| abstract
| - There is a polite beep from Snowmist's personal comm denoting an incoming encrypted signal. Silvereye replies: "Paintedheart here. Who's using this frequency?" In a flat tone at odds with the snarkiness of the words, Snowmist responds, "Your former boss. Your situation?" Silvereye replies with obvious relief and a hint of euphoria: I'm on the Athena ma'am. My situation just got a whole lot better. Snowmist's tone, in contrast, remains at the same, steely level. "The kits? An' the Athena's location?" "They're fine. Sleeping right now." A pause, and the voice that returns has taken on a far more professional tone, though there is some hesitancy, "Forgive me, ma'am, but given the circumstances I really shouldn't trust a voice on a commlink even on an encrypted channel." This time there is a hint of thawing, though with encryption and the speakers involved, the difference is subtle indeed. "Good for you. 'm on the Orphic. Public space, for all intents an' purposes. Y'can pick me up there." "Understood. I'll see that we get to you as soon as possible." A pause. "Where's the Orphic?" "Far as I know, it's parked in orbit 'round Waldheim. ETA?" "All we have to do is dock, ma'am. A matter of minutes." Another pause. "Do you want me to wake them, ma'am?" "No." The reply comes sharply, too quickly, before Snowmist seems to catch herself and respond in more neutral tones, "No, let 'em sleep. See y'in a few, then. Over an' out." The IND Jackal enters and lands within the docking bay Mika disembarks from the IND Jackal. The GMF Athena enters and lands within the docking bay Snowmist stands expectantly by the inner entrance into the hangar bay, her paws tucked out of sight within her jacket's pockets, a near-unblinking gaze pinned upon the hangar's external entrance at the far end. A large duffel sits beside her right boot. The nine-fingered wonder himself makes an ill-timed entrance into the hangar bay, just coming into view out of the Interlock. The LDF Peacemaker enters and lands within the docking bay Wiendrbac disembarks from the LDF Peacemaker. In glides the black half-moon that is Blackjack's flagship, touching down with a clank and a grunt of servos and slowly easing into a comfortable berth. A hiss of decompressed air, a clank of security bolts being released, and with a dull whirr the boarding ramp unhinges and extends to the bay floor. The figure that appears in the airlock is suited, boots thunking hollowly on the rubberized deck as it trundles down to the ground. Its gait is unsteady. Uneven. Wobbly. Every footfall is like lead. The blue arrow that is the Peacemaker follows the IND Jackal and Athena into the Orphic's large docking bay, docking struts extending to safely land within the Leviathan's structure. With that accomplished, the door opens with a hiss of depressurized air, the boarding ramp extends, a moment passing before a figure in a gray uniform walks out, arms clasped behind his back. Snowmist's head does not turn from its current vigil watching the vessels that enter the Orphic, though her eyes flick away just long enough to identify the Jackal. The flat, gold discs narrow, one ear flicking briefly aside, before she ignores the ship and once again focuses upon the hangar's far entrance. She moves only when the Athena finally makes an appearance, gathering up the duffel's strap and heaving it over her shoulder before she begins to walk toward the docking ship. Ren Arnassis stops where he is on sight of the Jackal, blinking twice, then narrowing his eyes. He remains frozen for a long moment, then moves to the side of the interlock, perhaps hoping to keep out of sight as the exchange begins. If the disembarking Jackal has spotted the familiar Demarian, it gives no indication. Speakers mounted on the suit's exterior crackle and fuzz as she breathes in... breathes out.... heavily... and then finally crumples to the floor. THUD. Laid out in an ungainly sprawl. Silvereye disembarks from the GMF Athena. Wiendrbac stops his casual walk, the hiss of the comm drawing his attention toward the oddly clad Jackal, both eyebrows raising. He pulls the mouthpiece of his commset over his mouth, speaking into it rapidly as he approaches the suited form at a fast walk. For anyone just arriving, it appears a suited figure has collapsed in the middle of the bay, a Demarian is walking toward the Athena, and Wiendrbac is walking to the dead weight that is the Jackal. Snowmist halts at the sound of the impact, a flash of almost irritation brushing across her features before she reluctantly turns to regard the sprawled out Jackalite. When the suited figure makes no move to rise again, she grimaces, swaying slightly as if still debating whether to walk over, when Wiendrbac's approaching figure decides it for her and she remains firmly rooted to her current spot instead. Hitching the large duffel a little higher on her shoulder, she watches