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Tradeport - Comorro Station
Built within one of the larger fissures of her digestive system, this common tradeport has rib-like structures with gray-green webs of matter stretched between them to protect Comorro's winding intestinal conduits from damage. Luminescent symbiotes, floating orbs of green and yellow, provide illumination for the cartilagenous nodes that serve as shops and merchant stalls. The docking hub can be found at the starboard end of the bazaar, while a levimodule at the port end carries visitors to other levels of the Yaralu vessel.
Jocaira nods, soberly. It's likely an uncomfortable sight for anyone who knows her; she is neither drunk nor high nor draped languidly over some fine male specimen. She's just sitting on that bench, chin in hand, looking like a middle-aged woman dressed in clothing designed for a much younger and less responsible demographic. "I would not. I mean sere are plenty of sings I will do, but, ehn. Even if Secretaire Cliffwalkair had not told me -not- to... I would not do. It is se bad fortune." Kethren is nearby, sitting on Nuala, his robo-tiger, and Floriana, his small alien critter, is sitting on his shoulder. The conversation is soft-spoken, and seems a mite heavy.
Xanya walks in from the docking hub and looks around. Noticing Joca and Kethren she waves to them kindly.
Micky ends up emerging from the docking hub not too long after Xanya does. There are some differences. First, he's dirty. Second, he's toting an equally dirty duffel bag. Third, he notices Joca and Kethren and then does his best to pretend like he didn't. He heads towards the bar.
James Sterling walks out of the shelter and back into the main thorofare. He pauses outside the shelter doors and gazes about with a resigned expression on his face.
Jocaira yawns, slightly, behind a hand bedecked with rings. She shrugs, and with a flick of her wrist, drops an unmarked paper packet of cigarillos out of her sleeve and into her hand. "Ahn, but what is sere to do? Well, I will no do what I am told, ne? I do not take to being bullied. But, can not get close enough, can not take sem down eiser." Her eyes narrow as Micky goes 'sneaking' poorly by, and she flips a rude gesture in his general direction before noticing Xanya. "Ahn, Madame Xanya, 'allo." Her voice takes on a more jovial tone, if a bit forced.
Xanya smiles to joca. "Hi there. Mind if I join? of is this a private convertation your having?" She asks.
Upon being sighted Micky fakes being surprised to see Jocaira, looking all wide eyed and stuff. He then looks over his shoulder, like he's trying to figure out who the gesture can possibly be directed at. He waves back just kind of wiggling the ends of his fingers. After that's done, sticking his thumbs in the shoulder straps of his duffel bag, he starts to whistle cheerfully and continues towards the bar with increased pep in his step.
Altor arrives from Docking Hub.
Altor has arrived.
Sterling notes the seemingly human people in conversation and the exchange between the young French-sounding woman and the grizzled old fellow. He recognises the form of Kethren, mostly by dint of his menagerie, and begins a slow walk in his direction, raising a hand to chest level in a casual sort of wave.
Kethren sighs a little "Tough situation indeed." After noticing a brief poke at his neck he looks up and waves to Xan "Afternoon, Xan."
Jocaira leans back against the wall. "But of course you can join, Madame Xanya. Is... well it is a -leetle- business, as much as I am loath to discuss such on se week end, but, 'ard times call for 'ard measures, ne? Please, 'ave se seat." She tucks a cigarillo into the corner of her mouth, and dredges a gold-plate lighter from her cleavage, and scoots over on the bench where she is sitting. Everyone is in a slowly tightening circle, forming out in front of the Red Eclipse Mercenary headquarters. Except for Micky, who is heading for the tavern. Joca lights her cigarillo, shaking her head, and then catches sight of the approaching Sterling. Raising a pale eyebrow, she leans towards Kethren a bit while continuing to fix the newcomer with an openly appraising expression. "Friend of yours, Monsieur Kethren?"
Xanya smiles and sits down on the spot next to Joca. t's good to see you both again. how have you been?"
Altor meanwhile clanks in from the docking hub, ducking through the hatchway a bit, a fuel barrel in hand from which he's sipping like a can of beer. Catching sight of the gathering nearby, he takes a sip and heads over to be the social type.
