| abstract | - Docking Bay Within the vast space of the Junkyard's docking bay, carved from the hollowed hull of an ancient superfreighter derelict, floor-level landing platforms and gantries interweave to form an irregularly intricate framework capable of supporting starships of all sizes and shapes. Steel frameworks crisscross the missing side of the docking bay which allows ships to land and leave, aging containment field generators affixed to the chaotic arrangement of girders creating a flickering blue barrier between the bay and the vacuum outside. Floodlights haphazardly scattered throughout the environment, predominantly red-brown patches of rust and dully gleaming, battered hullmetal, cast alternating patterns of light and shadow through the gridwork catwalks which lead from the gantries and platforms to the airlocks which lead further in, to the Junkyard's largest section: Hermes' Landing. Kit disembarks from the IND Kamikaze. Ruin is seated on the Dragonfly's ramp, thoughtfully drinking from a mug of probably-coffee, staring blankly into space. Kit leans against the inner edge of the airlock as she waits for the hatch to slide aside, stifling a yawn before she is pushing away and heading down the ramp. Behind her follows a feline-like silhouette...a mechanoid being about the size of a dog, all of black but for stripes of green painted across muzzle and head. Ruin has barely a glance to spare for this...well, at least until he sees the felinoid. Eyes widening, he turns to thump the hatch behind him. "Cait!" ...well, it *sounds* like 'cat'. Almost. Mika has arrived. Mika disembarks from the IND Laughing Fox. Two pairs of eyes immediately turn toward him at the exclamation; one set a light brown, narrowed in annoyance, while the other set glows dully red; glassy optical sensors that are hooded briefly in a blink of metal shutters. "It is not a cat," Kit answers with the resigned grievance of someone who has oft-repeated the complaint. Indeed, the erstwhile Phyrrian taxer is of all the wrong proportions for the terran species - forelegs longer than the hind, wide bat-like ears, and a shape that hints at the species only in its effortless movements. Kit and Alpha have only just started to descend the Kamikaze's ramp, while Ruin had been seated upon the Dragonfly's. Hossomi has arrived. Hossomi disembarks from the IND Raider. The confusion becomes clear enough when out of the hatch steps...well...it *looks* like a Demarian kit. It's the right size for one, anyway, with bright green eyes and tuxedo coloring. But the way it goes from the fluid grace common to Demarians to a *complete* stop, with no swaying or loss of balance at all, and the complete stillness it's able to register as it studies Kit and her shadow unblinking, suggest that it might not be entirely what it seems. The language it addresses Ruin in is also nothing at all like Demarese; the tone holds a hint of question. Mika? Mika is slumped against the landing gear of the Laughing Fox, snoring like a hovertruck with serious transmission problems. This time, it is Kit who is left perplexed and staring as she eyes this newest entrant; gaze running with a frown of confusion between the kit-like being and Ruin. Her companion too eyes the pair upon the Dragonfly's ramp curiously for a moment before one ear swivels toward the stentorian snores and it turns its head to follow its direction. "Mother, it appears that Captain Tachyon is suffering from ventilation problems." Though its mouth does not move, the words - mild and electronic in tone - unmistakably eminate from it. The kitling offers a paw to Ruin, its body language reflecting uncertainty and concern. Ruin gets up, and offers the kitling his hand, murmuring something in that rather lyrical tongue. But he looks around the docking bay first, to see who might be watching - or, perhaps, alarmed. Satisfied, he nods. "Go ahead," he says, and the kitling's head bobs. Turning to face Kit and Ariel, the kitling's image...flickers. For a few seconds, it's not covered in fur *at all*. It's a skeletal form, intricately made but metal and wire through and through - the basic shape of that cub without in any way being flesh and blood. Then the image flickers again, and it's a fairly normal looking kitling again, its body language indicating it's expecting a negative reaction, and holding Ruin's hand. Hossomi returns, with a change of clothes, far more casual now. Unfortunately, once again, his attention is captured by his PDA. He seems unaware of any meeting between the AIs and their respective creators. "Sauce! Sauce. With th'... with th' grape jelly an' th'..." Mika rambles mid-snooze, shifting to scratch at her armpit in a most ladylike fashion. If she was awake? Well, she isn't anymore. "Adequate ventilation is the least of her problems," Kit answers distractedly as she blinks again, her weight rocking to one side as she considers the telling flicker in the kit's image, and pitches her voice across the distance between them, "Intriguing. I had considered a mobile platform for holoemitters before, but as I have far less interest in hardware than software, I was content with ship-based emitters rather than attempt to engineer an adequate frame. Is that your creation?" Alpha crouches upon the edge of the ramp to peer toward Mika, answering helpfully, "I believe we are out of peanut butter, Captain," before it leaps down toward the deck, landing with a light clash of metal upon metal before walking toward the Dragonfly, optics intent upon the kitling. Ruin walks with the kitling to the base of the ramp, holding its hand as he might any child's. The holoemitters certainly do a job of making the kitling seem closer to the true, as well, though it's watching Ariel with the same intensity as it is itself being observed. And it's not letting go of Ruin's hand, either, body language indicating nervousness. "This is Cait-Sidhe," says Ruin, and as it sounds like 'cat-shee', the earlier confusion may be clearer. "It's...not exactly the full Sidhe. It might be more accurate to say Cait is a tasker of the