The Future Beginning:

It was a dark and cold moon, nearly silent. The distant sun of Georgia System was hours away from it's grey and pitted surface. The only sounds that carried through it's thin atmosphere were the murmured grindings of old equipment left too long stagnant. But cutting the darkness, bright gleaming lights that flared through the gloom, extending glaringly from halogen worklamps set up around the perimeter.

This base had been left over from the old Terra-forming operation abandoned on this nameless moon. Wasn't worth the work once the workers discovered that breathing the air longer than a few hours caused a number of unpleasant things to your lungs. The more they tried to correct it, the worse it got, and attempts to colonize were abandoned.

For The Serenade, this was it. The big haul. One of the biggest of their admittedly not so large career. This was the one that'd launch them into the big leagues, the one that'd insure all the parts Maurice insisted they needed were provided for and put food in their bellies for months to come. Heck, they might even get a new paint job thrown in.

Most of the crew was on the ground or inside the old station, carefully stripping away everything of value they could carry. Onboard The Serenade, only Jive and Rhona remained, directing and listening in their turns.

Positioning and GM-ing of Maurice, James & Suzie approved. :) Sorry, kids! It will get better. And not Snape "It Will Get Better" but for real better!



"We're headed down now." Veena Farwell, team leader, alerted the bridge and surface crew.

The others would be stripping away everything of value above, but there was more to a station like this than the surface. In the lift, headed down into the subteraenean layers, her team's target was the valuable processing engines. Even if they were nothing but scrap now, they would be worth hundreds of thousands of coiny cash in their pocket.

James, Maurice and Suzie were working well together, Veena reflected happily. They'd gotten the lifts working to the point where they felt confident they could bring necessary equipment down and the parts back up. All that was for it now was to retrieve them. Flashing Suzie a smile, Veena gestured for Maurice to hit the lift button, and then they were diving down into the belly of the operation.

She was glad Jive wasn't with them as the darkness swallowed them whole, the lights of the halogen worklamps disappearing. nly the lights of their head- and wrist-lights cut through the darkness around them."Right," Veena recalled the layouts in her mind, "Accordin' to Joe, we've got three hours in this air. If we need more time, we'll bring the tanks back down with us next load, but this should be a piece of Jessie's almost-apple pie. Suz...? You work with James- Take the right hand side. Maurice, you're with me on the left. If you can't dismount the whole thing, strip... "

Her words choked off in her throat as the lift jolted mid-slide. A nervous eye looked to Maurice, but his gaze was on the ceiling, his lips moving silently. Veena looked away again, steadying herself with a deep breath of the dangerous old moon-air. These lifts were operational, it was just a hitch in the cha...

They were in freefall.

Air whistled past like a hurricane. The lift screamed a diving eagle's cry as it dropped. Veena's mind flashed to puppets and cut strings as they rushed past their destination, past the last floor...

WHAM!

The lift-box rammed into the basement decking of the station, five floors below the moons surface. Thrown hard to the floor, Veena raised her head just in time to duck again as, with a resounding crash, the lift's cable-rig smashed through it's ceiling. Daring a flash upward, Veena felt her breath stick in her lungs as she witnessed the framing beams begin to collapse, one by one, like hell-borne dominos, down into the shaft.

Out! Everyone get out!" Crawling, bones aching from the impact, Veena felt someone... James? ... grab her arm, dragging her free. Tumbling hair obscured her vision as she fired a glance back as debris crashed down into the space where the lift had been...

CUT TO...


Eight Hours Previous:


Breakfast in the Black was a coveted moment, as it was everywhere. The first sip of hot coffee, the first scent of frying egg and buttered toast, the sweet flavor of buckwheat pancakes. And on The Serenade, with Jessie in the kitchen, it wasn't merely coveted.

It was glorious.

With an exclusive, (and solidly legal) job ahead of them, the crew was in high spirits as they gathered for the morning meal...


POSTING IS NOW OPEN!
FACT CHECK! :)
Vera has been with Jive and Veena the longest, with Joe coming closely behind that. :)
All the regular crew has been onboard for at least a few months at this point, with Declan having come and gone several times. No one should be a stranger at this point.

They were the same. Exactly the same. No, wait. There was something…there! Yeah, that clinched it. One was definitely deeper. Just by a hair, though, and only when there was real emotion involved. Odd.

