Faction Somewhere Between Crew and Home

[Meri Vale]

The first thing Meri noticed was the sound.

Not any one sound in particular, but the layered kind that only belonged to ships that were lived in rather than merely operated. Metal carried everything strangely. Footsteps from two corridors away became soft percussion through the deck plating. Voices rose and blurred, words lost but moods intact. Laughter somewhere forward. A cabinet shut too hard on the aft. The low, constant hum of engines beneath it all, steady as breathing.

Ships had personalities. She was increasingly certain of that.

This one felt busy. Warm in the way places became when people occupied them honestly. Not polished. Not ceremonial. Useful. Things had been repaired here because they needed to be, not because appearances demanded it. A panel along the corridor bore the faint discoloration of old scorch marks that had been scrubbed but not erased. One overhead light flickered for half a second before deciding to behave. Someone had painted a tiny smiling tooka near a maintenance hatch and then, apparently, defended that decision because it remained there.

Meri approved of the tooka.

She moved carefully through the corridor with one hand trailing along the bulkhead more from habit than need, her small satchel resting against her hip. She had been invited aboard, which still felt worth remembering. There were many ways to arrive somewhere. Being wanted was rarer than simply being permitted.

The scent changed as she neared the common area. Spice, warmed metal, caf, something sweet she could not immediately place, and the unmistakable trace of grease from machinery that no amount of cleaning ever truly defeated. Home, perhaps, for people who had chosen motion over roots.

She paused at the threshold rather than entering immediately.

Inside, voices moved around one another in the casual rhythm of people used to sharing space. Crew. Familiarity had its own cadence, too. She studied the room for a moment, not intrusively, just taking inventory the way she always did. Who sat where. Which chair was claimed by habit. What had been left out because someone intended to come back for it. Where the easiest exits were. Where the light was kindest.

Then she stepped in.

"I brought pastries," she said, lifting a small paper box with both hands as though presenting evidence. "I was told that arriving empty-handed can be interpreted as poor manners, opportunism, or confidence. I preferred not to test which."

A beat passed while her eyes moved across the room.

"I was not told where to stand."

Liin Terallo RedSword77 Brinna Dara Sorr Kortu

 

[Liin Terallo]

The ship announced itself in ways Liin recognized before she consciously registered them. Not the sounds themselves; but the pattern. The uneven rhythm of a vessel that had been lived in, adjusted, argued with, and made functional through persistence rather than precision. It was not inefficiency. It was adaptation.

She stood just inside the common area, not seated, not moving to claim space that was not actively offered. Familiar enough to be present. Distant enough to observe. The tooka near the maintenance hatch had not been there the last time she’d passed through. Her gaze lingered on it for half a second longer than necessary. A quiet improvement.

Meri’s voice drew her attention; not sharply, but completely. Liin turned her head slightly, taking in the small box, the careful posture, the deliberate phrasing. There was something methodical in the way the girl presented herself. Structured. Intentional. Considered. “You were informed correctly,” Liin said, her tone even, though not unkind. “Though the interpretation tends to depend more on the observer than the act itself.”

Her gaze shifted briefly to the pastries, then back to Meri. “They will be well received regardless.” A pause followed that was not empty; but measured. At the question of where to stand, Liin’s eyes moved once across the room, taking in the same details Meri had already noted. Seating patterns. Movement. Ownership of space. Then back to her. “Anywhere that does not inconvenience someone already in motion,” she replied. “Or here.” A slight inclination of her head toward an open stretch of space. It was not isolated, but not intrusive either. “Both are acceptable.”

She stepped forward then, closing a small portion of the distance. Not enough to crowd, just enough to acknowledge presence more directly. “You were invited,” Liin added, quieter now. Not corrective. Clarifying. “That grants you more latitude than you appear to be allowing yourself.” Her gaze flicked once more to the box. “What did you bring?”

Tag: Meri Vale RedSword77 Sorr Kortu Brinna Dara

 

[Brinna Dara]

Objective: Get to know the new crew
Location: Common area, Tiaza’s Purr
Outfit: Normal Outfit
Tags: Meri Vale | Liin Terallo | @sorr cortu | RedSword77

Brinna had just extended her hand when another voice—measured, precise—threaded into the moment. She glanced sideways, catching sight of Liin Terallo already standing within the space, composed as ever. Of course she was. Brinna hadn’t even noticed when she’d come in. That, in itself, felt very Liin.

Brinna’s smile didn’t falter, but it shifted—softening at the edges as she tracked the exchange. Liin’s words were… accurate. Predictable, even. And yet there was something quietly reassuring about the way she framed things, like the rules of a game no one else had bothered to explain out loud.

“Anywhere that doesn’t inconvenience someone…” Brinna echoed lightly, glancing around the room as if considering it for the first time. “Which, to be fair, is a constantly moving target around here.”

Her attention returned to Meri, warmth immediate and unfiltered again. “But yeah—what she said,” Brinna added with an easy nod toward Liin. “You’ve got more freedom than you think. No one’s keeping score on where you stand.”

She hesitated only a fraction of a second this time before reaching out—not for a handshake now, but for the box itself, her curiosity finally winning outright.

“What did you bring?” she echoed, a little more eagerly than Liin had, already peeking at the edges of the container as if she might be able to identify the contents through sheer willpower alone.

Then she caught herself—barely—and looked back up at Meri with a quick, sheepish grin. “Sorry. I got distracted at ‘pastries.’ It’s kind of a weakness.” There was no embarrassment in it. Just honesty.

Brinna shifted her stance, angling slightly so the space opened up naturally between herself, Meri, and Liin—an unspoken invitation rather than a directive. “C’mon,” she said, gesturing loosely toward a nearby table that was only half-claimed by scattered items and no actual people. “We can set them down here. That way everyone can pretend they’re not circling in for a share.”

A beat, then a quieter addition as she glanced between them both—“Seriously, though. You’re good here.”