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Commorite Hub <Comorro Station>
Built within a blue-crimson trunk that bisects two cavernous respiration chambers within what amounts to the Yaralu's "chest," the Comorrite Hub is home to numerous bony nodes that serve as residential modules for the station's inhabitants. Many of them exhale carbon dioxide and other chemicals that the Yaralu can filter and recycle for its own respiratory system.
It is not often that Fritz is seen to be haggard in appearance, however there's been a lot of work to be done with regards to all of their current situation. His hair is tousled and messy, locks fallen over his eyes and occassionally being swept back. Both his birds are on his shoulders, however because his shirt has been left partially undone, they've taken the liberty of crawling right on into his collar to snuggle into the warmth of his neck all the more. He's resting just to the side of the entrance of the Laboratories, shoulders pressed against the wall and heavily bearing the tall German's weight.
Jocaira pads out of Cafe' Orion, looking equally haggard, and not the fun 'I just spent all weekend in a haze of performance enhancing drugs and rough sex' haggard. She is in her power armor, sans helmet, and pauses outside the cafe to rub her face. There is no sauntering, no jingling, no teasing, and from the look of the piteously small crate tucked under her arm, not much in the way of booze either. "Nnnrrrrrgh," she mutters to herself.
James Sterling steps out of the levimodule and heads in the direction of the cafe, pausing as he spies Jocaira coming out. He, too, is in the trademark red-and-white power armour of Red Eclipse. "How'd ya make out?" he calls to her.
Micky just looks like a more heavily armed and armored (not in the official RE style at all) version of his standard self. He's got the helmet off which reveals his naturally haggard face. He's drinking what is probably not all natural liquor from a milk jug as he wanders around. That's right, kiddies. Guns and booze make for a perfect marriage. He's beating a dead horse of a running joke as he leaves the levimodule, "In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed the sea...in the land of submarines...sea of green...and we lived beneath the waves...we all live in a yellow submarine...yellow...yellow...yellow submarine."
It is Micky's singing that brings Fritz's attention, and that of one of his birds, Erasistratus(the more social of the pair). The aformentioned dove waddles and wiggles it's way out from where it's snuggled against Fritz's neck, heading down-shoulder a bit before taking flight. It chirps along with Micky's singing before trying to alight upon his head. The German appears too tired to even bother scolding the bird, instead calling to Micky, "Vhat is zhat you are drinking, Herr Micky?"
Jocaira shakes her head. "No one knows if Monsieur T'omas was on se estacion when we were rifted. I... don't know where 'e is. If 'e is okay. Paah." She hefts the crate. "I got some cognac and some cookies, sough. Cookies are a leetle stale but I do not care so much. Any news?" She doesn't even have the energy, it seems, to roll her eyes at Micky. The German gets a squint. "Ey, Doctair. Where is my Alastair? Is 'e all right? I cannot even get to see 'im."
Sterling glances over at Micky, grimacing as he hears the song. "Dammit, Micky, now I'm gonna have that bloody thing in my head for the rest of th' day. Again." He looks to Joca. "Can't say I've met the man," he comments. He watches the dove fly from Fritz's shoulder, one eyebrow rising, and turns, smiling, as the bird attempts to land on Micky.
"You crap on my head, you're goin' on the menu. Livin' a tenuous existance as is. Just speed up the cookin' pot process is all that'd do," Micky says as his eyes cross to look up at the bird which gets ignored otherwise. He explains to Fritz, "Gran'pappy Joe-Bob's improved brew number two. Now, still not guaranteed to not leave you partially blind or potentially dead." He next sidenotes in Jocaira's direction, "Guarded by that giant Hek who I think is on our roster. Floppin' 'round like a fish. Doom an' gloom was gettin' to him when he heard the options the whale was givin'." His response to Sterling is a smug grin. The impact of this may be ruined by the bird head dress should the bird remain nearby.
the bird will remain, at least until the moment Fritz finds the desire to push himself off from the wall and over to retrieve Erasistratus, "Zhat sounds like a good time, about now." Offers the German in regards to ol' Gran'pappy Joe-Bob's improved brew. He peers towards Jocaira, the blue of his eyes seeming to have faded into the flat grey tones also present, "Herr Alastair is resting und you vill not be able to disturb him for some time. As his colleague I vill be acting as his physician until zhings settle down." He takes his glasses off tehreafter, lowering them in one hand while the other raises to rub at tired eyes.
