Kessendra

Kessendra Space Port

On board the Wayfarer-class transport, the Midnight Shadow

Erly's eyes widened when the alien that Silas had apprehended woke up and began speaking in his native language. She didn't bother to draw her scary little weapon, trusting in Silas and Neassa to keep things under control. The man did something to the alien, but whatever it was, it made Erly twitch and tremble a little. Like a disturbing tickle in the back of her mind. She could swear she was almost able to feel whatever he was doing and that was ridiculous, of course. She knew that the man was Force-Sensitive. CorSec worked with Jedi often enough, and knew to respect the powers they possessed, and even rely on it. Erly tested negative for Force-Sensitivity. She never actually saw the results herself, but the records were given to her later. And she would have spotted any anomaly, considering that her mind was sharp and alert almost 22/6 all the time.

When she looked into the eyes of the alien as he briefly looked to her, and in that moment, she literally saw life and death for him, in the grasps of all whom he looked at. And she knew why, because when Silas spoke, Erly could almost see a metaphorical sword hanging over the man's head. Erly raised a hand in a stopping gesture, "Sir, wait! Just because he seems useless now doesn't mean he won't be of use later. Please don't kill hi..."

And then Adrien exploded, reacting like a cornered animal. It didn't take a person with medical training to know that he wasn't all in at the moment, even if awake. Stepping in front of the little ginger-haired girl, Erly put both hands out, though Adrien's much too large jacket all but hid her hands from sight. "Whoa, Adrien, whoa! Take it easy!"

Crud Thought Erly, he had to ask that question, about where his crew was. How could they convince him of the most bizarre events that transpired since the time he'd been injured on Juvex? Lowering her hands a little, she gestured to everyone gathered, "We kind of are your crew now. I'm Erly, remember? Paid you for passage on your ship, you call me Blondie. You got hit almost point blank by a detonator."

It probably would help if she explained the absence of those he more likely knew much better. "Uhm, the one you called Fenrir, I think? He left us on Honoghr, had some things to take care of. Silas over there helped save your life, and on Honoghr, Jemima here took over looking after you. She came aboard as a personal doctor to monitor your vitals. That's Neassa, in the suit of armour. She's a friend of the big Mando named Spectre. He's the father, apparently, of this little darling over here."

She moved aside to reveal the little redhead. "So uhm...yeah...in addition to the Nagai woman outside, we're your crew, or at least, some of the passengers on your ship. Oh, we're on Kessel by the way. welcome to the uh...asteroid."

Other than lowering her hands, being sure to keep her right away from her holstered DL-44 since Draykon is clearly wary despite his evident disorientation, Neassa doesn't move as Meony, Erly, and then the doctor join the unplanned gathering in the cargo bay. Neassa isn't too surprised that the new arrivals do little to reassure Draykon; it was clear from all that the crew revealed during their accounts of earlier events that the Midnight Shadow's crew was a hastily assembled one, with more than one addition having been made after Draykon's injuries rendered him unconscious, and so she can't really blame him for feeling more than a little jumpy.

Turning her head slightly when Silas reveals that their guest is not alone, having two accomplices in the spaceport's bar nearby, Neassa nods to indicate that she's listening so that he knows someone is paying attention even though the majority of the attention is understandably on Draykon. No equivocation in her tone, and ignoring Erly's protests about sparing their captive, Neassa says, The ownership or abuse of the flesh is punishable, and his hand shall be swift and sure, answering Silas, quoting his recitation from the book he carries with him, when he asks if he should end their captive's life.

When Draykon asks about Fenrir, his pilot, and their captive, Neassa turns her T-visor towards him and answers him, Fenrir and Leon left for parts and purposes unknown on Honoghr, where you were taken to be treated for your injuries. Your pilot is probably in the cockpit, and this, she glances down at their captive, her tone revealing her disgust clearly, chakaaryc * is a slaver about to have his sentence carried out.





