| abstract | - Crew Quarters |- Metallic gray walls surrond the space of this room with a sort of hypnotic teasing effect on the eye, proabaly from the silver and black threads of color that are mixed in with the walls. The floor appears to be made of a dark cherry wood, but walking on it one can feel a bit of give, sort of like walking on a tarten track or the inside of a gym. Inset lighting counteracts the dark color scheme of things and gives light to the crew's conviences. Single beds line the side walls and are spaced apart by shelves and drawers to hold personal affects. In the back of the room is the galley and off to its right is the alcove leading to the bathrooms. View ports looking out into space line the walls an give a less claustrophobic feeling. Well, it's pretty quiet in the crew quarters, well if you ignore the Tomin Kora style of industrial trance playing in the back ground. McDowell's currently awake and active, working on one of the pistols. Swiftfoot's ears flatten out for a moment as she opens the hatchway from the main corridor. "Nice." She snorts softly and starts over toward the bunk she's been staying in, kneeling down beside the bed and rummaging around in one of the lower drawers beside it. "What's nice?" Brandon enquires, arching a brow as he look in the Demarian's direction. He slowly shakes his head, and returns to the work on the pistol. "You want me to have a looker at your sixer?" "The music," the Demarian replies, still rummaging around in the drawer. "Haven't hearrd this kinda stuff since last time we werre on tee-kay. Good shit." She comes up with a drawing pad and a wooden box, then stands up and stretches. "Oh, the guns? Surre, I'd almost forrgotten. If'n you can worrk on the enerrgy stuff, I mean. Dunno what all you'rre cerrtified in." A faint smirk plays on Brandon's lips, as he glances back towards Swifty. "What do you want me to work on," he counters, before shaking his head. "Energy or projectile, I know the ins and outs of both." Swiftfoot stalks over to the table, setting down the drawing pad and the box when she gets there. She draws both pistols then, setting each one on the table before drawing the other, slightly away from what Brandon's already working on. "Just Sivadian stuff. Good guns, but shit if I know anything about maintaining em." The felinoid shrugs vaguely and offers a sheepish grin. "Always had someone else arround that did, so I neverr rreally had to learrn." Brandon takes both of the pistols, moving his own projectile pistol to the side. "They're good," he comments, as he looks over the pistols. "You get caught on Sivad with these." A pause, as he leans to oneside to retrieve his gunsmithing kit from beside the chair leg. "You're fucked." "Tell me about it," Swiftfoot replies, nodding. "Orr Waldheim, forr that matterr. I just carry a stun pistol wheneverr I'm therre, if I carry anything at all. Fuckin stupid weapons laws, just like on this bloody planet." She snorts and shakes her head, her tail flicking somewhat irritably as she flops down into the chair opposite McDowell. "We herre about Jack, I take it?" "I don't know," Brandon replies, sounding slightly anxious. "I used to class him as intelligent, but with the current events he's involved himself in." He slowly shakes his head, as he goes about popping off the case, rather easily. "Well, that's highly doubtful. When I've done some work in the past, wet work, I try to avoid returning to the same area until it's forgotten about." Swiftfoot nods and opens the latches on the wooden box, laying it flat on the table. It contains a wide array of erasers, brushes, and pencils, both colored and plain. "Dunno, I don't do that kind of 'worrk', but still, it seems like a rreasonable enough assumption to keep yourr head down until things cool off, and forr Brrakirr's sake, stay OUT of the system that you'rre wanted in." She snorts and shakes her head again, then selects one of the plain graphite pencils and taps the eraser absently against the drawing pad. "You keep your head down, and /stay/ out of the system," Brandon agrees, as he goes to work. He then slowly checks over the internal components of the weapon. "You become a ghost, moving unseen when you can." He smiles, as he looks over the weapon before reaching into the kit to withdraw one of the numerous tools. "Good work, when you can get the well paying ones." "I've been doing a bit of carrgo piloting on the side," Swiftfoot replies, shrugging slightly. "S'not so bad. Borring, but it keeps a bit of income coming in, anyhow, and I don't gotta worry about bounties and that kind of crrap." She quirks an eyeridge and watches Brandon curiously for a few moments before leaning back in the chair with the pad and pencil. "Plus, I think I might have morral issues with, you