OOC: The Dingle: A central hub for the estates of Bellerophon. Docks for shipping and transport, public transportation to all other areas, business offices, etc. The Dingle is where the business of running Bellerophon takes place. It is also the home of Unity Living's Bellerophon offices.

Cold late night, so long ago,
when I was not so strong, you know.
Pretty man came to me,
Never seen eyes so blue.
You know I could not run away. It seemed,
we'd seen each other in a dream...

Surbad shuffled briefcase, corpad and stem-phone as he dashed from the air taxi. His brown Londinium leather shoes struck the paving with sure steps, sending his fine custom Sihnon silk suit rippling in the breeze. He was late, thanks to the no-account cabbie service. You would think they would have more respect.

"No no, dear, I'm on my way now." He crisply muttered to the phone while sidestepping a pair of secretaries carrying their coffees like weaponry, "Yes, I got the manifests in order, and we'll have... No. No. Dolenz doesn't care as long as all the t's are crossed and the i's dotted. ... Well, then, don't call him. Wait for him to call us..."

Surbad Istavo, formerly of Istavo, Istavo and Hobelich, was a lawyer, specifically a business lawyer with specialty in patent and transport law. His wife, who was currently on the other end of the phone, had started as part of the Hobelich portion of Istavo and Hobelich, but after their wedding, had become the second Istavo. Something which, not surprisingly, displeased her brother, Hobelich, the Fourth, and eventually required them to move to the Borders, to start over and make their own name.

It had allowed him to cast off the strictures of Core law, and to expand into new horizons, new worlds, and new philosophies.

Jeirin was currently panicking, as she was wont to do from time to time, to no avail. They had done their work for Unity Living Corporation very well indeed. Nihalchi was legally undetectable, untouchable. The permits were perfect. The permission affidavits were signed. Everything was completely and undeniably legal.

Surbad paused in front of the grey and white low-slung building that was Unity Living's Bellerophon headquarters, "Jeirin, darling..." And devilish blue eyes glinted as he scanned the busy street up and down, and his smile crawled like a grey deep-ocean sunrise, "Look up."

From behind the front desk, she glanced up, their eyes meeting, blue on brown- sky over the mountains. Surbad ended the conversation, "You know no matter what, I will always love you."

She clicked off her head-set and turned her back on him, but not before he saw the glimmer of her smile that she tried to mask in her irritation with him.

Surbad straightened his tie in the reflection of the plate glass windows, returned his stem-phone to it's specially stitched pocket, and strolled into his employer's office. It was time to do that voodoo that he knew to do so well.



It seemed like he knew me,
He looked right through me.
"Come on home, girl" he said with a smile.
"You don't have to love me and let's get high awhile.
But try to understand.
Try to understand....
Try try try to understand
I'm a magic man."

The Dingle, a public access hub for the rest of Bellerophon, is characterized by two primary regions: The Docks, a bevy of services for incoming and outgoing ships, and The District, a business-end of things kind of place.

From the Cor-Net U-Guide, someone going by the handle of Bugger recommends a tofu-burger joint near the docks, and someone else using the handle Kruw suggests a French/Chinese fusion cafe called Morigo in The District.

Explore, enjoy, and do try to stay out of trouble.

Kruw would have stood out anywhere on Bellerophon.

If the twisted black and red braids and heavy buckled knee-high leather boots hadn't already marked her as "not of this world", the brown leather miniskirt and the low-slung halter top made of thick felt would have. The tatts that poured down her neck, arms and legs - knives, blood, thorns, barbed wire, broken glass - spoke of violence. Or perhaps a loud cry for help.

The young woman didn't walk so much as stride down Murreigh Avenue, the busy central thoroughfare of The Dingle, her boots clipping the paving with each stride. The docks were a hustle of activity- She'd been too late to catch the quiet hours. She'd return there before nightfall, if she had time. But now she needed to search out her quarry in other places.

Ahead, she saw a possible, and angled herself to cross the busy street, glancing back to fill her eyes with him. His ears were cropped- no stranger to violence, then. Black eyes searched the street, looking for ... What, exactly?

If she didn't know, chances were he didn't, either. Kruw slung her purse over her shoulder and changed direction, moving directly in front of the man some called Dog McO'River.

Walking backwards before him, her dark eyes twinkled with challenge, "You lost, mister?"

"Get off the ship, get a little air. Good idea," Dog thought as he investigated Murreigh Avenue, eyes taking in the hustle and bustle. The change from Kasern's quiet isolation to the Dingle's hurried action was almost too much for Dog to handle. It'd been a lot of years since he'd been in heavily populated areas, and being here reminded him why: too many damn people and not enough space. It made for the worst kind of people, jamming them together like this and forcing them to interact. It put him in a bad mood, reminding him of worse times.

Place made him twitchy, and plus he couldn't carry a gun to give himself a little ease. Which was why he was standing here in the street with an empty gunbelt, balisong hidden in his coat pocket, feeling uncomfortable and conspicuous.

"You lost, mister?"

Huh. Okay, not too conspicuous, compared to this girl. Dog eyed her cautiously; braided hair, tattoos like a parlor, dressed on the verge of hookery...Yeah. There was a reason conspicuous people were conspicuous, and it was because they were often prone to being dangerous. That was why people generally avoided Dog, and recently, they would be right to.

"No," he said shortly, squaring his body and hardening his gaze, hoping to drive the girl off, get her to avoid him. It'd be the smart move for both of them.

"Ain't that a lie," he thought, stony face keeping the thought hidden.

Cor-Cafe (Across from Unity Living)

Carter reclined in his plas-steel café chair, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. Dark eyes hidden by a pair of ridiculously expensive Core-World sunglasses, the master thief allowed his wide brilliant smile to convey his mood to his companion, Melissa Wu. Seemingly at ease with their tasked mission and life in general, Goodspeed had removed his grey pinstriped suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, exposing his muscular forearms.

Behind his shades, Carter’s eyes drank in the building across the street…the building of Unity Living. Uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, he placed his hand over Melissa’s, as the woman worked on her CorePad. His voice took on a tone of familiarity usually reserved for the carnally acquainted…they were undercover and Carter was a perfectionist,
”My sweet tight bottomed girl, aren’t you sick of that device? Why not take a break, and we can explore the many mysteries of the inner thigh?”

Carter knew Melissa was using her CorePad to ascertain information on the adjacent building, but he couldn’t help flirting with the attractive security programmer.


<<OOC Pain, I thought I’d get us started. If I GM’d too much, b-tch slap me and I’ll re-do>>

Murreigh Ave

The black eyed stranger straightened and squared- an adder's puffed warning, and hissed out a warning.

The single syllable brought a grim smile to Kruw's face, even as she lifted her own head, looking him straight in the eye. He was a taller than she was, maybe a little leaner, but not by much, and everything about him spoke to her of danger and darkness.

