Futuristic Unlit IC

[Dragongal]

While Stratton and Silas handled the Waning Stars folks, Adira was busy triple-checking every dial and switch in the bridge to make certain they would be safe for their next take-off. It didn't take too long for the pilot to finish her examinations of the devices, and once she was done, she sat back and sighed. She checked her tablet. She checked her bank account. She checked the news. She checked the weather outside and scowled at it. Finally there was no point in delaying anymore.

Captain Rik stood up, tied her long hair into a vaguely military-esque bun, and pulled her jacket more tightly about herself. Her hands traced over the pistols on her hips, and the blade up her sleeve. Everything was where it ought to be. Taking a breath, she walked through the ship. On her way out, she saw Kepler escorting Burman out, and smirked at the prisoner. Then she stepped out into the humid air and stood beside Silas, adjusting the "tails" of her jacket as she did, then crossing her arms over her chest. While she had told Silas she didn't want to deal with Waning officials, she couldn't resist showing up to make sure everything went properly. She sized up the Waning men, glanced to Silas, then back to the men, watching them with a steely gaze as she waited to hear about their pay.

 

[Viper Actual]

The man in the suit nodded slowly. "I am sure that the upper echelons of our organization appreciates the gesture, Mr. Burns."

"Should the need arise you need only to hand over the relevant statement to your liaison. He'll make sure that it is processed and sent our way," he added, looking at Stratton. In response Stratton only nodded silently. Then, almost as a sign to break up the stiff and awkward nature of the entire situation Kepler made his way down the ramp with the two prisoners. Once the mechanical man had cleared a short distance beyond the ramp the two military police officers were quick to collect Burman and Alex before promptly escorting them to two separate vehicles in the convoy.

As the two of them were strapped in and otherwise secured by the WS soldiers the man in the suit eyed Adira for a short moment. While his facial expression was still as indecipherable as before a small wrinkle above his left eyebrow betrayed him. A reaction, though an incredibly small one. Stratton noted it and glanced briefly at Adira before clearing his throat.

"Sir, it's time for us to restock our supplied. I believe you have one or two interrogations to attend to?"

The man's gaze lingered on Adira for a couple of more seconds before averting it. "Yes, yes I believe you are right." He extended his hand towards Stratton, Silas and Adira before returning to his own vehicle, leaving the MP sergeant who offered a simple nod before returning to the convoy as well.

"I'm glad I don't work at Intelligence," muttered Stratton as the vehicles revved their engines and began to roll out.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Silas let out a sigh of relief, which he hadn't realized he was holding on to for the past couple seconds. With Waning Officers, you never knew if they'd decide someone else needed to come with simply because an officer deemed them suspicious. Despite Kepler's calmness, he definitely had the look of someone suspicious, at least to Silas. The blank expression did him no good, nor did the black box on the side of his head.

Silas crossed his arms in a mimic of Adira beside him, leaning over slightly to bump shoulders with her as a sign to lighten up. "We're good, no reason to glare the man down for giving you a second glance." Silas assured her. Then, hearing Stratton's comment, he agreed. "If I had to choose, Intelligence would probably be one of the last jobs I'd go for in Waning Command."

A few days later, after everyone had caught up on most of their routines, Silas sent a crew wide message to meet him out by the boarding ramp to the ship. He had ensured everyone was present on the ship before calling the announcement. He then waited for his disembarking crew. In case there were any stragglers inside, he turned on his comm link as well. "Ambivalites, this is your shipowner speaking. On tonight's to do list is something I've been meaning to get to for a while. Hope you guys like seafood."



The sun was setting off in the distance, turning the shimmering blue oceans surrounding the artificial island into a hue of red-gold befitting a movie scene. It had taken a while for Silas to order the transport for his entire crew, and on top of that the esteemed restaurant he wished to treat them was on the opposite side of the island. Silas wasn't too worried as he had planned for this, ensuring the table was reserved for the entire night so they could be seated whenever time would allow them.





The place was undoubtedly gorgeous; an open air patio was the main floor with familiar and exotic plant life covering the few walls that made up the highrise restaurant. They had travelled up twenty flights to reach the place, an esteemed bar and grill known as "The Perch." He had promised his crew way back when they started that he'd buy them all a drink; even if they had new members and lost some old ones, Silas still intended on giving his faithful crew a needed break, with time to unwind with one another.

The seating was off to one side of the restaurant, where a circular, dark wood table awaited them. On his way to the table followed by his crew, Silas noted how well dressed the patrons of the restaurant were - Silas owned nothing even close to what they were wearing, and paid no mind to it past his first initial thought. There were no predetermined seats, so when the waiter brought them to the area, he merely sat down at the closest spot. Silas assured his crew the second he sat that, "This entire night is on me. Don't even look at the prices." While a clearly expensive place to have dinner for a full crew, Silas expected a wealthy payoff from WS for keeping their information secret. WS wasn't predictable usually, but they spared no expense when it came to keeping info hidden.

On the menu was almost exclusively from-the-sea meals, the only exception being salads and various non-human foods. Silas had afforded himself the luxury of reading the menu online and had already decided on the Talivou A Swe - native fish to the Sidereas galaxy found on many ocean planets. The lack of prices on the menu however assured Silas this wouldn't be an ordinary dish.

However, first the Luminon waiter asked for drink requests from their stocked bar, undoubtedly the most impressive part about the restaurant. Silas promptly ordered first, getting himself a Pollosian Red to start the night. The excitement in his voice and on his face was clearly visible - Pollosian Red was a commodity to him that he rarely had the chance to drink.

