Jonyna Si
(Hope you don't mind a hopelessly lost idiot finding her way to you for a chance first meeting.)
"Alright Loser, let that viable HoloNet Transceiver know that we're a FRIENDLY, and then you do your damndest to make sure that we're not mashed like that poor Podracer we saw on Dantooine a few years ago when Dad sent us on that field trip..."
The box-like astromech, an S19-Series, swirled briefly atop its cylindrical tread to
bloop morosely at "his" owner, his purple trim and white body eerily reflecting the distant light of, strangely enough, a binary star system. Zefgahld strongly suspected that
those had been the reason for the navicomputer being so... Off. It was jump supposed to be a mini-jump
towards the Core Worlds, back towards the direction of
home, specifically, but... Either she'd had to have Loser's memory checked or else the navicomputer was having problems of some sort, and either way that situation wasn't good.
The Amaran hoped that she could trust him to get through the wild asteroids, dark, shadowy and oddly shimmering even as they shot angrily past the
Glory's viewport. This, in turn, led the Amaran to practice one of her bad habits when either thinking or nervous: the stressed young woman began to pace, of all things, through the cockpit's oddly spacious confines.
S19-L74/Loser pivoted his scomp link non-suggestively into the astromech dataport where the copilot's char would have been normally (Zefgahld had had it removed), the dataport beginning to twirl to and fro, seemingly at random intervals, while the fox-like alien, with her thin four-fingered hands, clasped at the small of her back (faintly irritating her scars along her lower back) as her boot-clad feet began to trammel a line back and forth, from one side of the
Glory's floor nervously and impatiently, she and the droid wreathed in the dark blue and silver trappings of the paint job that had been given to the inside of her ship.
The modified Scuurg H-6 Bomber, as black as a shadow, weaved at the droid's behest through two apartment building-sized asteroids that looked almost basalt-like in their composition, the ship shuddering as they crashed silently behind the
Monk's Glory's wake as it righted itself, and increased its speed through an even larger gap, the ship occasionally slowing or speeding up, both to follow the droid's interfacing, which was working to follow a very precise signal along a clearly-defined path through the field, all relayed by the as-yet unknown (friendly?) signal that was guiding her towards the promise of fuel and a chance to rest and recover for a day or two. MAYBE some exploring was in order, provided the environment wasn't too hostile.
An external holocam on one of the Scuurg's wingtips snapped as clear of a view as it could of the binary stars as could be managed at several points during the path that was taken, to store in the navicomputer to be shared on a Galactic scale at a later point (barring anyone's legitimate request for privacy) or at least on her personal navicomputer for her own sake, as well as storing the logistics of the path that was being followed, to make for easier navigation, assuming she survived this little trip.
The Amaran had just taken a long pull from a bronze-colored bottle of cane-sweetened Corellian ale when the droid FINALLY whistled a pessimist's variant of
all clear, causing the young woman to take a shorter, more efficient swig from her drink, while two clawed fingers rubbed at the inner corners of her eyes as the alcohol burned the stronger vestiges of her stress away, even as, with another few steps, she restored the bottle upon the end of the seventeenth pass behind the pilot's chair of red leather that nearly matched her hair.
Loser's mournful tones echoed the Amaran's nervousness as he read out the atmospheric, life and technology readings of their initial scans, now that the planet before them dominated the viewport entirely. That unknown signal, as of yet, hadn't betrayed them.
Here's hoping they were entering into friendly territory.
"Thanks, Mr. L." A four-fingered hand gestured as the fox-alien whistled, a signal between the two for her to locate the nearest landing pad, if available, or else to land as close to the signal's point of origin as possible. A hand affectionately patted the droid atop his boxlike "head" as she shifted around to plop down into the pilot's chair.
They breached the atmosphere a minute or two later, the
Glory crossing through storm clouds as they shifted through the atmosphere, briefly illuminating the Amaran's ghost-white eyes and their eccentric blue-gray sclera as she awed at the orange-tinged lightning for a moment, before her ship broke through the cloud at Mr. L's behest and eagerness to explore the only technology signal's this life-infused yet lawless world had to offer.
It was within minutes that, barely ensconced inside a cave system, the first signs of previous habitation came into view - the broken remains of rusted over metal and what looked like the remnants of a broken engine greeted the sight of droid and Amaran alike, causing the fox-alien to whistle again to signal the droid's actions.
It was after another minute of two, just inside of the cave system (and thankfully out of the rain), that which had been pitched to these two as "Green Heaven" awaited. With the atmosphere having been categorized as
Type 1, all the Amaran needed was a warm coat, and she slipped into one as she made her way out of the Scuurg's ramp to the rocky surface of the carved landing pad.
Clad in a loose-fitting navy blue Gundark leather duster, the Amaran shivered in the moderately cold air, hugging her lithe arms along her equally-slim torso as she allowed her body heat to warm herself, before taking a few steps forward. Behind her, the emerald green glow of Loser's photoreceptor swiveled as it took in the sights of the cavernous opening, interlaced with metal around them, his boxlike chassis swiveling once atop it's cylindrical tread.
The Amaran, thin of body and limb, boyish and yet curved enough to reveal her slim femininity, pricked up her triangular ears as her whiskered muzzle snuffled the moist air. A hand shifted cautiously, a fingerless glove (also Gundark leather) meeting the butt of a large blaster pistol, engraved with white durasteel and bronze as it glimmered faintly in the exit's light.
"Alright, Loser, you tell me... Did someone send this signal or was it a looped message calling for help?"
(I hope that was good enough.)