know, taking that kind of contrract." "You live, you die," Brandon replies, obviously finding no problem in what he does from time to time. "It's the hunt that's the most interesting... Toy with them for a bit." The tool is slowly moved to withdraw one of the internal components, by the looks of it, most likely the stun/kill switch. "Then you move in. People, animals, all the same. Assassinations bring in a higher pay than hunting, though." Swiftfoot quirks an eyeridge. "You do any hits on Demarrians?" she inquires, head tilted slightly to the side as she eyes the Martian over her drawing pad. The pencil stops moving for a moments. "Just morrbid curriosity, I guess. Hell, I dunno, I can kill someone if I have to, but I don't think I could do it forr a living. Not everryone can, I suppose." The felinoid's eyes go back to the paper, and the pencil starts its faint scratching again. "A couple of Ungstiri on triple niner," Brandon comments, as he glances up to Swifty. "A Timonae who was poking around. A wannabe criminal Lunite... Worse one was a pregnant woman, almost didn't have the guts to go through with that." Back to the weapon once more, and he reaches across to take smooth cleaning rag in hand. "What Yulya wants, Yulya gets." "Prregnant? Sweet Brrakirr," the Demarian says, shaking her head. "No way could I do that. I'd hesitate even if she had a bloody gun to my head." The pencil doesn't stop this time, and Swifty's eyes stay on what she's doing. "But it's a living. Hell, whateverr you need to do to keep yourrself afloat, meh?" There comes the sound of an electrical charge discharging into the atmosphere, before Brandon glances down to it. "God, I hate these things," he grumbles to himself, obviously unhurt. "Stupid internal charges." He goes back to work once more, being careful of anything else that could break. "She didn't even know, painless... Shot straight to the back of head and he slumped to the ground." "Whoa, what was that?" the felinoid inquires, finally looking up from her work for a moment. "Not that I don't trrust you, chief, it just didn't sound good." She chuckles and goes back to sketching. "So aside frrom, you know, shooting people, what have you been up to? Any worrd on the Haste, orr on Larrin, orr any of that mess? Orr have you washed yourr hands of it?" "Only a discharge, nothing major. Didn't arc and if it did, be easy to fix," Brandon replies, as he continues on the job. More and more bits are stripped away from the MK6. "Ain't heard word from any of them. No word on the Haste, Larin's still being held for trial... So much for Ryan looking after his men, fucking pig." Swiftfoot snorts and shakes her head. "Starrtin to believe some of the things Ace's said about him. He seemed like a rright enough guy when he had that prrice tag on his head, but I wonderr if he's just gotten... I dunno, complacent." The Demarian's tail flicks absently as the pencil continues to scratch across the paper, the sound barely audible above the music. "Buncha bullshit, if you ask me. The NLM is gonna get its ass kicked by that PANL orr whateverr it is." "I thought about seeing if there was a contract on Tay," Brandon replies, with a slightly sadistic smile. "Treating people like shit all the time." He continues on, until the weapon's insides are completely stripped out. "Ace'd kill you," the felinoid retorts, shaking her head. "Kat'd mudbrrain you, then kill you. Just saying." Swiftfoot shrugs vaguely, then turns the drawing pad slightly askew and eyes it critically. "Hrr," she notes before going back to work. "Did you hear that I said I thought about it? Which means I only thought about it, didn't actually do it," Brandon replies, slowly shaking his head. "If I was going to do it, would I have said anything about it? Do you think anyone would know?" Swiftfoot chuckles then, her ears flicking in amusement. "Point taken." She offers a shrug then, and continues drawing. "Dunno, Tay didn't seem so bad. Just overrworrked. Having to coverr forr the so-called brrigadierr generral's ass has to be strressful as hell. So, prretty much, it all comes back to old Jeffy not doing his job, I suppose. Farr be it frrom me to have any political opinion, though." "He's just rubbed me the wrong way," Brandon replies, as he holds up a piece and examines it. "Stopping someone from seeing detained crew? Stopping someone that the militia knows is dangerous and an ally from seeing crew?" He slowly shakes his head, and then laughs faintly. "I'm betting that he's the one who fingered us for that brick." "Could be," the Demarian agrees absently, her eyes still on her work. "Dunno, it musta been someone. That Hamlet guy had to have -some- rreason to go afterr us. Lucky thing Ace can hide things like a damn ferretmonkey." Swiftfoot chuckles then, and