| abstract
| - This massive round pad is suspended over the sheer gray mountainside. Wind whistles around the weathered structure, which shows little evidence of recent, consistent use. A protective railing serves as a meager barrier to the panoramic view of the rocky mountains that the outpost clings to. Far below and sprawling along the base of the peaks, a rich growth of navy blue pine trees covers like a blanket. A small lake is also noticable among the pine forest immediately below the outpost, reflecting the green-tinted sunlight. The sky itself is a tumult of green plasma tentacles, wrapping across the sky like a fantastic spaceborne highway with the flaring emerald star of Volir at the center. A small structure has been built of the rough gray stone of the mountainside. It stands near the stairway which pierces the protective railing and leads down the mountain. Through its thick plastic windows several Vollistans can be seen; they politely check to be side no visitors to the planet carry psi blockers with small handheld devices they carry. "No am fuck care no more." Rkagar rages on. The young Zangali looks over at the Demarian and snarls at him and gives him an angry lizard hiss. If this was Japan, they would have called in Mothra by now. Rkagar Standing before you is a large Zangali male, and if one was familiar with the race one would notice that it is fairly young one, barely :able to calls it's self an adult. When he is fully erect he towers a little over eight feet tall. The other feature prevalent on this mass :of scale and muscle is that he is fairly wide too. He has sloping black spikes that shot up from his head. He has a blunt snout full of :teeth that are just starting to turn yellow. The Zangali also poses a pair of yellow eyes that move about the roam as if they are their own at times. He is clad in a sleeveless navy jumpsuit, which while tight still affords him mobility. He is of course barefoot. The jumpsuits zipper is :all the way down showing off his scaly chest. Some parts of it appear discolored most likely scaring. A harness is loped around his shoulder and connects at his waist proving him with pockets. On his hip is a large pouch. "Rkagar," Aadzrian says very evenly- his voice going abruptly flat- "Am to know is irritate, but Snowstreak have done not'ing earn anger from you. If you angry at some-one, be angry at me cause I no giving a damn. But you *will* healing and te sooner you no try breaking already breaked t'ings te better." Snowstreak gets an easy nod, and a faint half-smile. Aadzrian This Timonae male looks to be, at a first glance, a somewhat unusual representative of his race. An inch or two beyond six and a half :feet, he's slightly under average height for a man of his kind, but his frame is noticeably broad to the Timonese eye- perhaps close to :two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle. By human standards, however, he remains mostly lean, with broad shoulders and long, graceful :limbs, a body lacking any unnecessary weight. Skin of a smooth uniform brown shade covers the small bit of exposed flesh he shows, cut by :a facial scar that's hard to overlook- a shiny, taut ribbon of pink tissue that slices up from the left side of his jaw, over prominent :cheekbones in a slightly hollow face, and curls in a deliberate lazy spiral around his swirling, opalescent green left eye. Heavy brows of :a dark, almost tarnished shade of silver match his head of incongruously fluffy hair, a wild mess that hangs past his ears. A small, :neatly groomed beard clings to just his chin, strands bearing an identical metallic sheen. He's clad simply at the moment, but in a fashion that might gain attention for what it reveals. The fitted plain white t-shirt and :ordinary black shorts are not particularly immodest, but they display two things: both the physique of someone perhaps overly obsessed :with exercise, and the fact that his facial scar is not unique. Bared arms and legs both are marked with shiny pink burn scars in the form :of a swirling, curliqued pattern, undeniably intentional and a vivid contrast against his brown skin. They disappear upward under the :shorts with no sign of stopping and can be faintly perceived through the shirt, making it unclear if there's anywhere the Timonae isn't :marked. The handle of a stun gun in one pocket and simple running shoes complete the ensemble, swirling scars running downward into the :area covered by socks as well. Snowstreak smiles kindly back to Aadzrian, his smile amiable and easy. The hiss doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. He is a doctor, he can handle intense negotiations. After all, he was once on a first named basis with the lawyers at NLM's medical insurance team. Angry patients, he can handle. Snowstreak Snowstreak is a