Micky is in and out of the bar with the speed and efficiency of a true professional. By the time he's come back out, he's equipped himself with a pair of bottles of beige colored liquor. He treks towards the REM headquarters.
As he approaches the group, Sterling's attention shifts to the woman with the French accent. He scans her face, notes her attire with a faint smile which broadens as she retrieves her lighter and lights ... is that a cigarette? The others forgotten for the moment, Sterling focuses on Jocaira.
Kethren glances at the new arrival then nods to Joca "Don't know him well enough to say that. New rifter. But I did reccomend he find you." The calico on his shoulder is paying far more attention to the surroundings than he is, and offers the Altor a friendly wave.
Jocaira takes a firm draw on, yes, that is a cigarette, although the smoke wafting from its tip does not smell of tobacco. If one is familiar, it smells a bit like cannabis, and a rather top-shelf one at that. She grins, slowly. "You," she says, aside, to Kethren, "Are very, very excellent man." She leans back just a little bit more, and hooks one leg over the other in a practiced, graceful gesture. "Today is looking bettair all se time," she says to Xanya with a bit of a chortle.
Xanya smiles and nods. "thats good to hear Joca." She says and hears a peeping of her pda. she takes it out of her pocket and looks at it with a sigh. "darn it. I have to get going agian. I'll see you folks an other time." Xanya says and stands up and then moves out towards the docking bay.
Altor steps up to the group and looks down at them. "Hidey ho, friendorinos." he says. "How's tricks?"
Micky ends up within conversational distance and then stomps about in a little circle. He positions himself in the center of the circle and flops down to sit his butt on the ground while propping himself up on the duffel bag. He makes old people sitting down noises like pops, creaks, cracks, and a prolonged, "Ahhhhh." Popping the plastic seal on bottle number one, he tells Altor, "Livin' the dream, man, livin' the dream."
The sound of a twenty foot tall robot walking up behind him is enough to startle Sterling out of his reverie. He turns around suddenly and stares up at Altor in surprise. His mouth drops open but "Wha?" is all he manages to actually say.
Jocaira is paused mid-gesture by Altor's arrival, apparently struck momentarily dumb, but the evidence that other people are, in fact, seeing the twenty foot Transformers' guest star keeps her from gawping like a beached fish. "...allo..." she offers, cautiously, and apparently decides that this is an occasion for a somewhat harder drag on that cigarillo."
"Workin' as best as I can be." Altor says, taking a sip from the fuel barrel. "How's things in your neck of the woods?"
"Rifters," says a straight faced Micky before he takes a swig from his own bottle. He notes archily to Jocaira, "That guy got a fine appreciation for Micky's special, patented medical potable..." A pause to mumble, "For all beings not suffering from medical conditions such as youth, inexperience, or health problems in general." Then, there's a big finish, "Elixir."
Jocaira's voice recalls Sterling to her presence, and as the large robot seems disinclined to violence at the minute, the soldier decides it's safe to return his attention to the woman. He edges away from Altor nonetheless, just in case of an errant step by the robot. He turns a smile on Jocaira. "G'day," he says brightly in an Australian accent.
Kethren nods to Altor "Good to hear, things are... mostly quiet at my end right now. Thankfully" He then smirks a little and nods to Joca "Yes, you are indeed seeing a rather large computer person. And he's a prime reason you're talking to the original me, and not a clone."
"Aaahn," Joca replies to Kethren, and gives a respectfully jovial little salute up at the... very enormous robot. "Well, sank you for looking out for my people sen, Monsieur Altor..." then she trails off, and her cautious grin gets a little foolish. "'allo," she says to James. "I like se way you talk."
Altor seems to check something internally and curses a bit. "Damn.. gotta run. I'll catch up on old times later." With that he slams down the fuel barrel, crushes it on his forehead, and tosses it in a nearby scrap bin before heading back to the docking hub.
"Cool," notes Micky at the fuel barrel crushing antics of the robot. He eyes the still mostly full plastic bottle in his lap and shakes his head. He squints as he looks between Jociara and James. Then, he shoots a look Kethren's way. Yup, lotta looking going on.
Sterling's smile broadens into a grin. If there are other people in his general vicinity, he's forgotten them. He chuckles. "Y'sound like y'belong in my world," he says. "'Fore all this weird 'rifting' stuff happened, I worked in Brussels."
