Age:	17 and a half.
Gender:	Female
Primary Occupation:	Salvage and Reclamation 'Apprentice'.
Appearance:	Still a bit short, waiting on that promised growth spurt, Rhiannon stands at an average 5'4" with a wild mass of red curls that she's learned to beat down into submission over time. Freckles run wild over her cheeks and nose, both from her genetics and her time working with her parents under the sun. She's got an athletic build, from honest labor, and bright blue eyes like her father's.
Faceclaim:	Emily Browning
Initial Personality:	Like her father, Rhiannon can come across as brash and quick tempered, and has no problem saying what she means when she means it. She's a go-getter, with fire under her belt and a can do attitude no matter the situation. There's a wildness to her that seems like it's held at bay with twine and tape.
Underlying Personality:	Beneath all that, Rhiannon Pool is actually pretty calculating and deliberate. She learned patience and steadfastness through her mother and can (when necessary) be the diplomat between her father and a third party. She might not be a tomboy but she does struggle with being overtly 'girly' or 'feminine', although she is never against trying.
Known History:	Born: 2502. Beylix. Parents: Reinhardt Pool and Charlotte Maurier Siblings: Twin brother Roquefort Pool Academic records: K-12 Schooling completed from Higgins Academy, a publicly funded school. Occupational Record: 2518-19 Apprenticeship at C&R Salvage and Reclamation Military Record: None Criminal Record: 2517. Rhiannon and Roquefort Pool held for parental pickup post detainment for Vandalism. No charges filed.
Other History:	Rhiannon and Roquefort were born two minutes apart, during an emergency landing on Beylix. That hadn't been the intended location for the birth of Pool and Chuck's children, but they'd been eager to see the 'Verse and nothing could stop them. What followed was a simple and honest life, or at least as simple and honest as they'd ever known. They were raised by their no-nonsense parents, in a home that was akin to a forest of ship parts for them to play in. While Rocky took after their mother in his temperament and interests, Rhiannon was very clearly a daddy's girl. She followed her father around like a duckling, picking up his nuances and personality traits and finding a joy in his craft. Her best memories are of getting into less than legal/safe hi-jinks with her brother and father, despite their mother giving him what for one they'd returned. No matter how many times she scolded them, Rhiannon was already ready for another adventure with her dad. Some things were worth the trouble. Despite it not being entirely 'allowed' for her to work at such a young age, Rhiannon helped her parents out at their Salvage and Reclamation yard as much as she was allowed. She wasn't necessarily a tomboy, but she was no fancy lady either and enjoyed nothing more than being elbows deep in a salvaged part or dewy with the sweat of probably honest labor. She learned a lot from her father (other than their family business), despite her mother's protestations on the matter. He was pretty clear on not wanting her to turn out like he had, but that didn't seem like such a bad thing to her. He could take care of himself, and his family, and no one messed with him without being immediately punished for doing so. He wad respected in their community (in her eyes). After getting into several tussels on her own (and losing quite a few of them), her father finally gave in and taught her how to fight, not because he wanted her doing it, but because he didn't want her doing it poorly and suffering the consequences. It was with this same kind of mentality that he then taught her how to use a gun, clean it, and take it apart. Better to do it under his watchful eye than to do it wrong on her own and get herself hurt. She quite agreed with that logic, no matter how often her mother yelled at them for it.
Skills and Strengths:	Light/Self-guided engineering Shuttle piloting (short distance, small vessel) Terrain vehicles(short distance, small vessel) Reclamation machinery (short distance, small vessel) Charisma, to combat and/or aid with her father's typical crassness. Creative and quick thinking. Can handle herself in a scrap. Is able to use, clean, and disassemble most rudimentary guns. Can curse with the best of them.
Weaknesses:	She did inherit a bit of her father's temper and her mother's stern demeanor. Has a penchant for getting into trouble.

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Age:	35
Gender:	Female
Primary Occupation:	Infiltration Specialist - Alliance Federal Marshal Service
Secondary Occupation (optional):	Infiltration Specialist - Alliance Navy (Reserve)
Appearance:	TYPE HERE
Faceclaim:	Elodie Yung
Initial Personality:	TYPE HERE
Underlying Personality:	TYPE HERE
Known History:	TYPE HERE
Other History:	TYPE HERE
Skills and Strengths:	TYPE HERE
Weaknesses:	TYPE HERE

The Away Team:

"Alright. Thanks for your help, Mr. Jeb. Much obliged. We'll be heading back now," the Captain said. Jeb nodded his head once and looked back toward their Mule. He didn't have much in the way of medical training, or he would have helped, but going back to Primary really was the best option if one of his crew was in a bad way. "Be safe! Keep your eye on the road!" he called after Barnaby, then turned back to the snowslide to deal with that.

"I... uh... would appreciate you administering to Mr. Potter as best you're able. We'll get him back to Darling and hopefully Tabby can, I dunno, give him a tonic or some such."

