The Jin relaxes a bit as she listens to Cen's explanation. "Perhaps... you are not in need of assistance, after all," she says quietly. "I respect your sufficiency." She inclines her head gracefully to the young woman, and then takes a bite of meat. As she chews, she glances at the glove which she once again wears, flexing her fingers as though to make sure everything is back in order again, working properly.
Grease on his face, a solemn looking man comes through the doors, causing the bell to ding and announce his arrival. The man looks pretty tired, those who recognize him would know him as that man obsessed with making his beast. Going for days without food or sleep at times. Without much words, he makes his way towards the counter, sitting his butt down. "Steak." Orders he.
Looking pleased as punch as she gathers up her winnings from a nearby gaming table, a Tukkav in a mining jumpsuit plants herself at the bar next to Artuhr and orders up a mug of lapteth. She elbows the young man and flashes a toothy grin that comes across as more of a grimace.
"Hey Artuhr, you come outta you hole for once! You finish you B.E.A.S.T. yet? Hahaha! This guy."
As she speaks, the bartender plops a plate down in front of Artuhr, an enticing aroma wafting from the sizzling piece of meat.
"You hunt with Hama sometime and have REAL steak, not this farm shit."
Hama pokes the steak with a thick finger and roars with laughter at what she apparently considers the funniest thing ever. She looks around at the rest of the customers seated at the bar - Amity, Cen, S'kaa - and laughs even harder when nobody else joins her.
The elbowing doesn't produce a smile from Artuhr. Neither does the laughter. His face ever serious, not looking up as the Tukkav joins him, as she elbows him. Nor does he look up as the bartender gives the dark haired man his plate. Exchanging money quietly, Artuhr eats the meat, cutting. Poking. Devouring, all with a disinterested look on his face.
Hesitantly, the young woman puts down her glove on the table again, poking it with a finger. "Well," she says softly, and a bit drawn out. "Maybe if you know something about the placement of capacitators? I think this one keeps mis-firing because of them, but I'm not sure."
She spares a moment to glance at the tired and greasy man entering the bar, then reaches for another cube of ice to pat at her still-red arm while waiting for a response from the Jin woman.
S'kaa took one more bite of her food, glancing up briefly at the noisy Tukkav, then pushes the plate aside to take a look at the glove. Silently, she uses her tool to open the access panel and look inside.
For a long moment, S'kaa says nothing, eyes flicking from side to side, as she looks at the inner workings of the glove. Finally, she says, "This... This is not.. It is quite a problem, isn't it."
She removes her glove once more and opens it, placing the gloves side by side so Cen can see. "They are different models, and are not assembled quite the same, but you see." S'kaa uses her tool as a pointer. "THIS is the first circuit, and THIS the second. The wire for the first one is in the wrong place. It should be connected here rather than there."
She frowns a moment, and then says, "That may not be quite all. I do think your glove will not work properly unless you have cleaned all this... " She gestures to the smoky residue in the glove.
Gently, the Jin slides Cen's glove back over to her. "I regret I cannot help you more," she says. "I am not an expert myself. I only have learned some things by acquainting myself with my own gloves, as you have." She puts her own glove back on and takes a small sip of her tea.
Downing half her beer in one long swig, Hama unloads a handful of small gadgets on the bar - her winnings from the game she was playing moments ago. A few she fiddles with, opens and closes, or turns on and off, tucking them away in pockets once she is satisfied, but one particular item seems to perplex her.
"Know what this gizmo do?" she asks Artuhr. Without waiting for an answer, she repeats herself loudly, waving the object in the air for everyone at the bar to see.
Cen swipes a hand through her long mohawk-style hair, making it fall like a horse's mane on one side of her head. With it out of the way, she peers into S'kaa's glove once the panel is removed again, licking her lips and nodding at the suggested change of position.
Using a slender, grease-stained finger to indicate another slot. "But you see this one here, it needs to be connected as well, or the distributor..." She falls silent, finger extended towards her glove. Slowly, she closes her eyes, curls the hand up into a fist and lets out a venemous, "I'm going to roast that two-faced, lying cur, then rip him up into nano-particles for my swarm!"
Quick to shift from anger to calm, she apologizes profusely to the Jin next to her, then thumps her forehead down against the table with a heavy sigh. "He practically sold me half a glove," she mumbles.
S'kaa smiles slightly, a curious glint in her eyes as she curls the metal fingers of her gloved hand slowly, and straightens them again. "If you find yourself too busy to attend to this... cur... I take contractss," she says, pronouncing the last s with a sinister hiss.
