Arc 1, part 2: Wretched hive of scum and villainy.

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> The Appaloosa wheels its way around Mahler, a couple of the giant's moons visible as glittering dots in its shadow. Eventually, Altamont comes into view: typical station design, a central spire with a single docking ring. Presumably it has artificial gravity throughout, as it's not noticeably rotating.(more)
<El-Cideon> The ship glides to a halt at an airlock and connects with the station. "Well, this is your stop. I'll be here a few days if you need to get around to someplace else orbiting Mahler. You can leave your weapons on the ship or check them with station security. They're surprisingly careful about not stealing anything. The chief of security threw someone out an airlock last time it happened."
<Forrest> "Might as well just leave 'em here, I reckon," Forrest shrugs. Besides, you never know when you might need to leave in a hurry.
* Targo doesn't particularly mind leaving them here, although he doubts they'll be getting on this ship to go anywhere again. Still, you never know.
* Wilhelmina agrees with the sentiment. If security doesn't know about their weapons, it might be easier to sneak them in later on.
<El-Cideon> OOC: Not taking any weapons at all with you?
<Forrest> OOC: I'll take my knife because I don't consider it a weapon.
<El-Cideon> OOC: Neither does security. >.>
<Wilhelmina> OOC: I lack knives
<Forrest> OOC: Then there's no problem
<Targo> OOC: I have one.
<Targo> OOC: I could throw it, thus making me likely to hit someone!
<El-Cideon> Exiting the ship, Lagoon Company steps into an airlock presently inhabited by four gray-suited toughs. They're visibly armed with stun batons, blade, and pistols, not to mention carrying a comlink, and look...almost professional. One of them steps forward. "Armaments to declare?" he asks brusquely.
<Targo> "Nothing," replies Targo, with a shrug.
<Forrest> "Likewise," Forrest nods amiably.
* Wilhelmina settles for shaking her head.
<El-Cideon> The officer grunts and motions forward another man to do the obligatory patdown on each of you, finding nothing and nodding when he's done. "Clear. Enjoy your time on Altamont Station," he says, waving Targo and the others to the door behind them. The doorframe clearly has some kind of scanning device built in to it, but it doesn't react when the Company passes through.
<Forrest> "Okay, so where to now?" Forrest asks, looking around the environs after passing through the alarmed doorway.
<Targo> "Let's get our bearings first. There should be some dives where we can ask around. Can't hurt to be nosy- he might come hunting us if we're noticed."
<El-Cideon> Finding the busier side of the station is easy enough. Right across from the airlock is a strut leading to the central spire, and following that leads to an open area at the center of the station which is filled with, for lack of a better word, shops. Some look like they're residing in retrofitted office space, some were maybe once storage rooms. Here and there is evidence of a wall or two being knocked out some time in the past. (more)
<El-Cideon> The lack of big-name chains is notable. Almost eerie, for anyone who grew up in more civilized environs. You might catch name-brand products in use or on sale, but most of this looks secondhand. Many shops make a point of claiming local manufacture. Tools, machine parts, clothing...the one thing notably scarce in this regard is groceries. Food retailers stock nothing fancy: lots of instant meals, vitamin pills, bottled water, etc. (more)
<El-Cideon> etc. Finding the local equivalent of a grog shop isn't tough. There's one on a nearby corner just as the team enters the market area. It's open on both sides and looks clean and well-lit. "Angel's" is scorched into the bulkhead above the entrance.
* Targo heads inside, as it's very definately necessary to have a drink and a quick meal after a three hour spaceflight. He'll never get that time back, after all.
<El-Cideon> Whether the establishment has anything worth drinking is another question altogether--there are a lot of beverages listed which are foreign to the Company. Probably local concoctions made from whatever hardy flora can be coaxed into life in hydroponics compartments. Actual name-brand drinks cost 50% more than usual here. "New here?" the barkeep asks. She's a stocky blonde somewhere approaching middle age.
<Targo> "Arrived just now. That easy to tell?" asks Targo, ordering something he's used to (hey, they can afford it!)
<Wilhelmina> "And would be as long as don't have guns," Wilhelmina mutters quietly, not ordering anything for herself.
* Forrest is feeling daring and decides to try the local flavour. "I'll have... one of those," he takes a stab at something with an interesting name.
<El-Cideon> Forrest is handed a glass of Rocket Fuel, which tastes just slightly of something you'd use to wash scorchmarks off metal but has one hell of a kick. "I know all the locals," she says to Targo, "and I don't know you. Easy enough." She hands him his drink and draws a glass of water for Wil. "On the house."
* Forrest coughs a few times and does his best to avoid wincing. "S'got a bite to it," he rasps.
* Wilhelmina doesn't turn away a free drink, even if it is water.
<El-Cideon> She chuckles. "You get used to it when you've been here a while. Just what you need for nights when the heater's on the fritz again." She proceeds to dry a glass with a rag in the manner of bartenders everywhere.
<Targo> "Station climate control not up to scratch?"
<El-Cideon> "We usually manage well enough. You just learn to be prepared, living out on the rim." She pauses to pour another drink for a patron at one of the various small tables littering the room, then returns.
<Targo> "This is our first time going through the rim in this sector. Didn't know the stations out here had many people living on 'em, though. Figured most of your patrons would be people in transit."
<El-Cideon> "We've got our fair share of permanent residents. This is the edge of the edge, as Larkspur puts it. The area's got a certain appeal for anyone looking to live without any entanglements. Got its risks, of course, so you could say plenty of the locals are 'in transit,' in a different way."
<Targo> "Larkspur's the guy in charge, yeah?"
<El-Cideon> A nod. "Yeah. Keeps the place running, keeps the fights out in deep space, where they belong. Kind of an oddball, between you and me, but he gets things done."
<Targo> "Being an oddball doesn't seem like an unusual thing 'round here," admits Targo. "We're looking for some ourselves, really."
<El-Cideon> "Yeah?" She has a look on her face that seems to suggest I Was Wondering When You'd Get 'Round to Business, as though this kind of thing comes up a lot. "Do tell."
<Targo> "We're from Wellington, y'see, and for the most part, we're grounded. But from time to time you get an idea of a big score floating around in the void. Trick is finding a way to get to it."
<El-Cideon> "Mm-hm, go on." You get the impression that a number of other people in the bar have suddenly stopped having anything better to do than pay attention to Targo.
* Forrest just drinks his rocket fuel, hoping Targo can handle this smoothly without screaming 'this is a set up'.
<Targo> "The standard transports are no good. Too linear. But they're all you see planetside. To put it crassly, the only place to find a ship with some balls on it is on the orbital circuit."
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Sure. And if I knew a crew like that, who should I refer them to?"
<Targo> "Lagoon Company," replies Targo, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, if they want a name, refer 'em to Silver. We'll be in port for a day or two, see if anything suitable crops up. It's a pretty crazy stunt, mind. Anyone we're getting board with needs that special something, some kinda edge."
<El-Cideon> "No shortage of those types around here," she says with a smirk. "I'll keep it in mind."
<El-Cideon> ---

[Sierra]

<Targo> OOC: Hmm. Repeat similar conversations like this across the various bars in the area. Do some GI checks on local groups that are cool and possibly name-drop Klartch's group.
<El-Cideon> OOC: Feel free to roll for GI, specify exactly what you're looking for, etc.
<Wilhelmina> OOC: I could GI as well!
<El-Cideon> OOC: Because everyone wants to talk to the scarred pyromaniac?
<Targo> OOC: Well. Targo is looking for Klartch. He's trying to do so in a way that doesn't make him look like a snitch.
<Targo> OOC: Drawing Klartch towards him is also a good plan! I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look into other pirates in the area, too.
