Mal was enjoying a second cup of Veranda dark roast on the porch when he heard Moira's perky voice from inside.
"Brunch is ready!"
Placing his reverie of past events here on Canaria aside, he rose to join the other guests in the large dining room. Moira was just emerging from the kitchen with a huge platter with half a dozen plates on it.
"Now I'm tryin' a new recipe t'day, lads. I hope it suits ye. Introducin' Moira's special hemp 'n cheese omelette!"
Mal raised an eyebrow, but looked appreciatively at the plate set before him by his host. He gave her a smile, and picked up a fork.
Then he resorted to both knife and fork, finally wrestling a bite from the recalcitrant omelette, and popped it into his mouth.
He chewed.
And chewed.
And chewed.
And finally swallowed.
"Ummm... very.. interesting, Moira. Might I suggest grinding the hemp a bit finer, tho? It's a bit.. 'chewy'."
Before entering the Veranda, the crew of both the gunboat Anargyros and the transport Loose Ends made their final preparations in the back two rows of seating in the small van they'd rented. At the moment, the center of attention was the designated driver and engineer, a would-be Junker named Graham Dalton. He'd chosen to wear a suit made entirely of denim, and a frown.
The captain, Linus - wearing his trademark red duster, black hat, and black cat - was also wearing a frown, but for an entirely different reason. "Now, look, Graham...it's alright to make mistakes. Eris knows I do. But everything you touch breaks! The Ravenhurst might not count 'cuz she was a dump already, but my new gunnie an' Mammoth sure do, an' you've managed to mess 'em both up with less than a week of flight time."
Dalton lowered his head. "I know...I try, but..."
"S'not the end of the world, man! Just go an' find somebody to teach ya how to fix stuff an' make it work instead of breaking everything you fart on. That's all. Then come back."
"Oh...okay. I'll try that."
"Please do. No offense, bud, but if you don't improve after awhile...lemme know. I'm sure we can find somethin' you're good at. You sure you don't wanna stay for the party? I know Reggie'd welcome ya."
"Arright, I'll come back; and no thanks. It'd just be weird, and I might as well get a head start." Head still down, Graham just folded his hands in his lap and waited for the others to leave. Linus opened the door for his first mate: a willowy brunette named Dahlia, still a Gaian at heart. As she seemed to prefer, she was wearing a knee-length dress made of some sort of fabric available in a seemingly random assortment of pastel colors. She thanked her captain with a smile and a nod, and got out.
Following her was the gunner and weapons guy, Mathias - he was a Rheinland Military washout who hadn't made it past enlisted rank. The precise reasons were still unknown to any but himself...and the RM Archives. He nodded stiffly at the engineer, and with a "Good luck, Mr. Dalton," he followed the first mate.
Before Linus left the cab, he leaned over to the melancholy Junker. "Listen, if ya ever need anything...just lemme know. 'Kay? Take care out there." He patted Graham on the shoulder, and after a moment of awkward silence, stepped out of the van. Graham waved, shut the door, and drove off at a sedate, leisurely pace.
Linus and his two remaining crew enjoyed the brief walk to the entrance of the Veranda, and the unmistakable sounds of general revelry inside. Dahlia went to find the punch, Linus went to find Reggie, and Mathias followed his captain in lockstep. Linus gave a resigned sigh at his gunner's predictably offputting behavior, and it didn't take him long to figure out the dining room was where it was at.
Kyte arrived fashionably late, per usual her Tadpole was getting serviced and the dongle mutts didn't wish to extend her credit line. After a flash of pearly whites and a twinkle in her eye, Kyte got her way and the ship was only delayed for a few days. The new Hull plates were special ordered and while she didn't ask about their origin, she knew that the strength to weight ratio would improve her ship handling significantly while not costing her extra space in her holds. Kyte slipped in beside Mal, and winked to her hostess, knowing she'd be forgiven.
"What's on the menu, Mal?"
Malacalypse looked over, a slight frown... followed by a hint of a smile finding purchase upon his lips. He could never stay mad at Kyte. He adored her too much.
"Your sister, Fyre... if I don't get a Situational Report from her soon"
Kyte leaned over and coo'd in his ear. "I'm sure Fyre will be checking in soon, Mal"
"She'd BETTER", he concluded, stirring his coffee.
Kyte knew he was a bit peeved. She also knew how to calm him. Slipping her small hands about his neck and shoulders she began a slow... massage, whispering adorations into his ear. When his shoulders relaxed, she knew he'd be fine and her hindquarters safe.