Jocaira peers right back at Herr Doktor, although her expression is sharp, as opposed to its usual half-fogged default setting. Her lips curl away from her teeth. She lacks, however, any kind of pithy response to that and merely radiates catly displeasure until the fire runs out of fuel. Sigh. "...Ehn, Monsieur Majors, 'e runs se Cafe' Orion. Just someone else for me to worry about, especially since aucun cheval de compte face a des creatures do not afford me se right to see my Alastair. Mickee I did not ask you. Floopin' around like a fish and doom and gloom fuck I'm not asking you to care but could you maybe try NOT rubbing my face in shit for once?"
Sterling casts a mischievous glance toward Jocaira, but drops it on noting her reaction to Fritz's remark. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, then settles for a lazy parade rest stance, opting for the moment to keep his mouth shut.
"Woman, zhere comes a point when zhere are more important things going on und vi all make sacrifices. If you musn't see 'your' Alastair zhat is a small price to pay zhen all of us /dying/. Zhen you vill not be seeing anyvone and neizher vill he, or I, or Herr James, und so on und so forth. It vill do none of us any good if Alastair is allowed to work himself to death, for vi do not have zhe time to grow him a new body. It is a problem, /given more time/ eizher of us could solve on our own but zhat is vhat vi don't have." Fritz sounds just tired and exasperated more than anything, "You of all people should know zhat he vill not stop once he is determined. I must /make/ him stop at times. Your presence /vill not help/ und I am sorry if you do not like zhat, but zhat is how zhings must be for now. If he calls for you, und he is vell enough, und vi are not all waiting for death, /zhen/ I vill let you see him. Until zhen, no." Of course if Fritz was busy and couldn't supervise there's not much he can do, but he seems pretty set in this right now, and for good reason. In what seems perhaps a measure of comfort to himself, he angles his cheek down to gently brush along the top of Herophilus' head, cooing quietly to the dove.
Jocaira's lips finish their writhing back from her teeth. "I can not ask YOU to care eiser, but if we are going to -die- maybe you could consider sat I would like to see 'im one more time before sat 'appens. I... I don't need your judgment. I don't need Mickee's judgment. Morceaux sans amour de gazon." There is a thin effort to cover the hitch in her voice with a disdainful scrape of tongue on teeth before she turns to go sit at one of the abandoned tables in front of the cafe.
Sterling glances back and forth between Fritz and Jocaira, pressing his lips together. He frowns at the German, then goes to join his boss in front of the Orion.
"If vie /are/ going to die zhen it /vill/ be quite obvious zie moment all our options have been exausted und /zhen/ vhen it is not /critical/ zhat all focus be on zhis. /Zhen/ you can spend your last moments togezher. Right /now/ is not zie time." Fritz replies, narrowing his eyes upon Jocaira as he finally lifts his glasses back up to resettle upon the bridge of his nose, "Do you expect you should have more sympathy? Vhat about zie ozhers who don't get a chance at all /unless/ vie figure zhis out? Hn? Did you ever stop to zhink about zhem? Zhere is only myself, und Alastair who are qualified to help Comorro, und in turn zie rest of you. Vhat I don't need is /you/ judging /me/ because you do not get vhat you vhant zhis moment."
Jocaira slides a panel on her armor open and fiddles unsteadily with the unmarked paper pack of cigarillos inside before stuffing it back. "If you sink I just started to sink you were le testicule d'anesse -just now-, in our last fucking 'ours before se whale eats us, you are sadly be'ind. And I care about se precious ussers just as much as sey care about me. If you -actually- save us all, sen you can be all 'olier sen me, but until sen, you're still se same choucroute pompeuse who's been keeping me from sings sat I want since you achtung-ed your way into se 'ivairspace. Merde..." She rubs her forehead, armored fingers reddening the dry skin as she moves her hand down over her face. "Merde. I need... anything."
