Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

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Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

September 06, 2019, 09:24:48 PM

"Lads Night Out"
STARDATE 57582.47
FRIDAY, MARCH 20, 2381
2034 hrs

[ Otheusz | Grey Scars’ Ambush Site | Outskirts of Aldea Prime | Aldea ] @fiendfall @Hastata-Nerada @Numen @Sqweloookle

The Ornaran’s calloused hands shuffled somewhat haphazardly with the detonator he was holding, slowly deciding to settle the sweat-slick device into his left fist as he began to stride back to the bay doors of the fighter craft partially imbedded into the earth next to him. He took a furtive glance up to the sky, the setting sun throwing the sky into a gorgeous haze of dusty pink that looked as though an ethereal fire had ignited on the horizon.

He could have spent a moment admiring its beauty, to gaze in wonder with a sigh as he occasionally did on evenings where the rest of the gang were blown into such an abhorrent stupor from their ‘recreational’ narcotics, that they managed to forget his existence. They were moments he both enjoyed and loathed. He experienced both beauty and the crushing reality of how futile his pathetic existence seemed to be.,

Rightly ignoring the image of the heavens, Otheusz drew his right hand up to address a discomfort upon the corner of his nose, perhaps an insect or chunk of dirt upon his skin, leaving a trail of grime from his fingers plastered against his cheek as he did so. Perhaps a slick of wet clay from the dirt, or some form of oil from the fighter he’d been breaking, or a fresh smear of fester from one of the many open wounds on his hands and arms, but it was scarcely noticed upon his disheveled appearance either way.

His Queen insisted that to wash was futile for him. If he was to play the part of an innocent crewman injured in an explosion, as he so often did, to have his unruly hair rife with debris and his blotchy skin smeared with soot and grime, painted a much more convincing candidate of a victim. In fact, he was so used to the feeling that the thought that it was grotesquely unpleasant to be so unkempt didn’t so much as occur to the boy.

In fact, the thought of washing and cleaning himself was the idea that made his stomach turn with cold dread.

From what he knew to be true, if he was permitted a wash, it was solely because his Queen would be requiring his personal attention in her boudoir, usually fulfilling a role specified as ‘entertainment’. His touch was a blessing, a gift bestowed upon his species, yet his Queen saw it as little more than a trivial tool that could be sculpted to her own specifications. Despite the blood he’d spilt, the weapons he’d fired, and flesh he’d boiled since becoming a beneficiary of the Grey Scars, it would perhaps be a surprise to know that nothing tortured Otheusz more than being called into his Queen’s personal chambers to pleasure her naked form with his touch.

He tried to rend the grotesque thought from his mind as he continued to stride towards the bay entrance of the craft he was prepared to detonate. As he rounded the vehicle, Otheusz’ narrowed eyes scanned the clearing surrounding him, keenly picking out the locations in the treeline where the rest of the raiders were concealed. It was such a familiar pattern to him that he could identify their locations without issue, despite the adequacy of their camouflage.

It was a tactic that they’d resorted to so very many times, particularly when the Klingon patrols around the station in orbit entered one of their more vigilant stances. One of the Scars would pilot a ship that was either stolen and needed to be disposed of, or so badly damaged that it was far more valuable as bait, and haphazardly crash it down into the overgrown outskirts of the city. It provided a convincing crash zone, and followed by a few thalmerite explosives primed by Otheusz, it was a very good act to appear as though a ship had crash-landed.

They always chose a spot close enough to the city that authorities would investigate, in fear that one of their ‘tourism’ ventures had gone awry. Once they had approached the craft, it was no difficult feat to ambush and subdue any investigating parties and escape with them before any other interested do-gooders were to involve themselves. The Queen then took some time to establish how valuable her prisoners were, before deciding either to ransom them back to the authorities or sell them to a Syndicate buyer who frequented the city that the Grey Scars had taken a small corner of as their base of operations.

It was enough to keep the gang in good order when the Klingons began to encroach on their turf, when ambushing freighters and couriers had far too high a chance of getting the Klingon patrol ships on their tale. Their ships were hard to breach with the scavenged guns that most of the Grey Scars’ ships were armed with, and in close quarters it was only Otheusz who hadn’t thus far been maimed or butchered by one of the Klingon’s bowed swords.

They were monstrous creatures, as his Queen said. Their ridged foreheads and savage mouths presented them as the monsters that they all were at heart. Luckily, their favour for close combat brought them into range of Otheusz’ most potent weapon… Himself.

A particularly fierce scowl overcame Otheusz’s previously frowning face, his mind dislodged from thoughts of times where he was permitted feel but an ounce of self-satisfaction, and replaced by concepts of disgust. The Ornaran felt a grim wetness overcome his foot. It took looking down to see that he’d plunged half of his lower leg into a puddle of some unknown fluid, his trouser cuff and threadbare sock sodden with the pungent smelling soak. He angrily kicked his foot out of the puddle in rage of his circumstance, an acrid stench assailing his nostrils, the motion sending lash of wet mud flicking through the air as he heard the sound of howling humanoids behind him.

“Sparky.” A cold, slow, poisonous tone of voice slithered into his ears from somewhere behind him, making him straighten at the sound of his mocking pseudonim, a cold sensation at the back of his neck as something chilled and hard tantalisingly scratched along his shoulder blade. “I hope that you’re concentrating, pet… Tonight will go smoothly.” Her words were harsher than the lash of any whip, somehow laced with threat and promise of deliverance, despite their meanings being so mundane. “You don’t want to upset me do you? You don’t want to upset your Queen?”

“No, my Queen…” He responded without question, knowing that his Queen was the only one of their gang to regard him of any real use, and that without her he would be left to the wolves. He hated her. But without her, he was truly less than nothing. “Never.” He softly added, a slight tremble in his jaw as he spoke, his mouth somewhat uncomfortable with the physical motion of forming words.

He spoke his native dialect of Ornaran, and nothing else.

The rest of the crew could speak a language that was mutual between them, where their conversations were as alien to his ears as they themselves were to his eyes. However, they possessed a device, a small token that allowed them to communicate with him in his own language, and allowed them to comprehend it in return. His Queen wore it upon her breast as a token of her ownership over him.

Without it, his words could not be understood. He was voiceless.

The opportunity for him to speak was rare, and even then, it was to do little more than respond to orders. Silence was expected of him. He’d spoken out of turn once before, and the threat had been the promise of having his jaw wired shut. Since then, even in his darkest of rages, he had darent even responded to heckling mocks brought on by some punishment or other that Otheusz always assumed he somehow deserved.

Gesture and derogatory motions were the extent of his dialogue.

Punishment, his expectation of the result.

“Good pet…” Her hand slithered up into his hair, before recalling in disgust. “You’re looking particularly wretched. And now you smell abominable as well.” Her words lashed against him, but she was always right. “I’ll have you washed and scented this evening and you can report to my boudoir.” He slowly blinked his eyes at her words. ”After this haul I will need some stress relief...” Her tone shifted sultry and her hand slipped slowly down, dancing upon his spine, along the small of his back, and lingered upon the dimples set just above his posterior.

“Yes, my Queen...” His voice returned, his jaw tightening at the thought once again. For the briefest of moments, he considered pressing his thumb upon the device in his hand, sending both he and his Queen into the earth. He was used to a beating, he’d get up and running before she. But then what would he do? He couldn’t exist in a world where currency was dialogue, where his distorted tongue would fetch him only disgruntled looks and irritated glares…

Nor could he exist without his Queen to guide him.

He was nothing without her.

Her taloned hand withdrew from his form, leaving behind a cold warmth that gave Otheusz the desire to scratch, and she began to move away, the Ornaran keeping his head bowed in submission as he did so.

As he always did.

The Queen’s perfect pet.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #1 – September 07, 2019, 07:05:56 PM

[Ensign Seren | Rendezvous point for Hypatia Shuttle| Outskirts of Aldea Prime | Aldea]
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att: @TWilkins @fiendfall @Hastata-Nerada @Sqweloookle

Hands clasped behind his back, Seren waited patiently at the meeting point. He had remained at that location, without moving a single iota, for over two hours, as he awaited all the other crew members who would constitute the rest of the Shuttle passengers so the group as a whole could return to the Theurgy. The Vulcan could have asked for a smaller shuttle to take him back at an earlier hour, but that would entail a waste of resources, both in terms of fuel and a pilot's time, so he had simply opted to join the craft that departures from the planet closest to the moment he had finished his tasks there. It was the most logical course of action.

The only reason the advisor had come to the surface had been to attend a symposium on the psychology of humanoid of accelerated development, focused on techniques to ensure intellectual and emotional development considered 'normal' in gestalts. At the end of the talks there had been a lively debate about the emotional-affective alterations in the gestalts' psyche due to the preconceptions of part of the population against them. Seren had remained mainly passive during the conferences, listening in silence. That was not the result of Seren agreeing with the full content of the lectures or lacking views on his own. He had many judgments to share. Yet his monotonous, uninflected tone would have uncovered his alibi as a native.

The Vulcan had disguised himself using the traditional Aldean chlamys. The length and profusion of layers of the traditional garment was very much in Seren's preference, who only did not feel comfortable with the profusion of colorful patterns and golden ornaments. It was an illogically motley design. The only deviation from the traditional wardrobe style was the presence of a hood that masked his pointed ears and darkened his features a bit, thus it prevented that his tilted eyebrows revealed his true nature. The disguise and his own circumspection had prevented that not one of the scholars would notice that he wasn't an Aldean and had been able to travel through Aldea Prime from the university to the outskirts without any misadventure.

In the meantime, as his mind went through the details of the lecture, undaunted by any outside distraction, all that was left was to await the rest of the crew. And enjoy the last light of the alien sun bathing the surface of the planet in a singular colourful spectacle. The perfect setting for contemplation and superficial meditation. The best culmination for an agreeable off-duty trip.

The Vulcan's delicate senses heard some steps close to him. It seemed that, at last, the rest of the crew was beginning to arrive.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #2 – September 09, 2019, 11:47:15 PM

[ Avi ] attn: @TWilkins @Numen @Hastata-Nerada @Sqweloookle

Classic case of swings an’ roundabouts, weren’t it? One ship smelt like the arse end of a dead cat, but got you where you needed t’be, the other didn’t try t’fuckin’ suffocate you in stink but fuck you if you wanted droppin’ off anywhere else ‘cept the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. Had thought it couldn’t get no worse than the fuckin’ USS Garbage Disposal or whatever the trashcan had been called, but trudgin’ a klick an’ a half through the fuckin’ wilderness to a city what never seemed to get any closer than the damn horizon was provin’ him wrong. Could always get fuckin’ worse. Was gonna be diggin’ sand outta his arse all bloody week an’ all.

Had been such a few days. Feet hadn’t touched the damn ground, barely had a minute to catch his breath. Was lookin’ forward to havin’ some kind of a shower the minute he set foot onto the Theurgy. Yeah, yeah, debriefing, messages for the captain, rebels and galaxy-wide threat -- whatever, let him wash his fuckin’ dick first.

Weren’t that far to the city, he’d figured as they got themselves dropped off. Could even see it from where they were. Not that bad; could go for a little evenin’ stroll, stretch their legs, fresh air doin’ ‘em good. Couple’a lads out sightseein’, was almost cute. Almost they was like real tourists, an’ not a couple’a fuckin’ Starfleet exiles lookin’ t’come in from the cold. Or whatever they was.

Didn’t know the planet, but figured where the nearest shuttle pickup was. So off they pop, all brisk walkin’. Only thing is, turns out distances are fuckin’ deceptive in the wilderness. Landmarks what looked like they was just outside the city turnin’ out t’be not even halfway there, the city never movin’ from the horizon, never gettin’ no closer, like it was some kinda damn mirage, just sat there all jammy. Or maybe he was just tired, or maybe it was just the weird lighting, or who knew and gave a damn, honestly, end result was the same.

An’ t’make things worse, ‘pparently Epsilon Mynos, Aldea, whatever the fuck, was a total shithole. Most ghost than city, more dust than ground, an’ every time somethin’ moved outta the corner Avi’s eye -- tumbleweed or whatever -- his hand started jitterin’ toward his phaser. Though, frankly, any poor Fed motherfucker waitin’ out here t’ambush him deserved it, he’d hand himself over just to end the poor bugger’s sufferin’. Good job, you got me, now get on outta this damn wind.

Head went weird places sometimes. Lotta the time.

Was just startin’ t’wonder if the planet personally hated him, Inej -- in which case he’d give it a piece of his fuckin’ mind, kick the shit outta some tiny stones or somethin’, yeah, take that -- when he looked up an’ whaddya know, city’s right there. Like it just rose up outta the damn dirt or only now rendered in or some shit. Never got closer, was just far all bloody evenin’, an’ then suddenly on top of ‘em. An’ without even askin’, too. Bit forward.

