RP: Cirrus Station [Episode 1] Welcome to Cloud Nine

It regarded the sudden absence of Dream on it's shoulders with little concern, really. All the members of this station were horribly boring, especially in terms of hair styles and color. Every scientist seemed to have messy, greasy hair that would have made Keid's stomach heavy where he organic, and every military person on board had short hair that was kept neat under their little berets, hardly something to be excited about. Turning for a moment to look at whoever it was Dream introduced him to, it simply turned back and trudged on with the rest of the group, rather depressed by the lack of hair niceness.

....But then, she arrived. That fiery goddess that had stepped in to light this boring situation on fire with her haughty, anger-inspiring attitude, that smug and uninterested attitude, but mostly...that horrible hair. It was a travesty. That wild fiery mane atop her head was reduced to a ponytail that only added to her overall "uptight"ness. With little regard for proper protocol in terms of waiting for a presentation to be done, the Automata pushed it's way through the group, stepping on a certain Nepleslian's foot, whom was trying to bum cigarettes off of two others.

The Automata's LED markings pulsed orange, to show that it was very interested in this Cassefin woman. It towered her over a second at full height and lowered it's head uncomfortably close to her face, it's afro bobbing up and down on it's head. It's LED eyes moved all around the tracks on the front of it's face, sizing up the woman in front of it. It moved to look at the sides of her face, and uncomfortably looked at the back of her head and simply said...

"Your taste in hair is as boring as the way you speak." With that, the Automata returned to the group, successfully pulling off what would possibly be the most petty insult of the day.

Cyril shrugged as the marines were shuffled into a briefing theater.

"Cargo ships ain't so bad. Hell, helped build some of 'em meself, back before I joined." He took a drag on his cigarette and blew a stream of smoke over the heads of the crowd.

"Now, me... I'd have to say that I wouldn't mind a cargo ship. Got me a five year apprenticeship as an engine tech. An' then I joined up and got caught up in that bit o' bad business in the corps. school. So, 'cause DI O'Connoll was understandably spiteful, I got sent to a station posting. Figure that if I keep me head down, I'll be able to apply fer a transfer."

During Cyril's mini rant, a drop-dead gorgeous woman swept into the room. Well, not swept. Cyril got the impression that she was the type to consider herself above a gesture like that. Following true to his word about keeping his head down, he quieted down as she began to speak.

As she began to speak, it started to dawn on Cyril that new CO was, to put things kindly, completely wrapped up in herself. From her mannerisms to the way she dressed seemed to say 'egoist'. In a lot of ways, she reminded him of the station foreman at Hampton High. The man had earnestly believed that he was the only thing that kept the old conglomeration of modules in a stable orbit. The way that Ms. Montreal was looking at the assembled marines was exactly like the old bastard looked at the yard dogs.

Cyril's reverie was interrupted by the marine sitting next to him leaned in a asked for a cigarette. Fishing the pack out of his pocket he was in the process of fishing out the lighter and a cigarette when none other them Ms. Montreal strode over. And asked for his cigarettes.

"Yes Ma'am." He said with a shrug, hiding the lighter and the single cigarette in the palm of his hand. He handed over the half-empty pack and leaned back in his seat, avoiding the potential offense of his neighbor lighting up right in front of his boss. Never mind the fact that a cigarette was smoldering away in the corner of his mouth.

Cassefin awaited her orders to be followed patiently, tapping her foot slightly as the oh-so-friendly smile began to creep away from her face. As the large wigged automata tromped over to her and began his odd little examination, the Head Administrator gave Keid an inquisitive look as she waited.

Keid said:

"Your taste in hair is as boring as the way you speak."

Click to expand...

Now that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Cassefin's face quickly drew into a resentful scowl as the automata turned away and returned to his originally position. The haughty Geshrin genius turned again towards Cyril and abruptly snatched the carton out of his grasp, as well as the fading stub from his mouth. Stomping back over to the Pneumatic Delivery System tube, Cassefin tossed the objects into the open capsule door, spattering its contents on the bottom of the container before tapping a button on the small console. In an instant, the clear capsule and still-smoking contents zipped away into the innards of the Cirrus and straight into the capsule waiting queue for the station's waste incinerator. Those smokes never knew what hit them.

