The Wild Rose that's Waitin' for Me

[faye]

[OOC: This thread is assuming that the Atlas and Riley are connected somehow, so members of both crews are welcome to join. Please don't have that many in here though, as I am easily distracted and suck at huge multiples. Thank you. Massive loves for all of you.]

Both of the ships were silent. Faye could feel the Riley's engine hum beneath her. It was a comforting feeling, comforting like the feeling of soft faux fur was comforting; she didn't have to feel guilty for it. She thought about nothing, about everything, and eventually began wondering if, at any moment, she was to wake up, and find herself back in her bed on McKinleigh, or worse, in a foxhole in the middle of some awful bloody struggle. She closed her eyes and gripped the sheet with her hand, as if that would stop her from exiting her beautiful dream. She giggled to herself at her own silliness.

Faye loved mornings like this, when she had a moment to reflect. However, after a few moments, she found she couldn't ignore the insistant pressure in her bladder and she had to get up. After a quick shower, she threw on a pair of dark pants, a white long-sleeved shirt, and her boots, a normal ensemble for Faye. She couldn't find her normal black jacket, though, and so settled for her decorated brown army coat. She didn't mind the small change for today, and she doubted any of the crews would feel differently.

Walking down the hall and into the kitchen, Faye tied her damp hair up in a bun with the hair tie she'd had around her wrist. She proceeded to begin to make coffee when the screen implanted in the wall started to ring, signaling that a wave was coming through. It only rang in the kitchen, the bridge, and in Faye's room at this hour, so as not to disturb the rest of the crew or the passengers. The name on the screen flashed in the center: MURPHY, Riona.

The pleasant haze Faye had been in was now decidedly gone. She touched the screen. The figure that appeared was a forty-eight-year-old woman, with bright red hair and blue eyes. She smiled and spoke with a thick McKinlian accent.

"Dia duit, Captain Murphy."

Faye smiled. "Hello, Ma."

"You look thin, Faye." Riona's expression turned to one of concern. "How have ye been?"

"I'm fine, Ma. Me and Delilah both. We've been doin' just prime."

"Hmm. Then why haven't ye come to see me, eh? One visit here, you won't look so damn bony. We'd give you and yer crew a royal welcome, to be sure."

It took all of Faye's strength to will herself away from rolling her eyes. They were going through the paces again; this was not an unfamiliar routine. "We've just been busy, Ma." She furrowed her brow. "What time is it there?"

"Oh, it's almost four. And out in the black?"

"Very early. In fact, I just woke up."

"Ah, I see. Well, anyway, you must come see me. Is Delilah around?"

"No, she's sleeping. I could have her wave you later --"

"No, no. I'll probably be down at the pub by then. Now, you answer my question!"

Faye blinked. "What question, Ma? Y'asked me where Delilah was."

"You know right well. When are ye comin' to visit?"

Already beginning to get exasperated, Faye shrugged. "I can't say. Whenever work slows down, we'll be sure to stop by."

"Very well." There was a pause, and a look of feigned innocence on Riona's face. "And if ye happen to be seein' a nice boy..."

"I haven't." There was no hesitation in Faye's voice; she really didn't feel like having this conversation.

Far from being discouraged, Riona perked up. "Well, in that case, there are plenty of nice boys around here -- "

"I've known most of 'em half me life, Ma -- "

"They've grown up, y'see!"

"Absolutely not, Mother -- is that all you think about, really?"

Riona was not to be denied, and Faye finally gave up on trying to talk over her.

"Now look here, lass. When you have twin girls o' yer own, and they're all grown up and beautiful as you two, you tell me what else will occupy yer thoughts. All I want is for you to be happy and get married."

"Can't I be happy without gettin' married?"

Riona's tone did not change. "Absolutely not."

Faye couldn't help but laugh. "You're sick, woman. You're evil."

"In my experience, evil is all a matter of perspective," Riona said, also laughing. There was a noise in the background, and she looked over her shoulder. "Oh, Sinead's here. I'll talk to ye later, dear. I love you, and tell Delilah I love her too. Slan."

