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RP: Cirrus Station [Episode 3] Sunny Day on Prilisa Four

Cassefin had been unusually quiet during the trip to her private shuttle bay, apparently paying no mind to the security team trailing behind her. It could have been for many reasons...she was noticeably agitated to begin with, but each mention of words such as 'engines', 'tinker' and 'Vogel drive' made her visibly twitch, her gritting teeth and angered expression unnoticeable due to her back being turned to the group.

This changed, however, as in one swift motion, Cassefin halted her walking. "...what?" the Head Administrator said sharply before whirling around on her heal and snaking her way straight to Cyril. She reached out to grab the man by the collar of his security suit, giving him a few rough shakes (he would be far too heavy for her to lift up) before holding him fast and giving him a glare of flaming daggers, made even more threatening by her sharp, red irises.

"You stay away from my Vogel Drive, you hear me? All of you stay away from it. There is not and will never be a reason for any of you to be found in that area of the station, and you will be shot if you are, understand?" Cassefin said through her teeth, poison lacing every threatening word.

The marines would notice that she was correct in a sense. None of the security teams on the Cirrus were ever given patrol duty of the engine clusters or maintenance areas at the bottom of the Central Station. The observant security team members would assume that the area was heavily guarded by autonomous defense turrets...but seeing as nobody had ever been down there, and the Cirrus Station volumetric map that Kess was so eager to show them revealed nothing out of the ordinary in that section of the ship, the other CSS teams would leave it alone.

Whatever the rhyme or reason, Cassefin stood in her position, holding Cyril and glaring, awaiting an reply from either him, or his team.
 
Dream was the first to break the embarrassed silence. "Real, you need to either learn to understand when people are joking, or to get some really good meds." Dream said, patting on her shoulder, trying to get her to let go of Cyril.

"When you have some spare time, come over to the temple. I think I can help you with your problem." She added, smiling to her.
 
"Seems like it's interestin' already aye?" Fitz replied to Himiko's random comment after the period of silence. Then blinked in hearing Dream's comment and asked, "Temple?" He scratched the back of his head with his left hand, knowing he has a lot to learn out here in this space station.
 
Serra sighed and shook her head when Cassifin overreacted to the joke.

"Dream, dear, it's a socio-psychological problem that Ms. Montreal has." She corrected, "it's due to a lack of healthy social interaction that causes one's ability to understand humor to atrophy."
 
Shaastabar spent the inward shuttle ride dreaming of the cold of space.
Would it feel like wind? Like air moving across a swift sky?
The hybrid curled into himself further, jacket hanging loose.

As they neared the station, he turned his eyes away, pale blue of oxygenated world-skies rejecting airless outer-dark. A swift, practiced movement brought his single braid to his right shoulder, like a sudden fall of perversely precise ink-stain. A soft jingle marked the impact of a steel hair-ring on whorled bone.
Hybrid, was the word- indictment or simple fact. He was inhuman, strange; alien, in more respects than one. He relished the sensation of spines shifting beneath the joints; caressed his mostly-nerveless horns, suggestive- though few but mythological scholars would know it- of the ancient Satyr from which the sarcasm of latter ages was named.

The station crept closer, a belly of the beast. A devouring prescence, many souls, many minds- bleak, white, a body without a soul. A quick hand rested on a fellow anonymous passenger, was snatched back as if burned.

Hope-strange-far-despair-hate-hate-despair-whycome-whybe-why?

This was not a happy place. Few came here willingly without something to escape.
How lucky for me. I have something to escape.
With a grimace that did little to spoil the effect of high cheekbone and symmetric visage, he checked his pockets for the thousandth time- these little homes of defiance and perfection-of-task. Here were pharmaceuticals, here pleasures. He visualized each as coated in a small, pale cloud of angel-motes, and smiled- small white teeth divided between canine and grinder.

The idea, of course, was that no-one would ever even notice the pockets, shifting as they did of their own programmed accord, evasive of search. And the garment itself did much....ostentation didn't begin to cover it. It shone, it gleamed- it was, in a word, fabulous, every inch meticulously embossed or embroidered, resplendent in deepest purple or palest silver or most profound black. The gloves were the only portion that did not shift imperceptibly, remaining always the deep black of cured leather, the sigil of raptor-and-rose picked out in crimson.

Security, apparently, was nearly as awestruck as was the intent, though perhaps the preponderance of more utilitarian coiffure and the oddity of a horned and marked humanoid; his balance-limbs spread to radiate the heat of well-concealed nervousness, each one whorled and carved. All passed.

Shaastabar smiled.
A few moments more, and a few lighthearted pumpings of hands and for information, led him to the bunks. A moment's work stowed all that was needful, and a moment more left him with an armor-suit and rifle; the latter was unfamiliar, the former distressingly plebeian, but nonetheless necessary, it would seem. A touch sealed his metagarment strait-jacket tight to the skin; a shrugging motion saw him ensconced in (hopefully) impenetrable material.
He slung the rifle and ran devil-footed after the rest of his team, acid remarks from a simulated lady still ringing in abused ears.