Sidhe. But the body allows the Sidhe to leave the ships, and...well, I'm hoping will eventually let Sidhe meet people without the hostility that Phyrrians usually get." He smiles a bit. "Yours calls you 'Mother'. I don't call Sidhe my son, but it wouldn't be inaccurate if I did." Hossomi looks up, then as his chin lifted, so does the pair of silver eyebrows. He watches. Aadzrian has arrived. Aadzrian disembarks from the IND Laughing Fox. If Alpha is trying to be helpful, perhaps Beta is, too. The second Tasker, its construction identical to that of its sister unit in every way, is visually differentiated by means of green paint-striping where Alpha has blue. Apparently, it had been lingering near the Fox, and now clanks over on metallic footpaws to nudge the snoozing, sleep-talking Mika with a hullsteel snout. "Dun want... dun want..." mumbles the rogue, twitching in response. "Want... want snuggle." Absolutely nothing about Beta's emotionless visage changes when Mika grabs it, dead asleep, for cuddles - but it's a pitiful sight nonetheless. Kit's expression takes on a decidedly pained shade at the mention of 'mother', sighing with exasperation and resignation both as her gaze falls upon Alpha - who is now settled upon its haunches just an arm's length away from Cait-Sidhe, head tilted as it scans the entity with various unseen sensors. "Yes, well...perhaps, as the moniker implies, I am not its sole creator, and cannot claim full responsibility for the conclusions it sometimes comes to. However, I am curious myself as to the experiment's results, and would rather not curb it overmuch. This is Alpha - one of four, which comprise Ariel Two, one of the iterations of my ship-based daemons. The daemons themselves, I do not usually encourage full sentience in, but Ariel Two is somewhat of a...special case." She half-turns, glancing back once more at the distinctive metallic clicks of another felinoid's approach, and then sighs as it is molested by the sleeping Mika. "And that would be Beta. Beta - wake her up before she embarrasses either of you further." "Ohhh no," Aadzrian disagrees as he comes striding off the Fox, catching the tail end of Kit's words. The Timonae's a bit laggardly yet in his movements, but by and large he looks noticeably better. His hobo-beard has been shaved, his damp hair's in a braid, and his shirtless condition displays that the angry red wound on his back is beginning to have mercy upon him. "No waked her up -yet-, I owe her." At this, Cait *does* blink - at least as part of a gesture of surprise, and now it's dividing its attention between Alpha and Beta. Ruin studies them curiously too. "Huh. I've been aiming for a gradual approach to sentience with Sidhe. I've been working on the AI since high school, whenever I had time and energy. The idea is data gathering as part of a growth toward sentience. I'm hoping this will help with the usual difficulties in understanding the differences inherent in organic sentience. Sidhe will outlive me by who knows how long. He needs to be able to adapt and learn without going totally Overmind about it." Hossomi looks between the assorted players, the thumb of his left hand hooking in his belt, still observant and quiet. Beta struggles to comply, really it does, but the more it wriggles and fusses the tighter Mika clings. "Captain," it's saying to a now-drooling Mika, "Captain. /Captain Tachyon./ Captain. Wake up, Captain." "Notta cap'n," Mika replies - but snores again immediately thereafter, her head lolling forward until she is nose-to-nose with the Tasker. Leodhais has arrived. Leodhais disembarks from the IND Dragonfly. Kit's gaze flicks toward Aadzrian at the interjection, and if anything, her look grows even more exasperated. "Must you two subject us to your foreplay and fetishes? All the AIs present would still be considered minors under any law that would acknowledge them," she adds dryly, before casting a more considering look upon Ruin and the cait. "Essentially recreating the biological route in the electronic? Interesting. I have considerably tighter time constraints, and an unexpected collaborator. Their initial logic trees were grown from heuristical algorithms designed for self-organization of data." Her mouth twitches, as her focus swings back toward Alpha, which is now tentatively offering an electronic 'handshake' to the kitling, testing its communications options. "Funny you should mention the Overmind. I suppose it would be their father. You wished to shield Cait-Sidhe from the stigma of the Phyrrians...well, Ariel Two *is* Phyrrian." "Oh, t'is is no sexy-time, no exactly. Jus' a bit of fun pay-back. Shhhh, let her sleep," Aadzrian tells everyone firmly, turning to slip back into the Fox for just a moment. When he appears once more, he's carrying a half-full bottle of something amber brown and probably alcoholic. The Timonae meanders over to Mika's side, opening that bottle and taking a deep drink until only about a fourth is left. This he pours out on the docking bay floor near the prone rogue, setting the now empty bottle -just- out of her reach. Pulling out a piece of paper and a pen from a pocket, the Timonae starts writing. "I has a -plan- here." Hossomi's PDA blinks, and he looks down at it, muttering. He withdraws. Hossomi boards the IND Raider. Hossomi has left. Kit stands on the bottom of the Kamikaze's ramp, while Ruin - leading what seems to be a black and white Demarian kitling by the paw - stands nearby. Two felinoid robots are also on-scene - strangely proportioned, matte-black beings; one with blue stripes across muzzle and forehead eyeing the kitling while it sits next to it, and the other with green stripes trying to escape the amorous embrace of a snoozing Mika by one of the Fox's landing struts. Leodhais appears at the door of the dragonfly, squints down the ramp, grouses quietly to himself, and then puts on his goldrimmed glasses. Ahh, he can see. "The Junkyard, huh?" he mutters to himself, and stalks down the ramp, not unlike a cat on the prowl. "Good...whatever time of day it is," he says with a bit of a