I follow the rest of the squad, keeping my eye out for anything that might be useful in our mission
((Thanks and sorry Tal!))

Turn 12

((First, a quick map: The Showdown at Men'ko's Mimosas))   Upon hearing a key rattling in the door, Marina quickly lies down flat on the ground, pretending to be unconscious, while Vynkor, thinking quickly, begins re-unwinding her bandage, grimacing at the pain of messing with her leg's wound as she does so. Sukava watches these proceedings out of the corner of her eye. She already has a fair idea of what Vynkor is doing, but wants to know if she'll actually be successful before she stops pretending to be dead.
  The door opens suddenly. Vynkor, still on the floor, looks up in surprise and tries to tear off a section to use as a garrote - but she's not fast enough. After a brief struggle, two guards easily disarm her and fasten her wrists together with cold, biting steel, while another pair does the same to Sukava, jerking them both roughly (and painfully) to their feet.
  Without a word, the prisoners are escorted by the four armed guards into the hallway, and the door is shut behind them. Vynkor uses the opportunity to steal a glance at the door, and notes that the lock is, in fact, a padlock. It looks like a doorknob was previously removed and plastered over with some kind of smeared, metallic putty, and somebody welded a piece of metal to the door to serve as a catch for the lock. The whole setup looks very makeshift and unprofessional: that room was never designed to be used as a prison cell in the first place.
  And they go - one forced step after the next as they stumble through the narrow, corroding passages, lit only by orange-yellow lighting affixed to the wall like torches in sporadic locations. The two inmates can only guess at where the guards are taking them; the guards don't seem to be open to answering questions... or perhaps they were outright ordered not to.

~~~

  Tense and motionless, the three members of the fireteam designated "Alpha" survey their newfound adversaries. The four aliens surrounding them - three fysar and one hiltorel - are mostly deep in shadow. From what the inmates can discern, they seem to be carrying small arms. As to the type of small arms, Alpha can only guess: it's too dark, and the barrels are all pointed straight at their faces. They're wearing some kind of uniform - it looks like typical mid-tier restaurant server's garb, but with a bit of bulk; it's possible they're wearing armor. The one standing near the doorway, however, most certainly is not, and is holding a powerful-looking machine pistol or SMG, type indeterminate.
  Men'ko's men shift uneasily, waiting for an order from their commander, who himself appears to be sizing up the inmates. He, directly ahead, is a dark shape outlined by the bright light streaming from the room behind him. His silhouette suggests that he isn't wearing heavy armor, although whether he's wearing light armor is still open to interpretation. He's holding something that looks akin to a ballistic assault rifle, but doesn't have anywhere to holster it; this suggests he picked it up as he entered the main area. There's also what appears to be a pistol at his waist, but he hasn't touched it yet.
  Finally, Buck breaks the silence, muttering angrily. "That Squigg fella set us up!" He can hear Squigg's voice in his head: Your company's going straight to a fiery hell, I'll tell you that right now. And what's more, I been seen with you. Don't want that connection, none at all. It's no good. Looks like Squigg was trying to destroy that connection... at least by Buck's reckoning.
  "Mokila!" Brom calls out boldly. "We were under the assumption that we were delivering debt money on behalf of an honest businessman."
  Mokila eyes the three inmates warily. "Were you, now..."
  "We were," Brom reassures him. "We didn't come here looking to fight you or your men. If you'll allow a peaceful resolution to this situation, we might be able to reach a deal regarding Etch. Nobody does this to my team and gets away with it!"
  "Hmm... I have you at a disadvantage right now," Mokila points out, slowly and deliberately. "I can't know you won't turn on us the moment we lower our guard. You could end up backstabbing us later, shy? I can imagine Squiligan turning on his own, yes, but that doesn't mean one of Squiligan's own wouldn't turn on him, and if you'd turn on him... naturally, you'd turn on us even faster."
  This sends Buck into a rage - both at the insinuation that he's on Squigg's side, and at the thought of actually working for a hiltorel. "Now wait just a goddamn minute!" he bursts out, interrupting. "We agreed to do a job for that asshole, but we ain't his goons or nothin'! We were just lookin' for quick work, and he told us to just deliver you this tin, sayin' you's friends an' all!"
