|Just a Short Trip|
|Summary:||In the days following the shooting at the Rockhopper's, some of the witnesses decide to get away from
Ungstir. A trip to Quaquan ends up leading to another kind of trip entirely for two of them.
|Cast:||Alistair, Kastaprulyi, Kurtz, Swiftfoot, Wiendrbac|
|Coffee Man House And Cafe <Resilience: Ungstir>|
This is a large room, full of mood lighting that can be adjusted to suit the atmosphere needed at the present moment. Scattered around the dark gray granite floor are bare chairs and tables, mostly made of black strips of metal that resemble patio furniture. The walls of the carved chamber are carved so that they resemble bricks. At one end of the room is a wooden stage with a couple spotlights that can shine on it. At the opposite side of the chamber is a wooden bar. While there is limited seating at the bar, the main sitting area seems to be at the tables. Behind the bar is a menu, showing the products and prices. At the top of the menu is the words 'Coffee Man House' with the last 'e' on a cartoon-ish mug of coffee.
The general level of activity is fairly low, it being so late at night. Of particular notice is an orange-furred, female Demarian sitting at a table at the far end of the establishment, a seemingly-forgotten mug on the table in front of her. She works intently with a sketch pad and pencil, paying little to no attention to the people around her.
The Artemis has been fed recently, or so Alistair's presence would seem to indicate--it's hard to imagine the Specialist chef leaving the ship if there's still food to be made. Now, he's filling downtime in one of the best ways he knows, with coffee and a dog-eared paperback. After ordering, he finds a table in the back and sits down.
The Demarian keeps drawing intently. Scribble. Scribble. Frown. Erase, erase. Scribble, scribble. After a few minutes of this, she gets a startled look on her face, and seems to remember the mug on the table, taking a long drink from it and looking around the establishment. She spots the Specialist and waves a paw vaguely in greeting.
Alistair leans back in his seat and sips at his coffee, opening his book--the spine says "The Vanished Man", superimposed over a human silhouette--and glances up as Swiftfoot waves. In return, he smiles a little, lifts a hand tentatively, and goes back to his book.
Smiling in return, Swiftfoot takes another swig from the mug on her table, and grimaces slightly. She puts the mug down and picks up the pencil again, returning to her drawing.
A few minutes pass, and Alistair glances up with increasing frequency, finally giving into his curiosity and unobtrusively moving close enough to see what the Demarian is drawing.
A line placed here and there, a little bit of shading, and the figure starts to become clear. The Demarian is working from a sketch, filling it in from the basic form. It appears to be a humanoid female, seated on the floor, playing a game of solitaire.
For a moment or two the Specialist watches, and then speaks quietly. "That's pretty good..."
Swiftfoot looks up from her work. "Meh? Oh, hey, thanks. I thought you werre rreading, didn't expect you to come overr orr I wouldn't have been so rrude. I guess I was just lost in my worrk." The Demarian chuckles, eyeing the drawing critically. "It's not done, I'm just finally getting a little time to fill in some verry old sketches."
"If you say so," answers the Specialist, glancing around a bit awkwardly. "I guess I wouldn't be able to tell--I can't draw."
Swiftfoot looks up at the Specialist, one eyeridge quirked. "You surre as heck can cook. I can't do that to save my life." The felinoid chortles in obvious glee. "Last time I trried to cook, we ended up having to rreplace a couple of pans..." she trails off, giggling.
Alistair smiles. "The poor pans," he remarks, looking a bit more at ease as the subject shifts to one he's more familiar with. "Although, it's probably because I was made to cook, and not made to draw."
Swiftfoot chuckles and nods. "The poor pans indeed." She works absently on the drawing, not as intently as before, now splitting her attention between that and the conversation. She glances over at the mug on the table, then reaches for it and takes a drink. "Damnit," she states flatly, pulling a face as she pushes the mug into the middle of the table.
Wiendrbac slowly wanders in, typing away on his datapad, brows pulled down into a look of great concentration.
"Oh, cold coffee," Alistair says sympathetically. "I know how that is." He pauses a moment or two and asks, "Who's that in the drawing?"
Swiftfoot adds a little more shading to the face, bringing out the eyes. "Mika Tachyon. It's a sketch I started back on the Orrphic," she says simply, offering no additional details. "And yeah, cold coffee sucks." The Demarian snorts.