Echoes, again; "Your tradenames...important.."
And, later..."Stay Away..."
He reached the back of the group with balance-limbs at full extension, heat-dissipating membranes shivering in the equivalent of a pant.

He was late. But then again, what else was new? And when wouldn't they send an entertainer to a war-zone?
 
Cyril winced inwardly at Serra's typically tactless statement. I mean, sure it was apparently true, but you didn't need to go pointing it out, right?

Still being shaken around like a rag doll by anyone, even his superior, was enough to get his back up. Especially when she was slamming his talents as an engine tech. Cyril wasn't so arrogant to think that there weren't better engine mechanics then him. That having been said, he did think that all of those had a good few years on him...

Cyril straightened his spine right down to the tip of his tail and looked Montreal right in the eyes.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I'm an engine tech by training, nevermind what you have me doing. I'm not so colossally stupid as to muck about with an engine when we aren't in dock." Cyril was one of those people who thought that if it moved under its own power, it was a ship. No matter what was on the box. "The only way I'd consider touching the drive is if damn thing was breaking apart."
 

Dream spun around with a proud smile on her face. "Ayup!" She nodded sagely, hands on her hips. "I took over an empty armory and remade it into a temple, with the help of Serra, Tweak and Flower here." Dream motioned to the Elysian, the other Freespacer, and the oddly-painted Junker Droid.
"Of course, it's open to anyone, for any reason. Relax, worship, socialization, counseling, exposition of works of art or science, consulting the Art of Never Again, medical and psychological help... what else?" She said, counting on the fingers of her left hand before waving it around with a chuckle. "Pretty much anything, really. I think it's the only shrine on the Cirrus, so it's gotta cover in for a lot of things. And, personally, I think it beats any other recreational facility assigned to our squad, hands down." She added, casually.
She was so proud of her shrine that she didn't notice the Iromakuanhe approaching.
 
Cassefin glanced around for a moment or two, eyes narrowed and lips pressed tightly together, before finally letting Cyril go with a slight shove. Her gaze lingered on Dream and Serra for a longer period than the rest of the squad, as if she were deciding something on the spot before continuing.

"Well, I was not joking, Captain. And you'd better consider again, Cyril," Cassefin turned back to the soldier. "I don't care if the station is burning and people are dieing; if the engines are broken, I will either fix them myself, or send someone who has the ability to fix them. None of you will ever receive that call from me, understand? I will never have any of you go near my perfect engine clusters, or my Vogel drive. Ever."

Cassefin finished he berating with long, drawn-out sigh, casting her gaze off to the side as she ran the fingers of her free hand through the strands of hair on the back of her head and massaging the back of her head softly. She then turned back around and resumed her walk, their destination growing closer as the bustling crowds and people in general quickly thinned into nothing.

The team and their administrator then came upon a separate bulkhead, guarded not by CSS members, but four large, automated turrets which stuck menacingly out of the ceiling and ground. The door opened automatically upon Cassefin's approach; inside was a small, separate shuttle bay containing a single unmarked transport shuttlecraft, and nothing (and nobody) else.

The vessel itself was an off-white hue, similar to the rest of the Cirrus Station's dedicated shuttlecraft, the design aesthetics angular in nature yet stylish enough to awe those whom could not afford a shuttle of their own. The hatch on the side of the craft was already open, and the walkway extended to the ground to allow access; Cassefin took it upon herself to be the first to enter the shuttle. Cassefin herself took the pilots seat near the front of the ship, leaving the few rows of cushioned passenger seats behind her unoccupied for her security escort. Being a transport spacecraft, most of the space of the vessel was taken by the large cargo hold near the aft...but the seats still left plenty of room to at least be moderately comfortable.

"Hurry up and buckle in," Cassefin said as she fiddled with the console of the shuttle. "We're leaving as soon as I put in these coordinates."
 
Deacon did his best to remain silent and unnoticed when the station's administrator went on her little tirade. He noticed the new person arriving, as well as Tweak and her new friend. The Kohanian slowly stood back up onto two legs and put the helmet over his head, closing the visor so, other than his digitigrade legs and paws for hands, he looked like any other Nepleslian soldier wandering about.

Taking a deep breath and sighing it back out, he would load up into the shuttle after Cassefin, strapping himself into a seat about half way between the head of the station, and the door leading out. He didn't want to seem like he was kissing up to Cass by sitting nearest to her, but at the same time, he didn't want to seem afraid of the mission and what may happen on it by sitting at the back of the shuttle. Once he was strapped in, he would remove the rifle from where it was magnetically attatched to his backpack and laid it across his lap, staring down at it.

