RP: 188604 [Flight of the Dove] Episode 1: Royal Flush

Dove - Main Hall -> Cockpit

The Nepleslian looked at Chuck, then back at Ragna. He had been concerned there might be some tension. "Stay here near the entrance, I'm going to go ask Flynn where to put you," Corgan ordered his dog. Ragna sat down and wagged his tail in anticipation of pets. Corgan scratched behind his ears. "Good boy."

He walked past Chuck and into the cockpit, almost not seeing the native. Before he moved on he stopped and turned back to her. "Hello, ma'am. I'll introduce myself after I talk to Flynn." He said, noticing her strange appearance. Corgan raised an eyebrow as he turned and walked into the cockpit. He looked at the noble and bowed his head at her. "Ma'am." He said.

Corgan turned to Flynn. "So what's going on? How did these two ladies get involved? Do they realize how dangerous the Blacks are?"

ArsenicJohn said:

Dove - Main Hall -> Cockpit

"So what's going on? How did these two ladies get involved? Do they realize how dangerous the Blacks are?"

Click to expand...

Cockpit

"Sarena was, by all accounts, kidnapped by her own mother shortly after the fiasco on Nepleslia." Flynn explained. He pointed his cigar at Dame. "That girl's a friend of Sarena's. She had a telegram supposedly from Sarena that was sent shortly after the kidnapping. I'm told it was written by her mother. As if that in itself wasn't sketchy, the whole letter smells like bullshit. They say they're guarding the Ice Queen Casino, but for some reason they need hunter missiles. I know fully well how dangerous the Syndicate is, and that's what's got me worried."

Flynn stayed silent for a couple moments before realizing that he'd left out some more information.

"Oh, right, and the one sitting on the floor is Promise. She's a bounty hunter. For all intents and purposes, volunteered to come along. Not gonna question it. An extra gun never hurt."

Cockpit

Corgan agreed with Flynn's assessment, it did indeed seem very sketchy. "That sounds about as sketchy as an Argent Towers prostitute." He agreed. "Hmm, the Ice Queen? Uso took some of us a while back. A few ladies that work there might not be too happy to see me. Didn't ever call them back." He said sheepishly. "Oh yeah, Chuck is really giving Ragnadog some dirty looks. Is there somewhere I can put him that Chuck won't mind, one of the cabins maybe? He's fully trained, so he won't be a problem."

The tall man shot a glance at the noblewoman, examining her carefully. "What family are you from, ma'am? Any relation to the Dantrattens?" The man asked, possibly as a test to see if she was legit.

The Dove; Cockpit -> Galley

"No problem Mister Garret!" Was the immediate response from Promise to Corgan, as he walked by. Of course she knew who he was. The press had been having a field day ever since the space men had arrived, and it wasn't like the papers would miss the opportunity to mention a just nigh seven foot gentlemen with green hair. "I will keep an eyes on your doggle, I will!"

On their feet and skipping again, through the longer they spent inside this sky house, the longer they simply ended up staring at the shiny walls and ceilings. It was unimaginable to her that the thing could actually move, let alone fly... It had a kitchen and three bedrooms! If Promise owned a house, it would unlikely be this big, nor grand...

Speaking of the kitchen, the aromas coming from there were most distracting... Ignorant of her brain's dutiful wishes, her feet were already acting on their own, looping her around the donut-shaped central corridor for a second time, as she took the entire ship in...

///

Hand and hook grasped at a carton of eggs. Nice and shiny and new... Coffee beans... Some brown powder, with a picture on the box that looked like traditional algae loaf cakes, but beige... "...Pan Caykes?..."

Oh, was she in the galley already? When did I walk in here?-

///

"A-woooooo!~" Imitating the funny noise from the electric kettle. She actually turned it on by accident, which was good, because it would have been melted to the stove by now otherwise.

///

Oh! There was warm pancakes and nice smelly coffee here! Lots of it!...

-did i make this!?-
No. Naw. Nope.
Don't remember.
No campfire to make this stuff, so no way.

Sky house is magic. Only explanation.

Do dogs like pancakes?

Cockpit

Flynn raised the exterior ramp, and slowly increased the throttle. A small shift in weight was felt as the "sky house" began to float upwards by no identifiable means.

