SS Iscariot - Episode 1: New Beginnings

[Joakim Soong]

Location: Docks

SS Iscariot. Joakim wasn't sure how he felt about the space station. On one hand, this particular one was orbiting near the rim, which meant there wasn't much of an Alliance presence. On the other hand, that also meant the place was going to have a very seedy underbelly, which gave him a different reason to stay on his toes. But on the third hand, space stations were points of transit, with lots of new people passing through every day, so nobody would bat an eyelid at yet another new face in the crowd. But then again, if some kind of commotion did break out, it would be even more difficult to get away, what with them all being trapped in a giant metal box floating in a vacuum... Was it possible to feel agoraphobia and claustrophobia at the same time?

Jo decided that given their current situation, he was more worried about their newly kidnapped doctor than somebody recognizing him. He suppressed a smirk when Melody handcuffed her to her patient, but as he thought it over, there was soon no more smirk to suppress. Under any other circumstances having Holger watch over Missy would've been enough to ease Jo's mind, but while he would be able to physically restrain her, nonsense was still spilling out of the giant's mouth every time he opened it, so their hostage was essentially tied to a... very imposing toddler?

"Should someone keep an eye on them?" he leaned towards Melody, nodding at the odd couple, his brow furrowed.

"Someone should keep an eye on them," he repeated, this time a statement rather than a question. "What if someone approaches them and asks what's with the..." he gestured towards the handcuffs. Not that he really knew how he'd explain the situation to a bystander himself... But at least he was loyal to the crew and had his full mental facilities.

[Tereza]

Location: Sector 2, near a pump room

The snap-clack of deactivated mag-boots chased the vibrantly dressed pilot down the station's passageway. Tereza had paused briefly in her little hole-in-the-wall rented room to suit up and throw the rest of her personal effects into her rucksack. It, along with a soft shell weapons carrier, were slung over her shoulders. The bags' muted colors a sharp counterpoint to the metallic copper and neon green G-Suit that wrapped its way around the pilot's frame in a way that was equal parts flattering and uncomfortable. Technically speaking, which means 'only if you ask the manufacturer or a physics professor', it was an Self-Contained Anti-G Ensemble. The suit was wrapped in just shy of two kilograms of artificial 'muscles' of semi viscoelastic fluids that used hydrostatic pressure to help the wearer maintain consciousness at pressures exceeding 12 Earth Standard Gravities given proper body training. The short and sweet of it was that it kept Tereza from G-LOC when she pushed the cockpit strapped to booster engines her companion called a 'racing shuttle' to full throttle.

It also made her look a lot like a racer. The matching helmet didn't help. The fact that she was also striding straight towards the office Dewey maintained helped round out her image. As she walked Tereza worked her jaw, neck, and whichever hand wasn't holding her helmet at the time. Her hand, from time to time, reached up to her chest where her KCS Armadillo PCT was affixed and flipped the display screen open to check up on numbers or previous flight details. Tolya best have fixed that fuel cut off issue or else she would coast his little toy race boat into his personal ship at whatever speed the piloted missile could make in limp mode.

Tereza paused briefly before the door to Dewey's office but decided to think better of actually knocking and let herself in, calling out as she breached the doorway. "You best be decent Dewey, got a race to win and not a lick of patience for any misunderstandings." Was it unfair for her to judge this Dewey before she met them? Yes. Was she drawing from a decent collection of past experiences with other race promoters? Also yes.

[Melody]

Location: Docks

"How thoughtful!" Missy replied, her fists balled up and her smile almost too bright to look at. Mel grinned broadly, clearly pleased as punch at having either gotten under the woman's skin or perhaps pleased that she was making things inconvenient (if maybe mildly) for the Alliance Doctor. She offered the woman up a wink and amused quirk of her brows.

"My pockets are full pockets," Holger protested and Mel lifted her hand to pat his considerably taller (and larger) upper arm. She knew he wasn't going to like this, but it did serve two purposes. She couldn't convince him to stay in bed while they refueled, but he was clearly in need of some medical help and while she connected them so he could keep an eye on Missy, there was some truth in asking the doctor to keep an eye on her patient as well.

