[Trius Orbit] Welcome to the Star Jam (Invite Only)

If Canza had a witty rejoinder, she didn't say it. She just stared off at Lyra, a little uncomfortably. Yet another Negative Nancy with the crew, huh? Beggars couldn't be choosers, she supposed.

Raemen, on the other hand, had plenty more to say. He leaned back into his space to give Lyra room, as little as there was to give. There was a semblance of a grin on the alien's features... but it wasn't a friendly sort of grin. It was the kind of grin she knew from the Ravagers. "Do you always have that attitude about new opportunity? It would certainly explain how you ended up on a heap like Trius. If you want to be treated like a dog, you need but ask."



Canza narrowed her eyes, but much more evident about the shuttle was Warlock's reaction. His head gyrated one hundred eighty degrees, so that his wild features were locked with Raemen's, and to an extent Lyra's as well. "VEGASELF IS NOT A DOG. SELF DOES NOT KNOW WHAT A DOG IS, BUT SELF KNOWS THAT VEGASELF IS VEGASELF. VEGASELF IS BRAVE, RECKLESS, AND HAS A SENSE OF FASHION."

Raemen blinked. It was all Canza could do not to crack up. Warlock continued to focus its attention on Raemen, who remained dumbfounded. "IS THIS ALSO A DOG?" He feverishly slammed tapped the glass as he gestured in the direction of the ship ahead that was looming larger and larger. "STARJAMMERSELF IS A VERY BIG DOG. IT MUST HAVE GREAT OWNERS."

Relenting, Raemen turned away, further tucking his arms into his chest with a sneer. He hadn't gotten along with Warlock on Trius, and the creature continued to confound him here. That probably wasn't going to change.

Warlock's head bounced up and doown in understanding, not understanding at all. His cartoonish glee remained fixed, like it was stuck in a feedback loop of euphoria. The remainder of the transit went without incident, its ending marked by the dull groan and ramshackle hiss of the shuttle docking with the ship that was, in fact, not a dog. Warlock, on the other hand, could barely contain his excitement. He quickly shifted from the window to the exit door, all but slamming his foot on the ground in excitement. When the door finally slid open, Warlock sprung... provided, of course, that Lyra did not stop him. If she didn't, he would run headlong into a very large, very obvious green obstacle.



The green obstacle was towering, much larger and wider than even Warlock. It was difficult to place exactly what he was, though webbed ears and gill-like hide offered a few ideas. He wore nothing but a pair of black boxers and a single gold earring. From how he was wearing the boxers, they did not appear to be his... or his size. He stared down at everyone in the shuttle, nodding with each register. When he was finished, the stranger looked between Lyra and Warlock. When he spoke, it was a deep baritone.

"You are Vega and Warlock, yes?"

When Lyra reached out to grab Warlock, albeit too little too late, the surface her hand met was indeed metal... to a point. The feeling was cold and industrial, though it clearly reacted and stretched like it was skin. Warlock made no notice, too enthralled by the new friend that had appeared, and so largely at that. Warlock scrambled to his feet, already trying to clamber over the green alien like a massive dog. To his credit, the fish-like individual did not flinch for an instant, allowing Warlock to move as he did. It did not amount to much, though Warlock made a series of incomprehensible screeches and giggles of a Warlock variety.

While this was going on, his eyes remained fixed on Lyra's, with an intent more intense than even Raemen's, who seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable with the tight space of the shuttle. "Ch'od. Rescue Operations." He began to move backwards, into the docking chamber. Warlock remained clinging to Ch'od's form, who did not react the slightest to his gleeful presence. He gestured about him with a free arm, showing the facilities to Lyra, and to an extent, his personal passenger. They were standard procedure for a ship of this size, used to detox passengers of any foreign elements to avoid spreading any undesired agents onboard. They did not bear any brands Lyra recognized; if anything, they appeared to be custom-built.

"Welcome aboard. You will need to be processed for contaminants before you may enter the ship proper. Then, you may meet the captain."

As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Raemen moved like a blur, his limber form slipping through an opening between Ch'od's arms and the bulkhead, and immediately set himself on the nearest cleansing station without so much as glancing at Lyra. It did not seem to be a shower, but rather a series of quick sweeps of hologrpahic light over one's body (and without the need to remove clothing at that), that was followed by a female computerized voice declaring "DECONTAMINATION COMPLETE." This was met with a chuckle by Canza, stifling her mouth with a hand, and Warlock continuing his cacophony of synthetic ardor. That cacophony ended when Lyra spoke to him. There was a long whine, which sounded more like a dying car radio, and Warlock quickly clambered off of Ch'od, who, again, did not pay him any mind. However, his intense attentiveness to Lyra seemed to lessen. "The Technarch have no need for it. They are pure beings." He gestured to Warlock as he spoke, though as he quickly moved to Lyra's side, he did not have anything to say on this (if anything, he seemed evasive about it).

Canza walked in afterward, content to take her time while enjoying the scene. There were a few different stations, and it did not take long for everyone to process themselves. The doors that they had come through from the shuttle finished sealing shut, and the doors on the opposite end of the room slid open. "DECONTAMINATION COMPLETE."