He'd do. Oh yea, he'd do fine.

"Lost ain't the right word then." Kruw barked lightly, "You askin' yourself right now, what's up with this crazy chick, walkin' into your venom, gettin' in your face. Oh yeah, I can see it."

"But I ain't no mortal sinner, baby- This town? I'm your angel. I'm Kruw, these are my streets, and I can show you whatever you lookin' to find."

Cor-Cafe

To those who looked at them, Melissa and Carter looked like two business associates taking a break from their helter skelter work environment for a nice relaxing getaway at the Cor-Cafe, enjoying a lunch and sharing funny stories and whatnot. They looked nothing at all like a couple of thieves intent on pulling off a dubious scheme, which of course they were, but the local Cor-Cafe denizens didn't need to know that.

Melissa was dressed as like a female office worker. She wore a gray twill two-button blazer with contrasting pickstitching on the collar, closure, hem, and seams. It featured three-quarter sleeves with vented cuffs, two flap pockets, and an angled breast pocket. Currently she had it unbuttoned allowing for airflow and to tease Carter. What Carter saw and would see underneath was Melissa's black, lace trimmed, narrow strapped, stretch knit cami. To top off her ensemble, Melissa wore matching gray twill pants that flared out at the ends, covering the tops of her black open-toed dress heels.

For her hair Melissa simply pulled it back into a ponytail and sitting on top of her hair was an eyetap computer that looked like a pair of fashionable sunglasses. It was tied into her CorePad so in case she lost it or it was broken, she could call up the info on them instead, saving her countless hours of blaming herself for losing or breaking her beloved CorePad.


”My sweet tight bottomed girl, aren’t you sick of that device? Why not take a break, and we can explore the many mysteries of the inner thigh?”


Melissa looked up from her CorePad and looked at Carter's hand on hers'. She then arched an eyebrow at Carter and said with a sly smile, "Carter, sweety, I will never get sick of my CorePad." She set it down on the table and leaned closer to him. She winked and said, "Besides if I recall this is our first date. She used that term loosely of course. An actual date with Carter would make her want to jump out a window and into a shark infested kiddie pool. "You'd be more than lucky getting a hug from me, than an invitation to the "I Felta Thigh" sorority."

Cor-Cafe

Jierin Istavo owned Murreigh Avenue.

It showed.

Gold-toned heels tapping, short straight black skirt swishing, she moved like a movie star, pretending to take no notice of the eyes that glanced her way, pretending not to know that the world paused to breathe when she walked by.

Sunglasses even more expensive than the ones that graced Carter Goodspeed's face rested on the bridge of her nose, accenting the curvature of her cheeks, the pale brown frames brushed by the whisped dark curls that flowed around her face.

The Cor-Cafe had the only decent nonfat raspberry latte on Bellerophon. It was a fact. But today, it was also a curiosity in a way she never noticed before. Today, it caught her attention. Someone, she was almost positive, had tried to access the internal server.

Jierin clicked up to the counter, her gaze traversing over the selection of residents and visitors. Some were jacked in directly with their own equipment, others were making use of the cafe units- checking messages, watching corcasts, running financials.

The beautiful couple holding hands caught Jierin's eye for a flash, as she handed her cred-chip to the cashier - The cashier who knew far better than to even say Jierin's name. The couple was very pretty, very common, and certainly not interested in anything other than their flirtation.

Jierin sniffed slightly as she sipped at the foam that graced her one hundred percent recyclable reusable cup. Public displays of affection were so ... tasteless. Unless it was her and Surbad- then it was privelege.

Brushing off her suspicions of the lunch crowd as mere flights of fancy, as Surbad had suggested. Jierin found a corner table and flipped open her cor-reader to the latest issue of Fashion Week. The intrusion had most likely been one of those silly lan chong boys from the Londinium office who'd forgotten their access codes again:
Unity Living Corporation's Core Offices were full of morons. Or perhaps she'd been looking at the wrong logs again. It wouldn't be the first time she'd made that mistake.

Lord help them all, the new looks out of Sihnon were positively trashy.

Murreigh Avenue

"Lost ain't the right word then." Kruw barked lightly, "You askin' yourself right now, what's up with this crazy chick, walkin' into your venom, gettin' in your face. Oh yeah, I can see it."

"What the hell is she talking about? Venom?" Dog thought, almost compelled to raise an eyebrow. Were the quick words supposed to be a distraction?

"But I ain't no mortal sinner, baby- This town? I'm your angel. I'm Kruw, these are my streets, and I can show you whatever you lookin' to find."

Dog considered the girl's offer for a moment, maintaining a strong lack of expression. Images of this girl and an accomplice cutting his throat then dumping him in an alley to bleed out sprang to mind, and he resisted the urge to tug at his lobeless ears.

No. This girl was definitely trouble, with a capital 'Knife-you-in-the-gut-for-a-few-creds-I-could-make-panhandling.'

But, Captain Quinn had told them to look for work if they could. Or, Brun had suggested it, but it didn't matter much anyway. It was an order Dog could follow, and if he was good at anything, it was following orders, as much as he liked to tell himself he was done soldiering. He soldiered every day; now, he just didn't wear the uniform.

"Work," he said to the girl, his black eyes boring into hers, hand closing over the pocket holding his balisong. He'd take his chances, but he wouldn't be completely reckless.

"I'm looking for work." "And here we go," he thought, noting that if things went bad, it would at least be his fault alone.

"Work, I'm looking for work."

Kruw watched it all, the deliberate blank expression, the hand closing over what most probably was a weapon, the non-commited gaze. She might be making a big mistake with this one, but he had the look, had the drive.

He was a survivor.

And so was she.

"Job? Heck, baby, Kruw can do ya a job, if you want." She smiled, her shoulders relaxing deliberately, "What kinda work you got your peepers set for? The Dingle ain' got a lotta run-on for rough-cutters like you 'n me, but I know the right faces. I got the connectz, you got the wantz."

"Lookin' for muscle work? Dock work? Cleanin' crew? Maintenance? Or may you huntin' for somethin' altogethah," Kruw leaned a little closer, conspiratorially "...different?"

"Lookin' for muscle work? Dock work? Cleanin' crew? Maintenance? Or may you huntin' for somethin' altogethah," Kruw leaned a little closer, conspiratorially "...different?"

Dog almost said 'ship work,' but stopped himself when he realized how dangerous it would be to let loose that nugget of information. If the girl was a scammer, it would do absolute wonders for her if she had a ship's name, location, and description of its crew; it was pretty much like giving her the golden ticket.

Okay then. If he wasn't going to reveal any affiliations, then clearly he would have to appear as alone as he looked. That would make things more dangerous than Dog would like, but it would also protect the crew. He'd be in this entirely alone, no back-up, no gun-blazing cavalry to ride in at the last minute. It would be a stupid move, a chance he couldn't afford to take. He'd likely end up dead in an alley, sporting a new grin on his neck.

