The events in this aside take place in 2510, while the War for Unification is still taking place, 9 years before the current time period. The crew of the Darling is made up of people who do not feature in the current episode. Below are listed the current crew.

Jeremiah "Pappy" Goodweather: Owner and founding Captain of the Darling Francine and Barnaby's father. Has taken a more advisory role the last ten years.
(Pb Jeff Bridges)

Francine Goodweather: Namesake of the Darling Francine and Barnaby's mother.
(Pb Tyne Daly)

Patrick "Tricky" O'Doyle: XO, dashing ne'er-do-well who just can't seem to stay out of trouble.
(Pb Jon Hamm)

Hardy Willis: Stoner Mechanic
(Pb Harris Wittels)

Veronica Sandeski: Lifetime spacer with a bad temper
(Pb Melissa McCarthy)

Hey You: Pilot, spacer, general hand. Doesn't seem to speak English or Mandarin, or much at all. But he seems to understand it. (Note:"Hey You" is not his real name, but it's what he answers to and no one knows his real name.)
(Pb Song Kang-ho)

Three days. That's how long the crew of the Darling Francine had been waiting for their Alliance contact. Holed up on Athens in the middle of nowhere, they'd be twiddling their thumbs if they weren't sitting on their hands. They'd gotten the call to pick up supplies here to take them to there- the perennial Alliance command- a week ago. They happened to be in the system and thus had made good time getting to the rendezvous point. For as little they were getting paid, one had to wonder if this was worth it. But Pappy Goodweather seemed to err on the side of caution when it came to dealing with the Purple Bellies. Barnaby was hard pressed to disagree.

So, they sat with the doors to the cargo bay open letting the sunshine and fresh air into the ship for a change. They were far enough away from any substantial settlements that extended furlough in town wasn't really an option. Besides, Pappy had hinted on the Alliance wanting the pickup to be on the hush-hush side. Border planet or not, there were still those loyal to the Browncoat Cause around these parts. Whatever your politics were, trying best to stay neutral wasn't looked upon favorably.

At an overturned crate, with buckets for seats, Barnaby sat with a handful of worn out playing cards in his hand and a dwindling pile of chips. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, contemplating his next move. He pulled three cards out of his hand and placed them facedown on the makeshift table. He looked at the assembled members of his crew who had decided to join in on the game. "I'll take three." He said, coyly. Barnaby looked at the two cards he had left. A jack of hearts and a queen of spades.

Barnaby wasn't very good at poker.

Athens. One of the capital planets of the Georgia system and considered to be the commercial and cultural hub of the system, in as much culture and commerce could be found past the Halo. Far more populous and popular than Hera's seemingly never ending planes of wheat, barley, corn, and beans, Athens' mountainous, forested surface provided the system with many minerals and building materials but not much in the way of entertainment. Granted, one might find plenty of entertainment within the planet's modest but reliable taverns and brothels if they possessed the inclination - and Patrick "Tricky" O'Doyle felt very inclined indeed.

Looking over his cards at the polished leather boots propped up on the one empty crate pulled up to the makeshift table to admire the shine in the cargo hold's overhead lights, the subtle beauty of the contrast between the finely crafted footwear and the long worn features of the cards escaped Ol' Tricky. His crystal blue eyes flicked from his boots to a prodigious pile of poker chips growing before him by the round.

Quote from: Barnaby Goodweather on December 28, 2018, 08:59:21 AM"I'll take three."

"Just three, Barnie?" Tricky flashed his trademark white toothed grin. O'Doyle honestly didn't care much for Francine's acting Captain. Truth told, some nights he still couldn't work out why Pappy thought his boy had the chops to lead a proper crew. Tricky'd been Pappy's right hand over the past several years, providing an ample shot of realism and "practical knowledge" to the ship in order to make sure he'd been the only one getting anything over on Jeremiah from job to job. Why the old man picked his bright-eyed, dopey run off to lead the ship in his autumn years remained a mystery that escaped him in stark comparison to the hopelessness hidden behind Barnaby's coy smile.

