In Rhan
Space Trucker
In couldn't have gotten far enough from Medi-Creen station after helping Niysha secure the reality-breaking statuette that had created so much trouble. While she'd have liked to put it behind her with a full berth of profitable cargo, she could content herself with one woman and her magic murder bag. One in the fist versus two in the brush, or something like that? They had enough gas to get somewhere with more prospects, and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.
The Dancer in Green was a beat-up old junker of a ship, which a motley assortment of things going wrong at any given moment. The Besaid-class freighter had been blown halfway to hell, rebuilt, hijacked, repurposed and retrofit likely thrice as much as the Galactic average for midhaul ships. The fact that In kept the exterior ugly to dissuade piracy didn't help first impressions, and the way the ship had lurched reluctantly into warp with all the enthusiasm of an elderly burro - and that didn't help the second impressions, either. In couldn't help but wonder how much harder it'd been if her cargo bay wasn't empty aside from an old speederbike and some parts. The inside of the ship was much cleaner. In clearly appreciated a tidy surrounding, even if all the fresh lightbulbs and polished bulkheads in the Galaxy couldn't hide that the ship was falling apart. Notably, the halls and rooms had a downright absurd amount of potted plants and hydroponics trays carrying a wild variety of flowers, herbs, and small fruiting plants. Nothing too especially rare or even valuable, but the scent of fresh soil and misty flowers did help chase away the pervasive smell of rust and failing heatsinks. Mostly.
After getting into Warp and showing Niysha to the nicest room avaliable that wasn't her own, In had taken the longest shower of her life. She'd spent a few minutes dressing wounds and taking painkillers. She'd then slept for fourteen hours. When the Pantoran woman had woken up, she immediately concluded that she was going to be just fine based on two criteria - her hands and feet were still whole enough to ache, and she was ravenously hungry.
Blind girl on the ship. Tank top and shorts would do. In staggered out of her room and into the plant-filled galley, plucking a few ripe-looking berries into a bowl. A handful of crunchy-sweet grains, an some blue milk on top.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions - because champions didn't eat nutrient paste when they didn't have to.
The Dancer in Green was a beat-up old junker of a ship, which a motley assortment of things going wrong at any given moment. The Besaid-class freighter had been blown halfway to hell, rebuilt, hijacked, repurposed and retrofit likely thrice as much as the Galactic average for midhaul ships. The fact that In kept the exterior ugly to dissuade piracy didn't help first impressions, and the way the ship had lurched reluctantly into warp with all the enthusiasm of an elderly burro - and that didn't help the second impressions, either. In couldn't help but wonder how much harder it'd been if her cargo bay wasn't empty aside from an old speederbike and some parts. The inside of the ship was much cleaner. In clearly appreciated a tidy surrounding, even if all the fresh lightbulbs and polished bulkheads in the Galaxy couldn't hide that the ship was falling apart. Notably, the halls and rooms had a downright absurd amount of potted plants and hydroponics trays carrying a wild variety of flowers, herbs, and small fruiting plants. Nothing too especially rare or even valuable, but the scent of fresh soil and misty flowers did help chase away the pervasive smell of rust and failing heatsinks. Mostly.
After getting into Warp and showing Niysha to the nicest room avaliable that wasn't her own, In had taken the longest shower of her life. She'd spent a few minutes dressing wounds and taking painkillers. She'd then slept for fourteen hours. When the Pantoran woman had woken up, she immediately concluded that she was going to be just fine based on two criteria - her hands and feet were still whole enough to ache, and she was ravenously hungry.
Blind girl on the ship. Tank top and shorts would do. In staggered out of her room and into the plant-filled galley, plucking a few ripe-looking berries into a bowl. A handful of crunchy-sweet grains, an some blue milk on top.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions - because champions didn't eat nutrient paste when they didn't have to.