.once upon a time..a very late but brief introduction.

She is a mystery. Her mother was told that since the moment a delayed breath escaped the quiet newborn's lips, ending fear the birth was still. As a Mavendorf, her upbringing was severely strict at best. Her mother's lineage is long running deep and since early childhood her only daughter was raised to follow in the footsteps of all of the women in her family that came before as a Companion, and not just any Companion. She rose at an excelled rate, as anything less then the highest level of learning would be a dishonor. She took great pleasure in the teachings while her distaste for authority grew at an equally rapid rate, just as her knowledge of various other subjects not so kindly looked upon did as well. Her father was no less strict, self-righteous, with blood running bluer then the oceans surrounding her home. He earned his place well, just as his forefathers had done. As for his daughter, her natural sensuality and sense of calm fused with her natural inclination towards violence created a disaster that was meant to be remedied by her parents. If they had it their way. Which they did not the older she became.

She frequently snuck out of the palace at night and spent the late evening hours in the village of Whitechapel. Outsiders rarely saw the inside of the palace unless they were dignitaries and the like. The prisoners of the dungeon had a better chance of catching her gaze when she would sneak down there as well, to watch and learn. As much as she loved to read, nothing ever beat hands on experience, so she spent as much of her time outside of the grand estate as she could. An addiction to opium would soon follow and The Ten Bells, with it's flowing Absinthe, became her second home.

Embracing her passions to the full extent, she lead a double life. With her eyes on the stars, a bottle in one hand, and a revolver in the other..she met Mr.Moriarty. Fate dealt it's heavy hand that night, her heart was won in a single kiss, and her life began as his deathly devoted wife. Names were changed, a ship stolen, the search for the pair was instant. With rumors of a Bonnie and Clyde pair sailing the skies, she is currently wanted for murder and theft on various systems. The depth of many acts remains unknown to her parents who have placed a warrant on her husband's head.

++TRANSMISSION: SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT++

+SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT+

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although i haven't a clue how many times i was struck before coming around, the moment  my eyes opened and i saw that it was not my husband holding me, that man was left lying on the floor. one single shot between the eyes. i watched the blood stream from the back of his head as if it were happening in slow motion. the glistening candy-like brilliance brought an oasis of life to this tomb that i could not quickly turn away from. i pulled off my glove and placed my palm into it, leaving my hand print on his cheek. i then drew my monogram in the blood that had spattered the chair i was meant to die in. afterward i pulled my glove back up past my elbow, released him from his weapons, and re-adjusted the ribbons in my hair like a proper lady. 

however he got in here, i am getting out there and by the time this crosses the cortex or however this remote signal was picked up..i will be long gone. thank you, dear captors, for this adventure and sincere lesson. it has been a pleasure. now i got what i wanted, the question is...did you?

this is Rottengirl Elswit London, signing out.
++CAPTURE POD LV426: LOCATION: UNKNOWN++

++LOCKDOWN MALFUNCTION DETECTED++

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Thresholds

“You spin me right round baby

 right round Like a record baby

Right round round round”

                                                                -Folk music, Earth That Was.

[T minus two months]

'All the sounds.' He thought. 'That’s my favourite part.'

Ziggy London stood in the open hatchway of the Queen Elizabeth II. He had lit one of his favourite cigars, and was absorbing the atmosphere around him. Eavesdown docks was a typically noisy place. As if dallying on the cusp of two universes, the planet of Persephone served as a convenient stop off for those leaving the ordered, stratified and somewhat sterile regime that comprised the Core worlds and allowed them to recharge, refuel, barter and haggle before entering the erratic, rough and somewhat backward spattering of rim worlds that spun so far out. Persephone itself certainly saw more traffic than most planets for this reason, and Eavesdown docks was the epicentre of this frenetic activity.

The crowd bustled past each other like errant asteroids, oblivious to all but the most salient of inhabitants. A small boy ducked between the forest of fast moving legs, weaving and flitting past in a winding route that took him, so it appeared, quickly away from a well dressed gentleman, standing leisurely and gazing up at a Firefly class transport. Market traders called out their wares, combustion engines moaned as forklifts placed and removed crates from the gaping mouths of cargo holds. The low rumble of conversations, muffled by their multitude, covered the mass of moving bodies like a cloud of radiation; potent yet invisible.

