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Kovacs blinked. Somehow, he was expecting this to be it. Ellen's species was weird. "You want me to donate my sperm so that your eggs can develop?" Knowing what she now meant was an odd idea, though it meant that the eggs would likely be stillborn.

He shook his head, "I'm afraid I can't do that. The spider reproductive cycle functions through the fertilization of the female while the eggs are still in her body. This is done through the interaction between the male's pedipalps and the female's epigyne, which is protected by a chitin plate."

Ellen

Her smile flipped into a frown as she tilted her down in sadness and mutters "I'm afraid you would say that" as she turns around and not look at him feeling bit sad and stupid that it took a human being to explain this to her and not know about it herself. Tears began to come down two of her main eyes which caused her whimper and snuffle a little.

There was no way she was going to admit she can't find this epigyne he speaks of even though she does have a movable chitin plate between her human and spider body. Yet that thought went over head...she wasn't the smartest but she had common sense unlike some others she met(Jet in particular)

She turned around with tears rolling down her face and she gave him a smile and says "On the bright side, you now have a sack of eggs you can use to cook with" in which it was her way I saying that Kovacs can take the eggs out if he so pleased since they have no use for her now and the next development cycle isn't for a long while.

The commander was stunned; he wasn't used to emotions. Not anymore. But when the tears flowed unbidden from Ellen's eyes, something in him came to life. Acting not entirely of his own accord, he took the sobbing spider in his arms, and awkwardly patted her back.

After a good five minutes, she had finally calmed down somewhat. Kovacs idly noted that he had started slowly rocking back and forth. "I would never do that. The mere thought of eating a stillborn child is sickening." He pulled away to get a good look at Ellen.

"I can, however, recycle them in order to better understand your species. There is enough genetic material here that I could make a back up profile for you, in case you were injured." Despite how he thought of himself, Kovacs wasn't entirely heartless.

Ellen

The spider lady didn't expect a hug from this captain. She was hesitant but gladly accepted his hug though in turn hugged him...maybe a little too hard. She looks at him as she wipes her tears and says "Yes if you want to do that with them then go ahead, but I'm surprised by what you say since humans still eat eggs" as they parted there hug and went towards her clutch. She took one out a silky looking thing. She then says "You can take them now" as she waves him off as she admires the egg in her hand.

Then out of the blue she eats it whole, making a loud gulp as it goes down her threat. She shudders as she made a face and stated "I guess it's better when it's cook not raw" as she stuck out her tongue in disgust more because of how it tasted not that it was her own egg she ate whole.

Kovacs blinked; he felt like he's been doing that a lot today. Were he anyone else, he would have thrown up at the sight. Instead, a disgusted shiver cradled his stomach. Deciding he had had enough of the spider that held little regard for her own species, he grabbed the egg sac. Leaving it right outside the door, he activated one of the SPECTRE racks he kept in case of boarding, and designated one to carry the sac to medbay.

Hearing a clamor in the hold, he suppressed a heavy sigh, and went to investigate. Much to his surprise, Jet was doing parkour on the many crates of very valuable mission items. "What do you think you're doing?" Kovacs discreetly deactivated gravity in the hold while Jet was midjump.

As Jet flew through the air, something had changed. He noticed that he was no longer going down, and was instead hurtling towards the opposite wall. Panicking, he rapidly flung his arms out in a an almost swim like motion until reasoning kicked in, in which he slowly righted himself and costed through the air. Posing as if he was laying on a beach he looked around to see who caused the gravity to just stop working.

"Oh hello Kovacs, didn't see you there...um, why'd you turn off the gravity?" said Jet as he slowly impacted the opposite wall, using his original jump's momentum to get him there. He then tried pushing off the wall, towards the ground. He slowly landed on the ground, arms crossed. "That was sweet" thought Jet as he righteously fist pumped in his mind. "Before you answer that first question, how are things with Ellen? I think I may have been a tad racist, and hey maybe she isn't a soulless demon" Jet said as he shrugged his shoulders, whilst slowly floating upwards.

"Of course not," Kovacs snorted. "Poor thing doesn't even know her own body. As for turning off the gravity..." The commander jumped off towards the top of the bay, using his mobility kit as an RCS. Hovering in midair, he shot a grappling hook at Jet, the nanofilament cable twisting around the big man's ankle.

Pulling hard, he jerked Jet towards him before reactivating the gravity. Except in reverse. Because the crates were properly secured, they didn't move. Although, there were always exceptions.

Like an antimatter warhead that would have detonated as soon as Jet landed on it.

He shut off the artificial gravity as soon as the bomb was dislodged, and used his thrusters to grab onto it. Accessing the control panel, Kovacs learned that it was set to a remote detonation, and was Icepick compatible. What is the Icepick? Well, thanks for asking.

The X-709 Data Knife, or as it is colloquially referred to, Project: ICEPICK, is an experimental piece of equipment used for directly hacking into and taking over multiple system platforms, primarily on a mainframe level. The specialized hardware integrates a powerful, localized EM field to manipulate the computer's systems on the lowest level, granting complete access.

In this instance, it was used to override the bomb's detonator, and safely disarm the device. The commander set gravity at one tenth, setting everything down normally. "This is why we don't play in the hold. They snuck it in here when they thought I wasn't looking. I'm always watching, Mr. Jackson."

Did someone mention that throwing up usually made you feel better? Well, it did take its sweet time to start working, crawled up all of its way, not trying to get up and speed up even the smallest, tiniest of bits. But it did come eventually, and that gave Christofer some relief. Maybe a little more than the smirk of a smile, or something, that Royanna was trying to pull off as she returned. He appreciated the effort, but the real feeling behind the half-smirk was missing. But at least she was trying and that put enough feeling behind it to not make him sigh. It wasn't the correct emotion, but there was at least some. It was like, picking the yellow option instead of the green one, but at least it wasn't the red option. And it must have been hard for her, so she was forgiven and rewarded with the lightest of wags of his tail that was slipping out of its place from covering.
Perhaps he forgave her because of those eyes? If he did recognize them to be the sign of crying, then sure, and he would tell her to cry more because it was healthy. But he would want to do that too, and his head was a little too heavy still to withstand the feeling that came after crying. Was another heavy feeling, not quite welcome at the moment if he wanted to lift his head and sit up or anything of the likes.
At least the eyes had managed to distract him from the dizzy and heavily weighing feeling that his body was going through. So there was that too.

It would probably require for Royanna to motion that she was going to sit, or at least a little while of trying from the canid until he actually managed to get himself sitting upright like Kallenger preferred it. Not quite straight, but... But he was sitting, even if head hung low and palms of almost straight arms leaned against his knees.

After being offered a bar, the canid gave the lightest of 'nods' by tipping his head and moving his body from shoulders and up, a little forward and down as he accepted the bar and made some quiet but slightly brighter "... Mhm." sound at the back of his mouth, muzzle staying closed but the sound was there.

"To be honest... At the moment I'd eat dirt no problem... It's... Really not that bad..." Spoken just slightly weaker again, for obvious reasons that may not be too obvious for the other as of yet. But that didn't matter, he just wanted for her to know that it was ok.
And soil really didn't smell all that bad. Sometimes it was rather pleasant. Potato cellars had some nice scents, right? Well, uhh... He had just gotten used to managing with little, at times... But it was a healthy and earthly scent, for him.

He'd take on the suggestion of eating slow and careful though, possibly seeming a little weird but hoping that Royanna wouldn't pay too much mind to him. Unwrapping the bar carefully, trying to leave the cover as intact as possible, once the bar inside didn't appear to be covered in mold nor was the scent of it spelling dead, he'd place the bar on his tongue, trying to get to know if he even had a sense of taste anymore. Or like, Oh, of course he did. He had tasted the bile. Of course. But this was a much more welcome taste to replace it. This was nice... So nice that he could just close his eyes like that, tasting more of chocolate and the mentioned peanut butter rather than dry dirt. It hit him a little slower than it should have, but the taste of the bar was slowly overtaking the earlier ones. The taste is... Nice to say the least... It's something.... Lips wouldn't curve upwards or even twitch due to the tiredness, but he was happy regardless, to be given food of any sort and the taste soothed him.

