Lunchtime on the rock - all characters - Day 1

Marty nodded to his brother and a mischieveous smile spread across his face. He rolled his shoulders and popped his back. "Left hook. Got it. Don't get eaten." He looked at the others and nodded as Fred spoke. "I'd be real happy if you'd do as he asks. I'm allergic to shivs. Especially in the back." Martin leaned away from Fred and peered over his shoulder at Marselle, "He's tellin' her the pie story. He'll have both of 'em bored dead before we get up." He rolled his eyes and slung one of his legs over the bench. He shoved the last bit of mashed potato into his mouth, swallowed hard, dropped his spoon and stood up, holding his tray, trying hard to look like a good little prisoner who wasn't about to go start no mischief and escape from prison.

Marselle watched her placid expression break when he offered her new information. Bingo.

"Truth be told, they finished it. They finished it just fine. The consequences that remained were the trouble - as they often are for those boys. Quite right on the other count, however - some snot-nosed little man in a Peacekeeper's uniform got them started on a little bruhaha, and bars can be such tinderboxes. As for me, I'm not the sort to throw in with a brawl I've nothing to do with."

His eyes clouded for a moment, before he continued.

"Then that selfsame brat gave me a cause I could get behind. Pecan Pie."

He waved a hand in the air, tracing rough astrogation charts with his fingers. "Back before the war, on Shadow, conditions for pecans were about perfect. They grew year-round, on the edges of the ranch land, and in such bulk that no other planet capitalized on the industry much at all. I heard about the destruction of Shadow only after the war, and while the species survives, there just isn't any kind of agricultural base to mass-produce pecans anywhere else in the verse." He shrugged, returning his hands to their laced position before them. "I thought I had missed a last slice of pecan pie while I was... waiting out War's End. When I got to that canteen..."

He gave a short snort at the memory. "Some cook didn't know what a treasure he had. Some hoarded cannister of pecans, vacuum-sealed. Real butter. Real sugar. Two slices left, and I took them both." He jerked his thumb towards the brothers at the table. "When their ruckus started, I was content to just find my seat and enjoy a bit of heaven. They lost a hold of that Alliance brat, though, and he went barreling through to the exit. Knocked over my table. Upturned my plates. Scattered my pie on the floor."

"Had I, at the time, known that they would have beaten him so, I probably wouldn't have thrown him back at them. Had I known he was the son of a magistrate, I probably wouldn't have broken his collarbone first, either. But I did what honor demanded..." he wiggled his fingers as if magical "And voila! A stint in the rock, accessory to attempted murder."

Melissa raised an eyebrow, showing suspicion. In the year the brothers had been incarcerated, no-one from their little clique had approached her before. It was likely she was wondering why you had chosen this moment in time to break the habit of a lifetime, and the fact Marselle was buttering her up implied it was important. She didn't bat an eyelid at the praise Marselle laid at her feet, but she did look interested when he started talking about his arrest "No, alas, most details like this are not included in arrest reports. Just the pertinent details and biographical information. So, why were you arrested, Mr. Qin? From the looks of your friends, I'd say they started something they couldn't finish and you got caught up in it.....or am I wrong?"

He waved, idly, at his former table, before taking a seat, leaning forward slightly to rest on his forearms, his fingers laced in front of him. "You strike me as the kind of woman who knows things. Beyond that, you strike me as the kind of woman who enjoys the act of knowing, the act of learning. I am similarly inclined - as I'm sure you know - though entirely out of your league, as I am also sure you know." He smiled a crooked smile, watching the woman's face for any telltale hint of emotion - humor, anger, anything. Emotions he could always use.

"Tell me, Lady. You know my name, and you know about the barfight that brought me here. Do you, however, know the reason for my involvement in the barfight? The arresting officer never asked, nor did he seem to care, and I had no intention of offering him information gratis."

"Brains" pointed to one of the seats in front of her. "Please be my guest." She nodded to the two men beside her and they stood up and moved as much out of earshot as was possible in the cafeteria. She waited until you were seated before steepling her fingers in front of her. She pointed in the vague direction of your table. "If you would care to have your friends join us I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

Fred immediately snapped from his lazy position to a ready one when Marselle got up and headed over to Brains. He leaned a little towards Marty's direction. "That big one, Cannabal, I heard he likes to try an eat him browncoats. Somethin' don't go smooth, I got him. You be careful with 43. I heard he's got a mean left hook." Fred nodded once to Marty and then shifted to look at Bugeye and an E. "Listen, ain't no need two a you to fight. If things go south, you two just keep the crowd from breakin' us up and stickin' my brother'n me in the back. Got it?" Fred looked at Bugeye and our other browncoat seriously, having formed a decent plan that kept them two out of harm's way while being useful at the same time. He knew Marty and himself could take a pair of brutes down without too much problem.