looks up at the Martian. "What do you think is in that brrick?" A moments pauses, before a reply from Brandon comes. "I think it's a Hiver and a Kamir, before it ascended," he comments, with a slow nod. "I think... Think it was Remy who said something about the Hivers coming as tentacles." Swiftfoot nods, one ear flicking. "Think I hearrd that somewherre too. I did some rreading back on G'ahnlo about the historry of the planet. Didn't find anything on what used to live therre beforre they did, though." She shrugs vaguely. "But they only got therre in 2119, so hell, who knows? Whateverr it is could have been gone forr thousands of yearrs beforre the fishies got therre." "Who's to say that it didn't just drop into the ocean?" Brandon answers, as he looks up to the Demarian once more. "Hell, it dropped onto the ship, didn't it?" "Good point," the felinoid notes, nodding in response. "Maybe the damn thing can fly, too. Wonderr if Ace's gotten to play arround with the thing any more." Swiftfoot chuckles. "Wonderr what'd happen if we touched it, if we'd see the same kind of thing, orr if it'd be just like touching an everryday orrdinarry brrick." "I don't know... but I've always wondered," Brandon comments, as he holds up one of the peices. "Mean, would we end up being trapped in that brick? I think you're safe, if you don't touch it." He shrugs vaguely, and then shakes his head. "Remember what the custodian said?" "Dunno, about what?" Swiftfoot inquires, looking over her drawing pad at Brandon again. "About touching it orr whateverr?" She shrugs vaguely. "I thought he was concerrned with having the brrick itself damaged somehow, not with having someone sucked into the thing." The felinoid pauses for a moment, the only sound from her the scratching of pencil on paper. "Huh. Y'know, wonderr if the fishies didn't know what was in it cause they didn't actually touch it. I mean, they have those grrasping arrm thingies on theirr tanks, but I dunno, maybe they neverr actually touched the thing. You think?" "That's what I mean," Brandon comments, as he starts to work over several different pieces. "They're worried about what the acid of the skin can do... They most likely don't know about the thing inside of the brick. Use gloves." Brandon raises his free hand, leather gloved as usual. "I usually wear as gloves, so I'm not worried. Don't leave finger prints." Swiftfoot chuckles and holds up one paw. "Don't gotta worry about that myself," she says, grinning. "Just gotta worry about leaving furr. That's a rreal bitch. Think I'd just shave myself bald if I everr went into business doing that shit. Be easierr." She pauses to draw a bit more, then shrugs. "I hearrd ourr nose prrints arre all unique, though, kinda like human fingerrprrints." "Then don't sniff the crime scenes," Brandon teases, before chuckling. Back to the cleaning of the weapon once more. "Besides, don't think that blood would be a good look. Really stains the clothing, you know? You ever seen someone shot point blank with a flachette pistol? It just sprays, at least with armour, it kinda stops the bastards from going through." Swiftfoot shakes her head. "Can't say that I have. I did see a guy shot at point-blank with a shotgun once, though. That was a fucking mess, let me tell you. Ace helped me clean the blood out of my furr with perroxide." She snorts, tail flicking somewhat irritably. "Some days I just wanna dye my furr black and get it overr with. Think it'd be easierr to deal with on the whole." "That's what you get for using buckshot, opposed to a solid round," Brandon states, rather carefree as he continues with the weapon. He's finishes his bit of cleaning, and then starts to reassemble it. "Don't look at me, chief," the felinoid retorts, shaking her head. "I didn't shoot the guy. I wouldn't know what to do with a shotgun except maybe which end to aim at the bad guys." Swiftfoot shrugs vaguely then. "I'm a pistol girrl myself. A little morre concealable than a shotgun. And I like the enerrgy as well, cause of the potential forr stunning." Brandon pauses, putting back down the equipment. "I pretty much work with what ever I've got," he comments, as he starts to undo the jacket. He slowly stands and slips it over the back of the chair, revealing a DS equality, a revolver, a stun gun and an empty holster that most likely houses the semi-auto pistol that's apart on the table. "Energy is fine, but you've got the power up time," he replies, as he slowly sits back down. Swiftfoot nods in agreement. "Used to know a bit about prrojectile weapons, but I've not shot one in a good long time," she says, then shrugs. She pauses to switch pencils, picking up several in varying shades of blue. "Mostly I just don't like killing people unless I have to. On La Terre, that was the