Sanguine

It was nearly dusk on Beaumont, in the city. It was bustling like any other large city, these days. The lights started to kick on. The night life was starting to come out. All the underground. The gangsters. All the freaks and geeks.

One man, who was hanging around the dry docks seemed to be particularly particularly vexed about something. His clothes and exposed skin were smudged with what seemed like engine grease and metal shavings. His name was Reed Owens. He captained a firefly sitting comfortably in the dry dock, and it was comfortably burning a hole in his pocket. He grumbled inaudibly as he flipped through the clipboard he had in his hands with some serious vigor as he grew more and more unhappy with each passing moment.

At a moment's notice, Reed stopped fiddling with the papers and brought the clipboard to his side as he started walking hurriedly towards the aft of his ship. "Tristan?" he shouted. "Tristan! What in the sphincter of hell is going on with this? We've been parked here for a week and we got a job waiting for us! Not to mention this stay here is burnin' a hole in my pocket larger than any of us can afford. He continued to the aft passing along the port side of his ship where he noticed that once again, the paint burned off his hull and once again, that stupid sign showed its resilience. "And why is the gorram oaty bar still tattooed to my boat?"

Drinkin' usually got a man through the day without much incident. Especially when the Chwen of a captain insisted on sailing on an outdated Mi Tian Gohn. But that was the job. And a man had to work. And there were precious few jobs that a man like Matthias Roan could still get behind. Alliance was still moving farther out and making thing complicated, but that was teh way of things these days. They were a factor, sure as the turn of the worlds. Which was why Roan had looked for work on a ship that mainly played the rim. Ever since the fateless had been impounded, he'd been drifting. Found some good work here and there. Shot a few deserving folk, and maybe one or two that weren't quite as deserving. THough he had to admit to himself if he ever found the Lio Coh Jwei Ji Neong Hur Ho Deh Yung Duh Buhn Jah J’wohn who had decided that a change in ownership hadn't mattered for whether a ship should be impounded, there was going to be a reckoning. Roan down his glass, savouring the burn as the liquor worked it's way down his gullet. Nothing fancy, just the cheap rotgut that was brewed locally.

Baeumonde was a nice enough world, provided you didn't think much of the sun. At least if you needed the spaceport. Which they did. The mechanic that the captain had found was good. Tristan. Roan just called him Red. The compression coil on a Firefly could be finicky in the older models. You could run a finicky coil, but something told Roan that Red wanted to make sure nothing went sideways once they were in the air. Which suited Roan just fine. And so, thusly, here sat Matthias Roan, working through his petty cash fund on cheap booze and a bowl of onion rings. At least he'd avoided much in the way of local colour. Of course, that was liable to change if he stayed in this dive of a bar for too much longer. But Roan was feeling pretty settled, adn not inclined to move without a very good reason.

As the Captain headed aft the sounds of rattling, banging and a steady stream of curses in a mush of languages reverberated along the hall. The Firefly class of ships were persnickety enough in the first place but with an ailing port compression coil on top of an old engine made Tristan Firestone's job harder. The port compression coil, when it was working, made sure that the ship wouldn't rattle itself apart in the Black and blow itself to pieces.

Any mechanic worth their credits had heard enough horror stories of busted life support and engines that left ships, and their crews dead in the water. It was taking all of Tristan's skill to keep them flying until they had reached Beaumonde. Now he was trying to piece together a workable fix which had dry docked them for longer then he and the crew would have liked. So far, he wasn't making much headway.

Unless he wanted tian fuhn di fu the Cap'n had better be a mite more patient with him. As the Captain finished speaking the mechanic popped up behind the engine. His jump suit and face was liberally streaked with grease and some of it had smeared into his wavy black hair. His grey eyes flashed with annoyance as what he thought as his own domain was invaded.