*low-life

What did she just say to that guy, Silas or whatever? Adrien thought to himself, And who the frack was Leon? And then she gestured to the guy in the chair and the initial statement made sense, sort of, still seemed out of place, like a quote or something. But he wondered why there was a slaver on his ship in the first place, not to mention why he was being interrogated by this crew. But his questions about slavers were answered by the doctor before he could even ask them, "Wait," his gaze shifted almost immediately from Silas and Neassa to the doctor, "what the frack are you talking about? What slaves?" He genuinely didn't know what she was talking about and it was obvious, as far as he knew this was supposed to be a simple spice run with a few of Bateman's people to protect it.

Since they were in ear shot of the cockpit shouted in that direction for his pilot, "Leeza!" he needed some answers from someone he knew. "Soon as my pilot gets down here we can get this all sorted out." Of course Adrien didn't know that Leeza had gone as well.

Outside of the Wayfarer-class transport, the Midnight Shadow

"Roger," the tiny, pale skinned Nagai says in a rougher, more business-like tone than her usual cheery, animated one. Scanning the area before moving to head aboard the Midnight Shadow, the Nagai lifts her free hand to massage her left temple absently, as though unaware of doing so; her trifurcated mind struggling to reconcile the conflicting motives of two of its facets so that one may come to the fore - one facet relieved to learn that Adrien has regained consciousness and eager to see him, while another facet, though equally relieved, finds the idea of abandoning the watch over the ship and hangar discomforting.

A scowl of displeasure on her features, the Nagai reluctantly turns while holstering her DC-15s; her splintered mind having decided upon a compromise of sorts by allowing the more militant and wary fragment to remain at the fore in order to better ensure that the return to sentry duty will be as swift as possible. Addressing the empty air beside her while striding purposefully towards the Midnight Shadow's boarding ramp, the Nagai says, "Stay close to me. It sounds like something's amiss."

Stopping just inside of the cargo bay's entrance, so that she has a clear line of sight on all within in the event the tension evident to her in Draykon's posture is at all justified, the Nagai rests her thin fingered hand on the grip of her DC-15s as, glancing briefly at him before her eyes continue their vigilant watch over the others in the cargo bay, she asks Draykon in a gruff tone, "Orders, Captain?"

The body language of the cornered captain changed almost instantaneously as he saw his friend step though the door, he lowered the scalpel and loosened his grip, his shoulders and jaw relaxed, he stood fully, he was completely at ease. He knew it was Forseti that he was talking to but he had no idea what names Connie had given to everyone else. "Status re-" it was then that he was interrupted by some guy singing and playing air guitar. With furrowed brow he cocked his head to the side, not really sure what it was that he was witnessing here. He looked at Connie and back to the guy, "Who the hell is this?" he asked Connie as he just stared at the class clown. "Where is my pilot? Of course Adrien was talking about Leeza, still unaware of that she had left due to the misunderstanding about slaves. And what slaves?! It was clear that the captain needed to be filled in on a lot of details since his black out. But now that he had taken a moment to relax he had become somewhat light headed. He blinked only once before his knee buckled and he stumbled before he caught himself on the wall.

For anyone else on the ship this might not seem out of the ordinary for someone just waking up from a mini-coma but Adrien knew that this wasn't normal for him. Adrien had been in many situations where he had narrowly cheated death, in fact this wasn't even the first time that he had been hospitalized for his injuries (perhaps he needs to think long and hard about how he takes on and handles dangerous situations, why he does these types of things, whether or not he has a death wish; of course those are all topics for a later time). This was however, the first time he had suffered these kinds of residual effects because his accelerated healing factor had always taken care of these kinds of problems. He was never in need of more treatment than the initial treatment, it worried him.

