No Flambe
Jun 27, 2521 - 01:40:36 Invictus - Cargo Bay =>Invictus<=
This is the largest area of the Dragonfly class: a huge, cavernous room nearly the full length of the ship minus the Engine Room. The reinforced metal floor is littered with quick release clamps to easily attach or detach standard cargo containers. The huge cargo ramp is broad enough for the MULE parked on it to head in and out to load cargo. To conserve space, the MULE is usually parked on the ramp, causing it to be halfway outside the ship when it opens, although there's enough space left to park it inside when the ship's bay isn't fully loaded.
Beyond an airtight bulkhead to the aft is the ship's Engine Room. To the front, closer to the ramp, a stairwell leads up to the crew deck; and just beside it is some equipment for the crew to work out and exercise. Apart from that, the cargo bay contains shelves and lockers for the ship's own supply of parts, food and other things, along with any cargo onboard.
A raucous bout of swearing comes from the Engine Room, clearly Grey's voice. And the strings of expletives he uses are clearly the most ingenious inventions of the English language to be heard since Shakespeare. There's the sound of a wrench dropped, followed by what sounds like a hammer thrown. Silence hangs for a moment before something that sounds like hissing, vaporized liquid sounds, and then the swearing starts again. Five minutes later, the Captain himself emerges from the Engine Room, wearing his grey coveralls, which are completely soaked, and he's wiping off his hair and face with a rag, looking none too pleased.
Alabaster Smith emerges from the depths of the ship, coming down into the cargo bay. Naturally, he looks curious, and has most likely come to investigate whatever the heck is going on. "Captain? Is everything okay?" he calls.
Wren watches Grey anxiously as he enters the hold. "Didn't do it, wasn't me," she declares straight off the bat, glancing over to Alabaster as he joins them. She's sitting on the stairs leading up to the crew deck, a few smears of dried... well something or other, decorating her forehead. "Was it?" she asks a beat later, deeply concerned.
Grey tries to dry his hair off with the rag, which isn't working because the rag is already soaked with engine oil, and isn't about to soak up any more. He tosses it aside on one of the cargo containers with a low growl and wipes the oil away from his eyes as best he can. "Everythin's shiny," he says through gritted teeth to Alabaster. "Jus'... don't go inta the Engine Room fer awhile. I kinna had ta jury-rig one a the pipes. I'll hafta get a part from the Zai Yin Shipyard laster on..." He looks up to Wren, tilting his head a bit. "No, unless you were chewin' on that one pipe that goes from the big chunky thing ta the square-ish blocky lookin' thing next ta the engine. Y'know..." He tries to demonstrate with his hands. "It's kinda... looks like that. Roughly. Anyway. No big deal, why we makin' such a big deal a this? Everythin's fine, nothin' ta be worried 'bout. Jus'... Don't light any matches or nothin' until I change."
Alabaster Smith blinks at Grey, and sideways glances towards the Engine Room. "Oh dear," he murmurs. "Ah will be sure to steer clear, then... just to be on the safe side." He takes a step or two away from the Engine Room, as well.
Wren shakes her head at Grey. "No, never really taken to pipe chewing," she assures him with a bright smile, relaxing a bit to lean between the railing to watch the Captain. "No flambe," she adds quite seriously, looking over to Alabaster as if that might have been something he was considering.
"No... No flambe," Grey says, apparently finding that more amusing than disturbing. "Ugh. What a friggin' mess. Don't ya fret, preacher, the jury-rig'll hold, so long's we're grounded. Definitely gotta replace that part afore we take off, though, fer sure." He starts to make his way over to the stairs. "I'ma go shower an' change, an' when I do, I'm goin' fer a drink, dirtside. Gorram ol' engine system, I should jus' have the whole damn thing replaced." He continues to mutter in that vein until he disappears up the steps.
Alabaster Smith chuckles, shaking his head as he watches Grey vanish. "Ah have no real technical skills," he admits ruefully, "so Ah'll have to take his words on faith. As long as nothing explodes, Ah'll be happy."
Scooting over to scrunch up against one side of the stairs, Wren leaves plenty of space for Grey to climb past her. Her nose crinkles as the fumes trailing off him reach her, and then looks back to the Preacher. "Faith. Good word," she tells him, standing up to continue her interrupted journey down the stairs.
Alabaster Smith nods solemnly at Wren. "One of mah favorites," he says with a soft laugh. "Not that you're surprised, Ah'm sure. So, how've you been settling in?"
"Okay," Wren replies, eyes going a bit vague as she thinks. "Got a few things set up, so we can start seeds," she continues, smiling a little. "An' my strawberry vines and cherry tomatoes are doin' well enough," she notes, nibbling on her lower lip in thought.
Alabaster Smith beams, and nods. "Splendid. If there's anything you need us to acquire for you, just let me know. Ah know most of the vendors in Eavesdown pretty well by now."
"Well, I need a drum. And some chain. And a tub," Wren lists off, eyes still focused on some internal landscape. "Most'a the wiring I can probably scrounge... An' I've got the medium already, an' most'a what I need for the solution," she rambles a little, thinking out loud.
Grey comes back down the stairs, dressed in his combat suit again, sporting his weapons and gear - a little excessive for a night out, perhaps. "This is why I want ta find a mechanic," he mutters to himself. "Gorram engines. An' engine oil. An' piping." He quirks his lips and looks to Wren and Alabaster. "Comin' out, you two?"
Alabaster Smith nods to Wren, apparently taking mental notes as she rattles off her list. When Grey returns, he smiles at the Captain. "Ah reckon so... what's on the agenda for the evening?"
"You gonna shoot something?" Wren asks Grey, eyeing the weaponry and gear. The going out seems sort of predicated on his answer to the question.
