New Hokkaido - The Prologue to an Adventure by DireKtorsSmeagelle

OOC: I asume this is my cue to start roleplaying, so I think I'll christen the new thread.

Calbrax's move
Graham Calbrax wanders through the Re-inactment faire, looking at the displays and watching the performances. Some of what is there strongly resembles what Calbrax knows about Earth-that-was. A lot is merely supposition, perpetuating myths about eras that have long been erased from all records. He is wearing a face scarf to keep from being recognised. He overhears two people talking:
"They carted him away last night." says one "said he'd been ferrying illegal weapons. Can't see it myself."
Calbrax rushes up to the man and grabs him by the shoulders
"Who was taken away?" he asks. "Quickly man, tell me."
"Why, it was Mr Barnes." the stranger replied. "One of the Re-inactors."
Calbrax let the man go. 'Gorramit,' he thought, 'have I come all this way for nothing?'

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Thursday, December 16, 2004 7:44 PM

MANIACNUMBERONE

OOC Great first post! Calbrax intrigues me. Welcome to the storytelling! I'm happy to have you in the gunrunners.

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Friday, December 17, 2004 1:36 AM

OOC: Thanks maniac. I'm happy to be in the Gunrunners

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Friday, December 17, 2004 5:22 AM

DIREKTORSSMEAGELLE

Smeagelle forgot to give you OOC for this story. This oversite now fixed -

http://www.fireflyfans.net/thread.asp?b=17&t=8282

We now return you to your regular scheduled programming.

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Friday, December 17, 2004 5:00 PM

Quentin’s Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire

Quentin 'Hawk' Hawksworth III is strolling through the reenactment faire as well and as luck would have it he’s three stalls behind Graham.

Quentin has brown hair, is 6'0", weighs about 175 pounds is attractive and is in his 30s. He wears a blue shirt, black pants, a black duster, a pair of sunglasses and boots. On his belt is small cloth bag. He has a small duffel bag slung over his left shoulder with some of his belongings inside. The rest of his stuff is in a small flat he has rented nearby while he waits on his next piloting gig.

He notes that someone has another person by the shoulders a few stalls up. His eyes wander from that sight and he starts to look around his immediate area.

A young lady bumps into Quentin and then walks away. She continues on towards where Graham and his scene have taken place. The lady reaches into her newly acquired cloth bag and is rewarded by a mild jolt of electricity from some sort of rudimentary joy buzzer-like device. The device and bag are dropped. The lady walks quickly away, trying to ease the pain by sucking on her ‘injured’ fingers. A few in the crowd chuckle at the spectacle.

Quentin chuckles a little at his prank and buys a rose in a stall. He then pins the rose on the sweater of the lady rose-seller and she thanks Quentin. He then contemplates his next action as he again looks around at the general area from his spot. No one has bothered as yet to pick up the bag containing whatever the young lady tried to touch.

EOM

*************************************************

http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Saturday, December 18, 2004 7:39 AM

CHANNAIN

i DO aim to misbehave

Robert Laing's Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire

Perspective is an interesting thing with only one eye. There's the blind spot, of course, but that's easily contended with once a fella gets the hang of it. It also seems to make the hearing on that side much sharper, as if making up for the lost vision. He thought the eye patch made him look more rakish. It certainly has the power to attract certain feminine attention effectively enough.

Hearing a buzz and a responding squeal, he casually turns his head into his blind spot, making it appear that he's just taking in a bit of the show being offered by the street juggler nearby. Seated as he is at the tables by a bank of food vendors in the re-enact faire, he's not as noticeable as he would be if he were standing. Aside from his dark color and the eye-patch, it's hard to hide in a crowd when you're a head taller than everyone, hence his personal preference to operate happily behind closed doors or on the sidelines.

Taking a drink of the rice wine kept in the silver flask he'd gotten as a gift, he notes the smile on the face of the man watching a woman skitter away. He's a confident looking sishengzi but otherwise not entirely remarkable. Carries himself proudly, which relates some large measure of confidence, and he's dressed reasonably well which means he suffers from enought regular employment to get by. He doesn't seem to have the shiftiness of the Alliance kind about him either, which is cause to relax again. Wishing for Rowan's gift of observation, he wonders absently what she might have to say about the fella.

Thinking of her again effectively turns Robert's attention away from the man. The UBA tournament is slated to start in a couple of days, and on the one hand he's hoping it will be enough of a draw to bring her out to the Feds shiny new jewel. On the other hand, considering they haven't seen each other since the Alliance invaded Independent headquarters, he's not entirely sure how warm her reception will be.

Breathing a sigh and taking another quick sip--weile Xiang--Robert caps the flask and tucks it into the breast pocket of his brown leather coat. Stretching out his legs, he crosses his ankles and settles in. The sun is nice today, people-watching is plentiful, and the Feds are off meddling in someone else's business, well away from the Faire so as not to spook the tourists. Best to enjoy it while it lasts.

EOM

sishengzi = bastard (not an insult)
weile Xiang = for Xiang - Robert's way of saying "for the cause"

OOC: *waving* hi fellas

Fans come and fans go...but zealots are with you until the bitter black end.
I draw...therefore I am. http://www.mnartists.org/artistHome.do?rid=7922
Minnesota Meetup - join us! http://firefly.meetup.com/45/

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Monday, December 20, 2004 12:24 PM

Calbrax's move.
The re-enactment faire

Calbrax is distracted from his dilemma by a passing thief being thwarted by a joy-buzzer device. Calbrax is familiar with these gadgets, having used them himself to protect his belongings. Knowing that the device is now safe to touch, and unaware that the bag contains nothing of value, Calbrax picks the bag up and approaches Quentin.