Demarian who stands about 7 foot tall or so. His pelt is so black it sheens like hematite, catching the light and playing :with it in intriguing contrasts. A white stripe starts beneath his chin and casts down his throat where it appears to continue all the way :down his body. His eyes are an emerald green that is flecked with touches of amber along the slitted feline iris. His whiskers are :particularly long and twinge with his every facial expression. His tail is long and fluffy- so much so it almost appears more vulpine than :feline. The white stripe that started on his chin continues across the underside of his tail and stops just before his tail's tip. He is wearing a pair of what look like military BDU pants in black along with a t-shirt that was probably a navy blue at one point but has :worn itself down to a midpoint between deep blue and purple. This is all wrapped over with a large lab coat that looks like it has seen :more miles than a trans-continental railway. Around his neck are two stones; one amethyst and one citrine. He doesn't have anything on his :feet, preferring the tactile sensation of foot upon ground. Rkagar glances over to Aadzrian and scowls. The young Zangali then shakes his head and wheels off a dozen feet away and pulls out a sketchpad and starts to draw something. The lines are hard and jagged and he hisses to himself in Zantra as he works away. Aadzrian sighs mildly, grabbing the assault rifle and slinging it over his back. It really makes an odd contrast to the casual exercise attire, but he doesn't seem to give a damn as he calls to Snowstreak, "Hey. How you does? Sorry if I putted you on edge last night. Were... tries to maked a point, yes?" Someone is misappropriating the Streak's communications suite. The external speakers spring to life, booming out the lyrical stylings of what would seem to be a heavily inebriated woman: "I don't wanna be an 'ousewife, I'd much rather be a whore, I'd rather turn some tricks, Involvin' foot-long dicks, An' fornicate me blinkin' life awa-a-a-a-ay!" Amid a splutter of coughing and wheezing, the verse ends, and again the giant capship is silent. Snowstreak mmmms and then wanders over to stand aside Aadzrian before he offers "Mmm, its alright. Quite alright, really. I think its something in the water here- that is as far as I can figure." His tail begins drifting about again as he perks his ears with wistful working. "Are you... doing well?" he asks while casting a glance towards the gun and then the capital ship with an even more quizzical look. "Definitely... in the water." Rkagar glances over to the ship and runs a claded hand across his face. "What fuck be?" He asks the others in confusion. Aadzrian cackles madly in heartfelt appreciation of the song's artistic value, cupping a hand around his mouth to shout up at the ship, "Wel if t'at is how is, darlin', why no comes down here and takes a look? I gots money if you wants it, but you migh be wanted payed me afterward!" Grin wide enough to reach both sides of his face for once, he turns it to Snowstreak. "No, I t'ink we was al bat-shit insane before we *getted* to Vollista. I doing great, but I sure hoping no one plans on us to saving galaxy, or we *fucked*." Though the weapons are offline, one of the Streak's pulse cannons swivels, locking onto a target: Aadzrian. "Bang," comes the voice again. "Bang bang bang." Snowstreak smirks a little more and speaks in a voice that is almost a purr "I don't know about you, but the galaxy can do whatever it wants. I'll be happy if I can save myself and all those that I care about." His whiskers perk as he folds his arms across his chest amiably at the exchange between ship and crew member. "I no think is want to fuck. Ship no like poop pant Timae." Rkagar says pointing at the cannon and giggling. "How is go fuck boat?" "I," Aadzrian informs Rkagar with resolute dignity, "is *always* up for a challenge." He rises to his feet fluidly and tilts his head up to the ship, calling loudly, "If you is wanted seeing me danse, my lovely, you has only to asking! But no tease me wit' t'ose cute little 'bang bangings' and no actually *shoot*!" "A real man woul'--" the operator manning the ship's comm begins... then abruptly cuts off. A moment later the system is keyed back on, and the speaker has adopted a deeper and more articulate baritone, having apparently decided it is the appropriate voice for such a massive spacefaring vessel. "A REAL man would charge right up my boarding ramp, ho ho hooooo." Snowstreak 's ears cock back a bit as he keeps there with the demeanor of a real cool cat. Or at least he is trying to be. He lets his tail keep up its quietly paced wanderings behind him. "Mmmm, I think it like you..." he offers to Aadzrian while smirking and chuckling gently within his chest. "Maybe