"Love you too, Ma."

The screen went back to its screen saver. Rolling her eyes, she walked back over to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee, adding a nice dose of Irish cream. She sipped at it, now convinced she had already more than earned it after that conversation.

[radegrasan]

"Whoa, what the...!!!" Rade yelled as he woke up.

Rade somehow managed to fall asleep in the cockpit after he put the Riley on autopilot. He was so tired the night before that he didn't even bother to go back to his bunk.

He looked up to find that the ringing he heard came from the screen that was implanted in the wall. A closer look revealed that the caller was one 'MURPHY, Riona'.

"Heh, funny. Didn't know the Murphy twins had any family left." Rade thought as he read the name on the screen.

Just as he was about to pick up, he saw that it had already been answered in the kitchen. Rade couldn't control his curiosity however, and pressed the screen anyway, and was so able to follow the conversation, without them knowing he was listening in.

It appeared that Faye was the one who picked up, and Rade guessed the one that was calling must've been related to her and Delilah. His guess on the woman's identity was answered right after Faye greeted the woman.

"Hello, Ma."

"Ma? You mean to tell me Ol' Red wasn't spawned from all that is evil in the 'Verse?" Rade thought as he smiled to his own joke.

He crossed his arms and continued following the conversation. It was hard to believe there actually was a human side to Faye, apart from all the bossing around and failing military discipline.

Faye's mother seemed like a nice person though. Rade liked the bit about where her mother proposed to give the crew a royal welcome, and couldn't help imagining getting a nice meal, some good liquor and a party. He figured everyone on board was long overdue for a nice party. Especially after all that had happened so far.

"And if ye happen to be seein' a nice boy..."

Rade couldn't help to laugh out loud for a second, but then immediately tried holding his laugh again.

"Ain't no guy in the 'Verse that you can pay enough or booze up enough to take The Red Fury out on a date!" Rade thought, knowing that whoever was to take out Faye Murphy, would certainly regret it.

Rade kept following the conversation. Seemed Faye's mother was hellbend on getting her married somehow. Although he did disagree with her when she said no one could be happy without getting married.

Rade couldn't see himself get married either. In order to do that, one would have to know love, and that was one of the few things Rade Grasan didn't know anything, or cared to learn about. He tried it once before, but it gave him nothing but pain and misery.

As the the women said their goodbyes, Rade turned off the screen. Only now did he realize how dry his mouth and his throat was, so he decided to walk over to the kitchen and get himself something drink before starting his daily routine in the cockpit again.

Rade knew Faye was in the kitchen, and he figured that maybe if he didn't look at her, she couldn't give him any grief. It was just too early in the morning and he didn't get a good night's sleep at all.

As Rade entered the kitchen, he tried not to look into Faye's direction. He noticed she had put on some coffee, but pouring a cup of it would be like stealing a hunk of meat from a lion.

Instead, he immediately walked over to the cabinet, and took a mug from it. Without even looking in Faye's direction Rade walked over to the fridge, took the bottle of fruitjuice, and poured the mug full of it.

He then leaned on the kitchen counter and stared at the floor, still not willing to look into Faye's direction. Rade just stood there, determined to just drink up the juice in the kitchen, and then returning to the cockpit for the day.

[connorbeckett]

Connor walked alone.

It was very early, and he suspected that no one else on the Atlas had stirred from their bunks yet. He understood completely. A body liked to know it was alive after staring death in the crosshairs, and the crew had celebrated the fact that they was still breathing last night, after successfully pulling their latest job. “There’ll be a few throbbin’ heads this mornin’,” he thought, smiling faintly.

He continued his lone march through the semi-darkness. Whereas most folks would find the faint metal clanking of their steps on the dimly lit steel walkway in the early pre-dawn of nowhere somewhat eerie, and at least a little bit ominous, to Connor the sounds of his boots in the stillness already sounded a lot like home. Alone and drifting had been his life for so long, that now the sounds of solitude came as natural as breathing. Even in a spaceship that was still strange to him.

