Futuristic Unlit IC

[Viper Actual]

"Well, everyone but Stratton, of course. He's our babysitter."

"Not gonna chanmge your diaper, Burns," replied Stratton with a half-amused tone in-between spoons of food. He continued to eat in relative silence while listening to the rest of the conversation between Chante, Silas and Hanako.

As Hanako turned to Silas Stratton wiped his mouth and nodded towards Chanterelle, having practically cleaned his bowl. "Thank you for this delicious meal, Chanterelle. You certainly have a gift for this." He offered a sideways glance before continuing;

"I myself would be thrilled to have you join our merry band of misfits." Stratton then turned towards Hanako. "Same goes for you, miss."

He turned towards Silas; "Do we have a lead on a new ship yet? Do you want me to reach out to my contacts? Maybe we can find something impounded that is bound to be scrapped or sold off."

Daisie queendilettante Solar Daddy

 

[Solar Daddy]

Chante was - even without the bulky armor - hard to read. Her intentions were masked in more ways than one. He couldn't get a feel of what she was feeling, or how her mind worked just yet. As someone as hard-wired as Silas was when it came to figuring out problems, it left a buzz in the back of his mind. If she stayed, he'd have to figure out what made Chante work. The kind of person she was.

Hanako answered the question by doing as she always did around him; deflected any sort of attention at herself unto him, like a spout soaking a poor spider. If it wasn't for the thick beard that traced up his cheeks, it'd be far too obvious how easy it was for Burns to blush.

Well, at least he hoped that was the case.

He gave a nervous laugh alongside Hanako's jest, setting his spoon down in the bowl and swallowing before responding. "Well, it's clear you're hellbent on embarrassing me in front of my crew, but joke's on you; I'm always this nervous."

Silas grinned at Stratton's continuation of his own joke while scarfing down what little remained of his food. He'd have to get Chante to write down the recipe or something. Silas was no cook, but he'd try his hardest to replicate a meal like that from time to time. Especially considering it used less than ideal ingredients, which Silas noted from the small pile of cans strewn around the counter.

Silas then responded to Stratton. "Unfortunately, no. It seems Sine is quite the seller's market; everything I've seen up for sale is either a nuclear bomb waiting to be activated, or more expensive than a skyscraper. Your connections would definitely come in handy. I haven't been able to find anything I could afford, so if you've got the contacts that you say you do, I think that'd be our best idea."

Silas paused for a moment. Shit, he needed to grab the FTLT drive from the scrap heap Adira flew them here on. He'd be damned if he let a drive core go to waste, especially one as unique as the Ambi's old core. Not to mention, Silas was the sentimental type, and all it took was a single flash of Kepler's mechanical skull to flash in his mind before deciding he needed to fetch it. He'd try in the coming days.

"Well, Chante, Hanako, we come across danger pretty often. Just as a fair warning. I know you're keen on the deathly arts and whatever other cool deep web assassin stuff you do," Silas said with a glance over at Hanako, "But I'm not sure if you're acquainted with that style of life as much, Chante. Just want you to know all the cards before you play."

 

[Daisie]

Hanako's efforts to make Silas uncomfortable were coming across loud and clear... and effective, too. Chanterelle watched the two interact with some amount of interest - she'd never seen a relationship quite like this before. She noted that every spare moment Hanako had, she was touching Silas in some way or the other, and despite the fact that he flushed every time it happened - even in the snowy cold - he still gave Hanako a wide berth. Their extensive history was palpable and... intriguing.

When the subject turned back to her joining Silas's crew, though, some amount of seriousness settled in her. He was right, she wasn't very well acquainted with danger and fast-paced situations. Her whole life had been, for the most part, uneventful. Growing up in isolation before working a job on one of the most stable gas-mining stations known to Sidereas wasn't exactly a swashbuckling gig.

He clearly gave her something to think about, her helmet turning off to the side, thoughtfully. It wasn't an easy thought, but then again... there was that feeling. That feeling she had, back on Tartarus... The almost-sort-of-itch that gnawed in her helmet and her chest. Looking up at the stars whenever Tartarus's sky was visible, and feeling as if the vast expanse out there was too much, but at the same time, hungering deeply for it. She wanted to get out. At first she thought it was the urge to get off that planet. She had every reason to want to leave.

But that feeling never went away.

"... Makes sense," Chanterelle finally responded, voice unbothered as per usual. She looked back over towards him and nodded. "I'm alright with it. Thanks for letting me know. I'd be happy to join-..."

She paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. "... Does your group have a name?"

Solar Daddy queendilettante Viper Actual

 

[Solar Daddy]

"I don't think we have a name, at least none that I've assigned the group." Silas gave a light chuckle. "The crew is pretty much just how I refer to the collective. Though, you could ask Stratton what he calls us on his constant updates to the Manor about our endeavors." Silas looked over at the Waning informant beside him, nudging his arm a bit. "I'm sure he's had his work cut out for him during his time assigned to this crew. Of course, I've come to like him quite a bit since he's been obliged to join. Maybe he'd even stay with us if it wasn't just the government holding him here."

 

[Viper Actual]

"Unfortunately, no. It seems Sine is quite the seller's market; everything I've seen up for sale is either a nuclear bomb waiting to be activated, or more expensive than a skyscraper. Your connections would definitely come in handy. I haven't been able to find anything I could afford, so if you've got the contacts that you say you do, I think that'd be our best idea."

Strat grunted and noded. "If you're looking for any unusual specs you'll have to send me a wishlist." Indeed, he could pull a lot of strings but in a place such as this vessels on sale could be anything between covert single-seat craft and speedy courier ships to modified frigates and lumbering cargo ferries. Add anything impounded or seized by customs, border patrol and navy vessels carrying out anti-piracy operations and you'd get an even more extensive list.

"... Does your group have a name?"

As Chante asked the question aloud Stratton turned towards Silas because- as far as he knew- the crew didn't have any officila title or name. When Silas then looked over to him Stratton snorted and shook his head while lifting both hands in a mock-surrender. He glanced at both Chante and Hanako before speaking;

"Sorry to burst your bubble but I don't have any fancy name for the crew," said the Wnaing Stars envoy. "I do have a bunch of cute nicknames for all of you- such as 'smartass engineer'."

He then winked at Silas. "That being said, if I did have something I wouldn't be able to share it with you- field reports are classified and censored, for both yours and my sake. Operational security and all."

Daisie queendilettante Solar Daddy

 

[Dragongal]

(Continuation from last collab post with 0stinato )

Apparently you could use higher caliber guns than usual in Sine shooting ranges. All the ones from which a customer could choose did appear to be modified though, so perhaps that addition weighed out the difference. Either way, each of the different gun types would be easily manageable for Qyilim, who had suggested the activity to Adira with the hope that a looser environment doing something they both had some skill in would make for an easier transition into relaxation than some of the alternatives available. Qyilim knew he had been wound up too tight for too long to enjoy some ridiculous karaoke evening or whatnot.

Besides, it was always good to keep your hand in.

Due to their late arrival, the shooting range was not overly populated. Perhaps they could even find time to chat in between taking a few shots. It’d mean fiddling around with the ear protectors constantly, but it was a small price to pay for company. Qyilim had decided to go with a pistol. Not too heavy, not too much of a commitment. Though, it was unusual holding a weapon he technically couldn’t “feel” due to his dominant arm being a prosthesis, but the sensations and movement tapped into the practiced part of his brain.

‘It is times like these when I realise how useful it would be to have trained to use weapons ambidextrously,’ Qyilim said. ‘I have not held or used many guns at all since my bounty hunting days.’


Adira had thought the idea to go to the range sounded well.. Fun. A little bit of casual target practice would be good to get her mind off of things and maybe Qyilim felt the same way. Socializing wasn't exactly easy for her so having the common ground of a military -and bounty hunting as it turned out - background as well as the comfortable location of a range helped. Besides, she was proud of her aim and that provided a needed boost to her confidence.

Adira smirked a little as she held the light pistols in her hands and leveled both toward the target. “Thankfully, I thought ahead on that.” Thanks to the openness of the range she was able to give him a wink and elaborated with a, “I’d show you, but ranges don’t typically allow for dual-wielding. Were there nobody around it’d be fair game, but… no. I don't want to risk us getting into trouble."

‘Hopefully you will have a chance to demonstrate that sometime, it sounds like quite a skill.’

She put the left pistol back down on the counter and decided to just work with the right pistol, leaning back into her usual relaxed stance. Her fingers tingled and shivered a bit like they were wont to do lately, but she felt sure that wouldn't have a large effect on her aim. The first round of firing was called and she took her four shots. She looked at the scattered pattern on her target and her face began to burn - where were the neat groupings she was used to? The near if not exact bull's eyes? She looked at her shaking, gloved hands and gritted her teeth.

Adira bit back her embarrassment and indignation and got ready for the next round of firing, this time using a more traditional cup-and-saucer hold that required both hands. I just need the extra stability right now. I haven't been to a range in a while anyway.

The four shots came back in a slightly tighter grouping and a bit more accurate, but this was still not the accuracy she had always prided herself on. Did Qyilim see that? She hoped not. This can't be happening. Was it frustration or horror that she was feeling rising in her throat as she realized the long term repercussions of her injuries?

Adira slowly raised the gun again for the third round, just to keep up appearances despite the panic making her hands shake worse.


Volatile and perilous, with the capacity to cause great pain, handle with care when the safety is off. In her case, the safety was off and the emotions were potent. He saw her shots, saw her try to correct herself in a different stance, landing a pattern that, although more acceptable, brought no comfort or joy.