you put in thruster?" Rkagar offers, pointing at the rear of the ship woth a broken arm. The ship get a nod. "Is ship make challenge. It say no can do. Aaadzran most do now." The young Zangali says this with all seriousness. "Of course it do if havings good taste," Aadzrian informs Snowstreak, smiling with effortless smugness. "You see, I wins t'em al over in end." Rkagar gets a decidedly dubious look, the scarred Timonae slowly shaking his silver head... evidently just speechless in the face of that reply. Last of all he looks back up to shout at the ship again, grin lingering. "T'is real man getted arrest last time he tryinged t'at," Bass calls back at baritone, "but if you really wantings me to batten down your hatshes... who is I to saying no?" And he takes a wide step toward the airlock. "Oh, oh, oh-h-h-h," groans the voice behind the Streak in all its feigned arousal, security lights flicking on-and-off excitedly, "'e's comin' in fer re-entry, ladies an' gents!" Rkagar looks away quickly. "No am want watch." He hisses and then the young Zangali squeezes his eyes shut and starts to hiss to himself trying to cover the noise up. Snowstreak takes in a slow breath then exhales, his tail flicking once more behind him though he looks after Aadz with a smirk to end all smirks, substance and sweet mirth. "If I no comes back out, Rkagar," Aadzrian declares quite dramatically, grin unflagging, "tel t'em... Tel t'em I dying happy!" And he just runs up the ramp the rest of the way, rifle bouncing on his back, pausing only to tap in the entry code- and blow a kiss over his shoulder to the Zangali and Demarian- before disappearing inside the door. The very instant Aadz enters the hatch, the ship's alarms go one hundred percent berserk. The hatchway opens up to a small metal platform, which overlooks a compact command center. Light filters out from hidden coves, providing an even illumination across the bridge consoles. A rainbow of telltales and monitors add a touch of color, breathing life into the functional and utilitarian space. A few steps down, the bridge workstations are arranged in a rough semicircle, following the shark nosed form of the ship's bow. Two stations face forward and are centered beneath the main canopy. The other two workstations face the port and starboard, one on each side of the bridge. The space is tight, with arely enough room to move when all the stations are occupied. The lights are set at their dimmest level, simulating night and signifying the last watch of the day. A very drunk Jay has appropriated the command terminal. She slouches in the captain's chair, red-faced, laughing herself to the brink of hyperventilation, with her hands clapped over her ears. A half-full -- always half-full! -- bottle of cognac lying on the console would seem to be at fault for this particular episode. Reilly Built like a bird and maybe fifty kilograms soaking wet, this rangy young humanoid female looks as if she's seen better days. One vibrant :green eye sparkles like the waters of Regreb beneath butterfly lashes, but the other would appear to be missing altogether, replaced by a :simple black eyepatch. The better part of the left half of her face is marred by a series of grotesque scars which tear several brutal, :blackish-brown lines from mid-forehead to nostril and from ear-to-ear along the apple of her throat, combatting the soft features of her :squarish, freckled face. Spilling to the small of her back is her glossy auburn mane, straight as nails and bleached ever-so-slightly by :the sun. Both ears bear a ladder of three studs which descend to a single gold hoop dangling from either lobe, and her hair is tucked behind them, :bound in place by a solid black headscarf whose tails flutter to the small of her back. Her top is scoop-collared and sleeveless, its ebon :hue broken up by the glint of silver dogtags strung around her neck and the dusty olive field jacket :slid lightly about her slight frame. :Low-slung cargo pants show wear about the knees and pockets, and her boots aren't much better, the black leather scuffed and stained and :laces frayed. Her left arm is wrapped from the elbow down, tight enough for security but comfortable enough for long fingers to move :freely. At a glance, she appears to be armed. A holster housing a small firearm is strapped just above her right knee. Aadzrian wanders on in, his own deep laughter announcing his presence before his footsteps do, the scarred Timonae typing away on his PDA. That scar on his face is visibly matched today by the ones completely covering bare arms and legs- not that he seems to mind, by his confident bearing. "I has adding makes lots laughing to your list of talents," he informs Jay, "and can I has some..." A squint at the bottle- "Cognac too, now we know eash ot'er