Wiendrbac moves slowly, tapping the screen with a stylus, sighing as he does so. Then he slides the small object away, looking over the patrons of the cafe house.
Alistair nods. "The coffee's actually very good here," Alistair says--high honors. "It's rare finding a place that doesn't serve bad coffee. The pastries could use some work, though." Noticing Wiendrbac, the Specialist waves.
Swiftfoot nods. "I like it myself. Can't say I'm any kind of a conoisseurr orr anything, but it -is- good." Picking the sigh and the tapping of the stylus out of the general background noise, the Demarian swivels an ear in that direction to listen, but doesn't look up from her work.
Wiendrbac catches the wave, returns it, and moves over to join the two.
"It's hard eating out when you've got perfect taste," answers the Specialist with a shrug. "Hello, Captain. I've been meaning to ask you about the Artemis's food stocks."
Swiftfoot chuckles at the Specialist's comment, then looks up as he speaks to Wiendrbac. She waves, pencil in hand, and flicks her tail in greeting, then goes back to the drawing, now working on the hair.
Wiendrbac nods to the pair of them, taking a seat. "Yeah? What's up?"
"Well, it's not that they're /bad/..." the Specialist says, glancing away and seeming reluctant to finish the sentence.
"Fine." Wiendrbac saids, laying his arms on the table, before laying his head down on his arms "Go buy us some more then. I don't mind, just send the bill my way." Swiftfoot, Alistair, and Wiendrbac all share a table or are right beside each other at the counter.
Scribble, scribble, scribble. Swiftfoot is working intently with a pencil and a sketch pad, paying little attention, as the conversation has wandered away from her.
"Are you sure?" Alistair asks, tilting his head and frowning. "Because I can spend a whole lot."
"Whatever." Wiendrbac mutters, face down in his arm. "tis cool."
Kastaprulyi slips into the cafe, scattering a bit of purple light as it pauses by a lamp. The young Centauran sends a feeling of greeting to its crewmates as it notices them, and accelerates over in their direction.
Swiftfoot looks up from her drawing, lowering the sketch pad to the table. Looking across the table at Jack, she quirks one eyeridge. "What's on yourr mind, Jack?"
Kurtz enters into the coffee shop just behind the Centauri, taking a quick glance at the typically spartan Ungstiri decor. He looks around until he spots the crew as Kas moves towards them.
"Nothing." Jack murmurs from his trap of flesh, adjusting his position slightly. "Just don't feel good. I want off Ungstir."
"Where do you want to go?" inquires Alistair. "Ungstir's not really very good for buying food. Sivad would be best, but there are other places that'll work."
Kastaprulyi silently greets Kurtz as it slips up behind and to the side of Wiendrbac. "Hello..." Kas offers hesitantly aloud as it pauses. "Will we find somebody else for searching like Newt said?"
"Howdy gents," says Kurtz as he reaches the table. The Earther pulls out a seat and flops into it, sticking his booted feet onto the table top and crossing his hands behind his head.
Swiftfoot eyes Jack, reaching across the table to place one of her paws on his arm. "If you just want to take off for a couple days or so, get away frrom everrything, we can. I... I'm fairrly disturrbed myself, I'm just trrying not to think about it. Hence..." the big cat holds up her sketch pad and pencil.
"I offered to take the girl in, Kas. They wouldn't let me, remember? 'eya Cowboy." He slides up from his bent over position, nodding at Swiftfoot, offering a thankful smile. "I'm thinkin' La Terre, Qua, or that Sivadian amusement park place. Deserata? What you guys think?"
"Qua first would be nice," Alistair suggests, glancing around the table and smiling a little at Kas. "Then we can go wherever. I know that Qua has vendors that'll work for food."
"The Artemis headin' out somewhere?" asks Kurtz. He waves over a waiter and orders a cup of plain coffee. When the drink is delivered, the engineer removes a silver flask from his vest and pours some liquid, that looks and smeels curiosuly like booze, into the cup. As Alistair speaks, Kurtz looks over. "Long flight just 'fer some chow."