Calbrax holds the bag out to him and says,
"Is this yours?"

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Monday, December 20, 2004 3:46 PM

Location – Alliance Cruiser Valorous: Docked, Hera Spaceport, Alliance Military section.

Commander Timberlake was not entirely pleased. It was OK doing routine patrols in a peaceful sector; least there was a comfort in knowing that you are where you are supposed to be, and probably not expecting any … excitement. Two years on the edge of Reaver space had taught him the value of a little boredom, and rotating back to this patrol was a change at least. However he had been on the milk run long enough to begin to consider a return to something … more challenging. ~…That’s always the way of it. It’s either feast or famine …~ he thinks to himself.

And now here he is, grounded on Hera of all places to pick up a “Specialist” and hand-deliver their sorry ass to New Hokkaido. ~ Probably some high muckity-muck brass wantin’ to watch the Billiards tournament, and not wantin’ to take public transport. ~

Per protocol, he is standing outside of the lock, to formally welcome their visitor; idly playing ‘spot the new problem’ with the passing crowd. When he sees the woman approaching, a head taller than most of the surrounding people, his first thought is, ~OK, fine. Not this one, please.~ When she makes a beeline for his berth, Timberlake knows that he has somehow pissed off the universe and may now be required to pay for it.

It’s nothing really specific he can put his finger on. There are one or two female members of his crew that match her in height, if not in bulk. She’s not wearing a uniform, just a - flight suit that looks as if it was borrowed from someone a couple sizes smaller than she is. It bears no insignia whatsoever. She carries a duffle casually tossed over one shoulder. Heavy boots. Her dark hair is pulled back and secured at the base of her neck. And she has the blankest expression he has ever seen, as if there is nothing at all going on behind those dark eyes.

She reaches into a pocket as she approaches and fishes out an Ident card. Reaching the ship the woman wordlessly hands the card to him and he inserts into the portable scanner he holds. The search pops up green – S. Troy, Specialist, detached to the Valorous for transport to New Hokkaido. Upon arrival, detached to local Commander Sinclair, Hold and await Orders. All right then, he drives her to the next destination and she becomes someone else’s problem. Suits him just fine.

Timberlake hands the card back to her; she takes it and pockets it without a word or change in expression. In keeping with her attitude he merely motions her to follow him, and re-enters his ship. He turns Ms. Troy over to his second, for quarters and mess assignment and heads towards the bridge to prepare for liftoff. Now that the last passenger/crew is aboard it is high time they were on their way. Walking up the passageway, a thought stops him in his tracks. He has isolated why this person has given him such unease. He remembers long ago as a cadet – there was an insurrection on Far Horizon that had gotten out of hand. They had been deadlocked for a couple weeks, hunkered down outside of one section of the city they had been forced to abandon – to the riots and the flames.

Then one evening they were ordered to pull back. A transport vehicle had pulled up and disgorged a dozen people, men and women, in simple charcoal-colored jumpsuits. No insignia. All but one was of heroic size and all displayed the same impassive visage this specialist showed. One moment they were standing outside of the transport, the next they were all – gone.

Two days later his team marched into the area unopposed and order was restored. He never saw that squad again, either on Far Horizon or anywhere else. Until now, he suspects.

Hoping she is willing to stay in her cabin, the Commander prepares to make way for the next stop.

EOM

If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress

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Wednesday, December 22, 2004 4:31 PM

The Starport made her feel ... comfortable. It's the only description she can ascribe to this sensation. She is well aware of why - it is crowded. That is well. She thinks it is because a crowd can offer a small amount of concealment, not considering how much taller she is than the people surrounding her. Shelby is not aware it is the fact of the crowd itself, that she is not alone, which is providing what amounts to as close to a feeling of well being as she can be said to experience. They are emotionless, her family, or as much so as can be managed, but they do feel – hunger, pain, heat, cold, comfort or discomfort, a muted sense of anxiety during times of confusion ... and lately for Shelby, fear and rage. Oh yes. The last half-cycle has been a trial for them all. And if she ever catches up to her missing cellmate ... their last disagreement will look like a play battle between kittens.

She wends her way easily through the civilians surrounding her. It helps that she is going against the flow of traffic for the most part, and the throng is eager to get out of her way. Which is as it should be. It does not occur to her to question why that should be so; she simply accepts that it is.

It was only yesterday that she had to report the failure of her last assignment. What she had been guarding was taken from her and that bothers her. Reporting back had been … uncomfortable. As yet no mention had been made of her failure, instead orders were sent for a new assignment, travel arrangements made. Given time only to gather what belongings she needed to transport, Shelby was on the road within minutes of receiving the wave. Anything left behind in that empty warehouse is not her concern.

She walked to the port; it was close enough and after half a cycle in that one room, the excuse to stretch her legs is sufficient, and appreciated. The day is pleasant; which is wasted on Shelby, who is indifferent to weather conditions short of natural disasters. She arrived quickly and well within the timeframe given her, the destination was close and to be tardy would be unthinkable. Cannot happen. Will not happen.