"Cap, you do remember I was just a field medic right? Tabby would be better for this, were she here. I may be wrong and I very much hope I am... Sir, I think maybe his organs are shutting down. Could be just one. Could be multiple. Point is, he's definitely half way to Heaven if we don't do something soon."

"We're heading back."

Mister Potter groaned a little, and moved just enough to try to reach out to grab the briefcase now nestled sweetly between Arlo's feet, but could not manage the strength to do so. His eyes closed again and he seemed to become unconscious once more, breathing labored, and now filling the enclosed mule with the slow creeping smell of amonia. They had an hour's drive ahead of them, to get back to their own doctor and maybe any medical aid at the docks themselves. But as they drove, it seemed like the blizzard was chasing them. Where it had been calmly snowing on their first visit, the same places were now howling with wind as snow battered up against the side of the Mule. The vehicle pumped as much warm air as it could into the compartment, struggling to keep up with the onslaught outside. Visibility lessened, but the way was still familiar enough to follow back they way they'd come.

The Home Team:

"Woah now!" came one man's voice as the door finished opening. He stood before Rian and the drawn gun with his hands now held up, palms facing the Darling. The bowler cap on his head was now a dish for snow and his black winter coat looked a little too expensive for this kind of dock. Beneath the mask he had on over his nose and mouth, puffs of air still managed to escape the less than ideal neoprene material. His partner, whose hand was still poised as though to knock, had his face exposed to the elements. A thick bush mustache crawled atop his upper lip, sunken eyes staring in seemingly good-natured surprise at the gun pointed in their direction. "Oh!" he managed, unfurling his knocking fist and holding both of his own hands up as well.

"We don't want no trouble, jus' came to collect. Heard about the blizzard comin' to Primary Claim while we were gettin' ready to rendevous with your ship so we re-routed. Been watchin' you since we landed, but ya'll never came out to meet us. Didn't Mister Potter give you our contact information? Is he in here? We'll really be needin' to see him pretty soon," he explained, turning his wrist a little to look at the cortex watch on his wrist. "Yea, soon."

His partner cleared his throat, "There's a bit of a time push, I'm afraid," he added in an aristocratic Londinium accent. "We've come to the end of our time line, here. Would Mister Potter be able to come join us, presently?" he asked, arched brows raised.

The Away-Team:

"Well- I'm open to suggestions Mr. Jeb," Barnaby called over the wind. Their new companion turned his head to stare in the other man's direction, eyes peeking out from behind the furs and fabrics over his face, gaze narrowed from the brightness of the snow and the onslaught of the frosted gale. A hand lifted, index finger hooking over the face covering and pulling it down just enough to expose his nose and mouth. "Not sure what to do here! Could try digging it up, but we're like to get frostbit 'fore makin' any progress! Could double back," he shouted back at Barnaby as Viktor approached the pair of them.

"Sir, we should turn back. I'm sure Jeb here has a solid plan on continuing on, but this can't have been in the pay considerations. Not to mention Mr. Potter doesn't look too much willing to survive us digging out this snowfall. We should turn back. Either go back to The Darling and wait it out or the long way around the mountains."

The pile of furs nodded back at the preacher, lips pursed and upper lip now glistening with the unbidden running of his frozen nose. "If you got injured, this ain't the way," he agreed, nodding vigorously so they would be able to see the gesture under all the coverings. "Mountain pass ain't bad, gonna take you some time though. Might be best to head back to Secondary, if that's where you came from. But from the looks of it, blizzard is headed there with an awful hurry," he shouted, pulling the face fabric back up over his nose and shivering a little in place.

Back in the Mule, Potter breathed slow and heavy, his body like bricks in Arlo's lap. He didn't seem like he'd be moving any time soon and both of his hands remained limp and useless, the briefcase resting against Arlo's feet. He inhaled, then coughed violently, a little bile dripping from his mouth onto poor Alo's fancy pants. He was warm, the utter fire of his body finally radiating through his own clothing to begin heating up the man serving as his bed. Had he always been this warm? Or was it a fever? Or was Arlo imagining it all as he panicked.

The Home-Team:

"Riggs, your pee-gu better be on the latrine right now. Double back to the cargo bay after you wash your hands eh? Better yet just holler back at me over the intercom. There's one on the wall in most rooms."

Rian's voice echoed through the ship and Tabby cupped her hands around the backs of her ears to listen for a response. And yet, none came. Where could he have gone? The doors were all still locked up tight and while the Darling was large, she wasn't infinite. The amount of hiding places weren't very large, unless you knew where to look.

"You leave my sight, I'm kick'in your butt," Rian threatened half-seriously. The doctor saluted and grinned brightly up at him, having no intention of running off and adding to his stress. When this was all over they'd make their s'mores, have some nice chamomile tea, and wait for their crew to return all happy and safely bundled up.

"Maybe he's sleeping?" Tabby guessed, making her way to the old mechanic's hidey-hole and crouching down by the hatch, trying to remember how to open it. There was another clatter back upstairs and out of the cargo bay as something slipped off who knows what and landed with an echoing thud on the metal grated flooring.

Previously on The Darling...