But then he thought, 'What the hell.'

"Different," he said, the word already sounding like a death sentence.

Cor-Café

"You'd be more than lucky getting a hug from me, than an invitation to the "I Felta Thigh" sorority."

The raw musical exuberance of Carter Goodspeed’s laugh cut through the Cor-Café. His head tilted back and with his face heavenward, he enjoyed Melissa’s sharp wit, as thoroughly as he had anything in a long while. Finally getting control of himself, he returned his tear rimmed gaze to his beautiful companion. With laughter still dancing in his eyes, Carter’s hand returned familiarly to the top of Melissa’s,
”My dear, I care not what the initiation is but someday…somehow, I hope to be a sorority sister in good standing.”

Though his face always held the look of the prankster, there was a hint of honesty in his last statement, and with that quick exchange, Melissa Wu had gained the respect of one Carter Goodspeed.

Though nothing in his face or posture hinted at deception, Carter was more than a bit curious to learn if his partner’s hack had netted any useful information.

Again falling into his role as the dotting boyfriend, the thief’s expert hands gently traced the lines of Melissa’s palm, as his eyes fell into hers,
”If you must continue your work, would you at least tell me what you’re doing? I mean is it fun and exciting or just dull spreadsheets and data?”

”If you must continue your work, would you at least tell me what you’re doing? I mean is it fun and exciting or just dull spreadsheets and data?”


"Some people think spreadsheets and data are exciting, baobei." replied Melissa, smiling sweetly. "However." she said, giving Carter a wink. "That's not me."


She had been using her CorePad to try to hack into Unity's internal server, but only had luck in getting her feelers into the external one. What she got from it were shipping schedules, ship arrivals, dates, and the corporation's public financial records. All the good stuff was on the internal server which was locked up tighter than a Londinum bank vault. Even with her best efforts she couldn't crack it.


"There's two servers, an external one and an internal one. For all my best hacking efforts all I got were shipping schedules, ship arrivals, dates, and public financial records off of the external server. Every time I got close to the internal server, it would ask for a password and then boot me off. I'll need to get inside the physical building itself in order to get at the important stuff from the internal. That of course means I'll either have to "borrow" an employee's password, or play the cute new intern and ask for one." she said, pouting a little as he handed him her CorePad. She manage a small chuckle as she added, "I did find the word 'kitten' in the source code though. I know it's not important, but I thought it was worth a giggle."

It was time to move on, get out into the Black again, or at least to another planet. She had been on Bellerophon for too long and the ghosts were starting to catch up with her. There was too little to do here, too little to keep the mind occupied and she knew it was only a matter of time before she cracked completely unless things changed.

As she strode down the street in the Dingle, she was already starting to feel better and there was even a hint of a smile on her lips as she opened the door to the Cor-Café, stepping inside and across to the counter to order. “Green tea, please,” she said and found her new credit chip in the inner pocket of the brown leather jacket she wore. The one that clearly showed off her profession with a red cross on a round white badge on one shoulder and a blue caduceus on the other.

She took the time while waiting for the tea to arrive to take a look around the café, scouting for a place to sit, pausing briefly to look at the young couple nearby. The cashier coughed gently and she turned back, handing over her credit chip to pay for the tea, waited a moment for it to process and then smiled back at the cashier as she returned the chip to her pocket and picked up the little tea bowl and brought it to a table near the windows.

She'd left her luggage and CorePad back at the hotel, but felt the need to look at the ship schedules again, so she reached for the public terminal sitting on the table, fingers only touching the sides gingerly. Before even touching the keyboard, she pulled out a wet wipe with disinfectant and cleaned off the keys, then crumbled the wipe and lay it precisely next to the CorePad, then moved it a little before she reached over to realign the salt and pepper-shakers at the end of the table. Only then did she start typing in her search terms with light touches of her fingers.

ULC HEADQUARTERS:

Kruw leads The Dog down back alleys, through twisting lanes, and finally to the back door of the ULC Headquarters. A soft tap on the back door, and the pair are admitted into the conference room.

Here, dark black metal, lean and modern, covers every surface. The chairs and table are industrial in style, the shelving is covered with black binders, the spines labeled with dates and numbers.

Ahead of them are six others: two 'spotters', a boy and girl dressed similarly to Kruw, tattoos and scars gleaming where their skin shows at the edges of their clothing, and four others, two men and two women showing the signs of recent travel, dock-dirt still on their shoes.

Like Dog, they could be just about anybody.

Anybody...

Or nobody at all.

ULC HEADQUARTERS

Idg swept into the room from the side, gracefully turning to close the doors behind her. Standing six foot, four inches tall, with another two inches added by the boots on her feet, she had the poise of a runway model, the grace of a dancer, and the intense stare of the overwhelmingly passionate.

Stylish jeans hugged her curves, as did the soft white v-necked sweater that she wore. Glancing around the room, her eyes rested on each individual before her before addressing Kruw, "Is this all you found?"

"Slow day." Kruw replied quietly, her previous bouyant arrogance gone from her tones.

"So I see." Idg smiled... very carefully... and her voice was business-like, but pleasant as she gestured to the table, "Please, folks, have a seat. I'm called Idg, and I'll be your liaison today. I understand that most of you are looking for work? For a chance to earn coin? Or maybe even earn an entire future?"

Approaching Bellerophon

The trio of humans in her continued to sleep. The two in the Glass Onion's cargo bay had finished their lust for one another several hours ago and had fallen asleep slightly askew of their mattress, the blanket lightly covering the two as they slumbered. Sunlight shone through her windscreen as the sun came up from behind the planet, filling the Bridge with warm sunlight. As she slowly approached the planet her warning klaxons started to sound.


OOC: Thanks, Pain, for writing the kick-butt plot progs! :) Pain & Rex- If you guys have shipboard stuff to do before we land, don't forget to head your post "Onboard" or something. :)

Approaching Bellerophon
Onboard GLASS ONION

Sonya hadn't jumped at the Klaxon, just opened her eyes to slits, to meet Octavius's, similarly opened. 'Spacers and supersoldiers,' she smiled like a succubus at him, 'don't jump at the sound of the alarm; get a crack in the head that way.'

She sat up slow, stretched as she still looked at him, then started a speedy search for her deck shoes. Found them, and sat back on the mattress to put them on.
“Shoulda done this sooner, 'course then you’da just got all addicted and such, and I can’t have you following me all over the verse.” She teased, bit her lip a little while giving him a very happy bedroom eye look.

After finding scattered panties and shirt, Sonya navigated shoed feet and arms into appropriate places and then scampered to the cockpit.

She felt great.
No regrets, that's always a good thing to not have first thing in the morning after.

The Klaxon was turned off first thing, then fingers flicked scanners up (with some playback history) she looked outside to see if anything was ‘that’ proximate.

