[FT/TG]Journey of a Thousand Lightyears

[Enso and Mu]

Vega had found over the years there were few stones that couldn't be shifted if you used the right lever of courtesy against them. With the exception for the mentally ill (and even then, not always), even habitually violent criminals could be made docile with respect applied correctly. Such a sense tended to give its owner a bit more courage in social situations than otherwise called for.

"I want," he replied, "to know if you know anything you can safely tell me about this man."

The withdrew his data scroll from his sash, sliding it open with a taloned thumb, just enough to show the missing monastic's image. Shibata Sensei looked much as one would expect - shaved head, sparse goatee growing in a bit grey, when it was taken. He had a pinched, shallow expression - Shibata being famously meager in his lifestyle. "His name's Shibata, fourty-second of that name. He'd have been travelling alone, probably with a good amount of materiel along with him."

[Macisikan]

The cyborg listened intently, stared at the picture, and, again, cocked his head slightly. The lights from the bar reflected off the little strips of metal on his face, a curl of steam rose from the cup in his hand. For a long moment he was absolutely still.

“’e’s no’ famila,” he said suddenly. “No ma’ches. Bu’ tha’ jus’ means I ain’ seen ‘im meself. Ya lookin’ fo’ ‘im, yeah? Mus’ be impor’an’ if ya’s in a shi’hole like this,” the accent was definitely not a typical Dornalian one. It was the sort that would pronounce “bottle” with two syllables but without any t’s. You could also float a horseshoe on it.

The cyborg tilted his head back, surveying Vega. Then he clicked his tongue.

“You fink ‘e came froo ‘ere,” he continued. “Reas’a’ble. Nu Kazak go’ a lo’a peeps passin’ – iss tha nu ga’, yeah. If ‘e came froo ‘ere, ‘e’s on a sec feed somewhere. Tha’ means I can fin’ ‘im fo’ ya. Or ‘is trail a’ leas’,” he sipped his drink. “Shiba’a. Hooman, yeah? Lone trav’ler. Go’ any ovver dee’s on ‘im, like more name or ‘is age, or is tha’ i’?

He looked at Vega, waiting for the other to parse the sentences; no, I haven’t seen him myself. But if he came through here, which makes sense, I can find him. Any other details? Something about his body language said he was very used to that, but not inclined to clean up his speech.

[New Dornalia]

Maein's cheeks turned red, though for the first time that day it wasn't because she was embarrassed. She was angry. And scared. And embarrassed, yes, but angry and scared. Her voice caught a few times. With forced calmness, the young woman nodded. "Zei Guanlin is the man I have told you about. We have an arrangement, and I know you lived up to your end of it." Her eyes, and the way she tightened her grip on Paul's arm, would rather show she wasn't sure, but she definitely hoped and expected jo to have kept her word. "...may I ask what he said?"

OOC: Done with the help of Roania.

IC:

Jo nodded. Her intoxicated, agitated state aside, she seemed to be quite concerned about what Zei had said to her. Jo rubbed her head and then leapt to life after a few minutes, her gestures animated, with what the Marines would call a “knife hand” gesture pointing at Maein and Paul repeatedly:

“Well, Maein, Mr. Zei came to me asking about you. He was quite, quite livid. Like, unbelievably fucking ripshit pissed. He comes to me, and essentially says some bullshit about how you were some kind of runaway bride or something like that. Also said that you were out to kill him or his family or something. He seemed real pissed off, and he would only say he heard rumors that you were here. He of course, dragged an ass ton of coins and men with suits to try and persuade me to change my mind.”

Paul looked at Jo, and Jo snapped back at him, “I’m getting to my response, kid. Shut up.” Paul shrugged--he wasn’t going to say anything before, but he sure wasn’t going to interrupt Jo now. He had a distinct feeling the drugs were really doing a number on her ability to exercise self-control, and he shuddered to think what would really happen, given the probable presence of weapons and the definite presence of goons in the room.

Jo then continued, turning back to Maein and smiling a big, wide smile that tried to be reassuring, “Anyway, I told that guy to pound sand, and that if he didn’t get the hell out of my bar, I’d cremate him alive and launch his ass into space.” She then leaned back, and then as suddenly as she leaned back in her chair, she opened a drawer and then shut it rapidly as she opened it, spooked by what was inside before leaning forward and declaring rapidly, “Even brandished my Big Medicine to prove my point, but whatever. He and his fucking retinue fucked off, and said that if he couldn’t get me to hand you over, he’d get some friends of his to do so. I of course, told him once more to fuck off. So he did, and my men said his ass left the planet afterwards--he’s not here.” Jo then took a breather, and held her hand up, going, “Pardon me. I’m not usually this agitated--Maein, whoever you got this shit from, I’ll hand it to them, this is really fucking strong! Like, neutronium strong, or whatever the fuck. Anyway.”

Jo then sat on her desk, and sat on her hands to try and contain any fidgetiness. Focusing on Maein, she said, taking a deep breath.

“Of course, knowing that I’ve made that sort of impression on him, Maein dear…..that does leave the question of what we’re going to do about you. It’s obvious your hubby knows where you are, and what you’re doing. It’s also fairly obvious that he wants you back, and from how much of a complete fucking asshole he was to me, I think that giving you back to him would be a mistake. So here’s what’s going to happen.”

Jo leaned in, and said to Maein, “I’m going to shuttle you to somewhere where that fucking dumbass can’t get to you. I don’t like pigs, and I dislike them as much as I dislike alcohol.” She then threw in, staring at Paul with unbridled fury and more than a hint of paranoia, “THE DRUGS THING WAS JUST ME TESTING IT GONE WRONG DAMMIT!” Turning back to Maein, Jo laughed, as if nothing happened.

“Anyway. Right. So, I’m going to put you somewhere secure.”

Leaning back, she then began making fidgety picture frame gestures with her hands, looking over Maein as she did so, and going, “Uh huh. Oh yeah. Yuppers.” She then put her hands down and said, “Maein, dear, how do you feel about the galaxy’s oldest profession?”

Paul then blurted out--perhaps at the nature of the suggestion and where it was headed--”Prostitution!?”

Jo shot a deadly glare at Paul, which silenced him. She then turned to Maein and asked, “What your man said. Because I’ve got a cover for you…..and it’s going to involve said profession. Namely, I’ve got some friends in New Almaty. They run an escort service for discreet clients of considerable wealth and prestige. I could get you there tonight. You escort rich men and women, do what they ask, lay low, and after a while, this shit’ll blow over and we’ll have you running packages for me as it’s always been.”

One of the goons then said, stepping forward, “Yo, boss?”

Jo turned around and said, smiling, “What’s up, Gozu? I told you, you don’t need to ask to use the bathroom--”

“Nah, it’s about the lady.” Gozu turned to Maein, and said, revealing his rough hewn face with multiple scars, a distinct lack of hair, and what appeared to be an ill advised anime sweatdrop tattoo on his forehead that clashed with his otherwise impeccably well-kept suit, “If you’re gonna make her turn tricks, don’t you wanna make sure she can turn ‘em first?” The way the man said it--with a creepy, transparently lascivious manner--made it quite clear that he wanted to be the one to do the test driving so to speak.

Another man perked up, stepping forward to reveal his own disheveled look--namely, long, greasy hair, sunglasses and a soul patch under his lower lip with his own impeccable suit--and said “Woah, hey, Gozu. Save some for the rest of us, huh?” The man turned to Maein and said, with a grin that said pretty much the same things as Gozu’s words without so much ceremony, “I wanna see how she handles the rollercoaster.”

Jo held her hands up and everyone paused. After a few seconds, Jo said to Maein, stroking her chin, “These gentlemen do have a point. Scruffy and ill-mannered as they are, I can’t have you escorting the rich and fashionable men and women of New Almaty without any experience. Besides, Gozu and Mezu here can be trusted not to leave too much of a mark. So, you spend a night or two with them, and then we get you to New Almaty. How’s that sound? Beats getting your ass kicked by your deadbeat husband.”

Paul of course, was keeping to himself...but only because he resisted the urge to personally leap up and initiate time-worn, vigilante justice upon every one of these scumbags in the room. It was bad enough that Maein was going to be forced into prostitution--the Elder McClintock had railed against the practice of what he called “white slavery”, and nevermind the legality of prostitution in the CRE, the prostitutes had to be willing and had to give informed consent--both of which were clearly not involved in this situation, where Maein would indeed be condemned to some kind of slavery for safety. But to ask Maein to make an indecent proposal that left her in the perverse hands of two men who had designs? This was not cool.

Worse yet was Maein’s compliance with all this. She seemed resigned to her fate, merely meekly asking, “Well….in that case….do you have some chocolate, to facilitate this process?”

That was the final straw. Paul knew what Jo and Maein and everyone else wanted to do. He knew what his masters had advised. But Paul knew what he wanted to do.

He leapt up from his chair, standing tall and placing himself between Maein and Jo. The action stunned everyone in the room, who seemed shocked at the audacity of this most milquetoast of harem anime protagonist lookalikes. He stared Jo in the eye, and then stared Gozu and Mezu in the eye, and said, in his sternest voice:

“The lady’s not going.”

Jo raised her eyebrows and looked at Paul with a look that seemed to try and comprehend what was going on. Part of her should have expected this. Paul always did seem nervous, and Jo had sensed he was a narc--most young Ordermen were. Still, part of her hadn’t expected this sort of bravado.

Jo could thus only ask, “What?”

Paul was emboldened now, and asked, “No. The lady’s not going. Not with your boys, and not so she can spend her time high on chocolate drinkin’ someone’s precious bodily fluids. That there’s slavery, and sister, I’m no slaver.” Paul then stared down Gozu and Mezu and the thugs, going, “Go ahead, fellas. Try me.” For a moment, the thugs stepped back, before looking at each other with looks that wondered why they were afraid of a runt.

Deep down within, Paul was frightened. But also, Paul was finding a new reserve of confidence, getting into character. Here was something to believe in, and to fight for.