The Away-Team

As the snowy dust settled, Jeb could be seen getting out of his vehicle, covered head to toe in furs and bracing himself against the wind to inspect the damage to the path ahead of them. In the back seat of the Darling's mule, Potter groaned softly and went limp, body sliding off Arlo's shoulder to rest horrifyingly across his lap. His breathing was quick, labored, and carried a wheeze. His skin was jaundiced, his body temperature high, and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. The briefcase tumbled off his lap onto his feet, no longer attended or guarded.

The Home-Team

Another message notification beeped from Rian's cortex device: "Ther still here sir. Fuled up an repared but they aint leevin. 1'a them haz fancy hat, keeps smokin an lookin yer way from open cargo ramp. I think they lookin 4 ya."

The Away-Team

A hand rose to slap at Arlo's weakly, and when he brought his attention back to the passenger's face, Potter was staring at him with darkness in his eyes. Light didn't seem to reflect in those glassy pools, and for a moment, it seemed that all that radiated from the orbs in his face was malice and threat. And then, he slouched down in his seat all the more and purposefully rested his head on the fancy man's shoulder.


The Away-Team

The group (save Mattie, who staunchly refused to be a part of the road-trip game) managed to get all the way to 'U', when things started to turn in a direction just about everyone was dreading. There was a soft rumble in the earth, the kind that you couldn't hear, but could feel in the depths of your bones. Larger pieces of snow and chunks of ice idly fluttered down to land with a splat and a crunch on top of the Mule's temporary roof before being blasted off again by the wind. By now, visibility was minimal, but the vehicle ahead of them moved slowly and with their lights on to allow Barnaby to be able to keep up without driving off the edge of a cliff. The red lights of their brakes flared to life and the car stopped, just as the world's rumblings heightened and a cone of snow, debris, and earth slid down the side of the cliff just ahead of Jeb's group, a plume of snowy fluff momentarily obscuring the entirety of their view of one another.

As the snowy dust settled, Jeb could be seen getting out of his vehicle, covered head to toe in furs and bracing himself against the wind to inspect the damage to the path ahead of them. In the back seat of the Darling's mule, Potter groaned softly and went limp, body sliding off Arlo's shoulder to rest horrifyingly across his lap. His breathing was quick, labored, and carried a wheeze. His skin was jaundiced, his body temperature high, and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. The briefcase tumbled off his lap onto his feet, no longer attended or guarded.

The Home-Team

By the time the pair had gotten to the cargo bay, their new mechanic had seemingly vanished. Had he simply taken a moment to go to the bathroom? Was he working on finding out more information about the irregularities he'd found on the ship's systems? Had he been kidnapped by whoever the dock worker had seen watching the Darling? Had space monkeys devoured him in the ship's ventilation system?

The Darling napped warily in the snow, the hull itself freezing to the touch and a the hum of the idle systems becoming marginally louder as the heating units worked to warm up the interior. Compared to the frigid vacuum of space, this was nothing for Her, and perhaps the hum of Her engines could provide some semblance of comfort.

Another message notification beeped from Rian's cortex device: "Ther still here sir. Fuled up an repared but they aint leevin. 1'a them haz fancy hat, keeps smokin an lookin yer way from open cargo ramp. I think they lookin 4 ya."

The Away-Team

"Maybe we oughta just head back to the ship and sit the storm out, go back to Plan A. Whatever this guy's paying us can't be worth freezin' to death over."

Potter cleared his throat and lifted his chin from his chest for a moment, eyeing those up from and the preacher beside him with a skeptical and suspicious frown. His arms wrapped fully around his briefcase and he buried his face against it long enough to cough something fierce. There was a moment of silence before he seemed to start breathing again.  His mouth opened to offer up protest- Then it seemed he didn't need to.

"Jebidiah, is that you under all those layers? You're talking about the old miner's trail up the way here, right? That'll surely be a mess in this kind of weather."

Inside the other Vehicle, the man leaned out a little further, bushy brows furrowed as he tried to get a better look at the man speaking to him. When he did, his eyes widened and he laughed boisterously, the sound rising above the wind before being yanked away with the snow. "That you, Preacher?" he called out, moving back into his vehicle and speaking to the others while pointing to the Darling's mule. They craned their bodies in the direction of the open window, pulling their furs on tighter to keep out the cold that was rushing in.

"Jeb! Y'all keep a deliberate and measured pace for us and we should be good."

The man gave them a thumbs up and quickly rolled their window back up, the lot of them taking a moment to settle and shiver before the heating element in their own mule began to refill their compartment with warmth. One Jeb was sure that his fingers weren't frostbitten, the mule began to move. First, a little bit back in the direction they'd come, and then right. They looked like they'd gone off the path and were headed for danger, but soon enough sign posts and proof of other groups making the journey this way became more evident. Maybe this was all above board after all.

In the back seat, Potter finally rested his head quite heavily against Arlo's shoulder, his eyes closed and his grip only slightly loosening on the red briefcase on his lap.