She pushes her empty plate across the bar in the general direction of the barkeeper. "I do know a man," she says, changing the subject, "in Scatterhome, who does excellent work. No questions asked. He does not cheat, and his work is always the best quality - and everyone knows it. He has built a reputation. Of course," S'kaa smiles again, wryly, "He has a price to match." The Jin shrugs her slender shoulders helplessly. "But if you like, I can give you his name."
A haggard-looking Nath-el peers over his glass of Spacer Juice & Teqzal at the belligerent Nusriza across the table.
”About time I won somethin’,” the Nusriza slurs, scooping up its winnings, “I thought that Tukkav would never leave!”
Thorzain’s black, insect eyes trail down to land on the laminated card dangling from the Nusriza’s belt.
This might be easier than I thought... just have to wait for an opening.
He scratches absent-mindedly at the stub of a severed mandible, then goes back to nursing his drink, spacing his sips to make sure it’s only empty when he needs it to be.
A Nusriza with fiery feathers and simple black clothing made from standard cloths steps through the door and straight to the bar, beak clicking softly together in thought over what he wanted to drink before lifting his arms and saying "vuu honey!" Without much by way of hesitation once the thought had crossed his mind.
Lowering his arms his eyes scan around the bar idly while humming a soft tune to himself, fingertips clacking against the bar as he waited for his drink. Once placed in front of him he was happy to take a sip... Or well, as close as one could come with a beak. He begins pouring it into his mouth and shutting afterwards, tongue licking to make sure none spilled from the act.
Raksha paused just inside the doorway, tugging at her collar with one hand, her eyes scanning the crowded bar nervously. So many people...
It was her first real mission. She had been training for months, and now she had to prove herself in the field. She must not disappoint her father, or her captain, and especially not her amazing mother, whose competence as a military agent had inspired Raksha to join the special ops herself. No pressure...
The young W'hoorn folded her wings tightly to her back and hesitantly made her way over to the bar. She squeezed in beside the noisy Tukkav (why were there so many people?!) , carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. All she had to do was wait for her contact to arrive.
But her back was to the door now. What was she thinking?? She should have sat down at a table in the corner. She clenched her hands nervously, her claws sheathing and unsheathing.
She had to stop acting like an idiot. Everyone was going to think she was some ex-con or something. Act natural, she muttered to herself. Straightening up a little, she risked a sidelong glance towards the massive Tukkav, who seemed to be going through a pile of... um..
Raksha cleared her throat. "Hi," she said, "Um - what's that?" She reached out and poked one of the gadgets that was lying on the bar.
A hand grasps the doorway as the doors slide open, followed a young human woman with a tense complexion, and a head of messy auburn hair pulled into a loose ponytail. She takes a glance at the device, before muttering something about its "weak build". With a slow, long gait, she quickly bridges the gap between her and the bar. She was about to settle into a slumped position over said bar, until she noticed a W'hoorn sitting with her back to her, and quite literally quaking in her seat.
In one fluid motion, she tightly grasps the shoulders of the girl whilst simultaneously jumping onto the back of the seat, only to lean over the other at what could be considered a ninety-degree angle.
A sly grin spreads across the human's face as she speaks. "How ya doin' there girly? Name's Kurexva. Not interrupting anything am I?"
Raksha's eyes dilated completely and her ears flattened to her head in sudden, involuntary terror. Her wings flew out, slamming into the customers on either side of her, as her body arched backwards in her chair in an effort to flee from the threat. Her mouth opened wide in a primal hiss, baring fangs as one hand reached for the gun on her hip - forgetting that the safety was engaged - and her left darted towards the human's body in a reflexive swipe, claws fully extended. She missed - almost - her claws ripping three slashes in the newcomer's shirt.
Two seconds later, she realized what she'd done. She slumped down miserably as she slowly pulled her wings back in toward her body. Lowering her gaze, she said resentfully, "You shouldn't scare people like that!" and began edging sideways out of her seat in an attempt to get away - anywhere but here. Why did she always have to mess everything up?
Zakala unleashes a shocked squawk as he is suddenly battered with a wing, causing some of his prized honey to spill out onto the bar. Emotions flashed across his face from confused, to outraged, to mournful as he looked down at the spilled beverage. Still clutching the quarter filled glass in his hand he looks to his left and tried to make sense of the scene that laid unfolded before him. A human standing on a seat while holding themselves over a W'hoorn not something he was going to see every day!