Jo shook her head, and rubbed her temples, annoyed at the interruption.

“Great. And here I was thinking about helping your friend out. If you sit back down, I’ll ignore the fact this outburst ever happened, and we can continue on as usual.”

WIth a threatening grin, Jo stood up and stared Paul down, declaring, “Of course, you can play hero, and see how things progress. I bet you don’t even have a lightsaber, do you son?”

That question was met with an answer that sounded like a crackle, a hum, and a “a-whummmm.” A shaft of green light came between the two and Jo stepped back. In Paul’s hands was a small knurled metal tune, with switches and grip surfaces upon it. As Jo stepped back, Paul assumed a fighting stance, like how one held a two handed sword.

Paul then added in, with Hollywood-perfect timing, “Actually, I do.”

Jo nodded, and then sighed.

“Okay then.”

As she walked back to her desk, Jo suddenly drew a rather large….well, it looked like a creature from a Western. Jo spun around before holding it with both hands, aiming it squarely at Paul. It appeared to be some kind of lever action rifle--Paul recognized it as a Winchester 1895 of some kind, particularly the Spacer’s Special firing 11mm Imperial (what the Dornie gun community called the 11mm Vyner cartridge used by the RuB), but with the stock and barrel chopped down considerably into something resembling the mythical Mare’s Leg of TV Western lore, but with a massive flash hider at the front scaveneged from a Jawa ion blaster. Jo could be seen aiming it at Paul and saying, “I’ll ask you one more Goddamn time. Sit. Down.”

The others pulled up their own blasters, eager to answer Paul with force as needed. Paul recognized this was going to be an interesting challenge.

Paul only said to Maein, “Maein. Get outside. Now.”

Maein would then be able to hear Paul deliver what the Dorns would call a Forcemessage to her, saying simply, ”Vega’s outside. And he’s with someone new, but I don’t think he’s a threat. Go outside, slowly, quietly. You’ll be safe with them. I’ll handle these people.”

As he said this, Paul stared down the Branded, with a cold gaze at Jo and the other thugs--which was returned in kind.

***

As all this occurred, Gracie served drinks and kept the two newcomers’ thirsts quenched. Vega got his tonic water and any refills he wanted of said tonic water, although Gracie wished they had some matcha around. They had that genericky iced tea once a long time ago, but it didn’t quite work out that way this time and Jo had drank it all because when someone offered her some booze….she didn’t take it well. First, vomiting. Then, someone got shot. And this was over a single shot of booze.

Gracie felt kinda bad to consign Vega to drinking merely tonic water--then again, Red Ensomen didn’t come through this way a lot. Carbournes, maybe and other Mujin Sphere types, but not too many of the Red Enso Society.

Of course, Hetu was a welcome sight, and it was nice to see him doing what he did best--some sort of hustle involving info. Seemed like someone important, for sure--but she knew better than to pry into anyone’s business.

Although she did wonder how the two lovey-dovey types were doing?

[Enso and Mu]

If Vega found the stranger's accent hard to parse, he didn't show it. While it was new and exotic to him, the overall concept wasn't. The Mujin Sphere Alliance protected dozens of systems, some of them habitable and others merely colonized and frequented. Accents were part and parcel of his job.

He was, however, just slightly slow to answer. "I can tell you quite a bit about him, if it would help jog your memory."

He had the distinct impression, suddenly, of a bounty hunter. He'd met a few of them before - the trade was uncommon in the MSA, outside of perhaps Curwin space, but it was hard not to be involved in antipiracy and antiraiding operations and not meet the odd vigilante or self-styled enforcer who fit the general theme. As a rule, Vega had a low view of the type.

But Grandmaster Shibata XLII of the Shibata School was important, indeed. Vega's very carreer, his very livelihood, hung in the balance of this absolutely ludicrous quest. If all else failed, he had nothing else to fall back on. He was too martial to be a monastic, and not monastic enough to change disciplines now to becoming a Mizushin Navigator or a satori-yosegi craftsman of some description.

He produced a data cube. They were common in Mujin space, relying on contact with a compatible surface to transfer information. So common that he'd thought to grab a dozen of them back at Yokohama and not had to think twice about the expense. "His dossier, as well as a few worlds he might have been on."

He did not, however, directly hand it over. "... I assume your help comes at a cost."

[Macisikan]

The cyborg grinned up at Vega; throughout the conversation he’d stayed lounging in his relaxed position.

“Iss no’ abou’ joggin’ ma mem’ry,” he said. “Iss abou’ givin’ me ‘nuff info ta go on. More info ya give me, fasser I can dig ‘im up,” he paused to take a drink.

“Bu’ you’s a smar’ one, ain’ ya? ‘s nice ta ‘elp peeps, bu’ I ain’ runnin’ a chari’y ‘ere. I go’’a ea’, ya ge’ me?” he said. “Now, yeah, I can fin’ ya man,” he tilted his head slightly, again, and regarded Vega for a moment longer. Then he nodded.

“Less deal; ya pay me fee, and I can gechya man – and I can ge’ ‘im alive. An’ a’ leas’ I can ge’ is ‘is trail for ya, find ou’ where he wen’. Scope ta expan’ on i’ la’er if ya need; I go’ talen’s ovver then info. We’ll tork spec when we need ta. Bu’-” he held up a gloved finger “-I don’ do chil’ren or an’mals. You need anyfing done ta ‘em, fin’ someone else. Ovverwise, no questions, no fuss. I don’ need ta know wha’ you wan’ this guy fo’, an’ tho ya name’ll help findin’ ‘im, I’ll keep ya to’al confidence. I don’ make money bein’ in-dis-cree’, yeah?” he then named a figure. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t onerous either.

At Vega’s stiff assent, he grinned again.

“Pleasure doin’ business wid ya. Th’ name’s Hetu,” he continued; the letter t actually made an appearance here. The name was carefully enunciated, in the tones of someone who had had it drilled into him by a very patient teacher. “Jus’ Hetu. And you, ma man, ya go’ yaself an info broker. Oo’s ya pal?”

At that moment, Maein had arrived and was hovering next to Vega.

[Roania]

Maein didn't speak until she was at Vega's side. "Na'ow, Satoshi Vega." Her voice was distant, soft. Her expression was troubled. "I think you might have been a better companion for my negotiations than Paul was. He had objections to my new career, and asked me to come out here to join you while he..." She looked back over her shoulder, catching the hungry eyes that had watched her return to the public bar.

She knew she was beautiful; Her body had developed an unfortunate bit of tone, and worse a bit of tan, during her exile, but she took pains to keep her face, her body, soft, warm, and welcoming. And she was pale where a woman should be pale, at least. Yes, she was beautiful... but she expected herself to be beautiful. To be beautiful was to be art, to be art was to be your best self. A beautiful woman was beautiful because it was the place of a woman to be beautiful. Men might find her attractive, but to attract a man only with your body was to admit you were a failure at holding their attention in any other way. Sex, the act of a man taking her, or of she taking of him, or of them taking each other... it was pleasant, but as a mere physical act it was best left to youths and maidens. And having known from a young age she would take the crystal, she had never been much interested. Now that she was a woman grown... well, last night had awoken something in her, which still danced at the edge of her mind. Paul had felt good under her. He had felt right. And perhaps that had been just the chocolate, and perhaps with the chocolate any man would feel right.

But he had put her aside; and at first she had been humiliated to be rejected, and to have put herself in that position; but he had meant no harm... and she was grateful to him. For his silence. Much as she was annoyed with him for his voice now. He had no right to make claims on her, or tell her no. He didn't understand. But did she?

Oh, her body was soft and warm and welcoming, to please the eye, her eye and the eyes of men, and to tempt the hand, as only a man's hand could be tempted. But to be possessed, to be held, to be safeguarded, to be his, and in a way that made him just as much hers.

To them, it seemed she was just the physical. And Paul had made her see that. To see that while she wanted, had promised herself, safety in arms, even in a sea of them... all she was to them was tits –- and had this thought process not occurred in the fraction of a second, her brow would have furrowed at the vulgarity, and at the infantilization-- and arse. And then she did understand, and her lips pursed, and her eyes, which had been vague, worried, concerned, gleamed with a crystalline anger. She dropped Paul's jacket, no longer caring that it left her mostly revealed to the crowd, and her hand went to her collar. "...and I'm going back in to get him."

[Enso and Mu]

Vega nodded his tacit agreement to the man's figure, and with an air of only the slightest reluctance, had handed over his datacube. The price wasn't outrageous for the work, and he supposed even a bounty-hunter deserved due payment for due work. But that was a good portion of his capital for the exhibition, and a lifetime of half-martial, half-monastic bent had made him miserly when it came to his own spending.

This was around when Maein had showed up, and he looked to her with a mixture of concern and confusion. She didn't seem well - hadn't seemed well for most of the trip. Distracted, even. But then, her mood crystalized and clarified, and as it did, it seemed to solidify Vega's impression as well. He liked determination. People need to invoke it in themselves more often.

"Then I'm going with you," he replied, his tone making it abundantly clear it was neither an offer or a request. He'd fall in alongside Maein, cognizant of the weight of the stunner at his hip. The weapon wasn't exactly SY-tech, but it was an elegant device all the same. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but in a place like this, anything that couldn't have punched holes in lumaplate probably wasn't going to give people much pause UNTIL it was used.

He glanced over his shoulder as they were going. "Hetu, I'm flying aboard the Dok-shifa. If you find anything you can catch up with me there."

[Macisikan]

Behind them Hetu had risen to his feet in one smooth motion; if he didn’t have a cybersuit under his clothes, then the boy was one long streak of muscle. The smirk briefly faded into an expression of interest. The cube had disappeared somewhere into his clothes.

“Sure thin,” he said, strolling along behind them, hands in his pockets. “Bu’, ma man, ya now me pay cheque, so ‘m gonna tag alon’ if ya don’ mind. Go’ an in’res’ now in ya not having ya feathers pull’d ou’ by Josie.”

