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Futuristic Burning Sails [CLOSED]

Sub Genres
  1. Action
  2. Adventure
  3. AU


genuinely awful person
Olivia did her best to help Vix onto the bed, what with her beaten-up leg and all, and made her way over to a counter top. "...Nah." Grabbing a rag, Olivia dabbed away the still-wet blood from her hand, before pressing it up to her shoulder. "Difference between us and him's that we can feel remorse for what we did. Like, shit. Maybe we'd both look out the cockpit screen and fuckin' hate what we done, but him? He comes out of it having ripped near ten people apart with his bare--... I dunno what. Tentacles, I guess. And smiles afterward. Only hints of anything other than joy in his voice was when that asshole boss put a bullet into his head."

Turning around, she gave a one-armed shrug. "Worst monsters're always the ones that never know that they are, y'know? That's what I figure, anyways."

Emperor Sagan

Lord Commissar
Shelby watched the others break up and move on, clutching his stomach as he took a moment to breathe. The smell in the air was worse than a back alley on a hot and humid day, or when you caught a whiff of the overflowing garbage at a venue before the custodial crews had a chance to clean it all out. He didn't know how the others could stand it from down here, like the audience. Everything was always better on stage above everyone else.

Averting his gaze from the mess splattering the bay by trying to ignore everything in his periphery vision, Shelby returned to the ship, arms wrapped around his abdomen that felt as if it had been twisted up into an awful knot. Back on VOC-1 he had been so shocked that he had forgotten about the stomach pain, but now he had been quite cognizant of this firefight, and he... didn't like it. Not like how Nil did. Some of the others seemed able to shut themselves out from all of it, and he wondered how they did it. Well, he knew one method at least. And it was far past the time for it.

Fumbling for the bag in his jacket, he had to be sure that the cookies were unharmed. They could still be consumed if they were crumbles, but that ruined the ability to savor them. So long as they were whole... his sigh of relief was explosive, and he sagged against the corridor wall. Without hesitation, he removed two rainbow swirled crackers, one a dolphin, the other a shark, and he stuffed them into his mouth as his eyes began to water under the mere anticipation. It had been far, far too long. Weeks. Weeks of holding back, not wanting to indulge and use up all his super animal crackers, the only thing that, without fail, delivered salvation from the anxiety. The sensations they brought, the ecstatic peace, joy, and enthusiasm, it was all a fraction of what it felt like to perform, but it was enough. The gradual erasure of his pain was much like floating out in the lagoon, letting the waves raise you up, and gently back down, ad infinitum. Any nuisance thoughts, like the memories that made his stomach hurt, it defanged them with utmost prejudice until they were just colorful little pictures that meant nothing.

Then he saw his fingernails. Scratched, with black grit under them. Each and every single one. His arms had a smattering of oily soot from laying on the ground, and he stared down at the smudge on the back of his hand from when he wiped his face earlier. As if he had been crawling in the dirt, like some filthy inhuman creature. To be seen like this was worse than death itself. Slowly, the wave that was supposed to raise him up was going down... and down... and down until it threatened to bring him to the bottom of the ocean, the dark waters swirling around him in gleeful betrayal. There were no dolphins here. No glittering fish, no squids, no jellyfish. Just urchins and more fucking dirt.

His hands began to shake, and the sound that came from his throat was akin to a death rattle, an expression of contemptible dread at what he must look like. His hair was probably tangled. His make up smeared. The clothes on his body felt like poisonous rags. His rapidly dilating eyes glanced up around the hall, tears streaking down his cheeks, driving his eyeliner down his face in thick rivulets like scars.

He was going to die if he didn't get clean.

Breathing like a trapped animal, he stumbled his way towards his cabin, straightening up in silence only if he passed someone before shoving his way into his room and tearing his clothes off - his filthy, ugly, horrific rags that were trying to choke the life out of him - until he was down to his undergarments and a shirt, almost unable to bring himself to stand least the fabric touch his skin any more. The slightest movement and he began to retch, coughing violently as he could feel every particle of dirt scraping against his skin. He snatched up a towel and poked his head out into the hall, ensuring it was clear, before forcing each foot to carry him to the showers. It would be empty now, it had to be. He'd be alone.

Sure enough, he was right. It was a matter of life and death and he could feel the pull of his consciousness slipping. He stripped and slammed his hand against the panel until hot water poured over him in a deluge of recycled steam.

Dumbfounded at the sudden feeling, but deeply aware that he had single-handedly saved his own life, he stood under the stream until it began to scald his smooth, fair skin. The burn was good - it meant it was working, that all that dirt and filth that had been trying to kill him was being washed away. So he let it burn until, without thinking, he lowered the temperature to a refreshingly cold shock, like a brutal slap to the face that almost sent him falling over.

