S1: Ep1 - You'll Never Leave Haven Alive

Started by noseatbelts, February 09, 2022, 01:30:07 PM


February 09, 2022, 01:30:07 PM Last Edit: March 02, 2022, 06:11:16 AM by noseatbelts
HAVEN - Yardley Mining Territory

A large steam whistle blew in the distance. Shift change. Sheriff Karlo Kovacek looked out from his stilted office, high above the entrance to Mine Shaft A, colloquially called Alvin. He rested his hands on the wooden railing and watched the workers, dirt-faced and work-worn from a hard day exit from Alvin and return to their shanty town a hundred yards from the mine.

He nodded knowingly at the overseers down below; mean men on horses that kept the workers moving in an orderly fashion. This is what he'd been hired to do by Sable Point. Make sure the shift changes went off without a hitch and keep the order. He'd had his work cut out for him of late; rumblings of dissatisfaction from some of the newer laborers had caused fights. He'd flogged the offenders, but he still caught wind of rumors that they hadn't seen the last of trouble.

Suddenly, out of the crowd and impossible to discern the source, a bottle flew end over end up and crashed on the railing in front of Karlo, showering him in glass. And something else. The bottle hadn't been empty. What was that? He sniffed his clothes. Smelled like...

Another bottle came twirling at him, this one alight- a molotov cocktail aiming to ignite the kerosine he was soaked in. Moving fast, Karlo retreated into his office and slammed the door shut. The glass burst on the outside, engulfing his balcony in flames. Crossing the room to the opposite wall, he grabbed his repeater rifle and a small gun with a spray bottle attachment. He kicked open his door and sprayed the flames, a misty foam covering the area and extinguishing the conflagration. The canister spent, he dropped it in favor of his rifle and took aim but found that the overseers had already caught the guilty party. "Back to work!" He shouted at the rest of the crowd. "No break for troublemakers!" He fired a shot into the air at any hesitation, his overseers cracking their whips to push the miners back into the shaft.

One of his overseers, a surprisingly nebbish man with an appetite for violence, appeared at his door. "Boss." His name was simply Bob.

"The hell happened down there, Bob?" Karlo asked, scratching at his overgrown mustache. "Fortuna, again?"

Bob removed his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief he produced from his pocket. "Of course. Want me to set up the stocks?"

Karlo thought about it. "We've whipped him twice already. Best make it a gallows."

"Yessir." Bob replaced his spectacles and disappeared the way he came.

Karlo returned his attention to his workforce. His bosses couldn't hear about this insurrection. They might dock his pay. This problem had to be dealt with, and fast.

Noah MacArthur

February 09, 2022, 06:26:09 PM #1 Last Edit: February 09, 2022, 06:28:38 PM by Noah MacArthur
BOROS - New Cambridge

Noah grinned. It had been a long time. He'd been pent up and really needed this release. He strained to get in just the right position. He grunted an apology to his partner. The Marshal thrust his hips forward. His partner finally halted him and corrected his form. He let out an embarrassed exhale through his nose.

"Apologies... It's been a while since I've ... OH!"

"OH! I'm sorry, did that hurt?"

She asked in a concerned tone, bracing her hand up against him to stop him.

Noah laughed again and fell onto his back. He really was rubbish at yoga. A male instructor entered the room and beckoned their customer:

"Mister MacArthur... there's a Federal Agent at the door saying he has a horse for you? And there's a horse. Uh.. sir. Mister Captain Marshal."

He felt strange saying that out loud.


MacArthur brought his hand up for a high five, the instructor instinctively obliged him.

"I've gotta run, you can still charge me for the hour. I needed to loosen up before I brought her onto the ship. Cheers, mates!"

And just like that, the Captain rushed off, the sound of hooves clippetty clopping down the road echoing as he went.

Jack Dekker

BOROS - New Cambridge - A long-gun range outside of the city

He took several deep breaths, and exhaled fully as the range master called out. "Shooter ready!"



Oh yeah, that was the one, I can feel it. Jack Dekker looked back at the Range Master as he read off his time. Dekker grinned. "Yep, thats a winner." He said, clearing the bolt-action weapon and rising from his prone position. The Range Master gave him a quizzical look. "What, thats it? You can definitely shave a little bit more off that time." Dekker nodded as he placed the rifle back into its case. "Sure could, but thems the rules. If you beat the time-to-beat, thats the new time-to-beat. No padding the score, as they say." A look of understanding spread across the other mans face. "Ah, you in some kind of competition then?" "Just a little ongoing challenge between friends. She seems to think she's a better shot than I am, and I have the arduous task of proving her wrong again, and again, and again..." He trailed off with a grin as he flipped the safety lights on and started the long walk out to retrieve his target.