The Away-Team:

"Oh, that's really quite good! Did you write it yourself?" Arlo asked, ever the polite gentleman. Their guest slowly turned his head to focus the entire brunt of his attention onto the lad, his neck craning seemingly unnaturally as he did so. Had it even creaked a little, or had that been the wind? He slumped forward, his hand clutching at the upper right bit of his torso, teeth clenched and lips pulled back in a snarl. Just as quickly as it had come, the fit left him and he let out a slow breath, positively glistening with sweat now.

"Do we ever write anything ourselves?" he asked, voice a whisper, eyes locked on Arlo now. "Are we anything ourselves? We stretch out our arms into the infinite space and anguish as hands find no purchase." he continued, reaching a hand toward the gentleman and stopping when it was an inch from his poor polite face, "I think I will vomit." He didn't. His hand lowered to his lap again and Potter shifted to stare forward, holding his briefcase hard against his stomach.

The other vehicle puttered to a halt beside the Darling's vessel, their own window rolling down slowly before a heavily bearded face wrapped in furs leaned out enough to hear their neighbor. Some heated air escaped the opening and rose in a puff of vapor into the air before the wind whipped it away. "Hi! Some wind, huh? What can I do you for?" Barnaby yelled over the blizzard, as it seemed to pick up some strength. From where they sat, they could see a group of working folk. Probably. Although they'd removed some of their outer layers of fur and warmth to get more comfortable in the warmth of their vastly more snow ready vehicle, they were still big men whose faces were mostly obscured by either untamed hair or impressive facial landscaping.

"Got a bridge out ahead! They sent us back!" the bushy gentleman shouted back, hooking his thumb back the way they came. "There's a detour this way, I can lead you over if you're trying to go to Primary! It's tricky to find in this snow, but we've used it more than once, so it'll be no bother for us!" the man continued, squinting at Barnaby to keep the glare of the snow and the worsening barrage of sleet out of his eyes. The other fellows in the vehicle were starting to don their outside clothing, the chill from the open window overpowering their heating mechanisms.

The Home-Team:

The blizzard seemed to slowly begin creeping closer and closer to Secondary Claim's docks, the sound of wind increasing as it battered against the outer hull of The Darling. It drowned out soft sounds inside the ship, creating a constant and yet all together organic and unpredictable pattern of sound that either lulled the listener into a false sense of security or increaseed their feeling of being trapped. Snow began to accumulate on the view ports, namely the larger one on the bridge, giving the light inside a soft grey hue.

A metallic clunk echoed through the halls of the ship, possibly emanating from the med-bay where Tabby might have dropped something, perhaps stemming from the cargo bay wherein their new mechanic could have bumped into something, or maybe coming from some unknown cause with some kind of malicious intent. The way it echoed and bounced on the metal shell of their home made it almost impossible to discern its original origin, but it did beg the question: could they know for sure if the sound had come from inside the ship, or outside?

One Hour Later...


The Away-Team:

Over the passing hour, Mister Potter's complexion continued to yellow. A sweat had broken out across his forehead and the top of his lip and the one hand not clutching the briefcase against his chest was nestled between them and grasping at his abdomen. Every so often he'd slump left or right as though his head were just about to come to a rest upon Viktor or Arlo's shoulder, before he'd jerk upright again and continue to stare forward into the sleet and flurry before them. Slowly, he turned toward Arlo, offering him the same steely, mesmerizing, unyielding gaze he'd shared with the Captain earlier.

"We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far," he informed him, his tone slow and careful, as though making sure each word was formed with the perfection and weight that the sentence deserved. Then, he turned to look in Viktor's direction, finally responding to his question about chickens, although a good deal of empty air had filled the space between then and now. "We shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."

As they rode, it wasn't uncommon to see another vehicle or two passing them in the snow. Locals here were used to this sort of weather and while traveling during a blizzard wasn't advised, there were those who knew how to do it with relative safety and comfort. Of course, those few had had far more time to prepare for the voyage than the Darling's crew. As they began to approach another set of lights, the two beams began flashing off and on again. A signal? An attempt to get their attention? A play of the light as it made its way through the crystalline veil between them?

The Home-Team:

Things had been relatively quiet for the hour that had passed. Tabitha had shown Riggs his new work area in the engine room and had walked him through the rest of the tour before letting him escape her gravitational pull. The fuel-up and minor repairs were concluded by the docking team, and Rian had earned himself a set of eyes outside of the ship. The ship continued to run in low power mode, staying active enough to keep the ship warm against the chill outside, but not running hot enough to deplete the fuel they'd just filled up with.

Every now and again the ship would rock ever so slightly as a stray blast of arctic wind pushed up against its side, but the majority of the wind on the edge of the blizzard was still nothing strong enough to move a ship as big and heavy as The Darling. The sound of the storm, however, gently reverberated through the hull of their metal home, and under the right circumstances, it might have been quite soothing. What wasn't soothing, was the fact that their connection to the Away Team's comms unit seemed to become weaker as the mule rode further away from them and closer to the blizzard.

With a gentle blip, Rian's cortex pad received a message from an unknown address.

