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

If Grask took notice of Lyra's discomfort, he didn't show it. It didn't take long for Canza, Ch'od, Warlock, and even Ræmen to give the marksman a dirty look. He tried to ignore it at first, but eventually, someone spoke up. That someone leaned out of their lazy comfort position next to Grask, draping his arms over his legs as he narrowed his eyes at his couch buddy.

"Knock it off. She's put up with enough lately." Grask looked incredulous. He stared at Ræmen for what felt like minutes, then finally, he relented. Grask lowered his rifle from pointing it at Lyra, settling it into his lap. "Whatever. I was just having fun with the newbie."

Ritchel waited for the temperature of the room to go down a little before he mustered the strength to answer Lyra's question about his circumstances. He got ready to speak, then paused. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I, uhh, a couple years ago, I think? Kinda fuzzy now that I think about it."

Canza spoke up, addressing Lyra. She still looked sour over Grask's stunt. Have you had any run-ins with 'em, dear? Can't imagine they make life easy for your lot."

As Lyra mumbled her defense aloud, Ræmen stared at her. It did not seem to be demeaning this time, if his usual expressions towards her back on Trius had been anything to go by. It almost seemed respectful, though from how he wasn't grinning or frowning, it was difficult to tell. He eventually leaned back, returning to his lazing position on the couch. As ever, all eyes (save for Grask's, now. He was staring at the rifle in his lap like he was contemplating violence) were on Lyra.

"Alright, where the hell is he?" Ræmen suddenly spoke up again. His face went cross, and Canza gave him a scolding look, which he took in stride. "He's up there with the first mate, you know that. They'll come out when they're good and ready." Canza held out her hand in front of her, inspecting her finely pointed nails. "...whatever it is they get up to in there."

Ritchel fidgeted a bit. Again, his eyes struggled to meet hers. "Y-Yeah, we, uhh... do." He quickly glances at Grask (who didn't seem to notice) before clearing his throat. "Uhh... Earth, I guess. Is... is that still a thing?" The man didn't sound or look like he actually wanted the answer. He seemed thankful to have even gotten the words out. It was something that was clearly on his mind more often than he would care to admit.



Lyra wouldn't have a chance to respond. One of the doors on the upper deck of the meeting room was kicked open, allowing the... well, Earth music to come through, loud and clear. A large, broad-shouldered human man walked through. He was unlike Ritchel in virtually every way. Tall, muscular, hairy, white, and dressed like he had come off of the set of an old television show. His red buttoned-down shirt hung open at the collar, though the pants he wore were reminiscent of a particular fictional smuggler. Strapped to his side was a pistol that looked a little too much like it shot bullets instead of lasers.



"Hope we didn't keep ya waiting, ladies." The man flashed a smile, and walked out to the head of the upper level, looking down at his crew, Lyra included. As he left the room, he pulled along a woman by the hand... a woman who was most certainly an alien. Her skin was pale like an albino, her ears pointed, and flowing white hair... including the tail waving behind her as she walked. She looked dressed not unlike Lyra... save for the bright pink lei dangling around her neck, and the retro blue hairband cresting her brow. She grinned catlike, eyes fixed on Lyra as she leaned against the railing, one hand poised against her hip.

Everyone - even Grask - looked up, though Ræmen looked startled, or perhaps disgruntled? They all perked their heads up, at the very least recognizing the authority he apparently had over them. The man's attention quickly zeroed in on Lyra... and Warlock, who had crawled over to her side, like a dog looking for pets. He looked up at these new strangers, unsure if he should hug them or kill them. The lines were still a little blurry for Warlock. The strange man gestured at Lyra, his arms draped over the railing like he was at some bar and not on an advanced starship. "So! You're Vega, eh?" He straightened his posture, broadly gesturing with his arms to their surroundings.

"How do you like my ship?"

The music continued to blare. Grask winced.

Warlock was immediately receptive to Lyra's touch. The two of them had only known each other for the span of a day or so, and already they had established a bond. What that bond was, neither of them seemed to know, but it was there all the same. There was a knowingness to how Warlock responded to Lyra's touch, but he did not do much in the way of actually responding. He remained quiet to the scene, attentive.

The man grinned. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Though if you had asked the captain of this ship, he would seem oblivious that there was any tension at all. He was either woefully ignorant, simply that charming, purposefully playing off that danger, or perhaps all of the above. He raised a hand, patting it against his chest. It almost looked humble. This man was anything but.

"Call me Christopher. Chris? My crew calls me Corsair, but you-" Chris pointed at Lyra with his other hand in a declarative gesture. "You get to skip that privilege. Something's different about you. And I don't mean because you've got that thing wrapped around your finger." He swayed his head to the side. His eyes were between her and Warlock. "What outfit are you with? Some Collective bigwig, right?"

Just who was this "Chris"?! Even if Lyra remained cool to his statements, his crew sure didn't. They gawked at him like he had grown a second head. From how casual he was acting with this strange woman, to how sharply he started prying at her allegiances. Everyone there had their own way of processing it, though their eyes remained caught between Lyra and "Chris". Did he play these games with everyone they brought on board? It was hard to tell.