Ziggy felt like he was also on the cusp of two universes, standing on the threshold of two worlds. One was the clamour of the docks, its people indifferent to his watching. The other was the muted, more intimate sounds coming from the inside of the Trans –U. With the vac seals off, sounds travelled much easier within. Such as the familiar sound of Artifact’s awkward footsteps, moving round the engine room, beginning the preliminary checks prior to hitting atmo. Or Miss Elswits singing, from the bathroom, the gentle sloshing of water from the tub. She bathed a lot. Haggling for water on the docks was almost now as much of a priority as the haggle for fuel. She was still aristocracy at heart. He chuckled to himself about that. She was singing the chorus of an melancholic song of Independence; The Song of the Mother. A tune that always went down well in rim world bars whenever they performed. They all had mothers.. well.. most of them. The final sound, as if accompanying the lady, was the serene, indefatigable hum of Betty herself, content in her humble majesty.

Perhaps it was the blast of the engines on a Cordelia class, as it bellowed its way skyward, or the shrill shout of alarm of the gentleman in the crowd, patting his pockets, realising his wallet was gone. Either way, Ziggy’s attention turned outward, his view scanning the crowd. Thats when he saw them.

Two Alliance troopers, armed and full of intent, marching directly towards him. “Jung chi duh go-se dwa” He muttered. Stiffening up and drawing deeply on his cigar.

Their route was purposeful, one holding a pad, reading its contents and squinting up at the Trans-U as it gleamed in the last remaining rays of the White Tiger. The other eyeing anyone that came near, his rifle clutched to his chest. Ziggy noticed that they were heading away from the Firefly class transport Coop captained. He wrinkled his nose for a second at this. He had played enough poker with the likes of Coop to predict that he no doubt spun them a yarn, possibly played up to some stereotype or another, so as to deflect them from whatever inspection they had originally intended to perform. That would put them on edge for the next one. He concluded that this would be tricky.

First things first, he thought. He kept his eyes locked on the approaching men as he rapped a familiar five beat rhythm on the bulkhead. The singing from the bathroom abruptly stopped. Then, after a moment, it began again, but this time it was an uplifting loyalist verse; All the Kings Men. Ziggy had little time to smile at the cleverness of his wife, before the men had reached the base of the ramp.

The troopers stopped, and looked up at him. Both already looked exasperated. Ziggy removed his bowler with a little flourish and a curt nod. “Ello there, gents.” He said as warmly as he could. “Whats the story now?” His Dytonian accent became more pronounced. Playing up to stereotypes wasn’t just for cargo captains. It would allow the troopers to fill in their own blanks, leaving him free so as not to correct them on the details.

Corporal Cray was removing what appeared to be a contagion mask and placing it in a belt pocket. “Good afternoon, sir.” He called up. “Is this your vessel?” He was a tall, thin man, fair skinned, with nothing much of an accent.  ‘Core through and through.  Most likely despised this place and its vulgarity.’ Ziggy thought.

“Indeed it is, sir.” Ziggy replied, descending the ramp, hoping to close off any possibility of their gaining entrance. He extended a hand outward for a handshake, his friendly grin only just holding his cigar in place. His spectacles glinted briefly in the sunlight, their darkened lenses exposing a glimpse of the pupils that lay beneath.

Corporal Cray glanced at the hand for a moment, preferring to examine the manifest in his possession rather than take it. He continued: “Just a routine inspection, sir. Ident checks and cargo.” Cray’s deflection pleased Ziggy, although he didn’t show it. It indicated that the Corporal would much rather focus on the bureaucracy than the details. He let his hand hang for another beat, before slipping it back into the pocket of his longcoat. “Well, we were just firing her up to leave.. yer honour.” He protested limply. Cray looked up at Ziggy and fixed him with a glare. His pencil thin moustache stiffened into a frown as he snapped. “This is mandatory sir. You will have to wait.” Ziggy sighed resignedly, stepping aside and gesturing to the troopers to ascend. “Righto, Chief.” He said, following up after them, his footsteps louder than before on the metal gangway.