so intimately?" '>> Outside the Ship:' Snowstreak mmmhs and nods again "Aye. I believe we have a therapist on board... i do believe you met her, she goes by Volouscheur." His tail keeps moving behind him as if it were a big metrinome keeping cadence with an unheard tune >> Outside the Ship: "You have rapist?" Rkagar snarls in dismay. "Is no have honor! Am go break stupid Voshr!" He then starts to wheel towards a random ship... the Marcy in this case. >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak blinks quizzically, his tail seeming to echo that curiousity behind him by drifting upwards and curling towards its tip. He begins walking beside the lizard while asking "Pardon me? Rapist? She is nothing of the sort." Reilly kills the alarm and clumsily extends the opened bottle toward the Timonae, but only after testing her aural sensitivity with a light cringe and a hovering of cupped palms over her ears. Once she's certain the whooping and blaring is gone for good, she regards Aadzrian levelly. ... Quasi-levelly. Okay, she can't maintain eye contact at all. "I think," and she is approaching the situation with the same seriousness that one might approach a rubber chicken, "that this 'ere BIRD might get all JEALOUS." Her suspicions are delivered in a mock whisper. >> Outside the Ship: "Is she? Rapist female?" Rkagar seems to be confused by this but he rolls along and cracks his broken knuckles. "Is bad for force make mate. Am kill Voshr so she no go rape more." The young Zangali explains with a scowl. >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak folds his arms once more "She is not a rapist. She... oh. Therapist... it is another word for a psychologist. Somebody who helps with mental disorders." His whiskers quirk as he finds himself smiling at the miscommunication. The PDA disappears into the pocket that doesn't hold a stun gun, and one hand- with a neat little singular pink swirl burnt into its back- reaches to liberate that bottle. Aadzrian's own gaze is decidedly more level, yet it takes a good deal of effort for him to force his features into something resembling solemnity... the left side of his lips still twitching away with the effort. "You may being right," he allows pensively. "Onse you gets a little of Aadzrian Axbovi, why, no one else wil doing." Bottle accepted, he lifts it for a cheery chug. "Suppose t'at is end to our beautiful love affair." >> Outside the Ship: Rkagar stops his chair and wheels around to face Snowstreak. "What?" He asks looking rather confused. "She no force mate? What be meatl disgordr?" The young Zangali's mouth works slowly over the strange words. "Am hope Aadzran no get sick for mate ship... or no have ship hatchling. He make bad faher." >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak throws his head back and laughs! Its the kind of laugh that you get where you can feel your heart lighten with it before he mmms "Means those who... have had problem with their past and require help dealing with them- or those who are ... well, I'll say it. A few eggs short of a basket." He still chuckles over mention of Aadzrian as a father. Just... all kinds of wrong mental images there. >> Outside the Ship: "See? No be good faher you! Egg no go basket, egg go nest. No can move egg lot or have weak hatchling. Am moher say so." Rkagar corrects the Demarian with a shake of his head. "So the-rapist she no force mate but fix head? Am think maybe am go see.... but she try force mate am kill her and Demaran." The young Zangali promises. >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak mrruffs in exasperiation but he smiles all the same. "Very well. I'll tell her you wish to see her the next time I see her." His tail picks up is pasttime of wisking back and forth behind him. Indeed, this is a different Jay Reilly; she flops backward into her chair and howls with laughter, coughing out short, choppy breaths and indulging in merry, drunken tears. "Are ye fer real?" she queries, mopping her forehead with the back of her perpetually bandaged left hand. "I mean REALLY. Really, really, real. Really-rully-rullrull-l-l-ly." More barely-contained mirth; a snort pops out as if fired from a pulse cannon. "With th'... th' LOVE MACHINE bit. Puttin' yer wham-dinger in BAD, BAD PLACES. 