Rhona removed the earbuds she’d been wearing, cutting off the sound they produced. She had been listening to twins—more specifically, identical twins—speaking at the same time, and had been trying to tell them apart. She figured that would be a useful skill to have in case she ever had to deal with twins and needed to figure out which was which. Hadn’t run into that problem yet, but she didn’t know what the future held. Might as well be prepared. That was one of the things she liked about Jive; he was very accommodating of her wishes, as long as those wishes came with good enough reasons. She’d asked for recordings of various people talking, and he’d gotten her some. She’d been up for an hour now, and had spent most of that time listening to her new recordings. It was surprisingly fun.

A smell hit the girl’s nose, and she sat up on her bed. Jessie was making breakfast. And when Jessie made breakfast, it was good. She needed to get the Galley, preferably soon. Rhona stood, putting the recording device she’d been using on the nightstand by her bed. Then, with a quick feel check to make sure nothing was out of place, she exited her room to begin the journey upstairs.

The journey didn’t seem like it would be all that eventful. The girl didn’t run into anyone on her way to the stairs to the second floor. She guessed that everyone else was either still sleeping—“Lazy,” she muttered—or just doing something alone. Jive and Veena were probably preparing for the job they had planned for later in the day. Rhona was glad her position on the ship’s crew was what it was. Being a comms officer didn’t require much preparation.

She reached the stairs and stretched out a hand to grasp the handrail. She would rather not have to use it—they were just stairs, she could handle that—but she’d fallen down the stairs once before, and it only took one time to convince her that it was better to be safe than sorry. So, she put aside her pride and used the handrail, even if she knew she didn’t need to.

Once she had successfully ascended to the second floor, it was a very short walk to the galley. As Rhona entered the room, the smell from earlier grew stronger. She smiled. Jessie was a really talented chef. “Hey Jessie!” she called in the general direction of the grill, figuring that was where the man would be. That done, the girl made her way over to the table in the center of the room. The smile on her face disappeared, though, when her foot banged into a chair.

“Ow!” she cried, scowling. “What hwoon dahn moved the gorram chairs?!” the girl growled. Just like that, her good mood had disappeared. Honestly, how hard was it for people to remember to leave furniture in the saw place they’d found it? Apparently someone had forgotten that there was a blind girl on the ship who found her way around by remembering where things were. When those things were moved, bad things happened. Case in point, she now had an injured foot. Still scowling, Rhona hobbled her way over to another place at the table—after angrily shoving the chair that had attempted to maim her out of the way—and sat down. When she found out who’d moved that chair…oh, they’d be in for it.

Joe had been up for hours, now. Organizing and reorganizing the infirmary. He’d stocked the shelves, and then arranged and rearranged it several times. On the rare occasion that he couldn’t sleep, his brain awash with thoughts that wouldn’t shut up, organizing things and rooms and information, whether they be his or someone else’s, seemed to help quiet his mind.

His cabinets stood open, all stocked and clean and orderly. He had several medpacks made up for a variety of mission types and injuries. He’d run every check he could on his systems, and then had taken his pistol apart, cleaned it, and put it back together. It now hung from his hip, strapped snugly against his leg. He adjusted it as he sat down in his office chair, and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. Things were ordered, and his thoughts had slowed. He leaned back in the chair, and felt sleep gradually creeping up on him.

Two minutes later, he was sound asleep.

Two minutes after that, he was woken by the sound of job security.

“Ow! What hwoon dahn moved the gorram chairs?!”

“Dammit.” he muttered, closing the cabinets and moving for the door.

He exited into the corridor that led from the bridge to the open area at the back of the deck, the dining room and common area.

“That’s my bad, Peepers.” he called, exiting the infirmary, and moving down the corridor towards the dining area. “I used that chair to hold some stuff while I was cleaning house. I’m so sorry.”

He moved over to check on her leg.

“Mornin’, Jessie.” he called into the galley, crouching down next to her. “Now, I know you wanna kill me already, but lemme take a look at that leg, make sure you’ve got your ass kickin’ tools in workin’ order.”

This post has been edited by Joe Knight on Sep 17 2011, 02:05 PM

He could barely breathe. It was dark but warm and somehow cozy but breathing was hard. It was as if the air didn't get into his lungs as usual. And moving was hard either. James tried to gaze into the darkness but couldn't make out a thing. Out of nowhere he turned the light-switch on but the light just made the dark even more black. And then, without any apparent reason, James woke up.