He casually glanced around the bar, smirk back; as he met the gazes of the patrons, they hurriedly re-discovered just how fascinating their drinks, the stripper, the wall, each other’s faces, and, in one case, the floor was. Just look at the details in that spilled drink – truly an artwork worthy of Earth From Before.

[New Dornalia]

Vega nodded his tacit agreement to the man's figure, and with an air of only the slightest reluctance, had handed over his datacube. The price wasn't outrageous for the work, and he supposed even a bounty-hunter deserved due payment for due work. But that was a good portion of his capital for the exhibition, and a lifetime of half-martial, half-monastic bent had made him miserly when it came to his own spending.

This was around when Maein had showed up, and he looked to her with a mixture of concern and confusion. She didn't seem well - hadn't seemed well for most of the trip. Distracted, even. But then, her mood crystalized and clarified, and as it did, it seemed to solidify Vega's impression as well. He liked determination. People need to invoke it in themselves more often.

"Then I'm going with you," he replied, his tone making it abundantly clear it was neither an offer or a request. He'd fall in alongside Maein, cognizant of the weight of the stunner at his hip. The weapon wasn't exactly SY-tech, but it was an elegant device all the same. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but in a place like this, anything that couldn't have punched holes in lumaplate probably wasn't going to give people much pause UNTIL it was used.

He glanced over his shoulder as they were going. "Hetu, I'm flying aboard the Dok-shifa. If you find anything you can catch up with me there."

Behind them Hetu had risen to his feet in one smooth motion; if he didn’t have a cybersuit under his clothes, then the boy was one long streak of muscle. The smirk briefly faded into an expression of interest. The cube had disappeared somewhere into his clothes.

“Sure thin,” he said, strolling along behind them, hands in his pockets. “Bu’, ma man, ya now me pay cheque, so ‘m gonna tag alon’ if ya don’ mind. Go’ an in’res’ now in ya not having ya feathers pull’d ou’ by Josie.”

He casually glanced around the bar, smirk back; as he met the gazes of the patrons, they hurriedly re-discovered just how fascinating their drinks, the stripper, the wall, each other’s faces, and, in one case, the floor was. Just look at the details in that spilled drink – truly an artwork worthy of Earth From Before.

Maein didn't speak until she was at Vega's side. "Na'ow, Satoshi Vega." Her voice was distant, soft. Her expression was troubled. "I think you might have been a better companion for my negotiations than Paul was. He had objections to my new career, and asked me to come out here to join you while he..." She looked back over her shoulder, catching the hungry eyes that had watched her return to the public bar.

She knew she was beautiful; Her body had developed an unfortunate bit of tone, and worse a bit of tan, during her exile, but she took pains to keep her face, her body, soft, warm, and welcoming. And she was pale where a woman should be pale, at least. Yes, she was beautiful... but she expected herself to be beautiful. To be beautiful was to be art, to be art was to be your best self. A beautiful woman was beautiful because it was the place of a woman to be beautiful. Men might find her attractive, but to attract a man only with your body was to admit you were a failure at holding their attention in any other way. Sex, the act of a man taking her, or of she taking of him, or of them taking each other... it was pleasant, but as a mere physical act it was best left to youths and maidens. And having known from a young age she would take the crystal, she had never been much interested. Now that she was a woman grown... well, last night had awoken something in her, which still danced at the edge of her mind. Paul had felt good under her. He had felt right. And perhaps that had been just the chocolate, and perhaps with the chocolate any man would feel right.

But he had put her aside; and at first she had been humiliated to be rejected, and to have put herself in that position; but he had meant no harm... and she was grateful to him. For his silence. Much as she was annoyed with him for his voice now. He had no right to make claims on her, or tell her no. He didn't understand. But did she?

Oh, her body was soft and warm and welcoming, to please the eye, her eye and the eyes of men, and to tempt the hand, as only a man's hand could be tempted. But to be possessed, to be held, to be safeguarded, to be his, and in a way that made him just as much hers.

To them, it seemed she was just the physical. And Paul had made her see that. To see that while she wanted, had promised herself, safety in arms, even in a sea of them... all she was to them was tits –- and had this thought process not occurred in the fraction of a second, her brow would have furrowed at the vulgarity, and at the infantilization-- and arse. And then she did understand, and her lips pursed, and her eyes, which had been vague, worried, concerned, gleamed with a crystalline anger. She dropped Paul's jacket, no longer caring that it left her mostly revealed to the crowd, and her hand went to her collar. "...and I'm going back in to get him."

The standoff hadn’t changed much by the time the three attempted to come back to the office to find Paul. But first, the three would find themselves confronted by a few rather large men in suits, with weapons drawn--not all of them blasters either. There was a jian, a blackjack, a collapsible tonfa, and one man even had a rather large kanabo. They, much like Gozu and Mezu were, rather scruffy sorts who made a mockery of their suits.

The one with the kanabo pointed at Maein and said, “There’s that bitch!” The man with the Kanabo marched forward, pointing at Maein with it as his goons formed a wall of flesh and oversized suit blocking their path. The leader of the goons simply said, annoyed, “Boss wants us to make sure you don’t leave. She’s got business to discuss!”

One of the other thugs, sounding somewhat dim, asked out loud, “Hey, Manny. The hell do we do with these other guys?”

Manny, the man with the Kanabo, sighed and sized up the party with a stern squinty gaze. The man had a point--Jo’s orders had not discussed the presence of Hetu, or an owl-looking mystic. That being said, Manny was not in the mood for this sort of banter. That little shit with the lightsaber had already thrown a wrench into his nocturnal schedule, and he wasn’t about to let anything else ruin his evening.

The man then grumbled out loud, to his companion.

“Dude, one of them works with us. Okay. The one who’s not a broad or a birb is Hetu, the new guy. You know who he looks like, don’t be a douche. We don’t hurt him. If anything, I need him for Fizzbin Night.”

The Clueless-Yet-Observant-Flunky then sighed and rolled his eyes, evidently used to such replies.

“Okay, jeez. Sorry. Fuck.”

He then pointed to Vega and asked, “What about the fuckin’ bird?”

Manny then said, with a nonchalant look as he looked back at Vega, “Depends on what he does.” He then grinned and said, taking the kanabo and performing an ominous gesture where he held his left hand level and moved the kanabo so as to lightly, but ominously, tap the palm of the left hand. It was obvious Manny began to feel that perhaps this distraction would be welcome after all.

***

As this was occurring, Paul was standing his ground, lightsaber in hand, staring down an angry woman on stimulants with a cut down rifle. While Paul would appear to have the advantage, his relative inexperience and Jo’s aggression and the sheer power behind the rifle would make things rather even.

Paul was, as of this moment, having flashes of self doubt. He had acted to protect Maein, and save her from a potentially hellish existence in sexual slavery. And yet….given his position, did he really make the smartest choice? Likely not, given the very real risk that he’d be killed if he made the wrong move. But he had made the most morally sound one, Paul reassured himself. And if he had to go down swinging? So be it.

Jo for her part had no such compunctions or hidden emotions. She was growing increasingly livid. This young narc had dared to challenge her authority on her own turf, all to make a point. She wouldn’t punish Maein for it. But, she could make her friend pay for his intransigence, and make it for naught. Besides, she wasn’t afraid of Ordermen. Mom trusted Ordermen. But Dad kept tabs on them. Especially with their powers and all--and while Struan was too whacked out on diet stims to really use all of the tricks she had been taught, she knew unpredictability was the key to victory here. And overwhelming firepower.

So, when Paul began to hear to coming of his friends and their confrontation with Manny’s crew, Paul raised an eyebrow upwards in curiosity, and tried to sense their coming, to perhaps warn them psychically. Jo, perhaps getting quite impatient, seized upon his movement of the eyebrows and rolled her eyes, grousing with a simple, “Fuck this.” Raising her Big Medicine upwards, she proceeded to begin pulling the trigger. Her goons were doing the same.

However, Paul sensed Jo had decided to act--and acted in turn.

Namely, Paul removed his right hand from the grip of the lightsaber, and made a sweeping gesture with his now free hand. He was young, but he had his abilities--and right now, they would be the ones with which he had handled the chocolate situation on the Dok-Shifa.

Paul felt his hand move, and as it did so, Jo felt her balance being lost, as something seemed to pick her up by the ankles, shouting “What the--WHAT THE FUCK!?” as she had an induced slip and fall on virtually nothing.

Of course, her finger was not out of the trigger guard though, and the inevitable result of poor trigger discipline made itself known. Namely, the 11mm shot still fired. But it would not hit Paul, and not anyone else.

It would rather, with a loud crack, fly out of the gun with a massive flash. While the goons took cover, it wouldn’t be enough as the shot flew out and powered through the ceiling of the office with a thunderous BOOM. The blast would send debris everywhere, and collapse a part of the ceiling. Jo could be seen covering her face, and even Paul tried to cover his face as best as possible. When he looked at the scene, Jo turned to Paul, and looked at the ceiling, the destruction, the horror wrought by the shot….and then looked at the Orderman with rage as she got back up quicker than Paul expected.

Jo then shouted louder and fiercer than she ever had done before. She had any number of ideas as to what would happen to Maein and company, but they wouldn’t be made definite until she got them into the office. For now, she just wanted them in there. Now.

“MAEIN YOU! MY OFFICE! NOW! GET THAT BITCH IN HERE! GET ALL OF THEM IN HERE!”

With that, Manny said, grabbing Maein, “Let’s go, you heard the lady!” At the same time, the surviving goons began marching towards Paul, intending to tackle him and overwhelm him.

Paul gasped, and sensed something bad was going to happen to that man.

It was so on.

[Roania]

"That is exactly what I intend to..." Maein went, for a moment, limp. The sudden grip of a man had caught her by surprise. No one had ever touched her like that before. At least, no one male. "Please let go of me." She spoke very softly, and very shyly, looking up at Manny with deep green eyes that pleaded for reason. Surely any reasonable and decent man would agree to this request, especially as she had already announced her intention of going back to the office.

Unfortunately, Manny was neither decent nor reasonable. And he pulled her forward and cursed at her.