Swiftfoot brings her paw back across the table, taking up the pencil again and making a few absent swipes with it. "Not that it's any of my business orr anything... Quaquan was nice. Quiet. Kind of a back to basics thing, ya know? The only place I've been on Sivad was to a hospital." The felinoid chuckles. "And as I mentioned beforre, I've neverr been to La Terre." She shrugs, adding a few more pencil strokes to her drawing.
"Newt seemed worried about people putting the girl somewhere wrong," Kas points out uncertainly, seeming a bit distracted from the talk of travel. "Maybe people who aren't doing arresting right at all might mess up that too... Somebody checking on the girl seems like a good idea..."
"How do you suggest we find her, then, Kas? Pull out a magic wand and sprinkle ourselves with Zangali dust? She's already been taken in by someone else, better or worse, we can't worry about her... this factory thing though, I wonder what that is..."
"They didn't say it like just any factory," Alistair says quietly, looking thoughtful. "It sounded to me more like it was a specific place..."
"An mining facility or an ore proseccing plant 'er sumthin' like that?" offers Kurtz. "Why did the Militia want 'ta kill that guy anyway? What'd he do?"
Swiftfoot shrugs vaguely, eyes still on her work. "It seemed more like Factory. With a capital 'F', meh? I'm not even surre what a 554 is, to tell the trruth. Apparrently it's bad." The felinoid sighs, and puts the sketch pad down face-up on the table, and lays the pencil beside it.
"We could look up the man's number, the man's genes," Kas explains. "And Doctor Fressinet seemed upset about hearing the Factory place."
"Do we have anything to compare the DNA against?" asks Alistair. "I mean, having a good read of it isn't very useful if we don't have a match for it..."
"Maybe Cap'n Ranix would know," suggests Kurtz, speaking again. "She's seems like a gal that would be pretty connected and knowin' what's goin on 'round these parts with the gov'ment and such."
"Didn't say.. and doesn't sound right. They were taking the 'body' to the Factory, and this is Ungstir, they don't bury them here, that much is certain." Wiendrbac rubs at his brow. "Maybe we'll have to look into it, while we're off briefly..."
Swiftfoot flicks an ear and nods. "If I can help at all, let me know. What I -do- know is, I want to get the hell off this rrock, at least forr a little bit. If you guys don't mind, maybe I'll tag along wherreverr it is you decide to get off to." The felinoid shrugs vaguely.
"Are there things you don't eat?" asks Alistair curiously, glancing at the door. "Actually, could you tell me later? I'm starting something for dinner tomorrow..."
"I guess if we didn't find out stuff about that factory, we'd have to wait for the police's explaining what their investigation learned about." Kas comments thoughtfully. "Talking with Captain Ranix seems like a good idea." The young Centauran 'listens' with a touch of discomfort after that, broken by an interested feeling at the mention of a passenger.
"What about that varmint Barlov?" asks Kurtz, taking a swig of his 'coffee.' "That there unlawful lawman obviously works 'fer the 'Factory.' Maybe we could get some info outta him somehow?"
Wiendrbac stares forward for a second, frowning at nothing in particular, before shrugging. "If ya wanta come along, come along. I'm going by Quaquan, then maybe La Terre for a bit. Now. I'm sick of this deathtrap, it's politics, and it's cops." He scoots back in his chair, tossing down a tip for the right to use up space, heading for the exit. Any other questions that may or may have been directed at him, are ignored.
Swiftfoot frowns, taken aback by the outburst. "Jack, I.... fuck," the felinoid mutters, mostly to herself. She watches with wide eyes as Wiendrbac stalks out.
Kurtz guzzles the last of his spiked coffee and tosses a ruble on the table for payment. "Wait up John," he says as he gets to his feet, moving to follow Wiendrbac.
Kastaprulyi returns a feeling of worried agreement to Kurtz. Kas falls back from Wiendrbac with surprise and concern, taking a moment before it speaks up with a wish of "Be well..."
Swiftfoot belatedly stands up from her seat, picking up her pad and pencil, tosses a few bills on the table, and runs out the door.
|Ungstir Landing Pad <Resilience: Ungstir>|
Rough hewn walls of iron and basalt, grooved by machinery used to carve this spaceport facility out of the glinting black and gray rock, rise on all sides and arches above of the broad pad that provides ample room for starships to rest during their stay on Ungstir.