When the round of firing was over and they were preparing for the next call, Qyilim turned partially towards Adira. At first he didn’t speak; he levelled his gaze to her eyes, and allowed a soft blink to fill a second. One part of his gaze was apologetic; another part was acknowledging.

‘Do not worry, I won’t ask, unless you wish to tell me. But whatever it is, do not be defeated. You are doing fine. You have time.’

He paused while he turned back to the range, then glanced back at her over his shoulder as he readied his stance again, surveying on his target his own collection of shots that were still some way off from ideal. ‘Besides, I am not doing much better.’ He smiled. ‘We can relearn what we’ve lost together.’


Much to Adira’s surprise, Qyilim’s words didn’t make her embarrassment worse at all and actually brought some comfort. Really, her shots weren’t that bad - they still would have undoubtedly killed someone, which was the main goal. And she did have time. Time to heal, to practice, to adjust and readjust and learn and relearn until she could be back at her old skill level, or at least close to it.

She nodded to him firmly and looked back down the range, taking a slow breath as she leveled her pistol at the target again. She took her three shots and again they weren’t fantastic but they were better than last time. Once more she nodded, partly to herself and partly to him. “Thank you.”


Qyilim flashed his usual gentle smile as she took her shots, his expression contrasting with the hard sound of weaponry in the range. It took more than a scattering of shots to make him flinch these days. Witnessing injury didn’t make him pause, either. He was as resilient as his build would describe; it was his offensive capabilities that were not so hot. There was much he could learn from Adira, he knew that. Still, he wouldn’t ask yet. No reason to. He had to recapture his own lost ability.

Not being able to feel the gun in his hand altered the way he carried its weight, changed the way he connected with it and the way he fired. He had to uncouple that hesitation and discomfort from himself, and the only way to do that was more practice. When next he readied himself to fire, he decided to use the entire time to line up a single well-aimed shot, learning how to ‘feel’ what he could of the gun. The sensation of touch was obviously not what he was going for, but weight was.

When he eventually made his shot, it only reinforced his need for further practice. Even so, he didn’t feel dissatisfied. He hoped Adira didn’t either.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Sine was a busy city that never saw a stop in its antics. As the days passed by, one would need to grow accustomed to the never ending chatter of unmoderated ads, blasting outside their creaky stained windows and within their home on the poorly maintained screens within the room. Spaceships passing by only added to the discomfort, deep vibrations and low hums constantly shaking the building as a freighter passed, or the high pitched whir of single seat spacecraft engines breaking the sound barrier illegally, but with no repercussions. Sine's seemingly only natural flair of life was the constant, unrelenting snowfall that permeated the streets and rooftops of the metropolis.

During the days, within a few blocks of their designated hotel, the crew would find many options for food and entertainment, though their options were limited based on their measly allowances by governmental handouts for the time being. Luckily, their ban on movement within the city, and flight in general, would be lifted in a week or two. They just had to endure the subpar life of a Sine citizen for now. Things could be worse.

Silas’ nightly routine seemed to include heading to the border of their allotted space within Sine to get as close to the scrapyard as he could. At first, it was to check in on the abandoned ship still possessing the Ambivalence’s drive core, to make sure scavengers wouldn’t strip her of potentially one of the most valuable space parts within Sine. However, over time, he found himself stopping by the metal barbed fence and peering out over the patch of garbage and broken metal in deep thought, finding comfort at seeing the same view he would have on Carmin Appoxos A. Sparks flew from a handful of workers littered around the scrapyard, their torches burning bright into the night and contrasting the cold snow perfectly.

On one of these nights, however, Silas arrived at the gated platform and looked down with a furrowed brow. Instead of five or six scrap workers looking to find valuables within the shipbreaking yard, there were dozens of well equipped scrappers surrounding the Ambivalence’s lineage ship, along with a hefty security detail guarding the perimeter. The sight was not dissimilar from the Tartarus crash site, where endeavors were taken to extract the drive core from the innards of the pirate ship.

It seemed someone had finally caught on to what was inside that bastardized death trap, and someone had paid a pretty penny to collect. There was a pit deep within Silas where his heart had fallen into. He’d spent a fortune on that drive, one that fit his crew’s needs perfectly, and one that had been a part of his recent endeavors, even surviving Tartarus right alongside them. The chassis may have melted away, but the core remained, the last remnant of the Ambivalence. The last remnant of his first captained ship.

And Kepler.

Silas hadn’t been able to give a check yet, but it was possible a VI or shard of Kepler’s personality was left over on the core’s internal computer from the last time he connected to the terminal. It wasn’t really him, of course. Kepler was long gone. But even just having a fragment as a memento to those who’ve died was something Silas couldn’t leave behind.

He needed to get in there. He needed an eye on a brand name, a location, a person who he could trace the drive to once their house arrest was lifted. He could handle the trackers Waning Stars had placed discreetly on each of them to ensure no one broke the perimeter, but he wasn’t strong or skilled enough to brute force his way past the security measures leading into the compound. Silas needed help.

Without a moment of hesitation, Silas brought out the antiquated device given to him upon landing in Sine by officials. A crude communication tool, far away from a modern device, but one that was intended for use when contacting a legal team, something most dealing with Waning Stars on Sine would need. It was cheap, but Silas had been smart enough to grab a few contacts from the crew after their arrival. And one contact was paramount right now.

‘Qyilim, I know it’s late, but I need your help. Meet me in the Breti market to the South, near the giant Haanson Laboratories sign. Can’t miss it.’

Spoiler: Securing the Information

As it turned out, Qyilim was not far from the market; he had ventured out for his fifth meal of the day and was just beginning to walk back to his and Eska’s little room when he got the message. He was progressing with a swift pace, because he always felt it important to separate eating and sleeping by one activity; never sleep on an empty stomach, and never eat immediately upon waking. Even if that activity was as stationary as meditation, or as rigorous as a full workout, shooting practice, or oration, maintaining that discipline ensured a restful mind and a healthy body.

When Silas discovered Qyilim under the sign for the laboratories, he was stretching, but cut his little routine short as Silas approached. The expression upon Silas’ face told Qyilim that whatever he had to say was not going to be pleasant, nor positive.

‘I take it this is not something that can wait until tomorrow, by your expression. It is not about Adira, I hope?’

“Good to see you,” Silas gave a nod as he approached, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. He’d spent far too long out here in the cold without proper clothing. “Nothing to do with Adira. I need to get in through the fence over there.” Silas tried motioning his head in the direction of the shipbreaking yard inconspicuously. He doubted anyone was listening in, but he could never be sure.

“Someone’s scrapping the ship we used to get here, and I need to fetch the drive out of it before it’s lost. I could surely use your help, if you’re willing.” After a pause to breathe hot air into his palms, he continued. “Think you’ve got the strength to pry a hole in the fence?”

By the way Silas spoke, Qyilim knew asking certain questions would be pointless. He was asking Qyilim to betray the rules and laws of those housing them for this ship part. In truth, he was torn: he couldn’t face being caught and jailed again, but he suspected Silas wasn’t one to go and break laws without a thought to it.

To add to his dilemma, his shoulder reminded him of its injury with a lazy roll of pain.

His hesitation had gone on for a second or two, but finally Qyilim snorted with displeasure, his breath visible in the crisp air. He raised his left hand to his right shoulder, rolled it, and walked straight for the fence.

‘I trust your friend Kestrel and the others could get us out of any issue this may find us both in,’ Qyilim said, his voice low with steady aggression. His emotions were not targeting Silas, but rather the situation itself, and the expectation of further proof of Waning Stars’ callousness if legal difficulties befell him. Though Qyilim, despite being aware of his tone of voice, made no effort to clarify Silas was not under scorn.

It was clear why Silas needed him. Truth be told, bending certain metals was not outside the realm of biological capability, and it was simply pain that pushed a person to stop: Qyilim’s left hand could therefore only be used as an anchorpoint, so he balled his fist up against the fence in short order before using his strong prosthetic arm as a lever. No pain would befall that metal limb, after all.

Silas followed the large alien towards the fence, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too close attention. Silas was a rather large man, but was nothing compared to Qyilim; still, he attempted to stand in the way in hopes of blocking anyone’s direct view of the Zirzolan’s actions. Silas hoped he’d picked the right person for the job. Qyilim’s expression made it quite clear he wasn’t keen on the situation. Silas wasn’t either, he’d prefer not to break into a guarded location while under house arrest. He just hoped Qyilim didn’t paint Silas in a criminal light as a result of this instance.

With the fence pulled open thanks to Qyilim’s impressive strength, Silas gave a nod of approval. “Stratton can hopefully help with any problems if we’re caught. I trust him to get us out in one piece.” After a pause, Silas halted by the fence. “I can go in alone if you’d prefer to hang back. I could use your help, but I won’t force you into any further criminal behavior if you’re feeling uneasy about this.”

Qyilim shook his head gently, his braids defining the movement more than anything else.

‘If it is my help you need, then Stratton will just have to work twice as hard to get us out of trouble,’ he said, before squeezing himself through the gap he had created. He sidestepped to keep himself in the darkness, then gave a quick series of WS army hand signals he hoped Silas would pick up on, with the message being, you lead, I’ll follow.

Silas let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once Qyilim agreed to continue to help. His task would’ve been a lot harder without the help of the Zirzolan. Silas stepped in quickly after Qyilim, looking back to make sure no one had witnessed them at the start of their trespass. Before moving on, however, Silas grabbed Qyilim’s attention to show what he was about to do wordlessly.

