NATION

PASSWORD

The Vast and Empty Sky (IC)

For all of your non-Nationstates related roleplaying needs!
User avatar
Rupudska
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 19936
Founded: Sep 16, 2010
Left-Leaning College State

The Vast and Empty Sky (IC)

Postby Rupudska » Mon Mar 05, 2018 2:22 pm

THE VAST AND EMPTY SKY
Image
Thrawn B7
Jinbe
9:30 Local Time
3616


It was a universal fact of time and space that all motels located off to the side of a major thoroughfare, usually within walking distance of the exit ramp (or that era's equivalent) were as sleazy and suspicious as a used starship salesman. Not to say that all starship salesmen were sleazy and of questionable moral character, but there was a reason the used starship industry and the hair gel industry were joined at the hip, and there were some in certain sects of the Cyanian Empire that believed that the motel industry was in on it.

One such person was most certainly one Freyran human by the name of Emilia Jorgeir, who thought as much while staring at a flatscreen videocaster on the far wall of her off-brown Speekizi 8th Year motel room, her state of dress and the fan on the ceiling doing little to cool her suffering body in the heat of Jinbe's desert sun. She considered removing the last vestige of decency she was wearing at the moment, but judging by the color of the sheets the only reason she wasn't keeping a hazmat suit and a foot of armor between the bed and her body (let alone her crotch) was because it would poach her alive if the armor didn't grill her buns (so to speak). Fifty degrees in the shade, and the air conditioning was off! She'd wrestle a Panzerian with her bare hands for a bowl of rum chocolate and fried banana cakes with a cold beer on the side.

But such thoughts would have to wait. Today was an important day - the day she would get her next job as a freelance escort pilot. Of cargo ships of course, not of men - she had tried the latter, and all it did was convince her that she'd never work with a Bebbikaxian in any such capacity again. For such a cautious, nonviolent species of testudines they sure had a knack for screwing you over when it came to money.

A quick shower to wake her up a little, then back to the bedroom to watch a bit of television while she dried off - in this heat she'd let herself be cooled by water on her skin for as long as bloody possible. Sadly, the videocaster didn't have many channels - news, news, nature documentary, bad children's programming, an animated series in a language she didn't understand (no subtitles either), shopping channel, shopping channel, Cinemax. She settled on the nature documentary and spent the better part of an hour watching a Panzerian with a convincing (but clearly fake) Australisan accent wrestle wild Deviljhos on Voeddir C, all while talking about how beautiful their coloration was and how it was a a shame their environment was being impeded by development.

When the program finally ended, she headed down to the ground floor to the motel's mini-cafe with her travel pack slung over her back. It served the standard fare for a motel - toast, Oug eggs, oatmeal, Stroq steaks, Danarind juice, and coffee, among other fares. All of it thawed and reheated from a cargo ship that hadn't been cleaned in months no doubt, but it was at least edible by most species, humans included. Not that Emilia would dare put any of that crap in her mouth - all she was here for was the coffee. The Chaqadiddik that ran the motel chain (and the Chaqadiddik that ran this particular establishment) both shared their species' weakness for caffeine, and their coffee was the strongest and best in the quadrant. Which was the only psychoactive chemical the Cousin Itt-looking aliens seemed to have any weakness for - alcohol did nothing, and most other drugs simply got kicked out of their systems by a highly evolved immune system.

Coffee bitter as truth and black as the night in hand, Emilia was halfway out the door before the motel manager made a hem-hem at her. She turned to look at him, curious as to what the hairy alien wanted this time, her glowing green goggle-eyes blinking once in mild confusion.

"Forgetting something, are we?" Wiizer asked in his species' raspy tone of voice. Emilia looked at the coffee in her hand, the wallet she was in the process of shoving into her backpack in her other hand, and shrugged.

"Got everything not with my ship in the hangar on me, why?"

"What about... a shirt?"

Ah yes, shirts. For such a hairy species, Chaqadiddiks were rather fashionable. And traditional, when it came to dress morals.

Emilia looked down at her anti-perspiration bike shorts, then back to Wiizer. "It's fifty degrees outside and only expected to get hotter. I have an interview, and I'd rather not show up soaked in sweat, so I'm getting a tailored suit on the way. Besides, it's not illegal."

Wiizer gave her an are-you-sure-about-that glare, then shrugged the upper two of his six arms. "Fair enough. Just be careful, alright?"

"I'm always careful, Wiizer."

"No you aren't."

She laughed. "No, I'm not, but I ain't dead, either." And with that she continued on out the door. A tricycle taxi that looked remarkably like an upside-down trowel blade took her towards the city center and her destination - the promenade. Because Jinbe was surrounded on three sides by large mesas too small for spacecraft landing strips and prone to dust storms that prevented VTOL pads, its spaceport was in, well, space - connected to the ground by a large space elevator. Surrounding the elevator itself on the ground was a small shopping mall full of inexpensive stores, restaurants, and stalls - the 'luxury' (if one can could anything on Thrawn B7 luxurious) stores were on the space station itself, along with the docks and a large motel for weary travellers who couldn't handle Thrawn B7's atmosphere or just hated certain properties of sand.

Because of the presence of the spaceport, Jinbe was easily the most cosmopolitan city on the moon. Species and animals from all across the quadrant and from all three of the galactic Great Powers could be found here, which was great if you loved food and bad if you had allergies, or preferred your cities with some semblance of architectural continuity. From the station, Jinbe looked like bits of twelve different cities cobbled together, with the most notable stick-out part being the native Thrawnian skyscrapers in the financial district with their bulbous tips.

Mercifully the taxi was AI-driven, and after a simple button press the chatty AI stopped talking about football and started exuding blessed, blessed silence, interrupted only by classical music. Relaxed into a state of calm by the ancient rymes, Emilia saw fit to sink into the pleather seating. Not the most comfortable usually, but there was something about a clean AI taxi that induced you to nap all the way to one's destination, which Emilia did.

The facility was a small seafood restaurant by the name of The Fatty Tail. It was manned by a male Kzarknan by the name of Emikk, a member of a reptilian species under the wing of the Cipaqoaltan Federation. Anywhere but the Void, the idea of a Cipaqoaltan and a human engaging in business, let alone talking or even just not killing each other, would have been seen as bizarre in the extreme outside of the diplomatic field. In the Void, or at least on the edges, it was a Tuesday. Some people were here to hide, some were out for the glorious life of the mercenary (or pirate), some were just antisocial. You didn't ask if you weren't asked in turn, and you rarely were asked in turn unless it was someone's business, or they remembered you from somewhere.

Emilia knew Emikk's story because she had encountered him at The Sunken Norwegian, one of the more popular bars on the space elevator's ground promenade and one of both of their favorite haunts. He had been a colonel in the Cipaqoaltan Federation Army tasked with taking Mike-1. When he failed to take it after a full year's worth of fighting, he had been told he was being 'replaced' by a bitter rival. There was a fight, he was charged with assaulting a high-ranking political officer, and he took a corvette and ran. He was wanted in most of Cipaqoaltan space and had been planning on laying low in the Great Void until it blowed over. Instead, his corvette blew up in orbit of Thrawn and he had been stuck here with a bunch of 'fucking apes and beasts' ever since. As the bartender later informed him, he liked to tell that story whenever he got drunk and there were a lot of Cyanians and ex-Cyanians in the bar, just to remind them that he could kill them all if he wanted to.

After several minutes, Emilia was at the front of the line to this old warrior's stall. She looked down at the paper in her hand, then at the sign next to Emikk's stall. Then back at the paper, then back at the sign, then a few repetitions of this, her expression growing more and more nonplussed. She had no eyelids, but rows of lights on her 'eyes' dimmed to green-black to mimic them closely enough.

Finally, she spoke.

"Emikk, you scaly fuck! FIVE thousand for Merinian black marlin? Last week it was three thousand, and the ads you had published this goddamn morning said they were thirty-five hundred!"

"Hey, fuck you, ape - I gotta make ends meet, too! Not my fault nobody wants seafood on a desert planet!" His voice was more gravelly than hiss-like, an unusual feature of Kzarnakans compared to most reptilian races. Or maybe it was just Emikk. Emilia wasn't sure, she hadn't fought many of them before.

"I do, and I'm your best customer! And don't lie to me, I saw you drive out of the Memphis dealership with a brand new speeder yesterday!"

"Well, I'm running low on it, so I gotta keep the price up until I get another shipment!"

"You got a shipment yesterday you reptile-brained scam artist!"

"It's popular!"

"You just-" She held her hand up as if she was about to really start digging into him, then as if she was about to reach for her pistol (and Emikk seemed about to reach for his), but she let it drop and sighed angrily.

"You know what? Fine. Screw it, I don't have time to argue about this. Gimme a Vaprion crawfish po'boy, extra onions, no ketchup, and a large Coco Loco."

"Two thousand thirty." She forked out the necessary payment from her wallet - lightsheets, of course. Unhackable ones - the lightsheets used for 'paper' money were deliberately made too primitive to be hackable. Emikk grunted in approval that she had actually paid him the correct amount, then waved her off. Emilia was all too happy to comply with the unspoken order, as she had one more stop to make, three blocks away. Even in the heat though she didn't go right away of course - it made no sense to get your suit tailored while holding a crustacean sandwich, so she sat down on a park bench and finished it and the can of Coco Loco off, watching with muted amusement as an advertising blimp attempted to drift by overhead, only to repeatedly get stuck between two high-rises before it simply gave up and flew over them.

Nashwar Brphicru was a large chain of apparel run by the Gamirk Clan, a wealthy family of Guicoje - giant intelligent arachnoid aliens that were surprisingly unhairy and un-evil, though they tended to creep some people out anyway. Like the Chaqadiddiks, they were big in the galactic (or at least Cyanian) fashion industry, but they were much more experimental. Naswhar Brphicru was notable in the industry for doing in-building and on-the-spot tailor work for a few thousand credits more than a regular suit. Which was what Emilia was here for - decades of fitted flight suits made her rather uncomfortable in anything not tailor-made for her proportions.

"Come in, come in," said a green Guicoje in a sing-song voice. "Ah! Emilia, lovely to see you again, just lovely, your dress blues are always such a joy to work with, such agreeable fabric, so well-behaved, I almost wish you got it damaged more often - no offense, of course."

"None taken, but I just need a regular suit this time, Acerev."

"Naturally, natürlich, prirodzene, tōzen! Any preference for color?"

Emilia thought for a minute before shrugging. "You're the tailor." The giant arachnid grinned, as much as an arachnid can grin, and six chopstick-like three fingered 'hands' went to work.

Not fifteen minutes later, Emilia's bank account was thirty thousand lighter but she was decked out in a true blue suit with a single-breasted blazer and golden yellow shirt. Despite all the layers, thanks to Guicojean silk it was light, breathable, and strong - possibly bulletproof, but most wouldn't dare risk damaging a suit of Guicojean silk so. Sure it was hot with it on, but compared to Trerian handsilk, cotton, or wool it was like wearing as little as she had on before. It was comfortable enough that she decided to just walk to her destination on the other side of the promenade, a journey that took a mere twenty minutes. And, bonus, she wasn't even remotely sweaty by the time she got there.

