RP: ISC Phoenix [Interlude 5] - The Making Of

Robert popped his head into the room as the Tv showed the Crew. "Hey look, we're on TV!" he exclaimed as he plopped down next to Enzo. He listened to Luca's idea. "I like this. We gonna make bobbleheads and the like? I wanna bobblehead of me. I'd stick it to my shoulder of my armor everywhere we go." he started rambling on about a bobblehead and the uses for it.

Even though he'd left the room, Enzo had turned around and re-entered upon hearing the word 'Money' being uttered in reference to the crew. So during the process of idea-switching, he'd taken his place back on the couch, with Robert falling in next to him. As soon as Robert finished his rant about bobbleheads, Enzo piped in with his two cents.

"I've been waiting for yous to say this for a longs time, Cap'n Pavone. Ya know, I gots some great ideas abouts makin' money, and yous gots a face woith sellin'. We all gots talents. Mel can jump-start her singin' career, Raggsie can design videos for hand-tricks, Pipsqueak can make gizmos, and," he finished with a car salesman flair, "much, much more!The possibilities are endless with the crew of the ISC Phoenix in you house!"

The lack of sleep must have been putting Robert on a bit of a an sleep deprivation high as he looked rather amused with a crooked grin on his face. "Your bobblehead should come with showman arm waving action, Enzo." Robert said with great grace, usually reserved for the mentioning of the most holy of things. "And probably should double as a cigarette case." he added as an afterthought.

Right now, Mr. Smith was sitting off to the side, not in the center of attention at all. However, if anyone bothered to look at him, a small rainbow appeared in front of him as he spewed out water in a fine mist. "What? We're on television?" he asked incredulously. Truth be told, it wasn't anything special whatsoever. In fact, now that he was watching, and thought it over, it was just another tidbit of news that'd fade away in no time at all. No big deal. "Nevermind." he spoke plainly, turning back to his little corner. It wasn't worth thinking about much in all honesty.

What was a big deal to him right now, was what had happened earlier. There was no way in hell that he'd do anything for that, or any Neko for that matter. 'Besides.' he reasoned, 'Its not like she'll return the favor. Favors were practically made for returning.' He silently nodded to himself at that, but for some reason, it didn't exactly sit well with him. Being 'Made to be returned.' that is. He needed more time to think about this.

And it was about this point that a second rainbow appeared in front of Mr. Smith as he coughed out a bit of water that went into his lungs. The idea of a Phoenix crewmember selling herself out for kicks was horrifying! 'Someone with that much fame behind themselves would at least be a top ranking call gir - oh, that wasn't what he meant.' He thought, brushing aside his previous experience at dealing. At this point though, he realized that some eyes may have been on him. 'Think fast, fast!' He cleared his throat.

"Might I suggest you contact Origin's marketing division Mr. Pavone? They'll likely come up with a variety of merchandise from which you'd be able to make profit from, assuming they haven't already done so in anticipation."

Gears in drunk blond head was moving rather slowly. Zeta was trying to concentrate at the screen. Apparently they were starting to be a little famous. Maybe too much famous for they own good. At first she was reliefed when she saw that the report was from fighting in Dawn Station. She had her armour on with helmet and all so at she would stay anonymous. But that was not true, right after they showed face picture of everyone. Even Zeta. "THose bastards!" Zeta suddenly flicked! "Where did they got mah picture! I will find them and crush their little balls!" She shouted and made a squezzing nozion with her cyber-hand. Her drunkiness made her looked like she really meant it.

She then calmed down and took a deep breath. "I dunno bossman, I am not build to be celebrity or soemthing. I just drive and take bullets for people. I don't even know how to sing or dance. Plus I think we are already plenty rich from these fun mission we do. Or you wanna buy planet?" She said and gave teasing tone to her last question.

Seiren, being the young inventor/amateur entrepeneur he was, had stars and money signs practically radiating from his eyes when he heard the prospect of marketing them. Slipping a few sweets into his hand, he held them out for the others to see.

"I can take care of selling candy!" He boldly declared, tossing the cavity-creators into the air and catching them. The effect, however, was underwhelming. "Money is money, right?"

Naoko stood silhouetted in the door, the long-hafted monomolecular axe propped against her shoulder in a lazy grip, like some ancient goddess of war in darkly colored tri-weave anti-ballistics. The half-full scotch bottle dangled from her other hand. She was fixated on the television; it was doubtful that anyone would notice her who was not facing the door. In fact, she had been there for at least a minute now without incident, and most of the present crew were rather too inebriated, or distracted, to notice.