He had his face buried in the pillows, which would explain why he couldn't breathe properly and now turned his head and slowly and drowsily opened his eyes.
"Shan't I feel like I actually slept a whole night when I did? Ugh...", James thought when he pushed himself up and looked around in the room. He reached for the sensor to turn on the light and noticed that Jessie was already gone.
"How's he manage to not wake me up?", he asked himself while sitting up in bed and stepping on something that was lying on the floor. He looked down and saw his holstered gun.
"Be gone...!", James murmured as he kicked it back down under the bed with his heel. Then he got up and rummaged about in the cupboard until he finally found some clothes: A white tank-top and an olive-green overall of which he tied the upper part around his waist. After slipping socks and his boots over his feet, he left the bunk he shared with Jessie. James didn't mind really - The bunk wasn't too small and Jessie didn't arouse any antipathy whatsoever.

Shuffling down the hallway and up the staircase James heard the faint *clonk* of every of his steps on the metal floor.
"Mornin' folks...", he said while leaving the stairs and sitting down at the big dining table, scratching the back of his head. He wasn't entirely awake yet, had his hair pointing to random directions and all in all didn't make a very fit expression yet. But that was soon to come - He just needed his time and a cup of coffee.
"What is it so early?", James asked surprised as he saw Joe attending to Rhona's leg.

Ah mornings, glorious mornings! Admittedly Jive was in a good mood, and why shouldn't he be? He had a ship full of good, hard working people, a warm mug of coffee in his hand, the biggest job of his ships career lined up and a really hot wife who last night had... well, THAT, was none of your business. It had really made him happy though. His pen tucked casually behind his ear, a handful of FINISHED poems in his hand and a warm mug of coffee, it just didn't get any better.

Smelling Jessie's handiwork in the kitchen his mind changed dramatically, it was about to get way better. While it was true that Jessie couldn't remember where he was from, how he got into the hospital he could remember how to turn protein into meal worthy of the finest Alliance Admiral. Taking a swig of his coffee Jive started humming, a casually beat for a new poem, he wasn't sure where he was taking that one admittedly but he'd think of something, a day this great was bound to have answers.

Speaking of his day his mind bounced back to Veena, she'd turn up soon enough, having muttered something about a shower before going off on her own. Not that that'd keep her away long, like him she had a hankering for a good meal.

The panda slippers on his feet made no noise as he entered the dining area, no body mentioned that he was fully dressed, and yet wearing slippers. It was his thing in the morning and they'd been around long enough to know it. Another long sip of coffee warmed his lungs, tinting his mustache with just a hint of its essence, not that anyone would notice, coffee and his mustache being a similar color.

Good morning all!” He told the gathered folk in his cheery voice, all ready for breakfast, “Oh and Rhona,” Jive asked his resident communications expert, catching the tail end of the conversation, “Please don't do anything too painful to my medic. I'd hate to have to find another.” He sent a friendly wink Joe's way and took a seat, plopping his feet on the table. Removing his hat and placing it on the chair next to him ensured Veena would get a seat next to him, though it wasn't likely anyone would try to take the seat anyway. His smile only widened as he leaned back. That terra forming base would be a slice of cake, then they'd be rolling in cash, oh yes, it would be sweet. His panda slippers gazed longingly over the table in the general direction of the galley as if asking the all important question. When was breakfast getting here?

(OOC: Veena's tiny GM without premisson. E I'm sorry for breaking protocol. I wanted to get this post out and can't confirm my apperances. If its too much I'll change it. Thanks! Wilds)

Vera sat alone in the cockpit, leaning back lazily in the pilot's seat with a cup of jasmine tea nestled in her hands. She'd gotten up an hour ago, tiptoed her way to the shower, dressed, stopped by the galley for her tea, and headed up to the bridge to make sure the ship was still on course and not floating face-first into an asteroid. Quick way to lose a job, that.

A small beeping from the console made her eyes snap open. She sat up and leaned toward the controls, setting her teacup on the edge of the pilot's station.

"Easy girl," she said softly to the Serenade as she gripped the yoke in her hands and adjusted their course slightly. "I've got you." The console's beeping ceased and Vera released the yoke, an slight look of accomplishment on her face. She snatched up her teacup and took another sip, small wisps of steam gliding across her face.

