They'll starve if they try to munch on mine!

FYI: Testing in the background, here. So far, so good, boss-man!

This alley smells horrible, duuuude!!!!

I kid, of course. You have tio take care of real life, first. We've all been there and understand how it can get overwhelming and leave you with little "free time" for the Inn.

Looking forward to the post. Haze will be ready when it goes up.

...check your PMs. I think this is an issue with the "Edit" menu in the editor. Copy and Cut work fine but, for whatever reason, paste seems to be stymied. Instead of using the Edit menu, try using the key-combos (ctrl+c=copy, ctrl+v=paste, ctrl+x=cut). Let us know how that works, please.

I binged it pretty hard on my first viewing - I want to say I watched it in two or three days. The second time around, I took it slower and am, now, about halfway through, again! Such a great show and, most definitely, a fabtastic setting for an RPG.

I really need to grab a copy of the book(s).

Day 2, Whitefall – Rocinante, Dash’s cabin, 3:21 a.m.

He wasn’t sure whether it was the smell of her that lingered in the air or, instead, if it was the memory of their grapplin’ from earlier that stirred Sam from his slumber. Whichever of the two it was, it didn’t really matter; he was awake and he was most certainly stirred. His eyes hadn’t yet opened, though, and with her scent in his nose and the want of her rousing about in his nethers, he rolled over and reached for the girl he thought was still sharing his bunk and wrapped his arms around nothing…

“Ta mah de,” Sam half-groaned, his eyes fluttering open to regard the empty space atop the rumpled sheets where Misty had  been laying when he’d fallen asleep, “Gorram it! I was hopin’ fer at least one more round.”

The sigh that followed his grousing was filled with both exasperation and, somehow, contentment, all at once. When his seeking fingers found the crumpled note that she’d left, the next sigh to blow past his lips was definitely heavier on the contentment. He sat up as he unfolded the little slip of paper, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and grinning as his eyes drifted blearily around the cabin and saw where all of his clothes had ended up… Ya done wore me out, Misty Knowles, he chuckled to himself as his gaze dipped to the now unfolded note in his hands, too ruttin’ bad ya din’t wanna be taken away. When his vision processed the first words of what she’d written, Sam was more than a little glad that he was in the privacy of his own room; as hot as his cheeks felt, he was sure he was blushin’ red as a hot house tomato…

Sammy,

Thanks for EVERYTHING! It was more than fun! Look me up next time youre in town.
XOXO,

Misty

“Sammy,” he chuckle-whispered into the murk of his cabin, lifting the note to his nose and sniffing deeply to capture the smell of her from the paper. “Darlin’, ya c’n guaran-damn-tee I’ll be lookin’ ya up ever’ time I find m’self out this way.”

He tucked the note under his pillow, then, and snatched his shorts from where they hung from a light jutting from the bulkhead. Once he managed to get those pulled up around his hips, he scooped his shirt up off the floor and stuffed his feet into his boots (as soon as he found both of them) before he climbed, half-dressed as he was, out into the forward hallway. Following a yawn, a stretch, and a bit of inappropriate scratching, Rocinante’s pilot found his way outside, humming happily to himself the entire way, and, after a moment of truly appreciating the early-morning sky of Whitefall, took a moment to relieve himself under a nearby tree before meandering back up the loading ramp.

For a few moments, Sam had thought about simply returning to his bunk and trying to slip back into that sated and silky slumber he’d fallen into thanks to Misty’s tender administrations but, by the time he reached Roc’s mid-deck, he thought better of it…

Reckon I best get a jump on a flight plan ta Pegasus, he told himself, climbing the gangway up to the forward ahll, once more, ‘Specially if we’s ta be all sneaky an’ roundabout.

