POOHEAD189

Trying to feel less Alien...

@Raditz dont listen to Ammokkx. They're insane

Trying to feel less Alien...

Hey I think I know who this guy is

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

While there was a certain fluidity to his motions, Amal being rather debonair for an unwashed thief. But the slyness dissipated when she had spoken, his brows raising. "You killed the Emir?" he echoed, too stunned to speak in Riekspeil at the moment. Her admission and her smile set his heart racing. He stood up, and gave her an extravagant bow. He had learned to step correctly in order to mock the aristocracy, but in this case he was being sincere. "Forgive me, a woman has never told me something so beautiful."

Truth be told he was actually somewhat aroused, but he held himself in check. He might be an amoral thief, but he had once been a slave. Women were third class citizens in Araby more often then not, behind men and eunuchs. This woman had just been a slavery to a lecher for a year. It would be cruel to make an advance on her. He was simply happy to hear the news. Most men would kill to meet an Emir, but Amal would rather meet an Emir killer. He didn't enjoy murder, being a thief by trade rather than an assassin. But he made exceptions for Emirs, Sultans, and Satraps. If they didn't hire him, that is.

"The most I can boast of is stealing from a Satrap." He said with a wink. His eyes looked down as he remembered something. "I have killed an official of an Emir before." Crossing his strong arms, he shrugged. "He did not like me impersonating the son of his master. But his mistress had a jeweled necklace and I couldn't resist." It sounded unnecessarily low of him, and it was to an extent. But everyone with power in Araby had gained it through being ruthless. He had seen the official he'd killed cut off children's arms without hesitation, at the Emir (whom he had stolen from) behest.

With a sigh, he sat down on the pillow again and sank into it. "Now let's get some sleep. We have a lot of coin to spend tomorrow. Or I do."

---

The sun was bright and scorching, and the wind nipped at the nose and stung the eyes if one found themselves in a more deserted street. Even the milling crowds were used as protection against the elements. To Amal and Emmaline, however, it wasn't a problem. First, they stopped at a fabric shop where Amal bought Emmaline a hooded sari to hide her skin and her hair from prying eyes. Afterwards, Amal had gone straight to the bathhouse, Emmaline following close behind him through another low-way beneath the greater city. Amal had hopped up out of a faux sewer drain, and reached down to help her up before entering the bathhouse, named the Verdant Spring in Arabyan.

It wasn't particularly immaculate, but to Amal it was a luxury. He found himself lounging in a square pool of water within one curtained section of the steamed interior, sharing his bath with another guest. A dark skinned man named Bungalo (the name tattooed on his chest), so rotund that his stomach reaching the water had not yet begin to curve inward, giving him the look of a swelling ball. Various gold trinkets adorned his fat fingers, and his hair was tied in a braided, rythmic style Amal could never hope to match.

Emmaline had received her own private bath chamber, more to keep her hair color and eyes hidden than any modesty. Amal might be a wanted man in his daily life, but she stood out like a flower in the sand. The thief was focused on the moment, however. He relaxed, leaning back and his lower torso and legs soaked in the warm water. Amal lazily smoked a midwakh pipe filled with Dokha, giving him a very nice buzz and making him comfortably light headed. He had already washed his hair, turning it from a worn mane into lush, dark waves. Across the pool, Bungalo had three veiled women massaging his temples and shoulders. Their pantaloons clung to their legs, a slit at the side showing off their hips.

Amal envied the man, but not for what one might think. He would be too worried one of the women would steal from him. Bungalo was apparently powerful enough to where he needn't worry. He took a hit from the midwakh, smoking pouring out of his nostrils like a dragon. Letting out a grunt as he shifted, Amal reached up and felt his chin. He had a rough fuzz on his neck and lower face, the hot water on it feeling particularly nice. He grabbed the gold sack he held beneath the pit of his rested arm and dangled a gold piece, whistling for the girls to see. All three of them popped up to look at Amal, watching the gold coin and then looking to the young thief.

As one, they sauntered over to him, and he gave each a gold piece to give him a nice shave. His eyes stayed half open to keep his wits about him, but as their slender hands spread the cream on his chin and massaged his neck, he nearly fell asleep. Bungalo opened his eyes, seeing the women now on Amal, and the large man growled. His rumbling shook his belly, sending shudders across the water. Amal took it as him passing gas.

