Family Errands

[Corvetta Salvo]

It was nice to return home every now and then, even if it hardly could count in a traditional sense. Brentaal IV was the economic hub of the galaxy, an unavoidable visit if you were to consider yourself a legitimate commercial freighter. And even for those less legitimate, many still found their way here at least once in their lives. It was a core world of Core Worlds, married to its nearby sister planet and agricultural powerhouse Chandrila; refuge on the direct path between Chazwa and Coruscant itself. And the odds had produced a young spacer by the name of Salvo once upon a time.

Corvetta Frigati-Salvo had taken hers and her friends' ship for a little adventure this week--one that was extremely time-sensitive, knowledge-sensitive, and sensitive in just about every other aspect all at once. In all her freighting life, whether the job be legal or illegal, she had never run a mission quite as crazy as this one presented itself to be. It was why she had decided to dock in-atmosphere instead of the orbiting space stations as usual. Sure, she was exposed to more security checks on the ground than in space, what with the war and everything going on. But it was also a lot easier to work flight control and avoid departing delays when all you had to do was submit a takeoff route and hit the boosters.

For similar sensitivity reasons, she was also forgoing the bottle this week if she had to tie herself to the captain's chair to do so. Well, that was the plan, anyway.

See, this flygirl had gone solo to this point, and even after today, she would be sans familiar crew. It was for their best and for her ease of conscience that she had elected to make this run without Koko, Killer, and Tricky. The last thing she was going to do was ruin their lives. But their comforting presence was utterly noticeable, like the eclipse of a star destroyer over Kessel. Corvetta had left all her alcohol behind, but it was only a few hundred meters to the nearest watering hole. Something needed to occupy her hands, mind, and liver, she supposed.

Hopefully this Kara chick arrived soon enough. Someone completely anonymous, unrelated, and mercenary was what she had needed for this job. Corvetta was not the brightest burner in any part of the galaxy, but she at least knew her trade, and that was what counted right now. Gen was counting on her and--by circumstance--Kara to play this right. No, perfect.

Bosom pressed to her upright knees, the pilot sat hunched with her back against a landing strut of that beautiful YT-2400, gnawing on her knuckles as she awaited her hired help.

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

A failure befallen of democracy was political correctness. There were things that were right; things that were wrong. But then there were those special cases that no one was brazen enough to touch, as hypocritical as they may reveal themselves to be for it. And as much as she resented it, the culture provided a loophole. How many others had exploited it if even she could make a passable attempt?

The presumably ex-Prime Minister tugged at the beak of her hood to deepen the shadow over her face, rounding a corner with haste. A gimp in her stride betrayed the bruising to her sides as she wrapped the dark robes more tightly around her figure. This must be the fate of all revolutionaries. She had been on the top only days ago. Now she was but a hunted animal.

Sidling up to a durasteel waste container outside a run-down warehouse, Geneviève took great care with her grime-ridden fingers to peel out the colored contact lens that had concealed the true coloration of her right eye. Its dead, icy iris had not seen light of day for nearly a decade. The discoloration would be enough to avoid an immediate positive ID from any cams she may pass under. And while it would be no difficult task to identify her should she be snagged amid her escape, that was the whole purpose of her current outfit. The weathered and threaded robes of her Pilgrim attire granted her near immunity from profiling. All she had to do was play it safe and keep her face as unrecognizable as possible until she could make it to the morgue.

Bosom pressed to her upright knees, the disgraced politician sat hunched with her back against the wall behind the dumpster, weeping into her charcoal cloak.

 

[Eryn]

It was a rare thing when life allowed Eryn enough of a break from the chaos to do something other than stuff herself into odd hiding places or run from the price on her head. They say you should never look a gift horse in the mouth, but when you occupied a permanent spot at the top of the bounty boards, there were no gift horses, and on the off chance one showed up, it was usually hiding a live grenade.

It's why the fugitive was taking this unexpected lull in the pandemonium with a grain of salt. With no hunters on her tail for the past three month (as far as she knew), Eryn had emerged from her shell of caution long enough to nail down a much-needed job or two in hopes of lining her pockets with a few credits. Stealing your meals when you could get them wasn't so bad, but when you spent most of your time stowing away with little opportunity to pinch a food cube or two, a handful of credits could go a long way towards making your life less miserable.

Signing on with this Captain Salvo was a calculated risk, one she almost took back the moment she'd made the deal; risks, no matter how premeditated and planned, were generally something she avoided because rarely did they pan out in her favor, but this one looked promising. The details had been vague, but that was par for the course with this type of work, and lack of any 'legit official' seals on the surface offer meant she wouldn't have to worry about intense background checks. If this shindig paid off, great. If not, well, good thing she was used to her luck disappearing abruptly.

After the customary dance of avoidance around the security cams, having wedged herself neatly into a shadowed corner a distance from the YT-2400, Eryn took the next ten minutes scanning the scene with a sharp eye, primed to jet if anything looked remotely sketchy. A lone female was propped up against one of the landing struts in a knee-to-chest position Eryn was very familiar with, teeth on knuckles, and the colored highlights in her brown hair catching the eye with every movement. Salvo? Maybe. Or maybe she was just the greeting party. Were there no other crew members? Hopefully. That would make everything much easier.

