[center][img]https://36.media.tumblr.com/cd6007eb51d620070147f146eb039edc/tumblr_o2t95txijQ1ulvp8vo2_500.jpg[/img] [color=white][b]P[/b]ʟᴀɴᴇᴛ [b]L[/b]ᴜʏɴᴜs, [b]S[/b]ɴᴏʀɪᴀ [b]B[/b]ᴀᴢᴀᴀʀ; [b]Ƭαηк ѳя ẞαηк[/b][/color][color=333333]........................[/color][color=black][b]//[/b][/color][color=white] [b]H[/b]ᴇx [b]G[/b]ᴀᴜʟɪs[/color] [img]https://40.media.tumblr.com/d99809e84da942078d52a49b9682296c/tumblr_o2t95txijQ1ulvp8vo1_500.jpg[/img][/center] [color=9d9d9d]The waning light was supplanted by glittering tech and obnoxious colors, each demanding recognition from a milling populus and gaining a few oblique glances from the oscillating argent and ebon of her perception. Windows to the soul were a mockery to creation and evolution, an exaltation of transhumanism, a reflective glimpse at tainted humanity endeavoring for greatness with redefining tech, all culminating in the bastard offspring of man and machine. She seemed comfortable with this status and at home amongst the stalls and siren lights. They were all thralls to progress, her only differentiating cue was the beneficial bankroll of the Empire that hid within circuitry and processors intercalated amongst the homegrown true-bio. With her entire team scattered about the Bazaar like feasting moakroaches on a decaying fusion engine, her stroll had remained decidedly central, lingering with a brevity uncatchable by vendors as she purused for something specific, something convenient. Lucky for her the assaultive market was only a klick beneath dull boots when convenience came blaring out of the skyscape in the form of a dilapidated blinking arrow coaxing familiar fiends towards a dingy staircase. “Tank or Bank”- she knew the place, though not this exact one. They were a sort of ‘chain’ boasting at least a squared dozen locations along transporter routes and offering booze and gambling sans cock measuring. The beacon was greeted with an expansion of those charcoal lined orbs and an inner giddiness that alleviated the burden of her steps so that boot covered feet practically skipped through the door. She took the synthetic cement stairs two by two, humming a Brax’vairn fête song in time with the dulcet jingling that emanated from her body with each footfall. Every bound took the torment tailor beyond the light and into the welcoming favor of tenebrosity; a charitable descent thats completion put her face to face with an iconic sentinel. The man appeared to be pure muscle and ‘netics, nothing high brow, but formidable enough to retain his employment. He favored a gesture over any vocalization, leaving his tone a mystery as a bruising hand motioned towards a placard that glowed at her right. Identification was not any concern here, quite the opposite, anonymity was thoroughly embraced by the proprietors of Tank or Bank. Instead the sign, and the warden, served a different purpose. Neon lettering warned against the use of cyber, mech or tech advantageously while on the premise and provided a copious list that required a near illegible font to include the probable and ridiculous restrictions. Some inclusions, such as “ocular probability gauges” were so audacious she surmised they must be apocryphal fantasies. Regulation of tech and ‘netics were customary so her attention was only to the hilarity of mythical mods dreamed up by management. Some of her own modifications smoldered from the typeface, but this too was routine and she paid little mind. Rules were only rules if you get caught. She nodded in concession to the restrictions as she unfurled the piceous silk niqab to reveal pale cheeks littered with freckles and full lips boasting a pleased grin. Arms wrapped in slate leather, distinctly not bovine, raised to her side to accommodate the coming weapons check. This was not her first rodeo and weapons checks were commonplace even amongst those that ingrained weapons within; something archaic that promoted the deceit of security. The apathetic muscle patted her down, possibly this man was a mute. In this lull of engagement she imagined his name was probably Francis in youth and as he reached the upper echelon of physical prowess he changed it to something ridiculous like Dozer or Beef, an insult his mother would not likely dismiss. Beef cake, satisfied that the minx in muted tones was no threat, waved her through the final door and into the main attraction. As the door closed behind her the effect of the room was all consuming. Time itself dissipated into the realm of myth and rumor as any indicator of sun/starlight was suppressed by subterranean walls. Having just left the early evening of above she was temporarily shocked at the amount of clientele already collected around tables and the axial bar; but this was a much denser population than she was accustomed and likely concealed a continual stock of customers. Even with the considerable patronage the place plugged reminiscent feelings and familiarity that cajoled a rise of confidence. She allowed time and pretense to slip from her as she became one with the flurry of movement, booming laughter of drunks and mutt accents chattering away at varying decimals. Eyes slid about the room with the pace of someone unburdened by decisiveness, movements mirroring this luxury of time. When the expanse of the room had been tread she settled on a Moxon™ table. Her languid form paused behind a vacant chair, taking in the game as they neared the end of a hand. [color=white]“Mind if I join?”[/color] each syllable was coated in indication of origin, one habitually suppressed, but seemed quite fitting in a place like this. A husky fellow with the enticing smile of Dionysus raised an affable eyebrow in her direction while his large palm slapped the synthetic material of the seat next to himself. [color=black]“Desdric?”[/color] His own accent was similar, if not more refined, and as people often do when faced with a piece of home at such distance, she immediately took a liking to the man. Lips curled in a smile around words that suddenly favored a comradely tone. [color=white]“Brax’vairn actually, same sector.”[/color] She replaced his hand with her weight upon the seat and deposited a conservative amount of chips on the table before her. [color=black]“Brax huh? I didn’t think your kind left the home land.”[/color] [color=white]“Oh, we get out and about to [i]acquire[/i] things from time to time.”[/color] Thick lashes provided a quick wink for the man as she added a sickly sweet tinge to ‘acquire’ that directed the mind towards something nefarious. [color=white]"We can't always rely on [i]abandoned[/i] ships to stumble into our atmosphere for parts."[/color] Her response compelled the rugged man to release an authentic laugh, one that rose from his large stomach and shook his cheeks. It was the kind of laugh that infected those present and Hex, lacking immunity, laughed along with him, though she wasn't quite sure what she'd said that he found so humorous. If he hailed from Desdric, it was probable the man facilitated the 'abandonment' of a few space vessels in his time and perhaps he found her stature lacking for the piracy sector. The conversation continued along with the card game, bouncing about between topics of home, the up and coming mods and their current locale all beneath the two toned flicker of tech meant to detect any mod usage. She was at the same table with her new found companion, Trexel, when the familiar chirp sounded in her head and Anson’s message came through. [indent][color=f26522][i][/i][/color][/indent] Trexel continued their conversation, oblivious to the myriad of voices within her mind, calling out location and readiness. She didn't miss a beat as her own intonation chimed in. [indent][color=B452CD][i][/i][/color][/indent][/color]