"Happens to the best of us," the thief said, his chin nearly free of the facial hair. Bungalo waved and gestured to someone unseen. The women's hands suddenly disappeared, and Amal felt his chin and clutched his coinpurse, to his surprise realizing they had neither stolen from him and they had given him a clean shave. Amal leaned his head back to see if the girls were still there, only to find he was looking up the towel of a large man. "Allah," he coughed, retching. Three more men appeared beside him, holding cruel axes and thick bladed knives.

"Stealing my women?" Bungalo said, his accent heavy. He had to have come from the Great Desert, at least in his thinner days. Judging by his physique he hadn't been a desert nomad since the time of Nagash. The men over Amal sneered and took a step forward. The one he had taken an uncomfortably close look at was a northerner whp wore a forked beard, nearly as jeweled as Bungalo's fingers. Amal backed away from the edge, holding up his hands, one of them holding his coinpurse.

"Bungalo please, here take what gold I have. I don't wish to fight."

"Fight!?" the man chuckled. "You are too much."

"Coming from you?" Amal retorted. Bungalo's eyes blazed once he took in the meaning. He slammed his meaty fist on the wooden edge. "Take his balls and his gold! He will work for me to pay off the debt of ruining my bath." Amal heard metal on metal behind him, and he took that as his cue. Instead of trying to flee by awkwardly trying to run out of the water, Amal dived into the scented pool. Bungalo tried to stand up, but his ogre-like girth kept him from even sitting up too quickly.

The thief, having used the side of the pool's steps to yank himself through the water, had launched himself across the pool over to Bungalo's side. The hefty man had placed his hands in the water to push himself up to rise, and when he pulled his right hand out of the water, it was devoid of rings or gold. A quick jerk caused Bungalo to stumble, and his henchmen saw Amal's head rise from behind Bungalo, his dagger slicing a neat line across the fat man's third chin. Eyes widening, Bungalo stumbled forward, before his leg buckled and he fell face first into the pool, the waves of water tossed out of the bath hampered his men from pursuing. One slipped and hit the ground hard, falling into the reddening water with his boss.

Emmaline's bath tarp would open for but a moment, and Amal, soaking and bare from the waist up and wrapped in a drenched towel spoke six words. "Meet me across the courtyard soon." Before he disappeared again, familiar cries of pursuit passing by her relatively quiet and serene bath chambers.

---

The back alley the woman entered was somewhat cool compared to what she would have expected, but then again she was still somewhat glistening from the bath. There was no sign of Amal as of yet.

Amal had given them the slip, and his roguish luck having not run out yet, he made it to the otherside of the marketplace and hastily bought a handsome, open vest with red trim to wear rather than the rags he had left behind, loose fitting pants coming with it. The older man in the Dastar didn't question why a naked man was buying clothes, knowing the bathhouse was across the way and that many unruly activities occurred within.

Now on the north side of the marketplace, Amal had snuck his way behind many of the fabric vendors to a very well known spot he frequented. His back pressed to the wall, he knelt down and picked up a broken shard of glass. To any passerby, it would look like debris. But it had been placed their for any thieves willing to speak to the most infamous broker in Lashiek, Salim Dalib. The rogue angled the glass shard thrice to flash the sunlight into the alleyway.

A conical basket within, set beside a dung heap, suddenly sprang to life. A man who was as short as most Dwarfs stood up from within, the top of the basket actuall his hat, a vast beehive like headdress of white fabric swirls. "Who comes to see the illustrious Salim Dalib?" he asked ceremoniously, his voice snake-like. Amal stepped into the alleyway, holding his hands out with a great smile. They both erupted into "My friend!" as they approached and embraced.

Salim Dalib laughed. "Aha, tis good to see you my fine young friend. Look at you! You look as clean as a Sultan! Do you plan on entertaining anyone tonight?" He asked with a suggestive wink. "If not, I can arrange it for you. I have a few girls who-"

Amal held up a hand. "Not exactly. I simply recently came into some money I thought I could use a change, but if you please we need to talk business. I am on a schedule." He raised an eyebrow and gestured, as if to say 'of course I am a busy man.' Salim nodded, smiling like a rat.