The only thing that held him steady was his reflection in the metal of the wall before him, wavy and water-colored, a false image that... maybe wasn't false. Tentatively, he reached out and touched his reflection, and miraculously, he could feel his hand on his face. Laughing, he began to paw at the wall, mesmerized at the sensation of slick metal on his bare hands, and his bare hands on his face. No more stomach pain. No more headaches. No more anxiety, or fear, or unhappiness, or filth.

Just me.


The Demon Fanatic
Lauren eyed Nathalie, as the former SSOID spy walked by. "The fuck you glarin' at?" she spat, turning to watch Nathalie as she grabbed the other unconscious Corsair to drag towards the Mordred. Dumb bitch. She rolled her eyes, eventually walking off towards the Mordred herself. She needed a drink.

Damien reached the ramp, dragging the Corsair before dropping him onto the Mordred's ramp. As Nathalie neared, he moved to help her out by grabbing his legs. And as they reached the ramp, they dropped him right next to his crewmate. Lauren passed them, cutting each a glance as she strolled up the ramp. "Have fun with the dipshits." said Lauren, breathing the words out as she moved deeper into the guts of the vessel.

“Do you mind?”

"Do what you want. But we leave in twenty minutes." responded Valkyrie, before spinning around and walking towards the Mordred. "And we have a few wounded that need checking out. Amy especially. The rest, your coworker Easel can fix up while you play with corpses." she said aloud, as she walked away briskly.

As she neared the ramp, she noticed Damien and Nathalie with the two unconscious privateers. "Make sure they're bound tight. I'll get in contact with that bastard Lynch before we leave. See if he wants these two jackasses back. For a price. If not, we dump them out in the wilderness on Gostoth. Let the storms kill 'em." she said, pausing just next to them for a moment before moving on.

As she strolled into the cargo bay, she noticed Amy standing there. Bleeding. "Doc is outside. There's some first aid kits in the medical bay over there." she said, pointing to the medical bay. Easily accessible via wide metal grated walkways on both sides of the ramp opening. "He'll be in to check you out in a few minutes."
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Pretty Good Person
Kalashi followed the young Kanad, watching her closely from a distance. While she moved back from telling Valkyrie to watch herself, she soon found one of the pirates taking her arm and helping her to the med bay. While instinctively, Kalashi wanted to bat the human away, she allowed her to help the young one, at least for now as she watched them both walk down slowly to the med bay.

The sight bought back memories, troublesome, painful ones...

Yet, she pushed such thoughts out of her mind, though they got tenser and tenser. It started to send her head ringing, her vision blurring up. She pressed on, trying to tail between the two as they made their way to the med bay. However, Kalashi quickly noticed that her sight was getting worse and her movement getting more sluggish, as her mechanical limbs become numb and unresponsive to her impulses.

"Shnka..." Kalashi weakly muttered under her breath. It seemed more than a psychological episode was affecting her, she quickly took to the shadows, trying to shield herself away from the others by hiding in an open maintenance shaft.

She made sure that she was out of sight from both the Reavers and the ship's sensory systems. Wrapping her cloak all around her to hide her signature.

As she took refuge away from any prying eyes. Her sights turned to her failing body.

Kalashi groaned harshly as she felt neurologic nerves turn dull, her movements were now all but identical to that of a marionette, slow and lifeless.

Kalashi soon realized that this was an episode of extreme biological failure, an eventuality to all life, even ones prolonged by extensive cybernetics. The flesh can not live forever, it will eventually wither and die like everything else. Kalashi has no immunity to nature, Kanad's lifespans were especially short, without her cybernetics, she would have died decades ago.

Yet, her augmentations, while impressive for the time, are comparatively crude and highly strenuous on both the body and mind. Kalashi's lifespan has been counting down long before her decision to become a bounty hunter.

She that all too well, luckily, Kalashi had a trick up her sleeve, or rather her satchel, to cheat the Reaper.

Kalashi took out her satchel, hastily prying it open and taking out a small, locked case hidden away in a secret pocket. It was plain, worn, and with its grey, dull paint scratched, the case itself was nothing but what was held inside was a true rarity.

Swiftly, Kalashi pressed the code into the small keypad on the bottom of the case. She did it in a haphazard but instinctively fashion. Her eyes staring down with a frightful stare, her head shaking in anticipation. Looking down intensively at the tiny, beat-up case.

Her thoughts ranged from both fear and hope as waited in the second it took for the case to recognize her imprint and code. She kept her mouth closed as she hailed in pain, keeping her eyes barely open.

Finally, the case blinked green and unlocked.

She flicked it open immediately and looked upon its contents with a delighted relief. Her eyes widening with tears gently rolling down her weary face.

What lied a few vials was holding the mythical Omnichrome Immortalia, one of the rarest and most expensive medicines within the entire galaxy. It's said that one drop of it could cure any cancers or diseases within moments, much of its true effects are a closely guarded secret to its progenitor. Its mere existence is widely considered to be a myth with many interstellar governments and organizations claiming it to be nothing more than a persistent rumor.