After a while he'd take his first actual bite of it, small one at that, and chew on it slowly and carefully, staying silent until turning an ear to Royanna's direction as she spoke of never having eaten any.
"... You guys must have some very delicious dirt then..." He humored the situation a little, not blaming her for 'never tasting dirt' or the like, and could ease up a light smile, perhaps leaning on her a little too so that he'd be closer and the need to use volume was lesser.
It was a good moment.
He'd lean in a little less, take some distance so that his chewing didn't interrupt the woman talking as she returned to the nickname subject and mentioned the name 'Anna'. Well, that was more feminine surely, he hadn't caught that off her name. Must have been the fact that he usually used the front part and shortened them instead of going for something else. Konstantin was a little different, though he'd rather deal with the longer name than call the kid Tin.

"Anna isn't a bad name or anything. It would have just shown people that a female was capable of things too." Wait, were they equal here already? He wouldn't know, it was just common in his mind that the other gender was looked down upon until it completely kicked your ass to make you think twice. Well, he'd hear of it if he was wrong or correct.
"It doesn't matter much though... Actions usually speak louder than names..." Taking another bite from the bar silenced him for a moment as he chewed again, not wanting to talk with food in his mouth or eat with his mouth open. "Not everyone knows your name, but they know what you've done, and that is what could save your identity on the field...." Sighing lightly, he too would sink his feelings into the bar at hand.

"... I'll call you whatever you want to be called. I'm not picky." The lightest of smiles even as he spoke to the floor and had his head turned that way too. "I don't mind any nicknames either... I'm used to people just calling me whatever... Never really said much about it unless it was insulting... Anything works really."
There wasn't much on the way of tail wagging. The subject was different and refreshing, and it was in a way something that allowed for people to get closer and to know each other better, but of course it was also touching on his past.

"Oh. And, are you sure they won't accept you anymore..?" He'd ask upon coming to a realization, head lifting a little so that he could pay attention to the way she reacted. "Like... Like... Absolutely certain? They wouldn't waste a good trained soldier, right? You should still be of use to them, they aren't just going to dismiss you like that, are they?" Should they try doing something? Get back in? Try and go with the original plan afterall? "You were just trying to survive, and you succeeded, so....?" He really didn't know how things worked here, but he'd want to go and point out the possible spark of light that they had? Ultimately, he was left waiting on what Kallenger thought of the idea. Still, while he waited, he couldn't deny that the added warmth from the closeness felt nice. He was leaning on her again...

The Diplomat

The gentle humming of the air recycler. The not-so-distant, rhythmic thrumming of the stardrive as it hurtled their little ship through space on a collision course with nothingness. A small place, a comfortable seat – lots of bright, clean colors – whites and greys, accents of blues and greens where medical displays winked unobtrusively. Two people – immensely different – sitting at an unprofessionally close proximity, and talking. Two voices, low as though the ambient white-silence of the ship might be disturbed by their words. There was a dreamlike air about it – and Royanna Kallenger had the nagging feeling that it wasn’t merely the sleep deprivation or hunger that was bringing it about.

She was, of course, not happy – but, much to her inward surprise, she found herself something very nearly approaching it. The weight of everything still loomed behind her, bore down on her – but the moment she had stepped back into the little medical bay she had felt marginally better. Fractionally stronger. A vague sleepiness had replaced the hovering exhaustion.

It didn’t make any sense. Logically, she was aware that it was the presence of her ‘friend’ – still an alien concept to the woman – that gave her that feeling of security. But that didn’t make it any more logical. Why should the presence of some other person contribute to the way she felt? It wasn’t as though he were some filthy, conniving mind reader, digging through her brain and exploiting her thoughts to manipulate her. He was just sitting there, eating, and talking, and maybe leaning on her just a little bit. She was the same – sitting, eating, talking, and though she could only admit it on a theoretical plane, leaning on him too, just a little.

Briefly, she cracked the faintest grin.
”Mud pie.” She said.

Yesterday it had been so easy. So easy to wrap her arms around him, bury her face in his fur and just cling to him. To admit – if indirectly – that she was lonely and afraid and lost, and that he was the only thing standing between her and a black void that stretched farther than life.

So why now was she so stiff and awkward? Sure, not as bad now as a few moments prior – but still a far-cry from that liberating sensation she had so enjoyed the day before. Sure, she could talk about things, take her mind of the problems at hand, the insecurities and anxieties she refused to acknowledge within herself – but it wasn’t the same. The little grin had faded now, replaced by thoughtfulness in the glassy stare she gave at the floor.

”Nothing wrong with ‘Anna’, I guess.” She explained, after a moment. ”It’s just...It doesn’t fit.” There was more to that sentence, clearly – but she dropped it there. A half-copped excuse was easier that delving into what it felt like to have the boys at the Academy saying ’But Anna is a girl’s name!” .

Names. Nicknames. What a silly business. More nonsense that didn’t matter.

Yet, hadn’t she called him by a nickname before? ’Toffi’. It had sounded right, then. Something approaching affectionate while keeping comfortably away from needing to acknowledge the fact. But now? Despite the fact that she had poured out her soul to him the day before, she found almost a physical difficulty in calling him that even in her own mind. It felt, paradoxically, too personal. Did she regret the things she’d said the day before? Or perhaps it was more of a ‘guilty pleasure’, which she would convince herself to regret.

She was about to say something else – to speak without thinking, always a bad idea – but was interrupted before she could reach that stage. Her heart sank. A shiver ran down her spine and she resisted a sudden, neurotic urge to do something, anything with her hands. Her grip on the metallic food wrapper tightened somewhat, and it crinkled between her fingers. She shifted slightly where she sat, though not enough to displace either of them from leaning on the other.

And that, at this particular moment, was a very vital point – because all at once Royanna felt as though no longer having him to lean on would send her tumbling into some abyssal pit. Why, though?

Wasn’t he making a good point? Bringing up a spark of hope to her bleak scenario? She certainly was not angry at him for the suggestion – rather, the suggestion disturbed her. But, again – why?

Because her entire life had been a total waste? She had dedicated twenty six years to training, then hunting down a criminal that none of her predecessors had been able to catch for over three hundred years? Because every day she had lived knowing that her reason for existence was futile and meaningless? Because she existed in total isolation from any living contact? Because she hated herself more, and more, and more each time her target eluded her? Because she would rather give up completely than accept her repeated failures?

Or maybe it was because of something else. The niggling feeling of something only occurring to her, just now, on the brink of memory. Indeed, there was more to it. The nagging certainty that she would have to endure something markedly unpleasant in order to re-join the service.

’re-join’. She was already so convinced that it was over.

At last, she let out her breath – not realizing that she had been holding it in for some long seconds. She shook her head dismissively, if ponderously. ”N-no.” She said, stuttering just a little, the word stilted and uncomfortable, though not hostile. Blinking, she licked her lips and tried again. ”I mean, if-…If I was a soldier, maybe. But Special Agents are under a…whole different set of rules."

Nightmare chambers and trials to test the psyche against the maddening rigors of the potential assignments. Mind conditioning to see fit that the Empire’s most terrible secrets stayed locked away. Torture to the brink of insanity to prepare the body for anything…

She shuddered, then, noticeably. But as if to explain this away, she went on ”I…I killed Imperial Spec-Ops who were only trying to escort…me back to base. Without provocation. It’s not like they’re going to believe me if I tell them it was an accident…And given all the classified information I know…It’s much safer on their part to…to…f-find out I might have told.” A sharp, horror-twinge of panic had seeped into her voice, hiding in the back of the throat and the stutter in the words. Dreadful revelation had struck in tune, and she was all at once sickeningly certain that she could never allow herself to be taken alive.

It had struck again, like lightning from the deep. The same dizzying, spiraling hollowness that had crashed down upon her the day before. The vertigo, the sensation that she might float away into desolation if someone didn’t grab and hold on to her. But she would not reach out for anyone, not this time.

’Find out what she might have told’ – the implication was clear as day, and the woman’s reactions to her own words was more than enough to confirm that it would not be a mere ‘questioning’ or even something so easy as ‘interrogation’.