She heads towards the military section, where her transport awaits. Part of her – a part she is not really aware of – is still scanning around her, attempting to see/feel/hear/sense a teammate. It is an unconscious habit and the failure to do so leaves a vague sense of unease at the back of her perceptions. Not enough to make much of a difference, just a shadow on her mind, easily countered. Commander (she consults her database) Timberlake is awaiting her arrival. Observation shows that he is not entirely pleased with the situation. This does not bother Shelby; his attitude is a matter of supreme indifference to her. She hands him her Ident card and waits for him to return it. No question that it will pass inspection, not at the level her clearance is issued. He hands it back to her without a word and turns to lead the way inside.

She notes the ship, comparing the actuality with the schematics and deck plans in her database. Appears to be original equipment, not a blend, composite or adjustment on the original design. That noted, she is now aware of the ship as a battleground of sorts – it is her training to be aware of danger zones, ambush points, etc. Once her location is analyzed, her subconscious drops back on scanning her immediate surroundings while she follows first Commander Timberlake and second Lt. Carson, to her bunk. Once there, she drops her duffle to the deck, and seats herself, cross-legged on the floor. When they are en-route, she will use the time for training. For now, during the pre-flight checks, she will simply stay out of their way.

Shelby waits.

EOM

If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress

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Wednesday, December 22, 2004 5:01 PM

Quentin’s Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire

Quentin looks the gent with the bag over. Quentin then scrutinizes the bag in a slightly exaggerated way “Yep that would be my bag. Thank you for its return”

Quentin then tries to take the bag if the gentleman in front of him doesn’t try to jerk it away or somesuch.

EOM

(if people need to contact me via email, etc .. read on)

**************
email: mstiemike2000@yahoo.com

AOL IM: Pumaman38

Quentin's Original Bio can be found at http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Wednesday, December 22, 2004 5:12 PM

Calbrax's move
New Hokkaido Re-inacktment Faire

Calbrax lets go of the bag, but warily. The close scrutiny makes him uncomfortable.
Play it cool, he thinks to himself.
"You can run inta a lot of dodgy customers," he says to the the stranger in the black coat, "even in a fed haven like this. Just found out an old friend a mine may have fell in with that sort, just recently. Heard anything about that?"

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Wednesday, December 22, 2004 5:41 PM

Quentin’s Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire

Quentin pockets the bag Graham gives to him “Sorry but I don't have a clue what happened to your friend." Quentin looks over at the area where Graham was a few moments ago and thinks about bringing up why Graham had his fingers wrapped around the other guy's shoulders but the middle of a busy Faire is not the place to have *that* conversation. Quentin then looks back at Graham. "I’ve been around this town for what seems a month but its been only a few weeks. I can, however, offer you a drink as a finder’s fee at your choice of venue. We can chat about this friend of yours if you like or make a toast or three.” Quentin smiles a little and waits for an answer. Graham will notice during the putting away of the bag bit that Quentin is carrying a pistol in a hip holster.

EOM

**************

Quentin's bio is at: http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Monday, December 27, 2004 8:11 AM

Clabrax's move
New Hokkaido Re-enactment Faire

"Never been one to turn down a free drink," Calbrax says. "Not too familiar with the area though, so I'll let you select the bar."

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Tuesday, December 28, 2004 10:31 AM

CAPNRAHN

OOC: Just setting the timeline fer these scenes...

LANCELOT TRANSPORT
NEARING NEW HOKKAIDO ORBIT
As ...

In the observation lounge late into Omega shift the CAPTAIN of the Lancelot stood and watched quietly from the deep shadows of his favorite table as the starfield swam by. He was startled as the giant figure of one of the passengers loomed out of the darkness into view from the still open port door. Spooked, the CAPTAIN thought -- What was his name again ... NicoAllez or somesuch? Isn't he an evangelist? Or was it a mechanic?.

NICO paused, locked eyes with the CAPTAIN across the stygian darkness in the lounge. After the briefest moment, NICO clasped his right fist into his left at just below sternum level, bowing from the waist and without loosing eye contact.

Still slightly offguard, the CAPTAIN noticed that the evangelist had his forearms at a precise military parallel to the deck. As NICOs head dropped to the level of the CAPTAINs, it hits for the umpteenth time of exactly how tall this brimstone&hell-fire preacher truly was.

The CAPTAIN involuntarily thinks At six foot six, I USED to be the biggest bloke on this ship! This'un must top out way over seven foot!. He then quickly returns the bow, knowing NICO will take offense if the acknowledgment of respect is not shown.

NICO slowly blinked twice, then resumed his full stature and moved to the starboard side of the large wraparound viewport, leaving the CAPTAIN to his solitude.

As the Lancelot gently banked to starboard, New Hokkaido was revealed. Shining in reflected sunlight, the planet was a beautiful glowing emerald and teal sphere.

NICO reverently dropped to one knee and gazed at the vision with focused and rapt expression on his face.

A brief thought ripples the placid sea of NICOs mind ... This is where is it all will begin ... again.

NICO paused at the hatch and let his pupils softly dilate to adapt to the strong sunshine bathing the New Hokkaido port city of Tomokomai. Satisfied he was now prepared, he stooped low and crossed the threshold from the Lancelot to the open-air ramp leading to the ground.

Not moving his head NICO, swept the crowd with his steady gaze. He noted the flow and surge of the people thronging the docks and off-world market. He focuses on a brightly colored poster that was announcing a Faire nearby to the docks. He closes his eyes to pull up a mental image of the maps of New Hokkaido he had studied. There, he thinks, "Tha verra place I ra'quire.