"Of course, of course!" he said, rubbing his scrawny hands together within his wide sleeves, eager to see what Amal had gotten with his wiles. "What do you have?" Amal reached into his pocket and presented the rings that had been on Bungalo, all gold and glinting. Salim Dalib's eyes bored into them with an infatuation, and he reached forward to grab, before hesitating. "These will fetch a high price. Except for one. May I?"

Amal allowed the broker to reach within and grab a trinket. A ring with the likeness of a grinning skull upon it. "The others will make you rich, my friend. But this? It is worthless. It's not even gold!" He held it up to Amal, quickly flashing it. "See the texture? Fool's gold! Worry not, I will take it off your hands." He pulled the ring back to place it in his pocket, but Amal was on him in a flash. Within the time it took for Salim Dalib's heart to beat, he was pressed against the wall with Amal's dagger to his throat, feet dangling in the air.

"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?" Amal asked, staring right into the brokers eyes. Salim Dalib shook his head. "My friend, would I ever-" His neck was pricked by the dagger blade. "Ok, ok! Wait! Yes, I know what the ring is...Only Corsair Captain Lords may wear one! This is one that belonged to the Abyssal Skulls!" Vainly, Salim Dalib tried to squeeze out of Amal's grip, but the thief was too busy assessing what this meant.

He had killed a Corsair Lord.

Salim Dalib dropped to the ground, gasping. "W-Wait! Where do you go!? Amal!" But Amal had already vanished into the crowd, finding his way where he said he would meet Emmaline. The cloaked woman was there, blue eyes gazing out of the shadows of her hood as he approached. He looked a bit bewildered, and he pulled her closer by the arm to whisper. "I have decided I will leave the city. If you want to live, you should as well. I will travel with you on one condition...let us go by a land route."
@Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Neil placed in a Y-Sec algorithm, the Highlander roaring as if it had a life of its own. Lonney popped up on the speaker, indicating wind speed and the daily temperature, something Neil needed to put into consideration when they had very little power to spare. The display monitor popped up a forward screen that showed the surrounding area. Various men continued to spray fire from different small arms. Neil noticed there was a mutant among them, big enough to be nearly Saxon's size with a shotgun that could like blow a hole in nearly anything except a space ship hull.

Indra, being completely ignorant as to what was happening, scrambled into the cockpit for reassurance. "What is going on?" She asked, clinging to the backseat chair. "Are we going? Can we make it!?"

The pilot didn't need an extra distraction, but he had always been good under pressure. He pulled the lever that began the lift off modem. "You know normally we would have no problems, but after seeing that three pronged alien sex organ, I am not certain what I'm capable of at the moment." He quipped, and with the bullets and las fire rattling against the hull, they lifted off and shot off toward orbit.

A huge crash was heard and an uncomfortable roar echoed. Neil grinned, knowing that was likely Saxon hitting a wall. Indra screamed and clung to the chair, and Neil could hear Taya's cry in the other chamber. He didn't hear Junebug, but he didn't need to. He had expected her to be too cool headed to scream. For his part, Neil laughed triumphantly. He'd not had a chance to fly in what seemed like ages, and the clear blue sky grew darker as they approached.

Soon, the gravity stabilized and then disappeared. Neil couldn't risk turning on the ship's normal gravity generator in fear of messing up the anti-grav machine they had created. Neil got the Captain on the comm. "Junebug, are you at the machine?" He asked, and he received confirmation. "Good. On my mark!" he called. He glanced backwards and saw Indra floating upside down, looking positively uncomfortable as she hung on to the seatbelt.

They were 43 kilometers away and closing in fast. Neil reoriented the radar to pick up any large bodies of material and energy to bring a hone on its position, and as they approached Neil counted down. "Ten...nine...eight..." Neil spun the Highlander, maneuvering it until it clamped onto the hull of the larger ship, bringing out the electromagnetic charge that would keep it stuck even through a R.I.P.jump.