Some minutes later, notarized target in hand, he climbed back into his motor-pool issued SVU. Time to celebrate! He pulled up the vehicles navigation and plotted a course to the nearest steakhouse. After that, he'd pick up some beers and head back to the ship to enjoy the rest of his day off. And of course to let Genie know that her time had once again been beaten. It was shaping up to be a wonderful day.

Rory Mayfield

March 01, 2022, 10:37:55 AM #3 Last Edit: March 01, 2022, 11:30:35 AM by Rory Mayfield
BERNADETTE - Mayfield tesidence, around one week earlier

"Muu-um, have you seen my IdentCard?"

Summoned by her son's cries, Marion Mayfield poked her head in through the doorway. His room, usually so tidy it would make any mother of a teenager green with envy, looked like a hired burglar had gone through it and turned over every nook and cranny in search of government secrets. Rory was on his hands and knees next to his bed, frantically rummaging underneath it but emerging empty-handed. He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair in throes of despair.

"I've looked everywhere! I can't board the ship tomorrow if I can't find it!"

Marion felt a pang of affection in her chest, a sensation that was at once sweet and painful. She walked over to her son and gently seized the lanyard around his neck, holding the card hanging from it to his face.


Marion still had trouble believing that her little boy was leaving the nest already. Cliche as it sounded, it seemed like only yesterday he'd been toddling around the living room and sticking building blocks into his mouth, and here he was, all adult-sized and ready to set out and follow his own path. Unfortunately, that path was currently leading him on board a Federal Marshall ship, a fact Marion was not happy about. Not happy at all.

She had tried to talk him out of it and steer him towards something that would be a better, less dangerous use of his brains and work ethic. That Penzik boy he used to always hang out with was launching a start-up company; wouldn't that be a fun venture to join in on? But something must have happened between them, as lately Rory seemed to change the subject whenever Shay's name came up. Marion didn't push the issue. She still remembered what it had been like to be a teenager whose parents were always sticking their noses into her relationships, commenting on her crushes and boyfriends and platonic friends who should have been boyfriends in their opinion. Part of her still blamed her overbearing parents for driving her into the arms of a louse like Mason as a stupid act of rebellion. Mason, in turn, was to blame for putting all these dreams of thrilling gun-toting heroics into her sweet, smart boy's head.

On the other hand, the sweet, smart boy in question would not even exist without Mason the louse. Truly a snake-eat-snake dilemma for the ages.

Rory seemed embarrassed and deflated by the IdentCard episode, and Marion felt her resentment subside for the moment. Shifting blame around was pointless right now. She may not have been entirely happy with the choices Rory was making, but they were better than the ones she'd made at his age. Plus, at the end of the day, she was proud of him. All things considered, she'd done a pretty good job with Mason's sperm donation.

"You'll be fine, sweetie." She gave her son's shoulder an encouraging squeeze; there would be hugs, tearful ones, but they'd have to come tomorrow at the crowded spaceport for full effect. "Just remember to keep out of trouble and brush your teeth every day. Listen to your superiors, unless they're telling you to do something stupid and immoral. Oh, and stay away from bad boys."


"Nothing good ever comes out of them. Well," she gave it a second thought. "Ninety-nine per cent of the time."

There was that bittersweet feeling again, and for the first time in... forever, Marion Mayfield felt herself getting choked up. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a smile. Rory looked more embarrassed than anything, as was his god-given right as an eighteen-year-old being babied by his mother.

"Mum, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself."


BOROS - New Cambridge spaceport, present day

"Hey kid, you wanna try some drugs?"

Rory was too immersed in the datapad in his hands to notice the approaching peddler before his face was right next to his. The man had unkempt hair the color of straw, and his breath smelled like a mixture of paint-thinner and hot dog water. He pawed at the breast pocket of his trench coat, and Rory promptly backed away before he got the chance to show off his wares.

"No, thank you. I've got places to go. P-people to see..." He trailed off, tightening his grip on his PDA as he turned his gaze back to the recruitment letter displayed on his PDA screen. It included information on the vessel he would be joining and, more importantly for the present moment, information on where and when he was supposed to be meeting the crew.

He'd always thought he was good at orienteering. He was good at orienteering -- in the wilderness. Spaceports in cities he'd never been to were a completely different story. When he'd arrived last night, he had tried to memorize his surroundings to make navigating the next day easier, but he had been pretty tuckered out from his long journey, and he didn't feel much sharper after a poorly slept night at a hostel full of rowdy travelers. It felt like there was so much signage around that it stopped being helpful and became the opposite, an overload of information assaulting him from every direction.

Rory was so distracted trying to look for the correct berth in the sea of numbers of words that he bumped cheek-first into somebody, his datapad slipping from his hands. The person gave him a mean glare but continued on their way, seemingly uninterested in the apologies Rory was sputtering as he dove to the ground to retrieve his datapad before anybody stepped on it.

