Elite roleplay: Off station

OFF STATION

Your ship, deep space, anything that is not happening inside the Citi Gateway or Ingaba...

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Inara RP Etiquette:
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20 Dec 2016, 5:10pm
Watching the corners as she exited the liuft, Lilith felt she couldn't be certain that Rex wasn't still stalking her and looking for an opportunity to catch her unawares. However as fortune would have it, she made it back to her Python without incident, leaving a slight trail of blood and water as she attempted to stem the swelling and bleeding with her ice pack.

Once aboard, she immediately entered the cockpit initiiated the launch sequence and jumped into Witchspace to a randomly selected system. She did this several times, no particular destination in mind, yet somehow found herself one jump out of the Inara System. But decided to park on a nearby moon instead. Shutting her ship down, keeping only basic necessities online she moved to her quarters needing to replace her ice pack with something better than the sodden rag it had now become.

Pulling the first aid pack from a cabinet under the sink, she pulled out the clear plastic wrapped chemical. The pack worked similar to a 21st Century Glow-Stick. Inside was a blue liquidy substance, and it encased a thin glass tube designed to be easily broken. Inside that tube was another chemical. Once broken the two substances would combine an initiate an Endo-Thermic Reaction, reducing the temperature of the package to well below zero degrees.

She let the package sit for a moment while it cooled and stepped into a shower, throwing her blood soaked clothes into a sanitiser. A few minutes, and a lot of stinging and throbbing later, she retrieved the pack, hissing lightly at the coldness of it against her skin. A short examination in the mirror revealed her nose to be off centre slightly, and both her eyes were black and bloodshot. The small cut from the knife that initiated her altercation had already scabbed over and paled in comparison to the rest of her face.

*Still,* She thought, pressing the pack to her face, *The git had run of squealing the second I got the upper hand again.* Smiling at the thought she braced herself for the most difficult part of the healing process.

Reaching up gingerly, she touched the area the bone had been seperated, pinched it tight and with a grunt of pain and a fresh oozing of blood, set the broken skeleton back into its rightful place.

With that, she retreated to her bed, holding the ice pack to her face. She wasn't sure how long until, or how long for, but she fell deep asleep once the throbbing had died down.
20 Dec 2016, 7:55pm
It wasn't looking good for Dr. Glaboski. He couldn't feel his legs. He crawled his way out of the immediate area, and some local worker on the platform took pity on him. The man probably had no idea what the good doctor had done back in City Gateway.

The doctor lay on a hospital bed. The emergency surgery was a success. The projectile was removed, but the Doctor had a numb feeling in right leg. The nerve running down the along the neck had been severally injured. Progenative technology would have been implemented, but this facility lacked the technical medical facility to do such things. It was too late. He would have to rely on a cane. He despised his situation. He despised Lilith, and Rex. He had no career. Nothing was left for him but to wallow in self pity, and thoughts of revenge.
20 Dec 2016, 8:04pm
I remember strolling down a corridor with Professor Renn Volo, listening to him him excitingly talk: "It's going to be amazing, Thomas. Think of the possibilities. Think of the strength and knowledge you'll have. It's an incredible opportunity the lab has offered you. And in such short time too. I think you've only been with us for about 7 months?"

"6 months, 4 days, and ooh I'd say about (looking at my data pad clock) 7 hours, I proclaimed in a forgotten voice. "Why have you chose me again, professor?"

"It all comes down to who we have available and who meets the correct physical attributes needed for the experiment. Luckily, you're the only candidate."

-My memory fades.
22 Dec 2016, 6:41am
Lilith awoke suddenly, the coldness of a wet patch pressing against her ribs had her leap out of bed confused. Frowning, she felt a sudden sharp pain in the bridge of her nose, having the downside of restarting the gentle throbbing, but the upside of flooding her brain with memories of the previous events. The hunt and eventual shooting of Glaboski, the fight from the git that practically stole the pleasure from her, without asking, then insisting on being paid for doing so.

Rex Castro... A name she'd be keeping an eye out for in future.

Looking at the bed she spotted what had woke her. The ice pack, now room temperature, had collected condensation and left it to soak into the sheets. Binning it, she stripped the sheets from the bed and hung them over a rafter to dry, before throwing on some clothes and examing her face in the mirror.