Like Zeta, the cogs were clanking away inside the small Nekovalkyrja's head. Unlike Zeta, Naoko's cogs were not impared by wine or whisky - she could burn the chemical from her system almost at whim when necessary. There were downsides to fame, and Naoko was very keenly aware of them. It made her want to break things. She had been so very close to surprising her quarry, and now her picture was on television for all of Nepleslia to see. It would only take a seven year old, mentally challenged human child to piece the bits together and place her onboard the Phoenix. Possibly it would take less. Probably someone out there was already plotting against her.

This was going to make her life difficult, and difficult was not something that she wanted her life to be. She wanted her life to be simple; she was a small god among men and a combatant without equal; it naturally followed that she would be able to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Law, after all, only extended so far as the physical presence of the people who believed in the ideal.

Already, with this crew, Naoko had become self-sufficient and even moderately wealthy - enough that she could buy what she wanted, have what she wanted, and more or less go where she wanted. But fame was the great equalizer that would destroy her safe existance. Naoko was not the only small god in the universe. There were others just as powerful and independant. And if they knew she existed, they would come. If her enemy knew she was coming, he would flee.

It made her hackles rise just thinking about it.

She took another long drink out of the scotch bottle she had pilfered and considered her options.

'Made to be returned.' Smith rolled that phrase around in his head like a piece of candy neither pleasing or unpalatable; he tried figuring it out. It bothered him, it really did. But why? In the business that he had done in the past, in all his experiences, that was exactly what a 'favor' was. Something that was to be given back, and maybe even with some interest, depending on the circumstances. That was how he had defined it, how he always defined it. And yet, it sounded wrong. Felt wrong. It simply did.

He ignored the others for now; they were up to their own shenanigans, and so long as they weren't shooting each other or something, that was fine. Instead, Smith kept on sitting and stewing over a single detail. 'Ha. Here I am, obsessed over 'favors' and a Neko.' The edge of his mouth twisted. 'Heh. Someone out there would have made a crude joke about that.' He thought, refraining from actually doing so himself for a reason he didn't quite understand. Smith finished off the water bottle as another thought drifted through his mind; just how was a 'favor' defined as? Had his own definition grown twisted, contrary to the truth? 'Even if that's the case, looking up the damned word in a dictionary isn't going to help mat -'

The words being displayed on his HUD didn't help matters.

Snippets, sound bytes flit across his mind. Ones concerning people younger than him; their honest suggestions, optimistic views, advice. A favor...it was something you were supposed to out of good will. And they wanted him to show good will to the Neko that they hadn't even so much as met, Naoko. They believed that if Smith treated her well, she'd return it. Not that he believed the same thing though. Still, it was what they expected of him.

'Great. Thanks a lot guys...now I feel f*cking guilty.' Matt thought to himself. Still, deep down, no matter how angry he was at this moment, he wouldn't stay angry at them, and after a little while, wouldn't blame them for thinking this way either. He used to himself after all.

Matthew mulled over just what to do next.

Luca smiled at Enzo's reaction to this, at least Enzo and Robert were agreeing with his next scheme, not that he'd mind the others not agreeing outright (which they hadn't), he decided to elaborate on what steps to take first, taking Smith's suggestion.

"Origin could be a good springboard for me," He nodded, "We're going to start small at first. How do Energy Drinks sound for a start?" He inquired before taking Enzo and Robert's considerations into mind, "Bobbleheads can be mass produced by anybody. If you can build ships, you can probably build bobbleheads too! It'd be a gross misuse of resources in a time of war but it'd look pretty nifty," He had a stupid smirk on his face at the last statement. Sad, but true.

Zeta's suggestions were valid too, "Now now, we buy a planet not with money, but with influence. Money might sweeten the deal, but influence and skill allow you to stay there. Planetary leaders fetch a high price for NMX slavers."

As for the loss of anonymity, especially for some of the shyer members of the crew, and those with more to lose, this was something the captain had neglected to consider, "Huh," He frowned, "I hadn't thought of that," He scratched his chin, then stood up and looked around, looking at Naoko, looking at Mr. Smith and Zeta, probably the only ones on a ship who'd have some serious problems if they were thrust into the limelight.