 

[Vudukudu]

Once the prisoners have been turned over, Kepler vanishes into the crowded streets of Corverant without so much as a "see you later." He's already arranged an appointment with a privately owned cybernetics installation surgeon on planet, a highly accredited individual known for his quick work and comfortable operational suite. There are cheaper options, certainly, and while Kepler has no interest in luxury he does care quite deeply about efficacy and proper treatment of technology. His faith requires him to ensure that proper treatment of the Spark's manifestations are carried out at all opportunities, and frankly his time aboard the Ambivalence has been a nightmare. Silas' care for the ship is clearly a labor of love and he cannot be faulted for that, but the fact of the matter is Kepler would prefer to turn over the vessel to Halcyon Shipyards for a complete retrofit and fund it himself if it would make the ship somewhere he could be without feeling utterly heretical. Still, he supposed, it was a far sight better than the decade he'd spent aboard that old Armageddon-class raider frigate after leaving Borealis, wandering the galaxy with piratical intent. It is a time he does not often think about, a time when he allowed his faith to lapse and lost sight of the Spark's plan for him. It took seizing the luxury liner of some planetary governor and finding his priceless original paper copy of the Great Philosopher Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot book to draw him out of those dark times. The book, one of his greatest treasures including Nicomachean Ethics, Tao Te Ching, and Leviathan, remains on a shelf in his quarters, sealed in a stasis cage to prevent decay. Though he harbors grave reservations with their claims that are often antithetical to his faith, an unquestioned faith is no faith at all. Perhaps when he was closer to death he'd arrange to have them delivered to a museum.

Rather than walk, Kepler takes the first reputable looking taxi service to his destination. Having called ahead of time and submitted his medical records and pre-survey in advance, he is simply ushered in by a team of surgeons and put in what will become three days worth of gruelingly complicated surgery for his doctors on rotating shifts and a fleeting moment's worth of time in his own comatose state. When he emerges, a gleaming testament to the Omnissiah's perfection, both arms have been replaced with properly weighted replacements so as to maintain properly forceful blows and standard capacity for manipulation as well as repairs to his optics and replacements for some of the technology embedded in his skull. The real improvement lies in his spine, which has finally been reinforced to sustain greater loads, and the secretive explosive implanted within, which had been a hard sell and required a rather hefty bribe to include at all. Given his lack of emphasis on actual strength, he still won't be able to compete with Master Cavanaugh in a deadlift, but the added protection of his spinal column and the safety of being much harder to be crushed under a heavy weight is a welcome change. Taking the prescribed painkillers and litany of other drugs he is offered to help through recovery, Kepler waves off the offer of physical therapy to manage his new limbs and wanders out into Corverant feeling quite a bit better.

Not much later he hears the call for dinner and returns to the ship first to clean up and change himself into a different, but identical set of robes. At dinner, he makes no mention of his modifications unless prodded to do so, being far too humble to brag about them himself, though the camera on the side of his head is no longer present. Scanning over the menu, he blinks twice and gives the menu a sheepish look. This was the sort of place his masters ate at.

When it comes to ordering, he insists on letting everyone else order before him, struggling to come to a decision until ultimately requesting the pan-seared Ambull flank. He'd eaten Ambull innards before, ground up and boiled, as a particularly cheap way to sustain his weak flesh once upon a time. Though not exactly one with high culinary standards, it had been hard to choke down. Maybe this would be tolerable.

 

[Dragongal]

Adira kept he eyes froward as Silas bumped her shoulder. Only once the officers were gone, she looked over at Silas and Stratton. "Long as they pay us, I'm happy," she sighed, then turned to go back into the ship.

Days later found her sitting in a transport with the rest of her crew. This was one of the first times other members of the crew had seen her since they docked - like in most cities, there was always stuff for her to do. Knowing how important this fancy restaurant trip was to Silas, she had taken the time to put her hair up into something a bit nicer than her usual ponytail, that being keeping half her hair down and pulling the front section back. But that was it. She was still in her usual jacket and boots, and her pants were of the same material as usual, except that this pair was black. Under her jacket was a nice navy T-shirt, and that was her entire 'formal" outfit. For the ride to the restaurant, she didn't talk much unless addressed, but she didn't seem to be in a bad mood, just quiet.

At the restaurant, Adira followed the group to the table and looked around slowly. Places like these had become familiar to her in her time as a WS Captain, but they were still too fancy for her usual tastes. Too few exits, too many noises, and a lot of judgmental eyes. It didn't particularly appeal to her. Still, though, free food was free food, and it would hopefully be a nice evening out with her crew. They all deserved it, after all. Like the rest of the crew, she looked over the menu, and glanced at Silas, whom she sat beside. Could he really afford this? Finally, she ordered one of the fancy salads, and a Perizion Fire, a mixed drink with a mix of rum and something akin to vodka - with some flavorings added, of course.

 

[Epiphany]

Their arrival on Corverant left Kestrel staring for a while. She still wasn't widely traveled, compared to most of her ship mates, and seeing a vast city spread out over an ocean was completely novel for her.

The handover of the Waning Stars prisoners went without complication, for which she was relieved. For her part, Kestrel had opted to wear a pistol but kept it holstered, on hand in case things got out of control. No intervention was required, though. Some climate intervention was called for however, at least if she intended to stay out here for any length of time. Kestrel smirked slightly, well aware that a life aboard ships left her ill-suited for environments that didn't conform to the norm. ...And then she stopped experiencing any discomfort as her Implant regulated her sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system to compensate for the change in heat and humidity.

That was unsettling.


Now that the ship was down, time went quickly for Kestrel. She'd taken on responsibility for the ship's private armory and recent missions had put some wear and tear there; ordering up a few new parts and a few new maintenance kits now would enable her to give the Ambivalence's armaments a thorough workover. Plus, they'd used a few explosives lately. Time to get those replaced as well.

Alysson seemed busy. That was unsettling too. Kestrel was accustomed to the intense work ethic that came naturally to the Mutter's Spiral populace but it didn't make catching up any easier. They'd had a couple of tentative conversations here and there but neither had quite stuck their head out from behind their defenses just yet. At least Silas hadn't raised a fuss about keeping her sister on. The girl could use some stability. And Kestrel could use some family. If only they could get past each other first.


Kharmin
And then the night of the evening out arrived. For the occasion, Kestrel changed into...a rather nice black dress. Literally the only nice garment she owned, the tall blonde had never regretted the purchase for it fit a surprising range of social situations. The sight of Alysson still dressed in the clothes she'd arrived in brought a tinge of guilt to Kestrel's stomach, though. And as the crew made their way across the restaurant, she leaned over to her sister and whispered, "First thing tomorrow, we go clothes shopping so the boss doesn't catch us by surprise again."