Her eyes were no longer bloodshot, but were still both black from bruising, and the swelling had gone down. Pinching the bridge of her nose slightly, she was rewarded with another sharp pain, but the absence of a further splatter of blood and the decreased movement told her it had started healing it least. Furthermore, the aching of her muscles from the fight still lingered slightly, a reminder that she was out of practice, luckily for her opponent. Nonetheless he had tucked his tail between his legs and ran the instant she'd gotten the upper hand, and she had gotten the upperhand despite the broken nose. Making a mental note to find a sparring partner in a gym somewhere, she headed up to the bridge.

Taking her place in the pilots seat she leant over the GalMap preparing to plot a course towards Achenar in order to continue her search for the pilot she'd linked to Macruik. Absent mindedly she brushed a lock of hair out of her face to tuck it behind her ear, only to feel something rub against her thumb. Reaching in, she pulled the offending object out of her ear to examine it.

It was the earpiece she'd used to stay in contact with Bloodfeather, Cait, and Isaiah.

How it had stayed in place during everything was a mystery to her. Yet here she was, a random series of jumps taking her just outside Inara, and the earpiece still in her hand. She didn't need told again, some deity was instructing her to go back to Citi Gateway.

So a few minutes later she was clearing the Moons Mass Lock and jumped into Witchspace back towards Inara.

>Continued in The Docks<
01 Jan 2017, 8:16pm
Across the bubble from Inara, the chronometer on Snipes' flagship began to beep with the alarm he had set for the new year. He fought the urge to smile as he gazed away from the displayed time and out the bridge canopy at Payette, the controlling station of his organization's home system of Terminus. The civil war had been costly in credits and blood, but the station powered down it's Federal broadcasts and lighting, hovering dark in the void for a moment before returning to life with the vibrance and triumph of his faction's hard won victory. He finally smirked. Happy New Year.
01 Jan 2017, 8:32pm
Contacting his boss Deadeye Snipes
"I'm away from citi gateway I've heard about our victory of the civil war and also HAPPY NEW 3303 !!!!!"
01 Jan 2017, 8:38pm
"You as well. Report back. There's work to be done."
01 Jan 2017, 9:38pm
"Let's make us a thing in the galaxy
03 Jan 2017, 11:15am
Random static chatter fills your eardrums as your coms seem to intercept a rogue signal... It sounds like singing... or maybe mumbling... a poem?

As the comm goes in and out you begin to hear several swear words strung next to each other.... muffled by some other words that don't make much sense... Suddenly the comm comes in crystal clear... Yep- singing alright. It's obvious this pilot has no idea anyone can hear him...


"aaaaaand... **** a drive, oh **** my shields, **** the cargo and it's potential yields... because I'm sitting here ****ing far away, great deal on an A rated plant you say?..."

You hear some clanging in the back ground and the sound of tools fumbling about...

The signing continues... "Sure I'll buy it, price too good to be true, half way to Colonia? This drive is throuuuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhh!"

You hear a loud clash and some yelps of discomfort as you assume whoever this is just fell over; more swearing of course. His presence gets louder as he mutters to himself....

He laughs... "Comms are back! High five commander.." You hear a clap, but no other words?

"We'll I don't think I coulda done it withoutcha..." He says... to himself? This guy is something alright.

Picking up the mic as though it hadn't been broadcasting the whole time he needlessly opens the line.

"Hello out there.. Commander Nsite here transmitting from somewhere past the Eagle Nebula... Can anyone hear me?"
03 Jan 2017, 8:54pm
As luck would have it, someone was listening. Someone who was hard of hearing, but listening nonetheless.

The old man fumbled with his comms equipment; long, bony fingers fidgeting with connections and tapping away at holos in a vain attempt to improve the signal.

"Eh?" the geezer croaked, holding an earpiece to his ear. "Bill? Billy? Are you kicking the cat box again?" Cat box, of course, being an affectionate name for the comms array, from an older time when operating an inter-system communications system without appropriate licensing was looked dimly upon by system authorities. It was an innocuous term that didn't arouse suspicion when dropped casually in conversation.

Most of the time, anyway.

"No Grandpa, I'm playing a sim right now," came a deadpan response from Billy. Or was it Bobby? The old man scratched his head and peered down the hallway where the sounds of gunfire and impassioned swearing originated. He shrugged and went back to what he was doing, still trying to adjust the signal.

"Mmmm, the thingamadood isn't totalizing like it should," he mused to himself. "Oh well. Best I can do." He keyed the microphone, holding his mouth too close to the boom, spoke into it. "'Ello? Was that someone calling me? Where did you get this frequency from?"
03 Jan 2017, 9:07pm
More clanging and banging transmit through the comm link well before the 'struggling' commander responds.