Again, she shuddered, keeping both hands locked in front of her and twisting anxiously on the empty wrapper. ”I…I c-can’t go back.” She said quietly, but voice breaking audibly.

”I can’t.”

---

The HMS Skadi

”I took longer than I thought…”

”Passion has a way of sucking you in.” T’yzfir said, then winced inwardly. That had sounded a lot more wise and sagely in his head. He needed to stop doing that. Maybe if he’d learned his Standard better and ditched that accent he would be capable of more approaching Sané’s manner of speech – but, then again, Sané barely knew any Standard at all.

Oh well.
”Looks good, by the way.” He said then, changing the subject, giving the Nyran a nod and that warm, earnest smile of his. The nervous twinge in Rin’s voice had not escaped him, but he did not mention it – only working his way out of the Nemesis and back onto the bay floor – where the two of them could behold Tsuan’s genius sprayed across the side of the yacht.

”Yup.” Ty said, with a similar deadpan in his tone. ”Actually this is one of the better ones. Somewhere on the Skadi there’s a light assault craft called ’Boaty’.” He cracked a grin then, despite himself.

Tsuan, just now finishing up the identical graffiti on the other side of the yacht, peered his head over the edge of a protruding tailfin and waved enthusiastically. ”Nah! ’The Fun Boat’ is over there!” He called – casually tossing the empty spray-paint can over his shoulder to be picked up later by some disgruntled sentry. Of course, the craft he had pointed to was a single-seater ‘Zero’ approximately the size of a moderately spacious coffin. Nobody was even quite sure why they had it.

”Besides. I’ve got a literary arts degree. So I’m like, the authority on naming things.” He had approached the others by now – both he and Ty had shed their arctic-camouflage ponchos, hooking them over their shoulders instead. Their white fatigue pants and ice-blue crew Ts were a rather stark contrast to the Nyran’s less utilitarian attire, but it all seemed to match well enough anyway.

”No he doesn’t.” Tsuan corrected, politely.

Tsuan gave a dismissive flap of one hand, and changed the subject. ”Sandy said it’s gonna’ be about a day and a half trip.” he explained, as they made their way toward the Koolest Boat U Know. ”Buut I got us a deck of holo-cards so we won’t be bored. You got your armor, right? Prolly’ won’t need it but, y’know. Better safe than sorry.”

Through the yacht’s cargo bay, past the hulking mass of metal sitting there like an ugly, primitive lump amidst the high-tech surroundings, and into the Koolest Boat proper. The whole interior still had that ‘new ship smell’, complete with the slight minty aftertaste that came with all the ships manufactured within the Skadi’s production line. Everything was sleek and polished, in shades of icy blue and silver-grey, with lights tastefully recessed in the walls. The hallways were narrow, of course – but they opened up into rooms just spacious enough to suit their purposes. Presently, in a search for Sands and Armston, the three were doing an impromptu tour of the ship. Six tiny bedrooms, one head, and a spacious galley that doubled as recreation and sitting areas. Each of the beds doubled as a high-g ‘crash couch’ for if the yacht needed to burn at excess speeds – the special material would cushion the body against the forces of nature which would otherwise dislocate their bones and splatter their innards.

But it was highly unlikely that they would have any reason to move at that speed.

As the trio were making their way toward the pilot’s chamber – the only place on the ship they hadn’t peeked in yet – it was confirmed that Sands was, in fact, there. This should have been obvious from the beginning, but it was made further obvious with a cry of ”Dude are you kidding me!” It was Sands. He sounded fired up about something.

The door opened to a familiar scene with some key differences. Dallen was, as per normal when this sort of nonsense happened among them, clutching at her gut and unable to cease laughing. Sands was standing over the primary control panel, and beside him was a crude, boxy, vaguely humanoid-shaped thing. Printed on its’ back in professionally stenciled letters was ‘WASHBOT 9000’ – and apparently someone, somewhere thought it was hilarious. Sands did not.

Sands, clearly at the end of his wits, was desperately prodding a piece of paper that had been laid out on the controls, and looking at the boxy Washbot 9000’s vaguely face-shaped facial region. Huge, buggy, circular eyes that glowed dimly red from within stared back dispassionately.

”DESTINATION HAS BEEN SET FOR…SPACE.” The machine croaked out in stilted, artificial words. Sands, exasperated beyond belief, clutched at the robot’s ‘shoulders’. He was not exactly angry, but the robot was clearly giving him a hard time. ”Right there. Look. Right on the paper. That’s where we’re going!” He insisted, but, of course, the robot went droning on over him. ”INCOMPATIBLE MEDIA FORMAT. THIS UNIT HAS BEEN PROGRAMMED TO APPROXIMATE PILOTING TRAITS RESEMBLING VARIOUS FOLIAGE AND PLANT MATTER. DESTINATION HAS BEEN SET FOR…SPACE.”

”What does that even mean!?” Sands cried, big arms flying into the air. Again, the robot droned over him, and his words could not be made out. "DESTINATION HAS BEEN SET FOR…SPACE. PLEASE DO NOT INTERFERE WITH…THE PILOTING OF THIS...LEAF.”

”Who the actual @#$% thought this would be a good idea!” Sands demanded of nobody in particular. ”This, this is ridiculous! What kind of-””I AM A WIND…ON THE WIND. WATCH…HOW…I…WIND.” ”Now it’s…I can’t even…I don’t-…It’s not even-…” "DESTINATION…SPACE. PREPARE FOR…SPACE. COMMENCING…SPACE. IN THREE. TWO.”

Sands clearly at the end of his wits and without words, Dallen finally collected herself enough to swagger over to ‘WASHBOT 9000’ and pointedly flick the little switch on its’ left side into the ‘off’ position. Instantly, the dim glow in its buggy eyes was extinguished, and it seemed to slump slightly.

”There. Don’t worry ‘bout it big guy, I’ll get us there.” She said to Sands, who was now crossing his arms and pouting at the dead robot. ”Don’t need no autopilot anyway. I got this.” She jabbed a thumb into her own chest confidently, then went about heaving the robot off the chair, allowing it to fall with a regretful THUMP onto the floor beside the chair. It sat there dejectedly, and Dallen went to work inputting the codes that Sands had scrawled down on the piece of paper.

Sands had to grin at the absurdity of the whole ordeal, then – and after some moments of awkward silence, it was – of course – Tsuan who spoke up, smiling like a Cheshire Cat and earning expressions of deadpan dejection from everyone in the room.

”I…Guess he needed some…space.”

Rin blushed at the compliment to the armor- though it was less intense this time, thank the gods- aaaand nevermind, that smile made everything worse and his face was probably as red as an ahmak. Godamnit.

He willed the flush down as they left his ship, and set all of his attention on the sheer genius of Tsuan's naming skills. "Boaty," he muttered, then... "The Fun Boat," he said, amusement rising. My gods, he'll never escape the crazy fun people. First Vaxur, now Tsuan? The universe was clearly laughing at him.

He paused, then shook his head. "I'm leaving my armor on my ship. I'll be fine with just my knife." He didn't mention the one part of the armor he did bring- the piece of armor that would normally be attached to the back of his hand. It doubled as not only a comm device for those bearing the same armor- it could also send out a subspace distress beacon to the Nemesis. He had yet to test whether his ship could be programmed to fly to him when such an occasion occurs...

They went inside the KOOLEST BOAT U KNOW, touring through the ship's interior. It looked good, sure, but... he had a... weird feeling about it. Like... it might not be quite that safe...?

He shrugged, choosing to put aside the feeling for now (he was having a good day) and followed the two soldiers to what he assumed was the front of the ship.

"Dude are you kidding me!"

And then hilarity ensued.