The Ugly Dekling was the name of the facility. Like the Sunken Norwegian, it was a bar, however for a spaceport bar it looked strangely out of place, creepy, and rarely visited. Ironically, this made it a very safe bar to visit, and to hold meetings in. Perhaps it was deliberate. It was also the largest and most expensive bar on the ground, taking up two floors. It was more of a tavern, really, but it had no sleeping quarters so a bar it was.

Emilia pushed open the door to the bar (Swinging wooden saloon doors! What is this, the gunpowder age?) and looked around. The Dekling was dekced out like an ancient hunter's trophy room, except with a lot more alien species. And duck plates. So goddamn many commemorative plates with ducks on 'em. Normally such a plate would look downright cozy, but the sheer out-of-placeness of the Ugly Dekling, the fact that the lighting would regularly just shut down for no reason, and every taxidermied animal having been done slightly wrong dropped it straight into concerning-ness. The bartender, a human by the name of Bruno King (who looked a bit like a Korvash with all the hair) was certainly a weird one. Friendly, but weird.

"Yo, Emilia!"

"Yo, Bruno. So you got any idea what this's about?"

He shrugged. "Some guy from the Empire wants to talk to ya, 'n a buncha others. He's in the loft."

The 'loft' was a half-circle shaped raised platform in the back of the part of the bar open to the public. It had a smaller bar attached to it, it had the biggest, plushest, backless chaise lounges, and it had the fewest tables. It was also invite-only.

After being let up the stairs by one of the bouncers, it didn't take very long at all for the Freyan human to spot who she was supposed to talk to. A male Taurian in a plain black suit. His square bodybuilder frame, dark grey skin, and massive horns made him look almost demonic. He spotted her almost as soon as she spotted him, and waved her over.

"Ah, so you're the person with the job. I-"

"Not yet," he almost grunted out. "Wait for the others."

Emilia opened her mouth to complain, then opted to instead help herself to the plate of tea sandwiches and cheese-crackers on the coffee table that filled the space between the semicircle of chaise lounges nearest the loft guardrail. Prosthetics she may have had, but Taurians were built like dreadnoughts, and she didn't fancy arguing with a species known for responding to insults with fists that could bench press a tank. So she waited.
The Holy Roman Empire of Karlsland (MT/FanT & FT/FanT)
THE Strike Witches NationState
Best thread ever.|SPACE!
MT Factbook/FT Factbook|Embassy|Q&A
On Karlsland Witch Doctrine:
Hladgos wrote:Scantly clad women, more like tanks
seem to be blowing up everyones banks
with airstrikes from girls with wings to their knees
which show a bit more than just their panties

Questers wrote:
Rupudska wrote:So do you fight with AK-47s or something even more primitive? Since I doubt any economy could reasonably sustain itself that way.
Presumably they use advanced technology like STRIKE WITCHES

User avatar
Backatri
Envoy
 
Posts: 228
Founded: Mar 09, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Postby Backatri » Mon Mar 05, 2018 3:49 pm

2 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT

SOL-The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists moves doomsday clock one minute closer to Midnight as CyIntel commissions new fleet of cruisers, to be deployed as early as next year. With tensions boiling as the Three Powers refuse to collaborate on issues such as piracy, trade tariffs, and the like, prompting commentators to speculate on the prospect of a Galactic War not seen since the Fall of Rheim.

High Admiral Chett Bailiwick claims that the new fleet is a revolution in spacecraft building technology, allowing new ships to be created in a matter of months rather than years. High Admiral Bailiwick is optimistic, claiming...


The transport docked. Gerald Gurthie stopped reading the article, the latest exclusive from the Cyanian Sentinel. He grabbed his luggage and exited, gliding through the crowd that always amassed when a passenger ship arrived in port. Dodging the early formations of street performers, merchants, and befuddled tourists, Gurthie was most likely the first on his ship to reach an elevator. As he entered into a small elevator designed for people rather than cargo, he found himself alone, ahead of a horde of people all vying for a place in the elevator. Gurthie began hitting the 'close door' button.

By the second push, the doors began their journey to meet each other in the middle. By the fifteenth push, one of the many species from Cipa stepped onto the platform. Guthrie didn't mind. By the thirtieth push, the doors embraced, and the elevator hurled itself towards the surface. Gentle Muzak began to float over the elevator as the two passengers regarded each other in silence.

The Cipa muttered something in its native tongue.

Gurthie replied in common: "So was your mother"

It was a immensely weak comeback, but Gurthie wasn't about wit. Merely knowing the language of the Cipa could disarm them, shocking them back into silence when the started to espouse the merits of being reptilian. It wasn't as if Gurthie was nervous. The right pocket of his otherwise unmarred linen pants led into a hip holster, containing a subcompact laser pistol. It would give him a fair fighting chance against the lizard before him.

Other than the sound of Muzak, the remainder of the elevator ride was silent. The two disembarked simultaneously, pushing apart from each other like a spring. Gurthie, despite his attempts to look natural, assumed the natural sneakiness of a spy as he moved through Jinbe, rationalizing that he was avoiding muggers and murderers. It wasn't easy to remain hidden, as the whiteness of his linen suit, replete with a white tie and pocket square stood in stark contrast to the cold grey steel of the buildings next to him.

As the stifling heat became more apparent to him, he thanked himself that he chose linen. It wasn't the coolest of fabrics, but it did the job well enough. Gurtie began to perspire slightly more as he thought. Maybe not well enough. As his head began to spin in the unfamiliar heat, he wisely stepped into the tunnels of Jinbe.

Constructed for tourists such as himself, the tunnels were cooled, and passed along every building, allowing entrances without the need for heat. It was still hot, maybe 30 degrees, but if was heaven compared to the street. Gurthie found his stop, a peculiar bar, and entered. The bartender jumped as a man in a linen suit materialized form the earth, but calmed down as Gurthie moved up the stairs. A Taurian boomed as he ascended the stairs.

Wait for the others.


"I am one", said Gurthie in a quiet tone as he took a seat near the back of the room.
Card Carrying Member of the adhouse|Proud Member of the GIA

User avatar
Holy Lykos
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1610
Founded: May 01, 2016
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Holy Lykos » Mon Mar 05, 2018 5:30 pm

A deep breath of the desert-dry air, followed by a cough. A large, paw-like hand coming up to make sure her breathing device was in place. These were the first two things Nevenha could remember of the day as the haze of sleep and after affects of alcohol faded. Human booze always left her gut feeling off. Something about the way they made the stuff was reminiscent of sewage to her. Or maybe she had just gotten shit quality drinks last night. Probably the latter, given how much of a backwater this was.

As she sat herself up in the bed, Nev worked at stretching out all of her limbs one at a time. Dinky motel couldn't afford good booze or beds. Her joints were stiffened to all hell. If she wasn't getting tired of her own vessel's cockpit, she would have juat slept there all night.

But she needed the chance to lay out and stretch her legs. So the dinky bed had sufficed. Hopefully whoever this job was for would provide an actually quality bed. Or at least the money for her to buy a vacation and hole up on some vacation planet for a month or so. Maybe a volcano planet. The smog and ash would feel pretty damn lovely on her fur, Nevenha figured. Or maybe some small time place needed some frontier justice dealt. Of course, she'd need the freedom of captaincy and out from under the imperial boot if she wanted to just blast off into the void on her own again.

Nevenha had quite early on in this job as a privateer realized it was the little things you missed most while being a workhorse for the Empire. Like a nice bed. Like being near family. Like being able to smash people's heads in if they bothered you.

You know, The little things.


A glance towards the clock on the wall told Nevenha she had woken up a smidge later than she'd intended. About an hour later in fact. She threw together her normal gear, armor and all, and pushed her way put the door with no small difficulty. Human sized doors didn't exactly agree with most nemausae.

She only left the door frame slightly out of shape, luckily!

While the desert heat of Jinbe might have been sweltering to humans, the nemausae privateer Nevenha found it rather chilly actually. Most planets were. She pulled her cloak tight and made her way to the place she vaguely remembered might be the correct place to meet.

Maybe.

Her first guess did turn out to be correct, luckily. The large feline shouldered her way through the door, only stopping to bat at the swinging door with her lower right hand out of brief amusement, before heading over to order some food and booze. Preferably meat and something heavy, respectively. And a lot of both.

She grunted a greeting to the taurian and few humans already collected, guessing the giant, four armed being who's species was known to be hired for heavy and wetwork would probably be hired for something like this and thus they could assume she was there for them too.

But first she had some food to eat. And a nemausa eating was not the most comforting sight for species with ancestral predators similar to such a feline. Like humans, for instance.
Agender - They/Them pronouns
Pansexual Polyamorous
Autistic
Agnostic
Anarcho-Syndicalist
Comp Sci Major
History Enthusiast
Furry

Some Political Charts: 1 2
Official Squirrel
of
Personification Life


I wear teal, blue, pink for Swith

User avatar
Nachfolgia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6649
Founded: Jan 19, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Nachfolgia » Mon Mar 05, 2018 6:16 pm

A small Cyanian transport docked in the port and after a few moments, the doors opened. A mixed assortment of humans stepped off the ship and went their separate ways, disappearing into the large crowds. The last one to get off was a lone Lustriean, standing just over 6 feet tall.

The purple skinned humanoid wore only a lab coat and carried a single bag, much to the surprise of the various species in the port. The tailed humanoid, Azarea, looked around in wander at the port. She had never seen such intricate and advanced technology and buildings. Azarea was a long way from Lustriea and she couldn't be happier.

She loved learning and experience the modern universe with her own eyes. First it was traveling through space for the first time and now it was visiting a new planet and a new and more advanced city. This was all exciting for her and somewhat overwhelming. Feeling the mixed emotions of the hundreds of people nearby, Azarea starting becoming anxious. She tried shaking the feeling and started walking to her destination.

It took Azarea some time to reach the bar where she was meeting for the job. It was a mixture of getting lost and wandering off to explore. She wanted to see much of the port before departing, causing her to walk around aimlessly around the city. Eventually, Azarea made it to the meeting place, a bar called The Ugly Derkling. When she walked inside, the Lustriean was met with horror.

On every wall was mounted heads of various alien species. As a Lustriean, Azarea had a deep connection with the natural world and respect for all walks of life. What she saw caused her physical pain. Covering her eyes, she quickly asked the bartender who she was and where was the meeting. He told her that the meeting was up in the loft to which Azarea thanked him and practically ran upstairs, avoiding eye contact with the mounts.

Azarea opened the door to the loft and peaked through her hands that were covering her eyes. Through the small opening, she spotted a couple people that was already there, and luckily, the room didn't have any mounted heads or pelts decorating it. Azarea quickly stood up straight and smiled at the strangers. " Hello everyone! I am Dr. Azarea Yu' Kharka!" The scantily clad Lustriean said with a pleasant smile.