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 for GI, see above
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 for GI, see above and gets 19."12 [1d20=8]
<Wilhelmina> OOC: Can I befriend the computers onboard to look into the pirates?
<El-Cideon> OOC: I'd say you could access the network to check on recent arrivals and such, yeah.
<Wilhelmina> roll 1d20+15
* Hatbot --> "Wilhelmina rolls 1d20+15 and gets 33."12 [1d20=18]
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 exciting!
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 exciting! and gets 20."12 [1d20=9]
<Wilhelmina> As Adelaide reports her findings to Wilhelmina, she decides to look into a certain name that came up. A spacer by the name of Ruby Laurents. Where are you, Ruby, and who is the person behind the name?
<Wilhelmina> roll 1d20+15
* Hatbot --> "Wilhelmina rolls 1d20+15 and gets 25."12 [1d20=10]
<Wilhelmina> "So," Wilhelmina announces sourly. "I might have a lead."
<Targo> "How big a lead?" asks Targo, sipping at a cup of coffee he acquired from a cheap diner. "I might have a place."
<Wilhelmina> "The Geshpent bar," she says, sticking to water. "It's in the lower levels, and Adelaide can show me where exactly. There's this old spacer by the name of Ruby Laurents. Had some kind of problem with the Black Wind crew when they visited a few days back. Sounds like there's history."
<Targo> "Guy or girl?"
<Wilhelmina> "Female. The old part pretty much precludes a girl, I think."
<Forrest> "S'obvious with a name like that?" Forrest suggests, drinking his Mountain Dew. He'd thought this stuff was discontinued and was so delighted to find some on this space station that he never even looked at the expiry date.
<Targo> "Neither of you got around very much, did you?"
* Wilhelmina glares at Targo, fingers twitching to grab Roberta. Ah, if only Roberta were still by her side.
<Forrest> "The only men called Ruby are washed up old drag-queens with 60 cigarette a day voices," Forrest nods sagely. "Faded platinum blonde wig, clown mascara, and wrinklier than a pug."
<Wilhelmina> "I have to agree, much as it pains me."
<Targo> "Well, where do you think old spacers go after their lose their ship?"
<Wilhelmina> "Lose their ship? She still has it."
<Targo> "So is that where we can find her, or does she have a room somewhere?"
<Wilhelmina> "No room to her name, so the bar is the best bet for a lead, unless you want to wait by her scoutship. I don't."
* Wilhelmina frowns. "And what about your lead?"
<Targo> "One of the other stations alltogether, so it can wait," replies Targo, shrugging. "Suffice to say it's more suited as a pirate haven than this joint."
* Wilhelmina stands up. "Let's go, then, before Forrest's indigestion kicks in."
<El-Cideon> Geshpent looks like it used to be a lab of some sort back when Altamont was a corporate station--there are computer terminals lining one wall, old research stations set up to access the local network. The lighting is subdued, the striplights at half intensity either to conserve energy or because it suits the mood of the patrons. (more)
<El-Cideon> The furniture all looks like it was pieced together from old ship parts, tables and chairs obviously reclaimed bits of hull. It's clear that folks out here don't waste anything if they don't have to.
<Targo> "This reminds me of a horror show. One about that autofactory gone nuts," remarks Targo, strolling down the aisle. "You know, instead of building goods, it built.. itself, into some monstrosity."
* Wilhelmina doesn't watch horror shows, and thus declines to comment. Instead, she brings up Ruby's likeness on her datapad, and looks around to see if the woman is present.
<El-Cideon> Ruby's plainly visible at a table in the center of the room, working on a bottle of beer and staring off into space--though she's quick to note Lagoon Company when they turn her way. She's a black woman somewhere in early middle-age, straight hair pulled back into a ponytail and showing signs of gray. She's tall and muscled. (more)
<El-Cideon> An angry red scar runs up one cheek. It looks quite recent (it wasn't on the portrait Wil found). She looks up as the team approaches. "Can I help you folks?" she asks. Wary, but not exactly unfriendly.
<Targo> "We've heard you've had some adventures lately," greets Targo, tapping a chair at the table. "Mind if we sit?"
<El-Cideon> "Misadventures," she corrects. She pushes the chair out with her foot. "Go ahead."
<Wilhelmina> "And why not start by recommending a beer that's not past expiration?" Wilhelmina jerks her thumb at Forrest. "I can't watch him order anymore."
<El-Cideon> "Sure," she says, tilting her bottle. "Runeschlager's good enough."
* Wilhelmina briefly consults Adelaide before nodding. "It wasn't discontinued a century ago. Approved."
* Forrest gives Wilhelmina a hurt look. "Those dates are only guidelines," he comments as he sits down.
<Targo> "I prefer wine for this reason. It never really expires," remarks Targo, leaning forward. "Anyway, heard you had a run-in with a certain ship not long ago. We're looking to have one, too."
* Wilhelmina lets Targo handle this, signaling her order of Runeschlager to the barkeep.
<El-Cideon> This gets her attention. "Black Wind, I guess is what you mean? Had a run-in with her crew, yeah. They're the new kids in town. And I do mean 'kids'--I don't care how old they are, none of them have any sense of propriety. They came down here a couple days ago thinking they'd hang with the locals, putting on airs like they were real vets."
<Targo> "Would've raised a few eyebrows, I imagine."
<El-Cideon> "Pretty much all of them in the room, yeah. I mean, what kind of self-respecting spacer goes around calling herself 'Karma,' or 'Arsenic?' They didn't get on so well with the regulars and folks started heckling them." She grins sourly. "Us old-timers stick together."
<El-Cideon> The Runeschlager tastes slightly of honey. It's not bad.
* Forrest snorts at the 'cool' nicknames. Just as bad as those orange posers and their team avalanche and so on.
* Wilhelmina coughs, setting the beer aside. "Don't mention those. Ever. We made a pact."
<Targo> "People who don't respect their own names just aren't worth much," responds Targo, nodding and ignoring his own surname. "They took off after that?"
<Wilhelmina> OOC: Strike, with apologies, etc
<El-Cideon> OOC: Shame, the line made me laugh.
<El-Cideon> "Well, not immediately after. I wandered up, made some stupid joke about them taking on new hands, maybe they needed a 'Halley Lujah.' Bitch with the knives didn't like that much," she says, tracing the scar up her cheek.
<Targo> "Y'give it back to her?"
<El-Cideon> She shakes her head. "I don't normally go armed 'round here. This is basically my backyard. And there were four of 'em--those two I mentioned, their leader, and an older fellow who should've known better. Big guy, they called him 'Stigma.'" She shrugs. "Guess I could count on the locals in a rumble, but security doesn't much care for riots."
<Targo> "They're taking on new hands, then?" queries Targo, frowning. "I'm guessing they'd have no luck on this station."
<El-Cideon> "Well, you ask me, they just like hearing themselves talk. I don't know what their game is, but they're bad news. I haven't heard of them raiding anyone, at least. I guess they know enough not to do do that. The locals would massacre them next time they tried to dock here."
<Targo> "They didn't happen to mention where they were headed next, did they? Sounds like they might be doing a run of the local stations."
<El-Cideon> "Depends on what they're after. If they're pirates--and I'd have a hard time seeing this lot make any kind of honest living--somewhere in the outer ring's a good bet. Prospectors vanish all the time out there and Wellington's patrols can be arsed to come out here and look for them. Not a cozy living, but good enough for a parasite."
<Targo> "If you were a pirate, and you were seriously looking for recruits, where would you go?" asks Targo, putting the question to her.