Grey shrugs lightly. "Only iffen it shoots at me firs'," he says to Wren blithely. "No real agenda, preacher. I figger we'll stay grounded fer a while on 'Seph. Firs' off, I gotta talk ta Zai Yin an' see iffen they got that part we need. An' secondly, there's a ball an' auction happenin' tomorrow that I figured we'd stick 'round for, see iffen there's anythin' interestin' goin' on there. But fer tonight... I need a gorram beer." And then, wouldn't you know it, that hissing noise comes back to life from the Engine Room. "Hell an' heat, what does a man gotta do...!" Shaking his head, he looks to the two of them with despair in his eyes. "I'll take care a it." He turns on his heel and enter the Engine Room, closing the blast door behind him... just in case.
Alabaster Smith grins at Grey. "Ah'll certainly let you spot us some beers... when you get free," he says to the Captain's back. Then he glances to Wren, shrugging a little, as if to say 'what can we do?'
Wren nods as Grey answers, still looking vaguely worried. The hissing sound followed by Grey's outburst only deepens that expression, and she brushes her hands off, as if getting rid of some invisible dust. "Not good words," she mutters to the closed hatch.
Alabaster Smith smiles at Wren. "Ah guess we'll just have to trust in the Captain's skills," he says with a chuckle. "He does know what he's doing, for the most part."
Wren gives herself a little shake, returning her attention to the Preacher. "I might could help, but... I might could really break something," she says, clearly torn as to what she should be doing.
Alabaster Smith grins. "Tell you what. If he yells for help, we'll come running to lend him a hand. Otherwise, Ah'm not about to get underfoot with mah lack of skills. It seems smarter in the long run."
Wren nods slowly. "Smarter," she agrees, wandering a little inside the large hold, trailing her fingers across cargo boxes. "How long've you been on this ship?" she wonders after a moment.
Alabaster Smith smiles brightly, and looks thoughtful. "About four months, ever since the Captain started hiring people in the first place," he explains. "Ah was one of his first crew for the Invictus... after Ah convinced him of mah usefulness."
Wren smiles a little and murmurs, "Peppermint." Turning a thoughtful gaze upon the Preacher, she nods at him. "Four's good-- gotta get through five, but six is worth it."
Alabaster Smith chuckles. "Ah'll remember that," he says brightly. "How's seven and eight?"
Crinkling her nose a bit, Wren answers without hesitation. "Seven's okay, eight's usually better," she tells him, turning back around from her wanderings and facing Alabaster again. "You got a favorite number?" she asks in return, canting her head to one side.
Alabaster Smith shrugs, thoughtfully. "Ah've never really given the matter much thought, but Ah reckon if Ah had to choose any, three is a perfectly nice one."
Wren grins at that. "Yep, three's a good one," she agrees with a bob of her head. "One's too salty," she adds as an afterthought.
Alabaster Smith quirks an eyebrow. "Too salty? How exactly can a number be salty?" he wants to know, curiously. He looks at Wren contemplatively.
"It just is," Wren responds with a shrug. "How can salt be too salty?" she asks in return, seeming to equate the two statements.
Alabaster Smith furrows his brow. "Tell me, then... if one is salty, how do the other numbers compare?" He's trying to wrap his mind around the statements being tossed out, apparently.
Wren frowns at Alabaster. "Some are sweet and some are bitter and some... just are," she reports, watching the Preacher uncertainly.
Alabaster Smith strokes his chin, and hmms. "Intriguing," he says. "Ah've never thought about numbers that way. You have an interesting viewpoint, mah dear."
"Doesn't take any thought," Wren insists, shaking her head. "Things just are. Your name's a word. Yours and the Captain's," she observes, veering suddenly off topic for no apparent reason.
Alabaster Smith quirks an eyebrow. "How so?" he asks. "Well, Ah mean all names are words, obviously, but how do you mean?"
Wren shakes her head. "Nope, not all. Jane's not a word. Not a proper word. Your names are proper words. Like my name," she explains patiently, pushing herself up to sit on a nearby stack of crates at the same time.
Alabaster Smith chuckles, nodding. "Grey. Alabaster. Wren. Of course. It makes sense."
"Course it does," Wren agrees, drumming her heels against the side of the crate she's perched atop. "Think he's alright in there?" she asks, glancing over to the closed engine room.
Alabaster Smith peers over at the door as well, brow furrowed, and he hmmms. "Ah really hope so. But Ah haven't heard any explosions, screams, or cries for help so far, so Ah reckon things must be tolerably under control."
Wren nibbles at her lower lip, still watching the hatch with some concern before she turns her gaze back to Alabaster. "How come you're listenin' to me?" she queries, studying the man with great curiosity.
Alabaster Smith smiles brightly. "Because Ah like listening to people, and learning from them. It's all part of who Ah am and what Ah do. Do people not listen to you much?"
"Not usually," Wren says agreeably. "Or, they listen to certain things, but not other things," she continues a bit more slowly. "Nobody ever listens to numbers."
Alabaster Smith shrugs, thoughtfully, and offers an understanding smile. "Ah try mah best to listen to whatever people say. You never know what you'll learn that way."
Wren considers this for a little while, the drumming of her heels slowing against the crate. "Don't think most people want to learn too much," she says finally, grimacing a little. "Safer that way, usually."
Alabaster Smith chuckles softly. "That's been a running theme for as long as mankind has existed," he says. "Learning too much. Ah think Ah'm going to step outside for some fresh air for a little while."
"I should go make sure the pump's workin' right on the rig I set up," Wren says with a little nod, hopping down from her crate. "Somehow, I don' think he's goin' out tonight," she adds, throwing a last glance at the closed hatchway.
Alabaster Smith smiles, nodding. "You do that, then. Ah'll see about fulfilling that shopping list of yours." With a casual wave, he heads outside.
