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Everyone receives a text message from Venture-Captain Arvin
"Mission briefing 9 am conference room 409
You arrive before Venture-Captain Arvin arrives. The room is a bit of a mess. It looks like there was a party here recently. There is a Ysoki with a cleaning cart eating cake frosting off the floor.
As you enter a Ysoki, cleaning the room greets you.
"Venture-Captain Arvin said to let you know he's running a bit late today. Don't mind me, I'm just here cleaning up after the party. Would you like some frosting? There is still some on the floor over here, it's really good!"
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A young, handsome man in a black suit arrives, a briefcase in one hand and a scalpel twirling deftly in the other as his sharp gaze sweeps over the area. Subtle hints of augmentation mark his frame, barely noticeable at first glance. A closer look at his right arm reveals a finely crafted prosthetic, so lifelike it could almost pass for flesh, while his other arm bears a sheen of dermal plating, perhaps a fashionable enhancement of his era.
"I am Leopold Fix, The Doctor." His voice carries a rich lilt, the last two words pronounced with deliberate, resonant emphasis.
"The Doctor does not arrive to wait," he says flatly, fixing the ysoki with an unblinking stare before finally breaking his gaze. "This room could use a bit more cleaning," he adds, gesturing with a precise flick of his finger toward the cake frosting on the floor, pointedly ignoring the ysoki’s offer.
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A man in a stained, black pilot's overall is the next to arrive. His face, littered with soft wrinkles, is framed by gray hair intermingled with a few stubborn streaks of dark and a barely kempt, if short, beard. His heavy-duty boots had seen many moons, but they seem functional, at least. A belt around his waist carries several satchels and a knife sheath. Attached to a mechanical crossbolter is a strap that is flung over his shoulder.
He enters the room and looks around, raising an eyebrow at the frosting spilled over the floor. He kneels down, dips a finger into the substance, smells it, and puts the finger in his mouth. A second later, he makes a grimace and spits the thing out. "Should have shut down the floor heating." he notes in a coarse voice. He turns around to inspect the room, revealing a pink neon stitch in suggestive cursive across his back, reading [color=red]"Val’s Lick-Her Shop"[/color].
"Name's Blake.", the man turns to Leopold. "Am I early? Or..." he looks at the door sign. "Wrong room, perhaps?"
He extends his arm for a handshake, stops himself halfway, and wipes his finger on his suit before offering it again.
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A winged green shirren, wearing a second skin, with twitching antenna walks through the door of the conference room 409. She is looking around the room, and at the floor.
"The prophecy did not provide me with this vision. I'm Étoile marcheuse. I hope during the exploration you don't mind my telepathic message," said Étoile marcheuse with an insectoid voice.
"The Doctor does not arrive to wait," he says flatly, fixing the ysoki with an unblinking stare before finally breaking his gaze. "This room could use a bit more cleaning," he adds, gesturing with a precise flick of his finger toward the cake frosting on the floor, pointedly ignoring the ysoki’s offer.
"No need to wait, I could use a hand cleaning. Normally, these rooms aren't this messy. They had a big party here to celebrate someone getting a..."
The Ysoki twitches their whiskers as they search for the answer.
"Oh, a campaign coin, that's what they said it was. Sounds kind of outdated to me, everyone uses credits these days. Whatever it is, they all seemed excited about it."
The Ysoki finishes the icing on the floor and moves to clearing off the table while still talking.
" By the way, in case anyone is courious, I'm Tux Manifold. So Dr Fix, what kind of doctoring do you do?"
"Name's Blake.", the man turns to Leopold. "Am I early? Or..." he looks at the door sign. "Wrong room, perhaps?"
"Good call on shutting off the floor heating. I'll have to remember that, this cake would have lasted a lot longer had I done that."
Tux walks over to the floor control and turns down the heat just in case there is more cake later today.Are you one of the Starfinders? If so, you have the right room. Captain Arvin had to go clean up first. He got hit in the face with a piece of cake. I'd like to be a Starfinder someday. Looks like they have good parties! So what kind of Starfindering do you do?"
"The prophecy did not provide me with this vision. I'm Étoile marcheuse. I hope during the exploration you don't mind my telepathic message," said Étoile marcheuse with an insectoid voice.
"I didn't get any prophecy about cake on the floor either. Normally, I'm just here straightening up the chairs and taking out the trash. Sometimes people forget to clean their boots and leave muddy footprints. Not all mud from around the galaxy is equally easy to clean. I've started to keep samples from the footprints I've cleaned here. Have you encountered any interesting mud sources during your explorations?"
Tux pauses like he's trying to get his nerves up to say something.
"Maybe you need someone like me to keep your starship clean during a mission? I don't take up much space."
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"The prophecy did not provide me with this vision. I'm Étoile marcheuse. I hope during the exploration you don't mind my telepathic message," said Étoile marcheuse with an insectoid voice.
Blake scans the shirren head to toe with a hint of indifference. "It's fine. I've seen some of yours, though not many. Should be fun."
"So what kind of Starfindering do you do?"
Blake flashes a wry smile. "Pleasure's all mine, Tux, but you probably know more than me, buddy." He pats the Ysoki's shoulder. "First gig for these guys."
"Maybe you need someone like me to keep your starship clean during a mission? I don't take up much space."
"All of you are new to me, so I don't mind. Not sure if it's my call, however. Maybe you should ask Arvin fellow. He called the meeting, after all."