As she lowered the cup, the delightful smell of Jessie's cooking wafted its way onto the bridge and over Vera. Her stomach protested her inaction and she placed a hand over her exposed abdomen.

"Alright already," she said, rising from the pilot's seat. "I know when I'm beat." After checking the controls one last time, Vera headed down the corridor leading back to the galley. The clunking of her boots on the ship's metal floors echoed slightly, but they couldn't mask the sounds of activity from the galley. Vera's ears picked up the end of the conversation currently going on around the corner.

As she rounded said corner, Vera's smirked at the sight that greeted her.

"Good morning everyone. And I'd be a mite careful, Doc," she said with mild amusement as she wandered over to the table and sat. "The first ass she's like to kick is yours. Taking another sip of tea, she eyed the papers in Jive's hand.

"Been at it again, I see." She pointed to said papers. "Write anything good, Captain?"

It was then she realized the smell of food had gotten stronger, as her stomach quietly reprotested its emptiness. She cast an expectant glance over at the grill, silently willing Jesse to hurry with breakfast.

Breakfast smelled delicious, prompting Walkabout’s salivary glands to express their supreme displeasure that they would not be allowed to partake of the meal. Amidst the attack of mouth-watering cravings, the specialist opted to sip the highly concentrated, and utterly disgusting electrolyte concoction that festered in the squeeze bottle gripped in her hand.

In addition to the hunger in her belly, Suzie felt the peripheral lightheadedness that accompanied a return to ‘normal’ atmo. After spending the past few hours in the pure oxygen environment of her chamber, the diluted air entering her lungs seemed weak, like a waterdown’d whiskey after a glass of cork-protected single malt. To aid in her transition, her free hand traced a path along the metal of The Serenade’s corridors leading her to the galley, while keeping her from an embarrassing stumble.

This morning found Suzie even more painfully thin than usual, with the ill-fitting sweatpants and too large white t-shirt only augmenting her lack of mass. Her cheek bones and jaw line seemed more three-dimensional and her neck somehow longer. Still her eyes were alert, unsunken, and bag-free, and her face held the pleasant smile of the content.

On the ancient Earth-that-was, pearl divers were the first to delve into the art of voluntary apnea. The longer one could hold their breath, the more time one had to acquire treasures from the deep. Later, other explorers, adventurers, and daredevils evolved the practice of voluntary apnea through the practice of glossopharyngeal insufflation, or lung packing. With years of practice, one could expand the physiological capacity of their lungs by forcefully inflating them to their limits and then ‘gulping’ additional air into the already bursting organs. Fasting was found to augment the gains by providing additional space for the lungs to expand but left the subject a little too weak for vigorous activities like diving.

Enter the realm of zero gravity.

With the relative ease of Cold Walking, one could couple the ancient practice of lung packing with the modern zero gravity op and produce a person requiring very little air yet still capable of performing physically.

Suzie was the ‘great wheel’ at work again. Just like the pearl divers that started it all, the Cold Walkers, as her ilk were known, could stay operational longer on less air and acquire more treasures from the Black.

Because of the upcoming op, Walkabout hadn’t eaten anything solid for two days and had been spending extended periods in a pure oxygen environment, saturating every atom of her being with the gas. She had studied all of the schematics and materials Jive, Veena and the others had accumulated, memorizing points of access, intelli-hubs filled with commodity rich metals, and everything else that an obsessive compulsive would deem standard operating procedure.
With a little more time in her chamber and an hour of forced hyper-ventilation, she would be ready to Walk, but until then, she glided into the galley, smiling to those gathered and took a seat against the wall.

To no one in particular, she issued a plea to all ears present,
”Please lie to me and tell me breakfast is exceptionally terrible. I won’t believe you, but I will appreciate it.”

Taking a sip of her vile concoction, she faked lip-smacking pleasure and followed it with an over-the-top,
”Mmmmm-mmmmm.”

Blood was everywhere, dripping from catwalk to deck in a way that was too wonderfully grotesque to be real. Hollow eyes stared with all spark of life absent from their depths, limbs stiff and still. All the while, Maurice watched, racking his memory. He knew what had happened, had to know since he'd been there the whole time. There were voices discussing time of death, suspect lists, before the condemning phrase was spoken in the surest, calmest, and most dramatic tone yet. "Gentlemen, I assure you, the killer is still on this ship." There were gasps of shock all around, distrustful gazes. The declaration had been almost casual and had called all of their knowledge of one another into account. From this moment, everything would change.

