Scribe

[Placeholder 0133]

Bartering was not Rook's strong suit. All he could do now was look the part, and so he did. Shoulders slumped, head hung low, rook followed after Urya like a lost puppy. She had the credits and know-how to get them out of here quickly. Then it was back onto the nether-spawn of a Lava Flea and further internal suffering as they almost died every other second. Not that different from the life Rook already lead, but he had no control over this.

Then she was haggling for prices with one of the merchants. He watched with amusement as they fought over the appropriate parts. His mind began to wander. What exactly was he going to pay her with? Surely not credits, for all that he had was back aboard the destroyer. If she did the job right, perhaps he could offer her a position aboard the destroyer. Stars knew they always needed more Scribes.

When she finally finished her conversation with the merchant, he reached over to tap her on the arm. "What exactly do you want from me in return?" He lofted a brow, skepticism lacing his words. He was prepared to offer her a place on the ship, if she would take it. Odds were she'd want something else. For his armor's sake, Rook hoped he could provide.

[member="Urya Uvatera"]

 

[Urya Uvatera]

Another good deal wrestled from an unwilling seller. Good times. Her attention returned to her travelling companion and his question. She thought about it a second, wandering towards a supply kiosk.

" Weell. You will be paying me back for the cost of materials, labor, time spent and any food and drink that you may use during your stay in my cave. However, we could reach something of a discount for a more agreeable living arrangement while I fix your armor."

She plopped more money down on the counter, receiving a few wrapped packages and two plastic cans from inside a cooler. She tossed him one and pierced the top of her own with a straw. Aaah. Refreshment.

"We can discuss payment once we get back, though. Wouldn't want to air your dirty laundry in public, would we?"

[member="Rook"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Probably not.

He was sure there was something she would want aboard the Destroyer. Besides, if he actually managed to get her on the ship, she might decide to stay. They needed all the technicians they could get, as there were woefully few to begin with.

He caught the can one handed, and popped the top. "At the cave then," he grinned and took a sip, "If you do a good job on the armor, I may have an offer for you."

Cryptic. A bit too much. Rook shook his head.

"I am the captain of a Destroyer. We have need of engineers. We call ourselves Dreadguard, summarily the Dread Legions. Our duty is to wipe out those that would allow their malignancy to sully the galaxy -- we kill the bad people," he shrugged, "It's a good cause, and a strong brotherhood."

[member="Urya Uvatera"]

 

[Urya Uvatera]

She couldn't believe her ears. Urya flicked her eyes back and forth, then reached out to Rook, groping for his hand. Even if she didn't manage to take it, she would lean close.

" What the hell is wrong with you!? Why would you say that here!? We just said 'do not air dirty laundry in public'. Are you deaf!?"

Urya hissed, trying to avoid the eyes of passersby. A few passing Mustafarian had looked their way when he'd spoken. Maybe they did or maybe they didn't know who the Dreadguard were, but the phrases 'captain of a Destroyer' and 'we kill bad people' certainly caught their attention when they wandered past. Rumors traveled quickly in the Bluff, and who knows who's ears were looking for those exact phrases.

Without much more of a word to Rook, Urya tromped back towards the Lava flea paddocks in disgust. IDIOTS. It was going to be weeks before anyone trusted her enough again to get discounts, after overhearing his blatant confession. How in the world was she going to afford parts now? She'd only just started making a profit... Damn him!

[member="Rook"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

That worked about as well as Rook thought it had. Who in the galaxy's right mind would make sales to someone helping an approaching conqueror? Not a soul. Following that train of thought, Urya had nowhere to go but away. The Destroyer needed Scribes, after all, and the more Rook could secure the better. If that required him to be purposefully stupid, then so be it.

The ride was a rather quite one. Mostly because Rook could not hear a word of what [member="Urya Uvatera"] was saying. A larger part was that he had no response to her anger. If he did choose to say anything, it probably would not be taken well.

Once they arrived at the cavern, he'd offer up his thoughts.

"Sorry." He lied.

