The transport shuttle Okimoro drifts through space. Through the speakers, you hear the captain announce that the shuttle will arrive at Absalom Station in approximately one hour. Looking about the room you've chosen to spend this portion of your journey in, you notice your traveling companions stand out from the usual businessmen and visitors (or returning residents) that can be found on these types of transports.
The small television in the corner plays a news broadcast, recounting the recent arrival of a mining vessel that returned to Absalom Station 36 hours ago after a venture in the drift. The flag at the bottom pushes statistics and economic information regarding the Collective, and the newscaster finishes the broadcast discussing with several pundits whether or not the recent attack on a trading vessel near the Diaspora was the work of the Free Captains, the Voidwalkers, or if the two groups are collaborating.
The brown, rat-like Ysoki strides (well, small strides) purposefully toward the buffet. His back is ramrod straight and his tail is at 'parade rest'. The thin-braided white trim of a formal military collar peeks out from beneath his worn coveralls. He casts only a passing eye on the TV as he efficiently stuffs four croissants and two glazed donuts into his left cheek pouch. To the Shirren watching him, he explains around a half-packed donut, "mmfm... saving them for later." As an after-thought, he adds, "You want one?"
T'zor clearly recoils at the offer, but the Shirren man's calm smile doesn't fade. Though he is spindly, as most of his kind are, he fills out his pilot's uniform and heavy armor well. "More than food, I am interested to see what awaits us on the station," he replies directly into the Ysoki's mind. He blinks twice, his oversized and multifaceted eyes gleaming with excitement. He turns towards the shuttle's cabin, and blinks twice more. In a quieter voice, one it almost seems T'zor doesn't actually intend for others to hear, he telepathically mutters, "I wonder if they would let me watch them work...?"
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Sitting off to the side apparently watching everyone around, is a young lady with mostly red hair but with tints of blue, she is dressed in a dark bue flight suit with a holstered pistol on her hip.
she sits legs crossed leaning back shewing her bubble gum, the occasional pop of a bubble is heard.
She is rather quiet for the moment, surveying the other passengers.
A Lashunta man sits quietly near the corner television, a small computer clutched in his hand. His green hair is cut into a mohawk which lays combed back. He is dressed in a long dark coat and trousers, a pair of sturdy black boots on his feet. Leaning against the empty seat beside him is a laser rifle. He sits idly flipping through different screens of information, occasionally looking back up at the news broadcast.
Soryn takes a moment to look around the shuttle again. The others in the room with him certainly didn't look like tourists or corporate types -- the sort that would normally be on a transport like this. They looked far more... capable. A part of him tells him he's seen a couple of these people somewhere before, but another part of him says that that's ridiculous. The Collective is a big place, after all.
As he looks around, he makes eye contact with the young woman with red and blue hair. Her bubblegum pops, and he arches an eyebrow at her, but then turns his attention back to the television. Appearances can be deceiving, but Soryn can't help but wonder if she's wanted for some sort of petty crime. She certainly looks like the rebellious type. Still, he'd been wrong plenty of times before.
Ah well, he thinks, closing his eyes and leaning back to stretch. Not my problem either way.
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A young man sits peaceably in his chair. He seems neither dangerous nor experienced, a certain air of naivete radiating from him. He had his wide-eyed attention fixed on the small hover-droid that floats staidly in front of him. He takes out a spanner and starts working on some panel, trying to make it more efficient...or just see what it does.
"I've never been this far from home, Viv. Do you think it'll be...um...exiting?"
*beep boop boop bop* the droid replies in a tone almost as innocent as her owner.
T'zor doesn't actually intend for others to hear, he telepathically mutters, "I wonder if they would let me watch them work...?"
The Ysoki does his best imitation of a shrug with his tiny shoulders. "Dunno, but it couldn't hurt to ask. In my experience flyers keep to themselves... but maybe that flight uniform would get you through the door?"
On one of the triple seats, a man is quietly snoring, huddling a pair of military boots as if they were a baby. Tall and thin like a spacer, he would appear as a rather handsome human, were it not for the almost ashen gray, corpse like skin covering his face. A jet black three-day stubble adorns his face. Dressed in a set of worn and dinked heavy armour and a thick leather overcoat above it, a pistol is tucked into his belt, a fearsome visage, only undercut by the mismatched socks he's wearing, one baby blue, the other a zig-zagging pattern of white and red - and with a hole from which a gray big toe's poking out.