<El-Cideon> "Farnsworth," she says, sounding like she needs to spit to clean her mouth out. "Big ol' rock in the outer ring, practically a planetoid. Someone bored deep and set up shop years ago, dunno who. Place is infested with vermin now. Of all sorts. If someone needs to hide out somewhere while the heat dies down, that's where they go, 'cause they know Larkspur's not going to stand in the way of a bounty hunter if they come to Altamont."
<Targo> "Sounds like the kind of place our fellow would like, to be sure," admits Targo, glancing at Forrest and Wil to see if they have anything to add.
* Forrest shrugs, happy to follow Targo's lead on this. He's better at tracking people through swamps and jungles than this sort of thing.
<Wilhelmina> "Sounds like a place people keep their weapons."
<El-Cideon> Ruby manages a rueful laugh at Wil's remark. "No, you won't have to worry about that. Mind if I ask what your interest in these people is?"
<Targo> "Well, they've got something we want," replies Targo, leaning forward. "Just between you and me. The first step to getting it, sadly, is finding them."
<El-Cideon> "Shame. Well, give Ice Queen Arsenic my regards when you're done with them, will you? Good hunting."
<Targo> OOC: Well, the plan now is to get our ride to take us to Farnsworth
<Targo> OOC: Can we skip to her?
<Targo> OOC: Or even... it?
<El-Cideon> Security's loitering around the airlock when Lagoon Company heads back to the docking ring. Four goons. One of them steps forward to speak to Targo. "If you have a moment, sir, administrator Larkspur would like to speak with you." After a moment, he adds: "This is a request, of course."
<Targo> "I don't believe we've conducted ourselves inappropriately..." replies Targo, frowning. "Did he mention why?"
* Forrest looks a bit concerned at this, since they haven't really done anything at all to draw attention to themselves.
<El-Cideon> "Mr. Larkspur likes to remain informed about everything that happens on Altamont or that might affect Altamont. The easiest way is to ask those involved." He shrugs.
<Wilhelmina> "Even when those involved are leaving, not to return," Wilhelmina mutters.
<Targo> "Can you extend a message to him? Although Altamont is one of our stops, our business is unrelated. However..." Targo purses his lips. "We may return in a few weeks. I'll be happy to discuss it with him then."
<El-Cideon> The offcier doesn't look overly happy with this, but nods and steps aside.
<Targo> Targo gives the officer a nod before proceeding out the airlock towards their shutle.
<Targo> *shuttle
<El-Cideon> OOC: Will move you all along now, I suppose?
<Targo> OOC: Yeah
<El-Cideon> Therese doesn't sound too enthused about heading to Farnsworth, but hey, this is what she's paid to do. She complies with just a whistle and a sing-songy "Bounty hunt." It takes about an hour to get to the rock in question--which looks at first like any other in the belt aside from its tremendous size. (more)
<El-Cideon> Therese maneuvers the Appaloosa into a deep crater, one seemingly unremarkable from the surface but which turns out to have a docking bay bored into it--on the far side from the sun, it's almost imperceptible. There are no helpful landing lights to announce its presence; someone has to know where it is already to find it. The door slides open after Therese radios in a request to land.(more)
<El-Cideon> "I'll be staying here," Therese announces once the ship has landed. "Don't want anyone stealing the hubcaps, you know? Watch your backs. This place is rough."
<Targo> "This place have a weapons check?" queries Targo, sounding even less enthused than previously. Gunfights he can handle. Fistfights... not so much.
<El-Cideon> She actually laughs. "They'd never get away with that. Just...think about what you want to bring with you. If it's real obvious that you're looking for trouble, you're going to find it."
<Wilhelmina> "Frederica is coming along, then."
<El-Cideon> You note that the gravity here is quite weak. OOC: Low-gravity environment. Effects on pages 256/7 apply.
<Targo> "I guess you'll be leaving the rifle behind, Forrest," remarks Targo. "Pistols won't go astray, at least."
<Wilhelmina> "No, that would be stupid."
* Wilhelmina equips herself with both, naturally.
<Wilhelmina> "Take everything, you won't regret it!"
* Targo doesn't have anything else he can't conceal. "If there's trouble, it's all yours."
* Forrest nods and grabs his blaster pistol, patting his rifle on the way out. "You'll get your chance soon," he reassures it.
<El-Cideon> The docking bay is a wide cavern with no internal walls. Lagoon Company can see a variety of other ships grounded within the huge room--granted, the lights are dim here, so they can't see them *well*, but the bulk of the Black Wind is recognizable in the opposite corner of the huge room.
* Targo sizes up the ship and takes a good look at it, now that he has a chance to see it in person.
* Wilhelmina has to stop herself from grabbing the controls and trying to just ram the Black Wind with the Appaloosa.
<El-Cideon> Doing so would be inadvisable, since the Black Wind is much larger than the Appaloosa. Most likely, Wil would just wreck Therese's ride. The old police cruiser is a sleek bullet of a ship, painted black by its new owners and gleaming darkly in the low light. It could probably house 15-20 people in cramped conditions, if necessary.
<Forrest> "Paydirt?" Forrest asks his two companions, eyeing the ship.
<Targo> "That's right. They'll probably be in some bar somewhere on the station. Nobody stays on board ship in a place like this if they don't absolutely have to- sorry, Therese."
<El-Cideon> In the far wall, near the Black Wind, there's a lift which presumably leads to the rest of the station.
<Targo> "Does the bay have a sealed atmosphere? Can never be too sure in these places..."
<El-Cideon> It does. The Appaloosa passed through more than one door before getting to it.
* Targo starts to hop off, then, and heads towards the vertical corridor to adventure, excitement, and, if his money is right, a lot of tobacco smoke.
<El-Cideon> There's not a lot of activity in the docking bay itself. One ship has a couple people working on it, one or two others have guards posted outside to give potential looters a real obvious deterrant, but that's it. No one gives Lagoon Company a second glance as they pile into the lift. The device only has two buttons, which no one's bothered to label. (more)
<El-Cideon> Process of elimination is easy enough: Ruby said someone bored deep into the rock, so down you go. The lift whirs into motion (the machinery here is obviously much less sophisticated than Altamont's; not as well-maintained, either) and descends for what seems like minutes before grinding to a halt.(more)
<El-Cideon> The door opens to reveal a long central avenue with doors and openings at irregular intervals. Everything about Farnsworth seems jury-rigged and improvised as if on a whim.
<Targo> "I do wonder how anyone gets repairs done around here. Do you think vacuum leaks are common?" asks Targo, sauntering out.
<Wilhelmina> "Not only the white hats can do maintenance."
<Forrest> "This'll be a real short trip if they are."
<El-Cideon> This far down in the rock, integrity of the air recyclers is a more likely problem. At any rate, there's no one out in the "street" right now, but conversation can be heard from several of the doorways (which follow no uniform construction. Access pads seem to have been taken from a variety of other places; some have good security, some have none). (more)
<El-Cideon> The noisiest establishment on the avenue is a wide-open, unnamed bar on the right side of the corridor. The haze of smoke drifting out suggests that Targo's guess was accurate (and that the residents of Farnsworth don't give much thought to straining the station's air filters).
<Targo> "Our perps are here somewhere. Let's look around. Given what we've heard, I figure we don't need to be nosy. Just keep your eyes open."
<Forrest> "Look out for pink hair," Forrest nods sagely.
<El-Cideon> OOC: Heading into the bar, or going to wander more?
<Targo> OOC: Wil can head it! She has blending skills.
* Wilhelmina decides that the best place to look must be a bar!