To be continued...

"No!" As the words appeared at the bottom of the screen, Maurice Hall tuned back into his actual surroundings. For the past fifteen minutes or so, he'd been sitting in his bunk fully immersed in the latest episode of the new CorCast show, Versal Victims. It had sucked him in with no warning one day and he'd been a fan ever since, always trying to unravel the latest murder mystery before the detectives on screen could. Now, they were hitting him with a two parter. There was just no justice in the verse when it came to CorCast entertainment.

Still grumbling that he'd been tricked, Maurice took his right foot out of his left boot. Gorram shows were addicting. How did they do it? Now, there were two cases to solve - unless they were connected. Was that possible? Maybe... It would likely involve some new characters for the episode, which could be why they needed to divide it. New characters wouldn't be that unusual this late in the episode, though. Why had they split it into two parts?

Upon looking down to find his right foot in his left boot again, Maurice tried not to think of the show until his feet were safely and correctly shod. Finally managing it, he plucked a worn t-shirt from the end of his bunk. The thing had once been blue; these days, it looked closer to grey. His cargo pants, too, were heading from the green color spectrum to grey. After yanking the shirt on, Maurice plucked a set of prayer beads from their resting place. Despite being the only obvious religious relic in the room, it was clear the string of beads were used with sincerity.

They were handled almost constantly during use and showed all the signs - the decorative paint that had once adorned each bead was more dream than memory these days. Unlike the faded clothing, which might give the vague impression of carelessness or simply giving up, the beads almost shone from being handled so much, worn evenly on all sides. Before pocketing them, Maurice ran the beads through his fingers automatically, not praying this time but checking the strength of the whole structure. Restringing the beads always took some time. Today, it was unnecessary - good thing too, as the scents from the galley were traveling through the ship.

Meditating would have to wait, or so his growling stomach translated for his mind. Maurice let this happen without dwelling on it, his focus still more on the morning's incomplete mystery than on his body. It was hardly the ideal way to start the morning. Normally, he would've been meditating instead of watching the show, but the rutting thing had sucked him in today. Oh well.

"Whoever came up with two part CorCast episodes is a rutting sadist." With those words of greeting, Maurice huffed and sat down. It was true. They were rutting sadists, making viewers wait to find out what would happen next, how things would end.

The grill sizzled as more food was thrown on it with a calculated eye. Eggs, toast, and pancakes filled the galley completely with its demanding sent that said, ‘Come! Eat! The morning is bright and the food is good!’

Well, okay, maybe the morning wasn’t bright what with being out in the black and all; but that’s what the food was saying.

Jessie had woken up that morning a full hour before he needed to be. He had tried to doze off again for that hour, but the excitement of what was to come that day wouldn’t let him be. So, out of a courtesy to his bunkmate, he shut his alarm off before it had a chance to go off and headed for the showers to get cleaned up and dressed before starting on breakfast for the crew. Jessie didn’t mind sharing a room with James. In fact, he rather enjoyed the company. James was a decent guy and easy to get along with. Their personalities just went well together.

As he stood at the grill, cooking a breakfast worthy of kings (or so he was often told), Jessie found himself once again grateful that he had been able to remember Maggie’s old family recipes she had taught him. They were the kind of recipes that made grandma’s cooking the best. He had learned quickly that there was no tweaking with the ingredients or measurements; for to do so would be to ruin perfection at its finest.

Soon enough, the aroma called people in for breakfast. Jessie smiled as they started arriving, eager to eat the first meal of the day. First was Rhona who got caught by a chair followed shortly by the Doc who quickly apologized for leaving said chair out in the way and bent to attend the injured leg. Jessie called a quick ‘good mornin’ to them just as James sauntered in. He waved to his bunkmate to include him in his greeting. This was just the beginning of the flow of human traffic leading to the galley; and he could tell by the look in most their eyes as they arrived that they were ready to eat.

”Please lie to me and tell me breakfast is exceptionally terrible. I won’t believe you, but I will appreciate it.”

“Foods just ‘bout done, folks. Won’ be long now.” He answered the unspoken question before turning a green eyed gaze on Suzie. “An’ don’t worry. I made sure it’s terrible.” He slipped her a wink before shoveling what food remained on the grill onto their respective serving plates. He had already set the tables with plates and utensils at everyone’s usual seat.