Military Factbook
The best damn alliance to ever grace NS
Strike witches


Accomplished Member of the The Age Of Neophytos RP Group

User avatar
Drakmah
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1370
Founded: Mar 14, 2014
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Drakmah » Mon Mar 05, 2018 10:22 pm

Spaceport - Thrawn B

One of the advantages of having a criminal history, even if you did detest every second of it, is that you always know how to find people. They exist on every station, in every city, and if the spaceship is big enough, then people can be found there too. These people have inventory, things that they might not want the local authorities knowing about, and if you have the money, they will sell those things to you, so long as you don’t have a reputation of being a snitch. It was one of these people the Caesu was going to meet, away from prying eyes. The echo of his feet striking the metal floor was drowned out only by the sound of the large metal fans that were operating nearby. He was in the ventilation sector of the space station, and for good reason, as the loud rotary fans would mask any devious exchanges that might happen here. He was alone, and at the moment wasn’t even sure where he was going. He would walk, and eventually he would receive directions. It was how these things worked, as these people tended to be jumpy.

Keep going for 20 more feet, then take the maintenance ladder down into the ducts.
Close the door above you when you go down and leave any weapons at the top.
You’ll be leaving out the way you entered, so you’ll be able to get them on your way out.
Do not test me, I will kill you if you bring anything down here.


The message appeared in the top left corner of his vision, and after reading it he minimized it into his inbox. One of the advantages to not having organic eyes was that you could install a number of augmentations that otherwise would have included a very painful surgery. Following the directions, he came to the described hatch, and preceded to remove the unloaded energy pistol from his back pocket. He had no plans on using it, but he knew his seller was watching him. Even if you didn’t have any weapons, that was often a hard thing to explain to someone, and so whenever he met someone he always carried around something to leave at the entrance so that no one would get jumpy. His dud weapon placed on the ground, he hauled open the hatch and entered into the shaft. It wasn’t a long way down, and the difference in temperature was noticeable, however he ignored the increased heat and pushed on.

“That's far enough.” Came a voice, the owner of it stepping from the shadows of the small duct. He was masked, as they always were, and went straight to business.

“Three industrial thermal cyclers…” The man began, pausing as he looked at Caesu’s small frame. “What the fuck do you need with industrial thermal cyclers?”

“I believe common courtesy is to not ask questions, so long as payment is provided.” Caesu responded, doing his best to keep his head angled, as to not show his optical sensors to the seller.

“Fair enough, then provide the payment and I won’t make you answer.” The seller said in turn, mimicking the smaller man’s choice of words. Caesu nodded and removed a plastic box from underneath his hoodie. It had been strapped to his back, and needed only to be unclipped. Having removed it, he opened the clasp, removed the lightsheets, and handed the large stack to the seller.

“Count it, it’s all there.” He said, holding the box open so that he could store the product inside of it. The masked man skimmed through the lightsheets before nodding, his hand quickly and awkwardly forking forward to give Caesu what he purchased. Taking the industrial thermal cyclers, he placed them into the plastic box and closed it, then strapped it back where it had been originally.

By now, the transactions was over, and there was no point in pleasantries. Caesu turned around, headed back up the latter, collected his unloaded pistol, and went on his way. Taking the long way out of the ventilation sector, he used a map that he had payed to have unlocked for him at an informational center, one that provided directions around the less touristy areas. Reaching the end of the metal hallway he was in, he poked his head out into one of the main walkways, looking in both directions before stepping out and melding into the crowd. The space station was rather large, taking the slender man almost an hour to make his way back to the small cove where he was staying. It wasn’t much, but it was cheap, and so long as you paid you would be left alone. Privacy was an interesting commodity. You could find it anywhere if you knew where to look, but you could never be 100% sure you were getting what you paid for, as there were always prying eyes if someone with your face or your name had enough money.

Reaching the apartment complex, he swiped his wrist over the scanner and entered in. His location would have been tracked in and out, but he gave a fake name for the establishment to put in their system. Always better to be safe than sorry when the Cyanian government was hunting you. Turning through a few hallways, it wasn’t long before he was back in his room. Here, he could actually use what he had purchased, the industrial thermal cyclers. Taking them out of the plastic box, he left one on what the apartment passed off for a bed, and then packed the other two as well as the box away in his backpack. The one on his bed he then picked up, and held in his hand as he kneeled on the floor. He removed his hoodie, as well as the tank top that was under it, as those would only get in the way.

Issuing the command through his neural uplink, he waited as his cybernetics to decompressed, small hatches opening where his skin plates were so that air could be pushed through them. The scene was almost akin to when a larger robot needed to vent heat, with the airstream coming from him looking similar to smoke. Once done, the skin plate across from his heart opened up, and he took the industrial thermal cycler and inserted into the unoccupied port that was located under the revealed plate. This thermal cycler, normally used for larger equipment that took advantage of thermal technology, was used to cool the unit and keep the temperatures at non-critical levels. While he wasn’t an industrial grade thermal machine, nor did he need cycling, the cylinder shaped object could be slowly consumed by the cybernetics in his body in order to stay cool. Under normal circumstances this would be unnecessary, however the city that he would be visiting below was well known for being very hot, and so this was a precaution that he was willing to pay for in order to keep not only the metal and wires cool, but what human flesh remained cool as well.

Once the thermal cycler was situated, he issued the reboot command, and the skin plates slowly closed all across his body. He stayed kneeled until the cycler was rotated and engaged, a chilly feeling rolling through his body as the piece of technology did its work. He smiled as it did, and quickly put his clothes back on. The whole ordeal was not likely to draw too much attention, however if the heat was worse than anticipated and he needed to do a flash cool, he would want to be alone as to not draw attention to the amount of steam that would escape through his pores. The visibility of the steam would be exacerbated by the vents low temperatures and the airs high temperatures, and that was something he didn’t need others seeing. From there he loaded up the rest of his belongings into the small backpack before slinging it across his back and venturing out from the small room.

The apartment was already paid for, and so having nothing else to do but travel to the surface, he made his way towards the elevator. The walk was, again, a long one, but he used this time to watch around him and look into the kinds of things that were going on at the spaceport. He passed people lined up outside of nightclubs, people of varying levels of happiness inside of a bar with transparent walls, and the number of shopkeepers would stood outside their stores trying to attract customers. This urbanized environment was something that he was used to, and one that he had spent large amounts of time wandering around in the past. People always had an angle, from the obvious ones trying to sell you things to the more subtle ones offering to buy you a drink. It was something that Caesu liked to avoid, as he was never sure that his personality was strong enough to resist someone proficient in such charismatic arts. Being that it was before midnight, the spaceport was alive with activity, and as he approached the elevator he decided that such activity was spilling over into the city of Jinbe as well.

Jinbe

The lines for the elevators were long, but said elevators were equally efficient, and it wasn’t long before the mass of people cleared out enough for Caesu to find a spot riding down to the surface. As he descended, he began to feel the temperature rise, and so he slowly upped the output of his newly acquired cycler at an equal pace. By the time the doors opened planetside, the electronics were running steadily to match the heat of the air. People filed out, and Caesu followed, until he stood on the platform in Jinbe. Pulling his hood down just a bit more, he followed the crowd, detaching from them as they dispersed into the city. The hood wasn’t as much for himself as it was for others. Trying to explain his optical sensors to a startled tourist was futile, but that didn’t stop them from staring at him and asking. Because of this, he tended to wear his hood in public, but once he made his way into the less occupied parts of the city, he let it fall down.

From here he had two options. The first was to take the tunnels. They were cooled, but that wasn’t an issue for him, and they were constructed for people to walk through. Alternatively, he could make his way in a similar direction, but above ground. It would be more out of the way, but he wouldn’t have to be inside of pedestrian areas. Seeing as he had more time than he needed to reach his destination, he opted for the second choice, travelling above the tunnels towards where he had been told to meet. It took him awhile, but he was able to make the trip with his hood down, and without running into trouble. He hadn’t expected to run into any, but when you assure yourself that you’ll be fine, that's normally when you get taken by surprise.

While the bar he was travelling to was quite out of the way, there was enough foot traffic for him to slip his hood up once more as he drew closer. He kept his head down, glancing up when he needed to make a directional decision. Before long, he found himself outside of the entrance to the “Ugly Dekling”, an overly large bar that would supposedly serve as the meeting place for this hiring service. Standing off to the side for a moment, he took a deep breath before heading inside, pushing the odd, swinging doors open just in time to see a feminine, purple humanoid dashing up the stairs. While the term ‘wide eyed’ wouldn’t technically apply to him, Caesu did stand there for a second before approaching the man at the counter.

“I ah... Assume the meeting is up there?” He asked, affording him a quick glance as he pointed to the stairs he had just been watching. He received a nod, and so he slowly turned to ascend the steps, careful to give whoever was dashing ahead of him ample time to settle themselves. When he reached the top, he saw that there were several people who had already arrived. That was good, for him at least, as arriving in the middle of the pack would mean that he hadn’t been trapped into small talk with the one or two people who arrived after him, while also not coming last, which would have set a nasty little precedent that he would rather avoid. The purple woman from before was still introducing herself, while two people were congregating over by the small table of food. One of those people was an alien species, which looked to be a giant feline, that he had never seen before, something he also expected the purple woman to be as well. The other was human, with a second human male having also settled in the back of the room. Finally, there was a Taurian in the middle, however Caesu doubted he was here for the job. Rather, at least by the look on his face, he seemed to be the one organizing the meeting.

Seeing as there was seating over by where the food was placed out, Caesu made his way over there, passing around the white coated purple woman and settling down. Close enough for conversation, but far enough away not to hit anyone with his elbows, he removed his sweatshirt and let it fall behind him. A soft puff of cold air spouted from the skin plates on his shoulders in response to the change in clothing, as his tank top didn’t cover his arms. His outer layer tucked behind him, he reached out to grab a small piece of food, using the time to glance at all those who were in the room.
Quazin the Great wrote:Rules
9. Title stuff so Drakmah doesn't burst into flame. This rule may not matter because Drakmah
has grown old and tired and no longer trifles with such inflammatory conduct.

☠ Just your friendly neighborhood Necromancer

R.I.P. Tony the Possum - May 29th, 2017

User avatar
Nature-Spirits
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10984
Founded: Feb 25, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Nature-Spirits » Tue Mar 06, 2018 12:59 am

Rodan gently shook the salt packet into her glass of water, and stirred it with a long, slender spoon. The employees at the café she was sitting in had been sceptical when she'd asked for salt with her water, but she'd been insistent. It reminded her of home.

Salt. She wondered where this particular salt came from. Had it been harvested, perhaps, on her very own planet? She shook her head and smiled to herself; surely not. There were closer sources of it to Thrawn B7 than where she'd come from. What, then, was the story of this packet of salt, slowly dissolving in her water? Who had harvested it? Had it come from the sea, or from the ground? Who reaped the profits of its sale?

She took a sip of the saltwater. Delicious. Not quite the same as she'd grown up drinking, but good nevertheless.

She checked the time. She'd have to be leaving soon. Once she finished her water, she stood, and emerged into the bright, hot sunlight. "!ola," she intoned slowly, an expression of displeasure. Rodan was unused to such weather. Her mocha-coloured skin quickly moistened, though, to compensate for the desert conditions -- not with sweat, but with a slick, one might say gelatinous layer of moisture. It was a deliberately-engineered quirk of the humans bred to be labourers on Yozat Group worlds, one that she hadn't realised until her flight from the planet was not shared by most humans. Her pair of dark purple, almost tentacle-like tails kept close to her legs, swaying back and forth gently to keep cool.