Curious children formed a bow wave around NICO has he crested through the mass of humanity towards his goal. The children were actually opening a swath before NICO's assured tread.

Many minutes later and many more children and a few piqued adults added to NICO's impromptu legion of the curious.

OUTSIDE the RENACT FAIRE

Just outside the Faire and in a huge blistering hot open waiting area, NICO stops. Only moving his eyes, he glances up at the tattered remnants of a tent roof for this large shallow dish of an amphitheater. There is a massive fountain at the center, many meters away from the entry arch. Dozens of people were utilizing the the obviously overworked well, but they still looked hot as they languished in the meager shade until they could mover closer to the cooling spray of this ailing water supply.

Smoothly rotating his head a precise 45 degrees to port, NICO takes in an abandoned section of the amphitheater. Though he knew it to be mostly an illusion, it seemed that the heat waves were more intense in that area than anywhere else. The dearth of occupants also spoke of a location too intense for just anybody to settle into.

NICO allows himself a small smile of appreciation directed towards the creator and its sense of balance in all things.

During this short inspection, NICO's crowd becomes restive, starting to drift off in boredom or chattering to each other about other strange things they have seen here at the dockyard and newly errected Faire.

Still carrying the small smile, it subtly changes from appreciation to one of humor. NICO thinks Always I ha ta live 'Th' Show', th' word iz'na enuff ta motivate thez pur fallowers. He strides to the large fountain and inspects a suddenly cleared area of the ledge.

Huge 3'x3'x3' cropped tip triangular slabs of a polished black and gray granite nestle together in a repeating pattern. Adjusting his rucksack to his left shoulder, NICO wraps a huge hand around one of the outer truncated tips of the 10 inch thick slab. With a bunching of muscles in his forearm and right shoulder, NICO pries free his slab from the others with only a slight puff of dust.

Carrying the slab like a suitcase, NICO strides, alone towards the hot spot. His crowd is now stunned speechless and motionless. Either at the immense strength just showcased or at the sheer audacity of this giant of a man.

At the sixth row of seats formed into the ringed stone, NICO stops again. Carefully he places the slab upright on one of the long sides and balanced on the 'seat' of stone. After dropping his ruk behind the vertical slab, and with an easy hop, NICO perches upon the stone with one foot on either side of the apex. Adding to his imposing height, the additional 5 feet of bench and slab made NICO seem to loom over the entire amphitheater.

After a few second of closing his eyes and baring his face to the sun, NICO clears his throat with a soft yet dust rumbling "ahem". He remains with his face still upturned and eyes closed.

The entirety of the assembled crowd adruptly focuses on NICO.

The light falling on him seems to burn away a barely perceptible grayish fog surrounding him. This has the effect of revealing NICO for inspection by the more distrustful of the throng.

The vision of a 7' 2" man balanced on 3' wedge of rock was not something that happened very often, even at these Faires. Light gleamed off from both his bald pate and nearly luminous deep copper of his hair. His mustache was braided into mutton chops that neatly wound across his sculpted cheeks to rest like wing tips over his ears and then dive down into a thick braided cable of hair that fell past his rear.

His simple leather vest bared his massive arms and shoulders. Hair stood arrayed like fine copper wire along his forearms. As it climbed to his shoulders the trail of hair lengthened and broadened to a light pattern across his deltoids.

Dark blue and dark burgandy knotwork tatoos peeked out from the shadows of his clothes. They ran along the folds and ripples of his muscles in a weirdly compelling pattern.

With no preamble, NICO slowly lowers his head to peer from hooded eyes at the massed tourists and natives. He raises his arms in supplication to the crowd and quietly penetrating baritone brogue, says...

NICO
"I would have words for yeh all, if yeh are intrrested in a tale of Lies, Love, Blood, Anger an' th' Murder of entire planets."

NICO's gently resonating organ vibrating basso profundo seemed to ease the crowd as they pressed forward to listen intently to his tale.

NICO
smiling in a warm, infectious and welcoming manner
"Be free ta ask any questions, but yeh 'member - ..." ...he assumes a mock sternness and shakes a mighty digit "... ta be polite is ta be returned th' favor tenfold! Iffn not, yeh better be ready ta heave-to an' take a sit in a shadier place!"

A nervous laugh spins up from the assembled mass of mesmerized onlookers and softly fades.

NICO
even quieter and with a air of theatrical conspiracy
"Tiz begins wit a sturdy lad and a faire lass, as it always does..."

The audience settles, oblivious to the raging heat and close quarters of the other onlookers pressing together. As NICO's voice is carried by the wind, others drift in and join the growing mass.

EOM

"Remember, there is only ONE absolute - There ARE NO absolutes!!!"

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Wednesday, December 29, 2004 3:42 PM

S. TROY - LOCATION: New Hokkaido, Carstairs Base, VIP Visitor accomadations.

It is a two-day trip to New Hokkaido. It passes quickly enough. Days are spent in the ships REC facility, using the equipment endlessly, weights set to absolute maximum. Meals are taken in her quarters, alone. Nights spent alone on the floor of her room - the bed an unwanted intrusion into her floor space.