Jessie had learned what sized portions everyone usually ate, and so made sure there was enough for everyone; with just a little extra just in case a couple of them decided they were extra hungry this morning. Carefully, he moved the plates heaped with food, one by one, over to the center of the table where everyone could reach the food and grab what they wanted of it.

"Whoever came up with two part CorCast episodes is a rutting sadist."

“I ‘magine they do it ta keep people interest’d.” He looked at Maurice as he set the pancake plate down on the table before taking his seat. “Help yerselves and enjoy!”

"Time for a change," he told the man in the mirror, leaning on the sink as it filled with cold water, hazel eyes looking out from a tired face to watch himself as he spoke. "Getting too gorram comfortable with these folk, old man. Time to move on 'fore it's too late." Shutting off the tap, he leaned forward and splashed cold water on his face, washing the tiredness out of his eyes and combing his hair with his fingers before letting the water out of the sink, watching it as it disappeared into the depths of the plumbing system of the ship, to be recycled and used again. Had he been more philosophically inclined, he might have seen that as a reflection of his own life since jumping ship two years ago. Use, rinse, repeat. Definitely time to quit this gig and find a new line of work. He was starting to get dangerously close to caring about this boat and her crew, even after the small handful of times he'd been aboard with them.

After drying off, he tossed the towel aside and got dressed in his usual get-up; a pair of black cargo pants, a brown t-shirt and a once-upon-a-time dark green hoodie. He left the pistol hanging in its shoulder holster on the hook over the bed and sat down to pull on his boots, then just sat there for a while, looking across to the desk opposite, where a CorPad and the box of locater tags resided next to a small pile of books and a half empty coffee cup. The entirety of his life, right there, on the desk, and the items didn't even truly represent who he was in reality. Snorting derisively at himself, he shoved the self-pity away and got to his feet, grabbing the mug off the desk and exited his room, smelling the scent of Jessie's cooking as soon as he opened the door. Smelled gorram fine, that did, but at the back of his head, he reminded himself that the fine food Jessie served up was just another temptation to stay on board The Serenade.

Still, Declan followed the scents and the voiced coming from the galley and headed up the stairs to join the others to break his fast. "Mornin', folks," he called out as he crossed over to the galley to empty the cold coffee out into the sink before refilling it with freshly brewed java. Inhaling the steam from the mug, he closed his eyes for a moment, then ambled over to his seat, snatching a couple of slices of toast as he passed the stack, biting off the corner of one as he sat down, reaching for the eggs to put a small heap on his plate. "So, did y'all catch the news this morning? There was this report about a restaurant on Londinium that only serves food made of protein. Apparently a real popular place, waiting list is months long and it'd cost me a month's wages for a single meal there." He paused, took a bite of the eggs and grinned, looking in the cook's direction. "But not a snowball's chance in hell I'd waste good coin on something like that when I can come here 'n have the best meals in the 'Verse." He picked up his mug and lifted it toward Jessie in a toasting gesture and took a sip, then helped himself to a small stack of pancakes.

For long seconds Audi kept his eyes tightly shut and his head low, much as he had used to every morning and every night. Then the backs of his knuckles brushed against his pillow, the gesture a sigh, frustrated and hollow. He studied the deeply shadowed fabric sidelong, still gently unbending hard lines and creases with his fingers.

Breakfast had begun while he'd been thinking, and the situation at his desk now looked far more depressing. Personal work aside, he wasn't sure if the pipes could be saved, and some of the molds were looking worse for wear, too. Fixing it would be beyond his means for today then, so the best he could do was to get to work clearing out the wreckage after breakfast. Audi plucked a sliver of metal from a shard of molding and sighed. Someone might think to-- but no. The crew wasn't an incurious lot, but they respected his privacy, such as it was. He pressed his fingertips to his temple briefly. The plastic he was holding brushed his cheek.

He was smiling now as he ran his hands through his messy hair. He wasn't even worried about making it messier. Another wonderful day awaited. Right.

"So, did y'all catch the news this morning?" He heard Declan say as he stepped into the galley a short while later, boisterous as always. "There was this report about a restaurant on Londinium that only serves food made of protein. Apparently a real popular place, waiting list is months long and it'd cost me a month's wages for a single meal there. But not a snowball's chance in hell I'd waste good coin on something like that when I can come here 'n have the best meals in the 'Verse."

