| abstract | - Greyson Square - Sivad - Grim and imposing, the central business area of Sivad's West Enaj district could be generously called shabby chic, but truly has seen better days. The grey native stone of the buildings and their brooding style marks them as having been government projects in the era of Queen Paulette II, and many of them still bear her cypher, faded and worn by years of rain. Lampposts, green with the patina of age, provide dull artifical light during evening hours, and brood over a fading red postbox and the Square's central fountain, which seems to have been dry of all but rainwater for many years. The only government building in evidence is a small SHIELD substation, which doubles as the local Magistrates Court. It shares the square with the historic St. Catherine's Sivanglican Church, whose charity thrift shop is on neighboring Sidney Street. Cable Street and Brick Street also lead out of the square. The Ungstiri man stumbles awkwardly, the remnants of alchohol and other possible narcotics eminent upon him. Surgei catches himself upon the corner of the police Sub-station, shuffling along in this manner for some time. The smells of the dank prison cell and urine are still redolent on his unsightly figure, and his dishevelled hair forms a thorny crest upon his head. He lofts his misted red eyes to Lucky, and they widen in surprise. "Privet!" he slurs drunkenly. "Ah, there you are." Lucky says, hands clasped behind his back. "Was wondering when you'd show up. Almost had me worried that you had.. run off with my investment. Very unsettling, that." Surgei sniffs abruptly, hoping to rid his nostrils of any residue still there. He was obviously back to his prior habits. "Ya? Dash? No," he says - or rather groans in his state of mixed euphoria and acrimony. He waggles a finger before him in a stern mock, his lips uncoordinatedly attempting to form words. What comes out is nothing more than a few 'goo's. "Yes, of course." Lucky says to the nonsensical mumbling, turning to face the Ungstiri. "For now though, we need to talk. If you'd be a good lad, and follow me?" Surgei 's lips spread with an ecstatic grin, the corners of his eyes squinting shut in a most overt pleasure. "Right-o, comrade," he mutters, pointing the aforementioned finger outwards in a mimick of an inebriated 'Tally-hoe!' Lucky heads into St. Catherine-of-the-Bells . Lucky has left. St. Catherine-of-the-Bells - Sivad - St. Catherine-of-the-Bells, named for a hero of the Kretonian invasion who supposedly warned of coming attacks with a ringing bell, is an old church, and has, like everything in West Enaj, seen its glory days decades past. It is, however, scrupulously maintained by the so called 'white nuns' of the Sisters of St. Catherine of the Poor. The high altar is a masterpiece from the Sivadian Renaissance, heavily engraved in marble and set with beeswax candles. The pulpit is equally ornate, and juts out slightly from one side of the altar so that the preacher is above the congregation. The rest of the church is simple, though, whitewashed stone walls, stained glass, and rows of heavy, wooden chairs. The double doors in the back of the naive lead back to Greyson Square, while the side doors lead down to the basement thrift shop and out onto Sidney Street. Lucky leads into the church, nodding politely at the door greeter, one of those 'White Nuns'. "Ah, such a pleasant little place, really. Don't you agree, Surgei?" "Da, pretty pla..." Surgei murmurs, his head bobbing emphatically like a child's plaything. "Thought you would." Lucky responds, settling down in one of the chairs. "Now, we do have a wee problem, lad. Bail is fine, but... you have to get off planet for it to have any true meaning." His voice is low, obviously so, to keep the door nun from eavesdropping. Surgei 's chin bunches up with his neck, making a nasty mess of beard, flesh, and fat. His voice crackles and squeaks, further emphasizing his state of intoxication, "Ya? Leave? Vi leave too? Vhy ve leave?" The questions flood out, monument to the confusion-laden webs within the Ungstiri's mind. "You wanta go to court, gov?" Lucky says. "Cause, I promise, you stay here... and you will. Sent word to an associate back on New Luna, calling him here. Will see about getting you out of here." The drug-racked Russian nods solemnly, his serious edge almost humorous in this light of intoxication. "Ve go for ride, da?" He continues to nod, giving his voice an odd waver. Surgei stumbles forward slightly, his hand clasping about Lucky's shoulder for impromptu stability. "Can't drive..." he jokes, burying his laughter in his affiliate's shoulder. "Yes, yes." Lucky monotones, arm hanging by his side. If there is any straying from his normally carefree attitude, he hides it well. "Muss my suit, and I'll have Rillitan muss your face. Now, if you're done being emotional, perhaps you'd like to take a look around town?" Surgei pries his eyes from the man's suit, his brow marred. He's trying, he really is. "Ritallin?" he asks. He nods slowly. "Da. Ve valk around, eh?" "Yes, lad." Lucky responds, patting the Ungstiri's shoulder, before turning for the door once more, this time the door greeter gets a smile as he passes. "Rillitan, not Ritallin. He's a Timonae. Big fellow." Surgei turns from the chair he was too floundered to take a seat within, his stumbled gait trying its mightest to tail along Lucky. "Vhere are ve goink?" he asks, the last consonate making a plinking sound much akin to a stone cast into water. A stone cast into water usually causes a ripple, and the same thing happens when Surgei speaks, Lucky's face tightening for a moment. "You speak too much, and say too little." Docks - Sivad - The smell of iodine and salt is strong as the waves lap against the pilings of the docks that jut out from West Enaj into the Naeco Ocean. Working docks, they deal mainly with the products brought in from Sivad's seas, though bulk items from the other islands do travel in megaships that barely fit into the docks