He had barely had time to even arrive before he would now be asked to protect the life of the station's administrator, with a gun he had no experience with. By the gods he hoped he didn't accidentally shoot himself, or one of his squadmates...

Shaking his head slowly, he began to study the others as the filtered into the craft. The oddly colored one had begun handing out nicknames to each of them in her own custom, and so Deacon smiled behind his visor as he began to contemplate his own set of nicknames for the people.

The winged one was easy, his planet had experimented with beings like hers, not as smooth and big, of course, but the Harpies were still a viable aerial soldier, so that would be her name, Harpy. Then there was Dream, he couldn't really think of something for her, she was just too interesting for words so Deacon would just call her what she seemed to love doing most, Tinker. Canting his head from side to side, he watched Cyril and Kaz enter, pondering names for them, as well as the other IDSOLs, Nepleslian, Yamataian, and whatever the newest guy was.

Even if the mission turned out to be a bust, at least he now had something to keep his mind busy with on the trip there and back.
 
Getting into the shuttle, Tweak raised her visor a little. She'd seen Deacon's tail some distance ahead of her, and there wasn't any way she was going to be able to talk to him without Cassifin overhearing since he was sitting so close. So instead Tweak ended up staying near Levi as they boarded. With so many people between her and the Kohanian, she decided to leave her visor up until they reached the planet.

There was a twinge of unease as the 'Spacer neko's TOS notified her of the Iromakuanhe's arrival. Another unidentified species. And this one was stranger than the last. And he -- it looked like a male -- had a small telepathic field around him...a touch telepath? Tweak's lips twitched into a momentary frown and she closed her minds to the outside.

Silently hoping this one didn't start following her too, Tweak focused on the feeling of the shuttlecraft preparing for launch and glanced over at Levi.
 
Shaastabar's nimbly wandering feat were swift despite the encumbrance of the unfamiliar rifle; his seat was near the shuttle's nose.
First in, last out, last shot.

He gave the canid-humanoid a curious, but gregarious glance, and the Elysian a quick once-over; a lopsided grin split his face suddenly. The impression that some sort of whole-body wink was occurring was hard to dispel. The Nepleslians he greeted with a matter-of-fact nod; just another comrade, brethren, pay no mind.
A roaming eye fastened, with another, slightly less lascivious smile, on the 'spacer with the loud hair.

"...Druidess, I presume?"
He sketched a courtly, regal-demeanor bow, and added an offhand hair-ruffle to fit the overriding idiom.
"A pleasure. Wordtwister Shaastabar Muut at your service..."
He glanced at the rest, and spread his arms wide to take in the assembled.
"...and that of your compatriots, I'm sure."

Shaastabar resumed his seat, leg folded over one knee and arms crossed behind his horned head, the picture of casual elan. Half-closed eyes narrowed at the sight of Tweak, if only slightly. Something about her...best dismissed. His smile returned, a glint of ivory at the corners of full lips.
 
Himiko was even frightened of Cassefin now. She was definitely not a pleasant woman to be around. "Yeah..." she said quietly in response to Fitz. She also almost instinctively hid behind the man when the administrator exploded.
 
When Cassefin went off on Cyril, she must've bitten down on Keziah's tongue, too, because she shut herself up completely. A part of her mind was screaming at her, not unlike how the Admin had screamed at Cyril, that the woman was just a civilian. A non-combatant. Not as important as a soldier, and especially not important when she looked like a raving lunatic.

But, no, Keziah kept herself quiet. Apparently she could very, very easily incense Montreal, and she filed that away incase she ever needed to use that skill. Doubtful, but still possible.

Her silence stretched on to the shuttle, and she took a seat towards the rear of the craft, detaching her rifle to slide it down between her legs. With the bulky pack of the suit, it was awkward sitting down in a seat clearly designed for an unarmored human. Instantly, she wished she were in powered armor--at least you didn't need to sit down while inside one of those.

However, she wasn't oblivious, and instantly noticed the odd, pale, horned humanoid. Two aliens in their squad alone. Plus 'Spacers. It was almost like Squad 35 was the mashed potatoes of the station--everything thrown in all at once.

But there was nothing to be done. So she chose to ignore her discomfort and unease. It wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all herself.
 

"...oh." Dream seemed a bit surprised. "Sorry. Didn't notice you before. Place is full of new people." She smiled. "I... can't seem to be able to find your Polysentience contact, Muut. So wou're not wired up, like Tweak here is." She noted.
"Anyway, pleased to meetcha!" She added immediately after, giving him a thumbs-up sign a la fonzie. "I'm Dream, Druidess Dream Zero Zero, you got that right. You have an interesting Tradename, Muut. It's gonna be fun to work with you!"
 