”DESTINATION HAS BEEN SET FOR…SPACE.”
”Right there. Look. Right on the paper. That’s where we’re going!”
”INCOMPATIBLE MEDIA FORMAT. THIS UNIT HAS BEEN PROGRAMMED TO APPROXIMATE PILOTING TRAITS RESEMBLING VARIOUS FOLIAGE AND PLANT MATTER. DESTINATION HAS BEEN SET FOR…SPACE.”
”What does that even mean!?”
"DESTINATION HAS BEEN SET FOR…SPACE. PLEASE DO NOT INTERFERE WITH…THE PILOTING OF THIS...LEAF.”
”Who the actual @#$% thought this would be a good idea! This, this is ridiculous! What kind of-”
”I AM A WIND…ON THE WIND. WATCH…HOW…I…WIND.”
”Now it’s…I can’t even…I don’t-…It’s not even-…”
"DESTINATION…SPACE. PREPARE FOR…SPACE. COMMENCING…SPACE. IN THREE. TWO.”

He was shaking, hand clamped over his lips, desperately trying to curb the giggles just begging to be let out. He was sure his will would win out, and he was starting to calm- when-

A Cheshire Grin-

$#&%, no-

”I…Guess he needed some…space.”

He broke. He threw back his head and laughed, because everything was wonderful and he'd finished his armor and he had friends and he was going to look for a way home but for the meantime he was safe and actually content.

And Tsuan was funny.

"That," he gasped, clutching his stomach as fits of giggles bubbled its way out of his lips, "was so bad." He tried in vain to suppress a chortle, but utterly and completely failed. He didn't mind.

Was there more? More than one bar? Deep in thoughts, focused on listening the breaths, heartbeats and taking in all of the situation and moment, the chocolate was eaten and consumed rather quickly - or at least it felt like that. Time didn't exactly pass, no clear signs of it were anywhere, so it was as if things had come to a standstill and just waited, unmoving.
His senses had awakened further, but time was still a whole big mystery to him. It didn't really even exist.
He was no mind reader, nothing special.

A light smile graced his features, passing with that grin of Royanna.
"Pie? We do have mud cake where I'm from. It's kinda good." Might taste similar though? Would be something for them to explore someday, perhaps. If he was going to be hopeful.
Hands cleaned from any melting the bar might have managed to leave behind itself, canid had tried to eat cleanly, but it took a while to eat and his hands were warm. Perhaps a little feverish even, or then it was just the closeness of the moment. He wouldn't lean further against her until he had cleaned it off properly - not that his fur wouldn't be capable of leaving dust like swipes onto the clothes she was now wearing, but he at least tried, and tried to not lean in too much to dirty her, too much.

"... Roy is fine then... If you think it fits you better..." Gender really didn't matter to him in the long run. A name was just a name, but powerful in on itself.

Christofer had his head tilted towards Royanna as she seemed to having taken a blow from the question he asked. Maybe there was more to it than he thought? This was like a completely different time though, so some things must have been different. Or well, might have been at least. It wasn't necessarily for things to must have changed, but it was a potential thing that he could be missing whenever addressing a thing or another.
Head tipped to the side, turquoise eyes blinking a couple of times, slowly, looking at the other person. Mostly towards her face, but at the crinkling sound his ear turned, head followed and after taking in the information of the wrapper crinkling, eyes were back to looking at her face and seeing what emotions were currently on the surface. The motion of moving his hand to rest against one of hers was left to the sidelines.

"... We could go and try still? If it doesn't go well, then we run. Would it change the situation much?" Spoken softly and with trust, trying to enhance the fact that he'd be listening to her as she knew more than him when it came to that subject. He wasn't That hopeless with the situation. He wasn't exactly running, nor did he think that people would exactly come and go and try to track two people down. Why? Why would they do that? Didn't they have someone else to take care of? Someone who was actually dangerous and all that. Yeah. Why would they put their time and effort to them? Exactly. Just go, see if things work out, they don't and they leave. That's that.
On a second thought, things probably weren't exactly as simple as that.
She was a high ranking member afterall, so while it would be good to not waste her training and take her back, if the answer was the opposite...
Nein, he should keep thinking positively here. Too much negative had been happening as of late, certainly there couldn't be any more of that around the corner.

The shudder, the wavering voice. Head tilted itself to the side slightly, but he kept looking at her, hand perhaps rubbing the other even without him thinking of it, mannerism calm, feeling gentle, soft and smooth, and the idea to show that he was there supporting her.
She was clearly hesitating though.
Maybe they were going to have to think of another way to make clear of what he was? Wasn't that one of their goals?
Or maybe they should just forget about it as a whole... That was a thing too...

"Shhh... It happened... You were just trying to survive, you weren't in the best of shapes..." Voice nearing a whisper, he'd keep his own words to the side, not talking over hers, but also trying to give her some courage to keep speaking. And perhaps not panicking and turning to blaming herself? He saw her as a human, and humans could break and feel hopeless. That resonated to both this moment and that moment back then, and even before that. "Something happened, destruction followed, you were tired, hurt and wounded but you were still trying to survive and move forward..."

"... We were trying to find some base too... Weren't we...?" Switching from the lone 'you' to the more wholesome 'we' felt like a good option there - even if he was almost leaning close enough for it to be counted as just one person sitting there at the moment, but that was besides the point. His words were probably fading to nothingness. Might not have even been worth it to talk, speak at all. But what was done was done.
Some of her words would be catching him a little off the side, ear softly perking and attention returning to her instead of closed eyes or thoughtlessly scanning the floor while talking.
"Told what?" That was a little suspicious of a set of words to point out. But at the same time, as much as it had perked his curiousity, if she'd start to speak and maybe without thinking splur something out, he'd be sure to hold a finger to her mouth to stop her before she had calmed down. "If you haven't told me, then don't. It's better that way." He'd leave his curiosity screaming and demanding answers, but it was likely the safer option to leave him in the shadows about what she might have told.

This was a good moment if any for him and possibly her too to just stay silent. The hand next to hers was still there, the other likely wrapped around her. And the empty wrapper somewhere lost on the cot, but that didn't matter, it was empty and clean.
Perhaps after a little moment Royanna would find the hand near hers leaving, only so that the canid could hold his own, leaving her between both his arms as he gently leaned against her. Eyes closed to take in the silence and let the time pass, if it was going to move at all again.

It'd be a long moment, but it wouldn't feel that way.
With the time passing, Christofer had one of those 'you know what' - moments...

"Mmmm.... You think you could allow me a shower?" Asked as if he wasn't in control of that himself and somehow Had to ask for a permission or such to be able to do so. To be allowed to do so. Perhaps that was for the best? It was seemingly a thing that Royanna wanted to be the one making the decisions. "... And maybe some scissors... It would make me feel a little lighter again..." Trying to find a way to convince her. Perhaps lifting his head from having held it pointing down, and looking at her with some slightly watery eyes or puppy eyes could help and work? Drive the point across. He really did want that shower - if such was available afterall - and he was feeling at least a little better now to not pass out while taking it. And it was a good source of distraction. Perhaps she wouldn't need to be there with him? She could have time to calm down if she needed some. "You could look for some clothes on the meanwhile? You said you'd do that." Even if he's a grown man, in a sense, and more than capable on deciding what to wear himself. He knew his size better - he'd like to think so at least. And what of it then? Was she not going to do what she had said and proposed? Was she just going to... Watch...?
Well... Uhh...
Should he allow that...? Out of pity...? And care...?
A little awkward...

Was it a little cheap of him to ask for this now though? Afterall, she seemed like she was shaken, needed some support as she was weakened by the question he had asked and proposed earlier. He was being cruel.
He was no mind reader, but he had his fair share of manipulative capabilities.
Cared too much to abuse such skills, but they were there, and at times, they had their uses.
Like a heart, warm and with care, open and welcoming. But it had teeth, could both smile and bite. Not always choose, but never meant to harm, even if he knew he could.
"... It can wait though... But not for forever. I'd prefer to not go to sleep while feeling heavy and disgusting again. It'd be easier to wake up clean too, and healthier." A little nicer, but he was not going to give up and make 180 on her now. He was determined on getting something here, and that'd show he had learned at least something. Trying to not get the other dirty, but giving her shoulder a couple gentle nuzzles - like a dog would - were going to have to ease it in. "We can stay here for a moment though... If you need it..."

The canid was trying to pull on some breaks, careful so that they didn't just go and move too quick out of the subject and onto another. They needed to sort out the situation too, that was important. But it was good to ask for her opinion and give her a chance, because, again, she seemed to find safety on being the one deciding. Had to show some lenience.