Aboard the Onion

“Shoulda done this sooner, 'course then you’da just got all addicted and such, and I can’t have you following me all over the verse.”


Octavius chuckled softly over the blaring klaxon as he sat up and admired Sonya's beauty. He replied in a tone that spoke of a man who was very relaxed and welled sexed, "Why not, darlin'? I've had all my shots, I'm housebroken, and I don't bite.." He looked her up and down, then continued with a smile, "Much."


Octavius watched as Sonya got herself dressed, his mind filling with images of all the sexual positions they had explored. He felt like a man who had just gotten rid of some excess frustration. He felt calm, cool, and extremely relaxed. As Sonya headed off to the Bridge, Octavius stood up and fetched his clothing, putting them on one piece at a time. Pulling on his shirt, Octavius smiled as he looked at the mattress before making his way towards the Bridge.


Propping himself up in the doorway, he looked out of the Glass Onion's windscreen and said, "Ain't that a beautiful sight?" Looking at Sonya as he plopped himself down into the co-pilot's chair, he smiled and added, "And the planet ain't half bad neither."


"So how much time do we have before we land?" he asked, giving her a good once over, before continuing, "Enough to wake up the Kit, get somethin' to eat, and suss out our plans once we hit dirtside? He grinned and gave her a wink. "Or enough time to do other things?"

Onboard The Glass Onion

Sammy woke to the prox claxon and swore outloud. Hadn't she told them to wake her up and she'd take her turn at the helm? Glancing at the chrono she swore again. She'd been down for fifteen hours straight? Or was it sixteen? Everything from the time they left The Bella Starr was starting to blur in her mind.

Sleep for so long, and she was still exhausted.

Grimly, she stepped into the cleanser-cubicle and let the chem-rinse swamp over her for a minute. It wasn't a real shower, wasn't clean hot water, but at least it scrubbed the sleep from her eyes, enervated her pink newly grown skin, and made her pillow-tangled mess of hair comb-able.

Yanking hair up into a rough ponytail, she squirmed into khaki cargo pants and a black v-neck t-shirt, scuffed her feet into her sneakers and headed to the bridge.

"Enough to wake up the Kit, get somethin' to eat, and suss out our plans once we hit dirtside? He grinned and gave her a wink. "Or enough time to do other things?"

"I'm awake." Sammy snapped. Something in Roman's tone, in the way he was looking at Sonya irritated her, made her even grouchier. Maybe another day she'd have time to figure it, but then again, she'd never been good at the human calculation part of mathematics. "And I thought I told you guys to wake me for my shift? Eh. Never mind... And whatever 'other things' you've got rolling around in your head, forget it. I don't want to hear about it."

Snatching up the com, she whisked quickly, "Bellerophon Port Authority, this is Christen Cane, onboard The Glass Onion, private transport vessel, requesting docking for fueling and resupply. Come in, Port Authority."

While waiting for them to come back with their docking codes, she handed Roman a small card. "Soap is the man, whatever else he may be. He fixed us up square. While on the planet of floaty-islands you're Jack Trudeau, performance artist."

Handing a card to Sonya, she frowned, "He made you Mabel Ross, stock-broker... I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but your capture... Wowzer..."

It was a glam-shot from some magazine or other. Even to Sam's jaded eye, Sonya Gulliver looked, well, radiant. A supermodel. It was disgusting.

"Mine, on the other hand..." She held up her own falsified ID with a groan, the altered bespectacled image hardly doing any justice to the magnificent handiwork of Dr. Baine Alexander, "Christen Cane, energy consultant. This cap makes me look fat, doesn't it? Like I'm preggers!"

Sam groaned as the docking codes came back over the computer. "In The Dingle!? Disgusto! But I suppose Pegasus Estates was a bit much to ask for, huh? I did some work in The Dingle a couple years ago, so I'll have to watch my back a bit... Not that I look anything like Rachel Steinowitz anymore."

"'Course, don't look like Christen Cane, either." A bitter under-breath mumble as she stood back and gestured to the planet, raising her voice slightly, "Bah. Just set her down. Let's get this over with."

On GLASS ONION

Sonya tried to ignore Roman while she looked over the scanners, but his banter forced a beaming smile out of her.

"I'm working here." she muttered playfully before Sammy was up and moving about. She called in their arrival and a stand-by announcement came back.

She snickered at "performance artist",
muttered back her fake name with equally fake attitudue, "Mabel?"
After she took a quick look, she tucked the I.D. into her shirt pocket.

Sonya leaned back to get a look at Sammy's Christian Cane I.D.

"Christen Cane, energy consultant. This cap makes me look fat, doesn't it? Like I'm preggers!" asked Sammy.

'well, it is a disguise..'

The docking coordinates came through with the approach vector, Sammy went on about The Dingle. Sonya was pretty sure it was a place she remembered as a little girl on a trip with moms and pops.

She started the ship down into the atmo after Sammy gave the go ahead.

"I remember this place, when I was a little girl. I got a spanking for wandering off." Her eyes darted to Roman.

She held a look at him, pretended Sammy wasn't even there. "You wish."
'oh wait... he did.'
Sonya scrunched up her lips, actually blushed under Sammy's watchful gaze.

Glass Onion flew toward it's assigned dock, Sonya was about to say something about Sammy's disguise not hiding her real beauty, but they had to slow suddenly when a large freighter drifted into their flight path.
"CHWEN!" Sonya called out at it, giving a flip of hand gesture they of course couldn't see.

The small ship slowed and hovered onto the landing pad and up against a cargo door that led into the much larger main complex.

She signaled complete to the port authority and a clank and a software program confirmed their landlock.


Dumbass – Chwen

Aboard the Onion

"I'm working here."


"Ah come on, darlin'." pleaded Octavius. He was about to suggest how she could still do her work while he did his, when Sammy barged in.


"I'm awake."


"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the cot this mornin'." he thought to himself as she continued.


"And I thought I told you guys to wake me for my shift? Eh. Never mind... And whatever 'other things' you've got rolling around in your head, forget it. I don't want to hear about it."


Octavius scratched the back of his head as he said apologetically, "Um..yeah. Sorry about that, Kit." He gave Sonya a quick look, then said to the Kitten, "Kinda got sidetracked and lost track of the time."


"Soap is the man, whatever else he may be. He fixed us up square. While on the planet of floaty-islands you're Jack Trudeau, performance artist."


Octavius looked the card over front to back. He heard Sonya's snicker and said as he pocketed it, "Performance artist, huh? That's good, Kit. I just hope they ain't expectin' me to sing cause I can't carry a tune worth a good gorram."


When he heard about Sonya's pic on her ID he looked and was very pleased and stunned at the same time. So much in fact that he had to sit back down again as his pants felt sort of tight.