  "I can -"
  But Buck isn't anywhere close to done. "Like, seriously now - if we were sent here to kill you, why in the ever lovin' fukc would we tell you who sent us? We ain't got no contract 'stribulation' crap with him besides givin' you this tin, an' the only one gettin' screwed over here is us!"
  Men'ko tries again, straining to keep an even tone. "While that does make sense, I -"
  No, Buck's still not done. "An' I ain't plannin' on workin' for you neither. Frankly, whatever shit is between you an' that feller is none o' my business. There's plenty o' legit jobs on this station. I don't need to risk gettin' involved in whatever crap is goin' on here. All I want right now is to get outta this bar o' yours without havin' to -"
  "ENOUGH!" Men'ko barks, startling and surprising the three inmates with the intensity of his voice. Hiltorel are able to shout quite loudly, and this is the first time they've actually had the opportunity to hear it; hiltorel don't do it very often.
  "I understand what you're saying!!" Men'ko explodes angrily, the gills on the sides of his neck flaring. "Squiligan wanted you bastards dead, yes? He sent you here with 1000 goddamn plat." He spits the words out like it's an outrage. "That's an insult to me! He fukcing stole over a hundred thousand from me not that long ago - only shortly before my men executed two of his closest allies - shortly before he kidnapped my nephew and sold him to slavers - only shortly before - ... Well..." Mokila stops his rant short. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and calms himself.
  The inmates glance at each other.
  Men'ko Mokila finally regains his composure and gives Buck one last glare before he finally says (in a much more level, albeit suspicious, tone), "So. Here's what I want to know. You fools let Squigg dupe you into coming over here so I would kill you, yes?"
  The three inmates nod. That pretty much sums it up.
  "So why didn't he kill you?" Men'ko asks, gesturing out the door. "Why did he want me to kill you? Your story doesn't add up. Something is missing - something you're not telling me - and you're not leaving my restaurant until I find out what it is.
  Yuuji speaks up for the first time. "Squigg offered us a bigger job under the condition that we show him that we aren't just a bunch of morons playing big guys, by delivering that kiloplat to you."
  Mokila says nothing. His gun remains pointed in their direction.
  "Perhaps he hoped we would destroy each other," Brom offers thoughtfully. "That would remove you from his path, and eliminate any loose ends. He sounds like a sneaky, cowardly bastard, so I wouldn't put it past him. Bill, what do you think?"
  Buck shrugs, annoyed that he has to answer the squid's questions in the first place... especially after it yelled at him. "Whene we met up with him, he dun' had no bodyguards or nothin' with him. An' we were at that bar, the Ponderance. If he'd started any shit back there, the three of us'd blow his lyin' head off. Wouldn't say nothin' 'bout the job, just that he'd pay us fuckin' riches for it. But we had some disagreements, he blabbered something' 'bout us bein' unprofessional, an' that if we wanted the job, we'd deliver this tin to you. I sort o' decided to trust him 'cause he was the only other human on this shithole full of -" He stops himself short, seeming to realize that insulting a guy pointing a gun in his face might not be the smartest idea.
  Mokila is beginning to look tired and disinterested. "So, either you're idiots, or you think I'm an idiot... which is itself idiotic, but it regrettably makes more sense than the other option," he muses. "You're not stupid. I'm sure you don't actually believe you pose any threat to me, or to Squiligan. No... you're hiding something."
  Yuuji shrugs. "If you ask us more specific questions, we can probably give you more specific answers..."
  Nodding agreeably, Mokila says, "All right then. I'll skip right to it. Let's cut the bullshit." He straightens, seeming at least half a head taller. His attitude changes slightly; he suddenly seems much more commanding - and more than a little annoyed that this is taking so long. "So. Show are you associated with, that Etch Squiligan would be afraid of killing you himself? What connections do you have that would lead him to offer one of his bigger jobs in the first place?"
  Silence falls, as the inmates glance at each other, clearly hesitant to answer.
  "Don't waste my time," Men'ko warns, adjusting his grip on his weapon. "You wanted to get straight to the point. Now do it."
