The day had been interesting so far until their arrival at the Docking Bay ET-6.
When he entered the air sealed doors and walked out onto the platform, Vellios immediately gave a cynical look at the Borealis. His icy blue eyes scanned the hovering to take into its distinct details, from the rusted over hull to the numerous patched jobs that looked like faded over scars. The back thrusters rattled and puffed, his mind not wanting to consider the reasons but sure Serena would’ve identified them in a millisecond. It was all too obvious the thing had been through several owners before its current one causing the turian to question his partner’s sense of self preservation. His overall estimation was pretty simple: the ship itself looked like a prime example of a shipyard reject even by the Quarian Migrant Fleet standards. It was likely a miracle how it was even still flying at all, let alone parked and sitting on llium. Letting that thought settle in his mind, the turian’s scarred head twisted about and lowered his gaze to penetrate Serena’s head back. His mandibles wiggled at his maw’s side, but Vellios said not a word to his companion over her ill choice in jobs. He knew, even told her, the data on the advisteristment sounded too good to be true and here was the proof.
Vellios’ expression softened into a wicked smile as he watched her mutter, slightly defensively. "I never said it was going to be a good job."
His eyes, however, never left while she continued to add more trying to be postive.
"It'll at least be interesting, huh? Right? That's a bright side?" She stared skeptically at the Borealis again, then admitted. "Okay. We might die horribly upon boarding."
Vellios chuckled a bit, amused clearly. It was plain to see he didn’t think the idea was as horrible as it sounded when he replied. "I wouldn't say that, but you are right. It won't be boring…"
Serena rolled her eyes, before dragging up her latest prototype of a drone she had dubbed 'Sal'. It was a floating mech with arms. "If I could just get this wiring right she should be up and running…"
"I can't really help you there, sweetie. You know me and wiring tend to only get along when I'm strangling someone." He smirked as if he had made a joke, despite its morbid nature.
Vellios’ smirk hadn’t faded while his arm adjusted, feeling stiff from the weight hanging off his shoulder. Currently he had about three different bags hanging from his thin frame which was dressed in casual clothing, not his usual armor. He quickly tugged then laid the strap back down on his shoulder where it settled comfortably compared to before. The movement was enough to cause the weapon case to sway a bit and smack his side lightly. Inside the hard, beaten up thing were several guns he owned. All his weapons had been disassembled then packed tightly inside one case to save room, their contents previously screened by the lax authorities here and sent on their way quickly. The only piece not stored away was his Karpov. His little pistol was strapped onto his hip by a belt and sided by several ammo cartilages in easy to get reach. The other two held his armors, two additional sets of casual clothing, basic bath stuff, enough drugs for about half month, a bottle of Horosk, cleaning kit for his weapons and any other essentials for the long ass trip.
Seeing the small group growing while some pushed themselves onto the ground and sat upon their belongs, settling in for the long wait, it was pretty clear to Vellios the alien in charge hadn’t arrived. He flicked out his omni-tool causing an orange blade of light to form just over his hand, his wrist flicking it back then forward again in thought while he considered where they would sit. His eyes seemed to grin at the lethal action, letting the sound drown away his boredom and comfort him. It was a old habit from his youth that he could never break through the action likely unnerved Serena.
“Oh hardy har har. You should be a comedian Vellios, it suits you so much better than following me around and making sure I don’t accidentally shoot myself in the foot or something. Or a chef! I can see you being a chef. You like knives so much, after all. Chop up some fruit for your salsa, or something.” Her tone seemed amit sarcastic to him.
His eyes stared out into the crowd like a predator and absorbed individuals he would likely be stuck with on board. When his eyes rested on the masked turian, the individual confined to a wheel chair and covered in layers of clothing, Syberus’ voice rang out loudly in Vellios’ head. The sharpness was clearer than daylight causing his hand to tighten upon one of his straps, his fingers gripping deep for several moments. His knuckles were pure white, letting the bastard’s memory pass through his focus. The weak have no place in the world save for reminding us of our strength.