The troopers stepped into the main cabin of the Queen Betty. The lights were on low, saving energy cells, although many dotted the balcony of the second floor, rising up in front of them. At the top of those stairs, stood Lady Elswit, clad only in a towel, still wet from her bath. “Oh.” She gasped softly. “You didn’t say we had guests, darling.” Her voice was soft, lilting, as she descended the stairs towards them. Her feigned surprise would have amused Ziggy, as it had many times before, if he wasn’t taking the momentary shock and discomfort of the troopers to assess their weaponry.

“Apologies, Ma’am.” Cray coughed, his stern composure shaken. “Routine inspection.”

Lady Elswit glided closer to him, achieving proximity. The aroma of perfumes slowly enveloping the men. “So inspect, then.” She said with a gentle smile.

Ziggy frowned. She was laying it on thick enough for him to almost hope they found the cargo. That would give him a reason to wedge his SG78 up into the armpit of one of them, the body armour muffling most of the gunshot, an instant death. However, The Trooper First Class carried a standard AR 24, noisy enough that one round at least would be heard outside. Perhaps she was right to use the only weapon she had to hand. Being naked had never been much of a hindrance to her in the past.

Cray recovered quickly enough. “Your registration and I-dents, please.” He said, his tone returning to its pompous formality. The trooper took slightly longer to snap back into work mode, but not by much, possibly realising it would irk his commanding officer.

Lady Elswit made a little bow and turned, ensuring enough of her milky white skin glistened in the dimmed light as possible. “I shall retrieve them presently from the Captains quarters.” She looked over her shoulder at Cray, coquettishly. “Don’t go away now.”

As she ascended the stairs once more, a moment of speechlessness fell upon the three men. Ziggy, standing a little back from the troopers, wrinkled his nose.

Cray turned quickly, after the lady had gone, looking down his nose at the trooper that accompanied him. “Inspect the cargo, trooper. I’ll wait here for the papers.” The trooper, Downey, snapped to attention quickly enough, but Ziggy sensed a little hint of disappointment. “Yessir.” He responded.

Ziggy sighed, opening the hatch to the cargo floor below them, and gesturing the trooper to follow. At least they were split up now, but he wasn’t so keen on the Corporal standing unmonitored in the ships foyer.

The cargo hold of a Trans-U was certainly not as big as that of a Firefly class. As such it didn’t really make it as a shipping boat. Mostly they were used by settler families, intent on creating most of their possessions on whatever freshly terraformed planet they has chosen as their destination. Even so, the model was old, although retrofitted to keep up with most of the modern barges, the hold wasn’t large enough to be of much commercial use. This hold was full of various wooden crates of equal size, with larger, white polyplastene containers lurking behind them. Downey took a moment to assess the size. “What is your cargo, sir?” He asked after a pause.

Ziggy drew deep on his cigar, exhaling his answer in a large cloud. “Livestock” He said, taking a moment to pull himself up onto a wooden crate with white, semi – peeled stickers on it. There he sat, and gestured with a broad sweep towards the crates.

Downey considered this for a moment, stepping lightly between the crates, examining them closely. “Can’t be making enough to fly, off a cargo of this size.” He mused. The familiar clank of metallic feet approaching was getting louder.

“Now that depends on the cargo, fella. And whos payin’ fer it.” Ziggy chuckled. The trooper straightened up, fixing Ziggy with a look, as if to gain the truth through hard sight. This action was interrupted, however, by the entrance of a human shaped droid, pale white carapaced, but smeared in oil. 4RT1 stood in the hatchway leading to the engine room, his large lifeless lenses flitting from Ziggy’s face to the troopers somewhat startled expression.

+++Hello Madame. How can I be of service?+++

Ziggy grimaced. The trooper looked quizzically at Ziggy, a frown beginning to form. “I’ve been meaning to get that fixed.” Ziggy muttered penitently. Arti tilted his head, his blank expressionless face moving from human to human, as if simply not getting the joke. “Indeed.” Downey responded. The amusement in his tone was almost tangible in its absence. Arti’s lenses focussed on Ziggy’s smouldering cigar, cargo protocols, as rickety as they must be in his reprogrammed cranium, activating and dominating his attention. Ziggy, having had the expressionless face of disdain directed at him in flight so often before, simply scowled at the attendant.

“Fuck off, junk.” He snarled.

Arti straightened up, turning slightly, before resuming his pre-flight engine checks.

