InfamousGuy101

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Splendid. I shall have something up in the coming days.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

<Snipped quote by InfamousGuy101>

I don't think Pines is big enough to have a Sheriff :( They would rely on the city for that. We do need more first responders and bad guys though!

@Sugar and Spite

Well I just noticed that the Join Status says Full, is that still the case? If so I will revisit once the RP opens up, otherwise I would be willing to app as an LEO and a bad guy, I would have a lot of fun playing a real estate douche pushing the boundaries of the law.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

This looks intriguing. Any chances to app as local sheriff? I was also thinking of bringing back a US vet hermit who lives in a cottage out in the woods type in conflict with a Real Estate Developer who I also plan to perhaps app for (Saw that there's a need for it on the OP). I'm down to work with any guidelines you may have for all these ideas.

Empire of the Clouds

A Diplomat's Discussion II

A collaboration between @InfamousGuy101, @Dyelli Beybi, and @Badarby

The line clicked as the call connected. Crane didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Minister,” he began flatly, “First I want to thank you personally, the vehicular inconvenience has been resolved.”

“And Ambassador Kostidis,” he added a second later, “I assume you are also present. So I will be get to the point,” he continued, “The individual in question, Mr. Carter, is now in Commonwealth custody.”

“He is no longer a matter for international escalations,” Crane went on, “This situation will be handled internally.”

"He committed a crime in Mitteland. Several as it happens" the Minister replied bluntly, "The matter rightly should be handled by the courts of the land in which the crime was committed."

“Trying to steal Inburian gold while on Mittelander soil,” Kostidis added. “To make it an internal matter just for the Ardellians to solve would be asinine.”

Crane let them finish.

“Ordinarily, yes,” he began, “you would both be absolutely correct. However by Mr. Carter’s account, this is a contractor who was trying to collect unpaid dues and being met at gunpoint. By a Favisian soldier no less. ”

He continued, "I already received a complaint from the Favisian embassy. So now we have overlapping jurisdictions and a third party involved and an Ardellian national claiming unpaid compensation,” he added, tone sharpening slightly, “which has not been uncommon with Inburian accounts tied to the Evig Trade Company at the present time. So my question gentlement, is how do we resolve it without making it worse?”

"Unpaid dues ins a contractual matter for the courts, not for your embassy," the Minister replied, "This was a crime in Mitteland, not Favis, there is no 'overlapping jurisdiction'. The Evig Trade Company has nothing to do with the Inburian gold reserve. There is nothing to discuss. Hand over the accused."

"With due respect, Minister, it does. We are dealing with foreign assets, on foreign soil, involving multiple nationals. That alone creates overlap, whether acknowledged or not. And I have little confidence,” Crane continued, “that a Mittenlander court will treat Mr. Carter with any degree of impartiality, rather than simply delivering him to Inburian custody.”

“Nevertheless,” Crane went on, “the Commonwealth has authorized a resolution that will hopefully be commensurate to all parties."

Crane paused then spoke once more as if reading from a transcript, "Ehem, Mr. Carter will be re-inducted into the Ardellian military, effective immediately. As a gesture of cooperation, he will be assigned to support the Inburian war effort as an advisor,” he added. “Under the direct supervision of Ardellian attaches and with the full oversee of Inburian military command.”

He paused once more then spoke again more casually, “In broader support of the campaign against Calarian aggression and the Communialist elements,” Crane finished, “which I believe we can all agree takes precedence over… this particular dispute.”

"This was an event that happened in Mitteland, not in Inbur. Inbur and Favis are irrelevant. Hand the suspect over," the Minister grunted, clearly irritated.

“Mr. Crane, what you just offered as a resolution is simply a useless gesture,” the Inburian ambassador replied. “Even if as you claimed that the Commonwealth is authorizing this, are they willing to send Ardellian sons across the ocean to Inbur against the Communalists while there is a giant elephant in the room that is the Iktani Confederacy at the Conmonwealth’s border to worry about? A neighbor that is likely a far more immediate threat to the Commonwealth than the Calarians?”

“With all due respect, Ambassador, Commonwealth policy and strategic priorities are not yours to assess,” Crane said flatly, "nor are they subject to negotiation on this line.”

