The Thorn [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 03-10-2016
Kreska blinked as Rocket stumbled over her own tongue, then looked down at herself. She looked up again, and gave a wave of two fingers. "Ey. Don' think'm really pullin' off this PJs look so great."
Because that was what that was, right? Rocket trying really hard not to laugh?
Her eyes automatically went upward, even though she knew very well that the source of the voice was not actually above them. Just polite, it seemed like; ships didn't generally have other ways to look them in the eye. Looking upward was good enough, if there weren't any screens available. Rocket's gesture confirmed it, and a slow grin spread across her face.
"Cady," she repeated, rising and falling on the balls of her feet in a bounce. She pointed upward at nothing at all. "OmniCorp," she declared. "Don' recognize th'voice, but I know th'… diction?" Kreska was not actually able to pinpoint how it was that she knew what she knew, but that tended to be the case for most things. "Not ridonk old, but y'ain't a baby – wait, don'tell me, I can guess if ya jus' lemme hear ya say chimichanga."
She paused in her probably rude attempt to guess the AI's age, twirling on the ball of one foot to get a better look at the interior. "'Cept this ain't no OmniCorp build – summa these parts, mebbe, but'cher all too fancypants t'be a standard Forces rig, too much stuff ain't for civvies t'be anythin' else. An' I don' recognize all o'these."
Her twirling stopped, balanced on her toes, as she looked to Rocket. "Should I stop guessin' on account o' there's shady biz an' ya don' wanna get in trouble?" she asked, pressing a finger to her lips in the universal sign for shutting the fuck up.
Then she looked back upward. "Y'don' look like ya need a mechanic, tho," she said. "Y'look perf."
Because that was what that was, right? Rocket trying really hard not to laugh?
Her eyes automatically went upward, even though she knew very well that the source of the voice was not actually above them. Just polite, it seemed like; ships didn't generally have other ways to look them in the eye. Looking upward was good enough, if there weren't any screens available. Rocket's gesture confirmed it, and a slow grin spread across her face.
"Cady," she repeated, rising and falling on the balls of her feet in a bounce. She pointed upward at nothing at all. "OmniCorp," she declared. "Don' recognize th'voice, but I know th'… diction?" Kreska was not actually able to pinpoint how it was that she knew what she knew, but that tended to be the case for most things. "Not ridonk old, but y'ain't a baby – wait, don'tell me, I can guess if ya jus' lemme hear ya say chimichanga."
She paused in her probably rude attempt to guess the AI's age, twirling on the ball of one foot to get a better look at the interior. "'Cept this ain't no OmniCorp build – summa these parts, mebbe, but'cher all too fancypants t'be a standard Forces rig, too much stuff ain't for civvies t'be anythin' else. An' I don' recognize all o'these."
Her twirling stopped, balanced on her toes, as she looked to Rocket. "Should I stop guessin' on account o' there's shady biz an' ya don' wanna get in trouble?" she asked, pressing a finger to her lips in the universal sign for shutting the fuck up.
Then she looked back upward. "Y'don' look like ya need a mechanic, tho," she said. "Y'look perf."
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 03-12-2016
"Naw, y'look great," Rocket replied, quickly. Too quickly, when she realized her hesitation may have seemed like a joke. "Like, is'not too bad or nothin'," she amended, as if that would smother her previous eagerness. She groaned, internally. God, she was a mess. This would have been so much easier if Kreska hadn't climbed into her bed and the middle of then night, and was wearing her own clothes, especially that leather jacket that practically screamed unobtainable. Right now she looked, approachable, almost soft and it was doing nothing for Rocket's health. She watched Kreska bounce, amused as the Jobari admired the ship, and conversed with the AI. Brows climbed her forehead when she pointed out recognizable parts of the Var:jo, always impressing her in new ways.
"I will not," Cady argued, when it was suggested she say chimichanga. "Miss Winchcombe, please inform your friend that I am not a toy."
"She can hear ya, Cady, calm down."
"The Var:jo is seven years old," Cady explained, and did not at all calm down. Her digital tones sounded annoyed as she attempted to prevent Kreska from making any more requests, or guesses. "It is of Terran and Calrathiion design and it is the only one of it's kind in existence. It is not for civilians," she reiterated, using Kreska's words incorrectly for her own motives.
"I jus make sure th'ship stays in usable shape. I check its stats ev'ry now an again to make sure its up to code. It'sa good ship."
"It is a great ship."
Rocket pressed her fleshed hand to the back of her neck. The Var:jo always drove her stress levels through the roof, and dealing with the snappy intelligence was only one of the reasons. If Cady would just stop talking, she would be able to get rid of them as quickly as she would like, but she would not be deterred.