Yet, behind all rumors, there does sometimes exist a truth, with Kalashi holding it in her hands, covered deeply by her camo cloak.

She slowly and carefully lifts one of the vials containing the mythic medicine. Looking closely at the shining, glowing white emitted by liquid under the engraved glass of the vial. The symbol of the Odysseus star shines clearly.

Kalashi takes a deep breath, rashly opening the right side of her lower chest. Uncovering a port linking directly to her vital synthetic organs and bloodstream. She stabs the syringe-end of the vial into the port without a second thought.

She is overtaken by the feeling, the rush, the life pouring back into her. Kalashi's nerves and neurologic senses return to her. Her biological rot was not just delayed, but even reversed. At least for now.

Kalashi shuddered and gasped loudly, her body turned limp, and her senses paused.

Yet, after those few moments passed, Kalashi knew that she could not stay there for not. Thus, she quickly planted the empty vial next to the others. Only about two or three were left, enough for maybe a month or two.

Kalashi shook off such pessimistic thoughts of her fate when she ran out. Only gathering this much as a "thank you" gift from someone who had taken Vicc away from her.

Kalashi only clutches her fist in rage before slowly easing herself out of it. It wasn't worth it... It couldn't be done, there was nothing that she could do to get back at her. She was the most powerful woman in the entire Elysian Commonwealth... While Kalashi was nothing more than a killer to everyone else.

A backstabbing one at that...

Nonetheless, Kalashi picked herself up. Making sure to leave no trace of anything before leaving the shaft. Reuniting with both the young Kanad and the pirate in the med bay, Kalashi sat herself down on one of the beds. Making a series of loud breathes in and out before her breathing finally returns to normal.

Kalashi then turns her glaze over to the Kanad lying weakly on the bed.

"[I've seen bodies mangled by rockets and mortars that looked like that, and they were mine... I made those corpses while piloting my mech. In that way, Nil isn't any worse than I am... Or I'm no better than him. Either way, it's all awful- better not to see or remember.]"

"[You're no monster friend,]" Kalashi splatted out loudly, "[You kill because you know nothing else, it is not a choice but an instinct, a reaction made because of circumstances outside of your control. Something already decided by your so-called "superiors", never a chance to make a choice between right or wrong. That's not a monster...]"

"[But to do all of this with full control and awareness, to make all of these bloody choices and willing do them without hesitation....With full knowledge of the consequences, to know fully of what you reap with all of these horrible actions...And to do it again and again...]"

Kalashi's glaze turned coldly inwards, her eyes closely following from her chest and up and over metallic arm till ending on her claw-like hand and fingers...


"[You're not me...]"
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Servant Supreme
"...Nah. Difference between us and him's that we can feel remorse for what we did. Like, shit. Maybe we'd both look out the cockpit screen and fuckin' hate what we done, but him? He comes out of it having ripped near ten people apart with his bare--... I dunno what. Tentacles, I guess. And smiles afterward. Only hints of anything other than joy in his voice was when that asshole boss put a bullet into his head. Worst monsters're always the ones that never know that they are, y'know? That's what I figure, anyways."

"[You're no monster, friend,]" Kalashi splatted out loudly, "[You kill because you know nothing else, it is not a choice but an instinct, a reaction made because of circumstances outside of your control. Something already decided by your so-called "superiors..." You're not me.]"

Vixaya seemed to retreat a bit into herself when Kalashi joined the conversation. It was nothing personal; she just wasn't used to being the center of attention. Her eyes stared blankly into the ceiling of the medbay as she replied first to Olivia. "[I never said I felt remorse, I just don't enjoy looking at the mess I leave behind,]" is all she said at first in her ghostly monotone. Then, strangely, her focus sharpened, and there was the slightest tinge of anger as she twitched again. "[Do you think the dead care whether their killer even remembers them? I don't think it matters. You two, me, and even Nil, aren't monsters just because we kill. Millions kill all across the galaxy. What matters... What matters is how you treat the living.]"

Then, after a pause, Vixaya sat up and turned to look at Olivia, and then at Kalashi, with a chilling glare, the most emotion that she had shown since arriving at the Mordred weeks earlier.

"I know monsters from before," she spoke darkly in English. She twitched again, and the expression was wiped clean from her face. She laid back down and again stared into the ceiling. Pressing a button on the side of the bed, she engaged a computerized scanner which would provide one of the ship's doctors with information about her condition. As a small camera on a robotic arm swiveled around her body, she sighed. "[You are right, Kalashi. It is an instinct. What if it's the same for Nil?]" she asked rhetorically, her voice fading until it was barely above a whisper.


the writer
Vance took a deep breath before nodding to Katja. "Alright... if you feel that way then I won't stop you." he replied, "Just take it easy on yourself, alright?" He then stood up to walk elsewhere to give her some space to collect her thoughts and relax after such a fight and the sights that came along with it. As he walked away, another wave of pain shuddered through his arm that reminded him of his still unbandaged wound. He wouldn't need any particular treatment for it, just some gauze would be perfect for the situation. With that in mind he walked over to the Mordred's medbay only to find that there were several people inside already either waiting to treat their wounds, in the process of doing so, or just conversing with one another.