Bright sulfurous lights seem to cast the chamber in permanent daylight despite the gloomy darkness and stars that loom beyond the huge portals, protected by the hazy shimmer of the prot's atmospheric containment fields. Through the force screens, silhouetted by the glow of the distant star Perseverance, one can make out the rolling, drifting shapes of rocks and planetoids - remnants of the world to which this chunk once belonged.
Squat, dark-haired technicians with pale skin and gruff demeanors move from ship to ship, checking fuel levels and mechanical fitness of the vessels. An archway leads out of the landing facility and into the city of Resilience, via the customs station.
Several large bays are set aside for ship maintenance and repair, serving as a general purpose drydock facility.
You can hail a Transport Rockhopper from this location. Type +hopper/hail.
Wiendrbac enters the landing field, cutting a beeline for the refueling console, already drawing out payment for the right to refuel his ship.
"I'm taggin' 'long," says Kurtz, already withdrawing a cigarette and lighting up as Wiendrbac fuels the ship. "'Thena ain't goin' nowhere, so I guess y'all might need a good engineer."
Swiftfoot lopes in from the customs station and practically skids to a stop in front of the refueling console as well, but does not move to refuel the Jackal. "Hey.... Jack, did I say something wrrong back therre?"
Wiendrbac nods his head at Kurtz, before turning back to Swiftfoot, reaching out to pat her on the arm. "It's not you, it's.. this." Wiendrbac makes a motion at Ungstir around him. "The most unhappy planet there is in the universe, everyones so worried about being tough this, and tough that, it's… depressing. Even the Sivadians are better." He studies the layout, shakes his head, "Looks like the Artemis is topped out anyway." He spots Kas following behind them. "You coming, Kas? You're welcome too."
"Yeah, I know partner," agrees Kurtz with a nod as he lets out a puff of smoke. "Everyone here should just cool their heels and have a nice stiff one." He shrugs. "Mars is worse, if that makes 'ya feel better."
Kastaprulyi slips quickly through the gap left by Swiftfoot, deccelerating more gradually than her as it approaches hesitantly. "Here's still mostly okay, besides bad stuff happening sometimes," Kas points out uncertainly. "I'm still assigned to Athena..." Kas explains. "Do you know where you're going now?"
Swiftfoot nods, relief spreading across her features. "If you don't mind, I'll just follow. I'd rratherr not leave the ship herre, in light of... rrecent events. Altheorr only knows what they'll starrt doing next in the name of the law." The felinoid shakes her head sadly, turning to look at the black and red freighter. She embraces Jack briefly, looking vaguely embarrassed as she pulls away and turns to board the ship. "I'm gonna go kick the old girl on, then."
<****Some time later****>
Quaquan Landing Pad <Four Corners: Atsehi Mesa, Quaquan>
Jutting out from the edge of the New Chapin Mesa, overlooking the jagged yellow gash of Honaghaaghni Canyon with its outlandish toothy peaks and furrows, this broad platform serves as a landing zone for incoming vessels.
Swiftfoot stands against the Jackal, the end of her tail flicking nervously, tapping her claws against the black and red ship's hull.
Wiendrbac strolls out of the Artemis, taking a deep breath of the planet's air. "Ahhhh..."
Swiftfoot grins and nods vaguely. "I know what you mean. Trrust me, I know what you mean. Ungstirr is ... stale."
Wiendrbac looks around, nodding. "Say… those velvets are still on board..." The La Terran face slowly breaks into a grin, only growing wider as he considers his proposal.
Swiftfoot quirks an eyeridge and eyes Jack mischievously. "You don't waste any time, do you?"
"I left because I wanted to get some fresh air and relax. Why the hell not? Experimentation is fun." Wiendrbac retorts, running a gloved hand through his hair.
Swiftfoot chuckles and glances over the Jackal and the Artemis in turn. "Okay, so... yourr place orr mine?"
"Mine is fine." Wiendrbac says. "Every time the Jackals come by, everyone get suspicious." He offers a cheeky wink, crossing his arms over his lean chest.
Swiftfoot bursts into laughter. "I wonder why," she muses, still laughing, an expression of faux-innocence on her face. "Smiling is grreat. It makes everryone wonderr what you'rre up to." The Demarian gives a faintly predatory grin.