"Whaaaat?" He spent a moment staring at his glass as his fingers rubbed together quickly on his left hand. "Was my drink drugged?" He muttered idly before sniffing it, and idly licking up the mess on his glass holding hand from when the drink spilled. If it was it was good stuff at least. His eyes returning to the interesting pair he hears the W'hoorn state her shock, "and by proxy scaring the people around them!" he would say with a chittering chuckle as he tried to take it in stride. It wasn't on purpose, he could see plain enough while a server-bot started mopping up the mess on the bar from his honeyspill.
The woman vaulted over the W'hoorn's shaking shoulder, landing crouched in front of the girl. After a few moments of readjusting her tattered shirt, and fixing her ponytail, Kurexva lent casually against the bar, her grin never fading.
"Hah! Oh that was nothin', missy! Howdya think you're gonna get anywhere around these parts if you can't handle a mild scoundrel like me?" With a dismissive hand wave, she turned to the barman. "Fresh drink for the bird-man. On me." She was silent for a moment, before bursting into laughter. "Who am I kiddin'!? I'm the most damned notorious pilot 'round here!" As she spoke, she slammed her hand back down on the shoulder of the young woman, in a rather aggressive manner. "But don't worry your head about nothin', y'hear? I wouldn't shoot your ship down..." The scoundrel paused for a moment, musingly. "Probably..."
"Besides," She added, "If anything, you're the one who oughta be told off. For tearing up my shirt that is. Almost broke my record for not getting, oh I don't know, stabbed in the chest by a trigger-happy W'hoorn?"
Raksha had edged out of her seat by now, and stood for a minute, trying to make out what to think of this vivacious young human. "Um - sorry," she began, but then out of the corner of her eye, she saw her contact.
She cast a nervous glance towards him. Agent Khorin was a tall, massively built W'hoorn, looking as uncomfortable as she herself was in the crowded, noisy bar. His wings were strapped close to his back with a quick release electronic harness. He return Raksha's glance with a stern stare, gesturing with a jerk of his head towards the back of the room. My, but his flowing mane was gorgeous...
Raksha coughed slightly as she recollected herself, and said hurriedly to Kurexva, "Gotta go - sorry!" She ducked her head and hurried to the dim table where her superior had already seated himself. Probably should have paid the Human for her ripped shirt. Too late now. Anyway, she had other things to think about. Like just how irritated Agent Khorin might be that she had already made so many mistakes within the first fifteen minutes of her mission.
Comments
Meanwhile, the Decheeran leaves.
She spares a moment to glance at the tired and greasy man entering the bar, then reaches for another cube of ice to pat at her still-red arm while waiting for a response from the Jin woman.
For a long moment, S'kaa says nothing, eyes flicking from side to side, as she looks at the inner workings of the glove. Finally, she says, "This... This is not.. It is quite a problem, isn't it."
She removes her glove once more and opens it, placing the gloves side by side so Cen can see. "They are different models, and are not assembled quite the same, but you see." S'kaa uses her tool as a pointer. "THIS is the first circuit, and THIS the second. The wire for the first one is in the wrong place. It should be connected here rather than there."
She frowns a moment, and then says, "That may not be quite all. I do think your glove will not work properly unless you have cleaned all this... " She gestures to the smoky residue in the glove.
Gently, the Jin slides Cen's glove back over to her. "I regret I cannot help you more," she says. "I am not an expert myself. I only have learned some things by acquainting myself with my own gloves, as you have." She puts her own glove back on and takes a small sip of her tea.
Using a slender, grease-stained finger to indicate another slot. "But you see this one here, it needs to be connected as well, or the distributor..." She falls silent, finger extended towards her glove. Slowly, she closes her eyes, curls the hand up into a fist and lets out a venemous, "I'm going to roast that two-faced, lying cur, then rip him up into nano-particles for my swarm!"
Quick to shift from anger to calm, she apologizes profusely to the Jin next to her, then thumps her forehead down against the table with a heavy sigh. "He practically sold me half a glove," she mumbles.
She pushes her empty plate across the bar in the general direction of the barkeeper. "I do know a man," she says, changing the subject, "in Scatterhome, who does excellent work. No questions asked. He does not cheat, and his work is always the best quality - and everyone knows it. He has built a reputation. Of course," S'kaa smiles again, wryly, "He has a price to match." The Jin shrugs her slender shoulders helplessly. "But if you like, I can give you his name."