He needed a decent night’s sleep, fuckin’ hell.

‘Shuttle point was which way?’ he checked. Erev had been voted map reader, after Avi took five minutes squintin’ at the damn thing before announcing he couldn’t make head nor tail outta it. Weren’t his fault you gotta have a damn degree in geography or some shit t’understand it. Never graduated, remember?

Followed Erev’s instructions, made their ways to the pickup point. Only one bloke there already, some hooded shifty-lookin’ motherfucker standin’ so still Avi thought he was like, a dead tree, right up until they got real close-like an’ he realised oh shit no that’s a real person huh.

Gave the fella the old once-over, up an’ down; didn’t look like he was armed. ‘Course, was dressed in that floaty shit Aldeans ‘pparently like, an’ that shit could hide almost anythin’. Avi’d know, he was wearin’ it too -- some long tunic thing, like a dress what was too embarrassed to own it -- an’ paired with a sash, mate, you’d never even know he was armed six ways from Sunday.

Tell you what the bloke did look like, an’ that was, uh, not Aldean. Sure, the clothes were fine, an’ Avi weren’t hardly no fuckin’ expert on the locals or nothin’, but he knew someone what was tryna avoid attractin’ attention, an’ this guy was textbook.

Didn’t look like much of an ambush if it was meant for him an’ Erev -- though if it were, figured they could take him. He some kinda criminal?

Thought occurred t’him. Mate, if the Theurgy was lettin’ their folks run all over the planet with cute little disguises… How fuckin’ adorable would that be? Fuckin’ Feds. Bless their stupid little hearts.

‘Hey,’ he said, settlin’ in a little ways off from the fella. Nah, he weren’t no threat. Poor bloke looked like he wanted attention even less than Avi, but still worth askin’: ‘When’s the next shuttle?’ All polite-like, look at him go.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #3 – September 10, 2019, 04:06:50 PM

[ Lt. Erev-Sae-Reyanad Xan | Outskirts of Aldea Prime ] @Sqweloookle @fiendfall @Numen @TWilkins
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Erev had decided that he needed to have some words with Andersson about a kilometer of trudging through sand ago. Sure, it was a discrete mode of transport that had been arranged, but maybe something a bit better than a shuttle captain who dropped them off in the middle of freaking nowhere about a mile out from the nearest city could have been set up beforehand. Erev was the kind of person who had spent one day on Risa and decided to spend the rest of his time there coupling inside and avoiding beaches and sand for the next five eternities. He was a man of the snow and mountains, let him be free there but good heavens no more spirits-damned sand please.

It was only a kilometer and a half to the city thankfully, but even that half hour was more than enough time. Some planet Aldea wound up being. All the legends of the mystical lost planet, and it turned out to be mostly irradiated sand, more sand that was not irradiated, a lot of dead wasteland, and abandoned cities because everyone died and now they had to clone the population back again. The disappointment Erev felt was more real than the planet he stood on. On the plus side, the expanse around them was so unbelievably open that there weren’t any surprises.

Whatever, at least they were outside instead of aboard a pitiful excuse for a starship that smelled like a gangrenous denebian slime devil with a fungal infection. Part of him wanted to go to medical and check to make sure his olfactory nerves were still functioning. Now all they smelled was salt and dry air. Hopefully the Theurgy’s arboretum was nice, spirits he needed some fresh scents.

Thankfully they were close. Avi asked Erev where the shuttle was to pick them up, and Erev, who was at this point red as a tomato and sweatier than a monsoon, checked the map and pointed towards their destination. “Over there, thankfully.” he replied. His restraint was still there but to describe it as on shaky foundations was an understatement. Why did efrosians have to evolve blubber of all things.

Someone was already at the meeting point, hopefully a friendly face and not a corrupt Federation operative. But of course if they were Erev had a chance to actually snap and punt them for about four miles and that would be the end of that. They were clearly disguised as an aldean, elsewise they wouldn’t be out where they were with a hood and everything, not even shifting a muscle. Either that, or an aldean who really direly wanted some alone time please and thank you. Or, hopefully a helpful contact, Erev wasn’t sure why that conclusion came last but maybe it was the heat slowly frying his nervous system.

Spirits this planet sucked. Avi was asking the questions here, Erev for one wanted to just spend the time to locate some shade.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #4 – September 12, 2019, 10:40:17 AM

[ Lt. JG Adam Kingston | Aldean City Main Market > City Outskirts, Shuttle Pickup | Aldea Prime ]
Attn: @Hastata-Nerada @fiendfall @Numen @TWilkins
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Being a secret lover of sculpture and wax art, and recently which he had just realised was odd, Adam decided to question it later. He had purchased 3 small ones and requested that the shop owners send them with several other items he picked up in the transport as he didn't want to carry them. It would give away his secret. He didn't care really but didn't feel like answering questions about it.

So once the transport had been completed at the closest transporter station, and Thea confirmed materialisation in his quarters, Adam headed back to catch the next shuttle back to the Theurgy outside the city. It had been a bit of a walk and he had the distinct feeling he was being followed. Yes the city was full of people who didn't take a second look at him in Aldean disguise but he could be imagining it yet the feeling remained until he got out of the city finally.

He did dash to a wall and look back into the city for any signs of pursuit but none appeared as he hoped there'd be. He was bored out of his mind with the mundane back on Theurgy. One more quick look revealed nothing unusual so Adam straightened and casually walked towards the shuttle point where he noticed several others waiting.

Adam stepped around and a little ahead of the others to greet them. "Hello." He said with a smile.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #5 – September 12, 2019, 06:47:18 PM

[ Otheusz | Grey Scars’ Ambush Site | Outskirts of Aldea Prime | Aldea ] @Numen @fiendfall @Hastata-Nerada @Sqweloookle

The clearing was entirely silent, the rest of the ambush having dissolved into silence following the commands of their Queen. The only noise that reached Otheusz’s ears was the comforting sound of bioelectricity interacting with the deck plating he was perched upon, the harsh crackling of the static writhing against his skin making the Ornaran reach the highest level of internal serenity that he could hope to achieve. It wasn’t especially calm, but for he, it was a specific state he could reach, usually as the light of the day diminished, where the dancing numbness of bioelectric energy rippling across his palm made him feel…

Warm.

He wasn’t sure why. Otheusz wasn’t proud to be Ornaran. He had seen first hand the depravity of his species; the dire depths they would descend to in order to just get a small hit of the substance that had so horrifically ravaged their planet. He was ashamed of his species so much so that when his Queen had made arrangements to have the pronounced ridges upon his upper nose shaved down to make his differences less obvious, he didn’t so much as protest.

Not that he would have, even if he had cared; he was property. If his Queen made such a decision, he abided by it. There was no alternative.

His dour thoughts distracted him from the warmth of his hand long enough for the energy he was channelling to dissipate, catching his attention just enough to feel the warm feeling in his chest fade away into oblivion. It made his expression shift for but a second, before the boy stood, making a few paces forwards with a glower upon his features.

That warm feeling… He didn’t know what it meant.

It wasn’t comfort; he didn’t know, understand nor feel the worth to consider what it meant to feel comforted. Nor was it pride; his sense of self worth was equal to that of any other tool. Perhaps it was simply that when he felt the energy within him dance across his flesh, he felt powerful.

He was the lowest in their ranks, his status did not exist and he was used at the whims of his Queen for any purpose she so desired. But knowing that his mere touch could incapacitate any assailant he had thus far encountered was enough for him to know that he was at least worth what his Queen valued him as. It wasn’t a skill he received appreciation for, but one did not thank a disruptor for firing a shot.

No.

He could fight. His reward was that he didn’t die. It was all the reward he deserved.

His finger pressed solidly upon the device he still gripped in his hand, a button sending a signal to a blasting charge he had affixed to the side of the fighter set upon the ground behind him, the resulting explosion searing his back with heat and ripping at his ears with fury. He glanced over his shoulder once he was sure he was at a reasonable distance away, seeing the flames roaring across the vehicle, a great plume of smoke dying the evening shades of the sky with a thick black smog.

“Sparky?” An inquisitive tone came from somewhere to his right, his Queen’s lilted voice catching his ringing ears and flinging his attention to her in an instant.

His attention was appreciated with a searing agony that flung into his temple, a solid blow from a harsh blunt object that was enough to send him reeling, falling to his knees and using a pre-planted section of bulkhead to catch his balance as his vision clouded. His wound throbbed, and even through his impaired vision, he could see the droplets of thick blood falling against the debris he was using for support.

He limply turned his gaze back up to the Queen, stood side-by-side with one of her thugs, brandishing a snapped section of metal piping.

“Mmh…” She pondered aloud, Otheusz’ ears barely taking note of the noise above the deafening ringing he was overcome with either from the explosion or the head-wound. Most likely both. “Listl otn koloing het atr?” She continued, her words alien to him and completely indecipherable. It was normal for him to be roughed up before such an undertaking to make him look the part. He took the blows. They always patched him up afterwards for the best part...

Suddenly he felt his mouth wrenched open against his will as a screech of agony burst from his lips, a pain beyond his reasoning catching him in the side of the torso that made his entire body burn like fire before chill like frost… He took his gaze off of his Queen and her distorted words, tears clouding his vision even further as he saw a scrap of metal gouging through the side of his abdomen.

“Ecetrpf…” She hummed in approval, her form reappearing low to his side, her face close to his and her hand brushing against the side of his head at the same time that he felt pressure against his neck, a soft hiss catching his ears as he suddenly found his agony fade into cloud, wisps drifting off from his shattered nerves. His body felt lightened, his head fogginess became a soft mist that freshened his mind and made the ringing in his ears thin.

“That ought to keep you going until you’re done.” The Queen whispered against Otheusz’ ear, Her lips pressed flush against the shell. “I’ll make sure that you're all patched up before tonight...” Her voice laced with something Otheusz hated, a twisted little chuckle fleeing her lips as she pulled back from his ear.

“Tlse tge hte ytpra edtsra!” She shouted as she drew up, switching off the device that allowed her words to reach his ears, before she disappeared into the darkness like a ghost.

The pain had subsided somewhat, twisting into a dull ache, but he was very conscious that he had a shiv of piping piercing his abdomen. The Queen had never gone this far before… Usually it was just a thorough beating. He’d never been stabbed before.

Whatever dogooder emerged from the treeline would no doubt rush to his aid before thinking of anything else, especially with such a wound. They’d be easy targets.

The Queen was possessed of a truly cold intelligence.

But he was her pawn. And she would do as she needed.

That was more than he was worth.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #6 – September 22, 2019, 02:16:33 PM

[Ensign Seren | Rendezvous point for Hypatia Shuttle| Outskirts of Aldea Prime | Aldea]
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att: @TWilkins @fiendfall @Hastata-Nerada @Sqweloookle

Two figures emerged on the barren horizon of the city's outskirts. One was tall, sturdy, with white hair that stood out in the dry landscape like a piece of ice in the middle of the desert. The other form was small, dark-skinned and sinewy and exuded such obvious excess of energy and lack of restraint that Seren inadvertently distorted his expression. However, when the odd couple reached his position, the mask on his face showed no fissures. It was simply the impassive, inexpressive mask that logic dictated.

The smaller figure revealed as a thin humanoid with dark skin, who didn't hesitate to scold him about the shuttle's arrival. That statement grabbed the Vulcan's attention, which proceeded to dissect the newcomers with his gaze, as if he were analyzing some mysterious cells under a microscope. The tall one was obviously not adapted to the Aldean climate. Everything in his body language cried out for discomfort and yet he seemed determined to not verbalize that incommodity. A praiseworthy endeavour, to say the least. If the counsellor looked at his features, he couldn't be sure to which species he belonged. His head and facial features looked like an Efrosian, yet his height and size were disproportionate to that species. In other hand, his companion fit into that mishmashed category that contained 'humanoids without distinctive external features' that also included the system's natives, humans, Bandi and so many other civilizations. Since he was unable to make an analysis of his internal organs to study the position in which they were arranged, Seren limited himself to analyze their sternal features, the small devices they carried and, obviously, their use of the Federation Standard. In addition, the rendezvous point had been conveniently designated away from the busiest roads, so it was highly improbable that anyone would get to that point, looking for a shuttle, if they didn't know exactly where they were going and why. The most logical deduction was that they were either Theurgy crew members whose Seren profiles he had not been able to study yet or they were new additions to the vessel due to some pact that the captain had established with some ally starship or starbase. Whatever the case, they must have been Starfleeters.