Downey had by this time located a crowbar, and was in the process of opening one of the crates, nearest the main cargo bay doors. Ziggy’s call of concern did nothing to slow down the action, and quickly enough the lid clattered to the plasteel floor. Ziggy stood up, walking over to the crate, his tone more than worried. “Er, don’t put your hands in there, pally.” He said, pointing with his cigar.

Downey huffed, as if this Dytonian could ever order an Alliance trooper around, until he looked inside.

A  morass  of black chitin, draped in mucous, crawling drunkenly over each other, writhing legs flittering beneath the curved  segments which sat, bulbous and oblivious, almost filling the entirety of the crate. Downey’s reaction was a blend of a bark of alarm and a retch, one not atypical to the startled reaction of many other mammals to such a sight.

Ziggy took a moment to respond, allowing the Trooper First Class to fully absorb the sight, his poker face deftly concealing his glee.

“Meat Beetles.” He began, as if an explanation would make the sight more palatable. “Harvested on the moon of Mommen, orbiting Victoria.” He leaned on the side, peering over his spectacles at the chittering exoskeletons half a meter from his face. Downey appeared to stagger for a moment, before reaching into his belt pouch for his particle mask, pulling it on over his face. “One hard crack along the thorax and you have two large fillets. Sell pretty nicely to the mining stations dotted along the rim. Better than them eating each other, right?” He grinned, taking in as much of Downey’s reaction as he could. “These are all males. Selling and transporting the females is prohibited. Ecological disaster if one got out here and started layin’ eggs, eh?” He chuckled, slapping the side of the crate, the impact making the bodies writhe and shriek.

“Ai-yah. Tyen-ah.” Downey muttered, restraining another retch.

“Just don’t put your hands in there, pally. They will eat anything. Even plastics. Although that might make the fillets taste funny.” Ziggy waited for a few more moments, this had been much more fun that he had anticipated.

Downey was by now a pallid white. He wrenched his eyes from the contents of the crate and looked to Ziggy with a face that almost appealed for help. “That will be all, sir.” He said weakly. Ziggy nodded and replaced the crate lid. He led the Trooper First Class back upstairs, all the while dying to recount the moment to his wife. Dinner tonight would be fun.

Miss Elswit and Corporal Cray met them at the hatch, both smiling brightly as they approached. She was wearing a kimono now, although loosely around her, and she held data pads and documents close to her breast. Crays tone was full, bullish, as is puffed up on the subtle compliments Miss Elswit would have fed him to keep him occupied. “Everything in order, trooper?”

“Y-yes sir.” The trooper replied.

The corporal stiffened into a little bow, kissing Miss Elswits hand lightly. “Then we wont keep you any longer, Mrs Fantoche.” He purred.

“Please.” She mused musically in reply. “Call me Greta.”

A second, less dramatic bow towards Ziggy followed. “Mr Fantoche.”

“Please. Call me Kaspar.” Ziggy echoed, a slight flash of a look directed at his flirtatious wife.

Miss Elswit waved lightly as they descended the ramp. Ziggy began punching in the codes to seal the hatch. “Did you sit on the crate?” She whispered, her milky white smile constant as the troopers merged into the crowd. “We are still here aren’t we?” Ziggy replied, his tone gruff. “Did you flash your tits enough?”

Miss Elswit turned from the door, replying as she ascended the stairs. “We are still here aren’t we?” She responded, chuckling. Ziggy watched her leave, shaking his head with a wry grin, before turning, and throwing his cigar out the airlock, as the hatch began to close.

“Artie” He bellowed. “Fire her up! We are getting out of here.”

((Kaspar and Greta are the German names for Punch and Judy. Fantoche is French for a particular type of puppet.))

++TRANSMISSION: SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT++

+SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT+
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  everything is gone. protein packs have been gone for days. water is gone as of this moment. everything is getting hazy. i can no longer focus. my head. my sight. the colors that fill this cabin are a swirling blur of black and purples red blue colors that might not even exist. i'm sunk so low into this chair with little strength to get out. my legs are up with my ankles crossed on the console that holds no purpose. my ragged skirts fall giving way to expose my thighs, what i can see that isn't obscured by my torn stockings or cuts and bruises. the flesh. my flesh. it's so soft. when the muzzle presses into it, it leaves a perfect circle. a pink perfect little ring. i've done it so many times that the ring has bruised and that means nothing, i'm covered in them. i roll the barrel. i cock the pistol. russian roulette. when my time is up, the lead will be lodged into the floor grate *****STATIC ENCRYPTED INTERFERENCE***** femoral artery and the candy..the red warm liquid will spill out and glisten like candy in the starlight. i will stare out into the void like i have been all along in my unwavering hope that the Betty will come into view. i can't look at anything else. to see it's lights and to know he has found me. your blinding light of amazing grace piercing through the unknown. oxygen levels have expired as i write this. the last of one of the remaining lights still lit inside this boat. i am locked inside a world floating through a dream.