His tone did not change, “Mr. Carter has been re-inducted into Ardellian service. This is the only resolution presently available. If that is unsatisfactory, then we are at an impasse. The line remains open should either of you wish to revisit the matter,” Crane added, “Until then, there is nothing further to discuss.”

He didn’t wait, he hung up.

---

Security Room

Carter sat in a new armchair, leaning back slightly, one arm resting against the side. His wound still throbbed faintly beneath the bandaging, dulled by whatever Alina had given him. He wore his usual clothes again, brown pocketed pants, boots, the blue jacket. Everything except his gear, especially the Harlan.
The room he was in was not a cell, but close enough. A single armchair, a small table, a lamp casting a steady light above him. Comfortable, in a way that almost made it worse.

His gaze lingered on nothing in particular. He used this time to think.

Piece by piece, it all came back to him. The decision to take the gold, the panic when he realized he was being aimed at with a rifle, the moment it stopped being a plan and started becoming something else entirely.

It had been reckless and desperate, that much he admitted to himself now, and he couldn’t blame anyone else.

Not Kentz, not Itzi, Arkadios or even Urses, as much as he might’ve wanted to. This one sat squarely on him.

He had made the call and now everything that followed was just the consequence catching up to him. Still, his posture didn’t change. He sat there, steady and composed, whatever frustration or regret there was kept well beneath the surface.

Then the door opened and Carter’s eyes shifted toward it as Ambassador Crane stepped inside. The man carried himself the same as always with that polished exterior that barely hid the sleazyness that was underneath.

“Well, well, well,” Crane began, closing the door behind him.

Carter didn’t respond.

Crane took a few steps into the room, hands loosely behind his back as he studied him for a moment, “You’ve caused quite the disturbance, Mr. Carter,” he continued, tone almost conversational.

Carter remained silent.

“I’ll be direct,” Crane continued, his posture straightening slightly, “This situation has grown… inconvenient. For all involved.”

Carter let out a faint breath.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “noticed.”

Crane ignored the remark.

“This is not about saving you,” he continued plainly, “Nor is it about any sense of personal loyalty. What I am doing here is containing a situation before it becomes something far more problematic than it already is.”

His gaze narrowed slightly.

“For you. For the Commonwealth. And,” he adjusted his tie, “for myself.”

Carter’s eyes shifted just slightly at that, but he said nothing.

“You were seen,” Crane went on, “by multiple parties, pursued by multiple nations and then you took refuge in my residency.” He let that remark be supple for a moment, “which creates… complications.”

Carter huffed faintly, “Yeah. I can see that.”

Crane sat onto a chair opposite of Carter.

“As it stands,” he continued, “my options are limited. I can hand you over.”

That certainly was not a shocker, Carter thought.

“No protection, no intervention or assistance. You will be processed by the Mittenlanders and the Inburians as they see fit.”

Carter didn’t interrupt.

“Or,” Crane let the r’s roll, “we arrive at a more… productive arrangement.”

Another pause.

“The idea was for you to serve as an ‘advisor’ to the Inburian war effort,” he went on, “but that arrangement has been rejected outright.”

A faint exhale left the ambassador.

“In any case, the matter has moved beyond negotiation. The embassy is to be closed and all personnel, yourself included, are to be returned to the Main.”
He adjusted his tie slightly.

“I will be facing a committee inquiry regarding my handling of this situation,” Crane continued, “one I intend to argue was done in the interest of protecting a Commonwealth national from what I consider an excessive response.”

His eyes settled on Carter.

“That argument holds considerably better if you cooperate.”

Carter looked at him now, properly. The proposal felt somehow worse than prison.

“Your reinstatement into service will stand as restitution for your actions,” he added, “and more importantly, it ensures you remain under Commonwealth protection once we depart.”

“You may consider this an offer,” Crane continued, though there was no illusion in his tone, “but in truth it is simply the most favorable outcome still available to you.”

A brief silence settled between the two men.

“One way or another,” Crane finished, “you will be of use to the Commonwealth again.”

Carter leaned back slightly in the chair.

“Right,” he muttered.

His eyes drifted for a second, then returned to Crane.