Three cards slid across the table in Barnaby's direction. Patrick took a sip of the iced tea before him, wishing for a taste of whiskey. "Check." Tricky stated as he thunked the glass on the surface, too bored to bother betting and barely paying attention to his hand to begin with. The dealer turned the river and, without even bothering to look, Patrick's eyes leveled on Barnaby's with a wry smirk. "C'mon, Barnie. Poker's never been your game. What say you we head on into town, hit us a couple slots?" Tricky offered a slight nod and a knowing wink, masking his disdain and doubt.

The shadow sitting to the left of the self-assured second-in-command passed three cards across the table in Barnaby's direction, nary a word or a sound passing its lips as it did so. Everything about the shape seemed to fade, somehow, into the background, only coming alive to move chips and flip cards. Dark eyes slid calmly between Patrick and Barnaby, no discernible emotion written across his features as the man listened to their 'banter' and reached forward once more with long fingers to turn the river over once he'd slipped the appropriate number of cards to those who wished to have them. Once the cards had been flipped, the man seemed to melt back into the shadows cast by the sun once more, his presence vaguely felt at the edge of the table. If one squinted in his direction, they could almost make out his outline, even.

A dark strand of hair moved with the breeze, slipping down over the bridge of his nose to rest unattended between his eyes. Eyes that moved between those at the table attentively, even if he didn't seem to be paying much attention to the goings on. Between his duties as the dealer, his calloused palms rested quietly upon his lap, shoulders low and relaxed, feet crossed idly at the ankles. Very slowly, the man's attention drifted from Patrick's offer to the surrounding area, taking in the nature and savoring the feel of the breeze on his skin. Being a spacer made appreciating what the land had to offer more of a alien and interesting sensation. The air pumped through a ship simply couldn't replace a fine breeze. The corner of his lips twitched almost imperceptibly before he looked back toward the members of the crew gathered at the 'table'.

It was a casual game to be sure, but even so Veronica wasn't looking at her cards. She was looking at Tricky O'Doyle, in a fashion similar to how she usually looked at him. "Hey, Trick. If you're looking for company I'd be happy to help, if you know what I mean?" She said, with a wink and a hearty elbow to his ribs. Veronica had made her intentions well known since she'd come aboard. She had been a spacer her whole life, on and off of ships as the work carried her, and she was good at it. Could pilot, mechanic, and carry large amounts of weight with the best of them; but what she really liked about The Darling Francine and why she had stuck around as long as she had was Tricky's perpetually stubbled jaw and the way his ass looked in those jeans he always seemed to be wearing. The XO's stock response was usually something along the lines of a curt "no thanks" but Veronica had a feeling O'Doyle would cave eventually. "Sex. I mean sex. You and me, handsome. It's an open invitation."

Veronica tossed her cards on the table and stood up, walking away with a couple of looks over her shoulder like "You coming?" She made it all the way out of the cargo bay before giving up.

Bang!
Clang!

"Yo."

A large plume of smoke bellowed out of a compartment built into the floor. It wasn't meant to be opened from the inside. It was meant to hold an inflatable raft in case of "water landing". But the same ingenuity that got him bounced out of the Alliance military for turning the turbine from a personnel carrier into an illicit vaporizer is what enabled him to make his extensive modifications to the hold. Speakers, a modified air purifier and a few pillows and it was what he simply called "the danger zone". Many invitations to join him in "the danger zone" had been declined by pretty much everyone on the crew. Probably mostly because it was way too small to fit anyone else inside it without laying down on top of him or spooning. And he called it "The danger zone" and wagged his eyebrows when he said it.

"Did somebody say sex?"

He got up, looked around, and immediately seemed confused.

He pointed out the cargo bay doors. Seemingly perplexed.

"Hold up. We ain't on Jiangyin no more?"

Noting the bay doors were open, he pulled a small device from his pocket and pressed it to his lips, taking a drag from what was another home-made vaporizer. Sometimes it took him a minute to get his brain back in the same time-zone as everyone else. When you're in "The Danger Zone" time gets a little wibbly.

"Naaaahhh that's right we're like space pirates or whatever right?"