Serra followed along after Dream, though only partly listening to the exchange between the spacer and the weird being that's been dancing about in his Dapper mannerisms. Pausing to look around the shuttle, Serra chose an empty seat near the front, opposite to Deacon.
 
"Sadly, I haven't been able to enjoy that kind of...connection, no."
His eyes met hers, momentarily; the adjective 'piercing', normally not warranted, seemed strangely appropriate.

His hands flashed up in another expansive gesture, this one a swift double-knock to the skull, comically executed.
"It's all meat up here. Though it seems to work well enough."
His smile flickered for a moment.

Not wired up is a bit of a lie.
The smile returned as he assimilated the flash of emotion absorbed through his contact with the 'spacer Druidess- surges of hope, protectiveness...'dream' was a singularly appropriate name.

"And I certainly hope so. Despite my...accoutrement of war, in the end, my profession is enjoyment."
Long, manicured fingers twined together, and he leaned forward, conspiratorially.
"Well...mindtwister didn't really fit, since I use my tongue instead of my tools to work on brains. And I'm not nearly good-hearted enough for freethinker."
Every inch of his posture conspired, at that moment, to give the impression he was good-hearted enough for sainthood- although, sadly, it wasn't quite enough to render such a proposition credible in any but the most permissive religions.
 
Dusty followed the rest of the squard into the shuttle still mulling over the way the Admin had exploded like that. He carefully moved his way to the back of the shuttle and chose a seat off in a corner. The large ID-SOL looked over the much smaller seat and gave a slight frown. He then took of his rifle and propped it against the wall, while he squeezed himself into the seat.

He moved the rifle again and rested it against his leg while he looked at the others in turn as he glanced around the shuttle. He gaze lingered on the new arrival who had come while Casefin was having her tantrum. He continued to stare at the odd horned man, and wondered why a person would want modified to have horns. The horns didn't look like they would do much damage when it came to combat, so he couldn't readily see a practical purpose behind them.

Dusty decided that he could examine further later and maybe even ask a question or two, but not now he decided. He continued to look around the shuttle and without even relising it began to nod off to sleep. He hadn't slept in several days except on the shuttle flight to Cirrus. For the first time in a long time he felt safe as he drifted off into sleep.
 
Don't touch her 'perfect' engines. Don't get in the way of the 'real' technicians. Her haughtiness, or one of her drones, would handle any little problems, of course. Because, you know, when an engine is about to let go, it's going to wait for her to make her leisurely time there. That sort of near sighted idiocy really got Cyril's blood boiling.

Cyril practically threw himself into a seat next to Keziah, tail lashing in irritation. He shuffled himself on the seat a little, trying to get comfortable. They weren't exactly the greatest seats to use, what with the damned backpacks welded onto the back of the armor, like some sort of old fashioned space suit. But Cyril managed to get into something like a comfortable position, mostly because his diminutive stature meant there was that much more seat to work with.

"Bitch." He muttered under his breath once he was comfortable(-ish). He wasn't looking at anyone in particular, but the context made it clear just who he was talking about. "I didn't go through seven years of apprenticeship for nothing."
 
"She's just an insane, obsessive-possessive megalomaniac with a chip the size of a battleship on her shoulder." Keziah paused for a moment. "So, yeah, she's a bitch."

She pursed her lips for a moment. "Sorry for bringing that brick down on your head."
 
As Cassefin finished tapping the control panel at the front of the shuttle, it silently lifted off of the ground and hovered weightlessly in the air, gravatic engines kicking in with a low hum in the rear of the shuttle. The bay doors in front of them then slowly opened themselves and the vessel floated out into space.

Prilisa Four was a heavily forested planet, clearly evident from the mass of cloud formations and relatively high ocean concentration seen from above. Prilisa Four's assigned space station stood in-between the actual planet and the Cirrus station. The majority of the Cirrus Station's transport shuttles were being funneled into the station, but Cassefin's personal shuttle went clear past the station and headed straight for Prilisa Four. Apparently, the cargo there were picking up was to be obtained directly from the planetside spaceport.

As the shuttle broke atmosphere and peered down from the clouds, the first thing the passengers would notice from the clear Durandium panels up front was the mass of vegetation present on the surface...it was not green, but a vibrant orange hue. Leaves, bushes and grass, all various shades of orange. As the shuttle dropped more altitude, a solitary dock became evident near a large clearing of deforested shrubbery, and within a few moments, the vessel touched down on a stretch of suspended landing platforms on the roof of the large docking station complex.

Cassefin let out a relaxed sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, giving way to a rare moment of calm concentration. Not surprisingly, it quickly faded back into a stolid glare. "Alright, get out there and just wait until the cargo team loads the crate into the bay. Then we can get back to my station."

With a flick of her finger, the shuttle's passenger door on the side opened and a small stairway unfolded, giving access to the field below.
 
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