"And I told ye that a faulty port compression coil would take some time to patch!" The man's voice was heated and he seemed to be working his way into one of his fine rants before he exhaled and went back to work, talking as he did so. "I'm doing all I can here and Mena's out on salvage, we both have every damned day. Unless we can find something then we'll have to order the part which costs credits none of us have. Do ye have any other suggestions Captain?" His voice was terse and he ignored the question of the oaty bar emblazoned on their boat. It was starting to become a bad joke amongst the crew.

(Translation: "tian fuhn di fu"- complete disarray or sheer pandemonium, literally "sky tumbles while earth turns over".)

Reed just sighed and started to turn around and stopped mid motion. "Well, just get it squared away. Can't get paid if we sit here," he replied as he finished his movement and began walking back towards the bow, checking over every ding and dent. Seeing what was suited for departing atmo and what wasn't. "Gorram ship is gonna be the death of me," he mumbled. Anyone who knows him at all would know that it was out of affection.

He climbed up on top of Sanguine and took a walk around the hull for another inspection. Nothing that wasn't already dinged and dented. Once his rounds were complete, he opened up one of the topside airlocks and proceeded inside the ship. He walked along the neck of Sanguine until he reached his quarters and entered. he took a moment to sit down and deal with some of the logistical crap.

One of the pillars any self-respecting medic should have in mind in order to succeed in their area of expertise is patience. Patience to clean wounds and not rush the process, patience for fevers to come down, patience with annoying patients, patience to make new medicine... And, being the highly competent doctor Jeana Harley knew she was, she had lots of it, and was proud to be considered a patient and understanding person. The whole Sanguine crew knew very well that it was hard to make her lose her cool, or to even see her mad. That was a thing that just didn't happen.
Unless, you know, you made her wait upon the rendevouz point on her own for over an hour and a half, under the calcining sun of Beaumont, her hands full with bags containing new supplies for the ship, and a group of men eyeing her from over the corner with not the prettiest of intentions.
"Roan I am going to kill you so many times...", she had been whispering to herself since the moment she realized the man WOULDN'T show up. Jeana wasn't worried about him; she had known this person long enough to understand that he was probably procrastinating somewhere else, and had completely forgotten about the fact that they were supposed to meet there and go back to the ship before sunset.

The sun set, and she decided not to wait any longer.
Granted, today hadn't been off to the best start. Her husband and captain of their crew had been freaking over the ship for a few days already, demonstrating his undying love for the damned thing, and making her want to just lie in the floor and zone out until they could leave this planet. The guy that sold her the supplies tried to scam her, and she had to use aggravating methods to walk away with the right stuff, and the right amount of money in her pockets. Add in the fact that you couldn't trust Roan to keep a balloon off the floor, and you have the right combination for a stressful day.

She approached the nearest decent-looking person, and asked where she could find a bar. Why a bar, some would ask. Because procrastinating equals drinking untill passing out for Matthias Roan, Jeana would answer.
She arrived at the place fuming, several bags hanging from her arms, and looked around for a big man and a melancholic attitude. Upong spotting him, she approached his seat, stomping, and smiled, "funny to see a man here doing nothing. Some would think he was BAILING OUT OF AN APPOINTMENT. I'm sure that is not the case with you though, good sir".

Roan was not a man for mediocrity. Especially not when it came to his booze. A very fine liquor was something to be savoured, to be enjoyed. A cheap rotgut was something to shave the edge off of your day. And his day had been pretty jagged and sharp before coming here. Now it was worn gleefully smooth. He could feel the door opening. It wasn't so much a change in illumination, it was more of the shifting of the air pressure. There was a small part of him that had to fight off the instinct to draw and verify that there were no threats. Old habits and instincts died hard. But the rotgut helped. He heard the heavy steps of someone who was annoyed. Someone who was putting some effort into the irritation, but really didn't have the mass to make a heavy tread really count, and as it was coming closer to him he had quite a good idea of who he was about to be dealing with.

