A Duck's Ass
Scene: Redemption, mostly in the Lounge
Players: Sam, Alabaster Smith, Maggie, Passe, Remus, Jander, Marcheline, Pix
Player Descriptions
The man generally known as Alabaster Smith radiates a certain charismatic intimidation, the sort of feeling where he knows exactly what you've been up to, isn't sure he really approves, and would be pleased to help you get back on the right track. Don't take it personally; he's like that with everyone. There's blood and distant thunder in his eyes, the Apocalypse in his voice, and God by his side. Take every stereotype of the old-fashioned preacher you've ever seen, throw in some military backbone, and there you go.
The attitude overshadows his actual physical appearance. He stands 6'1", tall and relatively thin but physically fit. His skin is weathered and rugged, the sort of craggy average looks that practically define the independent men on some of the more backwoods moons. His eyes are an intense, pale icy blue, seeming to miss nothing as he looks around. His hair is a dull blood red, cut short and neatly. There's not much else to say on that front, except that he seems to smile more than any person really should.
He's dressed fairly nicely, in a striking, somewhat old-fashioned white suit. It's kept as spotless as possible, very white, very prone to making him stand out. To combat the elements, he's also wearing a long white overcoat (or sometimes an old, well-worn armored duster) which has a dramatic tendancy to flap with movement, or the breeze. Every so often, he'll remove a small grey flask from an inside pocket, and take a quick swig from it, before replacing it. The movement is smooth, practiced, and automatic. This, then, is Alabaster Smith. A man with a smile for everyone, and the absolute confidence that comes from knowing God has his back.
Wearing an odd combination of the fashions of the two planets, and the near universal 'dress code' of the worker, Maggie confines her attempts to look tidy to her hair. It is cut into a scruffy mess that was either achieved by a 200 cred hairstylist - or hacking the long bits off with scissors. Under the dark brown pelt, equally dark blue eyes look out at the 'verse with interest. Like her hips, her face is rounded, lips full. She's not beautiful - although the smile, when it comes, lights her face.
Her clothing is sturdy, chosen to fit her stockily built frame, with its curving hips and strong shoulders. A divided skirt from heavy cotton drill is a compromise between modesty and ease of movement, usually worn with some kind of cheap pullover shirt, low-heeled steepcap boots, and most importantly the belt. Some people travel without a thing. Some people load enough for a week hiking. Maggie packs essentials in her belt. It holds several pouches, including a small medkit, and looks like it was either army suprlus or New Melbourne fisherman's issue - and since it no longer smells of fish ... No weapons, unless a pocketknife counts, and both it and the torch are securely clipped to the belt. Despite the amount of gear if holds, there's very little on it to actually catch on lines, cargo, ladders or for pickpockets to grab.
In a departure of his usual atire, Passe is dressed all in white. Bright and shiney, it makes him stand out in any crowd. A white button up shirt, with white slacks pressed and proper is what he wears, complete with white dress shoes. It is a striking contrast with his dark hair, and make his dimples stand out even more when he smiles.
Dark black hair is shaved close on the sides, leaving a plateau of hair on top that grows longer as it reaches his forehead. From there dangles a rakish widow's peak, long enough to flirt with his eyebrows. The highlights in his hair bring out the aquamarine hue of his droopy eyes. Age and battle have weathered his face some, though he still can't be a day over thirty if that. High cheekbones and a firm-set jaw match his strong, if lean, figure. A few inches over six feet tall, whatever strength of presence he has is normally only felt when speaking with him, and then the little wrinkles to either side of his mouth show for what they are: laugh lines.
His double-breasted greatcoat obscures the man's form in its pine green folds. Judging by the snug fit of the thick leather belt around his waist the man is fit and strong. The belt buckle is one of the most distinct portions of his outfit: An iron cross in black is encircled by laurel leaves and the words "GOTT MIT UNS" in copper. Also of note are the side laced jump-boots, his without hobnails that would increase grip and durability, but also the noise each step makes.
Note: He wore a completely different outfit for this scene, complete with pink frillies, see below.
Marcheline
With dark tawny hair and eyes of cobalt blue, it's generally agreed that Marcheline Dahlia is a pleasure to gaze upon-- though her infectious laugh is twice as pleasurable, if she eventually deigns to let you in on it. She sports a flawless apricot complexion, which grows subtly rosy at the cheeks. Her brown hair is cropped to a medium length, shorter than most women, and is often curled to a soft wave against her delicate jawline. Her eyes are a grayish-blue hue, and glisten near-ceaselessly with lighthearted wit, despite the gravity of her profession. Her glossy lips tend to curve in a most mischevious manner, if they're not busy offering an amicable humiliation or three.
As far as clothing goes, it seems the doctor prefers to keep things as utilitarian and practical as possible-- that is, you'll rarely see this girl in a dress. She tends to choose simple pieces with clean lines in unobtrusive colors: whites, navys, charcoals, and beiges. When she's out and about on planet, she's likely to don a simple white tank top and comfortable (though form-fitting) beige slacks. When it comes down to business, though, Marcheline has a nearly-pristine white doctor's jacket she wears-- a gift after graduating med school, it seems.
All in all, the doctor leaves a general impression of friendly and efficient professionalism-- though as attractive as she is, she's probably not above a dalliance or three.
Note: She wore a completely different outfit for this scene, see below.
Redemption - Crew Commons - A Deck =>Redemption<=
Of all the places on the ship, this is the most comfortable and relaxing. Keeping in theme with the rest of the ship, the decoration is ancient, modeled after a luxury seafaring vessel of Earth-that-Was. Subtle track lighting keeps the room softly bright, adding to the ambience of the decor. On the walls are hung elaborately framed pictures, mainly of various spacefaring vessels. There is enough furniture in the room to accommodate all the crew and then some. As with all the rooms on the ship, there are ashtrays in convenient places for the smokers.
Two Cortex terminals sit on two opposing desks against the wall, both wired into the huge screen hung on the far wall for media display and gaming. A long conference table is in the center of the room surrounded by large chairs. There is a Holo-Emitter on the conference table, a smaller and lower-quality version of the one on the Bridge.