“…And if I say no?” he asked.

Crane’s expression didn’t change.

“Then I open that door,” he said calmly, “and you take your chances with the Mittelanders before we depart. I would not recommend it.”

Carter let out a faint breath through his nose.

Of course.

His gaze lowered for a moment, then he nodded once, slowly.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Crane gave a small nod, as if that had always been the expected outcome.

“Good,” he said simply, “then we’ll see to it that the rest of this proceeds without further complication.”

Paradise Lost

Mark A. Lopez

Vitiafa of Endiohon

---

"Sol is a beacon." The priestess began before Ren once more inserted herself. She let herself be interrupted

Vitiafa watched as the two other women interacted. A maelstrom of emotions flowed from the the younger Kiel, but the elder remained silent. It was better to let the infection drain from the agonizingly fresh wounds than to let Ren's concerns turn septic. Vitiafa expected the outburst, of course, now the crew had moments to stop and breath. She had to let them do so.

The clinking of glasses, however, covered a quick glance down at one of the rings on her hands. A simple silver band, a rosy crystal sat entombed in its setting in the center of of the band. The light caught it and it refracted through the cuts in a mirror of the emotions in the room. Her heartbeat quickened with all the intensity of a child jolting back from a shock. With a blink and a breath, however, the water was calmed and the ship was steadied.

"May traveler guide you to your pool, Reenneesuash, though preferably before he guides us to Sol." She stifled a laugh after a sip of her tea. "Though I used to swim in rivers and lakes when I was younger. It was calming, in the water. I'd walk out just far enough to where I could float and I would meditate. To listen to the birds, and the fish, and the amphibians was renewing. I never did care for the rush of Eden, or the cities on the colonies."

@Bingelly

Mark didn’t announce himself right away. He leaned against the bulkhead just outside the room, catching the tail end of Vitiafa’s words. Rivers, lakes, meditation, listening to birds. For a second he just stood there, arms crossed, brow slightly raised.

He let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“Yeah… alright.”

There was something about the way she said it. The Kiel was so calm and steady, like none of this was falling apart around them. He didn’t buy into the whole spiritual angle, not really. Back where he grew up, if something broke, you fixed it and if you couldn’t fix it, you worked around it. There were no prayers involved.

Still… he got the point, some people preferred to rely on such things. He pushed off the wall and stepped in, making his presence known.

“Water helps,” he said, “Back on Shinar, we had irrigation canals running through most of the fields. Not exactly scenic rivers or anything, but on hot days, you’d sit by them, and splash a bit when others weren't looking.”

He glanced between the two of them, then gave a small nod toward Vitiafa.

“Not much for the whole ‘listen to the universe’ thing,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “but I get it.”

Mark rested his waist against the edge of the table.

“I grew up on a farm world. Whole place ran on crops and machinery that’s older than most of the people working it. Most folks were fine with that but I wasn’t. I used to tear into anything I could get my hands on. Engines, loaders, old harvest rigs. Drove my old man crazy.” A faint exhale, almost a chuckle, “EDF was my way out. Signed up the second I could.”

He tapped his prosthetic lightly against the table without thinking, "I ended up doing field repairs. Though I still saw combat, and this was the result of one such case.”

A short pause.

“Now that I'm here and with all the resources available I've been thinking on stuff I can make that could take some of the load off all of us," Mark shook his head as if reminiscing, "now that we're probably the last of Eden, mine as well find ways to stay busy..."

Mark looked back at them, “I don’t really care if Sol’s a beacon, myth, or just a direction on a map.” He gestured vaguely, “It’s something to move toward. That’s enough.”

Graveyard Orbit

Sergeant John Dusk

Dusk’s gaze lingered on the group as it began to split, with the Dhasath girl Neri and the fellow human Castleton heading off while the others stayed behind... or worse, began arguing. Kim backing him up helped, it wasn't much but at least one other person here still thought like a soldier, not a scavenger.

The rest? There was little good to say. The marine exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Unbelievable…”

Maybe some of them did belong on that ship, Dusk thought to himself.

The Ragon was also a problem that began to settle on Dusk. It was big, bigger than what he had ever imagined even hunched. The thing's claws looked like they could peel a man open without effort.

