Anime creators Atarashi Kaiketsu: The Final Frontier [Advanced Roleplay]

silverexorcist posted on Jan 26, 2017 at 08:44PM
Setting: In the year 3XXX, space travel is common and wide spread, with a great part of the galaxy populated and organized under an intergalactic accord known as the Xoeloe Treaty that ensures relative peace between the three major populated sections of the galaxy: the Galactic Empire (biggest, oldest, and most advanced, functioning under a single regime led by a high council), the Frontier Republic (a group of independent star systems allied based on mutual trade routes [Includes Earth]), and the Interstellar Sea (scattered planets outside the jurisdiction of the other two regions).

While the theme is sci-fi, whether it’s a monochrome style, cyberpunk, space western, or junker related all depends on the different planets’ cultures.

Celestial Gateways function like airports; they are highly regulated with topnotch security, transporting people and objects safely at speeds exceeding the speed of light. Space crafts serve a purpose similar to boats; seen as something from a past age even as scientific advances continue to make them viable for travel, used for cruising combat, and so on. Most come equipped with FTL travel.

Traveler’s Organization: An ambitious organization in the Frontier’s Republic, its base located in high earth orbit, with history that goes back over a millennia, finding its roots in the almost extinct profession of astronauts; military scientist/adventurers. Led by the Vizor, their goal is to explore, research, and understand the far reaches of space, uninhabited or underdeveloped planets, and the unknown mysteries that persist even close to home. They also function as a peace keeping force, or else known as bounty hunters that arrest criminals when the opportunity arises. They have individual crews that set out in space crafts to perform their duties. They are under a lot of scrutiny by the council of the Galactic Empire, who are passively opposed to the organization’s existence.

Characters: Though everyone will be, objectively speaking, an alien, most sapient beings will resemble homo sapiens, much like how DBZ handles aliens. Unique physiology short of that is encouraged. Unique exceptions are permitted, but are kept to a minimum.

Notable Planets:

Sfaira- A relatively small planet in a quiet star system, it is a part of the Frontier Republic. The planet is almost entirely grassy flatlands with a single fresh water ocean and countless rivers snaking throughout the lone continent. This modest planet is known for its lack of weather—winds constantly blow and the sky remains clear—and for the long straight roads that stretch between the distant cities. There aren’t many visitors. Those who do visit are usually people looking for peace and quiet or people testing their machines in the open fields away from prying eyes or ears. The planet is well-known among racing circles for having no speed limits on its empty roads.

Phatl Nebula- The densest nebula in the known galaxy, not much is known about it. It is home to an ancient race of aliens given the name ‘Phatlan’ and exists around a neutron star that releases unique radiation. This radiation lights up the nebula with an assortment of colors and makes it impossible for most organic beings to enter as well as preventing most methods of looking inside. The Phatl Nebula is decidedly off-limits, enforced by a stipulation in the Xoeloe Treaty.

Vholkik- A jungle planet in the Interstellar Sea, it is one of the most primitive planets possessing civilization. Home to the race known as the Knoqa, its two ethnic groups are embroiled in a fierce war. They worship two gods and fight for honor and duty because it’s in their blood, carrying no hatred for their enemies. Early space travelers and settlers were consistently attacked upon landing and rarely escaped with their lives.

Chrysler- A frozen planet located just a little too far from the sun in its star system in the Galactic Empire. Once covered in water, it has been several thousand years since the temperature has last risen above water's freezing point. Most of the ocean is frozen over into a snowy tundra. Towns and cities are located over thin areas of the sea where it is easy to thaw the ice and remove to salt. Rare sea life that has adapted to the weather lives in these waters. Days are short and nights run long.

Haskoh- One of three inhabited planets in the Cesus star system in the Interstellar Sea. It is a bright and colorful place known for its fine cloths and fabrics. Some of the most expensive and luxurious clothes and similar novelties are made using materials found on the planet. The culture is derivative of the Orient. Home to the Alatians.

Noebys- One of three inhabited planets in the Cesus star system in the Interstellar Sea. It’s surface is 99% water and shines a deep blue color. It has a dense atmosphere and humidity is high in most places. Civilizations among the different ethnic groups are divided between being based around islands and being deep at sea. The island cities are usually only half above water, with several tunnels in marshes and shallow lakes that lead out to the sea. Thanks to the hard work of Vespin, a major land based city was set up to encourage foreign interaction. Most ships at sea are for the use of tourists. The culture is derivative of Indian aesthethics.

Dukir- A tidal locked planet, it rotates at the same rate that it revolves around its star, leaving half the planet in a permanent state of night and the other, day. Located a little close to its star, the day side is mostly desert. Many precious metals can be found here, so mines and treasure hunters are a common sight. Civilization was built around wherever there was available water, mostly oases, caverns, and deep valleys hidden from the sun. The night side isn't nearly as barren, possessing some aggressively exotic vegetation that thrives without sunlight. Back in their history, before the discover of fire or electricity, the inhabitants gathered around luminous rocks that became the center for their culture. The planet is home to two races, both of which have various ethnic groups that depend one where they live.

Caizenbeis- A cyberpunk planet made up of a single, unified nation ruled by a despotic government. It's ruler is a councilman who's ancestor united the nation in the name of the Galactic Empire, attempting to rid the world of crime. The social order is unstable, as the socialist policies don't suit either the insatiably marginalized poor or the rich corporations that dominate the daily lives of the middle class. Its Gross Technological Level (GTL) is among the most advanced among populated planets, and therefore is the most abused.

Ashish- A planet in the Frontier Republic, it is home to the theocratic nation of Weydion, the center of the largest surviving intergalactic religion; Sonity. The planet's mantle is made up of hardened precious metals too sacred to mine and the people preach the importance of listening with your heart. The nation is home to the Chancellor, the religion's current leader, as well as one of the religions three hallowed Orators that can hear the 'One Voice'. Sonity is what popularized the terms "Standard" and "Atypical" in reference to races.

Mylphys- A planet in the Galactic Republic and home to the Queendom of Salwiska Patsh, it is one of the few inhabited locations within the GE's influence that is not a part of the actual empire, maintaining its independence by classifying itself as part of the Interstellar Sea. For several millennia, the matriarchy controlled the planet's government by uniting its people against incursions from the Galactic Empire, which have no only recently stopped with the Treaty of Xoeloe. The occupying race, the Whysks, are known for their eccentric appearance and fey-like behavior, as well as for the fact that, though compassionate they may be, they've enforced a strict slave system by dominating enemies of the queendom that ended up on the planet throughout history and converting them into second class citizens.

Karvign- One of the most technologically advanced planets in the known galaxy, its one government is one of the leading influences of the Galactic Empire. Its Gross Technological Level is in the top five. It's a technocracy where just about every problem is analyzed and solved with technology and one's worth as a citizen is determined by how well one can coexist with new technology. The different nations have differing values on what this means and elect their councilman based on who can unite these ideas best. The metropolitan planet shines like a moon due to being covered in massive chrome buildings that tower high, often sheathed in glass windows. There's a high population of Sivix here.

Uuveimestra: Known as the Elevator City, this ancient artificial planet has existed since the dawn of history, sitting at the center of the Galactic Empire. It's a Dyson Sphere, encompassing a star in its entirety, converting every bit of energy to power the massive structure and exporting the excess. The planet was made using complex architecture built by the Avvuun race, making it the first artificial structure in known existence. It's structured three dimensionally, so streets and buildings can be found above and below, making a 3D map necessary for navigation. It's home to the Galactic Empire's royal family, the Council, and Galactic University.

Woa: A lush planet that is technically deep within the regional territory of the Frontier Republic, it was found many years ago by Imperial scouts and became an official part of the Empire. It's known for it's uniquely lush environments and its rich resources that renew on at an unthinkable rate. It's inhabitants were never left wanting and rarely went to war. When they did, it was never over resources and usually involved major social disputes. It's races were once codependent, the Anivar being spoiled by the Gardru's worship and the Gardru's being fulfilled by the Anivar's emotional and spiritual stability. But upon being opened up to the rest of the galaxy, the two races have been locked in an intense race war, with the Gardru taking over the majority of their planet and the majority of the Anivar leaving to go elsewhere, maintaining only the former capital and the continent the city rests on.

Notable Alien Races:

Knoqa- Short, aggressive, and powerful. This race is full of violent aliens with yellowish skin. They are hairless all over their bodies, save for their head, eyebrows, and eyelashes. This makes them resemble prepubescent children, if you were to replace baby fat with sheer muscle. Their exact build varies, but they always consist of incredibly dense muscle. They live short lives, the eldest dying at forty-five, and live like fire crackers. They know no greater joy than fighting to their hearts content on the battlefield, breaking limbs and bleeding out. Strangely, they express their excitement like children acting like monsters. This cute, mirthful rage belies ferocity and strength that can rip titanium to shreds.

Glilf) The ethnic group of Vhlokik’s south, they worship a god of the wild and tell stories of how he was born from the mother earth and lived off of its bounty alone. Consequently, the Glilf rely entirely on nature to survive. They gather and hunt what they need, wearing only crude pelts from their triumphs. The only building they have is a single temple to their god. They are heavier and stronger than the Stont, relying heavily on intuition and what they feel is right. Fully grown adults can weigh upwards of one ton.

Stont) The ethnic group of Vhlokik’s north, they worship a god of craft and tell stories of how he overcame nature with strength of will and cunning. Consequently, they farm, tailor their own clothes, and use weapons in combat. Physically, they are lighter and weaker than the Glilf and possesses a dulled intuition. They are also slightly taller, some reaching five feet in height.

Chryslite- This race is effectively much like all others, except their metabolism is more aggressive and their bodies run several degrees hotter year round. They have a strong tolerance for the cold and don't have problem with tamer warm weather, but sweat more easily. Their bodies also filter salt more easily, though its still healthier for them to drink fresh water.

Alatian- This race is one of the distinctly non-primate races and one of three within the same star system. They evolved from rodents (including Lagomorpha) and are covered in fur with whiskers on their snouts. They are known for their sharp incisors, which can be broken off and sold for a good price. These incisors are central to their lifestyle, especially their main trade of working with fabrics. They have friendly relationships with the two nearby races who evolved from Squamata and Amphibious Cetacea.

Glealsy- One of the three distinctly none primate races residing in the Cesus star system, these people evolved from amphibious Cetacea . Their basic structure is anthropomorphic, and they have webbed fingers and toes. They have no body hair except for what grows from their scalp and they possess glossy, lubricated skin that allow them to move frictionless both in the sea and on land. Children have a small dorsal fit on their back that shrinks to a rounded bump with puberty. Generally speaking, Glealsy have more pronounced curves than Standard race, produced by the insulating layer of blubber lying just beneath their skin. They possess gills beneath their jaw line that connect to their lungs when they’re above water. When exposed to the air for long periods of time, usually exceeding 48 hours, they apply a special lotion to maintain their skin’s lubrication. The race is famed for being one of the healthiest among all races, boasting an average lifespan of nearly 200 years. Like the other two races in the star system, they can’t reproduce with other races.

Sivix- One of the non-hominid races and one of the even fewer inorganic ones, the Sivix are a race of A.I. that came into existence fairly recently, especially compared to other races. Historians place this at around the same time that the Avvuun ceased being a pure-blooded race. They inhabit mechanical bodies that they can switch between as easily as a person can change homes, though the preferred aesthetic varies. They have thought processes that lean toward people's, so they often tend toward bipedal bodies. The two major groups are KeeVac and Iixler.

Iixler) This group forms the majority of the Sivix. They value functionality and practicality over all else, so the bodies they use are almost exclusively robotic, including the anthropomorphic ones. They consider this to be their culture and have a naming convention that uses both letters and numbers.

KeeVac) Formed by an outspoken A.I. during a war several centuries prior, this group intends to humanize their form to more greatly resemble people, using bodies that have standard traits, such as a pliable face, hair, and an epidermis that looks like skin. They use comparatively normal names and are designed specifically to avoid the uncanny valley, with some being harder to differentiate from the standard races than others.

Malkeith- A race of displaced people now numbering a meager 3582 after their home planet was destroyed in an unknown calamity. They have porcelain skin and blank white eyes with no pupils. After reaching the age of 15, each stands at 5'8" with similar physique with very little variation, regardless of gender. Nearly all of them have adopted a subservient disposition following the destruction of their home and abandonment of their names, taking on numbers for identification instead. They've chosen masters to follow, scattering across the cosmos.

Iril- Living on Dukir's dark side, they all possess a very dark complexion and nocturnal vision. When naked, they can easily blend into the darkness, their teeth and eyes the only things visible due to reflecting light easily. Their most curious trait, however, is their uncanny ability to manipulate their age freely and appear as a child or old man if they choose. They have flexible, pliable bodies and a very intuitive body clock. The ethnic groups mostly vary in the tinge of color their skin has. Those that lived near the large concentration of luminous rocks have a greenish tint to their skin and those that lived further away, near the border between night and day, have a reddish tint to their complexion.

Hesmr- Living on Dukir's sunny side, they all possess very light skin. Those that come from the oases have silver hair while those that live in the more common valley cities have pitch black hair. They have an extra organ in their belly where they can store excess water that can last them for weeks if necessary. They don't sweat, so instead their bodies literally release heat their the pores like tiny fans, similar to a heat sink.

Whysk- A fey-like race, these people have skin tones ranging from blue to bright violet, most falling somewhere in the purple spectrum. They possess three pairs of arms, huge irises that dominate their eyes, and wings that match their hair in vibrant patterns and colors. Their standard for beauty traditionally weighs toward the most uniquely eye popping patterns, so the wings and hair tend to be a subject of vanity. These people do not age after the first decade, save for the gradual change in the patterns they possess. The members of this race all die from injury or disease at some point, with the oldest Whysk in history making it to the age of 2,000 years exactly before sickness took him. Historically, they are a feminist society, though the days of male subjugation and discrimination have since waned into an ugly memory.

Khrelan- A mysterious race of space parasites. They've existed for a long time and have no known place of origin. Their small numbers are scattered around the galaxy as tiny creatures resembling lice, making them extremely difficult to track down. Their numbers dwindled to the double digits after the Treaty of Xoeloe for unknown reasons. They burrow into their target's head and effectively take total control, seeing the world as their host would. Without a host, they go into a dormant state where they seek out another host on autopilot. They're vulnerable in this state, but extremely difficult to kill. Strangely, they all have been reported to possess many leadership qualities.

Anivar~ This race of people have been known as the Gems of the Galaxy, characterized by their innate beauty. The women are considered the most typically beautiful of any standard race in the Milky Way while the men are famed as being the best lovers. As a people, they tend to be a bit spoiled and lazy, having spent nearly their entire history in opulence without having to lift a finger. Before intergalactic travel was the norm, they were hailed as gods by the Gardru people, the race that shared their planet. The Anivar lived off of this worship without a care in the world, enjoying their long lifespan of 500 years along with the plentiful foods and homes built from what their rich lands provided in raw material. These people made amazing artists, from architects to painters, and seem to have a knack for learning new skills when they bother to put their mind to it. After the Galactic Empire came to their home and introduced them to the rest of the universe, most scattered to different parts of the empire to escape from the newfound feud with the Gardru race.

Gardru: A race of barrel shaped people, they possess bald heads and grow thick hair on their eyebrows that cover their eyes and thick mustaches. The men have a culture of well-groomed body hair to attract the opposite sex while women have typically held the more dominant position, being courted and choosing who wins their affection before taking the lead in a relationship. Their life worshiping the Anivar wasn't necessarily one of servitude, as they truly believed those beautiful, happy, long-lived people were actual gods. There was even a myth of how the first of their people owed their continued existence to a kind Anivar and their service was the natural payment in response to that. They are a people that smile wide and hate fiercely, so all that adulation turned to detestation when the Galactic Empire showed up and inadvertently revealed that the entire race had been tricked for millennia. Since then, a feud has existed between the two races and the Gardru have taken over 80% of the planet, driving away most of the Anivar race.

~
Phatlan- A highly intelligent colony living within the Phatl Nebula, they fit the classification of a Super Race. Their true form is that of a featureless anthropomorphic blob of space dust. They are all identical aside from the colored hue their bodies possess, varying depending on when and where they were specifically born, called a Hue. They can take whatever form is necessary for their job and are highly efficient. Their long history is known only to them and they are one of the few races capable of existing in the vacuum of space unassisted and are immune to the radiation given off of the neutron star in their nebula. They are isolationist, staying within their home without any intention of interacting with those outside. Why they decided to cut themselves off when the rest of the galaxy was connecting via the Xoeloe Treaty is a mystery.

Avvuun- Ancient Super Race predating most hominids, their civilization is said to be the foundation off of which the Galactic Empire was born. The emperor and his relatives are said to carry the race's blood, but otherwise they are extinct. Stories say that the Avvuun were beings of crystallized information and were the first to develop the concept of architecture, which they spread to early races, and sacrificed their continued existence for the perpetuation of what is now the Galactic Empire. How much of this is true is uncertain.

Qeteor- This race exists only in the oldest of stories passed down orally throughout the galaxy. What they were or whether they even existed is in deep contention. Stories about them are all over the place, inconsistent, and contradictory. The only proof that there may be any truth behind it all is the consistent use of the same name among planets and cultures that never came into contact in their history.
last edited on May 28, 2018 at 06:28PM

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over a year ago silverexorcist said…
I finally got around to making this. I'll start posting my characters in a little bit.
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
Beatrice Prescott

Age: 25

Appearance: Long blonde hair, busty, and curves in all the right places, she stands at 5’9”. Her well-toned body makes boyish clothes decidedly un-boyish. Her dirty blonde hair reaches her shoulders in gentle waves, looking like it’s cared for, but not pampered. She wears a tank top and an old aviator jacket that looks generations old, sporting patriotic symbolism on its back and shoulders. She wears cut off jean shorts and combat boots.

Personality: Beatrice is a thrill seeker, addicted to the rush of adrenaline she gets in exciting situations. She’s reckless, irresponsible, and brash. She gets along well with guys, sharing a lot of their hobbies, and developed a promiscuous personality. She’s loud and shameless, not fretting too much about what others think of her. She’s a notorious hugger, ignoring other people’s personal boundaries when expressing herself.

History: Born in South Carolina, Betty was raised on stories about the accomplishments of her ancestors who fought in the American Revolution, Civil War, the World Wars, and even one who was an early astronaut. She spent her summers in a second home that may as well have been a museum with all of the memorabilia that was held in it. By the time she hit middle school, she was going through a military nerd phase that was encouraged by her father. She spent little time with girls her age and bonded with a group of guys. She outgrew the phase by high school, becoming popular as an attractive girl hanging out with a primarily male group. Their outings started off with concerts and the beach, but quickly escalated to sports, then straight to extreme sports. Betty jumped over more cliffs than she could remember and fell in love with the weightless sensation and the wind blowing through her hair. She ended up taking the boys out to shooting ranges and the woods to teach them how to use guns and try hunting.