To starboard is the Infirmary, behind a fireproof double glass sliding door, and to port is a large ornate door leading to the Captain's Quarters. Double ballistic doors lead fore to the Bridge, with the same leading Aft to the Crew Quarters, and the Shuttle Bay beyond it. Just beside the Captain's Quarters is the Operations Room, also sometimes called the briefing room or the ready room.
Remus breathes deeply, regaining a little composure. "For us, it will be a system. For everyone else, it'll just be a sign that you loathe me for some reason."
"Or that I'm taking the mickey" Maggie agrees "Wonder why they call it that?"
Remus shrugs a little, relaxing in the chair now. "Who knows? Probably old slang for something."
Passe emerges from up all, still all in white. He stifles a yawn and then says, "Someone talking about drinks?" He runs a free hand through his curly hair and looks around nervously.
An amused look "Coffee, hot chocolate, green tea, or alchoholic?" Maggie enquires "And then there's always water."
Remus un-relaxes somewhat immediately at the sound of Passe's emergence. "Whichever of the five, I'll get it." he says, standing up as he speaks.
Passe shrugs and says, "Thought you were talking about a Mickey Finn. I honestly don't prefer them. Hell, other than the occassionally wine, I'm not really a heavy drinker." He looks over at Remus and says, "If we're grabbing something, maybe we should head into the lounge?"
"Relax." Maggi smiles at Passe "Left a note on your console, but the way. Please blame Pix for it because while she had nothing to do with it, she deserves being blamed for something. I'mm make coffee for you pair and a tea for me unless you'd prefer otherwise?"
Remus tilts his head up a little, smiling at the mention of 'Pix's' note. "Tea for me too, please." He says, stretching out a little. "I'd offer to help, but it's not exactly a job for two. ...That and I'd probably set fire to it."
Passe considers Maggie's offer, and recalling her previous liquids, he says, "Not much of a coffee fan, myself. I'd rather take a hot chocolate, if that's still available. Top it off with some whipcream, and I'll be yours forever." He looks towards the fore shaft and says, "Lounge?"
"Go on through." Maggie says "I'll bring drinks in a minute." She steps into the kitchen and starts heatin. "With cream.
Remus ponders saying something, but instead merely holds his arm out to let Passe lead the way.
Redemption - Constellation Lounge - B Deck =>Redemption<=
Massive armored windows line the hull in this opulent room which housed the dining cafe for this one-time passenger liner. Remnants of its former glory can still be seen in places. Upon one wall is a fresco of some battle that can only be a depiction of some myth from Earth-that-Was. This room now serves as the kitchen and mess of the ship, with a large stainless steel set of appliances along one wall, and a dining table with comfortable chairs enough to accommodate the crew and guests. Against one corner is a decadent little bar, stocked on most major brands of alcohol. This room offers the most spectacular view of the space outside that is visible through those ceiling to floor windows, giving it the name of Constellation Lounge.
Remus arrives from Redemption - Training Room - B Deck.
Remus has arrived.
Maggie arrives from Redemption - Training Room - B Deck.
Maggie has arrived.
Following behind with assorted mugs, Maggie pauses at the door to whistle. "My my, what a view!"
Remus moves to the window, looking out at the scenes through the glass. "Busy."
Passe moves into the lounge and smiles. He finds a chair by one of the many tables in the lounge and has a seat. "You should see it when we're out in the Black," he says, kicking his feet up on a neighboring chair. "This ship used to be a cruise liner, so there are a lot of interesting luxury things still around, such as the view built here."
Drinks are put down, and Maggie makes herself comfortable. "Its a beautiful ship. A hard ship. One thats more than it is." A frown "That doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"
Remus runs the palm of his hand along his shirt before pressing it softly against the glass. "Stand close enough, and you could forget where you were. No ship at all."
"Makes perfect sense, considering how we got her," Passe says with a grin and then it fades into a more somber appearance. "What we sacrificed for her. She was infested with Reavers, killing all the previous occupants. We managed to free the ship, but lost our old ship in process. Lost almost everytihng, but ourselves." The Frenchman quiets down, remembering his first home, and the only thing he regrets losing on the old ship.
Maggie says softly, almost a sigh. "We lose ourselves the same way we discover who we are: slow as a beath, day by day, or in a heartbeak shock. yes here she is, and here you are, things lost, things found. Its a wierd old life.
Remus turns around, leaning his back against the window and crossing his arms. "And no matter what, you carry on. You're on a ship for a reason. Sometimes that reason gets muddled up in the actions of others, but you keep going. You survive."
Passe grins and adds, "Carry on in a fat-assed ship." He chuckles and finally picks up his cocoa, taking a tiny spoon to scoop a bit of the cream off top. "Of course we carry on, not much else to do. Not like it's the first time we've lost anything. And now here we are."
Crossing her ankles, maggie gives her toes a wriggle. "So, you've been asleep while Remus here has been crashing the ship?
Remus walks over, picking up his cup and taking a seat. "Hey, that other, smaller ship shouldn't have been parked under us." He smiles, before taking a sip.
Passe blinks. "Hrm? Remus crashed the ship?" he asks, looking over at the pilot. "Eh, we're all still here. Will give Kitty something to do." He takes another spoonful of cream, mixed with cocoa. After it clears his throat, he looks over at the doctor. "So, still having people skipping your exams?" he asks her.
"Of course!" Maggie seems umsurprised. "Which means i'll give them a week and then start hunting them. There they'll be, peacefully swearing at machinery and there's bee a beep and a 'lookin inoto the bright light' while i check their pupil response. believe me, after a time or two they'll come see me instead of the option.
Remus takes another sip of his tea, chuckling at the idea of the game-hunting doc. "Well, now I know not to panic if I wake up strapped to a sterile bed with a torch in my eyes."
"Oh, Mags has a gentle touch," Passe says. "Now if it was Jander helping her out, then I'd be worried."
"Does than mean I should take Jander along when it comes to trackign down Pix?" she enquires "Or should I beg for body armour from the captain?"