bow. He quirks a brow at the various feline-types about. "I'm usually the only one," he says to no one in particular. "This," Beta informs Aadzrian neutrally, paws slung awkwardly over Mika's snug forearm, "is highly inconvenient. It would be far more efficient to simply wake her, though I do advise against anything which would cause undue startlement. Captain Tachyon is a notoriously heavy sleeper when she deigns to sleep at all, and is high-strung regardless of conscious or unconscious state." Ruin smiles. "I've talked to the Overmind. I and my crewmates arranged the circumstances for the cease-fire." He calls to Ariel-Two, "Do you know the name Rathenhope, by any chance?" Returning his attention to Kit, "Sentience has always been my goal with the Sidhe. I guess from a fairly childish beginning...I was always alone in school, and someone once told me I'd never have any friends unless I built them myself. I was young enough to take it as a good idea...and then I kept up with it because it became fascinating." He looks down at his nervous 'kitling'. "It's all right," he quietly reassures. Cait's head bobs, though first it has to consider the logic problem at hand - if Ruin's holding the handshaking paw, do you let go papa's hand to handshake, or do you handshake with the off-paw? Tail twitching, its ears tilt back just slightly as it opts to let go papa's hand long enough to be polite; once the decision is made, although the emotional indicators remain at 'nervous', it shakes hands with a little bow. "Cait Sidhe. Pleased tae meet ye, serr," it says, in a voice pitched for the size and appearance of its frame. It sounds rather like a Demarian kit, in other words - if the Demarian kit had learned Standard from a shipper in West Enaj. "You can wake her sooon," Aadzrian promises cheerily. He bends down and tucks the paper into Mika's nearest pocket- very very lightly, just enough so that it'll stay. And then oddly enough? He reaches up to his goatee, plucking out quite a few of its short, curly silvery hairs. Bending over, taking advantage of a Timonae's manual dexterity, the grinning man attempts to tuck one of those hairs into the corner of the sleeping rogue's lips. The rest are scattered down her front, and he starts beating a swift retreat for the Fox. "Soon as I get in-side! Waked her up." Mika's nose twitches, animal magnetism dimly alerting her to the presence of another, but it's hardly enough to wake the slumbering rogue. Beta, however, who needs no sleep, merely regards Aadzrian levelly. "Juvenile," it reprimands in tones whose origins simply beg no question. Kit's eyes narrow speculatively at the revelation. "Were you? Congratulations," she offers with a wry twitch of her mouth. "Considering your aspirations, then, it seems you would have more to discuss with the Overmind than simply political negotiations." Reminded of the developing situation on the ramp's other side by Beta's analysis, she frowns for a moment at Aadzrian's actions before a sort of horrified understanding overtakes her and she wipes a hand over her face with a groan. "Beta, make sure you are far away when Mika reads that note..." Alpha leans back a little to consider the kitling with interest, both ears now fully focused upon it, metallic tail twitching against the deck with light clinks. "Good evening. I am designated Alpha. You are neither biological, nor Phyrrian - what are you?" Leodhais pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and eyes all the cat-types. So many cats. He straightens up and tries to look...taller. Hrmph. "Sooo juvenile," Aadzrian happily sing-songs, slipping away into the Fox's hatch out of sight... for now. Aadzrian boards the IND Laughing Fox. Aadzrian has left. Hossomi has arrived. Hossomi disembarks from the IND Raider. Ruin laughs quietly as his little husband comes into view, and - both hands being for the moment free - puts them to use roping the puffed up Sivadian in for a hug. "Hey, you. Can I direct your ego downwards? Cait's trying to make friends." Cait, for its part, purrs audibly at the hug, stance relaxing a bit as its mood indicators shift toward curiosity. "I'm th' Sidhe, serr," it offers, a bit puzzled. "Orrrganics hae' human an' Demarrian an' Castorrri an' Yoescu an' Centauran...all differrrent, all orrrganic. I'm thinkin' maybe me an' yerrrself arre like that? I'm no' parrt o' th' Overrrmind, but I dinnae ken why we shouldnae be frrriends..." It lets that trail off, a not quite question, not quite observation. The fairly adult response is balanced by the worried look it directs toward Ruin - very much, 'that was right, right?' "This unit would very much like to comply, Mother," Beta responds to the cyberwitch, strangely giving off the impression of complete and total desperation. It must be the flattened ears. Kit pays a last glance toward Alpha and Cait-Sidhe - a brow arching when Leodhais joins them - before sighing and trudging the rest of the way off the ramp to deal with the developing tragedy. Positioning herself behind the slumbering woman, she fills her lungs before toeing the rogue roughly in the middle of the back while hollering down at her, "Mika! I crashed the Kamikaze!" Hossomi wanders back off the Raider, scratching at wet hair. "I have no evidence yet that we cannot be allied," Alpha agrees in its own way, snout lifting for a moment as it takes in the newest arrival before refocusing upon Cait. "And you may refer to me by my designation rather than the honorific. Why are you speaking with a non-standard accent? Is it related to your purpose?" Leodhais of course accepts the hug and is rather purry himself. "Oh...well, I suppose," he agrees reluctantly at Ruin's request. "What do I need to do?" There's a drastic change in his accent. "Dae ah need tae spick like Cait 'ere?" Cait answers this one rather more readily - something previously discussed elsewhere, perhaps. "Crrruithearr hae told me that I cannae blend in too perrrfectly," it says. "I should blend in verra weel, but no' perrrfectly. That way if I make a mistake, it doesnae starrrtle th' orrrganic people