Solar Daddy
Kestrel took her seat, mindful of the hem and the fact that she wasn't carrying a gun. The menus were about as bewildering for her as they were for Alysson, though. She glanced her sister's way to see if the other woman had something in mind, only to catch Alysson doing the same thing with everyone else's menu. Chuckling, Kestrel tilted her head up over her menu and said to Silas, "Hey, I've never eaten anything on this menu. Order something nice for me, won't you?"

The drink order at least was easier; Kestrel spotted a white wine section and promptly ordered something middle of the range for herself.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Silas made a glance around the table, seeing who was uncomfortable with the situation and who was fitting in just fine. There was no malice behind it; he simply wondered who was able to switch from lethal mercenary to fancy feast the best. He was quite surprised to see Kestrel with a bit of a fish-out-of-water look. Though it was hard to tell, of course. The dress she wore screamed professionalism in this department; he assumed she had her fair share of formal events because of it. He was then reminded of the fact she was a Granite military member, and prior to that a ship-born Soviet. She probably hadn't had much of a chance to go exploring. When she had picked her drink, Silas nodded in approval - red was his preferred but he knew white was nearly as good.

Silas then looked over to Adira, who didn't seem fond of the situation. He knew she wasn't much for formal events, nor did she dress for the occasion. He hadn't expected her to, knowing she was someone who preferred the comfort of her normal jacket. When she ordered her drink, he kept in mind what she had gotten. After she had placed her order, however, he had interjected between the next to ask for a glass of water as well. It wasn't for him, but he was hoping he was inconspicuous enough to not have anyone question it.

Kepler's lack of a drink seemed like the thing he'd do. Silas figured everyone, even someone so far along in the synthetic process enjoyed alcohol. Maybe he was wrong, or maybe he'd just hold off on making a selection until later in the night. There'd be plenty of time to do that throughout dinner. Silas also took the time to compliment Kepler's new eyes, voicing his opinion that he looked good as new.

Then his gaze drifted to Alysson, their newest member. Most of what he figured about Alysson came from Kestrel - both Soviets, both out of their own time. He felt the slight tension between them, but he wouldn't be the one to comment on it - he knew sibling awkwardness would fix itself in due time. Or, someone would get booted off the ship. It was one or the other, and he bet on Alysson hanging around for a while. They seemed well off enough to repair whatever aura was about them. From Alysson's lack of drink, Silas assumed she was either unsure what she liked or didn't enjoy it at all. Silas had been in the anxious position far too often before in his life; he figured he'd try and help her and Kes out.

"These two'll have the Blackened Southern Gale with the bed of wild rice." It was one of Silas' favorite, and also a standard across galaxies. It was probably one of the most famous Human dishes, even for Soviets. Luckily even for ships, this fish was easy to grow and maintain. He wasn't very certain what kind of cuisine they had on the Mutters Spiral, but he assumed they'd at least have heard about it. Then, to try and open Alysson up a bit to the group, he added, "And she'll take the Pale Tiel, red. And a glass of water." He figured he'd get her something alcoholic if she wanted, but she in no means needed to drink it. He simply wanted Kestrel and Alysson to feel as included as possible. He'd been the odd one out before and hated that feeling. He was still rather odd, but at least being the owner of a ship got him that extra bravado he needed to survive in moments like this.

Once everyone had ordered their meals and drinks, the Luminon left to place the order for them. Behind Silas in the direction of the grill, fires blazed which lit up the glass surrounding the room in the same red-orange hue. He was a complete sucker for bars and grills, the food just fit him. Despite this being above his usual reputation, tonight he was willing to go all out. He figured his crew and himself needed it after their continued success.

It didn't take long at all for the drinks to arrive. Silas couldn't contain himself when his red was set in front of him. It had been too long since he had his favorite. He was instantly reminded why it ranked so high on his list; he took one sip and instantly felt himself drawn back to fond memories with friends and family. To be fairly honest, he didn't even like the taste all that much; it was his dad's, the one he would always offer Silas after they spent all day breaking ships together. He hadn't seen his father since he left his home planet all those years ago, and he drank Pollosian Red on his father's behalf. "I'm not really one for speeches," Silas said after taking his moment to enjoy the drink. "But I figured you guys could use a nice break from the gritty mercenary scene for a bit. We've been on this ship for... what, a month or two now? I'd like to think I've grown rather fond of most of you. Most." He glared jokingly at Adira, which was betrayed by his toothy grin seconds after. "I just wanted to say, thank you to those who've helped us get through this universe together. And those among us who intend to help out in the future. I think we've got a special crew, here." He raised his glass a bit, but not in a full toast. He didn't think that was appropriate for such a half-assed speech. "Here's to more adventures through the stars."

 

[Viper Actual]

During the days following the prisoner drop Stratton had been busy. In-between organizing his new quarters, overseeing licensed WS-techs install a secondary access point to his encrypted terminal and attending briefings and debriefings related to the previous mission and a plethora of other events there wasn't really any more time to go around. When he wasn't busy- which amounted to something between four to five hours during the entirety of the week- Stratton had also edited, revisioned and added to his journal entries as well as the dossiers he had written on the Ambivalence crew- including the new additions.

It was a slow process but for a man of his line of work every bit of information needed to be written down, thrown into the pile of existing information and pieced together. Figuring out strengths, weaknesses and conflicts was paramount to establishing and maintaining proper relationships with the crew. Overall Stratton felt like he was in a good standing with the crew, even with Kepler despite the machine-man's threat during the impromptu trial inside the medbay.

Despite the Kepler-Incident and the very open and verbal resistance to his own political affiliation during the recent meeting Stratton didn't feel too much concern. Kepler would most likely return to a more neutral approach after a couple of weeks and the others, well, they'd keep their opinions unless something extreme happened. Keeping that in mind the situation was acceptable and Stratton wasn't exactly hyping up to force someone's hand just to make them like him.

He knew all too well how something like that could end.

* * *
​

Stratton followed Silas, Adira and the others into the lively and very luxurious restaurant. He was dressed in a set of formal attire, contrasting quite heavily in comparison to his usual militaristic outfit and gear. The restaurant was indeed impressive and the envoy took it all in silently but with a faint smile on his face. It would be good to eat some nice food, trade some stories and just get to know the crew better. He glanced over at Kepler. Hopefully Mr. Frontier Lawman won't detect some wanted fugitive until after we've had the chance to eat.

