8814/Rabbit-town
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| Rabbit-town | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 15 August 2019 |
| Location: | Nova Empire |
| Synopsis: | The Milano is overrated. |
| Cast of Characters: | 7665, Star-Lord
|
- Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
Ships aboard, the Migrant fleet escapes to the safety of fold-space. Almost immediately after, well Rabbity mechanics and technicians start to accumulate around Pete's battered ship. Awaiting word to start work, word which comes from everyone's favorite rabbit Mercenary.
Bright blue and orange floral shirt, straw hat, cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth and in one hand a drink with an umbrella. Blackjack, is clearly off duty it would seem. "Welcome aboard the Command carrier, RMV Outer Cold. Permission to come aboard granted and everything, obviously."Theres a pause there to sip after his brightly colored drink, before turning to mutter to one of the rabbits.
"We'll take care of your bird, why don't we leave the kids to their work and get some lunch? We'll not have it said we're poor hosts of course, I'll just request that you keep your guns holstered at all times?"And a half step, to motion towards the airlock behind him. "Oh and, don't tell anyone about the Fleet yeah? Discretion is lovely, and theres still plenty of folks who'd like to see us in chains again."
- Star-Lord has posed:
Having already given orders to the crew to handle repairs and to coordinate with the fleet engineers, Peter had stepped down off the ramp and into the hangar... pausing just a moment as he looked around, admiring his surrounds. "Nice to see the inside of a cap ship where I'm /not/ trying to blow it up, for once." Peter quips, before he turns to regard Blackjack, "Blackjack! What brings you off the Takros situation? I would have thought merc work like that would keep you planetbound for a while, buddy."
His holstered element guns are given a tap at the stock ends, "I'm not about to use these without cause. You've proven to be friends with the help, so you have nothing to worry about." Peter informs Blackjack as they go.
- Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
"Council meeting, unfortunately politics demands the Field Commander be present for a vote."Theres a little shrug there as he leads on, and well through the airlock into the depths of the old command carrier. It's not quite ancient for sure, but it's been cared for lovingly all the same. The pipes and lines all have a thousand patches, but the corridors are clean and the dull grey paint seems well maintained. This being a carrier built for more conventionally sized folks, it's thankfully not turbo short or anything.
Corridors are never the less a high traffic area, packed with what likely feels like a zillion adorable bunnies going about their work day. Blackjack all but parts the seas as he goes, thankfully. "You're really going to have to take it easy out there Captain Quill, you get Rocket killed and It'd hurt our feelings in the fleet. Enough that we might think it prudent to suspend combat operations, and attend to personal matters. You feel me?"
And through another trio of airlocks, until the whole world erupts in brilliant synthetic sunlight. Soil and gravel crunch underboot, the artificial breeze brings aroma of flowers and freshly turned soil. Indeed the primary flight deck, an enormous cavernous expanse has been enclosed and turned into a habitat. There are fields of grain, hand tied wooden fences, rows and rows of what look like private gardens and little cottages crafted out of old shipping containers dotted around. "I trust you're not a strict carnivore by the way, I'm afraid we don't have much meat in the fleet for obvious reasons. We could probably scare up some fish from one of the habitats, but the produce here is sort've what we're best known for."
- Star-Lord has posed:
"I didn't actually do anything when those a-holes came chasing after us, actually." Peter informs Blackjack. "We were doing a pit stop on a Nova planet when they came out of the jump point and setup a subtle ambush. It was only when we started to leave that the signal was sent and the rest of those a-holes came out of nowhere. We barely had time to get through the point." Peter narrates, "It's a frigging miracle we had engines faster than theirs. It's the only reason we managed to get away with a structural hit, nothing major."
As the subject of food is brought up, Peter nods. "I'm Half-Terran, so I'm an Omnivore. Lay it on me."
- Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
Through fields, down a short path between the flowers and whelp looks like it's Blackjack's place judging by the fact it's his name stenciled on the shipping crate. Inside it's perhaps a little cramped, though the little cabin seems built more vertically with lofted levels extending upwards. Walls lined with actual printed books in a myriad of languages, a work bench covered in botany equipment. "Have a seat, make yourself at home them I'll whip us something up."
Sure theres a rack of super exotic PRDO blasters tucked away in a corner, next to his field uniforms, helmets, and a few spare limbs. Here though, slipping into his kitchen just as casual as can be? Well the music comes on, and the tea kettle is set on the little burner over yonder as he starts putting together lunch. Salad it seems?
"Luck will often save a man, if his courage holds. Something you seem to have in no small amount, considering your capacity for pissing people off. So we have no idea who those fine gentlemen we lit up are? Fleet officers didn't seem to recognize the hulls, but it's a big galaxy right?"And tea is served on a low table in the center of the room, a few cushions are pitched over to Quill and then it's back to salad mixing.