firrst time I'd everr shot anyone clean dead." "I can't even remember the first person I killed," Brandon absently replies, as the weapon starts to take form once more. "I still don't know how I managed to end up being like this." "Dunno, chief," the felinoid replies, then shrugs. "Who am I to say why people turrn out the way they do? I'd like to think that to some degrree I've been guided, but I know that I've got frree will as well." Swiftfoot's ear flicks, and she wrinkles her nose for a moment. "Eh, rreally, it all comes down to what you believe in, meh? Dunno what Marrtians in generral worrship orr anything." "I'm a child of Mars," Brandon corrects, as he glances towards Swifty once again. "The ancestors, Father Mars." He goes silent for a few moments, taking a moment put the case back on, before slipping the battery back in. Swiftfoot nods, one ear flicking. "Okay, I'll rrememberr that. What's the ancestorrs, though? Just the spirrits of yourr prredecessorrs?" One eyeridge quirks upward, and she tilts her head to the side. "Demarrians have two gods, Brrakirr and Demarr. Brrakirr, he crreated the worrld, and Demarr, she crreated the Demarrians and the Theorrians." She snorts and shakes her head. "And now this new cult thing believes that the Sand Motherr is a god. It's just a deserrt, not a god." "Spirits of my forebearers, I still follow it, even though I'm a descendent of an excile," Brandon replies, as reaches down for something that appears to be a barrel plug. He slides it in, and then starts to power up the weapon. "Now to see if this blows my hand off." "Maybe I oughta, you know, take shelterr in Engineerring," Swiftfoot quips, then grins. "Nah, I trrust ya. You do good worrk, chief, always have." She mrrls softly, then offers a shrug before going back to sketching with the blue pencils, alternating from time to time. "Being an exile is overrated. I was in self-imposed exile forr a good long time, and didn't miss home at all. One trrip home changed it all. Weirrd, meh?" The power is applied to the weapon, and Brandon flicks the safety off. The weapon hums into life, and fires. Well, nothing explodes, though the barrel plug is smoking. "Fuck," he mutters, as he unscrews the piece of plastic. "I thought the BKMS stuff would have handled the charge from the sixer... Need a new plug." Swiftfoot quirks an eyeridge and wrinkles her nose. "Ew, that smells like burrning wirring orr something," she notes, then snorts. "Y'know, I'm glad drrawing doesn't involve anything complicated. I can drraw while drrunk and all I get is a shitty drrawing. Worrking on a gun while drrunk seems like it'd be dangerrous." "That's why I don't work on them drunk," Brandon points out, with a faint smirk. "In fact, I don't drink that often. I usually drink tea these days, not even coffee. Ace got me into doing that." Well, the weapon isn't damaged, but the plugs completely dead. Swiftfoot nods, her tail flicking erratically. "I was bad therre forr awhile. Mostly following a rratherr disturrbing mission that we went on..." She shudders, then shakes her head. "Crrazy-ass shit in that place. I still drream about it sometimes, but not nearrly as much. These days, though, I don't drrink nearrly as much. Prrobably betterr that way, anyway." "Was that the one with mutants and stuff? Jack was telling me about that," Brandon responds, as passes across the weapon. "You'll need a fresh powerpack... Not a recharge, a new one in about two hundred shots." Then back to the topic at hand. "What was it like?" "Yeah," the felinoid answers, shuddering again. "And the girrl. All sorts of shit in these big-ass tanks. Some fuckin crrazed scientist, too, and lots of guarrds." Swiftfoot snorts and shakes her head. "We got a hundrred kay forr that job, which was well shorrt of the thrree hundrred kay we werre prromised. The whole thing was a damned setup. The Kommissarr guy wanted to set up the scientist guys, I guess. He brrought in a whole fleet to take the place down. Wonderr whateverr happened." She wrinkles her nose and switches pencils again. "I'd have liked to have torrched that place myself." "Mercy," Brandon mutters, as his gaze locks onto the Demaria's eyes. "I keep on having a wierd dream about tanks, and something inside this tank filled with goop is a... A think pleading for mercy." He gives a vague shrug. "Most likely just something brought on after being attacked with psionics." Swiftfoot stops sketching, lowering the sketchpad slowly, one eyeridge quirking upward. "Merrcy..." A pause ensues, the felinoid's nose wrinkling. "No... it's not. The tank, it was filled with this kind of grreen muck, and the thing, it was... horribly misshappen." She shakes her head. "You... werre therre, chief. That happened." "I can't remember it," Brandon replies, with a