At Lyra's response, Chris' sardonic grin merely widened. He shakes his head, not necessarily dismissively, though certainly with the air of a man confident in his control over the situation. After all, given where they were talking...

"That's just the thing, Vega; we barely know anything about the Technarchy. Do you know anything? There's a reason the hawks wanted our... what did you call him down there? Warlock?" The man furrowed his brow, his look turning a touch serious.

Warlock bolted upright. His head was now at Lyra's level, careful not to overshadow her. "SELF IS WARLOCK BECAUSE WARLOCK IS NAME OF SELF!"

Ch'od looked annoyed. "That is tautological." Canza, on the other hand, looked amused.

Warlock tilted his head at a ninety degree angle as he turned to look at Ch'od. His jaw looked ready to unhinge... or fall off its hinges. "SELF DOES NOT RECOGNIZE 'TATA-GELICLE'. THAT IS A WEIRD WORD. YOU TALK WEIRD."

Ch'od looked more annoyed. Canza looked more amused. Chris maintained his stance, watching Vega closely, as did the rest of them. The woman beside Chris in particular seemed to be staring holes through Lyra. The rueful smirk on her lips was a bit of an enigma, albeit a somewhat menacing one. Were... were those fangs?

Chris didn't have a retort to Lyra at first. He let her words hang in the air for a while. In one way or another, it had affected him, though his expression didn't change. The woman next to him, however, practically snarled at Lyra. Her hands gripped the railing, and she leaned forward like she was ready to pounce... but didn't. Chris had side-eyed her, and shaken his head ever so slightly, enough that it may have been imperceptible if you weren't paying close attention. Most of the crew wasn't. This back and forth by itself seemed to be quite uncommon, enough that their eyes kept going between Chris and Lyra as they verbally danced with each other.

Then, the laughed. He actually laughed quite a bit, but not long enough for the rest of them to join him for long. He threw up his hands, almost as if he was admitting defeat. "Eject you? Like a couple of stiffs? What do you take me for, a pirate?" He pointed at Lyra, his face going back to a grin. "Don't answer that. We're not going to kill you. We were never going to kill you. The Starjammers are better than that."

Practically on cue, everyone on the lower level - including Warlock - turned to stare at Grask. He made a "what gives?!" shrug, actually throwing up his arms in defeat and leaning back into his chair. Raemen wasn't among the people gawking at Grask. Instead, he was looking right back at her, with that grim countenance he had first worn when they had met back on the planet's surface. There was a twitch of a smirk on the alien's lips. It was hard to tell if it was complimentary or pejorative.

Chris paid these exchanges a second glance, picking up on the fact that he had clearly missed something. He sighed, shaking his head. "How about this: you've at least heard of this outfit, right? The Starjammers? Rebels of the universe, space samaritans, that ball of wax?"

When Lyra met eyes with Raemen, he didn't flinch. If anything, his stare seemed to intensify. He knew that she knew that he had been watching her. Not only that, but his smirk became more evident. He had done this on Trius, too. Something about mind games. Whatever it was, he was enjoying it.

Chris clapped his hands together. Like Raemen, his grin only intensified, accompanied by a wink. He looked ready to say more, but his face fell with her second response. The woman beside Chris bared her canines, her furry tail standing up on end. She seemed easy to set off. Canza put a hand to her lips to keep herself from laughing. Ritchel fidgeted in his seat, but he was clearly smiling. Grask and Ch'od remained indifferent. Raemen... well, you know.

"I... it, uhh, heh, it looks like you're more under a rock than I thought." He quickly flexed an arm, puffing his chest out with a bravado to strike a pose. It was painfully reminiscent of some of the men that her father would spend time with. "We're heroes, who keep this side of the universe safe from pirates, monsters, and everything else that goes bump in the cold vacuum of space."

Chris looked pointedly at Lyra, to make sure she was paying attention. This part was important! Warlock, for one, was absolutely taken with this. He gawked at the man like one observed a wild peacock... if Warlock knew what that was, that is. Everyone else - including the First Mate - was trying to avert their eyes.

Chris took kindly to what were not meant as kind words. His smile brightened, enough that he decided to drop the pose to point at Lyra like he was an overeager professor. "Exactly! You get it!"

If one listened closely, the collective groan from the gallery of assorted adventurers and cutthroats quietly observing this exchange. It looked like it had been a long time since anyone had indulged their fearless leader like this.



Chris looked ready - more than ready, actually - to answer what he thought that Lyra thought was a gotcha, but that energy was redirected to placing a hand on his First Mate's... paw? No, that was a human-looking hand, albeit one that was white as a sheet. Either way, she neither welcomed it nor rejected it, though she continued to glare daggers at Lyra. She barked... well, something, but it genuinely sounded like garbled nonsense, and not in the way that alien languages did.

Chris blinked, at first unsure what to say to that. Then, he smiled. "What she said. You'll get to learn what that means eventually... well, assuming you stick with us..." He looked up and down at her, clearly sizing her up, in a way that didn't seem to imply a satisfactory result. "... but then again, you don't seem the "join a cause" kind of girl. More questions than answers. Just wants to get paid and go home." He leaned against nearby support beam, crossing his arms while looking down at her. The smug airs of a space pirate(?) were back.

"How close am I?"