S1: Ep2 - War Hawks

[noseatbelts]

Previously on....

EPISODE 2: WAR HAWKS


Iscariot floated in its never ending orbit and waited patiently for the Odette to return home to roost. There was much to do. Using the journey from Persephone to the station for convalescence, Darius and Jed determined the aging lawman would need more time in a bed and more care than their scant traveling medbay could provide. He would depart from the crew and stay on Iscariot to heal. Everyone else seemed eager to get on station as well, as there was a small man with whom everyone wanted a word.

[Charity]

With a deep breath, Charity stepped out of the Captain's chambers and made her way down the hall, moving as slowly as she could without being too obvious about it. She made her way through the foyer toward the forward lounge, her hands clasped in front of her lap. She'd managed to find one of the few dresses that hadn't either been ruined with blood or damage or left behind on the god forsaken Wushu. She had to be presentable when confronting Mister Sebastian, after all, and the mass of embroidery, trim, and embellishments served as her first layer of armor for the upcoming battle.

Then, she paused, standing between the workroom and the med bay. She turned on her heel and headed back the way she'd come, moving toward the ring of crew quarters. Stopping in the middle, she turned slowly and stared at the doors, her index finger tapping at her chin as she tried to remember which one belonged to Pele.

They were scheduled to have a crew meeting in a moment here, all of them meant to gather in that forward lounge, but Pele had expressed a desire to speak with Charity privately beforehand. She'd almost forgotten. They still had a few moments to spare before the meeting. Making an educated guess, she finally picked a door and approached, knocking with the back of her knuckles. "Miss Pele? I hope I'm not bothering you, is now an acceptable time to speak with you?" she called through the door gently.

[Pele Kesher]

"Miss Pele? I hope I'm not bothering you, is now an acceptable time to speak with you?"

The door next to the one Charity was knocking on opened, followed by a performative little cough that was loud enough to catch her attention but still appropriately discreet. For their touchdown on Iscariot, Pele had dressed in a pair of well-tailored pants and a printed silk blouse, a smart casual attire that would set her apart from the less sophisticated Iscariot visitors but not stick out quite like the sore thumb that was the captain's flouncy dress.

"Of course, please come in," she ushered the captain in and quickly closed the door behind them. The ex-companion had tried to dress up her small cabin to feel more like a boudoir fit for a lady. She'd converted the desk in the corner into a vanity, using a lotus-patterned scarf as a tablecloth and lining up her aesthetic jars and bottles of cosmetics and perfumes like candles at a shrine. She'd hung some of her gowns on the walls like drapery. The heady scent of jasmines and magnolias in bloom permeated the recycled air.

Unfortunately, at the end of the day she couldn't help feeling like all her efforts amounted to putting lipstick on a pig.

Over the past few days, Pele's initial burst of white hot rage had calmed down to a simmer, no less potent but more under control, and tempered by uncertainty about the situation at hand. Most of the crew seemed to be in over their heads, not least of all Captain Ingenue herself, which is why she wanted to have a word with the woman in private. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to say yet, but she knew she had to say something.

"I was wondering what your plan of action regarding our employer was." Over the passing days, Pele had remained admirably ladylike and refrained from saying "I told you so" in Charity's face. However, she could not completely disguise the smug martyrdom in her smile. I told you so.

[Charity]

"Of course, please come in."

At the gentle cough and invitation, Charity looked in Pele's direction, back at the door she'd knocked on, and finally back at the other woman. Her cheeks were a soft pink and she murmured a soft, "Sorry," at the wrong door before she turned and followed Pele into her chambers. Once inside, Charity looked around at the woman's attempt at decorating the room and making it seem less sterile. For the most part, it had worked. The Captain nodded, her lips turning down ever so slightly, impressed, before she turned again to face Pele.

"I was wondering what your plan of action regarding our employer was," Pele finally asked, the smug smile taken note of. Charity's brow quirked for a moment before her expression settled into a smooth, polite smile, her hands clasping in front of her naval and her head tilting just so slightly to the right. Her shoulders lowered, her chin lifted marginally, and she parted her lips to answer.

"A justified question," she began, nodding her chin a little in acknowledgement of the inquiry, expertly glossing over the 'I told you so' they both knew was plain in her smile.