the goings on with a placid expression while she waits for the Athena's occupants to debark. Marlan disembarks from the GMF Athena. Marlan steps out onto the top of the Athena's ramp and looks down at the approaching figures without heading down the ramp herself just yet. Silvereye steps down from the Athena's ramp gaze roaming far and wide around the landing bay. It's not until he's at the base of the boarding ramp that he looks right under his nose, noticing Snowmist by accident. There is a flicker of recognition and relief on his features, as well as the beginnings of a smile. He catches himself, straightening slightly and keeping his expression stony. He salutes. There is no response from the prone Jackal save for a regular series of heavy breaths. If moved, the person is quite heavy due to the envirosuit, but it is completely and totally limp. Wiendrbac kneels down, seems assured by the continual sound of breath, scratching at his chin with a gloved hand. Whatever he's thinking, the soldier starts to act, standing to walk to the head and attempting to use the shoulders and arms to lift and drag. Snowmist glances away from the Jackal's ramp as she catches movement out of the corners of her eyes, and for a long moment, she simply stares at the longclaw. Then, shifting her weight wearily, she gives him a simple nod of greeting...no longer his superior in a chain of command that has been shattered beyond recognition. Marlan only now heads down the ramp. Stopping when she is behind and to the right of Silvereye. Kastaprulyi disembarks from the GMF Athena. Marlan and Silvereye are down near the boarding ramp of the Athena, Snowmist a little distance off, Wiendrbac struggling with the collapsed form of infamous Jackal. Kastaprulyi drifts through the airlock door, pausing at the top of the boarding ramp with an emanation of curiosity. The young Centauran offers Marlan and Silvereye a feeling of greeting. Silvereye assumes a more relaxed stance, though one that still betrays a martial bearing. "It's good to see that you're all right." The black furred Demarian ventures a few words, his tone even. Then, it seems, the proverbial cat catches his tongue, and he just watches Snowmist, glancing at her bag then up to the Demarian. Marlan seems a bit distracted by the form in the orange suit now laying out at the airlock, regardless she remains where she is, eyes moving back to Mist. Wiendrbac lifts the unconcious form by it's shoulders and arms, dragging it toward the Athena crew. As he moves, he calls back, "Hey, Captain Ranix, who is this? Came out of that ship, I believe." He'd gesture toward the black half-moon, but he is currently incapable. Snowmist's eyes turn toward Marlan as she notices the woman, and there too, she rests her gaze for a time before she tonelessly greets, "Marlan." A turn of an ear toward the ailing, suited figure's plight, and then she suggests with an uncharacteristically black humor, "Seems there's 'nother source of test samples that got delivered t'your doorstep." As she notices Silvereye's glance toward the duffel, she takes the last few steps over to them and lets the bag drop heavily to the ramp between them. Inside, there comes the tell-tale clunk of carbon, metal, and plastic components. "There's plenty where these came from, if they're ever needed." As she is moved, the Jackal's gender at least can be determined in the obviously female voice that groans pitifully over the comm. But no resistance is put up to the whole being carted around thing. Marlan ignores Wiendrbac atleast for the moment, her attention focused on Mist. She looks her over, mentally catalouging her state. She offers Mist a soft smile and then turns to Silvereye, "Get her inside and to my quarters, da." she turns back to Mist, "The kits are there. Already told Silver, you're all welcome to stay on board as long as you want, da. We'll give you privacy and protection." Kastaprulyi remains floating over the top of the ramp for the moment, apparently just observing quietly, though it emanates a faint uncertainty. Silvereye nods absently to Marlan, looking down at the duffel bag with a worried expression, his own features softening to betray his own weariness. He almost looks lost. "What are you planning on doing?" He asks, cocking his head to one side. "Ma'am?" Wiendrbac is ignored, so, instead focuses his attention on simply toting the female toward the ship. His voice drops, muttering to himself. "Would you like some help? Oh, yes please, I'd hate to have to carry her all by myself. Thank you kindly." Maybe he's whining, but he's gets it done regardless, laying the body down a few feet behind Snowmist, taking care to be gentle. In other words, he doesn't just drop her. Is she coherent? The Jackal cringes a little bit and seems to duck her head, whimpering uncomfortably as she's laid in the bright white beam of one of the bay's many racked lighting