…So it was that Dash found himself on the bridge – in just his boxers, boots, and a rumpled t-shirt – bringing the consoles online and spinning up his nav programs. There was more yawning, stretching, and scratching while the bridge lit up and, as he rubbed his eyes and peered at the recently lit display before him, the first thing he noticed was an unsigned message that could’ve only come from Wyatt. Of course, he opened and read that before he commenced to tackling anything else. There were links to several articles on the Cortex included in the message and, happily, some really good news regarding the proximity of Pegasus and her mother planet, Bellerophon, for which Sam was grateful. Also, as expected, there were some notes on Wyungsung’s personal thoughts where the trip and, in particular, the pregnant girl, Chloe, were concerned. Sam absorbed each and every snippet and, before setting about making any solid navigational plans or adjustments to the flight control systems, sent a reply to his friend and captain…

Cap,

I thought I recognized Potter’s name, just couldn’t place from exactly where when first we met the ta ma de (f***er). Makes a bit of sense to me now that I done read this. Not sure what to make about the base on Pegasus, though. I reckon they probably started work on that after I ghosted Trent, get me? We might wanna play it tight goin’ in, just in case things get sketchy where the presence of that base is concerned.

As to the proximity of Pegasus, right now… Don’t reckon we could’ve caught a better break, there, brother! Twitchy part of me says Potter couldn’t have picked us up at a better time. Pilot part of me says Buddha be praised, right? Again, given both of them things, I say we keep it tight and close goin’ in.

Reckon that gets us to little momma stowed away down in the infirmary. If you’re ku with doin’ that drop, my friend, you know I am. Figure we’d be best served to drop her of before we get Potter to where he’s going… ain’t no sense in involving that poor girl if something goes tits up with our job, dohn ma? Up to you, of course. Just my two credits, there.

Anyhoo, I’m up if you wanna discuss further. Laying in flight plans and all that s#!t on the bridge. I’ll even put my gorram pants on. Elsewise, I’ll see ya at breakfast.

~Sam

…Sending the message off, Dash slid from the pilot’s seat and, as promised, returned to his bunk long enough to retrieve and put on his tattered jeans. Once he was more or less properly attired for mixed company, the pilot found his way back to the bridge and spent the next few hours plotting out a preferred and several, acceptable, alternate courses to Bellerophon and, her moon, Persephone. He spends some time, too, fine tuning the reaction control systems, configuring his console and control layout for running dark, and making notes for Wolfy to consider where the engines are concerned on Roc’s pending voyage. By the time he’s finished and despite the general noise and clatter of his crewmates waking up and moving about the ship, Sam’s attentions are snatched from the work he’s been doing on the bridge to the aromas drifting up the corridor from the galley…  Is that real coffee?.. Sam swivels his chair away from his console and gets to his feet, letting the minutia of the past few hours’ work slip from his mind as he strides down the hallway toward the common area.

“Mornin’, folks,” he almost sing-songs as he steps into Roc’s gathering room, “Hope ya’l’s night was’s good as mine!” Grinning like a fool and absently humming under his breath again, Sam makes a beeline for the galley and, after planting a kiss on Ma’s cheek, helps himself to a large cup of the freshly brewed coffee before taking his usual seat at the table. “I got me some, last night,” he grinned at the faces around the table following a long, satisfied pull from his mug, “How’d ya’ll do?”

((OOC: Not assuming anything other than strange looks and maybe a “oh, shut up, Sam” ))

The pilot chuckles, softly and fondly, recalling the hours he spent with Misty. Then, his gaze skinning faces, again, he asks; “So, we gonna talk ‘bout this job, now, er we gonna get chores an’ s#!t outta th’ way first?” Not waiting for an immediate answer, his eyes fix on Wyatt; “Cap, I got some plans an’ back-up plans laid out on m’ console if’n ya wanna take a gander…”

((OOC: Okay, just went with what I figured Sam’s morning might be like after his night with Misty, here. If Wyatt happens to be awake and joins Sam on the bridge before “breakfast” I can and will happily edit to reflect… Also going on the assumption that most, if not all, of the crew will be present in the common room when Sam janders in… and Buddha help anyone involved if, for some reason, Dash finds out Misty’s been accosted by Patience and her gang… that might blow the trip outta the black all by itself. ))

I joined the site but the app makes it darn convenient when I'm wandering around with my tablet.