too much - they alrrready hae a ...frrrame-o-rrreferrrence for the differrrences." It bobs its head. "So I look like a kit, cos th' Crrruithearrr likes Demarrians, but I dinnae talk quite like 'em, so I'm differrent too." Ruin is delighted to hug Leodhais, at least until Leodhais lets his enunciation slip. "No. You behave," he says quietly. "We just play supportive parents until Cait's sure everything's okay. It's not like they're that much crazier than we are." Two things happen in rapid succession, following Kit's boot to Mika's back. One, the piratical spacer lurches forward with a sharp bark of pain, which only compounds into an awkward grunt when her nose promptly clangs into Beta's face. The Tasker, taking advantage of the situation, scrabbles out of the rogue's stranglehold - managing to kick her in the stomach, next, utterly knocking the air from her lungs with an apology thrown over its shoulder as it bounds out of easy reach. Second, she is spluttering and wiping her mouth. "Wot th' Christ?" she wonders with a grimace, alternately scrubbing hairs from a lolled tongue and stifling a bleeding nose. "Goddamnit, Kittianna!" Leodhais boards the IND Dragonfly. Leodhais has left. Hossomi winces at Mika's display, finally moving to join the three organics and their assortment of AI escorts. Even Kit winces at the meeting of fleshy nose with metal one, skipping back hastily just as Beta flees in the other direction. "Not all of that is my fault," she points out, as close to a back-handed apology as she will ever get where Mika is concerned. "Aadzrian left you a love-note." "I see. An intriguing strategy. What do you hope to gain from 'blending in'? Are you collecting data on the gullibility of biologicals or the necessary steps for camouflaging oneself in a biological society?" Alpha muses, one ear swiveling toward the clangor and eventually head swinging that way too as it watches the happenings curiously. Ruin winces as well, and - seeing the change of atmosphere - turns to head back into his ship, following Leodhais. "Cait, come along please. You'll probably get to talk to Alpha and Beta again soon." As the kitling bows quickly and bounds back up the ramp after its maker, Ruin turns and adds to Kit, "He's ...I think you said 'ship's daemon'? That's accurate enough. Sidhe monitors the ship-cameras, so if your four want to chat, Sidhe will know well enough and be able to answer." And then - up and into the ship he goes. Ruin boards the IND Dragonfly. Ruin has left. Mika pinches her nose, head tipping back. "Wot th' Christ does /'e/ want? I didn't-- /bollocks,/ wot's with all th' 'air in me blinkin' yap?" Again, she's spitting, ragged dishpan nails plucking thin and frighteningly curly strands from her mouth and flicking them aside disgustedly. She stoppers the flow of blood with her kevlar-socked forefinger, sniffing wetly and peering around. "There's booze e'erywhere. Did I miss somethin'?" Hossomi is pulling a slim cigarette from a rumpled pack of smokes, placing it in his mouth, but not yet lighting up. He mumbles around the object. "He felt you had wronged him, I assumed, or couldn't pass up the opportunity to waste his liquor. He did leave a note for you, as Kit said though." Kit grimaces, casting a long-suffering look toward the Fox's cockpit before opining while backing away, "I believe the note should explain things adequately..." she says at about the same time as Hossomi's interjection, and she blinks at the Timonae's appearance before giving him a nod of greeting. "Hossomi." Alpha and Beta, meanwhile, have convened in their own little party, the twin taskers seated in near-identical poses; watching while they communicate their most recent experiences in far more efficient, electronic fashions. Mika glowers at both of them, the kind of look that murders small children while they sleep, but does not remove her gloved hand from its careful cover of her now woefully wounded sniffer. Instead, her right hand, her off hand, gropes around a little clumsily for the indicated note - and flesh brushes the familiar feel of paper in her pocket. She pulls it out and reads, squinting narrowly. That little square of paper Mika's holding? It reads, in an incredibly neat and precise handwriting: "Do no care how much you drinked, that was best blowjob have ever had. Call me, babe." Underneath the words is scrawled a PDA address... one that is probably horrifyingly familiar to the diminutive rogue. Hossomi shrugs at Kit, "Hello, Love. Sorry again about yesterday." Mika's moment, and her note, is still a mystery to him yet it would seem. "Saw that you were speaking with Ruin Pia. Warming up to the general populace, business, or similiar interest?" Kit arches one brow with a wryly inquisitive look as she is reminded of his previously denuded state. "Care to explain how that came about?" she asks, before the rest of his comments has her glancing toward the Dragonfly. "Ruin Pia? Another AI developer, apparently, who decided on different techniques of development." As the paper rustles and unfolds, her attention snaps back toward Mika, and she unconsciously braces herself while waiting for the rogue's reaction. "Beta, Alpha, I hope one of you is recording this..." "Fuck Ruin Pia," Mika spits out, making rare use of a more common Standard invective in her growing bafflement and alarm. "An' fuck /Aadzrian Axbovi JEEZUS CHRIST!"