Wiendrbac laughs in return, playfully slugging Swiftfoot in the arm. "I feel better already, thanks for comin' along, Swifty. Now follow me into my lair, said the John to the cat."
Swiftfoot smiles. "Not a prroblem. I think we all just needed to get away frrom.... yeah." The felinoid trails off, leaving the painfully obvious unsaid, and follows a few steps behind.
|Crew Quarters <VRM Artemis>|
The narrow passage opens up into a small wardroom. The space is ingeniously outfitted, the furniture and surfaces configured to serve either under nominal local gravity conditions, or that provided by the freighter's own acceleration. Furthermore the room is done in a light-grained wood panelling with brass accents and fittings. Flanking the wardroom are a set of personal sleeping niches, with each empty bunk module containing a bed with built in cabinetry and storage lockers. One of these sleeping compartments has been emptied of its normal furnishings and not sports a nautilus-style exercise machine bolted sturdily to the floor and ceiling in a gravity-from-ventral style. Forward, a fresher unit is located portside, while to the starboard is a complicated wall of intricate machinery and electronics that makes up the ship's kitchenette (+kitchen). The room is softly illuminated, gentle light flowating down from coves recessed into the dorsal and side wall framing. The deckplates have a brass sheen to them and are sturdy and and diamond gridded, providing a bright if utilitarian finish to the space.
Wiendrbac moves over to the bed, digging through his stuff. "Go ahead and grab a seat whereva ya like."
Swiftfoot eyes the surroundings. "You guys rreally need some furrniturre," she notes absently, taking a seat on the floor.
"I'm a firm supporter of natural habitats. I meditate sometimes, helps clear my mind... hard to do that on a couch, yeah?" Wiendrbac replies, "AHAH!" He pulls out a small big filled with a few of the small shrooms. "Here they are."
Swiftfoot chuckles. "I dunno. I'm not much forr meditation in itself, I guess. I pay little enough attention to my surroundings whenever I'm set on a task, like drrawing, or," the Demarian chuckles a bit, "explorring the ship's systems."
Wiendrbac moves forward, joining Swiftfoot in front of her, legs crossing in Quaquan style. "So.. I think we can rule out these are taken as suppositories... I think he said eat them."
Swiftfoot stifles a laugh. "I should hope they wouldn't be." She shifts a bit, ending up somewhat sprawled out on the floor. Sitting cross-legged seems to be out of the question.
Wiendrbac chuckles, taking two out of the bag, offering one. "Ummm, you first?"
Swiftfoot shrugs, taking the proferred mushroom and sniffing it experimentally. "Doesn't -smell- half-bad.... Hey wait, this was -yourr- idea, pal." The felinoid grins mischievously.
Wiendrbac sniffs at it, but with just a puny human nose, he can detect the fine nuances that Swiftfoot can. "Ok.. here goes." He stuffs the small bite-sized hallucinogen in his mouth, slowly beginning to chew. "'ey... it tastes pretty good too. Kinda got a wierd tang to it."
Swiftfoot takes another experimental sniff, shrugs, and down the hatch it goes. She chews thoroughly and swallows, a vaguely nonplussed look on her face. "Yeah, you can say that again. Strrange..."
"Well these aren't anything. Dude made them out to be the shit." Wiendrbac saids, taking out another one. "I'll just buy these and tell Alistair to use them as toppings. Wanta another one?" He extends the bag, quirking an eyebrow.
Wiendrbac snorts, flipping another one down the hatch, grinning broadly as he chews it up. After a second of consuming, he opens his mouth, displaying the inside to all the glories. "All gone."
. Swiftfoot pulls a face of mock-disgust. "I think I just saw yourr dinnerr." She snickers and selects another mushroom from the bag, repeating her earlier performance of sniffing it before putting it in her mouth.
Wiendrbac laughs, pulling out a pair. "Mmmm, you should come smell my breath then, onion-covered omlette, yummy." The La Terran shoves the first one down, followed closely by the second. Then shakes the bag. "All out... well, that was a suprising amount of disappointment."
Swiftfoot snorts. "I can smell it well enough from herre, thanks. Nearrly knocked me out," she retorts, a smirk on her face. "Meh, what can you say?" She shrugs vaguely.