He entered the airlock that joined the Atlas to the Riley and paused. Looking out the glass onto the vastness of the Black, he wished he had the words to describe the beauty he saw, and wondered what Byron or Yeats or Shakespeare would have had to say about it. Unfortunately, words escaped him, and he smiled. “There’s no one here to hear ‘em, anyway,” he mused softly.

Pressing a button, he entered the Riley and made his way through the cargo bay. It was still very dark over here, as well. He surmised that like his fellows on board the Atlas, most of the Riley’s crew were still sleeping off last night’s festivities. Pausing every so often to run his hands along a rail or to look at an interesting component, Connor soaked in the atmosphere of the Firefly-class transport. “Most folks flyin’ think o' their birds as livin’ creatures,” he said reverently as he looked out over the space of the cargo hold. “So, I wonder ... what does that make us as we crawl about inside ‘em?” Patting the old boat affectionately, he made his way to the kitchen.

His boss, Captain Ryan Hannigan, had mentioned something about giving some coffee to the Riley, the night before. He’d even gone so far as to lay out a box of the stuff at some point during the evening. But Connor had a feeling Ryan would never wake up in time to deliver it before breakfast. Something about the Boss’ attitude the night before made the gunhand think there was a lot going on under the surface with the man. Which was why Connor Beckett had a box of coffee tucked under his arm this morning.

Before he reached his destination, he saw the glow of a well-lit room. “I guess I ain’t the only early riser, this mornin',” he softly admitted before speaking loud enough to be heard. It wouldn’t do to surprise the folk on board and be shot by accident.

“Hello, the kitchen! Hope it’s alright iffn I can come in. I’m friendly, and I’m bearin' gifts,” he said cheerily.

Without bothering to wait for a response, he entered the dining area, but stopped at the doorway. There were two other folks in the room. “Mornin’, ma’am,” he said politely, tipping his hat to the red-haired Captain of the Riley.

“She is a mighty intriguing woman,” he thought to himself as she looked his way. Her eyes briefly touched the two guns he wore, before they returned to his face without giving off a hint of what was going on behind those pretty eyes. “Smart enough that she don’t miss much, and tougher than old boot leather ‘less I miss my guess. Good lookin’ too,” he admitted, unaware that a smile warmed his normally cold, distant expression or that there was a slight twinkle in his blue eyes.

He didn’t recognize the young feller.

“I brought over some coffee the Boss said you might want. Is it alright if I come in?” he asked respectfully. Then he waited.

[faye]

Faye paid little attention to Rade as he entered the kitchen, other than giving him a short, "Good Morning, Mr. Grasan." The young man seemed odd, a bit quieter than usual. She didn't think to object; at this hour, the less she heard from him, the better.

However, the next person to enter was not one of the own, to be sure, and almost (but not quite) gave Faye a bit of a start. Then she saw that it was simply a member of their partner ship's crew: one Connor Beckett, a hired hand -- hired gun hand, that is.

He was a tall, lean sort of fellow, with dark hair, blue eyes, and calloused hands. He wasn't the type to talk for the sake of talking; when he did speak, his voice was low, scratchy, and thick with an accent indicative of a country upbringing. Faye didn't mind his silence so much; it was a sign of deep thought, and she certainly prefered it over Grasan's "never-stop-talking" attitude.

Overall, Faye didn't mind him; she didn't enjoy his presence, but she didn't dislike it as much as that of certain others. And she didn't so much mind his job on the Atlas, either, since she knew that a ship with an unexperienced captain needed protection. Beckett bid her good morning and she nodded in return.

“I brought over some coffee the Boss said you might want. Is it alright if I come in?”

"But of course, Mr. Beckett." Faye nodded again, and put her coffee down in case he needed help putting it away. She glanced at Rade, then back to Beckett. "I don't know if you've met our pilot, Mr. Rade Grasan."

