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Eavesdown Docks, Persephone
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Through the long shadows cast by the ships in the already darkened depths of Eavesdown, a lone figure wanders in and out between the ships, skirting the edges of the occasional pool of light until they reach the lowered boarding ramp of the Grace O'Malley and pause, looking up where a faint glow of light illuminates crates of squawking and clucking chickens.
Every so often, there is a burst of brightness and a ship launches upwards into the star-specked sky, engines rumbling and roaring loud enough to shake the dock's dusty ground. It is the light from just such a launch that illuminates the second shadowy figure to be skulking in the long shadows of the sleeping ships - illuminates her slender figure, her ragged-hemmed brown coat, her daft broad-brimmed hat - feather and all. Saienne seems to be charting a slightly long-winded course back in the direction of the Grace O'Malley, stepping in and out of shadows swiftly until she too reaches the foot of the ramp and the crates of noisy chickens.
The sound of clucking rises from the far end of the Grace's cargo bay, following a figure that walks through the large room and onto the ramp.Sirah, dressed in comfortable green silks, flicks a white feather away from her sleeve and watches it spiral down. Her bright eyes then light on Saienne, and a smile is given to the other woman."Good evening, Saienne," her voice is smooth and melodious in the night air. "So, is it you who has the guard duty tonight?"
Apparently unseen by Sirah as she stands alongside Saienne at the base of the ramp, Aradia nods to the latter of the two with a smirk and steps back into the shadows beyond the ramp, turning to lean back against a crate stacked there as she folds her arms loosely over her chest, looking off in the other direction to where a cratered pit in the ground is just visible.
Saienne straightens as swiftly as if she'd been stung by a bee, the pheasant feather flicking a little madly as her hat adjusts to the change in angle. "Sirah!" She says, in a tone of surprise. Then, a slight cough and a more moderate tone: "Sirah." A pause, and she peers up towards the woman and the light at the top of the ramp. "Ain't it a little late for takin' a walk?" Aradia's presence also becomes quickly clear, and Saienne glances in her direction. "Ain't there no one sleepin' tonight?" She asks, somewhat defensively - and failing entirely to answer Sirah's initial question.
"Oh, I spent the last many hours screening for clients. After, I could not sleep, and decided to take a breath of fresh air. As fresh as it gets on Eavesdown," Sirah smiles and takes a few steps closer.A finely curved brow arches just a fraction of an inch at Saienne."What has happened here," she follows Aradia's gaze at the crater in the ground -- and onwards, until her green eyes sharpen on the distant bulk of a huge ship. "Oh gosa! What is /that/ doing here?" she bursts out, blinking in surprise.
Saienne turns to regard the crater also - and relaxes a little as she does so. She puts one hand on her hip and takes a step or two closer to the pit. "Some manner of explosion, I reckon..." She says, and then turns back to Sirah. "Ain't that unusual an event on Eavesdown," she begins, and then looks back to the hole. "Although I reckon it weren't a small bang to have caused that..." She is taken surprise again, but by Sirah's reaction to the ship this time: "Which one?"
"That one, over there."The companion extends a slender hand to point at a cutlass corvette in the darkness. The starlight menacingly reflects in the metal-black hull."I have seen it before," Sirah lets her arm fall to her side and returns her attention to Saienne. "On the coretex news. I believe it is the flagship of that Frost." She shakes her head slowly."I must be mistaken. He would never land in such a public spacedock."
A dark sillouhete comes from one of the shadier alleys, a female in a black trenchcoat stalking the shadows. She appears to be wary, casting glances across her shoulder and into the throngs of people coursing through, as she advances towards the line of docked ships. Suddenly, she catches sight of something that makes her heart race, quickly drawing into the shadow of the nearest crate. She remains standing there, leaned with her back, eyes lurking from the dark.
Saienne regards the ship Sirah is pointing at with a cool gaze. "Big, ain't it?" She says, and then takes a couple of steps back towards the Grace's ramp. "Frost's ship, you reckon?" Saienne frowns and rubs her thumb along the line of her jaw. "Din't I hear somewhere that charges against him an' his were bein' dropped?" She shakes her head, raises her hand in a vague gesture. "Swear I heard that somewhere..."
"Not exactly dropped," Sirah says thoughtfully. "It is all on the news network. The Alliance wishes to let a group of judges look over the charges against the man, once more. It is standard, legal procedure, I am told."The green gaze returns to Saienne, briefly lingering on the crate."Is the crew of the Grace moving chickens tonight," amusement lingers at the edges of her voice. Then she adds, as an afterthought: "Yes, I am quite sure it is his ship."If the companion notices the dark silhouette, then she does not show it.
