Trade Mission to Geonosis (ORC, attn: CIS, and also openish)

[Scherezade deWinter]

Where: The Docks
What: Trying to leave
Who: Fabula Caromed
I got one better: WHY IS [member="Fabula Caromed"]

She wanted to leave. She had to leave. She was not leaving. Why? Because the Giggledust, a frakking five hundred years old ship that had been in the hands of her spice addict aunt, had not gone through proper maintenance during those centuries. The mere fact that it could even break through atmo' without falling to pieces was a miracle in and by itself, but right now, when she had to leave, the stupid thing wouldn't even start. How does a ship not even start? Scherezade couldn't figure it out. She was a lot of things - loose canon, lover of glitter, eater of meat, contaminator of drinking water, frequenter of putting the pointy end in other people and sometimes in herself. Mechanic was nowhere on that list. Nowhere. She double checked just to make sure.

With a grunt, the young Sithling walked back to the elevator shaft, from which the elevator was still missing, and jumped down. Maybe the problem was outside.

From the outside, the thing looked as rusty as it currently felt. Maybe it needed some cleaning. Maybe the sole reason it refused to start was because it was feeling dirty on the outside. The Sithling sometimes had issues leaving the ship before taking a shower, so surely that must've been it?

She began to circle her little ship, trying to see if there were any visible problems other than the rust thing. There was nothing.

Scherezade kicked the wheels of the ship and let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Dash Kessler"] - [member="Rook Lokar"] - [member="Sortz"] - [member="Saul Terrik"]

Daro facepalmed once he started looking over Sortz' shoulder and started seeing the complication.

Almost made to take over, but then the dizzy feeling only increased almost making him stumble. He managed to catch himself by the wall and coughed, violently, before finally getting control over himself. Not easy- but another sip from the flask steadied his hands again. This wasn't a good thing, not good at all, but this wasn't exactly the moment to start a fit.

Not when things were complicated. He had activated his cyber-eye and managed to pierce through the first cabins. The next? About half a dozen of fething, karking half-starved prisoners huddled together for warmth.

"Saul, you karking twit, we are robbing a prisoner transport." It almost seemed as if he was pissed off about the job. Then a beat later. "Sentient extraction is triple what we are getting for this job, your contact is robbing us and forking us at the same time."

Force almighty, he might just pop his balls for the hell of it, no matter what he'd say to Sortz next.

"Sortz- see if you can lock down the cabin doors manually, best if we can postpone the guards jumping on our neck as much as possible." That might still not be enough, it all depended on who the prisoners were... Daro sighed, closing his eyes. "Also see if you can figure out who we are breaking out of fething train-jail." Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

Nobody important anyway.

Would make things at least a bit easier.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

On a scale of reasons to be alive, the taste of authentic, freshly-grilled, lightly spiced bug meat wasn't something Fabula thought would rate so high. It was...flaky? A bit like fish. Nothing she'd feed her family, of course, but nothing she disliked personally experiencing, either. She'd long since learned to stop worrying about what she was eating, or where it came from. So much time wandering alone through the galactic frontier supported an acceptance of certain necessities. She'd eaten just about everything shy of sapient meat, and even then, you had to define "sapient."

Her wandering and sightseeing wasn't really interrupted, but as she passed by a gorgeous leather shop, there was a new sound to focus on. Not beasts braying or speeders humming or the shouts of an assembled crowd, but one very distressed young human girl. She was blessed with the sort of creativity one saw in career soldiers, insult comedians, and suburban housewives, and seemed none too shy about using that gift as loudly and publicly as possible. Fabula had absolutely no difficulty tracing the source of this breathtaking tirade back towards the Pilgrim, about six bays down. There was already a crowd.

Taking her time, Fabula attempted to sidle through the growing clot of rubberneckers as politely and unobtrusively as possible. It was a good day so far, and her patience was up to the task. Plus, this was supposed to be a friendly gathering; as much fun as an Incident would be, she didn't need to be the one to cause an Incident. Eventually, she emerged from a cloud of flesh and morbid, shameless curiosity to see...well, a young human girl. She seemed to be screaming at an old junker, which meant she had no idea what she was doing.

Every fringer knew you had to treat old ships with patience, no matter how much personality they'd developed.