Sterling casts a worried glance at Jocaira. After a moment's pause he retrieves an unadorned metal lighter from a storage panel in his own armour and places it on the table, sliding it across to her. "What about that butterfly thing?" he asks Fritz suddenly. "It supposedly wanted to help us, seein' as how Comorro blasted its enemy's biggest ship t'smithereens. Don't it have any ideas?"
Between drinking from his jug of a little somethin' something and muttering about birds in unfriendly air space, Micky's kept himself thankfully out of this debate. It looks like he was about to say something until the lighter gets provided. After that, though, he's left to his own devices. He wanders around to stand by Fritz. "Hessians."
"I do not care if sie like me or not, Frau. However, you may spin vhat you vish for sympathy. It does not matter. Yes, it is quite obvious you do not like, and have never liked me but let us not pretend zhere is some mysterious zhings I have kept you from. Vi are barely in zie same space, und if you cannot take even so much as genteel teasing vithout offense, zhen zhat failing does not belong to me." The teasing he was referring to, is in those moments when Alastair sends him to deliver supplies instead of doing it himself." Fritz shakes his head at James, distracted - not necessarily effectively, but moreso willingly - by his question, "I do not know. I have not gotten a chance to speak directly vith it yet. I must take care of Alastair as vell, for as I have mentioned, he vill not take care of himself." It may seem, to Jocaira at least, that he cares more about the Sivadian doctor than he did his own long dissapeared girlfriend. He passes a glance over to Micky, reaching up to retrieve Erasistratus, then gesture towards the jug, "May I?"
"I don't want sympathy, I want you to stop fucking treating me like I 'ave no right to take care of Alastair, and for you to stop scolding me like you are my fucking 'eadmistress, which is a failing sat belongs -specifically- to you, vous vieille chevre sans cornes," Joca snaps back, looking at the lighter for a very long time and then looking between it and the nigh-empty pack of cigarillos. It seems like she's forgotten about Herr's long-absent Frau as well, or she's just too on edge to look beyond the current moment. "...Monsieur Papillon says 'is people can 'elp fix Madame Comorreaux wis se silk from se children's cocoons... but sis does no good, if sey can not get to us, we can not get to sem, and so on."
Sterling produces a battered paper packet of cigarettes and peers into it, rattling it around to separate the one item that differs from the others in the pack. "What about the ships in the docking bay?" he asks no one in particular. "If Comorro can let one of 'em out without floodin' the rest of th' place, maybe somebody could get out and get us some of that silk stuff, if that'll help." He takes the odd cigarette from the pack -- it bears a strong resemblance to Jocaira's favoured cigarillos -- and sticks it in his mouth, reclaiming the lighter to light it. He takes a drag from it and hands it across the table to Joca.
"Current calculations have the shields failin' before I run out of gran'pappy's special brew even if I up rate of consumption by two or three fold which'd lead to my death prior to the shields failin' and render the stockpiles useless to me anywho," says Micky with a shrug that is mostly lost under the armor. He passes over the half empty jug of what is something like 95 percent pure alcohol that manages to taste like it was filtered through a Zangali's dirty gym sock and burn like a venereal disease. He tells Sterling, "Works for me if it'd work. I don't know how they do with the whole underwater thing. I'm not sure we're not all dead because Comorro is special or all ships could handle the water pressure."
"Right now? No, I do not trust you to take care of him. You are brash, selfish, und vithout restraint, und vhile zhose can be enjoyable traits, zhey do not instill confidence to allow you to take care of someone who is vorking himself to death." Fritz shrugs, taking the jug, lifting, taking a swig, wincing quite severely, then passing it right on back. That's quite enough to take the edge off for him. Sure he had a drinker's heritage, but he also had the high class taste of the very rich, who are not used to such powerful and turpentine-esque spirits. he shakes his head, "Zie vater pressure is a problem, yes, und zhat solution has been rejected for now." Erasistratus is snuggled back into the crook of his neck opposite Herophilus.