"Hey, this is that dock wurker you taked to b4? Dont know if you rember me. Nother ship landed jus now, dwn the way but theyve jus kinda been siting there. Didnt seam wierd ekcept they askd about your ship. But that's all. Thot you should kno?"

The Away-Team:

Hank Potter lifted a single hand to brush beads of sweat off of his forehead, skin pale all over and clammy to boot. Heat radiated off his form despite the cold conditions as the Mule whipped through the snow. His hand returned to the red briefcase, grasping its handle tightly as he held the thing against his chest.

"Have you, ah, been to this planet before?" Arlo asked, being a good sport about it all.

"No," was the answer. Then, after a moment of silence, with Potter's eyes focused forward and his expression blank, "By the way, it is very easy to hypnotize a chicken," he added, his heavily accented voice barely audible above the flurry of wind and sleet passing them, but just loud enough to be heard by those in the Mule with him.

The snow and cold started out pretty typical, and remained comfortable for the first few moments of their trip. Perhaps the reports of a blizzard had been overblown? Perhaps this trip would only take a day there and a day back and they'd be free of their passenger? The passenger whose skin was becoming a sickly yellow with each passing minute, although perhaps it was still too subtle to notice.

The Home-Team:

Having been given the green-light to go through with "the works", the dock's maintenance crew set to refilling the liquids needed to operate a ship smoothly, got to work on inspecting the essential systems visible to them in the cargo bay, and made sure to sweep up after themselves, although the wind blew the snow and dirt right back in once they were done with that. A younger dock worker, late teens and bundled up in coats to stay warm, made his way up to where Rian stood. At first, he said nothing, almost unsure if he should break the man's concentration. His head turned to see what the other man might have been looking at, but upon turning back around, came to the realization that he was the one being watched. As well as his coworkers. And just about everything in the gentleman's range of vision. Suddenly feeling like a mouse in the gaze of a hawk, he held out some forms with timid hands.

"Er, Sir. We got tha' coolant an' fuel runnin', everythin's lookin' fine on our end. Eh, we jus' need you ta sign this, sayin' we ain't done no damage to yer ship. Just fer...eh...liability an' all that?" he asked, smiling hopefully, although the expression was filled with nerves and only ended up making him look ill.

Location: Docks - Sloane

Paul halted as she did, looking down at the screen at her wrist with a curious tilt of his head. One hand rose to idly scratch at where his beard met his skin, little flakes of 'coal' dust fluttering free as they were agitated. He nodded slowly as she spoke, mentally verifying information and marking where it synced up with what he knew. "Yea, that sounds about right," he murmured, falling into step with her when she began moving again, "Let's see what Iscariot's watchful eye got a look at."

Location: Sector 3: Control Center - Sloane

After a few minutes of walking, and moving between Sectors of the station, they made it to the Control Center settled into the working zones of Sector 2. Sector 3 had a Security Center, but that was sure to be controlled by Lil' Sebastian and his men. Sure, this center was probably being surveilled by the little crime lord as well, but it was a little further removed from the fence's physical location of operation and might give them more time to react should they be found out. A dim green light shone out from the cracks along the door and Paul moved to stand one one side, leaving Sloane on the other. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, then shot his companion a toothy grin.

"Who is it?"

"Paul."

"Paul, who?"

"Damnit Felix, you know which Paul!"

There was a light chuckle from behind the door, muffled by the metal between them, then the door slid open to a friendly looking gentleman in a pressed work suit with Iscariot's logo on a patch above his heart.

"Oh, that Paul," he said amid restrained chortles. He looked in Sloane's direction and pointed at her, "And this? You guys bring me something to eat? Any snacks? Some alcohol?" he asked, raising a brow. Paul reached into his dingy coat pocket and wrestled free a baggie of what might have looked like chocolate pearls, dropping them into Felix's hand. The man grimaced at the offering, but stepped aside to let them in. "What can I do you for?" Felix asked.

Location: Docks - Sloane

"No one's gonna believe your street urchin appearance with those damn fancy shoes, Alliance man," the Breene woman informed him, which brought another grin out from beneath his facial hair, a dirty hand moving to brush against the bridge of his nose almost bashfully. "Maybe they'll think I stole them," he countered, wagging his brows at her playfully before shoving those hands back into the tattered pockets of his coat. As they walked, he started leading her away from the docks and deeper into the station, toward the more functional warehouse and infrastructure sectors.

"Any movement?" she asked. Paul grunted a little, shrugging one shoulder and allowing the smirk to melt off his face. "Some. How much did you look into Iscariot?" he asked, turning his chin enough to eye the side of her face. "Place is run by some shell corporation, hidden pretty good behind layers of paperwork and aliases, but the daily minutia and the back end nastiness is controlled by 'Lil Sebastian.' Nothing on this station happens without his say so, especially the kind of thing you're investigating. Gonna take us to the security hub and look at some footage, trace those kids to where their generous benefactor stays, and then maybe we go pay him a visit? Hope you have some bribery cash on you. Or a wrench," he continued, grinning again. All the guns newcomers came with were confiscated upon docking and held in secure lockers until they left again, for the safety of the station residents of course. "You learn anything more about the girl from her Mama on the way here?"