Then a smirk and a dismissive shrug came across his face, "We've defeated hordes of NMX, legions of mercenaries, swathes of Reds, miles of SMX, an assimilating megavirus, a few corrupt cops and a mad scientist or two," His eyes narrowed as he grinned, "Who's afraid of a a few more logs on the fire?"

The look on his face and his defiant demeanour made Melissa recoil, Sebastian, who was standing in the doorway near Naoko frowned too. He looked down and whispered, "I hope he knows what he's getting himself into," He then looked up, looking for an answer.

"So! Who wants energy drink naming privileges?"

That wasn't the answer Sebastian was after, burying his face in his palm.

"Nandemonai," Naoko mumbled in reply to Sabastian, shifting the haft of the axe into the crook of her elbow so that she could push a few long, stray strands of dark brown hair out of her line of vision. Her ears flicked nervously, shying away from even her own touch.

'Perhaps I will need you sooner than I thought,' was what she sent to Smith; though she only touched on him once with her glance. 'Gomenasai. Please trust I do not ask you to discard your professional obligations lightly.'

The Nekovalkyrja crossed the room and settled on the floor at the foot of the couch, to the left of Smith's legs. Cradling the axe in her lap, she seemed to boredly devote her attention to the conversation at hand, but the reality was different.

'When will you be ready?'

'Now of all times!' Smith thought, the message flickering across his eyes. Should he help it? Logically, the answer was, of course, a flat no. They were not on the best of terms. There was no profit to be made, and chances were, only a risk to Smith himself at least. And at the worst...he didn't want to think of it. Not only that, but this would use up some of Smith's own resources; even if whatever the Neko needed him to do only required some negotiating, he'd essentially be using his own image. Did it want him to toss away some of his hard earned credibility for its own sake?

And yet, on the other hand, was what they had said he should do. They did point out that it was inevitable that he'd have to deal with them sooner or later. They wanted him to set it all aside. 'Let it go.' so to say. Give them a chance. And the reasoning behind this? That he misunderstood them. That he was being too hard on them. That he was letting his past experience create a bias, and that it was getting in the way of his job.

As much as he hated to admit it, they had him at that very last bit.


'And I'd sure like more details too.' he thought bitterly. Still, he knew it'd talk if it wanted to talk, plus, he could step out at any time and turn her down. Or so he hoped. Regardless, he had to get ready. "Excuse me." He started, standing up on his two feet. "This is a little off topic, but Miss Jones, Miss Five, Miss Aihara...do any of you have makeup I could use?" he asked with a straight face.

"Its just in case my skills will be needed publicly before I finish having this fixed up." Mr. Smith elaborated, pointing to the red and flaky parts of his face.

Daxle Demalier had not joined the rest of the party yet in the lounge, feeling out of place. He had been utterly useless during the entire mission to retrieve enzic...enzar...Enz-somebody's ship (he couldn't remember the name) with his inability to be useful in a fight, and the team seemed to be literal Angels of War, so he felt unnecessary as a medic.

When it became clear that he had nothing to be useful for, he had worked on Ivan, still laying on the Medic Table in the Med Bay, installing his rudimentary neuron system in Ivan's brain. The work seemed to be a success, though Ivan still had no motor function, speech, or higher cognitive abilities, but he was certainly more stabilized than he was earlier.

When the mission was over, Daxle had returned to his and Jimmy's quarters, not wanting to get in anyone's way. It was difficult, being on the outside, looking at a group of people who knew each other so well and suddenly finding yourself trying to find some welcoming doorway into whatever private world they all seemed to share.

After putting on a fresher pair of pants (and noticing that his waistline had considerably shrunk, probably because of his constant work at thinning out. He had the muscle already, but now he looked leaner, to his great self-esteem) he set out in search of something to look at, or steal, or both. Maybe he'd even practice with his pistol, he wasn't sure yet. What he was sure about was that as he was passing the lounge, he couldn't help but overhear a conversation amongst the crew about raising revenue. He listened to their ideas and thought they were pretty cool, and that's when he got an idea to maybe help out a bit.

"Uh, hey and all" he said, leaning on the door frame. His courage failed a little when all they eyes turned on him, but he held his ground. He tried to speak again, but was forced to clear his throat as his voice stuck in his throat.

"Yea...s-sorry, but I figure; this is an independent spacer group, right?" he started again, his voice generating the momentum needed to continue "So there's gotta be bunch of aftermarket or customized equipment and mods so that our ship and, well, us can deal with more official ships and people like the Imperium's military or the Yammies, right?" he said, faltering slightly but plowing on.

