|A Man of Morals|
|Summary:||Two Demarians make their way to Ungstir|
|You see a tall black spectre that resembles, on closer inspection, an immense (over seven feet at least), bipedal panther. With the exception of a dark red line that runs from snout to tailtip, this Demarian is jet black; his coat is cut short, giving him a sleek profile. Grey eyes contrast his fur color with a grim intensity. The feline bears himself well, with a proud, but not haughty, air about him. His massive frame and powerful limbs are encased in a loose-fitting, navy blue jumpsuit.|
|Swiftfoot is a fairly typical Demarian in both appearance and stature. That is to say, she's a bipedal felinoid, closely resembling the common domestic cat, and is approximately seven feet in height. Her exact build is difficult to ascertain, as she's covered by about eight inches of fluffy cream and white fur. Her dark pink nose is framed on either side with long, white whiskers. Eyes as bright as molten gold are set admist a series of barely-visible pale orange stripes, laid out in a classic tabby pattern -- markings on the forehead, and at the outside corners of the eyes. The rest of the visible orange fur is similarly striped, with her paws, throat and chest being pure white. A thick ruff surrounds her head and shoulders, lending itself to her fluffy appearance. The very tip of her orange-striped tail is just as snow white as her paws and chest.|
|Swiftfoot's attire seems to be more geared towards comfort than style, but still manages at least some vestige of the latter. Khaki shorts cover her legs to about mid-thigh, leaving a startlingly long expanse of orange-striped legs visible. Her white-furred, digitigrade feet are bare, as usual. A sleeveless, olive-colored shirt is tucked into the shorts, and the whole lot is cinched in by a brown leather belt, tooled with a pattern of stars. A khaki vest, riddled with pockets, tops off the outfit. The vest doesn't sit quite right on the left side, indicating that there might be something concealed within. The only jewelry evident on the Demarian is a golden bracelet around her left wrist, and a pair of tiny golden earrings dangling from her pointed, feline ears.|
|Cockpit <IND Jackal>|
The hatchway opens up to a small metal platform which overlooks a compact command center. Light filters out from hidden coves, evenly illuminating the bridge consoles. A rainbow of telltales and monitors add a touch of color, breathing life into the maze of metal and machinery. A few steps down, the main terminals are arranged in a rough semicircle, following the curvature of the ship's bow. Twin stations centered beneath the main canopy face forward, while another pair face the port and starboard, situated on either side of the cockpit just before two bulky turrets outfitted with the gunnery controls and targeting computers. The whole space is tight-packed, with little room to move when all positions are occupied.
The bridge of the ship twinkles with myriad lights, every console reflecting hues of green. The ship's interior lighting is low, making the displays even more noticeable. At the front of the bridge lurks a shadowy form, clearly Demarian. As the hatch cycles open, Swiftfoot turns around, sending a glance behind her. "Hey, I thought I'd see you eventually."
Razorback smiles, looking about the cockpit with keen interest. "I hope you do not mind my coming up herrre. I have neverrr been in the cockpit of a sship."
Swiftfoot grins, her eyes glinting red-gold in the low light. "Not at all. If you'rre going to go along with us on this little 'mission', you'll need to get used to the crramped conditions. It's not easy when you'rre this tall, trrust me." She sends a brief glance over all of the consoles. "Looks like everrything's a go. Whenever you want to get going is fine."
Razorback chuckles quietly, "I am rrready when you arrre." His gaze travels over the consoles, as if categorizing them.
Swiftfoot eyes the dark-furred Demarian, her whiskers bristling. "That's navigation, engineerring, and communications," she says, pointing to each respectively. "I'm surre you know what gun turrets arre, so I won't insult yourr intelligence." She chuckles, making her way to the navigation station, and easing herself into the seat.
Razorback nods silently, cataloging the information. "Quite interrressting."
The orange-furred Demarian fastens her safety restraints, then looks back over her shoulder at Razorback. "You might want to take a seat, chief. She's a good birrd, but it can still get a bit bumpy taking off."
Razorback makes his way to one of the side workstations and buckles himself in, swiveling the seat around so as to see through the viewport.
Swiftfoot nods and winks, then places her paws on the flight controls and angles the Jackal steeply out into the sky.
Razorback looks out the viewport, watching space fly by before them.
As the spindrive engages, Swiftfoot surveys the consoles one last time before looking back over her shoulder at the other Demarian. "So what do you think so farr? Of the view, that is. And the ship, forr that matterr."
Razorback nods, looking about, "Sshe's quite a thing." He unbuckles the safety harness but stays seated.
Swiftfoot looks back over her shoulder again. "You betterr believe she is," she observes with a grin. "Hope you don't mind the crramped quarrterrs. She's a big ship, surre, but most of it is carrgo space."
Razorback chuckles, "I do not mind. Bessides, we have not verrry farrr to go."
Swiftfoot grins slyly. "Good. If you minded being stuck in close quarrterrs with me, I figurred we might rrun into prroblems later, meh?" She chuckles to herself. "We can get you all set up with a bunk and everrything, if you'd like to stay on boarrd forr the time being. Betterr than paying forr a place to lay yourr head."
Razorback chuckles quietly, tearing his gaze away from the view outside to the view inside. He grins, "I'd certainly appreciate that."
"Don't you get any ideas. I'm a good girrl," Swiftfoot mock-growls, shaking a scolding finger at Razorback. The pseudo-frown, however, doesn't last long, and she breaks into a laugh. "Well, sometimes I am, anyway."
Razorback looks away for a moment at a nearby metal wall. When he brings his gaze back he grins again. "I sshould be inssulted. Yourrr honorrr is quite ssafe with me."