Cassefin turned and smiled, lifting her chin up a bit and narrowing her eyes slightly, obviously proud of her little victory against hazardous health. Her annoyed little fit of tantrum rage had subsided for the moment.

"I suppose this is as good a time as any to inform all of you that there will be no smoking of anything, no consumption of alcohol of any type, or any use of drug or drug-related paraphernalia that isn't strictly pharmaceutical while on board this station. I suggest you all get rid of any contraband materials as soon as possible...and don't worry; Customs department has already done you all the favor of scouring your luggage for offending items and disposing of them. If you do manage to find some, report it immediately and do not attempt to horde it, or use it yourself; drugs, smoking and alcohol are a bane to society, and will never be present aboard this station. For the safety of the personnel, of course."

All Keziah managed to stammer out in the brief whirlwind of activity was a quiet "Um..." before she quickly puffed down the rest of her cigarette and did her best to hide her duffel from their new CO. Not that she had anything necessarily offensive--she didn't usually smoke, and didn't smuggle any alcohol--but even so.

She tentatively put her hand up, "Will we be allowed to have our own kitchens in our quarters?" She couldn't remember if there were any rules against that. But, then again, the laws hadn't exactly been part of their orders. Hell, if Montreal wanted, she could say anything she wanted; seemed like the type--a complete power-mongering bitch. Keziah had seen the type only once, when she was first joining the military, and had decided to hate people like that.

Though, even so, this was a military posting. And personal feelings didn't matter in the military very much. If at all.

Tweak nodded slowly at Dream's response to her question, but was quickly distracted by Keid's sudden movement. She let go and tumbled backward and falling off of Keid's shoulder in a reverse-somersault, landing on her feet as the automata proceeded to walk up to Miss Montreal and stare at her intently before insulting the woman.

So very glad that I didn't hold on, thought Tweak to herself in relief. She glanced around, then went over to stand next to Lorcan. Unfortunately that meant that she missed seeing what Keid had done; whatever it was clearly didn't go over very well with Cassefin. But the ban on smoking and drinking wasn't of any concern to Tweak. When Keid returned to his spot in the crowd, she looked at him for a while, trying to decide whether to return to where she was sitting or to stay with Dream.

Dream didn't notice Tweak at all, at first: she was too busy listening to Montreal's rant. As soon as it ended, however, she raised an arm, almost giving the impression that someone was waving around a multicolored flag.

"Moment, please, Headmaster Real." Headmaster Real. Now that had a good ring to it.

She was now standing on Lorcan, one feet on his left shoulder and one on his right, and thus appearing higher than everyone in the crowd. She was also wearing a miniskirt, but didn't seem to mind, at all. (Also, they were white, with green spirally lines and yellow stars. As colorful as anything else she was wearing.)

Dream extended an arm, and pointed at Montreal in some sort of overly dramatic OBJECTION! pose. "I have a question!"

Pleased with the nickname she had just found for Montreal, she took a deep breath, crossed her arms, and continued: "Headmaster Real, did you consider the negative effects that such restrictions might have on the morale of the crew? Abuse of those substances can be hazardous for one's own health and, in the case of smoking, even of others unless done under controlled circumstances... but sudden deprivation, breaking of habit and a complete ban of their consumption even in moderate, controlled and non-hazardous dosage, would cause psychological damage probably greater than their potential physical damage." She stood a moment in thought, caressing her chin, running a quick mental search across all the information she had memorized on Nepleslian culture. Most of it didn't make sense to her, but something stood out.

She slapped her open left palm with the back of her right hand. "Plus, such a ban violates the Nepleslian constitution, article six, subsection six. Even if your authority might supersede the constitution of the Democratic Imperium of Nepleslia, and I don't know if this is the case... as a Druidess, I urge you to take the emotional and psychological consequences of such a decision into account."