Rodan walked down the dusty street towards her destination, a bar named The Ugly Dekling. She adjusted the black jacket she was wearing over a lightweight, orange blouse, and smoothed down the front of her black pants. It was a short walk, only about 20 minutes, so she soon found herself outside of the large bar, and stepped inside.

It was cooler within than it had been outside, and her skin rapidly dried, the liquid evaporating within seconds. She fixed her hair, a dark red pixie cut, and glanced around. Soon, her gaze alighted upon a Taurian sitting in a raised platform at the back of the room, with a small contingent of people gathering around it. She figured that this was her new employer. After briefly speaking with the bouncer, he led her up to join them, and she sat on one of the chaise longues, doing her best to look comfortable and relaxed. Her past experience attending meetings with Yozat administrators helped.
I wear teal, blue & pink for Swith.
P2TM Translation Service Thread
A Proud Portal Nationalist
The P2TM Depot – for all your RPing needs

Cosplaying as a Posadist | LOVEWHOYOUARE~ | Kinky Syndicalist

User avatar
The Burning Sun
Senator
 
Posts: 3804
Founded: Sep 15, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby The Burning Sun » Tue Mar 06, 2018 4:44 pm

The once-great princess looked at the screen and groaned.

"I have to go there?"

In front of her hovered a dirty brown sphere labeled 'Thrawn B7'. It reminded her of the kind of tasteless slop she had seen peddled in the underhives of impoverished Cyanian worlds, a comparison only strengthened by the dozens of holo-adverts swarming the docking ports. They advertised bars that looked like they had been lifted straight out of a warzone, drug dens that were probably responsible for half the galaxy's diseases, and other revolting establishments she couldn't even stomach looking at, if such wretched hives of scum and villainy even deserved the term 'establishments'. Something like 'garbage heap' might even be too generous. Normally, the only reason she would ever be in orbit of a planet like this would be to oversee its complete and utter destruction. Normally, she wouldn't be in a half-finished experimental corvette running dry on fuel and on the run from the Cyanian Empire, but these clearly weren't normal times for Princess-Regent Kaguya no Kusakabe. And that, unfortunately, meant…

"I'm afraid so, mistress." The soft tones of her AI companion almost sounded pitying. "The instructions were to meet up with several others at the Ugly Dekling, Luxury Quarter, Jinbe."

Kaguya scowled. "There's no way I'm going down there. I'll catch the plague or something. Some lunatic is going to end up shooting me and mounting my head on his wall, I just know it." She glared at the planet in front of her, wishing it would just go away. It didn't. She knew that no amount of wishful thinking would change the fact that the Last Sanctuary had to refuel here and that the Imperials chasing her apparently knew that. The offer of amnesty was generous, as was the accompanying threat: "we know you are here, and we know you can't escape. Take this job or else."

She sighed, drumming her fingers on the edge of the grav-bier supporting her. Perhaps she could send a drone and have the AI conduct the meeting for her? It was possible, but the ship's computer could barely hold a conversation as it was now. She couldn't really imagine it handling a situation as unorthodox as this. Although...

"Computer?"

"Yes?" it replied.

"Those maintenance drones in the hallway - how far away from the ship can they go? And is it possible to reprogram those infuriating voice modules?"

The computer whirred for a second. "The maximum theoretical range of the RMBA-9 Maintenance Drone is approximately 27.3 kilometers. Although their vocalization programs come with several default greetings installed, it is possible to alter or replace them. With its current download speed, this can be completed in approximately 0.00785 seconds. Would you like to replace the standard greeting?"

Finally. Something was going her way.


As it turned out, piloting a maintenance drone that was never intended to be piloted could be surprisingly difficult, even without the constant attempts by natives to grab it for themselves. Luckily, the ones doing the grabbing also seemed to be the ones too poor to afford any weaponry capable of actually disabling it, so for the most party Kaguya's impromptu emissary simply floated above the crowd. The Princess-Regent herself was securely cloistered in her ship as it was refueled, and with the help of the ship's AI she had managed to set up a simple data stream connecting the drone's vocalizer with the microphone in the comms station. Strangely enough, the drone itself turned out to have been fully equipped with high definition cameras and a full audio detection suite. They hadn't been connected to anything, but Kaguya couldn't help but wonder if that was how she had been tracked to Thrawn B7. Regardless, they proved invaluable for navigating the city streets, and before long she found herself outside of the The Ugly Dekling. Actually getting the drone through the door proved to be an unexpectedly interesting undertaking, as was calming down the understandably enraged security guard, but in her mind it was worth it to see the faces of the other patrons as the lamp-sized hunk of metal glided the length of the pseudo-establishment and came to a halt in the reserved area indicated in the message.
"All that we see or seem/Is but a dream within a dream" - Poe
TBS, M.D | Founder of the Mechanics' Guild | EST 9-9
because my self-esteem is so low
TriStates wrote:+100 Tri-Points
Khasinkonia wrote:
The Burning Sun wrote:I posted. Just in case it gets buried by the depressing duo over there.

I award you ten points for the nickname. Which will buy you...
more posts from the duo
Royal Brownie PointsTM
Atlannia wrote:Mmm it's not looking good I'm afraid, the purple haired goth loli next to a sweatervest wearing bishonen portends financial strife and the double archery chick is a rare sign predicting the death of someone close to you, I'm sorry.
...
That'll be $32.99
All the logic

User avatar
The Knockout Gun Gals
Senator
 
Posts: 4402
Founded: Aug 06, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby The Knockout Gun Gals » Thu Mar 08, 2018 12:07 am

Jennifer Warden, Thrawn B7

Yeah, okay. This planet is definitely not into her liking, but beggars can't choose planets. This Jinbe city, it's fun for her, but it's too bad it's not enough for her taste. All of her money that she collected from the nasty previous job that involved deaths, data-collecting, and more deaths was certainly an experience of a lifetime. One that she didn't enjoy at all. She lived in a luxurious motel (if you can call an above-average breakfast selections and a nice and comfy bed luxurious). She'd able to afford it, but she needed job or else she would wasted all those money on this one motel. And shops. And keeping her head low.

She moved outside, belly full of the omelets, the oatmeals, the whatever those green-ish liquid soup. And coffee. Black or not black, still coffee. She hailed the taxi cab, the AI-driven, and headed straight to this bar. The Ugly Dekling. Very empty, from the looks of inside the bar. She went to the loft, at the upper floor. Turned out there were others here, earlier.

"Ah, new friends for this job? As long as the fee's fine, I'll be fine," she muttered about it. And went to the small selection of drinks for another cup of coffee. A black, strong, with ice.
The Knockout Gun Gals wrote:
TriStates wrote:Covenant declare a crusade, and wage jihad against the UNSC and Insurrectionists for 30 years.

So Covenant declare a crusade and then wage jihad? :p

User avatar
Pax Nerdvana
Negotiator
 
Posts: 7470
Founded: May 22, 2017
Corporate Bordello

Postby Pax Nerdvana » Thu Mar 08, 2018 10:26 am

James Dawson
-Thrawn B7

James Dawson woke up in his motel room. It wasn't a particularly nice place, but it was nice compared to the sleeping arrangements on his last job. He had a rendezvous to make at a local spaceport bar. He clambered out of his bed, his cybernetic limbs clanking. His left foot thumped rather loudly on the floor. He pulled on his right boot. He double checked it to make sure his knife was still in the boot, which it was. He was already wearing a shirt and pants, so he walked over to where he had set his duffel the night before. He opened it, and pulled out his armor, which could serve as a spacesuit.
He didn't really need armor for the left side of his body, but he still had it. He pulled on the legs of the suit, which sealed with his right boot, and his left leg. Than he put on the chest-plate, which formed a seal with the legs of the suit. He repeated the process with his arm armor and the gloves. He reached into the duffle, and pulled out his helmet. He slid the helmet onto his head, leaving the faceplate up.

He zipped up the duffel, and carried it over to the door. He grabbed his other bag, which contained his arsenal and equipment. He opened it up, and pulled a holstered handgun out of it. He locked it onto his belt. The handgun was a .50 caliber, with a 12 round capacity. It was semi-automatic. He dug through the bag to make sure he had everything. His arsenal included a blaster carbine, which was a little larger than his handgun, a plasma carbine, which was his largest gun, a ballistic SMG, a sawed off ballistic shotgun, and various grenades and explosives. He also pulled out a sheathed combat knife and clipped that to his belt as well.

He slung his arsenal bag over his shoulder, and picked up his other duffel bag. He was on the bottom floor of the motel, so he didn't have to go to far. On his way out, he refilled his belt canteen. He didn't need to eat food anymore due to not having many organs left, but he still needed water. He walked the thousand yards down to the spaceport and found the bar. He walked in and took a seat with the group of people.
Patriotic centrist American, who is vaguely right leaning. I support the Bill of Rights. I have no loyalty to any party. Expand or die. That's how humanity works. Science fiction is the best genre. The solar system is ours for the taking. I am a male. You can't spell team without "me". I support the troops.
Call me Pax. Bayformers/Energon are simply horrid.
Copy and paste this into your sig if you think we should colonize other planets.
( -_-) (-_Q) If you understand that both Capitalism and Socialism have ideas that deserve merit, put this in your signature.
Quotes
Pro:Bill of Rights,gun rights,centrism,capitalism,socialism,space exploration,Christianity
Anti: Trump,Clinton,Johnson,Green,fascism,Communism,big business

User avatar
Rupudska
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 19936
Founded: Sep 16, 2010
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Rupudska » Fri Mar 09, 2018 6:20 pm

Time passed, and more individuals came into the loft, no doubt for the same job position (or at least, the same team) that Emilia had came here for. To her great surprise, most of them were human. Sure, birds of a feather, but no-one had said anything to her about the species of the employer, let alone the ship's crew, and the 'employer' here was clearly not a human. She hadn't seen this many in one place since that Stowaway enclave on Xin-Shanghai's northern continent, and even then there were a greater percentage of aliens there than here.

Nice, but untrusting of outsiders. She tried to no avail to get their Shanghai Xun Yu recipe. There was just nothing like good seafood, and that included good Chinese seafood not polluted to high heaven with MSGs or with the odd metallic taste all fish raised on Mars seemed to have. Or the regret of blowing six digits on Europan fish.

It was about twenty minutes by Emilia's internal clock before the Taurian finally stood up.

"He is here. Follow me." Without waiting for a response, the Taurian headed for the back door of the loft, which lead to what was emphatically called by absolutely no-one except Bruno himself the 'Secret Room'. A stupid cliche name for a stupid cliche secret conference room, at least it was decorated tastefully - Black walnut walls above a deep burgundy carpet, with bright red chairs surrounding a long table in an even darker ebony-like wood that seemed to suck the light out of the well-lit room.

At the table's far end was a man in the characteristic black suit, black shirt, white tie of CyIntel. A spook - Emilia hated him already and he hadn't so much as moved, let alone open his foul spook maw. She immediately concluded this would not be as easy an easy money job as she had been informed, and would have turned then and there had she not already seen in writing that the payout was enough to buy an entire system. The man oozed cryptic, which helped matters less, and smelled of Durhurian tobacco cigars and French cognac - which he had a bottle of, because of course he did. A glass was seated in front of every chair, as well as a bit of whatever the seated person's favorite meal was - cognac wasn't in all the glasses but it was in a lot of them, the rest had whatever liquor went best with it. Real expensive shit, and saved the trouble of getting nametags. For her it was Freyran blackneck snapper, lobster tails, and fried plantain balls with cheese and a glass of blackstrap rum. She suspected it was alcoholic, and the man expected them to just inject themselves with an alcohol neutralizer before takeoff.