Glancing at the menu half-lazily once the party was seated Stratton took the opportunity to listen and observe which came natural to someone that had been working with people for the majority of his career. Once decided on what to eat and drink Stratton politely waited until the senior staff- in this case Silas, Adira and the original crew- had ordered before placing his own order. "Taramian Beef, please. Some bread and soup to go with it as well as anything that looks and tastes like whiskey."

Once that was done he folded his menu and glanced over at Kestrel whom cleaned up surprisingly nice. "Half-expected you to be wearing your old dress blues to be honest," he said jokingly. Just as he finished speaking another waitress moved past the table with some alien delicacy that seemed to be cooking on the plate still. Several loud and sudden POP-sounds could be heard, causing Stratton's smile to fade. His eyes shifted to the waitress and any keen observer would note that his body stiffened as if preparing to jump into action.

Adira, who was seated next to him, would upon a closer inspection note that Stratton's right hand had suddenly moved down from the table and towards his right hip as if searching for a holster that wasn't there. As if to confirm it all his right trigger-finger instinctively began to press against a non-existing trigger guard.

*
​

A mixture of automatic gunfire, explosions and chatter echoed across the gardens. The battle had been raging for days and the troops were finally closing in on the separatist stronghold located on a world now long forgotten. Rockets fired from a squadron of Waning Star gunships tore up chunks of the green and brown soil, sending tufts of grass, shattered stones and cascades of blood-soiled earth flying into the air alongside an insurgent soldier or two.

Tactical chatter was replaced by screams for help while gun emplacements swiveled around to engage the airborne threats rather than the encroaching army. In the midst of the trenches, flowerbeds and abandoned summer homes was a squad of Waning Star drop troopers. Armored from head to toe these soldiers were currently pushing on through enemy lines with regular forces following closely by. Unlike the drop troopers the regular infantry looked dirty, worn and severely demoralized. The last weeks of fighting had been intense, bloody and extremely costly with the invading forces having been stalled from advancing any further until reinforcements had arrived in orbit three days ago.

A lone tank moved up to clear the way for the drop troopers. Its metal hull pummeled through lines of white picket fences reminiscent of old-school motion pictures while its twin machine guns rattled on repeat over and over, sending a flurry of kinetic projectiles at whomever was stupid enough to try and shoot at a tank. Every now and then the impressive 150mm railgun cannon was trained at an improvised bunker or insurgent APC, completely obliterating the targets.

Stratton took a knee next to the tank just as it paused in its assault. He fired a couple of bursts from his rifle at the highlighted targets standing in a trench a rough eighty to ninety meters away. When the tank fired- this time at a small pillbox- Stratton was nearly thrown backwards into the mud because of the shockwave that followed the shot's incredible recoil. Cursing, he steadied himself with one hand while placing his other hand atop his helmet before looking up.

By now the pillbox was in flames; its gun emplacement and crew was gone while its storage of fragmentation grenades were heard cooking off.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

*
​

Stratton cleared his throat and refocused himself. His eyes returned to Silas who was halfway through his speech. Once the call for a toast came Stratton's trembling right hand gripped his glass firmly before raising it to be just below Silas's glass in height. A sign of respect. With a smirk the envoy glanced at the others around the table.

 

[Dragongal]

Adira had to admit, seeing Kestrel in a dress wasn't what she was expecting. But, hey, she looked great, and Adira couldn't bash her - maybe one day Adira would dress up nice, too. It had been a while since she had gotten herself out of her armor.

Stratton's uniform was almost impressive. Adira was used to seeing people with that fancy uniform, and more medals than what Stratton had, so it didn't have much of an effect on her. She was surprised that he would sit beside her, but she didn't mind, so she didn't comment.


As Silas cut in and ordered water, Adira cracked a slight, wry smile. She looked around the table idly, glancing down for just a moment as she typed a message into the communicator on her wrist, and sent it to Silas.

During his speech, she glared back at Silas to go with the joke, then cracked a smirk, up until the dish the waitress was carrying popped. Of course she jumped a bit, and her hand moved to her empty holster, but she took a breath and recovered before anybody seemed to notice. However, someone else had been caught off-guard too, by the looks of it.

Adira kept her face forward, but her eyes were on Stratton's hand. So, someone else had issues with loud noises and sudden movements, it seemed. And someone else was pretty practiced at being discrete about it. Perhaps this ought to be discussed later.

Adira looked back at Silas and raised her glass, smiling genuinely at that final toast.

 

[Epiphany]

Viper Actual
Stratton's comment about her wearing dress blues brightened Kestrel's generally-in-a-good-mood-smile. "Look who's not in uniform either," she said, winking at him with a pointed look at his own formal threads. Then she shrugged. "My old Cavanaugh formals are the Stars know where. I didn't mind serving with Granite's military for a few years but I wasn't a citizen and even if I'd brought a set with me, it wouldn't have felt right."

Then she lightened the suddenly heavy moment with a quirk of her lips while saying, "Besides, I would have missed-" And her quip died in mid-sentence as she noticed the suddenly abstracted look on James' face and the tension that radiated through his body. Kestrel knew intimately how a soldier looked when detecting danger. The only reason she didn't spin around and draw a gun is that she hadn't come to the restaurant with one. But a quick look behind her revealed no danger and when she turned back to the table, she found him shrugging off the...memory?

Kestrel cleared her own throat and shifted the eye contact on to others, giving Stratton the space he deserved.

Kharmin
At least Alysson's growling stomach could be counted on to lighten the mood. For the moment. The revelation that Alysson had probably experienced food scarcity over the past few years made Kestrel's stomach tighten, not in hunger but in sudden, shocking empathy. Intellectually, Kestrel knew Alysson's experiences had been wildly divergent from her own...because they always had been. But she'd given more thought to trying to understand the Alysson she'd known on the Mutter's Spiral instead of thinking how the past few years might have shaped her younger sister. Neither were what they'd been aboard the Generation Ship. But that was as much a product of the past few years as it was just a chance in scenery.