Location: Shops/Sector - Octavia and Moira

As it turned out, Prime Cuts was most assuredly just a salon. Well, at least that was what it looked like from the outside. And from most of the inside! The sign above had a conspicuous gap where there had likely been a word preceding Prime Cuts, and inside there was a gentleman getting his hair trimmed by what looked like a wholesome young man. It looked above board in just about every way, so it was understandable why someone might have been confused about why they'd been sent here after asking for medical attention. Occasionally, however, a gentleman or lady of apparently ill repute would saunter past, look inside, and vanish into the crowd once more only for the pattern to repeat again an hour or so later. And there did seem to be a lot more foot traffic around this portion of the shops than what might have been normal for a salon or barber shop.

The Darling vibrated and groaned in mild protest as it set its full weight down onto the empty landing pad at Secondary Claim, the sound of the metal landing clamp securing the ship into spot echoing through the metallic hull in welcome. As the ship powered down most of its functions, the temperature dropped significantly before the Darling had a chance to let its heating system kick in and bring it back up to a comfortable temperature. That left ten or so minutes of their ship being mildly uncomfortable before the thrum of the heating turning on finally began to pump the vessel full of warmth again. Outside, dock workers bundled up for the typical cold of the planet worked to brush some mildly accumulated snow off the dock controls and while they registered the ship in their systems and went through the checks and balances required, which did include a small docking fee being sent to their Captain's data pad.

The Mule had been prepped as much as it could have been, supplied strapped in tight and its wheels removed from the main chassis, its hover functionality more or less re-calibrated for a snowy terrain. Mona had helped them prepare, had worked with Viktor on a small walk-through of typical snow storm conditions, and then had left to pack the rest of her belongings. When it was time to depart, some of the crew had already gathered in the cargo hold, including Chris who looked apologetic as he stood with the tall blonde viking and let his new Captain know he'd be getting off here as well. Tabby just about imploded from the loss of not one, but two crew members, but she contained it rather well while making sure the Mule had enough tampons on it to service an entire fleet of women folk, still not entirely understanding the need but wanting to be helpful anyway.

Outside the freshly docked ship, a bundled man in furs and clearly prepared for the weather stood ready and waiting. The berthing station of the Darling had been updated in Rigg's data pad just moments before they had entered the planet's atmosphere, giving him just enough time to meet them there when they arrived.

The docking bay doors opened and the ramp lowered to allow them to disembark, the dock workers shuffling up toward the waiting crew and heading in to begin the standard refueling process, as well as attempting to add on minor ship repairs and/or other liquid or supply replacements in order to pad the docking fee. "Jus' need yer sig here fer the dockin' agreement, basically sayin' you ain't here ta cause trouble, an' that you agree ta' pay the standard dockin' fee. You can check them boxes there if'n ya want any of tha extra go se, coolant, oil, what have ya. Or you can jus' sign and we'll get outta yer hair," the dock foreman mumbled to the Captain from behind a fuzzy scarf, only his eyes and the tip of his nose visible beneath his winter gear, a pad held out for Barnaby to look over.

Mister Potter stood like a gargoyle about a foot behind Barnaby, his red briefcase held tightly against his chest and a stern look on his face. He was pale, paler than usual, and was now sweating obviously through the neck of his sweater, which poked out from beneath his winter coat. A shaking, skeletal hand rose to smooth out what remained of his hair, his fingers visibly shaking before it returned to grasping the red briefcase's handle for dear life.

Location: Docks - Sloane

"You look terrible," came a voice from her left, which had been preceded by the light tapping of immaculately polished and maintained Oxford shoes. A pair of scruffy black work pants covered the long legs that led up to a soot and coal covered tattered blazer. The man's face was mostly obscured by a grizzled beard and his head concealed with a worn out newsie cap, but his eyes were quite familiar to the woman forcing herself not to hurl. Paul Davisdon grinned down at her with a twinkle in his eyes, apparently playing the part of a down and out worker, although his shoes gave it away to any observant onlooker. He'd cover himself in grime and wear clothes from the bin, but he'd be damned if he's sport anything other than his signature Oxfords.

Paul was an old contact that had worked with Sly on a couple of cases back on Ariel. He'd once been on the official Alliance Police payroll before deciding private investigation was where the money (and excitement) really was. He'd been sleuthing around on Iscariot for a month now, running his own job looking for a wife who'd absconded with all of her husband's fortune, but had been trilled to receive a ping from his favorite gumshoe. When she'd told him about her current job, it had been him who'd rustled up the dock footage on Iscariot's end, following the tip Sly had given him about the tickets and their rough arrival time.

"You need a quick coffee, or are you ready to get into things?" he asked, laughter bubbling in the back of his throat as he tried to contain it. She really did look awful, but he figured laughing at her about it wouldn't have been polite, in the strictest sense of the word.

