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The merchant square of Ostro reminded Jinaath of those early years living in the Eriadu slums. The mercantile-oriented nature, structure, and the species involved were wildly different, and yet…Back home, there too had been hastily constructed habitations, peddlers on the streets hawking their wares, would-be thieves slinking among the crowds searching for an opportunity to steal. Even the transitory nature was similar, though much more apparent here. Of course, there was also the fact that those people who knew each other stuck together.

Yet, he’d seen no group either as large nor as self-contained as the Miraluka community upon Eriadu had been. In fact, he had not come across any Miraluka, here. And what if he had? As he’d learned, though his ancestors might have once been a united people, as soon as the Miraluka fled Alpheridies in fragmented groups such an ideal had suffered a quiet death. No, despite the attempted intrusion of fond memories – playing with Vier, Mi’ik, Xer, Sumi, the calm teachings of Iolac, the companionship of Lanein, Eimeh, Xereey as they served the Houzran, his mother’s support, before… – he could not rely upon such ephemeral things.

Rather, he had engraved upon his mind the precise arc of his mother’s body as it was struck down, the deceptively gentle sway of her hair as she fell, her shrill scream, pleading, his name the last feeble whisper upon her unresponsive lips, a rictus of despair overtaking her…the blood, oh, the blood. It strengthened him, stoked his determination ablaze, and brought him as close as could be to that visceral reaction of excruciating wrath. But that power he’d felt back then eluded him, tauntingly remaining out of his grasp. Inevitably, his emotions would fluctuate towards grief, regret – or worse yet, his old mentor’s voice would suddenly infringe upon his psyche, espousing control, as if he were haunted by some sort of a ghost.

Some days, he didn’t even bother anymore, living simply as if he were one of the myriads of witless refugees who lacked any proper ambition. It fueled his self-loathing, whenever he emerged out of such a funk, but such was his life now. And as much as he itched for more, his lack of resources forced him to seek employment. Certainly, he could have resorted to petty theft – or even purposeless murder – yet neither appealed to him. Perhaps his intact morals were what prevented him access to the so-called dark side, however…if he lost himself in his search for dominion, what would the point of it all be? Is it truly losing yourself that you fear? Or that you may not have yet discovered who you are, beneath all these layers of self-deception? a different part of him whispered. Jinaath shook it off, however. He had work to do.

Work for Jin was being a hiree at a small-time yet stable merchant, who’d been there since a few months ago as far as he knew. The middle-aged man was a Chiss who went by Tisok, since his whole name wasn’t something most foreigners could pronounce. He ran an electronics and repair shop, repurposing scrap and junk into trinkets, fiddling with machinery people brought in to get it working, and so on. Since Jinaath had offered his services as a splicer, the mechanic’s customer had expended, but he insisted keeping a place near the edge of the square rather than moving towards the center. Which was just as well given that they offered questionably legal services.

Besides his hacking, and minor assistance to Tisok’s repairs, Jinaath was basically a glorified errand-boy. He bought parts they needed, went around selling whatever had stayed in the shop too long, and investigated (and subverted) the competition. Not that the latter mattered too much in a place like this. Currently, he was on a return trip, carrying a burlap sack with a few items he’d procured.

When he returned, an odd scene was unfolding at Tisok’s place. All the small screens he had, from computers, to televisions, to viewscreens had been interconnected hastily, and were currently displaying a video from the bridge. Jinaath arrived just in time to see the leader of the takeover, and hear his speech. Tisok let it run till the end, including the execution, which panicked the watchers. Jinaath could sense their fear, confusion, desire to flee.

Meanwhile, all he felt was a righteous fury. The fleet might not have been a decent place, all things considering, but these scum had crossed a line. Now, the anger came easily, eagerly, and would not be quelled by platitudes. “Are you really gonna let these bastards do as they please?” he shouted his frustration into the scattering crowd, slapping a palm upon the table full of not-quite-delicate machinery. The Chiss owner frowned at him reproachfully, but was more concerned with packing up.