She coughed, and concluded her objection. "The consumption of alcoholic beverages, tobacco, and other psychoactive substances can be undertaken in a controlled manner that, to the best of my medical knowledge, would not cause significant or permanent damage in the average Nepleslian while still retaining its full positive psychological effects. If you really do care about the crew's physical, mental and spiritual health, I would advise a more lenient policy of controlled consumption of those substances."

Pleased with herself, she stood there, balancing herself on Lorcan's shoulders, arms crossed, a smile on her face, waiting for a response.

Everything was said in her usual, cheerful, high-pitched voice. She was clearly happy of being of any help. Because she was REALLY thinking she was helping Montreal.

As a Druidess it was her job to take care of everyone, after all.

And she probably had absolutely NO idea of what she was getting into.

Lorcan watched as the Warmonger went over to the big cheese and bluntly insulted her. Lorcan let a smile play across his lips. He liked these free spacers; they held nothing back even if it was down right rude and disrespectful. At Montreal's outburst about Kied Lorcan took the chance to pull out his little flask and take a sip of the beloved contents. Of course then the woman had to go off and rant about not having booze, cigarettes and drugs. Lorcan sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes.

He held his position as Dream stood up on his shoulders and delivered her speech to Montreal. He liked the name the free spacer had given this bossy, fire haired woman and completely agreed. Once Dream had crossed her arms over her chest he repeated the gesture as carefully as he could so he didn't dump the girl on her butt. That move of course made all the muscle in his arms and chest stand out against the tight fitting uniform. "Yeah, I agree with her. No booze, No cigarettes, No drugs... And let me guess, NO SEX right?" He shook his head in dismay, his voice having been an even tone the entire time. "Give us those four rules and you've doomed yourself to hell" ‘and increased your chances of getting gang raped…’ he added mentally and then he looked over at the other marines "Well at least I'm sure my fellow marines can agree that leads to one hell of a time. If we're not being security, which by the way... I'm a mechanic... not a security guard, then what are we gona do? Sitting around and being bumps on a log is what you do... not us..."

He took a deep breath "Besides I bet you can't hide all the Industrial Cleaning Fluid in this entire base..." It was ethanol...near damn straight ethanol bought in bulk for cheap. What could he say to a good cheap drink?! Then with a smirk "With all do respect...I agree with Keid about you...It's called a brush..." His own little ranting and raving over with he purposely pulled out his flask again and took another few sips, daring her to do something about it.

Cyril boggled for a moment as his cigarette disappeared from the corner of his mouth. Sure, the boss looked pissed, but that wasn't his fault was it? He had been respectful enough in the two words he had spoken to her, and obedient too. It was the damn freespacer death-bot who had spoken out of turn, so why the hell take it out on a poor engineering corps drone?

But as Ms. Montreal launched into her rant against smoking, booze and all the other little things that made life in Nepleslia so great, Cyril schooled his face into careful neutrality. Great. Strike one, and I didn't even know about it. Station regs were something that they bloody well should have put in the briefing.. So, not only was the station admin an egoist, she was also a health nut too. And maybe a control freak too, he couldn't tell yet. Still, maybe he'd be able to ride out the storm and make it to another posting with his hide intact.

But then one of the freespacers spoke up again, the one with the ridiculous mass of blue hair. And, once again, in direct defiance of the station admin. Fuck. Great, just great. Rile her up some more, whydontcha? Maybe we can get that sergeant in here, AND PUNCH HER IN THE FACE!. No, that wasn't fair. The woman was trying to act in the best interests of the enlisted grunts. But, if he wasn't off his mark about the administrator, she was going about it the wrong way. Cyril began to visibly pale as he began to consider the consequences of the freespacer's actions.