"... I can sing if you want for me to try...? I could keep it calm and such..." That was a little different and deriving suggestion. "... If you want to hear..."
Probably not all that needed, but he just felt like dropping the option there, rather than just dropping his light grip around her.
If she needed time to decide, he'd give her some, embracing around her and leaning his head against her shoulder.
Time didn't really exist afterall...

The Diplomat

”Excuses.” Royanna scoffed disdainfully, voice low and introspective. She had ignored his continued suggestion of returning to Ardella – surely he had realized after saying it that it was utterly infeasible, and there was no use calling him out on it. Especially not while she was distracted by another brief pang of self-loathing. ”I wasn’t trained to get sloppy just because I get hurt or tired. There’s no excuse for…” But the words trailed off again. She couldn’t say it. Maybe at some point earlier, not thinking, she might have said it – but that didn’t mean admitting it to herself.

A base? They had been on their way to the Ardellan Capitol City, before everything went to hell. Roy still didn’t have the foggiest idea what had caused that incredible swathe of chaos and destruction – nuclear meltdowns on the northern continent – but she found that she didn’t particularly care. What did she care about?

And what would have happened if they had made it to the Capitol? She shuddered.

And then, as if suddenly shifting into focus, she felt something on her hand. She might have smacked at it, if she hadn’t flicked eyes down first to see. She blinked, but otherwise did nothing. It felt nice. Why ruin that? Best not to bring attention to the fact, though. Then it might be weird.

”Told what?”

She had gotten out barely the beginning of a syllable – little more than a meaningless sound – when something touched her lips. Gentle as a feather, yet it shut her up like a sledgehammer. Eyes widened and blinked repeatedly, as if someone had unexpectedly flashed a light in her face. She might have preferred that to be the case though, given the disconcerting presence of a mild inner warmth in her face. It centered about the cheekbones.

That was one of the strangest sensations she had ever experienced. Far stranger than that time she had been accidentally exposed to sulfuric radiation. Stranger than when she had been unlucky enough to feel a Transiberian femtopede crawling up her back. Stranger even than when he had touched her face yesterday, to wipe away the blood and sweat and tears.

People did not touch Royanna Kallenger. Certainly not any part of her face, but absolutely not her lips – save for the two or three occasions that she had taken a punch to the mouth, but that was different. If it had been anyone else, her instinctive, unconscious reaction would have been to use some swift and brutal attack, to get them away.

She didn’t even know what to do.

So she just stared wide-eyed and pink in the nose at the floor for a very long time. Blinking sporadically, and unaware that he was moving at all until she perceived that there were now quite clearly two arms wrapped around her.

Perhaps it should have only bolstered the fantastically awkward – indeed humiliating reaction she’d had to that simple and utterly meaningless gesture? But that had been total strangeness, an absolutely alien experience. This she at least had some experience with. This was different. It immediately reminded her of how satisfying it had felt hugging him the day before – she was instantly less tense. She had been holding her breath, unbeknownst to her, so she exhaled. That felt good too.

It was not a conscious decision, to hesitate. It was never a matter of weighing pros and cons in her head, deciding what would be awkward, what would be humiliating, what would be acceptable. It was merely the human emotional instinct – and hers was, to say the least, lacking. It was a physical barrier holding her in the upright-position. Not a matter of trying to convince herself to move. But after a few moments of breathing, and staring at the floor, and holding on too tightly to an unfortunate food wrapper, she managed – by some feat of cosmic energy – to lean into him. Really lean into him. Not pushing him over or forcing him to struggle to stay upright. But enough to convey a hundred tiny messages without a single awkward word. Enough to gain some small, but revolutionary understanding of what ‘being held’ felt like. Enough to rest her head in the fluffy crook of his shoulder – that same spot she had found the day before.

He would have to shift his own position slightly in order to accommodate, but it seemed unlikely that this would pose a problem. If she’d actually had the slightest clue on how to do this, she would have known that a much more convenient gesture would have been to wrap an arm around him, instead. A ‘hug’, it was called. Or, something like that. Did these things have proper classifications?

There should be a handbook, she decided. Somebody needed to categorize these things.

The blush only deepened at the ludicrous levels of ’unacceptability that were occurring right now. This was definitely not an ‘okay’ thing to do. It was weird, and personal, and there was no reason that she should have had anything to do with it. But those feelings had taken the back seat.

It wasn’t much different than her worsening addiction to B-2, really. She knew it was ‘wrong’, but it felt too good to quit. The mind wanted to cling to that high just a little longer…

All the while, the stunned expression never quite left her face. Anyone who saw them would have assumed that she was deeply disturbed by this. But the way she had leaned into it, the way tension drained from her body, told the real story to the only one that mattered.

He did speak again – eventually. It was enough to break the plastered expression on her face into something more approaching dignity. Sitting up straight again – because talking while leaning on him like that would have been too much – she gave him a perplexed, and slightly disapproving look. ”Why would you need to ask permission to take a shower?” She asked. The tension was gone from her voice now – which, of course, meant she once again sounded like a condescending, judgmental bitch who clearly thought he was an idiot for having asked so stupid a question.

Or, something to that degree, at any rate. The microscopic smirk at the corner of her lips and the indisputable softness in her eyes might have been enough to translate the words from ‘Kallenger Bitchspeak’ into ’Of course, don’t be silly’.

Then she glanced thoughtfully around the room. ”I…thought there was a bucket in here. Was gonna’ fill it up and get you a sponge or something- but-“ She decided that there had probably been no bucket to begin with, and looked back at him. ”If you think you can take a shower without passing out and cracking your head open, go for it. I already found some clothes that should fit. Left ‘em in the other room.” A directional nod to the door, implying the room directly across from them.

Glancing upward at the stray black hair which was continually trying to prod her in the eye, she added ”I’ll give you some scissors as soon as I can find some.” That hair was going to drive her extra crazy at this rate.

Yes, Royanna had apparently composed herself, for the time being. For now, she was back on top – no need to acknowledge that she had ever been low to begin with.

”And no, I’m sure you’ve got a great voice but I don’t need you to sing.””

---

The HMS Skadi

Tsuan gave an animated shrug. ”I am but a vessel for comedic genius.” He said, annunciating a little extra so as to sound sophisticated, and grinning as though he were helpless to stop it.

”Better get used to it, kid.” Dallen said, not looking up from the console she was now tapping away at. ”It never stops.”

Ty, as it turned out, had been containing a laugh. He managed, but just barely. The deep, meditative breath he took before speaking and the persistent hint of a smile were enough. ”Did you check out the works? To make sure the rest of this ship isn’t as poorly designed as that?” A nod to the dejectedly slumped WASHBOT 9000.

Sands, all the while, had been glaring at Tsuan. His mouth was a long, wide frown – and even as he spoke, he didn’t let up – though it was clear he was not a tenth as displeased as he looked. ”Yeah, it looks fine far as I can tell.”

“Good enough.” Ty said with a slight shrug, and turned to leave – paused briefly when Dallen spoke up again, before heading out. ”I’mma bump the trip time up’t two days if we ain’t got autopilot.”

“Good. We can sleep in.” Tsuan contributed. When Dallen and Sands went on with discussing the nature of one sloppily written character on the piece of paper, he added, before also turning to head out of the pilots’ cabin, ”I’mma go see what we’ve got to eat on this shiny tub.”

Within five minutes, the two had come to a conclusion, and the coordinates had been properly inputted. Dallen would need to spend most of the journey in that room, given that they were running manual – but luckily, since space was mostly long stretches of nothingness, she could safely leave the controls and allow the automatic collision-avoidance sensors do the work in the fantastically unlikely event of something intersecting their path. By this time, Tsuan had returned to the pilots’ cabin, munching on something he was eating out of a can with a spork. It smelled salty.

”Alright, ready kid?” Dallen asked, glancing back to the Nyran. Then, glancing to the others, adding in ”The @#$% y’all still doin’ in here anyway? @#$%’s gettin’ cramped.”

”Take-off makes me all dizzy anyway.” Sands muttered in reasonably good humor, as he squeezed past Tsuan – who, of course, did not leave – instead, shouting with a mouthful of food and a spork held triumphantly in the air ”Road trip!”

