Young Writers Society

WELCOME TO THE FLICKERING HIGHWAY OF THE STARS

The year is 2654. Civilisation has risen - and fallen - and risen - and fallen again so much that everybody's lost count. Somewhere in between, humanity managed to conquer the stars. Now, while back on Earth politicians are trying to pick up the pieces following the last string of wards and natural disasters, people who still have hope look to the skies.

Except that the skies are poorly regulated and poorly controlled. Any cowboy with an ounce of nerve can carve out a place for himself up there, be it as a legitimate merchant or a... less legitimate one.

The SS Selkie belongs to a syndicate of such ships, all owned by the crime lord Jargo Kaufhausen (his family were German, way back when). It's the newest addition to his ever-growing fleet, all named after mythical creatures that Jargo believes we will still find some day, in the clouds. Jargo himself lives on the Centaur Space Station, a den of thieves and con artists. It's one of the most dangerous places in the galaxy - and the only place to go, if you plan on making your fortune in the stars.

This is where we first encounter our crew, as they are interview by a black-toothed croney of Jargo's, Guzzler Bryx-Jones (you somehow doubt Guzzler is his real name, but would you really say that to his face). You are here to prove you're right for the job. But is there a reason that you're willing to act outside of the law? Only you can decide.

The SS Selkie is a third- or fourth-hand ship, it's falling apart at the seams, but nevertheless, you could make it a home. It's an eight-man ship and will be crewed by:

1. Captain - claimed by Sheytato
2. First Officer - claimed by Elinor
3. Pilot - claimed by RaidenCheese
4. Engineer - claimed by TheBlueCat
5. Medic - claimed by StellaThomas
6. Domestic - claimed by Sacredlege
7. Navigator - claimed by PrincessInk
8. Security - claimed by Nobunaga

About the Galaxy

I mean, it's the galaxy, how much do you need to know?

Apart from Earth, where no one wants to go back to, there are a few other human colonies:

- Mars - the biggest of all, a largely autonomous society that lives a fairly banal existence of red dust, red skies and evangelical Christianity which has thrived on its wide open planes
- Titan - the biggest moon of Saturn, Titan is densely forested and the people there have grown to be care-free, singularly unwise with money and vulnerable to predators.
- Ganymede - the iced-over moon of Jupiter, where human life hangs by a thread. The people of Ganymede are tough as nails, mysterious, and only a few months ago, closed their borders off to everyone. It remains a mystery, because Ganymede cannot be self-sufficient.
- the twin space stations Hera and Juno - these are home to literally millions of people, chugging along through the galaxy like mobile continents
- Artemis - people do, still, live on the moon, but it's considered unfashionable and a bit run-down these days - rumour has it, half the land there belongs to crime lords.

Rules

- keep your posts of appropriate length, about three meaty paragraphs as a minimum, but no novels either
- let's keep it PG-13 for now
- good grammar is an absolute necessity
- no killing off of other people's characters (duh)
- all non-character posts to the DT

Guidelines

This is clearly heavily Firefly inspired, and I just want people to have fun. Stay high on the banter and high on the interpersonal drama, but low on the unnecessary angst. Communicate with each other, and mainly just have a laugh.

I'll be posting in the DT with plot points and I would love for other people to collaborate in this regard. Please be courteous to one another - and if you're concerned about another player's actions, please talk to me directly rather than starting arguments on the DT. But as long as we keep it light-hearted and enthusiastic, nothing will go wrong.

Character Template

Code: Select all

[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]Position:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b] [[i]please ensure we know all of their good AND bad points[/i]]
[b]History:[/b]
[b]Skills:[/b]
[b]Weaknesses:[/b]
[b]Other:[/b]


Fletcher

The chairs were really uncomfortable, a panel of steel seats crudely nailed onto the wall of a dead end corridor near the rear of the SS Centaur. The wall itself was sticky with some sort of algae, Fletcher didn't want to know more. She thought that Juno had been grimy and dark, it was nothing - nothing compared to the Centaur. Janitorial staff were not high on Jargo's list of priorities.

There was a domestic on the call list for this commission though. At least maybe the ship would be cleaner.

She was the only one waiting to be interviewed. There was a loud argument happening around the corner - she wasn't sure if it was about drugs, fuel or a baby and was equally intrigued and disgusted.