A pop from the woman with the colourful hair, however, seems to wake him up, as he opens his eyes with almost staggering surprise, before he locks his gaze with her. His eyes are red, but not the bloodshot red of someone suddenly rising, but almost glowing crimson. He inhales deeply, before leaping out of his seat with a crunching noise, as if his joints haven't moved in ages.
He blinks around a couple of times in sleepy confusion, before locating the food table, shuffling through to grab a juicebox. A horrible sucking sound later he appears to drain it, before unceremoniously throwing another one in one of his boots. "Y've got the right idea, y'know.", a raspy gurgle with a thick Diasporan accent leaves his mouth as he nods at the ysoki with military bearing, showing a row of perfectly white teeth, before his eyes glare at the rest of the room.
"Well isn't this a pack of col'rful individuals!", he exclaims loudly, before shrugging. "Those late-night shuttles are always an experience." Bending his arm in a stretch behind his back, his shoulder seems to pop with a tear-jerking crunch, before he glances back at the ysoki and the halved donut in his left hand. "You gon to have that? The jam ones are m'favourite.", he asks with a serious tone.
Burlap watches the tall Solarian with interest. At his question, the Ysoki tosses the half-donut up to him without hesitation. "Nah. Help yourself. I'm a fan of croy-sants." Putting words to action, the rat-like creature's tail stabs into the vitals of chocolate croissant and delivers the delicacy to his furry paws. He licks clean a streak of chocolate from his tail.
With innocent curiosity, he asks, "So what's your story? You ex-military or somethin'? You remind me of a sergeant I knew once."
Shoving the donut in his mouth with a single bite, the man laughs at the question. "Cheers, like. Hadn't eaten in... weeks.", he thanks in a muffled voice. "Didn't think they made sergeants that handsome.", he grins, before shaking his head. His attention seems to be drawn away to the screen, where the question of the attacks near the Diaspora's being discussed, as he rubs his chin. Well, at least they're not onto me yet. And besides, I'm dead.
Turning back to the ysoki with the crisp uniform, he continues. "Pard'n my manners. No military, just a former miner off to meet an old friend in this overpriced and overstuffed space station.", he deflects with a grin, though it's clear that a simple miner the man is not. Unceremoniously wiping on the tablecloth, he extends a hand, blackened veins swimming along the surface. "C... Davir Karst, pleasure t'make your acquaintance.", he says chipperly to the room. "And where did you serve, mate? Can't quite pin yer accent down."
For a small rodent, the Ysoki shakes his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. "I'm Burlap. Good to meet ya! I served all over but my accent is probably from home - the mining platforms above Liavara. Where's home for you?"
Soryn glances up briefly at the armored spacer with the Diasporan accent. A miner? Really? He suppresses the urge to shake his head. He'd bet just about everything he owned that the man had experience doing something other than mining.
He finds his attention quickly drawn to another passenger, however -- a young man tinkering quietly with a drone of some sort. A thought flashes through Soryn's mind. Hey, you know what you're doing with that thing? he asks telepathically, speaking directly to the young man's mind. Not gonna explode, is it? We can't really afford that kind of thing in here.
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Anton had detected a slight temperature variance in the rubidium power core--and had started to understand what that could mean, when he got a mind-message.
"WhaaHH!" he yells, jumping up and dropping his spanner. He looks around, and then up. "What? No! I know what I'm doing," he says to the ceiling, accidentally bumping the droid and turning it off, sending it plummeting to the ground, but he catches it before it can crash against the ground.
*beeWOOP* she chirps back at him indignantly once he turns her back on.
"Heh, sorry," he replies sheepishly to the droid, before finally figuring out that the Lashunta was talking to him. "No, Viv won't explode. I built her better than that. Well, I didn't "exactly" build her, mostly I just scavenged the parts after I think she crash--"
"C... Davir Karst, pleasure t'make your acquaintance."
--<<[[voice print recognized]]>>-- Vivian spouts in a pleasent but authoritative female voice.
She floats over to Davir like a curious bird following a bread crumb trail. "Um, sir, I've got the, uh, 'Impromptu Getaway' with a Captain Davir Karst?" are the words that the droid says to Davir, but they're a recording; a comms officer under fire relaying a message.
She floats before Davir, as if waiting for something, and Anton sheepishly walks over. "Uh, sorry, um, sir. I don't "technically" have all her main programming online...or entirely understood."
He rubs his tussled head and grins innocently.
Vivian continues her single-minded stare at Davir, waiting for an answer to her question.