The captain stood silent at the request to go to the medbay then looked around at each person in the room, his eyes landed on one in particular. Trent Weston. He'd have to make time to feel this guy out, of course he'd have to feel out quite a few of the people surrounding him. The news about Leeza wasn't at all surprising, too many new people for someone on the run to receive well, perhaps if they had all come at different times but it seemed as though they all came at once which even made Adrien nervous. But this Weston guy seemed different than the rest, he was too carefree, too happy-go-lucky, especially for the predicament they found themselves in now going up against slavers and all. But maybe it was just Adrien's current state of mind that had off-put in to the pilot. after all, happy-go-lucky wasn't exactly something he had never had on the crew before. Then the man in the black hat, who seemed familiar somehow perhaps in the way he spoke, carried out his judgment of the slaver and Adrien's attention was pulled away from Weston for a moment. There weren't a lot of things that he didn't understand but the way he spoke to the alien was almost absent emotion, no joy or anger, it was as though he carried no personal connection to the execution. It seemed odd to Adrien that this little crusade wouldn't be about vengeance or money. It seemed the man didn't enjoy what he was doing what he was doing but that he was obligated in some way like he was in the middle of some holy war stamping out injustices throughout the galaxy. But maybe Adrien was just looking too much into it.

Turning once again to Connie Adrien simply nodded in agreement and handed the scalpel to the doctor then looked around the room once more before he turned and unsteadily started to walk back to the medbay. There was a part of him that wanted to tough it out and take out some slavers but he knew he would just slow the group down in his current condition, so instead he offered only this, "Clean up that mess and get it outta my ship." before he disappeared around the corner. When he finally reached the medbay, with the help of Connie and the Doc, he fell onto the nearest bed and rolled onto his back.

Anzhelia, or whatever she might be calling herself at the moment since her personality has undergone a radical shift, arrives not long after Erly goes off to get her when Draykon asks, and the tension seems to go out of Draykon in an instant. Westy's arrival seems to elicit an almost amusing combination of incredulity and irritation, bringing a smile to Neassa's lips, unseen beneath her buy'ce.

The smile fades when she hears Silas addressing their captive, and Neassa watches dispassionately as Silas carries his sentence out. Nodding when Silas asks whether they should deal with the deceased Miralukan's comrades, Neassa turns and tells Weston, Make sure the ship's prepped and ready for lift-off, and then turns, tapping the side of her helmet as she tells Erly, We'll be in touch after we've dealt with the two in the bar.

Making her way from the ship, Neassa pauses at the foot of the boarding ramp to scan the area around the ship for Silas, spotting him just as he heads into an alley. Catching up to Silas and validating his feeling that she would be at his side when the time came to deal with the Miralukan's comrades, Neassa falls into step beside him, nodding as they continue on towards the bar.

The bar is as depressing as the planet's name suggests it, and anything to be found on it really, will be - a dark, dank, smoke-filled space filled with worn furnishings that seem decades out date, and occupied by a handful of equally weary and weathered looking beings - and Neassa follows beside Silas as they step into the gloomy interior, her head turning slowly as she examines the other occupants of the bar while asking Silas, You get anything from his mind about what his accomplices might look like?

Silas scans the bar silently for a moment, eyes passing over a dozen faces, all more interested in their drinks than any newcomer, before settling on the one table that was bathed in shadow, a dozen paces distant and half that many sentients between the door and there. What remained to be seen was -- were those sentients complicit, or innocent? Under his breath, the outlander spoke to the armoured woman to his left. 

A ginger-haired, thin man, and a cowled woman. Can't see anyone like that... but that table, in the back... 

He wasted no time, sweeping right, unbuttoning his coat as if to shake off the damp. He moved through the small assortment of mismatched tables, arms just brushing passerby. He might have been looking for a place to sit. A young, scantily clad brunette woman seated at a table of three tough looking hombres smiled at him hopefully, and he tipped his hat in reply. An old man, hands shaking, wiped a straight razor over the rim of his glass, cutting the head off the piss-warm beer before him. A peripheral glance across the room showed him that Neassa had swept left, mirroring his movement and drawing a fair bit more attention than himself due to her outfit and stature. 

Two drunk men in coveralls argued loudly over a bet on some kind of a card game, one man laying down his cards and insinuating there had been foul play, while a Dug collected paper money from three other man who lost on the wager. 

From two paces away, seated with his back to Silas at the darkened table, the outlander caught a flash of red hair.

Drawing even with the table, the Preacher quickly slid into the booth, beside Red. There was, as he expected, a cowled form across from him. 

Mind if I sit a moment?