Hawlin

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

I can have something up in a bit. Sorry for the delays.

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

The doctor has me on different pain killers since the old ones were conflicting with a bout of strep.
No post today, or at least not until much later while I grapple side effects.

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

@agentmanatee
Oh! I will give Reuben autohits for the scene as long as he doesn't hurt Ahnci too badly.
Hes scared and delusional from pseudo-exhaustion and prejudice from what hes been told about humanity.
Ahnciel is also at a stark physiological disadvantage and is now unarmed.
It would be gratuitous and bordering arrogance to not allow auto-hits. Just...please don't mutilate my character.

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

The idea of questioning didn't sit well with Ahnciel as they were pulled into port. Though the technical officer was certain he didn't need medical service, he would actually much rather simply be 'released' since he imagined his very appearance would glean him a shred of interest from higher ups. This in mind, it was unfortunate how the large space suit was seen right through, even as he jumped down from the craft with the large tank of air in one hand.
"Zee gardener's veeds!" Ahnci barked in a manner that was meant to be poetic but came off as a bit self-condemning as he called himself a weed. He had no clue about politics and merely took reactionary offense to the idea of being sold short of anything other than the fleet he swore allegiance to. "Iz..." his voice came shakily as he sized up the security forces who'd mostly lowered their weapons after seeing the single unarmed being mostly encumbered by their own attire. From what was a glove, the zipper to the seal undone, movement within the palm was seen.
"I-I vahz hopink to see your...leader...whom" Ahnciel began, his voice growing progressively faint until the grating bark of Reuben's synthesizers made him jump. He hadn't even looked over before taking a few hopping steps, ducking one security officer's leg to trip them before the glove came off of their left hand to reveal a small shiv of reinforced plastic broken from the seat of the pod. A hook of a foot around Reuben's leg for leverage, they drove the shiv into the cyborg's abdomen, supposedly between the plating before it got caught.

Ahnciel went pale from how the slightest motion pinched the shiv to uselessness. "Va...vaht are you?" he whispered, slowly looking up from where he still tried to work the tiny plastic blade into the reinforced metal up to Reuben's face. Letting go, he took a step back, sidestepping to smash the tank of air hosed to his heavy ill-fitting suit against the form. Testing the make, simply confused and curious, Ahnciel didn't know where to begin when it came to the metallic golem-esque beast.
The rationale behind his persistence was that if he couldn't take down their strongest, he had no right to assault their weakest. It was dishonorable to assume himself a worthy enemy if he couldn't defeat their automated defenses. How many would he take out? Making a mess of a perfectly good station that he wouldn't be able to deal judgment against would only serve to ruin a later haul and discredit the fleet's strength.

So spelled out the pathetic display as the five-foot-nothing creature in the bulky space suit and an oxygen tank in one hand tried to wrestle the broken plastic knife against armored cybernetics. They hesitated for a moment, panting as they fell to their knees before pulling the broken stump of a knife back and trying again, old worn boots squeaking on the floor as they put all of their weight and effort into prying into the armor plates of Reuben's abs. In a moment of thought, Ahnciel threw his weight to crack the tank of oxygen against the being's side.
Any other human would already be suffering a mortal wound, but delusion from two weeks in a hole and all of the exhaustion combining with faction conviction made for an interesting standoff. The expression on Ahnciel's face wasn't that of madness, but of determination, convinced in even the meekest of senses that he could bring down the technological humanoid fortification with a simple chunk of twice-broken thick plastic.

"Zeh...Z-zah iz! Vee! eeeehn!" he barked before crumpling to the ground as the dagger shattered, leaving him with most of a makeshift handle. With a groan, Ahnciel took off the helmet and let his ears flutter as he grappled exhaustion. Needing a moment, he held up his hand that held the oxygen tank which slowly rolled off. "I...I do not...please" he panted, unsure how to voice his will to live, throwing the handle to the ground with enough force to make it bounce.
It was clear that his failure weighed heavy on him, though his mission was never voiced. Regardless, the impression that he wasn't equipped to deal with the threat he perceived was present. Why was he even here?
Alone.