Silas produced a pocket knife and, with a considerable recoil, cut a small incision into the skin of his forearm, using the blade to fish out a small metallic bauble, barely visible on Silas’ fingertip. His hand trembled slightly from the action, adrenaline filling his body.. He then placed the small apparatus inside the pocket of his jacket, which he promptly took off and set at the entrance they had come in from.

Silas then held out the knife to Qyilim, motioning to the Zirzolan’s wrist. There was no other way to make sure Waning Stars wasn’t alerted to them exiting the zone - just a couple of meters ahead - without removing the trackers and eventually reclaiming them upon returning. They’d need to be re-equipped, too; otherwise, officials would know they had circumvented the use of the trackers.

With a snort of discomfort, Qyilim nodded, but, before offering his wrist, took the knife from Silas and used it to cut into his vest, which he was wearing beneath a jacket due to the weather. It would be the second occurrence in too short a time that he would be using his clothing for a makeshift bandage.

He cut a strip enough to secure Silas’ wound, muttering under his breath that, ‘Leaving blood on the snow would do no good.’

After wiping the knife well, he handed it back to Silas and offered his own wrist. There was no way he could cut into himself in this manner - adrenaline made that sort of action possible, but Qyilim’s tension was tight and steady.

Silas looked to Qyilim with a nod before proceeding to do the same to his arm. Silas had systematically removed his care for most gore, specifically around his hands. Working so long in the shipbreaking trade meant a lot of broken fingers, singed skin and countless other harms. No matter anyone else’s background, he understood not having the ability to cut into their own skin.

After making quick work of Qyilim’s tracker as well, he placed it into the pocket of his jacket just as he had done with his own. Silas left the jacket behind to make sure he could find the baubles easily enough when they returned. He then helped Qyilim secure the bandage around his own arm, before reciprocating the gesture to the Zirzolan. Silas continued the wordless trend by motioning forward silently. They could now fly under the radar unhindered by “official” business.

After a short while dredging through the scrapyard filled with hundreds of different ship chassis’ and other miscellaneous parts, the duo arrived near the massive burning pit near the center. It was nearly invisible despite its glow from the outside of the compound, thanks to the large debris blocking most views. It was little more than a giant smelting pit where useless parts were dumped into. The fires of the subterranean forge would simultaneously return the parts to a workable state to be reused, while the excess heat from the activity was vented off to heat the streets of Sine effortlessly. This was the only reason the shipyard was located so close to the city center to begin with. The blazing red light emitting from the center bathed the shipyard in a dull, barely present hue that brightened slightly as they got closer.

Upon reaching about a hundred meters from the ship’s resting site, Silas halted and motioned for Qyilim to do the same. From behind a shard of hull half the size of the Ambivalence, he pointed ahead at three armed security personnel making a rotation around the perimeter set up by the salvage crew.

“We just need a name,” Silas broke the silence as quietly as he could. “No need to deal with them all. Just figure out where the parts are being taken to, if possible.” Hopefully they could question the salvage crew in between guard rotations. After this, Silas again pointed, this time to four salvage workers hoisting straps around the ship of interest. They were the target, if they could get one isolated to interrogate. Silas didn’t want to kill or maim anyone if possible, but the Stars be damned if he was going to let them haul the core out of here without a lead.

“I need you to deal with the guards if they come back around. Distract them, knock them out, whatever it takes.”

Qyilim raised his hand in a sign of affirmation. He would take Silas’ words in the order they came. Two options that would have to stack; distract first, knock out if necessary.

With the heat of this area, snow had fewer places to settle, so loose debris and pieces of manipulable materials would be easier to find. Hell, Qyilim could even make sure to position himself near something breakable and put his strength to use. As for knocking them out, he gradually created that plan as he shifted his positioning to watch where the guards were walking. Again, he found two avenues of thought. Aiming a well-thrust strike to the skull with his prosthetic arm would be difficult, so he’d save that for a last resort, if things got physical; otherwise, he’d go for the choke-hold, using his regular left arm against their throat. He hoped that would make him less identifiable; after all, a guard would surely remember the cold press of metal on their gullet moreso than a biological arm in the dark.

Whatever his approach was, he’d have to do his best to remember his Waning Stars stealth tactics from his bounty hunting days. Easier said than done. Alma Brath was his scout back then, a diminutive human who did her best to train up the hard-assault members of their crew. Qyilim was never natural. With grim resignation to this sudden plan of taking down armed security, he tried to focus on Alma’s old joke: if you can see the barrel, you’re on the wrong side.

Qyilim was quick to show he understood the task at hand. Silas wasn’t nearly adept enough to try dealing with the guards himself, and instead chose to use the assets presented to him accordingly. He’d do a much better job at roughing up some civilians just doing their job.

When the coast was clear next, Silas booked it for the next nearest piece of cover he could find. The salvage yard was loud and the workers were busy, so he was confident he didn’t even need to be as stealthy as he was, but Silas wasn’t going to take that risk. It’d take a hot minute for them to crack open the hull and produce the core. He had time.

The mechanic had to halt once to let the guard rotation pass by again, only a few meters from his hiding spot behind a sink or some other similar apparatus. Luckily the sounds of the forgery up ahead was constantly producing strange, loud noises that seemed to keep everyone around rather calm. They couldn’t just listen intently and hear Silas’ footsteps easily.

When the rotation passed, Silas looked back in the direction of Qyilim before once again darting between the scraps. When he finished his final marathon, Silas was prone, sifting through the smaller pieces littering the ground. Up ahead, the four workers diligently pierced the hull with their handheld machines, dicing up the metal into quadrants to be peeled away when the lattice work was done. Luckily for the engineer, the scrappers were rather spread out, and one unlucky soul broke off and left the well lit salvage site. If Silas had a guess, it was to make a call to a superior away from the sounds of the crew cutting.

Silas wasn’t sure when the next patrol would come around, but he didn’t have time to find out. He just needed to hope Qyilim was covering him appropriately. Silas halted just long enough for the loud metallic clangs from the forgery to pierce the air, using it to hide his sudden explosion of movement. The salvage worker didn’t even have the time to lift up his hand to make the call when Silas wrapped his around the worker’s neck and pulled him back further into the shadows. He was in no way hidden if anyone came looking in their direction, but it was better than nothing.

“Wh-! Get off of me!” The worker cried out, his voice muffled from Silas’ arm around his throat. He made a few more noises as he attempted to break away from the hold.

“Not gonna hurt you if you cooperate,” Silas whispered, his other hand holding the worker’s arm against his back to restrict his movement. “Who do you work for? What’re you doing with the ship?”

“Fuck off!” The worker groaned out, to which Silas only pressed his grip harder. The worker squealed before Silas relented again.

“Give me what I want, or I take it from your corpse.” Silas’ words were hollow. He had no intention of killing the poor man, but he needed the threat.

“What’s it matter to you anyway?” The worker said, struggling a little less than before. Good, he’s giving up.

Before Silas could respond, he noticed shadows dance in the distance. He halted for a moment and noticed it was cast from the incoming patrol. Shit. Gotta rely on Qyilim now. I’m too far in to give up now. He pulled close to the hull and prayed to the Stars that Qyi had it under control.

As Silas had noted, and as Qyilim had probably seen a good amount sooner, three armed private guards were coming around, eyes darting along the perimeter. It was clear they weren’t slacking on their jobs; especially the big one in the middle. The extra set of arms and the height difference to its fellow guards ensured Qyilim he was an Omnitide. In his primary set of arms, he held a standard issue C19 rifle, while in either of his off-hands, he held two P6R1 sidearms. The two others beside him, probably humans, held C19’s as well. Qyilim was at a significant disadvantage in the upcoming fight; deception or cunning would be necessary for him to find any success here.

Only rarely had Qyilim had to consider relying on his dexterity to smooth out a problem or gain himself an advantage. And, with an Omnitide guard, he would need everything he could get. He breathed out a short curse of Silas’ plan, but it was too late to reconsider now. Why an Omnitide? Any attempt to perform a hold on one of those would be essentially futile.

However, with both pairs of hands full, that Omnitide couldn’t climb. The other guards most likely couldn’t either, with rifles occupying their grips. If they decided to stow their weapons and ascend, then Qyilim would be waiting at the top.

Stealth-assisted, overhead takedown was the rule of the day. Qyilim ended up following a similar path to Silas, but instead he climbed into a chassis that was half-gutted, and left to decay until its spare parts or metal was needed. He moved quietly and carefully, keeping his right arm close to his chest to limit the metal-on-metal clang that could draw enemy attention. He hoped too that the forge would provide enough distraction in terms of mental capacity and noise to muffle any trace of his presence. Speaking of mental distraction, Qyilim was also relying on the psionics of his would-be pursuers. If he sensed nothing, all was well. If he sensed faint fear or distress, that could either be Silas, or his quarry; if he sensed anger or hostility, or even surprise, that could be the guards having heard him, Silas, or the man Silas was interrogating.

At least he had his psionics to help reassure him he was doing everything right.

As Qyilim got into position above the guard’s route, Silas continued extorting the worker for the information he needed. He tried dragging the worker as far into the darkness as possible, hidden within the sharp shadows cast by the smithing pit behind the wreck. The other cutters continued ripping apart the chassis of the ship, and soon, someone would notice one was missing. Qyilim and Silas were up against the clock, and now they had guards to deal with, too.

As he rescinded, Silas took a misstep and knocked a shard of metal, cascading with a few other pieces and clanging unnaturally from the consistent bangs of the shipbreaking.