"Ah, don't worry about Chuck..."

XXX

Chuck soon forgot all about Ragnadog as he padded into the kitchen, enticed by the smell of pancakes. He panted hungrily, eyes never leaving the stack of fluffy goodness. Master never allowed him anything other than regular dog food. Maybe an occasional scrap, but that was rare.

XXX

"...He's pretty good with other dogs." replied the smuggler as he engaged the sub-light engines and sent the ship rocketing up and away from the surface. Once they were clear of the atmosphere, Flynn took a moment to gaze at the large skeletal structure of Candon's new space station being built in orbit. If he'd heard right, it was called Howard Station, after his cat-eared friend. Apparently Jax had funded the whole thing. Flynn would have to ask where in the hell that kind of money had come from.

He punched in a few commands to the nav console, setting a course through hyperspace to their destination. Autopilot took over, and the low hum of the ship's reactors increased in pitch and volume as the Dove darted into a tunnel of mesmerizing blue light. Now, with several hours to kill, he stood from the chair and turned towards the main hallway.

Did his nose deceive him, or had someone made pancakes?! Wait, where was Pr-?

"Shit." Flynn sighed and stomped out of the cockpit.

Kitchen

Flynn didn't say anything as he was greeted to the sight of Chuck gorging himself. Flynn didn't say anything when he saw that a lot of his pancake mix had just been used. Flynn didn't say anything as he moved across the room to pour himself some coffee, to which he quickly added some whiskey.

"Promise," he said calmly. Always calm. Rarely did he ever raise his voice. But one could tell he was less than pleased. "Why did you use my pancake mix without permission?"

Kitchen

Promise looked up from the cooker with a bright and sparkly expression that would put Chuck's to shame, seemingly engulfed in the art of pancake smelting before that point. It was the kind of doe-eyed expression somebody would normally reserve for being in love...

"It's so easy, Mister Flynn! It's all so easy!~" Said with a placid smile, and revealing the fact that there was yet more left on the counter still. Stacks and stacks. "They wanted to be made! They needed to be made! Only explu-nate-shion!"

A small skip across the linoleum floor resulted in those heeled boots slipping, and before she knew it, Promise was wrapped around the smuggler's upper chest, nearly loosing her glasses in the process. Dainty frills and that corseted waistline felt like a child's toy scaled up to human size.

"Everything is so sweet here." Still that same expression of ecstasy. "Not no huntin' nor gatherin'... It's in the machines!... The machines are all magic!... I will kill the biggest of enemies for you, Flynn Sir! The deadest of dead!"

Room for a night and a hot dinner, that was how she was normally paid. Hot shot gunslinger stars like Rubi Kalan got money, not her. So it wasn't like she expected this occasion to be any different...

Just more supernatural, evidently.

Cockpit

Eisley, meanwhile, was more than a little strung out. Metal monsters, all valves dials, and odd rumblings, those she could handle. Even if they did include all sorts of strange nonmetallic composite materials here and there. And electric lighting, she thought she had a handle on that. Machines that worked without moving parts, with no pneumatics or motors or turbines, that somehow knew what to do automatically... that was magic.

Somehow she'd expected the stories to be exaggerations. Now that she saw what was happening, she desperately wanted to know what she was seeing, and how it worked. She stayed in the cockpit, there was enough to see there. The display outside the windows, for instance... was that an illusion, or what were they flying through? Staring at it wasn't much way to find the answer, but it seemed worth a shot.

She stayed there with her hand on her chin and her legs half-crossed, gazing intently at the display, with an occasional glance at the console lights, slowly tallying up a list of questions she probably wouldn't ask.

Kitchen

Flynn let out a long, exasperated sigh and gently pushed the crazy native off of him.

"Promise. One, please don't use anything on this ship without my permission. This is my stuff. I paid for it. It's supposed to last."

Seriously, why did everyone assume they could eat his food when they were aboard?

"Two, I am not a wizard. None of this is magic. I'm just a regular dude, who happens to come from a civilization more advanced than yours. I do not want you killing 'in my name'."

Kitchen

Promise just stood silently for a moment, her lips a perfect 'o', clearly considering her options. Things like, if it was rude to interrupt your leader or not, too...

