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

Dream, slave to her own extremely short attention span as always, turned around instinctively before Tweak could answer her.

And she saw her.

The tall, imposing, noble figure. Those exotic violet eyes. Beautiful long white hair. Radiant silver wings. The way ultraviolet light bounced off her lips. The soft glow of infrared 10e-13 radiation around her. The never-seen-before internal biology.

"...Gearwing Serra!" The nickname this time came spontaneous.

Dream stared at her. Ogled her, for precious seconds, oblivious to anything else, her cybernetic eye working furiously, scanning every centimeter of her body in a way most sane people would never approve of, especially if done without their consent (like, for example, right now).

Finally, Dream decided she liked her.
Thus, there was only one thing to do.

Short running start. Jump.
Tackling hug.

"WELCOME ABOARD, SEEERRAAAAAA~~~!!"

Time hung for what seemed like eternity while Serra waited for someone to say something, she was then relived to hear something.

"Gearwing Serra!" This one thing alone caused her to straighten up and look at what called her that, it was a short, bluehaired conglomeration of humanoid features, insane colors and crisscrossing lines and swirls. Their eyes met and Serra knew something would happen.

And it did when the small bluehaired creature took to running, then jumping, then, to her suprise, she glomped onto her, and sent her tumbling backwards to slam to the deck with a loud thud.

"GWAH!!" Serra cried in abject suprise as she was tackle hugged so.

Cyril sighed in quiet relief as Ms. Montreal decided to ignore the bald marine's little crack, and Kaziah's little giggle fit. He couldn't really begrudge her that. He was pretty sure that from an outside perspective the situation would pretty absurd, and he'd be laughing too if he could put aside the visions of spending the rest of his tour scrubbing latrines. Or, a more cynical and wildly paranoid part of his mind said, spinning blissfully through the void as a Cyril-sicle after crossing Montreal one to many times.

For the first time since the death-bot had said those fateful words and set off Montreal, Cyril began to relax a little. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the ID-SOL he had intervened for pull out a knife. His shoulder blades tensed as, for a brief paranoid moment his mind leapt to the conclusion that the big man had decided that he was going to kill someone, and that he was one of the targets. After all, he had insulted the man, even if it was only to play into Ms. Montreal's views of the soldiery. And, he had to admit, a rather strained attempt to lighten the situation with some rather forced humor.

But that was only for an instant. He relaxed slightly again once the man began to oil the knife and piped up with a only slightly acerbic comment. Finally, he thought, things would settle down enough for Ms. Montreal to move on with only mild misgivings about their motley squad.

And then another complication entered the room, in the form of a bloody-damn Elysian. Now, Cyril didn't have anything against the feathery god-botherers, so most of his current misgivings to the toward the newcomer were as a man trying, with a marked lack of success, to defuse a complex situation to a new and unknown distraction.

Perhaps it was stress. Perhaps it was his sense of irreverence bubbling to the fore. Perhaps it was the part of him that actually cared about his career finally getting the universe's hint. But what ever it was, when he saw that the blue haired freespacer's first instinct in the situation was to flying tackle the Elysian and positively squee, he couldn't help but smile, in a macabre sort of way.

"Well, eh, well. That's... that's one way to add a note o' levity to the situation."

"I think there's been a mistake..." Tweak started to say, but then Serra arrived.

Tweak stared wide-eyed (but slightly less surprised at this point) as Dream glomped the winged one. Then frowned. Why did Serra have a "Possible Threat" tactical tag over her? Surely she wasn't dangerous..."This is not the time to be making accusations," Tweak muttered harshly to herself. So be QUIET! she screamed mentally at her tactical mind.

It didn't go completely quiet, but its urgings dimmed to a more bearable level. But it made itself clear in its distrust of Serra. Tweak forced her expression to relax, and faced forward in her chair, pulling her feet up onto the seat and hugging her knees against her chest.

"Please tell me this is going to all be over soon..."

Lorcan mentally played with the ides of pulling his knife out again and coming after Cyril due to the look on the man’s face the first time Lorcan had pulled the knife out. Hearing Dream’s soft “Gearwings Serra!” Lorcan’s head snapped up. ‘Wings? What in the hoolies is she talking abo…?’ he turned slightly to watch as Dream bounded to the door to flying tackle Serra to the floor. With a soft sigh Lorcan put down the wrench, oil, cloth and his pack and went after the Freespacer.