A young girl around his age ducked next to Rory, her hands reaching the device before his. He began to thank the helpful stranger, but he'd hardly gotten the first syllable out when the girl was already on her feet and dashing madly away, still grasping his datapad.

"Hey, stop!" He scampered to his feet, barely managing not to tip over and plump down on his back like a tortoise from the weight of his backpack. The girl had looked scrawny, a little disheveled, not unlike the drug peddler from before. Rory got it, he totally did, she was probably poor, and hungry, and he would have gladly given her some of his credits -- but not his datapad, the one with work-related information he needed and which, while not outright classified, wasn't exactly meant for the eyes of outsiders.

Under normal circumstances Rory would have been able to catch up with her in no time; however, his densely packed and deceptively heavy backpack was weighing him down considerably "I need that! Stop! Thief!" For such a crowded area, nobody seemed to be at all interested in lending him a hand, although they did, regrettably, seem to have enough courtesy to step back and get out of the pair's way as they ran through the docks.
Dialogue color: pink

Genevieve LeBlanc

March 01, 2022, 11:20:41 AM #4 Last Edit: March 01, 2022, 11:39:54 AM by Lomari
BOROS - New Cambridge spaceport

He was late. Again. By a full fifteen minutes this time.

Noah was supposed to get back to the ship earlier than everyone else, so he could be here to greet the crew upon arrival. Specifically, so he could greet the new fledglings, Rory Mayfield and Danielle Newcastle. A slow, deep breath lifted and lowered Genevieve LeBlanc's shoulders, the scowl on her face cracking into an exasperated rolling of her eyes. There were a few places she could check if she wanted to drag him back to the ship by the scruff of his neck. Brothels, bars, possibly a gun shop, or... Her expression soured. Surely he hadn't gone there. He had been talking about it for days now, but even he had to know it was a bad idea.

"Noah MacArthur, you better not have gone and picked up a horse..." she muttered to the empty air. Genevieve's arms crossed over her chest and she scowled at a couple passing strangers. "I'm heading out," she announced to anyone still on the ship before slamming a fist down on the door control and stomping down the ramp.

Fine. If Noah was going to be late to greet the new recruit, she'd go pick them up herself. That'd be a better look than having them arrive to a missing Captain. She didn't want the kids to know how unprofessional they were until at least the third day.


"Hey, stop!"

Genevieve stopped.

"I need that! Stop! Thief!"

Just as she came to a halt, a smaller form crashed into her chest. She rocked back on her heels, let out a breath, and set her hands on the girl's shoulders. She could feel the girl struggling and yanking away under her grasp, but despite her lithe appearance, Gen's strength was surprising. Her gaze scanned the surroundings, looked the girl over, peered into the faces of some bystanders who clearly didn't want to be involved. The girl was underfed, desperate, and it looked like she'd pinched the data pad she was holding against her chest from some unsuspecting off-worlder who didn't know to guard their belongings. It was a cut and dry situation.

"Look, kid, you've had the piss poor luck of running right into a Marshall with that stolen merchandise," The girl's body froze. They both knew this could go one of two ways and Gen had too much to do today to bother with one of them. Besides, despite how it appeared, Gen was a bleeding heart when it came to situations like this. "But, I'm going to overlook this for today. Let's say it's your one freebie. However, I am going to need that," she started, taking a hand off her shoulder to pluck the data pad out of the thief's grasp, "back. Thank you," she finished. With a frown down at the girl in warning, Genevieve removed her other hand from her and stepped to the side. There was a moment of consideration from both parties before the thief finally turned and bolted.

When she was gone, Gen held the data pad out to its frazzled owner. "I believe this is yo-oh! You're Rory Mayfield." Grinning, Genieve set the pad into his hands and gestured for him to follow. Then, she paused and squinted back at him. He'd already fallen victim to a thief in these crowds... She stepped closer to him and hooked her hand around his elbow, her lips pulled up at the corners into a friendly grin. "This is convenient. I was coming to get you anyway. Let's go pick up the other newbie and get to the ship, yes?" she asked, pulling him along before he could object to any part of this. Despite the crowds, Gen had no problem leading him through, back the way he'd come where the main commercial ships were landing and dropping off all the newly arrived passengers.
Dialogue Color: Purple

Nelly Newcastle

Boros - New Cambridge

Bright faced and wide-eyed, Danielle Newcastle emerged from the throng of spaceport passengers who seemed preternaturally able to give this one particular ship a wide berth. On the surface it seemed nondescript but canny eyes marked it for the Federal wolf in sheep's clothes that it was. So did Nelly, as she preferred to be called, but she'd had some training and been told which platform they were on.