T'zor doesn't actually intend for others to hear, he telepathically mutters, "I wonder if they would let me watch them work...?"The Ysoki does his best imitation of a shrug with his tiny shoulders. "Dunno, but it couldn't hurt to ask. In my experience flyers keep to themselves... but maybe that flight uniform would get you through the door?"
T'zor seems to consider this, before realizing he was overheard. He spends the next few minutes attempting to be invisible, which is not particularly easy when you are a giant bug person.
As the others chat, he eventually attempts to greet them. "Hello. I am called T'zor. I am glad that Hylax's grace brought us all here today."
Shaking the ysoki's hand with a stiff grip, Davir nods. "Ah, pleasure, fellow spacer. I grew up on and around Heorrhahd, but home's where the heart is, Burlap.", he adds thoughtfully, as he reaches for another snack. The blurt from the young man, however, interrupts him, and the floating robot seems to surprise him. The robot's question in particular seems to send him into confusion, as he takes a wide step back, bumping towards the table. What the schist? Keep yer cools on, boyo! Ye're getting done!, he stumbles a little, before he pulls the tails of his coat, putting his arms on his waist and a disarming smile on his face.
"Woah, there, robotic lass!", he grunts out at the hovering robot. "No offense, but if ye want me for an impromptu getaway, ye'll need t'buy me dinner first." He sniffs the air, then adds dismissively to Anton. "It's a common name, mine! Although, that's a real forward robot you got there." Happy for the interruption from the Shirren, he returns the wave. "It's like walking into a bar, isn't it."
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The wild colored hair girl stays pretty quiet. she does laugh at the young mechanic's antics and seems pretty interested in the droid thing, especially after seeing it speak, well sort of speak.
she gets up and looks about for a drink, she seems to stay away from the military types like a petty thief would avoid law enforcement.
grabbing her drink, she takes a sip, not wanting to pry, but what brings you folks to Absalom station? she asks of everyone
With all the Talls circling around and droids dropping from the sky, the Ysoki backpedals until he is partially sheltered by the buffet table to avoid getting accidentally kicked. His eyes dart back and forth, watching everything.
But the girl's question perks his ears up and he answers earnestly. "A beautiful princess - in need of rescuing."
Soryn looks up from his datapad. He smiles at the Ysoki's answer. "Huh, that sounds pretty good. If your beautiful princess has a sister, let me know," he quips. "We'll make a double date of it."
"Why Absalom Station? Business." He answers the girl's question and shrugs. "Always plenty of business to be had there."
"Meetin' an old friend.", shrugs Davir as he gives the new arrivals, and Velocity in particular, a long lookover. "From my mining days.", he adds with a grin. "Though, I could take a detour with Burlap here. If there's no princesses left, I reckon I can settle for the Queen." The business comment from the lashunta seems to raise the gaunt man's humours, as a low laugh leaves his throat. "That's an excellent way t'answer a question without revealin' anything." He lowers his brow. "You're startin' a career in politics?"
Turning back towards the half-elven woman evading the authorities in a vastly familiar way, Davir points a finger at her. "And what 'bout yourself? Feel it's only fair you answer your own question, miss."
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The hover-droid seems to sag as Davir says that he is not -the- Captain Davir, and her whirling gravitons whirl a bit more quietly.
"Heh, sorry, yeah," Anton says as he shepherds the droid back to his seat. "Um, I'm just here because someone I know wants something fixed.
I guess.
It's what I'm best at."
Vivian makes a reproachful chirp but he shushes her and pulls out his spanner again. "Hush, Viv, we don't need to bother every spacer to see if they're the guy Captain Imrael was looking for."
T'zor blinks his uniquely Shirren way, before rubbing the area beneath his mouth, even if he doesn't have anything resembling a chin. "Looking for adventure, I believe, is the most apt description of my plans. I am unsure how much I will be able to find, but I dream of flying around the universe from one adventure to another." He grins widely, surprisingly forthcoming with his desires.
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Velocity listens to the responses, unsure what to make of them. she subtly rolls her eyes at the princess remarks. be careful what ya wish for she mutter in response.
well me? I am also here to meet someone. helped me out of a jam, so to speak. guess I need to repay the favor. unless he wants a little more than I am willing to give of course. And to catch up with some old friends I grew up with there.
glancing at T'zor impressed withe the adventure idea. now that is something I can get on board with. I know just the perfect pilot to join ya. she answers indicating herself.