It was probably of small comfort to him or whatever family he had that he died doing what he loved (being lewd and rude). But die he did. A spot equidistant between Maein's breasts, previously hidden by what turned out to have actually been a skin-colored body-glove, began to glow. Brighter and brighter, bluer and bluer. First the body-suit burned away, revealing a shining jade crystal set in silver, set into her flesh. Then, too, did her shirt go up in greenish flames, and her jeans. Which meant, yes, that she stood there naked, in front of everyone in the room. She was beautiful, at least by the standards of her people. Soft where she should be soft. Firm where she should be firm. A woman, entirely, from her hair (which had now begun to glow), to her feet, which had lifted slightly off the ground, leaving her floating. And the crystal's light was spreading through her body; not making her less feminine or less nude, but making it less important, blunting characteristics... and her eyes opened wide and were now simple pools of liquid silver, and her arm turned in Manny's grasp and her hand grabbed his, and her other hand went to the crystal, and she spoke a word, one word, and Manny's skin began to change, as hers had changed, and yet not as hers had changed.

For crystal fire or not, she lived, and she was a woman. But the thug's skin, as the change spread from her fingers, became hard and brittle, and died. And she let him go, and kicked him in the chest, and where her foot met his body, the change began again, burning through clothing and skin... and soon it would reach his heart, and he would die, but even then his flesh would continue to turn to rock, and the rock would turn to dust, and soon he would be as if he had never been.

But Maein paid no attention. Instead, she began to float forward, towards the back door. Any thugs who got in her way received the same treatment as Manny. That explosion had rattled her right around, and now she had only one interest. Getting back to the office and rescuing her crew.

[Macisikan]

When the shot echoed down the corridor Hetu sighed softly and did up his jacket. He knew exactly where this was going. Jo was a complete moron who prided herself on never touching alcohol so much that she had to mention it to everyone; he got to hear it three times when she first contracted him. Privately he suspected she’d given herself the damn nickname of “Lemonade”. So instead of touching booze, she got high on her own supply. Regularly. Because she was a moron. With no sense of restraint.

He’d already started moving when she began bellowing; not sneaking, but rather strolling around Vega with a muttered “’scuse me ma man,” making a quiet non-threatening beeline for the thug who had questioned his presence.

And then Maein put on a light show; like everyone else, Hetu’s attention was drawn by the dramatics. Unlike Jo’s minions, he didn’t stay fixated on her Medusa act. Instead, he sidled up to Mr Dim-but-Observant, who was, for the first and last time demonstrating some presence of mind and bringing his own weapon up to point at Vega. He never got the chance to fire as Hetu brought his hands across the man’s throat.

The thug gurgled as he slid to the floor, his life’s blood welling out of a second smile that ran ear-to-ear. Hetu’s attention moved to the next one; this time his hand came swiftly up, meeting the man’s solar plexus in a blow that would normally wind someone. Instead, the front of his terrible suit turned wet and slick as the blade was pulled out; he was dead before he hit the floor.

By this stage Mezu, the one who wanted to see how Maein would “handle the rollercoaster” was levelling his own weapon at the back of Paul’s head.

There was a brief period in which a lot happened.

At the end of it, Mezu was choking on his own blood as Hetu whispered something into his ear, lowering him almost gently to the floor, and a fourth thug had sprouted a thrown knife from his throat.

The cyborg straightened, and glanced around; the smirk was back.

“We’re goin’ ta have comp’ny soon,” he said. “Can I have me knife back?”

[Enso and Mu]

Almost as soon as the combat began, Vega realized he was outmatched and outgunned. A stunner was a useful weapon, and the Mujin made good ones - they could cycle as fast as any lethal weapon good, and some, like Vega's, were designed to be either a melee weapon or a close-in handgun when necessary, but that didn't matter. It was clear that knocking some people down and really making them feel bad about themselves just wasn't going to cut it here.

He was going to need a new weapon, he realised. He screeched, making sure to keep himself moving as he fired relatively indiscriminately into their assailants, and did his best to move with Hetu, perhaps even draw fire away from the cyborg. He followed the more feral shout with something that was probably a language - and probably profane.

Vega had never cared much for combat on this scale. In its own way, mech combat was cleaner. Much more destructive, of course, but it provided you a level of abstraction that was easier to square with the precepts. Wasn't the first precept not to kill, after all?

He flourished the stunner, causing the bladelike protrusion it concealed to quite suddenly extend, dancing with a corona of energetic discharge as he flourished it again and shifted to a two-handed grip, shouting again in a crudly-accented rendition of the Rudanese trade language. "<Maein, get your ass out of here!>"

No, the Shunyo would be overkill. And likely get them all thrown off the planet.

But later, he and Paul were going to have a frank exchange of ideas.

[New Dornalia]

OOC: Done in collab with Roania, Macisikan

Almost as soon as the combat began, Vega realized he was outmatched and outgunned. A stunner was a useful weapon, and the Mujin made good ones - they could cycle as fast as any lethal weapon good, and some, like Vega's, were designed to be either a melee weapon or a close-in handgun when necessary, but that didn't matter. It was clear that knocking some people down and really making them feel bad about themselves just wasn't going to cut it here.

He was going to need a new weapon, he realised. He screeched, making sure to keep himself moving as he fired relatively indiscriminately into their assailants, and did his best to move with Hetu, perhaps even draw fire away from the cyborg. He followed the more feral shout with something that was probably a language - and probably profane.

Vega had never cared much for combat on this scale. In its own way, mech combat was cleaner. Much more destructive, of course, but it provided you a level of abstraction that was easier to square with the precepts. Wasn't the first precept not to kill, after all?

He flourished the stunner, causing the bladelike protrusion it concealed to quite suddenly extend, dancing with a corona of energetic discharge as he flourished it again and shifted to a two-handed grip, shouting again in a crudly-accented rendition of the Rudanese trade language. "<Maein, get your ass out of here!>"

No, the Shunyo would be overkill. And likely get them all thrown off the planet.

But later, he and Paul were going to have a frank exchange of ideas.

When the shot echoed down the corridor Hetu sighed softly and did up his jacket. He knew exactly where this was going. Jo was a complete moron who prided herself on never touching alcohol so much that she had to mention it to everyone; he got to hear it three times when she first contracted him. Privately he suspected she’d given herself the damn nickname of “Lemonade”. So instead of touching booze, she got high on her own supply. Regularly. Because she was a moron. With no sense of restraint.

He’d already started moving when she began bellowing; not sneaking, but rather strolling around Vega with a muttered “’scuse me ma man,” making a quiet non-threatening beeline for the thug who had questioned his presence.

And then Maein put on a light show; like everyone else, Hetu’s attention was drawn by the dramatics. Unlike Jo’s minions, he didn’t stay fixated on her Medusa act. Instead, he sidled up to Mr Dim-but-Observant, who was, for the first and last time demonstrating some presence of mind and bringing his own weapon up to point at Vega. He never got the chance to fire as Hetu brought his hands across the man’s throat.

The thug gurgled as he slid to the floor, his life’s blood welling out of a second smile that ran ear-to-ear. Hetu’s attention moved to the next one; this time his hand came swiftly up, meeting the man’s solar plexus in a blow that would normally wind someone. Instead, the front of his terrible suit turned wet and slick as the blade was pulled out; he was dead before he hit the floor.

By this stage Mezu, the one who wanted to see how Maein would “handle the rollercoaster” was levelling his own weapon at the back of Paul’s head.

There was a brief period in which a lot happened.

At the end of it, Mezu was choking on his own blood as Hetu whispered something into his ear, lowering him almost gently to the floor, and a fourth thug had sprouted a thrown knife from his throat.

The cyborg straightened, and glanced around; the smirk was back.

“We’re goin’ ta have comp’ny soon,” he said. “Can I have me knife back?”

"That is exactly what I intend to..." Maein went, for a moment, limp. The sudden grip of a man had caught her by surprise. No one had ever touched her like that before. At least, no one male. "Please let go of me." She spoke very softly, and very shyly, looking up at Manny with deep green eyes that pleaded for reason. Surely any reasonable and decent man would agree to this request, especially as she had already announced her intention of going back to the office.

Unfortunately, Manny was neither decent nor reasonable. And he pulled her forward and cursed at her.

It was probably of small comfort to him or whatever family he had that he died doing what he loved (being lewd and rude). But die he did. A spot equidistant between Maein's breasts, previously hidden by what turned out to have actually been a skin-colored body-glove, began to glow. Brighter and brighter, bluer and bluer. First the body-suit burned away, revealing a shining jade crystal set in silver, set into her flesh. Then, too, did her shirt go up in greenish flames, and her jeans. Which meant, yes, that she stood there naked, in front of everyone in the room. She was beautiful, at least by the standards of her people. Soft where she should be soft. Firm where she should be firm. A woman, entirely, from her hair (which had now begun to glow), to her feet, which had lifted slightly off the ground, leaving her floating. And the crystal's light was spreading through her body; not making her less feminine or less nude, but making it less important, blunting characteristics... and her eyes opened wide and were now simple pools of liquid silver, and her arm turned in Manny's grasp and her hand grabbed his, and her other hand went to the crystal, and she spoke a word, one word, and Manny's skin began to change, as hers had changed, and yet not as hers had changed.

For crystal fire or not, she lived, and she was a woman. But the thug's skin, as the change spread from her fingers, became hard and brittle, and died. And she let him go, and kicked him in the chest, and where her foot met his body, the change began again, burning through clothing and skin... and soon it would reach his heart, and he would die, but even then his flesh would continue to turn to rock, and the rock would turn to dust, and soon he would be as if he had never been.

But Maein paid no attention. Instead, she began to float forward, towards the back door. Any thugs who got in her way received the same treatment as Manny. That explosion had rattled her right around, and now she had only one interest. Getting back to the office and rescuing her crew.

The violence which saw Maein turn a thug and other thugs into crystal, the new guy turn into a surprisingly agile, mobile and hostile knifing machine, and which saw Vega reluctantly engage in combat with a stunner with thoughts of likely verbal discipline for the cowboy that started this ruckus also consumed….well, the cowboy who started this ruckus.