The rusted door wheezed as it opened. "Jones?" called the man behind it. He was about four times Fletcher's size or seemed it at least, hulking with twenty seven weapons on his person. His bald head was tattooed with black ink, and he bared a set of rotting, blackened teeth.

Fletcher stood up smartly and wiped any residual algae that might have fallen from the ceiling off of her baby blue dress. "Here. You should really see a dentist."

He looked like he might like to use Weapon 22 to knock some sense into her but she held out a hand. "Dr Fletcher Jones, at your service."

"Guzzler," he grunted.

"Bryx-Jones? The man who managed to smuggle the last remaining Fabergé egg out of Moscow before it collapsed? You know I used to hope we were related." She gave him a once over. "Hopefully not."

"Damned egg," Guzzler said, tossing his clipboard down on the desk then sitting opposite her and putting his steel toed boots on the desk. He leant back, tattooed and iron-braceleted hands behind his head. "More trouble than it was worth." There was a wistful, nostalgic look in his eye. "Nearly smashed it three times trying to get out of orbit. Didn't bring any bubble wrap. Just set it on the dash. Don't see what all the fuss was about anyway. Jargo just put it in the vault."

Fletcher cocked an eyebrow. She hadn't been expecting great things from Guzzler but forgot to bring bubble wrap?

"You were a great smuggler, obviously. What did you do to annoy Jargo so much that he relegated you to human resources?"

"None of your damn business!" he roared, slamming a hand on the table. "Now. You a doc or ain't ya?"

"It's a matter of perspective. I say, yes, the Heran medical council say no."

Now it was Guzzler's turn to try to get under her skin. "What'd you do got you struck off?"

"I did illegal heart biopsies during routine angiograms." Blank stare. "People weren't happy about me taking a piece of their heart without asking." She hummed a couple of bars of Take Another Piece of My Heart. Fletcher loved classical music. "It was for science," she finished.

"But you're still a trained doctor?"

"Uh huh."

"You can stitch people up good?"

"Good enough you won't even see the scar." She leant forward and pointed at a long pink line on the top of Guzzler's head. "You wouldn't have that if you had me on your crew."

"I like this scar," he grunted. "You know your medicines?"

"You wanna quiz me?" Fletcher tapped her own black leather high heeled boot on the steel floor. "I was ranked Number 3 on the Pharmacology Boards in University of Hera."

"Three out of how many?"

"Seven hundred and eighty two. I know my atropine from my amiodarone don't worry."

He grunted. "Can you fight?"

"Not at all. But I can keep out of the way."

"Not in those shoes you can't."

Fletcher uncrossed her legs and followed Guzzler's lead by putting her feet on the desk. He stared at her and she stared back.

"Can you start tomorrow?" he asked.

She gave him half a smile. "Do you mean I can't start today?"

Zhang Hui

The gentleman interviewing Hui was Guzzler Jones, and though he'd met the fellow more than several times in the past, he still felt compelled to ask if the black-toothed man was related to a former ship captain named Nelly.

That sentiment must've been obvious to Guzzler, for as soon as Hui dropped off SS Lindworm and onto a dingy, unknown port in Juno (where he'd usually drop off to meet the interviewer, when jumping back onto a new adventure), Guzzler glared at him and said, "Fletcher Jones isn't related to the Nelly lass."

Hui was disappointed, but it was rather difficult for him to convey it. "Ah, well," he laughed, pulling his backpack of cooking and cleaning equipment closer to his form, "That's a bit of a shame. But I've got a bit of a lead on Nelly, anyway, and Selkie's heading my way regardless."

Guzzler flashed his black tooth, but he didn't ask what the lead was. "Come o'er here," the interviewer said, pulling out his notepad. "State your name for the record."

"Zhang Hui," Hui said in a tone as jolly as the first time he said it, give or take fifteen years ago. He wasn't interviewed by the same people, but most of them he was chummy with after the first five years. "Originally from Juno, no listed next of kin. Graduated from the Juno National University as a cooking major. Worked as a chef for a decade in fifteen different restaurants across Juno and Hera, Masterchef contestant and winner, and good cleaner. Running for Domestic."

Guzzler was unimpressed. Well, bored is the more fitting word, since he's been in this position twice already. "How's Jargon, Mr. Jones?" Hui asked.