Age:	30
Gender:	Female
Primary Occupation:	Alliance Certified Doctor
Secondary Occupation (optional):	Freelance Veterinarian (Not Certified)
Appearance:	TYPE HERE
Faceclaim:	Aubrey Plaza
Initial Personality:	Were there ever to be the perfect human personification of a cat, it would be Abigale. Aloof, cold, cynical, dark, and more than a little terrifying in her ideals and thoughts. She is anti-social to a fault, unless it benefits her in which case she has been known to begrudgingly allow some forms of social interaction. Abigail is also wildly mischievous, dangerously troublesome, and amazingly accident prone. Although typically the accidents happen to those in her sphere of influence rather than to her directly. She does not seem to be easily phased by violence or the bloody outcomes of violence.
Underlying Personality:	Mildly neurotic and extremely particular, Abigale has a perfectionist streak that is vastly harmful to her own self esteem. Despite being hyped up by her family regularly and excelling in everything she does professionally and personally, she suffers from intense impostor syndrome and anxiety. Being an older sister, she does have the capacity to be caring and kind, and although she doesn't typically express it, she is a strong guardian of the underdog. She expresses her affection for those she cares about via little secret gifts, hidden words of encouragement, and occasionally by sabotaging any of her loved ones enemies or bullies.
Known History:	Search Queary: Abigail Layton...| ... ... ... Date of Birth: 2489 Place of Birth: Saint Lucy's Hospital, Ariel City, Ariel. Father: Obediah Layton Mother: Winnifred Layton (Maiden Name: Bonney) Siblings: Ambrose Layton (35), Clementine Layton (32), Ethan Layton (26), Michah Layton (20). ... Would you like to make another search? Y/N: Y ... Search Queary: Abigail Layton, Education...| ... ... ... Official Education Transcript: Completed 4 years of medical school at Shinei University in Ariel City. Completed 4 Years of Residency Training at Saint Lucy's Hospital in Ariel City.
Other History:	TYPE HERE
Skills and Strengths:	TYPE HERE
Weaknesses:	TYPE HERE

Iscariot had made another full circle as it moved on its deep orbit through Border Space. Its circular  build allowed for a full rotation that simulated the typical 24-Hour Day Cycle that most planet-side individuals were used to, and thus kept the station's residents and visitors on somewhat of a steady and predictable routine. Night ended, the neon signs flickering off and the artificial lighting lining the walkways and thoroughfares brightening to mimic daylight. Businesses began to open, the loud karaoke music died down to a dull throb in the shopping sectors, and the cacophonous buzzing of commerce filled the metal hunk of junk sailing through the Black.

In the past few weeks, there had been an increasing amount of chatter in the back channels about ducks and geese and other foul birds. There had also been a surge in the mentioning of snakes and eggs, but to the layman, this was all nonsense fueled by the insanity of being out in space too long, or inspired by the low-grade high-potency drugs peddled in the dark alleys of the less than lawful space station. Word on the street was that Lil' Sebastian was up to something, but what that was was anybody's guess and no one planned on asking him for specifics.

Down at the docks, ships came and went carrying cargo, tourists, and new faces who found themselves drawn to the morally ambiguous nature of the station lost out in the stars. Here, they could be whoever they wanted and no one would care enough to look too closely at a forged ID or a halfheartedly constructed backstory. Jobs were plentiful if one knew where to look, friends were plenty if one had the right temperament, and adventures were boundless if one lacked a sense of self preservation.

In another area of the Station, a certain woman's cortex pad bliped with a response to her urgent message. "Prime Cuts," was all it said and was distinctly lacking in any sender information. It looked like most of it had been scrubbed clean very purposefully.

10. Lounge
The upper room on the starboard side of the cargo hold is set aside as a lounge for off duty crew. With the décor of a planet-side bar, this area has a billiards table, video game console, and self-serve beverage station. A small kitchenette and microwave allow for a limited selection of snacks. The bar and stools provide a commanding view of the cargo hold below and the office across the way. As with the office, the doors exiting the room lead onto the cargo hold balcony while the ladder leads to the chamber below. On this side of the hold that lower chamber houses the secure storage vaults.


11. Engine Room/Engineering
The engineering room is built hard up against the ship's engine and access to the chamber is via a short ladder at the aft end of the cargo hold balcony.  The chamber itself is low-ceilinged and cramped. Often it is hot and loud due to the surrounding systems. Diagnostic and control panels are squeezed in where possible and removable wall and floor plates allow hand-on access to power and life support systems.

13. Office/MedBay
There are a pair of rooms, one above the other, on either side of the massive cargo bay. The upper room on the port (left) side is an open office space. This area is typically used as a place to meet customers and conduct the day to day business of a commercial vessel. It has currently, however, been retrofitted as a semi-permanent Infirmary/MedBay.

As this room is built over and partially into the port engine nacelle, there are also engineering diagnostic and control panels to be found along the perimeter of the chamber. Doors at the front and back of the room lead out onto the cargo hold balcony. A ladder leads down to the garage.