'ow many," she prompts, and wiggles her shoulders as she folds her arms and crosses her legs, a ridiculous facsimile of the interrogating officer. >> Outside the Ship: "Am go find mate when go back Grimhald. She need be strong for make gooderest hatchling." Rkagar explains as he wheels back to the Streak. Chug chug. A bit of liquid courage has to fuel the answer to that question, and Aadzrian imbibes it with the grace of someone whose insides are already thoroughly enbalmed far beyond what his youthful look might suggest. "Timonae," he drawls, his own mirth much more low-key, as he extends the bottle back. "I puts it wherever I cans putting it as long as odds is... *acceptably* goods are to gets it back. And worse t'ose odds getting, more exciting it are. I is always for real." His eyebrows waggle in lurid suggestion... independently of each other, a nifty and thoroughly useless trick. >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak nods again then offers "I wish you luck with that. Be well." He twinges his ears back while that smirk still lurks upon his muzzle. >> Outside the Ship: Rkagar stops at the base of the ramp and looks it over. "Ship! No make Aaadzran get sick from mating. Am hear it happen for unclean and you is have dirt." He calls out to the Streak in a loud voice. "No," Jay returns firmly, fingers closing again around the slim neck of the bottle. "I mean 'ow many BUGS on yer JACKSONS. Timonae," she drawls in imitation of his own one-word excuse for promiscuity. Rkagar's voice on the sensors steals her attention away, and, with an unsteady jerk of her forearm, she seizes ahold of the headgear and hollers into it, not bothering to fit herself with the earpiece. >> Outside the Ship: "Oh God!" screams the voice of the Streak, this time decidedly more feminine. "That's what I call a bloody longscan!" >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak laughs jovially again. His whiskers mirthfully flicker like bits of starlight stolen from the sky. His ears cock forward with interest, oh so very curious. >> Outside the Ship: What does a slow Zangali youth never leave home without? His bomb making kit. Rkagar reaches under his chair and pulls it out and plops it down on his lap. "Am show you for do stupid ship!" He rages and opens the kit up and starts to work away. Aadzrian doesn't bother to hold in his deeply amused laughter at Reilly's comment... or the way it only grows louder at Rkagar's response, to the point he's wheezing slightly and forced to grab at his ribs. "Ah, damn," he gasps fondly, "t'at dumb-ass kid worry too mush. Ha." Taking deep breaths to calm him down slightly at least, he straightens, and informs Jay with only lingering amusement, "Actually, I is monogamy. Sorry, is sure I breaks your hear'. But t'anks for strokings my ego to te landing pad at least, t'ough you may never knowing how righ' you is." >> Outside the Ship: Ooooh gosh. The Demarian's smile goes away as he ahems "Errr, precisely what do you think you are doing?" His frame all tenses up as he eyes the lizard with ears cocking forward. His whole frame starts to go tense with tail holding ever so still. Jay brings her hand -- and, by extension, the hooch -- to her brow dramatically, trying on a practiced swoon and raining down a cascade of utterly insincere emotional distress. "No! No, don't say it! I don't think me 'eart coul' take it! Oh sweet Jeezus!" She chokes out a fake sob, chases it post-haste with a swig of the New Parisan poison, and groans her anguish a second time, turning her head sharply from Aadz to the viewscreen as if to hide tears. And... that's Rkagar she spies, with a... "Whoa sweet Jeezus!" Totally real distress this time. The cognac goes flying. The privateer leaps to her feet, wobbles frantically, and promptly crashes into an unceremonious heap across the navconsole. >> Outside the Ship: "Am make bmb for show ship." Rkagar replies, combining wires and other bits and pieces together. "Ship take Aaadzran and say am want back. Ship no give back and now am show is no sugston, is dmand." His yellow eyes never leave his work. Aadzrian barks out a sharp curse in Timonese, his eyes widening as he too notices just what Rkagar's doing, and the Timonae springs into action with all the jittery reflexes of someone entirely too used to the meeting of shit and fan. One arm moves up scoop up Jay's small form as unceremoniously as she deposited it for the sheer sake of getting her off the console, the other shooting out for the intercom to swiftly make a reply- but for all his motion might be panicked, his voice is an amused little purr. >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak 's ears cock forward as his expression becomes a lot more intent. He offers "You realize that that isn't the ship speaking, right? It was somebody at the intercom." His right paw is tensing though as he kneels down to be level with the Zangali- eye to eye. >> Outside the Ship: The familiar and inimitable voice of Aadzrian comes over the intercom suddenly, somehow an amused purr despite the circumstances, "No to be worries, Rkagar. I is fine. Never knowed you caringed so mush, but you wil sees me again." Freyssinet walks in slowly, holding a baby in her arm and feeding her her bottle. Freyssinet You see a human woman, more precisely a petite and thin redhead. She