• If you were supposed to get an email from the forum but didn't (e.g. to verify your account for registration), email Wes at stararmy@gmail.com or talk to me on Discord for help. Sometimes the server hits our limit of emails we can send per hour.
  • Get in our Discord chat! Discord.gg/stararmy

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

Fitz was halfway down the ramp when his very sane commanding officer began to rampage down to the planet. He shifted the rifle on his back and continued onward, "Seems first mission be more fun than I thought, as long no one is shooting at us anyway," said Fitz in gest. He was relaxed in thinking that nothing was going to happen, and he was too lazy to carry the gun in the first place.
 
Without no verbal acknowledgment of Keziah's order, Deacon would just nod and move in the opposite direction from Lorcan towards the door of the spaceport, where he would slowly crouch down, sitting much like a feral dog, or those statues outside of fancy libraries or buildings. His head slowly swiveled to the right, following the horizon towards the left.

The entire time, his rifle was held just within reach of his right paw, and if anything moved on the horizon, that gun would be hoisted up to the ready, and Deacon would take on a crouch. Finally he felt even the least bit of useful since his departure from his homeworld. Sure this was nothing like hunting Mokoi in the dark recesses of the Great Swamp, but at the same time, it beat sitting in some security booth and staring at a monitor, which is what he had been told was going to happen to him, by the other recruits he trained with in boot camp.

Narrowing his eyes behind his visor, the hyena sucked in a deep breath of the filtered air through his nose, very slowly letting it leak back out his mouth, he was a sentry, and he would be damned if he wouldn't show all of the others that he meant business and could be trusted...

As Muuk went by him, he would very slowly raise his left arm, patting the tall male on the back to get his attention, and then give a thumbs up, a slight smile coming to his lips behind the visor. It wouldn't be seen, but he had to make sure that the new gentleman knew that at least his optimism and clear thinking was appreciated. He did the same general action, never taking his eyes off the horizon, to Kez, Cyril, and Serra, but it wasn't a thumbs up, but more of a salute.
 
"Cut the craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~~~ap." Dream said to the sky, sounding VERY drunk.

Of course, she wasn't actually talking to the sky, but to everyone around her, especially Lorcan , Keziah, Cyril and Tweak.
Probably.

"I'...I'm your gods-damned whatchamacallit, priestess, ya hear me?" She struggled lightly, trying to get back on her feet without being too aggressive about it. "I'm not going somewhere safe and leave you here to be eaten by wild animal creatures or uncontrolled atmospheric events or whatever!"

She got back on the ground, still looking visibly shaken. "I've already done this once, staying behind on the Cirrus when we hunted the Shambler. It was the most tactically sound thing to do, but it still made me feel like crap. I wanted to be with you guys. But at least back then there was a reason to stay behind."

She stomped her foot on the ground. "Now there isn't, and I'm not letting you bring me back to a safe place. I'm staying with you. I'm staying IN FRONT OF YOU! Anything that comes our way will have to deal with me first!"

She said. And, despite being both disoriented and unarmed, she took point and slowly marched to the head of the team, wobbling left and right with her unsteady steps, following Cassefin.

"We have a thing, a mission to complete and stuff to do and agoraphobia, microbes, vacuum, the elements and death and the gods themselves can go and pike it an' ain't gonna stop me. March forward, team."
 
"Yes sir," Keziah said over the comm. We might need to protect her from herself, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her head, and a large part of her agreed with it.

She hadn't been ill-at-ease until the others had mentioned something. She had seen enough private spaceports that quiet ones with little activity didn't surprise her. This one certainly fit the bill.

So, two eyes open and on every potential target or ambush spot. For some reason, this reminded her of the asteroid run that cost her her legs.
 
Shaastabar started guiltily at the touch of Deacon's paw, knees dropping his center of gravity the few minute inches necessary to bring the aggressor into melee range- if there had been one, of course.