"The next shuttle should arrive in 22 minutes and 43 seconds if it adheres to the established schedule" Seren finally answered, while he pulled off the hood that obscured his features. That simple gesture left his pointy ears and the features that characterized him as a Vulcan on sight. The counsellor expected that their transportation would be on time, but his experience among non-Vulcans had taught him that punctuality was a relative concept between certain species. Humans, for example, had endowed the concept with a flexibility that Seren found highly irritating. However, the ensign didn't have much time to reflect on these matters, as his line of thought was interrupted by Kingston's arrival. Seren was familiar with the human, and hailed him by raising his hand in the traditional greeting of his people. Both the counselor and the human had served on the Theurgy since before their fled from the Sun System began, though the encounters they had had could be counted with a single digit. However, Seren had read the psychological profiles of all the original crew members before he was confined to the ice, so he had a rough idea of who and how was the newly promoted master-at-arms.

That's when the explosion struck. Seren turned quickly in the direction of the sound and narrowed his eyes, analyzing the terrain. He soon found what he feared: "There is a injured individual who requires assistance," he stated without addressing any of those present in particular as he set himself in motion. It could not be said that Seren was rushing in that direction. Vulcans did NOT rush. But while his pace followed the solemn and elegant patterns of someone of his class, his strides were lengthier, typical of someone accustomed to traveling long distances in a short time. After all, his assistance was necessary. And the climate was optimal for someone like him. At no point did he turn to see if any other of the present starfleeter accompanied him. He had a straightforward mission and ethical duty to fulfill, and he didn't care if he should perform it alone or in company.

OOC: So SORRY for the delay, life has been pretty busy and hectic and i've had a hard time catching up. Hope you've enough to work with here!

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #7 – September 26, 2019, 12:44:41 PM

[ Avi ] attn: @TWilkins @Numen @Hastata-Nerada @Sqweloookle

Oh fuck him sideways, Dead Tree Bloke was a fuckin' Vulcan. Course he was, honestly kickin' himself he ain't seen it already, fella stood all ramrod an' him with a disguise flimsier than Avi's will to live. Nothin' wrong with Vulcans, a'course — great people, real good for a laugh — 'cept it meant the guy was a Fed. Didn't look like an ambush or nothin', an' the only Fedfolk out here was the Theurgy, leastways far as Avi knew, which meant he weren't about t'get jumped -- prob'ly -- but also meant them poor sods really were sendin' their crew out all willy, in nothin' but jumped up bathrobes.

Ran a hand over his face an' tried not t'laugh. Fuckin' hell. They really was in for it.

'Thanks mate,' he said, doin' his own impression of a Vulcan poker face. Christmas, was on his best fuckin' behaviour for this kid, hoped the bloke fuckin' appreciated it an' all. Another twenty bloody minutes to wait, nothin' but Dead Tree an' a tomato for company, what absolute shite. Noah fence, Erev.

Was just startin' t'think on how comfortable the ground looked when another fella moseys on over, an' Avi finds hisself gettin' defensive for the 0.2 seconds it takes him to recognise this bloke as another fuckin' Theurgy pantomime reject. Even them floaty Aldean robes couldn't disguise this fella as bein' a tried an' true Fed soldier: bloke had a face like a fist comin' atcha an' posture what could rival a Klingon's. Nah, nah, Avi weren't so far outta the game he couldn't see that shit. Definitely off the Theurgy.

Also, Tree Bloke greeted the fella like he knew him. Somethin' of a giveaway. But Avi figured it out first, yeah? Still got it.

So now there they was, four of 'em, standin' kinda far apart an' eyein' each other as they waited for some shuttle still a bloody mile away. Still wanted t'sit, feet really startin' t'complain after that walk, but Theurgy or no this new fella looked like he could throw a punch, an' Vulcans was unfairly strong too considerin' they was basically penguins with eyebrows. Of these two lads, one on their own he an' Erev coulda taken, no problem, but both of 'em? Enough t'make a guy twitchy, an' he weren't about t'sit down an' make hisself an easy target, no sir.

Didn't have t'wait too long in the end — not 'cause the shuttle turned up, that woulda been too easy. Nah, instead Avi's paranoia was proved right for a change. Fuckin' knew the shit weren't too far from the fan.

Felt the explosion afore he heard it, rumblin' through the sand under his feet. Tree Bloke whipped around t'squint off into the distance; must'a come from off in that a-ways then. Followed his gaze, tryna see what was up. Took a moment in the brightness, but after a second caught the trail of dark smoke risin' into the air, somethin' mangled an' broken at its base. A crashsite? Who'd been flyin' around, Aldeans? Klingons? Fuckin' bandits?

With Avi's luck it'd probably be the damn shuttle they was waitin' for an' all.

Ah, well. Whoever they was they'd most likely died a firey death. Sayonara.

Tree Boy didn't agree. 'There is an injured individual who requires assistance,' he said with that kinda authority only Management think they got a right to.

Pissed him off enough he forgot t'be polite. 'How you figurin' that then, Twinkletoes? Prolly died in the crash, your lot got x-ray vision now or what.'

Didn't much matter, kid fuckin' ignored him, started bookin' it over to the fire. Had never seen a Vulcan run before. An' whaddya know, 'penguin' weren't too far off neither. Huh.

Fuckin' hell, the bloke was gonna get himself killed. No skin off Avi's back, honestly, 'cept he doubted them Theurgy lot would be all too happy if he turned up on their doorstep all 'please take me in, an' kindly pay no attention to the Vulcan what I ignored dyin''. Didn't think they'd turn him away, but if they did he was absolutely fucked. Have t'live out the rest of his life on this shitty backwards planet, wouldn't even be able t'fuckin' cry about it 'cause the farting sand had stolen all his shitting eyeball juice, left 'em rollin' around in there dry as you like.

Fuck's sake.

'Guess we fuckin' doing this,' he muttered, an' set off after Tree Idiot at a jog. Palmed his phaser as he did, not sure what they was gonna find — even if someone was still alive, no guarantee they'd be all friendly-like, wouldn't start shootin' on sight.

'Put your hood back on, moron,' he said as he caught up. 'You armed? Lemme go in first. Dunno who these lads are.'

Phaser up, eyes open, made his way into the wreck. Hoped to piss nothin' jumped out at him — just about had all the surprises he could fuckin' take already.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #8 – September 29, 2019, 06:08:35 AM

[ Lt. Erev-Sae-Reyanad Xan | Outskirts of Aldea ] @TWilkins @fiendfall @Numen @Sqweloookle
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Finally, now all they had to do was wait for the shuttle. They’d finally be out of the heat, the sand, the dry air, the dirt that was probably still irradiated on some level thanks to the Custodian AI’s cloakshield. Damned creepy that Custodian, everything run by a hyperintelligent thinking computer of ancient and inimical design... it was just wrong. Of course with the creation of positronic brains and the burgeoning holo-intellects, how long till the Federation had its own Custodian? Erev hoped he didn’t live long enough to see that happen.

Artificial lifeforms aside, it would be a relief to finally get back into a place that was climate controlled. The transport he and Avi had come on didn’t count, and whether its sorry excuse for life support could have even been called climate control was a subject that could have been debated for three-hundred thousand years unending. Regardless, Erev’s thoughts began to imagine lush arboretums and chilled air pumped through thermal exchange and atmospheric recycling systems, it was always sterile but safe and cold when needed.

Soon paradise would be- what in the deep seas was that?

Consternation was replaced with a sinking dread as the loud crack-boom of an explosion on the distance reached his ears. The vulcan seemed awfully sure of the fact that someone needed help, which...

Erev wasn’t sure what he was more mad at. He wasn’t sure whether it was towards the explosion for throwing a colossal wrench in his fantasies of air conditioning via life support, or towards himself for daring to feel rueful towards that when someone clearly needed their help. Either way, his thoughts were less thoughts and more just the sound of a boiling kettle at this point.

He briefly entertained the notion of a visit to the Theurgy’s medical bay and make sure his blood pressure was okay.

“So this is happening now.” Erev muttered, and strode forward to join Avi and Seren.

The source of the explosion stood just beyond the treeline- or, well, existed in some form at any rate. Circuits, ruptured conduits, and duranium scraps littered the ground alongside fresh embers and small flames and shimmering heat. Some transport crashed, that was clear enough, and whatever blast door or bulkhead its reactor systems were contained behind sure didn’t do a good job of it. And sure enough there was someone lying there, covered in filth and blood, presumably theirs. A wicked slice of composite metal was embedded deep into their side, something that was probably ticking away their life at this very moment.

Something was off though… this was close to the city, there had to be… was the ship’s comms damaged? Something felt amiss, like some instinct yelling at Erev’s hind-brain. He dismissed the nagging doubt, this poor man needed their help after all.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs] Lads Night Out

Reply #9 – October 01, 2019, 07:55:28 AM

[ Lt. JG Adam Kingston | Aldean City Main Market > City Outskirts, Shuttle Pickup | Aldea Prime ]
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@Hastata-Nerada @fiendfall @Numen @TWilkins

Adam smiled when he mimicked Seren's hand in greeting but before he could see any indication the Vulcan saw it the explosion bought all their attention to it. Immediately he went to grab a weapon-- which he didn't have, thanks Aldean Defense Committee, the crew could die defenseless while planetside. This situation clearly an example. He then heard the Vulcan exclaim "There is a injured individual who requires assistance," and rushed off.

One of the others had spoken up 'How you figurin' that then, Twinkletoes? Prolly died in the crash, your lot got x-ray vision now or what.'

Fighting the urge to laugh at the nickname, Adam had to agree with the speaker who he'd about to ask who the two were but that was prevented by the explosion. He was going to go stop the Vulcan but he decided he wouldn't since Vulcans are stronger than humans, "are you coming?" He asked as he started to jog looking back at the two other men.

He shrugged and as he was catching up to Seren, he surveyed the area looking around for those responsible and any further threats. He knew it unwise to approach an area that exploded just in case another could occur. Mines? He wondered, why would Aldeans have mines? The Klingons maybe but that was a stretch since they like hand to hand.

It had to be some other group but then they'd only know if they investigated so his security training kicked in and he tried to look in every direction at the same time but that often scored him a headache, so stuck to the directions of and around the blast zone.

That feeling of being followed rushed by him and he that just added to his stress as he looked back to the pick up point as well every so often as it would be a perfect ambush to come at them from behind. Especially since their attention would be on any injured. Not to mention defenseless without any weapons, though most Aldeans are peaceful there could be grudge holders that disliked the Federation for abandoning them.

One of the other men spoke up as he joined them. 'Put your hood back on, moron. You armed? Lemme go in first. Dunno who these lads are.' Adam groaned softly at the question and muttered something about not being allowed to while in the city. The Master-At-Arms honestly found it quite disconcerting that the Captain didn't try to convince the Defense Committee that the ship's Security personnel is trusted to behave and only use Aldean weapons for self-defense, defense of Aldeans and defending the rest of the Theurgy crew with honor. Yes many had failed that due to various circumstances so he guessed it was not such an outrageous condition now that he thought about it.

The other man was big and Adam was thankful that should a fight come their way the four could fight, hand to hand, their way out if needed. He glanced down and found a disruptor on the ground near the injured man and picked it up. Quickly checking it and found it was usable he began aiming it around them. Not at any of them but into the distance looking for those additional threats.

When none immediately showed he turned to the other two men. "May I request one of you check the ship for medical supplies? I'm standing guard, whoever did this may come back." Adam gestured to them, "May I ask for your names please?" He asked, he wasn't sure this incident warranted his revealing his real identity, he'd have to ask Seren whom he'd had recognised now after going through memories prior to his stasis as they seemed still a bit jumbled.

OOC: Had to edit due to obvious weapon related error on my part, apologies.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #10 – October 21, 2019, 06:10:40 PM

[ Otheusz | Grey Scars’ Ambush Site | Outskirts of Aldea Prime | Aldea ] @Numen @Hastata-Nerada @fiendfall @Sqweloookle

“Yma I tseuqer eon fo ouy hckec hte pish rof diclame pplisesu? M’I andtsngi dragu, veerohw idd tsih yma meoc ckba. Aym I ksa rof uryo mesan leeasp?” Garbled alien language echoed through the soft chill of the evening air, Otheusz’ body still as death upon the frigid ground. Replies no doubt followed the initial proposition, all discordantly different to his ears, their tones and patterns jarringly dissimilar as they encroached upon the silent boy. Otheusz' peeking curiosity wanted to use his eyes to identify their differences, but eyelids blinded him to their statures and armaments,. It was only their heavy-footedness that the Ornaran relied on to identify how many 'rescuers' were prowling around the clearing, that there were no more than three of them stridently exploring the hard ground around him.

He was certain.

