘em, Praed. Don’t you ruttin’ dare…

"Clare. Nate sends his love and apologises for not being able to come meet you in person."

The rest of the conversations in the Brown Bottle washed over Clare as she studied Boone, her expression suddenly stone sober, impassive and wary. His tone, his eyes. As with so many things, she collected the tiny details and stored them off to the side to be examined before she gave the man a brief nod.

The other words being stated drifted back into her conscious attention, and she quickly reevaluated the group. It seems she hadn't been the only one waiting for this ship to come in.

"It's great to see ya, but look like something worked ya hard. Y'all right? Everything okay with the ship?"

"The ship is fine. Old, but functional enough. She'll need a good mechanic, though."

Clare watched the interplay between Charlie and Boone before nodding her thanks to Sid for the coffee. Letting it warm her hands, she glanced at a couple of the others in the room, including the one Sid referred to as Praed. Definitely seemed this was the right group.

When Boone leaned in for another quiet comment, she caught that look of worry and stamped down hard on the sudden desire to grab her stuff and find the ship herself.

"The infirmary isn't too shabby either. Mostly stocked with fresh meds and the like, care of good friends of ours, but the equipment isn't what you'd call state of the art. You'll see for yourself soon, though. We'll be heading back to the ship ASAP."

"The simplest equipment is sometimes the best. Boone, was it?" Clare replied in a quiet, even voice. "I'm ready to go whenever you are. Just say the word." She lifted her mug to her lips, drinking the hot coffee black. Impatience drummed against the ceramic, in sync with her pulse. He has to be alive if he's sending regards, she reminded herself, forcing a calm that came with years' worth of practice. In short order, her mug was empty and placed on top of a bill she left on the bar top, enough to cover the coffee and tip. Now to wait, the seconds suddenly feeling far too long.

"This ain’t Londinium. Only eggs I got are pro-enhanced and scrambled. Can get it with cheese or sausage or both, 2 plat. Comes with fries. The potatoes are real and hot, an’ you can get ‘em deep fried or skillet-hashed with onion an’ dried peppers."

Nik rose an eyebrow and grinned towards Dom at the bartender's reponse. Normally that kind of sass would irritate her but she was in an inexplicably good mood.

However as Nik turned to finish her order, a new crowd walked in, and "Sid" flitted over for a reunion while the bar came alive with familiar calls and greets. Smiling slightly at the others' warm reception, she realized she was definitely interfering by now. Nik was late enough for work anyway, so she headed over to Dom to say goodbye and exchange contact information when she heard her name called.

"... Like t'introduce ya to a good friend o'mine. Nik here knew… Richard. Fine a mechanic as you're likely t'find."

Nik was caught off-guard. After a pause, she looked up at Dom and the woman to whom he was speaking. Richard? In her mind, she sped through what faces she could remember from the war to see who matched up. Finally it dawned on her and she understood Dom's hesitation.

She approached the two to shake the woman's hand as pleasantly as possible, but this was her first time meeting a relative of another soldier and Nik didn't know proper protocol for these situations.

"He's exaggerating. I just, uh..."

"The ship is fine. Old, but functional enough. She'll need a good mechanic, though. You'll love her gunnery, Charlie. Honest to God military hardware. And the added bonus of mining lasers..." Nik couldn't help but get distracted by the loud voices nearby. She shook her head a touch, not really able to think with all the hubbub going on.

"... I just started out so I'm not really up-to-date with the newer models..." What was she saying? Typically people in these situations try to sell themselves and all Nik could do was prattle on about nonsense. Annoyed at her social incompetence, she tried to steer the conversation another way.

"So y'all here on business I take it?"

”Too long.”

Aialia allowed a small smile to grace her face. Though this appeared as a friendly outing, it was more a type of business; and she always preferred to handle business in a professional manner. However, that simple slip of a smile was the only thing she could think of to respond to Dom’s reply. “That it has.” She had noticed long ago that he his eyes rarely met hers, and when they did they seemed almost uncomfortable to her. She could only guess the reason behind it, and thought she had a fairly good one; but would never bring it up in conversation. It was something that didn’t need to be talked about, not anytime soon anyway.