She does not care for the food as usual, too complicated. She does not care for the coffee - too ... weak. Also as usual. Desserts go into the head uneaten, too full of things she knows from experience will clash with her system. Her bulk requires a lot of fuel and she has eaten many things over the years searching for the most efficient way to power herself. Sugar is contraindicated.

She is glad to disembark at New Hokkaido, possibly as glad as they are to see her go. There had been curiosity about her presence among the crew and some animosity after watching her work out. Nothing to concern her; let them try ... anything. She would welcome a sparring partner right now - someone to take out her discomfort on. It is normal, her team is always watched, wherever they are posted. If she gave it a thought, Shelby might consider it to be jealousy.

It is late when the shuttle takes her down to the military port. She is flown down by one sullen, silent pilot and is picked up by another sullen and quiet driver. Taken to the base and escorted to her assigned quarters. It is understood she will see the Commander tomorrow morning at a decent hour; there is a faint disapproval that she arrived at such an inconvenient time. As if it was her choice or doing. It is of no consequence. Shelby is indifferent to the opinions of civilians. Truth to be told, much of the time, she is indifferent to the opinions of her teammates as well.

Under these circumstances, the knock on her door twenty minutes after she is left in her quarters, is unexpected at best. As she approaches the door however, she understands. She can scent her visitor before she even opens the door, and a part of her relaxes instantly. She opens the door to who she already knows is standing there – Austyn, one of her own teammates, from another cell. They have trained together many times over the years, as they fulfill the same functions. If it could be said to be possible, he seems … relieved … to see her. She knows she is obscurely pleased to see him. She has been very … lonely.

He is a male of few words, and gets to his point quickly. No small talk needed. Words are not really needed either; his scent gives him away immediately. Shelby is sure he is just as aware of her. He looks at her for a moment before speaking.
“I have … needs.”

“I know”

Enough talk. Shelby reaches out and takes him by the front of his jumpsuit and pulls him into the room. The door closes and there are sounds of ripping fabric. And then … silence.

Time passes.

Later, lying side by side on the floor of her room, there is talk. It is not pillow talk; the idea would be foreign to them both. It is not small talk; they do not indulge in such things. It is closer to a download of information, like syncing two pieces equipment to stabilize the data on each until both contain necessary components. They lie on their backs not touching, but taking … comfort … in not being alone.

SHELBY
“Your cell?”

AUSTYN
“Separated. Four months. Or’sha here; contact forbidden . Me, shadow bodyguard for tournament. Yours?”

SHELBY
“Separated six months. Corvair detached, sensitive. Me, possible target located here, wetwork. Hold and await orders.” She pauses, choosing not to go on. But he is insistent.

AUSTYN
“Merzedes?”

SHELBY
“No data. No sighting two plus months.” She all but spat out the words. Shelby has noticed his omission as well. “Bem-Wa?”

“Unknown. Missing four plus months. Prog unknown. File sealed…” ~ pause ~ Or’sha has concerns.”

“Purged?”

“Unknown.”

They fall silent once again. Before morning, Austyn sneaks back to his quarters, to return no more. Once is enough defiance for both of them, unless they are required to remain alone for too much longer.

EOM

If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress

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Wednesday, December 29, 2004 4:54 PM

Quentin’s Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire

"You can call me Hawk as thats what most call me. I know the perfect place to go to drink. Its usually quiet this time of day."

Quentin leads his new friend quickly to a bar tent that is not seedy and not Alliance filled. Quentin enters the tent first then parts the flap so Graham can make his grand entrance.

"My treat so you get to pick the bench you wanna sit at"

EOM

(if people need to contact me via email, etc .. read on .. at some point folks it might better to do a joint Hawk/ whomever scene by emailing back and forth and then posting a combined action post ... I don't know if we need to stretch this thread out to 3000 posts *L* when 1500 would do )

**************
email: mstiemike2000@yahoo.com

AOL IM: Pumaman38

Quentin's Original Bio can be found at http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Thursday, December 30, 2004 11:41 AM

Calbrax's move
New Hokkaido Re-enactment Faire

Graham follows Hawk into the tent and takes a seat by the bar. As his new friend gets the first round of drinks he says,

"Thanks Hawk, I'll get the next. So what brings you to New Hokkaido?"

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Thursday, December 30, 2004 5:32 PM

Quentin’s Move
LOCATION: New Hokkaido Re-Enact Faire

Hawk orders a beer and a shot for himself "Well gent whom I do not know what to call yet" Hawk chuckles a little "I'm a pilot on a break between gigs. I'm seeing the sights of this planet while waiting for the next gig to be found." Hawk takes off his sunglasses and pockets them. His pupils are ice-blue in color. He pays the waitress for the round of drinks. He starts to sip his beer.

EOM

*************************************************

email: mstiemike2000@yahoo.com
AOL IM: Pumaman38

**************

Quentin's original bio is here >>>>>>>>>>>>> http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Friday, December 31, 2004 7:43 AM

Calbrax's move
New Hokkaido Re-enactment Faire

As Calbrax sips his drink he introduces himself to his new-found drinkin' buddy.
"The name's Graham Calbrax. You can call me by any permutation o' that you like. It's pretty hard to turn into an insult. Guess my parents were kinder than I realised." He laughs. "I'm here to meet an old friend. Only I just overheard some fella sayin he's been hauled off by the feds. Now, he's no saint, but I don't reckon he would've done what they say he did."