/ Now we cue the dry-heaving; the rogue swears vehemently and animatedly, a fountain of colorful and creative obscenities as she hacks and spits onto the pavement. "It involved me being careless, and lucky, all in one. Maybe I'll tell you one day." Hossomi responds, "I..." He trails off at Mikamatics, licking dry lips. "I'd ask if she'd be okay, but I am sure that this spell is only temporary." He kneels down, and goes to pull the letter from Mika while she's distracted. If successful, there is a dispassionate oratation of Aadzrian's compliments. "Even if she were not, I believe she wholly deserves it," Kit drawls, watching the scene with only a single snort as commentary before Hossomi's recital prompts her to look up at the Fox's cockpit once more. "Care to come down and enjoy the spoils of your work? Not to mention clean up your mess," she calls up. A familiar voice drawls sleepily from the Fox's cockpit, "No way, she wore me out. Sucked me damn dry. I gotta getting some rest." Mika, meanwhile, is in no position to cling to any notes or resist Hossomi, still cursing and carrying on. "I cannot find any matches for that particular expletive in our databanks," Alpha tells Beta, canting its head toward the green-striped unit. Beta bobs its snout. "Nor I, Alpha. Updating lexicon." Hossomi swings his gaze to the two conversing robots, nose wrinkling, rolling the paper up into a ball. Then he tosses the debris up at the cockpit of the Fox. "I do not know why it is you are making such a fuss of this. I somehow doubt that his penis is the most revolting thing ever to find home in that cess pit you call an oral cavity." A sputtering snort escapes Kit as, unable to address any of the contributions by those present, she covers her face with a hand. "I have a sudden urge to rinse out my mouth...not to mention my mind..." she groans after a moment, finally venturing forward to drag Mika up by an arm if her flailings die down. "Or, better yet, someone else's mouth and mind..." "Any time you get lonely, Mika... am up for round two!" Aadzrian sounds so very cheerful, though perhaps that's understandable. "But now, whew, asleeping. T'anks for te good time, babe." Even as Kit is hauling her awkwardly to her feet, Mika is hurling taunts and threats and worse in every language between Milky Way and Nexus, and several trade dialects to boot - if nothing else, the woman has learned to offend in every tongue under every known sun. Such is the talent of Mika Tachyon. "I swear ta Jeezus Christ 'imself, Aadzrian! This 'ad better be a bloody joke! I'm not kiddin'!" Hossomi watches with blank amusement, but manages to say nothing further. At least just yet. Kit rolls her eyes, bracing herself against the rogue's unsteady stance and energetic vituperations. "You are only encouraging him to entertain future permutations of the same," she reminds exasperatedly, shoving Mika toward the Kamikaze's ramp. Kit might have a tough time getting a handhold on Mika, whose wild jerky movements are now more or less directed at grabbing her flask and flushing her mouth out with a massive and aggressive swig of hooch. Which, by the way, she promptly spits out. Watch your step. Still, shoving her along is no problem. "I don't see /you/ divin' fer /'is/ crotch, crazyass," she snarls Kit's way, breath reeking of cognac. "Since we're on that topic, I wouldn't resist." Hossomi can be heard commenting. Kit's nose wrinkles in disgust, leaning distinctly away from the fumes following Mika's words. "And thus, you do not see me in the same position as yourself, now," she snips back, casting Hossomi a long-suffering look for his addition before gesturing commandingly, "For that, *you* get to lead her in while I prepare an ice pack for her nose." "I've already got a dead 'and!" Mika is complaining as she stumbles up the ramp, oblivious to the role of caretaker being shifted around. "I don't need a dead blinkin' /nose,/ too! Bollocks Kittianna, yer stupid shockbot did that /on purpose!"/ "Fallacious!" comes a faint call from the direction of the Fox. Hossomi rubs at the back of his neck, glancing briefly toward the Raider. Perhaps he is hoping for a rescue. Whatever the case, it is only a second before he moves to join the two women heading for their ship. "Perhaps it is your own stupidity - notice that you are the only one with the dead hand and nose," Kit retorts without mercy, preceding them up the ramp, all too happy to put some distance between herself and Mika. "And I *could* have had Beta apply the said shock you continuously accuse them of to wake you instead." "No ye /couldn'ta,"/ Mika fires back with all the nasally petulance of a spoiled six-year-old who just got popped for running his mouth, "we weren't onna /ship."/ Her eyes narrow even harder at the other woman, just for an instant, and then she's trudging up the ramp and into the airlock - but not before a barbed, /"stupid."/ "She doesn't mean that," Hossomi assures Kit as he too slips into the violet ship. "I'm sure she admires your restraint." Kit simply snorts, not deigning to either address Mika's illogical tactics nor Hossomi's platitude directly except to remind, "Except that we are all on a ship *now*...one with a freshly installed Ariel." Kit boards the IND Kamikaze. You head into Mid Bay . Mid Bay Soft light drifts down from coves recessed into the ceiling of this spacious bay, which stretches between the ship's cockpit and its aft compartments. This is the general quarters of the little runabout, a small living space economized ingeniously with furniture and surfaces configured to serve under a variety of local gravity conditions. Cozy bunk modules are set into the wall, two portside and two starboard, providing sleeping room for four. More sleeping options present themselves in a number of mismatched but pleasantly overstuffed chairs, five in all, which crowd a dinged-up card table bolted to the floor before the crew's holoviewer. Sliding stainless steel door panels mounted into the forward bulkhead conceal a built-in efficiency galley, complete with a small sink, refrigerator, micro-oven, and sanitizer, while a modestly-equipped hygiene unit is located to the aft. Here, the sturdy diamond-gridded deckplates give way to thick muted-blue carpeting, lending a certain hominess which is only enhanced by long, wide portals granting views outside the starship. They allow one to look up through the ship's dorsal surface, or to the port and starboard from each of the individual bunkspaces. Forward, a circular hatchway upon which a jackal's head is defined in black and red paint provides access to the cockpit, while aft a heavier hatch bearing an identical design leads back into the corridor. Mika stomps through the aft corridors and into the ship's living quarters, slipping