The mechanic’s mistake was enough to draw the attention of the patrol. All three halted near Qyilim’s perch, scanning Silas’ direction. Shortly after their quick check, the Omnitide barked out an order to the other two. “Investigate,” Silas’ voice mod converted the alien’s language flawlessly. The emblematic deep hum of the Omnitide’s voice spurred the two human underlings to ready their weapons and approach Silas’ position.

Fuck. Silas knew he’d been made, and the worker did too. Before he could shout for help, Silas squeezed with his arm to strangle the worker. He let out a squeak as the words attempted to leave his mouth, but Silas wouldn’t let them escape. He had no way to deal with the guards, especially while silencing the worker. He just needed to hope Qyilim would be fast.

The lone Omnitide guard checked the perimeter while remaining stationary. His arms held all guns in a low ready, in case anyone snuck up on him. Little did the Omnitide know, Qyilim was ready to strike from the one direction he wasn’t checking.

Using only his left hand to propel him over the side of the chassis, Qyilim decided it was now or never. The force of his impact would be decided by the ferocity of his descent, and the Omnitide would feel every kilo of his mass multiplied.

His boot connected with the back of the Omnitide’s neck, shoving the four-armed man forward into the dirt as Qyilim slammed down on top of him. He didn’t pause to sense for psionics: if his impact had knocked out the Omnitide, there would be none, but if he hadn’t, there would be a flood of negative emotion. Instead, he grabbed the sidearms the Omnitide was carrying in its second left hand by the barrel and used its blunt end in a sharp crack against the back of the guard’s head. A knockout blow, at least. At worst… Well, Qyilim wasn’t going to stop to take his pulse, was he?

In the meantime, the guards were turning, their heads, doing so faster than their bodies. Their psionics were already on the wind: shock from something happening behind them, shock despite their steps towards investigating. Cutting it close, Qyilim leaped sideways, the P6R1 still in hand. He needed one guard positioned in front of the other, thereby either negating the second human’s ability to shoot, or forcing them to waste time moving.

Qyilim wasn’t going to give them the chance of that though. To disorientate the guard in front, he used the followup of his movement to throw the pistol. The human eye, even well-trained, had a hard time ignoring a fast-moving target shooting forwards. As soon as Qyilim got the angle he wanted, he, too, darted forwards. His strength lent him the speed of a rogue. Bringing up his metal arm, he grabbed at the guard, and with a final step forwards, thrust the human backwards.

With the advantage of strength and solid footing, Qyilim focused first on knocking out the two. He didn’t want a single shot fired in the scuffle, since such a noise would surely attract the attention of other workers or guards elsewhere to come and investigate. What he had done wasn’t as quiet as it could have been, but there was precious little he could do about it now.

Silas wasn’t prepared for the event that took place in front of him. While applying enough pressure on the worker’s neck to keep him silent, he was powerless to do anything about the imminent approach of the guards. Then, Qyilim’s speed seemingly dispatched the three guards in record time. Silas almost wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing.

After a pause to inspect the limp bodies, Silas simply responded, “Well, damn.” He once again turned his attention to the worker in his grasp, who was visibly frightened at the ferocity with which Qyilim dealt with his saviors. “Gonna tell me now? Or do I need to sic the Ambana on you, too?” Silas purposefully misidentified Qyilim’s origin in hopes of throwing off any report he might make about the scuffle. Naturally, the worker relented immediately, seeing the current situation.

“W-we’re hauling the drive to Cambrian Shipworks! They’ve been lookin’ for a model like this, y’know, for the auction they’re holding! Rich folk, big spenders, the like!” The worker once again attempted pulling from Silas’ grip.

“Cambrian Shipworks. Got it.” Silas nodded to Qyilim, letting the worker go.

Qyilim considered muttering an apology before he caught the poor man in the neck with his metal knuckles, but, in truth, he didn’t have the breath for it.

‘Why do I get the feeling,’ Qyilim murmured, ‘that this same thing is going to be repeated at the Shipworks? Next time, we bring a stealth expert, at least.’

“We’ll be better prepared, then.” Silas confirmed with a grumble, clearly dissatisfied with the turn of events. At least they hadn’t killed them. Right?

Silas let out a sigh, looking around at the four unconscious men around them. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead. Don’t know when another patrol will come by and see them. Let’s get out of here.” Silas motioned back towards where they came, and the duo headed for the market district.

The next morning, Silas had herded everyone in his crew (including the new ensigns) into his cramped apartment. most were shoulder-to-shoulder as Silas attempted to go over the plan across the room, facing everyone else. "Objective: get the Ambivalence's drive core back from the Eyri's who stole it from us. Thanks to Qyilim and yours truly, we know Cambrian Shipworks secured the drive and brought it to one of their drydocks in the city. We also know it'll be up on auction for a charity event being hosted by the company. Our goal is to secure the drive and patch it into our next ship before anyone catches on to us. With Stratton's help, we've already got the next model lined up. Before I begin diving in, I'd like to remind everyone that I legally own this core, and it's been stolen from me. We're simply taking it back." The clause was there almost entirely for Stratton, despite the comfort he felt in the liaison. He needed to be sure James knew they weren't just thieves planning to rob some innocent people. "I would act within the extents of the law if I didn't know it'd take years to rip it from a corporation's claws, and even then, I doubt we'd get it back in one piece. Now, there's a few ways we can go about doing this."

Silas gave a pause as he projected a criminal record onto the bare wall behind him from his datapad. "Plan A: We forge a working bank account that we use to buy the drive core at the auction. This'll probably give us very little physical trouble, but the logistics behind it are tight. Easy for someone to run a background check on the payment, and we're all caught and locked up before we can make it out of Sine. This man," Silas motioned to the Liborian whose record was up on the wall, "Is Jae Cayus, a legendary forger who'll be able to help us fake an account with enough funds to secure the core. All we need to do is find him, somewhere in Sine."

Silas let it linger for a moment before turning off the projection and replacing it with a live image of a small freighter above the Sine skyline. "Plan B: we just take the damn thing. If Plan A goes awry but we still have our cover within the auction, we move to secure the asset without falsely purchasing it. Someone secures a freighter such as this one to haul it out of the auction's warehouse when it's no longer on display. The rest of us work from the inside, posing as potential buyers, to get in and move it to a location where the freighter can pick it - and us - up."

The mechanic paused again, looking at the faces of those around him. "This'll require a large portion of our crew to dress up as one of the rich folks and infiltrate the auction. We'll all need to play a part to blend in. No weapons, either. We can't risk getting stopped at the door. Once we have the core installed in our new ship, we should be free of Waning Stars' embargo and leave Sine whenever we want. Questions?"

 

[Daisie]

Chanterelle wasn't the happiest camper in the world.

She was no stranger to tight spaces, but on the other hand, tight spaces with people shoulder-to-shoulder wasn't her favourite place in the galaxy. She oozed discomfort as she packed in with the rest of the sardines in the room, but it only grew stronger as she glanced across towards the one Zirzolan. Qyilim.

She was well enough acquainted with their innate affinity for psionics, and frankly she wanted none of it. Reassuring herself that the room was jammed enough to mask her own emotion, she settled for placing herself on the other side from him, trying to harbor as much personal space from the others by tucking herself in the corner. As more people began to arrive, she looked over the room, checking over each of the people she'd chosen to spend the next while with. She studied their faces and repeated their names inside her head.

Silas. Didn't know him all that well. Seemed like a competent leader. He was gracious enough to let her join their band on little notice - she was a little startled at his eagerness to trust her.

Lu-Lee. Of course, she was solid. Loyal. Their time on Tartarus was plenty enough to figure that out. A certain ally.

Adira. Also didn't know her too well. Felt a little flighty - would have to keep an eye on her... but Stratton's devotion to her held water, nonetheless.

Eska. Honestly, seemed like a real liability. Chante was already bracing for the day she'd have to stand against her on one matter or another. She just wasn't sure if that was going to be over a matter of life & death or over the last dinner roll.

Hanako. She honestly wasn't sure what to make of her. She acted friendly, but she had a subtle air of competence about her. She couldn't tell what her intentions were, particularly towards Silas, and she wasn't overly fond of that feeling.

Eska. Chanterelle wasn't overly fond of-wait... what? Chante's vision darted between the two blondes in the room for a moment. Crap. One of them had to have been Kestrel. Chante had been lucky up until this point that everyone had been so different from each other... parsing out identifying details had been easy.
Regardless, she didn't know Kestrel all that well, either. Chanterelle intended on watching her more... if she could find her.

Qyilim. Chante wasn't dwarfed in stature and bulk by many people. Qyilim was the exception. Out of all the other members, she felt the most discomforted by him. She felt borderline endangered. It wasn't just his psionics she had to watch out for, but the mass and metal. Everything about him ticked off every alarm bell in her mind.

Last, Stratton. He was a decent man, it seemed. His conversation with her still ran through her thoughts on occasion. Despite her best efforts to distrust him, there already dwelt an unspoken comradery between the two.

Once Silas began laying out his plan, though, Chanterelle found herself a little shocked at how casually he recited their detailed ideas on how to break the law in Waning Stars' own territory. Not dissuaded, mind you, just surprised. Although she supposed to herself she shouldn't be terribly taken aback - he did describe their crew as a "collection vagabonds, vagrants and cutthroats looking for some cash to earn". She'd just have to get used to a different lifestyle than the mundane station-life she left.

This wasn't something she intended to back out of.

But she was the first to raise her gauntlet to ask a question after Silas had finished.

"Pardon. Dunno if it's obvious." She started, voice echoing out her helmet as low and unenthused as ever. "Why do we need this drive core? Big operation for a swappable part... even if it's expensive."