Guzzler gave a pointed look. "Finicky as always," the interviewer said. "You know, I ought to bring you to the room in Centaur for this interview."

"Well?" Hui smiled. "Why don't you, then?"

The large man rolled his eyes. "Ain't worth the trouble with you. I'm sure you've been to that rodeo before," Guzzler pulled out a note from his pocket, shoving it to Hui. "Don't come late. Jargon expects it to be clean and spiffy by noon tomorrow, and you'll be given the cash to buy rations for your trip."

Hui held the note to his chest, watching as the large man walked away. He looked at the note, grinning to himself. "Can do," he whispered, merrily.

Ryder stared at the wall blankly as he waited for the interviewer to show up. It was slimy and weird, and he didn't particularly wish to know why it was so. He could hear an argument around the corner -- it sounded like it was about which dish was the best at Hera's five-star restuarant. He blinked. Neither of the two's preferences matched his own. He also didn't understand why they were arguing about which dish was the best on, as far as he knew, a crime syndicate ship thing. It would make more sense if they were arguing about who gets the pay from whatever job they were doing -- though that might escalate into something out of control, which would not be appropriate.
A bald man walked in through the rusted door, snapping Ryder out of his thoughts -- though it didn't show on his face, which stayed as blank as ever. Guzzler raised an eyebrow at the kid.

"Ryder?" he asked, looking the boy over

"Present." Ryder raised his hand, staring Guzzler dead in the eye as he did so. The bald man blinked and mumbled out his own name in response, taking a seat behind the desk, opposite Ryder. He tried to seem casual, putting his feet on the desk, but Ryder sat straight, hands in lap and stared directly into Guzzler's soul.

"Uhm, is your name really Guzzler?" Ryder asked, raising his hand, "Because...I really doubt that it i-"

"It's my name kid, an' that's that," he replied, sitting up straight in an attempt to seem intimidating.

"Oh, okay." Ryder nodded, his face changing in no way whatsoever. It seemed the big bald man was thrown off by Ryder's blankness, and the air in the room quickly became awkward.

"...You know how to pilot a ship?" Guzzler asked, eyeing Ryder suspiciously. The boy simply nodded.

"You good at it?" A nod again. Guzzler watched in silent confusion as the kid slowly raised a pinkie finger to his nose, scratched and then flicked the newly obtained substance off somewhere else.

"Err..." As he was trying to find something else he could ask, Ryder raised his hand again.

"Mr. Guzzler, why do you have black teeth?"

"Because that's how they are."

"Were you born that way?"

"Of course not."

"Then why are they black? Did you paint them?"

"What kind of idiot paints their teeth?"

"You?"

Guzzler slammed his hand on the table.

"Listen here kid, I ain't got time for your crap. I-"

"I didn't give you any crap though. All I've done is speak to you," Ryder replied calmly. His facial expression had still not changed.

"Kid you're really gettin' on my nerves," Guzzler growled. Ryder blinked.

"Sorry."

"THAT'S NOT HELPING!"

"Why do you have those really weird looking tattoos on your head?"

"'Cause I wanted to get 'em," the tattooed bald man crossed his arms, glaring at Ryder. Though it faltered when he saw the kid staring back at him, as blank as ever. How did this brat manage to stay so calm!?

"Did you want to get them because you're embarrassed about your baldness?"

"No," he growled, "I got 'em 'cause they look cool."

"No they don't."

Guzzler chose to ignore that. He gave a sigh that sounded more like a tired grunt and sat back down in his chair.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow you start. And don't be late." He put his feet up. Ryder nodded, but continued to sit there.

"You can leave now," Guzzler said, motioning to the door. Ryder nodded and exited, the only noise coming from the door itself.

Nicole Wilkins

Nicole lowered herself on the steel chair and, finding nothing to do, scanned the hallway she was in. The moment she did, she regretted it. Algae crept up the walls of the corridor, the door at the end was terribly rusty, and the floors looked as though nobody had swept it for days. And around the corner, some pirates were loudly arguing on a topic that made Nicole cringe.

She wasn't one who was too fussy about messes, but first impressions did matter. She had certainly tried her best to dress like a potential employee in a dull black polo dress and simple gold earrings. Though, as she looked around, she wondered if that was expected of a pirate.