Constance remains hidden in the shade of the large crate, shrouded in the black of her trenchcoat. A scowl appears on her face as she eavesdrops on the conversation nearby, her eyes affixed upon the docked pirate ships. One hand pressed upon the crate's side, the other's clutching something in her pocket. Her emerald eyes smolder with a look of disgust as she retreats further into the shade.
"You are unjust to the Captain," Sirah laughs and tips a perfectly manicured finger lightly against the rough crate. "Personally, I believe she just likes chicken."The companion's eyes dance with merriment at the other woman, but her smile fades slightly at Saiennes gaze turns to the pirate ship."Perhaps," she says mildly. "Though I doubt any of them would make trouble /here/. May I ask what it is you are after tonight, then?"Constance in the shadows remains unnoticed, for now.
Over the course of the evening the occasional buccaneer, recognizable by the purple and grey background customized Jolly Roger of Frost's armada, can be seen woring around the Devil's corsair. After some time the double click of the hydrolicks to a nearby ship ramp release. A moment later the massive ramp to the pirate flagship, the Arctic Raider, begins to lower. Standing atop the ramp, just inside the cargo bay of the 'space galleon', is the Armada's very own Admiral, Frost. He stands there alone, the new addition of a platnium skull-tipped vane in his right hand, bottom end planted against the cold metal as he begins to look over the docks, head shaking slightly. "Four months.." he murmers to himself, under his breath.
"If we got to eat the cargo," Saienne counters, "I reckon I could believe what you're sayin'." She tucks her hands into her pockets and pulls the coat closer around her in order to ward off some of the night's chill. "As it is, I'm stickin' with my theory." She too looks to the pirate ship. "I don't know, Sirah. They done some pretty audacious things, an' not always in the backwaters." She shrugs, a fluid roll of her shoulders. "So I do reckon it'd be wiser not to trust to them keepin' themselves to themselves just on account of bein' on Persephone an' not Jiangyin or some other dusty rock." Sirah's last question is met with a little frown and a twist of Saienne's lips. "Long story," she mutters. "Lousy client who took me for a gorram ride a year or so ago." She smiles, not entirely pleasantly. "Every time we touch dirt on Eavesdown I take it upon myself to go lookin' for her." The lowering of the Raider's ramp causes her to break off and she looks up sharply. "Here's hopin' the Captain's plannin' on settin' off for Ariel sooner rather than later..."
"I am sorry to hear your ride was so bad," says the companion after a moment's of contemplation. "But it would seem you have found yourself a good place onboard the Grace." A brow arches at Saienne, and a smile is given at the other. Slender hands tug the silken shawl closer around her shoulders as the mention of leaving for Ariel makes her turn and watch the other ship.The light from the Devil's Corsair reflect in Sirah's green eyes as the ramp is lowered."And there he is himself," she says with some satisfaction at Saienne. Her blonde head tilts at the direction of the pirate. "You would recognize that mass of dreadlocks anywhere. Really, do you not ever watch the coretex news?" The woman's eyes sparkle with some amusement.
+nom Bishop=Wanderin' his way down the ramp of the Grace, Bishop pulls his second shirt over the first and shrugs his shoulders until it falls into place. A task that is made far more difficult by the method in which he clings to the brown bottle of fermented grains in hand as if letting it slip free might release his only anchor into reality. In other words, he's trying to dress himself while holding onto his beer. The staggering movements come perhaps from and over abundance of the afore referenced ale, or the fact that his pants are halfway down his legs and he's trying to pull them up by hopping, tugging, bouncing and all other sorts of assinine acrobatic maneuvers to get himself presentable to be in public. Granted, most such activities would be done before entering public, but Bishop apparently cares not for such proprieties. Shirt over his head, pants held up by hand, he skids to a stop at the end of the ramp and looks around, trying to find help with his predicament.
Constance's brow furrows, a touch of anxiety flickering on her face as the ramp lowers. She retreats further into the shade, eyes locked on the one descending. Spitting into the dust as she sees Frost, she leans back upon the crate. Only her dark emerald eyes glance in the direction of the Arctic Raider. Her hand rummages for something in her pocket, nervously grabbing a pack of cigarettes and tapping it for one to fall out. Her arms wrap close about her waist, just below the swell of her breasts, draping the trenchcoat protectively about her figure. Dainty fingers light the smoke, and she inhales of it deeply.
"Ready tha gorram package, n' send word tah Kim..." Frost speaks in his deep tone over his left shoulder towards a pirate that stands quite a ways back in the cargo hold. The Admiral is met with a simple. "AyeAye." and the lesser sprog scurries deeper into the underbelly of the ship. The pirate lord continues to stand atop the ramp over-looking the busy tarmac, even as vendors wind through the crowds this time of night. Despite the 'pardon' he and his pirates were given recently, Frost isn't dumb enough to depart the safety of his ship alone. No, he's done far to many things to too many people to chance a stroll on such a busy planet alone. Fot now, he's content just watching the area from his elevated position. As he peers over the crowd, his one good eye does end up coming across Sirah and Saienne. Spotting the companion causes a slight smirk to cross his pierced lips, and he snorts a single time. "Lovely."