[echo]

Couldn't have been more than a few weeks aboard the Riley before Echo began to feel at home. It was always awkward being on a new ship, but being on a ship where you respected the captain made all the difference in the world. And Echo did just that, she respected Captain Faye Murphy. How could she not? The woman was fair, loyal, kept to her word, she had all the makings of a great captain. Echo just hoped she wouldn't be kicked off anytime soon.

Entering the kitchen from the cargo area, Echo wiped her greasy hands on her brown pants. She'd been up for hours working on a new Grav Boot she had picked up on Persephone. Hours of just tinkering with a new toy, so called.

Her arms, hands and face were smudged with grease and oil from the Boot, and her red tank top seemed to fair pretty well. Echo entered the kitchen in search of a glass of water, perhaps a piece of bread or something. She didn't really need much.

As she entered, she noticed two distinct voices. The captain and the pilot. Two people she rather liked talking with. The third voice was new, though. New people made Echo wary, and extremely cautious. She only cursed herself that her guns were back in her room. All she had for defense was a small knife down in her boot. That was Echo, though, always on the defense before any defending needed doing.

With a deep breath, she turned the corner and entered the kitchen, keeping as low a profile as possible. "Captain," she nodded at Faye as she walked for a glass, "Rade." Echo tacked a small smile on with his name. Her eyes glanced over and caught sight of the man who had come aboard. She gave a small nod, but did not speak.

[radegrasan]

"I don't know if you've met our pilot, Mr. Rade Grasan."

Rade put the cup of juice down, walked up to Connor and shook his hand. He'd show Faye that he did have manners!

"Nice to meet you Mr. Beckett. Heard you're quite the gunfighter. We should play a game of 'draw' sometime. Perhaps you could teach me few tricks, huh?" Rade said.

He then went back and leaned against the kitchen counter again. At least now he wasn't so much doomed to get back to the cockpit and be bored again. With Connor in the room, staying in a room with Faye wouldn't be so bad.

Rade then looked up to the sound of incoming footsteps. It was Echo, who apparently had been up already and working. The smudges of oil on her face, hands and arms were a dead giveaway too.

"Captain, Rade."

Rade was always glad to see Echo. She was a sight for sore eyes, that much was sure. He just kept wondering what her actual deal was though.

"Mornin' Echo." Rade replied.

Rade had a feeling Faye would send him back to the cockpit again, so he decided to be quicker and get going himself.

"Well, this boat needs flying so you guys know where to find me." Rade said, and then left for his all too familiar place in the cockpit.

[OOC: Read your post Lyn. That's why I edited this post into Rade leaving. Don't want you to get confuzzled. ;D]

[faye]

[OOC: I don't have time to post right now, but I'd like to point out that this (Faye, Rade, Connor, Echo) is the LIMIT of people in this thread. Originally, it was supposed to be just Faye and Connor anyway. Oh well. I don't mind the extra company one bit, as long as I don't get confuzzled (which I am wont to do because I can't multitask to save my life).]

[connorbeckett]

"I don't know if you've met our pilot, Mr. Rade Grasan," said the Riley's Captain.

He hadn’t, but the younger man soon told Connor all he needed to know.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Beckett. Heard you're quite the gunfighter. We should play a game of 'draw' sometime. Perhaps you could teach me few tricks, huh?" Rade said, shaking his hand.

Connor looked him straight in the eyes and responded with a simple, “Mornin’.”

He’d never heard anyone talk so immaturely about handling guns before, and he simply had no response for the lad. No response that was appropriate for polite company, at any rate. “That boy is gonna get hisself into trouble, iffn he ain’t careful,” thought Connor. “And anyone who’s around him too, most likely,” he added, making a mental note to keep an eye out for Mr. Rade Grasan.

At this point, a lovely young woman entered, the oil stains on her face and the rough work clothes she was wearing doing nothing to take away from how attractive she was. If anything, they made her seem even more radiant. Like a candle in an otherwise dark room. She seemed a bit nervous for some reason, though. It showed in the way she stood and how her hand twitched involuntarily. “Like she was reaching for a gun that wasn’t there,” Connor surmised.