"It means.." Remus starts, putting on a slightly pleading face and placing the cup on the table. "Please don't let Jander knock me out and tie me to a sterile bed. That's what it means."
"That it does, that it does," Passe says. With the cream mostly gone or melted into the cocoa, he starts sipping it now. "Ahh, good stuff," he says to Maggie. "So Remus, what do you think of the ship and crew?"
Remus takes another sip of his tea, nestling the cup in his palms. "Like 'em both. Got a lot of stories to tell, and some interesting charactaristics." He breaks a small smile. "Still not sure how i'm of benefit to either, though."
Jander arrives from Redemption - Training Room - B Deck.
Jander has arrived.
"Pilot, mon ami, pilot," Passe replies to Remus. "There's only two of us right now, myself and Lucas, the ship's Coxswain. We like to be at least 3 deep on all positions, and maybe more with pilots, since we'll occassionally fly the Zero around as needed. So we definately have use for you. Just need to sharpen your capship skills."
Maggie frowns. "I'm an 'interesting characteristic'?
Remus nods to Passe. "Soon enough. Think I'm picking up the basics." Then, turning his attention to maggie, he smiles. "You got seasick. S'an interesting characteristic."
With narrowed eyes, and deliberate malice aforethought, Maggie gives Remus the one finger salute, trying not to laugh. "Lucky that doesn't happen out here."
"Sea sick? C'est vrai ca?" Passe asks, looking over at the doctor. "And here I thought you were a seasoned sailor, working on that fishing boat." He shakes his head in mock disappointment and sips some more cocoa.
Maggie sits up "hey, it was my fist trip!
Remus snickers softly. "Eh, i'm sure the trouble soon blew over."
Sam arrives from Redemption - Training Room - B Deck.
Sam has arrived.
Wearing a frilly pink house-coat that only reaches just past his elbows and knees, Jander quite literally stumbles into the lounge. He's on the prowl for alcohol, and if you've had enough that even rhymes. "Where in this hells is rum?" he grunts, fumbling through the cabinets and squinting at the--to him--bright lights.
Passe lets out a laugh and says, "So it /is/ true? I thought he was just joking." With the cocoa cooler, he takes a larger gulp. Hearing Jander, he turns and gives him an appraising look. "Don't you mean cigar box?" he says jokingly, looking at his pink coat.
There's a groan. And a half sob. "You're dead meat." Maggie threatens Remus "You just wait!"" Passe gets a look "A painfull story from my internship days, I'm _sure_ Remus will be happy to fill you in! As stories go, its never yet failed to have everyone rolling in the aisles!" Jander's progress - and dress sense - is observed with clinical acuity. She gets up and ambles over to him befoe yelling three inches from his ear "YO! JANDERHOFT! HANGOVER?"
Maybe it is the yelling that brings Sam in from her cabin. She stands at the doorway with an upturned brow as she surveys those that are in the room themselves. Her eyes alight on Jander and she just shakes her head as she looks to the man, "You'd think Kitty is hard to get along with with as much as Jander drinks."
Remus wiggles a finger about in his ear, clearing the ringing from the yells, despite being the other side of the room. "Wouldn't worry. I'm sure Seasick Sally's bedside manner will get him back in shape, lickety split." After a moment, he ponders the usefulness of the new nickname and turns to Sam. "If she glares at the back of my head, can I stand behind you? I like my pretty face, and all that."
Jander reaches up with a distinct lack of humour to clutch at Maggie's collar. "Listen you Parisienne pec--" he starts to growl, but in turning his head finds out that that's not Laurent. And that's not a collar. Neither of them squish so much. "A... ano... doc... heheh..." Very gently he removes his hand, glancing around at the sets of accusing eyes as he backpedals.
Passe chuckles and warns Remus, "Careful, she just might bring 'Janderhoft' on her next checkup." He finishes his cup and sets it on the table, peering around Jander to see Sam. He grins at her then looks up at the other, inibriated gunhand, a brow going up. Seeing the 'collar' we adjusts, he wears a puzzled smile. "Um, Jander? Looking for me?"
Sam just shakes her head and walks over to Jander. She simply places her hand on his shoulder. "Now now... " As she holds his shoulder slightly. "Now. Whatever problem you have with Passe, get it out now. Finish whatever that is. Now." She gives the man a smile.
Maggie doesn't - exactly - glare at Remus, Ots more the kind of stare that promises COLD steel where it shoudn't go while the patient is awake and face down. "Thats it. Noww you have to tell them the stor-"the grab has her looking down and the hand, then at teh backpeddlign jander. She asks silkily "Do you know what this is, jander?"
Remus sips his tea. Sips it some more. Sips it a third time with the hope nobody notices his sliding ever lower in his chair.
"Certainly not what it looks like!!" the errant crossdresser stammers, glancing round the room at a dizzying pace. Sam's hand on his shoulder makes the man jump--now he's cornered. "It-it's nothing but good fun between blokes, heheh..." leaning his head to the side, Jander waves over Maggie's shoulder at the Frank. "Idn't that right, Passe, mon amis?" Yes, Jander pronounces the 's'.
Passe looks curiously from Sam to Jander. The gunhand has a problem with the Frenchman? Oblivious, he chuckles and says, "Oui, une blague entre des amis, c'est tout." He pulls his feet of the chair next to him and pats it. "Come have a seat, take a load off." Leaning towards Remus, he says softly, "Did you bring your camera?"
Rubbing her nose hard to prevent giggling, Maggie watches the scene. If murder wasn't thought of before this, it will be after if that picture is taken and posted in the kitchen. "Hush. Remus, tell them tales of fishing boats while I get jander somethign fro his head."
Remus shakes his head in a small a motion possible. "But on the downside, I don't think I'll be forgetting this sight any time soon." He says, chugging the rest of his tea like a glass of bourbon before looking up at Maggie. "Ooh. But you tell it SO well!"
Sam squeezes Jander's shoulder and gives the man a slight shove towards the chair. "Good fun. Keep it that way." She says and looks to Maggie. Her eyes narrow a bit as she tried to make something out. "What's that?" She points and moves in closer.