A few minutes strolled by, and Nicole started to believe she had gotten too early. She was inclined to swing her legs, only she was afraid her new shoes would scrape against some particularly grimy part of the floor.

The door creaked open to reveal an enormous man armed with nearly thirty weapons, his head inked with tattoos. When he spoke, he revealed rotted teeth, blacker than pencil lead. “Wilkins.”

“Yes, sir, that's me.” Nicole rose up and entered the office. The pirate shut the door behind her.

“Sit,” he grunted.

“I'm Nicole Wilkins,” said Nicole, holding out her hand.

“I'm Guzzler,” said the man, looking her over once before finally grabbing it. “A Wilkins, eh? Why ain't you in Juno with your lil' family snuffling around like they do?”

Nicole smiled sweetly, ignoring the irritation that started to itch at her. “I'm here to apply as a navigator.”

“A navigator. You know your maps?”

“Yeah, I guess. I was one of the highest scorers in Juno's navigating license exam.” Nicole studied her fingernails, feigning indifference. Acting nonchalant about some achievement always made it sound more impressive. Also, Guzzler's black teeth were a bit of an eyesore.

“You can keep a cool head if there's an asteroid nearby?”

“Yeah.”

“What school did you go to?”

“The Juno National School of Navigation and Piloting. Picked up some piloting there, so I can fly a ship if needed.”

“You couldn't get into the National School of Law like your—”

“I didn't apply there.”

Guzzler grunted again and scribbled something on his clipboard. “Can you fight? Throw a good punch?”

“Nope.” Nicole did not mention her plans of growing her own whip. She touched the tip of her braid and thought of how long it would be before she could sit on it.

“Now, girl,” he said, leaning forward and forcing her chin up so that she had to stare into his glittering black eyes, “you ain't spying for that hoity-toity family of yours, ain't you? Cause if you do—” With his other hand, he tapped his weapons and ran a finger across his throat.

Nicole had had enough with his comments about her lineage. “I came here of my own accord, and if you decided that you prefer to dump a skilled navigator because of your own paranoia, then fine, I'm leaving.”

She jerked her chin out of his grasp, stood so fast her chair tipped over, and without bothering to right it, made her way to the door. Just as she was about to shut it behind her, Guzzler called after her. “Fine, fine. You start tomorrow, Wilkins. And don't you dare even think of running back to your gaudy home or—” Guzzler parted his lips in a nasty grin and again caressed his weapons.

“You think I will?” she said, and slammed the door with a satisfying thud behind her. As she headed down the corridor, though, a smile slowly spread across her face. She was really a navigator now, and the thought of using her skills to guide a spaceship in a mission was positively thrilling. So thrilling she could forget about the unpleasantness of the interview.

Ellis

Ellis was tired and hungry, but most of all, she was annoyed that Jargo was actually making her wait alongside everyone else. She was the second to last interview of the night, and she wanted to spend what precious bit of time she had back at her dumpy apartment before leaving on the voyage.

She was far away, thinking of Byron. She hadn't seen him in... god, had it been fifteen years already? Maybe it had only been fourteen. Everything from that time period seemed like a haze. Not really a part of her life. She'd be thirty-two in a few weeks. It was odd. When her mother was her age she'd already had five children and been with her father for ten years. Ellis had no interest in marriage or children. The world was a cruel place, and the only way anyone could get anywhere was if they stuck out for themselves. She wondered what it would be like sometimes to be happy with a normal life, though. And Byron in the navy? It didn't seem right. Her family no doubt saw the wanted posters. Could that have had anything to do with it?

She looked over at the other occupant of the waiting room. He seemed to be in his own world; tall, scruffy, eyepatch over one eye. He caught Ellis looking and she averted her gaze. What a loser. Still, he seemed vaguely familiar.

At that moment, Guzzler came out. "Piper."

Piper? As in John Piper? Ellis knew John Piper, and that certainly wasn't him. Still, the man stood up and followed Guzzler toward the back.

Some minutes later he returned. He approached Ellis and extended his hand. It was greasy and sweaty. "Looking forward to working with you, m'am."

Ellis nodded but said nothing. Then Guzzler called her name. "Kaye."

She followed him back. "Nice to see you again," she said.

He nodded. "Jargo highly recommends you."