And then one of the marines chimed in with his own pearl of septic wisdom. No, no, NO! That was the worst thing he could have done! Before, there was a small chance that Montreal would focus on the freespacers and leave the marines with only minor shrapnel wounds. No so now, to Cyril's mind. Now, he had as good a painted the lot of them with targeting beacons. Cyril let out a faint gibber, his mechendrite tucking itself firmly between his legs.

Shit.

That was the only thing on James mind for about 15minutes while he was being briefed in the closet. It was the perfect word to describe everything that happened within that span of time.

Just before the bald marine recieved the smokes from PC3 Sevyn, the extremely large and rather intimidating 'Spacer approached Ms. Montreal and began observing her at an uncomfortably close distance. James didn't care about that, it was the fact that the 'Spacer had stepped on the marine's foot in the process. All the weight of the mish-mosh of hair and metal nearly crushed James' foot.

Shit!

The private tried to ignore the pain as best as he could, but his clenched teeth and red face did little to hide his agony. James pulled himself together though, and resolved to find some small amount of comfort in the cigarettes Sevyn was about to hand him. That didn't work out either. Ms. Montreal promptly strode over to where they stood and snatched the smokes from Sevyn and forced them into the air-pipe thingy.

Shit...

By this point James was beyond words. This bitch had stolen his only immediate chance of feeling better. He listened to her as she began to speak again, not because he was interested, but because he wanted another reason to hate her.

"I suppose this is as good a time as any to inform all of you that there will be no smoking of anything, no consumption of alcohol of any type, or any use of drug or drug-related paraphernalia that isn't strictly pharmaceutical while on board this station. I suggest you all get rid of any contraband materials as soon as possible...and don't worry; Customs department has already done you all the favor of scouring your luggage for offending items and disposing of them. If you do manage to find some, report it immediately and do not attempt to horde it, or use it yourself; drugs, smoking and alcohol are a bane to society, and will never be present aboard this station. For the safety of the personnel, of course."

Click to expand...

Bull shit.

And when James thought things couldn't possibly get worse, they did. The blue-green, crazily dressed 'Spacer suddenly began spitting out all kinds of political jargon at Ms. Montreal. Even though James completely agreed with what she was saying (what little bit he understood) he knew it wouldn't end well. Ms. Montreal didn't seem like the person to talk back to. James was somewhat afraid of the consequences of the 'Spacers remark.

Oh Shit.

If one person gives their opinion, everybody else will too. That's exactly what one of the big ID-Sols did. This was going to be a bad day.

OH SHIT!

Yea, it was the perfect word for the situation. It was all a big bunch of crap.

As much as Tweak was loathe to abandon her friend, the desire not to be the focus of attention proved more adamant in its urgings. This was not her fight, none of these things were important to her.

The rising stress levels in the room at the announcement of the bans was also driving her TOS crazy. Any of these people were prone to attacking, it insisted. But all Tweak could do was slouch in her chair as best she could and pretend she wasn't there.

No. That wasn't working. Tweak's breathing was edging toward hyperventilation.

Despite Dream interrupting Cassefin, the fire-haired scientist stood patiently with a decidedly uninterested expression playing across her face. It wasn’t outright anger, of course, which was very, very fortunate for the young Freespacer Druidess. When Dream had finished, Cassefin sighed deeply and removed her spectacles, holding them in hand as she crossed her arms placidly.

“It’s Head Administrator Montreal. And of course I have considered every single side of this issue prior to issuing it…I am a certified genius,” she noted proudly, chin slowly lifting towards the sky again.

“You assume, little miss, that I have placed this rule on my station, which I might add I have been fully given the right to do so by the governments of all participating parties, to protect the users. No no no…this is to protect my precious station from you drug-addled, drunken grubby paws! I will not stand for Cirrus to be destroyed from the inside out by you boorish, uneducated soldiers and your ideas of ‘good times’, either on duty or off! You all will comply, or you will be punished. If not by me, than by your superiors…and you had better hope it is your superiors.”