At the sound of steps Sirah turns and levels a startled look on the Grace's First Mate. "You know, I am actually amazed you made it this far without stepping in your own trousers and falling," she muses at Bishop. "I really hope you won't expect my help to pull up your trousers. I am usually only requested to do the opposite."A smile quirks the companion's lips, and her gaze slides back to Saienne."Maybe it is a tactics that would work," she suggests carefully. "But for your own peace of mind, it might perhaps be worth a try?"If Frost's comment can be heard near the Grace is uncertain, but the woman does flick another, thoughtful, glance at the ship, its crew, and its captain.
"Well, only one serves as a over shirt, the other's you know under shirt. I heard someplace that it's all proper or some such, iunno. Can you just... help?" Bishop grumbles towards the two women whom reference him. "And you just stay away from my trousers missy. I do'nt wnat your busy little hands anywhere near where I keep my valuables." A pause, "And I'm talking about my wallet." The Pilot grumbles as he continues trying to get himself dressed.
The end of the cigarette flickers red from the shadow as Constance draws from it, exhaling wisps of grey smoke. Her shoulders slump as her body relaxes, heavy-lidded eyes looking off into the distance with an emerald gaze ladden with irony. Brooding so, her arms remain enveloped about her waist, the cigarette held gracefully aloft in one hand.
A scrawny pirate makes his way to stand a bit behind the self proclaimed 'Pirate King', waiting a few seconds before speaking to his boss. "Admiral. Kim says he will be here in about twelve hours." A deep exhale escapes Frost's lips and he spins, "Very well.. bring up tha ramp n' active external security.." he then starts back into the belly of his flagship, walking past the sprog that delivered the message. He pauses when he stands near the man, the cane in his right hand whipping out to connect with the backside of the other pirate's knee, sending the low level buccaneer to one knee with a groan. Such action is not unexpected by his crew. "N' get tha fuggin' Galley cleaned. Yer ah bunch ah bloody pigs." and the Admiral continues past. Once Frost is out of sight, the sprog stands, moving to hit the switch for the ramp, muttering under his breath. "..I'll clean YOUR frikkin' Galley.."
"Oh, not to worry," says Sirah lightly.The amusement in her eyes grows as she watches Bishop struggle with his clothes, not a finger does she lift to help the pilot out of his predicament. A graceful hand neatly lifts to pat a stray strand back into her sleek, blonde hair. "I would not dream of touching your wallet."She purses her lips thoughtfully at Saienne, then. "Yet, it sounded at a case of some importance to you. I do not know the nature of this Xiao-Chen, but if he or she is of a vindictive nature, the matter is hard to leave alone, of course."
"It ain't so much that she's vindictive," Sai says, only to be cut off by Bishop's growl. "Oh give over," she snaps, "You asked for help an' help is what you're gettin'." She pulls the bottle in to herself and cradles it. "Ain't like I'm goin' to drink it..." She sniffs at it though, the rich hoppy smell filling her nostrils. "Really, I ain't..." She glances at Sirah. "What were we talkin' about? Vindictive. No, she ain't vindictive, she's just... absent." A helpless shrug, and she inspects the fingernails of her free hand. "It's complicated, ain't it? She surely did get me royally screwed over the business we had, but she was always a friend an' all." A pause. "It ain't my nature to bail out on friends - even if they have done the most awful things." Another pause, and her crooked grin reasserts itself. "Mostly on account of me havin' done awful things an' all, an' not likin' to come over too judgemental." Constance's singing causes her to stop talking again. "An' don't that sound just how I feel," she says, quietly, all the while casting round to see if she can tell exactly where the sound is coming from.
Sirah lithely shifts her position, turning her back to the Arctic Raider as the crewman approaches Frost. To the attentive eye, the lady's movement seems rather deliberate."Again, not to worry," her eyes sparkle at Bishop. "You never look like a common bum. What you /do/ look like, I have not yet determined," she sniffs. "But it certainly is not common."Her humour fades, then, and she listens to Saienne's words in serious silence."It is very sad," she says softly of the singing. "Longing, almost."
"Well, the flirtatiousness isn't meant for you either Sirah." Bishop says, shaking his head and trying to remuss his hair from the mussiness it recently had gotten into. "So while I appreciate the observation, you and I both know that just because one person thinks the other is irresistable don't amount to much." Bishop looks back then expectantly towards Saienne to await the return of his happy drink.