is clad in old denims, basketball shoes, and an electric blue tank :top that lets you guess at a butterfly-shaped birthmark on her right shoulder, and scars of burns on her upper-arms; but, except those, :her skin is perfect, very pale without any freckles, porcelain-like. In cooler :places, she also wears a dark blue jumper, with a hood. Her hands are long and thin, like a pianist's, or a surgeon's. Her most eye-catching feature is her copper-red curls, flowing free on her :back. Her face, mobile and expressive, framed by a few rebel curls, is oval-shaped, with high cheekbones, a strong chin, blue eyes, and a :sweet smile. With her figure, she could nearly be mistaken for a teenager, but her demeanor is self-confident and brisk; she walks very :straight, chin up - she's probably in her thirties. Her gaze is direct but generally gentle and compassionate. No make-up, no jewelry. Her :voice is a soft and warm mezzo-soprano. Thankfully, none of the cognac that is spilled all over the decking splattered onto the delicate and expensive consoles. Redtail is going to throw a shitfit, regardless -- and caught red-handed by the good doctor are the culprits, Jay and Aadzrian, the former stinking drunk and the latter toting her about under one arm like so much carry-on luggage. The humanoid female is screaming something to the Timonae, clearly frightened out of her mind in her inebriated state. "Tell 'im!" she demands. "Tell 'im it's a goddamned bloody joke!" >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak 's tail begins wisking behind him again as he eyes Rkagar, his ears keeping held back as he watches though he offers "Errr, I think you... dropped something?" He looks urgently up to the ship then the bomb in the lizard's lap. "Stops screaming in my damn ear," Aadzrian says almost idly down to his squirmy little burden, evidently rather *less* frightened about the prospect of being blown to pieces. In fact, he's begun to grin slowly with a dangerous twinkle in his eye, expression suggesting he might just be wondering what his insides look like close up after being introduced to a big boom. Nonetheless, when he speaks into the intercom again, his voice has gone abruptly serious. Freyssinet blinks at the scene. "What's happening? Aadz, let go of Mi... miss Reilly!" >> Outside the Ship: "Rkagar, if you blows up t'is ship I swearing to watever God you believes in I is going come out of wreckage and makes you wearing your ass as a fucking very un-stylish hat. Again. And I is *no* a 'poop pants'. Now fuck off wit' te stupids bombing!" Yeah, that's definitely Aadzrian. A very serious, and perhaps slightly irate, Aadzrian. "Cock... blockin'," the squirmy little burden wheezes to Frey, "... with a bomb-- ow, chokin' 'ere..." "Sorry," remarks Aadzrian, sounding perhaps... mildly contrite at best as he deposits Jay right back in the communications console. "Rkagar making bombs t'at boom big. Figure I best gets you off con-sole as quick as possible, yes? ...Aw, te *alcohol*..." The Timonae kneels to pick up the cognac, looking decidedly saddened by its loss. "Al I gots is real cheap..." Freyssinet re-blinks. Bombs, alcohol... Yeah, like good old time. "OK.... how do we stop that guy making bombs? And I got more than half a mind to scour the ship to destroy all alcohol." >> Outside the Ship: "Fuck Timoae!" Rkagar says using a new hand gesture the humans have been teaching him. "Even when broke and still smasher good Aaadzran poop pants!" "Not th' bloody FINE!" Never mind her neck. Jay is breathless and winded, rubbing at her shoulder where she'd been bound by Aadz just moments before. "I filched it fair an' squaa-a-a-aye-yai-yai-I mean I found it. In a store. Where I bought it. Legally." Eyeshift. Aadzrian picks up the empty bottle of cognac from the floor, offering it to Jay with a hapless shrug. "Wel, is gonned now. I gives you some *terrible* whisky if you likes. Now let me finish to be seeing to t'is problem..." He straightens and grabs the intercom, proceeding to launch into a full-blown tirade without direct reply to Freyssinet- perhaps thinking his actions will speak for themselves. >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak 's tail twitches swiftly back and forth behind him as he watches the goings on, his right paw flexing and relaxing again and again as his mind races. He was never good at these sort of situations. Ask him to make a split-second decision over a bleeding patient, fine. But bombs? He isn't so good at that. >> Outside the Ship: "You fucking stupid Zan-gali, did you forgetting how it go last time we getted into it? You no toushed me and I haved you begging for mercy," Aadzrian just rants away on the intercom. "I no even needing a gun to puts you down. You wants to picking a figh, I'm your man for te job. So