Hands in her pockets, Fabula approached and offered a single, mousy-voiced greeting when she was close enough that she expected she'd be heard. Incidentally, that was pretty close. "That's a very flavorful vocabulary you have there," she began. Her smile was simultaneously easy and bored, like she'd rather be doing something else. She would, but they tended to call that "murder" here in civilized society. She cocked her head to one side and looked over the...jeez, utterly archaic piece of junk this girl was fretting over. "...Though I think I can see the call for it."

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

She'd been so wrapped up in her cursing and trying to think of any sort of a way that would save this miserable situation when someone spoke next to her. Scherezade half-yelped and took a step backward, the crowd going entirely unnoticed by her senses. There was a woman there and she was talking about her vocabulary and... and the reason for it.

The young Sithling had little she could do but nod.

"I was gifted this ship by a centuries old spice addict who didn't know what maintenance meant," she explained, the anger all too clear in her voice, "it took two months to get rid of all the spice that was inside! Do you know the effect of two hundred year old Giggledust?!"

Though, to be fair, she hadn't actually cleaned it herself. Just the room she had turned into her bedroom, and the kitchen. The rest had been cleaned when she won a wager against a certain wolf man that had since won her heart as well. The wager had been regarding gathering a body count on Orcus, and Scherezade had won, though it ended with her turning into a pin cushion, quite literally. But it was all worth it, since it meant someone else would clean the ship. The only remaining bit was to figure out how to get an elevator in there. But that required credits, and with the bureaucracy problems she was facing with the CIS, those credits were taking their sweet time.

"Anyway," she resumed, almost defeated, "I don't really have credits for a mechanic and the ship's not starting and I'd love to get the krak out of this stupid planet."


[member="Fabula Caromed"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Jeez that was an old design. Like, a really, really old design. People had a love-affair with ships a half-millennium old, sure, but she didn't normally find one that looked so beaten up. Fabula's own Pilgrim was only about twenty and even it was starting to really show its age in a way desh plating couldn't solve. She could only imagine how this pile of trash had managed to keep flying. Even from the outside it looked ready to fall apart at a sneeze.

"I have some tools back on my ship. Let me take a look at it," she commented idly. After a couple of moments, she smiled warmly and added a quick "Free of charge."

Something in her - she was pretty sure it was her mother's Kuati blood, no matter how synthetic - really, really wanted to figure out what the hell was up with that lump of salvage. Alna had taught her plenty of how to keep a junker flying, and the parts she didn't learn, she normally improvised pretty well. The Pilgrim had been swiped by asteroids, swarmed by acklays, caught in at least three hurricanes, and shot up by some very short-sighted pirates, and it was still flying. Chances were she'd be able to at least get the engines running again.

Fabula strolled off at her normal relaxed, out-of-touch pace. A minute or six later, she returned with a crate of tools hefted over one shoulder.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Sortz]

[member="Daro Tarsi"] [member="Dash Kessler"] [member="Saul Terrik"] [member="Rook Lokar"]

"Got it," came the reply even before he was finished with his recommendation.

"They already know we're here, and we're not getting through this security encryption before we hit central. Either we grab it and run like hell or we just run like hell."

It. Not them. And no, she wasn't refering to a single person as it.

She was talking about the whole car.

That had been the plan from the beginning. Nab the whole thing. As far as Sortz was concerned, that was still the plan now. So when Daro asked her to pinpoint who they were getting out, Sortz just looked up at him, confused.

"All of them."

Assuming Saul didn't just scrub the whole mission, Sortz was still going under the assumption that they were taking the whole car.

 

[Zef Halo]

A trillion curses in a minute directed at the Baroness flashed in his mind but her growing reputation forced them to remain in his head. He'd been played and Saul couldn't really do much about it. Bail and you got yourself a target on your back and a rep for unreliability on Port Nowhere, and right now that's where most of Saul's business was coming from. They had to go through with this fiasco.

The train was nearing the station much rapidly than they had initially anticipated and the tall buildings parallel to the lightrail system were being replaced by the first line of shops and vendors part of the large bazaar that the Hub was.

"Yes, luv. All ov 'em just like she said, yeah. Get tha wagon detached so I can dantooine it wiv tha tractor!" Saul urged them passionately through the comms in his typical working class Tetan. "An' yew all 'urry' da feth up."