She carried only a small duffel bag and didn't appear to be armed; pretty standard for a Marshall Trainee on what was meant to be a weekend assignment to "get her feet wet." Nelly looked up to where she knew the cargo bay door camera to be and waved to whomever might be watching. "Hello? I know you can't hear me but let me in if you're there! Hello?" After probably not enough time, she decided she was bored of waiting and crossed to the Port Access Computer. A quick glance to make sure no one was watching and after a few seconds the Cargo Bay doors opened. "Weird." She said innocently to no one. "It wasn't locked."

There was almost a skip to her step as she let herself into the Wyatt and began to take a look around.
Dialogue Color = Plum


The mid-day crowds around the docked ship slowly quieted to a hushed whisper as an imposing figure calmly made its way to the ship's ramp. Heavy but remarkably quiet steps kicking up dust.  A veritable walking armory approached the ship's ramp carrying an extra large Alliance military issued duffel bag slung over its shoulder. He wore head-to-toe custom Alliance Navy ballistic armor with anti-explosive neck protection, all of the standard engraved Alliance insignias removed and all reflective materials lightly sanded and painted matte black. His features were obscured by a reinforced helmet with tinted visor and balaclava underneath. The sole identifying markings on the imposing figure were a freshly-made Velcro strip across the chest with the word "Marshal" and a single piece of duct-tape applied on the back of his helmet with one word; "Hyde."


Desmond approached the docked ship matching the description in his orders.  The trip so far has been remarkably peaceful, but a little too dull for his liking. People tended to get remarkably fucking peaceful when one traveled with enough ordnance to turn a transport ship into glitter, he thought to himself.

Getting closer to what he assumed was the cargo ramp, based on his familiarity with older ships of similar class, Desmond noticed a woman making a worthy attempt to keep a low-profile at the Port Access Computer. Making an effort to stay in the woman's blind-spot when she turned from the the control panel, he slowly and silently approached her until he was just within arm's reach.

Hearing the familiar click of a shorted door-control servo, he waited for the doors to open and briskly walked past the woman and into the ship's cargo hold.

"Appreciate it,  love..."

Rory Mayfield

Rory slowed down to a jog upon seeing the thief get apprehended. His relief was followed by concern over her fate; he was going to plead the marshal to let her off easy, but by the time she caught up with the pair, she'd already done so, turning to hand the stolen device back to him as the girl disappeared into the crowd.

"I believe this is yo-oh! You're Rory Mayfield."

"Thank you-- I mean, yes. I mean--" Rory tripped over his words, in part because the sprint across the dock had left him out of breath, but also because he was blindsided by the marshal addressing him by his name. Then the realization dawned on him."Right, you must be Deputy LeBlanc. Right. Rory Mayfield, reporting for duty."

He stuffed the data pad into his breast pocket and attempted to do a salute, but before he could, LeBlanc had already hooked her arm through his and began escorting him across the docks. It wasn't quite what Rory had expected; it felt less like an initiation into law enforcement and more like one of his grandparents' charity balls. He'd never really enjoyed those.

"This is convenient. I was coming to get you anyway. Let's go pick up the other newbie and get to the ship, yes?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Convenient, indeed. Way to make a first impression. He was painfully aware he looked stupid and inattentive. She was probably already having doubts about him and wondering how he'd even get here in the first place.

"Uh, for the record, Ma'am, she didn't pick my pocket," he began, trying to find the right words to save face. "I bumped into someone, and dropped my data pad, and that's when she grabbed it."

Alright, that didn't sound much better.

"I was paying attention, I really was, just... not to where I was going."

Keep digging, Mayfield...
Dialogue color: pink

Genevieve LeBlanc

March 07, 2022, 10:36:25 AM #8 Last Edit: March 07, 2022, 03:20:46 PM by Lomari
BOROS - New Cambridge spaceport

"Uh, for the record, Ma'am, she didn't pick my pocket, I bumped into someone, and dropped my data pad, and that's when she grabbed it. I was paying attention, I really was, just... not to where I was going."

Gen nodded along as the boy spoke, putting on an expression of understanding and hiding the smile attempting to yank the corners of her lips upward. She patted his arm sympathetically and pulled them to a stop out of the path of the pedestrians where they could watch the commercial ships landing and their passengers disembarking.

"Times are tough," she told him, her look of good-natured sympathy genuine this time. Whether she was talking about his victimhood in a world of increasing crime, or the girl's desperate need to resort to criminal behavior to survive, was unclear. She winked at him and looked forward again, her gaze scanning the crowd as well as occasionally darting to the space around where they stood. She was always watching, always assessing. There were some shop workers discussing a scammy merchant behind them, a shady gentleman watching Rory from an alley but staying put now that he wasn't alone and an easy target for mugging, and a family hastily re-packing their luggage after it had hit the side of a building in their hurry and dumped their contents onto the dusty ground. 