“As for…psychological consequences,” Cassefin chuckled shortly at the implication. “I am certain all of you rock-banging baboons can get over your addictions in a timely manner…our certified medical staff have measures to cease your addictions, and you need only inquire. As a matter of fact, I encourage it, because there will be no consumption or use of any of the previously stated materials, period, end of story. If you have a complaint, send it in written form to one of my clerks. I’d just love to hear it.”

Cassefin, in her air of personal triumph over the girl ‘Spacer, turned to Lorcan. She had little problems with most Freespacers…they were an intuitive race, if not backwards and ruddy…but military? Cassefin couldn’t help but scowl. As the massive Nepleslian pulled out his hip flask and took a swig from it, Cassefin’s eye visibly twitched in anger.

“Mechanic? You? Fixing alarm clocks and glueing cookie jars together hardly qualifies you as a mechanic, fool. You all are here because your respective leaders assigned you to me for one purpose and one purpose only; for me to use at my discretion. And as for your free time off duty, I do not care what you do, as long as you follow my rules. For all I care, you can quietly go on and sodomize each other, as long as it doesn’t interrupt with the work going on here,” Cassefin spat as she looked around the room, which contained mostly male soldiers and an odd few females. She then sighed again, more roughly and with much more anger as she replaced her glasses and recrossed her arms once more across her chest. Miss Montreal had little patience for meat-head marines.

“Let me make something perfectly clear to you all; I did not want any of you on my perfect, perfect, PERFECT research station. You all are on my payroll for the simple, impossibly frustrating reason that my benefactors and funders required me to have an active security force aboard the Cirrus. Which is ridiculous and a waste of time because I have designed this station to deal with any and all problems, which will be nonexistent. So, you are all here begrudgingly against my own will…I would rather all of you thick-headed soldier-types doing what you do best, throwing sticks at each other as you pretend your job means something.”

“So I don’t care if you think you’re a mechanic, a doctor, some famous actor or Jon-Jon Rocketass himself. Upon being assigned to my Cirrus Station, you fall under my jurisdiction, and as such, you are all now officially Cirrus Station Security, Squad 35,” Cassefin finished haughtily, ranting rage subsiding into the folds of an eerily calm smile, deep ruby eyes glowing flaming brimstone at the room as they swept over the reactions of the occupants.

“Now. Are there any real questions that do not question my rules and regulations? Because I would very much like to finish this orientation and get back to my much, much, MUCH more important work. I’m sure all of you are eager to…do whatever you do when you aren’t getting stoned, smashed, bingoed, spooned, ding-donged or wizz-wanged…whatever that is.”

James quickly got a grip on his pain and anger long enough to raise his hand and ask a question. He just couldn't resist some sort of snide remark after she ruined his day. He deserved it after all.

"Since we mutually hate each other, I thought it would make sense to ask you what sort of hell you are going to put us through."

Cyril quickly stood up and interposed himself between the ID-SOL and the station administrator, lest their first order be shoving the man out the airlock. Pushing down on his shoulders with all the force his mechendrite could muster, Cyril began to speak quickly.

"Forgive me friend 'ere ma'am. Took a few too many blows to the 'ead in basic." He leaned forward slightly, hand to the side of his mouth and continued in a stage whisper. "None too bright to begin with. Little too much lead in the drinking water, if'n you know what I mean."

Cyril straightened up into a parade rest, still pressing on the ID-SOL's shoulders. Addressing a point slightly to the right of Ms. Montreal's head, he continued in his best 'the Emperor is inspecting my unit, and he just asked me a question' voice.

"Ma'am. If I may inquire, what are the station regulations vis-à-vis contraband and those who import it, should security encounter such a situation."

Lorcan glared at the woman and then downed the rest of his drink. He felt hands on his shoulders and with a grumble and a grunt he reached above him to pluck Dream off his shoulders and set her on the ground. Then he got to his feet, even with Cyril pushing against his shoulders. he cracked his knuckles, making sure the steel knuckles hidden beneath the leather of his gloves were in place.