Rin nodded, chortles thankfully subsiding. "Ready as I'll ever be," he said, relieved that it came out more neutral than nervous.

Everything's fine... he thought, thin cloth bunching up between gripping fingers. I need to... relax... you know what, I hope there's some space for a good spar 'cause I'm in dire need of one.

He tapped his foot once, twice, then stopped, taking a breath. Yeah, I'll really need to practice anyway, since I only have my knife...

He paused, then looked towards where Sands exited. "Dizzy? Aren't there any inertial dampeners here?" he asked, somewhat concerned.

If there weren't... well...

Cue freakout...?

     THE PERRYGOLD
          BAR LOUNGE

     "Because it's not MY choice wheter anyone lives or dies! And nothing - NOTHING can justify the taking of a life!"

     It was unknown how couldn't anyone had noticed the presence of a certain person in the wide room, filled with small clusters of people. Even more intriguing, nobody can say why they didn't notice that man inside the cruiser to this time. Until the very moment a certain adventurous rascal with vulpine features attempted to play hero against an obvious murderer.

     Murder. Murderer. Murdering. Such horrible words.

     However, someone was overly happy on hearing such a noble clamor. And then, the fox boy's next words came up. Not only he was having his innocence ripped apart from the purity of his being, but this youth was being framed as the atrociously genocidal Devil Eye. Nothing more than a monster, in the very meaning of the word. Author of billions upon billions of deaths across the whole galaxy, perhaps, even more. Or, after all, were those rumors as well? Of course, this did not matter now. This young man, Ketin Clarke, was a hero. One deserving more than materialistic rewards or illusory honors.

     — Excelente! Bravíssimo! Que coragem! Que ternura! — A lone cheer in a lost language, accompanied by joyful clapping broke the panic-stricken whispers and sorrowful sobbing of Cesare's victims. — I can't imagine a galaxy without people such as you, my friend.

     What came forward from the crowd, apparently materializing amidst the wounded, was what could be described to most as a rich nobleman. For the religious, an angel or even god itself incarnate. For wicked souls stricken with a thirst of blood and insurmountable greed such as Cesare? An enemy. An attention-seeking playboy posed as some sort of universal peacemaker.
     While his clear, smooth voice was of a male on his early twenties, his overall silhouette strangely implied otherwise. Standing more or less at a palm ahead of the tallest person in the lounge, his oval-shaped face was mostly feminine in it's features. Smooth as a saint's marble statue, beautifully symmetrical with geometric precision, his silvery blonde, long wavy hair, flowing half through down his back, completed the set. His eyes, however, were covered by a pair of polichromatic sunglasses, practically impossible to be seen through.
     Then there was his flamboyant coat, easily reflecting the man's personality. A tidy, gray overcoat, lined with pairs of brilliant, golden buttons along the chest area while a white tie was concealed inside. As leg wear, he wore a rather eccentric pair of gaucho pants of the same color, going down to the pair of pitch-black dress shoes, 'clapping' each time this man struck his feet on the ground.

     However, two details were immediately noticeable by anyone in the lounge.

     The long titanium-bladed rapier, long as two arms, moving in perfect unison with his being while tightly wrapped in a scabbard hung on his side, and his skin. White, like a good portion of the Perrygold, however, where a pinky tint was supposed to be now gave place to a pale blue tone.

     Tilting his head to a distressed Eoclu bearing a sword and a short, wounded person with his eyes curiously shut, the man gave a comforting smile to them before switching his unseen stare to Cesare, on which his mouth switched to a partly malicious but still formidable grin.
     — That won't be necessary, 'Foxkid', heehee~ — Rapidly, the tall man rushed infront of Kete, hand firmly grasped on the grip of his rapier. — He's not man enough to fire against you - no - against me.
     Everyone in the lounge have been witness to the relentlessness of Cesare and his men, still, the azure swordsman stood firmly between Ketin and the mob lord, with nothing more than a sheated rapier to defend himself. It was not hard to notice that this person was not just some strange daredevil. Everything about him, to his clothes and demeanor to the mysterious skin color to even his stance, indicated years upon years of training on whatever trade he's involved. Years built upon almost impossible discipline. Whatever this weird person truly is, it was about to Cesare to find out why.

---

     Yet, the only person that could really noticed how different this man is was no more less than Ketin Clarke. The Devil Eye himself.

     It was impossible subconsciously. Upon this suspicion, it was impossible even without conscious effort. Not even his eyes could be used. Ketin Clarke found what could possibly be the first living creature to be immune to the effects of his fabled Devil's Eye. Whenever he tried to use his concealed abilities, his mind would be filled with doubts about his own power along with a soothing tone of blue. It was almost relaxing to try, as a comfortable weariness would wash over his being. Still, this weariness would only get greater and greater the harder he tried to use his Eye on this strange person... If he did, in the first place.

The Perrygold



Here he stood, this small-statured man among men – this titan who brought death with a word and yet sulked with shoulders slumped and eyes old and tired. Even as the little man rushed ahead and was gunned down, he watched with the characteristic dispassion of one who had seen the innocent perish in tragedy in numbers greater than the worlds. Even as the man returned to consciousness and leaped at the mobster behind the counter – he just stood there.

After all, what did it matter to him? His expression was that of one who had seen this exact play through a thousand times, and knew the ending like the back of his hand. Concern had drained from his face – he was dead, and yet standing there in the clearing between the fear-stricken and the enraged.

He listened with no visible interest as the little man went on ranting and raving – he watched as the mobster worked his moves and retook control of his end. He just stared blankly, if disapprovingly, at the man who brandished weapons at him and his friends. There was no fear, no regret, no hate or anger or rage, no fury – only a pair of dead eyes that watched on, and on, and on – with a vague disdain for the Universe around him, and a detachment as sharp and cold as the edge of a monomolecular blade.

The silence was long and heavy, like a dozen thick, wet blankets draped over the whole scene. The air of hot slow-motion clung to the walls, to make still more dreamlike the most fateful moment in many patrons’ lives. Many present that day would go on to tell stories to their children. The legend would live on.

And so would he.

But before he could dignify the mobster with a response, someone new appeared in his field of vision.

A curious apparition – constituting an inky black spot in his mind-sight, not unlike an earlier, though undoubtedly unrelated sensation. Unconsciously the Eye glanced in the newcomer’s ‘direction’, and found a sense of calm ‘blue’ – a familiar sensation, given the ‘Blue’ that was still lurking somewhere in his brain. Normally it would have unnerved him, disturbed him – a blind spot like that was more than uncomfortable – but now he was too far-gone to care. It was just another thing about the situation that he hated – it couldn’t matter anymore, not now. Maybe later it would occur to him to be bothered by it, but he was too shut-down now. An impenetrable object of steel, lacking in soul and life, merely standing there and watching, watching.

A flamboyant character – perhaps he had been elsewhere on the ship? It was a big ship. Clarke’s eyes flicked in his direction and gave the same disapproving, dead look with his mismatched eyes. And still, he said nothing. He just watched as the newcomer stepped in front of him, putting himself between the mob boss and the Devil Eye. And still, the silence lingered, overbearing and suffocating – save for the few merciful words that the elegant newcomer had to share. It was like silk on glass – not that he could be moved by it now.

Surely this was not the end? Surely there had to be some closure to the redhead’s speech, which had dwindled off so abruptly? Surely this tense moment could not become frozen in time for eternity?

But after some uncounted eons, he did speak – and the voice matched the eyes. Low, flat, and dead – but with a hint of disgust. Revulsion just beyond the threshold of comprehension.

”Yeah, big hero. Tell that to the guys in the hallway.” The men who had tried to kill his friend in her sleep.

Tell it to them – he was not a hero – not to them.

Not to anyone.

But here he was again, with some stranger coming to his aid. Some idiot who thought he knew the story because of what he had seen, someone who knew a fraction of how it was but chose to make a decision based on how little they had witnessed. Someone else jumping in to his rescue, to stand up for him, to make a fool of themselves as they fell for his ‘nice-guy’ routine. His ‘big-hero’ getup. Someone else who was willing to kill for him, maybe even to die for him – the stupidity of others had never ceased to amaze him.