Her self-destructive rampage hit an obstacle when there was an accident and a member of her group of friends nearly shot his own foot off during one of their trips while she was getting comfortable in the cabin with a few of the other guys, and they had to cut their fun short and take him to the hospital. The police and all of their parents weren’t happy and they were all put on a short leash. Betty didn’t let herself be discouraged, however, and quickly made up her mind to see more of the world. As soon as she graduated from high school, she ran off to explore the world, backpacking across Europe and Asia. Her parents grew worried when she entered Africa and they didn’t hear a word from her, only for her to reemerge in South America nearly two years later.

When she came back, they saw that her trip had changed her while leaving her largely the same as when she left. There was a hungry look in her eye that made it clear that everything she’d seen just made her want to have even more fun. They resolved themselves to let their daughter go, since the planet was clearly too small to contain her. But before they could tell her their intentions, she voiced her desire to go space and join the Traveler Organization she’d heard so much about. It was a declaration, not a request for permission. Confident in the skills she’d picked up in her travels, she set out to the headquarters above Earth’s atmosphere and passed the test with flying colors.

Skills: She’s knowledgeable about a variety of military-related subjects, particular intergalactic war history and the equipment used. She’s effectively tried her hand at everything; piloting, navigating, close combat, and much more. She practiced consistently with plasma weapons and is a skilled gunner, able to man turrets and snipe long distances. She loves the feeling the feeling when explosions shake her very core.

Infection: Sight Manipulation- She can manipulate her own vision to see far distances, focus on small objects, and even survey entire locations from different perspectives as if she were having an out of body experience. If she spends too much time like this, she becomes unaware of her own surroundings, sacrificing her other senses like hearing and touch until the effect fades.
last edited over a year ago
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
Siphon Suennon

Age: 18

Appearance: Siphon is an average sized young man with dark curly hair. He wears a white collared shirt tucked into his grey pants. Sometimes he wears the uniform jacket. He wears a pair of dress sneakers, meant to look appropriate yet be practical at the same time. He carries a messenger bag with him. He has a fit body type. His apparent frail constitution and choice of clothing gives the impression that he’s not as firmly built as he really is.

Personality: Siphon is a good spirited, diligent individual. He’s not very outspoken and doesn’t leave much of an initial impression. Because of this, it’s easy to be thrown off by the intense resolve he shows when he sets out to accomplish any one thing. His best quality is his reliability, always delivering on what he promises. In spite of how kind he acts, he tends to be closed off. He keeps his problems to himself and tries to act as if everything is fine rather than pushing his problems onto others. His usual smile can seem sad at times, or a little strained. A real smile from him is a rare commodity.

History: Siphon was born and raised on Sfaira, a tiny planet in the Frontier Republic. He had a dull early life, living as a regular boy. The only significant memory he had from that time was the skylight he had in his room, through which he would always stare up at the stars until he eventually fell asleep. His parents were kind and loved him, so he never thought to ask for more. He read a lot of books that were brought from other planets and what he read fascinated him. He wanted to see the other cultures and planets that he read about and see new things. He focused hard on his studies, planning to get a job that would take him off planet and bring him around the galaxy.

His dream was cut short when a space ship came in from another planet, stopping to refuel along its delivery route. Siphon couldn’t help but head over to see it, wondering what they were transporting. When the workers accidently punctured a hole in one of the containers, the substance inside interacted badly with Sfaira’s atmosphere and sent spores into the air. Siphon was close enough to inhale them along with a dozen others, and immediately collapsed as his throat closed up, suffocating him. The fast response time of nearby medics saved his life, but there was no apparent recovery from what he’d been afflicted with. The spores had latched onto his respiratory system and periodically enflamed, causing his airways to contract.

Physical exertion became dangerous. Even though it acted like asthma, only a few specific treatments were usable. Siphon’s dreams of traveling through space were crushed due to his newly fragile constitution. Siphon fell into brief depression, snapping out of it after taking a night to research his condition as thoroughly as possible.

It was an allergic reaction to an old biological weapon created by a supposedly extinct race. This explanation interested Siphon, since the very same articles also said that this weapon could only be activated with the biological signature of said race. Whether by a surviving member of the race or with a piece of their remains, had the spores been set off on purpose? It also left a possibility for his recovery, if one of the articles was to be believed. Either way, there was only one way for him to learn for certain; he had to overcome his sickness and go to space to find out.

So he began training. Working out every day, keeping care track of his body’s progress, allowed him to become stronger and sturdier. The sickness never went away, but his spasms became less frequent and less violent. With medicine, it was totally in a control by time he graduated school. But instead of seeking higher education, he decided to set his sights on the Traveler’s Organization, intending to fulfill his ambition and seek out an answer all at once.

Skills: Besides being well-learned, the only truly applicable skill Siphon has is his strong body. Not taking his sickness into account, his strong cardiovascular constitution puts him leagues above most others thanks to his hard work. He can sprint at top speed for hours without much problem and jump just as easily. Along with his strong upper body strength, mobility comes easily to him. However, this all becomes moot when put in the face of his sickness. Exercise exacerbates his chances of having a fit, which vary in intensity. Otherwise, his willingness to learn and proactive attitude are his biggest assets.

Infection: Spatial Manipulation- New to his ability, the details and limitations are still being looked into. So far, he's been able to manipulate gravity to a degree.
last edited over a year ago
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
Vespin Sylphre

Age: Unknown

Appearance: Vespin comes from a race born straight out of stardust, all identical and possessing no unique features. They are all basic anthropomorphic figures before taking on a job. Once an occupation is chosen, they take on whatever the designated form for that job is and maintain it for as a long as needed. Changing forms takes approximately 36 hours and consumes a lot of energy, so it’s never done needlessly.

Though inherently genderless, Vespin’s current form is that of a seven foot tall woman with a short bob cut, square bangs, long limbs and fingers, perfectly balanced body proportions, and oriental facial features. Her orange irises glow slightly like miniature stars. She wears a black and white bodysuit that covers her entire body up to her neck, the pattern of colors and shapes making it greatly resemble clothing, gloves, and shoes. Over that, she wears the uniform long coat and pants, squarely cut to her body. She has a black bangle fitted around each of her wrists and ankles with a groove going along its circumference. She never changes clothes, so many people either assume that the clothes are a part of her and is somehow organic.

Personality: Vespin is the pinnacle of composure, down to her movements. Everything she does and says is deliberately controlled to be nonthreatening and reasonable, as if she’s constantly making sure not to provoke anyone she interacts with. This reflects both a fear of how she would act if she would lose control of her artificial mannerisms as well as concern toward how she would be viewed without them. Vespin has a strong work ethic, having come from a society where 99% of the population is made up of the working class where everyone is efficient, effective, and organized. Consequently, she’s inhumanely practical—a trait inherent of her entire race. She shares the entire spectrum of human emotions and tendencies except for laziness. If something gets in the way of a goal, she finds a way around or through it rather than putting it off or losing track of her objective altogether. Despite her professional demeanor and reasonable approach to confrontation, this is what tends to put her at odds with people the most frequently.

Vespin has a widely varied skillset in nearly all areas, to the point that she’s always surprising people. She specializes in politics and economics, but her knowledge of galactic history, science, engineering, culture, and the arts rivals experts of each subject. She claims that this is unusual for her kind. Her form is inefficient for any specific task, leaving her to default to a jack-of-all-trades that can do everything well but isn’t the best in any of these areas. This is frowned upon in her home world and there is no place for such a useless form in any occupation.

History: Vespin is from the Phatl Nebula, the densest planetary nebula ever observed. It’s one of the oldest populated locations in the galaxy, situated at the edge of the Interstellar Sea, cut off from its surroundings by a thick barrier of residual radiation that makes it nearly impossible for even unmanned drones to approach. The people of the nebula have a rich, involved history that precedes the creation of all but the oldest of civilizations. However, almost a century before the alliance was formed in the Milky Way, the Phatl Nebula took on a fierce isolationist policy for unknown reasons, leaving only a small number of its ambassadors around to join the alliance a century later and ensure that the nebula was seen as an ally and would be left alone. Since then, most of the ambassadors disappeared, probably returning to their home in peace—all except for one; a lone politician who vocally supported the alliance from the beginning and wished to remain behind and help as a show of good faith. At the behest of the then leaders of the alliance, Vespin went to the many underdeveloped planets of the Interstellar Sea in the form of a man, working to get their cooperation and served as a spokesperson to convince each individual society to join the alliance.

At first, Vespin’s work went well. His vast knowledge, wide assortment of skills, and transparent good will worked in his favor for decades and he made steady progress. But after years passed and brought changes in the status quo that were inevitably tied with progress, everything changed very abruptly. He’d come to fully represent several planets in the Interstellar Sea, initially having done so to help with the handicap of being significantly behind from a technological and economic position. People began to speak up against this, demanding that the people be able to speak for themselves rather than having an alien of uncertain origin being in charge.

That’s where Vespin made a major mistake. He heard the complaints, but didn’t see a practical system that could replace him as of yet, so he continued his work for the time being, intending to push forward several mandates that would make it possible for everything to function at the current level even with less capable politicians in his place. But rather than looking at the logic, everyone saw it as him ignoring the will of the people, saying that he fancied himself a ruler or a king. Even people from other parts of the galaxy turned against him, with several well-known figures speaking out and demanding that he be ‘deposed’, or else fired and replaced. It even came to the point where the heads of the alliance pushed forward Vespin’s own policies themselves without giving him credit in order to ‘take away his forced logical arguments and delusion of heroism’. With nothing left for him there, Vespin disappeared from the world after delivering a heartfelt public apology, supposedly to never be seen again.

Most people probably expected him to return to his home world, unaware of the consequences of the choice Vespin made. Instead of returning with his peers, he’d chosen to remain behind and ignore the isolationist rules the Phatlan people had adopted, essentially leaving him with no home to return to. So Vespin once again changed form, adopted the appearance of a woman, and wandered for a short time before being recruited by the Vizor of the Traveler’s Organization. While her more immediate past is common knowledge to the other members of the organization, many people speculate on what she did before becoming a politician, back during her youth.

Skills: It would be easier to list things that she can’t do. She’s proficient at almost anything that immediately comes to mind, if just for her ability to figure it out by applying sense and prior knowledge. However, she can hardly do everything at once and is limited in her variety, not having an expert grasp on any one thing.

Vespin's fitted bangles expel an orange interstellar cloud that she can manipulate no matter how thinly she spreads it, as it is effectively a part of her own body. As she can change the physical properties to make the cloud solid or extremely dense as she likes, as well as amplify or smother the radiation emitted from the ionized particles, this serves her as a more effective tool than any regular piece of technology in most situations.
last edited over a year ago
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
Awesome stuff, dude. Thanks for getting this started. I'll hopefully have something to add to this this week.
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
This is the first of two characters I've been working on. I'm still working up the other, but since you're well ahead of me, I figured I'd post this one.

Charmeine Verwey

Age: 56

Appearance: Charmeine (often nicknamed “Char”) is a short, stocky woman of thick build. Standing at 5’3”, she keeps her hair red hair very short. Her freckled, pale face is handsome, featuring heterochromatic eyes of blue and hazel. Her usual outfits are utilitarian, often militaristic with high black boots and brown fatigues that do not bear any clear sign of rank our outfit.

Personality: Charmeine hides her emotions behind a calm exterior that exudes a threat of violence to anyone who catches her eye. She is highly vigilant, rarely caring much for personal interaction of any sort. This avoidance is more active choice than passivity. She’s direct to a fault, short and hot-tempered when driven to conversation, and has little patience for others. Beneath that exterior, she’s a deeply conflicted woman at war with herself. She is no longer certain if the woman behind the mask is the same person she was 10 years ago, and deeply longs to recover an identity she believes is constantly slipping away.

History: Born in The Hague, Charmeine was never brilliant, but it became clear early on that she was a physical prodigy. Athletics of all sorts came easily to her, and with her near-constant drive to train, she quickly ascended to the top of various sporting leagues, often competing in male-dominated sports with a dominant record. Her family, most of which had spent some time in the military, urged her to enlist while she was struggling to get through high school. She didn’t require much urging.

In the military, she quickly became known as a very effective tool for any mission, excelling in hand-to-hand combat. She wasn’t overly reckless, and was often quite adept at leading a small group of soldiers on tactical strikes. However, she was far from personable, and the aptitudes that soldiers required for advancement were beyond her. She could not handle a weapon well, nor was she effective in any form of vehicle. Even as her value as a physical combatant rose, her chances of rising through the ranks dwindled, particularly as military forces became increasingly reliant on weaponry.

But people in her circumstances still had uses, particularly at a time when alien technology was being adapted into the military. She and a select group were put through some of the first trials with a set of technologies. Forcibly cut off from family and friends after entering this program, she and her fellows underwent grueling physical and mental trials as they adapted to their individual technologies. She became close in that time with a fellow soldier, one of the only aspects of normalcy in her life.

On her final mission before she cut ties with the military, her partner was killed. Shortly before death, that soldier passed on their own bit of tech – a microchip that held all of her memories and personality, which was implanted into Charmeine. She now travels with two sets of memories and two different personalities, seeking to reconcile the two.

Abilities: Charmeine is chiefly known for her close combat skill. She known for using Kampfringen, a style of grappling that she uses to quickly and efficiently subdue targets. She has an incredibly fast and effective intuition for dangerous situations, often being able to pick out key targets in chaotic situations. But what makes her truly dangerous is the complex web of carbon nanofibers that litter the inside of her body. Nicknamed CRONN (Carbon Reticulated Orb Neurological Network), these fibers are intricately woven throughout her body. They have the capacity to modify the density of her bones and muscles to substantial degrees, though there are limits, and stretching them can be extremely dangerous. The microchip provides her with the capacity to swap everything from thoughts to fighting styles with her former compatriot, though she rarely chooses to use it for this purpose.
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
#3582

Age: 405

Appearance: Featuring pure white skin and white eyes without pupils, #3582 embodies the basic characteristics of his people, known as the Malkeith. All the same height of 5’8”, all bearing highly similar physical morphology (though they are known to have two distinct sexes, determining what differentiates them has been the subject of ongoing study), and have hairless bodies. Like all of his race past the age of 15, he appears smooth skinned, strong and thin – it is not known at what point the Malkeith age beyond this appearance. He is usually dressed in robes befitting to his station: light gray and flowing, without adornment beyond a bronze clasp that held it together in the front. The clasp bears a figure bowing to another who stands before him.

Personality: Though the Malkeith are widely known for penitence and meekness, #3582 is anything but. He wears that personality as a thin mask, one that breaks with regularity. He’s spiteful, often sharp and pointed in his conversations with others. He holds particular contempt for human beings, though he does not speak of why. He generally keeps to himself, engrossing himself in studies of a… widely varied nature. He’s intensely curious about the world around him. The only thing with which he has a close personal bond is the ship he’s bonded to, and he treats it as though it were his closest family.

History: #3582 was born shortly after the destruction of his home planet, and is the youngest member of his species. That number is the only name he’s known for his entire life. His species had names once, but after their planet was destroyed, the surviving members, numbering 3581, spurned those names and replaced them with numbers. They submitted themselves in subservience to any race that would take them rather than seeking refuge as a community. Families, or what remained of them, separated of their own volition.

Maybe it was the fact that #3582 was born under different circumstances that left him jaded. He was a child who never knew a home, never had a real name, and has never known true freedom. From the moment he had the capacity to assist, he was relegated to the role of a slave with his mother. From the moment he could function independently, he was ordered to select a master. When he petulantly refused, he was assigned a master:

The ship on which he currently resides.

As a Malkeithian, he could not refuse the orders of his own people, all of whom outranked him. Any order they made imprinted on him, and was made a requirement. And so, before he left all the members of his society behind, he was imprinted with multiple other commands. Certain behaviors are entirely disallowed, including lying and striking others. Others involved memories of his, though those are restricted in such a way that he is unaware of what was commanded.

He’s traveled on this ship for hundreds of years with dozens of crews, and has shown no clear attachment to any of them. He merely continues to exist, loathing his duties despite finding his only solace in what he does for the ship.

Skills: He has a tremendous number of skills at which he is masterful. He’s mainly known for his engineering and repair skills, but he is also tremendously skilled in mathematics, the sciences, is adept at a wide variety of video games, has an encyclopedic knowledge of all things written and visual, is fluent in a multitude of languages, and can draw upon trivial information of all sorts. He does not flaunt or even often use this knowledge for the benefit of others.
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
“Vizor” Dentin Bismarck (NPC)

Age: 67

Appearance: Slightly emaciated, his skin has tightened over his own body. His hair has gone white and a portion of it has fallen away. His body is hunched over so that he cranes his neck up to look straight ahead. He is always carrying a forearm crutch to support his right side.

Personality: Known for being wise beyond his years even in his youth, Dentin is often looked to for advice. Though he can be a little intimidating at first due to articulating himself with very minute changes in his facial expressions that take time to get used to, he’s a hopeless romantic whose strong understanding of science and business sense is balanced by his respect for deep space and penchant for adventure. He sees the patrol units of the organization as good friends and lives vicariously through reports of their adventures, which he always insists are detailed and frequent.

History: Raised by two scientists, Earth’s previous administrator of space science was a family friend. Naturally, he was born into the field of research and dreamed of personally making strides in the study. And so he did; at the young age of merely fifteen, he went into space and traveled freely. Where he went, what he did, and any other details are a secret, though he did spend a lot of time in the Galactic Empire’s territory. Using the experience he gained, he returned home to teach for a while before it fell to him to take over for his family friend as the acting Vizor. It was initially meant to be temporary, but rather than replacing him, the higher ups simply voted to make his position as the 34th administrator of space science permanent. Dentin has not left the Frontier Republic since, sending his assistant instead whenever business beyond was necessary.
last edited over a year ago
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
[Send off]

“Oh, my baby! I can’t believe you’re really going! You’ve barely graduated, and you’re already leaving me!”

Cress Suennon drew her son into a tight embrace, clinging onto the back of his recently pressed shirt with her fingernails. It was fortunate that she wasn’t actually crying, or else she might have stained the shirt. Siphon patted her back, not knowing what he could say now that he hadn’t said a hundred times before. The entire week leading up to this day, she’d been a blubbering mess. No matter how he tried to console her, she just broke down again as soon as the topic was brought back up.

His mother finally released him to make room for his father, Known Suennon. Siphon’s father stood an entire foot over both members of his family and gazed down at his son, sporting an artificially stony expression. Once Cress had cleared space, Known raised both of his arms up, spread eagle, and clapped them together on Siphon’s back, drawing him into a crushing hug.

“…Ow…” Siphon’s feet dangled off of the ground. His arms were trapped in an awkward position against his father’s broad chest. Known showed no sign of noticing.

“Promise me,” Known tightened his embrace around his son's shoulders. “Take care of yourself. We don’t want to hear about you dying out there.”

“And make sure you take your medicine regularly!” Cress chimed in. “And refill it every chance you get! If the pharmacy gives you any trouble, just have them call me and I’ll set them straight!”