They needed to move quickly so they weren't detected. "Three...two...now!" A large crack was heard, and suddenly the world shifted not unlike a R.I.P. jump, and the gravity stabilized once more. Neil had unbuckled as soon as it happened, and he caught Indra before she could hit the floor hard.

"Thank you," she breathed, shaking and getting in the chair.

"We didn't save you to have your head crack on the floor. Don't worry, babe." He told her casually, waiting for a moment to hear if something went wrong or out of the realm of their original plan. Nothing occurred, and it was sweet euphoria.

Neil breathed easier, grabbing his hair and sighing. "Gideon, I cannot believe that worked..." he said.

Indra's next words were incredulous. "What!?"
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

As the men below began to debate on whether they should admit defeat and go gather reinforcements and archers, or to continue and try to regain their honor by climbing the precarious building, Amal tossed the rope down to the men to dangle in front of them. Up at the top, he took out his dagger and cut the rope's outer weaves, making it dangerously thin. "No, you fool!" Amal cried, feigning an argument with Emmaline. "You cannot give yourself up! They'll simply sell you into slavery!"

Motioning her to follow him as the men below began to bumble over one another, trying to grab the rope that would certainly break from their weight halfway up the climb, Amal opened a raggedly cut curtain that led into a small entryway, cutting through the edge of the ruined building to reach a thick scaffold that lay across this structure and the next. "Do not thank me yet, Imraah" he said, using the polite Arabyan nomenclature for woman. He held a hand out for her to take. "We'll celebrate once we make it back to the den."

The two traversed the scaffolding, Amal stalking over it as if he were born to the heights. The blonde woman seemed competent and dangerous, but those not used to such things glanced to the ground nervously. He heard her sigh audibly once they made it to the next building. With that, Amal unsheathed his curved blade once again and stuck it into a lock, immaculately carved into a stone with a flower at its base. With two simple twists, he opened the door that led into darkness.

Their journey went downwards until they were where Emmaline would be certain were the sewers, passing within catacombs where the moonlight shined only sparingly through the strange Arabyan archwindows, passiong pillars that led to even further below into unknown bodies of water. Even as barefoot as they were, the stones were smooth and soon she would see lit torches and huddled men. Some actively stared at them both, curled up within rags inside of strange chambers below ground. There were makeshift shanty houses within abandoned scaffolding and men who played strange games with finger bones. A large thug was pulling a body toward the sewer line, tossing the cadaver into the muck to sink within.

It seemed to last eternity, before Amal led the woman up rougher carved steps past the insence smoke, winding and winding until they were on a sudden plateau. A broken roof and a ladder lead upwards into an opening that brought them in a small, comfortable room with surprisingly expensive pillows and red curtains, though both were very aged and ragged after constant use over what was probably decades. The roof was only tangentially there, leaving nearly two quarters of the room exposed to the elements if not for the tarps Amal had likely placed above. The chamber looked attached to an abandoned building, and as Emmaline strode through, Amal tied up what looked to be a stone interwoven within a trip wire, smiling as if he relished what would happen if someone were foolish enough to trip whatever hidden trap he had laid.

Outside, Lashiek shone in the moonlight. It was a prison, but it was a gilded prison, the sloping towers and outset architecture pleasing to any eye. "Welcome to the Kawmat Alsamad," Amal said wryly. Emmaline would be able to translate that as "dung heap." Looking straight below the curtain, she could see why. The streets were covered in sand and muck, and there was even two corpses and a living man rifling through their belongings in the starlight. Every building looked in disrepair in some way.

"Impressive, I know," he said, falling atop a cushion with confidences, as if he was ruler of all of Araby. The scoundrel reached into his pack, taking out a grapefruit to toss to her. Along the cracks in the walls, Emmaline would see he used them as shelves, with dried beef, thieving tools, rope, and various fruits and nuts arrayed within easy reach. "What is more impressive was how you handled the Goldsmith and the guards. I thought all northerners had skulls thicker than an Ogre. It seems only the Satrap did, going after the wrong thief." Amal produced the gold he had stolen, letting the realization sink in to Emmaline. He tossed the bag onto one of the jutting wall cracks as he had a thousand times before. He retrieved another grapefruit for himself, cutting it open with his dagger and biting into it.