"Do you want me to make sure the refueling and the water tanks are taken care of?" Izak asked her and Mel turned to eye the man, her arms crossing over her chest and a sigh lifting and lowering her shoulders. While she found she was still briefly annoyed with the man, he did have a point that someone might need to make sure things were done correctly here. Iscariot was shady, sure, but they weren't sloppy. But squared, this was a visually obvious Alliance ship and sabotage wasn't out of the question. "Yes," she finally agreed, nodding curtly and letting some of her annoyance at the man slip back into the recesses of her mind. He was trying to help.

"Someone should keep an eye on them, what if someone approaches them and asks what's with the..." Jo's lowered voice caught her attention and again, Melody nodded. Her gaze lowered to the handcuffs and the pilot couldn't help but snort in low amusement. "Could be a kink thing?" she offered up in return, turning a bit and tilting her chin to stare unblinking at the tech's face. Still, he also had a point and Mel wasn't sure how she felt about that. Again, a curt nod. "Yes," she told him as well, shrugging a shoulder and gesturing toward Big and Smalls. Keeping an eye on them wasn't a terrible plan.

Before she could ask anything else of them, she spotted a small and awkward shadow trying to slip unseen from the ship and her eyes immediately rolled around in her head. "I'll be back," she told Jo before leaving them all to their time on the station, however they chose to spend it. She followed after Pete with her arms still crossed over her chest, not bothering to run or hide, a look of clear annoyance and frustration written across her face. However, there was no sign of panic or worry about his intentions. He was an idiot, after all, and she figured the unsuspecting residents of the Station were in a lot more danger of his accidents than she was. She leaned idly against a wall near the cortex machine he fiddled with, moving closer only when he'd managed to get some coins in it. She watched the news over his shoulder, half interested and half bored. However, when the news flashed to their stealing of the ship, the pilot struggled to hold in her smile. Mastermind, eh? The news cut off as his creds ran out and she finally approached him, brow aloft as she stared at the man.

"So I guess I'm a pirate now," he said in defeat. Again, Mel grinned. "Guess so," she agreed. "What do you want to do about it?" she asked, tilting her head and finally uncrossing her arms to slip her hands into her pockets. "Feel like duct taping us back together when the need arises? Although to be completely transparent," she began, leaning a little closer to him, her expression neutral, "I'm mostly keeping you around for your cat."

Mid response, Melody reached out, wrapped her hand around his wrist and began tugging him away from the Cortex machine and toward where she'd been headed in the first place. "Come on, pirate. We're going to go enjoy some entertainment," she informed him, grinning dangerously.

[Joakim Soong]

Location: Docks

“Could be a kink thing?”

Jo frowned. Judging by the snort, Melody was half-joking, but he didn't have any better cover story ideas himself, unless he wanted to impersonate law enforcement, which he never did, not even in the best of circumstances. As Melody walked off to deal with their other hostage-turned-reluctant-crew-member, he turned to Holger and Missy, hands on his hips.

"Alright, so I guess if anybody asks, you two have got some kind of a public humiliation kink and I, uh... like to watch."

He ran one of his hands through his hair and scratched the back of his head, visibly exasperated.

"Or we just get really defensive and they can do the math themselves, I guess that'll work too."

Jo sighed and looked around the docks. If it weren't for Missy, he would have volunteered to stay behind and watch the ship instead.

"So... you two got something in mind? Shoe shopping?"

The last comment was directed at Missy and accompanied by a look that was daring her to suggest something that was obviously a part of an escape plan.

[Rashy Pete]

Location: Docks

The blonde's hardened expression split into a shark toothed grin, giving the change's luckless witness cause to wonder what strange and terrible joy the woman managed to glean from his plight. "Guess so," The Revenge's Captain mused with arms crossed over her chest. "What do you want to do about it?" Her mood relaxed as did her posture, sending a chill up the mechanic's spine and causing the hairs on his dirty neck to stand on end. Olo felt as if a fly caught helplessly in the spider's web, and pouted pitifully by way of reply. "Feel like duct taping us back together when the need arises? Although to be completely transparent," Olo missed the intention of her use of the word transparent, which in this context meant to have thoughts, feelings, or motives that are easily perceived, but nonetheless resulted in the wayward wright's squinting harder than usual as he attempted to see through Melody's physical form. "I'm mostly keeping you around for your cat."