 

[0stinato]

Because he was the tallest amongst the group, Qyilim had positioned himself at the back of the room. His arms were folded, and he was acutely aware of the throbbing of his wrist, where Silas had taken out - then put back in - the tracker. Ignoring the pain, Qyilim had eyes fixed on the floor, the scratched-up surface that had seen many a footstep over the years. He had decided to put the previous night far away from his mind; whatever had occurred, whether or not the guards were looking for him, Qyilim would not try to premeditate. Reactions rather than planning was all he could do now. If a team of armed Waning Stars guards broke down the door... then the door would get broken down.

He listened to Silas talk without raising his eyes, without moving. Even when the Liborian’s image was shone onto the screen, Qyilim didn’t glance up. He would memorise the face later, if it was necessary. For now, he began to internalise the two plans Silas outlined. He began to deconstruct them in his head, peeling back the layers that formed the basic structure of each. Perhaps there was something Silas had missed that Qyilim, or anyone else in the room, could lend their own knowledge to.

His eyebrow twitched when Chaunterelle spoke. She, out of everyone in the room, including Silas with an injured wrist, was producing the most potent psionics. They were dull, indicative of a passive emotion rather than an extreme one she would immediately act on. They weren’t important to read, but Qyilim was aware of them.

Heaving a sigh while stretching his neck muscles, Qyilim finally raised his eyes to the others in the room, glancing at Chaunterelle’s armoured form. Part of him couldn’t help it, his eye being drawn to the source of the strongest psionics, but he also wanted to acknowledge her point. After all, he agreed: the story of the Ambivalence’s core was not something he could fathom past speculation. If this was to be the team he travelled with, he needed to know the facts, no matter how plain, no matter how ugly.

‘I would also appreciate transparency on the matter, Silas, given I did not pry yesterday in favour of acting on your word. I can make some logical assumptions of the core, especially because it was used to get us here, but facts are much more informative at this time. If I am asking too much, I apologise to yourself and anyone else who may feel that information is sensitive, but I would insist upon knowing at this point.

‘I will also raise you a potential Plan C, if you allow me, Silas, to build upon your first plan: it may be simpler and more straightforward if we were to find a wealthy individual to purchase the core for us, in exchange for a favour. If we do not like the sound of the favour, we do not take the deal. Our terms. Our decision. Given we must find a forger on Sine, it would not be any more difficult to find a wealthy benefactor and would ideally cause us no problems at auction since legitimate money would be changing hands.’

--
Interactions: Solar Daddy Daisie

 

[Solar Daddy]

"Why do we need this drive core? Big operation for a swappable part... even if it's expensive."

‘I would also appreciate transparency on the matter, Silas, given I did not pry yesterday in favour of acting on your word . . . '

I will also raise you a potential Plan C, if you allow me, Silas, to build upon your first plan . . . '

Upon hearing the queries from some of the newer members of the group, Silas realized he expected them to know things they'd never been filled in on. The anxious nature of their past few weeks seemed to still weigh on Silas' syntax. "Oh, right," He began, tapping himself on the forehead in a how could I forget manner. "This core is special for a handful of reasons, and while each separate one might not be enough to go after it at these lengths, I think the sum of the reasoning makes sense.

"First and most bluntly, it's an expensive core. When I gutted the original Ambivalence's chassis in favor of my own parts, the core was the one piece I went all out on. Fast spool time, good weight, with a few other... uh, discrete options built in. Adira's had extensive experience flying with a core similar to it, so that was another bonus for compatibility. On top of that, though, the core's megacomputer - a component of most ship drives of this size - is something I've been tinkering on since the beginning. With the correspondence of some old colleagues in Athos, and some specialized tech I've procured, I've been slowly building a smart A.I. as a side project. It's currently stored on that drive, along with a... Well, a personality fragment of a past crew member, who was dear to a lot of us. He died before we crashed on Tartarus. I'd like to not lose either of those constructs if possible. Both of their presence could be a great boon to cyberwarfare, analysis, automation, you name it.

"The only reason we even survived long enough to crash on Tartarus was Kepler's help deterring cyber threats in the battle prior. We can't risk running into a threat like that unprepared. If I can program the leftover fragments of his unique technology compatibility, I think it'll increase the ship's survivability chances greatly. Not to mention whatever the A.I. could provide us past that." Silas let out a sigh as he finished his explanation before commenting on Qyilim's Plan C suggestion.

"That'd be a smart idea if we can make it work, I agree. I'll check known contacts in Sine and see if I can get us an audience with an elite, though we'll need a damn good reason for them to meet with some vagrants like us."

 

[Viper Actual]

Sav & Sons, two days ago...

Stratton casually made his way over to the front entrance of the cramped and inconspicious little butcher's shop nestled into a small HoloVid rental store and a seemingly defunct Sine travel agency. As he entered he was met with the smell of both freshly cut meat, strong salts and other conservaties used to keep the slabs of meat fresh for prolonged storage and even travel.

The Waning Star's liaison nodded at the man behind the counter- Sav, the owner of the shop- who returned the gesture.

"James," he said. "It's unlocked for you."

Stratton nodded. "Thanks, Sav. I won't be long."

"An hour today as well?"

"Nothing more, nothing less. I need to get back to my old standard," replied Stratton, shrugging as he passed by the counter and entered the backroom.

Sav's chuckle echoed as Strat began to descend the stairs leading into the basement. "We're not young men anymore, Stratton."

"I know," replied Stratton in a low, almost hushed, voice as he walked past rows of perfectly cubed slabs of meat lining the tables of the storage room and in through a door labeled 'STAFF ONLY'.

The room was sparsely decorated, covered in white and green tiles and was rather chilly. Inside were several smaller military-style crates, a table and a pair of cheap-looking folding chairs. Stratton popped open one of the crates and retrieved a firearm from within. It looked like the past generation of WS service pistols though a veteran such as Sav or himself would be able to tell immediately from the weight alone that it was merely a replica.

Fortunately it isn't as front-heavy and clumsy as our actual service weapons were.

Sav was, like Stratton, a veteran of the old days and the two men had briefly served together in a campaign against Icarus-aligned forces on a backwater tropical planet with some vague and funny-sounding name. It had been pure chance that had led to the two men meeting once again as Stratton had encountered Sav and one of his sons delivering fresh merchandise to the hotel where the crew was currently quartered.

After that the two of them had began talking. Reveling and perhaps even grieving over days and comrades past, talking about battles won and good soldiers lost.

Eventually Stratton had shared with Sav the events that had taken place at Tartarus- as well as the sense of guilt he felt for not being able to protect Adira as well as he wanted to- which in turn had led to Sav offering Stratton to come by and do some dry-runs while his body continued to heal.

It was a kind gesture- one Strat greatly appreciated as any exercise was good exercise.

For Adira's sake I must become better. There are no other alternatives, no excuses.

He glanced downward to the weapon in his hand and skillfully ejected the magazine, confirmed that it was empty and then racked the slide half-way to ensure that there were no rounds chambered and ready to fire. Pleased to see that both the chamber and magazine were empty Stratton moved on, entering a low-ready combat stance with the gun resting at his hip as if it was about to be drawn from an invisible holster.

Stratton exhaled and went into action. The pistol moved forward and upwards at the same time while his supporting hand racked the slide with a swift motion. The veteran trooper repeated this motion over and over while focusing on a tiny spot of grease on the wall in front of him.

His hands continued to repeat the maneuver, working increasingly faster and faster for every performance made. Stratton's skin snagged, tore and got stuck on the slide several times in the process. Bruises turned to blisters and blisters soon turned into wounds, dotting both hands and the pistol alike with smeared blood.

Yet Stratton persisted, repeating the motion again and again.

Again.

*​

Now...

"I would act within the extents of the law if I didn't know it'd take years to rip it from a corporation's claws, and even then, I doubt we'd get it back in one piece. Now, there's a few ways we can go about doing this."​

Listening to Silas with his arms crossed Stratton scratched his chin using a lightly bandaged hand while glancing over to Adira in an attempt to gauge her reaction. He raised an eyebrow. So? Thoughts?

Then, as both Qyilim and Chante spoke up his focus wandered to them and he couldn't help but nod in agreement to what both of them had said. While Silas did have some plans in place they did seem unnecessarily... risky.

When SIlas responded Stratton waited a moment before clearing his throat. He raised one hand and took half a step forward. "Silas, I see both the sentimental and tactical value of recovering your property," he started.

"... But I agree with both Qyilim and Chanterelle that there could be other, less risky, options for accomplishing this." He nodded towards the two aforementioned people before continuing;

"I've spent my fair share of time undercover so I'd have no problem posing as potential customer in the event that we don't find someone to help us out. Alternatively I'd be willing to tag along and pose as a bodyguard or technical advisor. After all, people is my true language and have been for the past decade. Regardless I advise we pick something less confrontational- leaving the option to hijack the core as our last resort."

Stratton then shrugged. "Furthermore, regardless of how much pull I have with the Waning Stars they won't look away as easily if we end up engaging a major corporation. Most of the corpos spend big on the defense industry and vice versa. I'd rather not get branded as a terrorist."

 

[Vudukudu]

The days spent on Sine are long and terribly slow for Eska, who finds the security and monotony of civilized life stifling and then increasingly uncomforting. A lifetime of survivalist living, constantly proving herself superior to her other vat-cloned siblings and battling for the approval of an ever-more-distant father has made this sort of life unthinkable. To fill the time, she tries to adopt a strict schedule of nearly constant training, exercise, and a voracious reading habit. She makes very little time for others, save for her aunt who she occasionally makes up an excuse to spend a couple minutes with before finding reason to leave. Her father had, to some extent, spoiled the idea of older family members for her, and it proves difficult to overcome.