  Brom speaks up. "Very well, Men'ko. You shall have your information, but I will leave it to you to make sense of it." He takes a deep breath, and begins. "My group and I are employed by the crew of a locally-docked ship known as the Nemesis - a Tartarus Incorporated vessel escorted to this station by a band of powerful pirates. Our mission here is to obtain work, so that we may provide the crew with hi-plat for the purchase of needed supplies. That is the only piece of potentially relevant information we've left out."

  As Brom speaks, Buck tenses, his fingers fidgeting as he fights the urge to reach for his weapons. The fact that Brom would actually say all of this out loud - to a squid - is beyond his comprehension. As far as he's concerned, it can only lead to a fight. Brom himself is tense as well, very concerned about the potential outcome. Yuuji isn't much better - in fact, he's probably much worse.
  Everything falls silent.
  Nervous, the inmates' hands creep ever closer to their weapons, tensed to grab them at the slightest provocation and let loose with a barrage of gunfire. Brom plans to order a hasty retreat, while Buck is hoping to let loose with his gravity gun. It's far from ideal, but then, neither are the circumstances.
  Fortunately, Men'ko finally breaks the silence with a chuckle. "Thank you for your honesty," he says calmly. "As late as it comes. The thought did cross my mind."
  Buck looks quizzical. It can't be that obvious, can it?
  Men'ko explains. "Etch Squiligan thinks he's being clever. He's not afraid of killing you - no, not at all: he wants to turn someone against me. I service most of the factions on this station in one way or another - taking sides would hurt my business, and he knows this. ...But you couldn't belong to most of the factions, could you? Rebirth would scarcely want humans working for them, and the Mercenary Union would kill you as soon as look at you. The other important figures - the ones that matter, the ones with whom it would be a bad idea to make enemies - never associate with humans either. Those that do, I fear nothing from. I could smooth things over with them, play it off as an accident. But no, Rebirth and the Mercenary Union would want you - and alive, too, or killed by their own hand. And the Nemesis is really the only option that fulfills that. If I killed you, and they knew about it, each would forbid their allies from associating with me. Very bad for business."
  It's sound logic.
  "So... what now?" Brom asks.
  Men'ko lowers his weapon. "We work out a deal," he says simply.
  "Or - an' hear me out," Buck offers pointedly, "we leave n' pretend we ain't never seen each other."
  "Not an option," Men'ko rejoins sharply. "Turn around."
  The inmates do so, and find that the four aliens, previously surrounding them, have placed themselves in the doorway. They turn back around.
  Men'ko nods. "Exactly. There are people out there who would pay dearly for a way to tip the scales. I could sell you to them, yes, or you could help me out with a couple of my... 'investments'." The squid picks up his chewstick from the countertop beside him, places it in his mouth, and waves for fireteam Alpha to follow. "To the back," he says.
  Brom, Buck, and Yuuji do so, walking around the bar and through the door to the kitchen, with Men'ko Mokila's men close behind.

  "So... what do you do, exactly?" one of the trio asks, breaking the silence. They take a seat at a hiltorel-style bench across from Men'ko Mokila, in one of the surprisingly grand back rooms of his "restaurant" - which itself is very clearly a front for something else.
  Men'ko still has his chewstick still in hand - or, mouth, to be more accurate. They can catch a whiff of it in the air: a fragrance something like an odd cross between cinnamon and avocado. Men'ko leans back into a fairly soft, cushy double-armchair. "I'm... hmm. What am I..." he says, thinking it over slowly. "I suppose you'd call me a 'lender'. I lend people things - money, materials, expensive equipment, illegal goods, sometimes services... and they pay me back for it later."
  "A loan shark?"
  Men'ko shakes his head roughly and waves the words away. "No, no no no. I don't like the sound of that. I'm respectable, yes? My prices are higher, but my services are harder to obtain. I maintain my clientele - I don't overcharge. I'm not in it to put them in debt. My prices are tough, but fair," he emphasizes. "They appreciate me. They even give me gifts from time to time, as you can see." He waves an arm at the room around them to illustrate. The room is very well decorated - electronic paintings, odd sculptures, rare alien plants, glittering knicknacks on pedestals, comfortable furniture - all of it severely mismatched and cluttered. It does indeed look like it was selected by a group of people with widely varying (and often clashing) tastes.