He’d seen the briefings on them and the UN handbook flashed in his mind. All of that info was almost useless in the moment but he ran it through his mind.

Ragon: physical level 5, highly dangerous.
Engagement protocols: Avoid close contact. Avoid escalation. Avoid.

That was about it, not exactly helpful.

"I hope I will not need to kill any of you."

@Pragia12

Dusk stared at it for a second, jaw tightening slightly.

Yeah, same here. His mind said.

He shifted his stance slightly, eyes never fully leaving the Ragon now.

Avoid. The protocol kept running in his mind.

He then glanced once toward the ridge, where the others had gone, then back to the group he was left with.

A walking hazard, a headless robot, a sentient gas suit and a Ragon trying to be polite about not killing them.

“…Great.”

He rolled his shoulders slightly, settling into it.

“If we’re stuck here for a bit, we ought to set up a camp to get some shade up. Scrub and sticks’ll do for now, as well as setting for a fireplace if need be."

Empire of the Clouds

Somewhere in the Port District

Itzi’s pace carried her away from the docks, past rows of soldiers, and away from the docked airship. Anger still clung to her, she didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to go away.

As the noise of the port began to thin the setting of crates and cables turned into brick and iron covers above the sky. Rails cut through the ground ahead and before long she found herself stepping into what looked to be a depot, tucked just beyond the main stretch of the docks.

A train sat there, the steam blew slowly from its sides, and metal wheels creaked as it settled from its journey. It hadn’t been there long.

For a moment Itzi just stood there, staring at it. A thought then came to her.

Get on. Leave.

Let them keep their gold, their war, and their stupid arguments. Take what she had and go somewhere else, somewhere far from all of this. She only took a few steps closer before the doors of the train carts opened.

At first nothing came out but then movement came. Scores of men began to step off the train in uneven lines, the smoldering steam covered them but their silhouettes were noticeable as they got off the train, something felt wrong.

One of them stumbled as he descended, catching himself on the railing with a shaking hand. Another followed, his arm slung around the shoulders of a third who could barely walk. A pair came down together, one guiding the other whose eyes were wrapped in bloodied cloth.

More followed, then more.

Their uniforms marked them from Mittenland, but there was little else uniform about them now. Most of it was torn fabric with bloody stains, their faces pale with pain or exhaustion. Some coughed as they stepped down, others didn’t speak at all.

One man was carried between two others, his head lolling slightly with each step. Another sat at the edge of the carriage for a second too long before a Mittenlander soldier reached up, helping him down with a firm grip.

Itzi didn’t move, she couldn’t even breathe. The anger that had been so heated a moment ago faltered at the horrid sight before her.

More men came. Some in crutches, others covered in bandages and so many more with rags tied over eyes that no longer saw, walking out in a line guided by a single soldier whose eyesight seemed to still work.

The smell reached her a second later. A foul mustard like odor that invaded her senses and immediately made her grimace with disgust.

A soldier stood a few paces away, leaning against a crate. He watched it all with a tired expression, like this wasn’t the first time he’d seen this.

He pulled a cigarette from a small pack at his chest, struck a match and lit it without much thought.

“They’ve been coming in like this for days,” he said, almost casually to Itzi as she was still reeling from the stench.

“From the front,” He took a slow drag, then exhaled.

“Every train’s the same.”

He reached out slightly, offering the cigarette to Itzi as she covered her nose with her shirt. She hesitated for only a second before taking it.

Her fingers trembled as she uncovered her mouth. She brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled without thinking. The smoke burned on the way down, harsher than she expected, but the sensation was better than the smell of rotting flesh.

Her gaze didn’t leave the platform however, another crowd stumbled.

Some of the arriving wounded had to be carried. Others sat down on the ground and didn’t get back up.

The cigarette lowered slightly in her hand.

Her jaw clenched then loosened. The anger had completely disappeared from thought.

“Madness…” she muttered under her breath. Her grip tightened around the cigarette, just enough for the ash to fall loose.

As the last of the soldiers filtered off the train, more figures began to emerge from the carriages. These were not in uniform, they were civilians. Clothes worn thin and dirt-stained, some carrying small bundles, others clutching what little they had left in satchels or broken luggage. A few had nothing at all.