through the hatchway the second its widening gap is large enough for her to slide easily through. And, without a word, she arrows for the refresher, whose door is not slammed simply by merit of being sensor-activated. It quietly swishes shut behind her, whisper-soft, but the sound of running water and the angry mutterings emanating from the tiny compartment more than make up for it. Hossomi is less aggressive, walking into the room a few seconds behind Mika. "Nice place." Kit doesn't even bother rolling her eyes at Mika's single-minded stalk to the 'fresher - simply huffing in relief as the door finally closes upon the rogue's mouth. "It is comfortable," she agrees, heading to the fridge to collect some ice into a towel before leaving it in the freezer for Mika's eventual re-emergence. "Tea? Hot chocolate? Anything harder, you can raid Mika's bunk for." "No, tea is fine, thank you." Hossomi responds, grimacing at the mention of hard liquor. He moves in front of the painting, cocking his head in a birdlike inspection of the artwork. Grumble, swear, mutter, rattle, crash, slam... Epsilon has posted itself immediately before the hatch, the red-striped Tasker having lowered onto his haunches to watch the closed door with interest. "Captain Tachyon," it informs, "It would be the pleasure of this unit to serenade you with soft jazz music. The most recent release from 'Starshine Trio' has been met with favorable reviews on public forums. I understand it is quite soothing. Shall I play a track for you?" "A Timonae painted that, I believe," Kit explains when she notices the focus of Hossomi's attention in between setting water to boil while retrieving the materials for tea and hot chocolate. "He was mad and eventually killed himself." Delivered as mildly as if relating the artist's physical stats and favorite foods. Epsilon's offering engenders a far different response - she halts in mid-motion, one teabag still dangling from a hand and the other pinching a half-torn packet as she turns to stare aghast at the tasker. "Where in the stars did you pick up *that* behavior from?" she demands. "Mmm, mad? Why did he kill himself? His artistic soul felt contained in this universe?" Hossomi responds, studying the artistic chaos for a second longer before Kit's question draws a bemused snort, turning to face her before following the gaze to Epsilon. Though Epsilon does not seem to recognize that it is being addressed and not Hossomi, the answer comes soon enough. When Mika does not respond to the question, the felinoid simply cues the music: silky saxophone layered smooth as butter over the melodic notes of keyboard accompaniment and a rich raspy tenor.
* WHAM!* goes Mika's fist - or something - over the keyboard. "This unit cannot hear you over the soothing jazz, Captain Tachyon!" reports Epsilon tonelessly. "Please clarify: did you request this unit to perform its own accompanying vocals?"
* WHAM!*... and ranting drowned out by an abrupt rise in the music's volume. "Yes? Confirm: /yes,/ Captain Tachyon? Understood!" Kit's expression goes through several shades of shock and bemusement as she witnesses the scene before a single, half-hysterical laugh escapes her - and then abruptly cuts off as she sobers, as if the sound had startled her just as much as the thought which then occurs to her. "Is Epsilon really that devious?" she asides to Hossomi. Hossomi stares, just a little, shaking his head to clear away his wonder. "So it would appear. You know it better then I do. Though, it certainly seems to me that they have taken on.. life of thier own. Individual quirks. Do you need some help with the tea?" Epsilon may be devious, but aristocratic articulation, a lack of soul, and a non-existant range of emotions do not a great jazz singer make. But perhaps that is entirely the point. Volume at eleven, the Tasker rhythmically intones over the music, /"Someone said, oh-oh-oh, take a look at that lady! Somebody said ah-ah-ah, why how do you do! Somebody said gee but she is a wonderful lady, too good to be true, too good to be true, too good to be true!"/ Kit simply stares, dumbfounded, at the yodeling Phyrrian; almost completely missing Hossomi's offer before she mutely extends the tea packet in his general direction, not quite able to take her eyes off the train-wreck that is a performing tasker whom she has the dubious honor of being called mother of. "Uhm...yes, yes, I think I need some help...immediately..." she mumbles distractedly. Hossomi takes the tea packet, with dubious grace. "Do not worry about it. I think I can manage it on my own. I know you are distracted with your creature." He brushes past her, heading for the kitchen. "Are you soothed yet, Captain Tachyon? This unit has additional access to--" A yellow-striped black streak suddenly barrels like a torpedo into the mischievous Epsilon, cutting the red-striped Ariel's trasmission with a confused sputter of static. What momentum Sigma has, too; it and its sister unit roll head over tail in a tangle of limb and claw, a scuffle that ultimately ends with the silent Tasker pinning its rambunctious twin to the carpet and baring its teeth ferally. Kit registers Hossomi's passing with a distracted glance and nod, gaze inevitably straying back toward Epsilon when the tasker begins offering to regale Mika with something else...only to start in spite of herself when Sigma cannons into its twin in a terrifying clash and screech of metal. She betrays herself with a wince and a hand pressed over her mouth - anxious over their wellbeing as she never admits to - before reason catches up and she snorts at the antics which sorts out. "They are not yet two years old, and showing every bit of their age," she huffs, covering another laugh with exasperation as she finally concentrates on finishing the beverages. Hossomi has disconnected. Almost immediately, the hatch cracks open wide enough for Mika to stick her head through, a damp and red-splotched towel pinched over her nose. "Please tell me that soun' was somebody shootin' that noisy mucker," she remarks, sweeping green eyes