  "So. Because you don't seem to have a grasp of local politics," Men'ko says, changing the subject, "I'll give you a brief summary. The two main factions - Hsilkorian Rebirth and the Fuhodo Mercenary Union - hate each other, mostly because they have very conflicting opinions on how to deal with things. Bad blood and all that. You know how it goes." He grinds on the stick a bit more. "Everybody wants to take sides. What they want is to take over the station, to run it as they see fit rather than being forced to make compromises all the time. To do that, they need to win over the population. And right now, the population hates you," he explains, taking the stick out of his mouth and pointing with it at the inmates, for added emphasis. He quickly puts it back. "Your little fuckup on Nanyej cost both FMU and Rebirth dearly. So. Everyone here hates you. Your 'friends' with the pirate guild are the only thing preventing your crew from getting massacred. Fuhodo would crumple under their firepower and everyone knows it, yes? So no one dares lift a finger against you - while you're on your ships. But nobody knows that you aren't on your ship, and if one of those two sides could kidnap you... make an example of you... they could claim whatever the hell they wanted and the population would be gullible enough to believe it. Get what I'm saying?"
  
~~~

  Frank's idea is to find a shop that sells weapons, going off the assumption that someone that owned a weapons shop would know where their competitors were located. Unfortunately, he doesn't find anything useful.
  Caleb glances around as well, choosing to skip shop owners in favor of weapon afficionados. Unfortunately, down here, there aren't really any mercenaries. Maybe some of the people here are carrying weapons, but they're too well-concealed for Caleb to be able to spot them. He's not that perceptive anyway. They had other people for that, back on Dashta.
  Nilo, meanwhile, searches for a child... and they are plentiful - especially in darker corners, out of the way of traffic. None of them are human, and most of them are... well, they appear to be playing various games with each other, recognizible as children's games tend to transcend cultures and species. From what Nilo can see, there are some playing tag, others playing something similar to, perhaps, marbles? And a few older children are playing at swordfighting with cheap metal rods. When one of them looks in Nilo's direction, he waves, trying to get their attention, but they simply turn away and go back to their game. It does, though, catch the attention of someone else...
  "Ay!" a little voice squeaks.
  The four inmates look behind them in surprise, and see a fysar child only a few feet away. While not entirely aware of the Fysar lifecycle, the child seems to be aged somewhere between 4 and 6, at least in an analogy to human years.
  "Wachu doin? Nah look ya fore air, ken?" The child looks rather friendly and curious, but unfortunately speaks an inseparable mishmash of some distant dialect of Galactic, intermixed with what may be footprints of some alien language. He bounces energetically, arms behind his back, and seems pleased that they look surprised that he can speak Standard at all. "Me ken abitta standed, if ya look it odd, but ain't straight ya be don air. Looka ya bit lost eh?"
  Saoirse is completely taken by how cute the little alien child is, but Frank seems more puzzled than anything. "Where'd you come from?" he asks, trying to figure out how the kid managed to sneak up on him. His meaning is not quite understood.
  "Aw, me live air! Ma shevar ownsa shop," the little guy explains proudly, with all the open innocence of a child. "Maybe lookim ya yet. We livin obuicha, eh? Likes me keepa-it nah dirty, ann 'e kens me word-looks when ain't nobody shops, ann ma friends play when-times, too! Getta ya kenna lotta people wit ma shevar!" He raps his chest with a scrawny hand and gives a happy, toothy smile.
  Not interested in the small-talk, Nilo pulls out a few plat and holds it up for the child to see. The child's front-facing eyes bulge outwards in that mildly discomforting manner that Fysar have, following the glittering chips. And Nilo, seeing he has the kid's attention, asks, "Hosef'wa?"
  As soon as the name is uttered, the child backs up apprehensively, staring at the inmates in clear discomfort through the corner of his eyes. It definitely means something to him - something negative - and his carefree attitude has vanished, now replaced with uncertainty. "...Friends ya wittim?" he whispers quietly. His voice is almost lost in the din around him.
  Frank's expression is one of anxiety. "Friends? No. We only heard that his shop was a pretty good one, and we wanted to take a look." After a pause, "Does he have such a bad reputation here?"
  The little tyke seems confused.
  Saoirse, in her motherly element, bends down a little with her hands on her knees to get a little closer to the child's level. "It means, 'Is he a bad guy?'"