The man's cup, her own, and one Asian-looking human female's cup all had their family crest on it. That meant the man and the human female was a noble, probably by birth. Emilia too was a noble, technically, as she had made Major before being thrown out of the Navy on her ass - of course they could take her out of the Navy but only the Emperor had the right to revoke noble status. Which Emilia had pointedly not taken advantage of, because every noble she had met was either spineless or a prick. Hers a red shield with a black chevron, below a boar and above an arm holding a sword, with antlers on top. The man's, a crowned serpent on an erminois field supported by a pair of sphinxes, with a crowned crow on top.

"Welcome," he said, gesturing for them to sit. The order was implied, not given - which meant this guy was high up on the food chain of nobility, as if the erminos wasn't evidence enough to the trained eye.

"I hope you don't expect me to kiss any rings," she muttered. The man cracked a wry smile. A wry smile. Only nobles had that kind of smile!

"There is no need, but introductions are necessary here. I am Ser Josef Broden, and for the purposes of this mission I will be the commanding officer."

"Well, I'm Emilia Jorgeir, and I'm an alcoholic."

The knighted noble shot her a look, and Emilia suddenly found the grain patterns of the table incredibly interesting.

"As you all are aware, your job is to escort a cargo ship across the galaxy. The ship is the RMS Isaac", he said, pressing a button to reveal a simple wireframe projection of the ship in the middle of the table about a meter long. "A heavily modified Class-G cargo ship of the Reliant-class, she has state of the art sensors, weaponry, and shielding to protect herself from the dangers of this mission."

Boy, 'state of the art', where have I heard that oh so many times before?

Little two-dimensional holograms popped up to display details of the ship as he went over the legal nitty-gritty details of the contract - mostly non-disclosure agreements, stuff about how yes, this was a CyIntel op and they really didn't want people knowing that. Frankly the details on the Isaac were much more interesting. Battlecruiser-grade ablative armor, a hangar large enough for three times the ships they had and then some, replicators capable of every food under the rainbow (but not enough space on the ship to last the entire trip without restocking, ironically), a pocket dimension cargo bay, flechette drones, and a trio of thermonuclear driller missile launchers, just in case they needed to blow up a few asteroids.

"Lastly, under no circumstances are any of you to enter the main cargo bay without the express permission of the Captain, and he must gain permission from the Lord High Admiral."

Now that was unusual. The Lord High Admiral was the commander of the entire Imperial Navy - not CyIntel's naval branch, not the First Fleet, the whole thing. The pay and pardon was starting to make sense. If she remembered correctly the current LHA was Ser Edward Mattis, who was briefly the commanding officer of the Triangle where New Rhodesia was - she hadn't met him, but she had been at an officer's ball where he had been. He looked like a fantasy holonovel dwarf, only as tall as a regular human. Not a bad guy from what she'd heard.

"The Isaac leaves in one hour. The captain you've already met, Mr. Obadiah Arrow," he said, gesturing to the Taurian, who gave a small bow. "The crew you can meet along the way, but Reliants are automated enough that, as long as they have a captain, they can function well enough on their own."

So there's no reason to care,
was the unspoken addendum. Well screw that.

"You are dismissed. Any further questions, you may ask Mr. Arrow."
The Holy Roman Empire of Karlsland (MT/FanT & FT/FanT)
THE Strike Witches NationState
Best thread ever.|SPACE!
MT Factbook/FT Factbook|Embassy|Q&A
On Karlsland Witch Doctrine:
Hladgos wrote:Scantly clad women, more like tanks
seem to be blowing up everyones banks
with airstrikes from girls with wings to their knees
which show a bit more than just their panties

Questers wrote:
Rupudska wrote:So do you fight with AK-47s or something even more primitive? Since I doubt any economy could reasonably sustain itself that way.
Presumably they use advanced technology like STRIKE WITCHES

User avatar
Nachfolgia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6649
Founded: Jan 19, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Nachfolgia » Sat Mar 10, 2018 3:18 pm

Azarea got up with the rest of the group and followed the man to a dimly lit back room. Inside the room was a large wooden table with several chairs placed around it. Food and drink was placed in front of each chair. Thanks to her species' natural night vision, Azarea could see clearly as if it was day and immediately spotted the man at the head of the table. He was an older gentleman, dressed as if he was the richest person in the port. He gave off a presence that made Azarea feel uncomfortable, but she decided to sit down with the rest of the group.

As soon as Azarea sat down in her seat, she spotted what her meal was. It was salad made from the leaves of the Weeping Oothroil toped with Kririn Berries and meat from the Droogat. The smell from the glass suggested it was filled with alcohol made from fermented Stink Juniper, horrible smelling to most except Lustrieans. The glow from Azarea's bioluminescence revealed a wide smile. She couldn't believe that they have Lustriean cuisine outside of her home planet. This made her extremely happy and she enthusiastically dug into her meal.

In her excitement, Azarea forgot to use utensils and began eating with her hands, making a complete mess. After shoveling several handfuls into her mouth, she realized that some of the others were looking at her. She slowly swallowed what was in her mouth and awkwardly picked up a fork and continued, totally embarrassed by the situation.

As she ate and the rich looking man began speaking, Azarea started becoming annoyed. It wasn't so much the words the man was speaking, it was one of the others, Emilia Jorgeir. Even with her, it wasn't the rude comments she was giving, it was her emotions that prompted the comments. Emilia's apathetic disposition was causing Azarea to piggy back off of those emotions. She was getting agitated and cranky and the crowded room made it worse.

Eventually Azarea gained control of her emotions and sat back in her chair satisfied with the meal. It was almost as good as the homemade version. Whoever prepared the meal was obviously either a Lustriean or did his research very well. When the man finished and dismissed them, Azarea got up and walked over to the captain. " Greetings, Captain! Allow me to introduce myself, I am Dr. Azarea Yu'Kharka. I'll be serving as your medical officer." Azarea said with a pleasant smile. " With your permission, I would like to conduct a physical exam on all the crew members. From what I have read, space is extremely dangerous and taxing on the body and I would like to make sure everyone can survive."

Military Factbook
The best damn alliance to ever grace NS
Strike witches


Accomplished Member of the The Age Of Neophytos RP Group

User avatar
Esternial
P2TM RP Mentor
 
Posts: 51067
Founded: May 09, 2009
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Esternial » Sun Mar 11, 2018 2:51 am

By tradition, "The Blue Danube" was blaring through the ship intercom system as the Polaris edged its way into Thrawn B7 spaceport. Its docking computer gracefully motioned the vessel towards the landing pad until its landing gear magnetically latched onto it, prompting the pad to sink into the space station's interior hangar. Jacob looked out into space one last time before a gamut of blast doors sealed off the hole left by the landing pad.

"Thrawn B7." He mused as he wrote down his destination's name in a small notebook and tucked it back underneath his seat. He'd probably still be on time.

This wasn't Jacobs first visit to Thrawn B7, but he never stuck around too long. Never quite had the occasion. It didn't seem like this one promised to be any different. Quickly he navigated his way to The Ugly Dekling and awkwardly swung open the ridiculously impractical doors, which struck him back with a vengeance for using so much force. A few patrons noticed, and let out a chuckle. Hopefully his prospective employer wasn't around to see that.

"I'm here fo-"

Bruno simply pointed towards the loft. Jacob smiled appreciatively and followed the bartender's instructions, walking in on the party as it just passed its climax.

"You are dismissed. Any further questions, you may ask Mr. Arrow."

Jacob awkwardly smiled at anyone who looked at him as he entered, and nodded towards Mr. Arrow, who nodded back - or at least Jacob thought he did. Unlike the others here, Jacob had already been briefed on this particular mission. His professional relationship with the Empire was mostly amicable, and his performance thus far has been exemplary, so Jacob wasn't all surprised when he was called in for this one. First thing he noticed as he entered the room, however, was that they did not prepare a meal for him. He frowned, slightly agitated.

"I'd like a chat with you when you're done here, Obediah" He said, gesturing toward Azarea before turning to the rest of the group.

"I am Jacob Wash, pilot and captain of the Polaris."

Jacob made a slight bow and smiled.
Last edited by Esternial on Sun Mar 11, 2018 2:53 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Backatri
Envoy
 
Posts: 228
Founded: Mar 09, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Postby Backatri » Sun Mar 11, 2018 8:09 am

The small party entered a baroque meeting room, and Gurthie was face to face with the enemy.

Literally.

Before him was a CyIntel Agent, donned in a black and white getup that only emphasized his imperialistic and bureaucratic nature. On any regular mission, Gurthie would be required to shoot this man dead and damn the consequences, but this was a deep cover operation. He couldn't openly murder someone and expect to keep going. The CyIntel pig mentioned that they could only enter the cargo hold with the permission of the captain. Boring. The captain needed express permission from the high admiral. Interesting. If this was a matter that only the High Admiral of the barbaric Empire could address, then it was of unusual interest to his handlers in Anthusia, and his mission was of growing importance.

Gurthie made a mental note to send the highly secretive nature of the operation to his handlers, and then sat down to sign some paper work.

While laws were sacred, treasured objects, Gurthie was determined to break at least all of the most important ones. NDA: surely broken. no-cargo hold? It was guaranteed that Gurthie would pass through its doors.

In the event that he couldn't enter the Bay, the spy consoled himself that if all of the systems on the ship were truly "State of the Art", then he could at least see what was new in the Cyanian Navy. The Isaac sounded less like a vessel and more of a merchant raider from what the scum across the table said. When they were released, Gurthie made it a point to become at least cordial, if not friendly, with the Taurian on board. He would be needed to enter the Bay. He looked around at the mercenaries, who were either being snarky with the expansionist pig, shoveling salad into their mouths, or, in the instance of one fellow, being late.

The other mercenaries were probably also in for the money, and likewise weren't going to be particularly loyal to the Cyanian Empire, so each was a candidate to join him in his sleuthing.

The question was, who?
Card Carrying Member of the adhouse|Proud Member of the GIA

User avatar
Holy Lykos
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1610
Founded: May 01, 2016
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Holy Lykos » Sun Mar 11, 2018 12:44 pm

The Nemausae at first was rather peeved to find her meal interrupted, but given it was the contact ushering them to discuss details of the job Nevenha could excuse the interruption. Pulling herself up from the slightly-too-small seat, Nev left enough money on the table to pay for what she'd gotten plus extra, and followed the rest into the fairly impressive, not-so-secret back room.

And of course, the CyIntel contact was here in all his snobbish unimpressive 'glory'. The alien couldn't help think of what a sniveling weakling the person looked, reminded of how the human had likely done next to nothing to earn this position. Gods-dammed humans loved their aristocracy.

But Nevenha listened closely. and nodded along slowly to what he said. She however refused to sit down in the human-scale furniture and instead leaned herself against the wall with eyes trained on the stuffily dressed human on the far side of the room.