He walked over to the door way and pulled Serra’s luggage inside the room. Then he reached down and gently pried the excited Dream off of the woman. Holding Dream up off the ground by the back of her coat and shirt Lorcan ruffled the ‘Spacer’s hair with his free hand. “Now I agree she’s got pretty wings and she new and different but keep in mind not everyone can withstand you tackling them okay?” He looked down at Serra. “Now…” He set Dream on her feet behind him and reached down to grab Serra’s hand and pull her to her feet.

His hand remained in hers, his bright blue eyes locking onto hers. His hand tightened as he murmured softly to her. “Keep your wits about you. The freespacers may be friends to mostly everyone who appears in their sight but most of the others, including that fiery haired geshrin back there,” he said nodding to back over his shoulder where Montreal stood. “…Won’t be as happy to meet you …” His eyes flickered across her and a small pleased smile appeared on his face. “You’re probably on security detail with everyone else Serra. Don’t bother asking why…” He pulled her hand close and gently kissed it, “Lorcan ‘Al Ale at your service…” and he reached back to pull Dream up next to him, “And this is Dream, Freespacer and friend to everybody… except for maybe our boss…” He released Dream back in to the room and then released her hand. His hand sliding up over her shoulder to gently stroked the feathers of her wings. A rare look of pure wonder and curiosity crossed his face and he grinned. He pulled his hand away and whispered so nearly nobody else could hear “Despite what everyone says, you’re not as bad as they make you out to be…” ‘I hope’ He added to himself mentally.

He lost the grin he’d hand and turned, scooping up Dream and sitting her back atop his shoulders where she could get into anymore trouble. “Not a word of that to anyone else okay?” He asked, going back to his spot on the wall. “I’m in the middle of cleaning that wrench you gave me by the way…” and he picked it up and went back to making it all shiny and new looking again, letting Dream also get a good look at what he was doing to it.

Dream was apparently perfectly used to being shoved aside, moved around and handled like more or less a like package at a post office.

"Uh? Ah, good!" She smiled and nodded at Lorcan. "Treat the Wrench of the Past and Present well, it's a very old relic of my Mothership."

She looked around, suddenly thinking about something.

Tweak: a Neko and an engineer.
Lore: a Nepleslian and an engineer.
Serra: a... whatever she was supposed to be, and an engineer.

She grinned. That was her "I'm planning something mischievous" face, no doubt about that.

Assistance, glorious, wonderful assistance! The small, hyperactive being, now known as a Freespacer, and also named Dream, was dislodged from Serra's ribcage and she was helped to her feet, by a Nelpeslian.

She opened her mouth to thank him, but was quick to stay quiet when he decided to disclose the current situation. When she was notified that she might be working security she was dumbdounded.

"But, I'm an engineer, I have no experience in security!" She protested suddenly, not remembering to keep her voice down.

Cassefin, aware that attention of the room had suddenly diverted away from her, began clapping her hands in quick succession to recapture their attention, shouted “People, people!” at random intervals.

“This is not up for debate. The Cirrus Station already has all the engineers it needs, professional experts at their trade hand-picked by yours truly,” Cassefin said, lightly placing her hand on the center of her chest. “We do not need second-rate wrench-wigglers. You are all here for one purpose, and that is CSS Squad #35.”

The Head Administrator then took a moment of silence, centering her vision up towards the ceiling slightly as she appeared to stare dazedly into empty nothing. Cassefin heaved a great sigh after a few seconds passed.

“I’m afraid I’m running short on time…we will have to pick this up,” She said, turning towards the Pneumatic tube controls once more and tapping in a few keystrokes. In a matter of moments, the capsule popped into view and, upon opening, reveals what appeared to be a bundle of metallic plates and a clunky-looking rifle of some sort. Cassefin picked up the weapon gingerly and turned, a smile of great triumph across her expression as she did so.