around until all parties are located. "No. Just the kids having their fun," Kit deadpans, having managed to regain full control over her expression in the meantime. The ice-pack, retrieved as soon as she had heard the 'fresher door open, is lobbed Mika's way without warning - if the rogue isn't paying attention, she might have another bruise to nurse soon. But the icepack never makes it to Mika. Epsilon, having escaped the clutches of its silent sister, intercepts with a powerful leap and a well-timed snap of jaw, landing gracefully on all fours and swivelling its head between cyberwitch and rogue. "This unit must regretfully inform you, Mother, Captain, that the time is now playtime," it announces through unseen speakers. Sigma says nothing, but merely chases after the other Phyrrian, who bounds away clutching the icepack like a prize. They duck and dive beneath tables, roll behind furniture, and dart beneath beds in a frenzied game of tag. "Wot th' Christ is goin' on?" asks a bewildered Mika of the AI's creator. Kit has no answer, standing stock still with both hands full; a steaming mug in each. "Regretfully inform...playtime?" she echoes bewilderedly, looking not a little lost; as if she had stepped sideways somewhere into another dimension where the logical rules of the universe have somehow inverted themselves. "Mika, am I hallucinating aga-careful, that painting's not bolted down like the rest of the furniture!" she calls out when the flurry of metal limbs and tails go sailing perilously close to the frame where it hangs upon a bulkhead. Mother in truth she may not be, but she is putting up a fairly good imitation right now with her dazed and harried remonstration. Nothing if not perpetually equipped for the strangeness of the universe, Mika retrieves her flask from her breast pocket and upends quite more than the standard two-finger salute into both mugs of tea. That's quite enough for her to negotiate this bizarre turn of events, and she takes her mug and leans quite calmly against the counter, shifting the fall of the bloodied rag to sample to spiked drink. Sigma, meanwhile, is dragging Epsilon out from beneath one of the spare bunks by the tail. It might look painful, and the red-painted mechanoid is desperately trying to escape, but no cries of anguish are forthcoming; Epsilon responds the way an organic creature might wish to in these situations, spurting a half-second's worth of thrust from the jets in its hind paws to propel itself free before springing nimbly to perch upon a high shelf where its sister cannot reach. Sigma crouches, tailtip twitching in anticipation. Epsilon cannot stay up there forever. Kit numbly releases the mug into Mika's care while she continues staring at the bizarre scene of two Phyrrian taskers playing, before Epsilon's ingenious method of escape draws a startled laugh from her and then a prompt burial of her nose in the remaining mug while she gulps down a large swallow; barely managing to keep herself from choking while her shoulders shake. "This is pointless and futile gesture on your part. I am not coming down from here. You may wait there until your joints rust, Sigma," Epsilon tells the other Tasker, regarding it steadily. "If you and Alpha are so eager to conduct this particular experiment, you may do so in the cargo hold. I do not wish to be a part of it. You have ruined my attempts to soothe Captain Tachyon with what I understand are the sensual lyrical stylings of one Big Daddy Fatts, and now you threaten to destroy property. I will not endorse it." With that, it tosses his head, apparently quite done with the entire episode. ... Until Sigma turns to lope away, that is, and then Epsilon is sailing through the air to practically ride its back and aggress its neck joints with metal teeth. Kit sputters in truth this time, choking on her latest mouthful at the ear-raking screech of sharpened metal upon metal. Coughing raggedly, she decides enough is enough as she wades in. "I do *not* wish to find out how long it takes to sand out teethmarks from hullsteel. Just how do Phyrrians run maintenance anyway, if you are not able to return to the Overmind...?" she asks, trying to snag Epsilon's lashing tail and give it a good tug to gain its attention. So single-minded in attackmode is the combat tasker that it blindly responds to Kit's intervention the way it would respond to any other assailant in the heat of battle: by whipping its head around and sinking its teeth into the soft flesh of her hand, provided she does not react in time. Regardless of whether she does or not, both Phyrrians immediately disengage and shrink away, silent, and unquestionably aware of what exactly just happened. Tailored reflexes or not, it is questionable if Kit would have been able to out-react a Phyrrian even if she had been fully prepared. A startled hiss, and she snatches her hand back, blood spattering the deck in a short arc with the motion. Other hand clamped tight around the wrist, she is already eyeing the welling lacerations, assessing the damage critically. "I suppose I am lucky to still have a hand," she muses, voice and expression tight. "That was both unfortunate and unintentional," Epsilon assures her immediately, recoiling from the sight with ears folded in a classic show of felinesque shame. Sigma, likewise, keeps itself low to the ground, hunched over with head ducked. "Beta is en route to medbay. We did not anticipate this outcome. It was an accident." While the robocat rattles off its laundry list of apologetic noises, Mika was sucking air through teeth, visibly cringing - though now she simply shakes her head and whistles low. "We can be bloody t'gether, Kittianna," she kids, setting her cup down and crouching to dig around in the cabinet below the sanitizing unit. She comes up with a first aid kit. Kit eyes the two cowering Phyrrians for a heartbeat. "Well. I suppose I deserved that, though I would suggest you make some refinements to your threat-assessment loops and their timings." Turning toward Mika when the woman fishes out the kit, she snorts as she holds the