Not one of them had tampered with him yet, but still, they lingered close. One in particular lingered so vehemently close to the boy, that Otheusz could smell their blinding cleanliness on the air, taste the freshness of their clothes, wafting with perfumed stenches that juxtaposed the rancid squalor that the Ornaran was more akin to the aroma of. Somehow, Otheusz found the scent of cleanliness the more difficult of the two to stomach.

It felt like an eternity that he lingered on the muddied ground, his front half lurched against a bulkhead whilst he keenly felt the throbbing of his leg wound; no longer painful as much as just simply noticeable…

But when a pair of icy fingers pressed against his neck, Otheusz came excruciatingly close to tensing under the touch. His entire body screaming in fear over the single point of contact that pressed solidly against his neck… Touch meant pain. The Ornaran’s fist clenched in the dirt on reflex to that fear, a blissful throbbing bubbling underneath his palm that soothed the boy with comfort. It was a reaction that no matter how hard he tried, he could never temper.

Yet, the boy still expended every fiber of his focus into remaining still, his ears throbbing with the sound of his warbling breath against the cold metal of the bulkhead. The fingers remained for what felt like an age, pressing against his neck as though they were hunting for something within him… The Ornaran considered that the alien could have been a predator, a blood-searching demon that hunted for people who stayed alone in the dark… He’d heard enough of those tales on Ornara, his Father and the other parents telling them before bedtime, to know that the creature must have existed…

And then the sounds of silence and alien monsters warped around the splitting screech of phaser fire, showers of energy cascading down from where the missed-shots had collided with the ship’s shattered carapace. An overwhelming ruckus spelunker into his head, his keen senses no longer able to differentiate the sounds of his apparent ‘rescuers’ roaming around the wreckage, communicating in their garbled alien voices.

So he sprung his eyes open and bounced himself to his feet like a cat, his motion enough to move himself an arm-length away from the bloodthirsty one who had huddled closer to him, the Ornaran swinging an elbow up and colliding with somewhere soft on the alien. He afforded the alien a fleeting glance. It was a humanoid with dark skin whom, in the look that Otheusz had afforded him, seemed to have adopted a facial expression that conveyed a message of tediousness beyond anything else. It was though the ambush and elbow together, were no more a mild convenience in his day.

But Otheusz’ primal analysis of the man did not continue for any substantial length of time, instead his attention being drawn to the largest member of his ‘rescue’ team, an obvious Klingon if Otheusz had ever seen one, with facial ridges and silver hair that shone like a well-polished torpedo casing. The Ornaran selected the man as his target, the one who would take the most shots to take down.

He broke into a sprint, his dull leg hobbling along to his commands without much complaint, the narcotic that his Queen had dosed him with serving to at least expunge the pain whilst leaving the rest of his senses intact. Not that he was pleased with being flooded with anything that altered his body’s perception at all…

It angered him, in fact. Angered him that his Queen could tamper with his body in so many ways, and Otheusz could do nothing to halt her intrusions… The woman had such a tight hold over his leash that she trusted his hands to move against her body in a plethora of ways, giving him permission to afford himself such ripe opportunity to flood her nervous system with enough bioelectric energy to burn out the very spark of her life. Yet he never did. He obediently followed her perverse commands and ran his tingling fingers along the curves of her hips, the tightness of her thighs… His face twisted into a scowl as he pounced himself onto a bulkhead and made a maddened dive onto the back of the Klingon, the anger of his mistresses repugnance unfolding as a furious roar as he thundered into the Klingon’s back with abandon.

He grappled his lean arms around the man's neck, his eyes brimmed with fury and his anger throthing from his mouth… The Klingon who’s strong back he was writhing against, was in that moment, replaced with embodied thoughts of the Queen of the Grey Scars. The sounds of battle dissolved in his fury as he pummeled a hard kick into the back of the man’s kneecap.

And it would end the same as always. Prisoners taken. Prisoners ransomed. Prisoners sold. Otheusz unthanked for his efforts and mocked for non-existent blunders that he’d eventually be convinced to believe.

But at least for the Ornaran, in the heat of the moment, he could take out the contempt he held his own life in, on whatever poor soul wandered into his way...

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #11 – October 26, 2019, 11:34:23 PM

[Ensign Seren | Rendezvous point for Hypatia Shuttle| Outskirts of Aldea Prime | Aldea]
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att: @TWilkins @fiendfall @Hastata-Nerada @Sqweloookle

'Twinkletoes.'

Seren slowed his strides for two seconds when he heard the epithet. Firstly because he was unable to unravel the meaning. It was a portmanteau, every word that made uo it had clear meanings, but together they fell into that ambiguous category of 'slang' that was almost as diverse as the individuals who used it. After that miniscule hesitation, Seren kept advancing, not turning around. Regardless of whether the foul-mouthed individual alluded to his light feet or to his sexual preference, this call did not change his determination to help the wounded.

Shortly thereafter the foul-mouthed humanoid rushed to reach him, signaling the convenience of hiding his vulcan features and demanding to know if he was armed. On this occasion, the counselor did turn to face the little man, and his eyebrows descended five millimeters on his forehead, obscuring his eyes. " Refrain your from using any offensive term to designate me, I can assure you that my intelligence is above average. I am Counselor Seren, rank ensign. Adress me properly" he requested after a second insult. Nevertheless, as he spoke, he put the hoods back over his almost shaved head, concealing his features. "And, indeed, I am not armed. The use of violence is unnecessary and carry weapons is out of bounds by our arragement with the Aldea government" he briefly clarified before he restarted his march towards the crash landing area. However, the logic of the foul-mouthed's statement hadn't escaped the Vulcan, who let the little man lead him this time.

They both reached the accident site within minutes, without even exchange another word. The foul-mouthed man took a defensive stance as Seren walked into the burning wreckage, in a beeline towards the wounded man. Just as the Vulcan began to kneel by his side, the other two men arrived into the area. Both the white giant and the Master-at-Arms began to inspect the area as security trained men did. So it was up to Seren to take care of the wounded. Seren paused for a second to smooth out the imperceptible wrinkles on the gloves that covered his hands. Once he verified that there couldn't be an undesired skin-to-skin contact, which could result in an inappropriate emotional transference, he placed the index and the ring finger of his left hand on the fallen man's jugular. Seren breathed more slowly as he checked for the pulse. After a while he perceived it, light, swift, fluttering against his finger tips like a terrified little bird. Despite the protective fabric, the young man's fear and pain percolated into the Vulcan mind, as well as a strange tingle that Seren was unable to identify. It was an almost galvanic sensation that ascended from his fingers to his hands, then crept up his wrists until almost reaching his elbows, numbing his limbs as it moved. Notwithstanding the goose bumps and the sting that crawled his skin, Seren thought he perceived something else in the wounded man. A sort of wait-and-see anxiety or....

The buzz of a phaser over his head made him lose his focus. His fingers lost contact with the wounded man's skin as he turned to locate the danger... The strike came then, in the lower portion of his rib cage, just at the edge of his new heart. Seren fell backwards. For a few precious seconds he remained frozen on the ground, eyes stranded in the orange sky as he struggled to make his synthetic heart beat again.

One second.

Two seconds

The blaster fire whistled over him, dyeing the accident debris with unnatural colours.

Three seconds.

Four seconds.

Seren gasped. Just a bit. Unnoticeable among the buzzing around him.

His heart beat again, frenzied and violently.

…

Sixty-three seconds.

Sixty-three seconds were needed before Seren could turn on himself and rest on his abdomen. Sixty-seven seconds before he stood on his hands and knees and reached the shelter that offered a half-burnt and bent panel. Too long. Just too long.

Seren blinked a couple of times before he peered slightly over the parapet, and attempted to discern who was attacking them. Before the edge of his hood poked more than two centimeters above the wreckage, a phaser blast buzzed over his head, bristling his short hair. The Vulcan shrank on himself to protect his body and then he rested his back on the debris. As he did so, he could see how the wounded man clung to the white-haired man's back like some kind of rachitic, filthy and bloodied parasite. Both wrestled with opposite intentions, without either of them succeeding in overcoming the other. The counsellor tried to stand up to help his ally, but before he managed to rise to his feet another shot whistled next to his ear, and he plunged quickly forward to save his skin.

He snaked through the dust When he was barely a metre from the brawling men, he crawled to his feet, took off his gloves and placed his bare fingers on the wounded man's neck. A vulcan neck pinch would end up freeing the large man without harming his enemy. The ensign closed the fingers on the exact point of the neck of the injured and...

He never knew if the pinch had been effective. A blast hit him in the middle of his back...and everything turned black.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #12 – October 29, 2019, 04:15:46 PM

[ Avi ] Attn: @TWilkins @Numen @Auctor Lucan @Sqweloookle

Christmas, this day just kept gettin' better an' better. 'Pparently some shit he'd said had set off the Vulcan's hackles, an' now the kid was goin' off about his genius fuckin' IQ or somethin'. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Human bloke, when he caught up, was equally fuckin' useless, though at least he didn't hardly start blatherin' on. Looked like the Feds'd sent these two chucklefucks down t'the panet without so much as a pointy fuckin' stick between 'em what to defend 'emselves. Weren't they meant t'be on the run or some shit? 'F some parasite motherfuckers turn up, they just gonna ask 'em nicely t'piss off or what, hope that did the trick? Damn diplomatic idiots.

Still. Least it meant he didn't gotta worry about gettin' shot in the back by some greenie what didn't know his way around the arse end of a phaser. Last thing he needed right now.

And fuckin' hell, Tree Moron was still goin'.

'Yeah, yeah, sure,' he said, wavin' him off best he could. 'Course, it would be an ensign what thought they had the right t'order folks around, commision goin' to their damn heads, little idiots what they were. 'You got it, boss.' There, that satisfy your damn Vulcan ego? He just wanted a damn bath, christmas.

Kid had said his name somewhere in there, but fuck him if he could remember what it was. Prob'ly like. Spot. Or somethin'.

'Just-- follow me, yeah? An' I tell yous t'leg it, even if it don't look like nothin's goin' on, you're gonna want t'listen.' Didn't hold much hope either of 'em would actually listen, but hey, he'd done his fuckin' best. If they wanted t'get 'emslves killed, no skin off his back.

Set back off for the shuttle, Theurgy dumbasses lettin' Avi take point at least. Small fuckin' mercies, right? Was 'pparently the only fella 'cept Erev what could defend hisself if this shit went sideways. Which it was definitely tiltin' towards. On a real slippery fuckin' slope, they was.

Shuttle, when they reached it, was a burnt up piece of shit. Crash had fucked it up real good, all twisted metal an' flames goin' t'town like they expected some kinda reward, little fiery bastards. Picked his way through carefully, avoidin' hot metal an' meltin' pipework. Area was kinda smoky still, difficult t'see much of anythin', but still managed t'pick out the shape of a body from the gloom. Looked like a kid, lyin' slumped over a few feet in, maybe alive, maybe not, hard t'tell.

Didn't much make no difference, truth be told.

Tree Guy What's Name Avi'd Forgot -- Spike? Spoon? Spaghetti? -- didn't seem t'agree, walked straight in happy as you like, beelinin' it to the injured sod. Prob'ly for the best, Avi didn't know much of shit when it came t'like. Helpin' folks. Better placed watchin' Tree Boy's back, scannin' the area. Saw Erev doin' the same thing on his side, coverin' as much area as they could. Didn't much like relyin' on some bloke he only just met, but sure. Needs must, yeah? Ain't got eyes in the back of his head, not yet.

Still. Uneasy as shit out here. Couldn't put his finger on it, not quite, 'cept knew somethin' weren't right. First of all, kid lyin' all sadlike over there -- he the pilot of this thing? All on his lonesome? Looked about twelve. No one else with him? Second, this weren't no Fed ship, so it weren't the shuttle they was waitin' for. Aldean, then? What they doin' all the way out here? Thought the point of the shuttle meet point was that it was outta town. Third, didn't like the look of it. Felt funky. Didn't like it. Good enough reasonin', right?

Turned out, yeah. Saw movement in the treeline a split second afore anythin' happened, got halfway through callin' it t'Erev when he hears weapon fire, turns t'see Erev got his own damn problems. Fuck. Knew this was fish, didn't he fuckin' say it was dodgy?

Left Erev dealin' -- fella could hold his own, an' if he couldn't it weren't hardly the last of their problems -- looked back over his side in time t'get a facefull of particle beam, barely fuckin' dodges in time. Bitch. Motherfuckers comin' out the damn trees now? Gets some shots off, peekin' out from behind the wrecked hull platin' he's usin' as cover. Don't hardly do nothin'; judgin' by the fire comin' back, they're outnumbered pretty fuckin' terribly.