  Seeming a little more receptive to Saoirse's attitude, the little guy gives a hesitant nod. "Ma shevar say me nah-go to 'osef'Wa." After a few seconds of silence, he cautiously adds, "Shevar say is... bad-looks, shy? Look ya like ain't friends wittim. Shevar ken more ya, if askim..." The little guy points off down the street, then makes a turning motion with one of his spindly hands. "Really ya wanna lookim, go ya there way, ann..." he makes a turning motion with his fingers, "ann there way, after by-go ya Kobi's shop. Hasim dralhenda - ken ya? Like..." The child makes hissing noises and begins to pantomime some kind of animal, seemingly with a tail, and perhaps wings. It's mostly ineffective in conveying the type of animal, but it's pretty adorable to see him try. Then, he straightens, and finishes, "Ann look-go taya when 'Osef'Wa shop."

  "One moment," Frank says. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" The child nods, and fireteam Beta forms a huddle, speaking in low whispers.
  "What is he saying?" Frank asks, confused. "Down the street, around the corner, and, um... another way down? Past a shop with a strange pet?"
  "Yeah, I don't know," Caleb says. "Something like that."
  Saoirse makes a hesitant suggestion. "P-perhaps we've right to go ask his shevar a few questions about this Hosef'wa fellow first - w-we do be missing information about everything here, to be sure. I'd want to know why he's got such a bad reputation... we d-don't want to repeat the comm shop." Frank and Caleb look uncomfortable at the mere mention of it, but Nilo, of course, doesn't know what they're talking about. He'll perhaps want that story later. At any rate, Saoirse goes on, "Perhaps we should go buy something at his shevar's shop and one of you asks about Hosef'wa in passing? Casually?"
  The other inmates think this is a sound idea, and Frank turns back to the Fysar youngster. "Do you mind if we visit your, uh, shevar's shop too? Can you bring us there?"
  His little face breaks out into an excited, toothy grin. "Eh ya! Stay ya close, nah-lost, eh? Lovare!" He waves his spindly little arm and dances off, skipping and weaving his way through the busy streets, making sure all the while that the four REKT members are following him. It's not a difficult task for them to keep up; he is, after all, only a little child, and the trip is fairly short - just a little ways down the wider road here, and then down a little path on the side. The tyke leads them to a cozy-looking ramshackle shop, that happens to look much cleaner than those around it (besides the noodle stand on the other side of the alleyway), and skips in through the doorless doorway. The inmates follow him in.

  The shop itself is interestingly constructed. The ceiling is a large dark-green tarp or canvas, draped from the edges to a sturdy post in the center of the store; affixed to this are small bulb-lights of various colors - magenta, pink, orange, yellow, white and red - scattered about like stars in a night sky. The main lighting comes from white, ribbed, hexagonal lanterns hung both on the center post and around the faded orange walls of the little room. The store seems to sell these lanterns as well; there are a dozen unlit units sitting atop one of the multi-level tables lining the room's edges and "aisles", alongside various baubles, trinkets and the like.
  The front half of the story is dominated by light fixtures, lanterns, podlights, freestanding bulbs and other things, intermixed with what appears to be handmade jewelery and what could possibly be organic scrub brushes - and several odd-looking egg-shaped devices that look like they could be unscrewed in the middle. The rest of it - in fact, the majority of the back half of the store - appears to be medical supplies. There are rows of special medical kits - metallic purse-like cases, each with a picture of a species in black paint. Over here, beneath a painting of what looks like a gas mining station, is a row of kits with hand-painted Bhezian, and over there, in a glittering, bead-decorated basket, is a kit for Hiltorel. There appear to be some for humans as well, over in a dusty corner, and some for plodus, azquad, and two other unidentifiable species. This is in addition to the rows and rows of little medicine jars - most metal, but some few glass here and there. All sport the black hand-painted pictures.
  At the back of the shop, in a little alcove on the left, is a low countertop behind which stands an old, gray-bristled fysar that the child rushes to greet enthusiastically.
  "Ahh, vokir vaka af hiliil meri mikano barman, Maki-Maki," the old fysar says, laughing as the little tyke runs up and throws his spindly arms around his stomach in an embrace. Smiling, he waves at the four inmates. "Welcome to my store," he calls. His grasp of Standard is accented, and a little rusty; he must not have cause to speak it very often. "I see you have met Maki."