   the job was done. without much hesitation on the firing end of my guns, many are dead and the goods secured. the shipment should have already arrived. if it has not, then it's on it's way. there is no sense of time anymore but i know it was sent under the radar. so it is done.

   it's so cold. i long for your touch. your warmth. you. my husband. my love. the one. to see your face again. i have been as strong as i can be. i will not die of starvation nor lack of water. i refuse to succumb to that yet i know i am so sick. i stay steadfast and true and will remain in this tomb with an ever watchful eye. waiting. hoping. rolling that barrel. i know the numbers. i know the odds. i know the score and i want you to know that i *****STATIC ENCRYPTED INTERFERENCE*** so keep that with you always. if my body does not get to you then keep your senses about, i will find my home when the breeze that carries what is left of me swirls around yours and lands upon your lips as no one and nothing can stop fate. together as one, against all others.
 
 my eyes. they burn. i can't keep my head up any *****STATIC ENCRYPTED INTERFERENCE*****
++CAPTURE POD LV426: LOCATION: UNKNOWN++
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++TRANSMISSION: SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT++

+SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT+
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    i am floating..flying..sailing out in this never ending void of space until my ship is called back and the program override is deactivated by the ones that have put me out here. i have heard nothing from my husband. i can hear nothing from anyone or anywhere with the exception of those in a small room on what would be called my home world but it was never my home. for that i have but one and he is not here.

   There is a boomerang nebula that seems to go on forever, the blue is so bright and deep that with all of the lights on this boat shut down, it feels as though i'm drifting through the deepest part of the sea. i know not when i will be rotated back to life and i am thankful i was left with a random handgun and a single bullet, how very poetic that was of them. The moment i am docked and the shuttle door opens, i will send this perfectly, elegantly, and beautifully sculpted piece of lead straight through the center of their eyes. i have zero care for whomever it is that is greeted with my hello, as long as they feel it.

   A reaver ship is passing and they've slowed since i first caught sight when i began this entry. these are the moments i fall in love with the lights in the sky all over again...and they're waving goodbye once more. xox
++CAPTURE POD LV426: LOCATION: UNKNOWN++
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++TRANSMISSION: SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT++

+SUBJECT ID: 1334ELSWIT+

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   It is growing hotter in this room, the cooling unit needs repair and Artifact best be on top of it soon or my dearly treasured attendant will be fashioned into a beautiful new set of flatware for the kitchen...or perhaps a set of chalices for my love and i  to sip from while we float past the stars..muffle the cargo..and burn towards our next bounty. 

   It is lazyness that has me writing this from bed while he sleeps beside me but i can not help it. We had a brilliant trade today and the wine went down like mother's milk. Sadly, quite literally. Getting out of these silken sheets and away from his warm body is not something i have any interest in doing anytime soon. We are coming up on passing the Pillars of Creation..if he didn't need the rest so deeply then i would wake him at first sight. There is no peace on any world that makes me feel the way i feel when we're in the black. It's ironic to me...the black. It isn't very black at all. You just have to keep a watchful eye and know where to look. There is nowhere else i would rather be and no one else i could tolerate floating out here with like this bastard in these stars with the endless rhythmic sounds of his breathing intertwined with the music in my headset.

  We'll pass our home within the week...i'm not sure if this time we'll be flying above or below the radar. Having the "wanted" posters still floating around has gotten more than old..my sister will get what she's got coming. We might have to make a stop..trading for wine and produce is all well and fine but we're about due for another major ransack of the armory.
   In the meantime...i will end this rant of an entry with these words my mother left with me: "beneath the makeup and behind the smile i am just a girl who wishes for the world." ..goodnight diary. xox .R.
++CAPTURE POD LV426: LOCATION: UNKNOWN++
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