"As I'm sure you're aware, we've found ourselves in quite a mess. Crew with the wrong names, cargo with the wrong description, and a lot more blood than I'd have liked being cleaned off our floors," Charity continued, walking past the woman to inspect the trinkets on the DIY vanity, not picking any of them up. "I fully intent to speak to Mister Sebastian, sternly, about the ship's future. I refuse to put the crew," she paused and looked back at Pele, "You included, should you decide to stay, through any further nonsense," she explained, finally reaching out to run her index finger over the scarf's fabric. "And we will be needing a new pilot, although I doubt that is one of the items on your list of worries," she wagered, turning to face Pele fully again.

Then, she took a deep breath and shook her head, "I am sorry for the mess," she admitted, her expression easing a little. "But I thank you for the grace with which you've managed it, and for your silence when Mister Sebastian first granted you your misnomer," she finished. Then, her nose scrunched up slightly and she steepled her fingers in front of her belly, "But...what would you like to do? I intend to ask the crew this at our meeting but it doesn't hurt to ask a little early."

[Pele Kesher]

Pele listened, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on Charity as she wandered over to the vanity. Her eye twitched when she saw the finger reach out and touch the fabric, but she quickly put her poker face back on when the captain turned to look at her.

"But...what would you like to do? I intend to ask the crew this at our meeting but it doesn't hurt to ask a little early. "

"Well, I'm afraid it's too late for what I would actually like to do, which is thank Mister Sebastian for the job offer, refuse politely and walk away with our hands clean." She winced inwardly at Charity's formal way of addressing the crook, and the fact that it appeared to be rubbing off on her as well. She was happy the captain was no longer turning a blind eye to the problem at hand; too bad she couldn't have done it when she'd first brought it up and there still was a remote chance of backing out.

"If we pull out now that we know what we know, we become a liability. A crime boss like Sebastian won't hesitate to dispose of us, unless one of us happens to have a godparent who's equally influential in the underworld and will start a gang war with him over hurting their precious angel." She paused and thought about her fiance. Would Cecil retaliate if something happened to her at the hands of a criminal? Most likely he would; not out of genuine grief, but because he didn't like people messing with his things. But revealing that connection to Sebastian wasn't an option. Neither was revealing it to Charity, although she really wished she could appeal to her authority on the subject at hand right now.

"I have some experience dealing with... dishonest men," she said finally. "And the way I see it, we only have two real options. Option one is to play dumb and pretend we still think we were delivering rations, or whatever nonsense cover story we were fed. That might be good for saving our skins once, but not a viable solution in the long run."

"The other option is to make him see us as partners in crime who have something to offer instead of oblivious puppets that are only good for being yanked around. We would have to be assertive enough to earn some respect, but not come across like we're trying too hard -- that would just make us look weak, like a toy poodle yapping away at a rottweiler." There was an opportunity for a jab at Sebastian's stature somewhere in there, but Pele didn't feel like taking it. At the end of the day, physical size mattered very little to a man who had other people to do his dirty work for him.

She cocked her head at the captain, still smiling her polite but slightly passive-aggressive smile. She wondered what Charity's idea of 'sternly' talking to Sebastian was. Sternly complaining to your tailor about the uneven hem of your custom-made gown? Sternly scolding your maid for forgetting to dust the top of the grand piano?

"Do you think you're up to that, Miss Charity? Asserting your dominance?" Pele had her doubts.

[Charity]

"... If we pull out now that we know what we know, we become a liability... unless one of us happens to have a godparent who's equally influential in the underworld and will start a gang war with him over hurting their precious angel."

Charity nodded along as Pele spoke, indicating that she was listening. Her gaze did lower slowly at the potential of someone having a secret underworld sugar daddy or distant familial crime boss relation. She looked over at the vanity again, her jaw clenched. That wouldn't work. Well, it would work, but she refused to consider that as an option. So instead, she simply shook her head no and returned her attention to the other woman's face.

"...And the way I see it, we only have two real options. Option one is to play dumb and pretend we still think we were delivering rations..." she laid out. Charity shook her head a little, not having meant for the action to have been an external one. That option was not viable, not after the discussion she'd had with King. She would not allow another 'ration' onto this ship.

"The other option is to make him see us as partners in crime who have something to offer...We would have to be assertive enough to earn some respect..." This fell more in line with the plan she'd discussed with King, and she was glad to know that more than one member of the crew seemed to be in agreement about this course of action. She hoped the others would agree when she brought it up during the crew meeting.

"Do you think you're up to that, Miss Charity? Asserting your dominance?" Pele asked.