fixtures. "'m gonna hunt down Volari soon's Marlan an' whatever other quacks Sivad can dig up cure what's left of m'army," Snowmist answers with a casual blink of her eyes. "But first, 'm gonna look over m'kits, an' then plan on who they can stay with for the next few weeks. Or maybe a few years. Haven't thought 'bout it much yet. Oh," she adds in afterthought when she glances back disinterestedly as Wiendrbac deposits his burden nearby. "There's a fellow that's supposed t'let Whitestripe know Ripplefur's in his care now. Best I could do." Marlan grimaces, brow furrowing in pain as her eyes dart behind Snowmist to the figure laying on the ground. She hesitates a moment then heads past Mist towards the figure as Mist talks. She stops alongside, squatting down next to her. "Yes ma'am." Silvereye says quietly. "Would you like me to escort you there?" He steps aside, unable or unwilling to assume his more professional mantle as he gestures up the ramp. "And thank you." Kastaprulyi drifts a bit farther down the ramp, but keeps its distance from Mika's emotions. "Hello..." Kas offers uncertainly, and queries, "Do you know what kind of places'd be good for the kits?" Wiendrbac steps aside to let Marlan work, gloved hands falling to his side. "We'd gladly take them onto La Terre, at least for a temporary basis. It's the least I could do to apologize." For what he leaves unsaid. "Zhfrmrffmrf" and other eloquent statements are made courtesy of our poor little patient as Marlan approaches. Grumbling and mumbling is interspersed with the occasional broken sob and low-pitched whine. "Yeah," Snowmist says as she snags the duffel's strap and then simply proceeds to drag it after her as she strides past the longclaw, oblivious to all others in the area, whether she is directly addressed or not. "Y'can tell me what the hell happened, an' then maybe I can...I dunno. Yell a bit at the unfairness of it all an' go through the motions. Gotta drop off the kits, see what contacts're left, an' start gettin' back int' shape. Won't be like facin' off 'gainst recruits anymore...an' needta learn how t'fool a psionic now. Fun, fun..." she continues in a sing-song voice as she ducks into the Athena's airlock. Silvereye turns immediately after Snowmist has passed him, trudging silently up the ramp after her. Snowmist boards the GMF Athena. Airlock Amber warning lights wash across the the airlock core, while a cooler white illumination floods up from narrow floor recesses, splashing the textured panels and built in cabinets and racks. Sized for a workteam and their gear, the airlock is ample and almost generous. Sturdy steel recessed lockers are set against the port and starboard walls, while five multi-purpose EVA suits stand in polished brackets. A heavy duty cargo style switch box cycles the airlock. Below the floor panels can drop down and extend on heavy hydraulic struts, forming a boarding ramp. At the fore a wide steel ship's ladder rises up to a small platform and pressure hatch, leading into the ship proper. "So...report," Snowmist prompts as she stalks straight into the main corridor, the duffel *thump-thumping* after her over the sill of the airlock. The hatchway telltales flash from amber to green, as you leave the airlock to enter the ship's spinal corridor. Main Corridor Tall and narrow, formed from the repetative pattern of structural ribwork and bulkheads, the long corridor runs down the spine of the rugged starship. Light washes up from below, from recessed coves hidden along each wall's lower portion, giving the illusion that the gridded metal floor floats. Forward is the bridge, while aft leads to the engineering section. Port and starboard sit a pair of oversized pressure hatches recessed into matching service niches, while in three locations the corridor widens: at the gangways leading down to the airlock, crew quarters and sickbay. Silvereye enters the corridor from the airlock, amber warning lights flashing as the heavy hatchway closes behind. "As ordered I escorted the kits to evacuation site." Silvereye begins, his words automatic. "I was concerned with their safety and had no role commanding any militia forces at this time. Our marines on the landing pad opened fire first after a breach. Shortly thereafter the whole line collapsed and the marines were killed. I loaded the kits onto the Athena and we have been here ever since. I have attempted to contact Moonstalker but after the first night contact has been intermittent at best and now seems to have broken off." "So our marines fired first...usin' live ammunition...an' shot t'kill..." Snowmist mumbles, her steps faltering for a moment before she comes to a halt altogether, staring straight ahead. "Did y'hear 'bout Sharp?" "Yes." Silvereye responds without hesitation, stopping slightly behind her. "It's been reported throughout the independent worlds. He was beaten to death by rioters. We know