”About time I won somethin’,” the Nusriza slurs, scooping up its winnings, “I thought that Tukkav would never leave!”
Thorzain’s black, insect eyes trail down to land on the laminated card dangling from the Nusriza’s belt.
This might be easier than I thought... just have to wait for an opening.
He scratches absent-mindedly at the stub of a severed mandible, then goes back to nursing his drink, spacing his sips to make sure it’s only empty when he needs it to be.
Lowering his arms his eyes scan around the bar idly while humming a soft tune to himself, fingertips clacking against the bar as he waited for his drink. Once placed in front of him he was happy to take a sip... Or well, as close as one could come with a beak. He begins pouring it into his mouth and shutting afterwards, tongue licking to make sure none spilled from the act.
It was her first real mission. She had been training for months, and now she had to prove herself in the field. She must not disappoint her father, or her captain, and especially not her amazing mother, whose competence as a military agent had inspired Raksha to join the special ops herself. No pressure...
The young W'hoorn folded her wings tightly to her back and hesitantly made her way over to the bar. She squeezed in beside the noisy Tukkav (why were there so many people?!) , carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. All she had to do was wait for her contact to arrive.
But her back was to the door now. What was she thinking?? She should have sat down at a table in the corner. She clenched her hands nervously, her claws sheathing and unsheathing.
She had to stop acting like an idiot. Everyone was going to think she was some ex-con or something. Act natural, she muttered to herself. Straightening up a little, she risked a sidelong glance towards the massive Tukkav, who seemed to be going through a pile of... um..
Raksha cleared her throat. "Hi," she said, "Um - what's that?" She reached out and poked one of the gadgets that was lying on the bar.
With a slow, long gait, she quickly bridges the gap between her and the bar. She was about to settle into a slumped position over said bar, until she noticed a W'hoorn sitting with her back to her, and quite literally quaking in her seat.
In one fluid motion, she tightly grasps the shoulders of the girl whilst simultaneously jumping onto the back of the seat, only to lean over the other at what could be considered a ninety-degree angle.
A sly grin spreads across the human's face as she speaks. "How ya doin' there girly? Name's Kurexva. Not interrupting anything am I?"
Two seconds later, she realized what she'd done. She slumped down miserably as she slowly pulled her wings back in toward her body. Lowering her gaze, she said resentfully, "You shouldn't scare people like that!" and began edging sideways out of her seat in an attempt to get away - anywhere but here. Why did she always have to mess everything up?
"Whaaaat?" He spent a moment staring at his glass as his fingers rubbed together quickly on his left hand. "Was my drink drugged?" He muttered idly before sniffing it, and idly licking up the mess on his glass holding hand from when the drink spilled. If it was it was good stuff at least. His eyes returning to the interesting pair he hears the W'hoorn state her shock, "and by proxy scaring the people around them!" he would say with a chittering chuckle as he tried to take it in stride. It wasn't on purpose, he could see plain enough while a server-bot started mopping up the mess on the bar from his honeyspill.
"Hah! Oh that was nothin', missy! Howdya think you're gonna get anywhere around these parts if you can't handle a mild scoundrel like me?" With a dismissive hand wave, she turned to the barman. "Fresh drink for the bird-man. On me."
She was silent for a moment, before bursting into laughter. "Who am I kiddin'!? I'm the most damned notorious pilot 'round here!" As she spoke, she slammed her hand back down on the shoulder of the young woman, in a rather aggressive manner. "But don't worry your head about nothin', y'hear? I wouldn't shoot your ship down..." The scoundrel paused for a moment, musingly. "Probably..."
"Besides," She added, "If anything, you're the one who oughta be told off. For tearing up my shirt that is. Almost broke my record for not getting, oh I don't know, stabbed in the chest by a trigger-happy W'hoorn?"
She cast a nervous glance towards him. Agent Khorin was a tall, massively built W'hoorn, looking as uncomfortable as she herself was in the crowded, noisy bar. His wings were strapped close to his back with a quick release electronic harness. He return Raksha's glance with a stern stare, gesturing with a jerk of his head towards the back of the room. My, but his flowing mane was gorgeous...
Raksha coughed slightly as she recollected herself, and said hurriedly to Kurexva, "Gotta go - sorry!" She ducked her head and hurried to the dim table where her superior had already seated himself. Probably should have paid the Human for her ripped shirt. Too late now. Anyway, she had other things to think about. Like just how irritated Agent Khorin might be that she had already made so many mistakes within the first fifteen minutes of her mission.