Olo's dejected expression caused his eyes to lower to the floor, where the previously mentioned feline purred up at him from his literal and symbolic place by Melody's boot. "Well, if Ras wants to stay I guess I - wuh!" Melody's considerable grip snagged Olo by the wrist at that moment, and pulled him along with the unyielding force of will women like her often possessed. The chill previously creeping up Olo's spine dissipated in response to the newfound sensation of heat rising about his neck and general queasiness stirring in his gut. Women like her... he mused to himself, glancing involuntarily up and down the length of Melody's fit form before coughing nervously. "Uuh..." "Come on, pirate. We're going to go enjoy some entertainment," she informed him as her grin turned over her shoulder to meet him. His eyes came up just in time to avoid being gutted as an addle-brained grin accompanied the mumbling babble streaming from his parted lips.

"Entertainment sounds good. Do you like Gūdú de xiǎo gǒu nánhái zài yuèliàng háo jiào? It's probably my favorite show. Ras likes it, too. Hey! If I'm gonna be a pirate I probably need a good pirate name right? Like Olo the Orange, or Ironbeard. You know. Something with a nice ring to it, that lets them all know what I'm about. Or maybe I should go by my middle name? Rashtivian the Ravager? Maybe that's a little too crazy. I don't want anyone to think I ate people. I don't even like eating vegetables. Oh I guess I could use my last name. Petrovich. Puh... Puh... Painful Petrovich? Does that make sense? What else starts with a P? Do you think that's important? If the words start with the same letter? You know, like a rhyme? Is Patchy good?" Olo scratched at the unsightly and irritated red hives crawling up his neck, a rare and seemingly incurable condition that most often occurred when he found himself this close to holding hands with bold and brazen blondes. "You're a pirate. What do you think?"

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Location: The Docks

Holger scratched at his beard and thought. He couldn't carouse and carry on, as would be usual custom in such a situation. Drinking, some companionship, maybe a fight or two. The Ginger Giant was in his element, and yet out of it at the same time. "The woman kinks us!" He said, indicating to the hindrance on his hand. Joakim, though Tech Holger had thought he heard Melody call the small computer man, surely understood what he meant. "Tech must make sense of this." A deep sigh, with more contemplation. "It is a shoe shame." Momentarily unsure of why he had just mentioned shoes, Holger smiled and leveled a finger at Joakim, having come to a decision. "Yes, shoes are my kink. You shall watch as we shoes in the store."

The boots that Holger wore were leftovers from the war. They were good, strong boots. Dependable and truly broken in. In fact, they were perhaps more broken than in. Scuffed with hastily mended holes and, more recently, covered in grease and who knew what else, Holger seemed sure it was time for a new pair. Without waiting for anyone to say anything to the contrary, Holger left to go find a shoe store, dragging Missy and, if he followed through with the following, Joakim along with him.

[noseatbelts]

Location: Sector 2 (near a pump room/Dewey's office)

Near the pump room, Tereza found an area that didn't match the rest of the decor in this section of the Iscariot Space Station. While Sector 2, on the whole, was basically as advertised, this part was decidedly more than expected. Covered in neon lights, surely not true Earth-That-Was neon gas lights, as those on space station would surely be hazardous to... everything, they were none the less very bright and very colorful. They criss crossed every which way in brilliant designs and nonsensical words, none of which seemed applicable to anything that the other was saying. The biggest of them, however, was clear, and indicated that Tereza was, indeed, at "Dewey's, LLC."

Inside, the light scheme continued, coupled with racing posters and pop culture ephemera. A small waiting room with a few chairs, a disused coffee maker, a glitchy cortex viewer, and an old man who slept soundly in the corner (or was he dead?). On the opposite wall, barely more than two full steps from the door, was a counter with a small silver bell and a placard that said "Ring 4 Service."

[Missy Etheridge]

Location: Docks

"Could be a kink thing?"