Something about her tickled a memory in the back of his mind, but then it was gone. Like morning mist in the sun.

"Well, this boat needs flying so you guys know where to find me," Rade said, then left.

Realizing he hadn’t been invited to share a mug o’ joe, Connor took the young man’s departure as a cue for his own. Setting the box of coffee he’d brought on the large table, he tugged the brim of his hat respectfully.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” he said to each of the women, then turned and headed back the way he’d come. It just so happened to be the opposite direction from the pilot.

He was all the way back to the airlock when he heard the lady captain’s voice calling out, “Mr. Beckett!” Turning to look back, he saw her striding towards him with a small cup in each hand.

“Mr. Beckett,” she repeated, this time in a more conversational tone. “You left so quickly, that you were gone before I realized I hadn’t offered to share a cup with you this morning. And I’d hate for you to leave with the idea that the Riley was unsociable,” she added humorously. The light he saw flashing in her eyes told him that she wouldn’t lose a bit of sleep no matter what his opinion of her was. “She’s one helluva woman, this one,” he thought.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he replied, taking the steaming mug o’ coffee she offered. “Very kind o’ ya.”

They stood there quietly for several minutes, each sipping on the hot beverage and lost in their own thoughts, staring out the windows of the airlock. The gunhand never got tired of looking out at the Black. It was a beautiful place, and this morning it brought to mind one of his favorite poems. Absorbed in his thoughts, Connor momentarily forgot that he wasn’t alone, and he began to softly recite it.

“A wanderer is man from his birth.
He was born in a ship
On the breast of the river of Time;
Brimming with wonder and joy
He spreads out his arms to the light,
Rivets his gaze on the…” he suddenly cut off, remembering where he was.

“Sorry ‘bout that, ma’am,” he admitted, somewhat embarrassed, and handed her his nearly empty mug. “Thanks for the cup, and the comp’ny. I best be gettin’ back to work.”

He tugged the brim of his hat and turned to go.

OOC: if Faye wouldn't act this way, just let me know and i'll change it.

[echo]

Giving a nod, Echo made note of how Rade left the scene in a respective manner. Grabbing her cup of water, she downed it quickly, giving just a simple nod as she was addressed. She didn't want to get in the way of any business that may have been occurring. In fact, all she really wanted to do was get back to the Grav Boot she'd been working on.

So placing her emptied cup on the counter, Echo merely nodded at the man again, her face as somber as could be. "Captain," she followed up with a nod to Faye before turning and heading back out from where she came. "Good seeing ya again," she added to the stranger, a wink of her eye catching him. Echo turned and headed back to the cargo bay. Maybe she'd run into Rade and he could tell her what was going on.

[faye]

The two members of Faye's crew were gone before she had a chance to stop them. Grasan left with a mere comment on the ship flying, which was fine -- Faye didn't know if she could handle him this early without first having a few cups of coffee. Young Echo was another story; she didn't mind her presence so much. She nodded at her when she announced her exit. "Miss Maubrune."

Of course, this left her alone with Beckett. Faye had trouble with socializing in general, let alone with someone she barely knew alone in a room. Out of nowhere, Beckett rattled off a poem. She tilted her head at him, her brow furrowed. The expression remained that way as she took his cup from him, set it in the sink, and watched him turn to leave.

"A pretty piece of verse, to be sure," she said suddenly. She wasn't necessarily trying to get him to stay, but her curiosity got the better of her. "Especially for a gunhand. Not typically literary types, y'see -- no offense."


[OOC: bah sorry for the shortness and the suckiness. Writer's block]

[connorbeckett]

At her voice he paused, then hearing the question hidden in her statement he turned to face her, a furtive grin suddenly appearing on his face only to be gone again just as quickly. He reached up and pushed back his hat before crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, ma’am,” he began, dry humor evident in his tone, “no offense taken. But I got a little secret for ya,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “Mayhap there’s jest a tad more t’ this ol’ gunslinger th’n you figgered.”