8. Cargo Hold
The majority of hull space in a Scarab is taken up by a single cavernous cargo hold. In a Scarab-class vessel, the hold is 100 feet long, up to 60 feet wide, and 35 feet high for most of its length. If filled to capacity this yields over 1600 register tons of cargo space.

Both the roof and the back end of the ship sport massive doors that allow for rapid loading and unloading of bulk cargo. There are dedicated hookups for adding and extracting liquid cargos and pressurized gases. Structural support is provided by a framework of girders and ribbing - leaving the hold itself free of pillars and other obstructions. The floor contains numerous clamps, tie downs, and magnetic fusing plates for securing cargo as well as a no longer used hideaway filled with a certain 'herbal' paraphernalia.

On one side of the hold is a garage for cargo moving equipment. On the other side is a secure storage area for small, valuable, cargo. At the forward end doors lead to the crew space. At the aft end a retractable ramp allows for easy access to the ground.

9. Vaults/Armory
Within this area are three secure storage rooms. The doors are reinforced and the area has additional sensors and alarms. These small rooms aren't vaults like one would find in a bank, but they do provide a much higher degree of security and privacy than the main cargo hold. Of course stowage rates are also much higher for customers who wish to keep their valuables here. Because demand for secure storage is typically low on this type of ship, the forward-most vault is also used to store tools and cleaning supplies. Outside of the vaults this chamber has some engineering panels and a ladder which leads up to the lounge and down to the crawlway beneath the cargo hold.

The room is also equipped with a garage door which can slide up into the ceiling. This reduces the security of the room but adds another 100 square feet of usable floor space to the main hold. The vault room is entered through standard doors fore and aft. These doors are at the level of the cargo bay floor. The balcony is overhead, at the level of the lounge and office/medbay.

12. Garage
A garage dedicated to the storage and upkeep of Mules/Landmovers and other shipping equipment. The garage has all of the facilities needed to maintain and repair said equipment. Recharging ports are built into the wall as is a diagnostics console. A pair of lockers holds tools and parts. Crates outside hold additional gear.

One wall of the room is a garage door which slides up to allow for easy access. A couple of normal (human sized) doors also lead out of the room, though these are sometimes blocked by cargo. As with all means of exiting the cargo hold, the doors to the garage are reinforced and constructed to withstand the various substances and conditions that may fill the hold outside. A ladder leads up to the office (or Med Bay) above and down to a crawlway tunnel beneath the cargo bay floor.

When this garage is not being utilized for housing transport vehicles, its floor has been painted in the required shape for a rudimentary 'ball game'.

3. Workroom
Sandwiched into the front end of the ship is a narrow room filled with communications, sensors, and navigation systems. The ship's rudimentary computer core is also accessible from here as it oversees and coordinates the above systems. As with the engineering room in the back of the ship, wall and floor
panels can be removed to allow direct access to several key components. Also as with engineering, basic functionality can be routed to the bridge. Because of this the comm/sensor room is often unoccupied or used as a work room for various hobbies/jobs.

4. Food Storage
Immediately forward of the restroom and adjacent to the kitchen area is a food storage pantry. Within the pantry a cabinet and shelves hold food, dishes, and similar items. A freezer unit is also provided. The Scarabclass does not have rehydration units and so must devote a fair amount of space to food storage. On long hauls an additional crate or two may be kept in the hold to resupply the kitchen and pantry as needed. As mentioned previously, Scarab has a ladder tube running vertically through the ship. On the lower deck, it can be accessed at the aft end of the galley area.

Going up the ladder from this deck would place one in the upper level of the tube. Going down, one would pass the crawlspace access and then reach the pressure hatch in the bottom of the ship. This can be used to exit the vessel even when landed as the engine nacelles keep the middle part of the hull several feet above the tarmac.

5. Galley & Mess
The forward section of the lower deck is dedicated to living space for the crew and the galley is the large open area within this space. A kitchen section is set against the foremost wall. It contains a sink, stove/oven, and refrigerator; plus an oldfashioned dish washer beneath the countertop. A large dining  table with seating for eight occupies a raised area on the starboard side. A small sofa (which can fold out into a bed) also occupies the spacious dining alcove.

The remainder of the galley space is more or less a wide hall running down the center of the ship. On one side are stairs leading up to access area of the upper deck. On the opposite wall are the doors leading into the bunk room. Additional exits at the aft end of the hall lead into the cargo hold, the primary air lock, and the central ladder tube.

6. Showers
A large restroom is located to port. It contains a pair of showers and trio of toilets & sinks. A steel cabinet holds supplies.


7. Bunks
All crew members aside from the captain share a single room for sleeping. There are four pairs of bunk beds, allowing for eight crew members plus the captain under normal circumstances. It is not unheard of the beds of this model ship to be replaced with triple bunks.

Storage lockers are provided for crew personal effects. Bedding and similar items are stored underneath the stairs outside, as well as in the pantry in the galley. Most of the bunk room has been decorated to excess by their resident Doctor, Tabby. This includes prayer flags, dangling dried flowers, fresh flowers, shiny prisms, and a handmade quilt for each bed.