On the inside he hoped things went smooth.

He let the corner of his mouth rise in a crooked smile. "I see that your reputation does not go undeserved." He watched her for a moment, running the possibilities over in his mind. She was not unattractive - his father's voice in the back of his head started ruminating on the joys of intelligent women, and the best ways to seduce them - but he quietly stuffed the dodgy old horndog down. For all of his companion training, he had always expected that his father had been far more... amorous than his profession required.

He waved a hand at the chair before him, on this side of the table. "Might I sit?"

"Brains" seemed agitated, almost fidgety even, as Marselle approached. She didn't even notice he was anywhere nearby. Her minders did. A brute called Cannibal as it was rumoured he ate his cell mate who hung with the Browncoats and 43, a tall imposing muscularly built man, who was content to remain seated and in silence near Melissa. They both relaxed, but remained vigilant as Marselle came closer. Brains looked up from whatever it was she was contemplating. An eye brow raised in curiosity as her cool blue eyes marked Marselle.

"Yes, Mr. Qin, what can I do for you and the brothers that helped bring you to the best vacation spot in the Verse?" the last was said tongue in cheek, but to Marselle's hearing he could detect....something in the way she said it. Was she being ironic?

Marselle thought for a moment, then picked up the tray, downing the rest of his peas in a swallow, and stood up. As much as he may have liked for the fighters to take the lady's bodyguards on - after all, with them in Solitary, he'd have that much more time to plan things proper - he doubted that the woman would take too kindly to her bruisers being put out of the action for a while.

He paused, turning that thought over in his mind. Time to plan things proper. It was strange, how natural that thought came, planning to do the impossible.

Now that he had decided to do it it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

He shrugged, muttering unintelligibly to himself, as he took his tray to the bin where the used dishes were piled haphazardly - and noted with a grin that despite all the bitching about the food, there was barely a spec left on any of the trays. Adding his own to the pile he turned, and walked towards Brains.

He was, as in all things, careful in his approach. He had dropped his tray off first because it brought him directly into her bodyguards' lines of sight; he likewise walked with a slow, easy stride, his hands relaxed and open, obviously unarmed, to try and put some ease into them - and while he could take a beating, he didn't strike too imposing a figure. No threat here. None at all.

Good thing they couldn't see the hardness of his eyes.

He composed himself as best he could - not fidgeting, just reassuring himself. One hand straightened the dull gray fabric of his uniform (as always, immaculately cleaned and repaired, in far better condition than he had received it), as the other reached up to tuck an errant strand of tawny hair into place behind his ear. If it were possible for a prisoner to look distinguished, he did so now.

He approached the table, walking as close as prison etiquette allowed, before half-bowing, icy eyes ignoring the two powerful men and instead locking on Brains - not threatening, simply... sure.

"Lady." He said, by way of introduction.

Then, nodding almost as an afterthought to her guards. "Gentlemen."

Marty shrugged. "Well, can't speak for all you. But me an' Fred over there probably gonna be in here for the haul if we can't find us no other way out." He looked down at the trash he was forced to call food. "I gotta eat this gorram stuff many more times...There'll be a reason for me bein' here." He looked disgusted at the food then glanced over at the two bruisers and the little brainy girl. "We can take 'em. They're soft in the eyes." He smiled at Fred. As the others spoke Marty listened and nodded. He understood where they were coming from. Sometimes, a solid punch to the face was not the best solution to a problem, but only sometimes. "We could go beat her up. Reckon' she'd help us if we promised not to paint her eyes black? Of course, Marty was only joking, but they had little choice in the matter. Someone was going to have to talk to her and her buddies before any of them could figure anything else out from there... Of course, in the back of his mind there was also the fact that Bugeye could be completely full of shit too.

Eli frowned. He really was slipping if he'd missed all that. He glanced at Marselle, then the brothers and the others. The fast talker chuckled and shook his head. "Hai bu gou. I'm not even sure what we want yet. So she don't want off the Rock, but does that mean she won' turn our sorry butts in fer thinkin' we might wanna take a stroll on outta here?"