Charity smiled softly and inhaled slowly, almost forcing her shoulders to relax and her hands to keep from clenching and wrapping around one another. Instead, she rested her forearms against her waist, and let her hands rest gently over one another, thumbs interlocked. "Captain Charity," she reminded Pele with a slight canting of her head. Her gaze remained focused upon the other woman's face, her expression pleasant and calm, her mask of perfection tied on tightly.

"I believe I am up for it, and if he does not take me seriously, then I will simply have to entrust our King with driving home the gravity of the situation to our benefactor. I do not have all of the skills required for this position, so I'm sure you can agree that delegating certain responsibilities would be the most prudent course of action. That's what keeps us rounded, as a crew, don't you think? she asked, her smile bright.

Then, she turned again and surveyed the rest of the room, "I am not perfect, and I'm sure you're all keenly aware of this being my first posting as a Captain. I will make mistakes and I do hope that the members of my crew will be there to assist me when that happens, I aspire to be the sort of Captain that asks for all the options from all sources available to me before I leap, from now on," she began, walking around and looking down at her bed curiously before turning again.

"I believe the stakes for us are higher than most. I don't know what your secrets are and I won't ask you to tell them to me. But if you're anything like me, and if your presence on a strange ship sent out to the edges of the 'Verse is any indication of your situation, then I do hope we can rely on one another to hold each other up, not tear each other down," she turned to face Pele fully again, "I'd like us to be friends, and if that is asking too much too soon, then I'd at least like us to be cooperative. I have no need for enemies, especially ones so close in proximity. Don't you agree?" she asked, brows raised.

[Francis Church]

Francis' eyes opened. Not from a coma or anything, just a nap. The wound in his side had sapped his strength and in the days since he'd been shot he'd found that without Sebastian around barking orders he could do just about whatever he wanted. Francis smiled at the thought of it, which turned when he realized they would be returning to Iscariot today. The holiday, if it could be called that, was soon to be over.

The events of the last week rolled around in his head. Francis knew what his job was and that his loyalty was with Sebastian. Why would he have any cause to doubt it? But then he remembered the comradery he felt with King and Coop in the melee. Like being back in the Marines again. Charity was kind to him. The old man doctor (Jeff? Jerry? Jin?) had saved his life! And not to mention his conversations with Pele flipping Kresher. He could hardly believe that much. And she'd asked him to be her friend!

...Basically...

Sebastian had never made him feel like a friend.

Maybe that was why Francis hadn't reported back to his boss since they left Persephone. He'd catch hell about that when they got back. Francis leaned up to a seated position, his stitches and damaged abdominal muscles screaming at him as he did so. He wore a bandage wrapped all the way around his torso and held his wound as he found himself suddenly sweaty and out of breath from that small effort. "Ow..." He said.

Francis wasn't worried about being chewed out. He'd been chewed out before. Weirdly,the thing he was most worried about was being benched. He'd complained about the assignment before, but it beat the hell out of beating the hell out of people.

There was a knock at his door. "Hello?" There was no answer. He got up from bed, groaned from the effort and went to the door. He could hear the door next to his, Pele's, open and muffled voices, the words they spoke too low to be overheard. Pele's door closed and Francis wondered what he should do. They were his friends, right? Couldn't hurt to pop in. And plus, maybe he would overhear something and then he could tell Sebastian he had overheard something and Sebastian would think it's a good idea to keep him on board.

Before he knew what he was doing, Francis was in the hallway and knocking on Pele's door. "...uh oh..."

[Pele Kesher]

"Captain Charity,"

Pele nodded in acknowledgment of the title, although whether she'd bother to use it in the future remained to be seen. She did find herself having a modicum of respect for the captain now that she was owning up to her mistake and asserting herself, albeit in a very sweet, polite way that would be far too civilized for the likes of Sebastian. She may have been naive, but she wasn't a complete pushover. That was a start.
 
And, as much as Pele was loath to admit it, she did have a point. Like it or not, they were all in the same boat that was headed up the creek with no paddle; no need to add infighting to the mix.
 
"I have no need for enemies, especially ones so close in proximity. Don't you agree?"
 
"I--" Pele opened her mouth, but before she had the chance to swallow her pride and make amends, there was a knock at the door. She had a sinking feeling who it might be. "Excuse me." She smiled at Charity as she walked past her and opened the door to reveal, who else, Francis Church. Looking a little lost and very shirtless. She could not help but make a mental note of his physique, then quickly brushed it aside.