Itzi’s brow furrowed as she watched them.

“Who are they?” she asked quietly.

The soldier beside her didn’t look surprised.

“Refugees,” he said, taking another drag from another cigarette before glancing back at Itzi, “From Inbur. Slipping through where they can.”

He exhaled slowly, “But the Calarian lines don’t show much mercy, otherwise it’d be thousands of them here already.”

Itzi’s stomach turned. An older woman appeared at the top of the carriage steps, a small child strapped to her back with worn cloth. She tried to descend, one hand gripping the railing, the other steadying the child, then her footing slipped.

Itzi moved, crossing the distance quickly and reaching up just as the woman faltered, catching her by the arm alongside the soldier who stepped in from the other side.

“Careful,” Itzi muttered, steadying her as they helped her down.

The woman’s weight sagged for a moment before she found her footing again.

“Thank you… thank you,” the woman said weakly.

Up close, Itzi could see it clearer. The hollow in her cheeks, dryness on her lips, her hands trembled.

“I… I don’t have much strength left,” the woman admitted, her words breaking slightly, “We were walking… for days… before the train found us. Just luck…”

She adjusted slightly, glancing at the child behind her.

“He hasn’t had water,” she added, her voice cracking, “Not for days…”

Itzi’s eyes widened, she didn’t respond, she couldn’t. She just stared at the child, then back at the woman.

The soldier beside her moved, unslinging his canteen without hesitation, pressing it into the woman’s hands.

“Here,” he said simply.

The woman clutched it like it might vanish, murmuring thanks as she fumbled to open it.

The soldier watched her for a second, then shook his head faintly.

“At this rate,” he muttered, almost to himself, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this war spills clean across the Evig.”

Itzi stepped back slowly. Her eyes were still on the woman, on the child, and the way the woman tried to help him drink with shaking hands. Something about it struck Itzi harder than anything else she had seen. The exhaustion, the way she held on, the quiet desperation in her voice, it reminded her of home. Of her mother and the kind of life she had come from.

Itzi stepped further back, the weight of it settled in. This wasn’t just soldiers or gold or some distant war. It was people being driven from their homes, families breaking apart, children going without water. And if it kept spreading, it wouldn’t stay here, it would reach places like Hunyunak. Her home.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself as the thought locked in place. There was no walking away from this, not anymore.

---

Ambassador Crane’s Residence

The residency had settled into a nice calm contrary to the chaos that had ensued earlier in the day. Kentz remained near the sitting room, posture straight, hands loosely behind his back as he kept his position. His eyes moved occasionally to Carter who sat where he had been left, looking marginally more alive than before but still far from steady and to Miss Alina who moved about finishing her housekeeping and nurse duties without unnecessary words.

Kentz didn’t interfere, he was there to watch and nothing more, at least for now.

Then the muffled ring of the telephone was audible from the other side of the home.

Everyone in the room paused, glancing towards the sound.

“I’ll get it,” Alina said, already moving.

Kentz stepped forward before she could take another step.

“I will,” he said simply.

She hesitated, then gave a small nod and returned her attention to Carter, she moved to provide him with the last of the dosage she had been administering. Kentz meanwhile turned and crossed the hallway, the ringing became sharper as he got closer to the telephone station.

He reached the instrument and lifted the receiver.

“Ambassador Crane’s residency,” he answered.

The gravelly voice of Crane immediately came through, “Corporal.”.

Kentz straightened slightly.

“Sir.”

“I will not waste time,” Crane continued, “You are to take Mr. Carter into custody and bring him to the embassy at once.”

Kentz’s grip on the receiver tightened just slightly as the order.

“The route has been cleared,” Crane added, “You will encounter no obstruction, use the vehicle. Understood?”

Kentz frowned faintly, taking in the words.

“…Understood, sir,” he said slowly, there seemed to be a small trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Corporal,” Crane repeated, “do you understand your orders?”

Kentz straightened fully.

“Yes, sir,” he replied more firmly this time.

“Good.”

The line clicked.