As for the others…They were too shaken up by the real-time recording of a murder, Jinaath could tell. Scoffing, he turned to Tisok, handing over the items. The man grunted, then paused to study him seriously. With another species, they would have met gaze to gaze, but as it was, the Chiss would just get a really good look at his mask – in another circumstance, that would be amusing. Today, Jin merely waited impatiently for the man to get on with it.

“I ain’t waitin’ on ya to change yer mind, lad,” he finally uttered gruffly. Jin shrugged – he’d expected so much. “How ‘bout you give me some good stuff as a farewell gift?” Jinaath suggested dryly. Tisok shook his head, muttering something in Cheunh under his breath. Jinaath did receive something, though it was just a scramble key. It wasn’t a computer, but better than nothing. “Thanks,” he said, pocketing the lock picker into the inner side of his dark grey robe.

Then came his self-imposed ordeal of sifting through the emotions of all the ship-folk, finding those with sufficient anger, irritation, displeasure, or variation thereof. He approached each such person, exchanging quiet words, offering encouragement and co-operation, refining ideas for a counter-attack, and coordinating plans. His search eventually led him to a bar, full of riled up people. “Hey, hey!” he shouted to get attention. “Is this the meeting place for the resistance, or what? Might wanna relay that info to the others!”
Kiran Agnarsson

The journey aboard the skyship was an exciting one, in more than one way. First was the novelty of travelling itself – and by air! The vistas whenever they descended to or ascended from a port were exhilarating, and so was the view from up above the clouds. Then, there was the ship itself, which exhibited all the splendor technology could produce. Admittedly, it was unnecessarily extravagant, obviously built to show off. But since he got to sample all the fruits of labour put into it, Kiran couldn’t truly complain.

The fact that he was able to examine its construction thoroughly had him giddy, and he shared this excitement with some similarly minded youths. Truly, it was the people who most fascinated him. Such a variety of cultures, behaviours, ideas, and inclinations…an expanse of minds on offer to quench his curiosity! Well, there were plenty of those who stuck to themselves, of course, but that was beside the point. Kiran had played sports with some, read in silence with others, dined with those who appreciated company for a meal, and engaged in refreshing (sometimes heated) intellectual discussions. The times he spent alone were usually sequestered in his study compiling notes and ideas, exploring the ship, or relaxing upon the observation decks.

It was marvelous, all of it, but nothing quite so much as setting eyes upon Bermuda.


There was plenty available in the city, all built purely for the sake of their convenience and comfort. It was mind-boggling; both wonderful, and perplexing. Did they truly need so many entertainment venues? And how expensive would these services be, anyways? He had some finances available, of course, but Kiran would honestly appreciate some opportunity to work for some extra cash, yet he’d not seen any such obvious opportunity yet…He’d have to ask around at a later point.

The point about the curfew visibly disgruntled many of the students, himself included. Are they being so vague because they want us to break it? Whether it was a challenge or a secret, Kiran was determined he’d investigate, though not without proper preparation – and, given the students’ reaction, perhaps he could find would-be partners-in-crime? Not that they’d be breaking a law, per se, merely a suggestion.

They were shown the dormitories, where their luggage had been sent to – the luggage they’d relinquished, that was. Kiran had kept his MU in suitcase form, carrying it by hand. He was not the only one to do so, though there were a rare few who obviously elected to keep any such personal effects with them. He suspected they’d done it for the same reason as him; he didn’t want to leave even the slightest chance for someone to mess with his project.

Besides the curfew, he found it odd that there was a specific section for the adults to reside in, separated from the rest of the island. Are we not allowed to visit, should we want to? Or are they not to disturb us needlessly? It was curious that they seemed to be discouraged from mingling with adults. It was possible those in charge believed they would have nothing of use or interest to offer each other, but Kiran wasn’t convinced. Subjects which did not pertain to Formulization were best addressed to those who did not study it, after all.