He growled at his annoying wimp of a boss and brushed Cyril's hands off his shoulders. He stalked off to the other side of the room to stand against the wall, a dead serious look on his face. He stared across the room, the veins beneath his skin pulsing softly. He was barely controlling his temper and desperately wanted another drink of some kind. He could tell this place was going to end up exploding at some point with pissed off, stressed out, bored marines and free spacers... Cassie was going to get herself into lots of trouble.

Despite being ignored, despite seeing Montreal's contempt to anything challenging her rule, despite the marine bringing down a load of shit on himself, and despite the fact that, right now, she had never wanted to be further away from a space station in her entire life, Keziah had to laugh.

Quietly, and to herself, she pressed her fist to her mouth and laughed so hard that she bent over with trying to keep it in, eyelids squeezed closed, tears just beginning to form. This was bad, this was real bad. So bad, in fact, that she had absolutely nothing better to do. The way Cyril was acting only made it worse, and she bit down on her flesh thumb to try and regain her composure.

No, this was good. Kinda. In a way that was eminently masochistic. The big marine stalking off to, of all things, sulk like a little kid had set her off. Nothing was better than seeing a big marine, probably big enough to be an ID-SOL, act like they had just gotten their favorite rifle confiscated. Or their favorite plasma cutter.

Slowly, Keziah straightened herself out, and coughed gently to herself, discreetly wiping her eyes.

First days...

Cassefin nodded once to Cyril, enjoying the fact that at least one of these boorish soldiers knew how to act in front of a proper lady. Of course, she chose to ignore acknowledging James but decided, out of the charity of her vast heart, to answer his question as well.

"If any of you see any contraband items, you are to confiscate them, send them to Administration via my brilliant Pnuematic Delivery System, and report the finding immediately to one of the Savtechs on the station. You can tell when you see a Savtech by simply looking at its uniform. Mimi here, whom you've all met..." Cassefin motioned to the honey-blond haired young lady, whom had been standing off to the side with a slightly worried smile as she witnessed her Administrator's bad habits. When she was mentioned, the smile turned more sincere and she waved shortly at the room as Cassefin continued. "...is a Savtech AI construct. It will document the event as well as the reporter and the guilty party or parties. I may perhaps even reward individuals who are diligent in protecting this immeasurable achievement of scientific advancement."

Cassefin ignored Lorcan's little tantrum and Keziah's fit of giggles completely. She had became very good at ignoring people...a useful skill in her line of work.

"That is but one facet of your job here, however," Cassefin continued. "You will spend most of you time on-duty patrolling security areas of the station, or dealing with the small problems that pop up...if I must have you around, I suppose I shall get your salaries worth of work out of you. Schedules and positions are subject to change depending on many factors, but the job will be the same. Most of the time."

Tweak almost raised her hand. Now that Lorcan had moved, she was without someone to hide behind...but her question also needed answering. Information trumped agoraphobia, she figured.

...but one look at Cassefin broke that resolve. She would just ask someone else, after this was over. Tweak's hands remained on her lap, fingers interlocked within the overlapping loose sleeves of her jacket.

Finding no reason to continue being pissed as the ethanol exerted it's effects within him, Lorcan sighed. He reached down to where his pant leg meet the top of his boot and pulled a knife out of his boot. It was a good eighteen inches long with a wickedly curved, double-sided blade. [sharp on both sides instead of one] It's handle was well worn and finely crafted bone and it was obviously dangerously sharp and well balanced. It was a fight weapon, kept by Lorcan for many long years. He loved his knives, they had won him his freedom and status as an exelect street fighter in the slums of Funky City.
'
He looked over at the giggly Marine. Lorcan hadn't been sulking, he'd been angry, allowing his anger to speed up the absorbtion of the ICF into his system so it ended up calming him down within a short period of time. "Shut up" He said softly in the marine's direction. His voice was still a flat, dull monotone, even after getting pissed. Lorcan was greatful that he was able to keep his temper in control. If he'd been full ID-SOL or even his father, he bet Headmaster 'Real would be a pile of hashbrowns and flapjacks... 'Spacer style with a pinch of some raidoactive material for flavor.