Maggie takes a step back "What's what? How about I tell you something that happened while I was an intern instead?
Jander stumbles toward the chair, spinning and turning like a ballerina. "But... rum..." he whimpers, waving vaguely at the liquor cabinet as he flops into the proferred seat. With a pouty whimper, his eyes settle on Remus. "... Polyphemus, wasn't it?" he asks, holding out a hand.
Alabaster Smith arrives from Redemption - Training Room - B Deck.
Alabaster Smith has arrived.
Marcheline arrives from Redemption - Training Room - B Deck.
Marcheline has arrived.
Remus chuckles softly at Jander's comment before shaking his hand. Again. "Aye, that was it."
Maggie is backpedalling herself now, hastily, away from Sam and speakign rapidly. "Don't know if you've ever been seasick. Its like getting vertigo while spacewalking, being so drunk nothing stays still and everythign turns... Anyway, part of internship on New Melbourne, after your land-based time, is a month or two at sea. So here am I a day aboard the fishing smack and we run into a storm. I'm sick, half the crew are queasy, and the captain? He's been at sea twenty years but maybe it was the fast food be brought on board and maybe its not, but he's sicker than I am, so there we are, both of us greener than pea soup, him trying to steer while the nets are hauled in, me trying to load a syringe because neither of us can keep pills in, then on my knees holding onto his ass while I try to line the needle up to jab into his thigh ... and the cox'n walks in. We didn't hear the end of it for the next 8 weeks. 'Blowing a gale and whats the cap'n doing? He's getting a blow from the doc'. THAT" maggie says empathically "is the height of embarrassing."
Sam raises a brow and steps closer to Maggie. "What is that?" The woman asks, a little suspicious now.
Passe listens to Maggie ramble on and remains speechless, just thinking that it might have been best to /not/ share that story with this crew. Then he just shakes his head, trying not to laugh at the attire of Jander. Flipping some of the tassles, he says, "Please tell me this is Kitty's."
Sam gives a smirk to the whole story as she gets closer to Maggie and then raises a brow. She then silently turns around and goes back to the other group. She simply settles down in a chair. "Warm in here to anyone else?" She asks and fans her face with her hand.
"P... pleasure," Jander grunts, still shaking Remus' hand several seconds after the fact and in mild shock from the doctor's story. "Whaddayamean, it's my green housecoat, she just shrunk it in the wash," the man grumps, twisting away from Passe. That sets little bits of string all aflutter, which catches his attention. "... or... not..."
"Nine's not a bad number!" a woman's lilting voice can be heard replying amicably just outside the lounge-- a confident muse, as if she could possibly know anything about running a ship and how many people it takes to stay afloat. Following the meandering path Alabaster leads, corridor after corridor, Marcheline eventually makes her inadvertent entrance, cobalt eyes scanning the room full of people. Walking in just in time to catch the tail-end of Maggie's narration, the brunette's gaze shifts between the captain and the group, amused, a little smile curving her lips upwards. She shifts her duffle bag on her shoulder a bit, so generously deciding to let Smith make the introductions.
Remus takes his hand back from Jander, countering the urge to laugh by biting his lower lip hard enough to turn it white. Upon hearing the noise not from the main group, his head turns. All he can do is squeak a little before buring his face in his hands, the muffled sound of choked laughs breaking through.
A (mostly) straight face as Maggie says "Embarrasement rarely kills, although you might wish it did." She checks jander's eyes "How much did you drink, anyway?" Strangers on the doorstep? She straightens, takes a look at the woman ... and winces. How to introduce yourself memorably as a reliable professional. Not. Oh well. Worse than can happen is having to find a new job. With references sayign exactly WHY she left the old one.
Sam hops to her feet and moves in front of the others. She narrows her eyes at the new arrival and as she sees Alabaster she only relaxes a little bit. Her teeth grind a little as she waits to hear who the woman is.
Alabaster Smith pauses as he enters the room, a stranger in tow. He eyes the assembled crowd, and an eyebrow quirks in amusement. "And here we've four of the crew, and a prospective," he says, without skipping a beat. "Sam there's our Provost - head of security. The gentleman in the... pink is Jander, our other security person. That's Passe, one of our fine pilots. He's French, so watch out for his charm. Maggie's our current doctor, so you two will want to get together as soon as possible to compare notes and experience, fight for dominance, that sort of thing." He grins wryly at Marcheline. "And finally, Remus is a pilot among other things." He looks around. "Folks, this here is Miss Marcheline Dahlia, a recent graduate of Ariel's fine medical schools and a prospective crew member. Do be nice." He smiles again, to help put people at ease.
Jander grinds his teeth, but allows the doctor to peer down into his eyes. "Ain't drunk," he snaps perfunctorily. "Just tryin' for get back to sleep. I--" the last word is said with a deep breath, promising much more, but it's cut off. Alabaster's introductions make a nice excuse for that, though he does duck down at the mention of dominance. "(We needa talk, Doc,)" he mutters while rising to his feet next to Maggie.
Clearing her throat, Maggie smiles right back. "Pleased to meet you Marcheline." Jander gets a gentle smile, and a nod. "I can give you something to help you get some sleep. No problems there."
Sam relaxes a little more and her hand even slips off her gun as she settles back down and into her chair, "Nice to meetcha." She speaks. To Maggie's words, Sam respond, "A hammer?"
A charming-enough introduction, by the smile that still lingers on Marcheline's lips as she gazes back at the handful of Redemption's crew. "A pleasure," is the brand-spanking-new doctor's reply, her voice proving to be of a warm and stately quality--the latter no doubt a product of her core upbringing. Eyeing Jander briefly with a chuckle, she returns her gaze to Alabaster, as if waiting for his lead. Maybe she's a little more timid than she lets on.
Sam gets a snicker from Maggie. "If concussion was that safe all anaesthetists would need is a lump of 4x2 and they'd be a whole lot happier."
"Not that there's anything wrong with it," Passe says, raising his hand with a smirk. "But if it /is/ hers, she might not like it getting stretched out."