Swiftfoot waves a paw vaguely, her whiskers bristling in amusement. "I'm only playing. You don't think I'd let you on boarrd if I didn't trrust you, do you?" She tilts her head to the side, chuckling. "I'm going to have to get used to having a male arround that's actually got a sense of morrals. It's rrefrreshing."
Razorback chuckles briefly, though there is a faraway look on his face, "Therrre cerrrtainly arrre not many who ssee things that way anymore."
Swiftfoot nods sadly, rubbing a paw across the back of her neck. "You don't have to tell me that. Prreaching to the choirr, as they say." She looks up, seemingly only just noticing that the ship has dropped back into real space. "Ah, therre we arre. Ungstirr, how I missed thee." She snorts softly, then puts her paws to the controls. "You'll want to either strrap in orr hang on."
Razorback looks up and out the viewport again, a bit surprised himself. He quickly buckles the harness again and watches the large rocks come at them.
Swiftfoot flicks an ear as she hears the restraints snap into place, grins slyly, and veers the ship suddenly towards the inner system in a wide arc.
If the male Demarian is having any twinges of motion sickness, he seems to be quite adept at hiding it. He nods as the ship lands, unbuckling the harness again, "Nice job..." he comments.
Swiftfoot brings the ship to a complete stop on the tarmac, a relatively sedate landing after the somewhat wild entry. She reaches over and flips a switch, and the ship's drive drops in power, settling at a low hum. Only then does she respond simply with, "Thanks," and a grin over her shoulder, eyes again glinting red-gold in the low lighting.
Razorback grins back as he stands up. He sighs slightly, "Well, I did not think I would be back on thiss worrld so soon."
Swiftfoot unfastens the safety harness then stands, stretching as much as possible in the cramped bridge. "I don't parrticularrly like Ungstirr myself, to tell the trruth. Especially not afterr...." She trails off, looking at the viewscreen. "Once I'm done with this little job, we can get the heck off this rrock if you want to. I haven't been home in awhile, actually," she notes, a hint of contemplation in her voice. She scratches at her chin a bit, and shrugs. "Though, I'm surre you have a job to go back to on La Terre."
Razorback's face goes strangely blank for a moment, though whether it's the reference to the shooting, or the idea of going to Demaria, or the thought of the job on La Terre that triggers this reaction is somewhat unclear. His smile comes back after a moment, though. "My job on La Terrrrrre was not irrrrrreplaceable. That kind of worrrk is not difficult to find."
Swiftfoot tilts her head to the side inquisitively, blinking at the dark-furred Demarian's reaction. After a moment, she shakes her head slightly, starting to make her way to the hatch leading out to the main corridor. "You'rre prrobably rright... I hate to see you lose it, though, all that aside." The orange-striped felinoid shrugs, pausing in front of Razorback to put a paw to the side of his face. "Cmon, then, let's get you set up with a place to stay. I don't know about you, but I could do with a nap."
Razorback grimaces just a touch at the unspoken question, then reaches up to take the paw in his own, "Once you sshow me I will prrrobably go out and ssniff things out in the city." He turns in preparation to follow her.
Swiftfoot nods and heads out into the main corridor.
|Crew Quarters <IND Jackal>|
The narrow passage opens up into a small wardroom. This space is ingeniously outfitted; its furniture and surfaces configured to serve either under nominal local gravity conditions, or that provided by the freighter's acceleration. Flanking the wardroom are a set of personal bunk modules containing a bed with built-in cabinetry, storage lockers, and privacy screens. Forward, a compact efficiency kitchen is located starboard, while to the portside is a small refresher unit. Between the two we find a little fitness space with a punching bag and workout center and a cozy niche with a fold-out sleeper couch and holoviewer.
|Gentle light flows down from coves recessed into the dorsal and side wall framing, softly illuminating the room. Its deckplates are sturdy and diamond-gridded and provide a tough, rugged utilitarian feel, but what really completes the atmosphere is the bold, stylized jackal's head painted in fiery scarlet with bold, confident strokes on the hatches leading fore and aft.
The crew quarters of the Jackal are surprisingly tidy. Only one bunk is unmade, with a drawing pad sitting face-up on the pillow, and a pencil beside it.
Swiftfoot makes her way across to the unmade bunk, and flips the drawing pad closed, sliding the pencil into the spiral wire at the top of it, and setting it in one of the bunk's built-in drawers. She looks up at Razorback. "Go ahead and pick one. That one's Mika's, that one's Torr's, that one's Harrm's," she says, pointing out three bunks across from hers. "You prrobably don't want to sleep in any of those. Rrokke, he sleeps in the terrarrium overr there."
Razorback nods, swinging a knapsack that his player forgot to mention earlier onto a bunk that has not been pointed to. He looks over at Swiftfoot. "Arrre you ssurrre yourrr captain is not going to mind?" he asks, pausing.
Swiftfoot waves a paw dismissively and shakes her head. "If anyone asks, you'rre herre to help with ourr latest job, meh?" She chuckles, tipping a cheeky wink at the darker colored felinoid. "I'll give you the boarrding code, just in case you want to come back on when I'm not herre to deactivate the securrity. I don't feel comforrtable just leaving the locks off herre."
Razorback nods, smiling, "I do not blame you on that count." He looks around again before he nods, "Well, I had betterrr let you get to yourrr nap, yess?"
Swiftfoot chuckles and nods, yawning sleepily and stretching out completely now that she's got the space. She sheds her vest, laying it into a drawer, and climbs into her bunk, curling up in a rather large ball of orange and white fur, and pulling the covers up over her head. "Be carreful out there. It's not the most frriendly of places. Especially now," she says, her voice muffled beneath the covers.