Smiling he looked at his crew-mates and after only a brief pause to let out the plume of his home-brew. Luckily the brain cells in his brain that still fired appeared to be the ones where he stowed his engineering and mechanical aptitude. While he could keep the Darling in the air, if anybody ever got the impression he wasn't ever really paying attention to what was going on beyond what was broken and where it was, they'd have been right.

"Wait... what was this meeting about again?"

He stopped and pondered. Somebody said something, and it appealed to him. What was it. T Rex? Hex? No. That wasn't it. The lightbulb went off.

"Woah... what kind of tacos are we getting?"

Hardy settled on what he thought he heard announced. And yes. He thought it was "Tex/Mex".

"I don't remember this being here," came a gentle voice from somewhere just to the left of the open bay doors, its speaker still out of sight. There was a soft rustling as the stranger moved through the tall grass before coming into view at the base of the doors.

Wild platinum blonde curls were half held back with a pencil, most of the curls having slipped free to frame her heart shaped face. A loose dress with delicate frills down the neckline, at the sleeve hem by her elbows, and around the hem across her shins. An apron was tied around her waist and half tucked in on itself, clearly having been used as a makeshift basket at some point. Bare feet dug timidly into the dirt beneath them and soft hands held a whicker basked filled with apples against her hip.

Baby blue eyes looked around at the people inside the ship, her chin lifting a bit so she could take in the ship itself, a whimsical smile tugging at her pale pink lips. "My! To think this was here this whole time and I never noticed," she mused aloud, not seeming to mind that there were strangers present. "Are we neighbors?" she finally asked them, turning her attention toward the group in the cargo bay and raising her brows curiously, the girl's head tilting to the side like a bird.

Very suddenly, the girl looked startled, looking down at her basket once and extending it toward them, "Oh! Would you like some?" she asked, realizing it had been terribly rude not to have offered sooner!

Barnaby reached for his cards but stopped short of picking them up. Tricky's offer was an enticing one. They'd all been cooped up on the ship for too long. Maybe some R&R was warranted. Pappy had been pretty clear on them staying put, though. The Alliance could show up at any time. "Aw I dunno, Trick. Best we linger here for now. Once we get that shipment things'll open up. You'll see."

As his crew interacted, Barnaby wondered about his abilities as a captain. He figured that as long as Pappy was around he was in charge in title only. Sure, his father had taken a back seat to day-to-day operations. But the jobs they took, the crew they hired, the planets they landed on- none of these were for Barnaby to decide. Making Tricky XO, for example, was not his decision. But Pappy had insisted. And Barnaby couldn't deny the man's usefulness. He had connections and savvy, but Barnaby wasn't sure he trusted him.

He looked at his cards and didn't find his hand improved with the 8, 9, and 10 of clubs and, suddenly, his taste for the game was gone. "I fold." Barnaby picked himself up from the table and started wandering down the gangplank. And there, at the bottom, he found a young woman wandering her way up.

"Why hello, guess we are neighbors, huh?" Barnaby said, scratching at the back of his head. He looked at the offered gift of apples and his eyes lit up. "Thank you, miss lady. Much obliged. An apple in hand and a potential new friend in sight, Barnaby offered his other in greeting. "Barnaby Goodweather, cap'n of this here ship."

Quote from: noseatbelts on December 28, 2018, 12:45:19 PM
"Hey, Trick. If you're looking for company I'd be happy to help, if you know what I mean?"

Patrick flinched visibly as Veronica's hardy elbow caught him in the ribs. Partially from the residual bruising from a hard fall he'd sustained during a recent tumble he took during a routine inspection of the ship's outer hull, mostly because the spacer didn't seem to know her own strength - or maybe she knew damn well, and just figured he'd be into that kind of thing. Trick's eyebrows raised in disbelief at her persistence and inability to take "no" for an answer.

"Sorry, Ronnie." The apology sounded anything but genuine, like much of what could be heard from Tricky O'Doyle. "Reckon I don't follow."

Quote from: noseatbelts on December 28, 2018, 12:45:19 PM
"Sex. I mean sex. You and me, handsome. It's an open invitation."