slightly distant look on his face. "Only that one dream... But I'm not overlly worried about it, because I think it's a dream." He settles back into the chair, and raises a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. "Don't mind if I do the other pistol later on?" "Wish it was a drream... Nah, don't mind at all," the felinoid replies, shaking her head. "Thanks forr doing that one. I'll just make surre to use it if I have to use one at all, not that I expect to have to on La Terre." Swiftfoot pauses to switch out her pawful of blue pencils for another pawful in varying flesh tones, then goes back to her drawing. "The other one's fine," Brandon replies, as he nods towards the other MK6 on the table. "Should be right to fire for a few more shots." Brandon's on the other side of the table from Swifty, his jacket hanging off the back of the chair and his equipment on display for all to see. Yup, a variety of pistols. Swiftfoot nods and reaches across the table for the weapons and sliding them over to 'her' side of the table before going back to her drawing. "Thanks, though. Serriously. I should learrn how to maintain my own shit sometime." She gives a flick of one ear and a grin. "But heck, then you might get borred." Ace slips quietly into crew quarters, pausing when she sees no one occupying any bunks for a change. "Privet," she says quietly, "Kak d'ela? How are things?" Brandon gives a nod to Swifty, before replying to her. "It ain't a problem Swifty, anytime." Then when the Ungstiri Kapitan enters, he gives a nod. "Afternoon Ace, how's things? Good? Shit house?" "Could be worrse," the Demarian replies, not looking up from her sketchpad. The pencils seem to cycle through use in no particular order. "Why we on La Terre, by the way? Trryin to do somethin about Jack?" "Wanted to meet with him, da," Ace nods, "He said Ranix has been to visit him though not physically. Says she is getting better trained...stronger. Need to find him a good lawyer." "Why doesn't Ranix just bring them back from the dead? Prove how powerful she is?" Brandon suggests, before shrugging absently. "Know a guy on Sivad, he's a criminal lawyer. I've still got his PDA number, one of the few I kept... Don't know why." Swiftfoot snorts and shakes her head. "Sounds like she must be, if she can do that prrojection shit. Good question though. About brringing them back frrom the dead, I mean. Nobody's dead, therre's no crrime, rright?" The felinoid's nose wrinkles, her whiskers twitching. "Was some guy named Jimmy orr some such that I met once, dunno how good he was. Seemed a bit shady." She shrugs and goes back to her drawing. "Give your friend a call, da?" Ace replies, settling down in a chair with a weary sigh. "Tell him I pay well. With luck, though, we might be able to get him out of this depending upon the evidence they have. If all they have is satellite images of him being present and then diving onto the Jackal, then they have nothing. A passenger on a ship that made an unexpected stop, he dove for cover when the shooting started. Is not Jackal crew and do not think he actually did anything wrong." "I'll drop him a line," Brandon agrees, with a bob of his head. "I'll head on over and see if I can talk business with him. Can't be too hard to arrage a lawyer, can it?" "Don't think he actually did anything wrrong, eitherr," Swiftfoot notes somewhat absently, her eyes still on her work. The felinoid shrugs vaguely. "I'd be morre than willing to testify that he's not Jackal crrew, if I can get a guarrantee that I won't be arrested simply forr -being- Jackal crrew." "Would not think so, nyet, but then again," Ace shrugs, "Have never hired one before. And I think it best to keep anyone who /was/ there out of it, da? So far, though, Jack doesn't truly know what evidence is being used against him." "I'll hunker down on Sivad or Demaria during the trial," Brandon replies, sounding rather concerned. "If someone else wants to contact him, then that's cool. I'll give you his details." He reaches out to the partially rebuilt automatic pistol on the table, and starts to slowly fiddle with it. Swiftfoot nods, one ear flicking. "Sounds like a good idea," she notes, then looks up from the drawing. "They haven't even told him what the evidence is against him? That's kinda... well, fucked-up." "Have not told him much of anything," Ace grumbles, "Simply arrested him and locked him up. Told me not to go after this Long who betrayed him, but still...am tempted." "This whole place is fucked up," Brandon growls, as he looks between Ace and Swifty. "The dead walking the streets. A planet that shouldn't be, being here. Hell, I think just tricking Ranix into bringing them back would do the trick." A pause, and then his light brown eyes rest on Ace. "Is that just you who