"Christen Cane, energy consultant. This cap makes me look fat, doesn't it? Like I'm preggers!"


"Just a little, but not much though." replied Octavius, lying through his pearly whites.


Octavius tuned out the Kittens moanfest about the Dingle, although he did find its name quite amusing. He wondered how high or stupid the person who came up with it was at the time. He also wondered how stupid or desperate the naming committee was when they gave that name the okay.


"I remember this place, when I was a little girl. I got a spanking for wandering off." "You wish."


Octavius raised an eyebrow at Sonya. How did she know what he wished for? "Oh right." he thought, giving her a naughty smile.


He turned his attention back to the windscreen and watched as they got closer to land. As he saw the dock getting closer he wondered just how he was going to pull off his alias. Just as he thought about it, he watched as a large freighter flew right in front of them.


"CHWEN!"


"They'll just give anyone a pilot's license these days, won't they?" he asked, shaking his head in a shameful manner.


The rest of the trip was plenty uneventful after that little close call. It wasn't until they had landed and Octavius saw on Sonya's screen that they were landlocked, did he stand up and head for the Cargo Bay. They had a job to do and Octavius wanted to get it done without any hitches.

On Glass Onion

"Hey!" She looked after him, noticing the date.
'How odd, to remember that, this date, well, he is your baby's daddy... still... Happy Birthday, where ever you are...'

"Octavius." Sonya is pulling the stock broker uniform out of the Soap provided box. She kicked his box across the floor to him.

"Scrub up and dress up."
She beamed at her self in the mirror after a quick cleanse in the scrubber.
The smell from her skin caused her to make a face, then she powdered well from the can that Soap had also provided.

The pretense of keeping the leering to a minimum was tossed aside.
She watched Octavius with a naughty joy.

Then she held up the professional dress. It was just formal enough to not be out of place for a border planet port; yet just ultra-core enough to let everyone know that she was a professional white collar uppity get paid for tapping on the cortex with a certain standing kind of person.

"Ruttin' yuk."
It has a dark blue with fading dark green rolling across it, and extra flaps and collar and little hidden pockets for a PDA and I.D. cards.

She studied herself the mirror, tied her hair up on her head to give some slight props more to her image of a stock broker.

"I'm ready."

Aboard the Onion

"Hey!"


"Yeah?" answered Octavius, pulling a one eighty to face Sonya.


"Octavius."


Octavius's stuck out his right foot to stop the box and looked down at it. He looked back up at Sonya with a raised brow and noticed the dress she was holding.


"Scrub up and dress up."


He looked back down at the box and said in his best surprised voice, "OH! Right! How could I have forgotten?" "You know gorram well how you forgot, Octavius." he thought to himself. "She's been on your mind since last night."


He had followed Sonya like a puppy dog to get cleaned up, leaving the Kit to her own devices. She'd probably be pissed at them for deciding to get cleaned up now instead of having done it earlier, but he didn't give half a rat's pigu about that now. Octavius admired the sight of her naked body glistening from the scrubber. He could feel her eyes on him when it was his turn to use it. He had stopped a few times to strike a pose for her before finishing up as well.

Then it came time to put on the clothes. Oh what joy THAT was as Octavius pulled out his outfit from his box.


"Ruttin' yuk."


"My sentiments exactly." he responded, holding up his new ensemble for her to see. "Not exactly my taste neither."


Octavius's clothes could best be described as a mix of ETW Goth, New Age, and Grunge all rolled into one. The pants were deep blue leather with fishnet cutouts over the knees and along the sides ran diamond shaped metal studs. The shirt was tie-dyed in the front and mesh in the back. The jacket was the only thing Octavius liked out of the entire package. It was black and leather with inch long spikes around the shoulders, on the elbows, and surrounding the wrists.


"I'm ready."


"As am I, darlin'." replied Octavius, putting on the included gold lensed shades and slipping his ID into one of his jacket's pockets. "As am I."

On GLASS ONION

Sonya rolled her tongue around the inside of her mouth.

The new uniform of Octavius Roman was somehow,
. incredibly authentic.

At least in her imaginitive mind it confirmed what he was, something not real,
something dangerous, something she shouldn't be playing with, much less shagging or about to run out the ship's door into a rather rough and tumble space port.

Something exciting.

It would be over soon. She'd have to remember she was kidnapped, there would have to be a big story for the Alliance; not easy people to convince. It was already playing in their mind, the loopy former dumb blonde star telling how she got caught up in it all, out of fear of losing her life.
'that is part of it though, really...'

As they headed into the station though, she knew it wasn't.
If she'd not had Ian to worry about,
not actually had a responsibility, she'd be here;
willingly playing little dumb blonde adventuress.

Which was all wrong, for all the horribly wrong reasons.
This wasn't fun,
Roman and Sammy were on missions, crucial to their lives, their sanity even;
who they were, what they were. Things had been done to them.

And part of her wanted to go along, for the excitement.
For the fun of it.

It was a good thing she was mama-Sohn first.

Otherwise,

otherwise, that would have been more than good enough for her.

"So what are we supposed to do here again?"

The Dingle

Sammy, refusing to entertain the outfit that Soap had sent for her, glanced at her companions. Maybe she should change her mind about that? The man's costuming skills were exquisite.

But it was a little too close to the stylings she'd worn when she'd been here previously, and although the face in the mirror wasn't quite the same, her voice and body language couldn't be masked.

"So what are we supposed to do here again?"

Sammy, preoccupied with getting the awesome wearable Soap had gifted her adjusted, blurted out, "Get rid of you."

"I mean... not... get rid ..." Her spex dropped over her eyes, and she shoved them back up onto her forehead with an exasperated groan, "I mean... I meant we're going to get you to someone who can get you safe and sound back to your real life."

The tech-geek blinked, " Soap, he made it clear, reminded me... Taking you hostage was wrong. You have family, people who care about you... worry about you."

Sammy turned to Roman...what was he so cheery about this morning? "That's more than Roman and I have... Guess it makes it easier for us to forget what that's like."

It was as close to yet another apology as she could come. Straightening quickly, she slapped her spex down, before Sonya could see the hurt in her eyes, she pointed out into the busy dockside, "The Dingle. Our contact should be at the Cor-cafe on Mureigh, which is... " Her spex pulled up the image in front of her right eye, "Right across from ULC headquarters? I guess he's not Subtlety R Us."

Sam led the way through the docksides, passing the hulk of private freighters and passenger yachts. Maybe she'd have to see about acquiring a yacht? The rare sight of a Corsair class converted freighter caught Sam's eye for a second, but then they were out into the Island proper, where everything seemed business as usual. Glances shot their way, taking in the trio, but no one moved to stop them or ask their business.

Finally, they came to the CorCafe and Sam gestured to the pair, "Thank god! I haven't had a decent mocha since The Bella Starr! After you, kids!"

"So what are we supposed to do here again?"