So... The job this time was pretty simple after all. Escort mission. Keep the ship from being destroyed or disabled in the middle of its voyage. Don't go in the hangar. Not without permission from the boss of their boss. The big man himself. Odd, but simple enough. She would have no trouble following along with those orders unless they proved to inconvenience her later.

Nev grumbled a deep alien sound, both sets of arms crossed over her torso as she observed the rest of the group. Humans, for the most part. Some near humans too, or mutant humans or whatever in the void they were.

Though, one of the humans seemed rather dismissive of the CyIntel aristocrat like she was. It was hard for Nemausae to miss such things. Humans were such open books compared to her own people. Their faces displayed so much of their thought and emotion and person. So unsubtly too. Well, among the humans it might be subtle. Nevenha just could read humans well. Perhaps they could bond over similar distastes for the Imperial system?

Or not, but it would be no fur off of her tail.

Keen ears also picked up someone mentioning a physical. Specifically the bioluminescent alien. A rather naive alien, from what Nev could ascertain. Perhaps this was her first trip offworld?

Nevenha remained against the wall as the others began to mingle. Her half-shut eyes opened the rest of the way when a different human spoke up to the entire group. A newcomer giving an introduction? Might as well return in kind, "Nevenha of Skor. Free Captain of Clan Skor of the Medrapuran Coalition and pilot of the Kenzac Medra." Her upper right fist hit against her chest above her heart before it went back to its previous position.
Agender - They/Them pronouns
Pansexual Polyamorous
Autistic
Agnostic
Anarcho-Syndicalist
Comp Sci Major
History Enthusiast
Furry

Some Political Charts: 1 2
Official Squirrel
of
Personification Life


I wear teal, blue, pink for Swith

User avatar
Pax Nerdvana
Negotiator
 
Posts: 7470
Founded: May 22, 2017
Corporate Bordello

Postby Pax Nerdvana » Sun Mar 11, 2018 2:29 pm

James Dawson cane into the room with the rest. He noticed numerous aliens, including one who appeared to be bioluminescent, which he found interesting. He sat down, causing the chair to creak under his weight. He noticed a glass of some sort of alcohol in front of him. He thought to himself,"I can no longer drink more than an ounce or two of alcohol without damaging my systems." He eyed it suspiciously. It looked fancy and expensive. Probably not to his taste. The mission didn't sound too difficult. Just guard a mysterious cargo. Not too unusual. He didn't really like the look of the Imperial guy. Too fancy and snobby looking. He scanned the room with his cybernetic eye, looking for threats. A lot of the mercenaries appeared to be packing heat, which was fine by him. He decided to not drink the alcoholic beverage, in case it had been spiked.
Patriotic centrist American, who is vaguely right leaning. I support the Bill of Rights. I have no loyalty to any party. Expand or die. That's how humanity works. Science fiction is the best genre. The solar system is ours for the taking. I am a male. You can't spell team without "me". I support the troops.
Call me Pax. Bayformers/Energon are simply horrid.
Copy and paste this into your sig if you think we should colonize other planets.
( -_-) (-_Q) If you understand that both Capitalism and Socialism have ideas that deserve merit, put this in your signature.
Quotes
Pro:Bill of Rights,gun rights,centrism,capitalism,socialism,space exploration,Christianity
Anti: Trump,Clinton,Johnson,Green,fascism,Communism,big business

User avatar
Drakmah
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1370
Founded: Mar 14, 2014
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Drakmah » Sun Mar 11, 2018 9:36 pm

The Ugly Dekling - Loft

Leaning back in his seat, he glanced about the people who were slowly filtering in. As he had expected, and hoped, he had in fact come in with the middle of the pack. Content with his arrival time, he took a moment to pull up the message that had been sent to him by those who wished to employ him. He had already read it over multiple times, but doing so once again wouldn’t hurt. At least, that’s what he told himself everytime he read it. They had listed him by name in the message, however that wasn’t surprising to him as he knew they had him an their registrars. What had surprised him was the method in which they delivered it to him. He had been sitting in a cafeteria style station food court when he had found a small data drive, only needing to glance away from his tray for a moment before some inconspicuous cover agent slipped it on to his tray. He had scanned it over and over again for viruses, or locators, before finally opened it after hours of thought. It had simply been his invitation here, to this planet, to this city, to this room.

Slipping a cracker between his lips, he smiled as the flavor of its cheese topping spread over his taste buds. Living from system to system, continuing with the crime work that he had hated for so long, he had lost track of many of the small joys in life. Sitting in this room, eating a food he hadn’t had the opportunity to get for the past few years was one of them, and as he brought the message up in front of his vision, it was a pleasure he hoped to have again. The message had been concise, and he chewed softly as his simulated eye patterns glossed over it. He was to come to Thrawn B, to where he was now, in order to receive the instructions needed to complete the mission. They were vague, but as someone who had spent time in the criminal underworld knew, these kinds of matters were best handled in person, where you could guarantee that only those you wished to hear your message would be the ones doing so. With the amount of precautions taken, the sum being offered for cooperation became none too surprising, as anyone with the money to buy discretion could afford a handsome payment sum. However, the money was not what drew him here, and instead it was the offer of pardon that made the deal worth the risk of dealing with a government that wanted him for multiple life sentences. While he would most likely finish this job and return to a life of crime, at least he could do so with a clean slate. If this was a trap, well, then that cautious voice in the back of his head will have had been right this whole time.

Once enough people arrived and settled themselves in, the large creature that he had pinned as some kind of organizer stood up and beckoned everyone to follow him. The cue being given, he rose slowly, and took his sweatshirt along with a few more crackers and cheese before heading off to follow the Taurian. The room they were led into was through a small door at the back of the loft, the set up obviously being some sort of business style conference room.

Or they were going for a secret agent vibe. Caesu thought to himself. I know I’ve seen enough petty criminals throw together something of this sort just to make themselves seem more dangerous, or more legitimate.

The motif of the room did have a familiar feel to it, however it was very apparent that whoever was behind its preparation had much more money at their disposal than anyone Caesu had ever interacted with. This colossal giveaway was the food that was laid out in front of each seat, the organizers of this event opting to use the favorite meal of each guest in the place of name tags. Caesu could only guess that this was the case, as the plate one seat away from the man at the end of the table was covered with a splattering of sauteed meat along with a side of cornmeal. While it could have been anything, Caesu knew it for exactly what it was, and the fact that it was there in front of him sent a shiver down his spine.

How the fuck do they know about that… Was all he could think as he took his seat, the slender male knowing the origin of the meat to be from a rat, cut into small chunks and simmered in a can of Cyanian street gravy. While this was a very, very upscale version of what he was used to, the fact that they knew about the kind of food he used to make for himself back in his younger years was simply a testament to the raw amount of knowledge that they had on him.

They could have caught me at any moment and hauled me off to jail for the rest of my life. They could have done it in an instant and they want me to know it. While some began eating, one bioluminescent woman doing so more ferociously than the others, he simply sat there. Once everyone was seated, the CyIntel agent began speaking, giving them the outline of the mission and the parameters in which they would be operating under. Ground rules, assurances, and some boasting that culminated in the overall view of the sortie. Once the conversation came to an overview of the ships capabilities, he drifted off. He was a surgeon, he didn’t need to know the caliber of the weapons equipped on the ship. Besides, the creepily accurate meal from his childhood was still sitting in front of him, and the smell of the meat was getting to him. He’d snacked on some of the crackers from earlier, but decided to eat the meal anyway. He glanced up toward the middle of the table every couple of seconds, however the topic kept escaping him. Finally, after finishing what must have been half of the meal, he reached for his glass. The meat was tender, and the gravy thick, and so his natural instinct was to take a drink. The cup was small, and was shaped like more like a wine glass, but luckily enough for him it held a clear liquid, water, instead of the alcohol that occupied the glasses of many others. The shape confused him only after he finished his sip, and heard what could only be described as jingling from the bottom of the glass. Taking a moment to see what it was, his wrist clenched as his optical sensors identified the small object tied around its thin neck.

Where the fuck did they find this? He asked himself frantically, his left hand dropping his fork in order to cradle the small metal object. Back when had first been revived all of those years ago, the organization he had been forced into had installed a kill switch onto him. It was a port in the back of his neck that, once a key was inserted into it, would cut power from all of his vital processes. Was it efficient? Of course not, but the poetic violence inherent in the system was enough to intimidate his younger self into submission. The who system had been disabled, and then later removed after several leadership changes, after he had gained a sense of trust with his bosses, however that key had been around the neck of a man who quite literally held his life in the balance. The magnitude of such an acquisition wasn’t long on Caesu, and he could only look up at the CyIntel operative in disbelief. Having caught his facial expression, the agent afforded him only a wink before returning to the briefing. The entire stunt was practically one large metaphor, one telling Caesu that while he might have gotten away from one overlord, he had found himself right under a new one.

Pulling himself back into the moment, he was able to catch the ending of the meeting, and was afforded a small amount of time to finish his favorite childhood meal. Swallowing the rest of the water, he stood slowly and shuffled out of the room, sliding his childhood killswitch into his pocket as everyone filed out of the room. The operative had said not only that the Isaac was leaving in an hour, but that the Taurian sitting outside was the pilot. Not being familiar with the where the ship was docked, along with the fact that he was feeling a little shell shocked, he decided to stay close to the large pilot, and follow him whenever he left. The group broke out into conversation, and while it wouldn’t be long before the cybernetic surgeon delved into similar activity, he needed time to process the events of the meeting. Besides, the purple woman had introduced herself as the medical officer, and requested everyone's time for a physical exam. While that side of medicine wasn’t exactly his forte, he would surely benefit from attending them in order to get a general idea of where everyone’s organs were supposed to be, just in case they came to him later on with them not where they were supposed to be, or stations forbid them spilling out of a wound.
Quazin the Great wrote:Rules
9. Title stuff so Drakmah doesn't burst into flame. This rule may not matter because Drakmah
has grown old and tired and no longer trifles with such inflammatory conduct.

☠ Just your friendly neighborhood Necromancer

R.I.P. Tony the Possum - May 29th, 2017

User avatar
The Burning Sun
Senator
 
Posts: 3804
Founded: Sep 15, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby The Burning Sun » Mon Mar 12, 2018 8:47 pm

Even though she hated to admit it, the Cyanian Empire was quite good at this. They had somehow managed to wrangle a semi-decent meeting area out of writhing labyrinth of debauchery that was Jinbe, one that was capable of a surprisingly passable Hakurian dhimma berry clafouti. Unfortunately the miracles of technology did not allow the maintenance drone to teleport the pastry into her stomach, so she settled for atomizing it with the drone's waste disposal systems and resolved to meet her future compatriots.

From what she could see, CyIntel chose well. The motley gathering of mercenaries and cutthroats had the kind of forbidden, adventurous aura one typically only felt in movies. In comparison to some of the stranger individuals present, her unassuming maintenance drone was practically boring. There was some kind of large cat, various flavors of cyborg, and, most vexingly, a woman bearing a seal Kaguya recognized as belonging to the Cyanian nobility. What could Cyanian nobility possibly be doing on Thrawn B7, getting blackmailed by a member of their own intelligence service? She hardly even acted like a proper noble, even though both of their seals had been on display for all to see. It felt like this 'Emilia' had been brought to the meeting for the sole purpose of mocking her. After all, CyIntel was clearly fond of their little games and displays of power.