shouldn't go after Long, or am I included in that count, too?" "Orr me, forr that matterr," Swiftfoot says, offering a feral grin. "I've got half a mind to claw his face off forr turrning Jack in, though I do have to wonderr what in the hell Jack was thinking coming to La Terre in the firrst place." "He doesn't want anyone going after him," Ace sighs. "Apparently there is some connection between Long and Valerie and he is for some misbegotten reason protecting her. Still...is tempting target." "If I ever hear that someone wants him dead, I'm taking that contract," Brandon mutters quietly to himself, as he starts to reconstruct the automatic pistol. "But at the moment, I'll respect Jack's wishes." Swiftfoot chuckles and nods. "I'd sell tickets to that," she says, then grins again. A shrug follows after a moment, and she snorts as she turns back to her drawing. "Jack also suggested we speak to Centaurans and Castori...see if they have any method of tracking or stopping the Kamir," Ace replies. "Am going to send Athena to Centauri and most likely ask you to go to Castor. Do not think I should be asking anyone with such psionic abilities too much about Kamir, da?" Brandon gives a knowing nod, as he looks up to Ace. "Understood Kapitan," he replies, with a slow nod. "Just let us know when you want us to go, and I'll keep Swifty from batting around the Centaurian's testicles like a bit of string." He slowly nods, as then glances across to Swifty with a faint smirk. "Aw, but I think it'd be fun," Swiftfoot replies, looking up and doing her best at a mock-pout. She quirks an eyeridge at Ace then. "D'you think any of it will worrk? I mean, can anyone stop the Kamirr, rreally?" "Do not know," Ace sighs, "They were stopped once before, so am assuming it is therefore possible again. Jack, he said they are engaging in sexual activities and nyet...did not ask him how he knew this. Think that makes them more human and vulnerable than we might have thought." "Those ball of gas are screwing?" Brandon asks, sounding rather intrigued. "How the hell do they have sex without nuts and stuff? They pass through each other or something? Mean... They're just... Balls of gas." Swiftfoot quirks an eyeridge and finally looks away from her work. "Wait, what? Kamirr arre getting some, and I'm not? Therre is no justice in the 'verrse." She chuckles, her whiskers bristling in clear amusement. "Didn't think they werre capable of... you know, that." "Perhaps they are not as incorporeal as they once were or as they would have us think," Ace replies. "Remember, these are Mystics who somehow gained Kamir abilities, not the original Kamir." "Kamir Castori," Brandon says, as a smirk tugs at the edge of his lips once more. "If I wasn't married to Sol, I'd try to get one into bed, just to see what it was like. Only kill you once." Then back to Swifty, and he gives a knowing nod. "Hey... I'm not getting any either, both in the same boat." "Trrue," the felinoid replies, nodding. "Wonderr if Marrly's sleeping with them. Talk about giving the exprression 'in bed with the enemy' a whole new meaning." Swiftfoot stifles an unseemly giggle with one paw, then covers it up by sneezing rather politely. "Would not put it past her to be in bed with Porter," Ace shrugs. "She has always kissed his ass." McDowell laughs quietly at this, before glancing towards Ace once again. "Yeah... Instead, now she could get her head up there. That whole gas thing." He silent, and he glances between, his expression completely serious. "Hey... How you reckon they have children? I mean, they're balls of gas... So it'd just be like a fart wouldn't it? Mean, would they spend hours in labour or anything?" Swiftfoot blinks incredulously at McDowell, then simply bursts out laughing uncontrollably, slumping back in her chair and putting one paw to her forehead. The pencils clatter to the floor, and the drawing pad rests against her chest. Ace facepalms, shaking her head as she chuckles, "Only you, Brandon..." "I mean, c'mon," Brandon says, trying to keep a straight face himself. "Could you guys imagine Kamir labour? You'd have miss Kamir gas ball floating there, you'd have Doctor gas ball floating there... Think it'd be like," his voices changes as he tries to mimic Porter after meeting him once. "Come on... Just a little bit more... Just push, just push." A pause. "I wonder if they have digistive tracks." The Demarian, for her part, continues to howl with laughter, the unnoticed pencils still in an unruly pile on the floor by her chair. Ace's head thunks on the table, unable to handle this charming description of Kamir sexual and birthing practices. "Hoop..." is all she can manage as she laughs against her folded arms. And Brandon continues on with his strange story of Kamir personal matters. "I reckon, if