Tricky completely ignored Veronica's exit from the game, suddenly engrossed in the hand that so bored him only moments before. When he noticed her sizable silhouette departing the cargo hold from his peripherals, he made a quick glance around the table and calmly slid what chips she'd managed to collect into his own pile. A sudden *CLANG!* shook everyone at the table with the exception of that shady fella whose name Trick never bothered to learn and kinda wished would just fade into the shadows for good. A pungent bellow of smoke rose up from the floor, momentarily reminding Trick of the machine-made fog that would fill the floor of the underground fighting arena beneath Eavesdown as a rapier-wielding nonce made an entrance intended to be as flashy as his own attire. The smell belching up from the floor smelled nothing like the smack-talking dandy's rose-scented perfume, instead tickling the nostrils with a scent more akin to a day old dead skunk. Still, Trick took a moment to breathe in as deeply as he could before the smoke made its way out the open ramp.

Quote from: HumanHyperbole on December 28, 2018, 04:36:57 PM
"Yo." "Did somebody say sex?"

"Sure. Just not to you."

Quote from: HumanHyperbole on December 28, 2018, 04:36:57 PM
"Hold up. We ain't on Jiangyin no more?" "Naaaahhh that's right we're like space pirates or whatever right?"

Trick blinked twice in response as Hardy Willis brought a handheld vaporizer unit to his mouth, watching as the mechanic's glaze over eyes drifted back into "The Danger Zone". Truth told, he would've floated the kid out the air lock a long time ago if he weren't such a good customer, and somehow a better mechanic.

Quote from: Barnaby Goodweather on December 29, 2018, 10:00:56 AM
"Aw I dunno, Trick. Best we linger here for now. Once we get that shipment things'll open up. You'll see."

O'Doyle's head shook back and forth in disappoint as he lowered the brim of his hat to cover the glower growing beneath his furrowed brow. "Sure they will, Barn. Sure they will..."

Quote from: HumanHyperbole on December 28, 2018, 04:36:57 PM
"Wait... what was this meeting about again?"

"Doesn't matter. You buyin' in or what?"

Quote from: Tabitha Haemish on December 28, 2018, 07:21:29 PM
"I don't remember this being here,"

Quote from: Barnaby Goodweather on December 29, 2018, 10:00:56 AM"I fold."

"There's a good Captain. Knows just when to play it to safe. Hardly! You gotta stop it with that inhaler of yours. Reckon it's makin' your voice sound awful ladylike..."

Quote from: Tabitha Haemish on December 28, 2018, 07:21:29 PM"My! To think this was here this whole time and I never noticed," "Are we neighbors?"

Quote from: Barnaby Goodweather on December 29, 2018, 10:00:56 AM"Why hello, guess we are neighbors, huh?"

Trick's eyes rose only to stare daggers into Barnaby's open back as the Captain rose and walked away from the table to meet the apparently lost blonde stumbling aboard the ship. A fair girl, to be sure, though not quite the type Trick preferred. Still, as plain and earthy as she appeared she looked a might nicer than Ronnie and Ol' Frankie in any light.

Quote from: Tabitha Haemish on December 28, 2018, 07:21:29 PM"Oh! Would you like some?"

Trick smirked, a glint in his eye. O'Doyle looked at the bushel of fresh apples she'd brought aboard and reckoned he wouldn't mind given her tree a good shake.

Quote from: Barnaby Goodweather on December 29, 2018, 10:00:56 AM"Thank you, miss lady. Much obliged." "Barnaby Goodweather, cap'n of this here ship."

Patrick stood, sauntering slowly to the side of his "cap'n". The heels of his boots clicked as loudly as they could over the general buzz and thrum of the ship. "Hi there." He broke in with an easy wink and let a steamy gaze linger before casting his eyes down toward the apples. "Why, what a lovely color! You know - living on a ship like this, sailing the Black day in and day out, traveling planet to planet and port to port - it can be a might difficult, finding fruit ain't all cooped up in a tin can."

Tricky reached down, plucking an apple from the basket and tossing it easily into the air to catch in his other hand. He looked it over thoughtfully before breathing once over it and giving it a lazy shine on his red, crisply creased shirt. O'Doyle look back at the ship's sudden guest almost sheepishly, playing coy for the girl though someone who knew him as well as Barnaby would notice a wolf's intent barely hidden in his eyes. "But I always prefer 'em fresh."