“This,” she explained, holding the weapon out to the crowd. “…is your Cirrus Station Security Variable Weapon. It’s a mass driver-propelled semi-automatic carbine, able to accelerate standard ceramic aluminum-core caseless rounds at roughly 1100 meters a second. I developed these myself, and you will all be the first to test my incredible weapon. Isn't that fabulous?! They are equipped with a sophisticated mechanical system which can dispense a number of different projectiles based on what is loaded into the weapon…however, you all will not be experiencing anything other than the solid caseless rounds. It is made of lightweight durandium and plastic composites, making it very easy to handle while retaining a measure of resistance to blunt trauma. In other words, if you drop it a few times, it will not harm the mechanisms inside…but do not make a habit of dropping my rifles, because you will not be getting another one.” Cassefin warned sternly.

Tweak smirked, despite herself. I don't suppose one could survive a chance encounter with your skull, she thought...then noticed Dream's expression. Sliding closer to her azure-haired friend, the neko nudged her. "What are you planning?" she whispered.

Now Dream was being downright conspiratorial, especially with Tweak and Serra.
"We're not Warmongers, right?" She whispered. She looked up at Keid for a moment. "Keid is. So that rifle is obviously meant for him, if he wants it."
Notice how she totally dodged the issue: the only way to rationalize the madness that was happening was to decide that Real wasn't really talking to the three of them.

Why should she? After all, They were obviously not Warmongers. They were a Druidess, a Gearhead and a Gearwing.

She looked up to Lorcan. Well, he was a Gearhead too, but Dream's (short) experience with Nepleslians had taught them that they all had "Warmonger" as a secondary classification, so it might have been fine for him.
Plus, she hadn't really understood how did their society work, without having a hivemind like the Freespacers. She supposed that they needed those "orders" things that Headmaster Real was (apparently) passing around.
Oh, well. She'll just ask him later.

"So, I'll need your help later. For now, let's become part of the station's soul." That was apparently Dream's way of saying "Let's get used to this place and figure how things work here."

"But after that, we'll get to work."

Cyril looked at the rifle somewhat wearily. Frankly, if this was to be their standard issue weapon, he'd much prefer to simply get an extended magazine for his sidearm. A full length semi-automatic rifle wasn't the best thing to be using in a confined area like a space station. He had learned that one even before he joined up.

"Ma'am, if I may, what is station policy on the use of personal firearms by the security teams?"

"Don't," Cassefin stated plainly, staring daggers at Cyril for but a moment before letting up, realizing the question could, in fact, be an earnest one. "I don't expect any of you to have to actually use my perfect little gun...but my hands are tied here. I have to arm my security force. There are many sensitive projects being conducted on my station, and my benefactors enjoy measures of assurance. Now..."

Cassefin lightly placed her Variable Weapon against the wall and, with a little grunt, lifted the stack of dark cloth-like material and gray plates from its position inside the Pneumatic capsule.

"This," she started, hoisting the bundle up a bit to clarify. "...is your Cirrus Station Security armorsuit. Think of this as your official on-duty uniform. Putting it on is fairly simple...the black nanomesh skinsuit is worn over the body," Cassefin demonstrated by separating the dark cloth-like material from the stack of metallic plates and held it out by the scruff of its neck; the skinsuit looked like a fairly simple silky garment. "You may wear undergarments under it if you wish. There are hardpoints located on the skinsuit which will allow you attach the armorplates..." Cassefin sighed suddenly, remember how pressed for time she really was. "Mimi will assist you in that demonstration and describe the finer features. Are there any questions, comments...compliments?"

Ok, now Serra was angry. Very angry. She was an engineer, not a security guard. When Dream asked her question, it took a second for Serra to respond since she didn't know Freespacer titles. "I know I'm not whatever that is," she whispered back, "I have no formal training at all in weapon handling."

"Ms. Montreal, I must protest." Serra said, as she heard she was being given a uniform. "I have absloutely no formal training at all in security or weapons." She said quite clearly. "You know that, I gave you all my personal information when I asked for a job here."

"Well, neither do I." Dream said simply, in a soothing, calming voice. Not loud enough to be purposefully heard all over the room and certainly not so loud as to make a big scene, but still, loud enough.

She patted on Serra's hip (the shoulder was troublesome to reach) with a smile. "Don't worry too much. Just do what you're good at, what you want to do and what you like to do, and I'm sure everything will work out. You'll be happier, and you'll help everyone on board with your skills and knowledge."