Paul had made the conscious decision to be a hero. And now, he had to prove he could follow through with the decision.

From the office, as things had initially degenerated into chaos, Paul could see Jo standing with a smug grin on her face as she stood back, letting her men do her dirty work. It was a confident grin, one which felt assured that the crime boss could drown the Dok-Shifa’s crew in blood and get the humiliation of Maein and the death of her crew that she now very much wanted. Paul could feel the confused mixture of emotions from Jo, and although they were all distinct, they had a theme. Jo had felt betrayed--and had little tolerance for perceived ingratitude. If Maein’s little cowboy friend wouldn’t let Jo enact one plan, she’d enact a gruesomer version of the plan in front of the cowboy’s dying eyes.

As it turned out, however, Jo would not have long to be confident about her chances.

First came the attacks of the others, which made her grin sank with despair that not even the coming of more men could solve.

First, was when she saw Hetu slice apart Jo’s men’s throats. Jo didn’t seem to care much that the Oblivious One had been killed so brutally. But to see Mezu suffer the same fate? The man had been a trustworthy man, along with Gozu. And now Mezu was dead, having attempted to bring swift retribution from behind on the cowboy. Jo was displeased, to say the least.

Then, came the brave, if very annoyed Satoshi that was an efficient fighter nonetheless. Even if it was obvious that the Satoshi wasn’t in the mood to be killing people in CQC, he seemed pretty good at neutralizing her men in the most benevolent sense of the word. He was loud, angry, and possessed with the fires of combat. A fine opponent, but one Jo wished was not helping her turncoat new hire turn mooks into mincemeat.

And then, worst of all, came Maein herself. Jo had had some inkling the woman was a Seer--but she could never confirm it. Maein didn’t volunteer information, and Jo didn’t want to pry. And now, Jo looked positively petrified, as Manny and company were turned to crystal, to be then, in the words of Kansas, be rendered as “dust in the wind.” Jo may not have cared much for the death of Dim-But-Observant, but she cared about Mezu’s death and now cared about Manny’s death.

But worst yet came Paul’s response.

The men inside the office that had not headed out to their ill-fated mission to intercept Maein and company had rushed the Orderman. They had surrounded Paul, eager to hold down the Orderman, grapple him and force him to the ground to restrain him--or just simply kill him, whatever the situation dictated. Their belief that they were too close for Paul to effectively take charge plus their well-honed bravado and asskicking ability lead them to ignore the fact Paul had a lightsaber and instead all rushed in at once.

That of course, was a mistake.

Paul’s first instinct was to begin slashing, using the sword swings taught by those who had instructed Paul in the ways of the lightsaber as interpreted by the Dornalian Order in a manner which spoke of heavy drilling….and minimal real life experience. To one unfortunate man, he executed a swift diagonal cut, severing the man’s forearms in half as the victim recoiled in pain and horror. Paul then, operating on autopilot, quickly turned with speed to make a horizontal slash at another mook’s midsection, slicing the man’s chest open and causing him to recoil backwards in pain and with plenty of attendant gore to match. Paul--perhaps not wishing to make too much of a scene over the injury, used his free hand to shove the man backwards. Hetu delivered the coup-de-grace, ending the man’s misery.

Paul then felt a boot to the back of his head.

The Orderman had been distracted, and he paid for it now with a solid hit that caused him to stagger forward. Paul regained his balance, and heard the man shouting, “C’mere, you runt!”

It was Gozu. The man who proposed the test drive in the first place. Paul felt himself wanting to do something...but first, priorities--too many mooks around, and he sensed more coming.

So, with his free hand toppled the man who did the blow using his Force Shove powers and a little bit of physics-based trickery to trip Gozu over as he rushed to make the kill or capture. As the man fell, he fell on top of one of his own, buying Paul some valuable space and time as Gozu and the man tried to get up off of one another.

With his head pounding in pain, Paul then could be seen turning with supernaturally rapid speed to make another dramatic diagonal slash to yet another mook lunging at Paul with a katana. This time, the strike hit true, and the man and his blade collapsed in an ugly heap. Both were bisected diagonally, and the katana was a molten mess. The man was worse off, in the meantime.

Paul then turned and saw Gozu getting back up. Gozu glared at Paul, and then, in perhaps one of the dumbest moves a thug could make, grumbled to his quarry as he pulled out a blaster and aimed it...not at Paul, but the Flunky he had just collapsed on top of. Gozu taunted Paul, and shouted:

“Come on! Big man with a big fuckin’ lightsaber! Come on! I ain’t scared of you or your broad! COME ON!”

Paul turned to Gozu, and stared the giant mook down. Gozu was desperate. Angry. Trying perhaps to use human sympathy to make Paul lower his defenses, so Gozu could shoot. The lessons were coming back. Paul knew that he had to make this count. If Gozu saw something on Paul’s end, he’d be able to shoot the flunky and then take on Paul. Paul didn’t have much sympathy for the Flunky at the moment, but his powers sensed he was a good guy at heart--or at least, someone who was seriously reconsidering his current criminal enterprises--and could be trusted to simply flee and not cause trouble. Not worth killing, and Paul didn’t want to harm him.

And then, the equation changed. The two suddenly exploded in a shower of gore, having been atomized with a BOOM and a crack and a flash of blue light. Paul turned around, and saw Jo with a smoking gun, held low.

“I never liked that pervert,” Jo said, with a sigh of exhaustion--and not regret--looking at the gore. Her sigh then turned into a psychotic grin, one which seemed to overlay itself on a mixture of a thousand-yard stare and the beginnings of drug withdrawal. Jo then turned to the Dok-Shifa crew. Her smile held fast, as she then worked the lever very deliberately, and very prominently, with a fancy spin-cocking move.

Then, words dripping with venom came out of Jo’s mouth.

“Then again, I’m not sure I like any of you better right now.”

Paul then saw Jo raise the rifle, and aim it at the Dok-Shifa crew. Paul became frightened. He had to do something. He had to stop Jo before she shot her cannon. So, with his typically impulsive spirit, he charged forward, and used the Force Shove he had been using for tactical advantage to first distract Jo with a shove, and then to close with Jo and grab the rifle out of her hands telekinetically. With a few mighty tugs, Paul grabbed it with ease that astonished even himself, and set it down next to him.
Paul held out his lightsaber, and then said, simply, using the tone with which he had before rejected Jo’s plan beforehand, “No more games.”

Jo raised her hands, and with her psychotic grin still affixed, said, “Okay, okay! Fuck!” She then, after a few seconds, screamed impatiently, “FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!” She then looked around at the Dok-Shifa crew, and then to Paul, and then back to the crew as she screamed, “Well?!”

Maein’s eyes blinked. Well, they closed. Momentarily. When they opened, they were her eyes again. Slowly, her body began to soften. To pinken. To become that of a mortal woman once more. A very naked mortal woman. But at the moment, she didn’t care. “...this is regrettable.” She murmured, not even bothering to cover herself, looking around at the dead. “...I am sorry, Mistress Struan. This was not my intention, nor my desire. You will understand that, in time.”

More from propriety than any embarrassment, the young woman began to bend, but then stopped and instead knelt down, grabbing the shirt of one of the dead men. At her will, buttons and catches undid themselves, and she dressed herself quickly. Mostly by wrapping it around her hips and thighs. A burst of crystal fire finished the job, and the man’s shirt was now recycled into a functional skirt.

“Paul? Are you well? Were you hurt?” Maein spoke easily, watching Jo. “If so, then I will bring this place down around her ears. Otherwise, I think we’ve caused enough trouble for Mistress Struan.” She covered her chest with her arms. Only, not very. The intention was more to convey thought then to cover.

Paul replied, breaking character and stumbling a bit over his words at first, “I-I’m alright, Maein. It’s been a bit...crazy.” He said the last part, looking around at the carnage which had taken over. He then wondered, perhaps, if Maein was cold without a top on, but well, that question would be answered in due time. “Mistress Struan,” as Maein called Jo, was waiting for the continuation of things.

“...well.” Speaking professionally, carefully, calculatedly, the Ship-Mistress laid out her vision of the future. “...I regret to inform you that the gentlemen in the bar attempted an unwarranted attack on my person, Mistress Struan, and I was forced to defend myself. I believe your surveillance system will bear this out. Obviously, of course, this had nothing to do with anything you might have said or done. You only asked me to come in here. Hardly your fault.” She considered the situation. “Now, this is a lot of damage to your fine establishment, owing of course to my crew’s desire to defend me from ruffians who, unbeknownst to you, were members of your staff.” Half-naked though she was, Maein cupped her hands in front of her abdomen and bowed, head on collar, at least 30 degrees. When she stood up, she nodded. “...shall we say thirty-three million, seven hundred and fifty six thousand, two hundred and eighty nine dollars? Now that I have been discovered, I both have no reason to hide my accounts and will need to close them. You seem a fine investment. You once told me you wished to open a temperance bar. Perhaps?” She stepped forward, closer to Paul, and reached out with one hand to grasp his nearest arm. With her other, she reached out to Jo.

“No. Kill ‘er,” Hetu said suddenly, plucking his knife from a rapidly cooling corpse. “She’s go’ a verr’ nas’y tempa and a lon’ mem’ry. She’s gonna come afta ya,” he continued, wiping his blades clean. “And she’s go’ no prob wit goin’ afta ya fam’lies to ge’ ya. Bu’ wha’eva ya do, make i’ quick, yeah? Tha goons in tha bar are gonna join us soon.”

Paul deactivated the saber, and holstered it as his free arm was caught by Maein’s. His pounding headache, which had come now that he was out of combat, felt strangely...better. Likewise, Jo seemed to calm down, and didn’t seem to be feeling all that homicidal at the moment. Well, there was still some urge left, which awoke when Hetu spoke. But, Jo merely glared at the cyborg, before surveying the carnage, turned back to Maein and Paul.