"Don't worry, lad.", the gray-skinned man stretches a flashing smile at Anton, before sending a longer look at the floating robot. "Let me give ye a piece of advice. Never be sorry f'r tryin'." Ah, the Impromptu Getaway. My grandest achievement and grandest f+**-up. He sighs deeply. After a short ruffling through his boot, he chucks the Apple-Pocalypse juicebox into the boy's hands. "Here's a little consolation prize from the consolation Davir Karst. Now, where'd ye scavenge that fine loot, then?"
T'zor looks slightly askance at Velocity. "Co-pilot, possibly. You will find me no slouch in that department," he states, blinking mischievously.
As conversations continue, the Captain announces over comms that the Okimoro is beginning it's docking procedure. The final procedures take a few minutes, after which an attendant walks through and welcomes passengers to Absalom Station, and you are all permitted to exit onto Docking Bay 94.
Duravor had mentioned he would meet you on this dock, but the only direction he'd given you had been to look for him near the information desk. The brightly lit docks of Absalom Station are abuzz with activity as travelers bustle by, preparing to board or disembarking from other starships bound to or coming from any of dozens of worlds. Brash and swaggering starpilots, scurrying ysoki mechanics and expectant colonists mingle with enigmatic kasatha mystics, hard-faced asteroid miners, imposing vesk mercenaries and more, creating a microcosm of the abundance and variety of life found throughout the Pact Worlds.
New arrivals meet friends, loved ones, or business contacts and are whisked away into the humming activity of daily life on the vast space station. Beyond them, ground crews tend to the docked ships, and dockworkers in mechanized cargo lifters load and unload freight and baggage. A sharp tang of ozone hangs in the air - a byproduct of electrical discharge from the docked ships - but underneath, the station's atmosphere has a slight used aroma. The docking bay's deck plates thrum beneath your feet, though whether it's from the passage if innumerable feet or the vibrations of the station's power conduits and air recycling systems is impossible to say.
Despite the thrum of activity, their is an air of somberness. Propaganda has increased in this portion of the station, with posters and visuals touting slogans such as "United we are strong," and "All for one, one for all," are clearly visible, as well as audio recordings touting the achievements of the Collective in recent years broadcasting across the dock, adding to the cacophony of sounds you hear.
Dwarves don't normally stand out in crowds, but Duravor is tall and lanky for a dwarf. He's also managed to find a spot that does not have a large amount of foot traffic. You see him waiting patiently, occasionaly checking a comm device as he stands, waiting for you to meet him.
As you make your way through the crowd, you notice two distinct groups on the edge of the crowd. What makes then stand out is that they appear to be wearing similar clothes/colors, and are taking up defensive positions opposite of each other.
At the Captain's first announcement, the Ysoki scurries off. He re-emerges as the passengers disgorge from the Okimoro's airlock. He has traded in his worn coveralls for form-fitting, light body armor. His tail is at attention and a slug rifle, far longer than his body, rests at a relaxed, right shoulder arms. A semi-auto pistol sits in holster strapped low on his thigh.
Following the Talls into the dock, Burlap enjoys the initial smell of Absolom's grease, ozone, and age. Every new location had its own smell, and that scent could tell you a lot about a place. Spotting Duravor, Burlap waves to the old family friend, but with all the lanky meat-shields between them, his gesture goes unnoticed.
Rifle slung over his shoulder, Soryn shuffles out the door and off the shuttle with the rest of the passengers, merging with the crowd bustling about in Docking Bay 94. The noise, the smells, all of it was very distinct, very unique to Absalom Station. Fortunately, he thinks, it no longer overwhelmed his senses like it did the first time he had left Castrovel. It remained exciting in its own way, but just like the Collective propaganda, it was something you got used to.
To his surprise, Soryn spots Duravor fairly easily. The dwarf was a bit taller than others of his kind, and he'd done everyone the courtesy of finding an out-of-the-way spot to wait. As he begins to weave through the crowd, though, the Lashunta notices the two distinct groups of people taking up positions opposite one another at either end of the docking bay. His eyes go wide as a thought flashes through his mind. Gangs. Two groups on Absalom Station wearing different colors, facing off against one another, taking up defensive positions. What else could it be? "Move!" he says brusquely, pushing forward through the crowd more forcefully now, unslinging his rifle as he moves.
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Anton pops out of his seat, gathering an array of spanglers and spanners, circuits and arrays, and shuffles out, dutifully followed by the hover-droid.
