Olso Ayl
May 29th, 2016, 05:04:09 PM
Deep Space
Greater Javin
Something stirred deep in Olso's core as the shuttle's hatch hissed, letting the atmosphere of the Erebus seep into the uncomfortably clean bottled air that had cloyed at his skin for the last more-than-six minutes. His nostrils flared, and his lips curled back, teeth bared in a satisfied grin. It wasn't just the smell, but the feel of it; the humidity in the air, the way it resonated, the taste of it at the back of your throat. The Erebus was a prison ship. True, it's inmates had freed themselves and become it's crew, dedicating the vast old Lictor to more piratical pursuits; but you couldn't change what was underneath, couldn't change the taste of all that metal, the hum of all those security fields, the smell of the sub-standard atmosphere processors that the Empire bolted into tubs like this on the cheap.
No matter what you changed, this ship would still be a prison. Olso knew prisons. Olso liked prisons.
Olso felt a tingle in the beard-whiskers on his left side, his body's way of telling him that it sensed something moving. His arm reached out, a closed fist and a forearm blocking his Mistress from moving forward, his bare skin copping an indirect feel of buxom as it accidentally bumped gently against Serrena's chest. He tried not to enjoy it too much. If he'd told himself once, he'd told himself at least six times: no thinking like that on the job. Your muscles need the blood, not anything else.
The muscles in his other arm hefted his weighty, trusty vibroaxe a little higher, the butt of the handle leaving contact with the deck, the whole ensemble hanging loosely at his side. Some people wandered around with such weapons held ready, trying to cut as intimidating a figure as possible. Olso had learned that if you were a seven foot, bare-chested, muscle-laden Rattataki carrying around a giant axe, you didn't really need to put all that much actual effort into making people the right amount of nervous and wary - it just sorta happened.
Satisfied that Mistress Alcine was going to wait and let him actually do his job, Olso took a careful step forward, a resounding clunk reverberating through the landing bay deck as his boot made it's first impact with the Erebus. It took a lot of practice, getting a good nice thud when you walked. Lots of people spent a lot of time trying to look tough, and talk tough; not many thought about trying to walk tough. Olso was great at that. A real professional. It didn't have nothing to do with the fact that his owners kept telling him to keep his mouth shut, neither.
Advancing far enough to view the entire landing bay with a simple turn of his head, Olso brought himself to a halt, drinking in the surroundings, letting his senses reach out the way they used to back in the arenas of home. He sniffed, hefty lungfuls of air and scent that rumbled like a wild animal. Engine oil. Star fuel. Lots of sweat. A little blood maybe. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find. Wasn't entirely sure what he expected to do if he did find something, aside from smacking it with it's axe until it fell down and stopped moving. But this was his job. Security for Miss Alcine. Protection. Intimidation. Enforcement. Other things. He might not understand what it was he was supposed to be doing; but by Scanlan's electrified balls, he was determined to be the best Sithin' whatever-he-was he could possibly be.
"Ulright," he grunted, finally turning - slowly - back towards the puny little shuttle that had brought them. Stupid vex-vaxing thing barely had any guns, for Pyke's sake. "Ah fink wir awl clear, Boss."
Greater Javin
Something stirred deep in Olso's core as the shuttle's hatch hissed, letting the atmosphere of the Erebus seep into the uncomfortably clean bottled air that had cloyed at his skin for the last more-than-six minutes. His nostrils flared, and his lips curled back, teeth bared in a satisfied grin. It wasn't just the smell, but the feel of it; the humidity in the air, the way it resonated, the taste of it at the back of your throat. The Erebus was a prison ship. True, it's inmates had freed themselves and become it's crew, dedicating the vast old Lictor to more piratical pursuits; but you couldn't change what was underneath, couldn't change the taste of all that metal, the hum of all those security fields, the smell of the sub-standard atmosphere processors that the Empire bolted into tubs like this on the cheap.
No matter what you changed, this ship would still be a prison. Olso knew prisons. Olso liked prisons.
Olso felt a tingle in the beard-whiskers on his left side, his body's way of telling him that it sensed something moving. His arm reached out, a closed fist and a forearm blocking his Mistress from moving forward, his bare skin copping an indirect feel of buxom as it accidentally bumped gently against Serrena's chest. He tried not to enjoy it too much. If he'd told himself once, he'd told himself at least six times: no thinking like that on the job. Your muscles need the blood, not anything else.
The muscles in his other arm hefted his weighty, trusty vibroaxe a little higher, the butt of the handle leaving contact with the deck, the whole ensemble hanging loosely at his side. Some people wandered around with such weapons held ready, trying to cut as intimidating a figure as possible. Olso had learned that if you were a seven foot, bare-chested, muscle-laden Rattataki carrying around a giant axe, you didn't really need to put all that much actual effort into making people the right amount of nervous and wary - it just sorta happened.
Satisfied that Mistress Alcine was going to wait and let him actually do his job, Olso took a careful step forward, a resounding clunk reverberating through the landing bay deck as his boot made it's first impact with the Erebus. It took a lot of practice, getting a good nice thud when you walked. Lots of people spent a lot of time trying to look tough, and talk tough; not many thought about trying to walk tough. Olso was great at that. A real professional. It didn't have nothing to do with the fact that his owners kept telling him to keep his mouth shut, neither.
Advancing far enough to view the entire landing bay with a simple turn of his head, Olso brought himself to a halt, drinking in the surroundings, letting his senses reach out the way they used to back in the arenas of home. He sniffed, hefty lungfuls of air and scent that rumbled like a wild animal. Engine oil. Star fuel. Lots of sweat. A little blood maybe. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find. Wasn't entirely sure what he expected to do if he did find something, aside from smacking it with it's axe until it fell down and stopped moving. But this was his job. Security for Miss Alcine. Protection. Intimidation. Enforcement. Other things. He might not understand what it was he was supposed to be doing; but by Scanlan's electrified balls, he was determined to be the best Sithin' whatever-he-was he could possibly be.
"Ulright," he grunted, finally turning - slowly - back towards the puny little shuttle that had brought them. Stupid vex-vaxing thing barely had any guns, for Pyke's sake. "Ah fink wir awl clear, Boss."