He looks around the room again. "So where are you folks from? Local? Somewhere else in the Pacts? Castrovel-raised right here.", Blake raises his hand. "But I move goods... Aballon to Diaspora and anywhere between, you name it. I might know a guy."
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"Name's Blake.", the man turns to Leopold. "Am I early? Or..." he looks at the door sign. "Wrong room, perhaps?"
He extends his arm for a handshake, stops himself halfway, and wipes his finger on his suit before offering it again.
Leopold eyes the outstretched hand, then looks up at the man’s face with a blank stare that clearly says, “You cannot be serious.” He doesn’t take the hand, but answers all the same.
“Leopold Fix. The Doctor.” The last two words roll out with his usual emphasis before he turns his gaze elsewhere.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. But if it’s Venture-Captain Arvin you’re lookin’, then yeah, ye’ve found the right room.” he tells the man.
" By the way, in case anyone is courious, I'm Tux Manifold. So Dr Fix, what kind of doctoring do you do?"
His gaze shifts to Tux when addressed.
After a few measured seconds, he responds. "Are ye serious?" The question lands more like an accusation, as though Tux’s ignorance of The Doctor were the real offense.
"Augmentation surgery," Leopold says flatly. "Cybernetics, biotechs, and the occasional miracle when someone's more scrap than flesh. I’m the director of the Silverline Institute. We make people better than they were, or at least… functional again." His eyes drift elsewhere, showing little interest in the conversation itself.
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The next to enter the room is an obvious android. It looks more mechanical than synthetic flesh, and if you had to guess, you hazard to theorize he was moddled on a Vesk, not human. He has a Talon Short sword on his hip and a Laser Rifle that looks pieced together on his back. Over his body you see structural reinforced parts that serve as Armor. He takes a scan of the room, apparently is satisfied about something, and takes a stance by the door.
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In strides a massive red-scaled figure, Skyfire armour gleaming like molten metal in the artificial lights of the space station. In one hand he carries nothing, until a sudden flare of light ignites into a blazing spear, the tip spitting sparks and glowing painfully bright, as though born from a star. Some other motes of solar energy float around him, creating their own constellation.
His wings unfurl with a leathery snap, a slight haze of smoke tendrils around him. When he speaks, the sound is like granite grinding against granite, underscored by the faint scent of fresh asphalt on a hot summer’s day.
“Name’s Zagrifax. Most call me 'Big Red'. Hello.” he rumbles gently, with air of overconfidence and slight menace.
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In strides a massive red-scaled figure, Skyfire armour gleaming like molten metal in the artificial lights of the space station. In one hand he carries nothing, until a sudden flare of light ignites into a blazing spear, the tip spitting sparks and glowing painfully bright, as though born from a star. Some other motes of solar energy float around him, creating their own constellation.
His wings unfurl with a leathery snap, a slight haze of smoke tendrils around him. When he speaks, the sound is like granite grinding against granite, underscored by the faint scent of fresh asphalt on a hot summer’s day.
“Name’s Zagrifax. Most call me 'Big Red'. Hello.” he rumbles gently, with air of overconfidence and slight menace.
The android takes a step back, stops, realizes something about the Dragonkin, and takes a more relaxed stance again.
”Sorry, you startled me.”
"Maybe you need someone like me to keep your starship clean during a mission? I don't take up much space.""All of you are new to me, so I don't mind. Not sure if it's my call, however. Maybe you should ask Arvin fellow. He called the meeting, after all."
"I've asked before, but Captain Arvin says I'm too valuable here. I know my stuff, I've watched every episode of the Deep Cultures Institute's videos on Ancient Aliens living in the sun. I think the first ones are behind the Gap, and the recent crashed ship on Akiton. I bet that's where your mission is going to be at, maybe you could sneak me on board?"
Anyone can roll a DC 12 Society, or check your com units spam folder for more info on the Deep Cultures Institute.
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Irritation is visible on Étoile marcheuse when Tux mentioned the recent crashed ship on Akiton, as she came back from the planet to the Station.
"Ah! Those researchers that believe that an ancient culture still inhabits the sun," shares mentally Étoile to the others people in the group, in the exception of Tux.
" By the way, in case anyone is courious, I'm Tux Manifold. So Dr Fix, what kind of doctoring do you do?"His gaze shifts to Tux when addressed.
After a few measured seconds, he responds. "Are ye serious?" The question lands more like an accusation, as though Tux’s ignorance of The Doctor were the real offense.
"Augmentation surgery," Leopold says flatly. "Cybernetics, biotechs, and the occasional miracle when someone's more scrap than flesh. I’m the director of the Silverline Institute. We make people better than they were, or at least… functional again." His eyes drift elsewhere, showing little interest in the conversation itself.
"Oh, wow, the director of Silverline Institute, my cousin on Akiton collects and sells used augmentations, he talks about the Silverline Institute all the time. You two should hook up."
As CTU-596 and Big Red enter.
"Don't mind me, I'm also done here, just got to clean the windows next. By the way, I'm Tux Manifold, you must be more of the Starfinders. Have either of you been to Akiton? I bet that ship that crashed there recently had been hiding in the sun since before the Gap ended."
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As CTU-596 and Big Red enter.
"Don't mind me, I'm also done here, just got to clean the windows next. By the way, I'm Tux Manifold, you must be more of the Starfinders. Have either of you been to Akiton? I bet that ship that crashed there recently had been hiding in the sun since before the Gap ended."
CTU looks momentarily flummoxed.
”I . . . Have not had the pleasure of visiting Akiton. My home lies. . . Farther afield.”