She reached across the space between them and gently patted Alysson's thigh. And if the other woman reacted or looked her way, Kestrel just made a sympathetic face in response. There weren't any words, not for now, not here. But the feeling was there.

Solar Daddy
Silas ordering for the two of them wasn't as irritating as a man ordering for a woman might normally be. In large part because she'd flat out asked him to do it. And because in the few short months they'd worked together, Kestrel felt like they'd formed some rapport. Enough to know he wouldn't take it as an invitation, like a lot of men would.

The open flame of the grill drew a raised eyebrow from the blonde soldier in the black dress, but that was mostly because she'd grown up on a ship. Open flame on a ship was usually the prelude to people dying, after all. When it didn't look like the grill was going to go out of control, Kestrel refocused back on the group and on the conversation going on. Just in time to receive her drink and to try it out. Unlike Alysson, Kestrel enjoyed the wine and had to make an effort to put down the glass. Just in time to pick up it up again for Silas' speech.

"To more adventure," Kestrel echoed, lifting her own glass with a smile.

Kharmin
Alysson's confession of her particular set of skills only drew a smile from Kestrel. "She's a Cavanaugh too," the blonde soldier said to the others, as if that explained everything. "But I'll admit, she gave us quite the run around on a few occasions back aboard the Mutter's Spiral. I have no doubt there's a niche she can fill, whatever the next job is."

When Kestrel finished her commentary to the crew, she looked back at Alysson. And for possibly the first time in their lives, she didn't look even a bit negative at the subject of her sister's talents.

 

[Vudukudu]

Kepler is mostly content to keep quiet and to himself throughout dinner. He'd grown up eating communally in silence in an environment where food was the cultural equivalent of replacing a flashlight's batteries. They did it because the light needed to be kept on. Its a habit he's largely maintained on the ship, eating uninteresting but nutritionally dense meals alone at odd hours to escape social entanglements. He had learned a long time ago that his fellow humans, regardless of planetary origin, tended to attach social importance to shared meals, and he was uncomfortable trying to maintain small talk.

It seemed to some extent the rest of them weren't much better off. They were jumpy, apparently unaccustomed to public places or at least incapable of separating their soldiering selves from their daily life. Were they not trained as he was in combative disassociation? Perhaps they lacked the brain modifications needed to suppress traumatic memory formation. Regardless, Kepler picks at his food with his characteristic precision when it arrives, cutting up his hunk of meat at clean right angles, segmenting it into a lattice of square bite-sized chunks before even sticking one with a fork. It certainly smelled good, and he lets out a modestly surprised murmur of satisfaction when chewing the first bite, though the initial flavorful richness is practically a sledgehammer to his undeveloped palate. His eyes shift from his plate in a wary glance around the table, as if concerned his quiet vocalization had been impolite or distracting.

"Excuse me." He says sheepishly, then returns to exploring his meal.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Silas wouldn't admit that his heart skipped a beat or two during his toast, unsure if the crew would be reciprocating of his words. After all, some of them hadn't been on the ship longer than a few days. But Silas was the inclusive type; anyone vaguely considered family was invited. In his opinion, there was no reason to hoard the wealth or keep the good times to himself. It was always best to share these kinds of moments with those who are deserving of it. It was an inclusive mindset like this that originally got Silas finally associated with his old crew. He wouldn't have grown that attached to Adira if he wasn't given such bountiful hospitality from the staff of that rustbucket.

Silas however knew he shouldn't dwell on thinking of his old crew. There was only a handful of them left, himself and Adira included. He didn't want to dwell on bad times, especially when celebrating the good ones. After seeing the positive reaction from the crew, he set his glass down and breathed a sigh of relief. He listened intently to Alysson as their meals arrived and he took his first few tastings, never taking his eyes off Alysson to show respect as she spoke of her talents. When she finished, he took a sip of his wine and began, "If your major capabilities involve electronics, wiring and security systems, then you'll no doubt end up working closely with Kepler and I." He wasn't sure how Kep would get along with a new member in his space, but there was a possibility that they could show each other new things and work together well. As long as she could do as she said, Silas had no doubt she'd be a good addition to the team.

Silas then turned his attention to Kepler, who seemed to robotically pick at his plate. At this point Silas was sure nothing Kep did would phase him, Kepler was just so... unique. He hadn't met anyone like him, with his skillset nor his personality. Silas didn't mind either; Kep seemed respectable and reliable, and that's all Silas needed in his crew. "How's the fare?" Asked Silas, not trying to out the man into a social situation he wasn't prepared for (but definitely wanting to get some interaction with him).

Unfortunately Silas wasn't nearly as good at reading people as he was with machines, and Stratton's episode completely went over his head. He did note the silence from James though, and wasn't going to let him out of interacting too easy. If Silas had the ability to pick up on the clues Stratton gave he'd no doubt offer help, but he simply couldn't perceive it. He'd get to Stratton soon; but at the moment he was more interested in their new rogue.

"Jane," he began, turning his attention to the girl who seemed lost in her own thoughts with a stare facing another table of guests. He wasn't sure what to make of her - was she some freelance member of the team now? Was she just here until they got her back to her ship? He wasn't sure, but he'd give her a place on the ship so long as she held her own with the rest of the crew. After all, they couldn't get back to her ship till Waning was done either decontaminating the asteroid or blowing it up, which would put Jane in a bad spot. "What's your story? I haven't heard much from you since you've come aboard. Just an explorer? Rogue academic?" Again, same as with Kepler, he wasn't trying to catch her off guard, he just wanted to try and include those out on the fray who may not chime in much otherwise.

 

[Dragongal]

When Silas finished his speech, and everyone else finished toasting, Adira smiled a little while she looked over the table. She whispered to Silas ( Solar Daddy ) , "Good speech, boss," then sipped at her drink before he could comment. After all, for however many years, she was his boss. Now, things had changed a bit. But that was the way things were in space - things change and shift and move, sometimes like the clockwork of orbit, other times, like the explosion of a star. All you could do was buckle up and ride the wave. With all things considered, Adira figured she and Silas hadn't ended up too bad off.