"Can I help you, Mr Church?" Best keep it as formal as possible. She didn't need Charity catching on to their fraternization. Scheming. Whatever you could call it.

"Should you be out of bed?" Her gaze flickered to his bandages, then returned to his face. Her eyes narrowed, willing him to go away and leave them alone. Had he been eavesdropping?

[Francis Church]

"Oh, you can just call me Francis..." He said softly, then saw that it was Charity who was visiting Pele and he could assume she was the one who had knocked on his door. Now, he wasn't great at reading faces, but Francis could tell immediately that they were happy to see him. "Captain! Hi! Were you the one who knocked on my door? Is this a meeting? I knew I should have put on a shirt." His hands went to cover his exposed skin without him really telling them to.

He looked at Pele and thought for a second. She had asked him at least one question when she opened the door. One of his hands rested on his chin as he thought about it and tried to remember what she had said. She had called him Mr. Church, which he hated. He hated that almost as much as when people called him Frank. Church wasn't even his real name, just the one he'd gotten at the orphanage.

"Can I help you, Mr. Church?" He remembered. He'd gotten distracted by how formal she was, especially after the talk they'd had.

They were staring at him. "I was just checking on the knock." He rapped his knuckles on the door frame to illustrate, which didn't provide the desired resonance. Francis frowned and tried again on the bulkhead. Still no. He reached past Pele and hit her door which, considering the angle and the fact the door was open, it wasn't quite right but it was pretty close.

What was the other thing? She asked something about his health! What a good friend. "And... um. I'm feeling ok. Thanks for asking. Doctor..." What the hell was his name? "The Doctor said I would be fine with rest. And I've been sleeping like non-stop since we left Eavesdown so... feeling preeeetty good."

Awkward silence.

"So what are we talking about?" He froze. Now they were going to think he was spying on them. Play it cool. "I mean, it's not like I was eavesdropping. So I didn't hear what you were saying before I knocked. The walls are too thick. Not that I was trying. But I didn't even know it was you, Captain, until Pele opened the door." Saved it.

[Charity]

"Captain! Hi! Were you the one who knocked on my door? Is this a meeting? I knew I should have put on a shirt," he asked. Her eyes lowered to his stomach, more specifically too the bandages, then returned to his face and she nodded, then shook her head. Yes, she'd knocked and this was a meeting...but it wasn't supposed to be the meeting.

Charity watched Pele and Francis interact, her smile growing slowly. It wasn't that she thought the two of them were anything more than they were, she couldn't see Pele getting physical or romantic with anyone, really, but it was a joy to see the way they bounced off each other. Like two lead balls crashing into one another once before sinking deep into the dirt. Absolutely no chemistry. But, she'd been wrong before.

"So what are we talking about?" he asked, then went on to explain (unnecessarily) that he hadn't been eavesdropping. She hadn't thought that he had. Well, now she a little bit thought he had. But only because he was trying so hard to seem like he wasn't. The Captain shook her head and hurried forward, skirts rustling and heels clicking, her jewel encrusted hands outstretched just barely. Both palms settled on Francis' elbows as she carefully led him into the room the rest of the way, using the width of her skirts to make enough room for them to do so without Pele stopping them. Hopefully. She was banking on the other woman's impeccable manners to keep her from shoving them both back out into the hallway.

"Well, Francis," she began, using his preferred name and maneuvering him toward the bed before gently guiding him down to sit on the edge of it. "We were discussing our next steps, you see. We find ourselves remarkably worried that when we dock, we're going to lose you to Mister Sebastian," she admitted, smiling sadly and standing in front of him, her hands spread to the side in a show of defeat. "And we were trying to think of a way to convince him to have you stay on with us, if that's something you think you might enjoy," she added.

[Jedikiah Rembo]

Jedikiah Rembo did what he did well. He saw to the needs of his charges, or patients. A bit overzealous in following up, his experience with spacers was they all thought they were tougher than a bull elephant callous on a back heal. Keeping them calm to let the healing take place wasn't easy.

He offered the needles, acupuncture rather than the drugs. Another thing about spacers. 'no drugs, I can take the pain'. Ridiculous of course, so he tended to administer local anesthetics and very mild doses without their knowledge. He'd given up what the latest Dali Llama might think of that, but he knew his craft.

And now back to Iscariot. The station that had taken his Dojo. Put him on this ship as a favor to a family of old association. The fighting and endless confrontations had taken their toll on him. Patience is not forever.