Passe looks up as Smith makes introductions, and he politely rises to his feet. "Mademoiselle Dahlia," he says, nodding lightly and a warm smile appearing on his face, complete with dinples. "Welcome to our home. Now is a good time as any to meet us." He smirks at Jander and his current state.
Remus finally manages to control the laughing. Sort of. Wiping a few tears from his eyes, he gets a proper look at the newcomer, with only a slight enjoyment out of not being the freshest person on board. A short wave is given before noticing the duffle bag and turning towards Alabaster. "We land, and you instantly find someone to distract from my arrival? You're kind, Cap'n!" he smirks, before adding towards Marcheline "I'd put the bag down now. You might be stuck with it for a while. 'Specially the rate this is going."
Jander shifts his weight from foot to foot, a hand reaching up to--far more carefully this time--rest on Maggie's shoulder. "Like, now, Doc," Jander urges, looking aside at the red-faced Remus. Trying humor, he gestures vaguely at Passe. "Yeah, the girl's gonna have my skin if I wear this thing much longer."
Alabaster Smith beams at his crew of miscreants, reprobates and ne'er-do-wells. He's so fond of them, drunken cross-dressing revelry and all. "Make yourself comfortable," he tells Marcheline. "If you care for a drink, we have a rather well-stocked bar, here." He glances to Jander, murmuring, "Ah just won't ask," with amusement.
Maggie chuckles. "Ok, sickbay - lets see about this hangover. Excuse us, please, everyone?
Pix arrives from Redemption - Training Room - B Deck.
Pix has arrived.
Taking Remus' advice to heart, Marcheline tosses the heavy duffle to the side in one smooth motion, nearly grinning at the sound of already-broken glass jarring within it. A long story. Smiling briefly at the now semi-familiar captain, she affords Maggie and Jander a brief nod, making way for them to pass on their way to the sickbay. Returning her attention to the remainder of the miscreants, the doctor moves forward subtly, and inquires good-naturedly, "Any coffee around here? S'been a long day."
"I thought it was greeeen!" Jander whines petulently as he passes Al on his way out, buffing his foot against the floor in frustration. And what, dare the newcomer ask, did he think was green? Quite possibly his housecoat... seeing as it's a frilly pink number.
"Oui, that there is, Monsieur Smith, that there is." Passe says eagerly and moves behind the cross dressing Jander and puts himself into the kitchen, digging out a cup. "Coffee it is," he says, putting a pot on and seeing what flavors they might have. He picks one and random and let's it brew.
Standing, Maggie finishes the last of her tea, makes another, and heads out. "Join me when you're ready, jander, I'll be waiting.
The arrival of the wayward Pixie is heralded briefly by the clomp-clomp of some heavy and loosely laced, untied steel toed boots. The boots are old and worn, dusty and a black that has long since turned a sort of greyish-brownish-dirtish-get-a-new-pair color. And then there's a lot of pale leg. And then some panties, black bikinis, thankyew, and a white button down shirt that surely does not belong to her. The bikinis are riding up a little on one side. Horror of horrors, an expedition to rescue it can't be too far off. You'd think she was a frat boy. Someone has been raiding the laundry again. It might be Passe's shirt Pix has stolen, but it could just as easily be someone else's. Her hair is a royal mess, braids in her eyes, tangled, and generall awry. She clomp-clomps toward the booze stash, seeming not to notice the entire room full of clothed people. Well, she only has one eye half open, you know.
Sam sends a thumb over towards Pix. "That's Pix." As if her walking around in her underwear is normal.
Jander meekly follows behind Maggie, hands thrust into the pockets of his house coat. Or, well, fingers, at any rate, they're too small for much more. From the hall can be heard whistling, an old Earth-That-Was tune about a Doctor. Dr Feelgood.
Maggie has disconnected.
Jander has disconnected.
Remus is about to say something as the Sleep-Zombie form of Pixie enters the room. There's only a slight look of confusion on his face, but as a show of how quickly he's adapting to the crew, it's merely him wondering whether or not that's one of his shirts she's wearing.
Sam has disconnected.
Alabaster Smith blinks as Pix makes her dramatic appearance, and then just shakes his head. "Hello, Pix," he greets her. Marcheline is informed, "Pix is... Ah guess she's our Operations Officer, which is an official way of saying 'terrifying force of nature'." He grins, to show he's mostly kidding. "And that's actually a good majority of the crew so far... at least they know your face so they won't shoot you on sight as a trespasser."
Whether it's the steady decrease of occupants in the room, thus lending it to being a little quiet, or the entrance of someone who's obviously been enjoying some shut-eye recently, something's set the newest recruit to yawning. Marcheline stifles it quickly with one hand, smiling behind it at Alabaster's words. "That's good to know. I'd rather not be shot, you know." Grinning, she affords a curious glance to the sleep-walking Pix, the charming Passe, and the fellow newbie Remus in turn, then gestures briefly to her crumpled bag on the floor. "I'm gonna have to skip the coffee, I think-- I'm beyond saving, at this point. Mind if I call it a night, captain?"
Remus takes his eyes off of Pixie's shirt for a moment to look at the captain. "Jander WAS very drunk. Best get Mags to stick a note on him. Just in case." he smirks, before taking another look at the shirt. Reasonably content it's not his, he just snickers and shakes his head.
Passe, in the kitchen making up some coffee for the new recruit, looks out and shrugs. "Comme vous voulez," he says, and switches off the coffee. "Unless of course, you want some Pixie. Coffee.. that... is.." Passe turns around to see the attire of the newly designated Operations Officer, and his eyes narrow, more particularly when he looks at the shirt. "Um, cherie," he says, "That had better be what you foudn in the vents the other day, and not something from my closet."
Pixie glances around with that squinchy eye as she's addressed by name, and takes note of voice(s) in the lounge. The eye un-squinches a bit and then the other opens, too. She still has sleepies in the corner of her eyes, and clearly just rolled out of a bunk somewhere. "Me-wha?" That comes out as a bit of a grunt. But her eyes to find Marcheline in short order. "Hi." She offers that to the newcomer, rubbing the back of her hand over her eye. "Welcome to th' Vic--er... 'Demption." She glances down at her shirt, then over at Passe, then down at her shirt. "Door wasn' locked."