Shout drew his attention back inside the shuttle, in time t'see Spoon knocked t'the floor by-- Injured Kid? The hell? Bloke do such a good job patchin' him up the guy's gunnin' for round two or what?

Don't matter. Tree Boy's on the ground, gaspin' like a fish -- guy he'd been takin' care of did somethin' fucky to him, but Avi ain't got a damn clue. An' who cares, right, 'cause Sprightly Fuck don't wait barely half a second afore goin' for Erev, leapin' on his back an' goin' t'town, wrestlin' an' scratchin', all wild street fighter. Fuckin' hell. Avi couldn't get a damn shot off, not without riskin' Erev -- an' they was gonna need the fella to get outta this alive, damn it, couldn't go doin' the enemy's job for 'em.

'Help Erev,' he yelled t'the human bloke, turnin' back to keep coverin' 'em as best he could. Whoever Erev'd been fightin' on his side couldn't be far off, but only so much Avi could do. If he could stop 'em from gettin' bumrushed from both sides, would have to be enough.

They'd taken the opportunity while he was fuckin' distracted t'get all close up like, real inconsiderate. Took one out with a blast to the chest -- stun only, he ain't forgotten Spaghetti's non-violence thing. Went for another, holdin' 'em off best he could.

Didn't matter. Call from behind as somethin' happened -- Erev's lot finally joinin' the party, he guessed -- an' next thing he knew was on his back, starin' up at the orange sky an' thinkin' 'huh'.

An' then after that? Weren't thinkin' much of nothin'.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #13 – November 14, 2019, 07:27:55 PM

[ LT. JG Adam Kingston | Ship Crash Site | Aldea Prime ] Attn: @fiendfall @Numen @TWilkins
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It happened so quickly and they’d just walked into an ambush. Not the finest thing a Security officer was proud of as he dropped to the ground so he’d be missed being shot. He looked around and saw that the seemingly injured man had done something to Seren.

Time was of the essence as Adam rolled so his back was to the ground. He fired using the weapon he picked up around the crash site into where he heard the other weapons fire come from. Of course relying on sound alone was not the best of methods but it kept him on the right track to locating and neutralising hostiles.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the large man whom he heard from the other man he didn’t know called Erev was running back the way they had come. The guy who played injured on Erev’s back. Adam rolled again towards them and got to one knee and fired his weapon at the assailant's arm to force him off Erev’s back.

It seemed to have the desired effect but more weapons fire from around the perimeter of the crash site lanced out into the group. Adam barely managed to dodge the first round by falling to the ground, second missed, third as well but after that it all stopped. Adam didn’t really feel the touch before something else went through him.

His seemingly last thoughts were of Shock as he blacked out.

OOC: Sorry for the delay.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #14 – November 21, 2019, 09:45:37 PM

[ Otheusz | Grey Scars’ Ambush Site | Outskirts of Aldea Prime | Aldea ] @Numen @fiendfall @Sqweloookle

Otheusz found himself in far less of a fight than he’d been prepared for. It was a grand gift from fate, given that the pain in his leg was already beginning to creep back into his nerves, reminding him all too vividly of the wound inflicted in the interest of credibility. Why the Klingon beneath him was so much less defiant than others he had dueled, Otheusz couldn’t guess. Either way, the boy did not much question the opportunity that he’d been delivered.

Not to say that the man didn’t struggle, because he did so in abundance. Otheusz’ lithe body was flung to-and-fro like a loose piece of hull-plating as the man twisted and swung, the Ornaran’s legs flailing out behind him like ribbons as he was handled so. Yet his arms remained affixed around the Klingon’s throat, holding himself firmly as he was bucked, heart rate pounding against his victim’s back as Otheusz willed his natural bioelectricity to come to a climax. His hand was flush around the Klingon’s throat… Ready to deal a disruptive volt to his nervous system.

Otheusz was well practiced in shocking Klingons. He knew it took more than he needed for other species… It meant it took longer. His knives were usually the swifter method of deliverance… Though he didn’t have them, and nor were they required for his assignment.

After what felt like the twentieth time Otheusz’s small body crunched against his target’s strong back, the man underneath him changed his tactic. The change was abrupt, a strong hand clamping around Otheusz’ wrist and making his best attempt to drag the Ornaran forwards, as if it was his intention to throw the boy over his shoulder, as one would do a large fish. The wild-eyed Ornaran yelped in surprise, the change of tactic atypical for a Klingon, before managing to angle his foot to deliver a sharp blow into the larger man’s knee. His arm was gruffly yanked forwards in response, but he stayed affixed to the older man’s form. The Ornaran growled into his ear and cursed a litany of slurs in his native tongue.

Their ruckus movement made the boy adjust his grip, his hand relinquishing the man’s neck in favour of grappling up a handful of the material adorning his chest, colliding with a metallic broach as he did so. It emitted a polite chirping sound, which caught Otheusz off guard enough that he almost slipped from the behemoth's back in the process. The token tangled in his fingers as he struggled, snaring with the threadbare cuff of his jacket and getting wrenched along with his arm as he was thrown backwards once again.

The struggle between the two was not insignificant, Otheusz agile as a monkey as he adjusted his hold on the Klingon repeatedly, grappling legs around the other’s waist, dragging at his clothes, kicking at his bones. Expending such energy in a fruitless scuffle only served to delay the build-up of his bioelectric potential, it made the boy scowl, his hands clawing as he managed to get a strong swipe against the face of the man, his fingernails groaning against the friction that the skin of his face provided.

And then the boy howled, discomfort blasting through his body as a singe of agony burrowed through his left arm, voiding his grip and crushing him into the floor. His teeth scraped in agony, his right hand clutching at the wounded stretch of flesh, his manic eyes flying from spot-to-spot as he planned his next move.

He scrambled back to his feet like an animal, disregarding the Klingon completely, noting that already there were several more of his crew closing like a noose upon the situation.

Instead, he saw the figure whom had shot at him, and thundered towards him like a predator, bounding over a discarded piece of hull and crumbling to the muddied ground as his wounded leg failed to support his landing. Otheusz was rewarded with a mouthful of sour mud, a taste that greatly offended his tongue, spitting and gagging on the slurry as his eyes re-affixed themselves to the Human before him.

The fight was ending, and of the interlopers, only this one remained.

Humans didn’t resist his abilities well. Their constitution was lacklustre. Otheusz scrambled back to his feet and bounded forwards, his unwounded arm balled around a crackle of energy that skittered across his palm.

The man dodged phaser fire that aimed at his flank. He stumbled towards Otheusz as he narrowly avoided a tertiary volly of shots that sent up sloughs of mud into the air. It made the Ornaran smile somewhat cruelly, as he clamped his hand around the man’s meaty neck…

[ Otheusz | Somewhere Above the Planet Surface | Aldea ]

The Ornaran grunted as the healer on his Queen’s payroll gruffly pushed at him, battering him around to make his position more suitable. Othuesz was used to being manhandled; even if he didn’t understand their words, he never failed to understand their touches. The healer had already sealed the wound on the boy’s thigh with his energy wand, and was scruffing at the blast-wound on Otheusz’ arm. The wand hurt him. But after, he didn’t bleed. It was better in the end, he supposed.

His eyes glanced over the restrained men that flopped against the side of the shuttle that covertly ferried them back to their city, to make preparations and establish the worth of their haul. One of the men had long hair, and an ear ornament. Another had no hair, but his ears were sharpened. It puzzled the boy; they did not look like formidable weapons.

Otheusz’ mouth unleashed a startled growl as a pain shot through his arm, his eyes flicking back to his healer with alarm. The man didn’t bother to look up from his flickering wand.

“Fuckin’ thing. Always breakin’ on me.” He hit the device against the bulkhead of the ship. The flickering light became steady. “Need to get me something better than this junk.” The man grumbled pestilently, before gruffly returning to his work.

Otheusz’ eyes were wide as torpedo launchers, and contrasted starkly against his dirt-smeared face. The Queen was not present. Therefore he could not understand their language. That was the rule… He furtively glanced down at his hand, noting the metal that he’d been fiddling with, pressing against with his dirt-stained fingers. The broach that had been snatched up from the Klingon’s chest…

“Yer fuckin’ fine.” The man grunted beside him, giving Otheusz a solid shove as he stood. “Look at yer face, damn idiot.”

Otheusz owlishly blinked at the man. He imagined several ways to kill the healer. His creativity was outstanding, he thought.

Yet his eyes drew back to the metal poking against his cuff, electing not to wedge the healer’s head into the barrel of the craft’s micro-torpedo launcher at that moment in time. He pressed a dirty thumb into the arrow-shaped surface of the device. It chirped once again. It made him jump a second time. Thankfully, none of his crew ever paid attention to the boy.

The device could sing, and apparently allow him to understand the words of aliens; the healer didn’t know Ornaran, he barely even knew how to heal. Otheusz tilted his head curiously, running his muddy thumb over the cool metal in soft, circling patterns. He considered that perhaps it was a translation talisman? It defied the logic of what he knew to be true. A distressed frown snuck onto his brow.

Nethertheless, he secreted the item into his sleeve for later contemplation.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #15 – November 25, 2019, 12:53:44 AM

[Ensign Seren | Cell ( grossly unclean) | Unknown building (poorly maintained) | Unknown celestial body ( Aldea System?)]
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att: @TWilkins @fiendfall@Sqweloookle

The first thing Seren noticed before he woke up fully was the scratch of sand against the back of his shaved skull. Even with his eyes closed, the Vulcan frowned faintly. It was a minimal, subtle movement, barely a 0.8 millimeter descent that created a tiny wrinkle over the bridge of his nose. He hadn't slept on the ground for several years, precisely since he had performed his Kahs-wan. While Seren was beyond mundane nuisances such as uncleanness or physical discomfort, he found the situation beyond the ordinary.

The young ensign remained stationary, eyes shut as he inhaled deeply only once. The room smelled of rancid, of unwashed bodies that had been overcrowded for too long, and of various substances that he was unable to identify but which caused his stomach to shrink from revulsion. The Vulcan exhaled calmly to control his body reactions and made a brief review of his physical condition. Everything seemed to be in order. There was a point of pain in his back that he hastened to suffocate. The skin around his wrists had been abraded by some coarse-edged object, perhaps metallic. His heart was beating 0.3 times faster than it was proper, but given how unruly it had been in the last few weeks, Seren accepted that variation as a deviation above the norm within acceptable parameters. Only then did he open his eyes.

The ceiling above it was cracked and in one of the corners it showed a sort of pouch of organic source, possibly the former abode of an arachnid. Something utterly unacceptable in a household. Seren sat up in a fluid motion bending at the waist until his upper body reached exactly ninety degrees with respect to his legs. A brief inspection around him indicated where he was and prompted the memories of HOW he had reached such destination. He has been confined in a cell, that was unobjectionable.

The floor consisted scarcely of clayey dust, and three of the walls surrounding it were apparently built with some sort of redish gneiss coated with a poorly maintained plastic-terrous covering that fell to pieces here and there, evidencing a clear negligence in the maintenance of the building where the room was located. The last wall displayed bars of some ferrous-based material that were once covered by a yellow-orange paint, but now they appeared ready to succumb under a dense patina of rust and what Seren could only define as 'mucous lichen'. However, any idea of dismantling that feeble barrier to recover his freedom was promptly disregarded when the Vulcan was able to observe the flickering of a force field barely a few centimetres from the primitive railings. Thus, he was imprisoned and the chances of escape were limited. At least in the present circumstances.

Seren rose to his feet slowly and stepped closer to the force field. Through its bluish surface he could glimpse the unconscious bodies of two large men in the cell at the other side of a narrow corridor. Adam Kingston and the Klingonoid he had met at the rendevouz point, undoubtedly. From his position, the Vulcan could see the chest of one of the two men rise and fall steadily. The other, with his back turned towards the hallway that separated them, snored sonorously. That indicated that at least both were alive and in a stable physical situation with a 78% likelihood. It wasn't an optimal percentage according to his criteria but given the circumstances he couldn't obtain data to adequately determine their physical condition. So he should accept the little data he had.

The Vulcan turned 180º on his heels and observed the opposite wall of the cell he inhabited. In one of the corners lay a bucket as yellow and rusty as the bars, from which emanated a foul stench that made Seren wrinkle his nose a bit in spite of all his self-control. In the middle of the wall there was a scrunched up ball of fabric, peppered with reddish stains of ferric scent. Certainly non-vulcanoid blood. From where he was, Seren was unable to determine whether it was fresh or not. His eyes moved to the opposite corner of the room. There was another figure lying there in a decubitus prone position. Seren promptly identified the clothes as those of the foul-mouthed individual. He observed him for 2.33 minutes without notice any sign of breathing or other movement. From where he stood, he was unable to determine whether he was alive or dead, or in transit from one state to another.