It took her a moment to convince herself not to turn around and slink back into the warehouse she'd been holed up in for the last week. In all honesty, the only thing that finally made her budge was the thought of buying and eating something other than stale food cubes and moldy polystarch.

Food. The only true motivation for the perpetually hungry criminal.

As her feet left the shadows, Eryn squared her shoulders and strode towards the woman with purpose, chin up and expression rife with a confidence she certainly didn't feel. Dried mud fell from her boots, sprinkling her footsteps like pepper, and her hair swung around her free and unrestrained, a wild mess of tiny braids and dirty, rope-like strands. She'd wiped the dirt and dust off her face out of necessity while cleaning out the tiny gash on her cheekbone, but it gathered on her worn leather jacket and around the fringes of the poorly sewn patchwork covering rips in her pants. In fact, the only thing that didn't look like it'd been through the gutters was the knife strapped to her thigh.

Appearance wasn't really something she concerned herself with on a daily basis. Hopefully, Captain Salvo wouldn't mind.

Eryn approached from the side, her gait quick, pathway direct. She halted in front of the woman, far enough that she'd be able to stand without it being awkward but close enough to use her blade if something went sour. "Salvo?" No smiles, no handshake, and she wasn't one for many words, but she tried not to sound threatening. If anything, she probably sounded like she was in a hurry. And she was. "Name's Kara, signed up a few days ago, 'm here for the job. We waiting for more or am I it?"


|| [Member=Corvetta Salvo] ||

 

[Corvetta Salvo]

She had been out here about an hour at this point, and Corvetta intermittently would fumble through her many pant pockets in search of the flask that was not to be found this time. There was water on board. She probably should have been drinking that. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she squinted in the direction of Brentaal's sun and decided to continue roasting. Workin' on that tan. It was a hot enough day; nice for retaining her more natural complexion rather than allowing that sun-starved look to settle in. Of course, even the most moderate atmospheres were particularly warm to someone who spent the majority of their time sailing a vacuum, so she barely had to step outside to feel the heat.

"Oh, hey! Yeah, I'm Corvetta," she greeted, head perking up at the sound of her name. The pilot shifted to her right to leverage herself with her forearm, then pushed herself up to her feet. The spacer tugged at the hem of her shirt and awkwardly saluted her new partner in crime, uncaring about the sweatlines tracing underneath her sleeves. After all, this was Corvetta. If she cared about how she looked every day, she probably would not be wearing the grease-stained cargoes and blouse she had owned for years.

"How's it crankin', comrade?" The brunette offered her hand to shake in spite of her latest associate's apparent reservations against it. It was in this process that she noticed the lack of any baggage on Kara's person. "You, uh... got anything packed with you?"

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

Her awkward salute hit a dusty chord in Eryn that hadn't been struck in years, the familiar action ripping long-buried memories from their slumber and throwing them at her in bright, overwhelming detail. It was something her mother used to do, that little informal salute, although it was performed with a greater degree of sass and lazy swagger, but it was close enough that Eryn was reminded of the last time she'd seen Karana Malora do it.

The sudden realization of the fact that she couldn't actually remember the last time she'd really thought about her family (or anything other than 'run, hide, survive, trust no one') caught her off guard. She'd spent so many years forced to live moment to moment, constantly moving, never entertaining distractions or thinking too far ahead or too far back that, somehow in her chaotic routine, she'd lost sight of the reason she had such a strong drive to endure: her family. Eryn had no place in this 'verse and no home without them, and the little information she'd managed to learn about their disappearance pointed to them all still being alive. She just had to find them first.

That she'd become so focused on simply…surviving into the next day was a little alarming. She hated penny-phrases, but 'that's not living, that's just existing' came to mind, and when she held it up against her life for scrutiny, it was making too much sense. Her situation was slowly chipping away at her humanity and if she didn't do something about it, she'd devolve into an animal before the end.

All of this took about three seconds to process. Eryn tried not to dwell. Maybe later, though. Meanwhile, there was a hand held out in greeting in front of her, and the fugitive was staring at it like it was a Rishi eel.

Normally, she'd have ignored the gesture completely, but the woman's manner was unlike anything she usually encountered (in a good way), especially on these types of jobs, so Eryn gave Corvetta's palm a quick but firm shake. Her use of 'crankin, comrade' immediately earned her a spot on Eryn's 'People I Don't Want/Need To Hate/Kill/Avoid' list, not because of the words themselves, but because they reflected the kind of person her family would've loved.

If she was the type to smile, she'd have cracked a grin by now.