He didn't hear most of the conversation between Olivia, Vixaya and Kalashi, the latter of whom Vance still regarded as a mystery for the most part, but overheard talking about 'monsters' in terms of people and what they do and Vixaya's response. He didn't overhear what Vixaya had said before in the hangar, or how she acted earlier in the Quicksilver, and seeing someone so young be in such a state was both chilling, as he had seen even good men turn into remorseless killers on the battlefield, and a bit heartbreaking as no one should ever have to go through such things. From what he could tell, the kanad was young and had been a soldier ever since she was even younger. He remembered seeing the same look in the eyes of child soldiers in Zaire, or from people long broken from the horrors of Vietnam. For some of the people he had encountered in those times, it was too late for them to ever return to normalcy or to have a second chance at a life beyond murder and slaughter. Death was the only thing they knew in life anymore.

He wanted to believe that such a fate wouldn't be the same for anyone if he could help it. When Kalashi finished speaking Vance was standing at the doorway, leaning on its frame before chiming in himself suddenly: "You're your own person." he spoke up to Vixaya as he walked over to search for some gauze on some of the nearby countertops, "What kind of person you are and want to be is up to you. Not always dictated by what you do but also why you do things. Killing doesn't make someone evil or a monster but without ideals or convictions to uphold then killing is just killing for the sake of killing and that... that's what makes monsters. And I don't think you are."


Pretty Good Person
"[You are right, Kalashi. It is an instinct. What if it's the same for Nil?]"

"[Possibly...]" Kalashi answers lowly back to her, "[There are lots of metaphysical creatures out there, many operate on instinct as well... I really don't know Nil too well but like many things, I feel that it hides more than it shows...]"

Kalashi puts her finger up against the chin of her mask, pondering over what few facts she has to work with. Her eyes are lost deep in thought for a few moments before her gaze returns to the young one's face.

"[Though, that can be said of anyone around here...Perhaps judgment lies more harshly on the fact of how much it enjoys the acts of severe torment it inflicts on others, which is done in quite a bloody matter. That goes a bit beyond simple instinct, I think. That's something that deserve a bit of caution.]" Kalashi states clearly to her, though a bit fear that her words might seem harsh towards the young one.

"[Still, I understand your thoughts deeply, it does not matter the process on how something is killed, what does matter is why was it killed...And what effect does it leave upon you and others afterward?]"

"[Personally,]" Kalashi remarks, then breaking her stare at the young Kanad, glaring at the blank walls beside them instead of looking anyone in the eyes.

"[Payment was a good reason for killing, it's a lucrative job...But even for me, there were some jobs that are just too much to justify to oneself...]" Kalashi says before looking down at the floor.

"[I just wished I realized that before I took them...]" Kalashi says before looking at the young Kanad with a mournful stare in her tired eyes.


genuinely awful person
Olivia let out a grimly amused chuckle. "Then you've got a pretty remorseful sounding way of voicing that displeasure, kid." She sighed, craning her neck around... and really thinking there should be a doctor here right about now. "Yeah, but the thing that makes you a monster is the thing you're killing for." Oh, hey, ain't that convenient, Vance chimed right in. "Yeah. What he said. Though, should go without saying that ideals and convictions ain't all created equal. Even animals don't just kill without any reason. Survival, food... uh. Mating. That kinda thing."

She pursed her lips, looking between the two kanads. Olivia had a pretty good idea of why Vance was still rocking up with the crew, but. "So how come the two've you are still here? Sielia'd be a nice place to settle down on this time of year, instead of shacking up with Valk." She paused for a moment... maybe it'd be best to lay down herself, first? Help 'em open up a bit. "...I... guess I'm still here 'cause I've finally got some kind of purpose. Used to be a marine. Killed for money, thought I was doing the right thing in keeping radicalism down. Then, I... well." The breath escaped from Olivia's lungs, eyes slowly sliding towards the floor. Screaming. The rattling of a heavy rifle in her hands, its percussion shaking her cockpit. Cracked chunks of rubble falling at her feet, accompanied by a sight that she could only imagine the smell of. And after, nothing. A grim, deafening silence. Punctuated by distant sirens.