Kentz lowered the receiver slowly, placing it back into its cradle softly. The corporal remained by the telephone for a moment longer.

His gaze lingered to the nothingness, unfocused as the order settled in his mind. He did not know Carter well, not beyond what Miss Ku had said of him. Still her words came back to his mind, what Carter had tried to do and why. He had tried to take what he believed was the fair pay for his crew, the dead and the ones who had carried that gold out of hell and back to the Inburians.

Kentz exhaled quietly through his nose. As a soldier, he understood duty, it was not something to be questioned. It was the foundation of everything.

But even so, there was something about it that did not sit cleanly. Both Mr. Carter and Miss Ku had risked themselves for a land that was not their own and that was more than most would ever do. The Inburians would clearly not pay what Mr. Carter or the others felt was just and as such desperate actions had been taken and now the Ardellian was a public enemy of both the Mittenlanders and the Inburians.

And now that said Ardellian had been rescued by his compatriots; his own land was turning on him. The thought lingered only a moment longer before it was set aside.

In his case, Kentz was not a freelancer or had the privilege of daring antics, he had orders to carry out, as terrible as they be he would have to contend with them at a later time. The corporal turned and made his way back toward the sitting room.

He stepped inside just as Alina finished administering the last of the medication. Carter swallowed, a faint grimace crossing his face from the bitterness.

Kentz stopped a few paces in and then without ceremony, he drew his sidearm.

Alina’s expression shifted immediately, her usual composure breaking just enough for surprise to show. Carter looked back from his seat as well, the fatigue in his eyes remained despite the sight before him.

Kentz held his weapon but notably didn’t raise it.

“Mr. Carter,” he said firmly as a soldier did, “as of this moment, you are in my custody. We are to depart for the embassy immediately.”

His gaze remained fixed on him.

“I would advise that you do not resist.”

Carter kept his tired look on the corporal for a quiet moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, the fight not in him, “Figured as much.”

Kentz gave a single nod in return.

“On your feet, please…” he said.

---

Commonwealth of Ardell Embassy

Elvesland, Kingdom of Mitteland

Crane sat with his feet up on the desk of his office, a cigar between his fingers and a glass of whiskey resting in his other hand. Smoke curled lazily upward, blending with the dim light of the room. Things had settled now at the embassy, while the police cordon remained in place, the “broken down” truck at the back of the embassy was gone.

Miraculously repaired, no doubt.

Crane scoffed faintly at the thought, taking a slow sip from his glass. The Minister had come through quicker than expected, though he suspected it had less to do with courtesy and more with avoiding further pestering from Crane. Kostidis, on the other hand… that man was something else entirely.

“…Stuck up prick,” Crane muttered under his breath. He leaned back slightly on his chair, it creaked beneath him.

All of this, over some gold.

A lump sum that may or may not have even been properly promised, dragged into something far larger than it had any right to be. Diplomatic incidents, police cordons, accusations thrown around. It was absurd, completely absurd.

He rolled the cigar between his fingers, watching the light of it glow faintly. Whatever Carter thought he was owed, whatever justification there was for it, none of it was worth this kind of mess. Not the attention, not the risk or the implications.

Crane exhaled slowly through his nose. The simplest solution presented itself plainly in his mind now.

Hand him over.

Once Carter was inside embassy grounds and things were contained, it could be done cleanly and quietly. A gesture of cooperation and a way to smooth things over before they spiraled further.

His gaze drifted slightly. There was a problem with that.

Carter couldn't have just appeared out of nowhere. He had taken refuge in Crane’s own residency, under his roof and seemingly under his protection from what would’ve been an easy apprehension for the Mittelanders.

Crane clicked his tongue faintly. He realized how that detail alone complicated things more than he liked.

Still…

Better to resolve it now than let it grow and before the mainland caught wind of it. But that telegram.

“Damn you, Anders…” Crane muttered.

Of course he had sent it. Crane let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“…I’ll deal with that,” he muttered once more.

Then a knock came at the door.

Immediately, Crane lowered his feet from the desk and took one last long drink, finishing the whiskey in a single motion. The remaining layer in the glass he pushed the cigar into and extinguished it with a smooth hiss.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and his assistant stepped inside.