Kethren nods to Micky "Yep. Those two are going to be in their own little world for a while."
Jocaira titters at Altor crushing the 'can' on his head, and holds the cigarillo between two fingers whilst sticking the tip of her pink tongue out between her teeth, briefly, at Micky. She flips the still-smouldering cigarillo around her knuckles, tilting her head at Sterling. "Brussels?" she asks, genuinely curious. "Aaahn, yes, se country se kings kept trying to take ovair." Several bangles along her wrist jingle together as she adjusts a copper-colored curl alongside her face. "Per'aps se same world, sen, but diffairent times. I 'ad my weird rifting in, what is it, eighteen centurie? Just at se start, I am told, of se revolucion?" Smoke spirals through the air as she continues to flip the cigarillo around her knuckles, before tucking it back into the corner of her mouth.
"Like a couple of wrong way, run-away trains destined for collision junction," agrees Micky as he takes a drink while somehow managing to slump back even more on his duffel bag. He scratches at his head some, managing to scrape some sort of organic life out of there. He squints at it before crushing it against the deck beside him.
Sterling watches the motion of the cigarillo for a moment before his gaze snaps back to Jocaira's face. "Eighteenth century? That's a ways before my time. When I was last on Earth it was the year two thousand twelve."
Kethren nods to Micky as he reaches back to scratch Nuala's head a bit "Yeah, that's about the size of it."
Jocaira is apparently paying -enough- attention to her surroundings to make another rude gesture in Micky/Kethren's direction behind her back. She is nonetheless grinning, widely enough to show a couple of gold-capped molars. "But yes, a very long time before most people, even wis se rift, ne? But I find it much bettair 'ere. Bettair to eat, to drink, bettair medicine, and all of se 'ot watair you could evair want." She tilts her head again. "So, 'ow long 'ave you been 'ere? What did you used to do in your own place and time?"
"So, Smiley gettin' the weekend off then, Mister Kethren?" asks Micky as he balances his bottle on his stomach. The rude gesture flows off him like water on the proverbial duck. "That, er, pair of them there enough to keep you company for the weekend?" He kind of squints some more as he looks around, "Here with the miss'us?"
"That's what I been hearin'," Sterling replies, "that it's better here. Jury's still out on that one fer me. I was a soldier," he continues. "Had me own mercenary group. We were tryina put a stop to this nasty gang called the Rax in Brussels. Found their nest, but an oil tank blew up." He spreads his hands. "That's why I'm here, I s'pose. Blew me right into the rift thing. I woke up on a spaceship that's really an old man." He frowns. "Or is it that the old man's really a spaceship. I guess I've given up tryina make sense o'things around here."
Kethren shakes his head at Micky "Not married, and I came alone." He then looks to Sterling "Sounds like a positronic found you. Recall who it was?"
Jocaira laughs, lightly, a cascade of bell-like notes. "Aahn, do no try to make se sense, monsieur, it is a journey sat nevair ends," she says, presenting her hand, palm down. "Jocaira d'Agneau, Capitan of Red Eclipse Mercenaire. I was in a wardrobe when my rift come for me, 'iding from angry peasants after se nobleman whose boudoir I was in. Sen, I find myself in weapon locker at Red Eclipse."
Micky's mouth works silently some as he holds a hand up over his head. Eventually, though, he just shrugs and resorts to drinking and mumbling.
"Nah," Sterling says to Kethren. "All I remember is it was big -- really big -- an' this old guy appeared outta nowhere t'talk t'me. He was nice enough. He took me t'yer planet, there -- the one with all the tree-houses." He turns back to Jocaira. "Heh, I guess that's good advice, what with the spaceship-people and the fox-people and the robot-people..." He gazes at her presented hand uncertainly. After a moment he reaches out to gently clasp her fingers in his own, palm up. "Yer a merc, too? M'name's James Sterling. Former CO of Charon PMC."
Kethren chuckles "Ah, it all makes sense if you let it. People are people, whatever form they may take." Floriana chitters appreciatively.