“Well, you two did mess up my bar something fierce,” was her stoic reply. “I’d wager that’s a lot of dead men out there.” Whistling, the gang leader said, “Yeah.” Her face was seemingly grappling with Maein’s sudden generosity...and evident remorse for the situation’s direction. Still, if Jo was mad at Maein, it didn’t show--and Paul found Jo was not harboring any ill will to Maein at the moment.

Hetu then coughed and replied with a pointed, “Nah, Josie. Ya mens is all fine. Worse luck.“

Jo shrugged, and then continued, “Anyway, your gift does sound mighty tempting right now, Maein,” Jo said with a smile.

“Good. I offer you my hand.”

Jo shook on it, and then said with a grin, “Good. At the very least, I can use the money to fix the place up, and also maybe make my weekly contribution to the Police Benevolence Fund. WHich is going to have to be much bigger, given the ruckus that just happened.”

“I understand, and again, I am very sorry for the confusion. You know my account details. Thank you for everything you did and tried to do for me.” She gave Paul a sidelong glare, and her grip turned (momentarily) icy. “...I’m afraid that under the circumstances, we will not meet again.” The Ship-Mistress bowed in farewell. “Zaijin, Mistress Struan.” Without any thought or concern, she started back out to the bar. If for nothing else, the jacket was out there, and she was somewhat chilly.

Jo then nodded at Maein, and then turned to Hetu and Paul. WIth a long sigh, Jo then said simply to Hetu and Paul, “Okay. You two. Cowboy, you can have the gun, it’s a peace offering. That being said? You two are banned from the bar. For life. Or until at least Maein can tell me you two can be trusted.” Jo then said to Vega, “Dunno you, but you’re not banned. Well, wait. I guess you are.” She then said, dismissing all of them with a wave, “Whatever. Just...fuck off already.”

Jo then disappeared into her office, and slammed the door shut. Paul then shrugged, and followed Maein and company out front, taking the Big Medicine with him.

As he met up with Maein company out front in the bar, Paul felt mightily queasy. He had drawn blood. He had maimed someone. He had even killed a man. The fact he didn’t seem to enjoy it that much and had acquitted himself well--along with the rest of the Dok-Shifa’s crew--in close quarters battle was small comfort. Worse yet was the feeling that he had just compelled Maein to spend a portion of what was a dwindling life’s savings to clean up a mess he had instigated, as a sort of weregeld.

Then again, his stomach calmed and his conscience was calmed by the fact that were it not for Paul’s intervention….Maein would have been placed into a rather unpleasant fate, forced to whore herself out to stay hidden. That he had ensured Maein was not compelled to live a life of sexual slavery eased the pain of things a bit. That being said--he felt a bit off….

Maein had placed the jacket on, and loosely buttoned it to provide some more modesty, though there was a sense that it was for their benefit, not hers. The bar was largely deserted, after the fight and shots and screaming. The only real change was that now there was a credit chit on the bar in front of Gracie, whom Maein had been speaking to before they came in. With a frown, she looked up at Paul. “...you need to learn to mind your own business, hero.” There was little heat behind the words.

Instead, she looked him up and down. “...look at you.” The girl’s frown intensified, and she clicked her fingers. There was a pressure on Paul to lean down towards her. “Don’t think I’m going to stand on tip-toe for you, Hero.” The pressure would intensify until Paul’s face was roughly even with hers. When he was in place, she put one hand on his forehead, and the other on the crystal that still glowed from her cleavage. “Shu.” She whispered, and the glow traveled up and along her shoulder, down her arm, and to her fingers.

Paul would feel a warm glow, and then a sense of well-being and recovery. She dropped her hand, and sighed. “...I wouldn’t start any more gang wars today, but by tomorrow you’ll be fine.” And her hand slipped to his cheek. “This means nothing but my gratitude. And barely that.” She leaned in and kissed him gently, then parted.

Now, the light of her crystal had completely faded.

Paul stood there, feeling...quite refreshed. Whatever Maein had done had brought him back to life--or at least cured the battle wounds. He looked around, and then said simply with a nod, “Thanks, Maein, for the heal.” He was quite grateful, it seemed, from the tone of his voice. He also said, somewhat glad they had gotten out of there without much more danger attached, “Thanks also, for the save back there with the boss.”

He of course, wondered what would happen now, especially with the Gracie being one of the few people in this room….

One of those people was approaching the Gracie; their homicidal new friend.

“‘scuse me Gracie,” Hetu flashed the hologram a smile; she stared back warily. “I like ya, an’ it’d be a shame ta’ hur’ ya,” he added conversationally, stripping the glove from his left hand; cybernetic implants framed the flesh, running down his fingers to encase the tips completely. As they watched, said tips seemed to grow claws; he reached to the dataport behind the bar, and stuck said claws into it.

If Paul was trying to get a read on the cyborg, now would be the first time he got anything other than “alive” – strains of music, rising and falling in a complex pattern of mathematical beauty.

“Go’ i’,” he said after several moments. “Oh, an’ Gracie; thanks for bein’ a goo’ spor’. Ya go’ a lil’ somefin’ wai’in’ fo’ ya,” he turned to the others.

“So, how bou’ we ge’ ou’ o’ ‘ere an’ haf some propa intros?”

[Enso and Mu]

The sohei-captain powered down his stunner as the conflict drew to a close, retracting it back within itself, as he stood down from his combat stance. He was seething, and it was at his angriest that he was most prone to thoughts of complete withdrawal. Perhaps it was best that his pilot module was damaged so badly. Wasn't this the perfect excuse to retire and become monastic in full?

Instead, he chuckled darkly at the idea of being banned, and turned to Maein, some of the malice in his eyes bleeding off... but not all. "<I will await you at your ship.>"

He would depart from there at once. He needed time on his cushion - and time to consider the legality of what they had achieved.

[Roania]

"Satoshi Vega, please wait. You were discussing business with this gentleman." she indicated Hetu. "I would consider it an honour if you would permit him on board and continue with your conversation. And... I am sorry. I will explain once I understand the explanation."

That business concluded, after they were alone, she gave Paul a searching look. "Well, you're probably the best of your people that I've met, but don't think we're even, Paul." She was smiling as she said it, though, and the light flush that came to her cheeks was a good sign that she was recovering. "I used the last of my power on healing you, so I will put you to work. We need a few more supplies, and I shall need new clothing. And some tea. And one of your computers." She stepped closer, closing his jacket around her as best she could, her high cheekbones now highlighted in pink.

She still wanted to be close to the orderman. If her half-lidded eyes were an indication, she wanted to be close indeed. Or she was exhausted. Either way, one of her small hands found his, and squeezed, before she sighed. "I owe you several explanations. But can they wait until I'm properly dressed? Or, at the very least, til I have a real skirt on? I do not know how to mind you seeing as much as you have, and the others... My modesty was a necessary loss... But the fewer other men who see, the better. "

[Macisikan]

“Hetu,” the cyborg said in response to Maein. “Th’ name’s Hetu. Please ta mee’cha. An’ ya frien’,” while his expression had been quite neutral when looking at her, it was appraising when he glanced at the Orderman. “You an’ I need ta haf a cha’ la’er,” he said to Paul. “Bou’ wha’ happ’n’d ba’ there. But la’er – no’ now. Vega, ma man, wai’ up,” he, well, sauntered. There’s no other word for it; he sauntered after the Satoshi, looking as though he hadn’t just killed four people up close and personal.

Forget the carefree body language; there wasn’t a speck of blood on him. Did he have a packet of handywipes in his pockets?

[New Dornalia]

The sohei-captain powered down his stunner as the conflict drew to a close, retracting it back within itself, as he stood down from his combat stance. He was seething, and it was at his angriest that he was most prone to thoughts of complete withdrawal. Perhaps it was best that his pilot module was damaged so badly. Wasn't this the perfect excuse to retire and become monastic in full?

Instead, he chuckled darkly at the idea of being banned, and turned to Maein, some of the malice in his eyes bleeding off... but not all. "<I will await you at your ship.>"

He would depart from there at once. He needed time on his cushion - and time to consider the legality of what they had achieved.

“Hetu,” the cyborg said in response to Maein. “Th’ name’s Hetu. Please ta mee’cha. An’ ya frien’,” while his expression had been quite neutral when looking at her, it was appraising when he glanced at the Orderman. “You an’ I need ta haf a cha’ la’er,” he said to Paul. “Bou’ wha’ happ’n’d ba’ there. But la’er – no’ now. Vega, ma man, wai’ up,” he, well, sauntered. There’s no other word for it; he sauntered after the Satoshi, looking as though he hadn’t just killed four people up close and personal.

Forget the carefree body language; there wasn’t a speck of blood on him. Did he have a packet of handywipes in his pockets?

"Satoshi Vega, please wait. You were discussing business with this gentleman." she indicated Hetu. "I would consider it an honour if you would permit him on board and continue with your conversation. And... I am sorry. I will explain once I understand the explanation."

That business concluded, after they were alone, she gave Paul a searching look. "Well, you're probably the best of your people that I've met, but don't think we're even, Paul." She was smiling as she said it, though, and the light flush that came to her cheeks was a good sign that she was recovering. "I used the last of my power on healing you, so I will put you to work. We need a few more supplies, and I shall need new clothing. And some tea. And one of your computers." She stepped closer, closing his jacket around her as best she could, her high cheekbones now highlighted in pink.

She still wanted to be close to the orderman. If her half-lidded eyes were an indication, she wanted to be close indeed. Or she was exhausted. Either way, one of her small hands found his, and squeezed, before she sighed. "I owe you several explanations. But can they wait until I'm properly dressed? Or, at the very least, til I have a real skirt on? I do not know how to mind you seeing as much as you have, and the others... My modesty was a necessary loss... But the fewer other men who see, the better. "

The act of leaning in close and grasping his hand by Maein brought Paul back to reality, snapping him back from the glow he was feeling from the act of healing.