"The Var:jo is not shady!"
There was a sudden bark of laughter that could be heard, coming from deeper inside the ship. Rocket frowned.
"This ship is very shady," a new voice contradicted, becoming louder as its owner drew closer. "It's…beyond shady. If there is a word for worse than shady, this ship is it." The speaker was male, and his voice didn't hold the artificial staccato of Cady's. Camdis appeared in the entry to the airlock that the two women still occupied, looking wildly more relaxed than Cady, in a t-shirt and jeans, hands tucked into his pockets. Normally he would not speak of the Var:jo so openly around strangers, but he trusted Rocket enough to trust her guest.
"Now, I see what has Cady all worked up."
"Ohmyfuck, Cady, didja tell on me?"
Camdis chuckled, freeing his hands to cross his arms over his chest. "You know how she is. Protective." He turned his sights on Kreska, his smile was warm. "Kreska, was it? It's nice to meet you. My name is Camdis."
"Do not be nice to her, she is trespassing."
Camdis ignored the other AI, waving his hand as if to brush her off. "I'm sure a guided tour would not be too out of the question?"
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 03-12-2016
Looking down at herself one last time, Kreska grinned again. "You're so fuckin' sweet," she told the mechanic, because clearly, she was being polite as all hell. Giving her clothes, trying to make her feel better… too damn nice.
"Aww, gorgeous, I di'n' mean it like that't all," she said, because of course terms of endearment could only ever be applied to ships. Particularly that one. It was doubtful that she'd ever referred to a humanoid as 'gorgeous' in her entire life.
Maybe the test was a soft spot, since the age put her right in range to not be able to say 'chimichanga'. That seemed like it could be embarrassing, for an accomplished intelligence.
Calrathiion. Wasn't that–
"So you're Cady, but th'ship's Var:jo, so y'all're separate?" She didn't know why that was what she latched onto, what seemed like a peculiar mind/body disconnect. There were intelligences that existed without bodies, of course, and there were those that were intended for particular chasses, and there were those for whom a ship was the only chassis they could ever know. Maybe the split was to account for the alien tech? But that seemed like a potential inefficiency, precious picoseconds lost in telling the ship what to do.
Though maybe Kreska was the only one who'd count those picoseconds as precious.
The sound of male laughter, and a male voice to match, utterly derailed that train of thought as Kreska went stiff as rigor mortis. Blank-faced, fists at her sides, still balanced on her toes but without any of the curve or bounce. Unanticipated and unwelcome company when she'd expected only Rocket, she watched his entrance, and did not begin to soften until she'd watched him a few moments more.
A droid. That was fine, then. Even if his chassis left much to be desired.
She huffed with the realization that she hadn't been breathing, rocked back on her heels with a curl to her mouth. "Nice t'meetcha, Camdis."
Looking back to Rocket, her faint pout was rueful. "Swear t'fuck I di'n' mean t'be sucha huge pain in yer ass an' you're tryna get work done an' all. I can go back t'bed'r whatevs till m'clothes're done, if ya want."
Even if the prospect of getting to see the engines was goddamn delightful.
"Aww, gorgeous, I di'n' mean it like that't all," she said, because of course terms of endearment could only ever be applied to ships. Particularly that one. It was doubtful that she'd ever referred to a humanoid as 'gorgeous' in her entire life.
Maybe the test was a soft spot, since the age put her right in range to not be able to say 'chimichanga'. That seemed like it could be embarrassing, for an accomplished intelligence.
Calrathiion. Wasn't that–
"So you're Cady, but th'ship's Var:jo, so y'all're separate?" She didn't know why that was what she latched onto, what seemed like a peculiar mind/body disconnect. There were intelligences that existed without bodies, of course, and there were those that were intended for particular chasses, and there were those for whom a ship was the only chassis they could ever know. Maybe the split was to account for the alien tech? But that seemed like a potential inefficiency, precious picoseconds lost in telling the ship what to do.
Though maybe Kreska was the only one who'd count those picoseconds as precious.
The sound of male laughter, and a male voice to match, utterly derailed that train of thought as Kreska went stiff as rigor mortis. Blank-faced, fists at her sides, still balanced on her toes but without any of the curve or bounce. Unanticipated and unwelcome company when she'd expected only Rocket, she watched his entrance, and did not begin to soften until she'd watched him a few moments more.
A droid. That was fine, then. Even if his chassis left much to be desired.
She huffed with the realization that she hadn't been breathing, rocked back on her heels with a curl to her mouth. "Nice t'meetcha, Camdis."
