Moonage Daydream
Now that’s a scene, a cantina, dusty planet, and on the Rim. Coren Starchaser was doing his job, working and finding the dark side. Hunting the dark side. But there was more to it than that. The pilot, the leader of the Dawn Treader’s Warbird Wing, was looking for something more, he was waiting on his apprentice. The Quicksilver, the silver skinned Forerunner class exploration vessel was out and orbiting the planet, working to drop Coren on this no named moon, and alert him to threats.
He himself had taken his freighter down, and was sitting in the bar. The doors were creaking in the wind, and a sound was coming from the band, a sad, nearly wailing sound. Someone had lost a lover, or a friend. A part of them was missing, and the bar, in its already desolate atmosphere, was feeling even more sparse and alone. Dark brown pants, white tee-shirt, black jacket over it, shaded lenses pushed up into his hair, the pilot was doing his best to blend in.
The pilot had helped himself to half a bottle of the probably-backroom-fermented bourbon, and was nursing a rocks glass full of it. It tasted like garbage, but whatever, he was just relaxing, getting his mind moving from the topics of the galaxy and to where he should go. What he was doing, was waiting.
This world wouldn’t be tracked, and the Quicksilver was scanning the system, while the Tachyon Rising had landed without any IFF, not needed on this world. But he knew that the transmission was good. Porter set that up, straight to Two-Bit. His apprentice should be here soon. And there was a glass out.
[member="Chevu Visz"]
He himself had taken his freighter down, and was sitting in the bar. The doors were creaking in the wind, and a sound was coming from the band, a sad, nearly wailing sound. Someone had lost a lover, or a friend. A part of them was missing, and the bar, in its already desolate atmosphere, was feeling even more sparse and alone. Dark brown pants, white tee-shirt, black jacket over it, shaded lenses pushed up into his hair, the pilot was doing his best to blend in.
The pilot had helped himself to half a bottle of the probably-backroom-fermented bourbon, and was nursing a rocks glass full of it. It tasted like garbage, but whatever, he was just relaxing, getting his mind moving from the topics of the galaxy and to where he should go. What he was doing, was waiting.
This world wouldn’t be tracked, and the Quicksilver was scanning the system, while the Tachyon Rising had landed without any IFF, not needed on this world. But he knew that the transmission was good. Porter set that up, straight to Two-Bit. His apprentice should be here soon. And there was a glass out.
[member="Chevu Visz"]