There was meeting coming. He'd stay, if he was invited. Of that he was uncertain. He'd been a stickler for the required medical needs, but as was the way; he was all but invisible.

And then there was the matter of a long suppressed ego. Taking a Dojo. That might require a visit. Saving face wasn't so much the matter. But it would be ... enjoyable in the most selfish way. Hardly 'the way'. But he was getting old, ninety now. Soon he'd not be able to indulge such things. but for now. A visit to the Dojo sounded like ...

... fun.

[Cooper Brown]

I bloody love Auto-pilot...

Cooper thought to himself as sparks flew from his welder. He was completing a modification to one of the inertial converters. One of the sparks landed on his shirt and it wasn't until it burned through and started scorching his skin that we brushed the firey debris away. The ship could fly itself until they got close and it would automatically enter into a loose orbit of the station. With plenty of time before the proximity sensor would sound, the Golden Trail expat put the finishing touch on his weld then threw up his welding mask.

It was a jagged and ugly mess of parts meant for other ships and a cotton candy maker, but his monstrosity would probably increase their air-brakes efficiency and general efficacy. He blew on the last bits of glowing hot metal and admired his work. Now that they were getting close to Iscariot it occurred to Cooper that nobody had asked him to make these modifications to this fancy boat and that your more traditionally-minded mechanics might defecate in their pants at the very sight of his alterations, never mind how expensive the parts he just tore apart were.

Mr Brown shrugged and looked around the engine room. Things were looking tip-top. At least from his point of view. The engine room was a horror show of scorch marks and torn apart metal shields put in place to keep meddling mechanics like him from tinkering with them. It wasn't beautiful to most eyes, but when Cooper looked around he saw HIS engine room now. Not the sleek over-pretty and under-optimized prepackaged crap he found here not long ago.

Feeling a sense of accomplishment, the grease anointed mechanic got to wandering the ship with no goal in mind except maybe to get to know the Odette better. It wasn't long before he happened upon Francis in Pele's doorway. The injured gunhand was up and about and making awkward small talk. A good sign.

"Good to see you're upright and lively, mate."

Now standing in the doorway alongside Francis, he gave the acquaintance a clap on the shoulder and saw the Captain was there as well.

"Lā shǐ, did I miss a page for a meeting?"

He came in at the tail end of the conversation so he was also careening into the conversation somewhat blindly and awkwardly. However, Cooper barreled forwards though unaware he was also on theme and contributing to the conversation in his aussie accented and blunt fashion.

"Whattaya think Cap, I reckon I can bugger up a few of the security systems to get us a close and private conversation with Sebastian. I figure I could dangle him out an airlock for about three minutes before his security could get through the blast doors."

It was just his first pitch, he had other ideas, but a lot of them involved airlocks.

[Pele Kesher]

Pele was about to send Francis off with some excuse and wrap up her meeting with the captain when the absolute unthinkable happened. She would have thought a fine lady like Charity would have enough sense not to invite some guy to another fine lady's room, let alone sit him down on her bed. Clearly, she'd been mistaken. The good will Captain Ingenue had managed to garner during their conversation evaporated instantly; she was gravely mistaken in thinking Pele's manners were impeccable enough to stand for this intrusion on her territory. She could play the part of the endlessly polite high society flower when the situation called for this. This was not one of those situations.

Pele's jaw hung open for a moment, flabbergasted at the sheer audacity of it all, then quickly snapped shut as her mask of civility came off and was replaced by the stern demeanor of a woman who would not stand for this gos-se.

"Excuse me!" Pele rushed to the side of the bed; she wasn't exactly blowing up, only raising her voice enough to show she was very serious about her displeasure. "This is my room. Take your hospitality to your own quarters, Miss Charity. Get out. Both of you."

She might have dragged Francis up by his shirt had he been wearing one; as it stood, she had to settle for gesturing him to get up. She turned to point a finger at the mechanic, who had appeared in the doorway at some point. "You too. We're not doing this here." She glanced at his shoes, repulsed at the prospect of them crossing the threshold. God knows where he'd been.

[Francis Church]

"Hey, Coop!" Francis would have made small talk with the wandering wrench wrangler as they waited for everyone else to join in on the crew meeting, but he was ushered too quickly into Pele's chambers and onto her bed. Awkward. Then Charity went in on him being a part of the crew and them wanting him to stay. He smiled. He knew they liked him. "Yeah, of course. I'd love to stay." And then she asked the impossible. There was no influencing Sebastian to do anything he didn't want to do. He was hoping she had a plan.