He had a devilishly handsome look to him, but he lacked manners and spoke as he ate. "I did not save you for that, however. I will not lie, I enjoy ruining the high-born's nights, but you also piqued my curiosity. You are running from something, and not because my doing. You may sleep here tonight, but before you do, tell me what a foreigner such as yourself is doing in stolen clothes in the City of Corsairs?" He watched her with eyes that glinted in the moonlight, and though he made no threatening moves toward her, nor seemed unfriendly, he said nothing as he measured what she would say next, his dagger still in his off-hand.

"You may have forgotten, but your Hammer-God does not live here."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Watching from above, Amal had taken out a sackcloth of dates and had begun to eat gingerly, watching this woman haggle with the goldsmith as his men leered at her from behind. Amal had all the gold he needed for a tenday, and so he thought he get some free entertainment. Fortunately for the woman, she managed to get out of the predicament scot free. Amal would have applauded her if it wouldn't have announced his perch, so he simply continued to watch, wondering why the Goldsmith's men did not simply rob her after.

He got his answer when a royal guard in a familiar garb approached from the east, pointed nose poking out of his proudly, uniformly trimmed beard. He could already tell what was about to transpire before the threats had begun, and he did laugh aloud when she kicked the guard in the groin. If only everyone in Araby had such daring! She ran as if her life depended on it, and it certainly did. Two more royal guards saw her fleeing form escape down the alley, and they drew their swords, running past their downed comrade.

Normally, Amal would have simply let it go there. In fact this was the perfect scenario. Having someone fall for the crime he committed. The thief would have laughed and bragged about such a thing for days after. But something made him second guess himself. An old friend of his had once told him, A tree that affords thee shade, do not allow it to be cut down. For you see, there were only three things Amal truly appreciated. Beautiful women, treasure, and a sense of danger. This woman represented all three in spades, and he knew something else. She had been running from the law even before they had accused her of stealing from the Satrap. Her manner and stolen clothes confessed to it.

He downed the last of the dates, hopping to his feet and scaled down the building to the second floor, strong fingers gripping the sandstone of the walls. Kicking off, he made it to the lower rooftop and raced across the buildings. Having traversed these streets for over ten years, he could adequately guess where the foreigner was going, seeing her golden hair turning a corner not a moment later as he crossed a gap between the seammaster's residence and the shoe maker shop. He readied a rope, tying it to the pillar of the top pavillion of the following building.

"I will take your mane as a trophy, whore!" One of the guards cried out, echoing into the night. Emmaline turned at the sound of the voices behind her just as Amal landed right before her path. Her eyes spotted him as she turned back just in time not to run into him. The thief, breathing heavily from the acrobatics, didn't have time to explain he was not here to gut her before she kicked at his groin on instinct. He had already seen her use the move though, and he blocked it with his hands.

He waded back, holding his arms up to show he meant no harm. "Wait, wait! I am not here to cut your pretty throat, though I am curious on the color of foreigner blood." He said with an open mouthed grin. "I am here to help, or would you like to take your chances with the Satrap's men?" Not a moment later, he was already grabbing the rope he had laid down with one, strong hand as he held the other out for her to take.

If she took his hand, he would pull her on his back and used his considerable strength to haul them both up atop the roof, pulling the rope up just as the Satrap's men would turn the corner. In a small gesture of bravado, Amal would blow them a kiss and wave them farewell as the men on the ground cursed their luck. "Now that they have lost you, you might get your wish," he said in heavily accented Reikspeil, and looked at her with a devilish smirk. "Their balls may well be removed."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Lashiek was shrouded in darkness at this time of the evening. Only the wealthy or foolhardy used open lights in the city, of fear of attack or fear of discovery before they themselves thieved upon someone. T'was true, Lashiek was known more for its Corsairs than it's bandits, but there was still no shortage of scoundrels within the bowels of the deceivingly opulent city. And of course, even if a light would make you a target, it still brought comfort to those unused to such settings. This was what Amal ibn Has'raikk had counted on, and he was not disappointed.