...there's an Asana app?!?!

Schwwwweeeeeeeeeeeet!!!! That makes it much easier!!!! 

Also - hooray for giddiness!

...and zeroed in on the editor and brainstorming tasks. I skimmed the others but none of them really registered until just now! 

Guess, I better dust off my old-dude brain and go do some serious looking!

I was half kidding about the paint, but... Okay! Cool!!!

Also - I rarely ever fear... unless the Inn is down and then I do experience a bit of LBL.

Great work, o' Bossilicious one! What a way to make a comeback!!!

Thanks for letting me help with the testing and such, as well... I didn't even mind the "spam e-mails"... Spam is actually pretty good if you fry it up and put some mustard on it.

Looking forward to the next upgrade, as well. We might even need to slap a fresh coat of paint on the sign outside. 

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:15 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

“At full sail,” Fin says after a moment of contemplation, “th’ Dog c’n reach Barbados in jus’ a bit more’n two days. Add in anoth’r day er so ta collect yer man an’ two more fer the return trip… Aye, I reckon a hundr’d guinea’s cover us, considerin’ ye’d have us anoth’r job on the back end.” He tips the mug to his lips, again, draining the remainder of the rum in a single swallow, and plunks the empty cup back down on the table; “I’d say we have us an accord, Mester Oken.”

“An accord?” Oken blinks slowly and a barely perceptible twitch occurs in the forward portion of his left eyebrow. “Call it what you will, Mister Crowe, but we prefer to refer to it as a contract between business people…”

You say tomato, Fin thinks from behind a wry smirk, I say bugger all.

“…The man you are looking for is from South America; Brazil to be precise. His name is Rufino Abreu. He’s not a big man, Mister Crowe, but he is deadly with a knife and is known for his ability to blend in, to attack from the shadows, and to fight with his hands. I do not imagine that he’ll want to come with you, let alone quietly.”

The Sun Dog’s quartermaster nods fractionally, committing those few details to memory, and reaches for the bottle that sits between him and Oken, again. “Aye, I don’ imagine so,” Crowe rumbles softly as he pours a fresh sampling of rum into his empty mug, “Then, I din’t hear tell o’ want er quiet bein’ conditions, neither.”

Dabbing at his temple again, Elias Oken continues, “Once you retrieve the thief, you will return to this port and send word through one of the serving girls at this tavern. You’ll receive further instructions at that point. Any questions, Mr. Crowe?”

“One er two,” the swarthy pirate answers, reclining slightly in his seat, again, and enjoying a swallow of the rum before proceeding. “First, c’n ye gimme a bit more of a description aside from a no’ so big Brazilian? True enough, Brazilians tend ta have a certain look about ‘em, an’ I c’n discern Portuguese from Spanish, but a wee bit more o’ precisely wha’ th’ lad looks like’d be helpful.

Second,” he barrels on without waiting for an immediate response from Oken, “‘ow many others’ve ye got lookin’ ta fulfil this contract o’ yers?” One dark brow spikes slightly as Fin, in all seriousness, eyes the man across the table; “It’d be good ta know if I’ve go’ competition ta keep an eye on, saavy? An’ if there’ll be need ta kill any of ‘em ta keep th’ payment fer m’self.”

((OOC: Assuming Fin gets answers he more or less believes out of Oken, he’ll consider the meeting concluded and take his leave of both the table and the tavern (likely taking the bottle of rum with him) and meander back toward the beach. He’ll want to tell Anna about the “contract” with Oken, for sure, but, as he’s only been ashore for a couple of hours, he’s not in a huge rush to get back.))