  "Are you his shevar?" Caleb asks, making a guess.
  The fysar laughs; the eyes around his head blink in twinkling amusement. "I am his grandfather, yes. He is getting very good with his Standard, isn't he." He scratches Maki on the top of the head, and Maki stands on his tippy toes, leaning into it and beaming proudly with a quiet, happy "Eeeee!" The old man chuckles and goes on, "You can call me 'shevar', too, if you like. Many do. 'Grandpa' will also do, or 'Kiibar'. You're not the first visitors he's lured into my shop."

~~~

  Sukava and Vynkor soon find themselves strapped to chairs in the middle of an interrogation room - one so cliche it's almost painful: two chairs on one side of a table, and one chair (the interrogator's) on the other side. It even has the cliche hanging lamplight, and a total lack of security cameras.
  After they're situated the guards remove the table from the room (wheeling it out in a joint effort) and exit, leaving the two inmates wondering what's likely to happen.
  "Hey sister, do you think this is a frog fetish?" Sukava asks, mostly to break the uncomfortable silence. She wiggles in her chair, trying to break free.
  Vynkor raises an eyebrow. "So... does the torture thing come later, or...?" She tests the straps holding her down. The ones on her legs are tight and probably aren't going to move anytime soon - and nor are the ones keeping her chest pressed to the back of the chair. She soon realizes, however, that if she moves her shoulders and elbows just so, she can just barely reach the straps with the serrated edge of her metallic left hand. This presents an opportunity. Vynkor begins exerting herself with all her effort, trying to saw through the bonds around her back before anyone enters.
  Marina isn't having much luck; Fysar seem to be particularly good at tying knots. Her hands are quite thoroughly stuck, and she doesn't have much (or any) practice in escaping from bondage - usually, she's the interrogator, not the other way around. Vynkor, though, gradually manages to cut partway through one of the straps... just before the door behind Marina's left opens. The inmates turn around, craning their necks, and watch as a hiltorel male slithers his way inside, closing the door behind himself.
  "Ladies," he says, with a nod of mock respect as he enters. He bears an odd accent that's hard to place, but seems more educated than most of the aliens they've encountered thus far. Sukava senses that his politeness is merely a mask over a sadistic, malicious personality.
  The man passes by, walking to the chair opposite them and straightening it. "You both seem ready for today's session. I trust you slept well, and are well-rested. I expect you're excited to begin as I am." In reality, he displays no sort of excitement; it's a jarring disconnect between his words and his expression.
  But then he pauses, and glances into the dark shadows in the corners of the room, seeming genuinely confused - and then annoyed. "Hmm... Where are... Vaf'kan jalan hasi efarar... kakiih vaka kika oval milagi hasi efarar?" He pauses again, collects himself, clasps both sets of hands together and addresses the two women. "It seems the fools have misplay ed my equipment," he explains, bowing slightly in apology. "I'll be away for a moment, and I am quite sorry for the inconvenience." With this said, he sweeps back out of the room and pulls the door shut again.
  Vynkor gives Sukava a very meaningful, ostentatious glance - three parts worried, one part hopeful - and resumes her extremely conspicuous sawing. Sukava notices and seems amused, but makes no response.
  Barely any time passes before the door swings open again, and Vynkor stops sawing immediately. She's most of the way through the bonds around her chest and upper arms, but not quite there yet.

  Through the open door steps (if you could call it stepping) the same squid from before, pushing along a shoddy, interestingly shaped solid cart - mostly styled orange and black, if you could see past the apparent decades of grime and scorch marks. It's very ugly and utilitarian, with what appear to be some kind of sockets on the side. "I do hope we don't have to use any of this, he says as pleasantly as if he were making dinner conversation, and pushes it into a dark corner. Then he comes back, wiping his hands off on his dark, stained formal wear, and sits down in the chair opposite the two inmates.
  "Let's put any animosity behind us for now, all right?" the squid says cordially.
  Vynkor mutters, "Real funny way of encouraging a lack of animosity, what with what with all the straps and the battered girl in the cell and the mood lighting."