"Get rid of you."


Octavius arched his eyebrow at the Kitten's words in a concerned manner as well as crossing his arms, the metal spikes on his jacket's elbows reflecting pinpoints of light from the Cargo Bay's light sources.


"I mean... not... get rid ..." "I mean... I meant we're going to get you to someone who can get you safe and sound back to your real life." " Soap, he made it clear, reminded me... Taking you hostage was wrong. You have family, people who care about you... worry about you."


A smile formed across his face as he watched the Kitten try to redeem herslf, but failing quite miserably. It was very humorous to watch and sad at the same time, but it also provided Octavius with a form of entertainment that no show broadwaved on the Cortex could give him.


"That's more than Roman and I have... Guess it makes it easier for us to forget what that's like."


Octavius dropped the smile as he tried to look more like a struggling 'I'm against the Estabishment' performance artist. His arms uncrossed themselves from his chest and his hands found their way into his pants' pockets.


"The Dingle. Our contact should be at the Cor-cafe on Mureigh, which is... " "Right across from ULC headquarters? I guess he's not Subtlety R Us."


"Maybe our contact is like Soap." Octavius replied. "He's too cheap to afford subtlety."


Octvaius followed the Kitten out of the Onion, walking next to Sonya as the trio passed the other ships at the Dock. He glanced at those folks who looked at them while on their journey. He guessed most of those looks were directed at him and the outrageous outfit he had on, but like the performance artist he was supposed to be, he ignored them or gave them a sneer.


Once they came to their destination, Octavius glanced at it and muttered, "Oh great, a Core Yuppie coffee shop. That just SO screams 'me'."


"Thank god! I haven't had a decent mocha since The Bella Starr! After you, kids!"


Octavius grabbed the door and opened it, drawing in looks from the customers inside as he held it open for his two female companions. He paid them no mind as he gestured towards the ladies and said, "Oh no no no no. After you, I insist."

Sonya walked in like she owned the joint, which she could pull off without faking it; and it seemed to her appropriate for a stock broker. Husband number two was a stockbroker, did real well too; except for those investments at the craps table.

She shrugged a little, gave the public CORTEX terminal a long look,
decided not to push her luck or current good standing.

"You figure our cards have been given the appropriate levels of credit?" she whispered, "Cause I'm tapped on the cash."

That expensive wine at the theatre had been a bit showy.

Standing just inside the cafe she waited to be waited on;
flicked on the PDA that came with the suit.
There were several articles, edited to focus some clever witty stockbroker things to say. "shiny." she muttered.

"You figure our cards have been given the appropriate levels of credit?" she whispered, "Cause I'm tapped on the cash."

Sam shifted the spex to her forehead, scanning the cafe as she followed Sonya in. Soap had left some plat notes in the computer case for them. Enough for incidentals until Sammy could get back into her accounts, "I got it. You are our ...guest... after all. "

As she made her way to the counter, she let her gaze trip over the occupants. The dark man and the peachy bright eyed young lady, obviously working hard on their office break she instantly ruled out as their contact.

Riadon. Male? Female? It wasn't a screen name that was for sure- Sam didn't recognize it. She had to assume that the contact would contact her. The elegant woman at a rental terminal, tea steaming at her hand... That could be Riadon.

Or the beautiful creature idly scanning through a fashion magazine? Maybe? But doubtful with those shoes. Sammy dropped a 20 plat note on the counter, "Mocha, extra chocolate, with whippy if you've got the real stuff. If it's the canned, then forget it. And whatever these two want. Get the change, will you, Jack?"

Drink in hand... no whippy, she circled to a table, then moved back to the dark woman at the terminals, deliberately splashing her mocha as she sat at the terminal next to her. "OH! Blast it!" Sammy exclaimed, wiping ineffectually at the practically microscopic spot with a napkin. "I love this shirt! Excuse me... You wouldn't happen to know a good SOAP to get this out of synth-cotton blend, would you? "

Okay, wouldn't win any points for subltety, by hey she had to try something!

The little bright orange two speed scooter bearing a "ROCK ME BABY!" bumper sticker hummed up to the front of Cor-Cafe, it's passenger, clad in fitted slacks, polished shoes, stylishly sleek black leather jacket and dark full-face helmet quite at odds with the appearance of the vehicle.

Riadon set the brake, but remained seated, glimpsing through the wide glass windows. The babe, Gulliver, he would recognize anywhere, and her counterpart, the huge bald dude in the shine and shake 'fit was unmistakeable. "Here a'ready, then." He muttered to himself.

Unfortunately, so was his coworker. Mrs. J. Istavo, looking like the mega-bill legal eagle that she was. Bollux and butternuts! Eh. Shave it. She had to know folk like him hadda eat, right? Knew he couldn't stay locked in the basement all day doin the geek-freak?

But still, he didn't move from the scooter.

Riadon, aka Hip, aka Ronald Ialo Danson, didn't keep his rep by sticking his pigu in a blender just to see how many speeds it had.

Riadon's scooter-

"OH! Blast it!" came the voice from the terminal next to Esi and she gave a sideways glance at the woman sitting there. "I love this shirt! Excuse me... You wouldn't happen to know a good SOAP to get this out of synth-cotton blend, would you? "

Esi frowned a little, finding the question a little odd, but she gave a slight smile and took her hands off the keyboard, pausing in her perusal of the nearby docks' launch schedules and crew manifests. “Soap?” she repeated, her dark eyes flickering from the woman's face to the spot she was trying to clean, while slowly counting to ten in her head to keep panic at bay. “Bleach is usually a good option, but obviously not a sensible solution for black cloth. A good laundry detergent without perfume will probably get rid of any stains if you make a paste of it and rub it in before washing. But here...”

She reached into a pocket and removed a fresh wet wipe and put it on the table, drawing her fingers back before the other woman had a chance to touch them. “That has some disinfectant in it. A temporary solution, I know, but it might help a little?”

In the Cafe

"Mocha, extra chocolate, with whippy if you've got the real stuff. If it's the canned, then forget it. And whatever these two want. Get the change, will you, Jack?"


"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." replied Octavius, as he scanned the cafe's occupants for their contact.


He had no doubt that the Kitten had done the same, but it never hurt to double check. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Octavius perused the overhead menu behind the counter. His mind went through the list of occupants as he figured out what he wanted. There was the raven haired beauty in the business suit. She was obviously cute, but didn't quite fit the profile. Neither did her lunch date, who appeared to be trying too hard to get into her pants. There was a well dressed guy outside and sitting on a scooter. He noticed the man looking inside like he was looking for someone. He stood out in Octavius's mind, but so did a few other people here.


"Have you made up your mind, sir?" replied the employee behind the counter, obviously peeved that Octavius was taking too long to order and disrupting the fast and efficient flow.


