The Burial on Ariel

[Holger Heyerdahl]

The man's eyes, beady and fox-like, lit up and the mention of selling a shuttle, but his face fell with Melody's working proviso. "Ah. Yeah. Got jest whatcher lookin' fer." He waddled away from his "ofiss" and led Melody through the yard. If she were to look back, she would not see Holger following. A few turns, a couple of twists through th piles of junk. They passed a few of what one would assume were Oscar's yard employees, dirty and looked to be up to no good, their eyes followed Melody as they went. Finally, after what seemed like longer than necessary, Oscar stopped at what even a layman would call a giant piece of tzao gao. "Jest gotter in, Miss. She's a beaut, ain't she? Already got a buncha offers onner. She's yours for seventeen." He gave the hull a hearty pat, which made the whole apparatus shudder precariously. Oscar laughed nervously. "Sixteen-five."

[Melody]

The pilot was as diligent in checking her surroundings as the Alliance had taught her to be, gaze skimming the yard workers present and taking a mental note of their apparent interest in her. The bridge of her nose scrunched up in disgust and a irritated scowl formed at her lips, the hands in her pockets forming into fists. With a quick shake of her head to rid herself of the nasty thoughts drifting though her mind, Melody took to taking in the sights. If you could call the carcasses of ships long since dead and their innards spewed all over, a sight.

The troll stopped walking and began his performance. Arms crossed over her chest as she leveled the man with an unyielding glower. She knew this was tzao gao. He knew this was tzao gao. And yet here he was, trying to pawn it off on her for well over what it was worth. "No," she answered curtly, leaving no room (she thought) for arguments. "Working shuttle. One that won't fall apart the moment it hits atmo. This is..." her head tilted to the side as she looked past him, eyes sliding over the metallic hull, "...a tin can and I have no desire to be burned to a crisp in it," she told him with a frown.

After looking him over once more, Mel turned her head to look around the yard for Holger, hoping to catch sight of his mane of red hair peeking out from around some junk ridden corner.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Holger was somewhat disappointed to find the pile underneath the NEW! sign was full of anything but, though if he were honest he shouldn't have been surprised. He did feel somewhat at home in a place like this, with the dump trucks and forklifts and other giant machines designed to move things from one place to another place; this was eerily similar to St. Albans and the mine in which he worked for the better part of his adolescence. He hefted one plow blade, a small one, designed for a single person skiff so not nearly as heavy as one might think. The edge was quite dull and the once brilliant coat of weatherproof paint was chipped and the metal eroded underneath. To the right buyer this would be quite the find. To Holger, however, it was junk. He dropped it unceremoniously back where he found it, or thereabouts, and wiped his hands of the grit and grime that had transferred.

His blue eyes drifted up to his surrounding area and saw a few roughnecks walking in his general direction, but with a trajectory that would pass him. Nordic ears perked up as they came closer.

"Oscar gave da signal. Lil chickee in da Maze wif cash t' spend. Easy pickins'."

Holger reached down to the pile of junk and retrieved a large piece of metal, hefted it to check if it was suitable for throwing. It was, so he threw it.

It tumbled end over end before landing with a loud THONK straight into one of the roughnecks temple, knocking him cold to the ground. The other one, who did the talking, looked up in surprise. "Wh-?" Was all he could manage before Holger was on top of him.

[Melody]

The man's eyes glanced around quickly, brows twitching at the distinct lack of thugs heading in this direction. He giggled nervously and brought his index finger to the collar of his shirt, pulling at it a couple times to get air to his burning torso. "Now that ain't so, Miss. This's top a' tha line. Best you can git, second hand," he clarified, patting it affectionately again, stalling for time. "Heck, ain't no one ever said Oscar wasn't no gentleman. Since yer such a," he gulped visibly, "charmin' woman, I'll cut it down ta sixteen. But tha's as low as I can do, Miss. An' it's a helluva bargain. I'd jump on it if I were you," he told her, his body rocking forward at the word jump, gaze moving this way and that in search of the men who weren't doing their jobs of jumping this particular shopper.

Mel watched him with her arms crossed over her chest, a strictly unamused expression written across her deceptively soft features. She let him ramble, raised a brow at his clear call for aid, and turned once to look behind her (mostly out of curiosity). Seeing absolutely no lackeys creeping up to wack her and take her money, Melody smiled. The pilot rounded on Oscar and closed the gap between them with a few strides, one hand resting with its palm flat against his chest. "I said no. This is junk. I do not want junk. What else do you have?" she asked again, raising her brow and tilting her head to the side, almost daring, hoping, he'd do something to her himself. Or, hoped he'd try.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Oscar coughed and sweated, his beady little eyes shooting all around the stacks of junk, looking for something that wasn't there. "Lady. Don't JUMP down my throat!" He tried again, much louder than someone who is just talking to a customer would need to be. His subterfuge left much to be desired. "Sonofabitch! Jump her now, dammit! 'Fore it's too late!" A long, tense second before someone finally jumped. A greasy man flew through the air and landed with a sickening thud in the dirt at Oscar's feet. Up at the top of the heap stood Holger, the greasy man's gun in his hands and aimed down at Oscar.

"Hello. We will take his shuttle, yes, Melody? It's nice, I saw it when I was killing his men." Holger looked at Oscar and laughed at the junk dealer's look of terror. "I am only joking. I did not kill all of them." A quick bit of arithmetic made Holger wonder though... "How many do you have?"

"F-f-five." Oscar said, his boots filling with urine.

"Oh." Holger said, surprised. "I did kill all of them." Throwing his head back, Holger laughed.

[Melody]

Melody blinked slowly, a soft sigh lifting and lowering her shoulders. Clearly his plan wasn't working the way he wanted and she was getting bored with waiting for him to realize that. As he shouted his useless code word and hoped for the best, the woman picked a crumb of something off the man's shirt, inspecting it before flicking it back at him. Her free hand slid down her hip to toy with the handle of her service issue pistol, gaze finally drawing back up to his face, a brow quirking at him when he finally ditched the attempt at being sneaky and shouted for his goons.

The pilot took a step to the side to avoid being touched by the body and she looked back, spotting Holger wielding a gun and seeming mighty pleased with herself. Maybe he didn't dislike this yard as much now as he did in the beginning. "Hello. We will take his shuttle, yes, Melody? It's nice, I saw it when I was killing his men," he informed her and she couldn't help but nod. That was a good idea, and now it seemed like Oscar really did owe them that ship. "He has a point," she murmured, turning her head to look at the greasy man. Her amused grin turned to disgust once more and she took a quick step away from him, avoiding the wetness running down his legs.

Still, Holger's laughter was infectious and despite the disgust she felt at the piss man, she couldn't help but smile. Pulling her pistol free, Melody smiled as winningly as she could at the salesman. "So. Lead the way."