He'd read a little about 'spacer food and found most of it to be nearly the same as neppie food,except for the fact they ate a ton of raidoactive stuff and toxic chemicals and what not. He foudn it rather awesome that they could eat such stuff. That and the fact that the 'spacers seemed to be freespoken, logic using, loving and crazy people. Crazy in a bright, colorful and good kind of way.

Thinking about that Lorcan idilly sheathed his knife and pulled out the acient wrench that Dream had given to him eariler. His fingers traced the patterns on the surface. He slid one hand back over his shoulder into his pack to dig out a small bottle of Exteel Oil wrapped in a soft cloth. He let a small smile flicker across his features as he un-wrapped the bottle and put a few drops onto the wrench. He rubbed the oil in with te cloth and started the process of making it all nice and shiny like his knives. While he was cleaning and shining he picked his voice up so it would carry over all the other noise in the room. "Can we get on with it already? You know so we can hurry up and leave you alone?" Then a soft and forced "Please?"

After Montreal's response, Dream had fallen silent. Strange, given her usual behavior.

She didn't react mush when Lorcan put her down from her shoulders. She listened to everything, silently.

Deep inside her, she was examining every word that was being said. Searching her psychological and sociological database. Asking for counsel over Polysentience.
And, of course, double-checking the Art of Never Again.

Everything was wrong.

Nothing of this was being done in the interest of protecting the crew. It was all for the sake of the station itself, or so Montreal claimed.

But it wasn't true. Like a starship, a space station is a composite entity. A ship is not just plating, corridors, circuits. It's the people.
The people who work, laugh, cry, are born and die onboard.

A ship is supposed to be a symbiont. Not the parasite she wanted. Not an entity that sucks the life out of its victims, making them miserable to nourish...

To nourish what? Dream paused her train of thought. What was the meaning of this all? Was it just for the sake of Montreal's ego?

Dream couldn't believe her own thought patterns. People can't be so egoistic. They just can't. There must be some kind of misunderstanding.

Of course there must. Headmaster Real was just very concerned about her station. She was being overprotective of her child.

Looking at it from that point of view, she was being kinda cute.

However, Dream couldn't wrap her mind very well around the concept of "ownership".
The station can't be hers. It isn't, in fact. It is of everyone who works there.

... however, just below her conscious mind, an alarm bell rang at the same time. Ancient words that marked indelibly the mind of every Freespacer.
The first verse of the Art of Never Again

"Never again will the cries of our people remain unanswered. Never again!”


Dream snapped out of her thought trance, and smiled and nodded at Cassefin Montreal. She had made up her mind.

She didn't have the slightest intention to follow even one of those dictatorial rules, orders, or dispositions.
And in doing so Montreal would eventually realize the error of her ways, and be redeemed.

With a deep breath, she sent her evaluation and analysis of the situation to Keid via Polysentience, and uploaded it as a public discussion topic.

She wondered whether she should express her dissent to Headmaster Real now or later, but she decided the latter was a better idea. She had other priorities.

A small corner of her brain recorded her assignation to squad 35 of the Cirrus Security Forces, and promptly discarded the information as faulty.

"Tweak." She whispered. "Your thoughts?"

Timing. One of the constant of the universe. Everything depended on timing, unfortunatly, the one person in the universe who needed timing, lacked it. Serra, fresh from her pinkslip trip, arrived at orientation exactly when she didn't need to.

"..." She just stood at the doorway to the room, a duffle over her shoulder, a wheeled suitcase at her feet, her silver-white wings twitching slightly, and a completely befuddled look on her face. Taking an extra moment to even comprehend the entire scene that played before her eyes, Serra blinked several times, then took a deep, controlled breath.

"Hello," she started, "my name is Serra Evangelle." She said with a short bow. "I'm the engineer you hired a few days ago." She smiled slightly, hoping against hope that her introduction would do something to aleviate the tension, though she doubted it, she was an Elysian, and nearly everyone gathered was a Nelpeslian.