“Alright, alright.” Siphon squirmed until Known finally released him. “I promise. Again. Now can I get going? I don’t want to miss my flight.”

His parents gave him one final group hug that lasted for entire minutes. The Celestial Gateway on Sfaira was rarely used, so there weren’t many people around to witness this besides the familiar breeze that never stopped. When they were finally satisfied, Siphon’s parents ushered him toward the gateway, where he presented his ticket, was scanned, and cleaned via a bath of dry mist. With one final good bye to his parents, he stepped through the gateway and was assaulted by light.

When the light died down and his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, he saw that he was on another platform. Unlike the one he entered, this one was far noisier and busier. It was packed so many people, he barely had the time to take in his surroundings before he was being pushed aside by strangers going in and out of the gateway. Siphon finally recovered his bearings, readjusting his bag’s strap on his shoulder so it sat more comfortably, and looked around for signs to point to his next destination. The holographic words spelling out ‘PODS’ in all capital letters sat among a mess of other words with arrows pointing in every direction. Siphon took a moment to try and decipher which arrow was which but quickly gave up, turning instead to his watch. A small map popped up, updating his current location, and he selected the icon symbolizing his destination.

The challenge was navigating his way through the endless flow of people from all directions. Never in his life had Siphon had to deal with such a large crowd. His home was neat and spacious. Even the most populous streets in the biggest cities were regulated to prevent people from getting in each other’s way. But Earth was entirely different. It was a free-for-all of people from all sorts of alien races pushing past each other, somehow all simultaneously in a hurry. It was a wonder that there wasn’t an accident every other second with so much chaos.

Siphon succeeded and making his way through the crowd, relieved that his body was holding up so easily. He’d endured far more draining situations, but he wasn’t sure how he’d respond to a crowd. He’d been prepared to have a fit, his inhaler gripped tightly in his hand. Maybe this day would go better than he thought?

“Can I help you?” An employee peered over his elevated counter at the young man eyeing his inhaler with such pride. Siphon straightened up with a little too much enthusiasm, causing the employee to jump slightly.

“I’m here to take a shuttle up to the Traveler Organization.” Siphon pulled his ticket from his pocket. “The one set to leave in an hour.”

The employee raised a skeptical eyebrow at him after looking at the ticket.

“I didn’t realize they were giving out tours for individuals today.”

“Oh, no. I’m not going for a tour. Well, not technically. I’m going to join. As a member.”

The employee’s expression didn’t change. He looked Siphon up and down and slowly breathed out through his nose.

“A Traveler who doesn’t even have a license to operate a shuttle?”

“That wasn’t a requirement for applying.”

“Whatever you say.” He sighed, scanning the ticket in. “Charlie will fly you in. He’s hanging out by gate one-seventy-five.”

“You mean I can go before the scheduled time?”

The employee didn’t bother responding, waving Siphon in. Siphon obeyed and found his pilot waiting by the gate, clad in uniform. After a short introduction, they went through the gate and into the small shuttle. It was only big enough to fit four people. Siphon strapped himself into was right beside the pilot’s seat. Charlie operated everything from where he sat, talking on the radio to make sure his path was empty for takeoff. There wasn’t a single window and it felt even more compact than it already was. The shuttle was made with efficiency in mind, so it could exit and reenter the atmosphere quickly and efficiently.

A few minutes later, they were up in the air. The shuttle itself felt almost motionless, but he’d seen dozens of shuttles leaving Sfaira’s airspace every week. They shot up like a bullet from a gun, breaking the speed of sound even with their round shape. If it weren’t for the technology that cushioned the shockwaves, minimizing them to low rumbles, the noise could have left nearby people deaf.

“This your first time going to space?” Charlie asked casually after making sure the autopilot was doing its job. A screen in front of him showed just how quickly they were approaching their destination. They’d be there in minutes. “You look nervous.”

“I dreamed about it a lot when I was a kid.” Siphon admitted. “It’s almost scary that I’m going to have to get used to it now.”

“Oh you’ll get used to it. But it’ll never stop being amazing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trust me, kid.” Charlie grinned. “When we get up there, take a look out the hangar. If that view you get doesn’t make even a seasoned geezer feel something, then I’ll quit my job. You’ll see.”

The hangar in question was amazing enough as it was. Siphon hopped out of the shuttle, his feet landing firmly on a sturdy metal floor. All around him were space crafts of all sizes, each one bursting with uniqueness. He had to imagine that their owners were equally as colorful. From what he’d learned about the Traveler’s Organization, the headquarters served as a space station for passing ships. Of course, there were other space stations specifically equipped for the task, but the headquarters’ location was convenient in too many situations to not be flexible.

The shuttle quietly hovered beside him, still enough to let him step off without shifting beneath his weight, and drifted toward the hangar’s wide exit, shooting off like a rocket as soon as it exited. Siphon followed its movement with his eyes and he felt his stomach drop as soon as he saw what Charlie had been referring to. The hangar’s entrance was totally transparent, keeping the air and heat in with a stasis field. It was big enough to fit several space ships side by side. Every step he took brought him closer to the wondrous sight he’d only seen distorted through an atmosphere until now..

It was a different sky and different point of view, but it still gave him the same feeling. The endless blackness was dotted with familiar tiny lights. At the center of this image was a massive blue sphere covered in a milky swirl. It all felt so still, yet he could feel gentle, placid motion from it all. That was what cleanly separated this from what he saw from the surface of Sfaira. He could feel the weight of the emptiness through a sense he didn’t have.

He felt his throat close up slightly, threatening his breathing. He took a slow, careful breath to calm himself again.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

“It’s so big.” Siphon said in a hushed voice. “It feels like we could be crushed so easily. My entire world was limited to a space not even a fraction of this size. Just thinking about it makes me feel small. So…trivial.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m absolutely terrified. And it’s exciting.”

Siphon’s thoughts finally caught up with his words and the situation. His face burned with shame as he turned to face to man who had spoken to him. The man’s gaunt figure, spindly hair, and crumpled posture fit the image Siphon had of the Traveler Organization’s leader perfectly. The signature forearm crutch wasn’t even necessary for confirmation. A few of the workers nearby saluted him before continuing what they were doing, so Siphon found himself imitating the movement.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vizor.” Siphon corrected his posture frantically, trying to make himself more dignified. “I’m sorry, it’s just that the pilot who brought me here said that I should look and—”

“Don’t be so formal.” The older man said reassuringly. He gave Siphon an appraising gaze, those eyes traveling across his entire body. “There are quite a few practical tests that you need to pass before you can officially join the organization. If you’re lucky, you might even get assigned to a patrol unit. But to do that, you’ll need to prove that you’re not as frail as your medical condition implies. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.” Siphon replied as confidently as he could manage. His hands gripped tightly and his nails dug into his own skin. “I’m confident that I’ll be able to prove myself capable beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“Good.” The Vizor’s eyes lingered on Siphon’s gaze for a moment. Siphon remained very still, unsure of what to make of this visual inspection. There was no ridicule or approval visible on his face. Did he find Siphon to be underwhelming? Did he fail to meet some expectation? “Then we’ll start to examinations immediately. You’ll get the chance to stare at the emptiness of space after you’re done. Lucky for you, the 1st Patrol Unit is temporarily docked at headquarters for a mandatory inspection. If we get through this without a problem, they should have room for you on board.”

“Yes sir, Vizor.” Siphon adjusted his bag’s strap nervously and quickly followed the man’s bent back. The Vizor waved a hand dismissively.

“Like I said; no need to be so formal. My name’s Dentin. Just call me that.”

“Um,” Siphon cocked his head in hesitation. “I’ll try, but I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with that.”

“Heh.” The Vizor’s shoulder’s shifted in time with his chuckle. “Let’s hope that stubbornness holds out.”
last edited over a year ago
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
Sorry about the disappearance. It's been a rough few weeks for several reasons. I'm working on a post now, though.
silverexorcist commented…
It's no problem. over a year ago
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
[Brass Tact]

The Traveler’s Organization’s headquarters had a very unique atmosphere. It always felt like the people hanging around were hard at work, toiling with machinery and looking into new information. Yet at the same time, it was steady and placid. The excitement levels didn’t usually spike up unless something especially noteworthy happened. And whenever something fitting that description did come around, it was usually in the form of one of the patrol units that came and went so infrequently.

Maybe that was the issue. The people who really made noise tended to be assigned to a patrol unit, so they weren’t often around to stir things. Vespin had to count herself among their numbers, as every time she showed up, the employees swarmed to her and asked any number of questions that she would answer to the best of her ability. Usually, they were related to the reports they got. Hearing a methodical breakdown from Vespin often made it easier for them to understand the parts that they were confused or curious about.

“Maybe I should restructure the format for my reports.” Vespin murmured to herself. She was waiting patiently a few paces away from a door leading to a conference room. Usually left transparent, it had its settings set to foggy to obstruct curious onlookers. She had expected the people inside to have finished about a minute ago, but she could imagine what might have been holding them up. They would finish sorting it out in just a few more moments.

As if on cue, the door slid open and three individuals stepped out. Two of them were a pair of well-dressed men who wore suits distinctly from the Galactic Empire. In their hands, they carried small computers meant for the express purpose of compressing information. Beside them was a dog with beautiful golden fur, sporting a backpack that didn’t hinder its movements as it trotted forward.

“Yaa~” Vespin greeted with a smile. “I expect everything went well?”

“Very.” One of the men nodded. They finally seemed to be used to the difference in height, since Vespin didn’t see the usual discomfort. “I have to say, you’re a very organized person. None of the other audits we’ve done have ever gone as smoothly. Especially not with the other patrol units of this organization.”

“‘Staff inspection’.” The other man corrected. They continued walking and Vespin kept pace with them. “And I don’t even want to call it that. We’ve had to come back to this place three times in four months to do these interviews. Couldn’t you have set it up so that everyone was around at the same time?”

“That is not entirely realistic, save for an emergency situation.” The fourth individual interjected. “There is no telling how long each of their jobs will take when they’re scattered all over the galaxy and they often hop straight from one to the other without checking back at all. These frequent inspections are really only to appease the restless eyes of our critics. They are not urgent enough to make all of our units drop whatever they’re doing and rush back here just to wait around for a few days.”

The disgruntled inspector shrugged indifferently. The other one smiled down at the golden colored dog.

“We’ll take your word for it, Nitro. Being in charge of coordinating the staff here must be draining. After seeing what they’re like…”

“They just are not normal.” Nitro the dog snorted through his nose and shook his neck wildly, shifting his collar so the speaker on it was pointed toward the humans beside him. “But it is not too difficult. The real trouble is when I coordinate their jobs and they do not communicate any complications. They take things into their own hands and I have to play catch up after the fact.”

“I bet Vespin is an exception.”

Vespin raised an eyebrow at the expectant look the two men gave her.

“I am only one member of my patrol’s crew. Since something unexpected happens just about every chance it gets, the situation is just as much out of my control as it is Nitro’s, leader or no.”

“Sounds like a nice way of saying that your job is dangerous. It really makes me wonder about the people who are chosen to head out there.”

Vespin decided not to voice her agreement with that. Explaining the weird circumstances of a Traveler to a sane man was a vain effort. She learned from experience that it was something best seen rather than told. Ideally, bringing even just one reputable figure from the inspectors’ ranks along for a short while would help bridge the gap in values. It would certainly help if the main intermediary between the Travelers and their critics had a clearer view of both sides.

She tucked that idea away for the time being. As appealing as it was, now was hardly the time to suggest it. It would be nice if such an arrangement came to be out of luxury, rather than necessity.

“Speaking of which,” Vespin guided the subject along. “Were there any problems with your evaluation of my crew?”

The two inspectors traded a short look.

“No ‘problems’, per se. All the patrol units are colorful groups. But for these inspections, Sphinx received detailed papers from the Galactic Empire consisting of all the information they’ve been reviewing for the past several decades. After matching them up with your records…has this one really been on the ship for so long?”

The inspector held the screen up and showed it to Vespin. She glanced at it and couldn’t help but chuckle at the name she saw.

“Yes, he has. I believe there were some old rumors in the organization about how he’s a specter who haunts the ship until it’s eventually scrapped. I’m sure they were in jest.”

“There have been some long lived races that worked as Travelers, such as yourself, but none of them have stuck around as long as he has. Why is that?”

Vespin shrugged her shoulders. “Not a clue. I don’t think it’s anything more than coincidence. Did you ask him during the interview?”

The inspector shook his head. He must not have gotten a friendly vibe during the interview. What a surprise.

“It’s not really that important. Now, about that boy who’s recently applied to become a Traveler. He’s certainly qualified, passing the necessary exams with adequate results, but we suggest that you reject him all the same.”

Hm.

“Why is that?”

“His constitution isn’t stable. He’s suffering from an unknown disease and will be exposed to extreme situations very frequently if he’s given the job. There’s no telling how it will impact his condition. We were just talking about how dangerous your job really is. Most of the others at least came into this work after gaining experience somewhere else. I think we’re all mature enough to admit that merely looking at a strict set of standards to meet for acceptance isn’t all that should go into considering someone for this kind of work.”

The group came to a stop, having reached the shuttle that would take the two inspectors down to the Earth’s surface, where they would use the Heaven’s Gate to return home. Vespin and Nitro stood side by side, eyeing the resolute look on one of the inspectors’ faces.

“I appreciate the concern you express on behalf of Sphinx,” Nitro replied steadily. “And we will take it into consideration. But I will be transparent with you. Looking at the boy’s examination results and all other factors, we have very little reason to turn him away.”

“But why? Don’t tell me you’re willing to endanger the kid just because his response to the infection is—”

“It’s for reasons similar to what you stated before.” Vespin shrugged her shoulders and clasped her hands behind her back. “There are factors to consider that can’t be quantified by mere written standards. Factors that we’ve turned others away for lacking despite meeting the criteria just as easily.”

“For example?”

“A weak constitution or disease may very well put his life at greater risk, but he’d be in danger regardless. If that increased danger was enough to ruin him, then he’d still be eaten alive out there just the same without his illness.”

Vespin raised a hand and motioned toward the two men.

“I’d say that quality is one shared by your boss. A sickness or two wouldn’t be enough to stop the ambitions of the ferocious founder of Sphinx, would it? It’s not a quality that can be easily put into words, nor does it look the same in those who share it. But I can promise you that it’s worth the risk.”

The inspectors had no further objection. They slipped into the pod with a wave good bye. Vespin and Nitro watched it shoot out of the hangar and head toward the planet below. A few moments of silence passed before it was broken by Nitro.

“His inexperience is a concern. I will trust your and Dentin’s judgement on this, but do not take any stupid risks.”

“Have you ever known me to gamble with someone’s life?”

“I am worried because your standards can be a little off at times. Just try to be careful.”

Vespin smiled with a sigh.

“Certainly.”
last edited over a year ago
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
[The Path Forward]

“What the fuck was their problem?”

#3582 walked down the hallway in the most contrite of postures and expressions, eyes pointed downward as he walked. Had someone not been able to hear him, they might have thought him to be a normal servant. But anyone who met him soon learned he was anything but.

“I’ve dealt with enough interrogations for multiple fucking lifetimes, and the Traveler’s Organization can fuck off just like the rest. They want to question my handling of Hantal? No one would even be able to get her off the fucking ground if it wasn’t for…”

Charmeine blocked out the rest of his words. This was often how she handled these tirades: ignoring them. Still, she knew her frustration showed through, if nothing else. She wasn’t sure whether to be upset about that or not. On the one hand, she didn’t want to validate what he’d done by showing that it had affected her, as it had their “inspectors.” On the other, he had come to know that her emotions were attached to a solid body capable of doing him some real damage. Perhaps that would get in through that thick skull.

Not that it ever had before.

“…and what the fuck was with that wet-nosed hairy thing, anyway? I could barely hear it through that little speaker half the time, not that it mattered what they said. They can’t do shit about my position, I’m the only thing that’s keeping her flying these days…”

She doubted that last bit. Much as their ship was aging, many of the repair mechanisms were built into its construction. Charmeine didn’t doubt that he knew the ship better than any of them did, but even when they required repairs, they usually stopped at Traveler’s outposts. #3582 gave them hell every time.

Charmeine glanced down hallways as they passed, eyeing the various individuals they passed. This place always felt too orderly, as though everyone they passed lacked any autonomy and was merely a cog in some larger, ongoing process. By comparison, the two of them simply walking down the hallway having an unrelated conversation seemed tremendously out of place. Not that anyone noticed them, nor the scattered few other crews that she spotted meandering the various chambers of this place – small islands of variety in a sea of uniformity.

That appearance was more incongruous given the beautiful view out of the various windows that dotted these facilities at regular intervals. They weren’t so much “windows” as portals showing different parts of the universe, showing in real time the various locations and destinations of each of the Traveler’s crews. By themselves those should have livened up the atmosphere in this place.

Not that Charmeine complained. The homogeneity of actions made it easy to pick out incongruities.

The crews were too few and far between to concern her.

Her eyes lingered on a young woman meandering past whose eyes widened when she first spotted them, though her bespectacled gaze quickly found the clipboard she was holding and stayed there as scarlet spread across her face. A new recruit, most likely, and one who was not used to the diminutive stature of someone who had spent a lot of time training in high gravity, nor was it common for women to have her muscle structure.

A male Chrystallite walked with the air of someone who had been through military training, and seemed prepared to draw some invisible weapon at his side. Like everyone in this facility, he was not allowed to carry a weapon, though he seemed ready for one. He was awash in sweat and showcasing some frustration as he greedily gulped down liquid from a flask in his hand.

A Knoqa wearing a set of muscular dampeners and a circlet meant to dull its emotional state wandered down the hall in a haze, its eyes unfocused as it seemed to stare out at an image of the planet Vhlokik, muttering to itself about needless violence and blind religion. Strange, to say the least, coming from one of its race.

Another Malkeith – Charmeine had to remind herself that this was a rare sight – followed obediently behind a human master who was engrossed in the pages he carried. Even without pupils, Charmeine could still tell that his… or was it her… eyes lingered long on #3582 as the edges of his/her mouth twitched downward. It was incredibly unusual for one of their race to speak as he did, and apparently, it wasn’t appreciated.

Charmeine sighed, trying to relax. This was the Traveler’s Organization’s headquarters, a highly secure base of operations for one of the largest and most effective peacekeeping forces in existence. Neither she nor anyone else could bring in weapons of any sort. And yet, as in all places, she felt her spine itch every second that she wasn’t scanning the crowd for potential threats.

She’d been hired a few months ago by the Traveler’s Organization to function as security for the Hantal. This wasn’t her first time here, but this place still felt like such a foreign environment. She was used to functioning in an organized unit, but something felt… off about this place. She couldn’t shake the feeling that-

Charmeine froze, her vision fixed on the figure ahead. An inauspicious Sivix model was going about what was likely its daily routine. Its frame certainly appeared to be an older, fully slate grey model, but one that was nonetheless well-kept, bearing the latest ocular technology and up-to-date limbs. It exhibited smooth motion with every step as it rapidly scanned through a variety of documents in its possession.