Missy blinked slowly at Melody's retreating figure through narrowed eyes while the techie -- Joe or Jake or whatever -- actually thought through the suggestion aloud as though it had been a serious one. After several days of this fèi hùa, her patience was at the fraying edge of its limit, and her grip on the cheery mask was tenuous at best.

So it was, perhaps, not at its most authentic as she snapped a pointed smile at the shoe-shopping suggestion. "That sounds great!" she enthused woodenly. "Just... so... great."

Holger chimed in then, with confessions of foot fetishes that she was reasonably, though not entirely, certain didn't actually apply, but the gist of his babble seemed to be in the positive. Missy opened her mouth to respond, and then was yanked abruptly off-balance as the moving mountain suited action to words and marched off -- presumably to the nearest shoe store, but possibly to a barber or theme restaurant or gorram brothel for all Missy knew.

"Hey, slow down there, big guy!" Missy protested, her feet scampering to keep up with each one of his long strides, and almost lifting off the ground whenever his arm swung. "This has gotta be a team effort, okay?" She managed to swing a look over her shoulder to find their nanny, half-hoping that their sudden departure and fast pace would have already shaken him, and huffed out a sigh. Under her breath, she added, "Man, today's gonna go... great."

[Maxell Graves]

Location: Sector 1 - Grave Discoveries

Once out in the Hall, Max saw a gathering not far from his door, in fact, it was the next door down from his own. It appeared that a maintenance worker, fiddling with the control panel, had electrocuted himself. It stood to reason that would be the source of the POPS from before. Before he could further investigate, another maintenance worker, at a jogging pace, rushed past and then directly into Max, knocking them both to the floor. The worker, a young man with a dirty face, scurried to his feet without checking to see if Max was ok, and took off at a run down the corridor.

A small folding leather wallet was all he left in his wake.


The Iscariot sure employed some winners.

Max's jaw did that thing again, where he clenched too tight it just kinda stuck there for a moment. He growled, utterly disappointed, at the sight and smell of a lit-up technician lying surrounded by befuddled and largely useless coworkers. Seeing the open electrical panel and it's exposed, and clearly live, wiring Max could only shake his head. He wasn't sure what he expected when he heard the noise from the confines of his shrine to a yesteryear he never experienced for himself, but while he knew the noise - or smell, for that matter - couldn't have been gunfire a part of him hoped. "Maybe. Just maybe."

Unfortunately Iscariot hadn't yet been as excited as he'd been led to believe, and he was wondering if he'd ever make good on his promise to defend Elaine and her Companions if the need ever arose after all. Of course, it never donned on him that the proper and noble thing to do would have been to hope that the need would never arise but the man wasn't without his flaws. He also had a habit of slurping his coffee when he drank and grinding his teeth at night.

A crowd gathered and Max lost the small cluster of safety orange coveralls Iscariot's maintenance crews wore. Losing interest, and beginning to feel more awkward about the rifle in his hands than he cared to admit, Max swiveled his head and glanced side to side as he stepped backwards to retreat into his shop again. As he did, he felt a body collide clumsily into his own. Maxell planted his right foot to remain steady, though the effort agitated an old knee injury incurred in some snowy patch of woods on some forsaken planet he couldn't be bothered to remember. He remembered the face of the rebel who picked off almost the entire squad of Alliance Marines who followed Maxell on his investigation into a crashed Navy bomber well enough, however, and hoped very much to never witness that particular aberration again so long as he lived.

Of course, Maxell had no idea he now stood closer to Holger Heyerdahl than he had in all the years that passed since he shipped Melody Turner and her future First Mate/Enforcer out of his camp and to their respective fates. Whether their paths would cross again would remain to be seen, as for now Maxell's attention sat squarely on the orange suited individual ricocheting off his aged but solid form.  "Hey! the shopkeep barked as the tech's limbs flailed wildly in an attempt to keep themselves steady as they continued to move in the general direction of away from their ailing coworker. "I'm standin' here!" Ultimately the tech failed, sprawling on the floor, rolling, regaining their footing, hopped with an awkward limp, and then broke out in a trot once whatever pain subsided.