"I appreciate you wavin' me Aialia. Not much work t'be had for a lad who wore both brown an' orange. Like t'introduce ya to a good friend o'mine."

The smile that had occupied her face turned into a smirk. She knew just how sparse work could be for people of the mind as those of the brown, and just how much harder it could be for someone who had been imprisoned. Dom had both, and she knew he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty; which was the exact reason she had waved him in the first place, besides to just check on how he was fairing. “I think you’ll find ya fit right in with tha rest o’ us; brown, orange, an’ all.” The smirk faded from her face as she turned in answer to her friends’ gesture.

"Nik here knew… Richard. Fine a mechanic as you're likely t'find”

She hadn’t expected to hear the name of her deceased husband, but at the mention of him a wave of the anguish she held silently inside swept over her. Everyone handled grief in different ways. Some wallowed in their own self pity while others bury themselves into their work, a drink, or close friends. Upon receiving the terrible news so many years ago when the war was still hot and heavy, Aialia had become angry; a furious creature of vengeance. His death had been the reason she was able to leave her child and parents behind to fight back. She hated the fact that just the sound of his name could bring the sadness into the mix. The anger was her ally, giving her something to focus on.

"He's exaggerating. I just, uh..." "... I just started out so I'm not really up-to-date with the newer models..."

As she reached out to take Nik’s hand in a firm handshake of greeting, she tossed her anguish back into its box. Lia didn’t generally try to make assumptions about people she was meeting for the first time, but it seemed as though the woman was a bit nervous; as though she was afraid to say or do something wrong suddenly. “Pleasure ta meet ya.” She took a quick glance back at Boone as his words reached their small gathering in an ‘accidentally on purpose’ kind of way. He seemed to have had the same idea she did on hearing Dom’s introduction to Nik, and Dom was one of the few people she knew that she’d trust her life to. So his word was good enough for her.

"So y'all here on business I take it?"

“We are. We ‘ad some crew leave tha ship jus’ recently. Need people ta fill tha spots. My comrade back there is righ’ though. We could use a decent mechanic. She ain’t anythin’ fancy and ain’t new by any means. But she flies well ‘nuff. If you’re lookin’ for a job, we could use ya, but we’ll be leavin’ here soon as we git ever’one rounded up.”

Quarter Key moved slowly, shrouded by the cheap fluorescent lighting. It spilled over her quietly, greying, forming her hair into heavy strands that clung damply to her forehead. She shrugged into it. Leaned forward and studied Titania's reflection in the mirror behind the bar silently, her lips pressed into a thin, uncertain smile gone even thinner, and even that faded as her gaze soon slid back to the others. Her body twisted strangely on her stool, as if she was torn between approaching the knot of chattering people and recoiling.

She thought of her own old friends, and a cold weight settled in the pit of her stomach. Might have been that or the tight throb hidden in the crook of her knee that made the words she'd been sitting on come out just as sharp, each syllable forced out between clenched teeth in a tone that was clipped and tired and very, very final. She didn't turn around, and her shoulders rippled against the mirror's silvered back with a hitched, forgotten breath. "Captain?" She started out harshly, the ends bitten and frayed, but her voice soon faltered, failed, and her next breath ended in a sigh. "Come far enough looking for you and yours. I'm tired, and I'm wet. I'm hired, just as well skip that round and meet you at the dock." A shrug. "I ain't, rather go. I ain't one to linger on coffee."

“We are. We ‘ad some crew leave tha ship jus’ recently. Need people ta fill tha spots. My comrade back there is righ’ though. We could use a decent mechanic. She ain’t anythin’ fancy and ain’t new by any means. But she flies well ‘nuff. If you’re lookin’ for a job, we could use ya, but we’ll be leavin’ here soon as we git ever’one rounded up.”

There was a silence between the three for a moment while Nik questioned the reality of the situation. She gave this Aialia woman a quick once-over; she seemed astute, and not at all the type to be trifled with, and yet Nik couldn't help looking at her with obvious incredulity.