damaged hand over the sink to let it drip there while fishing out clean kitchen towels. "Thank you, no, I would rather not accidentally establish some juvenile gang-symbol or ship dress code with the one-handed gloves. Epsilon, where have your teeth been and have they ever been cleaned?" she asks, only half-joking as she dabs away the worst of the blood to check the damage - ragged punctures across palm and back, though the tendons seem safe as she tests each finger's movement with pinched lips. Epsilon approaches Kit like a rookie bomb-squadder might approach its first live explosive. "Risk of exposure to potentially harmful organic components will be at a minimum, Mother," it replies. "Captain Tachyon has been performing routine maintenance on a bi-weekly basis since our initial arrival on Junkyard. Her regimen has included full sterilization so as to minimize the chance of rust or mold accumulation." Mika glares back at the creature, a bloody bandelera with a busted nose and half-obscured face. "I toldja ta keep yer blinkin' yap shut 'bout that, loudmouth," she reminds acidly. "And we have told /you/ about specific conflicts regarding our prime directives, Captain." "She has?" Kit blinks, pausing as she is fishing through the kit for some sterilizing pads or alcohol and turning an arched brow upon Mika. "You have?" she queries interestedly, before she finally gets a full, undistracted view of the woman's own wounds from the evening; and abruptly smirks. "It seems Ariel has managed quite a bit of unintentional damage tonight. That looks like it smarts." "No," Mika retorts, immediately snatching up her mug and drowning any embarrassing revelations with a sip of spiked tea. "They're lyin', an' shut yer noisy cocksucker. Nothin' bloody 'urts me at all anytime e'er." Despite that, she flinches when the lip of the cup bumps the tip over her nose. "Ow." Kit's smirk only widens before she refocuses on her hand, finally locating a small bottle of antiseptic. "Epsilon, I suggest you find that ice pack if it has not already melted away and return it to Aunty Mika," she not-quite sing-songs, flipping the bottle's spout open and pouring a small trickle over each puncture wound. Even with her tweaked biology, her shoulders are tight and gaze distracted while she lets it set for a moment before shaking the hand out and rinsing it off as best she can. Mika rounds a mortified stare upon Kit that completes a full circuit through wordless protest and slack-jawed, hooked-trout before she turns it upon the retreating Epsilon. "Yes, Mother. Aunty Mika's continued welfare is priority," it is saying, peering back at the rogue and meeting her gaze with glowing red opticals. "Reference updated. Cross-referencing complete. Preferred mode of address changed. Forwarding... complete." Kit is forced to lean her elbows against the counter's edge, head hanging between her shoulders, shaking while her mangled hand continues to drip into the sink...pain of a different sort, from the choked sniggers trying to escape. "Marvelous...absolutely, splendidly marvelous," she gasps. "One big happy family. I would perish happily now...except I would miss all the future references...to Aunty Mika..." Meanwhile, Mika is ranting. "I like ta think I'm a right bloody decent person, y'know, all th' lootin' an' stealin' an' 'ccasional armed robb'ry 'side," she rambles agitatedly. "Y'know? I mean, I go outta me way fer 'lotta me mates an' e'en blokes wot's not /e'en/ me bloody mates, an' /this/ is 'xactly th' kinda piss-stained, dog-shaggin', Nall-spawn Nexus-cursed blinkin' /bullshit/ I bloody get in thanks. A goddamned Timmieboy fucks with me 'ead an' /maybe/ e'en fucked with me jolly ol' mouth, one psychocat prolly bloody breaks me jolly ol' nose, an' goddamned /virtuoso/ o'er 'ere," -- she narrows her gaze at Epsilon, who conveniently ducks under Kit's bed to retrieve the icepack -- "bloody teases me like it's 'is goddamned bloody /job/ an' then at th' end o' th' day I got yer schizophrenic ass ta deal with! "So ye know wot? I'm done. /You/ can go ta 'ell, an' bloody burn there with th' thrice-damned devil 'imself 'ilt-deep in that flytrap yer callin' bloody /ladyparts,/ an' you," -- Epsilon, again, who approaches with all the affected innocence of the obedient servant merely fetching his master's belongings -- "are gettin' th' pressure-'ose nex' time we check ye up. Ye 'ear me? /Pressure-'ose./ I won't be goddamned sat'sfied wot 'til I see bolts flyin' off yer ugly metal 'ide." "Mercy..." Kit croaks at the end of all this, having sunk down until her forehead too is pressed against the counter edge. "I think...I will either asphyxiate...or bleed to death...if you continue for much longer..." Repentant? Never. Mika's mug comes down with a precise *click* of ceramic on stainless steel, then she's bracing her hand against the edge of the counter to lean down and squint into the cyberwitch's reddening face. "Good!" she pops off. "Good! That's bloody stellar! That woul' be th' /firs'/ good thing wot's 'appened ta me t'day! Woul' ye like me ta sock a blinkin' bag over yer 'ead? Smother ye with a pillow? Really, Kittianna, jus' /say th' goddamned word/ an' I'll be more than bloody 'appy wot t' 'elp ye 'long!" Epsilon deposits its bundle at the feet of the diminutive spacer, sitting back on its haunches. "Your icepack, Aunty," it offers mildly. That does it. Epsilon's concluding remark draws a genuine guffaw from Kit before she sinks ignominiously down to sit directly upon the deck; leaning against the cabinet behind her while with the towel wrapped clumsily around her injured hand - eyes closed and clean hand slapped over her face. "I think I am dizzy..." "Oh, bugger ye /both,"/ Mika snaps, slamming down her rag to free up her right hand, which quickly and methodically strips the glove from her clawlike left so she may whip it at Kit. "There. Ye might /need/ that," she snarks, reaching down to scoop up the pack of ice with scabby, gnarled fingers and stalk sulkily for one of the chairs near the holo.
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