"Hrrrnnngh..." Maxell growled, drawing the pools of dark gray vitriol set back in his eye sockets from the back of the technician's fluorescent jumpsuit to the floor, where they settled on a misplaced wallet likely dropped when the worker took a tumble. "Hey! You dropped your wallet! HEY!" Maxell shook his head, looked at the wallet, then at the gun in his hands, and realized he wouldn't have stopped either. Being the kind-hearted samaritan he was, Maxell bent over, lifted the wallet, and attempted to give chase. "You're gonna have to slow down! I don't run like I used to!" And it was true that he didn't. He was slow, clumsy, and moved with an awkward gait. But he was a big, scary man with a big, scary gun and even on a place like Iscariot people tended to step aside for that kind of thing.

[Izak Archer]

Location: Docks:

Izak nodded, then checked on the pistol in his belt. "Understood, I'll keep an eye on things. Afterour first job, we'll need to invest in some heavier tools than what I – I mean we, have onboard."

He closed the door as the rest of the group moved on, as they disappeared amongst the bustle and business of the docking area. He found himself left to his own devices. Not to mention performing guard duty, something he never did once he had worked his way up the ranks a bit back in the Alliance.

Turning quickly, he closed the door, and waited for the expected station crew to arrive; keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of...trouble potentially directed at them.

[Tereza]

Location: Dewey's Office

Well alright, expectations somewhat subverted. Not that tereza was complaining. Not yet at least. She made a last few taps on her personal cortex device and folded it shut. At this point there wasn't much for her to do but get the necessaries out of the way and the race on it's way. A gloved hand reached out, index finger extending to give the little service bell a smart tap. Sharp eyes didn't leave the old man dozing a handful of feet away. As the bell quieted she gave a soft cough. "Dewey?"

[Lomari]

Location: Docks

Once the crew had gotten out of the way, the Station Workers moved from where they'd been waiting impatiently and approached the seemingly Alliance ship. Dispatch had informed them that it was apparently not a government vessel, but they were less than convinced. There was a wary distrust in their eyes as well as their stiff posture, and it seemed that they were ready to bolt at any moment should an Alliance Officer come sauntering down the cargo ramp.

A man with his hair brushed over a balding spot on his head that seemed less hereditary and more fire related, moved close to the side couplers with a large hose nestled in his arms, eyes darting back and forth from his work to the ship's ramp as he plugged in the fuel hose with a satisfying 'click' that echoed through the former Alliance vessel. Another pair of men who looked remarkably similar, down to the patched of oil on their cheeks and the reddish-purple birthmark over their left eye, set in the water hose and began the process of refilling the ship's tanks. Another worker, a woman shorter than five feet and stout as a tree trunk stomped up the ramp purposefully, a clip board in her hand. "Oy! Any crew here? Need ta discuss payment an' any other work you want done!" she called out grumpily, clearly not here for any nonsense or messing about.

Out in the docks themselves, empty berthing stations were beginning to fill up with shuttles and very small range vessels, each of them marked up to high heavens with paintings, letters, and some images that might have been logos of businesses on the Station. All manner of pilots had started to mill into the docks, making their way to the waiting ships or to food kiosks that had seemed to come out of nowhere. There were no looky-loos or curious onlookers here, but it seemed something was getting ready to begin, even if the docks was only the starting line and not necessarily the main attraction.

[noseatbelts]

Location: Sector 1 - Grave Discoveries (Max)

As work and medical crews arrived to deal with the fallen maintenance worker, the crowd only got heavier in the corridor, which Maxell's physical status notwithstanding, made it almost impossible for the Marine turned antiquities dealer to catch the other one. He was gone and, perhaps, that was that.

Except for the wallet. A small slip of paper was within, the corner of which was all that could be seen poking out of the leather confines.





Location: Sector 2 - Dewey's Office (Tereza)

If Tereza listened closely, she could hear shouting coming from the back room. It steadily got louder and louder until a small man in thick rimmed glasses appeared in a flurry of manic, desperate energy. "Rico. Rico. Rico." He said, shouting into a handheld cortex unit connected to an earpiece. Those in the room, Tereza and the old man, could hear what this guy, presumably Dewey, but not the voice on the other end which was apparently not listening to Dewey. "Rico. I don't care Rico. You promised me you would be here. Well, c'mon, how close could you have been to her? Me? I hate my mom. Hello?" Dewey looked down at the cortex receiver confused. "I think he hung up on me."