about it because they hung his body from a lamp post on Sanctuary Avenue." He pauses, voice stone dead. "I haven't told the kits yet." Not even a whisker twitches at the matter-of-fact report. "Good. One less thing that needs t'be talked 'bout, then. The wardroom, 'm guessin'?" Snowmist asks as she starts moving again, not bothering to wait for a confirmation before she steps that way. Wardroom Tucked beneath and around the ship's spinal corridor, the wardroom serves both as workroom and general quarters for the ship's crew. Port and starboard rise the sleeping facilities, a set of double bunks running the length of the space. Each bunk has a set of built in cabinets and lockers for storing personal effects. The middle of the room is ample, sized to fit and brief the entire crew if necesssary. A central conference table dominates the space, its long dimension running from fore to aft. Spartan steel chairs ring the table, designed for utility instead of comfort. The forward wall has a large display screen, above which are ranked a battery of supplementary monitors. Aft is a compact galley, along with a cluster of smaller tables for eating and general conversation. A series of shielded sconces provide flexible lighting, allowing sections of the room to be darkened, letting some crew sleep while others continue their work. A gangway leads up to the ship's main corridor, while forward a paneled door leads to the Captain's private stateroom. Next to the stateroom entrance there is a slightly off color piece of metal bulkhead which appears to have been riveted onto the existing ship's bulkhead. It is inscribed with the names "Bernard Hitchcock" "Colin Marshall" and "David Ransom Porter". The last appears twice, the first occurance appears to have been etched out before being re-inscribed at the end of the list. "It's this way." Silvereye says quietly, almost a whisper as he moves past the various bunks. He gestures towards the door to the Captain's quarters. "Captain Ranix lent us her quarters, and until I knew more about what happened I took her offer." He explains almost apologetically, entering the code to open the door. Snowmist's approval is only implicit in her lack of criticism, waiting patiently for Silvereye to enter the code and the hatch to slide aside at their presences before stepping past, leaving the duffel behind on the threshold. Opening the fine wooden door you cross into the captain's private quarters. Captain's Quarters There is an air of quiet simplicty which frames the room, bringing the subtle touch of elegance to the finely appointed quarters. The far wall is dominated by a single window, a long narrow band of clear polycomposite glazing reaching from the carpeted floor to the latticed ceiling above. Beyond its crystal pane the stars slowly pass, looking out to the sable depths. To the left is the captain's bunk and storage units, an efficient array of elegant casework. The bed itself is set into the wall of exquisite millwork. It is neatly made, its single pillow set square at its head. Above, below, and to the sides the support cabinets become a paneled grid of polished cherry and mahoghany. Some panels are doors, some for storage cubbies, and others are displays, monitors and com-units, the pragmatic links to the officer's world. To the right is a workstation, flanked by a pair of stainless steel framed leather chairs. The workstation itself wrapped the far corner of room, its data display and workpad set in the middle. Upon the screen is traced a lattice of coloured lines and scrolling specifications, as well as readouts repeated from the ship's bridge. Upon the workstation rests a carefully framed photograph of a young Ungstiri girl standing between two boys. The younger of the two boys and the girl both appear to be roughly 10 years old. The older of the two boys appears a bit older, perhaps 14 or 15. It takes a moment, a second glance, to realize it is actually a picture of a picture, with an outline of Ungstir rock forming the border. A rememberance of three rockrats. Taped to the glass covering the print is a second snapshot, of a dark haired courier caught by surprise as she looks back from the pilot's seat of an Intruder class scoutship. Some might recognize the second picture as being a picture of Ekaterina Innokentevna, Ungstiri Ambassador. The bed is taken up by the two sleeping kits, brother and sister. Silvereye follows Snowmist into the room, glancing towards where the kits sleep. Marlan's work area has been taken over too, a few flatter and less framed pictures taking up space while one of the chairs has been turned around, presumably where he's been sleeping. The Longclaw stands off to the side, letting Snowmist pass and do as she pleases. Snowmist seems to release a long sigh as she finally sees the two softly breathing forms, her entire form slumping in on itself as she simply stands at their bedside