Octavius's cold eyes locked onto the employee's, making them quite uneasy. He smiled and calmly said, "Give me a regular coffee. Black. None of that frou frou whipped, mocha, extra toppin' go-se. Just a regular coffee, black as the night sky, dong ma?"


"Y-y-y-yes, s-s-sir." replied the employee, stuttering like a dry firing machine gun. "W-w-what size would y-you like that in?"


"OH! Blast it!"


Octavius turned his head to see the Kitten wiping at her shirt. He rolled his eyes as he shook his head and mentally muttered to himself, "What a klutz and not a very good one at that."


"S-sir?"


"Medium." came Octavius's reply, watching the Kitten harass a bald, ebony woman in the next terminal over.


"H-h-here you g-g-go, sir." replied the employee, handing Octavius his medium, black coffee.


Octavius nodded to the frightened employee, then turned to Sonya, smiled and said, "Hey, Mabel? When you get a chance to pry your nose out of that thing..." He motioned to her PDA and continued, "Do you think you can order somethin' to drink, so we can join our klutzy friend?"

Sonya pretended to read, tried to look at the patrons, saw Sammy spilling something. And absorbed very little. 'should be doing something', looked back at the PDA and the post-regressive growth for intra border trade companies with pre-tax exemptions.

Her jaw opened a bit, though her mouth stayed closed, and an eyebrow raised.

"Hey, Mabel? When you get a chance to pry your nose out of that thing..." He motioned to her PDA and continued, "Do you think you can order somethin' to drink, so we can join our klutzy friend?"

The name didn't jump out at her, but Octavius's voice did. She looked blankly back at him, then tucked the PDA away in one of the little pockets under the large flaps of the dress. After she stepped to the counter she only then started to look over the menu. "sorry, didn't uh; don't know what I want yet."

The clerk looked toward Octavius and said most politely, "No hurry, t'take all the time you want." Then stepped back one step, but on the ready to hop to it.

Sonya finally settles on a fruity tasting veggie supplemental hot tea something or other called a vegimatisipper. She walked over and slipped a hand under Roman's arm.

"So... " her fingers gripped his arm just a little, "I guess I'll be going then or something... so, when .. you know, you get around to wanting to look me up and apologize for pointing that gun in my face; I shouldn't be too hard to find."

She looked around the cafe, still not taking much in.
A mixture of anticipation that this would be over, a little regret about that;
but that certainty that it had to be. A fear that somehow her actions would be interpreted by the Alliance for more or less what they ended up becoming; complicit.

Octavius waited as Sonya ordered her drink and then pocketed the change the cafe employee handed to him once she got it.


"So... " "I guess I'll be going then or something... so, when .. you know, you get around to wanting to look me up and apologize for pointing that gun in my face; I shouldn't be too hard to find."


"You'll have to check with our klutzy friend on the leavin' part, hon." he replied. Giving her a smile, Octavius continued, "You know how she gets when someone leaves without givin' her notice. You have my support though if it makes you feel any better." His eyes lowered a bit as he asked, "So. What would make for an acceptable apology?"

"You'll have to check with our klutzy friend on the leavin' part, hon."

"She's not being a klutz, that's..." Sonya paused, not entirely sure what Sammy was doing, or how well.
"finesse?"

"You know how she gets when someone leaves without givin' her notice. You have my support though if it makes you feel any better."

"Yeah. I thought of running away. But I wasn't sure... " 'if you'd shoot me... '
"Or if I really wanted to, but I do... gotta be going."

"So. What would make for an acceptable apology?"

Her fingers dug into his arm a little sharper.
"Easy.. just don't go hurtin' anyone that don't deserve it."
She looked up at him,
"Well, uh, obviously using a more conservuhtive eval of who deserves it.. you got Karma to think of Octavius. You don't wanta get screwed over by the soul-refs and get made into something awful in your next life.. ya know, like Soap?"

Sonya let go of his arm, grabbed his hand and led him to a booth,
"Or just lock us up in a cargo deck with a bit more softer places, ... an.. a Jacuzzi and some side bars."

She looked back to Sammy, 'come on'

Sonya slid into the booth and scooted across to the end of the bench seat.
Made to toss her hair, but it was up in a bun... she laughed at how the flirty mannerism must have looked.

"Yeah, that'd work."

"Easy.. just don't go hurtin' anyone that don't deserve it."


"Care to explain this easy to me?" remarked Octavius. "That concept is sort of foreign to me."


"Well, uh, obviously using a more conservuhtive eval of who deserves it.. you got Karma to think of Octavius. You don't wanta get screwed over by the soul-refs and get made into something awful in your next life.. ya know, like Soap?" "Or just lock us up in a cargo deck with a bit more softer places, ... an.. a Jacuzzi and some side bars."


"Got it, darlin'. Although I'm thinkin' there was somethin' else I needed to say. Eh, it's probably nothin'." replied Octavius as he looked at her. "Just please stop referrin' to Soap. That man gives me the heebies."


They made their way over to a booth. After Sonya got herself seated, Octavius sat next to her on the right. He had a feeling that he had forgot to mention or say something to her. Something that was the utmost of important that Soap had told them before they left Paquin. His mind was mostly focused on Sonya ever since they had some fun in the Onion's cargo bay.


"Yeah, that'd work."


Then it hit him like a million ton freighter with a hopped up motor on an illegal booze run. He almost smacked his forehead with his hand as he turned to Sonya and said, "Now I remember what I was goin' to say. All that ruttin' must've scrambled my brain or somethin'." He grinned at the blonde and continued, "We can't let you go until after we meet our contact and only after you've been handed to the authorities, who have been bribed and/or told what to report."

"Sure, sure. No problem, about how I figured... "
Sonya had out the PDA again, looking at the stock numbers before she again quickly lost interest and turned to the menu.

Under the table, a Sonya foot found its way to Roman, parked itself there against his leg, the motion undetectable above the table; and seemingly without much of a thought from Sonya.

"Anyone see anything that isn't fried in a hydrogenated corn vat?"
Her finger moved across the menu, finally finding something...
"oh hey, Microfish. It's real right?"

Without looking up, "So what's next Sammy?"
Sonya drank from her Vegimatisipper,
"These are good."

She pushed the menu away, "Microfish then, with the Brocalgea."
but then, she wondered... as she began to take in the surroundings of the restaurant. "We are eating yeah?"

'hmm,' Another spacer saloon.
Her foot against Roman twitched a little, nothing to eat yet, but she was getting antsy. A good run would be shiny, even after the previous night, she was starting to get a boiling of energy up inside her. Being off a ship, on dirt, it meant getting out and get going somewhere, this holing up in the local tav. 'oh well'.

She hadn't really figured she'd be on her way, not yet anyway.
Always another delay, another reason.
Always something.

Sonya sat straight in the booth, comfortable and relaxed - just liked she learned in little'debutante charm class, turned her attention to the facial profile of Octavius Roman.