With little else to do, Kaguya figured she might as well find out the truth here and now. If that woman really was a noble, they'd at least have something in common to base a conversation off of. And besides, who else was she going to socialize with? The girl with the purple tentacle tails? She'd seen enough popular entertainment to know why that was a bad idea.

Her drone whirred softly as it floated over to an empty spot beside Emilia. Kaguya shifted a little closer to the microphone on her console and pushed the 'transmit' button.

"You there, Cyanian. You belong to a noble house, yes? I confess that I do not remember which family is associated with that crest, but one cannot be expected to be able to differentiate between each of a dozen species of vermin. What are you doing on this mission? What is your true purpose here?"
"All that we see or seem/Is but a dream within a dream" - Poe
TBS, M.D | Founder of the Mechanics' Guild | EST 9-9
because my self-esteem is so low
TriStates wrote:+100 Tri-Points
Khasinkonia wrote:
The Burning Sun wrote:I posted. Just in case it gets buried by the depressing duo over there.

I award you ten points for the nickname. Which will buy you...
more posts from the duo
Royal Brownie PointsTM
Atlannia wrote:Mmm it's not looking good I'm afraid, the purple haired goth loli next to a sweatervest wearing bishonen portends financial strife and the double archery chick is a rare sign predicting the death of someone close to you, I'm sorry.
...
That'll be $32.99
All the logic

User avatar
Rupudska
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 19936
Founded: Sep 16, 2010
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Rupudska » Mon Mar 12, 2018 9:37 pm

Nachfolgia wrote:Eventually Azarea gained control of her emotions and sat back in her chair satisfied with the meal. It was almost as good as the homemade version. Whoever prepared the meal was obviously either a Lustriean or did his research very well. When the man finished and dismissed them, Azarea got up and walked over to the captain. " Greetings, Captain! Allow me to introduce myself, I am Dr. Azarea Yu'Kharka. I'll be serving as your medical officer." Azarea said with a pleasant smile. " With your permission, I would like to conduct a physical exam on all the crew members. From what I have read, space is extremely dangerous and taxing on the body and I would like to make sure everyone can survive."


Captain Arrow gave a curt nod.

"First time in space, I assume? Then you've read correctly, though I highly doubt that there is anyone here who cannot handle space travels, even one as long as this one is likely to be. Ser Broden and his subordinates made sure of that. Still, it is... refreshing to have a medical officer that takes their job seriously. Most medical officers working the mercenary and civilian escort field tend to be rather... how do I put this... lax in their efforts. I doubt you'll have time before takeoff, but there isn't much between here and our first stop on Perona, so you should have plenty of time before then."

Esternial wrote:"I'd like a chat with you when you're done here, Obediah" He said, gesturing toward Azarea before turning to the rest of the group.


"Naturally, what about?" said the Taurian with another light nod.

Holy Lykos wrote:Nevenha remained against the wall as the others began to mingle. Her half-shut eyes opened the rest of the way when a different human spoke up to the entire group. A newcomer giving an introduction? Might as well return in kind, "Nevenha of Skor. Free Captain of Clan Skor of the Medrapuran Coalition and pilot of the Kenzac Medra." Her upper right fist hit against her chest above her heart before it went back to its previous position.


Emilia gave the Medrapuran a toasting gesture with her glass as she finished off the last of the rum in the same swallow as the last of the snapper. Damn good meal overall. A tad overcooked, but damn good. This Ser Broden had done his research and done it well, but could have put a bit more effort into hiring chefs. But the point, of course, wasn't to find the best meals to be welcoming. It was just a message. A subtle, but effective way of saying 'We know an alarming amount about you, and there is nowhere you can hide.'

It sent a chill up her spine. Emilia hated working with spooks, let alone with them.

"Emilia Jorgeir of Freyr, ex-Cyanian Naval Mechanized Aviation forces, 237th Strike Fighter Squadron. I fly a heavily modified Bristil Br-233 Bharaza Mk III. It's the green one, you can't miss it."

The Burning Sun wrote:"You there, Cyanian. You belong to a noble house, yes? I confess that I do not remember which family is associated with that crest, but one cannot be expected to be able to differentiate between each of a dozen species of vermin. What are you doing on this mission? What is your true purpose here?"


Emilia held up her hands in mock defense, clearly not having expected this sort of attack on her personal history. But by the look on her face, nor was she entirely okay with it.

"Vermin? You wound me, not all us fighter pilots are whores and manwhores only looking for holes. As for this," she said, lifting the glass to show off the crest, "Cyanian law dictates anyone who rises above the rank of Major in any branch of the military earns the status of nobile vere nobilis. And even if I'm ex-military, only the Emperor Himself can revoke noble status, and the current Emperor only does that if you piss His Imperial Majesty off personally. All the noble bitching and dickwaving about supposed slights in the world can't change His Imperial Majesty's mind on that regard. Which is real helpful when I want to get certain parts. As to why I'm here? Money. This job pays enough to buy a whole system, and with that kind of cash I can retire to my homeworld and slap the bastard who got me thrown out of the military with a wad of money big enough to take his head off, and get away with it. Maybe get back in and put myself as Lieutenant-Colonel of some squadron based out of a paradise world somewhere."
Last edited by Rupudska on Mon Mar 12, 2018 9:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Holy Roman Empire of Karlsland (MT/FanT & FT/FanT)
THE Strike Witches NationState
Best thread ever.|SPACE!
MT Factbook/FT Factbook|Embassy|Q&A
On Karlsland Witch Doctrine:
Hladgos wrote:Scantly clad women, more like tanks
seem to be blowing up everyones banks
with airstrikes from girls with wings to their knees
which show a bit more than just their panties

Questers wrote:
Rupudska wrote:So do you fight with AK-47s or something even more primitive? Since I doubt any economy could reasonably sustain itself that way.
Presumably they use advanced technology like STRIKE WITCHES

User avatar
Nachfolgia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6649
Founded: Jan 19, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Nachfolgia » Tue Mar 13, 2018 3:27 am

" Oh no, Captain. I have no doubt that the others are more than capable of surviving. This is just protocol." Azarea said with a cheerful smile.

" I am pleased that I am already exceeding your expectations, Captain." Azarea smiled. " I do indeed take my oath seriously. The Cyanian Empire has entrusted me with a medical license and a doctorate and I wouldn't dare shirk my responsibilities under any circumstances. Everyone under your command will be treated with the utmost care."

Military Factbook
The best damn alliance to ever grace NS
Strike witches


Accomplished Member of the The Age Of Neophytos RP Group

User avatar
Holy Lykos
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1610
Founded: May 01, 2016
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Holy Lykos » Tue Mar 13, 2018 7:06 am

The nemausa gave a little nod to the other pilot. Just how many pilots had they hired? Enough for a quality squadron certainly, if they could learn to work together despite disparate backgrounds and persons. What a strange, eclectic group they had. Including one who refused to show her face and instead work through a robot intermediary. Or maybe she actually was a robot, who knew?

Though, Nev only just now noticed her place at the table was laid with food from her homeworld. Some meat blackened beyond black. The flaky looking meat would tell most it was some sort of fish analogue. A mug of dark colored alcohol that smelled faintly sweet and of burnt berries. The nemausa wasn't blind to this gesture of showing one of her favorite meals. But her response was to take up the mug and down it in one while facing the man at the head of the table, then do the same with the fish. Her meal was gone in a moment, mostly because the proportions had been made with humans in mind it looked like.

She smirked heavily towards the aristocrat. "Not bad for human-cooked. Fish a bit dry, but meat from Medrapur has always been a tricky thing for off-worlders to not burn or ruin in some way like that." Not an overt challenge, but it was hard to miss the undertones of 'bring it' to her tone. Far from intimidated, the Nemausa may have taken this as an outright challenge to her well-being. Something in her culture that had to be taken standing up and with defiance. If they were to threaten her, they'd only get responses like that. Medrapurans and especially the more nomadic clans like the Skorrians, did not take threats lightly and always relished the chance to triumph over rivals.

Even if said rivals would be the entire human Empire.

Though, the discussion of a semi-meritocratic way of acknowledging those who do well perked the big-cat-alien's interest next. "So the Empire does respect skill and not just noble birth? I've always been under the impression the opposite was true. Good to know the imperials aren't entirely stupid at governance." Another jab at the empire, but the medrapuran doubted very many here had much love lost for the nation. "We'll need to talk ship later, Jorgeir. I'm assuming the modifications to your ship, like my own on the Kenzac Medra, are custom work?"
Agender - They/Them pronouns
Pansexual Polyamorous
Autistic
Agnostic
Anarcho-Syndicalist
Comp Sci Major
History Enthusiast
Furry

Some Political Charts: 1 2
Official Squirrel
of
Personification Life


I wear teal, blue, pink for Swith

User avatar
G-Tech Corporation
P2TM RP Mentor
 
Posts: 50847
Founded: Feb 03, 2010
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby G-Tech Corporation » Tue Mar 13, 2018 10:20 am

In the secret conference room, in the dingy bar that clearly nobody would ever bother to stake out or anything like that, one of the walls creaked softly. Most of the crew having already departed, or fallen to quiet conversation, the creaking was clear to hear, as was a muffled feminine giggle which followed. Before anyone could comment on the strange occurrence of the dingy wood paneling of a hidden chamber twittering with amusement, a thud and a bang were heard, as well as a clearly audible "Bugger."

Then the wall clacked open, invisible hinges whining with the groan of a piece of machinery much in need of synthetic lubricants, and out tumbled a woman. She was Terran, or human at least, a pretty looking flouncy thing with long teased brunette curls that cascaded like a waterfall down her face in ringlets of perfumed luxury and a face like a Varanian sculpture-queen. She was also, at the moment, wearing what seemed to be a particularly saucy cut of old-style dress hastily donned; so hastily donned, in fact, that it might veritably be on back-to-front instead of in its own proper aspect.

The madam gave out a squeak at seeing the chamber was occupied, a tone altogether amusingly similar to the giggle that had previously issued from the room-within-a-room. Her eyes flared wide in surprise, and in that moment one with knowledge of Thrawn's local notables might have recognized the wife of a prominent human financier. In a trice the tussled woman gathered her skirts together and fled through the open door as if the hounds of actual physical Hel were after her, shouldering aside those who stood in her way in a decidedly imperious manner.

A few seconds passed, and then from the doorway stepped a far less ruffled figure, a tall man with hair so red that even in the somewhat dingy confines of the Deckling's conference room it might have seemed gaudy to those with poorer tastes that Flavian. His rich wine-dark suit was set with pinstripes, and he nodded towards the seated figure of the noble in what seemed an apologetic manner.

"Terribly sorry about that, Brody. Business with pleasure and whatnot. We're ready to be about it then, good good." His voice might have been resonant, or it might have had a slightly hostile undertone. In the course of a single sentence the dapper gentleman's mien appeared to change from that of a good-time boy caught in the act, to someone who was contemplating a rather gruesome affair.