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Saturday, January 1, 2005 6:55 PM

Sequence of moves
LOCATION: Reenactment Faire Bar Tent

Barmaid’s move

One of the barmaids approaches Hawk and slaps him on the cheek.
“That’s for not visiting me sooner, Ge-ge”. She has a grin on her face which compliments the looks of this 20 something attractive oriental woman. She is about 5’3” and weighs 105 pounds. She wears a sarong over a tshirt and sandals.

Quentin’s move

Hawk smiles at the woman and takes the slap in stride. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a rose encased in hard plastic and hands it to her. She takes the item, smiles and then pockets it. He then speaks to the woman. “Hello Myashi. It has been a month or two since the last time we have graced each other’s presence. Been too long but my travels took me far from my main home away from home here in New Hokkaido. Graham meet Myashi .. Myashi meet Graham.“

“I hope you figure out what the story is with your friend Graham. Perhaps Myashi could help you get a few scraps of info. She knows some of what goes on in this fair city”

Myashi’s move

Myashi nods at Graham and then addresses Hawk again “I heard through the grapevine your stint on the Verity ended what .. a few weeks ago? Were you too scared to even cortex me a message. No you weren’t scared. Probably hoping to get a new job quickly before I noticed, eh, Quen, er, Hawk.” Hawk nods and sips his beer again.

Myashi turns to Graham “Next round of drinks is on me”

EOM

Ge-ge = older brother, a term of endearment

(feel free folks (ie Corncobb, other rpers and our Direcktorial Staff) to use Myashi as an information source that may need cash for this service every so often … note - I just checked old moves and they are generic enough so Hawk could be a regular on New Hokkaido and not the touristy type. It did seem he was a tourist until I got the idea for the last sequence))

**************^^^^^^^****************************

email me at: mstiemike2000@yahoo.com

AOL IM: Pumaman38

original Hawk bio at http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Monday, January 3, 2005 4:55 PM

S. TROY – LOCATION: New Hokkaido, Carstairs Base, Commander Sinclair’s office.

The meeting with the base commander goes as expected. Sinclair is no more pleased to deal with her than anyone ever was; it is normal for them to be considered a disruption in normal routine. Shelby sits across from his desk and stares at him, stoic and unmoving as he gathers his thoughts. It seems to unnerve him.

Finally he clears his throat. “Um. Yes, Ms. Troy. I welcome you to Carstairs Base. I have been instructed to, um, see to your needs, while you are here. You are not restricted to the base – on the contrary it has been suggested that you make yourself well acquainted with the grounds of the Re-enact Faire. I will have a transport vehicle and a driver assigned to your sole use while you are here.”

Shelby nodded. Satisfactory, she now knows where her target will probably be locate-able, and transportation is assured. She will map the fairgrounds and wait for further information. All she knows now is that the powers-that-be have determined that somewhere on New Hokkaido, there is a civilian requiring an extreme solution. Identity is not yet revealed to her – they are awaiting verification of location. For now, she will walk the faire. Sinclair wraps up his little talk. “Well, I think that is it. I trust your stay with us will be agreeable.” He stands and extends his hand towards her. Shelby stands also and stares at the extended hand until he lowers it in confusion. Only then does she raise her eyes to his and growl. "Have the driver at the gate in five minutes.” Shelby pivots and exits the room. She heads for her quarters to acquire some equipment that might come in handy.

Sinclair's aide entered the room after the woman left. The Commander was sitting there, staring at nothing, musing. Billings caught his commander's eye and grinned at him. “You have a private message from Captain Timberlake. He says, as follows … ‘Just give her what she wants, and stay out of her way.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

Sinclair nodded slowly. “Yes, I rather think it does…”

If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress

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Tuesday, January 4, 2005 5:15 PM

New Hokkaido Re-enactment Fair

Calbrax's move
Calbrax turns to the barmaid and says'
"I've just arrived here looking for an old friend. But he's been dragged away by the feds on charges of arms smuggling. Knowing him like I do, I doubt he's guilty. Have you heard anything?"

Myashi's move
Myashi smiles and rubs her thumb and fingers together in the universal signal for 'gimme credits'. When Calbrax does so she leans forward across the nbar to whispers to him.
"Weapons were found in the flat of one of the re-enactors. But I've heard rumours that strangers had been seen there the previous night, whilst he was at the bar. When he arrived home the next morning the feds were waiting there for him. That's all I can say."

Calbrax's move
Calbrax nods an acknowledgement to his informant and sips his drink as he ponders his next move.

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Wednesday, January 5, 2005 1:57 AM

Back in her room, Shelby collected some necessary items - a boot knife, half a dozen shuriken, her mirrored sunglasses, one of Corvair's specially designed focal disrupter holdout pistols. She verifies that her Ident card is in her arm pocket - that is all the authority she needs to carry her weapons nearly anywhere she chooses. Not that they are required particularly at this time. But they are familiar and she ... needs that right now. And hates that need.

There was no conversation on the way to the Faire. She has nothing to say to the driver that has been assigned to her, and the driver seems disinclined to be friendly. Shelby would rather have driven herself, but a quiet driver is acceptable. She tries hard to suppress her thoughts during the journey, with only limited success. Her life has become so much more – complicated than it used to be. She ponders where the rest of her team/cell is right now. Shelby ‘misses’ Corvair – his analytical superiority and ability to Prog quickly under stress would make her life so much easier now. She never had the opportunity before to notice how much she ‘depended’ on him. It disturbs her. His absence is a distraction she does not need. The other … the one who communicates, the one who hides, the stealthy deviant … Shelby closed her eyes. The other should have had this job – this is her specialty. Shelby will obey – she always obeys. But this time, she is not at all ‘pleased’ with the situation. And once again, she hates that.