With zero fanfare and theatrics, Aradia walks out of the darkness alongside Grace and up to the ramp, pausing to look to those gathered at the base. Pointing with a finger back to the crater in the dirt not far off, she says, "You're on heightened security. If you ain't armed and armored, get inside and change that." Turning to Sirah, she says, "I would strongly advise you not count on your status in the Guild keeping you from getting shot and not expect any of the crew to stand between you and a bullet as the most effective means of not getting shot." Starting up the ramp, she mutters something about a cargo hold full of chicken shit stinking less than Pirates and corrupt Feds.
The tune continues, dark and heavy, weaving a low melody until it breaks into laughter, filled with irony. Constance flicks the cigarette from her fingers, and it makes a red arc away from her, sparks flying as it hits the ground. Hoisting herself up on a nearby crate, she crosses her long, stockinged legs with adept grace. Eyes casting furtive glances towards the people passing by and talking, she still remains mostly in the shade.
"Captain." Is all Saienne says to Aradia as she takes the order. She doesn't move back to the Grace, indicating that she's aready as armed as she needs to be. "An accident'd be too much to hope for, I expect?" She asks as Aradia starts up the ramp to the security of the ship. The pheasant feather in her hat bobs and dips as she nods in the crater's direction. "You know the truth of it? I heard a couple of rumours, but..." A shrug, and she hands Bishop's beer back to him without ceremony, but with a quick pat on his arm. "Nothin' I'd trust without corroboration."
"That is true," Sirah tilts her head at Bishop with a smile. "It is not doable if just one likes the other."A somewhat startled expression passes her features at Aradia's words, but her features swiftly smoothe once more."I will not count on anyone to take a bullet for me, Captain," she says calmly at the woman. "But I thank you for the advice." A green gaze flicks around the docks, and she takes a step to bring herself closer to the side of the Grace."What is going on?"The woman looks between Saienne and Aradia - and Bishop is given a quizzical look as well.
Turning on her heel about halfway up the ramp, Aradia looks back down to Saienne and shakes her head, her gaze turning back toward the pit as she says, "No, it was quite deliberate." She pauses, shoulders rolling back as she looks back to Saienne and says, "Slavers, with a fondness for children." After a moment's pause, she says to Sirah, "Good, then I trust you know what precautions you need take and that if you don't, you'll ask."
Saienne spits out a curse of the kind that seldom passes her lips. "Here?" She asks, afterwards. "On Persephone? Well, if that ain't more audacious even than the pirate king -" She gestures with one hand towards the Raider "- even if this is Eavesdown, that ain't part of no ordinary day's business..." She stops then, thinking. "They're all right, ain't they? Eric an' Marianna an' Marco. They din't..." She asks Aradia.
"I am not a fighter, Aradia, you know that." Sirah lets a soft gaze turn to the Captain, folding her hands before her with a rustle of silk. "I only came out for a breath of fresh air, and I will leave in a moment."An unusual expression sparkles her eyes, then - anger."Slavers who sell children," she mutters with unusual vehemence, and a dark look at Saienne - nodding in agreement.
"Yeah, they're stayin' low like they have been since the riots," Aradia says to Saienne, adding, "Just came back from there now. Frankie's lookin' after 'em well. Smart one that kid." Turning her gaze back to Sirah, she says, "Slavers who steal kids. I figure if the issue is with the selling then yer anger is better set on those who do the buying." Shaking her head as she looks over to Bishop, she says, "You've a tendency to do that."
"Passed me by an' all, Bishop. Don't reckon we were hereabouts when it went off - unless I was sleepin' an' all." She casts a vexed gaze over Eavesdown, the familar layout made abruptly unfriendly. "Just caught a breath of it from some folk I know." She looks to the Captain for confirmation. "Well, ain't that a relief," she mutters, about Frankie and his common sense. She slips her hands into her pockets again and opens her mouth to ask another question. She hesitates, though, but then sighs a little and asks anyway. "Anyone else we know got caught up in things?"
"Both the buyers, and the sellers alike," Sirah nods at Aradia. "It is a horrible business, and one I wish I could put a stopper to, if I could." The woman then nods at each of the other three, stepping up the gangplank. "I shall retire and leave you to your duties. A good night to you all."And with a smile and a wave, the companion disappears into the hull, a wave of clucking following in her wake.
"Don't know o' no one but the folks what are on the Dragon being caught up in it all," Aradia says, crossing her arms over her chest. "'n I'd rather not get none of us caught up in it either if'n we got a choice."
"No," says Saienne in agreement. "Eavesdown ain't the place to be these days, it seems." She wrinkles her nose and takes a long look down the dock again. Something strikes her then, and she frowns. "Captain, when you say Dragon, are you talkin' of the Dark Dragon? An' caught up as in... blown up?"