[member="Sortz"] [member="Daro Tarsi"] [member="Dash Kessler"] [member="Rook Lokar"]

 

[Dash Kessler]

CURRENT LOCATION: The Hub, Golbah City
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: Disengage the carriage
FELLOW MISCREANTS: [member="Sortz"], [member="Daro Tarsi"], [member="Saul Terrik"]
OTHER ADJACENTS: [member="Rook Lokar"], various prisoners.

“<<Yes, because being underpaid for this job is our main karking concern right now.>>” Dash rolled his eyes as he crouched down between the gap, holstering his blaster in favour of unhitching his toolkit from his belt. The door would hold for now, but the sooner he was done with disabling the mag coupler the better. And to think, just a few moments ago, he had been more worried about getting on the train than leaving it. Talk about shifting priorities. “<<And Sandwich, why the kark do you sound like you’ve got a bunch of pebbles in your mouth? Hard enough taking what comes out of that mouth seriously as is.>>”

Above him, there was a heavy thud against the security door’s window as the Genosian drones battered at the transparisteel with the stocks of their sonic rifles. They might not have been the smartest of their race’s caste, but apparently they knew enough not to try squeezing a shot off in a confine metal tube. The only thing that was presently keeping Dash alive at this point. If he’d needed an incentive to work faster, that right there most definitely qualified.

The scoundrel bit down on the leather wrapped handle of his servo-driver, holding it between his teeth to free his hands up, yanking the casing up and off the coupler. Letting it blown away in the wind that whipped around the edges of the carriage as he tossed it aside negligently. Not like they were going to be putting it back together afterwards.

In fact, he was still trying to work out why they were continuing with the job in the first place. Last time he checked, prison transports were usually filled with prisoners. Hardened folks, ugly as the Tatooine day was long, the type you generally didn’t want out numbering you given the option. They needed credits, sure enough. But given the choice, Dash placed a great deal more value on his continued existence. Something that the obviously Genosians, much like Saul and Tarsi, didn’t seem to share.

As if on cue, the transparisteel shattered above him as the drones sought to to confirm that assumption, showering him with broken pieces and half-snarled (clicked?) curses. It was either that or they wanted to congratulate him on a job well done. The carriage gave a judder and a start as the coupler groaned its release, creating a slowly expanding gap between the train's sections. Not a moment too soon, all things considered.

Now he just had to worry about them shooting him.

 

[Rook Lokar]

Rook paced back and forth within his cell, the red glow of the ray shielded door reflecting onto his person, the hum filling his ears. The younger man gripped his chin with one hand, whilst it was supported by the other that reached across his body to grasp at his underarm. His eyes remained glued to the floor just ahead of him, the expression on his face appearing to claim he was 'lost in thought'. In the end, he paused every part of his body. His gaze slowly shifted to the corner, eyeing off the Ithorian that sat in the corner hopelessly, it's own eyes glued to the ground.

He had an idea.

The Smuggler raised his right leg, thrusting it forwards into the Ithorian's rather large skull. It made a hearty thud that certainly didn't sound so enjoyable, and it took a little bit more than a few seconds for the Alien to recover. Yet, this man was mean, he was tough and ready to rumble whilst Rook only backed away into the opposite corner. Certainly ready to take a few knocks before intervention arrived. In which it did in the form of three Drones with stun sticks. They immediately grasped the aggressive alien's attention who turned on them, lashing out violently. One was even held over it's head and thrown in Rook's direction. The Smuggler's bound hands reached for the Stun Stick, zapping at the bug until it fell unconscious as the other two fought for their lives. He began to fumble around, being able to remove the locks from his wrists, ankles and neck. Armed with nothing but a Stun Stick, he fled into the hallway.

[member="Saul Terrik"] - [member="Dash Kessler"] - [member="Daro Tarsi"] - [member="Sortz"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade blinked, only now turning to look at the woman. She noted the pale skin, the eyes, the rest of it. Markings of a Sith. Why was a random Sith she did not know offering to help her? And more than that - why was she offering it free of charge? She almost wanted to ask, but for once in her life, Scherezade kept her mouth shut and just let it happen. The woman had gone off, either to fetch tools or to laugh at how gullible the Sithling was, leaving her pretty much in the same state she'd been in.