Finally, they were led to the Hall of Greats. Similarly, to the ship, it was over the top. Again, since it served its function and fulfilled the intention of wowing the students, it could be forgiven for its stench of filthy investors’ money. If only such a thing could truly engender peace…

Distracted from his mildly somber thought by the scent of food, Kiran meandered his way towards the richly laden tables. He hooked his metal suitcase round the elbow of his left, which freed both his hands, though necessitated a mildly awkward position of his arm. As long as he could freely eat, he frankly didn’t care. Kiran went straight to the roast, asking politely for a few juicy cuts.

Plate in hand, he wandered around the tables carefully, seeking a free seat with a good view, or perhaps next to someone he was acquainted with. He just so happened to pass a Russian bemoaning the alcohol selection in Chinese to someone from the Orient. Finding himself amused, and in agreement with the girl, he stopped by.

“Sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t pass up a conversation so close to my heart,” he answered. Among the foreign languages he spoke, Kiran’s Chinese was least practiced, and it showed. “When I heard you mention the poor selection,” he nodded at Valeriya, “I thought…What if we brewed our own?” he suggested, sly smile upon his lips, and a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, and the name’s Kiran Agnarsson, from Iceland,” he introduced himself breezily, following Valeriya’s cue, though perhaps with more eagerness than grace compared to her.

Interactions: @Psyker Landshark@SgtEasy
Caelum Harrington

When Nick suggested he watch for enemies, Caelum nodded. For one, he wasn’t keen about moving around trash. Sure, he was filthy if he thought about it – which he mostly refrained from, given the honest-to-god lethal shitshow took precedence – but still. No need to overextend.

Besides, he could use the rest. The harpy-user hadn’t deemed it necessary to heal him, after all, and bestowed that blessing of his only upon Nick and Vincent. He did wonder if Nick had him stand around watching because he realized that. No, isn’t it because he’s mistaken me for a useless weakling? Regardless of the reason, Caelum shrugged it off, and took the opportunity to rest.

Doing so proved to have been a good idea. Escaping up the dumpsters also required going through the court, where prisoners played basketball as if in a maddened frenzy, paying no mind to anyone. Caelum had nearly been tackled by one of them, but evaded at the last moment. He grimaced at the sight and smell of the trash container, but grit his teeth, and clambered onto it, cursing softly under his breath as he did so. Afterwards, he carefully got on top and over the fence as well. After all of that, however, the path forwards was finally somewhat easier. No groups of guards, no creepy prisoners, just piles of objects and houses to hide behind as needed.

He saw no reason to run, so kept a fast-walking pace, except whenever he had to dash behind something to evade notice by those keeping watch from the jailhouse windows above. As they meandered onwards, Caelum noticed that their path deviated from the exit. “I believe we have strayed from where we should be going,” he commented quietly, looking around apprehensively. There was something off about this place.
@SilverPaw The limits of electricity is basically vaguely being within civilization. You’ll want the Steam Core if you plan on adventuring into the deep sea, but if you’re just swimming in a touristy beach, you’ll have electricity there.

Hm, then I'll have it as a hybrid model, since if I get the occasion, I would go for the deep sea option.
Hybrid fueling is fine. Steam gives generally lower output than electricity, but due to the Steam Core Formulization, is basically infinite power.

Hm, hm. Does the electricity system have limits in reach? Cause I did consider getting the machine either underwater or actually flying eventually (depending on what we'll get to do in the rp, ofc).
So how big is one of these bad bois? And what's its power source? History itself is inoffensive enough that I've no problems with it though.

Hm, about twice a human's size or so. The power source is most likely electricity, unless it's possible (and would make sense) for it to be hybrid.
Hope this is fine.

Yeah, will get the sheet up today, I think.
Would things like mechas, exosuits, and advanced prostheses be available/viable with the current technology?
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