Paul blushed himself at the mention of Maein’s assessment of his character. He also admitted that Maein was also right--that they weren’t even. Maein had done a great thing--no, two great things, after all. First was to effectively mollify Jo Struan with everything she had. Then, Maein had used a significant portion of her own vitality to heal Paul.

The least he could do was to help the Ship-Mistress shop for clothes.

After all, Maein couldn’t very well get by on an Orderman’s jacket with no undergarments and an improvised skirt alone. A woman like her needed more...dignified clothing.

Or actual clothing for that matter. Maein did helpfully note she would like to be actually clothed, and to limit just how many people saw her in this state. For his part, Paul had seen some of what she was talking about briefly, once the battle ended and in the seconds before Maein had grabbed some clothing to cover herself up. After all, most transformation sequences did see the loss of clothing. It was a brief glimpse, but it was enough to raise concerns about whether Maein was cold. Lest he seem repetitive, the McClintocks had always made it a habit to ask if someone wearing minimal clothing was cold. At least though, Maein didn’t seem to be that cold now, with the jacket around her. If Paul had any other thoughts about Maein’s form, well, they weren’t at the forefront at the moment.

And certainly, he had caused the situation which had lead to Maein losing much, if not all of her getup. As such, there was an obligation for him to assist the Ship-Mistress in getting her new clothes, and supplies for the ship.

Paul leaned in close to Maein, clasping his other hand around her hand which was already holding onto his. The cowboy then could be seen looking Maein in the eye, with a mixture of comforting reassurance and a determination to do right by Maein, especially given the situation. The man then said, mustering a confident smile, “Don’t worry, Maein. You can rely on me to help you out, however you need. We’ll get you well-dressed soon enough. Hell, I’ll even pay for the new clothes.”

The Gracie at the counter then coughed and said, “Well, if you two are gonna get new clothes...well, you’ve got options.” Sizing up Maein, the Gracie said to Paul, “Cowboy--I’d take your ladyfriend to the GoodPrice. PeopleMart is too...downmarket for her. That part of town is safe, and GoodPrice is open 24/7. Decent prices, and classy clothing and supplies.”

Paul nodded, raising his eyebrow at the sudden advice. He then replied with a simple, “Thanks.” Turning to Maein, Paul then said, “Well, you ready to go? I’ll even get you something to eat. Or some tea. Either way.”

Of course, amidst all this, Paul briefly saw Hetu and Vega go off, even though he was focused on Maein at the moment. One man stood out. The unusual newcomer--Hetu, his name was?. If not for his unusual accent, then for his surprisingly calm and casual mannerisms having just gotten into a fatal situation which got people killed. His clothing was surprisingly….not blood stained. Paul wondered if the man had Empowerment on his side, although Paul couldn’t sense any Empowerment about him. Vega meanwhile, wasn’t so unusual. Paul sensed that Vega wanted to have some choice words with the Orderman after this incident, and it didn’t take a psychic to sense Vega was not happy about this rumble.

Either way, it had been a strange experience just now. Paul briefly entertained a thought, even as he pledged to do right by Maein and wondered what to do next.

The Order had in mind the expansion of one’s mindset and experiences with the practice of sending Ordermen down for fieldwork. They had in mind the idea that the average Orderman, once so exposed to the world, would learn to remember that their powers did not guarantee superiority over men, but would remind them to use their powers to lift their fellow men up. The experiences thus earned would really boost the Orderman’s own understanding of how the world really worked, and imbue them with the experience to go forth a better person for the hardships they withstood.

They never did specify how those horizons would be expanded, however. And in this case, those horizons had been expanded rather dramatically, and the expansion brought moral questions with them. Paul wondered what his teammates wanted to say to him--and wondered what Maein wanted to say to him. Paul felt that he had done the right thing. Jo had clearly intended to put Maein into sexual slavery, under the guise of protecting her from a vengeful antagonist. But outside the heat of battle and cleanup, a troubling realization arose. Playing the hero, while it had done much good, had a number of unintended consequences. And he would need to deal with them as they came up.

[Enso and Mu]

Vega's head - on a pivot, not unlike the smaller, animal cousins of his apparently distant past, swivvled around to bring his glare to bare, however briefly, on Hetu. He was pleased, at least, the man cleaned up nicely. For the moment, how he had done so was not the Sohei-captain's concern.

"How long," he asked, in tones even and betraying none of his nervousness at the prospect of remaining on this planet after that bloodbath, "will you need to determine whether or not Shiibata passed through this place?"

He lead the mercenary up the ramp of the Dok-Shifa - after all, the ship's computer was set to allow him to do so. He was struck, immediately, by the quiet. He expected at least a little noise as the pilot put in her work. But then, he supposed, she was every bit as entitled to shore leave as the rest of them were.

So, he would turn to face his man, expectant of an answer.

[Macisikan]

“Tha hones’ answer is; dunno,” Hetu said frankly, completely unperturbed by Vega’s Exorcist act. “If ‘e was ac’vly hidin’ ‘is trail, an’ he had sommun ‘s good ‘s me? Could ta’ weeks. Bu’ I don’ thin’ ‘e’s done tha’, and ain’ no-one ‘ere on New K iss’s good ‘s me. Wha’ I need is some place to si’ wit a connecshun ta tha’ lo’al nets, quie’-like – ‘m basic’ly inna coma while ‘m in tha streams. Tha’ anna high-en’ da’apor’, and I re’on…” he tilted his head slightly to the left, thinking.

“I re’on, unner eigh’ hours,” he said firmly. “Prolly closer ta four – cops an’ cus’oms ‘ere don’ change their passwords. Bu’, I’m gonna need another twen’y mins, a’ leas’, ta clean up afta us ‘fore I go hun’in’ ya man,” his usual smirk had been absent for the entire conversation; he was deadly serious.

“Ya see, Josie had tha whole bar under surveil,” he continued. “Prolly no’ her own office, bu’ the corridor ou’si’ i’, tha bar isself, yeah. I need ta scrub all tha’ clean, or you, me, pre’y boy, and tha la’y are all gonna have a prob’em when Josie comes down offa her trip and ‘members she’s go’ foo’age of us killin’ her peeps. Consi’er tha’ a freebie.”

[Roania]

"Did I keep you waiting?" Maein asked, a soft smile playing on her lips. She'd done as Paul had suggested, grabbing sunglasses and a hair tie even, then chosen an outfit and vanished into the changing room. The girl who came out was not the woman who went in, though. She stood there now, in front of him, all trace of the businesswoman and the witch gone. Before, Maein had worn a dress or a deliberately slutty outfit. Now, she wore a low-cut tight green sweater over a high-cut white long-sleeved shirt that was even tighter, above a long brown corduroy skirt.

The effect was attractive, if slightly less mature, and she carried it with some uncertainty and modesty that made her seem far more local. Or that was her intention. It was helped by her large sunglasses, and the girlish ponytail she'd thrown her hair into. But most important, it was helped by how before Paul had the chance to respond she slipped into the seat next to him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Like, you're the best! Thanks for waiting for me, awesome." She spoke in a pitch-perfect, softer Dornland Valley Girl Accent. "Now can we go get something to eat? I'm kind of... oh..." She touched her finger to his cheek, and made a face. "Silly me!"

She giggled and produced a tube of lip gloss, then slowly and carefully applied it to her lips. From as close as they were, he could smell the fruity scent of the lipgloss. Especially as she finished the job and leaned in, then kissed him. Firmly, meaningfully, and determinedly. When she broke the kiss... well, she was wearing sunglasses, so he couldn't see, but it certainly seemed her smile was sincere. "Much better. So... can we go get something to eat? Like, if you're going to keep me up all night again, I'll need some food!"

[Enso and Mu]

Vega nodded, and gestured shambolically. "Wise thinking. I'm not accustomed to acting under the law, but that's no excuse to make such novice mistakes. Go. You'll be compensated, of course."

He watched his hired man leave, and sighed. The quest was not yet doomed - but this was not an auspicious job. He returned to his room to collect a small mug and his cushion, the later of which could be hooked to his sash, heavy though it was, stuffed with the hulls of buckwheat. From there he headed to the galley, to brew for himself a strong cup of tea.

Mercy

[Galba Dea]

While New Marston was a desert world and therefore unremarkable, Doctor Thelonius Stanley was now all the more familiar with it than he'd ever intended to be. The young man lived a bit like a king - though he'd been here for several months, he'd never bothered to take up a permanent residence, instead living out of hotels, even switching them when it pleased him. He couldn't cook, and so, he drifted from restaurant to restaurant, becoming a regular virtually everywhere in the port.

He wasn't exactly keeping a low profile either. He was a loudmouth and spent his cash like poisoned water, as though he could have no shortage of it. A figure he cut indeed - slacks over the pants of his spacer's leathers, which he wore the upper part of with the front largely unsealed, giving it an appearance a bit like a leather vest, over a white shirt with a red cravat. Over that, he wore, and I make no jokes in this heat - a Dean Royal Marines greatcoat, Formal-Dress-White, if you please, with the signs of age carefully mended over, and a left breast full of medals, some of which were even earned.

In point of fact there was no shortage of cash, for him, so today he was eating at one of his favourites, specialising in barbeque, for a spot of lunch. At his table, aside his plate, and folded just the right way he could read it, was yesterday's job postings. He'd have to collect another set in the morning.

Sooner or later he'd find a ship desperate enough to hire a Dean pilot, get himself off this rock, and eventually, find his way back to his proper place in the universe. Damn those pirates!

With his ship lost, he'd had no choice but to break up his crew. His former pilot, Vela Ashante, had to get off the world sharpish - deserts were no good at all for Venusians. As for his Martian mechanic, well, that bastard had bolted on the first ship needing such service.

[Macisikan]

Aboard the Dok’Shifa
The cyborg regarded Vega for a moment.
“Thass why ya go’ me,” he said in response. “Ya’s a law-abidin’ sor’. I’d hazar’ a law-enforcin’ sor’ – goes agains’ tha grain ta do stuff like tha’ for ya. Tha gal’xy’s a nassy place, an’ sumimes ya need a guy like me ta do stuff ya own stands don’ le’ ya do. I ge’ i’ – iss no ‘flection on ya. We all go’ our par’ ta play.”