Looking back to Rocket, her faint pout was rueful. "Swear t'fuck I di'n' mean t'be sucha huge pain in yer ass an' you're tryna get work done an' all. I can go back t'bed'r whatevs till m'clothes're done, if ya want."
Even if the prospect of getting to see the engines was goddamn delightful.
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 03-16-2016
Rocket could only smile in response. Talking to Kreska had not been working out for her this morning, and the smaller woman had gone from calling her sweet, to calling the ship gorgeous and Rocket's systems were fried. Cady had gone surprisingly silent, likely preening to the idea of being gorgeous in whatever way artificial intelligences preened. The slight with the chimichangas seemed to be put on the back burner for now.
"I am separate from the Var:jo, but am also the Var:jo, simultaneously. It is complicated to explain." More accurately Cady did not like to explain it. To admit that the Var:jo could function without her, but that she could not function without the Var:jo was difficult to admit. She had no purpose outside of monitoring the ship's processes.
"Th'ship's weird," Rocket said to Kreska, which was saying more than she let on because Rocket had seen a lot of ships, from all over the galaxy. A veritable range of makes and models from almost every spacefaring race. "Allo th' Terran parts makes sense, but th'Calrathiion bits are strange. They'd make sense on a Calrathiion ship, obvs, but mixed with allo' th'Omnicorps stuff. Shouldn't be able t'really function."
Neither Rocket nor Camdis seemed to be aware of Kreska's reaction to his approach. Rocket turned away from Camdis, only looking back in time to see the way she continued to bounce, the small tilt of her mouth.
"Yer not th'problem," she explained, shaking her head and sending blonde dreadlocks all about. "These two are th'problem," she jerked a thumb at Camdis, before waving her hand around to indicate Cady. "They're brats."
Cady scoffed, indignant and Camdis chuckled.
"'Sides, this one promised ya'tour, so…"
"A guided tour," Cady emphasized. "I trust you know which zones are off limits."
"Yes, Cady," Camdis tilted his head in the direction of the bridge, indicating that the two women should follow him. "We'll start at the bottom. You'll get to see the engine room, the weapons systems, and meet Cady in person, which is a really exciting prospect, I bet."
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 03-16-2016
"S'cool," she told Cady, because she understood very well that 'it's complicated' sometimes just meant 'don't ask'. At least, it did when she said it.
"Huh." Kreska pursed her lips thoughtfully, scanning over parts familiar and not once more. So why add the alien parts at all? Vanity project? Or else the species just had needs that were niche enough that only they produced the parts to satisfy them. Weird sleep cycles or nutrient needs, maybe.
But if the ship came with a droid that had a human chassis, that just made things weirder. Couldn't have been that different, to be able to work with him.
Hell, why give him a meatsuit at all? Why not a blank? It would work just as well, surely, and the human face couldn't have been intended to put xenos at ease.
"M'sure they're not that bad," Kreska said, not sure of any such thing. Mostly it was hard to believe that they could be enough of a problem to make Kreska seem not a problem by comparison. Kreska was always a problem. "But I wouldn' wanna make 'im break a promise," she said, as if she was doing him a favor by making him show her around.
"I'll b'have," she assured Cady, going so far as to flutter her eyelashes. This was not necessarily true. But it wasn't like she was planning to go snooping or breaking things. That was basically behaving.
Kreska was not a mechanic. She was not, by most standards, even particularly smart – not any kind of smart that showed up well on paper. She nonetheless had certain things that she was very good at, and one of those things was Going Fast. In the interest of Going Fast, she had learned some things about navigation, about flying, about engines. If something fell apart, she couldn't fix it for shit. But if everything was working right, she knew how to break it just right to make it do what she wanted.
OmniCorps, anyway. She knew OmniCorps like the back of her hand. Maybe better than, with some of her recently added scars.
She followed Camdis, stepping toes-first and sort of sideways because she was barefoot and that was just kind of what happened. "Yesss," she agreed, which was probably a worrying tone. Not so much excited about Cady or about weapons as excited to see the engine, to see if she recognized it, to see if it had her favorite hidden engineering features. She clasped her hands behind her back so she'd keep her hands to herself, and so she wouldn't be tempted to go climbing on anything, because that seemed like it would be frowned upon. Staying on her toes made it easier to turn backward to grin at Rocket, looking as insufferably pleased as a child with their hand in a cookie jar.
Or as Kreska with her hand in a cookie jar.
After a moment's walking backward, she twirled back around to face front, a lazy interrupted pirouette. Her curls bounced, and it would probably be a while before her hair was dry enough to reach its usual defiance of gravity.