"So why not sell designs and manufacturing rights to companies that cater to independent spacers like yo-...er us?" he asked.

Zeta was thinking as hard as alcohol shroud allowed her. She really was not happy about the fact that Luca was now celebrity. From one point of view it gathered attention to him and made her work more difficult. From other it gathered attention to him and made interaction with him harder. Or more like both at once.

But there was more. Some of things she just talked through with Rob and Enzo came to her mind too. Luca was making a target of himself and she did not liked it. "Well Boss," she started. "I will tell you this. I am not one to seek publicity and fame. I am bodyguard and I will protect you. That is all. If you want to make my job harder, well that is your choice. I will just need to work with it." She said in the end. She sounded tired and sad.

Enzo ignored Daxle and instead pressed Zeta. (After all, Daxle couldn't even remember his name! Obviously they don't know each other. Or something.) The grifter slapped Zeta hard on the back, in a playful way, "Cheer up, sister, things is better'n yous thinks! All the money comin' in offa deal likes that, and we'll all has our own bodyguards! And the bodyguards will has bodyguards, too!"

Vincent picked a bad time to roll in from the showers.

He appeared in the doorframe just at the tail-end of the marketing discussion, just in time to hear that all of them were on the news and pretty much anywhere else. Vincent grunted, a not-altogether-unusual affair for him. However, this grunt, about a half-tone lower than his usual grunt, could best be interpreted as the "This will be bad" grunt.

The mercenary stepped into the room, elbowing past Naoko like she was a piece of furniture, and slowly making his way to the seminude captain. He tilted his head slightly, imperceptibly to one side as if confused at his captain's state of undress, then tilted it imperceptibly back to upright position. He crossed his arms.

"In my honest opinion, Captain, this is the worst idea you've had in a long time," Vincent said in a low tone, scowling. "But..." After a moment, the mercenary shrugged. "If this is your choice, I, as one of the mercenaries under your employ, am bound, both by honor and contract, to follow your lead."

Luca spotted Vincent pretty quickly and refrained from commenting on his physique, "If you guys don't feel like getting directly involved, I can still be the figurehead," He said, "Plus, I think I do need to attend that interview, the people -do- want a word with me."

"Well, where can we get that interview?" Melissa said, "That report coulda come from anywhere."
"We can do it at Nepleslia Prime," Luca nodded, "That's probably the safest place we can go to now, bar going under the wing of Origin at Dawn Station," A little alert alerted itself to the crew, notifying them that they were only a few minutes away from Nepleslia Prime, "Speaking of which, before we go completely public, how about we go incognito for a little bit and kick back, relax a little to reflect on the idea?"

He made another dismissive shrug, "After all, anyone who tries to kill us is either stupid, doing it against their will, or NMX."

-

The ship touched down in Nepleslia Prime as subtly as it could, which was to say, as subtly as a Courier 2A coloured hotrod red and retrofitted with a hangar could be. Prime City itself was, for lack of a better word, a boom town. Mining operations were always wildly successful, there was no shortage of jobs, and the place even looked pretty enough to be a tourist attraction. It was everything you'd need in Nepleslia.

John finished the landing without much of a fuss and took off his headset, broadcasting his face to the rest of the ship, "Well guys, I suppose here's as good a place as ever to sit down for a bit," He reached under his chair and pulled out one of his favourite magazines, "Y'all know where I'll be," He then leaned back in his chair, opened the lewd material and turned off the camera.

"Thank you John," Luca said flatly as the last image on the screen was of John leering at his magazine before cutting out, "Well crew, we've landed, we'll try and do our best to remain inconspicuous," He then looked down at himself and realised that he was still half naked, but then again, nobody had really seen him almost-naked before, but they had seen his face.

They had seen his face a lot, and he toyed with his sideburns idly and realised: They were his main identifying mark, kind of hard to miss, and surprisingly pointy. He had to conceal them, "Guys, any ideas for how I can conceal my face, short of shaving?"

Melissa walked off, went to her room and found a cap with a cloth cover that went over the back of the neck and sides of face, so as to protect from the sun, "Use this 'n put on some sunnies, I used to use it all the time back on Delsauria in the hot sun," She then looked him up and down and said, "And you WILL put some freakin' pants and a shirt on! Someone's gonna recognise yer abs or yer arse!"