Olivia felt her throat tighten, and a sniffle leave her. Fuck. She just, had to get a hold of herself. She wiped her face on her shoulder, taking in a long breath in through her mouth. "...The Terra Nova Insurrection's three years old now, I think." Her voice had dampened, even though she was looking between everyone with a hardened look on her face. "Drifted, after that. No one back home wanted me. I... guess helping kill Anora is, in its own way, me kinda... making it up to the galaxy, for what happened. Less suffering that she can bring unto others, the less suffering's gonna be in the galaxy. But, that's worth fuck all if our dumb bitch boss decides to double down on making shit worse for everyone just so that she can get at her. Only thing that blood spilling in hatred gets, is more fuckin' blood getting spilled in hatred."


Pretty Good Person
Kalashi went a moment of thoughtful introspection brought on by a feeling of mental clarity from the omnichrome immortalia she had used eariler. However, this Human bitch had swiftly eased any feelings of that. Instead, Kalashi felt and fell back of her deeper feelings of hatred, particular her deep hatred of a race that most Kanads universally despised, Humanity.

Kalashi suddenly launched up off the bed, walking straight up and staring her down. Kalashi's shadow completely eclipsed her as she stood looming over her with both of her claws closed and her glaze staring her dead in the face.

"Could you please shut the fuck, you worthless Syarmizraht?" Kalashi said deeply. "Your fitlfy words are like Shnka, they give me a migraine."
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Servant Supreme
By this point in the conversation, with the addition of another voice in the room poking at Vixaya's psyche, the young kanad had fallen totally silent. If she hadn't been shot in the leg, she would be leaving the room due to the invasiveness. Instead, she lay there, forced to listen as the others digested each other's moral arguments. In truth, some of what they were saying chipped away at her earlier conclusion that following orders absolved her of responsibility. Lauren had told her to be an individual before, and so it was possible that there were things that she was ignoring that should matter to her, when they didn't matter in the past, back when she wasn't allowed to express herself.

But for right now, she wished that a doctor would come. She didn't want to share the room with Olivia any longer, since the human didn't seem to really be listening to her, and now she was insulting their commander. And Vance had never been part of the conversation- he just seemed to be taking the opportunity to push his personal beliefs yet again. In general, Vixaya just felt tired.

Even as Kalashi squared up on Olivia and cursed at her, Vix calmly reached into her pocket, retrieving another fireball, and popped it into her mouth. A haze of red vapor began to engulf her head as she breathed the fumes, in and out, detached from what was happening around her.


Pretty Good Person
As Kalashi stands looming over that Human bitch, she glances over to see that the young one is already taken out of the conversation, now enjoying some lowly vapors. Her words most likely already fallen on deaf, all of it now pointless because of these two fucking idiots. These Syarmizrahts are too stuck up their own asses, just like the rest of them.

Kalashi glances over to the other, looking like a living Sol propaganda icon with a "holier-than-tao" look and attitude. She hated him just by his looks and mannerisms, a real fine example of a fake person, a perfect person by Sol. One without a soul or life to them.

Yet, she deeply despised this other one, this woman that has a mouth filled with shit with little ability for much else. Kalashi was done with talking and now felt the need for action.

Kalashi turned her glare towards this one, she raised her hand in the shape of a fist and punched her metallic hand straight into the Human's wounded arm.
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genuinely awful person
Of course. Olivia stared up at Kalashi with a glassy-eyed disinterest. Another dumbass pirate. "Or else?"

Ow, fuck, that's what else, you stupid fucking bitch. Olivia's eyes began to truly water up from the pain. Gritting her teeth down, she sharpened her gaze up towards Kalashi. "Nnnfuckin', hitting a wounded woman? Ain't you fuckin' tough, huh?" And if that weren't bad enough, Olivia just has to put in a bit of a mocking laugh. She didn't mind-- well. She did mind the pain. Quite a lot, actually. But in her dumbass mind, pissing Kalashi off was more important. "You fuckin' mad that there wasn't anything worth looting off those bodies? Or you just mad that your aim ain't worth a shit, and none of those kills were yours?"


the writer
Vance managed to find some fresh gauze in a small package as the conversation continued, only this time it ended with Kalashi and Olivia practically at each others throats over what the latter had said. This sudden change in the mood surprised Vance and he did want to intervene to prevent anything from continuing to escalate but didn't know what exactly to say. Olivia was stubborn as a mule on the one hand and on the other what could he say to someone like Kalashi? He didn't know her and also didn't understand who she was for the most part. Rather than butt in himself, he simply focused on wrapping the bandages around the wound on his arm in a quick manner.

Once finished, he set the box aside and decided to leave the area since Olivia and Kalashi were fighting each other and Vixaya seemed disinterested in continuing in continuing the conversation. Rather than force it he instead looked at the young kanad and smiled: "If you ever want to talk about anything, I'm always open." he said with reassurance before heading off elsewhere on the ship.


Pretty Good Person
Kalashi, now even more furious at her comments. Grabs the bitch on her throat and throws her into the wall with her then falling into the bed below, crashing headfirst into it. While not any bit deadly, it was definitely painful for her.