“Sir, Captain Anders is requesting your presence in the security room,” he said. “There’s… a situation.”

Crane already knew what that situation was. He stood up, pulling at his jacket and smoothing it into place.

“Patch me through with the Minister of Foreign Affairs,” he said calmly.

Graveyard Orbit

Sergeant John Dusk

The longer this went on, the less Dusk liked the look of it. Not the desert or the heat or the fact they had been dumped out here like broken equipment.

It was the people, or at least some of them.

Between the casual talk of theft, the half-joking grifting, and the overall ease with which some of the castaways slipped into the idea of preying on the first town unlucky enough to be nearby, Dusk could already feel a headache settling in behind his eyes. Some of them were just trying to survive, he understood that much. But the others sounded a little too comfortable with the idea of making their problems someone else’s.

He kept his mouth shut through most of it, his eyes moving from one speaker to the next. Then the vote was called.

Neri

"So, lets vote on it now. I'll ask for hands up for those wanting to stroll in honestly. Then in a moment I'll ask for a show of hands for those favouring theft or grifting," she paused for a moment, "Alright, those in favour of honesty, raise your hands" ...

@Dyelli Beybi

Dusk did not hesitate, he raised his hand for honesty.

“We go in straight,” he said, voice clear and firm, “These people didn’t put us here. They’re not the enemy, and I’m not about to start robbing locals because we drew the short end of the stick.”

His eyes shifted across the group, he stood straight and he was not about to back down.

“We’ve got hands, we can work. Trade labor, ask for help, be honest about being stranded without telling them more than they need to know. That’s a hell of a lot better than starting off by proving every bad assumption they could make about us right.”

Dusk lowered his hand, his expression stern.

“That’s my vote.”

Graveyard Orbit

Sergeant John Dusk

Saeyeon Kim
"Saeyeon Kim of the UN convoy missions, formerly of Republic of Korea Army Special Warfare Command," she said. "I'll join you guys as well in visiting the town."

@Badarby

Dusk’s eyes shifted when he heard it.

“Republic of Korea Army…”

He gave a small nod in her direction, “Good to know I’m not the only one out here.”

Then came the noise of someone or rather something else. Dusk turned, brow tightening slightly as the… thing started moving.

He watched it push itself up, limbs adjusting, no head—just that hollow space venting cold air like it was nothing.

Then it started talking.

“Whoo-whee, it’s hotter than hell out here,” she declared in a rather loopy, off-kilter, synthetic Southern accent. Proudly she rapped her knuckles against her alloy chest. “Good thing I got my own air-conditionin’! Don’t any of y’all go reachin’ down into my donation box to cool off, though, not if ya want your hand back!” A puff of cold air from deep within her gullet approximated a sigh as she looked around at the desolate territory, her hands perched on her hips. “Course, if my power runs low I’ll be sweatin’ like a whore in church right quick, hehheh! Don’t s’pose any o’ y’all got a battery pack to spare? Or a head, for that matter? I sure need me one o’ them!”

For the first time, it occurred to the android to pay some attention to her fellow castaways. A few of them, some already acquainted, had already grouped together in the hopes of reaching a nearby town. Some dhasath…or were they humans? A mix of the two, maybe? To a robot, they all looked alike. She was much more interested in that space suit, which struck her as oddly but unidentifiably familiar, especially once she happened to catch a lucky peek of the skull and swirling gasses within the suit’s helmet.

“Molybdenum?” She repeated, a smile in her voice. “Wow, what a wacky word! Like, the element? Molybdenum. Pretty dang fun to say, but it ain’t exactly practical. What if I see a li’l scorpion or somethin’ fixin’ to jab yer heel? By the time I belt out the whole word, the varmint’s already done poisoned you! How about Moly? Or maybe just Denum? Though I guess those ain’t jeans you’re wearin,’ hehheh!”

For a moment paused, as though spacing out now that she’d gotten off topic. “Uh…what was that about sharp stuff? You afraid of gettin’ yerself punctured, balloon man? Big gassy guy? Well, don’t you worry none, I’d never pop a Moly no matter how funny it’d be! Heheh…” Though if there was any cash rattling around in that suit with those bones, that might be a different story.