Alabaster Smith nods to Marcheline. "But of course. We've got a fine variety of rooms handy, and Ah figure we can find you a perfectly good one for the time being in the guest quarters. Ah know this may be a lot to take in at once. Lord knows it is for me, some days." Pix alone drives men to drink, after all.
Returning Smith's hospitality with a warm smile of her own, albeit sleepy as hell, Marcheline moves to shoulder her bag for the millionth time today, and makes her brief round of farewells. "See you all in the morning," the doctor murmurs amicably, grinning to herself as she moves to slip out of the lounge and towards the afforementioned guest quarters.
Remus chuckles at Pix's perfectly valid reply, before casually informing across the table: "Hey, Engine Gremlin. Butt's on show." That bit of politeness done with, he turns his attention back to being glad the newcomer isn't another pilot, chuckling just a little to himself as she turns to leave.
"Enjoy your sleep," Passe offers to the new doc, and the purses his lip at Pix. "So it was. Eh, keep it. Looks better on you than on me. Besides, gives me a good excuse to hit the stores again. I'll remember to pick up some PJs for you." He smirks and leans over the counter in the kitchen to look down the engineer/officer, and then over to Remus, "Wouldn't you agree?"
Marcheline has disconnected.
Pixie's attention goes shortly to Remus. It's the Engine Gremlin thing. She eye-narrows at him, and reaches back to pick and place the straying cloth with a little snap of elastic. It's kind of a loud little snappy sound in a lull in conversation in the room. "Keep callin' me Engine Gremlin, fresh meat. We'll see whose butt's on show." That sounds like a threat. Might be scarier if it weren't coming from a petite girl, right? Remus ain't been 'round enough to know better. "Sugar, hand me a glass, hear?" This to Alabaster. He's over there, ain't he? Wait, she's using a glass? Might could be she's showing some semblance of manners. Sort of. She half reaches out to the Captain, and turns her head to look Passe's way. She smiles. "Aw, you."
Remus snickers at the retort and the fresh meat comment. Not a disregarding snicker, just... one. "Alright, no more Gremlin. Your butt's probably better-looking anyway." he states, before pushing his chair back and standing to move to the viewing window once more.
Alabaster Smith makes sure Marcheline's pointed in the right direction, before handing a glass to Pix. "Here you go. A nice change from drinking straight from the bottle," he teases her. "Remus, careful. Pix doesn't fight fair at all."
Passe winks at Pix and then grabs himself a glass, but only water. Best thing to wash down cocoa. He moves back towards the tables and sits himself back down, propping his legs on the chair pink-Jander vacated. "So, other than looking sexy in my shirt," he asks the engineer, "How have you been?"
Pixie eyeballs Remus for a moment more as he moves. It's one of those contemplative little looks followed by a slight eye-twitch. Her fingers close around the glass as it's astutely handed over. "Don' go warnin' him now, Preacher. Ain't near as good 'f it ain't a surprise." She sniffs a bit, then pours herself a drink, looking down to be sure she doesn't spill everywhere. She can pour and talk at the same time. It's a skill she's mastered. "Aw, I been doin' fine, Frenchie. Good ta be back. This place, well... crew's th' closest thing I got ta home out here. Y'all missed me. I can tell." She grins. "In that way it ain't so much like m'own family, but there ain't no 'ccountin' for g'netics. Mean if there was, no way would I be so dang smokin' hot, am I right?" Thunk. Bottle's set down on the table, and Pixie drops into the nearest chair whether it's occupied or not. She just kinda angles and drops--doesn't so much look. "You doin' all right?" Eye contact. Almost a serious question.
Remus turns his head away from the window to grin at Pix, then turning a little more towards Alabaster. "I'd be terribly dissapointed if she did." He says, once more turning towards the glass to watch the hustle and bustle going on outside, pulling a PDA from his back pocket as he does so. He looks like he's going to start using it, but is just that little more focused on the sky. That is until a few craft take off in the distance. That summons some idle pressing on the display. Alabaster Smith beams at Pix, before informing those present, "For a while, the ship was so quiet, Ah feared for our long-term prospects. But look at it now. Bustling with activity. Romance, tension, humor... the Redemption's come back to life, and Ah couldn't be happier. Best crew in the Black." He pours himself a drink as well, and takes a swig, cheerfully.
Passe quickly snaps his feet off the chair that Pix plops down on. He then just grins at her and says, "Oh, je ne sais pas, we could be related. I mean, you make that shirt look as good as I do, well, better, but still." He then rolls his eyes at Smith and snorts. "Romance," he mutters quietly to himself and purses his lips, but doesn't add to the commentary.
Pixie, ala Passe's foot-rest chair, takes a swig from her glass. "We got tension an' humor? I mean, I know 'bout th' romance, cos ain't nobody on this boat can get it on quiet-like." She snorts and crosses her legs, sitting sideways. "Come on now, ever'body knows ain't nothin' cuter'n a girl in some strange man's shirt... I did a calendar once with--" Pause. Silence. She sips from her glass, not finishing that sentence.
Remus almost snorts at the conversation proceeding behind him, still entering this and that via various button presses on the PDA. after a moment and an odd look towards someone silently yelling in the spaceport, his head tilts back to pipe in. "S'as sure a fact as the worlds turning that a woman'll always look better in a guy's shirt than the guy does. Law of nature, or somesuch."
Alabaster Smith eyes Pix, and says, deadpan, "Ah knew you looked familiar for a reason..." He doesn't elaborate on that anymore, letting people come to their own conclusions about whether he's kidding or really is familiar with pinup girl calendars. "This ship is full of... things happening," he agrees. "It's interesting."
Passe chuckles at Remus and says, "Curves, mon ami, curves. And not just the good ones. The way a shirt hangs allows a man's imagination to roam." He looks at Pix and grins. "That, and the wonder of /why/ she's wearing some guy's shirt." He brings his feet back up to where they were, irregardless of Pixie being in the chair or not.