- Star-Lord has posed:
"Well, they're 'Falmon Company'. I've heard of them before, but they're not usually operating around Nova space. Most of their work goes through Kree areas." Peter muses aloud, "If they're working Nova now, that means I've got a huge bounty on us they think it's worthwhile. I'll have to talk to my contacts, see if I can find out where that came from."
Peter moves to sit down then. Sure, there's a small armory right nearby... but he seems nonplussed about that. "Nice blasters. You're putting the creds to good use, it seems." Peter compliments as he studies them.
- Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
"Oh thankyou, though I didn't pay a credit for them."Cigar is snuffed out finally, before well lunch is served. Chilled fruit salad of some sort, that strange almost gingery tea Blackjack seems to like, and an admittedly rabbit sized pint of some sort of Rabbity beer. "After we escaped, we were pretty helpless. Plenty of us found work caring for children, or waiting tables. I was pretty scarred up at the time, I wasn't cute enough for that work. So some Xanchu Prince hired me to be his porter on a game hunt, was a really big break. I mean we were practically starving, and I was pretty heart broke I wasn't able to work."
Theres a pause there as he selects a wooden sport, and well gets to work on his own salad. Sweet and savory, like any good fruit. "I figured out I was his prey a little later, guy had a thing for eating sentients. He was feeling pretty confident, had all that high end Prdo firepower at his disposal. Well I stripped some vines, found a rock and a stick. Made a club, and then I went after him."And another little pause as he sips after his tea. "I killed him about as well as I've ever done anything in my life, ripped off his shit. Years later Prdo saw me using their kit, were kind enough to refurbish the collection for me."
"Anywho, Falmon. Well the name doesn't ring any bells, but we've got some sway down at the Mercenary guild if you want me to ask around. Depending on exactly whats going on, they may be in violation over the territorial by-laws. Depending, the Guild may authorize a contract on Falmon in retaliation for fucking with us."Theres a subtle little smirk finally "I mean you're obviously part of the Rabbit Migrant Fleet, you've got a halfworld crew member and everything right?"
- Star-Lord has posed:
"I'd pay to see you try to get away with that one." Peter informs Blackjack as he starts to dig in. "If they attacked us in Nova space, they almost certainly have permission for that. I can't imagine bounty hunters attacking in Nova space without it; they'd be blacklisted almost immediately." Peter shrugs, "don't put yourself out there on our account. You've done more than enough by helping us out." Peter points out, "I can take it from here, see if we can get some idea."
Chomp, swallow. "What's your long term plan with this whole thing anyway? You don't build a fleet like this without intent."
- Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
"There are territories beyond that, "Military Financial district" is the term I believe. Anyway I'll ask if you want me to, it's not going to crimp my whiskers."Theres a little humf as he nomfs away ever so casually. "They can get all the permission from Novas that they want, if they didn't clear it with the Guild there will be hell to pay."
"We need to buy a planet, a place for kids to grow up without fear of getting spaced in an accident."Theres a faint little shrug there. "We've got whole races who think we're food stock, at least three mega-corps claiming we're their intellectual property and their property. See when you're tiny and cute, shit just gets harder. Nobody treats you like an equal, because people aren't inclined to feel they're your equal. So we've tried living along with plenty, but it never works. So we've got to stay on the move, selling our services to anyone along the way. We don't get to be picky about our clients anymore, we're about ten years from a critical over population problem. You see?"
"I've killed men, women and children for profit. I've done every dastardly, terrible thing a Mercenary can be called upon to do. I'd have shot you in the spine the moment you boarded this ship for the bounty on your head, and slept like a baby. Thing is though, Rocket says you're family. So you're family, and thats all there is to it."Pint glass lifted in salute. "So these guys want to fuck with you, they fuck with us. Means this is your home, as much as it's ours. Rocket's a royal pain in the ass, but he's generally a good judge of character."
- Star-Lord has posed:
"Well, that's good to know." Peter states with an air of casualness. "The Guardians are a family. You fuck with one of us, you fuck with all of us. I'd throw down with anyone in the galaxy if one of us was in danger, no question." Peter informs him. Chomp. Swallow. "It doesn't always work all the time... but we haven't tried to kill each other yet, at least."
- Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
"Thats usually the way these things work, if we boil it all down to abstractions that is. It's all about trust, like how I trust Rocket to steal my silverware."Theres a little shrug there, leaning back to sip after his tea. "Anyway what you should be doing, is lodging a query with the guild. Let'em know you're an affiliate of ours, and see if they can scare up some information for you. It might've been totally by the book of course, but if it wasn't? Well when you dick the guild, they have no obligation to keep secrets. So they'd give you the contract holder's information, maybe. "
"and you really need to get a better ship, before this is over. We're rabbits and your berthing situation seems claustrophibic to me."a soft humm as he reaches across to snag a datapad. "There's a bunch of Hussu stuff that got dumped surplus a few hours ago, shouldn't be too hard to upgrade on the cheap."