After a moment of consideration, Gen leaned nearer and offered him a conspiratorial grin, "If it makes you feel any better, Captain MacArthur has been pickpocketed on many occasions. If you're ever feeling courageous, ask him about the twins on Greenleaf. We were there to deal with some illicit drugs being smuggled off world," she told him, laughing and straightening again.

"We're looking for Danielle Newcastle," she explained, taking her arms off of his but keeping him safely under her wing, just in case. Her own data pad was pulled free from a pocket and she angled it closer to him so she could see the other newbie's image. "I'm wagering she'll either be here shortly, or we've missed her and she's on her way to the ship. Let's give it another few minutes. In the meantime, why don't you tell me about yourself?" she asked, grinning. That question always made people uncomfortable and she couldn't help but feel a little bit of amusement at the discomfort of the newbies. Besides, something about the kid wormed its way past her typically stern and chilly demeanor and she felt herself feeling at ease. Gen wanted to savor that feeling for as long as possible. She noticed a vehicle approaching the area and kept a tendril of her attention on it, just in case.
Dialogue Color: Purple

Nelly Newcastle

Nelly froze as someone walked past her into the shadows of the ship. She screwed up her face, annoyed but willing to forgive and tried to get a good look at him, but saw only what appeared to be an Alliance grunt with a misspelled command taped to the back. "Who the hell are you?" She called, not expecting an answer. "You're welcome..." She said to herself and rolled her eyes.

Continuing her reconnoiter of the ship, Nelly wandered through the corridors and wondered why they weren't in an official Interplanetary Alliance Vessel and in this civilian model, instead. And why it wasn't guarded and had apparently been left unmanned. Of course, she had more experience with larger naval vessels and frigates so maybe the Marshals wanted to fly under the radar, so to speak.

There was a lot about this mission that Nelly didn't know. She'd received her orders and trainees didn't ask questions. But it would have been nice to have some sort of idea who she was dealing with here. So many unknown factors left her feeling a little squeamish and her perusal of the empty ship didn't answer any of those questions. Nelly returned to the cargo bay and grabbed a seat to wait for her next order. The man who had snuck in after her was still there. "You seem overdressed. I was told this was just an escort mission."
Dialogue Color = Plum


Brushing past the aspirant rogue working on her legerdemain skills, Desmond made a quick scan of the cargo bay and casually walked to the closest empty storage locker.

"Sharp as a tack this one..." He said, speaking out loud as if to himself but knowingly loud enough to be heard clearly by all of those currently present.

Desmond picked an adequate locker voluminous enough to stow his gear for the time being and dropped the excessively large duffel bag on the floor with a loud *THUD*. The resounding slam of a dense and heavy object sent vibrations through the thick metal flooring.

Without turning his head from the locker, Desmond began removing and stowing away individual segments of armor starting with his full-face helmet and balaclava lining.

With a gentle and precise movement that betrayed his currently rather brutish appearance, Desmond pulled a small micro-fiber cloth and aerosolized spray from pouches on his belt. With the efficiency only gained from performing the same task thousands of times he began to wipe off and polish each individual armor piece before methodically storing it for easy access when the inevitable time came it would be needed. 

"You see Love...This is my party attire..."

Desmond gestures to the duffle bag by giving it a light kick to the side.

"Easier to transport it this way when i'm traveling with the missus, she's never been good at packing light... "

Within less than a minute the armor pieces were stored with a precision similar to a curator putting priceless art on display.

Desmond unzipped the duffel bag and donned a short-sleeved Tropical shirt with bright-colored floral patterns and a long black frock coat. Juxtaposed to his flamingo-clad shirt, the coat's dense woven material seemed to absorb all light that hit it, giving it an unnaturally black appearance.

"...Look at me being negligent of my gentlemanly duties...they say it's rude not to make proper introductions..."

Desmond reached into the large bag and summarily produced a weapon normally reserved for gun emplacements on military ships and begins to lovingly and gently run his hand across it's steel and carbon-fiber body.

"Say hello to Moriah.... as you can see..... definitely a stunner, but don't be fooled.... nasty nasty temper if you get on her bad side...."

'Moriah' was Desmond's pet-name for an 8-barreled personal mini-gun. The only remaining prototype from the salvage of an illegal weapons research program financed by a small terrorist organization with the express purpose of getting the firepower of a moderately armed spacecraft in the hands of an individual. It had likely been reverse-engineered and scaled down from "acquired" Alliance Navy blueprints for their anti-missile point-defense systems, ones normally reserved for large military craft and fortified structures.

Purely of coincidence, Desmond had led the operation to stop production of the weapon and was ordered to seize all related assets including any production units and designs.