Pixie coughs into her drink. Went down the wrong pipe, you see. "Anyhow, where you from, meat?" This is said a little too loudly, directed at Remus. She doesn't make eye contact with Alabaster. Not. Going. To. Look. Not with Passe, either. Nope. Nope. Pixie glances down at the feet in her lap, and drops a hand drop one, leaving Passe's tootsies atop her thigh.
Remus holds his tongue at Pix's reaction, then turns away from the window, crossing his arms. Still holding the PDA, he answers. "Eavesdown. Passe trod on me about quarter-mile from my old home." A sly smirk is offered to Passe as a reminder.
Pix can't help but look directly at the Frenchman at the comment from Remus. She mouths 'trod?' with the arch of a dark brow, like she 1) cannot believe someone just used that particular word and 2) Passe would step on something or someone unintentionally with all the care he takes with his wardrobe--there could be anything on the ground there. "Ya bring on home ever'body you step on these days?" She grins immediately after saying that, which might take a bit of the sting from the words. Assumin' anyboy pays enough attentin to be remotely offended by the Pixonator.
Alabaster Smith drops into a seat and sips at his drink, taking the moment to relax while Pix changes subjects and Remus explains how he got here. He seems content, in his own strange way.
Passe eases into his chair and says, "Only the cute ones. Figured you'd like him." He takes a swig and explains, "Apparently he was waiting for for the Redemption to dock back on Persephone, made some arrangements with the Commandant, but I knew she was going to be away for a while. Offered him a ride on the Zero and brought us all back home."
Remus suddenly remembers his conversation with Mags earlier, and the point it raised. Focusing on Alabaster, he just goes from the top. "While we're talking about my least favourite subject, Had a word with the doc earlier about getting checked out to make sure i'm not dead. Anyway.." He's mostly blabbering now, guess it's not exactly one of his most eager topics. "I have an issue with colours. Being able to see 'em, anyway. Got myself an anomalous trichromacy mostly distinguish things by texture and pattern. I can tell differences. Most of the time. More of a single colour there is, easier I can tell. Just.. er... don't go askin' me to defuse any bombs, 'Kay? Wires are a nightmare. Too thin." He's in full-blown rambling now. "Course, sometimes it's a nice bonus. much easier to spot a camo net from 300 yards when the blending factor ain't so much of a factor..." He takes a breath for a moment, seemingly apologising for his outburst. "Dunno if you got a problem with a pilot being like that." His hand goes to the back of his neck again, looking sheepish as all hell. "'Course, if ya do, it's understandable."
Pixie looks over at Remus. She looks, and she squints, and she slides Passe's feet off her lap. She watches this horror of words just tumbling out of the newbie pilot's mouth, and then finishes off her glass with a single drink, and slides over to sit in Passe's lap. She turns her head to ask, as if whispering in his ear to be discreet, and yet doing no such thing, "Kay'm I havin' a real inconvenient acid flashback, or's his mouth goin' like a duck's ass?"
"You and me both, le fei, you and me both," Passe replies, at first disappointed that his feet were dropped, then clear as day he perks up with the Pix hops into his lap. An encouraging arm wraps around her side, as though she needs help balancing or something. Any excuse to get an arm around Pixie. He shakes his head and looks at Remus. "I'm... I'm with Pixie here," he says. "Huh?"
Pixie crosses her legs and settles in comfortably across Passe's lap, smiling briefly to the Frenchman as she seems to be coming out of the sleepy stupor of earlier. Comfortable crew around here--at least Pixie and Passe seem comfortable with a lack of conventional personal boundaries. "What's this thing made of? It's real soft." She refers to the shirt. You can tell cos she rubs an unbuttoned sleeve against her cheek. She may be pantless, but this is actually one of the less revealing impromptu ensembles that have happened on this ship. At least none of her tattoos are showing. "What's anal tricycles?"
Alabaster Smith heads through the exit labeled <Aft> Training Room.
Alabaster Smith has left.
Remus almost achingly rubs his eyes. "Alright. I don't see colours so well. Like. At all. Show me an apple and I'll only be able to tell you if it's red or green thanks to knowing the texture of the gorram thing." the back of his head rests against the glass behind him. "As I said, got an item of one colour in bulk, I can say what it is. Thin little bits of colour, depending on the colour, not a clue." He offers somewhat of a tired smile. "It's why I almost got kicked out of flight school."
Passe chuckles. "Ne t'inquiet pas, Remus," he calls out to the pilot, looking around the shoulders of Pixie. And yes, there is no such thing as personal space where the Frenchman's concerned. Well, for most people. He will occassionally make an exception, but that's usually due to odeur. "As far as I know, color blindness is not a prerequisite. Pleasing the preacher is. So just make sure he's happy. Buy him a new tie, hat, whatever." He looks slyly at the girl in his laps. "Hell, he hired Pixie here, n'est-ce pas?"
Pixie ponders this revelation of info. She tips her head slightly to the side, and scratches her nose lightly with a fingernail--the fingernail of the hand currently holding the empty booze glass. "So. You crash a lot, an' you almost got thrown outta flight school, but ya can't tell what color my panties are?" Pixie pauses, then glances over at Passe. "Whatcha mean he hired me?" Boy is Passe a brave soldier to say that with Pix right in his lap, nearest his dearest.
Passe purses his lips and then a memory hits him. "Ah yes, you're right," he declares. "It was probably Grey who hired you, after you goosed him." To emphize the point, Passe dares and gets a good pinch through the black panties sitting on him.
Pix tests her Dirty_Pool against a 75 difficulty. The result is successful (2).
Pix tests her Thrown_Weapon against a 100 difficulty. The result is successful (42).
The greasemonkey turned... what was it again? Operations Officer? Yeah, that. Anyway she opens her mouth to say, "I ain't never--" but only gets about that far before shrieking and popping to her feet. Goosing a Pixie is like spittin' on a red hot skillet. Except it's Passe so it's only a boot that gets kicked off in his direction as she slides halfway over the table. Her glass goes flying out of her hand, and limbs pinwheel every which way. Oh, Pixie. Victim of a hiney pinch. Poor, poor soul.