Beyond, the corridors were rather pristine. Although the likes of Raemen, Canza, and Ch'od made for rather roughneck standards, the Starjammer's interior was anything but. It was carefully maintained, and seemed more like something out of a high-class military vessel than the people who called it home. As Ch'od led them through, they passed a variety of rooms, many of which seemed to be for leisure and recreation that this team could apparently afford. "Like what you see? This could be yours, y'know." Canza piped up, a wry bulb of optimism to Raemen's crass shell, who all but rolled his eyes at this. Arms folded, avoiding eye contact, the Praxii took up the rear of the group, in spite of his eagerness to be the first to get approved for access to the ship. Up ahead, the corridor seemed to open up to a larger room.

Ch'od spoke next. "The briefing room is ahead. We will be meeting the Captain there."

Ch'od did not appear to react to Lyra's query, but it was clear that he met it with some confusion, as if he was expecting her not to need to ask such a thing. "It is not something easily told, Miss Vega." Ch'od did not elaborate further, facing ahead to the room that they were entering. It was open and spacious, and technically two levels. They came through on the lower level, where there was a projector for a galactic map positioned in the middle, which was currently inactive. Lining either side were seats of various sizes and style, some of which were eerily similar to Earthbound furnishings... for an old folk's home, at any rate. There were more doors lying past them, though between them and the initial area were twin spiral staircases that led to the upper level. It appeared to be an administrative area, notably for the podium positioned before where the galactic map would project. Behind the podium was a glimpse of various panels and consoles, no doubt pertaining to logistics associated with what one might surmise to be the bridge of this ship.



Lyra’s attention, however, would be drawn to the seats below that were occupied. They were sitting far from one another, with equally distant demeanors. The one sitting further from the entryway was a solidly built humanoid, who wore a bulky suit of armor that enveloped him from neck to toe. His head was somewhere between reptilian and avian, shaped by a series of frills and / or scales moving backward that formed a scant expression that stared at the group as they entered. It seemed to be his typical state of mind. While his eyes were locked on them - on Lyra specifically - his hands busied themselves with an impressive-looking rifle. It was certainly more advanced than anything she had seen from the Thanagarians on Trius, and then some. The second individual sat on one of the sofas closest to them, though they didn’t seem to notice anyone had entered at first. They were clearly occupied with being in the presence of the other alien, nerves of jelly and all. More curiously, they appeared genuinely human, with a brown complexion and dressed in what passed for a pilot suit, or perhaps a scavenger suit. If fashion was any indication of profession or skill, his seemed adjacent to Lyra’s.

Once it set in that they had guests, however, the human stranger turned around (rather, he spun) and gawked, wide-eyed. ”O-Oh, you, you weren’t kidding! Uhh, hi!” The man nearly leaped up then back down, having decided mid-motion that he actually wanted to stay seated. He waved sheepishly at Lyra and the rest, careful not to avoid eye contact with Ch’od, who offered a curt nod. ”Ruh, Ritchel. The name’s Ritchel. Nice to meet you.”

Canza waved him off with a motherly tone. ”Don’t be a stranger, hun. She won’t bite… well, unless you’re-”

”AHEM.” Raemen loudly cleared his throat before sidling through the crowd and over to a spot next to the alien, who offered a grunt in hello. He plopped onto the far side of a couch, spreading his arms wide and looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. Canza, on the other hand, was doing all she could not to laugh.

Ch’od minded none of this, and moved to a completely empty couch. Given his size, it seemed that he was claiming it for himself. Warlock, on the other hand, clamped his gnarled hands around Lyra’s shoulders like a tiger presuming to be a cat. If she looked up, she would see that Warlock’s features were rather… timid? Frightened? He waited for Lyra to make a move, which was doubly difficult while his Technarch arms weighed on her shoulders.

Lyra did not need to hear or see Ræmen to know that he was drinking all of this up. If she did chance a look at him, she would see him grinning like he had a Glasgow smile. His eyes, predictably, were on Lyra in that moment, though they seemed to linger on her. He hadn't exactly stopped since he had met her on Trius. Something about paranoid hounds. The rest of the crew, on the other hand, paid no evident mind to how she had reacted. They were either used to it, or had figured that she had been bullied enough there. Personally, Ritchel seemed a bit enamored with her, albeit entirely platonically. He was an excitable sort, and most certainly the odd duck of this motley crew. "Sorry, sorry. It's just..."

His voice drifted off once he realized that Lyra had moved on to the rifleman who had yet to introduce himself. Ritchel visibly gulped, then slumped back into his space chair, minding his own business. Canza smiled wryly at the man before patting him on the knee. She walked over to the couch that Ch'od had claimed, and leaped directly into his lap, which he seemed to take in stride.

Warlock did not register the cue at first. Then, he did, as shown in how wide his eyes became, quite literally like golden saucers. His demeanor became like that of a wounded puppy, and he relented. He went down on all fours, quickly scampering over to where Ch'od and Canza were sitting, away from the commotion. His eyes followed Lyra, though not at all like Ræmen. Whereas the Praxii gawked at her like a blemish, Warlock's attention was patient, apologetic. Hoping that they would still be friends after that gross miscommunication.

The alien tipped his chin in turn at Lyra. Even compared to Ræmen, his attitude was cold, indiferent. "Yeah, it's none of your-"

Suddenly, Ritchel straightened up in his chair, looking over at the stranger. "Oh! Grask! Before I forget, did you... umm..." "Grask" glared at him, with a look that looked like he had made it before. Dozens of times. Ritchel took the hint, slinking back into his chair like a tortoise into its shell. Grask shook his head. Though his face was mostly set in hardened physical traits, his annoyance was palpable. "Satisfied?"