“Soap?”

Sam started to pat herself on the back. Right in one!

“Bleach is usually a good option, but obviously not a sensible solution for black cloth. A good laundry detergent without perfume will probably get rid of any stains if you make a paste of it and rub it in before washing. But here...”

Or wrong. Very wrong.

“That has some disinfectant in it. A temporary solution, I know, but it might help a little?”

"Thanks for the tip. I'm a worse at being merry-maid than I am at keepin' my drink in my cup. Honestly, I'm not usually such a klutz." Sammy made the white lie sound almost truthful as she took the offered wipe and dabbed ineffectually at the splash, trying to hide her disappointment. It wasn't unusual for her to be wrong about people, but not THAT wrong. "Sorry..." She blithered to the dark woman for a moment, "Didn't mean to interrupt."

For a half-second she glanced over the woman's shoulder. Baseline system. Definately NOT the contact. Sam snapped a business card out of her pocket, noting that Soap had gone through the trouble of including one of her seldom used secure-cortex addies, and handed it to the woman, "Christen Cane. Ever need an energy consultant, I'm your girl."

With a flash of a smile that didn't reach her eyes, Sammy was just about to say an inane goodbye when an all too familiar voice behind her caught her attention.

"... after you've been handed to the authorities, who have been bribed..."

Tzao gao! Her gaze flew to Roman and Sonya's table as she swore silently. Could he be any louder? Let's paint signs on our backs saying we're fugitives! It wasn't until she turned towards them that she realized Soap's genius in Roman's cover identity. A renegade performance artist with an anti-establishment bent meant nobody in the cafe was even blinking at him.

But it was what she glimpsed out the window over Roman's shoulder that seriously stopped her. On an orange scooter a lean young man, sharply dressed, was glancing casually, too casually, through the window. With a final smile to Esi, she waggled her fingers and then moved back towards the table.

Leaning over Octavius as she passed him, she tapped his shoulder and whispered softly, knowing he would hear her, "Wait one minute and then follow me. And xnay on the on the ribebnay, dong ma?"

Spinning on her heel, she met the gaze of the man outside for a flash of a second, then strolled out the door, deliberately sashaying as she walked away from the cafe.

Murreigh Ave

As Samantha strolled out, Riadon closed down his smile and the face-plate of his helm. The scooter hummed as he hopped it off the curb and into the street, slowly matching her striding speed and staying a foot behind as she swerved from public eye into an alley between the buildings.

Smart girl. Soap said she was BSH'er, but these days half the key-clickers on the 'tex claimed the whole heaven and hell gose, lyin' gits the lot of 'em. Riadon only knew one way to find out if she was who Soap said she was.

He kicked down the scooters stand and stood up, yanking the helmet from his dark hair, his grey eyes, only shades lighter than the cement at their feet, and speckled with as many dark flecks in nearly in the same way, traveled the ground between them, then raised up to her face. A smirk of a smile appeared, "So, duckee, ye always lead strange men to dark alleys? I should be worried, yah?"

"You were watching me." She was shifting, uncomfortable like now, her gaze traipsing back to the street, "Wanna say why?"

He was taller than she, but not by much. She was pretty, but Soap had warned him about that. Riadon could handle 'pretty'. What he hadn't quite envisioned was the on-the-edge glaze to her eyes, the tired slump to her shoulders. "Ye don't look like your snappies, ducks. Not like the other two. They for real?"

"As real as I am. And I've had some.... work done."

The pause filled in the gaps in what Soap hadn't mentioned. The work wasn't voluntary, and it had happened too recently for her to know what she looked like yet, "Nah! Nah, suits ye, I think. Better than how you looked before..." Riadon hooked his helmet on the scooter's bars and waggled his fingers at the side of his face, scrunching his nose, "All mousy and weasled, rings under the eyes, saggy..."

"That's enough!" Sammy barked, hands coming to her hips, clenched into tight fists, "Look, I don't know you, and you don't know me, and you sure as hell aren't gonna get me from my old trial shots..."

Riadon had the good grace to at least try to look chagrined as he dropped his hands, "Sor, really sor, duck. But your wrong. I do know ye."

"No. You don't." She whipped back at him.

He shook his head, stepped forward, stripping off one leather glove and extending his hand slowly, "Sure, I do. Ye just don't know it. Let's try this 'gin, shall we? In the last two weeks, where-ever you been, is NOT on the Bayden's, sister-q. Ah, how do I know, you ask? 'cause while you were slack-doggin' I blew through Kitten's green zone, creamed her castle, ripped her loot, and my army is on it's way to take her entire kingdom down. Even found yer cache of tricks. I hit top score three days ago. Only real regret..." Riadon frowned, glanced to the ground, his flint-stricken eyes flicking up through his long black lashes, "... real tragedy is that the Cue is right behind me in the stats now. Sorry, duckee, you gotta watch your back."

"Gorram. Hip? You're..." She was already scrabbling with the wearable she was carrying, her fingers flying on the pact keypad. "Crap. You ... You're Hip! You're in the lead? You bastard!"

Riadon couldn't help himself. His grin busted wide. He had her. "You suck, girlfriend, and right now, that's me yer tastin."

"I hate you!" But Sammy was smiling back. Instead of shaking the outstretched hand, she gave it a hard-palmed low-five, "You creamed me while I was in hospital?"

"Like butter, baby-girl!"

"I was blown up, you now. Like for, real!" Sammy growled, dropping her spex, the gamer smack-talk coming up fast and hard, "You are toast, as of right now. You are waste and don't even know it."

"Alls fair in love... Well, let's just say all's fair, shall we?" Riadon leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, "But that's there, this is now. I figure we got...what? Half-a-min before the bulldog and the poodle get out here..." He tapped his wrist unit, "And my Fed 'tact is four minutes away."

Stepping close, Riadon dropped one hand on Kitten's shoulder, staring down into her eyes and holding her gaze, trying to read past the shields she wore, the ones far deeper than skin, "Are you in this, Kit? Full percentile? 'Cause I talk and there's no turnin' back. It's all up to you."

Riadon held her there, close to him, "But this is big. Bigger than anythin' you ever got into before. And if it comes back to me..."

"It won't." Her throat muscles convulsed as she swallowed, "And I'm in. Two-hundred percent."

"A'right." He glanced towards the end of the alley, thinking he'd heard the cafe doors over the street sounds, and Riadon nodded, slowly let her go with a serious tilt of his head, "Here tis. Your hubby-man's alive and kickin', but everyone who finds the proof goes into the pudding, dong ma? You follow this course, an' you're like to go with 'em. And then..."

Riadon winked as he backed away, positive he now heard Gulliver and Roman, "I'll hold top Bayden's score forever."

'what?'
Sonya hated that... 'hog latin GoSe'
She never could understand it.
"ribebnay?" She asked Roman just before they followed.