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

I can have something up in a bit if its okay >_>
<3 rp and could write an individual response to anything if it wouldn't tastelessly overlap.

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

@agentmanatee
*Squirms while being smooshed against metal chassis*
M-MEH! Meh! m-me-meh! D;
Hhhrrrmmm... *Attempts to bite but can't find placement with tiny fangs because metal* >;T
*Gives in to robo hugs*

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

@agentmanatee
T^T
*starts digging with a spoon, conflicted with their feelings*
"Zeh new vehrld iz small ehn terrifyink!" D;

It should be like a 'hunger games-eque' gauntlet where the losers are salvaged and the winner has the parts of their fallen foes added to them. It sounds *cheeky grin* metal~

EDIT: Oh! That thing had already been done.

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

@agentmanatee
*slowly shrinks away into the cupboard from the smooch sounds made by the expressionless killing machine*
;~;

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

@agentmanatee
So...what kind of robocop are you making? *kissy face*
;3

Virgin Space: A Space Opera RP of Power, Profit, and Providence

In the time that it took for the next rotation, Ahnciel almost jumped, seeing tiny lights spring from the cylindrical craft. In a small panic, he pressed his synthetic hand to the controls, the porcelain-esque shell clicking dully against the busted inactive controls. Cold feet ruled his composure as he found himself not ready to actually deal with the mission.
'Explain myself...meet the leader...understanding' he whispered to himself, trying to push power from his arm into the interface before realizing how stupid he was.

His stupidity found in the revelation regarding his situation was shown as the interceptors made the approach to retrieve the craft. A military-grade preservation chamber fitted with a solar battery, welded into the frame of an old fighter where the cockpit would otherwise go. A scan wouldn't even be necessary as the eye would note the lack of thrusters or weapons on the craft that required a bit of piloting from the security officials to pivot in the approach to safely fix the clamp.
The craft showed overt signs of scavenging, the intent of its design meant to link with the typical ship slingshot system; the process capable of launching crafts faster than typical charges found in escape pods. While the make of the craft was understandable, the reason behind its creation couldn't be any more unclear.
Why would someone make an escape pod for the sake of being 'shot' at such velocity that pilots are trained to resist the force?

"Hello? I don't..." Ahnciel began, curious if he should be pressing something before remembering the space suit with the comms interface integrated into the helmet. Hastily donning the oversized attire, he reached in to activate communications before closing the visor. There was a tense moment where he considered silence, though imagined humans wouldn't respond too kindly to a lack of explanation for whatever crime it was he was committing by having no control over his craft.

"H-hello? Zeis iz 'callsign' Lucerne Eight: Ahnciel zero seven four (Not that it would mean anything). I apologize for zeh intrusion into...eh, territory. My craft does not...have...control? Not for about two weeks" the light voice of Ahnciel chirped into open comms as a response, having little understanding for the settings on the vessel he was responsible for. "I run on starlight, life support ehn comms...szank you for findink me" he continued, his voice trailing off as he realized what he was talking to. Though he did nothing wrong, Ahnciel was alone in an open ocean while sharks circled him. A simple mechanic, he was lost how to convey the tightening in his chest at the idea of seeing a human up close. Excitement danced with fear in a sickening ballet that the lack of gravity in his pod did little to help.

Being 'shot' as the makeup of the craft would suggest hinted that there was much left unsaid, however, the tone of the individual who occupied the derelict craft implied that they were genuinely thankful for being picked up. Someone was responsible for the mangled ship being there, and knew where Vegas Station was. Combined with the work and janky innovation done to make the long-range escape pod, the tickle of worry couldn't help but be presented by the situation.
Not the finest planning by 'No Sky', though commander Aark was never one for long-term plans...evidenced by leaving Ahnciel floating for two weeks when he said he'd come and get the lupine after one; the solar-sticker'd apoxy chip being a tracking beacon. Trouble must have arisen, since punctuality was a priority with the commander whom Ahnciel was quickly coming to despise.