"Huh." Kreska pursed her lips thoughtfully, scanning over parts familiar and not once more. So why add the alien parts at all? Vanity project? Or else the species just had needs that were niche enough that only they produced the parts to satisfy them. Weird sleep cycles or nutrient needs, maybe.
But if the ship came with a droid that had a human chassis, that just made things weirder. Couldn't have been that different, to be able to work with him.
Hell, why give him a meatsuit at all? Why not a blank? It would work just as well, surely, and the human face couldn't have been intended to put xenos at ease.
"M'sure they're not that bad," Kreska said, not sure of any such thing. Mostly it was hard to believe that they could be enough of a problem to make Kreska seem not a problem by comparison. Kreska was always a problem. "But I wouldn' wanna make 'im break a promise," she said, as if she was doing him a favor by making him show her around.
"I'll b'have," she assured Cady, going so far as to flutter her eyelashes. This was not necessarily true. But it wasn't like she was planning to go snooping or breaking things. That was basically behaving.
Kreska was not a mechanic. She was not, by most standards, even particularly smart – not any kind of smart that showed up well on paper. She nonetheless had certain things that she was very good at, and one of those things was Going Fast. In the interest of Going Fast, she had learned some things about navigation, about flying, about engines. If something fell apart, she couldn't fix it for shit. But if everything was working right, she knew how to break it just right to make it do what she wanted.
OmniCorps, anyway. She knew OmniCorps like the back of her hand. Maybe better than, with some of her recently added scars.
She followed Camdis, stepping toes-first and sort of sideways because she was barefoot and that was just kind of what happened. "Yesss," she agreed, which was probably a worrying tone. Not so much excited about Cady or about weapons as excited to see the engine, to see if she recognized it, to see if it had her favorite hidden engineering features. She clasped her hands behind her back so she'd keep her hands to herself, and so she wouldn't be tempted to go climbing on anything, because that seemed like it would be frowned upon. Staying on her toes made it easier to turn backward to grin at Rocket, looking as insufferably pleased as a child with their hand in a cookie jar.
Or as Kreska with her hand in a cookie jar.
After a moment's walking backward, she twirled back around to face front, a lazy interrupted pirouette. Her curls bounced, and it would probably be a while before her hair was dry enough to reach its usual defiance of gravity.
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 07-05-2016
"The ship can't run without the AI." Rocket attempted to explain where Cady could not, but all in all the Var:jo was hard to explain. The mechanic only knew enough about the ship to fix it, anything else was above her paygrade and the captain wasn't exactly offering up the information. "It's designed to be flown by three people, Camdis, Cady and the Captain, but still operate with efficiency of a fully-manned warship." Rocket shrugged, following Camdis and watching Kreska as she surveyed the ship with a keen interest. "The Var:jo was designed to minimize militant casualties," Cady said.
"It was designed for suicide missions," Camdis corrected, if it could at all be considered a correction. "Undercover missions with two AI and volunteer. No reason for the government to take responsibility if something goes wrong."
"You are very talkative today," Cady complained. The dull thrum of the engines was more noticeable as they approached, but it was not enough to drown her out.
"I have someone to talk to today," he bit back, swiftly punching numbers into the lock. With a hydraulic hiss the heavy doors pulled back, creating passage into the engine room, buzzing with idle power and auxiliary functions. Four main cores powered the ship, with two grids to harness excess energy. The Var;jo have warp and mass relay capabilities. A backup generator and fusion batteries for the weapon systems.
"I do not think Commander Starrunner would be pleased to know you let someone wander around the ship." Cady's voice seemed closer, more akin to being in the same room than over the intercoms. And she was. At the end of the chamber was a control panel resembling a desk, and behind it sat another AI. Very different in appearance to Camdis. To start, the chassis only seemed half-finished, the only discernable features were a torso, two arms and a head; wires were the legs should be, and suspended by tubing and cables where hair would be expected. More cables extended down the back of it.
Despite her shortcomings Cady was very expressive and she did not look pleased. A withering glare was passed between Rocket and Camdis, her fingers never ceasing their commands on the control panel.
"Commander Starrunner is not here," Camdis hissed.
"It's fine, Cady," Rocket reassured, bored as if half of her job was reassuring Cady. She grinned at Kreska, raising her brows playfully, before opening the panel on one of the engines. "A lot 'o th'parts in here is OmniCorp. Yer familiar, yeah?"