He looked up, as if noticing Tereza for the first time, and gave her a once over, noticing her conveniently appropriate state of dress. "You race. You're a racer! Come on!" Elated, he rushed out of the room, stopped, went back for his cortex unit, doubled back towards the door, stopped, grabbed his jacket, tried to leave again and stopped cold, as if trying to remember something. "Nope, that's it! Come on, we'll sign the contract on the way, we gotta get to the docks, the race starts in, well, now." And then he was gone.

He poked his head back in after a split second. "You coming?"

Pushing and shoving their way through the crowd, Dewey led the way, spouting off a bunch of legal nonsense that only a race promoter cared about or understood. How he was moving so quickly and ferociously and still spouting off legalese off the top of his head could be attributed to a number of stimulants. Best not to think too hard on that. "Long and the short is, I'll hire you as a short-term contractor until my usual guy gets back. I don't care if you're any good at it, but I hope you are, I'm sure you are, you look like you are, I'm confident you are." It wasn't clear who he was trying to convince. They arrived at the automatic lift, and Dewey hammered on the button waiting for it to arrive to take them to the docks. "I'll pay you to race for me for today. I just need to field a racer or I risk losing my spot for the next race. If you win, I'll pay you more."

The elevator doors opened and Dewey stepped on. "Deal?"

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Location: Sector 3

Holger dragged his charges through the station, Missy forcibly, with Joakim merely following along. The state of their little caravan left many of the Iscariotes wide-eyed with bent necks, but Holger didn't care. Some pointed. Some laughed, but Holger was on a mission. A mission for shoes. Once the idea had entered his head, nothing could stop him from obtaining a brand, shiny new pair of foot coverings. The ones he wore now were no longer sufficient and, if he had a spare hand, he might have torn them off right then in the corridor. A man possessed, he pushed his way through the crowd as he seemed to instinctively know where he was going.

And just when Missy and Joakim might have been at the end of their ropes (again, one literally, the other figuratively), they arrived. Or, at least, Holger stopped. "The shoe has dropped." Holger said, pronouncing them at their destination with wide arms at the shop before them. The sign was modest proclaiming it simply as "Mohammed's" though its wares remained a mystery behind thick curtains of varying shades and states of cleanliness. Holger did not hesitate to push his way inside, where they were all greeted by a Large man in a white linen suit with a red fez perched on top of his head.

The man looked up from some paperwork behind the counter, his smile wider than his belly. "My friends! Please! Come inside! How may I be of service?"

Holger quirked an eyebrow with a man whose own brows rivaled his own for expressiveness and girth. Both men were broad shouldered, Holger mere inches taller, and they were of relative mass and weight. "Likings be unto you, shop friend." He said, after a moment's hesitation in which a person may wonder what exactly might happen next. "It is the order of the shoes. Much large." Holger held his hands apart at a distance more or less representative of his shoe size. "Leather strong, gripping protection with tread." A cautionary finger was raised. "A deal you to me. Expensive, no. I like the colors." The look in his eye let Mohammed know that Holger was very serious.

[Tereza]

Location: The Docks

From the time Dewey emerged from the back of his office to the time he was asking Tereza if she was in fact following him the lady pilot had opened and closed her mouth perhaps six or seven time. Each time there had been a retort or comment to slip in between Dewey's rant. When he paused to let her catch up, or check that she was following at least she decided to give that idea up and just lifted her hands in a 'if you'll let me' gesture and stode after him allowing the ebb and flow of the chemically agitated man speech wash off her flight suit like so much more stale station air. Finally they reached an elevator and Tereza paused to give Dewey an obvious once over. "Khorosho, priyatel', I'll race for you. But I'll see my fee before I hit the starting line, savvy?" She stepped into the elevator and looked over at Dewey before extending a gloved hand. "Tereza."