When it comes time for Silas to explain to everyone what they're getting up to next, Eska makes a point of being timely and listening attentively, though she does so from the sidelines and with a book in hand. When it comes time for questions, she raises her hand before deciding that's probably not strictly necessary and lowering it again. "I don't think I'll suit the part of prospective buyer very well unless you're proposing I play the part of an heiress and you lot her retinue. That mean I get to sit somewhere waiting for the call to kick a door down or can I go back to catching up on the last few centuries of galactic history?" She asks, hefting the book she'd brought along. "Then again, I did manage to pack a dress suitable for the occasion, and it would be nice to do something more exciting than pickpocketing the locals."

Silas' words about recovering an AI and some sort of hacker's ghost had been sufficient to pique her interest. Her father had spoken highly of cyberwarfare specialists, though she never quite understood their value on Tartarus given the lack of networks. Out here, though, having someone to insure your airlocks stayed locked seemed important. Death in space, she'd decided, was something to be avoided.

 

[Dragongal]

Adira stood there with her arms crossed, listening to the input that the others gave one Silas's ideas. She glances at Qyilim, then at Stratton.

Listening to Silas with his arms crossed Stratton scratched his chin using a lightly bandaged hand while glancing over to Adira in an attempt to gauge her reaction. He raised an eyebrow. So? Thoughts?

Plan C sounded great. Lovely, easy, simple. But it was probably the least safe plan that was suggested.

Adira took a slow breath and explained, "I like plan A and B best. We forge the bank account and try to buy it - it's a lot of upfront work, but once it's set up, it only relies on us. And should it go awry, we'll have a plan B - theft - ready. Qyi's plan C sounds nice and safe until you consider that it requires people who aren't one of us - the forger directly profits from, first off, forging the account, and second off, from not ratting us out. Someone else? They would absolutely benefit from ratting us out on many levels. Hell, if we ask the wrong person, they can report us right away before we even have a chance."

She sighed and straightened her posture a bit,tipping her head to the side before admitting, "If we do need help besides the forger - getting equipment for the theft for example, maybe a decoy item or display... I know some folks who would benefit from keeping silent about us." She looked over at Stratton and shrugged, a slightly apologetic expression on her face; she'd made a lot of friends in very low places in the time between getting into the military academy and buying the Ambivalence with Silas.

 

[0stinato]

The Zirzolan's large form was static while Adira started speaking. When she expressed a few points though, he turned slightly towards her and raised his head.
He left a pause after she finished her thoughts before raising a palm to her.

'I am afraid I would disagree with you on a few assumptions you have made about the scenario I proposed. It is true that it remains bare-bones, and that there are many potential pitfalls that I have not yet considered, but as a team I am confident we can overcome them.

'Plans A and B suffer from a necessary amount of illegal actions needing to be performed even in the preliminary steps. Plan C involves nothing of the sort. There is nothing illegal about finding a benefactor to offer a service to, nor the benefactor repaying our work with goods, rather than currency. The only problem foreseeable is if the benefactor asked for us to perform an illegal activity on their behalf, but the likelihood of either side ratting us out is low in that situation. Therefore, it is logical to consider Plan C as carrying less risk than Plan B, and that it equates to Plan A in the need for an outsider.'

Qyilim's eye scanned around the room, landing on Eska and Hanako in turn.
'Due to some among us having skillets I am less familiar with, I will not assume we do not possess a master hacker or digital forger. However, we lack the equipment to create a well-traced forged wallet with which to buy the core, so the point is moot. Therefore, an outsider with that kind of equipment, who works in illegal circles and expects underhand dealings, is required, since we cannot buy or set up that kind of operation ourselves in our current position. Additionally, since some of us are known to Waning Stars, it would be impossible for us to buy the Ambivalence core without arousing suspicion. In fact, in my analysis, the only one with the necessary background for Plan A to work is Eska, provided this planet looks favourably - or is in fear of - Tartarus and its autarch.'

Qyilim paused again, and drew his eye back to Adira, and those that stood near her. He bowed his head.

'I am keen to avoid further jail time, thus I must push my suggestion where I can. Please forgive me if my arguments have appeared to be overly zealous in their directions, Adira.'

 

[Dragongal]

Collab with Viper Actual

A few days ago..


Adira waited on one of the benches not far from the WS base. She had been getting more familiar with this area than she wanted to. She kept her data pad tucked away and didn't check the comms device on her wrist; for now she would just bask in the silence of the falling snow.


Navigating between her roommates and Stratton's, Adira had been able to discreetly tell Stratton to meet her here at 5pm local time. The location was secluded, and relatively hidden from the street, but Adira's description of the area had been precise, and Stratton was the only one (besides Qyilim, maybe) that she thought might find this spot.


Adira looked down at her gloved hands, then down at her boots, with which she kicked the snow that is slowly accumulating about her. It was almost fun, watching the snow slowly resettle at her feet while she just waited.


“A bit calmer than our last destination,” said Stratton, breaking the silence as he approached.


With a faint smile he nodded towards Adira. “Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?”


As he finished his question Stratton sat down next to Adira and reached over to squeeze her far shoulder before gently bumping his head with hers, all while grinning. Slowly his hand returned to the warmth of its pocket and Stratton sighed as he took in the view and serenity of the location.


“There sure are worse views.”


Adira smiled a bit as Stratton sat beside her and puts his arm around her shoulders. As a rule she didn't like shows of affection from people but then again, she didn't like most people. Stratton's displays of affection didn't bother her and were, to her surprise, a bit reassuring.


"There are. The last destination was actual hell though, so I'm happy with any view that isn't that."


She looked over at him for a moment as she tried to find words to start an honest conversation. It was hard to find anything in her vocabulary that wouldn't try to bend the situation to brush it off, to minimize it, make it seem like there wasn't a problem and things could keep going as they were. Vulnerability was a foreign language and the translation chip in her head didn't have the coding guide for it. Finally she just sighed and shook her head, "Thanks for meeting me out here."


Taking a quick glance at her, Stratton nodded and smiled lightly at Adira. “Of course, you know I always have the time for you- all you’ve gotta do is ask.”


He chuckled lightly. “Granted, our aforementioned previous destination didn’t offer much in the way of casual chit-chat.”

Stratton then turned to watch the horizon. “What’s on your mind, Adira?”


Adira found herself smiling a bit at his words. She tipped her head to the side slightly and slowly said, "It's more what's on my hands. After the battle, I realized the battery acids damaged my hands pretty severely. The doctors here have been able to fix some of the issues, but… not all of the neurological ones. The flesh re-healed, but the nerves got too badly damaged."


Adira took off her gloves to show him how her hands shook, and so he could see the still fresh healing over some of the burns. The injuries had been extensive, but on a visual level were at least healing. It was still not the most pleasant sight. Much of the muscle and skin had had to be regenerated, but the nerves underneath weren't fixed.


"Long and short, I can still be a pilot with relatively little issue. That's a good thing - I can't stand the thought of being trapped on a planet. But things like firing a gun…" Adira let the sentence trail off, then sighed heavily. It seemed this had all been a bit of a blow to her confidence.


"Qyilim is helping me practice, but I'm not great at it anymore. And honestly… I think I would give all of this up, this… freelancing… if it wasn't for you and Silas. I'm getting tired, Strat, and the thrill of hunting down bad guys and doing good behind the back of the law - it's not there anymore."


Adira took a breath and straightened her posture. This whole time she had been avoiding his eyes and she still wouldn't look him in the eyes - that would be too vulnerable. Finally she firmly said, "But I think, fighting with and being with you and Silas… that's what I want to do now. It's not about me or the enemies… it's… us. I want to fight for my friends now. Nothing else."


Listening in silence, Stratton nodded slowly in acknowledgment once Adira had spoken. He looked at her hands- the damage caused by a being of inimaginable malice- and silently thanked whoever was looking out for his adoptive daughter upstairs as the battle on Tartarus had done a lot worse to a lot of people.


Slowly he turned to look towards her face though this time there wasn't a grin nor faint smile in sight but rather the concerned look of a father. “Adira,” he said, expression softening slightly.


He placed one of his hands in hers and while his own scars weren’t as fresh they could still be felt quite clearly. “I want you do what you want. Not for me. Not for Silas. Not for anyone else. If you still want to keep on fighting you know I’ll be right there next to you and if not I’ll still watch your six.”


“Always,” he finished.

Stratton’s hand remained in hers but he averted his gaze, resuming his observation of the horizon. “When you want to put all this behind you and begin a new chapter you just give me the word and I’ll be there to help you out. Until then- like I said- I’ll be here looking out for you just like you look out for me.”


Adira heard his words and she certainly appreciated them - it was nice to have someone watching her back at all times after all. It was reassuring, certainly. She took a breath and said, "Thing is, I can't imagine a new chapter without you and Silas. I can't imagine what it would look like to not be doing all of this with you two, and honestly I don't think I want to. I'm not upset that this is my life, but I'd be very upset if I didn't have you two with me. So I don't think I'm going anywhere for a long time."


“In that case,” said Stratton before leaning in a bit closer. “Neither am I, kid. Neither am I.”