Bishop tilts his head at all of it and leans back folding his arms a bit. Nothing to be said at the moment it seems instead simply listening but then he does interject. "Perhaps this best be held someplace a little less... outside."
Constance remains seated upon the crate, legs crossed as they dange off its edge. Glancing idly towards the ships assembled, she soon turns to look back to her fingers as they clasp around the crate's edge. One hand reaches for her pocket, taking out a small hand mirror. She lifts it to her face, peering into it as her other hand reaches up with a stick of carmine. Dabbing her lips in a fresh coating of crimson, she puckers them at her own expression. The mirror snapped shut, she places that and the lipstick back into the pockets of her trenchcoat. Again her gaze slips towards the docked ship, her shoulders twitching any time there's a sound of ramp lowering.
"Ship took a bit o' damage but no one got hurt none too bad from what I got told," Aradia says to Saienne, "'n they're up 'n gone now so it can't be that they took too much damage," Aradia says to Saienne before she looks back to Bishop and says, "We can, but there ain't much more to say to it than that. Business they got caught up in before even I flew with 'em and it's turned around and caught right back up with 'em again."
"Less... outside?" Saienne says, rounding on Bishop. Her manner is some degrees less laconic than usual, and her frown has wrinkled the crowsfeet around her eyes deeply. "Less likely to blow up or flood with gorram pirates or Feds or slavers or the six hells knows who else, you mean. I surely ain't opposed to avoidin' that." She nods as Aradia's words bring some kind of reassurance. "It's just Robin flies with them, don't she?" Saienne chews at her lip again. "Reckon I should send a wave or somesuch."
"I thought there might be something like... quiet like to keep quiet." Bishop says with a shrug at Saienne and then sticks his tongue out before running a hand through his hair.
Nodding to Saienne, Aradia says, "Don't reckon as there's any reason not to send her a wave if it'll make you feel better. Figure she'll appreciate the sentiment. I already said my piece to Sink when he told me what was goin' on." It's not as if the discussion they've been having has been shouted with a bullhorn across the docks. In fact it's more than a reasonable assumption that it's been kept as private as a conversation on a ramp of a ship can be, meaning eavesdroppers are within easy sight of eavesdropping. Looking to Bishop, she says, "A bomb got exploded. It's the folks who ain't gossiping about it that are the ones like to draw attention to 'emselves."
Saienne looks at Aradia cautiously, as if she's not quite sure how to take the advice she's been given. "Mayhap I will," is all she replies, before the frown eases a little and she returns to business. "Captain, did you want us on watch out here, or were you hopin' we'd all behave sensibly an' come inside?"
Bishop is mid drink when Aradia makes her statement, causing him to blink and choke a bit on his beer. Coughing, he tries to speak. "Somebody set .. us up... the bomb?" He asks it towards her as if she'll understand what he is attempting to communicate.
Blinking, Aradia looks to Bishop and says, "What? No. They bombed the Dragon when it was docked over there, where that big hole in the ground is." She does indeed turn to point at the big hole, just in case there was any doubt as to which big hole she might be referring to. Lifting a hand to rub at her brow, she looks back to Saienne and says, "I don't know. Where the gorram hell is Hatch?"
"Don't fret none, Bishop," Saienne says gently - a little in the manner one might adopt if talking to someone touched by the moon. "They weren't gunnin' for us." She shakes her head at Aradia. "Ain't got no idea, but I expect he's doin' somethin' useful." She pauses; glances up at the sky. "Don't mind sittin' out here durin' the small hours if you do decide on that," she says, evenly.
"Hatch?" Bishop asks, voice creaky as he's still trying to recover from beer down the wrong pipe and probably up his nose. "He's somewhere... making his time." Coughing again, "Making use of his time while we're landed. And yeah, I can easily sit out here and drink as well as sit inside and drink."
"Ain't allowed to drink when you're on duty," Aradia says absently to Bishop even as her gaze remains on Saienne to continue saying, "Goin' to have to work something out. Would rather stop someone before they get to hurting Grace if there's a chance." Muttering to herself, she says, "A vacation out on Saint Albans is seemin' mighty appealing right now."
"Saint Albans?" Saienne asks, her humour rising again. "Good gorram, you must be fong luh. Saint Albans!" She smiles crookedly at Aradia. "Ain't we liftin' off soon anyhow? I reckon I could settle out here until you call me in." She lifts one long-fingered hand to pat the ship's smooth bulkhead. "Ain't no power in the 'Verse'd get past me to hurt our Grace." She frowns, then, and the smile twists a little. "That ain't strictly true. There's plenty of things, bombs not least among 'em, that could get through me." A pause. "But I'd do my honest best - at least until the slightly less destructable Hatch could take over."