Ellis nodded as he listed off her credentials.

"Just a formality. Be here at six tomorrow." They shook hands. "Get some rest, Kaye."

"Pleasure as always, sir," she responded before smiling to herself. She was ready. She wanted to say something about the mysterious man who definitely wasn't John Piper, but nothing came. Still, she'd figure out exactly who he was.

E'clec

A few months earlier

Clec shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to tug on his restraints. The four guards stationed inside the small interrogation room were already watching him with unblinking eyes, their hands trembling where they gripped their guns. He didn't want to give them any reason to jump, but the handcuffs were too tight and, on top of that, his nose itched. Slowly, as not to raise alarm, his bent down and rubbed it on the cold edge of the metal table.

The figure sitting across from him made a noise bordering between a chuckle and a scoff.

"You seem calm," it said.

Clec couldn't see him clearly, even though he had to be only a few feet away. The bright light hanging between them blinded him; he could only squint against it. His eyes were no longer accustomed to the light.

"Hardly," he responded, trying to smile, "but this beats solitary so I'm not complaining."

"Okay men," the man said, "you can leave us now."

A few moments passed as the guards shuffled out of the room. Clec resisted the temptation to scratch his nose again. He was scrunching and contorting his face in an effort to relieve the itch - it must be allergy season - when the suddenly someone grabbed his arms. Reflexively, he shot up from his seat - or, rather, tried to before his ankle cuffs brought him stumbling back down.

"Woah there, I'm just removing your cuffs."

It was the man. He hadn't even heard him move.

"Thank you," he replied. "I'm not sure the guards will like that though. I'm very dangerous, they say."

"Yes, that's why I'm here."

Finally, Clec's eyes adjusted to the light and he took in the man sitting across from him. Burly, tattooed, scarred...

"Who are you?"

"Guzzler. Jargo sent me for you-"

"Jargo?! I've heard of him, he's-"

"Yeah, of course you have. Anyway, the proposal is simple. We get you out of here and you come work for us. You get a clean record and you never have to see solitary again."

Clec frowned and straightened up.

"What's the catch?"

The man barked out a harsh laugh and leaned across the table, his eyes hard despite the wide grin on his face.

"You're talking as if you have a lot of options here, Mr. Reeds."

"It's Johan-Reeds, there's two-"

"Anyway, you come and work for us, protect our crew, and you get out of jail. It can't get easier than that. And, well, you don't make a salary, but I'm sure you'll find ways around that."

Guzzler was right. It didn't get easier than that. Clec looked at the bruises around his wrists, took inventory of his food-starved body, growing skinnier by the day.

"Yeah... okay," he mumbled. "I guess I'll take it."

Guzzler clapped his hands with finality and rose from his seat.

"As if you had a choice."

“So you’re Cherry, yeah?” Guzzler asked, reading from a tattered list and munching on some… grapes? Cherri didn’t think that’s what grapes were meant to look again, but then, Guzzler wasn’t what people were meant to look like, so today was just full of surprises.

Cherri sighed, as this mistake was not entirely unexpected. It was actually pretty common. “Yeah, uh, it’s Cherri. The ‘Ch’ is pronounced like a ‘shh’. But yeah, that’s me.”

“Whatever, Cherry. So,” he said between loud bites of grapes, “you have experience captaining ships?”

Cherri looked down at his palm, where the story was written. Reading and repeating in a realistic voice was difficult between the squishing of grapes in Guzzler’s teeth, but he was sort of managing. “Yeah, I captained the S.S. Carter for three years before falling ill and taking medical leave.”

“Didn’t that rust bucket blow up?”

“That was a week after I relinquished command. In my humble opinion, I don’t think the timing was a coincidence.” Guzzler stared at him, clearly not getting the implication Cherri had made up. Good Lord, he’s an idiot. I didn’t realize we’re still facing the results of the mercury-hull controversy seventeen years back. “It blew up cause I wasn’t in charge, sir.”

Guzzler spit out a grape and stepped on it, for no apparent reason. Cherri could hear the splatter of the grape juice on the floorboards, and he inwardly cringed at the thought of the floor being so messy as a result. “Sir? You called me sir?”

“Um, uh, no, sir, wait, fu-”

Guzzler laughed hysterically. “What kinda show d’you think we’re running here? Ya wanna recite some poetry while we’re at it?”