Someone else who wanted to get between him and a well-deserved execution.

He wasn’t surprised. It was in the eyes – this was the play he had seen through to the end a thousand times. A hundred thousand. Every time, with only the slightest variation – infinitely predictable.

He was not impressed – not by the little man’s speech and ferocity, not by the mobster’s cool toughness and willingness to be ‘the bigger man’ – and not by this new guy, who thought he knew a green field from a cold, steel rail.

He gave a dispassionate glance around the room, looked with his own eyes into those of the others. Those who cowered, those who seethed in anger, those who watched on in half-drunken amusement. Those who watched on with genuine concern. He met eyes with Nirix, with Alice, even with the mobster, maybe even the little man with the mustache. And in each moment, he seemed to look through them. To see them without seeing them. A cold, callous husk of a person, who had expended all their energy and now bore no guise. A neutral spirit. Icy, heartless, soulless, dead – and yet disdainful, and bitter, and even a little sad – but it was only the husky disinterest that shone through when he spoke again.

”I don’t care what you do.” He said flatly, and with brutal finality. There could be no misinterpreting it as a façade. This creature standing like a lithe iron golem could not possibly have cared about anything.

And then, without another word, he turned, and walked toward the door. Eyes unfocused, staring forward – he would not look at his tall friend, who stood in the doorway, but through her. The scars marring his arms hung there like dreadful reminders of stories long forgotten. Ruddy hair fell in his face, partially obscuring the dead eyes – a merciful happening to anyone who could not bear the sight of the true depth of his dispassion and inner-death.

He walked with little hurry, but not wish leisure. He walked unguarded, with hands limp at sides – daring anyone to shoot him in the back. Daring the various participants with their swords and guns and knives and egos and passions to do whatever they might do – but, ultimately, exiting the room without another word. He brushed by the Eoclu, allowing nothing to keep him in that place. He did not turn back once safely in the hallway – merely starting to the right, then stopping short, before deciding instead to go to the left. As if the distant sight of bodies in the hallway and blood spattered across the doors was merely an inconvenience to be avoided. A detail that had escaped him for a moment.

And just like that, he was gone – and for him, at least, it was over. Doubtless the events would continue to unfold behind him – but he would have no part in them. Doubtless the ship security would be there shortly to assess and control the situation – but he would be gone by then. And if anyone tried to follow him, he would simply stop, turn partway around, and give them a dead stare that would stop anyone in their tracks. Then he would keep going, until he had rounded a corner and was fully out of sight.

Nobody else bothered him. Some others would see him, walking alone down the hallway, but none would dare speak a word to that face of ice and white shadow. To dark eyes with darkness beneath them and blackness behind, with Hell hanging over him like a twisted drapery and solitude emanating from the fiber of his being. A copperhead, poisonous and deadly, but without interest in anything, harmless if left alone – and so he was left alone.

And then, making another turn, he allowed a door to slide open for him. He stepped through as though it were his own suite, and it closed. Darkness obscured the room, but for a meager auxiliary light in the floor. Two beds, a small table, a small bathroom. A bottle of expensive liquor on the table, doubtless for whoever might have paid extra for that particular room. No bigger than the rest, but with a luxury – and it would go untouched. The light would stay off – just enough for him to see, to make his way into the little personal bathroom. He did not close the door behind him.

Slumping suddenly to his knees, he hunched over the toilet and retched. The convulsions wracked his body as industrial tension began to drain out of him. Minutes later, he had thrown up until there was nothing but bile, and it burned his throat and the bitterness lingered on his tongue.

There, in the darkness and solitude of an unsold suite, Ketin Clarke allowed himself to fall into a sitting position on the floor, pressing himself up against the wall, letting the earlier contents of his stomach stew in the bowl, forgotten. The trembling burbled up in awful sheets, as waves of revulsion, of despair and hopelessness and directionless rage welled up in him, poured onto the surface to overtake him and drown him. He curled himself into a ball, clutching desperately at his scalp, pulling legs in to make himself as small as he could. Head between his legs, hair clinging to the sweat of his brow and the hot, salty tears that had welled in his eyes and begun to work down his face. Their mournful taste mingled with the scalding bile.

Lucky for him that the suites were all but soundproof – else someone in the hall, or perhaps an unsuspecting neighbor, might have heard the desperate, wracking sobs that followed.

---

The HMS Skadi

”Inertial whatnow?” Dallen said, distractedly – having returned to her controls and initiated the launching sequences. Then, after a disconcerting moment, she added ”I’unno. Prolly’.”

It was immediately apparent that this was going to be a very, very interesting ride. Though, nobody seemed particularly concerned. Perhaps it had been part of their spec-ops training to handle the incredible inertial force that came with an in-space takeoff? Or maybe the people in this universe were simply immune to it?

In the bowels of the yacht, the stardrive could be heard rumbling into life, into a soothing rhythm that, in any other circumstance, would have been comforting. But now, knowing that there were no inertial dampeners on the ship – knowing, for that matter, that the pilot didn’t even know what they were! It was not a pleasant sound.

Short-range propulsion jets began to power up, and before long, the yacht could be felt rising from the floor. There was the vague sound of hydraulics as the landing gear was retracted. A slight tilting sensation as the ship began to taxi toward the great airlock, hovering easily a few feet above the bay floor. Out the front windows, it could be seen as one big wall opened before them, and they moved through with little fuss. A little red light flashed on one wall.

Armston did seem to have the skills necessary to guide the ship smoothly, at least. But there was only so much a pilot’s skill could do against the incredible forces of gravity and inertia – no, this was going to be very bad, even though she and the others were apparently oblivious to this fact. Tsuan was just standing there, leaning slightly in the opposite direction to compensate for the slight tilting of the ship, just continuing to munch on his canned snack as though they weren’t all about to be plastered to walls with excesses of five or ten or however-many Gs of inertial force.

Long moments passed as the air cycled out of the chamber – then the little light turned green, and the door to space began crawling open before them. The starfield was as bright, unobtrusive, and endless as always, as the solidity of the ship turned to the gaping expanse of the Galaxy Wide.

Then, the moment of truth. The ship lurched slightly, then began to move forward. It nosed out of the Skadi. The dull roar of stardrives kicking into action toward the back of the vessel, whirring to life, becoming fractionally higher in pitch. There was a small feeling of acceleration – a mere hint of what dizzying madness was to come.

And then walls could no longer be seen in the periphery of the yacht’s frontal windows. The Skadi was some immense distance behind them, there was the vaguest sensation of movement, and the stardrives returned to their neutral state as the propulsion jets switched off. No dizzying, dazzling terror ride, no brutal inertial forces – just the gentle satisfaction that the ship was, in fact, moving forward.

After all, who in their right mind would build a starship without inertial dampeners?

”Close’em up, we’re clear. Seeya’ round, Skadi.” Dallen spoke into the console, communicating with Skadi Control in a very pilot-esque drawl. Tapping a toggle, she continued in the same tone, addressing the others who weren’t still present on the ‘bridge’ ”This is your captain speaking, we are now en-route to our destination, estimated time of arrival in forty hours. On your left, you can see space, and if you take a look to your right, you can also see space. Sit back and enjoy the ride, and in the unlikely event of bug-eyed aliens boarding our ship, please do not hesitate to shoot them in the face or something...Uh, I mean, unless they're Rin's friends. Then totally don't shoot them. Have a nice trip!” She had, apparently, gone under the assumption that people from Rin's universe might have come along looking for him. Certainly it seemed like the obvious conclusion.

A moment later, Tsuan said – through a mouthful of food – ”Are there even windows on this boat?”

“I’unno. I assume’s much. Weren’t you just crawling on the outside of the thing?”

“Well, yeah but you can’t expect me to notice these details.”

The Koolest Ship U Know was en-route.

To destiny.

Or something.

A swish, a thump on the ground, and the sound of sword unsheathing, all of these things painted a mental picture of the being. All Arnaldo could think was, "Why do people keep bringing swords?" as the shade of a man leapt in front of Ketin. "What is this a goddamn movie!? Get out of the way lunatic!" yelled Arnaldo as he struggled under the mobsters pin. Returning back to the situation at hand, Arnaldo awaited Ketin's response.