<El-Cideon> As one might expect, there's a fair bit of gambling going on inside. The patrons are generally scruffy, unkempt types in weathered spacesuits (sometimes ill-fitting enough to suggest that they'd been taken from someone else). The furniture is homemade bricabrac of the most utilitarian sort, bits of tarnished steel bolted together haphazardly. (more)
<El-Cideon> Like elsewhere on the station, the lighting is subdued. There's a door to a backroom which occasionally swings open to admit a patron. Monotonous music of some sort can be heard from inside. Apart from the barkeep, a beefy oaf with a smashed-in nose, the only one who stands out in the front room is a solitary man in the corner who seems to have noted your arrival.
* Forrest goes to order a round of drinks, looking around the clinetele to see if any are recognisable from the briefing on the pirates.
<Targo> Targo gives the man a brief nod before heading inside and following Forrest's suit, choosing to use his ears more than his eyes and listening in on conversations all around him.
* Wilhelmina thinks that trouble is likely to find her, as promised, content to observe for the time being.
<El-Cideon> The drinks smell like some industrial solvent, but they don't seem immediately harmful to imbibe. None of your targets are visible in the front room, but it sounds like there are plenty more folks in back. Listening to conversation around you turns up a couple mentions of some pink-haired chick, but the patrons soon shift to wondering who these three goobers looking around are.(more)
<El-Cideon> As for the man in the corner, he nods in response to Targo and goes back to fiddling with a datapad and drinking (tea, of all things). He's an elderly Indian man in a simply ancient spacesuit.
<Targo> Targo buys some tea as well, when his turn comes, and decides to see if he can't go and have a chat with this old many. "Hello, fellow. Mind if I join you?" he asks with a disarming smile.
<El-Cideon> "I doubt I could stop you," he says drily. "Go right ahead." He seems to have brought his own tea set--porcelain cup, saucer, etc. It's in stark contrast to the local issue mugs, which look to have been pounded from sheet metal.
<Targo> "Hmm? You expected me to be forceful? Do I really look the type?" asks Targo, with a raised eyebrow.
<El-Cideon> "Well, you *are* in Farnsworth." He shrugs "Think nothing of it, it goes with the territory. And apologies if I decline to shake your hand. Most of the locals here think 'hygiene' is how they greet their friend at the pub. So: new here?"
<Targo> "Certainly am. Up from planetside, looking to make some new friends. The name's Silver- what's yours?"
<El-Cideon> "Raul Srinivasan. You choose a curious place to make friends, Mr. Silver. Or, rather, a place to make curious friends. Dare I ask what brings you out here?"
<Targo> "Friendly curiosity."
<El-Cideon> He smirks. "No doubt. Most people come here for one of two reasons: to get away from something or to find something. Often something that someone else has, in the latter case."
<Targo> "Well, I never. We're here to find some people, as it were! This pink-haired woman everyone is talking about, I've got a feeling she's my type."
<Forrest> "You ever think about dying your hair, Wil?" Forrest asks his fellow bar-propper upon overhearing that snippet.
<El-Cideon> He chuckles. "Far be it for me to comment on such base concerns, but I daresay she'd be most everyone's type." He nods. "She's been here. Her and her rowdy friends went into the back room a while back. Thankfully. It's much more pleasant out here now."
<Targo> "That a dealmaking place or a place to fall into wedlock?"
<El-Cideon> Another grin. "A bit of both, sometimes. There's also dancing of a rather prurient nature. I understand some people find this sort of diversion desirable after a long time out in space." He *tsks*.
* Wilhelmina doesn't even dignify that with a response, a permanent scowl etched onto her features.
<Targo> "It's open to anyone who cares to head in, then?"
<Forrest> "Later," Forrest says after hearing that, promptly heading through to the back.
<El-Cideon> "More or less," he says. "The fellow carding people to check their age quit after being severly beaten several times," he adds.
<Targo> "You're telling me there are kids on this rock?"
<El-Cideon> "I was employing a rhetorical device known as 'sarcasm,' Mr. Silver. I weep for the future when anyone deems Farnsworth a place to raise a family."
<Targo> "It'll toughen them up. And they'll be used to low-G! Thanks for your help, though," he replies, sauntering off after Forrest towards the back room.
* Wilhelmina catches up to Targo as he is about to enter. "So that's where all the action's at?"
<Targo> "Yes, of various types."
<El-Cideon> Something akin to dance music is blaring in the back room. At least, it has a beat. it's hard to discern anything else since the sound system is bad and the bass is cranked to the max. The room is mostly dark, though there are adjustable lights around the tables (surely a luxury, in a place like this). (more)
<El-Cideon> There's a makeshift stage opposite the door, on which a young woman with a luxurious mane of glossy purple hair exploits the low gravity for commercial benefit. A sheet of transparant glass suggests that the owner of the bar isn't relying on the locals' self-control to keep them from interfering with the act. (more)
<El-Cideon> Glancing around, you're able to spot your quarry at a corner table. Kartch and Karma are recognizable there, talking with a brown-haired man who soon gets up and leaves. Arsenic is visible in the crowd in the center of the room, kicking some local lout in the face. The other patrons seem unconcerned by this event.
* Forrest finds a nice vantage point not too far from the pirates from which he can enjoy the entertainment on offer. Low gravity is the best thing ever.
* Wilhelmina nudges Targo. "The direct approach?"
<El-Cideon> It certainly affords some exciting new possibilities for someone employed in the field of creative gyration. The girl's statuesque but with an almost forgettably plain face. Granted, that's not really what people are watching for.
<Targo> Targo foces entirely on Kartch, attempting to ignore the psychic freak next to him and the entertainment occuring nearby. "Yeah," he replies, sauntering over towards the duo and taking a seat at their table like he owns it.
* Wilhelmina follows him, remaining standing behind Targo as he claims his seat, much like a bodyguard might.
* Forrest sadly takes some of his attention off the dancer to make sure nothing bad happens to his two buddies during the ensuing negotiations.
<El-Cideon> Kartch is dressed in a simple spacesuit, the color something like deep purple verging on black. You can't help but notice that he's a little...twitchy. Karma's kitted out in robes of some sort, like she's an attendant in some old-time religion. Her hair's coifed into a creative array of loops and she smiles constantly. It's eerie. (more)
<El-Cideon> Kartch barely bats an eye as Targo sits down, but you can tell he's ready to reach for a gun in a second if he thinks he has to. "Yes?" he demands.
<Targo> "I hear you're looking for crew. So happens we're looking for a ship. Our short-term goals are complimentary. And in the end, I believe we both seek the same thing."
<El-Cideon> "That's accurate," he says. "Tell me your name. You clearly know who I am already. I need to know who I'm dealing with before we talk about anything."
<Targo> "Targo Silver. I'm saddened that you haven't heard of me, but things will change with time."
<El-Cideon> He shrugs. "Don't be so disappointed. There are drawbacks to being notorious. You never know when someone will come gunning for you if they think there's some profit in it." He seems agitated. Karma rests one hand on his arm and he settles down after a moment.
<Targo> "With risk comes reward, though," replies Targo, leaning back. "I suppose my offer is along similar lines. I won't waste words. We've got information on a profitable target on one of the moons around here. We need a ship to get there and it can't be afraid of getting tarnished. We've got the contacts to handle the frills."
<El-Cideon> "Elaborate, please," he says, cautious but curious. "As I'm sure you know, I do have a ship and it's *quite* combat-ready. What are the potential spoils here?"
<El-Cideon> Out in the center of the room, Arsenic can be seen stomping on something or someone in the midst of the crowd.
* Forrest is glad that's not him.
<Targo> "You heard of 'Ouna'? There's a research colony there, studying xenomorphs living under the ice. Studies into sub-zero survival and all of that." (More.)
<Targo> "We're talking about large biotech firms, trawling for new discoveries, here, and capturing stuff that deep isn't easy. Both the lifeforms and any data left behind would be worth quite the sum, if put through the right channels."