Bishop rolls his eyes, "No drinkin' on duty? That's a new one. Well then I better take my drinking, undutied backside right back to where it was." Shaking his head in well, a displeasant emotion, he walks up the ramp, throwing the unfinished bottle into a trash receptacle nearby before doing such.
Better he be shaking his head than his backside like that. Quirking her brow as she watches Bishop take her leave, Aradia smirks and then looks back to Saienne to say, "Yeah, right on back to Ariel. Gorram but if I ain't tired o' that planet too but we can't afford not to finish this contract out." With a weary sigh, she sinks down to settle on the ramp, her knees drawn up and her elbows propped on them. "I'd rather you not have to test your loyalty to Grace like that, Sai," she says.
Constance slips off her crate, idly leaning onto it with her back as she watches her surroundings. Lifting one hand, she peers at her fingernails, then runs her hand through her hair, raven tresses tumbling down her shoulders. She sets her hands into the pockets of the trenchcoat, one knee lifting as the heel of her boot digs into the crate behind.
"That man..." Saienne mutters, watching Bishop's displeased form walk back up the ramp. "That gorram man!" She frowns again, and demands: "D'you reckon he does it on purpose to rile folk? Or, God help him, is he just like that naturally? I really ain't able to make head nor tail of him sometimes." Ara's comments cause the frown to disolve easily enough - Bishop clearly doesn't vex her that much. "Oh, don't fret none neither, Captain. I'm real good at duckin' an' runnin' an' all - plenty of practice, ain't it so?" Constance's movement on the crate causes her to look around and, for the first time really that night, she sees the woman - dark hair, emerald eyes, trenchcoat and all.
Aradia asks, "Huh? What'd he do?" perplexed as she looks up to the top of the ramp after Bishop again before she looks back to Saienne and says, "I honestly don't know what you got plenty o' practice at, Sai. We ain't really talked none about it, have we?" Noting where the woman's attention is, she turns a little to follow Saienne's gaze with her own until it fixes on Constance.
Constance's eyes look up as she's watched; noting the two women gazing in her direction, she gives a small smile and a polite incline of her head. Looking back to the ground, she digs into the dust with the toe of her boot.
Saienne shakes her head. "Nothin', really. I just ain't got the measure of him is all. Reckon I never will, neither." She smiles faintly, returns Constance's nod with a courteous one of her own, and then turns back to Aradia. "This is so. We ain't." A pause, and she comes to join her captain on the ramp. She crosses her legs in a more relaxed version of the lotus position, her ragged-hemmed coat spreading out around her like a tide. She settles her long-fingered hands in her lap and looks out again over Eavesdown. "But then I ain't never asked about what you've had practice at neither, so I expect we're even enough."
Crossing her legs at her ankles with her knees still drawn up, Aradia loops her arms around them as she first returns Constance's nod with one of her own, regarding the woman a moment longer before she quirks a grin and looks back to Saienne. "I'm flying Grace because I got bored 'n the Cap'n Charley decided there was less chance o' me gettin' into trouble sitting on the bridge than being left to my own devices. Your turn."
Constance steps away from the crate, taking a few steps forward but still looking to the shade. Catching sight of someone in the crowd, her brow furrows and she moves back into the shadows again.
Saienne makes a face, frowning a little so that her nose wrinkles. "Well, hell, now we ain't even at all." She tips her hat back on her head a little and watches as the flow of people on the docks increases. "Reckon Charley was wrong, Captain." Sai says, after a minute or two. "You seem to get into trouble just fine." She smiles her crooked smile. "I left Boros in 2508. Lifetime ago, ain't it? I was followin' in my brother Daniel's somewhat rash move of joinin' up with the Indies, an' I spent the next two or three years practicin' the aforementioned duckin' an' runnin' whilst lobbin' heavy ordnance in the direction of the Alliance lines." A pause, and she smiles crookedly. "Until I got blown up at Du Khang, an' then my duckin' an' runnin' days were done." Another pause and she adds: "For a year or so, at least, until the Feds let me loose down here." She gestures at the dubious glory of Eavesdown.
"Well yeah but she didn't want me gettin' in trouble on her boat while we were in the Black," Aradia says with a smirk, turning her head to lay her cheek on one knee as she looks off to the side and across the docks, keeping Saienne in her peripheral vision. Chuckling a little, she says, "A lifetime ago? I was eight, then," at the mention of the year 2508 before she falls quiet again, listening to the tale unfold. Silent for several long moments, she asks, "Will you tell me the rest some day?"