The man's attention seemed to drift and glide between the crew members like the breeze, languid in its shifting focus but startlingly focused and unnerving if one accidentally met his dark gaze. His brows almost furrowed at the sexual banter bouncing between Veronica and Patrick. The woman was constantly throwing 'hints' in the XO's direction only for him to play confused, but everyone knew he was well aware of what the woman was getting at. Still, one had to admire Veronica's persistence... perhaps.

The clanging and clamoring from the mechanic and the ensuing conversation momentarily tugged at his attention and the outline of a person turned its head to regard Willis and his inventions, the smoke coiling around the entrance to the 'danger zone' before wafting out toward the ship's open bay doors. His line of sight lowered from the escaping tendrils to settle upon the strange girl walking up the ramp, Barnaby and (of course) Patrick moving to greet and/or intercept her.  A brow twitched and, seeing that the game was effectively over, the man set to carefully pulling the cards closer to himself and organizing them back into some kind of pile, half watching the paper rectangles and half watching the goings on.

In the cockpit, Jeremiah, owner, and Francine, namesake, lay in bed in the captain's quarters. Francine idly played with her husband's hair as he laid across her torso smoking one of Hardy's funny little cigarette's. He held it aloft for his wife to take her turn with it, which she accepted.

"How long we going to wait for this shipment, Jerry?" She asked around puffs on the spliff. The smoke rolled lazily out of her mouth and hung in a foggy curtain about the top of the room.

"Ah hell, I dunno, woman." He said, cranky at the same question getting lobbed at him from every member of the crew. Jeremiah peeked up at Francine and knew the look he would find on her face. "Another day or two. The commander fella told me they'd be here by week's end. I figure they'll keep to that." Jeremiah reached up for his turn with the joint.

Francine hrmph'd as she passed it back. She reached up on the wall beside the bed and hit a button next to a screen, which popped on and showed a view of the cockpit, which was empty. A few button hits and she found the channel she wanted, the cargo bay, where it seemed that the whole crew was gathered. "Looks like we have some company."

"What?" Jeremiah said, shooting up to look at the screen. "Can't have that, no ma'am. Commander was clear, gorrammit..." The old spacer was up off the bed, trying to find his pants.

Francine laid a calming hand on her husband's chest. "Are you going to let Barnaby be captain?"

"What? Of course. He's captain. Signed the papers myself."

"Then let him be captain, Jer."

Jeremiah thought about that for a moment and sighed. "Aw hell, Francine." He smiled at her and went in to give her ribs a poke. She screeched in fun and they tumbled into bed like a couple who'd only been in love for 5 weeks, instead of 5 decades.

The girl positively beamed at the captain, settling the basket on the crook of her waist and reaching out with her free hand to take the offered greeting. "Genuinely thrilled to meet you, Captain Barnaby Goodweather," she repeated, looking up and around once more while still shaking his hand, not looking like she was going to be releasing it any time soon. "What is the ship called?" she asked him curiously, baby blue gaze finally lowering back to his face. Only to have her attention yanked away by another of what she assumed was his crew.

At his wink, her head titled to the side abruptly, confusion furrowing her brows. Her chin turned away a little at the steamy gaze.

"Why, what a lovely color! You know - living on a ship like this, sailing the Black day in and day out, traveling planet to planet and port to port - it can be a might difficult, finding fruit ain't all cooped up in a tin can." He informed her.

The blonde nodded slowly, perhaps enamored, and watched the apple's upward flight before it found a home in the man's other hand. Pink lips puckered for a moment in thought before she finally slipped her hand free of Barnaby's (having been awkwardly holding it the entire time) and moved to set it atop the fancy man's forehead.