Bugeye held up his hand, refusing the extra food.

"Sorry mate. I don't know what one the likes o her might want. I know one thing, she'd be on a free pass out of here if she really wanted. So the question I was askin meself the other day was....why is she in here? She's here by choice, and it ain't as if she's pissed off anyone while she's been here. She talks to everyone. Heard she done the entire prisons tax returns last year. So it ain't money she's lookin for." he leaned closer "I heard her tax return was so big she earns more than everyone on the Rock. Even da Purity o Thought likes her and they don't like no-one. I has ta wonder. I guess the only way you might be find out, is to go talk to her yourselves."

Marselle glanced appreciatively across the table to Eli, giving him a small grin. If his voice of reason had been with us in that bar at Farpoint, I'd still be complaining about eating protein paste, and not this fetid slop...

He eyed the remainder of his peas, and glanced across the table at Bugeye, his hands making an offering motion to the flimsy tray's remains. "For you, sirrah, if you know what the Lady would value in trade?"

"Deng yi miao. Chitchat first, boys. Leastways that'll put 'em off guard for when you jump 'em." Eli looked around the table, then at Bugeye and Marselle. "But Brains ain't gonna talk ta me- us- for nothin'. Whaddawe got ta offer her ta let us sit down at the table?"

"Naw lads....I'm too ole. I'd never make it anywhere's. Would like to get back to Beylix an see the daughter. I hear she hooked up with a scrap merchant....more honorable an occupation than most these days. If'n you be wantin off the rock, ye'd be going against tradition and you'd be wanting to get in with one or more o the folks around here. 'Brains' over there might be a good start, if she doesn't laugh you out of existence." he pointed to a diminutive blonde sitting surrounded by two large bulky bruiser types. Bugeye slurped at his steak before winking towards Marselle "You should be knowin that one, with all of yer schoolin mate. It was Pat Marley that was in charge o the 'Always a Bridesmaid' his brother John was the master o the 'Never a Bride', and never a finer man would you ever meet. They was two o the best so they were. Makes me heart sad when they trumped up those charges o piracy against Pat. His brother John was the kind o man to take that personally."

He went through the almost mechanical motions of eating, his spoon idly scraping the bottom of one section after another. As he polished off the "meat" soup, he looked up at bugeye, his eyes searching, before giving him a nod. As he started on his peas, he began to speak, softly.

"It's true," he murmured, taking a spoonful of the runny green paste. "At least, the ship exists. I was already in..." he paused, shoving down the memories of his first confinement, "I didn't get news of the Bridesmaid's capture, but she flew the back, alright. Saved our ass a few times, too, taking out food or ammunition transports."

He paused a moment, deciding to test Bugeye's story - the man didn't strike him as the kind to read military histories, and unless he had heard about the ship indirectly, he likely knew the boat as he said. "The Captain of your little fleet. What was his name?"

Martin nodded, looking a little disappointed. "Gotta be a way. Always a way." He muttered to himself and returned his attention to the slop in front of him. He took another bite of his peas and choked it down. "Steaks." He shook his head.

When Elias started talking Martin looked up at him and furrowed his brow. He knew the hungover prisoner was making an attempt at a joke at Martin's expense, but knew to let it ride. There was no sense in starting a fuss over something so small, not here anyway.

Fred listened to Bugeye just enough to realize he was full of gossa. He didn't have any problem saying as much either. That, compounded with Fred's lack of respect for any military unit not a browncoat, left him leaning backwards just a bit, with his elbows propped on the table looking as unimpressed as humanly possible. "Would be shiny. Would be all kinds of nice and shiny. Too bad I don't believe not a word of it. Besides, before it even matters how ya get off this damn rock, we would need a plan on how to get out of the cells."

Elias Tranh had been uncharacteristically silent all morning. Truth was, he'd sampled way too much homemade hooch the night before and was hung over something fierce. The man claimed he could get anything, anytime, and he still made liquor in his cell toilet like anyone else. The bland food was actually good for him; anything with any taste to it probably would have made him throw up. Though the sickly green of the peas wasn't helping at all.

He looked up at Bugeye, pale skin a deathly pallor as he looked at the tale spinner. Unlike most of the others at the table, he was slender, never having gotten on the prison weightlifting bandwagon. Physically assaultin a guard would never has crossed his mind.