Seren breathed in shallowly a couple of times, trying to shield himself from the stench that swamped the cell and approached slowly to the lying figure. Then he knelt beside him and stared at him thoroughly. Given his position, he could only observe a shapeless pile of clothes, an undisciplined lump of unruly hair, the bottom profile of a too round ear adorned with an offensively blue gadget, and the angle of a mandible. The little tan skin that was visible had a smear of sweat and filth, and Seren had no doubt that it would be greasy to the touch. He scanned those few inches of skin to find some evidence of a vein heartbeat. The Vulcan keened his sensitive ears seeking the slightest sign of a functional heart, of a breath. But the snoring and buzzing of the force field in the background prevented him from detect any sound.

Seren blinked a couple of times, as he mustered his willpower and slid one hand over the other, discarding the only glove he had left. Where or how he had lost the other, he did not know. He hovered his left hand over the foul-mouthed man. Not because there was any hesitation in him, it was his duty as a Starfleet officer to check the physical condition of his cellmate and try to solve any risk to his life with the means at his disposal. Seren flexed and stretched his fingers a couple of times as he raised his mental barriers to shield himself from any emotional leak from the ill-mannered youngster . While the craving that embarrassed him so much was exhorting him to touch such an obviously emotional individual, there was a part of him that found aberrant to come into contact with the sweat that pearled his skin. A highly illogical and unpleasant body function that signalled a disabling disease among Vulcans, or other conditions that it was better not to mention.

Seren's hand kept dangling over the other man while Seren struggled between duty and scruples. Finally, the most logical option prevailed and, with an imperceptible shiver, the Vulcan rested two fingers on the foul-mouthed man's neck.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #16 – November 30, 2019, 01:31:33 AM

[ Avi ] Attn: @TWilkins @Numen @Sqweloookle

Fuck me, hoped he'd had fun last night, 'cause he sure was payin' for it now. Head hurtin' fit t'burst, felt like a damn watermelon what'd been hate-fucked by a screwdriver an' then left out for the rest of the toolkit to have a go after. Christmas, hoped the Theur-whatsit had good painkillers, fuckin' heck.

Yeah, yeah, was comin' back t'him now — Theur-majig, Aldea, rest of that nonsense. Fuckin' Spaghetti Kid an' his bleedin' heart syndrome. Goin' an' gettin' 'em all into—

Aw, shit.

Splittin' headache an' he hadn't even gotten wankered. Fuck's sake.

Explained why his ears was still in, at least. Not that they was doin' much of nothin', head hurt too much t'make sense of anythin'. Still. Had t'hope if there was some shithead breathin' down his neck he'd know about it by now.

Even so. Should prob'ly crack an eye, try t'see what the fuck'd happened to 'em. But light, right now, in his own damn eyeball? No fuckin' thanks mate. Rather stab hisself with a rusty knittin' needle — which, ironically, would prob'ly be how it felt 'f he did go an' open up his damn peepers.

Why couldn't the fuckin' pirates have just shot him an' be done with it? Had t'go an' leave a mess. Inconsid'rate, really, 'f you asked him. Bastards.

Weren't injured at least, not any more'n before anyways. Ribs still bein' bitches but honestly when weren't they. Rest of him just kinda equally sore, muscles right pissed, hard t'even pinpoint where he'd been stunned. Still, all the important bits was there, doin' their job. Rest of him could go fuck itself frankly. 'Specially his damn fuckin' head.

Alright. Well. Was gonna have to do it sometime. So. Here goes nothin'.

Opened his eyes long enough t'get a look around. Piss, fuckin' ow. Vision was all squinty an' blurry, just the way you like it, but managed t'get a pretty decent picture of the surroundings considerin'. Shitty little asshole cave room thing, forcefield keepin' 'em in. Just him an' a crumpled lump too small t'be Erev — one of the other two chuckleheads, then. Too squinty t'tell. Didn't much care; had been about equal amounts'a useless. Least the human-lookin' fella hadn't been an arse about it, though.

Couldn't see much else of nothin' from this vantage, an' if you thought he was gettin' up t'look you can fuck right off mate. So that was it then: alright, yup, gross, painful, waste of bleedin' time. Weren't in any immediate danger, leastways, an' frankly even if they were he could do with puttin' out of his damn misery. Rest of 'em could fend for themselves, fuck 'em, 'specially Spork, was him what'd gotten 'em all into this damn mess.

Might as well get some fuckin' shuteye afore the kinky shit started up.

Didn't know how long he managed t'kip for, only that he got woken by some motherfucker goin' for his neck. No thanks, shithead. Head be damed, was up an' at 'em, reachin' up ready t'twist the hand away into a wrist lock. Get absolutely fucked mate.

Stopped at the last second, recognisin' the offender's stupid outfit. Fuckin' Sourpuss, course it was. Dropped the guy's hand sharpish, lucky for him afore Avi'd managed t'do anythin' painful, an' leant back all casual-like.

'Touchy-feely this mornin', aintcha?' said with a drawl. 'Gotta pay extra for that, darlin'.' Trust Spit t'try an' feel up a guy while he's asleep, fuckin' perv. Not that Avi was judgin', a-course, 'cept this was a weirdass place t'try an' wet your dick.

Vaguely occurred t'him the guy might've been tryin' t'help or somethin'. Whatever.

All well an' good, but all this adrenaline weren't just gonna poof out just 'cause he weren't actively bein' strangled. Stood, eyes happier in the light now — or leastways not tryin' t'explode 'emselves — went for a looksee around their little room. Yup, piece of shit. Kicked a loose stone at the forcefield; nothin' doin'. Hadn't expected it t'melt away or nothin', but woulda been nice. Least he could see better from here, enough t'see the other two opposite, similarly fucked but neither of 'em particularly dead-lookin'. Just jammy.

The fuck did these shitheads want? Hadn't seemed like Feds — an' if they were they'd got a funny way of goin' about it. What, were the bugs gonna capture the whole Theurgy crew four idiots at a time? Nah, nah, them lot were anal for sure but weren't that dumb. Dollars to dicks this was the work of some other pissheads, just a case of wrong place wrong Tuesday.

Poor suckers. Prob'ly tryna get some ransom or some shit. Didn't know about these other folks in here, but Avi weren't worth shit. Ain't no one payin' t'see him again — frankly, most folks'd do the opposite. Couldn't even blame 'em.

Well. He weren't lookin' t'die in some place what stank of shit. Had some fuckin' standards left, at least.

Turned back t'Spaghetti. 'You got a plan, Clever Clogs?' Kid had been goin' off on one about how smart he was or some shit, remembered that much. Prob'ly gonna turn out to be all guff an' no trousers, but he looked like a right nerd so who knew. 'We gonna blow this popsicle or nah?'

Brit to basic under the cut
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Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #17 – December 08, 2019, 07:43:33 PM

[ LT. JG Adam Kingston | Unknown Location | Aldea Prime ] Attn: @fiendfall @Numen @TWilkins

Adam Kingston jerked awake. He attempted to move but everything seemed to ache but slowly it went away. Groaning as he shifted but as it became less painful he could now focus on his surroundings. He could feel dribble on his mouth and chin mixed with other unpleasantness that he forced himself not to think about.

He got onto his knees and wiped his hands on his clothes then he wiped his face. Once he felt a little more presentable he immediately found the bars and passed them Seren and the dark haired man in another ‘cell’. Adam smiled, glad they seemed uninjured but as he looked around his cell the grey haired orange skinned man was unconscious on the floor.

Adam groaned again as he slowly made his way over to the other man. He felt like he’d been heavily drunk the night before. He then took a long inhale and fought against the gag reflex once again forcing himself not to think about what he could smell. Adam touched his fingers to the orange skinned man to check his pulse, it was shallow but stable.

So it had been a true ambush and capture operations by shady groups using most likely the abandoned cities as bases. Why didn’t he hide a type 1 phaser in his boots? He cursed himself. With the orange skinned man out of the count he was alone to begin the evaluation of the cell for possible weaknesses. Adam thought it unwise to call out to his fellow captives as the enemies could be watching hidden in the area.

If they called to him he’d respond. Adam began by standing and stumbling over to the first wall of the cell and feeling around for anything. Any weakness could be exploited.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #18 – December 09, 2019, 03:11:08 AM

[Ensign Seren | Cell ( grossly unclean) | Unknown building (poorly maintained)| Unknown celestial body ( Aldea System?)]
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att: @TWilkins @fiendfall@Sqweloookle

As the unintelligible man's fingers closed around his wrist, Seren felt as if a lightning flashed through him from top to bottom. It was no pain. It was something else. A barrage of emotions struck all his senses, overwhelming him, through the contact of their skins. Seren attempted to move away. The hidden craving sought it would last forever. It was too much, too swift, too intense, the Vulcan was unable to name not even a third of the... stuff, of the emotions that percolated from the long-haired man. The craving that nestled inside him was sated for the first time since he became aware of its existence and seemed to purr out of pure complacency. Seren tried to distance himself, to withdraw from that much coveted and unsavoury contact. The contradiction of the whole situation petrified him at the spot, his eyes marginally more open than appropriate, due to the surprise and the shock....

... and as soon as it had started, the contact ceased.

Seren fell back and covered his wrist with his other hand. Not because he felt any pain from the weak attempt to subjugate him, but in an idle attempt to appease the aftershoks of the emotional assault the touch had triggered.

'Touchy-feely this mornin', aintcha?' said the man in a tone that Seren failed to fathom 'Gotta pay extra for that, darlin''.

Seren tilted his head, even more confused at the old-fashioned idea of an economic exchange. " Do not do that again," he ordered dryly. Too much. Inadequate. "I ask you to refrain from making any direct physical contact with me in the future if you do not want to face negative consequences." Better. Formal. A cautionary note.

His breath had been accelerated by 0.04 times more than the average. His heart had skipped two beats. Seren closed his eyes for a couple of seconds as he appeased the disturbance the sudden exposure had inflicted. An endeavour in which he spent more time than he had initially estimated. Almost as much as the first time an emotional being had unthinkingly tapped him.

When he was again in a position to concentrate on his surroundings, the risian (now he knew that at least) was standing in front of the force field, his face looking grim and surly. Whether it was due to him or to the barricade, Seren did not know. He slowly rose to his own feet, ascertaining that his balance was intact. After a tentative step he found that it indeed remained innaffected and he ventured to position himself next to the other man, ensuring that there was at least an arm's length between them and that he was at least one step behind his cellmate.

Across the corridor, Adam Kingston was rising to his feet too, unstable but mostly unharmed as far as he could see. The risian's colleague remained collapsed on the pavement. Seren's nose wrinkled slightly when another snore injured his sensitive ears. At least that confirmed he was alive.

'You got a plan, Clever Clogs? We gonna blow this popsicle or nah?'

Seren spun his head toward the man with the blue device in his ear. "A hostile action is inadvisable given the scant information we have about our plight," he replied. "We will verify the status of our comrades and will seek to collect all available data regarding our location and our abductors. Once we have the minimum information we will perform the first duty of a Starfleet officer upon being captured by hostile parties".

Escape. But until they found out where they were, all they could do was wait.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #19 – December 14, 2019, 08:06:14 PM

[ Otheusz | Grey Scars Base | Ruined Former City | Aldea ] @fiendfall @Numen @Sqweloookle

Otheusz flipped the cool metal of the device between his fingers continually, comforted by the coldness of the item against his dry fingertips, the devise twirling in a specacular little dance that he conducted with his hands. For a welcome change, not so much as a splinter of attention was affixed upon him, no eyes casting furtive glances towards his position perched atop a large clay object, the remnants of the former occupants of the site. His legs were spread wide, his torso hunched slightly, his eyes suspiciously glaring up through the ratty strands of his fringe of hair.

He was waiting.

The talisman turned repetitively, like a pendulum without the swing, flicking from the silver facing, to the side toned with a golden hue. His leg bounced ever so slightly in his apprehension. His eyes flicked briefly down to the arrowhead shaped icon between his fingers, fiddling with it, pressing the pad of his index finger firmly into the point until it started to hurt too much. It was an odd way to pass the time, but what else did he have?

Usually, upon a successful mission, such as their undertakings that eve, the crew engaged in their rampant festivities, drinking dark fluid that tasted of bile and made their heads heavy, undressing each other in a senseless haze before the night was done. They would wail a cacophony and clash cups against each other, slapping their fellows on the back with open-handed force that echoed through the chamber. Their senses would further cloud over, until the mere act of walking caused them too much difficulty. They would mock each other, and on occasion, they would brawl.