put t'at damn bombings away or I come out t'ere and tied you into a fucking scaly pretzel and *bounce* you off a cliff!" Volidana wanders onto the bridge with a cautious curious "is it safe" yet demeanor and goes bright purple at Aadzrian words "Why is he bating a Zangli?" Volidana You see see a tall, slender being though at 6'5" she is on the shorter side for her race. Silvery white hair flows free down to the middle :of her back.. Her green eyes have a gravity which doesn't quite match the relative youth of a Light singer who has not yet reached midage. She is currently wearing a standard uniform of the Athena, a study in purple velvet. A long sleave purple dress shirt buttoned to the top. :It's left sleeve hangs empty off the shoulder, the only part left of the arm. Matching purple velvet pants replete with pockets with :velcro closures of all shapes and size complete the outfit.. Well polished black boots adorn her feet and her long white hair is held back :by a rainbow colored kerchief. Freyssinet glances to Dana. "Not sure what is happening, both seem severely trashed..." >> Outside the Ship: Rkagar snarls and drops the kit. "Come poop pants! You is lucky time. Am can beat anyday." He rages back, shaking his scaled fist in anger. >> Outside the Ship: Snowstreak was waiting for that moment, he really was. He was already kneeling so while righting himself he does his best to recover that bomb making kit and slide it subtly into a coat pocket as if it never existed. His tail is frazzled out heavily behind him though the rest of him finally starts to look as cool as a cucumber. Jay scootches up and over into an upright position in the chair, cradling the empty bottle. She doesn't have to witness the exchange long before her apprehension and befuddlement melt away, once again, into belts of hilarity. "Fifty sterlin' on poop-pants," she hoots. "He sayed it cause I is old," Aadzrian remarks disgustedly, rolling his eyes- though he grins triumphantly as Snowstreak moves the bomb kit out of the way. "See? Is no problems. You be wise to bets on me, I kick his ass when he were *whole*." And he goes right for the intercom again... now looking to be entirely enjoying himself rather than worried in the slightest. Once he's said a few words, he turns without further comment to amble off the bridge. >> Outside the Ship: "I is coming, you dumbass, and you gonna regrets t'at you maked me come out t'ere and leaving my happy fun time wit' te ship," Aadzrian's voice direly threatens across the landing pad. "You could no beats me if *I* was in t'at wheel-chair and you were up and runnings." >> Outside the Ship: "Is good. When come for Timae kill wake! Am bored here Aaadzran talk am go sleep." And with that Rkagar closes his eyes amnd starts to doze off. Volidana sighs apparently weighinng the need to act. now that the potentially damaging weapon is in the hands of someone sober seems content to watch the situation resolve "Why can't spirits be used to promote dancing singing or debate. why most everything involve violence and harm? Freyssinet glances to Dana, "Well said..." she straightens baby Jest, who seems definitly not perturbed by all the agitation, drinking her bottle slowly but very focused. to Reilly. "Do not encourage him, girl..." Great peals of laughter are spurred on by Aadzrian's next tirade, and only pushed further by Frey's observation that Jay herself is in fact adding fuel to the fire. With the heel of her hand, the spacer brushes tears from her green eye and rosy-red cheek, trying to wind herself down and not having much success. "I is no *drunk*," Aadzrian says indignantly over his shoulder. "I is alway like t'is." That said almost proudly, he makes his way off the bridge... and probably just into further trouble. >> Outside the Ship: Aadzrian comes strolling off the Streak's ramp, whistling a cheerful tune without a care in the world. He's left the rifle somewhere at some point, and is carrying nothing more than that stun gun whose handle protrudes from his pocket. Seeing Rkagar napping in his wheelchair, he grins in a decidedly fond fashion... a nearly paternal expression, of all things. Freyssinet chuckles, watching Reilly. "Well, for some things, you haven't changed one bit, girl." "I didn't do nothin'," Jay insists, bringing one leg up to perch on the captain's seat and draping her good arm around her knee. Her bandaged hand brings the bottle to her lips again by its neck; finding it empty, she peers into the mouth with an instinctive but unnecessary squint and lets her smiles fade. Indeed, her countenance becomes an outright frown when she spies the mess, and even as utterly smashed as she is, the realization that dawns upon her is evident in her scarred face. "Bollocks."
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