and watches. She does not reach out toward them, or even do much more than take a single, reflexive sniff to breathe in their scent - simply stares until her eyes dry enough to require a blink. And then she folds down to the deck, arms wrapped around her knees, tilting precariously on her toes until she ends up leaning against the mattress' side, huddled into a tight ball. Silvereye watches this display, his own form relaxing as he seems to take some comfort in Snowmist's reaction. He softly pads over to the work desk, using a few moments to gather up the pictures he left there, fold them and stow them in his jacket. The process isn't as fast as that, there are some that draw his eye and warrant a few extra seconds of attention. But they all find their way into the jacket eventually just as Silvereye finds himself sitting in the now familiar chair, looking at Snowmist. "For Altheor's sake let yourself grieve." He suggests, voice tired but forceful. "Can't," Snowmist whispers, shuddering once before she tightens in on herself even more. "I might wake 'em up." "So wake 'em up." Silvereye replies matter-of-factly in the same tired voice. "They're scared out of their minds. They don't know what's happening and unfortunately for them neither do we." He pauses, flicking an ear towards the kits. "But they'll be happy to see their mother." "I can't," Snowmist repeats, sucking in a sharp breath and holding it before she husks, "I can't. Can't go through all this again. An' I don' know what t'say t'them yet. They need their sleep. It's been too much excitement for 'em. What've you been feeding 'em? Did y'watch an' make sure Nightshade wasn' sneakin' her vegetables off the table? She gets better at palming 'em every time." "Galley food. They call it oatmeal in the morning and then we scavenged for dinner." Silvereye continues, since that's what it is, just an addendum to his earlier statements. "They're quiet. Hardly talked to me, but I didn't really expect them to and they were good. I dozed during the nights, they were getting nightmares and so I comforted 'em. I don't even think they knew it was me." His gaze has wandered to the kits, and then it settles back on Snowmist. "Are you ever gonna know what to say? We're Demarians besides. We take pride in our bodies but they have a habit of giving up our feelings." "Don't got any left. Just hate. I hate 'em all. I hate everythin'," Snowmist mumbles, swaying before she just catches herself from toppling over completely. Unfolding herself with a stiffness that seems more appropriate to someone three times her age, she eases gingerly onto the bed, shifting the two small bodies upon it with practiced smoothness and a reflexive purrl of reassurance. The two kits - mirror copies of each other, night and day - mrrl sleepily in protest before the familiar scent and touch soothes them back into slumber, now curled contentedly against their mother, cradled in the crook of each arm. Snowmist swipes her tongue across each kit's cheek, reminding herself of their taste and scent and feel, before her eyes fix upon Silvereye, cold and flat. "The Demarian Militia's dissolved. Your rank, an' mine - whatever that was - no longer exist. You're free t'take whatever's in that bag, an' I wish y' the best o' luck. M'only regret is that I can't give y'more'n that." Silvereye closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "I asked Captain Ranix if I could stay on for a while." He replies, now staring at the ceiling. "If I don't do something I'm going to kill myself. Not with a gun or a knife...the way some underclassers used to kill themselves in the old city. They'd drink, they'd spend hours injecting themselves with whatever they could find. They'd give up, and they'd die." He pauses, closing his eyes again. "I lived the last five years, the first five years of my life, for that city, for our people. I might as well go back, die keeping a promise." The former Longclaw sits up, planting his footpaws and rising. "The bag is yours." "S'that all you're gonna do with the rest o' your life, then?" Snowmist's eyes rise with him, watching with a feral intensity before her lips peel back in a skull's grin. "Might have some use for y' after all. What say y'wait here with me for a little while? An' see what bugs we can kick up." Silvereye starts towards the door, padding slowly away. "I'm still at your call." He replies, paw hovering over the switch to open the door. "Militia or no militia. I don't think I like what you have in mind, but I will remain loyal. They can't cure this thing, you know. I've talked with them. I advised them. In a little over a week it will be like New Alhira never existed. I'll buy your hate then. When there's really nothing to live for." "Right. Nothin' left t'live for," Snowmist echoes as she sinks her muzzle down between her kits' bodies, letting them curl closer against her.
- Hinjo is crowned.