Unfortunately, per all accounts, the design information was automatically deleted as a fail-safe countermeasure and no functioning prototypes, spare parts, or ammunition stockpile were recovered per the unit commander's signed statement and polygraph, a L-Cmdr. D Malarkey. No follow-up investigation was ever performed, the destruction of the weapon being seen as a win due to the prevented casualties.   

Desmond stowed the goliath of a weapon and sentimentally put a hand to his lips first, then moved his hand gently to the gun the same way a parent would to their child if tucking them in at night. He then proceeded to load what looked like thousands of rounds of ammunition in various colors and shapes including large multi-colored  grenade rounds, C4 bricks and claymores into the locker. 

Before closing the locker, Desmond hand-picked a very specific assortment of grenade rounds in the same way someone chooses which clothes to wear for the day and fitted them into various pockets in his belt and jacket before clipping his sawed-off grenade launcher to its hip holster. 

Desmond turned back around with a military-issue ration bar sticking out of his mouth before casually sitting down with his back against the locker as if getting ready to take a nap.

Noah MacArthur

March 30, 2022, 02:43:29 PM #11 Last Edit: March 30, 2022, 03:07:36 PM by Noah MacArthur
New Cambridge Spaceport

With the wind in his golden locks, Mac smiled big. The Deputy Marshal was feeling better than he had in a long time. Not that he'd ever broadcast it, but this project of his was coming together finally. The new crew members should be arriving soon, his horse had been delivered, and they'd finally punted Willy Breene off on some unsuspecting pirates. He was a slimy bastard but he had steered the marshalls towards a handful of fugitives and even got them system override codes for Iscariot station.

Trotting through the spaceport the Aussie-accented Fed saw a pair of familiar faces. His XO and their newest intern. His day had been going great but now was his greatest test of the day: Getting the hose past his XO. Coming to a masterful stop, the fed was a former farmer, and he slid off the horse with little effort. Looking very much the part of the dashing cavalry officer.

"Ahoy there!"

The Captain clapped his cabin boy on the shoulder and felt Gen's laser stare on him, and the hooved beast he'd rode in on.

"Always glad to have a Miller on my crew. Marty speaks very highly of you, mate. I'd say Sparrow did too but he's you know..."

Mac slipped and made eye contact with LeBlanc. Yep. She's mad. The lawman directed his attention back to Rory, then directed the young man's attention to his steed.

"This is Pauly... "

Now all he had to do was make sure Gen had to tell him "No horses." in front of the kid with eyes like saucers, making a bond with the majestic animal. Surely she couldn't tell THAT sweet face the nice horse was going "bye bye". Right?

Nelly Newcastle

Nelly stared, mouth slightly agape as the brute unloaded an arsenal into his locker. During her brief perusal, she'd noticed that the ship had a functioning armory. Maybe it would be best not to tell him, he might go and fill his pockets. Nelly had arrived light, a few changes of clothes and personal effects. As a new recruit and trainee, she didn't even yet have a service weapon. She had meant it when Brass had said this would be a peace mission. Rather than feel herself inadequate, Nelly decided this guy was off his rocker.

"Hello Moriah..." She said, unimpressed. With a sigh, Nelly settled into a more relaxed seated position to wait for something to happen that didn't involve a man handling his equipment.

When that something didn't happen within about two minutes, Nelly scrunched up her face in frustration, her sigh exasperated this time. What kind of ship was this, anyway? She'd heard Marshals were a bit of a wild bunch - but Nelly wasn't used to being one of the first to arrive to a rendezvous. Not that she was complaining. Her last assignment had been boring, too. This was her first real chance to prove herself and she was eager to do so. "My name is Newcastle." She said, finally, out of desperation. The silence was too much. "Nelly. Well, it's Danielle. But call me Nelly."
Dialogue Color = Plum

Rory Mayfield

New Cambridge spaceport

As LeBlanc surveyed their surroundings with her well-trained eye, Rory was also watching the crowd, although without her professional focus. He tried not to appear jumpy, but his body tensed up every time a stranger passed them by a bit too close to comfort. It didn't occur to him that LeBlanc could probably feel these shifts in his demeanor.

"If it makes you feel any better, Captain MacArthur has been pickpocketed on many occasions. If you're ever feeling courageous, ask him about the twins on Greenleaf. We were there to deal with some illicit drugs being smuggled off world."

"Oh." Rory flashed an apprehensive smile, not sure how to react to LeBlanc tattling on his superior like this. Was she testing him? Would he be chastised if he actually laughed at her anecdote?  Or would she get mad if he didn't? Before Rory could over-think himself into a hole, LeBlanc had moved on to asking him about himself, a change of subject that didn't make him feel any less uneasy.

"Oh! Uh, well, my name's Rory M-- you know that already. Right. I was born and raised on Bernadette. I've been with the Allied Star Scouts since I was eight years old-- so ten years now. Wow. That's quite a long time..."