Her smile widened. "And so will we all. This is what teamwork is all about! Come on, people!"
Her voice was now considerably higher: she was talking to everyone in the room now. Realizing that, however, almost no one could see her (she was probably the shortest person there, together with Tweak), she climbed on Keid.
Once she reached the massive automata's shoulders, she stood there proudly. Shrouded in a thousand colors and crowned by her usual bright blue mane, she was easily the most colorful thing in the room.

Taking a deep breath, she continued her inspirational speech from her new raised platform.

"This is the beginning of a wonderful adventure onboard this beautiful station! And here, after coming from so far, we have reunited, from countless different places, different cultures, different worlds, to work together, side by side, in an effort to make the universe a better place by the combined powers of love and science! To create, with our very hands, the shining path towards the beautiful future that our children deserve! Let's all do our best! EVERYONE, SHOW YOUR FIGHTING SPIRIT! YEAAAAH!" She went, raising her fist to the heavens... err, ceiling. "YEAAAAAH!" She repeated, urging everyone in the conference room to join her in her rallying cry.

Dream's smile was totally out of this world. It was a beautiful smile. A smile that believed in freedom and friendship beyond everything.
In guts and effort and hard work overwhelming anything the universe might throw at them. Shedding together the sweat of youth and all that stuff.
You could READ it on her face. Hers weren't just empty words, at all. Not even the universe's best politician could fake that kind of entuisiasm.
She believed in sharing triumphs and defeats, crying on each other's shoulders and laughing together side by side running towards the setting sun with epic background music like in one of those cheesy dramas where the powers of hope, goodwill, friendship and hard work save the day, where effort is always rewarded and where there's ALWAYS an happy end to cry to before the word FIN and the credits start rolling on the screen.
And then when the lights go back on there's always that girl seating in the row in front of you who's crying her heart out. That was probably Dream, yeah.
She BELIEVED all that.

"YEAAAAAAAAAH!"

His day just got better.

James' watched the comedy unfold as the blue haired 'Spacer more or less tackled the entering Elysian. She was beautiful, from violet eyes to sharpened features. James made it a point to soak up every bit of the beauty she eminated. This is about as close as I'm going to get he figured I'm not much of a ladies man. He didn't mind though, watching her was enough to make him happy.

Montreal's annoying clapping forced James to pull his attention away from the Elysian and back on the head admin. She said something about being short on time and pulled out a carbine rifle from the air-tube thingy.

"now this is something I can look forward to."

James scanned the weapon while Montreal explained how it worked and operated. He read the different serial numbers and manufacturer label on each part of the carbine from where he was standing. His eye enhancements were good for things like long distance reading. Much to the little marine's suprise, the carbine was actually manufactured on the Cirrus. James knew that there would be a lot of experimental weapons testing and whatnot, but he didn't think they would be able to mass-produce weapons.

Montreal went on to show off the standard issues uniforms for the security team. They weren't exactly stylish, but they looked comfortable, protective, and most importantly, simple. When dealing with Neplesians, its best to keep things simple.

With a little bit of happiness restored to his expression, James muttered to PC3 Sevyn,

"Giving us weapons should make this place a lot better. It's probably the worst Montreal can make"

As soon as he was finished speaking with Sevyn, the blue haired 'Spacer climbed up on the shoulders of the massive automata 'Spacer that had stepped on James' foot. The girl suddenly began ranting on about teamwork and adventures. It was all rather humorous to James' since he didn't believe in any of it. What made it funny was that the 'Spacer believed every word she spoke. James simply assumed she was delsusional like most 'Spacer and had a sudden fit of psychosis. It was enough to make him chuckle, and nothing more. James didn't believe in any of it, so he had no reaction to it. Its easy to ignore something when you really don't care.

Serra simply stared at Dream, the small creature was truely an odd one. Her belif that hope, freindship, determination and hard work can change the universe is just the sort of thing infintial races that have never seen the dark, cold evils of space would belive in and follow... Good thing Serra belived her, since she hasn't experienced those either yet.

Though, the CO here seems to be one of those hardline cases of "My boat, MY RULES!" God, she has only known this Cass women for a few minutes and she lothes her like the Patriarchs from home.

Dream's retoric was stirring, infact Serra was getting alittle worked up into the furor, though she kept her involvment low key, to the point of just nodding when the 'spacer started her warcry bit.