A shake of the mane. The sojourner cleared his head, then reached back into the dark depths of the chamber at his back, briskly producing a walking-cane from the interior, and closing said panel with a preemptive gesture of the implement. A baleful violent eye turned towards the motley assortment of characters that filled the chamber, dissecting each in turn with an inhuman intensity.

The wheels of his mind turned.

Aliens, escorting a high value target to Terran space. We'll be betrayed after the first jump. Bugger whoever drew up this crew manifest with a rusty pinecone.

An emerald eye flickered over to Ser Josef, apparently independent of the gaze still fixed on the ragtag band of miscreants. It seemed to convey annoyance at the imposition wordlessly. Or so Flavian liked to think. Most people weren't good at reading emotions conveyed with a single eye in a face, but the blueblood had the specs to warrant the gesture. Normally his mind was so much static to squints, being a lump of non-baryons, but sometimes it was good sport to talk to someone without, well, talking to them.
TG if you have questions about RP. If I don't know the answer, I know someone who does.

Quite the unofficial fellow. P2TM Mentor specializing in faction and nation RPs, as well as RPGs.

User avatar
Backatri
Envoy
 
Posts: 228
Founded: Mar 09, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Postby Backatri » Tue Mar 13, 2018 2:55 pm

Excerpt from the Confession of Gerald R. Gurthie, Special Agent of Anthusia
Can you imagine, Commandant, the shock and fear that washed over my normal calm as I realized that the meal before me was my favorite? Although it was a Freyr favorite, Gutfish Blood Sausage, I the similar shock of my fellow mercenaries seemed to indicate that CyIntel planted this food as a show-of-force. I was led to believe through training and actual experience that CyIntel was a bloated, useless organization that failed to keep with the times. The meal before me, adequately prepared, shattered my notions about the agent across from me.

As I ate, doubt began to erode my insides, dissolving my backbone as I wondered what else CyIntel knew. If they could trace me to Freyr and my "parents", and find my beloved meal, could they know my origin as an enemy? Surely they would lose the thread at my adoption from the orphanage in Freyr where I spent a year before my handlers Mom and Dad arrived? What was the extent of their knowledge? Since I was able to set foot on the Isaac I suspect they ran into difficulty. I consoled myself that I was chosen for my language skills, not for any sort of tarnished past.

As I shifted emotions and suppressed my varying shades of fear, contentment, excitement, and anger, I heard talk of a medical exam, a drone with the ability to speak, and a general mingling of the new crew-members. I decided to talk to Mr. Arrow, our Gallant Captain. I was blunt, figuring that audacity would conceal any suspicion of being a spy:

"So Cap, when's this medical exam and why is the cargo so spooky-mysterious?"
Card Carrying Member of the adhouse|Proud Member of the GIA

User avatar
Rupudska
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 19936
Founded: Sep 16, 2010
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Rupudska » Fri Mar 16, 2018 2:19 pm

Holy Lykos wrote:Though, the discussion of a semi-meritocratic way of acknowledging those who do well perked the big-cat-alien's interest next. "So the Empire does respect skill and not just noble birth? I've always been under the impression the opposite was true. Good to know the imperials aren't entirely stupid at governance." Another jab at the empire, but the medrapuran doubted very many here had much love lost for the nation. "We'll need to talk ship later, Jorgeir. I'm assuming the modifications to your ship, like my own on the Kenzac Medra, are custom work?"


"Naturally," said Emilia with a grin. "Nobody makes custom parts for military grade craft of the Imperial Navy, at least not legally. Some of it's off-the-shelf of course, mostly electronics and the radio, but all of it I either built it myself or installed it myself. And I don't mean to brag, but most of the stuff I built myself tends to work better than the off-the-shelf."

G-Tech Corporation wrote:*snip*


Ser Broden pointedly ignored anything that Flavian had said or done up to that point, as well as the prostitute that walked out of the hidden room that Flavian had come out of. Of all the people to have agreed to this mission, Flavian was probably Broden's least favorite by far.

But there wasn't a mountain of fuck he could do about it. Orders from above even him.

Wankers, the lot of them. Flavian was a loose laser lance and lightning in a bottle all at once. If Broden had his way he'd have been dead long ago.

Regardless.

"Took you long enough, Flavian. Ship leaves in... fifty five minutes. I suggest you get your little friend ready by then if you want to leave in time for it."
Backatri wrote:"So Cap, when's this medical exam and why is the cargo so spooky-mysterious?"


The absolutely impressive audacity of this bitch was so great that the Taurian captain simply laughed. What else could he do? The first question was fine, but the second was so unbelievably transparently stupid that no reaction besides laughter could be managed by his Taurian mind.

"Medical exam's as soon as we leave the system's gravity well, and if you actually think I'm stupid enough to just tell you anything more about the cargo than 'it's classified' you'll be dead before the ship even takes off."
The Holy Roman Empire of Karlsland (MT/FanT & FT/FanT)
THE Strike Witches NationState
Best thread ever.|SPACE!
MT Factbook/FT Factbook|Embassy|Q&A
On Karlsland Witch Doctrine:
Hladgos wrote:Scantly clad women, more like tanks
seem to be blowing up everyones banks
with airstrikes from girls with wings to their knees
which show a bit more than just their panties

Questers wrote:
Rupudska wrote:So do you fight with AK-47s or something even more primitive? Since I doubt any economy could reasonably sustain itself that way.
Presumably they use advanced technology like STRIKE WITCHES

User avatar
Holy Lykos
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1610
Founded: May 01, 2016
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Holy Lykos » Sun Mar 18, 2018 12:45 pm

"Unsurprising, self-made is usually of better quality in my experience." An ear twitched as she continued. "Mass-produced parts have to fit as many ships as possible. That's why most medrapuran ships are its pilots own pride and joy. If we don't intimately know each part of our ship, how can we fly them to peak ability? But any-"

She was about to speak more, but then the strange... human? Were they even a human? Their scent was way off normal and presence spoke of something much different. Especially the intensity of his scan of all beings in the room. Human enough though, given how he lingered on the aliens. The nemausa's neck fur was on end for a good few moments before a heavy, slow breath forced her senses to relax. He was unnerving to her core, for whatever reason. Perhaps her senses were telling her something her mind wasn't lingering on. Perhaps it was the Ether.

She scanned over the 'man' with her own fiery intensity. Her upper set of eyes even peaked open to see if there was anything further special about him that visible light wouldn't detect. Gaudy dress and gaudy hair and gaudy manners. Whoever the person was they were certainly an oddity. Especially with the fact her upper eyes made him practically glow with energy and light. No human looked like that. Very few gave off microwave radiation, at all. Most wouldn't be able to even perceive such a thing, but the second set of nemausan eyes covered the higher end of the visible spectrum all the way to the first levels of microwave radiation. A sight adaption as most of the high frequency waves could pierce through the smog of Medrapur moreso than the visible light waves could. But as smog was not omnipresent, both sets of sight were kept among many lifeforms. What a strange person...

Nevenha tore herself away from looking over the man to turn back to Emilia. "We can talk later. I'm going to get my possessions and ship ready for flight. We'll need to organize frequencies to speak over for combat coordination en route." A low growl undertone to her words. The felinid didn't give any chance for any farewell either, turning on the spot and striding back out into the bar they had first entered, ducking below door frames to avoid even her ears touching. She was gone within a few moments.
Agender - They/Them pronouns
Pansexual Polyamorous
Autistic
Agnostic
Anarcho-Syndicalist
Comp Sci Major
History Enthusiast
Furry

Some Political Charts: 1 2
Official Squirrel
of
Personification Life


I wear teal, blue, pink for Swith

User avatar
Backatri
Envoy
 
Posts: 228
Founded: Mar 09, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Postby Backatri » Mon Mar 19, 2018 4:25 pm

Excerpt from the Confession of Gerald Remus Gurthie
Of course, the Arrow laughed. It was expected. I had hoped for a little more information to slip through his smiling face, but what could one do? Seeing that he could easily mistake me for a fool, I steered into the skid. Laughing off my ill fated attempt at intelligence work, I introduced myself:

"I kid, I kid, Captain. Gerald R. Gurthie, Language Liaison and mercenary-for-hire. I'm your go-to man for any doings with the Cipa. I'll see you on the ship."

As I walked away, I could only hope that Arrow had taken my words and assumed I was a good-humored fellow. He was needed to break into the Hold. As I passes through the flimsy doors of the Dekling, pledging to never set foot near it again, I thought again about the blood sausage. From my training, I remembered the lesson learned to give every acting agent of Anthusia confidence: CyIntel is broken. The Cyanian Empire stretched far and wide, and CyIntel was either understaffed or clumsy in any attempt to act decisively. But they had shown another side to me. One of action, and power. The opposite of everything I learned. I was now at threat.

But the sun shown and a small breeze had picked up. Oh, sweet breeze! You were of the perfect velocity. You gave coolness to the traveler, yet took care to avoid dusting up the whole town of Jinbe. You served me well, and kept me far from the narrow tunnels the imperialist scum called transportation. I forgot about the threat of CyIntel as the you pushed me inexorably towards the elevator. Wind, you gave me a final moment of true calm and peace before that voyage began.

I digress. The wind left me as I boarded the elevator. Public domain musak floated across the empty, climate controlled elevator into my unwilling ears. Where does it come from? I recall thinking at the time. What factory or ship did thousands of simple melodic beats and shamefully minimalist piano come from? I digress again. The elevator reached the spaceport. As I walked through the gallery to our new home, I looked down onto the surface of the planet. I was struck with betrayal as my friend the wind had picked up. The dust, once sedentary, had been roused by the wind. Now, instead of cooling travelers and offering respite from the brutal heat, the wind blinded them and scoured the rough-hewn buildings of Jinbe.

I reflected on the betrayal as I boarded the Isaac. She was a huge ship, and I took care to explore quite liberally before claiming a cabin to myself. I memorized the general layout of the ship, its maintenance halls, and a generous portion of the HVAC ducts. Always be prepared. When at long last I reached the cabin assigned to me, I began the wonderful process of homemaking. I cleared a small shelf and placed onto it my modest collection of novels. My handlers, my adoptive parents, had given me a book with which to decipher their code. It was a simple letter-to-number-to-letter cipher, but it was encrypted in what would be the daily transmissions of the ship. A small frigate of the Cyanian Navy transmits and receives up to 80 Terrabytes of data daily. My small messages, numbering in the kilobyte level, looked just like a small error. Literally no reason to suspect.

I was fortunate, in the cabin assignment. I was next to a window. From my small porthole, I could see past the spaceport and view a small portion Jinbe as the dust-storm picked up and swallowed the city whole. I wondered what it portended.

Is portended a word? Would foreshadowed by more appropriate? Portended just feels... clumsy.
Card Carrying Member of the adhouse|Proud Member of the GIA

Next

Remove ads

Return to Portal to the Multiverse

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Democratic Peoples republic of Kelvinsi, Fascist Republic Of Bermuda, Kentucky Fried Land, Mondrova, Sentinalyia, Tallahassee News Station, The Hierophancy, The Republic of Atria, The United Remnants of America, United City States of Oceania, Utceforp, Vaquas, WhatsamattaU, Wulf Da Guy

Remove ads