And he was right. An irate doctor with a tie to the captain and slightly puffed opinion of herself. She did good work. Roan could respect that. Could find her a good medic and a fine enough person to travel with. But he'd seen too much mud slogging ground wars to really connect with someone who hadn't. And she was sure as hell not a knuckle-dragging foot slogger like himself and the captain. She started to speak, the edge in her voice showing that she was properly irritated. Sarcasm. The main language out here in the rim.
"Or he had the utmost of faith in his shipmate to be able to perform a simple enough task like shopping for goods, and opted to let her take care of it. She's ever so talented you see. So her I sit to make myself in proper state to deal with the captain who still frets on about his ship." He said calmly. Oh, he'd been drinking a good amount to be sure, but there was still a steady level of purpose to every move that he made as he stood up. The bartender came by and set a large bottle on the bar top before him. Roan nodded his thanks, and peeld off a credit note, tossing it onto the bar. The tender took it with a nod and smile.

Roan started for the door, knowing that the doc wasn't about to pass up the chance to berate him as they head back. Hawk was out with the mule, and that left the rest of them walking. One of these days he was going to have to learn how to fly a damned shuttle. Make things a lot easier. Or the doc should. Then Roan could still have a few drinks and not worry about wrecking the shuttle on landing. That would be a bad thing he surmised. The walk back was about what he'd expected, a long string of bickering and barbs being tossed back and forth, with Roan keeping back his more infuriating and aggravating comments, since he wasn't exactly eager to push the doc far enough to have her clout him in the head. He wasn't sure whether he'd stay up. Head shots were funny things when you'd been drinking. The ugly side of the ship loomed up into view, with the skillfully painted symbol of the Oaty Bars on the side. Damned kids had some skills, and a lot of good materials and ambition. Captain would likely shoot 'em if he ever found out who exactly had done the work.
"Home sweet home, eh there doc?" He drawled as tey started up the ramp to get inside.

In comparison to the atmosphere on the ship digging through gutted ships for scrap on a hot day was almost pleasant. Almost. As the day rolled on and the heat got worse Hawk Firestone's repertoire of curses found more use. She had managed to cram herself into and out of enough tight spaces to pick up a myriad of scrapes and cuts, luckily the Doc had given the crew boosters not that long ago. Combined with the heat and the frustration of not finding any supplies over a week's worth of scrap diving was starting to make the pilot frazzled.

Luck had started to turn around after another hour when she found a few stabilizers and packed them into the mule. When the sun had set and lights flooded the junkyard she was in the middle of the maze of the yard when she came across a heap of junk and set into digging in. The beeping of her comlink sounded awhile after that as the woman extracted herself with a muttered "Finally!"

The com crackled and her brother's voice came through "Mena? Do ye have anything yet? The captain's chewing my ass again."

Holding the com and placing the mostly new port compression coil in the mule the woman scowled "Let me guess he was all bluster with no suggestions? Well I finally hit paydirt, found us a catalyzer that'll fit the Sanguine. Got some stablizisers too to go along with the catalyzer ye found yesterday. I'm bringing them in now."

"Good, thank ye I think I hear the Doc and Roan coming. See ye soon."


It didn't take too long to get her gear squared away and the drive back to the Sanguine was peaceful. Hawk was always the most comfortable when she had something to steer though like most of the crew she always cringed inwardly when seeing the Oaty Bar emblem on their ship. It had been done up in hazard paint and was a permanent fixture on the ship's hull. While it was good work it made them all to noticeable which was something that a ship filled with mostly Browncoats didn't appreciate.

She came into the Sanguine on the heels of Roan and Jeana and clambered off to grab the box of supplies. It seemed as if the Doc had been winding down from a long rant, she could nearly match Tristan for gabbling when riled. About to head in the direction of the engine room her brother strode into the hall and lit up when he saw the box, starting to pore over its contents.

"Good work, where'd ye find the coil?"


"Pile of random junk, we got lucky again. Work ye're magic on the engine already so we can get off planet."


He flitted back into the engine room and soon the thrum of the engine filled the ship making the balance under Hawk's feet right again. The woman nodded at Roan and Jeana "I'll get us in the Black again, let the Captain now so he can ease up." With that she headed to the cock-pit ready to start flying.