Geonosis was a planet that sucked. Not once had Scherezade arrived there and had actually enjoyed herself. There had been promises of weapons, armor, training, credits... In the end though, there had been just Scherezade and nothing else. It was becoming a pattern that she was seriously tired of.

Eventually, she just opted to sit down and wait.

The woman came back though, carrying a tools crate?

Scherezade blinked, and then gave the woman a warm smile, knowing better than to bother her with words. When people did what they were good at, you didn't bother them in the middle. It had been a lesson she'd had to learn the hard way a few weeks ago, and she was not about to ignore it now.


[member="Fabula Caromed"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Judging by the sound that crate made when she walked it up the boarding ramp and dropped it onto the deck, it had to be at least fifty kilos. She pulled out a couple of tools and a crappy old leather tool belt - the same one Alna had given her, years ago - and started fitting them in. "Alright then. Sorry for the wait. How's this poor thing been treating you?" Her words spread to the rest of the ship in a way that it wasn't entirely clear whether she was asking the girl or the machine.

Fabula stood, hands on her generous hips, and looked about curiously. First, she considered the problem in question. The ship won't get off the ground. That might be a problem with engine ignition, fuel injection, faulty wiring, or just general fatigue. The last one would be the hardest to fix, and would take the longest to work with. But then, Fabs had literally nothing to do. This was as entertaining as anything she wouldn't get arrested for on this planet.

She wandered in deeper, then turned to look back to the girl outside with a little grin, nodding towards the corridor. "Let's start it up, see what the symptoms are."

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade openly stared as the woman the crate was dropped on deck. The empty echoes that returned reminded her that she was really going to have to do something about that area. It was one thing to use it as a storage space; it was quite another to let it gather dust. So far it had only been used once, to fill with spidersilk crates when she went on her little Dathomir massacre, but the rest of the time it was mostly a place for cobwebs to gather.

"The ship itself is usually great," Scherezade answered with a little smile, "once we got centuries old spice cleared out of it, anyway. The previous owner didn't believe in maintenance and I'm sorta saving up to give her the proper treatments she needs. But she was working fun up until now."

There was also the need to actually start the ship. That meant that she would have to leave the woman there and go up. Whoever designed the ship in that aspect had done a sorta bad job with how it all worked together. Still, since there was no actual elevator inside the shaft, she had to use the Force to jump up to the next level, and then run to the cockpit. She hit the button and nothing happened. She hit all the buttons, and nothing happened. At least not in terms of noise that she could hear.

With a sigh, the young Sithling made her way back down. "Can't hear anything upstairs. It's like she'd dead."

[member="Fabula Caromed"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Fabula nodded and waited, half-watching, half just listening. Not to the sounds of the ship, but to its breath. She was pretty sure she heard something there, for a second. A part of her - a little less than half - felt the need to give a quietly empathetic little "poor thing" when she felt the lack of movement. The part that the D'Lessios had raised, though, was full of purpose. Solving a problem with her wits...or what they amounted to, anyway. When the girl returned to her, Fabs gave a quick, distracted nod.

"It was probably hard to hear up there." She lifted one hand, pointing towards the rear of the ship. "A quiet little clicking sound, somewhere around there. That probably means a wiring issue." The renegade Mandowitchian turned back to her tool crate and swapped out a few bits and baubles for a different few bits and baubles, then pulled out a commlink. "I might need some spare parts, Al. Standby."

Fabs led the way to the heart of the ancient piece of crap she was trying to resurrect, her fingers trailing idly along the bulkhead the whole while. This ship was old, and had seen a lot. Most of it didn't seem terribly pleasant. Spice, sure, but much worse than that. She could almost feel the- "Probably about...here." Fabula spun on the toes of her shoes and tapped one plate that looked ready to fall off. As she did, her other hand pulled out a hydrospanner and started loosening the bolts.

Inside was almost as dusty and somehow even more dingy and dark than the rest of the ship. The raven-haired woman took a long look and nodded. "Mynock damage. This is old. It probably happened a few weeks ago." She sniffed the air, then nodded again. "It smells like droppings in there, too. It's probably not a nest, though. They'd be all kinds of upset that we were in here."