After dealing with her, Kalashi looks around the room, before letting out a loud frustrated groan.

"I'm done here," Kalashi states bluntly before leaving the room. Heading down to whatever she had to make for a personal quarter in this vessel.


genuinely awful person
Well, Olivia couldn't have really predicted that she'd get tossed around and into the wall, and much less with someone like Kalashi, have actually done something about it. Her beret came off somewhere in-flight, and she landed on her back with a particularly painful crick in her neck... and her chest. Pressing into it with her hand... shit. Did she crack a rib...? She's-- she's pretty sure that she didn't crack a rib. Still hurts like a bitch, though.

"Ahah... fuck. 'Least I can still do something right." While she wasn't quite giddy, Olivia did seem pretty pleased with herself, turning her thoroughly beaten body onto its side, and burying her face into the pillow with a groan.

Viper Actual

Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
"Yes ma'am," replied Nathalie as Valk explained what she had in mind for the two captives. Nathalie looked them both over but as far as she could tell the cuffs Damien had used were properly secured and required no further control or adjusting.
"You alright?" She asked Damien as the two of them prepared to carry the captives up the ramp. She glanced away briefly, watching Typhon pull out some bag while looking at the dead privateers scattered throughout the hangar area.


1973 - 1860 (I AM THE SNEED MAN)
"Do what you want. But we leave in twenty minutes. And we have a few wounded that need checking out. Amy especially. The rest, your coworker Easel can fix up while you play with corpses."
Typhon bows his head in acknowledgment, and wastes no time in harvesting whatever he can use among the dead privateers; cutting out whatever parts and pieces he can use for his research and perhaps even repurpose for transplants in the events the crew might need them. His bag grows bigger the more he takes and takes, and eventually he walks back into the Mordred with several bags full.

The doors to the med-bay open and the first thing Typhon notices aren't the wounded already present and waiting for him already, but the smell of some narcotic in the air. 'What is this supposed to be?' he muses to himself. Even more jarring is that it looks like something got thrown hard against one of his walls; denting it, rattling some of the lights and shelves on top and spilling some of their contents onto the floor. A hard grimace forms under his helmet in utter disappointment that someone would insult him this way by vandalizing his workstation and turning it into a drug den.

Quietly, and eyeing his 'patients' with a hateful stare, he walks over to the coolant fridge in the back, throws the biohazard bags in there, and flips a switch that activates a chemical ventilator on the ceiling. As the smell starts to dissipate, he walks into a closet in the back and begins changing into his surgeon's gown.


Big loaf supreme
"Right, thanks." Amy said as she held the wound. It wasn't getting worse, but the pain was getting harder to ignore. As she walked towards the med-bay she was passed by Vance and shortly after Kalashi. The later looked even more pissed off than usual, while Vance just seemed normal. Whatever happened clearly didn't effect him as much. Or he was hiding it. Once inside, the first thing she noticed was that she wasn't the first person there. Messed up shelves and...was that a dent in the wall? Olivia was face first onto the bed. Just a little to the side was Vix, who appeared to be more focused on her own activity than anything else. Combined with Kalashi's pissed off look and what Olivia said to Valk's face earlier, the possibilities weren't that many. The doctor was in, but not ready to operate yet. One way to figure out what happened.

"Hey Vixaya, sorry to bother you." The bounty hunter turned to the young Kanad. They haven't spoken much, but at least she remembered her name. Though she knew the look either way. Showing of complete disinterest. But maybe Vix had some insight despite it. "Can you fill me in on what happened here?"


A Hot Dog
Katja pulls herself out of the booth at the cantina and heads towards the crew quarters, she finds an empty one and disrobes and lays her equipment on the rack bed she's chosen in the compartment. She strips down naked and grabs a clean towel, hastily covering herself in it and heading over to the showers. She steps in and moves to one of the showerheads, she doesn't even notice that Shelby is in there with her. She strips the towel off and hangs it over the neck of the showerhead while she starts rinsing down and getting ready to wash up. Fortunately someone left a bar of soap on a rope hanging from the same showerhead. She grabs it and starts lathering up.

If anyone was to see her now (like Shelby), they'd see the extent of the "tattoos" on her body. They zigzag back and forth around her limbs, the jagged shapes all coming to unify up the back of her spine to her neck. They glimmer in the hazy lighting of the shower room only to be obscured by the suds of her soaping up. As she washes, she ruminates on the thoughts swirling around her head, the misty steam and hot water giving her a kind of 'zone' to puzzle things out in. She thinks about the station job and what Vance said about a sort of 'compromise' that Nil was willing to negotiate with Nonara. If Nil keeps his word, which she honestly doubts given his demeanor, that's a load off her shoulders, if they only shoot the actual bad guys and not just everyone they find that isn't a Reaver, that would do well to let her maybe sleep the night after the job.