Eryn chanced a swift, subtle glance around, ever alert. "No baggage. Just me. I travel light." Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit, and she scanned Corvetta's face with the expression of someone who was used to being suspicious, and definitely not used to being social. "...Why? Should I have brought something?" Trace amounts of anxiety laced her curt tone. "There weren't many details on your ad, was I supposed to have special gear? Look, I really need this job, lady, so…" she said quickly, taking a tiny step towards Corvetta.

|- [member="Corvetta Salvo"] -|

 

[Corvetta Salvo]

Glad to see her handshake accepted even after a noticeable delay, Corvetta could still read into the aggressive mannerisms. She felt badly about her question upon receiving such a reaction. Beggars can't be choosers, and the spacer never liked offending anyone. She was the one her crew sent out for diplomacy whenever they were in a jam, after all. So, in hindsight, the approach could have been handled better. But she had this. "No, no, flygirl," the pilot consoled, amiably patting the other woman on the back with a little more force than most would expect from someone of her small size. "I need a mate. Just don't usually get hitchers without ruck."

Sensing Kara's impatience (and ready to get on the move, herself), the spunky brunette took to the boarding ramp that led up to the cockpit capsule of the Corellian freighter, spacer boots treading the metallic surface with a contradictory graceless finesse. She had a rather clunky but practical gait to mirror her personality, yet there was still a doubtless feminine component to everything she did. "Let's get crankin', chum." She may have exuded a more masculine archetype in her outward behavior, but she was just as much a hidden girly girl--as her friends would testify.

"Ya need any clothes? I got some you can wear." The spacer chick hit the top of the gangway and opened a door adjacent to the cockpit capsule, revealing her room--and the catastrophic state it was in. There was a pile of maybe-fresh-but-probably-not laundry at the foot of her bunk, and the young woman blushed as she glanced back at Kara. "...Though you seem to have a little more iron to your chassis."

[member="Eryn"]

 

[Eryn]

Eryn hovered at the doorway and scanned the room, once for threats and once just to appreciate the mess. She hadn't had a 'room' since she was a child, but she liked to think if she had one now, it would boast the same level of untidiness. Approval earned. Organized, neat people bothered her.

"Yeah, you'd don't seem like the leather jacket type," she agreed, inspecting her sleeves and picking at the patches on her clothes as she followed Corvetta into her cabin. No one had ever offered to give her clothes before. She assumed that was only something siblings did, or like, close friends (in short supply in her world), but after a moment of anxious debate in her mind over the details of social customs she'd missed out on, she figured the young woman was just trying to be helpful. Which was appreciated, now that she was actually looking at her gear in decent lighting and not the alley-shadow dusk she was accustomed to. "Not that I have a type, either. I just go for whatever's durable and within reach. Darker clothes help you blend in, though."

She thought about rummaging through the stack of clothing near the bunk but decided against it, her sudden awareness of established social habits making her a little paranoid. Corvetta was not a burly, lecherous male or a cold, harsh shipmaster or a bitchy slave-driver. She was… nice. And friendly and kind of weird and not salty like most other females their age seemed to be. She wasn't anything Eryn usually interacted with. Yes, it was freaking her out a little. But there was a slow-growing feeling at her core that she'd just happened across one of those rare people that didn't deserve her emotionless, stinging bullshit routine.

"You got anything that'll take the 'wear 'nd tear'?" Eryn shrugged out of her jacket, exposing the stained, threadbare layers of tank tops underneath. "Just…no pink."

|- [member="Corvetta Salvo"] -|

 

[Corvetta Salvo]

Pink? That was a nice color and all, but it was not to be found in her laundry. Maybe she should could use some pink. "Nah, I ain't got much color. But it's all durable. I've been crankin' in some of 'em for years." And there truly was not much variety to Corvetta's wardrobe. It mostly consisted of cargo pants, t-shirts, and the boy shorts she slept in (when she did sleep), all shaded monochrome or otherwise khaki, with a handful of teal and maroon exceptions. Her most prized article--the maroon, skirted pilots coat--was the only clothing hung properly, situated in the very corner of her quarters.

Corvetta paused, hands digging into her pockets with estranged manner as she hoped she was not making Kara feel uncomfortable. Also, it was annoying to go sober. "Whatever you like. If it fits, you can have it," she followed up, brushing some of her hair behind her shoulder before stepping back into the command capsule briefly. It might be easier to just let Kara take care of things privately. Her impression of the vagabond so far was that she was a reserved type who liked to work things out solo. Generally those sorts of people got the job done quicker, but Corvetta had a feeling this was going to be a lonely trip. Maybe it was just a necessary sacrifice for the stakes.

The pilot depressed the boarding ramp's operating lever, raising and contracting the metal slab inside the ship's hull. In succession, she triggered the life support startup and got some cool air running through the corridors. As far as she was concerned, Kara was staying, and they would need to get underway soon enough. They still had a full day's trek through hyperspace ahead of them.

Calling back to her associate, Corvetta decided to make sure she understood her place on the ship, meaning: 'make yourself at home'. "Your clink's just around the corner there. Next to the lounge. Mess is to the aft." Of course, she should have introduced the most important player of all in the beginning--this beautiful workhorse of a vessel. "Oh, and she's called the Lost Cause. Feel free to make her yours, comrade!"

[member="Eryn"]