"Right." Wiendrbac reaches into his pocket, digging around briefly, before pulling out a pack of cards. "Say, wanna play a game of poker?"
"Sure," the felinoid answers. "Don't worry, I wasn't arround Mika long enough to pick up herr... ahem... trricks," she says, quirking one eyeridge.
"Good. She struck me as a cheat." Wiendrbac saids, offering her the deck. "Go ahead and deal, yeah?"
Swiftfoot giggles. "You have no idea. That's why she played solitairre on the Orrphic, and I sketched. She'd have played me into the floorr," the felinoid chortles, shuffling the deck. "What are we playing for?" she queries, looking across at the La Terran.
Wiendrbac blinks rapidly, as if clearing his vision, before refocusing on Swiftfoot. "What did ya have in mind?"
Swiftfoot snorts. "I was asking you, ya goof." Tilting her head to the side inquisitively, she sizes Wiendrbac up again. "You surre you'rre okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good." Wiendrbac reaches into his pocket, drawing out a wallet.. "Ummm, a little bit of money, tictacs... some pictures, got my clothing too.
Swiftfoot stifles a giggle. "If we'rre playing -that- kind of carrd game, I'm afrraid I have an unfairr advantage." She digs through one of her pockets, coming up with about the same. "Hmm. A few crredits, oh hey, therre's my commlink...."
"I got one of those too!" Wiendrbac saids, pulling the object off his belt, and laying it in his pile. "Oh.. and my earring." He pulls a small stud out of his left ear, putting it down. "I think we got enough to go with it right now." His eyes are drawn to the kitchen, frowning briefly, before glancing back toward Swiftfoot.
Swiftfoot quirks one eyeridge. "Somethin wrrong?" She commences the same process, taking the set of tiny gold earrings out of her ears carefully, but lingers over the bracelet. "I... I can't put this out therre. Its... it's imporrtant to me," she finishes lamely, her paw over the item of jewelry in question.
"No, that's fine." Wiendrbac saids with a large grin, eyes clouded slightly. "Deal 'em out, sexy. Let's get it started up in here. The card game that is."
Swiftfoot chuckles and eyes the La Terran, her whiskers bristling in amusement. She deals out a hand, five cards apiece. "Five card drraw sound okay? Nice and simple."
"Right, I know five card draw." Wiendrbac responds, waiting patiently.
Swiftfoot snickers at nothing in particular, and looks her cards over. "Hmmmmmm...." she muses, the sound trailing off into a low, gravelly sound, almost a growl.
Wiendrbac swoops up the cards, after a second’s confusion, looking them over. "Hmmmmm..." His considering tone is nearly the same as Swiftfoot, as he studies his hand.
Swiftfoot puts two cards to the side and draws two more. With a grin and an amused bristle of her whiskers, she looks across to Jack, seemingly having a bit of trouble focusing on him despite his close proximity. "Yourr turrn. You need any?"
Wiendrbac continues staring at his card, one falling from his grip as he loses focus, and repeats the same sound he made as he first began to consider the hand the furry dealer dealt him, not processing her question. "Hmmmmmm...."
Swiftfoot quirks an eyeridge and scrutinizes the La Terran closely. "Hey. Jack. Yeah, you. You'rre in outerr space therre, buddy." The felinoid stifles another giggle and reaches across with her free paw to poke at Wiendrbac's knee.
Wiendrbac head darts back up, glancing around wildly. "We're under attack!" The cards flutter from his hands, displaying a hand not even worth bothering with, whipping the pistol from his holster, whipping it to point at the kitchen. "Get down, Swifty!" Yeah, outer space.
Wiendrbac swings his pistol back and forth, following invisible specters and colorful sounds. Blink. The Ungstiri model pistol drops to his side, the La Terran looking wild and confused, "But... I saw them. Guys in pink hats with big assault rifles."
Swiftfoot is consumed with another gale of laughter, completely unable to speak. The pistol drops from her paw as she curls up on the floor, howling and holding her sides.
"What?" Wiendrbac saids, stuffing the weapon away, making his way in an unsteady gait toward Swiftfoot. "Oh, it's har har, make fun of me, huh? Fine." With that, he leaps on top of the prone Demarian, attempting to pin her and apply the ancient art of tickle me.. demarian? That move, yeah.