The driver lets her off near a decrepit building at the outskirts of the Faire, this being all the closer a vehicle is allowed near the grounds. No matter, she will walk a lot further this day, than to the front entrance. Before the driver leaves, Shelby tells her “Six hours, right here.” before striding off, assuming that the vehicle will be in this spot when she returns.

The building is what remains of an amphitheater. The tent roof is tattered and all but gone. She can scent water from there, a fountain plays tiredly in its center. A crowd has gathered inside, to take advantage of the fountain, and perhaps such shade and seating as remains. There is also a male there on a perch elevated above the surrounding crowd. There is something about him, something she finds curious. Shelby enters the building and approaches the outskirts of the crowd surrounding the speaker. Not too close, she can hear him just fine from further than most.

For a civilian, he is of good size, taller than any of her own teammates. The bald head is familiar enough although the extreme facial hair she finds unappealing – it covers expressions too well and makes males harder to read. Tattoos she does not comprehend at all. But the voice … against her better judgment she stays to listen for a time.

NICOALLEZ
“I would have words for yeh all, if yeh are intrrested in a tale of Lies, Love, Blood, Anger an' th' Murder of entire planets.

Be free ta ask any questions, but yeh ‘member ta be polite is ta be returned th' favor tenfold! Iffn not, yeh better be ready ta heave-to an' take a sit in a shadier place!

Tiz begins wit a sturdy lad and a faire lass, as it always does…”

Shelby listens to his tale for a time. Lies, blood, anger, and the murder of entire planets. Sounds like her existence. Love, has no meaning or interest for her. The tale of the Pilot, and his love affair with his Ship holds no flavor for her. It is not so much the words but the voice that holds her here … it is compelling. As he spins his yarn, she finds herself remembering once again. The storyteller speaks of comrades-in-arms, and ties forged in blood. Shelby remembers a time once – long ago when her original cell was still … alive. They must have been about seven years old. There had been an unstructured afternoon (When they were older, Corvair had once held the opinion that these were tests, to see how they would spend their time.) The three of them had gone into an unused exercise area and spend the afternoon sparring. It had been a … there was no word, no concept Shelby can come up with to delineate this ‘feeling’ without delving into emotional responses. She rejects the emotional content out of hand and, disgusted with herself for being caught up in such a pointless endeavor, turns to walk away from the crowd and this unsettling speaker.

She is completely out of the building and almost to the entrance of the Fair, before something finally ‘clicks’ in her mind, analytical thought not being one of her strong points. That voice. She knows that voice. Thinking back to her younger years has reminded her of where she has heard that vocal pattern before. She stops dead in the street to consult the database. The team had vocal coaching for many, many years. There were a lot of voice tricks they were taught, although Shelby herself was an indifferent pupil and never got much beyond vocal mimicry. But this speaker has the same voice and pattern, and (closing her eyes and concentrating on memory) yes, somewhat of the same scent as their original vocal trainer years before. And that is just not possible.

Troubled, Shelby approaches the entrance to the Faire, to continue her mission.

If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress

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Friday, January 7, 2005 1:55 PM

She walked the fairgrounds for hours, noting permanent structures, tents, road layouts, ambush points, danger zones, etc. She identified the fairwards uniforms and some of the plainclothes security. She has noted the slight amount of Alliance security. She witnessed two separate acts of faire justice, meeted out by those who work the fair to those who abuse it. She observed the crowds, the amusements, the booths and a couple of battles. And never covered a third of the grounds. It was going to take days to fully map and memorize the entire, complex layout. But Shelby did not mind, it might be that she has days. And it is something to do, something to take her mind off of ... everything.

Darkness is beginning to fall, and the faire starts to close down. Shelby finds herself near a booth selling fine leathercraft. She has been observing civilians 'shopping' all day, and is absorbing the data, just in case it ever becomes useful. In fact she has stopped to examine a small pouch that looks like a superior method of storing her shuriken than she has now. While analyzing whether or not it would be acceptable behavior to bring one out and see how it fits, she becomes aware that she is under surveillance. She can feel eyes on her ...

Subtlety is not her style. If someone wants to look at her, they can look her in the eye. She is doing nothing unusual, just walking and shopping. Turning slowly she scans for whomever is showing her particular interest. And spots him almost at once. It would be hard not to, on his feet the storyteller is over seven feet tall. He is across the aisle from the booth she is at, leaning nonchalantly against a tent pole. His attention seems equally divided between her and the booth she is at. Interesting. He has scanned beyond her to the interior of the booth for the moment and she examines him once again, taking in the braided hair, the tattoos, and his general air of casual competence. His musculature is clearly visible under the simple leather vest. His movements, what there are of them are completely controlled and precise. She entertains a brief thought – this one would make a fine sparring partner. He might not break so soon. There remains an unsettling familiarity to him that eludes her. He is too striking for her to have forgotten him, even were she capable of forgetting. So she has never seen or scented him before. But something is ... still too alachina familiar.