^{* - Alright Bud}

[Missy Etheridge]

Location: Sector 3

"So sorry for the sudden intrusion, Mr. Mohammed! You are the Mohammed on the sign, I presume? You look like you're in charge!" Missy cut in, a little out of breath from the recent dash. Hey, a little flattery never hurt anyone. "You'll have to forgive Mr. Holger here for his, ah... unique speech pattern at the moment. Recent head injury, you know. But he's fine. It's fine. Just got to keep a close eye on him! So..." She held up her aching wrist with the handcuff on it, and shook it with a tinkling little laugh, as though it were the sort of mildly awkward situation anyone might find themselves in from time to time.

"He's looking for a new pair of shoes," she continued on, in an entirely unnecessary translation. "Large leather ones, about so big, not too overpriced, with a good tread... Although!" Missy stopped suddenly and turned wide blue eyes up towards Holger, as though a brand new thought had only just occurred to her. "Mr. Holger, you won't find it too difficult to try shoes on with just one hand, will you? We might have to come back and get you new shoes another time... Of course, I don't know when we'll be making another stop... That's a shame..."

[Melody]

Location: The Hub

He'd rambled on an on throughout the trip through the transportation tubes up to the station's central Hub. Melody had vaguely wondered how he'd do if held underwater, what with how much air his lungs seemed to contain. There was a sufficient amount of ignoring and occasional side-eye while the man went on and on to no end, but the pilot seemed to only gather every other sentence or so.
"You're a pirate. What do you think?" he asked.

Clearing her throat, Mel reached down and wrapped her fingers around his wrist again, pulling him out of the lift and yanking him across the patio toward the outside café. The dome around them was made up of thick (and thankfully impact resistant) glass, the openness of space surrounding them as they spun incrementally through space. Stars peppered the darkness, and in the distance, the occasional multi-hued nebula.

What did she think? What did she think of what...? Her mind lazily rewound his yammering until she could recall what it had been about at its basest, vaguest, core. Again, her blue gaze slid disdainfully over his body while he itched and scratched at his skin and she turned him a bit upon reaching a table and chairs. Her hands moved to settle on his shoulders, pushing him downward gently but forcefully toward the seat. "Rashy," she grumbled up, her brows furrowed, and nose scrunched. "You sit here, and don't run off. I'm going to see who's racing and place some bets. If you run, when I find you, I'll hurl you out into space. The racers can use you as an obstacle on the course," she muttered halfheartedly on her way to the café's 'register'.

A man who looked like he should be there among baked goods and sweet drinks worked alongside a man who looked like he'd been in a fight, recently, and didn't know a macaron from a macaroon. Or a potato from a lump of coal. He didn't seem to look like he knew much of anything, really. "Tea. Uh. Two," she ordered from the man in his proper place, "Who you got?" she asked the impostor.

[Lomari]

Location: Docks

Now that Tereza was an official racer for good ‘ol Dewey Decimal, her name had replaced the no-show on the roster and betting tables all over the station were updated quick as a whip. Of all the things on the station, this was the most polished and well-maintained. She’s been given a shiny new magnetic sticker to slap onto her bucket of bolts and the side of any helmet she might’ve chosen to use (some didn’t, which was perhaps why some of the racers looked like they’d lost a few brain cells along the way).

There was some excessive fanfare as a cocky man shorter than the average bear sauntered his way through the docks toward his shiny chrome ship, the stickers placed around as symmetrically as he and his crew could manage. On the very front of the shuttle was a garish painting of himself in a awfully terrible recreation of a Earth-That-Was painting upon which his finger was outstretched toward the fin of his shuttle lovingly. Onlookers popped confetti around him as he walked, his helmet nestled under his armpit and a self-satisfied smile on his thin lips. “You’re my second favorite racer!” yelled a man from the crowd and the racer turned his head to sneer in the fan’s direction, gaze snapping this way and that as he failed to see who exactly had said that.