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 08-30-2016
"Aaaaah – yeh, I getcha." That made much more sense. Minimizing casualties? She wouldn't have bought that for a second. Metal was expensive, meat was cheap. But plausible deniability? That made perfect sense to her cynical ears. "Musta been good't it t'not've 'sploded." They had to have expected that; wouldn't have invested so much in something they expected to only make one trip. Then again, just as likely that it'd be a prototype, or a proof of concept, one that clearly didn't get off the ground. They weren't making more of them, after all, not as far as Kreska knew.
"An'm jusso nice t'talk to," she agreed, though her attention had moved almost entirely to the contents of the engine room. Parts she recognized, parts she didn't. The engine itself was more familiar than the weapon systems, and the sight of it made her fingers itch. She wanted to get into it, get a better look, see what she could see.
They wouldn't let her fly it, regardless. The things she could do if they did, though.
Starrunner. Starrunner Starrunner Starrunner. She knew that name. Where'd she know that name? No visceral revulsion, not someone who wanted her dead, but she definitely knew that name. She spun on her toes again as she surveyed the room, glancing over Cady in passing.
Half-humanoid. Not a blank. Why? Retrofitting an existing chassis, maybe? Hard to tell with this sort of experimental thing what had an explanation or what had turned out to be necessary to iron out inexplicable glitches. Like how some bots couldn't seem to function right without arms, even if they had no reason to have them. Might've been one of those.
Rocket cracking a panel open drew Kreska's attention right in, and she all but slid over to take a look. "Aww yeh," she said, getting close enough to practically stick her head in the engine. She was looking for the serial numbers on the boards, trying to identify the batch number printed in the geometric angles of proprietary OmniCorp code. "Here, lemme show y'a thing," she said as she found it. "2694 means – yeh, okay, I know thissun, definitely." She turned to search for the appropriate panels between the core and the thrusters, only identifiable by location. "Ain' gonna change'r break nuthin'," she added, less reassuring than she wanted to be. "Jus' gonna see."
Ordinarily even Kreska would not deign to pretend she knew more about a ship than a mechanic or a ship's AI. This, however, was an OmniCorp engine, and that meant it had OmniCorp backdoors for manufacturer testing. No one but the spiders knew those, special codes and keys only used in the manufacturing facility when the AI was off or absent.
Organics weren't supposed to know about it either, outside of a limited number of OmniCorp engineers. Kreska was just clever, was all.
She tapped at the panels until she found two a meter apart that could play different notes, like unmarked tuning forks built into the wall. She had to stand on her toes to reach them, stretching out and widening the spine-revealing gap between her shirt and her pants. "Two-six-n– fuck." She sang it as she played it, hit a discordant note on the third. "Two-six-nine-four." It slid open, revealing another panel with a manual rolling lock twelve digits long. She giggled gleefully, switched to the other panel and did the same. "So that's–" She pointed to both the panels. "Y' gotta look under th'pilot's console, usually. Big ol' junk number pressed in th' metal, y'gotta find th'zeroes – it's four zeroes, an' then th' twelve, an' then four zeroes again. It's generated outta – actually, with th'chimichanga thing'n th' 2694 I might be able to…"
Kreska started rolling the numbers along, and when she hit the right sequence it clicked, opened to reveal three not-quite-switches. The switches themselves were missing, asymmetric star-shaped hollows in their place. "Yeah, see, same thing's under th'other one, they all gotta be switched at once. If ya ain't a big ol' spider you can rig up some pipes an' a bit of metal putty an' it'll work just the same, an' then your limiter's unlocked so you can hit the upper limits of warp. Ship this nice might be able to break warp, actually, if you set the engine on a timer to brake after ten seconds or so."
Except, of course, that breaking warp would disassemble the ship and its contents at an atomic level. And ten seconds still might be enough that they'd only reassemble outside the known universe, assuming the timer even worked at all. That kind of thing was controversial even among theoretical scientists; Kreska may have been the only one in known space suggesting practical testing.
"Anyway," she said, shutting the panels again, staying true to her word that she wouldn't break anything. "Obvs y'ain't gonna be'n any 'mergencies worth riskin't, but it's cool, yeh?" She huffed as she realized that stretching to reach everything she wanted had her borrowed pants riding dangerously low on her hips, trying and failing to pull them higher.
Starrunner.
She snapped her fingers suddenly, dropping the waist of her pants and letting them fall past her hipbones again. "Nova! Th'chick Lio's bangin', right?"
"An'm jusso nice t'talk to," she agreed, though her attention had moved almost entirely to the contents of the engine room. Parts she recognized, parts she didn't. The engine itself was more familiar than the weapon systems, and the sight of it made her fingers itch. She wanted to get into it, get a better look, see what she could see.