"B-but... I thought that's what you hired me for? Dustin' some folks?" A couple of blinks. She still kind of sounded like a children's TV presenter, even when talking about killing people. "B-b-but... Mister Flynn, you see, that was the part I was good at..."

"A-a-also, you still u-use m-money!?" Even more worried, some of her preconceptions finally being shattered. Promise was edging closer and closer the longer they stood still, the more nervous she got, as if the captain would naturally have all the answers. "I'm dreadfully sorry, sir... I'll pay you back with services, if needs be... You don't seem to have a cook, or a cleaner?... Not unless your space dog is-?... no, that's-..."

Mouth still hanging open, she gave Chuck a long, hard look of examination.

Was this space dog actually, like... immortal or super smart, or something?...

Did it want her to think that it wasn't?...

"D-do you want some pancakes, M-Mister Flynn?"

The shakey look on her face said it all, despite trying to act normal. She was still increasingly more and more worried.

Unfortunately for Promise, Flynn himself had no idea what Chuck really was. The beast was much more intelligent than the average dog. Flynn could only speculate that genetic modifications were involved.

Flynn sighed and shook his head.

"Er, no, I'm fine, thanks. But yes, I did bring you along to 'dust folks', I just don't want it to be because you worship me. You're a bounty hunter, and I'm your employer. Treat this no different than your other contracts. We can negotiate your payment if you'd like."

Bridge

Meanwhile, Chuck padded back into the cockpit, a lethargic mass of fluff. So many pancakes, so little time!

He noticed the red-furred one in distress. She was obviously the youngest. The "beta" of the pack. His master, the "alpha", was busy in the magical "food room", so it was up to the second in command to handle this.

Fear not, everything will be alright, for I am a dog. he seemed to communicate to Dame as he rested his slobbery muzzle on the girl's thigh, looking up at her. Existential crisis were beyond the canine's comprehension, so this was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Galley

Corgan followed Flynn to the galley. He watched the unfolding situation with a huge grin on his face. "I didn't expect to get a comedy show on the way, Flynn." The Nepleslian said jokingly. His stomach growled and he looked at the pancakes, then Promise, then back at Flynn. "Well since she made 'em, we can't let them go to waste, right?" His eyes were hopeful, almost pleading.

Ragna-dog whined from his spot in the hallway. Corgan walked back into the lounge and called him. "Come on, boy!" The dog ran into the room and started sniffing, nose pointed to the galley. "No." He told the dog forcefully. Corgan turned to gesture at the couches. "Go sit." With no hint of disappointment other than his ears lowering, he padded over to the couch. He sniffed around and moved to a couch that smelled the least like Chuck and plopped down in front of it.

That settled, Corgan walked back to the galley and started looking for a plate. "I'll buy you more pancakes, Flynn. You can bill me for these. Our bounty hunter friend here would probably need to work with you for a year to pay you back in our currency."

Bridge

Dame Eisley returned Chuck's gesture by scratching him behind the ears. Carefully, once she realized she was doing it. They'd been a few seconds away from killing each other a few minutes before, which was strange, but not unprecedented in Eisley's experience.

The previous crews she'd worked with could oscillate between affectionate loyalty and violence with teeth bared just as well, although they tended to respond less well to commands, even fruit-based ones. If Sarena hadn't been recruited for space knight duty, perhaps she could have done something about that.

Eisley wasn't looking forward to using her six-shooter, but going somewhere else for a change, where the stench of the Great Salt Sea didn't add flavor to the dusty air, was something she looked to with optimism. And meeting someone her age again, who had something else on their mind other than marriage, murder, looting, and other domestic activities. All the fine young cavalry boys had died, valiantly or not. In lieu of one, Sarena was still good company, if not exactly her type.

Magical Food Room

Promise just stared at Flynn and blinked for a couple of paces, evidently not quite sure how to handle the information they were being given. It was bad etiquette to talk money before the deed was done normally, since proper big important stuff just had signs and bounties put up. But if this was a 'normal' bounty, did that mean she was still going to get paid with, like, a horse or some pans or something?... or a space horse?... or space pans?...

"Yessir." Was the simple, suddenly sheepish response. Basically the only thing that could really commit to without continuing to splurge doctrine.