"Don't be saying that," Audi said, grinning, as he slid into Jessie's recently vacated spot by the grill, and in the same motion dipped to his knees. Warm yellow lights glinted off the metal faces and glass buckles of the grill, sliding down his face like water as he began to clean up. What had started as a courtesy had long become habit. He was never hungry of a morning anyway. Later, when he'd finished, he would be, but Jessie always made enough that there was usually a nice, buttery baby pancake or two left waiting for him. "Not enough truths in the worlds to go around, you know. Don't want to use 'em all up, do you?" He winked at Jessie, scraping and scrubbing at the still hot grill with a metal scour and a healthy dose of elbow grease. Always better to do it when it was still hot or the grease would set. Yet another one of those useless little tricks you tended to pick up in the type up life he led.

That done, he took a sip of his coffee and bent to cleaning and polishing the utsensils. Careful, light touches, oddly precise, tested the tension of the old spatula set before he passed them over once with the cloth. He started to hum a little song to himself as he worked, considering what to do after lunch. Hmm. Maybe he'd have time to tinker with some of that white gold he'd been saving up since the last job. He didn't have a lot of it, and certainly not of good quality, but once he'd bonded it to some wood or a nice bit of steel, your average portside tourist wouldn't know the difference. The extra money would be nice.

This post has been edited by Taokan on Aug 5 2011, 10:34 PM

Tech Room

"How well do you know these people?" The familiar face on the screen was saying, her greying brown hair pinned up in a bun, her dark hazel eyes piercing even through the interference that frequently clouded the screen.

"It's not the same out here, 'Mona." Veena smiled at her oldest friend, head tilted in dismissal of her concerns, "It's the Black... it's not like at home. Folk have to rely on each other out here. You get in a few life or death situations and trust comes a lot faster."

The pinched look on Ramona's face said she didn't care for that answer at all, "Life or death? I thought you said it was safe out there!"

"And it is!" Veena's dark eyes rolled in amusement, "But we're salvage workers, not insurance salesmen. Speaking of... I gotta go. We've got a big job today. Our biggest. We do this right, it means we could start getting the big Allied contracts, get out from under these low interest Primary jobs."

She needed to go, it was true, but she also needed to get out from under Ramona's pessimism. Living in New Las Vegas too long had jaded her friend. "You know, you should fly out and join us! Take a ride. See the 'verse!"

"Oh no." Ramona fired back, "Not a chance. I'll keep my feet on the ground and my head in the smog, thank you."

"Right, then." Veena flashed a smile, "I'll send you a wave next time we're close to a transmission station."

"Just... God, Vee, be careful out there."

"Always am, Moany-bee. Always am." With a grin, Veena shut off the wave before Ramona could launch into another round of 'be carefuls'. She'd only callled to share the good news about the job, but somehow, Ramona's calls always just erased the happy and tried to fill it up with worry.

Shaking off the doom and gloom, Veena erased the settings and cleared the wave-unit for it's next use. Jessie's cooking was waiting...

----------

Galley

She was already wearing her kevlar pants and vest, still shower-damp hair tied up in a pony-tail on the back of her head that would leave plenty of room for oxygen mask straps and her headlamp. Swinging her arms vigorously, making wide WAKE-UP circles in the air, Veena trotted into the galley.

"Morning, beautiful crew! Oh, Jessie! Smells like heaven in here." Pausing behind her husband, she stopped to rest a tender hand on Jive's shoulder, loving the feel of his wild hair brushing over the back of her hand. Reaching past him, she snagged his coffee and took a sip, immediately followed by the puckered lips of her 'icky' face, "Uch. No sugar!" but she dropped a kiss on his head anyway.

Love wasn't determined by such things as bitter coffee.

"Coffee. With sugar. Need. Want." Her fingers found her favorite cup - a flea-market find in purple with pink kittens dancing around the rim - and filled it with exactly that, "HAVE!"

Packing her plate until not a spare glimpse of the utilitarian melanine surface was showing, she gave Suzie's bottle a sympathetic glance, "You know, we're planetside this time... I mean, it has atmo. Just not a lot of it. Might be torturing yourself for nothing..."