They wouldn't let her fly it, regardless. The things she could do if they did, though.
Starrunner. Starrunner Starrunner Starrunner. She knew that name. Where'd she know that name? No visceral revulsion, not someone who wanted her dead, but she definitely knew that name. She spun on her toes again as she surveyed the room, glancing over Cady in passing.
Half-humanoid. Not a blank. Why? Retrofitting an existing chassis, maybe? Hard to tell with this sort of experimental thing what had an explanation or what had turned out to be necessary to iron out inexplicable glitches. Like how some bots couldn't seem to function right without arms, even if they had no reason to have them. Might've been one of those.
Rocket cracking a panel open drew Kreska's attention right in, and she all but slid over to take a look. "Aww yeh," she said, getting close enough to practically stick her head in the engine. She was looking for the serial numbers on the boards, trying to identify the batch number printed in the geometric angles of proprietary OmniCorp code. "Here, lemme show y'a thing," she said as she found it. "2694 means – yeh, okay, I know thissun, definitely." She turned to search for the appropriate panels between the core and the thrusters, only identifiable by location. "Ain' gonna change'r break nuthin'," she added, less reassuring than she wanted to be. "Jus' gonna see."
Ordinarily even Kreska would not deign to pretend she knew more about a ship than a mechanic or a ship's AI. This, however, was an OmniCorp engine, and that meant it had OmniCorp backdoors for manufacturer testing. No one but the spiders knew those, special codes and keys only used in the manufacturing facility when the AI was off or absent.
Organics weren't supposed to know about it either, outside of a limited number of OmniCorp engineers. Kreska was just clever, was all.
She tapped at the panels until she found two a meter apart that could play different notes, like unmarked tuning forks built into the wall. She had to stand on her toes to reach them, stretching out and widening the spine-revealing gap between her shirt and her pants. "Two-six-n– fuck." She sang it as she played it, hit a discordant note on the third. "Two-six-nine-four." It slid open, revealing another panel with a manual rolling lock twelve digits long. She giggled gleefully, switched to the other panel and did the same. "So that's–" She pointed to both the panels. "Y' gotta look under th'pilot's console, usually. Big ol' junk number pressed in th' metal, y'gotta find th'zeroes – it's four zeroes, an' then th' twelve, an' then four zeroes again. It's generated outta – actually, with th'chimichanga thing'n th' 2694 I might be able to…"
Kreska started rolling the numbers along, and when she hit the right sequence it clicked, opened to reveal three not-quite-switches. The switches themselves were missing, asymmetric star-shaped hollows in their place. "Yeah, see, same thing's under th'other one, they all gotta be switched at once. If ya ain't a big ol' spider you can rig up some pipes an' a bit of metal putty an' it'll work just the same, an' then your limiter's unlocked so you can hit the upper limits of warp. Ship this nice might be able to break warp, actually, if you set the engine on a timer to brake after ten seconds or so."
Except, of course, that breaking warp would disassemble the ship and its contents at an atomic level. And ten seconds still might be enough that they'd only reassemble outside the known universe, assuming the timer even worked at all. That kind of thing was controversial even among theoretical scientists; Kreska may have been the only one in known space suggesting practical testing.
"Anyway," she said, shutting the panels again, staying true to her word that she wouldn't break anything. "Obvs y'ain't gonna be'n any 'mergencies worth riskin't, but it's cool, yeh?" She huffed as she realized that stretching to reach everything she wanted had her borrowed pants riding dangerously low on her hips, trying and failing to pull them higher.
Starrunner.
She snapped her fingers suddenly, dropping the waist of her pants and letting them fall past her hipbones again. "Nova! Th'chick Lio's bangin', right?"
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 10-08-2016
The Var:jo was difficult to explain. He’d mentioned that, and despite Kreska’s affirmation of understanding, Camdis severely doubted he had done a decent job of it. “Well, yes, we tried very hard to not explode.” His response sounded somewhat distracted, and he didn’t offer any extra information. Cady was sending him rapid and furious scripts that he was barely keeping up with by splitting his attention. It would do her well to calm down, before she burned herself out on her anger alone. He silently sent that very response back to her and her pings stopped at once. When he looked over at her, she was glaring at him. “You are very nice to talk to,” Camdis agreed, as an afterthought he nodded to Rocket. “Not that you are not also lovely to talk to Ms. Winchcombe.”