He scans back towards her direction and pulls her into his awareness once again. She watches him watch her. Shelby has had males watch her before, normally sizing her up as a possible coupling partner; which is as close to an amusing notion as she can entertain - she would sooner perform tension release exercises with an inanimate object as with a civilian. This one is different. Very different. They catch one another's eyes and carefully appraise each other. This is no casual examination; this is the steady, unblinking stare of two predators sizing up a potential opponent. Finally he nods, very faintly - probably not visible to anyone but Shelby. Without quite knowing why, she returns the gesture. He returns his steady gaze to the booth. She might wonder what business he has here, but Shelby is not really curious. It is not Troy business. That is sufficient to ensure she has no interest.

Then her interior clock advises her it is time to return to where her driver will be waiting. This day is over - she can get an earlier start tomorrow. She carelessly drops the pouch back onto the table and pivots sharply towards the direction of the faire entrance. For now, she entertains no more thoughts of the teller of tales - he is of no more importance to her. She turns her head once just to verify he has no further interest in her, only to see him approach the booth she just vacated. Good enough.

Her transport is waiting when she arrives, exactly 6 hours from when she left that exact spot. The return to the base was quiet, and uneventful. Also, good enough. Shelby spent the time cataloging and collating the data gathered today, and building her mental map.

EOM

alachina = damned (Nepali)

If Justice is the dish, then I am your waitress

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Friday, February 4, 2005 6:38 PM

Quentins Move
LOCATION: Reenactment Faire Bar Tent

The next few moments contain a flurry of activity. A drunk 'gentleman' hits on Myashi. She's able to keep him at bay with sharp wit for only so long. The Gent goes as far as pawing at Myashi. Quentin has quietly been sipping his drink but acts as the gent prepares to paw Miyashi again. Quentin grabs the gents wrist and asks for an apology to be given and an exit to be made. The gent is none too pleased with the turn of events and wiggles free from Quentin's grasp.

Quentin mentions loudly he does not want to fight but stands up. Quentin puts his hands to his side and the gent swings wildly. Quentin moves gracefully out of his way and the gent smacks into a table, stands straight, and turns back towards Quentin.

The Gent sizes up Quentin and rushes him. Again Quentin dodges the Gent again with seemingly no effort. The Gent hits the bar and Quentin idly picks up his drink. The Gent knocks Quentin's drink from his hand.

Quentin looks at the Gent. Myashi has been serving drinks all this time and other bar patrons are taking bets on the fight.

The Gent eyes Quentin and aims a right cross at Quentin's head. Quentin grabs the guys arm and twists it behind the Gents back. Quentin then speaks to the Gent.

"Do you wish to apolgize now and leave?"

In an anticlimax to the whole floor show the Gent nods, grunts, and does as asked. Quentin lets the Gent go. The Gent then leaves the tent.

Myashi speaks
"Hawk you just pissed of Muldoon."

Quentin speaks "Well he'll have to stay good and pissed, Myashi, as I will be getting a job and off this planet in a day or so ... my ad on the cortex got two bites"

Quentin puts a handheld cortex on the bar
The screen reads:

Firefly Pilot Seeks New Gig

This is a call out from the black. The name is Quentin Hawksworth III. I'm called Hawk by most folks. A few days ago Captain Arnold Browne released me from my position as Pilot and chief bottle washer on the Firefly Class Verity. Captain Browne's reason for my release and that of several others was that he wished to bring fresh blood onto his ship.

Prior to that I served on the Firefly Class Lockheed and the Firefly Class Challenger.

I have fifteen years of pilot experience with ground, air and space faring craft.

During my lifetime I have learned among other things: how to cook, how to fire guns and fight hand-to-hand, handle ship repairs, and use computers.

I can furnish records confirming the service on the Verity, Lockheed, and Challenger as well as military service. Any interested parties can request references from my former captains or I can furnish such documents.

Please respond via cortexmail though this server or leave message at 'Ye Grande Taverne' at the New Hokkaido Re-enact Faire. I will respond as quickly as possible.
---- Quentin Hawksworth III

Quentin shows the ad to Myashi and Graham and then the proof that there have been responses to the message. Quentin then looks over at Graham while Myashi goes back to serving drinks

EOM

**************
bio for Quentin is at: http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Saturday, February 5, 2005 2:47 PM

Calbrax's move
New Hokkaido Re-enactment Faire Bar Tent
Calbrax's pays close attention to Quentin's handheld cortex as he places it on the bar top.
"If you haven't settled on a new employer yet, Hawk, you might be interested to know that I could do with someone of your talents on board my ship: Anubis," he says. "It's a pretty small vessel and I've been getting by manning it single-handed, but fact is it often needs repairs, and your piloting and gunslinging expertise could come in handy in some a' the scrapes I find myself in. I can afford to pay you quite well. You in?"

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Sunday, February 6, 2005 6:41 PM

Quentins Move
LOCATION: Reenactment Faire Bar Tent

"tell you what graham" Quentin chuckles
"how about we take a tour of your craft tonight and I'll make some repairs or somesuch. I'll have to think on this offer, 'kay?"

[EOM]

**************
http://www.freewebs.com/mjspages/tempfireflypage.htm

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Thursday, February 10, 2005 3:27 AM

Calbrax's move
New Hokkaido re-enactment faire bar tent

Calbrax nods and finishes his pint.
"Sounds good," he says. "i believe it's my round. What you having?"

"Gorramit Mal... I've forgotten my line."

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Thursday, February 10, 2005 3:59 AM