His crest fell. "But that's not up to me. It's not up to anyone except Sebastian. And you won't convince him otherwise." A small, dim bulb lit up inside of Francis' brain. "Unless..."

Pele had had enough and began trying to usher them out of her room. "Is the meeting done? Everyone isn't here yet, I think..." It was getting difficult to remember who all was still on board. The dim light bulb shone just a little brighter. "Wait..." Francis resisted Pele's pushes slightly, though he most certainly could have overpowered her, he wouldn't want to be rude. Well, ruder than he and the Captain were already being, apparently. Hadn't Pele invited them in?

"Sebastian has to believe we succeeded." The bulb clicked to full luminosity. Francis put on the brakes and turned out of Pele's push, a large smile of revelation on his face. "We did, kind of. He doesn't care that we got shot up or caused a riot or picked up a sheriff... well, he might care about that one a little bit, but we just won't tell him. All Sebastian cares about is money." Francis was proud of how he'd figured this out. He was sure his new friends would be, too."And he has to think it was all because of me!" He said, to silence.

Wait...

[Charity]

Mister Cooper entered the picture and Charity barely hid her grimace. Breaking the rules of polite society for one person in an incredibly specific situation was one thing, but even she could admit that having a full crew meeting in Pele's room was a little much. "...I figure I could dangle him out an airlock for about three minutes before his security could get through the blast doors." the mechanic (and now pilot) suggested. She tilted her head left, then right, then left again, trying to find a reason to say no to this plan... But before she could come up with one, Pele had lost her patience with them.

"This is my room. Take your hospitality to your own quarters, Miss Charity. Get out. Both of you."

Charity frowned deeply as she was ushered out of the room. Did Pele not understand what was happening here? Sometimes, a little decorum had to be sacrificed to get what one wanted. On occasion, one would even have to feel uncomfortable to achieve success. Miss Pele would have to get used to that in the same way that Charity had. Although, she'd learned all about that long before she took off from home and headed out into the black.

"Wait..." Francis began and Charity shot Pele a look, something mixed with her own brand of 'I told you so' and 'trust me, for god's sake!' When Francis turned, she sashayed out of the way, nearly colliding with Cooper who had also been jettisoned out into the hall on the tail end of Pele's indignity.

"Sebastian has to believe we succeeded... All Sebastian cares about is money. And he has to think it was all because of me!" he declared.

Charity clapped her hands in front of her chest and smiled winningly at the fence's right hand man. "You're a genius, Francis," she praised, reaching out to take both of his hands in hers, "We'll all go together, you, King, and I, to meet with Mister Sebastian, and we'll lay out how instrumental you were to this mission, and how your continued presence on the ship would do nothing short of wonders for our success rate," she added, releasing his hands and smiling at those gathered.

"Let's have this discussion in the proper venue, shall we?" she asked, glancing at Pele again with a raised brow before promptly turning on her heel to head up the ship toward the main lounge where she hoped King was waiting for her. She needed some backup and Pele didn't seem to want to function in that role just yet.

[Akhsar King]

King sighed and checked his watch again, an unnecessary action as it didn't change the fact that he was still the only person in the lounge. It was actually kind of impressive that every other member of the crew was late for the meeting. If I'm on time, but everyone else is late, are they really late? Or am I just early? he thought to himself, somewhat philosophically. He chuckled softly.

The meeting being late didn't really matter, they were still a ways out from Iscariot. Plus it gave King more time to enjoy his cup of freshly made coffee, and to relax on the lounges large couch with his feet up. His injured foot was healing nicely, faster than expected even, a modern and fully stocked medbay really was a blessing.

He shifted and took another sip of coffee as his thoughts drifted forward to the day ahead of them. A meeting to determine what they would do once they arrived at the station, who would be staying and who would be leaving, and then actually enacting whatever plan they cooked up. It was going to be a day, there was no denying it. He was, not for the first time, annoyed at Iscariot's "No guns allowed" policy. It was a great policy, perfect for helping to keep the peace, but in this case it would be depriving him of the comforting weight of a firearm on his hip... something he would sorely miss at their negotiation with Sebastian.

From somewhere aft King could hear a door open, and voices. He took a moment to adjust the medical boot he was still wearing, and then stood and walked over to the dining table. A pot of coffee and several mugs occupied the center of the table, ready for anyone to help themselves. He took a seat in the chair to the right of the head of the table, and waited for the rest of the crew to enter.