And she recognized it, though she personally had never seen it before. Those memories weren’t her own.

It was a minor image that flashed through her head, a scene involving a small unit in the Galactic Empire. Charmeine hadn’t been in this unit, nor had she ever seen the glassy surface of Chrysler. She didn’t even know the name of the planet, much less its appearance. This Sivix, an Iixler known as X41B5, had catalogued the names of everyone in that unit, handing each orders to reach their destination. “Haskoh” the unit said in a mechanical voice. The only emotional response she felt was exhaustion – she had been traveling as part of this unit from planet to planet for months, and was hoping to get some R&R. It had been too long since she’d seen friends or family, too long since she’d felt the caress of-

“NO MORE!”

She came back to the world in a cold sweat, finding herself down on her knees, clutching her head between her hands. There were tears in her eyes.

“And they think I’m the problem in this fucking crew? What the fuck was that?”

#3582 was looking down on her with clear derision, though that was only visible in his eyes, as the rest of his body exhibited the same repentant stance. Looking around, she realized that much of the room had stopped looking, staring in her direction. Several had dropped whatever they were carrying, and were scrambling to pick it up. Apparently, she’d shouted rather loudly.

She quickly straightened up, brushing tears from her eyes as she put her uniform back in order. #3582 shook his head as they began walking again and the facility went back to its normal, organized activity.

“And you’re supposed to be our security. Still have no fucking clue why the Sylphre girl recruited you, don’t need any protection anyway.”

She disregarded what he said, though those sidelong stares had her on edge. They passed X41B5, who appeared to pay them no mind, continuing with its work. Charmeine banished the images that popped into her head, wiping a new tear from her eye as she did. She refused to be dominated by memories, particularly those that didn’t belong to her. If she had to live with another woman inside her head, then the least she could do is maintain control of her identity.

She stopped paying attention to the individuals in the masses around her, simply focusing on the path ahead. She wasn’t lost yet, and she refused to lose herself now.
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
[New Light]

“Damn, Shafer, look at you, all gussied up like some kind of big shot. You getting married?”

Beatrice got a very dirty look from the target of her prodding. She was making her way across the hangar floor and raised her voice to catch Shafer’s attention, which was what elicited his displeasure. Her voice carried easily through the hangar, so nearly everyone nearby looked up before returning to their business, hiding their grins.

“You know exactly why I’m wearing this.” Shafer hissed once Beatrice was within earshot. “Those guys from Sphinx have been here for the past three days. We’re all supposed to be in uniform. A message I know you got, since it’s your group they’re looking into this time around.”

Beatrice looked down at her clothing. She’d dressed like normal, so it was a wonder that she even bothered checking. Shafer’s gaze followed hers for a moment before he wrenched his eyes away.

“Well they didn’t give me any problems, so I think it’s fine.”

“Seriously? Then why do I even bother?” Shafer moaned. “I might as well save this for when I actually get married.”

“What, you’ve got a pretty girl in mind? Guess I’m not invited. She won’t be happy to hear about who you’ve been spending the past few nights with.”

The couple other guys who were seated in front of Shafer turned their attention away from the screen to give him hurt looks.

What?

“Damn it, Shafer!”

Shafer rolled his eyes and prepared to make a dismissive retort, but Beatrice cut him off by pushing past him, leaning over the couch to see the screen that was now being ignored.

Media culture prevailed on the seven continents of Earth, to the point that you had to go far out into the boondocks to find a community that didn’t rely on screens connected to the internet. This habit bled into the Traveler Organization’s headquarters, a screen found in just about every room. It wasn’t even the most efficient way to absorb information on the goings on in the galaxy, when you could look up whatever you want without having a screen hanging around showing the latest news. Still, the lazy entertainment was a major factor ingrained into the culture several generations ago.

It was a welcome distraction. Being cooped up indoors tore at Beatrice’s patience after a while. She’d already toured these halls countless times to the point where she’d wander just so she could happen upon something interesting by chance. That got on people’s nerves, so the safest thing for her to do was to turn off her brain for a while and absorb some media. There was always something new to find there.

“What’re ya’ll even watching? The news?”

“Yeah, Rad just broke another crazy record in a race with his latest victory. The man’s unstoppable.”

Maximum G. Rad. Famed as the galaxy’s best modern pilot. There was nothing he couldn’t drive if he put his mind to it. It showed in the way he raced. Supposedly, he was more than just a pretty face. All Beatrice saw was a chiseled man in a fitted suit, which was enough for her. But to others, he was a polymath. He rode in what he judged to be the highest quality machines built by people he trusted, and he often designed and helped out with the engineering. Any product he promoted was almost guaranteed to be worth the buy.

A dorky super star who was probably just as much of a thrill seeker as she was. Pity they’d never met.

Or maybe she was better off that way? Just seeing that chiseled jaw heap praise on the transformative technology that he was trying to make public access was enough to get her to spend her already nonexistent savings the very next day.

Sure, its quality was just as high as its price tag and the investment was worth twenty times what she paid, but she knew damn well that those pretty facts weren’t what motivated her. If everyone had a weakness, hers came in the shape of a man she’d yet to meet.

“What did they ask you about, Betty?”

“What’s that?” Beatrice didn’t take her eyes off of the screen, cocking her head slightly to show that they got her attention.

“When they were interviewing you, what did they ask about? Did it seem like they were fishing for information or did they just ask standard questions?”

“Not a clue. They wanted to know about what I did before coming here. I couldn’t really remember much aside from the highlights, though, and I spent most of the time just telling them about that car chase through five countries.”

Come to think of it, Dentin had asked her a similar question. His curiosity was very in character for him, but his reaction had given her the sense that he had had another reason for asking. She didn’t identify the feeling she’d gotten thanks to being distracted by other…’stuff’ going on at the time, but being asked again brought it to the forefront of her mind. Did she know something that Sphinx was after? That was unlikely. She wasn’t generally considered to be good with secrets. It didn’t take a genius to look at her and see that, so the organization wouldn’t trust her with one.

As far as anyone was concerned, she was just some employee, albeit one who made her presence known. She didn’t have any connections to the Galactic Empire, who was behind the subtle harassment, nor was she an essential cog in the organization they were so opposed to.

Meemaw always did say that I’m no good at thinking through this complicated stuff. All that energy spent and I don’t get nowhere with it. I only get what I can see right in front of me.

It’d be better to just tell Vespin and let someone smart figure it out. Thinking only tired her out.

Beatrice stretched her arms over her head with a grunt and turned away from the television, having already lost interest. She gave Shafer one last pat on the back that caught him off guard and she laughed off his glare.

“I’m headed to the gym to piddle for a bit. If anyone comes calling, y’all know where to find me.”

She headed off with a little kick in her step, but didn’t make it far. She accidently caught the eye of a man in uniform who was staring right at her. She glanced around to check if there were any other options, but no one else was even looking in his direction. To make certain, she pointed at herself to ask the silent question. The man responded by pointing right at her, his mouth set with displeasure.

A nervous smile twitched on Beatrice’s face as he made his way toward her. She didn’t know his face, but she did recognize the armband he wore and the way he was looking at her. He was one of Nitro’s men and he had something to lecture her about.

What could it have been? Honestly, anything was a possibility. Topping the list would be her unwillingness to comply with the demand for proper attire. Other possibilities included the bazooka that was unaccounted for since she’d smuggled it in to get a friend of hers to do some work on it, that new girl she’d flirted with in plain sight, and the fight she’d had had with a couple of guys in the gym.

It all depended on which infractions this guy knew about. Luckily, her way of dealing with them was all the same.

Running.

“—Ms. Prescott? Beatrice Prescott, get back here! Damn it, woman!”

“Excuse me~” Beatrice murmured politely as she squeezed between as many crowds of people as she could at top speed, losing her chaser as quickly as she could. She’d have to avoid her usual spots for a while, but as long as she managed to avoid being caught until it was time for her crew to take off, she’d be able to feign ignorance. They’d tell her commanding officer, obviously, but Beatrice was sure that she’d find a way to get off scotch free if it was just Vespin she was dealing with.

Probably.

Maybe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Information was the ultimate, fundamental form of strength. With it, one could make decisions and judge the outcome. That was the platform Walser Ebneise used for many years of his life to get where he was. ‘Action without intent is energy without direction.’ The meaning people would glean from it was that any object, any person, any idea, and any situation could harm them if someone incompetent was at the helm (often painted in the form of an explosion), while the very same things could be used to one’s advantage if led by someone who knew what they were doing.

Naturally, being the latter, he made sure to focus his resources primarily on information gathering.

The information that scrolled across the screen before him had the potential to be an explosion. Or so he hoped. It was too soon to tell, but he needed something unexpected if he was going to effect any change things in his favor. He’d taken care to make sure that this information reached him first in his dark, empty room. If he found even the smallest detail that would be of use to him, he’d have to decide whether or not it would reach his colleagues in an unaltered form.

“So that’s pretty much everything that we learned, councilman. For an organization as large and old as they are, there are surprisingly few issues worth noting. I think—hey, no! Put it over there! Uh, sorry about that. Anyways, usually some level of corruption burns at the core of an organization. These guys are by no means perfect, but they’ve gone a long time scandal free. If there’s any fraud or some other exploit that they’re hiding, it’s not worth pursuing right now. Not until it shows symptoms of harming anyone.”

“That’s because the Traveler’s Organization was built on romantic idealism instead of exploiting a demand in the market for profit. That’s why the Council considers it to be such a problem.” Walser tapped the edge of the iron mask hiding his face absently. A holographic image was suspended right in front of him, depicting the figure of the person he was speaking to, but all he could see was a blur of static and movement. “I thought the Council asked you to personally oversee the inspection, Ms. Phinx? You didn’t even send your father or either of your aids.”

“We were—are—kind of busy. Trust me, I’d love to see the place for myself. I’ve dreamed of it since I was a kid. But I always seem to have something else going on. Why? Is there something wrong with the report?”

“No, no. It’s thorough and organized. Your men did well.” Walser sighed. “The Council thanks you for your hard work. Your contribution will not be forgotten.”

“I would hope not, councilman.” The distraction in their voice waned and become slightly more focused. “What Sphinx is doing for the Empire is a job, not a favor. Please remind the other esteemed members that while they have our loyalty, they don’t have our bias. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to maintain our neutrality as a third party.”

“Right. Of course.” If Walser could manage a smile, he would have. “Please give your father my regards.”

The transmission cut off and Walser sank back into his seat. However, he only got a few moments of silence before it was broken again.

“Councilman, a moment of your time, please.”

“VN:E2?” Walser spotted the sleek, bipedal Sivix situated just within range of his peripheral. The light from the report alone was enough to bounce off of the android’s silver exterior and light him up like a moon. It was a wonder that Walser had missed him until now. “How long have you been there?”

“A while. Sphinx has turned in their report from their visit to Earth’s orbit and you’re comparing the information against previous reports to see what new things those idiots have been up to.”

“Splendid. I want you to connect to the computer and store a copy of the original. When the comparisons are done, we’ll have to decide if the new information is worth taking the risk of hiding from the other councilmen. Either way, make sure you don’t leave any traces of tampering”

“Understood. And as for what I wanted to speak to you about…”

VN:E2 hesitated for a moment. Walser couldn’t tell what motivated the wavering, but this Iixler was not known for his shame or fear of repercussions. If there was any cause for this behavior, it would be…

Oh dear.

“Where?”

“If the report Sphinx sent us is to be believed, then—”

Damn it.

“Take care of it. I don’t care how you do it. Take Pepper or one of the others if you need to. Just make sure this doesn’t end up being a lot worse than it needs to be.”

VN:E2’s shoulders sagged in disapproval.

“…Councilman, I understand your desire to handle a delicate situation with utmost care, but if I can speak frankly...”

“Censoring yourself is the same as lying. Speak.”

“I don’t think we should waste time and energy trying to help our enemies.”

“They’re not our enemies, VN:E2. But if we stand by and let this spiral out of control, that may very well change.”

“They’re the enemy! They’re a danger to society and refused to listen to reason when we told them to desist! If one of their patrol units ends up being massacred, it’ll serve them right! That damnable villain of a leader should look out his window and see a sea of graves, labeled with the names of his henchman!”

Walser took a moment, letting the silence that followed the Sivix’s words cool down the tension. There was no reasoning with him when he got like this. And there was no time to. Walser had grown content, thinking that there wouldn’t be any abrupt changes in the situation’s momentum until he found an impetus he could use. And now one of those impetus that he was saving for later was about to go off early. The fallout wouldn’t be disastrous, but the inconveniences that would follow did not excite him.

“Alright. Alright. Truth be told, we might be catastrophizing the situation a little. Send Pepper to monitor the situation. Order her not to do anything without my express permission. If we’re lucky, we won’t have to intervene at all.”

VN:E2 nodded reluctantly and became motionless, handling both of the tasks he was given. Walser returned his gaze to the text but his mind remained elsewhere. So far, the one word that he dreaded the sight of had yet to pop up. It was likely that both Sphinx and the Traveler’s Organization—and even most of the other council members—had yet to connect the dots. For better or for worst, it meant that he still had time to spare.

Time to find the fifth Paradigm.
last edited over a year ago
silverexorcist commented…
Huh. Super script gets reformatted. I guess he's just VN:E2, now. over a year ago
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
[Who the Hell Do You Think I Am?]

Etchin dabbed at his face with a cloth already damp with sweat, grimacing as he glanced at the holographic timepiece on his arm. This was exceedingly unbecoming of someone of the Galactic Empire’s regime – making a Chryslite wait her for over an hour in this sweltering room… it was torture. The metallic space was adorned with a few scattered windows and mediocre photos in frames, little more than a hallway with a single desk, some scattered chairs, and two sets of solid wood doors. Despite the windows, the space inside was gloomy and stale, lit by scattered orbs that ringed the room. The secretary – a small human woman of little consequence – had given liter containers filled with a variety of flavored water drinks, most of which were empty now. Even the best of them did little to assuage his frustrations. It didn’t help that the secretary appeared to be quite comfortable at this temperature, sipping lightly from her own drink as she once again assured him that his appointment would begin shortly.

She had been singing that same song since Etchin arrived, and he had no indication that she knew any better than he did when this song and dance would begin.

He checked his timepiece again, his frown deepening. As the president of Amethyst, the chief manufacturer of top of the line starship engines across the Empire and the Frontier, Etchin had better things to do than waste his time. The Traveler’s Organization had already been in touch with him multiple times, but he’d turned them down because the Empire had numerous exclusive contracts with him. This meeting was supposed to reaffirm several of those very contracts, though if this was the reception he received, Etchin had half a mind to hear out the Travelers.

It was a ridiculous thought. His empire was entirely reliant on those contracts, especially as competitors were gaining traction in the Frontier. He’d heard some of the tech coming out of the Sea was even more impressive, though those were only rumors.

“Mistress Propriis will see you now.”

That voice wasn’t from the secretary. Etchin turned his attention to the lithe figure all in white shot through with streaks of silver. Strange, he had never known a Malkeithian to wear any color beyond white or grey. They were rare, but he thought it was virtually impossible to tell them apart. This one was clearly of higher station, or else his master had ordered him to wear those clothes. Given what he’d heard of her, Etchin could not dismiss the latter option.

He slowly rose, taking his time as he carefully dabbed his forehead once again and grabbing his last half-filled water container before following the servant out of the sterile antechamber. The Malkeithian coughed lightly while pushing open the large pair of wooden doors through which Propriis resided.

The room beyond was far brighter, forcing him to shield his eyes for a moment. It also plunged in temperature to the point that he was actually comfortable; so she did understand some aspects of basic etiquette, she just chose to ignore it when it suited her. Perhaps this was all some kind of power play?

As his eyes adjusted to the environment, though, he realized this was far stranger.

Scrolls covered much of the available space, the majority of which were adorned with cartoon characters. Every one of these had oversized eyes, though many featured other exaggerated body proportions and strange hairstyles. Other adornments included various wood and paper screens covered with a variety of vegetation, short wooden tables surrounded by colorful cushions, and small, carefully manicured trees. While he didn’t understand the significance of these decorations, they resembled a parody of some lost culture.

Propriis sat at her desk and was dressed in a rather garish full-length robe covered in a distinctly floral pattern. Shoulder-length black hair fanned out around her face. She wore an even expression, and her eyes were closed. When he approached, she stood, and gestured towards the seat in front of her desk, which was thankfully of a larger size.

“President Etchin Volite, we haven’t been properly introduced. I am Alis Volat Propriis, a member of the High-“

“Can we cut the bullshit? I’ve waited long enough for this meeting, and I know who you are.”

A gasp, followed by a sudden coughing fit, from behind him told Etchin that he’d crossed a line, though he didn’t care. He knew it was a strong risk to speak so bluntly to one of the Council, but he couldn’t help but let his frustration pour through. Propriis should know that she wronged him, and just because his company was dependent on the Empire didn’t mean that they should be entitled to those services, much less entitled to treat him like some common stooge. So he expected aggrievement and indignation, hoping to see the slightest sign of apology.

He got neither, watching as a smirk appeared on her face.

“Absolutely! I hate all of this stuffy, formal talk anyway. Oai dekite kouei desu! Pleasure to meet you!”

She extended a hand, which he stared at in confusion. The strange words were one thing, but did she honestly think that he was upset over being formal? He frowned, refusing the hand.

“A greeting? After keeping me waiting for an hour, this is the best you have.”

She had the nerve to look sheepish, appearing to scramble for words. Why did she keep her eyes closed like that? He wasn’t aware of any condition.

“I… uh… didn’t know you were here!”

“I informed her exactly 17 times.”

“No one asked you, Hachi!”

Her servant sighed. “I told you, my name is #8. Should I also inform him of what you were doing during that time, Mistress?”

Red color creeped up in her face. Etchin had no idea what that numbering system for their names actually signified, but while this one appeared docile, he…she?... clearly had some bite.

“No need for that!”

She quickly composed herself, though the red color didn’t vanish from her face. Whatever she had done, she wasn’t too proud of it, but that still didn’t explain why her eyes were constantly closed. Still, he refused to take the bait. This WAS a ploy, he just couldn’t figure out what her angle was.

“No need to pay attention to him. You came here to talk business?”

He bit back a sarcastic response, smoothing his voice as best he could.

“Mistress, you summoned me. I was hoping you’d be able to inform me of the reason.”

The woman had the gall to look puzzled. Did she expect him to believe that she couldn’t even remember the reason she’d called him here? He calmed himself as best he could, no easy feat.

“…perhaps you called me to discuss a new trade deal? We have several contracts that are nearing their end which would warrant renewal…”

“Oh no, that wasn’t it. I don’t handle economic policy – they won’t even let me touch a contract.”

He could only assume that “they” were the other Council members. A wise choice. How this woman had managed to worm her way into the Council, he could not fathom.