Adira quietly thanked the waiter as their food arrived, and she sipped at her Perizian Fire while she looked around the table. It made sense that Alysson ( Kharmin ) was so skilled at wiring - after all, she had certainly proved it on the asteroid. Her skill with bypassing security systems and messing with small devices also made sense. She certainly seemed to be a slippery one. Who knew, maybe that would come in handy. The only big concern that it raised for Adira was that Alysson's work might attract some unwanted police attention to their crew. Couldn't be having that. It was just something to be aware of, for now. After all, there was the chance that she was just really good at bypassing security systems for good, wholesome reasons. Adira almost laughed at the idea, though - she knew she wouldn't use those skills for anything legal if she had the option. The fact that she was Kestrel's sister helped, though, because if Kestrel wasn't worried - at least not outwardly - of her sister's behavior, then it couldn't be that bad. At the very least, not a risk to the crew.

Jane's sentence was short, but as far as Adira cared, it was true. She just didn't feel up to commenting on that at the moment - well, that, and she didn't feel like she had the energy to really raise her voice enough to be heard from across the table unless it was something important. Besides the fact that she wasn't exceptionally comfortable in this place, she was honestly trying to keep an eye on Stratton ( Viper Actual ) without actually looking at him, just to make sure he was actually back in the moment. So far, he seemed to have recovered. It was just something to be mindful of. She understood how one thing could start another if someone wasn't careful. She glanced at the drink he had been brought - something that "looked and tasted like whiskey" - and said, "Avorian Dark. It's a good drink, but sip it slowly - it'll hit ya hard."

 

[Epiphany]

With everyone unwinding and relaxing, practically perceptible to the naked eye, Kestrel tugged the hem of her dress down a bit with one hand while she sipped her wine with the other. And she allowed herself a measure of relaxation herself. Cavanaugh vigilance taught situational awareness in all foreign environments...and out here, everything was foreign. But this was also a classy establishment and anyone making trouble would have to make it by a whole lot of people to try. Out here, in a city like this, there were undoubtedly local forces who were responsible for handling security matters. Up to and including being unwelcoming of visitors doing their job.

Kharmin Vudukudu
Seeing Silas chatting up Jane, who was another new member of the crew, Kestrel instead took up the boss' advice and said "Hey Kepler, you've met Alysson, right? I imagine the two of you have some similar skill sets, even if you probably have pretty different philosophies. The two of you should talk shop. Or compare techniques. Or whatever it is techs do to get to know each other."

Viper Actual Dragongal
And as she paired those two off into very likely uncomfortable conversation, Kestrel leaned in Stratton's direction and added to Adira's remarks by saying, "Some nights, you want it to hit hard but I suspect this isn't the place for that. If you're interested in that later, though, I wouldn't mind a pub crawl."

 

[Vudukudu]

Kepler's eyes widen slightly at the suggestion he should speak with Alysson about his work. Of the few rules he understood about social dining, he'd been under the impression that talking about politics and faith were somewhat taboo matters among the average folks. The wealthy would chatter about politics all day - he'd worked for one long enough to discover that their wealth and their politics were often intertwined, and they hardly had much else to speak of.

But this was a different crowd, and Kepler struggled with the crew's tech-heresy as a general matter. If Alysson's skill set was as unsavory as had been hinted, he suspected much of what she had to share would disturb his sensibilities, though he supposed he could maintain some good manners. Master Cavanaugh had been kind after all, not to mention extremely professional. He had a deeply ingrained respect for people who took their work seriously, and few seemed as natural about it as her.

Shifting in his seat, Kepler lightly circles the rim of his glass with a napkin as he looks towards Alysson. Maybe he should direct the conversation away from specific matters of practice. "Well, Master Cavan--.." He starts, then pauses. With what must appear to be a great deal of effort, he curls the corners of his lips downward by maneuvering his teeth inside his mouth to push certain parts of his taut flesh around. "Troublesome. What should this unit call you?" He asks, tilting his head slightly as he looks between Kestrel and Alysson. "Your Generation Ship should consider a numeral identification system. It is of considerable value for formally addressing other crew."

 

[Viper Actual]

Stratton chuckled and shook his head in response to Alysson's remark. "No need to worry; wouldn't want to have Burns and Captain Rik- not to mention your sister- come chase me down in the event that I do write about it," he said jokingly.

That said the liaison was about grab hold of his drink when Adira spoke up. He paused, smirked and raised the glass slightly. "Yeah? Cheers."
He took a slow sip and grunted afterwards, nodding approvingly. After spending so much time out on various colony worlds far away from civilization it felt good to have an actual drink- not home-brewed spirits.

He nodded once more, this time towards Adira. "This one's going up on my list."

When Kestrel leaned in and spoke up Stratton glanced at her with a devilish grin. "I'm down. It'd be good to unwind for a while."

He glanced between her and Adira, smile still plastered on his face. "There was this one time when some of my military buddies and I decided to go out for an entire night to see who would last the longest. Thing is, at that time, the planet we were on had nights that lasted for seventeen hours."

Stratton grinned. "With the risk of bragging, I made it all the way through."

Kharmin Dragongal Epiphany

 

[Solar Daddy]

Silas listened to the chatter around the table, unable to keep the corners of his lips from turning up into a smile. He did it. Silas Burns, the man with the social capacity of a rock was actually able to hold a crew together for longer than a few days. He had always been one to doubt his leadership skills - Stars, he wasn't even really the leader, just the man who called the shots since this whole crew thing was his idea, and he owned the ship - but Adira seemed to trust him with his omnipotent role for now. Since ultimately everything went back to The Ambivalence, Silas really was the leader simply by ownership of the thing that got them around. However, now that he had seen his crew (including the extended cast, such as the liaison,) in action, and felt trustworthy of them, he'd have absolutely no problem relinquishing superiority to those fit for the role. These past few months were just Silas ensuring his team wouldn't abandon a member for a bigger share, or openly disobey orders without reason. He could trust his crew, and that's all Silas cared about. He'd be damn sure they could trust him back.

Silas again noted everyone talking so casually to one another. Even the newest members seemed like old friends at this point. Silas likened himself to an early Human, back before they had conquered the universe. Back when a single planet was the whole world. These were his neighbors, the people he said goodmorning and goodnight to most cycles. They were his coworkers and colleagues, his specialists and experts, and Silas, at this point, could see even those forced to be here as family, in some strange way. They were all the people he'd invite over for a beer on his porch.