He marveled at the realization for a moment, then straightened his posture, shifting into job interview mode (nevermind the fact that he already had the position). He had rehearsed this kind of thing before, of course, but getting the words out turned out to be a lot more difficult in front of a Federal Marshall in the middle of a crowded, shady spaceport than alone in front of his bedroom mirror.

"Yes. Ten years of experience with the Star Scouts. I'd like to think it has-- I mean, it has taught me a lot of skills that I think-- that will be useful on board the Wyatt. For instance--"

Rory was distracted from his sales pitch by a tall, dashing stranger approaching on horseback. He couldn't help but stare slack-jawed at the unusual sight, and the situation only got more surreal when the man came close enough for Rory to recognize him. It couldn't be... But there was no mistaking it. Not in the face, anyway. The doppelganger's grooming, lack of overpowering B.O. and choice of greeting -- a fraternal slap on the shoulder instead of a bear hug -- suggested otherwise.

"Always glad to have a Miller on my crew. Marty speaks very highly of you, mate. I'd say Sparrow did too but he's you know..."

It took Rory a second to put two and two together. When he did, he snapped right out of his trance and into a fluster.

"Oh! You're his twin brother." He did his best to maintain his composure, despite the heat of humiliation creeping up his neck. "I knew that. I mean... Glad to be here, Sir... Captain..."

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Fortunately Rory didn't have much room to dwell on his embarrassment, because his attention was drawn to something much more interesting.

"This is Pauly... "

"How do you do, Pauly," he greeted the horse with a shy smile, suddenly forgetting the fact that he was supposed to be an adult now, and a respectable one at that.

"Can I... Can I pet him?" he looked hopefully at Captain MacArthur.
Dialogue color: pink

Genevieve LeBlanc

New Cambridge Spaceport

"Ahoy there!"

Take a deep breath in, hold it, let it out slowly. Feel your lungs expand and let your mind find peace. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.

Her eye twitched and her smile hardened into a firm line, her laser gaze focused unyieldingly upon the Marshal who was expertly avoiding eye contact with her. They'd discussed horses, and how they were impractical to have on board and how someone would have to end up taking care of it and how it wasn't going to be her. She thought they'd settled on a reasonable agreement and decided she was right, and maybe a horse wasn't the best idea.

"Always glad to have a Miller on my crew..." Noah prattled on. She could tell he was trying to avoid her. Her arms crossed over her chest and she glared at Noah, then the horse, then back at the Captain. This was absolutely not happening.

"This is Pauly... "

"How do you do, Pauly...Can I... Can I pet him?"

Her disgust and anger shifted to horror and disbelief. He was trying to get the kid to fall in love with the beast so she wouldn't be able to turn it away! What a lowlife! What scum! She smiled slowly and let out another breath.

"Of course you can pet him. Might as well give him some affection before we drop him off at a local farm," she told the boy, still staring in the Captain's direction. "We were going to bring him on board but then our Captain here realized that horses thrive on land, with the sky above and grass below. Most horses get awful atrophied on board a ship, and I've seen them get so lonely out in the black that they just keel over. Isn't that right, Captain? We wouldn't want that, right?" she asked, her brows raised in question.

She looked around, finally taking her attention off Noah, and put her hands in her pockets.

"Looks like we missed Newcastle, so why don't we head back to the ship and meet up with the rest of the crew," she suggested, turning and heading back in that direction. She shot Noah a look over her shoulder and grinned before facing forward again.
Dialogue Color: Purple


Horse or no, with two in tow, led the way did Captain Noah.

Through the street, those ten feet, to their new crewmates to meet.

Good ship Wyatt, ships docked either side it, go on board perchance to fly it.

Newcastle and Hyde, await them inside, as does an incoming wave light.


May 09, 2022, 11:11:59 PM #16 Last Edit: May 09, 2022, 11:13:49 PM by Hyde
Desmond was settling into a cat-nap when he realized his team-mate was following actual gorram social protocols and had introduced themselves like a real human being, it seemed like she was even giving her real name far as he could tell, bloody hell. 

It struck him that it had been over 10 years since he went by his real name to anyone other than the Alliance brass... always made his skin crawl hearing it from them...nothing good ever followed. 

Command loved their dog and pony shows, always acting like they had something to do with a successful op while sipping scotch and smoking cigars in the admiralty lounge. Not a single official debrief that couldn't have been summed up in an after-action Wave.   

With a charming and well-rehearsed smile, Desmond opened an eye to oblige his colleague, if this was going to be his retirement, might as well play nice.  "Don't want anyone to think I forgot to pack my manners. If we are doing this all official-like. Desmond Malarkey, friends called me Hyde."

Since it looked like his ship-mate was going to be a talker he stowed the idea of a nap.

He opened both eyes now and gave a cursory glance over at Nelly.