Even without the sun, the lands of Araby still lingered from the day's heat. Amal steadied his breathing, calming himself as the footsteps became audible to his ears. He suppressed the urge to smile at his fortune. He had spent too many nights going to sleep hungry to count his throats before they're slit. He padded the hilt of his dagger with his nimble fingers, the blade sharp enough to shave a scorpion's ass. The footfalls grew louder, and even a non thief would be able to hear it now as it approached closer. Three men, which met the headcount he had made earlier.

The Satrap and his two guards moved at a steady pace, soon entering the light in the street to walk past Amal's hiding place. The light would disorient them for but a moment, and they would feel safer within.

Two moments passed, and the men entered the light and continued past Amal, unbeknownst of his whereabouts. The Satrap wore an elaborate headpiece ringed with ivory and royal purple atop a flowing golden robe. The guards were nearly as impressive, with sweeping armoy of bronze filigree, and red capes that kissed the sand as they walked. As soon as they had passed the alley, Amal rolled out into the open of the light as their eyes attempted to adjust to darkness once more.

Under the flow of their crimson cloaks, his dagger shop out and severed the rope that held the Satrap's coinpurse. Amal held out his offhand, and let it fall with the coins so as to catch them with as little noise as possible. As soon as he had the purse in his possession, he slipped out of the light at their backs and gave a triumphant grin. Greedily, he pulled the thread to open the coinpurse, letting the coins spill into his strong hands.

It was no King's fortune, and it was even less than he had hoped from a Satrap. But it was gold, and it would last him for many nights. Perhaps he could even afford a bath and try his luck seducing one of the local Pasha's voluptuous dancers with a display of wealth. The possibilities were wide and varied. He nearly did not notice the steel being drawn, glinting in the light he had just been within.

"Serpent's teeth, my money! By Allah, find the bandit who took my gold!" The Satrap roared. He wouldn't ever get it back, for Amal was already traversing the towering building next to him. His arms were long and strong, almost simian in appearance. They needed to be in order for him to climb as effectively as he did. With a tug and a shift of his hips, he swung his legs into an archwindow and landed nimbly. "Allah will give you no fortune today," he whispered to himself, referring to the Satrap's cries. The room he found himself in was adorned with tapestries of the old kingdom under Sultan Jaffar.

He did not know much history, having been sold into slavery by his mother as a small boy. He recalled her glee at giving him away so she could afford another breadloaf for dinner to appease his father's ire. He had worked in a quarry for six years before he had escaped and entered a life of banditry. Over a dozen years later, he had become one of the most infamous rogues in the city, though he had crossed far too many people to be in one of the infamous thief guilds. He had to make do with small scores.

On the other side of the tower, he peered out of another window opening, breathing in the hot air of the evening. Moving his wavy, dark hair out of his eyes, he could see lights dotting the undulating skyline of Lashiek. In one window, a man smoked a hookah with an oddly clad stranger, and in another building there was a group of Arabyans performing the Dance of Many Sabers. Smirking, he stepped onto the sill of the window and checked the alley below to where he would make further his escape to see... a wave of light without a light?

He blinked, and realized what he looked at. A woman with hair like gold and arms around her buxom chest. He leaned out further, wondering by what reason a foreign woman of such beauty was wandering the street. Even in simple starlight, her hair was an alarm to anyone who saw her pass by. He felt his fingers slip an inch and his heart thundered in his chest for a single, terrifying moment as he caught himself. "Allah's mercy!" he cursed. An ironic curse, because if the great God was aware of him, he'd sooner smite him than give aid. Amal really felt a fool once he established he was safe. One look at this strange woman and he nearly fell four stories! But he was nothing if not curious, and as silent as a hunting cat, he leaped over the alley to the other building with a lower roof. If she had looked up, the woman would have seen the silhouette of a man pass straight through the distant moon.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Neil managed to nab a can of assorted meat and vegeatbles, aptly named "Galactic Mix" and tossed it to Sayeeda. She caught him, giving a closed mouth grin in thanks. Neil found one for himself too. It wasn't much, but it was something to keep them going for the next few hours, and the two of them popped the cans and dug in with their makeshift silverware, consisting of Neil using a cleaned wrench and Sayeeda handling a short, bent pipe in the form of a crude spoon. It was apparent there was a disparity when the two had come in. The upper class women sat at the end of the table, with Neil and Sayeeda, covered in grease and sweat, scarfing down food and booze with equal enthusiasm.