"But yes, I am also mercenaire... well, -now-. Mastair Diri was se man who found me, and 'e was se founder of Red Eclipse sen," Joca says, turning the hand-clasp into a more casual handshake as the corners of her smile waver ever so slightly. "It was a place where displaced fighting men, and women, could come and be around sere own and get sere feet under sem. 'e was taken from us December before last, and it was a long fight to save se business from se corporations. But we did, and now yes, I am se Capitan. One of my boys back in my place and time ran mercenaire group too; it is not so diffairent."
"Buncha kumbaya singin', patchouli smellin', hand holdin', difference embracin', flower children," mumbles Sour-Pants Micky from his place on the floor. "All just get along, my hairy..." He stops mumbling in order to drink more.
Sterling's fingers wrap around Jocaira's hand as she shifts its orientation. "Sounds like my kinda place," he says. He notes the shift, also, in her expression. "Sorry," he adds, his cheeks colouring slightly. "I ain't really up on how people from yer time do some o' th' greeting stuff. Didn't wanna piss y'off -- er -- offend." He drops his gaze to her hand in his, then look back up with a more sheepish expression.
Kethren smirks at Micky "Didn't say a thing about everyone getting along. We wouldn't have put a death sentence on old one-arm if everyone could get along."
"'airy tough-nails lone wolf ass, I know, Mickee," Joca drawls, complete with comical eyeroll. "Don't mind 'im. 'e is from one of se wars and apparently it was very, 'ow do you say, 'macho'? But don't tell 'im I said, 'e is very good merc. Even if 'e complain like old wife." She winks, and then shakes her head, -clearly- amused by the blushing. "Non, non, you are fine. I was sad, remembairing Mastair Diri. Noobody should 'ave expectation of proper greeting. Too many cultures and times, yes? Is fi--" After a brief burst of static, the PDA at her hip explodes into what can only be radio chatter, although it seems heavily in 'code'. "Merde!" the merc boss blurts. "You will pardon? I need to go check on somesing. Should no be long... but might be a lead. Boys, you take nice care of Monsieur Sterling!"
Already distracted, Micky's watching Sterling and Joca. He looks back to Kethren, saying, "Man, ol' Don Juan lost hisself some major seduction points there - not going in for the formal, ring stealin' kiss. Tut-tut." He scratches at his stubbly chin, "With a normal woman, he might'ave won 'em back through the blushing, but you gotta be totally shameless to score points in this market. /Fumble./ The imaginary PDA call! It's all over but the cryin', boys!"
Sterling steps back at the burst of static from the device on Jocaira's hip. "Orright, good, okay," he stammers. He glances to Micky, frowning, then recovering enough to smirk at the old fella. "S'good t'meet ya, Jocaira."
Micky kind of snickers as he remains mostly prone on the floor. He waves a hand lazily towards Sterling, saying, "Anyhow, how'd that op go before you got blown all the way over to the butthole of the universe?"
Kethren waves bye to Joca before reaching down to scratch his tiger a bit whilst listening to the others.
Sterling looks over toward Micky. "Was fine until some dingus managed t'roll a live grenade over to a tank full o' bloody heating oil," he grumbles. "Bastard prolly blew the whole lot of 'em t'bits," he adds quietly, mumbling a few additional choice words under his breath.
"No accounting for the dumbassity of others," agrees Micky as he drinks. "So, you was the CO, but you also got blown up. I'm thinking this means you was in on the planning yet don't consider yourself too high and mighty to be a trigger puller." There's a pause, "This is the pre-interview interview. Might as well turn into a chatty Kathy. Special training, scenarios, whatever. Your chance to talk about how great you are without looking like a total dork. Rare opportunity."
Kethren rolls his eyes as he pulls out his PDA to peruse some documents.
"'An why've I got t'impress /you/?" Sterling challenges. "Who died an' made you th'god o'mercs?"
"Suit yourself," shrugs Micky before he takes another drink. "I'm but a shell of a man holding together a vast amount of liquor. Puncture me and I would rupture." He makes a fairly realistic death rattle noise. Drinks some more.
Sterling frowns skeptically at Micky. "I'll do that," he replies. "Reckon I got a thing or two t'take care of just at the mo." He nods to Kethren. "Good ta see y'again, Kethren. Nice tiger." He heads back the way he came.