Constance casts another glance towards the Arctic Raider, eyes shifting over to the other pirate ship as well. Idly, she shrugs and starts towards the two women talking, approaching with a small smile on her lips. "Evenin'," she says in a polite tone, "D'you happen to know what that was? Some kind'a explosion, I overheard?" Her hand sweeps over to the crater, pointing.
With a fluid shrug, Saienne makes no kind of commital. "There ain't so much to tell," she says. "The best stuff happened before an' after. I was twenty-six years old when I shipped out, an' my war wasn't over until I'd turned thirty. Ain't nothin' like a few years on a battlefield followed by another couple in a Federal facility to make you grow up real quick." She frowns. "It's the tenth anniversary this year, ain't it? Of Unification Day." Her tone is calm - bland even - and she pauses; rubs her hands together. "Can't decide whether the best thing to do is hide in a cave for a month or... I really don't know. Hidin' in a cave sounds like a real good idea." She closes her mouth and listens again to Aradia. "What did you do before flyin' with Charley?" Saienne asks; adding quickly: "If you don't mind me askin', an' all." Constance's approach causes her to look up beyond the brim of her hat and she nods. "So they're sayin'. Slavers, apparently, as if random bombings ain't enough."
Sartre appears suddenly at the top of the Corsair's ramp, emerging from the cargo bay. He is decked out in a very piratey pair of blue jeans and a slightly less piratey Blue Sun Cola t-shirt. He does however redeem himself with the half-consumed nic stik clamped between his lips. He looks around, taking in the sights... paying particular attention to the Dog Meat Kebab vendor he was fixing to visit...
"Oh, I've had enough of caves," Aradia declares as she lifts her cheek from her knee and sits up straighter, hugging her knees a little closer to her chest. "I flew with the Dragon," she says in answer to Saienne's question, "For a little while. That's where I met Max." As Constance approaches and asks her question, she lets Saienne do the speaking, her gaze turning toward the crater again before she looks back and asks, "What've you heard about it?"
As soon as the Corsair's ramp lowers, Constance's eyes dart in that direction and she shuffles slowly towards the shadows. She tosses a lazy, "Nothin' much," towards Aradia as she retreats into the safety of the crate's shade.
Marcus isn't far behind Sartre in appearing, coming down the Raider's ramp, himself sporting the latest pirate fashion, in his case a hawaiian shirt emblazoned with the unique Jolly Roger of the Arctic Raider on back. He at the bottom of the ramp, to let his eyes get accustomed to the natural light. The stub of a cigar clenched in the left side of his mouth isn't lit, and the bottle of beer he's carrying is already about halfway down the label.
Constance leans onto the crate, clearly in a grumpy mood as she glances towards Sartre, "'s nice to see ya too," she tosses curtly towards him, turning her gaze forward in a distinct 'minding my own damn business' fashion.
"Metaphorical cave," Saienne says absently, even as she observes Constance's reaction to the opening of the Raider's ramp for the second time this evening. "Vacation," she mutters. "Good gorram - why Eavesdown? As wretched a place as it is, it did not deserve this." She turns her direct gaze from the ship towards Aradia - although she remains generally watchful - and nods. "Beginnin' of a beautiful thing then, I reckon." She pauses. "I reckon I cannot imagine you without a Max - an' I mean that only in the best of ways."
Sartre turns as Marcus appears, giving him a look up and down, the smile still on his face. "Well ain't you just the gorram tiki god of Wikiwacki..." He plucks the cigarette from his lips with a free hand. "Who in the Nine Hells dressed you in THAT?" He makes a show of examining, then slowly the other hand comes out, the finger extended, very close to Marcus's face... "You've got something on your shirt there..."
Her brow quirking at Constance, Aradia regards the woman for several long moments before she shifts her gaze to the man shouting from over yonder. Her arms unfolding from around her legs, her hands come to press flat on the ramp to either side of her as she pushes herself up a little straighter, casting a sidelong glance in Saienne's direction. "If he's goin' to start shootin' at you, y'mind maybe moving a little more to the left, by about a hundred meters or so?" she asks Constance airily as she sinks back and props herself up on one elbow behind her before she turns her gaze back to Saienne. "Beautiful? Now ain't that something I've never heard or thought to hear from no one. In fact I heard a whole lot o' the exact opposite."
Marcus plucks the cigar from his mouth as he drifts down the ramp, regarding Sartre's ranting with a thin smirk, his reply as rumbling and coarse as anything to come out of the big pirate's mouth, "Look, ya fuckin' Crispy critter, if you're fuckin' jealous, I had about a half dozen made up on Santo.. they had a minimum fuckin' order. Be moren' glad to..." Pausing abruptly, Marcus shifts gears without a clutch, tugging at the shirt as he looks down to where Sartre indicated, "Awww, mother fucker, this'll be the third gorram one I..