  The interrogator gives a sad smile and nods, adjusting himself in his chair to get comfortable. He looks pretty cozy in his little interrogation room - almost like it's a second home to him. "Ah, yes, I do apologize for the poor facilities here. They're not nearly as elegant as I would prefer, but we make do with what we have. I'm Vrish Lisathl, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you two ladies of Tartarus Incorporated. And your names are...?" He points at Sukava with one of his upper pairs of hands and leans forward, seeming interested and expectant.
  "I'm Glory!" Sukava says. Then she gives an exaggerated nod towards the corner. "I see you're a man of culture as well. That's a Nazas JZ-49, is it not?"
  Vrish smiles, looking a little impressed. "Ah, yes, you're actually right! Ancient, but reliable. Azquad make, naturally."
  "The best are."
  "They are indeed," Vrish agrees. "This particular unit hasn't aged well, though. It regrettably sat neglected in a moist corner of a warehouse for decades, and then some of the parts were 'repaired' by some fysar 'mechanics' that didn't know what they were doing. As a result, it frequently malfunctions and can cut things... a little short." He sighs, and shrugs apologetically. "I did say I would prefer not to use it. And what might your name be, Miss...?" He points at Vynkor.
  "Call me Teaw," Vynkor says, trying to calm her thumping heart. "You come here often?"
  Vrish leans back in his chair. He doesn't seem rushed at all; rather, he seems to simply enjoy the company. "I come here from time to time. We rarely have prisoners that we actually need to question. But these brutes don't really know how to talk to people, and when they try, you end up with results like the poor girl in your cell. 'Mofaet', they said she called herself. I didn't get a chance to talk to her until later, and I couldn't get a thing out of her by that point. She simply refused to talk - or perhaps she couldn't. They seemed to have learned their lesson this time, and sent for me instead.
  "So, let's get to business, before the mood goes too sour," Vrish says, clapping his hands together. "You ladies are from the Nemesis, yes? Your gear was stamped with Tartarus logos, after all, which probably saved your life. How about we start from the beginning. Why are you here, on Fuhodo Station? And surely you didn't come by yourselves, did you? Tartarus never sends their people out alone; where there is one, there are always more."

Lisathl wrote: ↑

Tue Jul 30, 2019 5:00 pm

You ladies are from the Nemesis, yes? Your gear was stamped with Tartarus logos, after all, which probably saved your life. How about we start from the beginning. Why are you here, on Fuhodo Station? And surely you didn't come by yourselves, did you? Tartarus never sends their people out alone; where there is one, there are always more.

"I mean, you can see another one right beside me, can't you?"

Talvieno wrote: ↑

Tue Jul 30, 2019 5:00 pm

You're not the first visitors he's lured into my shop."

Frank chuckles, a nice person with a nice kid around.
"I can see that very well. He has talent! And his standard really is good."

I hope though that they don't get in trouble because of us... goes through his mind, kinda killing the happy mood.

He looks over to the medkits, thoughtfully.

Good thing he have medical supplies already...but perhaps they do have something useful...
Trailing off in thought, an idea pops into his mind
This...Adopan person...she's a Rebirth member, no? So probably hiltorel? It wouldn't hurt to be prepared for that chance...

He looks over to the Medkits, trying to see a notice about prices or tags

Gamma
Vynkor replies sarcastically. "I mean, you can see another one right beside me, can't you?"

Vrish does not seem particularly amused.

"Teaw, you know the best part about my initial plan? The one we talked to the aliens?" Sukava says. She turns to look at Vrish, "It was the truth. We need money. We are looking for work. We went to the frogs to find work. And... I don't think they liked our rates."

Vrish nods thoughtfully. "Money and work, you say? That's plausible enough, especially given the present state of your ship. There are plenty of photos of it flying around. The common talk is that the Nemesis doesn't even have warp capability at the present time. But... I must ask - what does "went to the frogs" mean, precisely? Is this a dialectal idiom?"

---

Beta
Maki looks quite proud of himself, grinning widely as Saoirse and Frank praise him.

The four inmates begin to browse the shop. Saoirse sees some hovering podlights for the cost of 150 plat, and Frank discerns that most of the medkits cost 50 plat. The Bhezian version, interestingly, is 80 - despite being the same size as the rest of them. Bhezians can't use standard medical supplies, though, so that may factor into it.