Rocket snort-laughed a response, mostly too busy with what she was doing to even think to be offended. Blinking in surprise she backed up when Kreska was suddenly in her personal space. Swallowing hard, she lifted her arm to allow the Jobari to pass under the cord that was extended from it to the panel. Fingers hovered over her tablet as she momentarily forgot that she was in the middle of something as she watched Kreska move around the engine room.
The mechanic and the AIs exchanged curious glances. Camdis only shrugged even though a question hadn’t been posed to him. The mechanics of the ship were not his area of expertise. He looked to Cady, but she was too busy glaring daggers into the back of Kreska’s head to help him out.
Rocket removed her wiring from the panel and it disappeared back into the metal of her arm. Kreska was probably doing something interesting, but she was mostly distracted by the line of green skin revealed by her stretching. In the future, she would suggest that Kreska leave an outfit here, for emergencies. Future Rocket Can Not Deal Emergencies. She was definitely sure she had never heard Kreska giggle. Not sober, anyway and certainly not like that.
The trio listened to Kreska in a sort of stunned silence. Camdis and Rocket failed to keep the shock off of their faces. Cady pretended to be busy doing something other than paying attention to Kreska. “How- how d’you know tha?” Rocket asked. She didn’t know that, but she would not admit to wounded pride. “Tha’s amazin’. Camdis d’you know?”
“I did not,” he admitted, still watching Kreska. He was looking at her, but didn’t seem to be seeing her. Internal processes at work, multitasking. Searching for something. “Impressive.”
Rocket laughed, shaking her head as she crossed the engine room to finish her diagnostics. “Yer always-” Her compliment was cut short by Kreska’s snap. The room stilled as she dropped a name. Even Cady stopped what she was doing and for a moment the only sound was the hum of the engines.
Camdis found what he was looking for. He didn’t quite frown, but his expression was not as pleased at it had been before. “Ms. Winchcombe.” The words were clipped, an order before he had given one. Rocket, aware of the severity of what had just happened seemed to snap to attention.
“Would you kindly excuse us, and escort yourselves off of the ship?”
“C’mon Kres, les’go.” Tucking her tablet under her arm, she waved a hand for Kreska to follow her, back out of the engine room and off of the ship entirely. Once on the flight deck, the doors to the Var:jo closed behind them without any prompting from the mechanic. “Well, tha was fun, yeh?” Rocket ruffled her dreads with her fleshed hand. ‘Letsee if yer clothes ‘er dry.”
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 03-13-2017
Kreska had been enjoying the rare experience of being the center of positive attention, warm and fuzzy and pleased in ways that she would never admit to. Very few people were ever impressed by her, even fewer impressed by her knowledge.
It was a tangible thing when the mood of the room changed, that pleased warmth replaced with a terrible chill. The way her face fell as she realized she'd said something wrong was subtle and fleeting, shuttering and becoming closed off almost immediately. Aloof rather than letting her face show the stomach-twisting disappointment that she'd managed to ruin something without even meaning to.
It was fine. It was whatever. She shouldn't have been trying to show off, anyway.
Fuck it. Fuck 'em.
She wasn't quite clear on why exactly what she'd said was wrong, but she shied away from thinking about it the way she'd shy from a hot stove, feeling intangibly wounded by whatever had just happened. Lulled by Rocket's tendency to let her do as she pleased without too much comment, she'd opened up in all the little ways she didn't allow herself; the slightest hint of a rebuke for any reason, and she slammed back shut. She was immediately resentful of everyone around her, more conscious of the skin she showed.
She followed Rocket in silence, feigning disinterest in anything but her own fingernails.
starrunner - nova - nova? - bad - wrong - why - idiot - idiot - idiot - whatever - nova? - shouldn't have said anything - why - fuck - whatever
"Yeh," she shrugged, non-committal. She pulled her pants higher, impatient, then crossed her arms. "Prolly oughtta head out."
She wanted a cigarette. She wanted a drink. She wanted to be home and alone.
fuckupfuckupfuckupfuckupfuckup
It was a tangible thing when the mood of the room changed, that pleased warmth replaced with a terrible chill. The way her face fell as she realized she'd said something wrong was subtle and fleeting, shuttering and becoming closed off almost immediately. Aloof rather than letting her face show the stomach-twisting disappointment that she'd managed to ruin something without even meaning to.
It was fine. It was whatever. She shouldn't have been trying to show off, anyway.
Fuck it. Fuck 'em.
She wasn't quite clear on why exactly what she'd said was wrong, but she shied away from thinking about it the way she'd shy from a hot stove, feeling intangibly wounded by whatever had just happened. Lulled by Rocket's tendency to let her do as she pleased without too much comment, she'd opened up in all the little ways she didn't allow herself; the slightest hint of a rebuke for any reason, and she slammed back shut. She was immediately resentful of everyone around her, more conscious of the skin she showed.