Constance watches Sartre and Marcus from the edge of her vision, merely turning to give Aradia a nasty look at her suggestion. Then she returns to looking ahead of her, hands in the pockets of her black trenchcoat.
Sartre grins as the finger comes up to whack Marcus's nose, amid a chuckle. "Yes, I would love one of your island fru-fru shirts.." He winks at Marcus. "But first...I have a very important mission..." He leans in, but doesnt bother to lower his voice. "I need YOU to stay HERE, while I go eat dog..."
Marcus jerks his head up as if struck far more severely than the flick actually warranted, "You know, I liked you a fuck of a lot better when you were stuck in a vat bein' pickled," he growls at Sartre, raising his bottle to his lips for a long swig, before lowering it to his side once more, letting it hang from the neck between two fingers. "What the hell you need me standin' around here for, anyway?" Marcus asks him, "Afraid someone's gonna steal the gorram fleet while you're off panderin' to whatever hussy you're makin' a feeble fuckin attempt at romancin' on this rock?"
Saienne watches the pirates, and Constance, and says quietly to Aradia: "I do believe the chickens'll startle if these folk keep up their hollerin'." She pauses and tips back her hat to better see what's going on and who is moving where. "In general," she continues, in a dry tone, "They ain't fond of havoc, an' - trust me - a chicken stampede ain't a thing you want to see up close and personal." She glances up the ramp to the dark belly of the Grace. "You content to sit an' dodge any bullets that come...? Because I might just go an' settle those birds down."
"There was a stampede o' turkeys out here a couple years back," Aradia says idly, chuckling to herself as she shakes her head and pushes herself up to sit again, looking back over her shoulder into the cargohold at her back. "Might be kind o' fun to let 'em loose and herd 'em all out this way for that lot to deal with," she muses quietly to Saienne, glancing over to her with an impish grin curling the corners of her lips up.
Sartre gives Marcus a look of mock suprise and alarm, an Ooo! look you might say... But his smile remains fast. "Marcus Marcus...that is no way to speak about my many future ex-lovers..." He takes a last drag on his cig and then flicks the butt into a trash bin nearby. "Now...if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to go visit the new Federal Barracks I've heard so much about... ta'ta" He grins, making his way down the ramp and onto the street towards the city...
Lissa pulls out a flask, and pads lightly over to the stack of crates near the ramp. Hopping up, she is content to watch the side show for now, spieing the girls and giving them a friendly nod. The pirate boys get a casual glance and nothing more, as she leans back, tugging her cap from her backpack, and propping it over her eyes, before casually folding her arms, her flask dangling dangerously from her fingers.
"Is that so?" Saienne asks about the turkey stampede. "A horror to behold an' all, I have no doubt." She nods in agreement with the captain's assessment of the potential for fun. "It'd make the Cortex news, I reckon." A pause, and she considers. "But then we'd be wastin' cash an' wastin' time an' all, an' that ain't goin' to help us to riches an' glory, is it?" She grins crookedly and hauls herself to her feet. "Anyhow, I'm headin' on inside. No doubt Josephine has somethin' simmerin' an' I'm real hungry all of a sudden." She puts her hands in her pockets and walks up the ramp and into the Grace.
"Whatever you say, Don Juan de la Douche." Marcus rumbles at Sartre's retreating back, raising his voice to call after him again, "Hey, moon those fed fucktards once for me, while you're at it. Give those freshly pink cheeks o' yours a little fuckin' sun, why don't ya?" Raising his bottle once again, Mark drains the last of his beer in a long pull, tossing the empty off to the side, careless of where it lands.
Sartre turns, nodding to the women assembled on the ramps of the ships and shouting back. "Will you PLEASE not talk about my immaculately smooth and shapely ass like that?....You're scaring the women..." He turns to the finally, putting on his best rougish smile. "Ladies..." He half bows, then continues his walk...
"Well, turkey stampede that ended in a pregnant woman gettin' shot and killed," Aradia says as she pushes herself up to stand with a quiet grunt, stretching out as she casts one last sweeping glance across the docks and then turns her back on it. "Food, I knew there was some reason I came home," she says, starting up the ramp as she comments, "Riches 'n glory are highly over-rated 'n both tend to turn people into assholes."
"All of a sudden," says Sai as she reaches the top of the ramp. "Such a thing don't sound so splendid." She walks into the Grace's capacious hold and disappears from view.
An eye pops open, and her fingers come up to flick up a corner of the rim, and she can't help the smirk that forms, her one eyed gaze going over towards the boys. An actual laugh bubbles from her lips. She just can't help it. Taking a swig of her flask, before tugging her rim back down over her eyes, and leaning back. No weapons fire.. easy day so far.
Friday, July 20, 2007
[Log] Shooting the breeze on Eavesdown
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