Settling in front of her plate, thigh pressed to Jive's beneath the table, Veena glanced around the gathered crew, "Long as we're talking about that... Joe can give you more details, but the gist is that the air down there will be breathable for limited time. Specs say four hours exposure is safe, but I'm voting for caution- If you're going to be in it for more than two hours, grab a tank. Jessie? If you could make sure there's extra air on the tractor, mule and atmo-sleds?"

First signs of overexposure are disorientation and confusion. Rhona? Keep your ears on our coms- Anyone sounds hinky at all, you give an alarm. Same for the rest"

Veena stopped talking long enough to gobble down a pancake with all the grace of her cowboy brothers back on South Santo and follow it with a swig of coffee. "I don't need to tell y'all how important this contract is. We clear this one, we open the doors to a whole new level. Maybe even can stop taking Primary Terra work..."

Her dark eye winked across the table to Declan, completely unaware of any effect she might have had on the man, "Sorry, D- darlin', We might even put you out of work."

Her anger was festering. That was a good word of it. Why would someone move the stupid chairs when by now, surely they knew that doing so caused problems for her?! It was one thing to move stuff around while they were using it; she had no problem with that. But leaving the furniture where it wasn’t supposed to be was just rude, especially when she was the only one who really had to worry about it. Oh, she would have harsh words for whoever left her with a hurting foot. She almost couldn’t wait for them to make themselves known.

Then, Joe entered the room and, with just a few words, completely ruined her brilliant plan. The nickname he had given her was enough to calm her temper, but combining it with an apology and a personal inspection of the injured limb? That was cheating. And of course it was Joe who had moved the chair. He was the one person on the ship at whom Rhona could never really be mad. She had tried many times in the past, just to see if she could hold a grudge against the doctor, but there was just something about the man that made her smile whenever he was around. It was absolutely ridiculous.

More people began trickling in, a few making comments on her and Joe. What Jive said made her laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt Joe too much as long as he promises to make it up to me somehow.” Rhona had no idea how exactly she would make Joe pay for the crime of attempted maiming, but she’d think of something. More important at the moment was the fact that with all these people around, sitting there having Joe stare at her leg was embarrassing. The girl gently used her leg to nudge the doctor away. “I’m fine,” she said quietly. ”It just hurts a little. The pain will go away soon. Go sit down.” Though she didn’t honestly mind Joe’s concern about her leg—it was kind of adorable, actually—she didn’t like looking like some sort of cripple in front of everyone. She could take care of herself well enough, and they all knew that.

Jessie put food on the table, and all thoughts of her leg were forgotten. Food trumped many things, including minor body pains. She was hungry, and at the moment that was what really mattered. Everything else could wait. The girl got a little bit of everything onto her plate and began to eat. The food was, as it always was when Jessie cooked, fantastic. She couldn’t imagine living on just protein, something which was apparently common for those traveling the ‘Verse. She’d had her fair share of protein, and was not a fan. From what she’d heard, the stuff looked as bad as it tasted too. That was more than enough reason to avoid it if she could. People weren’t meant to survive on just protein.

As she worked her way through a stack of pancakes, the girl realized that one voice she hadn’t heard yet today was the Lady’s. That was strange. Veena was usually one of the first onto any scene. Maybe preparations for the mission were holding her up.

No sooner had Rhona thought this than she heard footsteps, and soon after that a voice. She smiled. There, now they were all there. This thought was immediately followed by another—the realization that she was becoming a bit of a sap. What did it matter if they were all here? These people weren’t her family; she could function without them.

Aw, who was she kidding? She may have only known the Serenade’s crew for a few months, but she loved them already. All of them. Except maybe Joe. He moved chairs. That was just cruel.

Veena spoke up, pulling Rhona out of her own head. Though most of the instructions the woman gave didn’t necessarily apply to the girl, she listened anyway. Anything could be important, as she had learned from previous operations. The bit about timing could be crucial. As much fun as dealing with loopy shipmates could be, loopy shipmates who soon died from lack of air were much less amusing.

Rhona nodded at Veena’s words to her. ”Will do, Lady,” she responded with a smile. ”I hear any craziness from you guys, I’ll get you back here myself if I have to.” That was an amusing thought. A blind girl who was afraid of small spaces descending into the bowels of a moon to rescue her crazy friends. It sounded like a bad movie.

The Serenade’s comms officer was ready to go now that she had food in her. This job was important, and her friends would be relying on her to help things go smoothly. She wouldn’t let them down.