"Do you have a fever?" she asked him, seemingly concerned for his well-being and a little baffled by his behavior. Her skin was cool against his and she took her hand back, nodding  a little to herself and bending over to set the basket down. With an easy and carefree smile in all of their direction, she sauntered back down the ramp and turned in three slow circled before walking to the base of a tree and kneeling in the dirt. Blonde curls further slipped free of their pencil captor as her hands dug into the earth and pulled at a few small white flowers near to the earth. Once acquired, the stranger stood up and moved back to the group, eyes bright.

Taking his free hand, the girl set the clump of dirt and flower into Patrick's hand and curled his fingers closed over it. "Steep this into a tea, it'll make you feel better," she assured him, then looked at Barnaby once more, "Tabitha Haemish, resident witch," she informed him, bright laughter in her eyes.

The smoke coiling out of the cargo bay finally caught her attention and she moved to slip past Patrick and Barnaby, making a b-line for the man halfway in the floor, curiosity apparent on her face.

"Hey uh, Trick?" Barnaby said, a slight stammer affecting his voice. He coughed, getting his courage ready. The first mate was a lot of things. Handsome. Charming. Clever. Tricky. A lot of those things Barnaby never quite saw in himself, which made O'Doyle the kind of guy you want to be around to back you up when your up needs backing. They'd been working together for a number of years - nearly 10 by Barnaby's recollection- and they rarely saw eye to eye, particularly since Pappy handed off the reigns to his son. Barnaby was cautious, yet capable, using his years of experience and accumulated knowledge to make sure bets and keep The Darling floating. O'Doyle preferred to fly by the seat of his very tight pants, with little respect to anyone or anything outside his own intuition. Truth of the matter was, Barnaby didn't understand the other man. They were just too different.

He was, however, familiar with O'Doyle's tricks. And with this pretty young thing walking into their ship, Barnaby immediately knew what his first mate was after. He'd seen it time after time after time and again. It would almost be endearing if it wasn't so incorrigible. Barnaby briefly wondered how many children Trick didn't know he had, and then decided he preferred not to think about this new potential friend in that way. "Why don'tcha holler at that contact. Y'know, for the job? That we're workin'." It wasn't a request though it was phrased as such and Barnaby did everything but put himself in between O'Doyle and Tabby. A heavy pat on the shoulder nudged the XO in the right direction. "Comm channel's by the, er, commlink." A little more confidence now. "G'on. Scoot. Cap'n's orders."

Willis let out a slow plume of smoke, leaving a clear trail from where he began in the cargo bay, he slid up behind Trick. In his mind he was sneaking up, slick, quiet. Like a shark somehow. Though more of a roving smokestack he slapped "Trick" on the shoulder as he came up at his side. Clearly eager to slide into what he thought was an opening.

"Yo. You like plants? I love plants."

Hardy's grin was genuine. This was his in, dude. If there was ever an advocate of alternative medicines it was this Alliance washout. He flipped his vaporizer in his hand to display it for Tabitha.

"I made this thing that turns plants.... into smiles...Specialist Willis, mechanics or something... I forget. Anyway so like, what's your deal? What's your policy on confined spaces?"

If there was anything to his conversational style, it was how he cut right to the chase. For whatever reason he gave his former title in the Alliance military. It wasn't so much stolen valor as the job of fixing space-ships seemed to be the same to him, no matter where he was. The plan was the same. Get high, stay high.

Suddenly self conscious. He apologized.

"Oh snap, my b! So rude."

Twirling the vape around a bit more in his hand before he extended it out to Tabithah, he offered it to his guest.

"It's a hybrid between a mellow indica and a  and another fierce indica and sativa hybrid. Cloned them myself on my last ship before it uh... Exploded. Heh. "

After a momentary pause he clarified, a smidge self aware of the conclusion the others might jump to.

"Yo the Browncoats blew it up..."

How he managed to get his own growing operation going on that prison vessel was a whole other story for another day.