Indra looked disgusted, and Taya looked simply embarrassed when she noticed their guest watching in morbid fascination. Indra continued their conversation as the two ate. "So we can board without them being any the wiser?" She asked, sighing. Despite herself, she was obviously hungry as well. She wouldn't admit it, however. Not until they were gone at least, so she could relax and speak with Taya further. "That is good news, but shouldn't you be spending all of your time and effort to repair the ship? You can eat after you're finished."

As she was speaking, Neil had downed the last bit of the 'slop', almost inhaling it down his gullet. He set it down and grabbed a bottle of Phaerimian Ale, uncorking the top. "We need to rest a little bit," the Pilot said. At Indra's rolling of the eyes, Neil smirked. "Looks like someone doesn't appreciate us saving them from that fat man at great personal risk, eh? Or this cyborg that would likely strip her for parts."

Indra colored, caught in being embarrassed and guilty. Neil had meant it as a playful jab, but Junebug reclined, kicking her legs on the desk. "It certainly seems like we're not being appreciated, I grant you that." She said, and Indra took the bait. She shook her head, and despite the haughtiness not ten seconds ago, she reached across the table and grabbed at Neil's hands. "No, no, I am very appreciative. I've already thanked you so much."

Neil wasn't certain why she was grabbing at his hands, but he realized after a moment that he was the one that had shot the fat pasha and saved her. He also realized that no one with any sane mind would think Junebug was being truthful, but again, Indra had been without sleep or hope for many weeks. Neil squeezed her hands. "We're bullshitting, don't worry." He told her in no uncertain terms.

"They act like this, but we've entertained royalty before. A Prince, even!" Taya exclaimed. The remark caused Junebug to wince and Neil to lose his uplifting expression. It hadn't been brought up for months, and the Prince debacle was still not a good subject to bring up for various reasons. The fact that they were in pursuit by the law, Neil's slight jealousy and Junebug being lied to by the corrupt bastard.

"Really?" Indra asked, intrigued. Taya zipped her lip after she was glared at, however. She nodded, swallowing. "Yes, but it didn't last long. We just love helping people. Going all over the galaxy, we bump into the strangest men and women, and Xenos too. I remember this one time-" She continued on to change the subject, and Neil grunted and stretched. "I think we better get back to work. You ready?" he asked the Captain.

@Penny

Into the Shadow

"Got it," he breathed, grabbing for the knife gingerly before he felt the familiar hilt in his palm. Gripping it, he began to saw the webbing slowly. He was still far weaker than he was used to, but the lack of consciousness had given him a modicum of rest. He cut through his bonds relatively quickly, freeing his arms first, and then one leg at a time. Meanwhile, Iseldis had already fallen and landed nimbly on her feet.

Roland envied her agility. He wasn't brutish or slow, but he couldn't do many of the things she could accomplish. With one last cut, he tumbled to the earth. Quickly he reached out with a strong hand and caught the ground, letting his feet fall past him to cuff the earth. It was slightly audible, but after a few moments of waiting, no draugr were incoming. He breathed easier. He got off his butt, only to bump into Iseldis who had risen to her feet at just the same time.

"Sorry," they both breathed, and after a moment they placed a hand on one another's arms to make sure they didn't run into each other again, and they moved to the door simultaneously. Roland whispered to her. "There's two Draugr out there right? Can you destroy one with your powers while I use the dagger?" He knew she had abilities he didn't, but he still felt it was unfair that he was the one to use the knife even though it logically was very fair.

It was time to use one of his skills though, and creeping forward, they made it to the metal door. He brushed his hands along it gently, and lightly kicked the dirt beneath them at the bottom of the door. Based on the solidness of the structure and the dirt, it wasn't liable to make a lot of noise when they opened it, which was his main concern. Now all they needed to do was do it. "I'm ready when you are." He said to her. "I go right and you go left?"
@Luminosity

Fandoms galore (18+)

@WanderingDragon Please only comment if you're interested in roleplaying