Once his head had tracked far enough to register the source of the sensation, and the friendly gesture, the horned man gave a slight incline of the head, a roguish grin, and a hat-tipping touch to the crown of his helmet. Securing his rifle against the small of his back, he checked the pocket containing his laiz pistol- secure, easy-reach.

A moment later, he pulled his gloves tighter, surreptitiously adjusting the amperage of their cells to maximum.
 
Cassefin grumbled to herself as she pushed open to glass doors and entered the spaceport, paying no mind to the ramblings happening behind her. She didn't know what they were so apprehensive over; there had been no reports of any sentient life-forms on the surface of Prilisa Four, and certainly no hostile civilizations or anything other than the occasional curious denizen of the wildlife.

The doors to the spaceport lobby opened up to a large room, tiled and professional consisting of cushioned seats lining the walls, an ornamental statue here and there, potted plants and ferns (taken from the indigenous wildlife), and a circular desk in the center. The lobby cut off into three corridors, each one labeled with a sign designating the wing; Reception, Storage, and Maintenance (Staff Only).

However, the same peculiar problem the landing pad was plagued with seemed to also present itself in the lobby; not a single soul in sight. Furthermore, those whom had keen eyes for details would've noticed many things out of place in this empty lobby. As they entered, hurried footsteps echoed down the Maintenance hallway, while a potted fern had overturned and broken near the Reception hallway, as well as a few miscellaneous papers scattered on the floor near the Reception sign. Signs of neglect from the janitorial crew, or perhaps struggle?

Cassefin seemed to pay no mind to any of this, or even take notice to it. She halted her advance at the front desk and placed her hands on her hips, taking a glance around. "HELLO?!" She called out, breaking the silence of the room. "I need some assistance over here!"

No answer.
 
Tweak couldn't help smiling at Dream's new determination (and more so at how she was expressing that determination), but the druidess still worried her a little. She followed Dream, who followed Cassifin, who went into the spaceport.

"Maybe they heard she was coming," Tweak murmured to herself. Her ears barely caught the sound of footsteps through the helmet and knit cap she wore, though, and she glanced toward the Maintenance hall. Her tactical operating system confirmed the audio, and she tapped Dream on the shoulder.

"I'm going to go have a look around," she said. "Is that alright?"
 
Once Keziah stepped into the spaceport, she frowned, breathing softly into the visor as she swept the area with her eyes, her rifle rising into the crook of her arm. Cassefin's shouting made her flinch, almost visibly, and she bit back the urge to tell her to shut up.

This didn't look good, but there were no obvious signs of violence. No scorches, bullet holes, or blood. No dirty footprints or something like that.

Her mind was so occupied that she didn't hear the footsteps, and she snapped out of her mind when Tweak spoke to their captain. "I'll go with you," she said over the comm, turning towards the two 'Spacers.
 
Serra looked over to Tweak and Keziah.

"I'll come along too." She said while pointing to herself with her thumb. "You never know when you might need an engineer." She then offered somewhat sheepishly.
 
Cyril had to give Dream credit, she was handling spaceritis pretty well. He personally thought that she might be a little better off once she got off the tarmac and inside, but even with nothing but a helmet between her and the sky she was still focusing on doing her duty. She was holding up pretty well for someone obviously half terrorized.

Speaking of the tarmac, now that Dream had made her own feelings on were she going clear he could really look around. Trailing after the Administrator, he noticed that the place was practically deserted. That by itself was weird, freight ports never really closed, but even weirder was the fact that things were left as if the operators were about to come back at any moment. There were cargo haulers parked in the middle of roadways, for Murphy's sake. The disarray was less odd in the lobby, Hampton Down looked worse most of the times he passed through.

"Ma'am, there's something really wrong here." Cyril said to Dream over the squad channel, his tail swaying warily. "I spent most 'o me life in spaceports an' shipyards. You don't leave crap laying around like this, 'specially not in the working areas..." He glanced over at Keziah, Serra and Tweak. "Be careful you three." He said, adopting a defensive stance near the main entrance.
 