The Demarian's laughter stops, replaced by a single high-pitched yowl as Jack pounces, trying her damnedest not to be tickled. In the struggle, her Sivadian pistol is kicked further away, far out of reach.
Wiendrbac laughs, pushing a paw away as it attempts to shove him off, gloved hands scrabbling and darting. Of course, it's fortunate the pistol got kicked away, since the Demarian made her approval on this style of rough housing clear the last time with a blunt pistol to the face technique.
Swiftfoot pushes Jack's hands away with her paws as quickly as she can, but her reflexes aren't exactly what they should be. She tries to speak between gales of laughter, but fails miserably, so she starts scrabbling backward with her feet in an attempt to scoot out from under the La Terran.
Wiendrbac's legs trap around one of hers, lessening mobility for the large Demarian. With that out of the way, he continues his ruthless tickling. "Say Jack is the best!"
Swiftfoot continues laughing helplessly, struggling as best she can. "No... way!" she manages to gasp, still scrabbling for purchase with one foot, her tail lashing madly. ooc Yeah.. no kidding.
Wiendrbac laughs back, her resistance only doubling his effort, gloved hands ruthless machines of tickling mayhem. "Say it!"
A high, keening yowl escapes the Demarian as she redoubles her efforts, twisting in ways that just shouldn't physically be possible, or at least wouldn't be for most humans. She trails off into another gale of laughter. "Alrright. You. Win," Swifty gasps, flopping back. "Jack. Is. The. Best." The mere words set off another giggling fit.
Wiendrbac rolls off the Demarian, breathing deeply. "I know." He bust out in a more masculine set of chuckles, weakly, catching his breath. A hand reaches over to scratch at the fur on top of the head, quickly withdrawing. "Thanks for thinking so too."
Swiftfoot snorts and lays on the floor, gasping. She looks over at the victorious La Terran and flips him the bird. "You'rre number one," she growls, a mischevious smile on her face, then breaks out into another giggling fit. "Owwwwwww..." she moans, holding her sides and laughing.
Wiendrbac laughs again at Swiftfoot's response, eyes still lightly clouded, despite the adrenaline rush. "I feel wierd. I think I'll reconsider ordering those on a pizza after all."
Swiftfoot snickers and lays back, staring at the ceiling, one paw going to her head. "Jack, why is the ship moving? Arre we going somewherre?"
"I... don't know." Wiendrbac says, sitting up, glancing around. "I thought I turned security back on." A few seconds later, and he rises unsteadily to his feet. "It does feel like it's moving though."
Swiftfoot groans and rolls over to her belly, getting all four of her limbs under her and groping around blindly for the Sivadian pistol, muttering to herself in Demarese all the while. Locating and securing the weapon back into concealment, albeit with some effort, she eyes Jack dubiously. "See? This is why you shouldn't leave yourr ship unlocked," the Demarian scolds, shaking one finger unsteadily.
"Oh shuddup, Swifty. People are stealing my ship and you're lecturin' me." He starts walking forward unsteadly, heading for the bridge. "I hope it's not a Nall. Those guys are mean."
Swiftfoot manages to get her seven-foot frame into a standing position -- briefly. Her legs don't quite cooperate, and she slides back down on the bunk, sitting down hard amid a flurry of giggles. She waves a paw vaguely at Jack. "Go ahead... I'll... I'll catch up." She stifles another laugh.
"You silly gooOOO-" Wiendrbac legs choose to give way as well, and he collapses to the floor. "Whoa, Maza's tits, My legs feel funny too."
Swiftfoot snorts, and gets to her feet a bit more slowly this time, drawing the pistol again. "Okay. Okay. I got it this time," she says, talking to herself, paws out wide to help her balance. Taking a few tentative steps, she offers the paw not holding the gun to Jack.
Wiendrbac takes the hand, rising to his feet. "I think I'll just go lay down instead, let whoever driving enjoy the ride. Not like they're gonna kick us off or anythin'." He starts to stumble toward the bed, rubbing at his eyes.
Swiftfoot snorts again, and staggers toward the forward hatch. "Yeah, yeah, I'll go check up frront myself, then," she mutters to herself, chuckling softly as she passes into the corridor beyond.