Their behaviour was an affront to Otheusz. It filled him with a rancor that had first blossomed upon the battlefields of Brecca. It reminded him of the bitter knowledge that his people were truly damned by the maliciousness of the fat gluttons who profited from his people’s suffering… Yet even that disgust was never quite enough to outweigh his crippling anxiety; those evenings of celebration never failed to end the same.

At some point, someone would come for him. They would drag him by the forearm regardless of his compliance, force him from his clothes with scratching hands and angry sounds in an alien language. He’d be shoved against the stone and sprayed with the icy malice of a thousand needles of water. Scathing bristles would scrub at his grimy skin, delivering a sensation that Otheusz never failed to mistake for the flaying of his flesh; it was always filled with worried looks down upon himself, in the fear that his skin would be scourged off in little curls of blood against the floor. He would be clouded with perfumes and ointments, be mocked and jeered at as he was corralled through his drunken comrades, before the torment would cease and he would be eventually left shivering at the feet of their queen.

The rest of the night, would then be even less pleasant.

But this night was something different.

He’d not been left to aimlessly do a menial task, sat silently in the corner of the room to be occasionally jeered at, or even just left to wander or sleep. He’d been firmly shoved into the moist-aired room that joined the prisoner’s cells to the rest of the complex by the wide-eyed woman with the nose that looked like it had been hit with something sharp. She was a stoic presence and didn’t mock or jeer him like the others. It didn’t mean that she was friendly towards him, but it wasusually one of the more pleasant interactions he would endure.

She never spoke to him, but her gestures were clue enough to his goal. She pointed at the threadbare cloth that hung in the oxidised doorframe, she pointed at her eyes, she pointed back at the doorframe, and then she pointed at the floor. He was to guard the prisoners. Intepreting instructions was second nature to him after so many years of being forced to do so.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been afforded such a duty, but usually someone else was assigned to the task. When he was given work beyond menial labour, it was most-frequently spent in the rudimentary fighter bay crafted out of the ruined atrium at the centre of their hideaway. He’d tinker with the weapons on the fighters, he’d repair battle damage, he’d fiddle with the torpedos when nobody was looking; they didn’t like him when he touched the missiles too long. He didn’t quite understand why.

The assignment was unusual, because he didn’t need to be there. Any of the crew could have sat and guarded the prisoners in the same manner that he would. He’d been positioned there for a reason, one that he couldn’t quite fathom. The Queen, for all her hatred and malice, did seem to afford the Ornaran trust. When a responsibility arose that might question the loyalty of her members, she usually passed the buck to Otheusz to complete the assignment. The situations were varied, but apparently Otheusz was the only member of her team whom she trusted not to double cross her.

Perhaps trusted was the incorrect term?

She believed that he wouldn’t ever double cross her, for he had nothing else to gain. He couldn’t join a rival gang if he couldn’t speak their language. She’d made it clear that if he went to the big cities, he’d be arrested by the Klingons and tortured. ‘Nobody would trust an angry boy with knives and sparking hands who cannot speak nor understand…’ She’d sung that sentence to him many a night, smirking with a lilted voice as she sipped her dark fluids, giggling as though she were impressed with herself as she spread her legs without a care, for the boy to better service her needs. He dwelled upon her words to keep himself from dwelling on his actions. They were therefore ingrained in his head forevermore.

He knew that she was right. And it was why she was also right about his loyalty. It wasn’t out of any favour to the woman, but out of necessity. A few moments passed as his thoughts grew blank and he stared down at the talisman in his hands. Perhaps the device would change things? He made a strange noise in his throat that echoed in the chamber, and he scowlingly swung his arm and tossed the device across the room.

No. It wouldn’t.

His Queen was right. Even if he could speak the words, there were many he yet failed to understand; she often scowled at his misunderstanding of her intentions. He knew that no rival group would ever trust him; the boy with the lightning hands was known to be part of the Grey Scars. The tattoo upon his chin did little else to disguise that fact. And if a creature like he were to venture to the city, in its sparkling glory, the people would hand him over to the Klingons to be tortured and killed with no second thought. And even if somehow he managed to escape, his Queen would find him…

She had always promised him as much.

He sniffled in his mood, cuffing the back of his hand across his nose, as he felt his anger seep down into a brittle hopelessness. His eyes scanned for the talisman he had so carelessly relinquished, and noted it glinting on the floor, not so far from the musty scented cloth that hung between him and the cells. The talisman would be valuable, even if he could not use it to escape his Queen.

The Ornaran left his perch, and approached the device, fetching it up and secreting it away amongst the folds of his clothes, where he prayed it wouldn’t be discovered.

He prepared to return to his seat, when a less common emotion caught his attention. Curiosity.

The prisoners had to be of high value, if he had been assigned to watch over them over spending time in the Queen's boudoir. Now that he was closer to the cells, he could hear muffled echoes that perhaps began as movement or speech. His fingers reached out for the stagnant cloth and brushed it aside as he moved with disturbing quiet into the dark corridor towards the corroded bars that held back their prizes. Being caught would be dangerous; yet he'd get the punishment they conjoured for some other menial reason regardless.

The unnerving silence of his movement was only matched by his haste, as he moved through the dark corridor like a mist, approaching the end of the darkness towards where the cells were located. The air grew thicker as he drew closer, scented heavily with a pungent aroma that made his nose wrinkle slightly. Muffled echoes turned into voices that rang out clear like chimes; voices, that he could now understand.

“We gonna blow this popsicle or nah?” One voiced asked, the words reaching around the corner to lap at his ears. He did not understand the sentence entirely, but he managed to suss it out in context. ‘Blow’ was to explode. Therefore ‘popsicle’ was the correct word for the cells. The man who spoke with the fast-flowing words, intended to use an explosive device to facilitate their escape. Otheusz narrowed his eyes in suspicion, from his place in the shadows, peering around the corner just slight enough to witness the cells.

He could not identify any obvious pyrotechnic devices at that moment, but he would remain vigilant.

The individual who possessed no hair upon his head replied to his colleague, and spoke with slow precision that bored Otheusz greatly; he was used to words spoken quickly and directly, these were heavy and lingering in comparison. He half-listened as he drew his eyes to the cell on the opposite side, watching the man within the confines run his hands upon the walls with a keen eagerness that seemed unwarranted towards a wall. His brow furrowed further as he observed the odd behaviour keenly, before his half-active ears heard a term that made his attention thunder back to the man without hair.

He swung his head so hard that his face swung into the wall and his nose cracked against the slimy-construction and his mouth let out a furious sound that both hissed and barked. The pain radiated back through his skull, but he didn’t have time for it. He didn’t. The words he heard were important.

"...Star-fleet..."

Federation. Star-fleet. Enterprise. Captain Picard of the USS Enterprise. T’Jon, Captain of the Sanction.

He’d heard the words so many times on Ornara. The beginning of the end. The end and the beginning. The memories clouded but he recalled them well enough that the meaning had been drummed into his head since his childhood. The Star-fleet ship saved the Ornaran vessel Sanction. But they stopped them from delivering the felicium shipment, and they wouldn’t help the Ornarans repair their freighter.

The knock-on effect was the purge. Without their medication, the entire populace of Ornara suffered; many ended their lives rather than succumb to the pain. But then they awoke again, saw a world without the pain of their illness. A whole nation realised the treachery of their neighbours but the planet was too decimated to react. Not for a long time. In fewer words, it had been his childhood.

Some called the Star-fleet Federation murderers for the purge that they caused. Others called them heroes for stopping the felicium trade. Others called them monsters for condemning the planet to agony and suffering. Otheusz was too young to recall it first hand; but his Mother had died as a result.

He was angry, and scared, and somehow excited, as well as in no insignificant amount of discomfort from the blow to his nose… He’d never formed an opinion of the people who both saved and decimated his world… His childhood was filled with issues more important, such as scavenging for food and technology, farming the land with his Father, running amok through the open forests with his friends. Only his childhood had happy memories for the boy, and even they were few.

Perhaps now, was the reason he had not yet formed his opinion on the Star-fleet Federation. It was his first-hand chance to see, if they were in fact destroyers, or saviours.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #20 – December 17, 2019, 01:24:17 AM

[ Avi ] Attn: @TWilkins @Numen @Sqweloookle

Trust Spaghetti t'be weird about the whole thing. Couldn't just try an' assault someone while they was sleepin' an' leave it be, oh no, gotta go gettin' all high an' mighty when they get the wrong idea. Don't wanna get touched? Don't come at him again. Fuckin' simple.

'Refrain from makin' any direct physical contact blah blah blah' yeah, sure. Was you what grabbed a bloke while he was tryna take a nap, fuckin' weirdo.

'Sure, whatever.' Weren't even a lie — weren't gonna be lookin' t'fall asleep next t'the fella anytime soon, an' sure as heck wouldn't be holdin' his hand or nothin'. Safe as houses. 'Ain't gotta worry about me, sweetheart, 's your own hands you gotta keep an eye on.' An' if he wouldn't, Avi'd keep an eye on 'em for him.

Anyways. Other fish t'get cookin'. Weren't gonna stick around, just in case Stanley an' the Wanderin' Hands got ideas or somethin'.

Went t'check out the forcefield, weren't about t'let up. Least he could see the human fella across the way, startin' t'stir. Erev still out cold, useful as a fuckin' chocolate teapot. Thanks, mate. Just leave Avi with these two chucklefucks. Christmas. Hated bein' responsible for other folks. If they died it'd go on his resumé an' all.

Ha. Imagine caring about that shit.

Human fella was movin' around now real good, checkin' on Erev bless him. The fuck had his name been? Piss. Bollocks. He even told 'em?

Alright. 'Mate' it was.

'Hey, mate, you doin' okay over there?' Bloke didn't look too dinged up, was movin' kinda stiff but they'd all been fuckin' stunned so that weren't hardly no surprise. Turnin' t'check the walls of the cell — don't look now but we got a smart one on our hands.

Let him do his thing, Avi peerin' through the forcefield t'try an' get a better view on anythin'. 'Course, when he asked Spork for ideas the bloke's suggestion was painfully logical. 'Sit tight', basic'ly. Yeah, sure.

'Assumin' y'all had some way t'contact them lot upstairs?' he asked. 'It get taken or what?' Hoped t'fuck they hadn't been stupid enough t'be runnin' around with their combadges, happy as. He'd chucked his own back on Qo'noS, been relyin' on the translator in his ears ever since. Fuckin' great for undercover shit, lemme tell ya — just gotta speak Risan an' suddenly you might as well be from the damn Delta Quadrant, ain't no one got a clue. But even if they ain't usin' Fed tech, these Theurgy folks had gotta have some kinda communicator, right? Unless their captors took 'em, a-course.

Movement caught out the corner'a his eye — what? Went back t'peerin' through the forcefield — looked like somethin' off in the darkness t'wards the end'a the corridor. Someone list'nin' in?

Would be just fuckin' peachy if so. How much'd they heard? Trust Spaghetti t'go yellin' about bein' Feds. He never fuckin' heard'a bein' sneaky? This the kinda thing y'all get disavowed over.

Here's the info on communicators used on Aldea

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #21 – December 18, 2019, 11:43:45 AM

[Ensign Seren | Cell ( shared with an emotionally unstable madman) | Unknown building (More fortified than a first inspection would have predicted)| Unknown celestial body ( This better be Aldea.) | Forbearance]
[Show/Hide]

att: @TWilkins @fiendfall@Sqweloookle

"It has been taken" Seren confirmed without averting his gaze from Kingston's activities across the corridor. It seemed that the Master-at-Arms was gradually recovering, and he soon begun the exploration of his surroundings and his cell companion. Definitely appropriate. Mr. Adam Kingston was a fully trained security officer so they could rely on his expertise to uncover any carelessness their captors had committed in the maintenance of the cellblock that gave them a possibility of a getaway. However, the Vulcan had made a preliminary inspection and knew that their prospects for identifying any structural flaws that would allow them to escape were less than 7.9866%. The overall maintenance and cleanliness of the room was clearly substandard, but their captors apparently had been particularly diligent in ensuring that their hostages had no chance of breaking out.

Their natural choice was to be patient, and if there was anything that characterized Vulcans, it was indeed, patience. The counsellor crossed his hands on his back, corrected the 1.2° deviation of his postural arragement and readied himself to wait. However, when his fingers brushed against the area of his wrist that the long-haired man had grasped, he felt a tenuous tingle in his skin. An echo of the unexpected telepathic contact. The intensity and emotional hullabaloo that had percolated through the brief brush still had him perplexed. How was that possible?