<El-Cideon> "We're familiar with jobs like that," Karma puts in, speaking for the first time. Her voice is pleasant and soothing, almost melodic. She always sounds like she couldn't be happier about whatever it is that she's saying. "What do you know about this colony? Security? Do you have schematics?"
<El-Cideon> Arsenic marches through the crowd back to her comrades' table. She tries to snatch a ribbon from Karma's hair, but the esper catches her by the wrist and hands over a handkerchief instead. Arsenic uses it to wipe a smattering of blood off one boot and then leans against a neaby wall, eyeing Targo and Wil.
* Wilhelmina eyes Arsenic back quite openly, as if she were considering which of her weapons would splatter her most effectively.
<Targo> "We have the location and detailed schematics. As for security, the colony relies on remoteness, as well as the difficulty of detecting it in the first place. The place won't host anything extravagant unless they've cooked it up there since it was built." (More.)
<Targo> "There's a possibility they may try to unleash some amphibious beast on us."
<El-Cideon> "Oh?" Kartch says, sounding intrigued. "That would be a new one." He glances over Targo and Wil, clearly considering things. "How many of you are there?" he asks.
<El-Cideon> Arsenic favors Wil with a glare, for her part. It seems a pretty natural expression, on her face. Her brown hair is tightly pulled back into a ponytail, which only makes her look more hostile. She's visibly armed with several blades, of varying types.
<Targo> "Three. We're all ex-something, if you care about history," replies Targo, smirking. "I want to ask you the same question, as well."
<El-Cideon> Kartch responds with a smirk of his own. "Then you're in good company. Everyone I travel with is 'ex-something-or-other.' If only they could make up their minds on what. Anyway, you've got me, the lovely lady next to me is Karma, and the grimacer is Arsenic. Five more on the ship." (more)
<El-Cideon> "Twice your number," Karma adds. "Which obviously enhances our bargaining position."
<Targo> "Indeed. I propose we split the proceeds in half," replies Targo. "The reason is simple; this information didn't come by accident, and our resources have already been expended confirming it and securing potential buyers ahead of time. Our group goes beyond our point men- but you don't need to hear about that."
<El-Cideon> Kartch and Karma exchange a glance; the girl nods after a moment. "Very well," Kartch says. "We expect you to pull your weight in any firefights, of course. And a final question: are you or any member of your team experienced in practicing medicine? We presently lack such expertise due to a recent a ambush."(more)
<El-Cideon> "I have a certain knowledge of human anatomy," Arsenic adds flatly. Karma: "She's not so interested in fixing things as taking them apart, though."
<Wilhelmina> "Taking things apart is a time-honored tradition."
<El-Cideon> Arsenic manages a mocking laugh at this.
<Targo> "Whereas putting them back together is spat on until truly needed," snorts Targo. "Yes, I have some expertise in most aspects of battlefield medicine. Speedy surgery is beyond me, and I fear I shall never have time to learn."
<El-Cideon> "It will have to do," Kartch says. "We'll rely on you in the event of any injuries." Karma sighs: "It's so much more efficient to win without firing a shot. I'm sure if we just talk things over, we can persuade everyone to surrender without a fight." Then, still smiling as always: "And then we can kill them if we have to."
<Wilhelmina> "I like your idea of diplomacy," Wilhelmina agrees.
<El-Cideon> Karma nods respectfully.
<Targo> "So we're agreed?" questions Targo, extending a hand. "I'm loathe to give up the details until our place is secure."
<El-Cideon> "Yes, I think we have a deal," Kartch says, shaking Targo's hand.
<El-Cideon> ---

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> Lagoon Company takes the lift back up to the docking bay with Kartch and his henchwomen once the deal is made, Kartch being loathe to discuss the details of the operation out in the open. Everyone heads over to the Black Wind, which is presently being watched over by an imposing blond man (he's surely well over six feet) in heavy armor and a hispanic woman with a long mane of black curls. (more)
<El-Cideon> Both of them are armed with heavy rifles. You notice that Kartch himself is actually quite short, and that bowl cut really is quite ugly. However he keeps the crew in line, it's not because he's a dashing rogue. "Stigma," he addresses the blond man, "we'll be running a joint operation with these folks soon. Give them the grand tour of the ship? I have some business to wrap up before we leave." He wanders off, leaving you with his lackeys for now.
<El-Cideon> with his lackeys for now.
<Wilhelmina> The bigger they are, the harder they fall, Wilhelmina thinks, not looking terribly impressed.
<Forrest> "Howdy," Forrest grins, tipping his hat to his new friends.
<Targo> "Greetings. Stigma, is it? I'm Targo," greets Mr. Silver, gesturing at his friends. "The gentleman here is Forrest, and the lady is Wilhelmina. Now we know each other."
<El-Cideon> "Of course," the big man nods. He has a distinct British accent. His tone is flat. Not distinctly unfriendly, just the manner of someone watching for someone, anyone, to step out of line. For all that he's nominally in charge, Karma seems ready to lead the way into the ship. (more)
<El-Cideon> The hispanic woman seems more affable, if wary of the newcomers. "Hey," she says with a little wave. "I'm Reina."
<Targo> Perhaps she's a new recruit? Targo decides to speak to her over Stigma. "What's your job 'round here?" he asks, with a casual smile.
<El-Cideon> "Oh, I do a little of everything." She shrugs. "We're not a military outfit," she adds with half a smile, "folks pitch in wherever they're needed. I guess I'd be recon if we were grounded, but that doesn't happen often."
<Wilhelmina> "Can you set things on fire?" Wilhelmina asks her in all seriousness.
<El-Cideon> Karma starts up a ramp heading to the middle of the ship. "If you'll all follow me," she says amiably, in the manner of a tour guide.
<El-Cideon> Reina laughs. "In a manner of speaking," she says with a suggestive wink. "Funny you should ask that particular question. Reina Infierna's my full name."
<Forrest> "Wil here's a big fan of fire," Forrest provides as if it wasn't obvious, jerking a thumb in her direction as he strolls along after Karma.
<Wilhelmina> That pun is bad. Very, very bad. Wilhelmina considers saying it, but ends up nodding curtly. "We'll get along just fine, then."
* Targo strolls after Forrest, refusing to be the first to go after the psychic woman.
<El-Cideon> Karma doesn't notice Targo's slight, or at least doesn't acknowledge it. Stigma and Arsenic trail behind Lagoon Company, as if on guard. Arsenic's wearing a dull silver jumpsuit of some sort that zips up the front, and smells as though she doesn't remove it very often. (more)
<El-Cideon> Karma leads everyone into a corridor in the center of the ship. She's all sweetness and smiles as she starts her shpiel. "We're on deck two right now. The Black Wind has three floors, but the uppermost is essentially just a small recreation area. This ship was a police cruiser before it fell into our hands, so you may find the accomodations a bit spartan." She gestures to her left. "Crew quarters are down there."(more)
<El-Cideon> "The ship has space for up to thirteen people, but there are a few empty rooms right now if you all wind up staying here for a while." She turns to her right. "The engine room's that way. Our engineer, Avram, is probably working there right now. We can meet him if you'd like, but I doubt he'll play an active role in the operation."
<Forrest> "Our tax credits at work," Forrest grins as he slaps his palm on the bulkhead.
<Wilhelmina> "What tax credits?" Wilhelmina asks with a frown. "We pay taxes? Since when?"
<El-Cideon> The ship's interior is indeed quite barren, and Kartch doesn't seem to have gone to any effort to redecorate it. Bare metal and plastic, for the most part, utilitarian construction for public servants.
<Targo> Targo sizes up the ship as he wanders through it, making a map of the layout of the sleeping positions in his head. The ambush will likely take place within the ship, so planning begins today. "Property taxes," he says, absently. "Amongst other things."