 

[Solar Daddy]

Silas folded his arms and tilted his head down a bit as he listened to the discussion at hand. He figured it'd be best to let those with strong opinions have a back-and-forth for the time being and hear all the points everyone wanted to make. It seemed Adira, Stratton, Chanterelle and Qyilim would be the major talkers of tonight's discussion, with a few others chiming in from time to time. Silas' eyes darted from speaker to speaker as they made their case. Everyone brought up valid points for and against the different options on the table, and Silas absorbed the thoughts of his crew with weight and contemplation.

Once the conversation slowed with Qyilim's final thoughts, Silas chimed in again. "It's clear we have a few different ways to go about doing this, and we're not all in agreement here. All of the options so far have a certain level of risk associated with them, and none are ideal, but the gala is coming up and we can't delay it's arrival. We don't have long before the opportunity's gone forever, so we need to act regardless. We'll devote some manpower to each option's setup to make sure we're not getting caught with a dead end by only trying one or two. We can make a final decision on how to infiltrate when we have all the cards, agreed?"

Silas looked around the cramped room at each of his friends before continuing. "We'll do this the old fashioned way. Show of hands. Who wants to go with the billionaire option?" Silas' words were met with a few hands.

"And the forger option?" Again, Silas counted the hand that went up.

"What about the hijacking?" A few more for Silas to take account of.

"Alright," He said, tallying in his mind. "We've got our marching orders. Let's all get our groups organized and try and wrap up our objectives by the weekend. Remember, we still need time to get appropriate attire before the event, unless anyone's somehow come from Tartarus with a tux in their pocket."

 

[Solar Daddy]

For Team Serpent, it seemed pressing to get eyes on the options they had to procure a ship. The standards weren't high, but not just any rust bucket could haul a drive core such as the Ambivalence's in atmosphere. With spaceflight being such an important part of everyday life, most on Silas' crew could scope out a ship with the right specs even without deep knowledge on the subject. Any kind of hauler or freighter should work wonders; it was up to Chanterelle, Eska and Kestrel to determine exactly what their ship of choice would be, though.

The most likely spot to search of course was the shipyard, and the team wasted no time heading out to the periphery of their allotted space within the city. Thanks to a few mostly defunct regulatory codes governing non-threatening detainees, the city limits that were imposed upon the crew were lightened as their eminent clearance came closer. What was once a few measly blocks of territory to explore had now expanded to about half the city proper, including a large segment of the spaceport. Conveniently, this gave Team Serpent unrestricted access to the used ship lot designated between the port and the refinery near the city center, where entire ships were smelted down and heat would be rewarded to the city's inhabitants. Prospecting buyers could look at a few different ship models before they were gutted and scrapped in the refinery, usually allowing struggling cosmonauts to find something relatively cheap. Whether or not a ship matching Silas' description would be there was a matter of luck.

Ambiance

Upon arriving at the ship lot, the acrid runoff smoke from the refinery so close permeated the air. It was like walking through dense soup, no doubt stinging the eyes of any uninitiated to this type of environment. The shipyard was two sublevels from grade, with a series of large automated doors allowing passage of ships either for storage, takeoff at the spaceport, or to be hurled into the scrapyard. Sunlight only poured through in select spots of the bunker-like space where evenly spaced ventilation shafts or open hangar doors resided. The dense smoke like an overcast here was seldom relieved from the vent's existence, apparently.

It seemed Team Serpent was lucky this day, as a fleet of ships lined the corridors of the market in all styles, chassis and classes. A few even seemed to be in decent shape, as if sold straight to the refinery from the impound lot at the local Waning military police brigade. Ships that had idled in the market for too long were easily notable from the corroded paint jobs, clearly worn away from occasional flashes of intense heat from the refinery and the constant waves of tar-black smoke.

The halls were moderately filled with life, primarily a few poor citizens looking for cheap off-world rides or mechanics from local shops hunting for parts. The size of the complex though ensured customers were few and far between. This must've been the natural state of the lot, it seemed, as the only worker amongst the hulking vessels he sold seemed more interested hanging it easy on a fold-out chair, reading the local net paper on his pad. The figure was easy to spot even through the waves of dust thanks to his bioluminescent glow, marking the worker as a Luminon long before any details of his appearance could be made out. This particular man seemed rather unremarkable; hair tied up in some sort of lazy attempt at a topknot, with strands of fervently curly gray hair cascading down from his scalp. His skin was a pale cyan while the light radiating from his pores looked like a strange combination of yellow and blue through the haze. Otherwise, the Luminon seemed unnoteworthy. He barely glanced up from his device at any customers passing by, and would only offer some half-witted attempt at guidance should anyone approach with questions.

Vudukudu Daisie Epiphany

 

[Daisie]

The thick black fumes wafting about, Chanterelle didn't care for. Not that she really did care for a lot, but at the very least, the pollution was one of the few things she wasn't neutral about. On Tartarus it was a bit more common, but this place was downright choked with it. Her mind was cast back to the safety procedures they drilled into her back at the Favrus station, just imagining the sheer hell any inspector would rain down on this place if they were to see the vents. She silently praised how robust the filters on her suit were as she kept treading heavily down the spacious corridor. Clunk, clunk, clunk.

She'd take it to her grave, but she still had no idea who was Eska and who was Kestrel. There was little planning to be made before the trio had set off, and though she'd been familiarizing herself with the two's difference in outfit, everyone had just called each other "you" or "she", unhelpfully. Ah, well, she also had to figure that on a reconnaissance trip like this, it probably wouldn't even come up.

As the three approached the lone Luminon, Chanterelle lead with as much bluntness as could be expected of her.

"Looking for a hauling vessel," she said plainly, voice low and uncaring as it'd ever been. "Working condition's preferable. Or close to it."

Solar Daddy Vudukudu Epiphany

 

[Solar Daddy]

Sirs'a Ata'Li'Se gave a glance up with only his eyes a few seconds before the trio arrived, alerted to their presence by the thump of Chante's armor echoing through the halls. The constant whir of machinery made it impossible to hear from further away though. He seemed to ignore Chanterelle's query at first, hoping maybe her question wasn't pointed at him so he could keep on enjoying the most recent Stars and Statues serial. When the rhythmic steps stopped and Sirs'a realized no one else was around to entertain the question, he blew out a huff of air from his nostrils. The Luminon set down the datapad on the crate by his side and stood unceremoniously.

"Price, make, model, class, brand preference...?" He asked after a delay while rolling his hands in a circle, as if expecting much more information from the heavily armored customer. "Anything in here can haul. I've got 'hauling' ships for as little as 65K zF, not too bad for a bargain. I need specifics, otherwise I'll just up-sell you our most expensive freighter." He spoke with a rushed tempo, clearly aching to get back to his nothing-ness.

Sirs'a waved his hand vaguely down the showroom to the far end where the looming silhouette of a clearly massive starship sat. Not much else besides its outline was detectable through the smoke however.

 

[Vudukudu]

Eska largely kept quiet during the planning discussion. She couldn't grasp why everyone else seemed amenable to splitting up their limited resources across three different missions meant to accomplish the same thing, but they were the professionals, or at least what passed for it around here. She was here to learn, and from what she'd learned back home, 90% of learning was shutting up and listening, especially listening to people you didn't think were worthy of the time. She'd learned a lot from the Gutter-Folk on Tartarus, after all. At least this lot had better hygiene.

When it comes time to research ships, she throws herself into a reading frenzy, digesting as much ship-performance content as she can with the resources available. She generates about two dozen pages of notes briefly summarizing her findings and concluding with a few educated guesses on minimum specifications before turning it over to her aunt. Chanterelle didn't especially figure into Eska's planning except for her potential combat prowess, largely on account of Eska not really having any idea of what Chanterelle could contribute in general. She'd been too busy adjusting to life in the galaxy to take much time getting to know anybody, an endeavor that had consumed most of her time and still left her feeling like a fish out of water.

"Wow kid, this is a lot." Kestrel says with a furrowed brow, skimming the notes Eska had provided.

"Anything worth doing is worth doing thoroughly." Eska replies, just a bit slighted by how quickly Kestrel is flipping through her meticulous annotations. "And I'm not a kid. Most kids don't have prior experience killing with their teeth."

Kestrel frowns and sets the notepad aside. "It was a term of endearment, Eska."

"Oh." Eska's cheeks flush red and her eyes tilt towards the floor.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the shipyard, Eska excuses herself almost immediately. "Gonna go take a look around. Bye!" Almost before Kestrel can react, the young woman has darted away into the warren of industrial machinery and ships in varying states of disrepair. This environment is the closest she's been to home in awhile, though its a bit too organized all the same. Disappearing into the yard, Eska easily overcomes the fences that pass for security before starting to pick her way through the ships, looting them for any abandoned personal effects or useful objects with all the eagerness of a magpie that had eaten a packet of instant coffee whole. Along the way, she keeps an eye out for any noteworthy ship silhouettes to report back on once she's stuffed her satchel with forgotten property.

Kestrel sighs but knows better than to attempt to stop her and quietly evaluates the shipyard's security while she walks along with Chanterelle. There was no doubt some level of surveillance, plus employees, but not a great deal going on in terms of armed guards that she was noticing. It made sense given that most places simply didn't have the funding to support a security system capable of actually deterring a determined hit-and-run assault, especially on worlds with functioning police forces. That would work to their benefit if they had to come back on less friendly terms.

"Worst sales pitch I've ever heard." Kestrel remarks dryly. "Looking for something in the independent transport space. Gun cutters or small freighters, crew space for up to 15, jump-capable. Ideally has a cyber-suite, modular cargo hold, engines to push 250 tons of cargo plus ship-frame. We'll start there, show me the inventory and I'll tell you a price. Sound fair?"