here, winding as far as the eye can see in the grey-green water. Cranes loom high in the sky, along with the apparatus for moving containers, and shipping containers are stocked everywhere, ready to be moved into the warehouses that line the docks. The offices of shipping factors are here and on lower cable street, and it is not unusual to see a businessman in frock coat and top hat or suit and bowler amongst the dungareed and stocking-capped longshoreman specialists. %r%rFor all it is down at heel, West Enaj is also the home of some of Sivad's finest shipbuilding firms, and their workshops are here among the quays as well. Far from the containers and massive ships, there are the ribs and parts of everything from rowboats to yachts that will eventually be sold out of the shipbuilding firms Enaj offices. Surgei continues to file in with the same, discontented amble. The sound of his buckle scraping over the flooring is something cringe-worthy, but at last he reaches Lucky. "Vhere to now, bozz?" he says in a wired voice. "Docks." Lucky answers. "Want to.. check out my options. See what is available and what simply.. is not. It's called strategy and forethought, lad. You should look into it." In a hazy tone, Surgei retorts, "Straterg...for zhe weak!" "As well as the living." Lucky says, pausing as he comes into the dockarea, adjusting his bowler with a sigh. "Ah, breathe in, comrade. The smell of fish, sweat, and economy. Sivad is such a lovely place." Surgei follows the express order of the man, taking a deep inhale through his nostrils. Surprisingly, it seems to quench his inebriated state to an extent. Of course, his rationalities and intellect are severely inhibitted, but he's got a timid amount of sentience back. "Mm...fich," he mutters incoherently. "Indeed. I'm partial to some red fish and trout myself." Lucky says, taking up step once more, heading for the landing pad. "What's your favored seafood?" "Da, crab," says the Ungstiri, naturally, continuing albeit slowly behind the man. Surgei is royally fucked up at the moment, and his most recent dialect remains his most intelligable. "Ah, crab." Lucky says, snapping his fingers. "Good choice." Surgei nods, as the single word ignites a sort of requiem in his disrupted mind. "Ve pash zecurity?" he questions dubiously, his hands scouring his jacket in posthaste to inspect his belongings - just to make sure his menial treasures are still there. "Oh, we aren't going anywhere quite yet." Lucky says, pausing at the edge of the pad, watching. "I need to figure out a way to get you pass all this upstanding security." The bearded man's brow raises at the statement, as if it were ludicrous. "Joo funny," Surgei remarks, following Lucky's eyes with his own. Whatever it is he's looking at. "Thank you, lad, I try." Lucky's green eyes continue their slow perusal of the landing pad, gloved hands clasping behind his back once more. "You should consider laying off the junk a little." Surgei's already callouse face begins to harden like stiff leather. "Da. Hard, eet iz." His own eyes glaze over, as if in deep thought - at least for his state. "Vhat else could I do? Nozhink." "Suppose so. You'll need some new clothes. Perhaps a trip to the Thrift store is in order." Lucky turns away from the landing pad. "You can have free reign of Sivad, but do not leave it immediatly, you understand me? Don't even try." "Vhere vould I go? I 'ave no sterlinks," Surgei admits, a gesture to articulate his lament. "I barely got zhis shit," he says, referring to the drugs ingested. The small, red-headed fellow with the bowler hat listens to Surgei's troubles, then offers a firm nod, waving for the man to follow before heading back toward town. Least Surgei is getting excercise! The small, red-headed fellow with the bowler hat listens to Surgei's troubles, then offers a firm nod, waving for the man to follow before heading back toward town. Least Surgei is getting excercise! And the slightly overweight junkie does indeed need that, just to echo the thought. Surgei dreks on forward, a hand scratching his beard as he is generally prone to. Greyson Square - Sivad - Grim and imposing, the central business area of Sivad's West Enaj district could be generously called shabby chic, but truly has seen better days. The grey native stone of the buildings and their brooding style marks them as having been government projects in the era of Queen Paulette II, and many of them still bear her cypher, faded and worn by years of rain. Lampposts, green with the patina of age, provide dull artifical light during evening hours, and brood over a fading red postbox and the Square's central fountain, which seems to have been dry of all but rainwater for many years. The only government building in evidence is a small SHIELD substation, which doubles as the local Magistrates Court. It shares the square with the historic St. Catherine's Sivanglican Church, whose charity thrift shop is on neighboring Sidney Street. Cable Street and Brick Street also lead out of the square. The businessman extroadaniare guides Surgei back to Greyson square, looking about. Eventually, he finds whatever he was seeking for, walking up to a banking console and beginning the process. Beep. Boop. Boopity. Beep. Beep. Cha-ching, baby. "Here's 500 Yojj-Sterling. Be careful not to spend it all in one place, lad." Surgei nods somewhat belatedly as the bills are pressed into his clammy hands. "Spaciba." Stuffing the pile deep into his coat pocket, he gives Lucky the accustomary shake-and-embrace expression from his homeland. "Da." Lucky notes. "Do take care, and be on the lookout for a tall, short-haired Timonae fellow. Goes by the name of Rillitan, like I said. He is being very... unproductive." "Vhat zhould I do eef I do zee 'im?" quanders Surgei curiously. Surely Lucky wouldn't expect him to rough him up - at least not with his current injuries. "Tell him to head to Church." Lucky says with a clipped smile, turning and walking on.
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