“Oh, uh, I guess. Roses are red, violets are blue, we’re all out of coke, will pepsi do?” Guzzler stared again. Right, he wont get that joke. It’s a historical reference to the twenty first century, and this guy probably fears a history book more than his own morals. “Err… Roses are red, violets are blue-”

“I wasn’t being serious, sissy-boy. The heck is a pepsi?” Guzzler asked, flicking a grape at Cherri, who caught it and gently placed it down on the table.

“Oh, it’s…” How to turn this around? “It’s a high level ship maneuver, something I picked up in flight school. Great for fire fights, but there aren’t a lot of captains who can organize a crew to successfully pull it off. Heck, I’m probably the only candidate you’ll get who can do it.”

Guzzler looked impressed. [i]Seriously? He bought that? This guy’s denser than I thought.[i] “Oh, by the way,” Cherri added, “I hear the Selkie is the perfect ship for a Pepsi Maneuver. Having a captain who can do it would be a great benefit.”

Guzzler glanced at his notes. “None of the other candidates mentioned a Pepsi Maneuver.”

“Yeah, and none of the other candidates have credentials like I do. Coincidence? Probably not.”

After a moment of contemplation, Guzzler tossed his paper away. Cherri was the last to be intervi“Congrats, Cherry, you got the job.”

Jay sat in the rusty, algae covered room and tried to keep her foot from tapping on the floor. She didn't care about the room, it didn't bother her at all, as she had grown up in much grosser conditions. She was way more nervous about the interview. At least there wasn't anyone in the room with her. She hated small talk with a passion. Not to mention that she didn't know how to have not awkward small talk with a stranger. Strangers didn't bother her, unless they wanted to talk with her.

She shook her head. Focus. She had been running through as many possible conversations as she could think of to try to plan out her responses since she knew that she had an interview. She had a sneaking suspicion that there was no possible way to plan out an interview with Guzzler though, but she still tried.

The door on the other side of the room banged open, making her jump a little. Her heart beat faster as she spotted her interviewer, Guzzler, in all his tattooed and weapon glory. Well, maybe not glory. Yeah, not by a long shot.

"Gallegos?" Guzzler scanned the room. Jay jumped up and walked towards Guzzler, realizing she had unintentionally hid herself behind a post.

"Hi, I'm Jayden Gallegos, but you can call me Jay." Guzzler blinked, then turned around and went back in the room.

Jay hoped she didn't say something odd already. She wanted this job so she could get off Artemis for once and actually do something productive with her training. And she was pretty bored living by herself with nothing to do all day except take apart the old half broken trinkets she stole. Or found. But mostly stole. There was never anyone nice enough to give her anything for free, and she sure didn't have any money. She hardly ever stole that. Not that she stole anymore. Not much anyways. She sighed inwardly. Focus. Focus. Focus. She followed Guzzler into the room and sat down in what appeared to be the interviewee chair. She planted her feet on the floor and folded her hands on her lap.

"Where you from kid? "Guzzler looked her up and down.

"Uh, I, uh, live on Artemis but, um, everyone says I'm probably from Mars. I mean I don't know who my parents are but the, uh, people who knew them said they had the features of someone from Mars." Jay hoped she didn't say too much.

Guzzler nodded and moved on. "So, Jayden, how much do you know about engineering?"

Jay tensed slightly at his using her full name, probably just to spite her, but decided to relaxed after he finished his sentence. If she had to talk about anything, engineering was the least awkward. And she had also planned out a lot of answers to questions regarding her skills in the field. "About as much as I can after going to college for almost 3 years after teaching myself how to fix anything I could find. College specialized me in engineering on aircraft and spacecraft."

Guzzler nodded again, slightly more interested. "So you can fix up an engine real good?"

"As good as the next guy."

"Do you work good under pressure?"

"Well, I, um, would say so, but it depends on how you define 'pressure'."

"Well if we were going down and you had two minutes to fix the engine or somethin' else broken, would you panic or keep calm an' fix it?"

"I would fix it in half the time. I don't panic." I don't panic unless I'm stuck in small talk and don't know how to respond. Or something conversational like that. Jay thought.

Guzzler looked more interested now. "Hm, good good. Well, Jayden, it looks as if you have a job. You start tomorrow."