<Wilhelmina> "Well, that's stupid. We should stop."
<Targo> "Getting evicted would be a pain."
<Wilhelmina> "I'd like to see them try."
<El-Cideon> It looks like there are seven doors for crew quarters, three on one side of the corridor and four on the other. Probably the captain's room is larger than the others. At the very end of the hall is the entrance to the bridge, Karma says, agains waiting to see if anyone's interested in looking around here.
* Wilhelmina shows interest at the mention of the bridge.
<El-Cideon> Karma leads the way, then. "This is where the magic happens," she says with a sweep of her arm. It's a semicircular room, clearly at the front of the ship since a window at the front looks out on the Farnsworth landing bay. There are four visible workstations, and a commander's post right by the door you came in from. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Two gunner's posts, and an ion cannon controlled by the copilot. Heavy artillery courtesy of the Esperitan government," she adds with a smile.
* Wilhelmina looks to see who's actually on duty at the bridge at this time. "So it needs only two people to oprerate, and the rest are for redundancy?"
<El-Cideon> "Strictly speaking, just the pilot could run the ship, but it wouldn't be very efficient. If we expect to see action, every post will be manned."
<Wilhelmina> "So there are gunnery controls for the pilot as well," Wilhelmina says, nodding. "And the most important question. Has this ship ever rammed anything?"
<El-Cideon> Karma radiates confusion. "Why would we want to do that?"
<Wilhelmina> "Whyever not?"
<Targo> "It hurts your ship as much as it hurts theirs. That's not a winning plan."
<El-Cideon> "Obviously you've never been stuck with the repair bill," she says to Wil, sweet and innocent as ever.
<Wilhelmina> "It is an important attack on the enemy's psyche! No one expects to get rammed!"
<El-Cideon> "Shall we head below decks? There should be a few more louts loitering around this ship somewhere."
<Wilhelmina> She's being ignored, even thought this strategy served her well in the military! Wilhelmina shrugs. "Looking at anything with weapons is fine."
<El-Cideon> Karma leads everyone back into the central corridor. Right by the entrance to the ship is a lift to ferry the crew between the various decks; taking it downwards, you wind up in something like a cargo bay. Various bits of machinery are strewn about, though nothing that looks significant. (more)
<El-Cideon> There's a door of sorts in the center of the floor, probably to bring in objects found out in space. "It was made big enough so that the ship could take on escape pods and the like, which I gather police have to do once in a while. Over here is the infirmary," she says, leading everyone to a room in the wall to her right. (more)
<Targo> "Do you actually have escape pods loaded?" queries Targo, forgetting his hangups for an instant.
<El-Cideon> You're probably just below the bridge right now. Inside the infirmary are a couple cots, various cabinets which are presumably stocked with medical supplies, and a metal operating table (which, ominously, is splattered with old bloodstains). "Though I'm afraid this has been Arsenic's play area lately."
<El-Cideon> To Targo: "Not at present. Whyever would we need them?"
<Wilhelmina> "Does she have a phobia of cleanliness?"
<Targo> "If you need to ask, then I Think an answer would be meaningless."
<El-Cideon> Karma just laughs at both statements and heads over to the opposite end of the lower deck (though there's a locked door next to the infirmary which she doesn't mention. It has an impressive-looking electronic lock keeping it shut). (more)
<Wilhelmina> "What is behind the conspiciously-locked door?" Wilhelmina asks, since Karma skips that part.
<El-Cideon> "Over here's the brig," she says, gesturing to the only door in the far wall, "for any undesirables the Esperitan police picked up. I'm afraid to say it does still see some use, when someone...acts up."
<El-Cideon> To Wil: "Conspicuous objects, naturally."
<Wilhelmina> "Would they happen to be explosives or dangerous chemicals?" Wilhelmina asks with interest.
<El-Cideon> Karma turns from the door to the brig. "Why, do you have need of some?"
<Wilhelmina> "Always," Wilhelmina says instantly.
* Forrest edges away from Wil.
<El-Cideon> Karma just chuckles. Arsenic, loitering by the lift door, is unamused (though this seems a permanent condition for her, judging by her sour expression). "It's not any of your business. You guys are like temps, okay? You don't get the pharmacy keys."
* Wilhelmina doesn't expend the energy to argue with the village idiot, and ignores the smelly woman altogether.
<El-Cideon> Karma wanders over to her shipmate and lays a hand on her arm, placatingly. "Arsenic, maybe you should go check our other guest? Strictly speaking, I don't think you're contributing to the tour in any constructive fashion." Arsenic snorts in disdain but complies, vanishing into the brig.
<Targo> Targo's mood doesn't seem to approve with Arsenic's disappearance, but only those who know him well would be able to tell. "You have another guest?" he remarks, sounding surprised.
* Wilhelmina can't help but be a bit impressed at how easily the creepily-smiling girl controls her crewmates, and shows it.
<El-Cideon> Karma shrugs. "Of a sort. No one who'll be participating in the operation, of course, so you needn't worry yourself. Now, if we could head back upstairs? Frank and Bruce are in the rec room, I suspect."
<Forrest> "What sort of facilities in the rec room?" Forrest asks as if that was the most important thing in the ship.
<El-Cideon> "Well, don't expect a full-service entertainment center," Karma says as everyone piles into the lift again. "Again, this was a police vessel. But even Esperitan bureacrats acknowledge the need for some manner of distraction out in space." The lift whirs to a halt and opens on a long room that seems to comprise the entirety of the third deck (which makes it sound more grandiose than it is; the third deck is smaller than the others). (more)
<El-Cideon> There's a viewscreen plastered on the wall at the far end of the room; entertainment of various media are scattered on shelves around it. There's something akin to a kitchen area right by the lift itself; stocks of booze are visible. In the middle of the room, two men are at a table playing good old-fashioned checkers. They look up at your approach.
<Forrest> "Howdy," Forrest gives the duo a wave.
<Wilhelmina> "This is old people recreation," Wilhelmina mutters at the sight.
<Targo> "Buy a console from the station if you have time to complain."
<Wilhelmina> "Bite me."
<El-Cideon> They wave back. One is a beefy black man with a shaved head, the other's a grizzled caucasian with a graying beard. The latter gets up to greet you. "Hey now, winning at checkers is a fine art," he says, with a drawl that Forrest should know well. "Who are these folks, Karma?"
<Targo> "We're your new partners," states Targo, after a moment of silence. "Temping, as Arsenic put it. Since we lacked a ship, we checked out the flashest one around."
<El-Cideon> "Well, welcome aboard, I guess," he says. "Bruce Hoon. This here's Frank Cohen," he says, gesturing to the black man at the table, who gives a friendly nod.
<Wilhelmina> "Good intuition," Wilhelmina compliments Karma.
<El-Cideon> Karma raises an eyebrow. "You are capable of introducing yourselves, no?"
* Wilhelmina points at Targo. "He does it."
<Forrest> "Forrest Powell," Forrest nods after their tour guide foists the introductions back onto them.
<El-Cideon> Bruce perks up at this, peering at Forrest curiously. "Don't tell me. Fellow Martian?"
<Forrest> "Hah, didn't think there was that many of us," Forrest grins. "Grew up at Cydonia Station," he confirms.
<Wilhelmina> Mars should be scoured from orbit, Wilhelmina muses, a smile creeping onto her face.
<Targo> "I've never been to the core," pipes up Targo. "It seems more close-knit than the other sectors, from what I've heard. Put two people from Suduol in the room and they won't even care, but from Earth or Mars..."
<Wilhelmina> "Mars is special that way."