((edit: probably good to mention here that the quality of these kits are far below Tartarus standard. Just an fyi.))

I grin at Maki's enthusiasm, taking a look around the shop. It's small and somewhat ramshackle, but Kiibar clearly is passionate about the shop, keeping it clean and well in-stock.
I head to the back to grab a human medkit- can't have too many medical supplies, I figure- before remembering the egg-shaped objects. Intrigued, I head over to examine one, trying to figure out what it is, before just deciding to pick it up and ask. Before I can, Nilo speaks. As he does, I nod and head over towards Kiibar along with my chosen items.

“What do you make of the pods, Saoirse?”

While the others are talking to mister shevar, I test one of the pod lights to see how much light it gives off and whether it follows me around properly.

TheMainMethod wrote: ↑

Wed Jul 31, 2019 1:00 pm

“What do you make of the pods, Saoirse?”

"Hm? Oh - I figured it might b-be handy to have some light we don't have to hold. We k-keep getting in dark places..."

Beta
Caleb grins at Maki's enthusiasm, and takes a look around the shop, grabbing a human medkit while he does so. It might not be anywhere near Tartarus quality, but it's better than nothing for sure, and always better to be safe than sorry.

Saoirse is attempting to get one of the hiltorel hoverlights to work - or "pods", as they're often called (distinct from normal podlights, which are typically attached to something in the manner of a lantern). It takes a couple tries to get it actually working properly - not entirely a good sign, but there seems to be a trick to it. It's cheap stuff - at least by Tartarus standards - but it's decent enough, and provides omnidirectional lighting... which is good, because the merc suits don't have helmet lamps.

After a little effort, Saoirse manages to get it to follow her around as she walks, and is rather pleased with her accomplishment. It's typical zero-G gear - a bit of stellaplex attached to a motor with some basic sensors to follow the nearest heat source.

"What do you make of the pods, Saoirse?" Nilo asks suddenly.

Saoirse is almost startled out of her reverie. "Oh - I figured it might b-be handy to have some light we don't have to hold. We k-keep getting in dark places..."

Nilo nods, and heads over to the front counter. Kiibar looks up attentively from his conversation with Maki. "We are looking for a particular person, shevar. A fellow merchant, if you will. Can you help us?" As he speaks, he casually lays a few plat down on the countertop.

The little "gift" does not escape the old fysar's notice. A few plat is hardly enough to purchase even a beverage, and in some circles such a small "bribe" might be considered an insult. On the other hand, it does imply that whoever they're looking for isn't that hard to find. But Kiibar isn't one to normally accept bribes in the first place. He hesitates, and then leans down to Maki, saying something to him in another language. Maki nods and skips off out the door, waving happily to the REKT inmates as he does so. "Byyeeeee!" he calls out. The four inmates wave at him as he goes; Frank chuckles to himself about how adorable he finds the little kid.

After Maki is gone, Kiibar turns back to Nilo. His smile is gone. "It depends on who you're looking for," the shopkeeper says stonily. "I know better than to go poking in places I shouldn't."

Caleb and Saoirse approach the counter behind Nilo - Caleb holding a medkit and one of the egg-things, and Saoirse holding her hoverlight.

I step forward a bit- this went downhill fast. Things seem to tend to do that with distressing regularity here.

"It's nothing that'll reflect on you at all, we just need directions to another shopkeeper here by the name of Hosef'wa. However, we don't really know too much about him- he doesn't seem to have the best reputation around here and we were hoping you could tell us more about him. We'd be willing to pay if you want, and you can rest assured no matter what that your name won't come up. We don't want to cause you any trouble."

[IC]Vynkor[/IC]

Lisathl wrote: ↑

Wed Jul 31, 2019 10:50 am

But... I must ask - what does "went to the frogs" mean, precisely? Is this a dialectal idiom?

"Yes that is definitely what it is and it would be too much to explain now if you don't want to be late for dinner"
I shoot the briefest glare at "Glory."

"Sooo... Men'ko now that you got us in your back room and filled in on the situation... what do you want with us? We're still out for some work to do and arent exactly picky about who we work for..."