“This...isn’t going to end well.” She said, speaking truer words than Vellios ever suspected, causing his eyes snap from his own mental hell to her. He had noticed him marching across the port through hadn’t focused on him yet. A turian security guard held a sour look on his features, added with narrow eyes and a stiff limbed body, made him look more like an asshole who was late for his morning sleep in. Promptly the security officer held out an envelope before telling them all the current captain they all had been waiting for was officially dead. Vellios thought it couldn’t get any worse. That’s when the turian added the ship was theirs and they had an hour to haul their shit, get on board and leave to who knew where or be evicted. He wasn’t sure if it was rotten luck or a blessing with the shape the ship was in thought Serena’s words summed his thoughts up nicely.
“ Fuck..”
Seeing little point in merely delaying their fate, Vellios’ stretched a bit in place then heard low mumblings and curses off most the crew. He turned to Serena with a cheeky smirk on his mandibled face. “Well, time to head out darlin’.” His words soft and gentle while he continued. “ Looks like we’re about to find if that ship is safer than it looks…”
His tone eager, Vellios shifted his belongs more comfortably upon his frame through the straps were starting to chafe his carapace. They would figure out who got to be the ‘leader’ later he assumed, securing his luggage then climbed into the ship. His peripheral vision noting Serena was already staking claim within the hangar as her body flirted over her things like a mother hen over her chicks, arranging them so not to be crushed by the hazardous packing occurring. The image was enough to cause him in enjoy the lighthearted mood he was in. He paused enough to place his things into the hanger beside Serena’s and quickly get ready for departure.
Currently wth no set course and the ship pretty much floating around, the ‘new’ owners had established some nonverbal rules and all were now free to get situated in their new home. Stretching his legs, Vellios proceeded back down to the hangar bay where his belongings were currently stored. His feet thumped against the metal grating with each step on his way down, narrowly avoiding a krogan passing him on the way. He assumed the big guy was on his way to the crew’s quarters since his hand held a duffle bag. In the background, heavy metal Elcor music was trying to drown out what hearing he had left. The sound seemed to vibrate off the very hull the closer he drew, accompanied by softer profanities and sounds of something being torn apart.
A muffled “Excuse me” followed by a sudden, hellish explosion and a warning cry was heard just before he arrived on the scene. Naturally assuming the worse, Vellios’ body moved quickly for his scrawny figure. He pulled past the exiting quarian, nearly brushing her shoulder, while he jerked to the side in his rush to avoid collision. He didn’t even turn his head turned back to make a quick, polite apology. Pulling to an abrupt stop, his eyes widened at the scene only to relax when he realized the cause: Sal had exploded. Thankfully Serena had enough practice with her inventions rather unpredictable results that she managed to contain it. However, she failed to save the droid.
Vellios eyed the damage when Serena let down the shield, exposing Sal’s current state. Charred shrapnel was littering the metal flooring, the side of what served as its body jerked out as if someone had sent a large shotgun bullet through the bot’s temple and it came out the other side. Wiring and fluid seemed to leak from the outside, drawing a lighthearted smirk from the turian on his approach.
“What happened now? Bad wiring or another core melt down?” He asked, his figure halted at the now nearly scrapped droid and hunched down to examine the ‘wound’ with idle interest. After being with Serena for about over a year, he long stopped being surprised whenever Sal managed to make an explosive impression. His knife flipped out and caught a now melted wiring on its tip, pulling the hot piece from the wreckage to study. Granted he knew nothing about machines, his role merely muscle, but he enjoyed the sound of someone’s enjoyment over sharing what they knew.
The chance to reply was quickly gone when a voice came on over the intercom. “Uh guys. Why does this ship have a 22 year old Targeting System?” There was a pause, Vellios’ gut tingling in suspicion that something else was about to go wrong and his head lifted when the voice started again. “Don’t fly anyway just yet. I need to fix something.”
“We’re only going to be able to do so much patch work with this junker with what we have currently. Without parts, we're dead in space.” Vellios stated, his voice still pretty calm despite the intercom speaker’s unsavory comment. “I know exactly where to get them too, but we’d have to locate old Groto Carthragan first. ”
He naturally braced him, tilting his head away instinctively when Serena’s next words would likely chew him out. Groto’s profession was of the illegal nature, his crew of Batarians like himself, would ‘acquire’ abandoned ships and pull them apart for salvage for decent credits. The one massive highlight was the parts worked and could be bought with a combination of favors, usually manual tasks like picking up illegal cargo or escorting someone to a destination, and credits. Few places ever did that which made his business rather popular with both smugglers and poorer class.
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