<El-Cideon> "From Bradbury, myself. Much as you couldn't pay me to go back and live on old Ares, it's nice to hear a sound of home, you know." To Targo: "Well, yeah. It's about established culture, you know? You get all sorts of people mixed together on these new worlds. Don't have as much in common, you know?"
<Targo> "Come to think of it, you do see more Martians in space than Titanians or Venusians... oh, well, yes. Culture is pretty fluid these days. I've seen all sorts on Wellington, you know? The only shared culture is that everyone hates it."
<Forrest> "Earth is actually pretty overcrowded," Forrest admits. "But yeah, Mars has about the same population as Pendleton, and most of us who grew up there can't wait to get away."
<El-Cideon> This earns a laugh from both of the men. "I don't know," Frank speaks up, "I think there are worse places to be. Wellington administration's good about keeping their nose out of your business, at least."
<Wilhelmina> "They know their place, yes," Wilhelmina agrees.
<Targo> "Yeah, but they keep their nose out their own business, too. You don't want to be driving a wheeled vehicle on Pendleton's roads, for instance. Don't get me started on the traffic lights."
<Wilhelmina> "Vans have right of way. That's all you need to know."
<El-Cideon> Stimga chimes in for the first time since the meeting outside the ship. "Earth *is* overcrowded. Human beings are its chief export these days. I can say this from experience."
<Targo> "Who'd want more of them on their planet? There's a lot of supply and not much demand."
<El-Cideon> He shrugs. "The UES central government isn't concerned about demand. They're concerned about relieving the pressure on their own planet." Another shrug. "Karma, we should get the ship ready for when Kartch returns. You three can make yourselves at home until we're prepared to take off."
<Wilhelmina> "So what's actually restricted?" Wilhelmina asks bluntly. "Because this isn't my thing and I wouldn't want to blunder somewhere I shouldn't be, either."
<Targo> "Unfortunately, they can't kick people off that rock without kicking them someplace else. Immigration policy is a real riot these days, I hear," Targo remarks, dropping down on a nearby chair. "So what do you guys do on the ship?"
<Forrest> "Well I'll need to pick up my gear actually. Didn't want to walk around Farnsworth all fully loaded, but it's gonna be needed when we hit Ouna," Forrest puts in, not wanting to take off without his sweet new plasma rifle.
<Targo> "I've got everything I need already. Make sure you've got the field cloak. If you forgot it, get any gear you need while we're still in port."
<El-Cideon> Karma nods parting. "Do retrieve your gear from your transport ship, yes. The mission briefing will likely take place in this room, so return here when you're done looking around. Feel free to help yourself to the refreshments. As for the rest of the ship," she says to Wil, "most anything is open, but we won't want any distractions on the bridge in transit." She heads back down the lift with Stigma.
<El-Cideon> Frank responds to Targo: "Well, Bruce here's basically the heavy artillery. I'm not quite *as* heavy, but I like to think I'm good with a gun when push comes to shove. Mostly, I'm here to get us into places other people don't want us to get."
* Forrest gets on the lift with Karma and Stigma. "How'd you guys manage to get your hands on this thing, anyway?" he asks the pair amiably, patting the wall.
<Targo> "Yeah? We'll be relying on you, then," remarks Targo. "Place we're going is a research lab, so I'm expecting a lot of computerised defences and such."
<El-Cideon> "Before my time," Stigma says simply. "Recall that the cargo door is big enough to allow an escape pod entrance?" Karma fills in. "We know that from experience."
<Forrest> "Infiltrate and overrun?" Forrest surmises. "Good plan." Hopefully it's still a good one.
<El-Cideon> "No doubt," Frank says. "The corps protect what's theirs any way they can. No worries, I've hit a few. I can get us through whatever they've got."
<El-Cideon> "Essentially," Karma replies. That seems as far as she wants to elaborate on the subject.
<Forrest> "Welp, I'll be back in a bit once I've got our stuff from the shuttle," Forrest waves to the pair as the lift stops and he heads out and towards the airlock. "Don't get into too much trouble without me."
<Targo> roll 1d20+11
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 and gets 15."12 [1d20=4]
<El-Cideon> Wil finds Arsenic patrolling the central corridor of the main deck, the brunette apparently ill at ease with her temporary shipmates. She keeps an eye on Wil and trails her to the engine room but doesn't try to stop her from doing anything. The engine room itself is filled with the hum of machinery. It's a spartan room filled with readouts, and the occasional access port to the ship's innards. (more)
<El-Cideon> There's a cot in one corner, suggesting someone bunks here on occasion. The engineer himself is a wiry arab that looks to be in his twenties somewhere. He's distracted at first but eventually notices Wil with a start. "Whoa! I mean, hi." He peers at Arsenic, lurking out in the hall. "New hand?" he asks Wil.
<Wilhelmina> "Something like that," she agrees. "We're partnering up for now." Looking back at Arsenic so that there's no question of who she is referring to, Wilhelmina asks, "Does anyone actually like that woman?"
<El-Cideon> He glances at Arsenic again. "Oh, sure, everyone loves her," he says, with an obviously faked grin that makes it quite clear he's only saying this because Arsenic's right there.
* Wilhelmina matches his grin, making no effort to conceal its fakeness.
<El-Cideon> He laughs a little. "Ah, see, now you're catching on."
<Wilhelmina> "I have my moments," she agrees. "I wanted to see who was making sure we didn't just stall midway to our destination or something unsavory like that. You're the engineering team, right?"
<El-Cideon> "Essentially," he says, fiddling absentmindedly with his tool belt. "I'm not much for fighting. Don't worry, though," he adds, patting the wall opposite the door, from which the hum of the generator can be heard, "this baby's in good shape. Esperitas takes their law enforcement seriously and so do we. Sort of. You know what I mean."
<Wilhelmina> "Good shape, or better-than-new shape?" Wilhelmina inquires. "You know what I mean."
<El-Cideon> "Hah. Well, we can outrun anyone we can't outshoot, let's put it that way."
<Wilhelmina> "Impressive," she agrees. "But what happens if you get sick? Or you're just not allowed to do that?"
<El-Cideon> "Oh, I couldn't do that," he says, all seriousness. "We don't have a medic right now."
<Wilhelmina> "There's one right now. Sort of. He's temping."
<El-Cideon> "Sort of? I don't know how far I'd trust myself to a 'sort-of' doctor. I'll just not get sick, thanks."
<Wilhelmina> "The sort-of is because he's temping," Wilhelmina clarifies. "As long as you don't need exhaustive surgery he knows his stuff."
* Wilhelmina frowns. "I doubt even Targo could fix that woman's personality, though. It may be beyond curing by normal medical means."
<El-Cideon> He shakes his head. "No, I shouldn't need that. Don't get into too many gunfights back here. And Arsenic, well, she just needs to blow off some steam once in a while," he says charitably. "She's better after that. It's been a few days."
<Wilhelmina> "Does she wash up after that, too?" Wilhelmina can't help but ask. "It is simply too disturbing, and the conditions of the infirmary would give a lesser person nightmares for sure."
<El-Cideon> Arsenic doesn't seem one to be deterred by mere words. She looks unhappy about it all, but hell, that's nothing new. She continues to lurk out in the hall with her arms folded across her stomach. "Well, funny thing," Avram says," you'd be surprised what you can get used to."
<Wilhelmina> "Sounds like you weren't part of the original crew," Wilhelmina notes. "That a fair assessment? Or was she the one scouted?"
<El-Cideon> He peers off into space for a moment. "Well, no one here was part of the original crew, you know."
<El-Cideon> "She's been here longer than I have, if that's what you're asking. But look, I can't keep talking about her while she's right there. She's giving me the evil eye."
<Wilhelmina> "Yeah, but you knew what I meant anyway." She shrugs. "What I was really getting to is that I might be temping, but it's not like what I have right now is particularly permanent or binding. Though that evil eye bit is funny, so maybe I should make her do it a bit longer, first."