As soon as he leaves the ship, he barely looks in front of him, head constantly swiveling, looking up and around. He dances around, barely managing to avoid hitting a Tsoki mechanic, muttering, "Oh shiny!" at some techno-gadget or thingamabob.
"Hoi hoi!" Anton shouts at Duravor, hand high and waving frantically. He starts to make his way toward him when his rubber-necking brings to attention the two groups moving toward each other. "Ooo! Is this part of a show? Will they have a wacky impromptu dance number honoring all the new people to the station?" he muses, stopping where he is and watching.
"Viv, should I get a tip ready for them? Maybe find out what school they get their dance degrees from?" he asks the droid who looks on ambivalently.
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Velocity gives a smile like she just heard a somewhat numerous joke, oh honey, that's cute. Sure I'll let you be co-pilot . She was about to say something else, when the captain came on. With a pop of her gum, we're here, awesome
Stepping out on the docking bay, Velocity gives a stretch, ah, just like I never left, same ole propoganda, same ole oblivious people, same ole gangs looking to fight. she says as says taking in the scene.
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She slips by a few people, slipping something into her pocket. She then prepare to pull her pistol. [B] time to meet the welcoming committee, yo guys ready to some fun?[b] she says to the others from the shuttle.
Shuffling to get passed the crew of the shuttle, Davir follows the others with patience, gently offering the people in front of his line to proceed before him. Thankfully for most, his boots are already firmly on his feet, as he stampedes out with loud steps, placing his hands on his waist. "Well isn't this a fine snap of life on Absalom Station." he exclaims as he spots Duravor Keel's form in the distance, before letting out an ear-piercing whistle with his fingers, followed by a wide, melancholic wave.
His slow, shuffling gait, however, is interrupted as a lashunta man barrels in his shoulder, rifle drawn and shouting at someone to move. "What's yer problem, there, pal?" Davir's hands raise in overplayed indignance at the rude individual. "If ye're late, should've taken the earlier shuttle!" Damn big city collectivists, thinking the multiverse revolves around them.
T'zor gracefully maneuvers his way out of the crowded ship, his well-worn weapon slung over his right shoulder, and the rest of his assorted gear in a duffel bag over his left. Though it is hard to tell on a Shirren's face, he appears to still be slightly grumpy at Velocity's earlier quip. He ignores most of the Collective propaganda, more interested in finding his old friend in the throngs of people.
When he finally spots the dwarf, he begins advancing quickly towards him, and his mild frustration is replaced with slightly more obvious elation. "Comrade!" he projects directly to Duravor as soon as he is within speaking distance, blinking happily.
Thankfully, finding Duravor isn't especially difficult, despite the crowds that bustle about the dock. Duravor notices you all about the same time you see him, and raises a hand in greeting. As you begin to walk towards him, the air is suddenly filled with laser blasts coming from opposite ends of the dock. Duravor, caught by surprise, freezes in the open and is hit in the chest by a laser bolt. He falls to the ground without a sound and doesn't move.
A laser flashes past Davir's face, nearly striking the undead pirate, though it harmlessly strikes a dolly and fizzles away.
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"GAAAH!?!" Anton yells in terror and confusion. "That's not a dance routine at ALL!" he observes, running to his right to get behind cover.
Crouching down, he notices some junk nearby.
He piles part of a neogenic housing on top of a cast-off prism array, and braces the lot with an ionized heuristic wave casing.
"There, Viv, that should hold for a bit, now if we just keep our heads down--"
"--<<[[Initiating Attack Protocol 23]]>>--" Viv roboticly states as her upper cupolas retract in a blink and she targets the nearest weapon-armed hostile.
Soryn curses under his breath once the shooting starts. The Lashunta looks around frantically, then dashes to his right past Davir. He slides into cover, then swiftly pops up and takes aim with his rifle. He trains his sights on the second of the three nearest him and fires.
Velocity, Soryn and Anton successfully find cover, moving through the crowd of panicking civilians as lasers fly through the air. Anton and Soryn's shots hit their targets. The gangsters don't seem to notice who hit them and continue focusing their fire on their opponents across the dock.
"Damn Crew, get back to your slums!" one of them yells.
As the laser flashes past Davir's face, his eyes flare open for a minute. "Now hey there, pal! That's not a way t' welcome tourists!", he shouts back, as the red glare from his eyes appears to intensify, flaring out with an eerie, crimson glow. Breaking into a stiff, gangly sprint, he bares a mouth full of teeth as he stampedes towards the man who shot at him. Or at least, towards an armed man, unfortunate enough to be on the side Davir saw the laser come out of.