"Ahn! Darling, don't use se..." Joca makes an actual, genuine effort to keep James from burning up a precious cigarillo, but once it's lit the resolve flits out like a candle in a monsoon. With a clearly restrained gesture, she gently takes the blunt and sets it between her lips. "Je t'aime, mon loup," she murmurs, even before she's finished with the first drag. At least partially proving Fritz right, she flips him a bird with her free hand while passing the cig back to James with the other.
"For now," Sterling repeats, staring over at Fritz. "An' how long 'til Comorro needs ta eat some o' us t'keep her strength up? I'm guessin' you were in on the brainstormin' session -- maybe you could bring the rest of us 'ere up t'speed." He bestows a smile on Joca, then directs a glare at the German. "Unless y'd rather keep diggin' away at Joca here. Y'seem t'enjoy it." He takes the cigarillo and stubs it out in a nearby ashtray, then tucks it back into the packet.
Looking somewhat impressed when Fritz actually drinks some of his booze, Micky says, "I thought you was gonna use it for science. Good on you, man, for keeping it down. If boss lady weren't so mad at'cha, she'd have probably given you a heads up as to not to drink it. But, yeah, what Sterlin' said."
"Alastair vent. I stayed to treat some of zie injured. It vas 168 hours at zie time so, approximately 136 hours by now." Fritz offers to James, a grin - momentarily interrupted by an involuntary hiccoughing burp, chest smacked a few times - is offered to Micky, "Actually, I believe she vould have told me to drink more of it."
Jocaira holds her breath for a while as the familiar fogginess starts to return to her expression. She keeps the bird pointed in Fritz and Micky's general direction until exhaling with a smoky sigh. "Iiii wouldn't tell anyone to drink what Mickee brews. Life's too short to drink pisswatair. I don't even tell -Mickee- to drink what Mickee brews."
Sterling closes his eyes for a moment, attempting a mental calculation made more difficult by the drug cocktail in the cigarillo. He snorts. "Well, if nothin' else we can make th' most of our final hours, yeh?" He grins wolfishly across the table at Jocaira. "'It's the end of the world as we know it'?"
"See, she doesn't hate you," Micky tells Fritz. "So, more importantly, what are our options and what can we do to be useful? Other than makin' organics for the whale to masticate. Does she masticate? Absorb. Whatever."
"Everyzhing on zhis station is powered by her. Use as little energy as you can. Turn off as many lights as sie can. I do not suppose any of you remember zie movemnt on earth in zie twentieth century to be more environmental? Zhat sort of attitude is vhat vie need right now. Use as little as possible und vaste nozhing." Fritz offers to Micky, nothing but a slow nod for Sterling given, "Und I suppose vie must try und help each other as vell in any vay possible." He smirks lightly, belatedly, at the idea Joca doesn't hate him /quite/ enough to leave even him without warning of that terrible brew Micky calls a drink.
"We already 'ave cut down on electric use," Joca murmurs, grinning lazily in receptive return to James. "Virtual suite is shut down. Water being conserve. All frozen food 'as been prepared and eaten first, we are on low lighting and kinetic backup. Also we 'ave candles and battery lanterns. I skipped se twentieth centurie but I -might- just remembair 'ow to live wisout electrics." Her slightly foggy eyes slide over to Micky for jussst a moment during the discussion of who or what to feed to Comorro, but she reserves comment until her attention predictably drags itself on back to James, flicking her tongue across her teeth.
"Ugh, the whole 'go green' thing?" Sterling rolls his eyes. "Suppose it makes sense here an' now, though," he grumbles. "But yeah, we did that stuff starting the first night. Joca was all over that the second Comorro crashed into that other ship." He glances at Micky. "Maybe there's a way one o' you brainiacs can create some stuff Comorro can eat in th' lab or somethin'. Somebody around here's a gene doctor, if I remember right." He can't resist giving a half-lidded leer at Joca. "At leas' we got other ways o' keepin' warm without electricity, yeah?"