It burned, all of it. Every word singed into his brain.
Arnaldo felt his heart rate increase ten-fold after hearing Ketin's response, and it wasn't because of the increased chance of being shot, that had virtually no effect on him. What had torn him was the lack of empathy, compassion, anything, in Ketin when he uttered those words.

"What a twist" chuckled Arnaldo, thinking back to his accident. Thinking back to when betrayals were still something that damaged him. After being betrayed by the system he sought to uphold on his home planet, after being betrayed by his companion on a guerilla mission in a foreign civil war, and now, Ketin's lack of care for the man he played games and joked with. It wasn't the betrayal that burned the words into his mind, it was the way the words were said. That wasn't Ketin, that wasn't anyone, that wasn't living...

"Let go of me, you rat-$&@!%#*, or so help me" said Arnaldo through clenched teeth, trying to think of a way out of this situation. "Well we got lunatic swordsman, a lunatic swordswomen, an emotionally lackluster foxboy, a girl with shock gloves, and a flame wielding mercenary vs a couple of mobsters. Oh...I'm so screwed".

Arnaldo bounced the mobster up, using his stomach, to give himself an opening. From there he locked his good foot into a hook position and pulled his wrists from the mobsters hands. Now the man restraining him sat in mount position, located higher up on the small man. Struggling again, Arnaldo launched his hip and the lower portion of his stomach, upwards, pushing the mobster, and creating another opening. From there he pulled his foot and stump through and pushed off the mobsters thigh. Grabbing a cabinet door, Arnaldo tore it off , proceeded to wind up, and then let loose a deafening blow to the man who was previously on top of him.

"Ha, take that you..." said Arnaldo as he tried to get to his feet, only to slump onto one side and hold steadfast to the counter.

His mind raced from this point on, Arnaldo thought about all of the things he could, he could chase Ketin and try to track him, he could stay and fight, or he could surrender to the mobsters.

"Huh" was the only thing Arnaldo could mutter as he began to analyze the situation.

PerryGold: Cesare

Cesare merely stared at the new individual standing in front with out of date clothes as well as an out of date weapon. For a moment he thought this man was a woman, but from his mannerisms and voice he's apparently not of the opposite sex. He hated when people don't get the message in not playing the hero, it was infuriating when people don't listen, it made him grit his teeth as this man with his rapier threaten him with it. The answer he got from Ketin, was bit perplexed...no one has ever just walked away with just giving the answer "I don't care what you do". Of course didn't help that the foxy grandpa was able to break free from his men. He shook his head in frustration in this entire situation.

He was about to drop it and let everyone try to cool off, even himself, however something else happened...something cold and devious entered him. It took over his body and voice, without his command, he pointed the sawed off shotgun and he said "%$^&*$ YOU!" towards the man at the rapier, yet at the same time that's not want he wanted to say nor do. Just after those words came out, he pulled the trigger shooting off both shots of 12 gauge shells from the shotgun at the chest of rapier holding "fem man". Hearing those shots, the Don knew his fate was sealed as his mind calls for help and pleads forgiveness however he could hear a maniacal laughter in his head and the voice saying "Your Soul is required by her Lordship, Cesare Garofalo!"

"You know what? I just dawned on me, why do you even have warheads? Why do you have any of this stuff? Since I've started living on this ship you've done nothing but try to assert your dominance, to no avail might I add. How do you even pay for this ship's fuel and such?" questioned Jet, eyebrows furrowing, arms crossing.

"And since when have you been nice? I know the only reason I'm allowed to live here, is the fact that I gave you my old ship. Yet this spider-lady shows up and she gets instant free passage! You didn't even fertilize her eggs!" grumbled Jet as he paced around Kovacs, periodically throwing his arms in the air to put emphasis on his words.

Jet felt as if the crew was missing something, a sense of bravado, a sense of passion, a drive to do something. They had no goals, no tight bonds, no future. All Jet could think about were his days of wandering, learning about untouched cultures and civilizations, fighting off pirates, and winning bets. To him, that was life, and even though he wanted to change his overall demeanor, he didn't want to change, what he considered, life. So far all he has accomplished on this ship was clocking the captain in the face, making them wanted criminals, and watching movies. This was not what Jet expected when it came to joining a crew.

Kovacs chewed the inside of his cheek as Jet ranted, letting the man vent. His words struck true, giving the cyborg pause for thought. At the end of his tirade, Kovacs nodded. "You know, what? You're right. I haven't been treating you like part of my crew. This is important for you, obviously, but I suppose the reason why is because I expected better of you. I expected you to act like me, and I now realize that I've been taking out my frustration on you."

Kovacs sat down on the inactive warhead. "I've been flying solo for five years. The only contact with other people I've had before these last two days was through tightbeam radio and quantum entanglement. This thing wasn't my fault. I told you as such. And fuel?" He shrugged, jerking his thumb towards the bridge. "You would have seen how I afford fuel for this ship, had you stayed on the bridge after the first jump. Why pay for fuel when you can get it straight from the source for free?"

The commander stood up, walking to the bay doors. "Ellen has left a better first impression on me, but I expect differently of her, as she is my cultural guide in this galaxy, having been in it longer than you. It's nothing personal, I assure you. So I'll give you an offer," the spectres returned to the bay, and began work on dismantling the bomb. "I can buy you whatever ship you want when we reach port, within a four hundred thousand standard budget, and you can take it and leave. Or, you can stay, and I'll do my best to be more respectful of your nature."

Those eyes whose were they…

Nirix had been tired of all the waiting, the pacing of the back and forth game of wills. Who would shoot who? Who would lay bleeding and screaming? Would the security team ever show up in time? There were so many questions, all without answers, without action being done. The longer she stood there, the more she grew to hate herself.

Move, her body urged her, shouted in a strained plea. Action had to be taken, Cesare had to be killed.

Her patience cracked. Nirix stepped forward, eyes determined to see the mobster taking down, to see him wiped from existence and out of her and Ketin’s life. Her lips parted, words seeking to become a blood-chilling threat.

Yet as the syllables tumbled from her lips, they were subsequently drowned out by joyous applause.

A man (or was it a white angel?) emerged from the panicked crowd. He was clothed in holy white, colors associated with purity and good nature and yet at his side was a long rapier. Ever so gently, he tilted his head towards hers, a brief acknowledgment of her presence and flashed a smile meant for comfort.

Oddly enough, Nirix allowed herself to relax, if only for a second of peace before watching the stranger carefully.

“That won't be necessary, 'Foxkid', heehee~ He's not man enough to fire against you - no - against me.” He had said either as words of warning or as a challenge.

At first, Nirix hadn’t thought much of the man. Grimly, she thought of him dying in his futile attempt to play hero. But once he rushed in front of Ketin and took his stance to defend, her doubt slipped away. Maybe it would be okay, just this once, to let someone defend him while Nirix took Ketin away and then they could-

”I don’t care what you do.”

Ketin’s words shook her to the core. Her mind suddenly stopped working and all thoughts of hope shattered like broken glass. It was unusual, the words that came out of his mouth, they were so cold and impassionate.

“Da’len, I-"

Nirix dared to reach out to him, to seek his eyes and change his demeanor. But when her lavender eyes peered into his heterochromic ones, she couldn’t help but gasp at what lay within.

She could not breathe, could not think or speak. They were so cold and soulless and the Eoclu found herself quickly tearing her eyes away from his gaze in fear that she too, would drown the in pure darkness and death within. It was only after Ketin had passed her, did she realize that she was trembling. No longer was her mind steady and focused, her eyes were cloudy with unshed tears and it took every fiber in her being to not run towards Ketin.

To wrap him in her arms and let him cry or scream or thrash until he was spent and his eyes were not so dark anymore. Until he was the troubling making friend that she cared so much for.

Yet Nirix was scared and her trembling would not cease. That darkness she could not face, she could not reach that far in without being pulled in herself.

Those eyes whose were they…

Nirix could not accept that they were Ketin’s.

The chaos crescendoed as Cesare fired his shots and the Security team finally arrived.