Connor looked directly into her eyes as he continued.

“Now, take f’r example that poem there. Th’ feller who wrote it likely never even dreamt of a boat flying across the Black, ‘cause he lived way back on Earth-That-Was, back when sailin’ acrost the ocean sea was still a big deal. But still yet, he’s got the right of it.

“Out there on them lonely nights when I was jest punchin’ cows, ‘r when I had to be holed up somewheres waitin’ whilst I was on a job, purdy words like them kinda he’p’d git me through. When a feller’s got nuthin’ but time on his hands and nobody ‘cept mebbe his horse to talk to, words such as them can be savored and enjoyed more’n a good steak. Like lookin’ at the sky of a clear night, there’s a beauty to ‘em that even a gunhand can appreciate iffn he has the time ‘r the inclination.

“I heard tell somewheres that a man’s life is like a book, an’ it’s up t’ him t’ fill its pages. Mebbe I just keep a stock o’ pretty words in m’ head ‘cause I want my story to be worth readin’.

“O’ course, I might just be an odd bird,” he admitted with a wry chuckle. “That is a definite possibility. But what about yourself? Pretty ladies ain’t usually the ship captain type, neither. No offense.”

[faye]

His accent; Faye hated it. It wasn't anything she couldn't tolerate (she'd seen and heard her fair share of roughnecks), but Beckett was quickly turning out to be quite the contrary to what it suggested. It was a pity, really -- somewhere in the back of her mind, Faye vaguely wished that he knew of a more civilized way to speak.

She could handle the manner of speaking. What she couldn't, however, was the way Beckett kept staring directly into her eyes. Faye held his gaze, of course, and didn't falter, being a strong woman ready to assert her authority over this relative stranger. No matter what, she wouldn't show how much that fierce gaze unnerved her.

“Mayhap there’s jest a tad more t’ this ol’ gunslinger th’n you figgered.”

She didn't like that kind of assumption, but she decided not to interrupt as he went on and on. This was how cowboy gunhands waxed poetic, she figured, and she didn't want to steal his moment, no matter how uncivilized he sounded to her McKinlian ear.

Those eyes were still on her.

He finally came to a conclusion. "But what about yourself? Pretty ladies ain’t usually the ship captain type, neither. No offense.”

"None taken, to be sure," she said dryly as ever. "In fact, I must admit, it's nice to hear some positive adjectives to describe me. You can ask my pilot for more on that subject."

It was true; it didn't escape Faye's all-seeing eye that Rade Grasan didn't hold her in the best light -- but he did respect her command, and that was what mattered. Stop stalling, she thought to herself. He'll think you're afraid And since most of Captain Faye Murphy's life was concerned with making sure people were afraid of her and not vice versa, she was quick to fix the short silence.

"But to answer your question: I served as a noncommissioned officer* in the war.”

She didn’t have to say which war. There was only one war, and the medals on her jrown jacket removed any doubt of her loyalty or valor.

“After distinguishing myself in combat, I could hardly be expected to live a quiet life as little more than some man’s wife.”

The end. That was all she had to say. Faye wasn’t known for her nostalgic nature. She loved history; she just didn’t think her own was that interesting.

*A note on Faye’s rank:
Faye Murphy showed enough promise and leadership skills to get promoted to sergeant, and enough of a penchant for fighting to get busted back down to private. This cycle would repeat itself several times before the war was over. If asked, however, Faye will report that she was a sergeant, because that was her rank at the end of the war.

[liannasam]

Sam sat in the engine room wrench in hand, this wasn't going to be easy. She stood and took a swig from her mysterious canteen before returning to her work. She didnt much care that the ships were connected and how it had happened? Well she was still workin on that. Sam sighed as she made her way to get suited up, she would have to find some way to fix the ship and she had to assess all of the damage. (OOC: Sorry for the short post theres alot to do atm we are snowed in and someone has to shovel the driveway. I'll write more later if I can)