“…then perhaps you wished to discuss a trip of some sort? We have a travel service of sorts that could get you to anywhere from the Empire to much of the Sea.“

She put a finger to her chin, her forehead crinkling in thought.

“That’s not it either.”

His patience was wearing thin. Her cavalier attitude, combined with the dismissive nature with which she handled him, was growing tiresome. He frowned, hearing the Malkeithian cough again behind him.

“Mistress, if this is your idea of a joke, I’m not laughing. Iota demands much of my time. I have three other meetings today with other partners, and you’ve made me very late for one of them. Much as the Empire is an important party to our dealings, I have good relations with many other Council members. So far, you’ve given me little reason to desire anything of the sort with you.”

She looked stricken by his words. Good.

“Now, in the interest of my time and yours, and in the hopes of making something worthwhile of this farce, would you kindly take this meeting seriously, recollect the reason you invited me here, and both literally and figuratively open your eyes!”

His sharp words did seem to strike home. There was a long moment of silence that seemed to stretch to forever as she recoiled from that salvo. She put a hand to her chest.

“…I only kept my eyes closed because it makes me look smarter… the smart ones in anime always have their eyes closed…”

His eye twitched. He assumed that the wall scrolls depicted this “anime” she mentioned, but those disproportioned characters hardly seemed like a reasonable template for her actions. Was she really so bafflingly-

His thoughts, and the sharp words that would have accompanied them, were banished from his mind as she opened her eyes. Two pupils adorned each with deep yellow irises, each sitting side-by-side in a pool of white. He was not aware of any species that had such eyes, and his assistant had been quite clear that she was human. His eyes narrowed.

“And here I was hoping that we could get along. I spend most of my time with Hachi over there, but he’s hardly good company.”

“Is that why you invited me here? As entertainment?”

She paused, eyes narrowed in thought. Something seemed to dawn on her, and her eyes widened.

“Have you ever heard of Resident Evil? Not those awful movies, but rather, the video game series?”

He kept puzzlement from his face.

“I am not familiar with either one.”

She sighed, appearing disappointed.

“Well, aside from Umbrella, there’s Shinra, Fontaine Futuristics, Aperture Science…”

“None of those, either. Are they other companies you’re considering for contracts?”

She seemed to take affront at that.

“Heavens no! They’re all awful companies… well, except for that last one. Did some awful things, but made an amazing gun – still trying to find an engineer to replicate that, but they keep saying ‘it’s not physically possible to connect 2 points in space and time like that.’ Won’t get me any powdered moon rock for that either. How do they know if they refuse to even try?”

He looked puzzled.

“Most people don’t get my references. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though these are classics, in the same vein as Miyazaki… oh you probably don’t know him either. In any case, these companies are tailor made to be antagonists. Some might go so far as to call them ‘evil,’ though it’s never that simple. Things rarely are.”

She shifted back in her seat, though he hadn’t noticed that she’d been slouching in her seat. She seemed to… grow almost a foot as she did, rising in height well above his own. Was she really so tall? He’d have to fire his assistant.

“We’ve been monitoring Iota for quite some time, and while I don’t monitor intergalactic markets, I am aware of news cycles. I wonder what it says about a company when headlines read ‘Not one Iota of truth to be found.’”

Etchin’s expression flattened. So, this was her game.

“I didn’t come here to be harangued for bad press, but you have little basis for concern. Every company has their high and low points.”

She rested an elbow on her desk, opening her palm and placing her left cheek against it. Her eyes were solely focused on him, and he found himself wishing she’d kept them closed. Then she tisked.

“That’s a very charitable interpretation. Sure, some companies dump dangerous chemicals into space. Some use backwater planets for slave labor. Some engage in blackmail and take control of political enterprises. Those are classic scandals, nothing new. But then, I wonder why you keep making the front page with such… standard fare.”

He snorted.

“You expect me to understand why they make these decisions? We’re a big company. We make news.”

She raised a finger, tapping her chin.

“Oh, but you’ve been doing that for years. I mean, it’s not like you’ve unleashed some kind of zombie plague, created a deadly artificial intelligence, or… started hollowing out inhabited planets.”

His eyes widened. He pushed back his chair, rising, yet she still seemed taller. How was that possible? He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a finger with her other hand, and the words died in his throat. She put on a flat expression.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t find that tidbit in the news. I’m not up to date on my mining laws, and planetary sovereignty is a thorny issue to say the least, but I wonder what government would authorize a project that involves liquidating the plutonium in a planet’s mantle. There have been reports of increased volcanic activity and earthquakes there as well. Mass evacuations and losses of life all being blamed on natural disasters. How ‘natural’ do you think those are?”

Suddenly, the room seemed unbearably hot, though he made no move to wipe away the sweat. He would not let her take control of this situation. He leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk, and heard the figure behind him rise. Propriis raised a flat hand to him, and the response was a strong coughing fit. He didn’t hear the Malkeithian sit back down.

“None of that is accurate.”

She rolled her eyes, which produced a strange effect with the dual pupils.

“Accuracy? My networks have been quite clear regarding what you and Iota have been up to these days. One has to wonder why you’ve suddenly taken to building new facilities in the Sea, all on planets with noted deposits of rare minerals deep beneath the surface.”

He recoiled from her, backing up several feet.

“Your informants are liars.”

“Yes, many of them were probably paid off by you and yours. I doubt that this is the full story, but rather just the tip of the iceberg. You’re welcome to deny it, but I trust that you understand the gravity of this situation.”

He grimaced. The Empire certainly wasn’t a paragon of ethical behavior, and while it certainly had countless skeletons in its closet, he was certain that they were the only ones who ever peered inside. Their crimes, numerous though they undoubtedly were, were hidden from view, and they scrubbed themselves raw to remove any signs that they had ever been a party to their many faults. They similarly were demanding of the companies they worked with, and they had previously executed several top executives who were tried and convicted of high crimes. Every conviction happened in a secret tribunal, where, of course, every care was taken to ensure that the defendants were treated fairly. Sweat came in buckets, though he kept his expression firm.

“You’ll hear from my lawyer.”

He spun around to stride out of the room, and was greeted with a much larger room than the one he’d walked into initially. The door was barely visible, and the Malkeithian, still on his feet, seemed exceedingly far away. The sound of his coughing, however, seemed all too close.

“What… what is this madness?”

“Oh, you don’t like what I’ve done with the place? How about something more comfortable.”

She snapped her fingers, and the room morphed in a sickening fashion, its size compacting and its shape twisting as the space turned a deep blue. Two of the walls turned transparent, becoming glass panes that saw out onto a lush scene of greens and yellows that was not of this planet. This was his office, down to the linoleum tiles on the floor and the security camera above the now metallic door.

“…How…”

It was all he could manage. The coughing grew more constant and louder while he tried desperately to compose himself. Propriis filled the silence.

“Is this not to your liking? I know you don’t know much of anything about Japanese culture, so I changed the atmosphere to something you would recognize.”

He turned to face her, and her outfit resembled the dress attire of his normal employees – a small black blazer open over a white, button-up blouse. He didn’t need to see her lower half to know she wore a short, tight black skirt.

“You have informants in my office?”

“Informants? Please. We monitor all our business ties, and we don’t need people to do it. You could fire your whole staff and we’d still have eyes on you.”

“And I suppose you’ve gotten approval for this sort of monitoring?”

She smiled.

“You already know the answer: my approval is all that’s needed. And it’s not the only place of yours that we monitor.”

The room morphed again, this time into the lavish whites and blues that made up his home. He didn’t even glance around at the myriad of post-modern furniture that now filled the room, along with several holographic displays. His eyes were fixed in horror on the woman in front of him as the desk vanished and her body twisted itself into a new shape and size, one that exactly matched that of his own wife, wearing thin nightgown that left little to the imagination. She was a beautiful woman with long, flowing blonde hair, and her smile was inviting, though those eyes remained the same.

“Stop it.”

He said those words with a growl. She put on an innocent face.

“And here I thought this would be comfortable.”

“Stop it.”

“You have a reputation for being unshakable, but it seems even you can be-“

“STOP IT!”

Her lips drew into a line. The room morphed back to its original state, though he did not look behind to see if the size was consistent. He didn’t care. He was breathing heavily, and felt his body sag with exertion.

“Why are you torturing me with this?”

She barked a laugh.

“Torturing you? I’m being genuine, Mr. Volite, when I say that all I’m trying to do is understand you and help you to understand. I even tried to be personable. I have no interest in harming you or anyone close to you, I just want you to understand the stakes.”

He balked.

“Your threats suggest otherwise.”

She shook her head

“Quite the contrary. You aren’t the first major executive who’s walked into this office, but unlike the rest I mean for you to walk out of it a free and clear man with a beautiful wife and powerful, ever-growing company. You should be able to rely on the Empire’s full cooperation.”

“And how do you mean for that to happen?”

Propriis smiled wolfishly. She inflected her voice to a deeper tone.

"Everyone has their flaws and imperfections, but that's what drives us to work together... To make up for those flaws. Together, we make the perfect main character."

"...Was... was that a quote from something?"

She groaned, clearly upset.

"Fine, you want a clear message?..."

As she spoke, her pupils began merging together until they formed a single, bright yellow iris. Watching that sent a chill down his spine, as did the word she whispered afterward.

“Embrace unity.”
whiteflame55 commented…
I'll post Alis's profile after I've had a chance to write it up. The other two are NPCs. over a year ago
whiteflame55 commented…
...which I might also flesh out, though I'm deciding on that. over a year ago
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
[Lifting off]

The Hantal was an old spaceship updated to modern standards. It had weathered through planned obsolescence over the centuries thanks to constant repairs, replacing the old with the new to keep it breathing. As a result, it earned its nickname as the ‘Ship of Theseus’ among historians and sailing enthusiasts. Very few pieces of technology so old were worth keeping in active use. The Hantal’s very existence defied the beliefs of many technocracies the galaxy over.

Stylistically, it combined both the old and the new together in a fascinating blend. The entire ship was much larger than it needed to be for a crew the size of the 1st Patrol Unit, as the ship was made in a time when most of the more sensitive features needed a human touch. Back then, space ships were constructed to resemble sea boats due to the overlapping purpose. Now, nearly everything was automated through computer. The ship’s bridge, which had looked like a battleship control room once upon a time, now resembled an observation deck with a massive window overlooking the blackness of space. The bridge’s appearance could shift if necessary, but usually kept to this casual setting. It still performed its original function, however, as there were terminals where the ship’s specs, radar, helm, and much more could be accessed. The entire ship could be controlled from these terminals if one knew what they were doing. There was even a little hatch in the floor where someone could slip in and find themselves in control of the ship’s turrets and main cannon.

Siphon knew the broad strokes, but most of the details came from the ship’s drunken markswoman who had her arm draped around his shoulder firmly, refusing to let him go as she spoke. Siphon genuinely appreciated the lecture, since he would soon be spending the next few days trying to learn the ship inside and out, but he could have done without the smothering welcome. He had to keep half of his attention on keeping his breathing steady and not letting the drink he was gripping in both hands spill onto the floor.

The 1st Patrol Unit had been kind enough to welcome him on board in full uniform, the organization’s insignia emblazoned on their shoulders, and presented him with a blazer of his own. Supposedly, the Traveler’s Organization held a swearing in ceremony annually for new members at the headquarters that didn’t have mandatory attendance, so recruits could join active duty at any time. Since it was held regularly, the ceremony also served as a wake for any recently departed members and a sendoff for retirees. It was an important tradition that his parents would doubtless insist he attend, but he secretly hoped that business would keep him away.

“The thing is,” Beatrice went on as she pulled Siphon around toward the other three, who were standing by and watching this one-sided tour of the deck. She’d already shed her uniform jacket and left it lying across a nearby chair, uncomfortable with the extra layer. “The number for a patrol unit don’t mean nothing, ‘cept for the first three. I hear we get one of dem ol’ ships that show the organization’s long history. So some reeeeaaalllly competent people gotta be on each one, you know? Like them two, there,” Beatrice pointed in the general direction of the other three. Siphon guessed, from the shifts in expression, that she was talking about the taller two. “They do more work than a crew a hundred times our size. Back when I first joined, I couldn’t even find much for me to do. Ain’t that right?”

“You can’t be drunk already.” The one Siphon remembered being introduced as #3582—he’d have to commit that number to memory—growled in a tone that took Siphon by surprised. “We’ve barely even drifted out of Earth’s orbit, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’ll have to forgive her.” The tall ship captain spoke apologetically. Was her bemused smile as dishonest as the Malkethian’s posture? At least she spoke as gently as she looked. “Beatrice recently found out that her probation’s been extended. She usually watches her rate of intake more carefully.”

“It ain’t my fault!” Beatrice finally released Siphon’s shoulder. “If I did the normal paperwork to get my shotgun through customs, I’d never get it back by time we left! Is that what you want? A gunner who can’t gun nothing?”

Beatrice broke into a fit of giggles, unable to keep a straight face. She stumbled forward and reached out for some support, grabbing onto Charmeine’s shoulder. Charmeine shot her a warning glare, but Beatrice didn’t notice. So Charmeine tugged her shoulder away violently, letting Beatrice collapse to the floor. Vespin sighed.

“You were caught for losing the package you were supposed to bring for inspection. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear all the other things you confessed to.”

Vespin picked up her glass from the table and moved in a way that subtly drew attention to her. One moment she’d been just another member of the crew, then shifted to the posture of captain with the slightest of movements, displaying the Organizations symbol decorating her coat’s back. It was a rehearsed movement, not something that came naturally. Siphon found himself staring in awe for a moment before Vespin snapped him out of it as she tapped her fingernail against the glass in a symbolic manner.

“Today, we’re celebrating a few things at once. The addition of our newest member is the obvious reason. Siphon Suennon is a young man from Sfaira who intends to be our colleague for quite a while, so let’s be sure to get along well. Be sure to answer any questions he has and help him get acquainted with our place of residence. We’re taking him on his maiden voyage as we speak, in fact. It will be his first trip into space. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant one.”

Vespin raised her glass politely and Siphon smiled in thanks. Beatrice slurred something incoherent and raised her hands from the floor, waving them around. The others ignored this.

“Our other reason is that we passed the inspection. If there were any concerns, you may lay them to rest. No red flags were raised in our group.”

“That’s pretty fucking hard to believe.” #3582 kept his voice low, but they were all close enough together to hear him without a problem. “One of our own is on probation. Again.”

“Beatrice’s conduct is not a systematic problem. The inspectors from Sphinx weren’t looking into complaints about the behavior of individuals…this time.” Vespin cocked her head as she added that last note. “If they were, I imagine we wouldn’t have gotten off so easily.”

Vespin didn’t indicate anyone in particular with her words, nor did she make any unconscious movements to make her silent point. This left Siphon in the dark as to whom she was referring to, though he believed he might have been better off for it. Vespin raised her glass slightly higher and the others mimicked her on reflex.

“Still, this is an achievement worth celebrating. The employee evaluations are in the ship’s cloud for you to access individually whenever you like. Here’s to a future of positive improvements.”

The dry toast was met by a chorus of murmurs. Beatrice managed to down her glass quicker than the others and Siphon took a polite, tender sip before setting his glass down. He noticed that Vespin did the same without even touching the contents.

“Oh!” Beatrice threw her hands up suddenly. “One last thing!”

She pushed her jacket’s left sleeve back, exposing the plastic bracelet around her wrist. With a single tap, a small section of it disconnected from the rest and shot into the air, hovering at around shoulder height from a distance. The others showed confusion until Beatrice started pushing them all together with unnecessary enthusiasm.

“Not another one of these stupid group photos.”

“Don’t be such a downer! We got ourselves another member in the family, we gotta update the old one. You finally get to overwrite the weird face you made in the last picture.”

“Damn it, Betty!”

“Smile for the camera, boys.”

A series of clicks came from the floating lens. As soon as it finished, Beatrice’s awkward pose sent her tumbling on top of Siphon in a fit of laughter. Her warm breath against the back of his neck sent a tingle down his spine just before Charmeine grabbed her by the nape of her neck and practically tossed her off of him.

“Oh, thanks.” He said as Charmeine offered him her hand. She lifted him up with enough strength in one arm that he didn’t even need to use his legs. An impressive feat, since he was by no means light, despite his slender frame. “Thank you.”

Chairmeine eyed him for a second without responding, as if sizing him up. He was tempted to ask what she was thinking, but #3582’s next question demanded his attention.

“We’re far enough away from headquarters to jump into hyperspace. Are you going give me the coordinates for wherever the hell we’re going next or is this maiden voyage really just a pleasure cruise of the star system?”

“The former.” Vespin smiled. She moved swiftly toward the nearest control terminal, her long stride bringing her there in moments. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, too fast for Siphon to track with just his eyes. But from her keying habits, he could tell that she was typing in code to execute programs, which was why she decided to forgo the use of a mouse.

That was something else he’d have to get used to. The ship’s computer must have been littered with shortcuts and other customizations. He’d have to take a few nights to memorize those and possibly add his own.

The lights on the deck dimmed and the large windows darkened, turning into a screen that displayed the information Vespin had put up. The others moved in closer to read the name and description.

Alis Volat Propriis: member of the Galactic Empire’s High Council, famed hobbyist who appeared in public less often than her colleagues. She lacked seniority and hadn’t fought for and won her seat via public election, making her one of the more curious council members.

“We’re doing a job in the Galactic Empire right after we got inspected by their cronies? That seems pretty damn petty.”

“Sphinx isn’t affiliated with the Council any more than they are with the Traveler’s Organization. They’re independent, lacking any enforcement privileges. They investigate, gather information, process it, and pass it along to their employer along with a consultation.”

“That’s sophistry. To any normal person, it’s a business made in the Empire by an Imperial citizen to police other intergalactic groups without the Council’s name on it.”

Vespin shrugged her shoulders.

“A common misconception. Sphinx has done pretty well even with that stigma on their shoulders. Nevertheless, this is less of an explicit job and more of a necessary checkup. Councilwoman Propriis is known for her omniscience. People try to take advantage of her all the time and that popularity puts her at risk. She’s a common target for a litany of people who can’t be bothered to arrange a proper meeting. Her status makes security around her…interesting.”

“Omniscience? As in, she knows everything?”

“I would describe it more like she knows things that she should have no way of knowing. You’ll see when you meet her. Think of it as an opportunity; meeting a member of the Council is a rare chance. Especially one so renowned. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Once again, Vespin didn’t indicate anyone when she spoke. But this time, Siphon suspected that she was talking about him. Did she know about his dilemma? While he had told his story to the Vizor, he hadn’t expected it to have made an impact when deciding on their destination.

“Well then, you should all get some sleep. This job isn’t expected to be difficult, but we should be prepared all the same. Charmeine, please show Siphon to his quarters.”

“Sure.”

“And also…”

Vespin tilted her head in the direction of the snoring body still collapsed where Charmeine had thrown it.