And most importantly, now that they had collected enough income to keep themselves comfortably afloat for the foreseeable future, they could truly focus on exploration. On helping people, exploring new regions, meeting new people. They were finally going to get a taste of that universe they had all grinded to get to. And the best part: Silas had no idea what they were going to do, or where they would go, next. The unknown is scary, and it is wrought with possibilities.

 

[Vudukudu]

Kepler finishes his inquiry and returns to picking tentatively at his food while he awaits an answer. When his innocent question is met with derision and sneering, he shrinks ever so slightly in his chair and averts his gaze.

"Understood. This one will make the necessary adjustment." He says, then returns to his typical silence. The condescension was familiar to him, the tone merely what he expected during his life on Borealis. Most Masters were cruel and wicked, and it was their right to be when interacting with the low-Castes like himself. He was an object, a tool to be used and recycled when its softer components started to rot and fail. Since leaving he had long since adjusted to a less rigid authority and had come to understand other people tended to view him as a strange, but highly useful and expensive person. Though he needed little of their "Human Resources" department's aid, he had gotten used to considering himself something between a Master and a servant.

Being treated like something lesser was oddly comforting, like being reoriented after a bout of vertigo.

 

[Dragongal]

Adira smiled a little at Stratton's story. At one time, she would have gladly joined in on a seventeen-hour pub crawl, but not anymore. Besides, she knew she'd lose that game to Stratton - it's not like Adira was sizable at all compared to him. Adira replied with, "Not surprised you'd be the one to make it through the seventeen hours, though I'll admit I'm a bit concerned for your liver after that. Still the the Avorian Dark is nice to have in small amounts, but pricey, pricey stuff. Then again, all the good stuff is."

Alysson's words caught her ear, and she glanced across the table at her. The girl was lucky that Kepler wasn't easily insulted, because in Adira's eyes, Alysson deserved to get told off for that. But, in the interest of keeping the night light and friendly, she opted out of it.

Adira glanced over to Silas, trying to gauge how he felt about this, and if he thought she was doing well. It had been so long since she had gone to any kind of fancy outing, to the point that social skills weren't her best. There was just too much going on at once, too much sound, too many voices. Her left hand, the hand on Stratton's ( Viper Actual ) side, slowly clenched around the left tail of her jacket under the table in a white-knuckled grip, but after a few seconds, she shook her head and forced herself to let go. She looked back at her food, and took a sip of her drink. As much as she wanted to be social and enjoy the evening, she was struggling against getting overwhelmed by the stress of the environment.

 

[Epiphany]

Viper Actual Dragongal
A seventeen hour pub crawl was legendary by any measure and Kestrel nodded approvingly at Stratton. Cavanaughs were rarely off-duty, of course, so the need for sobriety was legendary on the Mutter's Spiral. But the ship had its share of celebrations, public and private, and she'd participated with every bit of enthusiasm and vigor as others her age had.

The advantage of a planet-sided life; if she did get hammered, there was little risk of a hull breech or mechanical disaster during the night that could get people killed if her reflexes were blunted. There were even citizens on worlds like this one who got drunk weekly, or even nightly! The prospect of unwinding was a great deal more appealing when lives weren't on the line.

Kharmin Vudukudu
Kestrel frowned at the exchange between her sister and Kepler. The choice of pronoun didn't escape her notice, nor her sister's stiff attitude. But then, the Mutter's Spiral didn't really do cybernetics, certainly not to the extent that these planet-born did. Perhaps she thought Kepler was a robot? Not that the Generation Ship's people thought much better of them. Humanity first, above machines, above aliens for that matter. Years among the planet-born had relaxed her mores against cyborgs at least but, in a moment of self-honesty, she had to admit she still didn't like aliens either.

Calling her sister out in public would only put Alysson's hackles up and fail to accomplish any positive change. Plus, it might damage the crew's view of her when they were still getting to know her. No, the sensible thing would be a private conversation later. And an apology to Kepler.

Solar Daddy
Caught in a lull of conversation, Kestrel noticed their erstwhile leader didn't have much to say at the moment. So she leaned forward and said, "So boss, what's your end-game? You have a retirement plan in mind for someday down the road? Or family plans or anything?" Kestrel blinked as the last words escaped her lips and she quickly added, "Actually, are you married? I just realized I don't know anything about you outside of life on the ship."

Her eyes briefly skipped around all of the people at the table, of whom the same could be said as well...

 

[Solar Daddy]

There it is, Silas thought instantly when the tone shifted after Alysson's comment on Kepler. In an instant Silas' hand crept into his right pocket and began shifting with the handful of gears he kept there. With precision he began undoing and repairing the contraption in his hand like clockwork - he'd been messing with the same hunk of machinery for the past couple years and no longer needed to think how to put it back together. His eyes focused on Kepler, seeing how he'd react to Alysson. When Kepler diffused the situation with a simple sentence, Silas' hand relaxed a bit on the gears. He didn't like the interaction that just took place, but at least Kepler seemed too strong to be dealt problems from mere words. At the moment, while everything seemed functionally back to normal, Silas would refrain from calling out one of their newest members. He may need to talk to the parties involved back on the ship, however. It may have been a simple mistake on Alysson's part, thinking Kepler was a a robot, but he'd ensure later the mistake wouldn't happen again. Kepler's lack of retort was surprising, making Silas wonder if it got under his skin or not.

Then Kestrel's voice permeated the silence, talking about someone's plans for the future. It took Silas a second or two to realize she was talking to him. Silas blinked a few times before looking over at Kes, clearing his throat and piecing together what she had asked him. "I don't really have much of a plan laid for the future, though I would like to someday visit my family in Lightwave," He began. The thought brought him back to his early days as a mechanic with his father on his home planet. He hadn't seen them since he left all those years ago. "Maybe go back to shipbreaking there, in the far future. It's almost entirely a wheat planet, so they need a lot of machines to cover all the ground too. Might make a living fixing combines and what not. But that's far off, I'm still aching for some danger." He then chuckled at the thought of a wife. "No no, I'm not married. Maybe someday but I have yet to find someone who's as sporadic as I am." He gave a convincing smile at the thought and leaned back in his chair before saying, "What about yourself, Kes? Future plans, romantic interests?"