As he approaches the laser-armed ganger, his smile grows wider. Suddenly, a foot-and-half long blade of pitched darkness in the shape of an antique cutlass springs around Davir's hand. "See, here's the thing!", he barks out with a terrifying, gravely laugh. "A gang is just a pirate crew that's too dumb t'fly!", he shouts in the man's face, before burying the vicious weapon into his unwary foe's gut all the way to the hilt. "And ye shot my mate, ye void-breathing latrine-scented bastard."
As bullets and beams start flying, Burlap's military training takes over. The cross-fire wasn't good. The fella that was in an ideal position to outflank them was even worse.
The War-Rat does a low sprint to some sort of semi-circular wall, providing decent cover against most of the gunmen. Without really thinking about it, the long rifle drops into his hands and he cycles a round into the chamber. With a bead on 'Flanker' , Burlap takes up a shooter's stance and brings his furred claw to rest lightly on the trigger. Since he's new in town, a polite warning seemed responsible.
He clears his throat and addresses the gun-man. "*AHEM*" He squeaks, "Drop your weapon NOW or I aerate your skull." Yes, quite diplomatic. He emphasizes his point by sending a slug down-range at Flanker's left eye.
As Duravor falls to the ground, an expression somewhere between shock and disbelief comes to T'zor's face. As the others spring into action, he simply slumps to his knees, blinking slowly. Once the others start shooting, a string of near unintelligible clicks and growls begin to emit from the Shirren's mouth, nonsense even to any of his own kind who may be in listening distance. Though his people rarely speak out loud, it is clear that the young pilot is furious as can be, an exceedingly uncommon state for the Shirren people.
He stands, shoulders his rifle, and begins firing at the first ganger he sees, cold flame burning in his eyes.
Soryn's aim is true, and his first shot strikes the ganger directly. He smiles in satisfaction and lines up his next shot. As his finger begins to pull the trigger, however, a stray shot flashes near his head. He flinches, pulling the rifle and his shot wide left of his intended target.
Anton and his droid duck behind a crate, seeking shelter from the blaster fire around them.
Davir's cutlass easily cuts into the gangster's flesh, and the man falls to the ground crying out in agony. Meanwhile, Burlap's shot catches a gangster in the shoulder while Soryn and T'zor's fly harmlessly into the dock walls.
"You King scum bring reinforcements? Scared to fight fer yourselves, eh?" The taunt flies across the dock, inciting both gangs to keep up the pressure. However, you notice that the more perceptive members are noticing your presence.
Burlap races across the dock, shouldering his rifle and drawing his sidearm. He confronts Flanker with a yellow, rodent-toothed, smile. "You gonna surrender or do I get to gnaw on your eyeballs?" He had no intention of cannibalizing the man, that was gross... but Talls tended to believe the worst in every species.
T'zor advances towards a pair of the gangers, continuing to fire on them with reckless abandon. The string of nonsense sounds he continues to utter do not seem to pause for even a moment. Where the suddenness of his shock caused his aim to fail him before, his focused fury now guides his shot directly to its target.
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Well... That's not usually how this behaves. Almost surprised at the reaction from the sword in his hand, Davir quickly shrugs, pats down his coat and runs across the docks. Leaping across the pallet behind which another ganger with the same uniform as the one bleeding and screaming on the ground, lashing out with his cutlass as he does so. "Hey, ye Drift-bound bastird!", he barks as the horrid, pitch black blade is brought down upon the ganger. "Ye're in my cover!"
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Anton ducks down and hides for a moment, suddenly unsure if direct action was called for here.
But as the DASHING CAPTAIN wades into battle and engages directly, Anton is suddenly motivated to assist. "Oh YEAH!" he shouts, bringing his pistol to bear. "We're gonna, uh, um, we're SO gonna decon your aft matter!" he shouts the first thing that comes to his mind as he pulls the trigger at the same opponent Davir is engaging.
Anton shoots an order at Viv to support his own attack.
--<<[[May you lead us to victory!]]>>--, she replies in answer, both guns blazing.
The Lashunta ducks down to his right, re-positioning himself to better take advantage of the cover available to him. He ends up next to the young man he'd spoken to briefly on the flight in. Soryn only spares him a look before popping back up to fight. Seeing Davir standing beside his initial target, he instead shifts his aim slightly to the left and fires his rifle at the ganger against the far wall.