Smiling a million silver smile as the girl approached him, Patrick O'Doyle never expected her response to his smooth talking innuendo. He'd seen them play coy, blush and attempt to change the subject, excuse themselves with a haughty huff followed by a knowing last glance over their shoulder, or even slap him. But not once in all his years had a woman he'd tried to pick up attempt to diagnose him with an illness in response. This was new. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Uh." It was all he could managed to stammer as the young woman before him filled his free hand with dirt and roots, suggested he make a tea out of it - "What?" - and introduce herself to "Captain" Barnie as a witch. A witch. Like in the Earth-That-Was fairy tales. Knowing what crazy got him in the past and doubting it could be worth that kind of trouble, Tricky considered maybe Ronnie wasn't all that bad by comparison for a brief moment before he felt Barnaby's hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah. Right. The commlink. Sure." Patrick stepped away, shaking his head to clear his dumbfounded demeanor and finding something halfway between swagger and snark. "Aye-aye, Cap'n." Ol' Tricky mock saluted with the apple in his head, half stumbling over Hardy in his retreat. Looking the mechanic over as if he were proof that there was no intelligent life in the Black, Tricky stuffed the handful of earth and roots into one of the open pockets of Hardy's coveralls. "Here, Hardly. Maybe you can use this for your plants." Chucking the apple away dismissively, as if it represented the entirety of the last five minutes of his life, O'Doyle made his way to the comms and debated just turning himself in before attempting to establish communication with the contact.

"Hey uh, Trick? Why don'tcha holler at that contact. Y'know, for the job? That we're workin'." he asked.

"Yeah. Right. The commlink. Sure." Patrick said as he stepped away.

The strange blonde smiled, her eyes flicking curiously between Captain Barnaby Goodweather and 'Trick', her expression easy and bright. When the feverish man turned to leave at his Captain's suggestion, Tabby tilted her head a little, the smile faltering. He seemed upset. Did she say something rude? Was his fever getting worse? Worried over his health, she moved onto her tip toes, raised a finger and called out after him, "Trick! Don't forget the tea! You're a loved and valuable member of your crew, it would be a shame if you got ill!" she told him confidently, having absolutely no idea how the other crew members felt about him. Feeling like she did the right thing, her sunshine smile returned, and her attention shifted to the man approaching them.

"Yo. You like plants? I love plants," he asked, and the girl nodded quickly. "Of course! They're great for your body. Fever? Plants. Nausea? Plants. Rash? Plants!" she listed, laughing musically and offering up the basket of apples for him to look them over.

"...turns plants...into smiles...What's your deal? What's your policy on confined spaces?" he asked, showing her a device, he'd made. Tabitha's brows rose and she bent forward to look it over, sniffing at it curiously. Plants into smiles, how amazing! This man was obviously their doctor. Even if he said he was their mechanic. Perhaps he was a mechanic of people?

"My deal? I think I'm a doctor?" she asked, grinning at him and tilting her head to the side, "And confined spaces don't bother me none."

Her head tilted back a bit as the device was offered to her and she took it gingerly, turning it over in her fingers. "It's very clever," she told him, putting it to her lips and using it like a pipe. She blinked quickly and handed it back to him, nodding a little and looking around at the interior of the cargo bay before finally releasing her breath, smoke trailing up from her lips in thin tendrils. She gave herself another moment to consider it, "Oh! This plant! It has amazing medicinal qualities as well! You're very ingenious!" she told him, nodding emphatically!

"Captain Barnaby, Specialist Willis, Trick, what marvelous names. And his?" she asked, pointing past them to the shadow of a man who was now standing behind Willis, although it was unclear when or how he'd gotten there. "What brings you here?" she asked, then, looking back toward the Captain curiously. "It is a perfect time for apples," she reminded him and herself, thinking maybe they'd come to pick fruit. Although the Captain had mentioned a job...

"Witch, huh?" Barnaby tried to mask how uncomfortable her designation made him. There was no way she was an actual witch. She was too young and pretty and nice. Barnaby couldn't spot a single wart and she didn't even have a broom or a cat or anything. Still, spacers were a superstitious lot and Barnaby made a mental note to throw some salt over his shoulder or something later. He was relieved to hear Tabby call herself a doctor seconds later, and realized he was being silly.

"Oh, him? We call him Hey You on account of we don't know his real name. But he answers to it well enough. He's a handy fella to have around, that's the truth. So's Hardy and Trick and, well, all of us really." Barnaby beamed with pride as he listed off his crew. "Any job y'got, Darling Francine's your ship. You mighta guessed we's here as a matter of employment, the details of which I'm afraid I can't chatter. You can trust we're on the up and up, though, Miss Haemish."