The next concern is she has to face Nil to get her neck looked at and she's not really up for the task. She doesn't want him poking around anywhere near her, especially with something that ties directly to her spine and brain. She doesn't trust him to not fuck with it in some sinister way. She still thinks about the look that Caiden had given her back at the bar when Nil initially introduced himself to her. Something wasn't right about Caiden, she understands a mercenary goes for the top dollar, but he seemed like he was there for other reasons, reasons that centered around Nil. The apprehensive glance he gave the handshake between Nil and her says a lot. The sort of furtive looks he gave the others, it was all too telling that there was more to the Caiden and Nil pairing than either of them let on. She's still not sure about Nonara, on one hand, Katja needs to get her implant fixed, on the other, Nonara could be leading her on to owing a favor that Katja would likely not want to have to repay.

Then there's Valk, a woman who seemed rational at first but is now a frothing lunatic, utterly blinded by the quest for vengeance. She seems to have lost the plot, what's the point of avenging her dead husband if she ends up being no better than Anora in the process? And this Anora woman, Katja never met Anora, but she could just tell by the way the others spoke of her, she was a real genuine monster of a person. Will Katja have to face this woman at some point too? Would Anora try to exploit the dissention within the current crew members to try and break them apart and turn against each other? Another thought crosses her mind, that Cutter guy before he got wet 'n chunked by Nil, mentioned a mole in the group. Was one of the group members already being manipulated into potentially sabotaging what little unity there already is in the Reavers? She doesn't know anymore, this situation gets more and more fucked up as she mulls over all the questions in her head.

Emperor Sagan

Lord Commissar
Shelby hadn't immediately recognized Katja's arrival to the shower room, and he only vaguely noticed the arrival of another figure when he noticed the coloration on the slick metal walls change further down the room. The light shifted, altered by the presence of another. Gradually, he managed to turn his head to look over at her, eyes dilated as far as they could go, peering out from behind his now lank black hair like two empty saucers. The cheap hair dye was holding, for now, absent any shampoo to cleanse it away.

He stared at the woman, fascinated to see another living creature in so long; but further than that, the shapes, the tattoos on her body were utterly entrancing. Someone's voice rattled in his mind about how those with tattoos were decidedly underclass and shouldn't be consulted with outside the barrier between provider and consumer. But this woman's tattoos had an artistry to them, a strange geometrical beauty. Nothing so crude as to be dangerous.

Another thought swam around his mind, warning him that something was off, that he shouldn't be seen as he was. Something about being out of costume before performance. No, no, that wasn't it - the disguise. A flicker of awareness stole a small gasp from him, but the sensation of the warm, humid air in his lungs lulled him back to a degree of relaxed complacency. Everything was always fine when there was water. Water was safe, pure, and clean. It was entertainment. It was safety. He stared down at his hands and watched each individual droplet streak down his bare skin, and he followed a hundred drops, then a dozen, then one single line, streaking down his wrist, down his arm, down his side, across his leg until it disappeared on the damp floor into an ocean's amount of water. Funny how that was. A whole ocean worth of water, yet it barely covered his toes, all of it disappearing down the drain.

The dark grate on the ground startled him and he stepped away from it, bumping against the wall and shivering, wanting to avoid the bottomless pit that was a mere foot away from him. The drain was taking away the color, sucking it away from the world like a black hole. All the water around him swirled in a vibrant rainbow assortment of colors, spinning and streaking with their own energy, except for that terrifying silver grate on the floor - the only barrier between the colors and the infinite depth of nothing on the other side of it.

Trying to calm himself, he remembered how peaceful the colors were, and he watched them closely. Not all of the water - the color - was taken away. Some of it drifted free across the room, towards the woman. But the rainbow ended there, caught instead by waves of emerald that swirled around her and up her body. It reminded him of the equatorial shallows.

"Green," he murmured aloud. "Your... your favorite color is green." Around her, the color seemed to hold a peculiar vibrancy, a natural, healthy glow that entwined her like a living ribbon. He clutched his hands to his chest, relishing the sudden intense contact that rippled up and down every nerve ending, but mostly he did so to keep them from shaking again with excitement. Colors were, without a doubt, the greatest natural phenomena to exist - a sort of divine blessing bestowed upon them all. Each had a distinct personality and feeling, an emotional aura capable of impacting the material world around them. He had never seen someone so... so green before, like they were the color, like they were an avatar of that specific vibrancy. Green was good. It was friendly, not scary.

"You can see my colors, too, right?" he asked, inviting but somewhat timid in tone. His breathing was slow, but deep and heavy, and he couldn't quite keep his hands in one position for long. At his chest, against his abdomen, clutching his neck, rubbing his face, all as if he was caught in a semi-random cycle of movement.