Tweak looked at Keziah. It would be good to have two instead of going alone...though she was almost sure she could handle anyone who might attack her. And having Kez along would limit her tactical options, if Tweak was to keep her species secret.

Better to want and have than want and not have, she decided, and nodded at Kez.

Cora said:
Serra looked over to Tweak and Keziah.

"I'll come along too." She said while pointing to herself with her thumb. "You never know when you might need an engineer." She then offered somewhat sheepishly.
But...so am I, Tweak thought. But she couldn't think of a good reason to refuse the offer besides that...and it wasn't as if they were going to need an engineer out here. "How many engineers are here? There's me, Gearwing Serra, Dream...and you?" she asked, looking at Cyril. "There should be at least one engineer out here. In addition to Dream."
 
She felt Tweak's momentary scrutiny. Who knew how 'Spacers did things like building sweeps and combat maneuvers. Though she chose to ignore it. After all, the diminutive woman had handled the Shambler almost single handedly. And she was bloody strong, too.

But no matter what, nobody was going off alone. She knew that only led to Bad Things happening. To everyone.

"We'll need to conserve our technicians," Keziah said, after Tweak had spoken. "Just in case we need to split up some more."
 
"Aye, I'll hang by near here then," Fitz said, not wanting to walk too far anyway. He was a qualified techy himself, though at the moment keeping that info to himself could save him from doing any work. He elected himself to look around the spaceport, namely the walls, paper, or whatever was around in the room at the time, until he was ordered to do something else otherwise.
 
"That makes at least three technicians, including Dream, out here," mused Tweak, glancing at Fitz when he spoke up. "Alright, Serra, you're with us. That way we have one to go for assistance and two to stay together if one gets hurt." She smiled behind her visor, then glanced over at Cassefin. The woman probably wouldn't even notice that the three of them were gone. And Dream...still hadn't acknowledged whether she heard that Tweak was going off or not. But they needed to be sure that the building was secure, or at least find some clue to tell them what had happened to the workers.

So Tweak took her rifle off her back, checked it, then held it ready as she started into the maintenance hall.
 
Instinctively, Keziah checked her rifle before she turned to follow Tweak, keeping two steps behind her and to the left. She looked over her shoulder briefly as they went, then locked her eyes forward, scanning, trying to find anything else out of place.
 
Dream was still... weird. She had fallen silent and removed her helmet.
She seemed distracted: upon hearing her name, she turned around slowly. Her face... well, suffice to say it wasn't the smartest-looking face she'd had.

"...buh?" She asked to Tweak as her brain slowly went back into full gear. "You... go, I'll stay here, ok." She said, in a somewhat monotonous voice.
 
Those who chose to follow Tweak would be led down the spaceports maintenance hallway, which was little more than a few doors complementing a constantly turning hallways. Behind the first corner were more peculiar signs...miscellaneous items strewn across the floor, doors left ajar, and more overturned potted plants. There were still no signs of people, but the further they traveled down the Maintenance corridor, the more prominent the distant sound of voices and rabble grew. The small team of mechanics would not know what the noise was...until it, quite suddenly, appeared right in front of them the moment they turned their second, and final, corner.

---

Meanwhile, back in the lobby, Cassefin still stood defiant and in a semblance of patience, tapping her foot and pursing her lips. This group received little trouble, simply having to deal with Cassefin's presence for the time being. That changed, however, as a door marked "Staff Only" near the back of the room cracked open slightly with a loud series of creaks, drawing the attention of the Head Administrator and her crew.

After a second, a single large, short-blonde covered scalp and a pair of eyes peaked out from the small crevice, and a small conversation echoed from the room into the quiet, unmoving lobby.

"Uh, George?"
"Lenny! Jeez, close the door! Quick!"
"But George, I see the Admin-uh-stratrator."
"Lenny! The door dammit, close it!"
"But George, I see more people out there! In the security uniforms."
"...huh? What'd you say, move it you big palooka!"

Almost immediately, the Staff Only door immediately burst open and out tumbled three Cirrus Station Security suit-clad security members. Each of Squad 35's information visors identified these three though simple named labels.