“Please try to be gentle with her.”
~~~~~~~~~

Siphon had experienced firsthand what Beatrice’s iron grip felt like, but somehow, she could be even clingier. Though she was barely conscious, she was gripping Charmeine’s forearm like a sloth. She did all the work, so Charmeine didn’t have to put in much effort into carrying her.

The corridors were simple paths that cut through the ship like a simple maze. The doors they passed had a variety of different signs above them, such as “Infirmary”, “Brig”, and “Study”. There was an entire corridor of guest rooms that Siphon presumed were empty. It gave him the sense that, sometime in the past, this place had been a lot livelier than it was now. New parts and fresh paint masked the history of activity that this ship carried. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people from across the galaxy had come through here before him.

Beatrice’s quarters was the first occupied bedroom they came across. The door was covered in photos of her in a variety of different settings with a variety of different people. She was in nearly every picture, showing off that big smile of hers. It was a little disorienting to see someone that happy about anything. In Sfaira, a person tended to feel ‘content’ rather than this…exultation. It looked as if, no matter where this girl went, she’d find a way to enjoy herself, whether it be in the depths of a jungle surrounded by mosquitoes and covered in mud or in a frozen wasteland with her exposed skin protestingt54 for warmth. The places she visited were more volatile than his home ever was.

Charmeine shook Beatrice awake enough for her to press her hand to the pad beside the door, unlocking it. What greeted them was a mess of random stuff scattered all over the floor. There was no pointing in trying to sort through what any of it was. It looked as if she’d tossed whatever she had on the floor and never got around to putting it away. The only things that really stood out were the deadly weapons disassembled and strewn across her bed. It looked as if she had been playing with an old firearm, its pieces lined up next to each other.

Charmeine and Siphon waded through the mess and began to pry Beatrice off Charmeine’s arm. It took several tries, since the girl stubbornly fastened her grip again every time they got one finger off and moved onto the other. Finally, a growled threat got Beatrice to let go and drop onto the bed. The blonde marksman frowned in discomfort and began to strip off her jacket and shorts at the same time with auspicious ease. Siphon evacuated immediately, almost falling flat on his face when his foot caught on a crowbar that had been lying around. By time he made it to the door, Beatrice was in her underwear and clinging to her pillow like it was her lover.

“…Earth must be a weird place.”

Charmeine raised an eyebrow at him as she shut the door behind her.

“So you do speak.”

“Was I being quiet before?”

“A little.” Charmeine directed Siphon to continue walking down the corridor. “And don’t use her as a benchmark for what Earth’s like. It’s definitely a weird place, but she’s pretty…exceptional.”

“You’re from Earth, too?”

Charmeine nodded.

“Most aren’t like me, either. Just like most people from Sfaira aren’t as fit as you are.”

Siphon’s lips pulled down into a frown. So that’s what she’d noticed before. His clothes hid his physique, so he looked like a normal person. If she’d seen through that, she must have been very perceptive. She held herself like she had training, so he was now convinced that she was from the military.

Siphon’s room was just a few doors down from Beatrice’s, void of any personal effects. The electronic lock hadn’t been set to his biometrics, so the door slid open just by stepping near it. The inside was decidedly different from Beatrice’s room, even consideringe the lack of clutter. There was room to move and the living space that greeted him wasn’t occupied by a bed. Instead, there was a line of seats, a small terminal, a low table, and a door heading into a bedroom further in the back. It was several times nicer that his own room at home, though that didn’t help with making him feel comfortable.

“You can control the room’s settings from there.” Charmeine pointed at the terminal. “As well as contact any room in the building, among other things. There’s also a map if you need to find your way anywhere. But the ship isn’t as big as it looks. After wandering around for a while, you’ll learn where everything is.”

“Right, thanks.” By time Siphon turned around, Charmeine was already heading out the door. Siphon sighed and set his bag on the nearby seat. He took another look around room and took a deep breath, sighing just as heavily.

This was it. He was in space. His dream of taking off and visiting the open expanses of the galaxy were being realized. He’d worked hard to get here. And yet, it didn’t feel like what he’d hoped for. That was probably because he knew that he was only just getting started. Everything that would come next would be harder than what he’d gone through to get to this point. He was standing at the starting line with a massive hurdle towering over him.

The satisfaction that this thought gave him was immense.
~~~

A reference for what Siphon's room looks like
[Lifting off]

The Hantal was an old spaceship updated to modern standards. It had weathered throug
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
Alis Volat Propriis

Age: 25

Appearance: A svelte young woman, Alis has shoulder-length black hair, olive skin, and sharp features. Her appearance is usually highly elegant, including carefully applied makeup and dressing gowns of various sorts, most often in a Japanese style. This, however, is chiefly the result of her servant. In his absence, her appearance is usually much more lax, often including a wide assortment of very casual clothing, including over-large t-shirts and sweat pants.

Personality: Alis is a weeaboo. She’s fanatical about Japanese culture, and is particularly infatuated with all Japanese art forms. She is particularly fond of anime and manga, and in a time when those have long since stopped being produced, her in-depth knowledge of both makes her all the more strange in this era. Those friends that she has appreciate her quirky nature, but few individuals truly understand her.

Despite her role as a member of the Council, Alis is not a political person, nor is she much of a fan of the Empire, despite her seat of power. Alis enjoys indulging in the past, and though she is considered brilliant, she doesn’t have any personal incentive to engage in actions aimed at furthering the goals of the Empire or her colleagues, much to their chagrin. Yet she remains a valued member of the Council, largely because of her desire to improve on the actions of the Empire. She does not pursue her goals flippantly, though she is often glib or dismissive of the means required for accomplishing those goals.

History: Alis started life well outside of the Empire, though she was born to its citizens. She was born and raised in a backwater planet in the Intergalactic Sea, and knew only what her parents had told her of the Empire they had left behind. They sung its praises, making her question why they had ever left. She and her family lived comfortably, and she and her brothers – a pair of identical twins, two years older than her – were schooled by their parents in all manner of subjects. She bore little resemblance to the rest of her family, whose brown hair, soft features and fair skin contrasted sharply with her own features.

Alis (or Alex, as she was known then) showed clear signs of brilliance in her youth, but despite her parents best efforts, they found it hard to keep her focused on any given subject, save history. She soaked up historical topics like a sponge, and would read and watch little else in her downtime, while her brothers continued to excel. Her fixations generated some distance between her and her family, though not nearly so much as her efforts to understand and tweak the world around her. While her methods were often subtle, she commonly pushed family members and friends to tweak their lives. Her central drive, though, was to push her family to return to the Empire.

Her efforts eventually got her shipped off to a university in the Empire, without the rest of her family. They don’t visit, and neither does she.

Over the course of her short tenure on a college campus, she quickly stood out as both an advocate for the Empire, and as an individual who could swing even the worst of situations into something she desired, often without any personal benefit. Though she was failing her classes, she was scouted for government work as a minor lackey for a Council member far on the Empire’s borders. She was kept at arm’s length, viewed as a politically-minded individual who lulled others into a false sense of security before pouncing on opportunities that would enrich and reward her.

They didn’t understand her in the slightest, and that complete lack of understanding led to her acquiring that Council seat, and her acquisition of #8. She still regrets both.

Skills: Alis is of a strange mind. She’s very knowledgeable about certain subjects that have been mostly lost to time. Despite efforts to engage with others, she often speaks past them, using an amalgam of quotes and references that give the impression that she’s speaking another language altogether. It makes understanding her exceedingly difficult, something few can manage.

Though she is not the slightest bit political or deceptive, she is nonetheless cunning, almost solely by nature. She orchestrates grand plans that she hardly understands herself, the pieces often coming together in ways she never could have imagined, though the goal itself is always in mind. Driven, though never rushed, her chief goal is always to be a step ahead of those around her, even if that step is in an apparently random direction. In order to keep that advantage, she keeps several persons of interest on staff, each of whom contribute tremendously to her available knowledge.

Eight:
One of the eldest of the Malkeithians, he is still considered one of the central leaders of his people. Having worked for multiple Council members in the past, he’s actually bonded to the Council as a whole, and is thus one of the few who has multiple masters. However, as with other Malkeithians of his rank and above, the terms of his bond are not quite as demanding. While he is only required to help his master, he is not required to do as Alis says in every instance, as he is able to discern for himself whether or not her demands are beneficial to her. Otherwise, he is free to act, and does so commonly. He draws on an incredibly long history, though he volunteers information only when it suits him.

Veda (a.k.a. The Sage):
A young teenager, her demeanor and appearance often mean others see her as little more than a secretary, which is how she chooses to behave in most instances. Though she doesn’t flaunt it, Veda is considered the single most intelligent human alive, despite her early age. She can draw upon a seemingly endless well of information, ranging over a thousand years, from a multitude of planets and in a multitude of subjects. Among humans at least, she was once treated as a nigh-omniscient, whose home was a place people traveled to seeking knowledge. When she was approached by Alis, she abandoned that life, though it is unclear why she chose to do so. Most of the knowledge she provides to Alis relates to Japanese history and culture.
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
Hey, sorry about the long wait - I've been rather busy recently. I'm writing something, though it might be a few weeks before I can finish it.
silverexorcist commented…
That's fine. We're not in a hurry or anything and I'm patient. over a year ago
whiteflame55 commented…
Cool, just wanted to let you know I haven't fallen into a black hole. over a year ago
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
Alright, so this took a lot longer to write than I'd thought it would, which at least is partly due to my schedule, but also due to my still thinking through these characters as I go. I think I've got most of what I want out of them down at this point, so hopefully the rest of the story will flow faster than this did. In any case, I'll hopefully have another post up as soon as next weekend. That's my goal at the moment.

[Our Demons]

Calm… quiet… and fucking boring. Just how he liked it.

Being off the ship was painful to #3582, as it was painful for most of the Malkeith to be too far from their... masters.

#3582 lay in a small alcove squirreled away within the Hantal. It was one of the few pieces of the ship that, despite near-continuous upgrades, remained the same as when he’d first been conscripted into servitude. The small space was scattered with keepsakes that solely had meaning to him, a random assortment of objects that excluded pictures. Here, a small top with Hebrew symbols written on the side, known as a dreidel, virtually untouched and covered in a thin film of dust. There, an ancient book entitled Twilight, well-worn from numerous readings. He had a normal room as well, barren though it was, but he spent far more time holed up in this location, away from the prying eyes and voices of the latest swarm of parasites that preyed on his Hantal…

What was the Hantal to him now? What was he to the Hantal? He had ruminated on this topic for the entirety of his time aboard, and though he made it clear to others that he was in no way subservient to the ship, he had a challenging time convincing himself. He was, after all, conscripted to follow all orders it gave and take actions that ensure its continued safety… even if the Hantal never gave orders and was constantly having pieces taken out and replaced. What were the demands of a ship? Should he rebel every time pieces of it were taken off to repair it? Most of the ship had been replaced with new pieces in the last several centuries, yet his bond didn’t reside with the missing pieces.

The state of these bonds was a strange thing, made all the stranger by having one with a non-living entity.

And that strangeness was his prison. Not the ship itself, though sometimes it felt that way to him, but rather the vagueness of what the bond demanded of him. It required that he be aboard for the vast majority of the time – spending even 24 hours off of the Hantal caused him great distress, including severe migraines, bright flashes of color and sound. He was incapable of purposely harming the ship, and whenever harm was done to it by space debris and weapons, he felt pain akin to the damage done. He functioned as the ship’s pain receptors.

That was what his existence was these days. That’s what his existence had been for as long as he could remember.

New crews would initially treat him as a steward for the ship, and they weren’t completely wrong in that. He saw to much of its upkeep, though he wasn’t by any means an engineer or a mechanic. He had simply become so familiar with the ship that he could effectively respond to any number of problems, so long as they did not require replacement or extensive repairs.

He was, however, not a part of any of the crews that captained the Hantal, nor did they have any kind of true ownership of this vessel. They were simply… uninvited guests. And he treated them as such.

Rejecting them was for the best. Their existence on the Hantal was always transient, and there was no reason to become attached. He’d learned a long time ago that attachments to other beings, no matter their race, were nothing but trouble.

He’d stay on the ship through most of the missions they’d done. This would likely be no different, so he had no clue what their destination was. The Hantal was, at once, both his greatest comfort and his prison. And he’d learned to favor the latter.

**************************************

Charmeine sat in her austere room, a place decorated like a military barracks, which meant barely decorated at all. A small side table had a few scattered pictures on it, two of those filled with people in military uniform, and one of a young family. Along the walls were a couple of framed awards, most of them received over her tenure in the military. Most of her clothing was carefully folded and stored underneath her bed, which was topped with a thin gray, woolen blanket. Everything was immaculately cleaned. Two pairs of boots, both shined and ready, sat at her bedside, while a third sat in Charmeine’s lap.

She moved meticulously, using crisp, practiced back and forth movements with an oiled cloth to cover every inch of her boots. The process was rote, but doing things like this focused her mind, pushing away a slew of contaminating… thoughts… that had assaulted her ever since they left the headquarters. That was the lie she told herself. That they were just thoughts.

No, they were more than that.

She kept her eyes on the boots in front of her, focusing her mind on the smooth back and forth of the motions. She had always been told she had a mind for the military, someone who could stay focused on the task at hand, follow simple orders without thinking into them too much. Of course, that meant she wasn’t cut out to lead much more than a small regiment. It meant other people viewed her as someone too small-minded to be cut out for anything particularly important. That mattered to some people.

It didn’t matter to her. She was not stupid, but she could understand how societies worked. Each person had a place, and no place was less important. Some required more drudgery, more repetitious slog, but they were all cogs in a machine. The machine required all those cogs to work in concert. Some, like Vespin, were destined to run things, and achieve notoriety. She would stand in the limelight and shine bright; people would remember her name. Names like Charmeine’s would vanish the moment they were buried in the ground. That should probably bother her, but Charmeine knew what it was like to be the focus of attention.

Vespin understood that, she knew the risks. Siphon would learn, in time.

Back and forth, top to bottom, slowly and methodically. Behaviors like this had been learned over the course of her time in the military, but she had always taken to them easily. They weren’t needed in the same way now that she was a civilian, but she held to them still. The stability they brought her was needed at times like these.

She had already been briefed on their goal with this trip. She had no interest in meeting any member of the Council, and Propriis even less so. She had a reputation that made Charmeine wary, though Vespin seemed to perceive it as an opportunity of sorts. It was another requirement of the job, one that was unlikely to require any of her skills as a guard...

She crinkled her brow in uncertainty as she puzzled over that word. It was simple enough to define herself in the military, as she was given a clear and concise role. Ever since she’d left, it had felt like her identity itself was in flux. Was she a guard? Was peacekeeper more accurate? Vespin had told her to consider herself one of the crew, though she knew her role was distinct. Their lives were in her hands. It was all she had these days, and though it made it difficult to see those around her as more than just integral to her duty, she held onto it with a grip like a vise. She refused to let go.

A dripping sensation brought Charmeine’s thoughts back to reality. Oil was seeping out of the cloth and between the fingers of her hand, which tightly gripped it. She frowned, releasing the cloth and letting it drop to the ground. Her boots were long-since finished, as she’d already covered them several times over. It was past time she made her rounds, anyway – Siphon should be settled by now, and she needed to make sure he knew the routine aboard this ship.

She put on her boots and stood, moving towards the door. She stopped short before reaching for the handle, staring for several heartbeats at the woman who met her gaze in the mirror. Charmeine still recognized that woman, still knew every crease in her face, grasped her height and heft. Her mind could still trace that person through the years, watching those dimensions change over the short decades of her existence.

Why did she always linger here? Why was there always that second of doubt and concern? What did she fear she would see?

Charmeine couldn’t say. Or maybe she just couldn’t admit it, even to herself. She would always recognize that woman on the other side of the mirror, but how long before she failed to recognize herself staring back?

**************************************

Eight gripped his chest as another bout of coughing overcame him. The pain was intense, though he could suppress his pained expressions if he was with company. Etchin had long since left, and the Mistress did not seem bothered by it, so he was free to show such automatic emotions. Beyond that, his face was always an unreadable wall.

Not that he didn’t feel them. He seethed as another slew of coughs racked his body. Medicines wouldn’t touch it, no matter how advanced – he’d gone to great lengths in his efforts to find a means to overcome his physical ailment. It made him feel incapable as a servant, someone who dragged his problems into every room he occupied. The Mistress didn’t seem to care much about it, though she was unlikely to care much about anything specific to one person. It didn’t matter who it was.

“You look like death.”

Veda was examining her nails in a nonchalant manner. She didn’t really care about the state of her nails, any more than she had cared to see to Echin’s needs while he resided in this room. Instead, Veda got impish satisfaction from miming the almost comically stereotypical actions of a secretary. It was the only sort of emotion he’d ever seen out of the woman; he was quite certain that this was because her emotional state was permanently subdued rather than restrained as his were.

He had gleaned that she had always been that way, though he was sure that her mental state had reinforced that emotional suppression. Juggling personalities would do that.

“Thank you for your kind sympathies.”

“Don’t condescend to me, Eight.”

“No condescension meant. I rarely hear the honor of your speech these days.”

Veda huffed. “That’s because there’s no ‘honor’ in it.”

He moved to leave, caring little to speak with her more. It wasn’t until he reached the opposite door that she spoke again.

“It’s quite curious how you and your species veil your words. A linguist could spend a lifetime just determining what was hidden in the confines and crevices of a Malkeithian’s speech.”

The words had the same voice as Veda had used earlier, but they were intoned as if from an entirely different person. It was significantly lower in register, with a sharp edge built into it, the words reaching out to snatch secrets from him.

“Linguists have tried.”

“Oh yes, but they’ve all had to capitulate at some point. One can only speak to a wall for so long. Strange, but they never tried to work with one of the numbers above 11. Why might that be?”

He turned away from the door, attention fully back on Veda as he fought down a cough. She knew the answer to that question; she had known him and several others among those numbers. Even with her impressive knowledge, she knew scant little about what those numbers meant, though she knew enough to be considered quite knowledgeable among her people.

“Since when has this become an area of inquiry for you?”

She scoffed. “Inquiry? To inquire is to suggest that one expects an answer. My question was rhetorical.”

She sighed, her eyes appearing to see without seeing.

“The phenomena of alien cultures is always striking, particularly in their stratification. You appear to choose names based largely on age, though it’s unclear what other factors play a role. Are males and females treated similarly? Is it tied to your choice of masters? For that matter, why choose numbers at all? Why opt into the impersonal?”

Eight flattened his expression. Two personalities that were clearly distinct from Veda’s own. They used to be accompanied by altered mannerisms as well, though it appears there was more homogeneity among them each day. He’d counted five so far.

Veda leaned forward onto her desk, hands clasped before her. The glassy, detached gaze persisted.

“You don’t have to speak, though I’d love to hear your thoughts. Chances are you may not even know some of the answers to these questions completely. For a race that looks and acts so remarkably similar, it would be fascinating to see where you vary.”

Eight kept his expression even as he turned away, going back to the door. He grasped the handle and opened it slightly before responding.

“We have more guests arriving soon. Please, try to act yourself.”