However, his cavilations lasted scarcely for a few seconds. His acute ears picked up something. A noise, a wet bump against an inanimate plane. His cellmate also pivoted his head toward the source of the faint sound. Perhaps Seren's initial deduction that the dishevelled man was hard of hearing had been inaccurate. Regardless of the auditory condition of the oddity of a man with whom he shared captivity, they were not alone. It was conceivable that one of their captors was checking on their condition. Or maybe they listened clandestinely to their conversions to obtain additional intel regarding the hostages. A strategy that could be manipulated for the benefit of the starfleeters if they were skilled enough.

"Show yourself, your attempt for stealth is pointless," demanded Seren, raising his voice a few decibels above the proper tone to overcome the forcefield's hum. Then he tilted his head lightly at the source of the blow he had heard, turning one of his pointy ears towards the approximate position of their captor to ascertain their reaction.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #22 – December 26, 2019, 10:10:55 PM

[ LT. JG Adam Kingston | Dirty Cell: Unknown Location | Aldea Prime ] Attn: @fiendfall @Numen @TWilkins

Adam groaned again at his inhale of the ‘dirty’ of the cell he and the orange man shared. They had to escape just so they could not debase themselves with carrying out bodily functions in… this place. The security officer immediately got to work on feeling the wall for any kind of instability.

It wasn’t quite as filthy above crotch level which he found a comfort but couldn’t not search below the belt level, that thought made him glance over at his cellmate. It might wake him up if he did some ---No, don’t go there Adam. He thought as he looked away from Erev, he would learn his name soon.

Did Aldeans capture them? He distracted himself with the usual investigative questioning. Why would they do this? Government sanctioned, probably not but maybe rogues who still hold a grudge against the Federation for abandoning them to the Klingons after disabling their computer. It made sense but it could be anyone else who for a variety of reasons, most common would be pirates. Since this is not a Federation world, pirates would have more chances of doing what they want without Starfleet watching.

The problem was what kind of pirates would be on Aldea Prime. Soon he’d answer that question. At least he was the senior officer present being a Junior Lieutenant and Seren was an Ensign, the two civilians were top priority. Adam had to get them out and bring back a Security team to deal with the troublemakers.

He glanced over at the other cell and saw they were talking, then he noticed Seren wasn't talking to the other man but out into the corridor. Adam wondered when their captors would appear and make their plans for them known to them.

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #23 – January 03, 2020, 10:50:20 AM

[ Otheusz | Grey Scars Base | Ruined Former City | Aldea ] @Numen @fiendfall @Sqweloookle

Otheusz continued to listen, paying careful attention to the plethora of unknown words that had suddenly become accessible to him, even as his head continued to throb with reverberation from its encounter with the wall. There were many words that, even when processed in a language he could understand, he was still gravely oblivious to; it had been a long time since he’d communicated with an individual aside from his Queen, and her words were never more than the most basic of commands. After so long with only her blunt orders as a source of aural stimulation, it was only natural that his vocabulary had become gravely stunted.

Of course, within the tormenting confines of his own head, such a loss of understanding was a failing on his own part. His lacklustre ability to understand even his own tongue made his eyes well with frustration and fury. Why was he such an eternal failure?He’d not thought of the fact much before, he hadn’t needed to until that moment, as a fast blur of words rippled through his ears and he understood perhaps half of one of them. It dragged a shameful furrow upon his brow and a disgusted scowl upon his face, as though he had been manipulated by an unseen force. Even with the talisman now in his possession, it became increasingly obvious to him that he was unfit to exist outside of his Queen’s possession…

And he vehemently believed that such torment was all that a wretch such as himself deserved. For one to be as idiotic as to forget how to understand the words of others? He was owed nothing more than his torturous existence.

Yet still, he tried. One of the voices spoke overwhelmingly quickly, and almost all of his words escaped Otheusz’ comprehension. The other, was methodically slow, and as such, Otheusz was easier able to interpret his precision. The faster voice talked straight through any sound that Otheusz had let escape from his mouth, and had convinced the boy that his idiotic blunder had gone unnoticed. The slower voice, however, broke that fantasy no sooner than the Ornaran had built it.

"Show yourself, your attempt for stealth is pointless,"

The volume of the voice that called out, was enough to suggest that it was not his comrade in the cell whom he was beckoning for.

The dirty haired boy glanced pointedly in the direction that he had came from. These words were ones that he understood, for the best part. ‘Show yourself’ meant to reveal his presence. ‘Stealth’ was another way to describe sneakiness. ‘Pointless’ was the same as useless. He’d been called that word oh-so-many times.

The man was requesting that he came forth from his hiding place.

Otheusz knew that it was far the safer option to retreat, to return to the terracotta ornament that he had perched himself upon, back before he’d dared to venture into the cells. If he was caught, he would be punished severely for his transgression… His Queen would not tolerate him talking to her prisoners... Yet, as he felt his body ready to bolt into the darkness, to flee back to a slight glimmer of immediate safety, he found his mind embracing a non-corporeal tug that attached him to the prisoners, a thread linking him to the word, Star-Fleet.

So in contempt of his cowardly instincts of self-preservation, he strode stridently forwards, hands balled at his sides and eyes fixed in a flat-furrowed glare. His ruined boots made little-to-no sounds as he stepped forwards upon the stones, the cold rock pressing into a part of his boot where the material had worn thin. The two fighting knives harnessed upon his slender waist gently clinked together as he stepped, the noise high and cheerfully menacing as he pushed past the final shred of dirty cloth hanging to cover the corridor containing the cells, and faced the glares of the occupants…

He would have perhaps looked intimidating to someone who was familiar with what a member of his species was capable of, but with his height and dirty, unkempt hair, he was more reminiscent of a pestilent teenager. It was a look that had afforded him underestimation so many times by Klingon warriors. That he had survived so far, and they had not, was a testament to their baser assumptions. The thought almost brought a cruel smile tugging onto his mouth.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly and exposed the side of his jaw. On the left side was the cell containing the Klingon whom he’d jumped upon during the ambush in the field, paired with the Human who had shot him during their previous encounter. Otheusz made a low growling sound in his throat at the sight of the man, his fist tightening a fraction as he felt a soft throb of static building in his clenched grip. He wondered how much energy the man would take before his heart gave out...

Yet he put such musings aside as he tore his eyes away from the man who had shot him, and flicked his eyes to the cells on the right. Within, the point-eared man who had touched him aside the wreckage, and the man with the longer hair and the mechanical ear were contained. Otheusz glowered some more, his thumb slipping across the cold metal of the talisman in his grip, before he finally found the indignity to open his mouth to speak.

“Strarw…” He began, the word and sound unfamiliar to his tongue, emerging slightly slurred and far too drawn out. He was none to wiser to its imperfection. “Flette…” He paused, trying to find the name of the ship that had brought such desolation to his people, for better or for worse… Otheusz needed to know.

“Enn-tur-pry-se… Cap-teen Py-ka-rud.” He spoke clearly, or so he thought. If the boy had been aware of the sheer depravity of his own inarticulate slurring, he would have perhaps murdered the cell's occupants to save face, to spare himself the humiliation... “Strarw Flette Enn-tur-pry-se?” He questioned again. “Or-nara.”

The latter, was the only word he spoke with any semblance of clarity, the only word he knew clear enough to voice with any confidence. He moved the hand clutching the talisman to his chest in gesture, to indicate to the men that he was the subject that he was now talking about.

Such lengthy speech was alien to him, and his body did not enjoy the undertaking. His throat felt too tight around his words, his tongue weighty and foreign in his mouth. Yet, he continued, unfurling his hand and glancing at the talisman contained within his grip.

After a moment of contemplation, he pinched the metal between two fingers and gestured it towards the imprisoned individuals, tilting it enough for it to catch the light several times over. He repeated his words once again, to ensure that they understood his intention.

“Strarw Flette.”

Re: Day 10 [2034 hrs.] Lads Night Out

Reply #24 – January 03, 2020, 10:48:34 PM

[ Avi ] attn: @TWilkins @Numen @Sqweloookle

'F Matey Boy the human bloke answered Avi's question, was said so quiet he didn't pick it up. Ah, well. Fella seemed sprightly enough, prob'ly not on the verge of death. Good enough.

Spork confirmed their comms'd been nicked, fuckin' brilliant. He ain't hooked into the Theurgy's system or nothin', can't hail 'em or whatever. Really up shit creek.

Was definitely someone watchin' 'em, though. Suspicions confirmed when Spaghetti started yellin' off in that kinda direction. Half surprised the bloke even noticed, truth be. Squinted off into the darkness, no fuckin' clue what—

Oh. Bloke came out, 'pparently Spinach's shoutin' actually did somethin' after all. Well. Said 'bloke', but this fella weren't half outta kidhood, look at him, scrawny bastard. Wouldn't know a hot dinner if it punched him in the dick.

Took a second afore he placed him: Corpse Guy. Hey, ain't got the best look at him last time, too busy gettin' shot at or whatever. Quick once-over showed Corpse Kid sure weren't as fucked over as he'd been earlier — an' how'd that happened, by the way? He really in that crash, all by his lonesome? Clearly workin' with whoever'd kidnapped 'em; the injury just fake, then? Sure hadn't looked like it.

Awful lotta trouble t'go to. Kid had nearly been out for the count. Coulda just left him lookin' sad or somethin', no need t'go the whole nine yards. Been sprightly enough after, sure, but fuckin' hell. That's dedication to the craft right there.

Watched the kid approach. Sure didn't seem t'be a fan of Matey Boy the human, glarin' at him all murder-like; then again, he an' Sausage got the same treatment not long after, so maybe the kid just didn't like anyone, which… fair enough. Not much t'like.

Corpse Kid makes his way in t'stand in the corridor, directly between the cells, surveyin' 'em all with the same moody glare. Just stood for a second — what, waitin' for somethin'? Almost looked like he was tryna get his courage up, like talkin' to 'em was somethin' he gotta prepare hisself t'do.

All made sense when the kid finally spoke. Or rather, nothin' made sense, an' everythin' did, all at once. 'Cause fuck him if he knew a single thing the kid said. But also fuck him if he don't know what it sounds like when a fella got trouble speakin'.

Narrowed his eyes, focusin' on the kid. What was up with him? Voice sounded kinda… scratchy. Disused. Fuckin' knew that feelin', too. Not a leader, then, most likely — not if he was puttin' hisself in harm's way, neither. Could mean that old stabbins weren't his idea neither. Just some kid, pretty low in the peckin' order, doin' as he was told.

Who the fuck are you?

See? This was why he didn't fuckin' get involved, never fuckin' learned those— that separation thing. Just a bloody kid, is what it was, just a damn—

Arright. Don't get ahead of yourself, idiot. Still workin' for the fuckers what had 'em in here, still lookin' at 'em like he'd love t'go for round two. Kids could be shitheads an' motherfuckers. Corpse Kid didn't get a free pass or nothin' just 'cause Avi never learned t'control his stupid head.

Focus on understandin' him first, decide whether he could afford t'be a big fuckin' baby over it later. Them garbage sounds the kid was makin' weren't no use to man nor beast, 'specially not Avi, he ain't got the first fuckin' clue mate. But could follow lips well enough.

Watched the bloke speakin', squintin' through the forcefield, tryna make sense of what he was seein', an' hopin' to buggery it was a language he fuckin' spoke. Wasn't until they reached the last bit he realised what the bloke was fuckin' saying. 'Teen-pick-urd' weren't nothin', but Captain Picard was a name even Avi ain't forgotten. Which meant that first word'd been 'Enterprise'. Prob'ly.

Seemed Corpse Kid was speakin' Fed. Or leastways, words what was the same in most languages. Even Risians called Starfleet 'Starfleet'.

Which, incident'ly, was the next fuckin' word.

Three's a fuckin' pattern, mate. Corpse Kid knew they was Starfleet, knew enough t'know Picard'd been a Fed. Which, alright, bloke was famous inside Fed circles an' out of 'em. Weird fuckin' connection t'make, though.

Kid had said somethin' else too, somethin' what sounded like 'hawr-nura'; no clue on that one, lips ain't much more use, an' weren't no word Avi knew.

'Come again, mate?' he said t'the kid, speakin' slower, careful. Watchin' for any kinda reaction. 'Didn't get that last one.'

Couldn't much pass on anythin' what he'd figured out t'the others all secret-like -- again, sign should be fuckin' mandatory, Christmas -- so figured, alright, whatever. Cards on the table. Corpse Kid already sniffed they was Feds -- thanks, Sunshine; though from the badge in Kid's hand was only a matter of time afore they was rumbled -- so hardly changin' much. An' Starfleet clearly meant somethin' t'the kid. Worth figurin' out what.

'Yeah, you got it,' he said. Speakin' gentle-like, as if to a wild animal or somethin'. Didn't want the kid t'spook an' run off. Didn't want the kid t'snap an' kill 'em. 'We're with Starfleet.' Motioned to hisself. 'I'm Avi. Who're you?'