S1:Ep6 - Lights, Camera, Action!

[Viktor Söderberg]

"All crew and passengers, get yourself to a seat with straps. Now!"

The preacher had been meditating. Again. It was most of what he'd been doing lately. His mind was... disheveled. Disorganized. Detached.

He was lucky that the writer hadn't found him too terribly interesting. He'd talked to the man some but nothing serious or lengthy came of their conversations. So on their journey to Whitefall, he'd gotten into a quiet routine: wake, meditate, breakfast, counsel, lunch, socialize (briefly), meditate, dinner, sleep.

It was boring and dull, but Viktor was never one to complain about the commonplace. It generally meant that things were going to plan. Right up until the weren't.

"straps. Now!"

He'd been sitting in his bunk, which he immediately fell out of, having no access to straps. His back would be a little worse for wear for a few hours, but no serious damage had been done.

By the time he'd extricated himself from the tangle of blankets pillows and limbs he'd become on the floor, the ship had settled out. It's a good thing Rian had gotten a handle on it. But it did make him wish for his friend to be back at the helm. Barnaby would have a fit if he knew how his ship was being treated.

With himself and his bunk righted, he left the quarters to get himself closer to a seatbelt. Just in case.

[Tabitha Haemish]

Gentle humming filled the make-shift Med Bay as Tabby sat crisscross apple sauce on the 'bed' and crocheted something that could have resembled...what? A vest? A sweater? A pair of socks? Another one just like it sat at her knees, already completed, although from afar it simply looked like a pile of knotted yarn. The ship jostled once, drawing her attention upward. Then, it jerked again and she slowly uncrossed her legs. Finally, it reeled and she was jostled over the edge of the bed and onto the floor in a pile of colorful wool.

"All crew and passengers, get yourself to a seat with straps. Now!"

What was happening? Was Rian okay? Tabitha picked up the pile of yarn and stumbled out of the 'Med Bay', hugging the corner to make her own way to the bridge, passing under Maddie and past where Viktor was getting out of the quarters. She tossed him a wave and a little smile before hurrying up the stairs.

"Ehem, so...Is this called the bridge or the cockpit?" she heard Arlo ask.

In her hurry, and with the ship's heaving having set her legs to jelly, Tabby couldn't stop herself before crashing into Arlo's back, the crochet project cushioning the collision but tangling around her legs. She'd gotten there after Albie, and after Arlo, and the ship was already calming down again.

Wait. Albie?

The blonde's attention settled on the second person in a pilot's seat and her brows rose. That was delightful! How lucky for them that the shepherd knew how to pilot. She approached his seat, dropping the finished crocheted sweater onto his lap with a proud smile.

[Rian Carpenter]

"We're comin' in too fast, I was-"

Rian looked over to his co-pilot. Albie was locked in a flurry of activity, removing his training wheels and working the pedals of the bike himself metaphorically speaking. On pure instinct, he stopped questioning how or why the guy he thought was here to shovel sheep-shit was flying the ship with him and saving all their asses. There were higher priorities right now. Like not turning the inhabitants of the ship he borrowed into a red paste to be scraped off rubble.

He kept hitting the air brakes in slow, bursts.

One...two...three... let her glide... we're okay now...

The pilot assist came back on and they were both able to let the autopilot start guiding them into their assigned dock. Rian craned his neck around and damn near the whole ship had packed into the cockpit. Or was it the flight deck?

"Flight deck... cockpit... I'm just glad it is not the scene of the accident..."

The multihyphenate gunhand-cook-temporary Captain and (bad)pilot let out a nervous self-effacing chuckle. Rian wasn't sure what to do. If they were his dad's goon squad he'd have told them to get the hell out of the cockpit and report to their bunks before he turned their insides to outsides. If they were the miners he tried to lead after first escaping his father he'd have given everyone the day off right then and there to shake off the nerves.

But Rian was still momentarily the Captain of a ship. A job he still thought of as being more akin to living as a medieval king, ruling over a small flying fiefdom. The crew were their knights and the skipper's word was law. It was a reductive view and he knew it. If he was king of this castle, somebody else needs to fly it. The metaphor is breaking down but the point remained.

The docking clamps were finally locking onto the ship. They were safe on terra firma. Before the shit-shoveler could get up from his seat, Rian grabbed Albie by the arm.

"Everybody out except the kid. Prepare for disembarking, break time's over. Tabs, check on our passengers and make sure they didn't take any knocks to the head or anything during re-entry. It's Alliance protocol, can't let them walk out of here with a concussion."

Tabby probably knew he was full of it, but he also wanted to have a conversation with their apparent savior alone. A quick wink when he made eye contact briefly would have confirmed the suspicion on her part. When everybody had eventually filtered out, he couldn't help but ask the superior pilot:

"Why the hell are you chasing sheep around? Did the big guy save your life and now you have some sort of Golden Trail life-oath thing where you have to do what he says forever?"

He was confusing Wookie life-debts from Star Wars with the cultural traditions of a tribe of real galactic nomads but the point was, the temporary captain wanted to offer this kid a job. The Captain-Captain would probably be okay with it. Probably.

[Lomari]

Ship Time: 1438
Ship Location: Patience Docks - Whitefall

Despite their best efforts, Noah Caraway and his beast of a security guard had been sequestered into the 'Med Bay' to check for possible concussions or abrasions from the bumpy ride. No matter how much they argued or assured the tiny blonde, they didn't seem able to get out of her grasp and nothing they did helped them escape her care.

Outside the ship, a small group of strangers waited on horseback, their eyes on the Darling and their guns held idly across their laps. Behind them, someone was driving a hover mule with a large pen in the back, presumably for the sheep. Their leader, or so it seemed, sat side-saddle atop a large black horse, her wide brimmed hat blocking most of the sun from her already freckled skin. She toyed with a brown bag as she waited for the occupants of the ship to start unloading.

Beneath the ship, the clamps holding the Darling in place tightened and locked, a red light flashing quietly next to the mechanism.