He didn’t look back at her as he opened the door wide, closing it carefully behind himself before another fit of coughing overcame him.
over a year ago jcrown47500 said…
hey... i would love to join
i'm not really good at describing action scenes plus my keyboard is faulty so i'm using on-screen keyboard which is extremely slow so i came up with an ingenious alternative... i'm not that good at writing but i'm well versed at drawing , my keyboard isn't functioning well but my pen is... so i've decided to illustrate my post in the form of manga... i know it's a lot unorthodox but so was this prose form of roleplay you guys have been using and now it's so awesome that i can't even read any forum that doesn't utilize it...
over a year ago jcrown47500 said…
i'm going to utilize 10 characters... all my characters are space pirates called "the anathema drifters" aboard a pirate spaceship called "the phoenix stigma drive"... i'm trying to create a criminal link to the roleplay...
i'll be posting 15 pages every 2 weeks as my turn... but since fanpop isn't favorable for posting pictures, my post would be in the form of link to my deviantart account in which the pages would be in...
over a year ago jcrown47500 said…
here is my first and major character...

Ahlzmeineaq Ishqlk

Captain and helmsman of the Phoenix Stigma Drive
Sex: male
Race: Knoqa
Age: 10yrs

Appearance: Ahlzmeineaq (often nicknamed “Ahlz”) is a short in sense but tall in Vholkik convention, muscular knoqa. Standing at 5ft, his hair is in the form of very long ginger dreadlocks he keeps in a ponytail. He has an unblemished, chubby, juvenile face that even the cold-hearted as to consider cute, tanned ochre in complexion, featuring bright, watery harlequin eyes that glows brilliantly in the dark. Regardless of his stature and youthful looks, he is relatively…no…overly muscular, possessing an array of well-developed abdominal muscles and biceps

Personality: Ahlzmeineaq is a total concrete atheist, which is unheard of from a knoqa. Ahlzmeineaq's dominant traits are his shrewdness, bluntness, sarcasm, macabre sadism, frankness, fearlessness and complete lack of sensor. He is a very mellow person even in the face of abysmal challenges, he never loses his constant smirk and he tries not to show weakness, and stays strong in front of his companions. In the face of adversity, he is vile, cruel and ruthless in his battles and wasting no time in his attempts to kill his opponents. He always begins his battles small and light, giving his opponents false hope of defeating him, only to erase that hope and put them in despair at the hopelessness of defeating his true power. Ahlzmeineaq despite his mellow gait is easily annoyed and angered, being far more brutal, sarcastic, sadistic and cruel than ever, whilst still maintaining his mellow smirk, evidently enjoying himself when beating his enemies. However, he is not above complimenting his foes if they are truly powerful.
Ahlzmeineaq has a darker side to his personality, which he calls dogma ight that is instinctively present in all knoqa which they use to fight mercilessly and uninhibited for their faith. Fighting with a convicted heart and ready to lay down their lives for their specific gods, when he enters this mode, he becomes cold, quiet, ruthless, and murderous as he kills and attacks anyone near him without mercy, friend or foe.
He is also shown to be very bawdy and loves to frequently tell jokes, normal, sarcastic, macabre or inappropriate.

History: Ten years ago, the fierce continuous holy war of Vholkik came to a short pause when attrition set on both parties as the war diminished natural resources in many ways. The Glilves and Stonts had to come up with a different method of settling their differences. They decided on nuptial coalition. They married a stont warrior to a glilf princess and allowed destiny. The new couple was titled “Ishqlk” which means “destiny’s hands” to signify the dawn of a new age. But things didn’t go as smoothly as hoped. Right from the start of the marriage, the couple kept on clashing about religious views which always led violent physical confrontation and major injuries even during female glilf’s pregnancy. The glilf was just recovering from multiple stabs to one of her lungs when her water broke. She died during labor. The knoqas interpreted this as their gods infuriated about the coalition and hence decided to resume their holy war until one of them submits to the other, but not before the two factions separately but simultaneously came to the conclusion that the baby conceived from the coalition must be sacrificed to appease their gods. The child was named “Ahlzmeineaq” meaning “fatal heresy” and a battle ensued to possess the baby for sacrifice.
Annabelle Mumford of the Travelers organization was hurriedly fixing her shuttle that got damaged in a dark matter storm. She knew about the hostility of the knoqas but the damage to her shuttle was extensive so she had to fix it and Vholkik was the only system around. She was already done fixing the shuttle and impatiently packing up when 3 stonts came charging in and literally collided with her shuttle. They were as shocked as she was about the situation but she recovered first and dispatched off the stunts. She finished packing and was about jumping into her shuttle when she noticed an infant knoqa in the arms of one of the stonts. It was still alive and crying. She battled herself internally on whether to abandon it or not. At the end, humanity won and as she finished tucking the infant and herself in the shuttle, she then encountered what the 3 stonts were running from. An armada of glilves came bursting out of the trees yelling “sacrifice baby Ahlzmeineaq” but by then, Annabelle’s shuttle had already taken off, she shot into orbit with the little knoqa without looking back.
Ahlzmeineaq grew up under Annabelle’s guardianship. He learnt engineering from her and also followed her career path to be a space pilot, which was now an arcane job due to the presence of faster than light travel technology and remote controlled space shuttles. He and Annabelle were working on a massive abandoned Galactic Empire war space cruiser that had crashed on Sfaira decades ago when she died in a terrorist bombing of multiple celestial gates. He swore never to use the gates and be that vulnerable ever again even after the extra safety precautions that were added to the gates to prevent incidents like that to ever occur again.
In distraught over losing Annabelle, Ahlzmeineaq returned to Vholkik to learn about his roots without realizing how monumental of a mistake that was. He was immediately recognized as Ahlzmeineaq Ishqlk, the sacrifice that must made to the gods. His shuttle was destroyed and was hunted for 2 years before an ambitious pirate ship came to Vholkik to abduct knoqas. Of course the pirates were unsuccessful, but they managed to escape the rabid knoqas with 20% of their crew, but not after Ahlzmeineaq became a stowaway in their spaceship.
With the help of 3 of the crew members and 5 abductees of the pirate ship, Ahlzmeineaq took over the pirate ship, easily disposing off with the small remaining crew and the captain of the pirate ship. With the spaceship, they went to Sfaira and using parts from the pirate ship, they recommissioned the warship. They named it “The Phoenix Stigma Drive” and they’ve been sailing the galaxies as pirates, either raiding other ships, Galactic Empire or Frontier, military or civilian, looting ships; or performing assassination, mercenary, bounty, transportation or escort jobs for good or bad people as long as they paid well, whilst resisting the justice of the travelers organization.

Abilities: As a knoqa, Ahlzmeineaq is much stronger, faster, and tougher than most humans. Ahlzmeineaq is a genius in close combat utilizing a lethal mixture of parkour, capoeira and krav maga into deadly whirlwind of massacre using, maneuvering and manipulating the environment to his advantage. With instantaneous speedy reaction and flexible acrobatic agility, he leaves no breathing space for his opponent to counter or even react. He doesn’t allow time for talking or catching breaths. He immediately starts attack as soon as he determines who his opponent is and won’t stop or pause until either one of them is permanently down. Dogma ight affects knoqas like determination and resolutions would do humans. Although it boosts their combat capabilities tenfold but reduces their cognitive functions equally.
Unlimited forge: a pair of mechanical gloves on both hands that can project objects capable of physical trauma willed from the user’s mind in the form of a golden solid projection. It was created by Silas Mumford, Annabelle’s great grandfather and passed on to Ahlzmeineaq by Annabelle.
last edited over a year ago
here is my first and major character...

Ahlzmeineaq Ishqlk

Captain and helmsman of the Phoenix
over a year ago jcrown47500 said…
next character will be up in the morning along with the art of every character in this forum...
over a year ago jcrown47500 said…
Slaediah Elsmaralnigh
First mate and gunner of the Phoenix Stigma Drive
Sex: male
Race: Chryslite (Chrysler)
Age: 26yrs
Appearance: Slaediah appears to be a quiet tall and none the less a handsome fellow standing about six feet in height. He is tall, and imposing. His outer appearance is quiet interesting and his rather dark look seems to draw in most all of his admirers. Slaediah appears to be quiet fit and has a rather pale yet tan skin tone. His jet black hair seems to be in tip-top shape as it appears to look quiet silky and gives off an elegant purple shin. His hair is about medium in length and cut quiet neatly. His bangs seem to swoop from the left side of his forehead about an inch above his left eyebrow not revealing much of his forehead as it swoops to the right side of his face completely covering his right eye whilst the left side cups his left cheek and stops underneath his lower jaw. The hair on the back of Slaediah's neck seems to cup itself perfectly around his neck stopping at its base and cupping around his neck making some of it visible from the front. Slaediah's eyes are an elegant psychedelic orchid color that seems to have a constant shimmer to it. Slaediah sports a rather perfectly rounded thin facial structure but doesn't appear to be too thin but sets perfectly in between.
Personality: Slaediah is cool, calm, cold, handsome, and expressionless. He is a very quiet, intellectual individual. He never speaks when unnecessary and he always thinks before he acts. He seems to be unemotional most of the time, he doesn't show it, but he has a soft spot reserved for his friends. Slaediah is very cool and level headed and his intelligence and analytical skills are also well-honed.
At first glance, Slaediah appears cold and emotionless. He bears a calculating nature that shows itself in his high observational intelligence, a reticence to say more than is necessary and a demeanor that rarely shows emotion. He rarely smiles except when smirking with confidence to intimidate in his supreme combat and tactical abilities. Slaediah's is a very obedient mate among Ahlzmeineaq's crew and will follow almost any order without question. While he is very obedient it is only to the ones that he has great respect for. Slaediah has absolutely no respect for anyone under him and treats with disrespect. While Slaediah does have a respectful and disrespectful personality he does have a compassionate side for his fellow crew members though he hides it with disrespect for them. Though he claims he protects them only for the sake of ship purposes most can see that he protects them because he cares for them. Slaediah's feelings for his fellow crew members and a certain woman have all but seemed to get in the way of his so called "duties," for the spaceship. He calls these feelings distraction as he only seems to want to focus on his work and not care for anything else. Though it may seem like a bad thing Slaediah is slowly learning to completely ignore any other emotions he has other than to treat the ones he respects with great respect and serve as a pirate Slaediah finds it a great help to finally learn to ignore these feelings. While Slaediah seeks to destroy all emotions he feels are unnecessary, he also battles the side that wants to keep those emotions which seem to be winning.
Abilities: With nearly unrivaled intellect and analytical skills, Slaediah's senses are so acute that he can deduce even the minutest of distances to the tenths of a meter, and has acute enough hearing to be affected by noise dozens of feet away.
Slaediah moves at beyond god-like speed, only showing his footsteps crashing into the floor. This also allows him to run on walls. Subsonic with Supersonic reactions/attack speed, "speed beyond god-speed". Slaediah's natural footwork allows him to achieve speeds beyond that of any living being, completely vanishing from sight and allowing Slaediah to run on walls with ease and also create after images. He utilizes such powerful speed that, to an observer, it appears that the distance between the two fighters has shrunk. Slaediah is able to attack from an omnidirectional angle, utilizing not only horizontal but vertical space.
Slaediah's weapons of choice are swords. Slaediah is a naturally gifted swordsman; he is a master of kenjutsu and assassination, easily infiltrating heavily guarded areas to slay his foes. A dangerous opponent, he uses his speed together with a mix of sword and hand-to-hand combat moves. His physical strength is extremely high. Furthermore, it is difficult to read his attacks much of the time due to his own repressed emotions. However, Slaediah is prone to toying with his foes, opting to use only a fraction of his full speed. Slaediah simply has no emotion. He possesses no anger and incites no fear in his enemies, other than with his sword and does not give off an offensive aura making very hard to predict his moves.
Tepid blades: Two energy blades that can be switched on and off. Cryosurge, one of tepid blades, looks like a cross protruding a blue energy blade, causes the perimeter of wherever it strikes to start losing heat until freezes, and then the frozen area starts to thaw into liquid. Pyroclast, the second tepid blade, looks like a rapier, causes the area of wherever it strikes to start heating up until it reaches an extreme intense fiery temperature, then the area starts to melt of like a burning plastic.
Slaediah Elsmaralnigh
First mate and gunner of the Phoenix Stigma Drive
Sex: male
Race: Chryslite
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
[Midnight Row]

Every once in a while, like clockwork, a window of a few hours opened up where everything went quiet. The lights dimmed, conversations grew still, and distant movement ceased. Vespin had never experienced sleep for herself, but she knew what it felt like. The way silence hung in the air and the any background noise was distant and regular offered a deep comfort to the psyche.

When traveling through space, it was best to keep to a consistent sleep schedule, since the regular standard of the sun’s orientation in the sky wasn’t of any help. One of the more interesting biological consistencies was the mortal sleep cycle. While not every race on every planet slept for the same length of time each day, the numbers came eerily close and parallel, especially since being nocturnal lost most of its meaning.

Vespin envied the necessity for sleep. It gave most living animals something to do while conserving energy. She, on the other hand, was left very conscious with idle hands. She learned to keep some busy work around at night, but her habit of planning ahead usually ended with her completing all her tasks well in advance. Anything further would be a waste of time. Which is why she had such difficulty with the concept of a hobby. Her pastime was work. So once again, with her crewmates retired to their rooms, she remained on the deck with a familiar sense of isolation as her last companion.

She folded her hands into each other and held them tightly behind her back to keep them still as she gazed outside, taking in the familiar sight of the passing stars. Hyperspace was a wondrous and dangerous sphere adjacent to the rest of the world. One could cross distances that dwarf conventional imagination in an instant, so long as they endured the stress of the journey. This plane was a maze of extremes. It almost intuitively allowed the choice to move at whatever speed was preferred, but with each increase in increment of velocity, the danger also increased exponentially. Physics began to act in weird, impossible ways and tear away at the form of whatever was passing through too quickly. Move too slowly, and it was possible to get left behind by time and come out much further in the future than originally intended. It was the subject of ongoing research and the consequences were sooner avoided entirely via precautions rather than exploited or manipulated, and most vessels equipped to enter hyperspace were also fitted with a failsafe that prevented speeds surpassing a certain threshold. The Hantal was built to sustain FTL speeds beyond what they were currently moving at, but this speed guaranteed safety and was preferable for when they weren’t in a hurry.

As far as Vespin was aware, there were only two ways to circumvent the risks of moving through hyperspace instantaneously. One involved the use of the Heaven’s Gates, thanks to the involvement of an engineer too smart for their own good. The other method was hidden away, kept a secret due to very valid fears.

Vespin turned her gaze away from the expansive horizon as a nearby dashboard began to light up. She strode over and pressed the lit button with one of her slender fingers. Two very distinct images popped up beside her, the colors clearing up and forming two individuals, both familiar.

One was a tall man with pale skin and a slender build, highlighted by his neat bespoke suit. The black matched his slick hair and tie, his white shirt blending in with his very pale skin. The contrasting colors of black and white gave him a very clean appearance. Chancel was a Traveler veteran who was afforded the privilege of totally autonomy, working separately from the rest of the organization.

On the other hand, the young woman was very clearly slovenly in appearance. She wore a dirty t-shirt that her ample bosom was spilling out of, a pair of ripped three-quarter jeans, and mismatched sandals. Her glossy skin seemed wet, as if she had been recently submerged, and her dark her was left alone, ratty and messy. Her colors were mismatched, but her pronounced curves made up the difference.

“Sup, stickbutt?” The young woman smirked. “Hope we interrupted something.”

“Unfortunately, no. Ya, Maevedon. It’s good to see you’re as charming as ever.”

“Right? I was minding my own business—still tryin’a finish that manhunt in the middle of Podunk-freaking-nowhere—when this shithead managed to reach me and insisted we talk. I didn’t even know I could get messages where I’m holed up.”

“The power of properly aimed satellites and precise timing can produce miracles.” Chancel shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. He could take natural positions like this without risking the fine crease his suit possessed. “You should be thanking me. You were the one who wanted to be included when news of Rocco surfaced.”

Maevedon’s body language shifted. Vespin watched her muscles loosen shortly before tightening again with excitement. That was worrisome. The last time this Glealsy responded like that, she destabilized an entire government.

“So that bastard really is still alive. You’d think he’d keel over and die at his age.”

“Chancel,” Vespin spoke while modulating her voice so it wouldn’t echo in the silence. The voices of the other two were being transmitted directly into her head, so she had to be careful not to make too much noise to avoid disturbing anyone, though it was doubtful that her voice would carry too far. “When you say ‘news’, I imagine it wasn’t much more than a rumor?”

“A blip on the radar, yes. But the source is good. It’s a bit vague, but it looks like our least favorite terrorist is getting ready to do something. Or has done something already.”

They lacked information. That was always the case with the Galaxy’s Most Wanted. Even with the alliance between the three inhabited sectors of the Milky Way, it was impossible to totally manage all of it. Vespin had seen for herself how unlegislated violence and criminal activity could gather in the many untouched corners of space. Finding and infiltrating such places was the exclusive job of the 101st through 105th Patrol Units. The information they supplied was worth more than some planetary defense budgets.

“I should go, then.” Maevedon spoke up immediately. “I can stick one of my subordinates on this manhunt and hunt down any concrete intelligence about what Rocco’s planning.”

Both Chancel and Vespin shook their heads in unison.

“It’s bait.” Vespin assured. “Hesu Rocco knows you and what lengths you’ll go to in order to find him. He’ll expect retaliation at the smallest leak. If it’s a trap, it isn’t worth the risk.”

“Then what’re you suggesting? That we just ignore this shit? If Rocco’s doing something, it ain’t small. The Vizor’ll want to shut it down as soon as possible.”

“I’ll talk to Dentin. He’s not as reckless as you think.” Chancel raised a finger to point at nothing, simply illustrating his point as he spoke. “Besides, if you’re right about the scale, then we’ll definitely come across something concrete. Hiding something so big for too long becomes an impossible chore. We’ll have to wait to react when the opportunity shows itself. So yes, we’ll wait.”

Chancel aimed his index finger at Vespin and gazed directly at her.

“And when the time comes, I want the 1st Patrol Unit to be the ones to handle it.”

Maevedon groaned with disappointment. Vespin cocked her head curiously. When she didn’t give an affirmative response, Chancel continued.

“You don’t think they can handle it?”

“I don’t know yet. Most of the crew hasn’t been on the ship long. After the recent reassignment that put me in charge, #3582 was the only Traveler from the previous group to remain. The other two were later dispensed to the unit for different reasons. And then there’s our latest recruit who’s experiencing his first voyage through space this very day.”

“Wow.” Maevedon whistled. “Sucks to be you. Think there’s a chance the group will implode?”

“There’s always a chance. The single digit patrol units are usually a motley crew of individuals with their own specialties, so the only way to know if it works out is to try and see if it works.”

Vespin returned her gaze to Chancel, who was giving her a knowing gaze. As long as she’d known him, he’d always been like this. Asking questions in a roundabout way because he was more interested in how its answered, rather than the answer itself.