A large ID-SOL, L. Binks, sat on his belly on the floor.
A short, loud Nepleslian, G. Resseti, had tumbled on top of his much larger counterpart.
And another that slowly exited after them, womanly in figure, C. Winters, managed to avoid the pileup.

The smaller Nepleslia quickly scrambled up and opened his visor faceplate, revealing his sharp face and extremely worried expression.

"Holy shit! Did you guys escape? We thought everyone got caught!" The security members blurted as his eyes darted around the room.

"What the hell are you talking about, Resseti?" Cassefin pronounced loudly. "Escape from what?"

"The nekos, man! They're EVERYWHERE!"

---

The maintenance corridor's 2nd turn quite suddenly ended in a large room with no door blocking its entry. At first glance, it was obvious this was the power generator room...two large generators stood parallel to each other in a large, high-ceiling room. The second thing immediately noticeable was that a large section of the ceiling had been broken in, evident by the mass of rubble amongst the floor. And sitting on that rubble...

...were a literal swarm of cat-eared women. Thirty of them, at least, had taken seated and squatted positions on the smaller bits of ceiling rubble, turning them into makeshift seats and platforms. Up near the end of the room, opposite of Squad 35, was the largest piece of broken ceiling with a single cat-eared woman occupying it.

All of them were clad in mismatched clothing, shoes, loincloths skirts and chest-bindings made from strips of ripped cloth, and, occasionally, a fully intact vest or jacket. As the team was able to take in more of the room, they would soon see why these women wore such strange clothing...the rooms walls and floors were also occupied by bound men and women, most likely the entire staff of the spaceport, and most of them were missing shirts, shoes and pants, leaving them wearing little more than their undergarments. Other than looking a bit on the exposed side, none of them appeared injured at first glance.

The sole cat-eared woman on the the last, largest platform was more identifiable than the rest, her most prominent features being an elaborate headdress made from what appeared to be kitchen-ware and string. It was also worth noting that she was substantially more voluptuous in physical appearance than her counterparts.

As the CSS members turned that corner, the entire room ceased their mindless, unidentifiable chatter and stared directly at the three sole members of Squad 35. Nothing moved, and none of them spoke. Even the prisoners lining the walls who noticed their arrival seemed too shocked to speak.
 
"What the hell are you two babbling about now-"

"Oh.."

Claire blinked in suprise at the sight of half of Cassefin's squad. She herself looked a little roughed up, a tear or two in her uniform, but largely unharmed.

"I didn't think anyone got our message..." She sighed slightly. After flinching at the marines sudden increase in volume, she nodded her head. "Yeah, we have no idea why they are... ahem.. here. but we managed to get away. Can't say the same for the rest of our team here..." She bit her lip and looked at her feet.

She glanced around the room, getting a good look at each team member present. "Where's the rest of them...?" She said quietly, placing a hand on her hip.

((Meep, sorry. kinda brain-dead right now))
 
Serra was keeping quiet behind Tweak and Kaz, when the three rounded the corner, she froze. There was literally a swarm of cat-eared women, in various stages of Amazon-esk dress. This made her wince, and try and lower her wings till they were under her shoulders. Her molt wasn't for a another few days, and she still didn't want anyone pulling any feathers, even loose ones, out.
 
"The ne-....shit."

Shaastabar pulled his gloves tighter and immediately backed against the nearest convenient survival-ensuring wall, hopefully out of sight of whatever eldritch feline horrors from beyond (nepleslian) space had usurped the facility in such a rude fashion.

Turning to the remaining security and 'security' personnel, he whispered, small beads of sweat standing out incongruously beneath his widow's peak:
"The others are going to be in a great deal of trouble. And if I know anything at all about Nekos, and I do, they are going to be retreating in good order or bad, and they are going to be sending that trouble our way."

Suiting action to implication of word, he unslung his rifle and, more or less gracefully, dropped into a firing position.
 
Cookies are required to use this site. You must accept them to continue using the site. Learn more…