Eli was known for his quick tongue himself but that morning his head was a little fuzzy. "Nice ta want things, ain't it? But who's gonna let you in the cockpit of a supply boat, Bugeye? You make some friends in admin I never heard about?"

Bug eye grinned. "Maybe I is telling the truth.....and maybe I ain't. Only you can say for sure. Could be that every word o every tale I tell is true, or mayhap it is not. The fact is I is spinnin a good yarn for one and all. The truth be in who be listening to it. If you think it be true, then it be true, if you do not. You do not." He looked at his food with relish mixing the mashed potato in with the gravy before eating it one spoonful at a time.

Marselle picks up on some of the story. Marley's marauders were a known band of privateers working on the side of the Browncoats. They weren't true Navy because most of their ships were tugs or converted cargo haulers. From your recollection the flagship of the fleet was the "Never a Bride" which was later rechristened as the "Warbride" so it is possibly true. You remember reading a book about it. There's a lot more out there on this little band. You didn't give it much thought at the time.....oh...there was one other thing. No-one ever knew where the base of operations for the fleet were.

Martin noted what Bugeye had said then added, having no idea whether it was truth or lies, "You sure about that?" His voice dropped to a whisper that only the four of them could hear, "Be shiny if we could get our hands on that ship... and shotguns." The light of possibility and excitement crept into Martin's eyes and voice. He looked down at his food, a smile on his face at the thought of no longer being in jail. "I really hate this gorram place." He looked from Fred to Marselle to Bugeye.

Marselle watched his mashed potatoes disappear into the man's gullet with such pleasure that he almost envied him - then thought better of it. Sure, it was good to find joy where you could, but if the day ever came when he thought of this slop as passable, much less a delicacy... He shuddered to think of it.

He tucked into the soup, far more focused on it than on the man across the table, shrugging inwardly. Flour, broth, and an odd onion - and far, far too much salt. At least all the tastes were recognizable.

I sort of Harumphed at Bugeyes story and let my empty tray sit on the table. No sense guarding what was already gone. I couldn't verify his story one way or another so I just remained quiet. I glanced between Marty and Marselle, wondering if any of them knew what he was talking about, but otherwise, nope, not much from me.

Bugeye's eyes showed the kind of true gratitude it was very hard to find on board the Rock. He seemed to regard the payment of an extra scoop of mashed potato as a bonus. He nodded his eyes filling with delight. His spoon delved into the mass of mashed potato delivering it into his mouth. Unlike the rest of you, Bugeye clearly relished the mashed potato, a look of bliss crossed his face. A deep contented sigh showed his pleasure. A small smile appeared on his thin lips. He looked around the hall for anyone that might overhear before leaning over the table in a conspiratorial manner.

"Thank ee, sir. I have a tale to tell, for one such as 'ee." he motioned with arms inviting all to lean closer "During the War, you might be knowing I was a privateer. Life on board the Always a Bridesmaid was tough. Towards the end of the war, we weren't getting no supplies. Our ships was being held together by twine and bubblegum. Anyways....we jus hit an Alliance supply convoy like. The richest prize you could ever imagine, 3 unarmed cargo ships filled with cargo the likes of which you could only imagine. Spare parts a plenty, ammunition to fill our almost empty weapons, food......oh the food." Bugeye stopped speaking as he relived the joy of having a full stomach. "Well, we put a prize crew on board all of them vessels and sent them back to our base. We weren't the only ship that was hurtin some due to the war, and the prizes would keep us all feudin for at least six more months. My luck? Well, sometimes bad comes with the good. Our next batch o liberatin was what got me put here. Came up on an alliance patrol ship, we managed to get right up behind it. We was on silent runnin. We fired one shot into their engines an the main power generator blew on the Bridesmaid. We'd jus gone a mite too far without taking her back for repairs. Kinda ironic really seein as how we liberated all the parts we need to fix up the ship to bein like new. That patrol ship, well it just woke up and start causin us all kinds a problems. After it had toyed with us some, well.....we had ta strike the flag." His eyes clouded over with reminiscence "an I ended up here boys. On tha Rock. I....heard that one o them scows that runs supplies to the Rock is the Bridesmaid. I'd give my right nut to fly out into the stars with her one last time. She were dependable, fast and powerful....but she needed treated right, we'd been running short for over a year when she gave up on us. She decided we weren't going to take no abuse like that no more. Marley's Marauders had to do without the best ship in tha fleet."

Everyone....Intelligence +Knowledge if you please...