“Regardless, they’re exceptionally skilled at what they do, so I’m certain we’ll be flexible enough to provide whatever the situation may call for. It may not even be for a while, so there’s no rush to give assurances, is there?”

“You’re right. There’s not. I just thought I’d give you one more thing to worry about. If there’s any more information I can provide on the subject, I’ll be sure to do so. Until then, good luck with whatever mission you’re on.”

They traded a polite wave and Chancel’s image faded away even as Maevedon called after him. She glared at the spot where the man vanished before turning to Vespin.

“Is there anybody interesting in the group?”

“Not in the way you’re hoping, no. Personally, I find them all very interesting.”

“Good to see you’re as nice as ever.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to meet them. Might even corrupt a few.”

“I’m sure you’d get along with them famously.”

Vespin kept her hand up in farewell as Maevedon disappeared, once again leaving Vespin alone in silence. She slowly lowered her hand and let her eyes wander again to the familiar bright streaks of the stars they were passing.
last edited over a year ago
over a year ago jcrown47500 said…
Ah great... I thought this forum was dead...I'll have the rest of my characters up this night and my post up tomorrow.
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
Hey jcrown, sorry we haven't responded to you. As you can tell, this story's a bit of a slow burn, but we're both pretty invested in it. You're welcome to join with as many characters as you'd like, and if you want to talk story progression, we try to make ourselves available.
over a year ago whiteflame55 said…
[The Spaces in Between]

Charmeine yawned softly, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. That was out of habit – there was no one else awake this time of night, apart from Vespin, who never seemed to sleep. Being awake at this time wasn’t habitual, but it was becoming far too common; she could not calm her mind, and had spent the last hour staring at the ceiling before deciding that patrolling the ship was a better use of her time. So here she was, patrolling the sleeping ship to keep herself occupied with yet another rote task, trying desperately to push creeping thoughts from her mind.

It wasn’t working.

She’d gone through the process of checking all the rooms, ensuring that their locks were secure. Vespin’s had been the only one that was empty. She certainly kept busy, though that seemed to be less an attempt to calm her mind and more an opportunity to focus it. Charmeine never really felt that she grasped the well-oiled machine that was Vespin’s mind, though perhaps that was just as well. Their roles were suited to their mindsets.

At long last, she started towards the bridge of the ship, knowing she’d find her captain there. She had initially wanted to head there immediately, hoping to spark another one of their enlightening conversations where Vespin brought her some relative ease, though her feet took her around the ship first. Even when her mind was elsewhere and nothing needed doing, duty called.

Charmeine found Vespin sitting on the bridge with her eyes closed. It was easy to appreciate the soft curve of her perfect features like this, though it was more like looking at a sculpture than an actual living, breathing being. Even now, without the soft, orange glow of her eyes, Charmeine had no difficulty telling that she wasn’t human. There was always something… eerie about her, both in the physical sense and in how she behaved. It was almost like an emulation of humanity, as if she were going through the motions.

“Did I ever tell you about how I went about selecting you?”

Charmeine’s eyes widened in surprised. She hadn’t attempted to be quiet as she entered, so she expected Vespin to respond to her arrival, but that was an interesting point to start on. Usually, Vespin at least tried to have a basic conversation before starting into difficult topics.

“It hasn’t come up.”

Vespin flashed a small smile.

“You’re an interesting case, Charmeine, and not just for your fighting capabilities. After all, you are hardly the first decorated soldier to come knocking at our door, and far from the most decorated at that. You’re quite the physical specimen, but your psychological state led many of the other crews to dismiss you outright. They viewed you as a liability, and, given your outburst today, they probably weren’t wrong.

Charmeine frowned.

“Always appreciate the pep talk, Vespin.”

Vespin’s eyes opened and she turned to look at Charmeine.

“You’re not one for pep talks. Your military record shows that you work quite well with others, but that’s only in a squad. As a bodyguard, you’ve had quite the independent streak in you. By itself, that wouldn’t be so concerning, nor would your distrustful disposition, though many of the other captains found it disconcerting that you really can’t turn those qualities off. You participate, yes, but I’ve never seen you interact on a personal level with anyone.”

Vespin stopped speaking. Charmeine waited patiently until Vespn started speaking, this time more slowly and punctuating her words.

“But it’s so simple to miss the forest for the trees, isn’t it? You’re a special case, not just an amalgam of specific traits. It’s easy to think that you lack the capacity for informal interactions, though your military history suggests you were only… somewhat reserved. You were mentally stable, you had close friends, received accolades for your performance, and yet you chose to leave them behind for a job like this. Up and gone.”

Vespin leaned in closer.

“The torturous process involved in giving you your unique physical characteristics could have contributed, but it almost certainly runs deeper. Your austere room isn’t just a statement of your military background, it’s a self-imposed prison. Perhaps this whole ship is a sort of self-imposed exile.”

She let those words hang for a moment before leaning back in her chair. Charmeine was beginning to wonder why she had bothered coming here in the first place.

“But perhaps I’m overstepping my bounds. It’s not my goal to seek out your pressure points. We’ve gotten to know each other well enough that I merely feel capable of divulging what I’ve found from those encounters. You have something that drives you, Charmeine, even if you feel as though the search is futile. You don’t have to do it alone if you don’t want to.”

Charmeine barely stopped her mouth from dropping open. Vespin had been frank with her before, but never so blunt as this. Charmeine knew what was in her file, and she knew it was missing some crucial details. She also knew how to keep her mouth shut, and avoid conversations that would lead Vespin or anyone to such conclusions. How much did this woman know?

“On a tangential topic, I’ve been revisiting the files that the Traveler’s Organization have available on this mission. It’s surprisingly sparse.”

She brought up an image on the screen before her of a young woman. Pretty, but not beautiful, and far younger than any Council Member Charmeine had heard of before.

“The Council Member in question, Propriis, is too new to the role to have much of a record, and her past is only revealing of an obsessive personality and a proclivity for… strange schemes. Categorizing her beyond those generalities has proven surprisingly difficult. That is, in large part, why we are going. My compatriots find that I might be able to tease apart the threads of her most recent plot.”

A second image appeared, one that looked a lot like a certain crew member Charmeine would rather forget.

“By comparison, Eight has an extremely well-documented history and profile.

Another image, this of another young woman, several years younger than Propriis.

“Lastly, we have a more unknown. Veda, a young woman with a mostly unknown history who appears to be in Propriis’s employ. All we know is that she has a history, and one word:”

She held up a finger to Charmeine.

“Oracle.”

Charmeine arched an eyebrow. “Should that mean something to me?”

“I suspect it wouldn’t. Her background has basically been expunged, though it’s still difficult to discern who did it. I am, however, aware that she was is a test subject. Nothing like your CRONN, something more… mental. Perhaps she has experience with similar issues to yours.”

Charmeine nearly huffed at that. Vespin was dancing around the point, but this girl could theoretically have a microchip like hers, “could” being the operative word. She had done some research of her own once upon a time, and most “test subjects” for microchips like hers ended up losing theirs, either via rejection or shorting out. The procedure had long since been deemed a failure that drove the only “success stories” to the brink of insanity. If this girl had a chip in her head, then Charmeine felt sorry for her. She hoped, for Veda’s sake, that hers had been rejected.

“Is that all?”

Vespin sighed. “I suppose so. When we arrive, do try to talk with her, though. I have a feeling that she might have some useful information.”

Charmeine saluted and left the room more agitated than when she entered.

*****************************************­***­*

What makes one… human? Is it a physical thing? Organs housed within fragile flesh? Crimson blood running through one’s veins? Genetics and proteins?

Is it memory? Experience? Are we an amalgam of our experiences, a storage space for data, or are we defined by our ability to process it?

If it’s thought processes, which ones? Emotion? Logic?...

…Awareness?

And, if any of these do constitute a human being, how much of them must be lost before a partial human becomes a non-human?

No. That wasn’t right. Loss was the wrong word.

Suppose a ship was repaired so many times that all its parts eventually had to be replaced. All those various pieces were in such terrible shape that they were melted down. Meanwhile, the ship retained its capacity to function, not changing dramatically in appearance. Piece-by-piece, part-by-part, the ship becomes something else, entirely unlike its original self and yet, for all intents and purposes, the same. Hardware and software are upgraded to keep up with changing times, and the ship still morphs, leaving behind pieces of itself in molten metal, defunct technology and vanishing data.

Replaced. Transformed. That ship carries the same name, its crew and visitors may treat it the same, nothing changes. And yet everything has changed.

Veda sighed. She’d tortured this metaphor long enough. Beating a dead horse was doing her no more good than it ever had before. And yet here she was again. Her mind was usually ablaze with thoughts about this or that theory, but this one… she often found it hard to shake. Perhaps it was because the concepts fell too close to her personal experience, though she didn’t really believe that; she never seemed to feel any kind of attachments so strong as this. More likely, she was just puzzling over a question.

Shame she could never seem to nail down what that question was. Every day, she came up with a new way to answer it, yet she couldn’t conceptualize the actual question. It was practically a running joke at this point. What makes one human? What makes one capable of thought? What makes one an individual? What makes one sentient? None of them were right. They were all distractions from some deeper issue.

She scoffed to herself. What a waste of a beautiful mind. To be stuck here, playing at secretary. Self-imposed exile… Eight could hold a decent conversation, no doubt, but he always disappointed. He was always reserved, always careful to the point of madness, never plumbing the depths of his no doubt vast knowledge. A servant to knew his place a little too well.

But then, she hadn’t come here for him. No matter his rank among the Malkeith, he was still only a servant to a greater cause. What that greater cause was still eluded her, but she knew.

Alis was… different. Not brilliant, at least not in the classical sense. Her mind was simply wired in a fascinating way. Part of Veda wanted to be able to take her apart and take a map of the neuronal network in her brain. She was seemingly incapable of meeting any short-term goals, disdainful of the plans and plots of others, and didn’t even appear to have a clear long-term plan. No, most of the thinking took place in her subconscious, which seemed to direct her entire life. No clear plan or plot, not even an outline or a simple brainstorm, though maybe none of that was possible. Nothing ever seemed to fit together cleanly, and guessing where the path would lead to her eventual goal was impossible. Consciously, all she had was her interests and fascinations. Subconsciously, she would build impossible schemes and execute them through improbable means.

And she was always successful. Veda couldn’t help but feel impressed by that.

That’s why she’d come here. Others would have tried to use her. This woman… perhaps she was being used, but it didn’t seem conscious. Suffering through her references to long-dead societies was worth the strange shelter that this place provided. Too bad she didn’t have any historians in her head… they might find some common cause in that.

It didn’t matter. Veda was patient, and she would wait to see how all of this would play out, occupying her time toying with Eight and any of the new arrivals that walked through that door. Perhaps Alis would call upon some other interesting beings, though so far Veda hadn’t been impressed with the quality. It was still better than the alternative.
over a year ago silverexorcist said…
[Determination of Censure]

“You’re starting several paces behind anyone else would, do you understand that? No military training, no real world experience, not a single degree in any field of science, nor the operation expertise we expect of our Travelers. All this before even discussing your chronic illness. Again, do you understand that?”

“I do.”

“Good. Then you pass. Welcome to the organization.”


The Vizor had spoken with such a rigid, matter-of-fact tone. The first time Siphon heard those words, it hurt it bit. Not because it was mean, but because the person telling him these things was being genuine and honest with the young man’s interests in mind. It was the truth and he wasn’t allowed to forget it. Since then, dozens of people shared the same opinion in their own, less genuine way. The brutal reminders hardened Siphon, pounding his small ego into a rock hard, unmoving entity. So after finally hearing it from the Traveler’s Organization leader himself, his resolve was firm. The first time, it had been for his own good. And this last time was also for his own good. Next time, if there was one, he’d be able to retort. He had one thing going for him; the mentality and patience to keep trying until he caught up with everyone else, no matter how long it took or how hopeless it looked.

Siphon raised his head up and took a large gulp of air, feeling the oxygen coursing through his extremities to relieve the pressure in them, giving him renewed energy to keep cycling. He’d hooked up his own phone to the exercise machine to play his playlist of relaxing progressive rock music, keeping his subconscious on a holiday as he trudged along his own fitness program, hour after hour.

He’d woken up early to get a head start on his day, but apparently not as early as he thought. Vespin and Charmeine were both up and going about their business by the time he got up, seeing the former on the bridge, typing up two programs at once on one of the computers, and seeing the latter as he wandered through the ship’s halls, passing by her twice and greeting her timidly both times.

Siphon had taken Charmeine up on her suggestion to get acquainted with the ship. It was big, but not as overwhelming as it seemed. The hallways were structured and had distinctions that made them easy to navigate. Taking the time to walk through all the accessible floors while using his map as a guide was more than enough to get familiar with the place, at least as far as getting a broad feel for the ship went. It was an interesting sight, with decorative design kept in mind along with the practicality. Siphon wondered if the previous inhabitants of the ship were the ones who chose the interior decorations or if it was an amalgamation of aesthetic changes over the years.

Along the way, he was sure he heard movement and rustling, someone at work around corner or behind the walls, but after taking a detour to investigate, he quickly lost track of where the sound was coming from and found nothing. #3582 must have been up, too.

After enjoying his time wandering around, he headed toward the gym, which was more of a simulation area than anything. The Hantal’s uppermost real estate was mostly dedicated to the unused conference rooms and an expensive, massive, high tech box with viewing windows surrounding it. Located just adjacent to it, connected by a shielded wall, was the exercise room, filled with state of the art machinery for keeping people in shape while traveling in space. This room was supposedly among the first parts of the ship to be built and had been used consistently since, undergoing some of the most incarnations and refurbishing.

After parking his change of clothes in the locker room by the showers, Siphon found a cycle that suited him and took nearly ten minutes playing with it—adjusting the seat, shifting the handles and pedals, looking through the settings, and so on. He had to be this anal about being comfortable because once he started, he would be at it long past the point of being sore. He stuffed a couple nutrient bars into his mouth and set his water bottle on the holder as he took a deep breath and began his exercise.

It was about ten hours later when his body reminded him that water and some little packets of food weren’t going to hold him for the whole day. His body and clothes were drenched and his muscles were warm and slightly numb, but he was no where near the edge for him. He’d kept the same rapid pace for nearly eight hours straight, his breathing remaining regular except for when he drank. His mind snapped from its daydreaming back to the dull repetition of his exercise when his bladder squirmed and he grimaced, considering taking a short break before continuing. It was a good day; there was only the slightest hint of asthma at the end of his breathing. But he decided against it. There were still other things he needed to acclimate to on the ship.

So he hopped off his bike, gathered up his stuff, and went into the shower room to wash himself down.

His shower only took about twenty minutes, and as he came out and wrapped a towel around his lower body, he received a surprise as he heard the door open.

“Whoa-hoho!” A familiar voice whistled, echoing against the waterproof walls and floor. “So this is where ya were holed up, huh? It was feeling like errybody but me was runnin’ into ya—”

Beatrice grinned broadly as she strutted over, her high energy faltering as she got a good look at Siphon. Her mouth hung open comically and it took her a few moments to properly recover. Siphon’s cheeks reddened a bit under her gaze and he withdrew a bit as she crossed the remaining distance between them. She gripped Siphon’s shoulders with her fingers, careful not to dig her nails into him.

“Daaaaaaaamn.” She whistled again. “You’re cut like a damn coal mine! They’re the real deal, too. Wish I coulda’ seen them at work!”

“Not really.” Siphon resisted the urge to smile. He’d never been complimented so bluntly before, especially not by someone as attractive as Beatrice. Just being close to her when she was only wearing shorts and a tank top made it hard to look in her direction. “I’m not strong. I just look fit.”

“You kidding? This is the kinda’ body people work their ass off for. Actually, wait a sec. Char! Hey, Char! Did ya see this kid?! He got the body of some athlete!”

Siphon followed Beatrice’s gaze and gave a start as he saw Charmeine at the other end by the lockers. It looked like she’d come in before Beatrice had, but he hadn’t noticed her at all. Had he been that lost in his thoughts?

Char didn’t even look in their direction as she replied.

“High density slow twitch muscles fibers. He’s a distance runner, but not a sprinter. It won’t do him much good in combat.”

“True.” Beatrice turned her attention to Siphon again. “While we got ya here, may as well ask. What did Vespin poach ya for? I’m a gunner—I can shoot anything with a trigger into anything that can fit the bullet. Char over there’s a scrapper. I’m betting she can wrestle a bear. Probably will, if we’re lucky.”

Oh boy. Siphon was expecting to get asked this, and he still didn’t have much of an answer to give. He’d given it some thought, and after a while he started wondering the same thing. He saw Charmeine close her locker, blocking the keypad as she locked it before turning toward them and folding her arms across her chest, waiting to hear the answer.

“I…don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure why.”

“Vespin’s always has a reason for why she does things.” Chairmeine said confidently. She was staring at him now, too, and Siphon shifted uncomfortably. “She wouldn’t ask an amateur to set foot on this ship without thinking it through.”

“Maybe. But no one’s told me what it is. The only explanation I was given was that it was convenient, since the 1st Patrol Unit happened to be docked around the same time that all my examinations and paperwork were approved. I have some technical skills and high compatibility with my infection, but that’s about it.”

The two women traded a short look, which Siphon caught.

“Do you think that’s it? The ability I get from the infection?”

“Nah, doubt it. Vespin doesn’t care much for that kinda’ thing.”

“There are a lot of people with high compatibility rates. I’ve heard that Vespin never makes a bid for them, even when they express their intention to join the 1st Patrol Unit. Apparently, she looks for something else in recruits and transfers.”

Charmeine’s tone turned slightly bitter at the end. Siphon hesitated to prod and before he could make up his mind, Beatrice patted his back roughly, pinching his shoulder blade a bit and chuckling when he jumped in surprise.

“Well, there ain’t nothing much to do ‘bout it. Just leave the thinking to the boss and just do what ya can. This mission’ll be a good chance to see what you can do, yeah?”

Siphon just nodded. He caught Charmeine slipping out the door and heading into the gym as Beatrice began changing right there, pulling off her tank top and kicking off her shoes as she kept chatting. Siphon hurried over to get his clothes and avoided looking in Beatrice’s direction as he responded to her questions and quickly changed into normal clothes. He finished long before she did and bid her farewell before heading out. His heart was racing a bit from the less than humble image he’d caught out the corner of his eye as he left, wishing desperately that his new comrade could show a bit more shame.

After he got a good distance away and turned a corner, he finally came to a stop and raised a hand to his mouth to cover it as he tried to clear it before coughing a bit. After a few moments of resisting the tickle in the back of his throat, he took a deep breath to calm himself down and relax.

“It’s fine…” He muttered to himself in a firm tone. He gripped the hand he was bracing against the wall to support himself into a fist as he stood up straight again. “Bold but cautious. Trust your teammates, and you should make it through this…I sure hope you’re right about that, Chancel.”