 

[Solar Daddy]

Sirs'a only rolled his eyes in response to Kestrel's first comment. "Lady, you're the ones in need of a ship." He shrugged nonchalantly before turning and stepping down the row of ships, seemingly uncaring of Eska's sudden departure from the group. His lack of care for his job was bluntly evident. As he walked, Sirs'a talked over his shoulder. "We've got a few Kit & Backer's available that match your description, but they're on the higher end. Bossman won't go lower than the 400k's. They're not to be tossed in the scrap heap so the price is hiked. Highly doubt they're what you're looking for if you're shopping in a used lot like this one. Otherwise, there's some Orsin's..." He motioned to his left, where three sturdy, hulking ships rested rather cockeyed on their pads. "They're not the prettiest, but they're reliable. Kickstart to the left has the hauling power you need, but it's little more than a space-forklift. No room for luxury there. The middle one's nothing like you're looking for, but on the right - you've got the Harpy; She's all you need and more. Bit steep in price but she's worth it."

Sirs'a motioned to the far end of the depot. "We have a StarAnvil that might be what you're looking for. There's... lemme think... A Titan III, that fits the bill. So three ships total matching your description. The Titan III's a beefy S.O.B. with some serious firepower in addition to that precious cargo capability you're looking for. Also a little easier on the eyes than those Orsin ships."

Sirs'a turned to face the duo again. "So, if you're looking to buy from us, you've got the Orsin Kickstart or Harpy - or the StarAnvil Titan III. Base price is something like 140k Zoning Funds. All of them do what you're looking for, and increasingly expensive in that order. Before you start spitballing some numbers at me, the lowest I'll go on the Kickstart is 30k, that's your starting point. Hit me with the numbers and let's get some signatures on paper, yeah?"

As for Eska's escapades, she'd find lurking through the property all too easy. The lack of any real crowd in the facility plus the dense smoke made it near effortless to sneak through the compound unnoticed. She'd find her fair share of poorly maintained ships, ranging from single seat spacecraft to larger crewed vessels, mostly dedicated to specific jobs like mining or hauling. There wasn't much to pick through around the facility, though; a handful of repairing materials, some janitorial items and at one point, what looked to be someone worker's forgotten lunch, spoiled and perched on a particularly uncared for vessel. Most of the ships had already been long-picked clean by the staff for anything of importance, though one ship stood out from the crowd; a rather immaculate ship, seemingly brought in within the week from the lack of misuse visible on the hull. Should it be inspected, Eska would find that the cargo hold of the ship, accessible from inside and out, had a peculiar lock-out message splayed on the door's console. It seemed many had tried and failed to barge into the hold with no luck. Some sleight of hand work with machinery, or deft electronics skills, may prove useful in cracking open the mysterious belly of the beast.

 

[Vudukudu]

Eska quickly proves disappointed in her various searches. Whoever was working here was at least decently thorough in combing through ships after their former owners had gone about emptying them. In the absence of interesting things to pilfer, she turns her restless energy towards being an inconvenience by loosening screws, removing vent covers, and generally being a nuisance anywhere she determines is safe from observation.

When she comes across the mysteriously locked cargo hold, she pokes around curiously before conceding this is beyond her means but makes note of it to share with the others. If they came back on more hostile terms it might be worth cracking open.

Kestrel writes down a couple notes as the Luminon leads them around pointing out ships that meet her specifications. Mentally, she's evaluating security measures in case theft becomes their only reasonable option. At the mention of prices, she furrows her brow. "Let me talk with the buyer. He's picky, but I'll see if I can get you your commission and get you back behind a desk." She turns away from him, then reaches for her comms to contact Silas. She puts on her best "Corporate Assistant" voice while the call rings through.

"Hello sir. I'm down at the yards now like you asked. Found a few options that meet the Mining Board's requirements, but wanted to confirm with you. There are a few K&Bs in the 400-plus range, which in my opinion is robbery." She starts, hoping that the choice of words gets her point across. She wasn't sure what assets they had at their disposal, but she suspected they'd have to steal anything here made by Kit & Backer.

"Beyond that, lot of rust buckets barely fit for atmo-flights. Seen hover-cars in back-alleys with better engines." She doesn't mince words conveying her disinterest audibly enough for the seller to hear. Its a two-part game - see if she can drive prices down a bit on the one hand, build a plausible case that they have no interest in breaking in and hijacking something later. "Some Orsin's, look like bricks but they fly. There's a Kickstart, a Harpy, also a StarAnvil Titan III around but I know we've got that contract for replacement parts that doesn't provide for most StarAnvil components. Any thoughts, and did we have a final budget from Acquisitions?"

 

[Solar Daddy]

At first, Sirs'a seemed nearly ready to just walk away from the prospecting buyers until Kestrel made word of the commission. Seemingly, all it took for the lousy salesman to reacquaint himself with his profession was to be reminded of the fact he was, in deed, getting paid to sell things. Most who came in pestered the Luminon with endless questions only to leave him empty handed, leaving Sirs'a increasingly frustrated with each day passing. It seemed this buyer, however, may not just be out to waste his time. His brain may have been rotting in that damp foundry on webdramas and cheap nutro-bars, but damn if a descent meal didn't sound nice. Sirs'a fiddled with a pen idly while he waited for Kestrel's conversation to end, but couldn't hide his interest in listening in to the phone call.

Silas answered on the second buzz, his voice coming through with hazy interference due to the thick walls of the underground lot. He paused after Kestrel finished her sitrep in deep thought. He wasn't nearly as good at playing a part as some of the others in his crew, but he gave an effort, just in case his voice could be heard by however she was putting on the act for. "Uh, the-the Board isn't gonna like those options. StarAnvil is out of the question. Can't believe they're even allowed to sell it anymore after the refueling coupling incompatibilities... Though the advanced hyperplane suite would come in handy..." Silas clearly lost himself in thought as he weighed the pros and cons of each of the ships Kestrel mentioned. He even went dead silent for a minute, lost in his own world until finally the situation became apparent to him again. "Lets-uh, let's go for the Harpy. Orsin's reliable, if barebones. And the Acquisitions, they said no more than 50. Rest of the budget's already been allocated, no room for bargaining."

Sirs'a caught a handful of words from Silas, but not enough to make out the entire conversation. The most important to him, of course, was the Harpy and the budget. The Orsin mentioned was marked at 60k, but Sirs'a had to admit he was eager to get a sale going after all. Just imagining the commission caused his mouth to water. While Sirs'a didn't plan on playing nice completely, the slight pulse to his inherent glow betrayed his eagerness. Before Kestrel even hung up the call, the Luminon spoke. "Hey, listen, I can do 50 for the Harpy and a good review on our page's survey from each of you, yeah? Shouldn't take more than twenty or thirty minutes to fill out. What do you say, we have a deal?" The Luminon raised his hands with a poor attempt at a charismatic grin.

 

[Daisie]

Chanterelle was never much of a talker, and that never made itself more evident than at that moment, Kestrel solely handling the transaction. She didn't make a single peep.

It wasn't very long into the conversation, however, when she started getting that feeling again. Like an itch in the back of her helmet. A certain type of restlessness that picked at her chest beneath the armor. It was then that she realized her exhaustion towards being on this planet - she was antsy to get off. Out in the stars.

She relieved her stress at first by slowly pacing about the ships, noting them. She didn't know much about their engineering, but enough to get by. Enough to understand the quality of their hulls, their varying degrees of thrust... But she didn't wander too far. It was only a minute or so of her aimless pacing before she stared off towards the junkyard she saw Eska scurry off to. At least... who she assumed to be Eska. Seemed well enough on-brand for her, from what Chanterelle knew of her.

"Think I'll make sure she's not in trouble," she grumbled simply towards Kestrel, seeing as she had everything pretty well handled on the business side of things - Chante couldn't say she had exactly the same faith in Eska. That being said, she trudged away from the two, leaving them to their business.

It was only when she arrived at the fence surrounding the junkyard that she began to regret her decision. Icarus's contagion suits weren't exactly conducive to a successful climb. Instead, she stalked around the edges of the yard, patiently searching the barrier before finding a section poorly maintained, the wire rusted and peeling up at the edges. It took less effort than expected to pry the hole open wider. She slipped inside and began to walk.

It was only a matter of going back and finding the side of the fence closest to the shipyard to begin finding the occasional sign that Eska had been here. Upturned scraps that had made their impressions in the dirt, or containers left open that lacked dust inside. Her armor clunked, pristine white metal standing out harshly against the burnished scraps that all seemed to wear a thick coat of dirt and soot.

It was right when Eska was about to leave the beat-up ship's frame that Chanterelle appeared in the doorway, opaque visor staring down at her. A long space of silence followed.

"... Find anything?"

Vudukudu Solar Daddy

 

[Vudukudu]

Eska can hear Chanterelle coming before she sees her, and she ponders hiding before deciding that it might be better to just pretend she got lost if confronted by security. Being and looking young had its benefits, and she'd discovered quickly that adults in civilized space were easily fooled by a pretty face and feigned naivete.

When the heavily armored Chanterelle appears before her, she frowns. "I've heard killik-gron move with more grace. You know you don't have to wear that moving castle with you everywhere, right?" She replies, opening her bag of pilfered junk and displaying its contents. "And yes, strictly speaking. Nothing interesting, honestly speaking." She adds, furrowing her brow at the loose items before overturning the bag and dumping it all on the floor.

"Kestrel wouldn't have sent you to find me if we were leaving, she'd have come herself, so you're not here officially. Are we stealing something or were you just hoping to get better at recognizing my face?"