"You see the way she's lookin' at you?" Micky asks of Fritz. He shakes his head slightly before he takes a drink and continues, "Kinda creepy, you know?"
"Quite." Fritz agrees to Micky, sniffing lightly, "Zhen make sure you tell ozhers. Zhere are many people who know nozhing of such ideas of conservation. Und vhy vould zhey coming from ages vhere such things were no longer concerns." He thinks about James' suggestion for a moment, "It is a question of energy intake vs energy output required to create zie 'food'." his eyes become half-lidded, though not because of any contact high, merely because he's unimpressed at the moment, clarifying, "Both Alastair and I are genetic specialists."
Jocaira continues neither looking at Micky nor Fritz, riding the cigarillo's gift along with fantasized fulfillment of at least one, possibly -two- other vices. "Nnnyes, I 'ave nevair enjoyed se cold. I... sink since we 'ave been relieved of duty on account of being unqualified, brash, and unrestrained, we should not at all feel bad about taking an evening off."
"I like th' way you think, Joca," Sterling says, grinning across the table at his boss. "We'll go about convincin' people to get all conservative tomorrow." He interlaces his metal-gloved fingers and cracks his knuckles. "Pleasure before business, 'specially if we're all gonna cark it anyway. I can think of lots of ways I'd rather die other than sittin' around countin' me last hours goin' by." He scoops up the lighter and replaces it and the packet of cigarettes in the storage panel in his armour.
"I got nothin'," admits Micky before he takes another drink. He looks around with a squint, "Could be worse, could be worse."
Jocaira's remark is met with indifference, to Micky Fritz offers, "You may keep me company if sie vish, vhile I vork, Herr Micky. I promise I vont try to do anyzhing to 'modify' you." No no, that's something he reserved for people no one would miss - a trait Jocaira at least had played witness to once. Whether she remmebered through the drug haze was an altogether different question.
If Joca remembers that particular bit, she doesn't seem to care. Apparently sketchy medical ethics are less of an evil than bogarting someone's good time. Speaking of good times... She giggles inanely at James, mood at least a -bit- restored. "Sure, sure, whatevair you want to do tomorrow," she dismisses. "But I sink I 'ave a leetle bottle of maple syrup left."
Sterling chuckles at the mention of maple syrup. He stands up from the table. "Sounds like th' beginning of a memorable evenin'," he murmurs, extending his hand to Joca to assist her getting out of her chair.
"I'm pretty busy with the whole waitin' for people to snap an' go all rioty on the nerdery which is when my production of organics for Comorro's consumption'd start. You know, only after nicely an' tryin' less than lethal means first. Whole force continuum that I got worked out in my head. I'm probably the sole person plannin' on followin' it, but I just want to cover myself in case of some kinda legal proceedin's follow. Plannin' for the future, yessirree, that's me. Always ten steps ahead. Fifteen on a good day," rambles Micky as he steps slightly away from Fritz.
Fritz is observant, though perhaps a little less so after that shot of what Micky calls alcohol. Even so, it's a bit hard to miss someone stepping away from you, "Sie did not like mein joke." To be fair, Fritz makes terrible jokes with even worse delivery.
Jocaira takes James' offered hand, and rises from her seat, picking up the little crate of sundries she acquired at the start of this impromptu encounter. There is a very brief finger waggle of farewell directed at the general area before she falls into step with the other mercenary. "Let us move to retire, sen, mon loup," she purrs, saunter slightly restored.
"Absolutement," Sterling replies, grinning, his French only mildly mangled by his Australian accent. "See yas," he offers to Micky and Fritz as he walks to the levimodule with Joca. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He gives a ridiculous half-snort half-giggle and returns his attention to Jocaira.
"Ain't no jokin' about changin' the perfection that is me," Micky manages to say with a straight face. He offers a bit of a nod to Jocaira and Sterling. "Right, now I'm confused again."
"Zhat woman is walking confusion. It makes mein head hurt." As if to emphasize, he rubs at his temple a bit, but that could very well be something coming on due to the 'pisswater' as Jocaira called it. He smirks, "Ja. Perfection."