[Jedikiah Rembo]

Jed entered the lounge, fresh from the shower and in slacks and a button down shirt, soft deck shoes, all in an very off white. His recent exercise had been productive, the long extended escapade had stirred the adventurous spirit. The crew was inexperience in their journey, especially with each other. And then the stirring of voices from Ms. Kesher's cabin did not bode well.

"Mister King." He offered in greeting and poured a coffee. As he moved to stand behind him and looked up, a look at the boot on his foot. "I think we can get that boot off before we dock if you can refrain from any long distance walkabouts."

It probably wasn't the best course but he had a feeling the boot would be coming off anyway. Mr. King didn't seem the sort to walk the halls of Iscariot with a medical hindrance.
"I suggest a cane though, take the full weight off it when you can."

A couple steps toward the couch. "Might be useful given the station's restrictions. I can write you a note." He said with a chuckle.

[Cooper Brown]

Cooper left the irate sophisticate's room as requested. He put his hands up as if in surrender and backed out of the doorway. She looked at him like he might infect her with his engine grease and grimy boots. Mr. Brown couldn't entirely fault her though he got the impression the list of people she looked down upon was lengthy. The mechanic meandered to the lounge as the others schemed. His pitch for throwing the tiny tyrant out an airlock seemed to have been ruled out. The nomad could see the others were onto another conspiracy.

Just as well. Cooper joined the crew to fix the boat, not plan, plot, or even possibly scheme. He gave King a soldierly nod as he arrived.

"King."

Then the resident kung-fu acupuncturist.

"Doc."

Sitting down he rested a beat before confiding to the fellow veteran.

"We can't airlock the diminutive prick. I already asked."

He then started scanning the room for more coffee or a carafe. The disgraced Golden Trail exile thought to himself that he should probably get to know more of the ship than the engine room or the auto-pilot systems.

[Francis Church]

A genius! He knew it. Nobody had ever called Francis a genius before. Or really anything flattering. It was nice. Unused to such heaps of praise, Francis couldn't tell flattery from actual compliments, and therefore bought Charity's line wholesale. There was a warm feeling in his chest and he liked it. "I like this plan. It's a good plan." It was his plan, afterall. It was, wasn't it? Francis decided he didn't care either way. They liked him. They really liked him.

"Yeah. Let's go to the lounge." He said as everyone was already going to the lounge. He followed them the whole way, telling himself they were following him. Yes. That's what was happening. They were following his lead from behind. Francis was getting confused, but it didn't matter. He had friends.

Once in the lounge, Francis was glad to see King and Cooper and... Jesk? There was no way it was Jesk, but Francis really couldn't remember the old man's name. He looked like such a nice man. Francis resolved to learn his name as soon as possible. "Thank you all for coming." He said as everyone gathered. "As your leader..." He gave Charity an exaggerated wink. "I feel it is my duty to tell you that we're going to arrive back to Iscariot soon. We'll meet with Sebastian then. And, um... this was my idea... and..." He wasn't used to talking for so long. Were they even listening? Francis looked at Charity and his lips peeled apart, revealing his teeth in a... smile?

"Captain?" He coughed.

[Jedikiah Rembo]

The man had an ego that might need stroking. Jed smiled at Francis. Not the first nor last person to be neck deep in muck down a wrong tunnel. It wasn't just gangster or wannabe criminal masterminds that often found themselves well along a career they didn't have a handle on. But then the entire crew seemed sort of upside down. The Captain was working her way through a new saddle on the carousel but she seemed aware of it.

Jedikiah did not think so of Mr. Francis. Maybe there was a good man in there but for now it seemed to be clown in a suit of armor, 'well provisioned but not for the current battlefield,' And yet the man had worked his way up some rungs of the 'Mr. Sebastian' organizational ladder. So, the man had something. He suspected it was a fortitude of perseverance. Not a poor quality at all.

The others seemed experienced and hardened. It was they that had carried the day. Fighters and journeymen of the black. That counted for a lot too. Someday God willing, Charity and Francis will have made their long way. Hopefully without losing the finer qualities many lost on that road.

 . . .

And now there was some sort of plan. Jed's wistful idea of a visit to his old Dojo hadn't quite faded, and if there was to be a re-up of this crew it did seem to be . ; well perhaps not a good idea. But an adventurous one.