"No idea old-timer. Surprised it's communicating at all. I have no heads up on comms, nav, and anything else for that matter. Dark in here.... but I do have a tiny flashlight."

You hear the sound of a puckered kiss through the channel. The commander does not bother to release the comms to you as you hear him shuffling around.

"Hoping this is a short range frequency..." He chuckles cynically "Wouldn't be anywhere near Skaudai would you? Happen to have a spare power plant that might fit nicely in to a deLacy?"

"I uh...." He pauses, you hear three alarmingly shrill clanks against metal... "Broke mine.. over."
03 Jan 2017, 9:24pm
"Skaudai?" Rhymes with... cow pie. Ick. The old man laughed, calling up a holo of the local system cluster. Centered on the map was Lave. He punched in a few variations of the name, but came up with nothing. 

"How do you spell it? S-C-O-W-D-Y? Because I'm not seeing it on the map here," he said. "Maybe my grandbrat knows." He took the headset off and shouted back down the hall. "Bobby? Billy? Buddy?"

"It's Robert!" came the reply. "What do you need Grandpa?"

"Do you know of a system named Skaudai?"

"System? No. It's a region of space though. Why?"

"Some poor bastard is stuck out there."

There was silence from down the hall, then the sudden thumps of footsteps that came to a halt at the threshold to the old man's room. "Did he say what he was in?"

The old man shrugged and put the headset back on. "What'd you say you were in again? DeLacy? DeLacy what?"
03 Jan 2017, 9:41pm
The chatter of communication begins to break up a little, steadily getting more difficult to decipher.

".... Yeah... About that... It's a funny story..." Comms pause for a moment.

"...a formerly breathing father in-law left me this ol-Rimliner Conda as some sort of punishment for marrying his daughter, as if that wasn't punishment enough right?" The commander laughs nervously and waits for a response; he seemingly doesn't get one.

"Not funny? No, of course it isn't--" He parades on almost boastfully "and she wasn't either let me tell ya, that's why I left her o---- err mutually and amicably split up with her, very tidily I might add- she got half of nothing, which was actually everything if you know what I mean--"

He forces another laugh... still no response. After an awkward silence he, now barely distinguishable, grows strikingly more solemn.

"Look, I thought I'd try to make it out to Colonia and try to put the old bird to some better use than what we've been up to the past 20 or so years. Didn't turn out so well. Had two 63's and crew to man them, but there's no one to man them now. Both SRV's are outta fuel, one's pretty banged up. Maintenance unit still works... though it apparently needs power to operate. Who knew-- over."
06 Jan 2017, 5:21am
No Data Available lifted from her pad.  Slowing to line up with the mail slot, Phisto looked at his radar.

I'm the only ship moving right now.  In or out.  What's the matter, squids got their flight sticks or something?

Phisto gazed out the station entrance.  A slow smile slightly perked his cheeks up.  The way was clear.

Fuck it.

Slamming boost, the jet black Fer De Lance rocketed forward, the typical slow hum of the docking port shields a mere momentary high pitched buzz.

"ZORGON PETERSON SIERRA, OSCAR, NOVEMBER, THIS STATION DOES NOT PERMIT..."

Phisto cut off their comms, over-riding it with his emergency broadcast transmitter, "Sorry, station control. I've got a date with the maybe end times.  Oops, you probably didn't like me breaking comms protocol either." Howling with laughter, Phisto punched up his Nav computer and set his destination for Maia. Breaking station mass lock in mere seconds, he watched as station security feebly turn to follow him.  Making a brief check on the comms channel Marcus had opened, he powered up his frame shift drive.

"3... 2... 1..."

Remember the last time you were out this way?

"...engage!"
06 Jan 2017, 7:51am
Marcus walks into the cockpit of his aged Anaconda. This model served in the first wars with the Thargoids, and its aged and unpolished interior made it painfully obvious for anyone who had never seen a Rimliner before deLacy purchased the model some time ago.

The good news is, back then, the ship was designed more crudely, which meant more opportunity for custom modifications, and a few surprises not even the engineers could come up with. That's what a ship several hundred years old has over it's youthful counterparts.

Marcus lets out a heavy sigh as he ques his systems for start up. Faint buzzing and whirling can be heard as her internals power up, one module at a time. With a sigh of relief the commander puts both fists up and whispers quietly... "yesssss" as the new plant seems to be doing its job.

Leaning over to his comms panel he pulls up a link, and sends that hail for communication to Phisto.

"Pick up buddy." he says under his breath, simultaneously preparing his pre-launch.

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