 

[Viper Actual]

"Hah, I'd be too." Said Stratton with a smile. He nodded in response to Adira's statement. "Everything that's good in life usually is."

Then came Alysson's words to Kepler. Stratton could feel Adira tense up- he tensed up as well ever so slightly- in response to the exchange of words. Luckily for everyone present Kepler either intentionally or unintentionally defused the situation. At this point Stratton couldn't tell if the man-machine was oblivious to the meaning of Alysson's words or if he just didn't care. Either way, problem solved.

Stratton decided to follow Adira's example and took another sip from his drink. That's when Kestrel and Silas began to chat with the former asking some genuinely good questions. Despite his extensive dossiers ont he crew Stratton knew surprisingly little of his crewmates previous lives and endeavors. Adira was a bit of an exception on that part considering her sealed military records but even then there was a whole lot of information to be gleamed.

When Kestrel and Silas mentioned romantic interests Stratton was in the middle of another sip. He glanced at Kestrel briefly though this brief gesture was not that of an intelligence agent but rather a man. Interjecting, James cleared his throat. "Divorced." He looked at Silas. "You haven't missed out on much."

 

[Solar Daddy]

Silas tipped his glass in the vague direction of Stratton. "Don't worry you old coot - you've still got a couple hundred years to find someone new. I think. Not quite sure if you're in your hundreds yet or not." He finished off the last of his wine before setting it down and continuing the conversation on some tangent of destiny and the years they have left for them. It was quite clear as the night went on that Silas got a bit more philosophical than normal when drinking, something that would've no doubt encouraged Kepler to join in on the conversation, even if it was relatively less than the others. They already had one debate on this subject and Silas was eager to see other morals Kepler may have.

Silas had payed for the meal and ensured everyone wasn't too drunk to get home safely on their own. Some had other plans for the night, some decided to head back to either the ship or a hotel nearby. Silas however decided he could use the rest of his night to check out some of the damage the ship sustained and went back to The Ambivalence. After about half an hour checking out the hull of the ship, Silas gave up and decided he was too tired for any more work - so tired in fact, he took a nap right where he was, inside the paneling and walls of the ship, propped up against a warm, cozy pipe.

The next morning, Silas woke up with a strained sleeping position. Most of his body was sore from his creative napping spot. He shimmied his way out of the inner crawlspaces of the ship into the Hub, making a protruded stretch at the newfound freedom. With a scratch of his back he proceeded to get cleaned up and get a change of clothes. The rest of the day and the following week or so went by uneventful - Silas spent most of his time enjoying the calm and lack of a full crew present to work on the more intrusive parts of the ship like the main hallway and the kitchen, while taking longer breaks than if he were in the middle of a mission. He loved the time between events since it gave him the ability to perfect the ship in a way he couldn't otherwise.

 

[Vudukudu]

Kepler keeps to himself for the remainder of dinner. He is, in many ways, an expert of not speaking unless spoken to. Further, he's often hardly cognizant of other people steering conversation in his direction. When they do finally get up from the table to leave, he quietly leaves a substantial additional gratuity behind, a boon from one servant to another. People from outside Borealis may think his people a breed of cruel slavers, enforcing servitude on others. Looking around, Kepler would insist much the same happens here, though perhaps not bound by blood. To him, the difference is meaningless.

Back at the ship, Kepler immediately retires to his personal chambers and, for the first time in Ambivalence history, closes his door fully and locks it. It has been sometime since he last prayed due to his extensive surgery, and he would like to do so with some privacy. Running first-time diagnostics and reacquainting himself with his improved form, so much closer to divinity than he was mere days before, proves a desire so personal he cannot stand interruption. It was a shame, he ponders briefly, that he will not live to complete the transition. He was impure, and the taint had already begun to set in. Even now, surrounded by righteous iconography and the reassuring glow of the Spark, it whispered hate and fear into his mind. It had been foolish to stray so far from his people, so far from the correcting influence of the Enginseers.

The weak flesh must suffer for his cleansing, and when he awakens the next day it is with a back and arms lacerated by meditative flagellation. His duty is not done, and any pain that beats back his decay is no pain at all.

 

[Viper Actual]

Following the dinner Stratton had, much to his own dismay, found himself carrying out the bar crawl on his own. Despite not being accompanied by any of the other crew members the night had been largely successful; A group of off-duty marines and sailors had joined him on his quest and once they realized that Stratton was in fact one of them the group of grizzled soldiers had warmed up even further. Eventually though James had no choice but to accept that he was much, much older than the last time he ventured out.
Despite leaving early- just before two in the morning- Stratton and his newfound drinking buddies had stumbled through two dozen pubs and bars, gotten themselves thrown out of three and caught the ire of several ladies. Being the gentleman he was James left the latter to be handled by the marines and sailors to avoid any uncomfortable situations that might arise.

The day after Stratton woke up with a hangover for the record books. As he struggled to sober up the liaison found himself talking with Adira in the mess. Regardless if it was because of the lingering effects of alcohol, his unusually cheery mood or both Stratton opened up about some of his past experiences. While taking his new captain down memory lane. One specific memory came up and while the details of it were classified some of the general events were not.

One such event was the discovery of a stowaway onboard the ship. The passenger, a young girl, had been secretly been "adopted" by the onboard security forces- co-headed by a young James Stratton- and the crew. Stratton remarked that the girl had shown to be incredibly resilient and crafty, followed by him admitting to always wondering what happened to her after the mission concluded and she was handed off to military police.

During the rest of the week Stratton fine-tuned his reports and listened in on the latest intel. He picked up on a whisper regarding their last mission and the supposed handling of the asteroid base though beyond a mention the encryption was far too advanced to even guess the context of it. James hoped deeply that his superior would be smart about this and not play with fire though considering how the Waning Stars sometimes operated he wouldn't be surprised if the station was somehow repurposed rather than destroyed.

Hopefully they sent someone with brass rather than political motivations to handle that mess.