Taking a few moments to put on some proper work gloves, Fabula reached in to pull out one of the damaged cables, then used her free hand to click her commlink again. "Alright Al, I'm going to need maybe eight meters of KXK-17, please. It's the black stuff hanging next to the red stuff behind the Condor." She didn't wait for verification. He had her location. Instead, she turned back to the girl and smiled warmly. "So. You said you got this ship from...?"

A spice addict, three times. But that was a profession, not a relation.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Okay, wiring issue. That meant that you put wires back together and it worked again like magic, right? She remained quiet, following the woman, her eyes big as she looked at her locate the proper plate. When it opened, she peeked inside, noticing the smell as well. Dust, and rust and-

And one of Aunt Morgaine's wonderful ideas. People thought Scherezade's ideas were chaotic and crazy. They only said that because they had not met her aunt that had decided it was a good idea to collect poodoo from all across the galaxy and then try to sell it off as organic compost. Scherezade had found several hidden poodoo staches on the ship over the months, but she'd never actually thought to look inside the walls for it as well. And naturally, that meant that there could also be spice inside the walls. Suddenly it seemed like her wolf had focused on cleaning the wrong parts. But then the woman said it was Mynock damage, and Scherezade blinked, wondering if maybe that really was the problem, and tried to guess which world it was that they had made it into her ship on.

The rest of the woman's words made little sense to the young Sithling, so she remained quiet until she was asked a direct question.

"I didn't," came the answer, "there are five copies of the ship in my family. I ended up with this one. How bad is it? Will it cost less than a new ship to fix it? Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"



[member="Fabula Caromed"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Oh now that was just cute. Someone had either been taught or ambiently picked up how to treat a guest. Fabula crossed her arms under her chest and nodded with a bright smile. "I'll take some tea if you have it. Thank you." Standing near an open panel leaking the smell of space parasite crap into the rest of the ship was less than ideal, so Fabs bolted the panel loosely back on and pulled off her gloves. They fit neatly back into her belt.

"I'm not going to be charging you anything," Fabula replied when asked. Her tone, mousy and mild as it was, approached resolute on this specific subject. "If I were stuck here watching my ship die in front of my eyes with nothing I could do about it, I'd be absolutely miserable." And also probably go on some kind of berserk killing spree in frustration and hopelessness. "I see no reason to inflict that fate on anyone, even by neglect."

Plus, she wanted to try her hand at fixing something that wasn't the Bloody Pilgrim for once. She was pretty good with her specific ship, but she hadn't been offered many opportunities to play with other ships. Not for years, since long before she'd found Fable.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Dash Kessler"] - [member="Rook Lokar"] - [member="Sortz"] - [member="Saul Terrik"]

"All of them? Are you kid-" Then the garbled voice of Saul coming through the comms. Since when did that accent get so thick? Was he drunk? Spiced up to chit? It didn't matter Daro supposed. This was going to be a pain and none of them seemed to realize it. They hadn't come equipped to handle prisoner extraction. They didn't have the fething space in the Hope, depending on how many of them were out there.

But Daro shut up, groaned and pushed himself off the wall and settled down next to Sortz.

"Ya don't need to get through the security system, lass," Tarsi grumbled as he hooked his own gear in. It was patched-up, spacer's tape royally applied and the display seemed to be broken at a few places, but...

She knew that it was far better than most of the gear one could find on the black market.

"Just need to-" Daro blinked, saw double again, shook his head to clear it out and then got to work. His fingers moved deftly, quick and practiced, going through lines of code assisted by his cyber-eye that could see the power fluctuations as they happened. Sortz was right- they couldn't get through the security system before the train arrived at central.

But Daro was a cheating fether and just overloaded the buffers of the southern section, just on the other side of the prison transport. "There- mountain boy, can't help with the flying drones, but you ain't gonna be swarmed with ground ones at any rate."

 

[Sortz]

Who was 'mountain boy'? Another nickname for Saul, like 'sandwich?' Sortz didn't really understand them. Humans were weird.

Just as Daro finished his own part of the job, Sortz had pulled up the full prisoner manifest. Names, crimes, reason for transfer. They didn't have time to go through it now, but she saved it to help them sort it all out later. Including if any of these people should get dropped right back off as a police station somewhere.