Remus blinks more awake than before at the sudden noise. With curiosity, he watches Pixie slide, placing a small bet with himself as to roughly the area she'll stop. turns out, he now owes himself ten credits. He makes a promise that he'll pay him when he gets the money and there's no reason to take his kneecaps.
Passe tests his Dodge against a 77 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-27).
Passe tests his Agility against a 75 difficulty. The result is successful (39).
A jumping pix is not what Passe expected, nor was a boot to the head. But get one he did, steel toed in fact. Smack, on the nose. A crunch is heard and Passe's head jerks backwards, a splash of red flowing out, threatening to stain the white shirt Pixie is wearing. His chair flips up on two legs, threatening to go the whole way down, but Passe is able to lean forward, the chair slamming back in place. Unfortunately, his head snaps too far forward, and he pounds his nose onto the heel of Pix's other shoe. "Mpph," is all the Frenchman can say, grabbing his nose, slipping of the chair now onto the floor. He sighs, blood flowing freely down his hands uselessly trying to keep it at bay, and he says from underneath the table, "I deserved that."
The retreating, flailing Pixie is somewhat slowed by the lacquer on the table against bare skin. There's a soft little squeee of thigh against varnish and she slows, teetering on the edge of falling off. Passe's second contact with her booted foot, she teeters again, Frenchman blood spattering in a dotty line down the back of her calf. And lo, she was anointed with the blood of Passe. And it went mostly unnoticed. Teeter, teeter. "Ulk." There's a slight sound from her, and then the balance is upset, and Pixie sliiides off the table with a gentle thud. Softly, from somewhere half under the table, arm tangled in the legs of one chair, a leg in the air over another chair's seat, Pixie says, "... Ohmigod... Passe, dumplin', you all right?" That's a little strangled, because she's kind of half upside down wedged awakwardly.
Remus tests his Dodge against a 55 difficulty. The result is successful (35).
Remus watches the Frenchman go down, an empathy wince appearing on his face as he spots the blood. That face doesn't last too long, thanks to his sudden transformation from 'Guy leaning on a wall' to 'guy jumping the hell sideways and watching a now slightly empty glass smash against the window' ...Coincidentally, about the same spot his head was a few moments ago. Of course, no such transformation is complete without a catchphrase. Trouble for Remus being the only thing that comes to mind is "Oh fuck!"
Passe looks over at the other casualty of his goosing, being Pix upside down, red fluids dripping all over his white outfit. Well, there's another excuse to hit the stores. Squinching his eyes to try to clear the stars that appear, he is able to make out Pixie's akward position and says, "Doing good, you?" Though with his hands on his nose, it sounds more like 'Doimb goob, Yoo?'.
The Pixie takes but a moment to roll over in a sort of summersault motion to disentangle herself from the furniture. One boot is gone, the other falls off with a thunk as she does so. Boots of DOOM. She comes up more or less intact, with a hand on the side of the table. "Um..." She just kind of stares at all the blood. And then glances at Remus, and back to the blood. "Kay, well, you pinched my ass when I was in a safe zone." She bustles over to Passe, however, "But I did'n mean ta kick ya in the face, so uh sorry an' let's go get some gauze ta... shove up there." All that blood is making her a little tense. Imagine how Passe must feel! "It'll be fine." Pause. "You need some whiskey?"
Remus watches what little of the liquid that was left in the flying glass of shattering explosion trickle down the window before turning to raise his brow at Pix's medical treatment plan. "I'm fine! Thanks!" He chuckles, before wandering over slowly to peer under the table so he can actually see Passe's face. After a few moments, he exhales through his teeth. "Sheeeeesh. That could be a break." He says, before standing up. 'Course, the table is still above his head, so after a slight 'WHAM' noise, he tries it again. This time, there is success, and he makes his way to the bar to get a cloth and some ice.
Passe looks up and says, "Guaze? Break?" This is the first time he realizes that his looks are going to be thrashed. He stands up, a little too fast, since CRACK he pops the top of his head on the under side of the table. After a quick oomf, he scramble up to move into the kitchen, a trail of blood left behind as he walks. Broken noses don't know how to stop bleeding. He searches around for a paper towel, red finger prints being left everywhere.
"It ain't broke." Pixie seems rather indignant at the suggestion that's even a possibility. She opens her mouth to object further in that line, but then Remus does his impression of Man v. Table, Table Wins. "I ain't think color blindness included big ruttin' tables." And then Passe plays cranium hockey with the underside of ol' stationary lounge table. Pixie just stands there, hands at her sides, unsure of what to do. That lasts approximately five point two seconds. And then the bottle is in her hand. Somehow, some way, it didn't spill. She calls after Passe, "... It ain't broke!" It's totally broke. Er broken. Swig. She takes a hit off the bottle. "... Dang." She glances over to Remus. "You ain't see nothin'." She turns, leaving her shoes, and scampers off wit the whiskey.
- Passe has taken 5 points of wound damage. He is currently Injured.
Passe finally just gives up, pulls his shirt from his pants, and holds it to his know to ebb the flow of blood. "Hrm, maybe I should have Mags look at this," he says, and looks to the exit. Before doing, he spots a departing Pixie, and a boot left behind. Through his shirt, he smirks and decides to fetch said boot before making his way up to the infirmary.
Remus rolls his eyes at the frenchman's worry, holding up a cloth with some ice in it. "C'mere you wuss." he says, half-tugging the man by his shoulder. "Here, take this, and hold it 'gainst the top of y'nose." he explains, dropping the icey-cloth bindle into Passe's hand. "Put a lil' pressure on it and for the love of god lean forward before you choke on your own blood." he finishes, before turning just in time to catch the ass-end of Pix scampering away. Turning back, he adds "And yeah, get Megs to give you something for the pain. I'll.. I'll just clean this mess up."
Pix has disconnected.
Passe had disconnected.