Like, he's the space man. She doesn't need to tell him. He already knows all that stuff.

"How many would you like, Mister Corgan Sir? Coffee is still hot and fresh!" Eye brightened up again, smile back at full invigoration. A welcome change of pace. They were a little intimidated by the man-colossus, but still appreciative enough to show him a plate of six or seven pancakes, each the size of small pizzas. "Golly, if you're payin' for'em, put your feet up and I'll do the waitin'!"

Curtseying nearly made them loose the whole syrupy stack, recovering them at only the very last second.

Kitchen

Flynn nodded, giving Corgan the go ahead to have as many pancakes as his heart desired. Whatever was left after Dog-zilla's rampage was fair game.

Cockpit

With that whole mess sorted out, Flynn returned to the pilot's chair and kicked his feet up. He noticed Dame starring like a deer in the headlights at the mesmerizing light of hyperspace. He'd felt the same way the first time he'd boarded a spaceship, though he'd grown up around them.

"Nice view, isn't it?" he asked, taking a puff of his cigar.

Cockpit

"I'm not really sure what I'm looking at," Eisley answered, aiming to keep it simple, and without ending her staring contest with the void. She kept giving Chuck the scratches, meanwhile.

Cockpit

While Chuck leaned furiously against Dame in utter bliss, Flynn reached for a scrap of paper and a pen. On other end of the paper, he drew a dot. While he was no tech wiz, he knew the basics of how technology functioned.

"This dot is your planet, where we just came from," he explained, pointing to one dot. "This other dot is where we're going. When this paper is lying flat, the dots are much further away. The paper itself is the universe between those two points."

Flynn placed the paper on a flat surface to emphasize his point.

"Millions of miles separate your planet from the Ice Queen." he continued. Then, he folded the piece of paper into a U-shape, with the dots now a few inches apart. "Now, the dots are much closer, see? Now, imagine a tunnel in the empty air between the two dots. We're traveling through that tunnel. That's what you're seeing right now. Don't ask me how it works. I'm just a pilot, not a mathematician."

Might as well help the girl figure things out so she wouldn't rave like Promise a nutcase.

Cockpit

"A tunnel... through the sky." Eisley made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. "I'm not sure if I should laugh, if this is true. At least we didn't have to bring shovels, mathematic or otherwise. Still, all that 'empty air' mustn't be empty at all if we can 'tunnel' through it."

She decided to move on to something more topical. "Are we ready for where we're going? I know about all the 'powered armours' and 'space suits' you people wear when you go to fight, and I can't help but notice you haven't said a word of them. Those 'hunter missiles' I procured for Sarena's mother are made for 'hunting' those, but I didn't bring them along, and I didn't pack anything else like that."

Cockpit

Flynn raised an eyebrow, then pulled out his revolver.

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting power armors. Either the Blacks are making moves against a well-equipped group of pirates, which is bad, or they're taking on a modern military, which is worse. If we do encounter power armors, my gun can handle them. Corgan is a Nepleslian as well, so you know he brought enough firepower to level a city. In either scenario, this makes me even more worried about Sarena."

Cockpit

Eisley nodded. "I think I understand. But, unless her mother lied to both of us, it's neither of those. She said they're on a security contract for the casino, and that being the case, if there's trouble, it came to them. Given that half you people can fly around, and the others can make giant metal spiders to crawl up the sides of buildings, I'll not be surprised if they're dealing with something untoward. I just hope we'll be ready for it."

Seeing that Flynn was showing his weapon off, Dame Eisley snapped open her holster and pulled out her own in a motion well-practiced enough to almost look like a trick of space magic on its own. The stainless finish flashed in the blue light from hyperspace. "This is my Ruger Settler. It's not the work of the finest gunsmith, but it has all the latest tech; at least from my pile of sand." It was a double-action, break-open revolver, loaded with heavy, high-calibur bullets with laquered steel casings in five of its six chambers.

"I'd warn you, I shoot like a girl... but, that won't be a problem, will it? Since we'll not be horseback."

Cockpit

"Just find cover and return fire," Flynn replied. "You'll do fine."

And with that, he continued starring silently out of the front window.