- 9/12/2011 06:11 PM (Iahex City) --- Iahex's local bars were certainly a lot different than El Sleazo, and Torque at first appeared to have trouble finding the one Shark told her about. Thankfully she eventually finds it, shouldering through the Autobot mechs and femmes as she looks around, feeling rather out of place. "Shark? You here?" She calls out, hoping he'd answer. Shark waves from one of the booths, "Over here Torque." he calls over the bar din. He already has a drink in front of him, it appears to be a ener-beer. Torque perks up and smiles when she hears and sees him. Moving to the booth she quickly sends the tender an order for a large draft ener-beer before sitting opposite the mech in the booth. "Too bad El Sleazo exploded. Was a little hard to find this place." Shark nods, "Yeah that sorta sucked, feel back for Foz-E, but I guess he gets to retire early." he notes with a little shoulder roll. "Guess I shoulda gave ya some directions, but figured it was close enough to your old clinic that you'd know where it was... guess I was wrong." Torque smirks and picks up her glass when it arrives with ease despite it being for mechs several times her size. "No worries. I'm here now, so no harm done." She takes a few sips to enjoy the taste before taking a mouthful. "So how've you been? Primus.. it's been forever." Shark takes a swig of his own beer before he replies, "Oh I've been all right all considering. Getting into scraps and in trouble with the higher ups. Nothing new." a soft chuckle. Torque chuckles as well, "I'm not surprised. You always were a magnet for trouble." She leans back in her booth seat, relaxing before a little smile manages itself onto her expression, "And how's the lady friend?" She wiggles her optic brows playfully over her glass as she tips it to take a sip. Shark smiles to the playful expression that comes with that question, "Oh she's fine. Just fine. Keeping busy. Medics usually are though, as well you should know. So how you doing? How's Cubricon treating you?" Torque rolls her shoulders in a shrug, "Eh, I've been better. Lifeline's shop is nearly smack in the middle of the city, so she gets way more clients than I did in the old place." She stares at the energon in her glass a moment, looking contemplative, "I'm just surprised she up and left like that. but what can I do, yah know?" Shark nods to that, "She had her reasons, what those were though is hard to say." he notes, "Sounds like you don't like the workload?" Torque's antennas perk up at the question and she look at him coyly with a smirk, "Now why would yah think that? You're talking to me, Shark. I love my work. The only thing that bothers me is the druggies that hang around the building. I literally have to chase them off." Shark takes a sip of his drink, regarding you quietly, then a nod given. "That's typical for that clinic though. Looking for something to trade for their Syk fix. With Lifeline gone, they'll get bolder about it too. Best to keep that clinic locked up tight." Torque nods, "I'll do that. Let's just hope for their sake they don't try something while I'm around. I'll knock 'em back into the last few cycles." She smirks and takes a few mouthfuls of energon, setting the glass down with a thud. "Hmm, so anything upcoming for you?" Shark looks thoughtful about that particular question, then chuckles, "Yeah I'm sensing some brig time in my future. Slipped up a few times, ticking off Prowl and probably Prime too." he huffs a bit, "Ah well, not like brig is all bad. Gives a mech time to contemplate." "Wow, when you talked about higher ups I thought it was only minor stuff. But big enough for brig time? Wow, Shark." She shakes her head and smirks, leaning forward to rest her chin in a palm. "But yah know.. I'm glad things worked out with you and your femme. Heh, guess I'll have to find someone for myself one of these cycles now." She chuckles and grins. Shark shrugs his shoulders, "Like ya said, I got a knack for trouble.. or finding it at any rate. I mean well and its 'Shark how could you do that' and 'You should have reported'.. blah blah blah.." he huffs harshly and finishes off his drink. A pause at your words, "You haven't yet? Better get to it then if you are serious about it." he notes with a slight smile. "Yeah yeah." Torque smirks while waving a hand dismissively. "If you ever find someone interested in a grease monkey femme who could benchpress them and their friends you let me know." Her glass is only half empty at this point when she tilts it to take a few more swigs. Shark chuckles to that, "I already have a mission to get Chromia a date with Ironhide, I don't think I could handle finding you a mech like that at the moment. I'll trust ya to know what you like though." "Heh, good luck with that. And don't worry about me, I'm sure I'll find someone eventually." Torque smiles thoughtfully, thumbing the edge of her glass. Lifting it she nearly chugs the rest of her drink and smiles to Shark. "Sorry to cut this a little shorter than expected, but I gotta go buy supplies for the shop before stores close. So many mechs and femmes coming in after the bar explosion, it's crazy." She stands she pats him on the shoulder, smirking, "Was good seeing you again, Shark. We should do this again soon. I always love a drink with a friend." Shark inclines his head to her and stands like a proper gentlebot should, "We'll do this again when I get some free time Torque, until then take care of yourself."
- Episode One, Season Five, of Cold. Enjoy <3 Back to Storm! Don't be confused, it's no longer the special Shade season anymore :c Which also means Brownshade is less cute, except on Shade episodes :)
- Catching Up is the fourth chapter of Recreation and the 138th episode overall.
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