they're like farts... And the Kamir have got a digestive tract... It could be messy. Hell, they could follow through..." He's lost it, trailing off into laughter at his bad jokes. "And..." Nothing else. Swiftfoot, as well, is still lost in laughter, slumping ever lower in her chair. The drawing pad drops to the floor amid a flutter of paper and the sound of crinkling pages, landing atop the little pile of pencils and sending two or three of them skittering a few feet away. "Enough!" Ace waves a hand, her face still buried in the crook of her arm. "Right... Right," Brandon says, wiping a tear from his eye. "I'm finished... I'm sorry..." He snickers a little bit more, and then shakes his head. "That was completely over board." Swiftfoot's laughing jag finally trails off gradually, and she wipes tears away from her eyes with both paws. That done, she starts to gather her wayward art supplies. "How do you -think- of some of this stuff, chief? Serriously, I thought I was weirrd forr wonderring how Centaurrans rreprroduced, but that was just messed up." "There are so many places I simply do not wish to go," Ace says, regaining her composure, "That...that was simply not a place that never even occured to me existed." A rather cheeky, but roguish grin is given to the Ungstiri and the Demarian. "Think about it like this... You've got your normal ways of thinking... In the box. I like to just get rid of the box, gives me an advantage over people." He gives a slow nod to his own words. "You say something, I'll relate to it different. You could talk about steak, and I'd talk about leather. Same lines, different aspects of a cow." "Talk about having yourr own take on things," the felinoid says, chuckling and shaking her head. "That wasn't just out of left field. That was out of a completely differrent galaxy." Swiftfoot's ears flick in amusement, and she eyes her pencils critically for damage. "You do not simply think out of the box, Brandon," Ace says, rising to put on water for tea. "You stomp on the box a few times first, I think." "Why conform to the rest of society, which is inhabited by idiots and morons?" Brandon asks, as he watches Ace head towards the kitchen. The pistol is finally assembled, and the musician goes to do his check over it. Slide goes back quickly, followed by the whole testing being done quickly. "I prefer to be myself, if anyone doesn't like... Well, they can get over it." Swiftfoot yawns as she smooths out the pages of the drawing pad, then goes back to her sketching. "Y'know, I like the way you see the verrse. Makes me wish that not everryone was such a damn conforrmist." She stops to mull that over for a moment, her tail flicking absently. "But y'know, if nobody was a conforrmist, they'd still all be conforrmists anyway. Conforrming by non-conforrmity." She shrugs vaguely and goes back to drawing. Once more, another slow, contemplative nod comes from Brandon "You've just got to find yourself," he says to the Demarian. "Fuck what people think, and do it. Sure, you'll end up with conflicting points of view, but you've given yourself a little bit of freedom from the rat race." "Can get you into plenty of trouble, though," Ace shrugs. "What the rrat rrace needs is a few cats to shake things up," Swiftfoot quips, then chuckles, her whiskers bristling. She pauses to exchange her pencils again, putting away the flesh-toned ones and picking up several shades of grey. McDowell leans to oneside to retrieve a loaded magazine, and slams it home into the pistol. "Certainly does," he agrees with the Demarian. "But, I think I'm rostered to clean the lower section of the ship." The man then slips the pistol back into his holster, and then starts to clean away the cleaning equipment. "So I better get to it." In short order (perhaps a bit shorter than is natural), the water begins to boil and the kettle gives off a soft whistle. "Then again," she replies dryly, "I try my best to stay out of trouble and always seem to end up in over my head." "Have fun with that," Swiftfoot replies to Brandon, giving him an absent nod. Her ears shift toward the whistling kettle, and she quirks an eyeridge, then shakes her head. "Tell me about it," she mutters. "If it wasn't forr bad luck, we'd have no luck at all." No attention is given, but a grumble is made as Brandon makes his way towards the hatch to the upper corridor. He doesn't even wish people a good bye as he goes. "Ah, you know Ungstiri motto, da?" Ace raises an eyebrow, "Da svidaniya," she calls over to Brandon. Swiftfoot quirks an eyeridge. "Didn't know it was an Ungstiri motto," she says, chuckling. "Just worrds to live by. I trry to make my own luck, but whomeverr it is that distrributes the stuff is dead-set against me."
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