"Not a mark on ya, like straight out of the package."

Desmond showed a look of genuine concern, cocking an eyebrow. 

"Oh love, Don't tell me you actually signed up for this?"

Nelly Newcastle

Nelly looked at Hyde as he looked at her and decided that she liked him. She came from Naval Intelligence, Analysis and Logistics. If there was a more uptight and buttoned-up division of the most uptight and buttoned-up branch of the Alliance military, Nelly would eat her shoe. The Marshal service seemed like a good place for her to stretch out and experience the Verse properly, and Hyde seemed to epitomize that loose-cannon reputation that clung to the Marshals.

So when he suggested that he hadn't chosen this assignment, Nelly was confused. "What do you mean?" A brief wave of panic roared under the surface and Nelly tried her best to keep it from flushing her cheeks. "I've been stuck behind a desk for six years. I want to get out there and make the Verse a better place. Make a difference." Her decision may have been seen by some as "irrational" or "impulsive" or "reckless and without cause or merit. Why would you give up a career track with the Navy to go galavanting around the galaxy with a bunch of gun-toting maniacs?" But Nelly had been convinced this was the best path for her.

"Isn't that why we're all here?" Was she just naive?
Dialogue Color = Plum

Noah MacArthur

"How about a-"

Before Noah could finish offering Rory his first lesson on being a proper mounted Marshal, his XO was mouthing the word: "No". To drive it home she ran her finger across her neck. The horse was already pushing it. Noah had cited the regulation that did allow for officers in the Marshal service to requisition a chosen vehicle best equipped for their local terrain, and that technically, horses are all-terrain vehicles under military regulations for parades and such but were never officially phased out of active service. LeBlanc cited the horse shit.

The Captain's cortex buzzed. High priority.

High priority reassignement...Substitute en route...

The blonde mountain of a man's amicable expression shifted. The brass had screwed him again. Maybe it was retribution for the horse. Or any of his other shenanigans. He glanced at Genevieve, he was about to angrily show her the message on the datapad, then noticed the time stamp on the message. It was two hours old, and the notification was a reminder to read the time-sensitive material.


He clapped Rory on the shoulder.

"C'mon mate, you can pet the horse when he's secured in the cargo bay. I've gotta make sure Hyde doesn't blow up the bloody replacement HQ sent..."

Noah gallantly climbed into the saddle and with a click of his tongue, he and Pauly were off like a shot.

"We can do some research on alternative forms of land transportation shortly, Gen!"

It was a stalling move, but he really did want to get back to the ship ASAP. There were a lot of redactions in Malarkey's file, except those about his expertise in explosives. But then the new girl? Total unknown. She was the one he was really worried about right now. Before long Pauly's hooves were clanging up the cargo ramp of his ship: The Wyatt.

It had only been under his charge for a short time but it still felt kinda tingly every time he stepped aboard his ship. It was either that or some kind of symptom from the weird experimental tech one gets exposed to in black ops. Leaping down from his mighty steed he felt like a million bucks. And not two steps into walking away from the horse, he could hear the soft thud of well... you know.



June 20, 2022, 09:16:20 PM #19 Last Edit: June 20, 2022, 10:26:13 PM by Lomari
In rare form, Desmond gave a look of genuine sympathy towards the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed girl scout.

"Of course love, of course. Like the brochure says...justice, hearts, minds, and bringing gorram peace, sunshine, and rainbows to the rim..."

In a reptillian heartbeat, Desmond's face lost the charm, playfulness and sparkle it had just been displaying a second ago. He looked Nelly dead in the eyes with a cold and emotionless stare.

"I've lost count of how many fresh-faced recruits and replacements that charged into action looking to 'make a difference'..."

He let an awkward silence hang for a few seconds.

"I usually leave out that part of the after action reports where their last seconds are spent holding their intestines in with one hand and screaming for their mother with their dying breaths like she's piloting the fucking medi-vac...."

Desmond broke eye-contact with Nelly and his gaze drifted off into the distant horizons of his thoughts. He slowly shook his head in disappointment, towards himself.

Shit. He didn't have to twist the knife that hard. It wasn't her fault. There was a time when he was pissing, shitting, and spitting vinegar when it came to making a difference. Just because he had 100 lifetimes worth of Alliance cynicism didn't mean he had to serve it to others like it was last call.

The smile crept back to the corner of his mouth.

"Well, well, I may have some baggage that didn't quite get stowed away..."

"Don't mind me, love, I can get a bit prickly when sitting on transports too long without something blowing up. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Take some advice from an old man that came from a business that usually doesn't produce old men. Be careful, you can't make a difference when you're pushing daisies..."

He rested his head back and closed his eyes in what appeared to be a second attempt at a nap. This nap was interrupted by the thundering of hooves. Hyde looked up at the horse and its rider.

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