Near Tereza’s vehicle, two women stood huddled together, staring dreamily after the tiny man with a massive personality. “Leon’s looks are really second to none,” she first crooned. The second shook her head and sighed wistfully, “He’s no Miller, but he’ll do in a pinch,” she confirmed. The first turned to stare up at the second incredulously, “He’s better than Miller. Look at his hair!” she ordered. As if on cue, Leon lifted his free hand to brush his excessively greasy hair back against his scalp. The second girl pushed the first away from her, “No way, Miller is a god compared to Leon. Leon’s just a stand in!”

"Racers to your vehicles."

A voice called calmly over the dock's speaker system, the order echoing through the smaller speakers at each berthing station. As was common with most races, the ships and shuttles would back away from the station and wait for 'GO' in an orderly line. As ships began to pull away, they made it clear that this line was to be parallel to the station's rings.

[Tereza]

Location: Docks

Before Tereza stepped foot into the hanger proper her helmet was crammed atop her head, magnetic sticker tastefully attached an inch above the base of her neck. Just above it was a sturdy polymer patch of her own, a holdover from her days flying CAS for her old mercenary company.

Inside the helmet everything briefly dimmed as the system's heads up display booted to life. A cluster of cameras and sensors in the reinforced polymer brow of the helmet drew tracerying lines over all of the hard metallic objects in the hanger in a faintly glowing grey. This included the resident ships, all of which the HUD, now linked to her personal cortex device via contacts in the collar of her flight suit, began to display data on. Much of it was simply factory names and generic specs. How much was displayed varied on where Tereza's vision was directed, small Trac Ir sensors inside the visor of the helmet monitored this. Of course, in the grand scheme of things what her PCD could dig up and display was very reliant on how good the local cortex feed actually was.

As the green and copper clad racer strode towards her ship she paid little attention the the other racers themselves. She wasn't concerned by them. Sure, there might be a good pilot or two among them. Possibly even one of her caliber. And sure, Tereza was perhaps a little egotistical about this. But she was been a competitive pilot in the WHite Star Racing League. A single Formula Core raceship would have cost the combined worth of the whole lot racing today. Tereza paused in her step for a moment, making a mental side note that she really should have stolen one of her old- no, you simply couldnt offload that sort of hot cargo.

A few moments later she was standing before a modified and modestly updated TU-732 Skyhook. The minivan of the racing world. Of course if you dropped an engine from a top of the line exotic sports car into a minivan and added a little extra downforce it, it would prove competitive enough. Tereza began her preflight check of the ungainly bird with a walk around inspection. Her gloved fingers trailing over the hull as she moved. Not being a mechanic Tereza wasn't looking for technical faults. That would be beyond her. But she would notice a hole in her left wing, or a fuel line still attached. Or whatever other small mistake the ground crew might decide to make. Satisfied she gave the main truster, a four year old model out of a Squall, a wicked fast personal shuttlecraft based off the Alliance's Point Defense Fighter the Londinium XSF Typhoon, a final look over before climbing aboard.

Her preflight check completed she made a quick prayer that the fuel cut off issue had been fixed and coasted her ship out to her starting position.

[Joakim Soong]

Location: Sector 3

Shoe shopping it was, then. It was as good a way to pass time as anything else Jo could think of, although he wasn't happy about the prospect of having to deal with sales personnell in their current situation. As the odd trio moved through the space station, he could feel everybody's eyes on them. Knowing they were most likely just amused by the display somehow didn't make him feel better.

He was relieved when they ducked into the store, away from the curious crowds staring at them. He would've been happy to stand back and let Holger go about his business, if their hostage hadn't opened her mouth. He didn't know where she was going with her blabbering, but the less there was of it, the better.

"Mr. Holger, you won't find it too difficult to try shoes on with just one hand, will you? We might have to come back and get you new shoes another time... Of course, I don't know when we'll be making another stop... That's a shame..."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," he interjected, stepping closer to the pair and crossing his arms. "And I'm sure Mr Mohammad here will be happy to lend a hand if he isn't."

He tried to keep his voice neutral, as if the three of them were just having a nice family outing and there was no tension between them whatsoever, no sirree. Having such an harmless-looking woman chained to a disoriented brute of a man was bad enough. Who knew what kind of interpretations treating her with outright hostility would conjure up in a bystander's mind?

Come to think of it, though, he wasn't sure they were even in a shoe store right now...