Infact, she was starting to get ideas about what to do, the rifle and armor she was going to be given would be helpful tools... Though she abbored the fact she was being shoved into such an ignoble position as security.

Keziah trotted up to Cyril, and the marine who had tried to get cigarettes from them, when the multicolored 'Spacer launched into her speech. Rant? Motivational lecture? Did it really matter, since they all sounded the same in the end.

Teamwork and harmony and pure, blissful peace! On a security detail. That rang more than a little hollow to her ears. A little too hopeful. The rainbow-girl would've been better suited to talking to all the scientists and un-militarized engineers, the ones that still believed worlds could be saved and new worlds formed through the sheer, mind-crushing volume of modern science. Maybe with them they would've applauded and joined in her cheer, and then maybe a black hole would sprout from the top of Montreal's head and engulf everything.

Or, really, she was speaking to a room full of soldiers. Teamwork, yeah, sure, that was possible. Well, it was necessary, really. Harmony? Eh, that didn't really fit in. And definitely not peace, when the majority of the people here would be more at peace holding a rifle than a notebook.

Not that Rainbow hadn't tried. To that, Keziah had to give her credit.

But that was it.

She leaned close to the ears of the other two marines. "Wanna make bets on how long Rainbow will stick around?"

Cyril shook his head as the blue haired spacer launched into a grand optimistic spiel about friendship and adventure, and maybe happy little puppies or something. He kinda stopped listening after a while. It wasn't that he didn't care about it. It's just that, Nepleslians were quite possibly the most cynical group of bastards in charted space. It was easier not to listen then watch the disillusionment set in.

And besides. The last person he had heard talking a line like that, and earnestly believing it, had taken a stray round in a gang fight that he had just had the bad luck to walk past. Sometimes, Cyril thought that Finagle actively had it out for optimists.

But, when he glanced up at the roomful of indifferent faces, and the freespacer still as obscenely enthusiastic as when she started, he wondered fro a brief moment if the famous Nepleslian cynicism might have met its match. But only a moment, and then his own inbred cynicism kicked in.

As Kaziah whispered her bet, Cyril shook his head again.

"I'm not sure. She seem the type to be more persistent then orbital decay."

Dream's suggestion to go check out the station was the best suggestion Tweak had heard all day. She was just about to get up and leave the room when Serra voiced her complaint to Cassefin, then Dream launched into her motivational speech.

Tweak was no security officer either, at least, she liked to think of herself as more engineer than soldier. Of course, part of her disagreed, but that part was being ignored at the moment. At the least, she sympathized with Serra at feeling misplaced in the security squad.

Meanwhile, Dream had started cheering. Regardless of her contagious and apparently boundless enthusiasm, it seemed that everyone present had already had their Enthusiasm inoculations and was not giving much of a response, much less joining in.

So, the higher Dream's fist reached toward the ceiling, the lower Tweak sank in her seat. As much as she wanted to support her friend, Tweak's comfort zone was not easily breached.

Silence. That kind of defeated, incredulous, "what the hell was that about?" silence.

"YEAAAHh...?" Dream froze. She looked at her left, looked at her right. Nothing.

She sighed, folding her arms and tapping softly with her foot on Keid's external plating. "...what in the Otherworld is wrong with you guys? You have no spirit at all." She said, frowning at their lack of enthusiasm. "Come on, the Cirrus deserves something better!"

Nope, still nothing.

Why? Why the lack of reactions? Why were they all so jaded?
She remembered what Techhead Pal, back on the Banning, had said her about life in Nepleslia. How it was dangerous and miserable.

Maybe they were shy. Maybe they were unsure. Maybe they were untrustful. Maybe they didn't believe in science, in love, in the future, in the ultimate triumph of good.
Maybe they were just mean-spirited.

In any case, it was an illness of the soul.

And therefore, like all illnesses, it was her duty to cure them.

Dream sighed again, sitting down on Keid's shoulder, eying the silent Nepleslian crowd and cracking her knuckles. "Looks like I'll have a lot of work to do." She said. Her voice had a tone of finality in it. Of utter and complete nonacceptance of the very concept of "defeat". Her expression transcended simple determination and resoluteness: the look on her face was one of certainty.

The comparison with orbital decay was fitting.

Now she knew why she was here. Why Destiny, the Age and the Gods had sent her on the Cirrus.

This was her mission.