 

[Urya Uvatera]

Urya slipped off Oosa once they'd reached her home, fuming. She stalked over to his armor, unwilling to unpack the supplies still on her Lava Flea. Oosa would simply stand and wait until the extra mechanical parts were removed. She may be waiting a while, as her mistress seemed far too preoccupied with her rage at the moment.

The cyborg glanced over to her terminal. There was already two messages flashing across the screen, both of them blaring 'CANCELLATION' in bright red at the top. She swung her metal foot back, and kicked his armor's shin in rage.

"DAMN it. I'm taking the credits that I lost out of your damn hide, you stupid offworlder!"

[member="Rook"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

He did not laugh. That took effort. Standing rigid, Rook watched as the mechanic had her tantrum. It was not unfounded -- he had just cost her a job. Of course, she did not need to know that his antics were entirely on purpose. So long as he could convince her to join the Destroyer's crew, things would be fine. She would have a place to lay her head for the night, and the Legions would have another much-needed scribe.

Perfect.

"No need to use such rude names," he cooed almost mockingly, "I apologize. I will reimburse you for the credits lost, and I offer you a place among my legions if you wish it. Plenty of credits to be made, and technology to be...played with."

He fell silent, offering Urya a thinly veiled smile. His attentions shifted to the power armor for a moment -- such a shame. He hoped she could patch the expensive suit up adequately, though judging from her bartering skills, she had quite likely done this sort of thing in the past many times before.

"Shall we begin work?"

[member="Urya Uvatera"]

 

[Urya Uvatera]

Urya spun to face him, and advanced on Rook, green eyes blazing. She came to a halt inches from his face, fuming. Lava flow and Thermals, was he laughing at her? He seemed sincere, but her ears told her that his contrite attitude was hiding amusement like a bad coat of paint. She would jab her metal forefinger into his chest.

"You're paying me damages, plus for the work that I may or may not decide to start tonight, because I'm honestly so angry that I could accidentally injure something in your exoskeleton."

Her tone of voice largely insinuated that the integrity of the accident would match his own level of honesty at the present time.

"I may need an hour to attend to the barrage of messages that are currently popping up on my console. Why don't you freshen up, Pretty Boy."

She viciously snatched up a pair of goggles and thrust them at him.

"You'll need these for the shower."

[member="Rook"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Well that went well. Rook went rigid as the engineer go right up in his face, his hands going up in mock-surrender. He'd really done it now. Urya was furious. Granted, that was what he'd been working to cause from the start. Though it was not exactly the nicest goal, getting her on the Destroyer was his top priority. People could judge his deeds in the history books that he would inevitably be recorded in later.

"Pretty please fix my armor." He begged, pursing his lips to put on as innocent an expression he could manage. Not exactly adorable, but the intention was clear anyway.

"Why do I need go-" He shook his head. For some reason, Rook felt like he was not going to like the answer to that question, no matter how she explained it. Better he just do as she said. Snatching the goggles from her hands, he turned toward the shower and went on to do his business, leaving Urya to her own devices for a time.

[member="Urya Uvatera"]

 

[Urya Uvatera]

Urya would direct him back to the metal cylinder back in her living space with a silent, shaking finger. Once he was inside, the cylinder would prove itself to be largely utilitarian. There was a thin mirror on the curved space inside. There was a drain with large holes in the bottom, and a showerhead with matching holes in the top.

Hopefully the man put the goggles on as soon as Rock shut the door to the refresher. The column began humming, and a fine sheet of silica shot onto his head in the effort to sand-blast the canister's occupant clean. Thankfully, Urya had dialed back the 'blast' part of the re-purposed industrial sandblaster to a massaging pulse. Part dirt remover, part exfoliant, part metal polish; Urya's waterless sand shower was her most favorite invention.

Outside, Urya was madly trying to stall the damage Rook had caused, but to little effect. Most of her commissioned parts orders were cancelled, and a few of the mining commissioners were going to pick up their equipment later that day.

"DAMN!"

[member="Rook"]