"You're... Y'all are offerin' me a job?" Literally minutes ago she gave voice to a fleeting thought of more fitting employment, and then someone just walks into a bar and offers her such an escape? Nik couldn't wrap her head around such a concept. "On your ship?"

A quick glance at Dom told Nik that he didn't seem to know of this in advance - how could he? They only just ran into each other moments ago.

No, Nik was getting ahead of herself. She must not have heard it right. There was no way someone would offer a total stranger such a job, especially after her awkward introduction. Though she longed to be on a ship again, she had to be realistic.

"You're that hard-up for crew, eh?" Nik joked, clearly caught off-guard.

"Captain, Come far enough looking for you and yours. I'm tired, and I'm wet. I'm hired, just as well skip that round and meet you at the dock. I ain't, rather go. I ain't one to linger on coffee."

Titania gave Key a half-smile, bordered grim, but the other woman's gaze lingered reflected in her own eyes. She was readin' her mind. "You're on, Key. Henkley spoke highly of you. And we'll be outta here in a flash."

"You're that hard-up for crew, eh?"

Titania shifted to look at the other woman, memory straining briefly to place the vaguely familiar face. But then, they all started to look familiar after-a-while, didn't they?

Standing up, she downed the last drop of her beer and dropped a handful of coin on the table for Sid. Her voice dropped low between the individuals of the gathered group, "I don't want any misunderstandings this time. We aren't a pleasure cruiser and we sure as hell aren't a ruttin' cargo boat. I need soldiers, folk who can think for themselves but still follow orders. If that's you, welcome onboard. If not," She gave a dismissive wave, "Catch the next flyer through."

She gave Nik a once up-and-down, "If Doyle there recommends you, that's good enough for me. If not, start walkin'. "

Raising her voice a little, she addressed the group, "You got half-an-hour to gather any possessions. Ship leaves port at 2:30- if you aren't on it, you get left. Mount-up password is 'Going my way?"... you don't have that on your tongue when you hit the ramp, my crew 'll send you packing."

"You coming with this time, Gov?" She fired the last words at the grizzled vet in the corner.

His naked-toothed grin was accompanied by a flash shake of his head and a raise of his glass, "Here's a health to ya."

"Back atcha. There was something of the Covenant in Titania's return smile before she turned for the door, "Those of you I see onboard, catchya later. Those I won't, been nice not knowin' ya."

She felt cold, hard, the surge of the unknown once more in her chest. They were a good crew, and they'd do well.

Provided she didn't make a muck of things.

OOC: EVERYONE FEEL FREE TO PLOT-PROG BACK TO SHIP!

ENDLESS HORIZON THREAD IS HERE!

"Those of you I see onboard, catchya later. Those I won't, been nice not knowin' ya."

Finally, Clare thought to herself as she stood and quietly went about donning her jacket, careful not to drip water on anything. A tense expression faded slightly while she slipped the straps of her backpack over her shoulders and hefted her brown leather duffle bag. "I'm ready to go whenever you are," she informed the captain, followed by a quick glance at Boone and Aialia. "Just more efficient if I tag along with you guys." It took an effort to keep her voice calm and even while inside her head, a storm raged with the sounds of Now, gorram it! Go, go, go, please dear God, just move. It simply wouldn't do.

Clare forced herself to take a deep breath and placed a careful, small smile on her face, the image of infinite patience. Except... at times, a tiny muscle in her jaw clenched involuntarily until she forced it back, and her hands tightened slowly on the strap of her duffle. She moved toward the door, eyes flitting over the countenance of Covenant before she turned to lean against the wall. All the time in the world. Come on, folks. Go. Move. Gorram it, Nate. Her attention swayed, hazy and uncharacteristically irresolute as worst case scenarios passed through her mind, questions impossible to answer in this dingy browncoat bar. Finally realizing she was blowing her chance at some rare first impressions, she stamped down hard on her psyche and focused on the three who had come calling, ready to move the moment they did.