When the robot actually managed to focus, she realized that the prisoners were introducing themselves. She didn’t actually internalize any of their boring human names, but it sounded fun, so she stepped forward to do so next. She seemed to carry herself without any self-awareness whatever about how badly she stuck out among all the rugged, fleshy, storied refugees of the starry frontier. “Howdy, y’all! I been called lots o’ stuff, like Thief, Stealer, Slag, Rustbucket, Sumbitch, and so on. But I like Bandit best. I was made for minin’, but these days the ‘mining’ I do is makin’ other folks’ stuff ‘mine’, hehhehheh!”

After quickly checking inside her storage compartment, though, Bandit’s face fell, metaphorically speaking at least. “Daww, consarn it all! Those rat bastards musta taken all my cash! I ain’t got so much as a doggone penny to my name…” Bandit groaned, her arms hanging so low they almost brushed the ground, but after another moment she straightened up. “Well, guess that settles it. I’m stickin’ with y’all for now. Wherever we’re headin’, they gotta have batteries there. And money. And heads!” Clearing her throat, she lowered her voice somewhat. “Still, uh, takin’ donations, by the way. Just sayin’.”

@Lugubrious

That accent, that… attitude. Dusk blinked rapidly as he looked at the thing.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

For a brief second, he just stood there, staring at it like his brain was trying to catch up.

A headless robot with a southern drawl talking about batteries and… heads.

“…Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

“Either I took a harder hit back there than I thought…”

His eyes stayed on the machine a moment longer, "or this is just how things are out here.”

He exhaled through his nose, letting it go.

Graveyard Orbit

Sergeant John Dusk

“Move.”

The shove came without warning, Dusk didn’t argue.

His boots hit the dusty ground as he stepped off the ramp, the dry heat immediately settling in, it reminded him of previous deployments. It wasn’t suffocating like some places back on Earth, but it had that empty feel to it. It was the kind of place where if something went wrong, no one was coming to help that much was universal.

He took a few steps forward, then turned slightly as more prisoners were forced out behind him. The guards didn’t even bother keeping formation or a perimeter. They were just dumping them there.

Fucking figures. Dusk thought as the ship began to rise behind them.

“…Yeah. Real professional.”

He muttered to himself, eyes tracking the ship as it lifted. Just like that, gone.

No supplies, no weapons and no explanation. They were left to rot.

“Shit…”

His hand ran across his face, brushing over half-healed cuts from the ambush. They were still tender that they stung lightly upon touch. The dust had already settled into the prison fabric he was wearing, his service boots were the only thing he had left, he looked just as out of place as pretty much everyone else around him who had been left behind.

He exhaled slowly, forcing the frustration down, panicking wasn’t going to fix anything.

Voices began to pull his attention then. A small group had already started forming. A dhasath woman, a kiellar, and—

A human.

He was tall and seemed confident. Talking like he owned the situation.

“…Castleton," Dusk muttered to himself once more. The name rang somewhere in the back of his mind for a moment, but it was not important right now.

Dusk watched the exchange silently, reading the room (or scene rather) the way he always did. Different species and backgrounds but they all had one thing in common, they were prisoners abandoned in an unknown planet.

Some of them were already talking about stealing.

Not great but they were moving toward a plan.

He glanced back once more at the empty sky where the ship had been.

Then back to the group. Apparently there was a town over the ridge.

She turned around, cupping her hands to her face to help her voice carry better, "Hey! Anyone wanting to change out of your prison clothes, follow me!"

@Dyelli Beybi

That was the best play. Didn’t matter how bad it looked to be around a gang of questionable ethics, standing alone out here was worse.

The marine stepped forward, speaking just loud enough to be heard.

“Name’s John Dusk. United States Marine Corps. Attached to a UN convoy mission before all this.”

He gestured vaguely back toward where the ship had been.

“No idea who grabbed me or why, but that doesn’t change the situation.”

A brief pause as his eyes moved across them, sizing each one up.

“We’ve got no gear, no water, and no ride off this rock. That town’s our best shot.”

He nodded toward the ridge.

“I’m sticking with the group. If anyone’s got a better plan, now’s the time.”