The captain stood and walked throught the hatches and bulkheads wandering in a seemingly aimless manner towards the bridge. He was beginning to get even more annoyed about the amount of time they were spending getting the ship to fly again. He spouted random curses in Chinese here and there. He pulled up the engine room on the comma and proceeded to speak. "Do we have an ETA for take off? I don't want to spend more time on this rock than I have to."

Jeana took the walk 'back home' as an opportunity to lay off some steam -by ranting aimlessly about how she wasn't going to forgive Roan if he ever did that to her again. She knew he wouldn't take anything to heart, and that he didn't want to get into a fight, so she just blabbed on, much to his annoyance.

They got to the ship just before Mena. Judging from her expression, she'd finally found what they needed. Hopefully they could take off soon enough, and the captain would go back to his grumpy self (instead of the current extra-grumpy version).

"I'll get the supplies situated inside for now", she announced to no one in particular, as she entered the ship, and made her way to the infirmary; her territory. She'd let her husband be until he could be sure the ship would make it.

Strauss said:

The captain stood and walked throught the hatches and bulkheads wandering in a seemingly aimless manner towards the bridge. He was beginning to get even more annoyed about the amount of time they were spending getting the ship to fly again. He spouted random curses in Chinese here and there. He pulled up the engine room on the comma and proceeded to speak. "Do we have an ETA for take off? I don't want to spend more time on this rock than I have to."

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Tristan extricated himself from the engine and rolled his neck before flipping on the com. "Engine checks nearly done, we'll be lifting off in a few minutes Captain." The compression coil was a perfect fit and he took the time to swap out the catalyzer and stabilizers to help things run as perfectly as possible. He continued to putter around doing minor checks and repairs as the engine hummed around him.

True to his word the engine roared to life a few moments later. Hawk was at the controls and after her own check and clearance the ship lifted into the air, leaving for the Black.

It was kind of like having a bird on your shoulder, chattering away in your ear endlessly. That was how the trip back felt really. But Roan was able to tune out the rant. Really, it was likely just a good way for her to release a little pressure, and that was never a bad thing really. Long as she didn't expect him to either A.) apologise, B.) actually listen to the rant, or C.) feel bad. Beacuse those were the three least likely outcomes to the whole situation. Roan had earned more than a few eyerolls and distateful looks from his thoery and practice in most cases. He was a firm believer in the Law of Men. They aint wrong. They aint sorry. And it's probably gonna happen again.

Of course that law was sacred amongst men, adn never to be shared with the ladies of the world. Dire consequences if that happened. Roan agreed with the Doc aimlessly as she made her way to the med bay. Roan picked his way aroud the corridors as the ship started to rumble. Always a welcome sign. They were getting off of this rock, and back into the Black. Roan let himself into his room, adn set his bottle of booze in a rack. He paused, adn then slid the pistol from the holster and unloaded it, setting it on the side table. Big enough to make sure folk knew he wasn't fooling, but a little much to be toting around on ship. No one on here that needed a good being shot. He picked out a smaller one from the small set of handguns he owned. Less flash, less bang, but a large clip and a hell of a rate of fire. It was a good close quarters pistol.

Roan lef this room, adn absently made his way up to the cockpit, seeing Hawk at the controls.
"Morning Bird-Lady. See we got this boat in the air. Where we headed?" He asked.

The captain entered the cockpit right behind Roan. Just in time to hear his question. "Persephone," he answered. "Got some crime to be done there. Badger's looking for a smuggler. Don't know who or what, but we ain't in the business of asking questions." The cap leaned over the railing for the latter well in the center of the bridge. "How's she holdin'?" He asked Hawk.

Hawk didn't turn as Roan talked at her and the once reflexive question of the difficulty on calling her by name had long since been destroyed. Her hands were light on the controls and she shrugged "Fine like usual. The repairs did their job and the ride's much smoother. Need to see about replacing or fixing some of my controls. They're a mite slow." She replied cooly. "Still, I'll get us to Persephone in one piece."