From his jacket he produced Vega’s cube.

“I’m gonna go ge’ a star’ on this for ya. I’ll be bac’ la’er, and I’ll be bac’ wi’ results for ya,” he half-turned to leave and stopped. “Oh, and Vega ma man; you ge’ inta any trouble, ya call me. Comms index 9937-4917.”

With that, he slipped away – back to the tiny little apartment he slept in.

Hetu’s Place
Back in the cramped apartment in a busy part of town, Hetu pulled the glove off his left hand again as he sat in front of the dataport; those strips of metal glistened in the light. He grinned to himself, flexing his fingers, muttered “Showtime”, and then reached out for the port; little tendrils extended out from his implants, plunging into it. A moment after he made contact, there was a series of little clicks, his face went slack, and his eyes unfocused as his attention was absorbed by the data stream. Occasionally one of the tendrils would detach from one point in the port and shift to another. If anyone had been there, they would have recoiled; the process was almost obscenely organic to watch.

Now, let’s see… thank the seven and the two for lazy sysadmins who never change their passwords. First up; let’s take care of Josie…

Jo’s cybersecurity was patchy; some parts were covered in spikes, others, laughably easy to walk through, but he’d been in here before (and firmly wedged his own door open on his way out of the bar). The problem was the system was a mess. No organisation, no order, only a very limited VI that was far too weak to keep the place in order. The Gracie that was attached to the bar itself was also way too busy to pay attention to him slipping in, not that she’d care. She was doing the AI equivalent of flipping burgers in a cardboard hat and had exactly the same sense of loyalty to her bosses that those kids did. Poor girl.

So, likely places… oh hello. You’re new. Look at this; Josie’s got herself a script baby. Let’s divert your attention… and while you’re busy trying to work out where that’s coming from, let’s check out the boss’s phone… didn’t think so. An’ Josie’ still trippin’ balls. Secondary guard; and… your baby’s not earning his pay at all. Come on. You know I was in here last week. You know I’m not ya friend. Surely, you’d change your password too… nope. Nope. Didn’t think so. Off-site back-up was last run… four months ago. Of course. Redundancies? Locals? Any other copies? No, no, of course not. Why would you do that? Now, let’s see… alakazam, footage begone. Overwrite… and set you to keep overwriting for the next three weeks. Now, let’s see if you’ve found anything else I care about… well now, what do we have here? Under contract to… well now, you’ve actually encrypted this. Well done. But the bookie’s password is unchanged, so, let’s see. False name; that one’s brighter at least. Still, I’ll take that data, thanks.
And… oh, hello. This is very interesting indeed. It seemed Josie had some information relating to Vega’s search. Very interesting.

Now, clean up. And it’s onwards to security and the local Garda…

Diving into and out of customs and the local cops simply confirmed the data he’d lifted from Jo’s banks. Yes, the Smith had been here, and yes, he’d since moved on. Vega was on the right path. But there was a few other tidbits here that were a touch worrisome.

Like any considerate visitor, Hetu liked to leave things as he found them. The fact that this made it far harder for anyone to work out where he’d been, well, that was a fringe benefit.

And while I’m here… a quick coded sequence sent to a special server… and done.

To the outside world, it had been several hours of him sitting there, silently, one hand reaching into the port. Suddenly there was a series of little clicks from the port; he pulled his hand out and re-gloved it, before falling backwards into a sprawl.

Every time. Every. Single. Time. Everything went to sleep. The specialists had promised him this wouldn’t keep happening, that the nanite soup he called blood would keep circulating, but they’d never been right. He flailed like a turtle on his back for a moment, before flipping onto his stomach, and then, in fits and starts, rising to his feet, blinking rapidly.

Outside, it was dark; his internal chrono said he’d been under for about as long as he’d expected. The bakers would be up in a couple of hours – he’d be able to snatch a few hours of sleep, and then something to eat on the way back to the port – but first, a quick freshen up was in order...

[New Dornalia]

"Did I keep you waiting?" Maein asked, a soft smile playing on her lips. She'd done as Paul had suggested, grabbing sunglasses and a hair tie even, then chosen an outfit and vanished into the changing room. The girl who came out was not the woman who went in, though. She stood there now, in front of him, all trace of the businesswoman and the witch gone. Before, Maein had worn a dress or a deliberately slutty outfit. Now, she wore a low-cut tight green sweater over a high-cut white long-sleeved shirt that was even tighter, above a long brown corduroy skirt.

The effect was attractive, if slightly less mature, and she carried it with some uncertainty and modesty that made her seem far more local. Or that was her intention. It was helped by her large sunglasses, and the girlish ponytail she'd thrown her hair into. But most important, it was helped by how before Paul had the chance to respond she slipped into the seat next to him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Like, you're the best! Thanks for waiting for me, awesome." She spoke in a pitch-perfect, softer Dornland Valley Girl Accent. "Now can we go get something to eat? I'm kind of... oh..." She touched her finger to his cheek, and made a face. "Silly me!"

She giggled and produced a tube of lip gloss, then slowly and carefully applied it to her lips. From as close as they were, he could smell the fruity scent of the lipgloss. Especially as she finished the job and leaned in, then kissed him. Firmly, meaningfully, and determinedly. When she broke the kiss... well, she was wearing sunglasses, so he couldn't see, but it certainly seemed her smile was sincere. "Much better. So... can we go get something to eat? Like, if you're going to keep me up all night again, I'll need some food!"

Paul's journey to the department store--why the GoodPrice people didn't call themselves a department store and not a supermarket was beyond him--was actually proving to be quite productive. Maein seemed more at ease now, getting into character and certainly liking her new outfit. And to be honest? Paul was too. The Elder McClintock and his Sensei had taught Paul to remember to slow down, and appreciate life--and certainly to take nothing for granted. Applying that lesson to the current situation, it was obvious to Paul that while Maein was certainly quite good looking before, now that he got to see her at ease and in some of the most stylish clothing a relatively upmarket department store had to offer she seemed especially beautiful. Maein would have been pleased to know Paul was taking a good look, and liked what he saw.

Of course, the voice was unusual--but it made sense though. Paul didn't need his powers to figure out that she was trying to change her appearance and mannerisms, to lay low in disguise to avoid any further complications. It made sense really, considering the fact this Zei guy was looking for her and he did get them into trouble with the management of Jo's bar--enough that Maein needed to fork over a lot of money to mollify the gangster. Paul was more surprised it was so pitch-perfect. Maein had many powers, it seemed, judging by the events in the DIngy Dingo--but amusingly, he didn't know that method acting was amongst them. With a grin, Paul was going to say something witty--or try to. His somewhat sheltered upbringing didn't do wonders for wit, although he had gotten better back there in the bar.

Then, interrupting Paul's thoughts, Maein kissed Paul on the cheek. He was surprised by this, but only a bit fazed as she had interrupted a train of thought. Not a bad thing. In fact, the kiss on the cheek--playful, polite, and affectionate--gave Paul a nice, warm fuzzy feeling that he rather enjoyed. Any further analysis of how he felt or thought would wait though, as Maein then applied some lipstick and locked lips with Paul. This time around, Paul joined in the kiss with more enthusiasm, being swept up in the moment. Something about reciprocating just felt proper--especially since Maein, even through the disguise and the accent, seemed to have a certain kind of truthfulness behind the kiss.

Putting his hands on her shoulders and making eye contact again, Paul then said with a grin, "Don't worry. I'll fix you up with something to eat. Ain't proper to leave a lady hungry."

Thus, with Maein's new fashions in hand, Paul paid for the whole kit and kaboodle and then some, before exiting the GoodPrice with Maein in hand. The neighborhood was a good one, and being near the university campus it had plenty of interesting eateries to try. Walking a bit further down the street with Maein, Paul decided to bask in the image of two young lovers out on a stroll for a grand night out, and took hold of her hand as he said, approaching a large line of quaint, still open eateries to which he gestured, "What's your pleasure? I'm payin'."

Among the eateries was a quaint little candy shop, with a red placard with Chinese characters on it indicating “Chang’s House of Sweets.” Visible from the windows were a large selection of what looked like all sorts of candies—including bags of li hing mui, both in the traditional Chinese styles and the Hawaiian crack seed variant. An old man could be seen working a counter with ice cream and sno-cones—his features hardened by age, but his smile seeming genuine after all these years.

[Roania]

"Thank you." Maein whispered in her own voice, as the noise of the crowd made it more conducive. Her words reached his ears, deliberately, though perhaps no one else could have heard them in that position. She was smiling as she said it, and her eyes were bright below her shades. She liked Paul, she was realizing. She liked his presence. And the feel of him. In a way she'd not expected when they'd met. In fact, she'd not expected to feel comfortable in any man's... hands. She still wasn't sure how she felt about Paul as a man, but as a friend... and as someone who felt like a candidate for more than a friend... she liked him.

He was a bit shy, though she'd noted he'd kissed her back this time. The thought made her warm. He'd kissed well, actually. As first kisses (not counting the previous, as she was now trying to forget) it was a good memory to hold onto, whatever might happen. The feel of his hand on hers was also good. No man had touched her before so... chastely. And now she knew he desired her. The young woman giggled, slipping back into character, looking up at him as if he'd gone stupid, "Like, are you still tired too? Of course you're paying, silly. Like, I paid for the trip here, remember?" She giggled again, and spoke louder, "Well, like, I love salty flavors. And... omg, I'm not telling you anything you don't know and love, right?" She giggled, to try to cover the redness in her cheeks. The girl she was playing at was far more... open... than Maein was. "Can we get some of that plum stuff?" She indicated the li hing mui. "And, like, afterwards I'll pay for dessert. And then..." she looked down the street. "...like, I want a burger." She paused, her voice freezing, looking up at him, jutting her hip to the side, one hand landing there. "Of course, I'm really craving something else right now." She pursed her lips, and smiled. "You know what, right?"