She followed Rocket in silence, feigning disinterest in anything but her own fingernails.
starrunner - nova - nova? - bad - wrong - why - idiot - idiot - idiot - whatever - nova? - shouldn't have said anything - why - fuck - whatever
"Yeh," she shrugged, non-committal. She pulled her pants higher, impatient, then crossed her arms. "Prolly oughtta head out."
She wanted a cigarette. She wanted a drink. She wanted to be home and alone.
fuckupfuckupfuckupfuckupfuckup
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - megs - 10-19-2019
Rocket knew she would have been better off taking Kreska on any other ship than the Var:jo, but she had been trying to show off. Which was stupid in retrospect, because it wasn't like the ship was hers and she'd had a feeling that Kreska knew more about ships than she let on. Rocket figured she crashed at her garage for more reasons than it being out of the way from her other friends. She had a ton of other ships in her care that didn't have bossy AIs on them. Rocket hoped she would get another chance to take Kreska on one of them.Kreska's mood had done a complete one-eighty. "Don' let those two get t'ya," Rocket said, glancing at Kreska over her shoulder. "Tey can be real catty bitches som'times." Her reassurance didn't prompt much in the way of a response. The other woman had completely closed herself off. Everything had been going so well, too.
They returned to the washroom in relative silence. The dryer had stopped, so Rocket pulled it open to rifle through the towels she had put in there to pull out Kreska's clothes. "Look, what happen back tere wasn' yer fault. It was mine," she admitted, handing the items off to her. "I didn' know ya knew Nova."
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - Tindome - 10-19-2019
She leaned against the wall as Rocket dug through the laundry, arms crossed over her chest. She was trying not to look like she was throwing an internal tantrum, and she was failing miserably. Her mouth was almost a pout, if it hadn't also been almost a scowl.
fuck 'em! fuck 'em. fuck them, anyhow.
There was a little spark of rage blossoming in her chest, and she tended it as a preferable alternative to whatever else she might have felt. She knew what to do with rage. Rage was manageable, familiar, comfortable.
"'S'fine," she lied, taking her clothes. "They're randos, who cares." She shrugged. "I watcher dog when she's bangin' m'friend. Ain' m'business what'll she gets up to when she ain't losin't racers." Kreska held her clothes against her chest, too self-conscious now for any absent-minded stripping. "Ain' like'm friendly wi'th'Alliance, neither," she added. "Grilka'n't friends'th snitches." She frowned as she realized there was a flaw with this statement. "Yeh, ey is," she corrected with disgust. "But I don'—'ey." Her brow furrowed.
"She's datin' Ixaaliot," she said, overpronouncing his name. "Snake's already in'erested in 'er cuzza't. She's got secrets, I ain' th'one t'worry 'bout. Her line o' work an' a nosy snake, ey's not gonna be lookin' t'me if ey wants t'poke at her. Yanno?" Kreska had sidled easily from 'indignant' to 'concerned'. Ixaaliot had enough trouble with his love life when they didn't seem to have secret shady ships sitting around. The less she knew about that, the better, she was sure. What she didn't know might hurt her, but at least it wouldn't be her own fault.
fuck 'em! fuck 'em. fuck them, anyhow.
There was a little spark of rage blossoming in her chest, and she tended it as a preferable alternative to whatever else she might have felt. She knew what to do with rage. Rage was manageable, familiar, comfortable.
"'S'fine," she lied, taking her clothes. "They're randos, who cares." She shrugged. "I watcher dog when she's bangin' m'friend. Ain' m'business what'll she gets up to when she ain't losin't racers." Kreska held her clothes against her chest, too self-conscious now for any absent-minded stripping. "Ain' like'm friendly wi'th'Alliance, neither," she added. "Grilka'n't friends'th snitches." She frowned as she realized there was a flaw with this statement. "Yeh, ey is," she corrected with disgust. "But I don'—'ey." Her brow furrowed.
"She's datin' Ixaaliot," she said, overpronouncing his name. "Snake's already in'erested in 'er cuzza't. She's got secrets, I ain' th'one t'worry 'bout. Her line o' work an' a nosy snake, ey's not gonna be lookin' t'me if ey wants t'poke at her. Yanno?" Kreska had sidled easily from 'indignant' to 'concerned'. Ixaaliot had enough trouble with his love life when they didn't seem to have secret shady ships sitting around. The less she knew about that, the better, she was sure. What she didn't know might hurt her, but at least it wouldn't be her own fault.