Though he was proud of his crew, heck, he'd even sign a letter of recommendation for each and every one of them if they asked, Barnaby knew that spacers tended to be an unsavory lot and this little girl seemed so dainty and fine, and though she seemed well able to take care of herself and none of the crews' eccentricities bothered her, Barnaby still felt a bit protective of her. Plus, nice as she was, she might still be a witch and, well, Barnaby didn't need a witch wandering about his ship. "Uh, Miss Haemish. There somethin' we can help you out with? My crew needs to be getting back to work here soon. Job's coming up from town any time now."

"Yo!!! So... If you're chill with confined spaces and you dig the blend I've gotta invite you-

Before he could finish the words, Trick stuffed his pocket

"Here, Hardly. Maybe you can use this for your plants."

Not missing a beat he smiled and thanked his superior officer.

"Thanks, dude!"

Hardy didn't have a grow operation on this ship. But it was the thought that counts. Also he didn't think of that in the moment. And like the buzzkill a captain's gotta be, he swooped in with talk of getting rid of the new arrival and getting them back to work. Willis couldn't even think of the concept of work without triggering his inner contemptuous, red eyed, Che Guevara side. 

"Uhhhh.....Waaage slavery...."

Protests aside, he promptly turned around, and started towards the engine room. Still, moaning along the way. Mostly to himself. In Korean. The whole damn universe spoke English and Chinese. For reasons even he couldn't remember he picked up Korean over Mandarin.

Speaking of jobs, over at the commlink, a text message waited for Tricky to find, timestamped approximately 20 minutes prior.

PACKAGE INBOUND. ARRIVAL 20 MINUTES. BE READY. NO MISTAKES.

The sender of the message was blocked and come to think of it, the Goodweather's hadn't mentioned to the crew who was hiring them.

Either way, a check of the watch said they were nearly there, whoever they were.

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"Psssst...." Came a voice from around the wall closest to where O'Doyle was checking the message. Veronica didn't reveal herself just yet. "I know you're there. Knock three times if you want me to meet you in your bunk tonight. Two times if you just want to do it right here. I'm ready, baby."

Looking back in the general direction of the cargo hold with a face full of a lethal dosage of sodium chloride, Tricky fished a heavy, silver container from his pocket and popped it open. Prying a thin black cigarillo from the case, the gambler watched the screen as the communication came in:

Quote from: noseatbelts on January 17, 2019, 06:42:13 AM
PACKAGE INBOUND. ARRIVAL 20 MINUTES. BE READY. NO MISTAKES.

"No mistakes." Thoughts of Francine's crew, most notably Mama Goodweather's bright-eyed baby boy, danced in Trick's head as he drew a match across the gritty strip along one side of the silver case and brought it to the rolled tube of tobacco trapped between his lips. "That'd be nice."

Quote from: noseatbelts on January 17, 2019, 06:42:13 AM"Psssst...." Came a voice from around the wall closest to where O'Doyle was checking the message. Veronica didn't reveal herself just yet. "I know you're there. Knock three times if you want me to meet you in your bunk tonight. Two times if you just want to do it right here. I'm ready, baby."

"Wǒ cǎo... This whole damn day just keeps gettin' better 'n' better." Patrick's thoughts turned sarcastic and devlish as he pulled on the cigarillo lightly and let the smoke roll around in his mouth for a moment before exhaling. With wheels turning as the con came together in his grifter's mind, a sly smile formed around the sort, slim cigar between Trick's lips. He knocked three times and struggled to stifle his chortling until confident that Ronnie's steps took her out of earshot.

Regaining his composure, Trick poked his back into the cargo and locked his steely eyes on his target with thinly veiled contempt. "Heads up, Barn! Hand off'll be comin' along in..." Tricky made a show of checking a circle-faced, wrist-mounted cortex browser. "...Eighteen minutes! Reckon I best get along. Right pleasure makin' your acquaintance, Miss Sammich. Hey You! Wanna tag along?"