Wait.

Yeah they weren't going to be welcome on Geonosis after this, she realized (a little belatedly). Not the folks in the car, but them. There was no way they were getting out of this fully incognito. Well, maybe they could. They were all still wearing masks after all. But it wasn't like they could just drop off the really bad ones and be like 'hey sorry! You should keep these we don't want them!'

Sortz glanced sheepishly at Daro, realizing she was probably going to get an ear full about this later. Which was when she noticed just how pale the skin around his eyes was, the tension there- the way his hands shook.

Sure they often did that, but this was different.

"Hey, you okay-"

The car shuddered, and without thinking, Sortz reached out, her clawed hand gripping Daro to keep him from tumbling off as the repulsor lifts from the tug kicked on. With Dash having done his part and them having done.... well, their part of the plan had been whack from the start apparently, but they'd done what they could... it was time to go. The train car lifted up off of the track.

[member="Daro Tarsi"] [member="Dash Kessler"] [member="Saul Terrik"] [member="Rook Lokar"]

 

[Zef Halo]

" Blimey! 'old on ti'!! " Saul shouted through the comms creating immeasurable static through them as he yanked the yoke back drastically shifting the 'tugboat' upwards pulling the stolen container along with it. Alarms blared out of nowhere suddenly. "Bloody 'ell, thou' yew all did yahr foothin' job, yeah."

Apparently not, or so he thought. Saul had no karking clue how and why alarms started blaring.

This was getting better by the minute.

"Where's yaa karkin' boat, Tarsi?!"

The tugboat roared through the sky above the busy bazaar of the Hub headed to destination unknown.

Someone be'er be dead from 'is fe'hs. 'is reserves a be'er share, innit.

[member="Sortz"] [member="Daro Tarsi"] [member="Dash Kessler"] [member="Rook Lokar"]

 

[Dash Kessler]

CURRENT LOCATION: The Hub, Golbah City
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: Try not to get killed
FELLOW MISCREANTS: [member="Sortz"], [member="Daro Tarsi"], [member="Saul Terrik"]
OTHER ADJACENTS: [member="Rook Lokar"], various prisoners.

Hold on? Easier said than done. Between the Geonosian drones trying to draw a bead on him and the train car abruptly lurching upwards, it was a small miracle that Dash didn't find himself tumbling shebs over head as he scrambled to find both cover and purchase. Dropping on to the polarized tracks at this speed would've been a messy way to go. A fate his blaster was all too quick to demonstrate as it slipped from his grasp. Having the good graces to vanish from view before it made a shattering, crumpled distressed noise as it was lost the world.

Why did these jobs never go smooth?

"<<Kark me!>>" He yelled loudly over the comms as he pressed his back up against the sealed door of the carriage behind him, reactivating his magboots and locking his knees to keep from sliding around like a greased up Hutt. "<<You fancy giving me a little more fething heads up next time, yeah? I dunno about you, but I ain't getting paid nearly enough to die over this poodoo.>>"

Hell, he wasn't even sure if they were getting paid, period, for this job. It wasn't as if the employer was on the level about what they were stealing in the first place. Who the hell sends a crew out to heist a prison transport blind?

 

[Rook Lokar]

Well.

At the very least someone's plan was, uh, going to plan. Rook could start to consider himself lucky that he decided to breakout during the middle of another breakout, although he was entirely unaware of the other's existences, he may just be a little bit more than appreciative once they came into view. For now? He began to frantically scramble through the hallway of a train cart with nothing ahead of him but a clear shot for that latter, and the hatch that rest in the ceiling above it.

Freedom. He could almost taste it.

It wasn't even as if he was here for long, only a few days. Then again? A few days of isolation felt as if it were an eternity.

One hand after another. He ascended that ladder. The orange jumpsuit he wore constricted some of the more intensive movements, but everything worked out all the same. Rook's hand pressed against the latch, and up it went, a gust of air and a deafening roar of the wind filled his ears and kissed his skin. Then everything went weird. The sight of a ship dangling above, and potential misfits crawling about on top.

"Oh."

Half of his body remained inside.

[member="Saul Terrik"] - [member="Dash Kessler"] - [member="Daro Tarsi"] - [member="Sortz"]