<El-Cideon> Arsenic sidles into the engine room. "Right, that's enough of this. Avram?" She fastens a glare on the engineer, who practically withers beneath it. "Get back to work. And you--" she turns to Wil, "--get somewhere else. I don't care where. We've got to get this ship ready soon and you're not helping any."
* Wilhelmina snorts. "Wouldn't you like to know where anyway, to make it easier on the stalking?" she asks, nevertheless vacating the engine room's premises.
<El-Cideon> Arsenic exits as well, closing the engine room door behind her, eyes boring into Wil as she leaves.
* Wilhelmina ignores Arsenic, deciding to check out the guest quarters. Namely, the one she would end up using for the duration of the trip.
<El-Cideon> The crew quarters are decidedly unimpressive. They were built for officers of the law, after all, so one shouldn't expect anything fancy. Several doors have common mechanical locks set up on them, probably put in place by the current residents. Two are empty though, and prove to be spare, one-room apartments with two bunks apiece.
<El-Cideon> There's not much indication as to the personality of the cops who once slept in these rooms; Kartch and company seem to have scoured clean any sign of the Esperitans' tenure here, so what you see is what you get. Plian and utilitarian.
* Wilhelmina claims one of the rooms for herself, and if Arsenic is following her too closely, she'll slam the door in her face.
<El-Cideon> Arsenic's taken up station by the entrance to the bridge by now.

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> Stigma and Karma depart for the bridge, Forrest heads out to the station proper to pick up supplies, and Wil disappears to do...whatever it is that Wil does when Targo's not around. Bruce and Frank continue their game in the rec room, not seeming bothered by having an observer.
<Targo> "Mind if I jump in the next round?" Targo drops on a nearby sofa, affecting a casual disposition.
<El-Cideon> "Not a problem," Frank says. The beefy black man already has a pair of kings and his opponent probably isn't long for this game. The Black Wind's furniture is bland, but comfortable enough. The viewscreen slapped on the far wall is presently inactive; videos litter the surrounding shelves sorted into groups as though by owner.
<Targo> "Heard you got into some trouble back on Altamont," he remarks, thinking back to the old-school spacers.
<El-Cideon> "Sure," Frank grunts, watching his opponent consider his next move. "If by 'you' you mean 'Arsenic,' and by 'got' you mean 'caused.'"
<Targo> "Oh yeah? Sounds like a swell drinking partner. First time I saw her today, she was kicking someone's head." Targo scratches his cheek. "Kinda made me wonder if you folks were actually looking for recruits or not."
<El-Cideon> "Fellow probably looked at her funny or somethin'," Bruce says, hesitating with his hand over the board. "Don't get things wrong, we can use a couple extra hands. Enough to have an extra shift on the bridge if we're going to be out for a while, at least. That and a doc."
<Targo> "Yeah, about that, the operation room needs cleaning. We're gonna be in trouble if that place isn't sterilized and someone gets shot up today."
<El-Cideon> Pieces clack across the board and Frank recruits another king. "That sounds like a compelling reason to not get shot," he says. "You gonna play nurse for us on this job?"
<Targo> "Playing doc for you on this job, yes," replies Targo, sounding put out. "Should be alright with what I brought with me, but given the place we're going, getting some weird poison or disease floating around is a real possibility, too." He shrugs. "That's the problem with xenos."
<El-Cideon> Bruce concedes defeat and chuckles, apparently having caught Targo's tone. "Don't take offense. Frank here's just tryin' to rile up the new blood, see what kind of folks we're dealing with." He stands and gestures to his place at the table. "Your game if you want the next one."
<Targo> "Haha, and what kind of folk do you think we are?" questions Targo, easing into the seat and rearranging the pieces to the starting position.
<El-Cideon> "I dunno yet," he says. "I'll know more when I see you in action. You haven't killed anyone yet, though. That's a good start." Frank takes his first move and nods in agreement. "Kind of a waste if there's no money involved, yes."
<Targo> OOC: Shall we resolve this with ACTUAL CHECKERS ok no
<Targo> OOC: I suck at it anyway
<El-Cideon> OOC: Heh. Nah. You have better INT and WIS, so you pretty much just win.
<Targo> "The blunt honesty of spacers never ceases to amaze me," remarks Targo, making his own move. "Then again, out here, nobody's gonna tell you off."
<El-Cideon> They both shrug, almost simultaneously. "You get used to speaking your mind pretty quick out here on the fringe," Bruce says as your opponent makes a careless move into the center of the board. "Doublespeak's for the diplos back on Earth. No time for it when you actually work for a living."
<Targo> Targo begins moving his pieces to line up what will doubtless become a series of leaps, almost leading straight to a king. "Yeah, when you're not affiliated with a nation or anything, there's no point. Issues out here are simple," he muses. "Everyone does their part, everyone gets an equal share, and all that."
<El-Cideon> "Pretty much," Bruce continues. "I mean, you get some scuffling over turf, the occasional domestic dispute, but that's about it. Until the corps move in and take over, at least." Frank takes the bait and leaps one of your pieces into a position that will only further your schemes.
<Targo> Now is clearly the time to strike, and Frank will soon find himself in an unescapable position. "Oh? Seems like it'd be pretty hard for them to impose order out here if they tried."
<El-Cideon> "It'll take time," Frank says, wincing as you launch your master plan, "but it'll happen. Always does. They're persistent, and they've got numbers on their side. All sorts of people coming out from Earth looking to make a living wherever they can, not really caring about the local culture they're replacing. You can't fight that push forever."
<Targo> "I guess you could call it evolution. Invasion is one thing, but immigration is another," admits Targo. "But it doesn't seem as bad to me as all that."
<El-Cideon> "Yeah," Bruce adds, "well, Frank here grew up on Paragon. Corps are basically the government there. He didn't like it much and doesn't cotton to seein' it spread. I admit, though...I have a helluva lot more fun on a place like Farnsworth than on any corporate arcology."
<El-Cideon> OOC: Galactic lore check if you want.
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 sure
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 sure and gets 16."12 [1d20=5]
<Targo> "Paragon's a mess. And they contradict themselves," replies Targo, frowning. "It's still anarchy, but of a different sort."
<El-Cideon> "Pretty much," Frank agrees, making another clumsy move. "No place for entrepeneurs like us, that's for sure. They patrol their freight lanes viciously. Kartch called it 'a dictatorship of the squares.' I wouldn't disagree much."
<Targo> "Entrepeneurs? Now who's using doublespeak?" questions Targo, his lips quirking into a smile (even as he readies himself to deal the final blow.)
<El-Cideon> "Well, you know how it is. You steal from people for a living, you start to think differently. It's just a matter of perspective." He shifts one of his last unused pieces, out of a corner.
<Targo> "Changing the topic, some, but did you pick up any other new recruits around here?" questions Targo, barely needing to think to wrap the game up.
<El-Cideon> "Not yet," Bruce says. "Same folks we came through the gate with. Stigma, the big Brit? He's the newest one aboard. Picked him up around Coleille. Kartch took to him pretty quick. Most of us have been here a while."
<Targo> "Huh. Thought you had some guest aboard, not so different to us," admits Targo, shrugging.
<El-Cideon> They exchange a look (just after Frank makes his last, fatal move). "Little different," Bruce says stiffly. "Someone's in the brig until they stop misbehaving."
<Targo> "Better there than the ER. What'd they do?"
<El-Cideon> "Ehhh, I shouldn't talk about it," he says (under a warning glance from Frank). "I figure Kartch'll fill you in if he thinks you need to know."
<Targo> OOC: Hmm. I'm done for now