A Hot Dog
Katja starts from her shower thoughts session and looks over to where she heard the voice, it's the weird kid half slumped against the back wall across from the shower they had chosen to use. She realizes that the kid is in fact male, so that answers that mystery with her. However, his comments were genuinely strange to her, she wasn't quite sure if he was in some sort of delusion from the trauma of the fight outside in the hangar or if he was high on something. She couldn't really see his face well enough to determine the latter observation being true. She covers herself up a little bit with her arms, not exactly feeling right to be naked around someone who looked so young, he looked like he was about mid-teens given the slim build and soft face features. She shuts the shower off and pulls on the towel without stopping to actually dry herself, she doesn't understand the question but responds with, "Uh, yes...?" She looks him over as she uses the edges of her towel to dry herself off without exposing herself.

She pushes her hair out of her face, most of it is back to it's 'natural' white, the cheap dye she used having come out with the rather harsh chemical soap that was hanging from her shower. It's interesting, her skin tone is a fair complexion and her eyes a hazel-like blue, but her hair is so blonde it passes for white in most lighting situations. She isn't sure what to do about the daytripper on the floor, "Uh, are you okay there? Do you need me to get someone to help you?"
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Emperor Sagan

Lord Commissar
So he was right - her favorite color was green. He had a penchant for knowing these sort of things, it was only natural. Not like a magician counting cards or just guessing - he always knew. Colors couldn't speak - or at least, he hadn't encountered any that did yet - but he could sense them like a shark scenting blood. Each one was unique, and he simply knew them. It also helped a lot to actually see the color on someone.

"Help? What... what for? Help for what? You mean my hair? No... no its okay, I'll brush it later," he said, grasping his hair with both hands and lightly pulling. Despite the hair being wet and in clumps, it tickled his fingers, stealing his attention for a few moments before he stared back up at Katja slowly, oblivious to either of their stances. She was dragging her towel across her body and the mere motion and thought of that made his head twitch somewhat, his breath catching in his throat. His towel was on a hook by his shower head. Without considering it, he snatched his and draped it over his shoulders as the water kept pouring out over his body. The damp fabric on his body was like crashing through an iced over pond and he cried out.

"You have such good ideas!" he giggled, burying his face in the hem of his towel and giggling into it again.


A Hot Dog
Katja can only manage a bewildered expression, this kid really is tripping on something. She isn't sure how to deal with him, she panics slightly when he cries out but then just gets even more weirded out when he blurts out her apparent genius and starts giggling. She walks over and shuts his shower off, the room now quieted down from the lack of running water. She carefully approaches him, "Hey, uh, howabout we get you an actually dry towel and get you to your room, yeah?" She's not sure how to deal with him, but she isn't about to leave him in the middle of a trip in a public shower area, especially given how some of the Reavers are.


1973 - 1860 (I AM THE SNEED MAN)
"Can you fill me in on what happened here?"
"My workplace had been desecrated is what happened here." Typhon rudely interrupts as he finishes donning the multi-arm appendages hanging off of his back. "This is something I will not tolerate." Once it's activated and the arms twitch to life, he slithers over to Amy's side and brings the surgical lamp down. "Your wounds are more severe. You will be first."

Before he begins operating, he sanitizes Amy's wounds on her side and on her arm with a disinfectant and injects her with anesthetic; this procedure is too simple to put her to sleep for. The mechanical arms on his back also assist him in extracting any bullets embedded in her body and simultaneously managing other wounds as well wherever they may be. The operation goes by rather quickly thanks to the "help" Typhon has with the finishing stitches done very carefully by his own two hands. Once he's done disposing of the syringes, pads, and scalpels into the sharps and biohazard bins, he gives the stitched up wounds one last swab of disinfectant until he knows he's done. "Do not move too much, or else the scars will come out messy. And take these as directed." he says, giving Amy some doctor's orders and a bottle of painkillers in her hand.

Emperor Sagan

Lord Commissar
"My room? My hotel room already? Aw... if you say so," Shelby mumbles, blinking his eyes heavily. Demure, he lets her guide him towards a rack of towels, and with her assistance, adorns himself in several dry towels to conserve his modesty and warmth, though he keeps two on top of his head, peaking out from underneath the rim with a dull grin and still prone to the occasional giggle fit. The feeling of all the dry, mildly coarse towels was overstimulating enough that he couldn't muster anything to say as she guided him back towards his quarters.

The room inside was fairly neat, though adorned with a number of cheap plastic posters that could be put up and torn down in less than a second - all of them somehow related to a number of pop bands, fashion icons, and tropical scenery. Clothing was scattered around his desk, the rest of his female centric attire still stuffed into his travel rucksack. His guns were simply left on the floor, unclear if they were loaded or unloaded, safety on or off.

Shelby stumbled over to his bed in his towel wraps and rolled himself up in his blanket, shivering, but staring at the wall as he kept giggling. Everything was so much better now, far away from that shower drain that was stealing all the color in the world.

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