As she walked off, she added, "And ya can't wear yer favourite jacket either!"
"Aww," Luca groaned before Sebastian clapped a hand on his shoulder.
He tutted and said, "She's right, you'll have to keep a low profile for the next couple of days while the rest of us try and pass as other people."

To Luca, this almost sounded like a challenge to see how long he could go without being identified, and when he was, how outrageous it could be, "Okay." He said, as innocently and downtroddenly as he could. Of course, he didn't mean it in the slightest.

Eventually he suited up in a garish patterned overshirt over a singlet with khaki shorts and socks with sandals, applying a bit of white zinc to his face and wearing a camera around his neck. He was going to be as stereotypical a tourist as he could be, and Melissa's desert hat with sunglasses fit the ensemble perfectly.

"Can someone point me to the nearest information kiosk?" He asked in a nasal, obnoxious, upper-middle class Yamataian voice, "I wanna get a picture! Many many pictures to take home and show my waifu!"

"Oh Ketsurui, what have you wrought?"

Seiren facepalmed once when he saw Luca's ensemble, and twice when he heard the terribly stereotypical accent that the man was using. It would have been incredibly offensive if it wasn't so downright hilarious. The inventor, stifling his laughter had dashed off to his room and gotten dressed in rather plain attire consisting of a jean-jacket, black tee, jeans, and a beanie. His signature tassles were nowhere to be found, as they were undone and left his bangs in a mess under that hat. Pocketing a healthy amount of candy moments prior (Including his experimentally dangerous "Meteorite Flare" sweets), he descended the steps off of the courier.

"Now let's see if we can go one day without him getting involved with something big or another," Seiren mumbled to himself, grinning slightly.

"Darn if stupid people will try to kill us, then we have to worry about half of the universe." Zeta exclaimed and wandered off to take a shower and sober up.

-

After landing and hearing what will be done and all sobered up now Zeta got idea. If they are gonna play disguises she is going all out. She quickly ran off the ship into one of the duty-free clothing and accessory shops. In few minutes she was back on ship with big bag full of something and one box that seemed to contain something big. Five more minutes and then she emerged from her room.

For first time after a while her hair was not gelled but she let it hang reaching up to her neck. She polished her cyberarmy and was wearing simple but nice yellow summer dress with skirt part reaching to her knees. On her feet were light shoes. She wore big sunglasses and on her head sit large, round, white hat. In her mind she should look like tourist just fine.
One thing little out of hand was rather big black purse. "What?" she felt everyone staring. And seeing as some people look at big purse she said, "Well I needed big one! How would I fit bloody Mancanon and knife in there?"

She then walked to Luca saying, "I have something for you too 'dear'." She said with playful tone in her voice. She took the small box, opened it and put glasses on Luca's face. They were round and non-dioptric. But it was something that made his disguise perfect. "If we do not look like tourists then there is something wrong with the universe."

Vincent had no choice but to grimace at his captain's attire. Instead of descending into obscurity, he had gone to completely the opposite end of the Sliding Scale of Recognizability Versus Inconspicuous-ness; taking refuge in a disguise so audacious that he was bound to draw attention to himself regardless of whether or not he looked like Luca to a passing observer.

Unfortunately, being an ID-Sol, Vincent had no way of rendering himself completely unrecognizable. Even if he were to dress perfectly normally (which he did; jeans, a t-shirt and some dog boots, plus sunglasses and a cap) his massive frame and the way he generally carried himself - shoulders square, back straight and always, always looking right ahead - would be a dead giveaway. So he would just hope that he was one of the less recognizable faces on the crew and go on his merry way.

Vincent was very cautiously making his way down one of the alternate loading ramps, making sure to be seen getting off the Courier a different way than the rest of the crew.

Having missed the second half of the entire discussion about going public, Uriel only came about to the exit due to the ship-wide message that they had arrived somewhere on Nepleslia Prime and John's follow-up which again failed to specify (although it didn't matter in all honesty).

He made his way off the ship after stowing his book, and saw Vincent not far ahead. There was no such thing as being inconspicuous for an Patrician on really any planet or station outside Elysian space, so even if he had heard the Captain's intent to be discreet, it wouldn't have mattered. Besides, he wasn't a terribly popular fellow- it wasn't likely Hisshana would be recognized on the streets by some random Nepleslian.

Sidling up to Vincent, he asked, "Where are we and what are we doing?"